winjennster:

gillasue345:

her-roses-never-fall:

gillasue345:

winjennster:

Consider Sam and Dean, about 11 and 15, alone in a snowbound motel room. They’re both fighting pneumonia, although Dean thinks they’ve just got colds. Sam needs medicine (so does Dean but Sammy comes first). Imagine Dean, sick and running a fever, stealing a snow shovel and asking people if he can shovel for money.

#jennisthedevil

the best thing about this headcanon is it could actually be supported by canon. The week they were stranded in that motel after a snow storm. (spn 10×12)

Dean shoveling snow all day until his hands are numb and his legs hurt until he’s gotten 10 bucks so he can trudge across three foot snow drifts on the way to a supermarket to buy NyQuil and Kraft Dinner for Sam, all while he’s spiking a 102 fever. 

Fucking kill me now you two. Kill me now. 

And what if when he was getting the Kraft dinner in the soup aisle, he also saw a can of Campbell’s Tomato Rice soup? So, practically delirious, sweating through his stiff, frozen leather jacket, and so weak he’s shaking, he picks up the can of soup too. 

But what if the ten bucks isn’t enough? It only covers the NyQuil and food? So he has to steal some cough drops and Vick’s. And he takes it back to the motel. By the time he makes it back, the snow drifts have increased tenfold and he’s soaking wet. He makes it to the door, but falls into the room. Sam, sick as a dog but still better than Dean is, stands up from bed and helps Dean get out of his clothes and into a pair of threadbare flannel pajama bottoms and one of their dad’s giant Jayhawks t-shirts. 

What if Sam made the soup and the Kraft dinner? What if he gave Dean the soup, made Dean take a dose of NyQuil. He wouldn’t let Dean take care of him. Instead he took his own dose of medicine, created a steam room out of the bathroom with the Vicks and the shower to break up the phlegm in their lungs, and what if, by God, he took care of Dean for once?

“I’m alright, Sammy,” Dean wheezed.
“Bullshit,” Sam wheezed right back. “Take this shit.”
“Watch your language, bitch.” He took the little cup from Sam with shaking hands, knowing Sam was stubborn enough to not take himself if Dean didn’t. It tasted like battery acid going down, setting off another coughing fit that left Dean dizzy and breathless.
“We need Dad!” Sam huffed, choking down a dose of the medicine as well.
“Be ok. It’s just a cold,” Dean mumbled drowsily, already sliding back into unconsciousness.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep. You need to eat first.”
“No, Sammy, you eat. Need to sleep.”
“Please, Dean,” Sam wheedled. “For me? I won’t eat unless you do.”
“Aw, Sammy, don’t. You gotta eat.”
“You too!”
Groaning, Dean squirmed a bit until he was partially sitting up against the headboard. Dean knew embarrassment he’d never felt before, since his hands were shaking too bad to maneuver the soup into his mouth. Sam had to feed him.
“You ate like half. One more bite and I’ll let you sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll eat, S’mmy,” Dean whispered, too weak to keep his eyes open.
“I will, I promise. Gonna call Bobby, too.”
“‘K,” Dean muttered, sliding into the black.
…
He woke up in a hospital room with a tube blowing cool air into his nose, and Bobby sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair near the bed, snoring with his trucker’s hat pulled over his eyes.
“You’re awake,” a small raspy voice said.
Looking over, he found Sam in the bed next to his.
“I’m getting discharged today, but the doc says they need to keep you for a few more days. It wasn’t a cold,” he said, crossing his arms imperiously across his chest. “It was pneumonia. We both had it, but you’re the one who almost died. You’ve been out of it for like four days. If I hadn’t called Bobby -” Sam shuddered.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered.
“No, boy, don’t you dare take the blame for this.” Bobby looked angrier than Dean had ever seen him. “This ain’t no one but your idjit father’s fault. Leaving you two alone with no money. Swear I’m gonna punch him next time he shows his ugly mug ‘round me. I told ‘em I was yer uncle, and Sam over there confirmed it. Soon as they see fit to let you go, takin’ you two up to Sioux Falls. Gonna be least a week before Sam’s fit, longer for you, Mr. Death’s Door.”
“Ok,” Dean said meekly.
Bobby, a man who didn’t show affection much, leaned over the bed and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “Scared me to death, boy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop ‘pologizing. Gonna go get ya some pie, alright?”
“Sounds good.”
Bobby kissed Sam too, before heading out the door.
The second he was gone, Sam yanked a blanket off his bed and curled up on Dean’s. “I took care of you for once,” he said, matter of factly, young face shining with pride.
Dean squeezed his hand. “Sure did, kiddo.”

I want this. Now.