A Little More Than You Know (SPN, Sam)

[SexualOddity]

I feel like this was a brilliant premise that I haven't executed very well. But I've posted it anyway so that you can enjoy the prompt (shared at the end) and in the hope that you'll like the fill a little more than I do.

--

Dean pushes his thick, useless, pillar of a leg out across the ground. The floor is stone and it shouldn’t be too resistant, but teeth-grindingly painful shockwaves pulse right up into his hip nonetheless. He inches onwards, sweat beading on his forehead. Eventually, he’s supporting arms are at such an angle that they quiver and shake as they reach back to the seat of the couch, barely carrying his weight.

Fuck. He can’t get down there. It’s obvious. If he pushes out any further, he’ll fall straight on to his bad leg and be no good to either of them. He can’t turn and drop, because he can’t bend at the damn knees, and he can’t stay here, a foot and a half off the floor, waiting for his arms to give out. This was never going to work, he realises. So why the hell is he suspended here, hanging shakily, stupidly, out over the seat of a couch? Dean feels like he could weep.

“Sam, please just grab the box. You gotta trust me that it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

But he already knows that Sam’s past listening, so he shuffles back onto the couch and returns to feeling fucking useless.

--

Sam crashed out on the floor next to Dean pretty much as soon as they arrived at the Cabin. He’d come round after the Hospital confused and disorientated and clingy as hell, unhelpfully exhibiting all kinds of symptoms that could equally have resulted from Lucifer-in-residence or from the after-effects of a metal bar to the head. Nestling up to Dean’s good leg on a blanket seemed to calm him down a little, so Dean didn’t say anything, at least not until Sam started to get sick. At that point, when Dean suggested that Sam might do better somewhere other than on the floor, Sam had just dragged out another blanket to lay on top of the first, and plopped down on top of both of them. It had looked like that was the only discussion Dean was gonna get on that topic.

It wasn’t so bad. Sam was quiet, and slow to respond, and increasingly stuffy and sneezy, but there were no other obvious ill-effects. Dean was… bored out of his mind mostly, with a leg that ached right into his bones. But they were coping -more or less - getting by, until Lucifer decided to stick his stupid fucking nose in.

At least Dean assumes that that’s what happened. Sam hadn’t stifled his sneezes since he’d been in high school, and for good reason. Almost fifteen years ago he’d decided he was embarrassed about the – granted, ear-splitting – volume of the things and wound up bursting an eardrum trying to do something about it. Dean and their Dad had given him a few harsh words in his one remaining working ear, and Sam had learned his lesson, or so Dean had thought…

The first time had taken Dean by surprise. He’d jumped at the sound of it, sudden and violent and jammed against the palm of Sam’s hand. By the second time, he’d recognised what he was listening to, and he knew, as well, that there was some kind of hallucinatory hand in it. After the third time, Sam’s face drained entirely of colour and when Dean asked if he was alright, the only response he received was a choked-up little noise from the back of Sam’s throat.

Things have only gotten worse from there. Now Sam’s curled right over on himself, shivering and sweating and moaning, wrists pressed tight to either side of his head. There are heavy-duty painkillers and anti-emetics right by his elbow from where Dean had tossed them to him earlier. Sam hasn’t touched them, isn’t going to touch them, from the looks of it. Dean doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know if it’s too painful, doesn’t know if Lucifer is whispering in his ear telling him not to get them. All he does know is that there’s not a thing he can do to help Sam.

He shouldn’t be suprised. He couldn’t stop Cas, much less save him. Lisa and Ben let him into their life and he brought them nothing but misery. He doesn’t have the first idea what to do about their Leviathan problem. Chalk another one up to Dean Winchester.

He’s called Bobby, who has turned his truck around and is on his way back. Bobby will do everything that Dean is too useless to manage. He’ll scoop Sam up and medicate him, he’ll get a washcloth for his head and set him up in a proper bed. But it’ll take a while for Bobby to get back to them and in the meantime, Sam is writing on the floor

“Sammy…” Dean begins, raising his voice over Sam’s agonised little whimpers. “Sammy, I’m here okay. Just hang in there.”

Sam doesn’t respond, and why should he? Dean doesn’t have any useful to say. The whole thing is meaningless. But he doesn’t know what else to do, so he keeps on talking.

--

“Does that hurt Sammy?”

Lucifer bends over him, and smiles.

Sam wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him to shut up, but his stomach lurches when he tries to look up.

“Come on now? What did you expect from the cage?” He looks over at the television, now muted, and the flickering images sear into Sam’s temples. “Potato chips and daytime TV? You know that’s not how I operate.”

Sam shuts his eyes but he can’t shut out the pain, it’s pushing at his skull, prodding at his eyes from the inside. He gives a shaky breath and his whole body shudders. A hand is on his upper-back, cold through the fabric of his t-shirt. “Something wrong Sam?”

“Mbake…” Sam croaks, “Mbake it stop..?”

“Now, now, Sammy, that’s not how it…”

But there’s another voice, quiet but constant, and coming from behind him.

“…he’ll get you some medicine and get you in bed. ‘til then, you just gotta keep breathing, buddy. I got you.”

Sam tries to nod, but something heavy pounds inside his head.

Keep breathing… Sam remembers, keep breathing, and Dean’s got you.

--

Not wanting to be marched back into his bed, Sam waits until the click of the door that tells him that Bobby has gone out. Then, he bundles the blanket around his shoulders and shuffles back in to the living room. Dean is there. Right where he’s supposed to be.

He pulls himself up on his seat when he sees Sam.

“Hey! Hey, kid. How’re you doing?”

Sam considers this. He’s shaky and stuffy and headachy, and everything is much too loud, but Dean is here, and Dean is louder than Lucifer. That’s all he needs.

“I thindk… I thindk I’bm good.”

“You’re good? Really?”

Sam nods.

“Well that’s, that’s awesome buddy. That’s… What are you doing?”

Sam stops in the middle of spreading his blanket out over the other two on the floor. “Mb’sittindg,” he tells Dean, confused about why it wouldn’t be obvious.

“No.”

“Ndo?”

“No, Sam. You don’t wanna be back down there.”

But Sam does. He wants the smell of the sock that Dean hasn’t changed in days, he wants to be bumped and brushed by the jiggling of Dean’s good leg while he waits impatiently ‘til they can take their pain meds, he wants the constant rambling soundtrack as Dean pleads with or chastises the interchangeable characters that pass in an out of the TV set. He wants his brother.

He straightens out his blanket on the floor.

Dean leans out and grabs at Sam’s arm. “I’m serious kiddo. Set yourself up in the bed and let Bobby take care of you. I’m not gonna do you any good.”

It’s then that Sam notices Lucifer behind Dean, leaning against a counter-top. He shrugs.

“What can I tell you Sammy? I guess he just doesn’t wanna spend time with you.”

Sam shuts his eyes. Not this. Not this. He doesn’t have enough strength left for this.

“Hey now, don’t act like that…”

Sam flinches against Lucifer’s hands on his arms.

“You still got me. And we can have fun alllll day.”

Sam pulls away. No. It’s not true. It doesn’t make sense. Yesterday. Yesterday, Dean was there. That was Dean’s voice. Cutting through the pain. Cutting through Lucifer’s constant prodding. Dean was there because he chose to be, because he wanted to be. He was…

“Oh now, not this again…”’

But he’s right. Lucifer’s right. It’s small now. He could almost overlook it. But it’s growing. He backs up. Trying to get away from Lucifer, away from Dean, out of the cabin, anything.

He almost falls backwards over the coffee table.

“Sam, what in the Hell?” Dean groans and bends double, jarring his leg as he tries to stand.

Sam holds his breath, rubs frantically at this nose. They’ve talked about this. They talked about it all day yesterday. Sam’s sneezing. How loud it is. How repetitive, how irritating, how disgusting. How Dean can’t stand to be around it. This isn’t what he…

His breath jerks out of his control. Panicked, he raises a hand to his face.

“No.”

This time, the hands on his arms are warm.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you even think about stifling. ”

He tries to wriggle away, but Dean’s hold is tight. He crunches in towards his shoulder, nostrils twitching and burning.

“Hey.” Dean catches him by the chin. “You’re gonna hurt yourself Sammy. I’m serious. Let it go. I don’t care and he isn’t real.”

“You… Hehhh…HEH…You dodn’t chhuh- care? Ehhhh…Huh…HHHhhhuh...”

“And he isn’t real,” Dean insists.

“Hhh-UHHH…”

Sam rips away, sneezing openly over his shoulder. “HuHHH’EHH’UHTttTCHYEW! HuHH’UHTCHTCHYEW! HUSHHHSHYEW!”

“That’s it kiddo.”

“HhhUhhh…Ehhhh…HIhH… HEH’ISHHHSHYEW! HEH’ISHHHSHYEW! HEH’HISHHH!”

Sam sniffs, shakes, straightens, afraid to open his eyes, afraid to hear the next comment form Lucifer.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean asks.

Sam nods. Maybe he is. Maybe Lucifer has nothing to say.

Sam opens his eyes. No migraine. No Lucifer. Just Dean. Only Dean.

It’s so quiet. It’s so overwhelmingly peaceful. He wants to hug Dean, but he’s afraid they’ll both topple over. He wants to thank Dean, but his head has been swarming with feelings lately, and he’s forgotten how to draw them out on to his tongue. He wants to say something, so he slumps back down onto the blankets. Into their own little enclave. Into the space that full up of Dean. He slumps back down into that. And he hopes that that says enough.

--

Prompt from Cowboyguy:

You know how in season 7 after they escape from the hospital and suddenly it's "three weeks later" in Rufus's cabin? Well, in those three weeks...

Of course, Sam would be the one to pick up hospital germs, and he comes down with a cold a few days after they escape. He's all miserable and sniffly, and wants to stay close to Dean, butthere's only one couch, so he makes himself a bed of blankets on the floor. One day, it's time for their pain meds (for Dean's broken leg and Sam's recent head trauma), which Sam usually gets since he's mobile, but his headache is getting worse. And then he sneezes. Head trauma plus more pressure is a bad combination, and sets off a migraine.

Bobby's out getting groceries, and Dean can't get down on the floor to give Sam his meds, and by the time Bobby gets back, Sam is a shivering, shocky mess.

Edited May 25, 2015 by SexualOddity

[sierraplaid]

Poor Sam! This is so sad and so good. I love how Dean's voice keeps cutting through Sam's hallucinations--you really nailed the early Season 7 vibe. "No Lucifer. Just Dean" made me smile. Thank you for sharing!

[levinelover]

This story was spectacular. The characterization is on point. Great job

[HPG]

That was so sweet.

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

I enjoyed this a lot! I'm not even a big Supernatural fan (and by "not a big fan" I mean "I have never seen an episode of this television program," lol), but Supernatural sneezefic is a favorite of mine, lol, and this was a really good one! Thanks for writing it!

[SexualOddity]

(and by "not a big fan" I mean "I have never seen an episode of this television program," lol)

Oh gosh, this was probably quite a tough one to get into then, being full of weird stuff that's very specific to that series of the programme. Still, I'm glad that you read it in spite of that. I love your writing so I was really flattered that you enjoyed this.

[Sass]

Aw confused, clinging Sam sleeping on the floor so he can be close to Dean! That is really sweet. Also I can relate, I get really bad migraines too.