Bangor or Bust (Supernatural, Sam)

[sierraplaid]

Title: Bangor or Bust

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Sam, Dean (gen)

Premise: Sam and Dean are driving from Maine to Minnesota, en route to their next hunt. They’re in no rush to get there, though, which is good because Sam has a cold.

Time frame: It's pretty removed from any canon occurrences, but could take place any time Seasons 2 to 7, based on which characters are alive or dead!

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing fanfic and it's unbetad, so I crave your indulgence! I have subsequent parts written but this first part can more or less stand on its own (although the title won't make much sense). Hope it has some merit!

Bangor or Bust

Part 1.

Day 1. 6:00 a.m. Lincoln, Maine

The boys are headed south, winding their way out of snowy Maine in the last hour of darkness before the dawn. The Impala is a sleek black rumble just passing through, rending the white and muted woods.

They wasted a ghost a few hours ago: a straightforward case with a sitting duck spook, no collateral damage, and not a scratch on either of them. It was a textbook hunt from the get-go to the gank.

There’s just one problem. Winchesters are only allowed so much good luck before the universe starts getting anxious to restore the natural order. Piece of pie hunt, no blood loss, no bruises? Luck like that simply can’t come without a price. So Sam’s coming down with a cold. Just to even things out.

It’s supposed to be a secret, but Dean knows, of course. He’s suspected for a couple of days and been sure since yesterday morning that Sam was fending something off. Since they were kids, getting Sam to own up to being sick has always been a delicate, close-fought battle with Dean trying to wear him down from different angles and always being met with considerable resistance and crankiness. The sicker Sam got, the more obdurate he became, at least up to the point where he just felt too bad to put up a fight anymore. Dean could never decide whether he was relieved or worried when they finally got there.

Now Dean’s mission is to get his brother to admit he’s sick and take care of himself before it comes to that. From previous confrontations he’s gathered that sometimes a direct, no-nonsense approach works best at getting Sam to loosen up while other times a little sidestepping will do the trick. The vicissitudes of his little brother’s mood have always made this a hazardous guessing game, and at the moment Dean’s preoccupied with reading Sam out of the corner of his eye, judging how he wants to go about it this time.

Sam’s sniffling and clearing his throat in the passenger seat, trying to be invisible or at least inaudible to his brother.

“Nippy, isn’t it?” says Dean, offering over his bandana.

“Yeah.” Sam looks at it, then says, “No, it’s okay, I’ve got mine.” He searches through his pockets until he finds it, then briskly swipes it under his nose before stuffing it into his jacket and acting like none of this has happened.

Meanwhile Dean repockets his own, having served its purpose perfectly.

“You sick?” he asks with deliberate detachment, eyes fixed on the road.

“No.”

‘“Cause if you were, you know, hypothetically, that’d be okay.”

“I’m not.”

Sam is abrupt and defensive enough to give Dean the only confirmation he needs, and then the car lapses into laden silence. It’s going to be a long way to Minnesota.

They’d been wrapping up the hunt late last night when Bobby called with a case: werewolf, Minneapolis, next full moon in two and a half weeks. With that kind of headway, they could have stayed put, taken their time, but it was Maine in midwinter, so what was the point? Once they ganked the ghost, they were falling over themselves and each other in their headlong rush to get the hell out of the state.

And now they’re on their way with a long day ahead of them. The Impala’s on her own on the dark county road. In her wake a plume of swept-up snow glows taillight-red before settling softly to the ground.

***

A colorless sunrise starts to glimmer bleakly through the trees as they put Bangor in their rearview mirror.

Like Dean, Sam is engrossed in debating how exactly he wants to play his cards here, only, unlike Dean, he’s holding back a sneeze while doing so.

On the one hand, pretending to Dean that he’s fine when he’s not is just as instinctive a reflex as sneezing. He thinks—and Dean lets him think—that up to now he’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding this cold. The sore throat? Not a lot of tells there, if he’s careful, which he is. The constant sniffling? Easy to pin on freezing temperatures and a wind-chill factor of minus ten. So far the sneezes have been infrequent enough that he’s been able to hold them back until Dean was out of earshot.

It’s been a while since he’s been sick around Dean—since before Stanford, in fact—and his chief enduring impressions of childhood and teenage illnesses are the fervent but futile struggle to keep Dad and Dean from finding out, mortification when inescapably they did, and ultimately exasperated submission to his brother’s unremitting, almost maternal pragmatism. Sometimes putting up with a well-intentioned but hovering Dean was more than Sam had patience for.

Dean is probably going to be obnoxious about this, so why not keep him in the dark as long as possible? On the other hand, Sam has to admit: with hours and days ahead of him stuck in the car, three feet from Dean, it’s only a matter of time.

His resolve weakens and he yields to the inevitable, ducking into his elbow and fessing up with a sneeze.

“hhEHSHHoo!”

“Thought so,” says Dean, checking his mirrors.

Instantly Sam regrets his decision, inasmuch as it could be considered that. He ignores Dean with pointed silence, sniffling evasively, and stares out at the blur of trees rushing past in the dim, cold dawn.

“Look, Sam,” says Dean, launching through the window of opportunity, “you’re sick, it’s okay, just be sick.”

Sam’s continued sniffly silence is an eloquent if ineffective rebuff.

“It is allowed, you know. It’s not your fault, it happens.”

Sam clears his throat in warning.

“All I’m saying is, you’re sick, I know you’re sick, you know I know you’re sick. So what’s the point of pretending you’re not? You do this every time.”

“Yeah, ‘cause every time you end up hovering,” Sam blurts out.

Dean gives him a look, and Sam slouches down a little under his gaze. Sam has already said more on the subject than he intended to, and he wishes Dean would just let him steal a car so he could drive himself to Minneapolis, nurse his cold in peace, and meet up again on the other end.

“I got news for you, pal,” Dean says. “Right now, I can’t possibly get any farther away from you. It’s not hovering if I’m driving the car and you’re sitting in the passenger seat. I can’t exactly drive from inside the trunk.”

Sam smiles in spite of himself. Dean pretends he’s glowering. They give the air a minute to clear.

“It’s okay,” Dean says again, easing back into it. “Just… imagine I’m not here. Be sick.”

Sam sniffs before rejoining, “That is the weirdest order you have ever given me.”

“Probably not.”

Dean glances at Sam and he can tell, even as they’re supposed to be making progress on this, that Sam is holding back another sneeze.

“Why are you doing that?” he insists.

“Force of habit,” Sam admits, unclenching his jaw and relaxing his shoulders, and then he can’t help but sneeze.

“hEHRSHHoo!”

Dean judiciously says nothing but privately celebrates a small victory.

***

It’s not often that either of them comes down with anything, and, believe it or not, it’s probably thanks to John. When his boys were little, John would intentionally let them get each other sick. The generous interpretation is that this was a rare instance of parental perspicacity on his part, but what it boils down to is that he possessed a basic understanding of the principle of building immunity, and, even more bluntly, that he knew the boys were headed for a job where they could rarely afford a sick day. John front-loaded the whole thing while they were still too young to hunt.

As they grew up, started helping out on cases, John told Dean to be more careful. It was simple: Watch out for Sammy included Don’t get him sick.

Consequently Dean’s a poster child for the Center for Disease Control.

Sam learned to follow his brother’s example, so he’s conscientious, an inveterate right elbow sneezer (Dean favors his left), and between Dean’s constitution and Sam’s diligence they’d both lay odds that this cold isn’t going any farther than Sam. They know that one of them down is already one too many. Two down and… well, it wouldn’t bring a hunt to a halt but it could sure make it unpleasant.

About an hour out of Bangor, Dean is more startled than he would like to admit when Sam suddenly sneezes.

“EXSHHoo!”

And again.

“hEHRSHHoo!”

“Hey, breakfast?” Dean asks. It’s a non sequitur and they both know it, but they’re also both hungry, and Sam is happy to have any conversation other than the one he thought Dean was about to start. Weirdly, Dean’s being less annoying about this than he expected.

“Yeah, starving,” Sam replies.

Dean pulls off at some backwater with a Biggerson’s and before long they’re knocking back black coffee and digging into pancakes. Sam seems perfectly all right, above suspicion of being sick, to everyone but Dean.

It’s not until they’re pulling out of the parking lot that he sneezes again, but it’s restrained, and Dean can tell Sam’s still not happy about this, maybe that he’s devising a way for Dean to manage to drive from the trunk. Or a separate vehicle, even. Dean wonders if Sam has considered hotwiring somebody’s car to get himself out of this, and the thought makes him smile.

***

(End of Part 1)

[HPG]

“It’s okay,” Dean says again, easing back into it. “Just… imagine I’m not here. Be sick.”

Sam sniffs before rejoining, “That is the weirdest order you have ever given me.”

“Probably not.”

It’s not until they’re pulling out of the parking lot that he sneezes again, but it’s restrained, and Dean can tell Sam’s still not happy about this, maybe that he’s devising a way for Dean to manage to drive from the trunk. Or a separate vehicle, even. Dean wonders if Sam has considered hotwiring somebody’s car to get himself out of this, and the thought makes him smile.

Really nice story. I hope you continue :-)

[addict.bandband]

I like this a lot so far Pleeeaaase continue

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

*giggle snort giggle*

Amazing detail, loving this story! Please do continue!

[SexualOddity]

Mmm... I like the way your words feel. Like - the construction of your sentences and the combinations of your words is really pretty without feeling overblown or difficult to read. I love that.

And I was going to quote exactly the same sections that HarryPotterGeek quoted above. They made me smile. Sam being ordered to be sick is hot to begin with, and then, yeah, it also probably isn't the weirdest order, and then love the idea that Dean knows that Sam would actually quite like it if he would drive from the trunk, thank you very much.

I also love stories that integrate a little history for the two of them. It's probably my favourite thing about family relationships that there are so many years of routine and habit and influence in play at any given time, and it's cool to imagine how their Dad's training on infection control is still playing a part in their fate now, after his death.

Really looking forward to reading more of this.

[Sawyer]

Agreed so much with SO! I haven't been able to sink my teeth into a Supernatural story for a long long time (months and months!) and yours hit the spot in a way that I haven't been able to experience in a while. You're really good! The way you write (especially the way you write dialogue, my god!) and the way you understand the characters, with the little exerts of explanation all throughout, is smooth and sophisticated and so lovely to read.

[Always-a-Ginger]

This was so incredibly well done. Your sentence structure and variety as well as pacing are perfect. I loved the flow and balance too. I found myself relaxing into the style and enjoying the story. Very much looking forward to the next part. So glad you decided to share.

[sierraplaid]

“It’s okay,” Dean says again, easing back into it. “Just… imagine I’m not here. Be sick.”

Sam sniffs before rejoining, “That is the weirdest order you have ever given me.”

“Probably not.”

It’s not until they’re pulling out of the parking lot that he sneezes again, but it’s restrained, and Dean can tell Sam’s still not happy about this, maybe that he’s devising a way for Dean to manage to drive from the trunk. Or a separate vehicle, even. Dean wonders if Sam has considered hotwiring somebody’s car to get himself out of this, and the thought makes him smile.

Really nice story. I hope you continue :-)

Thanks for reading and for the encouragement! I'm glad you liked those two passages you quoted. More parts are on the way!

I like this a lot so far Pleeeaaase continue

Yay, thank you! I'm glad you're liking it so far. To be continued soon....

I'm loving all the SPN Sammy love lately! This is great

Thanks, glad you enjoyed! And believe me, I'm enjoying all the Sam love, too! I don't know what it is, it's just so easy to make him sneeze.

*giggle snort giggle*

Amazing detail, loving this story! Please do continue!

Thanks so much! I'm really happy to hear you liked the detail, and thanks for the encouragement to continue!

Mmm... I like the way your words feel. Like - the construction of your sentences and the combinations of your words is really pretty without feeling overblown or difficult to read. I love that.

And I was going to quote exactly the same sections that HarryPotterGeek quoted above. They made me smile. Sam being ordered to be sick is hot to begin with, and then, yeah, it also probably isn't the weirdest order, and then love the idea that Dean knows that Sam would actually quite like it if he would drive from the trunk, thank you very much.

I also love stories that integrate a little history for the two of them. It's probably my favourite thing about family relationships that there are so many years of routine and habit and influence in play at any given time, and it's cool to imagine how their Dad's training on infection control is still playing a part in their fate now, after his death.

Really looking forward to reading more of this.

omg, thank you so much for this! It really means a lot since you're one of my favorite authors. *shy wave* I've been editing this puppy for upwards of four months now, so it's immensely gratifying to hear that it's readable! I figure that Dean knows Sam pretty well and vice versa, so there's probably some low-level mind-reading going on at times. And I know what you mean about the family stuff. I recently rewatched all of the first two seasons in order and was amazed at just how hugely the boys' lives are impacted by John, both when he's alive and after his death. Thanks again for sharing your feedback and encouragement!

Agreed so much with SO! I haven't been able to sink my teeth into a Supernatural story for a long long time (months and months!) and yours hit the spot in a way that I haven't been able to experience in a while. You're really good! The way you write (especially the way you write dialogue, my god!) and the way you understand the characters, with the little exerts of explanation all throughout, is smooth and sophisticated and so lovely to read.

Aaaaahhhh, thank you!!! It makes me very happy that you're enjoying this. You are definitely one of my favorite SPN writers so I'm so pleased that this hit the spot! I'm glad the dialogue and characterization came across okay since those are the main things I've been trying to get right for months now. Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words!

This was so incredibly well done. Your sentence structure and variety as well as pacing are perfect. I loved the flow and balance too. I found myself relaxing into the style and enjoying the story. Very much looking forward to the next part. So glad you decided to share.

Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying! I really, really appreciate the comments on the writing style--it means a lot to me as a debut author.

[sierraplaid]

Thank you so much for the positive response, guys! I really appreciate it! Without further ado...

Part 2.

It’s taking them longer to get out of the state than Dean would like—handling snowy two-lane roads at safe speed is no way to make a hasty getaway. Neither of them is going to be sorry to see the back of Maine, but they can’t really get too excited about seeing the front of New Hampshire, either. Snow is snow no matter what state flag it’s piled under.

They’re getting close to the border when Sam breaks the silence and a two-hour no-sneezing streak.

“h... hehEXSHHHoo! …hEHRSHHoo!”

“Well,” Dean comments evenly, “if you were gonna get sick, you sure picked your timing. Werewolf won’t start acting up again for another ten days or so, meanwhile, nothing to do but drive and eat and sleep. And get better.”

“Look,” Sam butts in, rather more tersely than he intended considering they’d gotten along over breakfast. “Just quit talking about it.”

Dean shakes his head. “Why does it bother you?”

“I don’t know, just drop it, all right?” Sam says in a rush.

To Dean’s credit, and much to Sam’s surprise, he does. He acknowledges Sam’s request with a noncommittal shrug and settles in for the long haul, steering smoothly with one hand and sipping at the coffee he got for the road. They’ve both been awake for going on thirty hours now, and Sam especially is beat, the kind of tired that being wedged upright in a passenger seat is no match for. Sam sees that his brother intends to drive on in silence for a while so he makes himself comfortable against the window, sniffling, arms folded across his chest.

***

Sam wakes up four hours later when he feels the car slow to a stop. The door squeals open and an icy billow of snow and gasoline fumes gusts into the car. Groggily Sam watches Dean head towards the convenience store, stepping carefully in the snow. He’s asleep again before Dean returns.

***

The next time Sam comes to the light is fading from the sky. He hears the sound of legos rattling and realizes his fingers and toes don’t feel numb for the first time all day. The rest of him feels worse, though, hot and headachy.

“Doin’ okay?” Dean asks as Sam pushes himself away from the window.

“Yeah,” Sam answers slowly in a tone that Dean doesn’t find convincing.

“Well, hang in there. Couple more hours and we’ll call it a night.”

“I’m fine,” Sam says, hands at his temples. Then he sneezes into his elbow.

“hEHXSHH.”

Dean makes the most of a straight stretch of road and regards his brother for a few unbroken seconds while he sneezes again.

“hh..hehEXSHHHoo!”

Dean returns his attention to the road with a tired sigh. Sounds like Sam’s really in for it.

So it takes him aback when Sam asks, “Hey, want me to drive for a while?”

“What? No.”

“I’m good to drive. You need to sleep.”

“We’re stopping in, like, an hour,” Dean argues. “I’m good ‘til then. Besides, I’m not sure I want you behind the wheel.”

“Pull off, we’ll grab food, and I’ll take it from there, okay?” Sam presses.

Dean quickly decides to pick his battles and answers, “If you say so.”

They both get the special at the local hamburger hop. A head cold with a side of fries probably isn’t the brightest idea, but Dean knows Sam’s apt to be seized with unexpected food cravings when he’s sick, and he eats with enthusiasm and even lets himself get talked into taking a double dose of aspirin so Dean chalks up another pair of wins. Once they’re back on the road Dean keeps an eye on Sam until he’s reassured he really is all right to drive, then drifts off, sleepy and sated.

***

Dean catches a little under two hours and bounces back like a toddler, alert and ready to go another round.

One glance at Sam, though, and he abandons any half-baked notion of driving through the night. Then he remembers they’re not even in a hurry.

“Where are we?” he asks with a lazy stretch, peering out into the darkness.

“About two minutes into Pennsylvania,” Sam replies, sounding tired.

“How you holdin’ up?”

“Fine,” Sam shrugs. “I’ve got another hour in me.”

“Yeah, I ain’t buyin’ that,” Dean says gently. “How about we check into the first motel we see?”

Sam clears his throat. “Fine.”

The next town they hit is Bangor, PA.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grouses. “Twelve hours on the road and we’re still in Bangor.”

Sam laughs and pulls in at the Slate Motel.

***

Dean was sure he would be too wired to fall asleep again so soon after waking up, but watching Sam go through the motions—changing into sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt, brushing his teeth, climbing stiffly between cold sheets—is a soporific, and he finds himself thinking he could actually pull off a full night’s sleep.

“How’s the headache?” Dean inquires from the bathroom door, kit bag in hand.

“Gone, mostly,” Sam answers drowsily, sniffling and drawing the blankets up and over his chin.

“Can I get you anything?” Dean offers, casting his eyes around the room trying to remember which duffel bag the aspirin ended up in, but Sam makes a vague noise of refusal and burrows in deeper. Dean simply nods and says, “Well, get some rest.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Sam replies, closing his eyes, sleep already beginning to overtake him. Now that he’s horizontal everything seems to catch up with him—the four days of traipsing through the wilds of wintry Maine, last night’s exertions of the hunt, the wearing effort to keep the cold hidden from his brother, the long hours with wheels turning beneath him…. All at once no bed has ever felt so warm and snug, and it’s a matter of seconds before he falls asleep listening to Dean brush his teeth.

Dean glances at his watch and finds it’s still embarrassingly early for him to be going to bed (Sam’s the only one with a reasonable excuse), so he showers, then tries to fool himself into thinking he wants to stay up watching televised drivel on mute. But it’s drivel, and it’s on mute, so that lasts all of ten minutes before he gives up, studiously avoids looking at any clocks, switches off the light, and climbs under the covers.

He lies still, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The heater shudders off and in the sudden hush that falls over the room Dean can make out the faint howling of the wind, rain being driven against the window, splashing onto the parking lot and onto his car waiting just outside.

He closes his eyes and all he sees is blacktop and snow.

***

(End of Part 2)

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

The amount of detail and structure you put into this is amazing!

The characters are perfect and precise. Can't wait to see what you do next!

[Sass]

This story has really beautiful imagery. Love it!

[HPG]

A head cold with a side of fries probably isn’t the brightest idea, but Dean knows Sam’s apt to be seized with unexpected food cravings when he’s sick, and he eats with enthusiasm and even lets himself get talked into taking a double dose of aspirin so Dean chalks up another pair of wins.

This is really great. I'm so glad that you're continuing.

[Always-a-Ginger]

This continues to be awesome. Loved Dean's comment about still being in Bangor.

Looking forward to more.

[sierraplaid]

The amount of detail and structure you put into this is amazing!

The characters are perfect and precise. Can't wait to see what you do next!

Eeee, thank you! And thanks for sticking with it!

This story has really beautiful imagery. Love it!

Thank you for saying so! I'm really taken with the cinematography on SPN and have tried, in my own small way, to recreate some of that. I mean, it's hardly on par with Serge Ladouceur, but a girl can try....

A head cold with a side of fries probably isn’t the brightest idea, but Dean knows Sam’s apt to be seized with unexpected food cravings when he’s sick, and he eats with enthusiasm and even lets himself get talked into taking a double dose of aspirin so Dean chalks up another pair of wins.

This is really great. I'm so glad that you're continuing.

Yay, I'm glad you liked that part! Thank you for continuing to read!

This continues to be awesome. Loved Dean's comment about still being in Bangor.

Looking forward to more.

You continue to be awesome. Thanks so much for coming back for Part 2!

[sierraplaid]

I wanted to do a relatively short turnaround between Parts 2 and 3 since there hasn't been all that much sneezing so far, and of course that's what we're all here for, after all! So I intend to set that to rights in this next part.

Part 3.

Day 2. 7:30 a.m. Bangor, Pennsylvania

It’s easy for Dean to forget—and maybe it’s best he doesn’t remember—just how much difference a solid night’s sleep can make. When he wakes up he feels like he could do anything: drive 20 hours straight, kill a demon without breaking a sweat, do something dumb and Sam-like and run a 5k.

He knows Sam will be worse today. That’s just how it goes. Probably running the slight fever he usually gets with colds and definitely sneezing his head off. There’s no reason for them to hit the road today or even leave the room since for once they’ve got the time to take it easy, to take the sick day Sam could clearly use.

Dean wonders what his odds are of keeping Sam in bed and decides they’re practically nil.

Noiselessly Dean gets up, gets dressed, and slips out the door. Five minutes later he’s back with coffee and breakfast from the lobby, plus the reception desk’s tissue box he swiped when no one was looking.

He fires up the laptop and settles in at the table. This werewolf won’t hunt itself, and it could be a while before Sam’s awake.

***

It’s midmorning when Sam finally stirs, sluggish and still mostly asleep.

“What time is it?” he asks Dean blearily, pushing himself halfway up. The heavy curtains are drawn and the room is dark except for the glow of the laptop, pale on Dean’s face. It could be any hour of the day or night.

Dean makes a show of checking his watch.

“About half past five,” he lies easily. “You can catch some more sleep, I wasn’t planning on leaving ‘til eight or so anyway. I’ll wake you up in time.”

Sam nods and collapses wordlessly back onto his pillow.

***

11:35 a.m.

Check-out is in twenty-five minutes and Sam’s still conked so Dean isn’t moving a muscle. He’s sifting through obits online, ankles crossed on the table.

Sam rouses at around twenty ‘til, rolling over off his back and muffling the day’s inaugural pair of sneezes into the bedspread.

“hRXSHHH… h… hhERRXSHHoo!”

He snuffles, then props himself up on an elbow.

“Time to get going?”

“Not necessarily,” Dean says carefully. If he tells Sam he’s considering staying another night Sam will be up and out the door in a flash.

Abruptly Sam sits up all the way and twists away to sneeze into the crook of his arm.

“hEHXSHHoo!”

“How you feeling?”

Sam blinks slowly, clears his throat, and says, “I’m good to go,” then sneezes again.

“hhERRXSHHoo!”

Before Dean can propose an alternative plan, Sam’s hunter’s determination has kicked in and he has swung his legs over the side of the bed and then he’s up, in the bathroom and washing his face and changing into jeans.

Dean still hasn’t moved, his mind racing to think of something to say that will get Sam to put the brakes on, something that’ll stall him for another—Dean checks his watch—sixteen minutes so they’ll miss their check-out and might as well stay.

“Come on, man,” Sam prompts him, “we’re burning daylight.” He does up the snaps on his shirt, sniffling.

Dean can’t think of a reason for not getting up, so he does.

Sam starts throwing things into his backpack and Dean crams jeans and shirts into his duffel bag, wondering how long this forced burst of energy is going to last. He’s nearly done packing when Sam muffles another sneeze in his elbow.

“hUHXRSHH!”

Dean bites his lip and says, “You know what, Sam, you really don’t sound great. How about we stay put another night?”

Sam shoots Dean as dismissive a glare as he can muster. “Seriously? I’m pretty sure I can handle sitting in a car.”

“Mm-hmm,” says Dean, watching Sam fight a losing battle against the second of the pair of sneezes.

“hh… hhEHRXSHHoo!”

A thought occurs to Dean and he says, “Hey, I’ll make you a deal.”

A wary, slightly glassy-eyed stare from Sam.

“You let me take your temperature, and if it’s under 100, we go. Over, you climb right back in bed and don’t budge until tomorrow.”

He crosses his arms as Sam looks thoughtful.

“Feeling lucky?” Dean asks.

“101,” Sam says.

Dean is incredulous. “Are you bargaining with me?”

“Anything less than or equal to 101 and we hit the road, and you don’t get to complain about it.”

Dean can’t believe what he’s walked into. He counters grudgingly with 100.5.

“Deal,” says Sam.

Dean fetches the thermometer and holds it out to Sam, who’s reaching for it.

“Gimme that stupid th-thi— hUHXRSHH!” Sam twists away to sneeze into his elbow, then sniffs stubbornly, waits a beat, then sneezes a second time.

“hehEHXSHHoo! You promise you’ll follow through on this when you lose?” he demands, taking the thermometer from Dean and sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah, gentleman’s agreement,” Dean says crossing his arms again. “Without the handshake, though; I ain’t touching you.”

Sam’s silence as he sits with the thermometer in his mouth is stony.

It’s 99.9, so Sam needn’t have bothered negotiating.

“Damnit,” Dean grumbles (which, even as he says it, he realizes is a weird response to his brother not having much of a fever), but he packs away the thermometer, then finishes packing his duffel.

Sam pulls on his boots. Then he notices the time.

One angry outburst and a flurry of activity later, Dean checks them out of the motel with seven minutes to spare.

***

Sam is already stowed in the passenger seat by the time Dean leaves the lobby and he sneezes as Dean climbs behind the wheel.

“hEHXRSHH. …hEHXSHHoo!”

Dean slams the door. “Explain to me again why I just checked us out of a motel?”

“Dude, come on.” Sam sniffs before giving in to another pair of sneezes.

“hUHXRSHHoo! hh…hEHRXSHHoo!”

“Great,” Dean sneers, “compelling argument. Since you put it like that, I’m convinced.”

Nevertheless, ignoring Sam’s dirty look, Dean guns the engine and the Impala barrels out of the parking lot at two minutes to noon.

***

(End of Part 3)

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Ooooooohhhhhhh!!!!! Dean got beat!

Haha! Ah I need help. I'm just giggling away over this.

I can just picture this as an actual scene and Sam just pulling a cocky stride to the Impala.

[levinelover]

I love that they negotiate about the temperature I love your characterization. Awesome story!

[SexualOddity]

I wouldn't have said I was the type to squeal in delight and yet... The thermometer test! Oh wow. It just hit all the right buttons... the cute, stubborn, bickeriness and the backhanded caretaking,and it's so absolutely in character.

Your dialogue is still amazing, and I love the little narrative inserts like, "It’s easy for Dean to forget—and maybe it’s best he doesn’t remember—just how much difference a solid night’s sleep can make."

You could have done without it that addition, but in seven words you opened up a whole new area of thought for me about their lives. Now that's how it's done.

Oh, and in response to your last comment reply, it's WAY more than readable! Stop being so modest. *Waggles finger*

[27jj]

I'm am enjoying this SO so so much.

[sierraplaid]

Ooooooohhhhhhh!!!!! Dean got beat!

Haha! Ah I need help. I'm just giggling away over this.

I can just picture this as an actual scene and Sam just pulling a cocky stride to the Impala.

Giggling is good! I'm very happy you're still reading and enjoying!

I love that they negotiate about the temperature I love your characterization. Awesome story!

Thank you so much! I'm glad the characterizations are working for you!

I wouldn't have said I was the type to squeal in delight and yet... The thermometer test! Oh wow. It just hit all the right buttons... the cute, stubborn, bickeriness and the backhanded caretaking,and it's so absolutely in character.

Your dialogue is still amazing, and I love the little narrative inserts like, "It’s easy for Dean to forget—and maybe it’s best he doesn’t remember—just how much difference a solid night’s sleep can make."

You could have done without it that addition, but in seven words you opened up a whole new area of thought for me about their lives. Now that's how it's done.

Oh, and in response to your last comment reply, it's WAY more than readable! Stop being so modest. *Waggles finger*

Wow, thank you!! I'm glad you enjoyed the thermometer bit. And thank you for the comments on the dialog and narrative--MUCH appreciated!

I'm am enjoying this SO so so much.

Yaaay, I'm so glad! Thanks for reading!

Sorry I've been a bit slow to post Part 4. If I get my act together it'll be up later today, and if not, it'll be up within a day or two. Thanks!

[HPG]

He’s nearly done packing when Sam muffles another sneeze in his elbow.

“hUHXRSHH!”

Dean bites his lip and says, “You know what, Sam, you really don’t sound great. How about we stay put another night?”

Sam shoots Dean as dismissive a glare as he can muster. “Seriously? I’m pretty sure I can handle sitting in a car.”

“Mm-hmm,” says Dean, watching Sam fight a losing battle against the second of the pair of sneezes.

“hh… hhEHRXSHHoo!”

Can I just say how much I love the fact that Sam sneezes in pairs. It's adorable.

[Always-a-Ginger]

I've been slow to respond but this continues to be one of my favorite stories. So in character.

[sierraplaid]

He’s nearly done packing when Sam muffles another sneeze in his elbow.

“hUHXRSHH!”

Dean bites his lip and says, “You know what, Sam, you really don’t sound great. How about we stay put another night?”

Sam shoots Dean as dismissive a glare as he can muster. “Seriously? I’m pretty sure I can handle sitting in a car.”

“Mm-hmm,” says Dean, watching Sam fight a losing battle against the second of the pair of sneezes.

“hh… hhEHRXSHHoo!”

Can I just say how much I love the fact that Sam sneezes in pairs. It's adorable.

I had the biggest grin on my face when I read this. Thanks.

I've been slow to respond but this continues to be one of my favorite stories. So in character.

Oh my gosh, thanks for saying so!

[sierraplaid]

Part 4 comin' up. Thank you for continuing to read!

Caution: Not remotely graphic or detailed, but in the interest of full disclosure, there's brief v-talk about halfway down this part.

Note: There are a couple of places where I borrow dialog from the actual show--you may recognize them when you see them. I cite them at the end of the post.

Part 4.

The tissue boxes from reception and their room are piled, untouched, at Sam’s feet.

Sam is sniffling, hands crammed stubbornly into his jacket pockets, the display of energy he put on earlier having faded as quickly as it had been conjured. Sam’s pretty sick, and Dean knows he’s pretty sick, and Sam knows Dean must know he’s pretty sick, and yet their talk yesterday morning on this very subject doesn’t seem to have gotten through to him beyond a theoretical level.

A tense few minutes crawl by. Sam’s still silently fuming over Dean’s ploy back at the motel room, which, although he admits was motivated by good intentions, he mainly sees as sneaky, and he resolves to keep the sneezing to a minimum if he possibly can to prove to Dean just how ridiculous his overabundance of concern really was. It’s not long, however, before it’s obvious sheer force of will just isn’t going to cut it. As they hit the open road Sam pulls his hand out of his pocket and brings his arm up to his face.

“hUHXRSHHoo… hhRXHSHHHoo!”

That’s about all the conversation Dean expects to get out of his irascible brother for a while. This day isn’t going to amount to much, for either of them.

Sam sniffles testily. Another minute passes. Then Sam ducks into his elbow again and sneezes—“hUHXRSHH!”—then leans forward and reaches for the tissues in the footwell, pulls out two or three, and sits back and sneezes into them.

“hhEHXXRSHHoo! h… …hEHXXSHHoo!”

Without thinking, Dean says, “Jeez,” under his breath.

“Ughh, shut it,” Sam growls, nose buried in the tissues.

“I just said ‘jeez.’”

“I just said ‘shut it.’”

“Hey, man,” Dean says, trying to placate him, “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot this morning.”

“Oh, you mean when you tried to trick me into wasting an entire day lounging in bed?” Sam snaps, pulling another pair of tissues from the box at his feet and stashing them in a jacket pocket. “Dean, we are on a case, you know.”

“Don’t be overdramatic, Sam,” Dean replies coolly, unruffled by his brother’s fit of temper. “If we were hunting this werewolf tonight, you and your little wimpy cold would be right there with me. Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we got the time to do this without you having to run yourself into the ground.”

“Dean. I’m fine. All right?” Sam enunciates severely, unmoved by his brother’s speech. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, I know it’s not a big deal,” Dean says. “I’m just being practical here. I’m just trying to get you to take care of yourself.”

Sam frowns and Dean shakes his head.

After a pause Dean asks, “You want to talk about why you don’t want to talk about this?”

“Uh, no, not really.”

Dean lets another few moments go by, turning something over in his mind, knowing they’ve got to get past this, and then, before his courage fails him, he says, “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this has got something to do with Dad.”

Sam stiffens and clenches his jaw, then takes a sudden interest in the mizzling rain out his window. He looks angry, although with whom, Dean can’t be entirely sure. Dad is always a safe bet. But Dean is well aware he hasn’t exactly been Sam’s favorite person so far today, and it’s also plausible that Sam’s just frustrated with himself. At first Dean thinks he isn’t going to answer, but he lets the silence draw out, and when Sam does finally speak up, he’s calm, not sounding mad so much as sapped of all strength.

“It’s just…,” he begins, studying his hands, “I just always feel like it should have been preventable. Like it’s a weakness or whatever. You know what Dad always said.”

“Sure, hunters don’t get sick,” Dean contributes flatly.

“Yeah, something like that.” Sam gives a humorless laugh and adds, “Besides, compared to everything else that happens in our lives, it’s pretty insignificant, you know?”

Dean can’t really argue with that.

“Plus it’s just embarrassing,” Sam goes on. “Not to mention unsanitary.”

Dean laughs at that, catching them both by surprise. “My god, you have no idea.”

Sam looks at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Nature hath no more perfect weapon of germ warfare than a kid. You were sick dozens of times growing up. I have been coughed on, sneezed on, thrown up on more times than you probably want to think about.”

“You know what, you’re completely right, I do not want to think about it,” Sam says emphatically. Then he suddenly asks, “Wait a second, when did I throw up on you?”

“When you were a baby, all the damn time, but most recently, you were, I dunno, I was a freshman so you would have been, what, ten? Fourth grade, I guess,” Dean concludes.

It’s clear by Sam’s nonplussed expression that he has no recollection of this.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” shrugs Dean. “You were pretty out of it.”

“Where was Dad?” Sam wants to know. “I mean, shouldn’t I have been throwing up on him?”

Dean’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “On a hunt.”

“Oh,” Sam says.

Dean glances at Sam before adding, “You weren’t that bad when he left.”

Sam nods.

“I mean, you weren’t great, but you weren’t, you know….”

“Dying,” Sam finishes.

“Yeah.”

Dean stares unfocused down the road before suddenly finding it necessary to punch Sam on the thigh.

“Anyway, your sorry ass lived to fight another day,” he says with more cheerfulness than he feels. “And you should believe me when I tell you there’s nothing you can do that you haven’t done before. So just quit worrying about it.”

Sam is quiet for a few seconds while he takes everything on board, then clears his throat and says, “Well, I’m sorry, very belatedly, for throwing up on you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says genially. “Just don’t do it ever again.”

“I’ll do my best n- hih—” Sam breaks off to sneeze into his elbow—“hhrRXHSHHoo!”

Sniffling, he pulls the tissues out of his pocket and sneezes into them.

“hUHXRSHHoo!”

“Hey, you’re not that kind of sick, are you?” Dean eyes Sam, who’s relocating a tissue box to the seat between them. “I mean, it’s just a cold, right?”

Sam sniffs. “Yeah.”

Then he inhales shakily and sneezes twice more.

“hhEHXRSHHoo! h-hhEHHXRSHHoo!”

“Is it okay if I say ‘Jeez’ now?” Dean asks lightly.

“Hey, man, you asked for it,” Sam replies easily. ‘“Just be sick,’ you said.” He sniffles thickly.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean says.

Sam pulls out another batch of tissues.

***

It’s getting late, and ranks of swollen thunderclouds are gathering ominously overhead, and Sam is coming to the end of the second box of tissues when Dean decides they’ve had enough.

“Next town, we’re stopping,” he says firmly.

“As long as there’s not a Bangor, Ohio, I’m good,” says Sam.

There isn’t, as it happens, and they crash for the night in a podunk town some distance north of Columbus. Sam had grand designs of staying up and getting some research done while Dean went out to scrounge up a meal but as soon as Dean unlocks the door to their room somehow lying down seems like an infinitely more appealing plan. He lets his backpack and satchel slip from his shoulders onto a bed and sits down heavily between them, feeling worn out, headachy, stuffed up, shivery, and just generally all-over awful. Dean comes along in a minute and moves the bags onto a chair by the table while Sam’s busy sneezing. He rummages through the backpack until he comes up with sweatpants, and then tosses them across the room onto the bed beside Sam, followed shortly by the bottle of aspirin which Sam looks up just in time to catch.

Soon Sam is huddled in bed, rapidly sinking into sleep listening to the crescendoing rush of rain and the subdued sounds of Dean moving about the room, unpacking, clicking the dials on the heater, arranging things on the bathroom counter. Sam’s last drowsy thought before he slips into unconsciousness is I think I’m sick, which is an accurate if fatigue- and fever-addled reflection, and one which he is just barely awake and aware enough to register as maybe being vaguely pathetic.

Dean makes a dash for his car and goes and grabs some dinner. After returning to the motel he fights with agonizingly slow wifi for half an hour before deciding it just isn’t worth it: there’s still plenty of time to piece together this werewolf case before they make it to Minneapolis. Instead, there’s a fairly decent black and white horror flick he tunes into, start to finish. Even on mute it’s easy to follow which gives him the luxury of keeping more than half an eye on Sam, who’s sleeping soundly on his side, facing Dean, oblivious to the occasional sharp crack of thunder and the answering jolt and clatter of the windowpane in its cheap aluminum casement.

Soon Dean catches himself yawning, tells himself it’s 3 a.m. somewhere, and hits the hay before eleven.

His last thought is more lucid than Sam’s: Tomorrow, we’re not going anywhere.

***

(End of Part 4)

“I just said ‘jeez.’” “I just said ‘shut it.’” – Two and a Half Men (Adam Glass) (The exact lines from the episode are "I just said 'huh.'" "I just said 'shut it.'")

“Don’t be overdramatic, Sam.” – Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (Raelle Tucker)

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Is it okay if I say ‘Jeez’ now?” Dean asks lightly.

“Hey, man, you asked for it,” Sam replies easily. ‘“Just be sick,’ you said.” He sniffles thickly.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean says.

Awwwwww, Sam finally gave in Too cute

Love love loving these!!! can't wait ti read more and see what torture you through at these lovely boys!