Dean's not well. Sam's suffering as a result ...
"I can't friggin' believe it" groaned Dean, sitting miserably at the motel table, "I'm thirty years old - THIRTY!"
Sam stood behind his brother's hunched form. "What's your point Dean?"
"My point is, I'm thirty years old and I've got freakin' chickenpox!" snapped Dean. "Have you ever heard anything so goddamned stupid?"
Dean flinched as Sam dabbed another cold dollop of calamine lotion on his bare back .
"I gotta say, Dean" smiled Sam, "this is impressive. I reckon if I joined all the spots on your back, I'd end up with the Mona Lisa!"
"You'd get a smack round the head!" snorted Dean. He scratched his side angrily, "Gaaaaaahhh! This is drivin'me mad" he snarled through clenched teeth.
"Quit scratchin'" said Sam, calmly, slapping Dean's hand away.
"I am so gonna enjoy it when you catch this pile of crap, an' it's you sittin' here lookin' like a friggin' dalmation". Dean wiped the back of his hand over his damp forehead. "Jeez, my head hurts, where's those Paracetamol?" he groaned.
Sam handed him a box of tablets and a glass of water. "Sorry bro', but I already had it, when I was about two. I'm surprised you don't remember!"
Dean took a gulp of the water and swallowed hard as the tablets disappeared. "Well, aren't you the lucky smartass then!" he grunted ingraciously.
"Turn round" smiled Sam, "I'll do your front", Dean sighed and shuffled round with the chair. Sam slapped his hand away from scratching a cluster of spots on his stomach. "Leave them alone" he scolded.
Dean gave him a two fingered salute.
"Charming!" grinned Sam, and dabbed the calamine on the rash between Dean's fingers.
"You know, this can be a lot worse in adults" Sam said softly as he gently worked the calamine over Dean's stomach, "you need to take it easy". Dean groaned as his eyelids began to droop. His hand began to worm it's way up towards his ear, "so itchy" he whined.
"I know dude", Sam sympathised, lifting the hand away, "it's crap!"
Sam continued to work in silence, dabbing on the cool chalky lotion, soothing the angry rash as best he could, ignoring his brother's moans and wandering hands as he feebly attempted to scratch away his misery. He knelt down in front of Dean.
"Got spots anywhere else?" Sam asked, looking directly into Dean's heavy lidded eyes. "Nowhere I'm letting you get your mitts on!" Dean replied with a wince.
"OK then, bed," smiled Sam. "Yes, Cinderella, am I allowed to go to the bathroom first - or do you wanna do that for me too?"
"No, you can please yourself!" smiled Sam as his brother disappeared behind the bathroom door.
"I'M PINK!" Sam heard the cry from behind the door. "you've painted me FREAKIN' PINK!"
Dean stomped into the bedroom, resplendent in boxer shorts and green socks, frantically scratching his neck, "as if this wasn't freakin' humiliatin' enough already!"
"oh, stop moaning, I'm not asking you to go out an' interview the public looking like that. There's only you and me here."
Dean scratched his backside and looked down with a scowl at his pink mottled chest. "Freakin' pansy assed Chickenpox" he snorted. "I am goin' to bed, an' in the morning I'm havin'a shower and I'm gonna wash all this gunk off."
He swayed slightly as he stomped huffily past Sam, grabbing his T shirt from Sam's hand as he walked by.
"Don't mention it!" grinned Sam, watching his brother flop into the bed.
"bite me!" the voice was muffled under the blankets.
"Ugh, no thanks, you're diseased!" Sam laughed as he packed away all the soiled cotton wool, and wiped spilled pink blobs off of the table and chair.
Sam wandered over to the bed and crouched down next to the little top knot of dark blond hair, the only visible sign that the fidgeting lump under the blankets was his brother.
Sam shook his head and smiled. "G'night, spotty!
A single finger appeared from underneath the blanket.
hope you like - do let me know if you do ...