Third Night of Jessakkuh
Title: Third Night of Jessakkuh
Summary: Dean goes to Stanford to spend Hanukkah with Jess and Sam. They're snowed in. Sam has a cold. Jess has a secret.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Wordcount: 2,230
Author's Note: Sammyverse, part of an 8-part series with one bit a night through the end of Hanukkah. Happy 3rd night! I got ANOTHER Boy Meets World DVD!
Night #1
Night #2
“This is a horrible idea,” Jess says, and she has a point, because Sam's asthma hit last night and it hit hard, and so God fucking knows how he's finding the air to crawl through his closet looking for mittens.
But it's Monday and school's canceled and they're still fucking snowed in, so happy Hanukkah, and they have nothing better to do for the rest of the day than brace Sam through the asthma attack that's barreling towards them one way or another, so they might as well have him earn it, right?
Still, he and Sam aren't idiots, which is why Sam's crawling out of his closet looking like the lankiest fucking eskimo, winding yet another scarf around his neck. Pretty much only his eyes are visible, but it's obvious he's smiling, because it's Sam, and Sam smiles with his whole body.
“I'll be fine,” he says, muffled by fabric and congestion and his own damn wheezing.
Jess crosses her arms and stares him down.
“We'll keep an eye on him!” Dean yanks a hat over Jess's head. “He's a wheezy little sonovabitch no matter what we do, so let's throw snowballs at him to punish him for all the worrying we're going to be doing.”
Sam nods hard. “Exactly.”
Jess keeps glaring at him for a while, then says, “I'm putting soup on the stove now, and you're setting up the nebulizer before you even think about going outside, and you're on it the second you get back in.”
Sam tugs the scarf under his chin and says, “I like it when you get bossy,” before he lifts Jess up by her upper arms and pins her up on the wall and kisses her until he's gasping.
Dean sets up the nebulizer and Jess doesn't complain anymore.
**
Sam's fine in the snow, because Sam was a fucking hunter for a zillion years and he's got a good strong set of lungs underneath this hideous disease clogging them and swelling them shut and lacing them up, but that's the kind of stuff that's hard to explain to Jess. You can say that Sam worked on his conditioning so he'd be able to breathe better, but you can't really say that the kid spent most of his childhood in special, Sam-tailored boot camp. You can say a lot of things about John but he knew Sam's lungs like the back of his damn hands, and he knew exactly when he could stretch him and when he could push him and when he needed to be left alone and when he needed blankets and meds and a hug right the fuck now. And Dean learned, you know? Dean learned along with Sam.
And now he's sitting on the porch, tired out from a snowball fight, watching Sam kiss Jess against a snow-covered tree, and shit, when did his kid get so goddamn respectable? What happened to the grumpy little bitch in the next bed, the one with his head on his shoulder for the cross-country trips and his hands all over Dean's food and his his fingers all wrapped up in his? When did this happen?
Dean leans against the banister and feels incredibly happy and deeply, deeply lonely.
**
(It doesn't often get to him and it doesn't stay long when it does, because he is so so so fucking happy that Sam is happy, and then they come in from outside and Sam strips off his wet clothes and wheezes like all hell and he wants Dean on one side of him and Jess on the other while they shake the snow off their boots and rub their hands up and down his back, and Sam rests his head on Dean's shoulder and clings to Jess with both hands and there is a place for Dean, Sam will always always leave a fucking place for Dean, but when Sam falls asleep with the nebulizer in his mouth and his arms around Jess's waist, Dean leaves them alone, because this is their story now. He isn't the main character anymore. This was always about Sam, and now Dean gets to sit and watch and Sam is the movie that Dean has been in line for his whole fucking life.)
**
Sam wakes up worse. The fever's rising, but the real problem is that the wheezing's unbelievable and they're running scary fucking low on supplies. Jess gets online and finds a drugstore five miles away that looks like it might still be open. She looks up directions, one hand on the keyboard and the other running up and down Sam's back.
Dean stands up and gets his coat. “I'll go as soon as they're printed.”
“No, no, I'll do it.”
“Are you kidding? Stay with Sam.”
“I know the area better than you.”
“I know driving in snow better than you. And you're better at the whole kissing him better thing.”
Sam flops down on the couch and pushes the forehead to the cushion to squeeze on this breath and grip his ribcage and otherwise make it very clear that he doesn't give a fuck which one of them goes as long as they come back with something that's going to help (and yeah, Dean's feeling pretty fucking stupid about the snow thing right now, fine).
Dean grabs for his keys, but Jess snatches them away and says, “Stop. I'm going. Sam. Honey. Sit up. Lean forwards.” She moves him around and presses a kiss to his temple. “You keep breathing, okay?”
Dean follows her to the door and says, “You sure? You've barely been alone with him.”
“I need to get something anyway. It's fine.”
“Oh. All right.”
She shuts the door, and Dean turns back to Sam, who's sitting there rubbing his chest and looking all confused.
“Everything's fine,” Dean says. “You're stuck with me, though.”
Sam scoots over on the couch and pats the spot next to him and pretty much drapes himself all over Dean as soon as he's sat back down.
“Yeah.” Dean pats his head. “Yeah, I figured.”
**
Sometimes this would happen when they were kids. They'd leave something in a motel room, or the credit card would run dry, or Sam would be sicker that month than they had the supplies to deal with. Whatever the reason, it left Dean and Sam on a motel bed or in the backseat of the Impala, trying to keep calm and keep going while John did whatever the fuck it took-usually just robbing a pharmacy, sometimes, when it was more fucking dire, breaking into houses with little kids and hoping there'd be a wheezy one, but they didn't talk about that-to get meds to their Sam.
They played I Spy and traced letters into each others hands for Hangman and Dean would read to him, but today Dean's fucking it all up because he wants Sam to talk, damn it, because no matter what he just told Jess, the truth is he's barely been alone with his kid since he got here.
Thankfully a 102-degree Sam is a chatty Sam, so he has no problem with perching breathlessly on Dean's elbow and wheezing his way through explanations of dramatic irony and Shakespearean sonnets. He lets Dean hit some of the crap out of his lungs and then says, “Hey, hey, that's enough,” when Dean hits too hard for his precious little body and yanks Dean around by his ear some to retaliate.
“I'm not sure what you're doing right now.”
Sam hums to himself and twists Dean's earlobe back and forth.
“You are the most feverish bastard around.”
“No.”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Around where? Around the world? Noooo. Around here?” Sam gestures vaguely to the couch. “Around here, you mean, Dean? Yeah. Maybe.”
Dean runs his thumb back and forth across Sam's forehead, like a windshield wiper. Sam gives this happy little wheeze and drops his head onto Dean's shoulder. Goddamn sick kids.
And hey, Sam has a fever, so why the fuck not get a little sappy with the kid?
Dean nudges him. “Hey.”
“Sorry I'll get off. Not yet though.”
Dean laughs. “No. You're good. Just...hey.”
Sam looks up at him.
“I'm really fucking happy that you're happy. You know that, right?”
Sam coughs and slips his head down onto Dean's lap. “Thought you'd be jealous, maybe.”
“That's not what this is. That cough's really too bad for you to be lying down, Sammy.”
“When I get married, I want you to be back in the...in the thing.” Sam nods and coughs, rearranges himself. “Like, backstage. Fuck, I'm a fever.”
“You're okay, buddy.”
“Yeah. I know.” He pats Dean's knee. “Backstage. In case I get scared. Just like this! You're okay, buddy.”
“I love high you, seriously, but maybe you should stop trying to talk? You can't breathe.”
“Breathing.” He whistles a long breath in and out.
“That's not breathing, Sam.”
“Uh-huh. Oxygen exchange. So.”
“Um.”
“I'm gonna convert,” Sam says. “If she wants. I want to.”
“Yeah, you should.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. From nothing to Jewish? Yeah, go for it.”
“And then...and then Jewish babies. And a chuppah! Gotta have a chuppah.”
“Uh. Of course.”
“We'll have three glasses. One for me and one for Jess and one for you. Mazel Tov! Will Dad come?”
“Of course.”
“Four glasses.” Sam wheezes and curls up tighter. “Mazel tov, Dad.”
Dean's about to tell Sam that, okay, he's sick enough, he can call John now, but then his phone rings, and he thinks maybe the stars are all perfectly aligned and John's calling to say he's sorry and Sammy will say he's sorry and everything will work out. But no, his phone says JESS.
“I'm like two blocks from the store and my car's stuck,” she says. “And the fucking place isn't even open. There's no one around.”
“You're okay?”
“I'm fine. Just...fuck.”
“All right. I'm on my way.”
“How's Sam?”
“He's okay. He'll be fine alone for a few minutes. I'll be right there, okay?” He hangs up and warps a fuckload of blankets around Sam and says, “Okay, Simba, I've got a rescue mission. You warm?”
“Jess okay?”
“Yep. Going to grab her and bring her back. You still here, okay? Stay here and breathe.”
Sam gives him a thumbs up.
“That's my boy. I'll call if anything goes wrong.” He hands Sam his phone. “You hold onto that. Call me if you start to feel really bad, okay?”
“Okay. I'm sorry, Dean.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Sorry you have to go rescue Jess 'cause I'm too sick.” He pushes his face into a pillow.
“Aw, but see, if you weren't sick, we wouldn't let you get away with being so annoying and mopey and full of self-pity.”
He picks his head up enough to glare at him, and Dean grins.
“Get some sleep, Sammy. I'll be back soon.”
Sam nuzzles at Dean's hand before he goes.
**
The roads are shit, and Dean's impressed Jess got as far as she did. He finds her axle-deep in a cruncy clod of dirt and ice, standing outside and rubbing her hands up and down her arms and kicking at the snow.
He shrugs his coat off and hands it to her. “Go warm up in my car.”
“It's fine. I want to help.”
He shakes his head. “You're cold, and this is going to take me a minute to dig out. I'm bringing you back first.”
“I want to help.”
“Someone should be with Sam.”
“He's not a fucking toddler, he's all right on his own.”
“Whoa.” Dean backs up a step, hands up. “I think I fucking know that, all right?”
“Sorry, I just...”
“He's really breathless and he's worried about you. It's just so he's more comfortable.”
“We don't eve have meds for him.”
“No, no, I found stuff in the car. Look.” He leads her over and opens up the trunk, leaving the false-floor hiding the weapons fully in-place. “Junky as fuck nebulizer Dad got secondhand when Sam was really little. It barely works, but we have a few refills for it. I forgot we even kept it around.”
She nods. “Okay. Good.” She breathes into her hands. “How the fuck do you even put a little kid on a nebulizer?”
“With a mask instead of a mouthpiece. Come on, let's get you back. Seriously, you're fucking freezing on me.”
“I can't believe this goddamn store isn't open.”
“Well, whatever, it doesn't matter. We can get him through a few more days now.”
She looks at the store and kicks the snow. “I...”
“Jess. Hey. What is it?”
“I needed something.”
And then Dean thinks about all the questions she's been asking and thinks about her nervous pacing at wheezes she wouldn't have batted an eye at before, and he thinks about his sick little brother on the couch and his little brother always fucking sick on some couch and he thinks about lighting candles and kissing in the snow and sleepless nights and how the fuck did John do it and he says, “Did you need a pregnancy test?”
She drops her head to her hands.
Summary: Dean goes to Stanford to spend Hanukkah with Jess and Sam. They're snowed in. Sam has a cold. Jess has a secret.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Wordcount: 2,230
Author's Note: Sammyverse, part of an 8-part series with one bit a night through the end of Hanukkah. Happy 3rd night! I got ANOTHER Boy Meets World DVD!
Night #1
Night #2
“This is a horrible idea,” Jess says, and she has a point, because Sam's asthma hit last night and it hit hard, and so God fucking knows how he's finding the air to crawl through his closet looking for mittens.
But it's Monday and school's canceled and they're still fucking snowed in, so happy Hanukkah, and they have nothing better to do for the rest of the day than brace Sam through the asthma attack that's barreling towards them one way or another, so they might as well have him earn it, right?
Still, he and Sam aren't idiots, which is why Sam's crawling out of his closet looking like the lankiest fucking eskimo, winding yet another scarf around his neck. Pretty much only his eyes are visible, but it's obvious he's smiling, because it's Sam, and Sam smiles with his whole body.
“I'll be fine,” he says, muffled by fabric and congestion and his own damn wheezing.
Jess crosses her arms and stares him down.
“We'll keep an eye on him!” Dean yanks a hat over Jess's head. “He's a wheezy little sonovabitch no matter what we do, so let's throw snowballs at him to punish him for all the worrying we're going to be doing.”
Sam nods hard. “Exactly.”
Jess keeps glaring at him for a while, then says, “I'm putting soup on the stove now, and you're setting up the nebulizer before you even think about going outside, and you're on it the second you get back in.”
Sam tugs the scarf under his chin and says, “I like it when you get bossy,” before he lifts Jess up by her upper arms and pins her up on the wall and kisses her until he's gasping.
Dean sets up the nebulizer and Jess doesn't complain anymore.
**
Sam's fine in the snow, because Sam was a fucking hunter for a zillion years and he's got a good strong set of lungs underneath this hideous disease clogging them and swelling them shut and lacing them up, but that's the kind of stuff that's hard to explain to Jess. You can say that Sam worked on his conditioning so he'd be able to breathe better, but you can't really say that the kid spent most of his childhood in special, Sam-tailored boot camp. You can say a lot of things about John but he knew Sam's lungs like the back of his damn hands, and he knew exactly when he could stretch him and when he could push him and when he needed to be left alone and when he needed blankets and meds and a hug right the fuck now. And Dean learned, you know? Dean learned along with Sam.
And now he's sitting on the porch, tired out from a snowball fight, watching Sam kiss Jess against a snow-covered tree, and shit, when did his kid get so goddamn respectable? What happened to the grumpy little bitch in the next bed, the one with his head on his shoulder for the cross-country trips and his hands all over Dean's food and his his fingers all wrapped up in his? When did this happen?
Dean leans against the banister and feels incredibly happy and deeply, deeply lonely.
**
(It doesn't often get to him and it doesn't stay long when it does, because he is so so so fucking happy that Sam is happy, and then they come in from outside and Sam strips off his wet clothes and wheezes like all hell and he wants Dean on one side of him and Jess on the other while they shake the snow off their boots and rub their hands up and down his back, and Sam rests his head on Dean's shoulder and clings to Jess with both hands and there is a place for Dean, Sam will always always leave a fucking place for Dean, but when Sam falls asleep with the nebulizer in his mouth and his arms around Jess's waist, Dean leaves them alone, because this is their story now. He isn't the main character anymore. This was always about Sam, and now Dean gets to sit and watch and Sam is the movie that Dean has been in line for his whole fucking life.)
**
Sam wakes up worse. The fever's rising, but the real problem is that the wheezing's unbelievable and they're running scary fucking low on supplies. Jess gets online and finds a drugstore five miles away that looks like it might still be open. She looks up directions, one hand on the keyboard and the other running up and down Sam's back.
Dean stands up and gets his coat. “I'll go as soon as they're printed.”
“No, no, I'll do it.”
“Are you kidding? Stay with Sam.”
“I know the area better than you.”
“I know driving in snow better than you. And you're better at the whole kissing him better thing.”
Sam flops down on the couch and pushes the forehead to the cushion to squeeze on this breath and grip his ribcage and otherwise make it very clear that he doesn't give a fuck which one of them goes as long as they come back with something that's going to help (and yeah, Dean's feeling pretty fucking stupid about the snow thing right now, fine).
Dean grabs for his keys, but Jess snatches them away and says, “Stop. I'm going. Sam. Honey. Sit up. Lean forwards.” She moves him around and presses a kiss to his temple. “You keep breathing, okay?”
Dean follows her to the door and says, “You sure? You've barely been alone with him.”
“I need to get something anyway. It's fine.”
“Oh. All right.”
She shuts the door, and Dean turns back to Sam, who's sitting there rubbing his chest and looking all confused.
“Everything's fine,” Dean says. “You're stuck with me, though.”
Sam scoots over on the couch and pats the spot next to him and pretty much drapes himself all over Dean as soon as he's sat back down.
“Yeah.” Dean pats his head. “Yeah, I figured.”
**
Sometimes this would happen when they were kids. They'd leave something in a motel room, or the credit card would run dry, or Sam would be sicker that month than they had the supplies to deal with. Whatever the reason, it left Dean and Sam on a motel bed or in the backseat of the Impala, trying to keep calm and keep going while John did whatever the fuck it took-usually just robbing a pharmacy, sometimes, when it was more fucking dire, breaking into houses with little kids and hoping there'd be a wheezy one, but they didn't talk about that-to get meds to their Sam.
They played I Spy and traced letters into each others hands for Hangman and Dean would read to him, but today Dean's fucking it all up because he wants Sam to talk, damn it, because no matter what he just told Jess, the truth is he's barely been alone with his kid since he got here.
Thankfully a 102-degree Sam is a chatty Sam, so he has no problem with perching breathlessly on Dean's elbow and wheezing his way through explanations of dramatic irony and Shakespearean sonnets. He lets Dean hit some of the crap out of his lungs and then says, “Hey, hey, that's enough,” when Dean hits too hard for his precious little body and yanks Dean around by his ear some to retaliate.
“I'm not sure what you're doing right now.”
Sam hums to himself and twists Dean's earlobe back and forth.
“You are the most feverish bastard around.”
“No.”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Around where? Around the world? Noooo. Around here?” Sam gestures vaguely to the couch. “Around here, you mean, Dean? Yeah. Maybe.”
Dean runs his thumb back and forth across Sam's forehead, like a windshield wiper. Sam gives this happy little wheeze and drops his head onto Dean's shoulder. Goddamn sick kids.
And hey, Sam has a fever, so why the fuck not get a little sappy with the kid?
Dean nudges him. “Hey.”
“Sorry I'll get off. Not yet though.”
Dean laughs. “No. You're good. Just...hey.”
Sam looks up at him.
“I'm really fucking happy that you're happy. You know that, right?”
Sam coughs and slips his head down onto Dean's lap. “Thought you'd be jealous, maybe.”
“That's not what this is. That cough's really too bad for you to be lying down, Sammy.”
“When I get married, I want you to be back in the...in the thing.” Sam nods and coughs, rearranges himself. “Like, backstage. Fuck, I'm a fever.”
“You're okay, buddy.”
“Yeah. I know.” He pats Dean's knee. “Backstage. In case I get scared. Just like this! You're okay, buddy.”
“I love high you, seriously, but maybe you should stop trying to talk? You can't breathe.”
“Breathing.” He whistles a long breath in and out.
“That's not breathing, Sam.”
“Uh-huh. Oxygen exchange. So.”
“Um.”
“I'm gonna convert,” Sam says. “If she wants. I want to.”
“Yeah, you should.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. From nothing to Jewish? Yeah, go for it.”
“And then...and then Jewish babies. And a chuppah! Gotta have a chuppah.”
“Uh. Of course.”
“We'll have three glasses. One for me and one for Jess and one for you. Mazel Tov! Will Dad come?”
“Of course.”
“Four glasses.” Sam wheezes and curls up tighter. “Mazel tov, Dad.”
Dean's about to tell Sam that, okay, he's sick enough, he can call John now, but then his phone rings, and he thinks maybe the stars are all perfectly aligned and John's calling to say he's sorry and Sammy will say he's sorry and everything will work out. But no, his phone says JESS.
“I'm like two blocks from the store and my car's stuck,” she says. “And the fucking place isn't even open. There's no one around.”
“You're okay?”
“I'm fine. Just...fuck.”
“All right. I'm on my way.”
“How's Sam?”
“He's okay. He'll be fine alone for a few minutes. I'll be right there, okay?” He hangs up and warps a fuckload of blankets around Sam and says, “Okay, Simba, I've got a rescue mission. You warm?”
“Jess okay?”
“Yep. Going to grab her and bring her back. You still here, okay? Stay here and breathe.”
Sam gives him a thumbs up.
“That's my boy. I'll call if anything goes wrong.” He hands Sam his phone. “You hold onto that. Call me if you start to feel really bad, okay?”
“Okay. I'm sorry, Dean.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Sorry you have to go rescue Jess 'cause I'm too sick.” He pushes his face into a pillow.
“Aw, but see, if you weren't sick, we wouldn't let you get away with being so annoying and mopey and full of self-pity.”
He picks his head up enough to glare at him, and Dean grins.
“Get some sleep, Sammy. I'll be back soon.”
Sam nuzzles at Dean's hand before he goes.
**
The roads are shit, and Dean's impressed Jess got as far as she did. He finds her axle-deep in a cruncy clod of dirt and ice, standing outside and rubbing her hands up and down her arms and kicking at the snow.
He shrugs his coat off and hands it to her. “Go warm up in my car.”
“It's fine. I want to help.”
He shakes his head. “You're cold, and this is going to take me a minute to dig out. I'm bringing you back first.”
“I want to help.”
“Someone should be with Sam.”
“He's not a fucking toddler, he's all right on his own.”
“Whoa.” Dean backs up a step, hands up. “I think I fucking know that, all right?”
“Sorry, I just...”
“He's really breathless and he's worried about you. It's just so he's more comfortable.”
“We don't eve have meds for him.”
“No, no, I found stuff in the car. Look.” He leads her over and opens up the trunk, leaving the false-floor hiding the weapons fully in-place. “Junky as fuck nebulizer Dad got secondhand when Sam was really little. It barely works, but we have a few refills for it. I forgot we even kept it around.”
She nods. “Okay. Good.” She breathes into her hands. “How the fuck do you even put a little kid on a nebulizer?”
“With a mask instead of a mouthpiece. Come on, let's get you back. Seriously, you're fucking freezing on me.”
“I can't believe this goddamn store isn't open.”
“Well, whatever, it doesn't matter. We can get him through a few more days now.”
She looks at the store and kicks the snow. “I...”
“Jess. Hey. What is it?”
“I needed something.”
And then Dean thinks about all the questions she's been asking and thinks about her nervous pacing at wheezes she wouldn't have batted an eye at before, and he thinks about his sick little brother on the couch and his little brother always fucking sick on some couch and he thinks about lighting candles and kissing in the snow and sleepless nights and how the fuck did John do it and he says, “Did you need a pregnancy test?”
She drops her head to her hands.