Clouds Know Best (SPN casefic)

[Sawyer]

This is kind of a super (SUPER SUPER) late present for Zwee, who has always been incredibly sweet and awesome and told me what she liked, although even if you hadn't done that I would have probably added in the exact same things because we like so much of the same stuff, which is great. Sorry this took forever! I got caught up with whatever, and ended up being unable to sit down and write this until last night...

-

Dean doesn’t like the way the sky is looking.

Suspicious cobalt clouds are moving swiftly across the horizon, threatening rain and chilly wind. The weather’s been just crisp enough lately for a leather jacket and open window, but radio forecasts have been warning for destructive storms since they got on the road this morning.

“We should get a move on,” Dean urges. “I don’t wanna be trudging around in the rain looking for this thing. What did you say we were up against, again?”

“Not sure,” Sam answers, “but there are at least seven reports of women disappearing to these woods for days, and dying shortly after they return to town.” His voice sticks, and he pauses to clear his throat. “Figure it’s worth checking out.”

“Lucky we’re not this thing’s M.O.” Dean parks the car in front of the bundle of trees and nature, the lot empty thanks to the promise of bad weather. “Well, not me at least…”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Seriously.” Dean kills the engine, steps out of the car and slams his door shut. “You’ve been sorta… broody and whiny since this morning. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just,” Sam clears his throat again. “Tired, I guess. Sore throat.”

Dean frowns. “Think there’s some Tylenol left in the kit. You should take it when we’re done tonight.”

“Yeah, okay mom.”

“Whatever,” Dean huffs as he opens the trunk. “So. We know how to kill this thing?”

“Not so much. We don’t even know what it is, Dean.”

Dean sighs, grabs a couple guns and a lighter. “Great. Piece of cake.”

-

They’re deep in the woods when the sky opens up, violent and windy and loud, rain coming down in buckets. Visibility’s limited and the air’s suddenly cooler albeit more damp, the setting sun hidden by dark clouds.

“Stay close,” Dean orders. “It’ll be impossible to hear you otherwise, if you need help.”

“Or you,” Sam points out. He wipes his dripping bangs away from his eyes, blinks hard and rubs his forehead.

“Please. Damsel in distress is totally your thing, man,” Dean teases.

“Oh really?” Sam pushes. “Maybe you’re forgetting the wendigo in—”

“Hold on a sec,” Dean interrupts, thankful for the distraction. He bends down in front of a fallen tree with pseudo-letters scratched into its stump. “This look like anything to you?”

Mirroring his brother, Sam leans over to get a closer look. “Some sort of writing,” he deducts. “Looks like Gaelic.”

“Gaelic,” Dean repeats. “You think it might have anything to do with…?”

“Could be,” Sam confirms. “It’s worth checking out.” He goes to grab his phone so, but hastily ends up spinning around so that he’s no longer facing Dean. “Hh’mnnCHsh!”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Gesundheit.”

“Ugh. Thanks. Sniff! Hey, my phone’s soaked. You think you could get a picture so I can research it hih! later? HuhNGHTch’ew!”

“Left it in the car. You okay?”

Sam straightens, clears his throat. “Fine. Sorry.” He doesn’t mention that his waterlogged clothes feel heavy on his body, or that he feels pressure in his sinuses and fire in his throat.

-

Turns out that the whatever-it-is that they’re hunting isn’t anything they’ve faced in the past. While it stood at the same height as a human, perhaps even shorter, it was seemingly a lot more broad – although, with the rain, they were only able to view its silhouette.

It had been able to control the forest, tearing off branches and sharpening the ends into spears without touching them, ripping trees up from their roots in an attempt to collapse them on top of the duo. It was after Sam had gotten nicked on the cheek (no splinters, Dean checked) that they had admitted they would need backup on this one.

“Well, Bobby’s out,” Dean announces, slamming his cell phone shut. They’ve taken refuge in the car, after driving twenty miles away from the haunted forest and parking it on the side of the road. The sky has yet to clear up, and even though it’s less than an hour shy of midnight, the road’s mostly empty. “Already working a case in Bismarck.”

“Ellen and Jo?” Sam proposes. He’s looking worse for wear already. His nose is steadily turning more and more pink, which actually isn’t unusual for him when the weather’s anything but warm and sunny, but his forehead’s creased, suggesting a headache.

Dean goes through his contacts list and presses the green ‘call’ button when he hits Ellen’s name. “It’s ringing.” He looks Sam up and down. “And take off that jacket. It’s soaked.” Dean cranks up the heat while Sam sheds his coat; they’re both cold, but Sam’s trembling, and his nose hasn’t stopped running since before they made their way back to the car. “Tissues are in the back seat, if you weren’t already aware that you sound like a – Hey. Ellen. It’s Dean.”

Sam leans over the backseat while his brother takes the time to catch Ellen up. He rummages through empty bags of candy and a couple of blankets before gratefully stumbling upon the box.

“Hp’CHSHH!” He’s already got one square folded over the lower half of his face, his hand clamped tightly over it as an extra buffer. “HuhtTCHHuh! Huh! Hh’HuhTCHSH! TSHHEW! Hih’ktCHSH! HehISSHUH! TSSCHEW!”

He feels like the inside of his face is still buzzing, except now it’s dull and irritating rather than urgent and itchy. He takes a fresh tissue and squeezes his nose, not wanting to risk the lack of conspicuousness that would come with blowing it.

“Ellen says to take a shot of NyQuil. And bless you.” Dean puts the car into drive. “She knows about an empty cabin a couple miles back. She and Jo can make it here before noon tomorrow – they’re in the area anyway.”

“Roadhouse is closed?”

“I guess. Ash’s probably watching it while they’re gone.”

“Hm.” Sam buries his face in a third tissue, gasps and turns toward the window. “MmpKSSH! NgkiSHHEW!”

“How many is that now? Like, ten?”

“No. Sniff! Shut up.”

-

The promised cabin is shrouded by trees and without working heat. The rooms are small and dark, but there’s a fireplace and working electricity, which is good enough for the both of them.

“You wanna see if this place has any hot water?” Dean asks, opening the door to one of the cabin’s two bedrooms.

“Nah. Think I’m just gonna turn in.” Still shivering, Sam yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Hey, there’s only one bed.”

Dean holds a fist on his flat palm and says, “Play you for it,” but Sam just shakes his head.

“It’s alright. You take it. Think I saw an afghan on the couch.”

With a shrug, Dean says, “Suit yourself. Want me to grab the cold medicine from the car?”

“I’m good,” Sam answers, clears his throat. “Probably just sleep it off, feel better when I wake up.”

Dean rolls his eyes; he knows his brother better than that.

-

Morning comes too quickly, Sam realizes, when he wakes up to the sound of his brother starting up the cabin’s coffeemaker, whistling and humming as he rummages through the wooden cabinets.

Sam’s coughing into his wrist before he even sits up, the sound light and rattling. He still feels cold, even though Dean’s got a fire going in the living room already and the afghan’s almost long enough to cover him from his feet to his neck.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean calls from over the couch. The linoleum floor of the kitchen meets the carpet in the living room just beyond where Sam’s laying, connecting the two sections to each other.

Sam coughs again, a little harder this time, and then Dean’s next to him with a glass of water from the tap.

“Cold’s worse, huh?”

“Yeah.” Sam inhales through his nose, which then emits a wet squeaky sound. He exhales through his mouth next, instead. “Still dot too bad though. Should probably get sobe research dode before Elled add Jo show up.”

Dean rests the back of his hand on Sam’s cheek. “Little warm,” he notes, and then rises from the couch. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “It’s a cold, Deand.”

Dean shrugs and heads back into the kitchen.

Sam sniffles and follows him in, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table and resisting the urge to drape the afghan around his shoulders. It’s still warm from his body heat, and the kitchen is further from the fire (and therefore colder) than the living room is.

“We have ady tissues left?” He asks, blinking hard as he sits down at the table. He doesn’t have time to wait for a response, and turns away into his sleeve instead. “It’CHHshUH! HghISHHEW! ISSHuh!”

“Bless you. Here,” Dean sets a napkin dispenser down in front of Sam, next to a plate of eggs and toast. “Sounds like you need ‘em.”

“Th—huh!—thadks. HptISHCHH! Ugh.”

“Jeez, Sammy.” Dean places his hands on each of Sam’s shoulders, rolls his palms a little to briefly massage the cramped muscles. “You gonna keep that up all day?”

Sam sniffles thickly, his shoulders slumping. “Hope dot.” Shivering, he opens his laptop and begins to eat, wincing with each bite as if swallowing is hurting his throat. It probably is.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab the meds from the car,” Dean announces. “Looks like you’re a lot worse off than you thought you’d be.”

“Huh’NGHshhew! Doe, I’b fide,” Sam insists, grabbing a napkin and swiping it underneath his nose. “I deed to focus od this. Add if I dridk the syrup I’ll just fall asleep.”

“Not like you couldn’t use the rest,” Dean comments. While he grabs their first aid kid from the car, he laments on it – Sam has never been great at sleeping through the night, but the trouble he’s been having lately is new even for him. Add that to the cheap diner food and change in weather and really, it’s no wonder that Sam’s come down with something. About time, more like. Just during a really inconvenient time, Dean adds to himself as he grabs the tissues from the front seat.

When he gets back Sam’s plate is still half-full and pushed to the edge of the table, discarded in favor of his weakened appetite. He’s clicking around frustratedly on his laptop and pinching his nose with a napkin.

“What’s wrong? Breakfast okay?” Dean asks.

“I… NGHKTSHH! Ub. Sniff! I dod’t kndow. Cad’t taste adythigg.” Sam blows his nose into the napkin, balls it up and tosses it into the trashcan by the sink. “Doe wifi id the cabid, though. I’b godda have to hook it up to the phode jack id the bedroom.”

Dean frowns, not entirely happy with the idea of his brother working alone and sick in a separate room all day. “You sure? I can take care of it while you get some rest.”

“Yeah. It’s fide. Less chadce of you catchigg this if I stay id there adyway. ‘S like quaradtide.”

Dean rolls his eyes, because Really? Quarantine? If he were going to avoid catching something off of Sam he should have started taking preventative measures a long time ago. When you share a car, a bathroom, and a bedroom with somebody there’s really only so much you can do.

“Well, whatever. Ellen and Jo should be here in a couple hours if you wanna get started.” Dean hands the tissues to Sam, who’s blinking rapidly, his breaths fluttering. “Probably should take these in there with you.”

“Hp’NGXTSHuh! ISSHEW!” Sam catches the sneezes in his sleeve before he can take the box. “Uh. Thadks.” His gaze remains downcast, as if he’s embarrassed. He snuffles into one of the tissues, stands and takes his laptop under his arm and into the bedroom down the hall.

-

It’s not long before Ellen and Jo do show up, each with an armful of books and a bag of groceries. It hasn’t stopped raining outside, so they each toe off their boots before stepping into the kitchen.

“We got some reports from the victims’ families,” Ellen says, setting her things down in the middle of the table. “Where’s your brother?”

“Not feeling well,” Dean answers. “But still researching in the bedroom. Only place he could get an internet connection. Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

“We were passing by,” Jo brushes off. “No trouble. Promise. It’s just research, right? Nothing I haven’t done before, so…”

“Well, still. Thanks.” Dean takes a seat at the table across from Jo and cracks open a book. “What have you found out?”

“You might be looking at an Irish faerie,” Ellen says. “Wouldn’t be the first time one of them popped its head ‘round these woods. I remember a case about twenty years ago, similar story, just fifteen miles west.”

“I just read about the sabe thigg,” Sam announces from the doorway. He’s leaning on the frame, pitifully holding a box of tissues and trembling with his expression weary. “Hey, Elled. Jo.”

“Oh, honey, you sound awful,” Ellen greets him, ushers him to a seat at the table next to his brother. “Were you feeling this bad yesterday?”

“Just sidce I woke up. But,” Sam pauses to cough into his shirt collar. “But it looks a lot worse thad it is, I thidk.”

“Your throat must be killing you,” Jo says sympathetically.

“I’b alright.” Sam clears his throat. “So, Irish faerie…?”

“Right,” Jo confirms, suddenly all business. “But there are dozens. We picked up a couple books on Irish mythology, but so far nothing’s turned up that targets young women.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to keep looking,” Dean proposes. He slides one of the books over to himself and turns to Sam. “You okay to keep looking out here, or…?”

Sam rubs his eyes. “I’b fide. Should probably put the cobputer to use, though. Just cabe out here to check up.”

“You got a headache?”

“I’b okay.” Sam clears his throat again, shudders and stands up. “Let be hh! kndow if you findd adythigg.”

-

Ellen makes soup for lunch, loaded with peppers and hot sauce to please Dean’s taste buds and clear Sam’s sinuses. Dean and Jo are hard at work skimming through the books at the table for information, and although they’ve all been hearing Sam’s (progressively more forceful) sneezing fits through the walls for hours and taking turns delivering information to him, he’s yet to come out of his room.

“Jo, honey, can you bring this bowl into Sam’s room?”

“Mom I’m in the middle of—”

“Please.” It’s not a request.

Jo complies, pattering down the hall and taking the book with her so that she can recite more material for Sam to go off of while he researches.

When she comes back, she looks at Dean and says, “Does he get like this every time he catches cold? I swear, every time I walk in there he’s sneezing or he’s blowing his nose. No clue how he can get any work done.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah. That’s Sammy for you. He’s efficient if anything.”

“He find out any more on the creature?” Ellen inquires.

“He thinks he knows what it is,” Jo informs. “He told me the name but I… couldn’t really understand him.” She shrugs, her expression sheepish.

“Poor thing. Lunch should do him some good, at least.”

-

Not even an hour later, Dean opens the bedroom door to the sight of his brother turned away from the laptop and nuzzling a tissue. “Bless you,” he says prematurely.

“HuhPSSHEW! Ngh’TSSHEW! ESHSHUH!” Sam snuffles into it, wipes his nose. “Thadks.”

“How you feelin’?”

“Beed better,” Sam answers honestly. He rubs his forearms. “Albost figured out how to kill this thidg, though.”

“What is it?”

“Called a… a Gadcadagh.”

“Come again?”

“A Gad… uh… here.” Frustrated, Sam pulls out a pen and scrawls the word GANCANAGH on a torn piece of notebook paper. “Irish faerie. It ebits addictive toxids, bakes people fall id love with it and kills – Huh! HuhISSHuh! – sorry – kills theb with withdrawal.”

“Gesundheit.” Dean absently kneads his brother’s neck with his fingers. “You figure out how to kill it yet?”

“Sniff! Dot yet,” Sam confirms. “They were supposed to have died out a logg tibe ago. I’b talking, like, thousadds of years. Legedd says that they hate sboke, but that odly drives it away; doesd’t get rid of it for good.”

Dean frowns. “We’ll keep looking, then. You need anything? Want to take a nap, maybe? You look pretty beat.”

“Just a headache frob lookidg at the screed for so logg,” Sam admits.

“Maybe you should take a break.”

-

Dean gets Sam settled on the couch, with a blanket around his shoulders and another cup of soup in his hand (“to keep up your strength, Sammy; you barely ate any breakfast.”). There’s a book on the table to his right, opened but unread, and a near-empty box of tissues on the coffee table in front of him.

Sam sets the soup down next to the box and plucks a tissue from it just in time. “Hp’KDTSHHuh!”

“Bless, honey,” Ellen says, materializing next to him and sliding a cool hand underneath his bangs. She hums as if she’s considering something, and out of politeness, Sam doesn’t flinch or pull away like he might with Dean. “You want me to bring you anything? Tea, more soup?”

“How about a beer?” Sam requests with misery in his tone.

Ellen rests her hand on his back and turns to leave. “Nice try.”

Sam rolls his eyes good-naturedly and coughs into a fist. He pulls the book onto his lap with one hand and covers his mouth and nose with the other. “MngkTSCHEW! Mmh’CHSHH! HgISSHEW!”

“Bless you,” Jo offers from the kitchen table behind him, and Sam hears the sound of turning pages. “Hey. You ever hear anything about faeries and smoke?”

“Nada,” Dean murmurs absently, skimming the pages of a mythological text across the table from her.

“They’re supposed to detest it,” Jo informs. “If we can find where this thing lives, we can use smoke to drive it out of the forest and kill it when it’s weak.”

Dean shrugs, grinning. “Not a bad idea.”

-

“Deand, you saw the dabage it did back there – it’s dadgerous for you to go without backup. I’b feelidg better, I’ve beed restidg all day—”

“Not another word, Sam.” The kid’s been wheedling for the better part of the last hour hour, and Dean’s just about had it. “You think you’re ready to go up against something that powerful? Not to mention we’ll be smoking this thing out of its home. I don’t think your lungs can take much more crap today. Stuff usually sets you off when you’re one-hundred percent, which you’re far from at the moment.”

“I’ve donde bore research thad you have,” Sam argues. “I’b goigg crazy sittidg aroud all day. I cad help.”

Dean sighs, pats his brother on the shoulder. “Tell you what, Ranger Joe. If you can take an honest-to-God deep breath, exhale and all, without coughing, I’ll let you tag along with us.”

Sam looks almost offended (but mostly bitchy), because they both know that Dean has him. He’s been taking wimpy, shallow breaths since before dinner, with a rattle in his chest and lightness in his head. For a moment he even considers taking on the challenge, but withdraws at the last second out of fear of hacking up a firey lung for twenty minutes after.

Instead, he says, “I dod’t have to prove adythigg to you.”

Humorlessly, Dean smiles. “You just did, Sammy.” He grabs his keys and a bottle of lighter fluid and heads for the front door. “Jo, you ready?”

-

“Honey, I wouldn’t have let them go off by themselves if I didn’t trust that they’d come back alive,” Ellen says soon after Dean and her daughter have driven off. She’s got the fireplace lit up and cozy, and she places two mugs on the coffee table before getting comfortable in the armchair next to Sam’s couch.

“You wered’t able to see this thidg, Elled. It was destructive.” Sam sips at his drink, relishing the warmth on his throat despite not being able to detect any flavor through his stuffy nose.

“Long as it doesn’t get Jo under its spell, they’ll be fine. But that’s not what you’re upset about, is it?”

Sam snuffles, coughs as he sets his drink down.

“You know that you wouldn’t be protecting anyone in the condition you’re in,” Ellen continues, her voice growing uncharacteristically soft at the sight of Sam’s messy hair and half-lidded eyes.

“It’s just a cold,” Sam reminds her.

“Bet that doesn’t mean you won’t get winded a lot more quickly, or that you wouldn’t be tripping over your own feet in the rain out there,” Ellen points out while Sam blows his nose. “It’s okay to take a break once in a while.”

-

It’s not even midnight when Dean and Jo return, boots caked in mud and eyes bright with adrenaline. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch at half-past nine.

“Should we move him to the bed?” Jo asks in a hushed tone, but Dean only pulls the blanket further up to Sam’s chin.

“How did the hunt go?” Ellen asks instead, standing from the couch and discarding her book onto the table.

“Thing died minutes after we got it away from the forest,” Dean reports.

“As predicted,” Jo adds. She gathers the mugs from the coffee table and heads for the kitchen. “You guys okay here?”

“Aside from the snoring?” Ellen jokes, gesturing to the couch where Sam’s fast asleep on his side, breathing stuffily through his mouth.

“Aw, give him a break. He’s sick.”

“Fever’s down, though.” Ellen smiles, lets her hand float off of the younger Winchester’s face.

“I’ll dose him up with more meds before we head out tomorrow,” Dean plans. He grabs a beer from the refrigerator, follows his little brother’s example and unwinds.

And in the morning, the sky opens up.

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

I can't put words on how perfect this is._. Like gah it's awesome! Amazing. Well written+detailed. Sick Sammy <3 perfect. I can't explain how much this is perfect ;o

[iluvsneezes]

Aww, I love this!! I hope you write some more.

[Akahana]

AWWWWWWW SAMMY!!! <3 <3 <3 Everyone's so cute~

[Always-a-Ginger]

Poor Sam quarantining himself.

Love the story.

[Zwee]

OH MY GOD you are the most perfect. I will worship you for all of eternity.

THIS IS SO GOOD I AM CRYING THIS IS PURE UNADULTERATED WONDERFULNESS. I am seriously about to explode with happiness!!!

Okay. WHAT. Jo and Ellen. I LOVE THEM. And the banter! And the cute cute cute worry. And Sam just puts himself in quarantine and still works himself to the ground because it's Sam, of COURSE he would do that on a hunt. Aaagghhh, I love the rain. I love it. Especially in sickfics. Because it's so shivery and wet, but when you're inside it's all cozy and they're just in a cabin in the woods in the rain hunting with Jo and Ellen and Sammy is nursing a horrible sneezy cold and they're all nonchalantly fussing over him. And I love that they ALL have input. Dean will do something, then Ellen, then Jo, and they all bless him and they all are just a little worried, but it's not really a big deal, he's just working himself too hard. Agghhhh.

Oh, also, when he was like, "How many is that now, ten?" I maybe went back and counted because Dean noticed of course and is a tiny bit worried, and Sam just brushes him off, but it was ELEVEN and Sammy, you're sick!! And Ellen can hear how miserable he sounds through the phone and says take NyQuil!! Ahhhh!! THE CUTENESS.

IT'S PERFECT. YOU'RE PERFECT.

[Zwee]

ALSO THANK YOU. HAVE I SAID THAT YET? THANK YOUUUUUUUU!!!

[youkaineko]

OH MY GOD you are the most perfect. I will worship you for all of eternity.

THIS IS SO GOOD I AM CRYING THIS IS PURE UNADULTERATED WONDERFULNESS. I am seriously about to explode with happiness!!!

Okay. WHAT. Jo and Ellen. I LOVE THEM. And the banter! And the cute cute cute worry. And Sam just puts himself in quarantine and still works himself to the ground because it's Sam, of COURSE he would do that on a hunt. Aaagghhh, I love the rain. I love it. Especially in sickfics. Because it's so shivery and wet, but when you're inside it's all cozy and they're just in a cabin in the woods in the rain hunting with Jo and Ellen and Sammy is nursing a horrible sneezy cold and they're all nonchalantly fussing over him. And I love that they ALL have input. Dean will do something, then Ellen, then Jo, and they all bless him and they all are just a little worried, but it's not really a big deal, he's just working himself too hard. Agghhhh.

Oh, also, when he was like, "How many is that now, ten?" I maybe went back and counted because Dean noticed of course and is a tiny bit worried, and Sam just brushes him off, but it was ELEVEN and Sammy, you're sick!! And Ellen can hear how miserable he sounds through the phone and says take NyQuil!! Ahhhh!! THE CUTENESS.

IT'S PERFECT. YOU'RE PERFECT.

^ alllll of that was exactly what went through my head, i couldn't have said it better.

Also, Dean casually massaging the aches out of Sam's neck and shoulders~ I didn't realize how... Enthralling the idea of that was. I had to stop and imagine it for a minute because guh~~

Wonderful wonderful!!

[Zwee]

Also, Dean casually massaging the aches out of Sam's neck and shoulders~ I didn't realize how... Enthralling the idea of that was. I had to stop and imagine it for a minute because guh~~

THIS. THIS EXACTLY.

I totally forgot about this while writing my comment (I was overcome by my gratitude and tears of joy) but this part totally stood out to me, I literally had emoticon hearts pouring out of me while I read this. (Okay, not literally, but, still.)

[Zebra]

I was only going to take a quick look at this and save it for later but it just sucked me in!! I'm in love with your writing and the fact that these wonderful fics keep on coming! Sick Sammy is so adorable. Thank you for this .

Dean rolls his eyes, because Really? Quarantine? If he were going to avoid catching something off of Sam he should have started taking preventative measures a long time ago. When you share a car, a bathroom, and a bedroom with somebody there’s really only so much you can do.

^^^^^^^ This is such a tease!