This story is a birthday present for my friend, Heidie, who is a long-time fellow fan of Supernatural but a newly-minuted Limp!Sam girl. I've been promising her that I would try and write some Limp!Sam for her (as I tend to lean the other direction Hurt!Dean or hurt both). Her birthday is tomorrow, May 10. Happy Birthday, Heidie!

Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing related to Supernatural. That is Eric Kripke's insane privilege.

Okay, Mr. Crankypants

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Sam. Sam, wake up!"

"Fibe more minns…"

"Uh uh. Wake up."

A determined and pointy finger to his side had him squirming and ultimately lifting his head from where it rested against the passenger window of the Impala. "Wha?" his voice was a mix of raspy growl and squeaky whine as he turned to look at his older brother, Dean.

"You're sick."

"You woke me ub to tell me U'm sick?"

"No, I woke you up because you're snoring and drooling all over my baby's window."

"Uh do n-not snore!" Sam grumbled. "And Uh waznt dwooling," he continued all the while wiping away the line of drool from the corner of his mouth and from the window.

"You do too, especially when you're sick."

"U'm NOT sick!" Just as he finished his righteous proclamation, Sam's hands flew in front of his face, and he let out an explosive sneeze.

"Okay, Mr. Crankypants. Still insist you're not sick?"

Sam stared in disgust at the mess of snot on his hands but still muttered a contrary, "Yes." The sneeze had done nothing to clear the congestion in his head. In fact, it only seemed to make it worse. His gaze flickered around the front seat of the car looking for something to on which to wipe his hands.

Dean glanced at his brother's mess, and he wrinkled his nose. "No spare napkins; I just cleaned the car." He saw Sam's hands drop down slightly. "Don't you dare wipe any of that on the seat!"

The younger man huffed out an annoyed and congested breath, finally resorting to wiping his hands on his jeans. "Habby?"

"Ecstatic." Having left the old highway they'd been on several minutes ago, Dean finally spied what he'd been looking for—a drugstore. He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. "You stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"No. Uh wanna come in…"

Dean sighed. He recognized the mulish look on his little brother's face. "Fine. Come on then."

Inside the store Dean grabbed a handheld plastic basket and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "This way." He hurried toward the aisle by the pharmacy that stocked medications for colds and flu, leaving Sam to trudge tiredly behind him. He'd already picked up and threw in the basket two different kinds of pills, a bottle of cough syrup, and a box of tissues by the time Sam caught up to him.

"Couple more things and we'll get outta here and find a motel, okay?" He moved on to the juice aisle, placing a bottle of cranberry-pomegranate juice, Sam's favorite, in with the medicine. Dean was heading toward the soda aisle when he heard another thunderous sneeze echoing from behind him. He cringed. That one had sounded like it hurt.

After adding a couple of two-liter bottles of 7-Up and one of Coca-Cola for himself to their supplies, he turned to go when he realized Sam was no longer behind him. Dean experienced a moment of panic when another epic sneeze allowed him to zero in on Sam's location. He found his brother in front of the freezers containing a small array of ice cream. Sam was staring longingly at the creamy confections. Dean grinned. Some things never changed. Ice cream. Sammy's comfort food when he was little and when he was big. He slipped next to Sam and nudged his shoulder. "Go ahead—pick one."

Sam turned puffy, red, watery eyes in his direction. He sniffled and snuffled and muttered, "Really?" He coughed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, really. Only a quart though. And grab one for me."

The younger hunter quickly made his selections, caught up to his brother who was already heading for the check-out, and dropped them in the basket.

Dean made his purchases and led his now-shuffling and weaving Sasquatch of a brother out of the store and into the Impala. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the Sleepy-Time Inn and killed the engine.

He secured them a room and found himself doing a repeat performance of a few minutes ago in reverse, getting his still-shuffling and weaving Sasquatch of a brother out of the Impala and into the dully-decorated but for once spotlessly clean room.

Dean pushed Sam down on the edge of the bed next to the wall. "Need any help?"

Sam blinked up at him. "Huh?"

"Need any help getting ready to sleep?"

"Oh. Uhhh…no."

Dean nodded and went to empty the two plastic bags resting on the table. When he turned back around, Sam was sitting, hunched, in the same spot with his right shoe off and the sock half off. He sat wiggling his toes up and down, watching the white cotton sock flop back and forth. The older Winchester shook his head, extracted a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from Sam's bag, and squatted in front of him. "C'mon, Sammy, let's get you settled." He pulled the sock off all the way.

As he'd done so many times while they were growing up, Dean made quick work of getting Sam's other shoe and sock off, pulled Sam to his feet and helped him out of the rest of his layers of uncomfortable clothing and into the sweatpants and t-shirt in which he slept.

While Sam was crawling under the covers, Dean opened one of the packets of cold medicine he'd bought and carried the pills and some juice to his bedside. "Here, take these."

Though he still looked petulant and crabby, which was signature Sammy when he was outright miserable, Sam swallowed the pills and downed the cranberry-pomegranate juice gratefully, thankful for the moisture relieving his dry mouth.

"Want your ice cream?"

Sam's expression brightened considerably. "Yeah."

Dean grabbed the two quarts off the little table and two plastic spoons he'd dug out of the glove box. "Which one's yours?"

"Minf Schocolate Schip."

"Cool! Then I get the Chocolate Marshmallow—sweet!" He pried off the lids and handed Sam his quart and a spoon. Kicking off his boots, he stretched out on his own bed, flicked the TV on with the remote, and started searching for something decent to watch.

Meanwhile, Sam dug into his ice cream. He couldn't really taste it but relished the wonderfully cold feel of it as it soothed his raw throat. He sighed as his sickness-induced misery lifted just a little. The ice cream disappeared with surprising speed.

A few minutes later Dean heard the rustling of blankets and glanced over at the other bed, watching as Sam's eyelids drooped and he sank lower onto the mattress. The cold medicine was kicking in. Setting his ice cream aside, Dean got up and took Sam's empty carton and spoon from his hands, discarding them in the trash. He retrieved his ice cream and stretched back out on the bed, turning his attention once more to the rerun of an old A-Team episode.

"Tanks, Dee…" mumbled Sam as he teetered on the edge of drugged sleep.

Knowing it was still going to be a long few days while Sam suffered, Dean took the thanks with a grin. "You're welcome, Jolly Green Giant—I mean Cranky Green Giant."

Sam tumbled over the edge completely and sank into a deep slumber.

Fin