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Castiel has attended every single one of Dean Winchester's games.
He wouldn't call himself a fanboy, exactly (as his brother Gabriel is so fond of calling him), but he's been watching the other boy since freshman year, and two years later, it just seems silly to stop.
Dean is their school's star baseball player, but that's not the reason Castiel shows up to watch him play. If you asked him, Castiel would tell you it's because Dean had been there to help him when Raphael and his gang had tried to ambush him in the school's parking lot (Castiel is not usually one for fighting—having been taught since an early age that his skills are meant to protect, not harm—, but he would not deny the thrill he had felt fighting alongside him, back to back), so, really, the least Castiel could do was show up to express his support at his games.
(The real reason? The sight of Dean Winchester's confident smirk from the pitcher's mound still left him breathless every time.)
It's silly, but sometimes, in the middle of the game, he'll get the impression that Dean has spotted him. However, he's certain that's just wishful thinking—he doubts Dean notices he's there, considering how many fans show up to cheer him on every time. It's a sea of people and Castiel is nothing more than a tiny speck of sand trapped in the current.
Which is exactly why he doesn't worry when he gets sick one Saturday and has to skip a game. It's not like anyone will notice.
He's in the middle of blowing his nose, still a little congested but glad that the worst of his cold seems to have passed, when a pair of well-worn, raggedy sneakers stop in front of his locker.
"Heya, Cas."
Castiel lowers the tissue he'd been using, blinking at the sight of Dean Winchester standing before him. He looks uncomfortable for some reason and Castiel wishes he had a mirror—he wonders if maybe it's because his nose is all red from blowing it too much and Dean is grossed out. Oh well, nothing he can do about it now. His voice comes out all twangy, "Hello, Dean."
"Whoa, hello, Mr. Deep Voice." Dean frowns and suddenly he's got the back of his hand pressed against Castiel's forehead. He wasn't warm before, but he's pretty sure he's burning now. "Are you sick? You gotta be the only kid in school who doesn't use a cold as an excuse to stay home."
Castiel sniffs pitifully as he straightens up, holding his books closer to his chest, but does nothing to dislodge Dean's hand, "We had to turn in an assignment for Advanced Latin."
Dean rolls his eyes and finally lets his hand drop (Castiel doesn't mourn its absence—really), taking a hold of Castiel's arm instead, "C'mon, I'm taking you to the nurse. You really need to go home."
Castiel makes a protesting sound but he's too tired to argue, following Dean with a (childish) scowl and another pathetic sniff. Dean glances back at him and he must find his expression amusing, because he laughs. The sound makes something flutter within Castiel's chest, "Come on, you big baby."
Castiel follows him, resigned—Dean's hand on his arm unnecessary, as he doesn't need help to walk, but he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.
***
Twenty minutes later they sit outside the school, Dean having snuck out to keep him company while they wait for Castiel's father, who's going to take him home.
They've been quiet for a while, but Castiel doesn't mind. Silences have never been uncomfortable with Dean.
Dean seems a little restless, though, and he keeps shifting from foot to foot and kicking pebbles, and looking like he's got something on his mind. Castiel's about to ask him what's wrong when Dean suddenly blurts it out, "Is the cold the reason you missed the game last Saturday?"
It takes Castiel's muddled brain a second or two to catch up, but when it does, he feels his entire face warming up worryingly, because Dean noticed he wasn't there, "W-What?"
Dean is not looking at him as his sneakers seem to have become incredibly interesting all of a sudden, "You never miss a game and last Saturday you weren't there and I thought you might have gotten bored or maybe you had a date or, you know, something better to do."
Castiel starts to shake his head before he remembers that Dean isn't looking at him, "I-I wasn't. I mean, I couldn't. I tried to go, but my father stopped me at the door when he noticed I was running a fever. He said our school's team could probably survive a game without me."
Dean nods and finally glances up at him, "No, that makes sense. It's good that you stayed home. You gotta take care of yourself."
Castiel's about to reply when his father's car rounds the corner, coming to a stop before them. Castiel glances between his father's expectant face and Dean, and the latter gives him a smile and a little push, making small shooing motions with his hands, "Go. Get in bed, drink some tea and watch one of those weird National Geographic documentaries you like so much."
Castiel didn't know Dean knew he liked those. He's not sure how to respond without making a fool of himself, so he gives Dean a smile, thanks him quietly for waiting with him and starts for his father's car.
However, before he can open the car door, Dean's voice makes him turn around, "Hey Cas!" He's already standing by the school's entrance, ready to go back inside, "For the record," And here he gives Castiel a wink, "I play better when you're there."
And then he's gone.
Chuck stares at his son as he plops down on his seat wordlessly, face burning.
"Castiel? Has your fever gotten worse? Do we need to go to the hospital?"
Castiel is pretty sure he isn't running a fever at the moment, but he does seem to be hallucinating.
Perhaps he really does need to lie down.
***
When he gets a text from an unknown number later that day ('drink plenty of fluids, you better not miss the next one -DW'), Castiel guesses maybe being sick is not so bad.