Title: There’s Something Else Wrong with Sam
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: Lots of sneezy!Sam goodness in these prompts, but would please someone write something on the slash side, with Dean having a cold and knowing that Sam has this particular kink going on, and being turned on because he knows what it does to his brother everytime he sneezes. NC-17, if you want to go all the way.



There’s Something Else Wrong with Sam




Sam Winchester doesn’t look up from his laptop at the table, but he does mutter a half-hearted “Bless you” that sounds as if he was only slightly aware of what was going on around him in the motel room.


What was going on was Dean Winchester with one of the worst colds of his life, working his way through a bottle of Dayquil and a box of Kleenex. It wasn’t often that they slept in separate beds nowadays, but Sam had insisted on it this time and it made Dean feel lonely and abandoned on top of kind of chilly. Sam was usually his own personal hot water bottle, and Dean he noticed the lack of heat in bed at night when, shivering, he tried to fall asleep.


He’d also noticed that Sam didn’t look at him much. Every time his nose twitched or wrinkled, every time a sneeze was coming on, Sam would look away, as if disgusted. He volunteered to go on grocery runs three times a day. And whenever he did talk to Dean, was cold, robotic. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think Sam had lost his soul again.


hahh…” Dean pulls another tissue out of the box, cups it to his face. “hahh-HITChooo!


This time, Sam doesn’t even bother blessing him. And that is so unlike Sam that Dean can’t stand it anymore.


“What is with you, dude?”


Sam answers without looking up. “Hmm?” If that can even be called an answer.


Dean pretends it is. “I’m over here fightin’ off the bug from hell and you won’t even give me the time of day.” He stops to cough, realizing more emotion is going into his statement than he’d expected. He assumes the way his eyes are watering is just from his cold. Or the anger. Yeah, he’s upset, but he’s not going to cry about this, about being sick, about missing Sam’s touch or his ‘bless yous’ or his care.

Sam types something on the laptop and, offhandedly, asks, “Do you need me to run to the store to get you something?” He doesn’t even take his eyes off the laptop, doesn’t even glance over in Dean’s general direction, doesn’t even pretend to make an effort.


And that’s all Dean can take. Abandoning the tissue box and his nest of blankets and pillows, he gets out of bed and storms over. He slams the laptop closed and glares. It’s less of a glare than he would have liked, because his eyes are a little wet. And his nose is a little runny. And he’s wearing the flannel PJs Sam got him for Christmas featuring pies, cherries, and little pigs with cook hats on. It’s a rule that you can’t look intimidating wearing anything with a smiling cartoon pig holding a whisk.


Dean’s breath catches and Sam looks unblinkingly at the closed laptop, as though he were still reading the display.  “hah… heh-ITChooo! Hahshooo!” Without his tissues to blow his nose into, he just sniffs a couple times before trying to get Sam’s attention. “Look at be!” he commands, but his stuffed up nose works against him, makes him cough.


Sam looks for a split second only before rising from his chair. “I’ll get you some water.”


Dean charges. It’s a stupid move; he doesn’t know why he does it. Sam’s taller and, given that this cold has made Dean wobbly, Sam’s also a lot stronger. But it catches Sam off guard and, hell, it works to some degree. Sam stumbles back, falls back onto his bed, and winds up with Dean straddling him and holding him down.


“What the hell, Dean? Get off!”


Dean’s got leverage to thank for the fact that he’s able to keep Sam down now, even as the younger man struggles. They fought like this when they were boys, roughhousing in place of talking about their feelings. But even as Sam submits to him now, Sam won’t look him in the eye. It’s not just Dean’s imagination; something’s definitely wrong.


“Let me go! Get off me!”


“Dot udtil you look at be!”


Sam looks. His face is expressionless. “I’m looking. Don’t know what you want me to see…”


“Whed we were youg, you always looked after be whed I was sick. We looked after each other. We had to. Dow you just igdore be. Is it really that awful? Add what the fuck chadged?”


Dean’s eyes are moist, overbright and Sam tries to look away again. But the hurt in Dean’s words makes him think twice. He holds Dean’s gaze and finally answers, “Check out my dick.”


There are a lot of things Dean had expected to hear. ‘Check out my dick’ was nowhere on the list of possibilities. But he looks down and sees Sam’s tented jeans, a hard-on to beat any he’s seen in a while. Sam’s almost always up for sex, but usually it’s Dean who initiates it. Dean doesn’t know what to make of this.


“It turns me on, Dean. The way you sn—the way you sound when you snee—the way you are when you’re sick. I fucking love it. Always have. I’ve just been better about hiding it. And usually your colds aren’t quite so bad. But this one, god, you can’t stop… um…”




There is movement in Sam’s pants and he squirms just a little beneath Dean. He nods.  “Yeah, that.”


Dean slowly puts the pieces together, tries to make sense of it. “You… get hot add bothered whed I sdeeze?” Sam nods emphatically. “Dude… that’s kind of messed up.”


Sam nods again, less emphatically, more with apology. “Yeah, I know. But is it any worse than the way you get off on taking care of me when I’m sick?”


Dean’s taken aback. “That’s totally differedt!”


Sam raises his eyebrows.


“It is! I get off od bakig you feel good. This is…” But what it was, Dean doesn’t manage to detail. “hah… hahhh-ARSHuhhhhh! ah-ahhh-HASHhhhh!


Under him, Sam squirms and chews on his lower lip. He tries to look away, but Dean is right there above him, all sniffly.


Seeing the look in his eye, Dean sighs and rolls off. He rubs his nose, not wanting to get up for tissues. “That really turns you od?”


Sam nods. “Yeah. Always has.”


Dean’s silent for a long time, excluding sniffling. Then he says, “How did I dot dotice?”


A shrug. “I can’t imagine how you missed me ducking into the bathroom every twenty minutes when you came down with a cold back when we were teenagers.”


Dean turns, eyes wide. “Wait… I thought you were just OCD or sobthig, scared of gettig by gerbs.”


A laugh. “Just the opposite. I wanted them. I wanted you so badly when you were… sneezing.” He smiles to himself, proud for finally saying it. “I got so worked up I had to jump in the shower and jerk off.”


Dean nods. He knows what that feels like, to need release, to lust after something you can’t have, shouldn’t have. “Fuck…” He lies back on the bed, next to Sam, the bed bouncing until it stills. Then he rolls over into Sam and puts an arm around him. “Rebeber the last tibe you were sick add I bade you soub add got udder the bladkets with you to keeb you warb?”


Sam strokes Dean’s forearm. “Yeah. You want me to make you some soup?”


Dean shakes his head.


“You want to get under the blankets with me to get warm?”


Dean shakes his head again.


“Then what?”


“You dow how buch I really like to take care of you.”




Dean slides his arm over, his hand down, finds Sam’s crotch and rubs what’s there. “Let be take care of you this tibe, too? I cad do it… even if I’b, you dow, feeling really sdeezy.”


Sam whimpers again and, hastily, reaches down to free his erection for Dean’s waiting hand.