Dean wonders if he should have counted his blessings, because even in all his years of interviewing witnesses, he's never had to step into the home of a Crazy Cat Lady.
Until now, at least, and he realizes he definitely should have considered himself lucky up until this point. The entire place is decorated with those weird fuzzy cat playgrounds, toy mice and jingly balls strewn across the carpet. There's fur covering the furniture and even floating in the air, visible amongst the dust in beams of sunlight.
"Ugh God," he mutters before he has even stepped through the door. "I think I'm allergic to this room."
"You'll be fine," Sam assures, his voice calm and professional in preparation for the interview. "Just a couple questions and we're out of here." He wrinkles his own nose at all the dust, from either disgust or irritation, Dean can't tell.
"Probably hasn't cleaned the place in years," Dean complains, running a finger over a grime-covered bookcase and grimacing. He glances around the cluttered living room. "Dude, is she even home?"
"Mrs. Quincy?" Sam calls pointlessly. There's no response from the woman, which Dean thinks is surprising, considering she doesn't seem the type to really get out much.
"Nope," Dean concurs, rubbing the back of his palm underneath his nose. His throat's already itching. "Let's get out of here."
"Not so fast," Sam says. "No reason we can't have a look around."
"HDGZSHH!" Except there totally is a reason. Dean sniffs hard, and gazes across the room at the offender – a bright orange cat rubbing its fur and dander along the edge of the couch.
"Gesundheit," Sam voices, a smile in his tone as he goes through a box of the homeowner's photographs.
"Don't you start," Dean warns with another loud sniff. "I'm gonna check the – huhDSJZHUH! – the kitched."
It's just the next room over, and Dean can see Sam smirking through the open, doorless entryway. Sam's always gotten a kick out of Dean's cat allergies, probably because the kid's allergic to so many other things himself (which Dean can and does tease him mercilessly for, he'll admit) and cats are one of the only things that don't bother him so much. Dean, on the other hand…
"Hp'KDJISSHOO! Huhr'ESCHHUH!" He sniffs once, twice, and a third time before his breath hitches again and his head bobs forward almost fast enough to give him whiplash. "UhtPTSHHCHuh!"
There are two cats sitting at the table and another one on the counter. That can't be sanitary, Dean muses grumpily while he rubs his eyes and goes to look for evidence on the pictures adorning Mrs. Quincy's fridge.
He hears Sam close the box of photos and put it back on the shelf in the other room, and then the sounds of books being pulled off of a shelf and miscellaneous memorabilia being picked up, inspected, and then gently set back down. Apparently neither one of them is having much luck.
"PTSCHH! HuhKNNXTCH!" He's got the back of his wrist jammed up underneath his nose to at least try to hold them back a little. It's an old habit, and probably not the healthiest but sneezing is fucking annoying especially when he's trying to work a case, and at least he isn't pinching his nose to silence them like Sam sometimes does.
Dean looks down when he feels something warm and firm pressed against him, and finds exactly what he had expected – a shaggy grey cat marking his legs with its body. "Damn it, no!" He growls, steps away to no avail because the creature only follows him.
"Aw, Dean, I think it likes you," Sam says from the open doorway. He walks over to the table, bends down to scratch one of the animals under its chin. Sam had always been fond of animals. Better equipped to deal with them than Dean was, at least.
Dean ignores him in favor of his nose. "HpGDSHZH! Ugh. You doing okay with the dust?"
"Leave it to you to be worried about me while you're having an allergy attack," Sam replies while the cat leans its face into his hand. He coughs once, lightly. "I'm fine. You find anything?"
"Doe," Dean answers. "I'b thigkig it's addother dead edd. Cad we go dow? This is a waste of tibe."
Sam chuckles. "Yeah alright." He stands and brushes his hands together, makes sure they're mostly free of cat hair. "You're covered in fur, though. Might have to stop and buy a lint roller before we get back to the motel."
He steps over to Dean and plucks a couple stray hairs off of his shoulder, guiltlessly drops them onto the floor. Dean inspects his own sleeve, coated in a layer of fur just from the air around him, and sneezes.
"Hd'ESHHue! You doe what, Sab? Just burd it. The padts, too."