Sen Beret's Anniversary Meme!
It's actually been a year and two months since I became involved with the fandom, but hey, who's counting?
Masterlist
rules
Masterlist
rules
- comment on this post with your prompts! all prompts are welcome (be as vague or detailed as you'd like!) as long as they fit with the theme of sneezy/sick/allergic Sam, Dean, Castiel, John, etc.
- reply to prompts with your ( Read more... )
She hears Sam before she sees him. And he’s coughing. That’s a good sign. She feels a little guilty thinking it, but this is for Sam’s own good in the long run. He’ll thank her, one day.
She ducks behind a bookshelf and watches. They have a pile of stuff on their table. Sam’s flicking though one volume, Dean is looking down at another while he taps his pen absently against the page. She’d go over if she could, pick up a book and sit with them and help. She could do it as well. Sometimes when she reads the series, she tries to figure it all out along with the boys. She writes down clues as they appear: the way that a monster kills, or things that the boys find at the scene of the crime. She knows all the best websites for looking up Supernatural creatures, she’s even started to log them in her own little filofax. She’ll show them one day. It’ll be like ‘Becky’s journal’.
Sam is rubbing at his nose again as he stands. It looks like… Oh. Okay…. Okay they’re coming over.
She ducks down behind the bookshelf and has to lay a hand flat on the top of the pile to keep them tumbling to the floor.
It’s okay. It’s fine. She can do this too. She must have read it a hundred times. Sam and Dean lurking in the shadowy backdrop, not moving, barely breathing…
“Becky, whhhh… what are you doing here?”
“Er…”
She tenses when she feels a hand tighten around her shoulder and she’s tripping over her feet, stumbling out of the stacks, blundering into… into…
“EHHHhhHHPPp’SHUH! ‘TSHHH’SHYEW! TSHHHSHYEW! HEH’UScHSHSHCHYEW!”
By the time she finds her feet, Sam’s lurching away from her, twisting over his shoulder to turn his back. His face is creased, uncomfortable. Okay. She can work with this.
Dean is still looking at her, expectantly.
Right. Okay. Excuses. She really oughta have thought this one out beforehand. This is what you get when you skimp on planning a backstory in favour of daydreaming and buying cold remedies.
“I… uh… I was looking for some books.”
Sounds reasonable enough…
“Aren’t you visiting a friend? This isn’t even your library.”
Oh yeah.
“Yeah… well .” Dean towers over Becky, but she thrusts her hands onto her hips determined to stand her ground. “It’s my friend’s library. And she happens to be a fan of uh… “
She looks back at the bookshelf she just been dragged from.
“…animal husbandry.”
“Oh, is that right?”
Dean glances at his brother, who has stumbled on to a seat at one of the tables and is resting on his elbows, face in his hands and coughing endlessly. It sounds sore . And more grumbly than before.
“Sam?”
Sam looks wearily across at them, still coughing into the back of his wrist.
“You gonna make me pretend this is still allergies?”
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Sam sniffs, and smiles, rubbing uncomfortably at his chest. “No… ugh… that’s okay. I thindk I’bm gondda ndeed to take something.”
“I have medicine!” Becky interjects.
“You do?” they answer at the same time.
At the SAME TIME! Oh my God! Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react…
She breathes, keeps her cool, swings the rucksack from her shoulders and goes across to Sam at his table.
“I have…” she sticks an arm inside to rummage around, “tissues, Dayquil, decongestants, cough syrup…”
Sam just watches as she empties her bag out onto the table, but she could swear she sees his eyes light up. He clears his throat.
“Why - uh - why do you have all this stduff?”
This time, Becky has her answer ready. “My friend was sick when I got here. I bought a bunch of stuff. This was just left.”
Sam’s nostrils twitch, and he sniffs, frowning. His thumb is already absently tracking across the seal of the box of Kleenex. “Ehh…HhHhh… HHhhH’PPpTCHTCHyew! HuhhSHSHshyew! HSHH’SHYEW! HhhHhHH… Hah’TASHHHSHAH!”
“Open up the box kid, before you infect the whole town.”
Sam sniffs, and does as his brother says.
“Are you sure idt’s okay to use these?” he asks, but he’s already pulling tissues free and eyeing up the lozenges. He’s adorable when he looks up at her, all earnest and watery-eyed.
“Hehhh… UhhhHHHuhh… HHPSHHHuhhh! HuuuhhRHSHahh! HehkKeHT’TCHSYEW!” He brings a fistful of Kleenex up against his face at the last moment. Becky is pulling up a chair to sit next to him before she even realises what she’s doing.
“Aw Sam,” she cooes, rubbing a hand in circles across his back. “You sound terrible! Maybe you should leave the hunting to your brother. I’m free for the rest of the day. I could put you to bed, make you some soup.” Damnit Becky! She’d tried so damn hard not to sound excited, but she couldn’t keep that little squeak from the end of her sentence. She looks back up at Sam, forcing a serious expression onto her face.
He squeezes at the bridge of his nose. “Ndo.” He answers quickly. Too quickly. What the hell is wrong with him? “ Uh… ndo thandkyou. We gotta get this onde together.”
Dean snorts, and Becky turns to see him leaning against a bookcase, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, don’t cancel your plans on my account. If you guys wanna play nurse…”
Becky ignores him.
“Really, I don’t think you should be out in this. I heard there’s gonna be storms later.”
Sam gives a congested sniff and smiles. “I’mb finde really. Prob’bly just looks drambatic ‘cause I’bm all sndeezy and gross.” He gestures at the boxes and bottles she’s laid out before him. “This stuff is great - ambazindg actually, and it’ll help a whole bundch. Budt idt’s jusdt a cold. I don’dt ndeed lookidg after, really, I’ll jusdt dose up and thend I’m good to go.”
Dean is already packing up their papers by the time Sam has taken a shot of Dayquil and a decongestant.
“Well, idt looks like I godt everythindg I dneed. Thandks Becky.”
She glows internally, but her stomach sinks when he heads off toward the door.
“A - Are you sure you don’t need me to stay with you?”
“I abm. It’s ondly a cold. I’ll be jusdt finde.”
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Becky can’t help herself, her heart actually soars. It works. It really does work. She squeezes the ring through her glove and moves edges closer to the street corner so she can hear the rest of Sam’s phone conversation.
“God, I don’t know, it just kinda came over muuhh… hhhuh… HhhESSHHUH! ESHHH’SHUH! HUH’HUHHESHHUgHHh! ” He gives a long groan, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “Shit. I think have to get back to a bed, or something.”
His voice is clearer, the decongestants must be working, but he looks bad when she peeks around the corner. He’s pale, and all slumped back against the wall, fingers in his hair as if he’s trying to keep it out of his face
“Okay… okay. I’m gonna find a coffee shop or something, just need to sit down,” he coughs. I’ll text you.”
He hangs up the phone and jumps when she comes round the corner.
“Jesus, Becky!”
“Sam. You look awful! Where is your brother?”
He rubs his hand across his forehead. His eyes are glassy. “He’s on his way, just wrapping up an interview.”
He sways suddenly and Becky actually thinks he’s gonna fall over, right there in the street.
“Oh! Okay… hey.” She braces herself and puts out two arms to steady him, flushes hot when she looks up at him, palms flat against his chest. He doesn’t seem to notice though, just grips onto the wall and squeezes his eyes shut.
Shit. He’s shaking.
“Okay, Sam, you know what? You shouldn’t be out here. I’m gonna take you home.”
He’s so much taller than her (and bigger too. God. She can still feel the curve of his chest against her hands…) that they have to stagger down the sidewalk. It’s okay though, because he needs her.
She knew he would need her.
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Becky had him settled long before Dean barged his way through the door. He’s tucked into his bed with blankets up to his ears, she’s got him drinking fluids and surrounded by Kleenex boxes and she’s boiling water to make up some soup. It’s only the crappy packet stuff. She’d make it herself if she could, pick her own ingredients and everything, but this is a shitty apartment and all they have is a kettle. Maybe she’ll go out later and get him something better, when he’s well enough for her to leave him. Anyway, it’s better than he would have gotten from Dean, off at the other side of town, interviewing witnesses, like his brother was as good as nothing.
Sam coughs, and mumbles, “I’m fine.”
Yeah. Whatever. No thanks to you Dean.
Mr. On-The-Job-And-Work-To-Do sinks down onto the bed opposite and assesses his brother with a hum of displeasure. “You’re pale. Cold got bad pretty quick, huh?”
“It’s flu,” Becky corrects him, “judging by his temperature.” And what I had in mind when I started messing with the ring again.
“You feverish?”
Sam sniffs and nods, “Hundred and uh…” He looks across at Becky for clarification.
“One-oh-two point six.” Becky finishes for him while she’s whisking the soup up with a fork. She smiles. It’s nice to be relied upon.
“You got a thermometer with you as well?”
Becky glares at Dean. What is he trying to say? “My…”
“Yeah, I know, your sick friend.”
Becky huffs and ignores his look, choosing to rise above it and concentrate instead on Sam. She brushes hair from his face when she reaches his bed and places his mug on the tabletop. It’s tomato rice soup. Dean glances at it and she’s pretty sure he’s noticed. Who cares? She’s looking after Sammy now and it’s only the best for him. What does it matter where she gets her information?
Sam leans away from the pair of them (just as if he was picking up on how obstructive Dean was being) and presses the back of his wrist against the bridge of his nose. Becky realises what’s happening just as Sam gives a strangled gasp.
“HaAHHEHH’UUHHSHAH! USHH! AhhH-HEH-USHHH! HEHUUSHHAH! HUSHHHAH! USHH’AH! H’ASHHH! ”
Becky pulls some Kleenex from a box and presses them feebly into Sam’s hand.
“EhhTSSSHhHUH! EhHH’SHUH! HEH’SHUSH! ESHHH’SHUHUH ! HehhEHH’HTTTSHCYEW! ”
She hates this. This has to be the third or fourth fit since she bundled him into her car. They’re so sudden and violent, and once he’s started he just can’t seem to stop. He just about half-recovers from the latest wave, but the moment it looks as though it’s about to settle down, he sniffles and snorts and gasps at nothing, face creasing up in frustration and discomfort as he’s gearing up for a follow-up attack.
“HeEH’HHh’EHH’HEH’HUH’UHHH’HEWW! UHHH’ HEWWW! HUH’AHHsHEW! Huh’AHHHSH!”
Becky doesn’t have the first clue how to help him, and she’s more self-conscious about it now, with Dean looking on. In the end she settles for shushing him awkwardly and rubbing a hand across his back. He just keeps on going.
Dean just waves it away dismissively. She’d be annoyed if she didn’t need him to fix this.
“He sneezes a buttload when he’s sick. He’s used to it. It’s his throat you gotta watch out for when he’s like this.” He eyes Sam with a frown. “He still got those lozenges you gave him?”
Sam looks up at them with watery eyes and fumbles in his pocket between sneezes. In the end he manages to free what’s left of packet to show in evidence.
“Good,” Dean decides. “Take one kiddo. I’m gonna make you some tea.”
“But…” Becky begins.
He has soup.
It’s tomato rice.
I was doing it.
“What is it?” Dean asks her, impatient.
Becky shuffles against the floor and stares at her feet.
“Nothing.”
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Dean whistles as he fiddles on the seal of one of the milk singles. “Check it out. Still fresh. Guess we’re in a classy joint.”
Sam gives this adorable little stuffy smile before sneezing a bunch more times into the crook of his arm, and Dean sits down on his own bed with a sigh.
“S’awhile since I’ve seen you this sick buddy. Feel like I’m a little out of practice.” He hands him the mug of tea. “Is it weird that I’d know better what to do if you were gushing blood right now?”
They’ve forgotten that she’s there, and Becky has nothing more to do than to kind of shuffle on the spot awkwardly. It’s… it’s kind of awesome. And that’s almost the worst thing of it. To be this close. To see them together, all brotherly in this intimate little moment. It’s the kind of thing she’s dreamt about, hell, the kind of thing she’s written about. It’d be nice to just sit back and soak it all in, to catalogue the whole thing under Happy Memories and pull it out as daydreaming material, but she’s here for something bigger than that today, and it’s her turn to step up and be a part of the unit.
She rubs her thumb against the back of her ring. It’s tempting. She’s already in a little deeper than she’d wanted. though, and as far as she understands, the thing only works if she twists it. She likes it as it is, with the emblem swung round the wrong way so that all the boys can see is the band. It’s been a while, but she’s pretty sure they’d recognise it if they got a decent look.
Dean sighs and pushes himself up from the bed. “So you gonna remember what meds you’ve taken or’m’I gonna have to get Becky to write a list.”
“I could write a list,” Becky squeaks, and immediately feels ridiculous. She’s supposed to be in control here.
Sam just waves away the offer.
“I can remember,” he croaks.
“Okay.” Dean’s tone has an air of finality to it and he picks up her backpack from the chair and hands it back to her. “Thanks for getting him home, and the medicine is awesome. I think we got this now.”
She just stares at him. No. No, no, no, no, no. She hasn’t had long enough. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
“I… I was looking after him.”
“I got his back, don’t worry.”
She stares up at him for a moment, but he doesn’t look as though he’s about to change his mind. Pretending as though she was just wringing her hands awkwardly, she takes a hold of the ring and turns.
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Sam is already shuffling off his own bed. Becky wants to say something, wants to hold out her arms and stop him getting up. He’s still so pale and feverish and shaking on his feet.
This is my fault.
“God, Dean!”
Sam has him by the shoulders and the pair of them manage to stumble backwards onto the nearest bed. Becky just kind of hovers around them uselessly, arms stretched out to catch them as if they were about to spring spontaneously from the bed.
Sam lays a giant palm across Dean’s forehead.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I… uh…” Dean shoves his brother away roughly and presses a hand up to his face. “HhHhHTCHHSHSHUW! AhhHSHHHAH!” He groans and rubs at his forehead. “Fuck,” he says, panting. “That kind of came out of nowhere.”
Sam nods, and wipes his nose against the back of his wrist. “That’s how it was for me. Got up from talking to the vic’s sister and thought I was gonna pass out.”
“But I wasn’t even s huuh… sick HAHTCHSHH!”
Okay, okay… Becky, you’re doing this. You’re a hunter. You’re quick… and adaptable… you just have to roll with it. Just keep calm… keep it together, you just have to…”
“Whoa, whoa… okay Dean just sit down!”
Sam shout comes at the same time as hers , but his voice gives out and he just ends up coughing. She holds Dean up as he tries to stagger to his feet.
“What were you doing?”
“I had to get… Kleenex.”
Sam groans, and pushes himself to the end of the bed. “He gets stupid when he gets feverish. Could you…?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”
I’ve got it!
She eases him onto his own bed and props him up against a cushion.
“It’s okay Dean,” she soothes. “We’re gonna get you some medicine. You need anything else?”
Dean flops back against the headboard, looking lazily across at his brother and the soup still steaming on the nightstand.
“Hey Sammy. You gonna drink that?”
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Becky counts internally as she watches along with Sam’s slightly moving lips, noting each second that Dean has lain still in a heap of twisted blankets. At last, he snorts, flips over, and settles down snoring on his stomach. Only then does Sam let his legs weaken under him, flopping down gracelessly onto his own bed.
He rubs a hand along his hairline.
“Jesus, that came on quick.”
Becky bites her lip, not sure whether to respond when he starts up again, apparently addressing the conversation to a worn-away patch on the motel room carpet.
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” He gives a raking cough and unwraps another throat lozenge, before popping it into his mouth and continuing to talk around it. “With Dean, fevers hit at a mile a minute.” He coughs again, fingers pressed at the base of his throat as though they could offer some sort of protection. “I should have noticed sooner that it was starting.”
Becky perches on the bed next to him and contemplates a consoling back rub.
“I swear to God, the higher the fever, the worse he gets.” Sam sniffs, and wipes his nose against the base of his thumb. “Right about when anyone else would be passing out, Dean is ready to pick a fight with the damn wallpaper. Of course the more he... huh!” He brings up a hand to his nose reflexively and curses, reaching for the tissue box from the dresser. He fumbles at the sheets of Kleenex with one hand, while the other one hovers in anticipation as his eyes close, his breath hitching more insistently...
”Hhhhurehhhh...HUhhUhhH’HEHHH...”
Becky winces in sympathy when he simply freezes there, eyes wet and face a crumpled picture of agitation. She knows from the past couple of hours of experience how much he hates this.
“HEHgDjJiSHsHuew! HEHpTtAschhShew! Ehh’Hrr’uhhASCHhhSHYEW!”
“...Sammy?”
Sam turns back round to his brother, eyes leaking and forearm pressed close against his face. “It’s... Huh!... It’s ohhh... Ugh. Okay. “HUHDjzAtCH’SCHYEW! Ahh...SCHUH! Ahh...HAH! AhHSChHUH! You just... HEH! You just HEH’ACtCHYEW! Y’Uhhh...”
Realising all of a sudden what she needs to do, Becky whips Dean’s flannel from the countertop and scurries to wet it in the bathroom. When she returns, Sam is still sneezing: one hand on the mattress, holding himself up and the other cupped around his mouth and nose.
Kneeling beside Dean, she brushes hair away from his forehead and lays out the flannel, all the while shushing him softly and telling him to go back to sleep. And okay, maybe she wishes just a little that it was the other way around, imagines Dean’s hair a little longer, his forehead a little broader, his nose a little wider, maybe its Sam’s voice she imagines murmuring nonsense in response. On Dean all this tenderness seems a little wasted. Whatever. It’s what Sam needs from her right now.
He’s coming over. He’s still sneezing, but it seems like it’s slowing down a little. He steadies himself on the cabinet and kneels beside her, stopping for a moment to sneeze over his shoulder. It’s right then that Dean’s head lolls to the side and he starts snoring. Becky doesn’t think she’s ever seen Sam so relieved.
“Oh God. HepTCHhh! HEPTchhh! Thankyou.”
Oh wow.
He looks right at her and he looks so sincere that it’s all Becky can do not to gasp as she thrills with happiness. Okay, yes. Yes, Sam. Becky will wipe Dean’s fevered brow just as much as you want him to. Hell, she’ll pull off his holey socks and give him a fricking foot rub, just as long as you don’t quit looking over with those soulful eyes. Unable to stop herself, she clutches a hand to her heart, as if she could pen the memory in there.
As if she would ever forget.
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“What was I saying?”
Sam’s voice, all gruff now and worn out, breaks her from her daydream, and she stutters, uncertain of herself.
“Wh-what?”
“What was I...” He coughs.
Oh God. She can’t think. She’s usually so good at this. I mean please, she’s Samlicker81. She holds the top scorers title for every trivia quiz on supernaturalhunterhub.net. She can categorise every word of Sam’s dialogue by chapter and book title. Why the hell can’t she remember what he was saying five minutes ago while they were sharing a motel room?
“Your brother!”
It comes to her in an instant.
“Your brother and... uh... and fevers.”
“Oh yeah, okay.”
Sam bundles his blanket tighter around him and sighs before he begins again. That was a close one. Man, she needs to forget the books for just a second. They’re writing a new book now.
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Sam grimaces and rubs uncomfortably at his chest as the fit eases. That’s when he looks across and notices her holding out the packet. She swells when he smiles at her and takes one. It’s barely a smile really, more a lip twitch, but it’s warm, and she feels important.
“Thanks,” he mutters, and clears his throat to rid some of the gravel from his voice. He sighs then and rests back on his hands, Kleenex still crumpled in his fist. “You know, he took off completely one time.” He sniffs, muted this time as it kind of sticks in his sinuses . He’s getting congested again. “He mbust have beend about fifteen, and he had mondno. Cough! I got back from school and he’d jusdt got up and left.” Sam shakes his head. “Idiot could have burst his damnd spleend.” He gives a stuffy snort that Becky interprets as a laugh.
“Right after that was about the ondly timbe our Dad ever stayed hombe sick with either of us.” He wipes again at his face with the tissue. “He was mbore of a packet of asprind and a pat on the head kind of a parendt.” He smiles at her just briefly but then he flushes when he meets her eyes. He stands then, quickly, and even though he accepts her steadying hand when he wobbles, she can tell that she’s losing him.
“I dond’t kndow what I’bm thinking,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I should have called Bobby hours ago.”
“Bobby?”
“Yeah.” He coughs. “Dnot sure I have it ind mbe to keep Deand pinnded downd right ndow. But if andyonde can do it, it’s Bobby.
“I got him back to sleep!” she protests.
“Sure, but there’s the case to deal with,” he gives a forceful sniff, and plucks a couple of tissues from the box to scrunch up against his nose. “I should ndever have dragged you indto this to begind with.”
He pats her on the shoulder as if in an apology.
Oh God Sam, why don’t you get it? All the training that she’s done for this, studying the books, all the background research into demonology, she even took a basic firearms course and happens to know that a rifled slug is not something you find crawling in your backyard. She is exactly the person that a hunter would want to have around. If only she knew how to start explaining that without showing him all of her cards in one go.
She decides to go for the easier option for the time being and offer him a decongestant.
By the time she’s dug it out of her rucksack, Sam is stumbling across the room, cell phone in hand.
She sighs. This is turning out more complicated than she had intended.
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Dean, who is apparently up already and sat at the desk with a phone to his ear, just rolls his eyes and look away. Sam, who seems to be just waking, pokes an unruly head of hair out from under the covers and sniffles. She opts for the path of least resistance (and most handsomely defined cheek bones).
“Okay.” She sets herself on Dean’s mattress and rifles through her bag. “Wanna start with lozenges? I picked you up some more.”
Sam takes hold of the packet eagerly, trying to thumb it open one-handed while the other rubs hurriedly at his nose. After a moment, he gives up, letting the pack drop into his lap as he squints at the ceiling, (broad, broad, sexy) chest hefting up and down as he breathes in and out repeatedly. More than familiar with this routine, Becky pulls a handful of Kleenex from the box and presses them into Sam’s palm.
“HnnGg’TchYEW! ‘TCHyYEW! TC’CHEW! CHUH! Huh’Uhh…HUH’CHUH!”
“Jesus.” Dean comments from across the room. “Startindg early today kiddo.”
“Ehh…H’SSSHew! UhhTSHH’ew! Ugh. Sniff! You kdnow mbe…”
There’s a plastic thunk! as Dean tosses his phone onto the table. “Ndo andswer fromb Bobby.”
Sam pauses mid-gasp, as his rapidly accelerating sniffles stop, and the sneeze that was so apparently heading for lift-off, seems to dissolve completely into a worried frown. Becky watches the process with interest, wondering whether she could replicate it later when he’s sneezing and suffering.
“Whadt did you say?” Sam asks, his voice rough and cracking.
“Cand’t get through to Bobby. Guess he’s ond the cand.”
Sam’s frown deepens. “I randg himb… last ndight and he didnd’t andswer. I was gondda… Did I fall asleep?”
Somewhere between the adorable picture Sam makes, all confused with sleep in his eyes and hair flopping all over his face, and the memory of tucking his blanket around his shoulders the night before, Becky’s throat tightens and her voice gets all trapped up inside her. The best she can do is nod.
“Mbaybe he randg back while you were asleebp.” Dean suggests. “What?” he presses, not giving in to Sam’s dubious expression. “You’re sick, you could have slepbt through it.”
Sam leans over to grab his phone.
“Ndo mbissed calls.”
Dean’s head slumps into his hands. “Jesus, Bobby…”
“But I’m here!” Becky interjects, trying to supply a little optimism. “I can…”
The look Dean gives her makes her stomach flip, and not in the Sam-just-brushed-his-hair-back-just-like-he-does-in-the-books kinda way.
“Really?” He asks her through gritted teeth.
“It’s jusdt,” Sam jumps in, trying to smooth things over. “You dond’t understand. Bobby… He doesnd’t mbiss his calls.”
“Hurt.” Dean concludes, standing. “Gotta be.”
“You thindk… ond a job?”
“Dambdnit.” Dean slams a hand against the desk. “I’bm dnot gondda be able to drive downd there.”
“Mbaybe…”
“You cand’t either Sambby, so dond’t be stupid.”
“Ndo. Ndot mbe. I was thinkindg mbaybe… Becky.”
Becky starts at the mention of her name. She’d been so caught up in just watching their reactions (Just like reading the books) that she’d forgotten where she was. (Just like reading the books… but REAL).
She has a thrill of excitement and its all that she can do to keep from bouncing on her toes. That’s SAM WINCHESTER. Looking right at her. With those big, sad, hazel eyes. A little droopy and sick-looking maybe, but hopeful and pleading and needing her.
It comes out a bit of a garbled stammer.
“YesyesokayyeahIcanhelp!”
A thought occurs to her.
“Does this mean I get to drive the Impala?”
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Sam slumps, head into his hands and clears his throat.
“He’s a little protective over the car,” Sam explains. It’s not as if she didn’t know that already (I mean, please…) but his tone is so kind and conciliatory that it could be a reassuring hand around her shoulders and she remembers instantly why this is her favourite brother. “but Deand. If idt’s the ondly way to gedt to Bobby...”
Dean only turns his glare on Sam now, in response, but he breathes deep between coughing and looks as if he’s going to say something, when there’s a low vibrating hum of the phone against the table.
“He’s… Cough! Cough! Gasp! He’s callindg mbe.” Dean manages, breathless, and he stumbles into the bathroom with the phone, holding a hand against the wall to steady himself.
Becky sags, physically as well as emotionally, she thinks. She decides not to wonder about what Dean obviously doesn’t want her to hear. And why he doesn’t want her to hear it. I mean… she can be trustworthy! Mostly. She tucks one arm under the other across her chest so that she can hide the ring in the folds of her sweater.
But… God… the Impala. To have come so close to driving it. No one would believe that she’d done it on the message boards, but she’d know. Man… just imagine, to twist those keys in the ignition and turn up the music just like Dean has done a million times. She’s not even sure that she likes Classic Rock (she’s tried to, of course, for the sake of the boys), but she’d make allowances for the situation. And… and… Oh wow… Sam was that car! She laughed so hard at that chapter. She can picture herself behind the wheel, running hands across the speakers, imagining Sam’s voice thrumming out electronically.
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“He’s sick?” Sam sniffs and rubs at his nose.
Dean shrugs. “That’s what he said.”
Sam frowns, and speeds up the rubbing, attacking the tip of his nose in circles as he breathes shallow and fast.
“Sndeeze already kiddo.” Dean tells him, “S’goddna happened evendtually andyway; you’ll ondly mbake it worse.”
Sam does. Loudly and painfully and over and over again.
“You take sombe mbedicinde this mbordning Sambby?” Dean asks when he starts to slow.
“Ahh… ASCHHHhh! HahAHSCHHhh! HahhHASHHSHYEW! I uhhh… We’d… TSCHH’SHYEW! We’d started…”
Dean sits down on his own bed, next to Becky.
“Okay, show mbe,” he says to Sam.
Sensing her cue, Becky pulls her backpack onto her knee. “Okay, so, I’ve given him…”
Dean turns slowly where he’s sat, looking at her with tired eyes. “Why are you still here Becky?”
“I…”
“I hhh-HHHhh UhhESCHH’SHyew! HeSHHH’yew! HuhESCHHH! Ughhhh.” Sam massages the top of his nose. “Hu’TESCHH! I wandt her here.”
“I got your back kiddo.”
Sam blows his nose. “Ndot for mbe. For you.”
“For mbe? Are you serious?”
Sam nods. “I’mb gondda ndeed her if your fever goes up.”
Becky swells up with pride.
“Are you kiddindg mbe? Samb, you’re the onde sndeezindg too mbuch to strindg two sendtendces together.”
He just shakes his head. “Give mbe a box of kleednex and sombethindg for mby throat, and I’ll combe through this just finde.” He coughs. “You’re the flight risk and you kndow it.”
Dean looks at first as though he’s about to protest, but in the end he just scowls at Becky. “Well dond’t you have that wrapped up ind a ndice little bow.” He pulls the bag of medicines from her and passes her a laptop. “Earnd your keep. We’re lookindg for sombethindg that breaks indto houses and cand rip apart a humban ribcage.”
Becky tries to hide a grin, squeezes the laptop to her chest and scuttles across to set up at the desk.
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Becky is shaking as she’s flicking through webpages, her eyes scanning the screen faster than her brain can keep up with. She’s in. She’s on the team. She’s sitting in a crappy motel room, discussing gruesome murders and pouring through Supernatural lore. This is straight out of her actual dreams. She has to nip herself surreptitiously and breathe long and slow through pursed lips to settle her heartbeat enough so that she can be useful.
Sam cranes his neck around the side of the laptop. “What are you loo-huh… Huh-H’TCHHhew! Sniff! … lookindg at?”
She has to check his face to make sure he isn’t making fun of her. “You’ve never seen this before?”
He shakes his head, face blank before it crumples and he sneezes a bunch of times into the tissue he’s clutching between two hands. Then he sniffs and looks up at her expectantly. He’s adorable. Like a little confused hamster.
She turns the laptop to face him, unable to keep a smile from her face at the surrealism of it all. Imagine explaining this stuff to Sam Winchester.
“Supernaturalhunterhub.net,” she announces. “It has everything you need to know about the books. This part’s the database of all the ghosts and demons and creepy crawlies you guys have come across. Plus, probably, a few you haven’t. People add to it all the time: local legends; stuff they find on the net... I can’t believe you didn’t know about it. I mean,” she touches the side of his thigh, meaningfully, “you’re the centre of it all.”
“HHKkHh! ” Sam explodes, trying to bring his Kleenex up to his face at the same time as he jerks away and generally making a mess of it. “Oh God! I’bm s’uh -sorry. EKkKuh’shuh! HuSHHhh! Heh’USHhhuh! It’s just…Ugh, bad sinduses. Ahh…H’USHHH’SHyew! HuUSHHSHyew! Kinda sensditive...”
“Yeah I thindk she got that kiddo.” Dean grumbles, head in his hands and staring down at his Dad’s journal.
Sam wipes his nose and leans back in to the laptop. “You mbind if I take a look?”
Becky hands it over, gladly.
He clicks on the filter tool on the sidebar.
“Oh yeah. That. That’s pretty great. See, after the convention, people thought it’d be pretty useful… you know, for LARPING… It’s so we can search the database. See here,” She leans over to get to the mouse mat, biting her lip when her shoulder brushes his arm, “you can put in some of the things you’ve observed… say for example coldspots and flickering lights and ectoplasm… Bam! You’ve got Ghost Possession!”
“Huh.”
“I helped put it together you know,” she tells him, trying not to sound too proud. “I’m a moderator .”
Sam reaches for a pen. “What’s the address?”
Dean finally looks up at this. “You have to be kiddindg mbe?” His voice is starting to go now, as well.
“A searchable directory, sniff! I dunddo, could combe in useful.”
“Fromb the guys who brought us ‘Rockindg the Imbpala: A Windcesteral History.’ I thindk I’ll pass.”
Becky flushes hot. “That’s… it’s kind of an artistic interpretation… the directory… probably more of a practical use…”
“HuhrhHuUSHHshhshew!”
“HeEH’EHUSH’SHYew!”
Becky jumps when she gets the noise this time in stereo, and turns, along with Sam, to find Dean slumped over the desk, face buried in his cupped hands.
“Bless you.” Sam tells him, and pushes the Kleenex box across the table. Dean pulls out a few sheets, his face already pinched, mouth hanging open.
“AhH’Ushhhhh! HAH’USHhhhAh! Hah’HAhRhUSHhhhSHuew!” Each time he throws himself into the Kleenex, emptying his lungs entirely with every breath. When he’s finished he lets himself flop forward, forehead forming condensation on the tabletop.
“You’re shiverindg againd Deand…” Sam observes, mouth twisted in an uncomfortable frown.
“Tylendol?” Dean suggests.
Sam glances at Becky, but she hesitates.
“This is the last dose, okay?” Sam tells him. “Mbuch mbore and you’re gondda be a whole different kind of sick.”
Dean just sniffs and shivers while Becky goes for the medicine bag.
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About ninety minutes ago, Bobby rang them back and said he could get a hunter called Garth over, which is way less helpful than it sounds because, for a start, neither Sam nor Dean have the first idea who he is, and second, because he’s a hundred miles away and still wrapping up a job. Bobby was trying some other guys, but they’ve not heard anything since, and Dean says not to pin too much on that anyway, because apparently he was sounding awful on the phone and he oughta go to bed.
A couple of times Sam and Dean have gotten their own list out: hunter contacts, but only to look over it, share some meaningful looks and then set it aside. (She’d have enjoyed that more if things hadn’t been getting so stressful). They haven’t said why they’ve not taken it further, but Becky has a fair idea. Apart from the old faithful, (Who are, let’s face it… Dead.) she’s not sure how many hunters they can really trust to invite over these days. She read Dark Side of the Moon ; she knows how it goes.
She possibly should have considered that before taking Dean and Bobby out.
“HuuurrUhftChuh! UhhhHUhTt’CHUH!”
Oh yeah - that’s the other thing. Sam’s holding firm on the ‘no more Tylenol’ rule, Dean’s got another couple of hours to wait at least, but lately his fever’s been back with a vengeance. They’re holding it kinda steady at just over a hundred and three, but only with instant ice packs and cold flannels, and he doesn’t seem to be taking to them too well.
“EhhhIHhhhSHuhh! Huhhh… HUrRhuSHUH!”
Sam winces, and Becky can see why. Sam sneezes a bunch , great long strings of them all in one go, but Dean sneezes enormously. Not loudly, necessarily, but totally , with every last inch of his energy. He’s panting right now with the exertion of them and shivering like he’s balancing on his own private earthquake.
“HpPPpPSshhhhSheww! EhH’ISHhhShew!”
He looks up at Sam and Becky before frowning and reaching wearily for the box of tissues.
“What?” he grumbles. “Sniff! You surprised I’mb sndeezindg? Probably be doindg a little better if I didndt have the Ahhh-HHH… ” He jams a knuckle at the side of his nose like he’s got a vendetta and takes a couple of measured breaths through his mouth, scowling. “If I didnd’t have the Goddambnd Andtarctic over mby forehead.”
“Couple mbore mbindutes Deand. If your tembperature’s stayindg constandt, you cand take it off.” It sounds like it’s coming through gritted teeth.
Dean looks for a minute as though he’s going to argue back, but then he reclines in his seat, letting the front legs of his chair lift from the ground as his lungs fill… once… twice…
“HAHhRHhuhShHHAH! HEH’UHhhhSHhhah! HSSHhhhAhh! HSSHHH’AH!
“Okay.” Dean blows his nose and then wipes a hand over his face. “Combe ond…” He clears his throat and opens out his Dad’s journal. “Kitsunde.”
Sam shakes his head. “Pituitary glands were still indtact.”
Dean licks his index finger and keeps flicking pages.
“Zombie,” he announces, eventually.
“Mbaybe,” Sam allows, rubbing his nose against the back of his wrist, “but ndo obvious, recendt death to conddect the victimbs.”
Dean grimaces and turns back to the book.
“Uh… a striga?”
“I thindk…”
Dean wafts his words away with a flap of his hand and goes back to massaging the sides of his head. “Forget it. I kndow that’s stupid. Ugh. I’mb grabbindg at straws.” He shudders and reaches over for a blanket from the bed. He’d laughed when they’d suggested it twenty minutes ago. Becky suspects there’s nothing positive about his sudden change of heart.
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“What do you kndow? It’s ice pack timbe againd.”
Dean lets himself fall flat against the table, forehead steaming up the motel-standard plastic. “Sombethindg’s wrondg with your watch, dude. These are the shortest tend mbindute breaks sindce high school.”
Sam snaps the pack and hands it over.
“What’re you doindg? Usually you give mbe a chandce to prove I dond’t ndeed idt.”
Sam shrugs but he doesn’t look up from the computer screen. “Take your tembperature if you wandt, but I already kndow it’s up. You cand’t sit still.”
As soon as Sam mentions it, Becky can see for herself all of Dean’s jittery movements. His fingers drum against his thigh, his feet tap against the chair legs, his knees knock against the tabletop. Becky swallows. She’d forgotten quite how big Dean was when she’d promised Sam she’d help him get back to bed.
The minute he puts the pack on his forehead he shakes violently: teeth chattering, the works. Sam watches him for a minute and then leans into Becky, asking her if she can make him some tea. Much as she wants to enjoy it, she leaps up, because she’s afraid of what will happen next if they don’t sort Dean out.
“HuhhUHHhhuh! UHHshhuhh! HEH’UsHhhhuww!”
“Gesundheit,” Sam offers.
“Uck, thandks. Sniiiff! Hhuh.... HHH’HHHTtCHUH! God, how did we get so sick?”
“I dunddo.” Sam blows his nose. “I bet we cut a pretty pathetic picture right ndow.”
“It’s beend years sindce we’ve beend as sick as this, actual years. Ndot sindce we were kids.”
“Actually you had a heart attack five years ago. That was worse,” Becky comments. Helpfully, she thinks.
“I’bm talkindg about bugs, viruses... We ndever get themb like this.”
“I guess ndot.”
“It’s weird.”
Becky freezes, hand on kettle.
Sam coughs. “What do you mbeand weird?”
“Okay.” Dean straightens in his seat, a bundle of nervous energy. “The two of us get the flu,” he shrugs, “undusual, but okay. We spend endough timbe together we’re gondda catch it off onde andother. But why’s Bobby sick? We havend’t seend him for weeks.”
“And he ndever gets ill to begind with.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay! Tea for everyone.” Becky bundles the mugs onto the table, setting them down quick before anyone sees her hands shaking. “Just… you drink these… and relax… and feel better… and…(Get off this train of thought - She can’t say that).
“Thandks for these,” Sam tells her, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. And God he’s adorable (if sniffly), and for a minute she forgets there was ever anything to worry about. Until he turns to turns to Dean and says.
“You thindk the illndess has sombethindg to do with the mbonster?~”
“I dunddo, mbaybe?”
“The monster! Causing the illnesses! That sounds right! Definitely... the monster...” She tails off, noticing Sam frowning at her. “Makes sense to me,” she finishes, feebly.
“Okay so whhHHuh... Oh God...” He turns away, rubbing circles against the tip of his nose with his fist.
“Sure, why dnot, I mbeand, it’s beend tend mbindutes so...” Dean rolls his eyes and pushes the Kleenex across the table.
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