Man Cold

Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt of "cuddling while sick"

Fandom : Supernatural/Leverage

Pairing : Dean/Eliot (Fits in the same 'verse as "I Keep Your Picture" and "How It All Began" – kind of a timestamp to the parts I haven't finished writing and posting yet!)

Rating : PG-13

Word count : about 1,200 words

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Man Cold

Strong and fit, Dean had never really imagined Eliot any other way. He'd seen post-fight Eliot, with Eliot limping or favoring some part of his body that was too hurt and too bruised to allow free movement. He'd seen him battered and bruised and he'd helped tend and treat those injuries but what he'd never seen was Eliot sick.

Eliot didn't make for the prettiest of sights, glazed watery eyes, streaming nose, persistent cough and a certain air of pathetic that Dean had never seen in his boyfriend before. So all in all, definitely not pretty or attractive, but it didn't stop the twist in Dean's gut that was all about love and care and not letting him out of sight.

It started with Eliot being a little irritable, a few days before, the bitten back answers, half complaints that had Dean frowning, not enough to make it worth arguing but strangely odd in what had been a peaceful and relaxing afternoon. In the space of an hour, Eliot had begun to cough, a silly little tickly cough and then he'd started to complain about being uncomfortable on the chair he was sitting on.

Three changes of position later as they'd tried to find some way of Eliot being comfortable and he'd started to snuffle as he breathed and Dean had the first real inkling of something actually being wrong.

By the time Dean woke in the early hours of the following morning, Eliot's being sick was beyond question. Dean had been woken by the cough that was by that time plaguing Eliot constantly. Looking across at him in the dim light, it was clear he was feeling out of sorts. He looked pitiful and Dean sat up carefully so as not to jostle the bed too much, before leaning across to place a gentle hand on Eliot's forehead. Eliot sighed and turned into the touch, drawing a soft smile of affection from Dean. "Feel like crap," Eliot croaked hoarsely.

"You poor thing," Dean teased. "Your temperature's not up, but I'll go and see what we've got in the cupboard for that cough. Just rest."

"You'll come back though, right?" Eliot asked pitifully.

Dean laughed before answering, "The bathroom cabinet's not that far away and seriously I'm pretty sure you're not actually dying, dude."

"'s alright for you to say. You're not the one lying here sick!" Eliot snuffled indignantly before reaching for a tissue and blowing his nose at great length.

Dean shook his head as he left the room to look in the bathroom to see what they had that he could dose Eliot up with. He returned a few minutes later with a cough mixture and some Tylenol. He placed them beside the bed, where Eliot was lying with his eyes closed again for the moment, and hurried to the kitchen where he poured a glass of cold water and topped it up with ice and a second glass of orange juice.

When he made it back to the bedroom, Eliot was sitting up coughing violently, so Dean set down the two glasses and sat down beside his gasping boyfriend and began to gently rub his back, listening as the cough gradually eased and Eliot was able to try and breathe again. The sound of congestion was not good and so without giving Eliot time to start coughing again, Dean lifted the glass of water and handed it over, watching as Eliot sipped it slowly, relief clear on his features as the chill eased the soreness in his throat.

A few sips later and Dean took it away, ignoring Eliot's protest and this time held out two Tylenol and the glass of orange juice. Eliot tried to ignore the Tylenol and just take the glass of juice, but Dean was insistent and so with a sigh and an accompanying grimace, Eliot swiftly downed the two Tylenol before finishing the glass of juice and handing it back with a groan.

"My throat's sore," he moaned, "Juice makes it tingle worse."

"Just pretend it's the vitamins already getting to work, like little nanocytes repairing the broken parts of a cyborg." Dean smirked at the expression on Eliot's face as he tried to pick his way groggily through what Dean had said.

"You insulting me?" he frowned.

"Would I do that? Now here's the water and then you can take some cough mixture and get some more sleep."

Eliot accepted the water, still looking at Dean with more than just a hint of doubt on his face. He took a few gulps of water before setting the glass down beside the bed and reaching for the cough mixture. "I feel like crap," he muttered again, plaintively.

"I know," Dean sounded genuinely sympathetic and as soon as he'd taken the rest of the cough mixture away, he sat down on the bed. "You know what else helps when you feel like crap?"

"I'm not taking anything else! You've filled me full of crappy chemicals and they taste horrible and . . ." Eliot moaned.

"Sssh, before you make yourself cough again. You don't have to have this if you don't want it, but I think you might like it," he smiled as Eliot gave him a petulant scowl of disbelief. Dean shifted so he was resting against the wall and held out the arm nearer Eliot. "Well . . . ?"

Eliot looked longingly at the offered embrace before reluctantly muttering, "You're gonna get sick too." His shoulders dropped and he looked away.

Dean leant across and wrapping his arm gently round, pulled Eliot back towards him, shifting so that Eliot's body was propped a little more upright by his own chest, making it easier for Eliot to breathe without inducing any more coughing than necessary. "It's a risk I don't mind taking," Dean murmured, placing a kiss to Eliot's hair as he gradually relaxed into the warm embrace and soothing stroke of Dean's hand down his arm. "Now just rest and you'll be better soon."

It didn't take long for the weariness to settle in and Eliot fell asleep again, snuffling against Dean's chest, with the occasional murmur of discontent as he shifted his aching limbs or swallowed through the soreness of his throat. Dean closed his eyes and held on tight, determined that Eliot would have everything he could provide to make him feel better, but in the meantime he enjoyed the excuse of being able to hold and cuddle Eliot without the need to get on with life.