Prompt: Dean dislocates his shoulder and Sam pops it back in, but Dean also has a cold that's making him sneeze a lot, and every time he does, it hurts his bad shoulder. Sam notices eventually, and carefully coaxes Dean into wearing a sling.

"Peace Offering"

"Ready?" Sam asks. The Impala is not his favorite location for putting Dean's dislocated shoulder back into place. A bed or even a couch would be better. But for now this will have to do.

Dean takes another swig from his flask and nods. "Count of three?" he asks, voice tight with pain.

"Count of three," Sam echoes.

But before he even gets to "one," he's pushing and pulling Dean's arm, expertly snapping it back into alignment. He used to go on "two," but Dean caught on to that. Now he doesn't count at all.

"Fuck," Dean breathes, cradling his arm and leaning his head forward to rest on the dashboard. "Shit…Sammy…Fuck."

Sam just waits, knowing that relief will come. Sure enough, a minute or two later, the tension slowly begins to drain from Dean's body. He sits back, sagging against the seat, wigging fingers and rolling his wrist.

"Better?" Sam asks.

"Better," Dean echoes. He sniffles and drags the back of his good arm across his nose. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Sam turns the keys in the ignition and starts driving. They're only a few miles down the road when Dean squirms and starts breathing all funny.

Sam gives him a corner-eyed glance. "What's wrong?"

"Gotta sneeze," Dean says, his mouth agape and his face all scrunched.

"What's stopping you?"

"It's…" Dean inhales sharply. "Gonna…" Another snuffle. "Shoulder…"

Oh.

Dean lets out a sneeze, quickly followed by an arm-clutching curse-fest that ends with a few words Sam's pretty sure aren't even English. Because, yes, Dean's shoulder is back in place. But the muscles and tendons are going to be tender for a few days. And Dean's got this cold thing going on. No fever or cough, barely anything to bat an eye at. Except that now every sneeze is going to hurt. Like a bitch.

"You okay?" Sam asks.

But Dean's doing the snuffle, sharp inhale thing again, and even though he obviously tries not to sneeze, he does. "Fuck," Dean says in response.

"Maybe we should get you some cold medicine, huh?"

Dean sniffles and wipes his nose again. "Just drive, bitch."

So Sam drives and cringes every time Dean starts to do the heavy-pre-sneeze-breathing thing. Once, Dean delays the sneeze for almost 20 minutes. He breathes carefully and sniffles and pinches his nose like that will somehow keep the sneeze in. But then he explodes with six, count 'em, six sneezes and a mess of snot and pain and Sam can't take it anymore. He takes the next exit.

"Where're we going?" Dean asks when he finally stops swearing and opens his eyes.

"We need gas," Sam says, even though they don't. Instead of pulling up at the gas station, he pulls up at a Walgreens pharmacy and marches inside before Dean can ask any questions.

He gathers what he needs, adding one last item at the register, pays, and heads back out to the car.

"What, did you run out of tampons?" Dean asks, but the insult doesn't do much to mask the pain he's in.

Sam doesn't respond, just opens the bag and removes the box of cold medicine. He pops two pills out of the blister packaging, opens a bottle of water, and holds both in Dean's direction. "You gotta stop sneezing, man."

Dean unhappily contemplates the pills for a minute or two, then uses his good arm to shove them in his mouth and chase them with a few swigs of water.

Sam is already digging through the bag again. This time he removes a larger box. He tears it open and removes the contents.

"What's that?" Dean asks, sniffling.

"An immobilizing sling. It will keep your arm from flying all over the place when you sneeze your brains out. Should help with the pain."

Before Dean can say anything else, his nose is twitching and he's breathing heavy and this time he can't even delay it. He sneezes violently and clutches his arm even tighter to his chest.

"Come on," Sam coaxes, using the distraction of pain to slip the fabric of the sling under Dean's arm. He adjusts the straps tight against Dean's neck and shoulder. When he finishes and asks, "How's that?" Dean's only answer is a scowl.

Sam nods. "I was afraid of that." He fishes the last item out of the plastic bag and holds up familiar yellow and brown packaging. "That's why I got you a peace offering." He tears the packaging open and places it in Dean's good hand.

Dean doesn't say or do anything for a minute. Sam reaches over as if to steal one of the M&Ms, but Dean clutches the bag to his chest. "Mine," he says before dumping a few candies in his mouth.

Sam laughs. "All right, dude. Enjoy." He pulls back out on the road.

It takes a while before Dean sneezes again, and when he does, the pained reaction is not anywhere near as severe as it was before.

"Better?" Sam asks, motioning to the sling.

"No," Dean says, but it's obviously a lie.

As they drive, Dean's sneezes become fewer and farther between. The cold medicine must be working, and he seems to be in less pain. Sam thinksDean might actually be asleep before he mumbles, "S'my?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Thanks for the M&Ms."

Sam reads between the lines and smiles. "You're welcome."