Sammy Coughing Through It All
Title: Sammy Coughing Through It All
Author:yami_faerie
Rating: PG? (some swearing, again, like always, whatevs)
Genre/pairing: casefic-ish, hurt/comfort, gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Word count: around 1,000, little more
Summary: Sam has a bad asthma cough. Their witness interviews involve a lot of different reactions. Dean gets protective. Yep.
Spoilers: I guess at least through season 2 *shrugs* Also, Sam has asthma.
Author's Note: And another fic from the meme, prompted by the lovely saltfuture: "Sam has a crazy bad cough but you know, there are things to kill and people to save so they've gotta do those witness interviews.
Everyone they interview either:
(a) Is concerned about catching tuberculosis/the plague from Sam.
(b) Goes all mother-hen and tells Sam he should be in bed (And Dean is like rjkdgjakldg; DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT)
(c) Wants to make Sam tea and let him take a nap on their couch while Dean interviews them."
Disclaimer: I don't own any Winchesters, sorry.
Sam usually does okay in bars where smoking is allowed, but sometimes it gets to be too much and his delicate fucking lungs just can’t take it. That’s when Dean usually expects Sam to get sick.
They go to a bar. Sam starts coughing after an hour. Dean quickly wins at pool and collects his winnings. They leave and hit the road for a decent hotel.
Sam coughs all night long.
The next day, Sam is an exhausted, wheezy mess of arms and legs in the Impala, and it’s clear that he just can’t get comfortable.
That means Sam’s getting sick.
How is it that Dean’s kid is so fucking predictable when he wishes he wouldn’t be?
***
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Dean asks, readjusting his tie when they step out of the Impala.
There’s been a string of unexplained and bizarre accidents that Sam says might be another trickster, but they need to conduct interviews to know for sure.
Sam coughs hard into his elbow. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Just - you talk, ‘kay?”
“Of course,” Dean says, and they head to the first house.
Their first interview is with a mother of four who eyes Sam distrustfully the moment he starts coughing. “Is he sick?” she asks, barring the doorway with one arm.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Asthma,” he says shortly. “He’s fine.”
The mother doesn’t look completely reassured, but she lets them come in and directs them to her front room. Dean keeps the questions direct, allows the mother to describe her husband’s strange accident in their backyard (wild lions in Oregon, seriously?), and scowls every time Sam’s coughing causes the mother to jump and shift anxiously. When her four-year-old daughter wanders into the room, she quickly sends her away and side-eyes Sam’s coughing like he’s got the plague.
They don’t stick around for much longer after that.
***
“Oh, dear,” says witness number two, this old lady who watched her bully of a grandson go through a strange series of events that left him with a broken arm and wet pants while the children he’d been bullying laughed at his misfortune. She watches Sam cough a fuck-ton into his hands and clucks sympathetically. “You poor thing, why are you up and around? You should be resting in a nice, warm bed, not out doing silly detective work!”
Dean rolls his eyes behind her back. Sam hides a smile in those fucking large hands of his.
“It’s just asthma,” he wheezes before coughing some more. “M’not sick.”
More coughing follows (yes, Sammy, you really are getting sick, don’t lie to me).
The old woman clucks again and shoots a sudden glare at Dean. “What were you thinking, making the poor boy work when he’s obviously in need of a break?”
Dean clenches the hand in his pocket and tries to count to ten. He gets to seven before he says, “Sometimes the jobs takes precedent over a chronic condition. My partner is fine, so if we could just ask our questions, we’ll be on our way and that much closer to finishing our interviews.”
Sam only just manages to turn his laughter into another coughing fit that turns real two seconds later. The old lady starts cooing over poor, poor Sammy and Dean resists the temptation to bang his head against the nearest wall.
He instead forces them back on topic and gets them the hell out of there less than five minutes later.
“Poor me,” Sam says with a small grin as he pulls out his inhaler. "Poor, poooor me." He coughs some more and takes a hit from his inhaler. Dean rolls his eyes and doesn't grin.
“Shuddup.”
***
Their third and final interview is with a married couple that just had their youngest leave for college a month ago, and Dean realizes they’re lonely when the wife insists that a cup of hot tea with honey will help soothe Sam’s obviously-sore throat, even though Sam says (between wheezes that are getting louder and Jesus they need to finish this up so Dean can make Sam sit through a nebulizer treatment) that he’s fine, thank you.
“But it’s no trouble!” the woman says before rushing off to the kitchen.
Dean exchanges an amused glance with his kid before saying, “So, is there anything more you can tell us about your neighbor’s accident?”
“Well,” the husband begins, but the wife comes back in, clutching a fucking afghan she probably crocheted herself in her arms.
“This is a pretty long story,” she says, seizing Dean’s arm in a surprisingly tight grip and pulling him off the couch. “Your partner could do with some rest while we talk.” She directs Sam to lie down and fusses with the afghan as she tucks it around him. Then Dean hears a kettle start whistling and the woman rushes off again, saying that the tea will only be a minute.
Dean plops down in a chintz armchair and fidgets until the woman returns. She sets the cup on the coffee table, tells Sam to relax and rest as long as he needs, and then she insists on talking in the kitchen so Sam can get said rest.
Dean takes a deep breath, tells himself that it’s okay that she’s fussing, she’s probably lonely and hating being an empty-nester (where the fuck did he hear that term, anyway?) and Sam really could use a short break. The motel’s clear on the other side of town, anyway.
So he settles down at the kitchen table (with another cup of tea all to himself, because he’s such a good guy, willing to work with someone who has asthma when most people probably wouldn’t, this woman just never slows the fuck down) and spends the next hour listening to the couples’ tale about their ‘awful next-door neighbor and his strange accident that’s left him alone in the hospital for nearly a month now’. When the interview is finally over, Dean finds Sammy asleep, still wheezing, but looking more rested than he’s looked all fucking day. He almost hates to wake him up.
Almost.
***
“It’s gotta be a trickster,” Dean says as he sets up Sam’s nebulizer. Sam wheezes and nods, accepting the mouthpiece and rubbing his chest absently. “We’ll track it down tomorrow.”
Sam nods again, all drowsy-eyed and floppy hair, pawing at Dean’s arm whenever he walks by until he gives up and settles down on the bed next to him. Sam falls asleep with his head pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean falls asleep sitting up watching the TV on mute.
Sam only wakes up two times from coughing during the night, and his inhaler calms him down both times.
The next day, Sam’s still sort of sick, but he’s well enough that they go hunt and kill themselves a trickster.
Sam’s coughing finally clears up and he goes back to his regular, oversized wheezy self.
Dean is so glad they avoided a full-on cold. He actually tells Sam so, and Sam smiles all dimples and happiness.
And no, Dean is not a sap. Not even a little.
END
Author:yami_faerie
Rating: PG? (some swearing, again, like always, whatevs)
Genre/pairing: casefic-ish, hurt/comfort, gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Word count: around 1,000, little more
Summary: Sam has a bad asthma cough. Their witness interviews involve a lot of different reactions. Dean gets protective. Yep.
Spoilers: I guess at least through season 2 *shrugs* Also, Sam has asthma.
Author's Note: And another fic from the meme, prompted by the lovely saltfuture: "Sam has a crazy bad cough but you know, there are things to kill and people to save so they've gotta do those witness interviews.
Everyone they interview either:
(a) Is concerned about catching tuberculosis/the plague from Sam.
(b) Goes all mother-hen and tells Sam he should be in bed (And Dean is like rjkdgjakldg; DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT)
(c) Wants to make Sam tea and let him take a nap on their couch while Dean interviews them."
Disclaimer: I don't own any Winchesters, sorry.
Sam usually does okay in bars where smoking is allowed, but sometimes it gets to be too much and his delicate fucking lungs just can’t take it. That’s when Dean usually expects Sam to get sick.
They go to a bar. Sam starts coughing after an hour. Dean quickly wins at pool and collects his winnings. They leave and hit the road for a decent hotel.
Sam coughs all night long.
The next day, Sam is an exhausted, wheezy mess of arms and legs in the Impala, and it’s clear that he just can’t get comfortable.
That means Sam’s getting sick.
How is it that Dean’s kid is so fucking predictable when he wishes he wouldn’t be?
***
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Dean asks, readjusting his tie when they step out of the Impala.
There’s been a string of unexplained and bizarre accidents that Sam says might be another trickster, but they need to conduct interviews to know for sure.
Sam coughs hard into his elbow. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Just - you talk, ‘kay?”
“Of course,” Dean says, and they head to the first house.
Their first interview is with a mother of four who eyes Sam distrustfully the moment he starts coughing. “Is he sick?” she asks, barring the doorway with one arm.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Asthma,” he says shortly. “He’s fine.”
The mother doesn’t look completely reassured, but she lets them come in and directs them to her front room. Dean keeps the questions direct, allows the mother to describe her husband’s strange accident in their backyard (wild lions in Oregon, seriously?), and scowls every time Sam’s coughing causes the mother to jump and shift anxiously. When her four-year-old daughter wanders into the room, she quickly sends her away and side-eyes Sam’s coughing like he’s got the plague.
They don’t stick around for much longer after that.
***
“Oh, dear,” says witness number two, this old lady who watched her bully of a grandson go through a strange series of events that left him with a broken arm and wet pants while the children he’d been bullying laughed at his misfortune. She watches Sam cough a fuck-ton into his hands and clucks sympathetically. “You poor thing, why are you up and around? You should be resting in a nice, warm bed, not out doing silly detective work!”
Dean rolls his eyes behind her back. Sam hides a smile in those fucking large hands of his.
“It’s just asthma,” he wheezes before coughing some more. “M’not sick.”
More coughing follows (yes, Sammy, you really are getting sick, don’t lie to me).
The old woman clucks again and shoots a sudden glare at Dean. “What were you thinking, making the poor boy work when he’s obviously in need of a break?”
Dean clenches the hand in his pocket and tries to count to ten. He gets to seven before he says, “Sometimes the jobs takes precedent over a chronic condition. My partner is fine, so if we could just ask our questions, we’ll be on our way and that much closer to finishing our interviews.”
Sam only just manages to turn his laughter into another coughing fit that turns real two seconds later. The old lady starts cooing over poor, poor Sammy and Dean resists the temptation to bang his head against the nearest wall.
He instead forces them back on topic and gets them the hell out of there less than five minutes later.
“Poor me,” Sam says with a small grin as he pulls out his inhaler. "Poor, poooor me." He coughs some more and takes a hit from his inhaler. Dean rolls his eyes and doesn't grin.
“Shuddup.”
***
Their third and final interview is with a married couple that just had their youngest leave for college a month ago, and Dean realizes they’re lonely when the wife insists that a cup of hot tea with honey will help soothe Sam’s obviously-sore throat, even though Sam says (between wheezes that are getting louder and Jesus they need to finish this up so Dean can make Sam sit through a nebulizer treatment) that he’s fine, thank you.
“But it’s no trouble!” the woman says before rushing off to the kitchen.
Dean exchanges an amused glance with his kid before saying, “So, is there anything more you can tell us about your neighbor’s accident?”
“Well,” the husband begins, but the wife comes back in, clutching a fucking afghan she probably crocheted herself in her arms.
“This is a pretty long story,” she says, seizing Dean’s arm in a surprisingly tight grip and pulling him off the couch. “Your partner could do with some rest while we talk.” She directs Sam to lie down and fusses with the afghan as she tucks it around him. Then Dean hears a kettle start whistling and the woman rushes off again, saying that the tea will only be a minute.
Dean plops down in a chintz armchair and fidgets until the woman returns. She sets the cup on the coffee table, tells Sam to relax and rest as long as he needs, and then she insists on talking in the kitchen so Sam can get said rest.
Dean takes a deep breath, tells himself that it’s okay that she’s fussing, she’s probably lonely and hating being an empty-nester (where the fuck did he hear that term, anyway?) and Sam really could use a short break. The motel’s clear on the other side of town, anyway.
So he settles down at the kitchen table (with another cup of tea all to himself, because he’s such a good guy, willing to work with someone who has asthma when most people probably wouldn’t, this woman just never slows the fuck down) and spends the next hour listening to the couples’ tale about their ‘awful next-door neighbor and his strange accident that’s left him alone in the hospital for nearly a month now’. When the interview is finally over, Dean finds Sammy asleep, still wheezing, but looking more rested than he’s looked all fucking day. He almost hates to wake him up.
Almost.
***
“It’s gotta be a trickster,” Dean says as he sets up Sam’s nebulizer. Sam wheezes and nods, accepting the mouthpiece and rubbing his chest absently. “We’ll track it down tomorrow.”
Sam nods again, all drowsy-eyed and floppy hair, pawing at Dean’s arm whenever he walks by until he gives up and settles down on the bed next to him. Sam falls asleep with his head pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean falls asleep sitting up watching the TV on mute.
Sam only wakes up two times from coughing during the night, and his inhaler calms him down both times.
The next day, Sam’s still sort of sick, but he’s well enough that they go hunt and kill themselves a trickster.
Sam’s coughing finally clears up and he goes back to his regular, oversized wheezy self.
Dean is so glad they avoided a full-on cold. He actually tells Sam so, and Sam smiles all dimples and happiness.
And no, Dean is not a sap. Not even a little.
END