Frigid (SPN fic)

[Sawyer]

The weather is absolutely unbearable where I live right now (although I actually made it warmer here in this story, to make it more realistic since it's set in season one and not in 2014) and I guess it might not be all bad, since it inspired me to write something. I still love complaining about it though.

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PART ONE

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“…And he’ll have a bowl of today’s soup, if it’s not too much trouble.” Dean smiles up at the waitress, characteristically coy and charming.

“Dean, I’m an adult. I can order for my—”

“Thanks,” Dean interrupts, eyes locked on their waitress as he pointedly ignores his brother and gives her a wink instead, as if to say I’m calling the shots here, sweetheart. Don’t worry about him.

Sam huffs from across the table, arms crossed in defiance, although, to be honest, soup does sound pretty good right now. His throat is killing him and he can feel his nose starting to stuff up. Still, he insists, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, like you were fine this morning when I woke up to you trying to hack up a lung,” Dean bites back, and Sam rolls his eyes. “I let you come out today, the least you could do is work with me on this. Keep your strength up.”

“I’m sorry; you let me—?”

“What, you think I couldn’t have made you stay in bed if I wanted to?”

“No.”

“Well, tough. I’m older and I get the final say.”

“I’m twenty-two, Dean. When you were my age I know that you hunted with way worse.”

“Uh-huh. Well. Now I’m twenty-six. Still older.” He grins; this sort of big-brother-logic has always gotten on Sam’s nerves, and it shows when the younger Winchester huffs a second time.

Their waitress reappears with two white mugs and a pot of coffee, graciously filling each one before she sets a saucer loaded with cream and sweeteners. Dean contemplates ordering Sam a cup of tea to go along with it, just to scorch him a little more, but she’s hurrying off to another table before he gets a chance.

“Besides,” Dean adds, bringing the cup to his lips, “wind chill’s just about thirty-five below. Even you can’t argue that it’s doing you any good, breathing in that freezing air all day.” And that’s saying something. If Sam’s good at anything, it’s winning an argument.

“I’m only outside for the few seconds we’re walking from the car to the library,” Sam corrects, and look at that, maybe he can try to argue his way into it after all. He takes a sip of caffeine, warm and bitter, without bothering to sweeten it. It helps the scratchiness in his throat, but doesn’t do much to soothe the ache.

“I’m just saying that with you, these things have a tendency of turning real bad real fast. You start telling me if your chest hurts or anything, got it?”

Sam rolls his eyes again, takes another drink. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay, mom.” He’s teasing, but Dean can hear the subtext: Lay off. I can take care of myself.

Ten ounces of hearty chicken and vegetable soup are slid in front of Sam along with the waitress’s warning to “Be careful, it’s hot. And I brought you some crackers, too.”

He looks up to thank her as she serves Dean his plate as well, but his nose acts as a hindrance and he’s forced to turn away before he has a chance to speak. “HHh…hh’EhtKSSHhchew! HuhtCHSHhUh!”

“Bless you!” She offers graciously. “Guess that soup’ll do you some good, huh?”

It’s rhetorical, and she’s gone again before Sam, embarrassed, can formulate a proper response.

Dean doesn’t say anything as he digs into his meal. Sam knows he wants to say something, and Dean knows Sam knows Dean wants to say something, so the two of them leave it at that while Sam sniffles through breakfast, too stubborn to blow his nose.

-

Dean’s never been one for dramatics, and he wasn’t exaggerating about the wind chill. The air is thin and bitter, stinging and painful on his face and ears. He can feel the moisture in his nostrils freeze almost instantly; he’s unable to even imaging what Sam (whose nose will run at the slightest chill, even when he’s at his healthiest) must be feeling.

“So, you think we’re looking at a cursed object? Pissed off spirit?”

Sam opens the impala’s passenger door and slides inside, coughing shortly and deeply before he can answer. “Sorry.” He clears his throat. His nose and cheeks are pink from the frigid air. “I was actually thinking poltergeist.”

“Poltergeist,” Dean repeats. “You serious?”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Everyone in that house reported getting the same feeling when they got near the shed – even the dog won’t go out there. There has to be s-something… hh’HH’ISHCHuh! Something else going on.”

“Bless.” Dean revs the engine and backs out of the parking lot. “What’s with you and dogs anyway?”

“My point is,” Sam pauses to sniffle, the sound thick and crackling and not all that productive, “there’s something going on in that house, Dean. Some kind of presence.”

“Okay. What makes you think it’s a poltergeist?”

“Telekenetic attacks, inhuman strength—” Sam lists, but Dean cuts him off.

“First of all, we don’t know the attacks were telekinetic. Only guy to see them was the brother, and his sister said he’s a little out of his gourd.”

“It’s worth checking into,” Sam insists. He sniffles again, harder than before but with the same frustrating lack of productivity. “Everyone living there said that something felt ‘off’ about the house, since they first moved in. Poltergeists can manifest in, uh… in… huhh… hh’MMPtsshew! TSSHCHhew! …Ind mbore thad ode area of the house at a tibe. Sniff!”

“Gesundheit. I know that.” They’re stopped at a red light, so Dean reaches over into the glove compartment and pulls out a handful of fast food napkins, dropping them into his brother’s lap. While Sam’s blowing his nose, Dean asks, “So, what? Go to the archives, see if we can find any history of demon possession in the house?”

Sam nods as Dean steps on the gas.

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I think I've got plans for this one. I think.

Let me know what you thought!!! Or if there's anything that you want to see (and I'll try to write it in)!

Mod note: edited tag from female to male.

Edited February 7, 2014 by PuddinPop

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

<3 sneezy sam <3 oh I love this ! do continue, i'd hope you do !

[BlueRandom]

Oh, mm! - this was hot. I love that Dean's concerned but not at all soppy, (is it just me that wayyyy prefers bad-ass Dean to the motherly later Dean?!), and how you write them ribbing at each other like they did in the early seasons. (Also, you know how much I like case-fics )

Can't wait to see your plans for this!

Edited February 7, 2014 by BlueRandom

[SterlingSilver]

Awwww~! This is adorable! I'm really looking forward to where this is going <3

You're carrying the plot really well! I always admire people who write for fandoms that need a kind of "mystery" premise. Those are hard to do tastefully, I think. But this is just gold~

(is it just me that wayyyy prefers bad-ass Dean to the motherly later Dean?!)

Also, definitely not just you >w> xDD

[Always-a-Ginger]

Loved the he-knows-that-i-know-that-he-knows-he wants to say something moment. Very big brother.

[Sawyer]

<3 sneezy sam <3 oh I love this ! do continue, i'd hope you do !

You were so fast with your reply! Thank you!! I'll have the next part coming really soon!!!

Oh, mm! - this was hot. I love that Dean's concerned but not at all soppy, (is it just me that wayyyy prefers bad-ass Dean to the motherly later Dean?!), and how you write them ribbing at each other like they did in the early seasons. (Also, you know how much I like case-fics )

Can't wait to see your plans for this!

Oh man, I'm like, starstruck because I look up to you and your writing so much so I'm really extremely glad that you liked it! Thank you! Early seasons case fics are my absolute favorite of all time but I'm just so soo awful with coming up with good plots so I haven't tried too much with them... I'm trying to practice though! And yeah, you're definitely not the only one -- I love Dean and his stoic faux-toughness in seasons 1-3; it was all so light and character-specific, so it's really got a special place in my heart.

Awwww~! This is adorable! I'm really looking forward to where this is going <3

You're carrying the plot really well! I always admire people who write for fandoms that need a kind of "mystery" premise. Those are hard to do tastefully, I think. But this is just gold~

(is it just me that wayyyy prefers bad-ass Dean to the motherly later Dean?!)

Also, definitely not just you >w> xDD

Oh my god, thank you so much! Like I've said before over and over, I'm really miserably bad with plot-related stuff, so it means a lot to me that you think I'm doing okay with it! That's always been my biggest struggle! (And hell yeah! Badass Dean lovers unite!)

Loved the he-knows-that-i-know-that-he-knows-he wants to say something moment. Very big brother.

Thank you! It's always seemed to me like they had a sort of unspoken way of communicating... after spending so many years together, you just sort of start to understand the other person! Special bond indeed.

[Skyler]

I love this, but I do wonder why it is tagged as female if I'm seeing it right

[Sawyer]

I love this, but I do wonder why it is tagged as female if I'm seeing it right

Thank you! I'm so happy! And thanks for pointing that out -- I got PuddinPop to fix it! (Thanks again!! You ROCK.)

[MaiMai]

How did I not see this until now?!

I will try not to sqwee incoherently and say this is beautifully written, adorable and completely perfect. Your fics are always absolutely amazing and I always adore them!

[Sawyer]

How did I not see this until now?!

I will try not to sqwee incoherently and say this is beautifully written, adorable and completely perfect. Your fics are always absolutely amazing and I always adore them!

You are mega sweet. THANK YOU! I've got part two written but I'm in the middle of my school's library right now (and on the forum even though I'm supposed to be working... oops!) and about to head home, so stay tuned~

[Sophie<3]

Ohhh... this is gonna be good. Loved every line of this so far. The best part is how Dean acts his usual tough self, but under the surface he's still looking out for Sammy. And the case sounded interesting, too. Now if you continue, you'll get two things for sure. Many replies (mine included) and a happy Sophie!

Sick Sammy just really pushes my buttons. <3 I'm tempted to say that it's out of control. Almost.

[Sawyer]

Ohhh... this is gonna be good. Loved every line of this so far. The best part is how Dean acts his usual tough self, but under the surface he's still looking out for Sammy. And the case sounded interesting, too. Now if you continue, you'll get two things for sure. Many replies (mine included) and a happy Sophie!

Sick Sammy just really pushes my buttons. <3 I'm tempted to say that it's out of control. Almost.

Mine, too! I'm so glad you liked it, thank you!

Okay, here's part two! So... just as a disclaimer, I always manage to get really confused and unsure when it comes to plot-to-sneezing ratio... and plot stuff in general... please let me know if you think this is okay!

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PART TWO

It’s the kind of midwestern town that somehow manages not to look so bleak in the winter, with festive strings of light bulbs draped over and around homes and shops even well past the holidays; complete with narrow streets as well as an impressive lack of chain restaurants and supermarkets. With all the snow it looks far too “Christmas Special” to Dean, its peaceful and harmonious atmosphere seeming inappropriate given his knowledge on the freaking haunted house just over on Johnson Street.

Through an empty space in the bookshelves, he asks Sam, “You find anything?”

Sam opens his mouth as if to answer, but inhales sharply instead, opting to shake his head in hopes that Dean would get the message. “Hh’uh… hh’ngkCHHh!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, me neither.” Sam’s been doing that with increasing frequency since they got inside, each time frantically covering his face and uselessly trying to quiet the sound only to be thwarted by the force and power of every sneeze, echoing off the walls of the quiet library. “You about done here?”

“HhtKTSSHhuh! Yeah.” Sam isn’t sure if Dean means with research or with sneezing, but either way, his answer still stands. “Huhh…” Or not. “Huh’nghTSHHew!” Well, one for two at least.

“All right, come on.” Dean rounds the corner and walks into Sam’s aisle, briefly grabbing him by the elbow and tugging before he lets go. “People are starting to stare. We’ll go back to the house; maybe the residents know something that the records don’t.”

Sam really wants to wash his hands, having been grabbing at his face for hours, but Dean’s packed up and rushing him out the door before he has a chance.

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“Afternoon!” The homeowner, Keri, greets them once they arrive, surprised by their presence but by no means displeased. She’s a petit schoolteacher in her early 30’s, with boy-short brown hair and kind russet eyes. She invites them inside almost too readily, her level of trust dangerously high for two men that she’d only met a day before.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” She’s appropriately musical with her speech, pronouncing each word delicately and fluidly with watertight articulation. “I had time to make stew; we got a half day today, since the temperature’s supposed to drop another ten degrees and they didn’t want kids walking home in case of frostbite...”

It’s past one already, which is pushing it as far as lunchtime goes, but neither of them are complaining. “Lunch would be great, actually, thanks,” Dean speaks for the both of them, as usual. “We haven’t had a chance to eat yet.” One of the rules of the hunt that Dad taught them had been not to deny a free meal – another being that victims like feeling useful, especially in times of uncertainty. It’s a win-win.

There’s a boy sitting at the kitchen table playing some sort of handheld game with an empty bowl in front of him. His hair is shaggy and a mousy shade of brown, and he’s got a bountiful splattering of freckles spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Cameron, this is Dean and his brother Sam. They’re here to…”

“To see what’s going on with your shed,” Sam cuts in.

“Oh. You mean the ghost?” Cameron asks, his tone incredibly blunt. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his game.

“Cameron, we’ve talked about this.”

“I’m just kidding,” Cameron rectifies, although he doesn’t sound like he means it. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Where’s uncle Jeremy?”

At that moment the dull buzzing sensation in Sam’s sinuses spreads and grows, causing him to turn swiftly and politely, ironically bringing attention to himself as he launches into the sneeze. “Huhh’hh’KTSCHew!”

“God bless you,” Keri offers, softly touching his arm before he’s even fully recovered. “You boys can take a seat. I’ll go and see if I can fetch Jeremy.”

Once she’s disappeared back down the hall, Cameron finally looks up. “You’re really here about the ghost, right?” he asks, clearly not one for frivolities. He can’t be older than ten, but his voice holds the unmistakably flat, disinterested, know-it-all tone of a teenager.

“What makes you think there’s a ghost?” Dean prompts.

“Uncle Jeremy said there was,” the kid explains. “He said the dog started going nuts and then the ghost knocked everything over and locked them both in the shed. All of the light bulbs exploded.”

Sam and Dean look at each other, and when Sam starts coughing, Dean faces Cameron. “Your mom didn’t tell us that part of the story.”

“What didn’t I tell you?” Keri asks, walking through the doorway with a younger man – presumably Jeremy – following behind her. He looks older than Sam but younger than Dean, his appearance unkempt but clean, with stringy hair and bags under his eyes.

“Oh, the story about the shed. Uncle Jeremy tells it better.”

“That would be me,” Jeremy says, his words purposely and playfully slurred. He pulls out a chair across the table from Sam and sits down. “You okay, man?”

Sam manages to stop coughing, clearing his throat and blinking the moisture out of his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry; I’m fine.”

“Dean, right?” Jeremy asks him.

“Other way around,” Dean corrects. “I’m Dean.”

“Huh. Thought you’d be the taller one.” Jeremy grins (while Dean tries not to scowl), extending his hand over the table and allowing each of the brothers to shake it. Sam hesitates at first, self-conscious about spreading germs, but obliges once he figures that it would look even stranger if he refused. “So, Sis, you never told them about the part where all my stuff started floating in mid-air?”

“That’s because it’s nonsense, Jeremy,” Keri chides as she takes the pot off of the stove, walking over to the table and beginning to ladle the stew into each of their bowls. “They’re here because of a wiring issue.”

“But any detail would help,” Sam adds, clearing his throat and hoping that the hot food would do something to relieve its stickiness. “Why don’t you humor us.”

Jeremy’s eyes light up as he rubs his hands together, like he’s told this story hundreds of times and he never gets tired of telling it. “So, I’m bunking in the shed, right? My gracious, gracious sister is letting me stay here while I look for a job – I’m a philosophy major; should’ve known better. Anyway, let me tell you, this place is sweet. Wi-Fi reaches all the way out there so I’ve got a killer computer set up, a comfortable mattress, my dog to keep me company. I’m living the life. It’s awesome. It’s like my own place! For the first time ever.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. This guy is rambling already; the story’s going to take forever.

“Your own place? Not when I’m the one paying for it,” Keri reminds him, placing a basket of warm rolls and a stick of soft butter next to the salt and pepper. She finally sits down at the head of the table, Sam on her left and Jeremy on her right.

Jeremy waves her off, grabbing a roll and taking a bite. “Whatever. Like I was saying. My sweet, sweet freedom lasted about two weeks – and then, a couple of days ago, I’m just hanging out, my dog’s asleep, I go outside to use the bathroom—”

“All this talk about your ‘sweet freedom’ and you don’t even have your own bathroom?”

“Keri, I’m telling a story. Oh my god. Anyway. I walk – would you stop laughing? – I walk outside and the door freaking SLAMS right behind me! Weird as hell, right, so I turn around to open it and it’s stuck, like nailed-to-the-wall stuck, what the hell. And I hear my dog growling, barking – and I’m freaking out, I’m like, I’m ramming my weight against the door and stuff over and over but nothing. It won’t budge. And I hear stuff banging and crashing and freaking shattering, swear to God. And the shed’s got this one window – you’ve seen it, right? – I look inside, stuff’s flying. It’s flying. In the air. One of my computer screens is broken, the lamp’s unplugged and upside down, you know, the usual… freaky stuff man, totally batshit.”

“More like bullshit,” Keri remarks. Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean, who’s nodding along, no doubt anxious to find out the rest so that they can scope out the shed.

“Keri, please, this is the best part! So my dog starts crying, whimpering, and then it’s just – it’s just Dead. Silent. So I ram into the door one last time and finally it gives. Flies open. All my shit is everywhere, totally broken, how do you explain that? Oh, and guess what else! It’s pitch freaking black. All the light bulbs shattered! So I’m looking around, like, oh my god, where’s my dog? I’m so scared, dude, like maybe he got hurt or something, oh man, but my phone’s got a flashlight and I finally find him, like, squashed up against the corner, and he leaps into my arms and he won’t move. Like he’s in shock, or something. Oh man, dude, he’s terrified and I’m terrified, so I pick him up and bolt straight into the house, still bummed about my computer to this very day.”

“Yeah, you forgot to mention that this all happened at two in the morning. On a school night. Allow me to add that he was a little, um…” Keri glances at Sam and Dean, then at Cameron, then at the brothers again. “Out of his mind,” she says knowingly.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Jeremy protests, not bothering to deny the accusation.

“We might have to check that out. Never heard of anything like it,” Sam lies, sniffling as the steam from his meal begins to make his nose run.

“Oh, here, let me get you some napkins,” Keri offers quickly, standing up and heading for the cabinet. She’s practically doting on him, Dean notices, despite Sam being at least ten years her junior.

“UhhKTSHHhew!” It’s too late, anyway. Sam’s turned toward Keri’s empty chair, his forearm shielding the lower half of his face. “Hh’IH’KSSHEW!”

“Bless you,” Cameron remarks, his tone absolutely robotic, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying and his politeness is only present because he knows his mother is watching.

“Thanks.” Sam sniffles again, just in time for Keri to place a stack of folded paper napkins on the table next to him. He grabs one and aimlessly swipes underneath his nose.

“Are you not feeling well?” Keri asks, her gaze kind and gently concerned.

“Starting to get a cold, I think,” Sam admits. He keeps his tenor neutral and indifferent in hopes that they won’t make a big deal out of it. Although, to be fair, there would probably be less apprehension if he could just stop sneezing for a couple of minutes. The whole thing seems to be never-ending, and it’s both awkward and frustrating.

“Poor thing. A lot of my students have been ill lately as well; you should wear a hat when you go back out to check the shed.”

“That’s a good hh! good idea… UhEHKTSSHew! Sorry, excuse me.”

“Bless you. I might have some cold tablets upstairs…”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Sam promises, pinching his nose with a napkin to chase away a fourth sneeze. “You don’t have to do that.”

Aware that the attention is making his brother uncomfortable, Dean looks up from his meal (delicious, by the way, he’ll have to thank her) and turns his head toward Sam.

“The door not opening,” he says, in reference to Jeremy’s story. “You think that might be something we should look into?”

Sam clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Jeremy, did you, uh, did you feel anything when you were trying to get the door open?”

“Oh yeah,” Jeremy answers, nodding as he swallows his bite of stew. “Felt solid, like something was on the other side, you know, blocking me or whatever. The door doesn’t even have a lock.”

“The attic doesn’t have a lock either!” Cameron supplies, suddenly interested. “Mom, remember all those times I got locked out?”

“The door kept getting stuck,” Keri corrects. “That’s why you moved your bedroom back downstairs.”

“No, I moved back downstairs because the man told me to.”

Keri startles, but doesn’t raise her voice. “A man?” She looks at Jeremy. “Could there be a man living in our attic?”

“Well, not a man, I guess,” Cameron revises. “He didn’t really have a face. Or a body. But I knew he was there. He stands next to you every time you walk up the stairs.”

Relieved, Keri sighs. “Cameron, there’s no man in the attic.”

“Maybe not anymore,” Cameron considers, and then grins mischievously. “Maybe he moved to the shed.”

Jeremy pats his nephew on the back with a matching grin. “Dude, I bet you’re so right. It always felt wrong up there, all tense and stuff. Just like in the shed.”

“Sometimes different frequencies or even chemicals can make us feel like something’s there, even when it’s not,” Dean supplies. It’s true, but both he and Sam know that this likely isn’t the case. “We could look over the attic if you want, make sure there are no leaks or anything.”

“Oh, only if it isn’t too much trouble.” Keri begins to clear the table. “I wouldn’t want you going through all that work just because of my son’s imagination.”

“Won’t take more than a few minutes,” Dean accepts, standing in preparation to make the trip upstairs. Sam follows his lead, stuffing a few table napkins into his pocket. “Better safe than sorry.”

Edited February 7, 2014 by Sen Beret

[MaiMai]

Yes yes yes the ratio is perfect!! <3 The plot is great too, it's developing really well and I can't wait to see what happens next! It's adorable how Keri is doting on Sam and he's all embarrassed and awwwwwww! This is so so sweet! <3 <3 <3

[Always-a-Ginger]

This is developing so well. For some reason Uncle Jeremy makes me smile...he reminds me of people i know.

[Sophie<3]

Wow, this is really good. The plot is coming along really well, the ratio was perfect. Even with less sneezing I would have liked it, I promise. Everything's so authentic. I think I'd read your stories even without any fetishy content. You're a good writer! (:

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Awe cute embaressed Sammy ;o <3 continue !

[Anilkex]

Sneeze to plot ratio is always a problem for me...as evidenced in, like, everything I write. :/ I guess I want it to sound more natural than gratuitous, although there is ALWAYS A PLACE FOR THAT, TOO (thinks of the Smoke LARP story...) Still, I love your stories because the plot makes the whole sneezing part more fun to read and imagine. And yes, the constant yo-yo of cold and snow and cold and now snow today is irritating.

[SexualOddity]

Awww I love this! The plot is intriguing and you always write such characterful OCs, and the teacher is adorable, looking after him. I love that the sneezing is in such uncomfortable situations - like the library and when they're having their meal. And my favourite, favourite bit is the brotherly needling at each other in the first bit. 'Oh I'm sorry, you let me' is a particular favourite line!

[Sawyer]

Seriously, thank you guys SO MUCH for the feedback. You're so encouraging and it really really means a lot -- I keep going back to read your comments and just smiling and smiling. I've got part three on the way, but it's taking a little longer due to some personal business (nothing bad, I promise!) so I'll have it up as sooooon as I can!

Yes yes yes the ratio is perfect!! <3 The plot is great too, it's developing really well and I can't wait to see what happens next! It's adorable how Keri is doting on Sam and he's all embarrassed and awwwwwww! This is so so sweet! <3 <3 <3

YOU'RE so so sweet! I kind of based Keri off of my favorite professor from school (that was when I got the idea for this fic... I just had to find a case to put her in!

This is developing so well. For some reason Uncle Jeremy makes me smile...he reminds me of people i know.

Aw man, thank you! I love characters like that... somehow dramatic and laid-back at the same time. I think this is my first try writing someone like that though!!

Wow, this is really good. The plot is coming along really well, the ratio was perfect. Even with less sneezing I would have liked it, I promise. Everything's so authentic. I think I'd read your stories even without any fetishy content. You're a good writer! (:

Wow, that is so nice of you to say! I never thought of myself as much of a writer and I think I struggle with wanting everything to look nice and flow really well and stay in character but I feel like I can never quite seem to manage it as well as I want to! This really means a lot to me. Thank you!!

Awe cute embaressed Sammy ;o <3 continue !

Yes, my favorite! As you wish~

Sneeze to plot ratio is always a problem for me...as evidenced in, like, everything I write. :/ I guess I want it to sound more natural than gratuitous, although there is ALWAYS A PLACE FOR THAT, TOO (thinks of the Smoke LARP story...) Still, I love your stories because the plot makes the whole sneezing part more fun to read and imagine. And yes, the constant yo-yo of cold and snow and cold and now snow today is irritating.

Oh my god, I was sitting here thinking "how does she know what the weather is like here?? I never specified!!!" until I remembered that you live probably less than twenty miles West of me... which still blows my mind, by the way...

I really love yours too! You definitely have a knack for perfecting that ratio... I can never figure out what I want something to be, like should I go nuts and indulge myself or should I try to stay on track with this... although I've always loved casefics that are similar to canon so I've been kind of trying to keep it real!

Awww I love this! The plot is intriguing and you always write such characterful OCs, and the teacher is adorable, looking after him. I love that the sneezing is in such uncomfortable situations - like the library and when they're having their meal. And my favourite, favourite bit is the brotherly needling at each other in the first bit. 'Oh I'm sorry, you let me' is a particular favourite line!

Aw, oh my god, you are always so nice about my OCs! I sure do have a penchant for making them want to look after Sam, though, don't I? (Maybe because I so much want to do it myself but I know I would be no good at it!)

Heeee, you know how much I love brotherly needling~ I've been trying to add a little more in for part three!! Thank you so much for your feedback!!!!

[Sawyer]

I hope I don't jinx anything by saying that I'm amazed at how fast I've been able to write and post each installment! (Usually it takes me days in between parts!) I was originally going to have a extra two scenes in part three, but I figured that since it was already 900 words and I still had a lot more to go, it would be easier just to split it into two and have them come out faster. Plus, I'm not sure how much time (or energy/motivation!) I'm going to have this coming week, so I figured why not? (A little something to tide you over, maybe.) Let me know what you think!

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PART THREE

“Still think it’s not a poltergeist?” Sam asks, his voice hushed as they make their way up the stairs to the attic, the family out of earshot.

“You might be on to something,” Dean replies. He takes a few more steps and asks, “You feel the presence that the kid was talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answers honestly. “Could just be the spirit remaining docile, or keeping itself confined to the shed for now.”

Dean shrugs and turns the knob, opens the door and steps inside. The ceiling is wooden and unfinished, just high enough so that the tips of his gelled hair brush up against it although Sam has to strain his neck and shoulders, slouching.

They take a few moments to explore the tiny room, old wooden floors creaking beneath them as they do so. It’s cold although the walls are still insulated, and there’s a single window at the back of the room right above a barren mattress and bedframe – likely where Cameron had been sleeping before he moved back downstairs. It’s mostly empty otherwise; a couple of boxes full of dusty blankets save for a bigger one that’s labeled “Christmas Decorations”, and an unplugged lamp in the corner furthest from the door.

“No EMF,” Sam announces, wrinkling his nose and staring up at the window. “Hhuh… hh’uh’hhNGKTSHuh! … HtKSSHh! Hh'KSHHhew!”

“Dust getting to you?” Dean inquires innocently, knowing that Sam has to fess up either way.

Sam shrugs as he pulls a napkin out of his pocket, then turns away from Dean to face the wall. “Huh’mmpTSSHhew!”

“Guess so,” Dean decides. “Uh. Bless you. C’mere, check this out.” He’s leaning down near one of the bedposts, gesturing toward four deep, jagged indentations carved into the wood.

Sam stumbles over to take a look. “Might not mean anything. They could just have a cat.”

It’s Dean’s turn to scrunch up his nose. “Ugh, don’t even say that.”

Sam gasps and wrenches to the side, pinching his nose shut to contain the sneeze, his efforts thwarted when it makes its way through anyway. “Hp’NNKtsshuh!”

“Seriously? Dude, that’s number five since we got up here. You've got to take some of that medicine she offered you earlier.”

“Dean I’m fine. Quit trying to boss me around.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. You don’t sound like you’re getting better, and I need you on top of your game tonight if we’re gonna gank this thing.”

“What, the ghost? You guys are still looking for him?” Cameron asks, swiftly appearing in the doorway. Neither Sam nor Dean had even heard him coming up. “If he was here, you’d know. He doesn’t really care for people hanging out upstairs, but he doesn’t usually come out during the day.”

“You seen him around lately?” Dean asks. He remains bent down so that he can remain non-threatening, meeting Cameron’s eye level.

“Only after midnight,” Cameron answers. He sounds dead serious for once; his voice has a hard edge to it, like some sort of warning. “I don’t go up here at night anymore, so I’m not sure if he left or not.”

“Sounds like we might need to come back around again tonight, eh Sammy?”

Sam stretches his mouth into a thin smile, nodding. “You think we should take a look at the shed first, though?”

“My mom isn’t gonna let you go out there right now,” Cameron informs them. He’s already starting to head down the stairs, seemingly bored with the conversation, although he does sound guilty for raining on their parade. “She wouldn’t even let me go outside. She said I’d get frostbite.”

Dean follows behind him with Sam on his tail. “We’re grown-ups, kiddo. Big difference between you freezing your ears off in the snow and us scoping out your shed for a few minutes.”

“You’re saying that adults can make their own decisions when it comes to their health,” Sam clarifies. His voice is sounding thicker and deeper by the minute, congestion starting to take hold.

“Sam, not now,” Dean growls.

Sarcastically, Sam shrugs as the reach the bottom of the staircase, about to retort until he realizes that Jeremy is lounging on the couch less than six feet away. It would be both unwise and inconsiderate to start an argument with his brother in the middle of someone else’s house, so he lets it slide.

“You find out what was wrong?” Jeremy asks, feet crossed on the coffee table as he leans back and lowers the television’s volume. Cameron pulls the same handheld game from before off of the table and opens it as he adjusts himself into a cross-legged position next to Jeremy on the couch.

“Nothing yet,” Dean answers. “But Cameron said that the, ah, problems up there don’t usually start until past midnight.” He’s careful to avoid ghost-related language; the more they give away, the crazier they’ll look – at least until they’ve got concrete proof.

“Well hey, man, drop by again tonight,” Jeremy offers easily. “I’m up way later than that; just knock on the back door and I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks,” Dean replies. He grabs their coats from the coatrack by the door, handing Sam his jacket before shrugging on his own. “We’re just gonna take a look in the shed and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Ugh, knock yourselves out. Couldn’t get me to step foot in there again if you paid me.”

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

awwwe sneezy sammy <3

the plot is really good !

[Always-a-Ginger]

Still loving this.

[Sophie<3]

I must say, I really like your OCs. I almost feel like I care more for them and the case than I do for Sam's cold and that... is huge! I mean, I came here for the sneezing, stayed for the story, characters and writing style!

[AngelEyes]

OMG! I was reading this and totally forgot it was a fix and not an actual episode. Plot that good! Love it! Can't wait for more!

[Sawyer]

Sorry for the delay! And seriously, thank you so much for your comments about the plot. It really really means a lot.

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PART FOUR

The shed in question is, unsurprisingly, no different from any other conventional shed on terms of appearance. It doesn’t look old or deserted or even ill-taken care of; it’s wooden and insulated, with electricity and a good amount of Jeremy’s belongings still haphazardly strewn around inside. Most of the haunted areas they’ve investigated over the years, save for the abandoned ones, haven’t looked too far from normal – which is perhaps the most dangerous part, in addition to making their jobs that much more difficult.

It’s starting to get dark inside, as is to be expected given the shed’s single window and the winter’s early sunset. Seeing a single working light bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling brings Sam’s attention to the light switch next to the door, but when he flips it, the room remains dim.

“Electricity’s probably out from the attack,” Dean reasons. “These things usually mess with the wiring big time.”

“Yeah, except that the alarm clock’s still working. Look.” Sam reaches around the back of an old alarm clock sitting on the desk, sniffling thickly as he gives its cord a gentle tug and then again when he lifts the device to check the bottom. “No batteries either. Maybe the bulb’s burnt out.”

“It’s fine, we’ve got a few minutes left of daylight anyway. Let’s figure this out quick and get out of here – I need a drink. And you…” Dean looks Sam over, takes in his rough appearance; messy hair, glassy eyes, and the way he’s been breathing through his mouth, the hitch in his breath as he tries not to cough. “You need a… mimosa. Get your Vitamin C, or whatever.”

Sam rolls his eyes as Dean steps over a shattered stain glass lampshade and begins rifling through a pile of vintage electronics and computer parts. “Watch out,” he warns, “there’s broken glass.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement, the sound coming out muffled and quiet through his stuffy nose. He’s been resisting the urge to shiver since this morning, his muscles tense and sore. With its insulating walls acting as a shield from the wind, the inside of the shed is warmer than the arctic conditions outside. Still, though, the room is cold enough for both boys to see their breath, Dean’s ears flushing dark cherry red along with Sam’s nose and cheeks.

Dean has always been a little less sensitive to the cold than Sam has – not to say that Sam couldn’t hold his own during a snowstorm or a particularly bitter season, but Dean and John had always paid careful attention to bundling him up during the colder months and he figures that he may have never had a chance to get used to the cold, to grow a thicker skin against it.

“I’m not finding anything,” Sam announces after a few minutes, once the sun has fully set. His eyes are already accustomed to the darkness, but it’s still considerably difficult to see anything in full detail. “You?”

“Nada.”

“There must be something we’re missing,” Sam decides. He’s rubbing the side of his nose vigorously with one gloved hand, trying to concentrate on one of the documents in front of him.

Just as Dean stands to make his way over to the next bundle of Jeremy’s damaged possessions, the light bulb abruptly flickers on, brightly illuminating the space in the shed and causing Sam to turn and cover his face with the palm of his glove.

“HuhESHHhuh! Aht’ISHHhew!”

Dean raises his eyebrows, perplexed. “Thought that only happened on sunny days.”

“Ugh. Not after my eyes are… uhh… hh’ihhTSSHhuh! adjusted to the dark. Sdff!” He leaves out that he’d already needed to sneeze and the light had only done its usual job of pushing him over the edge.

Dean crosses his arms and leans against a wall. “Well, then, have at it.”

Sam shakes his head. He’s squinting and wrinkling his nose, his breath hitching unevenly. “Stuck,” he mutters, glancing up at the light just in time for it to turn off again, enveloping them both in darkness.

“Aw, tough break kiddo,” Dean says, and although Sam can no longer see his face, he has no trouble hearing the teasing grin in Dean’s tone. Sam just huffs in response, out of frustration at both his nose and his brother.

The light turns on again, sharp and fast, different from the telltale flickering of a demonic presence. It isn’t bright or distinctive enough to set Sam off again, now that his eyes have readjusted. It doesn’t matter, though; just seconds later, the lights turn back off again – then on, off, on, off, on – and then, finally, it shuts off once more.

“What the hell?”

“It’s the poltergeist,” Sam concludes. “It’s trying to send us some sort of message.”

Slowly, the amount of light in the room increases, as if someone is controlling an ambiance switch, bringing the room from dark to dim to less dim and back to bright again.

“Huh’hh… huh’EHTSShhEW!” Ugh, there it is. It’s stronger than the rest have been and he’s unable to hold it back even a little like he’d managed the others, and the loss of control makes him weak to the cold, eliciting a shiver. “HehhISSH’UH!”

“All right, come on.” Dean grabs Sam’s elbow and tugs it in the direction of the door.

“Are you joking? Dean, the spirit—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know; you got your poltergeist. But you’re sick and you’re freezing, and the only way we can get a handle on this thing is if we charcoal its remains or perform a cleansing ritual… neither of which we can do if we waste our time standing around in here trapped with it. So let’s get out of here already before it locks us in.”

Dean’s right: he knows it and Sam knows it. He jiggles the lock tentatively, relieved when it opens, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Sam is following steadily behind him into the ice and snow.

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I'm afraid I got ahead of myself here, because I'm starting to run out of ideas. If there's anything you want to see, or anything you want me to include... please let me know!

Edited February 12, 2014 by Sen Beret