SPN Befores & Afters: Part 21. An After

[tarotgal]

Summary: Scenes of hurt/comfort from before
Sam figures about about Dean's care-giving kink...
and scenes set afterward.
Pairing: Dean/Sam | Rating: Various (G through NC-17)

21. An After

Whatever else he is, Dean’s a hunter. It’s a fact of life Sam reconciled with long ago. It’s in his nature to track demons no one else knows about, to combat monsters regular people deny the existence of, to hunt ghosts without the use of those packs they had in Ghostbusters. Inside Dean is the perfect mix of investigator and fighter.

So when Sam comes down with a case of the sniffles, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Dean notices and intervenes. But he’s sort of surprised Dean hasn’t noticed yet.

Sam’s been sniffling all morning. It’s one of those annoying runny noses that just refuses to go away, no matter how many times he rubs the back of his wrist at it. By lunchtime, he’s sure he’s getting sick. He picks at his salad, not even sure why he ordered it in the first place—maybe so Dean won’t suspect. But he’s always been bad at hiding anything from Dean, so he’s not even sure why he bothers.

Then Sam remembers why: Dean’s got too much to deal with right now. On top of all the crap going on with them right now is this job they’re on. It’s a huge neighborhood in the suburbs, and one of the neighbors has been spotted walking around at night; only problem is that the guy’s supposed to have died last week. Everyone refuses to believe it’s a problem, though given what he knows about what is possible, Sam doesn’t understand how anyone can think a dead man walking around at night isn’t a problem. But all the people they’ve interviewed so far claim they hadn’t noticed a thing; that was the ‘burbs for you.

“So you didn’t notice Mr. Thompson acting strange before he passed away?” Sam asks, hiding a shiver as he takes a sip of the coffee the elderly woman had served them. Really, the last thing he needs is another cup of coffee, but it’s warm and something to do with his hands instead of rubbing constantly at his tickly nose, which is all he seems to want to do. Sam feels fidgety, jumpy, and he knows it’s because he’s had too much caffeine already. But it’s also partly due to this darn cold he’s pretty sure he’s got.

On top of the tickling nose, his throat’s sore and getting worse every time he scratches it with the tip of his tongue. And he just feels as ‘blah’ as it’s possible to feel. He hopes Dean paid attention to the lady’s answer because Sam realizes she’s finished talking and Dean’s already asking something else. Sam just wants to be gone. He wants to be back in the impala or at the motel room or even just outside where he can bury his nose in his sleeve or maybe Dean’s bandana and sneeze all the tickles out.

He’s sure he’ll feel better if he just sneezes, but he doesn’t dare do it now. This lady’s too proper and there are still questions to ask. But, damn it, he’s got to sneeze. Sam rubs his nose hard with the side of his hand. Then he steps up his game with a rub from his thumb and forefinger, squeezing as he holds his breath. He’s not even sure what’s happening in the conversation—it could be over for all he knows—all he knows is that he hasn’t sneezed yet, and that’s something at least.

Sam dreams about excusing himself from the parlor, faking a cell phone call, asking where the bathroom is. But the moment Dean suspects that Sam is sick, they’re done for. Dean’ll lose his composure. Dean’ll lust after him. Dean’ll probably call off the case, tuck him into bed, and spend days playing nursemaid. And though that sounds like their own little bit of heaven, they can’t have that when there’s a zombie out there. So Sam rubs and scrubs and fidgets and pretends he’s fine.

“Well, I think that’s about all,” Dean says. “Thank you for your time.”

Trying not to look too eager, Sam puts down his cup and stands. He follows Dean out. Dean heads down the sidewalk, starting not toward the next house on the block but toward the impala. “Dean, hold up!” Sam calls, wanting to talk, walking to explain. But the sneezes are right there and this time there’s no stopping them. He doesn’t have a hanky in his suit pocket and he hadn’t thought to liberate any motel room tissues. So he just sneezes freely. Dean’s far enough away there he won’t catch the spray anyway. “hahhh-EHFTChuhhh! HehhhChahhh! HeyyKTchuhhh! Ugh…”

Sam sniffles and wrinkles his nose. It had felt damn good to get those out at last. But now he really feels sick. His nose feels all runny and, somehow, stuffy and full at the same time. He wants some Aspirin and a decongestant. And he wants a tissue. “Man, I can’t believe I made it through that whole interview without sneezing.”

Dean’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets. When he answers, his voice is deep, breathy. “I can’t believe I made it through without coming.”

Sam gives a start. “You knew? Sniff! I didn’t think you knew I was sick.”

“Course I knew. I fucking love watching you try to hide it. You drive me crazy, you tease.”

They stand there for almost a full minute. Then Dean tilts his head. “I’ve got tissues in the car, if you want to… ah…”

Sam can already picture sitting there in the car with a bunch of tissues couching his runny nose and his hand stuffed down Dean’s pants, jerking him off under the dashboard. “I want to,” he says, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

Comments

[ladykorana.livejournal.com]

Haha, what a welcome back to this fic-verse!

I didn't think for a second that Dean wasn't noticing Sam's struggles, but your tight focus on the Sam POV (and your lovely descriptive abilities) had me preoccupied enough that I didn't fully consider what actually might be running through Dean's head. I love it!

[tarotgal]

I'm glad you liked it! It played out a lot differently in my head when I thought up the idea for this chapter, but once I started writing I realized that OF COURSE Dean knew all along. So I had to just let the characters go where they wanted to :-)

I finished the last installment of the series last night (yay for NaNoWriMo!), so I thought it was time to start posting again. I'm so sorry about the gap in-between. A small gap was expected, but this was a lot longer than I'd anticipated.

[ladykorana.livejournal.com]

As someone heading into day 3 of a diet consisting only of tea, applesauce, rice, toast, and yogurt, I can tell you that you have my complete sympathy, especially as I know that your situation sounds considerably more painful and long-lasting than my own.

[tarotgal]

Aw, I'm sorry. I hope whatever you have passes super quickly!!

I've definitely become a connoisseur of Saltines, toast, rice, popsicles, and applesauce after a month and a half of it with no immediate end in sight.

I find it rather difficult to write h/c when I'm sick/in pain, which I guess makes some sort of sense.

[ladykorana.livejournal.com]

Thanks. It's either mild food poisoning or a virus, I'd guess. No v-ing thank goodness, but I'm desperately hoping the cramps and stuff stop and I can eat normally ASAP because I'm flying to NY this coming weekend for a family wedding. Need to get my hair cut and nails done Wednesday. Haven't felt like even starting packing though.

Have they decided what they're going to do for your gallbladder yet? That's a really really long time to deal with not being able to eat without pain.

I like to daydream about character H/C when I just have a cold or cough, but that's a far cry from writing it myself.