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"Goddamn this goddamn fucking fucker door, I'm going to fucking..." my voice trailed off into mumbling nothings as I finally managed to get the door to the bunker open and dump my bags inside.
It was January 3rd, and the drive from home had been truly hellish. On top of the raging cold I'd developed a few days ago, traffic had crawled for most of the drive, and I'd managed to spill fries all over the bench seat of the red hot rod I'd borrowed from the bunker, which meant Dean was going to kill me.
And not that it was easy to admit to myself, but I always soured after a week of being around my sister and her perfect life and kids and my parents and their perfect life. The holidays had been nice, until I'd been there for four days and slowly started suffocating from questions like, 'How's your boyfriend? How's work? When're you having kids?'
"An asshole, unglamorous as it gets, and never, respectively," I griped aloud, shutting the door behind me and stepping heavily down the stairs.
"Y/N? That you?" Sam's voice sounded from the library, and he came into view at the far end as I reached the floor.
"Yep, it's me," I sighed, tossing my duffel onto the war table and disappearing into the kitchen for a second, coming back with a bottle of Lagavulin that Dean had been saving for a special occasion.
Sam's eyebrows rose when he saw it in my hand. "You know, Dean was-"
I raised my palm as I sat across the table from him. "Yeah yeah, I know. I'll buy him a new one. It's been a long fucking week." With that, I began to scrape at the wax over the cap.
"What's up? You look and sound like..." he trailed off, and when I looked up his mouth was stretched in an apologetic smile.
"Like shit?" I finished for him.
He shrugged and nodded. "Well, yeah."
I got the wax off and popped the cap open, taking a long swig before answering. It burned going down, both from the liquor and my sore throat, but I needed it. "I'll be fine. Got a hell of a cold, and the holidays weren't as cheerful as they should've been. I should just stay here next year."
"What went wrong?" he prompted, always open to listening to me whine. It was one thing I liked about him. His older brother tended to go radio silent when we were up shit creek, but Sam would always talk.
"I don't know, it's bullshit really. You guys would kill for a family like that." I paused, and Sam tilted his head in acknowledgement. "But they get to talking, bouncing their little babies on their laps, talkin' about their fuckin' office jobs and their fuckin' neighborhood houses and they're always asking me what I'm doing with my life and what my plans are and I just feel so out of place, you know? And then I think about how much I used to get along with them, and what we used to have. And I'll never get that back." I was silent for a moment, taking a pull as I tried to work through the thoughts. "I don't know. It's not really a big deal."
"It's just a lot, at once, probably. You're sick as a dog too, which doesn't help." Before I could stop him, he leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
I shoved it away, giving him a glare. "I don't have a fever, you, you... oaf in flannel." The insult left my mouth before I could realize how truly terrible it was, and when Sam broke out into laughter, I couldn't keep the smile off my face.
"You must really be sick if you can't think fast enough to come up with something better than that."
"Yeah yeah, shove it up your ass. Speaking of ass, where's Dean?"
"Went out to get groceries. Since you didn't shop before you left, we went without bacon for three days before Dean caved."
"Fucking fantastic. Maybe he'll bring back some cyanide and put me out of my misery!" I wiggled my eyebrows, pulling another chuckle from Sam.
"It'll go away soon. You sure that scotch is the best cure though?"
I shrugged, already feeling the effects of the drug as I nursed the bottle. "It's like a hot toddy. But without the water. And honey. And lemon."
He gave me an all-too familiar judgmental look. "You've taken after my brother too much. Whiskey's not the cure for everything, you know."
"It's a hell of a start though!"
He tried to hold back his laughter at that, shaking his head as he stood up. "Why don't you go settle into bed and try to get some sleep? I'll bring you medicine, tissues, whatever you need. Dean should be back soon, I'll send him in when he gets here."
I sighed and nodded. "You're right, as always. I'm not hungry but some tea would be great. And cough drops. And maybe some Tylenol. And Emergen-C. And Nyquil. Oh, and-"
"Damn, Jordan Belfort. I know the drill. Scram." He shooed me down the hallway, and I offered one last genuine smile before heading to bed.
I stripped down to my underwear before sinking into bed, rearranging all my pillows and blankets until I was satisfied. My head wanted to sleep, but my body wouldn't let me get comfortable enough, what with the stuffed nose and the pounding sinus headache.
Sam came in a few minutes later, tray balanced with a plethora of cold remedies, then left me to my own devices. It took awhile, but after a round of noseblowing, tea, and Nyquil I was finally beginning to settle down.
A soft knock at the door made me peek out from my mountain of cozy. "Hey sweetheart, it's me." The sound of Dean's voice made me smile despite myself.
"Come in," I called, watching as the door opened and he stepped inside, half a smile on his face.
"Sam told me you weren't feeling so well. I was so excited to see you, and to, you know, feel you-" I rolled my eyes but he trudged onwards, "-and it sucks that you're sick. But, I am nothing if not a gentleman, so I will be here to help you through this, milady." He ended the statement with a deep bow, getting a giggle out of me.
"I'm happy to see you too. C'mere, you always help me fall asleep."
He moved towards the bed, but I spoke again, stopping him in his tracks. "Strip. I don't want your 1911 digging into me; it's hard enough to sleep already."
He tore his clothes off, leaving him in just his boxers as he set the gun on the bedside table and look down at me. "Where do I fit in all of this?" He gestured to the blanketed mess that was my bed.
I stuck an arm out, immediately letting cold air in but opening a pocket for him. "Right here, my good sir." It would've been funny even if my stuffed nose didn't make every word sound like it was traveling through a thick layer of cotton balls.
He slid in right next to me, immediately heating up my much colder skin. "Jesus you're hot," I whined, pressing him onto his back and wrapping myself around him.
"Not the first time I've heard that," he joked, earning himself a small slap on the chest.
"Shut up. Do your thing."
"What thing?"
"That thing where you help me go to sleep." It was already working, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as I sunk into the mattress.
"Just breathe, sweetheart. I'll be right here when you wake up, and you'll be back to peak condition in no time. Relax."
The humming of his chest against my ear practically put me in a trance as he hugged me close to him. I let my eyes shut and whispered, "You did it. Love you."
He pressed his lips to my forehead. "Love you too."