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Bobby glanced up across the living room, frowning as Dean sniffled for the umpteenth time. “You okay?” Bobby asked, marking the page in his book.
Dean looked up from his math homework. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to?” Bobby frowned harder.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean answered.
“Well, go blow your nose, then. You’re driving me nuts with your sniffling.”
Dean sighed and stood from the kitchen table, going into the bathroom to grab a wad of toilet paper to blow his nose with. It wasn’t really running, but he felt congested nonetheless.
After blowing his nose, Dean splashed some cold water on his face and chanced a look in the mirror. He was a little pale, which was the last thing he needed. Bobby would pounce on his in a second if—no, when—he noticed. Not that he was sick, but Bobby liked to mother-hen him and Sam to death.
Sam was at a friend’s house, so Dean was the only one there for Bobby to focus on. Clearing his throat, Dean dried his hands and went back to the kitchen table.
Bobby eyed Dean as he came back tiny the kitchen. The kid was a little pale, and clearly his nose was getting stuffy. “Getting stuffy?” Bobby asked gently, going back to his book. He knew Dean didn’t like attention on him, and the kid would clam up if Bobby put him under the spotlight.
“Yeah, a little, I guess.” Dean picked his pencil back up and bent his head over his math book.
Bobby just hummed in agreement and went back to what he was reading.
20 minutes later, Bobby sighed and looked over at Dean again. “Dean?”
Dean glanced up at him, raising his eyebrows in response.
“Go blow your damn nose,” Bobby grunted.
“Sorry,” Dean said, getting up from the table again. He blew his nose in the bathroom and brought a roll of toilet paper back to the kitchen with him.
Sitting back at the table, Dean set the toilet paper next to him and settled in to finish the last of his homework.
“Think you’re gettin’ a cold?” Bobby asked, noticing that Dean was still looking a little pale.
Dean shrugged. “Dunno. I feel fine.”
Bobby hummed and closed his book with a snap. “You hungry? I’ll start dinner.”
“Yeah, I have, like, two questions left.” Dean gave Bobby a smile to try and convey his okay-ness and went back to work.
The next morning, Dean was feeling more like he was catching a cold. His nose was stuffed up, his throat was sore when he swallowed, and he felt like he hadn’t slept for more than three hours.
Thankfully it was Saturday, so Dean didn’t have to go to school, but Bobby expected him to help out in the auto shop on the weekends.
Hauling himself out of bed, Dean had to grab the footboard of the bed to steady himself when a wave of dizziness washed over him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean whined as it felt like the world tipped to its side. When things had stopped spinning, Dean went into the bathroom. After using the toilet, he drank some water out of the tap and splashed some water on his face. The water did nothing to help his sore throat, much to his chagrin.
Coughing softly into his elbow, Dean made his way downstairs. Thankfully, Bobby wasn’t waiting for him at the kitchen table, so Dean could make himself some tea and toast in peace. The tea was really just hot water with lemon juice and honey, but it seemed to help his throat a little bit.
He sat at the table to eat his toast, pulling the obituary section of the newspaper towards him. Bobby always saved that section for him, telling him to stop reading the rest of it looking for cases.
While he and Sam were in school they weren’t allowed to be hunters. That was Bobby’s rule. Once they graduated they could go out and join John if they wanted to, but school was top priority. Sam was happy as a clam, but Dean didn’t like school very much. He had a hard time making friends and taking it all seriously when he’d always known he was going to be a hunter.
Bobby startled him as he rounded the corner of the kitchen, making Dean cough.
“That cold gettin’ to ya?” Bobby asked, frowning as he came up to the table.
Dean shrugged, going back to the obituaries. He jumped a little when Bobby’s hand clamped onto his forehead. “Bobby, I’m fine,” Dean protested, trying to swat his hand away.
“Oh, stop whining, ya idgit.” Bobby used his other hand to hold Dean still, resting it on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re not running hot,” Bobby said.
“I told you, I’m fine.” Dean cleared his throat and waited for Bobby to let go of him so he could sip his tea.
“Just ‘cause ya don’t have a fever doesn’t mean ya ain’t sick.” Bobby pulled a bag of cough drops out of the med kit he kept on top of the fridge. “Here. Take it easy today.”
“I can go to the shop with you,” Dean started, stopping when Bobby rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder again.
“I said to take it easy. I ain’t even goin’ into the shop today. I gotta go pick your brother up from his sleepover.” Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder and turned to dig some real tea out of the cabinet. “Try this,” Bobby said as he set the teapot on the stove to boil. “Might help more than that concoction ya got there.”
Dean felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment. “This is what I made for Sam when he was sick when he was little.”
Bobby frowned; he didn’t like thinking about the responsibility Dean had to shoulder at such a young age. “Well, drink that if ya please, but this is available if ya want some,” he responded. Deciding to leave Dean to his own devices, Bobby poured himself another cup of coffee and went back to his desk in the living room.
Before long, Dean padded in and sat on the couch, tea cup curled in his hand. Bobby noticed the flutter of the tea tag and smiled to himself, pulling the newspaper towards him.
Dean knew that Bobby was watching his every move, but he didn’t really feel like doing his normal weekend routine of tinkering in the scrap yard or cleaning up around the house. Instead, he turned on the Saturday morning cartoons and settled into the couch, sipping at Bobby’s tea. The real tea was better than his honey and lemon juice—it actually made his throat feel better and breathing in the steam cleared his nose out a little.
Shortly after he’d settled into the couch, he felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders. He looked up at Bobby and smiled gratefully.
“Ya looked chilly,” Bobby said.
“Thanks,” Dean replied. He pulled the blanket down around himself and tucked his legs up onto the couch.
Bobby felt Dean’s forehead again, concerned at how lethargic the boy was being. “Still no fever,” he stated.
“Well it’s only been 20 minutes since you checked before,” Dean responded. He shivered a little when Bobby pulled away, wishing he could snuggle into he older man’s side without being a ninny.
“You’re not acting like yourself—forgive me if I worry.” Bobby glanced down at Dean’s empty tea cup. “Want more tea?”
Dean nodded meekly. “Yes, please.” Dean handed Bobby his cup.
“You betcha. Sit tight.” Bobby went to the kitchen and started the teapot again. He looked through his med kit while he waited for the water to heat. He’d need more tea soon, at the rate they were going. And, if Dean was sick, it was only a matter of time before Sam came down with it.
Jotting himself down a list, Bobby started looking through the cupboards, too. He didn’t keep many sick foods stocked, so he added some tomato and rice soup, applesauce, crackers, oatmeal, and fruit popsicles to the list.
The water was boiling then, so Bobby poured Dean a fresh cup of tea and put an ice cube in it before carrying it back to the living room. “I have to pick Sam up soon. You gonna be okay here alone?” Bobby asked, setting the tea on the side table.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Dean answered.
“I gotta stop at the store, too, so I’ll be awhile. There anything special ya want while I’m out?”
Dean thought about it for a second. “No, thanks.”
“Alright. I’ll be back soon.” Bobby felt Dean’s forehead one last time before he left to run his errands.
Dean was dozing on the couch when Bobby came home with Sam. He peeled his eyes open when he heard the truck pull into the driveway and tried to gather his thoughts a little bit before Bobby came inside to check on him. His nose was actively running now, and his throat was still sore with every swallow.
“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Bobby asked as he walked through the front door, his arms full of grocery bags.
Dean got up and shuffled into the kitchen, blanket still wrapped around him. “Is there more in the truck?” Dean asked. He leaned on the back of a kitchen chair to ride out the wooziness he felt and hoped he didn’t look too pitiful.
“Sam’s gettin’ the rest. Why don’t ya sit down before ya fall over,” Bobby said with a frown. The kid was startlingly pale and leaning heavily on the chair to keep himself upright.
Dean pulled the chair out and huddled into it, shivering slightly.
Bobby set the bags on the table and reached out to check Dean’s temperature. “Still don’t feel hot. That’s good, I suppose.”
“It’s just a cold,” Dean sniffled.
“Mmhmm.” Bobby started putting things away, handing Dean a box of cold medicine. “Take some of that and go lie back down.”
Ripping open the box, Dean took a dose and shuffled back to the couch. Sam entered the front door as Dean was mid-shuffle.
“Jeez, you okay, Dean?” he asked, his arms full of bags.
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m fine.” Dean continued his shuffle and collapsed onto the couch. He took the cold medicine with the last gulp of his tea and curled up under his blanket.
“You need anything?” Sam asked, sitting on the opposite end of the couch once he’d set the bags on the kitchen table.
“Nah, I’m alright,” Dean said, snaking a hand out to grab a tissue. He blew his nose wetly and tossed the dirty tissue onto his mountain of used tissues on the floor next to the couch.
“Dude, that’s gross,” Sam scoffed. He got up from the couch and went to grab the little trashcan from the bathroom. “Don’t be a slob,” he said, setting the can next to Dean’s pile.
Rolling his eyes, Dean leaned over and picked up his pile, dumping them into the trash can.
Dean spent the rest of the morning dozing on the couch. He felt Sam get up at some point and never come back—Dean guessed he could only watch so many cartoons before he got bored—and woke when Bobby shook his shoulder.
“Wake up, kiddo,” Bobby said softly. “I made ya some lunch.”
Dean coughed and pushed himself to a sitting position. Every joint in his body ached, his head was pounding, and he groaned as he propped himself up on the couch cushions.
“Here, work on this,” Bobby said, handing Dean a bowl of soup. “And check your temperature.” He gave Dean the thermometer.
Dean put the thermometer under his tongue and waited for it to beep. “Normal,” he croaked, his voice having disappeared while he napped.
“Hmm,” Bobby hummed. He was always extra careful when Dean caught colds because the kid could go from being fine to being in the hospital with pneumonia in a flash. “Eat your soup.”
Dean looked in the bowl and felt his chest seize up. “Tomato and rice,” Dean croaked. “Sam said ya always make that for him when he’s not feelin’ good,” Bobby said.
Dean nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t even blame the tears on a fever. “My mom used to make it for me,” he whispered.
Bobby’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned down and kissed Dean on the top of his head. “Let me know if ya need anything. I’ll make some fresh tea.”
Dean nodded again and sniffled, not wanting to cry in front of Bobby. Once the older man had left the room, Dean let a few tears slide down his cheeks as he spooned some soup into his mouth. Deciding to let the tv distract him, Dean focused on the show playing. Luck was on his side, and his nose being plugged up stopped him from being able to taste the soup, so it was easy for him to think about something else if he didn’t look at what he was eating.
Bobby came back a few minutes later with a cup of tea, steam rising from it as he set it on the side table. He was prepared to talk with Dean about Mary, but Dean had pulled himself together. He didn’t want to upset the kid further, so he set the tea down and left him alone.
Deciding to get caught up on his salvage yard paperwork, Bobby settled in at his desk and got sucked into the pile of papers on his desk. The sound of the tv lulled him into his own world, and he didn’t look up until he heard Sam clomp down the stairs.
“Can I go play outside?” Sam asked quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Dean who was asleep on the couch.
“Sure,” Bobby replied. “Be careful.”
Sam nodded and grabbed his sweatshirt off the back of a kitchen chair before going out the front door.
Bobby leaned back in his chair and stretched, happy with himself for working though the stack of papers in front of him. He glanced at his watch and got up to check on Dean.
Rounding the couch, Bobby frowned as he noticed a flush high on Dean’s cheeks. He gently laid the backs of his fingers on Dean’s forehead and hummed when he felt the heat there. It wasn’t a raging fever, but Bobby was sure that it wouldn’t be long before it was spiking.
“Wake up, kiddo, Gotta check your temperature.” Bobby rubbed Dean’s head until the kid cracked his eyes open. Bobby slipped the thermometer into Dean’s mouth so that he didn’t have to pull his arms out from under the blanket.
When it beeped, Bobby pulled it out of Dean’s mouth and looked at the reading. “You’re gettin’ warmer, kiddo. Want some Tylenol?”
Dean shrugged, his eyes slipping shut. If he thought he felt sick before, he felt like death now. His nose was solidly plugged up, his body ached, his head ached, his throat was on fire. Breathing made him want to cough, but coughing took a lot of energy that he didn’t have.
“Here, drink some water, too; don’t want ya to get dehydrated.” Bobby handed Dean a dose of Tylenol and a bottle of water and helped him sit up so that he could drink without choking or spilling his water.
Once the Tylenol had been taken, Bobby helped Dean settle back down on the couch. “You want your pillow from upstairs?”
Dean nodded, closing his eyes briefly. “I can get it in a minute.” He didn’t have the energy to go all the way upstairs at the moment, but he didn’t want Bobby to wait on him any more than he already was.
“Nonsense. I’ll be right back.” Bobby stood from where he’d been crouched next to Dean’s head and was gone before Dean could protest.
Shivering, Dean pulled the blanket up to his chin and tried to conserve his body heat. He knew he wasn’t actually cold, but he felt frozen solid.
“Here, I brought another blanket, too,” Bobby said as he came back into the living room. He draped the blanket over Dean’s shivering form and helped lift Dean’s head to slide his pillow under him.
“Thanks,” Dean croaked. He felt the corners of his eyes sting with unshed tears at the kindness Bobby was showering him with. Trying and failing to swallow the tears down left him coughing wetly into his blankets, his eyes watering anyway.
Bobby hauled him upright and pounded on his back to keep him from choking. “Ya okay?”
Dean nodded, still coughing into the blankets. He was starting to cough up phlegm and it was making his chest ache. Once he could breathe a little, Dean reached out and pulled a tissue out of the box to spit his phlegm into.
“Lemme see the color of that,” Bobby said, worry sinking in his stomach.
Dean furrowed his brow in question but showed Bobby the glob in the tissue. It was bright green, almost neon.
“Oh, great,” Bobby muttered.
“Bad sign?” Dean asked, throwing the wad into the trash can.
“Definitely not a good sign,” Bobby said. He helped Dean settle back into the couch and looked at the clock on the wall. “Ya gonna be okay for a few minutes?”
Dean nodded, curling up on his side to try and alleviate the tightness in his chest. His eyes were glassy as he stared at the tv and let himself feel miserable.
Bobby left Dean’s side and went to his desk to call the on-call nurse at his doctor’s office. Given Dean’s history with pneumonia, the on-call nurse urged Bobby to take Dean to the walk-in clinic to have someone listen to his lungs.
Figuring it best to not tell Dean yet, Bobby put the phone back on its base and went outside to find Sam.
“There ya are,” Bobby said, finding the youngest Winchester swinging on the rope swing Bobby had rigged up for the boys in his barn. “I’m gonna take your brother to the clinic. The doc thinks it’s probably pneumonia again.”
“Again? Didn’t he just get over that, like, three months ago?”
“Yeah, again. Ya wanna come with us or stay here?”
“I’ll stay, unless Dean needs me.” Sam hopped off the rope swing and walked with Bobby back to the house.
“I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, ya might have to get your own dinner.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sam responded. They went inside as quietly as they could in case Dean was sleeping.
“I’ll call the house phone if we won’t be home before dinner, how does that sound?” Bobby trusted Sam to be home alone, but the kid was only 12 so he didn’t want to leave him for too long.
Sam nodded and looked over at Dean. “He does look pretty bad,” Sam said quietly. They could hear him wheezing from where they stood near the front door.
Bobby ruffled Sam’s hair and went over to the couch. “You awake, kiddo?”
Dean peeled his eyes open and nodded.
“I called the doctor; they wanna listen to your lungs.”
Dean pushed himself up and, after waiting out a wave of dizziness, stood on shaky legs. “I’ll get dressed,” he croaked.
Bobby frowned as he watched Dean shuffle up the stairs. He’d gone downhill really quickly, and that made Bobby worry. Sighing, he gathered up Dean’s blanket and folded it before draping it over the back of the couch. He dumped the tissue-laden trash can into the regular trash can in the kitchen and cleared the side table of its tea cups and cough drop wrappers.
Sam was sitting at the kitchen table when Bobby was finished cleaning up after Dean. He was tapping his foot anxiously.
“Don’t tell me, you’re feelin’ sick, too?” Bobby didn’t like the pinched look on Sam’s face.
“No, no. Just worried about Dean.” Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“He’ll be fine, Sam. They just wanna listen to him breathe and maybe give him some medicine.” Bobby smiled reassuringly. “You can still come with us if ya want to.”
Sam chewed on his lip while he mulled it over. After a second, he nodded.
“Sounds like a plan. Ya ready?” Bobby asked. He could hear Dean shuffling around upstairs.
“Yeah,” Sam replied. He sat up straight suddenly. “Actually, I’m going to go grab a book for the waiting room.” He jumped up from the table and ran up the stairs to the room he and Dean shared. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Dean sitting on his bed, all hunched over and coughing into his fist. “Dean?”
Dean jumped when Sam spoke, which made him cough harder. He had a panicked look in his eyes.
Sam rushed to his side and pounded on Dean’s back to try and loosen up some of the gunk stuck in his chest. That seemed to do the trick, because once he’d done it a few times Dean’s coughing seemed to reach deeper into his chest and he started to bring up more phlegm. Sam jumped up and grabbed the trash can they kept in the corner of the room and handed it to Dean so he could spit out all the gunk he was coughing up.
“Everything okay in here?” Bobby asked as he strode into the room. He’d heard Dean’s coughing fit from downstairs and decided to see what was going on.
“It’s like he can’t breathe,” Sam said nervously. He kept pounding on Dean’s back because that seemed to be all that was helping him catch a breath.
Bobby sat next to Dean and placed a hand on Dean’s chest. “Breathe with me, kiddo,” he said. He started breathing in and out, waiting for Dean to calm down and copy him. It took awhile, but eventually Dean managed to get a few breaths in between coughs. Sam had stopped pounding on his back.
“There, just try to stay calm, okay?” Bobby rubbed his other hand up and down Dean’s back until the kid had stopped coughing all together.
“Bobby, his lips are blue,” Sam said quietly, his big brown eyes full of fear.
“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Bobby looked for himself, noting how blue Dean’s lips had gotten and what time it was. “Time to get in the truck, okay?”
Sam nodded and grabbed the book he’d come up to get before scurrying down the stairs.
“Doin’ okay?” Bobby asked. He could feel his heart racing but was trying not to show the boys how nervous he’d been. Color was already returning to Dean’s lips.
Dean nodded. He was exhausted and his chest felt too tight, but at least he could breathe again. He got up off the bed and followed Sam down the stairs, pausing at the door to slip his sneakers on.
Bobby was right on his heels, and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch before following the boys to the truck, his heart still pounding inside his chest.
Luckily there wasn’t a long wait at then walk-in clinic. Dean was taken back right away and examined by an old man who listened to his lungs for so long that Bobby was sure Dean would have to go to the hospital to get admitted.
“I’m going to send him for a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia, but I believe he’s come down with a severe case of bronchitis,” the doctor said after he’d listened to Dean’s breathing. “If the x-ray confirms, he just needs plenty of fluids and rest.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Bobby said. He let out a slow sigh and watched as a nurse wheeled Dean away to get his x-ray.
“Is that better than pneumonia?” Sam asked from where he was sitting next to Bobby. He’d been too shaken up to stay in the waiting room alone when the nurse brought Dean back to an exam room.
“Neither one is good, but yeah, bronchitis is the better of the two. Doesn’t take as long to feel better.” Bobby ran a hand over his mouth and beard and tried to calm the waves of anxiety rolling around inside him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared when he saw Dean’s lips turn blue. He’d practically been holding his breath for the whole drive to the clinic, praying that Dean didn’t start coughing again until they were somewhere someone more experienced in sick people could help the kid breathe again.
Sam scooted his chair closer to Bobby’s and snaked his hand out to slide it into Bobby’s.
Bobby grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it gently, giving Sam a smile. “He’ll be just fine.”
“I know, but…that was kinda scary.”
“It was, kiddo. It was. But he’s okay.” Bobby leaned over and kissed Sam’s temple. “Why don’t ya read your book while we wait?”
After stopping at the pharmacy in the grocery store to pick up the inhaler Dean had been prescribed to help with the wheezing, Bobby drove the boys home. He helped Dean into the house and smiled as Sam offered Dean tea and popsicles while Dean got settled back on the couch.
Bobby busied himself with making dinner so that Dean could have something to eat before taking more Tylenol on an empty stomach. Sam was covering Dean with his blanket when Bobby stuck his head into the living room. “Will ya eat some spaghetti if I cook some?”
“‘M not very hungry,” Dean croaked.
“How about some applesauce?”
Dean thought for a second before nodding.
“Perfect. Sam, wanna get that for your brother?” Bobby asked, turning back to the kitchen. Sam came running in and dug a little container out of the cabinet before fishing for Dean’s favorite spoon in the silverware drawer. Bobby smiled at that, and continued making dinner for Sam and himself.
Once the spaghetti was cooked, Bobby plated up a portion for Sam and brought it to him where he was curled up on the couch under Dean’s feet. “Here, sit up a little,” Bobby said. He handed Sam the plate and went back to the kitchen to get his own. He brought a cup of tea for Dean and gave him another dose of Tylenol before settling down in his recliner.
“Can we watch a movie?” Dean asked, pushing himself up a little to drink his tea.
“Absolutely. Which one?” Bobby asked, flipping the lever and propping his feet up.
Sam jumped up and dug around in the entertainment center until he found Dean’s favorite Star Wars movie. He popped it in the VCR and ran back to the couch, curling up again under Dean’s feet.
“Good pick, Sammy,” Dean whispered.
Bobby smiled softly at the sight of his boys curled up on the couch together, watching their favorite movie. It warmed his heart to have them living with him, and, though he hated to think about it, he hoped that when the time came for them to move out and be on their own, they would still call his house their home.