"What?" Cas's voice was sharp.

"Eve's pregnant and she said-"

"I heard you the first time. The author's voice turned acidic. "Was I a distraction, Dean?" he spit out the last word, standing suddenly. "Did you just use me?" Dean opened his mouth to protest, to explain, anything- but no words came out. Cas stood next to the bed, practically vibrating with rage. "I suppose I should thank you, for your attention, for saying my name instead of hers." In jerky motions, Cas stalked to the dresser and pulled out a new set of clothes. He left the room without another word, moving silently to the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft 'snick'. Dean, still naked in the bed, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around himself. He dropped his head and groaned.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Pounding his head to the slow temp of his words, he continued speaking. "Why. Do. I. Always. Screw. Everything. Up. All. The. Time. Fuck." Faintly, Dean heard the sound of the shower starting. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be." he whispered to himself. "Fuck."

For his part, Cas thought he was holding himself together remarkably well, despite the tremors the wracked his body, the cold terror in his chest that heralded a panic attack. He gripped the bathroom sink tightly after closing the door with exaggerated care. Blindly he stared into the mirror- long since replaced from when Dean broke it- until he turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. The water was still cold but he sank to the still-colder floor and it didn't matter so much. He crossed his legs and put his elbows on his knees, then his face in his hands as his breathing began to speed up. He didn't fight it as waves of anxiety rolled over him, only trying to focus on his breathing, trying not to hyperventilate- but it was a futile attempt as his breath rapidly sped up. He tried to focus on the water pounding onto his head, but him mind was too alive to settle on anything other than Dean. His whole body shook and tiny, constant gasps filled the air. After a while, Cas's face went tingly, then numb. Then his hands, his feet, his legs. Just as the sensation was making itself known in his arms, Cas took a deep, shuddering breath and held it. A moment later, he took another, and another. Exhausted, Cas focused on his breathing, deep breaths in and out. He struggled to keep his eyes open, keep his mind awake. He blindly turned off the water and weakly opened the curtain. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and leaving his change of clothes sitting on the sink, he stumbled to the bedroom in a cloud of steam, his skin cherry was still slouched on the bed when the author entered the room, presumably unmoving since Cas left. He lifted his head hurriedly and leaped from the bed upon seeing the writer.

"Cas? Are you okay?" The other boy didn't answer, only collapsed heavily onto the bed. Worriedly, Dean pressed a hand to Cas's shoulder. "You're overheating, buddy. I'm gonna get a cool washcloth, okay?" Dean waited a moment for an answer that didn't come, before sprinting to the bathroom, which was still billowing steam.

A few hours later, Cas woke up with a pounding headache, cheeks aflame. He shifted groggily and realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. He moved slightly more and realized he wasn't wearing pants either. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, ignoring the increased pressure in his head from doing so. Relief flooded his system as he realized he was still wearing a towel. Confusion followed. Why was he in a towel? After struggling through the haze in his head for a few moments, he plopped back onto the bed, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands tiredly. A few moments after that, he remembered why he wasn't dressed so much, and why he was so exhausted. The panic attack in the shower. Unsteadily, the author stood, one hand holding up the towel. He ambled slowly to his dresser, trying valiantly to ignore the nausea rising in is throat. He slumped down onto the cool wood just as Dean entered the room.

"Woah, Cas, man. Are you okay?" The green-eyed teen rushed over to his friend and placed a war hand on his long-cool back. Cas would have ordered him to remove it if hr hadn't been so grateful for the contact. He would have let Eve caress him if it gave him something other than the bile crawling up his throat to focus on. Okay, maybe not. But the paint remained.

"C'mon, Cas. Let's get you back to bed." The author shook his head mulishly.

"Wanna... get dressed. G-go w-w-wait outs-side." Dean was shocked. It had been months since Cas had stuttered around him.

"Cas, you can barely stand. I don't think you should get dressed, especially on your own." Cas moaned, near-silently, but Dean, with his hand still on the other boy's back, felt it. Dean went to speak again, but stopped when Cas drew himself up to his full height, almost like Castiel Novak would.

"Dean." his voice was soft. "I appreciate that you c-care." He frowned at his stutter and took a deep breath. "But you can't be in here while I ch-change. Y-you can c-come back in a few m-minutes." Dean noticed a blush working its way down the author's chest, and for the first time in hours, realized that the author was virtually naked. He flushed red too.

"Okay." he finally agreed. Dean quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Cas, for his part, slumped almost immediately as he opened a drawer at random and began rooting around. Finally finding a pair of sweat pants, he let the towel fall, pulling the pants on as quickly as he could. He stumbled back to bed and lay his head on the pillow gently- it was still pounding to wake the dead. He was dozing lightly when a rap came at the door. Cas grunted in acknowledgement and it opened, revealing, unsurprisingly, Dean. "Hey, Cas." The green-eyed boy spoke softly as he crossed the room to the bed. "How're you feeling?" Cas forced his eyes open to look at Dean.

"Feel like shit." he muttered.

"There anything you need?" Cas nodded.

"C'mere." Dean furrowed his brow.

"What?"

"Cuddles." Dean felt himself blush.

"Oh. Okay." Dean lay next to Cas and pulled his fever body closer. "I gotcha, Cas." The author buried his face in Dean's neck.

"Good. Still mad though." he may have muttered before drifting to sleep again.

"'M sorry, Cas."

The next time Cas woke up, he was still hot,but not overheated and his head didn't hurt. He opened his eyes and moved his head slightly so he could focus. Dean was asleep next to him, mouth slightly open, drooling on their shared pillow. One of his arms was under Cas's head, the other resting gently on his waist. Cas wanted to shove him away, to be angry, but he couldn't. He could never hold a grudge and he hated it.

"Where does this leave us, Dean?" Cas wondered in a whisper. "What are we now?" Naturally, the sleeping boy didn't answer and Cas sighed, trailing his finger's gently over the other's face. "I love you, but...What am I to you, Dean?"