I have realized I'm a little silly. I've been sitting here for ages saying that we need more SPN fics with physical disability in them, like, Jesus is there a serious lack of that... and yet at no point have i asked you all to contribute. So, that's what I'm soliciting this week. Disability headcanons. Both stuff they could feasibly have in canon (hearing loss Dean my beloved), and the completely divergent AUs you may have in your head. Just not mental illness/neurodivergence because a) we have loads of that, let's spread the focus to other stuff, and b) i already asked about that not that long ago.
- @schizosamwincester
I have literally so many thoughts on disability, especially regarding Sam. Thank you sm for asking me this.
Sam definitely is canonically a sufferer of chronic pain. We start with seeing his chronic migraines in season 1. Even though his migraines are caused by his psychic abilities, it’s still chronic pain. And anyone who’s had a migraine knows how that shit feels.
Sam in later seasons has chronic pain during and after the trials. I believe he also develops chronic fatigue syndrome around this time.
“I just feel like my battery can’t recharge,” He says after literally falling asleep at the breakfast table. All my chronically ill besties have been there.
Sometimes I headcanon that Sam has Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. His joints are always aching and popping in and out of place. His wounds take longer to heal. He’s constantly aching.
Also I like the idea of Sam having kidney disease because I have kidney disease and I like to project all my issues onto him. Sam doesn’t find out about his chronic kidney disease till he’s already stage 3b. He’d been ignoring the dark urine and flank pain for a long time (he figured he was just dehydrated, he didn’t think it was a big deal) but when Dean noticed his legs swelling up, he insisted on taking him to the doctor. Unfortunately, it progresses fast and Sam’s on dialysis and Dean punches a wall when he finds out he’s not a match as a kidney donor. 😈
Oooh! What if Sam had cyclic vomiting syndrome? Just every few weeks or months, he has a horrible bout of nausea where he’s vomiting his guts out for days and Dean just thinks he’s hungover or it’s food poisoning and gaslights Sam about it!! Or maybe it started as a teen and his dad thought he made himself sick on purpose to avoid going on hunts or training so John would make him train through the sickness anyway and Sam’s just woozy, barely able to point his gun at the bottle before he hurls in the dirt and John mutters something about how he shouldn’t have made himself sick and it pisses Sam off because he has no idea why he can’t stop vomiting every few weeks with seemingly no trigger.
I read this one fic that changed my brain chemistry forever and I haven’t been able to find it since reading it as a teen so if you know which fic I’m talking about, please send it my way. I think it was on fanfiction.net. Anyways, teenage Sam gets kidnapped by organ harvesters and they take his corneas and one of his kidneys and when Dean finds him chained up in his cell, he learns that Sam is blind and they have to deal with that after his rescue and it’s pretty awesome. I love blind Sam fics so very much. 😍😍😍
I also love any fic where Sam lands himself in a wheelchair. Ambulatory or full time. I just love it.
Dean, on the other hand strikes me as more of an IBS guy. Guy has GERD and chronic hemorrhoids. He lives on Tums and Pepto Bismol. He’s had ulcers, hernias, and refuses to get a colonoscopy even though he needs one.
I’m also into Dean losing a limb. Although I love me some good Samputation as well. I once wrote a 127 hours type fic about Sam. It was great. I should edit it so I can post it sometime. I messed up the tense like halfway through so I refuse to post it until that’s fixed.
To finish off, allow me to leave you with a few fics off the top of my head:
Sam gets terminal lung diagnosis after being tortured for a while
Teenage Samputation
One of the most grueling sick Sam fics and an all time fave
Sam suffers severe brain damage after the crash at the end of season 1 and Dean takes care of him.
For some reason I can’t find the blind Sam fics or the ao3 disabled Sam fics I thought I’d saved but there are more out there. But not enough. I need mooooore disabled Winchesters (but mostly Sam).
As someone who is disabled and a chronic pain sufferer and suffers from a lot of the conditions I spoke about above, I love giving my pain to Sam. It helps me detach from my pain and see my favorite character being strong and facing it and having tough days and still continuing to fight. It’s really healing to me. 💕
Edit: I know you asked specifically about disability and I wandered into chronic pain and chronic conditions but honestly a lot of those chronic conditions are pretty disabling so I figured it counts, lol. It’s just such a rich area. I do love to see those boys suffer.
Summary: “Here, drink this,” Dean says.
A small plastic cup is pressed to his lips, and the strong, medicinal odor of Nyquil almost clears Sam’s sinuses on its own. He whines again, not daring to open his mouth to actually voice his complaint, and hoping his stuffy nose lets him last long enough. Dean knows he hates this stuff. It makes him so groggy and woozy he can barely function, and he doesn’t even like to take a full dose. He tries to reach for the cup, but Dean grabs his wrist and Sam wonders how many hands Dean has.
The cup leaves Sam’s tightly closed lips and Dean sighs. “Sammy, c’mon, ya gotta let me take care of you, man.”
[AKA "dean feeds sam nyquil while he has a cold, and does somnophilia" --Finally, it is done!]
Written for @wincestwednesdays July 2024
July 31st Prompt: in sickness & in health
Tags: sickfic, caretaker dean, sick sam, fever, fever dream, dubcon medication, dubcon/noncon somnophilia, watersports elements, masturbation, underage, weecest, pining Sam, Sam POV, a dash of humiliation and praise kink, a pinch of oral fixation Sam, pubescent Sam
Note: Gifted to @supernaturalkickparty as a very late birthday present. Also extremely late finishing this for the fest. I was sick when I started this lol.
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandom: Supernatural
Ship: Wincest
Additional Tags: Gencest | Emotionally Incestuous but Non-Sexual Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester, Season/Series 01, Episode: s01e11 Scarecrow (Supernatural), Feeding Sick Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Vomiting
Wordcount: 2111
Summary:
Sam is sick, and Dean has some… unconventional methods to make him eat.
Sam must have picked something up at that bus station. He’s fine for two days after they leave Burkitsville, but the third day has him waking up with a headache that makes him snappy enough that he and Dean end up not talking for hours. Putting his head against the window of the Impala helps a little. It’s cool, and the hum of the car as it drives is familiar enough that Sam thinks his biorhythms might be attuned to it.
For a while, it works. Then, Sam’s stomach roils violently and he’s demanding Dean pull over. Dean doesn’t even argue. Sam struggles with the car door before collapsing on the side of the road and throwing up the drive-through breakfast they’d shared earlier. He can hear Dean’s door open and shut, Dean rushing to his side and kneeling next to him in the dirt. Dean pulls the longer strands of Sam’s hair back with one hand, the other rubbing up and down his spine. Sam retches again, and Dean murmurs, “You’re alright, Sammy. Get it out.”
‘Sammy’ sounds a lot better than ‘Sam’ when his head’s spinning and his mouth tastes like bile.
Sam’s throat burns, and his stomach protests, but he keeps retching after everything’s been thrown up and all he can give is bitter saliva. He tries to catch his breath, then. Dean squeezes the back of his neck. “Done?”
“Think so,” Sam rasps. Dean rubs his back again, like he’s a kid, and then gets an arm around Sam to help him to his feet.
“Easy, easy,” he says, gentle like he’s calming down a horse, and Sam snorts weakly. Dean slides him back into the passenger seat and shuts the door for him. Sam leans his forehead against the window again. It’s still nice and cool. Dean’s door opens and shuts, and he tracks Dean by sound alone, shifting in his seat to eye Sam, cursing under his breath, rummaging in the glove compartment until he finds something. He prods it against Sam’s shoulder, and Sam reluctantly opens his eyes and peers over. “Hydrate, man.” Dean’s grinning easy, but Sam can see the worry behind his eyes. Sam looks down at the offered water bottle.
“Dean-“ His stomach still feels liable to flip.
“Drink,” Dean orders. This time, Sam does it without protest. Dean’s got a tone he uses when they’re hunting, one that means ‘shut up and listen, or you’re dead.’ He’s never abused the fact that Sam doesn’t question that voice before. They’re crossing that line now, and Sam’s sure it’ll bother him when he’s able to think straight again. He takes the water bottle, or tries to, but when he lifts it to his mouth, Dean’s still got a hold on the end, lifting it slightly to help Sam drink. “There you go.”
The water is lukewarm from sitting in the Impala, but it soothes his throat anyway. Dean pulls it back before Sam can drink too much, too fast and choke. “Try and rest. I’ll get us a room at the next place I see.” Sam nods. He feels heavy, too warm inside his own skin. He lets his head fall back against the window, the Impala’s hum vibrating through his skull comfortingly. Dean turns his music down for once. Not off, though, and the quiet guitar riffs are the closest Sam’s heard to a lullaby in a long time.
“Sammy, hey,” Dean’s voice interrupts the swirling nonsense of his dream. No freaky visions this time, thank god. “Hey, baby boy, we’re here.” Dean’s voice is low and gentle. Sam could sink right into it. He wants Dean to talk to him forever. Dean chuckles, and Sam’s not sure if he said that out loud or not. Dean guides him out of the Impala. A slightly more coherent part of Sam knows that, whenever he gets over this illness, Dean is going to be absolutely unbearable, but right now, he wants nothing more than to be the center of Dean’s world.
Sam spends most of the next day and a half in bed. He sleeps a lot. His muscles hurt too much to move, and all the energy he might have had is wasted on constantly shivering. Dean doesn’t leave his side, and Sam always wakes up with a hand on his shoulder or in his hair, eyes open just enough to look for his big brother before shutting again. The one time he does wake up without Dean hovering over him, all it takes is one pitiful whine, and Dean’s there in an instant, a mama bird responding to her baby’s crying. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and Sam just tilts his head into the hand Dean lays over his forehead. “You getting too hot? I’ll get you a rag.” Sam actually feels kind of cold, but the prospect of Dean having to pay even more attention to him to wet the rag whenever it dries or gets too warm is too good to pass up, so he nods.
The rag does help a little. Dean’s voice helps more. He murmurs sweet nothings, “Got you, Sammy, I’ll take care of you,” tone Impala-purr deep and just as soothing.
“Breakfast time.” Sam blinks awake. His stomach responds to the prospect of food with another flip. His nose is way too stuffy to smell whatever it is Dean’s brought. He lets his eyes slide shut again. Everything still hurts. Maybe when he wakes up next time, he’ll feel- “Nope, up and at ‘em, Sammy. You haven’t eaten since before yesterday, and that doesn’t count, since most of it’s rotting on the side of the road somewhere.” Thinking about rotting food and vomit does nothing to help Sam’s appetite. He whines, wordless, and Dean comes over. “I know, I know,” and his hand slips back into Sam’s hair, like he doesn’t care at all that Sam’s a sweaty mess, “but do this for me, yeah? Try and eat something?”
“‘m tired,” Sam protests. Even his jaw muscles ache. He could fall back asleep if Dean would just leave him alone. Instead, Dean pulls him up and shifts the pillows so that Sam stays mostly upright in order to eat.
“Come on,” Dean says, “just eat the freaking chicken noodle soup I cooked and I’ll let you go back to dreamland.”
“Heating something up in the microwave isn’t cooking,” Sam shoots back. His voice sounds terrible, and speaking makes his throat itch.
“Don’t be a bitch about it,” Dean says, flicking Sam’s cheek.
“Don’t be a j-“ The itch in his throat cuts him off, turning into a violent round of hacking his lungs up. Dean goes from teasing to worrying so fast, Sam’s pretty sure he should get whiplash from it. He shushes Sam, patting his shoulder as he coughs until he can’t anymore. Sam settles back again.
“Okay?” Dean asks. Sam looks up at him through his bangs. It’s been a long time since he’s had to look up at his brother. He kind of misses it.
“I’ll eat later,” he says. “Everything hurts right now, and I’m too tired.”
“You’ll eat now.” There’s that tone again, all command, and Sam tries to hold onto what little resistance he can muster.
“Later,” he says. Dean raises an eyebrow.
“You’re too tired to chew your food or something?” Sam doesn’t register how weird of a question that is. He just nods. Dean’s got a hand on his shoulder, squeezing and releasing. The rhythm feels good.
He can hear the little clink of a spoon hitting the rim of a the bowl of soup. He lets out a small laugh. He’s pretty sure he remembers Dean doing that when he was real little, pretending something Sam refused to eat tasted amazing until Sam gave in and tried it for himself. That might have worked on a five year old, but it’s not going to work now. The spoon makes another clinking noise, and he can hear Dean drinking some of it.
Dean’s hand cups his jaw and turns his face towards him. Sam keeps his eyes shut in meager protest. Dean slides his thumb over Sam’s lips, and Sam frowns. It doesn’t take much effort for Dean to pry his mouth open.
Dean’s lips slot against his, and Sam’s mouth fills with the taste of chicken broth. He tries to pull away, but Dean holds him still, holds his mouth open with his thumb, and feeds him.
Mama bird to baby bird. Sam’s head spins.
Dean keeps their mouths together until Sam swallows. Only then does he pull back. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sam licks his lips.
“Dean-“
“Next spoonful coming right up.”
“Dean-“ Sam insists, and Dean fixes him with a look.
“Do you want me to stop?” Sam licks his lips again. He can taste the broth there, and something else, too. Something entirely Dean that he knows in a heartbeat despite never tasting him before.
"No." Dean brings another spoonful to his own mouth before slowly leaning over to press their lips together again. He doesn't need to tilt Sam's head up this time or hold his mouth open, Sam's willing now that he understands what's happening, but his thumb stays there anyway. Sam likes it more than he wants to admit, likes when Dean wipes an escaped drop or two off the corner of his mouth. Dean draws another spoonful. Sam can see a lump of chicken in there this time, and his jaw takes the moment to remind him just how sore it is. Dean sticks the spoon in his mouth, and Sam watches him chew. Chewing for Sam, because Sam's sore, Sam's tired, Sam's his baby brother and Dean knows exactly how to take care of him. Dean leans over again, thumb pulling Sam's mouth open a little wider than Sam already has it. He pushes the food into Sam's mouth with his tongue, broth and vegetables and the chicken, and it's the easiest thing in the world for Sam to swallow it down.
Dean keeps going, another spoonful, another piece of chewed chicken, and Sam neither resists nor protests. There's warmth filling up his belly that has nothing to do with the soup. Dean holds him so gently, feeds him with such care and wipes away the spills. All Sam has to do is relax and swallow. He's not all that surprised when Dean starts dropping his hand to Sam's throat and rubbing gently to help him with swallowing as well.
"Good boy," Dean whispers, and Sam can tell he didn't mean to say it when he flushes and looks away. Sam doesn't want to dare shattering whatever this is by telling Dean he should say it again, that Sam wants to hear it, wants to be good for him and swallow whatever Dean puts in his mouth. Instead, he hoards those two words away to be cherished forever. Dean chews another piece of chicken for him, and this time, when he pushes his tongue into Sam's mouth with the food, Sam slides his own tongue next to Dean's. It's barely a touch, could be accidental if they ignored it, but Dean doesn't pull back. Sam swallows the chicken, but he lets his tongue explore Dean's, slick and hot and so helpful in pushing food down Sam's throat. He can taste Dean here, too, and he follows it to Dean's lips, to the inside of Dean's mouth. Dean lets him, stroking his throat all the while. When Sam's done, Dean doesn't say a thing, just gets another spoonful to feed him.
Sam smiles and lets his eyes close. Dean's going to be incorrigible after this. Sam might be allowed to chew his own meals once he gets better, but he knows Dean's going to be watching, wanting, and a part of Sam is going to want to let himself be fed again. He really shouldn't encourage this behavior. Really shouldn't reward Dean when he's fed by licking up into Dean's mouth again, like he's looking for extra scraps. Really shouldn't watch Dean chew and drop his mouth open with a little whine when he wants food. Really, really shouldn't be letting Dean do this at all, but he's sick and he needs Dean's attention like he needs air. Dean pulls away again, and Sam is left thinking that if Dean could, he'd breathe for Sam, too. He'd pump Sam's heart with his own hands. He'd do everything Sam needed, so that Sam would stay wrapped up in blankets, in bed, with him.
Sam's not sure if he'd stop him.
Dean presses their mouths together. Sam swallows.
(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)
So I'm sick and can't be near my son and it's killing me. So here's a gen teenchesters ficlet I wrote with sick sammy and caretaker Dean
Dean was pulled from his sleep by the sound of violent retching and Sam's sniffles. He knew it was going to happen eventually, a lot of kids at the last high school had been sick from the cafeteria food. They both hoped that Sam wouldn't get sick, Dean knows full well how much Sam hates throwing up.
"Sammy, you good?" Dean went straight for him, pushing his sweat soaked bangs out of the way.
"No. I can't stop hurling." Sam whined, eyes screwed shut as he had his arms wrapped around his thin frame. It worried Dean, Sam was already too thin and too small for fifteen.
"Let me see if we have any pepto or something. I'll be right back."
He went through their makeshift med kit, trying to find any form of medication for Sam, who was currently puking his guts out.
"De!" Sam cried from the bathroom, Dean found the bottle at the bottom of the box, rushing back to the bathroom.
He hated seeing his brother sick, nothing scared him more than anytime Sammy's gotten sick. He grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the cold water, he hoped a cold compress would help Sam's heated clammy skin.
"Here, chug this in one go. It'll get you better." Dean pressed the compress to Sam's forehead, wiping away the sweat from his face.
Sam gagged as he drank the foul pink medicine.
"You lied to me." Sam leaned against Dean, wincing in pain.
"What are you talking about?" Dean was completely confused by that. He wasn't sure what Sam was talking about.
"When I was six, you told me if I threw up enough that I would never have to throw up again." Sam tried to chuckle, it came out more of a pained huff as he leaned further into Dean.
"Yeah and I told you that if I rubbed your stomach that it would help it go away faster." Dean chuckled. He remembered that time, their dad was supposed to be gone for two days and had ended up being gone a whole week. Sammy had never been sick from his stomach before and he wasn't sure what to do. He called his dad panicking, not sure what to give him until their dad calmly talked him down and told him what to grab from the corner store and promised he was going to be rushing back.
They sat there in silence, Sam leaned forward towards the toilet, throwing up once more. Dean held his shaggy hair back, rubbing his back.
"It's ok Sammy, shh. I know that this sucks man. You just need to get the infection out of your system." He continued to rub his back until Sam fell back against him.
"Do you…I mean do you think you can rub my stomach? You feel so warm and the warmth helps." Sam kept his eyes closed, leaning further into Dean. He knew fully well that Dean wouldn't say no.
"Brat." Dean scoffed, moving his hands to Sam's stomach. He normally would have calmed him bitch, but he was saving that teasing for whenever Sam was healthy enough to talk back.
Sam groaned, mumbling that he feels sore and hurts all over.
"It's gonna be ok. This'll blow over soon." He spoke softly as he rubbed his hand in small circles over Sam's stomach. He could feel the rumblings underneath. He hoped that Sam wasn't going to be sick the rest of the night and that this was just his stomach trying to settle.
Eventually he had dragged Sam off to bed. They had fallen asleep sometime around five in the morning, Dean waking at every little sound Sam made.
School wasn't an option for Sam and Dean didn't have a job at the moment since their dad was the next town over.
He looked over at Sam, noting how he wasn't clammy looking or as pale anymore. He still didn't look quite healthy but it was an improvement from last night.
Sam slept until one o'clock, only waking when he heard the motel door opening.
"Hey, how are you feeling? I did a quick run to the gas station. I got you some gatorade and those unsalted crackers you like." Dean set the bags on the opposite bed that was still made up.
Sam vaguely remembers Dean staying in his bed the night before.
"I feel really sore and my throat hurts."
"Your stummy don't hurt anymore?" Dean smirked.
"Oh fuck off, I was a little kid when I would say that." Sam threw a pillow at his laughing brother.
"I know, I was remembering how you used to say that." Dean handed Sam a drink and some crackers. "Talked to dad earlier, he's on his way back already, do you think you can handle riding in the car or do you think you're gonna spew some more?"
Sam grimaced as he took a sip of the gatorade.
"Not gonna have much of a choice, if dad's ready to go we have to go."
"Yeah but I already told him how sick you were last night. He's the one who wants to know if you can handle the drive." Dean handed him a couple more of the crackers, waiting on him to think it over.
"I guess we can wait and see how I'm feeling later…thanks for taking care of me last night."
"No problem, I mean I wasn't going to get much sleep with you hurling up a lung all night."
The brothers both smiled softly at each other, the moment quickly ruined as Sam bolted to the bathroom throwing up whatever little he had eaten.
"You're stummy again?" Dean made a face as Sam loudly retched.
"Fuck you jerk." Sam shouted from the bathroom.
"Love you too bitch, I'm already grabbing the pepto."
Sammy didn’t realize that he wasn’t just pouring holy water on a demon possessing Dean... he was pouring it on his brother... who happened to be a demon. Castiel points this out and the repercussions are reverberating.
...,,,...
word count: 1,336
ao3 link
“It’s not like it’s actually hurting Dean.” Sam passed it off with a careless sigh and put the pitcher on the table.
“It IS, Sam!” Cass shouted, not caring that the demon in their presence was delightfully enjoying this little spat and Cas’ own emotional state. “IT! IS!”
Sam stepped back, as if hit with a mental tidal wave. In a way, he was. His realization made him sick. He backed out of the room without unlocking his eyes from Cas’ stare. They heard footsteps running down the hallway, retreating.
“Well I guess—“
Cas stuffed a hand over Dean’s mouth before he could finish whatever dirty, insulting, sarcastic comment he was going to offer.
“Don’t even start with me right now.” Cas shook his head and took his hand away as he walked from the room without another glance at the demonic abomination his best friend had become. He slammed the warded door behind him.
Castiel found Sammy leaned over the toilet in the nearest restroom. He looked awful. He was a horrible seasick green and he had his injured shoulder propped on the bathroom trash can. He groaned when Cas came in. Cas’ sad-eyed stare bored into the back of his head.
“I didn’t—“ Sam didn’t know what he was trying to say. “I never thought about it— I just… I didn’t ever think about it. It’s actually him.”
“I know, Sam.”
“It’s just so— I didn’t—“ Sam let out a quiet sob instead of finishing his half-formed thought.
“I know, Sam.” Cas put a hand on Sam’s back in between his shoulders, rubbing softly.
“The water… It actually burns him. It burns him!” Sam gagged and threw up again.
“Yeah.” Cas nodded.
“I’ve been burned. I’ve been tortured. It’s awful. And now I’m doing it to him. Willingly. Without being forced to, Cas. I’m torturing my brother for no fricking reason.”
Cas continued nodding. Sam still hadn’t looked at him. He was kneading Sam’s shoulders slowly as Sam gagged and retched a few more times. “I know.”
“What if we’re killing him?”
Cas waited a second to gauge how harsh his answer would come out. It didn’t end up helping much when he answered, “We could be.”
Sam threw up again.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
Sam put his hand on Castiel’s fingers on his shoulder, a silent thanks just for being there. No matter how aggravated Sam was with the way things were going, he was glad he wasn’t alone.
Suddenly the two heard yelling from the other room. A pained, agonized scream.
“Stay here.” Castiel left the room after making sure the bristled Sammy would stay put.
“Sucker.” Dean greeted him. Cas almost just slammed the door right back closed. But Dean spoke again. “Wait— wait.”
“What?” Cas was unimpressed.
“What’s happening to the annoyance in there?”
Cas groaned and started closing the door again.
“Wait!”
“No, Dean. I won’t let you make this worse for everyone.” Cas stayed a moment, door halfway shut, leaning on it.
“I was being… sincere.” It seemed hard for the frickin’ demon to even say the words. He shifted in his chair and gulped.
Castiel bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, still refusing to look at the demonic issue. “He’s hurt. He’s not doing well. It’s your fault. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Cas looked over to him.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, looking down and seeming displeased with Cas’ answer. Instead of being concerned or nice, he mumbled, without any feeling or sincerity attached, “Serves him right.” Cas rolled his eyes and closed the door.
“Cas, wait!”
“What?!” Cas opened the door, annoyed. He accidentally looked straight at Dean. But his eyes weren’t black, like they had been constantly recently. Cas was caught in the stare.
“I… Tell him it’ll be okay,” he said, but then his eyes went back dark and he tilted his head down, staring at Cas and smirking.
“Hey, Blue Eyes,” it flirted, as if he didn’t remember the little demon-free moment he had just fallen out of.
“Black-eyed jackass,” Cas shot back as he shut the door a little less loudly this time.
Sam was upright when Cas got back to the guest bedroom he’d been in the bathroom of. He was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. Alright— maybe not upright-upright. But he wasn’t on the floor throwing up.
“He’s fine. He just wanted me to come in there to annoy.”
“Define ‘fine’.”
“Not dying.” Cas closed one eye and squinched up his face as if he was thinking really hard. Sam let out a spiteful laugh. He sniffled and sat up, then stood and wavered a little before heading out into the hallway.
“Sam, just don’t.”
“I have to. It’s time for another dose of frickin’ medicine.” Sam didn’t seem pleased either.
“I’ll come with you.”
Dean’s arrogant smile was almost too much for Sam as he stared his brother down to establish dominance, unlike Cas, whose eyes skirted the sides of the room, going everywhere but the black eye holes in the middle of the devil’s trap.
“‘Sup, Sammy?”
“It’s Sam until you’re human, you asshole.”
“Drama queen.” Dean gave a dramatic look and a mocking toss of his hair.
Sam finally looked away to insert the syringe into his arm below a tourniquet. He sucked his red fluid with a small grimace, then when he pulled it out, he headed for his brother.
Dean squirmed, adrenaline rushing through his (un) dead body. He gritted his teeth when Sammy plunged the needle into his neck this time, instead of his arm.
Cas jumped when Sam stuck the syringe in. He was feeling more and more human by the day with his growing anxiety, cold, and fears.
“Aw, scared, Cas?”
Cas didn’t answer.
“Worried?”
Cas turned on his heel and started slowly making his way toward the door.
“What? You’re anxious? I can feel your fear. Your emotions are really frickin’ prominent. Are you sure you’re an angel?”
That made Castiel stop. He froze and turned slowly. “What did you just say?”
Dean smiled. “That got your attention.”
Sam began pushing the syringe’s plunger down and blood started mainlining into the demon. He tensed and growled. An unearthly screech came from somewhere— it sounded like it was from below the floor. It probably was. Cas looked back up at the ceiling, having a hard time watching something happen to Dean that he couldn’t control.
Sam finished and threw the syringe on the table, leaving without a look or comment.
The screeching stopped but a more human scream continued, then that ceased, too.
Cass looked back down to the demon, concerned. Dean’s head was hung and blood dripped from his ears and nose. His lips were red with wet blood and his breathing was ragged.
“Sam!” Castiel called, rushing toward Dean. He knelt in front of the chair and passed his fingers over Dean’s hand, squeezing it and pleading with him verbally to wake. He flipped hair out of Dean’s face and tilted his head up, holding it in a soft hand.
Sam was kneeling next to Cas in a few seconds. He noiselessly wiped some of the blood from Dean’s ears off his neck and checked his brother’s pulse. He shook his head.
“Dean?” Cas asked urgently. Dean’s head lulled back, exposing his neck and putting him in a terribly uncomfortable looking position. Cas stood up and took Dean’s finally-peaceful-looking face in two hands. “Dean, come on.”
Sam was behind Cas now, rummaging through the contents of the table of supplies.
“Dean, please,” Cas whispered softly, a little shake in his voice. Dean’s green-irised eyes fluttered open and his breathing started up again without so much as a gasp. “Oh, thank God.” Cas crumbled and hugged Dean, shameless.
“Dean?!” Sam was just as surprised and elated.
“What happened?” Dean coughed, looking at Sam confusedly over Cas’ shoulder.
Sam shook his head and smiled, tears accidentally gathering in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
...,,,...
“Cas?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay. And back.” Cas pulled away and stood up.
Just watched The Heroes’ Journey (Season 15, Episode 10, Supernatural) and I just need to take a moment to say how unbelievably perfect it was.
The episode is filled with tons of events to satisfy my inner Sickfic lover😉. Including:
1. Sam coming down with a cold and sneezing throughout the episode. Plus admitting that he’s sick 😊
2. Dean becoming lactose intolerant and puking his guts out. Then to be caught by a monster, while hurling in the bathroom.
3. Garth’s wife giving Sam a secret remedy to help with his cold, that is mostly cayenne pepper. Whilst Dean gets some of his teeth removed by Garth.
4. Dean getting kicked in the crotch and his voice gets higher 🤣
I mean, isn’t this just the most perfect episode ever?(For a Sickfic writer of course 😉). Both brothers get sick, each with different symptoms. They get hurt a little, not to much, just enough to be sort of funny.
Plus it is the first episode I’ve seen in a while that actual made me laugh, just like I used to laugh in the early seasons. This episode made me laugh the same way I laughed at The French Mistake or Changing Channels or Hell House or Bad Day at Black rock. It wasn’t immensely serious and emotional, it was funny and satisfying to me.
Bonus- While Dean is unconscious (because of antithetic) he has the most hilarious dream 😂😂
