((Fever)) Alma sat on the floor by Dean, a bowk of cool water and a rag with him. "Jeez, old man. How the hell did you get this sick so fast?" He murmured, wetting the rag and wringing the extra water out before draping the cool rag over Dean's forehead.
Dean leaned away for a moment, trying to deny the help, but it felt good. The hunter leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "It wasn't that first. I nearly threw up yesterday during the hunt, just decided not to mention it," He said, moving his eyes up to look at the boy, closing his eyes again.














