Nothing's Ever Simple - (18 Parts) (complete!)

[mr.moosey]

Awww, so adorable! I love it.

[ooo]

This is fantastic, I'm really enjoying it!! And starting to think I should have watched Supernatural when it was on TV...

With the Incredible Editing Powers, I think this is what you're after (hope the link works, it's my first try at linking). Alternatively, maybe PM a mod and ask them to change your title? Hope that helps!

[W.I.N.]

Thank you! Sick!Sam keeps getting more adorable on me. It's kind of funny.

I'll be posting a new installment later if all goes well.

~W.I.N.

Awww, so adorable! I love it.

Your link worked perfectly, and thank you very much for the information! I have pinged one of the mods, and with any luck (*fingers crossed*) I will soon have Mad Editing P0w3rz™.

Ahem.

Okay. Maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

Supernatural is AWESOME. The fifth season is playing right now, but I'm getting it through Zip (Canada's version of Netflix) and thus haven't seen the fourth season yet. I am really looking forward to the rest. You should definitely watch it if you get the chance.

~W.I.N.

This is fantastic, I'm really enjoying it!! And starting to think I should have watched Supernatural when it was on TV...

With the Incredible Editing Powers, I think this is what you're after (hope the link works, it's my first try at linking). Alternatively, maybe PM a mod and ask them to change your title? Hope that helps!

Mod note: Merged posts

[W.I.N.]

Okay, new chapter time! The plot is revealed! Or, well, the premise of the story, anyway.

Hope you enjoy it!

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 3

The diner was almost empty by the time they got there. It was a weekday, and most of the regulars had left for work, leaving only the mid-morning clients who either had no jobs to go to or else worked different shifts. Dean picked a table by the window, and Sam let himself sink onto the padded plastic seat, sniffling into a damp tissue. He looked tired in spite of having had a full night's sleep, although Dean was beginning to wonder just how well he'd slept. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was drawn and haggard. Sam's breath began to hitch just barely after they'd sat down, and with a sigh Dean buried his face in the menu, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

“Hiih... hii'iih.... hi'iihii'hiih! Hep-KTSHH!” Sam clamped the tissue over his nose in a futile attempt to keep quiet, spots of red appearing on either cheek. Sam hated sneezing in public, hated anything that might draw attention to him. Always had, doubtless always would. “Hep-KSHH!” Another sneeze caught him halfway by surprise, and he hunched down in his seat, looking for all the world as though he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

A matronly-looking waitress came over, notebook in hand, and gave them a considering look. “Bless you, honey. I guess cold season's on us already. Where does the time go?” she asked rhetorically. “I'll get the two of you some hot coffee, see if that don't set you straight. What else would you like?”

Sam was fighting with another sneeze, and so Dean answered for both of them. “Two glasses of orange juice, a short stack for him, and I'll have the meat lovers' breakfast.”

“Good choice. Our Charlie makes the best bacon in the county, everyone knows that. Are you okay, honey?”

Sam nodded, breath hitching too frantically to answer. He turned his head aside and snapped forward, tissue still firmly pressed to his nose and mouth. “Hep-NGKSHH!”

“Bless you again, honey. It's not good to hold them in like that, you know,” a smile dimpled her fleshy cheeks.

As Sam's face grew even redder, Dean stepped in smoothly. “How about a side order of bacon for him too, umm, Marge,” he read off her name tag, “since it's that good?” he smiled disarmingly at her. “Wouldn't want to miss out on it, right?”

She returned the smile, obviously flattered, and Dean was hard-pressed not to let a smug smirk settle on his features. Oh, he still had it in spades. “Right. I'll have that out for you in a couple of ticks, honey. Be right back with your coffee!” she bustled off, suddenly all business.

“You alive in there, Snuffy?”

Sam nodded, shoving the used tissue into the front pocket of his hoodie, then pulled a new one from the box he'd brought and placed on the seat next to him. “Yeah,” he managed a raw-sounding croak. “Barely.”

“You sound like crap.” Dean tried to sound nonchalant, but he was starting to worry, just a little bit. Weren't colds supposed to get better after a couple of days? Then again, Sam had only been really bad since yesterday, so maybe it was going to get worse before it got better?

“I feel like crap,” his brother confirmed, blowing his nose and wincing as the tissue rubbed against his chafed skin. “Like sobeode poured wet cebedt idto by head.” His gaze grew unfocussed and his eyelashes began to flutter, until with an exasperated look he pinched his nose hard. After a moment of struggle he won out over the sneeze, and relaxed, looking annoyed more than relieved. “God,” he muttered to no one in particular. “This sugkcs.”

Marge reappeared with their breakfasts, complete with a steaming pot of coffee. “I had a pot made fresh for you, and I'll just leave it here. I know what they say about chicken soup, but I always find that hot coffee does wonders for me.”

“Thank you,” Dean smiled at her, hoping she'd take the hint and leave them to their food in peace. Sam was already starting another sneeze, though, and she stayed, a sympathetic look on her face. Dean applied himself to pouring syrup on the pancakes: Sam didn't seem to want them, and even if he did he liked syrup, so it was win-win.

“Uh... hiih! Hii'ih... hihii'iihih... sniff! He'iih... iihii'iih! Hep-NGKTSHH!”

“Oh, bless you, honey. You sound just terrible. Anything else I can get you?”

Sam shook his head, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “No, thagks. I'b okay.” He reached for the coffee and took a sip, grimacing as the hot liquid hit his raw throat, and swallowed gingerly.

“Well, all right then. But if you change your mind, you just holler. Or maybe you should holler for him, hon,” she said to Dean, who smiled wanly and nodded.

“Sure thing, Marge.” Once she was gone, he turned to Sam. “You still with me?” When his brother nodded, he continued. “Okay. So I've been keeping an eye on the local papers, and this caught my eye.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and dumped a series of clippings out of it onto the table, keeping clear of the small puddle of syrup he'd accidentally created before. “There have been three deaths by drowning in Sifton, which is maybe about half a day away from here.”

“Drowdig?” Sam hastily put down his cup of coffee before erupting into a fit of coughing, his eyes watering. He scrubbed at them irritably with the cuff of his sleeve, then downed all of his orange juice. “Doesd't soud udusual.”

“Actually, it sounds like it's right up our alley.” Dean warmed to his subject. “See, they were all drowned in this small river near the town. Two women and one man, all unconnected except that they all live in this tiny hole of a town where the only source of work is a lumber mill. Get this: it's the middle of freaking October, but they were all found stripped down to their underwear, their clothes folded in a tidy pile maybe a quarter of a mile away from the bodies, each time, as though they'd decided to go skinny-dipping.”

Sam shivered at the thought, then his face went slack. “Hii'uuh! Hi'iihiihi'ih... hiih... hii'iihi'iih! Hep-KSHH! Nghh...” he groaned softly.

“Gesundheit. Come on, what do you think?”

“Id's worth lookig idto,” Sam acknowledged, fishing for a new tissue, sniffling. “God, I jusd wadt to sdop sdeezig all the dabbed tibe.” He blew his nose again and coughed.

“Did you take any of the cold syrup this morning?” Dean asked. He got a glare as an answer. “Dude, come on. You want to feel better, you take the medicine. It's not rocket science.”

“Fide. I'll tagke it id the car.”

“Good. Now, eat your bacon before it gets cold. We've got a lot of ground to cover today.”

:::Ooh, turns out I can edit a few moments after posting. Good thing, too, 'cause I borked my formatting.:::

[mr.moosey]

I adore a good plot in addition to sneezing and sniffling. I'm super excited to see what happens next!

[obsessed]

Oh wow--fast update! I loved it, and the plot is weaving beautifully.

[W.I.N.]

Same here. I've always liked plot, which is why it apparently took very little prodding for my weeny bit of a fluffy one-shot to turn into an actual story.

Glad you're still enjoying it!

~W.I.N.

I adore a good plot in addition to sneezing and sniffling. I'm super excited to see what happens next!

Hee! Yeah, I'm kind of feeling inspired. I'm also procrastinating on writing my NaNo novel.

I'm glad you're enjoying it.

~W.I.N.

Oh wow--fast update! I loved it, and the plot is weaving beautifully.

Mod note: Merged posts

[iluvsneezes]

Your story just gets better & better!

[W.I.N.]

Aww, thank you! I'm glad so many people seem to be enjoying it.

I have evil, wicked plans for both of the boys, don't you worry.

~W.I.N.

Your story just gets better & better!

[W.I.N.]

All righty! The plot bunnies continue to run rampant in my brain, it seems. Sheesh.

For those of you still waiting for me to start torturing Dean, fear not! Your day will come.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 4

Dean drummed his hands rhythmically against the steering wheel, singing along merrily to Metallica's Master of Puppets, which he'd cranked up as far as he dared without incurring the wrath of Sam. He glanced over at his brother, who was sitting slumped in the front passenger seat, eyes closed, head leaning against the window, his arms wrapped protectively around himself. Every few minutes he'd cough quietly, the picture of misery. Dean pursed his lips, then shrugged and kept singing. There was very little he could do about a cold other than pour cold syrup down Sam's throat every six hours —God bless pseudoephedrine— and let the thing run its course. He refused to feel guilty about it, absolutely refused, since it was not his fault Sam was sick and there was nothing he could do against the common cold. It was ridiculous to feel guilty. Yes, he was supposed to take care of Sam, but it was a virus, and not even a bad one. So, no guilt. None.

“How you doing there, champ?” he said, turning down the music to make himself heard. Yeah, it was a little unfair to look for reassurance from Sam while he was sick, but at least then he'd have it from the horse's mouth.

Sam sat up a little bit, coughing. “Beed bedder. I'b okay, bostly. Jusd a headache.”

“Sinuses bothering you?” He didn't get an answer, and when he glanced over he saw that Sam was holding the knuckle of his index finger under his nose, breath hitching. “Dude, are you starting that up again?”

“It's... hi'ih.. d-dot by f... hiih... dot by fault... hi'iih! Hiihii'iih... hii'eh! Iih! Hep-KSHH!”

“Gesundheit. We're nearly there, anyway. You sure you're up for this?”

“I'b fide,” Sam growled. “It's jusd a cold.”

“I know that, I just mean—”

“I'b fide,” Sam repeated, more forcefully.

“Fine.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You're fine.”

He pulled up in front of a small house with white trim and well-tended bushes separating it from the street, and threw the car into park, while Sam's breath started to hitch again.

“Hii'ih... hihi'ihii'iih... hi'iihi'ihiih...”

Dean rummaged in the glove compartment, reaching over Sam's legs and trying to ignore his brother's desperation. He pulled out their latest round of fake IDs, then checked the names to make sure he didn't make a mistake when they went in. There was nothing worse than giving a name that didn't match the one on the card, or the badge.

“He'iih... hiih... uh... hi'iihii'iihih!” Sam's head was tilted so far back that Dean had a great view of his Adam's apple, nostrils flaring, eyes fluttering.

“Dude, just sneeze and get it over with already.”

“I ca... hi'iih! Iih! Hiihi'iih! Hep-KSHH!” Sam snapped forward, clapping both hands over his nose and mouth, then leaned back against the headrest with a groan.

“You want to stay in the car?”

“Shud up.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerg.”

“You know, it only sounds pathetic when you can't even pronounce the word properly.”

“Hep-KSHH!” Sam wrenched aside, catching the unexpected sneeze in the crook of his elbow. “Jusd give be by ID.” He held out his other hand, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Okay. And people say I'm the stubborn one in the family. Here.”

Sam glanced at the ID. “You're kiddig be.”

“Just go with it, Samantha.”

A pretty woman in her mid-forties, wearing a pale blue sweater that complemented her skin tone and brought out the blue in her eyes, answered the door. Dean stood in front of Sam, who appeared to be doing his best to be invisible, in spite of towering over his older brother.

“Good morning, Mrs. Matthews?” When she nodded, he continued. “We're sorry to bother you. We're with the U.S. Marshals, and we've been asked to look into what's been happening in these parts. Would you mind answering a few questions concerning your husband?”

Delicate white hands tugged nervously at the sweater. “Oh, well, yes. Of course. Come in, please.” She reached up with both hands, tucked wavy black hair behind her ears, and led them through a comfortable-looking living room. Picture frames on the mantle, showing a smiling couple. No photographs of children, Dean noted.

“We're very sorry for your loss,” Sam said, sounding hoarse but a little less congested than before. Maybe all the sneezing had knocked something loose.

“Uh, thank you. Would you... like some tea?” She was distracted, but that was to be expected. Also, she was really pretty. Why did all the grieving widows they met have to be pretty?

Sam looked as though he was about to refuse, so Dean broke in. “That would be great, thanks.” He hated tea, but Sam drank the stuff, and it always helped to break the ice with women who were grieving. Having something to do made them feel useful, dispelled any awkwardness. If Sam were feeling up to par, he'd have remembered that, too. He'd explained it in excruciatingly boring detail to Dean once, something about having something to do with their hands that allowed them to break eye contact and maintain a safe space around themselves without doing anything socially unacceptable. Chick stuff, basically.

At Mrs. Matthews' invitation, he slid into a chair at the kitchen table. The kitchen was a warm, sunny room, with large French doors that let the light stream in for most of the day. Nothing on the refrigerator except a shopping list and a couple of postcards, a photo of Mrs. Matthews and her husband. Definitely a childless couple, but not recently married by the looks of it. Sam muffled a cough into the sleeve of his jacket and managed to look apologetic doing it.

“So, Mrs. Matthews—” Dean began, but she interrupted him.

“Sylvia, please. Mrs. Matthews makes me feel like I should be someone's grandmother.” There was a note of wistfulness in her voice.

“Sylvia, then,” he agreed. “Did your husband go to the river alone like that often?”

“No, never. I can't think what he was doing there at all. He wasn't a very strong swimmer: our pool is mostly for show,” she added with a sad smile.

“He worked at the mill, right?”

She nodded, watching the kettle. Wasn't there a saying about it never boiling if she did that? Dean supposed it didn't matter. Across the table from him, Sam was fighting to smother a sneeze, his whole body turned toward the wall, shoulders heaving with the effort. Dean ignored him as best he could.

“He was a foreman. He just got promoted, too. Got to work better shifts than before. We were looking forward to spending more time together. It was so hard when he had to work the late shifts.” Her voice trembled, but she kept herself under control. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Sam lost the fight a moment later. “Hep-KSHH! 'Scuze be...”

“Bless you,” Sylvia murmured, not turning around.

The kettle whistled, and she carefully poured some scalding water into a teapot, swirled it around, and dumped it into the sink before spooning some tea leaves into the pot and pouring more water on top of them. The whole process had the feel of a ritual, and Dean guessed that she was probably a regular tea drinker. She placed three china cups on the table, along with a small bowl of sugar cubes and a small jar of milk.

“Hep-KSHH!” Sam almost pulled his shoulder out of its socket trying to keep turned away. “'Scuze be...”

“Are you all right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, sorry.”

She turned back to the cupboards. “Why don't we make that a mug, and I'll put some honey in it for you. Best thing for colds.” She took a small pot from a shelf and poured a generous amount of honey into it. She set the steaming mug in front of Sam, who picked it up with a grateful look and cradled it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into his skin.

“So, Sylvia,” Dean broke in, suddenly feeling like an interloper. “Did you notice anything strange before your husband's... accident? Any new people in town, anything that caught your attention?”

She shook her head. “Not recently, no. I mean, there are the Higgins girls, but I don't see how that could be relevant.”

“Higgins girls?”

She sat down at the table and blew on her tea before sipping at it. “Sisters. They moved into town about two months ago, maybe less. They're the talk of the town. Two young, pretty girls, obviously unattached... why would they want to move here? It's not exactly the most vibrant community,” she smiled deprecatingly. “They've attracted a lot of attention, mostly from the young men around here.”

Dean grinned in spite of himself. “I'll bet.” He glanced toward Sam but found no help there, his younger brother being busy building up silently to another body-wrenching sneeze.

“NGKSHH! Ow!” Sam yelped as tea slopped over the sides of his mug, scalding his hands and spilled on his leg.

“Oh!” Sylvia sprang to her feet and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter. “You poor thing,” she said, helping a now crimson-faced Sam to mop up the worst of the spill. “Come on, put your hands under the tap.” Sam made a feeble protesting sound, but there was no stopping her, and so he submitted, flushing furiously and mumbling apologies the entire time as she ran cold water over his hands at the kitchen sink. Dean rolled his eyes, and took the opportunity while they were both busy to dump the contents of his teacup back into the pot. Nasty leafy girly stuff.

Sam finally got himself sorted out, and, still looking as though he wanted to melt into the floorboards, sat back in his chair with a mumbled 'thank you.' Sylvia gave him a commiserating look, and Dean tried to get things back on track.

“Did you or your husband know the two other victims?”

She nodded. “Not well, but yes, we knew them in passing. Jenny was a waitress at Billy's —that's the bar where everyone from the mill goes after work— and Rita worked in human resources. We're kind of a one-horse town, here,” she said, almost apologetically.

“Uh-huh,” Dean made a show of writing in a small flip-top notebook.

“Such a shame. They were pretty girls. I think their parents were upset that there wasn't a showing,” she said, sadness written on her features.

Dean looked up. “No? Why not?”

“Because of the disfigurations on the bodies. The bruising.”

“Bruising?” he felt like a parrot.

She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, that's what they called it, but it didn't look like bruising when I went to... to identify Donald's... remains,” she faltered, swallowing hard.

“What did it look like to you?” Sam asked, his voice soft.

“I don't know what else it could have been, but the spots weren't... weren't right. I'm not a doctor, so maybe they're right, and it was just because he'd been in the water. But he had blue spots all over his body. I mean, how can that be normal?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Good question.”

[crazy_cat_girl]

This is getting more and more exciting. I am really interested in what the monster is going to be...

Thanks for updating!

[W.I.N.]

My pleasure!

I hope people will like the monster. I'm actually really pleased with the way this story is working out in my head. It's one of the better pieces of writing I've produced, plot-wise.

I'm glad you like it. I have more written, will be posting in the next couple of days.

~W.I.N.

This is getting more and more exciting. I am really interested in what the monster is going to be...

Thanks for updating!

[shygreeneyes]

Oooh, two new parts since I last checked? Nifty!

What I like best about this story is that it has a lot of plot to go along with the sneezing.

[W.I.N.]

Thank you!

Like I said, I am very pleased with how this is working out, plot-wise. I hope people like what I've come up with, when the time comes.

More to come!

~W.I.N.

Oooh, two new parts since I last checked? Nifty!

What I like best about this story is that it has a lot of plot to go along with the sneezing.

[GoldenOwl]

I think I just fell in love

[Aprilcot]

AAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to find time to visit this forum more often!!! I love it!!!

Thank you!!!!

Please continue!!!!!

[W.I.N.]

Aww, that's so nice of you to say!

I'm glad you like it.

~W.I.N.

I think I just fell in love

[Lady Blessington]

"I don't think I'll be neglecting Dean for too long, though..."

EEEEEE!!!!!

GAH.

I love how damn hard Sam fights every single sneeze. Poor exhausted embarrassed snuffly man.

Mod note: Merged posts

[W.I.N.]

It's great to see your name crop up again! You and crazy_cat_girl were among the very first to comment on my 24 fanfic, back in the day, and it's always nice to see familiar faces (so to speak).

I am definitely planning to continue. I actually have a WHOLE plot lined up for this thing, which doesn't happen often to me.

~W.I.N.

AAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to find time to visit this forum more often!!! I love it!!!

Thank you!!!!

Please continue!!!!!

Hee! I thought you'd be pleased.

I mean, come on! Colds are totally contagious, right? Also, there's nothing like throwing in a couple of plot twists to make a story interesting.

~W.I.N.

"I don't think I'll be neglecting Dean for too long, though..."

EEEEEE!!!!!

Mod note: Merged posts

[Tari]

Guh... how could I have ever EVER missed this one!? Sammy, fighting sneezes like a maniac AND the promise of an equally sneezy Dean? I'm gonna be a permanent puddle on the floor at this rate!

*wibbles*

*melts into puddle*

[W.I.N.]

That's what inspired me to begin with. I was watching Supernatural, and thinking about the differences between both boys. Dean is all Id, very few inhibitions, all about giving into your urges (except where it affects the hunt), whereas Sam is the personification of the Superego, hemmed in on all sides by social norms and his own expectations about what his behaviour ought to be.

Then that first snippet popped into my head, notably the line about Dean wondering why he always turns sneezes into such a huge production, and voilà! A story was born.

I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm certainly having fun!

~W.I.N.

GAH.

I love how damn hard Sam fights every single sneeze. Poor exhausted embarrassed snuffly man.

Oh, you didn't miss it, it's still in progress, never fear!

Yay for being a puddle! I'm going to take that as a compliment. I am having a TON of fun writing this.

As I said to someone else: Sneezing Winchesters = be still, my beating heart.

~W.I.N.

Guh... how could I have ever EVER missed this one!? Sammy, fighting sneezes like a maniac AND the promise of an equally sneezy Dean? I'm gonna be a permanent puddle on the floor at this rate!

*wibbles*

*melts into puddle*

Mod note: Merged posts

[W.I.N.]

Part 5

“Dude, you have to tell me how you do it.” Dean shot Sam a shit-eating grin as they made their way back to the Impala.

“Do what?”

“Oh, come on! I turn on all my charm, and you walk in there like a germ-infested teddy bear, and she's all over you with tea and honey. Ten to one if our positions had been reversed she wouldn't have reacted like that. How do you do it?”

“Bust be by datural charb,” the congestion was back in full force. Sam coughed painfully into his fist. “Jeez, Dean, I dod't kdow. Baybe she deeded to feel useful, or sobethig. Death bakes people feel helpless.” He sniffled wetly, blew his nose into another tissue. “God, by head is killig be.”

Dean glanced over at him, the nagging worrying feeling returning worse than before. Sam didn't usually complain about being sick, at least not much. “I saw a motel coming into town. We should check in before anything else. I figure we'll ask around about the girls, see if anyone can give us a link other than the fact that they all live in the town and are sort of kind of connected through the mill.”

Sam sniffled, knuckle pressed up under his nose, trying to stave off another sneeze. “Hi'iih... hii'iihiihi'iih! Hep-KSHH!” he groaned and clutched at his head. “Ungghh.”

Dean pulled over in front of what was probably the town's only drugstore. “Hold that thought. Gotta pick up a few things, be right back.” Sam didn't bother to answer, closing his eyes and propping his head against the passenger-side window. Dean went inside at a jog, bought his supplies as quickly as he could, jogged back out. “That wasn't too bad, was it?”

“HNGKSHH!” Sam jerked forward, pressing a tissue hard against his nose.

“Gesundheit.” Dean switched on the ignition, tossed his purchases into the back seat. “Try not to get any spray on my baby, would you? Sam, you listening?”

“Hiih...” Sam was gearing up again. “G-gonna... hiih! Sdeeze... hi'iih! Hiihi'iih... hi'ih... hihii'iihii'iih! HEPKSHH!” the sneeze tore itself loose, only half-stifled, and Dean winced at the sound. “A-again,” Sam gasped suddenly, still bent over from the last sneeze. “HEISHOO!” There was no attempt even to stifle this one, and Dean accelerated in the direction of the motel.

He left Sam in the car again while he checked them into a room at the motel, then chivvied his unresisting brother into the room and alternately coaxed and threatened until Sam at least sat down on one of the two double beds. At least they weren't twin beds, Dean consoled himself. It was nice to have a bit of room to spread out.

“Hiih! Hep-KSHH! Hep-KSHH!” Sam sneezed into the crook of his elbow, rapid-fire, the usual build-ups having given way to utter desperation. “HEP-KSHOO! HEISHOO! Hii'eeh! EISHOO! Sniff! Uh... sniff! God... iih! HEISHOO!” he buried his head in his hands with a soft groan.

Dean dropped to a crouch next to him, then experimentally poked an index finger at Sam's temple. Sam looked up blearily, eyes red and watering from the sneezing fit.

“What?”

“Just making sure the top of your head hasn't come off.”

Sam looked as though he was about to retort, then started coughing instead, a racking fit that left him gasping for air before starting up again. Dean watched his face turn red, then sat on the bed next to him and began rubbing circles on his back with one hand. “Easy, Sammy. Take a deep breath, okay? I got you.” Finally the coughing subsided, and Sam didn't resist when Dean pushed him gently onto the bed and pulled off his sneakers. “Change of plans, Sammy. You're going to stay here and have a nap, and I'm going to go scope out the rest of this happening little burg.”

Sam struggled to sit up. “You shouldn't go alone...”

Dean held him down with one hand on his chest, just prove a point. “You're not going anywhere. Look, I'm going to a bar to get a drink, chat up the locals. It's not exactly high-risk, and in the state you're in no one's going to want to talk to you anyway. Here,” he got up to rummage in their bags, and produced the cold syrup. “You're about due for some more.” He looked over to where the motel kept a coffee pot (which was awesome, how many motels offered complimentary coffee?) and picked up one of the spoons, pouring the ruby-coloured, viscous fluid carefully into it. “Come on, open up. I can even play the airplane game if you want,” he made a motor noise and made a show of moving the spoon in circles in the air.

Sam smothered a cough. “Dude, that hasn't worked since I was four. Just give it to me.” He took the spoon from Dean and swallowed the contents with a grimace, then reluctantly poured a second spoonful at Dean's urging. “There. All dosed up. Satisfied?”

Dean patted him on the shoulder. “Attaboy. I am absolutely satisfied. Sit tight, I'll be back before you know it, and I'll bring pizza. There has to be a decent pizza joint in this town —it's not like there's all that much to do here on Friday nights.”

“Right,” Sam's eyes were closing already, too tired to argue further. He turned onto his side, curling up, head buried in his pillow, arms wrapped around his chest. Dean leaned over, pulled the bedclothes loose, then pulled them over his brother, tucking them around his shoulders. He patted Sam's knee.

“Okay, Sammy boy. Sleep tight.”

[Lady Blessington]

You make a really... really good case for sneezy Sam being a thing of hotness. The gasping build-up kills me every time. And then when he gives up and just lets himself actually sneeze? He must be so tired and frustrated!

I can't WAIT for the Dean torture. AGHGHGHGHHH.

Mad

[mr.moosey]

I'm loving this so much! I'm almost inspired to write my own Supernatural fic.

[iluvsneezes]

These last few chapters have literally left me a puddle on the floor, don't stop!!