Chapter Text
Leaning over the toilet, he releases all of that morning's, and what felt like yesterday's, breakfast into the bowl. His stomach seizes and he can only kneel, waiting for the ride to end.
It's been happening on and off for the better part of three weeks now. He was so sure that it had just been a small bug or the flu, but let it be said that nothing was ever easy for Dean Winchester. With his luck he probably had the bubonic plague.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slumps to the ground. The bunker's bathroom is hardly discreet, the toilets were private but damn if everyone wasn't washing their hands at the same time. He wants to wash out the remnants of his brunch date with the toilet, but he knows Sam is just on the other side, probably combing his stupid hair or putting on mascara.
He hears the broken and rumbling sounds of mouthwash and his own mouth practically salivates.
Dammit.
Sliding a hand down his face, Dean tries to mentally erase the past five minutes in his mind as he opens the door. As slowly and nonchalantly as possible, he saunters over to the sinks. Sam is looking at him through the mirror, his eyes already conveying the questions he's dying to pester Dean with.
Sam knows he's been sick lately, he's probably wondering what the hell is going on, but to be honest, so was Dean. He could practically eat a stick of butter and be fine, his stomach was ironclad...normally.
Now though, for whatever reason, it was being a bitch.
Like Sam.
The thought makes him smile, and Sam is thankfully too busy rinsing out toothpaste to notice. Dean makes quick work of rinsing out his mouth, his knees practically going weak at the thought of being clean. He almost makes it out scott-free, but Sam's already finished getting ready for the day, and he's still there.
Like some weird formality, he waits until Dean's finished, his arms are crossed over his chest in deep contemplation. He looks kind of like their dad when he does that. If Dean straightens up because of that, he doesn't notice, but he puts his toiletries away all the same.
"Dean-
"I know, before you say anything else, I know. It ain't normal chucking up this much and this often."
"So why don't you just go to the doctor?" Sam asks and Dean hates how tempting that idea is.
"I'll figure it out, I don't need some creepy old dude in gloves telling me to bend over and cough for a little nausea."
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Waving his hands out, Sam's eyes nearly bulge out of his head. Of course the little nerd thinks he should see a doctor.
"Dean! You could be sick or-or you could have a strand of the flu virus. The flu kills like 300,000 people per year around the world. Half of our job is traveling around9, you could have caught it from anyone!"
"Oh for the love of- you know what, fine. I'll go to the friggen doctor if it will shut you up." Dean seethes.
Like the little shit that he is, Sam smiles.
"Okay, but I'm coming with you."
A second ago, Dean hadn't thought it possible for his frown to go down any further, but now he knows it can.
"Can it Samantha, I can take myself to the damn doctor and come back in one piece."
Honestly, he probably couldn't. Driving made him queasy, as much as he hated to admit. But that wasn't the point. He didn't want to know if something was wrong. They had just gotten mom back and he knew there were going to be repercussions, there always were when things like this happened. Nothing good ever happened to them for no reason. Sure, he may have ended a feud between God and his sister, but fate liked kicking him in the junk whenever it got the chance.
If Sam went, that would mean he'd actually go to the doctor and the doctor would most likely find some crazy shit. And then he'd die. Because that was how unlucky he was.
"No Dean, I'm going with you, I don't want you bailing at the last second. You need to go to the doctor so just suck it up and get dressed. We're going."
Grumbling, Dean storms off to his room, most definitely not slamming his door.
An hour later has them sitting in the waiting room of the nearest doctor. A private practice, small, but this was rural Kansas he wasn't expecting Vegas. Anything bigger than a shoe box worked for him.
The receptionist had already taken the clipboard he had filled out with their latest (fakest) credentials. He went with his first name just to be ahead of the curve. He could answer to pretty much any name by now, but if something really was wrong, he wanted the doctor to tell him, the REAL him, or as close as he could get without turning up any old warrants.
Sam is sitting patiently beside him, flipping through the pages of some health-freak magazine, probably taking notes in his head.
Dean couldn't sit still for the life of him. He was shifting in his seat, his leg bouncing up and down at varying speeds. He contemplated taking his phone out but he didn't want to be mid-text with his mom until he absolutely knew what was wrong.
He sighs. It's been three, almost four weeks that Mary has been back and he wants to talk to her all the time. Like when he was a kid and he'd wait outside of the bathroom for her to finish. Kind of like what Sam had done for him today.
Maybe Sammy wasn't like their dad, maybe he was like their mom.
The thought was a pleasant one, giving him the smallest of smiles and the biggest waves of pride in his chest.
Dean turned to look at his brother, the words practically dancing on his tongue. He contemplates saying them out loud but they were blocked by this sudden cloud of emotion that he swore he didn't have seconds ago. Nearly ready to burst into tears, Dean turned away, simultaneously pissed off and embarrassed.
What the hell was going on?
Before he could even try to come up with a possible answer, a man in a white lab coat called out his name.
"Dean Bonham?"
Blinking, Dean got to his feet, patting Sammy once on the shoulder as he approached the doctor.
"Hello, Mr. Bonham, I'm Dr. Mercury how are you doing today?"
Dean took hold of his hand, shaking it once and shrugging his shoulders.
"Sick. Not much else to it doc, but my brother said I should come down here and double check...so...here I am."
Sam was still sitting in the waiting area, pretending like he wasn't eavesdropping. Dean rolled his eyes, but he was happy nonetheless. It was nice to have someone in his corner. Even if he was a pain in the ass.
"Alright, well let's head on back to the examination room and we'll try an have a look-see at what might be the problem."
With one last look at his brother, Dean followed after the doctor.
"Doc, I gotta be honest, I got pretty weird luck so if I'm sick it's probably something weird or something old. If it's bad, I'm telling you, I probably got it. And if I don't got it, I'll probably get flattened by a piano or something on my way out of the office."
Gesturing him to enter the examination room, Dr. Mercury was wearing an amused smile. He strode over to the sink in the room, washing his hands before he could add any commentary on Dean's colorful diagnosis.
"I'm sure it's not as severe as you might be thinking, but I will not exclude any possibility out of the picture here."
A small check up with his ears, eyes, and nose didn't show him much, but the doctor continued on with his examination. Dean sat, only moving when the doctor wanted to him to, and tried not to think about the possibilities of what might be causing his sickness.
Finishing the preliminary examination, the doctor sat down in front of him, the clipboard holding his intake form in hand. "So, I see on your form you said you were experiencing strong bouts of nausea, I have to ask, are you taking anything that might be inspiring nausea or inducing vomiting?"
Dean shook his head, he and Sam hardly took anything stronger than an aspirin, and if any injuries needed something stronger, they had whiskey.
"Any recent activities that could have started this, and this could be a manner of all sorts of things. Sudden spikes of nerves, lingering anxiety, stomach sensitivity, anything you can come up with that could possibly help me find what I'm looking for?
Dean was ready to shake his head again, put out by all of these damn questions, but then he thought about his mother and their recent battle with God and Amara, and then the battle changing into a peace treaty. Honestly, that was a whole whirlwind of emotions and constant stress. It makes his stomach turn just thinking about it.
"Stress, yeah, that could be a, uh, a factor. But I haven't been doing much of what I was a couple weeks back. I guess my body is catching up with me or something. I'm like, constantly tired and my back hurts. I also- well, I wasn't going to say this, but I don't normally burst into tears. I was seconds away from losing it in the waiting room over something that shouldn't have made me...upset?"
Dean shook his head again, the beginnings of a headache threatening him already.
"Y'know what, its probably just stress, I'm sorry doc-
Doctor Mercury had been noting down his symptoms while he was talking, but Dean wasn't paying attention until now. The doctor looked up, waiting to see if Dean would continue or not, and when the hunter remained silent, the doctor picked up the lull almost immediately.
"I think I'd like to take a couple of blood samples and run a few tests, try and see if there might be any contributing factors other than stress, but I can call you in a few days to process the results."
A blood pressure test and a blood sample later and the doctor was patting him on the shoulder.
"All right Mr. Bonham, I will look into your samples as soon as I can, until then, try to stay away from foods or drinks that could possibly worsen your stomach problem. No alcohol, greasy food, stick to baked or boiled things, especially fresh fruits or vegetables. Anything you can stomach, you should eat."
Dean nodded once again, if not begrudgingly, and allowed the doctor to lead him back to the waiting room. Dean jerked his head toward the door as soon as Sam looked up. The two were in the impala, Sam was staring at him expectantly, but Dean waved off his concern. When he got answers, Sam could get answers, until then the little shit could wait.