Dean coughs himself awake for the third time that night and clutches the ragged-edged blanket tighter as he struggles for air. The couch is lumpy and sags in the middle and isn't comfortable at all, but Dean's sleeping on it anyway because he doesn't want to keep Sam awake all night with his coughing when Sam has to go to school in the morning. He wipes the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his pajama shirt and turns on his side. He's cold, achy, dizzy, and just plain miserable. God, the flu sucks.
He must doze off then, because he wakes up to an insistent tugging on his shirt. He turns around to see Sam standing next to the couch with a chipped mug in one hand. "Here."
Dean accepts the mug and wraps both hands around it, savoring the warmth. "What's this?" he asks hoarsely.
"Tea. With honey." Sam shrugs. "I could hear you coughing all the way from my room. With the door closed." He sounds so scandalized that Dean almost has to laugh.
"You're not supposed to use the stove by yourself, Sammy. You know that." Dean sips the tea, which is just sweet enough and so wonderfully hot.
"I didn't," Sam replies indignantly. "I used the microwave."
Dean takes another sip of tea that feels really good on his sore, scratchy throat. It's making his nose run but he doesn't really care because, for the first time in hours, he's not chilled to the bone. "Thanks, Sammy. This is awesome."
Sam beams. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah, a little."
Sam nods. "Good." He takes a step back from the couch and is overcome by a huge yawn.
"Go back to bed," says Dean in a much stronger voice. "It's the middle of the night and you have school tomorrow."
"I hafta clean up," protests Sam.
"Don't worry about it." Dean sniffles and gulps the last of the tea. "I'll get it in the morning."
Sam yawns again. "Okay."
"'Night, Sammy." Dean sets the mug on the floor next to him and curls up under the blanket.
Sam smooths the blanket over Dean's shoulders, then kisses his fingertips and presses them to Dean's cheek. "'Night, Dean."