Supernatural One Shots

Tears On My Pillow ~ Destiel

Dean is drunk. No, not drunk exactly, just…buzzed. He has to concentrate pretty hard on unlocking the door to the bunker and on not falling headfirst down the staircase. The whole place is silent and still, and it fills Dean with relief. After his conversation with Cas, short as it had been, he’d had to go. Had to get out of there, because the crushing guilt of everything he’s done would have sent him over some sort of edge if he’d stayed.

He told Cas he could stay the night. But come morning, before Sam wakes up, then he has to leave. He secretly hopes Castiel leaves before he wakes up too - or maybe that he’s already left - because he can’t face saying goodbye. Asking Cas to leave was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and it still makes his chest clench in pain as he recalls it. The pained, crushed look on Cas’ face as Dean says the words, the words he had to just come out with so bluntly because if he tried to say it in any other way he would have just broken down crying and confessed everything to the ex-angel and begged for his help.

He stumbles down the hall, trying not to knock anything over or wake anyone up. He wants to be alone. Alone with his pain and guilt, alone with the knowledge of what he’s done to his brother, inviting that angel in without his consent; alone with the resignation of asking the best friend he’s ever had to fend for himself in a world he doesn’t belong in and can’t find his feet in. He knows Cas is struggling with his newly human body. His little speech in the bunker earlier on had proved it. He had tried to smile, tried to brush off everything that happened with April, but there was a strange sense of melancholy that had settled around the former angel, one he either couldn’t or wouldn’t shake off.

Dean casts a glance at the closed door to the room he assumes Castiel is in. He isn’t sure, and is still clinging to the hope that it’s only him and Sam in the bunker now, but he sure as hell isn’t going to knock on the door to find out. He couldn’t lie to Cas about why he needed to leave, so he had to stay as far away from him as possible. Awkward questions would be his undoing, and God knows Cas is the master of those.

He turns the doorknob to his own room and stumbles in, not bothering to turn on the light. He kicks off his shoes and strips off his outer shirt and jeans, leaving his boxers and t-shirt on and trying to keep himself upright. Damn, maybe he’s drunker than he thinks. He grips the edge of the dresser and turns to climb under the sheets, achingly desperate to pass out and just not think any more. But once he turns, all thoughts leave his mind and he just stares, open-mouthed, at the sight before him.

Castiel is asleep in his bed.

For half a second, Dean swears his heart stops beating. He casts around the room in rising concern, wondering if he’s stumbled in to Cas’ room in his inebriated state but no - everything that should be there is. His iPod, John’s journal, the wall of weaponry, the half-empty bottle of Jack… he’s in his own room, and Cas is in there too. Jesus fuck, now what is he supposed to do?

He half considers waking Cas up, asking him what the hell he’s doing and kicking him out into his own room. It would be like kicking an injured puppy, and Cas definitely didn’t need any more kicking when he was down. He’s never been this low before, and Dean can’t bring himself to add to it any more than he already has. He could wander across the hallway and sleep in another room - it wasn’t like they were short on space. He wanted to be alone, after all. Didn’t he?

Or, he could do what he does next. His legs move of their own accord and he approaches the bed. Castiel is lying on his side, on Dean’s side of the bed, facing the wall. Dean leans over, just to check Cas is actually asleep, and almost overbalances and falls on top of him, the whiskey in his veins not playing fair. Cas is definitely asleep, but he doesn’t look peaceful. One hand is scrunched in the sheet, the other pillowing his face, and his brow is scrunched up in consternation. His dark hair is a mess, and he’s still wearing the t-shirt he had on earlier. And are those tear tracks on his cheeks…? Fuck. Dean isn’t sure, and he isn’t waking Cas up to ask. The bed is big enough for both of them, he can just slide under the sheets, turn away, and nod off. He and Sam have shared enough beds in the past, it isn’t weird.

Except that he and Cas have never shared a bed. They share a ‘profound bond’, which seems to get stronger as the days go by no matter how hard it’s tested, but sharing a bed is a new one. Dean lifts the corner of the covers and cautiously slides into bed, mindful of moving around too much and waking his friend. Castiel should at least be allowed a good night’s sleep before Dean casts him out into the world, alone.

That thought was painful, and Dean cuts off that line of thinking with precision.

He settles down on his back and firmly closes his eyes, refusing to look at the former angel. He wanted to pass out, to go to sleep and not have to think about Cas leaving. Them sharing a bed would inevitably mean a tough conversation in the morning, unless Dean could fake sleep well enough for his friend to slip out thinking he was unnoticed. He listens to his own breathing, then Cas’, then his own again, and can feel himself starting to drift when a noise, soft and barely audible, cuts through the silence.

“Dean…please…”

And Dean freezes. His whole body goes rigid and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. That was Cas speaking, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was distressed, and Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was crying in his sleep. The body next to him shifts, curling in on itself more, and Dean’s heart aches. Another whine leaves Cas’ lips and Dean can’t take it any more. He shifts onto his side and reaches a hand out towards his friend, his fingers finding his clothed shoulder and squeezing gently in an eerie mimic of the handprint on Dean’s own shoulder. Cas tenses, then relaxes minutely, still asleep but far from at peace. Tiny tremors quake through him, and Dean moves a little closer, his chest almost against the other man’s back. It felt strange to think of Cas as a mere man now, not the angelic force of nature he once was, and Dean swallows through a tight throat. Cas shifts again, snuffling a little in his sleep and it definitely sounds like he’s crying. Dean isn’t sure what heartbreak feels like, but it can’t be very different to this. His eyes burn, and he gives in: he pulls Cas close against him, wraps an arm around his waist and moves his other arm above both their heads to stroke Cas’ hair. It seems to soothe the former angel and he huffs out a deep, shuddering breath, one that Dean unconsciously mimics.

Cas could stay, couldn’t he? He can talk to Ezekiel again in the morning, figure something out. Cas doesn’t have to leave; he can’t let Cas leave. Castiel has put himself in danger for Dean and Sam so many times that throwing him out just can’t be the right thing to do. His drink-fuelled mind crashes through one idea after another, searching for a solution, and even though he fails to settle on one he knows he can’t let Castiel go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Cas is relaxed against him, warm and soft in his arms, and Dean allows himself to settle back into the pleasant haze of near-dreamland he had been in before Cas’ words drew him out. His eyes close, his mind still wild with thoughts of angels and heaven and trench coats and bright blue eyes…

He wakes up slowly the next morning, on his back with his head pounding and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It takes him a moment to realise why he feels so shitty, and why he’s asleep on the wrong side of his bed. Then, with the force of a wrecking ball, it all comes screaming back and his eyes fly open of their own accord. Cas, Cas had spent the night with him in his bed, and Dean really needed to talk to him before he woke up and left. He turns, a hand outstretched to grip the ex-angel’s shoulder and shake him awake, but his hand finds empty air. He blinks, takes in the smoothed down sheets and fluffed up pillow, and the total absence of any of Cas’ meagre things and his throat tightens. Tears burn behind his eyes and he draws in a deep, shaky breath before collapsing back down onto the bed and letting himself cry quietly, his hangover mixed with his raw wave of emotions overwhelming him and breaking down any walls he has left.

Cas is gone

This is from tumblr. Enjoy :)

Aubspaws