#dean&sam

In the bed across the room, Sammy blows his nose, probably for the thousandth time today if his red skin is any indication, silently watching the exchange. He hasn’t said a single word since his throat had started to hurt, and if it hadn’t been for Dean and the shorthand he and Sammy have, it would have driven John crazy by now.  

John drops his bag with a soft sigh, shrugs out of his coat. “C’mon, bed.” Dean slumps in on himself with relief the moment John puts his hands on his bony shoulders, guides him to the unoccupied bed to the right. “I’m sorry,” Dean says again, a hoarse little sound, as he pulls up the covers, burrows into the warmth of the bed. “It’s okay, son, just get some sleep.” Dean sniffles, coughs, eyes already half-closed.  

John takes a moment to settle into the new situation, his body still thrumming with the surge of adrenaline that had come with the prospect of going out to hunt a wendigo.  

Instead, he pulls out their med kit now, rifles through the mess inside only to come up empty. He curses under his breath, chances a glance at the boys. Dean’s pretty out of it but Sammy’s sitting up against the headboard, reading a comic book, or trying to, his focus straying every other moment. 

“Need to go pick up some medicine, food. Won’t take long, okay Sammy?” Sam nods, glances at the nightstand for a second before looking over at Dean.  

“D’you need anything before I go?” John asks, pulling Sam’s attention again. Sam reaches over, picks up the empty cup from the nightstand, holds it out to John. There’s a rush of mortification when he realizes he doesn’t even know what Dean’s been giving him and he hovers uncertainly, wishes Sammy would just open his mouth.  

“Tea, with lots of honey,” comes the raspy response to the unspoken question as Dean shifts on the bed, tries to get comfortable. “’s the only thing he’ll drink.”  

John nods, takes the empty cup from Sam, heads to the small kitchenette to get the kettle on. He takes the time it’s taking to get the tea ready to watch his boys, Dean miserably huddled into the covers, Sammy reaching for the tissues to blow his nose again. Part of him hates that it takes the kids being sick for him to stick around, to spend time with them.  

Once the tea is done, he squeezes some honey into it, before handing the cup back to Sam. He takes a sip, pulls a face, then holds the cup back out to John. “What’s wrong?”  

For a moment, it looks like Sam is actually going to speak but then he just turns, looks imploringly at Dean.  

“Not enough honey,” comes from the pile of blankets, low and whiny, sounding out the look on Sam’s face, and John sighs but goes to add more honey anyway. 

After that, he makes the trip for groceries and medicine, cough syrup for Dean and more tea for Sammy’s sore throat, something to get a fever down just in case.