A/N: Written as a Christmas present for ariadnes_string. She wanted something related to my fic "Pig in a Poke" (which you don't have to read to understand this one). It's probably not exactly what you expected, hope you will still like it... Merry Christmas! Beta'd by the wonderful Wave Obscura (I know, what a surprise).

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.

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Carrie is bored, as she always is when Mom asks her to work at the motel. Welcome the customers – right. She already knows it won't be her job when she gets older. She always brings a book with her, but she never manages to relax enough to really get into her reading, knowing that people can come in at any time. Not that they have a lot of customers, but still.

Her head is lowered into her book, but she's just been staring at the words, when the door opens. She straightens up, tries not to show her boredom and instead look, well, welcoming. The new comers are two men, not too old, like thirty or even less, and kinda good looking. Carrie feels herself blush, and curses inwardly. Goddamn it, she thinks, if only she could stop blushing at the slightest emotion, her life would a hell of a lot easier.

"Hey," she says.

"Hi," replies the smaller of the two men, who's wearing a leather jacket even though the weather is pretty warm today. "One room, double. Please," he asks, and clears his throat.

Now that they're closer, she can see that the men look completely washed out, like they have spent hours on the road, which they probably have.

"How will you pay?"

"Do you take credit cards?"

"Yeah."

"Great."

He starts fumbling in his pocket, but stops to hide a cough in the crook of his elbow. The other man chooses this moment to sneeze, and Carrie changes her mind about how they look. They don't look tired, they look sick. She thinks about swine flu, and contagion, and suspiciously eyes the card the man gives her. Her mom told her to limit contacts with customers, especially when they looked sick. Does taking the card count as contact? But she doesn't really have a choice, does she? She carefully takes the card between her thumbs and her forefinger.

"Room 38 is free," she says, and she gives them the key.

Later in the day, Carrie is gnawing at her fingernails and glancing every ten seconds at her watch when one of the men, the one who paid for the room, comes and asks her where the closest pharmacy is.

"My brother is sick," he explains while wheezing softly, doing his best to keep his coughs down his throat even though it's bringing tears to his eyes and he's almost choking. His eyes are green, she notices, and bright with fever. But it's his brother who's sick, he says. Idiot.

"Down the street, on the left."

"Tha… aaaAAH…"

His explosive sneeze makes her start. He swipes his nose with his sleeve, catches her grimace and grins at her sheepishly, then walks away.

---

The next day, Mom has left her at the motel again and she can't help but think about those two guys. They paid for a couple of days, so they're still here but she hasn't seen either of them since the one with green eyes asked her for the pharmacy. She thinks about what she heard on TV about swine flu, about how sick they looked. What if it was serious? She's always had too much imagination, and sometimes she can't keep her mind from wandering down frightening paths. She imagines them dead in their room, both of them, and no one would know before check out. She shivers, chides herself for her dark thoughts, but still gets up and goes knocking on room 38's door.

She waits for long minutes, her heart pounding loudly, first because she's wondering what kind of excuse she's going to give them, then because no one is answering the door and she starts thinking that maybe she isn't completely crazy after all. Finally, the door opens and she lets out the breath she was holding.

It's not the man with the green eyes who is standing in the doorway, but the other one, the taller one. He looks… awful, there's no other word. His skin is chalk white, his eyes bloodshot and his nose red. His hair is matted with sweat, and he's leaning against the door, like he can't quite stand on his own. She takes an instinctive step back, fleeting thoughts of contagion going through her mind.

"Yeah?" he rasps, and his voice makes her wince. He sounds awful too.

"I'm, um, I work here, and I…"

"We paid for the next three days, didn't we?" he interrupts her anxiously.

"Oh, yes. Yes, um, sorry. I just…"

"Sam!" a hoarse voice calls. " Where's… Sam!"

"Excuse me for a second," the man – Sam – mumbles, and she sees him go to one of the beds, bend over a lump hidden under the covers. She can't help but lean forward a little, so that her upper body is in the room. It's hot and stifling inside, and it smells like sweat and sickness. She wrinkles her nose.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam whispers soothingly. "Everything's okay."

"I don't… the bunnies, Sam, I can't catch them…"

"There's no bunnies here, I swear."

"But they keep…"

"No bunnies. Go back to sleep, now."

Dean mutters something – Carries can't make out the words but it makes Sam add: "We're safe, it's okay. Trust me. Trust me." He repeats the words one last time, like they hold some special significance, and Dean finally stops fussing and mumbling. Sam straightens up, and Carrie hurriedly steps back in the hallway.

"Sorry," he says when he's once again standing in the doorway. "My brother is kinda… delirious."

"Yeah. So, um," she stutters. He's very tall, and she feels intimidated, though right now she could probably knock him over with her little finger. "I just wanted to know if you… needed anything."

"Why?" He sounds confused.

"I don't know… You don't look so hot…" She stumbles on the word, because she can't help but think that he probably does look hot when he's not, you know, sick as a dog. "I just thought…"

"Well, we have meds and… stuff." He rubs his face and coughs tiredly, then blinks at her, looking surprised to see her still standing there. "Um, we're okay, I think."

"Do you want… something to eat? Like some soup, maybe?"

"Soup?"

Am I speaking English? she thinks, but says in a final tone:

"I'm going to bring you soup."

She leaves before he has the time to say anything, and rushes to the apartment she shares with her mom to find the soup she knows is in their fridge. It was supposed to be her dinner but, well. Those guys obviously need it more.

She knocks again at the door, and this time she barely has to wait before it opens, and Sam looks down at her, at what she holds in her hands.

"It's soup. For you and your brother." He doesn't say anything, so she goes on: "You have to eat something."

"Uh, thanks. That's… nice." He pronounces the word carefully like it's unfamiliar.

They stand there for a minute, staring at each other, and it's awkward as hell until she puts the can of soup in his hands, says "I gotta get back to work," and runs away.

Great, Carrie. I'm sure you didn't look stupid at all.

---

They stay at the motel three more days, and she brings them soup for every one of them. Sometimes it's Sam who opens, sometimes it's Dean, but on each day they act completely dumbfounded at finding her on the doorstep, like they can't possibly comprehend what she's doing there. But then, she's not sure why either.

On the fifth day, they come to thank her before they leave.

"It was nothing," she tells them, realizing as she says it that she's sincere, but also that what is nothing to her may very well be everything to them.

"But still, thank you so much," Sam insists. "Uh… I think you should clean that room very well."

"And maybe burn the sheets," Dean grunts behind him.

"Oh, okay."

"Well, then… Good bye, uh… What's your name?"

"Carrie."

"We didn't even think to ask you your name, I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay. You were really out of it."

Sam snorts a laugh.

"Yeah. So, good bye Carrie."

"Good bye," echoes Dean.

"Good bye."

They both flashes her a grin that makes her feel a little weak in the knees, and they're gone so quickly that it's like they were never there. Left alone, Carrie goes back to her book, and the rest of the day is uneventful.