Simple Things In Life

Sick

"There's my Princess," He chuckled as I emerged from the cool water. His eyes shone with admiration beyond what I saw him look at Sam with. The nickname had me blushing a rose pink. He didn't call me it often, but when he did, it rolled off his tongue perfectly and made me feel like the I truly was something of royalty.

"Then you're my Prince." I said and splashed him playfully. He rolled his eyes and charged at me through the water. I squeaked and tried to move away from him, but he was faster than me. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me to him.

"No, I'm a knight. I save the princess." He grumbled. His voice was deep but still playful. I shook my head and squirmed out of his arms, splashing him so I could try to get away more.

The next few hours were filled with laughter and teasing. The birds chirped along to my shrill squeaks whenever I was tickled, the light shining on us just right whenever the mood became more intimate. It was like a scene from a movie. Dean knew how to play me like a harp, and everything to do to make me feel like I was the only girl in the world who mattered.

But one thing I learned within a week's time, was that Dean was not a good patient. His pride got in the way of his well-being, I knew this before hand, but never witnessed it first hand.

After our childish reminiscing, Dean had realized he forgot one thing; Towels. He brought a picnic and spare change of clothes and a blanket for us to lay on later to watch the stars overhead. I sat on the rickety old picnic table, plucking at a daisy the was growing over the orange wood, waiting for him to stop looking through the trunk.

I had glanced up at Dean just in time to see his face fall, "Shit," Clouds were forming over our head, dark, looming, threatening. The forecast only called for a 10% chance of rain, but that 10 percent apparently triumphed. "Dean, let's just go home," I said with a shrug. It wasn't the first time that our plans had been ruin due to weather.

His face fell even more at my words. He was truly disappointed with the situation. Dean slammed the trunk closed and walked over to grab our clothes from earlier. He didn't take two steps before the downpour began, soaking us both with it's cold deluge. I giggled despite Dean's pout. I stood and made my way to him, grabbing his neck and kissing his pout. "Take a sad song and make it better," I whispered softly. "Come on, let's go home and cuddle."

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It's been two days since that incident and Bobby was lucky if he could get Dean out of bed to even eat. Dean was running a fever, moaning and groaning, getting sick at least once every few hours. And still, though he could barely stand without getting lightheaded, he insisted he was okay to do things on his own.

Bobby must have been arguing with him for some time before I came back in with Sammy. Sam and I went out to get him some stuff he needed for when he left for summer camp the next day. When we walked in, Dean was leaning over the trashcan, dry heaving after having obviously gotten sick. Sam made a face and headed upstairs.

"I'll get you water," Bobby grumbled as he made his way to the cabinet for a glass.

"No, I can do it." Dean croaked. His voice was broken and rough. He started a coughing fit that led to more dry heaving.

"No you cannot, boy. Let me help you." Bobby looked about as done as the teachers at our school.

"I'll take care of him," I said, interrupting their verbal tennis match. "Go help Sam pack for tomorrow." I handed Dean a bottle of water and some medicine before looking for the chicken broth I had bought earlier that day. Once I found it, I poured it into a pot, diluted it with water, and sat it on the stove to heat.