Dean x Reader One Shots

Fever Pitch (Fluff) (Imagine dealing with a sick Dean)

Summary: Imagine what it would be like to try and sleep with a sickly Dean lying next to you.

Word Count: 2,021

You heard Dean cough behind you and felt yourself cringe, the image of nasty, germy specks of nastiness floating through the air and landing on your exposed neck enough to send shivers down your spine. In a final attempt to avoid catching the bug Dean seemed to be sporting, you wiggled toward the edge of the bed away from him and covered your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. He coughed again and you felt the bed move when his abdomen flexed, forcing him to bend slightly at the waist while he tried not to hack up an entire lung; the sound was wet, nasally, the typical sound of a congested chest and a consequently sore throat.

When Dean kept coughing you turned to him, swallowing your fear of catching the cold when you propped yourself up on your elbow. "Do you need anything?"

Dean had water on the nightstand beside him that he had easy access to, so you knew that if he was going to ask for anything it would be either drugs or some sort of freezing cold beverage to help with the sore throat. When he shook his head, the movement only noticeable to you through the darkness because of the changing silhouette, he cleared his throat, pressed his cheek back down against the pillow. "I can go out into the library if I'm keeping you up." His voice was cracked, dry from the coughing. "I already took some of the stuff you had in your bag, but beyond that I'm shit out of luck."

"Are you sure?" You sat up, reaching out a hand and touched his forehead, frowning when you realized how warm he was. You tossed the blankets off you and sat at the edge of the bed, standing to head toward the kitchen when you said, "I'm going to go get you something cold, ice water or something. You're burning up."

"I've been burning up all day."

"Yes," you paused, already on your way out the door, and turned back to the man. "But now you're under covers with another warm, human body. The temperature is going to get higher, so you'd best have something to combat that."

"I already took whatever you had, I'll be fine."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the bullheadedness of the man before walking out of the room. It only took a couple minutes for you to mosey into the kitchen, pour some water and ice cubes into a water bottle, close it, wrap it with a towel, and head back into your room. Dean was breathing heavily when you got back which you had attributed to his sleeping, but when you crept around the bed and set the cool water bottle beside the glass of water Dean lifted his head and turned to you.

"Is that water?" He whispered it, turning on his back until he was facing you, entirely. "I already have water."

"It's cold," you walked around the bed and crawled in next to him, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders when you said, "I know you already have water, but at least this way you can get at the fever and the sore throat."

Dean sniffled behind you before shifting his position until he was lying on his side, likely facing you based on the sound. Another fit of coughs hit him you closed your eyes, wanting nothing more than for him to be able to sleep, to get the rest he needed to combat the illness that he couldn't quite seem to shake. He was a grump when he was sick—he was, admittedly, considerably better spirited at this point in time than he had been previously in the day—and you knew it was sucky for both he and Sam.

Naturally, because of the nature of your relationship with the eldest Winchester, you were at a slightly higher risk of catching the bug than Sam was.

Dean let out a final cough before groaning, the sound making it obvious that he had, at some point, lost all access to breathing through his nose. "I'm sorry," he said, the words strung out and almost connected from a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. "Seriously, I can go out to the library if you want, I don't mean to keep you up."