Sick Supernatural (uh...SPN)

[Anilkex]

So...I have this Hurt/Comfort thread going on ff.net. I'm gettin' all these prompts and filling them. Not all are appropriate for this forum, but some work okay, so I thought I'd cross-post the ones folks may be interested in.

First up, in honor of the Season 11 premiere tomorrow:

Prompt: Do you think you could write a sick Sam fic for me between seasons 10 and 11, but without the darkness being a pressing issue, like maybe they're at a standstill with it for the time being or something. I would really like something where Sam gets sick but instead of trying to hide it from Dean like he usually does he just comes right out and tells Dean he doesn't feel well because he misses Dean being his big brother and just wants Dean to take care of him again.

It was quiet.

“H’rshchh!”

Mostly quiet.

Sam muffled sneeze after sneeze into his blanket, wondering if there was Kleenex somewhere in the bunker.

Probably not.

He was hiding in his bedroom, trying to give Dean as much space as possible. Since the removal of the Mark, Sam wasn’t sure what was going on in Dean’s head, and given that their last meaningful interaction involved Sam almost being murdered…

Well.

It’s not that he didn’t want Dean around. He was just pretty sure Dean didn’t want him around. Afterall, Charlie’s dead, Cas is missing, an unrivaled evil was, yet again, unleashed upon the earth by your’s truly, so yes...Sam was fairly confident Dean wasn’t eager to see him.

But Sam felt like crap.

And when Sam felt like crap...he needed Dean, regardless of the circumstances.

Sitting up, he frowned at the clock. The numbers wouldn’t quit moving around, the fuckers, so Sam couldn’t tell the time. He was pretty sure he had a fever, but he had no idea how high it was or what to do about it.

So, he sat there, shivering, hating the way his head hurt, his body hurt, his heart hurt.

Figuring it couldn’t get any worse, he lurched to his feet, grabbed a scratchy blanket, and began the search for Dean.

xxxxx

It was quiet.

Completely, and utterly quiet, in his head.

He wasn’t used to it.

The Mark was an incessant battering of whispers, pulling Dean towards darkened tunnels, promising satisfaction and release that he never thought would end.

But now it was gone, and it turned out, the quiet was just as unnerving. Dean kept waiting for the murmurs to start, but they didn’t, leaving him to make his own decisions, free of unrelenting rage and the constant thirst for spilled blood.

He was hiding in his bedroom, trying to give Sam as much space as possible. Since the removal of the Mark, Dean wasn’t sure what was going on inside his brother’s head. Given that their last meaningful interaction involved Dean almost killing Sam, again…

Well.

It’s not that he didn’t want Sam around. He was just pretty sure Sam didn’t want him around. Afterall, Dean’s said and done some doozies in the last several months, not to mention the last week (murder in their home? Telling Sam he should’ve died in Charlie’s place?) so yes, Dean’s fairly certain Sam didn’t want to see him.

He dragged a hand down his face, staring at the clock. Dean needed coffee to take care of the cobwebs and maybe get him moving on...something. Anything other than sitting in his room feeling like crap.

He made his way to the kitchen, sluggishly dumping coffee into the machine. He was trying to figure out whether to make extra for Sam when a thunderous sneeze from the doorway made him spill water all over the counter.

“What the - “ He spun around, ready to fight off whatever danger was...sneezing in their kitchen? only to stop short at the sight before him.

Sam, mostly huddled in a blanket (it hung off one shoulder like a toga), was staring wide-eyed at the coffee pot Dean was wielding.

Dean quickly set it down, holding up his hands to show good faith. “Sorry! You, uh, scared the shit outta me.” He lowered his arms, taking stock of his brother. Sam looked terrible. Red cheeks, matching nose, hair tousled in fifteen directions, bleary-eyed and shivering.

Fuck.

Sam blinked at him, swallowing carefully around a newly discovered sore throat. “Sorry…” he croaked.

Dean reached for a towel and began mopping up the water slowly spreading across the counter. “No..s’okay. Just...surprised me. That’s all.” Not making eye contact, Dean refilled the coffee pot, making sure all the water got into the machine this time.

An awkward silence blanketed the kitchen, interrupted by Sam’s occasional sniffling.

Remembering that he put Tylenol in one of the cabinets, Dean figured that was why Sam showed up. Fiddling with the towel, he said, “I’ll, uh, be outta your way in a minute. Just…” He finished with a gesture at the coffee pot.

Sam plopped into a chair, staring at the blanket that magically fell off his other shoulder. “You don’t hafta go.” He sneezed again, this one rocking him forward, and he stayed there, until the next two ripped out of him. Slowly sitting back up, he wiped his forehead. “I should go...”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You look like crap, you know.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Biting his lip, Dean winced. The last thing Sam needed was Dean trying to be a big brother again. If Dean learned anything over the last year or so, it was that Sam does not, in any way, want -

“I feel like crap. I feel like more crap than I’ve ever felt like crap before. This.” Sam paused to cough. “Was looking for you. Can’t...dunno what to do.” He paused to sneeze. “I feel so...crappy.” This pause was to catch his breath. “And I can’t find Kleenex. This is our home. Why isn’t there one stupid box of Kleenex? Do you have any?”

Sam was looking at him with those Eyes, just wanting a fucking tissue, and wait, home? Dean blinked, even shook his head a little. “Uh...no, I don’t...wait. You, what?” Did he say he was looking for Dean?

Sam pulled his knees to his chest, coughing into his shoulder while simultaneously trying in vain to cover himself with the blanket that was now sliding onto the floor. Unable to watch the spectacle any longer, Dean walked over. “Here...hold on…” Lips pressed together, he picked up the blanket, wrapping it snugly around his brother’s large frame, eliciting a sigh and a head loll in Dean’s direction.

“Yes. See? I can’t...even with a blanket. I just can’t.” He leaned his head against Dean, sighing again.

Without thinking, Dean brushed wayward hair off Sam’s face, shocked at the heat coming off his brother. “Jesus, Sam, you’re burning up.”

Sam smacked his brother. “Yes. What I’m saying. Feel like crap. Need...” His voice caught as his body shuddered, burrowing further into the blanket.

Dean took a deep breath. Going for cautious, he asked, “What do you need, Sam?”

Sam blinked at him. “Huh?”

“What do you need?”

“Why’re you asking me?”

Now Dean blinked at Sam. “Huh?”

Sam shook his head. “You know. Why ask me?”

“Uh...because when I don’t, you get mad at me?”

Sam’s brow wrinkled, as he thought that one through. “No. Yes, but...no.”

Dean rolled his eyes. And herein lie the problem: Sam’s classic double standard. Know when to take care of me, and when not to. Mixed signals, complex messages, shifting rules for various circumstances.

This situation, though, was fairly straightforward, and Sam was, despite the fever, being fairly obvious.

He wanted his big brother.

”Sam, you sure? I mean…”

Without warning, the little shit sneezed again, this time right on Dean’s shirt, rubbing his nose back and forth afterwards, and thunking his head on Dean’s chest in a dry spot.

Oh, okay.

Dean sighed. “C’mon, big guy.” Somehow, he managed to get Sam back in bed, even tucked in, blanket up to his chin. Sam settled back against his pillow, one eye peeled open, locked on his brother. “I’ll, uh, go get you some Tylenol and Kleenex. Okay?”

Finally satisfied, Sam hummed, closing both eyes and falling asleep.

xxxxx

When Sam woke, it wasn’t by choice. Something dripped down the back of his throat, triggering a massive coughing fit.

The numbers on the clock still weren’t cooperating, so he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. “Dean?” He rasped, flopping back on the pillow, rubbing his eyes.

No answer.

Why no answer? Did Sam imagine Dean putting him to bed like a ten-year-old?

Sam’s eyes flew open. Wait...did Sam imagine practically asking Dean to put him to bed like a ten-year-old?

Oh, shit.

He wasn’t...he didn’t mean...well, yes, he did. He did mean it. He recognized the double standard. He understood how unfair it was. He knew he didn’t deserve it.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want it.

But Dean was gone, now, and Sam was alone, and he still felt like crap, and now he drove his brother away after just getting him back, and -

…

- and footsteps sounded in the hallway, along with the rustling of plastic bags.

“Settle down, Sam. I just went to the store.”

Dean pushed open the door, giving Sam the once over before placing two bags on the dresser.

Sam coughed into his wrist. “How’d you - “

“Your feet. You shuffle them in bed when you’re anxious. Since you’re using these rough, crappy sheets, I could hear you down the hallway.”

Oh.

Dean peeled open and handed over a large box of tissues. “Here - you can stop using my shirt, now.”

Sam winced, taking the box and digging out a couple for immediate use. “Sorry about that…”

Dean shrugged. “No big deal. Got you some medicine, juice is in the fridge, that fruity tea you like, too.”

Tissues over his face, Sam stared at his brother. His brother.

Back.

Taking care of him like the last year didn’t happen. Like the last couple years didn’t happen.

Swallowing, he pushed aside the guilt over Charlie and the Darkness and Gadreel and everything else. “Dean…”

“I know, Sammy. We’re good.”

Sammy.

It hit him hard, right in the gut, and Sam hurried to blow his nose and do whatever he could to mask the relief, the joy, the everything that one word brought to the table. Again, seeming to understand, Dean took an extra minute arranging and rearranging the bottle of Tylenol and Nyquil on the dresser, giving Sam a moment to get it together.

When he was sure Sam settled down, Dean brought him some pills and a bottle of water. “So. Take these, and let’s get that fever down, okay?” His voice was gentle, making Sam’s eyes water once again. Unable to answer, Sam just nodded, following directions.

Dean fiddled with the cap from the water bottle while Sam drank, and when Sam was done, he recapped the bottle, setting it on the nightstand. “Alrighty. I’ll, uh, leave so you can get some rest.”

Sam’s feet shuffled on the bed.

Dean paused, reaching out to bury his fingers in Sam’s hair, rubbing his scalp, trying not to grimace at the sweat. Sam’s eyes closed, almost drowning in how good it felt.

“Want me to stay?” he whispered. I’ll ask, but you have to be honest. I can’t guess anymore.

Sam wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah…” As long as you keep asking…

Dean snorted. “Scoot over.”

[CHOCOLATE <3]

Without warning, the little shit sneezed again, this time right on Dean’s shirt, rubbing his nose back and forth afterwards, and thunking his head on Dean’s chest in a dry spot.

Oh, okay.

Dean sighed. “C’mon, big guy.” Somehow, he managed to get Sam back in bed, even tucked in, blanket up to his chin. Sam settled back against his pillow, one eye peeled open, locked on his brother. “I’ll, uh, go get you some Tylenol and Kleenex. Okay?”

This. This was the cutest.

Poor sick, helpless, Sammy.

He reminds me of a puppy, or a little kid

[Anilkex]

Next one...

How about Bobby taking care of both of them because they were idjits and decided to hunt in bad weather?

Bobby’s pacing the floor, checking the clock every fucking second because those two morons aren’t here, yet. Sighing, he tosses his baseball cap on the table and pours another drink.

Don’t hunt the dog this weekend, he told them. Weather’s turning to shit, he told them. Mudslides are rampant in that park this time of year, he told them.

Did they listen?

Duh.

Now he’s sweating and worrying like a first time mother, having lost contact with his boys hours ago.

Last he knew, the dog got taken out, but both brothers were caught in one of those forewarned mudslides. Bobby’s assuming their phones got lost or broken or something.

Goddammit, where are they?

It’s another hour before the Impala pulls up. By now, Bobby’s had enough booze to seriously go off on them, regardless of their condition. He flings open the front door, snarl in place, ready to jump the second he sees them.

The plan, familiar to all parents when simultaneously angry and worried, fizzles away as soon as the car doors open, and the two idjits stumble into the yard.

Bobby gives them a minute, watching undetected, so he can accurately determine their needs before the bullshitting begins. Dean was driving, which is a good sign, but he’s limping badly, which is also a sign that while hurt, Sam must be worse. Dean pauses on his way around the trunk, sneezing tightly against his wrist.

Bobby sighs, mentally calculating how much Kleenex he has in relation to how bad Dean sounds.

He’s gonna have to go to the store.

Dean’s covered in mud. Hair plastered to his head, clothes sagging from the weight, squishing-in-his-boots, covered in mud.

More awesome.

Sam makes it out of the car, also mud-covered, but he’s clutching his arm to his chest and is in no way steady. He looks a little lost, indicating a possible concussion, and the cough rumbling from deep within his chest sounds like it’s begging for antibiotics.

Well. All this from a simple hunt that could’ve gone without a hitch, if they just listened.

But since when did a Winchester just listen?

Exactly.

Bobby strolls outside, trying not to look like he’s been freaking out for the better part of the evening. “Wanna hand?”

Dean looks up, both sheepish and relieved. “Yeah, Sam...hit his head…” He breaks off, breath hitching and sneezing again into the crook of his arm. “Maybe fractured his arm. Couldn’t tell in the rain.”

Bobby nods. Of course not. Rain’s an asshole like that. “And you?” He juts his chin at Dean, while wrapping an arm around Sam, who’s looking at him like he can’t quite place him. “Come on, Sam,” he mumbles, giving Dean a pointed look. Well? He’s also trying not to be irritated by the mud that’s now clinging to his clothing.

Dean waves him off, limping (squelching with every step) to Sam’s other side to help. “I’m fi...hetsch’yuu! fine. Sam’s the one to worry about.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. Of course he is. “Sure. Let’s get you both inside.”

They get up the stairs, Sam still staring. “Bobby?”

“Well, look who gets five points. Come on - sit down and lemme see that arm.”

Sam dutifully sits, coughing once again, and wincing as his arm gets jostled. “Dean needs help. I think he...hurt his leg?”

Dean sat heavily beside him, wiping his face and shaking his head, smearing mud everywhere. “Don’t worry about me, Sammy. Let Bobby patch you up.” Dean looks up at Bobby. “Not sure on a concussion. He’s been waking for me the whole ride here, though, so…” He shrugs, and leans back, sighing, trying to control his shivering.

Bobby nods, gently removing Sam’s jacket, knowing that Dean’s in more discomfort than he’s saying (duh) because he’s letting Bobby do this exam on his own. “Dean, why don’t you go wash that mud off?”

Dean shakes his head. “I wanna see if - “

“Lemme try that again. Dean, why don’t you go wash that mud off before you get it all over my house and spend the next two days cleaning it all up?” He offers a sweet smile, which, in no way, gives room for negotiating.

Dean blinks, looking down at himself as if for the first time. “Oh. Right. Okay. Just…jus…” He would’ve finished that thought if he wasn’t about to sneeze again, but he is, and he does, and the only reason Bobby doesn’t physically push him is Dean’s bad leg. “I’ll, uh…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be right back, you’re a phone call away, let you know if I need you. Just go get cleaned up, Dean.”

Dean limps away, seemingly oblivious to Bobby’s sass, dragging a duffel bag up the stairs.

Bobby figures that if the leg was that bad, he wouldn’t be going upstairs when there’s a bathroom right around the corner. The cold Dean seems to have caught is probably the more pressing issue.

Sam hisses as Bobby touches a sore spot in his shoulder. “Right there?” Sam bites his lip, nodding, then winces as the head movement disagrees with him. “At the very least, you pulled a muscle pretty good. Maybe tore something. You’ll have to get this mud off you so I can see better.”

Sam’s nodding again, lips pressed together as that awful cough bubbles in his chest.

Unable to resist any longer, Bobby asks, “What the hell happened?”

Sam smears his hair to one side. “Dog was huge. Dean shot it. The ground moved. We fell.” He looks up at Bobby. “I hit my head.”

Well, that’s the kind of story you get when you ask the potentially concussed. “Okee dokee, then. Where’d that cough come from? You weren’t sick when you left here.”

Sam’s face scrunches up. “Yeah, I was.”

Bobby stares at him. “You were already sick when you left for this hunt?”

Sam’s eyes do that thing, where they make you feel like an asshole for asking a question. “Dean needed to hunt. He’s been so…” He trailed off, making lame gestures with his hands, as if that was the best way to end the sentence.

Ever since John died, Dean’s need to keep moving became Sam’s need to keep moving, regardless of whether that motion was a good idea. Bobby sighs. “You two are gonna kill me, I swear. Okay...as soon as Dean’s clean and dry, it’ll be your turn. Meanwhile, let me check your head and make sure you aren’t gonna roll your eyes back and pass out on my floor.”

Sam nods seriously, wiping his nose with his sleeve, which really, what was the point of that? He’s covered in mud.

Bobby snags a kitchen towel off the counter and starts mopping up Sam’s face, uncovering a cut above one eye and a bruised cheek in the process. He checks Sam’s head, gets as much mud off as he can, and by the time Sam starts shivering, Dean returns with wet hair, a t-shirt and shorts.

Seriously?

His teeth are chattering, and blood is dribbling down his thigh and calf, but he makes a beeline for Sam as if he was perfectly fine.

“Hold it!” Bobby barks, stopping Dean in his tracks. “Sit your ass down, before you fall over.” Dean’s mouth opens to protest but Bobby cuts him off with a wave. “Sam’s fine. Head’s got a good sized bump, arm’s probably a pulled muscle, not a fracture. Can’t see much until the mud’s off him. I’m more worried about this cough he’s sharing. So, let him get cleaned up while I look you over.”

“Bobby, I - “

“Boy, I didn’t ask.”

Dean swallows, sharing a look with Sam who’s not-so-subtly trying to tell him to just do as he’s told. Mumbling a, “Yessir…” he sits at the table, anxiously watching Sam weave his way to the first floor bathroom.

Because there’s a first floor bathroom.

Bobby sighs, going to the living room to get a blanket and to make sure Sam got to the bathroom in one piece. Happy that Sam found his destination, Bobby settles the blanket around Dean’s shoulders, pointing at his head. “You’re dripping all over your shirt. You were supposed to come out clean and dry.”

Muffling a sneeze into the blanket, Dean sighs back, pulling the warm cover tight and shifting in his seat. “I know. I just...I was worried.”

Bobby nods, grunting a bit as he crouches down to examine the now visible gash on Dean’s leg. “Well, this is a beaut. You get it in the mudslide?”

“Yeah,” Dean grits his teeth as Bobby pokes and prods the muscles around the cut. “Must’ve snagged it on something on the way down.”

Bobby pulls himself up. “Needs a couple stitches. I’ll be right back. Don’t. Move.” He gives Dean his most stern look, which ends up totally wasted, because Dean’s ducked his head back into the blanket, sneezing. “And while I’m up, I’ll get you some cold medicine.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “No - can’t be drugged up. What if Sam - “

“Sam’s gonna be drugged up, too, soon enough. You went hunting when you weren’t at your best, and that’s the number one way to get yourself killed.” Dean swallows hard, but says nothing. Bobby softens his tone now that he has Dean’s attention. “Let me take care of you.”

Dean swallows again, nodding, twisting the blanket in his fist.

“Alright, then.”

xxxxx

Within an hour, Dean’s stitched up, warmed up, and absolutely stuffed up. Sam’s got muscle patches on his shoulder, butterfly bandages on his eyebrow, an ice pack on his head, and a hot water bottle pressed against his chest.

Both boys are situated in their bedroom, a humidifier humming in a corner, and Bobby humming in the doorway.

“Right. Now here’s the next phase of this plan. I’m gonna go to the store. You’re gonna get some sleep. You’re not leaving here for at least a few days, so use this time to reflect on why that is, so we can have a nice chat when I return.”

They scoot further under the blankets in a poor attempt at hiding from the blatant scolding. Bobby just shakes his head and closes the door.

“Stupid, stubborn, pains in my ass. Both of ‘em. I swear to God, every time they come here, they’re worse than when they last left.” Bobby passes the time it takes to get into his car by muttering to himself, feeling better at the release of all his pent up worry.

He pulls into the parking lot of the twenty-four hour Wal-Mart. He hates being around so many people, but he knows it’s the only place open with everything he’ll need.

It’s a clean trip through the store...cathartic, actually. Bobby’s been taking care of these two for years, and even though there was a patch of time when he didn’t see them regularly, helping Sam and Dean was like salting and burning a body. He pauses by the Kleenex as he realizes his references are all fucked up.

The cart’s getting loaded with first aid supplies, cold medicines, and food. Sam’s tea, Dean’s coffee, those popsicles Sam likes for his throat, the cherry flavored anything Dean has to swallow, super strong tissues because the cheap ones aren’t enough...the list went on and on, the cart continued to fill, and Bobby felt better by the time he finished.

Of course, he could’ve had it all ready if he’d only known what was going on.

Grumbling in his head once more, Bobby paid for everything, loaded the car, and headed home.

xxxxx

Even though he left strict instructions, Bobby’s relieved to find the Impala still parked in the yard. He remembers a time when John would sneak off, tail between his legs, afraid to confront his own demons as he just tried to do the best he could. Despite everything, Bobby misses John. And if Bobby misses him, the boys must be...yeah.

It takes a few trips, but he gets everything unloaded and into the kitchen. As soon as he finishes, Dean shuffles in, bundled up and yawning. “Hey...deed a hand?”

Bobby blinks at him. “Jesus, you’re congested.”

Dean nods miserably. “Yeah, it hit whed you left.” He tried to sniffle, but it ended up a snorty-strangled sound.

Bobby chuckles a little, digging through a bag and handing over some tissues. “Here. Use these. I’ll get your medicine out.”

Dean thunks his ass into a chair, massaging his temples with one hand while opening the box with the other. “Thangks…”

Bobby waves him off, still digging for the right box. “None needed. I’d just like to know what you were thinking going off on a hunt, sick, with a sick partner. Where the hell - oh, here it is.” He pulls out the box of liquid medicine, waggling it at Dean. “Got the liquid in case your throat was too sore to swallow the pills.”

Dean blows his nose, then swallows. “Dot sore...yet.”

“Yup. It’s the yet I’m worried about. Got pills, too. Which do you want now?”

Dean sniffs, tossing the used Kleenex in the plastic bag Bobby holds out for him. “Uh...liquid.”

That’s what I thought, Bobby sings to himself in a super smug tone. “Liquid it is.” He cracks through the plastic, shooting Dean a look as he pours the red stuff into the measuring cup. “Well?”

Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. He takes the cup, chucks it down, then sneezes messily into more Kleenex. “I duddo. Thought we could do it. It killed three people. Didd’t wadt bore people dead because I was sick.” By the end of the excuse, the stupidity of it was apparent to anyone listening, including Dean. He folds his arms on the table, resting his head on them. “It was a bad idea.”

Bobby snorts. He says nothing while he continues to put the supplies away, letting Dean stew for a bit. He knows there isn’t much he has to say - Dean already knew the truth. When he finishes, he holds up a thermometer. “So. Which end?”

Dean swivels his head towards him. Seriously?

Bobby grins. “I’m kidding. In the ear we go. C’mere.” The little beep goes off a few seconds later. “Well, now. If this were a class, you’d have an A-plus.”

Dean peeks at the reading. “Extra credit, too.”

“Yup.”

Bobby stands there, figuring, what the hell. Placing a hand on Dean’s head, he tames the bed head, offering a moment of physical comfort to a man who rarely gets it, yet needs it more than anyone Bobby knows. Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his head on his arms once more.

Bobby knows that the fever’s letting him get away with more than usual...that the fever’s encouraging him to give more than usual. It’s just that those damn red cheeks and droopy eyes make Bobby’s heart ache, and if Dean asked for the moon right then, Bobby’d find the spell to deliver it on a plate.

After one last scalp rub, Bobby gently prods Dean with his foot. “Okay...time for bed. Get some rest.”

Dean sniffles, clutching the tissue box, and scuffs across the floor. When he reaches the doorway, he turns back. “Really...thangks, Bobby.”

“Anytime, son.”

xxxxx

It’s much later that he tangles with that which is Sam.

Bobby remembers a very young Sam, stubborn even at the age of three, crawling into Bobby’s lap and demanding stories every minute. Bobby’s convinced that Sam’s love of lore and research comes from Bobby sharing said lore and research in the form of “stories” to his young charge, particularly when the little guy was sick and needing constant supervision.

Adult Sam, when sick, doesn’t need constant supervision. But he does like it, or at least some form of it. He doesn’t like the attention anymore (Bobby blames John for that), but he still likes the stories.

So when Bobby’s looking up info on a Lang Suir, it’s almost predictable that’s when Sick Sam decides to make an appearance. The confusion from the head bop seems to have cleared up, but the heavy cough and sore shoulder have not. For a second, Bobby wonders if he could actually hold Sam on his lap.

“Hey there...what’re you doing up?” Bobby slowly stands and stretches, coming around his desk to guide a miserable looking Sam to the armchair.

Sam shrugs. “Woke up coughing, couldn’t go back to sleep.” Didn’t want to wake Dean, so…

Bobby nods, understanding. This happened a lot, too. “How about some hot tea?” Sam nods. “One hot beverage coming right up.” Normally, Bobby’d spike it, encourage Sam to sleep a little more. But he knows that mucus relief medicine should get into Sam as well, and while it would be amusing, he doesn’t think the two should mix.

As Bobby heats the water, he knows exactly what’s happening in the library. Sam’s peeking at the book open on the desk, formulating a series of questions that ultimately will turn into the story that’ll occupy his brain for the next several hours, both consciously and unconsciously.

They’re like clockwork, these two.

He returns with a steaming mug and some pills, hiding a grin at Sam’s guilty face, caught leaning over the desk. He’s supposed to be gruff, right? Right.

“Sorry, Bobby...I was just...Malaysian banshees?! I didn’t even know they - “ He broke off, coughing wetly into his sleeve, leaning on the desk as the fit leaves him dizzy.

Bobby sets the mug on the desk and helps Sam back to the chair. “I didn’t either, until one turned up in Virginia.” He gestures at Sam to crank the lever and raise the footrest so the blanket he’s getting doesn’t rest on the floor more than on the patient. “Apparently, they only left an egg under one armpit.”

Sam almost chokes on that. “What?!”

As Bobby hands over the pills and tea, he makes his way back to his desk, filling Sam in on the lore behind a lang suir, how this one got here, and who was handling the hunt. Little by little, Sam settles into the chair, legs pulled to his chest, cradling another hot water bottle. That awful cough seems to have abated now that he’s taken some medicine and was sitting up.

All this, Bobby takes in as he prattles on, making small adjustments to Sam’s care as needed. He even snuck a pillow under Sam’s head to keep it from hanging over the side.

Bobby knows...every now and then, Sam needs some down time...a chance to process, a puzzle to muddle over, a minute to breathe. This is one of those times.

Eventually, Sam’s watching him through sleep-heavy eyes. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby leans back, lacing his hands behind his head. “Didn’t do nothin’, just sharing the hunt.”

Sam huffs through his nose, “Yeah, okay.”

Bobby winks at him. “So you wanna hear how to kill one?”

xxxxx

It takes about a week for the various ailments to clear up. No one ended up seeing a doctor - Bobby was able to handle it all on his own. As they’re packing to leave, he’s confronted with the same bag of mixed emotions every time they go...glad to have his house back, not-as-glad to lose his kids.

They’re on the porch, Bobby pawning off the last of the supplies in case they need them on the road.

“If you two do something stupid like this again - “

“We probably will…”

“I’ll kick your asses from here to California - “

“That’d be a lot of ass kicking…”

“And when I’m done with you - “

“He’d probably lose steam somewhere in Idaho…”

“I’ll burn your books and slash her tires.”

Screeching halt.

“Yessir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

[kendisima]

These are so sweet! I especially love that second one. Both boys sick is my fave <3. And who doesn't love caring-but-gruff Bobby?

Can't wait for more!

[MissBayliss]

That second one...

[ID2006]

AMAZINGNESS! !!!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Want me to stay?” he whispered. I’ll ask, but you have to be honest. I can’t guess anymore.



Sam wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah…” As long as you keep asking…



Dean snorted. “Scoot over.”

This right here! It hit me so hard it hurt these were just perfect!

[party_girl077]

That second story is amazing! Love it!

[HPG]

Without warning, the little shit sneezed again, this time right on Dean’s shirt, rubbing his nose back and forth afterwards, and thunking his head on Dean’s chest in a dry spot.

That was both cute and funny.

[telltale]

Placing a hand on Dean’s head, he tames the bed head, offering a moment of physical comfort to a man who rarely gets it, yet needs it more than anyone Bobby knows. Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his head on his arms once more.

Omg. I can't explain how many hearts I have in my eyes over this. People taking care of Dean is a legit kink of mine I think, lol.

[HPG]

“If you two do something stupid like this again - “

“We probably will…”

“I’ll kick your asses from here to California - “

“That’d be a lot of ass kicking…”

“And when I’m done with you - “

“He’d probably lose steam somewhere in Idaho…”

“I’ll burn your books and slash her tires.”

Screeching halt.

“Yessir.”

I didn't see this one. It was great!

[sierraplaid]

Oh my gosh. Wow, where to begin!

The first story is so sweet, has such a calm feeling about it, just the brothers getting back on the same page again. The structure repeating itself from Sam's and then Dean's POV is a neat idea, and I think you do a really good job of getting into each of their headspace, how they're each not sure how the other is feeling. The quiet in Dean's mind after getting rid of the mark is something I hadn't really thought of, but I like it!

This line. "And when Sam felt like crap...he needed Dean, regardless of the circumstances." Oh, don't mind me, I'll just be over here whimpering in the fetal position on the floor. And the little bit of business about the shuffling feet in the sheets, and it reappearing at the end, letting Dean know Sam wants him to stay. So good!

Okay, and the second story. This story was so easy to get into, had such great flow, and so many fantastic lines.

"Bobby sighs, mentally calculating how much Kleenex he has in relation to how bad Dean sounds. He’s gonna have to go to the store." ahahaha

'“Lemme try that again. Dean, why don’t you go wash that mud off before you get it all over my house and spend the next two days cleaning it all up?”' Your Bobby voice is so believable and a real treat to read.

"Sam’s eyes do that thing, where they make you feel like an asshole for asking a question." I do love it when "Sam's eyes do that thing."

"Within an hour, Dean’s stitched up, warmed up, and absolutely stuffed up. Sam’s got muscle patches on his shoulder, butterfly bandages on his eyebrow, an ice pack on his head, and a hot water bottle pressed against his chest." Just wonderful. Bobby ftw.

“He’d probably lose steam somewhere in Idaho…” This cracked me up.

I really enjoyed these both. Thanks for sharing!

[Anilkex]

NEXT UP: Poor, Dean. There isn't a lot of sneezing...uhm...just one, actually. But sickfics are liked, and Dean sickfics are really liked, so...yeah. The full prompt is at the end.

Sam scans the murky water for any sign of his brother. Sure, he was looking for the woman, too, but Dean…

Off to the left, some bubbles pop on the surface, then Dean’s head emerges, followed by that of a young woman, both desperately gasping for air. Sam scrambles as close to the edge of the lake as possible, reaching out to help them ashore.

Soon enough, they’re all panting on the dock, Dean and the woman lying in a massive puddle of dark, filthy water.

Dean lolls his head towards Sam. “Got ‘er…”

xxxxx

A couple days later, Dean’s right ear starts bothering him. Sam knows this, because Dean’s been fussing with it all morning in the car. But Sam also knows how Dean is, so he decides to play this carefully and say nothing, instead keeping an eye on his brother.

But he was fussing - pulling on it, massaging it, shaking his head like he couldn’t clear it.

Unable to help himself, Sam asked, “You okay?”

Immediately, Dean’s eyes flicker to Sam, and his hand returns to the wheel. “Yeah. Just...some of that swamp water’s still in there, I think. I can feel it. Fuckin’ annoying.”

Oh, okay. That’s not a big deal. Relieved, Sam felt he could engage. “That sucks. Maybe try tilting your head? See if it’ll drip out?”

Dean shook his head. “Tried that. Didn’t work.” He sniffed and shrugged his shoulders, already done with the conversation. “It’s fine, Sam. Just water logged.”

And it was dropped.

xxxxx

That night, they stopped for dinner at a chain steak restaurant. Sam figured Dean would be excited, but Dean’s actions spoke otherwise. He grimaces when swallowing, and keeps looking around like he isn’t sure what’s going on. Still, Sam chalks it up to being on the road too long, and focuses on the menu.

When the waitress brings their food, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up at Sam’s plate.

“What?” Sam huffs, knowing what’s coming.

Dean gestures at the plate. “You...eating red meat. You cursed to eat like a normal human being or something?” He spins his plate a little, frowning at his steak.

Sam rolls his eyes as he picks up his knife and fork. “Dude, I ordered this right after you did. Didn’t you hear me?”

Dean hesitates, twirling his fork around his fingers. “Must’ve been too stunned to remember.”

Sam blinks. Huh?

Dean waves his fork at him. “Nevermind. Just eat.”

xxxxx

They have four hours until home, and without warning, Dean pulls into a gas station, the deceleration rousing Sam from a dazed stare out the window.

Sam sits up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?” He looks over. Dean’s face is pinched, one hand clasped over his left ear. “Uh...you okay?”

“Head’s pounding. That water’s fucking me up.”

Sam’s eyes narrow as he takes a closer look. “Okay...I’ll drive, you rest...tilt your head and see if it’ll drip out.”

“Yeah...okay.”

xxxxx

They’re two hours outside of Lebanon when Dean starts sweating. Twenty minutes later, he’s shivering.

Sam drives faster.

One hour to go, the whimpering starts. Not constantly, but in pitiful bursts when the car hits a bump, jostling Dean in any way.

When Sam sees a blue sign with a blazing white “H” in the middle, he takes the exit and pulls up to the emergency room.

xxxxx

Sam steals a glance at Dean, who’s curled up in a large armchair in the Bunker’s library. A box of tissues lie in his lap, his head in his hands.

The Emergency Room doctors diagnosed Dean with a serious infection inside both ears, caused by some nasty bacteria from the lake water. They said he’d get worse before better, because within the time it’ll take the antibiotics to work, the infection will worsen.

Awesome.

The table’s piled with medicines and supplies. Sam starts putting boxes and bottles in order, according to the hospital’s instructions and their own knowledge of what’ll make Dean feel better. He reads each label and decides where it belongs, methodically moving through them all. He picks up a box of prescription ear drops, then compares it to the other box of prescription ear drops, which is totally different from the one in the closet they bought from a drug store a couple months ago.

“Hey, Dean - did they give you any ear drops at the hospital?” He’s re-reading both labels now, trying to sort this through.

He hears a little huff. “Don’t be stupid - why would they do that?”

Sam raises an eyebrow, tearing his eyes off the pill bottle. That wasn’t exactly the expected reply, mumbled or otherwise. “Uh...because they prescribed two different kinds?”

“In lime?”

“In...what?”

Dean looks up, pain lines crinkling the...well, his whole face. “What the fuck’re you askin’ me about lollipops for?”

“What?”

“What?”

Sam holds up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait...I asked you if the doctors put ear drops in your ears.” To help, he holds up the medicine, waggling it back and forth. “Ear drops.”

Dean blinks. “Oh...uh...no.”

Sam pulls at his chin. “Okay...we need to do that, along with give you all your other medicine, before you pass out.”

Dean squints at him, then sinks back into the chair, sniffling.

As soon as the last item is sorted, Dean coughs a little, followed by a hiss as he sucks in a breath and gingerly massages his throat. Sam winces in sympathy. “Hey...I’ll make you some tea, okay?”

“Make me what?”

“Tea, Dean.”

“Teeding?”

“No, tea, for your throat.”

“What goat? You find a Chupacabra?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Okay.” Sam stands, gesturing at Dean to stay put. He speaks slowly and maybe a little loudly. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

Dean makes a face.

“Shut up - it’ll be good for you.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Stay here - I’ll be right back. Then you have to take your medicine.”

Dean closes his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

Sam’s instinct tells him to cuff Dean on the head, but he stops himself at the last second. “Whatever.” Rolling his own eyes, he walks to the kitchen to boil some water, hands buried in his hair, alternating between pulling and just plain gripping.

Sam’s worried as fuck, but he figures as long as Dean can still act like an ass, it’ll be okay.

Once he finds the tea, he starts filling the teapot with cold water. That’s when he hears a chair slide into the table, and a soft, “Fucking chair…” He turns to find Dean, wrapped in a blanket, stumbling into the kitchen.

“Dean...what are you doing up? I told you to stay put.” Sam hastily sets the kettle on the burner and heads towards his brother, who’s swaying and reaching out to the table for support.

“Couldn’t find you.”

Sam sighs as he helps Dean into a chair. “Dude - I was gone all of three minutes, and I told you where I was going.”

“Hmmm?” Dean buries his face in a tissue, blowing his nose and sniffling pathetically.

“I - nevermind. Just...just sit here.” He gets eye level with his brother, taking his chin and forcing eye contact. “Just. Sit. Here.”

Dean pulls away, wincing from the movement and annoyed at Sam’s tone. “I am sittin’ here. Geez.”

Sam’s mouth opens, then closes. With a shake of his head, he returns to the stove and turns on the burner. While he’s taking the box of tea out of the cabinet, he notices that Dean’s shivering, despite the blanket draped across his shoulders.

“You cold?” Sam rubs Dean’s arms a little.

Dean nods, pulling the blanket tighter.

“Okay. Hold on.”

Sam goes to the hall closet where Dean stores all their linens. He marvels at how they have seriously fucked up lives, but Dean somehow managed to give them a linen closet. Smiling, he grabs the thick blanket Dean bought when Sam had the flu a few months ago. The door closes, and Sam just about wets his pants.

Standing behind the once open door is Dean, frowning.

“Dean! What the hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack!” Sam’s got one hand on his chest, the other clutching the blanket as he struggles to get his heartbeat under control.

“Didn’t know where you went - thought you were cookin’...or…” Dean sniffs, and looks behind him, blinking at the empty hallway. “Wait...I…”

Sam takes hold of Dean’s arm, carefully guiding his brother back to the kitchen. “C’mon…” Dean’s unsteady gait causes them to bump shoulders more than once.

Back in the kitchen, Sam maneuvers Dean into the chair, wrapping him up in the thick blanket. Dean sighs. “Thanks, Sammy.” He rubs his nose on it and sighs again, resting his head on his arms as he leans against the table.

Sam smiles through a tiny huff. “No problem.” You’ve done so much for me - this is nothing. He rubs Dean’s back a few seconds, before returning to the teapot, which has just started to whistle.

Sam rushes over to turn off the heat. “Shit, that’s loud.”

Dean doesn’t react at all.

Sam makes two large mugs of tea, and sets them aside to steep with a plate on top to trap the heat. Gently, he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and bends down. “Hey - time for medicine.”

Dean sighs and makes a feeble jazz-hand gesture. Yayyyy…

He wobbles with Sam back into the library, plopping into the armchair and wiping his nose.

Sam watches him while tearing open box after box, getting the pills and drops ready. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Dean this sick. Sam’s definitely sure he’s never been allowed to take care of him like this.

Once upon a time, he was certain Dean didn’t need Sam the way Sam needs Dean.

Feverish eyes gaze up at Sam. Dean whispers, “Sammy?”

Now Sam knows - he was wrong.

Sam nods. “Here’s the first one…”

Dean takes it all like the trooper he is, despite the discomfort and pain. He white knuckles the blanket, but doesn’t make a noise above a sharp intake of breath now and then. Once the whole routine is finished, Sam glances at the clock, noting that it all has to be done again in four hours.

He watches Dean wipe his nose, trying not to sneeze. Sam wraps his palm around the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing gently, just as Dean loses the battle and sneezes anyway. He wants to cry too, when Dean bites back a sob, and Sam decides Dean’s had enough.

“C’mon, Dean.”

He tugs on Dean’s sleeve until Dean stands up. Sam snags the mugs of tea, holds out his arm, then leads them Dean’s bedroom.

It takes all of two minutes for Dean to crawl in bed, sighing. Sam makes him drink some tea before letting him nestle under the blankets. Once he’s sure Dean’s comfortable, he sets his alarm, and crawls in next to him.

It takes all of two seconds for Dean’s head to settle on Sam’s chest. Sam threads his fingers in Dean’s hair, and shuts off the light.

Full Prompt: I am desperately in need of a bunker fic where Dean has a full-blown double ear infection. He is having trouble hearing, so maybe he constantly misunderstands Sam, but in a cute and funny way. He is also practically attached to Sam's hip and tends to follow him from room to room wrapped in a blanket, even though he's dizzy and exhausted. Sam finally gets him to go to sleep in his bed, but not without dosing him with medicine and cuddling him first!

[Anilkex]

And thank you for all the nice responses. If you have a request, feel free to make it. I've got a bunch of these little oneshots started, but I wouldn't mind one that would solidly belong on this forum.

[supernaturalfragalistic]

can you do either a one-shot or an independent series where dean is with benny and dean is sick and benny takes care of him and vice versa? That would be absolutely amazing! A bunch of sneezing and denial and maybe flu? Thanks so much! I love your writing!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

How on earth can you write this well, get their characters, and just create these marvelous pieces of art!?!?!?!?

I'm so jealous! I'm missing out on so much being an only child, but I can't help it! Perfect examples of best brothers ever!!!

[MissBayliss]

LITTLE WEENIE WINCHESTER! Eeeeeee so cute. Dean with a double ear infection = adorable.

Thanks so much for these

Now, here's a prompt: Sam and Dean are in a situation where it's really embarrassing/rude to be sneezing nonstop. But Dean's got a very bad cold, which he has been insisting is fine up until now, where he just can't. stop. sneezing. I always like the idea of it set in a movie theatre. If you can find a way to get our boys to see a movie then awesome, if not, maybe like a funeral or something. Maybe even multiple people are "shhh"ing him and he needs to excuse himself. Cue exhausted!sneezy!pathetic!Dean.

If you want

[AngelEyes]

OMG the Feels!!!! In the first one I love how Sam and Dean mirror each other. Not knowing what the other is thinking, each needing the other but sure they aren't wanted. I feel like this is their constant state.

“Yes. See? I can’t...even with a blanket. I just can’t.” He leaned his head against Dean, sighing again.

This is so Sam. It reminds me of, "I lost my shoe...."

And herein lie the problem: Sam’s classic double standard. Know when to take care of me, and when not to. Mixed signals, complex messages, shifting rules for various circumstances.

True for both of them.

“Want me to stay?” he whispered. I’ll ask, but you have to be honest. I can’t guess anymore.

Sam wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah…” As long as you keep asking…

Awwwwww!!!!!!

Bobby! You do the best Bobby! Totally him.

Well. All this from a simple hunt that could’ve gone without a hitch, if they just listened.

But since when did a Winchester just listen?

Exactly.

Exactly!

“Right. Now here’s the next phase of this plan. I’m gonna go to the store. You’re gonna get some sleep. You’re not leaving here for at least a few days, so use this time to reflect on why that is, so we can have a nice chat when I return.”

They scoot further under the blankets in a poor attempt at hiding from the blatant scolding. Bobby just shakes his head and closes the door.

“Stupid, stubborn, pains in my ass. Both of ‘em. I swear to God, every time they come here, they’re worse than when they last left.” Bobby passes the time it takes to get into his car by muttering to himself, feeling better at the release of all his pent up worry.

This is exactly the three of their relationship.

Bobby stands there, figuring, what the hell. Placing a hand on Dean’s head, he tames the bed head, offering a moment of physical comfort to a man who rarely gets it, yet needs it more than anyone Bobby knows.

Awww, I wanna cry at this!

Adult Sam, when sick, doesn’t need constant supervision. But he does like it, or at least some form of it. He doesn’t like the attention anymore (Bobby blames John for that), but he still likes the stories.

This also makes me want to cry. But is perfectly Sam.

As they’re packing to leave, he’s confronted with the same bag of mixed emotions every time they go...glad to have his house back, not-as-glad to lose his kids.

Yup.

“I’ll burn your books and slash her tires.”

Screeching halt.

“Yessir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Ooooh. He knows where to hit!

I love these so much!!!!!!!

[Anilkex]

This one doesn't have a ton of sneezing in it. (So why post it here...?) But sickfics are liked, and this is a story starring Jody and Sam. Please note: this isn't Jody/Sam. It's Jody AND Sam. As usual, there's that language thing...

Set between Season 7 and 8.

Thanks for all the kind reviews. MissBayliss - I will absolutely fill your request. And for sure - in a movie theater.

Sheriff Jody Mills leaned against the counter, watching her lunch slowly spin in the microwave.

“Gourmet and affordable eating” was making a comeback.

She snorted to herself.

When the timer showed fifteen seconds left, one of her deputies cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Uh...Sheriff?”

She groaned inwardly. It was a shitty day already, and it was barely noon. Still, she snarkily reminded herself, she’s the sheriff. Jody bit back a sigh and turned around, a smile already on her face. “Yes, Cody?”

Cody shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, nervously fiddling with a Post-It note. “I, uh, got a call Marcy Ward…”

Jody’s face scrunched up. “Who?”

“You know - she, uh, moved in next to Bobby Singer a couple years ago?”

Like a popped balloon, Jody’s appetite disappeared. Cody sensed her mood shift and spoke faster. “Well, uh, she said she thinks someone’s at Bobby’s house. She heard some noises, and saw a light in the house.”

Jody swallowed before answering. “Well, that’s impossible. All the utilities have been shut down since he…” She swallowed again. “They’re just shut down.”

Cody’s head bobbed up and down. “I know...I know you’ve been, uh, in charge of his estate and all. But that’s what she said. Sounded real sure of herself, too.” He hesitantly held out the note which had a phone number scrawled on it. In a soft voice, he added with a shrug, “I thought you’d want to know.”

Jody took the note, staring at the numbers, which annoyingly started to blur. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll, uh, I’ll check it out.”

Cody nodded again and backed out of the lounge.

She slowly let out a breath, cursing the hunter for still getting to her, months after his death. Then again, she still cries over her husband and son, so...yeah.

Jody knew damn fucking well that it wasn’t impossible for something to be going on there, so checking it out was an absolute necessity.

Sighing, she tucked the number in her pocket and threw a look at her lunch.

So much for gourmet.

xxxxx

It was late afternoon by the time Jody could get to Bobby’s. She had things to do, people to check on, stalling to accomplish...which she did spectacularly.

Jody let out a long breath as she pulled into the lot, sad eyes fixed on the house that was starting to show disrepair. She parked and just sat, staring.

After Bobby died, Sam and Dean needed to be off the grid, so all of Bobby’s estate matters fell upon Jody to handle. She was still in the process of the legal shit, but it looked like she was going to get the house and the yard. She would hold it for the boys, and when things cleared up for them, she’d make sure it was there.

But she hadn’t been here in a while, not since she packed up Bobby’s things. It was just too...difficult.

Jody was tired of things being fucking difficult.

She wearily rubbed at her eyes and opened her door. As soon as it fully extended, she heard a crash in the garage.

A second later, she had her gun out and primed. She cautiously walked towards the building, eyes scanning the property. As she got closer, Jody noticed the side door was open. A quick peek inside revealed a 1967 Chevy oh, Jesus Fucking Christ.

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the gun back in its holster and walked inside. “Dean? Sam?”

The hood was open, and a flashlight propped against a toolbox shined directly onto the engine. Or whatever car parts they were. Something felt seriously wrong, and she contemplated drawing her gun again.

“Dean?” Jody circled the front of the car, resting her hand against the metal, noting it was cold. That meant it’d been here a while.

Wracking coughs startled the shit out of her, making her jump and knock over a box of crap. Without warning, she heard, “Don’t move!”

She froze. Her heart skipped a few beats. “Sam?”

“Who are you?” The question’s cut off with a cough, muffled yet harsh. She knew without turning around that the cough had been there a while, too.

“Sam...it’s Jody. Jody Mills?” Taking a risk, she slowly held her hands in the air and turned around. She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my God, Sam…”

Hair all over and absolutely wild eyed, Sam Winchester leaned heavily against the driver’s door, shaking hands trying to keep a gun trained on her. From the feeble light, she saw how pale his face was compared to the dark shirt he wore. He squinted at her, as if not quite believing she was who she said she was.

“Jody?”

She nodded, carefully lowering her arms.

“You...you’re not dead?”

“No...? Sam, what’s going on? Where...where’s Dean?”

Sam sagged against the car, sneezing twice into his shoulder. When he got a breath, he mumbled, “Gone...he’s gone…”

Jody’s heart sank through the floor. “What do you mean?” She took a step closer.

Sam shrugged, and coughed some more. “I mean gone, like...gone. I dunno where he is. He just dis-disappeared.” His grip on the gun loosens as another sneeze, followed by a string of coughing stole his breath. In one fluid movement, Jody disarmed Sam, quickly palming his forehead before he could say anything.

He was burning up.

Tucking his gun into her waistband, Jody moved around the door, shocked at how his clothes hung off his frame. “Come here.”

Sam looked at her, confused and...more confused, his forehead doing that wrinkle thing. “How…?”

Offering a small smile that Jody hoped will have a calming effect on the sick, distraught hunter. “I eat my veggies. Now, come here.” She held out her arms, and fuck her, it worked.

Sam’s arms dropped to his side, like they were made of lead. A small sob escaped his lips as he stepped over and let her envelope him in her arms.

xxxxx

It didn’t take too long to get Sam into the house. Maybe, like, half an hour. Or...more.

In any case, he was inside now, sitting on the couch, coughing endlessly into the crook of his arm. As she took off her jacket, Jody studied the young man, trying to figure out the best way to take care of him.

Because she was going to take care of him.

The question was...how?

The house had been empty for months. There was no food, supplies, nothing. All the furniture was draped in sheets, most everything was packed up and locked in a storage unit, and this man needed supplies and food.

Hands on hips, Jody muttered out loud. “Well. I am the sheriff, right? Someone’s gotta owe me something.” She pulled out her phone. “Sam...I’m gonna make a couple calls. Why don’t you lay down for a little bit, okay?” To emphasize that she wasn’t really asking him if it was okay, she gently shoved him until he leaned back. He tucked his legs underneath him and rested his head on the couch’s arm.

She paused a moment, her worry increasing tenfold at the lack of communication accompanying the grief and desperation pouring off him. Sam was never this quiet. She had to get to the bottom of what was going on, and figure out Dean’s whereabouts.

But first things first.

She scrolled through her contacts, choosing one and tapping her screen. As she waited for the pickup, Jody pulled a sheet off another chair and draped it over Sam’s now shivering body. “Hey Sally, how are you? It’s Sheriff Mills...Yeah, I’m good, thanks. How’s Mike?”

As she listened, Jody snagged a pillowcase that sat on Bobby’s desk, headed to the bathroom and wet half of it. “That’s great. Listen, I need a favor…” Jody prattled off a list of supplies and food while blotting Sam’s forehead with the cloth. His eyes fluttered closed and he actually sighed.

“Thanks, Sally...I’ll pay you back when this passes over. … Yeah...yeah, everything’s fine. ... Great. I’ll see you soon.” She tapped her phone and set it next to her on the couch. “Well, one thing taken care of.”

Sam pulled the sheet tighter around his shoulders, trying to curl himself into a little ball buried in the corner of the couch. Jody raised an eyebrow. Did the kid not realize how big he was?

And just like that, the man became a kid.

“Sam?”

Sam turned to look at her.

“Sam...I have some stuff being delivered, food and medicine for starters. While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me what happened?” She was flexing her mom muscles, which hadn’t flexed in a while, trying to be patient and calm while masking a need to push for answers.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair, sighing again. “Leviathan. Killed the leader...can’t believe he did it...but he did...then…” He took a really shaky breath, head snapping forward as he sneezed. “Then Dean disappeared. Cas, too.” He coughed, groaning afterwards.

Jody blinked and frowned and thought this over, patting Sam’s back and rubbing it to help settle the horrible coughing. “Wait...disappeared? Like…”

“Like...Dick Roman exploded, and took Dean and Cas with him. I don’t know where they are.”

Well, that came out in a rush, but Jody heard something else. “Sam...if Dick Roman...you really mean Dick Roman?” Sam nodded. “Oooooo-kay, you boys have been busy. Anyway, if he exploded, wouldn’t that mean - “

Sam burst off the couch, hands back in his hair, pacing back and forth. “No. No. He’s not dead. He isn’t. He’s gone. Just gotta...just gotta figure out where - “

He didn’t finish that thought, as another wave of body-wrenching coughs shook him, forcing a retreat to another chair.

Jody moved in, crouching in front of him, calming him down before a lung appeared on the floor. “Easy, Sam...easy.” She didn’t tell him it’d be okay, because obviously, that wasn’t an option right then.

Finished, he wiped a hand over his mouth, eyes trained on the floor, breaths coming in gasps. “I’ve been...looking for a month. I thought maybe...maybe Bobby’s books…” His voice broke. “Forgot you packed it all up.”

“We can go to the storage shed when you’re feeling a little better,” she offered.

Wide eyes turned to her. “I don’t have time to wait.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll be worse if you don’t. Will that help you find Dean?”

Wide eyes blinked slowly. He swallowed, lips pressed tightly together.

Thought so. “Now. Get back on the couch, and together let’s figure out our next move.”

xxxxx

An hour later, Jody had a pretty good idea of everything that’d been going on. At the end, Sam lie on the couch, head in her lap, passing for what could be considered asleep. Jody absently threaded her fingers through his hair, wishing Sally’d hurry the hell up and get there with the medicine for his fever.

From everything Jody understood, Dean was dead. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she cursed the universe for yet again, taking away a member of her family. She held Sam a little more firmly.

Not taking this one too, Goddammit.

Jody’s hoping that when the fever gets under control, Sam would start to see things more clearly, that he now had to live a life without his brother. Wandering around the country, barraging hunters and doing endless research wasn’t going to bring his brother back.

He had to move on.

Her head perked up at the sound of tires on gravel. Carefully leaning back and peeking out the window, Jody saw Sally’s car in the driveway. Thank God. After a masterful extrication, she went to the door and stepped outside. The sun was almost finished setting, smearing deep reds and oranges across the sky.

“Heya, Sheriff!” Sally exits the car, along with her husband, Mike. Jody saw a pile of bags in the back seat, and wanted to give Sally a huge hug.

“Hey, yourself. Lemme help…” She headed down the porch steps, taking some bags from Mike.

“This sure is a lot of stuff,” Sally started, neck already craning toward the house.

Jody waved her off. “Yeah, I know. Bobby’s nephew needed some things.” Vague would work, right?

“Had no idea ol’ Singer had any family at all,” Mike commented, also peering past her.

Or not.

“Yeah...two nephews, actually. Anyway. Thanks so much for helping me out.” Jody headed back up the steps. “Just leave the rest here on the porch. I’ll bring them in.”

She could see the disappointment on their faces. Too fucking bad.

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Sally and Mike set the rest of the bags on the weathered porch, then...stood there.

Jody fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Thanks, again. I’ll get us squared away in the next few days.” She put a hand on the door knob, clearly telling them goodbye.

They got the message, waving awkwardly and returning to their car. Heads turned and a last feeble attempt was made at catching a glimpse of the mysterious nephew, but Jody just stood in the doorway, a big fake smile plastered on her face. She watched them pull away, heads facing each other, already gossiping.

Whatever. Let them gossip. Not the first time Jody’s been the subject of town gossip, and probably won’t be the last.

She hauled everything inside, unpacking each bag onto Bobby’s desk. She paused to run her hand along the gnarled wood, wishing it was covered in books and papers instead. A rough sneeze, following by more coughs, pulled her out of the thought.

“Hey there - got some medicine for your fever.” She waves a box at Sam, watching him stretch and run fingers through his hair.

“What fever? Who?” He smothered a cough in the sheet as he asked, the words sounding choppy and hoarse.

“Exactly.” Jody ripped open the box and poured a couple pills into her hand. She sat down, holding them out with some water. “Down the hatch, Sam.”

He blinked at them.

“Sam.”

He jumped, nodding, and swallowed the pills without further comment.

She wanted to ruffle his hair, but settled on patting his shoulder. “Now it’s time for some food to go with the pills.” She knew the food should’ve gone first, but she figured the pills would be the easier sell, and she could deal with an upset stomach later if need be.

Sam shook his head, flopping back against the couch. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off. “Don’t give me bullshit about not being hungry. Your stomach noises say otherwise.” She got up and pulled a container of soup from the bags.

“Jody…”

Jody spun around. “Don’t you Jody me. Do you have any idea how much you two mean to me? How...how worried I am when I don’t hear from you? Especially since - “ She stopped, their eyes locking, both swallowing. “You need this, Sam, especially now. Stop pushing me away.” I need this, too.

She could see it - the fight on his face. It was devastating to know that he had no idea other people cared. Probably because...no one else was left.

He dug the heel of his hand against an eye, still coughing, still exhausted still...broken.

She needed him not broken.

“Yeah...yeah, okay.”

xxxxx

They sat in the kitchen, focusing on their food, pointedly not looking around and trying like hell to keep memories from rising to the surface. But who were they kidding? The absence of both Bobby and Dean screamed from every corner, and both were sniffling and wiping their eyes by the end of the meal.

Jody pulled Sam back to the couch, arranging some of the other furniture so he could stretch out with her nearby. One of the bags had a blanket, which she laid on top of him. He huffed a little.

“What?” She asked, settling into a chair right next to the couch, well within arm’s reach. He was much more ‘with it’, making conversation a lot easier.

“All this.” He waved his hand around. “I dunno. It’s weird.”

Well, easier. Not necessarily better.

But she knew what he meant. “Yeah...it is weird.”

They sat together for a while, saying nothing, just...being together. Sam was obviously lost in thought, and Jody was lost while watching him, not sure what to say, but knowing she didn’t have to say anything.

When Sam started nodding off, she pulled the blanket up higher, resting a hand on his head. He sleepily opened one eye, as if making sure she was really there, before falling asleep once more.

xxxxx

The next morning dawned mostly bright, and Jody marveled at how she slept at all. Sam woke her twice - one yelling for Dean, arms flailing, eyes full of panic. The other was far worse - quiet sobbing, requiring her to give up the lumpy armchair and sit with him on the couch, crying with him.

Jody slid her hand from the back of the couch onto his forehead and neck, thankful that his skin felt much cooler, although he could use a shower. She smiled as he sighed in his sleep, pulling the blanket up a bit higher.

By noon, they were up. Jody was ready with a dozen reasons why Sam needed to go back to her place...clean up, regroup, plan, get better, etc. She had it all primed and prepped.

After lunch, Sam cleared his throat. “So...Bobby’s stuff is in a storage unit, right?”

She nodded, “Yup. I packed the books and papers myself, and anything else I could find that seemed…” She shrugged. “You know.”

He nodded, coughing a little and taking a sip of water.

“You wanna go look at it?”

Sam shook his head. “No...not...not now. I have a couple other ideas...if they don't pan out, I’ll, uh, I’ll come back through and do it then.”

Jody was in the midst of cleaning up and almost missed it. She’d been so sure of her plan and his agreement to it, that it took a couple seconds for his words to register. “Wait...what? Come back through?”

He ran his hands along his thighs, eyes on the table. “Yeah. I need to...to get going.”

“But, Sam - “

“Don’t you Sam me,” He teased softly, now meeting her gaze with a small smile. “I have to keep looking, Jody. I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you want to say. But...I have to.”

Jody set the bag of garbage on the counter, leaning against it with a deep sigh. She knew this was coming. She hoped otherwise, but she knew. “Yeah...I know.”

Sam stood. “I can’t thank you enough, though, for…” He swept his arms around. “All this. Just knowing you’re here, and that you...you took care of Bobby...it’s…” He swallowed thickly. “It’s everything.”

Jody smiled up at him. “You can have everything, any time you need it, Sam.”

He nodded again. “I know,” he whispered.

Jody stood on the porch watching him drive away, the trunk full of all the supplies and extra food. She huffed to herself. That’s why she got all the extra stuff.

xxxxx

A week later, Jody got a call from Sam.

“Jody…? I...I hit this dog…”

--end--

[HPG]

A week later, Jody got a call from Sam.

“Jody…? I...I hit this dog…”

A perfect ending

[SexualOddity]

Aww... this is so great. I love Jody's stern maternal-ness, and I can't really explain why, but there's something so hot about Sam being kind of aggressively mothered by her.

I also think this is the first fic I've read that's set in this time period, which is perhaps suprising, but I'm really glad to have read it. That line at the end of S7 where Sam is told that he's truly alone always really stuck me. I mean, neither of them have ever had many people around, but maybe that makes the loss even worse, and there was just such an emptiness in Sam's whole demeanor in that scene that I that thought about a lot at the time. It's great to see it explored further. It actually helps me understand why he stopped looking for Dean. There was such a bleakness in your writing that I don't think Sam could have sustained for long.

And, of course, your last line is amazing - good to know he's on his way to slightly more hopeful circumstances.

[Masked.Maiden]

These are awesome! I hope you're planning on doing more especially love sick Dean. <3

[sierraplaid]

Waah, the Sam and Jody one is wonderful! The whole thing is so beautiful and so spare--the setting in Bobby's empty house with all the books gone and the furniture covered up, and at such an awful time for them both without Dean and Bobby. I wish this had been the actual start to Season 8. And I kinda can't get enough of Jody.

An hour later, Jody had a pretty good idea of everything that’d been going on. At the end, Sam lie on the couch, head in her lap, passing for what could be considered asleep. Jody absently threaded her fingers through his hair, wishing Sally’d hurry the hell up and get there with the medicine for his fever.

From everything Jody understood, Dean was dead. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she cursed the universe for yet again, taking away a member of her family. She held Sam a little more firmly.

Not taking this one too, Goddammit.

What an amazing image.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Ahhhhhhh!!!!!! I'm in tears! Why? WHY?? This was so heart throbbingly good I can't help but read it over again

And the ending with the dog....ohhh my feels. Right in the feels!

[MissBayliss]

MissBayliss - I will absolutely fill your request. And for sure - in a movie theater.

Ohhhhh my. *gasps* I can't wait for this...