Back To Bed
I had this ridiculous urge to write something and it's incredibly self indulgent and yeah. Don't worry about the plot/time period or anything, nothing makes sense, in this world Sam and Dean are living in the bunker but they've adopted a stray cat, because reasons.
“Huh-HTSHCHSHUH!”
“Well that’s a hell of an entrance. You trying to blow the bunker down?”
Margo gives a soft mew from the top of a bookshelf, and Sam groans, slumped against the doorframe like it’s all that’s holding him up. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers, and his comforter is wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. Dean takes in his brother’s appearance; red nose, dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking out all over the place. He looks like shit.
“You look like shit.”
Margo mews in agreement and jumps from the bookshelf to the table, where she sits and watches Sam as he scrubs at his nose.
“Thanks, jerk.” Sam fold his arms across his chest. “ And I’ll try to sneeze quieter next time.”
“Oh god no,” Dean replies. “Remember yesterday when you tried not to sneeze and you almost fell over?”
“I can’t help it,” Sam mutters. He plops down into a chair across from Dean. Dean’s not sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the cold, or from embarrassment. He doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, since Sam’s breath begins to hitch.
“Hh-hhh…ehhhhh…”
Dean slides a box of Kleenex across the table, but Sam opts for his blanket-covered arm.
“HASHSHshuh!”
“Gesundheit.”
“Thanks.” Sam sniffles and reaches for his computer, but Dean holds up a hand.
“We’re not working a case right now. Back to bed, Sammy.”
Sam huffs, but complies, pushing himself up from the table with a loud sigh and another powerful sneeze.
Dean watches Sam shuffle back toward his bedroom, then reaches over to pet Margo, who has curled up on top of Sam’s closed laptop.
“He’s such a baby when he’s sick,” he says to the cat, but she’s sound asleep, her purring soon joined by loud, congested snores.
“Huh-HTSHCHSHUH!”
“Well that’s a hell of an entrance. You trying to blow the bunker down?”
Margo gives a soft mew from the top of a bookshelf, and Sam groans, slumped against the doorframe like it’s all that’s holding him up. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers, and his comforter is wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. Dean takes in his brother’s appearance; red nose, dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking out all over the place. He looks like shit.
“You look like shit.”
Margo mews in agreement and jumps from the bookshelf to the table, where she sits and watches Sam as he scrubs at his nose.
“Thanks, jerk.” Sam fold his arms across his chest. “ And I’ll try to sneeze quieter next time.”
“Oh god no,” Dean replies. “Remember yesterday when you tried not to sneeze and you almost fell over?”
“I can’t help it,” Sam mutters. He plops down into a chair across from Dean. Dean’s not sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the cold, or from embarrassment. He doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, since Sam’s breath begins to hitch.
“Hh-hhh…ehhhhh…”
Dean slides a box of Kleenex across the table, but Sam opts for his blanket-covered arm.
“HASHSHshuh!”
“Gesundheit.”
“Thanks.” Sam sniffles and reaches for his computer, but Dean holds up a hand.
“We’re not working a case right now. Back to bed, Sammy.”
Sam huffs, but complies, pushing himself up from the table with a loud sigh and another powerful sneeze.
Dean watches Sam shuffle back toward his bedroom, then reaches over to pet Margo, who has curled up on top of Sam’s closed laptop.
“He’s such a baby when he’s sick,” he says to the cat, but she’s sound asleep, her purring soon joined by loud, congested snores.