Title: Finally

Author: tarotgal

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Disclaimer: Despite all the merch I've spent hard-earned money on, I don't own these boys or their world at all. I just play there.

Prompt: This is a bit different. Dean has a sneezekink for his OWN sneezes and illnesses and allergies.

Warnings: Wincest, angst, sneezing... you know, a normal tg fic ;-)







“Bless you.” Behind the wheel, as usual, Dean glances over at the passenger seat to see Sam rubbing his nose. Dean hasn't exactly been counting, but he knows this isn't Sam's first sneeze of the drive. “You okay?” Sam shrugs, which Dean knows means he feels like shit but doesn't want to admit it. They're on their way to Concord, due to get in around midnight if they don't stop. But Dean's already pulling the car over onto the shoulder.


Dean pops the trunk and climbs back into the car with what feels like half the trunk's contents. He unfolds a blanket and covers Sam with it, tucking it around his brother. He plops a box of tissues on Sam's lap, already open and with a tissue sticking up out of the top at the ready. He pokes two Sudafed out of a blister pack and gives them to Sam with the last of his own bottle of Mountain Dew.


Sam's arm wriggles out to take the pills then take a tissue. Already his nose is bothering him again, and Dean's glad they had a full box back there. Sammy's colds are always so full of sneezes. When he was a kid, Dean used to sit in the backseat and hold tissues to Sam's nose for hours to catch every sniffle and sneeze and blow. He wouldn't really mind doing that now; taking care of Sam was still his job, after all. But Sam's an adult now and doesn't need that kind of care unless he's feverish.


As Sam buries his nose in a tissue, Dean checks his forehead for fever. He can tell just from a touch that Sam's not feverish now, but Dean's still going to check throughout the day. If Sammy's got a fever, Dean'll pull off the highway and find a motel. Not to mention that he liked touching Sam like that. He likes the intimacy. He likes the care-taking. He likes how Sam leans into the touch and sometimes closes his eyes when Dean's cool hand feels good against his hot forehead.


Dean follows the touch with a kiss to Sam's forehead. Then he checks his mirrors and pulls back onto the highway. “ehHUHPhshh! Huhfshhhh!


“Bless you, Sammy. Those seem like pretty strong sneezes. You rest, okay? Let me know if you start feeling worse.”


Sam nods his promise and sniffles into the tissues. He tosses the used tissue on the floor of the car and Dean doesn't even flinch. Instead, he reaches out and rubs Sam's arm comfortingly through the blanket until Sam's eyes close and the man drifts off.


* * *


3 Years Later



hahhh-KUHTschhhh!” Dean wishes the sneeze had caught him by surprise, but considering how bad he had been feeling all afternoon, it was pretty damn obvious he was coming down sick. At least, it should have been obvious.


But Sam had been so absorbed in the research, he barely looked up. “You okay?”


Dean shrugs, but Sam doesn't see it. Sam looks from a newspaper to his laptop and back, even when Dean clears his scratchy throat. Dejectedly, Dean sits down on the edge of one of the beds and rubs his nose.


How is it that something that feels so miserable actually makes him feel so good? All it takes is that first sneeze in a cold to turn him on. He can't remember when that started... if it was before or after he and Sam became more than brothers. But the idea of having a sneezy, uncontrollable cold in his head and having Sam take care of him is the hottest damn thing he can possibly imagine. Hotter than strippers working for free. Hotter than anything on BustyAsianBeauties.com. Hotter than Sam naked and lubed and stretched out across the backseat of the Impala with a piece of pie balanced on his chest. Because ever since he was a kid, Dean's looked after everyone. He looked after his mom when things weren't perfect between her and Dad. He looked after Dad when he stumbled home drunk from the bar. He looked after Sammy every single second of his life. And to have Sam look after him, comfort him, take care of him, Dean is pretty sure he'd lose his mind with pleasure.


So how is it that something that makes him feel so good also makes him feel so bad? It's because he can't tell Sammy. How do you tell someone you think it would be sexy if they held a tissue to your nose for you while you sneezed into it? God, he was so messed up.


hahh-Shuhh!” And sick. He looks over at Sam, hopefully. But Sam doesn't come over and give him a tissue. Sam doesn't feel his forehead. Sam doesn't even bless him. “I'm going out,” Dean says, standing up. He's a little dizzy for just a second and wishes he had Sam to cling to. Sam's long arms could wrap around him. Sam's strong body could hold him up. But then they would fall into bed and never make it to the store, and Dean really does need some serious cold medicine if he's going to get through this at all.


“Great,” Sam says, still not looking up from his laptop screen. “Pick me up a salad?”


Food is the last thing on Dean's mind; he's not the least bit hungry. But he nods. “Yeah. Sure.” Because it's Sammy asking. And Dean Winchester looks after Sam, no matter what.


Dean sits in the Impala for a long time, coughing and blowing his nose and trying to get a handle on how he feels. This head cold came on so fast, he can't really blame Sam for not noticing yet. But he can't deny it himself. And he can't be that pervy guy out in the parking lot with jeans down to his shins, jacking off in a parking lot. But, God, the way these sneezes make him feel make him wish he could. It's the one time in his life he doesn't have to be in complete control, the one time he gets to sleep a little later—preferably snuggled up under heavy motel room covers with Sam beside him. Every tickle in his nose reminds him of how good it can be. “hahh... hahh-Ahschhkkkk!” And each release fills him with such relief he thinks he might not even need to take himself in hand. But he allows himself a quick rub of his hand down his thigh and then up again as he sniffles back what's starting to become a runny nose.


If he doesn't head to the store right now, he'll never get there. So he turns the key and makes for the CVS he saw down the street on their way down the strip from highway to motel. If he hadn't already been feeling so shitty, he probably could have walked, it was so close. But he's got the heat cranked up in his baby and he's still cold and shivery and reluctant to leave such warmth when he gets to the store.


He grabs a basket and fills it with the essentials. He buys an absurdly large bottle of Gatorade and an even more hilariously large box of Kleenex. He stands in the cold medicine aisle like a kid in a candy store or a hunter in a hoodoo shop, resisting the urge to sweep it all into his basket in one graceful movement. Of all the things he's fought in his life, colds are the easiest. He knows Sam hates them, but it's so much easier wrapping Sammy in a blanket and feeding him Sudafed and tomato soup with rice than locking the kid in Bobby's safe room and watching him detox. It's a lot more fun curling up with him and wiping tissues at his nose than slamming him up against a wall to pop a bone back in place. It's a lot better tending to a kinda sexy, sniffly little head cold than it is worrying about Angel possession and saving the world. Demons, ghosts, and monsters Dean can handle. But he'd much rather fight off germs.


Dean finds a Subway on the strip as well and buys himself a six-inch meatball sub and gets Sam that salad he requested. He spends the rest of the quick drive back to the motel nibbling on the food and realizing how unsteady his stomach feels. He just wants to get back to his motel room to curl up in bed. Although what he really wants is to get back to find Sam waiting for him, a couple of tissues in hand and sympathy in his expression.


Instead, Sam's still at the laptop, pounding away at the keys and doesn't look up when he nods hello. So Dean dumps the salad next to him and heads straight for the bathroom, even as Sam complains that they didn't give him enough salad dressing. Dean splashes some water on his face and fills up a little plastic cup. He drinks it down before even digging the medicine out of the CVS bag then quickly refills it. Only then does he realize he's bought Sudafed. And while that stuff works great on Sam when he's all stuffed-up, it does shit for for him. He'd meant to buy Mucinex. Or at least Tylenol Cold & Flu. But he'd been so busy thinking about what he'd like Sam to be doing to him that he'd just picked up by mistake the stuff that he always got for Sam.


He could go out again. He could make up some other stupid excuse. Or he could volunteer to go get Sam more salad dressing. But, in the end, Dean empties his nose a few times into toilet paper and proceeds to take his temperature before his nose starts dripping again. He stares at his reflection and rubs two fingers under his nose as the thermometer sticks out of the side of his mouth like a cigarette. He knows he looks miserable and pathetic and sick. But it turns him on to no end. He snakes a hand down his pants and squeezes, rubs. He almost doesn't stop when the thermometer beeps. He almost stands right there and finishes himself off. But he wants to know how bad his fever is. So he checks. 102.6. Not too bad actually.


He blows his nose again. Then he leaves the bathroom and makes a beeline toward one of the beds.


“You goin' to sleep already?” Sam asks, finally looking up.


Dean nods and his cock throbs with all the things he could say to this. He wants to tell Sam he doesn't feel so good. He wants to tell Sam he's caught a cold and needs looking after. He wants to tell Sam to come to bed with him and make him feel so much better. But all he does his clear his throat and nod.


“Good plan. You look beat. I'll be joining you as soon as I figure out where this guy's buried. I just got a hold of the public burial records.”


Dean can't help but think how nice it will be when that happens. They'll have the case all figured out. And he'll have his brother holding him while they sleep. Just a short nap before they have to get up and dig. Might be enough to help him fight this bug. And it might not. This thing feels pretty big inside his head right now, especially without medicine. Either way, sleep can't hurt.


Dean strips down to underwear, undershirt, and socks before climbing in. The blankets aren't as heavy as he'd hoped. The pillows aren't as light and plump either. In fact, it takes quite a bit of shifting and adjusting before he gets comfortable enough to fall asleep. But, when he done, he wraps his arms around the pillow he's got pressed to his chest and trapped under one leg. He's just one step away from humping the thing, especially when his body shakes with a strong sneeze. “hahhh-Uhkshhhh!


He remembers the goddamn tissue box he bought isn't under the covers with him. For one brief moment he imagines Sammy there beside the bed with tissues for him, telling him he can sneeze all he wants to now, and Dean's cock leaks a bit at the image. He could even call out and ask Sam to get the box for him. But he can't make his mouth form the necessary words now either. His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the need. He wants his brother. He wants to whine. He wants... to... sleep...




Dean wakes in the middle of the night so stuffed-up and coughing he sits upright and then leans forward, hunching over. He imagines Sam's hand rubbing the curve of his back until the fit passes. But Sam isn't there. And the fit doesn't pass. Dean throws himself out of bed and finds the Kleenex box he bought. Shivering in the cold night air, he stands there, rips it open, and gives his nose a good, strong blow until the congestion loosens and the tickle in his throat backs down.


Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he looks over to see if he's woken Sammy, but his brother isn't in his bed for the first time in years. His brother is sitting on the other bed, fully clothed long legs stretched out in front of him but head angled painfully to the side. He's fast asleep with his laptop on his lap and his fingers on the trackpad.


With the tissue box tucked under an arm, Dean goes over to the other bed and gently liberates to laptop. He pulls one of the blankets up and drapes it over Sam, even though he's the sniffly one, the one who wants to be taken care of. But Sam's his responsibility, and he's glad to be able to do this for him, to tuck him in and make sure he's warm.


Because it's cold in the motel room. Abnormally cold. Shivering, Dean considers crawling under the blanket and snuggling up against Sam. But Sam probably won't appreciate waking up to find a Dean's nose running against his shirt or Dean's dick pressing hard into his thigh. So Dean goes back to his bed and gets back in. The sheets have turned cold without Sam there to keep them warm.


And, besides that, the cold's gotten to Dean's nose. He bunches tissues to it as he lies there, draining and filling with pressure and running uncontrollably. Finally, unable to breathe from it draining and tickling the back of his throat, he sits up and hunches over again. That's when the sneezes hit. “hah...” He wants to keep them quiet for Sam's sake, so he stifles the first one and muffles it in the big handful of tissues. “hah-INGxxh!


It feels so good to sneeze. So good to just let go, lose control. And the pressure in his head lessens a little as well. Not to mention that the sneeze just plain feels good when it rips through him, taking him over and making him tingle. He knows, immediately, that he won't be stifling any more sneezes tonight.


hah-Shooo! Heh-Shuhh!” The next two strike quickly and feel so good coming out. He glances over at Sam, hoping that his brother will wake up and come over to him. But Sam doesn't stir, even as Dean keeps sneezing. “hahhShuhh! HahhShooo! Hah-Uhshhoo!


Dean knows his brother's still in the other bed. Dean knows his brother's still asleep. But he closes his eyes as he bunches fresh, dry tissues at his nose and pretends it's Sam holding them for him. His free hand dives under the covers. And suddenly it feels even better than before. All he wants to do is sneeze and keep this feeling going, the good tingles racing through his body every time one comes out. “hahh-UHtchhhh! Huh-Shooo!


It only takes a couple minutes. It's never been that quick for him since he was a teenager. But the next time he sneezes, he comes into his briefs, all over his hand.“hah-HSchhhh!” He gasps and squeaks and moans. And he sneezes again while he's still coming. “hahh-Shoo!” The tingles rushing through his body are beyond amazing. He imagines that Sam is there to see him through the whole thing, to wipe his nose dry and his cock dry for him.


He decides to not open his eyes and destroy the illusion. So he keeps them closed as he cleans up. He keeps them closed as he sits up and blows his nose some more. He keeps them closed as he starts to nod off while sitting up.


hah-Shuhhh!” Any attempt at sleep doesn't last long. His nose is far too tickly and runny. “ah-shuhh! Hah-chuhhhh!” Dean feels around for the Kleenex box and helps himself to more, dropping the used ones onto the bed or the floor or wherever they happen to land. Sam's going to see them in the morning. Sam's going to know, if he doesn't already. And Dean's glad for that. Maybe this time they'll finally talk. Maybe this time Sam will finally figure out that this turns his brother on. Maybe this time Dean will finally confess what he's wanted all along.


It's another hour and a half of tossing and turning and sniffling and blowing until he manages to fall back to sleep, lying down in bed, covered in blankets and with the last of the tissues clutched in his fist.


He dreams of sneezes. And of Sammy.






Dean wakes but doesn't open his eyes right away. He listens to Sam bustling around halfway across the room instead of snuggling in bed next to Dean where he belongs. Dean opens one eye to see Sam stumbling over a wayward shoe, trying to get to his duffle bag for a fresh change of clothes. Dean opens his other eye and sees the glowing red digits on the alarm clock. It's past eleven in the morning. 'Shit!' is right. They never sleep this late. Never. Dean's surprised his sneezes let him stay awake so long. He's even more surprised Sam didn't wake up at the crack of dawn like usual.


Sam looks over and sees that Dean's awake. He looks Dean over, notices the abundance of used-up Kleenex, and has to know. Sammy's too smart to not put it all together. But Sam clears his throat and says nothing about it. “I found the grave site last night or, probably, it was this morning. But there's nothing about it we can do during the day. The burial ground is in the middle of the city and there's no way we can get away with a salt and burn there until it gets dark. I thought I set an alarm, but I guess I screwed that up.”


Dean clears his throat as well, which is infinitely scratchier and takes three additional attempt before Dean can croak out, “Good work fidig the site, Sabby.” Oh, his nose is all stuffed-up now. It sounds terrible but feels so good, like a reminder that he's sick. Already his body is humming with excitement and anticipation. And the idea of getting to spend the whole day in bed is such a good one. He never gets to relax like this. “Do you... do... hah... hah-Ahshoo!”


Sam frowns and crosses his arms in front of his chest, as if it's some sort of barrier between them. “Dean... are you okay?”


The older Winchester doesn't know how to answer. Of course he isn't okay. He's so damn far from okay he can't even see it through the rear view mirror. He wants Sam to know, but he just can't say those words unless they're about Sam. He can't talk about his own cold. Finally, he decides to just shrug again. It's the best he can do.


But, this time, Sam actually gets it. “Oh, Dean. Is it just a head cold?”


Dean once more shrugs and sniffles. He sits up and leans forward, trying to hint that he wants Sam to feel his forehead for fever.


Sam doesn't check him for fever, though. He barely looks Dean in the eye. “I'm sorry you're sick. That sucks, man.” That's it. That's all the sympathy Sam can muster up for him, and Dean's heart sinks so low it might as well be back in hell. Sam grabs his coat. “I'll go get us some breakfast.”


Not hungry, Dean tugs on his blankets, which already cover him to his waist. Dean wants to call after his brother, but he can't. He wants to beg Sam to stay, to tell Sam to get into bed with him and stay there all day. But he can't say those words without sounding like a baby, even if—just once—it would be nice to be babied for a change. Dean opens his mouth, intending to say something to Sam, but, instead, he ends up sneezing suddenly. “hahh-UHFSchuhhhhhh!” It's strong and wet and, God, feels so good coming out.


But he needs to blow his nose and Dean reaches for the Kleenex box only to realize he's used the entire thing up overnight. He sniffles wetly and contemplates the trade-off of getting up out of a nice warm bed to blow his nose into toilet paper versus wiping his nose on the shoulder of his undershirt or even the bed sheet.


Before he can make up his mind between the lesser of the two evils, the tickle in his nose flares up and strikes again. “hah...huh...” His body hums in time with his gaspy build-up. He wants this so bad, He wants to be turned on, and, at the same time, can't admit his desires to his lover who's about to walk out on him. Just one more screwed up day in the life of Dean Winchester. “huhh-UHShikkuhhh!


When he opens his eyes, sniffing madly, he expects to see that Sam has gone out on a food run. But Sam's right there in front of the bed, in front of him, fondling the empty Kleenex box. “Looks like you need another one of these. Can I get you anything else for your cold while I'm out?”


Dean almost comes right then and there. The pillows that Dean had arranged in the bed as a substitute for Sammy press against him now. He wants to turn and grind his crotch into one of them. He wants to lose control every which way possible. Those words out of Sam's mouth had shot straight to his dick in little jolts of pleasure. He's honestly not sure how long he can hold it together now, especially as he feels another sneeze coming on. It seems they're not going to stop until he gives his nose a proper blowing into something. “hahh... huh...hah-hah-hahhhh...


Dean's too busy sneezing to hear anything but a soft “shit!” from Sam. And he definitely isn't aware of Sam moving, scrambling. Dean doesn't see it, but he feels it as soon as he sneezes, because his body rocks forward with the sneeze and his runny, sniffly, tickly nose plants right into something. “ha-Huhschmmmphhhh!” The sneeze sounds so good, muffled and smothered into something that isn't hard, papery tissues.


Dean pulls his eyes open to see that Sam's holding his own bandanna out. It's soft against Dean's hurting nostrils and it's still warm from body heat; it's probably been in Sam's pocket all night long. He can also feel Sam's touch through the thin cotton fabric. He feels his bother's fingers so close to his nose, and he aches to tell Sam how much this means to him.


But he feels so damn sneezy right now that all he can do is lean forward a little more, rubbing his nose into the warm fabric. “huhh-huhShhmmphh! Heh-Shih! heh-Yehshhhh!” Dean sneezes and sneezes and sneezes and Sam stands there, catching every one of them. “hahhh-shuhphhh! HuhShihmmphh! Uhshmphhh! Huh... huhh... huh-hah-huhhhhUmptshhhhhh!


When his nose finally gives up for a second, Sam whistles, impressed. “Sounds like you really need to blow your nose, Dean.”


“Yeah,” Dean says, his heart racing. He's actually speaking to Sammy about his head cold. And Sam is actually talking about it, too.


Sam readjusts the bandanna, pulling it back in order to hand it off to Dean so he can blow his own nose. But Dean's too acutely aware now of these cold-related words and touches and he doesn't give Sam a chance to pull. He smashes his nose back into the bandanna, takes a deep breath that's hell on his scratchy throat, and blows hard. Sam's fingers instinctively hold on, applying just the right amount of pressure to the nostrils on either side to help Dean's tired, drippy nose out with the blow.


Dean loses it in his underwear. He doesn't even have to touch himself. All it takes is Sam touching him like this, holding this for him, helping him blow his nose, and Dean's a goner. He's not even sure how he managed to last as long as he did.


His body shakes and stiffens and he coughs as his breathing is caught somewhere between the blowing and the panting from the most intense orgasm he's ever experienced.


Sam doesn't know what's happening, but he knows it's something hot. “Dean?” confusion fills his soft voice. “Dean, did you just...”


Dean gives a final, wet honk into the bandanna and pulls back. “Sabby,” he says, his own stuffed-up voice causing pleasure throughout his body to build already. He owes Sammy the truth, and Sam's expression says he can handle it. There's no backing out of this now. Dean goes for it. “You have doe idea how buch this turds be od. What I wadted bore thad adythig is for you to take care of be whed I'b... I'b sick add helbless like this.”


He expects Sam to recoil or protest that Dean's never completely helpless. Instead, Sam sits down on the bed and folds the bandanna around the wet parts. It'll have to be cleaned now. But Dean longs to have it back again, the fabric brushing his nostrils from Sam's gentle touch. God, how is it possible to be hard again already? Sam looks down at the bandanna, probably not thinking the same thoughts. Finally, he says, “I have no idea how to take care of you—or anyone for that matter. You don't get sick often, but when you do, I never know what you want or what I'm supposed to do to make you feel better.”


Dean's eyes are wide with disbelief. He can't believe he's having this conversation, for one. And, for another, he can't believe what Sam's telling him. “But it's so easy to take care of sombode. It's like secod dature.”


“For you, maybe. You're so good at it. I don't know what to say or do.”


Dean sniffles. “Well, that badadda thig was a great start. It felt so good, Sabby. So good agaidst by wet add sheezy dose.” His breath catches. His dick leaks. And he realizes that it's not he who needs help; it's Sam. Sam needs guidance. And Dean was born to help Sammy. So he says, calmly despite the heat growing inside him, “How about tryig sobthig else that's easy?”


“Like what?”


Dean rubs a hand up and down his arm. “How about gettig udder the covers with be to keeb be warb? I'b so cold without you, Sabby.” Dean thinks about the night, and all the tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable because Sam wasn't there with him. It had been so cold and lonely and miserable.


“I think I can do that,” Sam tells him, pulling down the blankets and moving one of the pillows up to the head of the bed where it will elevate Dean's stuffed-up head better. He eases Dean down and then scoots up right behind him, the big spoon to Dean's small, weak, sniffly one.


Dean only has a second to enjoy it before another sneeze shakes him. “huh-Shhooo!” Sam instinctively tightens his hold, wrapping his arms all the way around Dean and pulling him close. Dean almost loses it again and does, in fact, lose his mind when one of Sam's hands reaches down and cups his crotch for him. Dean turns his head, sneezing into the pillow. “hahh-Shuhmphhhh! HahhChuxphhhh!” And when he turns his head back to take in a gulp of air, he realizes the heat his body feels is because of the warm body pressed so close against him. The pleasure it feels is from Sam stroking his erection. And the caring he feels is from Sam's other hand reaching up and rubbing the underside of his nose for him, two fingers scrubbing tenderly, gently.


His breath catches again. “I'm... I'm gonna... gonna....”


“Are you gonna sneeze?” Sam asks, pulling his fingers back and palming Dean's feverishly warm forehead tenderly. “Because it's okay if you need to sneeze. I've got you.” He cups his hand to Dean's nose and mouth to catch the spray.


Sam said it. Twice. He said the word. Finally. But Dean doesn't need to sneeze again just yet. Dean comes again, thrusting against Sam's touch and sniffling against Sam's hand.