You're an Asshole (but a cute one) [Destiel AU]

You're a Dork.

Castiel woke up still on the couch, a blanket draped over his feet and sunlight pouring over him through the un-shut windows. He shuffled on the cushions and kicked off the blanket, scrunching his legs into his chest before yawning.

Everything was the same as yesterday, but it felt as if something was slightly...off. First of all he'd woken up on the couch, but there was something else. His eyes roamed the room trying to find the perhaps misplaced object, anything possibly missing or maybe something he'd forgotten to do the previous day.

His eyes scanned in a line as if taking a panorama, but they suddenly stopped when he found what he was looking for. It was a leather jacket roughly thrown by his feet on the couch; and that was when he remembered. He remembered the tissue box and the umbrella and the glasses of water creating condensation between their sweaty palms. He remembered the smiles exchanged, the weary eyes of the both of them and the deal made with such confidence that Castiel didn't know if it were he who had made the deal or a mysterious unknown twin.

"Dean." He whispered hoarsely. He lay his legs back down and reached a hand for the jacket, fingers outstretched. He pulled it towards him, a fistful of leather in his hand.

With the sunlight streaming inside and a slight breeze from the window rustling through his messy black hair, everything seemed right. He was tired beyond words and there was still the fact he was now unemployed, but everything in the world seemed to stand still. A soft smell of whiskey mixed with cinnamon floated from the jacket clutched in Castiel's grasp and he resisted the urge to bring it under his nostrils to get a stronger scent.

No. Castiel told himself. No, this is Dean we're talking about. Dean that flirts at any given opportunity. Dean that kicks the back of movie theatre chairs. Dean that doesn't put back the freaking lettuce. Dean that smiles and the skin around his brilliant green eyes crinkle ever so slightly. Dean that mistakenly tries to break into your house and ends up coaxing you into spilling all your secrets. Dean, the stranger that knows more about Castiel than a stranger really ought to know.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and the faintest sound of a voice calling from the outside. "Castiel? Are you up yet?"

Dean, the stranger who was turning less and less into a stranger as the days went on. Castiel hurriedly combed a few fingers through his hair and wiped his face in his hands, attempting to wake up a little more.

"Coming!" He called out, his voice broke with the thick grogginess of morning and he mentally slapped himself as he scuttled over to the door. He cracked it open the slightest, aware of his bed-head and morning-breath state. "Dean." He breathed out,  he looked as equally sluggish and exhausted as Castiel felt.

"Hey." He cracked a grin, wincing at what was probably a migraine judging by the state Dean had been in last night. Castiel opened the door a little wider, revealing himself still in is work pants and the plain black shirt he'd picked up off the floor.

"You didn't even change... oh my-did you sleep on the couch?" Dean's eyes widened, as if he'd caused the uncomfort of Castiel's laziness to move from one soft piece of furniture to another. He nodded sheepishly, biting his lip.

"Dean, why are you here?"

He sunk his head, playing with his feet awkwardly. Castiel could see the bags under his eyes and just how purple they really were from that angel. For a moment Castiel thought he was going to say he remembered everything from their night of confessions, but then he spoke. "I uh... came to get my jacket." Of course. Castiel rolled his eyes, walking back to the couch to retrieve it, handing the cinnamon scented leather back to it's owner. "Thanks."