What I have left of you (SPN)

[SexualOddity]

Apparently I'm into writing teen angst lately... go figure.

Again, warning for high story:sneezing ratio.

Hope you enjoy!

==

John wasn’t doing it out of spite, Dean got that. And it wasn’t about being sick and stressed and not wanting to listen to them bicker. Well, it was maybe a little about that. But not mostly. Mostly it was about knowing that they needed him to bash their heads together before everything could go back to being alright. But goddamn it, Dean mulled, as he pressed his head back against the motel room wall, he couldn’t have timed the damn thing worse.

They’d been locked in the little twin room for less than ten minutes before Sam had started sneezing. Dean had noticed him sniffling earlier in the day, but it was freezing out and they’d been trudging door to door interviewing witnesses, so he hadn’t thought too much about it.

“Andtihistambindes or Dayquil Sambby?”

John had appeared at the door after Sam’s third sneezing fit, box of tissues under his arm. Sam’s eyes had flicked across to John’s room through the doorway and Dean knew that he was considering making a break for it. The moment passed though and he just reached up with a sigh to take the Kleenex from his Father. It was the only real choice. Sam knew as well as Dean that even if he’d have made it out of the motel, there was shit all to do in this hick town, and John wasn’t in the mood to let either one of them back into the car until they’d thrashed things out.

“Nyquil,” Sam muttered, and if John felt the same knife-twist of worry that Dean had taken at his stomach, then he didn’t show any signs, just leant back into room for a packet of tablets for Sam: non-drowsy, most likely.

“You’ll have to bmake do with this. You two got talkindg to do before either onde of you passes oudt.”

“HhhDdjSHHshyew! NDJ’CHh! HuhhUHhNn!” Sam pressed the back of his wrist tight against his nose, sneezing. Apparently the feeling was contagious because there was an almighty echo from the adjoining room as the door banged shut.

**

Truthfully, Dean wasn’t even that sure what they started arguing about. He’d been sick himself at the time and ill-tempered. Sam had probably done something to piss him off: that wasn’t really the point. He’d been feeling like shit and Sam used to get that. Used to make allowances. God, where was the Sam that used to cup his hands round Dean’s forehead and pout and insist that ‘Daddy’s not supposed to be cross until Dean gets better.’ Hell, where was Sam at all lately? Wasn’t this the same kid who would try to walk like Dean, who sung along to all Dean’s songs wildly out of tune, who pulled on Dean’s jacket even though it was a mile too big? And yeah, they’d grown out of all of that now, but he’d still take it over this new, mumbling Sammy, who dragged his feet and wore his hood up and only ever got excited by a textbook or a stupid loser friend that he’d known for all of two minutes at whatever local school.

Sam, who had taken his medicine from John and then slunk off to a corner with his walkman, shifted suddenly and started rubbing in circles at his nose with the heel of his hand. Dean knew what was coming. Sam sneezed like a bastard when he was sick, presumably because his sinuses were shitty and sensitive to begin with. The kid was a mess of allergies. Dean had wondered sometimes whether they were his fault as well, since they were all tied in a bundle with his immune system. But then they’d visit the home of a cat owner and he’d remember that all that hair and dander would set him off just as easily as dust or pollen would Sam. After that he could usually convince himself that it was just crap that ran in the family. Illnesses were different though, and that’s why he hadn’t stopped watching his brother, even if it was through narrowed eyes.

Sam looked up, apparently startled, and grabbed at the tissue box.

“HEHhpNHhP’TCHUH! TCH’USHH’Yew! USCHH’HYEW! USHH’SHYEW! HEHP’DJSHhhh! Huh... HehhUSHHyew! USHH’YEW! HehHhh’TSCHhh’ShYEW!

Dean winced when Sam breath caught at the end of the fit and he crumpled over, coughing. It always came on quick with Sam, but even so, this was too gruff, too deep, too echoey in his chest. Dean wondered whether he’d been suppressing symptoms until they’d finished up the hunt.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Sam mumbled when he’d finished, clearing his throat and spitting into a stack of Kleenex.

“I’m what?”

“You don’t have to make that face just cos I’m sick. You frigging gave this to me.”

“Well actually Dad...”

“Who’d Dad get it from?” Sam snapped, and flipped over on the bed, pulling his covers up high.

“I wasn’t making a face because you’re sick,” Dean offered lamely, feeling he probably ought to have led with that.

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled, before giving a long and forceful sniff.

“Jesus. Doesn’t mean you can’t use a tissue.”

Dean wondered why he continued to open his mouth sometimes.

**

Sam’s breathing was getting louder and louder, firstly it was that fucking rattle, every time in between bouts of coughing. He ought to have noticed it earlier. Next, it was sniffling. Sam bore it out for a good while, probably out of spite over Dean’s latest comment. In the end though, he huffed and stuck his arm out from under the blanket for a handful of Kleenex. After he blew his nose, his breathing was soft and stuffy. He was getting congested.

Dean had been hoping to God that Sam wouldn’t catch this one. It was just a cold, but it was a stupid, stubborn, shitty-ass cold. Dean had come down with it over two weeks ago and he still had a catch in his throat and an aching behind his eyes that told he still hadn’t completely seen the back of it. This was not going to be an easy ride, even by Sam’s standards.

Dean kicked off his shoes and shuffled back onto the bed and resolved just to stay awake and watch his brother. To his surprise, it was a comfortably familiar feeling. They’d been there before. Too many times. One saving grace was that at least by that time Sam didn’t catch things like he used to do. For a couple of years after the attack he would just pick up everything. There had been a few scary episodes with unusual diseases that Dean had forced himself to forget. By the time Sam started counting his age in double figures, thank God, he only seemed to come down with the pissy little colds and coughs that he would have gotten anyway. Granted, when he got them, he barely seemed able to dredge up enough in the way of immune system to fight off even them. But at least they were all he got.

They sat in that room for a long time without saying anything. Sam was reading, and after a while Dean pulled out the sawn pieces of plywood that he was determined would become a crossbow by the end of the month. A couple of times he half-formed conversation starters and brushed them off before they made it out of his mouth. Anything he could say seemed insufficient somehow. He’d been good at this, once. When their Dad used to tie himself in knots trying to get through to Sam, all it would take Dean was a look, or a couple of words. He’d never been able to explain it to John either; it was instinctual, like a separate language that they both shared. He wasn’t sure exactly when he lost it, suspected that it had been slipping for a while. But now here was a gap between them, bigger than just this argument, and Dean hadn’t the first idea how to bridge it.

It was only when he began to tune back into the stuffy breathing across the room that he realised that his brother had fallen asleep. Dean stood up and stretched, trying to enliven his muscles. This, at least, he knew how to deal with. Making sure things were alright with Sammy. He took himself a glass of water from the bathroom and settled onto his mattress, preparing to stay awake.

It used to be Dean’s absolutely most hated thing: watching Sam get sick: knowing how weak he’d left him all those years before; knowing how much Sam would struggle with whatever was the latest bug, having to fight a hundred times harder than was natural to cast it off. He could see, each time, and now just as vividly as he had twelve years ago, the Striga of their childhood, hovering over Sam’s bed: claws under his head, tilting his chin, staring and fucking sucking, as all the life, and fight, and the health wrenched out of his brother’s body. Dean should have been there, should have been ready with the shotgun that his Dad had left for him. If he had, then Sam would get sick, moan about it for a couple days and then get over it like everyone else. But Dean had let him down, so Sam was gonna shake and crumple and crash and fight, just to get over what ought to have been some bug.

Sam bundled his covers tighter around him, which was an immediate warning sign. John had never told Sam about what had happened that night when Dean had left him alone. And over the past couple of years, as he’d gotten older, he’d started to get embarrassed about getting so sickly, had been resistive of Dean and their Dad’s attention when he was ill. And they respected that, as much as they could. But a fever was one of those signs that they couldn’t ignore. A fever would sap even the little bit of fight that Sam could muster. Dean crept up to where his brother lay, determined to get a feel of his skin before he shrugged him off. Anything over a hundred degrees and all bets were off.

**

To his own surprise, Dean was adamant this time that he would be the one to watch over Sammy. John was all set to swoop in, the way he always did. He’d never meant to fall asleep, had always been planning to break them up way before Sam got to this stage, most likely had expected Dean to be the most relieved of anyone. This time, though, when Dean got back with the rest of the medicines from the car (they ought to have been in John’s room, because he ought to have been taking them, but Dean would broach that subject later) he just couldn’t bring himself to pass them across.

John had worried. Had insisted that Dean should get some sleep, that he was well enough to take care of Sam alone.

It wasn’t that.

He said that it was time for Dean to give himself a break, that he’d set things right in the way he’d watched out for Sammy every day since that Striga.

Dean hadn’t set things right, or else Sam wouldn’t be suffering like this. But that wasn’t it either.

All Dean knew was, this time he had to be there. It had to be him wetting flannel after flannel and pressing them over his brother’s head for as long as they stay cool, sitting him up and rubbing his back as he coaxed him into swallowing mouthfuls of tap water. This time he was going to be there. He was sick of running away and pretending this mistake had never happened. He could be there for Sammy. That was one thing that he could do.

Sam pulled back from Dean’s grip, when he tried to offer painkillers, muttering something that Dean couldn’t make out.

“Okay, okay, now... hey,” Dean admonished, “You’re a smart kid. You’re just gonna have to figure out a way to hate me and to let me get you better at the same time.”

And thank God, because the kid was growing stronger, Sam relaxed his resistance.

“Good. Okay. That’s good. I gotcha.”

“We’re dnot aboudt to lose himb, you kndow.” John commented, from where he hovered in the doorway, watching on as Dean steadied his younger brother with an arm around his shoulder, pressing a mass of Kleenex to his face as he sneezed continually.

Dean knew that, too.

It wasn’t until a few months later, when the backseat of the Impala was empty, and the other bed in his twin room belonged to John, that he realised that it had been a whole different kind of losing Sam that he was really afraid of, and that that night was had been about clinging to the little he had left.

[VividBubbles!]

OMG, ALL THE WINCHESTER FEELS! THEY'RE SMOTHERING ME!

Aggdkjsundeijddklzlhhzgj. *drowns*

bye.

[Sawyer]

Oh MAAAAAN. I'm usually not even very into sadness and angst but your writing is soooo so incredible that I really really enjoyed this a lot. Let's see… I might basically be rephrasing this whole thing back to you by listing off all the things that I liked...

1. sam having the sniffles all day and dean assuming it's because he's cold

2. "sambby" mmmmhfh cute

3. your sneeze spellings are incredible. as always. i don't know how you come up with them, they're always so like, detailed and vivid? you're very phonetically talented. also the back of the wrist against the nose? cute cute cuuuuute

4. i like how the cold worked its way through all of them, from dean to john to sam. the close quarters and intimacy and contagion is really really nice

5. the cold being so bad that dean's still feeling it a couple weeks later!! and your descriptions of it are perfect, as always

6. "a mess of allergies"

7. sam sneezing a lot when he's sick, and his sinuses being so sensitive and irritable urgh you're the best

8. the allergies! mentioning dean's cat allergies! god that's hot. all of it is like, really really hot. "crap that ran in the family." god you are brilliant brilliant

9. symptoms coming on quick and dean's familiarity with sam's sicknesses. and the thought of sam suppressing symptoms! hot hot hot

10. oh god the description of sam's breathing? his sniffling and it being all soft when he blew his nose and like, man i don't know, you're amazing when it comes to describing stuff… you've always got the right words…

11. omg you used the striga thing! oh my god! i love that prompt and that idea and i never knew how to do anything with it but it's always been like, my head canon, and seeing you execute it so PERFECTLY has just got me so so happy. like all of the illnesses from it, and how it left him all sensitive, and that whole paragraph i guess, it's just… it reaaaally hits the spot for me

12. and sam being embarrassed and dean checking him for fever awwww

13. all of the worry! goddddd

14. and dean trying to make up for it, and being so comforting, and just that sad ending, god, man, you are really just… good at this… i'm seriously at a loss for words right now. this is all really really awesome. thank you.

[Zwee]

Ohhh, SexualOddity, you're going to make me cry. I swear. Just, the image of this. And sick Sammy being all angsty and Dean just knows what to say to get him to grudgingly cooperate and... man. He's half-sleeping. And Dean's determined to take care of him, and John is pretty sick too and they both just love their Sammy so much.

I don't know why, but I guess it's never sunk in how much it must have sucked for John and Dean when Sam left. I mean, I always knew they were pretty angry, and they missed him, but I never really thought about them LOSING him before, and it's breaking my heart! And this fits in so perfectly with my mental storyline.

And I love that Dean's all guilty about the Striga thing, even to this day, because of the effect it had on Sam's immune system. Poor guy!

Aaaahh, you've done it again. It's just so good. <3!!

[SexualOddity]

You guys have the awesome-ist comments. Thank you so much! I'm not really that into angst myself usually, but I do have a real interest in that time when Sam left because I can completely understand polar opposite standpoints within the family, and it's cool to play with the fact that they're thinking these things that are so reasonable to them and yet so incomprehensible to the rest of their family. I have massive Striga-love as well (although perhaps 'love' isn't really the right word!) and would be really interested to hear other people's take on the consequences of that attack, should anyone ever feel inspired.

Thanks again, your comments are always so detailed and so lovely and they make my day Now I must try to think of something lighthearted to write to shake off all this doom and gloom!