disclaimer: i do not own supernatural or any of its character’s, only the plot in which i write.
Dean couldn’t help it. He knew it was hypocritical of him to be doing this when he had gotten on to Cas about it a thousand times over from the day he met him to this very day. But the ex-angel was— dare he say it— breathtaking in moments like this.
His face was lax, completely rid of what looked like an almost always pained expression. He didn’t look so tense anymore, what with how he was turned on his side, facing Dean as he slept, and slightly curled in on himself. His hand was resting beside his head on the pillow where his head rested, twitching a bit in reaction to what Dean assumed was a dream of some sort; eyes moving behind his lids.
The wrinkles on his forehead, and entire face in general, looked smoothed out, making the man look younger than he really was now that he wasn’t permanently making a face that was practically blank but very nearly a frown.
Cas’ hair and outfit was amiss to its usual tidiness. Not that he was wearing all of his usual attire or had his, what Dean liked to call sex hair, well kept. The Winchester had convinced him, somehow, to at least take off his shoes, trenchcoat, and black jacket underneath it before the man finally hit the hay and succumbed to the call of sleep he so desperately tried to avoid as much as he could before he passed out unwillingly from exhaustion.
Castiel had told him it was nothing, but Dean knew better than that. Of course he did. This was Cas, he liked to think he knew him a little more than he let on sometimes. Dean assumed it was nightmares. Cas has seen a lot throught his millenia of existence, and, now that he was human for the time being, it would be a little odd for him to not experience at least a few nightmares in his dreams. He was a hunter too, Dean remember, and being a hunter didn’t exactly come without the oh so lovely luxury of suffering in your sleep as well as being awake.
Dean frowned at that. Why did life had to be so fucking cruel? Couldn’t it give them a damn break every once in a while? If anyone deserved it, it was definitely them.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, and, soon enough, Castiel’s blue eyes flew open wide, quickly taking a sitting position on his bed, hand clutching the pillow that had been resting there a minute ago with a strength that should have tore the god awful casing on the pillow; breathing coming a bit more shallow and faster through his nose.
Dean tore his gaze away from Cas, as if to not let the other know he had been staring.
The Winchester sat up easily, looking at Cas with concern.
“You okay there, Cas?” His voice was quiet, trying to mind that Sam was in the room right next to them and could probably hear them in the shitty motel they were in for the time being.
Cas swerved his head in Dean’s direction, now, visibly sagging in relief when he saw the man was okay.
“Yes, Dean, I’m fine.” Cas sighed, running a hand over his face to rid it of any grogginess or left over panic.
Dean arched an eyebrow at that. Cas knew Dean was aware of how that was absolute bullshit.
Rolling his eyes, Dean scooted over on his bed, moving over to the other side of it and lifting the blankets.
“Come on, Cas. You need to actually sleep instead of waking up and just staying up until me or Sam get up. It’s not good for you and it’s definitely not helping us on this hunt.”
“You and Sam do it all the time.”
Dean snorted. Trust the no longer angel to make witty comments at this god forsaken hour. He didn’t fall into Cas’ attempt to distract him from the matter though. This has happened far too often for Dean’s liking, but who was he to not make sure the people he cared about were okay? He’d done this for Sammy plenty of times when they were younger. Why couldn’t he do it with Cas too? If it worked, hey, he wasn’t complaining. Especially when it got Cas to get a good night’s sleep and they could get the hunt done and over with in no time and Castiel wasn’t a grumpy ass the entire time. It lead to getting back to the bunker faster after all and they could all sleep in their own beds. That on itself was an automatic plus.
Huffing in faux annoyance, Cas flung his own blankets off of himself, rising to his feet and padding over to Dean’s motel bed, sliding underneath the still lifted blanket, and laying down.
“Come here, dumbass.” Dean said exhasperatedly, tugging Cas closer to him. The nightmares wouldn’t keep at bay unless Cas was curled up close to someone, that someone fortunately being Dean.
The only thing Dean recieved in response was a grunt and Castiel doing as he was told; head resting on Dean’s bicep where it lay as a pillow for him and one of his hands clutching onto Dean’s shirt.
If Sam had saw them do this any other time, he never said anything, and that was enough for them to keep resorting to this form of comfort.
And, hell, maybe it was a little more than just comfort, but none of them had admitted it to each other, nor themselves, but that was okay. Maybe when things weren’t so damn complicated they could figure things out, but, for now, this was enough.
Soon enough, however, Castiel’s breathing had long since evened out, signaling that he had fallen back asleep once more, hand loose on Dean’s shirt and merely resting on his chest now.
The green eyed man turned his head, trying not to jostle Cas too much as he tried to adjust himself to get more comfortable, and looked at Cas, sleeping soundly.
He was so relaxed. And Dean swore it made his soul sing to be the only one to see it.
