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11. Wrapped in blankets
Shivering, Dean pushed open Bobby’s front door and kicked off his boots. He hung his coat on the coat rack and hurried upstairs to take a nice, hot shower. The furnace in Bobby’s shop was broken, (which was very unfortunate considering it was February in South Dakota) and Dean had spent his afternoon fixing a transmission and freezing his ass off. Bobby, of course, had been off on a college tour with Sam, so Dean was the only one suffering through the broken furnace.
After he’d steamed himself pretty thoroughly, Dean dressed in long flannel pajama pants, wool socks, and one of Sam’s sweatshirts. Deciding to wait for Sam and Bobby on the couch, he pulled his sleeping bag out from under his bed and carried it down the stairs with him.
He gathered the remote and a beer, and unrolled his sleeping bag, shivering as he slid into it. A hockey game was playing, so Dean watched that as he drank his beer and tried to warm up. Expecting to feel warm from a buzz, Dean was surprised when it never came. The buzz showed up, but not the heat in his chest.
Still feeling goosebumps along his arms and legs, Dean pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and draped it over himself. Finally feeling a little warmer, Dean drifted off to sleep to the sounds of hockey players beating the shit out of each other.
“Is your brother asleep?” Bobby asked, pulling his coat off. He’d tasked Dean with enough jobs in the shop to keep him busy all day, but hadn’t expected the kid to be so worn out that he was asleep at 6pm.
“Looks like it,” Sam replied, peering down at Dean.
“Let him sleep, I guess. We can start dinner.” Bobby frowned and wondered why Dean hadn’t woken up when they’d gotten home. The kid was the lightest sleeper Bobby’d ever met, and the fact that he was still out made alarm bells ring in the back of Bobby’s head.
Once dinner was ready, Bobby left Sam to set the table and went to check on Dean. He was still out like a light, wrapped in blankets and what looked like his sleeping bag. Bobby frowned and felt Dean’s forehead, unsurprised at the heat he felt there. Dean being sick explained why he was asleep at 6pm and not jumping at every sound.
“Dean, wake up, kiddo,” Bobby said gently, rubbing a hand through Dean’s hair.
Dean turned his head away from Bobby but didn’t wake up.
“Dean,” Bobby said a little louder. He didn’t want to scare him.
Dean jumped awake, his arms coming up to cover his face out of habit.
“Easy, easy. Just me. Dinner’s ready.” Bobby backed up to give Dean some space to sit up. “You feelin’ alright?”
Dean rubbed a hand down his face and nodded. “Was cold.” He cleared his throat and looked around, shivering. “You’re not cold?”
“No, I ain’t cold cause I don’t got a fever.” Bobby put one hand on Dean’s forehead and the other on the back of his neck to hold him still. “When did ya start feelin’ sick?”
Dean shrugged when Bobby pulled away from him. “I don’t feel sick. Just cold.” Dean slid out of his sleeping bag but kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he shuffled to the kitchen. “Burgers! Awesome,” Dean said, lighting up when he saw the table.
Bobby sat down and shrugged in answer to Sam’s raised eyebrows. All throughout dinner Bobby kept an eye on Dean, but the kid acted completely normal, besides the blanket draped around his shoulders.
Once everything was cleaned up and put away, Dean yawned. “Think I’ll hit the hay a little early tonight,” he said as he started the dishwasher.
“You sure you’re alright?” Bobby asked, not wanting to wake up to a surprised sick Dean in the morning.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just peachy, in fact.” Dean flashed Bobby a smile and rolled up his sleeping bag. “It’s just so damn cold in the shop with the furnace being broken.”
Bobby stopped in his tracks. “The furnace ain’t workin’?”
Dean paused at Bobby’s serious tone. “You didn’t know? It was fucking freezing in there today. ‘Bout lost my fingers.”
“No, you idjit. Why didn’t you call somebody to come look at it?” Bobby grabbed his coat and shoved his feet into his boots. “The pipes out there can’t freeze.” He hurried to the shop, preparing for disaster, but found nothing amiss. The thermostat read 55, just like he had it set to. Nothing was frozen, no pipes had burst.
Sighing, Bobby trekked back inside and hung his coat up again. “It’s set exactly where I left it. You’re just gettin’ sick, is all.”
Dean frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well, go to bed and check in with me in the mornin’.” Bobby grabbed the thermometer from the kitchen medicine cabinet and tossed it in Dean’s direction. “Give me a reference point.”
Dean did as he was told and took his temperature, surprised to see that he was running a little warm. “99.7,” he said, tossing the thermometer back.
Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Case in point.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”
Bobby and Sam each said goodnight and Dean went up to bed.
Bobby woke with a startle before looking at the clock and sighing heavily. There was never a good reason for him to wake up at 3am. Tonight probably wasn’t any different.
He wasn’t sure what had woken him at first, but then he heard the noise again. Someone was throwing up. And he had a pretty good idea of who it was.
Pulling on his bathrobe, Bobby went to the bathroom down the hall and squinted in the bright light. Sure enough, Dean was hunched over the toilet, muscles straining as he dry heaved into the bowl. Bobby wet a washcloth and handed it to Dean when it seemed like he was done spewing.
“Don’t even say it,” Dean croaked, wiping his face down with the damp cloth.
Rolling his eyes, Bobby flushed the toilet. “Whatever, idjit. Think you’re done?”
Shuddering, Dean nodded. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was mighty pale.
“Too much beer, or what?” Bobby asked, helping Dean to stand up.
“No, as a matter of fact, I only had one. You know I can handle my liquor.” Dean leaned on the sink and spit a few times.
“Try this again,” Bobby said, handing Dean the thermometer.
Dean rolled his eyes this time, but stuck the instrument under his tongue. “100.6,” he read when it beeped.
“What did you eat for lunch?” Bobby asked, trying to get to the bottom of Dean’s sudden illness.
Dean swallowed thickly. “That leftover Chinese food.” He visibly paled as he thought about it.
“That’s a week old! I was waitin’ on trash day to throw it out.” Bobby shook his head as Dean gagged over the sink. “I’ll go get the puke bucket. You get back to bed.”
Nodding, Dean shuffled off to bed with the blanket still wrapped around him.
“Goddamn idjit,” Bobby muttered to himself as he went down to the kitchen. Once he grabbed the bucket he went back up to Sam and Dean’s room. “You wanna sleep here or on the couch?” Bobby whispered.
No answer.
“Dean?” Bobby turned the night light on which gave him just enough light to see that Dean was already passed out, all tucked into bed. Bobby smiled fondly at the boy, shaking his head as he set the puke bucket on the nightstand by Dean’s head. “Wake me up if you need me,” Bobby whispered, bending over to kiss Dean’s forehead.
Those boys might be the death of him, but he wouldn’t want his life any other way.