You figured it was the least you can do anyway- chicken soup does make a big difference.

Dean is currently in his bedroom in the Bunker, and you can safely assume he was passed out, or propped up with eleven pillows watching Scooby-Doo. You giggle at the thought, stirring the pot. He seems to have caught a cold from the last case they went on, and ever since Chuck has left the building, none of them are immune to the common cold or flu anymore.

You were only four years old when you found yourself in the care of Sam and Dean. They were in your home town for an investigation, and it just so happens that one of the victims had been an old flame of Dean's. And by old flame...it was more like a one or perhaps, an even two-night stand. She was a single mother...your mother. Dean had connected some dots at the time...found old photos in nightstands, notes. He, of course, can put two and two together. He took you in, no complaints, raised you as his own, because you were. He was the best father you could ask for. Nothing like John Winchester. Uncle Sam as well, you couldn't ask for a better uncle. Jack was like your brother when he was around and Cas...Cas was like the outdoor cat. Come and go as he pleases, but you loved him. It was a great surprise to see him 'pop' in.

And so the Bunker was finally home. Dean had hated dragging you into the life, but- not to his surprise or anything, but you fit right in with the lifestyle. Thankfully now, it was all over. Dad is looking for jobs...Uncle Sam and Eileen are happily in a relationship, and life is rather still.

Scooping the soup into the bowl, you set in on a larger place with a grilled cheese next to it, and started to bring it up to Dad's room. Balancing the tray on one hand, you knock on the door to his room. You could hear quiet coughing before a response, "You can open, kiddo."

You slowly walk in, a sheepish smile at the plenty of food you brought up. Dean, although looking pale and ill, smirks and leans up, "Woah, what do we have here?"