Why so snotty?
I was going to whine at you guys about being sick. I wrote this instead.
***
Sam has seen his brother face down the most frightening things in the world, including the hounds of hell and Lucifer himself, usually with something quippy, if not always particularly clever, rolling off his tongue. Which just makes this whole thing that much more ridiculous.
"I'm telling you, I'm dying. I'm cursed and I'm dying," Dean says from the bed. He has his arm thrown (rather dramatically, if you ask Sam) over his eyes to block out what little light is coming in through the window.
"You're not cursed, Dean. It's a cold," Sam says with as much patience as he can muster. He went out on a supply run to Walgreens earlier and brought back everything ever made by mankind that could possibly make Dean feel better, but Dean is refusing to believe that he could be affected by something so pedestrian as a cold.
Dean turns to glare at Sam. "This is not a cold." Case and point. "My brain feels like it's currently trying to burrow it's way out through my forehead. And the snot!" Dean sits up at this. "Where did it all come from? What does it want? It definitely does not come in peace. I could not produce that much snot on my own." He flops back down on the bed and winces. "Obviously I've pissed off some sort of mucus demon and I'm being punished."
Sam bites his lip and tries not to laugh. He pulls out the box of Advil Cold & Sinus and tosses it at Dean (He'd purchased a neti pot as well, only to have Dean whisper Christo at him over and over until he'd put it back in the bag). "Take a couple of these. They'll help." He goes into the bathroom to get Dean some water.
When Sam comes back into the room, Castiel is standing there, a confused look on his face.
"Dude." Sam looks pointedly at Dean. "Tell me you didn't call Cas about this."
"I wanted to check and see if Lucifer managed to release Pestilence. It's valid!"
"Dean," Sam says, exasperated. "He has a cold," he tells Castiel. "All he needs is some drugs and a lot of sleep."
"I've been possessed by a mucus demon and I'm probably dying," Dean says over him.
"I see," Castiel says. He tilts his head, then reaches out and taps Dean between the eyes. Dean starts snoring immediately.
"Did you..." Sam looks at Castiel, eyes wide. "Did you just knock him out?"
"You said he needed sleep?"
"Coolest. Power. Ever." Sam points at him and grins. "I kind of love you right now, Cas."
"Um, Sam." Castiel shifts a little, looking uncomfortable.
Sam sighs. "I wasn't propositioning you," he says tiredly.
"Oh. Well, then." Castiel nods, looking vaguely pleased, and disappears.
"Cool. Thanks. Talk to you later, man," Sam mutters as he grabs the remote and flops down on the other bed. Dean snorts loudly and turns onto his side, his back to Sam. Sam decides that Dean's new nickname is, until further notice, Snotmonster.
He feels good about thid decision.
***
Yeah, okay. Dean is totally my Mary Sue here. I AM SICK AND CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE. Alas, I do not have an angel to come put me to sleep. *SADFACE*
Bedtime now?
***
Sam has seen his brother face down the most frightening things in the world, including the hounds of hell and Lucifer himself, usually with something quippy, if not always particularly clever, rolling off his tongue. Which just makes this whole thing that much more ridiculous.
"I'm telling you, I'm dying. I'm cursed and I'm dying," Dean says from the bed. He has his arm thrown (rather dramatically, if you ask Sam) over his eyes to block out what little light is coming in through the window.
"You're not cursed, Dean. It's a cold," Sam says with as much patience as he can muster. He went out on a supply run to Walgreens earlier and brought back everything ever made by mankind that could possibly make Dean feel better, but Dean is refusing to believe that he could be affected by something so pedestrian as a cold.
Dean turns to glare at Sam. "This is not a cold." Case and point. "My brain feels like it's currently trying to burrow it's way out through my forehead. And the snot!" Dean sits up at this. "Where did it all come from? What does it want? It definitely does not come in peace. I could not produce that much snot on my own." He flops back down on the bed and winces. "Obviously I've pissed off some sort of mucus demon and I'm being punished."
Sam bites his lip and tries not to laugh. He pulls out the box of Advil Cold & Sinus and tosses it at Dean (He'd purchased a neti pot as well, only to have Dean whisper Christo at him over and over until he'd put it back in the bag). "Take a couple of these. They'll help." He goes into the bathroom to get Dean some water.
When Sam comes back into the room, Castiel is standing there, a confused look on his face.
"Dude." Sam looks pointedly at Dean. "Tell me you didn't call Cas about this."
"I wanted to check and see if Lucifer managed to release Pestilence. It's valid!"
"Dean," Sam says, exasperated. "He has a cold," he tells Castiel. "All he needs is some drugs and a lot of sleep."
"I've been possessed by a mucus demon and I'm probably dying," Dean says over him.
"I see," Castiel says. He tilts his head, then reaches out and taps Dean between the eyes. Dean starts snoring immediately.
"Did you..." Sam looks at Castiel, eyes wide. "Did you just knock him out?"
"You said he needed sleep?"
"Coolest. Power. Ever." Sam points at him and grins. "I kind of love you right now, Cas."
"Um, Sam." Castiel shifts a little, looking uncomfortable.
Sam sighs. "I wasn't propositioning you," he says tiredly.
"Oh. Well, then." Castiel nods, looking vaguely pleased, and disappears.
"Cool. Thanks. Talk to you later, man," Sam mutters as he grabs the remote and flops down on the other bed. Dean snorts loudly and turns onto his side, his back to Sam. Sam decides that Dean's new nickname is, until further notice, Snotmonster.
He feels good about thid decision.
***
Yeah, okay. Dean is totally my Mary Sue here. I AM SICK AND CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE. Alas, I do not have an angel to come put me to sleep. *SADFACE*
Bedtime now?