Another triabble from Dizzo, Amber Dreams and Edina Clouds incorporating the EO challenge word, copy, and our own word, guess.
Don't forget to visit our funky little community, Dizziedinadreams, where you'll find all our collaborations and, in due course, a few of our favourite individual pieces too ...
Sam had guessed that trouble was looming a week ago when Dean first started popping the Tylenol.
Then there were quiet coughs disguised as throat clearing and the odd sneeze, put down to a dusty room. The breathlessness had followed, leaving Dean wheezing like a carbon copy of the last troll they hunted. Then yesterday the first flush of fever blossomed across Dean's sweat-dampened cheeks, and he finally (and ungraciously) bowed to the inevitable, reluctantly taking to bed.
Yes, Sam had guessed trouble was looming. But he could never have guessed just how bad it was going to get.
"Sammy. I'm out of tissues.."
"Sam, have we got any juice?"
Pathetic puppy-dog face. (Sam knew he did it better).
"Did you remember my copy of Busty Asian Beauties?"
Flushed cheeks- and Sam didn't want to examine too closely the reason for that, as Dean sat propped up in bed, surrounded by (snotty?) used tissues.
Sam threw said magazine down and Dean gave an undignified squeak of protest as it smacked into his kneecaps.
"I guess from the stormy bitch-face, there's trouble in paradise," Dean said.
"You're gross, Dean, and my head aches."
"Uh oh. That's how mine started.."
Two days later Sam lay shivering in bed.
Guessing he'd be needed, Dean sat close by, flicking through a copy of the local paper.
A pathetic puppy dog face (definitely better than Dean's) peered miserably over the covers.
Dean pulled the quilt from his own bed and spread it over his trembling brother.
Dean lifted his brother's head, held the glass whilst Sam sipped the cool liquid.
Dean placed a damp cloth on Sam's sweat soaked brow; gently wiped fever flushed cheeks.
"Need to pee."
"Sorry bro ... ain't no friggin' way I'm helping you with that."