Any and all mistakes are my own, this is unbeta'd so any errors I apologize for.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, I'm only borrowing the characters for a bit for my own amusement, love to know what you think, and the title is only 'cause I couldn't think of one, therefore its subject to change sometime in the future.
Warnings: References to torture, M/M pairing, possible future mpreg.
Note: I'd like to thank pappy for taking the time to review the last chapter, and I hope you and those who put this on your alerts all enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Five - Listening
Dean woke up a few times in the morning after Bobby had left feeling worse than he had the day before when he had awoken ungracefully with the tubes stuck down his throat, and that was saying something. His whole body ached, and he was always either too hot or too cold, never a happy medium. The cold he could deal with, the heat on the other hand, not quite so much. Not when he was ill, not when it reminded him of other things, other places, other memories. Memories of a time he'd rather forget. His time in hell.
He knew he shouldn't have stayed out in the salvage yard after saying goodbye to Bobby, hell even Castiel warned him about the chill in the air. If Sam had been here he would have been insufferable right now. Chuckling mirthlessly, 'thank god for small mercies', Dean thought, without any real conviction in it.
"The weatherman says it's going to rain soon Dean, you really should come inside." Cas spoke uneasily, looking at Dean with sadly regretful puppy eyes, like he was still kicking himself about being unable to make everything that had happened over the past couple of days, hell years even, better. They may have averted the apocalypse, but Castiel knew that without Sam, Dean could never be completely happy.
"Well screw the weatherman Cas! When did he ever get it right anyway?" Dean replied, clutching the bottle of beer in his hands closer to his body morosely while leaning back against the front of the scrap car he was sat atop of.
Speaking in a quiet, grieved tone, almost whispering to himself he continued, "I just want to stay out here a little longer, get some time to myself." Leaning back up again and looking at his friend, they locked eyes for an unknown amount of time before Dean coughed and broke eye contact before continuing, "I don't need you flying around me like some nagging housewife Cas. Why don't you go back inside, or go take care of some angel business or something? I'll be back in the house in a while." Dean finished to placate his friend. When he looked back towards where his angel had been standing Dean sighed. The space was empty, his friend had listened to him, and he was now gone, leaving Dean alone, like he had wanted.
What was meant to only be a half hour or so turned into a couple hours, the silence of the junkyard only broken by a small chuckle that escaped Dean while he conceded that Cas was indeed right, it was now raining and not lightly either, the rain coming down in thick, icy drops against his sore skin, the feeling of it almost soothing. The chuckle was almost immediately cut off again though when he realized. It wasn't long before Dean was soaked through, the rain heading straight down into his very bones, chilling him there, yet still he sat on that car, staring out in front of him, for while his body might have been present, his mind was anything but.
Sunrise started to break before Dean lifted his weary body from the hood of the scrap car and entered the eery quietness of the house. Looking through the kitchen and then through the study Dean couldn't see Cas anywhere in sight. It made him feel something akin to regret that he hadn't remained in the house, that he mustn't have felt comfortable staying here. It was sad seeing the house so empty, so quiet. Almost all the memories Dean could remember of this place contained noise of some sort - Bobby's snoring in the early hours of the early morning, Sam's light breathing next to him back when they had shared a room as kids, a leaky tap, a creaky stair or floorboard. For a house so always full of noise and character, to have it be silent was wrong somehow, in a way Dean almost couldn't explain with words, it was just one of them things that didn't need explaining. Working his way towards the stairs, and careful to avoid the crutches the hospital had forced upon him and that he had yet to use, Dean descended the steps, careful of the ones with the creaks in them and went into his room. Pulling his wet t-shirt over his head, he tried untying his laces but in his current physical state he deigned it to be more trouble than it was worth and gave up the challenge, willingly collapsing into his bed and hoping - but not quite praying, that he would quickly be taken by a hopefully dreamless slumber.
-SPN-
With a flutter of wings Castiel entered the home of Bobby Singer once more after vacating the premises for a small amount of time to try and contact his brother, with no luck on the matter. He quickly noticed the differences in the air and spotted the half full bottle of beer on the table, and that brought a small smile to his face. His charge, his friend had taken his advice and had come inside before the weather had gotten too bad if the temperature of the beer was anything to go by. He could tell it was the same one he had been clutching earlier.
With nothing else to do as angels didn't need sleep, Castiel perused the books in Bobby's study for anything useful as the man had after all said to make use of his resources in any way that they could. Coming across a rare first edition of the Enoch he went to sit down and read until Dean came downstairs later that morning when his eyes were drawn heavenward towards the ceiling of Dean's room by a low moan. The book forgotten he flew into the room in a matter of seconds and looked upon Dean's figure with a frown. Dean was writhing around on the bed and it only took Castiel a matter of moments to deduce what was wrong with his charge. By his sweating figure and the change in temperature which he determined by merely placing two fingers upon Dean's forehead, Castiel surmised that Dean had ignored his warnings about the weather, stayed out in the rain for an unknown period of time and contracted a fever. Shaking his head at the sight, Castiel went about making his friend more comfortable at least and sat at the end of the bed and took Dean's foot into his lap and started untying his laces and removing his boots for him.
"You're always looking after others with no thought to your own health or welfare, you need to start putting yourself first for a change, then situations like this," Castiel pulled Dean's boot off and dropped it to the floor with a resounding thud, "Wouldn't happen." He muttered, half to himself, half to the unaware figure next to him.
Dean had slowly come into consciousness during Castiel's talking, and opening one eye a little, then the other, and then shutting them both again before opening his eyes a certain amount that didn't make his head ache. He watched his angel through half lidded eyes as he continued to take his other boot off and then closed his eyes again, taken in by the waves of sleep which begged his body to let it rest some more.
Happy with his job, Castiel looked over Dean's body and felt a knot tighten in his stomach at the sight. Unsure of what emotion he was feeling he put it to anxiety - a feeling he vaguely remembered experiencing once during his fall while he debated with himself over what to do next now that Dean's boots were removed. From the little amount of knowledge he had garnered in Heaven when he used to watch his Father's creations and the information gained from his time with Dean, Sam and Bobby, Castiel decided that the next course of action would be to strip the remaining wet clothes off from Dean's body, wrap him up warmly and check his temperature periodically for signs of his fever breaking.
Standing beside Dean's now slightly shivering form Castiel felt a frown rising on his features. He doubted Dean would appreciate his efforts at trying to help him, and that made him unsure of his actions. However when a particularly violent chill shook through his friend, his mind was made up. Castiel wouldn't have to do this if Dean had only listened to him to begin with about the warnings the weatherman had broadcasted. So kneeling on the other side of the bed, Castiel slowly unbuckled Dean's belt, careful to avoid the bruises that marred his skin and then pulled the damp material slowly down his hips, knees, and pulled the wet denim off from around his ankles while removing his socks at the same time. Folding the damp material neatly, he got up to place it on the bedside table. Now that Dean was stripped to just a pair of boxers Castiel grabbed the blanket and covered him carefully, pulling the fabric up as far as it would reach, up under Dean's chin. Content that he would be ok for a little while Castiel quickly fluttered into Bobby's living room and looked about for the item of his hunt and found it quickly - Sam's laptop.
Sam had once shown Castiel how to use the internet, and explained to him that it was basically a big web of information, and that you could find information about almost anything on it. With this in mind he powered the machine up like he remembered Sam showing him and was taken to a starter page that had a picture on the front of it, the thing Sam had called the "desktop". It was a picture of Sam and Dean, taken back from the time before Castiel was involved in the Winchester's lives, before he had saved the righteous man above him from hell. Many things gave this away, but it was only the one thing that Castiel noticed that had told him that. It wasn't the fact that Sam's hair was a lot shorter than its current length, hanging about around his face and in his eyes slightly, or the fact that both of the brothers faces were more well-rounded with youth and less marred by time, or even the small timestamp that you could just make out if you looked hard enough in the right hand corner. No, the thing that told Castiel that this picture was from the time before Dean was dragged into hell was his eyes. Those beautiful green eyes. Gone was the guilt and self-hatred that was present in them now all too often, instead he could see the happiness, the playful twinkling in them, and the love. The love was still in them eyes even now, his love for Sam, Bobby, but it was different now, undeserving almost. Seeing this picture made him feel many conflicting things, but the predominant emotion he could make out was one of sadness. He didn't understand how Sam could bare to have it here, reminding him of a time before, a time they would never have again. To Castiel it seemed almost cruel, a form of utmost torture, to be reminded of something they would never have again almost continuously, day in, day out.
Closing his mind off from these thoughts, Castiel went back to the situation at hand, and opening what was called the "search engine" he typed in a simple question and opened the first page it displayed, which told him how to treat fevers effectively. Sighing and closing down the machine again, Castiel thought to himself about how far he had fallen now, but in a very different manner to that of before, back when the rules of the game were plain for everyone to see. No, this time was different. He had the power to help Dean, he could go into that room right now, heal him of his fever and of all his injuries and then this worrying would be over, but if he did that, what if it was at a greater sacrifice later? What if he used one of the very few precious amounts of grace he had now and wasted it on something which could naturally fix itself, and only realized this at a time when he was truly in need of it and had no more of his grace left to use? Castiel could do many things, but risk something like that was not one of them, so gathering the supplies from Bobby's kitchen he quickly made his way back beside his charge on the bed again, cold washcloth and a glass of water in hand, ready to sit this one out beside him until his fever broke, and then they could consolidate a plan of action against Gabriel and his lunacy.
-SPN-
Dean woke up a few more times that morning, and over the space of that day, while each time he was conscious he was always aware of that warm, comforting presence beside him, or somewhere else in the room, but always there. Sometimes he would feel cool, elegant fingers brushing his bangs from his forehead as he placed something cool and damp on it. Other times he would have an arm circling his back and lifting him slightly until he was in a sitting position, the back of his head gently being held while also being urged to drink the almost icy cold water, being told by that deep, gruff voice that he needed the fluids and it would help him feel better. And other times he would wake and open his eyes slightly, just to see his friend sat beside him peacefully, watching him, and Dean couldn't help it, coughing slightly, he managed to croak out,
"Thanks Cas, for everything. For staying here and helping me, thank you."
Castiel was shocked by this admission, and could only answer with a small, "Where else would I go?" He was unsure if Dean even heard him, but he heard the thank you coming from the righteous man, and that's all that mattered to him at this moment.
It wasn't until later that evening that the fever broke, and with it came a very annoyed Dean Winchester,
"Geeze Cas! Could at least ask a guy before undressing him! I feel violated now, next time just leave me in my damn clothes!" He bit out to hide his embarrassment at his scantily clad form which he only became aware of when he jumped from the bed to grab something to eat from Bobby's kitchen - only to jump right back in again and pull the covers around him after feeling the cold air hit bare skin.
Throughout the little rant of Dean's all Castiel did was tilt his head to the side slightly, confused about the irrational thoughts Dean was displaying to him now. Didn't he just thank him a couple of hours ago for helping him, and now he wanted him to leave him be the next time something like this occurred? Castiel could only reply with the first thing that came to his mind,
"But... you weren't complaining when I undressed you at the time Dean." Castiel stated, not quite sure how to process the conflicting information that Dean had told him when the internet had said what he had done was the right thing.
Dean felt a red blush run its way up his face as he spluttered about "boundaries" and "lack of personal space" to nobody in particular. Spying his jeans on the bedside table he quickly grabbed them and yanked them up over his thighs and hips, ignoring the stinging sensation it sent over his body to be doing so. Telling Castiel that he was going downstairs to grab some food Dean quickly vacated the area, leaving a confused angel in his wake wondering if he administered the wrong health care by mistake and that was why his charge became unhappy upon waking up fully. But instead of dwelling on it all he did was say to himself,
"Maybe he'll listen to me now about the weatherman next time." But even as the words left his lips he doubted it. Dean Winchester was a force unto himself, no matter what, he would do whatever it was he wanted, and damn any consequences that arose from it. The thought would have made Castiel smile if he wasn't already fully aware of how dangerous this could in fact be.
A/N's: Sorry this chapter was late, I've been having personal issues at home, but I hope the next chapter will make up for it, as it is somewhere in the region of 6000 words. You don't necessarily have to read this chapter to understand the plot of the story, but when I started writing this chapter this was just born and I didn't have the heart not to include it, so I hope you guys like it.
Reviews would be very much loved at the moment, so if you could take the time to leave me one I would be very greatful. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will stick around for the next one too!