Prompted: Dean is sick, and Castiel tries to make it better with a rocky start. This takes place near the end of season 5. Thanks to . Enjoy!
Dean knew when he was getting sick. John had always trained his boys to be sharp and aware so that they wouldn't hold back the team. While Sam was super whiny when he wasn't feeling well, Dean always hid his illness until he physically couldn't hunt. The older brother had felt a turning in his stomach the day previously, and he wasn't even hungry. If a greasy cheeseburger didn't seem appealing, it was time to hold back from a case.
"Are you sure you're okay to stay by yourself?" Sam asked cautiously, halfway out of the door of whatever shitty motel room they happened to be staying in.
Dean groaned, "Yeah. I can take care of myself. Been doing it long enough that I could be considered an expert. Besides, talking to the parents is more important." It was true, even if Sam couldn't see it at the second. Dean had a sinking feeling that they were hunting a rawhead; not many other things kidnapped children. He shuddered, remembering when he had almost been killed taking one down.
"Alright, dude," the younger Winchester shrugged, "In case I'm not back by dinner, I left some chicken noodle on the stove, some aspirin on the nightstand, and a bucket right next to you, just in case."
"Useful," Dean grunted as he heaved his guts into that bucket. Sam took that as his cue to leave.
Three hours after Sam left, two more visits to the bucket, and one fitful rest later, Castiel decided to make an appearance. Not noticing that Dean was sick, he shook the sleeping man awake.
"Dean, we have important things to discuss… although you seem to be very warm. Are you feeling alright?" the angel asked.
Dean blearily opened his bright green eyes, slightly glassy with illness. "How can I be warm," he muttered, "when I feel so damn cold that even penguins would be shivering?"
Cas tilted his head in confusion before taking a seat on the opposite bed and saying, "Should I teleport you to a paramedic?"
The Winchester chuckled dryly, "Nah, man. Just a stomach bug. Nothing I can't ride out. And couldn't you just cure me?"
"No," the angel looked down guiltily, "I must conserve my remaining grace." He was struggling deeply with that decision. On one hand, he would give most anything to help the one he saved from Hell get better; unfortunately, it had taken a lot of energy to teleport into the room, which Cas wasn't sure would regenerate.
Dean waved him off, looking almost drunk rather than sick. "It's cool. Nothing I haven't had to live through before, right?" The man frowned suddenly, before exclaiming, "Cas, your halo is showing!"
Indeed it was, in a manner of speaking. Castiel was sitting in front of a window, with the blinds closed mostly. Some of the sunshine peeking through surrounded the angel, making it seem to a sick, slightly hallucinating man that there was a halo. Of course, Cas had no idea.
"Are you sure that you don't need medical attention?" the blue-eyed angel asked warily, watching the righteous man dry-heave into a bucket. He was answered with a groan, followed by a sharp look which seemed to translate to, No way, man.
Dean sat up, his stomach feeling like it was going to explode. God, the last time he felt like this was when he was a teenager. Stupid Sammy had passed whatever big stomach bug was going around onto him. The older brother had to skip out on Christina Ryans, the head cheerleader of whatever crap school they attended that time. Instead of getting laid, Dean spent the night puking his guts out.
He glanced up to see the prettiest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. Christina Ryans had nothing on Castiel, in any way. Cas was so much stronger, kinder, and had much prettier eyes kind of, like the sea on a nice day.
Dean whimpered, though he'd never admit it, and wrapped his stomach with his arms. He wanted to stop feeling like shit. He wanted to feel better.
He counted the things that would cheer him up: a ride in his Baby, a pie -maybe not, since he probably couldn't keep it down- , Sammy's laugh and….a kiss from his mom.
The sick man was suddenly struck with a memory from when he was three. He unknowingly spoke his thoughts aloud, " I remember one time, when I was really little, I got scraped my knee really badly. But my mom was there, and she kissed it better and didn't hurt anymore. She did that a lot, with whatever was hurting."
Castiel was confused. What was the purpose for this story? Did Dean want his to "kiss it better"? He wouldn't really mind, persay. It wouldn't be incorrect, either, to say that the angel had thought about it on many an occasion. But where did Dean "hurt"? He was clutching his stomach desperately, so that would be a good place to start. However, Cas didn't want to upset Dean and had to make sure.
"Where are you hurting?" he asked cautiously.
"My eyes are burning, my throat hurts, and I'm pretty sure I banged up my elbow to a side of the bed..." Dean trailed off, hating how much he sounded like a whiny kid. He buried his head in his hands, pressing his fists to his eyes to stop the pain.
Dean dry-heaved again into the bucket-there was nothing left to throw up-before flopping on to the bed. He was about to doze off again when his shirt was lifted up and then he felt a weird pressure on his stomach. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was unknown. He lifted his head up, only to push Cas of off him.
"Dude, what the hell?" the green-eyed man yelled hoarsely.
The angel looked bewildered. "I thought that's what you were telling me to do! I just wanted to make you feel better. I'm sorry, Dean..." he trailed off.
The Winchester was puzzled. Did that mean that Cas like him back? That was a possibility that he had never even considered. He suddenly felt rejuvenated, like a teenager in love.
"There is one place it hurts that you could kiss to make me feel better," Dean said coyly, his green eyes twinkling.
Castiel sat up straighter, eager to redeem himself. He watched as Dean pointed to his lips. Wasn't kissing on the lips for- oh. Cas knew how to do that and most certainly wanted to.
"There are priorities," Cas said seriously.
In a gentle move, the sick man's hand was lifted up. Cas looked at him, raising one eyebrow and questioning silently with his look. He then pressed his mouth gently against his elbow, before moving forward to kiss Dean's eyelids.
Dean grabbed the angel's tie and pulled him lower, until Cas's lips were on his own. Neither seemed to mind that eyes were skipped entirely.
It wasn't the normal, passionate making out that Dean was used to. He supposed that was good-he was still a sick man, after all. It was sweeter, more innocent. Castiel was an inexperienced angel, but that didn't make it bad. That didn't make it bad in any way.
Sam opened the door to his motel room, expecting to see his sick brother sleeping. What he did not expect was seeing his sick brother making out with an angel. He quickly took a picture before calling out.
"Hey guys," the younger Winchester called nonchalantly.
Quickly, the two love birds broke apart with flushed faces, disheveled hair, and swollen lips. Dean looked like he wanted to die, while Cas merely straightened his tie seemingly questioning Sam's joyful expression and appearance, unaware of the older Winchester's mortification.
Sam couldn't resist poking a bit of fun at the boys. "Cas, if you're staying for dinner and get tired of Dean's lips, I'm making soup."
"I don't need to-" Castiel started, before the older Winchester cut him off.
"C'mon man," Dean groaned, "Are you really going to be a cockblock?"
The younger Winchester held his hands up. "I'm going to go for a drive. Be safe kids!" Sam walked out the door, hearing Dean's grumblings behind him. He got in the Impala, but he took out his phone before turning on the car. A few minutes later, many family friends received a text with a picture of two guys stating, I called it! You all owe me $50-each.