Title: Keeping Cool
Author: Mad Server
A/N: Happy birthday Lia! Due to your extreme awesomeness, PADavis, Enkidu and I have written you some things.
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At first Sam thinks it's just the heat. "Oh yeah," he groans, swirling his feet in the cool lake. Water creeps up his jeans leg, dampens his dangling calves. He leans back on the dock and closes his eyes, sniffs in relief. Waves make rippling sounds along the shoreline, bump a rowboat softly against the wharf.
When he opens his eyes, Dean hasn't taken the bait. His boots are on, his face and neck flushed red. Sweat's collecting at his hairline, trickling down. He takes a pull off his longneck, stares out at the far shore.
"Aren't you hot?"
Dean doesn't seem to hear.
Sam draws himself up, picks up his fishing hook and squints at it in the bright sun. He roots through the clump of soil on the planks beside him and pulls out a pale pink worm.
As he pokes it down onto the barb, he hears a strangled sound beside him. He looks up to Dean pop-eyed beside him, a palm to his throat.
"Dean?" Sam drops the tackle and grasps his brother's arm. "Hey!"
Dean's empty beer bottle clunks to the boards beside them, rolls over the edge and splashes into the lake.
"Are you choking?" Sam pulls out his phone, dials 9-1-1.
Dean swats the phone, shakes his head at Sam. He's definitely getting air to his lungs, but he's rubbing his chest in a way Sam doesn't like at all.
"You got pains shooting down your left arm?"
Dean makes a face, forces out a breath in shaky increments. "N-no."
"Talk to me."
Dean's hands move from his chest to his belly. His eyebrows crunch together and he swallows, tips down onto his side.
"Hey, hey. What's going on?"
He's not red anymore, he's white, right down to his lips. He shudders once, like he's cold, and turns bright green eyes on Sam. "It'll..." He fights a deep breath into his lungs. "Pass."
Sam grips his phone, unsure. "Dean..."
Dean covers his eyes with the heels of his hands, inhales shakily through his nose. "Yeah."
"Has this happened before?"
Grunting, Dean curls up on the dock and wraps his arms around his stomach. "Mmh."
Sam pushes a hand through his hair, pockets his cell. "Damn it."
Dean's teeth chatter.
"Are you... what should I do? Are you seriously cold?" Sam shields Dean's eyes with his palm, watches his face unscrunch a little. He rubs his brother's arm uncertainly. "Okay. You're okay."
Dean's breath is still jagged when he pushes himself up on trembling arms and rubs his nose on his wrist.
"You wanna tell me what the hell that was?"
He picks at his boot laces, so clumsily that Sam pushes his chilly fingers away and does it himself.
"Ugh." Dean leans back and watches Sam work, face moist and clay-white. "Think I'm gonna puke."
Sam pulls the shoestrings loose, releases Dean's feet. "That better? What was that?"
"You have to swear you're not gonna tell anyone." He's still winded, ribs swelling around rapid breaths.
"Dean."
"Swear."
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right. Fine."
"I got bit by this radioactive spider..."
"Dean!"
Dean wheezes out a laugh, then coughs. He sighs. "Panic attack."
Sam stares. "Panic..."
"Yeah." Dean's head bobs a little, eyes not leaving Sam's.
"Since..."
"Yeah." Dean fumbles a handkerchief out of his jeans pocket, blows his nose noisily. "Since the pit. I got it, Sam. It's fine." He dips his feet into the lake water and a giddy smile spreads across his face. "Fuck. That's better than sex."
"So the worm..."
"No fishing." Dean sinks down and stretches out on his back, toes dangling in the water, arms spread above his head. His cheeks are going pink again. "We'll find you some pre-killed ones."
Unrelated vaguely slashy bonus drabble
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"One oh three." Ellen threads her fingers through Dean's warm hair. "Honey, do me a favor and remember this the next time you get it in your head to go gravediggin' in the rain." She shifts as Sam drapes a duvet the length of the couch, wafting musky deodorant.
"Doe choice," Dean croaks. "XTCHSH! called."
Sam lifts Dean's feet, settles under them on the sofa. He palms a tissue box and balances it on Dean's hip. "Coulda waited."
Dean scowls blearily, nuzzles into Ellen's ribs, presses the soles of his feet to Sam's belly. "Less talkigg. Bore soup."
(100)