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

[Lady Blessington]

Even though it was Sam doing the sneezing... Dean holding the tissues for him? So freaking hot.

Blushing sneezing endlessly noseblowing Sam, with strangers trying to mother him, is quite a good Sam.

That was like warm chocolate brownies with M&Ms in them and whipped cream and strawberries on top. <3 Dean sneezing fits? Massive noseblowing? KISSES? Her moving the strands of hair on his forehead... aghghgh.

*begs for more*

Mod Note: Merged posts

[W.I.N.]

Even though it was Sam doing the sneezing... Dean holding the tissues for him? So freaking hot.

I quite liked that myself. People holding tissues for other people? *fans self*

Yeah.

Blushing sneezing endlessly noseblowing Sam, with strangers trying to mother him, is quite a good Sam.

I very much like that Sam. Everyone needs to mother him a little more.

I see that you haven't reached the sneezy!Dean part of the story. Hope you enjoy it when you get there.

~W.I.N.

I'm SO glad you liked it! I have totally fallen in love with your writing, so coming from you it's high praise.

I'm also glad that Jill is coming across well. OC's are notoriously difficult to work with, especially if you get them romantically involved with the canon characters.

More coming up! Probably tomorrow morning. I'm still working out a few kinks in the current chapter, notably getting Dean's voice right.

~W.I.N.

That was like warm chocolate brownies with M&Ms in them and whipped cream and strawberries on top. <3 Dean sneezing fits? Massive noseblowing? KISSES? Her moving the strands of hair on his forehead... aghghgh.

*begs for more*

[obsessed]

Well--regardless, this was absolutely brilliant. And both boys? Eeek.

[W.I.N.]

Thank you! And yes, both boys.

Uh... regardless of what?

~W.I.N.

Well--regardless, this was absolutely brilliant. And both boys? Eeek.

[W.I.N.]

And now, some exposition! With bonus sneezing. From both boys, even!

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 10

“Sammy, you'd better have good news for me before I kill you,” Dean greeted his brother, tossing a paper bag with sandwiches onto the small table in the motel room. He shook himself, dog-like, spraying water left and right, and began to strip off his wet clothes. “Also, I brought food. You can thank me later. Right now, the sooner I am dry, the happier I'll be.” He put on a pair of dry jeans, pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and rubbed his hair until it was dry, if sticking out at odd angles.

Sam looked up from where he'd been typing away on his laptop, a quizzical look on his face. He was looking more alert, if still deathly pale. “Uh, thagk you? And whad have I dode ladely to deserve death?” He had wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders, and was doing a very good impression of a sick hermit-scholar, surrounded by books, papers, and used tissues.

“Never mind,” Dean was annoyed, but not enough to admit that he was sick. He reached over to pick up the paper bag, wondering why he'd bothered putting it down in the first place. “There's ham and ham. Take your pick.”

“Hab, blease.” Sam grinned, held out a hand for a sandwich, which Dean tossed to him with practiced ease before flopping down on his bed, sprawling out luxuriously. He kind of wanted a nap, although he never took naps as a rule. The bed felt awfully soft and squishy, though.

“Please, please tell me you've found something useful. I've just spent half the day locked up in the coldest, dustiest room in the whole entire United States, complete with Gladys the Dragon Lady guarding the exit, and came up with exactly squat.” He coughed quietly into his fist, hoping Sam would be too preoccupied with his sandwich to notice. He pulled out his crumpled page of notes. “Fourteen deaths by drowning before the last three, all of them easily explained. No mention of folded clothing, definitely no mention of blue spots. Total bust.”

Sam nodded, brought up his hand to stifle a sneeze. “Hep-KSHH!”

“Does that mean you found something or not?”

“I thigk id's a dix.”

“A what?” Dean rolled onto his stomach, propped on his elbows, and took a healthy bite of his sandwich.

“A dix. Wader-dixie.”

“A dix?” Dean repeated, still unsure he'd heard properly.

Sam glowered, grabbed a pen and scribbled on a piece of paper which he handed to Dean before reaching for another tissue. “Do, a dix.”

“A nix,” Dean enunciated clearly, smirking.

“Dot fuddy. Hep-KSHH!”

Dean laughed. “Oh, dude, come on. It is pretty funny, you have to admit.”

He got another glower. “Adyway, thad's whad I thigk id is.”

“Okay, I'll bite. What is it?”

“Id's a wader-sbirit. Ligke a berrow or a berbaid. Sord of.”

“Not following here, dude. A mermaid?” Dean cracked open a can of soda, swallowed carefully.

“There are lods of legeds aboud wader-sbirits. They lure udsuspegtig vigtibs with their sogs, or trigck theb idto the wader, ad thed they drowd theb.”

“I haven't heard of any unexplained singing on the river,” Dean teased, earning himself another glare. “Okay, so maybe we've got a water spirit tricking people into drowning themselves.”

“Wader-dixes id pardicular have sobe characteristics that batch up with whad's beed goig od here. The blue sbots, for ode. The dix is a ban, bud he also sobetibes has a wife and daughders. Id's ad Easterd Eurobean thig, sobethig to do with grain prices.”

Dean's head was beginning to ache. “Grain prices?”

Sam shrugged. “I duddo. Id doesd't seeb relevadt, adyway. If you see his wife doig her laudry, thed id meads raidy weather or high wader. Sniff!” He paused, lifted a hand halfway to his mouth, face slack, and Dean settled in to wait patiently. “Hi'ih... hiihii'iih... iih-hiih! Huh...” he sighed, the tickle receding, but Dean could tell it was far from gone. A moment later he started up again. “Hiih! Hi'ihiih... hiih-hi'ih! Hep-KSHH!” His head snapped forward, bobbed up and down in a volley of sneezes. “Hep-KSHH! Hep-KSHH! Hi'ih! Hep-KSHH!”

“Gesundheit. High water?”

Sam went through three or four tissues before trying to speak, and actually sounded less congested for the next couple of sentences, although his voice still cracked and faded in and out. “High water. It was probably useful if you lived in the area. It's really weird stuff. Polish and German, mostly, a bit of Russian folklore. The nix's daughters are recognizable because the hems of their skirts are wet. Random trivia so that people wouldn't get seduced by them during festivals and the like.”

“So why drown people?”

“Id's a derridorial thig.” The respite from congestion hadn't lasted long. “Doesd't ligke beoble od ids lad.” Sam abruptly turned his head away, breath hitching. “Hih... hi'ihiih! Hep-KSHH!”

“Gesundheit.” Dean was beginning to feel like a broken record. “So, apart from that, how are we supposed to know what we're looking for? What's it look like?”

“Reborts vary, bud baidly they're ugly, udless they're disguised. Sharp greed teeth, scales, eyes ligke pigs.” Sam flipped his laptop around to show Dean some illustrations of nixies and mer-people, fangs bared, hair streaming about their shoulders.

“Gruesome. So how do we get rid of it?”

“I duddo. Doesd't say. Id jusd says id's bowerless od dry lad.”

“So we get it on dry land and blast it to Kingdome Come. Now there's a plan I can get behind!” Dean flopped back onto his pillows, still holding onto his sandwich, sneezed violently into the crook of his elbow. “HAPTSCHUH!”

“Bless you,” Sam's eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously. “Are you sigck?”

“I am going to take a nap,” Dean said, deftly avoiding the question. “In case you forgot, I have a date tonight, and I didn't exactly get my beauty sleep last night thanks to some people who shall remain nameless.”

“A dap?” Sam's tone said it all, but he clearly felt the need to state the obvious anyway. “You are sigck. You dever dake daps.”

Dean settled himself more comfortably on the bed, slid under the bedclothes, determined not to let the cold ruin his day, or to let Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria. “Let's just say, Sammy, that when I told you I didn't want you keeping things from me anymore, this really wasn't what I meant.”

“Do you deed adythig?”

Dean pulled the bedclothes up around himself. “I need you to have a nap, too. We're not in a hurry, and that way we'll both be fine later, 'kay?”

It was a fine example of psychological manoeuvring, one for the books, Dean was sure. Sam looked as though he was trying to find some way to argue, but for once Dean was playing the reasonable card, and there wasn't much to be done about it.

Sam's voice wafted across the room. “I'b sorry I god you sigck. I did't bead to ruid your date. I kdow you ligke her.”

“Don't worry about it, Sammy. Just get some rest.”

He was asleep before he ever knew whether or not Sam heeded his advice, snoring gently.

[telltale]

I like the exposition. It's really nice to have a an interesting plot to go along with the lovely sneezyness.

Hee @ this part:

Dean settled himself more comfortably on the bed, slid under the bedclothes, determined not to let the cold ruin his day, or to let Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria. “Let's just say, Sammy, that when I told you I didn't want you keeping things from me anymore, this really wasn't what I meant.”

And awww, let Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria, pleeeese?

[snuffles]

Man, this story just keeps getting better and better! I'm soooo definitely addicted.

[crazy_cat_girl]

Ah! Dean is so awesome! I love how he just brushes off Sam's concern. And now we have some idea of WHO the monster is...and I am terribly excited! This is a fantastic fic.

[ID2006]

what a lovely update. This is soooooo amazing. And I love your descriptions and spelling of Sam's sneezes.

[Lady Blessington]

I realized I was at the end of the chapter and gasped out loud in cliffhanginess.

*tugs your sleeve for more*

I love Sam figuring out that Dean's sick. The lore's pretty cool, too.

[W.I.N.]

I like the exposition. It's really nice to have a an interesting plot to go along with the lovely sneezyness.

Hee @ this part:

Dean settled himself more comfortably on the bed, slid under the bedclothes, determined not to let the cold ruin his day, or to let Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria. “Let's just say, Sammy, that when I told you I didn't want you keeping things from me anymore, this really wasn't what I meant.”

And awww, let Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria, pleeeese?

Oh, I totally plan to have Sam work himself into fits of overprotective hysteria, have no fear!

I hope you'll all like where I'm taking the story... *wibbles*

~W.I.N.

Man, this story just keeps getting better and better! I'm soooo definitely addicted.

Aww, thank you! I'm really happy that people are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying posting it.

Ah! Dean is so awesome! I love how he just brushes off Sam's concern. And now we have some idea of WHO the monster is...and I am terribly excited! This is a fantastic fic.

Ah, you caught that, did you? I was wondering if people would. I kind of slipped it in there.

Thank you!

what a lovely update. This is soooooo amazing. And I love your descriptions and spelling of Sam's sneezes.

Aww, shucks.

I'm having fun with Sam's sneezes. Poor boy, can't let go even for thirty seconds.

I realized I was at the end of the chapter and gasped out loud in cliffhanginess.

*tugs your sleeve for more*

I love Sam figuring out that Dean's sick. The lore's pretty cool, too.

Well, Sam might be a bit oblivious, but he's starting to feel better, and he does know Dean pretty well. I figured it wasn't too big a stretch for him to sort out that Dean wasn't feeling well.

I got ridiculously excited about the lore. I've always wanted to write a story with a water-spirit in it ever since discovering the vodyanoi in a novel by C.J. Cherryh, and NOW I CAN! *happy dance*

Yes, I am a GIANT nerd. Luckily, I use my powers only for awesome.

I am off to go post the latest installment right now, but I am afraid you will probably not thank me for it. It's a cliffhanger...

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

*cringes*

I hate to do this to you, in a way, because I haven't actually written the next part yet, so it might be a while before I can update. Sorry! Please don't hate me too much...

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 11

It was dark out when Dean awoke, feeling as though his head had been filled with wet cement. He dragged himself upright, glanced over to see that Sam was asleep, curled up on his side, breathing easily and evenly. Thank goodness for small mercies. Dean, on the other hand, felt like ass. He buried his nose in his elbow, trying to muffle a small sneezing fit before he woke up his brother.

“HHPTSCH! HHPFFGH! Huh... HHPFFH!”

Sammy hadn't stirred so much as an inch. Good. The kid needed the rest, after the past couple of days. Sure, it was just a cold, but it had been a bad one, and these things could go south really fast if you weren't careful. Right now, Dean was in desperate need of a shower. Between his own burgeoning cold and the day spent in the rain and the dust, he felt too gross for words. He groped his way through the darkened room, not daring even to turn on a light for fear of waking Sammy, slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, turning the hot water on full blast. It felt wonderful to stand under the spray, letting his cramped muscles loosen up one by one, warming him all the way to his toes. He hadn't realized just how chilled he'd felt until it was no longer an issues. The steam did wonders for his sinuses, too, clearing out the beginnings of congestion and tingling pleasantly in his nose.

“HEISHOO!” he grabbed the bar in the shower to keep himself from falling in the slippery tub. “ISHOO!” Steam might clear the sinuses, but it was an awfully inconvenient way of doing it. “HEPSCHUH!”

He spent perhaps more time than was his wont getting ready. He still had plenty of time before Jill got off work, and there was no harm in trying to make sure he looked his best, was there? He shaved again, taking his time, humming to himself in spite of the scratchiness in his throat, finding he didn't really care all that much about feeling under the weather, not when there was Jill to look forward to. He surprised himself by finding that he didn't really want this hunt to end, that he didn't want to find or kill the stupid water-nix, or whatever it was, if it meant that they would have to leave again the next day. Jill didn't even know his real name. He wondered how she would react if he told her the truth, and the whole truth. He'd only ever done that once before, and it hadn't exactly worked out like a picnic in the park.

It wasn't as though they could stay. He was still wanted in a couple of states, and there was nothing for them here. He couldn't see Sam agreeing to stay in a tiny one-industry town, couldn't see himself doing it either, couldn't believe he was even thinking about this when he hadn't even gone on a proper date with Jill yet. Maybe she could come with them. He felt his heart speed up in spite of all the good, rational thoughts that told him it was a ridiculous idea. There was no way it would work, but he wanted to bask in the illusion for a while, the idea that even Dean Winchester could have a girlfriend, a normal relationship, someone who'd actually want to stay with him instead of treating him like a really great one night stand. He leaned on the sink, fighting a sudden hollow feeling inside his chest. As far as Jill knew, as soon as the case was solved, he'd be blowing out of town like a freaking tumbleweed, and it was almost physically painful to think that she might not want anything more from him than just a fling.

He phoned her, then and there, from his cell, even though she would still be working, just wanted to hear the sound of her voice; found his throat tight and his eyes pricking when she answered, knew he was being ridiculous. What the hell was wrong with him? Stupid cold was messing with his head. That had to be it.

“Hi, it's me. Uh, it's Dean.” Oh, smooth.

“Dean!” How could a single word hold so much? He felt his heart skip a beat, then try to make up for lost time. “You're calling early.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't wait,” he was blushing, glad no one else could see him. “Uh... we still on for tonight?”

“Of course.” She laughed, suddenly sounding a bit uncertain. “I was almost afraid you wouldn't call.”

“I'm not like that.” It was the truth. He'd never lied to girls about his intentions, although he'd certainly lied about everything else.

“Well, I know that now. Are you going to come join me? I'm sure I can convince Jerry to let me take off early. It's pretty quiet here tonight.”

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

He found himself grinning stupidly as he hung up the phone, started humming again as he pulled on his good shirt and a clean pair of jeans, debated wearing a tie and then decided against it. When he slipped out of the bathroom he found Sam awake, if groggy, the bedside lamp switched on.

“You're in a good mood,” his brother observed, sounding ten times better than he had in days. Immediately what was left of Dean's guilt at leaving him alone evaporated.

“What's not to be in a good mood about?” Dean was feeling expansive. “You're obviously better, and I'm about to go on the first proper date I've had in mon...” he stopped, breath hitching, grabbed a tissue from the nearest box, just in time. “HAPSCHUH!”

“Should you be going out?”

“I'm fine. It's just a cold, and unlike some, I'm not about to let a stupid virus keep me down,” Dean flashed his brother a disarming grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. It's a terrible idea, but it's your funeral.” He lay back down and made a show of going back to sleep. “Call me if you get into trouble.”

“Trouble's my middle name, Sammy boy.”

It had stopped raining hours earlier, and the sky was riddled with stars. It was a surprisingly warm night, especially for October, and the bar was close enough that Dean decided to walk, whistling cheerfully through his teeth. Jill was at the door when he got there, waiting for him, looking like a vision from a nineteenth-century novel, and greeted him with a kiss that no one in the nineteenth century would have approved of.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered, once he had his breath back.

She nodded, led him back inside. “Are you feeling better?” she asked solicitously.

“Never better,” he said, meaning every word. Sure, his head ached, his throat was on fire, and he'd sneezed five times on his way over, but he really never had felt this good. Not in a long time. Not that he could ever remember, in fact. “Mostly because I'm with you.”

Jill laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She reached up, placed the back of her hand against his face. “You seem better than this morning. Maybe because you're not all wet anymore,” she said with a wicked grin.

She was incredibly easy to talk to. They sat at a table away from the rest of the crowd, and he found himself talking more to her than he had to anyone in the past year, Sam included. It was harder and harder to lie, to not reveal what he and Sam were doing, and so gradually he found himself talking about his childhood, about his mother.

“She sounds like she was pretty special.”

He nodded, throat tightening more. Stupid cold. He swallowed his drink in a hurry, ordered another. “Yeah, she was.”

“My mom died a few years ago. I can't imagine losing her when I was a kid. It must have been terrible,” her hand was on his, fingers stroking his wrist, and it was like having sparks of electricity shooting across his skin. He stared, couldn't take his eyes away from hers. It was like staring into pools of water, where he could lose himself forever.

With a couple more drinks in him he managed to ask her the question that had been at the back of his mind since the day before without too much fear of offending her. “So, how come you dress so conservatively? I mean, you're obviously not that conventional, otherwise... I'm just not used to seeing girls wearing long skirts anymore. Not that I'm complaining, it suits you...” he was babbling, embarrassed, more than a little tipsy, but she didn't seem to have taken offense.

“I like the look of long skirts. I guess in some ways I'm just old-fashioned. I take after my grandmother that way: she always told me that you find out most about a gentleman caller —that's what she always called them— when he takes you for a walk after your evening out.”

Dean could take a hint. “Would you like to take a walk?”

She beamed at him. “I would love that.”

The night was a bit cooler now, but still beautiful. He kept talking, not caring that his voice was slowly starting to give out, trying to make the evening last forever. Not knowing where he was going, he left the choice of route to her, and after they'd walked through the town they found themselves on the path by the river, poplar trees standing guard by the bank, the moonlight sparkling silver on the rippling surface of the water.

“It's beautiful here,” he said, surprising himself. He wasn't usually the type to comment on the scenery.

“Isn't it? When we first saw it, we knew this was where we wanted to settle down.”

“You and Carrie.”

“Mm-hmm.” She leaned in close, brushed her lips against his. “Wouldn't you want to stay here forever, knowing what it's like?”

He had his arms around her waist, enjoying the feel of her curves beneath his hands. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jill put her hands behind his head, deepened the kiss, her tongue darting against his like a small fish, quick and agile. Except that fish were gross, and this wasn't. After a moment Dean lost his train of thought, brought up his hands so that they were resting on her arms just below the shoulder, pulling her closer, as though if he could just get her close enough they might never be parted again. He barely noticed as she pushed his jacket down over his shoulders, slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled away from the kiss, her cheeks flushed, looking as breathless as he felt.

“Come with me?” she asked, tugging gently at his hands. “It's a beautiful night for a swim.”

“What?” he blinked, uncertain, mesmerized by her eyes, the colour of the river. Things were blurring along the edges of his vision, and he wasn't sure he'd understood what she'd said.

Slowly she slipped out of her skirt, undid her blouse, removed every stitch of clothing until he was staring at her beautiful, lissom form beckoning to him. She pressed up against him again, and suddenly he was tugging at his belt, eager to please her, his pulse pounding in his hears. She took him by both hands, walking backward, leading him away from the neat pile of clothes, and suddenly it seemed like the most right and natural thing in the world to follow her right into the heart of the river.

[obsessed]

... is this the plot bunny? Because you've got me on the edge of my seat, and it was a beautayful update as well. Cute--the complaining big brother Dean, and the caring Sammy. Take your time.

[W.I.N.]

Yup, that was the plot bunny. I still have a few more chapters before this fic will be done. At least two, maybe three. Funny how this turned from a one-shot sneezefic with no plot to a full-blown casefic with incidental sneezing. I'm not sure if I'm pleased or disappointed.

And thank you for the kind words!

~W.I.N.

... is this the plot bunny? Because you've got me on the edge of my seat, and it was a beautayful update as well. Cute--the complaining big brother Dean, and the caring Sammy. Take your time.

[Lady Blessington]

This is where I figured it out. Here.

"Not knowing where he was going, he left the choice of route to her, and after they'd walked through the town they found themselves on the path by the river, poplar trees standing guard by the bank, the moonlight sparkling silver on the rippling surface of the water."

I figured you were going to get Dean into the cold water back when you first mentioned those other mysterious swimmers and that you were somehow going to make Dean sick... and I remember you talking about the skirts and them being damp around the bottoms, that these nixes wear... but it being Jill? I was so into her!!!! Noooo!!!! I so trusted her and then the walked led to the water and OH.

Awesome misdirect.

Now why do I not think this swim is going to be good for Dean's cold?

[W.I.N.]

Woohoo it worked!

See, I was trying v-e-r-y carefully to tread the line between dropping enough clues that I wasn't pulling an Agatha Christie ("Ah-hah! All along it turned out YOU were the mysterious fourth cousin who vanished in South Africa all those years ago!"), but without giving the end-game away as well. So I dropped the damp hem-line thing, kind of put the emphasis on just how swept away Dean was, and HOPED that people would be too distracted by the sneezing to notice.

And, uh, no, I can't see the cold water being very good for Dean.

Actually, I have EVIL plans for him. I'm working on it as we speak.

Speaking of which, thanks to your LJ I have discovered an entire freaking universe full of hurt!sick!Dean which I never knew was there! So much awesome. I think I may never sleep again while trying to make it through all that glorious fiction! Thank goodness I read fast...

~W.I.N.

This is where I figured it out. Here.

"Not knowing where he was going, he left the choice of route to her, and after they'd walked through the town they found themselves on the path by the river, poplar trees standing guard by the bank, the moonlight sparkling silver on the rippling surface of the water."

I figured you were going to get Dean into the cold water back when you first mentioned those other mysterious swimmers and that you were somehow going to make Dean sick... and I remember you talking about the skirts and them being damp around the bottoms, that these nixes wear... but it being Jill? I was so into her!!!! Noooo!!!! I so trusted her and then the walked led to the water and OH.

Awesome misdirect.

Now why do I not think this swim is going to be good for Dean's cold?

[snuffles]

I so did not see that coming I had my bets on the 4th mysterious cousin that vanished! Nooooo my life savings!!

Such a great story with PLOT (like omg)! Love it!

[W.I.N.]

Awesome, I'm glad you're still enjoying it. Gotta love them plot twists.

~W.I.N.

I so did not see that coming I had my bets on the 4th mysterious cousin that vanished! Nooooo my life savings!!

Such a great story with PLOT (like omg)! Love it!

[W.I.N.]

Okay, so I kept going, but you're probably still not going to thank me. I hate cliffhangers, and here I am writing them. SORRY!

I'm going to keep writing, I promise.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 12

It was still dark when Sam awoke from his second nap of the day. He sat up, scrubbing at his face with both hands. He definitely needed a shave. Dean was the one who'd inherited the Winchester facial hair, but Sam couldn't remember shaving that morning... and possibly not the day before, either, it was all kind of a blur. The red digits on the alarm clock by the bed informed him that it was just past one o'clock in the morning. He switched on the bedside lamp, blinking as the light seared his retinas and made his nose twinge.

“Hi'ih... hiihii'iih... hi'hiih! Hep-KSHH!” he pressed his knuckles against his nose, a little glad Dean wasn't here to give him a hard time about stifling his sneezes. He'd never quite mastered the art of being as unselfconscious about sneezing as Dean was —couldn't figure out how not to be awkward and embarrassed about the whole process, even when there was no one else around. That was always how it was, and sometimes Sam found he hated Dean for being so, well, natural about everything, and how he could hate him while still loving him so much it hurt was beyond him. Dean strode through life like a giant, assured and fearless, and Sam had always stumbled along in his wake, uncertain and questioning and fearful, and sometimes it was wearying, always being the weaker link. Dean treated it as though it was no big deal, and sometimes that made it even worse.

He slid from the bed, determined to hit the shower, even if it did end up waking him up. He was feeling miles better, and his stomach was growling loudly. Sleeping all day meant he'd probably be up half the night, he thought with a resigned sigh, turning on the hot water and luxuriating in the warm spray. He didn't spend long in the shower, though part of him debated trying to live there for the rest of his life. Brushed his teeth, shaved, felt like a million bucks, except that it was the early hours of the morning and he was starving. He hadn't had much of anything to eat in the past couple of days apart from orange juice, coffee, and a few bites of the ham sandwich Dean had brought back in the afternoon.

Once he was dressed, he wandered to the motel lobby, and asked the clerk if there was anywhere to get food at this hour of the morning. Without so much as looking up from her late-night movie, the woman blew a bubble with her gum, snapped it, and answered over her shoulder.

“Only place open is Billy's. There's food there.”

“Thanks.”

He set off toward the bar, taking care to zip up his jacket against the chill in the night air. He might be feeling better, but he wasn't a total idiot. Wasn't that where the girl Dean was going out with worked? He thought so, but he couldn't quite remember Dean saying anything about where she worked. On any other night he would have left the place well alone, giving Dean his space. Dean so rarely got to go out, to have some time without his kid brother, that it seemed pretty unfair to intrude on his date, but there was nowhere else to go tonight, and he was feeling light-headed from hunger. Well, he'd try to sit at a table out of the way, maybe get his food to go. Try not to cramp Dean's style.

There was loud music coming from the bar when he arrived, but only a couple of people standing outside, smoking and chatting with the easy familiarity of people who've been drinking together for years. The cigarette smoke assailed him as he approached the doors, and his already abused sinuses protested, loudly.

“Hiih... hi'iihihii'ih...” he turned aside, hunching his shoulders against the inevitable sneeze that was building, feeling his cheeks begin to burn, convinced they were probably all staring at him. “Hep-KSHH! Hep-KSHH!” He straightened, discreetly swiping at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, and didn't turn around to see how much attention he'd attracted.

There weren't many people in the bar, but since it wasn't a Friday or a Saturday, that wasn't entirely surprising. What was more surprising was that there was no sign of Dean, or Jill, anywhere. Maybe they'd already headed out somewhere else. Since there wasn't anywhere else open, at least not according to the desk clerk, Sam could only guess that Dean had worked his usual charm and had garnered an invitation back to her place. He couldn't quite bring himself to feel his usual annoyance —she obviously made Dean really happy, and he'd had such a hard time of it lately, he couldn't begrudge his brother some solace at this point, since he couldn't offer it himself. Sam sat at the bar, ordered a burger and fries, and the food appeared within minutes. Definitely a slow night.

He scrubbed at his nose, wishing it would stop tickling, just for a minute. He was feeling better, dammit, didn't that entitle him to a little respite from the constant sneezing? He hated sneezing, anyway, always felt that people were staring at him. “Hiih...” He pinched his nose, with limited success. “Hi'ihiih... hiihi'ihih... hiih! Hep-KSHH!” He wiped his nose with a bar napkin, wishing he'd remembered to bring tissues with him. His whole face felt raw, and the scratchy napkin was doing nothing to help that. “Hep-KSHH!” He sighed, turned back to his food as the tickling finally receded a bit.

He had finished the burger and was working on the fries with enthusiasm when he was interrupted by the sound of shouting from outside. Leaving a bill on the bar he slid to the door, pushing his way through the small crowd of onlookers to see what was going on, and felt his jaw drop when he saw that Sylvia Matthews was responsible for the upheaval. She was standing in the street outside the bar, tear-stained and dishevelled, screaming at an equally distressed-looking Carrie Higgins, who was cringing away from her, trembling.

“I don't care! I don't care that they all think I'm crazy!” Sylvia was shrieking. “I know it was you! You and your sister! She fed him drinks until he couldn't see straight and sent him out to die!”

“No!” Carrie cried, looking around frantically for rescue, but no one seemed to be stepping up for her. “No, it wasn't like that. Please! Please stop...”

Sylvia lunged at her, grabbed her by her dress, shook her so hard her teeth rattled in her head. “She seduced him! Seduced him and left him to die like a piece of trash!”

Alarmed, Sam stepped forward. “Hey, Sylvia, come on,” he laid a hand on her arm, and when she wouldn't let go, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her away, still struggling. “Come on,” he said, more forcefully. “Easy does it, she's just a kid. I know you're hurting.”

She dissolved into hysterical sobs, burying her head against his chest, hitting him weakly with a balled-up fist. “It's their fault. Those damned girls. I knew it once I talked to you. It started with them, when they got here.” She kept sobbing noisily, and he stroked her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense to her until finally another woman stepped forward, hesitantly.

“Maybe I should take her home. I'll make sure she gets taken care of, officer. She's a friend of mine.”

Officer? Right. He and Dean were supposedly with the U.S. Marshals. He nodded. “I'd appreciate that, thanks.” Gently he guided Sylvia into her friend's arms, then turned back to Carrie, who was crying as well, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists like a frightened child. “What are you doing out here?” Carrie didn't look old enough to drink.

“I... I was loo-looking for J-Jill,” she hiccuped.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. That meant Dean and Jill weren't at her place either. Carrie wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing. “W-why w-would she say such horrible things? She's crazy!”

“You should go home,” he said, not paying attention to her. “You got a friend who can go with you?”

She shook her head. “No. No one talks to me anymore since Rita died.” She scrubbed at the skirt of her dress with her hands, and glancing at her, Sam saw that the hem was still as wet as it had been that morning.

“Your dress is wet,” he blurted, in spite of himself, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and fearful.

“I m-must have leaned on something.”

He grabbed her by the elbow, pulled her roughly aside. “It was wet this morning too. You're one of them. Where's Dean?” he tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

“I d-don't know what you're talking about. Let go of me, you're hurting me!” she pulled ineffectually at her arm.

He glanced around, but everyone had moved away, and were studiously not paying attention to them anymore. Small-town folk, and Carrie wasn't one of their own. “You need to tell me where Jill took Dean, Carrie. I'm not going to let you have him!”

Carrie shook in his arms, teeth chattering. “I told her it wasn't safe,” she sobbed. “I told her! She won't listen, she likes it too much... I'm sorry...”

“Where are they?”

She choked. “The river! I'm sorry!”

She wrenched away and ran, and Sam didn't bother going after her. He might already be too late. Heart pounding, he turned and sprinted for the Impala. Whatever else was going on, he knew he couldn't go in there empty-handed. He was panting by the time he got behind the wheel, legs shaking, and he cursed the stupid luck that had made him get sick just when Dean needed him. He put the car into gear, cringed as he heard the gears grinding (if Dean survived, he was going to kill him), hit the gas as hard as he could. The river wasn't far, but it seemed to take forever to get there. He hit the brakes, threw the car into park, didn't bother switching off the ignition before jumping out, grabbing a shotgun filled with rock salt, and took off at a sprint along the riverbank.

“Dean! Where are you? Dean, answer me!”

He found Dean's clothes a quarter of a mile downstream, neatly folded and tucked under some rushes, and felt his heart rate triple with panic.

“Dean!”

He heard splashing, ran toward the sound, stumbling on the uneven ground, finally caught sight of a disturbance in the water. It was Jill, hunched over something in the water, her back to him. In the pale moonlight he could see her skin glinting and rippling, like the scales of a fish.

“Dean! Let him go, you bitch!” he raised the shotgun, emptied one of the barrels at her, although she was too far for it to do much damage.

She whirled toward him, hissing, and he caught sight of a mouth filled with jagged teeth that didn't look remotely human, of tiny beady eyes gleaming above the hungry, grasping mouth. From beneath her he saw Dean begin to thrash weakly, as though he'd only now realized the danger he was in, and with a shrieking howl she turned back, hands transformed into claw-tipped talons, dealt Dean a blow that sent him floundering further into the river.

Without hesitating Sam loaded another shell into the shotgun and plunged forward, the water tugging at his legs, hampering his movement, still yelling Dean's name at the top of his lungs. She was moving away, dragging Dean with her, and that proved her undoing. If she'd been willing to abandon her prey, she would easily have outpaced Sam in the water. Sam stopped trying to catch up, took up a stance with the water lapping at his thighs, raised the shotgun, and made sure of his shot. The first one caught her in the small of the back, and she arched her back and shrieked, finally dropping her burden, and lunged toward Sam teeth bared, talons extended, and Sam fired again, catching her in the face with his shot. She shrieked, fell back, and disappeared beneath the blood-tinted water.

Sam splashed forward, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, feeling as though he was moving backward in the water. “Dean! Hold on!” He struggled against the current, fought the mounting panic as he reached the place where he thought Dean was and found nothing. He turned on himself, thrashing, until finally he caught sight of a pale silhouette just below the surface of the water a few yards away, and dove forward. Dean was face down, drifting limply in the current, and Sam just managed to catch his brother under the arms before he sank beyond reach. It seemed to take forever to get back to the shore, and by the time he got there his arms were aching, his back on fire, his lungs seizing with the effort. He laid Dean out on the ground, trying not to panic when he saw how badly he was bleeding, how his lips had turned blue. He laid his head against Dean's chest, listening desperately for a pulse, for the sound of an indrawn breath.

Nothing.

“Dean, come on. Breathe!”

Still nothing, and Sam fought down another rising wave of panic. “No no no... Dean! Don't do this to me, you hear?” He tilted his brother's head back, listened again. “No no no NO!”

[telltale]

Ooh, you have me on the edge of my seat!

I love that you've worked the sneezyness around this cool casefile instead of the other way around. This would be a great read with or without sick!Winchesters, although obvs. I LOVE sick!Winchesters! The promise of sick!hurt!Dean has me wibbling, actually, and I can't wait to read more.

[Lady Blessington]

Ack!

Deeeannnnn!

[obsessed]

O.o

BLAH. Amazing. I wanna know what happens.

[W.I.N.]

Ooh, you have me on the edge of my seat!

I love that you've worked the sneezyness around this cool casefile instead of the other way around. This would be a great read with or without sick!Winchesters, although obvs. I LOVE sick!Winchesters! The promise of sick!hurt!Dean has me wibbling, actually, and I can't wait to read more.

It totally didn't start out as a casefic. I have NO idea how it went from a one-shot piece of fluff to this, but I have to say I am REALLY pleased with how it worked out, especially since I don't write that much fanfic as a rule. I have exactly one and a half stories under my belt, and I was a little nervous about this. So far so good, though!

And yes, there will be sick!hurt!Dean in spades. Cross my heart! I can't believe I missed out on all the fantastic fic out there before. Good thing mads3rv3r pointed me in the right direction!

Ack!

Deeeannnnn!

I know! Cliffhangers are the WORST! I am working on the rest of the story, I swear!

I think you'll enjoy what I came up with, though. I'm trying to make up for the cliffhangers...

O.o

BLAH. Amazing. I wanna know what happens.

Working on it, I promise! And thank you!

~W.I.N.

[iluvsneezes]

This is so exciting, you just can't be almost done with the story!

[W.I.N.]

Aww! Well, there's at *least* one more chapter, probably two, left in the story. So it's not quite over yet, I promise.

I'm glad you're still enjoying it.

~W.I.N.

This is so exciting, you just can't be almost done with the story!