Castiel had been shot, stabbed, broken his foot, been hit in the head by fists and debris. He'd burnt his fingers and torn his flesh on twisted steal but he had never, in his five years in the camp, been unlucky enough to catch the flu. He guessed it was one effect of the decimation of the world's population. The spread of mundane human viruses had slowed to almost nothing.
Castiel had been feverish from infection from some dirty wound or another, however, and it had been treated but never with such a kiss. Light and gentle, in a place people usually didn't kiss him. It was amazingly non-sexual and perhaps that was why it seemed so out of place yet... so soothing.
Castiel smiled at her promise. "I'm sure you will," he croaked. He made a note if was much more difficult to flirt with a head full of mucous. It didn't seem to matter, though. Not like he could kiss anyone if he couldn't breath through his nose. Seeing the medicine he shifted on the bed a little, dragging himself up the pillows. "What do you have there?" he asked, pretty sure he had an idea.