A/N: The boys are used to dealing with the paranormal everyday, but what if their current case is more normal than paranormal. Because Faith hasn't premiered yet, I'm pretending it has not happened so disregard it.
"Dean, dean! Are you alright?" I bellowed into my older brother's ears. We were sprawled out on wilting grass, frozen from the thawing snow; my hand on Dean's shoulders as he wheezed into the ground. The man had fallen some feet behind me, but I was so self-absorbed in catching whatever we were chasing to notice his absense.
It was not until I heard the deep coughs that I realized something was off. The stronger body wasn't next to me. I had lost Dean at some point.
"Leave me! Go catch that thing!" Dean breathed heavily, gasping for air. I noticed his usually firm green eyes were red and puffy.
"We don't even know what it is, Dean. What happened to you?" concerned, I kneeled down on one knee and began a short inspection. Nothing seemed broken or scarred.
"I fink its shome fort of fickness spirit," Dean offered, before sneezing wetly into his hand. Cringing as a bit of the spit escaped to land on my cheek, I attempted to comprehend what the man had just said.
"A fickness spirit? I-I don't know what your saying."
"Ah-choo!" The man leaned back and fell unto his butt, the wet ground soaking his jeans. "A fickness spirit!"
The light-bulb went off above my head. Watching as two more sneezes escaped Dean's mouth, I began to smirk. "Dean, there's no such thing as a sickness spirit."
"Are yu' sure?"
"Well I don't remember Dad teaching us about it. And besides, what will it do? Make you cough to death?" My smirk was shaping into a long grin. My mind raced back to when I was twelve and Dean had just turned sixteen. I'd recieved an especially nasty cold from one of my classmates and Dean had tortured me unmercifully for it. He had stolen all the tissue boxes in the apartment and went around spraying cologne, making me sneeze every time I turned the corner.
"Maybe 'ts not a' shpirit. Maybe a' demon?"
"Dean, c'mon, I seriously doubt some demonic figure is making you sneeze like this. maybe, for just once, it's you," I responded, pulling my jacket closer to my chest as a chilling wind swept through.
As another coughing fit came and passed, Dean sent daggers through his swollen eyes. "Wha' are you laughing a'?"
I couldn't hold it in any longer. The man had tried to sound so serious, but with a dribble of snot running off his nose, I was unable to contain my laughter. My knees dug into the snow as I rambled on, stopping only when Dean had grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me to my feet. Even sick he was stronger than average men.
"I'm sorry..really. But blaming that on a demon is a good one."
By that point the man had collected the guns and duffel bag he had dropped earlier and had begun his way back to the Impala. "It ish a demon!" he yelled back at me thickly.
Making the long walk back to the car, my eyes pointed out how Dean's walk was slow and how drooping his eyes seemed. 'Hey, dopey, I'm driving." Grabbing the keys from his hands, before he could put up a fight, I threw open the driver's door and got in.
"Back to the hotel sho I can look up whatever did fhis to me." The Impala's engine roaring to life drowned out the large yawn expelled from Dean, but I didn't miss it. His body had expired from coughing and sneezing, choosing instead to force his body to rest.
"Uh-huh, sure."
----
"Bitch."
"Should I get a wheelchair, or do you think you can stay awake long enough to walk into the building?" I said, holding open the passenger door, ignoring Dean's retort.
He answered with yet another loud sneeze and a slow exit of the vehicle. "I'm telling you, Sham, it's not normal. Nothing a dochtor can fixsh."
"I know, I know. You, the big macho man can never get sick. You're invinsible. Trust me, I've heard this story every winter since you were six."
"Huh?"
"Let's just go and get you some medicine so you'll start feeling better."
"No." Like a child, the twenty six year old stood outside the electronic hospital doors, with his arms crossed and feet firmly planted, a look of defiance on his face.
"What do you mean no?" I knew this would be the difficult part. When Dean had been forced to go get shots for school, it had taken Dad twenty minutes just to get him through the lobby. He was, for some reason, terrified of the doctor's.
"No! I'm tehhing you, dude, it's a pageon gohd, or shomething."
"Dean! Face it! You're sick! Now come on!" pulling forcefully on one of Dean's arms, added on with the drowsiness, gave me enough vantage to push him all the way into the waiting room of the small building.
"Name," a very bored looking recepsionist stated. The town was not very large, with an occupancy of only four hundred. Thankfully, this allowed the wait time to be greatly short.
"Uh, Sam Winchester. I'm bringing my brother in. He, he's sick."
"No I'm not!" As if in contradiction with himself, his throat became dry and an especially long coughing fit followed.
"Sit down over there and the doctor will be with you shortly."
----
"Mr. Winchester?" a deep voice asked from behind. It had been almost forty five minutes since Dean had dissapeared from the waiting room, his head hung low and feet dragging. I had taken the doctor aside before he closed the examing room door, explaining how difficult Dean would be on him. Dr. Williams just smiled and assured me the five minute exam would go quickly.
Turning I saw the man's dark brown hair was dishevled and his white coat was wrinkled. There seemed to be an injury on his right arm, seeings as he was favoring the left. The bright smile that had shone me his perfect white teeth earlier was replaced with a exasperated expression.
"Was he that bad?" I asked, worried I'd have a law suit on my case. From behind William's shoulder I saw a very drugged Dean walk out of the office, sucking on a lollipop.
"Um, I just wish you would have told me he had a black belt in kicking doctor's asses before I began."
"I'm so sorry. Dean has this subconscious belief that he never gets sick. Hope he didn't hurt you too bad."
Dean plopped into the chair adjactent to mine. The puffiness in his eyes had reduced, but the drowsiness that had almost overpowered him in the car looked twice as bad.
"It seems," Dr. Williams continued proffesionally, once he shot Dean a cautious look. "that your brother has the usual commom cold. Nothing to worry about. I prescribed him some medicine that you can pick up at the nearest pharmacy."
I sighed, happy I'd get the chance to drug the cause of so many sarcastic comments to sleep.
"I will suggest, though, that you make sure he stops sleeping with the temperture set so low in the house and without a shirt on. And he mentioned not having a heater in his car. Seeings it's the middle of January, it's a wonder he didn't catch pneamunia."
I nodded my head, trying to keep my attention alert. Dad had heard this same story every time he brought Dean in. They all told him that it wasn't healthy to keep the house so cold, and that the boy should keep warmer. They all blamed my father's lack of knowledge on how to properly manage Dean's warmth with the reason he was constantly getting colds.
But I knew why the two loved the chilliness of the room while they slept. It was because of the fire. The fire that left permanent heat lodged in their hearts. No matter how cold the wind was outside, both John and Dean were never cool enough.
"Why is he so...out of it?"
"Oh, that," the man pointed to the body in the chair, who was still licking the pink candy. "I tried to give him an inspection, to make sure there were no other problems...and he wouldn't cooperate. So I was forced to give him a small sedative. Nothing to worry about, he'll be back on his feet in a few hours."
"Wonderful," I said gloomily.
"How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" Both the doctor and I turned around to see Dean staring at the lollipop, talking to it.
"Come on, genius, lets you get your medicine. I want you asleep as soon as possible."
"Oh, and Mr. Winchester," the doctor called from behind. I was struggling to keep myself and the bulky Dean balanced.
"Yes?"
"Your bill will have a dollar twenty nine added to it since the last time I gave you the price."
"Why?"
"Because, we found one other way to keep your little guy over there happy."
I waited patiently.
"Dean has quite the sweet tooth. He hate my entire bag of lollipops. So I had to ask for more money to go buy some more."
Disgusted, I turned my attention back to the man in my arms. He was looking at me with wide eyes. "You're cool. Whatsh's your name?"
Shaking my head, I wondered how the Winchester men could deal with things such as demons and creatures from hell, but one runny nose caused our entire life to tumble upside down. My excitement to get the normal, less happy Dean back was overwhelming. As much as I hated his smartass comments and listening to Moterhead over and over again, I would take that over a common cold anyday.
"You better not get sick until we get back to our room," I grumbled, seating him carelessly into the passenger seat of his car. Glancing at the smooth leather on the spotless leather, I feared getting killed over the satisfaction of seeing his baby ruined.
"Ah-choo!"
God how I hated colds.
A/N: alrighty, not my best work, but like I've mentioned, I've been on permanent writer's block. :) I know I already have a story started for this challenge, but that one was beginning to turn into something different. so, oh well:)