Work Text:
Research might actually be the death of her. She was sitting in the bunker’s library surrounded by dusty, literally ancient books. The guys had asked if she wanted to do some research this weekend, and she eagerly agreed. She loved to feel as if she was still a part of hunts, even though they rarely included her.
That part wasn’t so bad. What was bad, was the headache she had brewing. Trying to keep her eyes focused by looking at the scripty words on the stained pages wasn’t helping. She sighed as she turned the page. Her eyes followed the movement of the pages, and she suddenly felt nauseous. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, blinking. The guys wanted her to do research. She needed to actually do it.
She picked up a pen and scratched down a bit of information before a feeling hit her stomach for the second time. She made a noise of displeasure, and threw her head back in frustration. As soon as she caught sight of the light above her, her head throbbed and her stomach twisted. Shit.
She hastily pushed the books out of the way and gently laid her head across her arm on the table. She closed her eyes and decided to just sit like that. Just for a minute.
She was positive only a few minutes had passed, but she was nearly asleep when she heard footsteps approaching the library.
She jerked her head up and opened her eyes. Dean was walking in the room.
She had just enough time to process this before her headache came back full force and her stomach twisted again. She squeezed her eyes shut again.
“If you didn’t want to do research, you didn’t have to,” Dean said nonchalantly.
“No!” Claire said, eyes still closed, trying to focus her energy on not puking. “I want to.”
“You look pretty spent, kid,” Dean said.
“I just have a headache,” Claire whispered, knowing damn well she sounded pathetic. Sleeping on the job? Bitching about everything? Why do they trust her with anything at this point?
“You taken anything for it?” Dean said in a way that was surprisingly kind.
“No, it’s like, a migraine or something. I don’t think it will help.”
Dean nodded.
“Why don’t you go lay down, Claire? I’ll finish this up,” Dean suggested.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll finish it. Don’t worry about it,” she said weakly.
Dean made a frustrated noise, and Claire visibly cringed. Damn! That was always a sure fire way to piss him off.
“Clarie--,” Dean started, but was cut short by Castiel walking into the room.
Castiel looked back and forth between Claire and Dean before walking towards Claire.
“Are you alright, Claire?” he said. He had always been excellent at telling when Claire was in distress, despite his lack of people skills.
“She has a migraine and needs to go lay down,” Dean stated simply while crossing his arms.
Castiel looked back at Claire and cocked his head to the side.
“Do you have a migraine, Claire?” he asked.
Claire sighed in defeat, and nodded lightly in the affirmative.
“Then perhaps you should lay down. The research does not take the forefront to your health,” Castiel said.
“I, uh,” Claire began before another wave of nausea hit. “Okay.”