Nothing's Ever Simple - (18 Parts) (complete!)

[Aprilcot]

I'm glad to hear it! And believe me, it's nice to see some familiar faces too; especially when they mean delicious torturous stories!

Thank you!

Can't wait for the next part as this is just soo adorable!!!!

[W.I.N.]

Thank you. I'm glad that my intentions are coming through well —I was a little worried about getting it right. Poor Sammy, he really is miserable right now.

It's going to be a couple more chapters at least before I start torturing Dean, but I promise it'll be worth the wait. I have evil, evil plans in mind for him.

~W.I.N.

You make a really... really good case for sneezy Sam being a thing of hotness. The gasping build-up kills me every time. And then when he gives up and just lets himself actually sneeze? He must be so tired and frustrated!

I can't WAIT for the Dean torture. AGHGHGHGHHH.

Mad

Thank you!

And you totally should write your own! We need more fics out there. Absolutely.

~W.I.N.

I'm loving this so much! I'm almost inspired to write my own Supernatural fic.

Aww, thank you!

Don't worry, I have plenty more story where that came from.

~W.I.N.

These last few chapters have literally left me a puddle on the floor, don't stop!!

Hee! I am delighted to oblige.

~W.I.N.

I'm glad to hear it! And believe me, it's nice to see some familiar faces too; especially when they mean delicious torturous stories!

Thank you!

Can't wait for the next part as this is just soo adorable!!!!

Mod note: Merged posts

[W.I.N.]

I have to apologize, there is *no* sneezing in this part at all, but I had to include it for Nefarious Plot Purposes™. I hope you'll forgive me, and it does have a lot of Dean in it, so hopefully that will make up for it. There will be more as soon as I've written it.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 6

Billy's was crowded, smoky, and filled with cheesy seventies music. It was pretty much the only place in town to go after work, as far as Dean could tell, which meant that this was the place to start asking questions. Discreetly, and with generous amounts of alcohol to help speed the process along. So far, he was out about ten bucks' worth of drinks, and had only the vaguest intel on the two dead girls: they were nice, well-liked, and no one could believe they were dead and wasn't it sad? Finally, the bartender, an older man in a leather vest with so many tattoos his arms were more blue than flesh tone, gave him a break.

“You should talk to Jill Higgins. She and Jenny got to be real close the last couple of months. Hit it off right away, it was like they'd been best friends their whole lives, the way they carried on.”

“Higgins, huh?” Dean filed the name away, as it was the second time he'd heard it that day. Funny how the Higgins girls kept cropping up. Could be something, could be nothing. Pretty girls didn't usually move to small dead-end towns like this, but stranger things had happened. “She around tonight?”

“It's her night off, but she's here. Nowhere else to go in this town.” The bartender pointed to a girl nursing a drink at the other end of the bar.

“Thanks,” Dean left a generous tip, then placed another bill on the bar. “I'll have another, and why don't you give her whatever she usually has, on me?”

The bartender grinned. “She might be a little out of your league, son.”

Dean returned the grin. “I guess we'll see.” He sauntered over to her, slid onto a bar stool. “Hi,” he flashed her a smile.

She looked up, and piercing blue eyes met his, seemed to look right through him. He sucked in a breath involuntarily. God, she was beautiful. She had smooth skin, sandy blond hair loose about her shoulders, even, white teeth that she revealed in a blinding smile. She was dressed conservatively: a white short-sleeved blouse tucked into a long brown skirt. The hem was wet, probably from dragging in a puddle.

“Hi.” Her voice was lower than he'd expected, almost sultry. “You're not from around here, are you?”

He cleared his throat, regained his composure. “What gave me away?”

She laughed, and it sounded like bells. “The fact that there are five hundred people in this town, and you're not one of them?”

“All right, you got me. Can I buy you a drink?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I don't let a man buy me drinks until I know his name.” She was teasing, her tone inviting him to stay.

“Right. Makes sense. I'm Dean.”

“Jill. Jill Higgins. But then, you knew that.”

“Got me again.” Oh, he liked her. Beautiful, and sharp as a tack. Also, clearly not repulsed by him. Bonus. The bartender brought their drinks, and he caught another glimpse of her mind-blasting smile.

“My favourite drink. I think I like you already, Dean. So... why were you looking for me?”

“Honestly I've almost completely forgotten,” he answered, a little sheepishly, and she laughed again. “Uh... I heard you were friends with Jenny Barton?”

The smile faded, her gaze dropped, and she toyed with the plastic sword in her drink. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, and surprised himself by really meaning it, more than usual. “I know you two were close.” Normally Sam's the one who was good at the girly touchy-feely stuff, but maybe some of it had rubbed off, after all this time.

She nodded. “I think... I think I was the last person to see her before she died.” She glanced up at him. “Can we move to a table? I don't want to talk about it here.”

“Sure,” he placed a hand on the small of her back, almost automatically, his fingers barely touching her. She didn't resist, and led him instead to a table at the back, away from most of the prying eyes in the place.

She sat, then swallowed the rest of her drink, and Dean motioned to a passing waitress to bring two more. “Thank you. Sometimes being in a town this small gets to me. I feel like everyone is staring at me these days.”

“Can you blame them?”

She smiled at the slightly clumsy compliment. “I keep telling myself it'll stop once the novelty of it all wears off. That's what Carrie says, too.”

“That your sister?”

“Younger sister,” she confirmed. “Eighteen months. Before we came here, she was pretty much my only friend. Until Jenny.”

“So now it's just you and her again.”

“I guess,” she blinked hard, staring at the table. “I keep replaying that night in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table, trying not to stare too hard, handed her a napkin. “I'm listening.”

She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “We were having drinks here, and we both had a couple too many, I think. I was pretty drunk. I offered to split a cab, to get us both home, but she said she wanted to walk it off for a while. I didn't think anything of it,” she said softly. “This is such a safe town, I wasn't even worried. She was just a bit tipsy, nothing that would get her in trouble. I shouldn't have let her go alone, I should have gone with her, but I was tired and I had to work the next day...” she wiped her eyes with a dry corner of the napkin.

“You want another drink?” Dean hated it when girls cried. It made him feel... well, squirmy. Didn't help that he was usually at least indirectly responsible for making them cry.

She shook her head. “I think I've had enough, at least for tonight.” She looked up at him, and smiled through the tears, managing to look beautiful in spite of puffy eyelids and red-rimmed eyes. “I'd ask you to take me somewhere else, but there's nowhere else to go.”

Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Wow. “Uh... wow. Look, it's not that I don't want to... y'know. But I kind of have to get back tonight. My little brother's sick, and I promised I'd be back early. It's just a cold, but he's been miserable for days, and I don't like to leave him alone in a strange place, you know?”

“I understand. I have a little sister too, you know. So, how about tomorrow night? Or will you be gone by then, riding off into the sunset in that gorgeous car of yours?”

“She's something, isn't she?” Dean swelled with pride at the mention of his baby. “No, we'll still be here. Work to do, you know.”

“Of course. I should have guessed you wouldn't be done in a day. I guess your loss is my gain.”

Suddenly Dean didn't want the night to be over, Sam or no Sam. “Uh, how about you let me see you home, at least?”

“I'd like that,” she smiled shyly, looking up at him through thick eyelashes, and he felt his heart flutter a little in his chest.

She didn't live far, although he found himself wishing she lived ten miles away, just so the evening would last a little bit longer. He hesitated outside her door as she fumbled in her purse for her keys, then turned back to him with a murmured “Thank you,” placing a small hand lightly on his chest.

It was hard to tell who initiated the kiss, but Dean found he really didn't care. She tasted of water lilies, of something sweet and salty at the same time, of sunlight dancing on top of clear water, and it took all he had not to clutch her to him as tightly as he could, and not let her go. After what might have been an eternity or only seconds, she broke away gently, leaving him breathless, heart hammering in his ribcage.

“I... uh...” he stammered, trying to make his brain work again. “I should... check on Sam. Uh... can I call you? Tomorrow? Maybe?”

She took a ballpoint pen out of her purse, pulled out his hand with a teasing smile, and carefully printed her number on the back of his hand, just below the work-roughened knuckles. “I'm counting on it.”

“Jill? Is that you?” A voice called out from inside the house. She gave him a rueful half-shrug.

“I gotta go.”

“Right. Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow, Jill.”

He turned tail and headed back to the motel, his head whirling. This wasn't like him. But then, she wasn't like any girl he'd ever met before. God, how was he ever going to explain this one to Sam?

[W.I.N.]

Mod note: Merged posts

Umm, oops?

I haven't quite figured out how to quote multiple people in one reply, and I'm trying to reply individually. Uh, can anyone tell me how to do that? 't'would be much appreciated! I don't want to make any faux pas, here...

Thanks!

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Making up for my last sneezeless update, here.

Hope this tides you over until I can get back to the plot.

*****

Part 7

The television was on when he let himself into the motel room, pizza box cooling in one hand, but Sam wasn't watching the infomercial that was running on loop on the screen, the sound all but completely muted. He was curled up under the blanket in much the same position that Dean had left him a couple of hours earlier, shivering slightly. He flinched and blinked when Dean flicked on the overhead light and went to sit next to him on the bed.

“Hey, I brought pizza. You hungry?”

A shake of the head. “Dot really. Thagks adyway.” Sam's voice was giving out, to add insult to injury.

“Have a few bites, at least? Pretend to eat?” Dean flipped open the lid of the box to reveal the greasy contents. “Food of the gods, I swear.”

Reluctantly Sam sat up and perched on the side of the bed, still shivering, rubbing at his face with both hands, then turned away abruptly and tried to stifle a sneeze into the crook of his arm. “Hep-KTSCHH!”

“Gesundheit. After werewolves, wendigos, and the potential end of the world, I can't believe it's a cold that's finally kicking your ass.”

Sam leaned over to grab a tissue from a rapidly-emptying box of Kleenex, breath hitching. “Hi'ih... hiihi'iih! Hep-KSHH!” he sniffled, blew his nose, tossed the tissue into the almost-overflowing trash can next to the bed. “Laugh it up while you cad,” he muttered, and grabbed another tissue just in time to catch a third sneeze in it. “Hep-KSHOO!”

“Gesundheit,” Dean said again, then carefully extricated a piece of pizza from the box and held it temptingly in front of his brother. “They didn't have Hawaiian, but it does have ham on it.” He pulled a couple of tissues from the box in lieu of napkins. “You have to eat something, and this is all we've got. It's pizza, you know, could be worse.”

With a defeated sigh, Sam took the proffered slice, and made a show of taking a bite. “I'b eatig, see?” he swallowed, then turned aside to cough harshly into his free hand, his shoulders shaking with the effort. “Whad did you fid oud?”

Dean helped himself to a slice of pizza. “Not as much as I'd like. Both of the girls who drowned were at least a bit drunk on the nights they died, and went off alone each time after having drinks at Billy's. Right now it's looking like that might be the connection, but I haven't been able to figure out what it is about Billy's that's making this happen. Nothing spooky happening there that I could see.”

Sam pinched his nose viciously as another sneeze threatened. “Who'd you speag do?”

“A couple of the locals, the bartender, and Jill Higgins, the best friend of Jenny Barton.”

“Higgids? The dew girls id down?” Sam blew his nose again into a fresh tissue, wincing as the paper rubbed his nose raw.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. She and Jenny got to be real close. She's pretty shaken up about it, blames herself for not watching out for her that night, as though she could have known.”

Sam was watching him shrewdly. “You ligke her.”

Dean shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “She's hot, yeah. So what?”

His brother broke off before saying anything, a sneeze tugging at the corners of his mouth, nostrils flaring. “Hiih... hi'iih! Iihhii'iihiih! Hep-KTSCHOO!” He followed it up with another fit of coughing so forceful it bent him double, leaving him gasping for air, eyes streaming. His slice of pizza fell from nerveless fingers onto the floor. Dean caught him by the shoulders just before he lost his balance and fell over.

“Woah, there. No passing out on my watch. Easy does it,” he pushed his brother back onto the pillows, lifting his legs to stretch him out on the bed. “The food can wait.” Sam was shivering harder than before, biting his lip to keep his teeth from chattering. “You cold?”

“A liddle bid.” The admission definitely cost Sam something to make.

“Sit tight, I'll put up the heat in here.” He jumped up to fiddle with the thermostat. It wasn't that cold a night, but he was willing to boil a bit if Sam was cold. He was back a moment later. “That ought to do it. How're you feeling?” he tried to keep the worry out of his voice.

“I'b fide.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, come on. Just... tell me the truth, okay? I promise I won't make fun of you, just this once. Please?”

“Id's jusd a cohd.”

Dean sighed, leaned over and brushed his fingers lightly against Sam's forehead. “You've got a fever.” A mumbled protest, which he ignored. “Can you please just tell me what's going on? Otherwise I'm just going to take you to a doctor or a clinic without asking for permission first.”

Sam twisted aside to cough into his hands. “Dod't, id's fide. I'b jusd havig trouble breathig. Id's jusd codgestiod. From the cohd,” he said emphatically, although it was hard to take him seriously when he was shivering so hard the whole bed was shaking. His eyes drooped closed in spite of himself, and he made an effort to open them again. “I'b fide, really,” he mumbled.

Dean heaved another sigh. It was useless to argue with Sam when he was like this. Sometimes it was like having a five-year-old to look after again. “At least let's get you out of your clothes and into bed, okay?” he wheedled.

To his relief, Sam nodded, although he shook off most of Dean's attempts to help him get ready for bed, rummaging in his suitcase for his one pair of warm pajamas. Like Dean, he usually preferred a t-shirt and boxers, but every now and then they ended up in a place that was too cold for that, and so they'd each invested in a pair for those rare occasions when they'd be needed. After a few minutes he slid under the bedclothes, his face grey with exhaustion, hair damp with sweat, and Dean could hear each breath wheezing painfully in his lungs as he drifted into an uneasy doze. For a while he tried ignoring it, flicking through channels on the television —nothing on, not that that was surprising— and having another slice of pizza, but he kept stealing glances over at the very still figure huddled on the bed, listening for any sound of change in the laboured breathing. Finally he gave up trying to give Sam space, and grabbed the small bag of stuff he'd bought at the drugstore, filled a glass with water from the bathroom tap, and sat next to Sam on the bed.

“You sound like crap, and I can tell you're not really sleeping.”

Sam's eyes fluttered open, glassy from the low-grade fever. “Cad't breadthe broberly,” he admitted, smothering a cough into his pillow.

“I got you some NyQuil. I found pills, 'cause I know you hate the taste. Come on,” he propped up his brother, dropped the pills in his hand, and held the glass of water in front of him.

“I hade that sduff. Gibes me weird dreabs,” Sam grumbled, but he swallowed them anyway and let himself fall back onto the pillows.

“Better weird dreams than no sleep at all, bro.” Dean reached over and began unbuttoning the top of Sam's pajamas.

“Whad're you doig?”

“I'm getting tired of hearing you sound like you're about to croak. Hold still and let me work, would you?”

Dean twisted the lid off a small jar of Vick's and scooped out a generous amount onto three fingers, the pungent smell filling the room and prickling slightly at his nose. He pressed his hands together, warming the viscous substance, then gently began rubbing it on Sam's chest, moving clockwise in circles, working it into the tense muscles. Sam twitched at the first touch, then slowly relaxed, letting his eyes close. For a while Dean worked in silence, a faint smile hovering around his lips as he remembered doing this countless times for Sammy when he was a kid. Moving from school to school, he always seemed to pick up whatever bug was going around, no matter what time of year it was.

“Better?”

Sam nodded, eyes still closed, and Dean felt his breathing change subtly, his chest expanding under Dean's fingers. His eyes half-opened and he tensed. “Huh... sniff!” he turned aside, trying to push Dean's hands away. “Sdzeeze...” he gasped, almost as a warning, “Hi'ih... hihii'ihi'iih!” He struggled for a few moments, chest heaving, one hand raised to his face, knuckles pressed to his nose, trying to hold it back. It was a losing battle. Rolling his eyes, Dean pulled another handful of tissues from the box, and held them in front of Sam's face, pulling his brother's hand away.

“Just go ahead and sneeze, dude. It'll make you feel better. And quit stifling, you're just killing brain cells that way. It's just me, here.”

“I c-ca.. hi'iih! Iihii'iihih... hiihi'ihii'iih!” Sam was fighting the sneeze as though his life depended on it, his expression agonized, and Dean pressed his advantage, holding the tissues right in front of him until he was forced to give into the inevitable. “HEISHOO!” The sneeze forced him to sit up halfway, holding onto Dean's wrist as he buried his nose and mouth gratefully into the tissues. “ISHOO!” His head snapped forward, and he managed a single, desperate gasp for air before starting up again. “Huh! HEH-ISHOO! ISHOO! Uh... God... ISHOO! Sniff! HAISHOO! Hiih... HISHOO!” the fit left him trembling, a sheen of sweat on his pale skin.

“Attaboy, Sammy,” Dean murmured, as though Sam was five years old again. “Now blow.” Sam coughed, did as he was told, and let Dean lay him back on the bed.

“'M sorry.”

Dean tossed the tissues into the trash can, went back to rubbing Sam's chest with the Vick's. “Don't be stupid. Nothing to be sorry for. Think you'll be able to sleep?” A tired nod. “All right. Keep your eyes closed, think happy thoughts. Don't laugh, I'm not as good at this as you are,” he grinned in spite of himself as Sam chuckled at his clumsy attempt at a beside manner. “The chick stuff is your strong suit, not mine.”

Sam's breathing evened out, but his eyes fluttered open just as Dean was sure he'd fallen asleep. “You really do ligke thad girl, dod't you?” he asked softly.

Dean shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. Don't worry about it now. Just get some sleep.”

“'kay.” Sam's eyes drifted closed again, and moments later, he was asleep.

[mr.moosey]

Sooo sweet! These two have the coolest brother bond, and you portray it perfectly!

[W.I.N.]

Thank you!

It's nice to know people are enjoying it.

I'm having fun having Dean be all big brother right now.

~W.I.N.

Sooo sweet! These two have the coolest brother bond, and you portray it perfectly!

[crazy_cat_girl]

Oh. my goodness, I almost feel like crying because this was so intensely sweet. The Vick' vapor rub totally got to me.

[W.I.N.]

Oh. my goodness, I almost feel like crying because this was so intensely sweet. The Vick' vapor rub totally got to me.

I had that scene in my head almost from the moment I got inspired to continue this fic. It's why I started writing it at all, really. I'm glad it came across as well as I hoped it would!

~W.I.N.

[le mouchoir]

This is one of my favorite stories on the entire forum! Sneezy!Sam is just adorable!...

The relationship between the Winchesters is just sweet & perfect as depicted by you! Wonderful job!

...I've never watched Supernatural but with all these sick fics going around, I really should...

[Vetinari]

Mod note: Merged posts

Umm, oops?

I haven't quite figured out how to quote multiple people in one reply, and I'm trying to reply individually. Uh, can anyone tell me how to do that? 't'would be much appreciated! I don't want to make any faux pas, here...

Thanks!

~W.I.N.

No oops at all, and I apologise, I began to merge the posts and only realised part way through that I didn't have much time. I should however have explained to you that instead of clicking the "Reply" button on the post you want to reply to, you can click the "Quote" button beside it. It will turn red and then you can click on any other posts you want to quote on the same page. Once you have pressed the "Quote" button on all the replies you want to answer then go to the bottom of the thread and click on "Add reply". Hopefully then you should get a reply box with all the posts quoted. And I apologise if I worried you, I appreciate your enthusiasm in trying to reply individually. Hope that helps.

[obsessed]

AWWWW. That was freaking adorable.

[W.I.N.]

No oops at all, and I apologise, I began to merge the posts and only realised part way through that I didn't have much time. I should however have explained to you that instead of clicking the "Reply" button on the post you want to reply to, you can click the "Quote" button beside it. It will turn red and then you can click on any other posts you want to quote on the same page. Once you have pressed the "Quote" button on all the replies you want to answer then go to the bottom of the thread and click on "Add reply". Hopefully then you should get a reply box with all the posts quoted. And I apologise if I worried you, I appreciate your enthusiasm in trying to reply individually. Hope that helps.

Ah, okay. Thank you! I wondered what that "quote" button was for, since I poked at it and it didn't do anything visible.

I'll do that from now on as much as possible.

Cheers!

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

This is one of my favorite stories on the entire forum! Sneezy!Sam is just adorable!...

The relationship between the Winchesters is just sweet & perfect as depicted by you! Wonderful job!

...I've never watched Supernatural but with all these sick fics going around, I really should...

Thank you.

I think Sam is pretty adorable too. I can't recommend Supernatural enough as a show. It's so much fun!

AWWWW. That was freaking adorable.

Thank you! I'm glad that scene worked out the way I intended. I was a little worried about having it come across properly.

~W.I.N.

[Tari]

OH. MY. GOD! CUTENESS OVERLOAD!

[ID2006]

Yup... this should definitely be made into an episode.

[sneezedreamer]

I'm sorry I haven't commented in a while! This is amazing...hell, YOU are amazing! Quick updates! What a great story! With actual plot! And the sneezing! Gah! *dies*

Some of my favorite things - Sam with his box of tissues in the diner. Dean nagging Sam to take his cold medicine. Dean calling Sam a germ infested teddy bear. The enitre scene with the grieving widow, and Sam struggling not to sneeze. The vicks vapor rub thing.

Thank you so much for everthing you've already written! I can't wait to read the rest of it!

[W.I.N.]

OH. MY. GOD! CUTENESS OVERLOAD!

I'm very glad you liked it! It struck me as just the sort of thing Dean would do for a sick little brother. What else is he going to do, sit around and listen to Sam be sick? I don't think so!

Yup... this should definitely be made into an episode.

*sigh*

That would make me a very, VERY happy camper. Alas, I don't think the writers of SPN share my particular, erm, predilections.

~W.I.N.

Oh, hey, no worries. I've had a lot of time online in the past few days. I love comments when I can get 'em, but don't feel bad about only coming occasionally.

I am updating faster than I usually do, a combination of extra time and a REALLY rabid plot bunny that won't let go of me. I'm glad you're liking the story so far, I'm personally quite pleased with the concept I came up with.

Also? Specific likes and dislikes FTW! The more feedback I get, the better I can make the story. Thank you!

~W.I.N.

I'm sorry I haven't commented in a while! This is amazing...hell, YOU are amazing! Quick updates! What a great story! With actual plot! And the sneezing! Gah! *dies*

Some of my favorite things - Sam with his box of tissues in the diner. Dean nagging Sam to take his cold medicine. Dean calling Sam a germ infested teddy bear. The entire scene with the grieving widow, and Sam struggling not to sneeze. The vicks vapor rub thing.

Thank you so much for everthing you've already written! I can't wait to read the rest of it!

[W.I.N.]

Thank you for all the lovely comments, everyone! They totally make my day.

For all the people out there still waiting for Dean, I swear it won't be much longer! This thing is moving at the speed of plot, unfortunately, and I'm trying to keep my continuity going.

*****

Part 8

Sam spent the night tossing restlessly, muttering in his sleep, incoherent snippets of conversations with people Dean couldn't see. In-between catching cat naps while Sam was quiet, Dean lay on his side, making sure his brother was still breathing. Around 2am he forced more pills into Sam, ignoring his protests. Every so often Sam would sit up halfway, stifle wet-sounding sneezes in a vain attempt to keep quiet, then settle back down, shifting his weight, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, coughing painfully. Finally, just when Dean was about to despair that either of them would be able to get a proper night's rest, Sam relaxed with a sigh, and fell into a deep and apparently dreamless sleep.

It was next to impossible to get to sleep after that, but Dean managed to snatch a few more hours' worth before admitting defeat and dragging his very groggy self out of bed and into the shower. He stood under the hot spray (God bless the good water pressure in this town!) a good ten minutes more than usual, trying to work out the knots in his muscles. It was going to be a frigging long day at this rate, especially with a nagging, sleep-deprivation-induced headache. He scrubbed hard at his face, trying to get rid of the residual grogginess, without much success, debated not shaving, and then remembered he sort-of had a date tonight. Okay, shaving was definitely on the list, then. Regardless of what was on TV, chicks as a rule did not like stubble, and Dean was well aware of this fact.

He found Sam sitting up in bed when he finally emerged from the bathroom. “Good morning, sunshine. How're you feeling?”

“Bedder,” Sam choked out, his voice all but gone.

“You don't sound like it.”

Sam grinned and shook his head. “I'b serious,” he croaked, swallowing painfully. “Soud awful, bud I feel bedder.”

Dean returned the grin, then reached out to ruffle Sam's hair, already mussed from sleeping. “Okay, then. I was about to start worrying, and you know I hate that. You want some breakfast? There's only one diner in town, so prepare to get stared at, a lot.”

Sam nodded, then coughed, although Dean had to admit it didn't sound quite as painful as the night before. “I would gill for a gup of goffee.”

“That's my boy. Get dressed and we're out of here.”

Unlike the previous morning, this diner was almost completely filled with the early-morning shift: the price of getting up early, Dean supposed. Pointedly ignoring all the looks in their direction, Sam slid into one of the two remaining seats at a corner table, hastily grabbed a napkin as his breath started to hitch. “Hi'ih... hiihii'iih! Hep-KSHH!” Dean bit back a grin. Things were getting back to normal, finally. Once he got rid of this headache and got a proper night's sleep, things would be peachy.

A pretty girl in a flowered dress and white apron materialized at the table, looking cheerful, if a little harried. The hem of the dress was damp, as though she'd maybe had a close encounter with a misbehaving tap, or something. Dean had done that a few times, and it was always more embarrassing for a guy to get water all over the front of his pants than for a girl to get her dress wet. At least, that was his opinion. “Morning,” she chirped, trying to smooth her skirt. “You must be the U.S. Marshals, right? Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Dean returned her smile, wondering where he'd seen her before. “Coffee would be great,” he agreed. “I see word travels fast around these parts.”

“It does, but that's not why I know who you are. I saw you last night with Jill, through the window.”

Suddenly it made sense. “You're Carrie Higgins.”

“You bet your bottom dollar!” she flashed him a smile that reminded him disarmingly of her sister's. “You definitely made an impression on Jill, that's for sure. She'll kill me if she finds out I told you, but she talked about nothing else all last night. Is it true you guys are going out tonight?”

Sam shot him a look that Dean ignored, pointedly. “Uh, yeah. We don't exactly have definite plans, but I said I'd call and we'd figure something out.”

Carrie smiled again, poured two cups of coffee with an expert hand, and Dean was hard-pressed not to think of Jill as he tried to remember what he'd been saying a minute before. “She'll like that. Why don't I just leave the pot here? Everyone is about to clear out for the morning shift, so we won't miss it. So, coffee, and what else?” she pulled out her notepad, and looked at Sam, who was trying discreetly to blow his nose in the napkin.

He blushed, shoved the napkin into his pocket. “I'd, uh, ligke ad oradge juice,” he cleared his throat as his voice threatened to give out completely. “Ad the scrabbled eggs with bagon.”

Carrie giggled, her expression at once incredulous, amused, and commiserating. “Oh, man. Jill mentioned you were sick, but I never...” she clapped a hand over her mouth, looking mortified as Sam's cheeks turned red. “I'm sorry, that was totally inappropriate.”

Sam blushed harder, and glared at Dean. “How did that ged do be a dopic of codversatiod?”

Dean raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Dude, I'm sorry, I just mentioned it in passing. It wasn't a big deal.”

“Uh, how about you?” Carrie's face now matched Sam's perfectly. “What would you like?”

Dean ignored Sam as he began building up to another sneeze. “I'll have the lumberjack special. It's got lots of meat, right?”

“That, and pancakes!” she was obviously grateful not to dwell on the fact that she'd shoved her foot in her mouth all the way up to her knee. “You want extra bacon with that?”

“A girl after my own heart,” Dean grinned, and she flashed him that smile that was so like her sister's.

“Coming right up!”

“She looks like a younger version of Jill. It's kind of weird.”

Sam's shoulders clenched as he stifled the sneeze that he'd been trying to stave off. “Hep-KNSHH!” He shot his brother a curious look. “Why is id weird?”

“I dunno. It just is. Maybe it's just because she barely looks legal.”

“Ad Jill doesd't?” Sam picked up his cup of coffee, blew on it as steam curled from the surface, swallowed with a wince, coughed painfully.

“No, she really doesn't,” a stupid grin spread over his face before he could stop it. “You going to be okay if I head out for a couple of hours tonight?”

His brother held up a hand in warning, turned his head aside, breath hitching, and Dean rolled his eyes and took the opportunity to have a drink of coffee, hoping it would help clear his head a bit. He took a swallow, watching Sam struggle, took another swallow, his throat dry. Putting up the heat in the motel room has done a number on him.

“Hiih... hii'iihiih... hi'iihihii! Hep-KSHH!”

“Bless you,” an older woman in working clothes smiled commiseratingly as she walked by, didn't stop to see Sam blush and try to stammer a thank you.

“Dude, leave it, she's long gone. So?” he prompted, feeling uncomfortably as though he might start blushing himself. Damn. It wasn't like he was in high school anymore: this was almost embarrassing, except that Jill kind of did make him feel like he was fifteen years old.

Sam pinched his nose, tried unsuccessfully to stifle another sneeze. “Hep-NGKSHK!” With an exasperated look he blew his nose into yet another napkin. “Yeah, id's fide. I wadt do meed her, though. She's god you agtig all giddy,” he grinned. “Id's dot ofden thad happeds.”

“Shut up,” but Dean couldn't quite wipe the grin from his face. “Anyway, good.”

Sam shook his head, coughed into a new napkin, changed the subject as Carrie reappeared with their orders and vanished again just as quickly. “So whad's the plad?”

Dean dropped his voice to be certain they wouldn't be overheard. “The plan, Sammy boy, is that I'm going to do some canvassing, and you're going to hole up at the motel and research drownings and what could be causing them that's supernatural.”

“Dean.”

“Don't argue with me, Sam. You're not in any shape to be running around around in the rain,” he pointed outside, to where dark clouds were gathering from the west. “I just got you up and coherent again, and I don't want to have to go through all that again.” He held up a hand to ward off any protests. “Just one day, Sammy. Spend one day resting, and doing what you do best —which is research— and then you can run yourself ragged for all I care.”

To his surprise, Sam nodded. He took a drink of his orange juice before answering. “Okay. It's dot like I'm goig do be able do dalk do beoble buch,” his voice cracked again, as though to illustrate his point, and he swallowed more juice, wincing as it slid down his raw throat.

Well, you didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. “Glad you're seeing reason.”

By the time they got back to the motel the rain was just starting to come down. Dean chivvied Sam inside before he could get wet, and in spite of his protests insisted on settling him back into bed with books, his laptop, an extra blanket, a box of tissues and enough pills to stock a small drugstore.

“I'll be back later. Going to check out the local paper, see if anything like this has happened before. A town this size, I'm going to have to go through physical archives: no microfilms here.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Ogay,” Sam reached for a tissue, blew his nose. “I oughd do have sobethig by the dime you ged bagk.”

Dean zipped up his jacket, prepared to head back out into the rain. “Great. And take a nap, too, at some point. It'll do you good.”

[iluvsneezes]

This is getting so good! I know a lot of people are waiting for sneezy Dean, but I myself, am truly partial to sneezy Sam.

[ID2006]

Awe... as much as I like sneezy Dean it's nice to have some sneezy Sam out there too. Looking forward to more.

[W.I.N.]

This is getting so good! I know a lot of people are waiting for sneezy Dean, but I myself, am truly partial to sneezy Sam.

Awe... as much as I like sneezy Dean it's nice to have some sneezy Sam out there too. Looking forward to more.

I am a firm believer in the notion that both boys need my attention.

*cough*

Yeah.

Every dog has its day, and soon it will be Dean's turn, although I promise not to neglect Sam too much.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

For all the people who've been waiting for the Dean goodness to start, here you go!

*****

Part 9

After a few minutes of getting absolutely drenched, Dean was seriously regretting his decision to walk to the local paper. He pulled his collar about his ears in a fruitless attempt to keep the rain from running down his neck, and jogged the last few yards, entering the front office with a musical jangle of bells. He found himself staring into the bespectacled gaze of a stout middle-aged woman, her steel grey hair in a bun, who stared disapprovingly at the puddle he was leaving on the floor in front of her desk. Half-rimmed spectacles rested on an overly generous bosom clad in a frilly white blouse. The name plate on her desk read simply “Gladys.”

“Uh, hi,” he pulled his fake ID out of his pocket, handed it over, dripped water onto a stack of papers. “Sorry. I need access to your archives... please,” he added, as she fixed him with a flat look.

“There's a rest room on your left. You should dry off before going into the archives,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Feeling a bit like a puppy that's been chastised for piddling on the rug, Dean retreated through the swinging door, found a paper towel dispenser. He did a halfway decent job getting the excess water out of his hair and off his leather jacket, but his jeans were soaked through. Damn, that was definitely going to chafe later. He'd have to get a change of clothes afterward, if he wanted to make it through the day without rubbing the inside of his thighs raw. He shivered, pulled off his jacket, and tried without much success to get rid of the water dripping down his back. Gladys was waiting for him with a forbidding glare when he emerged.

“Follow me.” She waddled ahead of him, sensible heels clacking smartly against the linoleum, led him past what was obviously the editing room and into a stuffy storage room way at the back of the building. “Every single paper we've ever published, starting in 1907, back when it was still the Sifton Daily instead of the Sifton Bugle.”

“Daily?” Dean echoed, feeling his stomach sink. That sounded like an awful lot of reading to get through.

“Daily,” she confirmed. “There's a desk, and you'll find a pad and pencil for taking notes. Do not remove any of the papers and do not under any circumstances tear, mutilate or otherwise deface newspaper property.”

Dean gaped at her. “Geez, what do you take me for?”

She sniffed. “Don't think that just because you wear a badge doesn't mean I don't know you're a hooligan. Just you mind your paws, young man.” She turned on her heel, leaving him staring after her, completely nonplussed. With a shrug, he set to work.

Why, oh why couldn't these stupid tiny local papers ever arrange to keep their archives in nice, well-lit rooms? Preferably ones with windows, and maybe without a ventilation system that sent freezing, dusty air swirling around. Maybe even a room that got vacuumed once in a while. Dean chuckled under his breath at the thought of Gladys parading around in there with a feather duster. The room was cold, he was still wet and chafing and uncomfortable, and he was really glad that Sammy wasn't here to make fun of him for it. He scrubbed at his nose, which was tingling, and wished that the air wasn't so dry, or that maybe he'd thought of bringing some water with him. Or a giant thermos of steaming hot coffee; kill two birds with one stone that way.

“HEKSCHUH!” The sneeze caught him by surprise, and he just managed to turn his head far enough that he didn't spray Gladys' precious paper. He sniffled, annoyed, patted his pockets in search of a tissue, and realized he'd left all of them with Sam. Perfect.

The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slowly, and he began losing the battle with the dust, trying very hard to concentrate on what he was reading, and not the insistent tickle growing in the back of his sinuses. It wasn't that he minded sneezing —it felt pretty good on the whole, if he was honest with himself— it was just that it was physically impossible to both read and sneeze at the same time, and right now reading was more important.

“HAPTSCHUH!” he clapped his hands over his nose and mouth, folding at the waist. He made a face, wiped his hands on his jeans. What the hell, he was going to be changing right after this, anyway. His throat protested at the harsh treatment, and he absentmindedly wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, wishing very very hard for a cup of coffee to materialize from the Rift. He was vaguely disappointed when it didn't: weirder things had happened, after all.

For a small town in which nothing happened, the newspaper certainly had a lot to say. He skimmed past editorials, let his eye skip over wedding announcements and focussed on obituaries, scanned for words like “strange” and “death” and “drowning” and “river.” It still meant going through every single paper, stopping to take notes, and there were hundreds of pages to go through. He also suspected Gladys of having either turned off the heating or else turned up the ventilation system just to spite him, since the room appeared to have dropped about twenty degrees in temperature. He shivered, feeling a trickle of icy water run down his spine, and his nose picked that moment to betray him utterly.

“Huh! HEPTSCHUH! HESTCHOO! ISHOO! HAESHOO!” he pushed his chair away from the table, buried his face in his cupped hands. “Uh... huh! HEKSCHOO! IKSCHOO! ESHOO! Uh...” he gasped, hitched, nose twinging, finally felt the feeling subside.

Great. Now he was doing his best imitation of a leaky faucet, and there was nothing for it except to go back out, past Gladys, and find some tissues in the restroom. He steeled himself, one hand still over his nose and mouth, drew the tattered shreds of his dignity around him like a robe, and went in like a man about to face a firing squad. He managed to mostly ignore Gladys' disapproving stare, ducked into the restroom, pushed open the door to one of the stalls, and helped himself to the toilet paper. Blew his nose with a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall of the stall. He took a drink from the faucet, made a face as his throat began to hurt even more after he swallowed. He dried his hands on the paper towel, stuffed as much toilet paper as he could into the pockets of his jacket, went back to his research.

Five hours, fourteen other drownings (none of them remotely suspicious), three coughing fits, and fifteen sneezes. He'd started counting out of a perverse sense of contrariness, and now he was fed up. The whole expedition was a bust, and he could only hope Sam had had more luck with his own research. He put away the few papers he still had out, conscious of Gladys even through several sets of walls, folded his notes into a pocket, felt his nose twinge again.

“HEPTSCHUH!”

He waved vaguely to Gladys on his way out, found it still raining, and hunched his shoulders against the downpour, prepared to trudge back to the motel to nurse his new-found misery, when he heard someone call his name.

“Dean! Over here!”

He looked up in time to see Jill running toward him, long skirt held out of the mud with one hand. She was wearing a yellow rain jacket, the hood pulled up over her head, although some of her hair had spilled out from inside the hood and was now soaked with rainwater. He found himself smiling, his bad mood suddenly evaporated.

“Hey,” he greeted her. Suave.

She smiled, leaned in to give him a chaste kiss. “You're soaking wet!”

“So're you,” he pointed out. Her skirt was sodden under her rain jacket.

“Not as much as you are. My jacket's waterproof. Can't say the same for your hair.”

Dean was sure he could have come up with a witty reply had he not picked that exact moment to succumb to a sneezing fit, turning aside and catching them in the crook of his arm. “HETSCHUH! HESCHOO! Uh... HISHOO! HEPTSCHUUH!” he turned back, feeling his cheeks grown warm. “Sorry.”

Her mouth twisted with concern, and he thought he detected a hint of amusement there, too. “Oh, Dean. Did you go and catch your brother's cold?”

“N-No... ISHOO! Okay, maybe,” he admitted. “But it's not bad, I promise.” Stoic. Chicks dug stoicism, right?

She reached up, smoothed a few stray strands of hair away from where the rain had plastered them to his forehead. “I won't keep you out in the rain, then. As much as it disappoints me, how about we put our date off to tomorrow night? That way tonight you can get some sleep, and tomorrow you'll be in better shape?”

He hesitated, torn between the logic in what she was saying and the irrational desire to just drop everything and go with her right now, everything else be damned. He shook his head.

“I'll be fine.” It was a lie, but oh, how he wanted it to be true.

Jill smiled up at him, and for a moment he could see nothing but her eyes like the sea after a storm, and he leaned over and kissed her, the rain cold on her lips, the rest of her warm against him. She pressed up against him, holding onto his jacket tightly with both hands for purchase, her breath hot on his cheek, tongue sweet and salty against his. Once again, she broke off first, gently, reluctantly.

“I get off work at midnight. Call me?”

He nodded, breathless. “Promise.”

[telltale]

Lol, I love Gladys. Dean totally is a hooligan.

This is SO GOOD. It's really well put-together, the dialogue is fantastic, and now there is sneezy!Dean! !!! Be still my heart!

[W.I.N.]

Gladys prides herself on her ability to judge people.

I'm glad you're enjoying it, and yes, sneezy!Dean is one of my favourites as well. He makes my heart go pitty-pat, on occasion.

~W.I.N.

Lol, I love Gladys. Dean totally is a hooligan.

This is SO GOOD. It's really well put-together, the dialogue is fantastic, and now there is sneezy!Dean! !!! Be still my heart!