Title: Damn Those Weather Forecasters
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not my boys!
Written for my own SPN comment meme.

Prompt: Sam has a cold and they're in a motel with no heating and shitty blankets. Dean cuddles him to keep him warm.

Damn Those Weather Forecasters

Sam comes awake with a start as soon as the car stops moving. He pries his head away from the window and looks around. White. White everywhere. The blizzard hasn’t let up one bit; in fact, it’s gotten worse. But if they’re stopping, that means they’ve either hit a snowbank or Dean’s found some place they can hole up for the night.

The Impala idles, because Dean’s scared turning it off will mean his baby won’t start again. Sam tries and fails to keep his eyes open as Dean leaves the car, only to return a few minutes later. Dean’s cheeks and nose are bright pink with the cold. He cups his hands to his face and blows, trying to warm them up because he’s given his hat and gloves to Sam.

Sam surprises them both with a sneeze. Dean tries not to look like he’s freezing as he explains, but the clouds his breaths make in the cold air say otherwise. “Fucking surprise blizzard. Power’s out here, too,” Dean tells him. “But he gave us a room anyway. S’gotta be better than freezing to death in the car, right?”

Sam blinks tiredly and nods. Even buried under layers and wrapped up in the blanket from the trunk, he’s too cold to move any more than that. And he lost his voice from all the coughing yesterday, so he’s been forbidden from talking until he can do more than squeak.

Dean drives through the unplowed parking lot toward their room. The Impala’s wheels spin for a second as Dean turns to pull into a space and for one brief moment they’re both absolutely sure it will get stuck and won’t make it. But Dean presses softly on the gas and the car lurches forward, just feet from the safety orange door.  Sam’s almost asleep again in the passenger seat and he doesn’t feel Dean elbowing him through all those layers. “Hey, dude, stay with me for just a couple more minutes. You can sleep once you get inside, I promise.”

The snow is really coming down outside. The flakes are fat and fast, snow piling up halfway to Dean’s knees. Sam is tall enough that it doesn’t come up as far, but his shoes, socks, and the bottom of his jeans are soaked through by the time he gets inside.  

He kicks off his shoes and makes straight for the first bed in sight. He flops down on top, face first, just glad to be somewhere that isn’t moving. He loves the car—maybe not as much as Dean does, because no one loves the Impala that much—but it’s nice to be somewhere stationary. Somewhere with a bathroom. His nose twitches but he doesn’t move a muscle. “hh… huh…. HIHSHHHOO!” Bathrooms usually had tissues. Or, at the least, toilet paper. Sam left the almost empty tissue box in the car, but he’s too exhausted to go get something. Behind him, he hears Dean swearing. He wishes Dean would shut the door. It’s getting cold in the room. His feet hurt they’re so cold.

“Stupid tissue box is wedged in the bathroom counter.” Dean stands beside the bed, holding a huge fistful of tissues he apparently liberated from the box one by one.

Sam angles his head and looks, seeing that the door is actually shut. And it’s still this cold. Sam’s legs are straight out on the bed, feet dangling off the end. His arms are folded and tucked beneath him, hands balled into fists even with the thick gloves on.

God, it’s cold. There was heat in the Impala. But there are blankets here. Or, at least, there are supposed to be. He can’t seem to get up to crawl under this one, but he can feel the sheets through the blanket, it’s that thin. He wishes he’d brought the blanket in from the car, even if it smells like ashes and metal and is so rough it almost hurts to snuggle it. He’d rubbed it against his nose a dozen times out of desperation, when the sniffles just got that bad. He regretted it afterward each time, making his nose even sorer, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

“Damn… Sammy, you didn’t even change your socks and get under the covers. What the hell?” Dean reaches down and tugs at the socks that seem like they’ve frozen to him.

Sam starts shivering violently and there’s barely any blanket to grab hold of to try to keep himself still. Another sneeze approaches, and Sam tenses up, still shivering as his breath hitches, everything action his body takes is entirely out of his control now. “hih… hihhhhh… hihtchehhh!”

Dean strips off Sam’s socks somehow and then does the same to his jeans, swearing the whole time when the cold, wet material sticks to his skin. Sam tries to moan, tries to object, but all he can do is squeak and sniffle. When they’re off, Sam curls in on himself, trying to make himself into a ball that the cold won’t be able to penetrate. A blanket is wrapped around him like a cocoon.  Then another comes on top of him. Even folded, all the layers together are barely half an inch thick.

“These are for shit!” Dean sounds angry now, not just annoyed. “Can’t this place do any better? What are we supposed to use, fucking hand towels? The curtains? I can’t believe I just paid two hundred for this dump!”

Sam wants to tell him it’s not his fault and that he’s doing the best he can. Sam knows he’s trying to be a good big brother and Dean’s usually really good at that. But Sam can’t stop shivering and he’s trying for Dean’s sake but it’s just not working and he wishes they could just go back to the Impala and screw the battery if it runs down because it’d be worth it just for a little warmth right now.

Then the bed dips and shakes and, God, the warmth. It’s Dean, of course. Dean’s brought the warmth. Dean with tissues to hold at Sam’s runny nose. Dean with an extra blanket he found on the top shelf of the closet. Dean who’s just so warm from being frustrated and worked up and angry. He’s practically sweating he’s so hot. Sam nuzzles into him, into the warmth that Dean brought, the warmth of Dean himself.

Arms wrap around him, pull him even closer. Sam’s nose feels good against the dry warmth of Dean’s shirt. Sam’s cheek feels good against Dean’s chest. Sam’s body relaxes against Dean’s body.

He sneezes a small sneeze and, instead of pulling back, Dean only holds him tighter. Sam stops shivering. Sam stops sniffling. Sam falls asleep, not even noticing that he’s not wearing pants.