I finished a massive multi-chap fic today. Hooray for me. As an interim project before the sequel, I'm doing this H/C thread for fun. Each chapter will be a oneshot, based on either your prompts or ones I find. Prompts can be in my AU, as long as the focus is on the Winchesters, but I anticipate more non-AU stories.
PM away, or Review if you are a guest. I reserve the right to choose, but will try to fill as many as possible.
Here's the first one: Dean gets loopy on a certain type of cold medicine, but he hasn't had a bad cold in a long time, so they kind of forgot it had this effect on him. (My note: Part 2 is Loopy Sam)
Enjoy!
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Sam stomps his feet outside the motel room, shaking off the snow and droplets of water that cling to his jacket. Plastic bags rustle as he fits the key in the lock, and lets himself inside. Dean is exactly where Sam left him - curled into a ball, huddled under the blankets.
Sighing with relief, Sam toes off his shoes and pads to the table, carefully setting down everything he bought.
A few days ago, it became clear that Dean caught a bug and was coming down with what promised to be a fairly nasty cold. Sam smugly felt it was long overdue. He'd fallen ill twice in the last year, both times laid up for at least a week. It was simply Dean's turn.
By this morning, Sam conceded that Dean paid his due, and was now very deserving of some relief. Dean's fever wasn't scary high, but it also didn't waver, sucking all energy out of him. Congestion left his appetite flat, and no repositioning helped alleviate the discomfort of breathing through his mouth.
They had Tylenol, which didn't really do much, and there was some cough syrup, but it wasn't strong enough to combat the drainage down the back of Dean's throat.
It was time for real cold medicine, regardless of the crappy taste.
The twenty-four hour mini-mart down the street didn't have much to choose from. They stocked one brand, and in a smaller-than-normal size, forcing Sam to buy two overpriced bottles. Whatever - if it made Dean feel better, then it was worth it.
After hanging his coat on the back of a chair, Sam checks the label on the bottle before measuring out the dose...with a little extra to top it off. He brings it over and sets it on the nightstand, next to small piles of tissues and a cup of water. Sam sighs, settles on his bed with the laptop, waiting for Dean to wake.
xxxxx
It doesn't take long - Dean can't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time.
When the rustling starts, Sam looks over, watching his brother toss off the blankets in a stuffed-up huff, and blink repeatedly as his eyes adjust to being open.
"Hey there…" Sam sits on Dean's bed, trying to get a better sense of how he's doing. "How're you feeling?"
Dean yawns. "Shitty." He pulls the blanket over his face and sneezes. Blanket still covering his face, he adds, "Very shitty."
Sam nods, and picks up the goo filled cup. "I got some medicine for you. The Tylenol/Cough Syrup routine isn't working."
The blanket jostles as Dean starts a fresh round of coughing. Sam waits, also picking up the glass of water.
Eventually, Dean pulls down the blanket, and huffs through his mouth. One look at the green syrup makes his face sour, but he dutifully struggles into a mostly sitting position, waving his hand for the tiny cup. It's tossed back like a pro, complete with a full facial wince and body shudder at the taste.
Sam hurriedly hands over the glass of water, which is drained in three swallows, followed by another shiver. Dean nods to signify he's finished, handing back the cup and glass, flopping against the pillows.
He glares at his brother. "Dot fair...dot s'posed t'get sick."
Shrugging, Sam carries the empty containers to the table and grabs a fresh box of tissues. "Let's be honest - it was your turn. You've been lucky." He finishes with another shrug, handing over the box. He tries to look diplomatic about it, but the gleeful little brother side somehow seeps through.
"Hih'K'Ishhchh! K'RSHHhhh! This sucks…" Oblivious to Sam's gloating, Dean sneezes into his pillow, groaning from the effort.
Sam nods sympathetically, leaving the box on the nightstand and returning to his bed, pleased that his television show was still on commercial break. Sounds of Dean's breathing interrupt the dialogue, which ironically, is all about cold medicine.
It was quiet for a while, Sam, for once, taking it easy and just chilling out, watching a Stargate marathon and munching on chips.
The absence of sneezing, coughing, and complaining for the past forty-five minutes are a good sign that Dean's fast asleep.
"That guy's so huge."
Or it isn't.
Sam's eyeballs swivel toward his brother before returning to the screen. "Yeah, he is."
"I mean, if I were that huge, I don't even think I could play-Hetschhyuu!-pool anymore. We'd have, like, no money. But I'd have muscles. And I don't know if that's a fair trade."
Sam contemplates this, a chip poised to enter his mouth, a frown on his face.
Dean blows his nose, sighs, and settles back against his pillow. Sam lets the chip complete its journey and crunches, shrugging his shoulders and writing off Dean's goofy comment as one of the goofy things Dean's always saying.
"Hey, Sam…?"
"Yeah?"
"Just because I like the rainbow marshmallows best in Lucky Charms...that doesn't...that doesn't make me gay, does it?" He follows this bombshell with a thunderous sneeze, nonchalantly wiping his nose afterwards. "Because doesn't the rainbow mean gay stuff?" He sneezes again. "I don't care that it's a gay rainbow, I'm just not. Gay. I just happen to really like gay rainbows. Or just rainbows. Sometimes."
Okay, that was a bit beyond the goofy things Dean's always saying. Sam replaces the chips he's holding in the bag and wipes his hands on his jeans. "You okay over there?" Not waiting for an answer, he sets the bag aside and swings his legs to the floor, eyeing his brother for any signs of...anything.
But Dean's just laying there, looking relaxed, despite the congestion. He coughs a little, waving Sam back to bed. "Yeah - 'm fine. Why?"
Sam tilts his head, decides to go for the easy answer. "Because you're sick?"
Dean nods in agreement. "I am sick. Indeed. That guy says indeed all the time." He lowers his voice when he says indeed. And keeps it lowered. "If I talked like this all the time I'd have a sore throat." He gives Sam a serious look, continuing in the ridiculous voice. "I'm gonna get me some juice, Sammy. Indeed."
Then Dean does something Sam's never heard before.
He giggles.
He giggles, full bodied and throaty, to the point where tears actually stream down his face and breathing becomes a tad difficult, especially with his stuffed up nose.
Sam's eyes widen, and honestly, the first thought in his head is that Dean somehow got possessed. He flaps a hand at his brother. "I'll get your juice. Just...stay put." He gives Dean another quick once-over before heading to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of orange juice.
It's as he's walking back to Dean's bed that it hits him. Dean's slack-jawed stare, glassy eyes, lip smacking oh my God, he's stoned. Sam actually stops in the middle of the room, sorting this through. How can he be stoned? The only thing he's had is...is…
Sam's eyes dart to the cold medicine on the table. He reads and rereads the brand. And remembers, belatedly (dammit, Sam!), that Dean can't have that cold medicine, because it makes him -
"Banana juice is weird."
...loopy.
Sam scrubs a hand over his eyes and down his face. He blames his error on the fact that the stupid jerk hasn't been sick in over a year, so how's he supposed to remember intel on brands?
After Dean got you from Stanford and you got that migraine, he remembered exactly what medicine to buy and how to fix it even though it'd been four years since he'd done it.
Sam growls at himself to shut the fuck up, and brings Dean his juice. Dean looks up, smiles, and downs half the bottle immediately. Sam sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his palms across his thighs. "So. Dean." Oh, right - and Sam gave him extra. Fantastic. "You should try to get some sleep. Really. Knock this thing out, show it who's boss." He smiles, one that borders on begging, because a sleeping Dean can't say or do shit that'll make life super uncomfortable. Or dangerous.
Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah." He hands back the bottle, scooting under the covers and sighing.
This is good, Sam thinks. Compliant Dean is good.
"I hated that show."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "What show?"
"Who's The Boss."
"Oh…"
"Pretty sure Angela was a demon."
"Okay." Sam caps the half-empty bottle, setting it on the nightstand. "Let's get you all tucked in and ready for sleep." He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but he's remembering that it takes a lot of effort to settle Dean once he's taken this stuff, so he's gonna say shit like this if that's what it takes.
"I'm really tired." Dean yawns wide enough to pop his jaw.
"I know you are." Sam pulls the blankets up to Dean's chin, literally tucking him in, thinking that if the blanket's tight, Dean won't get out of bed.
"But I'm really lonely, too."
Aaaaaand Sam freezes, head lolling against his chest in defeat.
Dean nods at the TV. "If I were the McGyver dude, I'd totally bang the chick. She looks like she'd kick ass in bed. Prolly make a great angel warrior." His voice deepens again. "She's the best warrior in the garrison, Dean." He shakes his head, sneezes twice. "Cas needs to gargle or something."
Sam nods, only half listening to the shit spewing out of Dean's mouth. He's more thinking that a surprise visit from Cas would be great right about now. His head snaps up. Yesssss….angel mojo magic powers to flush this evil headcase medicine out of Dean and let Sam get back to relaxing.
Brilliant.
He pats Dean's chest. "Hey, you know what'd be cool?"
"What, Sammy?"
"If Cas visited us. Like, right now. We could all play a game."
Dean doesn't even take his eyes off the television. "I hate games. Too many people lie to me, keepin'...keepin' secrets. Hidin' stuff. I can't...I can't do games anymore, Sam. Don't...don't make me." He wipes his nose on his sleeve, giving Sam the most badass ramped up Eyes Sam's ever seen.
Sam fiddles with Dean's blanket., feeling shitty and uncomfortable and just plain awful.
Memories of the last time Dean was on the night-time meds are flooding back, and while he may have to deal with the stuff coming out of his mouth, he has no intention of sitting up all night to make sure Dean not only stays in the room, but is unarmed.
Speaking of which…
"Soooo….why don't you…" He actually booped Dean on the nose. "Give Cas a call, and I'll…make you more comfortable." Sam sort of fluffs Dean's pillow, deftly swiping the large knife always stored underneath.
Dean's nose wrinkles from the boop, but he smiles. He fucking smiles, and looks up at Sam like he's the most amazing thing in the world. "I really like you."
Sam ducks the knife behind his back, and tries to look anywhere but at Dean. "I know. And I...uh...I really like you, too."
Dean goes back to watching the TV. "You shouldn't. I'm...not a good person."
Sam's jaw clenches. The yo-yo of silly to heart wrenching in one second flat is gonna kill him. The worst part of all this, is that everything Dean says? To him, it's truthful. This isn't just Dean saying random weird crap; it's Dean unfiltered and uninhibited.
This isn't something little brothers are supposed to deal with.
Then maybe try remembering little fucking details like medicine Dean can't take.
Sighing, Sam takes a really good look at his brother, the face he's seen more than a million times, and decides...why not?
Engage.
"I disagree. I think you're an awesome person. A much better person than me, that's for sure. You're smart, you're strong, you're the best hunter I know. Most of all, you're...you're the best brother ever. Hands down. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."
He holds his breath a few seconds, feeling emotionally naked for opening himself like that. Sober Dean would never have let him even finish the second sentence. Sam waits, not sure how Dean will react.
"You like the rainbow mallows too, right?"
Sam laughs. He can't help it. "Yeah, man, I do."
"Pretty sure it means you're gay."
Sam laughs harder, because that was Dean.
Dean's hand raises, drops, then raises again as his head snaps forward, sneezing. He rolls his eyes up to Sam. "I don't feel good. Head's too fuzzy."
Face falling, Sam nods. "I know...I'm sorry." Kicking the Cas plan to the curb, Sam gets up, shuts off all the lights, snags the remote and settles next to Dean in bed. He plops a large box of tissues between them, and sighs. "Let's just...watch TV, see if you can sleep, and we'll start over tomorrow."
Dean nods back, because sure - Sam crawling into bed with him was perfectly normal.
Next commercial break...
"You know...you'd think that all the different colors in the rainbow marshmallow meant that there were different flavors, but it doesn't. It's all just…marshmallow flavored."
"But it's a marshmallow...how else should it taste?"
"Fruity?"
"You're weird, Sam." Pause. "So we're back to the gay thing, huh?"
XXXxxxXXXxxx PART 2 XXXxxxXXXxxx
Dean likes doing the laundry. Forced down time in small doses keeps him going. The View was on TV when Dean arrives, one of his secret favorite shows. After feeding the machines, he pulls up a plastic chair, and settles in to watch with a bag of candy from the vending machine. The hosts were talking about taking time for oneself every day to reflect, reassess, and recharge. Dean nods along, because he sees laundry time as his own mini vacation, which he gets to take even when things are shitty, smelly, and bleak as fuck.
Those chicks are so fucking smart.
Whoopie's going off on some famous asshole who cheated on his wife when there's a loud banging, followed by a horrific grinding noise. Dean reaches for his gun, dropping the candy and releasing a dozen multi-colored spheres in a dozen different directions across the grungy floor.
"Oh, dammit! Troy! Machine number four's out again!" A plump, pleasant woman waddles from behind a counter over to the machine, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "Stupid, worthless machine. Shoulda replaced you last month."
Swallowing his heart back into his chest, Dean releases his grip on the gun that's halfway out of his pants, and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He's about to sit back down when he realizes - Aw, shit - machine number four is his machine.
His vacation just got rained on.
The woman stops in front of it, then takes a couple steps back as a growing puddle appears at her feet. She sighs. "Who was using this machine?"
Dean actually raises his hand. "Uh - that'd be me…"
The woman sighs again, gesturing at the obviously broken machinery. "I'm so sorry, sir. This machine's been so fussy lately...you'd think it was haunted." Dean tilts his head at it. "I'm gonna have to move you to a different washer."
Ohhhhh, wait…"I, uh, am gonna need some soap, then. I used the last of mine on that load." They both jumped as the machine belts out one last protesting groan, shaking back and forth and spewing said soap out of the top.
Maybe the bastard is haunted…
The woman waved a hand at him. "That's no problem at all. I have some you can use. Now, let's get your stuff into a washer that will actually clean your clothes…"
xxxxx
When Dean arrives back at the motel, he's doing a lot better. The nice woman refunded all his money, so three loads of laundry cost nothing, not to mention the free candy and soda she gave as well.
Sam texted a while ago that he was heading out for a run, so Dean pops open a beer and starts putting the clothes away, stacking Sam's on his bed so the fussy little princess can put his own shit away however he wants, and stowing his in his duffel. The towels and blankets are already packed in the Impala's trunk.
Thunder rumbles overhead, so Dean turns on the news to check the weather. They were supposed to head out tonight after dinner, but if the weather is bad…
Dean listens, slack jawed, to the well-dressed man prattle about fronts, jet streams, and barometric pressure. When the nightly forecast appears, complete with pictures, he perks up, taking a swig of his drink and frowning when he sees the heavy rainfall predicted.
Stuck here another night, then.
Blech.
The door opens, and in walks Sam, sweaty and panting. "Hey...how was your vacation?"
Dean belches, thumping his chest. "Awesome. Machine broke down, had to switch to a new one, and got the whole shebang for free."
Sam tosses his keys on the table and pulls his shirt off. "Nice. So, the weather is shit…"
Dean gestures at the TV with his beer bottle. "Yeah, I saw. Should probably hang here tonight, head out in the morning."
Sam nods. "Yeah, sounds good. We don't have a job right now, so there's no rush. Let me take a shower, then we'll grab dinner."
"Sounds good."
xxxxx
"Hiiih-HehShhhhyuu!"
"Jesus, bless you. You coming down with something?"
Sam shakes his head, pressing a napkin to his nose. "Don't...don't thiiii… thinksoHehhhSchhhyuuu!"
Dean glances around, trying to figure out why Sam'd been sneezing so much. Throughout dinner, Sam dropped his fork, twice, spilled his water, and went through an entire canister of napkins because of it.
"Well something's up, man."
Sam presses his fingers to his temple and sniffles. "Doh clue...I cad't stop. Hiiihhh-hrshhhyuu! I sbell flowers or sobething, but I cad't tell where they are."
Dean frowns. There are no flowers anywhere in the diner. He leaves some cash on the table. "Well, let's get outta here. Maybe the fresh air will help."
Nodding, Sam sneezes into his arm before slowly getting to his feet. Another sneeze catches him off guard, and he almost bumps into a waitress carrying a whole tray of food. Luckily, Dean grabs his arm, pulling him over, and avoiding a catastrophe. It was pretty amazing, and Dean's about to comment on just that, when a strong floral scent hits him.
"What the - " He looks around again, but finds nothing.
It took a second, but he finally figures it out.
Sam's clothes. The smell was coming from his clothing. Sam's nose is already scrunched up again, and he's in the middle of bringing his arm up to cover his face when Dean pushes hard, startling the sneeze into a corner long enough to propel Sam outside, where he bends over and lets loose.
Dean drags a hand down his face, helplessly watching his brother pitch forward. When it looks like he's slowing down, Dean places a hand on Sam's back. "C'mon, Sammy...I know how to fix this…"
xxxxx
Thirty minutes later, they're back at the motel, Sam showered and changed into a pair of Dean's sweats and t-shirt that weren't washed in the evil soap. Dean ducked out to grab some large plastic garbage bags, so he could gather up all of Sam's stuff and rewash it tomorrow.
He waves a box of extra-strength allergy relief medicine in front of Sam. "Hey...take some of this."
Sam heads back into the bathroom, head shaking and breath hitching. "Don't ... I ... Heh...Hiiihattschhh! Heschhhhyuu!" He sniffles. "Don'tneedtoHetschchh! JesusChrist-HNGXT!" The door shuts, and Dean hears three more belt out, followed by a nose blow.
Like hell, he doesn't need it. Dean crosses the room, crushes the pills and slips the powder into a cup of soda. He threw in one extra, just to make sure Sam sleeps this off.
xxxxx
Almost an hour later, Sam's sneezing has slowed. Dean can feel the relief radiating from his brother, as breathing now takes place, mostly without interruption. He flips through the channels until he finds an episode of Stargate. He sets the remote on the nightstand and gets comfortable with a package of peanut butter cups.
He's just starting to nibble at the chocolate coating when Sam announces, "I really don't think I am."
Chocolate cup firmly between his teeth, Dean's eyes swivel toward his brother. Sam's just laying there, eyes fixed on the TV. Dean finishes the bite and chews slowly, waiting for a follow-up. When none is forthcoming, he offers, "You really don't think you're what? Gay?" He chuckles and continues stripping the remaining candy down to the peanut butter.
Come on - Sam left himself wide open.
And then Sam ruins it.
"Yeah."
Dean almost chokes on the chocolate melting in his mouth. "What?!"
"I said, I really don't think I'm gay. I mean, there was that one time at school with Frank Vandelman, but I was so drunk that I don't think it counts. Not that we did anything. I was just sort of looking him over from across the room while drinking this amazing drink that my friend Allison made with this rum her parents gave her from while they were in Mexico. I think there was pineapple juice in it, and even though I absolutely fucking hate pineapple juice, the drink was really good and you could hardly taste the pineapple in it, which is probably why I really liked it. I think I had, like, four of them. Still wasn't enough to make me do anything with Frank, but I did check him out."
The room fell silent, except for the sound of the Stargate clicking into place. Dean pops the rest of the cup into his mouth, thoughtfully sucking the chocolate off his fingers. He can only think of one response. "You were interested in a guy named Frank?"
"Yeah. No. I mean, he was kinda cute."
Oh, well, okay then…?
Dean frowns, still sorting this out. "Kinda cute?"
"I dunno. Maybe? In a Daniel Jackson sort of way, only he wasn't blond and he didn't wear glasses and he was a political science major, not a scientist, even though both majors have the word science in them, so technically they're sort of related, kind of like second cousins, although I'm not sure that could actually be validated by actually looking at their actual definitions. And I'm not even sure you could classify majors like you would family members, but in some cases, I think it kinda works. And maybe he was kinda cute, but like I said, I was really drunk, you know?"
There's a slight pause.
Dean scratches his head. "Yeah, I got that memo with the pineapple juice and everything. You okay, Sammy?" He wipes his hand on a blanket and turns to face his brother, who's still staring at the TV, head tilted on a pillow, legs sprawled all over the bed.
Sam nods. "I was afraid you'd hate me if I was gay, so I'm really glad I don't think I am."
Dean sits up, completely confused, now. "Waitasec - why would I - "
"I mean, you'd still love me and everything because I'm your brother and Dad told you to love me and take care of me, but I think it would've been one more thing you'd have had to deal with, you know? You have a hard enough time dealing with me now. If we added being gay to the already long list of shit I have going on, I think it'd push you over the edge. Although I guess we'd have a whole bunch of new bars we could scam at. But I don't think I am, so it's okay."
Head spinning, Dean swings his legs to the floor. Where the fuck did Sam get the idea that he'd hate him if he was gay? Sam knows better than that. Dean could give a shit about that stuff. He wasn't one of those - holdon. Hold. On.
First off, Dean's not sure why he's even entertaining the crap coming out of Sam's mouth. Second, there's a lot of crap coming out of Sam's mouth.
Third…
"Hey, Sammy."
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Before, when I asked you if you wanted some allergy meds, you said you didn't need any. Why'd you say that?"
Sam blinks. "Because I already took some. An extra one, even."
Dean nods his head, hands over his face. Of course. Of course, Sam already took the meds. Sam's an adult. Sam knows how to deal with shit like this. Dean's still sneaking around trying to get Sam to do what Dean thinks is best, like Sam's ten fucking years old.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean sighs. Way to go, Dean. Way. To. Go.
He's so fucked. Loopy Sam won't shut up for, like, ever.
"I still like the marshmallows, though."
"Okay, Sam. Let's...let's stop talking about it, okay? How about...how about we just watch TV? Enjoy the quiet, peaceful night?"
Sam muffles a stray sneeze into his blanket. "It's never quiet when I'm around. You know that. Drives you nuts. Drove Dad nuts all the time. That's one reason why he hated me. I was always questioning him, challenging him, pushing every button he had, being a pain in the ass. I only trusted you, even when you agreed with him, and that upset him even more so of course he hated me."
Oh, Jesus.
Dean rolls his eyes to the heavens, asking for mercy. "Dad never hated you, Sam." He immediately regrets opening his mouth, forgetting that two minutes ago, he he told himself not to engage with Sam when he's like this.
"No, he did. I know he...heh...hiiihschhuuuu! did. It's okay, I don't blame him. I'm a pain in the ass. Like the time when I was in second grade and I gave you that haircut because I heard you tell Dad you wanted to look cool in your math class for some girl whose name I can't remember. You were so mad at me. It's like that."
Dean sighs, digging his fingers into his thighs, wondering what he can do to stop the onslaught of Sam's innermost thoughts. That's when he gets a brilliant idea. Cas could come. Cas could use his angel mojo and clear the offending drugs from Sam's system.
It's brilliant.
He grabs the empty candy wrapper and wads it up. "Hey, Sammy, how about we invite Cas to hang with us?"
Sam's face wrinkles up. "Cas doesn't like me. I'm tainted and dirty to him. No, wait - unclean. That's the word. I'm unclean." He turns his Eyes on Dean. "I shower way more than you, but I'm unclean because of my blood. I can't shower my blood." He turns back to the TV. "I tried, once. Maybe I'm allergic to pineapple juice. I threw up a lot the next morning."
Dean freezes. "He...you...what?"
Sam scrubs at his nose. "Yeah, not the sneezing allergy but the puking one, because I was a real mess and Brady had to make sure I didn't drown in the toilet. I also found a blood purification ritual in one of Bobby's old books and tried it, but it didn't work and Meg told me it'd never go away. I have demon in every part of me because the red blood cells reproduce and - "
"Stop. Sammy...just, stop. Please." Dean throws the wrapper across the room. Which really ends up flittering to the floor two feet away from him because it unwrapped and floated more than flew. He sits back on the bed, massaging his temples. Chatty Sam gives all sorts of information, which was great when they were little and Dean could find out things like Stanford when Sam doesn't know he's spilling.
But this Chatty Sam gave Dean a little too much insight, making him nauseous, depressed and anxious all at once.
Sam shakes his head, stubble rustling against the pillow. "I don't know why you bother."
Dean looks up sharply. "Why I bother what?"
"Why you bother still following Dad's orders to take care of me when it's clear that I'm the biggest problem in your life."
Dean blinks at him.
"I can't even remember what cold medicine you can't take."
Ah…That's where this is going. GuiltySam is the worst.
"Sam - it wasn't a big deal." He kicks the wrapper under the bed and shoves Sam over with his hip so he could sit down. "Hey...lookit me." Dean's head retreats from the pure force of Sam's Eyes. Sighing, he reaches out and takes hold of Sam's chin.
Time to jump in the pool.
"Listen - I didn't need Dad's orders to care for you after the first time you said my name. It was game fucking over right then and there. I take care of you because you're my brother, and I want to. No other reason. You're the best thing in my life, Sammy, nothin'll change that. So just...knock it off, okay? Please?"
Sam just blinks at him, eyes slightly unfocused. Dean sighs again, letting go of Sam's chin and getting comfortable on the bed so he didn't fall off in his sleep, because he plans on staying close until Sam comes down from this medication high.
Several seconds later, Sam nods, returning to the TV.
Thank you, Dean mentally shouts out to whatever deity might be listening. It's finally quiet, Daniel Jackson is explaining the scientific whatever behind an environmental phenomenon, and Dean's eyes start closing.
Until he hears, "Can I tell you a secret?"
He jolts awake, thinking, what now? Why does Sam need permission to tell him something? "Yeah, of course."
"I like it when you call me Sammy."
Dean's breath catches, and he snakes an arm around his brother, pulling Sam's head to rest against his chest. "I know you do, Sammy. I know you do."
XXX END XXX