"Uh uh, darlin'. No case for you."

Dean scolds you, keeping your sweaty body in bed. He had no freakin' idea what was wrong with you but you were feverish and delirious, adamantly refusing the soup he had made from scratch, and giggling one minute and then whining the next. If Cas wasn't acting so damn strange, Dean would've called him by now.

"Sammy's gonna check it out, and I'm staying right here with you until you're better, capiche?"

"Nooooooooo."

You whine, attempting to smack him but only petting his arm. Dean sighs, checking your forehead again.

"Yes. I'm gonna dunk you into an ice bath soon if your fever doesn't go down. You hear me, baby?"

Dean asks, noticing your eyes glazing over.

"You look like a girl."

He smirks at your words, gently stroking the tender and sore skin on your arms.

"A girl, huh? Why's that?"

"Too pretty. Are you my imagination?"

Dean rolls his eyes, kissing your nose and cheek and chin.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, darlin', but I'm very real. You seein' anythin' else other than me?"

He asks, moderately worried your fever might be causing hallucinations. He'd heard you mumbling about a caterpillar earlier.

"No. Just you. And Mr. Wallpaper."

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Who the hell is Mr. Wallpaper, angel?"

"He's in the walls. He's spinning. Someone painted him a gross green and put flowers on him."

Dean sighs, picking you up.

"It's time for the damn ice bath."