Justine Delarge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justinedelarge) wrote2013-03-27 11:37 am
justinedelarge) wrote2013-03-27 11:37 am
Entry tags:
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 42: You Can Sleep While I Drive
Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 42: You Can Sleep While I Drive
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I DO own the parts that I own.
Summary: John and Bobby try to find answers. Reggie tries to find the boys. Sam and Dean continue their road trip, while Dean tries to hide that he's sick.
Author's note: TRUST ME.
Bobby’s house was a hive of activity. Hunters coming and going, offering their services, delivering rare tomes that mentioned Azazel, relating information gathered from various supernatural creatures captured and pressed for information, the phones ringing with tips from people in the network who thought they might have seen the boys.
Bobby pored over the books with several hunters. John stood over a large map unfolded over the kitchen table, with markings of where people had searched, the radius of how far the boys could have gotten so far, likely places they might have gone. His ear was bright red from having a phone pressed to it for so long. Half-full coffee cups were everywhere. No one touched the whiskey before it got dark.
They all worked doggedly, frenetically, to learn what Azazel could possibly want with Sam, and how to stop him.
Meanwhile, Reggie was hunting the boys.
The first thing he did when they learned the boys had run away from home was ask to be left alone in the boys’ room. He examined every page of the notebook of Sam’s drawings, which weren’t half bad. He went through the belongings they had left behind—books, summer clothes, action figures, Dean’s cowboy boots on the floor of the closet. He sat on the bed and just looked around for a very long time, taking in everything. The football on the dresser. Action figures on the desk. Then he lay back and rested his head on the pillow, thinking.
He rolled onto his side, absently stroking his moustache, and his eyes fell to the Dallas Cowboys comforter. He sat up quickly.
Downstairs, he gathered his things. “I’m heading out. I’ll check in with you as often as I can.” He patted John on the shoulder.
John looked old, exhausted, sick with worry. He looked at Reggie with grief that was almost unbearable. Reggie knew that look well.
“Reg. You find my boys.”
Reggie pulled out a toothpick from the box in his pocket. “Don’t worry. I reckon I will.”
~
Sam and Dean barely slept that night, the words of their father about Sam and the demon echoing in their minds. They simply wrapped themselves around each other beneath the blankets, as tight as they could.
Dean wouldn’t let himself sleep, and when he did fall into a light slumber, he awoke with a start, heart pounding, skin damp from panic sweat.
Sam just wouldn’t sleep.
In the morning, Sam looked awful, with huge bags under his eyes, but he was oddly cheerful.
Dean gave him a quizzical look.
“Hey. If Azazel says I’m not to be touched, I guess we might as well relax for a little while. Right? I mean, I’m not in immediate danger.”
Dean wanted to protest, but Sam had a point. They didn’t know why the demon had such an interest in Sam, but at least for now, they probably had a pass from whatever demons were around.
It wasn’t much. But Dean would take it, hang onto it like a life preserver.
Dean exerted superhuman effort to stifle his need to cough. But the flushing of his cheeks was not something even he could control through sheer force of will.
Sam came up to Dean, eyes dark with worry. “You sick?”
Dean waved him off. “I’m fine.”
Before Dean could stop him, Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead. The way Mary used to, to check if the boys had a fever. The way Dean had always checked if Sam had one.
“You’re sick.” Sam’s brow furrowed.
“Sam. It’s just a cold. We’ll stop for cold medicine.”
Sam looked perplexed.
“You still want to go to Texas?”
“But. I… Dean. The demon. Me. I…”
“Nothing we can do about that here, right?”
Sam’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Sam couldn’t fault Dean’s logic. They weren’t about to go back, go back home, or to the place that served some of that idealized location’s functions. There was nothing keeping them there, and both of them knew Reggie was on their trail. So they might as well press on.
“So let’s keep going. Make it a real road trip. Stop wherever we want, do whatever we want…”
“Eat whatever we want…” Sam continued, a smile breaking over his face. Road trips with John were always on his timetable, his agenda.
Sam loaded their bags into the car, and Dean drove them to a gas station to fill up and pick up some cold medicine and tons of road food: beef jerky, chips, root beer, tuna sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, Rolos, Hostess fruit pies, and Hawaiian Punch for Sam.
They took turns driving. Dean found a classic rock station, and they enjoyed that for a while.
They didn’t talk about it.
They both knew that as mad as they were at John, he was one of the finest hunters on the planet. Bobby and his contacts could find out anything about anything. If anyone on Earth could figure out what was going on, it was those two men. And until they found out something, there was really nothing to talk about.
So they drove and shared their road snacks, and stared at each other more than the road, and held each other’s hand. Sam popped Rolos one at a time into Dean’s mouth as he drove. When it was Sam’s turn, Dean peeled hard-boiled eggs for him, sprinkling salt from the little paper packets all over the top, spilling onto his jeans, and holding them up for Sam to take bites.
At rest stops, they kissed, but were too exhausted and overwhelmed for anything more.
When Sam needed to use the facilities in private, Dean waited outside—and as soon as Sam was inside, he doubled over, coughing hard, wheezing in breaths that were meant to be deep, but triggered another coughing fit. He had barely recovered, wiping his watering eyes and chugging more cold medicine, when Sam came around the corner. He quickly composed himself, and Sam didn’t notice.
They ate lunch at a place near Denver that was built to look like Bent’s Old Fort, made out of adobe, with waiters carrying period rifles and powder horns. As soon as they cracked the menu, Dean ordered them a whiskey with real gunpowder. Then he declared Sam had to order “Sam’s Buffalo Boudie,” which was an authentic type of sausage. Sam agreed, laughing, and dared Dean to order Rocky Mountain Oysters. Dean took the dare—and then as soon as the waiter put the plate of fried testicles in front of him, insisted Sam split it with him, and that Sam had to share his sausage.
They each took a Rocky Mountain Oyster and ate it at the same time.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“This is good.”
Sam laughed. “Who knew?”
They ate slowly, enjoying the meal and their surroundings. Sam drank three cups of coffee, but despite it, he started nodding off.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. You can sleep in the car.”
Sam shook his head stubbornly, hair flying in his eyes. “My turn to drive.”
Dean brought his leg forward and pressed it against Sam’s under the table. “You’re too tired. Not safe.”
Sam took another bite of the buffalo sausage and slid the plate over to Dean. “Dean. You’re sick. I’ll drive.”
Dean took the last bite of sausage. “’M fine, Sam.”
He insisted on driving. Sam eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.
A few miles past the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site, the heater stopped working.
“Shit.”
Sam woke with a start, fear bright in his eyes.
“It’s ok. The heat just crapped out.” Dean pulled over and poked around futilely at wires, but the heater would not respond. So he made Sam put on his warm coat and scarf, and Sam bundled Dean up like a little kid in a snowstorm, and Dean kept driving, gritting his teeth and shaking his head from time to time like a dog with water in its ears.
When they saw the Welcome to Texas sign, they grinned at each other like little kids.
By the time they neared Amarillo, Dean was noticeably shivering.
Sam was not, although he was quite cold. “Pull over.”
“Sam, I’m fine.”
“Pull the damn car over.” The command tone of Sam’s voice made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Dean pulled onto the shoulder. Sam put his hand on Dean’s forehead. “Fuck.”
Dean just blinked, unable to generate yet another protest when the truth was so clear.
“You’re burning up.”
“Freezing.”
Sam swore again. “Come on. I’m driving.” He made Dean switch places with him, looked over the map, and nodded. “Looks like there are some motels not too far. We’ll rest.”
Sam passed the first motel they saw from the highway.
Dean just looked at Sam, eyes bloodshot.
“It didn’t feel right.”
Dean tilted his head questioningly.
“I don’t know. I just… got a feeling.”
Sam drove a little farther, and then without warning, he took an exit.
Dean opened his mouth to speak, and erupted in a coughing fit. When he recovered, he said, “Where are you taking us?”
Sam pointed to a nondescript motel up ahead, with a faded sign that read Jaeger Motel.
“How did you see that from the road?”
Sam pursed his lips, then finally spoke. “I didn’t. I just…”
“Got a feeling?”
Sam gave Dean a look.
“I trust you, Sammy.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s leg.
“Ok.”
Behind them, a pair of headlights followed them off the highway onto the road leading to the motel.
Sam drove over a long, unbroken white shape like a speed bump that snaked in front of the entrance to the parking lot, and around the entire edge of the motel. He pulled the car up to the main office. “Wait here. I’ll check us in.”
Sam went inside.
The car, a dark sedan, drove into the parking lot—and stopped suddenly, with the front wheels over the white bump. Abruptly, the car went into reverse, and slowly drove away.
Sam rang the bell on the counter. Within a few moments, a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties came to the counter. “Hello.” Her voice was warm and resonant.
“I’d like a room, please.”
The woman looked at Sam with a curious kind of intensity. “Sure. Do you prefer ground floor or second floor?”
“Second floor.” John always had them stay on the second floor because he said they were less prone to break-ins.
She nodded like Sam just said something smart. “Just you?”
“No, it’s me and my…” Sam almost said brother, but hesitated. “My boyfriend.”
The woman’s face softened into a smile. “It’s ok. You’re among friends here.”
Sam exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath.
“I’m Juliane.” She extended her hand.
Sam thought fast. He couldn’t give her their real names. “I’m Paul. And my boyfriend’s name is Gene.”
“He’s waiting in the car?”
“He’s not feeling well.”
“Ah.” Juliane took a key down from the wall behind her. “The rooms are $40 a night.”
Sam reached into his pocket. “Is cash ok?”
Again, that rapid blink, like she was taking a photo. “That’s fine.” He put some bills down. “Two nights. To start.”
Juliane slid the key across the counter toward him. He reached for it, and his fingers accidentally brushed hers. She jerked her hand back as though she’d received a shock of static electricity. “Room 204.” She looked outside at the car. “Would you like any help bringing up your bags?”
“No thanks. We can handle it.”
Sam pulled the car into a parking space and tugged Dean out of the passenger seat. He swayed on his feet. “Dean?”
Dean shook his head. “M fine, Sammy.” Sam slung Dean’s duffel over his shoulder, the one with all the money in it, and supported Dean with his other arm. Dean leaned on him heavily, stumbling up the stairs, and practically staggered into the room.
“Lay down. I gotta get my bag. Be right back.” At the threshold, Sam paused, then opened Dean’s duffel and pulled out the salt. “Just to be safe.” He quickly laid down a thick salt line along the door and windows. “Ok. Be right back.”
Sam ran downstairs and got the rest of the stuff out of the car. As he headed back towards the stairs, Juliane came out of the office and walked toward him. “Wait! You gave me too much money—“
Above them, Dean opened the door to their room. “Gotta watch out for you…” He swayed on his feet, and then collapsed.
Sam raced up the stairs two at a time, and flung the bags onto the floor, dropping to his knees. “Dean?”
Dean was barely conscious, face pale, and sweating profusely.
Behind him, Juliane’s voice. “Is he alright? How can I help?”
Sam looked up at her, eyes bright with panic. She glanced down at the line of salt over the threshold.Sam’s mouth fell open, brain whirling, trying to spin an explanation.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I knew what you were the second I saw you.”
Sam turned pale, his hand involuntarily going to his knife.
“You’re a hunter. Both of you.”
Sam’s mouth fell open a little wider.
She stepped across the salt line and entered the room. “This whole place is warded. And the perimeter is protected.” Sam blinked in confusion. “The white bump you drove over? Pure salt.”
“You…”
“This place is a motel, but it’s also a safe haven for hunters. I’ll explain everything later.” She knelt alongside Dean. “What’s wrong with him?”
Sam stroked Dean’s forehead. “He’s just sick. I mean—it’s nothing supernatural. He just got the flu or something.”
Juliane shook her hair back over her shoulders.“He should be on the bed, yes?”
Sam picked up Dean and carried him to the bed, where he took off his heavy jacket and sweatshirt and laid him down. He tossed his head in protest, moaning. Juliane got a washcloth from the bathroom, soaked it in cool water and gave it to Sam. “Here. Cool his head down. I’ll be right back.”
Sam sat next to Dean on the bed placed the cool wet cloth on his forehead. He gasped like it burned, and then made a soft sound of pleasure.
“Does that feel good?”
Dean’s eyes opened. “Sammy?”
“I told her my name was Paul.” Sam smiled. “And you’re Gene. Cover names.”
“What, you didn’t want to be Ace?” Dean managed to make a small smile.
“Shhh… you just rest. Let me take care of you.”
Dean struggled, trying to sit up. “No way.”
“You’re really fucking sick. I’m all better now. And you’re gonna let me take care of you.”
“My job. Take care of you.” Dean muttered, falling back, as weak as a kitten.
“It’s my turn now.” Sam stroked Dean’s arm.
Dean hissed. “Skin hurts.”
“Sorry. I’ll be careful.” Sam placed his hand on Dean’s chest and just let it rest there. Whenever Dean got really sick, which had only happened a few times in Sam’s memory, his skin got so sensitive the slightest touch was painful.
Juliane returned with a bucket of ice, and a paper bag, from which she pulled a thermometer, a large bottle of yellow Gatorade, a bottle of Nyquil, and a bottle of Tylenol. “They’re all sealed. You can check them.”
Sam did.
Sam slipped the thermometer under Dean’s tongue. “103.2,” he read.
“Not good.”
Sam shook his head no, face creased with concern.Juliane poured a glass of Gatorade and gave it to Sam, along with the Tylenol. Sam blinked at her gratefully. “Thank you.”
Dean struggled to sit up, sweating profusely, swallowed the pills Sam gave him and fell back against the pillow.
“I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything tonight, ok?”Sam held Dean’s hand, and nodded.“Tomorrow, I’ll bring him some soup, and we can talk.”
Sam stood up. “Thank you. So much. I don’t even know what I would have done.”
Juliane smiled. “Good thing you found me.”
Sam blew out a breath through his nose. “No kidding.” He moved forward to hug her.
She sidestepped him deftly. “He needs you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She glanced at Dean. His eyes were open, vividly green, watching her intently.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
When she had left, and Sam had locked the door and set the wedge into place on the bottom edge, Dean murmured, “You check her?”
Sam wrapped some ice in the wet cloth and smoothed it over Dean’s forehead. “She’s one of the good guys, Dean. Plus, she crossed the salt line no problem.”
Dean frowned, then lay back and let Sam give him another drink of Gatorade, followed by a cupful of Nyquil, and then fell into a fever-fueled stupor.
Sam undressed him and put him into his sweats and softest t-shirt, and got him into bed. He sponged Dean’s face and chest with the ice-filled cloth, gently wiping away the drips of water with a dry cloth, until the ice bucket was nearly empty, and Dean was asleep.
Sam gently toweled off the drips of water that had run into Dean’s hair and down his neck, and kissed his forehead. Dean made a soft, happy sound. Sam’s shoulders slumped as the relief washed over him.
Then Sam changed into his sweats, pulled out his book, and climbed into bed next to Dean.
Dean stirred. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
Dean turned on his side and reached for Sam. "Love you."
Sam's smile reached all the way to his eyes. "I love you back."
Dean fell asleep with his hand on Sam's stomach. He read quietly and watched over Dean all night long.
Author:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I DO own the parts that I own.
Summary: John and Bobby try to find answers. Reggie tries to find the boys. Sam and Dean continue their road trip, while Dean tries to hide that he's sick.
Author's note: TRUST ME.
Bobby’s house was a hive of activity. Hunters coming and going, offering their services, delivering rare tomes that mentioned Azazel, relating information gathered from various supernatural creatures captured and pressed for information, the phones ringing with tips from people in the network who thought they might have seen the boys.
Bobby pored over the books with several hunters. John stood over a large map unfolded over the kitchen table, with markings of where people had searched, the radius of how far the boys could have gotten so far, likely places they might have gone. His ear was bright red from having a phone pressed to it for so long. Half-full coffee cups were everywhere. No one touched the whiskey before it got dark.
They all worked doggedly, frenetically, to learn what Azazel could possibly want with Sam, and how to stop him.
Meanwhile, Reggie was hunting the boys.
The first thing he did when they learned the boys had run away from home was ask to be left alone in the boys’ room. He examined every page of the notebook of Sam’s drawings, which weren’t half bad. He went through the belongings they had left behind—books, summer clothes, action figures, Dean’s cowboy boots on the floor of the closet. He sat on the bed and just looked around for a very long time, taking in everything. The football on the dresser. Action figures on the desk. Then he lay back and rested his head on the pillow, thinking.
He rolled onto his side, absently stroking his moustache, and his eyes fell to the Dallas Cowboys comforter. He sat up quickly.
Downstairs, he gathered his things. “I’m heading out. I’ll check in with you as often as I can.” He patted John on the shoulder.
John looked old, exhausted, sick with worry. He looked at Reggie with grief that was almost unbearable. Reggie knew that look well.
“Reg. You find my boys.”
Reggie pulled out a toothpick from the box in his pocket. “Don’t worry. I reckon I will.”
~
Sam and Dean barely slept that night, the words of their father about Sam and the demon echoing in their minds. They simply wrapped themselves around each other beneath the blankets, as tight as they could.
Dean wouldn’t let himself sleep, and when he did fall into a light slumber, he awoke with a start, heart pounding, skin damp from panic sweat.
Sam just wouldn’t sleep.
In the morning, Sam looked awful, with huge bags under his eyes, but he was oddly cheerful.
Dean gave him a quizzical look.
“Hey. If Azazel says I’m not to be touched, I guess we might as well relax for a little while. Right? I mean, I’m not in immediate danger.”
Dean wanted to protest, but Sam had a point. They didn’t know why the demon had such an interest in Sam, but at least for now, they probably had a pass from whatever demons were around.
It wasn’t much. But Dean would take it, hang onto it like a life preserver.
Dean exerted superhuman effort to stifle his need to cough. But the flushing of his cheeks was not something even he could control through sheer force of will.
Sam came up to Dean, eyes dark with worry. “You sick?”
Dean waved him off. “I’m fine.”
Before Dean could stop him, Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead. The way Mary used to, to check if the boys had a fever. The way Dean had always checked if Sam had one.
“You’re sick.” Sam’s brow furrowed.
“Sam. It’s just a cold. We’ll stop for cold medicine.”
Sam looked perplexed.
“You still want to go to Texas?”
“But. I… Dean. The demon. Me. I…”
“Nothing we can do about that here, right?”
Sam’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Sam couldn’t fault Dean’s logic. They weren’t about to go back, go back home, or to the place that served some of that idealized location’s functions. There was nothing keeping them there, and both of them knew Reggie was on their trail. So they might as well press on.
“So let’s keep going. Make it a real road trip. Stop wherever we want, do whatever we want…”
“Eat whatever we want…” Sam continued, a smile breaking over his face. Road trips with John were always on his timetable, his agenda.
Sam loaded their bags into the car, and Dean drove them to a gas station to fill up and pick up some cold medicine and tons of road food: beef jerky, chips, root beer, tuna sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, Rolos, Hostess fruit pies, and Hawaiian Punch for Sam.
They took turns driving. Dean found a classic rock station, and they enjoyed that for a while.
They didn’t talk about it.
They both knew that as mad as they were at John, he was one of the finest hunters on the planet. Bobby and his contacts could find out anything about anything. If anyone on Earth could figure out what was going on, it was those two men. And until they found out something, there was really nothing to talk about.
So they drove and shared their road snacks, and stared at each other more than the road, and held each other’s hand. Sam popped Rolos one at a time into Dean’s mouth as he drove. When it was Sam’s turn, Dean peeled hard-boiled eggs for him, sprinkling salt from the little paper packets all over the top, spilling onto his jeans, and holding them up for Sam to take bites.
At rest stops, they kissed, but were too exhausted and overwhelmed for anything more.
When Sam needed to use the facilities in private, Dean waited outside—and as soon as Sam was inside, he doubled over, coughing hard, wheezing in breaths that were meant to be deep, but triggered another coughing fit. He had barely recovered, wiping his watering eyes and chugging more cold medicine, when Sam came around the corner. He quickly composed himself, and Sam didn’t notice.
They ate lunch at a place near Denver that was built to look like Bent’s Old Fort, made out of adobe, with waiters carrying period rifles and powder horns. As soon as they cracked the menu, Dean ordered them a whiskey with real gunpowder. Then he declared Sam had to order “Sam’s Buffalo Boudie,” which was an authentic type of sausage. Sam agreed, laughing, and dared Dean to order Rocky Mountain Oysters. Dean took the dare—and then as soon as the waiter put the plate of fried testicles in front of him, insisted Sam split it with him, and that Sam had to share his sausage.
They each took a Rocky Mountain Oyster and ate it at the same time.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“This is good.”
Sam laughed. “Who knew?”
They ate slowly, enjoying the meal and their surroundings. Sam drank three cups of coffee, but despite it, he started nodding off.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. You can sleep in the car.”
Sam shook his head stubbornly, hair flying in his eyes. “My turn to drive.”
Dean brought his leg forward and pressed it against Sam’s under the table. “You’re too tired. Not safe.”
Sam took another bite of the buffalo sausage and slid the plate over to Dean. “Dean. You’re sick. I’ll drive.”
Dean took the last bite of sausage. “’M fine, Sam.”
He insisted on driving. Sam eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.
A few miles past the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site, the heater stopped working.
“Shit.”
Sam woke with a start, fear bright in his eyes.
“It’s ok. The heat just crapped out.” Dean pulled over and poked around futilely at wires, but the heater would not respond. So he made Sam put on his warm coat and scarf, and Sam bundled Dean up like a little kid in a snowstorm, and Dean kept driving, gritting his teeth and shaking his head from time to time like a dog with water in its ears.
When they saw the Welcome to Texas sign, they grinned at each other like little kids.
By the time they neared Amarillo, Dean was noticeably shivering.
Sam was not, although he was quite cold. “Pull over.”
“Sam, I’m fine.”
“Pull the damn car over.” The command tone of Sam’s voice made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Dean pulled onto the shoulder. Sam put his hand on Dean’s forehead. “Fuck.”
Dean just blinked, unable to generate yet another protest when the truth was so clear.
“You’re burning up.”
“Freezing.”
Sam swore again. “Come on. I’m driving.” He made Dean switch places with him, looked over the map, and nodded. “Looks like there are some motels not too far. We’ll rest.”
Sam passed the first motel they saw from the highway.
Dean just looked at Sam, eyes bloodshot.
“It didn’t feel right.”
Dean tilted his head questioningly.
“I don’t know. I just… got a feeling.”
Sam drove a little farther, and then without warning, he took an exit.
Dean opened his mouth to speak, and erupted in a coughing fit. When he recovered, he said, “Where are you taking us?”
Sam pointed to a nondescript motel up ahead, with a faded sign that read Jaeger Motel.
“How did you see that from the road?”
Sam pursed his lips, then finally spoke. “I didn’t. I just…”
“Got a feeling?”
Sam gave Dean a look.
“I trust you, Sammy.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s leg.
“Ok.”
Behind them, a pair of headlights followed them off the highway onto the road leading to the motel.
Sam drove over a long, unbroken white shape like a speed bump that snaked in front of the entrance to the parking lot, and around the entire edge of the motel. He pulled the car up to the main office. “Wait here. I’ll check us in.”
Sam went inside.
The car, a dark sedan, drove into the parking lot—and stopped suddenly, with the front wheels over the white bump. Abruptly, the car went into reverse, and slowly drove away.
Sam rang the bell on the counter. Within a few moments, a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties came to the counter. “Hello.” Her voice was warm and resonant.
“I’d like a room, please.”
The woman looked at Sam with a curious kind of intensity. “Sure. Do you prefer ground floor or second floor?”
“Second floor.” John always had them stay on the second floor because he said they were less prone to break-ins.
She nodded like Sam just said something smart. “Just you?”
“No, it’s me and my…” Sam almost said brother, but hesitated. “My boyfriend.”
The woman’s face softened into a smile. “It’s ok. You’re among friends here.”
Sam exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath.
“I’m Juliane.” She extended her hand.
Sam thought fast. He couldn’t give her their real names. “I’m Paul. And my boyfriend’s name is Gene.”
“He’s waiting in the car?”
“He’s not feeling well.”
“Ah.” Juliane took a key down from the wall behind her. “The rooms are $40 a night.”
Sam reached into his pocket. “Is cash ok?”
Again, that rapid blink, like she was taking a photo. “That’s fine.” He put some bills down. “Two nights. To start.”
Juliane slid the key across the counter toward him. He reached for it, and his fingers accidentally brushed hers. She jerked her hand back as though she’d received a shock of static electricity. “Room 204.” She looked outside at the car. “Would you like any help bringing up your bags?”
“No thanks. We can handle it.”
Sam pulled the car into a parking space and tugged Dean out of the passenger seat. He swayed on his feet. “Dean?”
Dean shook his head. “M fine, Sammy.” Sam slung Dean’s duffel over his shoulder, the one with all the money in it, and supported Dean with his other arm. Dean leaned on him heavily, stumbling up the stairs, and practically staggered into the room.
“Lay down. I gotta get my bag. Be right back.” At the threshold, Sam paused, then opened Dean’s duffel and pulled out the salt. “Just to be safe.” He quickly laid down a thick salt line along the door and windows. “Ok. Be right back.”
Sam ran downstairs and got the rest of the stuff out of the car. As he headed back towards the stairs, Juliane came out of the office and walked toward him. “Wait! You gave me too much money—“
Above them, Dean opened the door to their room. “Gotta watch out for you…” He swayed on his feet, and then collapsed.
Sam raced up the stairs two at a time, and flung the bags onto the floor, dropping to his knees. “Dean?”
Dean was barely conscious, face pale, and sweating profusely.
Behind him, Juliane’s voice. “Is he alright? How can I help?”
Sam looked up at her, eyes bright with panic. She glanced down at the line of salt over the threshold.Sam’s mouth fell open, brain whirling, trying to spin an explanation.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I knew what you were the second I saw you.”
Sam turned pale, his hand involuntarily going to his knife.
“You’re a hunter. Both of you.”
Sam’s mouth fell open a little wider.
She stepped across the salt line and entered the room. “This whole place is warded. And the perimeter is protected.” Sam blinked in confusion. “The white bump you drove over? Pure salt.”
“You…”
“This place is a motel, but it’s also a safe haven for hunters. I’ll explain everything later.” She knelt alongside Dean. “What’s wrong with him?”
Sam stroked Dean’s forehead. “He’s just sick. I mean—it’s nothing supernatural. He just got the flu or something.”
Juliane shook her hair back over her shoulders.“He should be on the bed, yes?”
Sam picked up Dean and carried him to the bed, where he took off his heavy jacket and sweatshirt and laid him down. He tossed his head in protest, moaning. Juliane got a washcloth from the bathroom, soaked it in cool water and gave it to Sam. “Here. Cool his head down. I’ll be right back.”
Sam sat next to Dean on the bed placed the cool wet cloth on his forehead. He gasped like it burned, and then made a soft sound of pleasure.
“Does that feel good?”
Dean’s eyes opened. “Sammy?”
“I told her my name was Paul.” Sam smiled. “And you’re Gene. Cover names.”
“What, you didn’t want to be Ace?” Dean managed to make a small smile.
“Shhh… you just rest. Let me take care of you.”
Dean struggled, trying to sit up. “No way.”
“You’re really fucking sick. I’m all better now. And you’re gonna let me take care of you.”
“My job. Take care of you.” Dean muttered, falling back, as weak as a kitten.
“It’s my turn now.” Sam stroked Dean’s arm.
Dean hissed. “Skin hurts.”
“Sorry. I’ll be careful.” Sam placed his hand on Dean’s chest and just let it rest there. Whenever Dean got really sick, which had only happened a few times in Sam’s memory, his skin got so sensitive the slightest touch was painful.
Juliane returned with a bucket of ice, and a paper bag, from which she pulled a thermometer, a large bottle of yellow Gatorade, a bottle of Nyquil, and a bottle of Tylenol. “They’re all sealed. You can check them.”
Sam did.
Sam slipped the thermometer under Dean’s tongue. “103.2,” he read.
“Not good.”
Sam shook his head no, face creased with concern.Juliane poured a glass of Gatorade and gave it to Sam, along with the Tylenol. Sam blinked at her gratefully. “Thank you.”
Dean struggled to sit up, sweating profusely, swallowed the pills Sam gave him and fell back against the pillow.
“I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything tonight, ok?”Sam held Dean’s hand, and nodded.“Tomorrow, I’ll bring him some soup, and we can talk.”
Sam stood up. “Thank you. So much. I don’t even know what I would have done.”
Juliane smiled. “Good thing you found me.”
Sam blew out a breath through his nose. “No kidding.” He moved forward to hug her.
She sidestepped him deftly. “He needs you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She glanced at Dean. His eyes were open, vividly green, watching her intently.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
When she had left, and Sam had locked the door and set the wedge into place on the bottom edge, Dean murmured, “You check her?”
Sam wrapped some ice in the wet cloth and smoothed it over Dean’s forehead. “She’s one of the good guys, Dean. Plus, she crossed the salt line no problem.”
Dean frowned, then lay back and let Sam give him another drink of Gatorade, followed by a cupful of Nyquil, and then fell into a fever-fueled stupor.
Sam undressed him and put him into his sweats and softest t-shirt, and got him into bed. He sponged Dean’s face and chest with the ice-filled cloth, gently wiping away the drips of water with a dry cloth, until the ice bucket was nearly empty, and Dean was asleep.
Sam gently toweled off the drips of water that had run into Dean’s hair and down his neck, and kissed his forehead. Dean made a soft, happy sound. Sam’s shoulders slumped as the relief washed over him.
Then Sam changed into his sweats, pulled out his book, and climbed into bed next to Dean.
Dean stirred. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
Dean turned on his side and reached for Sam. "Love you."
Sam's smile reached all the way to his eyes. "I love you back."
Dean fell asleep with his hand on Sam's stomach. He read quietly and watched over Dean all night long.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Oh man, this is just a fever right? I mean, Reggie's not going to find them and see that Dean's really bad and Sam says that he tried everything and nothing works and Reggie has to tell him that he's got demon fever or something like that right?
Right?
no subject
God, I really hope it's just the flu. And that this 'safe haven' really is as safe as it seems.
But why is the girl flinching and blinking and refusing a Sammy-hug? This is probably not good. Also: As yet unidentified possible baddy in a car? Really not good.
And lastly: I like Reggie and seeing as he's hot on our boys' trail, I'm hoping for only good things to come of that at least, for once. *nods*
Thank you for another intriguing instalment!
no subject
Poor Dean. It's always kind of fun to see Sam take control and be the caretaker openly instead of just subtly. :)
no subject
no subject
As for you introducing new characters? Well I always trust you there. :)
no subject
no subject
no subject
But I love him taking care of Dean, taking responsibility and finding them safety and shelter.
Thankfully Reggie is on his way, I hope he gets to them before anything bad happens.
Poor Dean, he's really really sick. Juliane is a hunter, and her place is warded. But it seems soooo convenient. I trust you, no doubt, I just. Our boys find trouble.
no subject
And I think (know!) that Reggie will find them. And Dean only has the flu, right?
<3
no subject
no subject
no subject