D is for Dusty
Jul. 3rd, 2012 01:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarotgalTitle: D is for Dusty
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
“Chmph!”
Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing Sam with his arm bent over his face, nose smushed into it. “Dust getting to you, Sammy?”
“It’s Sab.” Sam snuffled into the crook of his arm then cleared his throat. “Add I’b fide.”
Shining his flashlight across the floor and then into the corners of the abandoned house, he saw nothing but cobwebs and dust. There was a layer of dust an inch thick on every surface, from the floor to the windowsills. They had flashlights to sweep away the cobwebs as they entered each doorway, but they kicked up the dust as they walked. And Sam’s nose hadn’t stopped twitching since they started searching.
“h’CHMPH! huh…” He rubbed his nose into his sleeve and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes.
“Fine my ass. If you needed allergy meds now, you should have told me to get them the last time I picked up supplies.”
“I did’t dow we were goig subwhere I’d deed theb.”
“Bullshit!” Dean laughed, the light of his flashlight finally finding the door leading down to the cellar. Nine times out of ten, dead people were in the cellar. “When aren’t we in old, rundown, dusty houses?”
Miserably, Sam nodded. Then he lifted his arm again. “hah-CHIMPHHH!”
Hand on the doorknob, Dean turned. “Are you gonna be okay down there? Can I rely on you to watch my back? Or do you want to stay up here while I have a look? You know it’ll be even dustier down there.”
Sam rubbed his eyes again. Then he lifted his other arm and rubbed it roughly against his nose. After clearing his throat, he met Dean’s gaze. “I’ve got your back.”
*
Dean limped across the motel room, the ice pack taped around his knee making it hard to bend his leg. He sat down on the bed at the first possible second, and Sam’s attempt at drifting off to sleep was thwarted by the movement. He couldn’t open his eyes, though.
“Here.” Dean had brought with him a cold, wet washcloth, folded into thirds. He laid it over Sam’s burning, puffy eyes. Then he pulled a few tissues from the box and folded them to Sam’s nose. “Blow, kiddo.” Sam hesitated. “Come on, Sab.”
Sam coughed, surprised.
“That’s what you told me to call you. And I need to call you something other the guy who pushed me into an anvil.”
“I got the ghost, did’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. Which is why you get a washcloth and tissues and all the Sudafed you want.”
Sam tensed up and reached out, grabbing Dean’s hand, guiding it and the tissues back to his nose. “huh-CHISHHH! Uhh…” He sniffled and Dean wiped his nose for him. But not like he used to when they were young and Sammy was sick. Not like a big brother. Sam cleared his throat. “Add what if I wadt subthig else?”
Dean leaned over, pressing his lips to Sam’s.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
“Chmph!”
Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing Sam with his arm bent over his face, nose smushed into it. “Dust getting to you, Sammy?”
“It’s Sab.” Sam snuffled into the crook of his arm then cleared his throat. “Add I’b fide.”
Shining his flashlight across the floor and then into the corners of the abandoned house, he saw nothing but cobwebs and dust. There was a layer of dust an inch thick on every surface, from the floor to the windowsills. They had flashlights to sweep away the cobwebs as they entered each doorway, but they kicked up the dust as they walked. And Sam’s nose hadn’t stopped twitching since they started searching.
“h’CHMPH! huh…” He rubbed his nose into his sleeve and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes.
“Fine my ass. If you needed allergy meds now, you should have told me to get them the last time I picked up supplies.”
“I did’t dow we were goig subwhere I’d deed theb.”
“Bullshit!” Dean laughed, the light of his flashlight finally finding the door leading down to the cellar. Nine times out of ten, dead people were in the cellar. “When aren’t we in old, rundown, dusty houses?”
Miserably, Sam nodded. Then he lifted his arm again. “hah-CHIMPHHH!”
Hand on the doorknob, Dean turned. “Are you gonna be okay down there? Can I rely on you to watch my back? Or do you want to stay up here while I have a look? You know it’ll be even dustier down there.”
Sam rubbed his eyes again. Then he lifted his other arm and rubbed it roughly against his nose. After clearing his throat, he met Dean’s gaze. “I’ve got your back.”
Dean limped across the motel room, the ice pack taped around his knee making it hard to bend his leg. He sat down on the bed at the first possible second, and Sam’s attempt at drifting off to sleep was thwarted by the movement. He couldn’t open his eyes, though.
“Here.” Dean had brought with him a cold, wet washcloth, folded into thirds. He laid it over Sam’s burning, puffy eyes. Then he pulled a few tissues from the box and folded them to Sam’s nose. “Blow, kiddo.” Sam hesitated. “Come on, Sab.”
Sam coughed, surprised.
“That’s what you told me to call you. And I need to call you something other the guy who pushed me into an anvil.”
“I got the ghost, did’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. Which is why you get a washcloth and tissues and all the Sudafed you want.”
Sam tensed up and reached out, grabbing Dean’s hand, guiding it and the tissues back to his nose. “huh-CHISHHH! Uhh…” He sniffled and Dean wiped his nose for him. But not like he used to when they were young and Sammy was sick. Not like a big brother. Sam cleared his throat. “Add what if I wadt subthig else?”
Dean leaned over, pressing his lips to Sam’s.
