A/N: Before you ask: Yes, you can get chicken pox twice. I researched it on teh interwebs. I'm so smrat, guiz. This is an extra-speshul something for Platinumroselady, because, while I like my two other fics, I'm not sure they have my usual flare. Y'know, that magical pizazz that keeps the people coming back for more. I'm a little whacked in the head. Or it's just that I'm super-tired. Whatever. Takes place probably circa-late Season 1/early Season 2.
Enjoy, Platinumroselady! And everyone else, too!
Summary: Oh noes! Sam has the chicken pox; whatever shall Dean do? Warning: This harrowing tale involves oatmeal abuse. Or something.
Standoff
There was a slip, a thud, and oatmeal splattered across the walls. They were in a standoff, Sam in his sweatpants and Dean fully clothed, each positioned defensively at the side of the tub.
"Dean, back off."
"Oh, you are getting in that tub if it is the last thing I ever do, Sammy." The warning was a low growl. For a second, all was silent.
"Ow!"
"Shit- just get- in-"
"I'm not four anymore, you asshole! Ah, Jesus-" With this proclamation, Sam slipped on some stray oatmeal, falling back toward the tub. Dean caught him at the last second. Grinned. And let him go.
"Dean, no!"
Splash!
"Too late." Sam glared at the smug look on his brother's face, and sat up in the slightly milky water. Dean tossed another pre-made zip-lock bag full of oatmeal into the tub, complete with holes poked into the sides.
"There's enough in here already!"
"Not my fault you were a whiny bitch and spilled the first bag, Samantha." That grin again, the one that Sam wanted to wipe right off his stupid, oatmeal-bath-loving face. "See ya later!"
With that he was gone, door closing behind him with a resounding 'click'.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, rubbed at the red spots on his left arm. Well, at least the itching had stopped momentarily.
...
Not that he'd ever tell Dean that, though.
