#chhts

[therealtwobitmatthews]

why’d you spit me out :(

(-@marcias-phonenumber)

Chht i hthiygh you was faje 🙏🙏

[sneezydarliing]

My piece for the 2023 snalintines exchange for @selfindulgentsuffering ! Hope you enjoy, and a huge thanks to everyone in the server for putting this together. 

Starve a cold, feed a fever

word count; 1,584

It begins the night before. 

The second Alhaitham opens his eyes he's thrown forward, sent into a coughing fit so harsh that he knows smothering his mouth with the blanket won't do anything against alerting his probably still-awake roomate. By the time he’s able to catch his breath, His door is already being opened, and he’s greeted with Kaveh rushing towards him, a worried expression on his face.  

“Love? You okay?” His roomate holds out a cup of water, and as Alhaitham takes it silently he can’t help but recognize the sweater hanging loosely off of the other’s frame. He eyes it, then returns his gaze to Kaveh, who huffs. “It was all I could find, okay? Jeez, come in here all worried and all you can do is be grumpy.” He walks out, continuing to mumble to himself about “being ungrateful” and how he’ll never come check on him again even though they both know better. 

The silence is welcomed. Alhaitham can feel an uncomfortable pressure beginning to build in his skull, and sweat prickles the back of his neck even though he feels fine temperature-wise. But surely it’s nothing. Sumeru’s grand scribe does not get sick. He returns to sleep with this thought in mind, brushing off what is easily a half hour of tossing and turning, occasionally muffling more coughs into his blankets. 

It gets worse in the morning. This discomfort has switched to a painful throbbing, and every move sends his head spinning. He essentially stumbles into the main room, where his roommate is currently making himself breakfast, humming idly along to some song that must have been on the radio. He was still wearing his shirt. The sound of Alhaitham’s fumbling brings him back to earth, and he looks up with an irritated expression, squabble not forgotten. 

“You look great this morning.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm, and Al Haitham scowls. “And you probably slept better than me. Your tossing and turning kept me up-” “hHI-Chht!” Kaveh freezes, interrupted from his angry rambling. “Archons bless you.” The saying is an unconscious habit, coming out of his mouth before he can even think of it. As Al-haithan sniffles wetly, he stops and looks at him a little closer. 

“Are you sick?” The frown on Alhaitham’s face deepens. He storms to the coffee table, grabbing his set of keys, and quickly slips on his shoes. He’s almost out the door before Kaveh gets an actual response in the form of a gravely “No.” He gets the ingredients for soup out anyway, huffing to himself. 

       As Alhaitham walks to the Akademiya, part of him regrets leaving at all. Every noise sends a jolt of pain through his head, his throat has begun to feel like gravel, and the first sneeze seemed to have set off some sort of chain reaction, because now he can't go five minutes without another one. There is no other way to put it, he was miserable. 

   It must have shown. Younger students looked at him with mingled concern and curiosity, and he heard whispers about how people should "try to leave him alone today." By the time he got to his office, he was exhausted. 

   Work ticks by at an excruciatingly slow rate, yet he can barely get anything done. It takes easily 5 times of reading anything for it to cut through the fogginess of his brain, and he finds himself spending more time with his head against the desk to help soothe his headache than doing anything else. Every conversation he tries to have ends in a coughing fit, and at some point people stop coming in at all. The rumor of the Grand Scribe's illness must have spread. 

Eventually, he decides to go into the library. Nothing will get done regardless, so he might as well pass the time somehow. Browsing the shelfs, searching for one of the few titles he had yet to read, left him putting how awful he felt to the back of his mind for a moment, able to focus on the moment, at least until the sneezing returned. 

Perhaps it was the dust. Many of the books had lived more than double his lifetime, and the careful tending of them could only do so much. Either way, it was exhausting. He flips a page. "hI’tsCHht-uh! nGt!." Wipes the irritated tears from his eyes, tries to continue, but the cycle seems persistent on repeating. 

"hiDt-CHt!" a stranger offers a blessing. Others glare. He still can't find himself absorbing anything on the page, and it's too hot in the room even though everyone else in there is bundled up. He swallows, trying not to wince at the pain. 6 more hours until he can leave. 

At some point, he returns to his office in a haze. The lack of staring eyes brings him some comfort, but he's reminded more of the work that needs to be done. The papers pile up on his desk, and it seems he can barely go any time without somebody bringing in more. Until somebody hesitates. 

They avert their eyes, fidgeting nervously. Alhaitham resists the urge to tell them to spit it out so he can go back to resting his head on the table. Finally, they speak.  "Are you feeling alright, sir?" He bites back a snappy response. 

"I'm fine." He croaks out, voice sounding much worse than he remembers. The sudden intake of air sends him muffling coughs into his sleeve as the younger student stands awkwardly, clearly unconvinced. 

"Uhm, maybe it'd be best to head home?" Their tone is sheepish and well meaning, but Alhaitham still wants to point out the mounds of work that needs to get done. He resorts to glaring. The student doesn't budge. "Who sent you here?" He asks, running his hands down his face, somehow even more exhausted. 

"Kaveh did. He said not to leave until you go home, sir." He sighs deeper than he knew he was able to. He silently weighs his options. No work will get done either way at this rate, and returning home does sound nice. Maybe he'll let Kaveh win. Just this once. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll leave." The student smiles, clearly satisfied. "I hope you feel better soon, sir." The words are lost to Alhaitham, though, as he suddenly finds himself gasping, head tilted. 

"nGt! hiDt-SHhih! "Archons bless you!" He can't help but groan a little as he stands, the world spinning around him, and he's left gripping the table for support. The walk home continues in the same fashion, stumbling around at a snail's pace until he's unlocking the door, met with the back of his roommate's head in the kitchen. 

"tSCHh’uh!" He sighs, pawing at his nose. Kaveh jumps slightly, apparently startled out of some focus. "You're home early." He comments as he turns to face him, revealing a cutting board strewn with vegetables. Bastard, Alhaitham thinks. But he decides to play along. 

"I got sent home." He explains half heartedly, flopping onto the couch. "Well, no wonder. You look awful." Alhaitham can't muster up anything to say in retort, so he just brings up a hand to block the light from his eyes. He can almost feel Kaveh's disapproving look. 

"Go rest in your room. I'll bring you some medicine." Alhaitham doesn’t bother to respond. His nose itches. "What hurts? I can call the doctor over to check you out." He shakes his head. Falling asleep here sounds pleasant enough, but Kaveh will surely shoo him out. "C'mon, go to your own room. It'll be more comfortable.. I can't drag you myself." 

"hI’tsCHhi!" Kaveh sighs. "Archons bless you. Need a tissue?" He shakes his head, sniffling. He can hear his roomate huff in exasperation as he approaches, and is suddenly hauled to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but he freezes at the hand on his forehead. He finds himself lost in Kaveh's expression, the way his frown deepens into an almost-pout, like it does when he's stuck on work. 

"You have a fever." Alhaitham hums again. He's led by his arm to his own bedroom, barely noticing as Kaveh removes his ear pieces, too focused on the way he hums, the way he runs a hand through his hair as he searches for something- pajamas, probably. Alhaitham sneezes again, and Kaveh blesses him again. Eventually, he seems to find what he's looking for, handing Al Haitham clothes. He just takes them, not even having the energy to change. 

Kaveh makes a noise of agitation, but Alhaitham feels as he carefully undresses him. "It's no wonder you're ill, sleeping in these thin clothes all the time." He can't help but feel a bit bad, so he sloppily gets to work on his pants, putting the new clothes on himself. He looks up once he's done, and Kaveh gives him a satisfied look that quickly switches to sternness. 

"I'm gonna go buy some medicine, so don't you dare move." He nods, punctuated by a quiet sniffle. He hardly notices when his roomate leaves, leaning his head against the cold wall for comfort. And, once Kaveh returns, it is to that very sight, Alhaitham snoring quietly, mouth slightly agape. He resists the urge to laugh as he sets the bottle of medicine on the desk by the bed, moving his bangs to give him a gentle kiss. "Feel better, darling." He says as he closes the door, despite knowing Alhaitham won't hear it. He can't bring himself to mind. 

[reactivatedcyborg]

did noodle ever bring you back ?

:yes- chht- i am back - chrrt -

:- where am i - chhht- the tea- bzzt- i forgot to bring the tea- chht- i had one job!- chht-

:- 2. 3. 8. 5. 9. 0. 11- chht- help- chht-

[nomalice757]

{{{8:18}}} Salute @tuamaann_ and congrats!!! #highlevelrap #hiphop #reinvisionpodcast #ltdbtd #LetTheDeadBuryTheDead #jesus #chhtodaysports #Repost @chhtodaysports (@get_repost) ・・・ #CHHTS | Alabama wins the 2018 national championship, and JESUS CHRIST gets the glory as well. "Shout out to @tuamaann_ for repping the faith" 📺📺🏉🏉🙏🏾💪🏾 🎉🎉 ⠀

[wishiwasntstillhere]

bitterburn: awful work

i’m writing an atla bitterblue!au, called bitterburn. this chapter is “awful work.” basic premise: ba sing se never falls, ozai is semi-banished and drags his family out to sea, the southern water tribe flees north to escape genocide and katara gets kidnapped along the way, so sokka goes after her. this part is set a little after sokka frees her, after they’ve escaped and found shelter in hama’s home for some time.

CW: death, funeral

...

Sokka wakes up with a start. He always does, these days. The first thing he does is check for Katara. She’s there in the other bed, her back turned. She’s there, and his boomerang is in his hand, and they are safe in Hama’s home.

He breathes out.

Sunlight streams through the window––he gawks. It’s almost noon.

“Hey Katara, wake up.” He nudges her. “It’s almost midday.”

She rolls over slowly and opens her eyes. “Midday? That’s awfully late.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised Hama didn’t come wake us up. Think she decided to give us a break or something?” He doubts it, but the corner of his mouth quirks anyway.

Katara sits up, movements sluggish. “I hope she’s alright,” she says. But she doesn’t move more than that, despite how she looks at the door. Her eyes aren’t right.

Alarm bell, is that you?

“You’re awfully tired,” he remarks, in an offhand kind of way. His eyes are probing. Bags under her eyes, weird bruise on her arm––was that there before? Dong, dong, dong. Warning. Sister in danger. Dong, dong, dong.

“Full moon last night,” she says. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Rolling out of bed, he gets to his feet. “We should go check on Hama,” says Sokka. He doesn’t bother watching her this time. No point, as long as she’s lying to his face.

“Yeah, okay,” says Katara, quiet.

-

At Hama’s door, Katara stills. Nothing seems wrong, but Sokka finds himself reaching for his boomerang anyway. 

“Katara, what’s wrong?” he asks, trying to be patient.

“Nothing.” He waits.

She doesn’t say anything else.

Nothing, huh?

Teeth gritted, he opens the door. Hama’s in bed, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. 

No, he realizes. Her chest is not rising. His steps stutter to a halt.

“She must’ve died in her sleep,” Katara says. Her voice shakes.

Shock courses through him, stiffening his muscles. “Did- did you know? Is that why you-?”

His sister stumbles back for a moment, eyes wide. “I didn’t- I-” Something in her eyes changes, and she lowers her arms, face downturned. “I knew she had died. I just… didn’t know what to do.”

He swipes at his eyes, furiously. Hama wasn’t Gran-Gran, but she was close. Sokka bites his lip, feeling another swell of hopelessness, another wave of sorrow-fury crash through him. Another guardian down.

But Katara needs him, and Hama needs to be buried. He sucks in a deep breath.

“Okay. Well. We need to…” What do they need to do?

How are they going to live? They can’t depend on Hama, they can’t depend on the inn anymore. He turns away from the body, looks at Katara.

First things first.

“I’m going to dig a hole. Can you-” He wishes he did not have ask this of her. They’ve buried enough family. “Can you prepare her body?”

Mute, she nods.

They get to work.

-

Digging is lonely work. It’s hot work. It’s awful work.

Sokka throws himself into the rhythm of it. The shovel cuts the dirt. Chht. He heaves it away. Thump.

He needs to figure out what they’re going to do next. Chht. What they’re going to do afterward. Thump.

Maybe they can sell the inn, get some coin. Chht. And then where? Thump.

They had planned to go up North, before. Chht. He had hoped Hama would be able to help. Thump.

But it’s not the first time they’ve made the journey by themselves. Chht. They can do it again. Thump.

Someone wanders into his line of sight. Old Man Ding peers at him curiously. Chht. This is sure to be good. Thump.

“Noticed you weren’t here on Market Day. Things alright up in the inn?”

Sokka pauses, wiping his brow. “Our great aunt passed away last night.”

Ding’s brow furrows. “Ah, but she was so young! Oh, last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?”

One of Sokka’s brain gears does a funny little creeeeak.

The full moon…

“No, sir,” he says, looking at the shallow hole he has so far.

“Ah,” says Ding, scratching his head awkwardly. “Should’ve known, that’s what all the digging was for.” His face droops into solemnity as he addresses Sokka again. “I’m sorry, young man. Please carry my condolences to your sister. Do you have incense?”

Ah, shoot. “No,” says Sokka, wary. “Or at least, I’m not sure where Hama keeps- kept it. She usually got it out.” He hopes that passes.

“Ah, then you’ll be needing some for the funeral. I’ll see if I can secure any for you, get it back here tonight. Have you no white clothes?”

“No,” says Sokka again. White is for mourning, he knows that much… “We didn’t expect to- We didn’t expect to stay so long, or for her to-”

The old man nods. “Well, that’s just bad luck. Shouldn’t be wearing red, anyhow. Don’t forget to hang some white on your door, let people know. Don’t want any customers coming in while you’ve a body in the house still.”

He fumbles, an artless “Oh right, I forgot- that. Thank you.” Old Man Ding walks away.

In his haste to make sure Hama received the proper rites, he’d forgotten where they were. Would the funeral be suspicious? Would their departure be reported? What does a Fire Nation funeral even look like, anyway?

He gets back to work. Chht. Thump.

They need to bury Hama. And then sell the inn, and then leave. As quick as possible. It’ll be a real shame if they can’t get a good price for the inn, but Sokka feels a large sense of urgency in their departure. 

Chht. Thump.

A whisper of cloth. He looks up.

“I’m done,” says Katara. She looks wrung out.

He casts a glance down at the hole. “I’m almost there.” He feels the hours piled on him in dirt and sweat and longs for a bath. “Listen, Old Man Ding came by. He’s going to bring incense later tonight. I don’t know… I don’t know if he’s going to stay to watch, so whatever you want to do before then, Water Tribe stuff... probably- try and do it before.”

“Oh,” she says, but it’s like there’s not enough air in the word. He doesn’t need to look up to know there are tears in her eyes again. Yeah.

He wishes they were allowed to keep just one thing.

Katara has hung the white by the time Ding comes back, and he hands them the incense. Sokka looks at it blankly for a moment, trying to fathom how this is supposed to go, and doesn’t even grab it. In the end it’s Katara that moves, bowing with the flame in her hands and thanking him hoarsely. 

Luck, ironically, is on their side for once. Ding bows back, and leaves them to the burial.

They wrapped her in a sheet, the closest thing they had to the skins and furs she would have been wrapped in at the Pole. Together, they lower her into the shallow hole at the base of the tree.

There are words meant to fill the space, here. But Sokka is too young to have learned all the chief’s duties. All the funerals he’s attended were for kin.

“She was… the last of the Southern Waterbenders,” says Katara.

“May her next life be peaceful,” he prays. 

Sokka casts the first mound of dirt, then Katara.

It’s silent work, filling the grave again. Easier than before, and harder. When it’s done there’s nothing left to show but a dark, uneven patch of earth.

Katara lays Hama’s comb at the head of the grave. “I know we can’t leave it, but…”

Sokka nods. Earlier he had amassed a pile of stones, so they take each one and lay them down over and around the come. A tiny cairn for a silent burial.

They’re not sure exactly what to do about the incense. They settle for lighting the incense and letting it smoke from a small pot in front of the cairn, like what they’ve seen in passing at shrines. The smoke has a heavy smell to it.

On the short walk back to the inn, Sokka puts his arm around his sister. She shudders, sniffles, and breaks away to make them dinner. He gives her her space.

The night is long. 

He listens to his sister weep, wide awake. He listens to the house creak, the wind whistling.

Moonlight brushes their window screen. It’s waning. Does she feel it? Had Hama felt it as strongly as his sister seemed to?

Last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?

Full moon last night. I didn’t sleep well.

She must’ve died in her sleep.

He wonders.

[inconvenient-sneezes]

merlin is sneezy + arthur is annoyed

***

“You ready for the t-tournament?” Merlin asked, breath hitching lightly.

Arthur rolled his eyes in response. “Um, no. Frankly, I’m not.”

Merlin gently placed a knuckle under his nose and rubbed. “Why? Nervous?”

“No. Because you haven’t put my armor on!” he snapped, gesturing to the pile of garments on the table.

“Right, of course.” Merlin jumped into action. “My apologies, S-Sire. Heh’GNNT!” 

He let a quick sneeze slip and then shook his head, as if to clear it. The young warlock tightly fastened Arthur’s breastplate to his chest.

Arthur let out a sudden gasp as Merlin adjusted the clasps. “Hghh—! Merlin! I’ll need to be able to breathe.”

“Sorry, Sire,” Merlin replied, loosing it a bit. His nostrils flared and the metal slipped through his fingers as he turned away, stifling two sneezes into his hands. “Hh’CH! Hup’KKNT!”

“Merlin, are you well?”

The young man sniffled, still smiling. “Sorry, my Lord. Yes, it’s just the hay.” He pointed to the bales of hay in the stable before picking up Arthur’s chainmail. “You feel prepared for the tournament?”

“Yes,” Arthur nodded. “I’ve had time to size up my opponents. It shouldn’t be a bad match.”

“I dunno,” Merlin said, easing the chainmail over his prince’s head. “That L-Lord Nicolause looks pretty t-terrifying. H-hahh... hit’CH! Hihh... hehhH! Heh’CHHT!” 

He sniffed wetly, rubbing his itchy nose on his wrist. “Does he frighten you?”

“Merlin...” Arthur started, annoyed. “What I’d like now is some silence.”

“Hup’CHH!”

“And my helmet,” he grumbled.

***

request some stuff/give me feedback!!

read more stuff!!

[youngbuddy25-blog]

Back for yet another #4barfriday. Instrumental: @superstaro- radio kills @4barfriday @chilottery @frontpagehits @damianlillard #newartist #undiscoveredartist #spotify #appleitunes #musicvideo #CHHTS #rapzilla #thebeat #thebreakfastclub #explorepage (at Flagler County, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/BrGF7u6FQ3w/?igshid=14eui0miyfmzi

[afreshculture]

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#Repost @chhtodaysports with @get_repost ・・・ #CHHTS | Coach Doug Pederson of the Superbowl winning @philadelphiaeagles gives credit to his Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ for this games victory. 📺📺📺🙏🏾🙏🏾⛪⛪ 🏉🏉🏉🔥🔥⠀ ⠀

[djconverzion2]

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A post shared by Andre Djconverzion Johnson (@djconverzion)

#Repost @chhtodaysports ・・・ #CHHTS | “It’s probably gonna go down as the third best moment in my life, behind giving my life to Jesus Christ and marrying my wife...” -Casey Keenum

[bellaciaofallout]

OTP Day 2 : Cuddling

Ben is not a cuddle guy but, sometimes, where he’s alone with Gage, he is. But chht, a overboss don’t show his feelings. (but he loves him)

OTP challenge by @vaultgirl2077

[reactivatedcyborg]

Did it start to rain? You mentioned thunder when leaving the store.

:i am- chht- perfectly - fine- fine- fine. chrrt- i got a bit - chrrt - wet but it's okay-

:- i'm on my way - chhht - back. sorry it took me - chrrt - 6 - 0 - 3 - chht- 1 day late-

:chhht - don't worry -i'm

[danabonnie5]

Cute Rachel 💐👧🏻😁 (at Igorot Stone Kingdom, Baguio City) https://www.instagram.com/p/Chht-3jvu6Q/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[simidress]

Sparkly Sky Blue Tulle A-line V-neck Homecoming Dresses, Short Prom Dress, SH600 😍 Price: US$136 Available in all sizes & colors Fast shipping worldwide! 🌐 Get you excited? . . . . . #homecomingdresses #homecoming #homecoming2022 #shorthomecomingdress #shortpromdress #schoolevent #schooleventdress #schooldance #shortpartydress #satinhomecomingdress #HomeComingDay #homecomingweek #hoco2022 #hoco2k22 #satinpromdress #satindress #cheappromdress #homecoming #prom2k22 #promshopping #promdressshopping #formaldress #formaldresses #cocktaildress #purplehomecoming dress #lacehomecomingdress #bluehomecomingdress #schoolpartydress #Simidress https://www.instagram.com/p/ChhT-cVLEWf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rina-n]

シノブちゃん2号🌿 . . #常磐忍 #常磐忍愛でたい #トキワシノブ #トキワシノブ石化 #シノブゴケ #苔玉 #苔玉盆栽 #緑のある暮らし #緑のある生活 #greenlife #tokiwashinobu #盆栽 #bonsai #bonsailovers #plantlover https://www.instagram.com/p/ChhT-KAr3Lq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[thetreewellness]

Sabia que antigamente, em alguns países, os figos cozidos eram utilizados para adoçar em vez do açúcar? 🤔 Embora os figos sejam ricos em açúcar, são também ricos em fibras e contribuem para a saciedade. Para além disso, são uma boa fonte de vitamina K, potássio, cálcio e magnésio. 💪🏼 Marque já a sua Avaliação de Nutrição gratuita. + Info: por mensagem privada ou através do 𝟐𝟓𝟑 𝟒𝟏𝟑 𝟎𝟕𝟎 | 𝟗𝟔𝟕 𝟒𝟔𝟎 𝟎𝟓𝟏 Esperamos por si... Siga-nos ▶ Instagram/Facebook: @thetree.wellness #TheTreeWellness #Thetree2022 @dieta3passos #Lifestyle #VidaSaudável #DicasSaudáveis #Dieta #Receita #ReceitasSaudáveis #AlimentosSaudáveis https://www.instagram.com/p/ChHT-c_Kcc_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[inconvenient-sneezes]

more supernatural fluff!!

You Wanna Bet?

***

“Manny Pacquiao is totally gonna crush him, man,” Dean told his brother, taking another swig of beer. 

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, right. Algieri won’t win.” The sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

“Do I smell a bet?”

Sam grinned. “You’re on dude.”

“What are you betting on?” a voice behind them inquired. Dean jumped, spilling Sam Adams all over his Black Sabbath T-shirt, and Sam whipped his head around.

“Cas!” they both yelled. “Don’t do that.”

He smiled and sat in between them. “I am sorry for scaring you both.” There was a whoosh as he unfurled his wings and sat back a little. “Why are those two men confined in a square?”

“It’s a b-boxing match,” Sam explained, rubbing his nose. “Th-they’re... huh! huh’NXXT!”

“Bless you,” Castiel answered, proud he knew the correct response. 

Dean smiled. “That was quite a girly sneeze, Samantha. But anyway, Manny’s gonna beat his face to the ground but Sam begs to d-differ.” The eldest Winchester quickly cupped a hand around his nose and sneezed twice. “Hah’SHSHOOO! Hep’ISHHHHOO!”

“Bless you,” Cas said politely.

Sam felt like his nose was on fire. He rubbed it, feeling a sneezing fit coming on. It reminded him of when he was younger, how he’d get in the spring. “D-Dean... Can y-you...” He was gesturing across the room, where the tissues were. Dean pretended like he had no idea what he was referring to.

“Hmm?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut. “Hh’GNT! Hih’KTT! H-hihh... ihh’KXXXT! Dean!” he managed. “T-tissues— her’SSHH!”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, getting up. “Annnnd... Algieri is d-down— hh’HUSHOOO!” 

He tossed the tissues at Sam, who was still sneezing helplessly into his jacket and raised his eyebrows as Castiel blessed him after every sneeze.

“J-Jesus, what the hell?” Dean jammed two fingers under his nose, staving off the sneeze. “Are we hehhhh... h-hexed?”

“Nn’CHHT! Ihhh... hihH! Hih’NXT! Huh’KKKT!” Sam sneezed.

“Okay, d-don’t answer hahhh... that.” He rubbed at his nostrils vigorously.

“Bless you. Bless you. Bless you.”

“Cas!” Dean interjected. “You don’t have to bless someone every time they sneeze, especially if they’re like Samantha and won’t shut up.”

“I c-cad’t help id! Nn’CHH!”

Dean squinted at the angel. “Cas... are your wings out?”

“Yes. Why?”

He roughly rubbed his twitching nose. “They d-don’t— Hur’ESHHHOO! Agree with us.”

“Bless you,” Castiel responded, folding his wings in. “Sam, Algieri is indeed on the ground.”

“D-dammit! Nn’GNNT! I’ll— hihh... hih’SHHH! Be righd b-back.”

“Bless you.”

“I think we have some antihistamines in the cabinet,” Dean laughed, blowing his nose a bit.