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“Ah…ah-CHOO.”
Sam frowned. That was about the eighth or so sneeze from Cas since they'd settled into the library this morning to start reading up on the latest Fallen Angel Mayhem. He'd seemed fine last night when they'd gotten back from their hunt late last night.
It hadn't been too bad. Just a haunting in a city on the state-line, however, it had started to snow while he and Cas were digging up the bones. Dean had stayed back at the house to keep the ghost preoccupied. Sam had been pretty chilled when they settled back into the Impala, but Dean had kicked on the heat, and everything seemed fine. Now though, Cas was sneezing every few minutes and…was he shivering? It was never cold in the bunker.
“Cas? You okay?” Sam wondered. It dawned on Sam then that Cas was human. He wasn’t an angel anymore. And they’d taken him out on a hunt in the middle of the winter, and all he’d worn was a pair of jeans, a shirt, flannel and jacket. “Shit, you probably caught a cold from last night.”
“It’s just some congestion. Possibly from the snow, or some…other form of bacteria that we dug up in the process last night,” Cas waved a hand gently. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re so not fine.” Dean came into the library then, a big steaming bowl in his hands. “You were cold as ice when you got into the Impala, and you shivered all night. I bet you’re burning up now…” Dean placed the bowl in front of Cas, who hurriedly moved the books away when he noticed Dean wasn’t going to give him any other options. Soup down, Dean pressed a forehand to Cas’ forehead, his cheeks, and pressed lightly under his jaw.
“Yup. That’s a fever.” Dean sighed and shrugged off his jacket. Sam blinked. Had Dean gone out this morning for supplies? The soup in Castiel’s bowl looked like tomato and rice soup…which they probably didn't have stocked all the time. It also meant Dean had coked all morning. Cas sighed softly under the warmth of Dean’s jacket, and he even drew it across his chest a bit tighter.
“Thank you Dean,” Cas murmured as he sniffled.
“You can thank me by eating every drop of that,” Dean pointed at the bowl in front of Cas. “I’m gonna get you some tissues and meds. Then you're going back to bed to sleep this off.” Dean dropped a kiss on the top of Castiel’s head, and for half a beat if surprised Sam.
Dean wasn’t usually that affectionate. But then he remembered winter days where Dean would do the exact same thing for him.
Days when they’d played too long out in the freshly fallen snow in the parking lot of whatever motel room they called home for the week. Or nights when Sam would wake up coughing with a sore throat and Dean would run to the nearest store for cough-drops. He’d always come back, make sure Sam got whatever he needed into his system—soup, juice, medicine, water—then he’d tuck Sam back into bed.
Usually Sam would clonk out cold and sleep for the night…but there was always something warm that put him at easy, something else Dean did that Sam would usually be too deliriously sick to remember.
Seeing it now though, Sam remembers. It was always a peck on the top of his head. Quick and soft, but just that last bit of TLC Sam had needed to get better. If Castiel’s expression was anything to go by, a tiny but warm smile on his face while he stirred his hot soup, that was exactly what Cas needed too.
"Thank you Dean," Castiel repeated. He ate a spoonful of the soup, sighing in relief as the warm soup traveled through his body. Sam smirked, and he glanced up to see Dean glaring at him.
"You too. There's more soup in the pot. Go get a bowl while I get Sneezy here some Vicks." Dean had that mother-hen air about him which made Sam roll his eyes. But then again...tomato and rice soup...Sam could never deny a bowl of Dean's tomato and rice soup.