Ok but also. Just like imagine Cas gets sick but he totally minimizes it. Like he’s an angel and he has no concept of what human limits are. Like he can tell when Dean isn’t feeling well and he can tell when a baby is ill but when it comes to him, and his newly acquired human body tm, he’s like: hmm there is a strange pain in my head and throat, that must be a normal human occurrence and I’m just not used to it yet.
Like he’s on the phone with Dean and he’s all “I’m fine, Dean. Finish the hunt. My body temperature is just slightly elevated. And some mucus discharge is causing irritation in my throat. I was bound to get sick at *sniff* at some point now that I’m, now that I’m *sniff* human.”
“Cas, are you sure? You sound awful. I’m serious. We can ask Garth or someone to come take over and I can be back by three maybe four .”
“Dean, really, I’m fine. I’m sure the phone makes me sound worse than I am.”
“Okay. If you’re SURE?” Dean tries one last time.
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m *snuffle* sure, Dean. I’m going to lie down and try to sleep for a while. I’m sure I’ll feel better when I wake up.”
Dean ends up leaving early anyway, mostly at Sam’s insistence when he’s so distracted by Cas not picking up his calls that a vamp nearly gets the jump on him.
He speeds the whole way back to the bunker, thankful that there seem to be no cops on the road this late, or rather early.
“Cas?” Dean calls as soon as the door is open.
Silence greets him and the worry he’d managed to dam, so he only broke a few traffic laws on the drive home, crumbles.
He hurls himself down the stairs with reckless abandon, nearly twisting an ankle as he skips the last few. His jog increases to a full out sprint as his shouts for Cas go unanswered.
Cas, you son of a bitch, you better be okay. You have to be okay, Dean prays to the angel, the habit inherent even though he’s not sure if Cas can still hear it or not. Please be okay, Cas.
Dean is sweating by the time he finds Cas, unmoving and flopped stomach first onto Dean’s bed.
Dean turns him over, letting out a shaky breath as he can see the small rise and fall of Cas’ chest. But the relief doesn’t last when he feels how drenched in sweat Cas is. Dean presses his palm to Cas’ forehead and feels the former angel burning up.
Hot. He’s way too fucking hot.
Dean fireman lifts Cas and hustles to the bathroom, setting the unconscious man down gently in the tub before he turns on the water.
He drapes Cas’ arm over the edge so he doesn’t sink into the tub and then runs full tilt toward the kitchen.
He snatches a cup full of ice from the freezer, cubes scattering behind him as he digs out some washcloths from their linen closet, snags a thermometer, and returns to the bathroom.
He sticks the old-school glass rod beneath Cas’ tongue and collapses next to the tub to wait.
When he thinks it’s been long enough he pulls the thermometer out and reads it.
104. Fuck. No, no, nononofuckfuckno, Dean thinks as his mind starts to numb and retreat in on itself.
From a far away place, he watches as he pulls a few ice cubes out of the cup and rubs them against Cas lips, trying to get some liquid in the probably severely dehydrated man.
“C’mon, Cas. Come back to me,” Dean hears himself beg.
Suddenly, he’s ten again and John is on a hunt. The phone rings and rings as Dean silently sobs and prays to a god he knows isn’t listening that Sammy will wake up and be okay. John’s voice comes through the receiver but it doesn’t offer any comfort, “This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean, at…”
Dean shakes his head, refusing to let his past fear jeopardize his ability to help Cas now.
He adjusts the temperature of the water, making sure it’s cool but not cold enough to cause Cas to shiver. Then he dips the cloth into the water and starts wiping Cas’ forehead.
Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there with Cas, the silence and his own worry nearly suffocating him.
It’s long enough that his knees begin protesting the kneeling position he’s locked in, his back screaming at how he forces himself to stay bent over the feverish man, alternating between dampening his face with cool water and letting ice melt into his mouth.
It’s long enough that his trembling hands are struggling to hit the three digits he needs for his last resort.
He places a kiss to Cas’ warm temple before he finally gets his fingers to cooperate.
“9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?”
Dean opens his mouth, hesitates. John’s voice rings in his ears, angry and loud that he’d called 9-1-1 for Sam. That they’d taken him to the hospital and child services was asking questions.
“Hello? Are you able to speak?” The voice on the other end asks, still calm and even.
His name is whispered gruff and low, barely audible above his pounding heart.
“Sorry, I thought my friend was in trouble but he’s okay,” Dean explains for some reason instead of hanging up, relief evident in his voice.
“Sir-,” the operator starts before pausing, “If your friend needs medical assistance please don’t hesitate to take him to a hospital or call back.”
“I will. I promise. Thank you,” Dean replies earnestly before ending the call and flinging the phone down so he can touch Cas, can reassure himself that the man is really okay and waking up. “Cas? Hey, can you hear me?”
Eyelids flutter open, hazy at first before focusing on Dean’s face with that special brand of intensity that Cas has, the one that makes Dean’s heart stutter and stick in his throat.
“Hmmm. Why-uh, how did I get in the bath?” Cas rasps, easing from his languishing position into a sitting one, noting Dean’s fingers clasped around his hand with a small squeeze but not mentioning it or pulling away.
“Fuck, Cas. You passed out on my bed. You were burning up when I found you. I- I had to get your temperature down.”
“You’re crying,” Cas observes, like he hasn’t just come back from the brink of death. “Why?”
His hand rises to wipe at a tear off Dean’s cheek, but it’s still dripping with lukewarm bath water and Dean’s cheek ends up wetter than before.
“Cas- Fuck. Don’t you- Didn’t you realize- why did you lie and say you were fine?”
“I didn’t lie,” Cas retorts, head tilting and the reaction is so normal that it almost melts Dean’s worry-induced anger. Almost. “My core temperature was around a hundred and three. Which, like I said, was slightly elevated.”
“Cas,” Dean says, trying, and failing, not to whine as he lets his head flop onto Cas’ shoulder. “That’s really fucking high.”
“No. It’s not. It’s only four point four degrees above the average internal temperature for a human male.”
“Yeah and a few degrees in either direction could kill you, Cas!” Dean lifts his head to stare into Cas’ eyes.
Cas just stares back at him, eyes squinting as he absorbs Dean’s words.
“I was scared, Cas. So fucking scared,” Dean confesses, hoping to drill into him the severity of what just happened.
The words come out more broken and ugly than he intends, making Dean feel small and exposed, but he says them anyway. Fresh tears beginning to course down his cheeks.
“I apologize, Dean,” Cas says solemnly after a few moments. “I- I didn’t mean to worry you. I truly didn’t realize that there was something wrong. Or rather that what I was experiencing was more ‘wrong’ than most other human experiences feel at first.”
“Dude, you freaked out over hiccups but you thought this was normal?” Dean manages to squeak out, half sobbing, half laughing, as he wipes the tears off his face.
“Hiccups are not natural,” Cas insists, bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “I felt like I was going to heave my esophagus out of my mouth.”
Dean can’t resist anymore and he leans in and kisses Cas softly on the lips.
“You’re okay?” He breathes, resting his forehead against Cas’ hot, but no longer blazing one.
“I-,” Cas sucks in a shuddering breath before whispering back, “I’m okay, Dean. I don’t think I’m in danger any more.”
“Good,” Dean murmurs, allowing himself one more chaste kiss before he pulls away.
“Dean-” Cas starts, a question forming on his lips that Dean isn’t sure he’s ready to answer just yet.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of the tub, and those wet clothes, and into bed. You’re probably going to need some sleep to recover. Oh, and water! You have to drink at least a cup of water and take some Tylenol just to make sure your fever stays down,” Dean rushes out.
He groans as he stands and pops his back, waving away Cas’ concerned look when his knees join in.
Cas accepts his offered hand and the towel he produces.
Soon enough Cas is mostly dried off and in some of Dean’s pajama pants, has drunk a full glass of water and some small sips of orange juice, swallowed two Tylenol, and is tucked into Dean’s bed.
Dean flicks off the overhead lights before padding over to sit next to him on the bed, soft bedside light playing shadows along the strong planes of Cas’ cheekbones and jaw.
“You’re staying?” Cas asks, voice gritty with sickness and the need to sleep.
“‘course I’m staying! What if your fever gets bad again? Besides, I can’t pass up the opportunity to repay you.”
“Yeah. You watched over me plenty of times over the years. Now I get to watch over you,” Dean answers, hand straying to Cas’ damp hair and carding through the drying curls in a way he hopes is as soothing to Cas as it is to him.
“Hmmmm,” Cas hums before he turns and stares at Dean with wide eyes. “Dean, that- My heart just beat out of rhythm. Is that part of the fever?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. But, um, is it … still doing that?”
Instead of responding, Cas grabs Dean’s hand and places it over his heart. Dean feels his face heat as Cas holds his hand over the steady beat beneath the bare skin of his chest.
“Feels normal to me, Cas,” Dean manages to wheeze out.
“Hmm. Are you sure? It happened earlier too.”
Dean’s brows pinch in concern and he meets Cas’ worried blue.
“Oh, well, uh …” Dean stutters trying to figure out what to say to wipe the concern off his face.
“Can you do it again?” Cas asks, blue eyes bright and shining and so alive. And Dean is powerless to deny him anything as the fear of losing Cas still has a claw or two digging into his chest.
He leans down and presses another soft kiss to Cas’ chapped lips. Dean doesn’t linger like he had last time, aware that he probably doesn’t possess the self restraint to stop at one.
“Oh?” Dean asks, nervously biting his bottom lip and barely managing to stifle a groan at the slight hint of orange juice.
“I- Never mind. It isn’t related to the fever. It’s just you … you make my heart do funny things, Dean,” Cas grumbles.
The silence thrums around them, not oppressively, but somehow wild and alive.
“Can I tell you a secret, Cas?” Dean whispers as he inches closer to Cas in the bed.
“Of course, Dean. You can,” Cas yawns before continuing. “You can tell me anything.”
Dean leans in and whispers softly into Cas’ ear, “You make my heart do funny things too.”
Cas pulls back and Dean worries for a second until he sees the awe in Cas’ eyes.
“Yeah, sweetheart, you do.”
“Good,” Cas replies, kissing the smirk off Dean’s face before burrowing into his chest.
Dean can’t wipe the grin off his face as he rubs circles on Cas’ back, feeling his breathing slow as he falls asleep. Dean isn’t far behind him, managing one last kiss to Cas’ forehead before giving in to sleep himself.
Is this medically accurate/does it make sense? Probably not. Was it fun? Hell yes.
Sorry for abducting another post, sick Cas really hit today (I’m on the verge of being sick and the idea of sick Cas getting some cuddles was pretty much the only thing getting me through work 😅)
