selene_13 | SPN FIC: Telling the Difference

Title: Telling the Difference
Disclaimer: These boys are not belong to me.
Spoilers: None
Category: h/c
Rating: PG
Words: 823
Characters: Dean, Sam
Summary: Written for "A Sneezy-SPN-Boys Comment Fic Meme" over at madserver's lj.
Prompt: Sam can always tell when Dean's getting sick by the way his sneezes sound. (ie louder, more desperate, more itchy). Dean's getting sick and doesn't realize it - but Sam does. Because Sam can hear the difference. Maybe Sam keeps it to himself and just stocks up on the NyQuil? Or does he tell Dean, and Dean's all like "What you talkin 'bout, Sammy? Pfft. No." And then Sam's all like "told you so!" every time he fills up Dean's water glass because Dean can't get out of bed.

Dean’s muffled sneeze and the slight swerve of the car wake Sam up. He blinks into the afternoon sun, shining into his face. Next to him, Dean sneezes again. Sam doesn’t think much of it. He settles back into his seat, though sleep eludes him now.

About ten minutes later, Dean snaps forward with another sneeze, dusting the wheel with spray. Another sneeze follows directly. Dean grimaces, snorts back snot, and hocks a loogie out his window.

Ok, gross. But also, crap. “Hey,” Sam says, letting Dean know that he’s awake. “You sick?” he asks, carefully.

“What?” Dean huffs, surprised. “No. Why?”

Looking at Dean, he didn’t really look sick. Rundown, maybe, but that was no different from yesterday or the day before. They both were getting on by the skin of their teeth. Sam keeps with it anyway, going by experience. “You just sneezed two times.”

Dean looks at him like he’s nuts. “So?!”

“You never really sneeze unless you’re sick. Then you always sneeze in two’s.” Sam explains, feeling dumb saying it out loud and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Even if Dean was getting sick, he’d never admit it and have a talk about it with Sam.

“I do not.” Dean says, put upon, knuckling his nose.

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“I do not, assmunch.”

Sam rolls his eyes and hunkers down in his seat, looking away. He’s not going to have an argument about it. Dean shakes his head in disbelief and fiddles with the radio until he finds a station playing “Hotel California” and turns it up, cutting off further conversation.

A half hour later they stop for gas. Dean fills up the Impala while Sam uses the restroom and gets some snacks and drinks. Coming back out, he sees Dean blinking into the sun, rubbing a hand alongside his nose. He snaps forward with an “EhhhSHSHSHuh!” Before he can even take another breath, he does it again, sneezing freely. “ACKSSHHuhh!” He wipes his nose and mouth on his sleeve, gives a little cough.

Still gross, but Sam feels validated. The store bag may be filled with M&Ms and twizzlers, but also cough syrup, tissues and Tylenol. He’s not leaving anything up to chance.

“Still not sick?” Sam asks, as he dumps the bag on the back seat, hops back in front.

Dean throws Sam an irritated glare. “Come on. Just cause a guy sneezes, doesn’t mean they’re sick. I feel fine, okay. ”

“All right,” Sam agrees. He unwraps a twizzler, sticks it in his mouth. Dean makes no move towards the M&Ms and starts the car.

It seems that every minute that they’re driving, Dean’s looking just a tiny bit more worse for wear. He keeps scraping his throat and his nose is tinged red at the tip from surreptitious finger rubs. He looks slightly over-heated and his hair’s disheveled because he keeps running his hand through it. He seems completely unaware of the fact that his breath is turning a little wheezy. Sam knows where this road leads.

“We should stop,” he says, pointing to a sign for a Motel 6.

“Still have daylight to burn,” Dean says, absently.

“Come on, man, I’m hungry,” Sam wheedles, hoping to trigger Dean’s big brother nature, though it’s no fail safe method. “And I could really use some sleep.”

Dean eyes him suspiciously. It’s not going to work. Then his eyes lose their focus and:

“HaaTCHSSHOO!”

The sneeze catches him completely off guard, and he blinks in surprise. His nose twitches and he takes another sharp breath, before furiously rubbing at his nose.

Sam has to grin.

Dean sees it and growls: “I do not sneeze in-Hn… HetCHUSHSH!”

“No?” says Sam. “Have a tissue.” He digs a box of kleenex from the bag and opens it for Dean.

Affronted but not refusing, Dean picks some. He blows his nose, grumbles, then sneezes twice more. This time the car visibly swerves.

“Either I’m driving, or we’re checking into that motel,” Sam insists, and Dean sighs and nods, wiping at watering eyes with his wad of tissues. He takes the exit.

Sam checks them in while Dean parks, then they carry their bags into the room. Dean drops on the nearest bed and immediately sneezes into the pillow.

“Yeah, that one’s yours,” Sam mutters and dumps his gear. He walks into the bathroom to get a glass of water, another one of Dean’s sneezes echoing behind him, and he offers it to his brother along with the Tylenol he’s bought. Dean’s almost asleep already and he has to nudge him to take the water and pills. He feels warm to the touch.

“Feeling sick now?” Sam asks, evenly.

Dean sniffs, mumbles, “Too freaking clever for your own good.” He rubs his forehead, coughs, buries his head in his pillow.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Sam draws the curtains, nukes a hot pocket and grabs a book. Gets settled in.

END