Chapter : 10
Dean had a minor head injury, acute pneumonia, a minor posterior malleolus fracture in his ankle, and more bruises and scratches than Castiel could count. The poor teenager was in so much pain by the time they'd stopped for food that Castiel had simply run in and grabbed what he asked for before they returned to the Winchester household. Sam and Castiel practically had to carry Dean to his bed at that point. He sank down in the mattress, eyes already closed, and fell quickly asleep while Castiel perched protectively on the edge of the mattress beside him and watched Sam go about tidying their joint bedroom.
The room was in disarray, most likely from the struggle Sam had described between John and Dean after the gun went off. Sam's usually neat stack of books was scattered, Dean's boxed possessions thrown every which way and his cassette tapes spilled haphazardly across the floor. There was a hole in the wall near the window and Castiel stiffened when he realized that this was where the bullet the nurses believed Dean had meant to implant in his own skull, and Castiel knew was really meant for Sam, had ended up.
"I'll go get the food out of the car," Sam sighed, giving up on his attempt at straightening his books and moving towards the door.
"Sam," Castiel called, and the younger boy stopped in the doorway to look at him. "Why did Dean have a gun under his pillow?"
This, among many other questions, had been pressing Castiel's mind since he left the hospital. There were so many things about the situation that didn't make sense- how could a family trip leave Dean so battered? Why was Sam a capable driver at the age of fourteen? Why did Dean think their father would be too drunk to protect Sam? Most importantly – why did eighteen year old Dean Winchester sleep with a gun under his pillow?
Sam stalled, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he decided upon shrugging and quickly moving down the hallway. Castiel sighed, putting his head in his hands and massaging his throbbing temples.
For the first time since he'd left his house that evening, Castiel was reminded of just how sick he was; his whole body was aching, his back greatly protesting his idea to jump off his balcony, and he could no longer breathe out of his nose. He had been coughing, though he hardly noticed it, and his face and neck felt swollen. He was running on fumes as far as energy went; simply blinking was a struggle at this point.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he leaned back against the headboard of his boyfriend's bed and reminded himself that sleep was not an option; he'd promised Dean that he would watch over Sam, so watch over Sam he would.
As if the sleeping boy beside him knew Castiel needed some form of comfort, Dean turned his head fractionally and let the bridge of his nose rest against Castiel's jean-clad hip. The younger boy smiled faintly, combing a soothing hand through the sleeping man's hair and receiving a sleepy mummer of content as a reward.
Dean was peaceful when he slept, Castiel noticed; though his body was still stiff with pain, his face was relaxed. The usual cocky mask had slipped away, revealing the dangerously vulnerable and shockingly handsome man below. Brushing his fingers over a scratch on Dean's cheek, Castiel contented himself with counting the older man's freckles in a comforting silence.
"You want some soup?" Castiel glanced up as Sam moved into the room some time later, balancing two bowls of steaming liquid in his hands. Castiel nodded thankfully and took the offered meal, setting it in his laps and welcoming the warmth seeping through the plastic bowl, past his jeans, and onto the skin of his thighs. Large chunks of chicken, fat noodles, mushrooms, and carrots floated in a yellowish broth inside the bowl. Castiel took a cautious spoonful and resisted the urge to moan as the warm liquid rushed down his throat, soothing the ache there.
"Sorry there are so many mushrooms," Sam said as he sat on the edge of his own bed and swallowed a hearty spoonful. "Dean hates chicken, so when he gets sick I load it with mushrooms and carrots so he'll actually eat it."
"You made this?" Castiel questioned as he blew on the steaming liquid; hot was nice, but he didn't want to burn his tongue.
"Yep," Sam nodded. "I'm the cook in the house- Dad's not very good at cooking, but Dean is a master at burning butter." Both boys chuckled at this, glancing at the sleeping boy.
They fell into silence then, Sam shoveling down the soup like it was his last meal – both Winchester boys ate fast, Castiel had noticed – and Castiel savoring the soothing nature of the liquid on his throat. Dean stirred once or twice as they ate, muttering in his sleep here and there, sometimes nuzzling Castiel's hip like a content pet.
"We don't usually go to hospital... Our dad is a marine," Sam spoke up as Castiel set his now empty bowl on the small table between the two beds. "Well, he was in Vietnam; he can patch someone up just fine if they've got a flesh wound, but he can't handle a fever…. That was mom's job, when she was around; she always took care of Dean when he was sick, and after she died... Dean started taking care of me and Dad." He paused a moment, studying his hands before he continued.
"When mom died, dad went a little… stir-crazy, I guess. He, um… He started working weird jobs and stuff, which is why we move around so much. But, uh… He makes us both sleep with a gun under our pillow, because he thinks the guy who killed our mom might still be after us." To demonstrate his point, Sam reached under his pillow and produced a small handgun before sliding it back into its hiding place.
"How long has this been going on?" Castiel whispered, head reeling.
"I was six months old, Dean was four." Sam shrugged, collecting the empty soup bowls. He left the room and returned a few moments later with two bottles of medication, tossing them both to Castiel; the older boy caught them with clumsy hands, reading over the labels.
"Hospital sent Dean home with some pain killers," Sam kicked off his shoes, speaking in between yawns. "The other bottle is just plain old Tylenol- you look like you could use it."
"Thanks," Castiel murmured, watching as Sam grabbed a clean t-shirt from the single dresser in the room and laid it neatly on the bed before toeing out of his socks.
"Don't mention it," Sam replied with a sleepy smile as he stepped out of his jeans and tugged his shirt off over his head. Castiel blanched when Sam's naked torso came into view, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise.
There were four long scratches down the freshman's back, beginning at his left shoulder blade and ending near his right hip. His chest and left side were painted with bruises and several scars gleamed in the dim lighting of the room. Sam tensed, quickly pulling the clean t-shirt on and clambering under the sheets before Castiel could ask questions.
Castiel simply sat in stunned silence, listening as the sound of the young boys breathing depend and slowed into the familiar pattern of sleep. He glanced down at Dean, snoring softly with his face pressed into Castiel's jeans, and wondered if his torso was in similar shape. Granted Castiel had seen Dean in nothing more than a pair of well-fitting boxers, he couldn't remember any scars; then again, he had been quite distracted at that point in time.
Biting his lip, Castiel fingered the hem of Dean's shirt as he slept; did he really want to violate the sleeping boy for the simple purpose of satisfying his own curiosity? The answer seemed to be yes seeing as his fingers were pulling gently on the material without his consent, revealing first a sliver of well tanned stomach and then with a few more gentle tugs a very muscular chest.
Just as Castiel had expected, Dean's skin was layered with scars he had never noticed. Unlike Sam's, his were all jagged angles and puckered skin; several of the scars seemed to be freshly healed, still a fleshy pink as opposed to the other faded apricot marks. There was a fresh cut just above his collarbone, and a series of nasty bruises on his right side. It was the side he'd been massaging in the hospital, Castiel noted; the ribs may not be broken, but they were quite obviously bruised.
"If you wanted to undress me all you had to do was ask," Castiel startled at the sound of Dean's voice, tearing his eyes away from his boyfriends damaged torso to look at his face.
Dean's eyes were open to lazy hazel slits, glazed over with pain and - after confirming it with a quick hand to Dean's forehead - a raging fever. Sweat had beaded on the older man's brow, and he was breathing heavily despite his stationary position. He coughed, the sound wet with fluid, and Castiel brushed a soothing hand over his cheek.
"Can you take your shirt off? Maybe your jeans, too? It'll help you cool off," He tried and Dean nodded weakly, struggling to sit up and biting his lip hard enough that Castiel swore he saw blood. The older boy tugged his shirt slowly over his head, hissing out a breath through his teeth as he tossed the fabric off the bed and rubbed gingerly at his bruised ribs as he laid back down.
"Hand me the Walkman?" He grumbled weakly as he popped the button on his jeans and lifted his hips just enough to shuck them down to his knees. Castiel stood, searching the cluttered floor until he noticed the familiar cassette player near the foot of the bed and handed it to his boyfriend. Dean took it with a thankful smile and motioned towards his jeans where they were pooled around his knees, his expression questioning.
Castiel nodded in silent understanding, gingerly pulling the pants off over the black boot bracing Dean's injured ankle and folding the denim neatly before setting it on the floor. Dean was busy untangling his headphones so Castiel took the moment to escape the room and fill a glass of water in the kitchen. Dean was still busy with the headphones when he returned, setting the water on the small table between Sam and Dean's beds and grabbing the bottle of medication resting there.
After reading the instructions, Castiel dumped two of the large tablets into his palm and ordered Dean to sit up. Setting the Walkman and his headphones aside, the older boy did as he was told without complaint, though it was obvious by his puckered lips and furrowed brow that the motion caused him pain.
"These will help," Castiel murmured, dropping the medication into Dean's callused palm and holding out the glass of water as the younger boy tossed the pills back and washed them down; the glass was empty when he passed it back to Castiel. He lowered himself back on to the mattress, knees slightly bent so his feet wouldn't dangle off the end of the small bed, and looked up at Castiel expectantly.
"How come I'm the only one naked?" Dean complained as Castiel set the empty glass aside and settled back against the headboard.
"You're not naked, Dean." Castiel rolled his eyes as the older boy tugged at the hem of his sweater.
"More naked than you," He grumbled, lifting Castiel's sweater and pressing a kiss to the boy's side. Castiel shivered at the light brush of his lips, glaring at the injured boy lying beside him.
"If I take my clothes off, will you shut up and go back to sleep?"
"The glasses got to go too, babe." Dean bargained.
"Dean, I can't see without them."
"You don't need to see when you're sleeping, and they make your eyes look weird." Dean said as Castiel sat up, pulling his sweater off over his head and exposing his pale flesh to the cool air of the room.
"I thought I was supposed to watch Sam," He frowned, standing and shucking out of his jeans. He folded both articles of clothing, setting them with Dean's jeans at the foot of the bed before perching himself on the edge of the mattress once more.
"I said you were here to make sure I didn't do anything to him," Dean corrected, taking hold of Castiel's arm and pulling until the younger boy was awkwardly lying down beside him, careful to avoid putting pressure on his bruised torso. "Which means I'm the one you're watching."
"Dean, really, this bed is too small for both of us to be sleeping in it." Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean grabbed the Walkman, putting the headphones in and pressing play on the device.
"You're not sleeping with Sam," Dean grumped, and Castiel froze in surprise as the older man rolled onto his uninjured side, draping an arm over Castiel's waist and tucking his head under the younger boys chin. "So suck it up and deal, four eyes."
"Wait to ruin the moment, Dean." Castiel chuckled, slipping his glasses off his face and setting them on the counter with the medicine and the empty glass. Dean laughed quietly, kissing Castiel's collarbone, and Castiel smiled to himself as he wrapped gentle arms around the exhausted boy and pressed his face into Dean's hair.
Inhaling a soothing breath, Castiel thought that he should have taken medicine to help with his own fever; he should have gone home rather than staying the night here. He shouldn't have gone with Sam this afternoon, and he shouldn't have accepted Dean's invitation to a relationship earlier in the year.
But, as he drifted off to the muffled sound of one of Dean's countless classic rock tapes, he really didn't regret a thing.
xXxXx
Castiel was on fire, he was sure of it.
A heavy weight was resting on his chest and flames were licking his skin anywhere this weight was settled, the ridiculous amount of heat dragging him out of a heavy sleep. He groaned, shoving weakly at the source of the flames and blinking open surprised eyes when the weight shoved back.
Dean was sprawled across the bed, limbs thrown out in every direction and body on top of Castiel's. The headphones of the Walkman were tangled between Castiel's wrist and Dean's fingers, and there was very… Excited, limb pressing into his thigh.
"Dean," He hissed urgently, shaking the sleeping boys shoulder. You would think that the raging fever and battered body would affect one's drive for sex, but no; this was Dean Winchester after all.
"Mm," The older man nuzzled Castiel's neck, warm breath brushing against Castiel's skin and double-knotting the already tight muscles in Castiel's stomach. "What?"
"Get off of me." Castiel ordered, afraid pushing the boy off would injure him further.
"Mm-mm," Dean shook his head petulantly, the hand that wasn't tangled with the cord of his headphones snaking up to knot itself in Castiel's hair. "'S not mornin' yet. Go back t'sleep,"
"Dean," He hissed, shaking the boy, but he had already drifted off again. A quick glance at the clock on the table between the beds told Castiel it was only two in the morning; it would be a long night.
So much for regretting nothing.
xXxXx
DOUBLE DIGITS! WOO! So, sorry this chapter is so short... And it was sorta despressing, so I added that bit at the end to cheer you all up! I LOVE YOU GUYS! -CCW