Castiel was bundled up like he might drift away if left unattended, wrapped in layers of blankets and propped against the headboard while Dean hovered at his side in full caretaker mode.

He had soup balanced carefully in one hand, water and electrolytes lined up on the nightstand like a tactical operation, even a bottle of long-forgotten vitamins cracked open and pressed into service.

Cas looked small and tired beneath it all, eyes soft, trusting, letting Dean fuss without protest. When you stepped into the bedroom after errands, the sight made you smile—Dean scurrying back and forth, muttering under his breath, checking Cas’s temperature for the third time like sheer vigilance might fix everything.

You set your things down quietly and climbed into the bed beside Cas, easing an arm around him, adding your warmth to the pile of blankets. Dean finally paused, exhaled, running a hand through his hair as if reminding himself to breathe.

“Cas, are you sure you’re alright?” Dean murmurs.