Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

Long Distance Call

A/N: is anyone hungry for hurt/comfort? 

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You walk through the busy plaza of the college campus, weaving past students with backpacks, coffee cups, and no idea that the world is uglier than anything waiting for them in a lecture hall.

You and the brothers agreed to meet here after splitting up for the morning. Since wrapping the case in Wisconsin with the infamous Ghostfacers, formerly known as the Hellhounds, you've been feeling like garbage. At first, it was just a stuffy nose, an obnoxious cough, and a headache that refused to go away no matter how much water you drank or how many times Sam told you to sit down. Yesterday, things got worse. One minute you were sweating through your shirt, the next you were shivering hard enough to complain about needing a hot shower. You wanted to brush it off as a cold. Maybe allergies. Maybe the corpse basement had finally made a formal complaint through your immune system.

They all but shoved you toward a doctor this morning, and since arguing with both Winchesters while feverish sounded worse than the appointment itself, you went. The doctor, a balding man with a deeply unimpressed face, told you that you looked terrible. Then he asked about sleep, stress, and your general health, which meant you made the unfortunate mistake of telling a civilian medical professional a sanitized version of the truth.

He blamed the lack of sleep, the stress, and your refusal to rest for why you'd gotten the flu this late in the season. He told you to stay in bed for the rest of the week, let the fever run its course, drink fluids, and avoid pushing yourself.

You nodded politely and took the prescription paper he handed you.

Then, the second you spot a trash can near the edge of the plaza, you crumple the paper in one hand and toss it.

There is no universe where you're leaving Sam and Dean high and dry with time running out.

Dean comes into view first, sitting on a bench with his cell phone pressed to his ear and some kind of food in his other hand. Sam appears from the opposite direction a few seconds later, looking annoyed enough to tell you his morning didn't go much better. You shove your hands into your pockets when a shiver runs through you, pretending it's only from the cold breeze cutting across campus.

Dean spots you and shuts his phone, taking one last bite before pushing himself to his feet. He tosses Sam an empty can without warning, then turns his attention to you.

"So?" Dean asks. "What did the doc say?"

"I've got the flu," you say, shrugging as if that makes it less irritating. "Luckily, he said it should go away in the next week or so."

Dean gives you a look.

You ignore it and glance over at Sam. "Did you at least have an eventful morning?"

"No," Sam says, defeated. "Professor doesn't know shit."

"Shocking," Dean says, his lack of faith in this entire search written across his face. He walks over and pats Sam on the shoulder with far too much cheer. "Pack your panties, ladies. We're hitting the road."

"What?" You turn too quickly, and the world tilts just enough to make you regret it. You close your eyes for a second, waiting for the plaza to stop moving, then open them again on Dean's concerned face. "We just got into town. Why the sudden rush?"

"That was Bobby," Dean says.

You and Sam both straighten a little, waiting for the kind of news that might actually matter. A lead on the deal. A demon. A loophole. Something. But Dean's next words are not even close.

"Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio. Bobby thinks there's a spirit involved."

Sam's brow furrows. "So you two were talking a case?"