Guess what day it is? Comment-fic day!
Once again, it's everyone's favourite day in Supernatural: May 2nd! You know what that means, right? Time to hurt Sam! ;)
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
*
Dean is clever. And resourceful. And used to motel rooms. But after spending all night and day worrying over Sammy and only getting an hour of sleep, precise he is not.
Sam wakes, his head filled with so much congestion he almost think he’s still asleep, under layers of blankets. Then he coughs and gulps air and realizes it’s just this haze of a cold that’s settled in his head and won’t let up. It’s a moment before he realizes what woke him-not his own massive snores or a tickle in his throat, making him cough. No, it’s Dean swearing up a storm on the other side of the room. Pulling himself into a sitting position, Sam calls out, “Is it ad evil coffee baker?”
“Evil fucking beast! If we still had the colt, I’d...” He pulls a wad of something white, gooey, and dripping out and plunks it into the trash can with one last “Damn it, that was the last pack!”
And Sam finally realizes what Dean’s been doing. There’s a small carton of milk and a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. The Winchester boys have grown up learning how to prepare a meal using a bathroom sink, an ice bucket, and a motel coffee maker. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s your birthday. Least I could do was make you a birthday dinner.”
Soup without rice is still soup-hot, steaming, creamy, delicious soup. Sam hugs the mug to his chest, letting the warmth fight off his shivers, letting the steam have its way with the stuffiness in his nose. When he takes a sip, he can’t really taste much of it anyway.
The presents come out as Sam nurses the soup. They’re wrapped in old, torn maps that have lived under the Impala’s seats for who knows how long. As Sam hadn’t expected anything of that kind, he tears up a little, buries his face in Dean’s shirt when Dean settles beside him. “Thadks,” he whispers. And then he sneezes.
Dean reaches over to one of the presents, rips it open himself, and thrusts the tissue box in Sam’s face. “Just once, Sammy, I want you to have a cold and not sneeze all over me. Think you can work on that?”
Sam thinks about it as he plucks some tissues out and cups them to his nose. He sneezes repeatedly and leaves the tissues bunched to his nose. It’s running now, which is damn annoying but it’s progress. And when he blows his nose, that heavy congestion seems to lighten a little.
Quickly, he finishes up the soup, just so he can set to work unwrapping the rest of his presents. There’s a box of heavy duty cold pills, a bottle of pain killers, a jar of vaporub, and an older brother who knows exactly what he needs.
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Rough and stuffy and deep??? OH FUUUUUCK. I can't handle that line. Just. No.
You are wonderful. I loved how you started both parts and the way they wake each other up and that sweet last line and SICK SAMMMMMMMMMMMY
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You want that line? You can't HANDLE that line! *G*
*hugs* Thank YOU for the prompt and the happy mental images it inspired that got me through my workday until I had the chance to sit down in the car and scribble half of it on a sheet of scratch paper :-)
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The presents (and the way they were wrapped - I see what you did there!) were the perfect touch.
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Ah-haha! I must admit I kinda did it inadvertently. But once it was in there, I wasn't going to take it out!
So glad you liked it!!!!!!!!! I know you've been super busy lately, so it's great you had a chance to jump on here. Gods, I love SPN memes. How did I survive without these things in my mailbox all day? *G*
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The fic purrs and nuzzles you happily in thank you.
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