"Heyyyy," Dean drawled at Cas and Sam as they came thumping down the bunker stairs. "You survived."

Cas tried to take the bone-deep relief he felt at seeing Dean off of his face. "You're awake."

"I am," Dean said with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm. 

He had obviously bathed but not shaved, put on clean pajamas and mismatched socks. He was still pale, and while there was no way he'd actually shrunk in the three hours since Cas had seen him last, the robe Dean was also wearing made him seem smaller, like a kid playing dress up. 

Cas wanted to wrap him up in a dozen blankets and force him back to bed.

"You are both so much more disgusting than I'd even assumed you'd be," Dean said. "Looks like the hunt was a real monster mash."

"Thanks," Sam said, tone dry as toast. "It was a graveyard smash."

Both he and Dean looked at Cas. 

Cas got the impression he was supposed to react. "We did literally bash in the heads of two ghouls in a cemetery," he said, just stating a fact for lack of knowing what exactly he was supposed to say instead. 

There was a smear of ghoul on his tuxedo jacket as evidence of the night's adventure.

Sam was shaking his head in amusement at something. "You were right, Dean. The weirdos getting married in the cemetery never even noticed us. There were maybe two hundred people attending, all black tie. We blended right in."

Dean grinned. "Told you those tuxedoes were an investment." His grin dropped as he grimaced at Sam wringing black goo water out of his sleeve. "Probably we should burn them later."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'm gonna go take a shower for nine hundred years."

After he left, Dean said to Cas, "Come on, Mr. Crypt Kicker. You need to get cleaned up too."

In his bedroom Cas divested himself of his gunky jacket and muddy shoes and socks. Miracle of miracles, the trousers had made it out of the ordeal unscathed, and the stiff white shirt was only slightly smudged. 

Dean made Cas hold still while he fiddled with the bowtie that had mostly already come undone, albeit in a tangled way. "There," he said, slipping the tie from around Cas's collar. "The tuxes were a great idea unless you'd been strangled to death."

"I was never at any risk of dying," Cas informed him.

"Sure." Dean had, it seemed, forgotten everything he'd ever lectured Cas on about personal space.

The sight of the freckles across his nose made Cas sigh on the inside. Those freckles always seemed to stand out more when Dean was hurt or sick, which was bad, but they gave Dean's face so much charming character, which was… Not something Cas was supposed to fixate on.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asked, looking anywhere but at the freckles.

Dean rolled his eyes at him. "I'm fine, Cas."

"No more nausea? You've been able to keep down some water?"

"My stomach is much better, thank you, and I've been sipping water at regular intervals as instructed." His testy voice made Cas unreasonably happy. 

"I could fix the last lingering--" Cas started.

"No, you couldn't," Dean said, picking up one of Cas's wrists. "I'm fine. It's just a stomach bug. There isn't any reason to go draining the tank on this sorta thing."

Cas sighed out loud this time. "It wouldn't hurt me."

"Well, we're not gonna find out, are we." Dean turned his wrist over. "Oh, there." He fussed with the cufflink toggle until he could work the post out of the button hole.

"I can do that," Cas said, even if in fairness cufflinks seemed like a lot of trouble when a button would function just as well at keeping a shirt cuff tidy.

"I know you could." Dean looked at him with a little half smile. "But I don't mind."

Cas's mouth went dry looking back at him. Dean's smile faded, but not like he was upset -- more like he was seeing something incongruously sublime.

It made Cas feel light-headed and heavy footed, rooted to the spot, his other hand palm-up as Dean slipped out the second cufflink. 

He and Dean were staring at each other with an intensity wholly unrequired for the disassembly of a standard issue tuxedo. Cas knew this and didn't quite care.

"Well," Dean said, breaking eye contact first. "Glad the case is resolved. And no injuries for a change."

"Yes." Cas blinked a couple of times, stepping away. "Sam and I worked well together. Of course you were missed."

Dean snorted. "Next ghoul's on me."

"And I'm very glad you're feeling stronger," Cas said, beginning to unbutton the shirt from the collar down.

There was a long pause. When he looked up, Dean had gone very pink. 

"Uh," Dean said. "Oh. Yeah. Much."

"Wait," Cas said. He crowded into Dean and raised his hand toward him.

He saw Dean's pupils dilate. For a second it distracted him enough that Cas felt his own mind go white as a blizzard. 

"Cas," Dean said, voice rough and desperate. 

Cas cupped Dean's jaw. Abnormal heat bled into Cas's hand instantly. "You're running a temperature again."

Dean closed his eyes for a second. "Oh," he said, shoulders sagging. 

When he opened his eyes again his pupils had contracted a bit, but the sheen of fever was more obvious.

Cas didn't quite beg. He did insist though, softly: "Let me." 

Dean exhaled. In a few beats he nodded.

Cas removed his hand and placed two fingertips gently on Dean's forehead. It took nothing, less than a breath, to eliminate the fever and take away the rest of the considerable amount of nausea Dean had actually been experiencing. Despite Cas's waning grace, the sickness was so inconsequential compared to the power he commanded it was like dusting away a speck of sand with a lightning bolt. While he was there, Cas also cleared up the drop of water sitting behind Dean's eardrum, a tedious leftover from a recent head cold that would've been likely to cause an ear ache eventually.

The flush didn't leave Dean's cheeks. 

"Better?" Cas asked, because for a moment he honestly could not tell if he'd helped.

Dean had that expression of wonder on his face again. He swallowed and nodded and sat on the edge of the mattress, eyes never leaving Cas's.

"Good," Cas said. His chest ached; he had to admit it was not from the exertion of healing. "That's--"