Work Text:
Cas hates this.
It’s a sickness that spreads around the ranks of Heaven every thousand years or so, staggered so all angels aren’t sick at the same time, designed to re-calibrate their grace. And it sucks. Cas has a sneaking suspicion that since he was on earth, it was going to be worse than it would normally.
He felt the first signs of it Thursday morning, and by Thursday night, he was sitting in the library, resting his head against the cool surface of the table, trying to even out his breathing and still the spinning in his head. Sam comes across him as he slowly gets to his feet, blinking at the human blearily as his grace revolts against his system, longing to be free from his vessel.
Sam hesitates when he doesn’t get a response from the angel, who looks as if the only reason he’s standing is because he’s holding onto the back of a chair like his life depends on it. “Cas?” the hunter questions, but is still met with no response. He drops his laptop on the table, shutting the lid gently and walking over to him. “Are you okay?” Sam waves his hand in front of the angel’s face, only getting a groan in response as he screws his eyes shut. “Cas.” He says again, worry creeping into his voice as he reaches out to steady him, his hand flying up to rest against his forehead. “Holy shit, you’re burning up. What’s wrong?”
“Sick.” Cas’s gravely voice is a welcome sound amidst the deafening silence.
“Angels can get sick?” Sam wonders aloud but his curiosity quickly tampers as Cas reaches up and clutches at his head, eyes fluttering open for just a second to stare at him with an expression of complete pain, before shutting again. “Right, don’t ask stupid questions,” Sam mutters. “Let’s get you to your room.”
They run into Dean halfway there, who sets his coffee mug down with a clink that leaves Cas’s head spinning. He flinches at the noise and Sam throws a bitchface over the angel’s shoulder at Dean, who just looks confused.
“What’s with the parade?” He asks, taking in the way Sam is half carrying, half dragging Cas down the hall. “I mean, shit, feathers, you ain’t looking too hot.”
“He’s sick,” Sam says, and that’s all it takes for Dean to launch into overprotective, mother hen mode.
He rushes over, fitting himself against Cas, helping Sam lead him to his room. They reach a junction in the hallway and each brother starts heading a different direction, causing the angel in the middle to let out a general noise of protest. They stop and stare at each other.
“The free rooms are this way,” Sam says, motioning with his head to the left.
“Yeah, and our room is this way.”
“We don’t know what he has, we don’t need you getting sick too.” Sam protests.
“Dean.” Cas decides, tugging Sam towards the right. Dean smirks at Sam, who rolls his eyes.
They finally make it to their room and Sam leaves Cas with Dean while he goes to find their box of medicine. Dean welcomes the sick angel into his arms, who gladly buries his face in the hunter’s neck, blocking out the blinding light.
“As cute as this is,” Dean half teases, running his fingers gently through locks of raven hair, scratching at his scalp in attempts to soothe some of the pain, “Sam is right. Both of us can’t afford to be sick.”
Cas whines, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, holding him in place. “Angel sickness,” He mumbles. “Not for humans.”
“So, you can’t get me sick?” Dean clarifies, his fingers halting temporarily as he waits for a response. Cas nods. “Sweet.”
Sam comes trotting down the hall seconds later, freezing at the intimate scene, before knocking gently against the door frame to get his brother’s attention. “Got some meds.” He holds up the box in his hand. “No idea if it’ll help or not though.”
“According to Cas, it’s some sort of angel sickness, so he can’t get us sick,” Dean informs. Sam hears a muffled statement, but can’t make out what is said so he stares at Dean expectantly, waiting for him to relay the information. “He also says, cut the lights, they're giving him a headache.”
Sam reaches over and flicks off the overhead lights, plunging the room into darkness. Cas visibly relaxes. Now the only light is streaming in from the hallway through the open door. Dean starts to usher the angel towards their bed and Sam takes it as his cue to leave. He dumps the medicine on the desk in the corner and shuts the door behind himself, leaving it open just a crack so Dean can see what he’s doing.
Cas finally opens his eyes, now able to stand looking around with the extreme lack of light, staring up at Dean from where he sits on the side of the bed. He stares at Dean gratefully, tears welling up in his eyes due to the pain. He is unfamiliar with this response, but Dean doesn’t seem too worried and simply wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs.
“You’re gonna be okay, babe. What hurts, and what can I do to help?” He askes gently, kneeling down in front of him.
“Everything.” Cas whimpers out. “My head is on fire, my stomach feels like it’s going to eat itself,” he sighs “and it’s cold.”
Dean leans down and presses a kiss to feathery hair, cradling his angel’s face with his hands in the process. “Let’s see what we can do about that. I’m going to give you some of this medicine.” Dean walks over to the bottle Sam had left, pouring a dose into the plastic cup. “I’m not sure how much it’ll help you, but it’s designed to help with flu symptoms.” He pushes the tiny cup into the angel’s hand, who stares down at the red liquid skeptically. “Drink up.”
Cas downs the whole thing dutifully, making a face at the taste. “Not a fan of cherry, huh?” Dean laughs, setting the cup off to the side and reaching over to relieve the angel of his trenchcoat. “Second rule of getting sick: comfy clothes.” He coaxes Cas out of his normal stuffy attire and into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He quickly learns, the angel detests standing any longer than he has too and quickly has him re-settled on the bed. “Now, sleep.” Cas lays down, and Dean shuffles him under the covers. “And since you can’t get me sick,” Dean says, bringing the trashcan over to the side of the bed - just in case - crawling in bed shortly after. “You get cuddles.”
Cas seems to greatly appreciate this, reaching out and tugging on Dean’s shirt, seeing as he doesn't have the strength to pull him closer himself. Dean indulges this action with a smile, tucking Cas against him gently, in attempts to not upset his stomach. His fingers find their way back up to the angel’s hair, threading through it softly. He kisses the top of Cas’s head once more, before continuing to lightly scratch against his scalp.
“Sleep now,” Dean whispers against feathery hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”