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“You don’t sound alright. Are you sure you’re not getting sick?” Sam asks, his voice full of worry, “I can drive down and pick you up and we can come back for my truck later.”
“Sam, I don’t get sick. Besides, it’s just a few hours and I’m not gonna let a little sniffle keep me from sleeping in my own damn bed,” Dean retorts, trying to keep the scratchiness of his throat out of his voice.
The ‘sniffle’ he left with the day before to tackle the routine salt and burn had somehow mutated overnight into a sore throat, crusty eyes, sore muscles, headache, and slight chill. Dean had popped three acetaminophen this morning and two more this afternoon when he felt the morning dose wear off.
“Whatever, drive safe, jerk.”
“See you soon, bitch,” Dean ends the call, taking a moment to rest his pounding head against the Baby’s steering wheel before putting her into drive.
He’s able to push through the first hour, but by the second he knows he’s veering from stubborn into death wish territory. Reluctantly, he pulls off the highway at the first exit he sees with a motel.
It takes all his remaining strength to get a key and lug his overnight bag into the sad room. He flops on the bed, groaning when his muscles protest the jarring movement.
I should text Sam, tell him I had to crash for the night, Dean thinks but he doesn’t reach for his phone.
He’s not sure how long he stays facedown on the bed, still in his dirty clothes and shoes, time seems to fade in an out with his consciousness.
It’s fully dark out when he wakes up shivering, the room feeling like it gotten degrees colder. He considers trying to make it to the thermostat to turn it up, but the pounding in his head immediately vetoes the idea of any sort of movement besides throwing blankets on top of him.
Please, just let me sleep through this and be fine tomorrow.
Light flashes outside Dean sees Cas standing outside the window.
Oh good, he heard my prayer. Wait, did I pray?
“Cas, m’glad y’here,” Dean mumbles, anticipating the warmth of Cas’ hand, but it never comes. He wrenches his eyes open at the sound of thunder, light flashing shortly after, illuminating the empty room.
He falls into hazy half-conscious dreams. One moment he’s back in hell, torturing under Alastair, the next he’s laughing with Sam or hanging out with Cas. Sometimes he swears they’re actually there with him, he has full conversations with both Sam and Cas, but he can’t recall a single thing they said.
The night is a never-ending blur of impossible faces and memories of things that never happened interspersed with moments of clarity. Those are the worst for Dean as he’s too weak to move, but cognizant enough to realize how out of control, how vulnerable he is.
At one point he thinks he hears knocking, but it quickly fades away into the darkness that swallows him.
He dreams of Cas again, this time the angel is frantically calling his name and rushing to his side.
It’s okay, Cas. I’m fine, I’m just cold. So cold.
“Dean!” Cas shouts, bursting through the door again. He falls beside the bed, his hand, his wonderful warm hand, covers his forehead. “Dean, your fever is very high!” “Good’ur back,” Dean slurs up at the blue fires above him.
Dean blinks and Cas is gone again. It makes him want to weep.
“No, Cas. Please, please don’t leave me! I don’t want to be alone. I want you to stay! I love you too, please come back,” Dean cries, trying to sit up but gravity increases along with the room beginning to spin and he flops back onto the sweat soaked mattress. He dreams of waterfalls and being cradled in strong arms.
Dean slowly realizes he’s not on the bed anymore, but it’s too comfortable to be the floor either. Someone’s arms are around him and he feels weightless. It’s a new hallucination but it’s so lovely that Dean doesn’t fight it, he just sighs and lets himself be anchored down by the body beneath him.
He feels like shit when he wakes up next. His head is jackhammering and his mouth is dry, plus he’s shivering in a tub of cold water. Arms still clutch his now bare stomach and he immediately becomes aware of the person embracing him, holding him above water with his own body.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is hoarse and cracks on the single syllable. He stares down at the hands, but they don’t fade away under scrutiny like his other hallucinations.
“Dean?” A hand untangles itself from its octopus-like grasp to place a cold hand on Dean’s forehead. “Dean, you’re back. The worst is over now.”
He’s not sure if the kiss to his temple is real or not, but the sigh of relief that Dean feels accompany the words definitely is. After a minute, Cas maneuvers them both up, easily lifting Dean out of the tub and carrying him back to the bed. Dean’s not complaining, he doubt’s his legs could hold him at the moment and the whole being carried by Cas was kind of hot.
Cas digs around in a plastic bag and pulls out an electrolyte drink, opening it before wrapping Dean’s hand around it and helping him take a small sip.
“How did you find me?” He rasps.
“Sam was worried, he called me when you didn’t show up and I tried to retrace your steps. I may not have my grace, but I can still hear your prayers. They led me to you,” Cas explains simply, taking away the drink Dean is close to spilling.
“Hmm, get in bed.” Dean orders, forgetting exactly why he shouldn’t demand such things.
“Dean, you don’t know what you’re saying. It’s okay, I’ll be right here watching over you until you’re better.” Cas says and Dean swears there’s a hint of sadness laced among the words.
“I know want I’m saying, Cas. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this and I need to know this isn’t just another hallucination form the fever. So, you gonna make me sleep alone or are you gonna get over here and cuddle with me, Angel?”
He wakes up feeling better, starving and thirsty and still weak, but his head is clear for the first time in what feels like forever.
Best of all, Cas’ arms are still wrapped around him on the bed. He tries not to move, not to do anything that would make the angel relinquish his grip.
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Cas’ breath tickles his ear.
“Better,” Dean turns around to face Cas. “Looks like you saved me again. At this rate I’ll be indebted to you for life.”
To his horror, Cas’ eyes start tearing up at the joking words.
“I thought I’d lost you, Dean. I thought I was too late; the fever was so high and you kept begging me not to leave you and I couldn’t heal you. I couldn’t do anything but hold you in that cold bath and hope the fever came down.”
Dean leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the trembling lips, “I’m sorry I made you worry, Cas.”
Dean continues to apologize, punctuating each with another kiss until the angel calms down and starts returning the kisses.
“What happens now?” Cas asks between kisses.
“What happens now is that I get better and take you out on a proper date where I’m conscious for the whole thing. How does that sound?”
“That sounds lovely,” Cas tucks his head against Dean’s chest and soon they’re both sleeping peacefully.