"You boys finish up out here... I need a break." John Winchester walked back into the warm house, leaving Dean and a shivering Sam outside.
Dean turned to face the daunting pile of wood, still reaching over Sam's head despite the fact that they had been working for over two hours. Dean sighed and tugged at his frayed leather gloves. "C'mon, Sammy. We can get this done before dinner if we work together."
"Okay, Dean," Sam agreed miserably.
Dean tried to pass the time by making jokes, trying to lift Sam's spirits. Sam attempted a smile once or twice, but for the most part stayed silent, eyes fixed on his task. Dean smiled as often as he could at him, but Sam usually wasn't looking at his face, only his hands, as he passed him piece after piece of wood and Dean stacked it as well as he knew how. "Even out the ends!" his dad yelled, and Dean complied.
After a while, Sam was flagging. He dropped a piece of wood on his foot and pretended he didn't, but Dean noticed. He always did.
"Hey, Sammy, how about you go inside with Dad?" Dean's voice was hoarse, and he coughed once, drawing freezing air into his lungs.
Sam's nose was bright red, and he was trembling. "B-but..."
"Go on." Dean waved his hand dismissively. "You're not good when you're cold. Go warm up. I'm fine. We're almost done, anyway."
Sam eyed the still-tall pile of wood, but he listened to Dean. He trooped inside, limping slightly, glancing at Dean before shutting the door behind himself.
It took Dean three more hours to finish. He went inside, warmed his numb fingers on the fire, ruffled Sammy's hair as he passed the kitchen table, and glanced at his dad.
"Something you want to say to me?" John didn't look up from his drink.
"No, sir." Dean walked up the stairs to take a shower, leaving any thought of praise behind.