This is a sort of sequel to my story Sick Head, in which Dean has his first migraine. You don't have to read it to read this, the only prior knowledge required is knowing that Dean gets migraines. Shannanigans suggested a sequel where Sammy has a migraine, so here it is!

"All right, Sammy! I say it's Caddyshack time!" Dean bellowed with a wide grin plastered on his face as he marched into the motel room after work, looking forward to some quality time with his brother. After renting the movie this week, he was itching to watch it, but his work schedule at the garage simply wouldn't allow. However tonight, on a blissful Friday night, he got off early. Finally he got a night to just him and Sammy.

He frowned, noticing for the first time that the lights were off. It was only nine pm, why would Sammy be asleep already? "Sam?" he called, flipping the lights on so that he could see more clearly.

A soft groan from across the room caught Dean's attention. Immediately, dozens of worst-case scenarios flew through his mind. No no no, this was not happening. What was it? Demons? Werewolf, Skinwalker, poltergeist? The groan was definitely a pained one, so what had gotten to Sam while he was gone? He'd been foolish, thinking that he could leave Sam alone for five hours in some skanky hotel, even if the kid was seventeen. However, when he crossed the room, he didn't see a mangled, bloody Sam, but his little brother curled up in the fetal position on the grimy floors, hands clutching his head almost desperately.

Dean knelt down beside him, grabbing his arms lightly. "Sam?" he prompted quietly.

Sam lifted his eyes, which were scrunched up against the light. "Know how you feel now," he rasped, smiling wryly. "Gotta headache."

It took Dean a moment to process what Sam had just said. "You mean you gotta migraine?"

Sam shrugged meekly. "Think so," he mumbled.

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent his own impending headache. "Great," he grumbled. "That's just great."

Sam made a soft, keening sound. "Don't be mad."

"Not mad, Sammy," Dean quickly corrected himself. "Just wish you didn't have to go through this."

"Could just be a one-time thing."

"Maybe," Dean conceded, though both boys knew that real migraines tended to be reoccurring. "C'mon bro, let's get you into bed."

Sam sighed. "'Kay."

It was difficult, what with Sam being nearly taller than him now and nothing but gangly limbs, but Dean did it. He mad sure not to let Sam get jostled too much, since he knew that too movement often induced nausea, which only amplified the headache by about one-hundred. Dean fetched the Excedrin that they always made sure to carry around with them for Dean's use and gave two of the white pills to his brother. "Here you are," he said in a soft tone. "Swallow quick, don't dwell on it."

Sam grunted in what Dean hoped was an affirmative. He blindly clutched the pills and swallowed them as quickly as he could, washing them down with the water bottle Dean was also holding.

"Thanks, kiddo," Dean whispered, rubbing Sam's neck along the base of his head. He stiffened at first, but eventually let the soothing circles rubbed into his scalp drag him to sleep. "Just relax, I got ya."

Once Sam was sleeping, albeit fitfully, Dean let himself relax. So much for a relaxing night. He popped an Excedrin to kick the stupid headache that was nagging him, since he didn't need a full-on migraine attack when Sammy needed him. He didn't totally understand why, but stress always triggered one, and seeing your little brother writhing in the same pain that you've had too many times in your life definitely raises your stress levels.

He dozed off on the couch for some time before choking gasps caught his attention. Immediately, Dean sprang up and rushed to the bathroom, knowing exactly what was happening. Stabbing pity overwhelmed him when he indeed saw his little brother hunched over the toilet, strings of bile slipping from his throat. Heaves wracked his body, tears were dripping out of his eyes. Dean understood; he knew firsthand how that felt.

"It's okay, Sammy. Let it all out," Dean murmured, wrapping his arms around his brother as his stomach revolted. Sam whimpered, a few sobs escaping his lips.

The vomiting didn't last too long, thank goodness. By the end of the ordeal, Sam's head was drooping and he was breathing tightly, fingers pressed firmly to his temples. He sagged against Dean, who murmured a litany of calming statements. Sammy probably wasn't paying attention to his words, but the tone of voice would assure him that Dean was there.

Before long, Sam was asleep in Dean's arms. A pained expression was engraved onto his face, but he was breathing steadily and he looked overall peaceful. Dean tried not to dwell on how awkward it was to have his seventeen-year-old brother literally laying on top of him and attempted to focus on the fact that he was helping his brother as he had many times before. This time, he was just…bigger. Dean's butt was falling asleep as well in the awkward position he was seated in, but he didn't mind. Moving right now would be counterproductive, since it seemed as if Sam would be sleeping for awhile. Dean hardly noticed when he drifted off as well.

A loud banging woke Dean up abruptly. Someone was knocking on the door. Groaning at his uncomfortable position and the dull throbbing that had taken residence near his right eyebrow, he gently shifted Sam out of his arms and into what he hoped was a semi-comfortable position on the cracked tile flooring. Once he saw who was at the door, he'd return.

It was only six am, so Dean's face creased in suspicion. He grabbed his sawed-off and, treading lightly, glanced through the peephole.

It was Dad.

Sighing in relief, Dean opened the door. "You're back," he said with a grateful smile.

John grinned shortly. As he walked in stiffly, he patted Dean's back. "Where's Sam?" he suddenly asked, voice hard and accusatory.

"In the bathroom, sir," Dean supplied quickly, not wanting his father to draw the conclusion that Sam had run away again or was missing. "He, uh, had a pretty bad headache last night. We fell asleep in there last night."

John looked Dean up and down. "I can tell, you look awful."

Dean scoffed.

"So, was it a migraine?" John asked.

Dean chewed on his lower lip. "Looked like it, sir. He hasn't woken yet, so don't go barking orders yet. His head probably still hurts."

John nodded. "Noted. Thanks for takin' care of him."

Dean shrugged in nonchalance. "It's no problem."

"Let's get him outta the bathroom. I'm sure he'll enjoy a soft bed."

"Think he enjoyed me as a soft bed last night."

John chuckled. Both men made sure to stay quiet as they hoisted the youngest to his feet in a slow manner. Sam groaned, curling instinctively into Dean at the movement. "It's all right, Sam," Dean reassured, "we're just moving you to a bed. I dunno about you, but this tile's not doing a good thing for my back."

Sam mumbled a response that sounded vaguely like, "That's 'cause you're an old man."

Finally, the bed was reached and Sam was laid down with ease. Soon enough, he'd fallen asleep again. Dean studied his brother's face dutifully. Many of the pain lines that had been marring it earlier had definitely faded, which was a wonderful sign. Most migraines lasted anywhere from four hours to seventy-two, so it appeared as if Sam had been on the luckier side of the spectrum.

"Why don't you get some sleep too, kiddo?" John suggested out of nowhere, voice low. Dean turned to face him, confused. "You really do look awful, and I see a potential migraine coming on. Take some meds and hit the hay."

Dean couldn't protest to that. Surprisingly, most of the time his dad could tell when he was getting a headache before even he could. The earlier it was caught, the more chance of preventing it, so Dean listened to Dad about this very seriously. Anything to prevent a migraine. "Thanks, Dad," Dean murmured as he settled into bed next to Sammy.

"Any time, kiddo."

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