Fic: Germaphobe (SPN)
Genre: gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1685
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters... but I love them.
Summary: Dean is sick. Sam's afraid of germs.
Germaphone
"Heeeh’KKSCHHXUuuu! Ahhh’CSKHXUUuuh! Urrrghh… *snnnff*..”
Oh, god, Sam thought, keeping his eyes shut. He knew the sound of a sick Dean by now, and it was a sound that filled him with dread.
“Sam…” Dean’s voice was gruff.
He rolled over to face his brother, squinting with one eye.
“Get uuh- huuh’EKSSHuuh! Son of a… Get up.”
“You alright?” Sam enquired, rubbing his eyes. He knew the answer.
Dean sniffled into the back of his hand, glared at him with watery eyes.
“I’b fide. We have an interview.”
“You’re sick.”
“People get sick, Sab. Doesn’t bean we can’t do the - ihntehh - theinterview - KSCHHUuuuh!”
Sam groaned and flopped back on his pillow.
Dean was blowing his nose noisily, “Whad?”
“Dude, you can stay the hell away from me.”
“Gee, thangks, Sab. Bakin’ be feel all warm and fuzzy.”
Sam sat back up, “Oh, no, don’t make me out to be the bad guy. You always get sick and you always get me sick.”
“Oh, thad’s crap.”
“No. No, it’s not, Dean,” Sam pointed a finger at him, “You’re messy and unsanitary and I have to live with you, so, no. Not this time. I’m drawing a line down this motel room and you and your sickness can stay over there.”
Dean stared at him for a moment, nostrils heaving and glistening.
“Whadever, Sab,” he stood up, “Son of uh’ heeeh’EKSHUu! KETSHCUE!” He wiped his hand on his jeans, glanced back at Sam, “I’b going to get coffee.”
Sam sighed as Dean exited the motel, slamming the door only slightly. Okay, he felt a little bad. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he was sick. But if history was anything to go by, Sam would be sick within the week, and that was Dean’s fault. He left his tissues lying all over the place, would sneeze all over his clothes and hands, touching the Impala, touching the guns, touching, Sam shivered, everything. It was strange too, because Dean did have this ‘germaphobe’ streak, that Sam had no idea where he picked up. Probably from a lifetime of being raised in grotty, grubby, motels. But once he was already sick, he didn’t seem to care about germs anymore and how they can affect other people, namely his brother. Dean was a messy sick person too. He always seemed to have an endless supply of snot… and a sneezer. He was a sneezer, alright.
As Sam got out of the shower Dean was walking in the front door, coffee tray with two cups balancing on one hand, greasy bag of food in the other. He was panting through his mouth.
“Sam, takethe - huuuh’eh…”
Sam almost realized what was happening too late. He grabbed the tray off Dean as he volleyed forward forcefully into his elbow, saving the coffee. Sam backed up against the far wall.
“Heh’SCHKZUuh! EKTSCHU! KIIIXCHSUuuh’huh... Oh by God…” he snorted back what sounded like a hideous amount of liquidy snot. He rubbed his nose vigorously back and forth against his arm, and finally cast bloodshot eyes on his brother.
“Bless you…”
Dean cleared his throat, threw his breakfast down on the table. He lazily pointed at the tray in Sam’s hands.
“I gotcha… *pant* gotcha coffee.” He snorted again.
Sam cringed. He hated it when he did that. It always sounded so gross. But he wasn’t going to lecture him again about the risks of getting a sinus infection from doing that, so he wrinkled his nose and looked down at the coffee.
“Thanks… Is it - did you? Is it safe?” he raised his eyebrows at Dean.
Dean growled. It sounded phlegmy and made him cough.
“I didn’t sndeeze od your coffee, prindcess.”
-
Sam didn’t drink the coffee. Better to be safe than sorry. He felt bad though. So, when Dean was in the bathroom he tipped it down the sink and pretended he drank it. It was silly, but Sam knew from experience. And Dean sounded pretty sick. He definitely didn’t want that.
“Sab, you ready or whad?” Dean sniffed from the doorway.
“Yeah!” Sam startled upright, grabbing his jacket.
Dean coughed into his fist, reaching for the keys with his other hand.
“You want me to drive?”
“Go screw yourself,” Dean groaned.
“Alright, then,” Sam muttered, following his brother out into the rain. Yes, rain.
-
Dean pressed his wet sleeve against the underside of his nose and snuffled loudly.
“Suit’s ruined,” he grunted, starting up the car.
“It’ll dry off,” Sam looked to his window, wishing he could wind it down. He was stuck in the car with Dean’s germs… and sneezes.
“Hit’PKSCHUuehh! EKSSSCHOo!” he wiped his nose with the palm of his hand and Sam held his breath.
“Do you wanna… get some tissues or something?”
Dean sniffed and rubbed his nose.
“Shit,” he groaned, wiping himself with his sleeve, “Yeah, baybe.”
Sam nodded.
“Hand be a dnapkig, would ya?”
Sam found a napkin in the glovebox. Dean went to grab it off him and Sam flinched away, dropping the napkin to the seat in between them.
“What the hell, Sab?”
“Sorry, sorry…”
Dean snatched the napkin off the seat.
“I just… you’re sick, and…”
“Fide, I wond’t touch you.”
Sam sighed and continued looking out the window. Seconds later Dean threw the used napkin down on the seat beside them. And that was exactly what Sam was talking about.
-
They stopped off at the convenience store, and Sam spent the rest of the ride to the lady’s house, pressing himself into the passenger door to get away from the encroaching mound of tissues that was slowly piling up on the seat next to him. It had stopped raining at least so he could roll his window down, and actually breathe.
A stray tissue fell from the pile as Dean threw another glistening one down. Sam pushed his legs together, trying to become one with the door, and keep the tissue from touching him.
When he looked over Dean was glancing at him, with watery amusement. And it was so not funny.
“Dude, you should see your face,” he chuckled, which made him cough.
“Not funny, Dean,” Sam bent his head out the window and took a breath.
“Cobe ond, it’s a little fuddy…”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You love be,” Dean grinned.
-
When they arrived at the lady’s house, their suits were mostly dry. Sam still felt damp on his back and shoulders though, his hair a bit wet. Dean looked more or less dry, but he let a shiver run through him as they waited on the porch.
“You alright to do this?”
Dean just shoved a tissue to his face and bent forward.
“Huh’KKSCHEW! PSCKHUU! KRSCHXU! Huh’eh… HETSCHHUUh! Urgh…”
“Okay, that’s a no. Go wait in the car.”
Just as Dean was about to protest, the door opened.
“Can I help you?” The woman asked.
Dean sniffled and plastered a big, charming grin across his face.
“Mbrs Bicheals? I’b Agendt Frehley, this is Agendt Sibbons. We’d like to ask you a few questionds regardig your late husband.”
-
It was possibly the worst interview they’d ever conducted. Mrs Michaels couldn’t even get an answer out between sneezes. She even jumped up to make Dean honey tea and insisted on giving him a blanket to keep his legs warm. Dean wasn’t really in a position to protest. He couldn’t make it through a sentence without his breath hitching. Eventually he’d called it quits and gone out to the car while Sam finished up. They didn’t have much to go on and it was looking more and more like they had a full night of researching ahead of them.
-
“You’re not going out?” Sam asked, as Dean bent down into their little fridge, pulling out a beer.
“Dah,” Dean breathed, sucked back some more snot.
“Thought you’d want to question the locals,” Sam raised an eyebrow. He was hoping Dean would go out, so he wouldn’t be here, infecting the whole motel room, and the air Sam was currently breathing.
“Sab, please, I’b a professiondal. Hihhhih’hIXCHU! Gahh, son of a bitch… *snnnnff* Had be the tissues, would ya?”
Sam grimaced.
“God, you’re a wuss,” Dean groaned, crossing the room and swigging on his beer.
Sam sighed and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, popping the top off and setting it down on the bench.
Dean gurgled noisily into a tissue, “Ban, this friggen sugks… HET’SCHKUUu! ETXCHKUUuuh!”
“Just stay on your side of the room, okay?”
-
Dean was on his second beer, and he must have been sick because Sam was on his third. And he never out drank his brother, ever. He wasn’t suicidal.
Dean was noticeably tired. It wasn’t even 9 o’clock and his eyes were already drifting shut, clearly exhausted from keeping up with the nose blowing and sneeze explosions.
“Dean, just go to sleep, man.”
“Huh’NXGT! GNXXchuh!” Dean stifled two against his arm.
Sam rubbed his eyes and walked towards his own bed, giving Dean’s a wide berth to escape the floating pathogens. He sat down and started taking his shoes off, facing his brother.
“I’b sorry I always ged you sigk, Sab.”
“What?”
“You heard be…”
“Yeah, I just don’t believe it,” Sam jabbed playfully as he took his jacket off.
“Shut uhp, bitch. I’b saying… I’ll try and be bore… sanitary.”
Sam looked at his brother. His nose and eyes were red from the constant sneezing but he didn’t seem to have a fever. He wasn’t drunk. He must have really been serious. Wow.
“You serious?”
“Yeah, I’ll even use thad hand sanitizer crap…”
“Wow, thanks, Dean.”
Dean gave a half smile and went back to the book of lore he was reading.
Sam grabbed his beer off the nightstand and took a long swig, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment before gulping down with satisfaction, basking in his win for the day.
“Dude, whad are you doig!?”
“What?” Sam startled, eyes wide at his brother’s confused expression.
“That’s my beer…”
Sam’s eyes went across the room to where his half drunk beer sat on the table next to his laptop.
“Crap.”
End.
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1685
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters... but I love them.
Summary: Dean is sick. Sam's afraid of germs.
Germaphone
"Heeeh’KKSCHHXUuuu! Ahhh’CSKHXUUuuh! Urrrghh… *snnnff*..”
Oh, god, Sam thought, keeping his eyes shut. He knew the sound of a sick Dean by now, and it was a sound that filled him with dread.
“Sam…” Dean’s voice was gruff.
He rolled over to face his brother, squinting with one eye.
“Get uuh- huuh’EKSSHuuh! Son of a… Get up.”
“You alright?” Sam enquired, rubbing his eyes. He knew the answer.
Dean sniffled into the back of his hand, glared at him with watery eyes.
“I’b fide. We have an interview.”
“You’re sick.”
“People get sick, Sab. Doesn’t bean we can’t do the - ihntehh - theinterview - KSCHHUuuuh!”
Sam groaned and flopped back on his pillow.
Dean was blowing his nose noisily, “Whad?”
“Dude, you can stay the hell away from me.”
“Gee, thangks, Sab. Bakin’ be feel all warm and fuzzy.”
Sam sat back up, “Oh, no, don’t make me out to be the bad guy. You always get sick and you always get me sick.”
“Oh, thad’s crap.”
“No. No, it’s not, Dean,” Sam pointed a finger at him, “You’re messy and unsanitary and I have to live with you, so, no. Not this time. I’m drawing a line down this motel room and you and your sickness can stay over there.”
Dean stared at him for a moment, nostrils heaving and glistening.
“Whadever, Sab,” he stood up, “Son of uh’ heeeh’EKSHUu! KETSHCUE!” He wiped his hand on his jeans, glanced back at Sam, “I’b going to get coffee.”
Sam sighed as Dean exited the motel, slamming the door only slightly. Okay, he felt a little bad. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he was sick. But if history was anything to go by, Sam would be sick within the week, and that was Dean’s fault. He left his tissues lying all over the place, would sneeze all over his clothes and hands, touching the Impala, touching the guns, touching, Sam shivered, everything. It was strange too, because Dean did have this ‘germaphobe’ streak, that Sam had no idea where he picked up. Probably from a lifetime of being raised in grotty, grubby, motels. But once he was already sick, he didn’t seem to care about germs anymore and how they can affect other people, namely his brother. Dean was a messy sick person too. He always seemed to have an endless supply of snot… and a sneezer. He was a sneezer, alright.
As Sam got out of the shower Dean was walking in the front door, coffee tray with two cups balancing on one hand, greasy bag of food in the other. He was panting through his mouth.
“Sam, takethe - huuuh’eh…”
Sam almost realized what was happening too late. He grabbed the tray off Dean as he volleyed forward forcefully into his elbow, saving the coffee. Sam backed up against the far wall.
“Heh’SCHKZUuh! EKTSCHU! KIIIXCHSUuuh’huh... Oh by God…” he snorted back what sounded like a hideous amount of liquidy snot. He rubbed his nose vigorously back and forth against his arm, and finally cast bloodshot eyes on his brother.
“Bless you…”
Dean cleared his throat, threw his breakfast down on the table. He lazily pointed at the tray in Sam’s hands.
“I gotcha… *pant* gotcha coffee.” He snorted again.
Sam cringed. He hated it when he did that. It always sounded so gross. But he wasn’t going to lecture him again about the risks of getting a sinus infection from doing that, so he wrinkled his nose and looked down at the coffee.
“Thanks… Is it - did you? Is it safe?” he raised his eyebrows at Dean.
Dean growled. It sounded phlegmy and made him cough.
“I didn’t sndeeze od your coffee, prindcess.”
-
Sam didn’t drink the coffee. Better to be safe than sorry. He felt bad though. So, when Dean was in the bathroom he tipped it down the sink and pretended he drank it. It was silly, but Sam knew from experience. And Dean sounded pretty sick. He definitely didn’t want that.
“Sab, you ready or whad?” Dean sniffed from the doorway.
“Yeah!” Sam startled upright, grabbing his jacket.
Dean coughed into his fist, reaching for the keys with his other hand.
“You want me to drive?”
“Go screw yourself,” Dean groaned.
“Alright, then,” Sam muttered, following his brother out into the rain. Yes, rain.
-
Dean pressed his wet sleeve against the underside of his nose and snuffled loudly.
“Suit’s ruined,” he grunted, starting up the car.
“It’ll dry off,” Sam looked to his window, wishing he could wind it down. He was stuck in the car with Dean’s germs… and sneezes.
“Hit’PKSCHUuehh! EKSSSCHOo!” he wiped his nose with the palm of his hand and Sam held his breath.
“Do you wanna… get some tissues or something?”
Dean sniffed and rubbed his nose.
“Shit,” he groaned, wiping himself with his sleeve, “Yeah, baybe.”
Sam nodded.
“Hand be a dnapkig, would ya?”
Sam found a napkin in the glovebox. Dean went to grab it off him and Sam flinched away, dropping the napkin to the seat in between them.
“What the hell, Sab?”
“Sorry, sorry…”
Dean snatched the napkin off the seat.
“I just… you’re sick, and…”
“Fide, I wond’t touch you.”
Sam sighed and continued looking out the window. Seconds later Dean threw the used napkin down on the seat beside them. And that was exactly what Sam was talking about.
-
They stopped off at the convenience store, and Sam spent the rest of the ride to the lady’s house, pressing himself into the passenger door to get away from the encroaching mound of tissues that was slowly piling up on the seat next to him. It had stopped raining at least so he could roll his window down, and actually breathe.
A stray tissue fell from the pile as Dean threw another glistening one down. Sam pushed his legs together, trying to become one with the door, and keep the tissue from touching him.
When he looked over Dean was glancing at him, with watery amusement. And it was so not funny.
“Dude, you should see your face,” he chuckled, which made him cough.
“Not funny, Dean,” Sam bent his head out the window and took a breath.
“Cobe ond, it’s a little fuddy…”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You love be,” Dean grinned.
-
When they arrived at the lady’s house, their suits were mostly dry. Sam still felt damp on his back and shoulders though, his hair a bit wet. Dean looked more or less dry, but he let a shiver run through him as they waited on the porch.
“You alright to do this?”
Dean just shoved a tissue to his face and bent forward.
“Huh’KKSCHEW! PSCKHUU! KRSCHXU! Huh’eh… HETSCHHUUh! Urgh…”
“Okay, that’s a no. Go wait in the car.”
Just as Dean was about to protest, the door opened.
“Can I help you?” The woman asked.
Dean sniffled and plastered a big, charming grin across his face.
“Mbrs Bicheals? I’b Agendt Frehley, this is Agendt Sibbons. We’d like to ask you a few questionds regardig your late husband.”
-
It was possibly the worst interview they’d ever conducted. Mrs Michaels couldn’t even get an answer out between sneezes. She even jumped up to make Dean honey tea and insisted on giving him a blanket to keep his legs warm. Dean wasn’t really in a position to protest. He couldn’t make it through a sentence without his breath hitching. Eventually he’d called it quits and gone out to the car while Sam finished up. They didn’t have much to go on and it was looking more and more like they had a full night of researching ahead of them.
-
“You’re not going out?” Sam asked, as Dean bent down into their little fridge, pulling out a beer.
“Dah,” Dean breathed, sucked back some more snot.
“Thought you’d want to question the locals,” Sam raised an eyebrow. He was hoping Dean would go out, so he wouldn’t be here, infecting the whole motel room, and the air Sam was currently breathing.
“Sab, please, I’b a professiondal. Hihhhih’hIXCHU! Gahh, son of a bitch… *snnnnff* Had be the tissues, would ya?”
Sam grimaced.
“God, you’re a wuss,” Dean groaned, crossing the room and swigging on his beer.
Sam sighed and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, popping the top off and setting it down on the bench.
Dean gurgled noisily into a tissue, “Ban, this friggen sugks… HET’SCHKUUu! ETXCHKUUuuh!”
“Just stay on your side of the room, okay?”
-
Dean was on his second beer, and he must have been sick because Sam was on his third. And he never out drank his brother, ever. He wasn’t suicidal.
Dean was noticeably tired. It wasn’t even 9 o’clock and his eyes were already drifting shut, clearly exhausted from keeping up with the nose blowing and sneeze explosions.
“Dean, just go to sleep, man.”
“Huh’NXGT! GNXXchuh!” Dean stifled two against his arm.
Sam rubbed his eyes and walked towards his own bed, giving Dean’s a wide berth to escape the floating pathogens. He sat down and started taking his shoes off, facing his brother.
“I’b sorry I always ged you sigk, Sab.”
“What?”
“You heard be…”
“Yeah, I just don’t believe it,” Sam jabbed playfully as he took his jacket off.
“Shut uhp, bitch. I’b saying… I’ll try and be bore… sanitary.”
Sam looked at his brother. His nose and eyes were red from the constant sneezing but he didn’t seem to have a fever. He wasn’t drunk. He must have really been serious. Wow.
“You serious?”
“Yeah, I’ll even use thad hand sanitizer crap…”
“Wow, thanks, Dean.”
Dean gave a half smile and went back to the book of lore he was reading.
Sam grabbed his beer off the nightstand and took a long swig, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment before gulping down with satisfaction, basking in his win for the day.
“Dude, whad are you doig!?”
“What?” Sam startled, eyes wide at his brother’s confused expression.
“That’s my beer…”
Sam’s eyes went across the room to where his half drunk beer sat on the table next to his laptop.
“Crap.”
End.