THE SHIELD ⇾ one shots and preferences

d.a. | one shot | a not so happy birthday

You threw the heavy, gray curtains to the side, allowing the morning sun to bathe the bedroom in gentle rays. Your excited eyes greeted the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the earth, giving the air a crisper look. Not a single footprint dared to be a vestige on the powdery precipitation, giving the scene before you a picture-perfect look. You could have stared at it for hours if Dean's gravely groan hadn't ripped your attention back to the bed.

Dean was curled up under his thick comforter, not a single inch of his skin greeting the morning as you were. You spotted a tiny air hole where his head should be, but there was no other sign of the Lunatic Fringe on this special day.

His birthday.

"Dean," you cooed lightly, wanting to pull him gently from his sleep rather than yanking him out with loud yells. You had debated waking him up by jumping on top of him and shaking him out of slumber, but you thought it would be too obnoxious and childish. Besides, this was his day to relax.

When Dean didn't stir any further, you pursed your lips. He was being difficult, but you had plans that he needed to be awake for, so you knew your stubbornness would outweigh his. You could always resort to jumping on him, after all.

You crossed the shag carpet swiftly, resting on your knees so that you were eye level with his prone body. His sound of his breathing was slightly amplified due to his burial in blankets. "Birthday Boy!" You purred again, letting your sing-songy tone drop off peacefully into the serene atmosphere. After a moment's hesitation, Dean pawed the blanket off of his upper body, revealing his sleep disheveled, tired face. His curly hair stuck out wildly at awkward angles, giving him a messy, yet adorable, look. His blue eyes were squinted unhappily at the sunlight, but his lips were curled up in a weak smile. Tiny beads of sweat kissed his forehead thanks to his heated cocoon.

"Mornin', Princess," you teased lightly, a grin pulling at the corners of your mouth. You were nearly giddy with excitement due to all the fun you had planned for the day.

Dean let out a low chuckle, his voice still cracked and worn - it was always like that for the first few minutes after he woke up. "That's supposed to be my line," he slurred, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. His whole body went taut for a few moments before he allowed his muscles to relax with a satisfied sigh. 

You let out a little 'mhm' from the back of your throat as you leaned over to place a tender kiss to his exposed temple, allowing your forehead to rest against his briefly. That's when you noticed it. 

The sickly signs of an unwelcomed guest. The hotness under his skin was abnormal, a sure stigma of sickness. You furrowed your brows is temporary worry, pulling your head away from his and replacing it with the back of your hand. Surely enough, your sensitive skin easily picked up on the burning temperature of his own, and you diagnosed him then.

A fever.

The feeling of despair and disappointment planted itself in your stomach, the feeling traveling through your veins and arteries until the heavy feelings took over your limbs. You thought of all your plans that you had made - breakfast at his favorite restaurant, sledding at the local park (which had magnificent hills made just for the snow), and some hot cocoa by the fireplace in the room next to you. A day that was meant to be full of sweetness and memories was now ruined by a fever.

Dean seemed to notice the look on your face, and he propped himself up on his elbows so that he could better look at you. "Hey, we can still go do your plans!" He offered valiantly, though as if almost to spite him, his whole body was attacked by a bout of coughs, sending him sprawling back onto the mattress again as soon as they passed.