This is the Way our Bodies Crumble (SPN)

[ihatesauerkraut]

Alright guys. This is my first fanfic (of any genre, for any fandom), and it’s plotless, pointless fluff. I know most of you don’t love OCs, and I must confess that even I usually hate them. But I have this head-canon that includes a woman named Leah. And let’s be honest, the reason I don’t hate Leah is because Leah represents me. Mwahaha. Or how about this—Leah represents you. Give her whatever backstory you want, imagine her appearance however you want, give her whatever romantic history you want. Maybe that will make her easier to accept? I tried to leave out a lot of her internal thoughts to make her a little more invisible. And if you’re like me and have to have all the details figured out before you can accept an OC, the following is a possible structure:

Her parents were mentor hunters to John Winchester. They were killed during a hunt when she was four (Sam was two, Dean six) and John mostly raised her with the boys. She came and went from their lives, sometimes living with Bobby, sometimes with Ellen and Jo, sometimes living on her own to finish a year of school, etc. It was she who convinced Sam to apply to Stanford (leading to tension between her and Dean), and they both were accepted the same year. She introduced Sam and Jess, joined the boys on the road when Jess died, and the rest is history. She has a romantic/sexual history with both of the boys (make that as kinky or as chaste as you want), but her and Dean are deeply connected on a level that her and Sam never reached. Their relationship is dynamic and volatile and fluctuating, but they also share raw moments of tenderness and mutual protectiveness.

This short little piece highlights and freezes one of those moments. You know that point in the timeline of a cold when you finally succumb to being sick and are miserable and tired and gross and vulnerable? Maybe you’ve been on a hunt and your adrenaline has held it at bay, and then you get back to the hotel and man, it just hits you, and you let it? That’s Dean in this story. I picked up the narrative thread in the middle of a longer head-canon story in which Sam’s been sick and the trio has returned to their hotel from a salt and burn in which Dean and Leah (Dean) did most of the work (grave-digging in the rain) because Sam was just too sick to be very helpful. (Cue contagion.)

Also, I’m afraid this is going to disappoint most of you, but this story is mostly just h/c. Sneezes aren’t spelled out. Sorry. I know most of you prefer spellings, but sadly, that’s just not the way I write. I thought I’d share this story anyway, and if it doesn’t get a positive response, that’s totally ok! I enjoyed writing it too much for it to be a waste of my time.

Jeez, I explain too much. Onward.

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When she returns from the store, the shower is running and Sam’s curled up in bed coughing. There’s a glass of water and a pile of folded tissues on the nightstand—she’s sure Dean put them there—and a tiny trashcan set right next to the bed that’s already filled with a crumpled white layer.

She sits in the crescent of Sam’s body and cups a hand on his shoulder until his harsh coughs die away and he can manage a shallow breath.

“Medicine and sleep for you, Sam.”

He blows his nose. Sniffles, blows again, sniffles some more. In the bathroom, the shower stops running and the glass door slides open.

Sam props himself up just long enough to take the Nyquil she doses out for him, sips at the water she presses into his hands, and then burrows, doesn’t say a word. Leah scoots closer into him and rubs his arm overtop the covers. It’s a long time that he lays curled around her, both of them wishing he’d sleep. He has another coughing fit—sneezes once or twice—but it’s not until his constant sniffling slows into a stuffy snore that Leah eases herself up off the bed.

Dean’s been in the bathroom for over an hour now, and when she knocks quietly on the door, a muffled “s’open” invites her in. It’s still steamy inside, like he never turned on the fan, and he’s sitting on the closed toilet seat in a hoodie and sweatpants, a damp towel discarded on the floor. There’s a wad of toilet paper clutched in his fist. Water drips into his eyes from his hair. He looks up at her with a tiny sniffle, his nostrils red and wet.

She leaves the door cracked open behind her to air out the stuffy room, but when she presses her palm to his forehead (it’s hot) she feels a deep shiver go through his whole body. He sniffles again.

“Dean.” She says his name low and chiding.

He turns under her hand and presses his face into her stomach, like he’s guilty of something and trying to hide from it, like he’s a little kid. With one arm she encircles his head and with the other she rubs down his spine, slowly, to warm him up, to comfort him.

“You should have said something. The case could have waited.”

He shrugs against her.

She sighs. She pictures Sam using the shovel as a crutch while he coughs, pictures Dean half pushing half lowering his brother to the ground and yanking the shovel from his hands, replacing it with a flashlight. I got this one, Sammy, sit tight.

She presses a kiss into his wet hair. “Such a good big brother.”

Shivers wrack him up and down, and she pulls away from him for a moment. Instantly he retracts back into himself looking guilty, like he thinks he’s done something wrong, like she’s moved away because of him.

But she just closes the door softly after peeking out to make sure Sam’s still asleep, then pulls the cheap hairdryer out from the wall. She feels Dean watching her as she turns it on low, holds it against her palm to decide if it’s warm enough without being too loud. Satisfied, she stands against Dean and takes to drying his hair, slowly and rhythmically, letting the waves of heat wander and smooth down his back, his shoulders, his arms. It doesn’t take long before his hair is dry and warm in her fingers, but he’s so relaxed and melted against her that she leaves the device on for another few minutes while she uses her free hand to massage fingertip circles into his scalp.

He pulls away and sneezes helplessly into his lap, like he wasn’t expecting it. She turns off the hair dryer and tucks it back into the wall. His breath hitches and he explodes into two more wet and desperate sneezes, emerging from his handful of tissues with a sniffle. He shakes his head a little (is he—embarrassed?) and huffs in frustration. When he looks up at her, his eyes are bloodshot and teary.

He shivers and she resumes rubbing his back.

“Headache?”

His voice is gravel. “Yeah.”

“Throat hurt?”

“Mhmm.” He closes his eyes.

“Come to bed.”

He shakes his head. “Won’t be able to sleep.”

“Then just come rest. Be comfortable.”

“Nah,” he says. His voice is beginning to fill with congestion. “Gonna quarantine my sick ass in here for a while. Crash on the couch later.”

“That’s stupid.” It comes out harsher than she means it to. “Sam’s already sick, and by this time there’s no hope of me escaping either of your germs. I’ll be relying on my supreme immune system the next few days.”

Dean sighs, sniffles.

But if it takes some coaxing to get him dosed up and into the empty bed, it takes even more to convince him to stop worrying about waking his hibernating brother. He spends half an hour stifling squelchy sneezes into the covers and clearing his throat—“cause this damn tickle is trying to be a friggin’ kickass cough”—before she slides in under the covers to spoon him and points out that he’s got a friggin’ kickass cold and should just let himself be sick.

Even after she gives him permission, it’s a few minutes before his muscles slowly loosen in her arms. He sneezes twice, loudly, his body rocking forward with each release. Sam doesn’t wake up. And a few minutes after that, when the beginnings of a scraping cough escape Dean’s clamped lips, he doesn’t try to gulp it down, just lets it take over while Leah holds him steady with a palm to his chest. The fit subsides eventually.

Behind them, Sam snores. Outside, a truck roars down the hallway.

Here, in Leah’s arms, Dean is sniffling. She cards a hand through his hair for one hour, two, until sickness loses the battle to sleep.

[Sawyer]

Wow, this is so sweet and quiet! I really like the way you write. And the contagion aspect, and Dean trying to quarantine himself, and undergoing one of the best parts of a cold (who am I kidding? they're all the best part...) where he's totally succumbed to it and about to sleep it off. I really enjoyed reading it!!! Thank you!

[MaiMai]

Oh gosh, this is just the sweetest, most adorable story! It's really subtly told and I adore your writing. And I absolutely love Dean's stubbornness :3 This is lovely, thank you so much for posting!

Edited December 9, 2013 by MaiMai

[HoneyBunny]

And this is really your very first fanfic? Damn girl, you have a gift.

Your OC works really well in this scenario, and I just love the character dynamics. Especially Dean neglecting his own health for Sam... BigBro!Dean is the best kind of Dean.

[iluvsneezes]

Awesome job on your first fic, hon!! I absolutley loved it, please write some more Supernatural stories.

[ID2006]

Yay, another Supernatural girl.... our army builds and soon we shall overtake the world... or not, but I can dream.

[ihatesauerkraut]

You all make me so happy! It really amazes me sometimes that there are other people in this world who are a) SPN fans, writers, and c) sneeze fetishists. It's so great!

Wow, this is so sweet and quiet! I really like the way you write. And the contagion aspect, and Dean trying to quarantine himself, and undergoing one of the best parts of a cold (who am I kidding? they're all the best part...) where he's totally succumbed to it and about to sleep it off. I really enjoyed reading it!!! Thank you!

No, thank YOU! You’re kind of a celebrity in my head. Haha. I read (and love) all your work and never comment because I’m a horrible, lowly lurker. But I vow to lurk no longer. Your comment has inspired me to be a commenter. Hurray! Thank you! I’m thinking about getting involved in the meme… hmm…

Oh gosh, this is just the sweetest, most adorable story! It's really subtly told and I adore your writing. And I absolutely love Dean's stubbornness :3 This is lovely, thank you so much for posting!

Thank you thank you thank you!

And this is really your very first fanfic? Damn girl, you have a gift.

Your OC works really well in this scenario, and I just love the character dynamics. Especially Dean neglecting his own health for Sam... BigBro!Dean is the best kind of Dean.

OH I know—BigBro!Dean is just… sigh. Glad you liked it!

Awesome job on your first fic, hon!! I absolutley loved it, please write some more Supernatural stories.

Thank you! Hmm. Perhaps I will write some more. Problem is, I have too many plot bunnies for the Leahverse and not enough for canon. I’ll have to do some thinking.

Yay, another Supernatural girl.... our army builds and soon we shall overtake the world... or not, but I can dream.

Yes! Divide and conquer!

[Sawyer]

You’re kind of a celebrity in my head. Haha. I read (and love) all your work and never comment because I’m a horrible, lowly lurker. But I vow to lurk no longer. Your comment has inspired me to be a commenter. Hurray! Thank you! I’m thinking about getting involved in the meme… hmm…

Me??? Shut up, no way! Wow! THANK you! You've definitely made my day, seriously. I don't deserve that! But I would love if you would comment! We don't bite, I promise!!

AAAAND, oh my god, please come and join the meme! That would be the best ever!!!! I can't wait to see more from you. You're great!