Three unrelated Dean h/c drabbles
...in which he's concussed/hypothermic/sneezy and Sam's got him. Bobby's in one. The third one is SPOILERY for Season 5 in general and vaguely, not-really-at-all-but-in-my-head-there's-a-backstory-that-connects-them-so-kinda spoilery for 5.12.
"How many fingers?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Yeah. OK." Sam flips over the ice pack on Dean's forehead. White-lipped, Dean winces.
"Head hurts."
"I know, man." Sam licks his thumb and smoothes a smear of blood off Dean's chin. "Just talk to me, all right? What color's my shirt?"
"Ugly."
"Oh, a smartass." Sam twists the cap off a tube of antibiotics. "OK. Where would you go right now if you could go anywhere?"
"Sleep."
"Wordplay. Nice. Soon. I promise." Sam dabs at his cuts. "Uh, what's the first thing you're gonna do when you wake up?"
"Puke."
"I..."
Dean sits, panting.
"Oh."
Dean falls on his ass climbing out of the motorboat.
He blanks on mooring hitch knots.
"What's wrong with you?"
---
His fingers won't close around the car key. Sam snakes it.
"You're like a block of ice."
"Turn up the th-thing."
---
Sam's guiding his palm to a steaming paper cup.
"You've been, uh, shaking. You want a doc?"
Dean squints out at a moonlit donut shop parking lot.
"You're k-kidding, right?"
---
Sam tucks hot water bottles around him and pulls up the covers.
"Dow this is wh-what I call r-r-roob service. Hh-hh-HHH-GFTSHZH!" Dean honks into a tissue.
"Sleep tight, Iceman."
"This is so dot fair."
"Drink your juice, boy."
"Gettigg it wudce would have bade sedce at least."
"Lie down, man. I'll bring you a hot water bottle."
"But idstead we swap bodies add I have your cold for you, add thedd we trade back add I get it agaidd."
"Idjit. There's a bigger picture. Michael and Lucifer missed a chance. We all got damned lucky."
"Hh-KRGTSCH! Ugh... HEH-TZHSH-TZZKJCHCHSHT! ...Lucky? Friggidd caught by owed germs. Takes taledt, is what."
"Dude, you know the drill. Go get horizontal."
"Sure. Just gotta sdeeze odd Bobby first."
"Blue blanket's on the sofa."
"...Really?"
"How many fingers?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Yeah. OK." Sam flips over the ice pack on Dean's forehead. White-lipped, Dean winces.
"Head hurts."
"I know, man." Sam licks his thumb and smoothes a smear of blood off Dean's chin. "Just talk to me, all right? What color's my shirt?"
"Ugly."
"Oh, a smartass." Sam twists the cap off a tube of antibiotics. "OK. Where would you go right now if you could go anywhere?"
"Sleep."
"Wordplay. Nice. Soon. I promise." Sam dabs at his cuts. "Uh, what's the first thing you're gonna do when you wake up?"
"Puke."
"I..."
Dean sits, panting.
"Oh."
Dean falls on his ass climbing out of the motorboat.
He blanks on mooring hitch knots.
"What's wrong with you?"
---
His fingers won't close around the car key. Sam snakes it.
"You're like a block of ice."
"Turn up the th-thing."
---
Sam's guiding his palm to a steaming paper cup.
"You've been, uh, shaking. You want a doc?"
Dean squints out at a moonlit donut shop parking lot.
"You're k-kidding, right?"
---
Sam tucks hot water bottles around him and pulls up the covers.
"Dow this is wh-what I call r-r-roob service. Hh-hh-HHH-GFTSHZH!" Dean honks into a tissue.
"Sleep tight, Iceman."
"This is so dot fair."
"Drink your juice, boy."
"Gettigg it wudce would have bade sedce at least."
"Lie down, man. I'll bring you a hot water bottle."
"But idstead we swap bodies add I have your cold for you, add thedd we trade back add I get it agaidd."
"Idjit. There's a bigger picture. Michael and Lucifer missed a chance. We all got damned lucky."
"Hh-KRGTSCH! Ugh... HEH-TZHSH-TZZKJCHCHSHT! ...Lucky? Friggidd caught by owed germs. Takes taledt, is what."
"Dude, you know the drill. Go get horizontal."
"Sure. Just gotta sdeeze odd Bobby first."
"Blue blanket's on the sofa."
"...Really?"