Day sixteen dawned, and the second there was enough light to be roaming around, Dean was tripping over his vulnerable feet with his heart in his throat, hauling bare ass to find the patch of African wormwood he'd spotted on their first trek to the camp. 

He swore on his life to the production people to be as fast as humanly possible, if he could just get going, alone, already, and had very nearly thrown a serious shit fit when the camerawoman handed him the fucking forehead strap-on. He didn't have time or patience for this fuckery. Cas was sick.

Cas was a shivering mess, his fever climbing, and it was all Dean could do to keep him hydrated, feeding him small sips of the boiled water. 

The night had been a living hell, keeping an eye on the fire while trying his damnest to offer the aching and sore Castiel some comfort, spooning the man from head to toe, blowing warm breaths into his hair, rubbing warmth in his arms, hoping against hope that the goosebumps pebbling his skin in a way that had to hurt would just disappear and Cas would be fine again.

It had even gotten to a point where one of the crew had stepped forth to ask if they needed to talk to a producer. If Cas wanted to tap out. Cas nearly bit the guy’s head off, teeth clattering, but a threatening glint in his eye that brooked no argument. That was the Cas Dean had come to know and… Well. Something. He sure as hell something.

Finally, Dean found the goddamn plants and shoved handfuls of the leaves and flowers into his satchel, the picture of miserable Cas replaying in his mind. What if the production decided it was best for Cas to leave anyway? What if he found the camp empty? What if he was left alone? How would he know what happened to Cas?

He tried to reason with his circling thoughts, to calm down, telling himself that it was probably nothing to agonize about. But the man had been burning up by the time Dean left, and the hike had felt like forever.

He practically sprinted his way back to the camp like there were hellhounds after him.

Dean tossed his GoPro to a guy uncaringly and rushed to Cas.

“ Hey, hey ,” he fell on his knees beside Cas, practically cooing, a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. He shook him slightly, thankful when Cas roused from what looked more like unconsciousness than actual sleep.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied, opening his eyes groggily. He mumbled something incoherent, gaze slowly focusing on Dean. “You're back.” There was wonder in his voice.

“Yeah, Cas. I'm going to take care of you, just don't get delirious on me now, you hear?” Dean’s hands were shaking when he brushed Cas's sweaty hair back, off his forehead.

Cas's cheeks were ruddy and he could barely keep his eyes open. For a split second Dean was ready to call the damn producers himself, just to make sure Cas was safe. 

Cas's words got him back on track; “Did you find it?”

“Yes. I'm going to fix some for you right now.” Dean held Cas down when he made to sit up. “Get your rest, babe. Leave it to me.”

The water from last night he'd boiled was still hot enough, so Dean bruised the leaves in his fists and dropped them in the pot, willing the concoction to brew faster. If this didn't work, they were out of options, the possibility of something being seriously wrong with Cas was casting a dark shadow on Dean's thoughts. He went to Cas and helped him to rest his head on Dean's thigh, fingers combing soothingly through his sweat-damp hair.

They'd come to rely on one another here, in the middle of nowhere. It was said that survival was about adjusting to the situation, and that's pretty much exactly what they had done. Adjusted to the surroundings and each other.

Dean shut his eyes tightly, nipping the growing gloom in the bud. Being stuck here with nothing but himself to keep him company was unthinkable, so he wasn't going to think about it. Cas wasn't gone yet. Cas was right here, where Dean knew exactly where to find him.

“You're thinking so hard I can hear it,” Cas put a tired hand on Dean's shin, thumb rubbing a slow circle there. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Am I really that easy to read?” Dean got up carefully, trying not to jostle Cas too much.

“Not always. But most of the time your actions do speak louder than words. And sometimes it’s the other way around.”

Dean's mouth worked but nothing came out. He really had nothing to say to that. He knew all too well he wore his heart on his sleeve. He'd gotten burned enough times to know it as a fact.

He dipped his finger in the pot to test the temperature, and deemed it drinkable. He put it next to Cas and helped him up to a sitting position, maneuvering so that he could guide Cas to lean on his chest.

“I meant it as a compliment. Your openness makes it easy for me to be me,” Cas tried to turn to look at Dean and grunted. “My neck hurts. Every part of me hurts.”

“I bet it does. Now drink up.”

Cas's fever broke about an hour after Dean had managed to cajole him into drinking all of the mixture. Dean sighed in relief when Cas's eyes were clear when he looked up from where he was laying, head straightforwardly on Dean's lap, sweat beading on his forehead.

Dean smiled at him softly. “Feeling better?”

“I'm hungry,” Cas replied grumpily, brow furrowed and forehead wrinkled adorably, swiping a hand across his face. “I could do some very interesting things for a cheeseburger right now.” He sat up slowly, stretching his neck.

“If you promise to take it easy for the rest of the day, I'll see what I can do. Your method of payment sounds promising.” Dean leered and got up, taking the pot with him. 

They both needed water, and Cas could probably do with washing up a bit. There was no way he'd let Cas wander to the pond today. Not until he got his strength back, such as it was with their current diet of fruits only.

He made Cas promise to try to get some sleep and left to do Cas's bidding. Maybe he couldn't turn into a cheeseburger, but he sure could find Cas some of those wild peaches he liked.

The sight of a wild boar scurrying off like its tail was on fire made Dean's fingers itch for his bow. That one night had been the only one when they'd had any real proteins, some vultures having raided the rest of the meat.

He'd learned that Cas liked sweet things, when he'd bitten into a bitter Governor's plum and made the best pucker face Dean had seen in his life. That memory would never not be funny to him.

Dean caught himself smiling softly thinking about the man, and it stopped him in his tracks.

When did that happen? How had he let himself get so dependent on someone he couldn't imagine being stuck here without them? Be without them at all, if he was honest with himself, the ‘something’ raising its head again to the forefront of Dean’s mind.

Dean had come here to prove to himself that he could take care of himself in any situation by himself, and he'd somehow trampled headlong into one that he was loath to be alone in. And it was all Cas.

He started walking slowly, mentally shifting through their days together.

Their lazy days between morning and early evening, waiting for when the sun wasn't baking them alive before they could really do any actual surviving, were full of moments that made the time fly by, when it by all rights should've been dragging on endlessly. Even their silence had turned into something neither of them rushed to fill.

Often Cas's clever hands kneaded Dean's shoulders and he kissed the top of Dean’s head to signal it was his turn. The downright pornographic noises he made when Dean pressed his thumbs into a particularly hard knot. He was sure the bastard did it on purpose. More than once Dean had had to adjust his satchel to preserve the last illusion of modesty around here.

The nights, if pressed Dean would admit, were spent cuddling until they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs. Comfortable when by no definition he should've been comfortable. 

Happy.

Dean was well and truly fucked.

Determinedly, a stupefied smile on his lips, Dean picked up his pace and went looking for the adorable nerdy dude's favorite fruit.