I was bored, so I wrote this in a hurry, so forgive me if it's horrible :)
Dean knew Sam was coming down with a cold the moment he woke up. First off, Sam was snoring, which he rarely did. Second, he turned to cough into his pillow every now and then.
Dean rolled his eyes. Stupid idiot, he thought. That's what you get for wearing a short sleeved shirt out in the rain last night to burn the bones.
Dean couldn't help feeling a little bad, because Sam usually listened when Dean bitched at him about wearing a coat outside. However, ever since the asylum, Dean hadn't bothered with ordering Sam around.
When Dean got out of the shower, Sam was already up and packing his suitcase. Dean smirked. "Hello, sleepy," he teased. "Mind keeping it down tonight?"
Sam sniffled and ran a fist lazily under his nose. "Sorry," he commented, and Dean couldn't help feeling a little concerned over the slight congestion that could be easily detected in his little brother's voice.
"Never mind," Dean sighed. "You taking a shower, or no?"
"Um, I didn't think so?" Sam commented. "Unless we have time…"
"Whatever, Sam," Dean looked away and strolled over to his bag.
Sam was about to retort when his face went slack and he turned quickly to sneeze into his elbow. "Ugh," he sniffed afterwards, turning back. "Sorry."
"Bless you," Dean replied and dragged his duffle out to the car.
The ride from Virginia to Tennessee was at least a good couple of hours. As soon as they were driving, Dean's AC/DC was on full blast out the speakers. Much to his dismay, Sam didn't comment or even complain about the loud music.
In fact, he even fell asleep against the car window, shockingly. Dean's eyes widened when Sam began to snore, because this music was too damn loud to actually fall asleep in.
Kid must really be coming down with something, he thought to himself and made a mental note to get some medicine when he stopped at the next gas station.
The couple of hours brought night, so Dean pulled off at the next vacant motel. He hadn't needed to stop, so he had a plan of sending Sam to shower and then running out and getting some medicine.
He got a room and parked the car in front of the door, and then set about waking his sick brother up. As he shut off his baby's sweet purr, he slowly rested a hand on Sam's shoulder and shook slightly. "Sam, wake up, we're at a motel."
Sam rose groggily and coughed loudly. "Sorry," he said instantly, throwing a fist over his mouth. "Uh, okay, I'll get the stuff."
Sam hopped out of the car. Dean hesitated for a moment, and then got out to grab his bag, to find that Sam was already dragging all the bags in.
Dean stared. "Sam," he called. "That's my bag, and I, uh…"
"No! It's okay, I got it," Sam replied quickly.
Dean stared. So this was one of the little ways that Sam was trying to make up for shooting him. Wow.
About halfway to the door, though, Sam dissolved into a coughing fit that had him collapsing on his knees. The bags fell from his grasp and he clutched at his chest, panting and gasping and coughing.
Dean was at his side in an instant. "Sam!"
Sam haphazardly shoved him off. "No, I'm fine, Dean, really…"
Dean awkwardly stood next to him while Sam tried to gain some control over himself. When at last he was able to breathe, he grabbed all the bags and pulled himself up.
Dean looked sadly at him. "I can take some of those, Sam…"
"I've got it," Sam panted, and waited for Dean to open the door.
Dean held it open for Sam, who mumbled a "Thanks," and then proceeded to dump Dean's bag on the bed right by the door, and the rest on his.
Dean watched Sam sit down on his bed, then bury his face into the long sleeves of the brown sweatshirt and sneeze twice. He sniffed and kept his face buried there for a few minutes. Dean wasn't sure if Sam was going to sneeze again or if he was just ashamed to show his face.
Finally, Sam looked up, and Dean realized that he was waiting for orders. "Uh, get in the shower. It'll help with your cold."
Sam frowned. "I don't have a cold," he commented. "I'm not sick, Dean."
Dean shrugged. "Well, you didn't shower this morning, and I don't want the room to stink up."
Any other day, Sam would have smirked, but tonight he just shrugged, dug in his bag for a second, then dragged himself and some clean clothes into the bathroom.
Once the door was shut, Dean turned around and made his way back to the Impala. He turned the music down, suddenly not into listening to it, and made his way down the road to the nearest gas station.
Once there, he roamed the isles for stuff that he could give Sam, like Nyquil, or maybe even Tylenol. Cough syrup, definitely.
The cashier looked at the pile of medicine, then at Dean. "You that sick, huh?" she asked.
"It's my brother," Dean replied, only interested in getting back to Sam and the motel room.
The cashier nodded, placed Dean's purchases in a small plastic bag, and said, "Hope he feels better," and offered a small smile.
Dean nodded his thanks and drove quickly back to the motel. He parked the Impala in the same spot, grabbed the bag, and marched inside.
He didn't know what he expected to find: maybe Sam already asleep in bed, or looking on his laptop for another case.
He definitely didn't expect to find his little brother trying to clean the guns on his bed.
Sam was covered in gun smoke, sneezing and coughing every five seconds, and yet he was working as hard as he could to clean the guns that were placed on his bed. When Dean walked in, he looked at his brother with fever bright eyes. "Dean," he said, shocked.
Dean strolled over, throwing the bag on his own bed, and then taking the guns from Sam. "Sammy," he sighed. "What are you doing?"
"I was cleaning the guns," Sam pouted, turning the puppy dog eyes on, even puckering his lower lip out. "I wanted to surprise you so you wouldn't have to clean the guns."
Dean raised his eyebrows as he slowly gathered all the shiny guns and placed them away. He was honestly shocked at how clean they were; Sam must've been working hard.
When the guns were away, he sat down next to Sam and lightly pressed a palm against his forehead. He felt a little pleased when Sam leaned into his touch. "Yup, you have a pretty high fever, bud."
Sam closed his eyes. "Your hand feels nice," he sighed and sniffed. "It's cool."
Dean chuckled. "I bet," he commented and stood up to get the medicine. "I got you some stuff buddy."
Sam opened his eyes. "What kinda stuff?"
Sam raised his eyebrows, and then groaned when he saw the Nyquil. "N-no, Dean, you know that stuff makes me drowsy," he slurred.
Dean sighed. "It's gonna make you feel better in the morning, trust me bud."
Sam looked his brother in the eyes, and then, to Dean's shock, Sam began to cry.
Dean stood, frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do. "Sam, why are you crying?" he asked softly.
Sam let out a sob. "I'm sorry for saying all those mean things to you, and shooting you with the gun," he cried. "I didn't mean it Dean, none of it!"
Dean sighed and sat down next to Sam. "It's okay, buddy," he said slowly.
Sam sniffled and nodded. "Thanks Dean," he offered a smile.
Dean nodded and slowly wiped a tear away. "Let's get you to bed," he said and dosed out the Nyquil serving and gave it to Sam with a glass of water.
Sam took it without complaint, then let Dean wrestle him under the covers. He watched Dean the whole time, hazel eyes never leaving emerald green.
Dean tried to resist the urge to tuck Sam in, but the battle was lost when Sam smiled and softly said, "Thanks."
He sat on his bed and watched Sam as his brother fell asleep, facing his older brother, never turning away or letting his gaze wander.
Dean slowly shut the lights out and fell asleep, preparing for the next day, and the next hunt.
Lame ending, I know, but I didn't know what to do. Please leave a review, maybe? :)