One Good Reason - SPN (Sam) Giftfic for Anikex

[SexualOddity]

This is a reeeeeally late birthdayfic for Anikex. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long but... um... happy birthday/Merry Christmas/Happy New Year all rolled into one?

Also, she gave me a prompt that I believe came from TG's meme, but I don't know who originally posted it I will share it at the end.

--

Maybe Sam huffs a little as they pull into the motel parking lot. He supposes he must have done, because Dean shuts off the engine, leans back in his seat and asks him,

“Are we really gonna have this argument again?”

Sam never intended to make an issue of it, not really. He’s agreed to toe the line and that’s that, for the time being at least. But what does Dean expect him to do? Just drift along and pretend that the whole thing makes sense?

“Do you really think Dad’s here?”

“I don’t know Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” he tells Dean, although he’s starting to wonder why he bothers. “Look, I get it, you don’t care. Fine. You wanna do the job? Let’s do the job. I’m not arguing.”

And he’s not. Really he’s not. Except that Dean can’t honestly be alright with it. They’re grown men for God’s sake. Dean’s twenty-six. Is he really gonna put up with waiting and worrying and wondering, hanging around for their Dad’s little snippits of information, all heads-bowed and ‘yes sir, thank you sir’? When’s he gonna see it for the pile of crap that it is?

“You know what gets me about the whole thing?” Sam asks as they march across the parking lot.

Dean stops. Sighs deeply.

“What? I’m just saying...”

“Go on and say it then.”

“I’m just saying that this is one time I could have actually been on the same page as Dad. Twenty two years he’s been dragging us around the Country after this demon and yeah, maybe I didn’t really get it then...”

Dean snorts. “Maybe?”

“Yeah, well, you know what? I caught up. Show me the demon: I’m ready to fight. But he’s not doing that, is he? He’s messing us around with co-ordinates and attic ghosts.”

“You know what dude?” Dean runs a hand over his face. To be fair to him, it’s been a long drive. “One day you’re gonna realise that the man knows what he’s about. ‘Til then, I guess you just gotta take my word for it. If he’s doing something, it’s ‘cause that’s what’s best for us.”

Sam almost does a double take. “It’s what?”

“What?” Dean shrugs.

Unbelievable. He actually seems genuinely confused.

“Where have you been all our lives Dean? When have you ever known Dad do anything for our benefit?”

Dean just frowns.

“I’m serious. Tell me one time he’s done anything just for us, for either of us.”

“So... What? Keeping you safe all these years doesn’t count? Raising you? Teaching you everything you know? Dragging you out of a burning building?”

“That was you.” Sam reminds him. “And I’m not talking about that stuff. Training, hunting monsters: that was Dad’s deal. Name one time he’s done something for us that had nothing to do with his stupid mission. Something he did because he gave a crap about us. Come on. You want me to give the guy a break? Give me a reason to. One reason.”

Dean can’t. Of course he can’t.

**

The diner’s only just opening up when Sam gets there, and it’s while he’s waiting for them to cook their breakfast that his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Pollen Count High. Take Medicine.

Sam grins. It’s been a while since he had one of those.

He feels fine, but he heads over to the Pharmacy anyway, after he picks up breakfast. The sun is only just coming up so maybe it’s a little early for his symptoms to hit. Besides, this is one area at least where he’s learnt that it’s better just to do what he’s told.

**

The first message had come through a few weeks after he’d arrived at Stanford. It was an email, if he remembers right. Bad weather. Dress warm. Or something to that effect.

Sam had wondered whether the campus clothing store had a new marketing manager. He went out in jeans and a t-shirt.

Halfway to class, a late summer storm hit - the worst Palo Alto had seen in years. Sam sat for three hours in a lecture theatre in sopping wet clothes.

He decided it was a coincidence.

**

Sure enough, when Sam is approaching the motel he feels it, a concentrated knot of irritation, deep and detached for the moment but insistent with it, somewhere between the back of his nose and his throat. He sniffs, wrinkles his nostrils and carries on walking.

By the time he’s made it into their room it’s grown into an uncomfortable pressure, and as soon as he can free up a hand by setting the coffee cups down, he’s squeezing at the bridge of his nose. Ugh,” he grunts. “You were right. I can feel it starting already.”

Dean looks up from the newspaper. “Feel what starting?”

“My allergies,” Sam sniffs, irritated tears pricking in his eyes, “but I took your advice.”

Dean is frowning at him, but Sam’s past talking. The tickly feeling is collecting now at the tip of his nose, and snatching the air from his lungs. In his best attempt at an explanation, he pulls his packet of antihistamines out of the bag and waggles them at Dean before twisting over his shoulder to sneeze.

“Gesundheit.”

“Thanks.” He sniffs. I got Kleenex too.” He sets himself down at the table, pops a tablet into his mouth and swallows it down with a glug of coffee. “Think that’s gonna turn out to have been a smart move.”

“Bit late in the season for you isn’t it?” Dean asks.

“Well yeah,” Confused, he looks up from tearing into the box of tissues. “That’s why I need the t’uhh-text messages.” He blows his nose, hoping it’ll smother an imminent sneeze. It doesn’t. “HUHt’USHhhUhh! HUH’TSHHhhUhh!.” He sniffs. “You know there’s a few times I would have had a shhh... shitty day if you hadn’t have had my... my... Hh’EhhUHhhShhYew! Ugh. My back.”

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

--

The second message came through on his cellphone a day after the first. He’d been sneezing more or less constantly for nearly twenty-four hours and was making what he considered a pretty heroic attempt to carry on studying.

He often ended up catching these strange kind of pseudo-colds when the weather was bad. They didn’t last long, and there were no symptoms as such, other than the shivers and a supremely sensitive and runny nose. He’d sneeze incessantly, but not his usual sneezes (thank goodness, because that would have been exhausting). They were these quick, little, shivery ones. Whenever this kind of an attack would hit, he’d wondered whether it was an illness at all. It would seem much more like a strange symptom of the temperature drop, except that it sometimes stuck around even after he’d tried to warm himself up, into the next day even, occasionally – this being the perfect example.

He set down his phone and pulled off another sheet of toilet paper to rub at his tickling nose. He wished now he’d bothered to stop by the store and pick up some proper Kleenex, but after three hours of trying to sneeze unobtrusively and still actually absorb something about constitutional law, he’d just wanted to get back to his dorm room.

“KHhh! KHhh! KHH! HUhShh! UhhTSshhUh! Huh’USHH!”

He straightened, nostrils quivering involuntarily as he felt himself teeter agonisingly on the brink of another run of sneezing. Pressing the back of his hand hard against his nose, he was able to squash the sensation just to the point of being manageable. He breathed long and shallow, shutting his eyes as he willed the feeling on.

“Hu-uhhh... Uhh-Hh!... Eh! HEH’TCHH! H’TCHhhuh! HuhPT’Chhuh! Chhuh! ChUhh! EtCHhUhh!”

He blew his nose and took another look at the screen of his phone. The message was exactly the same as the one he’d had by email the day before, but yesterday’s storm had cleared completely and so far it’d been a glorious morning.

By the time he headed out, a couple of hours later, he’d forgotten completely about the message.

He was just coming out of the store, a bag of groceries under his arm, when the heavens opened.

When he got sick that time around, it was a proper cold.

--

Sam sniffs and rubs a knuckle against his nose.

“I wound up with a fever that lasted an entire week,” he explains. “That’s when I figured I’d better listen next time you m’uhh... you messaged me...Hehh... HAH’ISHHSHyew! UhhghUSHHew! Huhh’USHH!”

“Bless. You okay?”

“Mmm... yeah, I will be.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you dude. It wasn’t me.”

“What?” Sam pauses, Kleenex resting in his two cupped hands, in preparation for blowing his nose.

Dean shrugs. “I didn’t send those messages.”

“But... Sniff!.. It had to be you.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Dude, come on. You know what I’m like when it’s cold, you know exactly what I’m allergic to...”

--

Text and email messages became a regular feature of Sam’s winters at Stanford. During his first November, in the spirit of obedience to his mystery well-wisher, he even scraped together some cash for a really decent winter coat. What was more, it turned out that his resolution to listen to the messages had actually worked in his favour. More than once, they’d acted as a reminder to protect himself against the sudden downfalls of the coast, and he made it through his first Californian winter having had a few of his typical shivery, sneezy attacks, but nothing more serious. A triumph: he decided, compared to how he usually fared in bad weather.

The messages petered out when the temperature began to rise, and he’d almost forgotten about them altogether when his phone buzzed in his pocket on his way out the door one weekday in mid-March.

Pollen Count High. Take Medicine.

That took him by surprise.

Sam’s particular brand of hayfever usually struck around mid-May. He hadn’t even thought about his allergies since arriving at Stanford, much less bought any antihistamines. To make matters worse, he was late for a seminar and he wasn’t gonna have time to run by a pharmacy.

Still, the local allergy season was a lot longer than Sam’s personal one. Apparently people with allergies to oak were suffering as early as February. Thankfully, that had never been a problem for Sam. It was only March. In all likelihood the message was well meaning, but not really relevant for him.

--

“Let me guess,” Dean speculates, “This story ends with you sneezing your face off?”

Sam’s laugh breaks through a fast-approaching sneeze. “P’huhh... pretty much y’ yeah-HuHTuSHCHhuh! It was the ehh-earliest surge of g’uhh... of grass pollen I’ve ever huhhh... ever heard o-AhHHtTtCH’UHh! AhhHTCH’EW! HAhHISHH’SHYEW! HAhhhSHYEW!”

“Jesus. Bless you.”

“Huh... hehh-huh!... oh-Hh’Hhh! oh God...” Sam scrubs frantically at his face, feeling impossibly sneezy. The tingling sensation somehow concentrates as it spreads - down the back of his throat, right across his face, even all the way along into his ears. Collected tears of irritation spill out over his eyelids and he bites down on his lip, nose quivering, squeezes his hands into fists, just trying to withstand the growing itch as it builds, much too slowly, towards a fit of sneezing.

He makes a hurried grab at the Kleenex box, pulling a few sheets free as he tilts backwards, still gasping fruitlessly at the air. God, he wishes those allergy meds would hurry up and start working.

“Sammy? Are you..?”

Sam just about manages to shake his head at him.

“HAHrR’ISHH’SHYew! HUHtISHH’SHYEW! T’SHYEW! T’SHHH! UhHSHH’SHYEW!”

He aches. His nose, his throat, his lungs. It’s an endless treadmill of air forcing its way in and out of his body. Gasping-sneezing-gasping-sneezing-gasping...

“AhhIHHT’TCHhYEW! HhhTCH’TCHYEW!”

He’s leaning back, lungs filling, preparing to start the whole thing all over again when there’s a slap of something cold right across his face. It’s enough of a surprise to shock him out of the cycle. That’s when he’s able to relax into it properly. Cloth – cold and wet and right across his face. He presses it down onto his eyes, which are hot and stinging below the fabric, only to have to whip it off a moment later so that he can sneeze into the crook of his arm.

“Bless you kiddo.”

“Thandks. And thandks for this,” Sam gasps, waving the flannel in the air. “I thought I was ndever gondda stop.”

“You should sit this hunt out.”

Pressing his face back into the cloth, Sam shakes his head.

“I thought you said it was just co-ordinates and attic ghosts.”

“I’bm combing.” Sam insists, through the wet fabric.

“Come on, dude. You know how this goes. Once it gets this bad it doesn’t let up all day.”

“That’s ondly whend I havend’t takend andythindg.” Sam protests. “Andtihistambindes dnever work right ondce I’ve already gottend goindg. Today I took themb before this started. It’s the sambe with andythindg. I’bm okay as londg as... sniff! As londg as I get the mbessage in timbe.”

--

When he set out across town to Jess’ house it had looked like being a decent day for late November, clear and crisp but sunny. He was about halfway there when he noticed the wispy white clouds overhead and not long after that that the first snowflakes began to fall. He was over halfway there by that time, though, so it didn’t seem worthwhile to go back for a coat. He’d completed eighty percent of his journey when the scattering had transformed into a blizzard, and ninety percent by the time the snow had melted huge damp patches into his sweater and he was shivering and sneezing endlessly (as was his way). At ninety percent he was pretty much damned either way. It made sense to at least get his phone back.

He decided that’s how he would explain it if anyone found him sneezing inexplicably on his new girlfriend’s doorstep.

He took a deep breath and pinched his nose hard, but he wasn’t hopeful. It might help a little with a proper cold, or with his hayfever, or even at the tail end of this weird cold-weather-sneezing thing, but right out in the cold when he’s still frozen through, his symptoms were formidable. Sure enough, in spite of his efforts, there was a brief flare of an itch high up in his nose, a snatched breath and then he dissolved into a flurry of something like a dozen sneezes.

Deciding there was no help for him, he shook the snow out of his hair and the worst of it from his shoulders, and knocked at the door.

Jess answered herself, which was a relief. His nose was tickling furiously, even thirty seconds after his last sneezing fit, and he wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with her roommates. Jess looked beautiful, even the morning after a party and wearing a Stanford hoodie and a pair of leggings. Sam felt like a mess.

“God, you must be frozen. Come in, come in.”

“I’m sorry to drop in on you.” Sam’s nose dripped and he tried to wipe it surreptitiously on the back of his hand. “I just wanted to see if I left my... phuhh... my phone here... last night. HAH’TshHh! EhhShhish!”

“Ble-“

He set a steadying hand on the doorframe “AhhShuh! Tshhuh! HuhTshhuh! HehUhShhuh! Ashhh! Huh...Ashhh! H’Ashh! HahShhish! Oh God. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Oh wow. Bless you. Do you need some Kleenex?”

He shivered deeply. “That would be... huh... really... AhhHishShyew!”

She disappeared out of the room and Sam decided that she’d taken that as a yes.

“I’m sorry you’re sick.” She called through from the kitchen, before reappearing, box of tissues in hand.

Sam took them gratefully. “I’m not sick. At least, I don’t think I am. I just have this weird thing with cold weather. It makes me shiver and... uh... andsneeze’HtTchuh!”

Jess laughed. “So I see. Can I do anything? Fire? Hot drink? Would that help?”

Sam folded his tissue carefully, and held it out in anticipation of another budding sneeze. He could go through Kleenex at an alarming rate on days like this, and he wanted to conserve as much as possible of Jess’ supply.

“Uh, it probably won’t stop the sneezing, or even the shivering, but it’d make me feel a lot better, if... AhTshhshyew! If that’s good enough.”

“More than good enough.” She agreed, turning on the fire. “It’s weird that I’ve never seen you like this.”

“It’s only if I... uh... EhhShuh! Hshhh’uh! If I get really cold.” He looked down at his dripping clothes. “Usually I plan better than... sniff! Than this... HehTchyew! Did you find my phone, by the way?”

He wasn’t at all surprised to find it in illuminated text on the screen.

First unread message: Bad weather, dress warm.

He took a fresh Kleenex and huddled in front of the fire, kicking himself.

--

“So it definitely wasn’t you. Not any of them?”

“Pretty sure I would remember.” Dean swirled cold coffee around the bottom of his mug. “Plus, I hate to say it bro, but I figured that someone with sinuses as bad as yours are might actually check his own weather forecast once in a while.”

“Bahh... Bite me. HEH’ISHHSHew!”

Dean grins. “That was the first in a while. You easing off a bit?”

“Yeah.” Sam massages the bridge of his nose. “I think the medicine’s starting to work.”

“Glad to hear it. Those attic ghosts aren’t gonna wait for the pollen count to dip.”

Sam just slumps in his chair. He sneezes again, and looks up to find Dean eyeing him carefully.

“Hey. You given any thought to who these messages could actually be from?”

Sam shakes his head. He’d been so certain it was Dean.

“Well, it’s someone who knows about your allergies, and your weird thing with the cold weather. Someone who knows you won’t get up off your ass to look after yourself properly...”

Sam is about to protest, but Dean holds a hand up to silence him.

“Someone who knew that you were in Stanford, and,” Dean slips the scrawled co-ordinates out from their Dad’s journal and pushes them in front of Sam, “someone who knows where you are right now.”

Sam lifts the scrap of paper from the table.

Dean stands. “You asked for one thing he’d done for you Sammy; one reason to give the guy a break.” He claps Sam on the back as he heads out to the car. "Pretty sure you just found it.”

--

Prompt:

So when Sam first starts at Stanford, he keeps getting all these texts and emails from an unknown source warning him about the pollen count, or if it's going to rain that day (which is ridiculous because the sky has need been more clear) so he should bring a jacket with him to class. At first he thinks nothing of it, but after getting caught in a few wayward storms WITHOUT said jacket, or having a really bad allergy day, he starts doing what they tell him. Eventually he figures out they must be from Dean, right? I mean, who else would try to mother him from who knows how many hundred/thousands of miles away. But imagine his surprise after he joins up with his brother again when the texts and emails keep coming. Turns out daddy dearest cared more about his well being than he thought!

[Always-a-Ginger]

This is so sweet!

[Anilkex]

.....

Um.

Had to read it twice before responding. Have to read it twice more to digest it properly.

Husband asked why I was yelling at my Chromebook. Had to explain that I got a birthday present. He didn't quite get it. I don't quite care.

AHHHH THIS WAS PERFECT!

MY THINGS OF LOVE:

1. The back and forth - how it was storytelling time, and real time and perfectperfectperfect!

2. Dean's whole tone - every word was spot on. Every word from him was casual, so HIM, so fantastic.

3.

“That was you.” Sam reminds him. “And I’m not talking about that stuff. Training, hunting monsters: that was Dad’s deal. Name one time he’s done something for us that had nothing to do with his stupid mission. Something he did because he gave a crap about us. Come on. You want me to give the guy a break? Give me a reason to. One reason.”

Dean can’t. Of course he can’t.

That part. That last part. That sums up why I love your writing.

4. I've never quoted how people have spelled out sneezing as being a favorite part. Not because I don't like it, or it was 'bad'. I just haven't. But this...THIS...

“KHhh! KHhh! KHH! HUhShh! UhhTSshhUh! Huh’USHH!”

and then THIS

Sam’s laugh breaks through a fast-approaching sneeze. “P’huhh... pretty much y’ yeah-HuHTuSHCHhuh! It was the ehh-earliest surge of g’uhh... of grass pollen I’ve ever huhhh... ever heard o-AhHHtTtCH’UHh! AhhHTCH’EW! HAhHISHH’SHYEW! HAhhhSHYEW!”

AND THEN THIS

“Well yeah,” Confused, he looks up from tearing into the box of tissues. “That’s why I need the t’uhh-text messages.” He blows his nose, hoping it’ll smother an imminent sneeze. It doesn’t. “HUHt’USHhhUhh! HUH’TSHHhhUhh!.” He sniffs. “You know there’s a few times I would have had a shhh... shitty day if you hadn’t have had my... my... Hh’EhhUHhhShhYew! Ugh. My back.”

5. Lines like these killed me.

Dean stops. Sighs deeply.

“What? I’m just saying...”

“Go on and say it then.”

He decided it was a coincidence.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He took a fresh Kleenex and huddled in front of the fire, kicking himself.

Sam is about to protest, but Dean holds a hand up to silence him.

None of them are sneezing related, but they are very YOU. They MAKE this story.

And I could quote the whole damn fricking thing. But I'll stop here. I can NOT thank you enough. This was the best.

*HUGHUGHUG*

[SexualOddity]

Oh my goodness, I wanted you to like this so much, and this is the BEST reaction. Thank you!

Oh, also, I'm sorry for spelling your username wrong

I always called you Anikex in my head and it was only when I saw it typed out that it looked too short, but by then it was posted and it wouldn't let me go back and edit it

Edited December 31, 2014 by SexualOddity

[AngelEyes]

Fantastic!

[Anilkex]

You could've called me Bob. I don't care. LOVED THE STORY.

[HPG]

Love, love, love it.