Pass the Tissues (SPN, Sam)

[fickle_tickle]

Just a moment in the Impala with Sam, Dean, and a hell of a headcold. Enjoy!

 

“Deand?”

“hmm?” Dean keeps his eyes on the road, prepared to deny another request to “just put a tape in” if he wants to listen to music. Sam’s been pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his eyes, which means the cold he hasn’t admitted to yet is definitely accompanied by a monster headache.

“The tdissues are ond your side.” Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother. Sam had taken the tissues he’d inconspicuously snagged at the last gas station as an unspoken accusation, and, he supposed, in all fairness, he had gotten them to test how crappy Sam felt. The Sasquatch had ignored them completely for the better part of two hours, but now he seemed very keen on having one, which meant…

“You gotta sneeze?” Sam’s sneezes are nothing to joke around about, especially when he’s sick. Dean is already figuring how far it should be to the next motel; Sam won’t be any good for backup for at least a few days, not with all the noise he’ll be making.

“uh-huhhhh…heh..” The mumbled affirmative begins to hitch, and the accompanying nod pauses, leaving Sam’s twitching nose tilted upward and primed in pre-sneeze position. “Hang on, hang on!” Dean’s left hand fumbles frantically by his feet for the box as he drives with his right. “D-deand? I- heh- I- snifff”

“Dammit, Sam, I’m looking!” At the last second, he makes contact and thrusts his prize out toward Sam, who reaches out blindly and shutters forward with a thick

“Hhaaashugnn! He’ ashhUUh!!”   …into Dean’s flannel.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Sam’s look of abject horror melts into his kicked puppy dog eyes. “Deand, I, I didn’t…” he snuffles apologetically. Dean sighs. How can his giant of a brother make himself look so small?

“You cold Sammy?” When Sam glances down at his lap sheepishly, Dean shrugs off the infected layer and drapes it over Sam’s slumped shoulders. “Good, I don’t want this back. Try and get some sleep while you still can.”

“Thadnks, Deand, I’m sorry I-”

“We will never speak of that again, Sammy. I mean it!” Dean interjects. Sam smiles and leans his head against the cool glass of the window. For a minute or two, the Impala is quite. That is, until Sam starts sniffling again. “Use the damn tissues, Sam, they’re in your lap!”

[jensdw]

So cute! Poor Sammy 

2 hours ago, fickle_tickle said:

“You gotta sneeze?” Sam’s sneezes are nothing to joke around about, especially when he’s sick. Dean is already figuring how far it should be to the next motel; Sam won’t be any good for backup for at least a few days, not with all the noise he’ll be making.

love this description

2 hours ago, fickle_tickle said:

“uh-huhhhh…heh..” The mumbled affirmative begins to hitch, and the accompanying nod pauses, leaving Sam’s twitching nose tilted upward and primed in pre-sneeze position. “Hang on, hang on!” Dean’s left hand fumbles frantically by his feet for the box as he drives with his right. “D-deand? I- heh- I- snifff”

Thanks for sharing!

[Seeker]

3 hours ago, fickle_tickle said:

"uh-huhhhh…heh..” The mumbled affirmative begins to hitch, and the accompanying nod pauses, leaving Sam’s twitching nose tilted upward and primed in pre-sneeze position. “Hang on, hang on!” Dean’s left hand fumbles frantically by his feet for the box as he drives with his right. “D-deand? I- heh- I- snifff”

I love this! All the congested speech...and he's TRYING to wait for the tissue

3 hours ago, fickle_tickle said:

Sam’s look of abject horror melts into his kicked puppy dog eyes. “Deand, I, I didn’t…” he snuffles apologetically. Dean sighs. How can his giant of a brother make himself look so small?

Poor sick Sammy. So sweet 

I really enjoyed this

[castiel_angel]

How sweet!!! Poor Sammy

[caramelfuzz]

Awwww!!! I love this so much! ❤️

[Coffee Mug]

Awwww!!!! Sweetness overload alert!!!! Loved it! Thank you 🥰

[Seeker]

Given that I've read this about 30 times, I have to say I would not be sad if you decided to add another part. 😁 

[BookQ36]

I'm with ReidSeeker on this. A continuation would be very very nice, especially since you teased us with:

On 11/17/2018 at 7:57 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Sam’s sneezes are nothing to joke around about, especially when he’s sick. Dean is already figuring how far it should be to the next motel; Sam won’t be any good for backup for at least a few days, not with all the noise he’ll be making.

also, your spellings and the hitches are just 😍😍  and . Anyway, I really enjoyed this snippet and thank you for posting it!

[fickle_tickle]

You're all so sweet! I'm in the middle of finals right now, but when they're done I'll be sure to check back in on the boys and post an update! Something tells me Sammy won't be doing very well...

[Seeker]

😁💖💖💖💞💗

 

In other words, I love you

[fickle_tickle]

Ok, so here's a follow up as promised! This one more plot to it, but unfortunately less sneezing. Sorry about that! I decided to add some angst and it didn't seem like the right place for it. Hope you enjoy anyway!

 

“Dean, this is ridiculous! We save lives! People with desk jobs don’t even waste sick days on head colds!” Sam punctuates his argument with a sniff and a quick scrub at his nose.

Dean waits for the inevitable. “Bless you Sammy.” He smirks.  

Sam roles his eyes. “You know I-snifff I hate it when you do that!” He glares over his wrist as he presses it to his flushed nose. “It always makes me snehhh…heh.”

“You’re already going to! You haven’t done anything but sneeze all day!” Dean protests over the hitching breaths. “And last time I checked, cubical drones don’t-”

“esshHHAgh!!”

“Bless. Don’t have to worry about giving away their position and being mauled by a, a- I don’t know, what, a rough keyboard?”

“Id’s psychosomdadic!”

“Huh?”

Sam grimaces and blows his nose. “Psychosomatic.”

“Gesundheit!”

Sam sighs, settles into the headrest, and rolls his eyes before closing them. Maybe Dean’s right; if he’s this drained after dealing with his bother, think what taking on the real monsters will feel like. “You didn’t take time off for your broken ribs.” He thinks to mumble drowsily. “…jus a little cold, Dean…”

“Yeah well, there wasn’t time for that. It’ll be easier to kick this thing in a few days instead of working with it dragging you down for two weeks.” Dean’s FBI agent voice informs him.

Sam stays quite. It seems a little too soon for him to have fallen asleep already, but then again Sam usually borders on Narcoleptic when he’s sick. Either way, Dean considers the argument won. Only a few exits to go before the next decent-sized town. With Winchester luck, there’s no such thing as a “little” cold. Dean remembers the winter before Sammy turned seventeen………………….......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... 

 

The impala is silent. Or it would be, if Sam would stop sniffling. Luckily, John’s had one too many drinks to notice, and Dean intends to keep it that way. His father had gotten his hopes up, and now, driving through the November drizzle, the car carries a tension that poor Sam, needing extra attention now that the cold he’s been hiding all week has settled down in his chest, could easily break. The string of house fires down in Iowa turned out to be the work of an Ifrit. The thing was more of a bitch to gank than the usual bump in the night, but it sure as hell wasn’t a match for the arsenal John had lugged into town for what he was sure would be a rematch with a certain yellow-eyed demon. Now, instead of the usual round of beers, and for Sam, sodas, to celebrate another job well done, only John drank.

Dean spreads a warm palm over the center of his little brother’s back as Sam suppresses a string of wet coughs into his fist and buckles forward in his seat. He’s pretty sure Sammy’s lungs are trying to vacuum seal themselves, at least sure enough to decide he outta keep an eye on them from here in the back seat instead of on the wheel from the passenger side. Dad can hold his liquor well enough to handle a two-lane interstate. Dean’s grateful; if not for those little plastic bottles of whiskey in the hotel mini fridge, he wouldn’t be guaranteed time tonight to get some steam and, with more luck, meds into Sammy’s system. John would to be dead to the world the second he hit the pillow, and Dean could search bathroom vending machines for aspirin while Sammy took a hot shower. Maybe there would even be a convent store booth in the lobby, the kind with miniature deodorants and chewing gum. Cold and flu tablets would be there. Hell, a place with one of those would probably be nice enough to have enough hot water to lay the duvets down on the bathroom floor and give the kid a night in a makeshift sauna, like he did back in Maine when five year old Sammy had the Croup.   Dean doesn’t realize he’s been absentmindedly rubbing circles on his little brother’s back until Sam wilts into him, apparently too soothed by the reassuring touch to flop back against the car seat once he’s finally caught his breath. Dean reaches up to ruffle his hair and grimaces. The kid is burning up. Looks like stealing the Impala for a midnight run to the pharmacy, maybe even a 24-hour clinic, just became worth the risk.

[Seeker]

Oh my GOSH I freaking love this 100 times harder! Your story weaving is excellent!

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Dean waits for the inevitable. “Bless you Sammy.” He smirks.  

Sam roles his eyes. “You know I-snifff I hate it when you do that!” He glares over his wrist as he presses it to his flushed nose. “It always makes me snehhh…heh.”

Adorable! I love the hitching, the interrupted speech 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

esshHHAgh!!”

“Bless. Don’t have to worry about giving away their position and being mauled by a, a- I don’t know, what, a rough keyboard?”

“Id’s psychosomdadic!”

“Huh?”

Sam grimaces and blows his nose. “Psychosomatic.”

“Gesundheit!”

Haha, oh, Dean! Also, congested speech is spot on, even this bit 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Maybe Dean’s right; if he’s this drained after dealing with his bother, think what taking on the real monsters will feel like. “You didn’t take time off for your broken ribs.” He thinks to mumble drowsily. “…jus a little cold, Dean…”

And

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Sam usually borders on Narcoleptic when he’s sick. Either way, Dean considers the argument won. Only a few exits to go before the next decent-sized town.

So sweet! I loooove sleepy boys; sleepy Sam in particular. I can just hear his sleepy words, this is so perfect! 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Dean remembers the winter before Sammy turned seventeen…

So my heart just about jumped! This is like a BONUS STORY!!! A little bit of teenchester?! *happy dance* 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Dean spreads a warm palm over the center of his little brother’s back as Sam suppresses a string of wet coughs into his fist and buckles forward in his seat. 

I like this imagery. Poor Sammy (and poor Dean stuck in the tense atmosphere) 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

Dean doesn’t realize he’s been absentmindedly rubbing circles on his little brother’s back until Sam wilts into him, apparently too soothed by the reassuring touch to flop back against the car seat once he’s finally caught his breath.

Sweet little angels 😍 

On 12/24/2018 at 12:16 AM, fickle_tickle said:

The kid is burning up. Looks like stealing the Impala for a midnight run to the pharmacy, maybe even a 24-hour clinic, just became worth the risk.

Oh yes a little bit a fever, one of my favorite things 

And this...means...MORE STORY?! 😱💃😁 I can't wait!!!!!!

[fickle_tickle]

As the Impala craws straight into a slanted parking space, nearly scraping mirrors with the pickup to its right, Dean carefully rolls his dozing brother off of his shoulder. The Luxury Motel, or the “LUX RY MOT L” according to the burnt out neon sign in the check-in window, hardly looks luxurious; at this point, the most Dean is hoping for is a working heater. As soon as John belatedly removes the keys from the ignition, Dean’s on his feet, pressing the car door soundlessly back into place. “I’ve still got the cash, Dad. I can get the room.” John nods.  Dean’s almost to the door when he hears his father yell “Nothing over fifty!” from across the parking lot. He stiffens, clenching the fist he uses to flash back a thumbs up as he sees a shape in the backseat shift and crumple forward. Sammy’s coughing. He knows, well hopes but tells himself he knows, that his brother is doing it quietly. He’d have just been startled awake, but he should keep quiet on instinct; regaining consciousness isn’t something to make a ruckus about in their line on work. Dean glances over his shoulder again. Good, John is still facing forward. The desk clerk is a thirty-something ponytail dude with a patchy ‘couldn’t be bothered to shave’ beard coming in and a ‘can’t be bothered to care’ look on his face. Great. Under $50 would be a slam-dunk if any kind of chick was in that chair, but Dean gets this clown. He thinks of Sammy in the car and squares his shoulders.

“Hey man, got anything for a guy on a budget? Just for the night.”

“Everything’s cheap.” Dena raises an eyebrow and looks on expectantly. The guy sighs and checks his computer screen. “King or queen?” Dean purses his lips and narrows his eyes a bit.

“Yeah, no. Just a road trip, buddy. Maybe two twin beds and a foldout couch?”

“Smoking or nonsmoking?” He sounds like he’s said it a thousand times in the last hour, but the place is dead.  Dean thinks he may be dealing with a functional zombie here.

“Anything around forty bucks.” The keyboard clicks. “Is there a drugstore anywhere near here?” The clerk looks like he’s been asked to run a marathon. He frowns and gives Dean a listless once-over.

“There’s a liquor store a few miles up the road. You can get beer there.”

“I’m asking for my brother, asshat! He’s sick.” The Ponytail sighs through his nose, but finally puts some pep in his keyboard clacking. Dean knuckles table, shifting his weight to lean in closer.

“There um,” the clerk clears his throat, “I think there’s a Walgreens by the nearest gas station. And room 404 is available. One twin bed, sofa bed, and an armchair. Smoking, to the left. ” Dean’s fishes out his wallet and begins unwadding bills, but he pauses to glance over his shoulder toward the parking lot.

“Got any nonsmoking?”

…………..................................................

As the supermarket doors slide open, Dean is greeted by the sound of a wrenching sneeze, a particularly obnoxious and familiar sneeze, one that is especially recognizable today, seeing as he’s heard it a million times since that first omen of Sam’s blossoming head cold erupted onto his sleeve. Sam had burned through the entire box of tissues since then, and even sneezed on the empty cardboard shell for good measure (“I thoubt-sniff- mbaybe tdere were sombe lebt ind the botdomb adnd..sniff, and itd snudk uph ond meh.”) In the end, Sam had reluctantly resorted to using his brother’s flannel as a makeshift handkerchief, but only after Dean had done his share of coaxing and had rightly pointed out that destiny, as well as Sam’s nose itself, had already downgraded the shirt to a tissue.

Illnesses, even simple colds, leave Sam drained and dazed. A sick Dean, more prone to irritable rants and restlessness, could hardly catch a wink of sleep when he was stuffed up without the aid of a little cough syrup or scotch, but Sam, who would only sigh and try to slink away to suffer in private when bothered, was likely to doze off if you sat him down anywhere warm enough. Dean had gotten more hazy “huh..?”s between sniffles and the predictable confused throat clearings that always accompanied them than actual conversation out of Sam all day. He usually doesn’t even notice his own sneezes coming on. He’s honest about them “sneaking up on” him, but Dean, with the trained eyes of a hunter or perhaps just the familiarity of a bother who’s been nursing Sam’s sniffles since before he taught the kid how to blow his own nose, sees them coming a mile away. Based on what he’s seen so far, Dean knows things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before they get better. Hence, the supply run. Sam should have stayed in the car where Dean left him, with the heat blasting on high, but noooo. He’s outside by the benches, hunched over the newspaper stand. Riffling through his plastic bags, Dean rips open the first of five tissue boxes and presses it into Sam’s chest as he saddles up beside him.

“You better have that-” Dean nods at the open paper in his brother’s hand, “because you decided you couldn’t wait for these.” He plucks a tissue out of the box and attempts to swap it for the offending literature.

“Deand, I think I found us-”

“Don’t you dare say it, Sammy!”

“A case.”

“We’ve been over this, Typhoid Marry. I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t the flu, or worse. You don’t slow down and the only case you’ll have is a case of pneumonia.” Dean hooks Sam by the arm and begins to heard him toward the Impala, but he stops when he sees the man who’s just sat down on the nearest bench, a store employee on break by the looks of his vest, dig a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.

“You’re being insane!” Sam protests, “We’ve-”

“Tell you what Sammy, go without sneezing for the next five minutes and we’re hired.” Sam checks his watch.

“You’re on.”

“Bless you.” Dean grins. Sam rolls his eyes. Over his shoulder, Dean sees the cigarette has been lit. Tendrils of gray smoke curl from its butt between puffs from its owner. Dean can already smell it, but Sam, with a flushed, raw nose muddling his consonants, can’t. “Sure is cold out.” Dean rocks on his heels, rubbing his hands together and giving his own nose a satisfying scrub. Sam flashes him a look that’s colder. But then, to Dean’s triumphant delight, Sam’s nose twitches involuntarily, and the tick is followed by a telltale sniff. It’s not one of the wet snuffles Dean’s been urging his brother to blow out into his snot-rag shirt all morning. It’s a singular sniff. Just the sort of quick breath of irritation Dean was hoping for; the beginnings of a sneeze. “Frost nipping at your nose there, Sammy?”

“Shut up!” Sam stands firm for a second or two, but then he sniffs again, this time more forcefully.

“Experiencing any tickling?”

“No.” Sam glares.

“That’s good. Because it would be the worst to, you know, have one of those deep itches way in the back of your nose. And to not be able to-”  

“Cut it out, Dean!”

“Why? Are you gonna-”

“No!” But he is. By now, Sam feels the sneeze building and is actively resisting it. His wide, upturned, currently pink nose is buzzing with it. It had started, as it always did, with a prick in the back, just like Dean said. They really, really should spend some time apart. It’s like he knows the exact moment Saw will break. “heh..”

“What was that?”

“N-Noth..theh…ntheeeh….”

“Bless you Sammy.” A stack of tissues is pressed into his hands.

“heeehh..h’eptSHHHUUhh! IssshhhUGH! exShUUghh!” Sam snaps at the waist, doubled over by the force of them. Dean claps his hand on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze as his brother straightens himself.

“Well Sammy-” Sam holds up a finger; he’s not done yet. He snuffles and lets out a few deep coughs in the aftermath of the fit before his breath catches again. His nose twitching wildly despite scrubs from the dam tissues, Sam gives an reflexive gasp and launches forward with a final “ehh..eh’tchhUUh!”. Dean passes over more tissues when Sam groans involuntarily, dragging a hand across his face to rub at his eyes as he reorients himself again. He presses a palm between his little brother’s broad shoulder blades to guide him toward the refuge and privacy of the Impala.

“Bless you, man!” the smoker calls out as the pair turns. Sam’s eyes widen in recognition.

“Deand!”

“What?” Dean bats his eyes innocently.

“You dnow whatd, you cheaded!”

“I cheated…at waiting for you to sneeze?”

“Itd whads theh smodke ind theh air!” Sam sniffs indignantly.

“It was the cold in your head!”

[Seeker]

I am enjoying this soooooo so much! I love that it's two stories.  Congested Sam is amazing and I love the part where if you sit him somewhere warm, he'll fall asleep. Sweet doll baby!

Dean checking on teen Sam, cringing when he was startled awake a glad he was quiet was sweet. Sam never gets credit for being a good hunter from John. Getting the non smoking room was a smart idea (I know that's the 90's but nowadays do they even HAVE smoking rooms?)

Poor Sammy is so sick in both times, definitely worse than just a cold 

And I'm evil cause I love it  

My sleepy brain wanted as did this emoji and I don't know why: 

[fickle_tickle]

On 1/8/2019 at 8:09 PM, ReidSeeker said:

Poor Sammy is so sick in both times, definitely worse than just a cold 

I'll definitely keep that in mind as I keep writing 😉 Thank you so so much for all your sweet and lovingly detailed comments! Since you're the reason the original short thing at the top became this story and you've kept commenting, I sort of feel like I'm writing it for you!😅

[Seeker]

15 hours ago, fickle_tickle said:

I'll definitely keep that in mind as I keep writing 😉 Thank you so so much for all your sweet and lovingly detailed comments! Since you're the reason the original short thing at the top became this story and you've kept commenting, I sort of feel like I'm writing it for you!😅

😁 I  am so ok with that lol I am HIGHLY enjoying this! I can't wait for more