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Dilute (SPN fic)


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Written for anon on my meme here, who prompted a Stanford fic with Jess taking care of a Sick Sam.

It's really... fluffy? And I got pretty self-indulgent, buuuut maybe you guys will like it!



j: Do you want to come over tonight? i haven’t seen you all week :(

s: Probably not the best idea

j: Come on. youve been studying like crazy. you deserve a break

s: I have a cold. I don’t want you to get sick too with finals this close.

j: Aw whatever sam. is that all?

j: i’ll be over in 20

Sam rests his phone on his nightstand next to a near-empty bottle of Nyquil and his neatly organized philosophy notes, feeling conflicted because although he’d be happy to see her, he feels awful and doesn’t want to inflict the same misery upon Jessica.

Still, though, he knows that there’s no stopping her once she’s set her mind on doing something – especially if he believes that it’s for Sam’s own good. An argument with her would be pointless. So instead, he gets out of bed for the first time today with the intent on cleaning up a little before she arrives.

Sam’s roommate had fled to stay with his own girlfriend the day before yesterday, once Sam had informed him that he was definitely coming down with something and it might be best to steer clear if he valued a good night’s sleep – and to avoid catching the bug off of Sam altogether. No offense taken. Sam would have probably done the same thing.

Although that means that Sam has spent the past few days alone in his room, and although he has more or less spent the entire time with his stuffed up nose buried in a textbook, the quarantine has been undeniably lonely.

A couple of fast knocks sound through the door and because it couldn’t be anyone else, Sam tries to call out, “it’s open!” but his voice is so hoarse and weak that he assumes that she didn’t hear him. But she lets herself in anyway, rosy-cheeked and bundled in a thick puffy jacket even though it’s only 45 degrees outside. She’s carrying a small grocery bag with a smile on her face that instantly disappears when she rests her eyes on Sam.

“Aw, Sam,” she coos, setting her things on the floor and shrugging off her coat. “You really are sick, aren’t you?”

And his instant reaction is to insist that he’s fine, that it’s not that bad and he can handle it on his own – it’s natural for him to deny help when it’s first proposed. But he also knows that she’d only scoff and roll her eyes at his blatant dishonestly, so he dare not waste his breath.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, but his voice is still just a little stronger than a whisper. “Yeah. Sorry. You dond’t have to stay.”

So she winces and tilts her head to the side, looking confused and offended. And she does scoff and roll her eyes anyway. “Yeah right. C’mere. You look so worn out.”

Before he can even obey, she’s got her arms wrapped around his neck in one of the warmest embraces Sam has ever felt. He’s careful not to breathe on her, which is especially hard because he can’t breathe through his nose at all. But she’s tall and patient and soothing with the circles she’s rubbing onto his back and he just grips her more tightly, glad that he has her and glad that she’s here.

“How about you get back into bed, huh? You’re shivering. You sure this is just a cold?” She pets his hair and leads him back to his unmade bed, dropping down to grab her bag on the way.

“It’s a cold,” Sam confirms, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sombetimbes I rund a fever whend I get sick. It’s okay.”

Jess clicks her tongue and slides her hand underneath his bangs. “You are a little warm. Poor thing. Here, how about this. I brought you some presents.”

“How cand I say ndo to that?”

She sits on the bed next to him with the grocery bag on the opposite side, then wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and tilts him so that his head is resting on her shoulder. She pulls out a bag of Ricola cough drops and sets them on the bedside table next to the half-dose of Nyquil, and then a box of Sudafed and a bottle of vitamin water.

“Where’s your roommate?” She asks as she opens the box. “Has he been taking care of you at all?”

“Umb,” Sam pauses and sniffles thickly, though it doesn’t do much good, and takes a tissue out of his pocket to wipe underneath his nose. “He’s actually stayindg with Mbirandda this week. I told himb to.”

“Seriously? You know you don’t have to do that, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah… hhhhh’IHT’TSHCH!

“Ooh, bless you!”


Bless you, Sam.”

“Sorry.” Sam snuffles again, embarrassed. These are a lot more powerful and a lot less dry than his allergy sneezes – they always have been – and he’s extra worried about (and extra incapable of) containing them around her. “I didnd’t pland ond beindg this gross.”

“Oh, please, don’t give me that,” she says, popping out a couple of pills. “If I was scared of your germs then I wouldn’t have come. Here, take these.”

“Bossy,” Sam chides, but he obeys, chasing the pills with a couple gulps of water and coughing afterwards.

“Bossy gets the job done,” Jess counters. “Now do you want to actually get into bed or what?” She pulls back his duvet, already crooked given that he’d hastily made his bed only a few minutes before she arrived, and props his pillow up so that he can breathe.

“Thandks, Jess.” His words are earnest and genuine. After spending the last two days sick and alone, spending time with her is like coming home to a warm fireplace in the middle of a blizzard. “Hdt’mmpISSSHUH! KnnTSH’ISHew! EhtSCHHEW!

“Aww, bless you. You need a tissue?” He doesn’t have to answer; she hands him a couple anyway. “These sneezes are a lot bigger than your regular ones.”

So she noticed. Great. “Yeah. Sdff! They usually are. It’s stupid because it’s always whend I have lehhh… l-less T’SHHUH! less ehhhAHSHHuh! Huhh… hh’ESHSHew! less endergy.”

“Bless you bless you bless you. Oh my god. Are you okay? Don’t they hurt?”

“It’s ndot so bad. Could you handd mbe andother tissue?”

She does, and he turns away to blow his nose. Sam balls up the tissue and tosses it over the bed, but he misses the trashcan.

“Nice shot,” she giggles, so he gives her a playful shove.

“What, like you could do better?” he challenges.

“Hmm. Maybe,” Jess muses, and pushes him down onto the pillow so she can lay her head on his chest. “Give me the next one and we’ll see.”

Sam laughs, careful to keep it light so he doesn’t irritate his lungs. “You dond’t wandt to touch mby used tissues, Jess.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t want to insult my aim then,” she teases, and he pulls her closer. “Sure you’re okay? Your breathing sounds really… rattle-y.”

“’S just condgested,” he explains. “The Sudafed mbight help.”

“I hope so.” She sighs. “You must be so uncomfortable…”

Hhh’NgkCHSHUHH!” He turns his head away from her, towards the wall, and buries it in his free arm. “HhUH’ITSSCHhew!

“Bleeeeess you.” She passes him a few more tissues.

“Thandk you. Sdff! You dond’t have to say it every timbe. I’ve beend sndeezindg like crazy sindce yesterday.”

“Aw, poor Sam…” She slides up to kiss his forehead, then his cheek.

“Thandks for combing today,” Sam says. “I feel a lot better. Really.”

“My boyfriend is sick,” Jess replies, like it’s obvious, while reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair. “I can’t just… not take care of him.”

“You’re really sweet,” Sam tells her. It’s been a while since someone has taken care of him like this.

“I just want you to feel better,” she tells him. “I can’t believe you literally worked yourself sick.”

“I’ll try to… hehITCHSHEW! to be mbore careful.”

“Bless you, honey.” She reaches up to delicately kiss his nose, gently wrapping her lips around the tip and then letting go with a soft popping sound. “What do you want to do? Take a nap? Watch a movie?”

“I’ll fall asleep if we watch a mbovie,” Sam warns.

Jess smiles up at him. “Then I guess we’ll just have to do both.”

And they do.

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