Supernatural Mystery Christmas (Dean and Sam)

[gingerdean]

I'm not on the computer so I can't quote at the moment. But I'm loving this so much. Great story, great characterization (as always), great sneezes, great buildup ... The suspense is killing me!! (But in a good way )

I really like the photic sneezing bits, too.  It's something that I love to see in fic, but it's rare to see it featured so prominently in a story. (For obvious reasons, there's not usually a whole lot you can do with it.) Very cool 

And I don't think your formatting/spacing is annoying or distracting in the slightest. 

[Anilkex]

It's been a year, like I said. So I forgot how much your comments are like crack. Good thing I'm on winter break. This thing will be kinda long. Glad the freaky spacing thing isn't annoying, because it's taking some time redoing all the italics (I need emphasis in my stories), and I'd rather not have to fix the spacing, too. Kinda referenced one of my old stories in here because shit like that amuses me. Okay...here's the next part...Day 4.

---

 

They got out of bed, dressed, and into the Impala without any other sneezing. Movement was cautious, eyes darting around in anticipation for expected and unexpected triggers. The Impala rumbled, the clock ticked, they still sat.

 

“So…” Dean started, hands gripping the wheel. “If we go to a diner…”

 

“...there’s pepper. Yeah, I know. If we go near anything with food, chances are we’ll start sneezing.”

 

Dean sighed. “Okay. It’s just a sneeze, right? No big deal. We’re not bleeding, we’re not hurt, we’re not dying. We’re just sneezing.”

 

“Exactly, Dean.”

 

“Then take off those stupid sunglasses, you big baby.”

 

“You’re the one not driving, asshole.”

 

Dean flicked the glasses off Sam’s face, Sam blinked once, “Hih’ESsschhheww!” into cupped hands, and Dean put the car in reverse.

 

“Now we’re even.”

 

xxxxx

 

A silent agreement settled on just coffee for breakfast, ordered from a drive-thru. Unfortunately, a clerk at the window tripped while carrying someone else’s order.

 

“Heh-etschuh! Hih-hxngt!”

 

“Seriously?”

 

Dean sniffed hard, scrubbing his nose to relieve the itching. “Just cross pepper off my list for the day, Sam. Heh’tschhuu! Goddammit. Let’s get to the sheriff.”

 

The rest of the drive was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. There was a definite apprehension in the air as the curse theory seemed to be proving itself true. On rare occasions, Sam hated being right. This was definitely one of them. Being sick was never this stressful. But what other explanation was there? The girl tripped while holding pepper, when they didn’t even order any food that could possibly need pepper, and just so happened to chuck it out the drive-thru window directly at Dean?

 

Fucking curses.

 

Still, Sam told himself, Dean was right. They were just sneezing. Who cared? He didn’t feel sick, he wasn’t in any pain, there weren’t even residual effects from the outbursts. They sneezed, sniffled, blew their noses, then moved on.

 

Not a big deal.

 

He could do this. They could do this.

 

Just as Dean parked, Sam had a flare of panic...how long would this last?

 

Laterlaterlater.

 

The sheriff’s department did not display the hustle and bustle Dean expected, considering someone was just found sliced in half by their patio door.

 

“Hullo, agents.” They turned at the drawled greeting. The sheriff walked over, still wearing his hat. “You said to call if anythin’ else happened.”

 

...And he stood there.

 

Already on edge from the curse, Dean wasn’t in the mood for Officer SlowPoke. “What happened?”

 

The sheriff scratched behind his ear, beckoning for them to go into his office. Dean eyed the dusty computer while Sam scanned the dusty desk. “Wellp, Caron Milton was a sweetheart. Made the most amazing coconut macaroons and collected ceramic kangaroos.”

 

Dean nudged Sam. “Remember that documentary?”

 

“Shut up,” Sam hissed back.

 

“Anyhoo, she was found this morning...in two pieces.” He pulled out a large envelope. Both Sam and Dean flinched, anticipating dust or something else. “Here are the pictures.”

 

After a quick look at Sam, Dean pulled out the photos. 8x10 color shots of Caron Milton...top half inside, bottom half outside.

 

“Jesus…”

 

“Yuuup. Kinda weird, huh?”

 

Dean briefly closed his eyes, willing Sam to take over.

 

“So...any idea what happened to her?”

 

The sheriff nodded at the pictures. “She got cut in half.”

 

Dean nodded tersely, handed Sam the photos, and left the room.

 

“Where’s he goin’?”

 

Sam choked down his own irritation. “Nevermind him. What I meant was, did anyone see what happened? Any video or audio footage?”

 

Shaking his head, the sheriff picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip. “Nope, not this time.”

 

Sam sighed. “Great. Well, we’ll head to Maurice and see if - “

 

“Her kid heard it all, though.”

 

Sam somehow left without hitting him.

 

xxxxx

 

“Honestly, Sam, I can’t deal with him anymore.”

 

Dean took a turn a little more sharply that necessary, prompting Sam to brace himself to keep from sliding across the seat. “I know, Dean, I get it. But we have to deal with him.”

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. But Christ, he’s just...no one seems to care that people are dying around here.”

 

“Well,” Sam reasoned, “if there is a coven, we don’t know how big it is. I mean, maybe people are under its control, or maybe the sheriff is involved somehow.”

 

Dean swore. “That’s worse, Sam. Everyone in town’s a witch, now?”

 

Sam held up his hands. “Not saying that. Just saying that we don’t have all the pieces, yet.”

 

“I prefer to think that the sheriff is just a moron. Makes it easier. Stupid people and stupid curses are better than witches and covens.”

 

“True that.”

 

“Speaking of the curse...none of the dust set us off in there. Given some of the goofy ways we’ve been made to sneeze, you’d think the normal stuff would be a thing, too.”

 

“Yeah...I wondered about that.” Sam glanced at his watch. “It’s still early, so there’s time for us to still sneeze a lot.”

 

Dean made jazz hands.

 

Inspecting the body came first, figuring that getting Maurice out of the way would make the day a little easier.

 

“I’m not going near those canisters,” Dean growled as they walked up the steps.

 

Sam stopped, his thinking face on.

 

“What?” Dean asked.

 

“You tried to keep stuff away from me yesterday, and I still got a face full of dust. So just...do whatever. Act normal.”

 

Dean blinked at him.

 

“Sorry. Act how other people think is normal.”

 

Dean snapped his fingers, gave Sam a jaunty finger point, and led the way inside.

 

They smelled it in the hallway, their steps faltering a little as each wondered whether this was the “mystery sneeze-causer”. Sam wanted to punch his brother for embedding that phrase in his head. Instead of monitoring themselves, they began to monitor the other, checking for signs of a runny nose or itchy eyes or twitching nostrils...anything that would signal an incoming attack.

 

But, nothing.

 

Both paused outside the examination room.

 

“What the hell is that?” Sam asked in a slightly high-pitched whisper that set off Dean’s alarms. Right then, it didn’t matter whether this thing was going to make Sam sneeze. Sam’s anxiety over the possibility kicked Dean’s big brother gears into motion.

 

Admittedly, they were a little rusty.

 

“I dunno...it’s floral, but...not. Come on. No point in hiding.” Figuring that confidence was the way to go, Dean strode into the room, calling for Maurice. He expected Sam to be right behind him, so he didn’t really wait to make sure Sam actually followed him inside. So when he turned around to find Sam still in the doorway, one hand under his nose, the other on the doorframe, Dean pivoted on his heels and practically ran back. “Sam?”

 

Sam shook his head, eyes clenched shut. “It’s...strong...hih...I...heh...find out...huh… what...heh...it...heh...Hhh’ihhh-ETSCHshuh! *sniff* is...it’s...God….TSHCHSHUuu!”

 

Dean pushed Sam backwards. “Outside. Now.”

 

Nodding and stumbling, Sam retraced his steps until he was back in the cold air, gulping it in as fast as he could. “Holyshit...that was...fuck…” He scrubbed at his face, wiping away a few stray tears.

 

Dean’s hand was still on his back, even as he pulled a bandana from his back pocket. How he carried them without bulging pants was beyond Sam, but he didn’t really care. He grabbed the soft fabric and clutched it to his face, sighing in relief.

 

“You okay?” Dean asked, trying to get a look at Sam’s face. “Huh?”

 

Sam nodded, straightening with a final sniffle, testing his sinuses. “Yeah...it’s gone now. What the hell was in there?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I dunno...but whatever it is, that’s trigger number 4.”

 

Sam pushed his hair back. “Why didn’t it affect you?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. We have the same triggers, but it doesn’t hit us at the same time. So I guess I now have a preview of what’s to come, huh?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“You wait in the car. Do some fancy research or something while I deal with Maurice.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Sam shuffled off to the car, letting out one last, stray sneeze into the bandana before opening the door and sliding inside. His total compliance spoke to how strong this reaction was. Well, good thing Dean wasn’t affected. He needed to take a look at the body.

 

So, back inside he went.

 

Maurice’s examination room was mostly dark, except for five candles placed on various counters. Dean lifted one and read the sticker on the bottom.

 

Luscious Lavender

 

He checked another one.

 

Christmas Wreath

 

He rubbed an eye and moved to the third.

 

Balsam and Cedar

 

“Well, hello again, Agent. What can I do you for?”

 

Dean spun around to see Maurice in the doorway, wearing a Santa hat that lit up while playing Jingle Bells. He scratched his nose and asked, “Hi there, do you have Caron Milton’s body?”

 

“You mean bodies? Plural?”

 

Dean sighed on the inside, and absently sniffled on the outside. “The parts, plural, of her singular body.”

 

Maurice grinned. “Yup. In the chiller. Come on over.”

 

Dean gestured around the room as he joined the coroner at one of the body doors. “What’s with all the candles?”

 

Maurice shrugged, unlatching the door. “It’s Christmas. They look pretty. And it smells in here. All the time. You don’t like ‘em?”

 

Dean sniffled again, realizing that his nose was starting to run. Fuck. The candles were starting to get to him. There was no way to know whether the reaction would be brief, long, as intense as Sam’s, or really, anything at all. His only option at that point was to keep going, so he swallowed hard, running his tongue along the top of his mouth to stop the slight tickling that just started.

 

“They’re fine - I was just...hih...curious. Not many coroner’s keep candles...uh...lit. *sniff*”

 

With a loud scraping sound, Maurice opened the door and pulled out the shelf that held poor Caron Milton. There was a notable dip in the sheet between Part A and Part B.

 

Dean peeked under the sheet at her face, serene and peaceful, despite the brutal murder. He quickly dropped it and turned away. “Ichhhtt!”

 

“Bless you.”

 

“Yeah. Any weird...uh...hih...markings on her? Tattoos or...heh...may...hih...maybe a sca-scar-It’titchhh!”

 

Maurice shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

 

“Hp-tschchhh!”

 

“Well, except that fake tattoo.”

 

Dean managed a glare, before stifling a double against his wrist. The longer he stayed, the worse he was getting. On one hand, it was good info to have. On the other hand, he was starting to lose control. “What fake tattoo?”

 

Thankfully, Dean found some napkins previously shoved in his pocket, and pressed them against his nose. Breathing through his mouth, he tried to ignore the watering eyes, the incessant itching in his nose, the urge to get the hell out of that room.

 

Maurice lifted a corner of the sheet by her ankles. Above her right ankle was a swirly pattern, peeling in the corners. Biting his tongue, Dean got out his phone and snapped a couple pictures before losing it and sneezing openly on the floor.

 

“You alright there?”

 

Slowly, Dean stood. “Yeah. What about the other victims? Did they have the same fake tattoo?”

 

Maurice thought hard as he pushed Caron back into the chiller. Dean fought hard not to sneeze again. He wrinkled and unwrinkled his nose, wishing that kicking Maurice would help him think faster.

 

“Yep. They did.”

 

Battle lost. “Hih’Chhhh! Where?”

 

“Ankle, Lower back, shoulder.”

 

Dean didn’t care which victim had which location. “Great. Tha--hiiiiihhhh...thanks-bye-hxgnt!”

 

He practically ran up the stairs and outside, leaning against a signpost and sneezing freely once the cool air hit his face.

 

Next thing he knew, Sam was there. “Dude! You okay?”

 

Bent over, hands on his knees, Dean flapped a hand. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Jus’...gimme a ESCHH-uhh! minute.”

 

A minute was all he needed. Dean stood straight, tested the air, gave Sam the thumb’s up and headed for the car. “Stupidest curse ever. But at least it doesn’t last. Come on - I have something for you to research.”

 

They drove off, Sam studying the photos Dean took. “So this symbol was on all the victims?”

 

“Apparently, but in different locations. Caron’s was on her ankle. The others were on a shoulder, lower back, and another ankle.”

 

“Did he say which victim matched which location?”

 

Dean squirmed. “I didn’t ask. I was too busy trying not to sneeze.”

 

Sam turned to face him. “So it was a scented candle?”

 

Dean waved a finger at him. “Not a candle. Five candles. All a different scent, I think. I only got to look at three before Maurice showed up.”

 

“I wonder why they didn’t bother you when we first smelled them. Why one of us at a time?”

 

“Maybe so the torture takes longer. I dunno, Sammy.” Dean glanced at Sam. “You feeling okay, now?”

 

Sam nodded. “Yeah...perfectly fine. I got it over with and...yeah. All good. You?”

 

Dean shrugged, turning left. “Peachy. So...no reason to be worked up, right? We get the trigger, sneeze, then we’re done. Easy peasy.”

 

Sam huffed, looking out the window. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“So what’s left on the list?”

 

“Well, we were going back to the Baron’s house, then - “

 

“Nono - what’s left to make us sneeze today?”

 

Sam blinked. “Oh, uh...neither of us has had dust, and I still need pepper.”

 

Dean smacked the steering wheel. “Great. Can’t wait.”

 

xxxxx

 

The Barons still weren’t home...so Dean decided to pay the inside of the house a visit anyway. Sam picked the lock on a side door and they were inside within seconds.

 

Furniture was covered in white sheets, telling them the occupants were no longer around.

 

“Awesome,” Dean groused. “No one to question.”

 

Sam blew out a breath. “Let’s look around anyway.”

 

Not concerned with stealth, they moved quickly, checking under sheets and peeking in closets. It was clear the house had been empty for at least a couple weeks.

 

“Well,” Dean reasoned, ”it makes sense. This guy was the first victim, right? So...maybe they packed and left afterward.”

 

Sam spun slowly, taking one last look. “Yeah, that sounds plausible. Why didn’t the sheriff tell us?”

 

Dean arched an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, okay, nevermind. Let’s check the basement then head out.”

 

Flashlights on, they went downstairs, beams of light flashing this way and that.

 

“Ow!”

 

Dean whipped around, gun out and ready. “Sam?!”

 

His flashlight revealed Sam, rubbing his temple, pointing at a light bulb dangling from the ceiling. “Walked into it.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes as he tucked the gun back into his pants. “Jesus, Sam. You almost gave me a heart attack.” He reached over and pulled the chain, sending the bulb swinging and loosening some dust that clung to the light fixture.

 

“Hhh’hrrsSHHYuu!” Sam stepped back, blinking and pawing at his nose. “Dean!” Hhhhhh’ihhSHHyUUuu!”

 

“You’re welcome. Cross dust off your list. Let’s check over here.”

 

In the corner of the basement, on a shelf, sat an ornate box. Dean sent Sam a look, before reaching up and taking it down. On the top, was the same symbol from Caron’s fake tattoo.

 

They gave each other a look, Dean tapping the lid with a finger.

 

“We should probably check with Bobby before opening this.”

 

“I was thinking the same thing. Let’s go.”

 

The box tucked safely under their arms, they returned to the Impala, where Dean stowed it in the trunk, wrapped in a blanket.

 

“Now where?”

 

Sam checked his watch. It’s getting late. Let’s grab some food then head back to the motel and call Bobby.

 

“Sounds good. You need pepper, and I still need dust. Let’s get a move on.”

 

“You’re really upbeat for someone who’s been cursed,” Sam asked as they drove to a diner.

 

Dean shrugged. “What can we do, Sam? We should probably ask Bobby about this, but I’m afraid he’ll be too busy laughing to be helpful.” He stole a quick glance at Sam. Dean resolved to stay upbeat, if it helped Sam cope and get through it.

 

On the inside, though? He was a little freaked out.

 

Sam braced for pepper sneezes the whole time they ate. Dean figured they should just stay there and eat - the pepper would find Sam one way or another. Still, he moved the pepper shaker to the far end of the table when they sat down. He ordered grilled cheese and soup, thinking it was simple and easy.

 

Chicken noodle. It was broth. Broth with noodles.

 

It was also a little spicy.

 

“Hhh’attschch!”

 

Dean dropped his fork, glaring at the entire restaurant. “Who makes chicken noodle soup spicy?!”

 

“Dean!”

 

“I’m serious, Sam!”

 

Sam held up a hand, sniffing the soup again. “Look - nothing. No itching, no sneezing, nothing. It’s like I just...needed to get exposed to it, and now it’s over. It’s fine. Let’s just eat.”

 

Dean shook his head, picking up his fork again. “I’m tellin’ you. We’re taking a vacation after this.”

 

Sam snorted. He knew his brother’s idea of a vacation. “One sneeze to go, champ. And it’s all yours.”

 

“Bring it.”

 

xxxxx

 

“Hhh-IHSCHCHuhh!” Dean sniffed. “Done! Let’s call Bobby.”

 

Sam chuckled, refolding the blanket that held the tattooed box. It swept dust off the wood and into the air as Dean unwrapped it. “Great.” When Dean disappeared inside their room, he sagged a little against the car. “Now we can relax.”

 

 

[AngelEyes]

This is still brilliant and intriguing. Love the snarky quips.

3 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Dean flicked the glasses off Sam’s face, Sam blinked once, “Hih’ESsschhheww!” into cupped hands, and Dean put the car in reverse.

 

“Now we’re even.”

So Dean!

 

3 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Dean made jazz hands.

LOL!

 

3 hours ago, Anilkex said:

“Sorry. Act how other people think is normal.”

 

Dean snapped his fingers, gave Sam a jaunty finger point, and led the way inside.

Totally them.

 

4 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Dean smacked the steering wheel. “Great. Can’t wait.”

I can totally see Dean's expression here. That determined, Bring it on, look.

 

4 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Dean shrugged. “What can we do, Sam? We should probably ask Bobby about this, but I’m afraid he’ll be too busy laughing to be helpful.”

True!

[jensdw]

Everything about this story is really good.

Like really good. 

[Seeker]

Really, really enjoying this 😊

[beau34]

I cannot put into words how amazing this story is !!!!!

[sneezy_frnk]

I'm so freaking intreagued! 

[anna]

This is really good, please keep writing! I love the fact that they are expecting it

[gingerdean]

Mm...yes. Loved Dean's fit in the exam room, and how they just keep, you know, talking about their little problem.

I lol'd at the Jazz hands, too  

[Anilkex]

Bobby didn’t answer his phone, so Dean left a message and had Sam start searching the Internet for the symbol. He got tired of the wooden box glaring at him, so back in the Impala it went.

 

After making sure it was safely stowed away, Dean hunkered down in bed with his laptop, looking up sneezing curses. He was willing to do anything to avoid asking Bobby about their predicament.

 

Amid clicking keys, Sam asked, “Tomorrow...talk to Caron Milton’s kid? The one who heard her mother dying?”

 

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m thinking we oughta check out the church these people were involved with, too. We can’t go in there as possible newcomers to their flock, but maybe we can snoop around.”

 

Sam’s clicking paused. “We don’t have a lot to go on, here. A button, a symbol, and a kid who saw a flying scarf and a snowman.”

 

Dean heard the words, but also heard something beneath the words. Years with Sam trained him to pay attention to tone of voice, and something in Sam’s voice was definitely off. He glanced up. “Yeah...but something’s going on. Just gotta keep looking.”

 

“What if it’s not witches? I mean, what else could it be?”

 

Dean’s jaw cinched to the side, his brain trying to decipher that which is Sam. “What’re you thinking, really?”

 

A slow blush began creeping up Sam’s neck, followed by a quick shrug. “Nothing.” He went back to the computer. “Just...wondering if someone else should take over the case.”

 

“Take over the...what? Why?”

 

Another shrug. More keyboard clicking.

 

Dean knew this had nothing to do with a lack of evidence or slow progress. That only left one thing. “Is it ‘cause of the sneezing thing?”

 

The blush deepened.

 

“Sam.”

 

Clickclickclick.

 

“Sammy!”

 

Sam sighed, slumping in his chair. “We have no idea what’s going on with us. We’re just...we’re gonna keep hunting, even though we’re cursed?” He began ticking reasons off his fingers. “We don’t know what caused the curse, we don’t know if the pattern’s gonna hold, we don’t know how long it’s gonna last, we don’t know what’s going to make us sneeze, we don’t know how bad it’s gonna get. I mean, right now, it’s one sneeze, a couple sneezes, yeah, not a big deal. But what if it gets worse? What if it hits when your life depends on me not sneezing? What if -”

 

Dean set the laptop to the side, eyes wide with Sam’s verbal diarrhea. “Jesus, Sammy, hold on!” Sam huffed, Dean ignored it, moving to an empty chair at the table. “It’s a stupid curse. If we have to be cursed - “

 

“Why would we have to be cursed?”

 

“If we have to be cursed, this is an easy curse to have. Think of it as...as a...a little surprise waiting for us every day. Like a Christmas present we gotta open.” He sat back, thinking he outdid himself in the big brother reassurance department.

 

Until Sam shit on it.

 

“You’re worried, too, aren’t you?”

 

Dean blinked.

 

“Yup. You’re just as freaked out as I am,” Sam crowed.

 

“And that makes you happy?”

 

“No, it makes me not feel like a pussy.”

 

“Well…”

 

Sam kicked him. “I’m serious, Dean. You’re trying too hard to be upbeat about this. You wanna keep hunting? Okay...I guess it’s a distraction. But we need to figure out what’s going on with us.”

 

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead in defeat. “Look...I dunno what’s going on.” He waved a hand at his laptop. “There’s absolutely nothing out there on sneezing curses, except some weird fanfiction stories. And they all have witches causing the curses. So...we’re in a town with possibly some witches...we’re cursed...I think we may be killing two birds with one stone, here.”

Sam took a measured breath. “Tomorrow is five...five things will make us sneeze.”

 

“Yup...what do you think number five will be?”

 

“Well...I was looking up what makes a person sneeze.”

 

“I thought you were researching that symbol.”

 

“Priorities, Dean. Now...we know about dust, pepper, bright light and scented candles. There isn’t much more beyond that - pollen, ragweed and animal dander are the big allergy sources. Other than that, it’s anyone’s guess.”

 

“Okay...well I’m already allergic to cats, so no biggie there. It’s almost Christmas. Even though there isn’t snow on the ground, it’s definitely cold out, so I dunno how pollen and ragweed are gonna work.”

 

“Think about it, Dean. We’ve had some fucked up scenarios lately...where there was no real way for pepper to get at us, or dust to land on us, yet it happened.”

 

Dean hung his head. “Yeah, you’re right. I still think we should keep with this case, and while we’re at it, see if it’s related to these witches, and just...I dunno...stuff our pockets with Kleenex.”

 

xxxxx

 

The next day, no sunlight streamed through the curtains to wake them with a morning sneeze or two. The air felt heavy, and a quick check of the weather confirmed that snow was on the way.

 

Despite everything, Sam was kind of excited about the news. Dean, on the other hand, was not.

 

“Now Baby’s gonna get salt on her, moron drivers could slide into her, I have to dig out the car brush...I think it’s under the machetes…”

 

They left the room and Sam realized...nothing glinted in the sun, because there was no sun shining. Thick clouds filled the sky, promising at least three inches of the white stuff. The usual sneezy start to their day was delayed.

 

Dean tossed Sam the keys. “Warm her up - I’m gonna ask whoever’s at the front desk what kind of salt they use on the parking lot.”

 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sam started the Impala, then slid into the passenger seat. He thought about their conversation last night. At least it was clearly in the open now...they were both freaked out by the curse. But...if witches were involved with the murders, then maybe one of them set the curse in the first place. Dealing with them could very well end it.

 

Sam sighed. He still thought they should pawn it on another hunter and wait out the curse at Bobby’s. At first he was very rational about it. But now...not so much.

 

Dean left the front office, breath hitching, wrist under his nose. He braced himself against the Impala before letting them out. "Hih’Krshhchh! Heh’Keschhh! Kishhchh!”

 

Just as Sam opened his door, Dean opened his door and slid inside. Sam shut his and turned to his brother. “What was it?”

 

Dean sniffled, leaning against the headrest. “Pepper. Dude was eating breakfast.”

 

“Oooo-kay, so pepper’s off your list for today.”

 

“Hiiiiiihhhhh-KRCHHSHHH! Jesus…”

 

“You sure you’re okay to drive?”

 

Dean sneezed on Sam before putting the car into reverse.

 

xxxxx

 

Caron Milton’s house was...nothing like the others. The landscaping was a disaster. Toys littered the lawn, amid tufts of weeds.

 

From the Impala, Dean muttered, “If it looks this awesome on the outside…”

 

Sam huffed in agreement, and they walked up to the front door.

 

The moment Sam stepped outside, he knew he was facing a trigger. His eyes teared up, his nose began to run, and a tiny tickle surfaced in the back of his nose, forcing him to rub it, but not allowing any relief. He pulled a tissue from his pocket, deciding to save his own bandana for later, and pressed it against his face.

 

Dean caught all of it. “You gonna sneeze?”

 

Sam could only nod, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every step closer to the house made the itch flare sharply. The second his foot hit the front step, he sneezed. “Hhhh’Hp-TSHCHCH!”

 

Dean sighed, “Bless you, Sam.”

 

“Hh’ITSCHCH-uh!  HRSCHCH’Uuu!” Sam took a breath, nudging Dean with his elbow. “See whaaaa….hih’hih’hih’TsCHCHHuuu! *sniff* see what’s making me sneeeeee….TSCHCHHH! sneeze.”

 

But, Dean was already looking around one hand again on Sam’s back. “I dunno...there’s just a bunch of...weeds...here...shit.”

 

“Hiiiihhhh-KISHHHNT! Weeds? Like...the ragweed that isn’t supposed to...to...be… heh-shit-Hxgnt!”

 

The front door opened. An older woman with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth eyeballed them. “Whatd’ya want?” she rasped.

 

The almost caricature behavior stopped Sam’s sneezing long enough for him to give her a puzzled look. It only lasted a moment, then the itching resumed.

 

Dean took over, flashing his badge. “Hi - we’d like to ask you a few questions about Caron’s death...and maybe speak to her daughter who heard what happened.”

 

The woman made a face at Sam before opening the screen door. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

 

Sam exploded once more, “HHeh’ETSCHCHYUUuu!” before mumbling a thank you. The door clicked shut behind them, and the itching stopped.

 

A headache remained, however. The sneezing was a bit stronger than usual.

 

“Maybelline! There’s some cops here for you!” The woman shuffled away, leaving the brothers alone in the living room.

 

“Jesus...lookit this place…” Dean muttered.

 

There was stuff everywhere. Piles of papers, toys, clothing...all heaped across the floor. Dean stepped over a couple piles to get across the room. “Hhhhhh’iihhhh--HRSHSCHCH-uh!”

 

Still reeling from the ragweed fit, Sam cleared his throat before asking, “Dean?”

 

Dean gave his head a little shake, indicating he didn’t know what was setting him off. They looked around. Sam spotted it first. “There!” He pointed to a tiny air freshener, in the shape of a candle, plugged into an outlet.

 

Sam tried to reach it, maybe unplug it. Dean belted out another sneeze, and a young girl, maybe eleven years old, piped up, “You wanted to talk to me?”

 

Dean sneezed again.

 

“Ummm,” Sam began, looking around the room. “Yes...hi. Is there another room we can talk in? I’m Agent LeBon, he’s Agent Rhoads. We’d like to ask you some questions about your mom.”

 

At this point, Sam’s hand was on Dean’s back. Dean didn’t seem to mind.

 

The girl rolled her eyes and led them into the kitchen...past a china cabinet covered in “Hehh-ISHHH!  Hhh-IHSCHCHuhh!” dust. Sam wasn’t over the ragweed yet. Moving straight into another trigger wasn’t expected.

 

Changing rooms helped Dean, though. No longer reacting to the electronic candle, he didn’t even notice the dust. He just noticed Sam’s sneezing. “Still with the ragweed?”

 

Sam shook his head, digging out a fresh tissue. “Dust.” He pointed with his head at the china cabinet.

 

Dean’s head retreated when he saw how thick the dust layer looked, blanketing a shelf full of ceramic kangaroos. “Whoa…” He covered his nose for good measure.

 

In the kitchen, both calmed down, just in time for the young girl to face them, hands on hips, a snotty look on her face. “Well? What do you want?”

 

“We’re sorry about your mother. The sheriff told us you heard what happened.” Dean’s face scrunched up...his nose twitching again already. They were going to have to tag team interviewing this bitch. It seemed like everything that could make them sneeze was in this house.

 

“Yup.”

 

Itchy noses forgotten, they both stared at her. Dean broke the silence. “That’s it? Just...yup?” His words were immediately followed by two rough sneezes.

 

“What’s wrong with you? You sick or somethin’?

 

Sam took over, while scanning the room for Dean’s current trigger. “We’re trying to figure out what happened to her. Can you tell us what you heard?”

 

Maybelline rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Someone got tired of her bullshit. She said she was sorry, and that she wouldn’t leave, and then the patio door slammed a couple times.”

 

Dean wiped his nose with his bandana, narrowing his eyes at the girl. “You don’t sound too broken up about it.” Sam nudged him - there was a vase of fresh flowers on the stove.

 

Pollen.

 

Dean nodded, sneezing once more.

 

Maybelline shrugged. “My momma was a great baker. Everyone liked her. But she could be a bitch.”

 

Eyebrows rose.

 

“She thought she was better than she was. But she ain’t. Not anymore.”

 

Sam was trying to focus on the interview, but all he could see was Dean struggling with the pollen. “Uh...better than she was with what? Bless you!”

 

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, swiping the bandana under his nose again. Sam missed the undertone of Maybelline’s response, so Dean stepped in. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry for your loss.”

 

She shrugged again pushing past them. “Whatever,” she called over her shoulder. In order to make room for her, Sam stepped backwards, bumped into a bookshelf, and knocked over a salt and pepper shaker.

 

The look he gave Dean could’ve burned a hole in the wall, if it wasn’t ruined by fluttering eyelids and rapid-fire sneezes. “Itschchch!  Etschhh!  Hrschch!  Tschchh!”

 

“Christ, let’s get out of thiiiis...Mphphph! House,” Dean muttered. His head pounded.

 

Nodding emphatically, Sam brushed the pepper off his suit, “Hetschch!” retracing their steps to the front door. Tearing eyes made it difficult to see. Sam stumbled over various crap on the floor, and from the sounds of swearing behind him, Dean was doing the same thing.

 

Dean bumped into a lamp, sneezing at the dust from the shade. Sam got a whiff of the scented plug-in, and bent over with a triple.

 

With a growl, Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and thrust him outside, past the ragweed and into the Impala. Neither had a clue if the cigarette lady saw them leave, where Maybelline disappeared to, or anything else. Their faces streamed with tears, they could barely breathe, and each had a headache that needed immediate attention.

 

The car doors slammed shut, panting and sniffling filling the air.

 

“By head is killindg be…,” Sam whined.

 

“By eyes feel like they’re on fire…,” Dean whined.

 

“By head fucking hurts…,” they both whined.

 

Dean looked over at Sam. “Why are we still affected?”

 

San blew his nose in the last corner of his bandana. “Doh idea. Baybe because there was too buch at a tibe.”

 

Dean sniffed, wiping his eyes carefully. “Back to the botel.”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

xxxxx

 

Somehow, Dean got them back to the motel without an accident. Sam figured he’d applaud his brother later.

 

Dean latched the door shut behind them. “Shower Sammy.” Thankfully, the congestion was clearing.

 

Sam shook his head, toeing off his shoes. “You first.”

 

“You dumped pepper all over your head. Shower.”

 

“You walked into a lamp shade - there’s dust on your ear.”

 

“Sam! Shower. Now.”

 

With a huff, Sam grabbed his duffel and stomped to the bathroom. Once inside, he realized how stupid that whole scene was. Why was it okay for Dean to wait, with a king sized dust bunny dangling from his right ear? Why did Sam always obey, on automatic pilot when Dean bully-mothered him?

 

Because Dean’s his mother. And Sam always came first. ‘Twas the way of the Dean.

 

Sam sighed. There was no fighting that.

 

He turned on the water and undressed, thinking that it’d been a while since The Way Of The Dean showed itself. He stared at the door, chewing his lower lip. It was nice to have it back.

 

In the room, Dean swatted at his ear, grimacing at the huge dust clump. He threw it outside just for good measure, locking and rewarding the door once he was sure it had left his hand.

 

When will Sam just accept that Dean’s job is to take care of him? The sooner he stopped arguing that point, the easier it would be.

 

However...he stared at the bathroom door, chewing on his lower lip. Sam was trying to take care of Dean. It’d been a long while since that side of Sam showed up...the side that showed he cared, that Dean mattered. It was nice to have it back.

 

xxxxx

 

Thirty minutes later, both brothers lie flat on their backs in their own beds, trying to sort out what the hell just happened.

 

“It’s only eleven in the morning,” Sam said.

 

“Yup.”

 

“I can’t move right now.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Silence.

 

Then, “What the hell was that, Dean?”

 

“Which part? The bitchy chick or the sneezing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean snorted. “Maybelline didn’t seem upset at all, did she?”

 

“I’m not sure she wasn’t glad.”

 

“Come again?”

 

Sam huffed. “I think she was almost glad that her mom died.”

 

Oh. “Agreed. She said that Caron thought she was better than she was. Something about the way she said it...I don’t think she was talking about baking macarons.”

 

“Me either.”

 

Silence.

 

Then, “What the fuck was that with the sneezing? I mean...four triggers, Dean, four triggers in one place. How is that even possible?”

 

Dean shook his head, then groaned. Bad idea. “This curse is creative, I’ll give it that. At least now we know what the fifth cause is - plants.”

 

Sam’s tone increased in outrage. “How could there be ragweed alive and blooming in December? It’s twenty degrees outside. There’s no way that was natural.”

 

Dean sniffed. “Of course not, Sam. It’s a curse, remember? It was Super-natural.”

 

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

 

“Well, I’m done for the day. I can’t even move right now.”

 

“Me either.”

 

Within minutes, they drifted to sleep, easing their headaches into the past.

 

They woke several hours later, hungry and refreshed.

 

“It’s too late to talk to anyone else. Let’s just...grab a pizza and beer and...watch a movie or something…” Dean almost held his breath, waiting to see Sam’s reaction. Momentarily ditch the case to just...hang out for a bit? Very un-Winchester.

 

“Yeah...that...that’s a good idea. We can call Bobby and check out that church tomorrow.”

 

Tomorrow sounded fantastic.

 

Dean shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll grab the food.”

 

Sam hesitated a moment, before grabbing his own jacket. “I’ll come with.”

 

Dean watched Sam zip up his coat, his mouth curving into a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

 

He opened the door and blinked. “Sam...lookit this.”

 

While they slept, snow gently covered everything, burying the ugly, leaving a glistening top coat of peace and beauty.

 

It also sparkled under the street lamps.

 

In unison, “Haaahhhhh-TSCHCHSHHYUUUuu!”

 

[jensdw]

Words can’t describe how awesome this story is. Please continue! 

[Elyze]

9 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Think of it as...as a...a little surprise waiting for us every day. Like a Christmas present we gotta open.” 

Oh, I know that's how I think of it 

Hehe, I love that it's getting worse. Yummy uncontrollable fits and stuffy talk. I am curious about the case though, good job so far.

[Anilkex]

Fair warning - I'm not capable of writing simple, short things. While I do have one unfinished casefic on this forum (SORRY SexualOddity - I WILL FINISH IT), I finish stuff I start. It's just gonna be insanely long. So no worries on the finishing part. Hopefully you won't get tired of it before I'm done. 

 

---

 

They slept in because...they wanted to. Part avoidance, part recovery, part...they were up late laughing at shitty monster movies.

 

But the day was unavoidable. There was work to be done, a conversation to be had with Bobby, and sneezing to be sneezed.

 

Sam broke the silence first. “We gotta get moving.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Sam’s feet shuffled under the covers. “What do you think we’ll get today?”

 

Dean sighed. “No idea. We’re up to six, right?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat. “Okay.” He tossed off the covers and sat up, ripping Sam’s blanket off as well, despite his yelping protest. “Come on. I have a plan.”

 

“A plan?” Sam asked, dubiously, sitting up and taming his hair.

 

“Yes. And nice mane, by the way.”

 

Sam shakes his hair loose, giving the ends a flick. “So, what’s your brilliant plan.”

 

“Glad you’re conceding the brilliance right from the get go. We’re gonna face the curse head on, and get it over with early so we can get some actual work done on this case.”

 

Sam pursed his lips. “What do you mean?”

 

Dean was grinning, enjoying the obvious brilliance. He grabbed his duffel and began pulling out clean underwear. “Look, we have five known triggers, and one mystery sneeze-causer. They get spread out over the day, and we never know when they’re coming. Why not just expose ourselves to them right away, sneeze-sneeze-sneeze, then we can call Bobby and check out the church.”

 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Is that how it works? Get a face full of flowers, sneeze-sneeze-sneeze, then move on with our day?”

 

Dean points at him. “Yes! That’s how this whole fucking thing’s been going so far, right? Think about it, Sam. Scented candle at the morgue. You breathed it in, you sneezed a bunch, then you were fine. I got a face full of pepper, and it was all in my nose and everything. Three sneezes, and I was fine. So yeah, breathe it in, nose’ll itch like mad, we’ll sneeze for a bit, then we’ll be done.” Dean paused, because that was his big finish. “Why’re you frowning?”

 

“It sounds too easy.”

 

“Dude, it is that easy.”

 

“I dunno…”

 

“You dunno what?” Dean sat down on his bed, facing Sam. “Hey...you still nervous about sneezing? Or about the unknown trigger?”

 

Sam would’ve thrown a pillow at him, if Dean’s tone hadn’t drastically shifted from glib to serious and worried. He was genuinely asking. And Sam found himself genuinely sorting through his thoughts for a genuine answer, rather than automatically denying his worry.

 

Slowly, Sam shook his head. “No. I mean, yeah, but...that’s not it. I guess…*sigh*...it’s a good plan, Dean. I’m just not optimistic about it working out.”

 

Dean nodded. “I get it. But what do we have to lose?”

 

Sam shrugged with his eyebrows. “Nothing. Just more sneezing to look forward to later, I suppose. Okay. Let’s get this started, then.”

 

He stood up, stretched, marched to the curtains and pulled them open with maybe a teensy bit of dramatic flair.

 

They blinked in the sudden flood of light, doubled by the reflection from the snow. Each tried not to squint, but rather stare straight on into the light.

 

“Anything?” Sam asked.

 

“Nada,” Dean sighed. “But that’s okay. We still have plenty of triggers to work with. And I know exactly where to go to set us off.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yup. The mall.”

 

Sam almost dropped the pants he was holding. “The mall? The mall?? That’s the plan? Dean, we hate the mall.”

 

“I know Sammy, but it’s one location where we can find all the triggers, and have plenty of chances for the new one to show itself. Think about it. Candle shops, food courts, dusty shelves, plants in those…” Dean waved his hands around. “...those planter things in the middle of the hallways. It’s perfect. And it’s inside.”

 

Sam considered this. It really was brilliant. He grinned at Dean, who clapped him on the back.

 

xxxxx

 

Every zip code had a mall, Dean argued, even in small towns. Sure enough, Noel had a decent sized two-story mall that was currently filled to the brim with shoppers excited about Christmas.

 

While Dean hunted for a parking spot, Sam mentally hunted for a Christmas present idea for Dean. If you asked him six days ago what he was getting his brother, he would’ve said nothing. But now...he glanced at Dean, swearing at a minivan for stealing his spot...now he wanted to get something special.

 

After ten minutes, a spot opened up and Dean expertly guided the Impala between the lines.

 

“If anyone scratches her, I swear to God…”

 

Sam pulled his hood up to keep the snow from drifting down the back of his shirt. “You’d never know. The snow’s coming down so hard, she’ll be covered in no time.”

 

Dean bitchfaced Sam.

 

“Nevermind. Of course you’d know. She’d probably telepath it to you right after it happened.”

 

The bitchface morphed into a Thank You For Understanding look.

 

They trudged inside, stomping their boots on the large, rubber-backed mats laid out on the floor. After shaking the snow off their shoulders, Sam took a deep breath. “Okay. Where to?”

 

Dean nodded at a directory. “Let’s see where shit’s located.”

 

They stood in front of the colorful map, noting the You Are Here arrow. “Well...what do you wanna sneeze from first?”

 

Sam pulled at his chin, then the map. “If we start at Bed, Bath and Body Works, we can work our way toward the food court. I’m betting there will be planters along the way...dunno what’ll be in them, though. And...maybe...number six will surprise us along the way.”

 

“Hooray for number six. Let’s go.”

 

Dean’s words were upbeat and optimistic. His tone, however, was a tad flat. Sam knew he felt the same dread of the unknown. He made sure to stay close to Dean for comfort.

 

That comfort may have been both ways, too.

 

They smelled the store before they saw it. Dean muttered, “Here we go,” as they approached.

 

Cue awkward standing in front of an estrogen-heavy store, one eyeball on the hundreds of scented products, the other on...well, the other.

 

“Anything?” Dean asked.

 

Sam shook his head. “No - nothing. You?” Dean shook his head. “Maybe...maybe go inside?”

 

Dean’s look of disgust was shared by Sam, but he nodded reluctantly and walked toward the entry. Immediately, a smiling woman in a black apron approached with a tiny basket. “Well, hi! We have a sale going on right now. Buy three things, get the fourth one free! May I help you find something?”

 

Dean tilted his head. Sam stepped on his foot. We’re here for sneezing, not hitting on sales clerks.

 

Killjoy. “Uh...where are your candles?”

 

“Ohhh, right over here!” She led them to a huge display in the center of the store, which was great, because then their sneezing fits could be witnessed by everyone. Awesome. “Again, these are buy three get one free! Here’s a basket! Let me know if I can help you find anything else!” She pressed a wire basket into Sam’s hands and disappeared into the crowd.

 

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, Sammy...start sniffing.”

 

Sam huffed. “Dude, this whole store is one big scented candle. I’ve got nothing.”

 

Dean’s brow knitted. He picked up a green candle and checked the label.

 

Christmas Wreath

 

“This was the flavor in Maurice’s room.”

 

“Flavor?”

 

“Whatever.” After an uncomfortable look around, Dean pried off the lid and stuck his face close to the wick. His eyes swiveled to Sam. Nothing.

 

“Sniff deeper,” Sam encouraged.

 

Dean took an impossibly large breath in. His face wrinkled up, and he scrubbed his nose.

 

Sam’s face lit up. “You gonna sneeze?”

 

Dean replaced the lid. “No...it smells awful.” He set the candle back down. “I don’t get it. This thing drove me crazy the other day.” The look of disappointment on Sam’s face gnawed at Dean’s insides. “Okay, fine. This trigger isn’t working. Let’s try the food court. I’m hungry anyway.”

 

They stow the basket on a counter and leave the store, turning left and threading their way through chatty shoppers.

 

“There’s a lot of people here,” Dean grumbled.

 

“Well, it’s Christmas time. They’re all out shopping for gifts.” Sam tried to sound nonplussed.

 

“Still a lot of people,” Dean groused. “I don’t like a lot of people, Sam.”

 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose, knowing what Dean really meant. “I know. I don’t like the idea of sneezing in front of a crowd, either.”

 

They passed a few decorative planters, filled with large, green leafy plants.

 

No reaction.

 

The fourth one, though, had lilies of all colors and sizes on display from a local botanic garden. Sam tugged on Dean’s sleeve, jutting his chin at the flowers.

 

Dean mouthed a “Yessss…”, steering them over and making a show of examining the blooms.

 

Nothing.

 

He elbowed Sam. “I tried the candle. You try the flowers.”

 

Sam wet his lips, looking side to side. “If I was gonna react, I’d be reacting already.”

 

Dean just stared at him.

 

Sam exhaled sharply. “Fine.” He tucked his hair behind an ear (Dean snickered) and bent down.

 

He sniffed, glanced up at Dean, and shrugged.

 

Dean nudged him closer, pushing Sam’s face into the petals. Powdery yellow pollen stuck to the tip of Sam’s nose. He grimaced as he stood, wiping it off on his sleeve. “Thanks for that.”

 

Dean sighed through his nose. “Had to be sure, Sam.”

 

They continued on to the food court, making a beeline for a condiment kiosk. Each grabbed a few packets of pepper, hastily shoved into their pockets, ordered some food, and sat down in a corner that luckily opened up.

 

“So...what first? Eat or sneeze?”

 

Sam took a sip of his drink. “Well, we’re batting a big fat zero on the sneezing, so why not try it out first so we can eat in peace?”

 

Sam and Dean each opened a pepper packet, gave each other a look, then brought it to their noses and sniffed.

 

Nothing. Not even a tickle.

 

Dean tossed the packet on his tray and picked up his burger. “So much for my plan.”

 

Sam spread his napkin on his lap and shoved some fries in his mouth. “It was a good plan, Dean.”

 

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” Dean scolded, his mouth full of burger. He swallowed. “It was an awesome plan. I just can’t believe it didn’t work. It’s like the curse knows what we’re trying to do.”

 

Sam unwrapped his sandwich. “Well, let’s just focus on the case, and...I guess whenever we sneeze, we sneeze. If we can’t induce it, then we just have to let it happen naturally.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

The rest of their meal passed in silence, shoppers bustling past their table laden with bags and trays of food.

 

“So...what do you want for Christmas?” Sam casually asked, balling up his wrapper and finishing his drink.

 

Dean looked up in surprise. “Huh?”

 

“Christmas. Gift giving. What do you want?”

 

Dean blinked. “I know what Christmas is, Sam. I meant why’re you asking?”

 

Sam blinked, feeling a blush in his cheeks. “Why do you think, jerk? I wanna get you something.”

 

Dean was stunned. They’d never really done gifts, so he wasn’t sure how to answer. Mouth open, he wracked his brain for something when a group of teenage girls bumped into the plastic plant behind Sam. Dust flitted off one of the huge leaves, drifting almost lazily onto the table.

 

Sam nabbed a napkin, held it poised in front of his face as the itching took over his entire face. Mouth open, his head bobbed with every inhale. “Hehhhhh...hhhhhhh…hiiiihhhhh… Hiiiiiihhhhhh’tschchhhyuu!”

 

Sam eyed Dean over the top of the napkin now pressed to his face.

 

Dean slumped in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling.

 

xxxxx

 

The walk back past Bed, Bath and Body Works was excruciating. Well, for Dean.

 

The tickling started three stores down. Dean rubbed and pressed his hand against his nose, trying to make it stop. His eyes watered until he could barely see. His breathing was punctuated by breathy exhales.

 

But no sneezing.

 

And Sam?

 

Nothing.

 

Dean sniffled thickly. “How are you dot affected?”

 

Sam shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know, Dean. How are you not sneezing yet?”

 

Dean shook his head, pulling out his bandana. “Albost. I feel it...heh...clo-close...just...albost ...hiiihhhh...there…”

 

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, right in front of the store. His head reared back, and he let loose. “EHhh-TCHSHhuh!  Eh-TSCHYUuu!” Sam guided him by the elbow until they were off to the side, not blocking the shopper path.

 

“Wow...bless you!”

 

Dean barely had time to glance at Sam before sneezing once more. He blew his nose, hoping that would stop the tickling. “Hhhhhh-HESCHCHEWwww!” He sniffed. “Baybe we cad bove away frob the store, huh?”

 

“Oh! Oh shit, yeah, come on!”

 

Two stores later, Dean took a tentative sniff. “Okay...gone. Yeesh.”

 

Sam shook his head. “This is crazy.”

 

“I know. So inducing sneezing doesn’t work at all.”

 

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head no.

 

“Well. Let’s call Bobby and get info on that symbol. You wanna ask him about this sneezing thing?”

 

“Uh, no. You were right. He’ll laugh. And I’m stressed out enough.”

 

Dean nodded in agreement, barely noticing an older woman approaching them from the entryway of a big department store.

 

“Hello! Take a whiff of the newest scent from Taylor Swift called Denial.”

 

Before either brother could utter a word, she sprayed perfume right in front of them, which they both walked into, and sneezed ferociously out of.

 

“Hhh’attschch!”

 

“Hp’ETSCHHEW!”

 

Bandanas clasped over their noses, they escaped outside.

 

xxxxx

 

Dean griped the whole way back to the motel. Like, the whole way.

 

“What the fuck was she thinking? What if someone was seriously allergic to that shit? She could’ve really hurt someone! I mean, she didn’t even apologize!”

 

Sam was more diplomatic, having had processing time while Dean complained. “You know, she didn’t look like she knew what she was doing. It was like she was on automatic pilot or something.”

 

That stopped Dean. “So...the curse was, what, guiding her or something?”

 

“Maybe? It’s possible, right? *sniff* We know that we’re sneezing under, hih, weird situations, so maybe,” he paused to clear his throat. “Maybe the people around us are affected, doing things like, heh-*sniff*, bumping into dusty plants and stuff.”

 

Dean looked sharply at Sam. “You’re pre-sneezing over there. What’s up?”

 

Sam sniffled. “I dunno...there’s nothing heh here.”

 

Dean started to look around, so Sam smacked his arm. “The roads are shit, Dean. Don’t look for what’s making me sniffle for Christ’s sake. I’ll be fiiii...hih...fine.”

 

Dean growled, hands gripping the wheel tighter. “This is - huh...hih…”

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “You, too?”

 

Dean just nodded, trying to keep his eyes on the road while pinching his nose shut. “Find it,” he ground out.

 

Sam wiped his nose with his sleeve. “There’s nothing here-oh-shit-Hp’ETSCHHEW!” He sneezed into the crook of his arm, noticing a nanosecond too late, a yellow powdery smear right at nose level. “Shit. HRSCHCHH!”

 

Dean kept tossing looks at Sam. “What? What is it?” His knuckles were pressed against his nose, nostrils twitching.

 

Sam sniffled, shrugging out of his jacket. “Pollen from that lily in the mall. It’s T’SCHCHH! on my jacket.”

 

In one fluid movement, Dean pulled Baby to the curb and grabbed Sam’s jacket, burying his nose in the yellow stuff.

 

Too stunned to comment, Sam’s jaw dropped. He finally found his voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

Dean rubbed his nose in it. “Dammit! It was making me have to sneeze. I figured...maybe once it started, I could kind of...speed it up. But no dice.”

 

“You’re not itching anymore?”

 

“Nope. Are you?”

 

Sam scrunched his nose. “No...nothing.”

 

Dean sighed. “Oh well. It was worth a shot.” The second he tossed the jacket into the back seat, “Eh’TSCHCH!  Hp’TSCHHHCH!  IH’HRSCHCH!” He scrubbed the pollen off his nose with his sleeve, thunking his head against the steering wheel.

 

Sam turned, leaning against the door and facing Dean. “So...you started to sneeze, you tried to induce, it didn’t work, and the moment you gave up trying…”

 

“Sneeze city.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yah.” Dean put the car in gear and headed back to the motel.

 

“Look on the bright side...we know what the sixth trigger is...perfume.”

 

“Hoooooraaaaaaay.”

 

xxxxx

 

They stopped at a drugstore for Kleenex, because they decided that banking on bandanas and toilet paper was stupid. The door chimed as they entered, their eyes assaulted with tinsel, candy canes and twinkling lights.

 

“H’chh!” Sam caught that one in his sweatshirt, shivering from his lack of a coat.

 

Dean tossed him a look, to which Sam answered, “Lights.” Dean nodded, turned on his heels and headed for the paper product aisle.

 

Deciding to stay put, Sam stood by the cashier line, still shivering. He bobbed his head to the beat of a Christmas song, not-so-subtly playing over the store’s audio system. Before long, Sam was humming, fingers sliding over the different magazines on the shelf.

 

“Foooour calling birds...three french hennnns...twooooo turtle doves...and a parrrrrrtriiiiidge in a pear treeeeee.” He smiled, thinking of the version with the Muppets. He made a note to look it up online when they got back to the room.

 

His mind wandered toward the curse, while his mouth continued to sing. “On the sixth day of sneezing, the perfume got to meeee.” He chuckled to himself. That was clever. He’d have to tell Dean…

 

Shit.

 

Fuck, shit, fuckshit.

 

Twelve Days of Christmas...Twelve Days of Sneezing.

 

No way.

 

No fucking way.

 

That was...that was so silly. Who would...why…

 

Twelve Days.

 

Sam just knew, knew, that was the curse.

 

That meant...six days to go.

 

He caught sight of Dean walking toward him, eyes wide. One arm clutched a three-pack of tissue boxes. The other pointed up. “You hearing this?”

 

Sam clenched his jaw and nodded.

 

Dean stopped in front of him, thrusting the tissues into Sam’s arms. “I’m getting a few more boxes…”

 

 

[AngelEyes]

OMG. Love it!

[Seeker]

This is so excellent! 

[jensdw]

Twelve triggers? 

It really is Christmas

[beau34]

Yay!!!! This is so freaking good!!!

[Anilkex]

Happy New Year, Everyone!!! 

---

 

Dean lie in bed reviewing yesterday’s events. Once they figured the curse was related to the Twelve Days of Christmas, the list making began. Between them, they listed over twenty different things that could make them sneeze. Every time they added something to the list, their anxiety grew.

 

The rest of the day’s sneezes came out between ordering dinner, asking for more blankets at the front desk, and filling up the Impala with gas.

 

They were now on Day Seven, with the prospect of six more triggers to go. Knowing that the curse was manipulating people and events around them didn’t help, and both brothers wordlessly agreed to just return to the motel and stay there.

 

Dean had no idea what time it was. He didn’t want to look at his phone or check the digital clock. He didn’t want to sneeze. He was tired of it. Tired of the unexpected fits, tired of the control loss, tired of watching Sam worry, tired of watching himself worry. They hadn’t called Bobby. They hadn’t gone to the library. They hadn’t checked on the church.

 

How the fuck were they supposed to hunt like this?

 

Sam stirred in his bed, yawning as he woke. “Hey...you up?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How long?”

 

“Long.”

 

Sam curled onto his left side, watching the shadow that he knew was his brother. “So. Today.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Frowning, Sam decided to spring his plan onto Dean...see what he thought. “I, uh, have a plan for today.”

 

Dean curled on his right side, watching the shadow that he knew was his brother. “Shoot.”

 

“Stay in the room until we can talk to Bobby.”

 

“What if it takes a while to get a hold of him?”

 

“Then I guess we’re staying put. Inside our locked room.”

 

“I like that plan.”

 

xxxxx

 

It wasn’t a great plan by any stretch of the imagination. If the curse knew manipulation tactics, surely it knew avoidance tactics.

 

That’s what Sam told himself as he returned to a diligent search for the weird symbol. But stress from the curse was starting to take its toll on Dean, so Sam invented this ridiculous plan in hopes that staying put for a little while would help Dean relax a little.

 

xxxxx

 

The plan was fucking stupid, because the curse would know exactly what they were doing. But Dean didn’t want to shit on Sam’s idea parade, so sit in the room they did, researching the symbol, researching curses matching the Twelve Days of Christmas, looking up the address for that coven church, and waiting for Bobby to call them back.

 

Sam’s frustration and anxiety level were running high, and Dean was worried about his brother. If this helped Sam relax, then Dean was all for it.

 

xxxxx

 

When the inevitable sneezing finally began, both brothers were kind of...okay with it. The quiet, downtime in the room actually helped both of them relax, focus on the hunt, and accept that they’d be sneezing quite a bit more for the next six days.

 

“Hih’chh! Heh’shht!” Dean opened his laptop.

 

Someone knocked on their door, and Sam answered it. It was a woman, thinking their room was her room...and she reeked of perfume. “Heh’tschchchhh-uhhh!”

 

When Dean’s phone rang, Sam reached for it because Dean was in the bathroom and Bobby’s name flashed on the screen. “Ha’atchoo!”

 

“Bless you!”

 

“EHHHHH-TSHHCHUH!”

 

“Jesus, son, you sound terrible!”

 

Sam sniffled, relieved that the light only prompted two sneezes. “Hey Bobby, it’s Sam. I’m fine, just...yeah, I’m fine.” He pulled out his notebook, adding a checkmark under his name next to bright light.

 

“That didn’t sound fine at all, Sam.”

 

“Trust me Bobby...that was nothing. Did you find anything on the symbol?”

 

Dean came out of the bathroom. Sam tapped his notebook, showing Dean that he sneezed, to which Dean gave him a thumbs up. Sam set the phone on the table and put the audio to speaker.

 

“I thought that symbol looked familiar. It’s a combo platter symbol for witches involved in an Eclectic Coven.”

 

“I knew it was witches,” Dean muttered. “Wait, an electric oven?”

 

Sam briefly closed his eyes, willing patience. “No, an Eclectic. Coven. What’s their deal, Bobby?”

 

“Wellp, they don’t deal with demons at all, instead bonding with Mother Earth. Like the name suggests, witches of all sorts can gather in an Eclectic Coven, so kitchen witches, hearth witches, tech witches - “

 

“Wait, a tech witch? As in technology?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“How the hell is that a witch type?”

 

“I dunno, Sam, I don’t have The Idiot’s Guide to Owning a Coven in my library. I just know it’s a type.”

 

Dean moved his jacket so he could sit down. A packet of pepper from the day before slid out and onto the table, breaking open.

 

“Oh, Jesus-Christ-Mphphphew!”

 

“Bless you!”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Sam checked off pepper next to Dean’s name. “All the victims were a part of a church group that supposedly did charity work. They were pretty popular in town...known for fundraising and volunteering.” He tried to clean up the spill while Dean blew his nose. “Hehp’tschew!” He sniffled, sighed, then checked pepper next to his name.

 

There was a pause on the phone. “Bless you. Anyway, that scenario fits the big picture all right. Eclectic Covens can have good witches.”

 

Dean interrupted, “No such thing.” Holding his breath, he swept the pepper into his hand, and washed it down the drain.

 

Bobby chuckled. “Well, actually, there is a good and bad witch scenario out there, where evil witches work with demons and good witches try n’ bank powers off the earth and nature. Some magic is innate, some is learned. It’s more that we don’t hear about the good ones, because they ain’t out there causing trouble.”

 

Sam tapped the pen against his chin. “So...we think this coven is killing the witches or witch wannabes that try to leave. Which...isn’t really a good witch scenario. Can we kill them the normal way? I mean...is there anything special about them?”

 

They pictured Bobby pulling off his cap and scratching his head. “Nothin’ special that I know of. They’re a weirder bunch, so expect the unexpected. But I’m thinking that if you kill whoever’s the leader, the others will disband. You know, standard coven shit.”

 

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Thanks, Bobby. That’ll make this easier.”

 

“No problem. Anything else?”

 

The boys looked at each other. Sam squirmed a little, then stammered, “Yeah...uhm...what, uh...I mean…”

 

Dean cut in. “We’re all good, Bobby. Thanks a ton. We’ll stop by when we’re done here, if that’s okay.”

 

“Of course it’s okay. I was hoping to see you on Christmas, or at least near it. You sure you don’t need anything else?”

 

“Nope! That was it. See you soon.” Dean hung up.

 

“Dean! Why’d you do that?”

 

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Dude, there’s nothing out there on sneezing curses and you know it. All there is, is lore about superstitions around sneezing, where people thought your soul escaped when you sneezed or that demons could possess you after you sneeze. Other than that, there’s nothing. Besides...I don’t...he’ll...I dunno what we did to get cursed. What if it affects him?”

 

Sam raised an eyebrow. Try again.

 

Dean puffed out a breath. “Fine. I’m stressed out enough. Knowin’ that he’s laughing about it...I don’t need that right now.”

 

Sam tried to use reason. “Dean. He’d only laugh, because this whole thing is ridiculous, and you know it. If it happened to anyone else, you’d be on the floor laughing.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not someone else, it’s us.” It’s you. “And I just...I wanna focus on us rather than worry about what other people are thinking.”

 

xxxxx

 

Bobby stared at the phone and sighed. It figured that his boys managed to get sick on Christmas. They wanted to finish the hunt, sure, but chances were they needed a place to crash for a while afterwards. Well, he had about a week until Christmas. Plenty of time to stock up on supplies, food, and order the new tires for the Impala (which was really for Dean) and that iPad thing for Sam.

 

xxxxx

 

“So now what?” Sam asked. “We still have a bunch of triggers left, and sitting here hasn’t stopped the sneezing at all.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed. Well, we can check out that church, I guess. See what we can find.” The look on Sam’s face prompted Dean to ask, “What? I thought you wanted to do something.”

 

“I do! It’s just...we can’t help sneezing, and we can’t stop sneezing once we start. If we’re snooping around…” He splayed his hands. “We’re fucked if we sneeze at the wrong time.”

 

Dean waved him off. “So we stifle. Or hold it in.”

 

“Dean. Holding it in won’t work. You know that.”

 

“Yeah, well stifling is still technically sneezing, just quieter. So we’ll stifle instead.”

 

Sam shook his head, hanging it against his chest.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re always looking for a bright side.” For me.

 

“Damn straight, I am.” For you.

 

xxxxx

 

The temperature dropped significantly by the time they were ready to leave The snow sparkled, crunching under their boots as they made their way to the car. When the engine woke, Sam cranked the heat. Cold air rushed his face, ruffling his hair.

 

“Hh’ishhhyuu! Huh’hih’hih’tsshhh’uh!” Sam swallowed, his face buried in his arm. He lowered it, taking an experimental sniff while redirecting the vent.

 

“So. Air in your face.”

 

Sam sniffed again, pulling out the notebook. “Air in my face,” he repeated, scribbling as he spoke. “Check.”

 

“Nice. Never occured to me. While you have that thing open, what’s left for today? I lost count.”

 

Clearing his throat, Sam read from the notebook. “For you, dust, candles, plants, perfume and now I guess wind.” Dean snorted. “For me, also dust, candles, and plants.”

 

“You’re two up on me?”

 

“Looks like.” He tucked the book into his pocket.

 

“So much to look forward to. Can’t wait.” He put the car in reverse, and pulled away.

 

The sun had set by the time they reached the church, which, Dean reasoned, was even better, because chances were - no one would be there. The building was dark and the parking lot empty, showing signs of having been plowed recently.

 

Dean parked a couple blocks away, forcing a snow-crunching walk back to the church. He turned up his collar, grimacing at the steam coming out of his mouth. “I hate the cold. When we retire, I wanna move somewhere warm.”

 

“Somewhere with bikinis and drinks with little umbrellas?”

 

“Don’t judge, Sammy.”

 

It was barely dinnertime, but breaking and entering always evoked a sense of late night. By the time they reached the back door, shivering and teeth chattering were a constant. It took Sam a minute to pick the lock (he was shaking too hard), and they hurried inside once the door swung open.

 

The building was definitely warmer. Cold hands and toes tingled, noses began to run, and Dean’s breath began to hitch. “Sam…” he whispered. “Hiiih...something in here...heh...do you feel it?”

 

Sam shook his head no, swiveling to find the source. Dean shoved his wrist under his nose, trying to blink away the itching.

 

Sam leaned close. “Don’t fight it. Just...sneeze and get it over with. Stifle, like you said.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Dean scrubbed his wrist back and forth. “It’s itch--hiiihhh--itching but not---hehhhh--*sniff* coming-out-fuck-Hh’Ngxt! Hgnt! Hgnxnxt!...owwwww…”

 

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Bless you!” He whispered. “You okay?”

 

Dean nodded, wrist still shoved under his nose. “What was it?”

 

Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking around again. “I dunno. I couldn’t - oh, wait.” He walked over to a shelf, where a lone candle sat. He picked it up, peeking at the label stuck to the bottom. “Juniper Delight.”

 

Dean sniffed, giving his nose one last swipe and muttering in a low voice. “Fantastic. I’m catching up to you.”

 

They pulled out their flashlights. Before turning them on, Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist. Sam looked over expectantly, raising his eyebrows. What?

 

Dean wiggled his flashlight, then pantomimed sneezing. Sam made a checkmark in the air. Dean mouthed, “Ahhhh, right,” and they switched the little lights on.

 

They were in a hallway, that luckily had carpeting to muffle wet footsteps. Guns out, they crept forward, eyes darting everywhere for signs of witches and triggers. Tension was high, and Sam swore that if there were witches in the building, they would easily hear his heartbeat.

 

The hallway opened into a small alcove, where a large room sat to the right, the front door straight ahead, and a small room to the left. The large room was filled with chairs and a couple tables. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books and some odd pottery pieces. The windows were up high, so they could walk through the room without being seen from the street, with enough light from a street lamp allowing them to turn off the flashlights.

 

“There’s no...you know...where does the praying happen?” Dean asked, lazily wandering through the room. Clearly, no one was there, but they spoke in soft voices all the same. He wondered if the shelves were filled with dust, then quickly shoved that question out of his head. If he thought it, he wouldn’t sneeze, and while he had mixed thoughts about sneezing right then, screwing around with the curse wasn’t something he felt like doing.

 

Sam bit his lip. “No clue.” He walked over to examine the books. “These are the classics - Tom Sawyer, Tale of Two Cities, Cat In The Hat,” They shared a look at that one. “Oh hey, War and Peace.”

 

Dean closed his eyes for patience. “Sam. Stop gawking at the witch’s reading list.”

 

“Heh’tschhhit!” was his reply.

 

Dean sighed. “Dust?”

 

“Yeah. C’mon - there’s another door here.”

 

They stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready. Sam mouthed counting to three, flung it open, and Dean immediately sneezed a triple when cold air rushed into the room.

 

The new hallway loomed dark and drafty. Cautiously, they entered, carefully closing the door behind them after making sure it was unlocked. Flashlights clicked back on, and Dean muttered, “Have I mentioned how this curse is stupid?”

 

“Do tell.”

 

“It’s hard to stifle when they catch you off guard like that.”

 

“Gee, if only one of us thought of that sooner.”

 

“I’m cutting your hair tonight.”

 

“Mmm-hm.”

 

Beams of light bounced off dirt lined walls. The air felt wet, deepening the chill that seeped through their jackets.

 

“How far do you think this goes?” Sam asked.

 

Dean flicked the light into Sam’s eyes, making him flinch. “No clue. Like you, I just got here.”

 

Fifteen feet later, Dean stopped. “Um. The church isn’t this big. Where the hell are we going?”

 

Turning around, they shined their lights back up the hallway, only to discover that they’d been walking down. The hallway was actually a ramp.

 

“It didn’t seem that steep,” Sam muttered, irritated that he missed something as important as descending underground.

 

“No...it didn’t…” Dean’s tone turned thoughtful, his light bobbing from behind to in front of them. “Well, we’re moving forward. Come on.”

 

Eventually, the ramp banked to the right, and the ground became...squishy.

 

“What. The. Fuck.” Dean tapped his toe in the muck, grunting at the squelchy sound. “Please tell me this is water. Please please please.”

 

Sam bent down, his light reflecting on the wet earth. “Looks like...just regular mud.”

 

“More fantastic. Come on.”

 

It wasn’t long before the muck covered their feet, soaking their jeans and seeping up the fabric.

 

“I think it’s in my boots.”

 

“I know it’s in my boots.”

 

“Hold on…I see something.” Sam shined his light at the floor. “Holy shit.”

 

“Is that - “

 

“Krschhh! Ragweed.”

 

“How is that even - H’aschhht!”

 

“Possible? Hih’mphhphew! I dunno,” Sam gasped. “Try it - Heschhhew!”

 

“Try H’schhshh! What?”

 

Sam motioned with his hands. “The stifling huh thing He’escchhhew!”

 

“Hp-ngt!”

 

“Itschgt!”

 

Dean sniffed angrily. “We could also just keep fucking moving, Sab. Ngxtgt!”

 

Oh, right.

 

Three steps past the offending plant, the sneezing stopped. On a whim, Sam turned to check on the plant. “Dean - the plant. It’s gone.”

 

“Huh?” Dean turned, also shining his light. “Sonofabitch. Come on.”

 

The ground gave way to more water than mud, soaking their feet, making them shiver as they walked. The hallway suddenly widened, ending at a door.

 

...With voices on the other side.

 

“We need to be at that stupid Christmas party in ten minutes.”

 

Dean tilted his head. The woman’s voice sounded familiar.

 

A man spoke, “You look beautiful.” Next came a faint whishing sound, followed by humming.

 

What the hell?

 

“Ready?”

 

“Absolutely. Lock up. We’re done here for the night.”

 

Panic flooded Sam, thinking they were going to leave this way. But he heard another door slam shut, and realized...if they were going to a party, they wouldn’t walk through eons of mud to get there.

 

Dean’s flashlight bobbed. “Open the door. They’re gone.”

 

Sam reached for the doorknob, then stopped. “We can’t go in there...we’re covered in mud. They’ll know someone was here.”

 

Dean sighed. “Take your boots off, Sam.”

 

Sam blinked. “Oh.”

 

He opened the door, and a tart smelling perfume filled the air. At the same time, the voices returned. “Hurry up and grab it! We’re going to be late!”

 

Sam twisted the knob, shut the door, and placed one hand over his heart to steady the wild beating. Thank God he already had perfume hit him. Otherwise he’d be...sneezing...with witches...on the other side of the...oh shit...Dean…

 

Sam looked over at his brother, and panic flared. Leaning against the wall, ignoring the wet and the cold, Dean struggled to cope with the onslaught of perfume. His flashlight dangled from one hand, which Sam snatched before it fell into the muck. Eyes clenched shut, Dean’s irregular breathing made Sam’s nose twitch in sympathy.

 

Pocketing the flashlights, Sam knew they couldn’t move away. The squelching would alert the witches to their presence, and given Dean’s current state, that left Sam to deal with both on his own.

 

Not ideal.

 

Dean fumbled in his pockets for a Kleenex or bandana, but the cold and his hitching made movements clumsy, and the tissues fell into the mud, rendering them useless.

 

He didn’t even notice, bringing empty hands in front of his nose, trying to anticipate when he’d finally sneeze.

 

“Hiiiihhhhh…..hiiihhihhhihh…”

 

Sam clamped his own bandana on Dean’s face, whispering frantically, “Try to hold it in...just until they leave!”

 

Dean had enough control to give Sam a withering look, lost in the darkness. Taking the bandana, he pressed it hard against his quivering nose, each inhale more ragged and breathy than the last. “Haaahhhhhhhh….Hhh-hih-hiiihhh”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“How should I know? Hurry up!”

 

“Hehhhhh...hhhhhhh…” His voice rose slightly in pitch with each breath, matching Sam’s ramped up nerves.

 

There was no way Dean could stifle...this one was simply beyond him. Dean’s hand grabbed Sam’s arm. Gonna lose it…”hih-hih-hih-heh-heh…”

 

“Here it is! Come on!”

 

A door slammed.

 

Dean sneezed into the bandana.

 

“Hhhhhh-heschchh!”

 

He tried to sneeze quietly...

 

“Itschhh! Tishhhchh! Hrschhhchh! Atschhchh! Ehschhchh!”

 

But each was forceful, almost violent.

 

All Sam could do was steady him so he didn’t fall on his ass in the mud, wincing at every release. He could hear each sneeze grate on Dean’s throat, as he tried to contain sneezes that did not want to be contained.

 

Sam stopped counting after six. After “Heh’tschchchhhoooo!”, Dean sagged against Sam, trying to catch his breath.

 

“Ngggghh....holy...shit…” He wiped his nose, tried to straighten, but ended up falling back against Sam, who held him up as best as he could.

 

“Jesus Christ...are you okay?”

 

Still panting, Dean nodded, flapping a hand at Sam. “Jus’ sneezin’, right? No biggie. Jus’...whooo…’kshhh! That was somethin’...”

 

Sam huffed, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. “You scared the shit outta me.”

 

Dean awkwardly reached up to pat Sam on the head. “Hey…’m okay…’member...jus’ sneezin’.” He took a deep breath and stood, swaying a little. He reached out to steady himself against the wall. “I’m good...come on...open the door and let’s...hoo...see what’s inside.”

 

Sam took a second to run his fingers through his hair, then cracked open the door to peer inside. He opened it wider and clicked on his flashlight.

 

This room looked like a witch’s headquarters. Tables loaded with ancient looking books, bowls, bottles, and baggies of stuff filled the room. Archaic instruments lined the walls, an altar stood in the center, candles were scattered everywhere, and above it all, on the ceiling, was that symbol, painted in...neon green.

 

They both wrinkled their noses at that.

 

“Alright...so...witches. Let’s get back to the motel. I’m done.” Dean motioned for Sam to shut the door, and together they made their way back up the hallway.

 

When they reached the original door, they eyeballed their feet and sighed. Reluctantly, they took off their boots and socks, retracing their steps to the back door, careful not to leave mud or wet footprints on the floor.

 

Out of nowhere, “Haaahhhhh-TSCHCHSHHYUUUuu!” Sam pitched forward with a sudden, thunderous sneeze, rattling Dean’s ears.

 

“Sam!” he hissed.

 

But Sam couldn’t hear him. “Hiiiihhh-TSCHHCHHYUuuu!” He stumbled forward, bumping into the wall, rattling the shelves, which sent dust into the air.

 

“H’chh! Sam!”

 

Sam looked up, eyes bleary, ears ringing, head pounding from the force. “Sorry…the candle...”

 

Dean took one look at Sam’s Eyes, and caved. “It’s okay. Just...let’s get out of here.”

 

They had to put their boots on outside, in the freezing cold. It took another couple minutes to cover the mud and their footprints (Dean decided to shovel the walkway with a shovel conveniently leaning against the steps).

 

While Dean shoveled, Sam snuffled in his coat, shivering uncontrollably. “Look on the bright side.”

 

Dean scowled at him, but waited for the follow up.

 

“We’re done sneezing for today.”

 

[AngelEyes]

14 hours ago, Anilkex said:

“I dunno, Sam, I don’t have The Idiot’s Guide to Owning a Coven in my library. I just know it’s a type.”

Gotta love Bobby!

[jensdw]

Oh, Bobby’s a sweetheart. And the poor boys! I’m loving this a whole lot.  

[Anilkex]

For this part...use your imagination. They sound how you want them to sound.

 

---

 

Seven days of the curse returned the brothers to a rhythm not felt in months. It became routine.

 

They walked into a diner the next morning for breakfast, ready to plan a whole day of research.

 

A large heater hummed near the door, blowing warm air on chilly customers. Dean blandly handed over a tissue, which Sam smoothly took and promptly sneezed into, twice, while Dean smiled at the waitress. “Table for two, please.”

 

While Dean read the menu, Sam watched a baby grab a pepper shaker from her table and fling its contents into the air. “Bless you,” he warned. Dean smothered a triple into the crook of his arm, nodding a thanks and resuming his inner debate over pancakes or waffles.

 

“The library is actually pretty decent,” Sam comments, “we should find enough historical records about the building and stuff.”

 

“Good. Something about that place seemed off...but then again, I wasn’t exactly at my best.”

 

Sam’s leg bounced under the table, thoughts of being unable to protect his brother when he may need it running through his mind. Swallowing down coffee, he refocused on the weird room. “The room was kinda...over the top, don’t you think? And seriously, a neon green symbol?”

 

“Yeah, I dunno what that was about, either. Eat your oatmeal and let’s go. And really, oatmeal? What are you, seventy?”

 

The sneezing was taking a toll on Sam’s throat. Oatmeal seemed easier to manage than anything else. But he wasn’t going to give Dean something else to worry about, so he just shrugged. “It’s good for you. Wouldn’t hurt you to eat a little healthier.”

 

Dean frowned at his plate of pancakes, covered in butter and syrup. “What are you talking about?”

 

Sam laughed. “Apparently, nothing.”

 

Dean winked at him and tucked into his breakfast. The pancakes were soft and warm, easy on his throat which was now a little sore after last night’s fit. He could keep up the facade of ignorant optimism. He’d been doing it since Sam was one. He just wasn’t going to give Sam something else to worry about.

 

xxxxx

 

The library sat on a ravine, wall to wall windows on the main floor, covered in frost and reflecting sunlight into the parking lot.

 

Sam sneezed as they pulled in. Dean sneezed once the car was parked. They blessed each other and stepped into the cold.

 

A large space heater greeted them at the door. Sam blandly handed over a tissue, which Dean promptly sneezed into, twice, while Sam smiled at a librarian. “Where are your historical records?”

 

It’s not the first three stacks of files and books covered in the fluffy stuff that got them. It was the fourth, Dean stifling into his bandana, Sam sneezing into a handful of tissues.

 

When a toddler ran past with a McDonald’s bag, shrieking and waving it around while his mother chased him, it was like the scene moved in slow motion. Dean watched the bag jostle back and forth as the mother scooped the child into her arms, the bag’s contents flying through the air.

 

Without a word, he slid the tissue box across the table, bouncing it off Sam’s chest. Sam had two in his hands before the pepper even touched him, sneezing wetly into the cloud, breathless once the fit passed.

 

“Something seem weird to you?” Dean asked, eyeballing the mom to make sure the kid was dragged far away.

 

Sam blew his nose. “More than normal weird? More than sneezing our heads off all day every day for twelve days?”

 

“More like, embedded within.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“We’re either sneezing together or from the same things.”

 

“We’re always sneezing from the same things, Dean. There’s only one list we’re working off of.”

 

Dean shook his head, shoving a file of old photos to the side. “Not what I mean. Like, I sneezed from a heater by a door, and so did you. I sneezed from a kid throwing pepper, and so did you. We both sneezed from the same light and dust. Like that.”

 

Sam brow furrowed, his leg bouncing once more. “Huh.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, though. The curse is still there. So...I dunno...if we’re sneezing in sync and from similar scenarios, maybe we can sneeze it all out sooner rather than later.”

 

“Like we could cut a break like that.” Dean jutted his chin at Sam’s stack of papers. “What’d you find out?”

 

Sam sat up. “Well...okay. The ‘church’,“ he used air quotes, “used to be an old schoolhouse, back in the 1940s before it was closed down. A Mrs. Recliff was the teacher for about twenty-five years, until a scandal got her fired.”

 

Dean twirled a finger in the air for excitement.

 

“Yeah. Apparently, get this, she was accused of - ”

 

“Sleeping with the kids?”

 

“Dean!”

 

Dean held up his hands. “Gimme something interesting to listen to, Sam.”

 

Shaking his head, Sam read from a piece of paper, “She was accused of ‘partaking in and of the occult, influencing her young charges to succumb to the powers of evil.’ “

 

Dean pursed his lips. “Kinda harsh, ain’t it?”

 

Sam shrugged, putting that paper aside and picking up another one. “Someone else documented that she was supposed to be thrown out of town, but when police went to her home, she was gone.”

 

“What was her name again?”

 

Sam glanced at the first paper. “Recliff…”

 

Dean tapped his finger against the table. “That name sounds familiar. Hold on…” He hunted through what looked like a yearbook. “Yahtzee!” He swiveled the book toward Sam. “Second row, fifth one in.”

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “Holy shit…” He tracked the names underneath until he got to the fifth one in the second row. “Maybelline Recliff…”

 

Dean spun the book back around. “Yup. Little Miss Bitch is a lot older than she looks.”

 

“So...how’d she hook up with Caron Milton?”

 

“No idea. But that old broad who answered the door might know.”

 

Sam bit his lip. “I don’t know, Dean. If Maybelline’s a witch, she’s probably really powerful. Everyone in that house could be in on it.”

 

“And?”

 

Sam huffed. “And that house is toxic to us right now.”

 

Dean considered that. “You got a point, there. You have a better idea?”

 

“Recheck that room. It wasn’t in the actual church, so let’s look at a city map and try to figure out where we really were.”

 

“Good thinking. I’ll grab a map.”

 

xxxxx

 

Careful analysis of the map, when Dean wasn’t connecting the buildings to make obscene pictures, showed they walked through the muddy tunnel two blocks west. There was a choice of two houses they could’ve been in, depending on whether they were a little off on direction or distance.

 

They changed into warm clothes, and packed extra socks and pants to stow in the Impala in case there was another mud pit to wade through. (“Wet crotch is only good in certain situations, Sammy. Last night wasn’t one of them.”)

 

A drive-by showed that one of the houses was for sale, looking vacant and lonely. The other had a lawn full of...snowmen. All decorated and built in various poses. Some were playing catch, two were building another snowman (weird…), others were gathered around a decorated fir tree.

 

“That’s...uh…” Dean was at a loss for words.

 

“Agreed. Let’s grab dinner then check out the empty house.”

 

When they returned, they parked a block away and walked down the street to the empty house. As they approached, Dean tugged on Sam’s sleeve. “Hey...do you remember that snowman earlier?”

 

Sam looked over. A three-sphered snowman sat a little ways off from the others, and it was looking right at them. Their steps slowed. “Uh...no...but...I mean, we could’ve missed it…”

 

Dean shook his head. “It’s kinda...creepy looking. Pretty sure I would’ve remembered it.”

 

They hurried to the back door, Dean keeping watch as Sam picked the lock. Dean half expected the snowman to slither into the backyard, ready to murder them with stick arms. “Hurry up, Sam.” He bounced on his heels. He reached a new high to be nervous about getting ganked by a snowman.

 

“It’s freezing out, Dean. I’m going as fast as I can.” The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sam pocketed his tools and gestured with a flourish for Dean to enter.

 

Dean blew him a kiss, and went inside.

 

Sam shut the door behind them before looking around. They were in the kitchen, which had appliances, cabinets and counters, but nothing more. The place was definitely empty. Still, breaking and entering was a quiet activity, so Dean motioned for Sam to check out the first floor while Dean checked the upstairs.

 

A terse nod later, they split up to search the house.

 

Five minutes later, they regrouped in the living room.

 

“Anything?” Dean asked, his voice low.

 

Sam shook his head. “Totally empty. You?”

 

“Nothin’.”

 

“Basement it is, then. Come on.”

 

Guns out, they crept down the stairs, on full alert. At the bottom, still nothing.

 

“We need to find something, Sam. All this adrenaline is going to waste.”

 

Sam pointed. “How about that?”

 

In the far corner was another door, marked with the same symbol as the coven.

 

“It’ll do.”

 

Just as Dean reached for the handle, Sam grabbed his wrist. “Wait. How long has it been since we sneezed?”

 

“What?”

 

“Our last sneeze. When was it?”

 

“In the library. You and the pepper. Why?” Then Dean’s face fell. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah, we could get slammed.”

 

Dean toyed with the handle before dropping his hand to his side. “So what do we do? Not go in there? Not investigate? We can’t control this thing, Sam, so what difference does it make? We could sneeze from all eight triggers before ten in the morning, or after ten at night.”

 

“I know, but - “

 

“But nothing. The only other option is to hand this over to someone else. You wanna make that call? Ask another hunter to finish the job because we’re sneezing uncontrollably sometimes?”

 

“You make it sound so stupid instead of being a real threat.”

 

Dean’s tone softened. “It’s both, Sam. You gotta accept that. I know this worries you, okay? I get it. I’m worried about it, too. I’m also worried about the snowman that marked us on the front lawn and this little tart that’s killing people in town. I’ll keep you safe if the curse hits. I promise.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ll keep each other safe, you mean.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

 

Dean turned and pulled the handle. He thumped Sam in the chest and stepped into the witch’s room from last night. Candles were lit around the room. In unison, they sneezed once, braced for more, but none came.

 

“Dean...check this out.” The torture artifacts hanging from the walls were made of cheap plastic. Some of the paint was even peeling away.

 

“What the hell…” Dean muttered. He picked up a wooden mortar and pestle, flipping it upside down. He snorted. “Hey, Sam...lookit this.” He held it up, waggling. “From Wal-Mart. Two ninety-nine. Tag’s still on it.” He rubbed his nose almost absently.

 

Vials and jars filled with various liquids caught Sam’s attention. He opened one and sniffed, almost afraid it was a jar of ragweed. “It’s...it’s fruit preserves. What’s going on?”

 

Dean chuckled a bit, setting the bowl back on the table. “I dunno, but this is a pile of bullshit. Someone’s playing...playing-witch---” He broke off, sneezing once, openly.

 

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Perfume from last night?”

 

Dean blinked a few times, sniffling. “Think so. Anything?”

 

Sam sniffed. “No...nothing. Maybe it - “

 

“I want to know what happened to Caron!”

 

Both boys jumped at the voice from last night, heading down the stairs of the empty house. Sam spied yet another door, yanked it open, and thrust Dean inside.

 

A closet. They were hiding in a closet.

 

And not an empty one.

 

And not a tall one.

 

Crouching under coats, they tried to hear the voices over their own breathing.

 

The woman entered the room, the sound of heels clicking on the floor painting a picture of her in their minds. She sounded pissed. “This is a silly club, Samuel. How is it that four people have died?”

 

“I dunno, Marla. Maybe...maybe we’re actually doing something.”

 

Even though he couldn’t see Dean, Sam still looked in his direction. Both voices sounded familiar, he just couldn’t place them.

 

“Oh, shut up. There’s no such thing as witchcraft.”

 

“Then why are all the kids thinking snowmen did it? How come only the members we pretended to curse died? They actually died, Marla!”

 

Marla sighed. “I know, Samuel. I...I don’t understand it, either. What about those federal agents? They find anything yet?”

 

“Haven’t heard from them in a while. I think I pissed one of them off with my stupid sheriff act.”

 

Dean’s sharp intake of air told Sam that the poor sheriff was gonna get punched, soon.

 

“Where’d you put the box?”

 

“Closet.”

 

Fuck!

 

Both brothers scrambled to crawl further inside, as quiet as possible. They huddled uncomfortably, storage items poking them in the back and ass.

 

Sam swatted at something brushing against his face, straining to hear the conversation in the room. The thing was back, soft and delicate, in his nose, mouth, eyes. He reached up, and realized it was a fur coat, hanging down right in front of him. He pushed it aside, causing the velvety fabric to lovingly caress the tip of his nose.

 

The effect was instantaneous. Frantic hands clamped his nostrils tight, Sam silently stifling the sneeze that almost gave away their presence. As soon as he let go of the coat, it swung back again into his face, fibers floating everywhere, finding their way past his fingers, into his nose. He rocked forward with another silent stifle, aware that his eyes watered and his nose ran. He didn’t dare reach for his bandana, and he couldn’t sniffle.

 

He was stuck.

 

xxx

 

Something poked Dean in the mouth when they settled in their new spot at the back of the closet. He spit it out, only to have it snap back and hit him in the nose. If he had to describe it, a hundred strands of the softest thread entered each nostril and fluttered back and forth. In truth, it was an enormous feather, affixed to the top of a frilly hat.

 

Reflexes took over and Dean clamped down on his nose, but the feather was still there. Removing one hand to yank the feather out of his face was the break in concentration the curse needed, and Dean’s head snapped forward, stifling the sneeze into silence, inwardly groaning at the pressure. His eyes watered, his nose ran, there was no room to go rooting through pockets for a tissue.

 

He was stuck.

 

xxx

 

Light flooded the little closet as either Samuel or Marla opened the door. Both brothers froze, sneezes threatening to spill forth if they so much as moved.

 

“Where did you put it, Marla?”

 

Marla sighed. “I’ll grab it. Move over.”

 

Marla bent into the closet, rooting through the shelves above the boys’ heads. Perfume from the night before wafted into the little space, sharp and tangy. Sam, breathing through his mouth, could taste the foul spray. When the door closed, Sam jumped, accidentally taking a very small breath in...through his nose.

 

The itching became a slow burn. He needed that bandana. Taking a chance, Sam shifted enough so he could pull the cloth out of his pocket and shove it against his nose. When Sam shifted, Dean had enough room to grab his.

 

They looked like a pair of bandits, hiding in the closet.

 

They didn’t care.

 

The rest of Samuel and Marla’s conversation was lost, as Sam silently pitched forward, stifling sneeze after sneeze. With a free hand, Dean pulled Sam’s head onto his shoulder, letting him rub his nose back and forth to help fight the sensation. Dean didn’t care about the witches anymore - he was more concerned with his brother’s inability to draw a breath.

 

He did catch Marla saying, “Fine. I’ll call a meeting for tomorrow. We’ll disband the group.” Then a door slammed.

 

The sound served as a gunshot at the start of a race. Sam let the sneezes out, breathless and whispery, but one after the other. When he finally finished, he kept his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean kept his free hand on the back of Sam’s head, the other wiping his eyes and nose with his own bandana.

 

“Stifling didn’t do it, huh?” Dean whispered.

 

Sam huffed a laugh between breaths, shaking his head no. “Bade it worse.”

 

Dean sighed. “Figures. Let’s get outta the closet, Sam.”

 

Sam snorted a laugh, untangling himself from Dean and edging toward the door. He listened a moment to make sure the room was empty before opening it and crawling out.

 

Once noses were dry, they shoved the bandanas back in their pockets. Dean grimaced, glancing at his shoulder. “Gotta do laundry tonight.”

 

Sam wasn’t listening. “Dean - look.”

 

On a table was a box...identical to the one they found in the basement. The latch was undone.

 

“Dammit - I forgot that thing was sitting in the trunk. We didn’t ask Bobby about it.”

 

Sam looked around. “That must be what they were looking for. If the latch isn’t...latched…”

 

Dean strode over and opened the lid. “Huh.”

 

“What is it?” Sam joined him, staring at the contents.

 

Jewelry.

 

A few necklaces, some bracelets, rings, random brooches and hair ornaments.

 

And one dried rose.

 

Two quick sneezes (one each) later, Sam walked back to the closet and looked inside. It was filled with costumes - fur coats, feathered hats, masks, cloaks, dresses, capes. “Jesus...it’s a prop room.”

 

“And this is just a stupid jewelry box. What the hell, Sam?”

 

“I know. And based on what they were saying, they are just as confused by the deaths as we are.”

 

“Did you place Marla’s voice? We know Samuel is the sheriff.”

 

“Not really - but it’s familiar. By the way…” Sam waved a hand at all the stuff in the closet. “Which one got you?”

 

“A fucking feather. You?”

 

“Fur coat.”

 

“So trigger eight is fur and feathers? Is that supposed to be an animal thing?”

 

Sam pulled on his chin, closing the closet door. “The coat actually touched my nose - got right in there. It literally tickled me until I sneezed. It wasn’t an allergic reaction.”

 

Dean’s face fell. “Okay, the feather got into my nose, which is why I sneezed. So I guess animals are still a potential.”

 

They made whoopie gestures at each other.

 

“So the coven theory is bupkis. We’re back to square one,” Dean griped, closing the jewelry box and heading to leave.

 

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “We still have Maybelline Recliff, the seventy year-old snotty kid. She’s the one we need to figure out.”

 

“Thank god you’re the smart one.”

 

“Why?”

 

“So I can be the pretty one.”

 

[AngelEyes]

6 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Dean frowned at his plate of pancakes, covered in butter and syrup. “What are you talking about?”

 

Sam laughed. “Apparently, nothing.”

Dean and food. LOL

 

6 hours ago, Anilkex said:

(“Wet crotch is only good in certain situations, Sammy. Last night wasn’t one of them.”)

Oh Dean.

 

6 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Sam pocketed his tools and gestured with a flourish for Dean to enter.

 

Dean blew him a kiss, and went inside.

LOL

 

6 hours ago, Anilkex said:

“Thank god you’re the smart one.”

 

“Why?”

 

“So I can be the pretty one.”

Too funny!

[Seeker]

Love it!

[jensdw]

Mm, very nice. Lovely update.  

[SexualOddity]

So as per my life, I'm posting this with a sleeping baby on me so it might end up being in many parts, but there's so much I want to say that I really wanted to do a running commentary. I've really missed your writing.

 

1. "it's 150% ridiculous, and 450% gratuitious."

 

Funny thing though, even when you write something that's admittedly pretty ridiculous, you encase it in this shell of believable context and characterisation and it almost ends up feeling like something that could happen. Which is nice, because we get all the joy of the gratuity without it feeling too out of character. I think that's a real skill. 

 

2. ' But lately, their relationship was so strained, that working was not only difficult, it was painful.'

 

My favourite alternative mystery of this fic. Why don't they like each other? 😢

 

Tbc... I'll edit this post if there have been no more comments before I can get back to this <3 Keep being awesome 😀