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... )
“Becky?!”
The pair of them are surprised and they speak almost in unison. Not quite. Never mind. There’ll be plenty of time to hear that later.
“Oh… um… Sam. Bless you. But you shouldn’t use those diner napkins. They’re scratchy… not good for your… um… your skin.”
Sam is just staring back at her, mouth open and uncomprehending. She clutches at the tissues and offers out the packet.
“I have tissues.” She explains, “Aloe vera. You should use them.”
Sam still looks confused, but he takes a Kleenex from the pack. “Thank you. Er… what are you doing in town?”
“I’m visiting a friend,” she lies, nodding at the tissues. “You can keep them all.”
“That’s kind of you,” he says as he unfolds the tissue. (He appreciates her, he appreciates her!) “But I don’t think I’m gonna need any more. Allergies,” he explains, “if they’re gonna bug me it’s usually just in the mornings ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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Dean taps the end of his pen against the tabletop and makes the back of his chair creak as he shuffles around.
Tap-t-tap. Tap-t-tap. Tap-t-tap. Creeeeakk.
“HEHHhhhH’USHHah! HEH’USHHHah! HEHUSHHHhhah!
Tap. Tap-tap. Creeeeak. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
“HEHTtSHUH! HEHT’SHUH! HuhhhASHCH’UH!”
Tap. T-tap. T...
“Hey. Do you hear sombethindg?”
Dean’s looking at Becky like he’s wanting an answer, but she’s not sure how she could have heard anything with all the noise the pair of them are making in the tiny room. She’s also not sure she wants to argue with him though, so she just shrugs and keeps her mouth shut.
“Hehhh... HiKKk’ishhyew!”
“Sammy?”
Dean stands, and wobbles, along the whole table, which takes down all of the mugs of tea.
“Duhh... Deand! HEHT’SHyew!” Sam yelps, taking an awkward hold of the two laptops by their screens while he tries to twist into his shoulder sneezing. Becky manages to take the computers off him and set them down on the bed, and ( ... )
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“Hhhehh... Uhhh...HHHuhhh...”
At the last moment he makes a grab at his face, pressing shut his nose between his whole fist.
“HEH-FffmMPh!”
Holding that position, his eyebrows curve into a look of pained concentration, eyes wet and watering as he forces his nose to stay still while his breath comes shallow in ever-quickening pants. He rocks forward onto his elbows.
“EHHhhHhTTssshmmp! HUHT’ShnmK! UhhhSHHHH’SHNt!” He follows it up with a set of enormous gasps, the corners of his nose inflamed red and wriggling now that he’s released them from his grasp. But somehow, with a palm pressed hard against the tip of his nose and one last shuddering sigh, he manages to wrest back control. He casts a searching eye over his brother, still stretched out across his bedsheet, and sinks ( ... )
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Sam shuffles in his bed and tries to speak, but summons nothing more than a groaning croak. He winces and swallows and tries again, but apparently his voice, which has been strained for hours, has capitulated entirely under the pressure of smothering his sneezes.
She leans in toward him, and feels a little lightheaded herself as she gets close. The air is hot from his fever, and it smells of the lemon in the lozenge he’s sucking. She closes her eyes and puts her ear to his lips, hearing a flurry of little light sniffles before he tries to speak.
He nearly headbutts her on the chin as he sits up abruptly, crunching up and bending over the other side of the bed.
“HEH’NTTSssh!” He squashes it awkwardly in the palm of his hand and tilts backwards, shivering and sweating as he waits for the next to hit. “HURrHHMPtch! HPP’TCHhuh! HNKkTSchh! HhhmpppsH’shyew!”
I’m so sorry he mouths at her, before laying himself back down onto the mattress. Becky just nods mutely and bends in closer, excited for the tickle of his breath against ( ... )
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Okay, okay, okay… Becky isn’t afraid to admit that she wasn’t entirely prepared for this.
There’s an almighty crash outside of the bathroom door.
She whimpers, and tries to cling on tighter to the door handle, but it’s slippery from the sweat of her palms. Whatever it was that crashed through the bedroom window had been fast, and she hadn’t waited around to see what it was capable of.
Oh God, she can’t believe that the books are real.
Okay, of course, the books are real . She’s knows that. She’s known that for over a year now. But that was a totally different kind of real. That was about the road trip and the motel rooms and Sam always forgetting to get the pie. This is…
People die.
People actually die When John died, and Maddison, and Ellen and Jo, she’d thought about how sad it was, and it hurt, but it hurt because the boys went through so much heartbreak. She hadn’t thought about John, tortured in Hell, Maddison’s brains splattering ( ... )
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The thing topples, face-first, as Sam tackles it from behind. As they crash down hard against the carpet, Becky can see Dean behind them, slumped unconscious against the side of his bed and bleeding from a cut across his forehead. This definitely wasn’t part of the plan.
She scrambles backward and almost topples over into the bathtub.
“Ru… Hhh’KHTCH’HH!” Sam sneezes, jaw clenched with the effort of fighting off the monster. “Run!”
But the monster lifts its head, looks Becky straight in the eye. With a roar, it stands, throwing Sam off of its shoulders.
“You.” The thing lurches forward, catches a handful of her shirt within its fist. Twisting at the fabric, it hoists her upwards until her tiptoes just graze the floor and the stitching starts to come away at the seams. “It is you ( ... )
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It shrieks in frustration and barrels into Sam, knocking him over easily and tearing the lamp out of his grip.
“De… Hhh-Deadn-KHSHhH! Get… huh! Becky. The rhhuh… the rindg… HhhNgh’TCHUH!”
Dean advances on her, but she can see that he’s confused. It doesn’t matter. She’s way ahead of them both.
She slips the ring easily off her finger and tosses it onto the ground.
Dean squints at it for a moment when it rolls over to his feet. When he looks up at her again, it’s with a look that could boil iron. Apparently, he recognised it.
His eyes not leaving Becky’s face, he slams the ring underfoot. There’s a glow of green and a crack of energy and the tide of the battle turns immediately. As if without a thought, Sam wrenches the whatever-it-is off of his chest and pins its arms to the floor ( ... )
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“That’s it?” She asks, “It’s dead?”
“For now,” Dean mutters. “If we don’t want it up and running around with half a face, we’ll need to steak it in its gravesite later.” He kicks at the motionless body where it is sprawled next to Sam on the carpet. “Whaddyouknow? Turns out you don’t need Head Reaper himself to switch the lights out.”
When no-one reacts, Dean sighs, and pulls Becky’s dufflebag from underneath their upended table. “Well, thank you for your entirely individual brand of help, but it’s probably time you were leaving. I assume there are no objections this time,” he adds, looking pointedly at Sam ( ... )
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(Sorry for the lateness of the reply. With all the excitement, I had commented at the wrong place :P)
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