Dean is such a sorry fucker when he's sick—but he hates people feeling bad for him, so he tries to make it seem like he isn't. Even when it'll make him feel like absolute shit. He's angrily staring at the coffee machine as he plays with the strings of his hoodie, trying his absolute hardest not to cough or splutter or anything because he knows you're standing in the doorway.

"Sweetheart, I told you, m'perfectly fi—" his words are interrupted by a soft, kitten-like sneeze. The glare he gives you would be fatal if looks could kill, "Don't even—" he points at you, rubbing his nose before he wipes his hand with a tissue, sighing under his breath as he looks back at the coffee machine. "M'fine," he says once more.

The literal only reason he'd gotten sick was his negligence in refusing to stay warm and not wade in freezing water to try hunt down a vampire nest across a body of water. So you were being petty as fuck in doting on him and refusing to leave him alone the whole day.

Besides, he was in a hoodie and that's a sight you didn't get to see all that often. Of course you were taking advantage of this situation.

"You're supposed to be nice to me, m'literally sick, you cruel, cruel individual," he huffs, rolling his eyes as he finally gets his cup of coffee, padding to the dining table to sit down.