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Fic: Uncontrollable
This was originally posted as a fill for a prompt in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tarotgal's commentfic meme. Just archiving it here in my own journal.
Uncontrollable
Prompt: Dean wakes up one morning and the very first thing he sees is Sam with a helpless "about to sneeze" expression on his face.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: G
Dean wakes up to the sound of his phone beeping insistently at him, demanding that he get out of bed. With a groan, he rolls over, trying to remember where he left it the night before. He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Sam sitting there on the edge of his own bed, a helpless look of anticipation on his face. Dean knows that look. Sam sucks in a quick breath and—
“huhISHHH-CHUH!” Sam pitches forward, nearly doubling over with the force of the sneeze.
“Morning,” Dean says as he shut off his phone alarm.
“Bordig,” Sam tries, utterly failing at speaking coherent English. He sniffs, coughs, and then tries again. “Mornig.” It’s a little better, but he still sounds like crap.
Dean rubs his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position. “How long have you been up?” he asks.
“Little while,” Sam answers, still sniffling. He’s already dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.
“How long have you been sneezing?”
“…More than a little while.” He illustrates the point by sneezing again into the crook of his elbow. “HAHHchshh!”
Dean stumbles out of bed and over to where he tossed his jeans on the floor. “Dude, you sound like crap.”
Sam gives him a look that says, “I am really not in the mood to deal with you today, Captain Obvious.”
Dean snorts and says, “Alright, alright. I’m gonna take a shower, and then we can get the hell out of here. Sound good?” He gathers up his clothes and heads into the bathroom.
On the other side of the wall, Sam sneezes for the next twenty minutes.
***
They check out of the motel and head for the car. Once outside, Sam’s problem seems to intensify. By the time Dean unlocks the doors, Sam’s sneezing has reached ridiculous levels.
“I think I’m al—HSHH! – lergic to s-someth—heh…. ISSHhuh! – sobethig id the area…” Sam stutters out, sniffling helplessly once he stops talking.
“Know what it is?” Dean asks, settling into the driver’s seat.
“Dot a clue,” Sam answers. He reaches for the half-empty box of tissues on the floor of the backseat, ripping a tissue out and wiping his nose, too congested to even try blowing it. “Last time I was… heh… allergy tested… was when I was—ITCHSHHHah! – ten years old.”
He thumps his head against the window as Dean backs out the parking lot.
“I’ll see if we can find a pharmacy or something on the way out of town. We’ll get you some nice, non-expired allergy meds. How does that sound?”
Sam nods gratefully, sniffling into the tissue.
***
Dean takes a wrong turn and before either of them realize it, they’re merging onto the interstate. Dean spots a mile marker sign on the side of the road.
Next exit – twenty miles.
That’s not so bad. He’ll stop in the next town and head straight for the nearest shopping center.
They hit improbable bumper-to-bumper traffic two miles down the road.
***
Dean’s got the radio on a news station, and he knows now – too late – about the major accident that’s backing up traffic for the next five miles. The radio host has moved on to the weather forecast, and is saying something about pollen count, but Dean can barely hear her above the sound of his brother’s sneezing.
“HCHSSHH! ehh’CHSHAHH! ah… hah… IXTCHH! KTCHSHH!”
“Sam, shut up, will ya?” Dean says, knowing there’s really no point even as he says it.
“…Ca—cad’t… HRSHHuh! ATCHH! mmphCHSHhh!” The last one he buries in a fresh tissue, and then tosses it onto the steadily growing pile at his feet. “KSHHAH! HH’TCHH!” The fit subsides for a moment, leaving Sam panting as he tries to catch his breath.
“Jeez, Sammy,” Dean says, sympathy in his voice as he glances over at his miserable brother. “Sorry you’re feeling so crappy.”
“Yeah…” Sam reaches for another tissue to take care of his nose that won’t stop running. “Me too.”
***
By the time they make it through the traffic jam, the box of tissues is gone, and Sam is making do with a pile of napkins he found stashed in the glove compartment. His nose is becoming more red and raw with each swipe of the rough paper across sensitive skin, and he nearly sobs with relief when Dean pulls into the parking lot of a Rite-Aid.
It’s been a good five minutes since he last sneezed, and that stupid tickle is building in his nose again. “heh… ah… HAAHTCHSHH!” He grabs a dry napkin and buries his nose in it, wincing. “mmphCHSHH! hup’TCHSHH!”
Without Sam realizing it, Dean has gotten out of the car and is standing there with his head ducked down into the open driver’s side window. “You comin’ in with me?” he asks.
Sam shakes his head. “No, I—hhah… uh… huh… hh’KSHHHuh! Ged bore… ihh’TSHH! …bore tiss—CHHah! …tissues!” he calls after Dean.
Dean lifts a hand in acknowledgement and disappears through the automatic doors.
Sam succumbs to the fit that just won’t let up, trying to breathe between desperate sneezes. “huh’DSHH! TCHH! aaah… hah’TCHSHH!” The only thing he can think about is how tired he is from all this sneezing, and how Dean really needs to get back to the car quickly. But he just keeps sneezing, not even bothering with the napkins anymore. It hurts too much.
Ten hours later – or maybe it only seemed that way, Sam’s not sure – he hears the creak of the car door opening and the plastic crinkle of a bag landing in his lap.
“Take a dose of all of those,” Dean says.
Sam opens his eyes and rifles through the bag, pulling out antihistamines and decongestants and a bottle of ZzzQuil and tissues. With lotion. He tears open the box, yanking one out and pressing it gently to his nose with a grateful sigh. It only hurts a little. “Thagks,” he murmurs.
“You’re welcome,” Dean says, then gestures toward the pile of drugs in Sam’s lap. “But I mean it, take that stuff now.”
Sam complies, and twenty miles down the road, his head is nodding gently against the window. His snores are loud enough that Dean doesn’t even bother with music. But he’s asleep, and not sneezing. Dean reaches over and gently pats Sam’s leg. Sam doesn’t even stir.
tarotgal's commentfic meme. Just archiving it here in my own journal.Uncontrollable
Prompt: Dean wakes up one morning and the very first thing he sees is Sam with a helpless "about to sneeze" expression on his face.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: G
Dean wakes up to the sound of his phone beeping insistently at him, demanding that he get out of bed. With a groan, he rolls over, trying to remember where he left it the night before. He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Sam sitting there on the edge of his own bed, a helpless look of anticipation on his face. Dean knows that look. Sam sucks in a quick breath and—
“huhISHHH-CHUH!” Sam pitches forward, nearly doubling over with the force of the sneeze.
“Morning,” Dean says as he shut off his phone alarm.
“Bordig,” Sam tries, utterly failing at speaking coherent English. He sniffs, coughs, and then tries again. “Mornig.” It’s a little better, but he still sounds like crap.
Dean rubs his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position. “How long have you been up?” he asks.
“Little while,” Sam answers, still sniffling. He’s already dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.
“How long have you been sneezing?”
“…More than a little while.” He illustrates the point by sneezing again into the crook of his elbow. “HAHHchshh!”
Dean stumbles out of bed and over to where he tossed his jeans on the floor. “Dude, you sound like crap.”
Sam gives him a look that says, “I am really not in the mood to deal with you today, Captain Obvious.”
Dean snorts and says, “Alright, alright. I’m gonna take a shower, and then we can get the hell out of here. Sound good?” He gathers up his clothes and heads into the bathroom.
On the other side of the wall, Sam sneezes for the next twenty minutes.
***
They check out of the motel and head for the car. Once outside, Sam’s problem seems to intensify. By the time Dean unlocks the doors, Sam’s sneezing has reached ridiculous levels.
“I think I’m al—HSHH! – lergic to s-someth—heh…. ISSHhuh! – sobethig id the area…” Sam stutters out, sniffling helplessly once he stops talking.
“Know what it is?” Dean asks, settling into the driver’s seat.
“Dot a clue,” Sam answers. He reaches for the half-empty box of tissues on the floor of the backseat, ripping a tissue out and wiping his nose, too congested to even try blowing it. “Last time I was… heh… allergy tested… was when I was—ITCHSHHHah! – ten years old.”
He thumps his head against the window as Dean backs out the parking lot.
“I’ll see if we can find a pharmacy or something on the way out of town. We’ll get you some nice, non-expired allergy meds. How does that sound?”
Sam nods gratefully, sniffling into the tissue.
***
Dean takes a wrong turn and before either of them realize it, they’re merging onto the interstate. Dean spots a mile marker sign on the side of the road.
Next exit – twenty miles.
That’s not so bad. He’ll stop in the next town and head straight for the nearest shopping center.
They hit improbable bumper-to-bumper traffic two miles down the road.
***
Dean’s got the radio on a news station, and he knows now – too late – about the major accident that’s backing up traffic for the next five miles. The radio host has moved on to the weather forecast, and is saying something about pollen count, but Dean can barely hear her above the sound of his brother’s sneezing.
“HCHSSHH! ehh’CHSHAHH! ah… hah… IXTCHH! KTCHSHH!”
“Sam, shut up, will ya?” Dean says, knowing there’s really no point even as he says it.
“…Ca—cad’t… HRSHHuh! ATCHH! mmphCHSHhh!” The last one he buries in a fresh tissue, and then tosses it onto the steadily growing pile at his feet. “KSHHAH! HH’TCHH!” The fit subsides for a moment, leaving Sam panting as he tries to catch his breath.
“Jeez, Sammy,” Dean says, sympathy in his voice as he glances over at his miserable brother. “Sorry you’re feeling so crappy.”
“Yeah…” Sam reaches for another tissue to take care of his nose that won’t stop running. “Me too.”
***
By the time they make it through the traffic jam, the box of tissues is gone, and Sam is making do with a pile of napkins he found stashed in the glove compartment. His nose is becoming more red and raw with each swipe of the rough paper across sensitive skin, and he nearly sobs with relief when Dean pulls into the parking lot of a Rite-Aid.
It’s been a good five minutes since he last sneezed, and that stupid tickle is building in his nose again. “heh… ah… HAAHTCHSHH!” He grabs a dry napkin and buries his nose in it, wincing. “mmphCHSHH! hup’TCHSHH!”
Without Sam realizing it, Dean has gotten out of the car and is standing there with his head ducked down into the open driver’s side window. “You comin’ in with me?” he asks.
Sam shakes his head. “No, I—hhah… uh… huh… hh’KSHHHuh! Ged bore… ihh’TSHH! …bore tiss—CHHah! …tissues!” he calls after Dean.
Dean lifts a hand in acknowledgement and disappears through the automatic doors.
Sam succumbs to the fit that just won’t let up, trying to breathe between desperate sneezes. “huh’DSHH! TCHH! aaah… hah’TCHSHH!” The only thing he can think about is how tired he is from all this sneezing, and how Dean really needs to get back to the car quickly. But he just keeps sneezing, not even bothering with the napkins anymore. It hurts too much.
Ten hours later – or maybe it only seemed that way, Sam’s not sure – he hears the creak of the car door opening and the plastic crinkle of a bag landing in his lap.
“Take a dose of all of those,” Dean says.
Sam opens his eyes and rifles through the bag, pulling out antihistamines and decongestants and a bottle of ZzzQuil and tissues. With lotion. He tears open the box, yanking one out and pressing it gently to his nose with a grateful sigh. It only hurts a little. “Thagks,” he murmurs.
“You’re welcome,” Dean says, then gestures toward the pile of drugs in Sam’s lap. “But I mean it, take that stuff now.”
Sam complies, and twenty miles down the road, his head is nodding gently against the window. His snores are loud enough that Dean doesn’t even bother with music. But he’s asleep, and not sneezing. Dean reaches over and gently pats Sam’s leg. Sam doesn’t even stir.