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Dean’s in the library when it happens.
He’s just gotten up from his chair to get himself some more coffee from the kitchen when Castiel emerges in the doorway. The man in question is barefoot, dressed only in grey sweatpants and an old, washed out t-shirt from Goodwill. And he looks absolutely horrible.
Dean stops dead in his tracks, brow furrowing in concern at the sight of the other’s slumped shoulders.
“Hey,” he greets. “Everything okay?” Castiel’s gaze rises to focus on his face. Or, tries to, at least.
“Dean…” he rasps, and oh, wow, that really doesn’t sound good.
“Cas?” Dean steps closer, heart thumping when he sees the beads of sweat that’s formed on the other’s pale skin. “Cas, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t think I’m— I’m not feeling—”
He trails off, and as Dean watches, Castiel’s eyes roll back into his head as the former angel simply drops, knees buckling beneath his own weight.
Dean’s coffee mug hits the floor and shatters, spilling cold droplets of java all over the floor when Dean lets it go in favor of catching the other man in his arms. He staggers down onto one knee on impact, but somehow manages to keep them from toppling over as he grapples at Castiel’s arms and torso to keep the other man from sliding out of his grip.
“Sam!”
Castiel’s practically boiling, his skin slick and shining with sweat. Fever, Dean concludes. Jesus, what the hell was going on here?
He hears running from the hallway outside and then Sam comes skidding around the corner, eyes widening at the sight of the two men on the floor.
“What—”
“I don’t know,” Dean interrupts sharply, before Sam can even ask. “Just help me get him up.”
Sam nods, and Dean grunts when the weight of Castiel’s limp body leaves his own. He wobbles to his feet while Sam hoists the unconscious man up to wrap an arm around Castiel’s midsection.
“Holy shit, he’s burning up…” he mumbles under his breath.
“We need to cool him down,” Dean grates, ducking under Castiel’s limp arm to wrap his own around Castiel’s waist as well. “Help me get him into bed.”
Dean’s room is the one closest, so they head there. Dean really tries to be gentle when they unload their human burden onto the bed, but he still cringes on the inside when he sees the way Castiel’s head bounces and rolls on the pillows upon impact.
“There’s ice in the fridge,” he says, ushering Sam towards the door, but Sam’s already out of the room before he even stops talking. Dean turns back towards the bed, running both hands through his hair with a groan.
“C’mon, Cas…” he mutters, stalking over to place the back of his hand against Castiel’s scalding forehead. “Get a hold of yourself.”
He takes a moment to rearrange Castiel’s body into a more comfortable position, keeping a close eye on the other’s face for any signs of consciousness as he does so. He’s just finishing propping Castiel’s head up on one of the white pillows when Sam returns, carrying two bags of ice in his hands.
“This is all we’ve got,” he announces, handing Dean one of them. Dean takes it without a word, his lips thinning into a grim line. He sits down on the edge of the bed and carefully places the bag against Castiel’s temple while Sam takes the other and settles it at the top of the man’s head.
They wait, and Dean feels the worry twinge through his insides with each minute that passes without anything happening. Castiel’s chest is rising and falling rapidly underneath the t-shirt, the thin fabric sticking to his skin in wet patches. He looks like he’s dying, and Dean struggles not to let his mind wander to the many scenarios that would imply.
Then Castiel’s eyelids starts to flutter, slowly opening to reveal a glazed, bright blue gaze, and Dean lets out a slow, shuddering breath.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam smiles, reaching out to clasp a gentle hand around the other man’s shoulder.
“Glad you cared to join us,” Dean says, covering the relieved tremble of his voice up with a tender layer of sarcasm. “How are you feeling?”
Castiel looks in between them, then up at the ceiling and around the room, as if he’s having trouble recognizing where he is.
“What happened?” he grates, eventually, and Dean licks his lips.
“Well, you sort of fainted,” he supplies. “Straight into my arms, actually.”
He swallows, breathing out a low chuckle.
“I mean, if you wanted to get my attention that badly, you could have just asked, you know?”
Next to him, Sam lets out an amused snort, and Dean rolls his gaze to the ceiling.
Castiel’s eyes narrow at them both, eyebrows knotting together momentarily before easing up once more, a groan slipping between his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, that wrong sounding gravel in his voice turning his sentence into a wheeze. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“Well, I think we can all agree that you sort of failed on that one,” Dean retorts, moving the bag of ice to dab it against Castiel’s forehead. “Care to explain what it was you didn’t want us to worry about?”
Castiel closes his eyes, groaning again.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad…”
“That what would be this bad?” Sam frowns, sharing a quick look with his brother over Castiel’s head. Castiel squints his eyes open, glaring at the two of them before closing them again.
“Catching a cold.”
Dean and Sam’s gazes meet for a second time, and Sam chuckles.
“Oh, dude,” he says. “I hate to break it to you, but this ain’t no cold.”
“It’s not?” Castiel asks, confused.
“Nah, man.” Sam looks at Dean.
“Yeah, Sammy’s right,” Dean admits, giving Castiel a small pat on the chest. “Congratulations, buddy. You’ve got the flu.”
Castiel looks at them, mouth falling open as if he’s about to object, but then he slumps down onto the pillows with a heavy sigh.
“That would explain… a lot, actually…” he admits, and Dean frowns.
“How long have you been feeling sick?” he asks, suddenly suspicious.
“A while,” Castiel replies, deliberately and blatantly avoiding the question.
“Nice try,” Dean retorts. “How long?”
This time Castiel’s glare is a bit glassy, the fever making it hard for him to focus it properly.
“Since the day before yesterday.”
Sam clears his throat with a sigh, getting up from the bed.
“I’ll head to the pharmacy,” he announces, tossing the remaining bag of ice at Dean, who catches it with one hand. “At least try to let him get some rest while I’m gone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean huffs, catching on to the tone of his brother’s voice.
“You know what I mean,” Sam retorts, grimacing. “Control yourself.”
Ignoring Dean’s indignant splutter, Sam gives Castiel a little wave as he heads out the door.
“See ya later, Cas.”
Castiel sits up higher to raise his hand in return, but Dean resolutely clamps his own hand around Castiel’s fingers, pressing them back down onto the covers.
“You, rest,” he orders firmly and Castiel obediently slumps back down.
“Sorry,” he breathes, swallowing when the pain in his throat makes him wince, but Dean just shakes his head.
“I can’t believe you weren’t planning on telling us you were sick,” he berates, giving Cas a scolding look.
“You were busy with the case,” Castiel objects weakly.
“You’re more important than the case.”
Castiel’s gaze tips down, looking to where Dean’s hand is still clutching his. When he looks back up Dean raises a brow at him.
“You’re gonna tell me to remove my hand?” he challenges.
“Not really.”
“Good.”
Dean leans in, his attempt of pressing a kiss against Castiel’s lips failing when Cas turns his head away.
“Dean, I’m contagious,” he tries.
“I know that,” Dean murmurs, his lip twitching up in a smile. “But I’m sort of smitten with you already, so I figured that it wouldn’t matter.”
Castiel grumbles out something inaudible in response to the bad pun, but when Dean leans in to kiss him for the second time he doesn’t turn away, sighing against Dean’s mouth when their lips brushes together.
“You scared me,” Dean whispers, pulling back to press his forehead against Castiel’s, feeling it burn against his skin.
“Sorry,” Castiel grates. Dean hums and rubs their noses together before going in for another kiss, bracing himself against the mattress as he leans down over Castiel’s body.
“Dean…” Castiel breathes, his hand coming up to press pointedly at Dean’s shoulder. “I do believe… that this is what Sam was referring to when he told you to let me rest…”
Dean chuckles, going back to simply rubbing his nose against Castiel’s as he reaches up to cup the other’s jaw, thumb slowly swiping along the edge of a sharp cheekbone.
“You know, you’re really hot when you’re sick,” he smirks.
“What?”
“The fever, Cas,” Dean explains patiently. “You’re hot because you have a fever. It’s a pun.”
“Oh…” Castiel’s voice still sounds confused when he licks his lips. “Thank you. I guess.”
“You’re welcome,” Dean smiles, giving Castiel a final, soft kiss before sitting back up. “I’m gonna go get you some water. Keep the ice on for a little while longer, you still need to cool down.”
“Is that another pun…?” Castiel asks, eyelids slowly sliding shut.
“Not at the moment,” Dean answers quietly. The hand still holding onto Castiel’s gives an affectionate little squeeze, and the corner of Dean’s lip quirks up when he feels Castiel’s index finger squeeze him back before letting go.
“Don’t worry,” Dean says assuringly, standing up from the bed. “A few painkillers along with some sleep, and you’ll be good as new.”
He turns to leave, his hand already closing around the door handle when he hears Castiel stir behind him
“Dean…?”
“Yeah?” He turns back around, meeting the half lidded gaze from Castiel’s eyes.
“Thank you.”
Dean swallows, that warm, glowy feeling of endearment inside his chest swelling, pulsing heat through his system.
“Don’t mention it.”