Work Text:
It's good to be back home.
Admittedly Dean only has been gone for four days but it felt way longer than that. But he couldn't refuse when one of his old hunter buddies called for a little back-up for an allegedly salt-and-burn. Sam and Castiel wanted to tag along, voicing their opinion on the matter very loudly because “It's sounds like an easy case but you know better than anyone that appearances can be deceitful.”
But Jeffery has never been good with other people so Dean decided to go alone for now and call if anything fishy turned up about the case. At first he felt good about getting his way but in the end he regretted to not bring along his brother and his angel since the case turned out to be boring as fuck. Research, research and more research before they finally got a chance to burn the most annoying ghost in history.
So Dean can't repress a relieved sigh when he enters the bunker and breathes in the smells of old books, coffee and chicken broth.
Wait, chicken broth?
Dean raises his eyebrows. Did Sam try to improve his cooking skills or did he succumb to some weird craving involving chicken soup?
In the end it's not Sam Dean finds in the kitchen.
“Cas?”
The angel turns towards him, face lighting up at the sight of Dean, and the hunter's heart doesn’t make a jump at that. It does not!
“You're back,” he notes unnecessarily. “I didn’t know you would be coming home today. Why didn’t you call?”
Dean frowns. “I sent Sam a text a few hours ago.” It isn’t like his little brother to not inform Castiel. “He’s here, right?”
“He is,” Castiel confirms, a strange look on his face. “But he’s asleep and probably hasn’t read your text yet.”
“Asleep? It’s three pm.”
Castiel avoids his eyes all of a sudden and well, this is never a good sign. Normally their staring matches are legendary, fucking sonnets are probably written about them somewhere in time and space.
Castiel only averts his gaze when he is ashamed of something.
“Cas,” Dean warns. “What is it?”
Castiel sighs, defeated. “I wanted to tell you,” he claims. “But Sam asked me not to.”
There is something weird bubbling in Dean's gut. There is suspicion and worry and although Castiel doesn't seem overly concerned - a little bit anxious but not in full the-apocalypse-is-upon-us panic mode - he expects the worst. With their lives, how could it be anything else?
Maybe Sam summoned a fucking hell monster. Or he lost his hand during a heroic battle with the refuse disposal unit.
“I was about to heal him but Sam refused.” All of a sudden Castiel sounds very distressed. “The first days he suffered so much and I tried to help as best as I could but the human way is very slow and frustrating.”
Dean blinks, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
All he heard was heal and suffer and he doesn't like it one bit. But then he throws another glance at the chicken broth and asks calmly, “He's got a cold, doesn't he?”
Castiel shakes his head and Dean is about to freak out and demand some fucking answers before the angel replies, “It's the influenza. It's way more serious than a common cold.”
Dean lets out a relieved breath. Sure, the flu is no fun at all but it's seriously better than ripped out guts or something like that.
“Cas, it's okay ...”
“No, it is not!” the angel counters. “The first two days he was barely responsive but he repeatedly told me not to inform you about his condition. He can be as stubborn as you.”
Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it runs in the family.”
“And I at least offered to heal him but he refused.” Castiel looks especially distressed by that.
“Yeah, man, you're not at your best at the moment,” Dean agrees with his brother. “You should spare your mojo for the life threatening injuries, okay? And yeah, you shouldn't take a flu lightly but he'll be fine eventually. He's young and strong and he will overcome this. And if by any chance he really should get worse you can still heal him.”
Castiel nods but doesn't look too happy about this decision. “As you wish. I will continue with the soup then.”
Dean throws a glance into the pot. “Did you make this by yourself?”
“Cooking isn't particularly difficult, Dean,” Castiel responds. “You fairly need to follow the instructions. And since the can soups aren't very healthy most of the time I decided to cook it myself.”
Castiel looks like this is not a big deal and maybe for him it isn't but Dean can't keep that growing feeling of affection down. The angel seems honestly concerned about Sam's wellbeing and that's just … nice.
“Um … I'll go check on Sam,” Dean mutters and retreats hastily before he's able to blurt out something embarrassing. Like his feelings or stuff like that.
Sam is not asleep anymore but he seems drowsy and not remotely ready to leave his bed anytime soon. His face is red from a fever and his forehead sweaty. But considering that influenza can be a bitch sometimes he looks better than Dean expected.
“Hey, Sammy.”
“Dean,” Sam croaks. He sounds just like Castiel although not that sexy and … whoa, stop that thought right there!
“You look like shit, man,” Dean says and tries to cover up the blush on his cheeks although Sam probably can't see it anyway. “What is that about that shit not telling me you're sick?”
San downright pouts. On certain medication he always acts like a child.
“I didn't … didn't want you to abandon the case,” he manages to say before the coughing starts. He immediately grabs a glass of water on his nightstand and downs it in one go.
In the meantime Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Sam?” he asks. “You're not a child anymore. I don't freak out everytime your nose runs. And it's not like you've been here alone the whole time. So I'd have known you wouldn't starve or something and I certainly wouldn't have dropped the case.”
Because Cas is with you, he thinks by himself.
And Dean trusts him. With his own pathetic life. But, more importantly, with Sam's life as well.
“Cas … took good care of me,” Sam says, smiling dazedly. “I mean he's not really nice about it. I think he's still upset I didn't let him heal me. He forces me to eat and drink fluids all the fucking time. And … and he made some herbal ointment. Learned the recipe from some monks in the Middle Ages or something. It smells goddamned horrible!”
Dean smirks. “Ah, that's the smell in here? I thought something died.”
Sam snorts. “But … it works very well. So … it's okay.” His eyes begin to drop again. “Cas gave me a sponge bath too. That's been weird. But … kinda nice too.”
And suddenly Sam is dead to the world and starts to snore like the sick kid he is.
Dean stays for a little while, tugs him in and strokes the hair from his forehead. There will always be something that worries, even when Sam turns eighty. He just can't turn off being a big brother.
But it gets easier with time.
He finds Castiel still in the kitchen, just pulling off the pot from the oven. He looks up when he notices Dean and asks concerned, “How is Sam? Is he still asleep?”
“He's been awake, but just for a few minutes.”
Castiel nods. “I will bring him the soup later then. It is too hot now anyway.”
And Dean just can't take it anymore!
There is Castiel – beautiful, compassionate and kind Cas – worrying about his baby brother and it's too damn much.
“You took care of him,” Dean whispers.
Castiel frowns at his words. “You sound surprised? Why are you surprised?” His face turns more serious. “Did you think I would let Sam suffer all by himself? He is my friend, Dean, I care about him very much and --”
“No, no!” Dean interjects immediately. “I'm not surprised about that. How could I be?” Suddenly they're close, only inches apart. “I'm more surprised … what that does to me, you know?”
Castiel apparently doesn't.
“What do you mean?,” he asks confused.
And what can Dean say to this?
That he let Castiel come closer than anyone before? That he figured out a long time ago it's not just gratitude and friendship he feels towards the guy? That he can't imagine a life without the angel anymore?
That he is madly in love and Castiel taking care of Sam makes him feels all these emotions ten times worse?
What do you say?
And well, Dean's never been good with words. So instead of spilling out his feelings in a goddamned mess he just grabs the angel by the waist, pulls him closer and lays his lips on his.
Chaste. Gently. Just for a second.
And when he pulls away Castiel's eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed. “Dean …,” he whispers in awe.
He cups Dean's jaw and before the hunter knows it Castiel goes in for a second kiss, this one far from innocent like the first. It's obvious the angel has not much experience but it's still the best freaking thing ever happened to Dean. He sighs happily while he returns Castiel's enthusiasm eagerly. His knees go weak when he feels the touch of Castiel's tongue for the first time and he can't help but moan at the feeling.
He gets lost in Castiel. In his smell, his taste, his touch.
He never imagined it could be that good.
And when Castiel pulls away again, Dean outright whines. How did he get so needy?
“I wanted to do this for a very long time,” Castiel says against his lips.
“Me too,” Dean whispers. “And all it took was a sick Sasquatch. Sam should have caught the flu a long time ago.”
Castiel chuckles. “You probably shouldn't tell Sam that. He is suffering enough.”
He leans in again but before their lips meet Castiel's phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. The angel immediately turns his attention to the device, checking the text message he received, and Dean suddenly feels cold when there is no more angel in his arms.
“It's Sam,” Castiel informs him. “He asks for something to eat.” He smiles at that. “That's a good sign, right? It is at least the first time he asked for it.”
Castiel looks happy about this new development and Dean's heart grows at least two sizes.
“I'll help you feed the giant baby,” Dean offers, coughing, distracting himself since he is just one step away from confessing his love right here and now and that's something he doesn't want to do in the kitchen next to chicken broth while Sam yells for food from the other room.
The angel looks grateful. “And after that you can tell me about your case.”
Or we can make out on the couch, Dean thinks.
But he just smiles – and he knows he looks like a lovesick puppy, thank you very much! – and says, “Whatever you want.”