Disclaimer: No profit is being made, but they sure are fun to play with.
Challenge Word: Thermometer
A/N: 3 100 word drabbles of the sick!dean variety.
Rain is falling before they make it to the tree line. By the clearing, it's a downpour.
Eons coaxing a blaze big enough to summon the fire spirit has them both drenched, soaked through to skin, socks squishy.
Soot and dirt make odd shapes on Dean's face, where they're sculpted into patterns by his dripping hair. Makes him sneeze.
Back to the Impala and blankets are carefully spread to keep the leather dry.
"We still have that thermometer?" Sam asks.
Dean shrugs; spreading the shapes around as he wipes his nose on his sodden sleeve.
Dean feels cold.
Dean eyes the thermometer Sam has left on the small table by the window. Considering. Movement snags his attention and he catches Sam watching him. Shit. Busted.
"Just check it Dean," Sam says.
"M'fine, Sam." Dean responds, now Not Looking at the Thermometer.
Sam's hand, light on his forehead takes him by surprise. He's so startled that he doesn't even think to brush Sam away until after the cool hand is gone.
He shivers. Closes his eyes. Yields as a hand pushes him down on his side and a blanket settles over him.
"Go to sleep, Dean."
Dean feels warmer.
Dean feels the familiar ice of a thermometer protruding between his lips. He grunts displeasure and cracks a bleary eye to take in Sam sitting beside him, trapping him in the blankets.
"Relax, Dean," Sam soothes, running a hand soft and warm over his back, "You're okay."
"Mmm'okay," he mumbles back.
"That's what I said," Sam grins, one step ahead.
Dean eyes Sam, not 100% tracking. Seconds later, Sam pulls the thermometer and squints at it in the pale light.
"I'm okay?" Dean mumbles again.
Sam rolls his eyes and grins, "You'll live. Go back to sleep."
Dean feels safe.