Sam looked so ridiculously fragile; it was almost funny in a way. A giant 30 year old man who had become so weak that his body didn't even look in proportion with itself anymore. Except that it wasn't funny, especially not to Dean.
Carefully, he carried the blanket he had picked out of the linen closet moments before and draped it over his not-so-little brother's shivering shoulders before Sam even had time to process what Dean was doing. "Hey, can you stop mothering me Dean, I'm f-" Sam began to take off the blanket in protest before Dean cut him off. "No, you're not fine Sammy. How many times are we going to have this conversation, man? You're not sleeping, you're not eating, you're can't even balance for longer than 5 freaking seconds without holding onto something. So the least I can do is keep you warm, make your body stop shivering enough for you to actually think straight, okay? Now if you're done complaining, I'll go plate up your lunch; John Winchester's cure all kitchen stew" And with that, Dean headed back towards the kitchen. Sam watched him go and then pulled the blanket tighter round his shoulders.