The Hand He Had Been Dealt | Destiel

Sickness

Dean barely heard the front door open then shut, groaning aloud now that Sam or Castiel wasn't in the room. The chair beside the couch swam in his vision, twisting and turning in ways that had his eyes snapping shut so he could stop the overwhelming nausea threatening to rise. Instead, he flipped over, his nose touching to the cushion of the couch, where he slowly breathed in and out, reciting the different parts of a car's transmission in an attempt to keep his mind off the way he felt like absolute shit. 

It worked for a while, maybe ten minutes or so, before he felt dryness beginning to form in his mouth, his throat stinging with the effort to swallow as he attempted to get some moisture back. Another groan left his lips, and he debated how long he could lay there before he pushed himself up, nearly falling back onto the couch as a wave of light-headedness washed over him. Dean used the cushion as a balance though, holding tightly to it as he placed his unsteady feet onto the floor.

The first attempt to get up wasn't so successful, Dean falling back down with a grunt and a slight gag that he pushed back down. His second attempt went better, his grip on the arm of the couch allowing him to lean on something as he let his vision settle as much as it was going to. Carefully, he placed one foot in front of the other, forcing him himself to ignore the way the floor swayed as the hardwood changed to tile when he reached the kitchen.

Dean nearly lost his balance as he grabbed onto the counter, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he worked his way over to the cabinet and grabbing one of Sam's plastic cups. The faucet was right beside the cabinet, thankfully, so he filled the yellow cup about halfway before turning the faucet back. The water felt like heaven when he tipped the cup back, cold and smooth on his overheated throat as he swallowed the entire thing down.

Dean had about ten seconds before the water came back up, and he was vomiting into the sink, his legs giving out as soon as he was finished and collapsed to the floor.

He didn't try to move after that, letting his cheek press against the cold tile on the floor as his stomach flipped as it tried to settle again. His eyes closed, and he let out a soft whine, curling in on himself, having not felt this bad since he made that mistake with the Italian sub with jalapeño.

He didn't know how long he laid there, but the front door opening caught his attention, managing to raise his head and force his eyes open, his vision swirling as he managed to catch the retreating tan of Castiel's trenchcoat as he walked into the living room.

"Dean?" Castiel called out, his voice making Dean groan, pushing his chest off the ground with great effort.

"In he-" The sound of vomiting took over the rest of the words he was going to say, his mess spilling onto the floor. Tears ran down his face on reflex, and he barely finished before Sam rounded the counter, coming to a halt with wide eyes when he saw Dean lying there.

"De?!" Sam shouted, running over, though, Dean was happy to notice, he skirted around the vomit. Tiny hands grabbed at him, trying to help him up, Sam's panicked voice reaching his ears, though the toddler seemed to have lost his ability to speak English instead of garbled noises. Dean reached out, giving Sam a slight pat on the shoulder and giving him a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean said, nearly dying of relief when Castiel came into view, moving over without a single step of hesitation at the vomit, and reaching under Dean's arms and pulling him to his feet.

"You were supposed to stay on the couch," Castiel commented with a frown, but Dean couldn't be happier as he was led towards the bedroom, attempting a shrug despite it being more of a weak movement of his shoulders.

"Got thirsty," Dean replied, his voice scratchy from his recent vomit fest. Castiel didn't respond, but he swept Dean into his arms bridal style, putting onto the bed and ignoring the suddenly red face of Dean that wasn't from the fever.

Castiel left after that, and Dean was left to try and calm down his racing heart and flipping stomach, which did not help his nausea at all. Good thing he didn't have anything left in his stomach. Still, the bed was warm, a little too hot against his fevered skin, but it still was more comfortable than a hard tile floor.

Castiel came back with a cool rag, placing it on Dean's head and taking a seat beside him with a slight sigh before holding out a pill to Dean, "Sam is calmed down and watching TV. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, and this should get your fever down," He stated, watching critically until Dean finally swallowed down the pill, dry. He didn't think he could handle much more than a pill anyways.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean replied softly, but he was met with stern eyes that made his heart dropped when he realized what that meant.

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester," Castiel growled, and Dean looked away, the pill feeling as if it were caught in his throat, "Pushing yourself that hard. What would have happened if I hadn't noticed you were sick? You could be wrecked on the side of the road right now, dead, because you act like you can handle it alone."

"What do you want me to say, Cas?" Dean answered, his voice cracking slightly from the pain, "I can't do anything right, or I wouldn't be in this mess? Do you think I'm not concerned for Sam's future? Do you think that the four hours of rest I get at night are filled with happy dreams?" He continued, taking a deep breath when Castiel's hand came up to his hair, running through it gently as he listened with a concerned expression, "I have no idea what to do. Sam is going to be starting school soon, and supplies get expensive. He'll hit a growth spurt, and I'll have to buy clothes every week to keep up. How am I supposed to give Sam everything he needs when I am barely a high school graduate that struggles to get the most basic of jobs?"

"Dea-"

"Don't," Dean interrupts, not realizing when he had started crying, but his hair was beginning to get wet in places where the tears trickled across his temples, "I can't take a break, for his sake, Cas. Can't you understand that?"

"I understand more than you will ever know, Dean," Castiel responded, his eyes darkening a shade with sadness and Dean's mouth snapped shut, looking up at Castiel with wide eyes when the older man's eyes began to water. Dean moved on instinct, ignoring the wrenching feeling in his gut at the sudden movement as he wrapped his arms around Castiel, burying his face in Castiel's neck and holding on gently as his shoulder began to grow wet from Castiel's tears.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before Castiel was easing back, wiping his eyes and removing the evidence that he had ever cried in the first place, "I'll stay over tonight to make sure you're okay," Castiel stated, clearing his throat before he stood, "I will make Sam dinner now."

With that, Castiel all but ran out of the room, leaving Dean with only a warm place on the bed where he had been only a moment ago.