Title: Day 11
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I wish they were mine. I definitely don’t get paid for this.
Summary: Sam is secretly thrilled when Dean crawls into bed with him one morning.
Notes: Written during my 12 Ficlets in 12 Days in 2013 project for x_posed_again

Every time Sam woke, for one brief second, he forgot why it was so quiet. He was sure it wouldn’t be so bad if he were deaf in his dreams as well. But to spend hours of the night with sounds he had head during the first nearly thirty years of his life, only to wake and remember he would never hear again, was a special kind of daily torture. Dean used to sleep with him in bed, used to keep him from freaking out every night, every morning. But Dean liked his space at night; he had demons of his own to deal with.

Which was why Sam was surprised to wake one morning, remember he was deaf, and then realize he was also a big spoon. Dean lay on his side, half curled in on himself with arms tucked against his chest and legs bent at the knees. In his sleep, Sam’s body had curled instinctively around Dean’s, matching the man curve for curve. His left arm was wrapped around Dean’s body, palm flat against Dean’s slowly rising and lowering chest.  With Dean’s back against Sam’s chest, Dean was a heavy, warm weight. It was wonderful having Dean in his bed, in his arms.

But it was also terrible. Because there was only one reason Dean would have crawled into Sam’s bed in the middle of the night, and that was because Dean didn’t feel well. It could be anything from a bad headache to the stomach flu. Only Sam didn’t know what it was, and it was hard to figure out from where he lay, though he was determined to figure it out.

Sam bent his head down a little, getting a noseful of Dean’s short hair. It was soft and smelled of Head & Shoulders shampoo. But there was another scent in the air as well. Something sharp and disturbing like a mix of licorice and gasoline or mouthwash and jager or rotten eggs and latex condoms. Softly, slowly, Sam took his hand off Dean’s chest and touched the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead. It wasn’t overly warm; Sam put his hand back on Dean’s chest, fingers brushing against Dean’s hands, clutched beneath his throat. There was something in one of Dean’s fists… paper or… ah. Of course.

If Sam were a betting man, he’d wager that Dean was snoring. He’d spent enough time in the car or motel rooms when Dean was sick to know the sound of his breathing when he was congested, the rasp and catch, the resonance, the loudness. It was kind of fortunate Sam couldn’t hear that now, actually. If he wanted to, he could fall right back to sleep, warm and contented with Dean beside him in bed, the way Sam wished it could be all the time.

It was early, still, and the rain coming down in sheets made it darker than it should have been outside. It would have been easy to go back to sleep and stay that way until noon. But Sam couldn’t sleep. He lay there, watching over Dean the way Dean had always watched over him.

It wasn’t long before Dean woke on his own. He stirred and instinctively grabbed hold of Sam’s hand on his chest, hugging it to him, squeezing it tight. Dean knew better than to say anything, because Sam wouldn’t be able to hear him, but his body moved in a strange way, swaying then jerking forward. His head bobbed forward, back, and forward again. His whole body shook as though with spasms. But Sam knew they were sneezes. And when Dean’s hand released his, Sam knew it was because he needed to rub the Kleenex at his nose, maybe even blow his nose. Poor Dean. So it was just a cold then. A nasty cold, by the look of it, but just a cold. They could handle a cold.

Dean’s head snapped forward again and his body rocked back against Sam’s a little, pushback from the force of the sneeze. Then his body bounced in place, and Sam felt a new sensation under his fingers, Dean’s chest rising and falling every second. Those had to be coughs.

Dean’s shoulders loosened and he slumped forward, turning a bit from his side onto his chest. He had claimed a corner of Sam’s pillow as his own, and he rubbed his face against it. Sam watched Dean’s body go still at last. Sam realized his own body was relaxing as well. But it only remained that way for a minute. Dean’s shoulders tightened, rose. His body jerked in place three times in quick succession. His arms went limp and his face dug deeper into the corner of the pillow.

Deciding it was time to let Dean know he was awake, Sam pulled his hand back and stroked the back of Dean’s head.

Dean gave a start, lifted his head, and turned it so Sam got his first look at his brother’s face. Dean’s eyes were bloodshot, his nostrils red. He must have known he couldn’t have hidden this from Sam; smart guy must have decided he might as well just down a quarter of a bottle of Nyquil and crawl into bed with Sam to get warm.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look and a sort of half-smile. Then he kissed Dean good morning, first on the lips, then the nose. Dean turned in place so that he could face Sam. Sam’s gaze narrowed in on Dean’s lips to read them. “I’ve got a bad cold, Sammy,”

Nodding, Sam signed back that he knew and was sorry. ‘Stay?’ Sam signed, hoping the answer would be yes. He longed to drape his arm around Dean again, hold him close, and pull the blankets around them for the rest of the day. He supposed he could get up for some food later, but he wasn’t even that hungry or interested in food, not with Dean here with him all weak and needy like this. 

Dean nodded and tilted his head forward, burying his face in Sam’s chest. Sam rubbed his hand up and down Dean’s back.

*

Sam brought dinner on a tray, two servings of soup and sandwiches along with a big box of Kleenex.

Dean mumbled something Sam didn’t catch. He set the tray down, stuck his palm out at an angle then moved his right hand in an arc until his fingertips touched his left palm. ‘Again.’

Lifting his head, Dean spoke—or at least mouthed the words—as he signed. ‘I fine.’

Sam tilted his head, eyebrow raised. ‘You sneeze,’ he signed.

Emphatically, Dean shook his head. But his nostrils flared and his head bent downward and his eyes closed. His face scrunched up and he pitched forward with an unmistakable sneeze. Sam reached out, eased Dean back, and readjusted a thick blanket around Dean’s shoulders.

It had been days. It was true Dean’s cold was pretty much gone. Apart from a chapped nose that was still a shade or two redder than it should have been, he looked good. Sam had even let him get out of bed and go to work at the garage today. But as soon as Dean had returned home, it was into a t-shirt and flannel pants and straight into bed for Dean. Sam’s bed, of course. Dean had put up a bit of a fight, insisting he was fine, but Sam had promised the one thing Dean liked best after dinner: pie.

Dean made it through dinner with a minimum amount of sneezing. Then he settled in for the long haul with conversation about a car he’d seen at the garage and a piece of cherry pie with Cool Whip on top. Sam sat close, his arm around Dean and his eyes focusing on Dean’s lips or Dean’s hands to watch the story unfold. He missed a couple words when Dean yawned powerfully.

Sam splayed his fingers over his face and drew them together as he moved his hand down and bent his head with the motion. ‘Sleepy?’

Dean nodded, stretched, and started to get up.

Acting on instinct, Sam reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm.

Dean froze, looking down. He shook his head, smiling. “Sammy, I’m fine.”

Sam shook his head.

‘I fine now,’ Dean insisted, signing to be sure Sam understood him. “I’m feeling better. I can sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Sam looked away, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling, blinking a bit too much and feeling incredibly stupid about it. This was not a moment when he wanted to talk about his feelings.

Dean turned his hand and tugged on Sam’s sleeve to get his attention. “I don’t want to bother you anymore.”

Sam blinked at him. His free hand lifted and signed ‘no’ along with a slight headshake. With a deep breath and hoping his voice sounded normal, he said, “You don’t bother me.”

Dean tilted his head. “Yeah, but you want your bed back. So I’ll go.”

Quickly, Sam signed ‘no’ again, followed by ‘stay.’

“Really, I’m f-fine.” He broke off, helping himself to one of the Kleenex. He cupped it to his face and sneezed into it twice. Nose running, he kept it cupped to his nose afterward. Sam could see his cheeks and eyes move slightly, indicating he was speaking, but Dean’s mouth was blocked and one of his hands clutched the tissues, so Sam had no idea what he was saying. Sam took the tissues, wiped Dean’s nose for him, and pushed his hand down out of the way. His expression told Dean to repeat himself; he didn’t need to sign the request. “Look, I’d stay if I still needed to. But I’m feeling better now, so you can have your bed back. I know you like your space.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. ‘No.’

“What?”

Sam signed again. ‘No.’  He cleared away the dinner dishes and lay down on the bed, stretched out on his side. With one arm partially trapped at his side, he still managed to sign, ‘Hate space. Please come here. Stay.’

Dean hesitated for a moment then lay down in Sam’s arms, in Sam’s bed. He yawned into Sam’s chest and closed his eyes. Sam could feel movement, Dean’s mouth against his chest as he spoke words. And even though Sam couldn’t hear and couldn’t see, he knew what they were. He nodded and kissed Dean’s head, then tightened his hold.