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

[Zwee]

I think yes. This is SO up my alley. A sick and very sneezy Sammy? Stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, snowed in? With a teasing (*cough* worried *cough*) Dean to take care of him? I love just how adorable Dean is in this story. And just how adorable SAM is in this story!!!! I love Sam sneezing while trying to talk, and Dean definitely noticing. And counting down to the sneeze. It's way cute. And of course I love sick Sam in denial, and trying not to sneeze after what Dean said! Thanks!!

[iluvsneezes]

Yay! More sneezy!Sammy love.

[sneezychick93]

Awww sick Sammy. I LOVE it!!

[27jj]

This story makes me so happyyyy!! I love it lots Because because because:

1. SO MUCH SNEEZY SAMMY

2. Snuffling noises

3. Dean counting down in his head, hee!

4. Cranky Sammy

5. SNEEZY SAMMY

6. YOU LITTLE BALL OF GERMS, YOU

7. Cold basements

8. Mysterious ancient cassette tape

9. SNEEZY SAMMY

I think I should probably stop there or I’ll be going on all day. In conclusion, I love you

[BlueRandom]

Part Four

“Kk'Etschh!” The fierce itch in Sam's throat and nose burst painfully into a kind of half cough, half sneeze. He swallowed as gently as he could, feeling the ache in his head starting up again. It was taking a considerable amount of restraint to prevent himself from pulling the tangled mass of blankets heaped at the foot of the couch over his body, and settling into sleep.

Dean was tinkering with an old-fashioned tape player he had retrieved from the cabinet, attempting to fix it up in order to play the salvaged audio cassette. “If the car wasn't buried under a freakin' ton of snow, we could've used her stereo.”

“Het'CHOO!” Sam snapped forward, throwing his arm up in front of him. “Urrh.”

His brother looked mildly surprised, having been absorbed in playing around with the device. “Bless.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“What do you think about trying to dig out?” suggested Dean, contemplatively. “There's a couple of shovels in the basement. Y'know, if you're feeling up to it.”

Sam glanced at him suspiciously, trying to assess whether he was being made fun of. “I'm fine. But I'm not sure it's worth it – the snow'll have melted in a couple of days anyway, and the roads are too icy to drive anywhere right now.” He could see how restless Dean was, cooped up inside the cabin, from his constant fidgeting and pacing up and down the room at regular intervals.

“Think m'baby's okay?”

“Sure, Dean.” Honestly, he had no idea how the Impala would stand up to being submerged for a significant period of time. On the other hand, it had been through considerably worse in its lifetime. Sam inhaled sharply again, his eyes watering a little. “Uhh … uhh'CHSHh! Huhh'Sheww! Uhh … uhh'SHEWw!” It felt weird to be sneezing so much, and somewhat exhausting.

“You need to eat something.” Dean spoke abruptly, getting up to extract a miscellaneous can from one of the kitchen cupboards. “It's been, what, thirty-six hours? Come on, it's your choice. Soup or beans?”

Sam's mouth twisted, amused. “I don't mind.”

“Baked beans it is. Gonna have to be cold, 'cos something tells me the microwave won't be getting too much power in this weather.” He dumped a tin in front of Sam, sticking in a grimy fork as an afterthought. “You're s'posed to be eating that.”

“Okay, already.”

“Good. I'm taking a shower.”

He departed for the bathroom, leaving Sam to nibble half-heartedly at the beans, and glance over at the tape player lying where Dean had left it. Scarcely five minutes had gone past before the sound of a shower running came from through the bathroom door, followed by a resounding stream of curse words.

“Dean?” Sam sprang to his feet, a rush of dizziness clouding his vision, as Dean emerged from the bathroom, clutching a towel around him. “What happened?”

“Fucking snow. Fucking sub-zero shower.” He shuddered, slipping back inside to pull on his clothes once more. “Shit. That was cold.”

“Thought you were being attacked or something.” Sam started to stack logs in the grate of the fireplace, pulling out a lighter to set them aflame. He was drowsy, and his nose was itching persistently; intensified by the wavering orange glow.

Dean watched him as he descended slowly into a doze, his head resting against the arm of the sofa, ribcage rising and falling rhythmically. He barely stirred as Dean covered him with the blanket, claiming the armchair to continue tampering with the tape player.

Sam woke up coughing, finding that he had slumped sideways in his sleep so that his right arm had lost circulation from acting as a pillow. He scratched his nose, and regretted it immediately. “Huhh … hehh'IHSHh-uh! Uhh'Heschh!”

“Jeez, Sam ...” mumbled Dean, rousing himself from where he had fallen asleep in the armchair. “You have to start that so early?” He shifted, removing the tape player from under his leg. “Oh, yeah. Fixed it.”

“You did?” Momentarily alert, Sam waited with impatience as Dean slotted in the cassette, setting it into motion.

John Winchester's voice filled the cabin, sounding tired and frustrated. The brothers listened attentively as he outlined the basics of the case he'd been working on; the series of accidents that had led him to the old haunt he had shared with the boys, the cabin. “If you boys are listening to this,” the scratchy tones of the cassette recounted, “chances are that I never finished up here. Some creature's busy with attacks down in the village; and it seems to have its hide-out close by. Everything points to it being a sort of spirit: a regular salt 'n' burn if we're lucky. But it's elusive – Dean, Sam; watch yourselves.”

The tape crackled into whirring, and Dean switched it off; a sense of anti-climax sweeping over them.

“Wouldn't have killed him to elaborate,” Sam added, resentfully.

“There's always a reason, Sam -”

“Yeah? Let me know when you find it.” Sam was set to break into a rant, but he was cut short by another fit of coughing.

Dean shook his head, picking up the half-empty can of beans from the floor, and setting it down on the kitchen counter. “I guess we just gotta wait for the snow to melt, so we can finish this thing.” He grinned, unexpectedly. “'S been a while since we had a straightforward spirit case.”

Despite himself, Sam couldn't help feeling a fraction more uplifted at his stubborn optimism.

_ _ _

Edited April 28, 2011 by BlueRandom

[sneezychick93]

I love this story! It's so great so far!! Can't wait for more!!

[shygreeneyes]

Ah, a typically cryptic message from Daddy. More fun!

[ichixshiro14]

This is characterized brilliantly!

[27jj]

The way you describe Sam being so sneezy is SO FREAKING HOT. And I love how he’s getting all worn out from sneezing so much. And I lovvve Dean taking care of him despite all the teasing, like making him eat and covering him with a blanket.

[Zwee]

Actually, I just realized how much I miss the second season!! You're really good at writing their personalities in that period of time. Because they've definitely changed since then. Have I told you how much I love this story? Because I do. I really, really do. I enjoy Dean caring for his baby's wellbeing. And Sammy's sneeziness.

By the way, Sam's birthday! Coming up-- May 2nd. Just thought I would point that out. Thanks for your loveliness!

[iluvsneezes]

I am loving this SO much!!

[Foxfire]

Love you! I Have no words for your greatness and awesomeness! Nothing is more lovely than a sneezy Sam story plus an interesting plot. Can't wait for MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[BlueRandom]

Okay, I'm sorry again for the crazy-long gap between posts! Thank you for the comments though, they're lovely. Here's some more.

Part 5

Dean's watch registered eleven a.m. when the storm outside escalated and the power went down completely. The patchy cabin lamps wavered and died, the only light coming through the upper halves of the windows on each wall. Sam groaned and let his head flop down onto his arms, resting on the coffee table; then winced as it made contact with the plaster cast. Dean had been doing push-ups on the rug in the hall, restless from confinement, but stopped at the sudden darkening of the room. “Did you want to carry on reading?”

Sam looked down at the small pile of John Winchester's books in front of him, the print on the one he had been poring over barely visible. “Never mind.”

“Hey.” Scrambling deftly to his feet, Dean clapped a palm onto Sam's forehead. His brother attempted to push him off, but Dean batted his hand away impatiently. “Knew it. Cabin fever.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you're just jealous 'cos I'm the pretty one.”

“Do you have to – huhh...” Sam rolled his eyes, nettled. “Huhh'UHShoo!” He buried his nose in his elbow, then turned back to Dean. “Do you have to be so annoying all the time?”

“Well, you still owe me for your little one-man tequila show, Sammy.”

“When are you going to stop bringing that up? I've seen you drunk plenty of times.”

Not like that, you haven't. Dean debated whether he should recite Sam's words back to him, the promise he had sworn Dean to. He knew Sam remembered, knew he would hold him to it. You have to watch out for me. And if I ever turn into something that I'm not … Dean pushed the thought from his mind. I would never ask that of you, Sam. “You want a sandwich?”

“You don't have a sandwich.”

“Sure I do.” Dean rummaged in the duffel bag he had thrown haphazardly into the hallway on their arrival two days previously, coming up with a tin foil package. “Think it's pork.”

“You know what? I'm good.”

“You're right. Looks more like beef.” Dean peeled back the wrappings and shoved one end into his mouth, expression blissful.

Sam's nose was prickling again, and he got to his feet, making for the bathroom. He had swallowed a couple of aspirin less than two hours ago, but his headache was already threatening to reappear. He paused in front of the shabby bathroom mirror, sliding shut the rusty bolt behind him. The bathroom was less dim than the rest of the lodge, only a fraction of its window covered a thin layer of translucent snow. Eyeing his reflection with apprehension, he reluctantly took in the pallid face and pink-tinged nose. His nostrils flared slightly, and his image took on a strange, flickering quality as his eyelashes fluttered, breath hitching. The room was so cold that a light mist formed on the glass by his mouth as he exhaled. “Huhh-uh … uhh … hehh'IHSHh-uh! Uhh'SHEWW!” He lingered for a moment, thinking there might be another coming, then relaxed, releasing a lungful of air he had been unaware of holding.

He heard Dean shouting his name from the living room and unlocked the bathroom door, running a hand over his face. A crackling sound was coming from the tape player Dean had scavenged before: apparently, it also had a radio function. Dean had snatched it up and was extending the aerial, twisting it at random angles until the white noise became more focused. Fragments of a news broadcast were barely identifiable from the scratchy overtones; “... last night, no signs of forced entry … house ransacked, one man killed … ”

Sam and Dean exchanged an ominous look, before Dean pressed the tape player into his brother's hands, and flung open the door at the entrance to the cellar. Sam could hear him clattering down the stairs, then back up again, accompanied by a metallic banging against the passage walls. As he re-entered the kitchen, he slung one shovel over his shoulder, and held the other out to Sam. “We gotta dig.”

He wedged open the front door, and began to tackle the right-hand side of the expanse of snow and ice blocking the frame. Sam joined him, supporting the weight of the shovel with his unhurt wrist, wishing he could go and get one of his gloves from the duffel bag without seeming pathetic. Dean removed the moth-eaten rug, dumping it onto the bed so that their mounds of shovelled snow fell straight onto the floorboards.

“Uhh … huh-ihh … huh.” Sam gave a vocal sigh, crease lines appearing on his forehead as he raised his eyebrows.

“Lost it?” asked Dean, glancing at him quizzically.

By means of a reply, Sam drove the shovel deeper into the unyielding wall, heaving it away with a block of snow. He had just raised it again when he lowered it once more, pressing the back of his hand against his nose. “Huhh-uhh … hehh ... nhh.” He squinted desperately, his head tilted back a little and his body tense. “Huh-ESchheww!” He paused, then jerked forwards a second time. “Heh'Shuhh! Huhh … hehh'IHSHh-uh!”

“Bless you, dude.”

“How are you not sick yet?” mumbled Sam, trying to relieve his headache with a cool hand.

They continued working until Sam's shoulders were aching and his fingers numb, when a final stroke from Dean's shovel broke through the barrier and a small avalanche of snow skidded across the hallway. Dean started to wade through the mass, tunnelling a path in the general direction of the Impala. Sam shivered for a moment in the doorway, then followed.

_ _ _

Edited December 28, 2011 by BlueRandom

[pinknose]

*insert uber smiley face here* You have GOT to continue this. I hope Dean gets sick next. Two sneezy brothers in the snow. <3

[sexygirl1012]

Oh holy good god I love you

[iluvsneezes]

Omg, this is so awesome!! Sneezy!Sammy is my favorite. <333

[Zwee]

Mmmm... yes PLEASE. Sick Sammy, snowed in brothers, shoveling in freezing temperatures, shivering, and of course, the lovely adorable SNEEZING! Thanks a billion!

[BlueRandom]

Part Six

The snow storm was raging, icy pellets hitting Sam's face from all angles as he forced himself to plough on in Dean's wake. The Impala was hardly more than a few yards away, but he felt a surge of relief when he reached it, nonetheless.

“Lucky we parked her so close to the road,” observed Dean, yanking up the ends of the tarpaulin and watching a mound of snow topple from the hood. “Shouldn't be too hard to get her out.” Even so, it took them nearly half an hour to displace the bridge of precipitation separating the car from the road surface, where the snow had mainly settled in huge, unstable banks at each side as the ground tilted downwards.

Sam was worrying, as per usual. Dean could see the trouble lines crinkling by his eyes, maybe from his head aching, and the Sam-specific stare of fervent concentration directed out through the side window. If Dean himself hadn't been so intent on keeping the Impala on the road and away from the ice-ridden edges, he would have been tempted to wave a hand in front of his brother's face. Probably best not to on the whole, with Sam even less tolerant than normal these days.

His train of thought was broken into by Sam, who had jolted his head upwards, nose twitching uncomfortably. “Uhh'HESCHh!” He sneezed harshly against his shoulder, then braced himself as though for a punch. “Uhh'IHShoo! Huhh … huh'CHShh! … Don't … uhh … uhh'SHOO! … Don't – say – anything.”

“Would I?” They had reached the village, the road narrower but gritted against the ice. Sam was surprised by how close it was; or maybe his attention had strayed. “First things first.” Dean stopped the car abruptly, somehow moving into the doorway of a general store almost in one step. “Oh, man.”

Sam followed him in, to find him looking longingly at a stack of pies.

“You want one?” Dean was running his index finger over the labels, momentarily captured by the array of varieties to choose from. “Here, you have this one – then we can swap.”

“Uh, I'm good, actually ...” Sam held his cast in front of his face, his breath juddering. “Huh-ihh … huh'EHSHh! … No, Dean, I'm not hungry ...”

“Go ahead.” Dean wasn't listening to him, having turned around, and was now indicating that a woman close by should move in front of them. She seemed to be in her late twenties, one of her hands holding a newspaper and resting on the smooth bump of her belly. The other was gripping the wrist of a toddler who was doing his utmost to pull her towards the candy section in the corner. “We've got all day; just came down from the mountains.”

“You've been up in the mountains, in this weather? Are you crazy?” The woman shook her head in tired wonderment.

“Well, a little.” Dean grinned flirtatiously, craning his neck slightly for a better view as she turned and walked over to the counter. Sam kicked him. “Hey, what?”

“She's pregnant, you moron.”

“So? Doesn't mean she's unavailable ...” He let his voice tail out as the woman returned, toddler clamped to her side. “Uh, you come here often?” began Dean, but Sam interrupted him.

“'Second murder in twelve months …'” he read, eyes flicking across the newspaper the woman had tucked under her arm. “They wouldn't happen to have been local, would they?”

“I knew you weren't from around here.” She suddenly looked more harassed than before, jogging the small boy further up her hip and passing the paper over to Sam. “Arthur Glenn was killed about a year ago, and his son, Darell, was found dead yesterday.”

“And they were both murdered?” He was having some difficulty focusing on her, his eyelids reacting to the itch that had started to build up in his nose.

“I think so. Darell wasn't the type to –” She broke off, shielding her eyes with her free hand. “I'm sorry; they were family. My husband's, at least. Arthur was his uncle.”

“I'm so sorry.” Sam stretched out a hand consolingly, handing back the paper; but she just forced a strained nod, and left the shop.

“I wouldn't go messing with her, if I were you.” The voice came from behind Dean, and he turned to see the store owner at the till, leaning on the counter with his eyebrows raised knowingly. “Her husband won't be having any of it.”

“Jealous type, huh?” Dean took up one of the papers, and pushed it onto the counter next to his pies.

“No, but he's a respectable man, Jim. He runs the coffee shop up the street, and he's mighty protective of his wife and little ones – especially given recent events.” The man gestured darkly towards the news stand. “Jim and Darell were close as teenagers; grew apart somewhat as they got older. These things happen.” He paused, opening the cash register to give Dean his change. “It's terrible to have something like this going on here: we get very little crime, so people aren't used to it.”

“I'll bet,” remarked Dean, eyeing the snowflake-strewn landscape through the window. “Pity we can't say the same,” he murmured to Sam, the bell above the door ringing serenely as they made their exit.

“Huh'ESCHhuh!” Sam lowered his hands, moaning softly.

Dean looked at him, more smug than sympathetic. “How long have you been holding that in for?”

Sam rubbed his nose, and didn't reply.

_ _ _

Edited January 18, 2012 by BlueRandom

[27jj]

I am so happy you're continuing!!! God I love this story. Mmm, that last part with Sam holding in his sneeze:)

[shygreeneyes]

Oh, man, I STILL adore this story! SO want to see where it goes.

[flower]

I am so excited that you updated! It's so good. And I second the vote to make Dean sick, too!

[Zwee]

Aaahhhh!! Adorable, really. I love that pies worked their way into this fantastic story! Your characterization of the boys is spot-on, if I haven't said that before. They're straight from the second season, I don't know how you do it. And I'm sure I've said this, but your spellings are just... to die for. They seem like they would sound like my boyfriend's... so I'm dying of happiness. Cuteness overload! Thanks a ton!

[BlueRandom]

Oh, man, I STILL adore this story! SO want to see where it goes.

Hopefully I'll get it finished soon!

I am so happy you're continuing!!! God I love this story. Mmm, that last part with Sam holding in his sneeze:)

Thanks loads - I love yours too!

Mmmm... yes PLEASE. Sick Sammy, snowed in brothers, shoveling in freezing temperatures, shivering, and of course, the lovely adorable SNEEZING! Thanks a billion!

Yeah, I kind of wish they'd do an episode like that ...

Omg, this is so awesome!! Sneezy!Sammy is my favorite. <333

Thanks! He's mine, too.

*insert uber smiley face here* You have GOT to continue this. I hope Dean gets sick next. Two sneezy brothers in the snow. <3

Aww, yes to the continuing, probably no to the sick!Dean, though, sadly. Maybe in another fic?

Oh holy good god I love you

Thanks!

I am so excited that you updated! It's so good. And I second the vote to make Dean sick, too!

Thanks loads for commenting!

Aaahhhh!! Adorable, really. I love that pies worked their way into this fantastic story! Your characterization of the boys is spot-on, if I haven't said that before. They're straight from the second season, I don't know how you do it. And I'm sure I've said this, but your spellings are just... to die for. They seem like they would sound like my boyfriend's... so I'm dying of happiness. Cuteness overload! Thanks a ton!

Hehe - yeah, I think the second season was my favourite. So glad you liked it!

[BlueRandom]

Part Seven

“So.” Dean settled back into the driver's seat, swallowing half his mouthful of pie. “Where d'you think we should start?”

Sam tried to pull his gaze away from his brother's chewing, and force his expression into something other than distaste. “We need to go see Arthur Glenn's nephew.”

“The pregnant chick's husband? How come?”

“If there's something strange going down, it's obviously connected to that family. If you'd been listening to what she was saying instead of staring at her –”

Dean gave him a patronising look, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You haven't touched your pie. Don't you think it'll look a bit suspicious if we just show up at her house and start asking questions?”

“Not hungry. And I think we should go to the coffee shop, instead.”

“What, you're too good for pie but you're all set to get hyped up on caffiene?”

“It's where he works, Dean.”

Dean screwed up the paper bag and tossed it through the car window into a street bin. “I knew that.”

“I'm going to make use of their internet, too.” Sam leant over to the back seat, and scooped up his laptop. “See if there's anything else around this town. The murders could be an annual thing ...”

“Yeah, right. Town this size'd notice something like that.”

“It's worth a try.” Sam paused, one hand creeping up to his face as his body tensed. “Uhh ...”

“Rahh!” Dean sprang at him, grabbing his shoulders.

“What the fuck, dude?” Sam grimaced, angrily, pushing Dean away and picking up his laptop from the floor of the car.

“See, stopped you sneezing.”

“What are you, ten?”

Dean seemed to be in an overly restless mood following their departure from the confinements of the cabin, which was doing nothing to alleviate Sam's low spirits. Or to improve his headache, for that matter. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his brother's playful moments; more that most of his attention was caught up in giving an outward display of serenity – something that was proving difficult when he felt like he wanted to curl up and sleep for a year. He thought wistfully of college: of being able to lock himself quietly in his dorm room and stay under the covers without interruption from Dean, the cops, or some murderous spirit.

“Hey, Sasquatch.” Dean cuffed him around the jaw, and nodded up the street. “We got some coffee to check out.”

“Hold on a sec ...” Sam was staring into the distance, his eyelashes tremoring. “Huhh-uh ...” He saw Dean move in the corner of his vision, and smacked his arm away at the same moment as he turned his head to sneeze into his opposite elbow. “Uhh'HETSchh! … huhh … huhh'KkSchh!”

Dean grinned, awkwardly. “Okay, okay; I won't try it again.”

He rummaged in his wallet, producing a set of fake IDs they hadn't used since the last time they'd been in the state, and handing one to Sam. They made their way to the small cafe, the warm interior more welcoming than the inside of the Impala; to Sam, at least. A cluster of snowflakes began to thaw against his neck, and he wriggled inside his shirt.

“Can I get a regular black coffee, and a, ah –” Dean read over the wall menu. “He'll have a mocha frapuccino. With extra whipped cream.”

Sam scowled at him, but the barrister was far from interested; filling the cups with long practiced efficiency. Sam nudged Dean, pointing out his name badge; before accepting his drink, and setting up the laptop in a booth by the window. “That's our guy,” he uttered in low voice, beginning to run a search on the town as Dean sat down opposite him. For a few minutes they sipped the coffee in silence, broken only by Sam coughing into his fist, his other hand still typing persistantly. The dregs at the bottom of Dean's cup were starting to turn cold when the barrister walked close by their table, clearing away some the debris left behind by the customers at the table beside theirs, and Dean seized his opportunity.

“You short on staff?” he asked, conversationally; and the man nodded, pausing to retie his apron. “Look, Mr Glenn.” Dean flashed his ID surreptitiously, and Sam copied him, pressing down the lid of his laptop. “We're undercover investigators; we're trying to find out any information that could be related to the recent deaths here. It seems this could be a family case, and –”

“I don't know anything about what happened to Darell.” Jim Glenn's expression was at once attentive, but he spoke bluntly, staring down at Dean with determination.

“Het'CHhuhh!” Sam sneezed into cupped hands, then sniffled, embarrassed, as the other two looked at him. “Sorry. So, there's nothing at all that you think could be linked? Nothing in your family history; with his father, maybe?”

Jim shook his head, looking calmer. “Darell and I hadn't seen each other since Arthur's funeral; and hadn't spoken properly since we were nineteen, maybe twenty. Look, this is all happening really soon –”

“I understand.” Sam offered a sympathetic half-smile. “We'll let you get on, Mr Glenn.”

Dean slapped a business card down onto the booth's table, next to the tip Sam had left. “In case you remember something.”

They reentered the snowy street with some reluctance on Sam's part, not speaking until they were several paces away from the coffee shop. “I don't trust him,” announced Dean, resolutely.

“The poor guy's lost two family members in the space of a year: he's hardly going to be sunshine and butterflies.”

“Did you find anything on the town?” interrupted Dean, impatiently.

“No. Although I didn't spend long on it – I think we should stay in the town tonight.” Sam winced, his shoulders lifting as he inhaled suddenly. “Huh … huh'SHEWw! … uhhh ...” He froze for a few seconds, one hand in front of his face. “Uhh'HESCHh-uh!”

“Bless you. Jeez, Sammy.” Dean scratched the stubble on his chin, thoughtfully. “You're right. We should stick around here for the night.”

_ _ _

Edited January 23, 2012 by BlueRandom

[27jj]

Ohhhhhhhhhhh how I love you. Poor sneezy Sammy I laughed at Dean trying to scare the sneeze out of him, haha;)