Supernatural OneShots

Sick Day Off

(A/N): So, this has been my sick weekend, and I decided to *sneezes*- excuse me- write a fanfic that relates to it. Hope you guys *coughs violently* like it! Uuuugh...

"Dean!" I groan, rolling over in the bed. I can't breathe through my nose, so obviously I resort to breathing through my mouth. My head feels weird, and I don't feel like getting up at all. Ugh! I hate being sick!

I hear footsteps stop in front of the door, and a voice says, "Als, you okay?"

I don't say anything, and he opens the door slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He's so nice sometimes, and I'm not even sure why.

He sees me, and walks toward the bed, asking, "Hey, are you sick? You don't look so good."

I nod, feeling tears on my face. And yeah, I don't know why I'm crying either. I cough, then make a whining noise, because it hurt.

Dean says, "Luckily, it's my day off, so I can take care of you, okay? I promise I'm not as horrible as you think I am."

I laugh a little, then say, sounding raspy, "I know; I heard about the baby thing from Sam. You're not supposed to give babies alcohol, Dean, you no better."

He raises his hands in a defensive way, saying, "Hey, it got him to be quiet, so that's why I did it!"

I smile, and he adds, "I'll be back, princess, I'm just going to get something for you from the kitchen. And Sam is in town, so don't try to call him in here. It's just me and you today."

I nod, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

He leaves, and I breathe out of my mouth, quite loudly.

How am I going to survive this day if it's just me and him? I can't be alone with him, I just can't. I might say something stupid...or worse. I could break down in front of him, and admit everything I've ever felt for him.

When he comes back in, my head is under the covers, so he can't see me crying. But of course, I totally forgot that he can hear it.

He says, "Hey sweetheart, it's okay; it's just a little cold, that's all. You'll be better in no time."

I say, sniffling a lot, "I know, it's just that I don't like being sick. I hate it. It makes me feel trashier than usual."

"What do you mean 'trashier than usual'?" He asks, handing me a bowl of soup, and a bottle of water.

"Well...that's just it; I'm trashy. You can't really describe trashy, so yeah, you do the math."

He says, sitting on the bed next to me, "You're not trashy; you don't wear skimpy clothes, and you barely ever have a foul mouth, but even if you do, it's either at a creature of some sort or at me. So you can't say you're trashy, when there's no evidence to prove it."

I say, "But I am though."

He rolls his eyes, saying, "I'll let you eat your soup now." Then he leaves without another word.

Did I hurt his feelings? Nah, how could I have? He doesn't show emotions or feelings unless it's someone important to him, like Sam, or his parents, or something.

Wait a second...I was saying something bad about myself, and he was...disagreeing. Oh crap! He got upset, then he walked out. Is that what just happened?

I call out, hoarsely, "Dean!"

A few seconds later, he comes in, looking a bit worried, asking, "What's wrong?"

I smile, then pat the bed next to me, trying to get him to come back in here. He seems confused for a moment, then he gives in, sitting down next to me on the bed, asking, "Yes?"