A/N: pure fluff in honor of the day.
January 23rd. The Winchesters had come to Black Rock, near Buffalo, to lock up some dangerous artifacts in Dad's storage locker. While they were there, the outside temperature went down to the single digits, Dean's temperature went up to the triple digits, and six inches & climbing of a lake effect snow storm had them stuck in a motel to wait it all out.
"Something sure got you good." Sam said as he checked the thermometer. "One hundred and two. At least it came down a degree. How else you feeling? Still achy?"
"Worse." Dean said. His voice was hoarse, but more with the rasp of general illness and not a looming respiratory infection. "My bones hurt."
"Flu, then, hunh?" Sam packed away the thermometer and portioned out more aspirin and water. "Probably the twenty-four hour kind. That's going around. This storm is supposed to last until morning, you should be good to go by then."
"Morning? I can't wait until tomorrow morning! It'll be over tomorrow morning!"
"Dean – we've been over this. You can't go out when you're this sick, and even if you could, it's a blizzard out there. So take your jacket off and take some more medicine."
Sam handed over the pills and the water, and Dean swallowed them down fast.
"Cas – I'm calling Cas. He can take care of this."
"Yeah, he can heal you," Sam said. "But I don't think even Cas can do anything about a Buffalo winter."
"But Sam – it's today."
"I know it's today, Dean. But you're too sick and –"
"Sam – c'mon – please."
Sam stopped his argument. Dean accused him of 'puppy dog eyes' or however he described it, but Dean had a secret weapon of his own: 'please'. When Dean pulled out that big gun, Sam knew it was serious.
"All right." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Cas? You around? We're in Buffalo and Dean –"
A rustle of wings broke into his sentence.
" – and Dean is sick…" he finished.
Cas turned immediately to Dean, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his heavy jacket and boots.
"Dean? What seems to be the matter?"
"I've got a sniffle and 'Sammy Nightingale' here won't let me leave the room."
"He has a one-hundred and two fever and it's five degrees outside and visibility is zero."
"Sam – you know you can't stop me." Dean tried again. "Sooner or later, I'm going to get there. So, we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way."
"I don't understand." Cas said, looking from Dean to Sam. "Is there a hunt you need to get to?"
"Yes!" Dean said, sounding exactly like the liar he was. "It's a hunt! And I have to get there immediately."
"It is NOT a hunt." Sam insisted. "Tell Cas what it really is."
Dean hesitated, Sam scowled, and Cas still looked between them.
"What?" He asked. "What is it?"
Dean gave in with a sigh.
"Today's National Pie Day and the coffee shop down the street is offering free pie to anybody who shows up in this storm. Only - Sam won't let me go. So you need to heal me."
"Of course," Cas agreed. He reached out to touch Dean's forehead, until Sam said, "Even healed, you can't walk three blocks in this weather," and Cas pulled his hand back.
"Sam's right. Traveling by foot in these conditions would be very dangerous." He reached out again to touch Dean and the flush on Dean's face faded away. "I'll take us there."
Dean turned his smile of victory on Sam.
"Well, Florence. You coming or what?"
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Let me get my jacket…"
The End
