Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: This is for the prompt Minor Illness or Injury on my card for this year's hc-bingo.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta.

Summary: A run-down Sam falls victim to a normal illness.


No Cure for the Common Cold

"Look at it this way," Dean says. "At least you know there's nothing supernatural about this."

"Yeah," Sam mumbles, trying to glare at him and looking like a pouting toddler. "That's really nice to know."

Except that, with his cold, it ends up sounding like Dat's weally dice to dow and Dean bursts out laughing. It only makes Sam glare harder, which makes him look more like a baby who's just been fed a lemon, which makes Dean laugh even more, and, yeah vicious cycle. Really awesome vicious cycle.

"Sorry," Dean gasps, when at last he has himself under a semblance of control. If Sam's continuing bitchface is anything to go by, he doesn't sound sorry at all. "It's just, you have no idea what a relief this is. A cold is something we can deal with. A cold is something I can deal with. As long as I can see you and talk to you, we can deal with anything."

Sam's face softens.

"Here," Dean says, thrusting a spoonful of cough syrup into his mouth before he can start a chick-flick moment.

Sam grimaces as he swallows it. "Gross."

"Tough. It's good for you."

He starts tucking the blankets tighter around Sam. Sam's already wrapped up snug, because Dean's had plenty of experience dealing with a sick and shivering little brother and he knows the most important thing is to make sure a cold doesn't turn into something worse. For all that Sam tries to eat healthy and exercise, the hunting lifestyle is terrible for your immune system.

"You good?" he asks when he's done.

Sam gazes pathetically up at him. Dean laughs again. If it were serious, Sam would be in denial, telling Dean about how he's fine and of course I'm ready to hunt, Dean and oh, come on, it's just a tiny bit of blood. Having him all clingy and opening his mouth for the thermometer means he's not seriously ill.

He is, however, clearly angling for some fussing-over, and he's had a rough enough week that Dean decides to give it to him.

"I'll make you some of that herbal tea you claim is full of antioxidants, or Vitamin C, or whatever it is," Dean says. "Drink it, and then if you're awake enough I'll read to you."

Sam brightens at once. By the time Dean's finished steeping the tea he's sitting up in bed and holding out his hands for the cup. He drinks it so quickly Dean's compelled to tell him to slow down before he burns his tongue. Dean's not going anywhere.

"Good boy," Dean says when Sam's done. Sam beams, and Dean wishes it were always this easy to make Sam happy. "I've got a surprise for you. Shut your eyes."

Sam obeys. Dean quickly riffles through his duffel for the hardcover, full-colour copy of Winnie-the-Pooh that he picked up at a used book sale in the last town they passed through. He puts it in Sam's hands.

"Open your eyes."

Sam does, and his smile turns about a hundred times brighter when he sees the book. He makes a little squeaky sound that Dean would find hilarious if he weren't too busy feeling like Superman for putting that look on Sam's face.

"Scoot over," Dean says.

Sam scoots. As soon as Dean's made himself comfortable on the bed, Sam's back, settling into the crook of Dean's arm. Dean can't find it in himself to object.

"Here is Edward Bear," he begins, "coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump."

By the time he gets to the bees and the honey Sam's asleep. But that's OK. Dean'll read him the rest of the book later.

THE END


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