Supernatural drabbles: Bruised and Soggy
Disclaimer: All hail Kripke, owner of Supernatural.
Cross Posted: Again but with Colds hosted by mad_server.
Prompt: Sam is sick with that horrible achy, exhausted, sore throat, headache, stuffy, sneezy, wish-you-were-dead flu. Jess tries to nurse him and asks what his Dad used to do when he was sick go make him feel better, sharing what her mom used to do and knowing Sam's mom is long passed. Sam, all sick, starts telling her about Dean.
***
Bruised
"I love you, Jess."
Jess' hand stills, but after a moment she resumes draping the wet facecloth over her boyfriend's forehead. Over Sam's pleased moan, she says teasingly, but in a higher voice than she had hoped for, "As a mother? Or as a girlfriend?"
"I love you, Jess," Sam repeats.
Jess shakes her head. She lifts the facecloth and slips her hand over Sam's expansive forehead. Sam moans again.
When Jess has replaced the facecloth Sam hooks one side of his mouth and produces one dimple for her. "My head is too big for it all to fry. Don't worry."
Jess knows that the flu is just a part of life. She knows that it's fruitless to try to find a cure all for the flu because that is always the really sucky thing about the flu: you've mostly just got to ride it out. And yet, Jess feels as restless as Sam's unwell body. She is torn between helping to cure Sam's ailing body right this instant, and running away from Sam's pinched face.
"I don't know how my mom did this." Jess mutters under her breath as she scans Sam's room for anything that might help him.
"You're doing fine," Sam says.
"I don't know," Jess repeats, "you seem really restless, like you can't get comfortable."
Sam grunts. "Dean always said I was especially restless when I was sick. He claimed he had bruises when he had to share a bed with me when I was sick."
Jess stands from where she was perched on Sam's bed. She paces over to her boyfriend's small, drafty dorm window. "Who is Dean?"
"He's my brother," Sam replies and coughs. "I miss him."
Jess opens the curtain. "What happened to him?"
"I went to Stanford."
Jess watches two campus squirrels squabble over a nut and run after each other.
"I never realized how lucky I am until I met you," Jess says.
Sam hears Jess moving back toward him. He coughs and shifts toward her. She rests a hand on his shoulder and says, "maybe you should call him," but she doesn't hand him his phone. Instead she turns out the light and says "don't bruise me."
***
Soggy
"I love you, Jess."
Jess' hand stills, but after a moment she resumes draping the wet facecloth over her boyfriend's forehead. Over Sam's pleased moan, she says teasingly, but in a higher voice than she had hoped for, "As a mother? Or as a girlfriend?"
"I love you, Jess," Sam repeats.
Jess shakes her head. She lifts the facecloth and slips her hand over Sam's expansive forehead. Sam moans again.
When Jess has replaced the facecloth Sam hooks one side of his mouth and produces one dimple for her. "My head is too big for it all to fry. Don't worry."
Jess knows that the flu is just a part of life. She knows that it's fruitless to try to find a cure all for the flu because that is always the really sucky thing about the flu: you've mostly just got to ride it out. And yet, Jess feels as restless as Sam's unwell body. She is torn between helping to cure Sam's ailing body right this instant, and running away from Sam's pinched face.
"I don't know how my mom did this." Jess mutters under her breath as she scans Sam's room for anything that might help him.
"You're doing fine," Sam says.
"I don't know," Jess repeats, "you seem really restless, like you can't get comfortable."
Sam grunts. "Dean always said I was especially restless when I was sick. He claimed he had bruises when he had to share a bed with me when I was sick."
Jess stands from where she was perched on Sam's bed. She paces over to her boyfriend's small, drafty dorm window. "Who is Dean?"
"He's my brother," Sam replies and coughs. "I miss him.” He sniffs hugely.
Jess tosses the tissue box from the desk at Sam's chest. Despite being under siege by the flu, her boyfriend's freakishly good reflexes catch the box before it hits his chest. He tucks the box into his side and grinds a fist into his eye.
"Is the facecloth bothering you?" Jess asks.
"No," Sam sniffs, "it's awesome." But he palms his stomach and rolls onto his side facing the wall. The facecloth flops onto his pillow. Jess gazes out Sam’s window and breathes before she retrieves the facecloth so her boyfriend's pillow doesn't get soggy.
The pillow is damp when Jess lifts the facecloth away, but then she notices the way Sam is drawn in. His legs are bent. His arms are held in to his chest. More important though is the way Sam's lips press together and his eyes squint shut.
Jess is frantically lifting the bag out of the garbage can when Sam says, "I won't leave you." Jess drops the garbage back into the can. Several balls of paper bounce to freedom. Jess doesn't recapture them.
She runs a hand through her hair and rubs her eyes. "Why would you say that?” she asks. “I don’t get you right now. I've got homework. I'll see you in the morning. I hope you feel better. The facecloth is on your dresser." She shuts the door on her babbling mouth before a stream of “I’m sorry”’s can emerge.
In the dark of Sam’s room and heat of his head Dean's farewell statement of love and wish of good health for Sam echo in his head.
Sam's pillow gets soggy.
Cross Posted: Again but with Colds hosted by mad_server.
Prompt: Sam is sick with that horrible achy, exhausted, sore throat, headache, stuffy, sneezy, wish-you-were-dead flu. Jess tries to nurse him and asks what his Dad used to do when he was sick go make him feel better, sharing what her mom used to do and knowing Sam's mom is long passed. Sam, all sick, starts telling her about Dean.
***
Bruised
"I love you, Jess."
Jess' hand stills, but after a moment she resumes draping the wet facecloth over her boyfriend's forehead. Over Sam's pleased moan, she says teasingly, but in a higher voice than she had hoped for, "As a mother? Or as a girlfriend?"
"I love you, Jess," Sam repeats.
Jess shakes her head. She lifts the facecloth and slips her hand over Sam's expansive forehead. Sam moans again.
When Jess has replaced the facecloth Sam hooks one side of his mouth and produces one dimple for her. "My head is too big for it all to fry. Don't worry."
Jess knows that the flu is just a part of life. She knows that it's fruitless to try to find a cure all for the flu because that is always the really sucky thing about the flu: you've mostly just got to ride it out. And yet, Jess feels as restless as Sam's unwell body. She is torn between helping to cure Sam's ailing body right this instant, and running away from Sam's pinched face.
"I don't know how my mom did this." Jess mutters under her breath as she scans Sam's room for anything that might help him.
"You're doing fine," Sam says.
"I don't know," Jess repeats, "you seem really restless, like you can't get comfortable."
Sam grunts. "Dean always said I was especially restless when I was sick. He claimed he had bruises when he had to share a bed with me when I was sick."
Jess stands from where she was perched on Sam's bed. She paces over to her boyfriend's small, drafty dorm window. "Who is Dean?"
"He's my brother," Sam replies and coughs. "I miss him."
Jess opens the curtain. "What happened to him?"
"I went to Stanford."
Jess watches two campus squirrels squabble over a nut and run after each other.
"I never realized how lucky I am until I met you," Jess says.
Sam hears Jess moving back toward him. He coughs and shifts toward her. She rests a hand on his shoulder and says, "maybe you should call him," but she doesn't hand him his phone. Instead she turns out the light and says "don't bruise me."
***
Soggy
"I love you, Jess."
Jess' hand stills, but after a moment she resumes draping the wet facecloth over her boyfriend's forehead. Over Sam's pleased moan, she says teasingly, but in a higher voice than she had hoped for, "As a mother? Or as a girlfriend?"
"I love you, Jess," Sam repeats.
Jess shakes her head. She lifts the facecloth and slips her hand over Sam's expansive forehead. Sam moans again.
When Jess has replaced the facecloth Sam hooks one side of his mouth and produces one dimple for her. "My head is too big for it all to fry. Don't worry."
Jess knows that the flu is just a part of life. She knows that it's fruitless to try to find a cure all for the flu because that is always the really sucky thing about the flu: you've mostly just got to ride it out. And yet, Jess feels as restless as Sam's unwell body. She is torn between helping to cure Sam's ailing body right this instant, and running away from Sam's pinched face.
"I don't know how my mom did this." Jess mutters under her breath as she scans Sam's room for anything that might help him.
"You're doing fine," Sam says.
"I don't know," Jess repeats, "you seem really restless, like you can't get comfortable."
Sam grunts. "Dean always said I was especially restless when I was sick. He claimed he had bruises when he had to share a bed with me when I was sick."
Jess stands from where she was perched on Sam's bed. She paces over to her boyfriend's small, drafty dorm window. "Who is Dean?"
"He's my brother," Sam replies and coughs. "I miss him.” He sniffs hugely.
Jess tosses the tissue box from the desk at Sam's chest. Despite being under siege by the flu, her boyfriend's freakishly good reflexes catch the box before it hits his chest. He tucks the box into his side and grinds a fist into his eye.
"Is the facecloth bothering you?" Jess asks.
"No," Sam sniffs, "it's awesome." But he palms his stomach and rolls onto his side facing the wall. The facecloth flops onto his pillow. Jess gazes out Sam’s window and breathes before she retrieves the facecloth so her boyfriend's pillow doesn't get soggy.
The pillow is damp when Jess lifts the facecloth away, but then she notices the way Sam is drawn in. His legs are bent. His arms are held in to his chest. More important though is the way Sam's lips press together and his eyes squint shut.
Jess is frantically lifting the bag out of the garbage can when Sam says, "I won't leave you." Jess drops the garbage back into the can. Several balls of paper bounce to freedom. Jess doesn't recapture them.
She runs a hand through her hair and rubs her eyes. "Why would you say that?” she asks. “I don’t get you right now. I've got homework. I'll see you in the morning. I hope you feel better. The facecloth is on your dresser." She shuts the door on her babbling mouth before a stream of “I’m sorry”’s can emerge.
In the dark of Sam’s room and heat of his head Dean's farewell statement of love and wish of good health for Sam echo in his head.
Sam's pillow gets soggy.