Word Count: ~5K
Notes: this is my first fic (we're excluding the AWFUL band fic that i wrote when i was 14) so please don't throw boulders at me or anything, also first time writing smut so sorry if it doesn't rock, and this was supposed to be PWP but i have no idea anymore.
Summary: Castiel is falling, lost, and confused. He's finally feeling the burden of forming human emotions, and doesn't know where to put it all. All he can decipher is that most of these emotions are stemming from his possibly not so platonic infatuation for Dean, and here's where he realises that frustration leads people to do anything.
Cas is quietly sitting alone on a ratty couch in Bobby’s living room, set away from Sam, Dean, and Bobby who all have their noses buried deep into dust-ridden pages of ancient books in the library. Cas has been carelessly slumped in the same spot for the past ten minutes, contemplating. He’s not actually sure why he decided to come here – maybe it’s the comfort of somewhere familiar, or maybe it’s that he’s scared his grace won’t allow him to teleport great distances for much longer and can’t bear the idea of being cut off from the Winchesters forever.
Cut off from Dean all together. No. He’s just confused – and that’s whole problem anyway. He’s feeling all these, well, feelings – and has no idea what to do with the tingling sensation that prickles through his fingertips when Dean stands too close, or how to control the heat that blasts through his body when Dean claps him on the shoulder, or grabs his wrist.
Cas is fully aware of his predicament. He had slowly but very, very surely been losing his grace as his connection to Heaven weakens. He knows that the grace will never be entirely gone – not unless he falls in the same way as Anna had – but it will dwindle to just a slimmer of its former glory. He will be earthbound, forced to travel by foot or car, and suffer through illness and pain and hunger and exhaustion.
Some of that has already found Cas, though. He was effectively cut off from Heaven months ago – but only now has he begun to feel the weakness that it brings. He’s been sleeping now and then, trying to eat when he suddenly finds himself ravenous, and then there are the feelings. Cas simultaneously holds a newfound respect and awful bitterness towards humans now – he marvels at how they manage to cope with such turbulence inside of them.
The anger and disappointment he can handle – even angels are familiar with those particular emotions. But it’s the other end of the spectrum that troubles him – the contentedness that often feels incomplete, the longing and desire, the need. He doesn’t know where to put everything he feels for Dean Winchester – there’s just too much of it, and none of it makes an ounce of sense to Castiel.
Castiel is so engrossed in his own train of thought that he barely acknowledges the footsteps that approach the room. They’re slow and drag against the floorboards in an exhausted manner, then come to a startled halt.
“Cas? What are you doing in here?” Castiel easily picks up the shock layering Dean’s voice, but can’t bring himself to actually face him.
“Well I can see that…” Dean slumps down into the space next to him and sprawls his limbs out, but in all his tired sloppiness his side ends up pressed up against Cas and their thighs are touching. Cas to bury the sparks that light up in the pit of his stomach – tries desperately to dispel them.
“I’m feeling things.”
Dean turns his face to look at Cas and his eyebrows shoot up in interest. Cas is tense now, sitting with his back straight and staring intently at the wall opposite. His muscles tighten even further when Dean places a hand on his knee gently, fingers giving a small squeeze to accompany the empathetic smile on Dean’s lips. Dean knows that Cas isn’t what he used to be, and knows that Cas has been falling – hell, he’s the one who had to drag Cas’ from the Impala to the motel room when he’d passed out and was past the point of waking up.
“What kind of things?” His tone is quiet, inquisitive – but Cas thinks this is more out of concern than intrusion. Cas just sighs deeply, knowing he can’t lie to Dean. Mainly because he’s an awful liar.
“Want, need, frustration… among other things.”
Dean isn’t quite sure why his heart starts beating in his throat when Cas puffs this out, and he pretends that he can’t hear the sound of blood pumping in his ears. He realises that his hand is still curled over Cas’ knee, and just as he’s about to pull away his instincts get the better of him and have him placing his hand on Cas’ thigh instead. Dean doesn’t miss the way Castiel’s eyes go wide at the touch.
“It’s all part of the experience, Cas, don’t sweat it.” He tells himself that his new grip on Castiel is just another part of comforting his friend. “Not all feelings suck, some are… uplifting.” Cas finally turns to look at Dean – looking absolutely destroyed – and that practically delivers Dean a punch to the gut.
Like this, it’s almost impossible to ignore how close they are. Dean feels his breath waver under Cas’ crushing, pitiful, intense stare. He can feel each one of his breaths as they leave his lips, which are parted just the slightest bit. His mouth suddenly feels drier than humanly possible, and he knows he can’t say anything because firstly, his voice would come out as a scratchy creak, and secondly, his brain has temporarily liquefied and is just sloshing around uselessly.
He subconsciously gives Cas’ thigh a definite squeeze, and then everything happens too fast as Dean’s head starts to spin and blur because Cas is leaning into Dean and his lips just ghost over his hesitantly. He freezes at first, incapacitated by his own shock, but when it seems like Cas is going to pull back he pushes forwards and kisses him back – wanting anything but to see the defeated expression on Castiel’s face if he did pull away. And then it’s as though something switches on inside of Cas because he’s giving Dean everything he has – and goddamn he’s a fast learner.
“Cas,” Dean tries to make his voice work between Castiel’s kisses and his own quickened breathing. “Cas, wait-”
Castiel draws back, his expression suddenly seeming hard and thoroughly agitated. He takes one look at Dean’s frown and presses two fingers against his forehead, landing them in the middle of an empty motel room. Cas – a picture of pure determination and fervor – fists the front of Dean’s shirt in his hands and pushes him back against a wall roughly, mouth crushing against Dean’s in a similar fashion.
Deans grabs Cas firmly by the shoulders and pulls away from him, already breathing so heavily that his chest heaves with it. He can practically feel the heat radiating from Cas’ skin, even through the shielding layers of shirt, jacket, and overcoat.
“What are you doing?”
There’s an evident ragged undertone to Dean’s voice, and the sounds fall out of his mouth in a rush. He feels and sees every muscle in Cas’ body tense up at this question, and watches a dampening combination of confusion and dejection wash over his face. Cas’ complexion has flushed a deep shade of pink and his mouth opens to respond, but the air that leaves is empty and void of any words. His mouth closes and opens once more, but it’s a futile effort and the same result is obtained, until he stutters out a half-strung sentence.
“I – I just…” Dean, seeing Cas this nervous – an extremely rare occurrence – can’t help but slacken the grip he has on his shoulders. Cas’ lips are a little swollen already and shining with spit, his eyebrows pulled together, and once Dean sees those goddamn eyes – huge and round, the depths of their blue filled with panic and apprehension - it only takes a second for him to be swimming in them, lost in the knee-weakening expression on Cas’ face, and he says his name once, softly and carefully.
It’s right here, now, that Dean understands he’s getting nowhere with carefully contemplating his feelings for Cas – he’s tired and frustrated and just wants to feel them. So instead of pushing he’s pulling and grasping at Cas, trying to find some leverage as his mouth presses against his again, lips moving together, slipping back and forth with a less rough and frantic urgency than before, but more experimentation and tentativeness.
They stay backed up against the wall for no less than ten minutes, kissing non-stop, bar a few reluctant pauses for oxygen that were often cut too short. Dean’s fingers rake through Cas’ perpetual bedhead, grabbing mindlessly at the roots as Cas’ tongue tries to pinpoint what exactly Dean tastes like, chasing his tongue and teasing a little; putting his excellent theory of human interaction into practice.
Dean slips off Cas’ coat and jacket in one swift motion, before tugging at the bottom of his shirt relentlessly, until it comes free from the waist of his slacks. And while Dean is fervent with newfound want and longing, Cas is overcome by an itching curiosity to perceive and touch every part of Dean – every nook and crevice that Cas himself had personally reconstructed to perfection, from just a tortured soul and nothing else.
His fingers tuck under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and creep upwards slowly, mapping out each muscle on his torso and registering the sensation of goosebumps forming under his touch. When Dean bites on his bottom lip and tugs a little, Cas’ hands drag down Dean’s chest, nails scraping the surface as a moan escapes his lips. These brand-new reflexes that accompany his ever increasingly human form, instantly baffle Cas, and he gets himself so intrigued that he almost breaks away from Dean – whose dick twitches in interest at that glorious sound leaving the mouth of an angel. He’s half hard already, and makes the easy decision of tucking his dignity away in a tightly sealed box, and throws it right out of the window as he moves his hands to settle on Cas’ hips, and brings them up against his so that he can grind into them.
Dean can feel the erection against his pelvis, and he internally freaks out for two seconds before deciding it’s okay, this is all fine and it doesn’t matter because this is Cas. At least he knows that Cas wants this just as much – if not more - with girls they can tease and pretend all they want, but there’s no hiding a boner. So Dean begins to palm him through his slacks, hesitantly at first with about as much grace as a gawky 17-year old Sam. Nonetheless, a gravelly moan is drawn from Cas’ throat and his head lulls back in a daze.
Twenty percent of Dean is still in denial and convinces himself the very sight of this hasn’t gone straight to his dick, and that the sole reason he’s now completely hard is because of the reckless grinding earlier. It’s definitely not from watching Cas squirm under his touch and seeing his pupils dilate to swallow almost all of the hypnotic blue that usually surrounds them. No way.
Despite this though, with Cas’ chin up and head back, Dean is distracted by the skin exposed there – yet another new part of him that is really just asking to be kissed and licked and tasted. Dean swoops forward in one fluid motion and leaves kisses against the underside of Cas’ jaw – biting and sucking his way down the length of his neck, leaving red and purple marks that threaten to stay bruised until morning. However, Dean is rather too preoccupied to care about who might notice several hickeys staining an angel’s skin, and he knows he should care because while Sam might be an airhead at the best of times, Bobby most certainly is not and would suss them out in a heartbeat.
But Dean is a selfish guy, and now that he’s taken this little bit of Cas he wants more. He wants to unravel him, slowly and thoroughly, wants to see him lose control and tremble under him – because of him. And while yes, the thought of doing that to him makes Dean’s dick throb, he also wants to do this just for Cas.
He knows that the guy has never experienced anything close to this, he’s managed to avoid any kind of sexual encounters since being here, and now he’s entrusting Dean with giving him everything. So Dean is eager to please, wants Cas to get the utter best out of whatever this is – wants him to at least have one hell of an orgasm before the world ends and they all go down with it. So yeah, he’s okay with maybe having to take care of himself tonight, because he’s not asking Cas for anything – he’s already done so much for Dean before – he just wants to do this one little thing for Cas in return.
So he claws at the tie until it’s loose enough to slip off, and he works at trying to undo the shirt buttons but his fingers are fumbling everywhere as Cas’ instincts kick in and he ruts against Dean. And Cas’ head is spinning as well; the hormones and endorphins are flooding his brain and he has to deal with the switch of knowing the science and inner workings of the human body, to actually feeling the whirlwind of chemical reactions working inside of him. He can’t even think about anything other than the burning sensation of Dean’s mouth on his skin, and he wants to keep that close skin-on-skin contact but can’t bear to pull away from Dean to lift his t-shirt over his head. He settles for moving his arms around Dean’s back and feeling the different muscles contracting and relaxing, before hooking his arms beneath and behind Dean’s shoulders, his fingers clutching on tightly under the shirt.
Dean doesn’t have the patience to attempt unbuttoning the cuffs, so he leaves Cas’ shirt hanging open and limp on his shoulders, but his hands are almost scared to touch his exposed chest. Because here’s the thing: this isn’t exactly Castiel. No. This is Jimmy, although Dean is well aware that it’s just Cas cooped up in there – Jimmy’s soul is long gone. But he can’t help but think about it. It’s the main argument he’s presented to himself for pushing his feelings towards Cas aside.
He wants to touch him, he does, but that’s only because he sees this body as belonging solely to Cas, being Cas – the guy’s never appeared to him in anyone else’s meatsuit. But Dean is hesitant to run his hands down his chest because it’s not fair on Castiel. Cas knows that this isn’t his body at all; this isn’t what he really looks like. And Dean will be damned if Cas thinks he only likes him for his vessel - sort of beautifully pale and scar-free or not.
But Dean is yanked from his train of thought rather abruptly. He almost missed it – the sound of his name amongst Castiel’s breaths. It’s quiet, and instead of being a lust-fueled exclamation it almost carries a hint of tired exasperation. His eyebrows are tugged together in a frown and he looks concerned if anything. It causes a thick lump to rise in Dean’s throat, and despite numerous swallows it just keeps bobbing there.
“You’re uncomfortable,” Cas says softly, his shoulders slumping a little. Dean wonders when exactly he picked up these very human gestures. Dean can even see him biting the insides of his cheeks anxiously, waiting for a reply.
“No. No, I’m not, it’s just…” And somewhere between Dean’s stuttering and stammering Cas’ face is awash with understanding. He swears that he sees Cas sigh and maybe roll his eyes.
“This is mine, Dean,” he says firmly, grabbing Dean’s hand and pressing his palm firmly against the left side of his chest, his heart still pounding away furiously underneath with so much excitement that Dean can feel it. “If I don’t sleep, I pass out in the car; when I get hungry all I can think about is when we’ll next pass a fast-food restaurant; I have to use the bathroom and brush my teeth and bathe,” he continues, almost rambling on hysterically. “This body is a part of me, it’s mine, and since I’ve fallen I’ve been fused to it – I feel everything. I retain very few qualities that keep me from being entirely human, Dean.”
And if Dean weren’t a hunter or his father’s son, he’d tell you that his heart came close to cracking just then. He’d asked for Cas unraveled and he got it. His eyes are wide open, pleading with Dean, and his fingers are pressing even harder into Dean’s shoulders now. Cas is right; Dean knows that. He’s just looking for excuses, again. Cas doesn’t even have a gender – he’s just a righteous ball of not-so-holiness. Except he’s not, because he’s been cast out of Heaven, disowned by his family, he’s fallen, and did it all for Dean.
He’s told himself before that if Cas were inside a female vessel he wouldn’t have this problem and confusion, he would have realized what he felt for Cas much earlier and been able to wrap his head around it. But now he’s starting to understand that maybe this is so big - his feelings are so strong - because Cas is a guy. He can’t confuse this with lust and appreciation for a smoking hot body that also may happen to be a nice girl.
No, this is Dean being completely infatuated with somebody’s personality alone for the first time (even if he and Cas thought it was platonic for the longest time). Dean needed Cas to be something no girl ever could be – a figure like Sam, only not family. Because sometimes family gets messy, and you need a rock - somebody who cares because they want to, not because they’re obligated to.
And then Dean is kissing Cas again; it’s wet and it’s messy because Dean is trying to chase away all the uncertainty of before. His tongue is all over Cas’ and his hands have moved south to work on his pants. Dean is tired of deliberating and finally knows what he wants to do. So he pulls down the zip and lets them pool at Cas’ ankles, before doing the same to his boxers.
They’re tangled close together so Dean doesn’t have much space to work with, but he figures he can start with rubbing his thumb over Cas’ slit, massaging drops of precome around the head slowly, fingers caressing with gradual purpose. Low moans are pulled out of Cas’ throat, filling the air in Dean’s mouth and going straight to his dick. He can feel Cas beneath him, trying to restrain himself, but he ends up bucking into Dean’s hand anyway, breathless as a fierce blush creeps up his neck.
Dean had wanted to draw this out for as long as possible, but Cas is making criminal sounds just from the teasing alone and if he doesn’t let up Dean is going to come in his pants like a fourteen-year old. He wraps his hand around the base of Cas’ cock with a firm grip and begins with some slow strokes, the only thing to ease the way being a mixture of sweat and pre-come. He ups the pace to start pumping, up and down as Cas’ breaths come quick and hot and Dean’s lips are sucking on his neck again.
His ears ring with the sound of Cas’ groans and nonsense syllables that never quite make it into words. They reverberate through Dean’s head, slamming into the sensory receptors and sending his neurons crazy. And then Dean’s head is completely swimming in an overload of desire as he looks Cas up and down; a perfect picture of something downright sinful. An angel of Heaven standing in his grip, eyes dark and dilated with lust, lips swollen and pink and parted as his breath hitches, and fingers grip onto Dean so tightly that they bruise the skin underneath.
Dean can feel Cas’ knees slacken, and he knows that he’s on the right path, but it’s not quite enough. He moves back to Cas’ mouth and kisses him sloppily, tongue roaming around freely and messily as he jacks him off harder, faster. This earns him yet more filthy moans that empty into his own mouth, making his dick strain even harder against his jeans.
“Shit, Cas,” he says against his lips, voice coming out a lot more gravelly than he’d expected. “Come on, come for me.” He sounds positively wrecked as Cas bucks up into his hand again, but this time the tremors continue until Cas is shuddering and coming hard, straight into Dean’s hand as he works him through it.
His hand is dripping in it, and even though he knows he probably shouldn’t, when Cas’ face is pressed again his chest Dean wipes his fingers across his shirt. He can feel Cas’ hot breathes evening out again, and the heat from them radiates through the shirt material and warms Dean’s skin up even more.
Dean is acutely aware that from this point onwards, every time he looks at Cas he’ll probably end up picturing him in that moment – eyes rolling back before squeezing tightly shut, mouth open in an O-shape with soundless screams trying to escape, cheeks flushed a deep pink. He’s too caught up to care though, and even relishes the thought a little.
“Sorry,” Cas mumbles when he pulls away from his slumping stance against Dean, his line of sight dropping. Dean follows his gaze and sees that his jeans are covered in trails of spunk that managed to avoid his hand. And somehow that just gets him even more hot and bothered.
He just shrugs his shoulders and peels off the shirt, before unbuttoning the jeans and stepping out of them. Without the constriction of the denim, his dick pushes even harder to breach the air – and he thanks his lucky stars that he’d put on boxer briefs today, otherwise he’d be obscenely tenting a pair of shorts right now.
He doesn’t know if he’s imagining things; but he swears he sees Castiel’s eyes flash with a transcendent brightness for a fraction of a second. And if his dick perks up at that, well nobody says anything.
Dean prepares himself for the inevitable – Castiel’s heavenly training kicking in to convince him that he just screwed up. He forgets that Cas can still be a delicate little thing once he realises he just did something that angels aren’t supposed to do – something really very human, in fact. Like the first time he woke up after having dozed off in the Impala. He was entirely withdrawn within himself for a while afterwards. So yeah, Dean is fully expecting a possible disappearing act and intense sulking.
But it never comes.
Instead, Cas grabs Dean’s face and launches himself at his mouth, kissing him as if the goddamned apocalypse would never come if he were good enough – and it wouldn’t, Dean thinks, if there was any justice in the world.
Cas presses himself into Dean, itching to be closer to him and feel every inch of his skin. He kisses him hard and passionate and forceful, and maybe part of that is because Cas is angry that he’s succumbed to all of these inconvenient human needs and pleasures, but most of that is shadowed by the contentment that he feels from it being Dean that he’s succumbed to. So he just gives more and more, until Dean thinks that Cas is trying to climb inside of him.
Dean thinks it would be an offense not to take advantage of this turn of events, and before his brain can catch up with his body he’s pushing Cas to the double bed positioned opposite the wall, and shoves him down on it. He climbs on top of Cas and groans shamelessly when his dick collides with firm muscle of Cas’ thigh, rocking into it a little.
Cas kisses him open and relaxed, letting Dean slip his tongue around his mouth at his own ease, and for a second Dean thinks he can feel the beginnings of a smile pulling hesitantly at Cas’ lips. But as soon as he starts deliberating it, Cas musters up some God-given strength left in him and flips Dean over.
And well, Dean would be lying if he said that didn’t leave precome leaking out of his cock.
Cas leans down and kisses at Dean’s neck, lingering to leave darkening purple marks in a few places, but swiftly dipping below his collarbone to explore his chest. He scrapes his teeth and licks and pulls at skin, Dean writhing underneath him helplessly when he brushes over a nipple, eliciting a small hint of a smirk from Cas.
“I know how you work,” he mumbles into the flesh above Dean’s navel, “I’ve watched you.”
Dean tries – and consequently fails – to bite back a moan. The thought of Castiel watching him with girls seems a little sketchy; but the idea of him watching Dean jack off leaves his dick throbbing and aching for it. He knows he should probably throw back a witty retort at Cas, but his brain feels like it’s two hundred degrees and has completely melted inside of his skull.
And then Cas’ fingers are dipping below his waistband and something pools and ignites at the bottom of Dean’s stomach, warm and eager to spread. Cas’ fingertips slip beneath the material slowly; dragging across his pelvis in such a way that Dean almost forgets his new policy of giving and no taking.
“Wait -” he rasps, voice evidently wrecked, and he can’t believe it’s even coming out of his own mouth, “nnngghhhh – Jesus Christ!” Cas is leaving wet and sloppy kisses across his hipbones that inch further down as he simultaneously tugs his underwear off and Dean’s cock is exposed, flipping up to lie against his stomach.
“Dean.” He says once, still managing to capture power and austerity in a whiny tone.
So obviously sex-fuelled blasphemy is out of the question.
Cas shuffles down a little bit and his breath is hot and thick on Dean, and he knows what might happen next and he’s still adamant for Cas to know that he doesn’t need anything from him tonight. “Cas… wait, just wait Cas,” his breathing is already hitching and coming out ragged with sheer anticipation. “You don’t need to-”
And Dean’s sentence is entirely cut off by a moan that is ripped from his lungs, as if all the oxygen has been punched out of him – he watches as Cas’ lips seal around the head of his cock and sink down half way. He pulls up slowly, and Dean sees the curiosity light up his eyes. And that’s about as much as Dean can take – he thinks he’s a martyr just for getting this far without begging Cas to blow him or just touch him. So he props himself up with his elbows braced behind him so he can watch a goddamn angel suck his dick.
Cas drags his tongue up the entire length of the shaft and sweat beads on Dean’s body from the effort it takes not to buck his hips straight into Cas’ mouth. After the next stroke he starts to lap at the head, licking underneath at the frenulum occasionally, before taking the tip in his mouth and swirling his tongue around the slit like he’s done this hundreds of times – all while flickering his eyes back up to Dean now and then.
Dean feels perfectly sure that he’s going to come quicker just from this, than he has since he was in sophomore year. Somehow though, he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed – there’s no space for anything else but that pooling feeling that just keeps growing until his whole insides feel warm and buzzing. His toes flex and curl repeatedly, as the tingles start to spread out to his feet and fingertips. He digs his fingers into the mattress just to stay grounded.
Cas sinks down again, this time taking the whole of Dean’s cock into his mouth with a painstaking slowness, before pulling up with his cheeks hollowing out - eyes locked on Dean the entire time with a burning intensity. And that’s all it takes for Dean’s elbows to collapse underneath him, his head tossed back with mouth slack open, as raspy little breaths and nonsense words fill the air. And then Cas repeats; finds a steady rhythm that makes little blotches of bright white cloud Dean’s vision until he’s clenching up and spilling out into Cas’ mouth with the sheets balled up in his fists.
Cas - too distracted and in awe of all these new, soft, expressions that he can tease out of Dean – is taken unawares by the salty liquid that shoots down his throat and fills up his mouth. He swallows without even thinking about it; and Castiel feels like he’s been running on autopilot since he touched down in the motel room. He savors the taste in his mouth, knowing that it’s from the very core of Dean Winchester, and it’s the closest he’s ever felt to him since he pulled him from Hell.
Dean’s toes uncurl and fists unclench as all of his muscles pretty much clock out. He tries to steady his breathing as Cas fidgets to splay himself half across Dean, half next to him. Their legs and feet are tangled up and intertwined, and all of their sweat is mixing together and it’s hard for Dean to determine where his skin ends and Cas’ begins.
He tugs on the hair at the back of Cas’ head and pulls him in, immediately tasting himself inside of Cas’ mouth – and if he wasn’t so unbelievable spent his dick may have twitched more than feebly – until he’s licked the bitterness away and there’s nothing but pure Cas there.
“Holy shit, Cas…” he mumbles into his lips, not even capable of enough restraint to pull away an inch further. “You didn’t have to do that.” And even Dean himself doesn’t know whether he’s talking about Cas swallowing or the whole damn thing.
“I wanted to.” There’s confusion seeping through his words, and Dean is sure that if Cas’ tongue wasn’t already slipping back into his mouth his head would be tilting sideways. Dean can’t help the smile that twitches on his lips when he thinks about how content he’d be to lie here kissing Castiel, lazy and open, until the minutes bled into hazy hours.
“Think you’re gonna have enough mojo left to zap us back to Bobby’s?” He realises that eventually Sam and Bobby will notice his absence – it’s not as if he left a note on the fridge. And the last thing he wants is a distressed Sammy leading a frantic search party. Cas’ eyes are closed and his face is pressed into Dean’s neck, his voice coming out muffled and warm against the skin.
“Not yet, I need to rest for a while.” His voice is sleep-soaked and he shuffles into Dean’s side a little closer, letting the post-sex musk fill his nostrils as he slips in and out of consciousness. Dean maneuvers the blanket that is twisted around their ankles to cover their bodies after deciding the air has become noticeably cooler than before. He wraps his arm around Cas and absolutely refuses to think about what this means – about how life might have to change, and whether he’ll be lucky enough for this to happen again – he just shuts his eyes and drifts off to the rhythm of Cas’ soft breathing, hoping to God that nobody checks into this room.