Rating: T

Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own Dean Winchester.

Author's Note: After much debate with several people over what exactly Jo's college major (if indeed she declared one) was, this was what the general consensus agreed on. As it offered itself quite nicely to a chapter like this, I decided to go with it.

With thanks and big smushy hugs to Silverspoon, as always.

Wisconsin

A burning pain stabbed deep within his chest as Dean pressed a clenched fist to his mouth, and his body shook with the violent force of an impromptu coughing fit.

Releasing a weary and self-indulgent groan, he swiped the pad of his thumb beneath his eyes to stem the tears that had begun to involuntarily escape his red rimmed eyes. Having been feeling slightly out of sorts for the past few days, Dean had awoken that morning in the throes of what was apparently a very nasty and all consuming bout of the flu.

He had managed to resist Jo's admittedly sage and sensible advice, and as of yet had refused to seek solace in a box of the drug store's finest cold and flu medication.

Now, after having sneezed, coughed, wretched and sniffled his way through that morning's hunt, where they had encountered a decidedly cranky poltergeist – Dean Winchester was finally ready to admit defeat.

Every joint and muscle in his body ached; he couldn't recall the last time he had been able to take a breath through his nose; and it had become difficult to decide whether it was the razor blade sensation in his throat, or the dull, throbbing headache that was perhaps the worst of his symptoms.

Having initially offered boundless sympathy and comfort, Jo had now lost patience with her constantly complaining boyfriend, and had ordered that he immediately seek out the appropriate medicinal products to ease both their suffering.

It appeared that Dean was not one to suffer in proverbial silence, and it felt to Jo as though she too had endured every ache, pain, twinge, sniffle and sneeze he had experienced through his constant grousing, muttering and overtly dramatic sighs.

"Okay, you want syrup or pills?" she demanded, one hand planted on her hip as she gestured to the drug store shelf and arched an eyebrow that practically defied him to argue with her.

"I don't care," Dean sniffed, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to burn and water furiously once again.

"Okay, well... you can have both," she replied with a shrug, quickly plucking a box of decongestants from the shelf along with a bottle of cough syrup, "and I don't want to hear about how bad this stuff tastes."

Dean shrugged dejectedly and Jo bit back a smile as she watched his shoulders hunch, and he stared down at the ground, simply nodding silently.

Feeling her heart constrict just a little at the expression she found upon his face, and in light of recent events, Jo found herself unable to maintain her strict facade. Gathering the items up into her arms -along with a super-sized box of Kleenex and a carton of juice - she slipped her free hand through Dean's arm and hugged it gently.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel," she suggested softly, reaching up and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, and repeating the gesture against his cheeks, "you do feel kind of warm."

"I feel like Hell, is what I feel like, sweetheart," Dean stated, turning his head away from her as he coughed, and the action caused his ribs to ache, "and I should know; I've been there."

He took the items from her arms with a chivalrous flourish, and Jo smiled at the gesture, despite the self-satisfied smirk it prompted.

Rolling her eyes and falling into step beside him, Jo sighed contentedly as she felt Dean's hand land in the centre of her back, steering her toward the check out.

Dean stood dutifully at her side in the line-up, glancing ahead at the other five customers before them, as he absently slid his arm around her hip and drew her closer.

"You sure you don't want to wait in the car?" Jo checked, feeling far too warm herself in her thick winter jacket, combined with the almost tropical temperature of the drug store. She could only imagine how Dean must be feeling, under his leather jacket, and with flu induced hot flashes.

Not receiving a response, Jo glanced up at him and frowned as she found his attention had been diverted toward the candy shelves a few feet away.

Following his gaze, Jo's heart sank as her own eyes settled on the two little boys bickering before them. Judging by their colouring and similar features, it was not difficult to discern the two as siblings, and there appeared to be an age gap of no more than four or five years between them.

The older of the two held out a couple of candy bars, one in each hand, as the younger squinted and cocked his head, appearing to be having difficulty making his choice. Narrowing his eyes from beneath his tousled brown hair, the youngest child reached out and pointed toward the Hershey bar, beaming up at his sibling for approval.

"You sure you want this one?" the older boy pressed, obviously knowing the smaller child well enough to realise his battle with indecision was probably far from over.

"Yep," he bobbed his head definitely yet moments later, a flicker of doubt passed across his wide blue eyes. His little tongue poked out against his bottom lip as he suddenly recoiled and he re-aimed his index finger at the other candy bar, "No, that one."

Jo watched Dean's expression closely, detecting a faint, undeniably sad smile tug at his lips as he watched the exchange. She squeezed his arm, yet he continued to stare down at the siblings as if reliving a similar memory of his own.

"Jamie!" the older boy whined in exasperation, and sighed resolutely as he decided on a course of action.

"Okay, I'm gonna get this one," he held aloft the previously slighted Hershey bar and gestured down to his brother, "you can decide when we get home. Mom wants us back before it gets dark."

Beginning to walk off ahead, the older boy paused as his little brother gasped at his sudden departure and called out after him, "Hey, Connor, wait for me!"

Turning to face him, Connor simply reached out his hand and took his little brother's firmly in his own.

They ambled toward the line together, joining the queue beside Dean and Jo at the neighbouring check out, where they chattered quietly about comic books, TV shows, and things that really only matter to little boys.

Dean swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as he felt his eyes burn once again with tears that had little to do with the flu, and he dropped his gaze to the ground self-consciously.

Jo leant her head against his shoulder and blindly searched out his hand. Dean nodded wordlessly at her gesture of comfort, simply tangling his fingers through hers and gripping her hand fiercely in his own.

"I'm okay," he murmured, lifting his gaze only long enough to bestow a weak smile upon her.

Jo only wished she could believe him.

x-x-x-x-x

Leaning back against a mountain of pillows, and nestled amidst a mass of blankets and comforters, Dean flicked disinterestedly through the TV channels as he kept one eye on the door of the motel room.

Jo had disappeared a half hour before, vowing to find him something to tempt his dwindling appetite, since his usual diet of fast food and snacks appeared strangely unappetising to his germ ridden body.

Huffing out a breath through his mouth, Dean reached for a Kleenex from the night stand beside him, deftly catching a succession of sneezes that left his forehead throbbing uncomfortably in their wake. Balling up the tissue, he tossed it in the garbage can and threw his head back wearily against the cheap, lumpy pillows.

The door opened with a quiet creak, and he immediately sat up straighter as he watched Jo creep into the room, uncertain as to whether her patient had been attempting to take a late afternoon nap.

Dean smiled almost instantly upon meeting her gaze, and she pressed her foot to the door to close it behind her before crossing the room with the small plastic tray she carried.

A plume of steam rose steadily from the contents of the bowl, and Dean frowned as he craned his neck to try to determine it's contents; contents he was certain she was about to force him to eat. A heady, comforting and oddly familiar smell suddenly invaded his senses, and Dean frowned as he tried to place where or when he had last encountered the arguably delicious aroma.

Jo placed the tray on the night stand and removed the lid from the bowl, inhaling the waft of hot air that immediately caught her cheeks with a satisfied smile.

Dean smiled, an incredulous laugh escaping him as he glanced down at the food and then looked up in apparent disbelief at his girlfriend.

"You made me tomato rice soup?"

Jo shrugged and walked around the bed, dropping down carefully beside him and leaning back against the wall as she kicked off her boots onto the floor.

"You told me your Mom used to make it for you when you were sick... I figured it might make you feel better," she stated, reaching for the TV remote as she absently glanced at her watch.

"How did you..." he began, blinking as he wondered just how she had managed to make him home-made soup given their current residence in a typically rundown motel.

"I talked the manager into letting me use the kitchen for a half hour," she said, checking the time on her watch with the clock that hung precariously on the wall beside the door.

Reaching across him, Jo didn't notice the still surprised and clearly sentimental smile that remained on Dean's face, and he watched her closely, touched by her thoughtfulness and the effort she was pouring into taking care of him.

Despite his feigned annoyance at following her strict medication regime, and her seemingly constant pushing of copious drinks in his direction, he couldn't help but be secretly thrilled at her attentiveness and caring. From an early age, Dean had been the one to look out for others. He had even felt a burden of care and a degree of responsibility toward his father, who often times seemed so entrenched and overcome by grief and anger that even as a child Dean had felt compelled to watch out for him as best he could.

Nobody, not even Sam, had shown him such attention, and over the past few months he had found an innate gentleness in Jo that had surprised him. There was a certain tenderness in her touch and a softness in her voice that he knew she shared with few others, and he felt privileged to have been rewarded with a glimpse of this somewhat maternal side of her.

Along with the many other qualities he knew she possessed, Dean constantly found himself discovering new aspects to her personality; new likes and dislikes, traits and quirks he felt instantly compelled to find adorable. He was falling more and more in love with her, and the fear he had always assumed would partner such feelings was strangely absent. Being with Jo felt right, and he had cursed himself for not having admitted his feelings for her sooner.

"Dean?" Jo called his name again, and from the slightly irritable expression on her face, he guessed she had tried a good few times to summon him from his thoughts.

"Time for your meds," she stated, offering him two small yellow and white capsules, and a half filled glass of water, alongside an expression that instantly required him to comply.

Dean grimaced but dutifully accepted the proffered drugs. He swallowed them both down with a pained gulp and a cursory frown of disdain.

"Don't be such a baby," Jo chided, producing an item from the night stand drawer that caused an audible groan to escape Dean's lips.

"Jo, no..." Dean protested, sighing as she jabbed the tip of the thermometer toward his lips and arched a blonde eyebrow at him.

"Open up, princess," she instructed, widening her eyes to add extra emphasis to her words.

Rolling his eyes in a fleeting act of rebellion, Dean dutifully opened his mouth and allowed her to gently slot the cold, metal tip of the thermometer underneath his tongue. Eyeing her closely, Dean leant back against the pillows.

"You know, you're pretty good at this stuff..." he stated awkwardly, the end of the thermometer waggling precariously from the corner of his mouth. He cast a glance toward the medication boxes and bottles, where she had carefully written a schedule for each, along with the seemingly never-ending carton of juice, vitamin pills and the wonderfully enticing soup that was now causing his stomach to grumble.

Jo nodded uncertainly and pressed her hand to his jaw, closing his mouth gently with a faintly mischievous smile. She seemed oddly nervous, poised on the brink of confession, and Dean's interest was piqued even further as Jo made several attempts to construct a sentence.

A small blush rising up her cheeks, Jo cleared her throat and busied herself at picking imaginary lint off of her shirt, "My college major was in nursing..."

Dean laughed out loud, inexplicably struck with the absurdity of her news. He'd seen her in action on hunts, he'd watched her decapitate vampires and take out a whole host of other-wordly creatures without so much as batting an eyelid, and whilst he'd never actually considered what had beckoned Jo briefly to college, he would never have guessed that had been her chosen profession. Although thinking back, it perhaps aptly explained her first aid skills in Duluth.

"What? Is that so hard to believe?" she asked, appearing a little upset by his reaction, although she had guessed it would be something along those lines.

Dean shook his head and voiced a hampered 'No', attempting to remove the thermometer from between his lips, but finding her hand coming to rest immediately over his.

Deciding to try to speak around the infuriating instrument, Dean continued on, "No, no... I just... I mean, no, I can see that... in a totally 'Nurse Jackie' kind of way."

He snickered, his eyes shining with unchecked amusement that brought a tiny, reluctant smile tugging at Jo's lips.

"How about you don't try to talk right now?" Jo snapped, closing his mouth with a slightly firmer touch and a petulant pout.

Dean smirked, sniggering as best as he could. Adopting a snooty expression, he cocked his head at an angle and shook his head at her disapprovingly, "I hope you were a whole lot nicer to your patients, sweetheart..."

"I was a delight," Jo dead-panned, leaning her hands on the mattress behind her as she sighed wearily, "I swear to Lucifer, Dean, if I didn't love you..."

Jo's features suddenly became panic stricken as she realised her unwitting confession, and she bowed her head toward the covers, thankful that her mane of blonde curls obscured Dean's view of her face as she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

A heavy silence hung between them, and Jo silently berated herself for her slip-up, assuming her words would have the infamously relationship-shy Winchester dissolving into a fit of coughs and splutters. Though they had now been living together for a little over four months, they still had yet to give voice to their emotions and, although Jo knew deep down inside that Dean most probably reciprocated her feelings, she wondered if it had been too soon.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Jo nibbled on her bottom lip as she hesitantly scanned his face. Her heart hammered in her chest as she found him staring back at her intently, wearing an expression she couldn't entirely decipher.

"Jo..." he began, about to remove the cursed thermometer from his mouth when she again stopped him, grateful beyond measure for the excuse.

"Wait for the beep," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his.

A mere few seconds later, a high pitched bleeping sound punctuated the silence of the room, and Jo slowly took it from between his lips and tried to busy herself with reading the flashing digital display.

"Well, you don't have a fever," she stated, hoping to steer the conversation in other, less uncomfortable directions.

"Jo..." Dean repeated, leaning forward and covering her hand with his as she repeatedly ducked her head and tried to avoid his eyes. He slipped his fingers within hers, tangling them together until their palms pressed snugly against each other.

His small, awestruck smile gradually allayed her fears, and Jo consented to hold his gaze as he too suddenly seemed lost for words; a highly uncharacteristic state in which to find Dean Winchester.

"I love you too," he said softly, although his tone was laced with a degree of sincerity and startling certainty that she found echoed in the intensity of his green eyes.

A wide smile illuminated her face and, as Dean pressed his palm gently against her cheek, Jo leant into his touch and placed her hand over his. Momentarily forgetting the flu that had overcome him, Jo leant forward and held her face mere inches from his, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel his lips against hers.

"I don't wanna get you sick," Dean said ruefully, staring longingly at her mouth despite his protestations.

Jo shook her head and felt her stomach dip in anticipation as she caught the decidedly hungry glint in his eyes.

"I'll take my chances," she argued, figuring that given their general closeness on a day to day basis, she would possibly get sick no matter how they tried to limit their contact now.

Needing no more encouragement, Dean closed the remaining distance between them and pulled her into his lap, pressing his lips to hers as her arms tangled around his neck.

Jo's fingers gripped the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and she whimpered softly into the kiss as his hands swept up and down her sides before settling firmly on her waist. Pulling apart grudgingly, Dean cursed the congestion that suddenly made him gasp for breath, and Jo caressed his cheek tenderly, before she brushed a kiss against his cheek in an attempt to soothe him.

Settling herself at his side, she leant her head against Dean's shoulder and draped her arm over his chest. His hand curved around her arm as his fingertips began to stroke softly up and down her skin.

Attempting to bite back the grin that twitched at his lips, Dean cleared his throat and waggled his eyebrow playfully, "So... how about a sponge bath?"

Jo giggled and rolled her eyes disapprovingly, lifting a pillow from her side of the bed that she used to swipe lightly at his head. Dean chuckled gleefully, holding up his hands as Jo launched another light hearted attack, pausing only when a coughing fit disrupted their fight.

Jo dropped her makeshift weapon and passed Dean a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully, gulping down the contents to quell the unrelenting tickle in the back of his throat. Lifting the tray of soup from the night stand, Jo set it down on his lap, seating herself beside him once again as she began to flick through the TV stations in search of something even remotely entertaining.

"Thank you," Dean acknowledged, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head as Jo snuggled further against him and dropped the remote, having decided on an old black and white movie.

Jo leant her head back and smiled in reply, suddenly rubbing furiously at her nose before she sneezed three times in succession.

Exchanging defeated sighs, and wearing equally exasperated expressions, Dean plucked a Kleenex from the box and placed it in her hand.

Pulling the covers up over them, he rested his head back against the pillows, as Jo let her head fall against his shoulder. Dean's breath ghosted over the shell of her ear as he nuzzled her cheek, and an unfamiliar sense of contentment began to settle over him.

Despite the loss that still gnawed away at him, despite the infuriating flu that he had succumbed to, and even despite the cheap, no-frills motel they once again temporarily called home – Dean finally believed happiness to be within his reach.