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For years and years, Dean Winchester had been a very poor sleeper. Many night he spent on the cheap, hard mattresses of America’s motels, or in worse cases, the back seat of Baby. Then his soul lived through years of literal, burning hell, and his already poor sleep became even worse.
For the longest time, Dean ran on the bare minimum. A few, nightmare-soaked hours and coffee so strong it could knock out a horse, and off he went on the next hunt, until one day, this would all kill him.
At some point, his life took a hard turn into something much, much more positive.
Now, each night, he goes to sleep next to Castiel, the love of is life, who, despite losing his grace and turning human, still soothes all is nightmares and pains that used to keep him awake, just by staying by his side.
Or, all but one pain, that is.
Blinking through heavy eye lids, Dean glances at the alarm clock on his night stand. 4:38 in the morning, and he just got his period. With a groan, he falls back onto his pillow, praying that he didn’t make too much of a mess.
Sensing the movement next to his sleeping figure, Cas startles awake.
"Dean? What’s wrong?", he asks calmly into the dim room.
With his fading grace, Cas catches on more by the sight that greets him than by any sort of angelic senses. After waking up next to Dean for so many nights, he can make a good guess on what’s troubling him without needing much explanation.
Dean, being Dean, still feels the need to apologise. "I'm sorry I woke you. I got my period." Cas can tell the man's blushing despite the scant light.
Cas turns to his side and shifts closer. He reaches out to touch; his left hand stroking down Dean’s flat chest and soft belly, before coming to rest on his lower abdomen. Just right where he knows he can provide some comfort for Dean. He allows his pinky and ring finger to dip just under the hem of Dean's boxers.
Dean hums appreciatively at the warm weight. He reaches down himself to cover the hand with his own, absentmindedly running his fingertips over the golden ring on Cas' finger that shows the world he's Dean's, forever.
"How bad is it? Can I help?", Cas asks. "What do you need?"
"Nah babe, I'm good, don't worry", Dean chuckles. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but nothing to get Cas bothered about. "Just need a moment to get up and change undies."
While speaking, he turns around to face his husband and groans in sudden pain. Cas sports his best look of disbelief.
"Painkillers would be nice", Dean mutters, giving up on playing cool.
Cas sighs and, much to Dean's dismiss, lets his hand slide of the other man's skin to face the night stand on his side of their shared bed. Sitting up, he searches the top drawer for some Ibuprofen. "Do you need a full pill? Or just a half?"
It takes Dean a moment to realise he's being asked something. "Huh? Oh. No. Half’s enough."
Cas uses Deans knife, waiting in the drawer for possible attackers, right beside meds and tissues, to cut the pill in half. It had taken Dean long enough to feel save sleeping without a gun under his pillow; Cas was willing to accept a knife, "just in case, ya never know", to put it in Deans words. It might still not be a sign for the peaceful life they lead now, but it left the ex-angel with less risk of an open wound when waking his grumpy husband in the mornings, especially now that he wouldn’t be able to heal it with so much as a snap of his fingers. Even Dean had to admit this was sound reasoning on Cas' part. Thus all guns were banned from the bedroom into the bunker's plenty of storage, albeit not without leaving Dean feeling quite uneasy and unsave the following couple of nights.
Cas didn't mind this too much. It forced Dean to finally openly ask him to cuddle for the first time; Cas had truly been getting tired of Dean's constant forced coolness and emotional distance, especially between the two of them of all people.
He hands Dean the pill just as Dean finds enough energy and will power in him to sit up and grab his water bottle. Dean always thought this to be such an old folks thing to do, to keep water ready by the bed while asleep, as if he couldn't get up in the night to grab a glass from the kitchen if he were to get thirsty. But, not only is he not getting any younger, he'd also been through enough to justify some luxury. It’s not that he couldn't get up for water now; he just didn't have to, either.
He takes the painkiller with a few swigs of water, taking small gulps as to not stress his stomach too much at once. It's been a while since he last had to throw up from his period alone, but best not risk it.
Meanwhile Cas has snuck up behind him, sneaking his arms around Dean's middle only for his hand to resume its position on Dean's abdomen. Dean leans back into his touch, not above using Cas as what he's offering to be, a crutch, in his current state. He allows himself a minute to breath and relax his cramped and stressed body, just feel Cas' soft touch on his sensitive skin, caressing him to ease the pain. His heavy head settled in the crook of Cas' neck, the fingers of Cas' other hand tangled in short strands of blond hair, Cas' deep, rough voice, murmuring in his ear to relax, to let it all slide off of him, that he'll be right here, right beside him, holding him for as long as he might need it. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last either, Dean finds himself mesmerized by the strength of the angel, no, of his angel.
As delusional as he tends to be on 4 hours of sleep, he doesn't hesitate to share his thoughts. "You’re so strong… so good. Take such good care of me." He'd meant to say that last thing with a smirk. It comes out honest.
He feels Cas' smile against his cheek. "It’s no hard work, really. It comes naturally to me, to care for you, to love you." After a moment of silence, he adds, "all of you."
And damn it all, if that doesn't nearly send Dean crying.
Screw hormones. They could turn him into such a sap. No one should possess such power.
Well, Cas is an exception.
Before the swelling tears in his tired eyes get a chance at spilling, Dean forces his body out of bed, immediately missing the warmth of their blanket and his angel pressed flush to his back. He turns to check the sheets, finding Cas doing the same. Thank God, he left no blood stains.
Judging be the feels of it, his boxers weren’t quite as lucky.
Standing up straight isn't much of an option, thanks to his cramps. He drags himself over to his dresser drawer to grab some clean panties. While he has formed quite the collection ever since settling down with Cas, this is no time for any of the, well... decorative pairs he’d occasionally wear for his angel. He decides on a cotton pair he knows fit snugly. Navy blue, so that in case he leaves blood stains, they won't be as noticeable.
It's only once he's slugging down the hallway to the bathroom that he notices Cas following suit. His eyes are barely open and his tense shoulder suggest that he misses the warm bed as much as Dean.
"Cas, no need to follow me 'round, I’ll be right back." Neither of them are morning people by any extend, and Dean really does not have the energy right now to deal with a grumpy Cas.
Cas has caught up to him and gives him a soft look. "Again, Dean, it’s no bother to help you."
Too tired to argue, Dean lets the conversation slide with a huff. There’s no need to talk about it anyway.
It's happened often enough to almost feel like routine. While Dean sits on the toilet to clean and change, Cas opens the shelf under the sink to get out the hot water bottle. Cas asks him if he wants a cup of tea and Dean declines it, saying that he never drinks tea because it's gross and for sick people. Cas argues that, in a way, he is sick, and it might help his stomach. Dean repeats that he's fine and doesn't want it. Cas tsk's at his stubbornness, but continues filling the bottle without complain.
Dean stays sat on the closed toilet lid, all cleaned up now and saved from more stains by a pad. He's just waiting for Cas, so he wouldn't leave him here alone of course, it's not like his uterus is picking a fight with the rest of his organs right now and he's too weak at the knees to walk alone. Absolutely not.
Lost in his thoughts, he startles at a sudden warmth being placed on his lower body. Cas is kneeling down before him, right hand pressing the now filled bottle against him. Dean covers his hand with his own, taking hold of the bottle, while looking back up.
When he meets Castiel's eyes, he's met with a look of nothing but love. Good thing he's sitting already, or it might have knocked him down.
He fumbles for the collar of Cas' shirt and drags him up into a kiss, meets him in the middle.
Cas' other hand comes to rest at the back of Dean's neck, careful not to be to demanding in pulling him down, yet steady. Grounding.
The kiss is soft and sweet and they both linger for just a moment longer, now full on holding hands, the hot water bottle in Dean's lap and their surroundings forgotten.
A heat wave rushing through his body that sadly has nothing to do with having his beautiful husband kneeling between his legs, and everything to do with his hurting insides, brings Dean back to reality. He forces himself to break the kiss, motioning for Cas to stand. Cas does so, not without leaning back in for a final peck to Dean's lips, and helps him back up on his own two feet.
With Cas' guiding and supporting hand on the small of his back, and the hot water bottle clutched to his lower body, they get back to their bedroom in comfortable quiet.
Cas has just closed the door behind them, when Dean is hit with the next heat wave. Without much second thought, he drops the bottle on their unmade bed and pulls off his shirt. It’s been awfully sticking to him anyway. Even after 3 month of marriage, Cas can't help staring a little as if it's the first time he sees Dean topless.
Dean carefully lies back down, trying not to feel as sick as he is. Cas, the saint that he is, fluffed up the pillows before following Dean into the bathroom. He puts his hot water bottle back in its place and turns to his side to face his husband.
Cas doesn't hesitate to pull him closer. Just before wrapping his arms around Dean, he asks in a whisper, "You alright with this?"
He knows that Dean sometimes needs his space while bleeding, feeling too hot and out of breathing for close contact. As much as Cas wishes to comfort him, he knows he needs to ask first. Thankfully, Dean quickly nods and pulls at his shirt again to beckon Cas closer, his eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion and sleep deprivation.
The ex-angel can't help but smile at the sight. He offers his right arm to Dean as a pillow, threading his finger once again into the sleepy man's hair.
His other hand trails its way up and down Dean's side, slow and steady, like waves upon the shore. With the help of the painkillers, the hot water bottle and his husband's caring touches, Dean's breath becomes less and less heavy by the minute.
Once Dean is calm enough to convince Cas of his well-being, the ex-angel lets his hand wander some more. He strokes over the entirety of his back, then his chest, tracing the two scars just under Dean's nipples, that mark one of the few days in his early life that he chose himself over everyone else, and went through with something just because he wanted to.
Cas remembers when Dean told him of this day once, long before they got together, after a movie night in the Dean cave. Of how John had left him to hunt on his own for a longer time; of how, without Sammy tagging along and thereby one less mouth to feed, Dean saved up money at every chance he got; how some clinic out there to this day believes his birth name to be Stevie Nicks as his fake IDs suggested; how radiant Dean was with nostalgia while telling this story, full of joy and not a trace of regret. These were the only two scars left on his body by Castiel when rebuilding his soul in Hell; the only two not caused by violence, but by the sheer drive of a man to be as true to himself as possible.
Without a second thought, Cas bends down to place a kiss on each of them, startling Dean for a second. Cas continues upwards, trailing kisses, each its own small declaration of love, at Dean's collarbones and neck, finally arriving by his cheek, then locking eyes with him.
"I love you, d’you know that?", Dean whispers with a smile plastered over his face, eyes glossy.
"I do", Cas smiles back at him, "I love you, too. All of you."
Dean beams at this, leaning in for one final kiss from his husband, before finally letting himself drift back asleep.