Guess who’s sick? So have some DeanCas cuddles feat. sick!Cas, because I am nothing if not self-indulgent
“Got your leaf water.” Dean sits on the edge of the bed, biting back a grin when Cas’s right eye opens to a slit. His exaggerated groan is cut off by a nasty cough he hides in his elbow. He emerges from his nest of blankets like a mummy being raised from the dead.
“Is it mint,” Cas says, like he can’t even muster up the courage to ask. Like everything about the situation is totally and completely hopeless.
Dean nods.
Castiel takes the mug like it’s the holy fucking grail.
“I’m dying,” he informs Dean simply after taking his first sip. When Dean snorts in response, he throws him a withering look, sniffling into his drink. “Death is eminent and you don’t even believe me.”
“Cas, you got a cold, you’re not dying.”
Cas glares.
“Baby, c’mon,” Dean says, full on smiling now.
Castiel turns away.
“Cas.”
Nothing.
Rolling his eyes, Dean leans in only to have Cas sluggishly push him away, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he demands, horrified. “You’ll catch it!”
“So? I’ve had tons of colds.” He leans in again and Cas dodges.
“Dean, I’m serious; save yourself.”
Cas puts his mug on the bedside table and turns over, cuddling into his blankets and getting back to his Netflix like the conversation is officially over. He’s sniffling pathetically, and Dean knows it’s fucking stupid but he suddenly has the urge to cuddle his dramatic, over-the-top, newly-human partner into the next fucking century.
Cas just looks so goddamn miserable.
So Dean starts stripping.
He ignores Cas’s protests when he’s taking off his jeans and shirt and socks, and when he quickly lifts up an edge of the blanket to spoon him. He grins into Cas’s nape when he yelps about Dean’s cold feet even though his socks. Castiel smells like Vicks and tea and stale sweat and it’s not super pleasant, but Dean kisses the back of his neck, anyway. He presses a palm to Cas’s chest and thumbs the material covering his heart.
“Dean,” Cas says weakly. “You’ll be out of commission. You won’t be able to hunt, you won’t---”
“Mm, and I need a vacation, so...”
“This isn’t a vacation,” Cas says indignantly. “I told you, I am dying---”
“I wanna spend your last moments cuddling, sue me.”
“Dean.”
Dean props himself on his elbow, grabbing Cas by the chin and kissing him full on the mouth to the tune of a horrified gasp. “---What have you done?”
And yeah, Cas is mucous-y and gross, but he’s also Cas, and Dean’ll kiss Cas every day for rest of his damn life with a fuckin’ spring in his step and a smile on his face. So Dean smiles, and licks his lips, and says, “Mm, gotta say, I love the mint but the germs add a little somethin’ extra.”
Castiel just stares. “...You’re an idiot.”
Dean shrugs, nuzzling Cas’s gross nose because he’s the type of guy who does shit like that now. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
Cas’s blush shows up real pretty on his sick-pale cheeks. He rolls his eyes and throws himself down on the mattress like he’s pissed at the world. “If you insist on infecting yourself,” he grumps, dragging Dean’s arm over his chest like he’s wanting to cuddle. “At least make yourself useful.”
Dean grins.
