Fic: Motels, Hunts, and Colds (SPN)
Prompt: Sam and Dean are sharing a horrible cold. They keep almost getting to the point of getting over it, but then something will happen that makes them worse - intense hunts with no sleep, lots of travelling with no opportunity for a proper bed, grave digging in the snow, leaping in frozen lakes etc etc. After three weeks of this, they just want to get better.
Motels, Hunts, and Colds
Dean was the first to sneeze.
The woman they interviewed a few days ago was sniffling. It didn’t take long.
Dean spent an entire car ride sneezing and coughing into his bandana, windows down so Sam didn’t breathe in his germs.
It didn’t work.
A day after Dean, Sam followed. Leading to a miserable day in the library, looking through old newspapers over a bag of cough drops and a box of tissues, earning the hard stares and disgusted groans of all other library patrons.
They decided to go to bed early, get a jump on the case in the morning when they could both see straight.
Dean honestly felt better. He could finally breathe through his nose without sneezing, and his headache had tampered off to a dull ache.
They went monster hunting.
It was a water nymph. Dean ended up taking a dip in the freezing November lake. Water nymph: dead.
Dean was a shivering, sneezing, sweating mess by the time they got back to the motel.
“Dude, you didn’t have to -“
“Mband, shud up. Saved your ass…” Dean broke off coughing and had to lean on the counter to keep upright.
“Dude, wet clothes off. In the shower, now.”
Dean got bronchitis. Laid up for two full days.
Meanwhile, Sam decided to handle a simple salt and burn. He was almost better anyway, and hanging out in the motel room listening to Dean hack and sneeze his way through an entire roll of toilet paper was less than ideal.
Half way through digging the grave it started to bucket down. By the time Sam hit the coffin lid, he was soaked through, and cold right down to his bones.
He stumbled in, successful, but drenched, teeth chattering, snot endlessly pouring from his nose.
Dean had his face buried in a tissue, sitting up in bed, blankets pulled up over his chest.
“Whad happened to you?”
Sam sneezed.
“Shower. Bed.”
Sam nodded, solemnly, and followed his brother’s orders.
Two more days passed of hacking, and sneezing, and chills, and aches, and handing the Dayquil back and forth between their beds, swigging straight from the bottle because as if they cared about each other’s germs at this point.
On the third day they both felt a lot better, so they hit the road.
The car broke down 8 hours in, in the middle of night and the middle of nowhere. Dean spent another hour under the hood, until it started snowing.
Dean rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm. He slammed the hood shut and trudged back around to the driver’s side door.
Sam braced against the cold wind as Dean opened the door and clambered into the car, slamming his door shut.
"Any luck?" He asked, hopeful.
Dean pulled out his bandana with red, stiff fingers and folded it carefully in front of his face. He stared ahead at nothing for a while and then whipped forward with a powerful sneeze, lurching the car with the force of it.
"Dah," he mumbled, and coughed for a while.
"You sound rough," Sam observed.
"Cold out there," was all Dean said, before a strong shiver coursed through him.
"Not much better in here," Sam said, wrapping his arms around himself.
Dean sneezed again, which made him cough again.
"Here," Sam said, handing over the bottle of DayQuil.
Dean sluggishly unscrewed the cap, "I'd prefer whiskey."
They spent the night in the car. When they woke up the snowing had stopped, and they were sick as dogs... again.
Even though it was freezing cold, both boys were rocking pretty solid fevers, fogging up the car windows with their combined heat.
The tow truck arrived and took them to the nearest garage where Dean stayed in the heated shed and let someone else fix his car. Yeah, he was sick.
Once Baby was back up and running they set off for the next motel. They stopped off at a pharmacy to refill Dean's prescription, pick up 5 boxes of tissues, 3 bags of cough drops, 2 bottles of DayQuil, 1 bottle of NyQuil, a bottle of eucalyptus oil, and a hot water bottle. Dean's idea.
The first 3 motels were booked out.
"Oh, no, boys. No rooms available until after the holidays. We haven't had a vacant room in days. What with Christmas and all."
Dean shivered, wrapping his arms around his midsection, "Of course ndot."
The innkeeper looked concerned.
"There's a clinic a few blocks from here if you -"
Dean turned on his heels and stalked towards the door.
"Thanks anyway," Sam offered with a forced smile, following his brother.
"Merry Christmas!" she called after them.
Dean was hunched in the drivers seat, hands loosely gripping the wheel, head resting on it, coughing raggedly.
Sam climbed into the car.
"Forgot it was Christmas," Dean rasped.
"We can't keep driving, dude."
Dean sneezed against the wheel.
"There has to be somewhere around here with a vacancy," Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket.
"Yeah, but at what cost, Sammy?" Dean lifted his head and blinked slowly at his brother, "At what cost?"
Sam snorted, "Man, you need sleep."
Sam found a place, and when it came to dingy, grimy motel rooms, this had to be the dingiest and grimiest.
"I feel like I'm getting hepatitis just looking at the place," Dean shuddered.
Sam coughed into his sleeve and straightened, "Best I could do."
Dean fell asleep on top of the covers. So Sam went to get food. It was cold out and his breath fogged in front of his face. The cold air made his lungs sting and the cough more wretched.
He got soup from a mom and pop diner, holding the containers close to his chest, trying to suck out the warmth.
When Sam got inside Dean was no longer in the bed.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
He was leaning over a bowl of steaming water, towel over his head. The whole room smelling of eucalyptus.
"Can't breathe," he moaned, voice nasal and thick.
"Well, now neither can I," Sam said, placing the bag of food on the table next to Dean.
Sam sneezed 3 times into his bandana.
Sam was lying in bed, trying not to sneeze.
Dean let out a rattling cough.
"Would you lie down already? I don't think that stuff's working."
Sam had his eyes closed but he heard a stifled sneeze and the chair creaking.
Sam looked over to see Dean standing, leaning against the table, eyes wide, face pink, coated in sweat.
"You alright?"
Dean spent the night on the bathroom floor.
They took off the next day when Sam discovered the colony of mould that was growing in the corner of the room. No wonder they were sneezing so much. They did not need to add mould exposure to their list of problems right now.
Dean swore he felt better, so Sam went along with it. When secretly they were both feeling like crap. They caught a hunt, so that was where they went.
A few hours research. It seemed pretty cut and dry. Of course it never is.
Sam was captured and spent a day and night in a cold basement underneath an abandoned warehouse.
Dean fought 2 ghouls on his own. And won.
Sam was bruised and dehydrated. Dean had a deep gash on his arm 10 inches long, and a bruise on his left eyebrow.
46 stitches later and a whole lotta ice and gauze, Dean was bandaged back up and behind the wheel.
Sam’s watch clicked over to midnight.
“Hey, Dean.”
“What?” he groaned, voice rough.
Sam coughed hard for a while, struggling to get his breath back.
“Merry Christmas.”
They took turns driving and didn’t stop till they made it back to the bunker.
Sam sat at the computer, tissues pressed to his face, eyes barely open.
Dean held a cold glass of whiskey against his swollen brow and groaned, “You better not be looking up a new case. I plan to sleep for a week.”
Sam sneezed, then disposed of the tissues.
“I’m not. No hunting till we’re 100%. Deal?”
“Deal,” Dean grunted.
Sam closed his laptop and leaned back. “I wonder what Cas is doing?”
Dean opened his eyes, “Why?”
“It’s Christmas… I dunno,” Sam shrugged, “He shouldn’t be alone.”
Dean put his glass down and pulled out his phone.
“Cas. How you doing?” Dean rasped, “I’m okay, getting over something is all… You should… come visit,” he paused, “No, no, no, it’s fine. It’s just Christmas, man.” Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, “So you should be with your family on Christmas… Okay, see you soon.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“He’s coming.”
“Did you tell him he’s cooking Christmas dinner?” Sam smirked.
Dean sunk lower in his chair, pressing the glass against his head again and closing his eyes, “I had to get him here first, dude.”
Sam laughed and then coughed.
“Hey, Sam.”
“What?”
“Merry Christmas.”
Motels, Hunts, and Colds
Dean was the first to sneeze.
The woman they interviewed a few days ago was sniffling. It didn’t take long.
Dean spent an entire car ride sneezing and coughing into his bandana, windows down so Sam didn’t breathe in his germs.
It didn’t work.
A day after Dean, Sam followed. Leading to a miserable day in the library, looking through old newspapers over a bag of cough drops and a box of tissues, earning the hard stares and disgusted groans of all other library patrons.
They decided to go to bed early, get a jump on the case in the morning when they could both see straight.
Dean honestly felt better. He could finally breathe through his nose without sneezing, and his headache had tampered off to a dull ache.
They went monster hunting.
It was a water nymph. Dean ended up taking a dip in the freezing November lake. Water nymph: dead.
Dean was a shivering, sneezing, sweating mess by the time they got back to the motel.
“Dude, you didn’t have to -“
“Mband, shud up. Saved your ass…” Dean broke off coughing and had to lean on the counter to keep upright.
“Dude, wet clothes off. In the shower, now.”
Dean got bronchitis. Laid up for two full days.
Meanwhile, Sam decided to handle a simple salt and burn. He was almost better anyway, and hanging out in the motel room listening to Dean hack and sneeze his way through an entire roll of toilet paper was less than ideal.
Half way through digging the grave it started to bucket down. By the time Sam hit the coffin lid, he was soaked through, and cold right down to his bones.
He stumbled in, successful, but drenched, teeth chattering, snot endlessly pouring from his nose.
Dean had his face buried in a tissue, sitting up in bed, blankets pulled up over his chest.
“Whad happened to you?”
Sam sneezed.
“Shower. Bed.”
Sam nodded, solemnly, and followed his brother’s orders.
Two more days passed of hacking, and sneezing, and chills, and aches, and handing the Dayquil back and forth between their beds, swigging straight from the bottle because as if they cared about each other’s germs at this point.
On the third day they both felt a lot better, so they hit the road.
The car broke down 8 hours in, in the middle of night and the middle of nowhere. Dean spent another hour under the hood, until it started snowing.
Dean rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm. He slammed the hood shut and trudged back around to the driver’s side door.
Sam braced against the cold wind as Dean opened the door and clambered into the car, slamming his door shut.
"Any luck?" He asked, hopeful.
Dean pulled out his bandana with red, stiff fingers and folded it carefully in front of his face. He stared ahead at nothing for a while and then whipped forward with a powerful sneeze, lurching the car with the force of it.
"Dah," he mumbled, and coughed for a while.
"You sound rough," Sam observed.
"Cold out there," was all Dean said, before a strong shiver coursed through him.
"Not much better in here," Sam said, wrapping his arms around himself.
Dean sneezed again, which made him cough again.
"Here," Sam said, handing over the bottle of DayQuil.
Dean sluggishly unscrewed the cap, "I'd prefer whiskey."
They spent the night in the car. When they woke up the snowing had stopped, and they were sick as dogs... again.
Even though it was freezing cold, both boys were rocking pretty solid fevers, fogging up the car windows with their combined heat.
The tow truck arrived and took them to the nearest garage where Dean stayed in the heated shed and let someone else fix his car. Yeah, he was sick.
Once Baby was back up and running they set off for the next motel. They stopped off at a pharmacy to refill Dean's prescription, pick up 5 boxes of tissues, 3 bags of cough drops, 2 bottles of DayQuil, 1 bottle of NyQuil, a bottle of eucalyptus oil, and a hot water bottle. Dean's idea.
The first 3 motels were booked out.
"Oh, no, boys. No rooms available until after the holidays. We haven't had a vacant room in days. What with Christmas and all."
Dean shivered, wrapping his arms around his midsection, "Of course ndot."
The innkeeper looked concerned.
"There's a clinic a few blocks from here if you -"
Dean turned on his heels and stalked towards the door.
"Thanks anyway," Sam offered with a forced smile, following his brother.
"Merry Christmas!" she called after them.
Dean was hunched in the drivers seat, hands loosely gripping the wheel, head resting on it, coughing raggedly.
Sam climbed into the car.
"Forgot it was Christmas," Dean rasped.
"We can't keep driving, dude."
Dean sneezed against the wheel.
"There has to be somewhere around here with a vacancy," Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket.
"Yeah, but at what cost, Sammy?" Dean lifted his head and blinked slowly at his brother, "At what cost?"
Sam snorted, "Man, you need sleep."
Sam found a place, and when it came to dingy, grimy motel rooms, this had to be the dingiest and grimiest.
"I feel like I'm getting hepatitis just looking at the place," Dean shuddered.
Sam coughed into his sleeve and straightened, "Best I could do."
Dean fell asleep on top of the covers. So Sam went to get food. It was cold out and his breath fogged in front of his face. The cold air made his lungs sting and the cough more wretched.
He got soup from a mom and pop diner, holding the containers close to his chest, trying to suck out the warmth.
When Sam got inside Dean was no longer in the bed.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
He was leaning over a bowl of steaming water, towel over his head. The whole room smelling of eucalyptus.
"Can't breathe," he moaned, voice nasal and thick.
"Well, now neither can I," Sam said, placing the bag of food on the table next to Dean.
Sam sneezed 3 times into his bandana.
Sam was lying in bed, trying not to sneeze.
Dean let out a rattling cough.
"Would you lie down already? I don't think that stuff's working."
Sam had his eyes closed but he heard a stifled sneeze and the chair creaking.
Sam looked over to see Dean standing, leaning against the table, eyes wide, face pink, coated in sweat.
"You alright?"
Dean spent the night on the bathroom floor.
They took off the next day when Sam discovered the colony of mould that was growing in the corner of the room. No wonder they were sneezing so much. They did not need to add mould exposure to their list of problems right now.
Dean swore he felt better, so Sam went along with it. When secretly they were both feeling like crap. They caught a hunt, so that was where they went.
A few hours research. It seemed pretty cut and dry. Of course it never is.
Sam was captured and spent a day and night in a cold basement underneath an abandoned warehouse.
Dean fought 2 ghouls on his own. And won.
Sam was bruised and dehydrated. Dean had a deep gash on his arm 10 inches long, and a bruise on his left eyebrow.
46 stitches later and a whole lotta ice and gauze, Dean was bandaged back up and behind the wheel.
Sam’s watch clicked over to midnight.
“Hey, Dean.”
“What?” he groaned, voice rough.
Sam coughed hard for a while, struggling to get his breath back.
“Merry Christmas.”
They took turns driving and didn’t stop till they made it back to the bunker.
Sam sat at the computer, tissues pressed to his face, eyes barely open.
Dean held a cold glass of whiskey against his swollen brow and groaned, “You better not be looking up a new case. I plan to sleep for a week.”
Sam sneezed, then disposed of the tissues.
“I’m not. No hunting till we’re 100%. Deal?”
“Deal,” Dean grunted.
Sam closed his laptop and leaned back. “I wonder what Cas is doing?”
Dean opened his eyes, “Why?”
“It’s Christmas… I dunno,” Sam shrugged, “He shouldn’t be alone.”
Dean put his glass down and pulled out his phone.
“Cas. How you doing?” Dean rasped, “I’m okay, getting over something is all… You should… come visit,” he paused, “No, no, no, it’s fine. It’s just Christmas, man.” Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, “So you should be with your family on Christmas… Okay, see you soon.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“He’s coming.”
“Did you tell him he’s cooking Christmas dinner?” Sam smirked.
Dean sunk lower in his chair, pressing the glass against his head again and closing his eyes, “I had to get him here first, dude.”
Sam laughed and then coughed.
“Hey, Sam.”
“What?”
“Merry Christmas.”