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gen_battleTitle: A Touch of Flu
Author: Daylight
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating/Warnings: G
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Humour, Fluff, Family
Word Count: 689
Spoilers: None
Summary: Dean is sick and he is not happy about it.
“I hate you,” Dean Winchester said peevishly.
“No, you don’t,” replied Sam Winchester not bothering to look up from the newspaper he was flipping through.
“Yes, I do,” said Dean, his statement punctuated with a cough. “I hate you and your smug know-it-all attitude. I hate this stinking motel room with its putrid smell and its 80s punk-rock décor. I hate this stupid bed.” He slapped his hands against the cover of the bed he was currently lying on as if to make sure Sam knew exactly what bed he was talking about. “And most of all I hate being sick.”
Dean scowled, at least he thought he was scowling to Sam it looked more like a pout, and slumped down in the bed arms crossed across his chest.
Seated at the table across the room, Sam sighed. “You know perfectly well why we can’t leave.”
“Yeah, and why’s that?” said Dean.
“Because you’re sick,” said Sam. “And personally, I’d rather not see your little touch of the flu become a big touch of the flu.”
“As if that would happen,” Dean said, and then as if his body was trying to prove him wrong, broke down into another fit of coughing.
“Fine,” Sam said raising his hands. “If you’d like to go out into the cold and risk getting sicker so you can spend even more time in bed coughing your lungs out. Go ahead.”
Dean’s scowl grew deeper and he grumbled something under his breath which Sam was sure were some choice curses directed at him.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“But I can’t sleep,” said Dean his voice developing a whiny tone. “I’m cold. My body aches. My throat’s sore. I can barely breathe through my nose, and each time I start to drift off the coughing wakes me up.”
Abandoning his newspaper, Sam walked over to his brother and placed a hand on his forehead. Thankfully though Dean was still warm, he hadn’t gotten any hotter.
Dean slapped the hand away. “I’ve got plenty of germs. I don’t need your cooties too.”
Ignoring him, Sam pulled the blanket from his bed and placed it over Dean carefully tucking it around his brother.
Dean squirmed beneath the multiple covers and swore some more.
Sam then handed him a couple of Tylenols which Dean dutifully swallowed, but he wrinkled his nose when Sam tried to hand him the cup which had been abandoned on the beside table.
“Drink your tea,” Sam ordered.
“You seriously expect me to drink tea? Chamomile tea?” Dean said incredulously.
“Well, if you’d rather continue feeling miserable...”
Huffing, Dean took a sip from the cup and made a face though Sam was pretty sure it was just for show.
Next, Sam grabbed the remote from on top of the television and did some quick channel surfing before settling on something he knew would work. On the screen, a white haired man in a leather vest doffed his cowboy hat.
“Hey…” said Dean, his face lighting up.
“Okay,” said Sam setting the remote down on the beside table. “Wait for the Tylenol to kick in, watch the TV, finish your tea, and before you know it you’ll be fast asleep.”
Dean didn’t reply already engrossed in what he was watching.
Grabbing a book, Sam sat down on the other bed keeping an eye on Dean. He was glad to see him finish the tea though Dean was so involved in the television program Sam doubted he even noticed he was drinking it. Slowly, the bouts of coughing became less frequent and after ten minutes, Sam glanced over to see Dean’s head slumped to the side and his eyes closed.
Smiling, Sam got up and took away the now empty cup, pulled the covers up around his brother, and turned off all but one of the lights. He turned down the volume on the television too, but decided to leave it on. Going back to his bed, he returned to his book letting the voices of the Cartwright family keep Dean company in his dreams.
Author: Daylight
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating/Warnings: G
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Humour, Fluff, Family
Word Count: 689
Spoilers: None
Summary: Dean is sick and he is not happy about it.
“I hate you,” Dean Winchester said peevishly.
“No, you don’t,” replied Sam Winchester not bothering to look up from the newspaper he was flipping through.
“Yes, I do,” said Dean, his statement punctuated with a cough. “I hate you and your smug know-it-all attitude. I hate this stinking motel room with its putrid smell and its 80s punk-rock décor. I hate this stupid bed.” He slapped his hands against the cover of the bed he was currently lying on as if to make sure Sam knew exactly what bed he was talking about. “And most of all I hate being sick.”
Dean scowled, at least he thought he was scowling to Sam it looked more like a pout, and slumped down in the bed arms crossed across his chest.
Seated at the table across the room, Sam sighed. “You know perfectly well why we can’t leave.”
“Yeah, and why’s that?” said Dean.
“Because you’re sick,” said Sam. “And personally, I’d rather not see your little touch of the flu become a big touch of the flu.”
“As if that would happen,” Dean said, and then as if his body was trying to prove him wrong, broke down into another fit of coughing.
“Fine,” Sam said raising his hands. “If you’d like to go out into the cold and risk getting sicker so you can spend even more time in bed coughing your lungs out. Go ahead.”
Dean’s scowl grew deeper and he grumbled something under his breath which Sam was sure were some choice curses directed at him.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“But I can’t sleep,” said Dean his voice developing a whiny tone. “I’m cold. My body aches. My throat’s sore. I can barely breathe through my nose, and each time I start to drift off the coughing wakes me up.”
Abandoning his newspaper, Sam walked over to his brother and placed a hand on his forehead. Thankfully though Dean was still warm, he hadn’t gotten any hotter.
Dean slapped the hand away. “I’ve got plenty of germs. I don’t need your cooties too.”
Ignoring him, Sam pulled the blanket from his bed and placed it over Dean carefully tucking it around his brother.
Dean squirmed beneath the multiple covers and swore some more.
Sam then handed him a couple of Tylenols which Dean dutifully swallowed, but he wrinkled his nose when Sam tried to hand him the cup which had been abandoned on the beside table.
“Drink your tea,” Sam ordered.
“You seriously expect me to drink tea? Chamomile tea?” Dean said incredulously.
“Well, if you’d rather continue feeling miserable...”
Huffing, Dean took a sip from the cup and made a face though Sam was pretty sure it was just for show.
Next, Sam grabbed the remote from on top of the television and did some quick channel surfing before settling on something he knew would work. On the screen, a white haired man in a leather vest doffed his cowboy hat.
“Hey…” said Dean, his face lighting up.
“Okay,” said Sam setting the remote down on the beside table. “Wait for the Tylenol to kick in, watch the TV, finish your tea, and before you know it you’ll be fast asleep.”
Dean didn’t reply already engrossed in what he was watching.
Grabbing a book, Sam sat down on the other bed keeping an eye on Dean. He was glad to see him finish the tea though Dean was so involved in the television program Sam doubted he even noticed he was drinking it. Slowly, the bouts of coughing became less frequent and after ten minutes, Sam glanced over to see Dean’s head slumped to the side and his eyes closed.
Smiling, Sam got up and took away the now empty cup, pulled the covers up around his brother, and turned off all but one of the lights. He turned down the volume on the television too, but decided to leave it on. Going back to his bed, he returned to his book letting the voices of the Cartwright family keep Dean company in his dreams.
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Date: 2013-03-10 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-11 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-11 01:53 pm (UTC)