Dean's Coin

by Pink Whirlwind

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. You can watch it on TNT

Spoilers for Season Seven!

Sam stared.

Dean crossed his arms, dark eyes narrowing. "Oh don't look at me as if this is my fault! You're next, you know," he complained miserably.

Sam's glared at the cheap hotel room, the wall paper that would have been old unpleasant when Carter was President and now looked incredibly suspect. "Are you sure the doctor said chicken pox?" Sam asked again, face twisted up in disbelief. "Not Shingles, chicken pox? You look like shit, by the way."

"Shut the fuck up, Sammy," Dean nearly whined, "You weren't here, but I'm still contagious. You're gonna swell up like bubble wrap too!"

Sam locked the door, set the bag of groceries down in the little kitchenette. "I won't, actually."

"Oh yeah, smartass," Dean growled, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. "If I didn't catch this shit as a kid, you sure as shit didn't either."

"No, Dean," Sam said, agreeing, soothing. He pulled a single serve bottle of orange juice out of the bag and tossed it to Dean.

Dean caught it, sighed over the coolness of the bottle, which he pressed to his swollen face. "There better be vodka to go with this."

"No vodka. When I got back from hell," Sam said with a smile like that made it all very normal and rational, "I thought it might be a good idea to get vaccinated, so I got vaccinated against, well, everything."

Dean's eye twitched. He grabbed the top of his head and rubbed like he could keep one of the seals from breaking. "Well, how nice for you."

"I'm sure it's uncomfortable," Sam soothed, holding up a commercial oatmeal bath in one hand and a big tube of hydrocortisone in the other hand, "but in a few more days you'll look less like, well, angry possessed bubble wrap and more like angry hunter."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean complained. He sipped the orange juice. "This isn't funny."

Sam pinched his fingers together to indicate 'just a little'. "At least it's not ghost sickness and you're not going to die."

"Speaking of ghosts," Dean redirected the conversation, "Make any progress on finding those bones?"

"Yes, actually," Sam said. He hopped up on the counter, opened a bottle of chocolate flavored protein smoothie. "I think they're buried under the local elementary school."

"Well, I guess that puts me out," Dean gloated. "You can deal with a simple ghost, right Sammy?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, his gaze following along where Dean gaze had been. "What are you seeing Dean? If you need me to stay here with you, the ghost can wait a few days."

Dean huddled under the blanket, his gaze anywhere except the chair by the bathroom door. "No, you go. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"If you say so," Sam said, finishing his smoothie. "Dean, is there anything you want to tell me?"

"You mean other than the fact that I have fucking chicken pox and I think my throat is covered in plastic packing material. No, Sam, I don't have anything I want to tell you."

With a sigh, Sam hopped down from the counter. "There's food, pain killer, and your phone should still be charged. I'm going back to work."

"Work? Why are you all dressed up... in tweed?"

"I'm Orin Wright today, earnest-while algebra teacher, substitute and all, but it pays weekly and it gets me in the school."

"An algebra teacher?" Dean peered out from the blanket he'd pulled over his red dotted head. "I bet you're a teacher straight from hell."

"Did you have to go there? Try to sleep it off, will you?"

"Yeah," Dean groaned, letting himself fall over on his side, "I'll do that. Sam..."

Dean lay where he'd fallen, curled up in a fetal position on the bed, eyes locked with Amy's where she sat in the chair by the bathroom door.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's not a big deal, just sleep it off."

"Yeah, alright," Dean said, "It's probably all in my head anyway."

Amy shook her head slowly, giving a motherly smile of retribution.