Messy
Prompt: Feverish!Dean is my fave, so how about something where Dean is sneezy AND feverish? If there was some semi-delirious crying and snotting all over Sam I would not say no!
s&d
Smoke curls off the skeleton.
"Whaddya thigk happeds to 'eb?"
A cold wind pushes cinders into Sam's face. He rubs his eyes and examines Dean as best he can in the dark. "I don't know. Why?"
Dean digs a tissue out of his pocket and blows his nose. He clears his throat, picks up the shovel and starts filling in the grave.
s&d
Dean drops onto the edge of his bed, gurgles into a wad of Kleenex and buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are bright from the chilly air.
"What do you want to eat?"
No answer.
"How you doing for meds, Captain Snot?"
Dean sniffles and dips his nose to the tissues. He blinks, and Sam sees a wet glimmer.
"You OK?"
There's a choking sound that explodes into a bout of harsh coughing. Dean reaches for more Kleenex and swipes at his face, flustered. "Yeah, I..." He shivers and draws a deep breath. "Friggid' fevers, dude. I'b fide."
Sam goes to him, presses a bottle of Advil into his hand. "Bundle up. I'll get you soup." He's close enough to smell fresh sweat and spicy deodorant and to feel the heat radiating off him.
Dean raises his face. His mouth trembles and his forehead crumples up.
"Hey. What's going on?"
"I, uh." Dean licks his chapped lips and blows his nose. Tears course down his cheeks. "It's stupid."
"What?"
"I biss Dad." His voice is barely there. He breathes slowly and noisily, stares at the alarm clock.
"Me too." Sam sits on the other bed and rubs the comforter. He puts down the keys and peels off his coat. "You want some water?"
"That Sheffield guy," Dean husks. "He died because his kid screwed up."
"You could say that." Sam watches Dean's splotchy face for clues.
"That's what bade hib a ghost. He lost his life for his sud, add it drove hib idsade."
A pang hits Sam. "Dean." He shifts his hips onto his brother's bed. "Dad loved us. He wanted us to be happy."
Dean heaves a gasp and sneezes miserably. Sam hands him a clean tissue, which he rushes to his red nose. "Ih-XXSHSH! USHSHSHOO!"
"Bless you."
"Sorry." Dean burbles and blushes. "Ugh. I'b sorry."
"It's OK." Sam watches Dean rub his forearms disconsolately. "Do you, uh. You want a hug?"
A sniffle. "Doe." Dean glances up, then nudges his face into Sam's shoulder. Sam settles hesitant arms around him, squeezes feverish biceps.
"Hh - hhHH - IT-DZZHSHSH!" There's a burst of hot dampness. Dean draws back and wipes Sam's shirt with his tissue. "Whoa. That's just wrogg."
"Don't worry about it, snugglemuffin." Sam cups the back of his warm neck and rises up off the bed. "Your turn for laundry anyway. Tuck in, man. Be right back."
Foiled
Prompt: Dean is abusing his Afrin. Sam confiscates it so Dean doesn't become addicted. Dean would appreciate it a bit more if he could, you know, breathe.
s&d
"Where is it?"
Sam looks up from the paper. "What?"
Dean sighs wheezily and pinches his nostrils shut. "You did this."
"Dude, what are you looking for?"
"Like you dod't doe." He casts an exhausted glance around the room. "The friggid' doze spray."
"I dunno." Sam folds the newspaper and sits forward. "Why are you doing that?"
"What?"
"You're plugging your nose."
Dean straightens fractionally. "It gives bee a sedse of cudtrol."
Sam looks at him. "I know you're not a fan, but I picked you up something I thought might help." He reaches into the bag hanging off his chair and pulls out a neti pot. "This'll clear you up naturally."
"Where 'daturally' beads 'slowly add disgustiggly.' Dude, just gibbee back the spray."
"That stuff eats through your nasal cavity, man. It's bad news." He waggles the box hopefully.
Dean drops onto the couch, flushed. "Gibbee the spray or I'll spit idd all your salads for the dext year."
Sam heats up a cup of water, dumps it into the neti pot and stirs in a packet of salt. "Just try it. What have you got to lose?"
Dean sneezes fruitlessly and palms his forehead. "Ow. I hate you. Gibbee the stupid pot."