#sam winchester sluff

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Sam Being Sick

Request: Sam is sick and every night he fights with dean about using a breathing mask because he hates it?

Pairing: none 

You’d been with the Winchesters for over a year before you saw one of them get sick. Dean was miserable for nine days, unable to shake a cold, refusing any help whatsoever. He did his best to clean up after himself so neither you or Sam caught what he had. 

That was great until Dean sneezed as he rounded a corner, straight in Sam’s face. Sam had groaned, knowing his chances of suffering the same as Dean had skyrocketed. The three of you were treated to just one day where Dean was healthy again and Sam was hoping that maybe he’d gotten lucky. Until Sam walked in the kitchen the next day with a runny nose and nasty cough. Sam very much acted like Dean had, not letting you help out and Dean kept his distance.

Until you passed by Sam’s partially shut door that evening, ready to check on him before he tried to get some sleep and heard the boys talking.

“Sammy, wear it,” said Dean, his voice strangely parental.

“Dean, I’m not a kid anymore,” said Sam, his voice raw and ragged with something wet in there that made you feel unclean. “I don’t-”

“It’s in your chest and you can’t breathe so wear the damn thing before I have to take you to the hospital again,” you heard Dean say, his voice low and angry. “You remember that night, don’t you?”

“One night I’ll wear it, that’s it,” said Sam, the sound of something passing between them. “Don’t let Y/N come in. She’ll worry.”

“That’ll make two of us,” said Dean, his voice softer but stern. “I’ll keep her out if you promise to wear it tonight.” There was silence for a few moments before you heard Sam let out what you thought was supposed to be a happy sigh. “Better, aren’t you?”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you heard Sam say and you scurried down the hall before Dean caught you listening in.

In the morning Sam looked a little better but once again by the end of the day, he was sickly and practically coughing up a lung. You stopped by Sam’s room to bring him some vapor rub but you stopped when you heard arguing.

“Dude, I know you don’t like it but it helps you,” said Dean. “Wear it.”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not going through this again, waking up to find you half-dead in some bed because you had pneumonia and were trying to be tough for me,” said Dean, raising his voice. “You aren’t twelve anymore Sam. Stop acting like you are.”

“Fine, whatever,” you heard Sam say. “It’s on, what more do you want?”

“Keep it on and if you get out of that bed tomorrow so help me Sammy,” said Dean, suddenly whipping the door open,catching you duck around the corner but not saying anything to the grumbling younger Winchester.

The next morning you didn’t see Sam up and around and wondered if he’d listened to Dean. When you went to his room, you didn’t expect to find Sam looking so peaceful as he slept and certainly not expecting to see the mask on his face.

“He doesn’t get sick much,” said Dean, walking up and leaning on the other side of the doorframe as you watched Sam. “He’s got a predisposition or something to stuff going straight to his lungs. He got pretty bad once when I was 16, woke me up because he couldn’t breathe. I stole a car and got him to a hospital and they kind of sucked up the crap in him. Sent us home with that little machine on the table,” said Dean, pointing at the thing on Sam’s bedside table.

“It helps him breathe,” you said, Dean nodding his head as Sam took deep, long breaths.

“I knew the second I got him sick it’d hit him hard so I ran out and picked one up. He thinks he’s weak or some crap by using it,” said Dean, scuffing his boot against the floor. “I just don’t ever want to see him like that again. He’s a grown man but...”

“He’s your baby brother,” you said, patting Dean on the shoulder. “I won’t let him know you let me in on his secret.”

“He’d kill me probably,” said Dean, pulling Sam’s door shut as the two of you left him to rest. 

“I don’t think...” you got out out before you were sneezing into your arm. When you brought your head back, everything suddenly stuffed up, Dean was sighing. 

“Bed,” he said, pointing you towards your room. “I’ll check on you in little while.”

“You take care of Sam, I can quarantine myself on the other side of the bunker for a few days,” you said, sniffling. “I don’t want you to carry anything over and get him worse.”

“I appreciate the offer but Nurse Winchester’s in charge around here the next week,” said Dean, waving you into your room. “Get in bed and rest.”

“I really am fine-”

“Come on, do I have to fight both of you?” Dean whined a little. “Help me out, Y/N.”

“As long as you make sure Sam gets better, fine, I’ll stay in bed,” you said, throwing back your covers.

“Thank you,” you heard him say, just as Sam called out for him. 

“Go on, he must not feel good if he’s asking for you,” you said, feeling a scratch form in your throat that was going to be annoying. Dean nodded and closed your door behind him as you heard Sam again.

“I’m coming Sammy!” you heard Dean shout as you coughed and hoped Dean didn’t need to run out and grab another mask for yourself.