A/N: Fluffy fluffiness for a prompt on LJ. In case you were wondering, no I still don't own Supernatural.
The second the kid walks in, she knows he's sick. The flushed cheeks, the bleary eyes, the Rudolph nose, the wheezing... it doesn't take a doctor.
Except that she is a doctor.
Not my problem.
He presses the door-close button and shuffles into the back corner, stilfing a sharp cough. Their eyes meet. He gives her a tired smile and a sniffle.
Nope. Can't save 'em all.
She jingles her keys. He huddles deeper into his jacket.
It's right about then that the elevator stalls.
---
Security say they're working on it.
The sick dumbass pries open the doors anyway.
On the other side there's a cinder block wall. They stand and look at it. Then he lets the panels slide shut and coughs for the better part of thirty seconds.
No. No.
"Wow."
He wipes his hands, straightening up. "What?"
Here we go...
"You don't sound so good."
He runs his hands through his short hair and frowns. "Friggin' colds, huh?" He's eyeballing the hatch in the elevator ceiling.
"How long have you had that?"
It's too much. He gives her a funny look and starts pacing. "Awhile."
"More than two weeks?"
A cool neutrality comes over him. "I didn't realize you were a doctor."
"I didn't realize you were a pacer."
Nothing.
"I am a doctor. I should've explained. Hi. Tara." She's palming her clavicle.
He looks at her hand, back at her face. Finally he nods. "Dean."
"So Dean," she says, putting down her shoulder bag. "We have some time to kill. I was supposed to be at an after-hours clinic, but now I'm late. How about if you let me look you over? It'll be like I'm there, only without that annoying part where I get paid."
His lips quirk. "You a workaholic or something?"
She gives him her warmest smile. "Yahtzee."
Dean glances up at the trapdoor again, then sighs squeakily, rubs at his ribcage. "I do feel sort of crappy."
Tara unzips her sack and swabs down a thermometer. "Start with this. Under the tongue for me."
He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then shrugs and stuffs the instrument into his mouth.
"Good." She's digging her stethoscope out. "Mind taking your jacket off?"
The kid hesitates long enough that she thinks he's going to refuse. Then he shucks it off. He dumps it in the corner and gives a violent shiver. Waiting for her approach, he watches her like a hawk over the thermometer.
She's reaching for his shirt when he starts coughing again. It's a dry cough, but so violent it forces him double. The thermometer drops to the carpet. Her throat pricks in sympathy and she shifts closer, starts rubbing his back.
"OK," she finds herself saying as the hacking goes on and on, as he goes down on his knees. "You're OK, Dean. Just breathe, honey." He's trembling under her palm. She strokes his hot neck.
She can feel the shift when his gag reflex kicks in. His breaths are suddenly slower but still railroaded in, compulsive. His body rocks forward and his back hunches up.
"Go on and puke, kid."
Nothing comes up.
After a minute Dean lifts his head. He gasps and blinks owlishly in her general direction.
"You almost passed out there."
He's wincing, cradling his ribs.
"That hurt, huh?"
She smoothes back his sweaty hair and gives his shoulder a squeeze.
"Some cold you got there."
He finally focuses on her face, sighs out some words too low to hear.
"What's that, Dean?"
"S'usually Sammy who does this."
"Who watches you cough your guts out?"
He frowns and carefully sits back on his heels. Shields his eyes with one hand, waves the other vaguely.
"All of that. When I'm sick or whatever."
"Do you want me to call him for you?"
Dean sneezes. Then he gasps and runs his palms over his chest. "Man. Think I pulled something with that one."
"Or is there somebody else? I want you to get some X-rays on your chest, honey, and get some blood work done. I can drop you at the hospital on my way into work, OK? Who should we get to meet you there?"
His eyes are hard as he looks at her. She suddenly knows what he's going to say.
Then there's a sound in the shaft, and the lights cut out. When they come back up a split second later Dean's already climbing to his feet, scooping his jacket off the floor. The car starts its controlled descent.
Tara re-packs her bag and notices he won't look at her.
"So Dean," she says as the doors slide open, "can I give you a ride?"
He shudders as the cool lobby air drifts in but then stiffens. She knows he has a fever, has bronchitis or walking pneumonia or worse, but he says, "Thanks but no thanks, lady." He brushes past the security guards into the night.
She watches him go and then blows out a breath.
Not my problem.
end
"Elevators represent a special circumstance in which pedestrians are willing to submit to closer spacing than they would normally accept."
-John J. Fruin, "Pedestrian Planning and Design," 1971
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"If an elevator is in trouble the safest place to be is inside the elevator."
-Anonymous
Prompt:
Gen. Set when Sam is at Stanford.
Dean gets stuck in an elevator with a doctor and finds out that the annoying cough he's had for a while is a bad chest infection or worse, he lets the doctor examine him while they're waiting for help to arrive. He opens up to them telling them how much he misses his brother who's at stanford and how Sammy usually takes care of him when he's sick.