If They'd Have Let Me Write The Pestilence Episode... (SPN)

[Skyler]

Oh my goodness I love this so much! Thank you so much for continuing it and I just can't wait to see more!

[Always-a-Ginger]

Loved the phrase "sudden onset cabin fever" fantastic turn of a phrase.

[NorthernLady]

It’s gonna be a long drive.

Oh I bet Your story gets me in the mood to write everytime And Dean's jealous of Sam's sneezing fit? Priceless! Edited October 1, 2013 by NorthernLady

[Sawyer]

Totally worth the wait. Oh my god. I love how Dean doesn't have any control over it, especially compared to Sam who is basically, like, a veteran, and that little description of him being photic (SO cute) and how the sneezing had totally wrecked his voice and Dean recounting his sneezing fits in the drugstooooore and I LOVE how Dean is so desperate to sneeze but of course nothing's happening, and then Sam stifling them and trying to hold them back and talking about how he was trying to hold them back while the sneezes basically topple out right over his words! So so so hot! Wow. And of course Dean is so sweet to keep the windows up because Sam is cold, even though it's making him heat up like that. Poor boys. I loooove love it.

[VividBubbles!]

I'm sorry I can't leave a longer comment but, just so you know, this is amazing and I'm loving it and I can't wait to read more.

BYE!

[Firebrand]

Oohhhh Dean - I imagine all those lovely stuck sneezes will come pouring out eventually. At least I hope so I love that he's jealous of Sam, and that neither one has any control over their sneezes - Sam's won't stop coming and Dean can't coax them out. Love love love!!

[NorthernLady]

I'm having a mad idea right now.... a cross over with my story the edge and Dean using the lost feather to induce those stuck snezes.

Yep, I am a mad woman!

Now I'll go drewl in a corner while I'm waiting for your next chapter

[Zwee]

Aggghhhh, I haven't commented in ages due to my crazy business (SO MANY THINGS SERIOUSLY) but I have to I just really have to.

BECAUSE THIS IS SO GOOD.

Your writing is fantastic, as usual. I'm always just so happy when I haven't read something of yours in a while and then all of a sudden I read it, and the writing is just so amazing. I'm a sucker for, well... you.

Ohhhhh my god, yes, Sam is photic, he is, yes. Yes. And Dean tries to be, but it just doesn't work, and he's jealous that Sam is, and the poor guy, with all the stuck sneezes, I don't blame him! (I think I've definitely been in that position before, it sucks)

THIS IS SO GOOD, I might not be able to wait for more, because... I might just die. It's so cute.

P.S. "I couldn't hold it back"... I died. That's so hot. That's. SO. HOT.

[SexualOddity]

When they reach the warehouse, it’s mouldy and damp as they remember, but to Dean’s relief the change in the air is enough to loosen up some of the pent-up irritation. Granted, now, his eyes and nose are streaming and he can’t get a clear minute of searching the place before he breaks off to sneeze again, but he’ll take it. He turns away from the suspended handcuffs he woke up in that morning and braces himself against a wall, fist up against his nose.

“HuHhHTCH’CHYUH! Huh... HSHHH’UH!”

After the drive down, it feels kinda good. He sniffs deeply and flicks on his torch to get a closer look at the shelf where they’d found the needles and the stack of papers before they’d left. That morning had been a cut and run job, with no idea what they were up against and feeling wobbly as hell after the sedatives. Any investigation they’d made of the warehouse had been cursory at best. All they need now is a hint, something they’d missed. And sooner rather than later would be good. Time is moving and Dean is beginning to wonder how many hours they’d used of the allotted twenty four... Six? Seven? He actively does not take his crumpled-up list of illnesses from his pocket to work out how long they have before the viruses start piling on top of each other.

Feeling the swell of a sneeze at his septum, he lifts the sleeve of his torch-bearing hand as he feels along the walls for inconsistencies.

“HhhHGH’NGGH!”

Dean stumbles as he twists away, the pressure from his arm too late to crush back the itching as it crescendos without warning. Giving up on the search for a moment, he presses his palm flat against his nose, trying at least to push the prickling to a shade under infuriating, as his breath shakes and judders and his lungs fill too fucking slowly.

“hHhh...HHhHuhh... Huh’Hi’HI HI’HUH! HUH! Oh G’uhH GodHhhHH’RASHSHYEW! GSSHHuUHHH! HuhhhHH’MNPMPTT!”

He groans and sniffs and straightens, and realises Sam is looking over expectantly. He clears his throat.

“You say something?”

“Yeah.” Sam is frowning. “You okay?”

Dean blinks. He repeats the question internally but it only gives him the same results.

“No, actually I sniff! I have this Pestilence-thing. You heard of it? It’s a bitch....”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam responds, and Dean has to raise an eyebrow. “The way you’re holding yourself - are you hurt?”

“Oh... no.” Dean wipes his nose on his sleeve and heads for some more Kleenex from the box they’ve left in the corner. “Scraped my back or something, that’s all. Sniff! Rubs against my shirt when I’m sneezing.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m serious, Sam, it’s just a scrape.”

“Great. Then you won’t mind if I have a look.” He’s already marched across and is tugging the fabric out of Dean’s jeans. Behind him, Dean hears Sam’s breath catch.

“Hey,” Dean turns defensively, “Are you about to sneeze on me?”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he does pull his sleeves over his hands, wandering over to the gaping window frame and ducking his head to catch the sunlight. His face creases and his eyes water for a second before he draws in an enormous breath.

“HhhhhuhhHhHKTCH’TCHyew! KSHHSHHHuhHH! HDJJh’ISHHyew! ISSHhYEW! Hh’ISHHHYEW!”

Sam rubs his face with his shirt-covered hands, and takes a breath to recover before holding his arms out, plaintively. “Okay. That’s it for sneezing. I promise.”

Reluctantly, and feeling weirdly exposed in this drafty old building, Dean lifts his shirt and lets Sam close in. To his surprise, Sam swears, yanks the shirt up higher and runs a thumb over Dean’s back. It stings to the touch.

“Jesus Christ, Dean!”

“What?” Dean asks, a little worried now, in spite of himself.

The only answer he gets is Sam’s huge palm slapped against his forehead.

“Okay, okay...” Sam mutters, “ I think we have antibiotics in the first aid kit. Did you buy a thermometer?”

“Yeah... in the bag in the back...”

Dean has to literally catch a hold of Sam’s wrist to keep him from running out to the Impala without another word. “Seriously, what the hell is up?”

“Remember that septic-ass wound...”

“That healed over months ago,” Dean interrupts.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It looks like it’s back.”

[telltale]

Ooooh. This is fantastic!

[NorthernLady]

This is starting to look like a whump fic Pushing even move buttons.... thanks:)

[SexualOddity]

Oh hell yeah, whump all the way, lol!

[NorthernLady]

You are making me uncharacteristically happy! It's a hard feat considering I'm already floating in bliss with the new season and your stories

[Lace Butterfly]

This is sooo good, can't wait for more

[SexualOddity]

Dean stiffens and sucks at his teeth when Sam presses the whiskey-sodden T-shirt against his back, and then fucking scowls when his breath catches as if in surprise and he lunges away, dripping fabric held out at arm’s length. It feels like the fiftieth time.

“HhhhuhKhHESH’SHYEW! UhhESHHHAH!

“God’s sake, Sam!”

“I’bm hhh- sorry,” he sniffs, the back of his wrist shoved up against his septum, gasping and spluttering and he tries urgently to bring his breathing back under control. That’s part of the problem: if he would just sneeze and get it out of his system they’d probably be done by now.

“Look, can we just leave the dressing?” Dean is exhausted. “You suck as an orderly and the infection’s gonna spread whatever we do. Pretty sure that’s how this works.”

Sam frowns and pulls a clump of Kleenex from his pocket. He’s not happy – Dean can tell, but he’s gonna have to live with it. He knows as well as Dean does that it’s not an opportunity for second chances. They can air out their shit another time.

“C’mon,” Dean tells him, “You wanna help, let’s figure out where Pestilence is before it gets any worse.”

He feels along the wall, and tries not to wince when his skin tightens as he crouches down. It is a little unnerving. They were expecting the infection. What he wasn’t prepared for was the festering skin and the crap bubbling up where there’s not even a wound to infect any more. The way Sam describes it, the whole scar is a mass of infectious gunk, and not the slightest hint of a nick or a fresh wound. But whatever. They knew this was gonna get weird.

Dean sniffs and wipes his nose against his sleeve. Sam is still looking over as he feels along the window-ledge.

“What’s up with you?”

“You’re shivering,” Sam notices.

“Hey, Mr. Observation. Why not save it for the case, huh? HhhHHKHuh! HuhAHTSHeww!” Dean feels down the wall with the pads of his fingertips, and then drops to his knees when he feels something catch. He sniffs. “You might want to hold that thought actually. You got a knife there?”

Sam reaches in his jacket for a fishing blade and hands it across. It slips neatly down the side of the brick that will have been behind Dean’s head that morning. Using the knife as a lever, he can just about get enough purchase to scrabble at the brick with his fingertips. It eases out gradually, until it’s far enough removed that he can pull on it. Dean coughs and bats at the dust that comes loose before turning over the brick in his hands.

“You seen this before?” Dean asks, running his thumb across some type of carving.

Sam sneezes and shakes his head but pulls a pen and pad from out his pocket to take down a sketch, as Dean clears Sam’s cuffs out of the way and checks out the opposing wall.

“It’s complex for a sigil,” Sam mutters. “Looks a little like electric circuitry. One for Bobby maybe.” He snaps a picture of the brick on his cell.

“Looks like you got one too,” Dean tells him, prizing out a brick from out of Sam’s wall. “I guess we phone it in, hope to God it leads us somewhere.”

[Introvertedme]

God this is beyond perfect. Just absolutely amazing!!!!!! <333 I can't even. Asbhsdjnansjdidkd

[SexualOddity]

There’s not a whole lot to do once they send across the sigil. Research is pretty much out: too great a risk of infecting people at the library and a quick skim of their Dad’s journal comes up empty. They stay in the warehouse, mainly because there’s nowhere to go but the car and Sam protests that if they’re waiting around anyway, they may as well take the opportunity to stretch their legs.

Dean is doing just that, slumped up against a wall surrounded by potions and packets. He’s been meaning to do this for a while, have a really good check through the medicines. He’d picked up a ton of herbal crap, mostly in the hope that if some of it turned out to be worth using, it would ease the pressure on them to scrutinise labels for fear of overdosing.. He’s wrapped in a blanket that Sam pulled out of the trunk for him. It makes him feel a little ridiculous. But hell, it’s drafty in the warehouse and it’s taking the edge off the chill.

He pops a couple of natural tablets for sinus headaches and sets an alarm on his phone to remind him to check back to see if they’d made any difference. Sam turns over the packet of fever-reduction powder in his hands for about five minutes before he accepts that there’s no way for them to get hold of the boiling water they need without putting someone else at risk of infection. Instead, he doses Dean up with Tylenol, promising he’ll keep a track of what he’s given him.

“You look fucking awful,” he tells him, as he screws the cap back on the bottle. “Can’t believe I could miss this the first time around.”

Dean bites back a groan. It’s a conversation that will lead them nowhere good.

“You had other things on your mind.”

It comes out harsher that Dean had been intending.

“I know, God, Dean, I...”

“Forget it. It’s done.” He hands over the paper bag. “Help me sort through some of this stuff.”

Sam looks for a minute like he’s not gonna let it drop, but then he sighs and takes the medicines from Dean. He pulls out a couple of packets and sets them to one side.

“Aromatherapy?” he asks, lifting out a little jar of oil.

“Er... yeah. It’s supposed to give you energy. Thought it might come in useful.”

Sam considers the bottle for a moment before screwing off the cap and taking a sniff. He scrunches up his face immediately and presses a fist against the bridge of his nose with a grunt of displeasure.

“You okay there?”

Sam makes eye contact briefly, but he’s tearing up, he squints up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

“HuhUHHSHhSHyuhw!” he explodes into waiting hands, “UHHSH’SHYEW! Hah! HahASH’Shyew! HASH’SHYEW! HhhHuh...Huuuh...HHRRH’ISHHSHYEW! Urgh. Oh God. That’s sniff! That’s h-horrible HHH’HSHHHAH!”

“Wow. Allergies. That’s exactly what we need.” Dean plucks the bottle out of his brother’s hands, taking a sniff of the stuff for himself, reasoning that if he can keep it at a distance from Sammy an energy boost might actually come in handy.

It’s stronger than he’s expecting and it makes him blink. He’s screwing the cap back on and about to slip it into his jacket when, to his surprise, a fizzle of irritation starts to grow beneath the bridge of his nose. He isn't normally particularly bothered by strong scents.

He breathes and runs finger and thumb across his creased eyes and, sure enough, it builds steadily. He reels back and gasps at the air. “Hurhh... HuUHTCH’CHYUUH! UHHSHshUH! USHHH’YUW! Urgh.” He sniffs, and frowns at the container. “Well, forget you.”

He's about to hurl it across the room when Sam, still sniffling, catches his arm.

“Don’t. If it breaks this whole place’ll smell of the stuff.”

He pulls it back from Dean’s grasp and sets it in the corner of the room. Dean goes back to massaging away the itching stuck up in his nostrils and picking idly through the bag.

“You got anything else natural?” Sam asks.

“Not unless you want another hit of that nasal spray?”

That had made Sam sneeze, too.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m good thanks. Saving that one for special occasions.”

[Sawyer]

Oh my god. Still loving this. Allergic to the aromatherapy... even Dean is bothered by it... god... you're doing things to me. As always! YOU'RE THE BEST. Wow

[Always-a-Ginger]

Love Dean's irritation at the bottle and his desire to throw it. Very in character.

[Skyler]

That thing with the bottle was very amusing and Dean like

[MaiMai]

Wow. Omg this is amazing. I love this so, so much!!

It's all so perfectly in character and I love your writing style and aaahhhhhhh just everything!!!!

[Anilkex]

How do you do this?! It's amazing how this plot is unfolding. I can't wait for more!

[Zwee]

AAAGGGGHHH allergies playing a part YESYESYESYES this is too perfect. It's too perfect. Like... I don't think you understand the level of happiness this story is giving me. Even Dean is allergic to the aromatherapy. Because just one allergic brother isn't cute enough!!! <3

Awwwww and Sam beating himself up about Dean's infection and Dean just not wanting anything to do with it and poor both of them they are so sick and miserable and helpless but they are so prepared I love it.

The organized part of me is enjoying them having all the supplies they might need and keeping track of them. And the fetishist part of me is loving that all the supplies they have aren't completely ruining all of the symptoms.

AND ALSO THIS IS PERFECT. JUST SO YOU KNOW. IT IS. I CAN'T.

[SexualOddity]

Goddamn they wait a long time for Bobby to call them back. It’s the aching that gets Dean first: dull, and right down to his fucking bones. He’s still sneezing because, as much as his immune system has moved on to bigger and better things, of course, the stupid ass cold isn’t going anywhere. He presses his sleeve hard against his septum, trying to last as long as he can before it happens again. Not an hour ago he was sat in the car itching like bastard and wishing for a sneezing fit. Not now. He’s not such a fan of sneezing anymore. He had never realised how much of his body it used until every muscle began protesting the movement.

“You okay?”

“Mmm.”

It isn’t Sam’s fault. Not this time. God, of course he knows that. But damn if he can help it. He just doesn’t really want to speak to him right now.

The next thing that comes over him is these really weird ass shivers, he’s had them a handful of times before, no more than he can count on a single hand, just millimetre deep and all the fuck over his body. But right there under the chill, everything is fucking burning, and it’s leaving him shaking and sweating and all the heat is beading out of him onto this Goddamn shivery surface and chilling him even more. It’s strange, and out of balance and fucking wrong. He bundles the blanket around him and forgets he ever found it embarrassing.

“NkkKSHHshAH! KHH’HSHH’SHYEW!”

Sam won’t quit sneezing. It had settled a bit after his last lot of medicine, but he’s off again. All the fucking time. He sneezes a ton when he’s sick at the best of times but this cold is something else. Dean wishes it would stop. It’s jarring. And worse, it makes his own desperate ticking feel all the more irrisistable. He clamps his hand in a fist around his nose and wills it into submission.

“Hey,” Sam croaks

Dean lifts his head. “KSSHHUH! ‘TCHhew! TSCHHH!” He sniffs and mumbles a curse.

“You really okay?”

“I’m tired.” Dean tells him. It isn’t a lie.

“You’re mbad at mbe. I deserve it, I kndow.”

Dean sniffs again, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “I’m mad at the world. I never was any good at being sick.” That’s not a lie either; not really.

Sam crouches closer and pushes his hand up Dean’s forehead. It’s blissfully cool.

“I should never have let it get this bad the first time around,” Sam murmurs as he pulls the themometer from his back pocket and takes Dean’s temperature.

They’re supposed to have put all that behind them. So Dean doesn’t tell Sam that he’s right.

It’s so damn nostaligic, that’s the problem. It’s like campfires, or the smell of that stinking disinfectant they use at hospitals. He can’t feel all this crap and not remember like the day, feeling it all stretched out on a shitty motel mattress, wondering whether his brother was out playing with demons.

He’s only really brought back into the warehouse when the air around him breaks into hacking.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice cracks as it breaks through a layer of sedation. He shivers. “That cough is new.”

“Yeah, it kinda is. I’bm gettindg a little stuffy as well.” Sam sniffs congestedly, as if to demonstrate, but he’s smiling. “If it holds back the sndeezing though, I wond’t hate it.”

Dean clears his throat. He feels like he’s in a bubble. “Another bug?”

Sam nods. “Andother cold I thindk.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the wall. “Startindg to feel like a petri-dish.”

They sit in silence for a minute.

“I kndow, this is ond mbe. If I’d have beend around to kndow thadt your woundd was fucked up…”

“You apologised for this whole thing months ago.” Dean sniffs. “We’re only even thinking about it because of this stupid Pestilence.”

Sam rests a hand on his arm. “I’mb sdtill sorry you’re have to have it all over againd.”

“There’s some cough medicine in the bag. Dig it out.” Dean encourages him.

Sam smiles. Dean leans back against the wall and tries to let the aching melt away.

It’s okay.

Sam gets it.

[Always-a-Ginger]

This is beyond fantastic! Poor Dean! He needs a hug - I volunteer.

And you are an amazing writer. I love your use of simple statements:

• “I’m tired.” Dean tells him. It isn’t a lie.
  
• “I’m mad at the world. I never was any good at being sick.” That’s not a lie either; not really.
  
• It’s okay.
  
• Sam gets it.
  

it makes Dean, specifically. very sympathetic - and sad.

Also love how you have him struggling with leaving the past in the past. There is SO much history that they have buried - interesting to see how much is really and truly buried.

Thank you for the amazing addition!