I think this chapter has some of my favourite moments of the story so far. I hope you love it as much as I do.

Chapter 13

"Dean?"

"Sammy."

"Dean, I can't hear you."

"Sammy, I-" He held the phone away from his ear and cleared his throat, rubbing his Adam's apple and wincing.

"It's a bad line - I'll call you back."

"No!" The sharp word made pain flare again. "It's fine. It's me. I've-"

"What? What's wrong, Dean?"

He took a deep, shaky breath. The kitchen chair creaked beneath him. He'd been coughing most of the night. "Look, Sammy. I don't think we're gonna make it tomorrow."

"You're not coming? Why not? I haven't seen you two for ages, Dean - it's all planned. Everyone's coming."

"Yeah, well." He took the phone away from his ear and coughed again. "I'm okay. But Cas is sick. He's not up to it."

"Cas is sick? With what? Do you need my help? Is it a curse? Is it an angel thing? Shall I come? I'm coming. I'll be there in an hour."

"No! No, Sammy. It's just a cold. We'll be okay."

The kettle on the hob began to hiss. Did they have any lemon juice left?

"A cold? Well, that's not so bad." Sam's breath huffed down the phone. "It's just that time of year, Dean. There's loads going around. Just come anyway."

Dean sagged forward over the table, his still-aching head propped on one hand. "Yeah, no. I don't think so. Sorry, Sammy."

"Dean, it's Thanksgiving."

He slumped further. The kettle whistled softly, building up a head of steam to shriek itself as hoarse as Dean.

"I know. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into the sockets. "It's just Cas. He's not used to this. And… I dunno, I guess he's not been human long, so..."

"Oh. Right. He could have low immunity," said Sam. "A normal adult has had their whole life to build up resistance to all kinds of things." There was a pause and Dean could picture his brother's face, his eyes unfocussed, his mouth tight - going into research mode. "I'll do some research," he said.

Dean's lips twitched. He could tell Sam not to bother - that Cas just had to ride it out and get better, just like all the other regular humans. But his brother would sit there staring at the shiny surface of the table and the stuffed-full bookshelves and he'd stew and worry and feel helpless.

"Thanks, Sammy. And I'm sorry. About Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, me too. But there'll be Christmas, right?"

"Yeah." The kettle wailed angrily. Dean got up and took it off the heat.

"Well, I'll let you know if I come up with anything. Are you sure you don't want me to come over? Do you need anything? Food? Medication?"

"We're stocked-up. But thanks. And say hey to everyone from us."

"Yeah, of course. We'll all miss you."

"Miss you too."

"Bye."

Dean stuck his phone back in his pocket. He dropped teabags into two mugs, poured the boiling water on top and then squished the teabags with a teaspoon, turning the water a golden brown. Then he fished out the dripping brown parcels and dumped them in the sink. A hearty spoonful of honey went in each mug and… yes, there was some lemon juice left in the fridge. He squirted some into each.

Then he rubbed his forehead and puffed out a long, weary breath.

Dean had had colds before. Many times. He knew the score, obviously. And this had been a bad-but-not-too-bad one. It was lingering in his irritated lungs and he still had a headache and he still couldn't breathe through his nose properly. But he could do stuff - slowly and grumpily and like he needed to hibernate the rest of the winter away, but if he took his time, he could manage.

Cas was a mess.

The first day of Dean's cold, Cas had rested too, watching Scooby Doo on the laptop, and then they'd moved on to a Marvel movie marathon which Dean had dozed on and off throughout. Cas had brought Dean drinks and snacks - even the promised tiny triangle sandwiches with the crusts cut off. He'd rubbed Dean's back when he couldn't stop coughing. He'd scooped up all the discarded tissues and straightened up the bed and restacked the pillows and just been there - a quiet, steady, comforting presence.

Dean didn't enjoy being sick. But… with Cas it was different. He didn't feel guilty or judged or as if he were a burden. Being looked after by Cas felt normal, as if it were the natural course of things, of how a relationship should go. His fuzzy, cold-ridden head had let the word spiral around and around in a swirl of colours - relationship. And when he'd jerked awake during the smash and thunder of a superhero showdown he'd found he'd sagged right down to rest on Cas's chest and gentle fingers were brushing softly over his hair.

But the following day Cas had been heavy-eyed and spacey. His cheeks had been flushed and when his throat bobbed, the lines in between his eyes had jumped into sharp relief. He'd gone down fast, collapsing on the bed, sneezing and coughing and croaking weakly about needing to get up and look after Dean.

Dean didn't know whether he was disappointed at missing Thanksgiving at the bunker or not. It would have been nice to spend time with his brother and their friends and adopted family. But among the hugs and happiness there still would have been the inevitable reminiscing and regrets, especially once they'd sunk a few beers and moved onto the hard stuff - because when didn't that happen when hunters got together?

And there was his and Cas's status to think about. Dean wasn't sure whether he was ready to put their relationship out there yet. He didn't know if he could be with Cas in front of his family like he was here. They wouldn't judge. They'd be happy. But even so. It made his brain short out and his cheeks flush if he thought about kissing Cas in front of everyone - if he thought about them both heading off to Dean's bedroom, hand in hand, and the conversation or, worse, the silence that would erupt behind them.

Anyway, they weren't going, so that was that. Dean picked up the two mugs and carried them upstairs.

The bedroom was dark because light hurt Cas's eyes and there was a groan as weak daylight spilled in through the open door. The lump in the bed burrowed deeper.

"Got you some tea," said Dean.

There was no response.

"Need to check your temp."

During the night Cas had been alternately shivery and overheated. One minute he'd be pulling all the bedding around himself and leaving Dean out in the cold and then the next he'd throw the lot off onto the floor, moaning about being too hot.

"C'mon, buddy. Let's have a look." Dean set the mugs down on the nightstand, picked up the thermometer and peeled back the duvet.

"Go 'way, Dean."

Cas's face was a blotchy mixture of pink cheeks and shadows. His nose was red and he held wads of tissues in both hands.

"Let me just check…" Dean pushed the tip of the thermometer in Cas's ear, laying his hand gently on Cas's neck as he tried to squirm away. "Hundred and one point two. That's okay."

"No, t's not." Cas sniffed, wetly and swiped at his nose with one of the wads of tissues. "T's not okay, Dean. Not. Okay."

Dean sat down on the bed.

When he'd looked after little Sammy he'd developed a way of being firm and calm, even when his brother was being whiny and uncooperative. He'd do what needed to be done no matter what fuss Sam kicked up - making him drink, changing the bedding, giving him medication when he needed it, helping him to go to the bathroom. He'd also read to his brother if he couldn't sleep, or make up stories featuring both of them in heroic tales of adventure, and even though his resources were always very limited, he'd try to get Sam the things he liked to eat best to tempt his appetite.

Of course he'd do all this and more for Cas, right down to telling the stories if it would make the ex-angel feel better. But with Cas it was different. With Cas there were layers. Layers of things Dean wasn't used to feeling, of how looking after Cas - touching him, helping him - were different than they'd been with Sammy. And also there were layers of worry and doubt that he was doing the right thing.

He brushed his fingertips over Cas's tousled hair. Cas muttered under his breath.

"Hey, how about we sit you up? You need to drink."

Cas huffed and curled in on himself. Then he choked and began coughing, his lungs barking and wheezing, his eyes streaming, his whole body jerking over and over. Dean anchored himself against the side of the bed, grabbed Cas under his armpits and hauled him up, propping him against the pillows. He rubbed and patted between the heaving shoulder blades.

"You're okay. Try to take a deep breath. Nice and slow."

The coughs subsided. Dean picked up one of the mugs and tested the liquid - not too hot. He held it to Cas's lips.

"There you go. Little sips. That's it. Better?"

Cas nodded. "Thank you," he rasped. Then he sagged sideways to rest against Dean. Dean curled his arm around Cas's shoulders and held him, feeling the fluttery uneven breaths of his irritated lungs.

"Hate this," Cas mumbled.

"I know." Dean pressed a kiss into Cas's sweaty hair. Little kisses had become natural - a thing they both did. But still, each time he gave or received one, the fresh innocence of the gesture would surprise him, while at the same time a flicker of conflict would stir deep in his mind - hard eyes and hard words echoing in his memories. You don't just get past all that shit, he told himself. You don't just write over it and move on. But he was doing his best.

"Dean, it hurts." Cas's voice was raw.

"I know, angel."

"'M not an angel."

Dean squeezed Cas's shoulders - bony shoulders, when he'd only just been putting on a bit more healthy weight. Words sprung to his mind and he was gonna say them, right now, because he wasn't the old, suppressed Dean Winchester any more, so that guy could fuck right off.

"You're my angel."

Cas twitched with a half-hearted chuckle.

"You are," Dean insisted. "You're my stinky, sweaty angel who needs to let me change the bed and stuff."

"You're stinky."

"Uh-uh. I had a shower."

Cas shuddered and moaned into Dean's chest. "No. No shower."

"Well, let's get you hydrated first, yeah? Then we'll see." He pushed Cas a bit more upright and held the mug to his lips.

"Needs more honey."

"No, it doesn't. You just can't taste that well at the moment."

Cas grumbled. "Hate this."

"I know." He put the empty mug down and drank his own now lukewarm tea in a couple of thirsty gulps.

"Cold."

Dean propped the ex-angel up against the pillows and tucked the duvet around him. The tousled head flopped to one side, the pale lips tightened and his brows squinched together. He shivered and his lungs wheezed as he drew short, laboured breaths.

"Alright." Dean sighed, wearily. "I'm going to get a few things sorted out. Then we're gonna get you to the bathroom. Okay?"

There was no response.

The bed was a mess. Cas was a mess. Dean was still a bit of a mess, but he could manage. He got to work.

He untucked all of the bedding around Cas. He pulled out some of the pillows and took off their cases. He got a whole stack of clean bedding and dumped it on the floor.

Then he peeled the duvet away from the huddled form on the bed and swiftly pulled off its cover. Cas moaned and his fingers twitched.

"Okay, c'mon, buddy. Let's get you up."

Getting Cas to their little shower room was a challenge. Dean scooped him out of the centre of the bed until his legs dangled over the side, then after an encouraging one, two, three managed to get him up onto his wobbly feet.

"Dean."

He wasn't happy. He leant heavily and staggered so that Dean staggered too and hit the bathroom door frame with his elbow. Then he thought maybe he should have made the room a bit bigger when he'd partitioned off a section with stud-walling. With both of them in there, it was a tight fit. He pointed Cas at the toilet bowl and propped him against the wall.

"We've arrived. Can you…? Or d'you need me to…? Uh."

Cas's eyes flickered. He made a croaky growl, then muttered. "I can do it."

"Okay. Right. Well, I'm just gonna…"

Dean turned away and made a beeline for the bed, ripped off the remaining bedding and slapped on the new as fast as he could. He jammed the edge of the sheet beneath the mattress all the way around and then shook the duvet hard, getting it straight inside its cover. His head spun a bit. He'd need to rest too after he'd got Cas settled. "Hey, are you okay in there?"

No answer. Right, the bed was good enough.

Cas was sitting on the lowered toilet seat, curled over and miserable, his thin shirt rumpled, his bony knees crooked beneath his twisted underwear. Dean crouched down and placed his hands on Cas's over-hot, flushed cheeks. The dark lashes flickered and there was a brief glitter of eye contact before shut-down.

"You're gonna be okay, Cas. You know that, right?"

His throat bobbed and the lines between his eyes cut deep. He whispered, "Don't feel okay."

"No, I know you don't." Dean slid his arms around his slumped angel. "But you will. And we can get you feeling a bit better right now."

He stood up, leaving a steadying hand on Cas's shoulder, his skin hot beneath the thin, damp fabric of his shirt. The basin faucet choked as he turned it on - air in the system. He'd have to fix that when he got the chance. But the water quickly ran hot and steam rose as the basin filled.

"Here we go, then." Dean took hold of Cas's shirt at the waist and drew it up. "Lift up your arms, there. Come on."

He looked even worse with his shirt off - hunched over and crumpled and ill. Dean thought about Cas out in the wilderness in the late summer, swinging his scythe - tanned and strong, his firm, familiar, loved features hidden under his homemade straw hat. He'd get better soon, though - wouldn't he? But what if he didn't? What if an angel without his grace couldn't cope with normal human illnesses? What if Dean was wrong and he should have whisked Cas back to the bunker, got everyone into research mode, even called in Rowena or got Jack on the case? He had resources - why the hell wasn't he using them?

No. No, dammit, Winchester - no need to panic. Cas's temperature wasn't that high. He was okay. He just wasn't used to being human or to being sick.

Dean dipped a washcloth in the hot water and wrung it out. He crouched down in front of his sick human and, supporting one side of Cas's face, wiped the other - from his forehead, down over his cheek and jaw and down the side of his neck. Then he dipped the cloth again and did the other side, gently smoothing over Cas's features and then all the way around the back of his neck.

"Mmm." It was a sound of approval.

"Good?"

"Mmm."

Dean dipped the cloth again, wrung it out and wiped from Cas's neck, down one shoulder and then the other. He stood up and supported Cas's chest while he washed his back and then ran the cloth over his chest and down to his stomach.

"Lift up a bit for me."

Cas lifted up one arm and then the other for Dean to wash beneath, and he ran the cloth smoothly all the way down Cas's arms, leaving little beads of water behind on the goosebumping skin. He washed his hands too, carefully dabbing between his fingers. Then he picked up one of their soft, fluffy towels - a pink one - and dried off all of the damp skin.

"Gonna do your feet now." He picked up Cas's feet one by one and set them on the towel. And dipped the cloth again and wrung it out again and knelt on the floor to run the warm, wet cloth down Cas's thighs, around the backs of his knees and down his shins. He picked up one foot at a time again and washed them carefully, going gently between his toes.

Something brushed over Dean's hair and settled heavily. He looked up. Cas's eyes were open and soft. His hand shifted on Dean's head, fingers tangling in the strands.

And the moment crystallised in Dean's mind, so that he knew it would always be there - himself kneeling at Cas's feet, the ceramic floor tiles hurting his shins, the cooling washcloth held in one hand and Cas's broad hand resting on his head.

He looked and looked and saw himself and Cas, just the two of them in this tiny little room, together: Cas weak and vulnerable, Dean vulnerable too - sitting on the floor, caring for his friend - his love - with patience and tenderness and the aching, precious mundanity of simply doing what needed to be done.

His lips parted to say nothing. He swallowed and could still feel the rasping abrasion of his healing throat. The pain intensified as he swallowed again. Cas's face blurred. He blinked and it cleared.

Cas was pale and hollow-eyed and dragged down by the weight, not just of illness, but of his own new mortality. But his chapped lips curved into a soft smile. And his fingers curled and spread and trailed down the side of Dean's face to cup his cheek and his jaw.

"Thank you, Dean," he whispered.

Dean croaked. He cleared his throat. "You're welcome."

"I know." Cas's eyes went all shiny. "I know I am."

Did Dean's shoulder really tingle with warmth or was he imagining it? That first touch from an Angel of the Lord had marked him forever. But the bond that had been formed when Castiel had raised him - saviour to miserable, damned soul - had transformed completely; hammered and tempered and reformed through years of test and trial, betrayal and reconciliation.

They'd lost each other - finally, completely, utterly. But then they'd found each other. And maybe, Dean thought, as he reached up and took Cas's free hand, maybe it was like caterpillars. Losing each other, they'd been cocooned in defeat and hopelessness. Finding each other again… well it wasn't like crawling out as a couple of flashy butterflies. They'd struggled and fought and were still struggling and fighting for themselves - for each other.

But this thing they had - this relationship - it was human. It was fragile. It was soft and mixed-up and complicated and layered with all the shit that had gone down over the years. But it was real. It was real and it was now. And that's all Dean needed.

"Shall I?" He gestured with the cloth at Cas's underwear. "Or, d'you wanna…?"

"I'll do it," Cas rasped.

"Okay." Dean dipped the cloth, wrung it out and handed it over. "I'll just finish up with the bed. Then we'll get you back in."

Cas smiled. His lips wobbled. The washcloth hung limp in his trembling hand. "Dean."

Dean's knees clicked and his head throbbed as he pushed up from the floor. "Yeah?"

Cas looked up at him, his eyes shiny again.

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Cas."

I really love giving them soft moments. I love having them look after each other!