Supernatural Mystery Christmas (Dean and Sam)

[Sneesee]

I am really loving this, and wish it was a real episode on the show. I can't wait for more updates!

[SexualOddity]

Another nap time, another shot at this list. ..

 

3)  “Seems that Mike was found dead in his kitchen...with a carrot sticking out of one eye socket.”

 

Dean’s head retreated. “I’m sorry, come again?”

 

Sam nodded, turning the laptop back around. “You heard me.”

 

Dean considered this. “I knew carrots weren’t really good for your eyes.”

 

“Ha. At least not in this case.'

 

I love this dialogue. Your characterisation is always on point. And I messed up the quoting but I was also impressed that you managed to make funky wunky work.

Argh... she's waking up. Guess this is a short one, I'm sorry 😔

 

 

 

Edited January 5, 2018 by SexualOddity
Using phone with one free hand makes is not recommended for quoting large pieces of text...

[sierraplaid]

I'm going to savor this and do this in parts, so here are my favorite bits from page 1.

 

Dean sucked at staying mad at Sam.
YES. Yes, he is terrible at this.

Dean put the finishing touches on his tie. “Ready?”
Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”
^^ I just really liked this. Super tidy and neat.

“Well, everything here is a recent death. You gotta be more specific.”
lol. Good line.

Sam sighed, also sitting up. “Yeah. I hope I’m wrong.”
“Lucky us, you rarely are.”
D'awwwww. D'AWWWW.

So happy you're writing again.

[gingerdean]

13 hours ago, SexualOddity said:

Argh... she's waking up. Guess this is a short one, I'm sorry 😔

I feel you on this. The struggle is real     (I hope you all are doing well!!)

 

Ok, sneezing and main plot aside...I really got a kick out of imagining Sam and Dean in Bath and Body Works, sniffing around at candles...lol!

That being said...this continues to be awesome as ever.  And the part where they were in the closet, trying not to sneeze? That scenario that will never ever get old. I also really liked how how both cursed and non-cursed things were making them sneeze while they were in there.

 

On ‎1‎/‎1‎/‎2018 at 6:46 PM, Anilkex said:

He pushed it aside, causing the velvety fabric to lovingly caress the tip of his nose.

 

 

On ‎1‎/‎1‎/‎2018 at 6:46 PM, Anilkex said:

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.

 

 

 

 

I

[Anilkex]

I love you all. My goal is to finish this by Monday the 8th, which...hey, it's good to have goals. I can lesson plan Wind in the Willows another time. One must know one's priorities. 

 

---

 

The box sat on the table, patiently waiting for someone to figure out how to undo the latch.

 

Dean broke the silence. “I’m gonna smash it.”

 

“Dean! No! We don’t know what’s inside!”

 

“I’m banking on more jewelry.”

 

“But we don’t know that for sure. Just...hold on.”

 

Sam pulled the box to his side of the table, giving Dean an exasperated look (to which Dean responded with a shrug) before taking a closer look at the latch. “Okay...I don’t think the latch is what opens the box.”

 

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Nothing in the past week had been normal, so he shut up and motioned for Sam to continue.

 

“There’s a divot here...and here...in the wood. I’m thinking something’s supposed to go in it, and then the box will open.”

 

“And that something is…?”

 

Sam’s mouth cinched to the side. “Not sure. Could be an object, but then it’d have to fit in that small space perfectly. I’m thinking something else, like maybe a liquid.”

 

“Someone’s supposed to spit on the box?”

 

Sam’s eyes crawled up to his brother’s. “I was thinking more like blood.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Blood sounds better.”

 

“The owner of the box would have the blood we need.”

 

“Time to visit Maurice, then.”

 

xxxxx

 

Maurice didn’t blink an eye when Dean asked for a sample of Mike Baron’s blood.

 

Mumbling to himself, Dean couldn’t even gloat on his way back to the car. “No fuss, no fight, no argument, nothing.”

 

When he got in, Sam asked, “Did you sneeze?”

 

“Thrice. And yes, I got the blood, thanks for asking.”

 

Sam marked in his notebook. “Never doubted the blood getting. Wasn’t sure about the sneezing. Alrighty.” He tapped the book as he spoke. “We sneezed when you opened the curtains and unwrapped the box. You sneezed from candles, and I K’hrschh! *sniff* apparently smell candles on you.”

 

“Look at all the stuff we do together, now. It’s kinda cute.”

 

“There are a million other things I’d rather do with you than sneezing like this.”

 

Dean put the car in reverse. Under his breath, he muttered, “Yeah, but this is better than nothing.”

 

Sam chewed on his pen, silently agreeing.

 

xxxxx

 

On the ride back to the motel, Sam’s phone rang. “Hello? … Really? … Where?” He jotted something in his notebook, then clicked his pen shut. “We’ll be right there.”

 

“What is it?” Dean asked once Sam hung up.

 

“That was the sheriff’s department. Got a new victim.”

 

“Oh yeah? Who?

 

“The sheriff.”

 

xxxxx

 

They pulled in front of the sheriff’s house. Various police cars were already on the scene. They walked up to the porch, noticing a sign that read:

 

Attack Chihuahua On Premises - Enter At Your Own Peril

 

Dean tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Animals. I knew it.”

 

Sam wondered how it would work. If the sheriff...Samuel...had a dog, then the dog was probably everywhere in the house. Would they just sneeze and be fine, or would they continue sneezing as long as they were exposed to the trigger?

 

They stepped inside, flashing their badges. An officer directed them to the body, which was still in the kitchen.

 

Dean waited for the sneezing. He didn’t want to jinx the curse (!!), but he didn’t want to be unprepared for an onslaught of dander sneezes, either. However, being in the house didn’t seem to phase him. He stole a glance at Sam, who shook his head. Nothing.

 

Hmmm…

 

The sight of Samuel’s body, rigid and straight in a chair at the table, paused the brothers for a moment. Pale blue skin shimmered as frost crystals sparkled over the entire body.

 

“What the hell…” Dean murmured, moving close to examine it.

 

“Don’t touch it!” an officer snapped.

 

Dean slowly swiveled toward the officer, his expression broadcasting No Shit, Sherlock. The man backed off, and Dean continued to check out the body. No weapon marks, no sign of a struggle, no nothing.

 

Just...frozen solid in the middle of his house...twinkling like a Christmas tree.

 

He spun around to Sam, a mischievous look on his face. “Hey...good thing we sneezed from light earlier, huh, Sammy? Could you imagine - “

 

Sam returned a flat look and kicked him. Dean nodded, sobering up and resuming the examination.

 

Sam checked the kitchen itself. Nothing looked out of place. A few dirty dishes sat in the sink, and half of a cold cup of what looked like coffee was on the table in front of the sheriff.

 

They shared a look that said, of all the fucked up shit we’ve dealt with, this ranks up there.

 

“Let me see him! I need to see him!”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. It was Marla.

 

When she bolted into the kitchen and broke down sobbing, they realized...Marla was the cigarette lady from Caron Milton’s house.

 

Dean scrubbed a hand down his cheek, clearly exhausted from the entire case.

 

“Um...ma’am?” Sam asked hesitantly. It didn’t feel right to call her Marla since she had no idea how they knew her name.

 

A teary-eyed Marla looked up, and gasped. “You’re here! Thank God!” Drying her tears on a sleeve, Marla pulled Sam into a corner and whispered fervently. “You have to help me! I just know I’m next! I don’t want to die!”

 

“Calm down, Marla.” Apparently, Dean had no issue using her name, and Marla didn’t even notice. “What makes you think you’re next? What do you know?”

 

“I…*sigh* I run a...club...at my - “

 

Dean waggled a finger back and forth, smiling sweetly. “Nuh-uh. I’m sorry. If you want our help, you’re gonna have to do better than lying through your teeth.”

 

Sam leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, letting Dean handle her.

 

Marla sagged. She looked around and spoke in an even lower voice. “I run a coven.” She paused for dramatic effect. “That’s a club for witches.”

 

“Do tell.”

 

“It wasn’t a serious one. We...we dressed up and chanted spells and stuff. Mostly we raised money for the food pantry and the homeless shelter through rummage sales and bake-offs. But...we kind of got into the whole...dark side.”

 

Dean tossed her a flat look. “Lady, you’re about as dark side as lemon cake.” Sam raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m still waiting to hear why you think you’re next, and actually, I’d like to know why five people have died in the first place.”

 

Marla wrung her hands. “Everyone who died wanted out of the club. I...I didn’t do anything! I swear! Samuel…” She choked back a sob. “Samuel was already leaving. The deaths made him nervous. I was going to cancel the whole club altogether. That was last night. And now today...he’s dead! That means I’m next!”

 

Sam stayed quiet. Partly because Dean was enjoying making Marla confess. Partly because the now familiar itching took residence in his nose. Casually, he braced his knuckles under his nostrils, occasionally rubbing back and forth. Marla didn’t notice - she kept babbling. But Dean noticed. He began scanning the room for what could be irritating Sam’s sinuses.

 

“I need to get Maybelline and leave town! Immediately! This isn’t - “

 

Everything came to a screeching halt.

 

Itchy nose forgotten, Sam asked, “Wait - how do you know Maybelline? She was Caron’s daughter, but you were at the huh- h’eschhew! house when we visited.”

 

Dean cut in. “Bless you. And pretending to be someone else, may I add.”

 

Sam did a double take at Dean. May I add?

 

Sure, why not?

 

Marla looked more miserable than before. “Maybelline was adopted by Caron. I was close to Caron, kind of like her sister. I think of Maybelline as my niece. I...I don’t know much about her past, but I know she was very happy with Caron, and is taking her death hard.”

 

Sam sniffled, pulling out some tissues. “She didn’t seeb up...hih...set...heh’krrshhhuh!”

 

Dean left the conversation to find what was making Sam sneeze...because if it was making Sam sneeze...and they were now sneezing in sync…

 

He half listened, though.

 

“That’s just Maybelline. She masks her true feelings.”

 

Sam glanced at Dean, muttering, “I kdnow how that goes…” The tickling flared, forcing Sam to step back, mouth open, chest heaving. Deciding to just let them out, Sam sneezed into his handful of tissues. “Hhh’hrrsSHHYuu! Hh’ehhhETSCHyuu!”

 

“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean was back, one hand on Sam’s shoulder.

 

Sam sighed and blew his nose. When he finished...no tickling. He sniffed, and gave Dean the thumbs up. Which Dean didn’t see, because his eyes were pinched shut. He turned away, snuffling a soft sneeze into the crook of his arm.

 

“Are...you two okay?” Marla asked.

 

“Peachy.”

 

Sam patted his arm, nodding at something behind Dean. He turned and saw...a rat. A huge, white rat, scurrying across the floor.

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

 

Marla noticed them noticing. “That’s Harold, Samuel’s pet rat. He pretends...pretended...it was a chihuahua.”

 

“Of course he did,” Dean sighed.

 

Sam asked, “So...Maybelline...how long has she been with Caron?”

 

Marla dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Almost a year. Caron wanted a daughter so badly. Maybelline practically fell into her lap. They hit it off so easily.”

 

Dean snorted. “I’m sure that’s how it was.” He sniffed. “Huh...it’s gone.”

 

Sam nodded. “Where is she now? We’d like to...ask...Dean…?”

 

Both Dean and Marla said, “You want to ask Dean?”

 

Sam was staring out the back door window. “What? No! Dean - look out there.”

 

In the far back corner of Samuel’s yard, was a snowman. Watching the house.

 

Dean head retreated. “What the fuck…”

 

Marla flapped a hand at it. “Some of the neighborhood kids build them. They’re all over town. We think that’s why the children kept thinking that a snowman was behind the deaths. They’re everywhere, so they’re on the children’s minds.”

 

“Yeah...except that one wasn’t there when we got here.”

 

xxxxx

 

Back in the Impala, “Rats, Sam? We’re sneezin’ from rats, now?”

 

Sam was writing the new trigger in his notebook. “It wasn’t actually the rat, Dean. It was a symbol for animal fur or probably dander.”

 

“Sam. We. Sneezed. From. A. Rat. We can’t top that. I don’t see how that’s possible.”

 

“Let’s grab food, open the box, and figure out a way to stop Maybelline.”

 

“Oh, I know the way...bullet between her eyes.”

 

“We need to find her, first. Marla thinks she’s at a friend’s house, but if Maybelline is who we think she is, she sure as hell doesn’t have any friends.”

 

“Well we're on a clock, now. Marla fits the profile of who dies. If Maybelline offed her own adopted parent, I see no reason for her to spare Marla.”

 

“Think Marla will follow our instructions and not contact Maybelline?”

 

Dean gave Sam a sidelong look.

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Me either.”

 

xxxxx

 

They walked in their room, arms full of food, beer, and a dead dude’s blood.

 

Sam’s nose was in his notebook. “Okay...you sneezed from the heater in the diner, I sneezed from a pepper spill. We both lost it when that guy ran into us while carrying a bouquet of flowers.” He tossed the notebook and pen on the table. “This is getting old. And it’s only Day Nine.”

 

Dean gingerly set down the beer and food. “What do you mean only? We’re closer to being done than not.”

 

“Isn’t this getting to you?”

 

Dean shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the back of a chair.

 

Sam huffed, throwing his hands in the air. “Come on! This has to be bugging you! That optimistic crap only goes so far!”

 

Dean sighed, leaning on the back of a chair. “Truth?”

 

“Duh!”

 

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “My chest is tight from nerves, my throat hurts from sneezing so hard, and I’ve had a non-stop headache for two days. I’ve sneezed so much, I think my nose now itches all the time, and it’s getting harder to tell when it’s a real gonna sneeze situation, versus my brain just wired for doing it. I can’t stand not being able to stop you from having reactions, and I can’t stand not being able to control where, when, and how we’re sneezing. I feel like I’m on edge all the fucking time, and in the middle of it all, we’re trying to keep people from dying while not getting killed ourselves. But there’s nothin’ we can do about it. There’s three days after this still to go. Every time I think I can get used to it, we get a new trigger, and it’s like the worst surprise ever, once a day.” He took a deep breath. “Now. I’m going to take a monster of a piss. When I get back, we’re not gonna talk about this anymore. I’m gonna eat my grilled cheese sandwiches, knock back a couple beers, and paint a box with blood.”

 

Sam just stood, mouth hanging open a little, as Dean patted him on the cheek and walked to the bathroom, their shoulders brushing as he passed by.

 

Needing something to say, Sam called over his shoulder, “A simple yes would’ve been okay…”

 

Dean flipped him off before closing the door.

 

Well, Sam thought as he sat down, guess we really are in sync…’cuz that’s exactly how I feel.

 

xxxxx

 

When Dean emerged from the bathroom, Sam had eaten half of his sandwich and drank most of his beer. Dean sat down and didn’t mention the verbal dumping that occurred just moments ago. He unwrapped his sandwich and promptly sneezed. Without a word, Sam marked pepper off Dean’s list.

 

Sam balled up his garbage, shoving it in the take-out bag. “Soon as you’re done, we’ll open the box.”

 

Dean swallowed. “Don’t have to wait - go do it.” He shivered. “Fuck, it’s cold in here. Turn up the heat first, would you?”

 

Sam looked Dean over before saying, “Yeah, sure. It’s so cold outside, the heater’s probably having a hard time keeping up.”

 

The second he cranked the heat, the vent kicked in.

 

The second the vent kicked in, Sam’s allergic reactions kicked in.

 

Dean shrugged with his eyebrows. “Cross blowing air off your list.”

 

Sam sat back down, tissues in hand as he belted out one last sneeze. He shot Dean a baleful look.

 

Dean motioned with one hand for Sam to get going. “Bless you bless you, now open the box.”

 

After shoving the tissues in the garbage, Sam opened the vial of blood and carefully poured it into the divots. The instant the second divot was full, the latch clicked, popping open.

 

They shared a look. Dean, the last bite of his sandwich poised to enter his mouth, quickly shoved it inside, wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood to join Sam.

 

They stared at it.

 

Sam scratched behind his ear. “On three?”

 

“Sure,” Dean said. “Three.”

 

The lid thunked on the table. They looked inside.

 

Sam squinted. “Is that…?”

 

Dean turned the box a little to the left, tilting his head in the opposite direction. “I think…?”

 

Sitting on a tiny velvet pillow was what appeared to be a human heart.

 

And a big, black button.

 

“That button matches the one we found outside his house.”

 

“Yeah...and the heart…?”

 

Sam ran his hand through his hair. “I’m guessing it’s connected to Maybelline. Let’s check with Bobby to be sure…”
 

xxxxx

 

According to Bobby, some witches, in order to live long lives while maintaining a particular age, cast a life spell on a body part...save said body part...and voila. The power of black magic somehow keeps them alive without aging.

 

“Why are these spells so fucking stupid? I don’t get how this is a thing. She took out her own heart so she could live forever? What the hell is that?”

 

Sam’s tone sounded very patient, like he was talking to a moron. “Black magic works in mysterious ways, Dean. It always requires something monumental before giving something monumental. The lore supports that.”

 

Dean blinked at him.

 

Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Black magic is funky wunky.”

 

“That’s what I’m sayin’!”

 

“RIght. So now…?”

 

“Now...we get to Marla, gank the witch, then go to Bobby’s and ride this curse out.”

 

Sam looked at his watch. “Tonight?”

 

“Maybe.  We have to heh plan this out at least a little...hih...but then...What the Hrschch! hell??” He sniffed, looking around the room. “What’s left for today?”

 

Sam was already scrambling for the notebook. “Uh...perfume and something touching our noses.”

 

“You wrote something touching our noses on the liii-hih-T’shht! list?”

 

Sam shrugged defensively. “Yeah! Well, I mean, that’s what it is! You prefer I use ‘tickling’ instead? I can...uh...hetschhhuh! change it if you want - what the hell is in here?”

 

Dean sniffed again, spinning around slowly. “You use ‘tickling’ and I’ll shave your head. *sniff* You smell that?”

 

Sam was too busy gearing up for another sneeze. “H’shh! H’echh! I cadn’t sbell addything…”

 

Sniffing around the room, Dean tracked the odor amid sneezing. It was coming from the vent. “What...HIHHHHHH-t’SHHUH! Soddofabitch.” Den stomped out of the room, heading for the front office. He slammed right into two women, wearing gaudy gowns and decorated paper hats.

 

“Happy new year!” One yelled, blowing a party favor.

 

This particular favor was a party horn, that uncoiled a tube with frilly fringe on the end while making an obnoxious blaring noise. And she blew it in Dean’s face.

 

The fringe tickled his already sensitive nose, kicking off a massive fit on the walkway.

 

“ATSCHHSH! EHTSCHHH! TISHSHSCHH! HITSCHCH!” Dean leaned against a support beam, trying to catch his breath.

 

Sam barrelled out of the room, tissues covering his face, his own eyes streaming from the scent in the room. The women, clearly drunk, wove away, giggling and singing “Auld Lang Syne” off key.

 

“Dean? Hey! You okay?” Sam propped Dean against the motel, shoving a clean handful of tissues at him.

 

“Eh’TSCHCH! Hp’TSCHHHCH! IH’HRSCHCH!” Bent at the waist, Dean panted, face hidden by tissues.

 

After everything Dean shared earlier, Sam knew Dean was now done for the night. Keeping a hand on his back, Sam enjoyed the clean air in his lungs while worrying about his brother. The fit was harsh, almost desperate. Like it knew Dean was at the end of his rope with the curse.

 

Dean slid down the wall until he sat, in the snow. The sneezing stopped, but Dean wasn’t quite ready to move. With a sigh, Sam plopped down next to him, ignoring the cold, ignoring the wet snow. Their knees knocked once. And for a brief second, Sam was pretty sure Dean’s head rested on his shoulder.

 

Sam contemplated snaking an arm around his brother, who started shivering.

 

“Samb. Get in the fucking roob. It’s freezindg out here.”

 

...And there were Dean’s brother instincts. Never asleep for long.

 

Sam snorted. “You’re the one who can’t breathe and is shivering.”

 

Dean croaked a laugh. “You’re the onde shiverind’, dude. Dot be.”

 

Well, shit.

 

Dean patted Sam’s knee. “I’b okay. Combe od...idside. Dow.”

 

They got to their feet, grimacing at their pants. (Still not good wet crotch, Sam)

 

“Hold on,” Sam said, pushing Dean a little until he rested against the motel again. “Still have that weird smell in there. Lemme go to the front office real quick. Stay here.”

 

Sam jogged toward the office, hearing Dean mutter behind him, “Dot a kid...Jesus…”

 

The door dinged when Sam stepped inside, both soothed and stifled by the overly warm room. The impossibly old clerk looked up. “Ya here ‘bout the heater?”

 

Sam blinked at him. “Uh...yes?”

 

The man nodded. “Had a glitch. It started kicking out some funky wunky smells.” (What the hell?) “But it’s okay now. Should be cleared up.” The man appraised Sam’s wet, bedraggled appearance. “You look cold, young man.”

 

Shuffling over, he produced a knit scarf, and made a very terrible attempt at wrapping it around Sam’s neck. He couldn’t reach Sam’s neck, let along his shoulders. “Uh...that’s okay, sir…” Hand flapping Sam’s protests, he decided to toss the scarf up and around.

 

Rather than neatly looping Sam’s neck (which...really…) it just landed square in Sam’s face. Tiny fibers tickled Sam’s already sensitive nose, kicking off a massive fit in the room.

 

“H’ITSCHCHCH! Hah’ETSCHCHCH! Hih’ETSCHCHH! K’HRSCHCH!”  

 

Dean cam barrelling into the office, took one look at Sam, and yanked the scarf off his face.

 

The old clerk simply stood there. “Ooooh. Them’s doozies.”

 

Dean gave him one look, shook his head, and guided Sam back to their room. “Combe ond...sleep ndow. Gank toborrow.”

 

[Seeker]

Mmmm it's so lovely. You are doing an excellent job 

[MissBayliss]

I haven't even fully caught up with this one yet, but can I just say...

Gosh, I've missed you. 

 

[sneezy_frnk]

Damn... I love this so much! So much Sammy sneezes *heart eyes*

[Anilkex]

10 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

I haven't even fully caught up with this one yet, but can I just say...

Gosh, I've missed you. 

 

Hey lady - I referenced kangaroos...just for you. 

As I said, goals are great. I just kinda suck at them. Still. Almost done. Next part below!

 

---

 

“...Dean.”

 

“I know.”

 

“*huff*”

 

“*sigh*”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Sammy. I’m aware.”

 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean drummed his fingers against his thigh.

 

It was afternoon, the next day. Afternoon. Neither of them sneezed, yet. All day. Not a sniffle, a twitch, a hitch, or an itch.

 

Nothing.

 

And it was the afternoon…when they planned to go after Maybelline.

 

The heater in their room kicked on three times that morning. No sneezing.

 

The pepper shaker’s cap was loose at the diner. No sneezing.

 

The front office had a fresh bouquet of flowers on the desk when they checked out and the party-women from the night before were there, complete with floral scented something on them.

 

No sneezing.

 

The weather predicted a few inches of snow, and it already started to fall. They sat in the Impala, packed and ready to head to Bobby’s once the witch was dealt with...but...they hadn’t sneezed yet.

 

That translated into ten potential triggers during a fight with a witch that couldn’t be controlled or managed effectively. Neither liked those odds. But neither liked the idea of Marla continuing to be at risk.

 

Sam picked at a loose thread on his jacket. “You know...there was no guarantee that this curse was ever related to the Twelve Days of Christmas. I mean...the only real way to know is if we actually stopped the crazy sneezing on day twelve...and even then…*sigh* There isn’t a curse for it. You can curse someone to sneeze, yeah, but connecting it to a holiday song is kinda - “

 

“ - far fetched. I know all that. It was just...easier to think of it that way. Made it something we could plan on and deal with.”

 

“So...maybe it’s over.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Sam kept pulling at the thread until Dean smacked his hand. “Don’t put a hole in your coat, bitch. It’s cold outside.”

 

Sam threw his hands in the air. “What should we do?”

 

Dean gave him a Oh, Please! look. “Sam. We still have a job. Let’s get to the house, kill her, and get to Bobby’s.” He put the car in reverse.

 

Sam blew out a breath, eyes out the passenger window.

 

Dean sighed, putting the car back into park. Reaching out, he squeezed the back of Sam’s neck. Sam closed his eyes, leaned back into the touch, and nodded.

 

“Okay, then,” Dean murmured. He backed the Impala out of the motel lot, and headed for Caron Milton’s house.

 

xxxxx

 

They parked a block away, loading up on weapons. The heart from the box was now in a ziploc baggie (“Hey Sam, I bet if we shake the bag upside down, it doesn’t fall out.”) carefully stowed in Dean’s pocket. While it was likely that the heart was connected directly to Maybelline, there was no guarantee. Sam didn’t want to smush it only to find out that it held the survival of the entire town, instead.

 

As they trudged through the snow toward the house, hair on the back of Sam’s head began to stand up.

 

“Dean…”

 

“Yeah. Four o’clock.”

 

Casually, Sam turned around. He almost tripped. Two houses down was a snowman, looking in their direction.

 

“Holy hell…”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Shit...another one at nine o’clock.”

 

“Fuck. Come on.”

 

They picked up the pace, almost slipping as they turned onto the path leading to Caron’s front door. Dean was contemplating actually knocking when a loud scream came from inside. He kicked down the door, and stormed inside, gun in one hand, heart clasped in the other, still in his pocket.

 

Maybelline stood, eyes blazing, in the middle of the room. Marla, on her knees, sobbed for mercy, a twig sticking out of her side. Sam recognized it as an arm from a snowman.

 

“Where is it????” Maybelline shrieked. “I know you have it!”

 

“Hey!” Sam yelled, aiming his gun at Maybelline’s head.

 

Maybelline whipped around. Her face contorted, half young, half old, and it was shifting right in front of them. Dean made a look of disgust, tightening his grip on the heart.

 

“You…” she took a faltering step toward them. “You have it. I can feel it. Give it to me!”

 

Sam side-stepped away from Dean, gun still trained on Maybelline, until he was a couple steps away from Marla. Blood dribbled down her shirt, her eyes beginning to slip closed.

 

Dean put on his cocky-face. He pulled out the heart. “Oh...you mean this?” He jiggled the bag, taunting her.

 

Maybelline hissed, stepped closer, forgetting Marla and Sam. Sam rushed to Marla’s side, examining the wound and deciding to chace yanking the twig out. She groaned, then passed out.

 

“Why’s this so important, anyway?” Dean asked, looking at it for a second. “What’s it to you?”

 

“It’s everything to me!” She screeched, launching herself at Dean, who, taken off guard, stumbled back a couple steps, into a line of snowman who suddenly appeared inside the house.

 

Sam’s blood ran cold. “Dean!”

 

Sam never saw them move, but somehow they were on top of his brother, who managed to toss the heart at Sam before disappearing in the snow.

 

Maybelline pounced. Sam stomped. The heart burst through the bag. Everything froze.

 

With a horrified gasp, Maybelline shuddered, slowly turning into a snow-woman, complete with button eyes and a green scarf. With an angry snarl, Sam stomped on it as well, reducing her to a pile of the fluffy stuff.

 

The remaining snowman also became a shapeless heap of snow, random buttons, scarves, coal and twigs loosely scattered amidst the powder.

 

“Nonononononono…” Sam dug through the pile, sending snow in every direction. “Dean!”

 

His frantic flailing connected with Dean’s head, followed by a few choice words coming from said head.

 

Sam sagged to the side as Dean emerged, spitting melted snow out of his mouth. Sam took a second to really look at the pile - which was almost taller than him.

 

Dean dragged himself free, landing next to Sam. “Fuckin’ witches, man.”

 

Sam breathed a laugh, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

 

“How’s Marla?”

 

“Poked by a twig. Should be okay.”

 

“Awesome.” He looked around, catching his breath. A chill caught up with him, and he shivered.

 

”Hp’TSCHCHCHUhhh!”

 

Dean froze, hands cupped over his face.

 

Sam swallowed. “Um. Bless you…”

 

Dean nodded, lowering his hands. “Thanks…”

 

They waited.

 

Nothing.

 

“Okay...let’s get Marla to a hospital…”

 

xxxxx

 

Dean got the car while Sam waited with Marla. All the snowmen were gone, to Dean’s delight.

 

By the time he got back, Sam had Marla conscious and at the curb. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make her stop crying. Once she was in the backseat, Sam started climbing in.

 

“Whoa, there!” Dean yelped. “Brush that snow off you, first!”

 

Shivering, Sam stared at him incredulously. Dean motioned for Sam to get a move on. With a huff, Sam snarkily commented that it was snowing hard enough to nullify his efforts.

 

Dean didn’t care.

 

Mostly cleaned off, Sam climbed in. Dean opened his mouth.

 

Sam held up a hand, his whole body shaking. “I’m freezing and I got snow down my back. Just drive.” He shivered, his chest expanding as he took a huge breath. “HAAH’TSCHHYUUuu!”

 

From the back seat, “You...you’re sneezing from being cold?”

 

Two long-drawn out sighs later… ”Apparently.”

 

xxxxx

 

Marla was deposited at the hospital, mostly okay. It was not a small sense of relief that swept through each Winchester as they pulled away.

 

Dean’s headache was fairly ramped up from being temporarily buried by snowmen. He couldn’t shake the chill that seemed to take residence in his bones, and an ache between his shoulder blades, probably from constantly clenching while sneezing, begged for a muscle relaxer.

 

Sam’s throat was more raw than not from sneezes that grated against it. Stress from the last several days left him feeling drained all over, and he couldn’t shake a chill that left him exhausted from shivering.

 

They shared a bottle of Advil like it was a packet of Chicklets. Sam sucked on lozenges while sticking muscle patches to Dean’s shoulders. Dean pulled them neatly onto Interstate 49, heading north for Sioux Falls.

 

It was mostly quiet in the Impala. Music played gently from the radio, allowing them to stay apprised of weather alerts while providing something other than their chattering teeth for noise. They didn’t want to talk about their only sneeze of the day.

 

But Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Sam cracked. It was Sam afterall. His need to noodle things through dominated Dean’s need to let them be.

 

After a fifteen minutes, Sam was still shivering.

 

“This is stupid,” Dean muttered, cranking the heat.

 

Warm air burst from the vents, causing Sam to sneeze twice.

 

Both boys sulked for another ten minutes, until Sam reached into the backseat, pulled out his notebook with pissy, jerky movements, and made exaggerated checkmarks on their recording page.

 

“So,” he finally snipped. “The new trigger is being cold?”

 

Dean opened his mouth to answer.

 

Sam cut him off. “That’s a fucking stupid trigger. Shivering doesn’t cause sneezing in any reality.”

 

Dean frowned, opening his mouth to answer.

 

Sam cut him off. “So the curse is still active, and now we’re gonna be cramming eight triggers into this afternoon and evening.”

 

Dean tilted his head to the side, opening his mouth to answer.

 

Sam cut him off. “We’re stuck in the car. How are we supposed to get perfume and...and fucking scented candles if we’re stuck in the car for another eight hours? Are we getting one trigger an hour? What if you have a fit while driving?”

 

Dean’s eyes widened as he considered that.

 

He opened his mouth to answer, but Sam cut him off. “Or is this curse gonna force us off the road somehow, then we’ll get slammed? Or maybe it’ll make us fucking wait even longer, like until we get to Bobby’s, then - “

 

Never taking his eyes from the road, Dean reached over and cuffed Sam on the head.

 

“Hey!” Sam yelled, gingerly rubbing the sore spot on his head.

 

“Can I talk now, or did you wanna keep bitchin’?” Dean asked, knowing damn well that Sam did want to keep bitching, but that he also wanted an actual conversation. At Sam’s silence, Dean said, “Thank you. Now. I’m pretty sure I said this already. There’s. Nothing. We. Can. Do. Your song theory is as good as there not being a song connection.” Dean splayed his hands against the steering wheel. “Just...sneeze, Sam. And let it go. Okay?”

 

Sam bit his lip and stared out the window. His leg bounced for a few seconds. He rubbed an eye. He ran a finger under his nose. He sighed.

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

Begrudgingly, Sam dropped the topic.

 

Dean did not.

 

He thought back on Sam’s sneeze in the car. Dean pointedly turned on the vents, and Sam sneezed. Okay, he didn’t turn on the vents to make Sam sneeze, but Dean did the action, knowing that it might make Sam sneeze.

 

He thought back a few days, remembering flicking Sam’s sunglasses off his head...making him sneeze once exposed to the bright sunlight.

 

So maybe...just maybe...Dean was allowed to make Sam sneeze...to...get him finished as soon as possible. Dean could deal with the unknowns. But Sam...Dean didn’t like how this curse upset his brother.

 

Deciding to test his theory, Dean wracked his brain for a trigger within the car he could use.

 

Flashlight.

 

Dean reached under his seat, pulling out a huge flashlight. Sam frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

 

Dean shrugged, trying to appear casual. “I think it needs new batteries.” One handed, he flipped the switch, swiveling it at Sam. “Is it working?”

 

“Dean, it’s daylight! How am I - hih’Schhhew! T’Shhchhew! - oh great, thanks for that.”

 

“Shit - sorry!” Dean hid his smile as he turned the flashlight off, once again stowing it under the seat. “I guess it’s working, huh?”

 

Sam blew his nose.

 

xxxxx

 

Feeling better than he had in days, Dean began to plot his own ridiculous sneezing scenarios so Sam could sneeze away, but not know what Dean was doing. If Sam figured it out, it may not work, and Dean couldn’t take that chance.

 

A half-hour later, Dean announced that Baby needed gas and wiper fluid. Sam learned eons ago to never question Dean’s random car needs, so he just nodded. Although he did notice that the Impala still had over half a tank left.

 

The rest stop had a couple fast food places clustered in a single building, so grabbing food, caffeine and going to the bathroom became instantly appealing.

 

In the bathroom, a guy was fiddling with one of the vending machines that hung next to the hand dryer. Not wanting to know, Sam slipped past and into a stall. Unfortunately, he was still there when Sam came out to wash his hands.

 

He turned to Sam and asked, “Hey buddy, you know how to work these things?”

 

If only Dean were there. “Uh, no, sorry.”

 

The man’s face fell. “Aw, man.” He banged the side in frustration, releasing a cloud of Drakkar Noir into the air.

 

Sam had enough time to think fuckfuckfuck before pitching forward, sneezing endlessly into his hands. He managed to pull a bandana from his coat pocket, and just let ‘em rip, one after the other.

 

Next thing he knew, Dean was there, yanking him into the hallway, while also sneezing. “You leave for - Huh’Eitttttchh!! five minutes and - Hih’Chhhh! you’re a mess.”

 

Dean propped Sam against a wall outside the bathroom. Sam’s eyes were clenched shut, one hand on his throat, the other on his nose.

 

“You okay, Sam?”

 

Sam nodded.

 

“You sure?”

 

One eye opened. Another nod.

 

Nodding back, Dean clucked his tongue. “Drakkar Noir would make anyone react negatively. Don’t worry about it.”

 

The open eye rolled. Dean tugged on his sleeve. “Go pick out what you want to eat. I still gotta piss.”

 

Once Sam staggered out of sight, Dean checked his pockets. Packets of pepper, a tiny dream catcher with feathers, an air freshener for the car (that was close to a scented candle, right?), and some dust off old knick knacks at the gift shop that he wrapped in a tissue.

 

None of it made Dean sneeze (he tried), but his theory was proving to be true, so that meant Sam was now on a track to getting the sneezing done early.

 

So proud of himself, Dean actually whistled while he peed, his achiness and headache finally shoved into the background.

 

xxxxx

 

Sam shuffled toward the restaurants. Once Dean shined that light in his face, he realized...as long as they weren’t aware, they could make the other sneeze.

 

Sam liked it when his brother’s carefree attitude was genuine. It was a true reflection of his live life to the fullest mantra. Sam had felt like utter crap for a few days now, and today’s snowman fiasco was the topper. If he could focus on helping Dean...his own ills could be shoved into the background, and the curse could actually be more tolerable.

 

So, Sam took pepper packets, bought an air freshener (he figured it was close enough to a scented candle) and a small, very fuzzy, teddy bear, holding a heart that read, “I (heart) my brother.” There was some dust on old knick knacks in the back of the store, but someone swept away part of it, and it felt stupid to take dust for crying out loud.

 

Everything in his pockets, he felt a little better, like he had a purpose now. This could work, he told himself, practically whistling as he ordered his food, sore throat and exhaustion forgotten.

 

xxxxx

 

If either brother paid real attention to the other’s actions, they would have known something was up. Instead, they were too keyed in on the other’s potential reactions, so obvious ploys passed unnoticed. Besides, the curse put them in bizarre, unbelievable situations. Why would they think anything else was amiss?

 

Dean accidentally ripped a pepper packet instead of a salt packet for his fries.

 

“Ehhhh-HURSHHH!”

 

Sam wiped his face with a little more force than necessary, tossing some pepper back at Dean when he wasn’t looking.

 

“Heh-t’SHHUH!”

 

“Bless you!” They told each other, inwardly gloating, outwardly concerned.

 

Lunch finished with only one more sneeze from a Pomeranian who seemed seriously affronted by their reactions.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, smacking Sam on the arm on their way back to the Impala. “When we get in the car, give Bobby a call and let him know we’re on our way. Totally forgot to do that earlier.”

 

Sam nodded, “Yeah, okay. You know, we should probably get him something for Christmas.”

 

Dean unlocked the door giving Sam a look. “He’s getting us. What could top that?”

 

Sam matched the look with one of his own.

 

“Yeah, okay. You can look shit up while we drive. It’ll help pass the time.”

 

xxxxx

 

Turned out that air fresheners didn’t substitute for scented candles, so that was a bust. Once the sun set, Sam showed Dean a baseball cap he thought Bobby would like, the glow from the phone inspiring a double. Sam also announced a gassy response to his lunch, prompting a window roll-down for a minute. The rush of cold air brought forth an extremely harsh sneeze from Dean, renewing his sore throat.

 

Next rest stop was when each decided to implement the physical trigger. Sam paid the gas station clerk to throw the teddy bear at Dean’s head while suggesting that Dean buy it for Sam. Meanwhile, Dean paid some girl to dangle the dreamcatcher in Sam’s face while he was squatting to look at candy bars. (Wasn’t a hard sell - she thought Sam was cute.)

 

Still, spirits were high in the car, as they bantered back and forth about presents for Bobby (they decided on a single malt whisky from Japan and a cap that read World’s Greatest Uncle). Neither mentioned the curse or the slightly run down feeling that returned after sitting in the car for over eight hours.

 

By the time they pulled into Bobby’s driveway, Dean was ready for bed, and Sam was ready for more Advil. Snow fell steadily, already over four inches on the ground. Sam couldn’t help it - he checked for mutant, evil snowman before getting out of the car.

 

Bobby met them at the door, a smile in his eyes belying the gruff tone. “Took you long enough.”

 

“Love you too, Bobby,” Dean croaked, pausing to clear his throat as he stomped the snow off his boots.

 

Bobby grunted, taking in their exhausted faces and shivering bodies. “Hungry?”

 

Sam toed off his boots, dropping his bag on the floor. “Not really. We ate not too...hhhh-heschhhyuuu!...” His eyes widened a little, face buried in the crook of his arm. He glanced over at Dean. “Uh…”

 

Dean frowned, looking around for the trigger.

 

Bobby looked around for what Dean was looking around for. “Whatcha lookin’ for?” He was expecting sneezing and coughing and dripping and exhaustion and fevers. He knew they were sick.

 

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Just...looking.” He toed off his boots, rubbing a finger under his nose as he felt a slight twitch. “You...um…” He looked to Sam, not remembering what triggers were left on their list.

 

Sam was already flipping pages, but Bobby beat him, waving for them to get out of the doorway. “Got a tree this year.”

 

“Heh-t’SHHUH!” Dean sneezed into his shoulder, wincing afterward.

 

Sam’s shoulders sagged a little. “A tree…” He snapped the book shut, sniffling while following Bobby into the living room. Sure enough, in the corner stood a little tree, about five feet tall, outfitted with some ornaments and lights.

 

He sniffed again, bringing his wrist under his nose. “Are you baking cookies?” He paused to sneeze, shoulders crinkling as he pitched forward. “Smells like…”

 

“Vanilla,” Dean finished, also sneezing.

 

Inwardly sighing at the mess of his boys, Bobby outwardly shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Didn’t have one of those candles and wasn’t about to spend twenty fucking dollars on one, so I used air fresheners for a car instead. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

 

In unison, both boys replied. “Hiiihhhh-ITSCHCH! IHCHHHT!”

 

“Yeah. Git upstairs to bed. Now.”

 

Nodding, they trudged upstairs to their room, tossing their bags in a corner (Dean muffled a sneeze into his shoulder from the dust) and flopping on their beds.

 

“We should tell him,” Sam muttered into his pillow.

 

“Tomorrow,” Dean mumbled.

 

“Tomorrow works.”

 

[Seeker]

Oh my gosh I love this so much

[sneezy_frnk]

I'm kinda seriously hoping the last trigger is a cold and then we get a chapter of the boys sick and sneezy and Bobby taking care of them >.<

[jensdw]

Ahh! I loved it! And I can’t wait for more! 

[Elyze]

I love how the brothers have the exact same idea but go at it independently. Feels very typical of their relationship. Great update. 

[MissBayliss]

On 13 January 2018 at 10:25 AM, Anilkex said:

Hey lady - I referenced kangaroos...just for you. 

Hello, my dear. When I read about the kangaroo documentary I died! So much love for you. 

I love your dialogue, as always. The sass constantly turned up to 11. Always so Sam and Dean. 

(Is it weird that I find Dean with a headache suuuuper attractive?)

This is really good. And I'm glad you're filling this prompt because I wouldn't know where to begin!

(I'm also secretly hoping for some more "the third Winchester" stories in the future... or now... whatever you've got ) 

 

Much Love!

[Anilkex]

10 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

 

(Is it weird that I find Dean with a headache suuuuper attractive?)

(I'm also secretly hoping for some more "the third Winchester" stories in the future... or now... whatever you've got ) 

You are a master at writing Dean in pain. It is absolutely suuuuper attractive. As for Third Winchester stories...THIS beast got in the way of me working on Mesh...which has been up for a year and a half and nowhere near finished. So stupid to get to chapter 8 and then leave it dormant. UGH.  But I'll get back to it. If you don't know what I'm talking about, all the Third Winchester stories are posted on Archive Of Our Own or Fanfiction.net. Or did you mean oneshots of Kate and the boys in forum-approved situations? 

 

I made this story longer than it should've been...because, reasons. I'm seeing 2-3 more parts, then it'll be done. This is only half of Curse Day 11. It's already 14 pages, so I figured I'd post it and start on the rest. Thanks again for all the kind words - I'm so glad you all like it. I'm seriously rusty, so...yeah. Anyhoo. Day 11!

 

---

 

Next morning, Bobby went to check on them. It wasn’t unusual for the brothers to sleep in after arriving late from a hunt. But they were sick, and Bobby needed to check on them, because.

 

He shook his head at the sight before him - barely under the covers, boots still on their feet, bags thrown all willy-nilly, Sam clutching a spiral notebook like a stuffed animal. Bobby rearranged blankets, removed boots, set a box of tissues on the nightstand between their beds and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one saw his true maternal nature.

 

He had a reputation, after all.

 

It didn’t take much effort to pry the notebook from Sam’s limp fingers. Bobby was about to toss it on the pile of gear when a bizarre checklist, next to a stick figure cartoon caught his eye. He recognized Sam’s handwriting, with dates and X’s next to a really odd list. Scented candles? Pepper? Animal fur? At first it seemed to be a goofball shopping list, until Bobby saw the number of items increasing by one each day.

 

Along the margins were little stick figures, each with speech bubbles saying, “Ah-Choo!”

 

What the hell?

 

Putting two and two together was a specialty of Bobby’s, and when it came to these two, there was usually an exponent and some parentheses involved. Still, Bobby understood Winchester math.

 

These two idjits got themselves cursed.

 

xxxxx

 

It was a few hours later that Dean padded into the kitchen, hair askew, sweatshirt half tucked in pajama pants, arms wrapped around himself for warmth, even though Bobby turned up the heat hours ago.

 

“Mornin’ beautiful,” Bobby chirped, pouring a large mug of coffee. He gestured for Dean to sit, placing the mug before him. “How’re you feeling?”

 

Dean grunted, taking a cautious sip. His eyes slipped closed as the warm liquid slid down his throat.

 

Bobby sat across from him, sliding the notebook across the table. “So…”

 

Dean’s eyes drifted from the book up to Bobby. He shook his head a little, rubbing his forehead in resignation. “It’s been a fuckin’ nightmare, Bobby,” his voice rough and low. He idly flipped through the pages, snorting at the drawings. “Sam figured it out on Day...three, I think. Can’t even remember.” He closed the book, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

 

Bobby nodded, sipping from his own mug. “Tell me what happened.”

 

Dean picked up his mug, shaking his head again. “I have no idea what happened. We didn’t meet any witches. Well, except the one on the snowman case, but we were cursed before we even knew she was there.” He paused to take a sip. “We’d been at each other’s throats for a while. Too much...I dunno...shit. Too much shit, too much...on the road, cooped up in the car, the usual hunting crap that gets to ya after a while, you know?”

 

Bobby knew.

 

“Anyway, Sam found the headline about killer snowmen, which was weird because he was the one who wanted to stop all the traveling…”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows rose. Dean kept rambling.

 

“...and kids were involved in this one, so we went to Noel, Missouri to figure it out.”

 

“Noel?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said, mouth on the rim of his mug. “We end up hunting in Noel at Christmas time. It figures, right?”

 

Dean buried his face in the mug, thoroughly enjoying its warmth and the comfort of Bobby’s. Bobby bit his lip, not sure if he should break it to Dean that he was still missing all the signs of the curse right from the start. He was about to probe a little more when in shuffled Sam.

 

Both Bobby and Dean did a double take at that bedhead.

 

Sam gave them a sour look, reaching up to smooth it down. “Shut up.”

 

Dean sat up straight. Sam’s voice was a wreck. “You sound like crap.”

 

Sam nodded, clearing his throat, but only succeeding in a squeak. “I know. You’re not much better.” He poured himself some coffee. “You should’ve woken me.”

 

“You needed the sleep.”

 

Bobby scoffed. “You’ve only been down here five minutes.”

 

Dean pointed at him. “He had sleep potential. Not my fault he ruined it.”

 

Sam leaned against the counter. “Your sneezing woke me up.” His eyes flickered to Bobby before asking, “Did you…?” Then he saw the notebook on the table. “Oh…”

 

Bobby picked it up, handing it back to Sam. “You were snuggling with it.” Dean choke-laughed into his coffee. “Love the drawings.”

 

Sam snatched the book with a huff. “I was...yeah, well...haha.” He took a sip, then asked Dean, “So? What was it?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“This morning. What set you off?”

 

“Oh...same thing as last night. The dust.”

 

Sam nodded, trying to open his notebook while walking to the table without spilling his coffee.

 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Bobby snapped. “Gimme that.” He took Sam’s mug, which was just about to tip over. Sam smiled a thanks as he sat down, turning pages until he got to the next clean one. “Okay...list for today…” Grabbing a pencil on the table, Sam created a new checklist as Bobby watched. He marked off dust for Dean, then sat back, rubbing his eyes.

 

Bobby decided to ask Sam questions. “Explain this curse to me...how’d you discover it?”

 

“Jesus, Bobby, it’s so…*sigh* Okay. No big deal when you sneeze once in a while, right? We’re not allergic to anything except him and cats, and we were sneezing a lot more than usual. And for weird shit.”

 

He opened his book, swallowing some coffee before starting back up. “Like...here. Out of nowhere on day two, we were photic sneezing.”

 

Bobby blinked. “I’m sorry, come again?”

 

“That’s what I said,” Dean muttered, both hands wrapped around his mug.

 

“Photic sneezing,” Sam explained. “That’s when looking at bright lights triggers sneezing.”

 

Bobby shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

 

“Neither did we, until we were doing it. I started seeing a pattern in the stuff making us sneeze. It was the same triggers every day, with one new one a day.”

 

Bobby glanced at the open pages. “So day one was just dust. Day two was dust and this photic stuff, then day three was those two things plus pepper?”

 

The boys nodded.

 

“How the hell do you get pepper to make you sneeze every day? Did you have to make yourselves sniff it? Were you forced to do something?”

 

They slumped in their chairs. “You wouldn’t believe the shit that’s happened,” Dean mumbled sullenly. “It finds us, no matter what.”

 

At Bobby’s questioning look, Sam explained. “It didn't matter what we were doing or where we were. Triggers showed up. If we thought or expected something to make us sneeze, it didn’t happen. Well, except the third time Dean had to talk to the coroner, but that was - “

 

Dean shook a finger at Sam. “Actually, I forgot about the candles. I was preoccupied with getting Baron’s blood that I forgot about the candles by the time I got downstairs.”

 

Sam flourished his hand. “Then the circumstances are intact. We can’t make it happen. So like...Dean - sniff the pepper shaker.”

 

Dean reached over, shook some pepper into his hand and sniffed it.

 

Sam continued. “See? Nothing. But if - Hih-CHHHHSH! Dean!” Dean tossed the pepper at Sam before innocently returning to his coffee.

 

“Just helping.”

 

Sam huffed, facing Bobby while wiping off his face. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Dean continued drinking. “So I sneezed and can cross pepper off my list.”

 

Bobby just sat there, taking it all in. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “First off, bless you. Secondly...just throwing it at you shouldn't make you react like that, for sure that's weird and third...let me get this straight. You two got cursed to sneeze at the same things every day, with one new item a day added to your list. If you try to make yourself sneeze or you expect it, chances are, you won’t do it. But every day, you have to sneeze…’ He pulled the book toward him. “...eleven times?”

 

“Well, today’s day eleven, so we have eleven triggers. Ten we know about, the eleventh is new.”

 

“A surpriiiiise!” Dean sang, waving his hands in the air.

 

Bobby took off his cap and scrubbed his scalp. “Any idea how long this is supposed to last?”

 

The boys shared a look. Dean nodded at Sam to continue. Sam sighed.

 

“Well?”

 

Sam squirmed. “I...I kinda thought that since it’s Christmas, maybe it’s like the Twelve Days of Christmas song.”
 

“Huh?”

 

“You know...On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me - “

 

“I know the damn song, Sam, I meant how is it...oh, hold on. The song’s pattern matches your curse. Right?”

 

Nod.

 

“So if today’s day eleven, then tomorrow would be day twelve, and voila - over!”

 

“Well,” Sam said, “if I’m right.”

 

“How often are you wrong, boy?”

 

“That’s what I said,” Dean added.

 

Sam huffed again, “I have no proof, Bobby. It’s just a guess. This could...If I’m wrong, then this could go on - “

 

“Sammy!”

 

Sam tossed the pencil back on the table and sighed. Eventually, he picked up his mug, and sulkily stood up. “I’m gonna get dressed.” He nudged Dean with his foot. “You need Advil. Bobby, make sure he takes some.”

 

As Sam walked out, weaving a bit, Dean shot back, “You need Advil and one of those throat drops. They’re in my bag.”

 

Without looking back, Sam raised his mug in acknowledgement and went upstairs.

 

Bobby shifted his gaze from the hallway to Dean.

 

Dean sighed. “We’ve been going back and forth about this. At first, he was the calm one. But lately, it’s been really getting to him. I tried - “

 

“Hp’TSCHHHCHHYUUuu! TSCHCHSHHYUUUuu!”

 

“Bless you Bless you!” Dean called. “ - being rational and logical, but nothing.” He called out again, “What was it?”

 

“Damn dust!”

 

“Got it!” Dean marked the list.

 

Bobby pulled at his beard. “Does it matter that he sneezed twice?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Number of times doesn’t matter. Just the triggers.”

 

“Well...let’s just hang out here, then. There’s no - “

 

Dean barked a laugh. “Tried that. Tried forcing it. Tried holding it in. Tried a bunch of stuff. Doesn’t work. The triggers find us, Bobby. It’s...yeah. They find us.”

 

They sat for a minute, Dean staring into his coffee, Bobby watching Dean.

 

“You look tired, son.”

 

“I am tired. This curse just...it’s wiping us out, Bobby. I can’t…” Dean sighed into his mug, glancing upstairs where the shower ran. “I dunno. I just can’t.”

 

Bobby nodded slowly. “You feel up to heading into town? I gotta couple errands to run, and we’ll need some food and beer and probably more Kleenex.”

 

Dean nodded back. “Yeah, we’ll go. Then you can see how this shitshow works.”

 

“Can’t wait.”

 

xxxxx

 

“Hhhhhh’Krschhhew!”

 

The sun gleamed off inches of fresh snow. Sam’s viewpoint of the shine had somewhat diminished since the sneezing started.

 

The temperature was in the low teens, “Heh’tschchchhhoooo!”, adding a nice crunch to each step Dean took toward the car.

 

Bobby marvelled at how casual they seemed at each sneeze. Although he noticed that each sneeze was sounding much rougher than the ones last night, or any sneezing he’s ever heard from them. Asking if they thought the curse was getting more difficult to manage physically didn’t seem like a good idea, especially since their stress levels were clearly off the charts.

 

The fact that Dean declined driving them in the Impala spoke volumes on how he was feeling.

 

Resigned to the backseat, Sam applied pressure to the tip of his nose while staring out the window. His breath fogged an almost perfect circle every time he exhaled.

 

Dean turned around. “What’s up?”

 

Sam sighed, not surprised that Dean’s Sammy radar worked from behind. “Nose itches.” He sniffed.

 

Dean frowned, looking around the car. “There’s nothing in here.”

 

Sam leaned his head against the glass, enjoying how it felt. “I know.”

 

Dean frowned even more, turning back around. The Advil Sam and Bobby forced upon him muted some of his headache, but there was still a general achiness all over his body. Deciding to rest on the drive, Dean closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. His mind started running through gift options for his brother.

 

New sweatshirt and socks for starters...which...okay, was a pathetic opener for gifts, but he knew Sam needed them. There was also a nifty bookstore in town that Sam liked. They always had some rare editions of classics that Sam loved to ogle.

 

Dean contemplated what size shirt to get Sam, when the backseat erupted.  “H’chh! H’chht!  Hih’chh! Heh’shht!” He spun around in time to watch the last sneeze. They sounded...tired.

 

“Whoa - bless you! What...wait. You cold?”

 

Sam, eyes closed, face buried in a bandana, shook his head.

 

“Smell something?”

 

Head shake.

 

“Something touch you?”

 

One eye opened. Head shake.

 

Dean opened his mouth to suggest something else, then shut it. There was nothing else.

 

Then, Sam nodded, blowing his nose and lowering the bandana. “*sniff* Nothing.” Dean tilted his head and stared at Sam, who just shrugged in return, saying, “I guess we’re sneezing at nothing now.”

 

“What the fuck does that even mean, Sam?” Dean’s exasperated tone making Sam wince. “Sorry. I just...how does that even work?”

 

Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder, one eye on the road, another eye on Sam in the rear view mirror, and his other eye on Dean’s emotional state. “He ain’t dead, right? So settle down.” He glanced at Sam in the mirror again. “You aren’t dead, right?”

 

Sam huffed a smile. “No.” He huddled further in his coat, resuming his watch of the snow covered scenery. The young child in Sam was on full display, not at all ruffled by Dean’s overbearing concern.

 

“Alright, then. So get out your little book and add No Reason to the list.”

 

Dean muttered at Bobby, “At least it was in the car.”

 

Bobby grunted in agreement. Assured that all eyes could go back to paying attention to little things like driving in the snow, Bobby took some time to mull over the curse, and more importantly, the boys’ behavior.

 

They were worried about each other - that was clear and not unusual. Bobby had spoken to them before this curse hit, and he knew they needed a break. Dean was about to shave Sam’s head, and Sam was about to slash Dean’s tires. Neither action, no matter how funny, would’ve been good. Enter this curse and a particularly bizarre hunt, and now they’re hovering...and letting the other hover.

 

Curious.

 

Well, Bobby wanted to see this curse in action. He also needed to pick up their gifts along with some basic supplies. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. No better way to celebrate than with beer that didn’t come in cases and whisky that wouldn’t be consumed straight from the bottle.

 

xxxxx

 

Dean rubbernecked at various stores as they drove down the main road. Sam seemed a little out of it, so Bobby decided to keep him close and let Dean loose.

 

“Meet at Phillips Avenue Diner around one,” Bobby instructed, squinting at his watch through the snow.

 

“Can’t believe you still wear a watch,” Dean remarked, closing his door and pulling up his collar.

 

“Can’t believe you know how to tell time. See you later. C’mon Sam.”

 

Sam hesitated a second, then reached out to grab Dean’s sleeve. “Hey...call if something happens, okay? I’m not kidding. I’m up by two, so you...just...call if you need to.”

 

Dean searched Sam’s face before answering, “I will. Promise. You, too.”

 

Sam nodded, letting go and running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay.” He turned around, and promptly yelped as Dean threw a handful of snow at Sam’s back. “Dean!” He shivered, brushing it off, sneezed twice, and just glared.

 

Walking backwards, innocence on his face and splayed hands, Dean shrugged. “Up by three, now. You’ll be done before you know it.” Chuckling to himself, Dean spun on his heels, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered across the street.

 

Shaking his head, Sam joined Bobby who did his best to hide a smile. “He’s something else, I swear to God,” Sam grumbled. There was no heat in the grumbling beyond a mild annoyance.

 

But annoyance at what, really?

 

Bobby pulled his cap down. The wind picked up and from behind them, came a loud, “HAAH-TSCHHHEW!”

 

“Up by two again, jerk,” Sam laughed, the snow-throwing incident forgotten.

 

They walked down the street toward the hardware store where Bobby’s tire contact worked, heads bowed against the cold. “So Sam...tell me your side of all this. What’s your take on the curse?”

 

Sam sighed, sniffing as his nose ran. “It makes no sense. I don’t get the point of it...at all. How is sneezing relevant? I get that it’s a punishment, but...if it ends tomorrow, then okay, it was annoying and stressful, but it’ll be gone. Then, why bother? But if it doesn’t, then...yeah. Bigger problem.”

 

“Your brother isn’t thinking about a timeline.”

 

Sam snorted, tufts of steam billowing in front of his face. “He never does, Bobby. He’s more concerned about two minutes in front of him than three. He’s trying to be casual about it all, but it’s upsetting him. A lot. I...I’m worried about him. He’s better at hiding it than me, but…” He shook his head. “He’s so on edge.” They stopped outside the store, Sam’s concern radiating from under his scarf. “It’s funny...not that long ago, we were ready to kill each other. Now…*sigh*...I don’t know what to do for him, Bobby, other than make sure he’s taking Advil and...and...I dunno! At least the hunt’s over.”

 

Bobby nodded. He was getting an idea of what to do for both of them. “We’ll figure it out. Come on...let’s get Dean’s present.” He waggled his eyebrows and held open the door for Sam.

 

“You - what’d you get him? I’ve been try...ing...Hih-CHHHHSH! to figure out what he’d like for days.” He sniffled as they walked past the industrial sized heater at the door.

 

Bobbly raised his eyebrows at it. “Huh.” Was all he said.

 

Sam sniffed again. “Yup. So, seriously...what’d you get?”

 

Bobby hooked a finger at him, leading the way toward the back of the store. Wanting to test out the curse, he walked Sam past an endcap of air fresheners. Ragged breathing started five feet away. Next came sniffling, followed by frantic fumbling in a pocket. Finally, as they hit the display, “Hehhhhh’xngt! Hp-ngt! Itschgt! MPHPHHHMM!”

 

“Jesus, Sam.” He pulled out his own bandana only to be met with Sam shaking out his.

 

“I’b finde.” He blew his nose. “It’s just getting a little bore...potent.” He sniffed, smiling apologetically.

 

Bobby couldn’t help it. His heart melted.

 

But he was in a hardware store. So gruff uncle, it was. “Well, wipe up. We’ll get more Kleenex for sure.”

 

They stopped at a counter where he shook hands with a pleasant man named Jerry. “How do they look?” Bobby asked, folding his arms, anxious to see Sam’s reaction. Because if Sam’s reaction was good, then Dean’s would be priceless.

 

“Aw, Bobby. Want ‘em for myself! I almost didn’t call ya, they’re so gorgeous. Come look at ‘em.”

 

Bobby chuckled, following Jerry behind the counter and motioning for Sam to do the same. “If you did that, watch my rates triple next time you need to dump a car.”

 

Jerry laughed, hands up in surrender. “Now, now. I said almost.” He stopped at a pile in a corner, covered by a tan canvas tarp. “Take a gander, Bobby.” He pulled the tarp with a dramatic flourish.

 

Under the tarp sat four gleaming tires and wheels, shined to perfection. “High performance, staggered fit, brand new. Pulled a few strings for this one, but they’re here and they’re in great shape.” Jerry rocked on his heels, enjoying the reactions.

 

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Whoa...that’s...I mean...they’re...uh...real pretty.”

 

Bobby chuckled, Jerry outright cackled. Sam blushed.

 

Bobby flapped a hand at him. “They are real pretty, Sam. No doubt about it. They’re summer tires. Dean’s had his eye on them for a couple years now...came across them by accident.”

 

Sam slowly circled the tires, listening to Jerry and Bobby chatter about the purchase. Sam had no idea Dean wanted these tires. He knew nothing about cars, let alone tires...but he should’ve known that Dean wanted something this big...something even Bobby knew about. An uncomfortable knot settled in his gut.

 

A mild headache now pulsed a little between his eyes. He smiled an Excuse Me and wandered the store, trying to see if anything caught his eye that Dean might want...or need...or...want/need.

 

He couldn’t find anything.

 

Bobby walked over, sensing Sam’s discomfort. “Who kicked your baby seal?”

 

Sam blew out a breath. “Apparently, I did. I had no idea he wanted those...and on top of that, I didn’t get him anything. I - “

 

“Stop right there. Dean wouldn’t talk to you about tires, Sam, because he knows you have no interest in cars. We were leafing through magazines a while back and saw the ad. It’s not something you would’ve known about, so stop beating yourself up. And, sounds like you had your hands full this past week or so. Not like you had time to go to a mall on a hunt!”

 

Sam didn’t comment on that.

 

But he did feel a little better. Emotionally. Physically, he was starting to feel worse. The generic itching was back, forcing him to look around for another trigger.

 

Bobby looked around, too. “Something else here?”

 

Sam sniffed. “I dunno…” He gestured around his head. “Everything’s plugged up and fuzzy. Too much sneezing, catching me off guard, getting stronger. I can’t tell what’s what right now.”

 

Nodding, Bobby eyeballed him top to bottom. “Okay. Let’s get some supplies and food, drop it in the car, then meet your brother for lunch. Phil’s making chicken soup from scratch today. I figure that’ll be perfect for you. Let’s go.”

 

xxxxx

 

Zandbroz Variety Store was a local favorite, selling unique toys and knick knacks for children and adults, not to mention pets. There was a small soda fountain in the front, and one of the largest book collections ever seen in a non-chain bookstore. Upstairs, in the back, were the really special books - first editions, out-of-print texts, rare and signed copies.

 

It was easily Sam’s favorite place to visit when they were in the area.

 

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, so the place was packed with parents finding treasures for their little ones, teens finding that perfect gift for friends, regular adults and regular kids just looking around - all crammed into the store, chattering and babbling, arguing and crying, begging and negotiating.

 

In the midst of all the chaos stood Dean, fairly certain he’d die before lunch at one.

 

The store was full of people, so it was warm. Not comfortably warm, too-many-humans-in-one-space warm. Dean’s wanted warm - he’s been cold for a few days straight. But this warm felt...icky. It fogged his brain, made him sluggish and uncertain. It encouraged his ever-present headache to sit in a lawn chair at the base of his skull and sip a cocktail.

 

There were triggers everywhere, which made processing a gift for Sam more difficult. Garish Christmas lights blinked and flashed from every wall, shelf, and pole. Incense from the middle east wafted throughout one corner only to be met by various perfumes sprayed into the air by girls wanting to smell downright delicious.

 

His nose prickled constantly, almost painfully. His shoulders tensed, waiting for the volley of sneezing to hit. His head pounded from the noise, the smells, the heat, the crowd.

 

But he needed a gift for Sam. So he worked on containing the sneezing as best as he could, maneuvering his way through the throng of shoppers to the upstairs back room. The going was slow. Every time the triggers piled up, he stopped moving, covered his face, and muffled the sneeze into his bandana as softly and carefully as possible. The effort drained him, but he continued to drag himself through the store and up the stairs, pausing five times to sneeze, trying to ignore the looks from others.

 

Once he got to the room, he felt marginally better. The crowds weren’t interested in specialty tomes, and the room needed special air circulation so the pages wouldn’t mold. Didn’t stop the persistent sneezing, but the sensation of ants crawling through his sinuses lessened somewhat.

 

“Nasty cold?”

 

Dean looked up at an elderly lady, perched behind the counter. She looked kind of familiar...Dean was fairly certain she’d worked there a while. She probably chatted it up with Sam last time he was there.

 

He sniffed, started to answer, but twisted away to bury a double in his elbow. “Doh...uh...allergies. Downdstairs is killer.” He smiled through red, teary eyes.

 

She clucked her tongue, pushing a fresh box of tissues his way. “Here...that looks a little used.” She nodded at his bandana and smiled.

 

Blushing, Dean shoved it back into his pocket and helped himself to a huge handful. “Thangks.”

 

“So...what can I help you with? Looking for anything in particular?”

 

“Ub…”

 

That’s when it hit him. Dean knew Sam liked this store - he’s liked it since he was a kid. But what, exactly, would Sam want from the store? Slowly, Dena spun around, one hand wiping his nose, the other keeping his balance against a counter. Shelves of books, all sizes and colors, looked back at him.

 

But none of them spoke.

 

“Are you looking for you or …?”

 

Dean sniffed again into the tissues. “Brother. He...loves this place. Loves to read. Really smbart. Mphphph! I thought he’d like sombthing, but…It’titchhh!”

 

“Not sure what he’d like?”

 

Shoulders drooping, Dean shook his head, no. On reflex, Dean knew what Sam needed. That was second nature. Maybe first nature. But what he wanted? That was always the struggle.

 

“Well. We’re closed tomorrow, but we’re open the next day. Maybe...maybe you need to reconnect with your brother. See what interests him. Then come back and visit.” She handed Dean a slip of paper with the store’s website and hours.

 

Nodding, Dean folded the paper in half, neatly tucking it in a pocket. “Yeah...I, uh, I think that’s a good idea.” He flashed a smile at the clerk, holding up the tissues. “Thanks for these.”

 

She smiled back warmly. “Anytime, Dean.”

 

Dean nodded again, gearing up for the barrage of triggers below before heading downstairs and meeting Sam and Bobby for lunch.

---

 

Note: Phillip's Avenue Diner and Zandroz Variety are actual stores in Sioux Falls...down the street from each other. That was an accidental find.

[Seeker]

Yay update! I'm sooooo happy they are with Bobby now. Sweet little boys; just want to wrap them in blankets and snuggle them to sleep 

[jensdw]

Wow...where to start...I loved this part so much. The poor boys, and being at Bobby’s house now, I like it a lot. Plus the sweet lady helping Dean at the store. And the writing as usual is amazing...I can’t even begin to express how great this story is. And like I said, this update is fantastic. 

I’m excited for the next part! 

[Shamaël]

19 hours ago, Anilkex said:

Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder, one eye on the road, another eye on Sam in the rear view mirror, and his other eye on Dean’s emotional state.

Okay, I LOVE this sentence so much, as I love almost every line Bobby says or thinks in your fic. The interaction between the three characters is amazing, and, to be honest, the whole fic is amazing. It's too long to quote every single part I've enjoyed, but I wanted to thank you for that Christmas / New Year present!

20 hours ago, Anilkex said:

“It’s just getting a little bore...potent.”

[J-Squared]

First things first, you're my favorite writer ever. And I don't comment on a lot of things. So thank you for continually  blessing us with your work. But like ok ok ok, Sam loves that store and Dean says she seems familiar but she says his name.... IS THIS IMPORTANT?????

[Anilkex]

20 hours ago, J-Squared said:

First things first, you're my favorite writer ever. And I don't comment on a lot of things. So thank you for continually  blessing us with your work. But like ok ok ok, Sam loves that store and Dean says she seems familiar but she says his name.... IS THIS IMPORTANT?????

Ooooh. I dunno how to respond to that first part except THANK you. That's...wow. 

As for the question... 

 

Aliena - Writing Bobby is a challenge. It's very easy to make him over the top...and I try not to do that. Thanks for liking him...he's my favorite.

 

I did find one booboo in the last section. The date is the 23rd. The bookstore is closed for the next 2 days. Has no bearing on the story, but it pissed me off when I caught it. That, and I spelled Dean's name Dena in one part. Hate finding that shit later. Ugh.

ANYWAY. One part to go after this. Will be done this weekend. Thanks again for your kind words.

 

---

 

Sam frowned at his phone. “Dean’s at the diner.”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows rose. “Already?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Apparently. I told him we’re at the store and will be there soon.” His phone dinged. “Oh...he said to bring Advil.” Sam looked at Bobby. “Shit - that means his headache’s worse.”

 

Bobby pressed his lips together. “Well, let’s get a move on, then.”

 

Good thing Bobby knew what he wanted, because Sam was just following him around like a puppy. His throat was on fire after passing the floral department, his eyelids heavy.

 

Sam’s not really sure how it happened, but soon enough, they were standing in line. He blinked and looked over the contents in the cart, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Several boxes of tissues, pills, liquids, cans of beer, food and stuff.

 

He felt better once his eyes fell upon two bottles of Advil, making a mental note to put one in his pocket for Dean so he wouldn’t forget it.

 

Bobby kept an eye on Sam as the groceries rang up. It was obvious he was having a hard time keeping himself upright. Maybe that soup needed to be taken home. He felt bad making Sam trudge through the snow to the car, both of them laden with bags full of food and supplies. His feet dragged, his shoulders bowed. But once the trunk slammed shut, Sam’s spirits perked a bit at the thought of seeing his brother.

 

Bobby shook his head. Those two.

 

It took a couple minutes to find Dean in the restaurant. Corner booth, way back, head in his hands, eyes on the table.

 

Fuck.

 

Naturally, Sam got to him first, easing into the booth, one hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean? Hey, you - what the fuck happened?!”

 

Dean looked up, and even Bobby sat down speechless.

 

Bloodshot eyes drooped, rimmed with tears. Pain lines around his face were more pronounced, etched into his skin as proof of the headache that drowned out everything. His nose looked raw, like he’d scrubbed at it for hours. “Hey, Sammy.”

 

Bobby took off his hat and rubbed his scalp. “Son, you sound like you’ve been smoking a couple cartons. We were gone barely an hour!”

 

As Sam dug through his pockets for the pills, Dean flapped a hand at them. “Look worse than I feel. Got hit with a few triggers at once. That’s all.”

 

Sam huffed. “Well, you must feel like death, Dean, because you look horrible. Goddammit, I left the pills in the car. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

 

Before Bobby could make Sam stay put, he was gone, back out into the snow.

 

Dean sighed, putting his head back in his hands.

 

“Dean. What. Happened?” Maybe with Sam gone, Bobby could get the real story out of him. There was more going on than just triggers.

 

Dean shifted his hands to under his chin, and sniffled. “Went to Zandbroz. You know - the store Sam loves.”

 

Bobby nodded. He was very familiar with that store. It was his wife’s favorite place. He knew all the employees and what they sold, particularly in the special book room.

 

“Yeah, well today, everyone in South Dakota is shopping there, testing perfume and flashing lights. It was a fucking nightmare.”

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Bobby sympathized, waiting for the rest of it.

 

Dean craned his neck toward the window, checking on Sam’s return. “The kicker was that I couldn’t figure out a single thing to get Sam.” So that was it. “Nothing. Had no clue. I was in that special book room talking to the old lady that works there, and I just...I had nothing.”

 

Old lady that worked there? Bobby’s mind flashed through all the employees, especially the ones allowed to clerk in that room. There were only three, and Bobby knew all of them. One was aware of hunting, and often hooked Bobby up with rare volumes needed for cases. Another was a local librarian, who worked at the store part time. Both were male. The only female who worked in that section was a recent college grad, with a degree in literature.

 

“You sure about that woman?”

 

Even with Dean’s discomfort, he managed to bitchface Bobby. “I was struggling to breathe, Bobby, not to think. Yes, I’m sure. She looked familiar, too. Must’ve seen Sam and me there before because she knew my-hih-name Hp-tschchhh! Fuuuuck…that hurt.”

 

Bobby looked around. Dean dismissively waved a hand. “We’re in a diner. It’s pepper. It’s always pepper.” He carefully took a sip of water.

 

She knew his name? Dean’s story nagged at Bobby’s brain. “What’d the clerk say to you?”

 

Wincing from the cold water on his raw throat, Dean set down his class. “Not much. Like I said, I couldn’t even give her an idea of what he might want or even like. It was pathetic, Bobby. I’m just…*sigh*.”

 

Bobby didn’t have time for another Winchester Self-Pity Party. The second Sam returned, Dean would clam up, and Bobby’s info would be lost in a haze of hovering, denial, and feeling like crap. “But what did she say to you?”

 

Dean shrugged, sniffling miserably. “I dunno, Bobby. Something about talking to Sam to find out what he likes. No...wait. She said to reconnect with him. Then she gave me a piece of paper with the store’s hours on it and told me to come back.”

 

Bobby’s mind whirled. “Dean...you said she looked familiar. Where’d you see her before?”

 

Dean’s swollen eyes narrowed. “What’s with all the questions?” Then he planted a lewd smile on his face. “Bobby, you sly dog. You lookin’ for a little bookroom action?”

 

Bobby had no comeback for that.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t need one. Dean was simply on a roll.

 

“I never saw her before. She just looked like the standard old lady who works at gas stations and bookstores.”

 

Bobby blinked, his face wrinkling in confusion. “Old ladies work at gas stations?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. The woman at that gas station where Sam found the first headline kinda looked like her. Only...different hair, and glasses.” He shrugged, muffling another sneeze into his shoulder. “Christ, I can still smell that incense.”

 

Bobby was about to ask another question when Sam plopped into the booth’s bench seat, his nose and cheeks bright pink from the cold. “Got it!”

 

Sounds of lightweight cardboard being ripped filled their little space, followed by pills rattling against a plastic container. “Okay...you need four of these now, then we’ll see how you’re doing when we’re back at Bobby’s.

 

WIthout question, debate, or even a snarky comment, Dean downed the pills, grimacing at the water. Sam turned and flagged down a waitress. “Hi - um...hot tea, please.”

 

“Two. Make that two.” Dean wasn’t about to be out-brothered. And he wasn’t about to complain about being brothered.

 

It felt...good.

 

Bobby’s jaw shifted side to side as he processed everything Dean said. More concerning was that Dean couldn’t see what he just said. It was possible the curse clouded his judgement or at least his ability to connect the dots...or maybe he was just feeling too miserable to focus. Either way, Bobby needed to get to the bottom of it.

 

A woman with a service dog walked past their table. Bobby watched both brothers grab a napkin and sneeze in perfect unison, followed by a joint groan.

 

Balls.

 

Bobby ordered a few quarts of the soup to go, along with some sandwiches. He had a date with some books on witches, and the boys needed to get home.

 

xxxxx

 

Back at the house, Bobby had them put away the groceries while he headed to his library, Sam’s notebook tucked under one arm. Without thinking, he turned on the Christmas lights and began hunting for a couple books.

 

It wasn’t long before Dean joined him, cradling a mug of hot soup. The now familiar hitching breaths began the moment Dean entered the room. Bobby turned in time to watch a semi-panicked Dean try to figure out where to set the mug while preparing for what was looking to be quite a sneeze.

 

Bobby snatched the mug just before Dean’s head snapped forward, “Hiihhhhhh-t’SHH-UH!”

 

“Impressive.”

 

“ESTSCHH-uhh!”

 

Bobby checked his watch.

 

“Ehhhh-HURSHHH!”

 

“Sit down.”

 

Nodding and panting, Dean plopped onto the couch, blowing his nose and gesturing for the soup.

 

“You sure you want this?”

 

Dean nodded, pointing to his neck. “My throat...it’s warm…”

 

Bobby carefully handed over the mug, which Dean sipped gratefully, squeaking thanks. He curled into a ball in the corner of the couch.

 

Bobby looked from Dean to the tree. His lightbulb clicked. “Tree make you sneeze?”

 

Nod.

 

“That counts as pollen?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, nodding again.

 

“Fucking stupid curse, Dean.”

 

Dean gave him a thumbs up.

 

“Where’s Sam?” Bobby asked, crossing pollen off the list.

 

“Upstairs, lying down.”

 

“Good. He wasn’t looking too steady.” Bobby glanced up at Dean. “Speaking of which, why aren’t you in bed?”

 

Dean paused mid-sip, swallowing. “Thought I’d wake him up. Didn’t want to bother him.”

 

Bobby was pretty sure Dean wouldn’t be a bother, but he was picking his battles. He turned back to his shelves.

 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

 

Bobby almost missed the question. “Uh...book on witches. I’ve been doing some thinking and--there they are.” He checked the table of contents, dragging his finger down the page until tapping the section he wanted. Pages flipped, more scanning, until, “Dean...the woman in the gas station…”

 

“Yeah?” Followed by a slurp.

 

“Did she say anything to you?”

 

“Uh...It’titchhh! *sniff*...told me how much my stuff cost.”

 

Bobby closed his eyes, willing patience. “Anything besides that? Anything that didn’t have to do with paying for whatever you bought?”

 

“*sniff* Um...She heard Sam and me fighting. She asked what we were doing for Christmas, and said that we probably needed to reconnect. Something about relearning to be there for each other. I don’t think she liked that we were working on Christmas.”

 

Bobby opened his eyes to stare at Dean. Oblivious to Bobby’s incredulity, Dean kept drinking the soup, his eyes closed as the steam rose into his face.

 

“Dean…”

 

Dean set down the mug, plucked tissues from a box and blew his nose.

 

“Dean!”

 

Tissues over his face, Dean looked over. “What?”

 

Bobby blinked.

 

Dean blinked back. “What?!”

 

Bobby ran a hand over his forehead, and decided he needed a drink. Taking a seat behind his desk, he poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey. Eyes on his book, he asked, “You don’t think it’s weird that you met two women who looked similar, and who said the exact same thing to you, while in completely different locations?”

 

No answer.

 

“Dean?” Bobby looked up.

 

Dean wasn’t listening. Mouth hanging open, Dean’s whole body tensed, as he slowly inhaled. “Hhhhhh-heh-hhhhhhhh-hih’hih’Heh’tschhuu!” The sneeze left him blinking away tears. Luckily, the mug made it to a table, first. “You say something?”

 

Bobby sighed, deciding to give up. “No.” Then he tilted his head. “Was that sneeze from the tree, too?”

 

Dean shook his head, blowing his nose once more in hope that it would quell the itching. “Maybe?”

 

Bobby looked down at the list. “So how do I know which one to cross off? Nothing touched you...so it’s gotta be no reason. He looked back up at Dean. “Surprise sneezing is now crossed off the list.”

 

Dean twirled a finger in the air and Bobby returned to the books.

 

Just then, Sam walked in, feet scuffing the floor just ahead of a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. “Since when do you use scented soap, Bobby?” He sniffled thickly, dropping onto the couch next to Dean.

 

Bobby’s face scrunched in thought. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“The towels all smell like a flower shop,” Sam grumbled.

 

Bobby just stared at him a moment before remembering that he did buy scented dryer sheets a while back. Thinking fast, Bobby straight up lied. “They were on clearance...forgot I even bought them. Sorry about that...”

 

Sue him, they freshened up the place.

 

Sam waved him off. “It’s fine. I’m just...yeah.” He sniffled again, tucking his long legs under the blanket. He glanced over at Dean. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

 

Dean looked up. “Why aren’t you?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Woke up sneezing, you weren’t there, wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

Dean grunted, picking up his mug. He held it out to Sam. “Want some soup?”

 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “From there?”

 

Dean slowly blinked, unamused.

 

Sam congestedly huffed a smile. “I’m good...thanks.”

 

Nodding Dean took a sip, replaced the mug on the table, and burrowed into the corner of the couch.

 

Bobby kept reading through the books, keeping an ear open for their conversation.

 

Sam nudged his brother with a foot. “You sound better.” The last word cut off a bit as Sam yawned.

 

Dean shrugged his eyebrows, using one foot to drag an ottoman closer to the couch. “It’s settling down. How ‘bout you?” Knowing that Sam would need to stretch soon, he jutted his chin at the newly fetched furniture.

 

Nodding a thanks back, Sam unfolded his legs, setting them on the footrest with a groan. “Feel like crap. The sneezing just…*sigh* I’m done. Everything hurts, now.”

 

“Yeah. What’s left for you?”

 

“I dunno...Bobby?”

 

Bobby had one ear on the conversation, but not much of his brain.

 

“Bobby!”

 

“Huh? What?”

 

“What’s left on the list?”

 

Bobby shook himself. “Right. Um...oh, okay. You both need to be tickled.”

 

Dead silence.

 

“I mean something has to touch you.”

 

Eyebrows rose.

 

“Fuck you both, you know what I mean.”

 

Once the collective chuckling died down, Bobby took another drink, and decided to try again. “Sam…”

 

Sam yawned again. “Yeah, Bobby?”

 

“When you first saw the newspaper about the snowman case...do you remember the cashier?”

 

Sam’s forehead crinkled in thought. He also burrowed further into the blanket until his head rested against the couch. “No...”

 

“Well, did anyone talk to you?”

 

“No...why?”

 

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair, consulting one of his books. “Well, I think I figured out what happened to you two. First off, you probably got cursed by a Hedge Witch. They’re known for acting on their own - no covens or anything. They specialize in shaman-like witchcraft, focused on healing, spirit-walking, that sort of thing. Some of them focus on matters of the home and family. So when you two stumbled along, fighting with each other during the holidays, you were kinda ripe for a Hedge Witch to butt in and whammy you with this curse, hoping that you’d heal your relationship.” Bobby felt pretty good about himself - it all made sense. He picked up Sam’s notebook. “When you think about it, over the course of this curse, you two started...caring for the other one again. I think the witch was that cashier eleven days ago at that gas station, and she checked in with you, Dean at the bookstore. So - “

 

Bobby was interrupted by a loud snort. Looking up, he sighed. Both brothers were passed out on the couch, mouths open.

 

“Wellp, apparently hearing about the curse isn’t allowed by the curse,” he announced to the room. “Gotta wait this out, I guess.”

 

He tapped a pencil against the desk, then pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. Bobby cast a quick glance at the boys before heading to the kitchen, his fingers dialing the phone before he even left the room.

 

“Hey, Carl - Bobby Singer. How’s it going?”

 

“Merry Christmas, Bobby! You need something special?”

 

“Nah, I’m good. Well, I have some questions…”

 

“Shoot.”

 

Bobby fiddled with a dish rag lying on the counter. “Were you working the book room today? Or was it Carrie or Frank?”

 

“Frank was there this morning, I took over around lunchtime. The store’s a fucking zoo today. Luckily, the room’s pretty quiet. Why?”

 

Bobby nodded, leaning against the counter. “Who came in?”

 

“Bobby. What’s this about?”

 

“I’m working a case...my...nephew...came in the store today, around 12:30. Said an old woman was working the counter.”

 

“Old woman? I’m not the prettiest flower in the garden, Bobby, but I’m not that bad. The only customer in the back room was around 12:15, it was a woman, but she wasn’t that old, and she wore glasses.”

 

“Huh...what was she lookin’ for?”

 

“Come to think of it, I dunno. I remember her walking into the room and looking around. I think I was doing something...I can’t...can't really remember...but then she was gone. Time kinda got away from me today...I probably was doing something in the back.”

 

“Yeah..." Bobby hung his head. "That’s what I was figurin’. Thanks, Carl. Merry Christmas.”

 

“You too, Bobby!”

 

Bobby hung up, staring at the screen before shoving the phone back in his pocket.

 

So. Rogue witch stalking the Winchesters, and they can’t hear anything related to the actual curse.

 

Lovely.

 

Bobby pushed himself off the counter and returned to the library, where the boys still slept. Glancing again at the notebook, Bobby decided to end their torture of the day.

 

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, Bobby looked around the room for something to brush under their noses. “Fuckin’ can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. He spotted an old quill pen in the corner of a bookshelf. He blew a raspberry at the witch, grabbed the pen, and after a quick look around to really make sure no one was watching, he swept the feather across Dean’s nostrils.

 

Already overly sensitive from the events at the bookstore, it didn’t take long for Dean’s nose to twitch, followed by a muffled sneeze against his sleeve. Luckily, he didn’t wake up.

 

Dragging a hand over his face, Bobby crept toward Sam, then brushed the feather against his nose.

 

Sam’s nose wrinkled and unwrinkled before he scrubbed at it with the blanket. Almost growling with embarrassment, Bobby tried again, possibly a little more aggressively to make sure it took. He was not doing it a third time.

 

This time, the effect was instantaneous. “Huh-Shhttt!  Eh-Titchhhh!”

 

Bobby jumped, hand on his heart, the other gripping the pen. He quickly stepped away, trying to look casual in case the boys woke up.

 

Which they didn’t.

 

Thank Fucking God.

 

Bobby studied the boys. If the point of the curse was to get them to reconnect, from what he’d seen so far, they definitely reconnected.

 

So, that left one question.

 

Will the curse end on Day 12, or were they stuck dealing with this forever?

 

[AngelEyes]

This continues to be brilliant! Can't wait for the conclusion!

[MissBayliss]

On 15 January 2018 at 9:10 AM, Anilkex said:

Or did you mean oneshots of Kate and the boys in forum-approved situations? 

*Ahem* ... this. Yes, this.  

[sneezy_frnk]

Yes yes I love.  💗💗

[Seeker]

This I should just the most adorable thing ever. I love the boys falling asleep so they couldn't hear about the curse. I feel like that could be used to get them to sleep if they won't (I just like the idea of Bobby using it against them  get them boys to sleep! Too bad just one more day to use this "power"). I love, love, love this fic. It's so very excellent. I was extremely excited to see the update! Thank you!

[Anilkex]

Done...Done-dee-done done done.

Thank you all for cheering me on. I'd been in a writing slump for about a year...and this answer to the Sierraplaid's prompt just popped into my head. I forgot how supportive you all are, and how warming your feedback is. So much love for you all. 

 

---

Something draped over him, easing the shivers wracking his body. He struggled to open his eyes, but the hand carding through his hair had other plans.

 

“Go back to sleep.”

 

The deep, scratchy voice was one Sam hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. That tone - a combination of confidence and reassurance - enveloped Sam in its comfort. Clinging to it with desperation, Sam tried to wake.

 

He couldn’t stand to lose it again. He had to explain. Had to make it stay.

 

“I know...it’s okay. Not going anywhere, I promise. Just go back to sleep, Sammy.”

 

Magic words. Tension melted. Sam slept.

 

xxxxx

 

Bobby poked his head into their bedroom. “How’s he doin’?” he asked, voice low.

 

With a sigh, Dean sat up, cracking his back in time with his creaking chair. “He’s okay. Fever’s not high, mostly annoying. He’s just…” He paused, brushing hair off Sam’s face, reflecting on the rambling. “He’s a little anxious. That’s all.”

 

Bobby stepped into the room, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded. “Anxious over what? The curse?”

 

Dean’s forehead wrinkled. “Me. He’s anxious about...me.”

 

Huh.

 

Bobby pushed a little. “Why you?”

 

Eyes locked on Sam’s every movement, Dean murmured. “He actually needs me. Didn’t...didn’t think he did. But he does. He thought he lost me...or will lose me.”

 

Despite Dean’s insistence that he knew Sam better than anyone, he was the only one who couldn’t see Sam’s need for his brother...his family.

 

Something so basic, completely lost in a shuffle of bullshit.

 

Dean locked hands behind his head, smiling ruefully. “Taking care of Sam was easy. Taking care of Sam now…” He shook his head. “I dunno. I’m not...doing a good job. Don’t even know if it is my job anymore.”

 

“Needs change over time, Dean. Sam’s not a kid anymore. He doesn’t need you to...check that his homework is done, or make sure he ate his vegetables. It’s more complicated, sure. But that don’t mean he doesn’t need you.”

 

Dean’s hands dropped to his lap as he smothered a cough into his sleeve. “Tryin’ to catch up to how old he is, you know? If he needs me, I gotta...I gotta figure out how to be there.” He huffed a laugh. “Without gettin’ in trouble.”

 

Bobby smiled. Changes in relationships were never easy. Bobby didn’t have many, not after Karen died. But he understood what Dean was saying. He helped raise these boys. Now they were grown men, still coming to him when they needed a father, but also coming to him when they needed a partner. It was a tough sea to navigate, and mistakes will always be made.

 

But sometimes, you just had to follow your parenting instinct.

 

Bobby approached Dean, stopping beside the chair, resting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I think that need goes both ways, son.”

 

Dean huffed through his mouth, but didn’t argue.

 

Bobby looked Dean over. It was after midnight, and fatigue was wearing heavy around Dean’s shoulders. A few hours ago, they shifted to their bedroom from the couch. Sam woke shivering, eyes glassy from a fever. They got him to bed, Dean deciding that watching a 100.3 fever was more important than sleeping himself.

 

“Didja get him to take some meds?”

 

Dean shook his head. “He’s too out of it. I’m hoping he’ll wake in a few hours and take something.” He paused mid-sentence with a jaw-popping yawn, scrubbing his face with a weariness usually reserved for 4am.

 

Bobby nodded, knowing better than to suggest that Dean get rest, too. He slid his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing gently. “You’re sporting some heat of your own. Take something. I’m heading to bed. Get me if you need me.”

 

Dean nodded back, reaching up to grip Bobby’s wrist. “Thanks.”

 

As Bobby left their room, he wondered whether the curse was a bad thing after all.

 

xxxxx

 

Dean thought over Bobby’s words. How could he know how to parent a twenty-four year old, when he was only twenty-eight?

 

His face soured. When did Dean judge himself based on practicality or rational thought? He was just supposed to know.

 

But...when Bobby laid his hand on Dean’s neck...Dean felt the pressures of parenting slip away, as he became the child, needing that reassurance, the guidance that John wasn’t always capable of giving.

 

I think that need goes both ways, son.

 

Dean finally admitted with a sigh, “I think so, too…”

 

xxxxx

 

As Sam woke, a general feeling of uncomfortable settled over him. He didn’t feel good, but it wasn’t utter shit, either. More like that gray space between icky and bleh.

 

Pulling the fuzzy blanket over his face, he sneezed softly into it, pleased that this time, it didn’t grate against his throat or pop his ears.

 

Small favors.

 

Eventually, he opened his eyes, blinking against the light streaming through the window. It took all of a second to spot the dutiful older brother, fast asleep in a small wooden chair. Head thrown back, mouth open, arms folded. Dean shivered, jerking his head forward with a soft sneeze of his own, wincing at the movement.

 

Sam threw off the blanket, awkwardly getting to his feet. “Come on, Dean. Get in bed.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to...protest? Argue? Who knew - he never got out a word, instead pitching forward with another sneeze.

 

Taking hold of his arm, Sam gently tugged until Dean stood up. Nudging the chair out of their way, Sam navigated Dean to his bed, smiling a little when Dean moaned in relief. He pulled a blanket up to his chin, noticing the pink on Dean’s cheeks, the worry lines around his eyes.

 

“Go to sleep, okay?”

 

One eye peeled open. Dean mumbled, “Feelin’ better?”

 

Sam studied Dean’s face. “Yeah…”

 

Grunting, Dean nodded his approval before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

 

xxxxx

 

After going to the bathroom, Sam headed downstairs in hopes of finding Bobby. Blanket around his shoulders, Sam wandered into the library. He was rewarded with the sight of Bobby at his desk, reading through a book. He looked up at Sam’s entrance.

 

“Well, hey there. How’re you feeling?”

 

Sam shrugged his eyebrows, lowering himself onto the couch. “Okay, I guess. Dean fell asleep watching over me, so I’m guessing, what, a fever? Papercut?”

 

They chuckled.

 

Bobby shrugged. “Fever. Not bad, but you know, enough to warrant a vigil.”

 

Sam nodded, running his fingers over the plush blanket. “It was kinda...surprising. Didn’t expect it.”

 

Bobby leaned back in his chair, cradling a mug of coffee. “Why not? Vigils and Dean go hand in hand.” He took a sip, waiting for Sam’s reaction. Sam was the chatty one, after all.

 

Sam huffed, eyes still on the blanket. “Not lately.”

 

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

Sam shrugged.

 

“Sam.”

 

Sighing, Sam plucked at the blanket. “All my life he’s taken care of me. Been my dad when dad...wasn’t. I’m not a kid anymore, Bobby...but...I’m not sure I know how to not be a kid with him. Stanford was…” He sighed again. “I mean, I did fine on my own, you know? Grew up. But I get with him and...everything changes. He doesn’t need a kid hanging on him, and I don’t wanna be a kid with him, I want us to be...like...friends...and brothers. Not dad and son. But sometimes...I dunno. I guess I’m not that good at it. Can’t seem to make up my mind about how I want us to be.”

 

Bobby took a chance. “Your needs changed, Sam. And I bet his have, too. Plus, what you need probably depends on what’s going on. Maybe you two just need some time to sort it out. If,” he added quickly, “you want to.”

 

Sam took a measured breath. “Yeah...it’s Christmas Eve, though.”

 

“So?”

 

“So.” Sam blinked. “I dunno.”

 

The lights on the tree winked at them. Finally Bobby asked, “Hungry?”

 

“Yeah...actually.”

 

“Come on. I’ll heat up some of that soup.”

 

xxxxx

 

Warm soup opened Sam’s sinuses. He moved through a quarter box of Kleenex just during lunch. After a string of sneezes that left him a little breathless, he glanced over at Bobby. “This feels...different.”

 

Bobby kept neutral. “Whatcha mean?”

 

Sam tossed the tissues into the garbage. “Doesn’t feel like the curse anymore.”

 

“Yeah? Still sounds like it.”

 

Sam laughed a little. “I know. Just...now it feels like - “

 

“We’re sick.”

 

Bobby and Sam turned at Dean’s voice. He shuffled over, plopping into a chair with a grunt. He dragged a hand down his face. “Fevers weren’t part of the curse.” He zipped up his sweatshirt. “Or chills, or non-sneezing related headaches - “

 

“Or coughing, or running noses - “

 

“But whining was,” Bobby finished, getting up to pour Dean a bowl of soup. “Your stress levels were pretty high - you probably ran yourselves into the ground over the hunt and the curse.” He set a steaming bowl in front of Dean, along with a spoon. “Eat up. If you’re good, we’ll make cookies later.”

 

Sam’s eyes grew. “Seriously?”

 

“No, not seriously. But we bought some, so we’ll settle for just eating them.” Bobby waited until Dean picked up the spoon and took a mouthful of broth. “Will you two be okay for a few minutes? Gonna check on some stuff.”

 

Double bitchface.

 

Nice.

 

“Be right back.”

 

xxxxx

 

Bobby did all the research he could on this curse. It was now just a matter of waiting. Since mentioning the curse brought all sorts of curse-induced deflection, he decided to lay low and observe. See what was what before thinking about whether he needed to take steps to break it.

 

Behind him, Dean sneezed into a napkin. Sam blessed him. Neither asked or listed what caused it. Good sign? Bobby wasn’t sure.

 

This notion of a Christmas gift really bugged them both. Sam’s iPad was nestled in Bobby’s desk drawer, and the tires were being delivered the day after Christmas. But they each felt the need to give each other something...when a thing wasn’t what they needed.

 

The day passed quietly. Snow fell gently, and the wind picked up, but it was warm inside. Bobby worked at his desk. The boys watched TV, huddled under blankets, cradling tissue boxes.

 

The sneezing actually slowed down to an occasional outburst. The stream was steady, but not frantic or forced. More like a natural soundtrack to their afternoon. Every time they sneezed, Bobby looked around to see what may have caused it. But it was just them...on the couch...looking under the weather.

 

If a cold was the cause of every sneeze at this point…

 

Bobby scratched his chin.

 

“Hp’Kshhchh!”

 

“Bless you, Sam.”

 

“Heh’Krshhchh!”

 

Bobby shook his head. “Bless you, Dean.”

 

Dean sniffled into some tissues, followed by a cough. Sam looked over. “Think you need more Advil?”

 

Dean considered it, blowing his nose tiredly. “Yeah, probably. You?”

 

Sam laughed a little. “Yeah...that’s why I asked. Hold on, I’ll get it.” He hauled himself upright and padded to the kitchen where the Advil sat waiting on a counter.

 

He came back, Advil in one hand, the other under his nose, “How man...hih...many...hehhhh...do...hhhhhih...Hiiiiiihhhhhh’tschchhhyuu! Do-you-want-H’chh! H’chht! *sniff* Jesus!” Sam leaned against an armchair, catching his breath.

 

Eyebrows raised, Dean tossed over a box of Kleenex, which Sam barely caught because he was already in the throes of another fit. “Hehhhh-Hp’TSCHHHCHHYUUuu! Whoa...I - Hih’chh! Heh’shht!” Face buried in Kleenex, Sam waited a few seconds before tossing Dean the bottle.

 

“Bless you!” Dean said, catching the bottle even though it was thrown a little erratically.

 

Sam waved him off, mouth already open again. “Not...not done. H’chh! *sniff* And you need water. Hold...holdonH’chht! Hih’chh!”

 

Dean protested, “Sam…”

 

Again, Sam waved him off, already heading back to the kitchen, head rearing back. “Ehhhh-TSCHHCHHYUuuu! I’b already up. It’s oooo-Hhhhhh-HESCHCHYuuu!-kay.”

 

Dean gave Bobby a slightly alarmed look. Bobby shrugged. “He ain’t dyin, Dean, just sneezin’. Been doing that for days.”

 

A cabinet opened, water ran, Sam returned. No sneezing. Dean was just starting to feel better about it when, “H’shh!” burst out of his brother as he dropped back on the couch.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow.

 

Sam blew his nose, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Think...think I’b done ndow.” He flashed a grin, shrugging his shoulders.

 

Dean chuckled as he opened the bottle, shaking out a few pills for himself and some for Sam.

 

Pills consumed (they shared the glass...like it mattered…), they settled back to watch another movie.

 

During a commercial break, the local station gave a weather update for the area and the country in general. Dean nudged Sam with his foot. “We’ve never been to Vegas together. Did you know that? I hunted there twice with Dad, but we’ve never gone.”

 

Sam tilted his head, gears turning. “No, we haven’t.”

 

Dean reached for some Kleenex, sniffling. “We should go. I mean, I know you’re not...uh…” He scrubbed at his nose. “*sniff* into the whole gam...gambling...hih...thiiiii-hih-Hhhh-TSHCHuh! Gambling thing...but there’s other stuff there.” He blew his nose. “I dunno. Shows and kickass restaurants - T’shht! Hesch! Chhtt! Jesus!”

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, just - K’Schh! Nose is going nuts H’shh! H’echh!” More Kleenex, more buildup. “Stiiii-hhhhih - still...I thiiii-wait, Hhh-hih-hiiihhh-etTSCHEW! Hiiiihhh-TSCHHCHHYUuuu! Fuck -” He laughed. “Good think I’b dot askin’ you od a date...Itschchch! Heh-TschshhYuuu!” He shivered with each sneeze.

 

“Done?” Sam asked, his face a combination of amusement and concern.

 

Dean held up a finger, breathing carefully. “Yeah.” Then he rocked forward. “HETSCHHH!” He looked up. “Well. Now.”

 

Settling back, Sam nudged Dean. “Hey...Vegas sounds awesome.”

 

Dean’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean nodded. “Alright then. When we kick this cold, we’ll head out.”

 

“Sure...sounds good.”

 

xxxxx

 

Bobby said nothing...just watched that whole scene unfold in front of him. The sneezing was ridiculous. He was alarmed when Sam started up. But then he counted.

 

Twelve. Sam’s fit had twelve sneezes.

 

So he waited.

 

Sure enough, Dean’s did, too.

 

This one time, a witch did something good.

 

He looked over at his boys, laughing together on the couch at some stupid movie.

 

“Hey, Bobby - close that book and get over here. It’s a creature movie marathon. We can count all the mistakes.”

 

How could he refuse an offer like that?

 

--End--