My Supernatural Prompts Thread - [Total: 8] - (Dean, Cas; M) [Updated: 8/21/2015]

[SterlingSilver]

A/N: Here's part 2 for that allergic!Cas story I wrote forever ago! It's more fluff less sneezing, in this part.

Also, if any of you are interested and haven't seen it, I wrote a sneezy sick!Cas story for the lovely Puddin this past Christmas. You can check it out here: http://www.sneezefet...showtopic=59840

~Reflex~

PART 2

Castiel did not like hospitals. He had not enjoyed them the first time he visited one to see the sick, and had enjoyed his occasional admittance to them even less. Back when he was an angel, he had been able to see all of the reapers that lurk behind corners and stand in the dark. With human eyes, he could perceive them no longer, and that only made him even more nervous. He kept his hands balled into fists, knuckles stark white against the ghostly sheets. Dean and Sam were not here yet.

He swallowed. It hurt.

The rush to the hospital and the ensuing chaos were blurry to Castiel, which he did not like. All occasions indistinct to him tended to be things he needed to know but didn’t want to, or things he had once known but never wanted to know again.

Castiel looked around his room, trying to blink and not blink, because his eyes were prickling and sore. They no longer itched, which was a blessing, but he supposed he may have rubbed too much or too vigorously before. Looking down at himself, Castiel found the residual rashes in the creases of his elbows and felt the bumps of them along his throat. The flesh was irritated and sensitive there, but not painfully burning anymore. He couldn’t recall specifically, but he might have been washed at some point. His clothes had been replaced with a papery hospital gown, and the mucky layer to his skin from that morning was gone now. It was only this moment that he realized he had forgotten to bathe for a day or two. Castiel closed his eyes, shifting against the flat, waifer-thin pillow behind him.

Dean and Sam had probably gone back to the bunker. He was alone, and would likely stay alone. Maybe they would call.

It felt so similar to the last time he had been hospitalized, just after he blasted himself and his brothers to kingdom come with that banishing symbol X-ACTO-knifed into his chest. He had called Dean, and the hunter had only sounded disappointed Castiel couldn’t be there when he needed him. Castiel had been disappointed too – still was. What kind of angel was he if he couldn’t be there for Dean when he called?

Well, he wasn’t an angel anymore. It probably didn’t matter now. Now that Castiel thought about it, he had caused nothing but trouble for the brothers lately. So many of his decisions had been unwise, damaging, selfishly disguised as selflessness, and just generally not thought through. Once in a while, someone would say something to assure him he wasn’t any less valued because of his mistakes. But humans lie, don’t they? They lie all the time. To them, he was only worth as much as he could do, which at the moment, was barely anything at all.

Inexplicably, Castiel’s throat started getting tight and his eyes began to water. Panicking, he thought his body was trying to suffocate him again, which only made the feelings worse. The wetness hurt his eyes, stinging the delicate surface of them as tears budded and bloomed. His chest was so heavy and thick, lungs burning for something inside them. Gripping the sheets, Castiel opened his mouth to breathe deep. That didn’t happen. Instead, he made a soft, shaky noise of distress, and some of the pressure in his throat and head dissipated. Gasping, he did it again, and again, and it wasn’t until the tenth or eleventh time that Castiel realized he was sobbing. The awareness startled him into stopping, chest heaving.

His nose was running, an unwelcome sensation, and Castiel scoffed at the annoyance of it. Almost everything seemed to make the damn thing leak. He reached up to touch his nose, but met resistance; there was a plastic covering, or something, in the way. For the first time, Castiel noticed he was outfitted with an oxygen mask, as well as an IV poking into his right arm. Panting, Castiel felt his heart pounding, making him dizzy as blood rushed in his ears. He simultaneously wanted to go home, and knew he had no home; the conflict made his chest get tight again, but he closed his eyes hard and fought it.

Sniffling until the minimal moisture in his nose cleared, Castiel tried to sit up. There was a weight on his chest, suddenly, more than usual. Someone was touching him. Opening his eyes, Castiel couldn’t have been more shocked to see Dean Winchester with a palm holding him down, green eyes shining like jewels. For a moment, neither one of them said anything; they just stared at one another, Castiel blinking much more than usual to clear his vision and make sure Dean wasn’t just a figment of drugs or his imagination.

“Going somewhere?” Dean asked, voice quiet but not soft.

Castiel’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. In lieu of words, Castiel just let his elbows slide on the sheets so he could lay flat again. Dean’s warm reassurance on his chest, even though his lungs felt encumbered enough without it, gave the ex-angel a sense of safety. He had never really needed that before.

Feeling dizzy, Castiel closed his eyes again, but settled a hand over Dean’s to keep it from disappearing – personal space be damned. Dean’s hand was so warm, so he supposed his own was probably quite cold. He felt his human go rigid at first, and then gradually relax. The bed dipped and creaked when Dean sat on its edge.

“Not goin’ anywhere, man,” he said in that same tone, sighing after. The hand patted him a few times, and Castiel’s breath jittered. He was weak. Castiel felt so weak. That alone was enough to make him want to start sobbing again, but he didn’t. With his free hand, Castiel started pawing the evidence of crying off his face.

It was around this time Sam said, “Hey, Castiel.”

Castiel opened his eyes again, but it was getting harder every time. Even that short bout of tears had made his eyes dry and achy. He did manage a small smile behind his mask, which must have looked really unsightly because Dean rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked away.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said. His voice sounded muffled behind the mask, not to mention torn to pieces from all the abuse his throat underwent. Sam’s own smile turned sad.

“How’re you feeling?”

Castiel took a moment to consider his body, the circumstances, what he was feeling. But when he looked at Sam – leaning forward in an uncomfortable, tiny chair, unblinking – and Dean – still patting his chest occasionally – Castiel could only think of one answer.

“Better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

There was a stretch of silence where there was nothing to listen to but Castiel’s wheezing breath and the sound of the respirator. When no one seemed keen to speak, Castiel decided he should probably say something, given his probably irrational, emotional outburst earlier at the bunker and just a moment ago as well. He didn’t know if the brothers had seen the second one; he hoped not. It took him a little longer to speak than usual because his breathing was irregular.

“I apologize for… for being so short with… you two yesterday. My reaction… was uncalled for.”

Sam looked a little surprised, but it was Dean who spoke first, looking down at him with a sour look.

“Seriously? You nearly die in our kitchen, scare us half to death, end up in the Soul-Collection bin, and you’re still thinking about your hissy fit?” Dean stared at him, presumably waiting for an answer.

Castiel gave him the only one he had. “Yes.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said. “How many times do you think Samantha over there has run out of the room because I was being ‘insensitive’?”

Sam’s flashed a bitchface, but Dean only had eyes for Castiel, who tiredly shrugged. He didn’t know; from Dean’s inflection and Sam’s expression, it sounded like many. Before Dean could speak again, Castiel did. His honesty and willingness to be vulnerable blindsided even him, but the ex-angel couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out.

“I am glad you.. you came,” he confessed. “I thought you l-… left me here.”

The whole mood of the room changed, but Castiel couldn’t be bothered to tell what new emotions his humans were feeling now. He was exhausted enough trying to deal with just his own. Frustratingly, he realized he would refer to the brothers as “his humans,” when he was just a human himself. They were not really his, either.

At some point, Castiel’s eyes had closed again. He felt Dean patting his chest, and the hunter was saying, “Naw, man. Don’t be such a baby.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Castiel. The Winchesters were here, and that was enough too. He squeezed Dean’s fingers a little, still keeping his eyes closed so he couldn’t see the man’s expression. But when Dean’s hand twitched a little under his, Castiel wondered what it had been. Sam cleared his throat, and then there was some fumbling of sheets and chair legs sliding on the floor. After a moment, the low noise Castiel now associated with the television filled the room. Dean kept on patting his chest, and the rhythm became something Castiel could depend on. Things passed in this way for quite a while, and finally, he felt like he could relax.

At least until he felt the tentative prod of something at the start of his nasal passages. Frowning, Castiel quickly raised a hand to touch his nose, perhaps pinch it or rub it, but again forgot he was wearing an oxygen mask. Immediately his eyes opened and Castiel began to take it off. Dean’s hand left his chest, hooking like a claw over the patient’s busy wrist.

“You leave that fucking thing on,” Dean said. His voice was actually mildly terrifying, and Castiel turned wide eyes to him while Sam smirked behind the curtain of his hair. Both he and his brother had been debriefed on Castiel’s condition on the way over, and Mama Bear Dean wasn’t about to let a single thing go wrong on his watch.

“But, Dean,” Castiel tried to reason with him, feeling the tickle melt and wash down his nose. His breath caught, eyelashes fluttering. “.. I – ”

The urge was coming on very quickly, and it surprised Castiel. When would this stop? His weak breath caught, and unable to help himself, Castiel flinched forward.

“uh’ptshh’uu!”

Right after, Castiel groaned and sunk back, lungs already getting testy from just that single sneeze. And sneezing into a mask was by far one of the most uncomfortable things Castiel had ever felt, so he wrenched it off despite Dean’s orders, when he felt the hair-trigger irritation of another. Castiel raised his hands to catch it, cupping them just an inch from his nose and mouth.

“Ih’ptshh!psshh!.. ah’pshhh! ih’shhh!pshhh!ptshh!” Castiel’s eyes were clouding with tears, his ribs clenching with a resistance that spoke of how sore they were, and his breath was already getting away from him. He couldn’t catch it, and the weight of it was heavy in his chest. “heh’ptsshhh!itt’pshhh!.. pshhh!pshh!! HA’pshhh!... AH’PSHHUU!”

Dean didn’t let it get far. Between pounding the Nurse Call button and wrenching open the door to shout, any possible biphasic anaphylaxis didn’t have a chance to start. Sam kept a big, cool palm over Castiel’s forehead, whispering soft things to him while he moaned through the jumping, choking breath his lungs were dragging in, throat beginning to inflate.

Dean was soon by his side as well, grabbing his hand. Castiel could only squint through watery, puffy eyes, and it was hard to discern the moving shapes as another flurry of sneezes made his eyes zip closed.

The nurses hurried in without delay, and the brothers were shooed out immediately. It took a little coaxing because Castiel was extremely unwilling to let go of Dean’s hand, and it made the elder Winchester hate himself to let go. They ended up in the hallway eventually, Dean sliding down the wall to sit, head in his hands. Sam slowly followed suit.

“Dammit,” Dean breathed. “Little guy can’t catch a break..”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He had done reading on biphasic anaphylaxis, and when and how it happened. True, it could come out of nowhere, but Castiel’s particular condition would seem more likely to flare when exposed to the allergen. But really, what did Sam know.

Sitting in silence for some time, lost in thought, both of them jumped when a nurse crouched in front of them. She was holding a clipboard, and looked like one of the familiar faces that had been tending to Cas.

“Winchesters?” she asked.

Dean was immediately alert. “That’s us.”

“Castiel’s allergy test results have come in,” she told them as she stood up again. Both brothers did the same, Dean leering closer to try and get a premature look at the chart. The nurse tilted the clipboard so he could see better, but continued talking. “None of the usual allergies, surprisingly, but I must asked. Have you started using a new detergent at home?”

That gave the boys pause. Sam furrowed his brow, trying to remember exactly, but Dean answered without any delay. “Yeah, I picked up some of the cheap, store brand stuff last week.”

“Did you wash your clothes in it?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said.

“Sheets?”

“Uh… yeah.” Dean’s voice was getting smaller.

“That would be it.” She flipped through the file on her clipboard to be sure, but seemed fairly confident about her diagnosis. “Castiel has chemical sensitivities, likely set off by the detergent. He’s been wearing it, sleeping in it, likely spending a lot of time with both of you, who are also covered in it. I’m almost certain that’s why he had another reaction just now.”

He was in proximity to the things that were making him sneeze. Namely, Dean and Sam. Both Winchesters looked down at themselves, Dean more alarmed than Sam was about the situation. It would be a pain, but this would mean they had to wash every last shred of fabric in the bunker to get the old soap out.

No wonder Castiel had looked like death warmed over this morning. He had been swaddled in the shit he was allergic to all night long. Dean felt a little itchy himself now; he wanted out of his clothes. Sam raised his brows, unsure if Dean wasn’t about to strip down in the hospital then and there.

Intuitive and kind, the nurse smiled. “We have a shower and scrubs in the breakroom,” she said, “if you would like to wash off and spend more time with him. His reaction today was caught early enough to prevent any real damage.”

The boys shared a look, negotiating, and it was decided. Dean would stay here with Cas, and Sam would head out to the store and start Cas-proofing the bunker. And something in Dean’s eyes told Sam that if he didn’t get the absolute most hypoallergenic everything while he was out, there would be hell to pay.

- - -

In shower, Dean scrubbed his skin until it turns pink, and even washed his hair with what seems to be very bland, very chemical-free shampoo. No way he was chancing another bad reaction from Cas. He already felt pretty shitty for setting the angel off twice before.

His hair was still a little damp as he walked down the hall, only feeling just a tiny bit ridiculous in his lilac scrubs. Cas, awake but groggy, ogled him when slipped back into his room. Dean was glad to see him looking alert, even though his face is still blotchy from his last allergy attack.

“Hey there, bud,” he said, pasting on a smile. He was not really faking it either. Castiel’s considering, almost suspicious gaze at Dean’s clothing amused the hunter. “Feeling okay?”

He settled himself back on the bed and easily took Castiel’s hand in his. Without Sam around, with no windows in the room and no curious nurses peeking in, Dean felt entitled enough to touch Castiel. To make sure he was okay.

“I feel better,” he rasped, swallowing against an irritable throat. He didn’t sound much better, but the quickly-administered medicine had kept him from choking himself this time around. Dean was rubbing his thumb along Castiel’s hand, and the ex-angel glanced down to watch.

Automatically Dean stopped, feeling caught. “Uh, sorry, I can…” When he started to pull away, Cas gripped him tight and refused to let go.

“No,” he said, blue eyes finding green. “That feels soothing. I… like it when you do that.”

Not many words were said after that. They didn’t need them. It took Sam around six hours to get everything washed and dried, and when he finally hoofed it back to the hospital, he wasn’t surprised to find Dean slumped in his chair, Cas slumped in bed, both asleep with hands still united.

/end

A/N: The ending is mlehhh, but I wanted it done xDD

Edited May 5, 2015 by BlackScatter

[HPG]

This was so lovely! I totally understood Cas's allergy-ness too, which made for a very interesting reading of the story. Anyhow, I thought it was really great, and yeah.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

That is just the cutest thing ever!!!!!!!!

Bless their sweet hearts.

[AngelEyes]

Frustratingly, he realized he would refer to the brothers as “his humans,” when he was just a human himself. They were not really his, either.

Love this.

Sam raised his brows, unsure if Dean wasn’t about to strip down in the hospital then and there.

He totally would! And I can picture Sam's look!

[Masked.Maiden]

This was amazing. I love the way you set a scene. Thanks for writing this.

[SterlingSilver]

Fellow Castiel lovers! Lend me your ears~!

I love writing Castiel and the boys, but I’m not that great at coming up with plots. And being that this is a prompt thread, I was wondering if any of you wanted to leave prompts here? I could try and fill them all (no promises! I'm slow!), and it would give me the happiness of writing and you all some free prompted SPN-goodness >w<. Here are a couple things I’ll mention beforehand, concerning the prompts:

1) Stories will be Cas-centric (though I’ll write sneezy Dean and Sam as well, for plots)

2) I prefer Destiel, but I’ll write Sastiel or Gen too :3.

3) I prefer colds, but I’ll write allergies/sensitivities as well~

4) I will write funny/cracky stuff, or even really heavy dramatic stuff. I’m good for either~

5) Please check out the prompts already filled – I don’t want to write a story twice xD

6) I’m not sure when I’ll end up filling any specific prompt, or if I’ll even be able to fill them all, but I’ll do my best for sure *^*!

7) I’m up to date on the show, so I will write Season 4 – current season/episode.

8) These will not be drabble-length. Each one of these fills will be a decent one-shot length at least (which is why I never put this thread in the Drabbles area xD)

9) When you prompt, please use this format to make it easy for me:

Season # (4 – current)

Relationship (Destiel, Sastiel, Gen)

Reason for Cas sneezing (Sick, allergy, etc)

Tone (Funny? Serious? Romantic? Heavy plot? Fluff? Angst?, etc)

Sneeze preferences (Messy? Dry? Fits? Long buildups? Rapid fires?, etc)

Prompt: ______

If you have any questions, just PM me or ask in the thread <3. Thank you friends! I hope to get some fun prompts from you all >w< <3. If not (I know not everyone likes Castiel that much xDD) I'm sure I'll have something else to stick up here eventually~

Also, some thank yous from the kind people who take the time to comment QwQ!

This was so lovely!

Thank you very much! I'm so glad you liked it >w<

That is just the cutest thing ever!!!!!!!!

QwQ!! Thank you!! I tried haha >w<

Love this.

I love it when people pull out their favorite quotes >w<!! Thank you, AngelEyes!

This was amazing. I love the way you set a scene. Thanks for writing this

Thank you very much! I try to make sure the pacing feels right x3

Edited February 16, 2015 by BlackScatter

[a red nine]

I'll just start this review by saying I've never been much of a fan of Supernatural. Haven't seen a single episode in my life. As far as I know, not even a clip, though for some reason I have some vague idea of what their voices sound like, so I guess I must've. In any case, the fandom on tumblr annoyed me, with their silly quips about surviving demon attacks through show-obtained knowledge and being able to repel demons with salt! The youth! So like a classic curmudgeon, based on that alone I decided the series was lame.

Well consider me this show's number one freakin fan today kids, cuz without it there wouldn't be these drabbles. These... drabbles. Never again will I talk smack about Supernatural, I mean never again. Sweet Lord, BlackScatter, how do you do this? How do you manage to drag things out so freakin nicely? Like I try to do that in my work and I consider myself relatively successful, but dang son, if you aren't the Beyoncé Knowles of build-ups than I don't know who is. I feel like I just read the official codebook on how to write sneeze fiction. I feel like I want to read it nine more times. I feel like I want to read it nine more times before dinner. Every single drabble is its own solid gold nugget and you have made me a rich forty-niner. Man, how am I supposed to choose one of those prompts? I hardly know a thing about this sacred, beautiful, holy show, all I know is that this Castiel fellow is quite precious and anything you do with him is bound to make me a disciple. I don't even know anymore. I'll let you know if some idea happens upon me out of the blue but please... drabble more, when you can...

[NorthernLady]

if you aren't the Beyoncé Knowles of build-ups than I don't know who is.

BWAHAHAHA I don't really know much about Beyonce but this sounded like a very nice compliment

Now miss Blacky... you're askin' for it ;-) Here's a prompt I though a few weeks ago. i've added to one of the comment meme page but noboby answered of even commented after me Anyway, it's a Xmas prompt but... well... no sense describing the prompt before prompting, right?

9) When you prompt, please use this format to make it easy for me:

Season # 8+

Relationship : No preferences

Reason for Cas sneezing : Sick

Tone : LIght case fic with a heavy dose of funny and fluff

Sneeze preferences : As long as there are sneezes I want a variety of them plus one that happens at a very unoportune time

Prompt:

While doing a little clean-up / inventory in the bunker, one of the boys (Sam or Dean) touches a cursed object and is hit hard with the Christmas spirit bug while another (Cas) is hit hard with a cold/flu/whatever bug. And the last one is totally unprepared to care for the other two.

I hope it inspires you

[SterlingSilver]

Never again will I talk smack about Supernatural, I mean never again. Sweet Lord, BlackScatter, how do you do this? How do you manage to drag things out so freakin nicely?

REDDDDDDD >w<! (flying glomp hug) x33 You and your totally sweet reviews. Oh my gosh, this made my day x33 This is a tremendous compliment for me honestly, because to please someone who likes the fandom is one thing. But to entertain someone who isn't even fond of the show is totally another! Thank you so so so much for your kind words and praise !! Also, I can't wait to read some more of your fiction in the future~! You have such an awesome voice and style. It's one of my favorites! (and if you happen to write anything else about angels in the future I will probably foam at the mouth and collapse, omgh your "Second Time's the Charm" fic, guhhh >w<)

ALL MY LOOOOOVE <3 <3 <3

[SterlingSilver]

PROMPT

Season: 8 +

Relationship: No pref.

Reason for Cas sneezing: Sick

Tone: Light case fic with funny/fluff

Sneeze prefs: variety, plus one that happens at a very inopportune time

Prompt:

While doing a little clean up/inventory in the bunker, one of the boys touches a cursed object and is hit hard with the Christmas spirit bug while another (Cas) is hit hard with a cold/flu bug. And the last one is totally unprepared to care for the other two.

A/N: Wooooo~! Thanks for the fun prompt, North! I hope this is what you had in mind >w<. I had a lot of fun writing it. Too much fun… way too much fun xDD. Exasperated!Sammy is best Sammy, I think~ Takes place in Season 9 while Cas is human and staying in the bunker. No Ezekiel!Sam. Apologies if the characters are a little out of character because of all the craziness. This is also only part one. More to come~!

Warnings: Swearing, general crackiness, fluff out the wazoo, and sneezes are MESSY!!

~Hexed Holiday~

Part 1

Samuel Winchester, boy wiz-kid, ex-law student, and hunter extraordinaire, likes to think he’s seen it all. Experienced it all. Hell, he’s been hunting practically since he was born and can’t remember a life that was anywhere close to normal. So yeah, he tends to get a little cocky when it comes to dealing with anything under the “weird” category.

But this…

Castiel, humanized angel of the Lord, is slumping bonelessly in one of the bunker’s more comfortable chairs, curled up under a quilt with a red, runny nose, shivery posture, and a feral look in his eyes. Those eyes are trained on Dean, who is skipping…skipping… around Castiel in a Santa hat while throwing bits of sparkly, fake snow that just seemed to materialize out of thin air. The ritual goes on for a few more seconds until Dean leans in and boops Castiel on the nose, sprinkling snow-glitter in his face, and Cas finally loses it.

“DEAN.” His voice is wrecked with his cold, so the name comes out barky and wavering. The fury lasts all of one fleeting moment before his expression weakens and tightens at the same time, and then Cas shakes himself with a sharp, “ih’kshh!!”

The resultant blast of bright blue slime, coating the edge of the quilt and sticking to Cas’s raised hand that didn’t quite make it there in time, is fairly sizeable in proportion to the somewhat delicate sneeze. Sam once again thanks the universe that Castiel’s weird-ass snot stuff isn’t contagious at all. Just gross. He looks down at himself then, noting that he’s still covered in it. He really needs a shower.

Cas moans from the jostling his sneeze caused, shivering violently.

“Ho, ho, ho-ly shit, Cas!” Dean practically sings, flinging candy canes that spew out of the sleeves of his reindeer sweater. “Someone’s going to be on the naughty list if he doesn’t start covering his mouth soon!”

Castiel looks murderous, his blue eyes almost glowing with anger as he uses a clean bit of quilt to wipe at his nose, but Dean capers out of reach before the smaller man can grab him.

Sam doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It all started earlier that morning, with Cas and Dean down on the lower levels organizing volatile and breakable cursed objects while Sam sorted manuscripts. That was his first mistake. Never leave Abbott and Costello alone to handle fragile, dangerous items.

At the time, Sam thought it was a good idea. The two of them hadn’t had much time to reconcile after the brainwashing, angel-tablet, Naomi debacle, and with Kevin away on his first real (and very needed) proper vacation away from the bunker, Sam figured Dean and Cas could have some catch-up time. They seemed to be on speaking terms, friendly with one another, but Sam just thought he would make sure. Just be certain.

Well, he was certain he regretted everything the moment he heard a thud, crash of something breakable, and Dean’s muffled, “Son of a bitch!” from below. Sam took the stairs two at a time as he jogged down, swinging himself around the bannister to find Dean hovering guiltily and Cas laying on the ground. Dean had on a satin Santa hat, of all things, and Cas was covered in what looked like frosty goop.

Before Sam could even ask, Dean growled an embarrassed explanation, tugging at the poof ball at the end of his hat. “I thought it would be fun to put on for a second, to show Cas.” He tugged harder, reaching up to try and yank up the rim and slide it off. The hat seemed stuck to his head. “Now it won’t come off.”

“Where’d you even find that?” Sam asked, frowning. He didn’t know of any Christmas decorations inside the bunker. “It’s July, dude.”

Dean shrugged, non-committal, and looked down toward Cas. The ex-angel was holding his hands away from himself, trying to keep the blue-ish, gooey stuff from touching anything or anyone else.

When Sam leaned down to help him up, Cas flinched away. “This substance is dangerous,” he said, voice gravelly. “You will not want to touch it.”

Sam’s concern clicked up about five notches, and he kneeled near Cas to try and get a better look at the stuff. It didn’t look like ectoplasm; it had a thicker consistency, almost like mucus in the way it slid slowly down Cas’s skin and clung to his clothes. It sparkled electric blue, the color of toilet cleaner, and smelled tangy-sweet.

“Where did this come from?” he asked. It was better to get the information first before he panicked. No use in panicking before he knew the whole story. This stuff could be harmless, no matter what Cas’s opinions of it were.

“After Dean realized he could not remove the hat, he began to flail wildly and knocked over the jar holding this substance,” Cas told him gravely, eyes trailing down to the bright blue goop all over him. It almost matched the color of his eyes. “I have suspicions about its effects.”

Sam looked over his shoulder to glare at Dean, but then froze at his brother’s expression. He had that slightly slack “O” face he adopted when he was gently confused about something. Though now it was mixed with… boyish wonder?

“Uh,” Sam said. “Dean?”

“Sammy, I feel…” Dean opened and closed his hands, fisting and unfisting, suddenly and completely stir crazy. “Egg nog. I need egg nog.” And with that, Dean practically threw himself up the stairs. Sam, a little slack-jawed, couldn’t look away even after Dean was long out of eye-shot.

His attention jerked back to Castiel when the ex-angel clicked an uncertain breath through his nose, shuddered from a nasty chill, and then crunched inward. “iih’hiksshh!”

Sam immediately put his hand to a dry patch on Castiel’s back, patting him a few times. He tried not to smile at the downright adorable sound of the sneeze. Pretty nasal, voiceless, breathy. Nothing like Dean’s clipped roars or Sam’s own long, robust waah’chooo’s.

“Hey, bless you,” he said, distracted by the way Cas kept his face wrinkled and dreading, clearly still feeling something itchy and rising at the back of his nose.

Sam waited a moment, and was rewarded with another reflexive flinch inward. “ee’tsschh!!”

“Bless you, Cas.” Geez, now Sam was getting worried. Castiel had never sneezed before in his life, as far as Sam knew, and now two in a row? Damn, he was even gearing up for a third one. It seemed paramount – the sneeze to end the series. Cas’s mouth dropped open, his nostrils flared erratically, beyond irritated, and again he –

“ahd’CHSSHH!”

“Bless you, Castiel,” Sam said, firm. He patted his back a few more times, looking for another dry spot to grab so he could help hoist him up. “I…didn’t know you could do that. Are you okay?”

Cas got to his feet, unsteady, and seemed suddenly pale under the bunker’s dank lighting. Sam thought it might be the blue mucus all over him. Weary, Cas rubbed his face with his hands and tried to wipe off some of the excess.

“Sneezing is such a bizarre sensation,” he said, looking down at his wet palms before searching to wipe them somewhere on his pants. He ended up slicking them against his back pockets, sniffling with a wet edge as he did so. “I expected it to be less-… well, simply less.”

With a quick appraisal, Sam deemed Cas’s left elbow dry enough to touch and grabbed it to start leading him down the hall. It would be best to get the poor guy into the shower to rinse the substance off of him if it was harmful, even if Sam was intensely curious as to what it could be. The smell seemed to be making Castiel sneeze, if he wasn’t mistaken, as the ex-angel continued to snuffle as they walked.

“What exactly is that stuff?” Sam asked. They rounded another corner after coming up the stairs, Dean nowhere to be found, and little brother Winchester logged that away to worry about after Castiel was sorted out.

“Without my grace, I am unable to…to prop-…” Castiel trailed off, his pace slowing to a stop as his breath deepened. The hypnotic drag of his eyelids, the tic of his nostrils, signaled Sam to lean back as far as he could while still keeping a grip on his friend.

Good thing too, because a vigorous double rocked Castiel to his core. “..iih’kttsschhh!..” A brief pause for a weak, high inhale, then – “..uh’jjdshh’uu!”

Castiel sighed out a noise that wasn’t exactly a groan, but seemed to be an utterance of collection as he got his bearings. Another sniffle, sounding much wetter than the ones from before, and they both started walking again. Sam smiled in sympathy. With rampant spring allergies, he knew what sudden and strong sneezes could feel like.

“Bless you, man,” he said. When Cas gave him a puzzled frown, Sam elaborated. “It’s just a tradition. Sort of like wishing good health on someone.” He found it strange that Castiel, an angel who had been watching earth morph and form since the beginning of time, would not know that. Then again, there had probably been more important things to catalogue than sneezing etiquette.

Castiel’s expression faded, softening as he ruminated, but Sam didn’t let the silence stand long. “What were you saying, before?”

“Oh,” Cas said, nodding and sniffling. “I am unable to properly determine an aura.”

“Aura? For the…?” Sam gestured to the blue gloop, which left a slug trail on the floor behind them. Someone would have to clean it later. Castiel nodded again.

“Usually I can sense benevolent or malevolent intent from substances, given their aura,” he said, dropping his eyes to the floor. “But I seem to have lost that ability.”

Sam chuffed his hand along Castiel’s back, carefully avoiding the muck. They were now outside the hall bathroom, and Cas gingerly picked his way inside, trying to keep the tile as clean as he could. Absently, he raised a hand to palm the tip of his nose.

“No worries,” Sam said. “Just clean up and I’ll start digging.”

As he closed the door and made his way back to the study, dodging and frowning at the slime slicking the wood, Sam was actually daring to hope nothing too bad would come from this. Just a Santa hat. Some mysterious blue goo. Nothing too grim. But then again, since when had he ever had any good luck? The Winchesters were more likely to win the lottery than to get the benefit of the supernatural doubt.

He picked up his pace.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thirty minutes and no leads later, Sam couldn’t decide whether to be alarmed that there was no immediate information, or relieved that this could be harmless enough not to warrant any records. Cleaning the floor had taken up most of Sam’s time thus far, but a quick internet search provided no decent results.

He was just about to start rooting through the library when he heard padding bare feet against wood. For a moment, he thought it was Dean before he realized it was instead the shower-warm footfalls of an ex-angel. Speaking of which, where was Dean? Sam needed to find him, but he was already cleaning, decontaminating, researching, and on Castiel-watch for any bad signs.

At least a few of those efforts were going well. Castiel peeked into the room, coming in after, looking damp and much cleaner than he had been half an hour ago. He was still toweling his hair dry, scrubbing, as he stood in the doorway.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Sam asked. Castiel smiled and gave a dry, healthy sniff.

“Much better. Thank you, Sam.” Here, Cas paused to sweep the room and then fixed Sam with a similarly searching look. “Where is Dean?”

“Beats me,” Sam shrugged, though he couldn’t quite shake the uncomfortable feeling of dread given his brother’s absence. “Did he say he was getting egg-nog earlier? Maybe a food run.”

The answer did not appease Castiel, and he looped his towel over his shoulders as he cast a look above toward the surface, the world above the bunker. He didn’t say anything, but his expression communicated his concerns clearly enough. Rather than panic (no panicking, Winchester!), Sam instead motioned for Cas to take a seat at the table while he rustled up something to eat. Being human was still new to Cas, so he often forgot to eat full meals throughout the day.

As he grabbed a few cans from a top shelf, Sam pulled out his phone and scrolled to Dean’s number. Might as well see if the moron managed to grab his cell before his impromptu food run. Sam didn’t expect Dean to pick up on the first ring.

“Sammy!” He sounded absolutely cheery. It made Sam automatically suspicious.

“Dude, where are you?”

“Down at the outlet mall,” he said, as if it were something Sam should know. “They have this awesome little craft shop that’s still selling wreathes. Wreathes, Sammy. And in really good shape too. Hot damn.”

Sam stood frozen, halfway through can-opening a tin of peaches. Was this a joke? It had to be. His laugh was sudden, verging on nervous. “Uh. Right. Okay.” Cas sniffed from behind him, forceful, and sounded a little wetter than he had before.

“No, really, where are you?”

“I told you,” Dean said. He sounded distracted, and his next comment was faint, like he was holding the phone to his chest. “Yeah, I’ll take three. Oh, and that little elf thing, there. Yeah, thanks.”

“Dean!” Sam screeched.

“What?” He sounded normal-volume again, but more irritated.

“Are you seriously buying Christmas decorations? In July?”

“Never too early,” Dean said. Sam could hear the bustling of bags, the persistent beeps of a scanning register. This was either a huge farce, or that Santa hat-.. wait.

“Are you still wearing that hat?” Sam asked. Castiel sniffled again, decidedly much more liquid than before, and without paying much attention, Sam snatched a few paper napkins and pushed them Cas’s way. “The Santa hat, Dean. Are you wearing it?”

“Course I am!” Dean said, sounding offended. Sam turned around, setting down the can of peaches and watching Castiel prepare for what looked like an absolutely galaxy-shaking sneeze. The scent of the goop was probably still sticking to him, so it made sense the ex-angel’s nose might be sensitive for a little while.

“Then finish up and come home,” Sam said, resolving to take Dean’s keys as soon as he was back safe in the bunker. Meanwhile, Castiel was still gearing up for that sneeze. To Sam, it looked on the edge of blissful and painful. His nostrils were quivering, hands fisting the napkins as the sensation verged, his head tilted back and mouth gaped wide, eyes tightly closed. It almost made Sam anxious for it to come.

“All right, all right,” Dean conceded, sounding gruff. “I have some cooking to do anyway.”

Cooking? Sam briefly wondered if that meant he was going to be poisoned by Christmas cookies, by the way this was going so far, but he pushed the thought out of mind in favor of less lethal speculations. Castiel continued to strain, his lungs full and fit to bursting with preparatory air. The tickle, whatever it was, remained potent and torturous. Could Castiel breathe? This was starting to get kind of ridiculous

“Okay, just hurry up,” Sam muttered to Dean, and then ended the call. He sat his phone on the counter, and the clack of plastic on ceramic seemed to unlock the elusive sneeze at last. Castiel surged forward, jackknifing.

“UHH’DDJSSHH’UUUUU-aahh!!”

It was comically massive, and there was a wave of thick blue goop as Cas slammed his head against the table and then fell onto the floor. Sam stood in complete shock, covered from head to toe in exactly the same slop Castiel had been slathered in earlier that morning. Well, almost the same. It seemed less sparkly.

The entire surface of the table was slicked with it, and streams of it adorned the sink and counter around Sam, dripping. Like someone popped a giant balloon of the stuff. Before he acknowledged the mess, the young Winchester first resolved to pick poor Cas up off the floor, fearing the man had knocked himself unconscious.

“Dammit. Cas?” Sam asked, squatting on the floor beside the crumpled man. Castiel had managed to avoid covering himself in the goo, thankfully. Given the trajectory of the sneeze, it made sense he would be clean. Sam cupped a hand to Cas’s cheek, frowning when he found it a little cool. His eyes fluttered open, foggy and pained. Castiel started trying to get up, but Sam put a firm hand to his chest.

“Hey, stay down a second,” he said, eyeing the red mark spread across Cas’s forehead. It didn’t look too serious, thankfully. He still had a bit of congestion, despite all he had sneezed out, and Sam watched him sniffle hard against it. Castiel seemed paler suddenly, nose a vibrant pink. Like he had been sick for well over a day, when in reality it hadn’t been more than an hour.

“Okay, I think you were right,” Sam conceded, sitting back and helping Cas sit up once he figured things were as good as they were getting. “This stuff is rank.”

He watched his friend for a moment, feeling panicky when Cas’s nose wrinkled. They did not need a repeat of whatever just happened, which Sam still needed to properly address. Hell, he could be infected with whatever Cas now had, since he was sheeted with the stuff.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. If Castiel’s lungs were freezing solid or his kidneys were shutting down, Sam needed to know about it. Dean would roast him alive if Castiel keeled over on his watch, not to mention Sam really liked the little guy and didn’t want to see him die. Again.

Castiel gave his head a little shake, carding through sensations, attempting to file them all into their proper places. “My head hurts..”

“Well, that’s a given,” Sam said with a tiny smile.

“My throat feels hot. And swollen..”

Sam thought this over and decided Castiel was breathing well enough to not be in the danger zone. “Okay, anything else?”

“Uh,” Cas said, squinting patiently at a point past Sam’s left shoulder. After a moment, he cocked his head. “I’m suddenly chilled, despite my warm shower.”

Without a second thought, Sam wiped his hand on a clean patch of his shirt. Then he reached up and pressed his palm to Castiel’s forehead, finding it just as cold as his cheek had been. So it wasn’t a fever, but an actual drop in body temperature. Hm. Resolving to get some blankets and set Castiel up in the study by the fire, Sam put his hand back on his knee.

“That all?”

“My nose seems the most troublesome,” Castiel admitted, sniffling. There didn’t seem to be any serious congestion, but instead a constant runny-nose issue. Sam stood and fished a napkin, remembering them only at that moment, and squatted by Castiel again. Taking the offering, Cas dabbed a little under each nostril, not entirely grasping the use of the thing.

“I am leaking,” he told Sam, grave. It made the Winchester quirk a bigger smile, even though the situation was rather dire. Castiel narrowed his eyes, not amused by Sam’s mirth. “It tickles me.”

To make his point, Castiel sniffled yet again, nostrils flaring a few times after. His expression grew a little weak, and Sam hurriedly snatched the napkin from Cas to press to the man’s runny nose himself. If every sneeze was going to yield a storm of-…whatever this was, Sam couldn’t chance them going off without at least a little cover.

“When it gets to be too much and you have to sneeze, make sure to cover your mouth, okay?” Sam said, letting Castiel take the napkin from him once again. He took a second to pantomime blowing his nose, and Cas creased his face in concentration to perform the action a moment later. His slow, little exhale afterward told Sam the itch had died down.

While Cas nuzzled into the napkin, cuter than any grown man had a right to be, Sam heaved a sigh and got to his feet. Step one, set Castiel up in a sick bed. Step two, wash off. Step three, clean kitchen. Step four, figure out what the heck was wrong with his brother and their retired angel.

Before he could help Cas up himself, the man got to his feet with sudden vigor. A hand flashed out and gripped Sam’s bicep, those blue eyes electric with an epiphany.

“Sam! I remember now!” he said, voice still rough but carrying an emphatic tone. He had balled up his used napkin in his other fist. “I am disappointed in myself for overlooking the possibility.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and it was a testament to Castiel’s increasing human-ness that he didn’t beat around the bush, say something annoyingly vague, or just sprint down the hall to do something reckless without consultation.

“It’s the essence of Jack Frost.” Castiel gestured to Sam’s sopping, slimy state. “It permeated my skin, and now I am carrying it.”

Sam stood there, feeling kind of cold and gross but mostly confused. “Uh, what?”

“The blue substance in the jar was Jack Frost’s residue,” he explained, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “By absorbing its properties, I am now displaying its abilities. Curious, though. I must be having a negative reaction to it, given my c-.. my… oh-..”

Castiel’s breath jagged, growing erratic, and he just managed to snatch his forgotten bath towel off the ground before he shook with a sneeze. “ii’mmshh!”

It was pitifully small and dainty compared to the squirt-bomb set off earlier. Still, when Castiel pulled away from the fabric, there was a stain of gloop there. He pointed frantically, still sniffling with the unfinished look of a man on the verge of another sneeze.

“See? I’m producing what is likely to mature into-.. uh, into uh-ehh-!” This one came on him faster than a hydraulic race car, and he staggered into his towel with a mighty double. “hh’mppshhh!.. nnmssh!!”

Sam lunged forward to catch Castiel as he swooned, light-headed and looking paler by the minute. With a thrill of fear, the Winchester would even swear he was a tiny bit grey. If anything, he was getting colder for sure. Step one of Sam’s plan seemed immediately dire, and he started steering Cas toward the study.

“Can you die from this?” Might as well get the most important questions out of the way. Castiel shook his head.

“Impossible.”

“Can I catch this…whatever it is, from you?”

“No, my emissions are…” Castiel paused, and a shiver juddered down his spine. Sam’s forehead creased with concern. “…They are harmless.”

“Okay,” Sam said, mind whirring. “Okay.” In summary: Cas couldn’t die from his Jack Frost Flu or whatever, and no one could catch it from him in the meanwhile. Another shudder zipped through the smaller man as they walked, and Sam pursed his lips. Maybe not deadly or contagious, but the illness seemed uncomfortable. “We’re putting you in the armchair to warm up, all right?”

Castiel nodded, arms wrapped around himself as he began to quiver in earnest. Sam could feel the jerks under his fingers where they gripped Cas’s shoulders. His breath was already a little irregular from the shivering, so Sam started in surprise when Cas suddenly sneezed.

“ii’psshh!” He did so again in his towel, sighing and wiping blue goo from his nostrils. It was pretty disgusting, but it wasn’t Castiel’s fault he was like this. Sniffling hard and fast, wiggling his nose around, he growled.

“It won’t stop tickling,” he said, punctuating it with a couple soft coughs. “This is frustrating.”

“Doesn’t sound fun to me,” Sam said. They entered the study and Castiel dropped immediately into the comfortable armchair, curling up as he quaked with the cold. Even in the summer, the bunker did actually run cooler than a normal house would due to its being under ground, but Sam suspected even a house at 74 degrees Fahrenheit wouldn’t be enough for Cas right now.

He crouched by the fire, his clothes stiff from drying goop. It had gotten firm enough not to track through the house as he walked, so there was that. From behind him, he heard yet another one of Castiel’s soft, breathy sneezes. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more of those crazy-long build-up sneezes that seemed too big to cover.

Sam got the fire going and got to his feet, moving behind Castiel’s chair and using his knee and body weight to push it closer to the flames. It screeched across the floor, making Cas wince from the noise. After throwing some quilts over the ex-angel and fetching him two boxes of tissues (he had started with one, but Castiel insisted he needed another), Sam dubbed step one complete.

Before he could start on step two, Dean busted in wearing a Christmas sweater, juggling three armfuls of plastic bags, and grinning like a maniac. And that damn Santa hat was still perched happily on his head.

“Holly jolly jingle bells, little brother!” he crowed, just as Sam rounded the corner to get a good look at him. “I got the egg nog!”

Sam never felt so terrified.

/to be continued

Edited May 2, 2015 by BlackScatter

[NorthernLady]

Oh Blacky!!! That was so perfect! It filled my heart with glee and I'm pretty sure it got me smiling as much as Dean And darn I laughed a lot too Just the way it starts :

Castiel, humanized angel of the Lord, is slumping bonelessly in one of the bunker’s more comfortable chairs, curled up under a quilt with a red, runny nose, shivery posture, and a feral look in his eyes. Those eyes are trained on Dean, who is skipping…skipping… around Castiel in a Santa hat while throwing bits of sparkly, fake snow that just seemed to materialize out of thin air.

And also this part :

“Ho, ho, ho-ly shit, Cas!” Dean practically sings, flinging candy canes that spew out of the sleeves of his reindeer sweater. “Someone’s going to be on the naughty list if he doesn’t start covering his mouth soon!”

They both had me yelling in laughter!

And the rest, Cas being cursed too by the essence of Jack Frost (had to google it),sneezing blue goop and rapidely worsening.... YUM! Dean going totally Christmas Crazy. in JULY! And Sam... sweet Sammy.... exasperated by it all. This was magnificient! Really can't for the next part

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oh my god......

Loopy Dean...

Goopy Cas...

Then Jack Frost. Forever grateful

[Sass]

This thread in general is wonderful, I have read "Baby Angel" so many times! Whenever I am feeling a bit down I just have to read it and it makes me smile! The latest fic is great, fun premise, spot on characterisation, all the good things!

[a red nine]

Man, reading this chapter makes me seriously wish I was into mess instead of seriously not into mess... But hey, kudos to you for being able to write anything! Though I don't know what your own opinion on messy situations is, so I'm not sure if that's a proper commendation. In fact, it might be incredibly weak. What a great review this is turning out to be! *studio audience laughter*

Aaaaannnyway, this chapter still had plenty for me to be pleased over, don't get me wrong. Can I just say I love how you constantly start with a new situation in which Castiel has never sneezed before and/or is learning about the novel experience of being sick? Because that kind of thing never fails to get my attention. Tied in with your writing ability... let's just say I ain't goin' nowhere anytime soon. Even if I take forever to review. Which I tend to do.

And also the fact that Cas can't seem to shake off this itch is like yes. I can willingly tough out my own aversion to mess for the possibility of quality material. Seriously, it's pandering to my interests in every other way. Part 2 can't come soon enough!

[AngelEyes]

“Sammy, I feel…” Dean opened and closed his hands, fisting and unfisting, suddenly and completely stir crazy. “Egg nog. I need egg nog.” And with that, Dean practically threw himself up the stairs.

Ha! Funny! I can totally picture this!

“I expected it to be less-… well, simply less.”

I love this! And so Cas!

Jack Frost essence. Magnificent Brilliance! Totally creative!

[SterlingSilver]

Oh Blacky!!! That was so perfect! It filled my heart with glee and I'm pretty sure it got me smiling as much as Dean

North~! (hug) Thank you so much for suggesting the prompt! I'm having a lot of fun with it, and I'm so happy you like it >w<. I hope this next part is up to par as well ;D!

Then Jack Frost. Forever grateful

Thank you so much for always commenting, Pyrus! It's my first real attempt at an actual case-fix, so I'm glad you like the premise! <3

This thread in general is wonderful, I have read "Baby Angel" so many times! Whenever I am feeling a bit down I just have to read it and it makes me smile!

QWQ.. This compliment made my day!! Thank you S.S.! (hug) It makes me all proud and happy that one of my stories brings you joy when you're feeling down! I feel so humbled >///<~

And also the fact that Cas can't seem to shake off this itch is like yes. I can willingly tough out my own aversion to mess for the possibility of quality material. Seriously, it's pandering to my interests in every other way. Part 2 can't come soon enough!

RED~! Okay, let me just say, the fact that you are still reading even though you aren't into mess is like, a HUGE compliment <3. Hopefully this next part won't come off so mess-heavy~ Thank you so much for sticking with it! That makes me feel so proud and happyyyyy~! >w< And hahaha! I live for dropping Cas into yet another virgin-sneeze experience, so I'm super glad you can appreciate that too! Much love, my dear! (huggle)

Jack Frost essence. Magnificent Brilliance! Totally creative!

Thank you, AngelEyes! <3 You're so sweet!

[SterlingSilver]

Warnings: Swearing, MUCH crackiness, fluff out the wazoo, some platonic Sam/Cas, and sneezes are a little messy.

A/N: I am having way too much fun with Dean. Crack is so therapeutic to write. This is also becoming more plot heavy than I intended, so I apologize for how long it’s taking me to actually finish! I hope there's enough sneezing in here for everyone. Also, I seem to be working in some light SASTIEL (platonic, but there’s a lot of fluff!), so be on the lookout if that’s not your thing.

~Hexed Holiday~

PART 2

Leaving Dean and Castiel to their devices while he showers is actually harder than Sam thought it would be, given his brother’s buoyant enthusiasm and Cas’s sudden and understandable grumpiness. The shivering has not stopped, no matter how close he gets to the fire, and the runny nose is a near constant annoyance. Nothing about it seems comfortable, and Castiel confirms this with every groan or grumble he lets escape during his time curled up in the armchair. Dean’s relentless Christmas-in-July joy won’t be tempered by anything, however, so Sam tentatively leaves him to bake Santa cookies in the kitchen while he washes off and changes.

After emerging from the steamy bathroom and into the drafty hall, Sam wishes for more than one reason he had just stayed in the tub.

“Eat it, Cas,” Dean’s saying. “Eat the magic.”

“Dean,” Castiel barks, voice gritty and nose still leaky, judging by the way he sniffles. Sam peeks around the corner and sees Cas sitting there, a sort of hazy look in his eyes as he shivers, while Dean thrusts and waves a brittle-looking blob around in his face. When it gets too close to his nose, Castiel swats at it.

“It tastes like Christmas,” Dean pouts, offended Cas doesn’t want his cookie. Sam rests his forehead on the doorframe, sighing. Clearly Dean’s not going to be any help this hunt, and even if Cas lends a hand (and he probably would if asked), that Jack Frost Cold of his would keep him too sleepy and sneezy to do anything productive.

“Dean, my throat hurts,” Cas tells him, almost pleading without asking to just be left the hell alone. “I don’t want to eat that.”

Sam doesn’t either, to be honest. The thing looks about as bendy as a brick, and less tasty than one too. He can’t decide whether to swoop in and save Cas or not because doing so would likely offer him up as next Cookie-Taste-Tester, and that wasn’t high on Sam’s list of to-do’s today.

“It’s not Christmas if you don’t at least try the damn cookie,” Dean argues. Castiel’s brow trenches, frowning as he tries to follow his reasoning, but soon his eyes get wide as Dean shoves the cookie in his face again. It bumps Cas on the nose and so he smacks it out of Dean’s grip on reflex. It goes sailing across the room and hits a wall. It doesn’t even break.

Sam’s glad no one tried to eat it. No one here needs a broken tooth on top of the shit-heap they have going for them currently.

“Cas!” Dean yips, scandalized. “That was made with love, you asshole!”

“You have very firm love, Dean,” Cas replies, and Sam can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. The two square off with a staring contest for a few moments until Cas’s eyes begin to flutter with that oh-so-becoming-familiar expression. Dean must be used to it too at this point because he doesn’t even pause.

“If you don’t shape up your act, Santa’s gonna bring you jack-squat,” he warns. Castiel snatches up a few tissues just as his breath crests, and he snaps forward into the tent of his hands.

“ii’kishhhu!”

“And I’m not sharing my toys with you, just so you know.”

Cas tries to keep eye contact, but his nose won’t quit, so he fumbles for more tissues and doubles over again. “eiih’ptsshh!”

Dean prepares to deliver another berating remark, but Sam decides Cas has had enough and ducks in to save him. “Just let it go, man. He’s sick.”

The older Winchester looks over at Sam with a flourish, the ball on his Santa hat whipping dramatically. He didn’t notice it before, but now Sam sees that Dean has changed into an another extremely tacky Christmas sweater – (it has a kitten wearing an elf hat on it, with the words “Meowy Christmas” stitched in tinsel across the bottom) – and has on striped socks. He’s got such a prissy, pissed look on his face that Sam thinks he needs a picture of Dean like this for future leverage.

“Exactly,” Dean snipes. “Christmas heals everything. He’d get better if he just ate my cookie.”

“hh.. hh’kshhh’uu!”

Sam keeps eye contact with Dean, but does offer Castiel a cursory, “Bless you,” to which he receives a very breathless, stuffy, “thangs” and then another sneeze.

“Dean, look,” Sam hedges as Cas tends to his nose with another onslaught of tissues. Many are soaked with blue goop already and are scattered in disarray across the floor and his lap. “I think you need to drop the Christmas thing for five seconds.”

Dean’s eyes sharpen with an almost crazy gleam and he leans forward toward Sam, taking his brother by the shoulders. “Christmas is everything, Sammy,” he whispers, unblinking. He leans even closer. “Christmas is life.”

There is a tense silence, and Sam gets a very bad feeling. Like Dean might just murder him with a sharp candy cane if he jeopardizes this holiday. Then –

“huh’IDGishh!”

Sam tries to smile, reaching up to pat Dean’s hands. “All right, man,” he says. “It was just a suggestion.” Better to agree with the homicidal Christmas elf and investigate later than chance a killing spree.

“Are you patronizing me?” Dean growls, hands tightening. Sam blinks.

“Come again?”

“Are you,” Dean repeats. He sounds steely. “Patronizing me?”

“ugh’DSSHH!!”

“Dude, no, of course not, what the hell,” Sam snaps, trying to shake off Dean’s grip. He’s not so much scared as he is just plain done. While thankful this isn’t a more serious curse, Sam’s not stoked about the level of bitchiness that Dean’s packing right now.

“You don’t even believe, do you?!”

“Believe in what, Dean?”

“SANTA CLAUS.”

“hgh’IDSSGCHH!.. nnn..”

Sam’s eyes flick to Castiel, who can’t seem to get a handle on the sneezing issue. He’s down to his precious last few tissues, and the crawling tickle in his sinuses – one that Sam knows well, that just-barely-there stain that seems to spread at the back of his nostrils and down his throat, gentle and maddening as it goes, insatiable, omnipresent, evidence of an absolutely monstrous head cold – isn’t stopping. The sneezes are only getting heavier, in fact.

Then Sam starts to notice some other things about Castiel, and his heart plummets straight to his toes. Over the course of his sneezing fit, Castiel’s skin has paled to a marbled, greyish color, almost light blue, and his has hair faded to a bright, snowy white. The shivering tremors seem to have stopped, but on every exhale Cas’s breath fogs on the air. It isn’t enough that Castiel got infected with Jack Frost; now he looks like him too.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Sam says, dropping conversation with Dean so he can hover over Castiel’s armchair. When he lays the back of his hand against Cas’s cheek, it takes his breath away. “You’re freezing!”

Cas shies away from Sam, squirming uncomfortably. “Your hand feels extremely warm,” he says, still holding tissues over his nose. His fingers are not purpling with frostbite, and Sam thinks he sounds irritated, not in pain. With his legs, Castiel begins kicking off his blankets.

“Are these side-effects of the curse?” Sam asks, trying to fight the instinct to bundle Cas up and toss him in bed. He and Dean had soldiered through hypothermia on more than one occasion; this feels so frightfully similar.

“It’s…” Cas pauses, his eyes beginning to close and tighten. Sam doesn’t need to see his entire expression to know what’s coming, and he almost dives out of the way. He’s halfway there when Castiel sighs, relaxes, and lowers the tissues. “It’s likely.”

Dean just gives up on them and stomps away, vowing that he would make them understand. Sam can’t spare two shits about him because Castiel is getting that long-suffering look of a monster-build-up, and Sam has a feeling this one is going to be worse than the last.

“Okay,” he says, grabbing Castiel by the front of his shirt and hauling him up. The smaller man stumbles into Sam, dizzy from illness, and the chill of his body bleeds through Sam’s clothes. It send a thrill of worry down his spine. “We might need to get you outside.”

Castiel folds into Sam’s chest for a second as he gets his balance back, cheek just over Sam’s sternum, and the young Winchester wonders if this is what it’s like to have a baby brother. The surge of protective instinct shuttling through him is almost overwhelming, and it’s different from what he feels toward Dean. Maybe it’s because Castiel seems younger, smaller, than them both. Even though they all know he’s much older and bigger than they would ever know.

“Why outside?” Castiel croaks, winded from sneezing and now dreading the prickling, expanding tickle catching somewhere in the back of his nose, trickling down his throat. He coughs.

“Because,” Sam says, gesturing, “I can tell this is going to be a big one.”

Castiel looks like he wants to argue, but then his nose gives an irritated twitch and he concedes with a delicate sniffle that yes, it probably would be.

Looping an arm around Cas’s back, Sam hefts him out of the study and toward the main room, heading for the stairs that will lead up and outside. Even with the buffer of clothing between them, the chill in Castiel’s skin is intense. Every breath puffs out white as fog, with the scent of winter. Sam can also hear the sneezy weight in those snatchy inhales, as much as Cas works to hide it. The white hair and icy skin give the sick man a ghostly, otherworldly appearance, and it’s actually a little intimidating.

After only a few seconds of walking with Sam, Castiel gets squirmy and by the time they get to the stairs, Sam is having a hard time hanging onto him.

“Cas,” Sam grunts, trying to rein him in. The Winchester notices the delicate beads of sweat ringed along Castiel’s brow, the damp spots at the collar of his shirt, and hastens Cas to stand still. Castiel isn’t having it. He jerks free, panting.

“Sam, you’re making me hot,” he says. Sam thinks that Dean would have made a lewd joke, had he been there for it. Cas pulls at his shirt, about to yank it over his head when the sneeze takes him under and he heaves in a grimacing gasp.

“…UH..”

“Cas, no!” Sam leaps at him, determined to keep that sneeze inside until they get outside. Otherwise it would be another snot storm or (Sam is expecting) worse. His rough fingers pinch Castiel’s soft, sore nose shut, and the ex-angel cracks open watery eyes to regard Sam with a mix of annoyance and sympathy.

“Hurry,” he squeaks in a voice that sounds decidedly un-Castiel-like. They truck it up the stairs like a steam engine, Sam half-dragging Castiel as Cas’s smaller hands come to rest over Sam’s larger one, as if helping him to hold the sneeze in as they travel. Sam’s hand is actually starting to burn unpleasantly from the frosty gust of Castiel’s mouth-breathing. It’s so cold, like a biting north wind.

They burst out of the bunker into the summer afternoon, the heat immediately stifling and the cicadas droning down by the roadside. Castiel wrenches Sam’s hand from his nose and with only a second’s pause to gather what sounds like a titanic inhale, Castiel snaps forward with a sneeze.

“UHH’DDJIISSHHHHH-UHHH!!”

The sneeze is a roar, but surprisingly most of it is drowned out by the sound of rushing wind. There’s a tornado of movement, a freezing rush of air, and Sam’s suddenly looking at an icy, snowy walkway and lawn. Jack Frost is right, he thinks. Cas literally just sneezed a snowstorm.

Sam is very, very grateful they went outside for this.

In his arms, Castiel leaves his eyes closed and groans, licking his chapped lips as his nostrils flare again, in need of another. There’s almost no build-up this time, just a click-pull-release mechanism, so Sam grabs onto Cas’s shoulders and holds on.

“UHH’DDJJISHH’UUUU!”

Another blizzard whips past them and across the landscape, not reaching as far but only adding padding to the snow that’s already there. Castiel starts sagging, so Sam moves one arm to lasso around his waist, the other wrapping around his chest to keep him grounded. This time, Sam feels the tired build-up for the next sneeze as Castiel’s diaphragm strains against his grip.

“…hh.. Hh…HHH..”

Sam hopes this is the last one.

Cas snaps forward, and Sam goes with him to a degree, keeping his feet firmly planted so they don’t fall down. “HHIH’IIDDSHHH’UU!”

Sam watches ice collect on the trees nearby, the snow now almost two feet deep. Even though it’s still blistering hot outside, it looks more like a bright winter day than a summer one. The whiteness of the snow is actually hurting his eyes.

“Damn,” he says, quietly awed. He’s seen weirder shit than this if he’s being honest, so he’s not so much freaked as he is impressed. “God bless, Cas.”

Castiel just sighs, still supported by Sam’s grip and not keen on standing up by himself any time soon. He’s catching his breath, and seems hopelessly light-headed from the force of those sneezes. So they both just hang onto one another for a while.

Dean, naturally, chooses this moment to peek outside. And nearly blow out Sam’s eardrums with a shriek. Castiel’s hands flash up to cover his ears, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“SAMMY IT IS SNOWING,” Dean shouts, elbowing past Sam and throwing himself onto the ground. It’s technically Cas’s frozen, crystalized snot that he’s rolling around in, but Sam’s irritated with Dean right now and decides not to tell him that. There’s a tug on his sleeve and Sam glances down, only to be met with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes.

“Samb,” Castiel says, and Sam does not like how weak his voice sounds. His frosty white hair is sticking to his forehead, and he looks out of it. Dammit, he said this curse-thing couldn’t kill him! Castiel mutters something, but Sam can’t hear him over the nuisance of his brother.

“SAMMY,” Dean continues, still using a voice much too loud for the circumstances. Sam is only like a few feet away, geez. “I TOLD YOU SANTA WAS REAL I TOLD YOU.”

“Dean, shut up for a second, please.” Then Sam tends to Cas again, leaning down toward him to hear better. “What, Cas?”

Castiel licks his lips again, eyes falling closed as a tiny frown forms across his brow. Which Sam now sees is absolutely slicked with sweat. In fact, Castiel is practically sweating through his clothing right now.

“Too hot,” Cas says, rolling his shoulders. “Too hot oud here…”

Alarm bells go off in Sam’s head because of course. If Castiel’s lugging around the spirit of Jack Frost, it would make sense that warm places would get him really sick. He could be on the verge of heatstroke. Judging by the hot, sticky feeling to Castiel’s shirt and pants right now, they’re pretty much on top of it.

“SNOW ANGELS,” Dean screeches, flailing wildly as he sends flurries of snow up around him. “AW YEAH THAT’S GOOD.” It’s actually really gross and the snow’s already melting and Sam doesn’t want to be around when it’s all gone and Dean’s just crawling around in the mud. Besides, he needs to get Cas into an ice-bath or something.

So he scoops Cas up like a bride and slips back inside, slamming the door behind him. Think, think, Winchester, he thought. Castiel needs a place that can keep him cool but also won’t get destroyed by another ridiculous snow-sneeze.

In his arms, Castiel tenses and then shakes with a fitful, “ii’kshh!” that puffs in a white burst of air. He brings his hand up afterward, groggy, with his eyes hardly able to stay open. Sam’s acutely aware of how uncomfortable Castiel is while so close – not personal-space related, but instead due to how warm Sam must be. Cas certainly feels like an icicle to him, anyway.

Think, think, Winchester.

As Sam dashes into the bathroom and lowers a fussy, overheated Castiel carefully into the tub, the idea hits him.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley complains.

Oh, but he is. After Sam got Castiel out of his thick clothes, cooled him down in the tub, and poured a water tank’s amount of cranberry juice down his throat, he hauled Cas down here. Into the dungeon. It is acceptably drafty, and Sam turned up the AC a little more as they passed the thermostat. If Cas gets his sneeze on, the temperature would plummet in no time.

Crowley would live, probably.

Castiel leans against the wall by one of the shelves, barefoot and pale enough in the lighting to look somewhat terrifying. If not for the sleepy cast to his eyes and the irritable, red skin around his nose, at least. His condition has generally improved, but after the sneezing fit outside and a few kittenish ones here and there since, Castiel no longer has a runny nose but a very stuffy one. His bluish lips are gently parted to breathe, and every so often he will try and drag an inhale past what must be supernaturally blocked nasal passages.

Sam likes to think he has snowdrifts packed into his sinuses.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Sam asks. Crowley stares from where he always sits, chained to that uncomfortable chair, and then his gaze flicks to Castiel when the ex-angel huffs.

“iih-..” There is a brief pause, during which Castiel hovers a hand in the air near his mouth. “iih’ddjssh!”

It sounds wet and clogged and Crowley makes a very unhappy face. Sam did not bother explaining to him why Castiel needs to stay down here, but Crowley is old and worldly enough to put the pieces together.

“You know as well as I that he’s sneezing himself up to another damn storm,” Crowley snaps through gritted teeth. “And when that happens, I will be sitting in the tundra.”

Sam shrugs, arms crossed. “Unless you know how to fix this, deal with it.” He’s really not in the mood to deal with two whiny brats. Dean’s already a handful. Hell, Castiel’s the one who truly deserves to be a little monster today, and he’s been (pun not intended) an angel in comparison.

Sam watches Castiel thankfully, praising his good behavior with a silent appreciation, and then smirks when Cas wrinkles his nose up and bobs his head with another kitty sneeze. “ah’ttssch!”

“He’s disgusting!” Crowley growls.

Castiel glares in reply, swiping an arm beneath his nose to itch at it. Most of his decorum and dignity had fallen by the wayside over the course of the afternoon, and by this point, near evening, Cas cannot bother to give a damn.

Sam turns to Castiel, puppy dog eyes in full effect. “Is he going to bother you, Cas?”

Castiel and Crowley never got along even as angel and demon, let alone as human and sort-of-human. And now Castiel is capable of feeling things he never could before. Crowley might actually have the power to hurt his feelings. Factory-Setting Castiel was a stubborn, confused badass motherfucker. Human Castiel, to Sam, suddenly seems a delicate flower.

But it would appear his concern is misplaced because Castiel gives him a slightly confused, perhaps ruffled, expression. “Dnot bore thad usual…”

“Oh, I can tell you which one of us is going to be most bothered by this,” Crowley mutters darkly. “And it’s not the sickly little bird over there.”

Convinced everything will be relatively okay, Sam resolutely ignores Crowley and gets Cas situated on a comfortable cot in the corner. Even though Sam is already starting to shiver from the chill in the dungeon, for the first time today Castiel is perfectly content. He curls up on his cot without a blanket and yawns, which makes Sam get that weird protective instinct all stirred up again. He fights the urge to ruffle Cas’s hair, because that would be too much.

As he turns to leave, Castiel catches the edge of his shirt. “Samb?”

Sam glances over his shoulder, brows raised. “Yeah?”

“Tha-… Thag-.. uh’tszzch!” Cas sneezes against the inside of his forearm, blinking a few times with a squinted expression before he tries again. “Thag you.”

Sam smiles as Cas lets go of him. “No worries.”

The last thing Sam hears as he ducks out of the dungeon and closes the doors behind him is Crowley saying, “I miss Hell.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam finds Dean in the kitchen chugging egg nog, soaked and covered from head to toe in mud. At least Castiel’s sneeze-snow melts very quickly, from what Sam can gather. The younger Winchester lingers by the door, taking steadying breaths. Cas’s is asleep downstairs, hopefully on the mend or at least plateauing. Dean, a mess though he is, has higher spirits than he did before the romp in the snow. His eyes do seem a little dazzled though. And that smile is a bit unbalanced.

Sam will find a way to cure both of them. He always does.

“Sammy!” Dean says, startling his younger brother. He comes over with his arms outstretched for a bear hug, and Sam back-peddles. Dean’s filthy boots leave tracks on the kitchen tile, and wow isn’t that great, Sam just cleaned in there. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says around a smile, trying to duck out of any muddy embraces Dean plans to inflict on him. Dean’s Santa Hat is caked in dirt, the red and white satin hardly discernible anymore. They dance around for a moment before Sam is herded into a corner, leaning on the counter, with Dean leering. He can count the times on one hand when Dean has managed to successfully leer over him.

“Something you want?” Sam asks slowly, eyes wide. Dean just leans even closer, and Sam is both fascinated and perturbed to notice Dean’s breath smells just like pine. Like he brushed his teeth with a friggin’ Christmas tree. What the hell.

“My angel, Sammy,” Dean breathes in a husky voice Sam quickly decides he doesn’t like at all. “My snow-bringing, cookie-throwing, north-pole-up-his-ass fallen Christmas angel.” His eyes dart around as if he expects Castiel to spring out from behind a corner at any moment. “I need him.”

“Dean, for what?”

Dean clamps his hands on Sam’s shoulders, a crazy glint in his eyes. “TO BE MY MRS. CLAUS, SAMMY. IF I’M GONNA FINISH MY TRANSFORMATION INTO ‘OLE CHRIS KRINGLE I OBVIOUSLY NEED A MRS. CLAUS.”

Sam feels like he’s dropped into another reality constructed by a well-meaning, but torturous, archangel-trickster. Is this actually happening?

“B-But,” he stammers, and that’s as far as he gets. Dean slaps a hand over his mouth, making Sam jump, and lowers his voice to a whisper.

“No, shh, shh. Don’t worry, Sammy,” he says, elated. “You get to be Rudolph. Who else is gonna lead my sleigh? Just don’t tell Crowley he’s the Grinch. And when Kevin gets back, he’ll be our elf.”

Dean sounds like he’s got this all figured out, and it alarms Sam that the cursed hat has gotten his brother this nutty without him really noticing. He’d been so worried about Cas, he forgot about how bad Dean might get in the meanwhile... Whoops. Dean continues, now looking wistfully into the distance over Sam’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take that angel outside and have him sneeze until he covers the entire state of Kansas in snow,” he says, grinning, and Sam wants nothing more than to get Dean as far away from Cas as possible because this is just getting creepy. “Gotta have a white Christmas, after all.”

Oh, shit. Dean’s totally bonkers. Sam keeps his gaze steady, casually reaching back behind him to feel around for a blunt object on the counter. Anything to knock Dean out for a while so Sam can get a handle on the situation.

Dean still has a hand over Sam’s mouth when he leans back to look over his shoulder at the basement stairs, and Sam uses the distraction to crack Dean across the head with a frying pan. The sound is loud and Dean goes down immediately in an unconscious heap. Sam feels only a teeny bit bad about it, chest heaving with adrenaline. Beneath his feet he can hear a muffled rush of air, and the faintest screamed profanity from Crowley.

He needs to get this under control, and he needs to hurry.

/to be continued

Edited May 3, 2015 by BlackScatter

[NorthernLady]

i'm....

Wow...

Now I see why you gave Cas a Jackfrost curse and Dean a cursed Santa Hat... what you are writing right now is genious and the stuff of legend. I could quote tne entire fic as my fave but I'm just gonna quote this and go from there :

“SAMMY IT IS SNOWING,” Dean shouts, elbowing past Sam and throwing himself onto the ground. It’s technically Cas’s frozen, crystalized snot that he’s rolling around in, but Sam’s irritated with Dean right now and decides not to tell him that. There’s a tug on his sleeve and Sam glances down, only to be met with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes.

“Samb,” Castiel says, and Sam does not like how weak his voice sounds. His frosty white hair is sticking to his forehead, and he looks out of it. Dammit, he said this curse-thing couldn’t kill him! Castiel mutters something, but Sam can’t hear him over the nuisance of his brother.

“SAMMY,” Dean continues, still using a voice much too loud for the circumstances. Sam is only like a few feet away, geez. “I TOLD YOU SANTA WAS REAL I TOLD YOU.”

This is strange, I was so extatic about your writing sick Cas but what is getting to me right now is all the crazyness of Dean, I mean, Cas is sick, worsening, getting Jack Frosted and feeling bad in the warm weather, I love it! His situation is worthy or Sam's worries but there is also Dean, who at first I though nothing of but then he just got Christmas Crazy. Like really crazy. Who has it worse, I dunno. But I really love where this is going....

“Something you want?” Sam asks slowly, eyes wide. Dean just leans even closer, and Sam is both fascinated and perturbed to notice Dean’s breath smells just like pine. Like he brushed his teeth with a friggin’ Christmas tree. What the hell.

“My angel, Sammy,” Dean breathes in a husky voice Sam quickly decides he doesn’t like at all. “My snow-bringing, cookie-throwing, north-pole-up-his-ass fallen Christmas angel.” His eyes dart around as if he expects Castiel to spring out from behind a corner at any moment. “I need him.”

“Dean, for what?”

Dean clamps his hands on Sam’s shoulders, a crazy glint in his eyes. “TO BE MY MRS. CLAUS, SAMMY. IF I’M GONNA FINISH MY TRANSFORMATION INTO ‘OLE CHRIS KRINGLE I OBVIOUSLY NEED A MRS. CLAUS.”

Sam feels like he’s dropped into another reality constructed by a well-meaning, but torturous, archangel-trickster. Is this actually happening?

“B-But,” he stammers, and that’s as far as he gets. Dean slaps a hand over his mouth, making Sam jump, and lowers his voice to a whisper.

“No, shh, shh. Don’t worry, Sammy,” he says, elated. “You get to be Rudolph. Who else is gonna lead my sleigh? Just don’t tell Crowley he’s the Grinch. And when Kevin gets back, he’ll be our elf.”

That just killed me. I mean, Cas is sneezing a snowstorm in the basement with Crowley who is not having a jolly old time and Dean just looses touches with reality. Miss Claus? Rudolf? Kevin as an elf? Is Kevin dead in this reality btw?

“I’m going to take that angel outside and have him sneeze until he covers the entire state of Kansas in snow,” he says, grinning, and Sam wants nothing more than to get Dean as far away from Cas as possible because this is just getting creepy. “Gotta have a white Christmas, after all.”

And you top the sunday with that cherry... I just can't even.... My heart is busting of love for this fic and I'll never stop reading it until you deliver me with tne next part (which I'll probably read just as much).

Dean still has a hand over Sam’s mouth when he leans back to look over his shoulder at the basement stairs, and Sam uses the distraction to crack Dean across the head with a frying pan. The sound is loud and Dean goes down immediately in an unconscious heap. Sam feels only a teeny bit bad about it, chest heaving with adrenaline. Beneath his feet he can hear a muffled rush of air, and the faintest screamed profanity from Crowley.

He needs to get this under control, and he needs to hurry.

Oh yeah and there's that But at least Sam's gonna be able to concentrate on helping Cas out of this curse. One problem at a time, right?

Now I'll go back to my daydreaming about Frosty Cas sneezing a storm and Crowley cursing as he tries to move the chair further from the snow angel. I need to keep my sanity for next part

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Omg....this

I can't even...

...

......

Yes.

[HPG]

“SAMMY IT IS SNOWING,” Dean shouts, elbowing past Sam and throwing himself onto the ground. It’s technically Cas’s frozen, crystalized snot that he’s rolling around in, but Sam’s irritated with Dean right now and decides not to tell him that.

Haha! Lovely!

[AngelEyes]

This is absofrigginlutely fantastic!!!

“Eat it, Cas,” Dean’s saying. “Eat the magic.”

ROTFL! I so have to use that sometime!

“Cas!” Dean yips, scandalized. “That was made with love, you asshole!”

“You have very firm love, Dean,” Cas replies, and Sam can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

This is just so perfectly Cas. I love it.

“SAMMY IT IS SNOWING,” Dean shouts, elbowing past Sam and throwing himself onto the ground. It’s technically Cas’s frozen, crystalized snot that he’s rolling around in, but Sam’s irritated with Dean right now and decides not to tell him that.

Oh Gods, Dean is totally going to freak at this when he comes around and realizes! LOL!

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley complains.

Ha! Poor Crowley!!!

“My angel, Sammy,” Dean breathes in a husky voice Sam quickly decides he doesn’t like at all. “My snow-bringing, cookie-throwing, north-pole-up-his-ass fallen Christmas angel.” His eyes dart around as if he expects Castiel to spring out from behind a corner at any moment. “I need him.”

“Dean, for what?”

Dean clamps his hands on Sam’s shoulders, a crazy glint in his eyes. “TO BE MY MRS. CLAUS, SAMMY. IF I’M GONNA FINISH MY TRANSFORMATION INTO ‘OLE CHRIS KRINGLE I OBVIOUSLY NEED A MRS. CLAUS.”

Too freaking funny!!!!!!

Dean still has a hand over Sam’s mouth when he leans back to look over his shoulder at the basement stairs, and Sam uses the distraction to crack Dean across the head with a frying pan. The sound is loud and Dean goes down immediately in an unconscious heap. Sam feels only a teeny bit bad about it, chest heaving with adrenaline. Beneath his feet he can hear a muffled rush of air, and the faintest screamed profanity from Crowley.

He needs to get this under control, and he needs to hurry.

Oh man. What an ending! Dean's going to be pissed! Poor Sammy!!!!

[SterlingSilver]

Now I'll go back to my daydreaming about Frosty Cas sneezing a storm and Crowley cursing as he tries to move the chair further from the snow angel. I need to keep my sanity for next part

NORTH! (huggle) Thank you, as always, for your wonderful comments! I always look forward to them >w< You're so sweet! I really hope this last part isn't too disappointing, and I'm sorry it took so long! Plot is hard LOL

I can't even...

Ahahaha! I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Thank you for reading! <3

Haha! Lovely!

Thank you!

This is absofrigginlutely fantastic!!!

Thank you, AngelEyes! I always love to get lots of quoted parts to I know what parts are people's favorites >w< Thank you so much for reading!

[SterlingSilver]

A/N: Oh blehhh, this took me forever xDD. Somehow, even though I am off school, I seem to have less time than usual LOL. Just so lazy~! BUT I really wanted this done before I took on any new projects, SO LET’S DO IIIIT <3

Also I’ve lost all self-control so somehow all this is pretty OOC and cracky. Forgive me, friends.. I’ll try harder next time OTL... Case fics aren’t my forte..

WARNINGS: Swearing, discussion of mess, Dean has intense germaphobia and Sam kind of makes it worse

~Hexed Holiday~

PART 3

Crowley has been demeaned in all sorts of new, creative ways upon meeting the Winchesters, but never before did he feel quite so violated. This dank, metallic, depressing dungeon is his home-sweet-home now, and he had come to accept such conditions during the endless hours he spent sitting amidst the chill and the darkness. But under no terms did he agree to a roommate.

“hh’DSJJSHH!”

Definitely not a roommate sneezing bouts of snow all over the damn place with surprising, infuriating regularity. It would be just like the angel to hold out for the Winchesters’ sake, and then once out from under their simpering scrutiny, rip loose with a righteous fury.

“hh’JSHH!”

Rude, is what it is. Incredibly rude. Crowley hopes he knows that.

“I hate you,” he says, then screws his eyes shut as he sees Castiel grow weak with another clockwork niggle at his sinuses.

“hht’TTSSCHH!”

A rush of freezing air and wetness blasts Crowley in the face, and he slowly blinks his eyes a few times to clear them, since his hands are bound to the chair. Castiel, meanwhile, sinks into his cot with a pleasant sigh.

“It really is a peculiar sensation,” he remarks, delicately fishing a hand under his nose to clear away any lingering mess. Crowley shakes a bit of snow off his hair with a few violent tosses of his head, then glowers. Castiel continues unperturbed, looking stupidly cozy on his cot even though the temperature in the dungeon is frosty.

“The immediate relief afterward is so nice,” he says. “Now I understand why humans often sneeze so willingly.”

Crowley rolls his eyes as far as they will go, but finds even that is not satisfactory enough. How long will he be subject to his drivel? He almost prefers the sneezing over Castiel’s commentary.

“…uh’adnother-.. ht’CHHCSCHH!!.. ahhh..”

Almost. Crowley flinches from another spray of sleet, noting that it seems to be getting wetter. Less solid. Hopefully that means the virus is beginning to fade. Otherwise, Crowley will have to track down that demonic pig-sticker and stab himself to death. As Castiel sniffles, Crowley feels himself shiver against his chains. His skin looks nearly white in the dim glow of yellowed lights, bits of moisture sparkling on the backs of his fingers, or darkening the legs of his pants.

Hell had been chilly, but this was just arctic. Crowley’s hands tighten into fists, the chains tinkling delicately against one another as he takes a slow, deep breath. When he lets it out, it’s like he’s blowing out white smoke. His bindings leave so little room for him to shift in his seat, but his clothes are soaked from all of Castiel’s slushy sneezing. It’s hardly comfortable.

Not that he should be complaining, what with the torture he has both undergone and inflicted on others. This is nothing to him. Just a bit of cold, a bit of damp. Nothing like hellfire licking at your skin.

“AAH’TTSCHHH!”

That sneeze catches him unawares and he takes the full brunt like a heavy tidal wave. Before he can summon up any sort of calm, Crowley finds himself shrieking at the top of his lungs, “Would you cover your damn mouth, you worthless scum?!”

When he opens his eyes again, Castiel is smirking at him from the cot, clearly enjoying himself. Crowley had no idea, until this moment, the angel could be such a prick. Sure, this is the man that had screwed him over more times than Crowley could count - had bullied him, threatened him, tried to kill him plenty of times - but Crowley has never known him to be impish.

He blames Squirrel. Moose is too sensible to have such a horribly annoying influence.

“Apologies, Crowley,” Cas says, and Crowley knows he’s not the least bit sorry at all. “They come upon me so quickly, it’s difficult to catch them in time.”

“That’s a load of bollix!” Crowley growls, practically shaking in his chains he’s so mad. “You’re doing it on purpose!”

“Am not.”

“You are so!”

“There’s no-... no way f...” Castiel’s eyes begin to flutter, but he’s still grinning. His tongue pokes out to smooth against his upper lip as he straightens up. Crowley notices a moment too late that the menace is trying to finalize his aim.

“NO. NO! Nonononononono-”

“HAAH’JSSHHHUU!”

“HELL’S BELLS,” Crowley screeches, frantically spitting. “I’VE SWALLOWED SOME, DAMN YOU.”

Castiel throws his head back in honest laughter, the sound of it crackly and booming through the small space, while Crowley just sputters and swears. Somehow this day has made it into his top 5 worst days ever. At this point, he’s prepared to start begging Moose to knock him unconscious for the remainder of Castiel’s stay.

He freezes when he feels a presence in front of him, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Castiel’s bright, mischievous blue eyes. His flushed-red, twitching nose. And his roguish smile.

Crowley really, really misses Hell.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

When Dean wakes up, it’s to a splitting headache and to Sammy holding a log like he’s presenting Simba to the sun on Pride Rock. Well, wait. No. When his vision clears and he blinks a couple times, it looks a lot less reverent and a lot more hopeful. Desperate even. Is Sam chanting Latin? It sounds kinda Latin. Ugh, his head-…

Dean shifts, and finds that his wrists and ankles are bound to the posts of his own four poster bed. In his room. And through the receding fog of his thoughts, Dean struggles with the insatiable need to celebrate Christmas. It’s like a haze, an instinct, encroaching from a long-forgotten excitement he had abandoned as a kid. Something woken in him that had been dead in the ground ever since Mom burned away and the world changed.

The sensation of pine sap on his fingers while hunting for a tree. The hustle-and-bustle of last minute bargain shopping on Christmas Eve. Tinny TV specials that never seem to lose their charm. Deep, velvet voices of the best of the best singing all the classics over the Impala radio. Cold bite of the snow. Warm scent of cookies through the kitchen. Being together.

Like a siren song in the back of his head – he cannot shake it. He just wants to lay down and submit to it. Embrace it. Love it. Let it bundle him up and take him wherever it wishes to go. But then there is Sammy snapping fingers in his face, Yule Log forgotten on the bedside table.

“Dean? Dean, finally, I was getting worried, man,” Sam is saying, peering down at him. “I’ve been trying to cure you with this shitty Yule Log ritual. Is it working?”

Dean’s eyes watch the swaying locks of Sam’s hair, the brown fly-aways making him think of tinsel. Sam’s deep eyes are bright like glass Christmas ornaments. Blinking hard, the elder Winchester tries to get it together. It’s hard. Faintly, he can feel the strong hold of the Santa hat on his head.

“Sammy,” he rasps, muscles tensing. “Get it off.”

Sam sighs, reaching to tug on the hat for what must be the billionth time. He even tries to get his fingers under the edges. “I can’t, Dean! It’s been glued to your head since you put it on, and there’s not a single thing in the lore about it.”

Still, Dean sounds more coherent than he was before getting knocked out. Less manic and more panic. It’s clear in the way Dean’s biceps tense and untense, clear in how he uneasily shifts against the sheets. Just then, Sam feels an idea take hold – what if Dean could fight it? Sometimes, it can be as simple as that. You just have to rip yourself out of the curse, or whatever this happened to be. Then bam, you’re cured.

“Can you fight it?” he asks, frowning as Dean tries to sit up, pulling at his restraints. Sam isn’t sure if tying him down was the best idea, but he worried that his brother would become some sort of homicidal Christmas tornado if he woke free.

“I dunno,” Dean grunts, staring firmly up at the ceiling. He can hear the haunting tune of ‘Silent Night’ somewhere in the back of his head. Sharply shaking himself, his fists clench as he swallows, feeling how parched his throat is. “Can ya get me some egg nog?”

Sam sighs somewhere to his right. “No. No egg nog. You need to sweat this out of your system.”

Dean briefly considers answering with, Oh? Like you and your demon blood?, but manages to bite his tongue before he says it aloud. There’s a cool sheen of sweat on his forehead, his body achy and begging for something red-and-green and cinnamon-smelling. Anything wintery. He knows it’s just the damn Santa-curse making him so on edge… though he’d give his left arm for a stocking-full of candy.

“This sucks…”

“I know, but this whole thing started because you gave into Christmas cravings,” Sam says, feeling rational. The more he talks, the more sense this all begins to make. There is no cure for this madness other than Dean just resisting the influence. Something tight in Sam’s chest relaxes. “So just lay there and… I don’t know, think about something else. Get your mind off it.”

“You’re being a Grinch, Sam.”

“And you’re being insane, Dean. Seriously. Stop thinking about it.”

They fall into a frustrated silence. It’s hard to think about other things, Dean decides as he stays still and uncomfortable against the mattress. Suddenly there seems nothing more interesting than all the many aspects of that single, jolly holiday, and Dean catches himself mentally reciting ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.’ And by then he’s only three lines from the end. Damn, this is bad.

Both brothers jump when a muted rumble interrupts the quiet. Sam rubs his face with both hands while Dean glances around.

“Was that the reindeer on the roof? Holy shit, is the sleigh out there!?”

“Dean! No Christmas, remember?”

“Uh. I mean, what was that clatter?... I should rise from my bed and see what is the matter.”

Sam rests his forehead in one hand, trying to keep it together. How is this even a thing? Why? Why is there an enchanted hat that makes his brother some sort of Christmas junkie? Because on one hand, it’s just stupid enough to be hilarious. And on the other, it’s giving Sam a migraine.

“It’s Cas.”

Dean jerks against his bindings, going from awestruck to furious in less time than Sam can blink. “Cas hijacked my sleigh?”

“Get it together,” Sam says as his eyes flick across Dean’s ropes, assuring himself they are indeed fastened tightly enough. “There’s no sleigh. Cas is in the dungeon sneezing his head off.”

When Dean gives him a pinched, searching expression, Sam elaborates. “Sneezing snow, remember?”

There’s another fierce sound, and Dean notices that it is indeed coming from the down direction, not up. His earlier memory of Cas achoo-ing a blizzard across the lawn resurfaces, though he recoils suddenly at the implications of making snow angels in it.

“Was I playing in his snot earlier?”

Sam, annoying little brother that he is, just snorts. “Pretty much. Looked like you were having the time of your life too.”

Faintly he realizes that Sam has changed him out of his mud-soaked clothes, but he can still feel some of the dried residue along his skin – places like his hairline, the grooves of his fingers, under the curve of his neck. His deeply rooted germaphobia kicks in, and Dean squirms.

“Ugh, that’s rank,” he growls, tossing a bit. “Lemme up, I wanna shower.”

“Not until that hat’s off.”

“Sammy, I’m serious.” And Dean looks serious too – with stone-cut eyes and clenched jaw. Sam kicks back and crosses his arms, confident that Dean won’t be going anywhere no matter how big of a tantrum he throws.

“So am I.” Sam watches Dean start to thrash, looking for a weak point where he wouldn’t find any. It’s not something the younger Winchester wants to do to his brother, but he’s convinced that if Dean can just get Christmas off his mind for a few minutes they’ll be in the clear. What better opportunity than the one presented here? At the moment, Dean can do nothing but think about the evidence of Cas’s supposed ‘snow-snot’ all over his skin; gross as that is, it’s enough of a distraction that Sam can foresee the end to this hat hell if the disgust persists.

“It was seriously gross, dude,” Sam says, observing as Dean arches his back to try and roll onto his side. “You were laughing, rolling around, probably got some in your mouth…”

Dean yells out as if he’s been stabbed, face growing red from exertion as he fights. “STOP. STOP TALKING.” He swears under his breath, the ball of the Santa hat bouncing all around as he looks for a new angle. Any kind of leverage to free himself. Sam keeps his eye on the swatch of red fabric and white puff ball.

“Even when it all started to melt, you were still out there. Having a bath. Snot bath, that is.”

Dean’s now shouting incessantly, in that mode where no amount of noise will drown out the images in his head. Sam used to love to do this when he was a kid – he could always get back at Dean for any amount of pranks or brotherly insults if he just squicked him out enough with words like these. Eventually Dean would plug his ears and shut his eyes, unable to cope. As much as he pities Dean in this moment, it’s still a little funny. And effective for freeing him of this damn hat situation.

“You can feel it right? It’s still there, I didn’t wash it off,” Sam says, reaching for the Santa hat as Dean pauses just a second for breath. He grips the ball, tugging a little as he speaks loudly over Dean’s voice. “Snot skin! Snot all over you!!”

“SAM!” Dean bellows, voice breaking as he carries off into just torrent of wordless yells and swearing. Sam pulls, pulls harder, and finally…FINALLY… the hat comes off. Pops off like cork, and Sam staggers back onto his ass with it in his hand. He holds it far away from himself while Dean catches his breath, chest heaving. His face is all blotchy from shouting so much, but he seems a little calmer.

Sam drops the hat onto the seat of his chair, approaching Dean as he uses a pocket knife to snap the rope. “Sorry about that. I know you hate that stuff, but it did distract you long enough to – ”

“Piss off,” Dean grunts, snatching his arm to his chest just as soon as it’s free. He’s all jerky and offended, like a wet cat. Shuddery too, probably from how much he wants a shower. “Just hurry.”

Sam drops it, knowing Dean isn’t exactly proud of his inability to deal with disgusting shit. It embarrasses him more than anything. Once all the ropes are cut, Dean’s up on his feet and shivering a bit, shaking off the feelings of revulsion. His eyes drift to hat on the chair.

“Burn that shit,” he says, gruff. Then shoulders by Sam with a disdainful sniff. “I’m showering.”

Sam smirks as he snatches up the hat, wondering if he should salt it first.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Both Dean and Sam are surprised to see Castiel emerge from the dungeon himself, looking worlds better than he had that morning. His skin is rosier, his hair back to its natural color, his nose a bit red but he no longer sounds stuffed-up or hoarse. Cas stretches as he comes to stand by the couch where the brothers sit, each of them nursing a mug of hot cocoa before a raging fire. Upon the logs sits the charred remains of the Santa hat. Cas notes all details of the scene before him, studying the fire in particular before Sam speaks.

“Feeling better, buddy?”

Cas glances to Sam, breaking into a soft, thankful smile. “Yes, much better. I believe the essence has run its course. And Dean, you are feeling better as well?”

Dean lifts his mug as if to toast to their health, looking tired and perhaps a bit strung out, but overall less crazed than he was all afternoon. “Yep. The hat may have Kris Kringled me, but now it’s barbeque.”

Sam takes another sip of his cocoa, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation after such a long day. Dean was fine, if a bit pissed. Cas was fine, even happy. They had a fire going, even though it was summer. The chill Cas left in the dungeon had followed him up through the floorboards and vents, so they convinced themselves the flames weren’t a waste.

As Sam cracked open a book and Dean disappeared with Cas into the kitchen to make some more cocoa, no one gave a second thought to the King of Hell down in his chains, quivering incessantly in his damp clothes. His little metal room, cold on the warmest of days, is now an icebox. He can’t keep his teeth from chattering, and the only thing Crowley finds himself thankful for is that no one else is down here to see this. He’s pathetic.

Stupid Castiel. Soaking the place and then having the audacity to just leave when he finally felt well again. Leaving Crowley down here with his room ankle-deep in water and melting slush. Eyes flickering closed, he tensed with a shuddering breath. Then –

“Ha’kssshh!”

Blinking his eyes open again, Crowley sniffled thickly, swallowing after. “Damn.”

/fin

Edited July 31, 2015 by BlackScatter
Typossss~

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

OHHHHHHH MYYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!

Its been FOR EVER. And this still managed to twist me into a puddle of tears Brilliant! Brilliant! Brilliant!

I love all your work and this just proves how amazing you are! Thank you so much for writting!

[NorthernLady]

OH EM GEE!

First of all. Sam's way to get rid of the curse was GENIUS! Germaphobia as a anti-curse, who would have though? You, of course! *hugs* I was so laughing my ass off with Dean's reaction about angel snot

Second of all, the part in the dungeon was, unsurprisingly enough, genius too. (I'm gonna have to break the synonyms soon... I can't even... find a better word) Crowley's pissed off about being sleeted every goddamn 30 seconds and Cas has fun just pissing him off. Perfect balance.

Stupid Castiel. Soaking the place and then having the audacity to just leave when he finally felt well again. Leaving Crowley down here with his room ankle-deep in water and melting slush. Eyes flickering closed, he tensed with a shuddering breath. Then –

“Ha’kssshh!”

Blinking his eyes open again, Crowley sniffled thickly, swallowing after. “Damn.”

Of course, THIS was the cherry on the perfect sundae. The thing that I hadn't anticipated that made me yell in laughter Very well done Blackie