Chapter Text
It was a rare, quiet afternoon in the bunker. With no case looming, Sam and Dean finally had time to unwind. Dean was sprawled on the couch, engrossed in an old Western playing on the massive TV he’d insisted on getting, while Sam was settled in a lounge chair, nose buried in a thick book. Cas had opted for extra sleep, turning in for a nap a few hours ago. Adjusting to being human was hard on the former angel and he rarely got enough sleep to rid his eyes of the dark circles beneath them.
When Cas shuffled into the “Dean Cave,” though after a nearly three-hour nap, he looked far from rested. His skin was ashen, and the shadows under his eyes had deepened. His shoulders were hunched inward, his arms wrapped around his middle.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam greeted absentmindedly, not glancing up from his book.
Dean pulled up the edge of the blanket he was under. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, patting the couch. But when Cas didn’t join him, Dean’s gaze broke from the TV and shot over to his boyfriend, instantly worried as he took in his pallor. “What’s wrong?”
Dean’s tone made Sam look up from his book. He too was alarmed by Cas’s disheveled appearance.
“My stomach…” Cas’s voice wavered. “It feels strange.”
Sam set his book aside, studying Cas carefully. “Have you eaten today?” he asked. “Maybe you’re hungry.”
“I ate this morning when I woke before the sun. Besides, I am familiar with the feeling of hunger now.”
“So if you don’t feel hungry, how do you feel?” Sam asked. A lot of helping Cas adjust involved guessing games and long lines of questioning.
Cas hesitated. He was still getting used to all the many sensations that came with being human. He found that, despite his extensive vocabulary, it was often difficult for him to describe how he felt. “Unwell,” he said finally.
“Unwell as in pain or unwell as in sick?” Dean prompted.
“Both, I think,” Cas paused to take inventory of his body. “It feels… like there are bubbles in my stomach. And sometimes it feels like someone is squeezing or stabbing me.”
“Wait Cas, back up,” Sam said, “What exactly did you eat this morning?”
Cas was always trying new foods. He said he wanted to experience as many flavors as possible now that he could taste more than just molecules. Up until now, none of them had considered that maybe he had a food allergy.
“The label said, ‘ground beef.’”
Dean’s jaw dropped. “Ground beef?” he asked incredulously, “As in the raw ground beef that I was gonna make into burgers tonight?”
“My apologies. I didn’t know you were saving it for something.”
Dean threw his hands in the air. “Dammit, Cas! You can’t eat raw meat!”
Cas’s brow furrowed. “We had sushi last week. Is that not raw fish?”
“That’s different!”
“Dean,” Sam interjected. “He’s learning. He didn’t know.” Sam turned his attention to Cas. “Some meats can be eaten raw,” he explained gently. “But most raw meats carry bacteria that are harmful to humans. Cooking kills that bacteria making the meat safe for human consumption.”
“So the ground beef was not safe to eat?”
“Not raw, no. Which means there’s a good chance you’ve got–”
“Food poisoning,” Dean finished with an exasperated sigh. Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and guided him down the hall to the bathroom.
“What are we doing in here?”
“Look, your body knows that what you ate is bad for you, so it’s gonna want to get it out.” Dean patted the tank of the toilet. “Which means you two are about to become very well acquainted.”
Cas blinked at him. “Dean, I do not wish to befriend a toilet.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you: you’re gonna be really sick soon and it’s probably going to be a little scary and a lot gross. Now, let me ask you a few more questions so we can make this as mess-free as possible. Okay?”
“Okay,” Cas said, perturbed by Dean’s rushed and worried tone. He wrapped his arms tighter around his stomach which now felt like it was doing flips.
“The sharp pains you’re having where are they?”
“My abdomen,” Cas said matter-of-factly.
“Right, but are they worse in any specific spot?”
“No, they’re everywhere,” Cas replied.
Dean pressed on. “Does your belly feel heavy? Do you feel like you need to… go?”
Cas flushed bright red, shaking his head. He’d always been uncomfortable talking about bowel movements, hence Dean’s neutral word choice.
Dean watched as Cas swallowed hard and rubbed at his chest. “Okay. Does it feel like your stomach is trying to jump up your throat?”
Cas nodded. “It feels like… something is trying to come out of me.”
Dean’s lips pressed into a grim line. “Yeah, well that’s more or less what’s about to happen.”
“What?!” Cas asked, eyes wide and alarmed.
Dean guided Cas to his knees in front of the toilet and opened the lid. “You’re probably going to throw up, which—I’m not gonna lie—will suck, but I’ll be here the whole time to talk you through it.”
Cas had seen people throw up in movies before and it looked wildly unpleasant. “I don’t want to throw up,” he insisted.
“No one does,” Dean replied softly, brushing a strand of hair from Cas’s forehead. Sweat was already starting to bead on Cas’s forehead and upper lip. Dean leaned him forward until he was hovering his head over the toilet bowl. “Let’s just hope your body doesn’t decide on a double feature.”
Before Cas could ask what that meant, Sam appeared in the doorway with an armful of supplies. “He get sick yet?”
“Getting there,” Dean answered.
“Well, I got everything you’ll need—couple of water bottles, Pepto, a heating pad, a sweater in case he’s cold, and a thermometer.” Sam set the supplies on the countertop. “Make sure he’s drinking, okay? And check his temp every couple of hours. If he gets too hot or dehydrated we’re gonna have to take him to the hospital.”
“He’s always hot,” Dean said with a smirk.
Sam gave Dean his best bitch-face, thoroughly unamused. “I’m serious, Dean. Food poisoning can lead to–”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. Between the two of us, we probably hold some sort of record for the number of truck stop bathrooms we’ve puked in.”
“Ew, Dean, really?” Sam grimaced and shook his head. “Just let me know if you two need anything.” He gave Cas a small, sympathetic smile and then left, shutting the door behind him. The last thing Cas needed when he was feeling so poorly was an audience.
Cas was trembling uncontrollably now. His swallows grew frequent, each one harder than the last. “I don’t feel well, Dean,” he whispered.
“I know, angel. I know.” Dean’s hands worked gently on Cas’s tense shoulders, his thumbs pressing slow circles into the tight muscles. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better, but just try to relax. Fighting it’ll only make it harder, okay?”
Cas didn’t respond, his body coiled with tension. His breathing grew shallow and erratic, each inhale sharp and shaky. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he spit into the toilet, his chest jumping slightly, urging more to come up.
Dean stayed close, his voice a steady murmur of reassurance, but the words felt distant to Cas, muffled like sound underwater. He’d faced millennia of battle and unimaginable horrors, yet this—this messy, human vulnerability—terrified him.
“I can’t do this,” Cas choked out, reaching out and gripping Dean’s hand like it was his lifeline.
“You don’t have much of a choice,” Dean said softly, kissing his clammy forehead. “You just have to let this run its course.”
A sudden sharp cramp ripped through Cas’s abdomen, wrenching a harsh gag from him. It startled him and he whimpered, screwing his eyes shut, as his nails dug into Dean’s hand.
“Shh, you’re okay,” Dean murmured, leaning closer. “Don’t fight it. Let it happen.”
Cas gagged again, a wet burp forcing its way out. The bitterness he tasted on his tongue made him gag again, but he clamped his mouth shut when he felt something shoot up his throat.
“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” Dean coaxed, free hand coming up to massage his jaw. “I don’t want you to choke.”
Cas shook his head, his last attempt at willing this all to stop but when his stomach clenched again there was nothing he could do to stop the torrent of red, mushy, semi-digested meat from spewing past his lips.
“That’s it. Just let it out,” Dean said, his voice low and calm.
Cas’s body heaved repeatedly, mouthful after mouthful of sick splashing into the toilet. Dean rubbed gentle circles at the base of his spine as his back arched and strained. When the waves of sickness finally subsided, Cas slumped forward, his hands braced weakly on the toilet seat. “Dean…” he panted, his voice barely audible. “My head… it’s spinning.”
Dean flushed the toilet, easing Cas back against his chest as they leaned against the wall. “You’re okay, angel,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Cas to steady him. “Just take it easy. Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”
Cas’s eyelids fluttered shut as his head drooped against the crook of Dean’s neck. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to him uncomfortably, amplifying the sticky, suffocating feeling settling in his body. The sour taste lingering in his mouth made his stomach churn anew. He pressed a hand to his abdomen, hoping for relief that didn’t come.
Dean noticed the motion and slipped his hand beneath Cas’s shirt, his palm warm and firm as he rubbed slow, soothing circles over the tense muscles. Cas’s breath hitched, and tears spilled silently down his cheeks.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his lips brushing the top of Cas’s head. He began rocking him gently, hoping to calm him like Cas often did for him after nightmares. But the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through Cas’s body. Suddenly, Cas lunged for the toilet, coughing up strings of bile and saliva.
“It burns,” he croaked.
“That’s just your stomach acid,” Dean explained, reaching for the bottle of water Sam had left on the counter. He handed it to Cas, guiding his shaky hands that could barely hold it. “Sip this. It’ll help.”
Cas took a tentative sip, letting the cool water wash away the bitterness coating his tongue. The sensation was momentarily soothing, but it churned uneasily in his stomach before making a swift reappearance. Dean coaxed him to try again, but after two more attempts, they both surrendered. Cas slumped against Dean’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion. He slipped into a fitful sleep only a few moments later.
Dean took that as his cue. Scooping Cas up with ease, he carried him to his room. He stripped off Cas’s damp clothes, leaving him in boxers, and tucked him beneath the thin top sheet.
Once Cas was settled, Dean quickly transformed the room into a makeshift sickbay. A trash can sat beside the bed, water and meds occupied the nightstand, and a cool washcloth rested on Cas’s forehead. Then, he headed out to the kitchen to warm up the heating pad Sam had left earlier.
“How’s he doing?” Sam asked, following his brother.
“He’s asleep. At least for now.” Dean popped the heating pad in the microwave and started it. “As much as I’m hoping this is a one-and-done thing, you and I both know that food poisoning is at least 24 hours of hell.”
Sam shuddered. He and Dean knew how awful food poisoning was all too well. Years of eating food from sketchy gas stations had backfired on them more than they’d care to admit. Dean had been right earlier, they probably did hold some sort of disgusting record.
The microwave beeped and Dean pulled out the heating pad. Sam reached into the fridge and handed Dean an extra water bottle. “Remember: hydration. I’ll bring some juice by later if you think he can stomach it.”
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Sammy.” He returned to Cas’s room, shutting the door softly behind him, careful not to wake Cas.
Crawling into bed, Dean placed the heating pad on Cas’s stomach and pulled him close. His own eyes drifted shut, and soon, his quiet snores blended with the steady sound of Cas’s breathing.