Since We've No Place To Go (M) - (Supernatural, 12 parts) - Completed 12/25/12

[BlueRandom]

Title: Since We've No Place To Go

Fandom: Supernatural

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: For mads3rv3r's live-journal comment fic meme; (http://mad-server.li....com/44195.html). Basically, I felt like extending the prompt to let them get snowed in. Mainly 'cos Sam can only hide things for so long if they're shut in.

Warning: Set between episodes 2.11 and 2.12; so could be spoilers up to then.

Notes: For this prompt –

'Sam took that dive into the pool in Playthings, and he was kind of stressed out and hungover at the time. Maybe as they are driving along afterwards he at first thinks that his pounding headache is the last of the hangover, but then Dean asks if he's OK and he croaks like a frog, and the highway is doing this shimmery heat-haze like thing even though the weather is chilly, and . . .'

Part One

It had to have been at least twenty-four hours since the whiskey and tequila binge; but Sam's head was still splitting, heavy as lead inside his skull. The scenery had merged into mountains, and they were working their way steadily uphill; their eyes growing accustomed to the light that dazzled as it hit the snow surrounding them.

"Uhh'Heschh!" Sam groaned, pressing the inside of his cast-encased wrist to his forehead. "Ugh-hh."

"Serves you right, man."

"You know what? 'Bless you' would have been fine." His t-shirt was clinging to him uncomfortably; giving him the sensation that he still wasn't entirely dry from diving into the Thompsons' pool earlier.

They were driving north from Connecticut, the Pierpont Inn now a few hours behind them. Dean was cruising with apparent purpose, but Sam was utterly clueless as to where they were headed. Not that he really cared: anywhere with a bed, preferably soundproofing, and no alcohol in sight was just great by him. His headache was causing the road ahead to shimmer blurrily, in the way air and landscapes appeared to vibrate in ninety degree heat. He closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the resulting dizziness and the sound of the cassette tape, and let sleep wash over him.

Dean swore abrasively as the brakes on the Impala screeched in the slushy mix of snow and mud that covered the makeshift driveway leading up to a lodge. It was either that or the quavering thump as a mini avalanche landed on the windshield that forced Sam to jolt awake, shake his head tentatively, and turn, inquiring, to Dean.

"This's it," his brother muttered, preoccupied as he launched himself out of the car door and started to brush snow from the Impala's hood. "Home sweet … well, yeah."

John had made one or two trips up the mountain with the boys, hunting various types of cold-dwelling killers. Sam had been too young to remember, but, with some help from Bobby, Dean had scrambled together the scraps of directions lurking in the back of his memories.

"Man!" he exclaimed angrily, tipping his head skywards in frustration. "Just what we need. More fucking snow."

"Here." Extracting a tarpaulin from the trunk, Sam helped him cover the car and fix the ends to the ground. "At least we don't need to worry about carol singers."

"That's just hilarious, Sam."

The taller guy shrugged, rubbing his nose distractedly. Leaving Dean to tuck in his baby, he wandered over to the front door, pushing it cautiously open. The interior of the lodge was dark, the curtains being drawn and shutters closed; a streak of grey light from the doorway illuminating the musty floorboards and rug in the small hallway. Sam moved instinctively towards the windows, removing material from each in turn until the gloom had lifted.

"Huh. Kind of how I remembered," remarked Dean, heaving the duffel bag over the doorstep. He took a few steps into the living room, and ran his hand across the ledge above the ash-laden fireplace. "But smaller. And dirtier."

"Uhh … huh-uhh …" For a moment, Sam stood rigid, one hand raised in the air. "Huhh'Chshh!" He prayed that Dean hadn't heard the small whimpering sound that slipped out, as his head rebelled.

Fortunately, his brother had gone to inspect the room next to the bathroom, returning with a sheepish look on his face. "Damn, I forgot. I call the bed."

"You call the – there's only one bed?"

"Yup. You were just a kid when we used to come here with Dad. You still had one of those travel cot-type things."

Sam eyed the moth-eaten couch with dislike, trying to size up how much of his legs would be sticking over the arm at the end. "Flip you for it."

The coin landed firmly tails-up on Dean's palm; his own call. "Tough luck, bitch. And I am beat, so …" He swung himself onto the bed, generously tossing one of the pillows to his indignant brother.

"Gee, thanks," Sam intoned sarcastically, catching it against his chest. A moment later, he held it up in front of his face, blocking Dean from view as he sneezed. "Huhh … hh'CHShoo! Uhh … heh-SHUHH!"

"You okay?"

"Uh huh." He grimaced when his voice came out as a croak, clearing his throat hastily. Pretending not to see Dean raising his eyebrows, he settled awkwardly onto the sofa in the main room; somehow cramming his limbs into a disproportionately small space.

It felt like only a few minutes had passed when Sam sprang up, startled, to find Dean standing behind the couch, ripping back the curtains.

"Dean, it's the middle of the night."

"Not so much." Dean seized the handle of the front door, yanking it open. A torrent of snow collapsed onto the wooden boards in front of them, a solid wall blocking the doorway.

"What the hell?" Sam instinctively shoved at the icy mass, withdrawing his hands sharply as the cold stung his skin.

"I think the term is 'snowed under'."

_ _ _

Edited December 25, 2012 by BlueRandom

[obsessed]

Oh my, sick Sam snowed in?

I love it already.

[everest]

Oooo. Yes, this IS wonderful. I can't wait for more.

[shygreeneyes]

This scenario is so far beyond awesome I have no words.

[crazy_cat_girl]

Awww, that's so perfect! Trapped together!

Can't wait for the next!

[iluvsneezes]

Sneezy!snowed-in!Sammy? OMG, this fic is a dream come true!

[27jj]

Ooh, haven't read this on LJ yet!! Yay sick!Sammy:) This makes me so happy, I've really been wanting a fic after Playthings when Sam jumped in that pool.

Sneezy!snowed-in!Sammy? OMG, this fic is a dream come true!

500% agree there:) I love you so much for making them get snowed in!!

And I really REALLY loved Sam catching the pillow, then holding it in front of his face to sneeze...…really.

Edited September 10, 2010 by 27jaredjensen

[MusicaDiabolos]

OOoooooo, such a promising beginning Love it! And Playthings = <3

[Lady Blessington]

Sweeeet.

Posting a link.

Awesome to see the Sam-cast busted out, BTW. Is there anything more pitiful than headachy groaning Sam sneezing and wincing and comforting his head with his casted wrist?

Edited September 11, 2010 by mads3rv3r

[W.I.N.]

Oh my God, TELL ME YOU ARE CONTINUING!

...

Uh... I mean, that was very enjoyable and I do hope you keep going.

~W.I.N.

[ID2006]

EEEEE!!!!! So much sneezy Sammy goodness lately.

[BlueRandom]

Heya! Thanks loads for the comments - much love!

Part Two

The novelty of being snowed in took approximately thirty seconds to wear off: coinciding with Dean’s recollection of the two things he loved most in the world. Namely; the Impala, and food. After a few minutes of calling “baby!” through the snow-buried door, he slumped against the skirting board with evident misery. Sam could almost see his thought process scrawled over his features as he glanced over to the fridge, considering whether they would find anything worth eating, before approaching it with caution.

“Ahh, jeez!” Sam lurched away from the appliance as a wave of putrid air hit him, carried from the slabs of rotting meat on the lower shelves. Coughing, he slammed it shut; glaring at Dean with resentment.

“What, you think it was gonna be roses?” Dean kicked at the bottom of the fridge door. “We gotta find something to – Sam?”

The coughing went on longer than either of them expected, Dean watching a little anxiously until his brother straightened up, regaining doubtful control. It had taken a substantial amount of willpower to keep Dean from banging him obnoxiously on the back.

“So. Food. I’m starved.”

“Try the – g’uhh …” Sam sucked in a sharp breath, cupping his hands over his face. “Uhh … huh’ehh … huh’SHEHH!”

“Yeah, I’m not trying that. Sounded painful.”

“Cupboards. Try the cupboards.”

There turned out to be a bulky supply of tins arranged in stacks; mainly soup, lentils, and various types of beans. Dean cracked one open from the top of the pile with the rusty tin opener, tipping the beans straight into his mouth.

“Gross, Dean.”

“You want yours heated?” Dean gulped, and ran a finger round the rim of the can. “These are pretty tasty, considering they’ve been here about ten years.” At his brother’s repulsed grimace, he shrugged. “What? We’ve both had worse.”

“Not willingly.” Sam started chewing the fingernails on the hand that wasn’t trapped in plaster, in the way that made the tip of his nose crinkle. He looked so pathetically appealing, Dean contemplated; like a cornered puppy.

Impatience returning, Dean crossed the room and crouched down to examine the storage cabinet next door. “Locked. You got any idea where the key is?”

“How the hell would I know? I don’t even remember this place.” Placing one finger on a point above his eyebrow, Sam eased small circles against his skin. “Why’d you want to come here, anyway?”

Dean was busy heaving aside the two stacks of ancient books hoarded beside the fireplace. “Felt like … had some … unfinished business.” He let the last few volumes fall behind him, retrieving a metallic object from under a skewed floorboard. “Gotcha.”

“Unfinished business.” Sam mimicked the phrase, sceptically; caught between curiousity and heavy-headed resignation. “You wanna give me a hint?”

“Well.” Twisting the key in the lock of the cupboard, Dean began to remove an assortment of papers, leaflets, and scattered objects; tipping them onto the uneven wood. “I thought we could start with this.”

“How did you know that stuff was there?” Sam knelt down by his side, picking up a flier in bemusement.

“Just a hunch. Okay, Bobby’s hunch.”

“Are these Dad’s?” The paper in Sam’s hand was scrawled over in his father’s familiar hand-writing. “Dean, was he working on a case when we were last here?”

“Not with me or you. But Bobby reckons he came back recently – ” Dean broke off, reaching for a tabloid to one side of the heap. “Check out the date on this.”

“That’s from last year.”

“Right.”

They exchanged a terse glance. Then Sam jerked away, bringing his fist up to his nose. “Uhh … ngh’CHSHh! Hehh … uhh’HESCHh!” Flushing self-consciously, he lowered his eyes to the newspaper on his lap. Dean regarded him with knowing wariness as he lifted the wrist covered by the cast precariously in front of his face, inhaling rapidly. “Huh … huhh’SHEWw!”

“Sammy?”

“No.” He blinked, and held his breath uncertainly for a second. “Why did we really come here?”

“I told you. To see if there was anything Dad left us to do.”

“Look, I think we both know that –” Sam’s voice cracked a little as he spoke, and he kneaded his throat.

“Drop it, Sam.” Dean had been staring at one of John’s notebooks, but now he tossed it back into the cabinet and snatched up a remote control from on top of the a dusty television. “Think we’ll get any reception?”

“I doubt it.” Sam couldn’t help smiling. “Is that thing even in colour?”

“Hey.” Wagging an index finger at his brother, Dean indicated the slot below the screen. “See? Got a video player and all.”

Not unpredictably, the T.V. showed no signs of life across the channels as Dean flicked through them with unfailing optimism. The crackling waves of black and white dots intensified Sam’s headache, and his nose prickled. “Hehh’Chuhh!”

“Bless you. Again.” Dean was fiddling with the video cassette slot. “There’s already a tape in here.”

He tapped another button on the remote, and an indistinct image appeared on the screen: a copse of fir trees, panicked breathing audible from the background. The view remained steady, other than the tremor of the hand-held camera, just long enough for Dean to contemplate switching it off. Then a shadow ripped across the trees; there was a scratching sound that raised the hairs on Sam’s arms, and the picture dissolved into fuzz.

Dean whistled, low. “Oh, boy.”

_ _ _

[shygreeneyes]

Poor Sammy. Snowed in, sick, broken wrist, with nothing to eat but ancient canned beans.

And a monster outside! Nifty.

[MusicaDiabolos]

Hooray! You updated! It's like a late Christmas present for me

Sick, miserable Sammy with his cast. And a mysterious monster. I love everything about this!

[Silent Sophie]

How the hell didn't I see this before?!

I'm loving this story, I'm loving every single word of it! Oh Sammy!

Sam started chewing the fingernails on the hand that wasn’t trapped in plaster, in the way that made the tip of his nose crinkle.

^ That's what you did to me with this line... The image of someone chewing his fingernails has never been so sexy!

God, I LOVE your attention for all these little details!

[27jj]

OH JOY YES. I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH. AND I’M SO HAPPY THERE IS MORE.

GAH the sneezes. And I love this part:

“So. Food. I’m starved.”

“Try the – g’uhh …” Sam sucked in a sharp breath, cupping his hands over his face. “Uhh … huh’ehh … huh’SHEHH!”

“Yeah, I’m not trying that. Sounded painful.”

“Cupboards. Try the cupboards.”

Annnd sneezy Sammy. And when he gets all self conscious and flushed and voice-crackly and his cast and now there’s a monster…happy Tuesday, 27jj:)

Ooh and I totally agree with this:

^ That's what you did to me with this line... The image of someone chewing his fingernails has never been so sexy!

[Foxfire]

You continued!!!! That's so awesome!!! Thank you so much! I love this story!

“Try the – g’uhh …” Sam sucked in a sharp breath, cupping his hands over his face. “Uhh … huh’ehh … huh’SHEHH!”

“Yeah, I’m not trying that. Sounded painful.”

“Cupboards. Try the cupboards.”

That's sooooo Dean! I nearly fell out of my chair because I was laughing so hard!

Wanna more, pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase *puppy eyes*!

[Moo]

Oh gosh, how cute! I love Sick!Sam [Especially when he also happens to be self-conscious or in denial ]

[obsessed]

yay for updates!

And the suspense? Mm, I like it. dundundun.

[BlueRandom]

Oh my God, TELL ME YOU ARE CONTINUING!

Hehe, yep! (Well, occasionally ...) Hopefully you will too? I remember your stories being awesome.

Poor Sammy. Snowed in, sick, broken wrist, with nothing to eat but ancient canned beans.

And a monster outside! Nifty.

He seems to be very much the whiny Sam of early seasons, but I loved him then ... Thanks for commenting!

Hooray! You updated! It's like a late Christmas present for me

Sick, miserable Sammy with his cast. And a mysterious monster. I love everything about this!

Another very very late x-mas pressie in a sec?

How the hell didn't I see this before?!

I'm loving this story, I'm loving every single word of it! Oh Sammy!

Sam started chewing the fingernails on the hand that wasn’t trapped in plaster, in the way that made the tip of his nose crinkle.

^ That's what you did to me with this line... The image of someone chewing his fingernails has never been so sexy!

God, I LOVE your attention for all these little details!

Thank you! I loved imagining him chewing his nails ... it's quite Sam ...

OH JOY YES. I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH. AND I’M SO HAPPY THERE IS MORE.

GAH the sneezes. And I love this part:

“So. Food. I’m starved.”

“Try the – g’uhh …” Sam sucked in a sharp breath, cupping his hands over his face. “Uhh … huh’ehh … huh’SHEHH!”

“Yeah, I’m not trying that. Sounded painful.”

“Cupboards. Try the cupboards.”

Annnd sneezy Sammy. And when he gets all self conscious and flushed and voice-crackly and his cast and now there’s a monster…happy Tuesday, 27jj:)

Aww, thanks! I your stories MUCHLY.

You continued!!!! That's so awesome!!! Thank you so much! I love this story!

Wanna more, pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase *puppy eyes*!

More in a sec! Sorry it's been insanely long ...

Oh gosh, how cute! I love Sick!Sam [Especially when he also happens to be self-conscious or in denial ]

I love Sick!Sam too! Can you tell?

yay for updates!

And the suspense? Mm, I like it. dundundun.

Thanks! Yay for updates indeed.

[BlueRandom]

I know this is a very unseasonal update with the snowed-in theme and all, and sorry it's been so long, but here goes …

Part Three

Sam's eyelids were doing the flickering thing again, Dean noticed, half-way between open and shut; his uninjured hand clutching the door frame. Dean started to count down in his head. Three. It was something like judging the speed of an oncoming car: instinctive, just a matter of registering – two – the distance away; small signs building up to – one – the critical point …

“Huhh'IHShoo! … uhh … uhh'Shehh!” Sam made a snuffling kind of noise, moving over to the sofa and returning his attention to the page of notes in front of him. “Well, it's definitely Dad's handwri – huh … hand … hii-ihTSchh!” He cupped the cast-free hand over his nose, shielding the notes.

“Maybe it's a good thing we're stuck up here,” mused Dean, rewinding the video cassette to freeze-frame the shadow once again.

“Excuse me?”

“I can't take you on a case like this. You're a liability.”

“You can't 'take me on a case'?” Sam's indignation gave way to impatience as he pressed his fingers against one side of his nose.

“If you don't sneeze in the next ten seconds I'll reconsider.”

Sam's mouth was already slightly open - Dean could see him visibly attempting to hold his breath. He grabbed the neck of his hoody, yanking it up over the bottom half of his face. “Kk'xhht!”

“Nice try, Bashful. So what d'you reckon that is?” Dean jabbed the remote control towards the T.V. screen.

“Not fast enough for a wendigo,” mused Sam, coughing gently into his fist. “And we're not in the right location.”

“As if that mattered - they're not normally found in Colorado either, remember? What's the likelihood Dad killed the sucker already?”

“How would I know?”

“Wow. Someone's an asshole when they're sick. Man, I haven't seen you sick since you were ...” Dean waved vaguely in the region of his chest. “'Bout that high.”

“I'm not -”

“Whatever, Sammy.”

“It's Sam,” intoned his brother, wearily, his voice husky.

“You little ball of germs, you.” Dean ruffled his hair in mock sentimentality. Sam made use of his plaster cast by thumping him; wincing as the collision shook his wrist.

“I can't find anything in here about a mountain case,” Sam murmured, flipping over the notes with a sigh. “They're all the usual – small town in the Midwest, ravaged by generic evil spirit ...”

“We could try the basement,” suggested Dean, cutting across him.

“There's a basement?”

“This is Dad we're talking about. There's always a basement.” Dean dumped the remote control onto the coffee table and got to his feet, heading for the kitchen. “Besides, where'd you think he was gonna keep the rock salt?”

Sam had stopped listening, rubbing urgently at his nose with his knuckles. As usual, his emotions were painfully obvious: he was clearly frustrated with himself, and, judging by the faint glow of his cheeks under their light tan, embarrassed. “Huhh … hh-ESCHHh'uhh!”

“Bless you already. You coming?”

“Mm …” Sam lifted his hand a little way in front of him, letting it hover as he jerked forward again. “Ehh … huhh'IHShoo! Huh'CHShoo! … huhh … huh'ESCHh-hh!”

“Seriously? Done yet?”

“Go to hell, Dean.”

Dean had kicked open a low wooden door on the far side of the kitchen, that Sam had taken to be a cupboard of some kind. He had to stoop to follow Dean inside, down a set of unstable stairs leading into a cellar. A crossbow was leaned against the closest wall, along with two or three sacks of rock salt. There was a shuttered window on a sloping section of the ceiling, which Sam supposed would illuminate the stale darkness to some extent, had it not been covered with a dense mound of snow.

“It's freezing down here,” complained Dean, as he started to rummage through a cardboard box from a six-foot stack. Sam huddled deeper into his hoody, frowning in mute protest against being enticed to sort through junk in the basement.

“Couldn't he just have left all this crap in one place? Bobby's, or something?”

Dean shrugged unconcernedly, delving into the contents of his box with interest. “Dad used to come up here as a retreat – just to get away from everything. He was never working on anything when he brought us here.”

“Then what was he doing this time?”

“Same reason as we're going through all this now. Trouble finds us, and we can't just let it go.” He grinned, then desisted as he saw Sam's expression. “Come on, really?”

“Uhh'heschh!” Sam's breath caught a second time, and he turned to one side, burying his face in the crook of his arm. “Huhh-uh … heh-SHUHH!”

“That's pretty impressive, you know.”

“What is?” He sniffled, blinking steadily.

“Getting cold from jumping in an indoor swimming pool.”

“It's not like it was heated or anything! And I didn't see you rushing to play lifeguard to any creepy little kids.”

“Well, you needed the refreshment.” Dean mimed taking a shot, then did an uncanny impression of Sam hungover and retching.

“You're a jerk.”

“Yeah, well … Hey!” Dean straightened up, swinging an audio cassette tape in front of Sam; the label showing a scribbled date from the previous year. “Same date as that newspaper upstairs.”

“Is nothing in this place from the twenty-first century?” muttered Sam, mutinously; eyeing the tape with exasperation.

_ _ _

Edited April 25, 2011 by BlueRandom

[ID2006]

more sneezy Sam.... I can never get enough of this. SOOOOOOOOOOOO HAPPY you continued

[MusicaDiabolos]

Hooorraaayyyy! So good! And I love it when Sam gets teased, it's pretty adorable...

[LoraLee2]

wow you are so good at writing them! very in character and lovely sam sneezes!

[shygreeneyes]

Hmmm. Just what IS on that tape. And poor Sammy can't stop sneezing!