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"Dean, stop licking your lips."

"'s sore."

"It will only get worse if you keep doing that."

The tongue shoots out again, whips across raw skin and deep cracks.

Sam shakes his head as he pulls himself up to tower above his sick brother, blankets and pillows sacrificed to allow the older guy to huddle up on the opposite motel bed, both blankets wrapped around his torso and pillows forcing him upright.

A moment passes where Sam sifts through his duffle, and then a small yellow container lands on the mattress.

"Use that."

Dean's gaze shifts between the lip balm and Sam, and he lets out a soft sigh that quickly tightens into a dry cough.

"Bossy." He wheezes, unscrewing the cap and dipping his finger into the greasy pot. He slathers it on, smacking his lips together and grimacing slightly as the menthol causes the cracks to sting.

"There you go." Sam nods in satisfaction. "Kissable."

Dean glares, keeps the pot next to his box of tissues but does not admit that yeah, it feels better.

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