Drabble: Impatient Patient

[dizzojay]

 Here's a triple drabble written for the Supernatural On Hundred Drabble Challenge on Fanfiction.net and AO3

Challenge words: voice and scan

Rating: K+

 

Sam scanned the ancient Etruscan text he had been studying all day. The words, all seven thousand of them, (yes he had counted), were blurring into one wordy miasma of boring, inpenetrable crap.

He looked up, rubbing his overworked eyes, and realised it had been a while since he had seen or heard Dean. He knew Dean had been nursing a heavy cold for a couple of days, so wondered – or hoped, even - that Dean had had the good sense to rest up in bed for a few hours.

So naturally, Sam found Dean in the bunker's unheated garage washing the Impala.

"Dean, you moron", he snorted; "you're sick, and you're down here in the cold damp garage, getting yourself wet?"

Dean looked up from his labours. The glare of wounded umbrage he shot Sam was somewhat ruined by the dewdrop that dripped off the end of his red nose.

"I'm fine," He snapped, except he didn't because no sound came out. He paused and tried again. "I' fi…" he croaked hoarsely.

"Awesome," Sam sighed; "and now you've lost your voice!"

Dean scowled, silently mouthing "son of a bitch".

"Finish up here," demanded Sam, "then rest up."

Dean unflatteringly mimicked his brother's nagging as he wrung out his sponge and petulantly tossed it into his bucket with a foamy 'plop'. "Alri… m'com'ng" he croaked with a harsh cough.

"Right Dean, sit down; here's a blanket and a coffee," Sam directed his brother who had finally made his way into the bunker's main hall. "Don't move."

"Wann get s'min' to rea…" Dean wheezed, attempting to rise out of his chair.

"Something to read?" Sam replied; "no problem – here you go."

"Wha…?"

"Etruscan text", Sam announced breezily; "it's well-paced and sad at the end – you'll love it!"

xxxxx

end

Comments

[spiralicious]

LOL. Well played, Sam.