SPN Fic - "Abominable, or, They Exist And They Love Each Other"
Title: Abominable, or, They Exist And They Love Each Other
Rating: R
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 2000
Summary: Dean's coming down with something. There's a baddie and a cabin and some snow and a lot of Sam.
A/N: This is for scarlett_ohara2, who writes sneezy Dean and whom I therefore love. It started out as Enkidu-the-awesome and I drinking raspberry beer and passing the laptop back and forth writing one line at a time, but then the file sat there for a year, so we've resurrected it and each taken it in a different direction. Hers is going up today too so totally check it out if you want some more sick Dean. The sparkly and uber-talented roque_clasique overcame courseloads and homelessness to give me a tender lovin' beta.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
It's a chilly night in Pennsylvania, but inside the laundromat it's warm and soapy-clean. The dryers whirr and clack. Dean bites back a yawn.
Perched on the folding island, he lifts one heel and lets it drop back against the table with a thump. Sam doesn't look up from his laptop. Other foot. No reaction.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"Hey, I think I got something."
Dean raises his chin.
"Listen to this. Two men were beaten to death in the woods in northern Maine, outside their cabin. Police said the force of the blows indicates a weapon must have been used, but they haven't figured out what."
Dean chews a hangnail and shrugs. "So somebody got beaten to death. Big deal."
"Wait," Sam says, and when he looks up Dean sees the thrill in his eyes. "The crime scene was in the snow. They tracked the footprints to a tree, where the trail vanished."
"Huh."
"The weirdest part? We're not talking boot prints, man. Somebody was out there in their bare feet."
"Would these be big bare feet?"
"Give the man a cigar."
Dean scratches his nose. "You're eating this up."
Sam dips his head. He pushes out a breath.
"I dig it, man. It's friggin' adorable."
---
Dean hasn't seen snow like this since he was twelve. He drags his forearm across the windshield and squints out into the squall.
"Map says we should hit the cabin anytime now," says Sam.
Dean ducks his head, trying to get a better view of the blanketed road, and grunts. His breakfast burrito isn't sitting right.
"There." Sam's pointing to a narrow track off to the right.
Dean brakes gently. "Where? There?" The pressure behind his eyes condenses into pain. "Sam, that's a friggin' moose trail."
Sam rustles the map and then looks around. "It's only about a mile to the cabin. Pull in up here. We can hike the rest of the way."
"That's just great." Dean eases the car off the road and kills the engine. He drags a thumb over his eye and blinks out at the swirling flurries. The air's so thick with snow, it looks like sundown.
He turns and finds Sam's already got a grey wool hat jammed over his ears and one puffy black glove on, and is looking at him funny.
"What?"
Sam gives his head a half-shake. "Nothing."
Dean pushes out of the Impala and tugs his jacket tighter as the wind sweeps in around his neck.
"You want these?" The wind drags most of Sam's voice away. He's holding up Dean's own hat and gloves across the car.
Dean motions for them impatiently, his eyes already watering from the cold. He shoulders his duffel and slams the door. "There better be hot chocolate at the other end of this."
---
"Are we there yet?"
Sam doesn't turn, just keeps ploughing through the thigh-deep snow. "No."
Dean coughs into his glove and feels the moisture stick in his eyelashes. "Now?"
Sam's shoulders bunch up fractionally. "Yeah." He's still walking. "Yeah, we just passed through the front door. We're in the cabin now."
"Why're you... still going? Gonna be... outside again soon."
Sam sighs out a steamy white puff that spills over his shoulder. "Going for firewood."
"Firewood, huh?" Before Stanford, Sam would've been pissed off enough by now to stop. Kid must've been doing his Tai Chi. "Hold up there, Frances. You dropped something."
Sam twists around, scanning the newly churned up snow. "Crap. What?"
"I don't know." Dean catches up and doubles forward, pretending to check the ground and trying not to pant. "Something sh... shiny." The words are barely out when he chokes on a snowflake. He hacks noisily at his knee.
After awhile Sam thumps his back. "Dude. Want some water?"
"N-khh-khh-o."
When Dean's got his breath back he pulls a switchblade out of his pocket and plants it on the trail. "Found it."
---
"Uh... hh-huh... huh-TZSHCHCH-CHGZH-hoo! HUH-SHZSHSUH!" Dean sniffs. He briefly presses the heels of his hands into his eyebrows, then drags a sleeve under his nose, snuffling thickly.
"You OK?" Sam's frowning in his chair, fingers still working over the laces of his boots as he watches his brother.
Dean glares at him and forcefully unzips his jacket. Chunks of snow thud to the carpet. "'Course I'm OK." A hard shiver runs through him, dislodging a piece of ice from his hair. It bounces off his cheek. He pretends not to notice.
Sam doesn't say anything, just gets up out of his coat and boots and pads over to the kitchen. When Dean's finally picked open his frozen bootlaces, he looks up to see Sam raising a box triumphantly. "Hot chocolate."
"Thank Guh... uh... h-huh... hh-hhH-ITZHZHSHSH! Ih-XXHXH! AT-DCHCHSHH!"
"Wow."
Dean feels Sam's gaze on him as he brushes warm wetness away from his nose and wipes it on his jeans. He knuckles into his eyes. "All right. Show's over. Make with the cocoa."
---
"You don't look so hot."
Dean's watching the yellow crime scene tape flutter against the trees. He lowers his binoculars. "'Scuse bee?"
"Don't sound so hot either."
"What is this, the Spaddish Idquisitiudd?"
"Think you're coming down with something."
"Just a bad case of wadtigg to kick your ass."
"I don't think you should go out there."
"You couldd't have bedshudd this before we drove the twelve hours to get here?"
"You couldn't have mentioned you weren't feeling well?"
"I... hhh-heh... aw, dabbit... hh... hh-hh-HEH... heh-ISZHSHAH! Et-CHCHSHOO-hoo! HH-HH-TZGHSHSHCH! Who says I'b... IH-HISHSHSH-uh!"
Sam just looks at him.
Dean cautiously sets down the spyglasses. "Okay, so baybee I've got the sdiffles."
"You've got something..." Sam's gesturing to his own nose.
"Oh."
Sam throws him a roll of toilet paper. Cheeks heating, Dean turns away and presses a thick bunch to his nose. He honks for all he's worth.
Pain and dazzling lights flare up. He can't see Sam for a second.
"You gonna puke?"
"Wh... what?" Dean's hands are numb.
"Here, here. C'mere." Sam's scooting him into the bathroom.
Dean blinks down into the sink and then loses the entire contents of his stomach into it.
"Not sick, huh?" Sam's got him on the cabin's bed before he knows what's going on.
"But..." Dean shivers, and the comforter magically cuddles up to his neck. "Wait."
Sam hovers in close, his eyes warm and intent, brows crumpled. "What's up, kiddo?"
Dean snuffles and shields his lids against the weak light from the window. "Just gibbee half ad hour. I'll be fide."
There's a chuffing sound. "Think you're gonna need these, Rudolph."
Something come to rest in front of his face. He peers at it. It's a tissue box. "Whuh... h-h-huh... hhhh-HUH... HAH-ZHZHSHSH!"
"Yeah. Sleep tight."
---
Dean finds Sam in the main room, flipping through a book.
"Hey." It's all breath, no voice. He clears his throat to try again.
Sam lifts his head at the sound. "You're up."
"'Course I'b uh... h-huh... hoo... hhh-TZHRHSHGK!" When he straightens he can't quite meet Sam's eyes. He's saved by another sneeze. "IH-HRRHROOSHSHSHSH! IT-TZGHZHK!"
"I checked the medicine cabinet. Dry. Got our aspirin in my pack, though. Want some?"
Sniffling and guarding his nose, Dean shuffles to the couch and sits beside Sam. He plants his free hand on his knee to brace himself. "Ih... h-huh-uh... hh-hh-huhhhh... HAT-CHCHEWW!"
"I give it a nine point six on the Richter scale."
"Shut up add brigg bee Kleedex."
Sam does. Sam always does. He's good like that.
"You're wud-of-a-kide, Sab," Dean says between thick, popping gurgles. "You doe that?"
His brother picks up the book again and absently rubs its cover. "Is that a compliment?"
"Are you kiddigg bee? You... are utterly irreplaceable. I bead it," Dean hacks. "Was dever the sabe without you."
Sam hesitates. "Oh. You mean when I was at Stanford?"
Dean dabs delicately at his raw nostrils. "Yeah."
Face pinched, Sam bobs his head. "I missed you too, man. How's that fever doing?" He scootches closer on the couch and tests Dean's face with the back of his hand. Spluttering, Dean chases him off with soggy Kleenex.
"Ouch." Sam's already digging through his duffel. He towers over Dean and passes down two pills. "Here. You'll feel better."
"We're hudtigg."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Not so much."
"Subthigg's out there."
"You've got the flu. This is what we call a sick day, Dean."
Dean's laugh turns into a crackling, bubbling cough that makes his skull pound. "Sick day?"
"Yeah, smartass. Take these. I'm gonna make you some ginger tea."
"Good. Perfect. I'll just call up the thigg that beat those two guys to death add ask it dot to do eddythigg else udtil I cad breathe clearly out of both dostrils."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to go now and sneeze it to death?"
"You doe I could take it dowd if I had to."
"Dude." Sam shakes his head and splays open his hands. "You don't have to."
Watching Sam's hands move is making Dean want to barf again. He licks his lips and ducks his head between his knees.
Sam smoothes a thick quilt around his shoulders, puts meds and water in his hands. Dean sneezes softly and welcomes it all.
---
In the night Dean wakes up on the sofa, warm and achy. He lies still and gazes out the cabin window. It's stopped snowing and the moonlight's bright.
Shadows shift at the edge of the forest. Something big, white and furry moves forward. Dean looks for Sam but the room's empty. There are snores coming from the bedroom. Muzzily he watches the shape move.
It beats its chest. It's taller than Sam.
It's coming toward the cabin.
Dean sits up. The world disappears in a smattering of spots. When they clear, there are more shapes outside. Four of those same pale fuzzy creatures are advancing on the first one.
Three of them seize it. It thrashes and snarls. The fourth - the largest - cups its face and smoothes monkey-thumbs down its cheeks.
The excited creature goes still.
The big one snaps its neck.
The live animals gently pick up the dead one and carry it back into the forest.
Dean looks at the bedroom doorway. He looks down at his arm. He pinches it. It doesn't hurt.
---
"You, uh. You hear subthigg last dight?"
Sam stirs his coffee. "Like a coyote or something? Yeah, I heard that."
"I." Dean scratches the back of his head, sweeps a finger under his tender nose. "We should look."
There's a big patch of snow beside the cabin that's all stirred up, and tracks leading in and out of the woods.
"You doe how there's doe such thigg as add abobidable sdow madd?"
---
Sam coaxes two more sick days out of Dean by pretending to want to monitor the yeti situation. Dean feels crappy enough to play along.
"Rogue agedt, right?" Dean rasps from inside his blanket. "It wedt crazy and started killigg people, so the other wuds took care of it." He burbles into the ever-present Kleenex.
Sam shuts his laptop. "It's harsh." He rests his elbows on the kitchen table and cocks his head. "But I guess anything that calls human attention to them would be a threat."
Dean coughs until it stings. "You're bissigg the gabe."
He totally does not fall asleep with his face wedged into the couch cushions and his feet in Sam's lap.
---
By the time they head out it's clear the mysterious deaths have stopped. It's also clear Dean has developed a disturbing affinity for ginger tea.
"Good stuff, huh?"
"Hate it," Dean slurps.
Sam spreads out a smug smile. "Whatever."
---
end
Prompt: I'd love to see something in early Season 1, when the boys were still a little awkward around each other, still getting used to being with each other all the time. And then Dean gets sick, and tries to do what he did when he was hunting by himself or with his dad… which is to ignore it, of course. Sam tries to convince him to take a "sick day"... and Dean is all cranky because one, he's sick, and two, Sam keeps trying to give him tea and medicine and do all sorts of touchy feely things. Gen.
Rating: R
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 2000
Summary: Dean's coming down with something. There's a baddie and a cabin and some snow and a lot of Sam.
A/N: This is for scarlett_ohara2, who writes sneezy Dean and whom I therefore love. It started out as Enkidu-the-awesome and I drinking raspberry beer and passing the laptop back and forth writing one line at a time, but then the file sat there for a year, so we've resurrected it and each taken it in a different direction. Hers is going up today too so totally check it out if you want some more sick Dean. The sparkly and uber-talented roque_clasique overcame courseloads and homelessness to give me a tender lovin' beta.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
It's a chilly night in Pennsylvania, but inside the laundromat it's warm and soapy-clean. The dryers whirr and clack. Dean bites back a yawn.
Perched on the folding island, he lifts one heel and lets it drop back against the table with a thump. Sam doesn't look up from his laptop. Other foot. No reaction.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"Hey, I think I got something."
Dean raises his chin.
"Listen to this. Two men were beaten to death in the woods in northern Maine, outside their cabin. Police said the force of the blows indicates a weapon must have been used, but they haven't figured out what."
Dean chews a hangnail and shrugs. "So somebody got beaten to death. Big deal."
"Wait," Sam says, and when he looks up Dean sees the thrill in his eyes. "The crime scene was in the snow. They tracked the footprints to a tree, where the trail vanished."
"Huh."
"The weirdest part? We're not talking boot prints, man. Somebody was out there in their bare feet."
"Would these be big bare feet?"
"Give the man a cigar."
Dean scratches his nose. "You're eating this up."
Sam dips his head. He pushes out a breath.
"I dig it, man. It's friggin' adorable."
---
Dean hasn't seen snow like this since he was twelve. He drags his forearm across the windshield and squints out into the squall.
"Map says we should hit the cabin anytime now," says Sam.
Dean ducks his head, trying to get a better view of the blanketed road, and grunts. His breakfast burrito isn't sitting right.
"There." Sam's pointing to a narrow track off to the right.
Dean brakes gently. "Where? There?" The pressure behind his eyes condenses into pain. "Sam, that's a friggin' moose trail."
Sam rustles the map and then looks around. "It's only about a mile to the cabin. Pull in up here. We can hike the rest of the way."
"That's just great." Dean eases the car off the road and kills the engine. He drags a thumb over his eye and blinks out at the swirling flurries. The air's so thick with snow, it looks like sundown.
He turns and finds Sam's already got a grey wool hat jammed over his ears and one puffy black glove on, and is looking at him funny.
"What?"
Sam gives his head a half-shake. "Nothing."
Dean pushes out of the Impala and tugs his jacket tighter as the wind sweeps in around his neck.
"You want these?" The wind drags most of Sam's voice away. He's holding up Dean's own hat and gloves across the car.
Dean motions for them impatiently, his eyes already watering from the cold. He shoulders his duffel and slams the door. "There better be hot chocolate at the other end of this."
---
"Are we there yet?"
Sam doesn't turn, just keeps ploughing through the thigh-deep snow. "No."
Dean coughs into his glove and feels the moisture stick in his eyelashes. "Now?"
Sam's shoulders bunch up fractionally. "Yeah." He's still walking. "Yeah, we just passed through the front door. We're in the cabin now."
"Why're you... still going? Gonna be... outside again soon."
Sam sighs out a steamy white puff that spills over his shoulder. "Going for firewood."
"Firewood, huh?" Before Stanford, Sam would've been pissed off enough by now to stop. Kid must've been doing his Tai Chi. "Hold up there, Frances. You dropped something."
Sam twists around, scanning the newly churned up snow. "Crap. What?"
"I don't know." Dean catches up and doubles forward, pretending to check the ground and trying not to pant. "Something sh... shiny." The words are barely out when he chokes on a snowflake. He hacks noisily at his knee.
After awhile Sam thumps his back. "Dude. Want some water?"
"N-khh-khh-o."
When Dean's got his breath back he pulls a switchblade out of his pocket and plants it on the trail. "Found it."
---
"Uh... hh-huh... huh-TZSHCHCH-CHGZH-hoo! HUH-SHZSHSUH!" Dean sniffs. He briefly presses the heels of his hands into his eyebrows, then drags a sleeve under his nose, snuffling thickly.
"You OK?" Sam's frowning in his chair, fingers still working over the laces of his boots as he watches his brother.
Dean glares at him and forcefully unzips his jacket. Chunks of snow thud to the carpet. "'Course I'm OK." A hard shiver runs through him, dislodging a piece of ice from his hair. It bounces off his cheek. He pretends not to notice.
Sam doesn't say anything, just gets up out of his coat and boots and pads over to the kitchen. When Dean's finally picked open his frozen bootlaces, he looks up to see Sam raising a box triumphantly. "Hot chocolate."
"Thank Guh... uh... h-huh... hh-hhH-ITZHZHSHSH! Ih-XXHXH! AT-DCHCHSHH!"
"Wow."
Dean feels Sam's gaze on him as he brushes warm wetness away from his nose and wipes it on his jeans. He knuckles into his eyes. "All right. Show's over. Make with the cocoa."
---
"You don't look so hot."
Dean's watching the yellow crime scene tape flutter against the trees. He lowers his binoculars. "'Scuse bee?"
"Don't sound so hot either."
"What is this, the Spaddish Idquisitiudd?"
"Think you're coming down with something."
"Just a bad case of wadtigg to kick your ass."
"I don't think you should go out there."
"You couldd't have bedshudd this before we drove the twelve hours to get here?"
"You couldn't have mentioned you weren't feeling well?"
"I... hhh-heh... aw, dabbit... hh... hh-hh-HEH... heh-ISZHSHAH! Et-CHCHSHOO-hoo! HH-HH-TZGHSHSHCH! Who says I'b... IH-HISHSHSH-uh!"
Sam just looks at him.
Dean cautiously sets down the spyglasses. "Okay, so baybee I've got the sdiffles."
"You've got something..." Sam's gesturing to his own nose.
"Oh."
Sam throws him a roll of toilet paper. Cheeks heating, Dean turns away and presses a thick bunch to his nose. He honks for all he's worth.
Pain and dazzling lights flare up. He can't see Sam for a second.
"You gonna puke?"
"Wh... what?" Dean's hands are numb.
"Here, here. C'mere." Sam's scooting him into the bathroom.
Dean blinks down into the sink and then loses the entire contents of his stomach into it.
"Not sick, huh?" Sam's got him on the cabin's bed before he knows what's going on.
"But..." Dean shivers, and the comforter magically cuddles up to his neck. "Wait."
Sam hovers in close, his eyes warm and intent, brows crumpled. "What's up, kiddo?"
Dean snuffles and shields his lids against the weak light from the window. "Just gibbee half ad hour. I'll be fide."
There's a chuffing sound. "Think you're gonna need these, Rudolph."
Something come to rest in front of his face. He peers at it. It's a tissue box. "Whuh... h-h-huh... hhhh-HUH... HAH-ZHZHSHSH!"
"Yeah. Sleep tight."
---
Dean finds Sam in the main room, flipping through a book.
"Hey." It's all breath, no voice. He clears his throat to try again.
Sam lifts his head at the sound. "You're up."
"'Course I'b uh... h-huh... hoo... hhh-TZHRHSHGK!" When he straightens he can't quite meet Sam's eyes. He's saved by another sneeze. "IH-HRRHROOSHSHSHSH! IT-TZGHZHK!"
"I checked the medicine cabinet. Dry. Got our aspirin in my pack, though. Want some?"
Sniffling and guarding his nose, Dean shuffles to the couch and sits beside Sam. He plants his free hand on his knee to brace himself. "Ih... h-huh-uh... hh-hh-huhhhh... HAT-CHCHEWW!"
"I give it a nine point six on the Richter scale."
"Shut up add brigg bee Kleedex."
Sam does. Sam always does. He's good like that.
"You're wud-of-a-kide, Sab," Dean says between thick, popping gurgles. "You doe that?"
His brother picks up the book again and absently rubs its cover. "Is that a compliment?"
"Are you kiddigg bee? You... are utterly irreplaceable. I bead it," Dean hacks. "Was dever the sabe without you."
Sam hesitates. "Oh. You mean when I was at Stanford?"
Dean dabs delicately at his raw nostrils. "Yeah."
Face pinched, Sam bobs his head. "I missed you too, man. How's that fever doing?" He scootches closer on the couch and tests Dean's face with the back of his hand. Spluttering, Dean chases him off with soggy Kleenex.
"Ouch." Sam's already digging through his duffel. He towers over Dean and passes down two pills. "Here. You'll feel better."
"We're hudtigg."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Not so much."
"Subthigg's out there."
"You've got the flu. This is what we call a sick day, Dean."
Dean's laugh turns into a crackling, bubbling cough that makes his skull pound. "Sick day?"
"Yeah, smartass. Take these. I'm gonna make you some ginger tea."
"Good. Perfect. I'll just call up the thigg that beat those two guys to death add ask it dot to do eddythigg else udtil I cad breathe clearly out of both dostrils."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to go now and sneeze it to death?"
"You doe I could take it dowd if I had to."
"Dude." Sam shakes his head and splays open his hands. "You don't have to."
Watching Sam's hands move is making Dean want to barf again. He licks his lips and ducks his head between his knees.
Sam smoothes a thick quilt around his shoulders, puts meds and water in his hands. Dean sneezes softly and welcomes it all.
---
In the night Dean wakes up on the sofa, warm and achy. He lies still and gazes out the cabin window. It's stopped snowing and the moonlight's bright.
Shadows shift at the edge of the forest. Something big, white and furry moves forward. Dean looks for Sam but the room's empty. There are snores coming from the bedroom. Muzzily he watches the shape move.
It beats its chest. It's taller than Sam.
It's coming toward the cabin.
Dean sits up. The world disappears in a smattering of spots. When they clear, there are more shapes outside. Four of those same pale fuzzy creatures are advancing on the first one.
Three of them seize it. It thrashes and snarls. The fourth - the largest - cups its face and smoothes monkey-thumbs down its cheeks.
The excited creature goes still.
The big one snaps its neck.
The live animals gently pick up the dead one and carry it back into the forest.
Dean looks at the bedroom doorway. He looks down at his arm. He pinches it. It doesn't hurt.
---
"You, uh. You hear subthigg last dight?"
Sam stirs his coffee. "Like a coyote or something? Yeah, I heard that."
"I." Dean scratches the back of his head, sweeps a finger under his tender nose. "We should look."
There's a big patch of snow beside the cabin that's all stirred up, and tracks leading in and out of the woods.
"You doe how there's doe such thigg as add abobidable sdow madd?"
---
Sam coaxes two more sick days out of Dean by pretending to want to monitor the yeti situation. Dean feels crappy enough to play along.
"Rogue agedt, right?" Dean rasps from inside his blanket. "It wedt crazy and started killigg people, so the other wuds took care of it." He burbles into the ever-present Kleenex.
Sam shuts his laptop. "It's harsh." He rests his elbows on the kitchen table and cocks his head. "But I guess anything that calls human attention to them would be a threat."
Dean coughs until it stings. "You're bissigg the gabe."
He totally does not fall asleep with his face wedged into the couch cushions and his feet in Sam's lap.
---
By the time they head out it's clear the mysterious deaths have stopped. It's also clear Dean has developed a disturbing affinity for ginger tea.
"Good stuff, huh?"
"Hate it," Dean slurps.
Sam spreads out a smug smile. "Whatever."
---
end
Prompt: I'd love to see something in early Season 1, when the boys were still a little awkward around each other, still getting used to being with each other all the time. And then Dean gets sick, and tries to do what he did when he was hunting by himself or with his dad… which is to ignore it, of course. Sam tries to convince him to take a "sick day"... and Dean is all cranky because one, he's sick, and two, Sam keeps trying to give him tea and medicine and do all sorts of touchy feely things. Gen.