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Dean is getting sick.
Dean knows he's getting sick because he's got that stupid half-congested feeling in his chest, and he's been sniffing all day (he probably wouldn't have even noticed that one, except Sam, in a fit of annoyance, had pointed it out to him), and every joint feels like it's got sand in it and his limbs weigh approximately a hundred pounds each. So yeah, Dean's been sick often enough that he can recognize the signs.
He buys like, a gallon of orange juice at the nearest supermarket and one of those bottles of the tablets you dissolve in water – the ones you're supposed to take before you go on planes, and they keep you from getting sick. He figures it's worth a try.
Except the medicine doesn't work, and by noon the next day he can't even get out of bed for fear that he'll hurl all over himself.
"It's a cold," Sam says, and yanks the covers back off of Dean's miserably cold legs. Dean glares at him. "Come on, get up, we need to get to Eckley and see what's been going on at the museum…"
Sam tries to haul Dean out of bed manually, the idiot.
Dean promptly pukes on Sam's shoes.
They aren't going anywhere.
~
"Aw," Gabriel says. "Poor, sick baby. Does ickle babykins want some ice chips to suck on? Who's a cute baby."
Dean glares at him.
"I hate you," he says. Which is a lie, because Dean doesn't generally sleep with people he hates, but whatever. Gabriel is being an annoying asshole and he deserves whatever vitriol Dean chooses to hurl at him. Just because he's trying to (marginally) help them out doesn't give him an excuse to be a total dick.
Gabriel continues to stare at him, all doe-eyed innocence and his stupid mussed hair, just perfect for grabbing when Gabriel is…
Dean curls in on himself like a startled millipede, groaning softly. He can't even muster up the energy to feel aroused, which, seriously, is just goddamn pathetic.
"Just get me some juice," he croaks pitifully. "Before I upchuck all over your face."
Gabriel, surprisingly, doesn't just snap his fingers and magic up a glass for Dean – instead, he crosses the motel room to the minifridge and brings the already half-gone jug of orange juice back to the bed, where he deftly pours Dean a glass, and then holds it to his lips.
Alright, Dean thinks, and drinks deeply, because the juice soothes his sore throat, and Sam has been making himself scarce (out of fear of getting sick himself), so Dean's mostly been drinking water, because the bathroom is closer than the fridge, and he can usually manage to get there and back without passing out.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Dean stares at Gabriel, over the rim of his glass, like the archangel has gone insane. He swallows his mouthful of juice and then says, "Yeah, cure me."
Gabriel shrugs with one shoulder. "Sorry. I mean, if it was something serious, sure, but this is just the flu. You'll get over it on your own. I mean, is there anything I can do to…" Gabriel looks slightly uncomfortable, like 'being nice' isn't one of his default settings, so he doesn't quite know how to make it work. "…make you comfortable?"
Dean stares. This is new. And weird. And new. He wonders if he could take advantage of it somehow – tell Gabriel to go and get him some obscure medicinal herb from China or something. But Dean's not that petty (well, okay, he totally is, but he's too sick to care, really), so all he says is, "Uh. I'm really cold?"
Gabriel's response is to slide under the covers with him. Which, okay, Dean was sort of gunning for an extra blanket or a space heater or something, but this works, too. Gabriel is like a furnace - Castiel, from what Dean has heard from Sam, is the same way. It has something to do with their human bodies not being able to fully contain their Grace, and so the force of it is translated into something that's relatively harmless – heat – and then radiated outwards.
Dean winds his arms around Gabriel's waist, pulling him closer. He's like an electric blanket had a baby with a body pillow. Awesome.
Gabriel is very still for a long time, so long that Dean's pretty much drifting off to sleep on top of him…and then he feels the gentle brush of fingers against the nape of his neck, stroking gently.
"In the beginning," he murmurs, "God created the heavens and the Earth, and the Earth was without form, and was void; darkness was upon the face of the deep. The Spirit of God moved across the waters, and God said 'let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good."
"Seriously," Dean mutters incredulously, muffled by Gabriel's shoulder. But Gabriel's voice is soothing, and the words themselves are mellifluous – they merge with each other, becoming a jumble of soft sounds that lull Dean further into the comfortable grasp of sleep.
"And God divided the light from the darkness," he hears Gabriel saying, "and he called the light 'day' and the darkness 'night.' And the evening and the morning were the first day."
Dean closes his eyes.
"You're weird," he whispers, and allows himself to drift off into sleep.