cowboyguy: (pushing the pleasure button)
[personal profile] cowboyguy
Fic: Distraction
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG?
Summary: Written as a fill for [personal profile] tarotgal's 2017 meme. The prompt was my own, and it was: One of the boys has a sneeze fetish and while they're out talking to people for a case, gets very distracted by the constant sneezing of one of the people they're interviewing. The other brother doesn't know about his sneeze fetish and is just annoyed at him afterwards. "Dude, what's wrong with you? Were you even listening?"

“So, if you wouldn’t mind, can you tell us exactly what you saw in the woods that night?” Sam asks as Hannah Thompson ushers them into her living room.

Dean takes a seat on the couch next to Sam, opposite a guy with shaggy brown hair wearing a t-shirt and baggy jeans. He’s slouched back in the chair on the other side of the coffee table, looking a little tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Of course,” Hannah replies to Sam, sitting down in the other empty chair across from him and Dean. She gestures over to the guy and adds, “This is my boyfriend, Chris. He was there, too. I just… um… I heard Josh. Screaming. But Chris, he— he s-saw…”

Hannah falters a little, her voice catching as tears form in her eyes, and Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees, giving her the puppy dog eyes of concern. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says. “And I know this must be hard, but anything the two of you can tell us about what happened to Josh— well, it would help make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

Hannah nods, clearing her throat softly. She pulls her dark hair back, smoothing it out and letting it fall back to her shoulders as she begins her story. They’d been camping in the woods — her, Chris, Josh, and a few other friends, sitting around the fire and drinking, telling stupid stories to each other. After awhile, several of them had gone to bed. But Hannah and the two guys had still been awake, cleaning up the campsite before bed. Chris and Josh had walked off with the cooler and the rest of food to put it back in the car.

“Because of bears, you know?” Hannah adds, looking to Sam and Dean for confirmation.

They nod seriously, and she continues, relaying the story of how she’d been sitting near the fire when she heard a scream.

“And I turned and saw this dark shape, this person in the woods—”

“It wasd’t a persod,” Chris says, and that’s right about the point where Dean’s attention shifts. The guy’s voice is so congested and raspy, and as Dean looks again, he realizes that he mistook Chris’s sickness for exhaustion. But the guy looks like he’s got a massive cold. The slightly parted lips, breathing through his mouth because his nose is too stuffed. The sleepy eyes, blinking slowly as he speaks. “It wasd’t a persod,” he repeats. “It was a bodster.”

Hannah glares over at him. “Josh is dead, okay, Chris? He’s dead, and you’re talking about monsters like it was all some fairytale story.” She shakes her head, clearly annoyed with him.

Sam says something in a soft voice, trying to calm her down, but Dean’s gaze is fixed on Chris.
“I’b jusdt tellig theb whadt I saw,” Chris insists in a low voice. “We heard it id the trees, and thed it cabe aaa-after… Josh…” He trails off as he pitches forward with an impressive sneeze, bringing a bare arm up in front of his face to catch the spray. “HHHNGGTSHHHH!” Sniffling wetly, he remains motionless for a second before reaching forward for the tissue box on the coffee table, digging a wad of tissues out and pressing them to his nose. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Sam answers. “Bless you.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, too distracted by the sneeze, waiting to see if there will be more. He catches himself starting to stare and quickly directs his gaze down to the floor, clasping his hands and nodding like he’s listening as Hannah starts speaking again.

There’s another wet sniff from Chris, and Dean sneaks a glance up. The poor guy looks miserable, and it’s amazing. Yeah, Dean knows he’s weird, to be this into watching another guy sneeze, but his whole life is pretty much one giant heap of weird, so he’s just gonna roll with it. No harm in it, anyway.

Hannah’s still talking, and Sam’s still giving her those soulful eyes, being the most caring FBI agent on the planet.

Chris, meanwhile, is gearing up for another sneeze.

There’s a sniff and then a sudden, sharp inhalation of breath. His eyebrows raise and his mouth goes slack in that expression that means he’s caught between really needing to sneeze and really not wanting to. “aaah…” The build-up begins, and Dean squeezes his hands a little tighter together, trying to distract himself. “Heh-ahh…heh-HH’NGTSHHHOOO!” Chris lurches forward with another strong sneeze, barely getting a moment to take a breath before his breath hitches again and he buries his nose in the tissues, his shaggy brown hair falling in front of his eyes. “HHHTSCHHHH! AH’ETTSCHHH!”

Dean shifts uncomfortably on the couch, wishing he had a jacket or a briefcase or something. He glances over at Hannah, trying to refocus, but it’s too late. He has no idea what she’s talking about, and there’s no way he’s going to pay attention long enough to find out.

His gaze flickers over to Chris, who is too caught up in his own sneezing fit to even notice Dean watching him. He tosses the tissues in a trashcan next to the chair, ripping another couple of them out of the box and bringing them up to his nose, blowing softly, like he’s trying to not be too obnoxious. Dean has a sudden urge to reach right across the table and hold the tissues for him, this man he doesn’t even know, tell him to blow as much as he needs to. He digs his fingers into his thigh through the fabric of his dress pants, looking down at the floor again and trying to get himself under control.

“HHH’KSHHHHH!” Chris sneezes again without warning, and Dean swears he can feel the spray land on the back of his hand. He mutely reaches forward and nudges the tissue box in Chris’s direction, trying not to completely lose it. He imagines what it would be like to be with a person who was that sick, to take care of them, make sure they were comfortable. To hold the tissues to their nose and catch every incredible sneeze. Sam would never let him do something like that. Hell, Sam barely ever got sick enough for him to even think about it. But damn, it was a nice image…

“Agent Barton?”

“Agent Barton?”

Oh, right. That’s him.

“Hmm?” Dean answers, startling out of his reverie. Hannah and Sam are both staring at him expectantly, while Chris remains oblivious, reaching for yet another tissue.

Sam looks pointedly at him, eyebrows knitting together in a look of disapproval before he says, “Hannah was commenting on how we must have a lot of experience with things like this.”

Dean nods quickly. “Oh, right. Right. Absolutely.” He tries to refocus, turning toward Hannah. “You’re absolutely right. Agent Bishop and I, we’ve been dealing with things like this for a long time. You’re in good hands, I promise.”

Sam clears his throat, pulling a business card with his fake name out of his jacket pocket and handing it over to her. Clearly they’ve reached the end of this interview without Dean even realizing it. “Well, thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Hannah. You’ve been very helpful. Please feel free to give me a call if you think of anything else.”

“Of course,” she answers, pushing herself out of the chair to see them out.

Dean doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay there, kick Hannah and Sam out of the house, and take care of poor, miserable, fucking amazing Chris until he feels better. He wants to be there for every sneeze.

At that moment, Chris unleashes an incredible, rapid fire triple sneeze. “HNGGHH-UHTSHH-CHSHHH-TCHSHHH!” He rubs at his nose with the tissues, sniffling desperately as he tries to regain his composure.

Dean forces himself to smile and shake Hannah’s hand, trying as hard as he possibly can not to look in Chris’s direction. “Thanks,” he manages lamely.

And just like that, they’re out the door and gone, walking down the front sidewalk back towards the Impala. Dean can’t help but let out a soft sigh of regret and disappointment. Ahead of him, Sam turns back, shooting him an annoyed look. “Dude, what the hell? Were you even paying attention in there? Thanks for making me do all the work.”

Dean can only watch as Sam turns away and heads toward the car, imagining his brother in that same t-shirt and baggy pair of jeans, miserably sick, clutching tissues desperately to his nose. It’s a good image.

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