Because ‘How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters’ would have been better if Dean had a cold. (SPN)

[MissBayliss]

Because ‘How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters’ would have been better if Dean had a cold.

“Did you strip enough wire?” Sam called.

“Yes, I stripped enough wire,” Dean bit back, his voice hoarse. He snuffled thickly. Shit, he thought. This was a fantastic time to get sick. Just friggen great.

Dean looked over his shoulder as Sam appeared beside him, hoping he wouldn’t notice, if he hadn’t already, how congested and snotty he was.

Sam attached the jumper leads and the house lights flickered on with an ominous buzzing sound.

“See, told you,” Dean huffed, trudging up the stairs.

Bobby came in the front door lugging a box of lore books with him.

“Well, isn’t this cosy,” Dean said, sarcastically.

He knew he was being a little bitch, but he couldn’t help the bite in his tone. He was pissed. This was the fifth beaten up old dump they’d had to squat in, in the last 3 weeks. He was cold. He was tired. All he wanted was a hot shower, a cold beer, and a bed. Instead he’d have to settle for cold tap water, luke warm beer and a sleeping bag on top of an old spring couch that probably had bed bugs. And he was sick. Fan-friggen-tastic.

“Yeah. Well, motel 6 just ain’t leaving the light on anymore,” Sam groaned as he pulled up a chair, leaving Dean to pace angrily.

“Well, I’m taking a page out of Frank Deveraux’s bible on this. Everybody’s out to get you. Paranoia is just plain common sense,” Bobby said, staring at Dean.

“Weeks, guys. Weeks,” Dean gestured, “We’ve been living with cold showers, cold hot pockets. Cold friggen everything! I mean, this is the bottom that we’re living in. You get that, right? Ehh-hestchuuh!” he twisted to sneeze into his arm.

“Bless you,” Bobby grunted, eyes narrowed at Dean.

“You feeling alright?” Sam asked in that condescending tone of his.

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, dragging his sleeve under his nose.

“How many big mouths are out there,” Bobby added, gruffly, returning to the previous conversation, “running card traces, like Chet… or hunting us down God knows what ways? No. Now is not the time to be laying our bed rolls our on the grid. Not if we can help it.”

Dean closed his eyes as a flash of light sparked through the house and the power was out once again. He was fed up. He felt like crap. He knew he looked like crap too. There was only so much he could take.

“That’s just great,” he moaned.

Bobby was right… but, dammit, he didn’t have to like it.

Dean dragged a hand down his face, giving a thick sniff, as Sam turned on the battery-operated lamp on the table in front of him.

“This is stupid,” he continued to complain, “Our quality of life is cr-crap. Ehhehkshhceww. We got Purgatory's least wanted everywhere, and we're on our third "The World's Screwed" issue in, what, three years?” Dean carried the cooler over to the couch and rolled out his sleeping bag, sitting down heavily, “We've steered the bus away from the cliff twice already. Kihschuuuehuh, Etschueh!” Dean sneezed twice more into his hands.

Sam pursed his lips, “Someone’s got to do it.”

“What is the bus wants to go over the cliff? Huhhh-eh… dammit,” Dean scrubbed furiously at his nose.

“You think the world wants to end?” Sam said in almost disbelief.

“I think that if we didn't take its belt and all its pens away each year that, yeah, the whole enchilada woulda offed itself already,” Dean’s voice was gruff and hoarse, and his throat hurt to talk, but he powered through that one, just to get his point across.

“Stop trying to wrestle with the big picture, son. You're gonna hurt your head.”

Dean bent forward, stifling two more sneezes into his hands, “Huhngxt, ehchxxt.”

“Speaking of hurtin’ your head, you sure you’re okay? You could beat out Sneezy from the Seven Dwarfs you been sneezing so much.”

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, grabbing a beer out of the cooler and getting comfortable on his “bed”, trying to get comfortable.

Bobby looked unconvinced, but turned to Sam to talk shop anyway.

Dean shuffled down on the couch, lifting his head to sip the beer. He was half listening to Sam and Bobby talking about the case they were currently on, but his eyes were heavy and his throat was stinging and he... “Huh’tschuu!” couldn’t… “Itschiuuu!” stop… “Ket’sczxhuewuh!” sneezing.

“Dean!” Sam called.

“Whad?” Dean snuffled, peering over, eyes half closed.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Ndothig,” he sniffed, trying not to sound so stuffed up.

Sam and Bobby exchanged a look but went back to their papers.

“And, uh, oh yeah, a horse's head.”

“Of course, the sketch looks bore like a Chewbacca head,” Dean chuckled, coughing lightly.

“Sounds kind of mixed up,” Bobby added.

“Yeah, kind of like it should be fighting a Japanese robot,” Dean slurred, eyes already closed.

“Well, mixed up or not, it sounds like it might just have a body count,” Sam said, in all seriousness, handing Bobby another article.

"Camping high season harshed by human burrito?" Bobby read.

“Yeah. Something hung a camper up in a tree, then ate him alive right through his sleeping bag. His wife hasn't been seen, either. Plus, there have been four other missing persons reported in the last three weeks. State troopers, get this, are saying it's a rogue bear,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, of course, when was the last time you saw a bear string up its own piñata?” Dean’s voice grated.

“Something's out there in the woods,” Bobby mused, “Hey, we're going honest to goodness wilderness hunting. I haven't used my .30-30 in a while.”

Dean clamped down on another sneeze by shoving his knuckles under his nose, “Okay, Davey Crockett, well, safari's gonna have to wait till tomorrow and after our suit-and-tie dance. We'll make sure this is not just some backwoods crackhead who likes to roll glampers.”

“What the hell's a glamper?” Bobby stared at Dean, who had already checked out of the conversation.

“Sam?” Dean prompted, snuggling his head further into the cushion, exhaustion winning out.

He listened to Sam explain what a ‘glamper’ was to Bobby as he drifted off to sleep, hoping to feel some semblance of a healthy human in the morning. He wasn’t counting on it.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Yes....Yes....YESSSSSSS!!!! Sick and exhausted Dean! LOVING IT!

This will be continued, yes?

[Anilkex]

I believe most episodes would be better if Dean had a cold. Or Sam. Or both of them.

I still think the Pestilence episode was wasted, as well as the one in Season 9 with the animal shelter. And probably dozens more.

Nice insert to the episode - loved it! And you posted at the perfect time.

[gingerdean]

Aww. Your crabby, sneezy, sick, run-down Dean is so yummy.

And of course I have to go back and re-watch this episode now, so as to fully enhance my enjoyment of this fic as it unfolds...

[telltale]

I agree with Anilkex; most episodes would be better with colds ahaha.

I haven't actually seen the ep/season in question, I don't think (I'm mostly a seasons 1-5 fan) but I love the us-against-the-world atmosphere you've created here, how they're so isolated, but together. Dean's hopelessness is sad and perfect (perfectly sad?) And exhausted + sick is the best combination - sorry, Dean.

[HPG]

Omg. This is great.

[spirkestielgirl87]

I love sick Dean saying he's fine, when he so obviously isn't. And Sam and Bobby knowing it, but not saying anything because they have so much work stuff to discuss. I can't wait to see how Dean is in the morning. I bet he won't be able to deny much longer!

[MissBayliss]

Sorry for the delay!

...

Dean did not feel better when he woke up. Far from it. There was no hiding it at this stage by how he looked and sounded. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed. His nose was running like a faucet and every time he sniffed there was a loud liquid sound, broadcasting to every person in his general vicinity that he was a walking snot factory. He was a little on the pale side too, if that wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t just up and admit to being sick though. That wouldn’t do well for the stoic big brother, ‘I am man, hear me roar’ appearance he was working on. Not that they didn’t notice. First of all he’d been out as soon as his head hit the lumpy sleeping bag and slept like a log for a solid six hours. That was extremely out of character to begin with. He’d woken up last, to the hustle and bustle of his brother and adopted father getting suited up, dried snot plastered to his face, a coughing fit that lasted a full minute and about 15 sneezes… in a row. When he’d finally composed himself both men were looking at him, eyebrows raised so high they’d almost left their bodies entirely.

He’d spun them some allergies crap, claiming cats must have been camping out in the house they were currently squatting in and the couch he was currently lying on. They didn’t believe it. But they said their unconvinced ‘uh-huh’s and left it at that, both watching him out of the corners of their eyes.

It was no surprise he’d gotten sick, no surprise at all. If motels weren’t bad enough, they were now staying in damp dumps like this. He meant what he said the night before. It really was the bottom.

Bobby had phoned the ranger and they were meeting him at BigGerson’s.

He couldn’t even shower, because this place had no hot water and he was already cold as it was. He used one of their torn up, year old blood stained towels to wash his face and covered up with deodorant. Which only made him sneeze more. At least that fit was only 8 sneezes long, left him panting and weak, muscles and skin aching. Brilliant freaking timing.

“So, Ranger Evans…” Dean started, swiping a hand under his nose.

“Oh, uh, you can call me Rick. Ranger Rick,” he replied, dopey grin on his face, digging into his burger.

Dean rolled his eyes, regretted it when it sent stabbing pain through his head, “Uh, you were the one who found Mitchell Rayburn, correct?”

“The human burrito,” Rick grinned with an eyebrow waggle.

“State police have it down as a bear attack,” Sam said.

Ranger Rick threw his head back and laughed, pieces of half chewed Turducken burger sloshing around in his mouth, “Yeah, I read what the state police says. That was no rogue brown.”

Dean’s breath started to hitch as the congestion crept back into his voice.

“Apparendtly, sobe others reported seeig sobethig a little, you know, weirder... Heh’schuuht!”

“Bless you,” Sam mumbled, in a slightly annoyed tone.

Ranger Rick didn’t seem to notice. “You know, I've been a ranger for 12 years. Tell you the truth, we have no idea what's out there. Big. Lot of trees and whatnot. Tell you this, though. You got to respect Mother Nature. You respect her, or she's gonna string you up, and she'll eat your ass right through the Gore-Tex.”

“So, you're thinkig it's Bother Ndature?” Dean snuffled into a napkin.

“See, me and Phil, we've been finding, uh, something's leftovers for weeks -- deer remains, badger, missing pets…”

Sam furrowed his brow, “Who's Phil?”

“Assistant Chief Ranger,” Rick muffled around another mouthful of burger, “Come to think of it, I haven't seen Phil in a couple of days. He's supposed to call from whatever station he's checking off.”

Rick got a faraway gaze, then shrugged and continued eating. Dean sneezed again.

“You think maybe your assistant chief ranger might be missing?” Sam asked.

“I should probably report that,” he chuckled.

Dean shook his head and noticed Bobby coming in the door in his fed gettup. Finally.

“Oh. Excuse us,” he said, clearing his throat, “Well, you, uh... enjoy your lunch... Ranger Rick.”

Dean fumbled for some napkins on a vacant table to clean himself up as he sneezed three more times, the force of them pulled on his sore throat and flooding his sinuses with pressure and pain.

“Dean,” Sam started, eyes serious and a little pissed.

“Whad?” he said, blowing his nose loudly.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“It’s allergies, dude.”

Sam sighed as Bobby approached.

“So?” Dean said, tucking his napkins away and swiftly changing the subject.

“Well, I took a look at the cadaver -- what's left of it. Not a happy camper. Don't have any stats on a Jersey Devil, but the bite radius on the vic's wounds -- it's too small for a Leviathan. And he's still got a ventricle and some change, so I doubt we're talking werewolf. And a wendigo don't leave no scraps… Are you okay? You look, you know…” Bobby trailed off.

Dean sniffed back the snot threatening to run down his upper lip, “I’m fide,” his voice cut out and he coughed into his wrist.

Bobby and Sam shared one of those looks they’d been doing lately. The jig was up. Dean knew it… but he wasn’t willing to admit it just yet.

“Lunch?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Starving,” Bobby agreed.

“Hey! Uh, Brandon. We grab a booth?” Dean asked to a passing waiter, as her ran a palm across his sweaty forehead.

“Hey, uh, douchewad,” Brandon turned sharply, “A hostess will seat you. Do I look like a freaking hostess?”

“Do you… want to look like a… hostess?” Dean muttered.

Brandon just shook his head and walked away.

“That didn't really make sense, what you... said,” Sam said, looking confusedly at Dean.

“What was that?” Dean held his hands out, changing the subject because, yeah, he couldn’t think of a good comeback right now while his brain was melting out his nose.

“I sure hope we don't get Brandon's section,” Bobby grunted.

…

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Do you… want to look like a… hostess?” Dean muttered.
Brandon just shook his head and walked away.
“That didn't really make sense, what you... said,” Sam said, looking confusedly at Dean.
“What was that?” Dean held his hands out, changing the subject because, yeah, he couldn’t think of a good comeback right now while his brain was melting out his nose.
“I sure hope we don't get Brandon's section,” Bobby grunted.

Yessssss!!!! I can just hear them perfectly. Especially Bobby

[telltale]

Aw, I love the obvious denial. DEAN. All your character voices are really great.

[Zuki]

Ajhhhh I love this!

[MissBayliss]

Hey, guys! Yes, this fic is still going. I haven't forgotten about it, I just got a little busy over the Christmas/New Year period. More will be coming in time. I just want to say thanks for your comments! My characters voices sound so good because a lot of the dialog is word for word from the script of the episode lol I wanted to literally redo the episode but add the beauty of sick Dean to it, so just fyi, I'm not THAT good! But thanks anyway and I hope you enjoy the rest when I get a chance to post it. Sorry for the absence. I'll be back with you in no time!

Love love.

[MissBayliss]

…

Dean whipped forward, sneezing into a red BigGerson's napkin.

"Hek'KITSCHhuu! Etch'SHEEWwuh! Urrgh..." He stupidly let a groan escape, momentarily unable to silence how terrible he was feeling.

"Okay, Dean, seriously..."

Dean silenced Sam by letting rip into the napkin, a loud gurgling blow, testing the integrity of the rough red paper napkin.

"Udless it's about thde case, Sab, I don't wadda hear it."

Sam huffed again.

Dean cleared his throat and sniffed hard, a winning combo to start off a coughing fit that almost had him gagging. By the time he was finished he was sure all eyes in the busy restaurant would be on him, but no one had even seemed to notice. No one except for Sam and Bobby.

He cleared his throat again and sat up straight, "I'b fide."

"Yeah, cause everybody chokes on air," Bobby said, gruffly.

Brandon appeared at their table and dumped a plate down in front of Sam, “Sidewinder soup and salad combo goes to Big Bird. TDK slammer to Ken Doll,” Dean raised his eyebrows as the burger was tossed in his direction, “And a little heart-smart for creepy uncle,” was Bobby’s delightful description.

“Whadt is your problemb?” Dean croaked.

“You are my problem!” Brandon shouted before stomping back to the kitchen, leaving all three of them gaping.

“Oh, Brandon's got his flare all up in a bunch,” Bobby scowled.

“Yeah. There goes his 18%,” Sam said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Anyway,” Dean cleared his throat, “Chief ranger - I dond't thingk he believes ind the Jersey Devil.”

“Oh, oh, by the way, did he seem a little, uh, stoned to you?” Sam asked.

“Huh’kISSCHuuh!” Dean sneezed into a fresh napkin, “Ranger Rick? Yeah. Defiditely growig his own ond thde back 40 and smboking all thde profits.”

He blew his nose again and stuffed the tissue under the edge of his plate, fitting his hands around his burger.

“He did seem to think that there was something – “

“Oh, that is good sandwich!” Dean muffled around a mouthful of food, cutting Sam off.

“What the hell did you get?” Bobby asked, dubious look on his face.

Dean swiveled the sign on the table round to face Bobby, “Ndew Pepperjack Turducken Slamber -- libited tibe ondly.”

“Bunch of birds shoved up inside each other. Shouldn't play God like that,” Bobby shook his head.

“Hey, dond't look at be sideways fromb that, that Chindese chicken geezer salad there, okay? This is awesobe. Like thde perfect storb of your top-three edible birds,” he argued, protectively.

“Dean…” Sam starting, in an awkwardly familiar patronizing tone.

Dean quickly dropped the burger to wrap his hands around his face.

“Eh’KSCHUuh! Huh’eh’SSCCHU! God… Heh’CHXUu! At’SCHEew! Hehh.. KITSCHUuuh! Sond of a bidtch…”

“Hey,” Sam said, napkin in his outstretched hand.

“Thagks,” Dean sniffled, wiping his nose, ‘cause blowing it would have taken too much energy.

“If you’d just admit you were sick, maybe we could –“

“Wdould you drobp idt, please?” Dean snapped.

Sam frowned, “All right, anyways, um... The ranger did seem to think there was something out in Wharton Forest.”

“Well, then I'd say it's safari time,” Bobby sighed.

“She’s big-boned!” A customer yelled from behind them, causing the three of them to stop and turn.

“Look at her! You're telling me she's not fat?” Brandon was at it again.

“Hey,” another BigGerson’s employee chastised.

“Up yours, Mike. Shove it right up yours!” Brandon yelled, removing his apron and storming out of the restaurant.

Dean, Sam and Bobby all looked at each other, before Dean stared down at incredible lunch.

“Well, anyway, bagck to bigger and better thigs,” he grinned, breathlessly, taking another massive bite as Sam and Bobby rolled their eyes.

…

[sierraplaid]

Heehee, what a great episode to sick!Dean-ify. This is great. Dean's stuffed-up voice, and the sneezing... I think this is my favorite line: "Udless it's about thde case, Sab, I don't wadda hear it." Nicely done!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Omg Dean and food. Still a better love story than Twilight Sorry I had to

[MissBayliss]

By the time it was dark outside and they were ready to trek ass deep into the forest on an, honest to god, monster hunt, Dean was drowning in a river of snot and thoroughly wishing he was anywhere but freezing his ass off in back woods New Jersey. His congested sniffles were louder than their footfalls and he defensively avoided Sam and Bobby’s backwards glances and eyebrow raises. Still, despite him feeling like rolled over crap, they had a job to do, and even though he was dying of the plague he actually was in quite a good mood. He still kept thinking about that burger… Mmm…

Bobby stopped in front of them and Dean almost collided with his sasquatch of a brother. He pulled a tuft of hair from a nearby bush and inspected it.

“Couple of bucks,” Bobby nodded, “Head-butting over turf probably. Pretty sure the other fella won.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled, “I guess I forgot. Before you were a hunter, you were actually a...hunter.”

“Yeah, well, we shot our dinner when I was a kid,” Bobby said, continuing on through the forest.

Dean let a grin form across his face, “You used to tagke us huntig. Rebember? Dad had a case, he'd just dubp us on you. Shoot, you bust have taught us bost of the outdoor trackig we kdnow.”

“Yeah, what I could get to stick,” Bobby laughed, “I never could get you little grubs to pull a trigger on a single deer.”

“You’re talkig about Bambi, man. Eh’KSCHUuh!” Dean sniffled.

“You don't shoot Bambi, jackass… You shoot Bambi's mother.”

Their torches caught something and all three of them found themselves staring at a bloody severed hand hanging from a tree right in front of their heads.

“Well, loogks like we found Phil. Huh’ISSCHUuh! Hek’SSCHHhh!”

Sam shot Dean an unsavory look. Dean shrugged.

“Dude, you should probably sit down,” Sam instructed.

“Why?”

Bobby and Sam wrinkled their brows.

“Cause you look like you’re about to fall down,” Bobby said, handing Dean a hanky from his back pocket.

Dean accepted the hanky, only because it was either that or drown standing up in his own body fluids. He turned from them but it didn’t matter anyway. The sound alone was signal enough.

“Thagks,” Dean snorted, holding the well used hanky out to Bobby.

Bobby screwed up his nose, “Kid, that’s yours now… I’m gonna call Ranger Rick and report this. You take a nap or something.”

“Vbery fuddy, guys. Really bature…”

Dean sneezed an incredible total of seventeen times before Ranger Rick arrived at the scene, and he would have been planning on blowing his brains out right then if he wasn’t so chilled.

“Special agents. Listen, I got your call. But I'm not sure I got what you were saying,” Rick seemed even more stoned than before.

Dean just pointed upwards at the arm.

“Hey. I think we found Phil,” the ranger laughed.

“That's whadt I said!” Dean grinned, earning more disapproving glances from Sam and Bobby.

“Uh, I should probably call this in,” Rick said, leaning through the open door of his car to grab the radio.

“Yeah, yeah. Solid move, Rick,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Bobby’s head shot to the side and Sam and Dean’s immediately followed. Something was out there, and it was close.

“Uh, this is Ranger Evans up at Acher's Point. Come in. Uh, repeat. This is Chief Ranger Evans,” he reported, grinning the whole time.

“Chief Ranger, go ahead.”

“I have a situation out at Acher's Point.”

There were more sound coming from the foliage close to them, cracking of branches and crunching of leaves… heavy beathing.

“Ranger, I think we've got company,” Bobby said.

“Yeah?” The ranger smiled up at him, “Who's that?”

Then, more quickly than they could move, Ranger Rick was snatched by the ankles and dragged off into the night.

“Ranger!” Sam yelled, as all three readied their weapons and ran off after the noise of Ranger Rick’s screams.

“Ranger Evans! Ranger!”

“It's got him up in the trees,” Bobby said, aiming his gun overhead, “Lights off.”

“Whadt?” Dean said, as Bobby switched off his spotlight. He was a little dizzy from running through the forest but did he just say turn off their lights?

“Wait, Bobby, you think that's really a good idea?” Good, he wasn’t the only one.

“Shut up, shut off, and listen.”

Both boys lowered their rifles and switched off the spotlights. Staring into the black they could hear the sounds of something munching.

“Damn thing’s eating Rick,” Bobby sighed.

“Man, I ligked Rick,” Dean said, like a barely concerned adolescent.

Sam and Bobby both looked at him as if something were wrong with him. Dean shrugged again.

Bobby directed his gaze back to the creature above, closing his eyes and aiming his weapon. He took a shot, eyes still closed, and to their surprise a disgusting looking monster, holding one of Ranger Rick’s arms, came tumbling out of the tree to land in front of them.

“Wow. Ndice shot, Bobby,” Dean said, in shock.

“Seriously,” Sam added.

“We all got our gifts,” Bobby smirked.

“What about the rest of Ranger Rick?” Dean asked, looking down at the bloody severed arm.

“Ranger called in his 10-20. His own will find him. We got crap to do.”

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Yeah, what I could get to stick,” Bobby laughed, “I never could get you little grubs to pull a trigger on a single deer.”
“You’re talkig about Bambi, man. Eh’KSCHUuh!” Dean sniffled.
“You don't shoot Bambi, jackass… You shoot Bambi's mother.”

Unnnnnngggggggg.....! I can't breathe i'm laughing so hard! Gotta love Bobby.

[MissBayliss]

…

 

Dean and Sam carried the sticky creature into the house and lay it down on the table. Dean sniffed. On the trip home he’d sneezed a grand total of seventeen times. Yes, he was counting, because he was actually counting Sam’s bitch-faces, and they seemed to pop out after every wet sneeze. He felt gross. His skin hurt and he really needed to shower. Worse than that, he couldn’t seem to connect things in his head. He knew he was hunting a monster. Whatever this fugly was. But he didn’t seem to care much, about anything. He just wanted a burger… and some more tissues.

“Built like a supermodel, but the thing was strong. That's for damn sure,” Bobby said, scratching his head underneath his cap, “Carried a full-grown man up a tree in nothing flat.”

“But, it only took one bullet to bring it down,” Sam said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“And ndot evend a silber bullet, just a bullet-bullet,” Dean laughed, then turned to cough into his arm.

The creature sat bolt upright on the table, then flipped onto its feet in half a second. All three of them whipped out their guns and emptied their clips into it until it fell back against the table, actually dead this time. Thankfully. Because Dean needed to sneeze again.

“First one must have just stunned it,” Bobby said, as the boys took a breath.

“A-all right… huh… w-well… Heh’huhSXCHUuh! Well, let's check its… huh-hulk pandts for sombe… ssnnff… ID. Het’KSSCHHUew! Sond of a…”

“Bless you,” Sam said, with absolutely no sympathy whatsoever.

Dean wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve and started rifling in the creature’s pants. He found a wallet in its pant pocket, but it was dripping in blood and… ooze. He almost wanted to puke.

“Ohh,” he groaned, shaking his head, “Thatd is just godda ruin the leather.”

Sam pursed his lips and snatched the wallet from Dean, who just blinked blearily.

“Are you feeling okay?” Bobby asked, for like the millionth time today and just, urgh, shut up, Bobby.

“What?”

Sam and Bobby were now staring at him. Evidently he’d said that last thing out loud.

“Ndothin’, I feel great.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we all believe that,” Sam said, turning his attention to the drivers license in the wallet. “Gerald Browder, uh, lived here in town, 5'9", brown hair and blue eyes... 235 pounds.”

“Whoa,” Dean said, then launched a triple into his wrist.

The creature in front of them was clearly not 235 pounds, by a long shot.

“Well, apparently, he's lost a little pudge,” Bobby mused.

“Baybe it's a-a lap-band side effegct,” he grinned, because seriously, guys, that was comedy gold.

Sam and Bobby did not laugh. They shared a look and ignored him completely. Bobby picked up a stick and poked it into one of the creatures many bullet wounds. As he pulled it out, a string of grey goo came attached to it.

“What the hell?” Bobby raised his eyebrows, “I think we better have a look under Gerald's hood.”

“Okay, good pland. I’ll ju-just… heh… I’ll just get tha-ahH’CHSHU! God…”

“Dean,” Sam said, face steely.

“Whad?” He sniffed, wiped his streaming eyes.

“Go and sit down,” Bobby ordered.

“Whad? I said I’b finde,” his voice caught and he turned to cough into his fist.

“You’re sick, Dean,” Sam said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Amb ndot… Fellas… Combe ond,” he pleaded, fighting a losing battle.

“Just admit it, son. You’ve practically sneezed your face off already today. Go and sleep it off. We’ll handle this,” Bobby said.

Dean wanted to respond, but his nose revolted again, and when he’d got through seven sneezes and finally come up for air, Sam’s hand was on his hunched back.

“I’b finde,” he croaked.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Sam smiled, walking him through to the other room, “Now time for a nap.”

Dean allowed himself to lie down on his sleeping bag, sniffling and shuddering.

“Alright, finde. I’ll just rest by eyes for a bindute.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Sam laughed, pulling a blanket over him.

Dean was snoring twenty seconds later.

 

…

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Dean!!!!!! You stubborn piece of ass! I am loving his misery far too much   

 

The poor dear needs a neck rub. Honestly. He was just out hunting a beast.

[gingerdean]

21 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

“Baybe it's a-a lap-band side effegct,” he grinned, because seriously, guys, that was comedy gold.

 

Sam and Bobby did not laugh. They shared a look and ignored him completely.

lmao! Poor Dean. No one appreciates his humor, do they

 

 

22 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

Alright, finde. I’ll just rest by eyes for a bindute.”

 

“Yeah, you do that,” Sam laughed, pulling a blanket over him.

 

Dean was snoring twenty seconds later.

Gah, cuteness overload!    Really enjoying this

[telltale]

I'm really enjoying this one too.  I love how out of it Dean is and all of Bobby and Sam's eyerolling.  It's cute.

[sierraplaid]

Still loving this.  Dean's just sooo sick and sneezy, and I like how seamlessly you've integrated sick Dean into the original episode. Can't wait for the next installment!

Oh, and this part cracked me up:

On 2/17/2016 at 11:15 PM, MissBayliss said:

“A-all right… huh… w-well… Heh’huhSXCHUuh! Well, let's check its… huh-hulk pandts for sombe… ssnnff… ID. Het’KSSCHHUew! Sond of a…”

“Bless you,” Sam said, with absolutely no sympathy whatsoever.

  Ah, Sam.

[MissBayliss]

Sorry, guys. My mind has been elsewhere  

Here's an update. Only two parts left after this one, because I'm stopping before that episode takes a dark turn...

 

…

 

Dean woke groggily, feeling like he was swimming in his own mucus. He coughed the gunk out of his lungs and rolled off the couch onto his knees. God, he felt like crap. His mind was in a thick haze. His head was pounding now. He sneezed 12 times in super quick succession, attempting to stifle them but giving up when the power behind them was too strong. His forearms had a sheen over them, courtesy of the solid fever he was rocking right about now. He sniffed hard and shivered, pushing off the floor.

He found his coat on the table and put it on, pulling it tight. He picked at a loose thread, wavering where he stood.

“God! Its organs are swimming in the stuff!” Bobby’s voice came through from the other room.

Dean grabbed a glass and the bottle of whiskey off the table. Maybe alcohol would make him feel better. There certainly wasn’t anything he could do to feel worse.

He wandered into the room, pouring himself a glass.

“You guys gettig hungry? I'b hungry,” he sniffed, coughed for a minute into his sleeve.

“What's that?” Sam asked Bobby, completely ignoring him.

Rude, Dean thought.

“His stomach,” Bobby answered, and was he invisible!? “For a guy on a diet, Gerry here packed it in pretty good.”

“That's human right there…”

Sam and Bobby continued to pull slimy bits out of the monsters stomach.

“That's fresh Rick. Let's see. Plus... a pine cone? Pack of gum in the wrapper…”

Dean leaned against the mantle to keep himself standing. Tilting his head back to drink from the glass made his head spin.

“That's -- that's older. Maybe like a -- maybe Ranger Phil or the camper?” Sam asked, pulling out sticky organs, dripping in grey goo.

Dean hunched forward into his elbow, “Hhh’NXGT-eh. Huhh-CHXXT! Heh’eh-CHHHT!”

He let out a congested breath and cleared his throat.

“Bless you,” Sam said, glancing over his shoulder, “Go lie back down.”

“I’b hungry,” Dean grunted, voice graveling and thick.

“What's that?” Bobby asked, nodding to what Sam was holding.

“Looks like a -- yeah, that's a -- that's a cat's head.”

Dean chuckled, cat’s head. That’s hilarious. “Heh’EKKSCHuuheh!”

“A glamper or two is one thing, but you got to be damn hungry to eat a cat's head,” Bobby mumbled, eyebrows fixed high on his head.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hummed.

Dean sneezed again, four times. No bless you. Gee, thanks, guys.

“Well, lookit here. I'm no Dr. Oz, but...” Bobby pulled a gigantic black thing from the creatures body, “I think that's his adrenal glands.”

“Okay. And?” Sam asked.

“Meant to be the size of hotel bar soap... and bright orange.”

“Ooh! All right, that might help explain the strength. Um, but whatever this thing is, it's not the Jersey Devil, but it sure as hell ain't Gerald Browder anymore.”

Dean sniffed, wobbled where he was and clutched the mantle harder. “Ogkay, guys, seriously. It's tibe for dinner?”

 

…

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Dean baby!

Just the fact that Dean is getting ignored and WANTING attention just kills me. The poor soul tries so hard, and receives  nothing  

[sierraplaid]

Bobby and Sam may be ignoring Dean but he has my full attention! Another great installment. And thank you for pulling this up short before the... end of the episode....  eep. Let's just pretend that doesn't happen and focus on the sick Dean, shall we?