Learning Dean Winchester: Chapter Twelve

I got married on Saturday, January 5th, and just returned from our honeymoon.  We watched a lot heavy rain, fog banks, and lightning streaking through the clouds on the Gulf of Mexico this week.  I will be finishing this story.  He likes to read and I wrote.  This was usually late in the evenings.   Hugs.  Missed all of you.

        Sam stood in the dark kitchen trying to remember what he was supposed to do.  He turned on the lights and his hunter’s eyes searched the room.  A pot of soup was on the stove.  He vaguely remembered leaving it. 

        Sighing, the younger Winchester walked to stove and emptied the soup in the trash.  Dean needed soft foods but he was feverish.  The tall man walked over to the refrigerator and saw some ginger ale on a shelf.  Vanilla pudding was on the shelf above the soda.   He frowned.  His brother needed something to build his strength and help him heal. 

        For the second time that day Sam cursed the angel for not healing his brother.  Dean was suffering and he thought it was unnecessary for the older man to go through this.

        Sam walked towards the pantry and looked on the shelves. At that moment, he spotted the tomato and rice soup.  The younger man smiled for the first time in days.

        Entering the room quietly, Sam set the tray on the table by the bed.  He could tell that Dean was still feverish.  He touched his forehead.  It was hot.”

        “Damn it, Cas,” the young man whispered.  “Hey, Dean.”

        Dean slowly turned his head and looked into his brother’s hazel eyes.

        “Hey, Sammy,” his voice sounding hoarse.  The green eyes stared into the other man’s. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

        “Where else would I be, Dean?  You’re injured.  We always have each other’s back.  Right”

        Dean barely nodded.  Sam realized the pain meds had not kicked in.  He’d left him alone too long. 

        “Sammy, I’m so thirsty. Could I….” Dean never had the chance to finish the request.  Sam lifted his head and placed the glass of ginger ale to his lips.  Dean sighed when he finished drinking.

        “Thank you.”    

 

        “You’re welcome.  I’ve got some soup for you.  I know you’re not hungry, but we both know you need it.  It’s your favorite.”

        “What Mom used to make?”

        “Tomato and rice,” the younger brother spoke softly.

        “I’ll try,” whispered the injured man.

        “That’s my boy,” Sam said with a smile in his voice.  He knew Dean better than anyone.  Tomato and rice soup was home.