Work Text:
It seems really easy, after everything, to take Cas’s hand and lead him down the hall until they’re outside Dean’s bedroom door. Dean’s jaw is throbbing and he aches with exhaustion right down to his bones and by the looks of him, Cas feels pretty much the same way. He wants to sleep, he wants to be knocked out for a few hours where he doesn’t have to think or feel but he also doesn’t want to let Cas out of his sight.
“I thought I lost you again for a while there,” he says, rough. He didn’t mean for it to come out so serious, but it does. He’s so tired.
Cas plucks at his sleeve and tugs, this tiny movement that makes Dean’s knees shake. “I’m still here,” he says, “with you.”
Jesus. Dean shoulders open the door and he doesn’t ask Cas to come inside but he doesn’t close the door either, just sits on the bed and unlaces his boots with his back to the rest of his room. The door shuts with a muffled click. Dean braces himself, but then there’s footsteps, a heavy weight sinking next to him on the mattress. He wants to tip sideways, lean into it, but he doesn’t know if he can yet. Doesn’t think he deserves to.
“What do you want?” Cas asks, always straight to the point.
Dean shakes his head. That’s a loaded question. The things he wants he isn’t allowed to have, they’re too big and too much.
“Dean.”
“I wanna sleep, Cas, ‘m so tired. I wanna sleep and not be fucked up about where you’re at or whatever. Okay? Can we just… can I just do that?”
Cas gives him this look that makes his face prickle hotly. “Stand up,” he says, and Dean does, but he’s unsteady on his feet. Then Cas is there, face soft and healthy and hands strong on his shoulders. He slowly pushes at the stiff fabric of Dean’s shirt, peeling it away from his chest and dragging his fingers down Dean’s arms to tug the sleeves over his clenched fists.
“Cas…” Dean’s voice fucking cracks and it’s so humiliating but Cas doesn’t call him out on it which he’s so damn grateful for.
The shirt falls to the floor. Dean’s entire body is trembling, his stomach clenched and anxious. He doesn’t know what this is. When Cas’s fingers land on his belt buckle, he has to fight hard not to shove him away, to yell at him to find someone better, someone more deserving of that goddamn look in his eyes.
The leather doesn’t slide easily through the denim; it pulls Dean forward, and he goes, powerless, Cas’s hands on him a tidal force. Cas’s breath ghosts over the bruises on his chin, the dried blood on his lips, as he unfastens the button on his jeans and slides down the zipper. Dean feels like jello, battered and weak. “I don’t…” he starts because fuck, he really wants to, but he also doesn’t think he could get it up right now if he tried. All their days are long but this one feels like it’s been fucking endless, emotionally and physically draining.
A faint blush creeps up Cas’s cheeks. “This isn’t--” he clears his throat, “I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
He pushes down Dean’s jeans and they crumple around his ankles. He steps out of them and kicks them away. Now he’s just standing there like a chump in his boxers and t-shirt, skin pebbling in the cool air.
Cas moves away for a second, folding back the thick blankets on the bed. It’s so fucking weird. But the hands that land on his biceps are warm and firm, easy and assuring. “Sit. Lie back.”
He crawls onto his usual side and watches as Cas unhurriedly removes his coat, folding it over the back of the chair. He toes off his shoes and removes his belt and slacks and takes off his tie. Underneath that perfect white shirt is a tight white t-shirt and Dean makes this noise in the back of his throat and yeah, okay, he could definitely get used to watching Cas do this every night.
“You gotta stop dying on me, man,” he blurts, as Cas slides carefully into bed beside him. “It’s gonna give me a complex.”
“It’s not something I choose to do, I assure you,” Cas snarks. Then he softens, tapping a finger lightly between Dean’s eyebrows until the frown goes away. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, and he hates how needy he sounds, and he knows knows knows he doesn’t deserve this at all, but he’s got the bruises that make them even now, right? He can have this, just for a little while? Neither of them is cursed or mind-controlled; they’re free to make their own decisions. And Dean’s decision? Dean’s decision is this: Cas, next to him, around him, safe and alive.
He gets the lamp while Cas gets the blankets and then they’re cocooned in the darkness. Dean rolls over until he’s facing Cas, who’s keeping his distance probably out of respect for Dean’s nervousness or some shit, and he kisses him. Closed-mouthed and chaste. He feels Cas shiver and thinks, a little hysterically, huh, I did that.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he says, because his eyes are gritty and his words are slurred already but he does want to talk about it, about what this could mean. It’s time he manned the fuck up and confronted what’s been staring him in the face for years now.
“I’d like that,” Cas whispers and something in Dean just collapses in relief. He goes to sleep like that, with Cas’s arm draped over his waist, and easy promises kissed into the warm spaces on his skin.