Castiel stuck his arm out blindly next to him, feeling around for a warm familiar body part but when coming up with nothing but sweat-dampened sheets, he groaned and blinked one lazy eye open, just to make sure he wasn’t just touching the wrong place or something. He wasn’t. Dean was actually out of bed at, what? Cas rolled over, squinting at the bedside clock. 6:17am. On a friggin’ Saturday.
Castiel groaned again, this time less exhausted and more aggravated and flung his forearm over his eyes. He didn’t feel like playing the game today, the familiar back and forth banter-
“Dean, what’s going on? Did you find a case?”
And more often than not, the response would be: “Yeah, I did actually. Sam dropped me a line, found us a job outside of (Buttfuck, Nowhere), just a few hundred miles (north, south, east, west, who cares). Apparently, some guy got (severely injured/killed in a freak accident). Sounds like our kinda thing, so why not take a swing at it? C’mon, get dressed. I’ll grab some caffeine for the both of us and we can book it.”
And in the best case scenario, which had only happened once and surprise, it was actually his birthday, Dean had said: “Oh, ‘s nothing, Cas. Don’t worry ‘bout it, go back to bed. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”
And since it wasn’t Castiel’s birthday, not even close, so he just rolled back over, elbowing the pillow like it was its fault that Dean left him stranded in an ocean of sheets alone, then smoothed out the wrinkle a few seconds later like a half-assed apology for attacking it.
He drowsily ignored the creak of the bedroom door opening 20 minutes later when the sheets floated up, then back down on the opposite side of the bed and the heavy weight of Dean settled next to him.
Dean nudged his shoulder with his forehead, practically freakin’ head-butting him. “I know you aren’t sleeping, Cas.”
“Thought y’maybe found somethin’.” Castiel ignored the statement and didn’t turn around but he pressed the side of his head a little harder into the pillow, jaw set, but angled his chin up so his gaze was trained on the hairline crack in the ceiling that always seemed to get wider whenever their upstairs neighbor moved a piece of furniture.
Dean sighed and Castiel felt warm breath on his shoulder blade through his shirt and subconsciously rolled his arms in their sockets, bones jutting out then in, settling under his skin. They felt a lot lighter now, less tense since he didn’t have to fold his wings back under his skin anymore. He cracked a small smile to himself when Dean pressed his face right between them, nose against the top of his spine, voice grainy and quiet. “Yeah, well, I didn’t. So I’m back.”
“Is it my birthday?” Castiel reached behind him, making grabby motions with his hands and Dean left out an amused huff of breath and stuck his arm out. Castiel squeezed Dean’s wrist and drew it closer to him, draping Dean’s arm across his body and holding it to his chest.
Dean fidgeted for half a second before relaxing against Castiel’s back, body fitting against him like puzzle pieces; leg wedged between Cas’ spread ones, hips nestled against his lower back. Dean lay still for a moment before bringing his head up from the fabric cocoon and hooking his chin on Castiel’s shoulder.
“I remember when you didn’t have to sleep.”
Castiel nodded slightly, not sure how to counter that because, yeah, he could remember it too. Very clearly, in fact. He wasn’t expecting Dean to continue, but it was a pleasant surprise when he did.
“And you’d just flutter your ass into the motel room in the middle of the night, never heard of fuckin’ knockin’, I guess.” Castiel felt Dean’s breath right next to his cheek, whiskey laced.
Castiel couldn’t fight the urge to interrupt. “You’ve started drinking this early, Dean?” He didn’t mind the smell of dean’s breath, not at all. It was pungent, familiar and kind of nice, as far as the smell of breath goes.
“Fuck off, I can do what I want. I’m a grown ass man.” Dean grunted and brought his hand up from Cas’ grip to rub at his mouth like he still had it on his lips. Cas half-smiled.
“Anyway,” Dean mumbled, lowering his hand back to Cas’ waist. “You’d fly in and I could tell when you were there, even when I was knocked out because the air would feel kind of different and,” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know, it smelled different too, like, low tide or some shit.”
Castiel pressed closer to Dean. “Really?”
“Yeah. Um, yeah.” Dean shrugged one shouldered. “But it always smelled kind of distant, muted or something. You were never really close to me then, I guess.” His voice dropped, seeming to lose its confident, straight-forward tone, sounding shy and uncertain.
Castiel stays quiet for a minute, feeling Dean’s heart beat slow where it’s pressed up against him before looking up at the ceiling again, at the stupid crack that seems to ground him, as it’s the one solid thing he can really count on to always be there in his life.
“No one ever assigned me to watch over you after I pulled you from hell,” Castiel starts and feels Dean’s jaw tick. “I rescued you, retrieved you and your soul up from the pit just as my orders were written. You were bloody and broken, Dean. No one believed that you could be saved. But,” Castiel bites his lip, stuttering a little over the words. “I proved them wrong. I put your soul back together, made you good as new. I had to use my Grace, but I did it.”
Dean presses his lips softly to the hollow behind Castiel’s ear then pauses, lips barely brushing over the skin as he asks, “Wait, you had to use your friggin’ angel mojo to fix me up?” His eyes widened comically. “Does that mean- ?”
“We do have a profound bond, Dean. A part of me is infused in you,” Castiel mumbled, sounded almost ashamed to admit the fact out loud. “That’s why I seem to keep gravitating back to you.”
Dean mouths ‘oh shit’ into Castiel’s skin, lips damp and dragging along. “I used to sit in the corner in your motel rooms. It felt like my job to make sure that you and Sam were kept safe from anyone or anything, demon or otherwise, that could harm you.” Castiel swallows. “Myself included.”
“Dammit, Cas –”
“Uriel was concerned that I was growing too close the humans in my charge, that I was developing human emotions and becoming attached. Which turned out to be true,” he laughed ruefully. “That is why I never stayed when you wanted me too.”
Dean gripped him tighter around the waist.
“That’s why I let you go in Purgatory. It was my choice, not your fault. I was becoming a threat to you, Dean. We were going in a dangerous direction together.”
Dean rubbed his nose along the hinge of Castiel’s jaw. “You call this a dangerous direction, Cas?”
Castiel hesitated. “No.”
“Good.” He felt Dean smile against his neck. “If you tell Sam that I’m cuddling up to you like a high school girl, I will kick your angelic ass.”
“I’m not an angel anymore, Dean.” Castiel gently reminded, his voice weary.
“You still are to me, so shut up.” Castiel cracked a smile and Dean kissed him right where his stubble ended, at the swell of his Adam’s apple and rolled Cas over so they very facing each other, nose to nose. Dean’s eyes were closed, wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes less bunched, sooty lashes grazing his cheekbones.
A comfortable silence was shared where Dean just lay with Cas, arms holding him tight, as if he were to suddenly float away like a helium balloon. Then his eyes snapped open, bright in the dark.
“Shit, I left the stove on.”
Cas rolled his eyes and shoved gently at Dean’s chest. “You cook now? I wasn’t sure you knew what a kitchen was.”
“Dude, I’m nesting, alright?” Dean climbed out of bed and straightened out his shirt, then leaned back down and kissed Castiel’s forehead. “Eggs’ll probably be ready in 10.”
Cas nodded and Dean nodded back, walking out the door, leaving it open, the new morning light from the far-off window streaming in intrusive but welcome, blocking patterns onto the bedspread.
He could get used to this.
