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waywardmoeyy · 4 years

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Coughing in the New Year

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 880

Warnings: fluff, mention of minor illness, one tiny dirty joke.

A/N: This is based on, well, my current situation. I’m sick with a nasty chest cold on New Year’s. So, I’m home alone with the cats. Happy New Year everyone!

Wayward Moeyy’s Master List

Of freaking course you were sick on New Year’s Eve. The boys had gone out for the night for a “bonfire” or whatever they were actually doing. When it came to the Winchesters and those two celestial shits, no one knew what would happen.

You, however, were buried beneath your heated blanket while clutching your favorite stuffed animal. You squeezed the small, fluffy cat that Dean had gotten you for your birthday and bravely fought through another coughing spell. Damn that lady at the supermarket for coughing on you the other day. Now, you were febrile and full of phlegm.

“Ughh,” you groaned as you struggled to catch a breath. Snort. You felt so charming.

“That sounded rough,” you heard a familiar voice grumble from behind you. You turned to see two gorgeous emerald eyes you could get lost in forever.

“I thought the four of you were heading out? The new year starts in fifteen minutes.” You tilted your head as Dean approached you, sporting a steaming mug of… was that hot chocolate? You couldn’t smell it, but the tiny brown chunks around the rim of the mug gave away its identity.

“I told Sam, Cas, and Jack to have fun without me. I couldn’t leave knowing you were home alone on New Year’s Eve, especially as sick as you are.” Dean lowered himself beside you on the couch and offered you the mug. “What was your last temperature?” He reached his hand up and covered your forehead. His cool fingers instantly relieved your scorching skin.

“101-ish. I took an aspirin thirty minutes ago. It needs some time to kick in. I’ll check it again in a little bit.” Dean nodded, then reached over to the small coffee table and grabbed the remote.

“Wanna watch the ball drop?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. He was such a child sometimes.

“That joke was funny four years ago the first time I heard it. Now it’s just ridiculous,” you chuckled. “How old are you now? Twelve?” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m hilarious,” he grumbled. You just patted his head and laughed, triggering another coughing spell.

The look on Dean’s face as he watched you suffer for another five minutes broke your heart. His eyes squinted just a little every time you coughed. His hand squeezed your knee in an effort to console you, but you couldn’t stop coughing.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry sweetheart.” He winced at your last violent cough, then scooted a little closer. “I wish we could switch spaces, give me the burden. I hate seeing you like this.” You wheezed out a huff.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I’m sorry babe, but there is no way I’d want to take care of your ass tonight. When you’re sick, you’re dying,” you mocked. It was true; Dean was an absolute baby when he was sick. “I’m sorry to worry you, but I’m glad that you’re the one doing the comforting.” Dean rolled his eyes again, then wrapped his arm behind you, resting it on the back of the couch.

“Whatever you say, hun.”

His scowl quickly vanished as he watched you sip your hot chocolate. A smile stretched over your lips as the warm, soothing liquid coated your aching throat. Your freezing fingers curled around the warm ceramic, emitting its heat up your arms to the rest of your body. Even with your heated blanket turned up to high, you had struggled for hours to get yourself warm. Now the chill was finally lifting.

“Three minutes,” Dean whispered as he rubbed your shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re entering the new year feeling so crappy,” Dean muttered against the top of your head. He planted a kiss there, then turned back to the muted TV. The crowd danced in the frigid New York air as the lights of Time Square flashed around them. That was somewhere you always wanted to be on New Year’s Eve. Maybe Dean would take you there next year.

“It’s been quite a year.” You leaned your head against Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s hope this year is apocalypse-free,” you joked, earning yourself a hearty laugh from him.

The sixty second mark lit up on the screen. It was the last minute of the year, a year that had been both trying and blessed. But, in that moment, you wouldn’t have traded any of it for the world.

“Fifteen, fourteen,” Dean counted against your ear as you continued to take tiny sips. His voice was just as soothing as the warm drink in your hand.

“Three, two, one.” Dean leaned over and kissed your temple. “Happy New Year, Y/N. I love you.” His arm tugged your closer to him.

“Love you too, Deano,” you mumbled against your mug. “I hope this isn’t an omen to how this year is going to be,” you sighed. Dean shook his head.

“No, it’s going to be so much better.” He rubbed your arm. “I’m sure of it.”

You chucked, fighting a cough. “Oh? Big plans?” you asked, half-curious. Dean winked, then leaned further into the couch.

“Well, my main goal right now is to get you better as soon as possible.” He kissed the top of your head. “After that, I might have a few ideas up my sleeve.”

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