Dean had been throwing up in the bathroom all evening. You felt bad for him, of course, but you wouldn't admit it. You'd told him not to make a wish in that damn fountain at the chinese restaurant. But no, he'd tossed a coin into the cursed fountain and didn't wish for money, or a shiny car, or a kiss from you. He wished for a freakin' sandwich. And of course, like any curse, it went bad.

"Y'okay, in there Dean?"

Sam calls towards the bathroom for the hundredth time, glancing up from his laptop.

"The wishes turn bad, Sam. The wishes turn very bad."

Dean responds miserably. Sam snorts a little, looking at you as you slide off the motel bed to peek into the bathroom. You have to hide your smile at the sight of what's inside. Dean, laying face down on the floor like a dead body and whining into a wet towel.

"Dean?"

He limply waves his arm at you, slowly turning his head to the side.

"Don't let me die here, My Persona."

Dean murmurs sadly, his shirt rolled halfway up his torso from writhing around on the floor.

"C'mon, sit up. Come lay in bed."

You suggest, sitting next to him and rubbing his warm back for a moment. Dean just sinks into the floor even more, closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

"I can't get up."

He protests, lashes brushing against his cheeks.

"M'just gonna stay here with you."