Day Thirteen Prompt: Ash + Witches’ Brew
A Familiar Illness
Dean was a Dragon and by nature he was strong and fierce. Except that the common cold was kicking his ass. If he had to listen to Charlie call it the ‘man-flu’ one more time he was going to lose his shit and turn her to ash.
The problem was he couldn’t turn Charlie to ash even if he actually wanted too. He couldn’t change and he couldn’t hear his husband’s thoughts unless he concentrated so hard he gave himself a migraine. Feeling this way made Dean incredibly whiny. At this point Dean was afraid he was going to push Castiel either into divorcing him or pulling the house down on top of him.
Dean was laid up in bed in his boxers and grey robe, which Sam said was a ‘dead guy robe.’ He was surrounded by car magazines and used tissues. He looked pathetic and sounded even worse. He had coughed and sneezed until he prayed for unconsciousness.
Dean could hear Castiel in the kitchen, but he had no clue what Cas was cooking. He couldn’t smell a damn thing because his nose was stopped up. He turned the TV on but he couldn’t focus long enough to enjoy any program. Finally the dragon stretched out and resigned himself to staring at the ceiling and praying for sleep but sleep didn’t come.
About a half an hour later Castiel came in carrying a tray. “Dean, I need you to sit up.”
Dean groaned about it but he propped himself up on pillows and gave Castiel a long suffering look. “I can’t take much more of this.” Dean confessed.
“Nor can I. That is why I have brought you chicken soup and my own concoction that will get you back on your feet.” Castiel declared, sitting the tray down onto Dean’s lap.
The soup looked good but the ‘concoction’ looked dubious. It was an unusual mix of green and purple. The contents moved as though it were alive and it was the consistency of runny pudding. “I am not taking whatever the hell that is.” Dean grumped, eyeing the contents as though it would attack him. The way it was moving, it might.
“Dean, do you not trust me?” Castiel said letting mock hurt into his voice.
“Cas, I know you are an accomplished witch but sometimes you get a little carried away.” Dean said wearily.
“Nonsense. It is totally safe. It is my own spin on my father’s remedy. I have improved it. Trust me.” Castiel insisted.
“Fine but if it kills me, I am going to haunt you for it, forever.” Dean warned.
“Of course, Dean.” Cas said making no effort to conceal that he was getting perturbed with his husband.
“Here goes nothing.” Dean downed the witches’ brew. He had to fight not to gag as the goop slid down his throat. It tasted like feet and soured milk. Dean felt like he was actually turning green as he fought his churning stomach to keep it down. Castiel went to give Dean a spoon full of the soup but he shook his head. He would vomit if he made the effort to open his mouth for it.
Castiel just sat there and watch Dean with a stern brow. After a few minutes, Dean’s stomach settled. Then after a few more, he felt the pressure in his head easing up. Gradually over the course of fifteen minutes he started to feel better.
Castiel fed him the soup and sat back and watched Dean with a self-satisfied smile. “I told you it would work.”
“It might have but it tasted like ass.” Dean grumped.
“Well I guess you would know.” Castiel said with a smirk.
“You didn’t just...” Dean said trying to look stern. They stared each other down for a good minute before they burst into laughter. “Is it safe to kiss you?” Dean asked.
“Yes Dean. I took some just before I brought you yours, so you won’t get me sick.” Castiel said smiling.
Dean pulled Cas down for a kiss, “Love you.”
“And I you.” Castiel said as he nipped at Dean’s lip.