Dean hadn't been sick since he was a kid.
Well, he'd been sick, but not this kind of sick. He'd been the accidentally-taze-yourself-into-heart-condition-territory sick, and stage-four-stomach-cancer sick, and even comatose sick. But it had been a long, long time since he had the good old-fashioned flu, and the fact that it had stricken him now, only a few months away from his thirtieth birthday, was kind of worrying. He was living on borrowed time already, and although those stupid medical tales of the flu making older people sick as fuck didn't used to bother him, Dean was worried that even the slightest imbalance would send him over the top.
There were enough people after his head to ensure in his resurrection, but that didn't stop him from being a little freaked out, especially not with the way his head was feeling at the moment. It was throbbing, his sinuses so stuffed up he felt as though his brain was being forced in on itself, and the chills accompanying all of it were leaving him completely miserable.
Dean was curled up on his bed at the hotel, watching some stupid soap opera on TV and wrapped up in Sam's jacket, the worn navy hoodie the only coat they could find that could be worn for laying around. Dean wasn't about to snuggle up in a leather jacket, and Sam's hoodie was comforting, in a stupid, embarrassing way. He sprawled out on top of the covers, boxers covering his lower half as he lay there, tired and feeling ill.
Being sick sucked.
He managed to get the energy to roll off the bed, hitting the floor with a thud and grunting before dragging himself up, standing and rubbing at his head. He was cold and miserable and he was pretty sure his nose was leaking like a fucking faucet by this point, and he just wanted to get this over with already. Dean scratched at the back of his neck before making a half-assed attempt to walk to the bathroom, his thoughts so out there as he attempted to calm himself the fuck down.
He was having trouble breathing; his lungs felt heavy and disgusting, and he paused, leaning against the wall and pulling his brother's hoodie tighter around him, trying not to hack up a loogie right then and there, mostly because that would be gross as fuck. He swallowed, closing his eyes, and decided to just stand there for a while, trying to calm himself down. He didn't move when the door to the hotel opened, wavering slightly before jumping as Sam grabbed him, the younger man looking worried. "Dean, what are you doing out of bed?"
"I want to look at myself in the mirror," Dean said sarcastically, leaning against Sam nonetheless. "I'm freezing cold; I was trying to get to the shower."
"Come on, man," Sam murmured, looping an arm around Dean's waist and dragging him back towards the bed. "You'll make yourself worse."
"We can't be hanging out here for very long," Dean muttered, letting Sam drop him on the bed and simply laying there, voice muffled by the covers. "Apocalypse and all that jazz. We should keep moving."
"If you are ill, keeping on in your current condition is not very well advised." Castiel walked through the door with a bag of groceries, looking at Sam for a moment before coming over to the bed and pausing, looking down at Dean. "I bought the processed chicken broth Sam told me to. He said it might make you feel better."
Dean couldn't help but smile, turning slightly and looking up at Castiel. "Thanks, Cas."
Castiel attempted a half-smile in return, looking through the bag and then holding a bottle of Powerade out to Dean. "He said this would be efficient as well."
Dean arched an eyebrow at Sam, twisting the top off the drink and settling back on the bed. "I'm still cold."
Sam rolled his eyes, looking at Castiel and then grabbing the angel by the back of the trenchcoat, tugging gently. "Take it off."
Castiel blinked, blue eyes fixating on Sam for a few moments before he obliged, taking the beige coat off and handing it to Sam, copying what he had heard Dean say when he had taken his amulet. "Great, now I feel naked."
Dean stared at him for a few moments before blinking, grinning tiredly and rubbing at one of his eyes. "You're a copycat, Castiel."
"I don't believe I am a feline," Castiel said, perching on the edge of the bed and looking at him. "I don't exhibit any of the necessary signs."
Dean rolled his eyes, Sam dropping Castiel's jacket on top of him and sitting down on the opposite bed, licking his lips. "How're you feeling now?"
"Like crap," Dean croaked, pulling Castiel's coat up over his head and curling up on the bed, trying to make himself as small as possible in order to conserve body heat. "I want to die."
"Oh, shut up, stop being such a baby. Man, when I used to get sick, I got no sympathy from you."
"What are you talking about? I would bundle you up and make you soup and let you watch Rainbow Brite until you fell asleep." Dean lapsed into a coughing fit, curling up tighter and groaning. "Make me soup, Sammy; I'm freezing cold and I don't want to move."
"Maybe you should just curl up with Castiel. He's always got the body heat of a fucking dragon." Sam got up off his bed and grabbed the can of soup, reading the label before finding a leftover container from their takeout the night before and starting to wash it out in the bathroom sink.
Castiel looked up from taking his shoes off, watching Sam before looking back at Dean and speaking softly. "Are you still cold?"
"Yes," Dean muttered, curling into a ball. "I'm freezing."
Castiel managed to get his shoes off and then slid up the bed a little, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder tentatively before laying down beside him, scooting closer to the taller man and sliding his arms around Dean's waist. He rested his head against Dean's chest, forcing the other man to uncurl, the older Winchester pulling the coat off of himself and staring down at Castiel, who merely stared straight forward, eyes on Dean's chest. "Cas, what are you doing?"
"Making you feel better," the angel said blankly, Dean looking confused for a moment before giving up and pulling Castiel closer by way of an arm around his shoulders, resting his chin on Cas' head. Castiel lay there stiffly before relaxing slightly, scooting up on the bed a little so his head was against Dean's neck.
Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was going about making the canned soup, and then curled up closer to Castiel. Okay, so maybe it was a little gayer than he should have been usually but he was sick, and Castiel was really warm. Dean needed this right now. He closed his eyes, Castiel curling closer immediately and imitating what he had seen on television before.
Sam walked out of the bathroom, popped the soup in the microwave, and immediately stared at the two men on the bed, looking around before walking over, the mattress creaking as he knelt on it. Dean mumbled something unintelligible and Sam ignored it anyway, grabbing his brother around the chest and pulling him back, Castiel shimmying closer immediately. The bed wasn't exactly made for three grown men laying in it, but they made do, looking like some sort of fucked up Russian nesting doll, and it was definitely warming Dean up.
He leaned back against Sam, swallowing slightly and keeping his grip on Cas, who looked slightly overwhelmed by the whole thing before speaking softly. "Do you feel better yet?"
Dean grinned, shrugging and nestling closer to the other two. "Yeah. I do." Castiel made to pull away and Dean shook his head, holding onto him tighter and pressing his lips to the angel's temple, Cas turning the colour of a tomato. "I didn't say I wanted to let go."
Sam murmured something about Dean being gay, but the grip he had on his brother's waist begged to differ; Dean simply shook his head, sinking back against the taller man and continuing to hold onto Cas.
Fuck the chicken soup. This was the only cure for the flu he needed.