Now, Dean Winchester was not the leading expert on heavenly beings of any sort, but he had taken care of a petulant little brother long enough to know when something was wrong and somebody was trying to cover it up, which was precisely what Castiel was doing. The guy was usually a brick wall of silence and stoicism, a soldier so perfectly crafted by Heaven, but recently he'd been acting strangely. For one, he wasn't really eating and he slept much more than he used to—after the initial loss of his grace, Castiel had retained the human needs for rest and nutrition. He was typically up with Sam by the time Dean dragged himself out of bed, reading the morning paper or drinking coffee, something he'd taken quite the liking to, but now it was him who was up last, shuffling out into the dining room at least half an hour after Dean.
At first he thought nothing of it, figuring the guy was still just staying up late reading the old texts they'd dug up in the bunker's archive room, but Sam had brought it to his attention that Castiel was starting to look pretty rough. He was the kind of guy who never looked anything but crisp and professional, but his brother wasn't exaggerating at all; he'd developed more of a pale tone compared to his natural tan, and there were the faint beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, which themselves were lacking in their liveliness. He definitely didn't look well.
When it was brought up, though, Castiel denied everything. He said that it was simply because he stayed up late and underestimated the need for proper rest with his vessel. He wasn't entirely used to being partially human, after all. Dean was skeptical but let it go, telling him he needed to go to bed at a decent hour and see if that helped.
That'd been three days ago. And each day, Castiel just looked a little more like death.
Dean's breaking point was when he was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of someone coughing up a lung in the bathroom near his room. He was a light sleeper from years of hunting and living on the edge. He thought to simply go back to sleep, roll over and maybe stick some earbuds in so he didn't have to listen, but...he was worried. With how badly Castiel had been looking the past week, despite his assurance that he was just fine, Dean had to check up on him. He'd been trying to appear less watchful of him, not wanting his brother to notice how much he really did pay attention to the guy, but fuck it. They were friends, so it wasn't like a red flag or anything.
He rolled out of bed with a soft groan, plucking a t-shirt from the headboard of his bed where he'd discarded it earlier and tugging it on in one smooth motion before padding out of his room, making sure to close the door softly. He noticed that the bathroom had grown silent, but because he could see the light filtering out under the door, he knew Castiel hadn't vanished back into his room. Besides, they'd have had to pass one another for him to get there, as his room was down a little ways, between his and Sam's and across the hall.
When he reached the door he hesitated only a moment before rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood, hoping not to startle the man too badly. He didn't hear any kind of response, so he softly called for him. "Hey, Cas? You okay in there, buddy?" This time, there was a soft groan, so faint he almost didn't hear it to begin with. It wasn't reassuring at all. What he was about to do was maybe a bit intrusive, but Dean really couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. He'd pissed Castiel off before, and he knew how to diffuse things between them now. "Hey, I'm comin' in, okay?" He gave him a moment in case he needed to get decent, resting his hand on the cool doorknob but not turning it until he'd deemed enough time had passed. He pushed the door open cautiously, unsure what he'd find behind it.
Really, it wasn't half as bad as he'd imagined. Dean's mind was pessimistic and had sort of run off on a tandem as for what had happened, and he was honestly relieved that he was wrong. Castiel was sitting awkwardly on the floor, his forehead resting on the closed lid of the toilet. It was easy to tell that he'd been sick; his position was evidence enough. He was hugging himself with one arm and shivering, flapping the other feebly at Dean and mumbling something about being alright. Dean snorted. "You are definitely not alright, man. You haven't been this whole week. You think I didn't notice?"
There was another mumbled response, but it didn't make a whole lot of sense so he disregarded it and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door over. He crossed over to Castiel and crouched beside him, reaching over to gently rest his hand against his neck, checking for a temperature. He was burning up. "Shit, you're hot," Dean grumbled, not even thinking over his word choice this time. "C'mon, let's get you up and back to bed."
He didn't receive any complaints, though Castiel did make him wait long enough for him to brush his teeth. He leaned against him rather heavily as he helped him down the hall, the heat radiating off him so much that Dean swore he was sweating. It wasn't natural to get that hot; but then, he was an angel. He wasn't exactly natural. They moved quietly so as not to wake Sam, pushing open the bedroom door and reaching in to click on the light.
Dean had never seen Castiel's room, honestly. It was pitiful. In the corner was a single bed, like the kind a young teenager would likely be given, with a thin, aged-looking quilt spread over it and a small pillow. Across from it stood a dresser, in which he knew there couldn't be much; he only had the stuff Dean had given him when he moved in and the clothing his vessel had originally owned. On the floor beside the bed was a stack of books, varying in thickness and condition. That was it. There weren't any personal effects on the slate grey walls, no special little detail that made it Castiel's. And the room was freezing.
"Okay, no. You aren't sleeping in here," Dean demanded after a moment. Putting a sick person in such conditions wasn't ideal. It'd just make it worse than it already was. But where could he go? Dean's room was also cold as hell—actually, that really wasn't a cold place, but whatever—and he wasn't about to stick him with Sam, for a number of reasons. There were plenty of other rooms in the bunker, but they hadn't been touched in decades. That left one option: he could sleep in the living room. It wasn't the best option, he had to admit, but it was warmer out in the open rooms and there were tons of blankets he could bury himself in. "C'mon, I know where you can go."
Castiel came willingly and the two shuffled down the hall again, pausing for just a brief second by Sam's door to make sure he wasn't up and about just yet. Dean couldn't really explain it, but he didn't want him to see any of this. You're just helping your friend, he reminded himself mentally, tightening his arm around the angel when he felt him start lagging just a bit behind. The poor guy was exhausted, that was easy enough to see. Maybe he had the flu? It seemed worse than just a common cold, and they hadn't been out hunting that recently so it wasn't some crazy supernatural virus. Dean wished he could take him to a doctor. But that would mean finding another angel, and all of Heaven's soldiers still held a personal vendetta against Castiel. That wasn't going to fly.
The living room was, as predicted, a good bit warmer than the bedrooms were, and he was glad he'd thought of it. Dean helped him over to the couch and eased him down onto it, sliding him arm back from around him and straightening, looking him over. Man, he really did look rough. His skin was pale and clammy, hot to the touch despite the shivering, and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Without thinking, Dean reached out to brush it back in place, his hand lingering a moment before he drew it back, heat flaring up in his cheeks. "How do you feel, Cas?" he asked to break the silence, dropping down into a crouch so he could look up at him and save him from exerting much energy.
"I think I'm dying," the angel croaked after a moment, and he honestly cringed at the sound of his voice. It was all congested and hoarse, and he knew his throat had to be hurting just from the strained tone. The words I'm dying seemed pretty damn fitting for his condition right now and that made Dean's heart clench in his chest, a little spurt of panic rushing through him. If he hadn't known that he was just sick, he'd have seriously flipped his shit. He couldn't lose Castiel, not again. He'd seen the guy die multiple times, had seen him as an amnesiac, and hell, he'd even had to tell him to leave the bunker once. He'd promised himself he'd never let him slip away again.
He shook his head lightly and forced a small, reassuring smile onto his lips, patting his knee. "No, you're just sick," he said, some little part of him worriedly hoping he was right about that. He really couldn't recall anything that could've been bad enough to make an angel die, so it had to be that. Just a simple sickness that had gotten out of hand because Castiel didn't know how to care for himself now that he wasn't 100% heavenly being. He was like, 90% angel, and the 10% human part of him had gotten itself sick. "We'll get you some medicine and rest, and you'll be up in no-time. Next time, you just...you gotta say somethin', Cas. You can't let it get this bad. You...you scared me." And that was something Dean never would've admitted in the presence of anyone else.
Castiel met his gaze then, eyes wide and clearly surprised, and he lifted a hand to rest it gingerly on Dean's. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...," he stammered, trailing off and lowering his eyes again. Dean wanted so badly to shush him then, to climb up onto the couch with him and pull him into a tight hug and tell him it was okay. The desire caught him by surprise and he found himself blushing again, muscles burning for him to get up and bolt, as he always did when things got sticky. But he didn't move. He just sat there and looked up at Castiel steadily, waiting for him to continue. "I didn't want to burden you. You've been so busy lately, I thought it'd be best if I didn't give you something else to worry over. I thought I could handle it."
"Yeah, well...you couldn't." Way to go, Captain Obvious. "You're still new to this, Cas. You should've just asked us, we would help you. You aren't a burden, man, not at all, 'cause I—'cause you're my best friend. I want to help you." Dean stood slowly and pulled his hand away, ruffling Castiel's dark hair affectionately before slipping both hands into his pockets. "Wait here, okay? I'm gonna grab you something to get that fever down and then you're going to sleep."
He waited for the feeble nod before turning to go, making it a brisk trip to the bathroom down the hall to get some of the medicine he'd picked up for Sam when he was really sick because of the trials he'd undertaken. It was pretty high end stuff, and he really hoped it'd help the poor guy. If it didn't, he'd have to tough it out or they'd have to make an emergency call to an angel and pray they didn't just kill the three of them. Dean took the bottle of fever reducers and a box of cold pills—even if this wasn't a bad cold they would help clear up that congestion, at least—and as an afterthought grabbed his bottle of sleeping pills. Castiel looked like he needed a week's worth of sleep and Dean could vouch for the effectiveness of that medicine. It knocked him out in like, ten minutes, and he was dead to the world for at least twelve hours. Once, he'd been out nearly a full day.
He returned to Castiel then, finding him just as he'd left him, sitting there awkwardly on the couch and shivering, his borrowed shirt clinging to him from sweat. "Alright, tiger, I brought you some meds," Dean announced cheerily, trying to help lighten the mood and hide his own distress over seeing him that way. He plopped down beside him and started counting out proper dosages, making them maybe a little higher than what would normally be taken just because he knew it wouldn't hurt Castiel. Dean got him a glass of water from the kitchen and watched him carefully as he downed the handful of pills, drinking half the glass before setting it down and coughing.
"Now all you need is rest. We're gonna get that shirt off, though. It's soaked and you'll only make yourself sicker if you have anything wet on you." Dean felt kind of awkward helping him strip, but he told himself it was just because he couldn't do it himself. The guy could barely lift his arms. Dean fished around behind the couch and brought up a big, thick blanket, examining it quickly before deeming it perfect. They'd start with one, and if he needed more, they'd add it. Dean would probably sleep out there too, in one of the loungers or something just so he could be there if Castiel needed him for anything.
He helped wrap him up snugly in the blanket, jokingly calling him an angel burrito, which drew a small smile from Castiel. Given how bad he must've felt, that was victory enough. Dean clicked off all but one lamp in the room and retired to the chair across the room, plucking a book from the nearby table to busy himself until his patient fell asleep. He wasn't particularly interested in reading something ten thousand years old, but he couldn't very well sit there and stare across the room. That'd be creepy. So he opened to a random page, picked a paragraph, and started there. It was something about a war, where many of the soldiers were supernatural beings instead of humans, and despite himself, Dean found it interesting.
He made it through half the battle before he heard something shift across the room, his eyes flicking up to see Castiel fidgeting around on the couch. He was about to quietly ask if he was alright, just in case he was awake and it wasn't just a bad dream, when a soft voice called for him. "Dean..?" He was up so quickly he nearly gave himself a case of vertigo, making his way over to Castiel to check on him. It couldn't have been more than twenty or thirty minutes, but somehow it was discouraging to find him looking just as sickly as he had when Dean left him there.
"Sup, Cas? You okay?"
"I'm cold," came the reply, followed by a little bout of coughs and more shivering. The guy was most definitely not cold—Dean could feel the heat from here—but he knew that it was useless to argue that, because being sick would make him feel like he was in the Arctic in his underwear.
"Okay, we'll fix that," Dean hummed, reaching over him to pull another blanket up from the back of the couch so he could drape it over him and hopefully warm him up. A hot hand caught his arm halfway there, though, and he looked down at Castiel, perplexed. He'd said he was cold, but now he was shaking his head? Did he want the blanket, or no?
"Will you...will you stay over here with me?"
"Er...Cas, I'm right over there, man. I'm not far if you need me."
"No, I mean, over here. Lay with me?"
Oh. Oh. The idea was definitely appealing, but Sam could come out here at any moment and he didn't want his brother to find them cuddling on the couch. He hadn't even told him that he had an interest in guys to begin with! He opened his mouth to apologise and tell him no, but Castiel looked up at him then and he couldn't. Just, the look in his eyes was so hopeful and pleading, he couldn't find it in him to resist. Ah, hell, the guy was sick. He could at least do this. He'd just move when he was asleep. "Okay."
Dean helped Castiel sit up, still wrapped tight in his blanket cocoon, and settled himself on the couch comfortably, easily pulling the man up into his lap and wrapping his arms around him to keep him upright. Castiel leaned into him immediately, settling comfortably against his chest and resting his head against his shoulder, sighing softly. "You're warm," he murmured. Dean snorted softly, shaking his head.
"You're a furnace, man. But if you think I'm that warm, alright. Whatever floats your boat."
"That would be buoyancy, Dean."
"Shut up, Cas." Dean smiled and squeezed him gently, resting his head against his and closing his eyes, listening to the shift, breathy laugh in contentment. This was oddly nice, just sitting here cuddled up like this. He was hot from all of Castiel's body heat, but he liked having him close by. And he was so vulnerable like this, not the stoic soldier he knew so well... Dean waited until he heard Castiel's breathing slip into something soft and rhythmic before he opened his eyes, looking over him slowly and carefully. He looked peaceful. And Dean knew he should move, but Castiel didn't get enough peaceful nights these days and he didn't have it in him to leave him here. Dean sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to the angel's burning temple. "I love you, you adorable, feathery moron."
He swore he saw Castiel smile, just the slightest turn up at the corner of his mouth.
Eventually, Dean fell asleep as well, holding Castiel protectively to his chest and burying his face in the side of his neck. It was hot as hell, but he could endure it if it meant being close. He didn't know how long he was out before the sound of a closing door woke him. He immediately checked on the snoozing angel, grateful to see him still resting. He needed it. Those dark circles under his eyes needed to go away. Quickly.
Again, he had the strong notion that he should get up. He should push Castiel away and leave before they were seen. He could hear Sam padding through the hall now, and in a minute he'd be walking through this room to get to the kitchen and make his weird, healthy breakfast and some coffee, which would normally be the wake up call for Dean. Surprise, he was already up. And cuddling with a sick angel on their couch. Wouldn't that be a sight?
He was all prepared for some shocked comment or something, but when his brother finally did make his way into the room, he just lifted a hand in greeting and shuffled past them, vanishing around the corner. Dean was dumbfounded. Was that just it? A 'hi' and then him walking away? He'd expected more, honestly. Stating, questions, maybe teasing because he liked guys. So what? It wasn't a crime. Dean let out a soft huff of air, turning his attention back to Castiel. He'd stirred a bit, but he wasn't actually awake. He lifted a hand to touch his face gently, brushing his hair back and trailing his fingers over his cheek, tracing the edge of his bottom lip.
The sound of someone clearing their throat grabbed his attention, Dean jerking slightly and looking up to see Sam. He'd come back and was staring at them with wide eyes, looking between Dean and Castiel. He just didn't know what to say. What could he say? He wasn't about to play this off as anything else. He couldn't lie, and he wouldn't push Castiel away from him again. So he simply mouthed, Surprise?
There was another moment of silence and then his brother broke into a grin, quietly mouthing back, I knew it.