Story Summary: Sick and alone, you want nothing more than to have Sam there, taking care of you.
This is written for @iwantthedean and her sickie writing challenge.
It was only days after Christmas, and you found yourself laying in bed, covered in blankets, feeling absolutely horrible. This wasn’t how you had planned to spend your Christmas break away from work. There had been so many things you had wanted to get done, but none of that mattered now as this horrible cold kept you miserable.
What made it even worse was being by yourself. No one to run to the store to pick up tissues, or crackers. Or to even just sit beside you as you suffered. Sure, there was someone who could have been there, but he was across the country, currently attempting to kill a pack of werewolves.
Sniffling, you pressed the on button on your remote, the movement making your joints ache even more. As a soap opera played on screen, your eyes drifted shut, falling asleep as Sam’s named flashed across your phone.
Sam’s POV
“Dean, do you think something could be wrong with Y/N?” I asked my brother as Dean continued to handle the Impala with ease. “It’s not like her to miss my phone calls.”
“Maybe she’s grown bored with you.” Dean teased, earning a glare from me. “Truthfully Sammy, I don’t know.”
“I’ve called her five times today, and she hasn’t returned a single one. She’s off from work, and I’m starting to worry.” I continued, nervously nibbling on my lip.
“We’re only an hour away. I’ll drop you off at her place, and you can see what’s up.” Dean offered, which I was grateful for. Y/N had come into my life when I least expected to fall in love, and I couldn’t imagine anything happening to her.
Your POV
Finally awake for more than five minutes, you struggled to make your way to the bathroom. Every step was utter misery, your body shaking from the fever raging through you. Taking care of business, you stopped for a second to stare in the mirror, not even recognizing the girl staring back at you. Your hair was standing on end, most of it starting to escape from it’s messy bun. Your face was pale, dark circles underneath your eyes. Your lips were chapped, your cheeks rosy from the fever. You looked a fright, but you knew you felt much worse.
Knowing that you needed to get something into your system, you slowly made your way to the kitchen, leaning on the wall for support when your front door rattled. Sighing, you knew you had no energy to deal with whoever was breaking in, and your phone was lost in the tissues on your nightstand.
Wondering if you could make it to your garage before they entered, you were almost turned around when a familiar figure filled your foyer. “Sam?” You whispered, wondering if you were so sick you were hallucinating.
Sam’s POV
With Dean’s driving it had only taken forty-five minutes to get to Y/N’s house, and I was immediately concerned. All her blinds were drawn, her house almost completely dark. I wouldn’t have thought she was home if it wasn’t for her car in the driveway. Waving bye to Dean, I knocked on the door, waiting a moment for her to answer.
Concern really started to set in when nothing happened, and I decided to use my spare key. Opening the door, I stepped inside, noticing her frozen in the hallway. Her voice, barely recognizable due to hoarseness, spoke my name before her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.
“Y/N!” I exclaimed, rushing forward and picking her limp form off the floor, immediately noticing that she wasn’t doing very well. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead burning up with fever. Even unconscious, she turned to snuggle in, her body seeking out warmth. Wondering how long she had been sick, I gently carried her through the hallway, settling her down in her bed before pulling out my phone and calling my brother.
“Hey Sam, what’s up?” He answered on the second ring, the sounds of a bar echoing behind him.
“It’s Y/N. She’s really sick. Think you could pick some stuff up at the store for me?” I asked him, knowing he would. He cared about Y/N, calling her the sister he never wanted. After giving him a list, I hung up, turning back to Y/N.
She was cuddled under at least five blankets, her body still shivering. Her poor lips were chapped, and she was having a challenging time breathing. Leaving her sleeping, I went into the kitchen, stopping to turn up the thermostat as I went. Her kitchen was bare, not even tea to warm for her. Hoping Dean would return soon, I began cleaning every surface, needing something to do as Y/N slept.
“How is she?” Dean asked as he stood at the front door.
“Still sleeping? She’s pretty sick.” I explained, thankful for the items that Dean had brought over. “I’m gonna spend the next couple of days here, trying to get her feeling better.”
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Dean threw over his shoulder as he left.
After making a small bowl of chicken broth, along with some tea, I carried it into her bedroom where she was starting to stir. “Sam?” She muttered, her voice croaking with the effort.
“I’m here.” I assured her, sitting down next to her. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were hunting.” She whispered.
“But you’re sick. And I wanted to be here for you.” I argued, knowing that Dean could have handled the hunt by himself.
Your POV
Waking back up in your bed, your eyes immediately searched the room, relaxing when you saw Sam sitting there. It hadn’t been a dream after all. Seeing the tray in his hands, you smiled, knowing that Sam would always be willing to take care of you.
Helping you sit up, he took control, spooning the warm broth into your mouth, talking about the hunt he had just been on, how Dean had run over one of the werewolves with the Impala. Smiling up at him, you couldn’t believe how much better just the warm broth was making you feel.
After eating a little bit of the broth, you pushed it away. As he turned to take the tray back, you spoke up. “Sam, stay. Please?”
“Of course. Let me get this cleaned up. But I’m not going anywhere.” He promised you. Within minutes, as you were starting to get sleepy once again, he was back by your side. Slipping off his shoes and jeans, he slid in the bed beside you, pulling you tight against his chest. “Just relax. I’ll be here when you wake.”
“But I could get you sick.” You wheezed, even though you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms.
“Then it will be your turn to take care of me.” He teased. “But I’ve got a strong immune system. And I want to be here for you. You’re my girl, let me take care of you.”
Nodding, you yawned, before snuggling deeper into his embrace. Having Sam by your side was the best medicine you could have asked for.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Reader
Warnings: Language, violence, medical situations
Word Count: 4650
Summary: Witches and angels never make things easy, and the poor reader suffers because of it.
A/N: I had the idea for this fic for a long while and the perfect excuse to write it finally presented itself. @rachelladytietjens kindly spent time reading through to help make sure it made sense and @kayteonline is a fantastic beta who helped polish this off. Thanks, ladies!
See the end of the fic for an additional note for this fic, I don’t want to give anything away. AND as always, love me some feedback and constructive criticism.
The Latin rolls off her tongue fast enough to make an auctioneer wet his pants. Between the ringing in my ears from the last shot I took at her and Dean’s groans of discomfort from the floor next to me I can’t make out the words. Instead I catch a few sharp sounds of consonants as her voice rises in volume. I’m too busy trying to focus on an escape plan to bother trying to read her lips, which is dumb, as I can see Sam creeping in from the side, saving the day at the last minute as the Winchesters tend to do. He catches her off guard, taking her down with a well-placed bullet. The sound echoes, sending another wave of ringing and the whoosh whoosh whoosh through my head while I listen to the blood rush through my system; hearing and feeling the hoarseness of my breathing and the friction beneath my shoes as I shift a little in place to get my bearings.
Sam grabs my cheek, pulling my eyes to his, silently seeking reassurance as he moves in front of me. I let my face relax and offer a quick nod, giving him what he needs before he crouches down to where Dean lays crumpled on the floor, his eyes wide and chest heaving, but nodding at Sam that he’s okay, too.
It takes a moment for everything to sink in and to make myself drop the tension in my shoulders. Right about now I wish I’d taken them up on their offer to let me stay home and get over the last bit of my cold. I shake my head at all the wouldacouldashoulda, trying to knock the ringing away without any luck. Sam hauls Dean upright and we all survey the scene, taking in the mess from the fight and the body of the witch crumpled on the floor. A quick nod shared between us and we set off to start the clean-up.
The ringing on my ears persists as we make it back to the hotel and guzzle down aspirin, whiskey and beer. It’s the usual wrap-up mixture of exhaustion and relief, shock and soreness. Sam’s asking about the spell the witch was trying to cast, but neither Dean nor I can offer anything useful, much to Sam’s annoyance.
“Well what about you? You could’ve paid attention.”
“I was trying to sneak in to save you,” he defends, eyes calling us dumbasses without the need to speak.
“Let’s just say it was both your faults,” Dean jumps in, “You-” he points at me, “Shouldn’ta missed that shot, and Sammy should’ve put his listening ears on.”
“Oh, shut it Moaning Myrtle,” Sam snaps, pulling a low snicker from me while Dean rolls his eyes back into his head. “Like any of us could hear anything over your wailing and crying.” Dean snaps his eyes back to Sam, one brow pointed up in annoyance.
The bickering continues, lightening the mood as the alcohol flows and our muscles ease.
The next morning’s rough. My eyes drag open and an unwanted sense on wakefulness jolts through me, quickly followed by a sour mood. I know that any attempts to continue sleeping are useless. A weird quivering in my stomach makes my body more aware than my head can handle at the moment, and I listen to the sounds of the guys sleeping mixing with the noise of traffic and doors slamming throughout the motel. Knowing I have first crack at the shower is the only incentive to being up.
I take my time showering, drying my hair, attempting to not look like a hungover zombie. By the time I’m out, both the guys are up, rolling up clothes and getting ready to shower and head out themselves. Dean brushes past me for his turn in the bathroom as Sam straightens up, tossing a shirt at me that I miss completely, letting it fall to the floor over my feet.
“You hanging today?”
I blink for a moment until Sam’s words make sense, “Huh?”
“Hungover? You know you don’t need to try to keep up with Dean.”
“What? No, why?”
“You just - you kinda look like you’re in pain,” his eyes focus on my forehead and I realize my eyebrows are scrunched up.
“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. I just feel...off.” I shrug.
“Like how off?” He pulls his head back, eyes narrowing as he focuses on me.
“Uhh, I don’t know. Just...off. You know that feeling, like-like anxiety? Kinda? I just feel off, almost woozy, my ear’s still ringing.”
He nods, just a quick jerk of his chin in acknowledgment, and I can feel his eyes looking over me as he thinks. “Yeah, well, firing those shots in the basement didn’t do much good for any of our ears.”
“Yeah,” I nod, but feel my face pinch up again as a fresh wave of discomfort catches in my gut. Suddenly, it takes too much effort to stand, gravity sucks me down and my muscles make no effort to fight it.
Sam makes it to the floor at the same time I do, hands grasping at my shoulders to hold me upright. “Whoa whoa, hey. What just happened?”
I groan, feeling something pulling at my head, a dizzying rush of lightheadedness making my head tilt to the side. “I don’t. Ughh, I don’t know. I just needed...down.” I pull against Sam and sink further down, bending my elbows and hunching onto my hands and knees. “I need down,” I moan, feeling nothing but the desperate need to stop moving.
“The hell? She still drunk?” Dean grunts out from beside me. The scent of his soap drifts out from the bathroom, catching in the back of my throat like a bad cough drop, making me want to wretch away the perfumy taste.
“I don’t know, she just went down.” Sam says over me.
“Well is she okay?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s going on.”
They continue to talk over me. I can’t think much beyond my discomfort, the sensation of dizziness making my eyes roll, and just wanting to feel - not this.
I start to crawl, a slow pull of my limbs along the carpet, muscles weak and shaking with effort, heat flushing my cheeks, and lips hanging open as I suck in air.
Dean grabs one arm, Sam the other, and they haul me up. It’s too fast. The movement makes my stomach clench and head roll back as I lose my bearings. Everything’s moving, spinning, wobbling, and it won’t stop. I can’t keep track of where they’re moving me until I feel the mattress edge against my legs, then the flat top beneath my back and their hands pulling my calves straight to lie flat.
The spots on the ceiling spin in my vision. I close my eyes to stop the swirling, only to find that with my eyes closed, it’s almost worse. The spinning turns into a rolling feeling, like I’m riding waves, bed tilting wildly on an unsteady axis. I cringe and will my eyes to open, finding the corner of the room and focusing on the spot, anything to make the spinning come to an end.
I hear the panic in Dean’s tone before the words register. “Hey! Hey! You need to talk to us. What’s going on? You with us?”
“I...hnnnn...I don’t know.” I can’t concentrate on anything but the unsteady sense of motion, my stomach getting weaker with every wobbly rotation. “Spinning. It’s all spinning.”
I dig my fingers into the blanket, the pilling of the polyester irritating my nerves even further. My skin starts to ache, sensitive to the heat rising and sweat gathering on my skin, and the first heave from my stomach catches me off guard. I swallow it down before choking on the saliva pooling in my throat.
“Shit! Get a bucket!” Dean yells, and then I feel hands moving my shoulders again, and my muscles tighten and convulse beyond my control, pushing bile up into the back of my throat. I sputter and cough from the burning acidity at the back of my tongue before opening wide and letting it heave out from deep in my throat.
The effort makes blood rush my face to the point of pain, skin tingling in pins and needles as I hold my breath and heave again, my stomach making its best effort to empty itself. I feel even more lightheaded, my brain floating and bobbing inside of my skull and eyes rolling like some googley-eyed doll.
“What the hell, man?!”
“Dude! I don’t know. Check for hex bags.”
I feel their hands leave me, setting me onto the bed again. I roll onto my back, willing my eyes open and searching for a steady point. I hear them tearing apart the room, cushions and clothes and wrappers tapping against the walls as they’re thrown about recklessly. Grunts of frustration following angry huffs and muttered “nothing here’s”.
“Hey. Hey,” I feel Dean grab my arm. I start to move my eyes, regretting it instantly. “Okay, you’re okay, just take it easy.”
“Mhmmm,” I moan. “Call Cas.”
“Tried already, got nothing. Okay,” his voice is soft, almost a whisper, but quick with panic, “Can you talk to me? I need you to tell us what’s going on? Can you do that for me?”
I place my hands on my forehead, hoping to hold myself still. “I dunno,” I croak, “Just sp-spinning. Everything spinning.”
“We gotcha, okay? Just relax.”
I feel Dean move off the bed, then some kind of whispered argument from them before the bed sinks again and I whine at the motion.
“Shit! Sorry,” Sam hisses. “Okay, I’m right here. Dean’s gonna go check out the house, see what we missed. I need you to really think for me. We need to know what the witch was saying so we can figure out a counter-spell.”
“Nooo. Sam, no.” I curl myself into a ball and turn myself onto my side. “I can’t. It’s too much. I think - I need a doctor.”
I hear him huff out a breath in annoyance, but he doesn’t push further. Instead he pulls a blanket gently over me, and sets a hand between my shoulder blades, helping to keep me from swaying with the motions in my head until I manage to drift off to sleep.
I jerk awake to the sensation of falling. Someone is tilting the mattress, making gravity pull me down the other side, and though my body tilts into it, I never fall, just feel the constant pull. My nerves tingle and muscles jerk against it, and my head begins to swirl. I know I’m moaning pathetically, but can’t make myself stop, everything’s too miserable.
“Hey, darlin’. How you holding up?” Dean’s voice is gentle, hopeful in spite of my groans. Some kind of negative-sounding moan comes from me and he takes in a loud, deep breath. “Alright, well can you sit up a little? Drink some water for me?”
It sounds like the worst thing I could do to myself right now, and I groan again to let him know just that.
“Come on, you gotta do it. Just a little,” he insists and starts to sneak his hand underneath my shoulders to prop me up. I keep my eyes closed, afraid to open them to see the world spinning around me, but the sensation starts to creep in even beneath my closed eyelids. Somehow the nothing I’m not even staring at starting to twirl.
Dean holds the cool edge of the glass against my lips, pushing them apart and tilting slowly until I can feel the water. It’s from the tap, I can tell by the strong mineral taste, and I slowly sip as it trickles in. Cool, refreshing as it starts to clear away the remaining taste of vomit and dry-mouth, then soothing the burn in the back of my throat. He softly encourages me until he thinks I’ve had enough, then just as slowly pulls away the glass and props a pillow in place of his arm behind me.
“Can you talk?”
I can feel the cold water settling in my stomach and it does a little flip. I bring an arm up over my eyes to shield the light as I will my eyelids to part and eyes to slowly focus on the room. It immediately starts to sway and I try to find a point to focus on to keep it still.
“Yeah.”
“Good. That’s good. Anything you can remember from last night? Any of the Latin at all?”
“No,” I smack my lips together, feeling the sting of saliva starting to pool beneath my tongue, “I couldn’t hear anything. I wasn’t watching her lips.”
“There’s gotta be something, right now we’re sitting here with a whole lotta Jack Squat.”
“Fuck off, Dean.” I feel the heat flushing my skin again. “I think maybe I should go see a doctor.”
“Nah, no. Come on, you gotta give us something.”
“Dean-” My stomach clenches.
“A word. A hand gesture. Anything.”
The water is still cool as it makes its way back up and out my throat. The mixture it makes with the bile not burning as much as before, but still making me gag and cough. I bring a hand up to rub away the tears at the corners of my eyes, squinting between my wet lashes and catching the sight of Dean’s surprise and disgust at the mess I just spewed onto his arm and bedspread.
A resigned look settles over his face as he stands and starts to peel away his soiled shirt. “I’m gonna head to the front desk, pay for another couple days and find the laundry room. Sammy, you ahhh, you take care of this.”
“Sorry, Dean,” I mumble as I let my head roll and fall back onto the pillow.
“It’s...it’s cool, we just gotta figure this all out.”
“Cas?” I beg.
“No answer.”
“What an asshole.” I close my eyes, squeezing them shut to try to block out the rocking sensation, jerking my muscles to fight the pull to roll and whine at the discomfort, barely hearing the conversation between Sam and Dean in another part of the room.
“Just keep looking - the lore, the books I got from her place, there’s gotta be something, man.”
“Dude, I’m trying.”
After a few more minutes, I hear the door open and close, then a sigh from Sam and the steady turn of pages from a book. I can’t tell how long I lie there, listening and focusing on being still until I fall asleep again.
And that’s the cycle that goes on. I spin and topple, watch the ceiling swirl above me while the mattress tilts and rolls; up and down don’t make any sense, everything is both up and down, constantly in some sort of twirling freefall even though I feel the mattress against me.
In between pushing water and the occasional cracker or slice of bread down my throat, the guys try different remedies and counter-spells. Mixtures of herbs and Latin, mysterious broths with questionable floating chunks, powders and oils sprinkled over me - none of it helps, most of them make me feel worse. I whine and pray for Castiel, and when he doesn’t answer, I scream and curse him out for not answering. He doesn’t answer to that, either.
I feel weaker every minute, stomach churning with both hunger and nausea, mind slowing, and body tired and shaking with every move. Muscles ache and cramp from heaving and curling in on myself. My skulls throbs, my tongue clicks against the dryness in my cheeks. Their kind whispers and nudges of encouragement develop into panicked pleas and desperate prayers, though no angel answers. I even hear whispers of summoning Crowley, and that’s where I draw the line.
“Take me. To a. God damn hospital.”
I don’t need to look at them to know they’re having some kind of facial journey conversation over me. I peel open my eyes, just catching Sam’s mouth opening and closing as he nervously chooses his words.
“Ah-I I don’t know if that’s the best idea. We still don’t know how you’re cursed, and if we don’t figure it out - you...you’re…” he sighs.
“I know. But at least they could make me comfortable.” I breathe shallowly, eyes hurting and unfocused, head floating and still wobbling. “You guys tried. I don’t want it to be like this. The -the end...I can’t deal with it anymore.”
I roll to my side, sliding until I feel the edge of the bed beneath my leg. They hesitate, still as statues, shoulders drawn tight and ready to argue. “I just can’t.”
They nod, lips in tight lines, hands on their hips as they accept my decision, it’s a quiet moment until they spring into action grabbing stuff and getting ready to go. Sam bundles me in a blanket, cautiously buckling the seatbelt over my lap, then Dean wedges a small trash can between my knees and wraps my hands around it.
“If you need to spew, spew into this.” He smiles, knowing how much I love his stupid movie references.
I smile weakly in return, “Don’t worry, I won’t make a mess in the mirthmobile.”
He pats my knee and heads for the front seat, starting Baby with a rumble that shakes its way right through my gut, breaking my short-lived promise.
Dean, to his credit, drives as easily as he can after I whimper during the first turn and sob into the wastebin. He and Sam apologize at each pothole and red light, Sam gives me the ETA as he directs Dean from the GPS.
Sam crawls out of the car as soon as Dean pulls up to the ER, giving me the chauffeur service. As soon as he gets me out of the car and into a wheelchair, Dean peels away to park Baby and join us inside.
The check-in process feels like it’s taking forever as they ask about my symptoms and medical history, and I struggle to remember my fake identity for the hospital records. The nurses are patient with me, not so much with Sam or Dean though when they interject with answers on my behalf and Dean lets his impatience shine through with a few snappy demands.
“We’re going to take her back, get her set up and then we will let you know when you can come on in, okay?” The nurse tells them, her words sweet, but voice a sharp edge of ‘do not fuck with me right now.’
“Christo.”
“What was that?” she snaps.
“Christ. It’s nothing, where’s the bathroom?
She points somewhere behind him with her chin and Dean huffs off back to the waiting room, Sam nodding in acceptance. “See you soon,” he pats my shoulder before going after Dean.
The nurse is gentle as she wheels me to a room, helps me get into a gown and down into the bed, my body fighting the spinning sensation with every bit of movement. She tucks me in with a warmed blanket from the cabinet.
She goes through the typical questions about my personal safety, which make me look at her funny until I remember that not only am I in rough shape from being sick, but also from fighting the witch - that, mixed with being flanked by the Winchesters must have set off some alarms. I just hope they’re not being detained by security. When I finally convince her of my well-being, she gets an IV drip started and tells me to rest while I wait for the doctor.
I nearly drift off until I hear the grating metal of the curtain slide, and Sam and Dean immediately hover over me.
“Fuck, thought we were gonna have to pull FBI rank just to get back here.” Dean just starts to bitch about the wait when the doctor arrives, flinging the curtain back and looking way too chipper for the time of day.
“Good evening,” he squirts some antibacterial lotion on his hands and shoots a wary glance at the guys at the side of the bed, “So, I understand you’re feeling dizzy?”
“Understatement,” Dean mumbles, followed by a smack from Sam.
I go through and repeat everything I had already told the nurse, recalling the last few days and groaning when a bad wave of the spins hit me. The doctor takes everything in with very serious nods and notes when something seems interesting. He gently examines me, feeling around for pain in my abdomen listening to my heart and my lungs, my eyes and ears.
“Any recent health issues?”
“A cold?” I offer, hoping to end this quickly.
“How many alcoholic beverages do you drink in a week?”
I hear the guys shift at the question. “A few, depends on work.”
“Is your job stressful?”
“Yeah, it can be.”
The doctor hums and stares at his computer, typing notes, “Fatigued?”
“Usually.”
More clicking. “Alright, I’ll be back shortly. You just get comfortable.”
I start to shiver as the saline solution pumps into my veins. The guys drag chairs up to the bed, fussing over me and joking about my epic hangover. They turn on the television and after watching quietly for a moment, Sam brings up a recent hunt. They start going over some of our greatest hits, memories of hunts and long car rides. It’s nothing too sappy, but still a total feel-good moment. I feel better than I have in days. I’m ready to be comfortable and just let this be how it goes. Easy. Quick. Make me comfortable and let me go. Every hunting trip ends sometime. The guys seem reluctant to go along, but don’t fight either.
“I’m glad you’re here, guys. Really,” I swallow the lump in my throat, glad I’m unable to form any tears at the moment.
“No place else we’d be,” Sam assures me, his eyes a little glassy. “Only wish we could fix this.”
“Don’t you dare.” I tell him sharply, knowing too well the guilt Sam holds on to and the lengths they tend to go. “I mean it.”
“Still no Cas,” Dean tells me. “I’ll keep trying, though. You get comfortable, but not too comfortable. Y’understand me?”
I can’t do anything but nod, Dean’s words hitting me hard enough to make my eyes burn with wanna-be tears.
The nurse changes out the IV bag when my body drains the first one, injecting something into the line she says should help with the nausea. Not long after, the doctor makes his way back in.
“How you doing in here? Fluids helping?”
“Uh,” I take inventory of myself, noticing the change - how my skin doesn’t feel so tight, the dryness in my mouth disappearing. “Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll keep that up.” He settles down on the hospital bed by my feet, and I zone out. I feel bad, he doesn’t know that I’m cursed and that there’s nothing he can do for me other than ease the ending for me. I hope she didn’t throw anything too nasty in there, nothing that would traumatize him, he seems nice. I focus on him again after he pats my hand. “We’ll monitor you a while longer to make sure the dehydration gets taken care of, and then get you on out of here.”
“Out of here?” Sam asks, voice shaky with hope.
“Yes. As long as your vitals check out, there’s no need to keep you. You’ve got a condition called Labyrinthitis. Not anything we need to keep you over.”
“Laby-what?” Dean mutters.
“Labyrinthitis,” he over-enunciates, “It’s an inflammation in the inner ear that can cause vertigo.” He pauses for a second to let me think it through, questions ready to escape as he continues, “Most likely developed from that cold you mentioned. That on top stress and alcohol consumption, and that’s probably how the infection took hold.”
“An ear infection?” Sam clarifies.
“Ahh, yes,” he answers cheerfully.
“And what can be done about it?”
“Well. Nothing. It’s a viral infection, should clear up on its own. I’ll send a prescription out for you for something to help with the nausea, are you familiar with Zofran?” He continues to talk, but most of the words turn into a dull droning sound while frustration tightens the muscles in my chest. “So, we’ll get you recharged with some fluids and then get you on your way. Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”
The spins start to take hold, and my head starts to rotate with them. I hear the words, but nothing seems to be settling just yet.
“She’s not - she’s not dying? You sure you don’t need to run some more tests or, or something?” Sam stutters.
“Dying?” the doctor lets out a chuckle, “No. She’s just badly dehydrated and suffering from a case of vertigo. Like I said, things should clear up. Just follow up with your doctor this week and if your condition worsens, make sure you come on back.”
He hands over some paperwork on the condition which Sam grabs and starts reading through. Dean sits there frozen, staring at the spot the doctor had just vacated.
No one says anything.
Sam finishes going over the paperwork, rubbing his hand over his mouth, “So...an ear infection. Not a curse.”
A noise near the door makes us stop. All three of us turn our attention to the new presence in the room, finding Castiel standing near the corner of the room. Dean and I both immediately, and quite unkindly, ask where the hell he’s been.
“Angel business.”
“Yeah? Well we had a big fucking scare man. You couldn’t pop down or give us some kind of answer?” Dean whisper-shouts.
“Important. Angel. Business. It ranks higher than an ear infection.” His annoyed tone gives me pause.
“Wait. You knew?! And you didn’t help me?!”
“Cas, come on man, you can’t just ghost us like that-”
“I am not at your beck and call for minor health inconveniences. You’ll recover. I have to get back.”
And he’s gone.
“Fucking angels.” Dean hisses, the color drained from his face and eyes practically vibrating with the conflict of relief and distress. “Fucking doctors. What good are either of them doing right now?”
“Well, you guys weren’t doing any better with all that witch crap. You’re lucky you didn’t actually curse me!” I snarl, trying to keep anyone outside the room from hearing.
“You’re gonna be lucky if I don’t try to curse you now,” Dean threatens and stomps out, flinging the curtain closed behind him.
“Aww, but Dean you were so sweet to me. The Wayne to my Garth!” I shout toward the hallway. I hear him grumble and his boots continue to stomp away. I lean back, exhausted after the brief five minutes of excitement.
“Sorry, Sam,” I whisper. A swirling mixture of emotions making my chest tighten. Or maybe just a fresh round of spins. Either way, I feel like a mess.
“It’s alright. It’s hard to remember that normal things happen to us sometimes.”
“Normal? This doesn’t feel normal, just really shitty. I blame Cas. Can we just blame Cas for all this? He could have fixed me.” I cover my face with my hands, rubbing at the crust by my eyes, before slapping them hard against my thighs. “That sonofabitch! He left without fixing me!”
“Well, relatively normal.” Sam shrugs apologetically. He then starts to ramble, something about how only five percent of something blah blah blah. He’s on a research tangent about my diagnosis. I tune him out while I silently pray to Cas, knowing he can hear me.
‘Castiel, guardian angel of trenchcoats or whatever, the next time I see your douchey ass…”
A/N 2: Written for @iwantthedean‘s Sickie Challenge. Thanks for letting me join, this was definitely a challenge, but a good one! I was feeling so out of practice for this fic, hope you enjoyed.
Prompt: I saw Nic’s Sickie Challenge, and the next day I got sick so I thought I’d give it a whirl.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Samandriel X Reader
Summary: The reader is left sick and alone in the bunker while the boys go on a hunt, and you are surprised to find an angel who wants to help you feel better, even if they don’t know the first thing about caring for a sick human.
Word Count: 1,844
Warnings: Some language (nothing super major, no f bombs or anything), I guess you could say graphic descriptions of being sick? Idk it could make someone squeamish maybe? It’s pretty much PG
A/N: Tagging @iwantthedean and thanks for giving me the opportunity to participate in this challenge (my first). I definitely think that I’ll be writing more consistently from now on (hopefully). (Also sorry for the lackluster ending, endings are hard).
~~~
Your head throbbed again as you rested your head against your pillow with your eyes squeezed shut. You couldn’t even groan in pain due to the rough condition your throat was in. You blindly reached for a tissue, accidentally knocking over the pile that had started to accumulate on your nightstand. Grumbling about having to pick those up later, you begrudgingly opened your eyes to see that the box you had been taking from was now empty. Letting out a long sigh, you kicked off your covers, now on a mission to find a new box, one that hopefully wouldn’t chafe your already sensitive nostrils.
As you shuffled towards the main library you had the odd feeling that you weren’t alone. You knew that the boys had gone off on a hunt in Missouri and wouldn’t be back for another few days, and Cas was off on heaven business, so you had no idea who else could be in the bunker. You just hoped that it was the cold medicine playing tricks on you, because in your sluggish state a fight would not go in your favor. Once in the library you started looking through the bags of supplies that Sam and Dean had left for you, completely oblivious of the celestial being who was perusing the titles on the shelves.
You were happy to find several more boxes of tissues, and they were the soft kind which would make your recovery process all that much easier. You also grabbed the package of vitamin C drops that were in the bag, glad to know that Sam had listened to you when you said they were a godsend. As you turned around to head back to your room, you then realized you were indeed not alone. You slowly pivoted back to face the angel that was now looking at you in curiosity. Your cheeks turned red, and it wasn’t due to your fever.
Samandriel smiled and waved at you, oblivious to the fact that you probably looked pretty gross after being sick for the past few days, but you cautiously waved back regardless. He was still wearing that silly Wiener Hut uniform, but he was happy with Alfie’s outfit choice and remained in it regardless of the older Winchester’s endless teasing. Samandriel took a few steps forward and cocked his head, finally noticing your ragged state and mouth breathing.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern written across his face. You just shrug in response, your throat still hurt and you were just too tired to deal with what would lead to many questions. He seemed to take the hint that you weren’t in the mood for pleasantries, a skill that took him a little too long to learn, and continued with another question, “Where are the Winchesters?”
“Hunt,” you were able to croak out, wincing at how gruff your voice sounded from lack of use. You see Samandriel’s eyebrows furrow with concern again, but you just wave towards the door, assuming he would leave now that he knew that the Winchesters weren’t at the bunker. Yet he just stood there, still looking at you. Unanswered questions filled his eyes and you rubbed a hand on your forehead, not healthy enough to deal with explaining how being sick feels to an angel. But you knew he wasn’t going to leave without knowing you were okay so you sighed again and said, “I’m sick Samandriel. My throat is sore, my nose is stuffed up, and I honestly feel like crap. So, if that’s all you came here for, I’m going to head back to my room and try to sleep.”
Without another word you grabbed the supplies you came for and started the trudge back to your sick cave, but stopped when you heard footsteps behind you. Slowly turning, you see that Samandriel was following behind you with a sad smile on his face. You furrow your brows at him and he just responds with a cheerful, “You seemed like you could use some help, maybe I could do some simple tasks so that your recovery goes faster?”
You just looked at the angel for a few moments, unsure how to proceed. His offer was sweet, and came from a good place, but you were still skeptical of how helpful he could be. He was still new to a lot of human things, sickness being one of them, and you didn’t really want him to see you at such a low point since you really liked having the angel around, and frankly you could be quite a pain in the ass when you weren’t feeling good. But he looked so sincere, and you could tell that his offer was genuine, so you motioned for him to follow you into your sanctuary.
Normally you would have been embarrassed that your room was in such disarray, but since you were sick you couldn’t really give a crap. You climbed into your nest of blankets and saw that Samandriel was just standing at the foot of your bed, looking around at the tissues that littered the floor and the amount of water bottles that had accumulated over the course of your bed rest. He looked to you for direction, and it was then that you realized that you didn’t really know what you could have Samandriel do.
You didn’t want to take advantage of the innocent angel, but at the same time he had offered his help, so you really didn’t know how to handle the situation. “Um…” you started, also looking around your room to see if you could find anything small for him to do. You realized that you should probably take your next dose of medicine and reached to grab the bottle and some water to see that all the bottles in your room were empty. Looking at Samandriel you asked, “Could you get me some water, please?”
He nodded enthusiastically before disappearing with a flutter of wings, you blinked a couple times, a little stunned that he flew off rather than just walking to the kitchen, but you just shrugged and measured out the dosage that you had to take and waited for him to come back. It took only a few more seconds and you took the glass of water from him with a ‘thank you’ and swallowed the medicine. It may help you feel better, but damn did it taste nasty.
Samandriel noticed the face you made at the taste of the concoction and tilted his head in confusion. If something was supposed to make you feel better, why did it make you feel worse first? he wondered, as you drank the rest of the water. You then settled back into your pillows, trying to get comfy. Shifting, and burrowing into your blankets, you couldn’t find the right position. Why was life so hard when you were sick?
The angel seemed to understand that you were having some trouble, “Lean forward,” he said softly. You did as he said and saw that he reached behind you and fluffed your pillows. When he stepped back you leaned back onto the pillows and then Samandriel pulled your blankets over you. He stepped back and admired his work, nodding when you relaxed into your new position. “How’d you know to do that?”
Samandriel shrugged a little and looked away, but you could see the slight blush on his face. “It was in one of those movies that Castiel was watching one day.” That seemed innocent enough, so you were confused about his blush, until you felt a quick pressure on your forehead and then he was gone. Then it was your turn to blush.
You blinked rapidly, trying to piece together what just happened, but with your headache and the cold medicine finally taking effect, you drifted off to sleep before you could linger on it too much. Soon enough though, you were awakened by the thought of food. Your stomach rumbled in hunger and discomfort, and you prayed that there was something that you could handle in your less than ideal state.
Begrudgingly leaving the comfort of your bed, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders before starting your quest to find something to consume. You knew that there should still be at least one package of graham crackers left, but were unsure if you wanted to eat them for the fourth meal in a row. But when you entered the kitchen you were met with Samandriel at the stove, heating up a can of soup.
You were frozen just looking from the empty can on the counter, to the angel standing looking over a pot. He had yet to notice you, but an ill-timed cough revealed your presence. He spun around and gave a slightly sad smile at your still feeble state. Samandriel motioned towards the table, and you took a seat as he prepared a bowl for you to eat.
You gratefully accepted the bowl and dug right in as he took the seat across from you. He watched you eat and after you drank the leftover broth, you got up to return to you room, but was stopped by the angel. He stood up and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the room that you and the Winchesters had transformed into a den/living room.
Samandriel had transformed it into a comfy oasis full of blankets, pillows, tissues, and entertainment. Your jaw would have dropped had it not already been open so you could breath. “Do you like it?” he asked hesitantly.
“It’s amazing,” you said, still in shock that he went to all the trouble to make this. He tugged you onto the couch that was in the room, and wrapped you in the blankets and fluffed the pillows so that you would be comfortable like before. Then he settled next to you and started scrolling through movie options.
“Is there anything you’d recommend? I’ve pretty much finished all of the ‘classic’ movies that Dean had said to watch.”
“Well, have you seen any kids movies? Dean may not think that they’re classics, but they still need to be experienced.” From Samandriel’s confused look you could tell that he hadn’t. “Give me the remote,” you said, holding out your hand. He did and you found the movie you were looking for: Matilda. Not only was it a great movie, it was just a nice story for when you’re sick. As the movie progressed, you could tell that Samandriel was enjoying it. But soon enough your eyelids were feeling heavy again and you found yourself dozing off.
When you next awoke you found yourself back in your bed, still wrapped in blankets. As you shifted again, you felt a warm weight on your stomach. You turn to see that Samandriel is resting beside you, with an arm around your waist. You smile tiredly, and settle back in, falling asleep once more. If Samandriel came to take care of you whenever you were sick, you think you could live through it a lot easier.
Pairing: little bit of Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader (platonic)
Request: This is an entry for @iwantthedean and her sick challenge!
Warnings: Pretty sad actually lol
Word Count: 994
Notes: Peace and love y’all
“I’m pregnant.”
The words still rang in Sam and Dean’s ear as they looked around the waiting room. (Y/N) was in the doctor’s office, finding out if she was actually pregnant or not.
She had come to them the day before with wide eyes, scaring Sam and Dean.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked her, leaning up against the kitchen counter. Dean closed the fridge door and turned to face the others. “Are you feeling better?” (Y/N) had been throwing up all morning after eating uncooked burgers the night before, and Sam and Dean had to cover for her while researching cases. “Are you still feeling… you know, sick?”
“I don’t think I’m sick, Sam. I… I’m pregnant.”
With those two words, Sam took in a short breath of surprise. Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He mumbled.
“Whose is it?” Sam asked, his brows knitted together in worry.
“I’m not sure.” (Y/N) admitted. “It’s one of the guys’ from one of our last three hunts, that’s all I know.”
“Jesus Christ.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Are you going to keep it?” Dean asked, his head cocked to one side.
“I’m not sure. I only just now realized.”
“Realized? O-Or found out? Those are two different things, (Y/N).” Sam said.
“I know they are. I’m a week late. And I’m never late. I haven’t gotten a test yet-”
“So get one.” Dean said, taking in short, quiet huffs of breath, closing his eyes briefly.
“I have an appointment with a doctor in town tomorrow. Under the name Ariana Walker. Would,” (Y/N) took in a breath. “Would you two come with me? Just, you know, for moral support?”
That was yesterday. Today, Sam and Dean were in the waiting room. Dean’s elbows were resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Sam was frozen--looking around the waiting room at all the pregnant women. He couldn’t imagine (Y/N) as one of them. (Y/N) just didn’t seem like the motherly type.
“Can I see Miss Ariana Walker’s brothers?” Sam and Dean heard the doctor call. They looked at each other, then jumped up.
“We’re not her brothers.” Dean said quickly.
“Oh. Boyfriend?” The doctor asked him as they walked back to (Y/N)’s room.
“No. Friends.” Sam said, his face stony. He and Dean knew all too well that, if (Y/N) kept the child, she would have to leave them and her hunter’s lifestyle behind.
“Here she is.” They walked into the room to see (Y/N) sitting in the doctor chair, her phone in her lap, locked.
“You guys. Hi.”
“How’re the results?” Sam asked.
She looked up with a smile. “I’m not pregnant.”
Sam’s brow visibly relaxed as a grin broke out on his face. Dean took two deep breaths before letting out a laugh. “It wasn’t morning sickness, then. Just the burgers.” Dean observed, running a hand over his face in relief.
They could only rejoice for a few minutes, though, before the doctor walked back in.
“I’m terribly sorry, but can I speak to Miss Walker alone for a moment. You two can wait outside the door.” Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) shared a confused look before the doctor lady ushered them out of the room and closed the door behind them.
A few minutes of silence passed, before the Winchester boys saw the door open again. (Y/N) was standing there, purse slung over one shoulder, jacket tied around her waist. She smiled at them, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Okay, you guys. We can go.” She said.
“You all set?” Dean asked.
“Yeah.” She glanced at the floor. “Let’s go.”
Three weeks passed before the Winchester brothers found out the truth. Until then, (Y/N) had been moping around, always seeming depressed or distant. Every time one of them asked her about it, she brushed it off as, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”
But one day, Sam couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned all night, but he couldn’t get the sound of someone crying out of his head. Eventually, he gave up. He walked out of his room and to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, he made out (Y/N)’s figure in the dark, on one of their couches. She was curled up against an armrest, crying softly. So that’s what Sam was hearing.
“Hey… (Y/N)? You okay?” He asked quietly, setting the glass onto the kitchen counter and moving over to her. He flipped on a light and sat next to her.
She said nothing, just turned and buried her head into his chest, still crying.
“Sshhh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Sam whispered, wrapping one arm around her and, with his other hand, stroked her hair ever so lightly. “Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes red. “That day… at the doctor.”
“When you found out you weren’t pregnant.”
“Y-Yeah. Well, that wasn’t the only thing I found out that day. I… I found out that I’m not pregnant, and I never will be.”
“What?”
“I can’t have kids anymore, Sam.” (Y/N) stuttered out, tears slowly starting down her cheeks again.
“I-I’m sorry, (Y/N/N). I had no idea.”
“How could you? I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Shouldn’t you be happy, though? I mean, you’ll never be forced to quit the hunter lifestyle. You can choose to quit when you want. I mean, you never even wanted kids”
“Yeah, but… I don’t know, it was always nice to have that opportunity. To have the window be open. Like, someday, when I find a guy, we can start a family together. Live the apple-pie-lifestyle. But now… I’m not sure any guy will want to be with me.”
“You’re joking right?”
“What?”
“Any guy would be lucky to have you. Regardless of your… situation.”
