[ Dean is feverish. He's injured, he's ill, and he's been confined in a small, dark room for a number of days, and so even if Castiel isn't imagining the very long, very intimate stare Dean is giving him, it's related to his fever, and possibly his need for human contact, and that's all. None of that explains why Castiel feels so struck by it, though. Dean is very handsome, but Castiel isn't usually driven to distraction by a pretty face. Either way, something is happening here, and Castiel should be more concerned about Dean's health than the insistent fluttering of his own heart. He tries to focus on that, on the heat of Dean's hand and the pulse in his wrist, and not on the idea of Dean offering to let himself be leashed and led, like it isn't degrading, or like it is, but that he'd do it anyway, and Castiel blinks in the dark, trying very hard not to think about that while his mind doggedly refuses to think of anything else. ]

I'm... You won't have to do anything like that, Dean. You'll walk out of here on your own terms, once you're strong enough again to walk, and think, clearly.

[ Castiel turns his face, irresistibly towards Dean's, rested on his shoulder, and talks quietly nearly against his hair. ]


You feel warm.