Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

06 | Castiel x Reader [Requested]

Sick or Just Love Sick?

Tossing and turning in your bed, you fight to keep your eyes closed. Even though you were exhausted, it seemed that everything was keeping you from receiving a good nights rest. Whether it was your runny nose or your searing migraine, you were convince that the whole world was against you and your desire to sleep.

Finally, your demons win and you roll over on your back. You open your eyes to a nearly pitch black room. The only light being the streams of moonlight through the cracks of the window blind. The light allowed you to see the outline of the furniture around you and any hiding figures lurking in the shadows. As a hunter, sick or not, you had to be prepared. That being said, you turn your head to the right, eyeing the knife resting on your bedside table. It was your only means of protection, while your brothers Sam and Dean were out hunting. They had taken most of the weapons, leaving you in the safety of the bunker to rest. But a true hunter never really felt safe. Growing up with the father you had, you quickly learned that nothing was hundred percent certain. Especially when it came to security.

Sighing, you looked up at the ceiling. Despite your usually 'can-do attitude,' you weren't in the mood to do anything. Your stomach growled from hunger, but you were too lazy to get something from the kitchen downstairs. You wanted to turn on the tv to cure your boredom and distract you from your aching joints, but you were too weak to even try to reach for the remote. You didn't even have the motivation to reach for a fresh tissue, so you settled for one of the many used ones laying in your bed.

Blowing your nose into the clean part of the tissue, you huff in frustration. You hated being sick. It always made you feel helpless and lazy. Mostly because Dean and Sam would baby you back to health. They wouldn't let you leave your bed, except for occasional bathroom trip. As much as you found the gesture sweet, having every meal brought to you was kind of getting old. All you wanted to do was to get up and get some fresh air, but then again you didn't even have the strength to stand.

Your only hope was that the cold medicine Sam had given you before he left would kick in soon. The only problem was, they had left about an hour ago and you still felt like crap. The stupid medicine didn't do anything except make you feel even ickier.

"That's it," you cry, slamming your hands against the bed in annoyance, making the tissues bounce in the air. "I'm taking a shower."

Untangling from your sheets, you swing your legs out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cold floor. You shiver at the sudden change in temperature. No longer covered by a million blankets, goosebumps traveled up and down your arms. Moaning, you start to think this was a bad idea, already missing the comfort and safety of your bed. Shaking your head, a new determination built behind your eyes as you stared at the bathroom door. The thought of warm water running down your body was way too tempting to pass up. Slipping on your bunny slippers, you grabbed your robe and put it on. Instantly, you felt the relief from the soft, warm fabric covering you up.

"Okay, halfway there," you say in encouragement, as you grab a pair of new pajamas from your dresser.

Lastly, you grab a towel from your closet before entering the bathroom. Walking past the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. You looked like hell. Your hair was a mess, shooting out in all different directions, mangled in knots. Dark blue bags were forming under your eyes, showing you just how much you really needed sleep. Your nose was bright red from rubbing it over and over again with tissues. Your skin was ghostly pale from the lack of good nutrients. Which made sense because for the past three days you had survived only on gas station chicken noodle soup. It wasn't the best, but at least your brothers were trying. You were always the cook in the family.