In the morning there was no Dean to be seen anywhere, and at first Steph wasn't sure if she had just dreamt that whole episode or if it really did happen. The fever made everything fuzzy. Her heart couldn't decide if it would be relieved or utterly disappointed if she ended up imagining it all. On the one hand she could spare feeling embarrassed if it was only a dream, on the other hand that would mean she didn't get to cuddle up to Dean when she was feeling miserable. Tough choice.
Her internal musings were cut short by a small knock on her door, after which Sam entered with a tray full of all sorts of medications, water and food. With his disapproving bitch face plastered on him, obviously unimpressed by something.
"Dean said you were sick," he explained chidingly, though that didn't exactly clarify her doubts regarding what had transpired during the night either way, just confirmed that Dean knew. He could have checked on her during the morning for all she knew. "You really should have told me yesterday."
"I would have…" Steph tried to speak, but her voice was so horrible that she would have stopped herself even if she didn't break out into a small coughing fit that thankfully ended pretty quickly.
"Write. Don't speak," Sam handed her the notepad and pen again, also prepared on the tray with forethought, his expression more sympathetic than scolding now.
Would have if I had known yesterday, she scribbled down hastily, her handwriting almost illegible.
Sam glanced at her with incredulity then instead of further berating her he just handed her a thermometer off the tray, setting the rest down on her nightstand and sat down on the edge of her bed.
She carefully weighed the pros and cons to being a difficult patient for just the heck of it, but she knew she would never be able to resist Sammy's puppy dog eyes if he chose to utilize them on her, so she just took the damned thing in her mouth without so much as a huff, resting back against the pillows.
The younger Winchester's expression warmed at that and he patted her casually on her shins in approval, absolutely oblivious as to how much that physical contact meant to her. Of course, instantly she remembered snuggling up to Dean during the night, and most certainly blushed at the memory, but hopefully that was concealed by the fever flush in her cheeks.
Before her thoughts could get out of hand, imagining Sam giving her sponge baths and stuff, the instrument in her mouth beeped, quickly extracted by Sam before she could take a look.
"101.8. Guess it could be worse," he sighed, giving her a couple of liquid medications to take since surely swallowing pills would be a real pain right now. Steph sat up and took those too without a fuss, only slightly wincing as the contents of the cups slid down her esophagus.
Sam was about to get up and leave her to rest when she tugged on his sleeve to sit back down, and when she had captured his attention again, she quickly began writing on her pad.
Dean okay?
"What do you mean?" Sam looked puzzled. Dean had looked fine. Slightly sleep-deprived, which to be completely honest wasn't a rare occurrence for them, but fine.
Still beating himself up?
Ah, that.
"I guess so. We didn't really talk, he just stormed into the kitchen at 6 AM telling me that he will try to get a bit of shut eye and that I should come check on you because you were running a fever," the guy elaborated, thorn with worry for both of his fellow legacies.
Honestly he didn't really know how Stephanie felt about what happened yesterday, she was so withdrawn last night, even considering that her voice was gone. She was usually much more energetic than that. Though now that could be chalked up to the fact that she had been coming down with something, Sam had been worried that it was partially resentment towards Dean. He wouldn't have blamed her. Thankfully her questions and demeanor spoke about pretty much the opposite now.
So he didn't sleep all night. Did he spend it watching over me? Steph pondered, tapping the point of the pen against the paper, as she mulled over what to do. Her first instinct was to comfort Dean, somehow make him understand that it wasn't him, not really, who caused her pain. She glanced at her clock, it was 8 AM now. He needed his rest too, this could wait a bit longer.
Send him my way when you see him?
"Sure," Sam smiled at her warmly. "Don't forget to eat your breakfast."
Food sounded about just as pleasant as shoving a wire brush down her throat, and her face sure said it all, because Sam was suddenly looking at her like a sad little, kicked puppy, meaning he was the one to prepare it and would be hurt beyond measure if she refused. Steph took a piece of toast and nibbled on it half-heartedly, along with sipping some tea until he was satisfied and backed out of the room.
Having slept practically all day yesterday Steph felt enough energy in herself to actually stay awake and read something. She scooted to other end of her bed, since her small bookshelf was against the wall on that side of the room. She even managed to take those two steps to reach it without falling over.
Stephanie decided to reread one of her favorite series, which ironically enough were urban fantasy novels. She hadn't gotten them out since discovering the truth about the supernatural world, so she thought it would be interesting to revisit them with the newly acquired perspective.
Her enthusiastic over-estimation of her current capabilities lasted about thirty pages before she dozed off.
Dean found her passed out with a book open face down on her stomach around noon. She looked utterly peaceful, small exhales puffing from her mouth, her short purple hair sprawled out around her face like a halo.
Sometimes Dean wondered what they had done to deserve the girl in their lives. Her no nonsense attitude and grounding force was probably the only thing that had kept Dean from spiraling out of control for this long.
After a few seconds of admiring her, he shuffled closer to check her forehead, happy to find that it wasn't as warm as last night and tried to move her book to the nightstand to keep its pages from getting crumpled without waking her, but failed miserably.
"Hey," she mouthed at him, her grey, half-lidded eyes never leaving him as she stretched sleepily.
"Didn't mean to wake you," Dean grunted contritely, already looking for an escape. When he saw that she was asleep he hoped to avoid whatever talk she wanted to have for another few hours.
Instantly alert, noticing the telltale signs of the Winchester evasion, she glanced around quickly for her notepad to answer, hurrying to make sure he didn't bail on her before she could finish writing.
It's fine, I wanted you to come, Steph wrote before handing it over to him to read.
"Sammy said as much," he agreed passing the notepad back, unsure if he should sit down or stay standing up, shuffling on his feet uncomfortably, not knowing were exactly the conversation was going. Stephanie hanging onto him in the middle of the night while her fever spiked might not reflect the way she felt about yesterday morning at all.
Honestly he wanted her to be furious, angry, scream and shout at him – well do the writing equivalent of it under the circumstances (another thing to feel guilty about, last night her voice was intensely hoarse, but he hadn't realized that it was this bad then, just chalked it up to sleepy grogginess) – but somehow he had the feeling that wasn't going to happen.
Yesterday's not your fault, she stated simply like there was nothing complicated about it.
"Yes, it is," Dean countered, his knee-jerk reaction of self-blame and self-hatred kicking in, his face growing even more serious.
Steph wanted to reply instantly, do anything to negate his shame, but she was suddenly over taken by an intense tickle in her sinuses. The pen dropped out of her hand as she ducked to the side to avoid spraying the older Winchester.
"Hi'kTCHEW" she sneezed into her elbow.
Dean passed her a tissue without a word, which she took gratefully, blew her nose, and then continued on with her note.
No, it's not. But even if it was, I forgive you, she peered up at him earnestly, wanting him to believe it.
Dean looked at the message for several minutes with a deep, deep scowl before opening his mouth again.
"How are you feeling?" he asked instead to change the subject, causing Stephanie to groan in frustration. Classic Dean.
Sore throat, laryngitis, I'll live, she rolled her eyes as she wrote.
"Wasn't asking for a diagnosis, House," Dean huffed, and if he weren't in such a foul mood constantly with the Mark's influence, he might have found the face Steph made at him amusing.
Miserable, but I'll live, still not your fault, she jotted down quickly on the next page, grinning like a lunatic because she knew Dean was getting frustrated with her nonchalant attitude in turn.
That's how they rolled most of the time. Steph never giving him any hint of being fearful of him, and never letting him get away with turning everything back against himself, while he desperately tried to avoid being comforted. Not just by her, anyone. And no matter how many times the boys came back from a hunt, looking grim, because Dean got carried away – however minutely – she would always just tell him 'next time you'll do better'.
He sighed exasperatedly, running his hand over his face to calm himself, because he really didn't want to go down this familiar road now.
"So, what were you reading?" the hunter the changed the subject again, but this time Stephanie let him, because there was just a hint of softening in his eyes that told her that maybe he at least partially believed her words. If nothing else, believed that Stephanie wholeheartedly wasn't holding a grudge.
Iron Druid Chronicles, Steph beamed like a maniac because honestly she could talk about them for hours. Too bad she was confined by the speed at which she could scribble and the 5 by 7 inch pieces of paper.
Dean quirked his brow at her, first of all because he had no idea what she was talking about, secondly because of the way her face lighted up from just mentioning it. He was surrounded by geeks all round. First Sammy, then Charlie came along, now Stephanie too. Of course their specific interests were slightly varied, but the face they would make if you somehow brought their passions up was utterly the same.
Urban fantasy novel, the ill girl tried with the genre next.
Still absolutely no hint of recognition on his face.
Kind of like our life, vampires, werewolves and shit but with a lot humor and a telepathically talking dog, she explained enthusiastically.
Before he could react she snatched the notepad back and kept writing.
And a 2100 year old badass sexy druid of course
Dean let out an amused laugh and Steph mentally patted herself on the back for lightening the mood finally.
"You know there was a case… about a year and a half ago? Not exactly sure. Our only witness was a dog so we did a risky spell so that I could speak with him," he reminisced with a half-smile, then frowned suddenly. "Though that smart ass pigeon still has a bullet coming to him."
Stephanie had no idea what he was talking about, but she hopped the wave of his good mood nonetheless.
You should read it, the girl suggested expectantly.
"Nah, sounds more like something Sammy would enjoy," Dean declined without a second thought. Reading wasn't his cup of tea if it didn't involve research, and even then he liked to pass it off to Sam.
Don't decide until you gave it a try, Steph insisted fervently, almost punching through the paper with the point of the pen as she wrote.
"No, I don't think so…" he protested still.
Then inspiration suddenly hit her. Dean wouldn't do anything for himself, but if it were for someone else…
Read it to me? she jotted down, playing up the sick card by coughing lightly into her elbow.
"What are you, like five?" the older hunter huffed, frowning at her like she had grown two heads or something.
Pretty please? Stephanie glanced up, batting her eyelashes for effect.
"Seriously, you are worse than Sam…" Dean grumbled, his resistance starting to crumble.
You know you adore me, don't deny it, the girl hammered in the last nail.
"Okay, fucking scoot over then…" his tone was still grouchy, but his eyes told a whole other story to Stephanie. She knew this was natural to him, acting like a big brother. And even though that was most definitely not the role she would have preferred him in, she was taking what she could get. So she slid over, leaving him plenty of space to sit on top of the bed without touching if he didn't want to, then turned on her side to face towards him.
The older Winchester hopped down with some words of disbelief muttered under his breath, then picked the book up from the nightstand, opening it where Stephanie had left off. She quickly snatched it from him, turning to the first page. Or let's say, a bit before the first page.
Dean rolled his eyes at her, but began on the page handed to him.
"Irish Pronunciation Guide, are you kidding me?" he looked at her incredulously.
Thankfully Steph still had her notepad and pen in her hands, so she wrote More fun that way.
"Crowley would have a field day with this," the hunter grumbled on, stalling.
He is Scottish, Steph corrected him.
"Whatever," Dean waved her off. "Wait, how do you even know that?"
Bobby's journal, she supplied as a matter of fact. Naturally she had never actually met the King of Hell, the boys were very particular about her being nowhere near if they tried to contact the demon.
"Oh, right. How could I forget… He even made me get on a freaking airplane…" the memory of them flying across the pond to dig up Crowley's bones made him shudder. He hated flying with a passion.
For a moment he wanted to ask why she was reading Bobby's journal in the first place, but given her self-appointed librarian position, it wasn't such a surprise. Over the months she had read through the majority of their personal collections – thank heaven that Bobby, being a paranoid bastard, had photocopied all his rare books and stashed those in safe houses – and some of the Men of Letters library too. Even if she didn't know the exact contents of a lore off the bat she almost certainly knew where to look.
After getting his pronunciation approved by Stephanie he began to read aloud but had to stop to laugh out at the very first paragraph. It was genuinely funny. Hilarious even. As the story continued, conveniently from the first person view of the main character, he could even identify with the fucker. Dean never had an experience like this before while reading fiction. Not that he had read much fiction in his life.
Stephanie just smiled to herself because she knew for a 100% that he was hooked and would be pestering her for the next installments within days. Dean's deep voice had a lulling effect on her though and she was falling asleep again within minutes, subconsciously clutching onto his flannel shirt so he wouldn't escape.
