Changing Channels (SPN)

[SexualOddity]

Written for SenBeret's prompt of Tarotgal's meme:

Remember Changing Channels? What if instead of the Herpexia commercial, Gabriel put them in a commercial for allergy medicine... only, once they're done "playing their roles" for that particular segment, its effects haven't quite worn off.

It's a little off-prompt. Hopefully that's still okay!

--

The sky is a different kind of bright after the flashing lights of the Game Show studio. Sam squints, just as what feels like the start of a sneeze begins to build behind the bridge of his nose. To begin with, he rubs the back of his fingers against his septum, but when that doesn’t help any he changes tack, twisting away from his brother and bringing his arm up before his nose.

“HeH’HAHSHHhSHYEW!”

The sneeze is unexpectedly forceful and Sam has to take a step forward to keep his balance. Dean blesses him distractedly and Sam straightens, hoping to figure out where in the hell they are. The tingling in his nose isn’t letting up though, and he has to pinch it and massage at its sides for a little relief.

“So… uh… televised soccer match?” Dean suggests.

It seems a reasonable assumption. They’re out in a field trimmed short in a rectangle. No goalposts or pitch lines, but there’s…

“HUH’TchhhUH! HEHT-TCHhuh! HEHT-TCHUH! HuhhESHHSH’SHYEW!”

The string of sneezes bursts out of him, trampling all over his train of thought. He rocks on his feet and rubs at his face, hard, as, to his confusion, and even while he’s catching his breath, he can feel more approaching. The sensation starts small and uncomfortable at the roof of his mouth, but its building, growing, until it’s crawling through his nostrils, into his sinuses, down his throat, like a whole powerhouse waiting to catch alight.

“What in the… hheh! UhhhHH HUH’KkHATCHishhSHYEW! HPPtSHUH! EHTtSHUH! HEtCHUSH! HEHkkTtUSHHh! TSHH’SHUH! TSHHHushhHah! HEHPTtTUSHHSYEW!”

He’s just about gasping for air, wondering if he’s ever going to be able to stop, when Dean grabs him by both his arms. He’s bleary through Sam’s watery eyes, and Sam can’t make out what he’s saying amongst the infuriating pressure swelling in his head.

“HhhUhhh…EHH’ISHHSYEW!”

Sam twists urgently, trying to angle himself away from Dean, who catches on, thankfully, and lets go at the last minute. Sam jams the heel of his hand between his eyes, breathing carefully, feeling the threat of more sneezing and trying frantically to hold it back.

“Jesus, Sam. You still breathing there…”

Sam nods, but he can’t respond further before there’s a storm of people, a bunch of guys in T-shirts and soccer boots, people in denim with cameras and boom mics… A guy in a suit cuts through the crowd and takes Dean’s hand.

“Dean? Dean?” he confirms. “Okay, okay, good face. I like it. First things first. We need a smile, right at the camera, with the box in your hand.”

“The box?”

Sam breath starts to judder in expectation. He blinks hastily and uses his free hand to pull his arm in tighter across his face.

Dean fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out a blue, rectangular box. His eyes widen when he reads the packet.

“I think you’re gonna need these more than me buddy.”

Dean tosses the box, but when Sam reaches out to catch it, vision smeared and hazy, he only manages to bat it out of the air.

“Ahh – Andtihistambindes?” Sam askes with a sniff. He can feel his nose physically twitching. He pinches it, hard, and doesn’t let go.

“Yes, antihistamines.” Dean sweeps up the packet from Sam’s feet. “God, you’re useless.” He pops a tablet from the blister pack into Sam’s palm.

The bustle around them stills in an instant when a stern voice rings out through the noise.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

It’s the guy in the suit again, marching across to Dean, clipboard in hand.

“Are you giving him medicine?”

“Uh…”

Sam pockets the tablet, feeling guilty and wondering what for.

“He’s giving him medicine, I don’t believe this, he’s giving him medicine...” The clipboard goes up with the guys arms, in what Sam assumes is a gesture of despair.

“He’s the Before Guy,” the one with the boom mic explains as though it’s obvious and Dean is six. “You never give medicine to the Before Guy.”

“HhhHPSHHHuh!” Sam explodes into his fist, still clutched around his nose, unable to hold back another second. He tips his head back as his lungs swell, and realises to his dread that this is going to hit hard.

“EHH…SHhhHIHSHYEW!” he sneezes, lurching forward on his toes, pressing a hand against his bent knee to support himself. “EHHkkESHhYEW! HEK’KESSHHEW! HEP’HETSCHYEW!” He pauses, fighting to catch his breath, but his face is crawling, fucking pulsing with need. He gasps, and tries to brace himself for another wave. “Ehhh… Hehhh… EHSHSHYEW! HEHEHShhSHYEW! EhhHEHT’ASCHHH! HET’ASCHHH! UhhHUuuhrrRRUSCHHYEW!”

“Sam! Buddy, this is great work!”

Sam looks up to see a guy in a black t shirt and cap slap him on the back and grin. Not sure what’s going on, Sam just pants and sniffs and tries to get his breath back.

“Uhhh… Huh…. Uhh…” He grabs at his nose again. “Kleenex?” he suggests, hopeful. “HAH’ISHHSHNnmph! HUEH’NHhtTSHshyeW!”

“You know what… that is a great idea. This is why you’re a pro buddy.”

Just like that, a tissue box appears out of the crowd and the guy hands it over to Sam, who all but dives into it.

“Hehh...Huhh...HUH’HAHSHSHyew! Huh’ESHH! HESHH! HuhhHUHESHHUH! Huuh...”

“Oooh okay, no... wait.”

“Huh?”

The confusion catches Sam almost mid-sneeze, nose still twitching and tissue pressed up to his face.

“We don’t want you masking your face.” To Sam’s horror the guy actually takes a hold of his forearms and pulls them downward. "It's so red and swollen, brilliant, really...”

“Brilliandt..?” Sam repeats, dumbstruck.

“Dude, I think we’re in an allergy commercial.”

Sam looks over at where Dean is grinning into a camera, box of tablets in his hands and reading lines off a card.

“Okay!” The guy behind the camera calls. “We got this. Now let's head down the pitch and we’ll take some shots of you guys playing soccer.”

There’s noise again and movement, and Dean falls into step beside Sam.

“You know, you can’t take that yet.” Dean mutters, right as Sam’s hand closes around the tablet that's still in his pocket.

“Budt...”

“Play your roles, remember. You’re the one who said it.”

“Thadt’s easy for you to say,” Sam whispers. “You’re the After Guy.”

“You’ll be okay, come on. The sooner we do this, the sooner we get out of here.”

“This sucks. Why do you get to be the After Guy? You always get the better job!”

“Really? That’s your argument? I’ve had allergies since I was five, you’ve had them five minutes. I think you can suck it up.”

“I just got hit ind the balls!”

Dean chuckles at that. “Yeah, okay, you got me there.”

Suddenly the chatter quiets and all the cameras are pointed at Dean again. There are slaps on the back and general appreciation when he passes to and fro with a couple of the other soccer-boot guys and fires a shot at the open goal. Sam... just sneezes. And sneezes again.

“Sam you’re open!” A voice shouts from across the pitch.

Sam tries to follow the voice, but the sun is low in the sky and as he looks up he catches it full in the face. “Ehh...” He can just about make out the shadow of the ball curling above him and lurches out to meet it. “Ehh...HuHhh-EHSHHYUH! HuuHUHEHSHHUH! Hehhh-Ehhh-UHHHUHSHSHYEW!”

His momentum and the force of the final sneeze send him toppling headlong to the ground, hitting the spot he was aiming for just in time for the ball to bounce off his back. He groans into the patch of grass where he landed, face-first, and prepares himself for another sneezing fit.

Fucking Trickster.

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Awwwwh Sammmy<3

i love this fic, wonderfully written<3:)

[beatlelover22]

“Play your roles, remember. You’re the one who said it.”

“Thadt’s easy for you to say,” Sam whispers. “You’re the After Guy.”

Such a great prompt and very well written! I loved it! Thanks for writing