AN: I found this story that I wrote a long time ago and never posted, so here you go! I'm working on another ficlet that will be up this weekend-ish. Any requests for what else you'd like to see?

AN2: Not even going to try to explain how or where or why this story is. It just is. Good? Good. Thanks for reading!

Domestic Day

Somewhere along the way, Sunday becomes domestic day. Sam mows the lawn. Dean washes the car. They do laundry – Sam loads and unloads, Dean folds, then Sam re-folds when Dean puts the wrong socks together and can't master the art of getting a T-shirt small enough to fit in a drawer. They take out the garbage. Clean the bathroom. Dust. Vacuum. They go grocery shopping and always pick up burgers or steaks and plenty of beer. They end the night grilling out, laughing and talking and eating and drinking until they fall asleep.

All in all, it's a decent tradition.

On this particular Sunday, Dean wakes before Sam. He puts on a pot of coffee and goes outside to wash his baby before the summer sun gets too hot.

Once every inch of the Impala is sparkling, Dean heads back inside. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and takes a deep breath of air-conditioned air.

"'Mornin'," he says to Sam, who is pouring a cup of coffee.

"'Mornin'." The word is hoarse and followed by two congested sneezes.

No wonder Sammy slept in. "You okay?"

"Fine." The answer is rendered null and void when he turns, revealing bloodshot eyes and flushed skin. He sneezes again, and some of the coffee from his mug splashes out onto his hand. "Shit," he says, rubbing the hand on his shirt.

"Bless you. Comin' down with a cold or something?"

"I don't know. Maybe." The wince he gives when a sip of hot coffee slides down his throat is another sign in the affirmative.

Dean grabs a mug and fills it almost to the brim. "Did you take anything? Cold medicine?"

"Nah. Not that bad."

Dean grunts and takes a sip. "Car's clean."

"Good. I'll start a load of laundry."

"I could handle that, you know. Laundry. Cleaning and shit. I can do it if you want to crash on the couch for the day."

Sam sniffles and tears off a piece of paper towel to wipe his nose. "I can handle it."

"Suit yourself. I'll make breakfast."

Dean's on a roll. Breakfast? Check. Dishes? Check. Lawn? Check. He's back inside, washing his hands when he hears sneezing from the bathroom. "Bless you," he calls, shaking his hands out and drying them on his jeans. Hand towels must be in the wash.

Sam comes out of the bathroom smelling like Pine Sol and Windex, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "Thank you." He sniffles.

"What's up with the grandmother look?"

"It's cold."

"It's summer. It's hot."

"I'm cold." The drier buzzes and Sam heads into the laundry room, blanket trailing behind him like a cape.

Dean follows. "I can get that, you know."

"Got it. Go vacuum or something."

The blanket keeps sliding down one shoulder, then the other as Sam removes towels from the dryer. "Here." Dean tucks the blanket into the collar of Sam's shirt so it will stay put. Since he's already invading personal space and all, he sneaks a forehead feel. "Little warm there, Sammy."

When Sam leans in to grab another handful of towels, the blanket stays put. "Just a cold." He sneezes hard into his forearm and drops a few towels.

"Bless you."

Sam gathers up the towels he dropped, closes the dryer, and carries the basket to the couch.

"It's kind of cute, you know."

Sam sniffles and starts folding.

"You've got the whole 'Linus with the blue blanket' thing going on." Dean takes a seat on the couch next to Sam. He grabs one of the hot bath towels and drapes it over Sam's shoulders.

Sam closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, he sets the folded towel down and grabs another. "If I'm Linus, are you…" He pauses to sneeze. Twice. "Are you Lucy?"

Dean steals the towel from Sam's hands. "No way. I'm Snoopy. Gotta go after the Red Baron, you know?" He nudges Sam back against the couch and spreads this towel over his chest and arms.

"It's warm," he says, eyelids drooping.

"That's the point. Feel good?"


Soon, the basket is empty and Sam is half asleep under layers of warm towels and washcloths with the blanket underneath. "Get some rest, little brother. You'll feel better when you wake up."

When Sam falls asleep, his head lands on Dean's shoulder. Dean smiles and puts his feet on the coffee table.

The vacuuming can wait.