FIC - A Failure To Communicate
Title: A Failure To Communicate (Dean/Cas H/C)
Rating: R for mild slash and language
Warnings: sick!Dean, non-graphic dude on dude action, implied established relationship
Summary: Cas was doing the best he could, under the circumstances.
W/C: ~3200
A/N: This is written for i_speak_tongue for the fandom_helps fic auction. Her prompt was for Castiel trying to care for Dean while he’s sick and maybe not doing everything exactly right. Honey, thanks for bidding and donating, I certainly hope this is at least in the realm of what you wanted to see.
February in Virginia was much colder than Cas expected it to be. Making his adjustment to life as a human being hadn’t been a cake walk, to say the least, and most days he was still struggling just to keep up with all new experiences he’d never had as an angel.
In the past few months, he’d learned many things. How to use a firearm proficiently, how to salt and burn the bones of a deceased person who’d become a restless spirit, how to remember that he now had to sleep and eat and relive himself. Most significantly, how to go about maintaining the new romantic and sexual nature of his relationship with Dean.
They’d spent much of the night before digging up a grave in freezing rain, Castiel still uncomfortable with the idea of desecrating a dead body even though he knew it was necessary to keep people safe.
Keeping people safe used to be his specialty. Keeping Dean safe, in particular. He could no longer transport Dean out of a dangerous situation or heal him with a touch. But this is what he did now, the same thing that Dean and Sam had done for years. Finding the supernatural creature wreaking havoc in any nameless small town, then finding a way to destroy it. Some were easier than others, but the salting and burning of the bones of a restless or vengeful spirit was, relatively speaking, a rather simple exercise.
Dean and Cas had been left to finish the task on their own as Sam headed out yesterday with two other hunters to clean out a nest of vamps four states over. That was a big job, requiring more people, and Cas had assured Sam repeatedly and with great confidence that he and Dean could handle this one on their own. Even Dean had voiced his approval, informing Sam that Castiel was more than capable getting this particular job finished. And they had, even though Castiel was still adjusting to the fact that he now had no way to shut out unpleasant sensations such as being physically exhausted, cold and wet.
On this particular day, Castiel longed for the power to heal Dean, but the pathetic spark of grace he still possessed was not enough to do so. They’d both slept deeply after coming back to the motel once the job was done, taking a shower together to rid their bodes of the mud and grime that went hand in hand with grave-digging. Even after the shower, Cas could still smell the lighter fluid and smoke on himself.
When Castiel awoke, the dim light of morning peeking in through the blinds on their motel room window, he could still feel the soreness of his muscles and the overwhelming instinct to go back to sleep. Until he turned over in bed to face Dean and saw something entirely distressing. Dean’s skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his cheeks pink and his breathing erratic. When Cas looked at him, Dean started to say something. Cas wasn’t sure what, though, because even as Dean’s mouth was moving, there was no sound coming from his lips.
“What is it, Dean? You look ill.” Castiel could feel the heat radiating from Dean’s body, several degrees higher than it usually felt, even when they were in the middle of intense intercourse.
Again, Dean attempted to speak, but was unable to do so. He held his hands up around his throat, staring at Cas with a pleading, desperate look. “I should take your temperature”, Cas said just as he decided it. He’d seen Dean and his brother do this many times, and taking the sick person’s temperature was always one of the first steps when either of them had become ill. Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway, so Cas fetched the thermometer from their med kit. They’d recently purchased an electronic thermometer that could be placed gently just inside a person’s ear and would give a digital readout of temperature in a matter of seconds.
Surprisingly, Dean didn’t object to this, which led him to believe that Dean really was sick. Normally, he’d brush off any attempt with a gruff, “I’m fine, put that thing away”, but this morning he just turned his head to the side so Cas could place the thermometer in his ear.
Several seconds later, the device made a beeping sound, and Castiel removed it so he could get a look at the results. One hundred one point eight degrees. Definitely a fever, but not a serious one. Dean was still trying to talk but eventually gave up, gesturing to his throat again.
“Are you thirsty?”
Again, Dean clutched at his throat but at the same time shook his head. He mouthed the word “no”. “Your throat. Were you injured?”
Another head-shake.
“You’re unable to speak. Do you know the cause? What can I do to ease this for you?”, Cas asked, leaning in to place a light kiss onto Dean’s hot and sweaty forehead. Running his hand across Dean’s naked and beautiful and flushed hot chest, he realized that Dean was unable to speak at all.
“You cannot speak. Is this the result of your illness or have you been cursed by one of your fucking witches?” Profanity wasn’t easy for Cas to use, but he preferred to speak to Dean in the way that Dean himself spoke, it made him feel another connection with his lover. Still, though, there was no way for Dean to respond verbally. Cas quickly grabbed pen and a pad of motel stationery and handed it to Dean.
“Write it down for me, please.”
Dean took the pen and paper and handed it back to Castiel covered with his neat, block lettering.
Throat hurts. Sick. Flu maybe.
“All right. I am certain we have something in the med kit for that.” As Cas begin to rise from the bed and fetch the entire med kit from the bathroom, Dean tugged on the sleeve of his faded blue t-shirt. Cas stopped while Dean started writing again.
Medicine is gross tasting. Don’t want.
This was a typical reaction and Castiel was not surprised. He wasn’t about to be denied, though. “You’ll take the medicine, Dean. I’ll bring it to you, and you’ll take it, don’t argue.”
Hurts to swallow
Castiel read the last note but was undeterred. “I realize the taste may be unpleasant but it will ease at least some of your symptoms. You’re clearly weak, and there is no reason for you to waste your energy arguing with me regarding a matter that’s already been decided.”
By this point, Dean was used to taking orders from Cas, and well aware that he possessed a stubborn streak to rival even Sam’s. There was no use in trying to change his mind, so Dean just closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow as Castiel retrieved the dreaded bottle of Chloraseptic spray.
“Open up, Dean. Don’t make me force you to do this.” Angelic powers or not, Cas was perfectly capable of forcing it, but neither of them had the inclination to test that at the moment. Dean sat up, opened his mouth, and Cas sprayed the medicine directly into his throat. And it was nasty, of course it was, the grimace on Dean’s face confirmed that. No matter, Castiel still held out a bottle of multi-symptom cold medicine so Dean could swallow some of it. He’d recently noticed that there were fairly precise dosage instructions on the label of the bottle, but he’d only ever seen Dean or Sam just chug medicine straight from the bottle, so he didn’t bother with measuring anything out.
The pain on Dean’s face as he swallowed the generic over the counter flu remedy was as clear as day, and Cas winced in sympathy. He’d been sick once, a month or so ago, and it was far more miserable than he expected. At this point, he was just mimicking what Dean had done for him during that time.
So, Dean’s temperature had been taken and judged not-life-threatening. Medication had been administered. What else? Castiel tried to remember everything from we he’d been afflicted with an illness. Oh, covers! Yes. Though Dean’s internal temperature was hot, he was shaking as if he were chilled. Cas gathered every blanket in the room, and two from the trunk of the Impala, wrapping them around Dean to try to ease the trembling. Just the gesture seemed to help, as Dean shot a half-grin in his direction, silently mouthing a thank you.
Castiel had only been sick that one time, and he had a sore throat, but hadn’t lost his voice, so he was at a loss as to how he could try to mend that particular ailment. For now, he stuck to touching Dean’s cheek gently and making sure he was inside a cocoon of blankets.
Once again, he held out the pen and paper to Dean, then asked, “Are you hungry?”
His response was negative head-shake, but Dean was writing, it wasn’t much but it was clear that even lifting his head to jot down a note took a significant amount of physical effort. He’d never seen his lover this way, and he felt completely out of his element. Cas was perfectly capable of following instructions or repeating actions he’d seen before. He looked down as Dean thrust the pad of paper into his hand.
popsicles
“You would like me to get you popsicles?”
Dean nodded his head, smiling a little, then reached to reclaim his new sole method of communication, the paper and pen.
the sugary kind not that real fruit shit that Sam likes.
Castiel steeled himself for a trip to the store alone, which was an event that he’d attempted only once in the past, with disastrous results. This time he’d do it right, he was determined. He checked through the med kit and found they had most of what would be needed to treat Dean’s symptoms. With a wary expression, he pulled on Dean’s jacket and promised him he’d be back momentarily. It was a short walk to the drugstore on the corner. He was incredibly determined not to repeat his previous shopping failure, especially since it was Dean’s health at stake.
“I’ll get your popsicles. Anything else?”
Dean held up the paper, on which he had written, in large block letters WHISKEY.
“Your immune system is weak already from the virus causing your symptoms. I will not supply you with alcohol, especially when the medicine you just swallowed clearly states it may cause drowsiness. I am sorry, Dean. No whiskey, not right now.”
Pouting, but nodding his head, Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s hand and mouthed a silent ‘hurry back’. Of course, Cas had every intention of doing just that - running out to get what Dean wanted, then returning to his side as quickly as possible.
As quickly as humanly possible. There had been a time he could have healed Dean with just a touch, and even without that, he’d been able to transport himself immediately to where he needed to go, and return within seconds. That was not the case any longer, so he reluctantly let go of Dean’s hand and told him to stay under the covers until he got back.
Once he’d made his way to CVS, he proceeded directly to the back of the store and waited a few minutes until the pharmacy tech had time to help him.
“My friend is sick. He has a fever, and his throat hurts. He is unable to speak and has specifically requested some kind of non-healthy popsicle. Could you assist me in finding these, or suggest anything else to ease his pain? He’s taken Chloraseptic and a multi-sympton cold medication already.”
Luckily, the pharmacy tech was happy to walk out from behind her counter, smiling at Cas and showing him around the store. She suggested a bottle of cough drops, which Castiel grabbed immediately before he thought to ask “Do these taste bad? My friend won’t use them if they do.” After being ensured that they were just cherry-flavored, she then guided him toward the cooler stocked with frozen food. She offered Cas a box of popsicles in strange colors, the sticker on the packaging boasting of ‘real fruit flavor’.
“Are these healthy?”
The young woman laughed and assured him they had absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever. Good, that would Dean happy, Cas was sure. After purchasing both items with cash he’d taken from Dean’s wallet, he went straight back to the motel. Dean was awake, but not moving, he hadn’t even stirred when the door opened. Another definite sign that this could be a serious illness. Had Dean been healthy, he’d have his Bowie knife at Castiel’s throat in a hot second.
Setting down the bags, Cas showed Dean the box of popsicles he’d gotten, and received the reward of Dean’s warm but clearly exhausted grin. Opening the box, he pulled one out at random, and was quickly met with another headshake. Grabbing the pen once more, Dean wrote RED and showed it to Cas. Immediately, Cas produced a red popsicle and handed it over. Dean finished the cold treat within two minutes, then gestured for another. Cas handed over another red popsicle, which Dean made short work of as well.
Once he was done, he wrote Thx on the sheet. By now, Castiel knew that was an expression of gratitude. “I brought cough drops too.” Seeing Dean’s eyes narrow, he added, “I was assured they are flavored like cherries. Let me know when you want one.”
Dean was still a bit out of it, but he was writing again as Castiel slumped into the chair by the little motel room desk. He didn’t have to strain his eyes because Dean had written the last message quite darkly and in very large letters.
Hold me. Clearly, Cas had no desire to get Dean’s germs passed onto him, but there was just no way to resist the written plea. He slid under the covers and placed his right arm across Dean’s torso and his left back to Dean’s forehead. Despite the cool treats, his body temperature had definitely risen. But within a moment, Dean was once again sleeping deeply. Cas found he was drifting off too.
Waking soon after, Cas took note of the time and decided to wake Dean for another dose of cold medicine. Sitting up slowly, Dean swallowed it, but Cas could feel the heat radiating off Dean. He didn’t need the thermometer to know that the fever was fairly high, dangerous even, but he had no chance of getting Dean to a doctor, he knew that.
The writing became more frequent and less understandable over the next few hours. Dean’s request for ice was hurriedly followed. Whenever Cas moved to leave the bed, Dean mouthed ‘please stay’, so Cas was staying.
Dean’s eyes were glazed over and his skin was flushed pink, even as Dean moved in and out of consciousness occasionally. Having the paper thrust back at him again, Cas read over Dean’s next request.
DRIVE?
“You’re not well enough to drive, Dean, and you still haven’t taught me, so I’m sorry, but we can’t go for a drive.”
There was a momentary pout (which, if Cas ever told anyone, Dean would deny until he was in his grave), then another minute or so scratching on the writing pad.
EMF METER
Castiel knew what that was, what it did, and where it was located. He was at a complete loss as to how this would help Dean’s condition, but he went to the car and retrieved the requested object. Dean held it close to him as he drifted off again.
He guessed he must have fallen asleep, because he was roused with an elbow to his ribs and handed the paper again. Dean had drawn a check-mark and a smiley-face next to his last request, and had added another.
GLOVES. KEVLAR. WHITE. IN CAR EMERGENCY BOX
Cas knew Dean was cold, but he had no idea whatsoever how wearing Kevlar gloves would assist Dean. However, never one to deny anything his lover asked for, he fetched the heavy gloves and proceed to pull them onto Dean’s fingers after he’d kissed each one before covering them with the requested gloves. He was terribly confused, not understanding at all how going for a drive or wearing heavy, rough gloves would be helpful. This didn’t stop him from fulfilling all requests that were made, or from snuggling in close to Dean, which seemed to help the hunter sleep more restfully.
With the light of morning, a welcome figure entered the doorway. “Sam, I am sorry for not calling you, but Dean insisted it was just a cold and he didn’t want you to worry. I am thankful that you are here, since you surely know how to take care of Dean when he’s sick more efficiently than I do.”
Sam got all the information, then explained to Castiel that Dean had a history of hallucinating while feverish. He took in the sight of the gloves and shot a curious look at Cas. “He asked for them”, Cas replied, not feeling any further explanation was necessary.
“Cas, when he gets like this, sometimes he doesn’t know what he’s saying, or why he wants whatever thing he wants. The only thing you can do is treat the symptoms”, Sam’s gaze wandered to the medicine, cough drops and Gatorade. “You did good, Cas. Thanks for taking such good care of him.”
A bit of pride swelled in Castiel at this praise.
Sam took charge then, though, confiscating the Kevlar gloves and EMF meter, then rousing his brother enough to get him to take a few sips of water before he passed out again.
“Cas, he’s not always right in the head when he’s got a high fever. I understand that it’s difficult to resist his requests when he seems so ill, but he doesn’t need these things. He just needs to rest and eat.
“Eat? He kept saying no to eating, that it would make him more sick.”
“Dean’s quite the actor when it comes to these things, don’t worry about it. I’ll show you how to take care of him properly when this happens."
Castiel watched in amazement as Sam heated up a can of tomato and rice soup. As the soup was getting warmed up, Sam covered a washrag in cold water, settling it against Dean’s forehead. He sat on Dean’s bed, saying “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, time to eat.”
“But I’m not-”, Dean whispered, his voice scratchy and faint but there.
“Don’t care. It’s soup, and you’ll eat it all or the EMF meter is going back out to the car. Got it?”
Eyes wide open, Dean swallowed hard and nodded at his brother.
Cas just watched, trying to commit to memory everything he’d heard and seen. Next time, he’d know what had to happen. He’d be better at taking care of Dean, not just in a sexual way, but in a physical way. It was true that he could not heal with a touch of his fingers, but there were many other ways to comfort the man he loved when a tiny virus struck and brought this strong hunter to his knees. He wouldn’t let Dean down again.
Once the fever broke, Dean sat quietly on the bed, his head rested on Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks for, uh, the medicine and for, you know, staying…”
Like Cas had any intention of leaving. The idea was unthinkable, especially over some simple thing like a virus. Dean was his to care for, and he’d learn to do it, he was determined.
Rating: R for mild slash and language
Warnings: sick!Dean, non-graphic dude on dude action, implied established relationship
Summary: Cas was doing the best he could, under the circumstances.
W/C: ~3200
A/N: This is written for i_speak_tongue for the fandom_helps fic auction. Her prompt was for Castiel trying to care for Dean while he’s sick and maybe not doing everything exactly right. Honey, thanks for bidding and donating, I certainly hope this is at least in the realm of what you wanted to see.
February in Virginia was much colder than Cas expected it to be. Making his adjustment to life as a human being hadn’t been a cake walk, to say the least, and most days he was still struggling just to keep up with all new experiences he’d never had as an angel.
In the past few months, he’d learned many things. How to use a firearm proficiently, how to salt and burn the bones of a deceased person who’d become a restless spirit, how to remember that he now had to sleep and eat and relive himself. Most significantly, how to go about maintaining the new romantic and sexual nature of his relationship with Dean.
They’d spent much of the night before digging up a grave in freezing rain, Castiel still uncomfortable with the idea of desecrating a dead body even though he knew it was necessary to keep people safe.
Keeping people safe used to be his specialty. Keeping Dean safe, in particular. He could no longer transport Dean out of a dangerous situation or heal him with a touch. But this is what he did now, the same thing that Dean and Sam had done for years. Finding the supernatural creature wreaking havoc in any nameless small town, then finding a way to destroy it. Some were easier than others, but the salting and burning of the bones of a restless or vengeful spirit was, relatively speaking, a rather simple exercise.
Dean and Cas had been left to finish the task on their own as Sam headed out yesterday with two other hunters to clean out a nest of vamps four states over. That was a big job, requiring more people, and Cas had assured Sam repeatedly and with great confidence that he and Dean could handle this one on their own. Even Dean had voiced his approval, informing Sam that Castiel was more than capable getting this particular job finished. And they had, even though Castiel was still adjusting to the fact that he now had no way to shut out unpleasant sensations such as being physically exhausted, cold and wet.
On this particular day, Castiel longed for the power to heal Dean, but the pathetic spark of grace he still possessed was not enough to do so. They’d both slept deeply after coming back to the motel once the job was done, taking a shower together to rid their bodes of the mud and grime that went hand in hand with grave-digging. Even after the shower, Cas could still smell the lighter fluid and smoke on himself.
When Castiel awoke, the dim light of morning peeking in through the blinds on their motel room window, he could still feel the soreness of his muscles and the overwhelming instinct to go back to sleep. Until he turned over in bed to face Dean and saw something entirely distressing. Dean’s skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his cheeks pink and his breathing erratic. When Cas looked at him, Dean started to say something. Cas wasn’t sure what, though, because even as Dean’s mouth was moving, there was no sound coming from his lips.
“What is it, Dean? You look ill.” Castiel could feel the heat radiating from Dean’s body, several degrees higher than it usually felt, even when they were in the middle of intense intercourse.
Again, Dean attempted to speak, but was unable to do so. He held his hands up around his throat, staring at Cas with a pleading, desperate look. “I should take your temperature”, Cas said just as he decided it. He’d seen Dean and his brother do this many times, and taking the sick person’s temperature was always one of the first steps when either of them had become ill. Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway, so Cas fetched the thermometer from their med kit. They’d recently purchased an electronic thermometer that could be placed gently just inside a person’s ear and would give a digital readout of temperature in a matter of seconds.
Surprisingly, Dean didn’t object to this, which led him to believe that Dean really was sick. Normally, he’d brush off any attempt with a gruff, “I’m fine, put that thing away”, but this morning he just turned his head to the side so Cas could place the thermometer in his ear.
Several seconds later, the device made a beeping sound, and Castiel removed it so he could get a look at the results. One hundred one point eight degrees. Definitely a fever, but not a serious one. Dean was still trying to talk but eventually gave up, gesturing to his throat again.
“Are you thirsty?”
Again, Dean clutched at his throat but at the same time shook his head. He mouthed the word “no”. “Your throat. Were you injured?”
Another head-shake.
“You’re unable to speak. Do you know the cause? What can I do to ease this for you?”, Cas asked, leaning in to place a light kiss onto Dean’s hot and sweaty forehead. Running his hand across Dean’s naked and beautiful and flushed hot chest, he realized that Dean was unable to speak at all.
“You cannot speak. Is this the result of your illness or have you been cursed by one of your fucking witches?” Profanity wasn’t easy for Cas to use, but he preferred to speak to Dean in the way that Dean himself spoke, it made him feel another connection with his lover. Still, though, there was no way for Dean to respond verbally. Cas quickly grabbed pen and a pad of motel stationery and handed it to Dean.
“Write it down for me, please.”
Dean took the pen and paper and handed it back to Castiel covered with his neat, block lettering.
Throat hurts. Sick. Flu maybe.
“All right. I am certain we have something in the med kit for that.” As Cas begin to rise from the bed and fetch the entire med kit from the bathroom, Dean tugged on the sleeve of his faded blue t-shirt. Cas stopped while Dean started writing again.
Medicine is gross tasting. Don’t want.
This was a typical reaction and Castiel was not surprised. He wasn’t about to be denied, though. “You’ll take the medicine, Dean. I’ll bring it to you, and you’ll take it, don’t argue.”
Hurts to swallow
Castiel read the last note but was undeterred. “I realize the taste may be unpleasant but it will ease at least some of your symptoms. You’re clearly weak, and there is no reason for you to waste your energy arguing with me regarding a matter that’s already been decided.”
By this point, Dean was used to taking orders from Cas, and well aware that he possessed a stubborn streak to rival even Sam’s. There was no use in trying to change his mind, so Dean just closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow as Castiel retrieved the dreaded bottle of Chloraseptic spray.
“Open up, Dean. Don’t make me force you to do this.” Angelic powers or not, Cas was perfectly capable of forcing it, but neither of them had the inclination to test that at the moment. Dean sat up, opened his mouth, and Cas sprayed the medicine directly into his throat. And it was nasty, of course it was, the grimace on Dean’s face confirmed that. No matter, Castiel still held out a bottle of multi-symptom cold medicine so Dean could swallow some of it. He’d recently noticed that there were fairly precise dosage instructions on the label of the bottle, but he’d only ever seen Dean or Sam just chug medicine straight from the bottle, so he didn’t bother with measuring anything out.
The pain on Dean’s face as he swallowed the generic over the counter flu remedy was as clear as day, and Cas winced in sympathy. He’d been sick once, a month or so ago, and it was far more miserable than he expected. At this point, he was just mimicking what Dean had done for him during that time.
So, Dean’s temperature had been taken and judged not-life-threatening. Medication had been administered. What else? Castiel tried to remember everything from we he’d been afflicted with an illness. Oh, covers! Yes. Though Dean’s internal temperature was hot, he was shaking as if he were chilled. Cas gathered every blanket in the room, and two from the trunk of the Impala, wrapping them around Dean to try to ease the trembling. Just the gesture seemed to help, as Dean shot a half-grin in his direction, silently mouthing a thank you.
Castiel had only been sick that one time, and he had a sore throat, but hadn’t lost his voice, so he was at a loss as to how he could try to mend that particular ailment. For now, he stuck to touching Dean’s cheek gently and making sure he was inside a cocoon of blankets.
Once again, he held out the pen and paper to Dean, then asked, “Are you hungry?”
His response was negative head-shake, but Dean was writing, it wasn’t much but it was clear that even lifting his head to jot down a note took a significant amount of physical effort. He’d never seen his lover this way, and he felt completely out of his element. Cas was perfectly capable of following instructions or repeating actions he’d seen before. He looked down as Dean thrust the pad of paper into his hand.
popsicles
“You would like me to get you popsicles?”
Dean nodded his head, smiling a little, then reached to reclaim his new sole method of communication, the paper and pen.
the sugary kind not that real fruit shit that Sam likes.
Castiel steeled himself for a trip to the store alone, which was an event that he’d attempted only once in the past, with disastrous results. This time he’d do it right, he was determined. He checked through the med kit and found they had most of what would be needed to treat Dean’s symptoms. With a wary expression, he pulled on Dean’s jacket and promised him he’d be back momentarily. It was a short walk to the drugstore on the corner. He was incredibly determined not to repeat his previous shopping failure, especially since it was Dean’s health at stake.
“I’ll get your popsicles. Anything else?”
Dean held up the paper, on which he had written, in large block letters WHISKEY.
“Your immune system is weak already from the virus causing your symptoms. I will not supply you with alcohol, especially when the medicine you just swallowed clearly states it may cause drowsiness. I am sorry, Dean. No whiskey, not right now.”
Pouting, but nodding his head, Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s hand and mouthed a silent ‘hurry back’. Of course, Cas had every intention of doing just that - running out to get what Dean wanted, then returning to his side as quickly as possible.
As quickly as humanly possible. There had been a time he could have healed Dean with just a touch, and even without that, he’d been able to transport himself immediately to where he needed to go, and return within seconds. That was not the case any longer, so he reluctantly let go of Dean’s hand and told him to stay under the covers until he got back.
Once he’d made his way to CVS, he proceeded directly to the back of the store and waited a few minutes until the pharmacy tech had time to help him.
“My friend is sick. He has a fever, and his throat hurts. He is unable to speak and has specifically requested some kind of non-healthy popsicle. Could you assist me in finding these, or suggest anything else to ease his pain? He’s taken Chloraseptic and a multi-sympton cold medication already.”
Luckily, the pharmacy tech was happy to walk out from behind her counter, smiling at Cas and showing him around the store. She suggested a bottle of cough drops, which Castiel grabbed immediately before he thought to ask “Do these taste bad? My friend won’t use them if they do.” After being ensured that they were just cherry-flavored, she then guided him toward the cooler stocked with frozen food. She offered Cas a box of popsicles in strange colors, the sticker on the packaging boasting of ‘real fruit flavor’.
“Are these healthy?”
The young woman laughed and assured him they had absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever. Good, that would Dean happy, Cas was sure. After purchasing both items with cash he’d taken from Dean’s wallet, he went straight back to the motel. Dean was awake, but not moving, he hadn’t even stirred when the door opened. Another definite sign that this could be a serious illness. Had Dean been healthy, he’d have his Bowie knife at Castiel’s throat in a hot second.
Setting down the bags, Cas showed Dean the box of popsicles he’d gotten, and received the reward of Dean’s warm but clearly exhausted grin. Opening the box, he pulled one out at random, and was quickly met with another headshake. Grabbing the pen once more, Dean wrote RED and showed it to Cas. Immediately, Cas produced a red popsicle and handed it over. Dean finished the cold treat within two minutes, then gestured for another. Cas handed over another red popsicle, which Dean made short work of as well.
Once he was done, he wrote Thx on the sheet. By now, Castiel knew that was an expression of gratitude. “I brought cough drops too.” Seeing Dean’s eyes narrow, he added, “I was assured they are flavored like cherries. Let me know when you want one.”
Dean was still a bit out of it, but he was writing again as Castiel slumped into the chair by the little motel room desk. He didn’t have to strain his eyes because Dean had written the last message quite darkly and in very large letters.
Hold me. Clearly, Cas had no desire to get Dean’s germs passed onto him, but there was just no way to resist the written plea. He slid under the covers and placed his right arm across Dean’s torso and his left back to Dean’s forehead. Despite the cool treats, his body temperature had definitely risen. But within a moment, Dean was once again sleeping deeply. Cas found he was drifting off too.
Waking soon after, Cas took note of the time and decided to wake Dean for another dose of cold medicine. Sitting up slowly, Dean swallowed it, but Cas could feel the heat radiating off Dean. He didn’t need the thermometer to know that the fever was fairly high, dangerous even, but he had no chance of getting Dean to a doctor, he knew that.
The writing became more frequent and less understandable over the next few hours. Dean’s request for ice was hurriedly followed. Whenever Cas moved to leave the bed, Dean mouthed ‘please stay’, so Cas was staying.
Dean’s eyes were glazed over and his skin was flushed pink, even as Dean moved in and out of consciousness occasionally. Having the paper thrust back at him again, Cas read over Dean’s next request.
DRIVE?
“You’re not well enough to drive, Dean, and you still haven’t taught me, so I’m sorry, but we can’t go for a drive.”
There was a momentary pout (which, if Cas ever told anyone, Dean would deny until he was in his grave), then another minute or so scratching on the writing pad.
EMF METER
Castiel knew what that was, what it did, and where it was located. He was at a complete loss as to how this would help Dean’s condition, but he went to the car and retrieved the requested object. Dean held it close to him as he drifted off again.
He guessed he must have fallen asleep, because he was roused with an elbow to his ribs and handed the paper again. Dean had drawn a check-mark and a smiley-face next to his last request, and had added another.
GLOVES. KEVLAR. WHITE. IN CAR EMERGENCY BOX
Cas knew Dean was cold, but he had no idea whatsoever how wearing Kevlar gloves would assist Dean. However, never one to deny anything his lover asked for, he fetched the heavy gloves and proceed to pull them onto Dean’s fingers after he’d kissed each one before covering them with the requested gloves. He was terribly confused, not understanding at all how going for a drive or wearing heavy, rough gloves would be helpful. This didn’t stop him from fulfilling all requests that were made, or from snuggling in close to Dean, which seemed to help the hunter sleep more restfully.
With the light of morning, a welcome figure entered the doorway. “Sam, I am sorry for not calling you, but Dean insisted it was just a cold and he didn’t want you to worry. I am thankful that you are here, since you surely know how to take care of Dean when he’s sick more efficiently than I do.”
Sam got all the information, then explained to Castiel that Dean had a history of hallucinating while feverish. He took in the sight of the gloves and shot a curious look at Cas. “He asked for them”, Cas replied, not feeling any further explanation was necessary.
“Cas, when he gets like this, sometimes he doesn’t know what he’s saying, or why he wants whatever thing he wants. The only thing you can do is treat the symptoms”, Sam’s gaze wandered to the medicine, cough drops and Gatorade. “You did good, Cas. Thanks for taking such good care of him.”
A bit of pride swelled in Castiel at this praise.
Sam took charge then, though, confiscating the Kevlar gloves and EMF meter, then rousing his brother enough to get him to take a few sips of water before he passed out again.
“Cas, he’s not always right in the head when he’s got a high fever. I understand that it’s difficult to resist his requests when he seems so ill, but he doesn’t need these things. He just needs to rest and eat.
“Eat? He kept saying no to eating, that it would make him more sick.”
“Dean’s quite the actor when it comes to these things, don’t worry about it. I’ll show you how to take care of him properly when this happens."
Castiel watched in amazement as Sam heated up a can of tomato and rice soup. As the soup was getting warmed up, Sam covered a washrag in cold water, settling it against Dean’s forehead. He sat on Dean’s bed, saying “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, time to eat.”
“But I’m not-”, Dean whispered, his voice scratchy and faint but there.
“Don’t care. It’s soup, and you’ll eat it all or the EMF meter is going back out to the car. Got it?”
Eyes wide open, Dean swallowed hard and nodded at his brother.
Cas just watched, trying to commit to memory everything he’d heard and seen. Next time, he’d know what had to happen. He’d be better at taking care of Dean, not just in a sexual way, but in a physical way. It was true that he could not heal with a touch of his fingers, but there were many other ways to comfort the man he loved when a tiny virus struck and brought this strong hunter to his knees. He wouldn’t let Dean down again.
Once the fever broke, Dean sat quietly on the bed, his head rested on Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks for, uh, the medicine and for, you know, staying…”
Like Cas had any intention of leaving. The idea was unthinkable, especially over some simple thing like a virus. Dean was his to care for, and he’d learn to do it, he was determined.