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Supernatural Mystery Christmas (Dean and Sam)


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So. It's been a year...(A YEAR) since I posted anything here. :whistle2:  That's because it's literally been "a year".  :wallbash:

So...this plot came to me and for the first time in a long time, I'm super motivated to get it down on paper. It's a casefic, it's a holiday fic, it's based on a prompt I read months ago from Sieraplaid, I believe, and...yeah. It's 150% ridiculous, and 450% gratuitious. Posting in parts. Slow start, but it'll get there. Then...it'll be out of control.

Okee dokee. Here you go.


With a weariness that wasn’t just from a lack of sleep, Dean plopped a couple energy drinks and random candy bars on the counter.


“Hey...lookit this.”


He lolled his head to the right, spying Sam holding up a newspaper. The words sounded innocent enough, but Dean could see the bitchy jaw clench that came with them.


Killer Snowman Strikes Again


Green eyes crawled up to hazel ones, his eyebrows following.


Sam blew out a breath. “Don’t you think we should check this out?” He flipped the paper around, reading out loud. “A third victim was found last night, severed in half by a sliding glass door.” Sam paused, jabbing a finger at the paper. “Three vics. And it’s only about two hours from here, in Noel, Missouri.”


Dean scrubbed a hand down his face.


Frustrated at hour three of Dean’s silent treatment, Sam flung the paper at him. “Fine,” he spat. “But kids are finding the victims every time. You let me know what you want to do.” And with that, he turned on his heels and stomped out of the mini-mart.


With a sigh, Dean glanced at the paper. All three victims had young children, who ended up discovering their parent’s dead body.




The woman behind the counter clucked her tongue. “You alright?”


Dean snorted, tossing the paper on top of the food while reaching for his wallet. “Yeah. My brother and I’ve just been on the road too long.”


She made a silent “Ahhhh…”, and began to ring up his purchase. “Any...plans for Christmas?”


Dean nudged the paper with his hand. “Apparently, we’re going to Noel, Missouri.” At the clerk’s raised eyebrows, he added, “We’re reporters. Stories like this are what we investigate.”


“So, no holiday plans? Just...work?”


“That’s pretty much all we do, these days. And even that’s getting harder.” Normally, Dean was all for nonstop hunting. But lately, their relationship was so strained, that working was not only difficult, it was painful. He blinked at the unplanned sharing, feeling his cheeks go red.


“Maybe you two just need to reconnect. Relearn how to just...be there for eachother.”


Money exchanged, items were bagged, and Dean barked a laugh at the idea of he and Sam reconnecting. “Yeah...I don’t think that’s in the cards. Thanks.” He picked up his bags and left the store.




The drive in the Impala was silent. No music, no discussion of the case, no discussion period.






There was the crunching of M&Ms in Dean’s mouth, which was slowly driving Sam insane. He couldn’t take Dean’s silent treatment, not while they were trapped together in the car and he refused to put on any music, leaving him with sounds of chewing and lip smacking and Jesus, this was stupid. He knew Dean was sloppy eating on purpose.


Sam glanced at his watch. One hour to go.






It was not a small sigh of relief that escaped Sam’s mouth as they pulled into the motel parking lot. They grabbed their bags in silence and went inside. The place looked kind of dumpy on the outside, but was clean and charming on the inside.


Both brothers heft their bags further up their shoulders as Dean rings a little bell on the front desk.


A man older than dirt shuffled out of a back room, flapping a hand at them. “I hear ya. How can I help you?”


Dean cleared his throat. “One room, two beds. Queen size if you got ‘em.”


The clerk pulls an impossibly large book out, dropping it onto the counter. A cloud of dust rose into the air, floating effortlessly right into Dean’s face.


In one fluid motion, Dean stepped back, sneezing forcefully against his shoulder. He paused, rubbed his face on his sleeve, then continued to check in.


Sam took a step back as well, trying to avoid the dust. “Bless you,” he murmured, realizing after the first syllable left his mouth that he wasn’t supposed to be talking to Dean at all. Dean’s eyes flicker his way, his head nodding a thank you.




The room was just as clean and cozy as the lobby. Again, not at all what Dean pictured when he pulled into the parking lot. He’ll take it, though, especially at the price the old guy gave him. They could easily afford to stay here through the course of this case, which meant Dean didn’t have to deal with emergency money scrounging on top of everything else.


Their room had a tiny kitchenette area, complete with one cabinet, a microwave, coffee pot and a mini-fridge. After dropping his bags on a bed, Dean spun slowly, taking in the actually nice room. Holy shit - there was even a bookcase, with real books.


He was about to say something to Sam, and even got as far as, “Hey S--”, before remembering that he wasn’t talking to Sam today.


But Sam heard him. “What?” he asked, dropping his own bags on a bed. It was small and wispy, barely a dust cloud. But from his angle, with the light positioned where it was, Dean saw it rise from the bed up to Sam, whose face crinkled up after his first sniff.


Dean opened his mouth to issue a warning, but it was too late. Sam pressed the top of his hand against his nose. His stance shifted from one leg to the other. Eyelids fluttered closed. Breaths became slightly ragged.


Hhhhh’ETSCHHH! H’ETSCHHH!” He blinked rapidly, waving his hand in front of his face.


Without thinking, Dean moved Sam’s bags, snatched the comforter, and shook it outside. It wasn’t until he was mid blanket-flapping that he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be talking to Sam at all. Not for books or clouds of dust.


He sighed. Dean sucked at staying mad at Sam.


Embarrassed and pissed at himself, Dean returned the comforter.


Unsure how to respond, Sam lamely gestured at his bed. “Thanks for…”


Dean shrugged, sighing. “Let’s get some sleep, then tomorrow we’ll start tracking down Frosty.”





(And...uh...trying to figure out the formatting...)

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Thank you for the kind words. 

On 12/23/2017 at 4:31 AM, sneezy_frnk said:

I missed your spn fics soooo much!

This is great and I'm super exited for more <3

I've missed writing them. :)

Uh...small note - time will pass weird because it needs to. Just flow with it. 


Dean woke with a feeling that he slept longer than he should have. Sure enough, sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, pushing past squinting eyes. Dean turned to block it, but instead of moving away, he tilted his head just enough to catch the beam straight on.

The trigger was instantaneous - no build-up, no irritation.


He buried them in the blanket, breathless and confused. The sneezing took him by surprise, and it was a little too soon after waking to be that surprised.

“Whoa - bless you! You okay?”

Dean sniffed experimentally before slowly lowering the blanket off his face. “Yeah...I dunno what made me sneeze, but Jesus” He sniffled again, rubbing his nose on the rough fabric. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Sam walked into view, shrugging as he sat on his bed. “You seemed...really tired last night, so I figured you needed a couple more hours. Hey, I did a little research on this killer snowman thing.” He got back up, quickly retrieving his laptop from the table before Dean got snippy over Sam being considerate.

Surprisingly, Dean wasn’t snippy at all. Which was...different.

Returning with the computer, Sam clicked a few keys on the keyboard before sitting down. He spun the screen so it faced Dean. “So. Apparently, the first victim was discovered almost two weeks ago, a guy named Mike Baron.” Dean hoisted himself on his elbow so he could see the screen, nodding for Sam to continue. And continue he did. “Seems that Mike was found dead in his kitchen...with a carrot sticking out of one eye socket.”

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

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

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

Ha. At least not in this case. No sign of a forced entry, no suspects. The guy was a loving father and husband, coached youth basketball, and walked his dog twice a day.”

“Fantastic.” Dean threw back the covers and stretched. “So something funky wunky’s definitely going on.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Funky wunky?”

“Yup. Trademarked. Alright...lemme get dressed, then we can grab some food and you can tell me about the other two victims.”

As Dean pulled clothes out of his bag, he rationalized...he wasn’t talking to Sam yesterday. Today was...different.

Fully clothed and ready to go, they stepped outside. Noel, Missouri was a brisk thirty-five degrees, but the sky was clear and bright. Normally cold temperatures meant cloudy skies and a threat of snow. But today was...different.

Sam glanced up to see if any clouds were in the sky. They were working a case, and things between him and Dean weren’t exactly fabulous. Still, Sam kinda hoped for some snow at Christmas. It just sounded peaceful. And he needed peaceful.

He swiveled to catch sight of the sky over the motel roof, when the sun’s reflection off the obnoxious rooster-shaped weather vane jabbed him right in the eyes.

His lungs filled.

ITSCHCHH--ETSHHCHH--TSCHCHHH!”  The force of it all knocked him back a couple steps into Dean, who was checking to make sure the door was locked. He stepped to the side so Sam’s back thumped against the door. Sam’s face was in the crook of his elbow, his eyes clenched shut.

“Jesus, Sammy, what happened?”

It took Sam a few seconds to catch his breath. “I dunno...just sneezed...really hard.” Slowly, he lowered his arm, sniffling to make sure he was done. He blinked a few times. “Okay, I’m...okay.” He flashed a quick smile at Dean before pushing himself off the door. “Anyway. Victim number two...:”


A few hours later, the brothers strolled into the sheriff’s department, wearing their federal agent suits. After flashing their badges, they were sitting across the desk of a stereotypical southern sheriff - big hat, white hair, handlebar mustache. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest.

“I dunno why you fellers are here. These kids have Christmas on the brain. That’s why they’re claimin’ a snowman killed their mama or daddy.”

Dean shot Sam a look. This guy is straight off a TV western. The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched in agreement. “Listen Sheriff Bryant, all that matters is that we are here, and we consider this an open, active case. So again, we’d like all your information for all three vics.”

The sheriff shrugged, rolling his chair back so he had room to stand. “You got it. Be right back.” He sauntered out of his office, speaking in a low voice to another officer.

Dead pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is gonna take forever.”

“Yuuuup,” Sam agreed, tapping his fingers on his knee. He spied the sheriff’s computer monitor, an old fifteen inch box-shaped screen that reminded him of tube televisions, almost completely buried under a mound of papers. He nudged Dean’s knee. “Is that the computer?”

Dean’s eyes swung over. “Shit.”

The sheriff returned carrying technically three files, one for each victim. However, each file was over 2 inches thick. He walked to his desk and dropped the stack, scattering papers, random writing utensils, and disrupting a fine layer of dust hidden beneath it all.

“There you go. I’ll be just out here if you need me.” And with that, he turned and walked out.

Dean watched him leave, murmuring, “Of course we end up in a small town that can’t even use a computer to keep track of all the people being murdered.” Realizing that may have sounded like a complaint when he didn’t want it to sound like a complaint, he quickly turned toward Sam. “Not that it matters, I’m just saying…”

Sam wasn’t listening. Instead, he was furiously scrubbing his nose, face pinched in agony, his mouth slightly open.


Sam shook his head, holding up a hand signalling for Dean to just wait a minute. “I...hhhhiiiihhh…It’Titchhhh! Hihchhhh! Huh’Eitttttchh!! Dean scrambled for his bandana, thrusting it into Sam’s hand in time for a couple more. Hih’Chhhh! EHHH-TSCHCH’UHH!”

Sam blew his nose into the bandana (didn’t see Dean grimace...but come on, what did he think would happen?), slumped back in his chair and sniffled. “Wow.” He wiped his eyes with a dry corner and blearily looked over at Dean. “Hi.”

Dean’s eyebrow rose. “Hi.” He gestured at the papers. “You ready to tackle this?”

Sam sniffed once more. “Yup.”


It took an hour to go through all the papers and piece together a complete picture of what happened, beyond the research Sam had already done.

Second victim was Stacy Carnes, strangled by a knitted scarf on her patio. Third victim was Mark Theron, dead by smoke inhalation from several smoldering pieces of coal.

All three deaths were discovered by sleepy children in the middle of the night.

“So here’s my question. Why were all three kids awake at two or three in the morning? Why were they wandering their houses at the time of each death?” Sam asked, leg bouncing as he continued to flip through pages.

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of now cold crappy coffee. “Dunno. We may need to talk with them.” He grimaced at the cup, setting it back on the sheriff’s desk. “And I’m not looking forward to that.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“Y’all wanna see the security footage?”

Both brothers froze a second before levelling a frosty gaze at the sheriff, leaning on the door frame.

“Footage. As in...video.” Dean’s tone was flat, indicating he was two seconds away from ripping the mustache off the man’s face.

The sheriff sipped his own cup of coffee. “Yup. The first victim, Baron, had one of them home security systems. We can connect to it.” Another sip.

Dean swiveled in his chair. “Are you guys even trying to solve this case?”

Sam interjected when the sheriff’s eyebrows disappeared under his hat. “What my partner means, is that yes, we’d like to see the footage. And if there’s any evidence more…”, he flapped some papers, “modern, we would appreciate knowing about it.”

“Oh,” the sheriff replied, nodding his head. “So the baby monitor recording would help?”

Sam heard the low growl in Dean’s throat, and for a second, contemplated letting Dean loose. “Yes, that would be great.”

The sheriff took another long pull of coffee before stepping back into the office. He moved the pile of papers off his monitor and blew a layer of dust off the screen, right into Dean’s face.

“Hey!” Dean barked, wiping it off his suit and tie.

“Ohhhh, sorry about that. Haven’t fired her up in a while.”

Dean flashed an irritated look at Sam. I can’t take much more of this.

Sam returned the look, but it went unnoticed.

Mphphphew!” Dean muffled a sneeze into the crook of his arm. “H’iiihhhhhh-hgnxnxt!” He stifled the second, his face darkening as he fumbled for his bandana. Remembering why he couldn’t find it (Thanks, Sammy), he leaned over the side of the chair and belted one last sneeze out, ending with a small sniffle.

The sheriff produced a box of tissues, handing it across the desk. “Wow. Bless you.”

Dean snatched the box and blew his nose.

Sam sat back in his chair, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Something felt off. He just wasn’t sure what. Yet.

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2:00 am

Sam lie in bed, thinking.

The video footage showed Mike Baron creeping past the camera, like he was looking for something. Once he left the camera’s scope, they never saw him again. But Sam caught sight of the window in the background. In the window was definitely a snowman, peering inside, complete with a carrot nose. It didn’t move, but it was clearly there.

Fuckin’ creepy.

The baby monitor caught the sound of Stacy Carnes, victim number two, being strangled. From what they could hear, she struggled for a couple minutes. Nothing snowman related was on that tape. But they were treated with the sounds of her daughter finding the body.

Sighing, Sam laced his fingers behind his head. He knew they’d have to talk to the kids and find out what they saw and heard. Those conversations are one of the worst aspects of hunting. He allowed himself another sigh.

A car door slammed shut just outside their room, the sound of giggling filtering past the thin walls. Mentally Sam rolled his eyes. That had to be what Dean sounded like when he returned from a bar with company.

Sam turned toward the window, his inner gossipy-Dean hoping he could catch a glimpse of the couple through the sliver of open curtain.

Instead, the car started up, and bright headlights suddenly burst through the curtain opening.

TSCHCHCHhh-ew!The sneeze catches him by surprise, in more ways than one. It’s then that he realizes just how much he’d sneezed in the last couple days. More than he has in months. Which was weird, and while part of him felt it was coincidental, Heh-TSCHCHuH!” Part of him knew better.

Because okay, if it was just him doing more sneezing than normal, he’d just assume he was coming down with something in addition to being exposed to irritants.

But both of them? Not likely.


By 6:00 am, Sam had a plan within a plan. Continue the case, but monitor this sneezing thing, and no telling Dean until he was sure. The last thing he needed was Dean making fun of him over sneezing coupled with his denial of any sneezing going on at all. The last couple days had been way more tolerable than the last few weeks, and Sam was all in favor of not upsetting that.


Dean woke feeling...actually, pretty good. Which was weird, because he rarely felt good. Especially after listening to small children sob over their mother’s dead body.

He lie in bed, listening to his brother’s breathing, enjoying the quiet. He liked those moments - when everything else slept so he could decompress without worrying about dodging fangs or claws or sharp-tongued barbs from pissy little brothers.

Speaking of which...Dean stole a glance at Sam. There’d been a notable absence of barbs lately. But Dean’s got a theory on that. Sam had been sneezing a little more than normal, which is...nil. Kid was probably coming down with something. The non stop running around and stress from...life...caught up with him.

For sure.

Dean decided to monitor Sam a little more closely and see what’s what before the inevitable collapse.

Unfortunately, moments like this only lasted a short while before his bladder angrily demanded attention, tout suite. The room was still pitch black, thanks to the room darkening curtains. Not wanting to disturb Sam, Dean carefully extracted himself from the blankets, making as little noise as possible. He hightailed it to the bathroom, marking the toilet’s location before closing the door behind him and taking care of business.

Once he finished (with a congratulatory pat on the back for peeing in the dark like the champ he was), Dean promptly knocked over a toiletry kit, scattering items across the sink, and ooh, at least one thing fell to the floor. So much for that pat on the back.

Silently grumbling, Dean flipped the light switch, momentarily blinded by the sharp light.

He felt it then - a careful tickle just beyond his reach. Bathroom items forgotten, Dean leaned against the sink, one eye pinched shut, wriggling his nose to make the sensation go away. “Hehhhhh...hehhhhhhhh…..hiiihhhhhhh…” His voice rose in pitch with each breath, until, HpTSCHSCHCHHH!  Heh-TSCHCHuH!”

Dean reached for some toilet paper, blinking back tears from the forceful sneezes. That’s when it hit him.

Dean’s been sneezing more in the last couple days than normal. Which was also...nil.


He wiped his nose, staring into the mirror for signs of a fever. Nope. At least, not yet. He sniffed and looked a little closer. Just the same handsome devil he always was.

Great, he thought, shoving shaving supplies back into the toiletry bag. Now, he needed to watch both of them for the inevitable collapse.


Sam’s eyes snapped open when the sound of several plastic items skittered in the sink and on the floor. A small smile played on his lips. The dork peed in the dark again. He just knew it.

With a sigh, Sam rolled over, intent on enjoying another ninety seconds of stillness.


Sam’s eyes snapped open once again, trying to determine if he imagined Dean sneezing or if it really happened. Now that he planned on paying more attention, he wouldn’t be surprised if everything and anything sounded like sneezing. He needed to see it, know what caused it, watch reactions.

Yeah, nothing ridiculous about that at all.

The door opened, and out walked Dean, looking completely normal. Nothing...funky wunky about him. Aside from the usual, that is.

“Hey,” Sam said, throwing off the blankets and sitting up. He went for casual. “Was...that you sneezing in there?”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam before he headed to his duffel. Not wanting to draw attention to the possibility of being sick, Dean shrugged it off. “Yeah, why?” He rooted around his bag for clean clothes, pointedly not looking at Sam. Dean was watching Sam today - it wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Just...bless you. That’s all.” He flashed a grin and began the hunt for his own clean clothes.

Both brothers thought to themselves, making it awkward and weird didn’t help the truce they’d been enjoying. Focus on the case.

Dean cleared his throat. “Okay, so we’re gonna deal with the morgue and hopefully the kids, right?”

Sam nodded, pausing his clothes hunt. “Which one first? Suits or casual?”

Dean tapped his chin. “Morgue. I wanna know what the kids saw before talking to them.”

Sam shrugged his eyebrows back. “Suits it is.”

They dress in relative silence, simultaneously trying to appear casual while watching each other.

Dean put the finishing touches on his tie. “Ready?”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

Dean grabbed the car keys and the bag that held their dinner the night before. Neither brother finished their food - the leftovers were in the fridge. But the bag still held condiment packets and three extra sporks. He tossed it to Sam. “Here - throw that in the trash outside while I get the car started. Weather looks cold today.”

Sam held out his hands to catch the bag. “Okay.”

The bag was casually thrown over Dean’s shoulder, and drifted a little to the right of Sam. He reached out to grab it, his hand slipping a little on the plastic. To compensate, he tightened his grip, resulting in both hands squeezing the bag much harder than necessary. A poof of powder burst from the bag, covering Sam. He yelped in surprise, reflexively swatting at the air.

A sharp burn filled his nose. Without thinking, Sam sniffled to make it go away.

Wrong choice.

Ichhhtt! Titchhh! Hih’Chhhh! It’titchhh! Huh’Shhttt!  It’Titchhhh! Hihchhhh! Huh’Eitttttchh!! Goddabbit! What the fuck!”

In two steps, Dean was at Sam’s side, grabbing the bag. Several packets of pepper lie open at the bottom of the bag, their contents currently all over Sam. Dean directs Sam toward the bathroom. “Wash your face - you just popped seventeen pepper packets.” He blinked at the verselike statement.

Sam caught his breath, wiping his face with a washcloth and a shaky hand. He stared at himself in the mirror. Okay...that was definitely funky wunky, right? When had he ever burst pepper packets like that?

Still...well. Pepper made people sneeze, right? There wasn’t anything weird about that. He dried his hands on a towel, scrubbing it over his face. His eyes were a little red from the fit, as was his nose, but that was normal, right?

By the time he left the bathroom, Dean had thrown the offending bag in the garbage outside. Pepper sneezing wasn’t sick sneezing, so Dean chalked this up to one of the goofy things Sam does sometimes.

“Let’s go, Hulk.”



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“So...this town’s so small the sheriff doesn’t even use his computer, but they have their own morgue?”

Dean flicked his keys before pocketing them. “Don’t question it, Sammy. Just be glad we have local access to the bodies.”

Sam checked his reflection in the rear view mirror before getting out. His eyes and nose were back to their normal color - no sign of the massive sneezing fit from earlier.

“Yes, you’re gorgeous. Now come on.”

Sam glared at Dean as he exited the Impala. “You’re on a roll today.”

Dean held open the door for Sam, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m on a roll every day. Try not to kill anyone by shaking their hand.” Without waiting for an response, Dean strode up to the receptionist. “Hi there.” He flashed his badge, not even checking to see if Sam flashed his. “We’re here to see the bodies of the recent Snowman killings.” He smiled to lessen the blow of killer snowmen.

The woman sighed. “So sad. Those poor children. Conjurin’ up stories about snowmen to help them cope.”

She sighed again. Dean nodded in sympathy, glancing sideways at Sam.

Conjurin’ my ass..

The nice lady pointed down a side hallway. “End of this hallway, then down the staircase to your left. You’ll find Maurice in the second office on your right. Good luck, gentlemen!”

Dean offered a sloppy salute, beckoned for Sam to follow, then headed down the hallway.

Sam wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or endeared.

They followed the directions to the door of Maurice, the mortician with a sense of humor. His office door was plastered with bumper stickers like “I Heart Autopsies” and “My Best Friend Is Your Corpse”.

Dean took one look at the door and rolled his eyes. Sam shook his head. Small towns, man. Dean snorted back.

Sam knocked on the door, just as a shaggy head poked into the hallway a few doors down. “Can I help ya?”

“Uh, yes. We’re looking for Maurice.”

The man’s shaggy eyebrows knitted together. “Who’s askin’?”

Dean strolled closer, holding out his badge. “We are. We’d like to ask some questions about the recent deaths, and maybe take a peek at the bodies.”

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

Dean pressed his lips together. Of course. “The snowman deaths?”

Maurice fully stepped into the hallway. “Oh! You mean the murders. Yeah, come on in.” He waved the brothers inside what turned out to be a rudimentary lab. One examination table sat in the middle of the room, a couple stools on wheels nearby, and a small tray with various tools sat on the counter.

Sam gestured at the three metal square doors lined up on one wall. “Is that where they are?”

“Where who are?”

“The bodies,” Dean grated. “Look, what’s going on? How is it that no one seems concerned that three people turned up dead in the last couple weeks?”

Maurice didn’t seem phased by the curt tone. He just shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe because people die all the time?”

Dean took a measured breath, stepping back so Sam could take over. I’m out, his eyes said, and he walked to examine rows of jars and canisters lining a shelf in the corner.

Sam huffed in understanding. “What we mean is, the kids all seem to think their parents were killed by snowmen. Was there any...evidence to support that?”

Maurice just stared at him. “You think a snowman killed those people?”

Sam shook his head. “No...no, of course not. But that’s what the kids think happened...they must have seen something. And video footage showed a snowman near Mr. Baron’s body. Maybe...maybe it was someone dressed as a snowman or something.”

Dean snorted.

Sam ignored him.

Maurice and Sam continued to chat about the bodies - the condition they were in, evidence found on them, etc. Dean began eyeballing all the weird shit Maurice kept in little jars. He couldn’t even figure out what it was. One held a long object, orange and wrinkly. Another had a couple black hunks of...something.

Each jar luckily had a label. Dean brushed some dust off the tops. “Shiiii- hiiiihhhhhhhgnxt!”

Suddenly, Sam was there (Why was he there?) taking the jar out of his hands as Dean twisted to the side and sneezed a double.

“You okay?” His hand was on Dean’s back. Dean was touched by the concern, then concerned by his concern. No concern for Dean.

“Yeah - jars were dusty. That’s all.”

“Y’all are adorable. We don’t get much folks like you around here.”

They froze. Sam swallowed, removing his hand from Dean’s back. “Uh…”

Dean elbowed him. Just...get the info.




Checking over the bodies and extracting information from Maurice ended up taking all morning. Neither brother knew where the time went, just that it passed faster than anticipated.

Exhausted from dealing with Maurice, they decided to change, grab lunch, debrief, then try to talk to at least one of the children.

The diner was mostly empty by the time they arrived, so their food was ready quickly. Bags in hand, then headed back to the car. Dean snapped his fingers. “Ketchup! Get in the car - I’ll be right back.”

He turned to go back inside, not seeing another customer leaving his booth, near the door. Dean bumped right into him. The man, holding a pepper shaker, jerked his arm at the unexpected contact, flinging pepper into the air.

Dean recoiled, HITSCHCH-uhhh!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The man stammered, trying to brush the granules off Dean while waving his hand in the air as if to clear the offending substance from Dean’s senses.

“‘S’okay…” Dean stammered, grabbing a handful of ketchup packets conveniently sitting on a counter. He was still sneezing when he left the restaurant and got back into the Impala.

Sam’s eyes widened, “What the hell happened?”

“HESCHCHEW! Dean pressed his bandana to his nose. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I would. Let’s get back to the motel. We have to talk.”




Sam said nothing all the way back to the motel. He just stared out the window, gnawing on a fingernail, eyes lost in thought. The only sound was an occasional sniffle from Dean.

In the room, they took out their food in silence, until Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, Sam - what’re we talking about first?”

Before Dean’s ass hit the chair, Sam started. “I think we’re cursed.”

He blinked up at Sam, who was pacing instead of unwrapping his lunch. Dean figured he could unwrap and think at the same time, so he opened his container and started ripping ketchup packets. “You think we’re cursed? Why?”

Sam leaned on the back of his chair. “Haven’t you found it odd that we’ve been sneezing a lot lately?”

Dean paused mid-rip to lick stray ketchup off his fingers. “Yeah. Figured we were comin’ down with something.” He glanced up at Sam. “You think we’re cursed because we’re sneezin’?”

Hearing it out loud like that did sound a little ridiculous, and Sam faltered a bit. “Well...yeah.”

Dean’s eyebrows arched.

Sam blew out a breath and grabbed a notebook and pen. “Listen. Think about what’s been going on...what’s been making us sneeze.”

Dean blinked again. “You’re serious.”

When Sam clicked the pen open and shot a bitchface across the table, Dean knew he wouldn’t be eating until later. With a sigh, he closed the lid on his burger (Until later, sweetheart), and played along.

But he felt stupid.

“Okay. This morning, uh, in the bathroom, I sneezed.”

Sam nodded, writing it down. “Do you know why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you sneezed. What made you sneeze?”

Dean squirmed in his seat. “I dunno, Sam. I just sneezed.”

But Sam was patient. “Think back to what happened.”

“Fine. I went in the bathroom, took a piss, knocked some stuff into the sink, turned on the light, then sneezed.”

Sam frowned. “That’s it?”

Dean splayed his hands. “That’s it. There wasn’t anything in there that I breathed in or anything.”

Sam stared at his notebook, tapping the pen against his mouth. “Okay...well...you had the dust on those canisters in Maurice’s office...and the pepper in the diner, right?”

Dean balled up his napkin and set it on the table. “Yup.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Your turn. You had your own pepper incident today.”

Sam nodded, pointing the pen at him in agreement. “Yes! And I sneezed this morning in bed.”

Dean frowned. “When?”

Sam scribbled notes as he explained. “I was in bed thinking about the case, when I sneezed a couple times.”

“Was it from the dust on the blanket?”

“The what?”

“You know - when we first got here. You set off a bunch of dust from your bed when you put your bags on it.”

Still a blank face.

Dean sighed. He could be patient, too. “I had to shake off your comforter outside, remember?”

“Shit - I forgot about that one.” More scribbling. “No - at least, I don’t think so? I dunno - I just remember car headlights shining through the window, then my nose itched.”

Dean scratched his head. “Okay...what else?”

“That’s it for today - the pepper then the sneezing in bed.”

“So, what, now look at yesterday?”

“Yeah...what do you remember?”

Dean leaned back. “I woke up sneezing. The sun was shining through the curtains, and I remember thinking that you let me oversleep, then I sneezed.”

Sam interrupted. “I sneezed when we left the room...I was checking the sky for clouds.”

Dean’s face scrunched up. “Since when does that make someone sneeze?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno. After that was…”

“In that sheriff’s office. There was dust on his desk that set you off, and he blew dust from his computer onto me, and that set me off.”

Sam pointed his pen at Dean again. “I remember the blanket sneezing thing, now. You sneezed at the front desk when we first got here.” He wrote that down, too.

Sam leaned back, frowning at the notebook.

“Okay, so what do we have?” Dean felt stupid at first, but the more they talked about it, the more obvious it became - they were sneezing way more than normal, and not one story sounded like either brother was getting sick.

Sam’s gaze flickered toward Dean before reading off his list. “Well. The first day we started sneezing, we both sneezed from dust. You in the lobby and me in the room. On the second day we started sneezing, you sneezed in bed, I sneezed outside, we both sneezed from dust. On the third day, which is today, you sneezed in the bathroom, I sneezed in bed, we both sneezed from pepper, and you sneezed from dust.”

The room fell silent.

Their eyes met.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about the random sneezing part?”

Sam stared at the notebook, then stood up and retrieved his laptop. “I don’t think it was random. Hold on.” He began searching for something, and a minute later, “Aha! Here it is: Photic Sneezing.”

“Photo what?”

Sam spun the laptop around. “Photic sneezing. It’s when bright lights make people sneeze.”

“That can’t be a real thing.”

Sam turned the laptop again and started reading. “About 18-35% of the population has the condition. Looking at bright lights, particularly the sun, can trigger the sneezing reflex.” He closed the laptop and began ticking off his fingers. “Think about it. Dark motel room...bright bathroom light...sneeze. Car headlights in a dark room, sneeze. Bright sunlight into a dark room or when I stepped out into it...sneeze.”

“So we’re photic sneezers, now?”

Sam tossed his pen onto the table and returned the laptop to the bed. “No clue. I just know that’s what we’re doing.”

Dean thought for a few seconds. “So day one was dust. Day two was dust and this photic sneezing thing. Day three was dust, photic sneezing, and pepper...but...you haven’t sneezed from dust today.”

“You think that’s the pattern?

Dean shrugged. “Maybe? You cracked this code, genius. I thought we were just getting sick. If you’re right, then you’re gonna sneeze from dust at some point.”

“If I’m right, then tomorrow we’ll be sneezing from four things - dust, light, pepper and…I dunno.”

They stared at each other.

Mostly convinced, Dean still wasn’t at one hundred percent. “If this is a curse, it’s a stupid one.”

“Agreed. But it’s only 1:30 and all that’s left to happen is me and dust. So it’s not that bad.”

Dean reopened his lunch container. “Yet.”

Sam opened his lunch container, agreeing. “Yet.”

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This is fantastic! Such detailed plots. Love the small town, low tech aspect. Love how they are detailing out the causes of the sneezes to see a pattern.

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Oooh! One more irritant to sneeze from every day. Please tell me you're doing at least the twelve days of Christmas :D 

Anyway, love your stories (past and present) and happy you're back at it :)

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You're making me regret leaving the SPN fandom right now lol. This is really good though. I love your SPN fics. They're so well thought out and detailed.

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17 hours ago, helyzelle said:

Oooh! One more irritant to sneeze from every day. Please tell me you're doing at least the twelve days of Christmas :D 



Thanks for the kind words. I'm glad to be writing again, too. ^_^ Remember...time will move weird because the story will flow better. And the case is...yeah. Already found 2 discrepencies, so I'm trying to fix it. Then again, no one gives a hoot about the case, right? Right.

Are you bugged by the wide space between lines? I can't figure out how to get rid of the extra space after each paragraph. I'm writing in Google Docs...anyone have a solution? I'm purposefully not manually deleting the spaces so I can get a pulse from you guys as to what may or may not bother you. That and formatting like italics...Thanks!


The rest of the afternoon, Dean did something he hadn’t done in a while.


He hovered.


If Sam’s theory was correct, Dean was done sneezing for the day. Sam still had one reaction to go.


So Dean hovered and guarded Sam like a watchdog, trying to prevent the sneezing.


Under normal circumstances, Sam would’ve been incredibly annoyed. But, Sam had to admit to himself, it warmed him to know that Dean still cared...that Dean would still go out of his way to keep his brother safe.


...Even though this was a curse, and curses didn’t give a hooey about protective big brothers. The only one who wouldn’t accept that, of course, was the protective big brother.


They went to the Baron’s house first, where the video footage showed the snowman in the window. But no one answered the door. Both hunters gave each other a look before casually strolling around back.


“There,” Sam pointed. “That’s the window the snowman was looking through.”


They began examining the ground for clues of any kind. There was no dust outside, so Dean allowed Sam to stray more than three feet from his side. Which turned out to be a good thing, because Sam’s the one who found a large, round, black button under some leaves by the fence.


“Hey, look at this.” Sam held it up, looking for markings or symbols.


Dean trudged over, examining it. “Looks like a regular button...but it’s weird that it’s back here.”


“Yeah, kind of an odd coincidence.” Sam pocketed it, and together they made their way back to the Impala. “What do you think?” Sam asked when they reached the car.


Dean shook his head. “I dunno, Sam, all we have is a button. Let’s try the next house.”


Stacy Carnes’ widower, Kurt, was home, and reluctantly agreed to let Dean talk to his daughter.


“This has been so...I don’t even know how to describe it,” Kurt said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t believe it happened...I just...I don’t understand.”


Sam nodded sympathetically. “Was there anyone who’d want to hurt your wife? Not enough to...but maybe they were jealous of...of something she did well or of something she had…?”


Dean was half listening to the answers, half waiting for the kid, and half looking around for anything dusty. Consequently, he missed most of Sam’s conversation.


Out of nowhere, Sam smacked him on the arm. Dean jumped, looking around. Kurt was gone. “What?” he grumbled.


“Come on, Dean. Let it go. You cockblocking every particle of dust isn’t going to matter. If it’s a curse, it’s gonna happen. Just...relax and focus on the case!”


Dean dragged a hand down his face, conceding. “Yeah, yeah, fine. I just...it’s so stupid.”


Sam sighed. “I know, okay? It’s probably someone’s version of amusement or something. But we gotta - “


He was cut off by the arrival of a young girl, being gently led into the room by Kurt. “Go on, Sarah...it’s okay. These men just want to ask you some questions.”


The girl’s face turned sour. “They’re just gonna make fun of me,” she muttered.


Dean shook his head. “Not a chance, Sarah. We just wanna know what you saw.” The girl gave her father a pleading look. “Hey...trust me. We’ll believe everything you say.”


“Go on,” Kurt encouraged. “Be honest.”


Sarah snorted. “You don’t believe me, either.”


Sam interrupted, “Kurt...how about you show me where...everything happened...so Sarah can talk to Agent Rhoads?”


With one last worried look at his daughter, Kurt nodded. “Yeah...yeah, okay. Call if you need me, okay?”


Sarah just nodded, sullenly sitting on the couch.


As soon as Sam and Kurt left the room, Dean sat opposite her. “So…?”


She sighed. “I got up to get a glass of water. I came downstairs and saw…” Her eyes welled with tears. “I saw my mom at the patio door telling someone she was sorry. A green scarf flew through the doorway and wrapped around her neck. That’s when I ran back upstairs to get my dad.” She shuffled her feet on the floor.


Dean nodded. “The scarf - did it float slowly through the air, or did it kinda look like it’d been shot?”


Sarah’s head snapped up. “You believe me?”


Dean splayed his hands. “I told you I would. I just need the truth.”


“It looked like it’d been shot. It was straight - not, like, floppy.”


Dean nodded again. “Did you see who she was talking to?”


The baby monitor didn’t record any voices, just the sounds of someone being strangled.


Now, Sarah sighed, eyes wary again. “Yeah…”


Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting.


“A snowman.”


“What’d it look like, exactly?”


Sarah blinked at Dean’s simple acceptance of her story. “Uh...like a snowman?”


Dean shook his head. “Details, Sarah. Was it wearing a hat? What stuff decorated it? Did it move?”


“Oh...uh...it had a hat, black, like a normal snowman hat. There were black buttons down the front, but one was missing. The second one, I think. And it had no nose.”


“Come again?”


“You know...usually snowmen have carrot noses, but this one had no nose.”


Huh. Stupid curse, and a really fucking stupid case. Who thought this shit up?


Dean smiled. “Thanks, Sarah. You were a really big help.”


Sarah smiled back.


“Everything okay?” Kurt asked, leading Sam back into the room.


Sarah smiled at her father. “They believed me!”


Kurt’s smile faltered a little, but he fixed it real fast. “That’s...great! Go back upstairs, okay?”


“Okay!” Sarah took off, her footsteps pounding up the stairs.


Kurt turned on Dean. “Why’d you let her think that a snowman killed her mother?”


Dean slowly stood up. “You know, first off, you weren’t there. Sarah had information we needed that matched some other evidence we found. Second, telling her she’s wrong or that she’s crazy doesn’t help her or the case, and it doesn’t bring your wife back. Third, how do you know a snowman didn’t kill her? Come on, Sam.”


He pushed past a stunned Kurt and out the door. Sam handed over a business card. “Let us know if you or Sarah think of anything else that could be helpful.”


On the drive back to the motel, they exchanged information. Turned out, Stacy Carnes was a member of a church group that started up within the last month or so. She’d been spending a lot of time there, doing who knew what. Kurt wasn’t privy to the group’s activities. But no one seemed to hate her or have it out for her. She was a loving mom and a good wife.


Dean shared what Sarah shared.


Sam rubbed his jaw. “This case is weird.”




“So now what?”


“Third victim’s house.”


Sam flipped through his phone. “Mark Theron lived at…”




They rang the doorbell and stood, rocking on their heels in tandem before Dean rolled his eyes and stopped. The door opened, and a pleasant looking woman asked, “May I help you?”


Sam and Dean flashed their badges. “Hello Mrs. Theron...I’m Agent LeBon, this is Agent Rhoads. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband’s accident.”


The woman’s face twisted. “It was no accident. He was murdered. Come on in. I’ll tell you whatever I can.”


Clara Theron proceeded to tell them all about her husband’s new church group that he recently tried to leave. “They were so angry with him for wanting to spend more time at home with me and the girls.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head angrily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did something. The police think it was a burglary gone wrong, but I disagree.”


Sam and Dean exchanged a look. No one at the sheriff’s office suggested a burglary.


“What can you tell us about this church group?”


Apparently, a little charity-based club was formed at a local church, but only certain people were a part of the group. The claim was that family was important, and if both parents were out doing the Lord’s work, the children at home would suffer.


Dean rolled his eyes at that one.


“So you think someone from this group murdered your husband?” Sam asked. It seemed a little...odd.


Clara nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. They were so...intense. Always meeting to plan events. Secretive about what was going on. Said they didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But Mark...he started telling me that the people were a little...much. A little too devout. The club had membership levels, and he was at the initiate stage.”


Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Initiate? Your word or his?”


“Oh, his. Who has membership levels in a charity group? It’s ridiculous. He said he wasn’t willing to give up more time to them. So, he wanted out.”


“Give up time? Was that all they wanted from him? More time?” Sam asked.


Clara shrugged. “That’s what he said.”


“What’s what he said?” Dean asked. “Try to remember exactly what he said.”


Clara frowned. “Well, he said that he wasn’t willing to give them what they wanted. I asked if it was more time, and he said yes.”


Dean pulled his upper lip between his teeth and made a slight smacking noise. “Thank you. This was a big help. Now...we were told that one of your children found him? And claimed that a snowman killed him?”


Clara snorted, then looked around guiltily. “That’s what Susan thinks she saw. She said a snowman with only one eye was standing near Mark’s body. But that’s...I mean, there’s no snow outside. And one eye? I think she was trying to process everything.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Here...I’ll show you where he was found.”


The body was discovered in the garage. A scorch mark on the floor indicated where the coals were burning.


She closed the door to the garage and walked the brothers back through the house. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”


“No, ma’am, not right now. But here’s our card. If you think of anything else, please - “


Sam never finished the sentence. At that moment, a elderly woman carrying a white bag came around a corner. “Clara - I don’t understand how to change this vacuum bag!” She bumped right into Sam, the contents of said bag bursting out all over her and Sam.


She choked and coughed, wildly brushing dust off her face while apologizing.


Sam stumbled backwards, into Dean, face contorted from a concentrated blast of dust straight up his nose. Deep, uneven breaths followed, as his nose reacted violently to the stimulus, building up toward a release.




Only one, but it was painful, and followed by a round of fierce coughing from dust traveling down his throat. Somehow, Dean managed to get Sam’s coat off. Clara brought over wet cloths, one for each dust-covered target. With most of the dust off him, Sam croaked a goodbye, and they left the house.




“Holy fucking shit, Sam. I mean...shit.”


Sam sat slumped in the passenger seat, massaging his forehead, sniffling pathetically. “I know.”


Dean shot him a look. “Your voice sounds wrecked. That was quite a sneeze back there.”


The look Sam returned was scathing. “You try having a bag full of dust rammed up your nose.”


Dean shook his head. “Nooooo thank you. I just...I almost forgot about it. And maybe...I thought you were full of shit. But that was...I mean it was dust. And that’s what we were waiting for.”


Sam half-sneezed half-coughed into his shoulder. “Well...it’s over for today. We need to pay attention tomorrow...see what happens.”


“Well, we know there will be dust, pepper, and bright light. I wonder what else we’ll deal with.”


“I can’t wait to find out.”




The next morning, both brothers woke at the same time.


But neither moved from their beds.






“You, uh...gonna get up?”




“What do you mean no?”


“Why aren’t you up? Don’t you have to go to the bathroom?”


“Don’t you?”


“Okay, this is stupid. We’re hiding in bed because...what? We don’t wanna sneeze?”


Sam sighed. “I know. I’m not scared to sneeze, it’s just...the idea that it’s been planned out for us is kinda…”


“It’s stupid, and weird, and a little…”


“...unnerving,” Sam finished for him.






“So...you gonna get up?”


“Why don’t we talk about the case first?”


“Oh, yeah. Good idea. So Bobby had nothing on the button, right?”


Dean laced his fingers behind his head. “No. Said it was just a button, and to stop wasting his time.”


Sam huffed a laugh. “Right. Well...okay. The two kids said they saw a snowman. One was missing a nose, and the other an eye...which was probably a piece of coal. Almost like that specific snowman was going from one house to the next, each time losing a piece of his getup.”


Dean smirked, “How do you know it was a boy snowman? Could’ve been a girl.”


“Whatever, Dean. Hit on it later. We also have this church group that two victims were a part of.”


Dean scratched his ear. “And Mark tried to leave because they were too devout. And he was an initiate. What’s that sound like to you?”


“A coven.”


“Yup. Fucking witches. Maybe they’re behind this curse.”


Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. We got whammied before we got here. They didn’t know we were coming...and maybe don’t even know we’re here now.”


“Yeah, okay. I was hoping for an easy fix.”


“I hear you. So what should we do today?”


It was quiet a moment, as both boys accepted the inevitable - they had to get up and face the curse.


“We should try to go back to Mike Baron’s house - the carrot in the eye guy.”


“Yeah. Maybe talk with Maurice again...the bodies had nothing unusual, but maybe he found a tattoo or some other cult marking on them.”


Dean rolled onto his side. “Hey...what about the victim from the paper? The one who was sliced in half by the patio door?”


Sam’s mouth cinched to the side. “Oh yeah...that’s the story that got reported. I dunno...we should check into that, too.”


And still they lie in bed.


But then the phone rang, the screen lighting up the space near the nightstand. Without thinking, Dean reached for it, staring at the screen. “It’s the...uh...huh-TSHHCH’UH! Fuck! It’s the sheriff.”


Sam muttered, “One down…”


Dean sniffed and answered the phone. “Hello? … Really? … Okay...we’ll be there in a bit.” He hung up, and sniffled again. “Well...I guess I can cross bright light off the list for today. That was the sheriff.”


“I gathered that when you said it was the sheriff.”


Dean threw a pillow at Sam. “Another body turned up. This one was...get this...sliced in half by a patio door.”


“Wait...but that’s what - “


“I know, Sammy. Time to get up and get started. It’s just sneezing, right? No big deal. We have a mystery sneeze-causer to meet.”


“Mystery sneeze-causer?”


Dean threw off the covers and sat up. “Dunno what else to call it. I guess today will be the big test...see if things pan out the way we think.”


Sam sighed, also sitting up. “Yeah. I hope I’m wrong.”


“Lucky us, you rarely are.”

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I love this so much. There's the festive case that gives this story legitimate plot, plus the curse which means that there will be more and more sneezing as the story goes. This is so fun to read!

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Mm, this is amazing. Here I’ve been babbling on about the sneezing (which is amazing) but I’ve never mentioned the fact that your writing is really, truly great! You’re Ideas are really well thought out and there’s so much detail, and great characterization. Anyways, please keep writing. :) 

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