Title: A is for Allergic

Rating: G
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None

“Sam, you don’t even have your shoes on.”


Sam prickled. Dean was the one person in the world Sam hated to disappoint, but if he didn’t stand up for himself now, he might never get the balls to do it when he was older. “I’m not going.”


Bobby, shrugging on his jacket, froze with one arm in and one out.


“I’m fifteen. I’m old enough to look after myself. You don’t really need me along. Besides, I’m allergic.”


Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re allergic to ghosts now?”


Sam nodded. “Horribly. So I’ll just stay here tonight.” He had so much schoolwork and reading to do. Sam had spent the whole day digging and hauling plants for Bobby, not getting any real work done. And he could do his schoolwork a hell of a lot better sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table under the hanging lamp than he could in the backseat of the Impala by flashlight.


“You telling me you’d rather read than go save some innocent family haunted by a ghost?” Anger flared up behind Dean’s eyes.


Sam hesitated. Put like that, he sounded petty. But this wasn’t the life for him and Dean had to have known it by now. If he didn’t, he sure as hell would figure it out after this. “Dean…”


Bobby had his jacket all the way on now. “Quit your yappin’. Sam, if you don’t wanna come, you don’t gotta come. Just stay inside, lock the doors.”


Dean shook his head. “No. He doesn’t get off that easy. Dad—“


“Your dad ain’t here. I am. Now grab your gun, Dean, or there won’t be a family for us to go save.”


Dean gritted his teeth and mumbled, “Allergic to ghosts. What a bunch of…” The rest of the comment lost to the front door slamming.


And just like that, easier than Sam had expected, he was alone in Bobby’s house, left to his books.




The first half an hour, Sam couldn’t believe how productive he was. He managed to polish off his English paper and knock out most of his geometry homework. He was just starting the harder problems at the end of the chapter when he heard a chilling sound. It was a soft, sweet little “Mew?”


Sam jumped up. They’d been staying at Bobby’s place for three weeks while their dad was out hunting for something big, but in that time, Sam hadn’t noticed a cat running around the place. And he definitely would have noticed that.




It was louder now, clearer. He looked around and his gaze rested on the window. Outside. Sam walked over, searching the yard in the dusk, not really seeing anything until he looked down. And there it was. A white little fuzzball with big blue eyes. “Get lost,” Sam said, gesturing out at the yard. The cat didn’t move.




And it didn’t open its mouth when it meowed. That was pretty creepy. Maybe it was some sort of demon cat, meowing through powers of telepathy. 


Or maybe there were two of them. Sam saw a scruffy brown striped cat pad over to the window to sit beside the white one. They both stared up at him, like they expected something from him. “I don’t have anything for you,” Sam tried to explain. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smokey gray cat stalk over. And then a black one with green eyes. And a white one covered in dirt. And another black one, with white paws. And… suddenly there were too many to count. And they were all surrounding Bobby’s house. Crying at the windows. Scratching at the door and walls.


Sam backed up, knowing he was trapped and already feeling the itch in his nose, his eyes. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t actually allergic to ghosts. But he absolutely was allergic to cats. He pinched his nose at the bridge, but that didn’t do any good. He tried pinching his nostrils. That didn’t work either. There were just too many of them.


Sam didn’t know how they got in. He hadn’t opened up any of the windows or doors. But Bobby’s place wasn’t airtight. Or maybe these were demon cats after all and they could walk through walls. They swirled around his legs, purring, meowing, marking. He had to get rid of these cats while he could still think.


What did cats not like? Sam raced over to Bobby’s computer. It took forever to boot up and a cat jumped into his lap, rubbing against his chest, flicking its tail in his face. His breath caught, gasping over the sound of the modem dialing into the internet. He silently willed it to go faster, bringing a browser window up so he’d be ready the instant it connected. He typed a single word into the search engine, selected audio, and hit enter. He selected the first search result and hit play, filling the whole house with the sound of an angry dog barking.


A couple cats jumped in surprise, but none of them fled, none even walked away. Sam clamped his hand over his nose and mouth. “heff-CHUHH! EhhShuhhhh! Choo! KShooo!” The sneezes were strong, wet, his hand dripping. Water. Cats hated water.

Sam got up, the cat on his lap flying off and landing on all fours. “hehfkutchh!” He got to the kitchen sink, turned on the faucet, pulled out the nozzle, aimed it at the horde of cats, and pressed the lever. Nothing happened. The sprayer was broken. Damn it. Sam pressed his nose into his shoulder. “hehChoo! hahhShooo! heffKITChhuhh!” He cupped his hands under the running water and scooped it out. Water landed on the cats who reeled back a little. But then they charged forward, hissing and spitting and swiping with their claws out.


“Damn it!” Sam jumped up on the counter beside the sink to get away. There were some cats there was well already, but the mad ones were all still on the floor. More streamed in through the door, though. And his eyes were watering from burning so much. “hit-CHOO! Choo! hehShoo! hehkShuhhh!


Okay, so driving the cats away wasn’t working. So the question was, what were they doing there? What did cats like? Milk? Fish? Unless they were after the chocolate milk in the closed fridge or the cans of tuna fish downstairs, that wasn’t it. But why now? What had changed? Dean and Bobby were gone, but unless one of them were wearing an anti-cat amulet, it couldn’t be them. The only other change were all the plants downstairs they’d brought in that day. Plants that Bobby had taken out of some witch’s house. Some of them had to be catnip. Dread and understanding rushed through Sam.


He sprung off the counter, eyes closed, and felt lucky to not land on any of the cats. Sneezing freely, he ran across the kitchen and bolted for the cellar. Cats were scratching the wooden door, and he almost wasn’t able to pull it open against the little cat bodies trying to go forward. “hetchhoo!” He stumbled down the stairs, twisting his ankle but not caring. “hehKshoo!” Cats were on his heels, almost underfoot. “ehhhh-HEPTCHOO!


Sam had a lighter in his pocket. Dean had drummed that into him and even though Sam had been planning on spending the night inside at Bobby’s, he still had it. Sam flicked it on and suddenly wished he’d thought to look up these plants on the internet before coming down here. “hehhh-SHOO! HEKTISHHHHH!” But there wasn’t time. He’d have to burn them all. Sam touched the lighter to one and, a second later, there was strangled howl. Followed by another. And another. “heh-Tchhh! Chooo! Heh-hehh-hehKUSHH!” The plants all went up in flames. The cats cried and ran, scratching at themselves to get out. And Sam, sniffling, itching, sneezing, found the fire extinguisher to douse the flames before they could spread to the rest of the house.




“Sammy! Wake up!”


Sam lifted his head from the couch cushion, blinking up at Dean through burning red eyes.


“You have a good evening relaxing and sleeping while Bobby and I went and ganked a ghost?”


Sam could barely breathe. His nose was all stuffed. His head felt heavy, the pounding in his sinuses taking over. He’d cleaned up the ashes in the cellar, the water on the kitchen floor, and the other things the cats had knocked over. He’d double-checked all the windows and doors. Then he he’d collapsed on the couch, sneezing until he’d fallen asleep. “No,” he whispered, voice scratchy.


“Maybe next time you’ll man up and come with us then. ‘Cause you’re not really allergic to ghosts, are you?”


Sam shook his head. Satisfied, Dean left. Sam turned his head, stifling a sneeze into the couch cushion.