TITLE: Potshots
AUTHOR: mad_server
CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG13
SPOILERS: Nah
WORDS: 500
A/N: Super-duper belatedly, for the May '11 meme at Hoodie Time.
SUMMARY: Sam and sneezy Dean crash in a hayloft.


Sam peers out through the knothole in the hayloft wall, down at the windows of the main farm house. The motion-activated floodlight switches off, plunging the snowy yard into cool dimness.

"Think we're good," Sam sighs, turning just in time to take a faceful of straw. The blast in his ear registers. "Was that... did you just sneeze straw at me?"

"It was ahh... ahhhh... HR-ZZZSHSH!"

"Bless you. Jesus." Sam feels the floor beside him for his duffel bag, pulls out a smooth box. "Here, I got you a present."

"A prehh... hh-hh-hehhh..."

"You're like a caricature of yourself. Take the box, man."

Heh-TTCHCHooo! GKZSHX! Uh-huh-HDGSHSHSH!"

"You versus Sneezy the dwarf. Who do you think would win?"

Sam's eyes have adjusted enough that he can make out Dean turning the package over in his hands. Sam pulls out his phone and lights up the screen, watches Dean snort in recognition. "Kleedex!"

"Yeah. Use it in good health."

"If I was idd good health I wouldd't deed it." Dean rips through the plastic and pushes a handful of tissues to his face. "Uhh... hh-hh-hh-hoo... hh-hah-hh-hah-hh-hah-hh-hh-HAXTCH! DGEZZSHuh! Heh-XXTSHSHee! Whoa." He gurgles heartily into the Kleenex.

Sam whistles, impressed. "Goddamn. Well, that settles it. You need someplace warm to curl up, stat. Gimme a hand with this hay."

Dean jerks with another wet sneeze, and another. "Holy shit," he breathes, and lobs the used paper into a dark corner. "Sabb, I... ihh-XSHXSHSH-XSHSH!" He blows his nose again and hesitates, panting into the new tissues.

"Or, if you've got your hands full..." Sam slices open a bale and starts pulling it apart, spreading it across the gritty floorboards.

"There's subthigg... ehh... about... hh-hh-hah..."

Sam gets a speck of straw in his eye and straightens, waiting for the tears to flush it out. "Something about what?"

"Do you sbell... bidt?"

"What?"

Dean lowers his handful and takes an experimental sniff. "Bidt."

"Dean..."

Dean's eyes cross and he buries his face in his tissues. "KXXZZSHOO! Ugh-XSHSH! Hah... HBPSHKF!"

"Oh, mint? Yeah man, the tissues are menthol-scented. It's supposed to help clear up your sinuses or something."

"I thigk they're bakigg it wur... worseXXTCHAH!"

"Here, get in here." Sam pats the nest of hay he's made and watches Dean fumble toward it, burbling into his handful of fancy mint Kleenex. "That's right," Sam croons, steadying Dean as he trips on the edge of the pile and sinks to his knees. "Good. Bed time."

"But I'b dot tired... hohGod... hh-HH-HGKTCHCHCH!"

"Gesundheit." Sam covers him over with a thick insulating layer of straw and scritches his fingers through Dean's hair. "Go to sleep."

"Sabb? Did you brigg eddy dorbal tissues?"

"No."

Dean sighs and blows his nose, and never really stops.


Prompt: Dean is sick. Sam buys him scented Kleenex, but Dean is allergic to them. OH NO. :P