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 fantastic 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 particular 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 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 a bit to himself 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, he thought. Without beer for example.