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Not what I expected (SPN, sick OC/Dean as caretaker)


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It's been a really long time since I posted anything. I hope you'll like this little tidbit. Intended as a one-shot, but who knows, if you guys like it, I might elaborate on it.


Rachel was sleeping on her couch when a loud ping roused her from her slumber. She groggily unlocked her phone, temporarily blinded by the luminescence of the screen. There was a text waiting for her, from someone she honestly did not anticipate.

Dean: Hey beautiful, I happen to be in the neighborhood. How about some fun tonight? ;)

They had first met in a bar about two years ago. One thing led to another, they had spent a wonderful night together, and then he disappeared. Not that Rachel was surprised by that, the man had that kind of vibe to him. She didn't even really know what possessed her to give him her phone number after that first night in the first place.

What did surprise her was that once or twice a year he would pop up again. Serial one night stands, she had begun to call them. Because that's all there was to it. He would show up late at night, they would do the horizontal bop, he would leave immediately, or sometimes fall asleep and sneak out in the morning. No breakfasts together, no promises, no foreshadowed returns, no nothing.

Rachel had come to accept that. She had no expectations towards him. As long as she remained single, they could hook up whenever, sure, why not. But at the moment Dean couldn't have contacted her at a worse time.

Rachel: I'm not in a position to entertain guests tonight

Dean: Guests? Just me baby :D

Rachel found it hard to say no to the guy. He just had that special kind of boyish charm to him when he wanted to, and she was already picturing that self-assured smirk on his face. One she could hardly resist.

Rachel: Really, it's not a good time

Dean: I won't keep you long, promise

Rachel: Dean…

Dean: Going out tonight?

Rachel: No

Dean: Someone over?

Rachel: No

Dean: Work early in the morning?

Rachel: No…

Dean: Look, one hour. All I'm asking. But if you really don't want me to come just tell me.

The redhead sighed, rubbing her temples as she tried to come up with a good excuse without telling the man what was really wrong. Unfortunately, fatigue took over, and she fell back asleep in the middle of typing.

She didn't notice, but a while later another message from Dean came.

Dean: See? I knew you couldn't resist me. I'll be over in thirty.

He probably assumed that Rachel's lack of response was a sign of giving in.

Dean Winchester got out of the Impala, the door slamming shut a little louder behind him than he would have liked, especially in a quiet neighborhood like the one Rachel lived in. Though the rumble of the engine would have already woken any light sleepers up, given that it was past ten in the evening.

He strutted up to the front door of her cozy little house in Burlington, Colorado, knocking twice.

Then… nothing.

Huh. Weird. Rachel was usually so eager to see him, but now that he thought about it, she had been kinda odd in her messages. Maybe it was that time of the month. Dean honestly wasn't bothered by that though.

He knocked again. Then again.

The older Winchester was about to give up, turning back towards his car with a frustrated sigh when he heard shuffling footsteps from the other side of the door.

The sight that greeted him when the door finally opened was not what he expected at all.

Rachel was in her pajamas, with a thick, fluffy, pink robe over it, her long auburn locks were in a complete disarray, and her face was sickly pale except her nose and the blotchy redness high up her cheekbones.

"Sorry," she croaked out, squinting at the brightness of the porch light as she held onto the door as if that was the only thing keeping her upright. "I hope you didn't come all the way out here for just this… I tried to tell you that I was probably not up to the kind of…" the girl turned her head, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow, coughing harshly. "The kind of activity you had in mind."

Dean was taken aback, assessing the redhead. She was sick. Very much so. She was even shivering from the cool breeze of the night. Rachel was about twenty seconds away from collapsing if the way she was swaying on her feet was anything to go by. The older Winchester made an on the spot decision.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, and it was Rachel's turn to be shocked. She had assumed he would run for the hills the moment he laid eyes on her in this state.

"Sure," the girl mumbled tiredly, stumbling back a step to give room for Dean to pass. "Sorry about the mess," she said as she caught the man looking at her living room.

She had been parked on the couch most of the day, so there were tissues scattered everywhere, meds and stuff littering her coffee table. The TV was on, with some silly cartoon playing, providing the only source of light in the room.

"Wouldn't your bed be more comfortable?" Dean asked with a raised brow.

"Bathroom and kitchen are closer from here," Rachel pointed out matter-of-factly. She cleared away the tissues from the couch, depositing them in the trash can conveniently set up in the small space between the sofa and the table, then suddenly sat down – or more like fell back onto her butt – when the dizzy spell hit from bending down.

Dean sat down beside her, kind of unsure of what to do in this situation, though he did not want to leave Rachel alone in the state she was in. He reached out, pulling the redhead closer to him so that she was snuggled to his side, placing the back of his hand against her forehead.

His hand was cold, especially on her fevered skin, and she shivered involuntarily.

"Geez, you're burning up," the older Winchester commented with a tut. "How long you've been sick?"

"A few days now," Rachel replied vaguely, pulling the blanket from the side up to her waist.

Dean hummed in understating, glancing over at the stuff on the coffee table. DayQuil, NyQuil, extra fever medications, cough syrups, vaporub, two boxes of opened tissues, thermometer, she was really prepared for everything.

Rachel suddenly shifted uncomfortably under his arm, pulling away from him and bending forward slightly.

"Rache?" Dean asked confusedly.

"Just… hah… a sec… hahh…" she buried her face into the sleeve of her robes that she pulled over her hands. "Hah'tSCHIEWW! Ugh," she moaned painfully after that especially harsh sneeze.

"Bless you," he said quietly, rubbing her back.

"Na…hah… not done… HAE'ktSHOO-UH," Rachel sniffled before a coughing fit took her over. It left her breathless and woozy. "I… need to… lie down," she managed to choke out after the fit subsided, very careful as to not trigger another round, already leaning to her right where her pillow was.

Dean gently grabbed her arm, causing her mild confusion, then reached over her for the pillow, placed it in his lap and carefully guided her to lay down.

"So the flu is kicking your butt, eh?" he joked nervously as he ran his fingers through her hair, trying but failing to untangle some knots.

Rachel just groaned tiredly in acknowledgment of the unavoidable fact, turning her head slightly to hide in her face in the pillow.

"You really shouldn't stay. You don't want catching this," she mumbled quietly, muffled further by the fabric around her.

"Yeah…" Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably, already envisioning the germs lining up in a fighting stance, ready to pounce and attack his immune system. Truth be told he was slightly germaphobic, though he would never admit that to anyone out loud ever. Not with his line of work. One would think with all the nasty he encounters he would have built up a tolerance for something as common as the flu virus. But no. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I left a lady to her own devices when so desperately in need of help."

The girl lying in his lap snorted skeptically at that statement, which led to a massive coughing fit. "You're no gentleman," she remarked wheezily, once she regained control of her breathing.

"Caught me there," the Winchester laughed out, patting her on the shoulder hesitantly.

The sick girl seemed to catch onto his uneasiness.

"You don't have to coddle me, you know. There's beer in the fridge if you like," Rachel pulled herself up from his lap, yawning sleepily.

"You sure?" the hunter asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she nodded reassuringly.

"Well if you insist," Dean got up, heading for the kitchen to hunt down that beer.

Rachel already settled herself back on the couch with the pillow, ready to be dead to the world when an insistent tickle pierced her nostrils. It was a slow burn at first, and she almost thought she could fight it off, not wanting to draw Dean's attention back to herself and her ill-timed illness. A couple seconds later it became apparent to her though that there was no fighting it. She extended her arm across the little gap between the couch and the coffee table for the box of tissues that was sitting right there but somehow so far away and still out of reach. She was running out of time, her breath was already becoming shallow and speeding up as the impending sneeze fought its way out.

"ha'TCHew, hrshoo..." the sneezes blast out of her, and instead of trying to get the tissues she just aimed them into her robe… "hkshsh… hihhhh…" her breath hitched for that last one, but it remained annoyingly elusive. When she peeked up, trying to coax it out by looking into the light, there was a tissue dangling in front of her.

"Here," Dean offered with a grin, beer in hand. "And bless you, by the way."

She hadn't even heard him return from the kitchen in the midst of her fit.

"Tha… hheehhhh… hae'SHIEEEWWW!" she grabbed the tissue and sneezed into it before she could properly finish her thank you. She propped herself up a bit on her elbow and blew her nose noisily into the tissue, making Dean cringe just a tiny bit at how stuffed up she was. "Thangks," Rachel spoke up finally, her tone masked with congestion still as she let herself fall back onto the pillow exhaustedly.

The hunter sat down in the recliner next to the sofa once he realized that there was no way he was going to jostle the girl again, who was already looking half asleep.

As if on cue, Rachel started up a quiet snore signaling that dreamland had claimed her. Dean chuckled to himself a bit dryly, looking at his beer as he muttered, "Not how I expected this night to go." Then took a generous swig from the bottle. Could be worse though. Without beer for example.

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44 minutes ago, lilysneeze said:

“You really shouldn't stay. You don't want catching this," she mumbled quietly, muffled further by the fabric around her.

I wouldn’t mind if Dean caught it... :twisted2:

Sorry, ignore me...all I see is Dean. ;) 

Anywho...I like this a lot. Like a lot.Great job!  :bleh:

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This fic was so perfect! You write Dean so well, and I love your OC! More please?

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  • 5 months later...

So inspiration hit me again for this little SPN fic. Let me know if you guys want me to continue. I think I have one or possibly two chapters' worth of plot bunnies if you guys want me to write it out!


"Heh'ptshoo" Rachel sneezed herself awake, sniffing the congestion back to avoid dripping as she blindly fumbled around for a tissue on the coffee table as an automatic response.

"Bless you," came a half-asleep and groggy, yet still incredibly sexy male voice from her right, almost causing her to jump in fright before she remembered that Dean had come over. The reason he was still there though, watching over her as she tried to get rid of this wretched flu by sleeping, eluded her.

"You stayed," the sick girl stated the obvious, almost in a daze, as she brought the tissue up to her nose to blow the mucus her sneezing had dislodged out.

"Must have fallen asleep," Dean commented as he suppressed a yawn, dragging his left hand down his face to coax some alertness into himself. "What time is it anyway?"

He hadn't really intended to stay the whole night. Sammy was waiting for him at the motel, doing research into their current case. The older Winchester brother just really needed a couple hours to decompress, or he was gonna lose his shit completely. He hadn't been vocal about it at all, but Mary walking out on them at the Bunker just a mere week ago fucked with his head in more ways one. His mother had said that she couldn't stay with her sons because it was just all too confusing to her, being brought back to life after thirty plus years. In a way, it was a rejection. You are not my son. Not the four-year-old I remember.

Dean quickly shot that train of thought down before it could get too out of hand. He couldn't get into it. Not with his brother. Definitely not with Rachel. Not here. She was supposed to be a fun escape.

"Uhh…" Rachel mumbled blearily as her mind scrambled to come up with the answer, causing herself to cough, but she managed to grab her phone off the table with one hand while she shielded her mouth with the other to try and not to spread her germs. That was kind of a moot point really, she had been sneezing and coughing freely for the past three days while she had been alone at home, obviously not expecting company.

The light of the phone screen was a little too bright, even with the lamp standing in between the couch and the recliner having been on this whole time, illuminating the room, and it triggered a tickle deep inside her sinuses that never seemed to have fully gone away since this wretched flu started. Her face scrunched up as her breath hitched, then for a moment, everything was in suspense, that bloody tingle taking its sweet time to come out. She took another, smaller inhale on top of her already almost full lungs, trying to coax it out.

"H'kchshshsh… hksh… Haeh'KSHiewww…" Rachel sneezed into the crook of her elbow before finally, she could read the time on her phone display through watery eyes. "4:42 AM."

"Shoot," Dean swore emphatically, scrambling to his feet to head out. Sam was going to be waking up in less than an hour, wondering where Dean was. Plus they needed to go down to the sheriff's station to ask some more questions, so he definitely needed to go back to the motel to get his FBI threads before continuing with their case. No chance of being able to just head on straight over from Rachel's place. "I gotta go."

"Give mbe a sec. I'll let you out," the girl offered, already pushing herself into a sitting position.

She had moved too fast though for her sleep and sickness addled brain to keep up, and her vision swam with dizziness. The whole room spun with terrifying speeds. The only thing she could do was prop her elbows on her knees and bury her head in her palms to try and calm the feeling of vertigo down a bit.

If wooziness kept up much longer, she was afraid she might actually hurl, something that had blissfully avoided her so far in the course of this illness. The only thing worse than being sick with the flu was being sick with the stomach flu. The fever, headache, general fatigue, coughing, stuffy nose and constant sneezing was bad enough on its own without having to run to the bathroom every ten minutes and the added strain of the convulsions the body goes through when trying to rid its stomach content.

"Whoa, you okay there?" Dean was by her side in an instant, steadying her. Apparently, even in a sitting position, she seemed wobbly.

Rachel desperately wanted to seem strong to ease her beautiful barely-more-than-a-hook-up visitor's mind, but she was wary of opening her mouth to speak with the queasiness in her stomach and nodding would have just made her head spin more so she ended up doing nothing, just trying to take deep breaths through her mouth. Her nose was way too clogged up to get any kind of airflow through there.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality barely more than thirty seconds, the feeling passed, and the girl was able to peer up at the man hovering over her, worry etched into his face as he firmly held her by the shoulders.

As Rachel glanced up, Dean got a nice angle of her startlingly green, almond-shaped eyes. Even red-rimmed and puffy, they were beautiful. They were the very thing that had caught his attention that first night at the bar more than two years ago as well. There was a warm, smiling quality to them, entirely irresistible. So he had chatted her up, and by some sort of miracle, she had agreed to take him home for the night for some fun. A miracle because she entirely didn't strike him as the usual barfly type he managed to bring to bed when on the road.

"I'mb okay," she croaked out, utterly failing at comforting the hunter.

"H'yeah, clearly," Dean snorted scoffingly, keeping one hand still on her shoulder to make sure she didn't fall over as he plopped down beside her on the couch.

The older Winchester eyed the auburn-haired girl for a moment, then out of nowhere kissed her forehead to gauge her temperature. An intimate gesture that caught Rachel so much by surprise that it didn't even register with her when he pulled away, leaning toward the coffee table to retrieve the thermometer. She was staring off into space, wide-eyed when suddenly it was there in front of her. Obviously, whatever Dean felt on her skin with those lush, full lips of his, had him worried.

"Say 'ah,'" he said with a bit of disapproving humor lurking in his voice when she didn't react at first.

Rachel was so stunned and out of it that without even thinking she complied with the command, and the thermometer was shoved into her mouth. Before she could express any complaint about the rude intrusion, he pulled her flush against his side and leaned back against the couch, with her ending up laying her head on his chest while they waited for the results.

The whole situation was really lovely and unexpected, in a caring, almost domestic kind of way. Until Rachel's sensitive nose bumped against his soft flannel shirt. It tickled. First just the outside of her pink nose, but then somehow the sensation crept into the depths of her nasal cavity where it bloomed fully into something unstoppable.

The girl cursed inwardly. Seriously? Now? Things couldn't get any more awkward than what was about to follow. She tried to pull away, but Dean had a firm grip on her and didn't seem to notice her inner battle.

So she decided to stifle. With all her might. Her hand flew up to the underside of her nose, almost knocking the thermometer out of her mouth, but her teeth clamped down at the end, keeping it in place.

"H'gxxt… hkgtsxt… hhgshxt…" her head bobbed with each expulsion. The force of them made her ears pop and the subtle pounding headache that had been lingering ever since she had woken up got even worse.

"Bless you," Dean chuckled amusedly until he noticed the stream of mucus the redhead was so desperate to hide as she struggled to get away from him again to reach for some tissues. "Crap, sorry," he noticed his mistake, getting them for her.

Fortunately, the device decided it was done with the measuring, signaling it was ready with loud beeping, so Rachel was able to take it out and give her nose a well-deserved blow. By the time she was finished, she felt utterly drained. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Meanwhile, the Winchester brother grabbed a clean tissue from the box and picked up the thermometer from Rachel's lap with it, to see for himself just how severe the girl's fever was.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at the precaution he took to avoid directly touching her germs. If he was such a germaphobe, why stay at all? Moreover, why kiss her on the forehead and keep her close when she was so obviously contagious? It just seemed counter-intuitive, but she guessed he was trying really hard not to let it bother him and be there for her. There were just some little aspects of being around a sick person he couldn't get over, like taking a snot covered instrument into his hand without any barriers. He should still wash his hands after though.

It was endearing, although utterly confusing. Why go through all these lengths for her? Especially if there wasn't even reward sex waiting at the other end? Definitely not tonight, not for a couple of more days actually, and Rachel doubted he was going to be in town for that long.

"Well, that's not good," the hunter sighed when he saw the reading of 103.5. No wonder she felt so crappy.

Rachel didn't need to see the thermometer to know that she was long overdue for some fever meds. So she reached for them, along with the glass of water that was handily there on the coffee table, but Dean beat her to the punch.

"Here," he helpfully held them out for her.

"Thankgs," she whispered gratefully, taking the pill at once but wincing painfully as she swallowed, the water feeling like razor blades as it made its way down her extremely sore throat.

"So… uhm," Dean spoke up, noticeably ill at ease. "I hate to leave you here like this, but I really need to get going."

"I'll be fide," the redhead rasped, forcing on a cheerful and upbeat demeanor as she patted him on the knee, pushing herself up from the couch, succeeding much better with it this time around.

The man followed suit, keeping close to her heels all the way to the front door, ready to catch her in case she collapsed. It was unnecessary though because she had held herself upright without help, even if it was a bit of a struggle, but she tried to hide that fact.

"Thangk you," Rachel glanced up at the tall guy. She was barely 5'3 and even felt smaller with the flu weighing down her body, so he seemed even taller than usual.

"What for?" Dean furrowed his brows perplexedly.

"Just… everythigg," the girl sniffled, leaning against the door. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up this bravado. She desperately wanted to lie back down, preferably under a mountain of blankets. She was incredibly grateful to Dean though for taking care of her. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had done something so sweet for her without expecting some kind of remuneration.

"Sure, uhm, you're welcome."

It was Dean's turn to feel really awkward, clearly visible in the way he rubbed the back of his neck. There wasn't much appreciation in his line of work.

Without much forewarning, Rachel had to sneeze again.

"Hae'KSHooo," the girl managed to cover just in time, but the force of it upset her already precarious balance.

Dean caught her as she fell forward, immediately hooking one of his arms under her knees and picking her up in bridal-style.

"Alright, back to bed with you," he declared, strutting back into the house with her.

"The couch is okay…" Rachel protested as they whipped past the living room towards the back of her house where the bedroom was located.

"I said bed," the hunter grumbled. "Trust me, you need restful sleep, not bumpy cushions jabbing into your back."

"But all mby stuff is out there," the redhead complained, a tiny bit of whiny quality seeping into her voice unintentionally. That spoke loads about just how shitty she was feeling. The prospect of getting back up to bring tissues and whatnot into the room seemed daunting.

"Sit tight," Dean ordered her after tucking her in, with a finger pointed at her, expressly forbidding her from getting out of bed. The last thing he needed was finding her on the floor when he got back from the short trip to the living room.

He grabbed all her medical supplies and shortly returned, dumping it all in a controlled chaos kind of way onto her nightstand.

Rachel watched him trying to arrange everything, so they were at least upright and not threatening to fall to the floor, for some odd reason tears springing to her eyes. Being sick really messed with her emotions, and this gesture of his moved her way too damn much to be socially acceptable. She tried to quickly wipe away the evidence of her blubbering mess, but Dean's eyes were sharper than she thought.

"Hey, what's wrong? Does something hurt?" the hunter's eyes roamed over her assessingly, trying to figure out what the problem could be.

She just shook her head, humming a soft no to his inquiry.

Dean was at a loss.

"Just thangks againd, really," Rachel said finally, burrowing further into the bedding. She felt like she was going to drift off soon, but fought heroically against the pull of sleep. She needed to lock up after Dean left.

"You still keep a spare key under the flower pot at the end of your porch, right?" he asked suddenly, and the redhead's foggy mind almost didn't comprehend what he was talking about for a minute.

"Yeah," she mumbled finally in understanding. That was one more problem taken care of.

"Take care, okay?" Dean left with those parting words, hesitating for just one more second by her doorway, giving the frame a decisive tap to signal the finality of his resolution.

By the time Rachel could have nodded in acknowledgment or silent promise, he was gone.

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This is adorable!! I love the relationship Rachel and Dean have. I think dialogue fits them well.

I’m glad you decided to update, and I would definitely love to read more if you want to share. :) 


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@jensdw your profile pic is what's adorable :D   so you mentioned Dean getting sick in an earlier reply... I think I can make that happen :D 

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1 hour ago, lilysneeze said:

@jensdw your profile pic is what's adorable :D

I must agree with you there, Jensen and Jared are precious. But I happen to think this story is also precious. 

1 hour ago, lilysneeze said:

so you mentioned Dean getting sick in an earlier reply... I think I can make that happen :D 

...While I would not be opposed to such things, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with/don’t want to do. Either way you write it I know I will love it. 

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