X-Mas Challenge: Day 6
Title: Snuggie Time
Author: deceptivemirror
Rating: PG (for potential grossness)
Genre: humor, schmoop (as requested)
Characters: Sam and Dean
Summary: Nothing sucked as much as getting sick, but nothing beat getting better.
Demons, angels, and Leviathans, and what brought them down faster than anything?
A cold.
Dean snuffled a little into his Snuggie (he'd kill anyone who tried to say they weren't awesome) and blew his nose with some tissue. He'd gone through three boxes already, so he had given them up as a lost cause and was just keeping a pack of toilet paper rolls nearby.
Sam was on the other end of the couch, but they were sharing the middle cushion with their various sickness supplies. Sam had some giant thermos of tea that Dean, in between his bouts of blowing his brain out through his nose, could smell and wish he hadn't, the pack of tissue they were sharing (the used ones were littering the floor around them), Dean's bug-killing soup, hot and also in thermoses (tons of hot sauce, horseradish and chicken broth; all he knew was it made him get better faster), bottles of lukewarm water and enough throat lozenges to keep them happy for at least a week, unless they got pneumonia.
Dean really really hoped they didn't get pneumonia.
Sam's hair, normally annoyingly wavy and perky and somehow sculpted (Dean swore his brother used product), was greasy with fever-sweat and hanging around his face, far from its usual perfection. Two small red spots of color took the place of Sam's rarely-seen dimples. Sam's eyes were also glassy with his higher-than-normal body temperature as he huddled deeper into his own Snuggie.
Despite his own discomfort, Dean had to admit that the Snuggie people knew what the hell they were doing. The sleeved-blanket managed to cover up even someone of Sam's height without leaving anything to hang out.
“Dean?” Sam asked thickly. Dean was impressed. Any more snot in Sam's voice and he'd give Barry White a run for his money. “Could I get more soup?”
“Sure,” Dean sniffed, and poured a cupful of the hot liquid with a shaky hand before handing it off to an equally unsteady Sam. Sam sipped it and sighed.
“It's probably a good thing I can barely taste this right now,” Sam rasped, then coughed.
“Worse it tastes, the better you feel,” Dean retorted, feeling the mucus bubbling up in his chest. He coughed and put a tissue to his mouth to catch whatever he managed to get out. The way he felt, he would take his victories over the clotted green bastards where he could get them.
Warm as the Snuggie tucked around him was, he was still chilled in the relative quiet of the library. Sam didn't appear much more comfortable than he was. The tea and soup were slowly raising Dean's body temperature, but it wasn't happening fast enough for comfort.
Dean sighed and came to his decision. Slowly, his body aching the entire time, he carefully got up and put all their sick-supplies on the small table on Sam's side of the couch, then unceremoniously plopped down and snuggled into Sam.
Sam leaned into him a bit, and to forestall any bitching, Dean muttered, “not a damn word.”
Some rustling and jostling pulled Dean's Snuggie from underneath him, and Sam's Snuggie combined with his to help share the warmth. A phlegmy chuckle rumbled its way up Sam's chest. “Wasn't going to say anything, Dean,” Sam said soothingly, ruining the effect with a cough. He sipped again at the cup of soup and brought his legs up to rest over Dean's lap.
Suddenly, Dean was warm again.
Author: deceptivemirror
Rating: PG (for potential grossness)
Genre: humor, schmoop (as requested)
Characters: Sam and Dean
Summary: Nothing sucked as much as getting sick, but nothing beat getting better.
Demons, angels, and Leviathans, and what brought them down faster than anything?
A cold.
Dean snuffled a little into his Snuggie (he'd kill anyone who tried to say they weren't awesome) and blew his nose with some tissue. He'd gone through three boxes already, so he had given them up as a lost cause and was just keeping a pack of toilet paper rolls nearby.
Sam was on the other end of the couch, but they were sharing the middle cushion with their various sickness supplies. Sam had some giant thermos of tea that Dean, in between his bouts of blowing his brain out through his nose, could smell and wish he hadn't, the pack of tissue they were sharing (the used ones were littering the floor around them), Dean's bug-killing soup, hot and also in thermoses (tons of hot sauce, horseradish and chicken broth; all he knew was it made him get better faster), bottles of lukewarm water and enough throat lozenges to keep them happy for at least a week, unless they got pneumonia.
Dean really really hoped they didn't get pneumonia.
Sam's hair, normally annoyingly wavy and perky and somehow sculpted (Dean swore his brother used product), was greasy with fever-sweat and hanging around his face, far from its usual perfection. Two small red spots of color took the place of Sam's rarely-seen dimples. Sam's eyes were also glassy with his higher-than-normal body temperature as he huddled deeper into his own Snuggie.
Despite his own discomfort, Dean had to admit that the Snuggie people knew what the hell they were doing. The sleeved-blanket managed to cover up even someone of Sam's height without leaving anything to hang out.
“Dean?” Sam asked thickly. Dean was impressed. Any more snot in Sam's voice and he'd give Barry White a run for his money. “Could I get more soup?”
“Sure,” Dean sniffed, and poured a cupful of the hot liquid with a shaky hand before handing it off to an equally unsteady Sam. Sam sipped it and sighed.
“It's probably a good thing I can barely taste this right now,” Sam rasped, then coughed.
“Worse it tastes, the better you feel,” Dean retorted, feeling the mucus bubbling up in his chest. He coughed and put a tissue to his mouth to catch whatever he managed to get out. The way he felt, he would take his victories over the clotted green bastards where he could get them.
Warm as the Snuggie tucked around him was, he was still chilled in the relative quiet of the library. Sam didn't appear much more comfortable than he was. The tea and soup were slowly raising Dean's body temperature, but it wasn't happening fast enough for comfort.
Dean sighed and came to his decision. Slowly, his body aching the entire time, he carefully got up and put all their sick-supplies on the small table on Sam's side of the couch, then unceremoniously plopped down and snuggled into Sam.
Sam leaned into him a bit, and to forestall any bitching, Dean muttered, “not a damn word.”
Some rustling and jostling pulled Dean's Snuggie from underneath him, and Sam's Snuggie combined with his to help share the warmth. A phlegmy chuckle rumbled its way up Sam's chest. “Wasn't going to say anything, Dean,” Sam said soothingly, ruining the effect with a cough. He sipped again at the cup of soup and brought his legs up to rest over Dean's lap.
Suddenly, Dean was warm again.