Fic: Inevitable
Inevitable
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for some swearing
Prompt: Originally written as a fill for a prompt at tarotgal's meme -- "He can't let himself sneeze. He absolutely can't. That would be the worst thing, the very worst. Because if he starts sneezing he's pretty sure he won't be able to stop."
There is no way this is going to end well.
Dean looks around in the dim light, surveying his surroundings, but “stuck in a closet” doesn’t leave a lot of options in terms of formulating a plan. All he has with him is a knife, and his phone must have slipped out of his pocket in the Impala, because his pockets are empty. So texting Sam for a rescue isn’t really an option, either.
In hindsight, breaking into a victim’s home - alone - to look for clues, without a plan or backup of any kind might have been a bad idea. But it had been going okay, until he heard the front door open downstairs. He’d quickly taken refuge in the closet in the spare bedroom, since he couldn’t very well get back downstairs.
But beyond that, Dean hadn’t been thinking much farther ahead.
So now here he is, trapped in this tiny space, surrounded by clothes on hangers, trying not to trip over the jumbled mess of shoes and boxes on the floor. It’s dark, the only light creeping through the tiny gaps in the door frame. And he’s finding it difficult to breathe. The air smells like mothballs and decaying paper, and everything has what is quite possibly ten years’ worth of dust layered on top of it. Every time he shifts positions and jostles a piece of clothing, he can practically feel the dust cloud swirling around him before it settles back down onto his clothes, into his lungs, and up his nose.
Don’t inhale, Dean, he tells himself. But that’s so much easier said than done.
He turns his head, turning towards the door instead of having his face pressed right into the line of musty clothes. But it’s already too late.
There’s this tiny little tickle in his sinuses.
Oh shit.
He knows from experience that he absolutely, no matter what, cannot let himself sneeze.
He freezes, listening to the creaking of floorboards from downstairs. Someone is still in the house.
And if he sneezes, it’s not going to be just once.
If he sneezes, it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. The person’s going to find him. He’s going to get killed by some supernatural baddie, or arrested and thrown into jail, without his brother to back him up this time.
This is not good.
The tickle intensifies, and Dean silently reaches one hand up to press a fist against the bridge of his nose, hoping the pressure will make it go away. If he survives this, he’s really going to be better about the whole planning thing during the next hunt.
He waits, and listens, and tries to figure out what to do. Nothing’s coming to mind. And really, all he wants to do is sneeze. Very carefully, trying to make absolutely no noise, he inhales. His nose is starting to run.
“…hh…”
A tiny, hitching breath escapes, and he presses the sleeve of his jacket against his face, trying to muffle the sound. But he’d forgotten that his clothes are just as dusty as everything around him, and it only pushes more dust into his mouth and nose. And that’s all it takes.
The itch in his nose is suddenly unbearable, and his next breath hitches wildly. “H-h-hhuh…! ht’mphfshh!” He tries to stifle the sneeze as much as possible into his sleeve, but he can’t control it. He frantically claps one hand over his mouth and nose, eyes wide in the dark. But the damage is done. The allergic itch has taken over, and he’s completely powerless to stop it.
“hh’NGXT! hh’mph! …h-hh… hmph’ngk!”
That’s it. He’s screwed.
He’s vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, but the sneezes are too strong, and he can’t focus on anything else except trying to keep them at bay.
“hh-hh-hh-- ….hhuh…”
He crushes the back of his hand against his nose. Please stop, Dean, please stop.
“ngxt’kshh! Uhh… ht’mpfhh!”
He can’t stop. Goddammit, he can’t stop. There’s just too much dust.
“hhh’KSHHH! hht’ngkxsh!”
There are sounds outside the room. Fuck, he’s gonna die. Killed by a sneezing fit. It’s pointless to try to hide now.
“hh’ETCHH! Huh’YISSHuh!”
Suddenly, there are loud noises on the other side of the door. Something crashes to the floor and shatters. There’s a loud thump against the wall to his left, and then it’s silent. Even his sneezes are momentarily stunned into silence.
The door is ripped open, and Dean instinctively raises the knife in his hand, ready to fight even if he can barely see through the allergic tears stinging his eyes.
But it’s Sam.
Sam is standing there, breathing heavily, silver blade in his hand dripping blood. On the floor next to the closet is a body that looks surprisingly like the victim who was supposed to be dead.
Huh. Shifter, Dean has enough time to think before the sneezes take over again.
“hh’KSHHHHuh! Huh’ETCHSHHAH! … Sammy, I- hh’NGSHHH!”
“Jeez, Dean, you’re a mess,” Sam says, reaching out to haul him out of the closet.
The fresh air in the room fills Dean’s lungs, making him cough, but the urge to sneeze hasn’t gone away yet. “Sabby, cad we-KSHHH! Ngx’SHHHH!” Dean motions helplessly towards the door, and all of a sudden he feels himself being guided down the stairs, out the front door.
The sun is bright, too bright, and it makes him sneeze again. By the time they reach the Impala parked down the block, he’s breathless, just trying to get some air in between the never-ending sneezes. He hears the door open with a familiar squeak, and Sam pushes him down into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him.
Dean thumps his head against the window, panting in exhaustion.
As Sam settles into the driver’s seat beside him, Dean feels something being pressed into his hand. He cracks one eye open and looks down, sees the clean white hanky, and immediately presses it to his nose, sighing with relief.
“Dean, for being one of the smartest hunters I know, you can be a real moron sometimes,” Sam says, chuckling softly.
Dean glances sideways at him, stifling one more sneeze into the blessedly dust-free handkerchief. “hmph’ngkshh! …Just shut up and drive.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for some swearing
Prompt: Originally written as a fill for a prompt at tarotgal's meme -- "He can't let himself sneeze. He absolutely can't. That would be the worst thing, the very worst. Because if he starts sneezing he's pretty sure he won't be able to stop."
There is no way this is going to end well.
Dean looks around in the dim light, surveying his surroundings, but “stuck in a closet” doesn’t leave a lot of options in terms of formulating a plan. All he has with him is a knife, and his phone must have slipped out of his pocket in the Impala, because his pockets are empty. So texting Sam for a rescue isn’t really an option, either.
In hindsight, breaking into a victim’s home - alone - to look for clues, without a plan or backup of any kind might have been a bad idea. But it had been going okay, until he heard the front door open downstairs. He’d quickly taken refuge in the closet in the spare bedroom, since he couldn’t very well get back downstairs.
But beyond that, Dean hadn’t been thinking much farther ahead.
So now here he is, trapped in this tiny space, surrounded by clothes on hangers, trying not to trip over the jumbled mess of shoes and boxes on the floor. It’s dark, the only light creeping through the tiny gaps in the door frame. And he’s finding it difficult to breathe. The air smells like mothballs and decaying paper, and everything has what is quite possibly ten years’ worth of dust layered on top of it. Every time he shifts positions and jostles a piece of clothing, he can practically feel the dust cloud swirling around him before it settles back down onto his clothes, into his lungs, and up his nose.
Don’t inhale, Dean, he tells himself. But that’s so much easier said than done.
He turns his head, turning towards the door instead of having his face pressed right into the line of musty clothes. But it’s already too late.
There’s this tiny little tickle in his sinuses.
Oh shit.
He knows from experience that he absolutely, no matter what, cannot let himself sneeze.
He freezes, listening to the creaking of floorboards from downstairs. Someone is still in the house.
And if he sneezes, it’s not going to be just once.
If he sneezes, it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. The person’s going to find him. He’s going to get killed by some supernatural baddie, or arrested and thrown into jail, without his brother to back him up this time.
This is not good.
The tickle intensifies, and Dean silently reaches one hand up to press a fist against the bridge of his nose, hoping the pressure will make it go away. If he survives this, he’s really going to be better about the whole planning thing during the next hunt.
He waits, and listens, and tries to figure out what to do. Nothing’s coming to mind. And really, all he wants to do is sneeze. Very carefully, trying to make absolutely no noise, he inhales. His nose is starting to run.
“…hh…”
A tiny, hitching breath escapes, and he presses the sleeve of his jacket against his face, trying to muffle the sound. But he’d forgotten that his clothes are just as dusty as everything around him, and it only pushes more dust into his mouth and nose. And that’s all it takes.
The itch in his nose is suddenly unbearable, and his next breath hitches wildly. “H-h-hhuh…! ht’mphfshh!” He tries to stifle the sneeze as much as possible into his sleeve, but he can’t control it. He frantically claps one hand over his mouth and nose, eyes wide in the dark. But the damage is done. The allergic itch has taken over, and he’s completely powerless to stop it.
“hh’NGXT! hh’mph! …h-hh… hmph’ngk!”
That’s it. He’s screwed.
He’s vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, but the sneezes are too strong, and he can’t focus on anything else except trying to keep them at bay.
“hh-hh-hh-- ….hhuh…”
He crushes the back of his hand against his nose. Please stop, Dean, please stop.
“ngxt’kshh! Uhh… ht’mpfhh!”
He can’t stop. Goddammit, he can’t stop. There’s just too much dust.
“hhh’KSHHH! hht’ngkxsh!”
There are sounds outside the room. Fuck, he’s gonna die. Killed by a sneezing fit. It’s pointless to try to hide now.
“hh’ETCHH! Huh’YISSHuh!”
Suddenly, there are loud noises on the other side of the door. Something crashes to the floor and shatters. There’s a loud thump against the wall to his left, and then it’s silent. Even his sneezes are momentarily stunned into silence.
The door is ripped open, and Dean instinctively raises the knife in his hand, ready to fight even if he can barely see through the allergic tears stinging his eyes.
But it’s Sam.
Sam is standing there, breathing heavily, silver blade in his hand dripping blood. On the floor next to the closet is a body that looks surprisingly like the victim who was supposed to be dead.
Huh. Shifter, Dean has enough time to think before the sneezes take over again.
“hh’KSHHHHuh! Huh’ETCHSHHAH! … Sammy, I- hh’NGSHHH!”
“Jeez, Dean, you’re a mess,” Sam says, reaching out to haul him out of the closet.
The fresh air in the room fills Dean’s lungs, making him cough, but the urge to sneeze hasn’t gone away yet. “Sabby, cad we-KSHHH! Ngx’SHHHH!” Dean motions helplessly towards the door, and all of a sudden he feels himself being guided down the stairs, out the front door.
The sun is bright, too bright, and it makes him sneeze again. By the time they reach the Impala parked down the block, he’s breathless, just trying to get some air in between the never-ending sneezes. He hears the door open with a familiar squeak, and Sam pushes him down into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him.
Dean thumps his head against the window, panting in exhaustion.
As Sam settles into the driver’s seat beside him, Dean feels something being pressed into his hand. He cracks one eye open and looks down, sees the clean white hanky, and immediately presses it to his nose, sighing with relief.
“Dean, for being one of the smartest hunters I know, you can be a real moron sometimes,” Sam says, chuckling softly.
Dean glances sideways at him, stifling one more sneeze into the blessedly dust-free handkerchief. “hmph’ngkshh! …Just shut up and drive.”