Addendum

[SexualOddity]

Hi guys,

I recently wrote a fic on LJ that I can't post here, because it's porn, basically, but after posting it my friend suggested an addendum, which was inspired by the Brian Buckley video that Jared was in, where he sniffs the yellow flower? Dunno, if you know it, but anyway, the second part is a lot more family friendly and it makes sense on it's own so I thought I would share it here. Hope you enjoy!

--

Oh, um, basic premise from the other story that you need to know - Sam can guess how many times he's gonna sneeze from various things that he's allergic to. KinkyDean likes this a lot.

--

“Hey Sam.”

Sam looks up from the coffee he’s pouring into their thermos lid, eyebrows raised.

“How many sneezes from one of those flowers?” Dean nods his head in the direction of a hanging basket by the side of the victim’s door. Inside there is a cluster of yellow flowers, all fine and flimsy petals.

“You have to be kidding me.”

Dean holds up his hands defensively. “What?”

“Have I not sneezed enough this past week?” He sets his cup on the dashboard and hands the thermos across to Dean.

It’s a fair comment, when Dean had come back from Purgatory, against all the odds, Sam had probably been in worse shape of the two of them. True to form, not long after Dean’s disappearance he’d managed to pick up what had to be the most ridiculously bad cold ever previously caught. It was like him, to be honest. It’s not the first time he’d managed to make himself literally sick with worry. Dean hadn’t seemed surprised to find him ill on his return, but he had been angry at how bad Sam had let it get.

Pretty much as soon as he’d gotten ill, Sam had been shaky, feverish, not in much of a state for hunting. But Dean was gone and there’d been Leviathans still to deal with, so Sam had stuck it out pigheadedly for days, fighting Leviathans in the shitty wind and rain of the Fall, and as a result earning himself a worryingly high temperature and more cuts and scrapes than Dean had picked up during his entire stay in Purgatory.

Dean had cursed, had patched him up and sent him to bed, and there he’d stayed for the best part of the week. Today he’s feeling under the weather for sure, and he’s aching all over from far too many bumps and bruises, but when he’d woken up that morning, he’d felt so much better than he had previously, and within an hour it was apparent that he was gonna be too restless to benefit from another day in bed.

“You feeling too sick for it?”

“No… not really,” Sam admits, “but we’ve sat here for the past hour waiting to do this interview. You watch, the minute I get all sneezy, the guy will come home.”

And then Sam realises that the argument is pretty much over, because when he turns to Dean he’s wearing the most pathetically pleading expression. It has Sam torn between wanting to pat him on the head or to punch him, but absolutely, in a million years, never, ever to say no to him.

“Aw Sammy, I’ve been away so long.” (The ‘so’ emphasised of course, because, clearly, the expression alone was not a sufficient tug on Sam’s heartstrings) “And when you were sick it didn’t count. I was so worried about you.”

Sam gives a long sigh.

“After the interview, alright? And we buy some good tissues when we’re done.”

Dean beams. “You got it, Sammy.”

**

Flowers are kinda tough to predict actually. They’ve tried them before, and there’s always a bit of a difference with different types. It’s too late in the year for Sam’s hayfever, so generally he’d guess low, but then, he’s not over his cold yet, not really, and his nose has been twitchy and sensitive all day. He eyes the flower. It could probably set off a pretty decent fit.

“Fourteen,” he decides.

“Fourteen?”

It is a high guess for a single flower, but Sam thinks he’s feeling the starting of a tickle even at this distance, so he nods and agrees.

“Fourteen.”

“Awesome!” And Goddamnit, Dean’s eyes are fucking twinkling.

“You’re too cute for my own good,” Sam mutters, taking the flower from Dean.

He takes his time over it, knowing it’ll drive Dean wild, burrows his face in amongst the petals and breathes deep, letting one of them brush against the underside of his nose.

And oh God, there it is. The faintest physical contact, and it could have been an electric impulse, darting fast and insistent up through his nose. That fluey irritation that has spent all day penned up in his sinuses is starting to bubble to the surface as well. And shit, oh yep, fourteen was a pretty decent guess.

“HuHHhUSHHHhUH!” Sam clamps a hand around his nose, and before he can recover, he’s drawing in another shaky breath, tears beading in his eyes as his head tips back. “HuhhISHHHyew! ISHHHhhYew! ISHHHhhYuh! Huhh’ISHHH!”

The skin on the inside of his nose is a web of prickles, and they peek up at different points like pins and needles, sometimes mildly, sometimes so harshly that it makes Sam’s breath catch. He scrunches up his nose to concentrate the feeling, to draw out a sneeze from all the pointless irritation. It takes a moment of tortuous waiting, eyes squeezed shut, barely controlling shallow breaths in and out of his mouth, just riding out the discomfort until, mercifully, he gasps.

“HurrR’AHSHhYew! H’ASHHhah! H’ASHHhh! Ugh God.” He’s finished for the moment, but his nose is twitching ominously, flinching at the remaining stabs of itchiness.

“Are you okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. He’s lightheaded though. And on reflection, he could probably have used a couple more days to recover before he started sticking his head into things that make him sneeze. It’s winding up, though, at least, so he takes a deep breath and waits for the next wave to break.

“Ehhh… EHH’UhhISHHhYew! ISHHHahh! USHHH!”

“That’s eleven”

Sam wipes his eyes and looks across at Dean, breath hitching. Dean is frozen, wide-eyed and watching Sam. He presses the back of his hand against his nose and shuts his eyes.

“HAHT’TCHYew! ESHH’Yew! Huh… Ehh… Uhh… HUHH’IShhhUh!”

Dean is shaking, sweating. “Jesus, Sam. Bless you!”

Sam grins and gets into the car. “You owe mbe tissues.”

“You got it,” Dean agrees, climbing hastily in beside him. “God, I’ll never know how it is you do that.”

Sam just chuckles. “Mbe and mby ndose are quite indtimbately acquaindted. We’ve beend through a lodt of shidt together.”

He frowns though, and rubs his nose against his hand, something not feeling entirely right. Dean notices.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Still getting to bme a little.” He sniffs. “Thindk I jusdt ndeed to blow mby ndose.”

**

It’s not far to the drugstore and Dean is good to him, he picks up a box of the most ridiculously soft (and probably the most ridiculously expensive) tissues that Sam has ever used. The residual tickling has actually grown to the point of being maddening, so he tears into the packet eagerly, even after a days and days of runny noses and, before Dean showed up, painful blowing on too-rough toilet paper.

This box of Kleenex is a dream in comparison, and after he blows his nose, he pinches at all the itchy little corners of his nostrils, relieved at the opportunity to squash back some of the irritation.

It doesn’t work out like he’d expected.

“Ah’ISHHH!” It comes out startled and surprised and Sam cups his tissue-covered hand around his face reflexively. “HehhhISHHHyew!”

Dean looks as alarmed as Sam feels.

“Bless you!”

“I… uh… Oh.” He pulls desperately at the next tissue in the box, just cramming it to his face in time. “HaISHHhhYew! HahISHHyew! AhhISHHHyew! HahASHHH!”

“Sammy?”

“IshHHhhuh! Shit AhhISHHHuh! HISHHh! I dond’t thindk that I cand stop.”

“Oh God.”

“HEH’TCH’Yew! T’SCHHHyew! HuhhhISHHhhYew!”

“I guess doing this sick wasn’t such a good idea then?”

Sam shakes his head and scrunches up his face as a new wave of itchiness builds.

“Do you want, like, Nyquil?”

Sam nods.

“Decongestants?”

He nods again.

“Extra tissues?”

And again.

“Ihh…IhhhHTT’TSHAH! HuhhhUSHHHh! HahASHHYew! HuhhhUSHHHhh!”

“Okay, hold on a sec.”

Sam leans against the dashboard, face buried in a handful of Kleenex.

“HahhISHHHuh! ISHhh’Hah! ISHHAHhh!”

Dean stops abruptly as he prepares to get out of the car.

“Um… Sam?”

“Mnb?”

“I don’t want to come across as selfish but…”

“Yes, we’re still havindg sex. KhhhuhISHHyew! Urgh! You cand be ond tobp.”

[Ciuty80]

uuuhhhhggghhhh my gawwwwd this is SEXY as HELL!!!!!

[Always]

Oh this was lovely. Brilliant job!<3

[27jj]

HNGHHHHHHHH YES OMG

this world needs more sam + flowers

[Zwee]

HOTTEST THING I'VE READ? YES. CAPS LOCK WORKS SUPER WELL WHEN I NEED TO EXPRESS LOVE FOR EVERY SINGLE THING YOU EVER WRITE.

Seriously. I am dying. Sam predicting his number of sneezes? Sam being allergic and sick at the same time?? I think I'll read this over and over again...

[SexualOddity]

Hey guys, I have been asked on LJ to make this into a series, and given this prompt:

hey so you should write us one with dust and then it turns out it's dust from a house or a room or whatever that had animals so it's way worse than sam predicted THE END

So... I'm excited because I like this Sam-predicted-allergies world but a little nervous about how much I have to say about it, but -I am taking up the challenge. (I will request writer's group access also so that I can hopefully label this as an ongoing thing). That said, if anyone has anything they would like to see, please do prompt it, and lets see if we can make thing into something. Eeep!

--

Sam wipes at his eyes and glances at his brother.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean asks him.

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters, but he scrubs extra hard at his nose with the heel of his hand.

He’s not too sure about Dean He’ s watching, sure, but Sam’s not convinced that it’s not in a concerned-big-brother kind of a way. And God knows, he is struggling. He’d be surprised if Dean hadn’t have noticed. Maybe he’s been wrong about the whole thing.

But God, Dean loves this. Like… loves this. And, you know, in fairness, Sam doesn’t mind it all that much either. If nature is gonna kick him in the groin with fifteen million allergies, he may as well get some admiration out of it, and shit, he is pretty damn good at this, and it’s not even like he just has to say so himself.

He rubs his nose against his sleeve. Today they’re working on a previously-cremated ghost, which of course means traipsing around a long-abandoned house looking for remains. Dean had, as usual, asked him how many times he expected to sneeze. He told Dean that he was sans-medication (Dean at least pretended to be pissed – he said that Sam had far too many allergies to just forget about tablets outside of hayfever season.) so he guessed at a couple of fits of 10-15 followed by around about a couple of sneezes every five minutes. Sam could swear Dean’s eyes had lit up. But, hell, maybe Sam’s just trying to squeeze logic into his bizarrely-conceived hypothesis.

Sam turns away from Dean and squeezes hard at the bridge of his nose. He’s not feeling too great actually, way worse than he would have anticipated from a standard dusty old house. He hasn’t even thought about starting a search yet, and when he tries to huff, and marshal his motivation, he can hear a whistle in his breath.

“You wheezy kid?”

Sam shrugs. “Dusty,” he offers, in explanation. “You know how it is.”

He has medication with him. Of course he does. It’s in his bag in the footwell of the Impala. He’s been through too far many horrible attacks to risk going without access to anything at all. He was hoping for something though, some sort of indication of what he’s been suspecting. Of something to prove that he’s not just going crazy.

“Hehh-HAH-Ah-Hehhh-Ah,” His breath is suddenly snatched away from him, shaking and shuddering in preparation for a fit of sneezes. He scrunches up his nose, because it’s too soon for this, and why the hell is he having this kind of reaction?

“HehhR’AHASHhhYew!” He blinks at his hand, which has suddenly advanced to cover his nose and his mouth, although he can’t actually remember putting it there. “HaahhhhSH’SHYerw! HAHKkkKK’ShhYew! TSCHHHhh’SHYEW! TuhSHHH’Yew! HUHT’TISHHHHhhSHYEW!” He’s heaved forward, landing a hand against the kitchen surface to steady himself as he sneezes openly towards the floor. “HUH’TSHHH’SHYew! ‘TSHHhhSHYEW! UHT’SHhhSHYEW! HahUSHHhyuh! USHH’Yuh! USHHhhuh! H’USHHhh!”

Dean pokes his head around the door. “Jesus, I don’t know how you do that.”

Sam nods absently, vaguely aware that he must have gotten to a figure not too far from his estimate. His head spins though, and this sure as hell isn’t what he expected. He rubs at his chest and gives an uncomfortable cough.

And maybe, it occurs to Sam. he enjoys the whole guessing game every bit as much as Dean. It’s a crappy lot, after all, being allergic to a whole ton of things that are pretty much day by day for them, even without his Dad’s voice in his head echoing back over years of him standing over Sam, making sure he took all his meds, that no-nonsense tone mingled with those wide, insistent (frightened?) eyes, telling him that if it knocked his concentration his next allergy attack could well be his last.

There’s a certain security in having grown to understand his body, as infuriating as it is. At twenty-three there aren’t a whole lot of surprises any more. It’s been a long time since he discovered a new allergy, and those he’s familiar with have been triggered so frequently during the course of their hunting that he has a pretty reliable handle on exactly when and how he’s going to suffer. And that he can work around. If he knows when he’s gonna be incapacitated, he knows when he’ll be sufficiently together to make up for lost time. If he knows how quickly an attack is going to come on, he knows how long he has to act. And, perhaps as much on a personal note as on a hunting one, if he knows how long it’s about to last it’s that much easier to pace himself for endurance. Yeah. As it happens, Sam is a master at predicting the effect of his own allergies. It’s what gets him through them.

“HNn’Nnngh’TCHAH! ‘TCH’AH! HuhhhTSHHH’SHAH! TCH’YAH! HUSHhhAH! HuhUSHHhAH! HuhhEHhhHEHT’TCH’ISHH’SHYEW! HUHTSCHYEW! HuhhSHY’YEW! HUSHHhSHYEW! HuhUSHHHhh!”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean’s voice calls through from the other room, and Sam knows immediately that he’d been something close to accurate. But the fit was violent, and he’s dizzy now. And numbers don’t matter a whole lot because that was sure as hell not what he was expecting. He holds tighter to the kitchen surface and pants through his mouth, fresh irritation already beginning to scorch in his nostrils, not entirely sure how he’s gonna make it through to the end of this search.

“Er… Sammy?”

Dean’s head appears in the doorway once more.

“I just found a ton of cat hair in the corner of the room.”

And just like that, the whole thing makes sense. He blinks at Dean, wet-eyed.

“I think you need to go wait in the car, buddy.”

And Sam just nods and follows as Dean shepherds him out the door.

There’s a niggling, in the back of his mind, as he fishes in his bag for antihistamines and leans back in the passenger seat of the Impala, that tells him he’s not quite done with watching Dean’s reaction to the whole thing. But he takes a dose of his inhaler, and blows his nose between sneezing fits, and decides that he’ll wait for more favourable conditions.

[Tassielli]

Holy-what!?!?!? I just. I love you. Will you marry me? This is freaking awesome.

[Zwee]

Yes yes yes yes yes. Predicting-sneezes-allergic-Sammy is now a legitimate world. Yes.

Oh my god, though. Sam sneezing THAT many times. 11! 11 was the lowest number in a row. I think I died a little. A lot, actually. I think I'm in love. I KNOW I'm in love. I will be looking forward to more of this. I will REALLY really be looking forward to more of this.

Thank you!