A/N: Hey guys, here are some more odds and ends from the various rockin' memes around LJ. The first two stories here are gen and then we get into Sam/Dean territory. And uhhh at the end we get into porny sneezy territory. LOL. Run. Run now.

Prompts are at the end of each story.

Ho Ho Ho


"Ho ho ho."

Dean looks up from his coffee as Sam sets a crinkling plastic shopping bag in front of him on the motel kitchen table. The surprise is enough to start him coughing and he jams a fist in front of his mouth even as he flushes with happiness.

Sam sits down across from him, waiting patiently as he gets the fit under control. He sips from his own mug and with great restraint, does not thump his brother on the back.

"Is this what I think it is?" Dean pants and sniffles and wipes his nose on his fingers. He's so congested he sounds like a tuba.

"Merry Christmas!" Sam stirs some more sugar into his cup and watches Dean pull out the first package. The grin on big bro's face is a mile wide. The wrapper comes off in a frenzy of ripping and shredding, falls to the floor.

Dean's smile falters. He examines the gift in his hands. "A box of Kleenex?"

Sam licks coffee droplets off his spoon. "It seemed like something you might be able to use."

"Ha ha." Dean sets it aside, digs through the bag and pulls out a smaller present. He turns it over in his hands, holds it up to his ear and shakes it. "Sounds like diamonds," he says.

"Nope. It's a puppy."

The tip of Dean's tongue pokes out over his lips as he negotiates the layers of Scotch tape, to produce...


Sam smiles innocently. "Fruit-flavoured. They're practically candy."

Dean coughs softly, puts the package aside with careful composure. "It's good to know these are here in case one of us gets sick."

Sam almost chokes on a mouthful of dark roast. "Mm-hmm."

Dean unwraps a hot water bottle, which he sneezes all over, a pot of vapor rub which he pretends is muscle ointment, and finally a package of cold and flu pills, which he holds in both hands and looks at for a long time.

"Sam, you sneaky dog," he says, digging a thumb into his temple. "You got me all worked up for presents."

"I'm gonna take care of you, man." Sam peels the plastic layer off the box of tissues. "Breakfast in bed. Cool cloths on your forehead. I'll even sing you Christmas carols."

Dean watches Sam unscrew the cap of the hot water bottle. "That doesn't count."

Sam takes the empty rubber bag to the sink and runs the taps. He hears Dean furtively blowing his nose. "Okay," he says, returning and setting the full bladder of water on the table. He puts another bag beside it, a shopping bag that matches the first.

Dean squints up at him, nose reddened. He gasps and sneezes explosively into his palm.

"Here." Sam slides the Kleenex box across the table so that it's right under his brother. Dean blinks at it, then defeatedly plucks three out crackles into them.

"What'd you..." Dean looks at the new shopping bag with watery eyes. "More presents?"

"Yeah, man. Go on."

Dean's shivering now, pale and washed out from the effort of sitting at the table. Sam drapes a blanket around his shoulders, and one around his own for appearances.

Dean's face lights up at the new gifts. "Bootlaces."

"Yeah, I saw one of yours was broken."

"These look awesome." He keeps going, paper piling up around him on the floor. "Hey, a three-pack of cotton tees!"

"Yours are all holey. And there was that one we ripped up for bandages."

Dean scratches his forearm, where stitches still pucker the surface. "Can never have too many shirts."

"Here, check this one out." Sam pulls the bag off of the last present. It's in a blank white envelope, small and flat and hard.

Dean considers Sam's face, then slides the handle of his coffee spoon in under the flap, saws ceremoniously at the paper. He pulls out a shiny new credit card.

"Aw, Sammy." He tilts it in the light, sags a little in relief. "This is a real load off."

"Read the name."

Dean brings the plastic up to his face. "Bruce Atman?"

Sam waits for it to sink in.

"B. Atman! Batman! I get to be Batman!"

Dean's coughing again and this time Sam lets himself get up and help knock a little phlegm loose. His hand lingers on Dean's shoulder.

"These are great, Sam."



"Good." Sam helps Dean up, steers him toward the bed.

"I just got you a T-shirt of that stupid band you like."

"That's awesome!" Sam tucks Dean in, slides the hot water bottle against his belly, opens the package of pills. "I love it already, man."

"Are you really gonna sing to me?"

Sam puts the box of Kleenex on the bed in front of Dean. He opens the pack of lozenges. "Anything you want."

Dean blows his pink nose and takes the pills. "Sing me something by that band."

"The stupid band I like?"

Dean smears vapor rub above his lip and sucks on a lozenge. "They're not that stupid."

Sam sits down against the head board and tugs the comforter up over the back of Dean's pale neck. "Okay. Close your eyes and listen."

Dean sleeps for most of Christmas. When he wakes up, it's dark outside, and he feels better.



Prompt: Dean will not admit he's sick. Christmas morning Sam has some presents for him. All wrapped up and everything. What could they be? ! OH. Kleenex, Advil, a hot water bottle, cough syrup etc... WHATEVER. Dean isn't amused. And now he's sick and wants some real presents, damn it, because Sammy got his hopes up. And Sam is all, MY PRESENT IS TAKING CARE OF YOU. And Dean is all THAT DOES NOT COUNT.

Backseat Bed



Two very large comforters
One woolen blanket
Two bedsheets (optional)
Duffel bags, packed
Pillows (to taste)


1. Place duffel bags in footwells. This will prevent a very ill individual from rolling off the makeshift bed and harming himself further.
2. Separate comforters; set one aside.
3. Fold first comforter lengthwise into three even parts. Layer it over the seat and as much of the bags as it will cover. This is your padding, to help relieve aches and cushion your charge from bumps in the road.
4. If sheets are being used, spread both over the base layer at this time.
5. Smooth second comforter over everything.
6. Fold woolen blanket widthwise in three. Place it at the end of the bed where the patient's feet will be, open end facing the head so that a gentle tug will pull the blanket up and over your guest, sealing him inside a warming layer of insulation.
7. Fluff pillows. Set them at the head of the bed. If your charge is tactile he may benefit from an extra one to hold.
8. Insert patient.



Prompt: Dean's sick and Sam makes him an awesome comfortable makeshift bed in the backseat of the Impala.

Long Johns


Sometimes Dean likes his space.

Sam follows him into the room and sees two twin beds. He sets down his duffel bag, lets out a disappointed breath.


Stretched out, bedside lamp off, Sam watches Dean pull off his flannel shirt, his Henley, his jeans. He raises his eyebrows at the long johns that glow pale grey in the room.

Dean lies down on top of the covers, pulls the comforter around himself. He nestles into it, frowns and shuts his eyes. His light stays on.


Sam buys Dean slippers at a Christmas craft sale at the town hall. They're made of forest green wool, all thick and solid and scratchy.

He puts them on Dean's bed the next night. When Dean finds them he gives Sam the funniest look.


"It's been a week."

Pulling his jeans on over his long underwear, Dean glances up at Sam. "Yeah? Since what?"

"Since you took those things off."

Dean rubs a hand across the pale grey material coccooning his belly. "So?"

"So it's not even that cold out." Sam approaches slowly so as not to spook him. He strokes Dean's cool, cottony shoulders. "It's laundry day. Lemme do these. I'll find another way to keep you warm."

Dean frowns but sways into Sam's embrace in spite of himself. After a minute his arms come up around Sam, chilly fingers poking up under Sam's shirt. Sam flinches, squeezes Dean tight. "Jeez. You been juggling ice cubes?"


Every inch of Dean that can possibly be in contact with Sam is jammed up against some part of him. The tremors are easing off and even the chilliest parts of Dean, the toe-parts and the finger-parts and the nose-part, they're all at least lukewarm now, they're not like so many snowballs in the bed.

Sam pulls away just enough to kiss Dean's smooth forehead.

"You get that I like holding you, right?"

Dean stiffens just a little.

"I would have done this. I would have done this every night."

Dean shivers one more time and turns to jelly. "I know."


Dean climbs into Sam's bed that night. He spoons up close to Sam and doesn't let go. Sam covers Dean's cool fingers with his big warm palms.

Next town, they get a King.



Prompt: It was September when Dean got out of Hell. Warm enough, though nothing compared to the Pit. Now it's winter and Dean is always, always cold. After 40 years of hellfire, he has no tolerance left for "arctic crapholes". I'd like slashy body heat and cuddling with Sam, the less clothes the better, with a side of shivering, traumatized, Dean. Bonus points if Dean doesn't want to ask for it because he feels weak and Sam tells him it's ok to need it.

Operation Popsicle


"Are you still cold?" Sam shifts under the covers, tents them up for a look at the goosebumps on Dean's pale arm. He runs a palm up and down the bare skin, all the way down to Dean's bluish fingernails, all the way up under the hem of his T-shirt.

Sam props himself up on one elbow, tucks the blanket back down around his brother. He chafes urgent circles into Dean's back. "I think we gotta step up Operation Popsicle here."

Dean sniffles and pokes his cold nose into Sam's collar bone. "Whaddya mean?"

"The next phase." Sam strokes down to the top of Dean's ass, gives it a soft pat. "Bathtub."

"You wanna take a bath?" Dean yawns, smacks his soft lips against Sam's chest. They're cool, like he just came in from the snow. Not like he came in from the snow an hour ago and has been cuddling with Sam ever since.

"Yeah. Totally a bath."


Dean's cold in the bed alone so he sits next to Sam on the edge of the tub, the bath mat folded carefully under him. Sam rubs his back and kisses his hair and Dean just puts his head on Sam's shoulder, nuzzles sleepily at his neck. Water thunders into the basin and Sam tests it with his fingertips, wonders about Dean's chilliness lately, wonders if hell is hot like all the accounts seem to say. That many stories together, there's usually something to them.

"Okay." He peels off Dean's tee, watches his brother's dazed face crease with displeasure. Dean shudders unhappily but doesn't make a sound. Boxers off, Dean sinks into the steaming water. He gasps, skin turning bright red, but Sam knows it's not that hot, Sam's hand is in the water right now. This temperature shouldn't hurt. "How you doing?"

Dean blinks up at Sam, eyes wider than they've been since he walked in from the storm.

Sam hesitates. "Is this helping?"

But Dean's not seeing him. His eyes are shiny now, fixed on something Sam can't see. He shivers once and drops himself deeper into the bath. His jaw bones stand out sharply.

"Hey." Sam passes a palm over Dean's cool forehead, squeezes the back of his neck. The red chest rises and falls unevenly. "Talk to me."

Dean turns his face into Sam's palm and pushes out a shaky sigh.


"Got us hats," Sam says later, tugging the thick black wool down over Dean's ears. He winds a scarf around his brother's neck, does up the top button on his coat. "Gotta keep warm out there, right?"

Dean blows his nose and shivers and takes a sip from his flask. He watches Sam pull on his own hat. "I swear winter was never this cold."

Sam thinks maybe he's right.



Prompt: It was September when Dean got out of Hell. Warm enough, though nothing compared to the Pit. Now it's winter and Dean is always, always cold. After 40 years of hellfire, he has no tolerance left for "arctic crapholes". I'd like slashy body heat and cuddling with Sam, the less clothes the better, with a side of shivering, traumatized, Dean. Bonus points if Dean doesn't want to ask for it because he feels weak and Sam tells him it's ok to need it.

Plague Rat


"This." Sam taps the rubbery plasticky stipply surface of the arm of Rick Ryan's office chair. "Get this." He shifts out of the way in the crowded cubicle, scans the aisle as Dean leans closer. Sam watches the path out to the bathrooms and elevators, nods at the man with the kitten calendar three rows over. He listens to Dean's breath stutter and quicken, nods at the harsh explosion.


"Good." Sam pats Dean's shoulder, gazes down at Ryan's keyboard. He points. "Definitely that."

Sniffling and hunched, Dean turns his face in the direction indicated, eyes squinted up. "Hehhhhh... HEH-XXISHSHoo! Hh-hh-XSHSH!"

"Nice." Sam grabs a mug of mismatched pens, pulls it across the desk. "Here, man. Got another one in you?"

"Heh... hunnhhh." Dean sniffles, sits down heavily in the rolling chair. It bounces on its springs. "Yeah. Gibbee a biddut."

Sam smiles politely at kitten man, glances back up the corridor and sees Ryan striding toward them. Ryan's looking at a neat little row of miniature cacti lined up inside another cubicle, and not at Sam.

"Crap." Sam ducks down beside his brother. "Hurry it up, man."

"I ehhh... I cad't just... YOU sdeeze!"

"I don't have the plague." Sam picks up a pencil and holds it up close to Dean's face. "Sorry." He takes the eraser and traces the outside of a red, irritated nostril.


Dean gasps and scowls into a ridiculous, straining face. "Ihhhg..."

Sam tips the eraser inside to poke at Dean's nose hairs, holds the cup out hopefully.


Sam slams the mug down and drags his snuffling, red-faced brother out by his sleeve. In the elevator he straightens Dean's jacket, smoothes the hair into place on his too-warm scalp. "A-plus, man."

Dean blows his nose in answer.

"Is that... is that a Post-It?"

"I'm an improvisor, Sam." He sniffs and tosses the notepaper on the floor. "I work with what's at hand."

Sam slips his hands into Dean's back pockets and kisses his hot forehead. "Yeah you do."



Prompt: I'd love to see a fic where it's Dean's job to get another guy sick. Um. Like maybe they're on a case and they need to have this random guy take a few days off work (so they can investigate something), and Dean of course has a very sneezy cold. They go in and do their best to make sure the dude gets Dean's cold. This can either involve meeting him/interacting with him (and his reaction?), or just going into his office and sneezing on things.

Tied Up


"We can do this later."

"I don't wanna do it later."

"Dean..." His forehead is warm under Sam's palm and Sam brushes over the soft skin into Dean's chilly hair. "You need sleep. You need fluids."

Dean's face is stony against the deep red pillowcase. "I need to be safe." He reaches up with his free hand, runs his thumb along the inside of Sam's wrist. "Help me be safe."

Sam drops his head, pushes out a breath. "Ugh." He straightens out the scratchy yellow rope, fastens Dean's eager arm to the bed post. Patting his brother's chest through the damp black T-shirt, he slides off the bed. "Okay, go."

"What about my feet?"

Sam crosses his arms, considers his flushed, grimy brother. There's still straw in his hair for God's sake. "You think it'll make a difference?"

"Uh, hello." Dean curls his legs up and rocks until his feet are up over his head, straining toward the wall. Unfolding stiffly, he pants, face purple. "Okay, so maybe I'm not at my most limber." He coughs into his armpit and Sam watches and waits, knife ready in his hand to cut him loose.

"Geez. Dean."

"It's fine." Dean sucks in a set of wheezy breaths and sighs. "I'm good."

"So go."

Dean twists one wrist against the rope, then the other, his face settling into a frown of concentration. "You call these knots?"

Sam rolls his eyes, paces up and down the bed to keep himself from setting Dean free. "Just get out."

Dean pushes a fist upward, forcing the rope toward the thicker end of his arm, then slides it back toward his wrist. He bottlenecks at his hand, then repeats the motion, working to loosen the hole. Sam's so busy watching Dean's arm scratch redder and redder that he has no idea the sneeze is coming until-


Sam opens his mouth, closes it. His fingers are instantly at his mouth, gaze fixed on Dean's pink nostrils. They pinch in as he sniffles, flare as he exhales. "Oh," says Sam.

"Oh," Dean repeats. He's watching Sam and Sam feels his face get hot and red. "Well hello."

"Uh." Sam shakes himself. "Need a tissue?"

Dean sniffles and shifts his ass against the bed. "Yeah."

Sam plucks one from the box and folds it neatly around his brother's nose. Blood rushes to his groin as Dean blows into it with a sound like heavy rain. "Oh God."

Dean's eyes are shiny when Sam dabs the last of the wetness away and crumples the warm Kleenex in his palm.

"Dean we don't have to do this..."

Dean swallows, flexes his toes. "I want to."

"Okay. Yeah. I know." Sam backs away from the bed, mouths distractedly at the back of his hand. "I'm gonna go make you some soup."


Sam stares as Dean screws up his face and relaxes it again, watches his chest rise and fall unevenly. The irritated nostrils puff out and contract in time with hoarse noises from Dean's throat.


"Huh-huh-huh-ohGod." Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth and jerks inward, hips rising off the mattress with the force of his sneeze. "Huh-XXSHSHSH!"

"Dean... I don't think I can-"

Dean snuffles and blows out a teary breath. "Uhhh-hh-HEH-XXSHSHoo!"

Sam's on top of Dean, lipping at his hairline like a horse after sugar cubes, his hand past Dean's belt and securely inside his jeans.

"Sabb! Cut it out!"

Sam drops reverent kisses up and down Dean's warm nose. "Hmmm?"

"After, okay?"

Sam raises himself up, blinks down at his brother. "After?"

"When I get free, okay?" Dean sniffles, a thin clear trail glistening down to his lip. "It'll be our reward."

Producing a tissue, Sam brings it to Dean's nose and shapes it just right. The crackling warmth between his fingers is almost too much. But Sam's a fucking champion, and somehow he extracts his hand from Dean's pants and gets off the bed and stands, head buzzing, fingers thrumming with want. "I think that I can't be here."

Hey, hey." Dean licks his lips, relaxed and heavy on the bed. "Let's play a game."

Sam rubs his palms together to keep from plastering them all over his flushed, panting brother. "What?"

"Every time I sneeze, you tie an extra rope on."

Sam stares. "But... that means it's longer until..."

"That means we earn our reward."

Sam swallows. "What if we just fuck and then you practice getting out of ropes another time?"

Dean's eyes glint with perversion. He appraises the bulge in Sam's jeans. "Nope."

"Ugh." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "I hate you."


Dean's ankles are bound and his wrists are fucking bleeding and his eyes are glazed and he's breathing in little concentrated sips of air and looking at a faraway point and his nose is getting redder all the time and Sam can't handle it anymore because he's only human and nothing has ever been as sexy as this. Dean's warm and spread out on the bed, making these whimpering gasping sounds as his nostrils expand and contract like a heartbeat, like Sam's heartbeat pulsing in his groin, like the blood pounding through the vein in Dean's thigh, right next to that maddening tent in his pants.

"Okay." Sam undoes the button on Dean's fly and watches Dean register him hazily from underneath the coma of his oncoming sneeze. "Good game, Dean." Dean's lashes flutter like moths and he holds his breath, lets it out in a slow groan. "We won." Sam pushes up Dean's filthy shirt and kisses his belly button and feels the muscles dip and tense under him, feels them push up against his lips as Dean stutters up a wide and varied breath. "Ohhhhhhhh." He works Dean's zipper down and cradles him through his shorts, cups the hard warmth, runs his palm along the soft fabric.

"Jesus, Sabb." Dean's words are mostly air and they're so nasal that Sam moans involuntarily against his belly, nosing his way up toward Dean's chest. "What are you- hh- doigg?"

"I'll show you." Sam lays himself down on top of Dean, all along the length of him, his hand running up Dean's feverish side and back down to cradle his ass, cock finding cock through layers of clothes. Sam groans happily at the contact and immediately Dean's grinding up into him. Dean's shaky inhale pushes Sam up and he sinks on the exhale, like a boat at sea.

"Fuck." Dean strains upward and sniffles. "Sabb."

"I've got you." Sam kisses the tip of Dean's blushing nose and Dean's nostrils flare.

"HH- HOH. HH-HEH..."

"Yes." Sam's pressing himself to Dean's hips and Dean's squirming up under him and Sam's got a double handful of Dean's hot ass, his hot safe unmaimed ass, and life does not get any better.



Sam bandages Dean's arms and brings him soup and kisses his pink nose. They read about knots on Sam's laptop and doze through a night and a day in a tangle of warm limbs. Outside, there are monsters.



Prompt: Sneezekink!Sam/Dean. After a night of being tied up and having to be rescued by awesome!Sam, Dean decides he needs some practice getting out of ropes. Unfortunately, he keeps sneezing and distracting them both. Sam jokingly makes a rule that every time he sneezes, Sam ties on another knot/tie/rope. Okay, that's fine, but then Dean makes another rule: Sam can't touch him (except to tie ropes) until he gets himself free. Frustration and sexytimes ensue.