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There were no hunts on the radar, no world ending apocalypses, no big ass monster coming for them. It was... quiet. Dean refused to think the word more than once, worried the universe might hear him and change that. Cas was in the bunker for once, his presence making the expansive maze of rooms and hallways seem just a bit smaller. It was nice to have a moment to breathe, and Dean was going to take advantage of this opportunity and carpe the fuck out of that diem .
After all, it was just another movie night, something they’d totally done before. Nothing to be nervous about.
He wanders into the library where Cas and Sam are sitting quietly, Cas reading something in what looked like sanskrit, and Sam reading Game of Thrones.
“Hey, Cas, you busy?” Dean asked casually. Cas looked up at him and sat back in his chair.
“Presently I am not doing anything that I cannot accomplish at my leisure later.” Dean asks himself for the thousandth time who the fuck talks like that before gesturing behind him at the hallway.
“I had a couple more movies to show you, if you were interested…?” He leaves the invitation open and casual, but he doesn’t miss the tick in Sam’s eyebrow. Shut up, Sam.
“Ah, yes, Netflix,” Cas says with a small almost smile and Sam snorts a laugh, which he attempts to hide with a cough.
“Uh, no, actually, I have a couple DVDs I was gonna choose from.” Dean manages not to stumble on his words, shooting his brother a quick scowl as Cas pushes up from the table.
“Should I grab some beers?” Cas asks, like he’s unsure of the movie night protocol. They’d done this quite a few times now but Cas still seemed worried about overstepping.
“Nah, I’m good Cas,” Dean shrugs.
“Very well, I shall go make the popcorn,” Cas nods, turning and walking towards the kitchen. The trench coat has barely turned the corner when-
“Dude.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“Look, if you want to Netflix and chill with Cas, that’s your business, I’m just enjoying you trying to act all cool about it.”
“No one asked you,” Dean snaps. Sam’s knowing smirk has his cheeks heating so he turns on his heel and heads for the hallway before Sam can give him any more shit over this.
Dean steps into his room, moving his laptop over to the bed and plugging it in so it won’t die on them halfway through the movie. Dean digs through the mess of movies in his footlocker, systematically removing the ones he’d already seen with Cas (yeah, he could remember, sue him), and setting a few of the others out on his desk for Cas to decide on. Cas walks in a few minutes later with a huge thing of popcorn and a confused look on his face.
“Dean, why is the concept of us watching a movie so amusing to Sam?”
“Because he’s an asshole,” Dean shrugs, gesturing at the movies he’d picked. “Which movie Cas, you pick.” Cas’ eyes narrow at him before his gaze moves to the movies.
“I’m sensing there’s something you’re neglecting to mention.”
“Just pick a damn movie,” Dean grouses, silently cursing Sam. Cas looks over each of the movie boxes before selecting one with a small smile.
“This story is appealing. Simplistic and exaggerated adventure with a clear cut hero, you seem to have a general preference for these types of movies,” Cas observes, handing Dean the DVD. Dean snatches the DVD from Cas’ hand and moves towards the bed.
“I’m a dude, action movies are fun, okay?” Dean watches as Cas shrugs out of his coats, draping them over the small chair in the corner before removing his shoes. Dean can remember the conversation they’d had about the concept of comfort on one of their first movie nights…
“Dude, come on, lose the coat,” Dean groaned. Cas sitting there all stiff in that stupid beige thing made Dean uncomfortable just looking at him, that was all this was, but you’d think Dean had asked him to do something horrible.
“I don’t understand,” Cas looked down at his outfit. “Will the experience of watching this movie change depending on what I’m wearing?”
“No it- it makes me uncomfortable seeing you sitting there in that fucking trench coat inside a bedroom. You’re supposed to be relaxing.” Dean had tugged the small chair up against the side of his bed for Cas to sit in, while he had the computer on his lap where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Is that why you change your clothes before this?” Cas asks.
“Well, yeah. Sweatpants are more comfortable than jeans.” Dean was getting so annoyed he was about to call off the movie night altogether at this point and just go to bed.
“I do not notice external influences like comfort,” Cas points out stubbornly, “but if it will help you then I will remove it.” Cas had shrugged out of the coat, draping it over the chair where he was sitting. Without Dean asking, Cas removed the suit coat as well, raising an annoyed eyebrow at Dean as he settled back in the chair.
“Okay, smartass.”
“I would like to point out that, if I were to be concerned for my comfort, this chair would not be helpful in that endeavor.”
“Oh my fucking god, Cas.”
“You seem to have a preference for this particular actor, as well,” Cas goes on to point out, pulling Dean out of his memory. The fondness Dean was feeling fades, and Dean sets his jaw as he turns his attention to getting the movie disc out of the case.
“He does a lot of action movies.”
“But you have shown me almost every movie this Harrison Ford has been in. It’s too much of a pattern to be a coincidence.” Dean can’t really believe Cas is calling him out on his… fine his man crush on Harrison Ford, but there’s not much he can do about it now.
“Whatever, the dude’s talented.” Dean grabs a sweater and tugs it on over his t-shirt, and the first thing he sees is Cas quirking his brow at him. “What now?”
“Is the temperature not suitable for you?” Dean barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. God he forgot how much work just watching a fucking movie can be when Cas is involved.
“It’s fine, Cas. Sweaters are just...comfortable.” Cas seems to think about this a moment, maybe remembering that same comfort conversation Dean just did, before nodding with a tiny smile on his face.
“Yes, I remember I grew very attached to the red sweater I had acquired when Metatron took my grace.” Dean blinks at the totally casual way Cas just mentions one of the worst things that’s ever happened to him.
“Fun times,” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Want to borrow a sweater, Cas?” Dean asks it offhand, as a joke, not really meaning it…
“Yes, though I no longer need to regulate my body temperature, I think I’d like one.” Cas looks at Dean expectantly, and Dean scrambles to find another hoodie in his dresser, heat creeping up his cheeks again as he tosses the garment in Cas’ general direction.
“Okay, put that on so we can get this started.”
“Are we sharing the bed again?” Dean closes his eyes and counts to five. Why did he have to say it like that?
“Yeah, sure,” he mutters. This was only the second time he and Cas would be sharing the bed instead of Cas sitting in the chair next to the bed, something that had changed during their last movie night a month ago.
Dean had planned on putting his laundry away that afternoon, but he’d never gotten around to it, and now he and Cas were standing awkwardly next to the chair in the room.
“Sorry Cas, I kinda forgot about those,” Dean shrugged, the movie they planned on watching awkward in his hand.
“I don’t mind waiting, if you want to put these away,” Cas says.
“But that’s like, two weeks worth of laundry.”
“I could help?”
“No, that’s fine. I could just…” Dean had trailed off, and struggled with himself for a moment before blurting out the idea that had popped into his head. “We could just share the bed.” Cas looked over at Dean’s mattress.
“I suppose there would be sufficient space for both of us, though we might cross into each other’s personal space more than you feel comfortable with.”
“I think I can survive for one movie, Cas.” Cas nodded, and once Dean was sitting on one side of the bed, Cas sat on the other side, mirroring Dean’s position as Dean got Pulp Fiction set up.
“If you’d like, I could go over the actual chronological order of this movie. The timeline in its original presentation can be a bit distracting.”
“Cas, the order of the scenes is the whole point,” Dean huffs in annoyance.
“But, why would the person who made this want their audience to be confused? At one point the man with the long hair is killed, but he’s alive in a scene just after that.
“Cas, we talked about talking...”
“My apologies.”
Dean thought it would be more awkward, the two of them sharing his full size bed and a hell of a lot of personal space, but...it wasn’t bad. It definitely made it easier for both of them to see the computer screen, and it wasn’t like he and Cas were sitting right on top of each other. Plus, there was this sense of security he got from being in his room, that since the world couldn’t see them, there was nothing to be embarrassed about, and when he realized that he fully relaxed, and he regretted not asking Cas to join him sooner.
However, he’d deny that until the day he died.
Dean puts the disc in the drive and opens the media player on his computer, pointedly not looking at Cas wearing his sweater, climbing onto his bed. Nope, nothing to see there.
“You know, the Ark of the Covenant was not nearly so extravagant,” Cas starts to explain as the title menu for Raiders of the Lost Ark comes up on Dean’s computer screen. He plugs in the external speakers, making sure the volume settings are correct.
“I know you’ve got this movie all downloaded in your brain already,” Dean sighs, “but could we lay off the commentary? Maybe pretend you haven’t seen this before?”
“Well, while I may know the story, it’s actually an accurate statement that I haven’t seen the movie before, at least in this context.” Cas at looks apologetic, and great, now Dean feels bad for chastising him.
“Just eat your popcorn, Cas.” Dean turns the light off, climbing into bed and turning the movie on, moving the laptop as close as he can so they can both still see. He’s mere inches from the warmth that Cas is radiating, and Dean almost regrets the sweater. Almost.
Dean tries to leave some space between them, but his laptop screen wasn’t exactly huge, and that meant they had to sit pretty close. Dean could even sort of catch the scent that followed Cas around, that weird clean smell like the first cold snap in winter. The Paramount logo comes up on the screen, and Dean finally relaxes, smiling as one of his favorite movies starts.
Nights like this are the only time, and his room the only place Dean feels relaxed enough to just be , to let his worry and his stress just melt away into the movie on the screen. It used to be just him alone, but now he’s grown accustomed to the quiet companion at his side, not realizing he was no longer alone until he just… wasn’t.
He and Cas have settled deeper into his pillows, their shoulders practically brushing as they watch the film, Cas eventually having his fill of popcorn and setting the bowl on the floor. Dean chances a glimpse at Cas out of the corner of his eye as he sits back up, the light from the computer throwing his features into stark relief, and Dean wonders for just a brief moment at the absurdity of watching Indiana Jones with an angel of the Lord in his bed.
~~~
Castiel knows the stories to these movies, their tellings don’t change from what Metatron gave him to what he sees on the screen except for one thing: Dean. Sharing in his enthusiasm, experiencing them through Dean’s eyes, changes almost everything about them.
Castiel thought he had known Dean, that piecing him back together after hell, that fighting with -and against- him all these years had shown Cas who he was. On these nights, sharing the human experience through cinema, Cas found a different side of Dean. A side of Dean that craved these quiet moments, that needed the feeling of security and calm they brought him to keep himself centered. Dean complained, and acted quite frustrated by Castiel’s questions and comments, but Castiel was starting to learn what Dean’s sarcastic and snarky answers really meant. He was starting to see the way Dean hid his amusement and affection beneath grouchiness, the way he hid his desire for these moments between them under his feigned disinterest.
Castiel had to admit he was starting to look forward to these moments as well.
When they’re here, insulated in Dean’s room, the rest of the world ceases to exist for just a brief moment. The relief Castiel can read on Dean’s face, in his posture and his breathing, is so deserved and needed, even if Dean will never admit to it, or acknowledge it. In truth, Castiel doesn’t truly watch the movies, even though he may appear to. No, instead he watches Dean, thankful that he trusts Castiel enough to make himself vulnerable, so the turmoil in his soul is silenced just long enough to let it begin to mend just a bit.
Castiel feels Dean’s weight settle onto his shoulder, and he’s pulled out of his musings and into the immediate present to something completely unexpected.
Dean has fallen asleep.
Castiel wonders if he should leave the room, let Dean continue to slumber alone and not be “creepy” as Dean would put it. Dean breathes heavily, his body settling deeper into slumber with his head pillowed against the soft cotton of Castiel’s borrowed sweater, and instead of leaving Castiel stays and watches him, beautiful in this state of calm innocence. He studies the lines time has written onto Dean’s skin, he counts the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose, catalogues the marks and imperfections that make him unique amongst all his Father’s creations. He’s seen this face contorted with grief, with pain so incredible it shakes Castiel to his core. He’s seen these eyes, now closed and fluttering in sleep, be filled with a burning rage that attempts to consume all those in its path. He’s watched the way Dean expresses joy with his whole body, doubling over with laughter or shaking in mirth.
Dean Winchester never does anything “half-assed” as the man might say himself. He lives his life with everything he has, but when his life often teeters on the edge of oblivion, Castiel reasons that maybe it’s better to live with everything on the line than to hold back and live with regret.
Dean stirs in his sleep, and in his subconscious state he shifts onto his side, his arm moving up to rest across Castiel’s midsection. At this point extricating himself would more than likely wake Dean and break the tranquil spell that seems to have been cast over the hunter, and so Castiel stays. Castiel brings his hand up, resting it gently across the arm on his stomach. Dean’s soul shines bright, a steady hum that means he’s at peace for the moment, no troubled dreams to haunt him. Castiel turns, his cheek coming to rest on the crown of Dean’s head, the human gesture carrying with it comfort, a feeling of being whole and content.
Castiel smiles to himself because, ever the contradiction, this moment is proof there’s still something Dean does indeed hold back. A something more monumental to the hunter than anything else they’ve faced together. Dean will probably never speak of this contradiction, Castiel can tell how conflicted he feels when he even risks thinking about it, but for Castiel it is enough just to know it’s there. It’s enough to know that, though heaven and his father have forsaken him, that this human still wants him near. That this one person cares for him enough to call him family. Dean may never say the words out loud, may never voice them in his own head, but Castiel can feel it, and for him, that’s more than enough.
~~~
Dean wakes up slowly, cocooned in soft warmth, though his neck is slightly stiff. He blinks his eyes groggily at the dark room, and he figures if the computer has gone into sleep mode he’s been out for a while. He shifts to get more comfortable and that’s when he realizes why his neck is sore.
He fell asleep on Cas.
And at some point he started to fucking cuddle with him, his arm wrapped around his middle and his head on his shoulder.
Panic makes his muscles lock up with tension, his brain trying to find a way to get out of this situation without drawing attention to it. He hopes for a moment that Cas is asleep too before he remembers angels don’t sleep and fuck it he’s just going to roll over and pretend this whole goddamned thing didn’t happen.
“Dean.” Cas says his name quietly but in the silent room the single word is like a gunshot. Cas slides his arm under Dean’s shoulders, wrapping around him and shifting so his fingers come to rest lightly on the back of his neck. With a tingle the pain is gone, and Cas’ hand moves to rest on his shoulder. Dean’s flushed, he can feel his face burning in the dark, and it has nothing to do with the sweater he’s wearing. “Go back to sleep, Dean.” Cas’ words are warm breath on the top of his head, the sensation both comforting and terrifying.
“Cas, I- why are you…?” Dean can’t even finish the sentence, it’s so ridiculous. Cas’ lips press into his hair, his arm holding him just a bit tighter, and it’s...nice. It’s actually more than nice, it’s safety and relief and comfort and everything Dean isn’t used to having.
“Just sleep, you deserve the rest.” Cas insists. “If...if this is too much, I can go…”
Dean starts to think about it, then realizes he doesn’t really need to. The ‘damage’ is done, anyway, so fuck it .
“Don’t go,” he whispers. His hand curls tighter in the fabric of Cas’ sweater, and he allows his eyes to close again. Cas sighs happily, his grip subtling tightening around Dean’s shoulders.
Besides, who was he to argue with an angel?