Title: Burns and Sneezes
Author: Enkidu07
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
A/N: This was written for Mad Servers - Again but with colds:A sneezy-SPN-boys comment fic meme - over on LJ. So blame her.
Summary: A tag to the end of the episode 'The Benders'.

"Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean doesn't really answer. I know he's pissed that the Bender's blindsided me. I should have been paying more attention.

I keep walking, not sure how long to wait before apologizing again. How long before Dean will be ready to listen, ready to make me feel better.

We'd been joking when we first left the farm, but now Dean's silent beside me.

We duck into the woods three times. Cop cars are hightailing it up the dirt road.

Dust flies in their wake and even tucked in the forest, Dean sneezes as the particles settle over us. I scrub at my own nose, brushing away the dirt.

"Fuck," Dean swears under his breath.

He's even madder than I thought.

An ambulance is next. It figures that cannibalistic idiots get good medical care while we are left skulking through the forest. It's really cold so I walk a little faster. Dean falls behind but he's not talking yet anyway.

About half a mile later, the road's finally quiet. I figure we have about 30 minutes before we have to watch for them heading back past us into town.

In the silence it dawns on me that Dean's still sneezing. Muffled exhalations filter into my awareness.

"AH HITZUAH."

"Dean?"

"HET CHIZZU."

"Dean?"

"Whad?"

"You okay?" A red flush has spread across his cheeks, I can see red blotches trailing all the way down, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

"Stuffd up."

I'm still watching him as he tenses up to sneeze again.

"HUP CHOO."

I'm shocked at the grimace that flashes over his face and the way he tucks in on himself, shoulders hunched and arm slung low as if his stomach aches.

"Dean?"

"Fuck." He still sounds angry. It doesn't feel like it's directed at me so much anymore.

When he stumbles a little, I catch his arm. He's tense and warm to the touch, even in the cool evening. Behind him, I see the telltale dust of a car approaching so I pull him back into the shelter of the woods.

"What's wrong?"

"Noth – HUTH – HUTH – HUTCHTOO." The way his muscles go rigid under my fingertips doesn't feel like nothing. I start to pat him down, searching my memory for any signs that he was injured or limping or protecting his gut or guarding his ribs or… my thoughts are derailed as I hit his chest and he lays me out flat in the dirt. His reflexes are apparently fine.

We stay still until the car is safely past, me sitting flat, him pushing out controlled breaths and holding himself tight.

"Dean." I approach slowly like he's a skittish horse.

He relaxes a little and allows me to pull his jacket off. A shiver runs through his body as the night air hits his arms, and he stiffens again. In the fading daylight I can't see any signs of blood or damage through his shirt. "Where're you hurt?"

Silence reigns except for his harsh breaths. I wait. Finally he grunts out, "Burned my shoulder."

"Show me."

He scrubs as his nose, trying to waylay another sneeze. I wince at the force he uses. "HEP TSCHUU." His chest jumps and I watch as the color drains from his face and beads of sweat appear on his brow.

"Show me."

He tugs at his collar until I can see a wide dark line spanning his pectoral muscle. The skin is charred and spreads out in an angry red but it looks irritated more than infected. There's no blood or seepage and even as my stomach turns at the smell of burnt flesh, I feel relief that the wound is cauterized.

"Fuck, man."

Dean gives me his 'No, shit' look and then uses me to haul himself up. His grip tightens momentarily and I wonder if he's going to go back down.

"Why don't you wait here? I'll get the car."

Dean's 'No, shit' look morphs into his 'Hell, no' expression. He lets go of my arm.

"Dean, you feel like you have a fever. If I go alone, I can be back within the hour."

"Right, Sam. I just spent a day looking for you. Going off alone is a great idea." Right. That. Good point.

You'd think I'd know him better by now, but Dean still surprises me. He stays silent all the way back to town, aside from broken sneezes and muted profanities. He stands watch while I bust the Impala out of lockdown, and then actually stays quiet and lets me drive us a few miles out of town.

He's still sneezing and by the time we reach Baileyville, we're both tensing up with every exhalation.

I pull into the gas station and shut off the engine. Dean's tucked low and kind of wheezing. "What do you want?"

"Whiskey. Drugs. Cold syrup. In that order."

I make good time in the store and throw the bag in his lap with a bottle of water.

He looks inside and glares at me.

"Come on, Dean. Two out of three ain't bad."

end.