Before The Worst

Chapter 3

It had unexpectedly started raining about 20 minutes into their drive to Bobby's house; the drops' rhythmic patter on the Impala's windshield and the equally rhythmic sweep of the Chevy's wipers only adding to the familiar, soothing sounds of the car's tires as they hissed on the wet pavement along with the Impala's engine as she rumbled down the highway.

It was the perfect lullaby as Sam continued to sleep; curled up on his left side across the Impala's bench seat; his head resting on Dean's leg; his knees slightly drawn toward his chest while his arms crossed over his stomach; like he was either cold or in pain.

Dean frowned – not liking either possibility – and hoped the Tylenol he had given Sam before they had left the truck stop parking lot would kick in soon and help relieve some of the kid's discomfort.

In the meantime, Dean readjusted the car's heat vents to blow more directly on his brother.

But if the warm air made a difference, Sam made no indication of it; instead remaining motionless on the seat; his arms still wrapped around his midsection; his face simultaneously pale and flushed – one of the hallmarks of sickness.

Dean sighed; glancing at the road and then back down at his brother – having lost count of how many times he had checked on the kid since they had left the truck stop – and then refocused on the road; thankful that Sam was at least resting and hoping the rain would slack off by the time they reached Bobby's...because Dean really didn't want to transfer a sick Sam from the Impala to the older hunter's house in the rain.

But for now, it continued to pour...and Dean continued to drive; his right foot on the gas pedal while his left was planted against the floor mat as his cell phone balanced on his knee; having tried to call Bobby twice before now and receiving a busy signal both times.

...which was really starting to piss Dean off.

Dean sighed his frustration; realizing their uncle was a vital source of information and that hunters from all over the country called for his advice and expertise...but still feeling irritated that he couldn't get in touch with Bobby when they needed him and couldn't give the older hunter a heads up that they were coming to crash at his house earlier than expected because Sam was sick.

Dean cringed slightly as he remembered just how sick Sam had been hardly an hour ago in the truck stop's bathroom and sincerely hoped the kid would not have a repeat performance – not at Bobby's and certainly not on the road.

Because while Dean would always take care of Sam no matter what, tending to – and cleaning up after – a puking little brother was one of Dean's least favorite big brother responsibilities.

Plus just the thought of Sam throwing up in the Impala...

Dean cringed again – unsure of how he would react if that actually happened – and then reached for his phone still balanced on his left knee; redialing Bobby's number and turning on the speaker function.

Dean's left hand then returned to the steering wheel – his knuckles white and stiff from their tight grip due to the driving conditions – while his right arm remained curled around Sam; his right hand splayed protectively across his little brother's chest as the kid continued to sleep beside him.

As the phone rang, Dean glanced down at the head resting on his denim-clad thigh and briefly checked Sam's fever – feeling the kid's overly warm forehead and damp bangs – before resuming his hold on his brother; hoping Sam wouldn't rouse until they were safe and settled at Bobby's.

And then would begin the battle of trying to get the kid to eat and drink something. Because while Dean knew his brother didn't have an appetite, he also knew Sam had skipped breakfast and had barely eaten dinner the night before. Plus, with all the vomiting Sam had done over the past hour, the kid definitely needed to replenish fluids.