#sick!dean

he doesn’t argue, but nuzzles into your touch like a sleepy cat, his big body shifting toward you. you settle onto the couch beside him and tug his head into your lap, fingers threading gently through his hair. he hums low, eyes fluttering closed again.

you think maybe he’s finally drifting off, after fighting sleep for so long. until he squirms a little, hand creeping up your thigh with a lazy kind of desperation.

“baby” he murmurs, barely above a breath “need you".

“dean, you’re sick—”

“don’t care” he groans, frustrated and needy, hips giving a slow roll that drags his bulge against your leg. “can’t sleep. can’t stop thinkin’ about you".

you watch as his fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, trembling and warm, palm flattening over your stomach like he’s grounding himself.

“please,” he whines, low and hoarse “need you so bad. feel like shit, but you always make it better baby.”

you shift beneath him, thighs squeezing together. “dee—you’re sure?”

he nods, eyes still shut but mouth falling open with a soft whine when your hand grazes over the front of his sweats. “yeah i'm sure. please, baby. just wanna feel you”

he’s warm all over. skin flushed, lips dry and cracked from breathing through his mouth all day, his nose pink and stuffy. you kiss his temple, his cheek, his jaw, until he finally looks at you with those glassy hazy green eyes.

you slip your hand into his sweats, and he chokes out the softest moan you’ve ever heard from him . high and desperate, forehead dropping against your chest.

“so good to me sweetheart" he whimpers, teeth catching his bottom lip as you stroke him slow.

you lean down to kiss his forehead, soft and slow, like you’re trying to soothe him, but his face up at the last second and catches your lips instead.

he's clumsy at first. warm, dry and cracked lips, his mouth hot and trembling against yours. his fingers dig into your hips, trying to pull you down onto him, and you feel the desperate groan in his chest.

“jesus” you breathe, pulling back just enough to look at him “dean you need sl—”

“please" he rasps, eyes glossy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed. “need to be inside you baby. can’t think, can’t sleep, just— fuck" his voice cracks on the last word.

you shift to straddle his lap, and he whimpers like he’s in pain, head falling back against the cushion. his hands slide up under your shirt, rough palms dragging over your skin.

“so warm" he mumbles “wanna stay right here. wanna get lost in you".

you rock down against him gently, feeling the tent in his pants press against your clothed cunt. he chokes on a moan, hips stuttering beneath you. his skin is hot to the touch, fever and arousal mixing in a mess of sweat and aching need.

“you sure you’re up for this?” you ask softly, even as your fingers start to pull down the waistband of his sweats.

“i’ll feel better, swear. jus' need you around me. need you to ride me slow. feel good baby, just for a little while” was a slur of whiny words he was begging you for.

and you give it to him.

you sink down over him slow, steady and careful. but the stretch still punches a whine out of his throat, one hand fisting the back of your shirt like he’s holding on for dear life.

“so fuckin’ good to me baby".

you move in slow, lazy rolls of your hips, letting him feel all of you, unraveling more each second. little gasps and broken moans slipping from his lips.

he kisses you through it, sloppy and slow, teeth bumping yours, tongue desperate. trying to lose himself in you completely. you cup his face in both hands, brushing your thumbs over his stubbled cheeks, and he leans into it.

“feels so good” he whispers, brows furrowed. “don’t stop. wanna stay right here— wanna come with you like this".

his eyes are still closed, lashes damp, skin flushed pink with heat. he’s sweating lightly, a feverish shine at his temples, a slow drip trailing down the slope of his neck.

his lips are parted and dry, kiss-bitten and he’s holding onto your hips in a bruising strength.

you rock down again, achingly slow, feeling that creamy ring soak down his shaft. his breath stutters, his brows pinch, and a ragged moan slips from his throat.

“oh fuuck” he pants. “baby, fuck, so good— too good”

you kiss over the fever pink skin along his cheeks as you keep him right on-edge. his thighs twitch helplessly beneath you. his head digs back against the couch, adams apple bobbing, chest rising and falling with every laboured breath.

“can’t think— jus' wanna stay right here, inside you forever baby” he whimpers

your cunt clenches, fluttering tight around him, and he nearly sobs.

“you’re makin’ me crazy, sweetheart” he slurs, breath hitching. “can’t— fuck, can’t do this slow, s’too much, m'gonna—”

you hush him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting faint salt from a tear that's slipped down his cheek.

“come for me dee, let go” you whisper encouragingly, circling your hips, and he does.

his whole body shudders beneath with a whine, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted you as he spills his load inside your velvet warmth. his face twists up, flushed and beautiful.

you don’t stop moving, slow and steady. until his come is dripping out of you with a wet squelch. his body melting back into the couch cushions.

he blinks up at you, dazed but stated, and gives a little huff of a laugh through his nose.

“think i’m cured” he murmurs.

you smile, soft and warm, and wipe the sweat from his brow with the pad of your thumb.

“now get some sleep.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Castiel felt the feathers on his wings twitch, fluttering slightly. The skin around the connection point to his spine tightening in a way that told him there was danger.

It was early, very early, with the morning autumn sun just barely illuminating the sky with its dazzling colours.

He had left to visit a local farmers market without Dean, who had sleepily grumbled to him something about catching up on sleep, and Cas had assumed he would be fine. Safely tucked under their warm fluffy comforter that Dean insisted was necessary

Yet, his wings tightened more with a mixture of discomfort and pain. Two things that he never wanted to feel aching through his wings ever again.

Cas blinked; the grief practically gnawing a hole through him with how quickly he realized Dean was in some sort of danger.

Without him. Alone, obviously in some sort of mortal danger that he could've protected him from.

He frantically paid for fresh produce, apologizing to the poor stall owner for staring at them for so long before shoving the produce haphazardly into a fabric grocery bag.

Cas bolted toward alleyway, barely stepping foot into it before he let his wings immediately take him to Dean.

The miscellaneous groceries were quickly discarded onto the bed, that was practically torn apart with both their pillows and blankets tossed onto the floor along side Dean's soft sleep shirt.

"Dean?" Castiel called out, knowing that the man had to be close. Since his wings would never betray him when Dean was involved.

He glanced around the room, preemptively grasping his angel blade while his eyes scanned for anything off.

Once he noted that their bedroom was vacant of anyone, including Dean, he bent down toward Dean's shirt.

His fingers wrapped around the wet fabric, raising it toward his nose.

"Not blood," he thought to himself.

"Dean?" Cas called out again, moving toward the bedroom door that was wide open. The connection point of his wings continuing to twinge with discomfort.

The pain was slowly fading, yet he could feel the creeping of nausea swiftly taking its place.

He tilted his head, hearing the running water from a shower echoing from down the hallway.

"Showering?" Castiel thought to himself, a part of him tempted to sheath his blade in favour of another.

He moved quietly down the hallway, his angelic stealth providing him the upper hand over whoever might be lingering around the corner.

Cas crept down the bathroom's entrance, the hot steam practically radiating its way out into the hallway with thick pea soup-esque clouds that clung to the comparatively chilly air.

"Dean?" He called out once more, squinting through the fog in an attempt to spot his beloved husband.

"…Cas…?" Dean's voice croaked out.

With the sound of Dean's voice, Cas moved into the steam.

"Dean?"

He looked down at the shirtless man, who was flushed a rather vibrant red with extremely tussled and sweat clumped hair.

Cas crouched in front of him, sheathing his angel blade with a hunch of what his wings had sensed from Dean.

"Have you taken any medication?"

Dean let out a creaky groan, his throat very obviously raspy and sore from the beginning of a nasty virus.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Cas said softly, with enough of a teasing tone that made Dean groan and grumble some more.

Cas got up with a sigh, the tension still radiating throughout his wings, but at least he knew Dean was safe. Miserable, but safe.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog <3/pl

It had been weeks since Bobby’s death, Dean was running himself ragged finding Dick. Both him and Sam both wanted revenge. But at least, Sam knows when to stop to sleep and eat. But Dean, has one speed. Go.

She could only shake her head. He needs to take a break.

“You are in no condition to keep this up Dean.” She says from the door.

“Rain or shine, I’m hunting Dick.” He says. He hears her snort. “Oh grow up.” he groans as another wave hit him. Only making him groan louder, unable to throw up.

She took the time to head out to grab some supplies for them before they leave to head to the hunters cabin where they hid out, but also primarily lived.

Grabbing canned soups, broth, and even grabbed a thing of potatoes to mash up. She had weird, not so traditional ways of getting nourishment when sick but also something to be easy on the stomach.

Driving back she heads to their room. Sam still in bed, sound asleep. She hears a moan from the kitchen. To find Dean on the floor.

“Dean!” she says, concerned. Dropping the groceries on the table before rushing over to help him up.

“I’m fine.” He slurs.

“You’re not fine, you’re on the kitchen floor for no reason.” She says, helping him up.

She could feel the muscles in his arms trembling, they were fatigued.

“The floor moved on me.” He mumbles.

As she struggles to get him up right, she had his back at her chest, so his head fell back on her shoulder. He was out of it. But she wraps an arm around to touch his forehead.

“Dean, you’re burning up. We need to cool you off.” She says. Pushing him up to his feet.

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He continues.

He’s up, but knees weak nearly gave out. She has his arm around her shoulder as she practically dragged him to his bed. When his but landed on the side of the bed he didn’t stop the rest of his body to fall onto the bed with a significant bounce.

“No you’re not. You got something, you and Sam both. You threw up, and are running a fever. You need to stop and rest. It’s not gonna kill you.” She says.

He didn’t have the energy to fight her. He doesn’t even fight her when she takes his boots off. Undressing him down to his t-shirt and boxers, tucking him in bed under a thin layer of sheets.

I’m gonna have to play nurse. She thought.

Pulling the thermometer out on the boys. Sam rang a temperature in the hundreds, but it was easily manageable.

“102, just rest up Sam, ‘kay?” she says.

Sam nods. “No problem, this sucks.” He groans.

“I’m making some soup and mashed potatoes. It’s cream of chicken and veggie soup. What’s best is you could also put some of the soup on the potatoes.” She suggests.

“Sounds good, my stomach has calmed down some, so I’ll try some.” He says.

“That’s good.” She says.

“How’s Dean?” he asked.

“His fever is nearing 104, he ate a few saltines before taking the fever reducer. He’ll try to throw up, but it just turns into dry heaves, I can tell they hurt. Whatever he got, it’s worse than what you have.” She says.

“If he gets worse?” he asks.

“He might need to go to the hospital then. For all I know it’s just the flu.” She says.

“The flu can get bad though.” Sam goes.

“In kids and the immunocompromised. And the elderly…And the uninsured…” she listed.

Sam chuckled. “It’s so sad how it’s preventable, but the government makes it a fucking hassle to just take care of your own health.” He says.

“And they die as the end result, because the meds they need or the care they need are too much for them, and they can’t get them. It’s wrong on so many levels. It’s like they’re bullies stealing our lunch money, they’re holding it out of reach and we’re too short to grab it.” she says.

“That’s what I was thinking of saying. But I’m not thinking straight.” He says.

“It’s the fever. Rest up Sammy. I’ll tell the caretaker we’re staying until you two are a little better. At least better enough for the road trip back to the cabin.” She suggests.

“I know I could, him I’m worried about.” Sam says. She nods, agreeing.

 She was only able to get them the room for a couple of more hours before they had to move out. Sam was able to eat her soup and potatoes, Dean not so much. The smell of the food made him gag.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I just made it look like your food smells awful, and it don’t. it smells amazing, my stomach is just in knots.” Dean whines, rolling on his side in his bed.

“It’s okay Dean, I know. I could tell you wanted to try but your stomach is making it rough. I’ll just pack it up in some topper wear and I’ll pack us up and drive us back.” She says.

“Um, no, you’re not driving my car.” Dean says, trying to get up. Only to dry heave while getting up, lurching forward, nothing coming up.

“Dean, you’re in no condition. Neither is Sam. I couldn’t get us to stay longer. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” she says. “I’ll help you out to the car when we’re ready.” She says.

 The drive was smoother than it could have been. Dean passed out in the back seat; Sam curled up in his usual sleeping position when it came to sitting in the passenger seat.

She didn’t like driving older vehicles. They drove like boats, and this was worse, it was a truck. The year wasn’t that far off, but it was old enough. The four door truck had comfy, inviting seats that took Sam and Dean into dreamland in the instant they got comfortable.

She managed to get the cabin just fine, unpacking without jostling them awake. She got their beds ready with cleaner sheets, Sam was easy to wake up. He was eager to get into a bed. Dean was reluctant, already cozy and relaxed he was content with sleeping in the truck.

“Dean, you can’t stay in here. You’ll make your fever worse.” She says, nudging him awake more.

“Fine.” He mumbles, sitting up sluggishly. Shoulders slumped.

“Come on Dean, I’ll help you.” She says.

“I can walk myself.” He snaps. He’s grumpy.

She snapped her hand away from him, letting him walk himself. But kept to herself after that. But it didn’t really stop her from checking in on him.

Cleaning the cabin she put on her phone her music she’d sing to while doing such chores. Grew up on country music she listened to some old Keith Urban Music, from his albums Defy Gravity, Love, Pain and the Whole Crazy thing, and Be Here, she dusted singing along to Standin’ Right in Front of You.

“Y/N, please stop singing! I’m trying to sleep!” she heard Dean shout from his room.

Feeling guilty, she just hummed the song as she cleaned. She felt bad for a minute, the feeling sticking with her throughout her cleaning.

She cooked up more soup for the boys, cleaned, and once done she just jammed out on the couch with the TV on Spanish Soap Operas. Trying to shake the guilt feeling she had early, as it crept back up on her.

 That night, after the boys ate and got situated for bed, one Winchester had something on his mind.

She was watching cable television, surfing here and there trying to get away from Spanish Soaps, but always finding her way back when finding nothing else on. She heard the floor creak behind her.

Her headphones were off, music off, just relaxing watching TV, she turned to see the older Winchester standing adjacent of the couch. Looking exhausted.

“You’re not coming to bed?” he asked. Voice still rough from being sick.

“I’m not tired. Besides, you need the bed. You’re still sick.” She says softly.

“You’ve been cleaning all day, taking care of me and Sam, you’ve got to be exhausted.” He says, something off about his tone.

“Dean, it’s fine. Just go back to bed, rest.” She says kindly.

He doesn’t say anything to that, but sits on the couch with her.

“Do you even like Spanish Soap Operas?” he asks, hiding a chuckle.

“I don’t like Soap Operas period.” She says. “But we got only cable TV, and it’s 2 in the morning. There’s nothing on.” She says.

“I’m sensing there’s more going on.” Dean goes.

“Dean, why are you up in the first place?” She asks. “You’re sick, you need to rest to get better.” She adds.

“Well see, there’s this girl. She’s more than a friend to me. I’ve been kind of a dick to her lately.” He says.

“Dean, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have babied you; I should have kept it down when I was cleaning. It’s fine.” She says.

“And I know how sensitive you are, and can be. You love to take care of those you love. I’m the same way.” He says. “I guess I was more mad at myself for getting sick, I was so fixated on finding Dick I even didn’t care how sick I got.” He adds.

“You got a drive in you it’s scary, but it’s fine Dean. You’re only human. You have limitations, we all do. But you got to recognize your physical limitations and give yourself a break, and then get back at it again when you’re better.” She says.

“Back at you sweetheart.” He goes.

“Huh?” she asks.

“You got to know your mental limitations too. I’ve noticed how quiet you’ve been getting since we got sick. Plus, in the past, I’ve seen it happen. Sam mentioned it to me, Bobby knew it. Depression. It’s no joke Y/N. You got to take care of yourself mentally too.” Dean says.

She locks up, her walls going on. And he sees her tense. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. but you can’t bottle it up. You got to deal with it. But you don’t have to do it alone.” He adds.

She nods, fiddling with her fingers.

“What has that demon told you in your head lately?” he asks.

“I’m not doing good enough to care for you or Sam.” She says quietly. Voice beginning to crack. “Stop trying.” She adds.

“You know that’s bull shit right?” he asks. He can see her shake her head.

“You snapped at me, yelled at me to keep it down.” she says. “That’s when it started getting bad.” She adds.

“And now?” he asks.

“It’s saying he’s going to throw you out; he doesn’t want you or your issues. You’re too much for him.” She says. Her throat holding back a sob.

“I’d never do that to you. You’re more than my friend, you’re my girl. I know I haven’t been the best friend lately. But I’m here now. Yes I’m sick, but I want to be there for my girl.” He says. “I’ll kick this demons ass for you, just tell me what you need.” He adds.

“I’m about to have a panic attack, I can feel it come on, can you hold me through it?” she asks, her voice disappearing.

Not saying a word, he invites her in his arms, and the two cuddle on the couch as she cries her eyes out, shakes and trembles, and works to get her breathing under control.

After a while she fallen asleep in the Older Winchester’s arms, when a wooden creak can be heard in the living room.

“How is she holding up?” Sam asks, walking in.

“She’s asleep now, that was a bad attack from the looks of it.” Dean says.

“How are you feeling by the way?” Sam asks.

“Better, but still a little under the weather. You?” He says.

“A bit better. Just a sore throat now.” Sam answers.

“I say we take care of her tomorrow, even if she’s not sick, but she needs us.” Dean says.

“I agree with that.” Sam says. “You up to carrying her or?” He asks.

“Dude, I’m exhausted. And I really don’t want to move her. Just grab us a blanket and some pillows, we’ll crash here.” Dean says with a groan.

“Sure thing.” Sam says with a tired smile. Heading into Dean’s room, grabbing a few blankets, a couple of pillows and heads back to the couch covering them up, and handing Dean the pillows.

“Night Jerk.” Sam goes.

“Night Bitch.” Dean says.

 Sun rose high that morning. Dean woke up with, feeling a warm spot on his chest. Seeing her still asleep, not moving from her spot.

Brushing a strand of hair back, his fingers grace over her forehead. His brows furrow when he feels how warm she feels.

She moans, waking up, causing a dry cough.

“Sounds like someone got sick.” Dean says.

“I feel sick too.” She says, her voice rough and scratchy.

“I finally get to return the favor, and take care of you for a change.” He says with a big grin, hugging her close making her giggle.

“I’m loving it so far.” She says hugging him back.

~

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