Word Count: 100
Prompt Word: Worn
Extra: I'm so sorry this is late but exams keep rearing their ugly heads and I am forced to beat them away with hefty revision manuals *sigh*. Anyways, this one is of course dedicated to the poor Platinumroselady, whos stories have entertained me many a time. I hope you forgive me for lateness and - when reread - I realised this fic is actually not sounding sympathetic one bit - woops! So, any views expressed in the following passage are Dean's own and not mine! (Although unfortunately neither Dean nor Sam was ticked off my birthday wishlist this year which means that the views expressed are not actually Dean's either, but are my interpretation of what Dean's views would be...) ok, now my head hurts and I'm stopping.
Sam flicked on the bathroom light and gasped, gulping his brother's name.
"...DEAN!"
The blotches seemed to swell on his face; bulbous, throbbing–
"SAMMY!" Dean practically yanked the door off its hinges, shotgun in hand.
"My face..." Sam whispered into his reflection, gingerly prodding a rather large, bulging boil.
Dean lowered the gun with a groan of realisation.
"You're kidding me..." he rolled his eyes and grinned, yanking up the worn edge of Sam's shirt to reveal a polka-dot pattern of swollen bumps. Sam let out a choked gasp.
"Oh stop crying would ya, Sally? It's chickenpox, grow a pair."