Since I've noticed that my favourite thing to write is hurt/sick/tired Dean (who knew? :P), I decided to start a collection of pieces that I've written and am currently writing all focusing on hurt/sick/tired Dean. I'm planning on having three chapters (maybe more, depending on how it goes), each one focusing on Dean feeling badly in a different way. LOL I sound so mean!!! But I just can't help it, Dean is so adorable when he doesn't feel well.

As most of you who read my work probably already know, sometimes my stories go a little (heehee) overboard on the sap level. I never write slash and never will, I just enjoy bro moments. Hopefully I've managed to keep them in character, even with the level of sap I've written. LOL. Sometimes I just need to write some really sappy stories. I'm sure you guys know the feeling! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing - not Dean and Sam (sob!), Vh1, or Poison (tear!)

The title is from the Bon Jovi song "Blood On Blood". It's an awesome brother song.

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Dean misses Sam. He misses Sam's whining about killing people, he misses Sam's little brotherness, he misses being needed and Sam being there when Dean needs him.

Cause God knows, Dean needs him now. And Sam is not here.

He rubs his eyes hard. No need to cry like a baby. Sam's just out getting dinner.

Is he? Maybe he's out messing around with Ruby. Thought of that?

Shut up. He is not. Sam knows I don't feel well, or whatever. He told me earlier I looked like crap.

So? Maybe he doesn't care.

Shut up!

Dean decides he's going crazy, arguing with himself. His head hurts, his bones hurt, his eyes hurt, everything hurts.

He wishes Sam was there to baby him. Of course he pretends he hates it, but really it's nice to know that someone cares.

Sam would feel his forehead, and make him lay there with a cool cloth on it, and wrestle him into taking medication, and then sit next to him until he falls asleep, making sure he's warm and safe.

Dean rubs his eyes again. They keep watering, stupid eyes. Where's Sam? He's already been gone…

He checks his watch.

Only twenty minutes. Holy crap, Dean. Needy much?

Dean rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He needs Sam. He doesn't care that he's admitting weakness, when he's sick or hurt he needs Sam. He hates feeling helpless and vulnerable, but he still needs Sam. Sam is the only one who's allowed to see him like this.

A whimper escapes him without his permission.

Dammit. Stop being such a friggin baby.

His eyes are beginning to water again when he hears the door open. He stiffens.

That better be Sam, cause I have no strength right now to deal with some friggin monster.

"Dean?"

Yes. Sammy.

He feels a cool hand on his back and yanks his head up out of the pillow. "S'mmy?" He doesn't know how bad he really looks.

Sam sees too-shiny green eyes, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and raw need. "Hey, you okay?" Sam's sitting beside him now, one hand on his back.

Dean gives him a watery smile and turns his head sideways on the pillow so he can see Sam.

"Don't feel so good."

"I can see that. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Sam rubs his back soothingly, then puts his hand on Dean's forehead. Dean relishes the touch, relishes the familiarness of it all, and closes his eyes. Sam is there now. It'll be okay.

"Dean? How do you feel? Other than not good?"

"Crappy," Dean murmurs.

"Yeah, but crappy how?" Sam can't help smiling.

"Back. Head. Eyes. Arms. Legs. Face. Teeth. Hurt," Dean offers, too busy leaning into Sam's hand rubbing his back to speak properly. He can hear the smile in Sam's voice as he says "Okay. Crappy."

Dean feels safe. Safe and happy.

Then Sam's hand is gone, his comforting weight gone from the bed, and Dean sits up despite the pain and dizziness. Sam?

But a moment later, Sam is there, gently pushing him back down. "Lay down, Dean."

Dean fights him, trying to see his face. "Where're you -?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean. Promise," Sam says calmly, and Dean lets himself be pushed down.

Sam promised. Sam doesn't break his promises. Dean doesn't think he does, anyway. He struggles to remember if Sam has broken any of his promises ever. He can't remember any.

"Sleep," Sam says gently, and Dean lets himself drift off. Sam will be there, he promised.

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He wakes up. It's still dark. It must be just a couple of hours later. He's feeling a little better, which is a nice change from feeling worse when he wakes up usually.

Sam is watching him. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Dean rasps. His throat still hurts.

Sam is still watching him.

"What?" Dean says.

"Nothing. Just wondering how you ended up with a face like that," Sam says, grinning.

"Lucky one in the family," Dean replies, sniffing.

"It wasn't a compliment," Sam teases.

"You know it was," Dean replies, sitting up gingerly, then stopping as a wave of dizziness overwhelms him.

Sam is there in an instant, helping him back down. "Easy. You've been out for ages."

"Just a couple of hours, Sammy," Dean replies, batting at Sam's hands.

"Yeah… more like two days," Sam says, smirking and ignoring Dean's weak attempts to push him off.

"What?" Dean stares at him.

"Yeah. You were out for a while. You woke up twice, I guess, but you were really out of it, and went back to sleep really quick. I just had the chance to give you some water and medicine before you passed out again."

Dean yawns. "I don't remember that."

"That's cause you were sleeping, genius." Sam pats his arm. "You look a little better now."

Dean grunts. He does feel a bit better. He starts to get up again.

"Dean, you shouldn't be..."

Dean gives him a look. "I have to go to the bathroom, Sam. Unless you'd rather I did it in bed?"

Sam wrinkles his nose. "Okay, okay. No need for that imagery, Dean."

Dean grins. He's still dizzy, but he makes it to the bathroom okay, using his hands on the walls to balance himself. Sam watches from a distance, itching to help, but doesn't. Dean is grateful for it.

When he comes back out, Sam is at the stove. "You hungry?" Dean is surprised to find that he is.

A few minutes later, he's curled up in bed with a bowl of chicken soup. Sam sits on his own bed, pretending he's looking at the laptop and not watching Dean.

"Dude," Dean says, rubbing his eyes. They still hurt, every time he moves them. It feels like there's sand in his eyes, especially in the back. It makes him not want to look around.

"What?" Sam asks innocently, turning his eyes back to the laptop.

Dean rubs his eyes again and doesn't bother to answer. He wonders if he's going blind. He thinks he remembers reading somewhere that when you're going blind, your eyes start hurting. Oh crap. He doesn't even want to think about that.

"What's the matter?" Sam asks.

Dean takes a moment to marvel at how quickly Sam notices something is wrong. He debates on whether or not he wants to tell Sam, and then decides he does. Better to have Sam know he's going blind before it happens.

"My eyes hurt," he mumbles, squeezing them shut, and then opening them again. They still hurt. "Dunno why." He doesn't mention that he might be going blind. See what Sam says first.

"Yeah, it's from your fever," Sam says immediately. "Is it that bad?"

Dean lets out a teeny sigh of relief. No need for Sam to know what he's been afraid is happening. "No."

Sam huffs loudly. "Sure it is. You're rubbing your eyes like there's salt in them."

Dean can't help but laugh. "How weird are we that we know what salt feels like in your eyes?"

Sam smirks and stands up, putting aside the laptop. "It hurts to move your eyes, right?"

Dean nods, eyeing him warily by turning his head instead of his eyes. Sam switches on the TV. "Try watching TV. You barely have to move your eyes. Always works for me."

Dean gives him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sam flops down next to him on his bed.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean says, with no heat. Sam doesn't bother to answer, he just sits up against the headboard. Dean doesn't ask him again, because he doesn't actually want him to leave. He pulls himself up next to Sam, and they sit there, shoulder to shoulder.

"Vh1 Behind the Music is on," Sam offers, flicking through to the proper channel. "The Poison one."

"Are you kidding? Awesome. Poison rocks," Dean says, grinning. Sam smiles back, pleased he's found something to Dean's liking.

Dean hasn't seen this particular rockumentary in what feels like years. Or maybe it really has been years. Time is confusing since he's come back from Hell. He leans against Sam's shoulder and focuses on the familiar images. He's almost asleep when he hears C.C. DeVille's voice saying "I'm scared to die only because - I'm scared to not be part of tomorrow."

He opens his eyes all the way and looks at the platinum blond rockstar on the screen. Those words, ever since the first time he watched this show, have always stuck with him. He and Sam, they face not being part of tomorrow every day. He thinks of how strange it is that they've forgotten stuff like that. That it's so commonplace to have your life in danger that you don't even think about it anymore. What a weird life.

Sam nudges him. "How's the eyes?"

"Better," Dean replies, and realizes it's true as soon as he's said it. He smiles at Sam. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Dean tries to finish watching the program, but soon he's drifted off, his head fully leaning on Sam's shoulder, feeling warm and safe and happy. So maybe their lives always are in danger. But the thing is, as long as Sam's beside him, he feels like he can face it every time.

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So what did you think? Too much sap? Just the right amount of sap? Not enough? ;) Do let me know! :)

I've started working on the other chapters, and I hope to have them up within the next few weeks.

As always, thank you so much for reading!

~Deanandhisimpala