#and huge shout out to judah for being super supportive thru this absolute writing drought

[ghostwinchesters]

lost in the in-between, or so it seems // i'm out of control

@sahwen​ asked: “That’s it. If you throw up on more time we’re going to the hospital.” with sam and cas? platonic or romantic, either is good!

anonymous asked: “If you didn’t just blink I would’ve sworn you were dead, that’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!” w whoever ?? i rlly like that prompt sldkfjlskf

im allegedly still alive yo

it’s s8 trials!sam + samcasdean but like,, vv queer platonic which i fuckin love okay. he’s doing terrible both physically and mentally and dean and cas are desperately trying to take care of him and obviously there’s some vomiting so like,,,,, , just a warning my dudes xoxo

ao3

Sam is sitting huddled at one of the library tables, chilled despite the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the burning heat of his feverish body. He’s clutching a bloody tissue in one hand in case he needs to cough up his lungs again, but the other hand is methodically flipping pages and scrolling through his laptop. Maybe he should sleep.

Maybe he should die.

Dean is sitting in the war room, doing G-d only knows what on his laptop, but he keeps glancing at Sam every few minutes—if not every few seconds— to make sure he’s okay. Or at the very least not collapsing. He’s probably also hoping that Sam will eat a little more than one g-ddamn bite of the grilled cheese sandwich he’d brought him two hours ago for dinner. And Sam wants to, for Dean if not for himself, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The smell and the sight itself makes his stomach turn a little, and he can’t.

Sam sees Castiel come into the war room and talk quietly to Dean out of the corner of his eye, and that probably means they’re both gonna come in here and try to take care of him. It’s sweet, but Sam doesn’t even deserve it.

And they’re both so worried about him. It makes him feel terrible, even though the rational part of his brain is telling him that it’s illogical. That they’re two grown people who can decide who or what they want to worry about. That, possibly, he even deserves the worry. The last one is the hardest to believe, and maybe it’s really not coming from the rational part of his brain.

Castiel and Dean are walking into the library, which means Sam was right.

“Yo, Sam, you gotta eat something, man.” Dean is staring at him, his jaw obviously clenched, trying to keep himself from going into full on Big Brother mode.

“If you didn’t just blink, I would’ve sworn you were dead, Samuel.” Castiel touches his shoulder gingerly, almost like he’s scared Sam is just gonna… shatter and turn to dust. “That’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!”

Sam knows how awful he looks. He’s refused to look in a mirror in over a week and every time he accidentally catches a glance he just wants to shrink into himself because he knows and it almost makes him feel ashamed because he can barely do the basics like brush his hair and wash his face. Shame and guilt are apparently his main emotions currently.

“I’m fi—” He starts coughing again and instead of letting them see the kleenex with the blood splotches on it and making them more worried, he coughs into his elbow, which is a mistake because he now has splatters of red on his pink flannel.

Dean’s whole face crashes with concern but he laughs shakily. “Oh, yeah, Sammy. Spitting blood out onto your clothes is totally fine.” Sam attempts a weak smile, and that breaks Dean completely because he’s kneeling next to Sam’s chair and holding his hand a little too tightly. “Sam, what the hell, just let us take care of you for once. Please.”

“You don’t have to, Dee. It’s okay.”

“Sammy…” Dean always complains about Sam’s puppy dog eyes, but Dean. G-d, Dean puts everything into his pleading when he deems it’s necessary.

Sam nods hesitantly, and Cas, who’s been standing there with his hand on Sam’s shoulder this whole time, helps him stand up. “You need sleep, but as Dean said, you should eat something first. Does… anything sound appealing?”

“Uh… Just not something greasy? I don’t… Actually whatever, I’ll just eat a little of whatever you give me.”

“Nuh-uh, Sammy. You’re telling us what you want, and you’re not gonna feel bad about it.” Dean is glaring at him, but it’s a… kind, concerned glare.

“Uhm… Not anything super greasy because it makes me feel kinda nauseous.” Sam notices Dean glance at the grilled cheese sandwich on the table and wince. “Maybe uhh… some fruits? Or something? Really it’s fi—” This time his “fine” gets interrupted by Cas kissing his cheek quickly instead of another coughing fit, which is a relief, really.

They help him to their room, the biggest bedroom in the bunker, where they have two beds pushed together so it’s big enough for the three of them. Dean follows Castiel out because “he wants to do something for Sam” despite Castiel’s protests.

Sam smiles and shakes his head slightly as they argue down the hall and let’s himself sink into the pillow. It’s soft and nice, and Sam is so tired, but he can’t sleep because 1) Dean and Cas want him to eat and 2) it’s hard for him to sleep alone right now. He can’t really do it when he’s feeling this shitty.

He glances down at his pink flannel and feels a flash of disappointment, which just adds to the feeling of despair and exhaustion, because it’s one of his favorite shirts and now it has blood on the sleeve.

“Cas fuckin’ kicked me out of the kitchen. Said I’d—” Sam looks up as Dean airquotes “—make it take longer.” He sits down on the bed next to Sam shaking his head. “I’m good at slicing fruits and shit. Hell, I make food for you all the time! I’m perfectly capable!”

Sam is trying to hide a grin, and Dean rolls his eyes at him. “Hey, it’s not funny!” He knows it’s more about Dean just wanting to be helpful than the actual cooking thing but it’s still amusing.

“It kinda is actually.”

Dean makes a face before his eyes slide down to Sam’s flannel. “You love that shirt…” He meets Sam’s gaze again. “I can get the blood out if you want…?” His eyes look hopeful and expectant and Sam nods.

“You’d do that?”

“Anything for my little brother.”

Sam winces as he sits up, and Dean gently unbuttons the front and gets it off Sam. “You maybe want a clean hoodie and sweats? Sleeping in jeans is bullshit.”

Sam sighs in exasperation but he appreciates it. “I… yeah, sure.”

Dean helps him tug the white shirt he was wearing under the flannel off and finds him a freshly washed sweater before getting him to his feet and trying to help him change out of his jeans even though Sam just shakes his head because he’s making it more complicated. Sam crashes back onto the bed, a little harder than he intended because his tiredness just made him drop. “Dude, be careful, dammit.” Dean pulls the blanket over Sam’s shoulder and presses his lips against his hair. “I’ll be back in a sec, and I swear I’m getting that blood out of your flannel. I’ve gotten blood out of so many clothes, I’m practically an expert.” He flashes him a grin and leaves with the shirt.

Castiel comes back a little after Dean leaves with a bowl of fruit salad on top of a tray. “Where’s Dean?”

“Washing my shirt since you shoved him out of the kitchen.”

Cas shakes his head with a dramatic eyeroll and sits down, putting the tray on Sam’s lap after he sits up against the headboard. “I hope this tastes good and won’t make you feel sick?”

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Of course.”

Sam’s too tired and wrecked to eat it all but he manages to swallow down more than half of it but it’s better than usual. He feels even more tired after Cas leaves to put the dishes away, turning off one of the bedside lights so it’s dimmer, but it’s a more content exhaustion now except for the uncomfortable churning in his stomach after actually eating again.

“Hey,” Dean whispers as he walks into the room and Sam squints his eyes open from where he was trying to fall asleep alone. “I got your flannel all cleaned up and it’s drying now.” Sam smiles softly in thanks. Dean strips down to his boxers and slips under the blankets.

“Dude, Dean, you don’t have to sleep yet. It’s barely nine.”

Dean grins his lopsided grin and curls up against Sam, his chest radiating welcome heat again Sam’s back through his sweater. “You sleep better with people and besides, I’m getting old and maybe I need to sleep more.” Sam can feel his lips twist into a smile against his neck and he shakes his head.

“Okay, old man.”

When Castiel comes to bed Sam pulls him as close as he can, feeling even colder than usual.

“G-d, you’re a fucking furnace, Sammy,” Dean whines but he doesn’t move away. “Like, more than usual. You okay, man?”

“I’m fine. My stomach feels a little weird but it’s okay.”

“Are you sure, Sam?” Castiel shifts against him and Sam nods.

“Yeah, really, I’m okay.”

Cas makes a noise like he’s not sure he believes him but neither of them say anything and Sam falls asleep for the first time in almost forty hours.

He wakes up to feeling straight up nauseous and he awkwardly clambers to his knees, almost elbowing Dean in the face and definitely kneeing Cas in the stomach.

“Sam-Sammy?” Dean mumbles, confused and half asleep. Castiel who wasn’t really asleep as so much as lying there with his eyes closed sits up and grabs Sam’s arm.

“Bathroom, G-d, fuck, I need to get to the bathroom.” He stumbles to his feet with Castiel still holding onto his arm and at this point Dean’s protective instinct has overridden his lack of consciousness and he’s off the bed.

“Sammy, what’s wrong?”

“I feel really sick, man, I don’t know.” Another wave of nausea hits him and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep from vomiting right here and now in the hallway. He pulls away from Castiel, somehow thinking that’ll help him get through the door to the bathroom quicker. Cas catches him as he drops to his knees in front of the toilet, barely pulling his hair away from his face before Sam throws up the little food he forced himself to swallow down.

Dean’s next to Sam and pushing away a few extra strands of hair from his sweaty forehead when he stops dry heaving. He groans and presses his forehead against the toilet seat. He feels exhausted, which is a normal feeling but it’s worse all of a sudden.

“Do you want some water?” Cas doesn’t even wait for a reply before leaving the bathroom and Sam mumbles a raspy thank you after him.

Dean rubs his back slowly, trying to help him relax. “Shh, it’s okay, Sammy. Just take some deep breaths.”

“G-d, Dean, I feel so sick.” Sam knows he sounds whiney but he can’t actually bring himself to care enough to stop.

“I know and I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly, still rythmically running his hand over Sam’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better here in a little bit, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Castiel comes back with the water and Sam gulps it down quicker than he should, his throat aching. He’s not sure whether it hurts more before, during, or after and for some reason he laughs; it’s a little high pitched and delirious. “It’s gonna come up again in a second.”

Dean gives him a concerned smile. “Jesus, okay.”

It takes closer to thirty seconds, but he vomits again, and by now both Castiel and Dean are on the tile, trying to soothe him by rubbing his back and keeping his hair out of his face. A hand presses against his hot forehead and he thinks it’s Castiel. “That’s it. If you throw up one more time, we’re going to the hospital.

“No, Cas, please. No—” He coughs. “Please don’t take me to the hospital. Please. They can’t do anything anyway.”

“Okay, shh, it’s okay. We won’t go then.” Castiel runs his fingers through Sam’s greasy hair gently. “It’s okay.”

Sam gives him a weak smile but it breaks into a another painful round of spitting absolutely nothing into the toilet bowl. “Could you… Could you get more water maybe?” He looks up at Cas pleadingly.

He ends up throwing that up too, but he’s slowly starting to feel a little less absolutely and completely horrible. Dean’s tugging on his shoulders and pulling him back against him and Sam just lets himself collapse against his chest. This time when he opens his mouth, it’s a tired fucking yawn.

“Hey, if you’re feeling okay enough to get up, you need to get to bed, big guy,” Dean whispers softly and Sam nods a little. Castiel grips his hand and they both help him back to their room after he washes his face by the sink.

Sam presses his face against Dean’s neck and he can feel the comforting thereness of Castiel against his back and he lets out a sigh of what might actually be contentedness.

lol validation welcome // come talk to me [peace sign]

#sam winchester #spnlittlebro #sam love club #sam whump #wincestiel #sam fic #jo writes #tfw #samcasdean #trials!sam #sick!sam #sam and mental health #s8 #what's up motherfuckers i wrote smth again #shout out to yngve bc he loves the Pink Shirt™ #and huge shout out to judah for being super supportive thru this absolute writing drought