Fic: Stupid Pink Flowers of Death
Apr. 20th, 2014 08:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cowboyguyThis was originally posted in 2012 as a fill for a prompt in one of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tarotgal’s commentfic memes. Just archiving it here in my own journal.
Title: Stupid Pink Flowers of Death
Prompt: Dean is allergic to cherry blossoms. Sam finds a job in Washington, D.C., and doesn't want to tell him at first. But it's either bored!Dean or sneezy!Dean and Sam decides the latter will be easier to deal with. So the boys roll into town in the spring when all the trees are in full bloom. (fic ended up being sneezy!Sam instead of Dean)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, (nice librarian) :D
Rating: PG, for some swearing
“Sam, why are we here again?” Dean sighs, inching the Impala forward as if he can make the car in front of them move through sheer force of will.
“This girl has been haunting the—“
“Yeah, I know the job. But why are we here now?” Dean gestures at the car in front of them, the cars beside them, enclosing them on all sides. The cars that have barely moved twenty feet in the past twenty minutes. “Chick goes and gets herself killed during one of the peak tourist seasons, and it’s our job to sit in traffic and suffer the evils of rush hour?”
“Yeah,” Sam says, although he’s sort of stopped paying attention to Dean’s rant. Truth be told, he’s just kind of tired at this point, and really wants to get to a hotel so he can try to get rid of the headache that’s been building for the past forty-five minutes. Probably all the air pollution on the highway or something, he thinks. Congestion’s building in his sinuses, and he prays it just goes away so he can sleep.
If they ever manage to find a hotel, that is. Coming to DC right in the middle of the cherry blossom festival hadn’t exactly been the best plan, but it was one of those cases where the timing was everything. For the past five years, tourists had been getting killed at the festival, and people had reported seeing the ghost of a teenage girl. If they were going to put her spirit to rest, they needed to do it then.
But right in the middle of a big festival and spring break season, it had been impossible to find a hotel anywhere within the city. Even their usual crappy hotels were booked solid. So here they are, edging their way through endless traffic until they can find a place with an empty room.
“…Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Have I ever told you how much I hate traffic?”
* * *
An hour later, they’re fifteen miles out of the city and have finally found a place to stay for a few days. Dean pulls into the steep drive of the Anchor Inn and stops at the office, which is adorned with a giant red ship’s wheel. Why there would be a nautical-themed hotel in the middle of suburban Virginia is beyond Sam, but they’ve stayed in weirder places and he’s feeling tired and congested enough not to care.
They stumble into the room, drop their stuff by the table, and Sam flops down on the bed to sleep. Research can wait until tomorrow. He stares through the port-hole shaped window at the dark sky outside until his eyelids droop and he’s out.
* * *
The next morning, they’re driving down the street to the metro station, all dressed up in their Fed suits, Sam’s laptop bag in the backseat. Dean had wanted to drive all the way there, until Sam pointed out the reason it took them three hours to drive thirty miles the night before, and Dean reluctantly agrees. So, commuter train it is.
Sam’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, staring out the window and trying to ignore the headache that never completely went away the night before.
“Sam, check it out,” Dean says, sounding utterly mesmerized by something.
Sam turns his head, looking over at his brother who’s staring through the driver side window. “What?” he asks.
“It’s another Impala.”
Sure enough, there’s another black ‘67 Impala parked among half a parking lot of old classic cars. It’s a Dean Winchester paradise. Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Does this mean you’re backing out of the case? Do I get to salt and burn cherry blossom girl while you have a moment with the cars? Remember the whole ‘saving people’ thing, Dean?”
“What?” Dean turns to look back at him, trance broken. “No, yeah, I know.” He turns the radio up louder and pulls forward as the light changes, but not without one last, longing backward glance.
“They’ll still be there after we gank the ghost, you know,” Sam says, and when Dean glares over at him, he laughs.
* * *
The train car is crowded, filled with the last round of morning commuters, so he and Dean grab an empty space in the middle of the aisle and stand, bodies swaying back and forth with the rest of the mostly-quiet people. Sam’s so tall he doesn’t even have to stretch to grab the bar mounted from the ceiling, although he watches one girl struggling to hang on, stumbling every time the train speeds up or slows down.
Most of the people are absorbed in their newspapers or Kindles or iPods, looking down and ignoring the presence of the others around them. Sam thinks that this is what it must be like to have a 9 to 5 job, a normal life. Sometimes he’s glad he’s a hunter. As bad as it can get sometimes, he still knows that he’s always going to have his brother there next to him in the car, ready to crack some stupid joke or sing along with the radio, wildly out of tune.
The ride passes quietly, and don’t really talk until they reach their station, then get off the train and start walking towards the cherry blossoms and the street festival. The plan is to interview employees at the booths, see if they can dig up any dirt on who the ghost might be or how she attacks.
The sun is shining brightly, a gentle breeze blowing through the air and sending blossoms spiraling down to the ground. The place is crawling with tourists, families with kids sprawled out on picnic blankets, groups of people posing for pictures. Strangely enough, it makes it easier to remain inconspicuous, because it’s so crowded that no one cares about two guys in suits.
They spend about an hour walking around, looking for information. The longer they stay outside, the more Sam can feel congestion building up in his sinuses, but he tries to ignore it. He sniffles quietly when he thinks Dean won’t notice, and mostly manages to pass as a normal human being. If Dean notices that Sam’s letting him do more of the talking, he doesn’t mention it. Eventually they get a name and a year out of one of the vendors who’s been there forever.
“So, what do you think? Find a library, see if we can figure out where she’s buried?” Dean asks as they walk away from the sake and sushi booth.
Sam’s busy pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to massage some of the pressure away. “What? Yeah. Library sounds good.”
“Dude, are you okay?” Dean asks, stopping on the edge of the sidewalk under a tree.
Sam nods, but his nose is running like crazy, and he quickly digs a spare tissue out of his laptop bag, scrubbing it across his nose and trying to relieve some of the itchy feeling. He’s beginning to think he really should have taken more from the hotel bathroom. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just get this done.”
“You sure?” Dean eyes his brother cautiously.
“Dean, I said I’m fi… fi-heh… heh… ITSSSCHHH! h’KSHH! Ha-TSHH! ITKSSHHcheh! NXCHH! …I’b fide.” He fumbles with the bag, adjusting the strap on his shoulder until Dean reaches out and grabs it from him, slinging it over his own body.
“Sure you are,” he deadpans.
Sam, eyes closed, doesn’t respond at first. He pinches the bridge of his nose, groans in pain at the sinus pressure that won’t let up, and then sighs. “Cobe od. I just wadt to fidish this case, ogkay?”
Dean looks skeptical, one eyebrow raised.
Sam sniffles and insists, “Dean, I’m fide. It’s just allergies. See, look? Done sneezing. Can we do the job?”
Dean nods, although he still doesn’t look entirely convinced, and pulls out the map to figure out the way to the library.
* * *
They’re looking through old newspapers in the library when the urge comes on suddenly. “hetschh!” He muffles the sneeze into his shoulder and then raises his head again, looking back to the page he was reading. Dean glances up at him from across the table, but says nothing.
He continues reading, blinking rapidly to ward off the itchy, teary-eyed feeling. He finishes the paper in front of him and, while reaching out to grab another paper, snaps back suddenly, pushing his nose into the crook of his arm. “hmph’tshhh! hk’gshh! AH-KGSHH! Huh-chihSHHH!”
As the fit dies down, he looks up to find Dean gone, his seat across the table empty. He’s about to look around for his brother, but is forced to cover his face with his hands, trying futilely to stifle another sneeze. “ngk’KSHHH! CHSHHHehh…” He sniffles desperately, trying to keep his nose from running too badly.
Dean suddenly reappears and thunks his hand down on the table to reveal a pile of soft-looking tissues. Sam instantly grabs for one and brings it to his streaming nose, sighing gratefully.
“How…?” he mumbles, voice muffled by tissue.
“The librarian thinks I’m cute,” Dean says, grinning suggestively. He looks across the room to the information desk and smiles, and Sam turns his head briefly to take a look. “She thinks you are, too, by the way, but in a sad, pathetic kind of way. I think she wants to take you home and wrap you up in warm fuzzy blankets.”
“I wouldn’d say doe to thad,” Sam says, sniffling.
“First you need to be able to pronounce ‘no’, sneezy.”
“Shuddup,” Sam answers. “I’ll s… heh… sdeeze on you. heh’KtchSHHH!”
Dean reaches over and pretends to wipe off the books, but it sends up a cloud of dust and musty book scent.
“AH’kgshh! Ep’TSCHH! Hah’CHSHH! heh… I hahh… hate—hih… Hgk’EHTSHH! Hp’TSCHHIH! NGKSHHuhh… I hade you.”
“I doe you do, Sabby,” Dean mocks, but softens it with a grin in Sam’s direction. “Now, come on. The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we can leave …Especially since people are starting to stare at you.”
Sam glances furtively around, and sure enough, he catches a couple of annoyed glances from other people trying to study. He shrinks down in his chair, trying to make himself smaller, and silently begs the lingering itch in his nose to go away.
* * *
Armed with the address of a local cemetery and a huge stack of tissues, they leave the library and head back to near where they started. Apparently the girl’s buried not too far from where she was killed. Sam can’t decide whether that’s touching or slightly morbid, but at least they don’t have very far to go. His nose is definitely not cooperating, and he wants nothing more than to figure out a plan and head back to the motel to get some relief.
They make their way down the block and along a winding path that takes them through more cherry trees and artfully landscaped flowers. After another furious round of sneezing from Sam, Dean glances up at the row of trees they’re currently walking under.
“Stupid pink fucking flowers of death,” he curses for Sam’s sake, who is currently putting the library’s tissues to good use.
Sam sniffles congestedly and answers, “It’s dot theb, Dean. Cherry blossobs dod’t produce wid-borde polled.”
“What?”
“Polled,” Sam clarifies unsuccessfully. “I’b allergic to polled ad it’s dot the cherry trees, it’s sobethig else.”
“Wh—pollen? ” Dean asks, trying to translate congested Sam-speak in his head.
Sam nods. “hgktshh!”
“Well, fine,” Dean replies, shoving his hands in his suit pockets and digging out another tissue. “But it’s easier to blame them for it.”
Sam sniffs and rolls his eyes as they reach the entrance to the cemetery. They find her grave quickly enough, working their way through rows of headstones decorated with flower arrangements – which really don’t help things much. Dean finds a couple of shovels near a maintenance shed and stashes them in a row of hedges near the grave. Not having the Impala parked nearby with all of their gear makes the logistics of gravedigging a little trickier, but nothing they can’t handle. Satisfied that they’re ready to come back later that night, Dean drags Sam toward the metro station and they board the train to head back to the motel.
The ride back is even more crowded than before, which Sam hadn’t thought possible, and it’s standing room only. He’s squished between Dean and a guy with a bulky backpack and a fancy-looking camera hanging around his neck. Red-eyed and runny-nosed, Sam keeps sneezing, muffling them into his shoulder and trying not to attract too much attention, which is kind of hard when you’re a sick sasquatch in a suit. Dean tells Sam to try not to sneeze on him, but mostly he just stands there, shoulder to shoulder with his brother, and looks sympathetic as Sam blinks tiredly and sniffles.
* * *
They get back to the hotel and Sam stumbles inside, making a beeline for his duffle.“I godda gedt out of this sdupid suidt.”
“Sorry, was that English?” Dean says, and Sam glares at him through red, watery eyes.
“Hgk’TCHSHH!” he replies, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on the chair. He strips down to his t-shirt and shorts and flops down on the nearest bed with a tired sigh.“So fuckig sigck of sdeezig,” he mumbles into his pillow.
“You wanna sit this one out? I could handle it,” Dean says as he changes from slacks into a pair of faded jeans.
“Doe, I dod’t wadt you to go alode. I’ll be fide.”
“We could do it tomorrow, couldn’t we? You look like you’re not gonna make it through another round with Mother Nature, and I don’t really want to be dragging your lifeless body all over the city.”
Sam looks up from his pillow. “heh’HTCHUHH! Id’s the one dight a year she haunts the place, Dean. We do it today or we wait udtil dext year and more udsuspectig tourists get killed.”
“Alright,” Dean agrees. “Just chill for awhile. I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out.” He begins packing a backpack full of rock salt and gasoline while Sam zones out on the bed, head feeling fuzzy and body aching.
* * *
Sam feels a little better after he’s slept awhile, but by the time they get to the cemetery that night, he’s back to being as congested as ever.
“Didn’t the Benadryl I found help?” Dean asks.
“Doe, it’s dot workig. I thigk it was expired,” Sam explains after they jump the fence and are walking towards the gravesite.
“Why would someone put a cemetery right next to a field of fucking cherry blossoms, anyway?” Dean grumbles, grabbing the shovels from where they’d been stashed and tossing one to his brother.
“It’s supposed to be peaceful, Dean.”
Dean snorts derisively at that. “Ghost chick clearly isn’t getting that feeling. And neither are you, I’m guessing. All the things you’re allergic to and they’re right the fuck here.”
“I’ll be okay,” Sam says a bit breathlessly as they reach the grave.
Halfway through digging, Sam pauses and Dean looks up to see his brother leaning against the handle of his shovel, nose twitching as he tries to hold off the building itch. “Heh’TSCHSHHH! Mph’KSHHH! HHAHtsssch!” Sam sneezes desperately in rapid-fire succession.
“Sam!” Dean hisses, swinging his head side to side and scanning for people.
“I’m s—h’TKSHSHHH! Eh’KSSSHH! HuhNSHH!” Sam pants, trying to catch his breath, even as he senses the build-up to the next round of sneezes.
“Cut it out, someone’s gonna hear,” Dean says insistently.
Sam drags a sleeve impatiently across his nose. “I’b tryig, I cad’t sd—sdop… hh…heh… heh…HmphCHSHHH! Heh’TSCHH! Hh—heh—HATSCHHhuh! Oh, man…” Sam pants, sniffling.
“At least try to be quiet about it,” Dean practically begs, starting to dig again because he’s getting the feeling this won’t end well. “If we get caught out here because of you, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Cad’t help it…” Sam’s leaning against the edge of the grave, shovel completely forgotten, as he tries frantically to muffle the sneezes in his sleeve. “Htsch! Hgksh! GHSHH! N’kshshhh! DSHHH! Hitchshh! Ngktch! hih… HAA’tchSHISHHH! …uhhh…”At the end of it, he’s left breathless and gasping, tears obscuring his vision.
“Done?” he hears Dean say.
He nods, wiping at his eyes. “…Sorry.”
“Just dig, okay?”
Sam picks up his shovel, sniffling carefully for fear of setting off another fit, and digs until he hears the hollow sound of the shovel hitting the top of the casket.
* * *
The salt and burn itself is fairly straightforward, except for the part where Dean was nearly taken out by a ghost while Sam was doubled over sneezing his head off. But somehow they manage it, setting her bones on fire and then quickly sneaking out of the cemetery before anyone comes by and sees them.
They stop half a block down the street when Sam needs to catch his breath. Dean turns around to see him standing there, eyes closed, panting helplessly at the torturous build-up to another set of sneezes. Dean can’t believe his brother’s still standing by this point.
“hh… hih… heh… hh’NGKshh—HA’tshhh—HpCHSHH—hh… heh… hih… hrmphCHSHHUH!” The last sneezes are muffled as Sam buries his nose in a tissue. “hptsh! ktch! iptch! HA’tchhihshh!” He looks up through teary eyes to find Dean counting on his fingers.
“Dude, that was eight in a row,” Dean totals up, holding up his hands. “Going for a world record, Sammy?”
“Ugh… jerk,” Sam is able to mutter before blowing his nose into the wad of tissues. It’s painful and doesn’t help much, so he pulls the tissues away, sniffling wetly. He feels a hand on his shoulder and hears Dean say,
“C’mon, bitch. Let’s get you out of pollen hell.” He steers Sam toward the metro station, guiding him out of the way of a small group of pedestrians walking by.
“Ogkay,” Sam agrees congestedly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, and they walk in silence down the street.
…
“ipTCHSHH! k’tchihSHHUH! ...Deed?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“…I really hade polled.”
“I know, kiddo, I know.”
* * *
The metro ride back to the hotel is blissfully quiet. There are empty seats this time, so Sam gets to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder and doesn’t care who thinks what about them. He turns away every few minutes to sneeze into a pile of tissues that’s looking steadily worse for wear, and rubs at his ears when they don’t quite pop after reaching the first aboveground station.
He’s barely aware of Dean leading him through the turnstiles at the station, tucking him gently into the Impala, and nearly falls asleep on the way back to the motel, head bumping gently on the back of the seat.
“C’mon, buddy,” Dean says as he guides Sam out of the car and into the room. “You can get into bed, and I’ll go burn those pollen-covered clothes.”
“Doe,” Sam protests. “’S by favorite jagcket… and by padts…”
Dean chuckles. “I was kidding, Sam. I’m not gonna burn your clothes. Now shut up and stop talking before you invent a new language. You’re lucky I can even understand you at this point.”
Sam nods sleepily and it turns into a sneeze as he snaps forward. “hep’tshCHHH!” He lets Dean sit him down on the bed, easing back on top of the covers until he’s curled up on his side. Dean places some tissues from the bathroom on the night table by his head and sets the trashcan on the floor next to him. Sam hears the jingle of keys and looks up, curious.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” Dean says.
“Please dod’t tell be you’re goig to look at the stupid cars,” Sam mumbles.
Surprised that Sam even remembers the cars from that morning, Dean pauses briefly before he responds, “Nope. This is strictly a pharmacy run. Soup, Gatorade, Sam drugs, extra-girly fluffy tissues. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, half an hour tops.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam agrees, flopping back onto the bed as he hears the door close and the Impala’s familiar rumble outside.
He swears he only closes his eyes for a second, but suddenly Dean’s back, coaxing him to take a couple of pills, and handing him tissue after tissue as Sam sneezes helplessly and blows his nose. It’s the best thing he’s felt all day, the lotion-infused tissue soft against his irritated nose.
“Ngk’KSHHH! …Dever agaid,” Sam mumbles breathlessly, curling up against Dean who’s sitting with his back resting against the headboard. “We’re dever… goig to DC agaid. Let’s stday… as far away… as possible. Okay?”
“Okay.” Dean raises his eyebrows, contemplating, and runs a hand through Sam’s messy hair. “I hear Canada’s nice this time of year.”
“O Cadada…” Sam sings softly, off-key and scratchy-voiced. He sneezes one last soft sneeze ( “h’ktchh!”), and then his breathing evens out, his eyes close slowly, and he’s asleep.
END.
tarotgal’s commentfic memes. Just archiving it here in my own journal.Title: Stupid Pink Flowers of Death
Prompt: Dean is allergic to cherry blossoms. Sam finds a job in Washington, D.C., and doesn't want to tell him at first. But it's either bored!Dean or sneezy!Dean and Sam decides the latter will be easier to deal with. So the boys roll into town in the spring when all the trees are in full bloom. (fic ended up being sneezy!Sam instead of Dean)
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, (nice librarian) :D
Rating: PG, for some swearing
“Sam, why are we here again?” Dean sighs, inching the Impala forward as if he can make the car in front of them move through sheer force of will.
“This girl has been haunting the—“
“Yeah, I know the job. But why are we here now?” Dean gestures at the car in front of them, the cars beside them, enclosing them on all sides. The cars that have barely moved twenty feet in the past twenty minutes. “Chick goes and gets herself killed during one of the peak tourist seasons, and it’s our job to sit in traffic and suffer the evils of rush hour?”
“Yeah,” Sam says, although he’s sort of stopped paying attention to Dean’s rant. Truth be told, he’s just kind of tired at this point, and really wants to get to a hotel so he can try to get rid of the headache that’s been building for the past forty-five minutes. Probably all the air pollution on the highway or something, he thinks. Congestion’s building in his sinuses, and he prays it just goes away so he can sleep.
If they ever manage to find a hotel, that is. Coming to DC right in the middle of the cherry blossom festival hadn’t exactly been the best plan, but it was one of those cases where the timing was everything. For the past five years, tourists had been getting killed at the festival, and people had reported seeing the ghost of a teenage girl. If they were going to put her spirit to rest, they needed to do it then.
But right in the middle of a big festival and spring break season, it had been impossible to find a hotel anywhere within the city. Even their usual crappy hotels were booked solid. So here they are, edging their way through endless traffic until they can find a place with an empty room.
“…Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Have I ever told you how much I hate traffic?”
* * *
An hour later, they’re fifteen miles out of the city and have finally found a place to stay for a few days. Dean pulls into the steep drive of the Anchor Inn and stops at the office, which is adorned with a giant red ship’s wheel. Why there would be a nautical-themed hotel in the middle of suburban Virginia is beyond Sam, but they’ve stayed in weirder places and he’s feeling tired and congested enough not to care.
They stumble into the room, drop their stuff by the table, and Sam flops down on the bed to sleep. Research can wait until tomorrow. He stares through the port-hole shaped window at the dark sky outside until his eyelids droop and he’s out.
* * *
The next morning, they’re driving down the street to the metro station, all dressed up in their Fed suits, Sam’s laptop bag in the backseat. Dean had wanted to drive all the way there, until Sam pointed out the reason it took them three hours to drive thirty miles the night before, and Dean reluctantly agrees. So, commuter train it is.
Sam’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, staring out the window and trying to ignore the headache that never completely went away the night before.
“Sam, check it out,” Dean says, sounding utterly mesmerized by something.
Sam turns his head, looking over at his brother who’s staring through the driver side window. “What?” he asks.
“It’s another Impala.”
Sure enough, there’s another black ‘67 Impala parked among half a parking lot of old classic cars. It’s a Dean Winchester paradise. Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Does this mean you’re backing out of the case? Do I get to salt and burn cherry blossom girl while you have a moment with the cars? Remember the whole ‘saving people’ thing, Dean?”
“What?” Dean turns to look back at him, trance broken. “No, yeah, I know.” He turns the radio up louder and pulls forward as the light changes, but not without one last, longing backward glance.
“They’ll still be there after we gank the ghost, you know,” Sam says, and when Dean glares over at him, he laughs.
* * *
The train car is crowded, filled with the last round of morning commuters, so he and Dean grab an empty space in the middle of the aisle and stand, bodies swaying back and forth with the rest of the mostly-quiet people. Sam’s so tall he doesn’t even have to stretch to grab the bar mounted from the ceiling, although he watches one girl struggling to hang on, stumbling every time the train speeds up or slows down.
Most of the people are absorbed in their newspapers or Kindles or iPods, looking down and ignoring the presence of the others around them. Sam thinks that this is what it must be like to have a 9 to 5 job, a normal life. Sometimes he’s glad he’s a hunter. As bad as it can get sometimes, he still knows that he’s always going to have his brother there next to him in the car, ready to crack some stupid joke or sing along with the radio, wildly out of tune.
The ride passes quietly, and don’t really talk until they reach their station, then get off the train and start walking towards the cherry blossoms and the street festival. The plan is to interview employees at the booths, see if they can dig up any dirt on who the ghost might be or how she attacks.
The sun is shining brightly, a gentle breeze blowing through the air and sending blossoms spiraling down to the ground. The place is crawling with tourists, families with kids sprawled out on picnic blankets, groups of people posing for pictures. Strangely enough, it makes it easier to remain inconspicuous, because it’s so crowded that no one cares about two guys in suits.
They spend about an hour walking around, looking for information. The longer they stay outside, the more Sam can feel congestion building up in his sinuses, but he tries to ignore it. He sniffles quietly when he thinks Dean won’t notice, and mostly manages to pass as a normal human being. If Dean notices that Sam’s letting him do more of the talking, he doesn’t mention it. Eventually they get a name and a year out of one of the vendors who’s been there forever.
“So, what do you think? Find a library, see if we can figure out where she’s buried?” Dean asks as they walk away from the sake and sushi booth.
Sam’s busy pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to massage some of the pressure away. “What? Yeah. Library sounds good.”
“Dude, are you okay?” Dean asks, stopping on the edge of the sidewalk under a tree.
Sam nods, but his nose is running like crazy, and he quickly digs a spare tissue out of his laptop bag, scrubbing it across his nose and trying to relieve some of the itchy feeling. He’s beginning to think he really should have taken more from the hotel bathroom. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just get this done.”
“You sure?” Dean eyes his brother cautiously.
“Dean, I said I’m fi… fi-heh… heh… ITSSSCHHH! h’KSHH! Ha-TSHH! ITKSSHHcheh! NXCHH! …I’b fide.” He fumbles with the bag, adjusting the strap on his shoulder until Dean reaches out and grabs it from him, slinging it over his own body.
“Sure you are,” he deadpans.
Sam, eyes closed, doesn’t respond at first. He pinches the bridge of his nose, groans in pain at the sinus pressure that won’t let up, and then sighs. “Cobe od. I just wadt to fidish this case, ogkay?”
Dean looks skeptical, one eyebrow raised.
Sam sniffles and insists, “Dean, I’m fide. It’s just allergies. See, look? Done sneezing. Can we do the job?”
Dean nods, although he still doesn’t look entirely convinced, and pulls out the map to figure out the way to the library.
* * *
They’re looking through old newspapers in the library when the urge comes on suddenly. “hetschh!” He muffles the sneeze into his shoulder and then raises his head again, looking back to the page he was reading. Dean glances up at him from across the table, but says nothing.
He continues reading, blinking rapidly to ward off the itchy, teary-eyed feeling. He finishes the paper in front of him and, while reaching out to grab another paper, snaps back suddenly, pushing his nose into the crook of his arm. “hmph’tshhh! hk’gshh! AH-KGSHH! Huh-chihSHHH!”
As the fit dies down, he looks up to find Dean gone, his seat across the table empty. He’s about to look around for his brother, but is forced to cover his face with his hands, trying futilely to stifle another sneeze. “ngk’KSHHH! CHSHHHehh…” He sniffles desperately, trying to keep his nose from running too badly.
Dean suddenly reappears and thunks his hand down on the table to reveal a pile of soft-looking tissues. Sam instantly grabs for one and brings it to his streaming nose, sighing gratefully.
“How…?” he mumbles, voice muffled by tissue.
“The librarian thinks I’m cute,” Dean says, grinning suggestively. He looks across the room to the information desk and smiles, and Sam turns his head briefly to take a look. “She thinks you are, too, by the way, but in a sad, pathetic kind of way. I think she wants to take you home and wrap you up in warm fuzzy blankets.”
“I wouldn’d say doe to thad,” Sam says, sniffling.
“First you need to be able to pronounce ‘no’, sneezy.”
“Shuddup,” Sam answers. “I’ll s… heh… sdeeze on you. heh’KtchSHHH!”
Dean reaches over and pretends to wipe off the books, but it sends up a cloud of dust and musty book scent.
“AH’kgshh! Ep’TSCHH! Hah’CHSHH! heh… I hahh… hate—hih… Hgk’EHTSHH! Hp’TSCHHIH! NGKSHHuhh… I hade you.”
“I doe you do, Sabby,” Dean mocks, but softens it with a grin in Sam’s direction. “Now, come on. The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we can leave …Especially since people are starting to stare at you.”
Sam glances furtively around, and sure enough, he catches a couple of annoyed glances from other people trying to study. He shrinks down in his chair, trying to make himself smaller, and silently begs the lingering itch in his nose to go away.
* * *
Armed with the address of a local cemetery and a huge stack of tissues, they leave the library and head back to near where they started. Apparently the girl’s buried not too far from where she was killed. Sam can’t decide whether that’s touching or slightly morbid, but at least they don’t have very far to go. His nose is definitely not cooperating, and he wants nothing more than to figure out a plan and head back to the motel to get some relief.
They make their way down the block and along a winding path that takes them through more cherry trees and artfully landscaped flowers. After another furious round of sneezing from Sam, Dean glances up at the row of trees they’re currently walking under.
“Stupid pink fucking flowers of death,” he curses for Sam’s sake, who is currently putting the library’s tissues to good use.
Sam sniffles congestedly and answers, “It’s dot theb, Dean. Cherry blossobs dod’t produce wid-borde polled.”
“What?”
“Polled,” Sam clarifies unsuccessfully. “I’b allergic to polled ad it’s dot the cherry trees, it’s sobethig else.”
“Wh—pollen? ” Dean asks, trying to translate congested Sam-speak in his head.
Sam nods. “hgktshh!”
“Well, fine,” Dean replies, shoving his hands in his suit pockets and digging out another tissue. “But it’s easier to blame them for it.”
Sam sniffs and rolls his eyes as they reach the entrance to the cemetery. They find her grave quickly enough, working their way through rows of headstones decorated with flower arrangements – which really don’t help things much. Dean finds a couple of shovels near a maintenance shed and stashes them in a row of hedges near the grave. Not having the Impala parked nearby with all of their gear makes the logistics of gravedigging a little trickier, but nothing they can’t handle. Satisfied that they’re ready to come back later that night, Dean drags Sam toward the metro station and they board the train to head back to the motel.
The ride back is even more crowded than before, which Sam hadn’t thought possible, and it’s standing room only. He’s squished between Dean and a guy with a bulky backpack and a fancy-looking camera hanging around his neck. Red-eyed and runny-nosed, Sam keeps sneezing, muffling them into his shoulder and trying not to attract too much attention, which is kind of hard when you’re a sick sasquatch in a suit. Dean tells Sam to try not to sneeze on him, but mostly he just stands there, shoulder to shoulder with his brother, and looks sympathetic as Sam blinks tiredly and sniffles.
* * *
They get back to the hotel and Sam stumbles inside, making a beeline for his duffle.“I godda gedt out of this sdupid suidt.”
“Sorry, was that English?” Dean says, and Sam glares at him through red, watery eyes.
“Hgk’TCHSHH!” he replies, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on the chair. He strips down to his t-shirt and shorts and flops down on the nearest bed with a tired sigh.“So fuckig sigck of sdeezig,” he mumbles into his pillow.
“You wanna sit this one out? I could handle it,” Dean says as he changes from slacks into a pair of faded jeans.
“Doe, I dod’t wadt you to go alode. I’ll be fide.”
“We could do it tomorrow, couldn’t we? You look like you’re not gonna make it through another round with Mother Nature, and I don’t really want to be dragging your lifeless body all over the city.”
Sam looks up from his pillow. “heh’HTCHUHH! Id’s the one dight a year she haunts the place, Dean. We do it today or we wait udtil dext year and more udsuspectig tourists get killed.”
“Alright,” Dean agrees. “Just chill for awhile. I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out.” He begins packing a backpack full of rock salt and gasoline while Sam zones out on the bed, head feeling fuzzy and body aching.
* * *
Sam feels a little better after he’s slept awhile, but by the time they get to the cemetery that night, he’s back to being as congested as ever.
“Didn’t the Benadryl I found help?” Dean asks.
“Doe, it’s dot workig. I thigk it was expired,” Sam explains after they jump the fence and are walking towards the gravesite.
“Why would someone put a cemetery right next to a field of fucking cherry blossoms, anyway?” Dean grumbles, grabbing the shovels from where they’d been stashed and tossing one to his brother.
“It’s supposed to be peaceful, Dean.”
Dean snorts derisively at that. “Ghost chick clearly isn’t getting that feeling. And neither are you, I’m guessing. All the things you’re allergic to and they’re right the fuck here.”
“I’ll be okay,” Sam says a bit breathlessly as they reach the grave.
Halfway through digging, Sam pauses and Dean looks up to see his brother leaning against the handle of his shovel, nose twitching as he tries to hold off the building itch. “Heh’TSCHSHHH! Mph’KSHHH! HHAHtsssch!” Sam sneezes desperately in rapid-fire succession.
“Sam!” Dean hisses, swinging his head side to side and scanning for people.
“I’m s—h’TKSHSHHH! Eh’KSSSHH! HuhNSHH!” Sam pants, trying to catch his breath, even as he senses the build-up to the next round of sneezes.
“Cut it out, someone’s gonna hear,” Dean says insistently.
Sam drags a sleeve impatiently across his nose. “I’b tryig, I cad’t sd—sdop… hh…heh… heh…HmphCHSHHH! Heh’TSCHH! Hh—heh—HATSCHHhuh! Oh, man…” Sam pants, sniffling.
“At least try to be quiet about it,” Dean practically begs, starting to dig again because he’s getting the feeling this won’t end well. “If we get caught out here because of you, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Cad’t help it…” Sam’s leaning against the edge of the grave, shovel completely forgotten, as he tries frantically to muffle the sneezes in his sleeve. “Htsch! Hgksh! GHSHH! N’kshshhh! DSHHH! Hitchshh! Ngktch! hih… HAA’tchSHISHHH! …uhhh…”At the end of it, he’s left breathless and gasping, tears obscuring his vision.
“Done?” he hears Dean say.
He nods, wiping at his eyes. “…Sorry.”
“Just dig, okay?”
Sam picks up his shovel, sniffling carefully for fear of setting off another fit, and digs until he hears the hollow sound of the shovel hitting the top of the casket.
* * *
The salt and burn itself is fairly straightforward, except for the part where Dean was nearly taken out by a ghost while Sam was doubled over sneezing his head off. But somehow they manage it, setting her bones on fire and then quickly sneaking out of the cemetery before anyone comes by and sees them.
They stop half a block down the street when Sam needs to catch his breath. Dean turns around to see him standing there, eyes closed, panting helplessly at the torturous build-up to another set of sneezes. Dean can’t believe his brother’s still standing by this point.
“hh… hih… heh… hh’NGKshh—HA’tshhh—HpCHSHH—hh… heh… hih… hrmphCHSHHUH!” The last sneezes are muffled as Sam buries his nose in a tissue. “hptsh! ktch! iptch! HA’tchhihshh!” He looks up through teary eyes to find Dean counting on his fingers.
“Dude, that was eight in a row,” Dean totals up, holding up his hands. “Going for a world record, Sammy?”
“Ugh… jerk,” Sam is able to mutter before blowing his nose into the wad of tissues. It’s painful and doesn’t help much, so he pulls the tissues away, sniffling wetly. He feels a hand on his shoulder and hears Dean say,
“C’mon, bitch. Let’s get you out of pollen hell.” He steers Sam toward the metro station, guiding him out of the way of a small group of pedestrians walking by.
“Ogkay,” Sam agrees congestedly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, and they walk in silence down the street.
…
“ipTCHSHH! k’tchihSHHUH! ...Deed?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“…I really hade polled.”
“I know, kiddo, I know.”
* * *
The metro ride back to the hotel is blissfully quiet. There are empty seats this time, so Sam gets to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder and doesn’t care who thinks what about them. He turns away every few minutes to sneeze into a pile of tissues that’s looking steadily worse for wear, and rubs at his ears when they don’t quite pop after reaching the first aboveground station.
He’s barely aware of Dean leading him through the turnstiles at the station, tucking him gently into the Impala, and nearly falls asleep on the way back to the motel, head bumping gently on the back of the seat.
“C’mon, buddy,” Dean says as he guides Sam out of the car and into the room. “You can get into bed, and I’ll go burn those pollen-covered clothes.”
“Doe,” Sam protests. “’S by favorite jagcket… and by padts…”
Dean chuckles. “I was kidding, Sam. I’m not gonna burn your clothes. Now shut up and stop talking before you invent a new language. You’re lucky I can even understand you at this point.”
Sam nods sleepily and it turns into a sneeze as he snaps forward. “hep’tshCHHH!” He lets Dean sit him down on the bed, easing back on top of the covers until he’s curled up on his side. Dean places some tissues from the bathroom on the night table by his head and sets the trashcan on the floor next to him. Sam hears the jingle of keys and looks up, curious.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” Dean says.
“Please dod’t tell be you’re goig to look at the stupid cars,” Sam mumbles.
Surprised that Sam even remembers the cars from that morning, Dean pauses briefly before he responds, “Nope. This is strictly a pharmacy run. Soup, Gatorade, Sam drugs, extra-girly fluffy tissues. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, half an hour tops.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam agrees, flopping back onto the bed as he hears the door close and the Impala’s familiar rumble outside.
He swears he only closes his eyes for a second, but suddenly Dean’s back, coaxing him to take a couple of pills, and handing him tissue after tissue as Sam sneezes helplessly and blows his nose. It’s the best thing he’s felt all day, the lotion-infused tissue soft against his irritated nose.
“Ngk’KSHHH! …Dever agaid,” Sam mumbles breathlessly, curling up against Dean who’s sitting with his back resting against the headboard. “We’re dever… goig to DC agaid. Let’s stday… as far away… as possible. Okay?”
“Okay.” Dean raises his eyebrows, contemplating, and runs a hand through Sam’s messy hair. “I hear Canada’s nice this time of year.”
“O Cadada…” Sam sings softly, off-key and scratchy-voiced. He sneezes one last soft sneeze ( “h’ktchh!”), and then his breathing evens out, his eyes close slowly, and he’s asleep.
END.
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Date: 2014-04-21 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-21 02:22 am (UTC)So thank you, again! It's nice to know that you still like it. :)