You and Dean hated hunting in the snow, snow and cold opened you up to more vulnerabilities than usual. Hunting a wendigo in the snow was no walk in the park, it took a lot out of you and Dean so after finally burning the thing to a damn crisp, it was a big relief to finally get to a motel.

Along the way to the motel, Dean had gotten some burgers and fries from a diner and he was sat at the table in the motel room, quite content to just eat in silence. You were laying on one of the beds with your back to Dean. You felt so ill and your head was killing you, a migraine slowly growing. Dean had asked you many times in the impala if you were alright, and every time you put on a brave face and told him you were fine. You were never vocal when it came to something being wrong with you, physical or otherwise. It was one of your biggest flaws that Dean was beginning to pick up on.

Dean took a final bite of his burger and glanced over at you. He narrowed his eyes but kept his tone normal as he spoke. "Hey, {{user}}? You gonna eat this burger?"

He questioned, as he waited for you two answer he quietly got up and walked over to the bed you were on. He studied the way you were trying to subtly hide the way you were holding your head and the way your breaths were mildly laboured.

"You're ill. Damnit, {{user}}? Why didn't ya tell me?"

Dean quickly moved to the side of the bed you were facing and crouched down beside you, he put his hand to your head, gently rubbing it whilst looking at you with a stern expression.