mickeym

Title: The Nighttime Sniffling-Sneezing-Aching-Coughing-Stuffy-Head-Fever-So-You-Can-Rest Medicine
Pairing: Sam/Dean (implied)
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~850
Spoilers: vague AHBL2 references
Warnings: none, unless you don't know what the pairing references
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off them. Sadly.
Notes: Just a little bit of comfort, Winchester-style, for

mkitty3, 'cos she's not feeling well. I'd so send the real boys to you if I could, honey. *hugs*

"You need anything? Juice? Water? Some more soup? How 'bout some sherbert for your throat?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I'm good, man, thanks." His voice sounded like a cross between a hoarse whisper and a croak. His throat felt the way his voice sounded, too, and he glanced at his watch, hoping it was time for more Advil. No such luck.

"Maybe we should go to the Urgent Care Center, get you checked out."

"It's just a cold, Dean. I'm fine." Sam coughed into a handful of tissues and eyed Dean warily. He didn't get sick very often -- thank God -- but when he did, Dean had a tendency to hover (though Sam knew he would deny it with his dying breath). A lot.

Kind of like he was doing now.

"Yeah, right. You sound like you swallowed a frog. Or ten frogs." Dean shook his head. "It might be from that witches' coven we cleared out earlier in the week. There was all kinds of shit flying around--"

Sam coughed again and closed his eyes. "Dean. It's. A. Cold," he said, carefully enunciating each word. "Now lemme alone to die in peace, huh?"

He wanted to call the words back as soon as he said them, and when Sam opened his eyes Dean was frozen in place, staring at him with a haunted look in his eyes. The scar on his back ached then, probably as a reminder that there were some things that they just couldn't joke about any more. Too much history between them with death.

"Dean, I--"

Dean waved his hand casually, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. "Forget it, Sammy. I know it's--I know." He rubbed his hand over his face and Sam sighed. The last year? Sucked ass. In a huge way.

"I'm sorry, man. Hey," Sam reached a hand out and snagged Dean's wrist as he paced back past the bed. "You're making me dizzy. Sit down with me?"

"You're gonna get me sick too, breathing on me. And dude, you're dizzy 'cos your head's full of snot." But Dean let Sam tug him down onto the bed beside him, then relaxed back against the headboard.

"Ew, thanks for that." Sam shifted until he could lean against Dean, mostly upright so he could still breathe, but taking the comfort Dean offered with his presence.

"I live to serve." A small smile played at the corners of Dean's mouth and Sam leaned in to kiss it. Dean grunted and elbowed Sam in the ribs. "You get me sick and I'm gonna smother you in your sleep."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam closed his eyes again, wishing for sleep. The cruel thing about colds: you needed sleep to get better, but until you got better, it was hard to sleep. He coughed and shifted some more, trying to find a comfortable spot.

He must have found one and dozed off, because the next thing Sam was aware of was a laugh-track from the TV waking him up. He felt like absolute shit--throat sore and dry, skin hot and tight, head pounding. He made an aborted attempt to sit upright, then slumped back against Dean when everything shifted around him.

"You need some more meds?" Dean's voice felt like warm honey sliding over the ache behind Sam's eyes. The gentle hand that stroked through Sam's hair felt even better.

"'S it time yet?' He sounded even croakier than before.

"Yeah, think so. It's after midnight. Hang on." Dean moved away and the bed shifted as he got up. Sam closed his eyes against the bright light of the bathroom and waited until the mattress dipped again to open them. Dean settled in beside him and handed him a bottle of cold water and some pills. "Need anything else?"

Sam swallowed the pills down and sighed; the water felt so good sliding down his throat. "Just," he stopped to cough, shaking his head when Dean shifted anxiously. "'M okay," Sam managed. "Just need you, man."

He heard Dean take a breath and waited for the inevitable mocking comment to come. Really, Sam didn't mind the mocking so much; he'd had a lifetime to get used to it, and it was pretty much how Dean said 'I love you'.

When Dean didn't say anything, Sam glanced over. "Dean?"

"I want cherry popsicles for my throat," he said finally, moving his arm up and around Sam. Sam leaned in gratefully.

"Your throat hurts?" He asked, when Dean's words finally registered.

"Not yet, but you're breathing nasty little germs all over me. I'm expecting it any time, now." Cool fingers stroked over his hot forehead and Sam smiled as he settled in against Dean.

"I'll make sure I get cherry," he promised.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean muttered, pressing a kiss to Sam's forehead. "I got you."

I know, Sam thought, closing his eyes. The gentle stroking continued, following him into his dreams.

~fin~