Dean dropped me off at my house and gave a mumbled goodbye, driving off as soon as I got my bags out of the car.
I crumpled right there on the sidewalk. I leaned my forehead on the cold concrete and struggled to maintain my breath; an anxiety attack was coming on, and Dean was gone. A gut feeling told me that if I called him, he would not answer. So I stumbled inside and went upstairs. Once I got into my bedroom, I stripped to my boxers and climbed into bed, wanting to just get the attack over with.
My chest tightened, as did my throat. My whole body jerked with the force of my cries as all the negative emotions I had harbored came crashing down on me, like relentless waves bearing down on a stubborn rock.
I lost track of time after the first hour I spent hyperventilating.
The room got increasingly darker as the night dragged on, and my heightened imagination saw moving shadows and heard malicious snarls. I squeezed my eyes shut and sobbed, covering my ears and curling into a ball. I let out a loud scream as something touched my shoulder.
"Sammy!" I heard a voice exclaim.
Relief washed over me like ice water. "Dean, Dean, Dean," I whimpered as I reached for him.
"Sammy, what the hell? Why didn't you call me? Jesus, you're burning up." Dean yanked the covers off of me and sat me up.
"Dean, please," I whispered, still grasping for him. His eyes immediately softened and he scooped me into his arms with some difficulty due to the height difference. The feat made me release a watery laugh.
Dean smoothed my hair away from my face, not caring that I was an absolute sweaty mess. "We're going downstairs, okay? Then I'm going to get you some medicine," he murmured as he helped me to my feet.
I shivered and pressed closer to him. "I'm cold."
"I know, darling. You have a fever, but we're gonna get you better, okay? Now, c'mon." He excessively fretted over me as we staggered down the stairs, a look of fright crossing his face if I stumbled. "Do you feel dizzy at all?" he asked as he sat me on the couch.
I nodded with my eyes closed. "Head hurts," I mumbled, laying down. I heard him mutter something, then pad away. I was about to call after him, the feeling of panic returning, but he was back almost immediately with medicine and a water bottle with a rag.
"Take this," he ordered, handing two capsules to me and opening the water bottle before handing that to me as well. I obeyed and spluttered a bit, but succeeded and gave the bottle back. He wet the rag with the bottle before folding it up and laying it on my forehead.
Dean also dampened his fingers and slid them across my neck and collarbones, cleaning off the sweat and trying to cool me down. As he stood, I grabbed his hand weakly. He crouched next to me again.
"What is it, love?" he whispered, pushing my hair away from my eyes.
I tried to speak, then cleared my throat when I couldn't. "Cuddle?" I croaked, lifting my arm.
He sighed quietly. "We're trying to break your fever, love. I'll only make it worse," he tried to explain, but I was having none of it.
"Cuddle," I said firmly, coughing after.
He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Cuddle," he agreed, albeit a little reluctantly as he wiggled into my arms, hugging me against him and pushing his face into my shoulder. His breath was a cool relief against my skin.
In my sleepy state, I asked, "Why did you come over? Are you psychic or something?"
Dean chuckled and shifted a bit. "I actually came to tell you something, but it can wait," he replied, snuggling his face further into my neck.
My stubbornness overcame me. "Whatever it is, I think I can handle it," I said.
He burst into a fit of laughter at my confidence. "It's not that I don't think you can't handle it. In fact, I think you'll be happy. It's just... I want you to remember what I say, and I'm not sure you will in the morning," he explained.
He untangled his hand from my waist and reached up to card his fingers through my hair. I hummed and closed my eyes, exhausted.
"Promise to tell me in the morning? I mumbled, already falling asleep.
"Promise," he answered.
I yawned. "Goodnight, Dean. I love you," I muttered.
I didn't hear his reply before I dozed off.
.
.
.
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((A/N))
Who wants to cuddle sick Sammy? *raises hand*
Over and out, nuggets. Love you
Trin xoxo
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Troubles And Teachers (Wincest AU)
FanfictionAn AU where Sam Wesson is a World History teacher with a bad case of PTSD and an attractive Drama teacher for a best friend. Sam struggles with his disorder and Dean is with him through it all, but interesting obstacles come between them, including...