Chapter Text
Dean awoke to an empty bed and the sound of retching.
Years’ worth of hunter’s instincts had him upright and out of bed before the sound fully registered. The gun from under the bedside table was in his hands not a moment later, his left hand reaching out to wake and warn the man lying next to him. But where his hand should have met warm, bare skin, he found empty air and cool sheets. Panic flared in Dean’s stomach, his eyes searching wildly in the darkness for any sign of Cas or the attacker which was, at this point, as good as dead. His attention was caught by a god-awful choking sound coming from a lit room to his right.
“Cas?” Dean raced to the source of the light, skidding to a halt in the bathroom doorway. “Cas, you all right?”
He immediately saw the source of the problem. Castiel was slumped over on the bathroom floor, head nearly buried in the toilet. In response to Dean’s question, the former angel merely moaned pitifully.
The panic in Dean’s stomach quelled somewhat, his frightened expression softening to a look of tender worry. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, kneeling by his boyfriend’s side. Cas whimpered as Dean soothingly rubbed his back through the thin, sweat-dampened t-shirt.
Castiel sniffled. “Stomach hurts. Woke up hot, headache, stomach di’nt feel well. I…mmph—“ he broke off as his stomach churned in rebellion. The former angel was sent into another round of vomiting as Dean’s arm tightened around Cas, murmuring gentle words and pressing a kiss to his temple. Snatching a washcloth off of the towel rack, Dean lightly rinsed the cloth under the tap and wrung it out, then laid it across the back of Castiel’s neck.
“Shh, hey, babe, it’s ok. You probably just have a stomach virus, that’s all,” he cooed softly, “You’re okay.” The hunter continued his litany of soothing murmurs, stroking Cas’s hair and rubbing his back as the former angel continued to be sick. A while later—five, ten, sixty minutes later—Cas shakily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and collapsed against Dean with a groan. Dean kissed his temple and eased his boyfriend up onto his feet, Cas leaning heavily on his side.
After another quick run back to the bathroom, several stumbles, one casualty (a picture frame knocked to the ground), and no small amount of encouragement kisses, the pair managed to blunder their way to the bed. Dean deposited his moaning cargo gently onto the bed, where it curled into a tight ball and whined pathetically. Said ball’s reflexes were, apparently, in no way dulled by his illness, as a hand shot out to clutch Dean’s the moment he moved to leave.
“Stay,” Cas groaned, shivering violently, “Please…stay. It’s…better…with you. Easier.”
Dean leaned over and stroked a hand through Castiel’s hair. “Of course I’ll stay, babe, I just need to get a few things to make you less miserable. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”
“Mmph…hurry,” Cas murmured, curling around himself tighter. Dean smoothed his hand down Cas’ side once more before jogging downstairs.
*****
“Aw, come on, Cas. Just a few bites?”
Castiel frowned at the steaming bowl on his lap, halfheartedly swirling the broth with his spoon. Most of last night—and a good chunk of this morning—had been spent curled up in agony or dry heaving into a metal bucket Dean had fetched, feeling utterly wretched and miserable. When he felt well enough, Cas would make weak protests at Dean to stop kissing him because he was undoubtedly gross and most likely contagious. He was ignored.
But most of the time he laid there in his sweat-soaked pajamas and sheets, sniffling, whimpering, and trying not to vomit as Dean cooed sweet nothings in his ear, rubbing his back and kissing his hair.
“I’m not hungry,” Cas protested, but dragged the spoon to his mouth dutifully anyway. The barely suppressed grimace as his stomach cramped in rebellion did not go unnoticed by his boyfriend. Dean’s lips pursed, and his reached up to lay a hand across Cas’ forehead.
“You’re burning up,” he muttered, “I think your fever went up overnight. If this doesn’t go down in a few days, we might have to take you to the hospital.”
The expression on Cas’ face was one of utter despair as he processed that. Dean caught the look and grinned.
“You know, eating helps bring the fever down. Sodium replenishment or whatever.”
Cas eyed him warily, but managed to choke down a few more spoonfuls of broth, much to Dean’s relief. Most of yesterday’s food had ended up in the toilet, in the bucket, or (during one embarrassing and never to be spoken of again moment where neither had been quick enough) on the bed (they’d relocated to the downstairs sofa after that). He may not have grown up with the conventional ‘chicken noodle soup, cartoons, and ice cream’ sick days, but Dean knew enough that losing that many nutrients was not good for the body. It was a good sign that Cas could at least keep something down.
“Dean,” Cas croaked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Go take a nap.” Seeing Dean’s look, Cas cut him off before he could protest, “You stayed up all night with me—which is highly appreciated, but you had maybe half an hour of sleep at most. Get some rest.”
Dean shifted, uncertain. “You sure? I could just—“
“Go! I can handle being sick by myself for a few hours. You need it.”
Still doubtful, Dean nevertheless nodded and bent down to steal a quick kiss from his boyfriend, ignoring the other man’s complaints about being contagious. “Get some sleep too, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cas said, smiling blandly as the hunter ambled upstairs to their bed with no sheets.
*****
Castiel slipped in and out of consciousness for a few hours before his brain finally decided that being awake in pain was better than resting. Tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable on the frankly too small couch, Cas gave up trying to fall back asleep. His throat was parched, his head pounded and his muscles ached. He wondered if Dean was still up, ready to send his boyfriend out to fetch him a glass of water and an advil. Stilling, a few moments of silence followed by a thunderous snore confirmed Dean was still out cold. Pity.
The former angel laid there a moment, building up the strength to move, before pushing himself up onto his elbows, hissing at the sudden wave of nausea that washed over him. Cas closed his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply, and struggled to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. Somehow, he managed to stumble over to the bathroom, grab a possibly not-so-clean cup off of the sink and fill it. He gulped it down in one go, still woozy from the long trip from the couch to the bathroom ten feet away.
Colors flashed in front of his eyes, then blackness; the next thing he knew, he was laying sprawled in the tub.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs as Cas lay confused in the tub, arms tucked under his body and legs flopped over the side. Dean’s terrified face appeared in front of him, cupping his cheek, checking for head wounds, demanding if Cas was okay.
Cas nodded his assent, dazed, as Dean carefully pulled him out of the tub and sat him on the floor.
“Are you okay, are you hurt?” Dean asked, “Babe, what happened? What’s wrong?”
“I…I don’t know,” Cas replied truthfully, “One moment I was standing, and then…then I was in the tub. I don’t know.”
Dean scrutinized him for several long minutes, eyebrows crinkled in that way when he was worried. “You probably blacked out. Dehydration maybe.” Tugging at Cas’ arm, Dean guided his fumbling boyfriend out of the bathroom and back to the couch. “C’mon, let’s get you some more rest. You need it.”
Cas gratefully sank back into the warmth of the blankets, having not realized how violently he was shivering until now. Dean pressed a hand against the other man’s forehead, frowned, gentled another kiss against his hair, and left with the promise of getting him a glass of water from the kitchen.
By the time he returned, Cas was already sound asleep in the blanket nest, leaving Dean to quietly worry over him.
*****
The next morning was far worse. Cas vomited frequently, feeling too nauseated to eat anything more than a few nibbles of cracker. He shivered and trembled even when covered by every blanket in the house, complaining of chest pains and wheezing as if he couldn’t get enough air in. Most of the time, Cas slept in fitful, sporadic episodes, and lay panting on the sofa when awake, too tired or too weak to move much. Dean’s nerves were worn raw, quiet panic at how bad Cas’ condition was settling in. It was only when Cas began coughing up mucus tinged with red that Dean decided to drive to the hospital.