No more splitting up

[SexualOddity]

“HuhUHtchu! UhHTCHisshyew!”

Dean grimaces as he looks across at Sam. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Sam mumbles before blowing his nose and fishing in their bag for some lozenges.

“Tell me why we have to split up again?”

Sam gives a throaty laugh. “One interview Dean. I’m not planning on dying during one interview.”

Dean clicks his teeth, and eyes the apartment block through the Impala window.

“It’s a cold Dean…”

“Mmm yeah, it was just a cold when we were kids and I came back and it was fricking meningitis.”

“I’ve never had meningitis.”

Dean dismisses Sam’s reply with a wave of the hand. “Well, it was something like that. I’m telling you, this is how it starts with you.”

“Except when it is just a cold.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“One interview,” Sam tells him, reaching across and patting his brother on the shoulder. “If I think I’m at risk of dying from a runny nose, I’ll give you a call I promise.”

“You better,” Dean mutters, but he does drive away when Sam gets out of the car.

It’s a shitty apartment block. With spray-paint graffiti on the walls, and the smell of urine in the stairwell. Before Sam goes up to the door he blows his nose three times and coughs into the crook of his arm, trying to get it out of his system. Truth be told, he is feeling a little crappy. He’s playing it down though, because once Dean realised he was getting sick he had to almost surgically remove Dean from his side. And Sam has a feeling that this is one that he ought to handle by himself.

As he expects, when he knocks on the door the girl who answers backs away and compulsively tucks her hair behind her ears and mumbles about how she’s already given a report to the police, and she’s been explaining all day, and please can’t Sam just look at what she’s already said and get the hell away. Well, she doesn’t actually say that, but her eyes do.

Sam presses a hand against her door as she tries to close it.

“Hey. I’ve read the police report,” he tells her. “I’m not convinced they got down everything you said.”

She looks at him through lowered eyes.

Sam bites at his lip and lowers his head to catch her eye. “Does it really cover everything?”

The girl pauses. It’s not a long pause. But it’s long enough for Sam. It’s confirmation. But she’s already started up again with tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Listen,” Sam begins, laying a hand tentatively on the door, just in case, “Gemma, I think this has happened to other girls. Not in this state, but it is happening. And I think there’s more that we need to do to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

Gemma frowns at her feet.

“Hey.” Sam closes in towards the crack in the door. “This must be hard as hell for you and, believe me, I wish I didn’t have to ask.” He wrinkles his nose and brings a fist up under it. “But if… Shit, I’m sorry.” He turns and sneezes into his knuckles. “Hnnghchuh! Mnnnghtchuu! Excuse me,” he faces Gemma again, wiping his nose with one hand and fishing for Kleenex in his pocket with the other. “I’m getting a cold,” he tells her with a sheepish grin.

“Bless you,” she offers. She looks tired. And there’s a little flush of pink high up on her cheeks that makes Sam thing she’s been crying. “Does it have to be now?” she asks, in a quiet little voice. “I only just got back from the police station and I just want…” Her voice catches and she looks stubbornly at the corner of the doorframe.

Sam’s eyebrows knit together. “God I wish I could wait. This isn’t fair, I know it isn’t.” He looks her in the eye. “I think this is gonna happen again. Soon. And I really have to stop it.”

It takes a long time. It takes a lot of telling her that he will believe her if she tells him what happened, it takes a lot of telling her that she wasn’t seeing things, wasn’t hearing things, wasn’t in shock, takes a lot of hinting at what she really did see and, when he does, it takes a lot of thinking on his feet in order to reach out to her through a fast-shutting door. It takes a good twenty minutes. And then she awkwardly invites him inside.

It’s a within a second of walking in the door that he smells it. It’s been a good couple of years, but goddamn, he will not ever forget that smell.

“HehHUTCHUH!”

He sneezes instantly. So fast, actually, that it’s probably more reflexive than the start of a reaction. But then he sniffs, and he remembers at once that he does this to kill the very beginnings of a tickle when he maybe has to sneeze. And that’s fine when he has a cold, he doesn’t even notice it. But when it’s this allergy thing, it’s just inviting the vapour right the fuck up his nose. And apparently it’s so long between attacks that he’s never gonna live and learn.

So yeah, it happens. Like fucking crawling and burning and itching, right up his nostrils and just beginning to creep into his sinuses. He likes to imagine firebreathing, biting ants.

Fucking ants.

And he freezes right there in the doorway, because he knows what’s coming. Because he knows that this is only the damn start, but he also knows that if he handles this right this victim might actually talk to him, but if he backs out now then there are gonna be deaths tonight.

He can already see her hesitance over his hovering, so he presses the speed dial on the mobile in his pocket and hopes for the best.

She spreads out a sweater over the threadbare couch so it won’t be uncomfortable for him. It breaks his heart a little.

“You think you could tell me what really happened?” he asks as he sits, his tone soft.

At first he tries to halt it in the hope that the later he starts, the longer he can last out, but as she’s talking to him, she’s kinda frowning, kinda glancing sidelong out under her eyelid.

“I’bm not pulling faces at you,” he tells her honestly, “I really…” he can already feel the effects of the drop in his guard. His nose scrunches. “I really nuuh! need… HuhAHSHuu!

HEHTchussshyew! TchUSSSH! TchHUSSH! HehptTCHU!” He grins, lifts his head from where it was buried at his elbow and unfolds some tissue from his pocket. “I really needed to sneeze.”

“Bless you!” She replies, eyes wide in surprise.

“So, last night…” he picks the train up almost seamlessly.

She is hesitant about jumping back into the story so he rubs hard at his nose, just hoping they’ll have long enough to get somewhere with the interview before he needs to start up again. This time it grows really quickly, from this pinpoint itch at the side of one nostril, to a developing tingle in both sides, and right across the bridge, of his nose. He presses a knuckle hard against his septum as he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He wishes Dean would quit trying to call and hurry up and get over there.

When she gets up the part where her friends go ‘missing’, she’s quiet, staring again at the patchy carpet, but Sam can see the tears welling in her eyes. He separates sheets from his folded bundle of Kleenex and hands them across to her. She gives a half smile and accepts, and while she wipes her eyes and blows her nose, Sam places a couple of the few remaining tissues over his own nose and mouth. He couldn’t have held it much longer anyway, and, he figures, better to do it now than to cut her off.

“HehDdISSSHuu! Hepht-CHU! Huh-ISSHHHU! ISSHHHU! HehpTCHyew! HaISSSHHU! ISSHyew! ISSHyew! HuhISSHyew! USHH! USHH! HehUSHH!”

And then he’s stuck there, mouth open and nose twitching rapidly and shit, the itching is maddening and he really needs to keep going. He forces his eyes open to take in her ceiling light, which sets his breath hitching instantly. “Huh? Heh? Uhhhh… Huuuh… EHTH-tchew! UhIHSHEW! ITCHuh! ITCHuh! Huh…uh HaHPTCHShhuh!” He’s dizzy when he’s finished, and the itching has subsided a little. He can tell, though, that this is definitely underway, and it won’t be long before he’s off again.

Gemma stares as Sam blows his nose and frowns at the fast-dwindling supply of Kleenex. He had prepared for a runny nose; he had not prepared for an allergy attack.

“Bless you,” she offers, sounding bewildered.

Sam smiles. “Thandks,” he sniffs, again, he mentally chastises himself, this is a mistake Sam, will you never learn? “I’bm gonnda rund oudt of these,” he holds up one of the two remaining tissues before pressing one against his nose. “Is there andy toilet roll I could..?” He trails off when the girl nods and ducks into the bathroom.

“Are you really, really sick?” she asks him, through the open door.

Sam re-enters the room, carrying the toilet paper under his arm while he blows his nose. “No. Well, I do have a cold, but…” he sits back down opposite her. “I’m sorry, I’m really allergic to something that’s in this room. Something I can smell, like perfume, or cleaning product, or something.”

Gemma’s eyes widen. “I could take a shower and air the room out a bit, you could come back?”

Sam smiles and shakes his head. “Would you let me back in?”

She hesitates. Again, it’s not for long, but it’s long enough.

“I need this information Gemma, otherwise other people are going to have the same experience as you.” He wipes away tears that have begun to drip on to his cheeks and rubs at his eyes. “I’ll be fine I promise,” he insists, although he is conscious of that fact that appearances probably plead otherwise. “I am gonna sneeze a whole lot though, so I probably should apologise for that now.”

He needs to sneeze right now, in fact. It’s taking all his concentration to hold his breath steady. This time the itch is really high, thrumming at the top of his nose. Deciding it’s probably preferable to get it over with before she’s talking, and just a little apprehensive about how violent the fit will turn out to be, he reaches for a handful of toilet roll and looks up at the light.

His eyes and nose crinkle immediately. “Heehh…HAHTchyew! Ha…hATCHyew! Huuuuh-UHSHAH!” It starts slowly, and relatively gently, but good God, that itch in his nose is getting worse not better and Sam knows there’s so much more to come. “HAHT-chu!” he bursts, and throws his damp tissue into the trash can and tearing some fresh sheets from the roll while his breath hitches and he looks up at the light through scrunched up eyes. “Heh… Heeehhh… HISSHU! Uh-IISHYEW! Uh-IISSHHYEW! EhISSHYEW! HuhISSHH! HuhISHHH! ISHH! ISHH! ISHHH! Heh-ISSHUu! UhTIHISHU! HuhISSHuu! HuhISSHuu! HuISSHu! HuhISSHu!”

It kind of trails off. Sam is exhausted, and he’s still sneezy as all fuck, his face all slack, his mouth open, his nose twitching… He brushes his hair behind his ears because, seriously, the slightest little touch on his nose now and he’s gonna be in fits of sneezing with no hope of stopping. He doesn’t even dare to bring the tissue up to his nose to blow it, so he just wipes tentatively across his upper lip.

He looks up at Gemma, but when he does his eyes squeeze shut against the bright light, and when he opens them again, it’s not one ceiling lamp he can see, but several, turning in his line of vision. And crap, there it is, that little bit of tightness behind his eyes, that ever so slightly queasy feeling in his stomach. This, also, is not a good sign. It’s all coming on fast. Sam doesn’t know if it’s a different concentration of the scent, or whether being ill to begin with has just blown everything up, just that Dean better get there soon or else he’s gonna have to be carried out.

He coughs into his fist and tries, a second time, to look up. “Hey Gembba,” he begins. His voice is going. “Do you thindk I could opend a window?”

She nods.

Sam pushes up the double-hung window, scrunching and unscrunching his nose. He’s absolutely desperate to rub it, but bringing anything within ten miles of his nose right now is a bad idea. He sticks his head out into the no-doubt pungent air of the alleyway and remembers that there are some rare examples of situations in which it is beneficial to be just this stuffed up.

He takes a deep breath through his mouth, air rattling in his chest, before sitting back down next to the window, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“Listden, Gembba, I kdnow you kndow that there’s hehh…”

Sam stubbornly pinches hard at his nostrils, and, shit, the way the tickle flares in aggravation tells him he can expect to regret that move as soon as he lets go of his nose. He wheezes out a sigh and continues.

“I kndow thadt sombethindg really horrible happended, andd maybe ndot everyonde has believed you whend you’ve told themb, but I believe it, I do, and I thindk you could stop it fromb ha… happendindg againd.”

Gemma looks up at him, her eyes awash with fear and trauma and doubt and, Sam thinks, just maybe the beginnings of trust, but he’s about to sneeze, pinched nostrils or not, so he excuses himself, unravels the tissue and curses his abysmal timing for the hundredth time in three minutes before letting go of his nose and preparing for the worst.

“HehTCHYEW! UhUSHHH! USHHYEW! HeftCHYEW! UsHYEW! EhTchhYEW! HehUSHHH! HehUSHHH! HehUHSHyew!”

He tips his head back against the wall, eyes streaming, as he pants, nose still twitching and mouth hung open as if his body is holding him ready for another wave of sneezing. The little gasps are more laboured now. He can feel them forcing their way into his chest. And, fuck, his head is pounding from the force of the sneezes, blood beating hot in his ears.

“I’bm gondda really struggle to keep talkindg dnow,” he tells her between wrentching coughs, “but by partdner is ond his way and you can trust himb, he’ll listen to you too. Andd I’ll try andd wait till he combes.”

Through a wash of tears, Sam can see her staring back at him, her eyes startled.

“Please Gembba,” he appeals. “I dneed you to tell himb what you kndow or we’re dot gondda be able to stop this.”

As if on cue, there is a rapping on the door. “Sammy? You in there?”

Gemma flinches.

“It’s okay, it’s my partnder, I’bm gondda get it okay?” He waits for her nod before he edges toward the door.

Dean’s expression changes the moment the door opens, and Sam has a feeling Dean recognises the scent at the same moment he takes in Sam’s eyes: all red and dripping; the way he’s coughing into his sleeve; the soggy toilet roll in his hand

“You fucking idiot…” Dean’s voice is quiet with disbelief. Then in a sudden burst of action, he reaches a hand out to grab Sam by the jacket and wrench him in the direction of the door. The sudden movement must have knocked Sam’s precariously balanced self-control because he’s sneezing and sneezing into his sleeve and at the same time resisting Dean’s pull.

“Dehhh… Dehhh… HUSHuu! IHHshyew! HISHyew! HIPT-tchyew! Deand she… Ah…HISHyew! HITchyew! HITchuh! H-ITCHuh! HuhITCHyuh!”

“You know what would make that easier Sammy?” Dean asks him, unamused. “If you got the hell out of there and breathed some fucking air.”

Sam snatches at his nose again, and meets Dean’s eye. “She kndows whadt happended Deand but she’s dervous. She’s dot goindg to tell us undless you take idt easy ond her.”

Dean stares. “Will you get the fuck out of that room?”

Sam steps into the corridor, but keeps a hand against the apartment door, propping it open.

“Prombise be you’ll be gendtle.” Sam demands.

Dean tosses Sam the Impala keys. “Just get in the damn car.”

“Deandd…”

“Okay, okay, I promise, whatever.”

Concerned, but more than a little relieved, Sam steadies himself on the slightly dubious looking wall of the corridor and prepares for another fit of sneezing.

***

Sam is in the passenger seat, head back against the headrest, when he hears the door unlock.

“Hey,” Dean barks, “You still breathing?”

Sam nods.

“Good. Then I’m off to ask that girl to list every fucking scented item she’s got in that damn apartment.”

“Just get in the car,” Sam tells him.

To Sam’s surprise, Dean instantly slides in.

“Is your throat closing up?” he asks, taking hold of Sam’s chin as if he’s about to check.

Sam bats him away, shaking his head. “I’ve jusdt fucked ubp by voice,” he croaks. “She tell you what happended?”

“Yeah.” Dean brushes hair out of Sam’s face. “You’re pale as fuck. You got a migraine?”

Sam nods cautiously.

“You gonna puke in my car?”

“Ndo,” he rasps.

Sam’s forehead crinkles slightly between the eyebrows. Dean rolls his eyes and passes him the box of Kleenex he’d moved from the driver’s seat.

“Bless you.”

Sam gropes blindly at the tissues as his breath hitches, eyes staring unfocused at the Impala roof. “HuhhhHISHHUuu! HIT-Shyew! HEPTchyew! EhTCHyew! HEHTchyew! HepPtchyew! UhpTChyew! UhHuTCHyew! EhIHTCHyew! UhIHTCHyew! UhTCHyew! UhTCHyew!”

When they finally settle down, Sam leans towards his lap with a weary groan, knuckles kneading at his forehead.

“Jesus Sam.”

Sam groans again in response.

“I really think we should ask that girl for a list of the stuff she uses.”

Sam rubs a flat hand over his eyes. “It’s dot gondda help us to kndow what idt’s called. What’re we gondda do, rindg up everyonde ind advance andd ask, ‘Do you use andy of these products?’”

Dean sucks his teeth. “Hey, maybe I wanna know what to write on your epitaph…”

“She’s doesnd’t dneed that right now Deand.”

Dean scowls, but he starts up the car. “I told you I should never leave you when you have a cold.”

Sam opens his mouth in the beginnings of a protest, but finally sinks back against his seat in surrender. “Okay, Deand, you wind. Dno mbore splittindg ubp.”

[SexualOddity]

Gah... forgot to add the prompt again, I'm sorry!

PROMPT: So there's a particular type of scent (perfume or whatever) that Sam is really allergic to. He doesn't know what it is, he just knows it when he smells it--right before it sets him off with sneezing, headaches, asthma, etc. And let's say the person he needs to interview is wearing it. And maybe he's a little under the weather already (cold, pollen season, whatever.)

Now what's Sammy going to do? : (

[obsessed]

Wonderful:)

[flower]

Great descriptions!

[Ciuty80]

OMG this is SOOO AWESOME!!!!! :drool:

[27jj]

sexy sexy sexyyyyyy

[glaciosity]

Aw, Sammy. This is lovely