Prompt: Dean's coming down with something. And is sad. Ellen checks for a fever by kissing his forehead. Dean is putty in her hands.

"Condensation"

"You okay?"

Dean uses a finger to wipe a train of condensation down his beer bottle. Like tears. "Fine."

"You want to go lay down in one of the rooms out back?" Ellen offers.

"No." Yes.

Ellen nods and continues cleaning. She hums while she works. It's a soft, soothing tune that reminds him of lavender and vanilla.

Soon the Roadhouse is clean and the only things out of place are Dean's beer bottle and Dean himself.

Ellen approaches and invades his personal space, but he doesn't have the energy to pull away. She puts a cool hand on the back of his neck. He slouches as tension leaves his aching body. Before he can stop her, she's pressing a light kiss to his temple.

"That's some fever you're runnin', sweetie."

Dean's head falls onto her shoulder. He shivers.

"Come on," she says, gentle fingers tugging through his hair. "You need sleep."

They walk with one of her hands on his back. "How'd you know?" he asks.

"That you're sick?" When Ellen smiles, it's sad. "I'm a mom, honey. Plus, I figure healthy Winchesters don't let beer bottles sit out long enough to form condensation."

Dean lets Ellen tuck him into bed.