Dean's Flu
Dean woke up in a bad mood. And that was never a good thing. He was still cold and shivering from being in the rain yesterday, on a cold, dreary December night, none the less. He had to share a bed with Sam, because the concierge had screwed up and rented them a room with one king sized bed, instead of two doubles. Needless to say, Dean had a crap day. Dean started to mutter curses angrily, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He felt weak and dizzy, and was sweating bullets. 'Just what I need. To catch a cold. Let's just add to the greatness of the past few days.' Dean thought, as he laid back down. Sam woke up shortly after, feeling his big brother's tossing, turning, and fidgeting. "Dean? You alright?" Sam asked, intently staring at his brother's rosy cheeks and feverish eyes. "Yeah, better than ever." Dean said hoarsely, giving Sam a slight grin. " And that's why your shirt is drenched in sweat, you're running a fever, and you look like you're about to puke?" " Yeah. I'm fine don't worry, bitch. Let's get going. We got that interview at the police station at nine." Dean made an attempt to get out of bed again, but stumbled and fell back onto the bed. Sam giggled a little. "What are YOU laughing at? Help me up!" Dean snapped. Sam looked at him questioningly. "What's your problem, jerk?" He asked, extending his hand to his very angry brother. Suddenly, Dean had a meltdown. He just burst into tears and started sobbing like a baby. "I'm sorry, Sammy! I didn't mean to snap at you! Please, don't be angry. I'm such a bad person! You must hate me right now." Dean cried sadly. Sam knew Dean was only this emotional when he was sick, injured, or heartbroken. He also knew that Dean wasn't going to accept his comfort unless he made him. "Dean, get under the blanket. We're not going anywhere today. You're going to stay in bed, and I'm going to take care of you." Sam said. "No, Sammy. We need to solve this case. People will die if we don't." Dean said, trying to guilt Sam into letting him get up and hunt. 'Well, at least he's not in a bad mood anymore. But what's his problem?' Sam thought. "Dean, you're not winning this time. Lay down, get under the blankets, and get comfortable. You're going to be there for awhile." Sam said
Sam immediately started fussing over Dean. He made sure he was warm enough, he made sure he was comfortable, he did everything in his power to make sure Dean was comfortable and resting well. "Sam, quit with the mother-hen stuff. I'm fine. In fact, I could go hunting right now." Dean said. "My ass. Just lay there and look pretty." Sam replied. Dean pouted and whined. "Dean, quit with the whining and the pouting." Sam felt Dean's forehead, "Let me take your temperature. You're burning up." Sam picked up the thermometer on the wooden nightstand and popped it in Dean's mouth. "Keep it there. When it beeps, you can take it out." Sam said, walking into the kitchen. "Sammy, it tastes like metal. It's gross." Dean complained. "Dean, shut up for five seconds so the thermometer can record your temperature, or you're going to have it in your mouth longer." Sam replied. Dean sulked, arms crossed, lips formed into a pout. Sam sighed, knowing it was going to be a long couple of days. He could hear the thermometer going off and went to check on Dean, who had fallen asleep. He smiled softly at his rosy cheeked brother, who was sleeping with a thermometer hanging out of his mouth. Slowly removing the thermometer, he checked the temperature. 102.5. Sam gasped silently. "Oh Dean, you have the worst luck, buddy. But don't you worry. Doctor Sammy is here to make it better." Sam whispered into a sleeping Dean's ear. Sam felt guilty when Dean started to stir slightly. "Sorry, Dean. Just go back to sleep." He whispered. Sam sat in a chair by the bed, thinking about what he would need to care for his ill brother. Sam also thought about how clingy Dean got when he didn't feel good. He didn't realize how long he'd been lost in thought until he noticed Dean turn to look at him. "S'mmy? My t'mmy doesn't feel so good." He slurred. Sam smiled. "Your tummy doesn't feel good? Do you need to throw up?" He asked, smoothing back Dean's short hair. Dean shook his head. Sam sighed. Dean wasn't telling the truth. "Dean, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."