Work Text:
“Gross, man!”
Sam recoiled in the booth as Dean sneezed suddenly and explosively. He wiped his nose before two more in quick succession took them both by surprise. Seeing this, the waitress dropped an extra stack of napkins between them and scurried away, eyeing Dean like he was already dead.
Sam glared down at the vinyl tabletop, then up at Dean, arching one eyebrow. “I think you missed my coffee, at least.” He made no move to grab his mug.
“Sorry,” Dean replied, shoulders drooping. It came out more like Dorry. “Dunno where this came from.”
“Yeah, you were fine last night.”
“I blame the witch.”
“We don’t even know if it is a witch, Dean.”
“Well we’re gonna find out today, aren’t we? Hunt that son of a bitch down?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean could tell he wouldn’t be hunting down any sons of bitches today. He could hardly keep his eyes trained on Sam’s face, and the edges of his vision blurred.
“Judging by the fact you haven’t even touched your pancakes, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I know, I’m just not hungry.” Dean set his fork down and furrowed his brows, now very concerned. “Wait. That never happens, Sammy!”
“Alright, I’m taking you back to the motel,” Sam decided, as he reached for his wallet. He tossed some bills on the table and helped Dean up, holding him at arm’s length as Dean erupted into a hacking coughing fit. “And don’t even think about driving!”
~
One short stop at CVS later, Dean was pushing past Sam to collapse on one of the double beds in the dingy motel. Sam set a bottle of knock-off DayQuil down on the nightstand next to him as Dean buried his head in the pillow.
“Now make sure you drink this. Not whiskey.”
Dean grunted, something unintelligible that might’ve been ‘Fuck you,’ in response. Sam rolled his eyes; nothing made a bigger baby out of Dean Winchester than a simple cold.
Just to be safe, Sam moved the trash can next to the bed anyway and set a box of tissues next to the bottle. If Dean had contracted anything like the strange illness ravaging the rest of the town, this was only the beginning.
“Alright, Typhoid Mary, I’m gonna head to the University’s library and try and figure out what this thing is. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.”
Another grunt.
Sam took that as “Goodbye.”
As soon as the door closed, Dean rolled over to unbutton his shirt and shuck his jeans. He felt like he was on fire, and stripping down helped. At least, it helped a little. He contemplated drawing a nice, freezing bath and submerging himself.
But that would require getting up.
Instead Dean took a dose of the cheap tonic Sam had picked up. The bitter medicine slithered down his throat and Dean almost gagged. Shit was nasty. “You can’t stop me from taking the next one with a shot!” Dean weakly addressed the closed motel door. As he set the plastic cup down, his hand brushed something that would certainly make him feel better – the TV remote.
Dean flipped through channel after channel, finding nothing. Daytime TV was being typically unforgiving. But finally, just as Dean was about to give up and try a nap instead, he stumbled across a Dr. Sexy marathon on one of those syndication channels.
“Awesome,” Dean coughed.
He glanced at the door again, briefly afraid that Sam was about to burst back in at any second and catch him. He would never let Dean live it down if he did. But Sam should be gone for a while – they have no real leads beyond some demon omens and a strange, incurable illness – and it should take him a long time poring over books and scouring search engines to get anywhere. Meanwhile, Dean got the day off.
He propped up the pillows behind him and got settled in. He happened to tune into the first season finale, and it was a damn good one. Best cliffhanger Dean had ever seen in a TV show, when Dr. Sexy’s previously unknown wife suddenly showed up at the end of the episode. It was one of those episodes best watched with someone else, to see their jaw drop at the big reveal…someone who wouldn’t judge him for how much he secretly loved this show.
Someone like Cas.
He and Sam hadn’t seen the angel in a few days. He was busy, Dean knew, off on one of his missions – but Dean couldn’t help but, well, miss him sometimes. He’d never say it out loud, but he had grown pretty fond of the awkward little angel.
Besides, maybe watching a couple episodes of America’s most popular show would do wonders for his social interaction.
Dean felt fuzzy from the fever and the medicine, and he found himself voicing his idle wishes aloud.
“The Route 29 Motel’s got some great stuff on…wish you were here, Cas…”
A sudden breeze ruffled the curtains and the empty space on the bed dipped down as Castiel materialized next to him.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Cas! What – how – where’d you come from?”
“I heard your prayer.”
“I didn’t—” Dean trailed off. That didn’t sound like a prayer, did it? “Okay, maybe I did. Accidentally.”
“Should I leave?” But Cas didn’t budge.
“No! No. Stay, Cas…and, uh, watch TV with me?”
Cas cocked his head to the side. Dean had yet to figure this expression out, whether it meant that Castiel was confused or that he was staring at something Dean couldn’t see.
“You are ill.”
“Ouch, man…”
“Your soul is not its usual hue. It is…pallid, weak.”
“That’s how you can tell?” Dean gestured incredulously at the tissues and the medicine.
“It stands out,” Cas replied with finality. Dean wondered what his soul looked like when he felt anything else – but maybe he didn’t want that answer. “What can I do to help?”
Dean shrugged. “Like I said, watch TV with me? I know it sounds dumb, man, but I’m bored, and this is good stuff, and let’s just – I dunno – hang out.”
Cas looked around the room. “Where is Sam?”
“He’s trying to figure out what did this to me and everybody else in this town. Library.”
“Well. My lead has run cold. I have time to ‘hang out’ as you say.” And with that, Cas settled against the pillows and got comfortable. Dean thought he was starting to feel better already. “Now what is happening in this show?”
~
A few hours and a few episodes passed and Cas was hooked - Dean was sure of it. It didn’t take long with a show like this. Even for angels, apparently. He kept asking questions to understand more – like why is Dr. Wang angry at Dr. Piccolo in this scene, Dean? – and trying to guess where the story would lead. He was sitting up straight with rapt attention - he wasn’t even blinking.
Then Cas dropped a bombshell on him.
“The one they call ‘Doctor Sexy’ is quite an attractive male,” he said after one particularly racy sex scene.
Dean blanched. The shock started him coughing again.
Cas met his surprised look with an equally calm one. “Just an observation, Dean.”
“What? No judgment here, Cas.”
“I know. You agree.”
“Wha…what do you mean?”
Cas didn’t answer at first. He idly played with a loose thread on the pillowcase. Dean leaned in closer – because this was unusual. The angel rarely stalled. Cas swallowed.
“I may have stumbled across it in your dreams.”
“Dammit, Cas! What have I told you about creeping on people’s dreams?”
“It’s been one of the few ways I can reach you without you telling me exactly where you are, Dean!”
“…wait a second,” Dean interrupted, narrowing his eyes, “which dream did you see?”
Cas looked down at the stray thread again, the TV, anywhere but at Dean. “I…didn’t want to interrupt.”
Dean’s eyes widened as he remembered which dream it was. It took a lot to make Dean blush, but if it’s that dream then Cas must’ve gotten an eyeful. He had dreamt he was Dr. Winchester, the sexy but brooding intern who took a turn with Dr. Sexy in a supply closet, much like the scene they had just watched on TV. It was a pretty hot dream, actually, Dean remembered fondly…
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said, shaking Dean from his reminiscing.
“S’okay, Cas. Just…uh, sorry you had to see that.”
The corners of the angels mouth turned up in a slight grin. “No judgment, Dean.”
“Well. I hope you enjoyed the show,” Dean answered with a smirk of his own.
If anyone asked, Dean would blame his shameless flirtation on the heady mix of horrible cough medicine and raging fever. He wouldn’t admit that he’d wanted to flirt with Cas like this for a very long time.
He just wished he wasn’t blowing his nose every five minutes. Not the sexiest thing in the world.
Cas just smiled at Dean’s response and returned his attention to the TV. Dean could tell he was only pretending to be engrossed by the current scene by the faint blush coloring his cheeks. Who knew angels could blush?
The scene playing on the TV finally drew Dean’s attention as well, and he tore his gaze from Castiel to watch.
This episode featured a man who could somehow heal patients in the hospital by touch. As the doctors on screen scrambled to figure out his secret, Dean got an idea. An idea he should have thought of a long time ago.
“Wish I knew someone who could do that,” he quipped through another coughing fit.
Cas turned to him. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I completely forgot—”
“The show, I know,” Dean laughed despite the fact that he was running out of breath. “I got you hooked, didn’t I? Man, Sammy really just doesn’t know what he’s missing—”
The soft pressure of Castiel’s hand on his knee silenced him. Maybe it was just the closest body part to his hand, or maybe (hopefully) it was a deliberate choice of placement, but Dean was now conspicuously aware of how little clothing he was wearing. A tingling warmth spread from that singular spot through the rest of his body and Dean physically felt the illness leave him – his ears unclogged, his throat opened up, his brow dried of sweat. It only took a few seconds, then it was done, and Dean felt healthier than he had in months.
“Wow, thanks Cas,” Dean said softly. He looked from the hand on his knee up to see Cas staring at him, blue eyes bright with warmth and concern and something else.
“I am glad you feel better.”
The healing was technically finished, but Cas didn’t bother to move his hand.
Tentatively, Dean reached down and covered Cas’ hand with his own. Their fingers clasped and they rested there together. A quiet song played in the background on Dr. Sexy, a woman’s voice singing of love and longing over sparse piano notes.
“Dean—“
Dean dragged his hand away, suddenly nervous, reflexively wiping it on the sheet next to him. “I’m sorry, man,” he sputtered. “I don’t know what that was. Pretend it didn—”
“Dean.”
Castiel said it more firmly this time, and he grabbed Dean’s hand again. Dean let him. “Your color has returned. But it’s different, this time – it is brighter.”
“Oh good, I’m back to being your pretty little painting—”
“And I know what that means.”
With that, Castiel leaned forward and kissed him, and Dean relaxed and let him in. The same warmth as the healing touch surged through the angel’s lips, surrounding Dean until it felt like he was floating inches above the sheets and bed. They parted moments later, breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes, the marathon running forgotten on the TV.
“So what else have you seen in my dreams?” Dean smiled as he leaned in for another kiss.
~
“I think I figured out what we’re dealing with—”
Sam returned mid-afternoon and paused in the doorway as soon as he walked in. Dean was practically glowing as he moved around the room, straightening the beds and cleaning their empty fast food bags.
“Well it looks like you’re over it. How’d you get cured when no one else can?”
Dean answered him with an exaggerated shrug. “Good ol’ R&R, I guess. Works wonders.” He finished with a wink.
Sam slowly set down the thick books he was carrying on the small table by the door. “O…kay. You’re kinda freaking me out, man. But good thing you’re feeling better.”
“Never been better, Sammy!” Dean clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously as he joined Sam at the table. “So what are we looking at?”
“I’m thinking it might be one of the Nosoi, Greek gods of plague and pestilence. They’re kind of like demons, actually, and…”
Sam trailed off when he noticed that Dean was paying more attention to the TV and Dr. Sexy than he was to him.
“Really, Dean?”
He sighed and turned off the TV.
“Hey! I was watching that!”
“Yeah, because watching Dr. Sexy is a better cure for your illness than actually finding this thing and killing it.”
“Oh, Sammy,” and now Dean was beaming his widest yet, “you have no idea.”