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There’s a crash, a flash of pink, and then Dean pukes all over his boots.
‘I didn’t even touch it,’ he says, swaying on the spot.
Sam looks up from the box of possibly cursed trinkets he’s been looking through. ‘Touch what?’
‘The thing that just exploded on me.’
‘What?’ Sam crosses the room in three easy strides, seeming not to notice, or maybe not care, he’s now standing in a puddle of Dean’s puke. He takes Dean’s face in his gloved hands, tilting it toward him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, Sammy, I’m dandy.’ Dean waves at the mess on his shirt, his boots, the floor. ‘I always like throwing up on myself about this time of day.’
Sam blinks, looking down, and grimaces. ‘Gross,’ he says, inspecting his own shoes, but he doesn’t step back. His brows knit together. ‘Dean, what did you touch? Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘I told you,’ Dean says, ‘I didn’t touch anything,’ and finally remembers to bat Sam’s hands away from his face. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist and moves away.
As he turns to point out the shelf he was looking at, his head spins, and a dull ache throbs at the base of his skull. At least he doesn’t puke again, but he does feel kind of shivery.
‘I was just—’ He grits his teeth against another wave of nausea. ‘I was cataloguing, and something exploded.’ He waves in the general direction of…whatever it was.
‘You must have done something. Things don’t just explode.’
‘Quit victim-blaming me.’
Sam huffs. ‘Look, whatever, you should get cleaned up, and I’ll try to figure out what exploded. Make sure it’s not dangerous.’ He claps a hand to Dean’s shoulder, and the nausea settles.
‘Yeah, I’m sure the Men of Letters wouldn’t have anything dangerous down here.’ Dean shakes his head. Fucking old-timey nerds with their stupid potions. He makes it all of two steps into the hallway before he comes over all woozy and his vision gets sparkly at the edges. Weird. He keeps walking but stops when his lunch threatens to make another comeback. ‘Sam!’
Sam rushes out, grabs Dean’s arm. Whatever that was a moment ago has passed, and Dean feels steady on his feet again. ‘Dean, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Dean says, ‘kinda felt like I was going to pass out. I’m fine.’
‘You felt like you were going to pass out?’ Sam repeats incredulously. ‘Dean, that’s not nothing.’
‘Whatever. Like I said, I’m fine now.’
Sam’s brows furrow, mouth a thin line.
‘What?’
‘Just— I think I should keep an eye on you until we know what this is.’
‘I don’t need a babysitter, Sammy,’ Dean says and walks off again. But the wooziness returns, worse than before, and his knees buckle.
Moments before he eats concrete, Sam catches him under the arm, saying, ‘Yeah, you’re right, you’re totally fine.’
‘Urgh,’ Dean gurgles indignantly, but he leans on Sam as he leads him away to get cleaned up.
God damn Men of Letters.
—
Dean hates being sick. Even if it’s funky potion-induced sickness, it still blows. There’s nothing to punch in the face to fix the problem when the problem is that you’re constantly two seconds away from hurling. The worst of it is he doesn’t feel like punching anything. All he wants to do is curl into a ball and feel sorry for himself.
He doesn’t even want to punch Sammy for fussing over him and not letting him out of his sight. Heck, Dean almost likes it. What the hell was in that potion?
And when Sam says he’s going to look through the musty old files to see if he can figure out what the potion was, Dean tags along with only a little whining.
‘You don’t have to help,’ Sam says, when they’re at the library table, ‘maybe you should lie down.’
Dean shrugs one shoulder. ‘Nah, it’s fine.’ He flips closed one file, picks up another, and sneezes.
Sam reaches across the table to press the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead. ‘You’re burning up, Dean.’
‘And I’ll be burning up in bed.’
‘Fine.’ Sam throws his hands up. ‘Just…don’t puke on the files.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Dean says. The throbbing at the base of his skull is starting to feel like an entire rhythm section is pounding away in there and he aches all over. He does want to lie down, but he doesn’t want to admit it.
So, when Sam goes to fetch more files, Dean follows and takes a pile, and when Sam sits at the table, Dean sits next to him. Sam gives him a weird look but doesn’t say anything.
‘I need a drink,’ Sam says, ‘you want anything?’
‘Yeah, whatever you’re having,’ Dean says, then follows Sam to the kitchen.
Sam shuts the fridge and nearly walks right into Dean when he turns around. ‘Dean, what the hell?’
‘What?’
‘Why do you keep following me?’
‘I’m not.’ Dean frowns. ‘Anyway, you wanted to keep an eye on me. You were just going to leave me all alone when I’m, in your words, burning up.’
‘I was only going to the kitchen,’ Sam says, and Dean almost feels bad for the undercurrent of guilt in his voice.
In fact, he does feel sort of bad. Sam’s just standing there with his concerned eyebrows and Dean remembers the time Sam was five and lost Dean’s favourite Hot Wheels. He had that same look, then, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s pulling his overgrown little brother into a hug. ‘I’m just yanking your chain, Sammy,’ he says, ‘I actually feel better.’
‘Uh…’ Sam pats him on the back. ‘Dean?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you sure you feel better?’
‘Yeah.’
’It’s just… You’re hugging me?’
‘What about it?’
‘We don’t really just…hug.’ There’s a beat and then, ‘I mean, there’s nothing wrong with hugging but with the potion and everything…’
‘Yeah, okay, it’s weird,’ Dean says, but it takes another moment before he pulls away. Sam is frowning down at him, and his head starts throbbing again. He steps back and the nausea returns, getting worse with each step he takes until he’s shaking and two seconds away from puking. Again.
‘You feel sick again.’
It’s not a question, but Dean nods, hands braced on the counter.
‘Hey, uh… Come here a moment.’
‘What?’
‘Just come here.’
Dean runs a hand over his face and moves back over to Sam. ‘ What ?’
Sam tugs on Dean’s arm, pulling him into another hug.
‘Thought you said this was weird,’ Dean says.
‘Do you feel any better?’
‘Huh?’
Sam lets go of him, stepping back. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘Like shit,’ Dean says. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You feel better when we’re hugging.’
‘Okay, now you’re being weird.’
‘No,’ Sam says, ‘I think it’s what the potion does.’
‘The…’ Dean’s brain feels like scrambled eggs so it takes him a few seconds to figure out what Sam’s getting at. ‘You think the potion…makes me need hugs?’
Sam shrugs.
‘Why the hell would the Men of Letters have a potion like that?’
‘I don’t know, Dean, why do they have anything they have?’
‘Fair point.’ Dean lets out a long breath. ‘So, what now? We just hug it out until I don’t feel like puking anymore? Because I’d rather throw up.’
Sam ignores the dig and says, ‘Well, about that. I actually called—’
Footsteps sound down the hall and a deep voice calls out, ‘Dean? Sam?’ cutting Sam off.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ Sam calls back.
‘You called Cas?’
‘Yeah, I thought he might be able to check you over. Heal the effects of the potion, or something.’
Dean grunts.
Moments later, Cas appears in the doorway, looking as ruffled as ever. He walks over to them saying, ‘I came as soon as you called,’ and then, ‘Dean, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Dean says, but even he knows it’s not convincing. Not with the roughness of his voice, the way he’s leaning on Sam to stay upright.
Cas puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and says, ‘You don’t look okay,’ all concern.
And, even as Dean’s saying, ‘I’m just peachy, Cas,’ in a disgruntled voice, he’s stepping forward and pulling Cas into his embrace, one arm around his waist, the other cradling his head.
Cas makes a surprised noise and hugs Dean back. Real nice and tight. His hair is soft against Dean’s palm and he smells so nice. Like…home.
Dean hums into the crook of Cas’s neck, breathing in deep. It feels so good. Why doesn’t he hug Cas more often? He holds on tight and even when he hears Sam clear his throat, he doesn’t pull away.
But, much to Dean’s despair, Cas does. ‘Sorry,’ he says, glancing quickly at Dean, then focussing on Sam. ‘You called because something happened to Dean?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam says, and then explains about the potion, including his theory: ‘But he seems to feel better when he’s close to someone, especially…hugging them.’
Despite the scrambled eggs still occupying his skull, Dean is certain Cas looks disappointed when Sam says that. But Cas only says, ‘That sounds strange,’ his voice infuriatingly guarded.
‘Well,’ Dean says, ‘strange is our speciality,’ leaning closer to Cas.
‘Yes.’
‘Uh, well…’ Sam shifts his weight. ‘We haven’t figured out what the potion is supposed to do, or how dangerous it is. Do you think you could…’ He waves between Cas and Dean.
‘Of course,’ Cas says, and raises his hand to Dean’s head.
It feels so good. Not as good as the hug, but Dean still can’t help but lean into it. Cas’s brow furrows and soon he removes his hand.
‘What’s the verdict, doc?’ Dean says.
‘It seems to be working like a virus,’ Cas says, ‘but I can’t tell how aggressive it is. And I can’t heal it.’ He gives Dean an apologetic look and adds, ‘We should find out what it is, to be safe.’
‘Great,’ Dean says, ‘more files.’
—
Half an hour later they’ve made a little headway, but Dean is fucking miserable . If it were just feeling sick, Dean could grin and bear it, but the longer the potion swims around in his veins, the more he longs .
Earlier, when he’d hugged Sam without thinking, he was acting on a faint impulse. He just wanted to hug his brother. And it was nice, but it’s not something Dean thinks about on a daily basis. He’s not sitting around wishing he could hug Sam. But with Cas—
Dean aches for Cas to hold him. And that’s not all the potion. The potion is just making it harder to push the longing away.
They’re pressed up against each other on one side of the table, and Cas is resting a free hand on Dean’s arm, but it’s not enough.
‘You know what,’ Sam says, ‘I can handle the files. You’re looking kinda peaky, Dean, I think you should go lie down.’
‘I’m fine,’ Dean says, even as he has to rest his head on his hand to keep it from spinning. The only thing making him feel better is how close Cas is and he doesn’t want to lose that. He doesn’t want to say it either.
‘I could go with you,’ Cas says.
‘What, you wanna have a nap with me?’ Yes, yes, please say yes.
‘It seems like Sam was right—you feel better when you’re close to someone else.’ Cas squeezes Dean’s arm with the hand still resting there. ‘And we don’t know how dangerous the potion is. It might be like a passing bug, or it could be deadly.’
Dean swallows.
‘Physical affection from someone else could be all that’s stopping you from dying.’
‘Physical—’ Dean nearly swallows his tongue. ‘Are you… You don’t want to cuddle?’ The squeak in his voice is totally just the potion. ‘Do you?’
Across the table, Sam makes a choked noise, but when Dean glares at him, he only shrugs.
‘If it keeps you safe,’ Cas says.
It’s like a bucket of ice water. Because, yeah, that’s the only reason Cas is doing this. To keep Dean safe. Not because he wants to. That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It wouldn’t hurt at all, if Dean hadn’t gone and fallen—
‘Whatever, I don’t care,’ Dean says like a sullen teenager, and pushes himself up from the table.
He makes it a few steps before the room spins and then Cas is at his side, strong hands holding him up. Damn it, he’s not some…swooning damsel. But he can’t shake Cas off without risking not- swooning. And it’s not like he wants to shake Cas off.
Dean groans. This is going to be so weird.
—
‘This is so weird,’ Dean says. He’s lying on his bed, hand tucked under the pillow, being spooned by Cas. In the not-so-deep recesses of his mind he can admit that he’s fantasised about this, which is embarrassing in itself. Who fantasises about spooning? But it’s so nice. And he doesn’t feel like puking anymore, which is just a bonus.
‘Why?’ Cas asks. The warmth of his arm across Dean’s waist is comforting. Grounding.
‘Seriously?’ Dean asks. ‘You gotta ask why this is weird?’
Cas huffs. ‘Apparently.’
‘It’s…’ Dean shifts a little so he can glance over his shoulder at Cas. ‘You don’t just cuddle with your buddies.’
‘Why not?’
‘You don’t, okay?’ Dean grumbles. He settles back in, snuggling into his pillow and relishing the warmth of Cas behind him. This is so embarrassing. ‘Fuck, why couldn’t it have been some kind of sex curse.’
There’s a moment of silence and then Cas asks, ‘Would it be less weird for us to have sex?’
Dean nearly chokes on his tongue. ‘Well… No . I meant… I wouldn’t…’ His face is on fire and he’s glad he’s not facing Cas. ‘I would’ve gone to a bar, or something,’ he manages to squeak out.
‘Oh,’ Cas says. ‘That…makes sense.’
Is that… Is that disappointment in Cas’s voice? Probably not. Dean might not feel like puking anymore, but his brain is still scrambled. That’s all it is. He can’t think it might be something more while they’re cuddling .
Except… Maybe this is the perfect time to think about it. After a few moments of internal debate, he rolls over so he’s facing Cas.
‘Dean?’
‘Hey.’
A beat and then: ‘Hello?’
Dean bites his lip. He can’t just ask Cas if he’s disappointed that Dean said he’d go to a bar if it were a sex thing. Because, sure, he could spin it as a joke, as making fun of Cas, but he doesn’t really want to. But it leaves the question of how to broach the whole thing.
And then Cas’s gaze dips to Dean’s mouth and Dean wonders if that’s his answer. He toys with the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat. ‘Hey, Cas.’
‘Yes, Dean.’
‘Do you wanna…’
‘Do I wanna what?’ Cas asks, gaze dipping to Dean’s mouth again.
Fuck it. Dean leans forward.
Of course, that’s when Sam would, apparently, have a breakthrough with the files because before Dean can kiss Cas, his bedroom door bursts open and Sam is there, waving a manila folder around.
‘I found it,’ he says and then, finally looking at where Dean and Cas are entwined on the bed, ‘But it can wait,’ all in a rush.
‘You’re here now,’ Dean says darkly, ‘may as well tell us what you found.’
‘Sure,’ Sam says, eyes darting between Dean and Cas again.
And that’s when Dean realises he’s still cuddling Cas. He pushes himself up, so that he’s sitting, and tugs on Cas to do the same. It leaves his head spinning, but then Cas rests a tentative hand on his thigh and it settles a little.
Sam shakes himself and says, ‘So, get this,’ flipping the folder open. ‘It’s pretty much what we thought—the only way to keep the symptoms at bay is to, uh, hug or something.’ He clears his throat. ‘It’s something they found when they took down a witch—they recreated it to study it, but couldn’t figure out why she made it. The effects only last a day.’
‘Awesome,’ Dean says, ‘so I just grin and bear it for another twenty hours, give or take, and Cas can get back to whatever he was doing.’ It comes out harsher than Dean had meant it to. He doesn’t want Cas to leave, but he doesn’t want to seem too desperate for Cas to stay. Does he? Ugh. His brain is mush.
Cas’s hand flexes on Dean’s thigh; Sam grimaces. ‘Yeah, about that,’ he says, ‘the test subjects who didn’t, uh…cuddle kind of…’
‘Kind of what, Sammy?’
‘Died?’
‘So, Cas has gotta be my cuddle buddy for a whole day? What if I gotta piss, or something?’
‘You guys can figure that out,’ Sam says with a shrug. ‘It’s not the worst cure we’ve had to deal with.’ He looks from Dean to Cas and back again and doesn’t sound certain when he adds, ‘Right?’
‘Right,’ Dean repeats.
‘I’ll let you guys…whatever,’ Sam says, ‘let me know if anything changes,’ and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him.
A tense silence settles over Dean’s room. Cas’s hand is still hot on his thigh and the press of his shoulder is comforting, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, now, and it’s not one-sided.
It’s Cas who breaks the silence, saying, ‘I— I’ll stay until the effects of the potion wear off, and then I’ll leave.’
Anger and rejection flood Dean. Of course Cas doesn’t want to stay. Not after Dean nearly— He crosses his arms over his chest and squares his jaw. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Sorry for keeping you from whatever else you’ve got going on.’
‘There’s nothing,’ Cas says, ‘but you’re clearly uncomfortable.’
‘Well, yeah, I feel like shit because of that damn potion.’
‘I meant uncomfortable with me.’ Before Dean can respond, Cas sighs and adds, ‘I’m sorry for making this…awkward.’
Dean whips around to look at Cas, then regrets it. He swallows down the nausea and says, ‘ You’re making it awkward? I’m the one who—’ His teeth click when he snaps his mouth shut.
‘The one who what?’
Dean scans Cas’s face for any sign that what he’s going to say won’t have Cas running for the hills. He’s not sure he finds any—Cas is looking at him the same way he always does—but he’s so damn tired, so he says, ‘The one who nearly kissed you.’
‘You—’ Cas frowns, looking off to the side, then back to Dean. ‘But I thought…’ He shakes his head. ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why were you going to kiss me.’
‘Because I wanted to! Why else?’ Dean runs a hand through his hair. Heat rushes his face and it’s not the fever. ‘And I thought you wanted to.’
‘I did,’ Cas says, on a sigh, ‘I do.’ He reaches for Dean, hesitantly, taking his hand. ‘I always do.’
Dean looks down at their hands laced together, then back up at Cas. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘Awesome,’ Dean says, grinning.
Cas smiles back, squeezing his hand. ‘Are you going to kiss me then?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Dean says, ‘keep your feathers on,’ and he leans over and finally kisses Cas.
It’s maybe not Dean’s best effort, but it’s soft, and it’s sweet and he’s kissing Cas. His head feels light and his heart pounds and it takes him a second too long to realise that it’s not all the kiss.
He groans, pulling back, and says, ‘Think we might have to take a raincheck.’
‘The potion?’
Dean nods.
‘The kiss wasn’t—’
‘No,’ Deans says before Cas can finish, ‘that’s all me.’
‘Good.’ Cas smiles softly, but it fades. He presses his hand to Dean’s head. ‘You’re far too hot.’
‘Hey, I can’t help what nature gave me.’
Cas’s eyes narrow and then he sighs. ‘I meant your temperature.’ There’s a sly tilt to his lips when he adds, ‘Though you are very attractive.’
Warmth rises to Dean’s face and he rubs the back of his neck. ‘Good to know.’ He huffs. ‘I mean… Thanks. You too.’
‘Mm.’ Cas looks pleased, eyes bright in the soft light of Dean’s room. He brushes Dean’s hair back, runs the backs of his fingers down the side of Dean’s face. ‘Sleep,’ he says, ‘I’ll stay with you.’
‘You’re not gonna bail?’
‘No,’ Cas says, manhandling Dean until they’re lying down, front to front, ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ and slides his arm around Dean’s waist.
Their legs are entangled, and Cas is holding him tight, and the bed is comfortable and warm.
So, when Cas says, ‘Sleep,’ again, that’s just what Dean does.