A/N: Was in a bit of a writer's slump. This prompt was presented 1-2 years ago...I just didn't have an idea for it. Until over winter break. There are 5 sections. I'm checking each before posting, and will post one section every 2-3 days. Don't look too closely at the case. Seriously. Please. It's pure silliness.
With a weariness that wasn't just from a lack of sleep, Dean plopped a couple energy drinks and random candy bars on the counter.
"Hey...lookit this."
He lolled his head to the right, spying Sam holding up a newspaper. The words sounded innocent enough, but Dean could see the bitchy jaw clench that came with them.
Killer Snowman Strikes Again
Green eyes crawled up to hazel ones, his eyebrows following.
Sam blew out a breath. "Don't you think we should check this out?" He flipped the paper around, reading out loud. "A third victim was found last night, severed in half by a sliding glass door." Sam paused, jabbing a finger at the paper. "Three vics. And it's only about two hours from here, in Noel, Missouri."
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face.
Frustrated at hour three of Dean's silent treatment, Sam flung the paper at him. "Fine," he spat. "But kids are finding the victims every time. You let me know what you want to do." And with that, he turned on his heels and stomped out of the mini-mart.
With a sigh, Dean glanced at the paper. All three victims had young children, who ended up discovering their parent's dead bodies.
Fuck.
The woman behind the counter clucked her tongue. "You alright?"
Dean snorted, tossing the paper on top of the food while reaching for his wallet. "Yeah. My brother and I've just been on the road too long."
She made a silent "Ahhhh…", and began to ring up his purchase. "Any...plans for Christmas?"
Dean nudged the paper with his hand. "Apparently, we're going to Noel, Missouri." At the clerk's raised eyebrows, he added, "We're reporters. Stories like this are what we investigate."
"So, no holiday plans? Just...work?"
"That's pretty much all we do, these days. And even that's getting harder." Normally, Dean was all for nonstop hunting. But lately, their relationship was so strained, that working was not only difficult, it was painful. He blinked at the unplanned sharing, feeling his cheeks go red.
"Maybe you two just need to reconnect. Relearn how to just...be there for eachother."
Money exchanged, items were bagged, and Dean barked a laugh at the idea of he and Sam reconnecting. "Yeah...I don't think that's in the cards. Thanks." He picked up his bags and left the store.
xxxxx
The drive in the Impala was silent. No music, no discussion of the case, no discussion period.
Just...
Well.
There was the crunching of M&Ms in Dean's mouth, which was slowly driving Sam insane. He couldn't take Dean's silent treatment, not while they were trapped together in the car and he refused to put on any music, leaving him with sounds of chewing and lip smacking and Jesus, this was stupid. He knew Dean was sloppy eating on purpose.
Sam glanced at his watch. One hour to go.
Awesome.
xxxxx
It was not a small sigh of relief that escaped Sam's mouth as they pulled into the motel parking lot. They grabbed their bags in silence and went inside. The place looked kind of dumpy on the outside, but was clean and charming on the inside.
Both brothers hefted their bags further up their shoulders as Dean rang a little bell on the front desk.
A man older than dirt shuffled out of a back room, flapping a hand at them. "I hear ya. How can I help you?"
Dean cleared his throat. "One room, two beds. Queen size if you got 'em."
The clerk pulled out an impossibly large book, dropping it onto the counter. A cloud of dust rose into the air, floating effortlessly right into Dean's face.
In one fluid motion, Dean stepped back, sneezing forcefully against his shoulder. He paused, rubbed his face on his sleeve, then continued to check in.
Sam took a step back as well, trying to avoid the dust. "Bless you," he murmured, realizing after the first syllable left his mouth that he wasn't supposed to be talking to Dean at all. Dean's eyes flickered his way, his head nodding a thank you.
xxxxx
The room was just as clean and cozy as the lobby. Again, not at all what Dean pictured when he pulled into the parking lot. He'll take it, though, especially at the price the old guy gave him. They could easily afford to stay here through the course of this case, which meant Dean didn't have to deal with emergency money scrounging on top of everything else.
Their room had a tiny kitchenette area, complete with one cabinet, a microwave, coffee pot and a mini-fridge. After dropping his bags on a bed, Dean spun slowly, taking in the actually nice room. Holy shit - there was even a bookcase, with real books.
He was about to say something to Sam, and even got as far as, "Hey S-", before remembering that he wasn't talking to Sam today.
But Sam heard him. "What?" he asked, dropping his own bags on a bed. It was small and wispy, barely a dust cloud. But from his angle, with the light positioned where it was, Dean saw it rise from the bed up to Sam, whose face crinkled up after his first sniff.
Dean opened his mouth to issue a warning, but it was too late. Sam pressed the top of his hand against his nose. His stance shifted from one leg to the other. Eyelids fluttered closed. Breaths became slightly ragged.
"Hhhhh'ETSCHHH! H'ETSCHHH!" He blinked rapidly, waving his hand in front of his face.
Without thinking, Dean moved Sam's bags, snatched the comforter, and shook it outside. It wasn't until he was mid blanket-flapping that he remembered he wasn't supposed to be talking to Sam at all. Not for books or clouds of dust.
He sighed. Dean sucked at staying mad at Sam.
Embarrassed and pissed at himself, Dean returned the comforter.
Unsure how to respond, Sam lamely gestured at his bed. "Thanks for…"
Dean shrugged, sighing. "Let's get some sleep, then tomorrow we'll start tracking down Frosty."
xxxxx
Dean woke with a feeling that he slept longer than he should have. Sure enough, sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, pushing past squinting eyes. Dean turned to block it, but instead of moving away, he tilted his head just enough to catch the beam straight on.
The trigger was instantaneous - no build-up, no irritation.
"EHH-TSHHCHUH! Hiihhh-t'SHHUH!"
He buried them in the blanket, breathless and confused. The sneezing took him by surprise, and it was a little too soon after waking to be that surprised.
"Whoa - bless you! You okay?"
Dean sniffed experimentally before slowly lowering the blanket off his face. "Yeah...I dunno what made me sneeze, but Jesus…" He sniffled again, rubbing his nose on the rough fabric. "Why didn't you wake me?"
Sam walked into view, shrugging as he sat on his bed. "You seemed...really tired last night, so I figured you needed a couple more hours. Hey, I did a little research on this killer snowman thing." He got back up, quickly retrieving his laptop from the table before Dean got snippy over Sam being considerate.
Surprisingly, Dean wasn't snippy at all.
Returning with the computer, Sam clicked a few keys on the keyboard before sitting down. He spun the screen so it faced Dean. "So. Apparently, the first victim was discovered almost two weeks ago, a guy named Mike Baron." Dean hoisted himself on his elbow so he could see the screen, nodding for Sam to continue. And continue he did. "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. No sign of a forced entry, no suspects. The guy was a loving father and husband, coached youth basketball, and walked his dog twice a day."
"Fantastic." Dean threw back the covers and stretched. "So something funky wunky's definitely going on."
Sam arched an eyebrow. "Funky wunky?"
"Yup. Trademarked. Alright...lemme get dressed, then we can grab some food and you can tell me about the other two victims."
As Dean pulled clothes out of his bag, he rationalized...he wasn't talking to Sam yesterday. Today was...different.
Fully clothed and ready to go, they stepped outside. Noel, Missouri was a brisk thirty-five degrees, but the sky was clear and bright. Normally cold temperatures meant cloudy skies and a threat of snow. But today was...different.
Sam glanced up to see if any clouds were in the sky. They were working a case, and things between him and Dean weren't exactly fabulous. Still, Sam kinda hoped for some snow at Christmas. It just sounded peaceful. And he needed peaceful.
He swiveled to catch sight of the sky over the motel roof, when the sun's reflection off the obnoxious rooster-shaped weather vane jabbed him right in the eyes.
His lungs filled.
"ITSCHCHH-ETSHHCHH-TSCHCHHH!" The force of it all knocked him back a couple steps into Dean, who was checking to make sure the door was locked. He stepped to the side so Sam's back thumped against the door. Sam's face was in the crook of his elbow, his eyes clenched shut.
"Jesus, Sam, what happened?"
It took Sam a few seconds to catch his breath. "I dunno...just sneezed...really hard." Slowly, he lowered his arm, sniffling to make sure he was done. He blinked a few times. "Okay, I'm...okay." He flashed a quick smile at Dean before pushing himself off the door. "Anyway. Victim number two...:"
xxxxx
A few hours later, the brothers strolled into the sheriff's department, wearing their federal agent suits. After flashing their badges, they were sitting across the desk of a stereotypical southern sheriff - big hat, white hair, handlebar mustache. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest.
"I dunno why you fellers are here. These kids have Christmas on the brain. That's why they're claimin' a snowman killed their mama or daddy."
Dean shot Sam a look. This guy is straight off a TV western. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched in agreement. "Listen Sheriff Bryant, all that matters is that we are here, and we consider this an open, active case. So again, we'd like all your information for all three vics."
The sheriff shrugged, rolling his chair back so he had room to stand. "You got it. Be right back." He sauntered out of his office, speaking in a low voice to another officer.
Dead pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is gonna take forever."
"Yuuuup," Sam agreed, tapping his fingers on his knee. He spied the sheriff's computer monitor, an old fifteen inch box-shaped screen that reminded him of tube televisions, almost completely buried under a mound of papers. He nudged Dean's knee. "Is that the computer?"
Dean's eyes swung over. "Shit."
The sheriff returned carrying technically three files, one for each victim. However, each file was over 2 inches thick. He walked to his desk and dropped the stack, scattering papers, random writing utensils, and disrupting a fine layer of dust hidden beneath it all.
"There you go. I'll be just out here if you need me." And with that, he turned and walked out.
Dean watched him leave, murmuring, "Of course we end up in a small town that can't even use a computer to keep track of all the people being murdered." Realizing that may have sounded like a complaint when he didn't want it to sound like a complaint, he quickly turned toward Sam. "Not that it matters, I'm just saying…"
Sam wasn't listening. Instead, he was furiously scrubbing his nose, face pinched in agony, his mouth slightly open.
"...Sam?"
Sam shook his head, holding up a hand signalling for Dean to just wait a minute. "I…" Sam belted out sneeze after sneeze. Dean scrambled for his bandana, thrusting it into Sam's hand in time for a couple more.
Sam blew his nose into the bandana (didn't see Dean grimace...but come on, what did he think would happen?), slumped back in his chair and sniffled. "Wow." He wiped his eyes with a dry corner and blearily looked over at Dean. "Hi."
Dean's eyebrow rose. "Hi." He gestured at the papers. "You ready to tackle this?"
Sam sniffed once more. "Yup."
xxxxx
It took an hour to go through all the papers and piece together a complete picture of what happened, beyond the research Sam had already done.
Second victim was Stacy Carnes, strangled by a knitted scarf on her patio. Third victim was Mark Theron, dead by smoke inhalation from several smoldering pieces of coal.
All three deaths were discovered by sleepy children in the middle of the night.
"So here's my question. Why were all three kids awake at two or three in the morning? Why were they wandering their houses at the time of each death?" Sam asked, leg bouncing as he continued to flip through pages.
Dean shook his head, taking a sip of now cold, crappy coffee. "Dunno. We may need to talk with them." He grimaced at the cup, setting it back on the sheriff's desk. "And I'm not looking forward to that."
Sam nodded in agreement.
"Y'all wanna see the security footage?"
Both brothers froze a second before levelling a frosty gaze at the sheriff, leaning on the door frame.
"Footage. As in...video." Dean's tone was flat, indicating he was two seconds away from ripping the mustache off the man's face.
The sheriff sipped his own cup of coffee. "Yup. The first victim, Baron, had one of them home security systems. We can connect to it." Another sip.
Dean swiveled in his chair. "Are you guys even trying to solve this case?"
Sam interjected when the sheriff's eyebrows disappeared under his hat. "What my partner means, is that yes, we'd like to see the footage. And if there's any evidence more…", he flapped some papers, "modern, we would appreciate knowing about it."
"Oh," the sheriff replied, nodding his head. "So the baby monitor recording would help?"
Sam heard the low growl in Dean's throat, and for a second, contemplated letting Dean loose. "Yes, that would be great."
The sheriff took another long pull of coffee before stepping back into the office. He moved the pile of papers off his monitor and blew a layer of dust off the screen, right into Dean's face.
"Hey!" Dean barked, wiping it off his suit and tie.
"Ohhhh, sorry about that. Haven't fired her up in a while."
Dean flashed an irritated look at Sam. I can't take much more of this.
Sam returned the look, but it went unnoticed.
"Mphphphew!" Dean muffled a sneeze into the crook of his arm. "H'iiihhhhhh-hgnxnxt!" He stifled the second, his face darkening as he fumbled for his bandana. Remembering why he couldn't find it (Thanks, Sam), he leaned over the side of the chair and belted one last sneeze out, ending with a small sniffle.
The sheriff produced a box of tissues, handing it across the desk. "Wow. Bless you."
Dean snatched the box and blew his nose.
Sam sat back in his chair, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Something felt off. He just wasn't sure what. Yet.
xxxxx
2:00 am
Sam lie in bed, thinking.
The video footage showed Mike Baron creeping past the camera, like he was looking for something. Once he left the camera's scope, they never saw him again. But Sam caught sight of the window in the background. In the window was definitely a snowman, peering inside, complete with a carrot nose. It didn't move, but it was clearly there.
Fuckin' creepy.
The baby monitor caught the sound of Stacy Carnes, victim number two, being strangled. From what they could hear, she struggled for a couple minutes. Nothing snowman related was on that tape. But they were treated with the sounds of her daughter finding the body.
Sighing, Sam laced his fingers behind his head. He knew they'd have to talk to the kids and find out what they saw and heard. Those conversations are one of the worst aspects of hunting. He allowed himself another sigh.
A car door slammed shut just outside their room, the sound of giggling filtering past the thin walls. Mentally Sam rolled his eyes. That had to be what Dean sounded like when he returned from a bar with company.
Sam turned toward the window, his inner gossipy-Dean hoping he could catch a glimpse of the couple through the sliver of open curtain.
Instead, the car started up, and bright headlights suddenly burst through the curtain opening.
"TSCHCHCHhh-ew!" The sneeze caught him by surprise, in more ways than one. It's then that he realizes just how much he'd sneezed in the last couple days. More than he had in months. Which was weird, and while part of him felt it was coincidental, part of him knew better.
Because okay, if it was just him doing more sneezing than normal, he'd just assume he was coming down with something in addition to being exposed to irritants.
But both of them? Not likely.
Fuck.
By 6:00 am, Sam had a plan within a plan. Continue the case, but monitor this sneezing thing, and no telling Dean until he was sure. The last thing he needed was Dean making fun of him over sneezing coupled with his denial of any sneezing going on at all. The last couple days had been way more tolerable than the last few weeks, and Sam was all in favor of not upsetting that.
xxxxx
Dean woke feeling...actually, pretty good. Which was weird, because he rarely felt good. Especially after listening to small children sob over their mother's dead body.
He lie in bed, listening to his brother's breathing, enjoying the quiet. He liked those moments - when everything else slept so he could decompress without worrying about dodging fangs or claws or sharp-tongued barbs from pissy little brothers.
Speaking of which...Dean stole a glance at Sam. There'd been a notable absence of barbs lately. But Dean's got a theory on that. Sam had been sneezing a little more than normal, which was...nil. Kid was probably coming down with something. The non stop running around and stress from...life...caught up with him.
For sure.
Dean decided to monitor Sam a little more closely and see what's what before the inevitable collapse.
Unfortunately, moments like this only lasted a short while before a bladder angrily demanded attention, tout suite. The room was still pitch black, thanks to the room darkening curtains. Not wanting to disturb Sam, Dean carefully extracted himself from the blankets, making as little noise as possible. He hightailed it to the bathroom, marking the toilet's location before closing the door behind him and taking care of business.
Once he finished (with a congratulatory pat on the back for peeing in the dark like the champ he was), Dean promptly knocked over a toiletry kit, scattering items across the sink, and ooh, at least one thing fell to the floor. So much for that pat on the back.
Silently grumbling, Dean flipped the light switch, momentarily blinded by the sharp light.
He felt it then - a careful tickle just beyond his reach. Bathroom items forgotten, Dean leaned against the sink, one eye pinched shut, wriggling his nose to make the sensation go away. His voice rose in pitch with each breath in, until, "HpTSCHSCHCHHH! Heh-TSCHCHuH!"
Dean reached for some toilet paper, blinking back tears. That's when it hit him.
Dean's been sneezing more in the last couple days than normal. Which was also...nil.
Fuck.
He wiped his nose, staring into the mirror for signs of a fever. Nope. At least, not yet. He sniffed and looked a little closer. Just the same handsome devil he always was.
Great, he thought, shoving shaving supplies back into the toiletry bag. Now, he needed to watch both of them for the inevitable collapse.
xxxxx
Sam's eyes snapped open when the sound of several plastic items skittered in the sink and on the floor. A small smile played on his lips. The dork peed in the dark again. He just knew it.
With a sigh, Sam rolled over, intent on enjoying another ninety seconds of stillness.
From the bathroom, the sound of Dean sneezing filled the air.
Sam's eyes snapped open once again, trying to determine if he imagined Dean sneezing or if it really happened. Now that he planned on paying more attention, he wouldn't be surprised if everything and anything sounded like sneezing. He needed to see it, know what caused it, watch reactions.
Yeah, nothing ridiculous about that at all.
The door opened, and out walked Dean, looking completely normal. Nothing...funky wunky about him. Aside from the usual, that is.
"Hey," Sam said, throwing off the blankets and sitting up. He went for casual. "Was...that you sneezing in there?"
Dean's eyes flickered to Sam before he headed to his duffel. Not wanting to draw attention to the possibility of being sick, Dean shrugged it off. "Yeah, why?" He rooted around his bag for clean clothes, pointedly not looking at Sam. Dean was watching Sam today - it wasn't supposed to be the other way around.
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Just...bless you. That's all." He flashed a grin and began the hunt for his own clean clothes.
Both brothers thought to themselves, making it awkward and weird didn't help the truce they'd been enjoying. Focus on the case.
Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, so we're gonna deal with the morgue and hopefully the kids, right?"
Sam nodded, pausing his clothes hunt. "Which one first? Suits or casual?"
Dean tapped his chin. "Morgue. I wanna know what the kids saw before talking to them."
Sam shrugged his eyebrows back. "Suits it is."
They dressed in relative silence, simultaneously trying to appear casual while watching each other.
Dean put the finishing touches on his tie. "Ready?"
Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah."
Dean grabbed the car keys and the bag that held their dinner the night before. Neither brother finished their food - the leftovers were in the fridge. But the bag still held condiment packets and three extra sporks. He tossed it to Sam. "Here - throw that in the trash outside while I get the car started. Weather looks cold today."
Sam held out his hands to catch the bag. "Okay."
The bag was casually thrown over Dean's shoulder, and drifted a little to the right of Sam. He reached out to grab it, his hand slipping a little on the plastic. To compensate, he tightened his grip, resulting in both hands squeezing the bag much harder than necessary. A poof of powder burst from the bag, covering Sam. He yelped in surprise, reflexively swatting at the air.
A sharp burn filled his nose. Without thinking, Sam sniffled to make it go away.
Wrong choice.
Sam pitched forward, unable to stop sneezing. "Goddabbit! What the fuck!"
In two steps, Dean was at Sam's side, grabbing the bag. Several packets of pepper lie open at the bottom of the bag, their contents currently all over Sam. Dean directed Sam toward the bathroom. "Wash your face - you just popped seventeen pepper packets." He blinked at the verselike statement.
Sam caught his breath, wiping his face with a washcloth and a shaky hand. He stared at himself in the mirror. Okay...that was definitely funky wunky, right? When had he ever burst pepper packets like that?
Still...well. Pepper made people sneeze, right? There wasn't anything weird about that. He dried his hands on a towel, scrubbing it over his face. His eyes were a little red from the fit, as was his nose, but that was normal, right?
By the time he left the bathroom, Dean had thrown the offending bag in the garbage outside. Pepper sneezing wasn't sick sneezing, so Dean chalked this up to one of the goofy things Sam did sometimes.
"Let's go, Hulk."
"Ha-ha."
xxxxx
"So...this town's so small the sheriff doesn't even use his computer, but they have their own morgue?"
Dean flicked his keys before pocketing them. "Don't question it. Just be glad we have local access to the bodies."
Sam checked his reflection in the rear view mirror before getting out. His eyes and nose were back to their normal color - no sign of the massive sneezing fit from earlier.
"Yes, you're gorgeous. Now come on."
Sam glared at Dean as he exited the Impala. "You're on a roll today."
Dean held open the door for Sam, waggling his eyebrows. "I'm on a roll every day. Try not to kill anyone by shaking their hand." Without waiting for an response, Dean strode up to the receptionist. "Hi there." He flashed his badge, not even checking to see if Sam flashed his. "We're here to see the bodies of the recent Snowman killings." He smiled to lessen the blow of killer snowmen.
The woman sighed. "So sad. Those poor children. Conjurin' up stories about snowmen to help them cope."
She sighed again. Dean nodded in sympathy, glancing sideways at Sam.
Conjurin' my ass..
The nice lady pointed down a side hallway. "End of this hallway, then down the staircase to your left. You'll find Maurice in the second office on your right. Good luck, gentlemen!"
Dean offered a sloppy salute, beckoned for Sam to follow, then headed down the hallway.
Sam wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed or endeared.
They followed the directions to the door of Maurice, the mortician with a sense of humor. His office door was plastered with bumper stickers like "I Heart Autopsies" and "My Best Friend Is Your Corpse".
Dean took one look at the door and rolled his eyes. Sam shook his head. Small towns, man. Dean snorted back.
Sam knocked on the door, just as a shaggy head poked into the hallway a few doors down. "Can I help ya?"
"Uh, yes. We're looking for Maurice."
The man's shaggy eyebrows knitted together. "Who's askin'?"
Dean strolled closer, holding out his badge. "We are. We'd like to ask some questions about the recent deaths, and maybe take a peek at the bodies."
"Well, everything here is a recent death. You gotta be more specific."
Dean pressed his lips together. Of course. "The snowman deaths?"
Maurice fully stepped into the hallway. "Oh! You mean the murders. Yeah, come on in." He waved the brothers inside what turned out to be a rudimentary lab. One examination table sat in the middle of the room, a couple stools on wheels nearby, and a small tray with various tools sat on the counter.
Sam gestured at the three metal square doors lined up on one wall. "Is that where they are?"
"Where who are?"
"The bodies," Dean grated. "Look, what's going on? How is it that no one seems concerned that three people turned up dead in the last couple weeks?"
Maurice didn't seem phased by the curt tone. He just shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe because people die all the time?"
Dean took a measured breath, stepping back so Sam could take over. I'm out, his eyes said, and he walked to examine rows of jars and canisters lining a shelf in the corner.
Sam huffed in understanding. "What we mean is, the kids all seem to think their parents were killed by snowmen. Was there any...evidence to support that?"
Maurice just stared at him. "You think a snowman killed those people?"
Sam shook his head. "No...no, of course not. But that's what the kids think happened...they must have seen something. And video footage showed a snowman near Mr. Baron's body. Maybe...maybe it was someone dressed as a snowman or something."
Dean snorted.
Sam ignored him.
Maurice and Sam continued to chat about the bodies - the condition they were in, evidence found on them, etc. Dean began eyeballing all the weird shit Maurice kept in little jars. He couldn't even figure out what it was. One held a long object, orange and wrinkly. Another had a couple black hunks of...something.
Each jar luckily had a label. Dean brushed some dust off the tops. "Shiiii- hiiiihhhhhh'hgnxt!"
Suddenly, Sam was there (Why was he there?) taking the jar out of his hands as Dean twisted to the side and sneezed a double.
"You okay?" His hand was on Dean's back. Dean was touched by the concern, then concerned by his concern.
No concern for Dean.
"Yeah - jars were dusty. That's all."
Sam patted Dean's back in sympathy.
"Y'all are adorable. We don't get much folks like you around here."
They froze. Sam swallowed, removing his hand. "Uh…"
Dean elbowed him. Just...get the info.
xxxxx
Checking over the bodies and extracting information from Maurice ended up taking all morning. Neither brother knew where the time went, just that it passed faster than anticipated.
Exhausted from dealing with Maurice, they decided to change, grab lunch, debrief, then try to talk to at least one of the children.
The diner was mostly empty by the time they arrived, so their food was ready quickly. Bags in hand, then headed back to the car. Dean snapped his fingers. "Ketchup! Get in the car - I'll be right back."
He turned to go back inside, not seeing another customer leaving his booth, near the door. Dean bumped right into him. The man, holding a pepper shaker, jerked his arm at the unexpected contact, flinging pepper into the air.
Dean recoiled, "HITSCHCH-uhhh!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The man stammered, trying to brush the granules off Dean while waving his hand in the air as if to clear the offending substance from Dean's senses.
"'S'okay…" Dean stammered, grabbing a handful of ketchup packets conveniently sitting on a counter. He was still sneezing when he left the restaurant and got back into the Impala.
Sam's eyes widened, "What the hell happened?"
Dean pressed his bandana to his nose. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I would. Let's get back to the motel. We have to talk."
xxxxx
Sam said nothing all the way back to the motel. He just stared out the window, gnawing on a fingernail, eyes lost in thought. The only sound was an occasional sniffle from Dean.
In the room, they took out their food in silence, until Dean couldn't take it anymore.
"Okay, Sam - what're we talking about first?"
Before Dean's ass hit the chair, Sam started. "I think we're cursed."
He blinked up at Sam, who was pacing instead of unwrapping his lunch. Dean figured he could unwrap and think at the same time, so he opened his container and started ripping ketchup packets. "You think we're cursed? Why?"
Sam leaned on the back of his chair. "Haven't you found it odd that we've been sneezing a lot lately?"
Dean paused mid-rip to lick stray ketchup off his fingers. "Yeah. Figured we were comin' down with something." He glanced up at Sam. "You think we're cursed because we're sneezin'?"
Hearing it out loud like that did sound a little ridiculous, and Sam faltered a bit. "Well...yeah."
Dean's eyebrows arched.
Sam blew out a breath and grabbed a notebook and pen. "Listen. Think about what's been going on...what's been making us sneeze."
Dean blinked again. "You're serious."
When Sam clicked the pen open and shot a bitchface across the table, Dean knew he wouldn't be eating until later. With a sigh, he closed the lid on his burger (Until later, sweetheart), and played along.
But he felt stupid.
"Okay. This morning, uh, in the bathroom, I sneezed."
Sam nodded, writing it down. "Do you know why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you sneezed. What made you sneeze?"
Dean squirmed in his seat. "I dunno, Sam. I just sneezed."
But Sam was patient. "Think back to what happened."
"Fine. I went in the bathroom, took a piss, knocked some stuff into the sink, turned on the light, then sneezed."
Sam frowned. "That's it?"
Dean splayed his hands. "That's it. There wasn't anything in there that I breathed in or anything."
Sam stared at his notebook, tapping the pen against his mouth. "Okay...well...you had the dust on those canisters in Maurice's office...and the pepper in the diner, right?"
Dean balled up his napkin and set it on the table. "Yup." He rested his elbows on the table. "Your turn. You had your own pepper incident today."
Sam nodded, pointing the pen at him in agreement. "Yes! And I sneezed this morning in bed."
Dean frowned. "When?"
Sam scribbled notes as he explained. "I was in bed thinking about the case, when I sneezed a couple times."
"Was it from the dust on the blanket?"
"The what?"
"You know - when we first got here. You set off a bunch of dust from your bed when you put your bags on it."
Still a blank face.
Dean sighed. He could be patient, too. "I had to shake off your comforter outside, remember?"
"Shit - I forgot about that one." More scribbling. "No - at least, I don't think so? I dunno - I just remember car headlights shining through the window, then my nose itched."
Dean scratched his head. "Okay...what else?"
"That's it for today - the pepper then the sneezing in bed."
"So, what, now look at yesterday?"
"Yeah...what do you remember?"
Dean leaned back. "I woke up sneezing. The sun was shining through the curtains, and I remember thinking that you let me oversleep, then I sneezed."
Sam interrupted. "I sneezed when we left the room...I was checking the sky for clouds."
Dean's face scrunched up. "Since when does that make someone sneeze?"
Sam shrugged. "I dunno. After that was…"
"In that sheriff's office. There was dust on his desk that set you off, and he blew dust from his computer onto me, and that set me off."
Sam pointed his pen at Dean again. "I remember the blanket sneezing thing, now. You sneezed at the front desk when we first got here." He wrote that down, too.
Sam leaned back, frowning at the notebook.
"Okay, so what do we have?" Dean felt stupid at first, but the more they talked about it, the more obvious it became - they were sneezing way more than normal, and not one story sounded like either brother was getting sick.
Sam's gaze flickered toward Dean before reading off his list. "Well. The first day we started sneezing, we both sneezed from dust. You in the lobby and me in the room. On the second day we started sneezing, you sneezed in bed, I sneezed outside, we both sneezed from dust. On the third day, which is today, you sneezed in the bathroom, I sneezed in bed, we both sneezed from pepper, and you sneezed from dust."
The room fell silent.
Their eyes met.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "What about the random sneezing part?"
Sam stared at the notebook, then stood up and retrieved his laptop. "I don't think it was random. Hold on." He began searching for something, and a minute later, "Aha! Here it is: Photic Sneezing."
"Photo what?"
Sam spun the laptop around. "Photic sneezing. It's when bright lights make people sneeze."
"That can't be a real thing."
Sam turned the laptop again and started reading. "About 18-35% of the population has the condition. Looking at bright lights, particularly the sun, can trigger the sneezing reflex." He closed the laptop and began ticking off his fingers. "Think about it. Dark motel room...bright bathroom light...sneeze. Car headlights in a dark room, sneeze. Bright sunlight into a dark room or when I stepped out into it...sneeze."
"So we're photic sneezers, now?"
Sam tossed his pen onto the table and returned the laptop to the bed. "No clue. I just know that's what we're doing."
Dean thought for a few seconds. "So day one was dust. Day two was dust and this photic sneezing thing. Day three was dust, photic sneezing, and pepper...but...you haven't sneezed from dust today."
"You think that's the pattern?
Dean shrugged. "Maybe? You cracked this code, genius. I thought we were just getting sick. If you're right, then you're gonna sneeze from dust at some point."
"If I'm right, then tomorrow we'll be sneezing from four things - dust, light, pepper and…I dunno."
They stared at each other.
Mostly convinced, Dean still wasn't at one hundred percent. "If this is a curse, it's a stupid one."
"Agreed. But it's only 1:30 and all that's left to happen is me and dust. So it's not that bad."
Dean reopened his lunch container. "Yet."
Sam opened his lunch container, agreeing. "Yet."
xxxxx
Continued in the next chapter...