Larry the lamp
Dean declares war on a lamp.
Sam shot up in the bed, and reached his arm out to turn on the lamp, but he noticed it wasn't there. He looked at the clock beside his bed to see it was 2:00.
"What the-" he whispered when he heard struggling in the room. Worried something had happened to his brother, he got out of bed, and turned on the ceiling light to see Dean rolling around the floor with the lamp.
"Er... Dean?" asked Sam, walking over. "What the hell are you doing? Have you completely lost your mind?" He grabbed Dean's arm, and tried to get him up, but he rolled away from him, still gripping the lamp.
"S'bish," muttered Dean, tightening his grip around the base.
Sam shook his head, and tried to pry Dean's hands off. "Dean, let go."
"GET OFF M-ME!" yelled Dean, grabbing the cord with his free hand and wrapping it around the lamp, trying to strangle it with its own cord. "I'll t-teach you to... ma-make fun of me."
"Oh for gods sake," said Sam, trying to stop Dean from killing the light. "Dean, will you let the lamp go?"
Dean wasn't listening, he was too busy trying to rip the lampshade off. "You're going to... pay for th-that. You little-"
Sam tried not to laugh when Dean started rolling around on the floor again, muttering and calling the lamp names.
"Ass-bitch f-face...Piece of cr-crap...I'm...I'm g-going to smash your lights out," Dean wheezed, shaking the lamp as he continued strangling it. "I'm going to ki-kill you."
Sam rolled his eyes, and grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, give me the lamp."
"No," he said with a slight pout. "It n-needs to...to die." He sneezed twice, "HA-etchsh! ISZHhoo!" but still didn't let go of the lamp. Dean twisted the light bulb until it came out, and threw the bulb to the other side of the room where it shattered against the wall.
"Dean..." he said as he finally managed to grab his delirious sibling with one hand, and the lamp with the other.
Dean pulled away from him again, and wrapped the cord tighter around the lamp, and pulled as hard as he could.
Sam sighed, and grabbed him tighter. He tried once again to grab the lamp, but Dean moved it out of his reach as he continued trying to kill it. "Let go."
"D-Die," Dean growled as he continued to strangle the lamp. He looked completely insane with the mad look in his eyes, and his hair stuck up everywhere.
"Oh for crying out loud. Dean, give me the damn lamp."
With Dean weakened from being sick, Sam finally managed to get the lamp free. After straightening the lampshade, he put it back on the bedside table, then helped his brother sit up. "Dean, what the hell?"
Dean's wide green eyes darted around the room, looking for something. "Where... where di-did he go?"
"Who?" asked Sam, cupping Dean's burning face in-between both of his hands, so he could look at him.
Sam blinked in surprise. "Who the hell is Larry?"
"The l-lamp. He's possessed. He called me... a bitch."
Sam cleared his throat, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Sure. Let's get you to bed, what do you say?" he asked in a gentle voice. "You can kill... Larry tomorrow."
Dean nodded, and clung to Sam's shirt as he helped him stand. "I t-told you, Sam. He's try-trying to kill me."
"Whatever you say, Dean," Sam said, lowering Dean into the bed.
Dean watched Sam through half-lidded eyes. "Sa-" He broke off as he started coughing, his face scrunching up in pain and misery when his chest started aching.
"Hey, I got you," soothed Sam, turning him over to rub his back, trying to help him through it. He winced in sympathy when Dean continued making that wet, grating noise as his body shook and trembled. "It's alright."
After almost two minutes, the coughing fit finally ended. "Thank god," sighed Sam, turning Dean onto his back, and re-wetting the cloth in the bowl to run it over his hot face again. "There we go." While trying to cool him down, he reached over with his free hand, and got the aspirin. "Dean, I need you to take these."
Dean gave the pills a suspicious glare, but put them in his mouth, and washed them down with water. When he finished, he looked up at Sam, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh my god, there's... there's a r-rat."
"Where?" asked Sam, looking around the room. He had to tighten his grip on Dean, so he didn't do a head-dive out of the bed.
"Head," he answered, pointing up at Sam with a trembling finger.
Sam frowned, and raised his hand to pat his hair. "What are you talking about?" he asked when he didn't feel anything moving. "That's my hair."
Dean calmed down, and reached up with a trembling hand to touch Sam's messy hair. "Hairs... t-terrible."
"There's nothing wrong with my hair." Sam ran his hands through his wild hair, trying to sort it out.
"Y-You look... like Si-Sideshow Bob," whispered Dean with another cough.
"Thanks. Well, it is the middle of the night, I didn't exactly have time to brush it before I had to stop you from killing the furniture."
"What?" asked a confused Dean, blinking up at Sam, looking like a sleepy little five year old.
"Nothing. Just try to get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here."
Dean yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "What if-"
"Nobody will try to kill you while I'm here, okay? Go to sleep." Sam was tired himself, but he would stay with Dean for awhile to make sure he didn't start wrestling with any more of the furniture.
"'P-Pala?" mumbled the older Winchester, closing his eyes.
"She's fine too, Dean." Sam continued to cool Dean down with one hand, and stroked his sweat-soaked hair with the other. "Everyone's fine," he added in a soothing voice.
Dean nodded, and relaxed further into the pillows. He gasped, eyes opening as he shot up in the bed and yelled, "BATMAN!"
Sam sat staring at him for a few seconds. "Batman's not real, Dean."
"No. He... You... R-Robin."
"Uh-huh. Dean, lay down." Sam lowered Dean back onto the pillow, and covered him up with the blanket.
Dean sniffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Superman?" he asked quietly, before sneezing over Sam's t-shirt. "Heh-ETCHSH!"
"Thanks for that, Sneezy" said Sam in disgust, reaching over for some more tissue to wipe Dean's nose.
Dean grinned dopily. "Snow w-white," he said, pointing up at Sam, giggling.
Sam watched Dean with a fond expression. He didn't even know Dean could make that sound. "Sleep."
"S-Sing?" Dean whispered, closing his eyes. "Mommy sang."
Sam's heart broke slightly. He cleared his throat and started humming Metallica, smiling when Dean leaned into the hand that was on his face.
"Sleep tight, Dean," whispered Sam when he finally drifted off. The cloth continued its job of cooling the burning Winchester down.
As Sam stayed up an hour longer, taking care of his sick brother, the only sound in the room was wheezing and snuffling as Dean breathed.
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