"You..." Obi-Wan coughed and cleared his throat. Then he took a deep breath in and out. "You always soud worried whed I'b sick."
Qui-Gon nodded and smiled. He wiped Obi-Wan's nose clean with the Force-padded gentleness needed to keep from hurting Obi-Wan's red nostrils. "I suppose that's so. But you sound stuffed-up," Qui-Gon said softly, giving Obi-Wan's head another comforting stroke. "It's difficult to watch you feeling sick and uncomfortable when there's nothing I can do."
"You do a lot," replied Obi-Wan, closing his eyes. It seemed for a moment that he might drift off to sleep again, comforted by his master's presence. But his brow furrowed and his face tensed, eyes shutting more tightly, cheeks raising, jaw dropping. Qui-Gon readied another handful of tissues and held them close to Obi-Wan's face, but not touching. "ehhh... eh-PIFChhhhh! EHPFTschhhh!" He rubbed his face into the tissues, snuffling with congestion.
"hehh... hehKRMChhhhh!"
"Aaaand that's it. We're calling it a day."
"Wha...?" Sam snuffles into his sleeve. He sits up straighter, looking around. "Already?"
"Yup." Dean starts looking around now, not for demon activity but for something else. "When you get up to twenty sneezes in half an hour, we call it quits."
"Who made that rule?" Instantly, Sam knows that was the wrong thing to say. He should have denied it, should have protested. "It can't have been twenty." The statement comes far too late.
Dean eyes him. "Oh, I saw that double you stifled into your shoulder back by the park. And that other one you sneezed when you thought I was jamming out to AC/DC and wouldn't hear." He glances over now, grinning. "You, my man, are sick."
It's only then that Sam realizes his brother has pulled into a 7-11. His eyes focus and unfocus on the sign for Slurpees in the window in front of him with only a vague recognition on his face.
Dean turns the key but leaves it in so that the engine's off but the heat's still going. "You got a preference, Sammy? Red stuff? Green stuff? Wanna try purple this time?"
They heard the screams before they reached the right level. And they knew who that strained voice belonged to. Both Remus and Sirius froze and exchanged looks. Then they bolted for the room.
After bursting through the door, they found James on the far side of the room, shivering. Peter stood in front of him, his hands cupped together. On its own, Peter didn't look so especially threatening, but James seemed to be reacting as if Peter had just shown himself to be a Death Eater. "Get the Hell away frob be!" James yelled.
"It's all right, James," Peter protested. "It's harmless. See?"
James shook his head and backed right into the wall. "Holdig add eatig are two vastly different thigs, Worbtail. Add... add... add-hahh... hahChuhh! hahChooo!" He snuffled wetly as he dragged his sleeve under his nose. "Add I'b dot eatig that."
Read parts 1 through 18 on my LJ
Not ten minutes after stepping through the gate, Daniel began scrambling around in his pockets. There seemed to be an unending amount of pockets in his vest, and most of them contained something. There were protein bars and water purification tablets. There was an old and battered reference dictionary he carried for good luck rather than for its usefulness. There was a package of extra bullets and a set of brushes. But nowhere did there seem to be a handkerchief.
"Idcreased the dosage by ass," he muttered under his breath. "hah—" His head tilted back, and he pressed the side of his hand to his nose in the absence of a hanky. "hahh-TSHHHTTT!" The tip of his nose moved back and forth against his hand as he rubbed, his other hand still searching for his handkerchief. But before he found it, his nose tickled just as madly as a moment before. "hehhh-SHhuhhh! Hahh-Shhtttt!"
Sam wonders what Dean's thinking when he shivers like that. Is he thinking of the horsemen on their asses? Is he thinking things would be better if Sam just says yes... or if Dean does? Is he thinking that this isn't a great time to be driving through the midwest?
"ahhhh-KUHFtchhhhh!" Yeah, probably that last one. "hah..." And you'd think that having been born and raised in Kansas, Dean would be immune to something like ragweed. "hahh-IHKkkktshhhhhh!" But in fact it's just the opposite.
According to what Sam could glean from the last motel room's crappy selection of television stations while Dean was in the shower, the ragweed's particularly bad this year. It's even making Sam's nose itch and tickle a little, and he hardly ever sneezes. Dean's hayfever makes up for Sam's shortcomings in that department, though. Sam's never known anyone to sneeze as much as Dean does, even though he takes medicine for it and showers twice a day. He's got the softest hypoallergenic pillow money can buy. He even blows his nose when he feels a tickle coming on, to try and get ahead of the thing. But there's no driving some of these sneezes out. Once they get deep in there, irritating, there's no stopping them.