Concentration (SPN fic)

[Sawyer]

Sooo, it's me again! More third-party POV, because it's very easy and I'm just starting to get back in the swing of everything... I don't really have an excuse. I mean, I'm probably (definitely) less busy than I was half a year ago, but for some reason I've been dry! Whatever! Check it out!

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It’s a rainy October evening and other than the hum of the heater and the sound of water and wind crashing against the windows, this section of the library is quiet. I’m sure everyone else has better things to do, like cook dinner for their families or meet up with their friends at the bar down the street.

I’m supposed to be studying for a midterm, I guess. Lots of information we didn’t cover in class because “this is a three-hundred-level course, so you should expect more than half of the material to be found in your out of class reading assignments”. Seriously? So I’ve got a deadline that’s too close for comfort, a mountain of books in front of me, and half a clue on how to decipher any of them.

The white noise is helping, despite my short attention span, and I’m unwrapping what’s probably my tenth piece of strawberry-flavored hard candy (I’m pretty sure I’m the only person under age 70 who likes them, but whatever, more for me) when I can hear the squelching of puddle-soaked shoes on the library’s pale green carpet.

I’m almost startled, because this part of the building is usually empty – especially at this time of night. I’ve never understood why, because the soft armchairs and high ceiling and warm lights and big wooden tables are a lot nicer than the pale florescent headache that would describe the rest of the building. Maybe it’s because nobody really comes up to the third floor, since the fiction section is on the first and the computers are mostly on the second. Other than the studying section I’m camped out in, the third floor is basically just a lot of weird archives, so unless you’re writing a history paper there’s not really much reason to visit.

Maybe that’s what these guys are doing, I consider, when their footsteps get quieter as they head for the archives. I peek up over my laptop and my textbooks, but even through the area’s open arches I can only see one of them right now.

And wow, seriously, is he tall – like, the kind of tall that could probably beat you up, and he’s got these long eyelashes and spiky hair and a leather jacket and oh my god, the other guy is even taller, except he looks a lot less intimidating for some reason – probably the floppy hair and sad crinkly eyes, or maybe it’s the way he keeps sniffling and wrinkling his nose like a rabbit.

They claim the table that’s nearly adjacent to the one I’m working at, and because of the angle, I’ve got full view of the tall one – I mean, uh, the extra tall one – and I can only see the back of the head of the other. Before I can even blink, they’re surrounded by books and open folders and quietly scribbling onto notepads while they trade documents between each other. Jeez, I guess they don’t mess around.

We work in silence like that for a while (actually, I’m not even sure if they noticed that I’m here, especially because I’ve got a stack of books and my backpack sort of surrounding me on my table), with the additional background noise of pages turning and Mr. Sad Eyes clearing his throat. I’ve been trying not to stare, but every time I’ve glanced over at their table he’s been either wincing or rubbing his face.

It’s not long before Leather Jacket looks up from the pile of disorganized yellowing documents in front of him and whispers, “What?”

Sad Eyes blinks, confused. “What, what?”

Leather Jacket shakes his head, then I see him lower it back down to face his work. “Never mind.”

His partner clears his throat again, to which Leather Jacket responds by taking out his wallet and fishing out a single dollar bill. “I saw a vending machine downstairs. Your throat hurts. Go and buy a drink.”

How sweet of him.

I can see the taller man furrow his eyebrows and reel back like he’s hurt or confused or offended or maybe (probably) all three. “I’m fine.”

And it’s back to silence, but now I can’t concentrate. I take out a fresh piece of candy but it’s not doing the job. I turn one of the pages that I haven’t read and focus on the sugary taste of these empty calories and drag my index finger through the coating of dust on the windowsill next to me, just before remembering that dust is actually just mostly dead skin and that’s kind of gross, but whatever because I’m not really a germaphobe so it doesn’t bother me that it’s likely nobody has cleaned this floor since 1975.

What was I saying?

This is stupid. I can’t focus on anything. How do those guys stay so on-track? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so diligent. The shorter-but-still-really-really-tall one is kind of fidgeting, I guess, bouncing his leg and messing with a frayed hole in his jeans, glancing around the room and hmm I wonder if maybe he’s a little distracted like I am. My mom said that sometimes it helps to take a break so that you can refresh your eyes a little after you’ve been staring at the same thing for so long. I could go get some coffee.

I stand up pretty quickly, just as a startlingly loud clap of thunder rumbles from the sky and resonates throughout the room. I guess the combination must have been startling, because Sad Eyes sees me and kind of like, twitches and jumps up in his seat. Wow. Cute.

I duck my head apologetically. “Sorry.”

He smiles and lifts his eyebrows and clears his throat and… goes back to his work.

-

There’s one of those really small Nescafé vending machines on the second floor, in a little room by the water fountains along with the machines that sell soda and chips. The coffee is mostly sweet and watery and mediocre, but it gets the job done and warms up my hands.

I’m standing back and trying to decide on a drink when I’m startled-enough-to-jump by a pair of soft, restrained sneezes. Not that they’re loud, I swear, just… sudden.

“Nghk! H’nmCHSH!”

It’s instinct, but I look over to the doorless entrance and hey, what-do-you-know, it’s Sad Eyes from upstairs looking embarrassed and a little rosy.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Bless you,” I correct. “Now we’re even.”

He smiles at me, quick and polite and a little awkward, and then moves his gaze elsewhere, like he’s distracted. He’s kind of sniffling, probably trying not to be obtrusive, or maybe he thinks that I’m the kind of person who breaks out the Purell at the mere suggestion of infection. I’m totally not. It doesn’t matter to me. But maybe he’s that kind of person and he’s just trying to play it safe? I don’t know, I mean, I don’t know him. He’s said literally only one word to me. What’s he looking at?

Oh, the vending machine. My bad.

I step back far enough so that I’m actually against the wall. “You can go ahead. I’m still deciding.”

“Take your… huhh! Take your time. Huh’mmpTSHew!”

“Are you sick?” I ask. I’m curious. The guy he was with said that he had a sore throat, and his nose is actually really pink now, like a cherry blossom. Why would you come to the library when you’re sick? Take a nap. “Get the white tea. It’s supposed to be, like, really good for colds, I guess.” My biohazardous classmates are always walking around with the freaking white tea.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and pulls out his own wallet. “The rain always sort of… screws with my allergies. Mold or dust or something.” He punctuates it with a sharp sniff, and it’s kind of pathetic if not endearing. I bet allergies are a huge bummer. I wonder if he has any more. He doesn’t really seem like the type. I mean, no glasses, no pocket protector; he’s literally tall dark and handsome – but then again, he’s hanging out at the library at 9PM on a Thursday, which has to at least count for something.

“Is it worse in here? I mean, like, if you’re looking for dust, you’ve found it.” I slide a dollar into the machine and press the button that tells it to whip me up a dark chocolate cappuccino. It whirs to life as it gets to work, quietly shredding up the room’s peaceful silence.

“Maybe a little,” he answers. He’s leaning against the wall like he might be tired. “Woke up with a sore throat. Don’t tell my brother. He loves being right.”

So they’re brothers! I wonder what they’re doing here. It’s none of my business, but it’s not my fault if I’m curious. Should I ask him? What’s the line between making small talk and being invasive?

I don’t have time to inquire, because the machine dings to alert me that it’s done making my drink and I should step aside so this very-tall-very-allergic-kind-catching-a-cold guy can take his turn with it.

“Okay. It’s all yours.”

The words are barely out of my mouth before the machine audibly shuts down and the lights flicker before following its lead. Are you kidding me? Is this a power outage? Did this happen because of my dark chocolate cappuccino?

“The storm,” Sad Eyes explains, like he’s contemplating something, but for a second I wonder if he was reading my mind. Of course not. People can’t read minds. Even if they could, trying to listen to mine would make anyone dizzy.

“Can you see? Hold on.” I set my drink on the floor and pull out my stupid smartphone so I can open my stupid flashlight app. I never in a million years would have thought that this app would be useful. I can’t believe the power’s out.

A stream of light illuminates a path between us, and he turns away from me to press his face into his arm.

“HuhITSCHEW! Huh-KTSCHCH! T’chhHuh! Sorry.” He’s breathless. “The light kind of makes me…”

“Aw, okay. Um. Bless you. Here, I’ll point it at the ceiling.” You can’t say I’m not courteous. “Better?”

“Thanks. HpNGH’CHSH! Sniff! That wasn’t you. The dust,” he explains. Jeez, this guy is more of a mess than I had pegged him for. I guess you really can’t rely on first impressions. Maybe I should stop judging people so quickly.

We step out of the room and into the main area by the staircase when I hear these stomping footsteps on the stairs that I had at first almost mistaken as thunder. Accompanied by them is a deep voice yelling, “SAM!” and then a sudden feeling of urgency brewing in my gut.

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Ooh, what's going to happen! Ooooh!

Seriously, what's going to happen? I'm out of ideas now. What do you want to see? Help me, guys! Help me make you happy!!

[MaiMai]

aaaahbfjbgfkejkrghgurhuweirh

Ohmygod

This is so amazing

I am so, so in love with this right now

What

This is just so adorable

And I love the writing and everything and just ahdhfjhdfj it's perfect!!

I don't mind what happens, just continue please!!!!!!!

Edited November 7, 2013 by MaiMai

[HoneyBunny]

Oooh, me LIKEY.

No seriously, I just love everything about this. The outside POV and the dusty library and allergic-but-catching-a-cold Sam and worried Dean and your gorgeous writing style ... I would love to see a continuation

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Continue & awwwe cx . Cute.

[kendisima]

So good! Can't wait for more. Literally anything could happen and I'd be ecstatic. Well done!

[GeldingWest]

Yesssss... Cute Sammy and his sniffily-ness and being all polite while he's suffering. Poor thing. Love this.

[Lace Butterfly]

Wow this is really good, I usually don't like this writing style but this fic is just amazing. Please continue. If you are looking for ideas maybe the creature (or whatever Sam and Dean were researching in the library) comes after them in the library and they have to protect the third person from it, all the while Sam's suffering with his allergies/cold/both. Whatever you decide would be fine, please do continue, this is really fun and exciting to read

[NorthernLady]

Everything in a pretty Sam-shaped package Me like!

So what's gonna happen how... The thunder made me think of an Angel or Crowley appearing in the library. Or maybe the ghost of an old librarian who's been murdered in the library is waking up?

[Skyler]

Maybe the monster they are hunting is here?

[Always-a-Ginger]

This is great. The reference to Dean's long eyelashes made me melt a little cause that is just so cute. So much for Sam getting his drink...poor boy.

[Sawyer]

Wow, thank you everyone!! I was thinking along those same lines of having the thing they're hunting turn up (I just wasn't sure what it would be yet)! You guys are the best. I am so so so glad you liked it and I'll see what I can do!

I usually don't like this writing style but this fic is just amazing.

I actually have gotten this before! I think this style might be sort of unpopular because it's the easiest to write, and it kind of brings in an OC which a lot of people don't like, although I always try to make them relatable and unobtrusive because the main focus for me is always (always!) going to be on Sam and Dean. It can also be hard to follow and come off as sort of neurotic, so there's that too... but I'm happy that you thought I did okay with it! It's kind of the center of my comfort zone, although I've been trying to shy away from it, because sticking to what you know can be kind of complacent/lazy. Working on it though!

[Skyler]

Looking forward to an update

[Zwee]

OH MY GOD YES I LOVE YOUR STORIES AAAGGGHHHHH THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING I AM IN LOVE.

I'm not lying, I definitely told this story over to myself while struggling to fall asleep last night... (Am I alone in that? Does anyone else write mental fic while trying to fall asleep? Because I can't help it, and it's kind of embarrassing, but it distracts me really well, and then I have better dreams.)

AND THE REASON I DID IS BECAUSE I LOVE THIS IT'S SO GOOOOODDDDD!!

I just really like the way you write third party POV. I like the cute nicknames the boys get, and Sammy--sweetjesus--he is so cute and pitiful and sad and sneezy and adorable and Dean is worried about him!!

I LOVE LOVE LOVE the whole "Don't tell me brother. He loves being right." That's SOOO in character and so cute and funny.

I'm so excited for the next installment!!

And if you haven't fully written it yet, I second the ideas of it being the fugly that the Winchesters are fighting, but also, I mean, if the heat's out and Sammy is a little bit sick... he might be shivering... a little... and Dean might maybe worry a little about that... just saying. <3

OHMYGODILOVEYOU

[Lace Butterfly]

I'm not lying, I definitely told this story over to myself while struggling to fall asleep last night... (Am I alone in that? Does anyone else write mental fic while trying to fall asleep? Because I can't help it, and it's kind of embarrassing, but it distracts me really well, and then I have better dreams.)

You are definitely not alone in this, this is how I come up with most of my fics. It helps me have better dreams too as I used to have vivid nightmares because of my wild imagination lol. Also if I'm writing a fanfic then I watch the show I'm writing about and then make up a mental fic while I'm relaxing in bed.

[Anilkex]

How did I miss this?! I love outsider POV. The story could go any way.. don't see how it could go wrong. I also daydream out my stories. Easier to redream than rewrite. .

[SexualOddity]

Oooooooh! Yayayayaaaaaaaay! So excited to have another SenBeret story! I've missed your writing :D

And, yeah, obviously, you should have a list.

1. Gonna go ahead an add myself to the list of people who don't normally like 3rd party POV but do like it when you do it. I think you said something up there about making your characters relatable and I think that's just exactly it with this one. You have a wonderful way of writing people so they come across as normal without being in any way bland. I bet your original stuff is amazing. (Also, the 'Whatever. More for me.' comment made me laugh <- So cute. But in a kind of awkward way so that she doesn't come across as flat an obnoxious like OCs sometimes do when they're funny.)

2. She's amazed by the tallness and it wasn't even Sam. Little things: I know... On an unrelated note, I have an enormous fish called Sam.

3. Vending machine. Drink. Psychic Dean. AWWWW!

4. Mmmmm.... hitching breath interrupting speech,,, there's a reason it's a classic.

5. "this very-tall-very-allergic-kind-catching-a-cold guy" ...*wimper*

6. Ohhhhhh! The photicness! I feel like we have group-willed it into pepetual being. And the unexpectedness of her turning on the light and the way he says 'kind of' makes me think that he's embarassed and it's SO cute and sexy.

7. And following on from number 6... He doesn't say the word 'sneeze'! Oh how you tease! But it was almost nicer because IIIIII know that's what he was going to say. He was! He was! I betchya!

8. Dust allergy. Right after photicness. Yep. That's just about all I can take. *Happy-happy-grin*

I have a totally random suggestion for what happens next, so feel free to ignore it (plus you probably have your own ideas by now), but in my head, it's some sort of demon/ghost that feeds off energy, which makes it really tough to fight at the best of times and it leaves them kind of weak and drowsy. But for Sam, as well as the normal stuff, it's sapping his ability to deal with the symptoms of the cold and his allergies and Dean is getting a little worried, so while they're being all huntery and awesome and protecting the girl, there is also an element of Dean being like, 'hey you there! Come and help me look after my little brother'

Either way I LOVE this and am supersuperexcited to read more!

[Zwee]

^^^ SEXUALODDITY WHY ARE YOU PERFECT!?!?!!?

I second this. This idea is yes.

[LeadaAlexys52]

This desperately needs to continue before I explode from antici............pation!

Oh and a Third to Sexualoddity's idea!

[Sawyer]

You guys are SO great. Oh my god. I've read through the replies on this thread probably thirty times, seriously, you are all the best ever and you make me want to keep on writing and writing and writing aaaaand so I'll have the next part up AS SOON AS I CAN! Thank you all SOOOO so so so much. I mean it.

Hey! Before you read anything, I have a question. I'm kinda thinking of hosting a meme over at my journal starting next week and I'm wondering if anyone would be interested? Just let me know, maybe, and I'll try to whip something up, because we've got the holiday hiatus starting next Tuesday night and I'm going to need something to tide me over! (And because I really miss you guys!!) So! If you could let me know, that would be so so awesome!!

Anyway! I'm sorry that this took so long! I had final exams and I wasn't able to actually start writing anything until last night, but once I got started I didn't stop!

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So, okay, let me catch you up.

You know how, like, sometimes, when you’re a kid and you’re at some lame sleepover with your dumb friends one of you has a (not so) bright idea to tell ghost stories? And there’s always that one dude there who is – for whatever reason – really good at telling stories, and they can go into detail from start to finish because they have all of these urban legends memorized? And then everyone ends up really spooked and nobody can really fall asleep after that? All because of that one guy who took up an interest in ghosts and ghouls and freaking out all of his friends?

Well, I mean, I was never that kid. Obviously. But I knew a kid like that and my point is that we all grew up hearing this one freaky tale about an overworked, exhausted librarian who actually, like, died in this library because the idiot grabbed the wrong ladder from the supply closet – the broken ladder! – and ended up getting crushed by an avalanche of books. And so every five or ten (or was it twenty) years he throws a tantrum and shuts the place down. And get this: he sucks the life and soul out of everyone who gets in his way – out of some selfish ghost-y desire not to suffer alone, or something.

It was never my favorite of our town’s stupid urban myths, but of course it’s something I remembered. Not really something I believed, you know? And it turns out that, hey, not believing in ghosts was my mistake (although all they really said to me was that it was about a spirit who died in the building – it has to be the same one, right?). Does that make me a cliché? Yeah, probably, but whatever, call me crazy but it’s real. Swear to god!

The whole thing is actually bogus because not only did the storm cut the power, but the ghost rendered the backup generator useless as well. I know, yeah, the ghost. Believe me, it sounds weird to me too.

So you’d think I would be scared out of my pants, right? Is that even a saying? Scared out of my wits? Anyway, uh, I mean, maybe it’s still the shock that’s numbing me to everything that’s going on. But maybe it could just be the way these guys sound so assured and so experienced and so much like they know what they’re doing, and I’m sure that their deep voices and tall statures are adding some sort of bias because I’ve always been impressed by that sort of thing and maybe I’m a little too trusting of people who exert that kind of dominance.

They do seem kind of crazy, though, but maybe I’m crazy too, because I’m the one talking about a ghost right now. They poured salt over everything and made a circle of the stuff and told me to stand inside of it. That’s weird, right? Like, that’s really weird, because I’m actually sitting in a circle of salt (per Leather Jacket’s orders) in the dark and listening to these guys talk about spirits upstairs, near the balcony that’s directly above me. Do they know that I can hear them?

“We don’t know jack about what we can do to get rid of this thing, alright? There’s nothing written on the guy but his spirit’s still got plenty of leverage over us.”

That’s reassuring.

“Well we can fend him off until we find something, then. We’ve got enough salt as long as we don’t make him angry. We’ll read up in the meantime.”

“The thing’s already angry, Sam. I don’t think we have much time.”

“Well then we’d better start reading. You have a flashlight? … Ah, okay, jeez, watch where you point that thing.”

I guess that explains all of the death records they were looking at. I can’t tell if that’s better or worse than thinking they were students working on a history project. I’m not really a history buff so I’m not so curious, but it’s still kind of cool to think about all of the… the stuff that happened in the same room that I’m standing in.

I can hear them coming down the stairs, and their footsteps are so consistent that it actually seems like they’re synchronized with one another. I wouldn’t be surprised, I guess. Sad Eyes – Sam, I mean, oh my god, I need to start ditching nicknames because I’m sure he wouldn’t be so happy with the one I’ve given him – had said that they were brothers. That’s a lot of shared history, a lot of time to ride the same wavelength.

But the footsteps stop, and I don’t have time to think up a barrage of reasons before I know why.

“Ht’ktTSHuh! TSSHew!”

“Gesundheit.”

“HuhPTSHuh!”

“You done?”

“Think so. … Yeah. Sorry. It’s—”

“The light? Yeah, not when I’m walking in front of you with my flashlight at hip-level, Sammy, nice try.”

I can hear Sam sighing something and then the footsteps pick up again, with one set being faster than the other. Before I know it, they’re coming back into the room and scampering towards their abandoned work. Sam looks especially flustered, sniffling and pursing his lips like it’s a nervous tic.

“You just sit tight,” Leather Jacket instructs me. I still don’t know his name, so I can call him whatever I want. “And don’t you dare leave the circle.” His voice is a lot less gentle and a lot more commanding than his brother’s, maybe because he’s older but also maybe (just maybe) because he’s a little more anxious than Sam is.

I totally want to ask him what’s up with all the salt, but I figure that they’ve both got enough to deal with already. Plus, I mean, they say it’s protecting me and really for them to go out of their way to do that probably means that I shouldn’t, uh, what’s the saying? Shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I should get better at remembering sayings. I seem to want to use them often enough.

The two of them are back to researching (albeit a bit more frantically than before) and it’s kind of like not a lot has changed, except now it’s super dark and definitely getting colder because it can’t be warmer than 50 degrees outside and of course the heating isn’t working with the power outage and all. And I don’t have any of my own books in front of me, so it’s so much for getting higher than a C on that midterm. Whatever. I doubt I could focus now anyway, and I guess my life is more important than a grade anyway. I mean, if I died, my grades wouldn’t matter at all so this entire night would have been pretty useless.

And no exaggeration, Sam is sniffling every three seconds or probably even more frequently than that. Seriously, I’m counting, because there really isn’t anything better to do, and to be honest he’s looking worse by the minute, all squinty and slouchy. He keeps rubbing his nose like he’s trying not to sneeze (which I’m almost positive is the case) and even in the dim light it’s looking pretty pink and irritated.

Speak of the devil. Abruptly, he twists his torso so it’s facing the wall instead of his brother, and presses his right arm against his face so closely that he’s grabbing his left shoulder to keep it there.

“Huhh’NMMschh!” He stays like that for a moment, like he’s waiting on a second one, but it doesn’t come.

He sniffles and turns back to face the table, and Leather Jacket says, “Bless you. That’s four in like, two minutes.”

“Dusty in here,” Sam tries to explain, but I can tell that his brother doesn’t buy it.

“Uh-huh, yeah, I’m sure. If you say so.”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

He’s so not fine. Are you kidding? I don’t even know the guy and I can tell that he’s not feeling great. Even if he’s not as sick-sick as he seems, he’s still really obviously bothered by the same symptoms and in the end isn’t that what makes the difference anyway?

“Huh…! HuhAHshhEW! HhhISSHEW! ISSHuh!”

Wow, those were a lot stronger.

“ESSShuh!”

“Not really helping your case there, Sneezy. Definitely not allergies.” Leather Jacket – Dean (Dean Dean Dean) – doesn’t even look up from his book.

“Sniff! Bite me.”

He’s really wilting now, which isn’t really a surprise or anything, except that Dean is looking pretty exhausted too, with his head in his hands and sliding his elbows further towards the middle of the table. But he isn’t sick, I’m pretty sure. This whole thing seems to have come on pretty fast and he mostly just looks… tired.

A couple of seconds pass before it hits me too. My limbs feel like they’re full of lead and all I want to do is give in and let the sinking feeling consume me. It’s kind of like when you eat a big meal on Thanksgiving and it makes you want to take a nap, or maybe more like when you’re just getting over the flu and you’re all weak like a fresh kitten. Maybe it’s a combination, but either way it feels pretty awful so I can’t even imagine how Sam must be feeling, having already been getting sick to begin with.

He’s rubbing his hand across his eyes and his forehead, back and forth, his research completely abandoned. I can tell that this is hitting him too – hard – especially by the way his mouth falls open, like he can’t get enough oxygen just by breathing through his nose, and the way he is shoulders are trembling. Yikes. Today is not his day.

“You got a headache?” Dean asks, but he says it in a way that suggests that he already knows the answer. His voice is a lot softer than it had been just a few moments ago.

“All of a sudden…” Sam describes. “It wasn’t this bad before. I don’t know.”

“It’s not…?”

“No. Just a headache.”

“Still wanna try to tell me you feel okay?”

“This isn’t… uhh… no, Dean, this is something else. You feel it too.”

“It’s the ghost,” I pipe up. Haven’t they heard the story? Swear to god, every few months someone would bring it up at a party in high school and we’d have to hear it all over again.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It sucks your energy to make itself stronger,” I clarify. “It’s a local legend.” Talking feels like a chore. I just want to close my eyes, but the threat of danger has got me on my toes.

Both of them raise their eyebrows, first at me and then at each other.

“What else can you tell us?”

“Well, I mean…” I shrug. Do I really have to tell the whole story? “He worked here. As a librarian. He was so tired that he grabbed a broken ladder by mistake and I guess he tripped or something and ended up with one of the bookshelves on top of him. The ladder survived. He didn’t.”

Sam clears his throat. “Do y-you… huhNNKSHUH! Do you kndow his ndambe?”

“No, I don’t, sorry. The story’s really old.” It comes out sounding a lot more dejected than I intended. “He’s supposed to like… suck out all of your energy and strength so he can feed off of it, to make up for how worn out he was when he had the accident.”

“Sounds like all we need is to get to the ladder,” Dean says to his brother.

“You could check the supply closet upstairs,” I offer. “Right next to the water fountain on the west wall.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, the word coming out as more breath than voice. He starts to stand up, still shaking and gripping the table, but stumbles right back into his seat.

“I’ll check it out,” Dean volunteers. “You stay put.”

“You’re not going up there by yourself,” Sam argues, but his tone isn’t making him sound very convincing. His words are slow, and I can’t vouch for this because it’s way too dark to tell for sure, but I’m almost certain that his eyes aren’t open all the way either.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

So Dean takes off, as fast as he can (which, right now, isn’t really terribly fast but definitely fast enough and also definitely faster than Sam could have gone, I think). Sam flicks off his flashlight and rubs his face, sniffling still and illuminated now by the dim moonlight.

“I have tissues in my backpack, if you want to let me leave the salt,” I tell him. I really really don’t want to move, but I feel like he wants to move even less than I do.

“It’s not safe,” he warns me. But then he presses on his nose and I hear his breath start to hitch, so I step over the line and down to my table anyway. I toss him the pack just in time and wow it’s actually amazing how he manages to see and catch it through his own fluttering eyelashes.

“Hp’mphSSHUH! Hhhh… HUH’IFSSHHhew!”

“Bless you!” Was that too enthusiastic? They sounded like they hurt.

“Th… hehNGKT! Thanks. You should step back into the circle.” He sounds very weary, but I guess I know the feeling, so I drag a chair back inside of it (even though I seriously want to know what’s up with all the salt in the first place) so I at least have something to sit on instead of just the floor. A pillow would be really nice

But I should probably stay awake, so instead I ask him, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” He exhales so hard it’s almost vocal. “Just need to wait for Dean and get out of here…”

So we wait, and it’s kind of tense for me but probably not for him because it really just looks like he wants to fall asleep. But he can’t, obviously, since he has to stay on alert since there’s a ghost in the building (a freaking ghost, seriously, maybe I’m still processing it) and since he has to lift his head pretty often so he can rub his nose. But he also sneezes every single time, so I guess that’s not doing much good.

“HihH-ESHHuh!” And it seems he’s given up on holding them back at this point too, even though they’re getting more forceful and rocking him forward each time. He keeps having to brush his hair out of his eyes, which seems like it might get annoying but he doesn’t seem to mind that as much as he minds everything else.

The library’s getting colder by the minute, too, which I’m sure isn’t helping, especially when this building was never really the warmest to begin with. And he keeps getting these, like, full-body shivers that seem like they’re coming from inside of him instead of from the temperature in the room.

But then, as soon as it came on, the drowsy spell has passed and my entire body feels light and airy, almost like it’s floating while simultaneously surging like a fully charged battery. Dean must have done something.

I turn my head to face Sam, but he still hasn’t perked up. Maybe this bug is hitting him harder than I thought. He looks pale and drained, and a little startled when I step outside of the salt out of the assumption that it’s finally safe to do so.

“Hey. You shouldn’t…”

“Sammy!” He’s interrupted by Dean rushing down the stairs and into the room, with a lighter in his hand and panic on his face. “We gotta book it, c’mon.” He pauses and waits in front of Sam, concern overtaking his features. “What’s wrong with you? The curse should be broken. You okay?”

Sam brushes his hair out of his eyes and shivers. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

They gather their things, and they’re gone as quickly as they came.

[ID2006]

memes.... I like memes... and this of course.

[SexualOddity]

I haven't read this beyond just a scan because I have to go to work, but I will read it tonight... but but but I had to tell you that I have a WEEK OFF next week. I would be all over that meme. And I would love you forever. More than now. Yep.

[Sawyer]

I haven't read this beyond just a scan because I have to go to work, but I will read it tonight... but but but I had to tell you that I have a WEEK OFF next week. I would be all over that meme. And I would love you forever. More than now. Yep.

This is surreal, because I haven't even gone to bed yet. Time zones are crazy (but I love it).

AAAAND jeez, wow, check out that coincidence!! I'm definitely going to do it then. I've been wanting to host a meme since I first discovered them, but I thought I should be more involved in the fandom before I did something big like that! I'm so excited~

(and thank you!!! wow, I can't wait)

[Anilkex]

Ooh meme....yesyesyes...see, you think you should be more involved before hosting one and I see you as one of the more involved ones. That means *I'm* the noob.

I really liked this part and the perspective from the outsider. Dean's just curt enough and Sam's just sweet enough.

[Skyler]

Aww, I loved this! Thanks for updating! As ever, its a joy to read your work!

[NorthernLady]

Ohhhh Meme!!! I'll have to check it out! Maybe participate if you don't mind my subpar writing skills

“We gotta book it, c’mon.”

*insert sitcom-style pre recorded laughter here*

Loved it!