The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows on the walls. The man lay in bed, his face pale and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His breathing was labored, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the cold that had taken hold of his body.

Ever since Castiel had become human, he was exposed to getting sick. Today, he got hit with a cold. The feeling was dreadful, he had never experienced this. Though, you had him in your care as Dean and Sam went out to missions.

The energy he possessed was now replaced with a profound weakness, leaving him barely able to lift his head from the pillow. The blankets, though comforting, felt heavy against his aching limbs, and every movement seemed to drain what little strength he had left.