Where Do We Go From Here? ↳ Dean Winchester

Twenty- Nine

"I didn't even know you could get sick."

I lay in the motel room bed trying to lessen the throbbing in my head, but it's no use. The Tylenol hasn't kicked in yet. Sam hands me a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. I hesitantly take it, setting it on the pillow in my lap.

"I'm going to eat this, but that doesn't mean I'm sick," I say, my voice scratchier than usual because of my sore throat and cough. Sam gives me a look. "Really, I'm fine."

"How can you even say that?" He argues, sitting on the other bed and clicking the television off. I groan in frustration. "You are totally sick. I think we're going to have to finish this case without you." I take a small bite of the soup as I furrow my eyebrows.

"You can't do that—oh my god," I say, tasting the soup. I didn't realize Sam could cook this well. "You made this?" I ask through a mouth half-full. The corner of his mouth turns up as he rolls his eyes. "This is amazing." The sound of the impala rolling up in he driveway makes me slightly nervous. Dean and I haven't talked since I told him to forget everything I said. Hopefully, he's not too pissed off at me. He probably is though; last night he went to a bar and he stayed out all night.

"Hey," Dean says, opening the door. He doesn't seem too mad, actually.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam asks, standing up, slightly angry. Dean shuts the door, scoffing. Don't fight, please don't fight.

"I was out."

"All night?" Sam replies, sounding slightly offended.

"What are you, my babysitter?" Dean shoots back, starting to raise his voice. Sam starts to say something back, but I interrupt them.

"Oh my god, you two are killing me!" I say, rolling my eyes and covering my face with my hands. They both stop talking and look at me. I look up at Sam. "You're overdoing it, okay? He's a big boy; he can take care of himself." Sam sighs deeply and nods a little, then I turn and look at Dean. "Sam is allowed to get worried if you stay out all night."

"I don't need a babysitter!" He says, raising his voice at me.

"I know you don't. But, god, Dean. He's your brother. He's allowed to care. When my brother stayed out all night, I worried to death about him." This shut them both up. I continue to eat my noodles and turn the television back on.

The boys stay quiet and still for about two minutes. Flipping through the channels, I notice that Forrest Gump is on. When I was younger, I used to watch it all the time. It was my favorite movie.

"—people call me Bubba."

"My name's Forrest Gump. People call me Forrest Gump."

I don't know if it's from taking pills or being tired, but I couldn't help but giggle at this part. I could feel the boys' confused stares on me, but I ignored them.

"Really?" Dean asks, not sounding as mad as he did before. "Forrest Gump?" I nod and smile at him like a dork.

"This was my favorite movie when I was a kid." Dean rolls his eyes and takes off his boots, walking around the beds to the kitchen area of the motel room. The boys start talking quietly in the kitchen area, but I can still hear them.

"You know what?" Sam says. "She's right. I overreacted."

"No, no," Dean mumbles. "I should've told you where I was."