A/N I wrote most of this last year but I never posted it because of the timing (I wanted to post it around the time its set). Believe me, I have tons of stuff on my computer waiting to be finished and/or posted. My muse has taken a vow of silence the last few weeks since my mom got sick and passed away and I haven't been able to write anything - just writing one coherent sentence has been a challenge lately. I hope that the writing bug will bite soon and when it does you'll see updates for my other stories, I swear. I know I should update my other stories before starting a new one but to be honest, I'm posting this now because I'm hoping that I'll regain that creative spark that I've lost and comments from you lovely people are inspiring and encouraging.
This one is my attempt at less angst more humor, or at least its a more lighthearted style than I usually have. But there will be angst and hurt/comfort aplenty because, c'mon, this is me we're talking about. This one isn't set in any particular season but to me it feels like it belongs in the earlier, pre-Hell seasons just based on how Sam and Dean's relationship is portrayed. I'm thinking season 2 but it's really up to you.
"Supernatural" isn't mine. If it were Sam would've had his soul since the very beginning of season 6 and that brotherly bond we love so much would've been there rebuilding from the first episode of the season. I'm still hating this season but at least it's starting to get better now that Sammy's back. Here's hoping it redeems itself in the next few remaining episodes.
Without further ado, enjoy!
by Deana W.
Dean had been looking forward to St. Patty's and his reason could be summed up in two words: Green Beer. He enjoyed dressing up in green, wearing his "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" pin on his jacket even though he wasn't really sure if he was of Irish decent or not. But of course, on St. Patty's day, everyone was Irish and the girls… especially the girls sloshed on green beer, loved to take his pin seriously. Very seriously.
This year Dean planned to enjoy it. And by enjoy it he meant hanging his 'LUCK OF THE IRISH' tie on the doorknob. Sam could find his own luck.
But life had other plans when Dean woke up with a throat that felt like he spent the night swallowing flaming swords. Everything ached and the strange feeling of being both too hot and too cold indicated that he had a fever too.
"102.2, actually," Sam announced, pulling out the digital thermometer from his brother's mouth. "You're staying in today."
"But it's St. Patty's day!" he exclaimed hoarsely, a childish pout on his lips. He was still mad that Sam managed to force Dean into letting him take his temperature in the first place. He really should've gargled with salt water or something before saying a word, but the scratchy sound of his voice and the stiff way he walked to the bathroom that morning had been a dead giveaway.
"Yeah and we're also on the middle of a hunt," Sam huffed, "need you top of your game, Dean."
"I'm fine," he rasped.
"Sure you are," Sam rolled his eyes.
"Hey that temp doesn't count," Dean wheezed, "it was compromised because of… physical excursion."
Sam could almost feel a headache coming on. OK, granted Sam did have to practically wrestle his brother to the ground before getting him to comply with having his temperature taken, but that was ridiculous. "Maybe, but not that much."
"I demand a retake!"
"Dean? Why is it that whenever you're sick you suddenly revert to that of a four year old?"
"No we're not going to retake your temperature."
"Retake or we're just going to have to assume that my—(cough)—temperature is actually normal and that I'm fine."
"Fine," Sam handed Dean the thermometer and even though Dean obnoxiously pulled it out before it beeped it still managed to say 101.7. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean held it up and smirked, "See?"
"It didn't beep yet!"
"101, that's nothing," Dean declared, ignoring Sam's argument completely.
"No, it's not. 101 is still high and…," realizing how ridiculous their argument was becoming Sam gave a weary sigh, "just stop acting like such a baby, you need to stay in today and get some rest, Dean."
"But I'm fi—" he couldn't finish his sentence because a dry cough suddenly erupted from his throat and he doubled over until it passed. "That cough doesn't mean—(cough, cough)—anything."
"Ri-ight," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "If you were fine Dean, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now because knowing you I probably wouldn't have known you were sick until at least later this evening. Either you're really sick, therefore need to rest, or you're losing your touch dude because I saw right through you from the very beginning."
"Bitch," Dean muttered.
"Jerk," Sam replied with a grin, "And stop talking, you need to save your voice. I don't want to have to recite the entire incantation all by myself."
"Oh whatever there's still a few more days 'til spring," Dean waved him off and fell back on the bed with a sigh, and then rolled over to cough miserably.
"Don't want to take any chances," Sam pointed out and he gave Dean a meaningful look that told Dean that he wasn't just talking about the hunt.
Rolling his eyes Dean coughed and sat back up, swayed a little bit from dizziness and said, "Fine. I'll rest up. Want to be in good shape for tonight anyway."
"You're not going out tonight!" Sam exclaimed.
"What are you, my mom?"
"Save your voice," Sam sighed, "And you're not going out. Do you really want to spread your germs to some unsuspecting girl?"
Dean would've replied but another dry coughing fit interrupted whatever witty retort he might've had.
Sam patted his shoulder, "Go back to bed, dude. I'm going to get some breakfast and I'll stop by the drug store on my way back. Anything specific you want?"
"Coffee sounds good," Dean's voice kind of flickered in and out as he spoke.
"No. No coffee," Sam decided, "You know that's a bad idea. Come on Dean, be serious, what do you want."
"Orange juice it is," Sam grinned, snatching the keys and heading out the door before Dean could protest.
When Sam returned to the motel, Dean was sound asleep, but he wasn't very settled into his bed like Sam told him to do. He found him on top of the covers, fully dressed leaning against the headboard with his head tilted at an awkward angle. It was as if he just passed out while watching TV, which was probably what he did.
Sam chuckled to himself as he set down his coffee and the white plastic bag with all the stuff from the drug store Dean would need. He reached and touched his brother's forehead, frowned at the heat and lack of response from his brother who would normally bat him away in a huff of irritation. Sighing softly Sam moved to the TV and turned it off.
"I was watching that."
The rough, barely there voice startled him and Sam turned to see his brother slowly blink his eyes open. "Yeah? OK what were you watching?"
"American Choppers," Dean replied.
"Really? Oh, OK my mistake," Sam conceded, "Funny, I always thought that show was supposed to be about mororcyles and stuff and not two people giving a fashionably challenged person a makeover and new wardrobe." Dean blinked one eye open to give Sam a glare. "Because that was the show I just turned off."
Dean scrunched his eyes shut and sighed, finishing the sigh with a strained cough.
"How are you feeling?"
"Peachy," he replied hoarsely.
"Save your voice," Sam ordered.
"Then stop asking me—(cough)—questions!"
"Would it kill you to nod or shake your head?" Sam asked.
"You're acting like a baby, you know that?"
"I think I'm adorable and I'm…" he sneezed this time, just to shake things up apparently and the sneeze turned into another cough and a poorly concealed wince as Dean unconsciously rubbed his throat, "I'm actually feeling much better." The last sentence was so strained and scratchy that Sam had to strain just to hear him.
"Liar," Sam handed him the bag from the drug store, "you're so not going anywhere tonight, and probably not tomorrow so you may as well just get some sleep. I don't even know why you bothered to get dressed."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to be heading to the library for some research," Sam said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Where's mine?" Dean asked, gesturing to the coffee that he knew Sam only had to annoy him.
Sam gave him a look that said, 'you're impossible' and grabbed the bag from Dean's hands and pulled out a bottle of orange juice, "Right here. And I got some Buckley's and Halls and some Tylenol and some Zinc Lozenges and a little something extra so the invalid won't be bored lying around all day." He pulled out a skin magazine, complete with a St. Patrick's Day theme on the cover where the well endowed model was posing wearing nothing but two strategically placed shamrocks.
Grabbing the magazine Dean grinned, "Thanks dude, you've almost redeemed yourself for the coffee thing!"
"But first, rest Dean. Seriously you need it. You look like crap. Actually I think crap looks better than you right now."
Dean flipped him the bird as he flipped idly through the magazine.
"OK, so I'll be at the library doing some research and maybe if you feel up to it later you can look through the notes we've already found, maybe we missed something and..." Sam resisted the urge to feel Dean's forehead but he already knew Dean was burning up just by looking at him so he figured he was better off picking his battles wisely, knowing that Dean would just fight him if he tried. "You need to take some Tylenol. Hang on," he disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with a glass of water, "take that and take care of yourself."
Sam waited until Dean took the Tylenol like a good boy and handed him the Buckley's and waited expectantly. He knew Dean wouldn't take it on his own, the stuff tasted awful, but it worked so he wanted to make sure he took it. Dean glared at him and started to say something but this time no noise came out… unless the pathetic squeak that was so tiny a mouse could do better, counted as anything. He tried to clear his throat but that only led to a small coughing fit but the next time he tried to speak was met with some success, albeit scratchy. "Don't you have some research to get to Florence?"
"Call me if you need anything," Sam said.
Dean gave him the thumbs up, knowing that his voice was reaching the last of its endurance.
Sam grinned and disappeared out the door.
Putting down the Buckley's without even bothering to take any he popped a Halls in his mouth and slowly, achingly removed his jeans and settled in bed. He really was feeling like crap. Maybe some actual rest would do him good. Sam was right, they were in the midst of a hunt and he needed to be on top of his game. So much for St. Patty's Day though.
Damn. And he was really looking forward to it.
A/N Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think.