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“So where to, Cas?”
Dean shifts the car into gear before Cas has time to answer, ready to leave the house and the hunt behind.
“Well I suppose you can take me to the Gas-N-Sip,” Cas replies. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He says it matter-of-factly, as is Castiel’s way. There’s no hint of blame in Cas’s voice or his eyes, which Dean would see if he could bear to look at them. But as is Dean Winchester’s way, he feels the blame regardless of whether it was there or not. He breathes in the guilt of the past and takes a second before replying, pretending to focus on the dark road ahead. Finally he thinks of something to say.
“You know, you really shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. It’s bad for your back. Something you need to keep in mind now that your grace is gone.”
“But Dean, I can’t fit a bed into the storeroom.”
Dean opens his mouth to reply and then closes it promptly, raising his eyebrows at Cas’s unique thought process. He’s not wrong, he’ll give him that.
“Besides, it’s only temporary; until I attain a higher position and can afford a place to stay.” At this Cas tenderly lifts his bright blue work vest off the floor where he left it earlier and dusts it carefully, folding it in his lap. He contemplates the blue fabric in his hands for a second before suddenly snapping his head up to look at the scenery outside.
“Dean, you’re going the wrong way,” he chides. “The Gas-N-Sip is not towards the highway.” He begins to grow more concerned as Dean doesn’t turn around, peering at Dean as though maybe he has suddenly lost his English comprehension.
“We’re not going to the Gas-N-Sip.” Dean grumbles, casting a sideways look at the man in the passenger seat.
“I don’t understand,” Cas insists.
“I got a motel, you can stay the night there.” Really Dean knew that’s where he was headed as soon as he turned on the car. It shouldn’t have to be said, but sometimes he forgets how different Cas is. Cas hasn’t been human for long and Dean hasn’t had the time to teach him what it means. Well, he’s had more important things to deal with. Dean shoves the thought to the back of his crowded mind and stares out the window, moodily.
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and it’s so damn genuine Dean doesn’t know quite how to react. The two sit in a tired silence until the car pulls into the parking lot of a run-down dive of a place. A buzzing sign overhead reads “Hotel Heaven.” Dean gets out of the car and unlocks the door of the room in the time it takes Cas to muster the energy to lift his body from the low seat of the impala. He manages to join Dean inside, vest still in hand, and sinks onto the bed. He’s simply sitting and enjoying the sensation when Dean sucks in an uncomfortable breath.
“Well,” Dean says with an air of finality, “I’ll be in the car if you need me.” As he turns to go, Cas stands. Dean looks back at the motion and is surprised to see the hurt expression on his face.
“I don’t understand,” Cas says, tilting his head the way Dean has learned to recognize denotes confusion.
“Cas there’s only one bed. I didn’t think… I need my personal space, alright? Cas recognizes that phrase and realizes he should have remembered that about Dean. He wants to apologize, but Dean is already leaving again.
“Wait, Dean,” Cas cries. But when Dean turns again, Cas sees he’s getting exasperated and decides the apology isn’t quite right. “I’m going to need a ride back in the morning, at seven,” he offers instead. “Is that alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be your chauffeur,” is the answer he gets. Dean turns his back again, and when Cas doesn’t make a move to stop him he continues out the door, closing it as he goes. Cas watches Dean through the window until he has settled down in the front seat of the car. Then he pulls out his phone and sets the alarm for 6am, meticulously checking the time again before setting the phone gently on the bedside table. He undresses slowly and a little less carefully than usual, leaving his clothes in a glorified heap on the floor. The memories of the day, which he feels in every part of his body, are weighing him down as he brushes his teeth (using Dean’s toothbrush, because his is back at work). But by the time he climbs into bed, something is wrong. He just can’t seem to fall asleep.
And neither, it turns out, can Dean. He’s used to sleeping in the car of course, but that doesn’t make it a five star motel. Or even a one star one, to be honest. Dean tries to be grumpy at Cas for kicking him out of his bed, but he just can’t. It’s his own goddamn fault Cas doesn’t have a bed to begin with. And that thought just drives the sleep further away. Dean folds his arms and dares sleep to evade him. Eventually he wins, sort of, falling into the type of sleep that feels exactly like lying awake. But the victory is short-lived, as Dean is woken soon after by someone knocking on the window of the car. Dean squints at the figure, who seems to be naked. Recognition dawns on him after a few shocked seconds and he opens the door.
“Cas, what the hell do you want?” It comes out a little meaner than he meant it, but that’s not unusual for Dean.
“I think that you should take the bed,” he replies earnestly. “I’m not sleeping anyway.”
Now that Dean’s fully awake, he realizes how cold it is out here. He begins to protest through his shivers; but then he looks into the familiar blue eyes and can sense the futility. “Fine,” he says, still too angrily. Cas obligingly steps aside to let him out and Dean only realizes he’s not being followed when he reaches the threshold of the room. “Cas,” he calls, annoyed. “You can’t stay out there, it’s too damn cold. Get in the damn room.”
Cas blinks for a second and then follows orders, shutting the door to the impala quickly and half-running back into the room. The damn fool didn’t even have shoes on, Dean realizes.
“So you gonna put some clothes on?” Dean eyes Cas’s body as he shuts the door behind him. He’s naked except for a pair of white boxers, surprisingly clean ones, Dean notes.
“Oh, no,” Cas explains. “I can’t sleep with clothes on. I never noticed how uncomfortable they are! I have sensitive skin,” he adds, proud of the terminology he has picked up.
“Well you can sleep on the floor then,” Dean says, pulling the comforter off of the bed and throwing it at him. Cas shrugs and makes a nest on the floor between the bed and the door, careful to set most of the comforter underneath him like a sleeping bag to save his skin from the carpet. Dean pulls off his extra layers somewhat aggressively, and then, glancing at Cas, his jeans as well. Might as well get comfy with only a few hours left of night. He slips beneath the sheets and rests his head on the thin pillow. Dean stares at Cas’s lumpy outline for a while before turning his back on it and folding his arms. Now that they’re in the same room he’s having even more trouble tamping down his guilt. Dean tries to quiet his mind, but every time Cas rustles his blankets he gets distracted. And he’s rustling a lot. Dean sighs loudly, but Cas doesn’t get the clue. The longer it continues, the louder it seems, and Dean smashes the pillow against his ears as though that will give him some peace. It doesn’t, and he finally rolls over to face the moving mass of blanket.
“Goddamn it Cas, just get in the goddamn bed.” It’s a bit of a yell, but Cas doesn’t have the sense to feel bad. Instead he pops his head up above the edge of the bed, confused.
“But what about personal space?”
Dean sighs. “At this point, I think beauty rest is a little more important.”
Cas rises, letting the blanket fall, brows furrowed in concern.
“Don’t argue,” Dean pleas.
“Alright.” Cas lifts the comforter off the floor and spreads it carefully over Dean’s body before climbing into the bed.
“Thanks,” Dean mutters, and Cas can sense embarrassment as well as something he thinks might be pleasure. It gives Cas a full feeling that he can’t explain and puts a smile on his face that doesn’t fade even after he falls asleep a few minutes later.
Dean watches his breathing slow and then steady as his mind continues to work. But he’s not feeling guilt anymore, it’s more like pain. It’s like guilt, only it sweeps through his whole body, making it physically ache. Dean thinks about how alone he feels, lying to his family. Not having anyone to hold on nights like this. As he watches, Cas tosses in his sleep, turning away from Dean and exposing the bare skin on his back. Dean’s gaze shifts down Cas’s form, resting intently on the skin that stretches taut over Cas’s hip. He reaches out almost unconsciously towards Cas’s back.
No, Dean thinks suddenly, twitching his hand back to himself and cradling it next to his chest. Something suddenly sinks in. He’s misidentified his emotions. Pain isn’t the right word—it’s passion. Or… desire. Dean’s heart beat increases rapidly and he feels this too with his whole body. He wants to panic, but it’s like he’s fallen too deep into the chasm of his longings and all he can do is feel them more intensely. And it feels… right. It’s not a new feeling either, not by a long shot. And now that it’s been correctly identified, Dean suddenly feels like there might be room for it. Dean sighs and leans into Cas’s space—not touching, but not hiding either. The panic has subsided and Dean sleepily reaches out. He falls asleep like that, wishing he could hold Cas close to his heart.
Hours later, Cas opens his eyes with a start. Work! He thinks blearily. Looking around, he isn’t sure where he is until he senses the body next to him and sees Dean Winchester sleeping soundly. He remembers that he set an alarm, and, checking his phone, is relieved to see that he has over an hour left before he has to get out of bed. He gets to experience more glorious sleep, and more time with Dean. He sinks back into the indent his body made on the bed but this time rolls so that he’s facing Dean. He stares for a moment into his face, studying the freckles that play across his nose. He notices how his nose flares as he breathes, creating a perfect dimple under the bridge. He appreciates the way his eyelashes flutter against his sculpted cheekbones. This must be the meaning of the word beautiful, he thinks. He feels that full feeling again and lowers his eyelids, intending to go back to sleep. But before he can complete the action, he catches sight of Dean’s hand, inches away from the hip he’s now leaning on. Was Dean touching me? He tries to remember, and is surprised at the intensity with which he hopes that he was. It seems like he was, he thinks through the sleep that has made his brain hazy. But, he thinks sleepily, what about personal space? Maybe it doesn’t apply to sleep, he reasons foggily. He frowns at Dean and then smiles. Yes, that must be it.
Dean looks very peaceful in his sleep, Cas notes. He’s struck with a strong urge to hold him. That’s very human, he thinks. He takes Dean’s hand, carefully moving it so that he can inch closer without waking him. “Dean,” he sighs with pleasure. As he settles into the space next to Dean, Dean leans into his body heat without quite waking up. He shifts his weight right up against Cas, who freezes at the full-body contact. This has never happened before, he thinks. Does this perhaps mean what I think it does? His mind races as Dean buries his face in Cas’s shoulder and slides his hand under Cas’s arm to rest around the bone of his hip. It feels…right, Cas decides. He relaxes into the embrace and drifts back to sleep.
The alarm goes off at 6am just like it’s supposed to, but Cas and Dean are slow to come back to consciousness. Cas reaches behind him to turn off the noise and manages to get it by the third cycle. Dean is more disoriented than he thinks he has any right to be, but he feels somehow happy. He opens his eyes groggily to look up at Cas, who’s body is still entwined with his. “Cas,” he moans throatily, pushing himself against him with his hips. “Cas, I—”
But suddenly he freezes and Cas’s heart sinks. Dean skitters to the edge of the bed and Cas sits up, worried. “Dean, what is it?”
Dean looks like a deer in headlights, Cas thinks, but he can’t even appreciate how he understands that phrase now because he’s too worried about the look on Dean’s face.
“Did I do something wrong?” Cas backs away, tangled in covers, desperately afraid. Dean’s eyes skate across Cas’s exposed body and then down at his own.
“I—” he begins, confused, but he doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he scoops his clothes off the floor and makes a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door as soon as he passes the threshold. Cas follows him like a ghost and waits there until Dean finally comes out fully clothed a few minutes later.
When he finally emerges, he avoids Cas’s eyes. He adopts a tone that Cas knows is supposed to sound joking, but it is not. “Let’s never talk about this again, okay?” Cas nods, but he’s not even sure if Dean sees it because he’s already leaving the room. “I’ll be in the car,” he says as he closes the motel room door behind him. Cas showers quickly and without his usual satisfaction. After, he dries and dresses himself in the only clothes he has and steps out into the gray morning. As Dean directed, he doesn’t talk about it. It’s a quiet car ride, and the goodbyes are somehow both sincere and forced—but not too far from normal. Dean must not be too mad, Cas thinks. It’s going to be okay. Cas watches the impala drive off forlornly. He’s also a least a half hour early for his shift, but that’s okay, he guesses. He’ll see Dean soon, and everything will be okay.