Dean Winchester is sitting, quite pathetically, in the corner of his empty, cheap motel room. It's silent but for the faint chatter of some terrible documentary channel Sam must have switched to on the television the night prior. Dean mutters a string of colourful curse words that illustrate just how unwelcome any noise is at the moment. Little in the whole of the heavens would convince him to move from the safety of his cosy confined corner.
He glances up at the mint green wallpaper and his stomach churns at the sickly sight. This room was already vile, why did they have to paint the walls with puke? He squints his eyes at the sunlight peeking in through the shuffling hippie-flowered drapes. Head pounding, cheeks burning, Dean moans dramatically and with considerable comedy and clutches his pillow to his body like his life depends on it.
"SaaaAAAmMMmYY! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU SAMMM-oh oww. Dammit." Dean's voice cracks as he expels the majority of his energy hollering for the assistance of his kid-brother. Looks like he's got the that sore throat thing everyone was talking going around about too.
"Dean?" an all too familiar and perhaps ill-timed voice comes from the opposite end of the room. Nice timing Cas, you know I'd love to come hunt apocalypse horse-clowns with you but I think my eyes are gonna fall out of my head. Dammit, the sun always been this bright?
Dean forces his head up to spot the location of the voice, but before he can muster more than a ragged breathy "Cas get the fuck out", Castiel is knealt at his side, eyes wide and blue as ever, head cocked, and looking increasingly frightened at the sight of Dean huddled up on the carpet.
"Dean!? What's wrong. Was a demon here?" Cas's confusion and fear are apparent and Dean can't lie, it feels absolutely freaking wonderful having Castiel fret on his behalf, but he really should reassure the poor guy that it's just a flu. No matter how much Dean's current state resembles that of a six year old girl in her princess costume, after having consumed far more sugar than necessary on that day after Halloween. Besides, no matter how much Dean wants to punch his guts in the guts for doing this to him when he's supposed to be out hunting with Sam, he's dealt with a case of the flu or two on his own. He could do it again. Where was Sam anyway?
"Cas, it's ok man, no one was here." Dean groans weakly. "I just have a fucking terrible flu. He moans.
"But you look, absolutely disgusting." Cas states flatly.
"I know, buddy, thanks for pointing that out." Dean grins. "I'm not dying or suffering or anything near it so you can lay off a bit, got it? I just need to sleep or something. And for Sam to get back so I can have some goddamn soup."
Cas's features relax and he lets out a light laugh.
" why are you in this corner?" Castiel's careful gaze is focused on Dean's face, so intense and so loyal. Really freaking adorable.
Dean bites his lip. Castiel could stare at him all day if he wanted to. Dean invites it actually. Staring is all he really has energy for today anyway.
"I don't remember. I probably got up in the night. I think Sam must have left earlier this morning, he ought to get his ass back here wherever he's taken off to though, the little bitch." Dean croaks, with a tinge of masked laughter in his annoyance at his "kid" brother.
Cas lets out a horribly awkward, gruff laugh. Haha.
Oh that freaking laugh. He'd been hearing more and more of Cas's laugh lately, and he couldn't complain. It makes Dean feel...secure? At least assured that the last thing he wants is for anything to change between them.
Too bad that change is absolutely positively goddamn inevitable. It's the freaking apocalypse. Dean shudders at the thought of what might happen between him and Sammy, let alone what might happen to him and Cas, when the Michael business brews up again.
One half of Dean wants to show Castiel off so he can feel sorry for himself without further burdening his frantic angel companion. The other half desperately wishes for Castiel to stay with him and baby him to no ends, in whatever means Cas's angel friends taught him to up in that goddammed heaven of his. Wait, do angels even get sick? Whatever, Cas is going to have to learn to care for Dean's many delicate and pressing needs.
"Yeah, please stay. Put me in my goddamned bed." Dean growls. Guess he had to come out of that corner some time. He weakly points his thumb toward the mountain of dishevelled cushions and blankets furthest from them and in a matter of seconds he feels Cas's hands wrap around his free wrist and angel-magic them both over to Dean's bed. Cas sits up straight on the end of his bed. Dean flops down on the mattress and groans.
"I'm done man, I got...I gotta sleep some more. Good to see you though."
Good to see you though great to see you though I need you though I want to see all of you though.
"Ok. I guess I'll get you some soup."