Title: Alterdative Bethods
Author: tarotgal

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Disclaimer: Not my boys!

Written for my own SPN comment meme.
Prompt: Dean has a cold and Sam puts his feet in a basin of warm water.

Alterdative Bethods

Wshhhhhhhhh. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. DING!

Dean pulls the pillow out from beneath his head and jams it over his head. He’d finally gotten comfortable in bed and now this?

Wshhhhhhhhh. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. DING!

For the last ten minutes, Sam has been acting like he’s possessed. He goes to the bathroom and fills a mug with water. Then he walks to the small microwave on top of the minifridge and pops the thing in for a minute. He dumps the contents into a bowl and goes back to the bathroom.

Wshhhhhhhhh. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. DING!

Dean shivers. Despite the fact that he’s in a hoodie with the hood up, cords pulled tight and pinned under several layers of blankets, he’s freezing. Sam’s just in boxers and a white t-shirt as the heat’s cranked up higher than it needs to be.

Wshhhhhhhhh. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. DING!

Dean pushes the pillow off. That pillow technique always works in the movies, but he could hear everything through it anyway. “Sabby,” he croaks. “What’re you doig?” The words tickle his throat and he tries clearing it. But that tickles his nose. He ignores the box of tissues Sam moved from the bathroom to the nightstand to the bed in hopes of Dean getting to it more quickly. “hihhhh… heh-Eh-HIPTschhhhhh!”

Sam takes the mug out of the microwave again and sends a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, you’re awake.” His voice is so soft, comforting, kind. He only uses this tone with Dean when he’s worried about his brother… or right after sex when he’s basking in the pure bliss of the moment and can’t possibly get close enough to his brother.

“’Course I’b awake. That’s a loud ass bicrowave.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam brings the bowl over. He’s got this smile that makes Dean even more suspicious. “I know you don’t like taking medicine that slows you down, so I was looking up some alternative cold treatments on the internet.”

Dean eyes him warily. “Alterdative? Like dew age? Like witches?”

Sam sighs. “No, like this.”

Dean stares at the bowl. “Giadt cub of tea?”

Sam sits down on the bed. His fingers trace the line where the hood meets Dean’s pale cheek. Dean suddenly worries Sam’s going to take his temperature for the fourth time. Sam always gets touchy-feely right before forcing a thermometer on him.

But this time, Sam leans over and pressed a kiss to the exposed part of Dean’s forehead. “Relax.” He folds down the blankets once, then folds them down again, then hugs Dean as the man shivers. He guides Dean to sit up.

Dean’s head objects to the change, the stuffiness in his nose prickling and shifting and making him “EHHPTSHHhhh! Heh-heh-IHXT! Uh… H’IHTSHhhhh!”

Sam pulls him close then reaches past him for the tissue box. He pulls several tissues out and holds them up. But Dean pulls back, turns his head away with a whimper. The bottom of his nose is so bright red it’s almost bleeding. “C’mon, Dean. You need to blow your nose, or you’ll just keep—”

“hhehhhhh-IHPTShoo!” The sneeze rocks the bed, nearly tips the bowl of water. He turns back, desperately needing to blow his nose. He eyes the tissues and gives in. Sam’s touch is incredibly soft, but he still winces. Dislocated shoulders. Broken legs. Concussions. Being beaten to a bloody pulp. Dying—more than once. And the thing that makes him wince is a runny, stuffy nose against some tissues. Sam kisses the side of his head as Dean blows his nose and Dean feels a little better.

Maybe even a little braver. “The bowl? For be to breathe id the steab?” He imagines leaning over the bowl with a towel over his head, sniffling madly as the steam makes his nose run so much. He’ll need every last tissue in the box if he tries that and that kind of pain isn’t anything he’s prepared to undergo when he can just burrow back under the covers… maybe taking Sammy with him this time. It feels like the only solution is to lie down under the covers and wait this thing out.

“Close.” Sam slides off the bed, and Dean shivers as his left side is cold again. “Trust me?” Sam sets the bowl on the floor and starts tugging on Dean’s socks. There are two of them. Two on each foot, actually. And his feet still feel cold. At least, they do until they slip into the bowl. And then they’re warm.

God, they’re warm. He closes his eyes, relaxing as his feet dangle in the water. Sam sits back down on the bed and Dean leans into him. Sam slips his arm around his middle and into the front pocket of the hoodie. Dean’s shoulders rise and fall with deep sigh, then he snuggles close, into Sam’s chest, turning just enough so that he’s still sitting on the bed and still has his feet in the water.

His breath hitches and Sam rubs his hand in circles on Dean’s back. “Want a tissue?” he asks. And Sam’s got to know the answer. He can’t possibly be surprised as Dean nuzzles his face into Sam’s undershirt. The soft, warm cotton against his nose is just the thing. “h’IXshmphh!” It feels so good. He snuffles and Sam’s hand keeps rubbing.

“You know, I also read that you can soak your feet in scotch.”

Dean laughs into Sam’s chest. “What a waste.” He rubs his nose. “Besides, there could’t be adythig better thad this.”

Sam rests the side of his head on top of Dean’s and hugs him impossibly close. And Dean cannot imagine why, just a few minutes ago, he preferred lying alone in bed under the covers to this.