Before The Worst

Chapter 1

"M'sorry," Sam gasped, his weak voice hollowly echoing as his head was bent; his pale, sweaty face hovering over the public toilet.

Dean shook his head from where he stood awkwardly positioned behind his 12-year old brother as they were both crammed into the small bathroom stall; Sam kneeling on the grimy floor while Dean leaned over him, supporting the kid's sagging head.

"Sorry for what?" Dean asked, glaring over his shoulder at the sounds of someone banging on the locked bathroom door; undoubtedly a driver of one of the many 18-wheelers parked on the lot outside the truck stop.

"Hey!" a man's voice yelled, muffled by the barrier. "I gotta take a piss!"

"Too bad," Dean replied dryly – because a sick kid brother would always take priority over a stranger's bladder – and turned back to Sam just as the kid threw up again.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean urged quietly, frowning at the heat radiating from his brother; even though the fever only confirmed what Dean had known since Sam had gotten up this morning.

The kid had just had that look; that hard-to-explain look that had instantly put Dean on alert.

And then when Sam had pulled on his hoodie, had refused breakfast, and had promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat before they had even left the motel parking lot, Dean had known it would only be a matter of time – about two hours – before the puking would begin.

And he had been right.

Dean sighed. "Sammy..."

Sam coughed, then spit; breathing heavily through his mouth as his head stayed down.

"M'sorry," he sobbed once more before Dean could say anything else.

Dean's frowned deepened. "For what, Sammy?"

"This," Sam responded simply, his breath hitching in his throat.

Dean smiled affectionately, recognizing his brother's apology for the embarrassment it was.

"It's okay, kiddo," he soothed and rubbed Sam's back for emphasis even as the angry pounding continued on the other side of the bathroom door. "It's not like I haven't seen you puke before, right?"

Sam groaned and then swallowed hard. "Don't say 'puke', Dean."

Dean chuckled through his own grimace of pain; his lower back muscles beginning to cramp from the awkward way he was literally hovering over Sam in the bathroom stall.

"Are we almost done here?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer and yet unable to stop the question because his back was quickly becoming a burning mass of knotted muscles.

Sam shook his head once, still curled over the toilet.

Dean nodded – no surprise there – and bit the inside corner of his mouth as he once again tried to shift to a more comfortable stance behind his brother.

"Hey!" another man's voice suddenly yelled on the opposite side of the bathroom door.

Sam flinched as Dean scowled over his shoulder.

"Is the door still locked?" the man from earlier asked.

"Yeah," the other man answered. "Annoying little fuckers."

"I'll get Pete," someone else announced.

And Dean could only assume Pete was the owner of this fine establishment – Big Daddy Pete's Truck Stop.

"They're m-mad," Sam reported needlessly, his distress evident in his voice.

"Eh, who cares?" Dean soothed, keeping his tone light even as he was getting a little mad – a little pissed – himself.