TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥- 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕟; 𝕊𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕓𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 AshTray367

I had always known that Dean was a bit of a baby when he got sick, but nothing could have prepared me for the absolute nightmare I was living in right now.

He had woken up this morning with a scratchy throat, a stuffy nose, and the kind of attitude that made me question every decision that had led me to falling in love with him.

"Babe," Dean whined from the couch, his voice hoarse but still loud enough to be dramatic. He was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, his long legs sticking out at awkward angles. "Can you come feel my forehead again? I think my fever went up."

"You don't have a fever, Dean," I said for the third time that hour. "You just feel warm because you're buried under enough blankets to survive the Arctic."

"But what if I do?" His voice cracked. "What if I'm, like, dying and we just don't know it yet?"

I sighed and walked over, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead just to humor him. He was warm but nowhere near feverish. "Nope. Same as before. Shocker."

He groaned and curled in on himself. "Babe, I feel so bad. Can you get me something?"

I crossed my arms. "Dean, I've brought you tea, I've made you soup, I've given you tissues, and I've fluffed your pillows. What else could you possibly need?"

He peeked up at me with tired eyes. "Medicine."

"Medicine?" I repeated. "You mean the medicine that I suggested you take five hours ago, and you refused because, and I quote, 'I'm a man, I'll tough it out'?"

Dean gave me a weak, guilty smile. "That medicine."

I groaned, already grabbing my jacket. "Fine. I'll go get it. But if I come back and you refuse to take it, I swear to God, Dean—"

"Wait!" His eyes widened in horror as he sat up, blankets falling around him. "You're leaving?"

I stared at him. "Dean. I need to leave to get the medicine. That's how this works."

"But—but what if I need something while you're gone?"

I pointed at his phone on the coffee table. "Then you call me."

"But what if—"

"You're gonna be fine," I interrupted before he could start another round of excuses. "I'll be back in ten minutes, Dean. Just stay put and don't do anything stupid."

With that, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

I didn't even make it to the car before my phone rang.

I didn't have to check the caller ID—I already knew who it was.

I answered with an exhausted, "Dean."

"Babe." He sounded so congested that it was almost comical. "I miss you."

"I've been gone for ten seconds."

"Yeah, and it's been the worst ten seconds of my life."

I rolled my eyes but kept walking. "Dean, I'm getting your medicine so you can stop feeling like garbage. The sooner I get it, the sooner I can come back."

"But I feel like I'm gonna die before you do."

"You're not dying!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

He sniffled loudly. "I don't know, babe. Feels pretty serious."

I ignored him as I grabbed the cold medicine, cough drops, and a fresh box of tissues. The entire time, Dean stayed on the phone, keeping up a constant stream of dramatic complaints.

By the time I walked through the door, I was beyond exhausted. I dropped the bag of medicine onto the coffee table and gave him a firm look. "Alright, I got your medicine. Now take it."

Dean sat up, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. "What kind?"

"The kind that will make you stop whining and actually feel better."

He pulled a face. "Does it taste bad?"

I stared at him. "Does it matter?"

Dean crossed his arms like a stubborn child. "I'm not taking it if it tastes gross."

"Oh my God, Dean."

"I mean, there's gotta be another way, right?" He gestured dramatically. "Like, I can just—sleep it off or something?"

I was so close to losing it. "Dean. You have been complaining all day. You begged me to go get medicine. I went and got the medicine. And now you're refusing to take it?"

He had the audacity to look guilty. "Well, when you put it like that..."

I grabbed the bottle and poured the correct dose into the tiny plastic cup. "Take it."

Dean shook his head. "I don't wanna."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. "Dean. If you do not take this medicine, I am going to smother you with one of your seventeen blankets."

Dean pouted. "That's not a very loving thing to say to your sick boyfriend."

I waved the medicine cup in front of his face. "I don't care. Take. It."

Instead of cooperating, Dean flopped over dramatically onto the couch and yanked a blanket over his head. "Nope. I refuse."

I groaned and dropped onto the couch beside him, rubbing my temples. "I swear, if you weren't already sick, I'd strangle you myself."

After a long silence, Dean peeked out from under the blanket. His tired, fever-warmed face softened as he looked up at me. "Don't be mad."

I let out a long breath, shaking my head. "I'm mad, Dean."

"I'm sick."

"I know!"

Dean sighed and slowly shifted until his head was in my lap. "Just let me rest here for a minute."

I wanted to shove him off me out of pure frustration, but as soon as his head settled against my legs, his breathing evened out. Within minutes, he was asleep, his weight warm and heavy against me.

I stared down at him, my anger fading into reluctant affection. He was still an overgrown baby, but he was my overgrown baby.

Sighing, I ran my fingers through his messy hair. "You're so lucky I love you."