When Cas awoke, he found himself fully-clothed in bed with the blankets tucked around him and Dean asleep in a chair next to his bed. His head was resting against his hand and he was gently snoring. Cas tried to sit up quickly but found that the room span and got strangely blurry so he rolled onto his side instead and took the opportunity to watch Dean.

His hunter was looking a little more freckled than usual, probably due to spending time in the sun during the hunt, and his nose was a little pink. Cas let his eyes rove over Dean's face, drinking in every little detail he could while Dean was asleep. His soft lips were parted a little and the bottom lip shone a little in the subdued light thrown by the bedside lamp, like he'd licked it in his sleep. Once again, Cas was winded by the fierce ache of want that pulsed through his body and, without thinking, he reached out to stroke his hand down Dean's cheek. Biting his bottom lip, Cas felt his chest expand impossibly, like his heart would burst his torso open, as he gently trailed two fingers down the golden skin of Dean's face, marvelling at how soft it was, at the dichotomy of rough stubble and delicate skin, at all the inherent contradictions in Dean that Cas wanted, loved.

Castiel was in love with Dean. It wasn't a revelation to him; this was the man Cas had fallen for, literally and figuratively, and no angel does that on a whim. The difference, though, between feeling love for this beautiful man while being an angel and then as a human being was staggering, a revelation. Before Metatron attempted his spell (and thankfully failed) Cas had always looked forward to seeing Dean, had wanted to touch him, feel him splayed beneath his vessel, all this as a matter of course, but now…

'Cas… What…' Cas snatched his hand back as Dean's eyes flickered open, bleary with sleep, stunning as the rainforest at dusk. Cas felt the unfamiliar heat as blood rushed to stain his cheeks pink as he mumbled 'You had a bug on your face.'

Dean looked confused, unbelieving, for a moment and then his brow smoothed out as he watched Cas turn and settle himself into the bed.

'How're you feeling now? Still wanna hurl?'

'Hurl what?' Cas asked as he focused his vision on the smooth white ceiling. He heard that pause that meant he'd misunderstood something and turned his head in time to see Dean roll his eyes.

'I meant do you need to be sick again? Are you ok now?'

'I'm fine, Dean.'

The bed covers rustled as Dean leant forward, resting his clasped hands on the bed as he leaned in. 'Cas, you know, if you're struggling, I mean, man, you must be. Being human and all, must be hard for you. But you gotta talk to me, you need to tell us when something's wrong 'cause you don't know the signs and you can't heal yourself.' Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that made Cas ache, sympathy, empathy shining clear in his eyes. Cas' stomach clenched again in that way that made his head throb and he couldn't help the quiet gasp as his body cramped, stomach aching for sustenance.

'Hey, hey, you're ok. I think you have a stomach bug. You getting achey feelings in your stomach, like cramping?' Dean's eyes were wide and golden-green in the low light and Cas had to clamp down on the intense desire to kiss him, to take his lip between his teeth and bite down until Dean moaned and, oh… Oh…

Cas felt his face heat up again as he realised that the sensitive feeling was centred around his cock which was hardening rapidly under the blankets. Frightened that Dean would see and would realise what was happening, Cas rolled away from him, curling into a ball and desperately trying to will the inopportune erection to go away.

'Cas, it's ok, you'll be-'

'I'm fine, Dean,' Cas bit out with more venom than he meant to, 'I just want to sleep.'

Cas squeezed his eyes shut and tried to go to sleep, his heart aching as Dean switched the lamp off and left the room, slowly closing the door behind him.

'How's he doing?' Sam asked as Dean wandered into the kitchen. As much as he would never admit to it, Dean liked the domesticity of having a kitchen, of having somewhere he could cook and sit comfortably with his brother and angel. With Cas, Dean mentally corrected himself; Castiel wasn't an angel any more.

'I don't know, man. Physically, I think he's just got a stomach bug but mentally?' Dean shook his head and started to pull saucepans, plates, a spatula and frying pan out of the cupboards.

'It's gonna take him a while to adjust, Dean. I mean, he's never had a stomach flu before, he's never, fuck, never had to eat or shower or brush his teeth before. It has to be a lot to take in.' Sam got up and opened the fridge door, grabbing two beers, holding one out to Dean who accepted it gladly.

'I know that, it's just…' Dean trailed off then shook his head and opened his beer, taking a long pull; he didn't want to talk about this. Talking never helped anything. Doing was better, doing was functional. He went to the fridge and pulled out the ingredients for a stew he'd found a recipe for online and, no, no one needed to know he was compiling a recipe list on his computer. Computers were for porn and research, not Martha-Stewart-type articles on how to prepare a lemon and thyme roast chicken or the best way to slow roast a pork joint.

Naturally, Sammy needed to talk things out, had to keep pushing, had to know exactly what was going through Dean's head. Sometimes Dean hated him a little for that.

'Dean, you can't blame yourself for this; he chose to be our ally, he knew the risks and-'

'And what, Sam? That makes it ok that now he's stuck here with us? That he can get sick, get hurt?' Dean flushed as his voice cracked, 'That one day he'll die?'

Dean shook his head again and blinked, facing away from Sam, and began to peel potatoes, viciously digging the peeler into the vegetable as he tried to subjugate the emotions that were bubbling up inside him. He hunched his shoulders as he heard Sam sigh and stand up, desperate for his little brother to, for once, get the message that he didn't want to talk. Not now, not about this.

'Dean,' Sam prompted when Dean wouldn't turn around, 'You know…'

He sighed and grabbed another peeler and started to peel potatoes alongside his brother. Dean let go of the breath he was holding and tried to focus on the task at hand. Get the gammon boiling in a saucepan, get the vegetables simmering in with the stock on a low heat, chop up the cooked chicken breast and try not to think about the gaping hole he felt in his chest at the thought of anything ever happening to Cas.