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The room was just this side of gaudy, which meant that for 1978 it was the height of chic. Dean had to chuckle at how little motel rooms had changed in 30 years. Sure some had moved up to that ‘80s big-haired-pop-look, but the kind that usually served as home to the Winchesters weren't on that list.
Dean guided Cas' weak form to the room's large flashy bathroom, pulling off the ever present trench coat and sitting the angel on the closed toilet.
"You never said it would be this bad," the hunter whispered quietly, his tone playing along the line of concern and anger, as he wet one of the small white courtesy towels.
Castiel wobbly shook his head, and tried to speak.
"Save it," Dean snarled. He took Castiel's chin in his hand and began dabbing gently at the blood covering his angel's face.
Long moments of empty silence filled the room as Dean methodically cleaned as much of the blood as he could.
"That's better, you don't look like you lost a fight with a cherry pie."
The angel groaned, whether in pain, exhaustion, or because of Dean's corrodible sense of humour was unclear.
Dean reached for Cas' arm. Holding it in position as he slipped one side of his suit jacket off, followed by the other. A similar process divested the angel of his shoes, belt, and tie.
Castiel whimpered quietly as Dean worked.
The hunter tried to sooth the frail angel, "Hey, almost done, then we can get you into bed so you can get better. Okay, Cas," he didn't expect the angel to respond, but when he looked up after removing the tie, he saw a tiny smile cross Cas' face and a warm, unguarded look in his soul blue eyes.
"Come on," Dean smiled back as he hefted the angel to his feet.
The slowly ambled to the pre-turned down bed. Red and white satin sheets and a red velour comforter with a large white heart at it's center and several of its smaller siblings scattered around it covered the king-size bed.
Dean tried to ignore the mirrors on the ceiling; even as ‘well-versed' as he was, mirrored ceilings crossed the line between kinky and freaky in his book.
Gently, Dean lay Cas down, propped up ever so slightly with the over fluffy pillows. Once he got he got his angel settled Dean shook his head and turned his back on the angel as if getting ready to leave. "Why didn't you tell us it could kill you?"
"It had to be done," Cas croaked, wheezing and hoarse. "You needed it to be done," he managed before a bout of bloody coughing racked his body.
Instantly Dean was at his side, another pristine white towel in his hand to catch and wipe up the blood.
After his coughing fit, Dean stayed at Castiel's side for a moment, quiet as if thinking over the questions of the cosmos before speaking in hushed tones, eyes cast down idly tracing the lines and curves of Cas' hand. "Don't ever do something like that again. Ni matter what Sammy or I say."
"But Dean-"
A finger to his lips silenced the angel.
"No. No ‘but Dean's. You could've killed yourself. You said your power, you never said it would do this to you and I can't and won't lose you- especially to this," Dean's voice got stronger, more defiant, as he spoke. "I don't let people in, Cas, you know that, but you're there as sure as Sammy or Bobby is. Deeper ,even." The last said on a whisper of air only an angel could hear.
"Dean. That's why I did it. You are not the only one," he coughed painfully, "who has had someone settle deep in their heart," the word broke on rasping breaths.
Dean stared at his angel, thankful that colour was coming back to his face. "Cas," was all he said.
The angel smiled then, knowing Dean understood.
"Go," he rasped, hand reaching for Dean's lying less than an inch from his own. "Save them," he squeezed Dean's hand. "I will recover."
With a nod and a squeeze of his own, Dean got up to leave. Just before he left, he returned to his angel's side. "You better recover," he demanded, then leaned closer to kiss Cas' forehead.
"I promise," Castiel whispered to his hunter. "For you I always will," he swore quietly as Dean left, closing and locking the door behind him.