Author's Note: The title is from Aerosmith's Sick as a Dog. We can't have Supernatural fics without classic rock titles, am I right? This is my first Supernatural fic, though I've been in the SPN fandom since probably 2015. I've only ever written for Lord of the Rings before, but since I'm participating in Whumptober this year, I wanted to write across more of my favourite fandoms. This hasn't been edited as thoroughly as my multichapter fics, so please forgive any errors. This was written for Whumptober 2023, and covers day two and three's prompts, "Thermometer" (and possibly also "Delirium") and "Make it stop".


Dean dragged himself into the dingy motel bathroom and carefully pulled the door shut behind him. He groped for the light switch, flipping it on and illuminating the cramped space in the glow of the single incandescent bulb. His stomach rolled and he lurched forward, gripping the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. Goddamn it. He had started to feel kind of off (okay, very off) that afternoon but had powered on through the day anyway, doing his best to hide his growing discomfort from his brother. Sam would only fuss over him and insist that he rest, because that's what people do when they're sick, Dean. Getting sick was for sissies, and Dean wasn't a sissy. Judging by the rapidly growing nausea though, Dean suspected that sissy or not, this was happening. Groaning, he palmed his aching stomach and studied his reflection in the dirty mirror, almost not recognising the face that stared back at him. Dark circles stood out beneath his eyes, and the pallor of his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, soaking the neck of his t-shirt. Sonofabitch. If Sammy saw this, there wasn't a chance he was escaping his little brother's detection.

Dean glanced at his watch, which read 2:58 am, and wondered idly when he had started to look this bad, but his musing was interrupted by a fierce cramp in his stomach that sent him to his knees in front of the toilet, saliva beginning to pool in his mouth. Yeah, this was happening. Dean panted shallowly, spitting into the bowl and trying vainly to fight the nausea, but his body betrayed him as a loud retch was ripped from the pit of his stomach. Nonono can't wake Sammy no - . A second retch and Dean was heaving miserably into the toilet as his body forcibly ejected what felt like everything the hunter had eaten in the last year.

"Dean?" The older hunter froze at Sam's voice, sucking in a shaky breath and willing the vomiting to be over.

"M'fine, Sammy!" Dean grimaced at the tremor in his voice. Way to sound believable, Dean.

"You don't sound fine, Dean. Are you… puking?"

"Go'way, Sam." And then Dean's body gave in to round two of the onslaught.

"I'm coming in," he heard Sam say, and then the bathroom door creaked open. "Freakin' hell, Dean." Embarrassed, Dean tried to bring an arm up to cover his face, but he was too busy puking to succeed in hiding his weakness from his brother. He felt Sam drop to crouch next to him, and a gentle hand started to rub circles into his back. "Dammit, you're burning up. How long have you been feeling bad for?"

Dean heaved a breath and raised his head from the toilet rim. Sam had been waiting for this, and handed him some wadded-up toilet paper, which Dean took and wiped his mouth with, then blew his nose before dropping the soiled tissue into the toilet bowl and closing the lid. He reached up to flush the cistern but Sam batted his hand away and pulled the lever himself. "How long have you been feeling sick, Dean?"

"Just… This afternoon?" Dean adjusted himself so he was sitting on the floor with his back against the toilet. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his lips with a light groan. "Wasn't… bad though," he added hopefully. He heard Sam sigh and suspected that his brother wasn't convinced.

"You gonna be okay here for a bit? I need to fetch some stuff." Dean nodded without opening his eyes, and that was all Sam needed in order to scurry off. He returned quickly and Dean cracked his eyes open to see the younger hunter rummaging through their meagre medicine kit. "Here - open your mouth." Dean barely had a moment to comply before a thermometer was shoved under his tongue. "Your fever's really high, man. I need to know where it's at, because we both know what happens with you and fevers. You don't exactly do things in half measures..." Sam ran a hand through his hair, clearly worried.

"M'fine, Sam."

"Shh, Dean. Stop talking or it's going to throw off the reading. You are so not fine." Dean dutifully shut up and glared at his brother. Okay, so he might not be fine, but he sure as hell didn't have to like it. He could feel the nausea building again and hoped this would be over soon.

" S'mmmm -"

"I said not to talk, Dean! It's almost done -" Sam was cut short by Dean ripping the thermometer from his mouth and throwing open the toilet lid in record time before he began puking again in earnest. Sam made a sympathetic noise in his throat and took up his position at Dean's side, kneading tense muscles and holding his brother up when the older hunter almost faceplanted into his own mess as his exhausted body protested. That Dean didn't immediately try to throw him off was telling. Once it passed, Dean sat down again. He had started to shiver, and he wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. Sam pushed the thermometer at him once more.

"I know this sucks, Dean, but we really need to know where that fever's at…"

Dean mumbled something that sounded like where Sam could stick it, but he allowed his brother to pop the instrument under his tongue. This time, he was able to wait until it beeped without incident, and Sam quickly took the thermometer. "103,6. Geez, Dean, no wonder you feel crappy."

"M' pukey, not crappy."

"Deannnnn. You're not being helpful here." Sam huffed, and dug around in their medicine kit once more, producing a pink bottle with a yellow lid. "Come on, think you can manage some Pepto?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and stuck out his hand, taking a big gulp directly from the bottle once Sam passed it to him. The younger Winchester carefully hid his exasperation as he returned the bottle to the medicine kit. "If that stays down, we can get some Tylenol into you." Sam reached out and palmed his brother's sweaty forehead, wincing at the heat radiating off Dean. Dean had to resist leaning into the touch - Sam's hand was mercifully cool, and it soothed the headache that was beginning to pound away at his temples.

"Jusgimmenow." At Sam's evident confusion, Dean clarified, "Tylenol. Gimme now."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he got up to fetch a glass of water. When he returned, Dean looked positively green.

"Dean, are you sure this is a good -"

"Tylenol. Now."

"Ugh, fine. Here." Dean quickly swallowed the little white pills and drew in a long, measured breath through his nose. Pepto and Tylenol, down. Now everything just needed to stay put long enough to work.

"You good, man?" Sam eyed him with concern. Dean nodded and swallowed, shutting his eyes.

"Peachy. G'back t'bed."

"Don't be silly, Dean. You're sick."

"M'not -" Dean didn't get to finish what he was going to say as a gag tore through him. He stubbornly slapped a hand over his mouth, determined to hold down the cocktail of meds, only to spew bright pink liquid over himself as the gag was followed by a retch. Dean wasn't proud of it, but he actually let out a whine as he scrambled for the toilet, where his stomach promptly and painfully expelled all of his hard work. The force of the retching caused tears to stream down his face and he struggled to gasp in air in between what were now dry heaves. It felt like forever (to Dean, at least) before this round was over, and he could have cried with relief when it was (except not really, as he was fairly certain that it would only make his aching stomach muscles feel worse).

"Dean, hey." Sam's voice, soft and full of care, broke him out of his thoughts. "Let's get you sitting again, and that shirt off."

"Yeah… 'Kay." Dean was still struggling to catch his breath and his teeth had begun to chatter. He clenched his jaw but it did nothing to quell his shaking. If anything, it was only getting worse. Just great . Sam's earlier words echoed in his mind, and he realised his life was about to suck out loud. We both know how you get with fevers.

Dean allowed his brother to help him back into his position on the floor (when had he gotten this weak? He'd walked in here just fine on his own). Once Sam was sure that Dean wasn't going to list sideways, he went for the hem of the older hunter's t-shirt. Dean opened his mouth to protest but ended up just letting out a moan instead, and raised his arms so that Sam could tug the sweat-soaked, soiled garment off him, which the younger hunter threw into the old bath and shower combo to be dealt with later.

Now wearing only his boxers, Dean felt suddenly and oddly vulnerable on the bathroom floor. Perhaps Sam picked up on this, as he gave Dean's shoulder a light squeeze before standing.

"Be right back, okay? Just wanna get you a clean shirt. I also think there's a Gatorade in my duffle… I was going to go running in the morning, but you need it more. Just hold on."

Dean nodded and tipped his head back against the cool porcelain. He knew he should find it gross - because who knew when last the bathroom had been cleaned - but right now he honestly felt too sick to care. The ceramic was soothing against his burning skin, and he'd take all the comfort he could get right now. Son of a bitch. He was feeling nauseous again.

Sam was in the process of rifling through Dean's duffle for a shirt when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. Aw, Dean. He spotted one of Dean's old Metallica shirts at that moment and grabbed it, only to sprint for the bathroom when he heard a hollow thump.

Dean felt the sudden urge to vomit crash into him, and he scrambled to turn around and pull himself up to face the toilet in time. He'd almost made it, too, when the first retch hit him, and watery vomit splashed onto the toilet seat just as he put his hand down onto it for support. Instead of holding firm, his hand slipped in the mess and he smashed his elbow hard on the seat, causing him to gasp in surprise and pain, right before he landed on the floor. That's when the second retch hit, and more and more vomit flowed out of his lips and down his chin. How was there still anything left in him to lose?!

Sam reached the doorway just in time to see Dean start to retch again from his position on the floor, where he'd clearly fallen. Swearing, he grabbed a towel off the rack and threw himself down beside his brother, kicking himself for having left him in the first place.

"Dean? Hey, shhh. I've got you. It's okay." Sam kept up a panicked litany of words as he draped the folded-up towel over his thighs, and carefully shifted Dean's head off the floor and into his lap, even as the older hunter tried to pull away. "Nono, Dean, it's fine. You're not gonna throw up on me - there's a towel, see? Just relax, man, I've got you." Gently cradling Dean's head, Sam carded the fingers on one hand through his brother's hair and used the other to keep a firm grip on Dean's bicep. Dean let out a whimper as he continued to dry retch with no signs of stopping, and Sam just mumbled soothing nonsense as he stroked Dean's hair.

At last, the hunter's stomach seemed to calm, however Dean's shoulders continued to heave. It took Sam a moment to work out why, and then his heart broke as he saw genuine tears rolling down his brother's cheeks that had nothing to do with the forceful retching. Dean Winchester was crying. Sam suspected that he knew why - he could still feel heat rolling off Dean in waves, but he spared a moment to press the back of his hand against his brother's forehead anyway. Too hot. Way, way too hot. And Dean always got emotional with high-grade fevers. First, Sam needed to get a reading on it again, and then that fever had to come down at all costs.

Dean must have noticed Sam watching him. He sniffed, then tried to bring the arm under him up. Instead, though, he let out a grunt of pain and dropped the limb, quickly scrubbing at his face with his other arm instead.

"H-hey, S-sammy," he croaked. His voice was raw and irritated, and he was struggling to get his words out past the chattering of his teeth. Sam winced.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

"S'nothing-g. Hit it when I f-fell. Don't worry." Sam frowned. Dean must have gone down harder than he'd thought. He quickly picked up the thermometer from where it lay on the bathroom sink.

"I need to take your temperature, and then I'm gonna take a look at your arm, okay?"

"Yeah,'kay." Dean sighed and sniffled a little. "S'ry. Did-didn't wanna get s-sick." He sounded tired and on the verge of tears again.

"Hey, it's alright, Dean. I'm your brother. I want to be here for you if you're sick." Sam picked up an unsoiled corner of the towel that lay beneath Dean's cheek with his free hand. "Here, let me wipe your face first… There we go. Open your mouth for me? Annnd in. Now hold that there, okay?" Sam kept his instructions simple and waited for Dean to acknowledge him.

Dean kept drifting off in the short time it took to get a reading, and Sam had to hold the thermometer in place to stop it from falling out of his brother's mouth. Dean startled lightly when it beeped, but Sam was quick to soothe him as he plucked the little instrument free. He couldn't help but curse under his breath at the numbers displayed on the tiny LED screen.

"104.2. Jesus, Dean. I'm sorry, but this can't wait. New plan: we're tackling this fever and I'm going to check your arm as we go."

Dean groaned by way of acknowledgement, followed by a shiver. His head was swimming and he felt awful. He was both hot and cold at the same time, and shooting pains raced themselves up and down his limbs. He couldn't stop shaking, and he was so so thirsty. A tear slipped from his eye and he fought back a sob, mortified. Why was he crying over a freakin' fever?

"Make it stop-p, Sammy." He was begging and it was pathetic. It was all so screwed up, but he couldn't get it to stop on his own.

"Working on it, Dean. But if I can't get this fever down on my own, then we're going to the ER, because you can't hold anything down." Sam felt his brother tense and realised that he probably shouldn't have said that out loud. But dammit if he wasn't beside himself with worry at this point.

"N-no hosp'tal, S'm." Dean's voice was laced with panic, and his breathing hitched. "M'sorry."

"Shh, Dean." He replaced his hand on the sick hunter's bicep, squeezing gently in the hopes of grounding him. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. No hospital yet. I've got something we can try first, okay?"

"M'kay, S-sammy."

Sam pulled the washcloth off the little rack beside the sink, thankful that due to the size of the bathroom, he could reach it without needing to get up and thus move Dean. Next, he turned on the faucet and dipped the washcloth into the sink which was now filled with cool water.

"Okay, Dean, I'm going to sponge you with cold water. It's probably gonna suck, but it's our best bet right now. It should help bring the fever down and get you feeling a bit better." Sam waited for Dean to acknowledge him, which came in the form of what sounded like a defeated whine, and was further testament to how bad his brother was feeling. "Here goes." Sam wrung out the cloth and ran it down Dean's neck. The older hunter flinched at the contact and grunted, but once Sam tried to run the cloth over his chest, he hissed and tried to pull away.

"H-Hurts." Sam paused in his ministrations.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere. Burns." Dean shivered. His skin was over-sensitive and the cloth rubbing against it felt like he was sunburned.

"I'm sorry, man. That's gonna be the fever - you'll feel better once it comes down. If you can't handle this, what about trying a cool bath? I'm worried about moving you though, at least not until you've managed to go half an hour without puking." Sam's sentiments were acknowledged with a small nod and a groan.

"Freaking-g sucks."

"I know, Dean, I know. But it's worth it if it helps." Sam resumed sponging, changing the water often as the heat coming off his brother was quick to heat up the cloth. Dean squirmed uncomfortably and let out small, pained sounds, but he did his best to lie still. That is, until Sam was working his way under his armpit. Dean swallowed thickly a couple of times but it was no use.

"G'na be sick."

"Crap, hang on!" Sam grabbed the empty trashcan and thrust it under Dean's chin, but all that came up were a few strings of bile in between painful dry heaves. Sam did his best to comfort him through it, and once Dean was done, Sam wiped his face.

"Dean, it's either a cold bath or we're going to the ER. I don't think this is working. We have to get this fever down, and at the rate you're going, you're gonna need a shot or an IV." Especially if this fever climbs any higher.

Dean's face, already pale, blanched even further if at all possible. Sam took a deep breath and tried to calm himself - he wasn't going to be of any use to either of them if he let his panic get the best of him.

"Can we t-try one m-more t-t-time, S'm?" Dean inhaled slowly, fighting for control over his shaking. "If it doesn't w-work, then I'll do w-whatever you want-t."

"I don't like this, Dean. But okay. We'll try one more time, but I'm giving you Tylenol in half an hour, and if you can't keep it down then we're going straight to the ER. Deal?"

"Yeah, 'kay. Deal."

Sam got back to work, sponging every bit of exposed skin he could get to. After around five minutes, he paused.

"I want you to try some Pepto again. If it helps, then I think you've got a better chance of handling the Tylenol." Dean groaned but nodded his head, which still rested on Sam's lap. Sam put the washcloth down in the sink and poured a dose of Pepto into the dose cup. He carefully helped Dean to sit up and lean against his chest, but Dean's hands were shaking so badly that Sam had to help him drink. Dean quickly swallowed the dose and grimaced, and Sam helped him to lie back down on his other side once he'd changed out the soiled towel in his lap. The younger hunter picked up the washcloth from the sink and refocused his efforts to cool his brother. As he worked his way over Dean's torso, he glanced at the hunter's elbow. There was an impressive purple bruise blossoming over the skin, but it didn't look to be bleeding. It was going to hurt for a few days for sure, and once he had this fever under control, Sam made a note to get him some ice. Just how hard had Dean fallen earlier?

"Mind if I look at your arm?"

"Mmn." Dean winced as he moved his arm into Sam's reach. Sam rewet the washcloth and after a quick pass over Dean's chest and armpit (got to focus on areas of high heat), he put it down and took Dean's wrist in one hand, and put his other hand on his brother's elbow. Dean sucked in his breath as soon as Sam's fingers made contact with the bruise - likely his pain tolerance was down due to the fever and sickness, but Sam needed to be sure. Apologising as he went, Sam gently extended and flexed the arm, surreptitiously feeling Dean's pulse as he went. It was a little fast but it was strong and steady, and it brought him some mild comfort. Dean groaned lightly as his elbow bent, but it was only once Sam began to prod at the injured area that he hissed and flinched.

"I think it's just badly bruised, but damn, Dean. You knocked it pretty hard. Once you can manage the Tylenol, I'll get you some ice."

"Think I can m-manage now."

"Maybe the Pepto helped, then. I guess we can try." Sam dared to hope. They really needed a win right now. "Here, take these but just a little sip of Gatorade, okay? Once they bring your fever down, you can try to drink some more."

Dean swallowed the pills and Sam waited anxiously for them to come back up, but so far, so good, it would seem.

"M'tired, Sam." The hunter's eyes fluttered shut and soon, his breathing evened out in sleep. Sam watched him closely for any signs of impending sickness, but when there were none, he relaxed a bit. After a while, his own eyes started to grow heavy, too. He thought about getting Dean back to bed and putting some ice on his elbow, but the last thing he wanted to do was to disturb him and risk triggering a fresh wave of nausea. He checked his watch and realised enough time had passed that he could take Dean's temperature again. He slipped the thermometer into the older hunter's mouth, and Dean didn't so much as stir. As Sam waited for it to beep, he yawned and tried to get comfortable against the bathroom wall, curling his arm protectively over his sick brother. Soon enough, the thermometer beeped: 101.6F. With a sigh of relief, Sam let his eyes slide shut, and moments later he had followed Dean into sleep. Dean's illness was probably far from over and when they woke up he'd need fluids, more meds, and maybe even a doctor, but all that could wait. For now, they had their win.