Fic: Shiver
Title: Shiver
Author: britomart_is
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Word count: 530
Notes: From deirdre_c's prompt at the horror meme: Sam's not immune to the Croatoan virus after all.
It's a shiver when it comes, just a ripple down Sam's spine like when Dean used to sneak up and blow on the back of Sam's neck just to piss him off and make him swat irritably.
One moment Sam's pleading with Dean, eyes red-rimmed, and then he stops in mid-sentence as though he's lost his train of thought, mouth open. Dean hangs on Sam's silence, on the question that should follow Sam's quizzical look.
And Sam shivers, phantom breathing down his neck. He closes his mouth and his eyes re-focus on Dean. Whatever he was going to say is lost.
On the wall, the clock ticks in martial rhythm. Dean didn't notice earlier, with the other survivors around, but the town is quiet. No traffic sounds, no clumsy nurse dropping a tray in a far-off corridor, no muffled chatter from staff taking a gossipy smoke break in the alley.
Sam is relaxed in his perch on the exam table, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than sitting here, alone in a room with Dean, and watching.
There's an itch at the back of Dean's neck. He stifles the urge to look behind him.
"Now I really wish I had a deck of cards."
Within a minute of locking himself in the room with Sam, Dean had catalogued every sharp, poisonous and explosive object in the room. Sam's within a long-limbed lunge of all of them, but he's not making a move. He's just gazing neutrally at Dean.
Sam seems bigger than he was five minutes ago. Did he get bigger? His size and muscle was there before, but the energy coiled behind it was not. Dean jolts - no, that wasn't Sam moving, it was just Dean blinking.
False alarm.
Dean's fidgeting and gritting his teeth through minutes he never expected to live through, now. This was supposed to be over the moment Sam was no longer Sam. Sam isn't playing along, though. Isn't trying to rip out Dean's jugular, end this one way or another, depending on who's faster.
He's just sitting.
Dean's palm slides in sweat over the grip of his gun.
He picks up a plastic bottle and throws it, snicking through the air within inches of Sam's face. Sam doesn't flinch. The bottle strikes the wall, then rolls along the ground, pills clattering inside, until it comes to a rest near Sam's feet.
Dean opens his mouth so a wisecrack can come out (he doesn't know what it will be, but his brain usually backs him up at the last minute in these situations), and finds it too dry to speak. He closes his mouth and swallows.
The rumble of the car outside brings him either horror or hope. They shouldn't be back. Why would they come back?
Dean's got his fingers parting the blinds, peering out for a glimpse of the survivors, before he consciously decides to cross the room. He splays a hand against the window to steady himself when he realizes his mistake. Doesn't bother to turn around, just waits for a long moment till he feels it.
There's breath, warm and close, on the back of Dean's neck.
Author: britomart_is
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Word count: 530
Notes: From deirdre_c's prompt at the horror meme: Sam's not immune to the Croatoan virus after all.
It's a shiver when it comes, just a ripple down Sam's spine like when Dean used to sneak up and blow on the back of Sam's neck just to piss him off and make him swat irritably.
One moment Sam's pleading with Dean, eyes red-rimmed, and then he stops in mid-sentence as though he's lost his train of thought, mouth open. Dean hangs on Sam's silence, on the question that should follow Sam's quizzical look.
And Sam shivers, phantom breathing down his neck. He closes his mouth and his eyes re-focus on Dean. Whatever he was going to say is lost.
On the wall, the clock ticks in martial rhythm. Dean didn't notice earlier, with the other survivors around, but the town is quiet. No traffic sounds, no clumsy nurse dropping a tray in a far-off corridor, no muffled chatter from staff taking a gossipy smoke break in the alley.
Sam is relaxed in his perch on the exam table, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than sitting here, alone in a room with Dean, and watching.
There's an itch at the back of Dean's neck. He stifles the urge to look behind him.
"Now I really wish I had a deck of cards."
Within a minute of locking himself in the room with Sam, Dean had catalogued every sharp, poisonous and explosive object in the room. Sam's within a long-limbed lunge of all of them, but he's not making a move. He's just gazing neutrally at Dean.
Sam seems bigger than he was five minutes ago. Did he get bigger? His size and muscle was there before, but the energy coiled behind it was not. Dean jolts - no, that wasn't Sam moving, it was just Dean blinking.
False alarm.
Dean's fidgeting and gritting his teeth through minutes he never expected to live through, now. This was supposed to be over the moment Sam was no longer Sam. Sam isn't playing along, though. Isn't trying to rip out Dean's jugular, end this one way or another, depending on who's faster.
He's just sitting.
Dean's palm slides in sweat over the grip of his gun.
He picks up a plastic bottle and throws it, snicking through the air within inches of Sam's face. Sam doesn't flinch. The bottle strikes the wall, then rolls along the ground, pills clattering inside, until it comes to a rest near Sam's feet.
Dean opens his mouth so a wisecrack can come out (he doesn't know what it will be, but his brain usually backs him up at the last minute in these situations), and finds it too dry to speak. He closes his mouth and swallows.
The rumble of the car outside brings him either horror or hope. They shouldn't be back. Why would they come back?
Dean's got his fingers parting the blinds, peering out for a glimpse of the survivors, before he consciously decides to cross the room. He splays a hand against the window to steady himself when he realizes his mistake. Doesn't bother to turn around, just waits for a long moment till he feels it.
There's breath, warm and close, on the back of Dean's neck.