Notes: I am currently sick, and it sucks, but I guess it was good for something, because it inspired this. :)

Dean sneezed… Again.

For the past twelve hours the hunter had been growing increasingly sick, his nose congested, his throat raw, and his head heavy with fatigue and a migraine. It had started as a sniffle, but now Dean was face down on his bed in a grubby motel, too weak to even drive. He just wished he could get at least one hour of uninterrupted sleep to recharge.

Sam grabbed his laptop case and headed to the door, leaving the motel for a few hours to "leave him alone to rest." Dean knew his brother just didn't want to get sick next, and would take any measures possible to prevent sickness, including leaving his sickly brother alone and miserable.

"You sure you don't want me to get you something?" he called, already halfway out the door. Dean could practically smell the hand sanitizer.

"No," he tried to respond, but his voice trailed off into an excruciating cough. The door slammed shut, and Dean groaned loudly, sighing when that, too, morphed into a cough.

He settled his head into the pillow gently, closing his eyes and pulling the covers up to his neck. If he didn't breathe too heavily, he wouldn't cough. So Dean slowed his breathing and cleared his thoughts, ignoring the soreness of his throat, the dryness of his lips, his running nose, everything. He pushed that all out of mind and let himself relax, getting comfortable beneath the sheets.

All he needed was a few hours of shut eye…

A strange flapping sound caught Dean's attention, and he woke with a start, looking around the room. At the foot of his bed a man stood stone-still and straight-faced, a black duffel bag hoisted over his shoulder.

"Hello, Dean," he greeted.

"Cas," Dean groaned, his head falling back heavily. "Now is not the time for an angelic prophecy, or 'Heaven's Hardest Scavenger Hunt.' Go away." He closed his eyes again, but he could feel the angel drop the duffel back on the foot of the bed and begin to rifle through it.

"Of course not," his gravelly voice replied. "You are in no condition to commit to such strenuous activities." Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutupshutp… Dean pawed at his face, his headache starting to make itself present again.

"If you're not here for my help, then why are you here?" Dean asked in a coarse voice, holding back a cough. He let his hand flop to the bed, and he watched as Castiel pulled item after item from his bag. In his condition, though, Dean couldn't tell what they were.

"I am here to heal you." At this, Dean furrowed his brow and turned over to rest on his back, lifting his head and squinting to see what the angel was now bringing up to him. Castiel had his arms full of equipment, and he dumped it all out beside Dean, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Heal me?"

"Yes." Castiel looked down at the plentiful pile on the bed, looking down at it like a proud father. "I have done extensive research on how to heal sicknesses, and I believe I have got enough here to suffice."

"Woah, there," Dean muttered, pushing an onion away, along with something that looked suspiciously like a sex toy. "I don't think any of these will help me." He had to laugh, though. It looked like Castiel had put a lot of thought into it; there was a very large pile of stuff here.

"Trust me, Dean," the angel said seriously, spreading the array of items out on the bed cover. His fingers danced over them for a moment before he settled on a tin bottle. When he picked it up, something inside sloshed. "We'll start with this."

"Let's slow down, there, Cas," Dean chuckled nervously, sitting up in bed and leaning away. "I think all I need is some nice sleep. If you could just leave me alone, I'd be fi—"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted forcefully, his face stern. "Trust me. I have done a lot of research." He shook the bottle vigorously, his coat swishing slightly with the movement. He stopped and opened the lid, peering in for a moment before handing it over. "Drink this slowly," he ordered.

Dean took the bottle and sniffed tentatively. "What's in it?" It didn't smell too bad; sweet and minty, mostly. Perhaps he could trust the angel with this, if he seemed so intent on Dean trusting him.

"It's made with green tea and honey, with peppermint leaves and a bit of lemon juice," he named off the ingredients, looking up slightly as if to remember them. It didn't sound too bad to Dean, really. He could drink that, and hey, maybe it'd help. "And also raw garlic, cobra semen, and curdled milk."

Dean gagged a little and shoved the bottle back into the angel's hands. "Not happening," he coughed uneasily, shaking his head.

"Um… Alright," Castiel put the bottle aside, looking slightly dejected. He studied the items again for a minute before returning to the duffel bag. His hands disappeared inside, and when they returned, he was holding two soaking wet socks. The water dripped onto his coat and onto the floor as he walked back to Dean, his eyes bright again.

"Cas…" Dean warned, staring at them apprehensively.

"No, Dean, trust me," Castiel explained almost excitedly. He grabbed the covers of the bed and ripped them back, causing Dean to holler out. The angel gripped the hunter's ankle, trying to put the wet sock on his foot.

"Cut it out!" Dean kicked him away, and the socks fell to the floor with a muffled thump. Castiel looked as if Dean had kicked him directly in the heart, his shoulders slumped forward and his eyes cast downward. "Cas…" Dean sat up on the edge of the bed, but the angel was already turning away.

"It's alright," he said pitifully. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to impede. I'll just… leave you now." He reached for his bag.

"Wait," Dean interjected, and Castiel paused, his head turning towards him. "You can stay," he growled through clenched teeth, wishing he could go on letting his friend just be hurt, but knowing he couldn't. "Just—"

"Good, because I know how to make you feel better," Castiel came back around the bed, grabbing both of Dean's forearms. He pulled him from the bed clumsily, excitement filling his features again. "All you need is a good shower. I read that showers are great for curing illnesses."

Dean pulled away as gently as he could, trying not to hurt Castiel's feelings further. "Look, Cas, I appreciate how much you want to help, but none of this is really necessary." He smiled gingerly and plopped down onto the bed. "You've helped a lot," he tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but a bit of it still lingered. Luckily, Castiel didn't seem to notice; he just watched the hunter blankly as he tucked himself back into bed. "But all I need is a night of rest."

Dean pushed the angel's various items to the foot of the bed and pulled the covers back up to his chest. He settled his head into the pillow and sighed.

"You just want to… sleep?" Castiel didn't sound hurt anymore, so much as confused. Dean nodded, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, Cas. I just want to sleep for a while." There was no response, so Dean assumed the angel had taken off. He turned over on the bed, relaxing further into the mattress. All the arguing had worn him out.

Suddenly the other side of the bed groaned and sank with the weight of a new person. Dean's eyes flew open and he turned his head to see Castiel crawling underneath the covers, looking focused. "What the hell?" Dean got ready to jump out of bed, but the angel smiled ever so slightly, and the sight stopped him in his tracks.

"It's ok," he said simply. "Trust me. I'll help keep you warm." Castiel moved himself to Dean's side, nestling up next to him softly. His dark hair tickled the bottom of Dean's chin, and damn, he was warm. The hunter couldn't help but bring an arm around the angel's body, pulling him closer to his chest. I need to stay warm, he told himself, closing his eyes.

"Fine," he mumbled. "But only for tonight."

Castiel hummed a mhmm in response, knowing good and well it wouldn't only be that night.