Chapter Text
Sam and Dean were in their usual crap shoot of a motel when there was a quiet knock at the door. They exchanged cautious looks and Dean got up from his bed, were he had been cleaning his guns to answer it. He was surprised to find Castiel, his eyes and nose red with a fine coat of sweat on his face, his trench coat hanging off one shoulder and his hair somehow messier than usual. He had also apparently managed lose a shoe. “…Cas?”
“Dean, I’m dying.”
Cas sniffled as he stepped inside and proceeded to curl himself into a little angel ball on the floor, ignoring the bed five feet away. “I’m going to sleep now. “ He told the floor.
Okay, that was weird, even for Cas.
“Um, Cas..? You okay little buddy?” Dean asked as he poked Cas with his foot as the man (angel, whatever) sniffled in the fetal position on the motel floor.
Yep, definitely weird.
“Cas, what happened? Are you okay?” Sam, who was now standing next to dean, asked, concerned for the little ball of angel. Cas mumbled “I’m dying” to the floor and curled himself into a tighter ball.
“Yeah, were gonna need more specifics here.”
Cas huffed, like that was a horribly stupid thing to say and he didn't understand why they wouldn't believe he was dying, and then dutifully listed his ailments, “My head hurts, I can’t breathe through my nose and I've thrown up three times in the last hour. I’m dying.” then sobbed into his chest. Realization dawned on the brothers like a brick to the face.
“Yeah, you’re not dying. You’re sick you drama queen.” Dean tried to sound macho when all he wanted to do was b̶a̶b̶y̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶g̶e̶l̶ kick the angel and tell him to suck it up- not that he’d ever actually do that. “And would you stop talking to the fucking floor!?” He added for good measure
“The floor understands me!” Cas gave an exasperated huff.
Sam snorted and Dean just rolled his eyes at the pile of angel on the floor, “Alright let’s get you up…” he mummed while grabbing Cas' shoulder and motioning Sam to get the other one. They tossed the pathetic little angel on the closest bed and received a groan of irritation in response “Careful with him Dean, he’s fragile.” Sam snickered at the little angel as he curled himself into another ball “This is not funny Sam, and I am an angel of the lord, I am not ‘fragile’, do not belittle me” Cas mummed into his knees, effectively dissolving his point.
Dean rolled his eyes again “Yeah, alright. Does the mighty angel of the lord want some soup?” a pause “...Yes, please.”Cas murmured quietly. Sam snorted again. Dean tucked the angel under the covers and went to get supplies for the ball of grace and germs hiding under the blanket.
Dean returned a few minutes later with everything the feather ball could need; Sam was sitting at the small table by the window doing whatever Sam does on the computer, Cas hadn't moved, but the blanket form the other bed had somehow migrated. when he noticed that Dean had returned Sam caught his eye then glanced at the bed giggling, like Cas being sick was somehow greatest thing to ever happen to them, “Shut up, Sam.” said the pile of blankets, Sam burst out laughing and Dean momentary worried he was going to pull something before rolling his eyes and starting the soup.
Dean taped Cas in what he assumed to be his shoulder, “Sam, I've warned you once that if you didn't stop poking me, I’d smite you. Do not make me repeat myself.” The angel replied, Sam snickered form the table and Dean briefly wondered what all had happened while he was gone; “S’not Sam, Cas.”
“…Hello Dean. How long have you been back?” the angel asked, slightly embarrassed at the mistake.
“Really out if it, aint ya?” Dean asked “And why was Sam poking at you? I was gone for like not even five frickin minutes.”
“Because he’s an egotistical, immature demons spawn who enjoys the pain and suffering of others. You should strip him of his clothes, douse him with holy water, and lock him outside to fend for himself in the cold.” The angel replied flatly, Dean looked over at Sam, who was torn between laughter and a full out bitch face, “He kept groaning.” Sam said.
“Kay, then.” Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes again “Cas, I made you some soup. You’re gonna have to come out of your nest.” Cas grumbled and popped his head out of the blanket catacomb, “Thank you, Dean.” He said as he took the bowl that was being shoved in his face. Dean glanced at the rumpled trench coat, grimacing, “Hold on, Cas, you can’t sleep in those clothes. You eat; I’ll get you something to wear.” Dean said as he picked up his bag. Cas tilted his head in that way that Dean thought was absolutely a̶d̶o̶r̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ annoying, but didn't say anything.
Sam was watching Cas with curiosity and confusion, “How are you even sick Cas? I thought angels didn’t get sick; or tied for that matter.” Cas looked up with wide eyes, with a noodle hanging from the corner of his mouth, “Fuck you, Winchester, that’s how.” He deadpanned and returned his attention to his bowl. Sam and Dean stared in utter shock for a moment before bursting into laughter; letting the dogged question slide for the fact Mr. ‘angel of the lord’ just told them to fuck off. None of them really wanted to think about the fact cas’ grace was diminishing, and he would inevitably fall, but for now he’s sick and needs to be taken care of.
They planned to play rock, paper, scissors, to see who crashed on the couch, thinking it was unfair to make Cas take the uncomfortable piece of furniture and deciding against another room, but Cas wouldn't have it. “The bed is plenty large for the two of us to share. I see no reason you should have to sleep on the couch.” And Dean was too tied to argue.
Dean crawled into the bed beside castiel, who was now wearing one of his old t-shirts and grey sweat pants, and settled on the farthest edge form the father ball and pulled the shared blanket over himself.
To be fair, he wasn't expecting the arm around his waist. Dean let out a totally manly and completely understandable sound that was defiantly not a screech, and fell on the floor, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the nightstand. Sam started giggling like a school girl and gave Dean a ‘You’re so not living this down’ look before rolling over and trying to sleep, suppressing giggles tends to make that difficult though. Cas just stared for a moment, bewildered as to how Dean managed to fall off the bed, “Are you okay, Dean?” he asked, concerned, “Yeah, fine.” Dean grumbled form the floor before crawling back onto the bed.
Dean didn't flip his shit when Cas wrapped his arm around his waist this time. He was too tired to fight it and explain to the angel personal space. Again. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it. He definitely didn't find it comforting or endearing the way cas’ other arm slid under his waist and the angels hands met on his stomach, or the warm breath form were the angels head nuzzled into his neck, or the way their legs tangled together and especially how his back was flush with the angels front, effectively making him the little spoon, nope, not comforting at all. Dean gave a contented sigh and snuggled in a little closer, he closed his eyes getting ready for that he had no doubt would be the first restful night’s sleep in a while, several undisturbed minutes passed that way.
Dean’s eyes flew wide open at the load sneeze and sudden wetness on his upper back and neck. Sam almost chocked on the air, he was laughing so hard.