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spn_springflingTitle: Hot Chocolate and Marshmallows
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
In Sam's opinion, one of the few areas where Dad had actually done a good job of being a father was in taking the boys' illnesses very seriously. Whenever they got sick, he would make sure they were completely recovered before hauling them off on another hunt or to another temporary home. Dad would often bark at them to stop whining and push through the pain and distraction of a minor injury, but at the first sign of a cough or a sniffle, it was straight back to the motel and back into bed with an order to stay there or else.
Sam had figured out early on why taking him or Dean to the doctor was something to be avoided (there would've been too many questions, for one thing) so sniffles and stomachaches had to be dealt with as ruthlessly and swiftly as poltergeists. Illnesses couldn't be allowed to get worse than what could be cared for with aspirin and Robitussin and Pepto. Dad had proven himself capable of forging or otherwise obtaining prescriptions for things like antibiotics, but it was rare that things were allowed to get that far.
Sam was not naive enough to imagine that this was all done out of pure paternal love, but there was one thing that made him think it wasn't entirely pragmatic on Dad's part.
Along with medicine, strict orders to rest, and frequent fever checks and re-checks, a key part of the recovery process was hot chocolate. There was always hot chocolate. If they'd been felled by a stomach bug, hot chocolate was administered as soon as it could be kept down, even before things like applesauce and Gatorade.
Now, there was no hot chocolate and Sam sat propped up in bed, half asleep and trying not to cough because coughing felt like running up eight flights of stairs.
It used to be, Dad would come quietly to his bedside (far gentler and more worried than he was any other time) cheap styrofoam cup in hand. He would help Sam sit up and help him get his hands around the cup. If needed, he'd even hold the cup steady while Sam drank.
It was always instant chocolate, of course, but Dad never took the cheap way out if he could help it. If it wasn't Swiss Miss and if it didn't have mini-marshmallows, the hot chocolate would be delivered with a gruff apology and an explanation of how the store was out of the right kind or whatever.
If they were in a motel rather than an efficiency apartment, Dad would have made the hot chocolate with hot tap water, which always left weird, gritty clumps of powder, and the mini-marshmallows would've been slimy over a crunchy center instead of dissolved into dotted foam like they were supposed to. Sam didn't mind when it was like that. It had still been delicious. Dad bringing him hot chocolate in bed had, in those rare moment, made him feel like he was a normal kid with normal parents and a normal life. It had made Dad seem like more like a real parent, haunting Sam with a vision of what could have been. What should have been.
This time, Sam didn't have any hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows to soothe him while he was sick. But he did have a real room of his own and he could stay in bed as long as he needed without needing to worry about cleaning staff coming in or the credit card fraud being discovered. Also, it was amazing how much of a difference it made being in his bed. If it weren't for the fact that he felt like ten pounds of hammered shit, it would be kind of nice.
He wondered how long it would take Dean to pick up meds and soup.
He wished he'd thought to ask Dean to pick up some hot chocolate.
He hoped Dean would think of it on his own.
Maybe he could call Dean and ask him, but Sam got worn out to the point of tears just thinking about reaching over to pick up his phone.
Sam was just starting to doze off again when Dean shouldered the door open.
"Man, you look like crap," Dean observed cheerfully. He put a tray (an honest to goodness silver tray) down on the desk then walked over to hunch down by Sam's bed. He put the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, and his mouth tightened. "Yeah, let's get some Tylenol in you."
He went back to the tray and got a glass of water and the Tylenol. Sam dutifully swallowed, and the water felt good going down his raw throat.
"Drink the rest of that," Dean ordered, even as Sam was gulping the water down.
Dean went back to the tray, and when he turned around, Dean was holding two of the large ironstone mugs from the bunker kitchen.
Sam smiled so wide it almost hurt, and he had to blink away a prickle of tears. "Dude! Hot chocolate?"
Dean looked incandescently pleased with himself. "What? Like I'd forget this? What do you take me for? Now, budge over," he said even as he started to climb into Sam's bed.
"Wait... what are you... Dean! No! Trust me, you do not want to get this!"
"News flash, Typhoid Mary, you were probably contagious a day before you started getting sick, and given that my mouth was all over your germy body right about then, I'm probably fucked. And not in the good way, either, so thanks for that." He handed Sam one of the mugs. "Now, drink your chocolate like a good little boy. You've got to be back on your feet in time to take care of me when I come down with a case of the Ebolas or whatever the hell this is."
"You're all heart," Sam rasped. Having Dean next to him did make him feel a little better. He took the mug and raised it to his nose to take as much of a sniff as he could.
He stopped. The hot chocolate was smooth and velvety, as if it was more cream than milk. The marshmallows bobbing on top were plump and soft and much larger than he remembered. Shouldn't they look smaller, now that he was bigger?
"Sam? Something wrong?"
"Sorry. Just... not feeling good," Sam said. "Uh, this isn't Swiss Miss, is it?"
Dean took a sip of his own drink and smiled rapturously. "Oh, hell no. You deserve better than that powdered crap Dad always gave us. I used actual milk that actually came from an actual cow, vanilla, and a shit-ton of sugar. I also splurged and put Ghirardelli cocoa and chocolate in there. Plus, marshmallows. I had to tweak it about five times before it finally tasted right. You're welcome."
"Right?" Sam echoed weakly. He stared at the cocoa. Maybe it was the flu, but the stuff in his mug looked more wrong than right.
"Yeah... like how Mom used to make it?" Defensiveness seeped into Dean's voice, and the smile was so far gone it might never have been there. "It's one of the things I remember about her, the way she'd always make me hot chocolate from scratch when I was sick."
"Oh."
Dean gave him a funny look, then went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and soft. "You know, that's one thing - out of so goddamn many things I can't even count them anymore - that I always thought was unfair. That you never really got to know what Mom was like as a mom. God, it probably took me until I was about eight or so before I really got that you didn't even remember her."
No. He didn't. All Sam knew of Mom as a mother were the few glimpses - filtered through Dean's memories - he'd seen in Heaven. Dean was right. It wasn't fair.
But somehow, through some miracle, some tattered remnant of her love and caring had lived on past her death.
"You might not believe this, but before you came in, I was missing Dad." Sam went quiet for a moment, and for whatever reason Dean didn't seem compelled to fill the silence. "When we were sick, he was so... It was almost worth getting sick, you know?"
Dean grunted, but Sam couldn't tell if it was agreement or derision or something else.
"You should drink that before it gets cold," Dean said flatly.
Sam took a sip of the hot chocolate. It wasn't what he had been wanting, but it was good. He could understand why Dean had missed it, and why missing having a mother wasn't the same as missing Mom.
Sam took another sip, knowing what to expect, but this time trying to taste what Dean wanted him to taste.
He thought that this time, maybe he did.
"It's really good. Thank you," he said, and he hoped Dean could hear that it wasn't just politeness. There was more that he could say, more he should say, but he was too worn out to put the words together.
Dean's short, sharp laugh was easier to read this time. It was genuine and happy, and the hurt was gone. "I can't say for sure it's exactly the way she made it, but it's the way I remember it, if that makes sense."
Sam nodded, and took another sip. "It does."
"Hot chocolate makes everything feel better," Dean said, and Sam thought it sounded like maybe he was quoting someone. No, Sam knew he was.
"And hey... When it's your turn to play nursemaid, it's okay if you'd rather give me the powdered crap in a styrofoam cup." Dean cleared his throat and couldn't quite look Sam in the eye. "You know that, right?"
"Thank you," Sam said, grateful for being understood after all. He was trying to think of what to say next, but thinking hurt. He should sleep. "But I think I'll give it a try your way. Mom's way," he got out before the fatigue started luring him under again.
Dean ruffled his hair and took his mug away before it could slip from his hands. The last thing Sam remembered before falling asleep was a gentle kiss to his brow, a kiss that was of a different kind and far more gentle than the ones he was now used to.
Sam wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke up, Dean was there. He helped Sam stagger to the bathroom and back again, fed him some Tylenol and saw him safely back to bed. Then Dean left again, and just as Sam was starting to wonder if he was coming back at all, he shouldered open the door. The silver tray was back, only this time the cups on it were styrofoam.
He handed Sam one of the cups. The 'marshmallows' were crunchy, slimy blobs bobbing on the surface of the watery chocolate.
"Feeling any better?" Dean asked.
Sam took a sip of his hot chocolate and smiled.
The worry faded from Dean's eyes, and Sam knew his smile had been answer enough. He scooted over to make room for Dean without needing to be asked.
Dean sat down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. "Almost worth getting sick?"
Sam didn't even have to think about it. He leaned his head on Dean's shoulder.
"More than almost."
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
In Sam's opinion, one of the few areas where Dad had actually done a good job of being a father was in taking the boys' illnesses very seriously. Whenever they got sick, he would make sure they were completely recovered before hauling them off on another hunt or to another temporary home. Dad would often bark at them to stop whining and push through the pain and distraction of a minor injury, but at the first sign of a cough or a sniffle, it was straight back to the motel and back into bed with an order to stay there or else.
Sam had figured out early on why taking him or Dean to the doctor was something to be avoided (there would've been too many questions, for one thing) so sniffles and stomachaches had to be dealt with as ruthlessly and swiftly as poltergeists. Illnesses couldn't be allowed to get worse than what could be cared for with aspirin and Robitussin and Pepto. Dad had proven himself capable of forging or otherwise obtaining prescriptions for things like antibiotics, but it was rare that things were allowed to get that far.
Sam was not naive enough to imagine that this was all done out of pure paternal love, but there was one thing that made him think it wasn't entirely pragmatic on Dad's part.
Along with medicine, strict orders to rest, and frequent fever checks and re-checks, a key part of the recovery process was hot chocolate. There was always hot chocolate. If they'd been felled by a stomach bug, hot chocolate was administered as soon as it could be kept down, even before things like applesauce and Gatorade.
Now, there was no hot chocolate and Sam sat propped up in bed, half asleep and trying not to cough because coughing felt like running up eight flights of stairs.
It used to be, Dad would come quietly to his bedside (far gentler and more worried than he was any other time) cheap styrofoam cup in hand. He would help Sam sit up and help him get his hands around the cup. If needed, he'd even hold the cup steady while Sam drank.
It was always instant chocolate, of course, but Dad never took the cheap way out if he could help it. If it wasn't Swiss Miss and if it didn't have mini-marshmallows, the hot chocolate would be delivered with a gruff apology and an explanation of how the store was out of the right kind or whatever.
If they were in a motel rather than an efficiency apartment, Dad would have made the hot chocolate with hot tap water, which always left weird, gritty clumps of powder, and the mini-marshmallows would've been slimy over a crunchy center instead of dissolved into dotted foam like they were supposed to. Sam didn't mind when it was like that. It had still been delicious. Dad bringing him hot chocolate in bed had, in those rare moment, made him feel like he was a normal kid with normal parents and a normal life. It had made Dad seem like more like a real parent, haunting Sam with a vision of what could have been. What should have been.
This time, Sam didn't have any hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows to soothe him while he was sick. But he did have a real room of his own and he could stay in bed as long as he needed without needing to worry about cleaning staff coming in or the credit card fraud being discovered. Also, it was amazing how much of a difference it made being in his bed. If it weren't for the fact that he felt like ten pounds of hammered shit, it would be kind of nice.
He wondered how long it would take Dean to pick up meds and soup.
He wished he'd thought to ask Dean to pick up some hot chocolate.
He hoped Dean would think of it on his own.
Maybe he could call Dean and ask him, but Sam got worn out to the point of tears just thinking about reaching over to pick up his phone.
Sam was just starting to doze off again when Dean shouldered the door open.
"Man, you look like crap," Dean observed cheerfully. He put a tray (an honest to goodness silver tray) down on the desk then walked over to hunch down by Sam's bed. He put the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, and his mouth tightened. "Yeah, let's get some Tylenol in you."
He went back to the tray and got a glass of water and the Tylenol. Sam dutifully swallowed, and the water felt good going down his raw throat.
"Drink the rest of that," Dean ordered, even as Sam was gulping the water down.
Dean went back to the tray, and when he turned around, Dean was holding two of the large ironstone mugs from the bunker kitchen.
Sam smiled so wide it almost hurt, and he had to blink away a prickle of tears. "Dude! Hot chocolate?"
Dean looked incandescently pleased with himself. "What? Like I'd forget this? What do you take me for? Now, budge over," he said even as he started to climb into Sam's bed.
"Wait... what are you... Dean! No! Trust me, you do not want to get this!"
"News flash, Typhoid Mary, you were probably contagious a day before you started getting sick, and given that my mouth was all over your germy body right about then, I'm probably fucked. And not in the good way, either, so thanks for that." He handed Sam one of the mugs. "Now, drink your chocolate like a good little boy. You've got to be back on your feet in time to take care of me when I come down with a case of the Ebolas or whatever the hell this is."
"You're all heart," Sam rasped. Having Dean next to him did make him feel a little better. He took the mug and raised it to his nose to take as much of a sniff as he could.
He stopped. The hot chocolate was smooth and velvety, as if it was more cream than milk. The marshmallows bobbing on top were plump and soft and much larger than he remembered. Shouldn't they look smaller, now that he was bigger?
"Sam? Something wrong?"
"Sorry. Just... not feeling good," Sam said. "Uh, this isn't Swiss Miss, is it?"
Dean took a sip of his own drink and smiled rapturously. "Oh, hell no. You deserve better than that powdered crap Dad always gave us. I used actual milk that actually came from an actual cow, vanilla, and a shit-ton of sugar. I also splurged and put Ghirardelli cocoa and chocolate in there. Plus, marshmallows. I had to tweak it about five times before it finally tasted right. You're welcome."
"Right?" Sam echoed weakly. He stared at the cocoa. Maybe it was the flu, but the stuff in his mug looked more wrong than right.
"Yeah... like how Mom used to make it?" Defensiveness seeped into Dean's voice, and the smile was so far gone it might never have been there. "It's one of the things I remember about her, the way she'd always make me hot chocolate from scratch when I was sick."
"Oh."
Dean gave him a funny look, then went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and soft. "You know, that's one thing - out of so goddamn many things I can't even count them anymore - that I always thought was unfair. That you never really got to know what Mom was like as a mom. God, it probably took me until I was about eight or so before I really got that you didn't even remember her."
No. He didn't. All Sam knew of Mom as a mother were the few glimpses - filtered through Dean's memories - he'd seen in Heaven. Dean was right. It wasn't fair.
But somehow, through some miracle, some tattered remnant of her love and caring had lived on past her death.
"You might not believe this, but before you came in, I was missing Dad." Sam went quiet for a moment, and for whatever reason Dean didn't seem compelled to fill the silence. "When we were sick, he was so... It was almost worth getting sick, you know?"
Dean grunted, but Sam couldn't tell if it was agreement or derision or something else.
"You should drink that before it gets cold," Dean said flatly.
Sam took a sip of the hot chocolate. It wasn't what he had been wanting, but it was good. He could understand why Dean had missed it, and why missing having a mother wasn't the same as missing Mom.
Sam took another sip, knowing what to expect, but this time trying to taste what Dean wanted him to taste.
He thought that this time, maybe he did.
"It's really good. Thank you," he said, and he hoped Dean could hear that it wasn't just politeness. There was more that he could say, more he should say, but he was too worn out to put the words together.
Dean's short, sharp laugh was easier to read this time. It was genuine and happy, and the hurt was gone. "I can't say for sure it's exactly the way she made it, but it's the way I remember it, if that makes sense."
Sam nodded, and took another sip. "It does."
"Hot chocolate makes everything feel better," Dean said, and Sam thought it sounded like maybe he was quoting someone. No, Sam knew he was.
"And hey... When it's your turn to play nursemaid, it's okay if you'd rather give me the powdered crap in a styrofoam cup." Dean cleared his throat and couldn't quite look Sam in the eye. "You know that, right?"
"Thank you," Sam said, grateful for being understood after all. He was trying to think of what to say next, but thinking hurt. He should sleep. "But I think I'll give it a try your way. Mom's way," he got out before the fatigue started luring him under again.
Dean ruffled his hair and took his mug away before it could slip from his hands. The last thing Sam remembered before falling asleep was a gentle kiss to his brow, a kiss that was of a different kind and far more gentle than the ones he was now used to.
Sam wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke up, Dean was there. He helped Sam stagger to the bathroom and back again, fed him some Tylenol and saw him safely back to bed. Then Dean left again, and just as Sam was starting to wonder if he was coming back at all, he shouldered open the door. The silver tray was back, only this time the cups on it were styrofoam.
He handed Sam one of the cups. The 'marshmallows' were crunchy, slimy blobs bobbing on the surface of the watery chocolate.
"Feeling any better?" Dean asked.
Sam took a sip of his hot chocolate and smiled.
The worry faded from Dean's eyes, and Sam knew his smile had been answer enough. He scooted over to make room for Dean without needing to be asked.
Dean sat down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. "Almost worth getting sick?"
Sam didn't even have to think about it. He leaned his head on Dean's shoulder.
"More than almost."
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-17 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-18 01:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-18 08:24 am (UTC)Fics around childhood memories of being cared for always grab the old heart strings, but this one was piling it on. From John's gruff concession to comfort, to Dean's attempt to give Sam a glimpse of their mother, right through to the realisation that John's actions were clearly based on Mary's - argh! My heart!
no subject
Date: 2016-03-18 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-19 01:01 am (UTC)Thank you so much for sharing this lovely read :)
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Date: 2016-03-19 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-26 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-26 04:13 pm (UTC)Dad bringing him hot chocolate in bed had, in those rare moment, made him feel like he was a normal kid with normal parents and a normal life. It had made Dad seem like more like a real parent, haunting Sam with a vision of what could have been. What should have been.
This is a beautiful look at these complex relationships and the building blocks of their childhood, and I love Dean's intuition about Sam's preference for the Swiss Miss version, his version. OH THERE GOES MY HEART AGAIN.
The last thing Sam remembered before falling asleep was a gentle kiss to his brow, a kiss that was of a different kind and far more gentle than the ones he was now used to.
Oh boys. ;_____; Great work.