Have some fic!
These stories were all written for the Sneezy Sammy Meme.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Title: Detonate
Prompt: "Sam is sneezing soooo much, for whatever reason (but probably itchy allergies), and his eyes are so itchy and watery. Dean thinks he's crying because he's like, upset about all the itchiness or something. He's all gentle with Sam and dries his poor little eyes and is confused when Sam starts laughing at him because Sam is supposed to be all upset."
Word count: 806
It had started with the inevitable tickle in his throat, soon followed by the stuffy nose and itching eyes. High pollen count combined with bad air conditioning and the thick layer of dust that lined the open window frame meant one rather miserable afternoon for Sam. He had been researching a possible case for the last hour, sat at the desk on his laptop, whilst determinedly ignoring the itching of his eyes and tickling in his nose.
Dean would be back any minute now with their dinner, and as soon as he was they could get out of here and into the much more Sam-friendly environment of the Impala.
Sam blew out a breath and shut the laptop, one hand coming up to absently rub at his computer-strained eyes.
His every itchy computer-strained eyes.
Crap.
Pulling his hand away and blinking rapidly to stave off the surge of itchiness he had just uncovered, he took a deep breath in.
Again, crap.
He could practically taste the allergens in the air, and by the speed at which the itchiness spread he was not wrong.
He was fine. It's not like if he sneezed he wouldn't be able to stop and would be resigned to being an stuffy, teary, sneezy mess for the rest of the day. Uh-huh. Not him. He could do this. It was just one sneeze. One tiny sneeze.
One sneeze that was growing behind his nose, scrabbling and scratching and fighting to get it's way out.
He heard the rattle of the lock and the shuffling of feet, but attention was elsewhere. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, breath hitching and shoulders heaving in a desperate attempt to deter the impending sneeze.
However, a hand on his shoulder made him startle, and his eyes shot open with a gasp. Dean was crouched in front of him, eyebrows creased into a frown and a concerned look in his eye.
“Hey, hey Sam, it's just me,” he soothed, brushing the hair off Sam's forehead. “What's wrong, huh?”
Sam could not answer, the urge to sneeze rapidly increasing, and he shook his head ineffectually. He felt gentle warm fingers brush the tears that had fallen from his watering eyes off his face, and his breath hitched loudly.
“Shhh, hey, it's okay Sammy.” Dean was cupping his chin now; thumb brushing his cheek, dangerously close to his highly sensitive nose. “You're okay.”
The sneeze was building, crescendoing, and any second now...
Dean leant forward to press his forehead against Sam's, still desperately shushing and soothing him. The moment that the tips of there noses brushed was like the detonator. Sam's eyes flew open, out of his control, and his head snapped back as it exploded out of him.
“Huhhh'TSHCHUH!”
Right in Dean's face.
There was a split second of silence, both brothers wide eyed and staring in shock, before Sam ducked his head as more sneezes inevitably followed. They were however mingled in with bursts of delighted laughter at the expression on Dean's face. He didn't think it was possible for anyone to look so utterly, so comically surprised.
He saw Dean get to his feet and stumble back a few steps, surprise now morphing into disgust. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, glaring at Sam who was still guffawing loudly into his elbow.
“What the hell Sam? Ugh, I hate you,” Dean said, staring at his damp sleeve as though it was abomination. Sam giggled.
“The look...hehh'TSCHHH...on your face...hih-hehh-ETSCHH. HuhCHUHH. Man,” Sam said through his sneezes, wiping his tearing eyes and dripping nose, grinning at Dean from behind his hand. Dean gave him a dirty look.
“I totally thought you were having some kind of moment. You are such a little bitch,” Dean said, eyes narrowed.
Sam was still smiling widely at him, the sneezes appearing to have calmed. After a moment, Dean's expression softened a fraction. He sighed, almost resignedly.
“Are you alright?”
Sam nodded, rubbing his nose. “Yeah. Just allergies.”
“Okay.” There was a pause. “Sorry I made you sneeze.”
Sam chuckled. “Was gonna happen anyway. Sorry I sneezed in your face.”
“Yeah, you better be,” Dean muttered, rubbing his face yet again, this time with the material of his shirt. “That was possibly the grossest thing that has ever happened to me.”
Still grinning, Sam stifled a few more soft sneezes into his sleeve.
“Come on sneezy, let's get out of here,” Dean said, clapping a hand on his shoulder before moving towards the door.
Sam got to his feet, wiped a hand under his nose and sniffed loudly. “Did you get any...?”
Before Sam could finish his sentence, a box of Kleenex came soaring towards him and hit him square in the face.
Title: Feels Like Home
Prompt: "Sam's SICK and somehow accidentally gets locked out of the motel room after he and Dean have both been out doing separate things. So Dean gets back and finds his sick little brother sitting on the cold concrete or something, waiting for him to get back, and he feels so so guilty even though it wasn't his fault really."
Word count: 1667
It had started with a salt-and-burn in the pouring rain and frigid cold.
It always starts with a salt-and-burn Dean thought bitterly, hands dropping from the wheel. He had stopped at a red light, and was peering through the fine drizzle to catch a glimpse of the glowing neon sign that meant the motel was in sight. Sighing, and rubbing his eyes, Dean set off again as the light turned green and he signalled to turn.
That god damn salt-and-burn.
Sam had (as usual) faired much worse from their long night of digging, and had sniffled his way through half a dozen witness interviews the previous day before even admitting that he was feeling slightly under the weather.
Dean swore he should have locked Sam a hospital waiting room or something when he was younger. Should have exposed him more to the big wide world of bacteria and viruses. The kid had the fucking immune system of a AIDS patient.
He had begun to flag more and more as the day wore on, chafing against Dean's persistent coddling, but had finally flaked out by the time they had gotten a motel room. As evening came, so did the beginning of a vicious cough and a wicked temperature, and Sam gave in to Dean's ministrations. He allowed his brother to fuss, having no energy to do so otherwise, and was manhandled into bed with minimal protests. It was late by the time Dean got Sam settled with a box of tissues, the last of their supply of Nyquil and Tylenol, and a cold wash cloth.
Sam had finally dozed off, his breath wheezing faintly and body burning with a low-grade fever. Dean had sat on the bed next to him for a long while, palm regularly checking his brother's fevered forehead and smoothing too-long hair off his face. Dean knew they would need more supplies for tomorrow; soup and tea and those particular brand of lozenges that Sam liked, not to mention more drugs and tissues and maybe more blankets. But there was no way he was going to leave Sam like this, during the unpredictable first-night-of-the-bitch-fever. Dean had sighed, patted Sam's leg gently, then gotten ready for bed as well, forgoing the one by the door to slip under the blankets next to Sam. This way he could keep tabs and get some much needed sleep.
Pressing his forehead against Sam's overheated shoulder blade, he had gratefully slipped off. He had awoken several times in the night, as expected, but only to Sam coughing, or blowing his nose, or shuffling to the bathroom. There had been several murmured half-asleep conversations and much forehead groping, but overall it had been a remarkably uneventful night for sick-Sammy. His temperature had hovered around 100.4 (or thereabouts, if Dean's well practised diagnostic-fever-measuring-palm was in working order) and apart from the producing what seemed to be inhuman levels of snot, Sam seemed to be resting comfortably.
It was this fact that had prompted Dean to leave his brother to his early-morning supply run to the nearest store. Sam had been snoring congestedly when he left, and Dean made sure there was a note on the night stand just in case Sam awoke (but which Dean highly doubted - the kid was thoroughly out). Dean had checked his temperature one final time, and satisfied, had pressed a quick kiss onto his temple in goodbye (shut up) before striding out into the parking lot.
After a smooth, speedy and successful shopping trip, Dean had eagerly set off back to motel. Hopefully Sam wouldn't even have noticed his absence.
The rain had intensified in the last few minutes and was now pounding on the Impala roof as Dean pulled into the parking lot. Dean ran a quick inventory in his head of any additional things they might need out of the trunk; or more specifically, anything Sam might need. He didn't want to have to come back out into the rain again, no thanks.
Whilst thinking, Dean's eyes were drawn to a figure who appeared to be slumped on the steps just to the right of their motel room. The mop of brown hair and awkward sprawl of long limbs reminded Dean of a certain sick little brother who was supposed to be safely tucked up in bed.
But no, the aforementioned sick little brother was currently sitting outside (outside) the motel room.
In the rain (in the fucking rain).
In nothing more than sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Dammit Sammy,” Dean hissed, scrabbling to get out of the car. What the hell Sam?
“Sam!” Dean called, jogging the ten yards through the rain to the motel room door. From the closing distance, he could see that Sam was wet through, long hair dripping and t-shirt almost see-through with water. At the sound of his brother voice, the dark haired head lifted to reveal wide, fever glazed eyes and a furrowed brow.
“Dean?”
It was barely a whisper through the rain, and Dean swore again under his breath. He sprinted up the steps and skidded to a halt in front of his shivering, fever flushed brother.
“What are you doing out here?” Dean said, bending down to heave Sam up by his armpits and pulling one dangling arm over his shoulder, before fumbling in his jacket pocket for the motel key. The sooner they were inside, the sooner Dean could tear Sam a new one for being such an idiot.
Sam was coughing now, head leaning against Dean's, the hand that wasn't wrapped around his brothers neck pawing at his nose and mouth.
“Got locked out,” he croaked, sagging in apparent exhaustion, and Dean wobbled under the weight.
“What the hell were you doing outside in the first place?” Dean had finally (finally) got the door open and dragged his brother through unceremoniously. The only response to his indignant question was a loud soggy sneeze, and Dean rolled his eyes as he heaved Sam toward the nearest bed.
“Stay there,” he snapped, pointing at Sam and giving his best do-as-I-say glare, before making his way into the bathroom to grab all of the towels, along with his and Sam's duffel. Sam had mercifully obeyed and was sat of the bed, swaying dazedly. As Dean approached he sneezed again, and Dean shoved a handful of toilet paper onto his lap before throwing a towel over his head.
He made efficient work of stripping the sodden clothes off his sodden brother, silently fuming about his complete lack of common sense, and had him wrapped in towels in no time. Sam was still shivering, unsurprisingly, and alternated between coughing, sneezing and giving Dean the biggest puppy dog eyes Dean had seen on him for a long time. He was miserable, that much was clear, and when Dean stood up close enough (to rub Sam's dripping hair) he leant into his brother's chest unabashedly.
The shameless action diffused most of Dean's anger in one swift motion, and Dean lost the momentum of his vigorous hair rubbing. Sighing, brushed Sam's still-damp hair off his forehead and dropped his hand onto his shoulder.
“Sammy,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “I'm not mad at you.”
Sam looked up at him at those words, sniffling pathetically and looking all of his six-year-old self. Dean sighed again, and rubbed the back of Sam's neck consolingly. “Fine, I'm a little mad. But can you blame me? It's a fucking downpour out there. What the hell were you doing?”
Sam coughed into his fist, cheek pressed against the flannel of Dean's shirt. “Got locked out. Couldn't find the key...” His voice was barely a whisper and he stopped to cough once more, then sniffed loudly. “Door blew shut. Got locked out out...” He trailed off, rubbing his nose before slumping against Dean once more. “M'sorry Dean.”
Dean swallowed, rubbing Sam's back absently. He left him without a key. Whatever reason Sam had for going outside (however fever-induced and ridiculous), he left Sam without a key. That was the reason he couldn't get back in again. That was why he was locked out, and that was why he was soaked through.
“S'not your fault,” Sam murmured into his chest. Dean's head snapped down at the words, smiling, despite himself, at his brother's apparent ability to read his mind. He rubbed his back a few more times, relieved to see the shivers decreasing in their intensity.
“Let's get you into some proper clothes bro,” Dean said, giving Sam a quick pat on his towel-clad shoulder and moving to rummage in the nearest duffel.
Ten minutes later found them relocated to the farther bed, Sam wrapped up in a multitude of sweaters and blankets, and propped up against the headboard. Dean had braved the great outdoors one final time to retrieve his purchases, filled up a mug full of the girly tea that Sam loved, switched his own damp clothes for warm, dry ones, and dosed Sam up with all the flu treatments he had in his possession. Warm, drugged, sleepy and content, Sam eyes tracked Dean drowsily as he tidied up, flinging the wet towels into the bathroom and grabbing the TV remote, before flopping down onto the bed beside his brother.
He raised an arm as Sam scooted toward him, tucking Sam under it, and seized the mostly empty mug of tea with the other as it tipped precariously in his his brothers sagging grip.
“Warm enough?” Dean asked, palming Sam's forehead, nodding in at the elevated temperature but satisfied it hadn't gotten any higher.
Sam sighed in response, burrowing against his brother and sniffling into the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Dude, I swear, next time I'm tying you to the bed post.”
When Sam murmured something into his shoulder about not knowing Dean was into that kind of thing, Dean laughed loudly and squeezed him tighter to him. This kid.
Title: Cuddle Bug
Prompt: "I don't care where it begins, but it must end with sick Sam getting cuddles."
Word count: 580
Dean entered the motel room, worn out from a long day of witness interviews. Sam had spent the day in the library, researching their latest case, and was awaiting Dean's return in their motel room with food and/or information (hopefully both). As Dean open the door, he was expecting to find Sam at his usual post in front of the laptop, eyes wide and alight, engrossed with the geeky interest that made Sam so very Sam
The site that greeted him was not as expected. Sam was, in fact, sprawled out on his stomach on the nearest bed, clad in sweatpants and hoodie, face buried in the motel pillow and snoring congestedly.
Dean frowned, closing the door gently behind him. He dropped his bag onto the table, noting the open laptop and papers with Sam's scrawled notes strewed across it, before slowly making his way over to his sleeping brother.
“Sammy?”
Sam startled awake, immediately turning his face in the pillow to stifle a sneeze.
“You sick?” Dean said, sitting on the bed by Sam's hip. He brushed the bangs off Sam's forehead, gauging his temperature.
“Mmm.” He rubbed a hand over his nose, sniffing and blinking groggily at Dean. “Yeah. Ugh. Feel like crap.”
Dean frowned, palm still resting on his forehead.
“Hmmm,” he said, hand sliding to rub his shoulder. “You feel cold? Stomach hurt? Head hurt?”
“Uhh no, no...” Sam broke off, and Dean's eyes crinkled in sympathy as Sam coughed harshly into the pillow. “And yeah, a bit,” he eventually croaked out, curling around Dean, and closing his eyes when his brother smoothed his hair again.
“S'probably just a cold. Stay here alright?” Dean squeezed his neck gently. “I'll be right back.”
Sam nodded, eyes sinking shut.
Five minutes later found Dean perched on the edge of the bed, armed with all the essentials needed to treat a sick-Sam, and five minutes after that Sam was freshly dosed up and drowsy from his tea and tylenol.
“You need anything else?” Dean asked softly, handing Sam another tissue and extracting, with a faintly disgusted look, the used one from Sam's weak grasp.
“Need to tell you about the case...” Sam spluttered out, coughing into his tissue and fist. Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing Sam's back as he rolled to stifle another sneeze into the pillow.
“The case can wait. You should get some more sleep.”
Dean brushed a hand over Sam's hair as Sam hummed in agreement.
“Stay.”
Sam tugged at Dean's arm, his grasp light but insistent, and the word was uttered with the exact same sleepy innocence of his five-year-old self.
Dean sighed, then toed off his shoes. “Shove over, sasquatch.”
Sam obliged, letting Dean stretch out next to him before crowding back into his space, face buried in Dean's side under his arm. He let out a congested sigh.
“S'warm.”
“Thought you said you weren't cold.”
“I lied,” Sam murmured, nudging his head up to rest on Dean's chest below his chin, and wrapped his heat-seeking octopus-like limbs around his brother.
“Such a cuddle bug,” Dean griped with feigned annoyance, hand sketching slow circles on Sam's warm back. Sam's eyes had fallen shut and he was a comforting warm weight against Dean's side.
“Mmm. But I'm your cuddle bug.”
Dean rested his cheek against the top of Sam's head.
“Yeah. Yeah you are.”
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Title: Detonate
Prompt: "Sam is sneezing soooo much, for whatever reason (but probably itchy allergies), and his eyes are so itchy and watery. Dean thinks he's crying because he's like, upset about all the itchiness or something. He's all gentle with Sam and dries his poor little eyes and is confused when Sam starts laughing at him because Sam is supposed to be all upset."
Word count: 806
It had started with the inevitable tickle in his throat, soon followed by the stuffy nose and itching eyes. High pollen count combined with bad air conditioning and the thick layer of dust that lined the open window frame meant one rather miserable afternoon for Sam. He had been researching a possible case for the last hour, sat at the desk on his laptop, whilst determinedly ignoring the itching of his eyes and tickling in his nose.
Dean would be back any minute now with their dinner, and as soon as he was they could get out of here and into the much more Sam-friendly environment of the Impala.
Sam blew out a breath and shut the laptop, one hand coming up to absently rub at his computer-strained eyes.
His every itchy computer-strained eyes.
Crap.
Pulling his hand away and blinking rapidly to stave off the surge of itchiness he had just uncovered, he took a deep breath in.
Again, crap.
He could practically taste the allergens in the air, and by the speed at which the itchiness spread he was not wrong.
He was fine. It's not like if he sneezed he wouldn't be able to stop and would be resigned to being an stuffy, teary, sneezy mess for the rest of the day. Uh-huh. Not him. He could do this. It was just one sneeze. One tiny sneeze.
One sneeze that was growing behind his nose, scrabbling and scratching and fighting to get it's way out.
He heard the rattle of the lock and the shuffling of feet, but attention was elsewhere. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, breath hitching and shoulders heaving in a desperate attempt to deter the impending sneeze.
However, a hand on his shoulder made him startle, and his eyes shot open with a gasp. Dean was crouched in front of him, eyebrows creased into a frown and a concerned look in his eye.
“Hey, hey Sam, it's just me,” he soothed, brushing the hair off Sam's forehead. “What's wrong, huh?”
Sam could not answer, the urge to sneeze rapidly increasing, and he shook his head ineffectually. He felt gentle warm fingers brush the tears that had fallen from his watering eyes off his face, and his breath hitched loudly.
“Shhh, hey, it's okay Sammy.” Dean was cupping his chin now; thumb brushing his cheek, dangerously close to his highly sensitive nose. “You're okay.”
The sneeze was building, crescendoing, and any second now...
Dean leant forward to press his forehead against Sam's, still desperately shushing and soothing him. The moment that the tips of there noses brushed was like the detonator. Sam's eyes flew open, out of his control, and his head snapped back as it exploded out of him.
“Huhhh'TSHCHUH!”
Right in Dean's face.
There was a split second of silence, both brothers wide eyed and staring in shock, before Sam ducked his head as more sneezes inevitably followed. They were however mingled in with bursts of delighted laughter at the expression on Dean's face. He didn't think it was possible for anyone to look so utterly, so comically surprised.
He saw Dean get to his feet and stumble back a few steps, surprise now morphing into disgust. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, glaring at Sam who was still guffawing loudly into his elbow.
“What the hell Sam? Ugh, I hate you,” Dean said, staring at his damp sleeve as though it was abomination. Sam giggled.
“The look...hehh'TSCHHH...on your face...hih-hehh-ETSCHH. HuhCHUHH. Man,” Sam said through his sneezes, wiping his tearing eyes and dripping nose, grinning at Dean from behind his hand. Dean gave him a dirty look.
“I totally thought you were having some kind of moment. You are such a little bitch,” Dean said, eyes narrowed.
Sam was still smiling widely at him, the sneezes appearing to have calmed. After a moment, Dean's expression softened a fraction. He sighed, almost resignedly.
“Are you alright?”
Sam nodded, rubbing his nose. “Yeah. Just allergies.”
“Okay.” There was a pause. “Sorry I made you sneeze.”
Sam chuckled. “Was gonna happen anyway. Sorry I sneezed in your face.”
“Yeah, you better be,” Dean muttered, rubbing his face yet again, this time with the material of his shirt. “That was possibly the grossest thing that has ever happened to me.”
Still grinning, Sam stifled a few more soft sneezes into his sleeve.
“Come on sneezy, let's get out of here,” Dean said, clapping a hand on his shoulder before moving towards the door.
Sam got to his feet, wiped a hand under his nose and sniffed loudly. “Did you get any...?”
Before Sam could finish his sentence, a box of Kleenex came soaring towards him and hit him square in the face.
Title: Feels Like Home
Prompt: "Sam's SICK and somehow accidentally gets locked out of the motel room after he and Dean have both been out doing separate things. So Dean gets back and finds his sick little brother sitting on the cold concrete or something, waiting for him to get back, and he feels so so guilty even though it wasn't his fault really."
Word count: 1667
It had started with a salt-and-burn in the pouring rain and frigid cold.
It always starts with a salt-and-burn Dean thought bitterly, hands dropping from the wheel. He had stopped at a red light, and was peering through the fine drizzle to catch a glimpse of the glowing neon sign that meant the motel was in sight. Sighing, and rubbing his eyes, Dean set off again as the light turned green and he signalled to turn.
That god damn salt-and-burn.
Sam had (as usual) faired much worse from their long night of digging, and had sniffled his way through half a dozen witness interviews the previous day before even admitting that he was feeling slightly under the weather.
Dean swore he should have locked Sam a hospital waiting room or something when he was younger. Should have exposed him more to the big wide world of bacteria and viruses. The kid had the fucking immune system of a AIDS patient.
He had begun to flag more and more as the day wore on, chafing against Dean's persistent coddling, but had finally flaked out by the time they had gotten a motel room. As evening came, so did the beginning of a vicious cough and a wicked temperature, and Sam gave in to Dean's ministrations. He allowed his brother to fuss, having no energy to do so otherwise, and was manhandled into bed with minimal protests. It was late by the time Dean got Sam settled with a box of tissues, the last of their supply of Nyquil and Tylenol, and a cold wash cloth.
Sam had finally dozed off, his breath wheezing faintly and body burning with a low-grade fever. Dean had sat on the bed next to him for a long while, palm regularly checking his brother's fevered forehead and smoothing too-long hair off his face. Dean knew they would need more supplies for tomorrow; soup and tea and those particular brand of lozenges that Sam liked, not to mention more drugs and tissues and maybe more blankets. But there was no way he was going to leave Sam like this, during the unpredictable first-night-of-the-bitch-fever. Dean had sighed, patted Sam's leg gently, then gotten ready for bed as well, forgoing the one by the door to slip under the blankets next to Sam. This way he could keep tabs and get some much needed sleep.
Pressing his forehead against Sam's overheated shoulder blade, he had gratefully slipped off. He had awoken several times in the night, as expected, but only to Sam coughing, or blowing his nose, or shuffling to the bathroom. There had been several murmured half-asleep conversations and much forehead groping, but overall it had been a remarkably uneventful night for sick-Sammy. His temperature had hovered around 100.4 (or thereabouts, if Dean's well practised diagnostic-fever-measuring-palm was in working order) and apart from the producing what seemed to be inhuman levels of snot, Sam seemed to be resting comfortably.
It was this fact that had prompted Dean to leave his brother to his early-morning supply run to the nearest store. Sam had been snoring congestedly when he left, and Dean made sure there was a note on the night stand just in case Sam awoke (but which Dean highly doubted - the kid was thoroughly out). Dean had checked his temperature one final time, and satisfied, had pressed a quick kiss onto his temple in goodbye (shut up) before striding out into the parking lot.
After a smooth, speedy and successful shopping trip, Dean had eagerly set off back to motel. Hopefully Sam wouldn't even have noticed his absence.
The rain had intensified in the last few minutes and was now pounding on the Impala roof as Dean pulled into the parking lot. Dean ran a quick inventory in his head of any additional things they might need out of the trunk; or more specifically, anything Sam might need. He didn't want to have to come back out into the rain again, no thanks.
Whilst thinking, Dean's eyes were drawn to a figure who appeared to be slumped on the steps just to the right of their motel room. The mop of brown hair and awkward sprawl of long limbs reminded Dean of a certain sick little brother who was supposed to be safely tucked up in bed.
But no, the aforementioned sick little brother was currently sitting outside (outside) the motel room.
In the rain (in the fucking rain).
In nothing more than sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Dammit Sammy,” Dean hissed, scrabbling to get out of the car. What the hell Sam?
“Sam!” Dean called, jogging the ten yards through the rain to the motel room door. From the closing distance, he could see that Sam was wet through, long hair dripping and t-shirt almost see-through with water. At the sound of his brother voice, the dark haired head lifted to reveal wide, fever glazed eyes and a furrowed brow.
“Dean?”
It was barely a whisper through the rain, and Dean swore again under his breath. He sprinted up the steps and skidded to a halt in front of his shivering, fever flushed brother.
“What are you doing out here?” Dean said, bending down to heave Sam up by his armpits and pulling one dangling arm over his shoulder, before fumbling in his jacket pocket for the motel key. The sooner they were inside, the sooner Dean could tear Sam a new one for being such an idiot.
Sam was coughing now, head leaning against Dean's, the hand that wasn't wrapped around his brothers neck pawing at his nose and mouth.
“Got locked out,” he croaked, sagging in apparent exhaustion, and Dean wobbled under the weight.
“What the hell were you doing outside in the first place?” Dean had finally (finally) got the door open and dragged his brother through unceremoniously. The only response to his indignant question was a loud soggy sneeze, and Dean rolled his eyes as he heaved Sam toward the nearest bed.
“Stay there,” he snapped, pointing at Sam and giving his best do-as-I-say glare, before making his way into the bathroom to grab all of the towels, along with his and Sam's duffel. Sam had mercifully obeyed and was sat of the bed, swaying dazedly. As Dean approached he sneezed again, and Dean shoved a handful of toilet paper onto his lap before throwing a towel over his head.
He made efficient work of stripping the sodden clothes off his sodden brother, silently fuming about his complete lack of common sense, and had him wrapped in towels in no time. Sam was still shivering, unsurprisingly, and alternated between coughing, sneezing and giving Dean the biggest puppy dog eyes Dean had seen on him for a long time. He was miserable, that much was clear, and when Dean stood up close enough (to rub Sam's dripping hair) he leant into his brother's chest unabashedly.
The shameless action diffused most of Dean's anger in one swift motion, and Dean lost the momentum of his vigorous hair rubbing. Sighing, brushed Sam's still-damp hair off his forehead and dropped his hand onto his shoulder.
“Sammy,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “I'm not mad at you.”
Sam looked up at him at those words, sniffling pathetically and looking all of his six-year-old self. Dean sighed again, and rubbed the back of Sam's neck consolingly. “Fine, I'm a little mad. But can you blame me? It's a fucking downpour out there. What the hell were you doing?”
Sam coughed into his fist, cheek pressed against the flannel of Dean's shirt. “Got locked out. Couldn't find the key...” His voice was barely a whisper and he stopped to cough once more, then sniffed loudly. “Door blew shut. Got locked out out...” He trailed off, rubbing his nose before slumping against Dean once more. “M'sorry Dean.”
Dean swallowed, rubbing Sam's back absently. He left him without a key. Whatever reason Sam had for going outside (however fever-induced and ridiculous), he left Sam without a key. That was the reason he couldn't get back in again. That was why he was locked out, and that was why he was soaked through.
“S'not your fault,” Sam murmured into his chest. Dean's head snapped down at the words, smiling, despite himself, at his brother's apparent ability to read his mind. He rubbed his back a few more times, relieved to see the shivers decreasing in their intensity.
“Let's get you into some proper clothes bro,” Dean said, giving Sam a quick pat on his towel-clad shoulder and moving to rummage in the nearest duffel.
Ten minutes later found them relocated to the farther bed, Sam wrapped up in a multitude of sweaters and blankets, and propped up against the headboard. Dean had braved the great outdoors one final time to retrieve his purchases, filled up a mug full of the girly tea that Sam loved, switched his own damp clothes for warm, dry ones, and dosed Sam up with all the flu treatments he had in his possession. Warm, drugged, sleepy and content, Sam eyes tracked Dean drowsily as he tidied up, flinging the wet towels into the bathroom and grabbing the TV remote, before flopping down onto the bed beside his brother.
He raised an arm as Sam scooted toward him, tucking Sam under it, and seized the mostly empty mug of tea with the other as it tipped precariously in his his brothers sagging grip.
“Warm enough?” Dean asked, palming Sam's forehead, nodding in at the elevated temperature but satisfied it hadn't gotten any higher.
Sam sighed in response, burrowing against his brother and sniffling into the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Dude, I swear, next time I'm tying you to the bed post.”
When Sam murmured something into his shoulder about not knowing Dean was into that kind of thing, Dean laughed loudly and squeezed him tighter to him. This kid.
Title: Cuddle Bug
Prompt: "I don't care where it begins, but it must end with sick Sam getting cuddles."
Word count: 580
Dean entered the motel room, worn out from a long day of witness interviews. Sam had spent the day in the library, researching their latest case, and was awaiting Dean's return in their motel room with food and/or information (hopefully both). As Dean open the door, he was expecting to find Sam at his usual post in front of the laptop, eyes wide and alight, engrossed with the geeky interest that made Sam so very Sam
The site that greeted him was not as expected. Sam was, in fact, sprawled out on his stomach on the nearest bed, clad in sweatpants and hoodie, face buried in the motel pillow and snoring congestedly.
Dean frowned, closing the door gently behind him. He dropped his bag onto the table, noting the open laptop and papers with Sam's scrawled notes strewed across it, before slowly making his way over to his sleeping brother.
“Sammy?”
Sam startled awake, immediately turning his face in the pillow to stifle a sneeze.
“You sick?” Dean said, sitting on the bed by Sam's hip. He brushed the bangs off Sam's forehead, gauging his temperature.
“Mmm.” He rubbed a hand over his nose, sniffing and blinking groggily at Dean. “Yeah. Ugh. Feel like crap.”
Dean frowned, palm still resting on his forehead.
“Hmmm,” he said, hand sliding to rub his shoulder. “You feel cold? Stomach hurt? Head hurt?”
“Uhh no, no...” Sam broke off, and Dean's eyes crinkled in sympathy as Sam coughed harshly into the pillow. “And yeah, a bit,” he eventually croaked out, curling around Dean, and closing his eyes when his brother smoothed his hair again.
“S'probably just a cold. Stay here alright?” Dean squeezed his neck gently. “I'll be right back.”
Sam nodded, eyes sinking shut.
Five minutes later found Dean perched on the edge of the bed, armed with all the essentials needed to treat a sick-Sam, and five minutes after that Sam was freshly dosed up and drowsy from his tea and tylenol.
“You need anything else?” Dean asked softly, handing Sam another tissue and extracting, with a faintly disgusted look, the used one from Sam's weak grasp.
“Need to tell you about the case...” Sam spluttered out, coughing into his tissue and fist. Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing Sam's back as he rolled to stifle another sneeze into the pillow.
“The case can wait. You should get some more sleep.”
Dean brushed a hand over Sam's hair as Sam hummed in agreement.
“Stay.”
Sam tugged at Dean's arm, his grasp light but insistent, and the word was uttered with the exact same sleepy innocence of his five-year-old self.
Dean sighed, then toed off his shoes. “Shove over, sasquatch.”
Sam obliged, letting Dean stretch out next to him before crowding back into his space, face buried in Dean's side under his arm. He let out a congested sigh.
“S'warm.”
“Thought you said you weren't cold.”
“I lied,” Sam murmured, nudging his head up to rest on Dean's chest below his chin, and wrapped his heat-seeking octopus-like limbs around his brother.
“Such a cuddle bug,” Dean griped with feigned annoyance, hand sketching slow circles on Sam's warm back. Sam's eyes had fallen shut and he was a comforting warm weight against Dean's side.
“Mmm. But I'm your cuddle bug.”
Dean rested his cheek against the top of Sam's head.
“Yeah. Yeah you are.”