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Dean doesn’t know exactly what pulled him out of his slumber in the first place- he’s vaguely aware of a weight against him, of another body pressing next to him but that’s about as much as his exhausted mind can gather.
It’s the press of lips under the cut of his jaw that startles him enough to get him to open his eyes, and he just have to slightly turn his head to figure out that there’s an angel of the Lord inside his bed, and he doesn’t look sober.
“Cas?” he groans, voice still thick with sleep, trying really hard to make it make sense. “Whatcha doing here, buddy?”
Cas seems to take the sound of his voice as queue to press even closer to him and even hooks a leg over his, half of his body resting on top of Dean and an arm slung over Dean’s middle. His breath is hot where it skitters on the skin of Dean’s neck, and Dean tries not to think too hard about how good it all makes him feel.
He concentrates on the faint smell of alcohol on Cas’ breath instead, because truly- what the fuck?
“Cas, buddy- are you drunk?”
“You’re warm,” Cas grumbles, his hand going down Dean’s side in nonsensical patterns. “So warm.”
Dean tries to ignore the slight shiver that runs through him at the clear sound of astonishment in Cas’ voice.
He’s drunk off his ass, it’s not like he means it anyway.
“Okay. Doesn’t answer my question, though,” Dean smiles.
“‘Tis a stupid question, Dean,” Cas fires back tiredly.
Alrighty then. Drunk Cas is petty, Dean had somehow forgotten.
“Okay. What are you doing in my bed, then?”
Cas huffs, the bastard- like a child you’ve just asked why they haven’t done their homework, or a teenager you’ve just told they can’t go out.
Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Commander of Armies; petty, drunk and petulant inside a bed that isn’t his own, wrapped around Dean like a goddamn octopus.
Life is typically weird in the Winchester household but this is weirdly over the top when it comes to bizarre.
“Your bed is comfortable,” Cas finally lets out, his voice slurry like he’s about to sink into sleep. “You’re comfortable. You smell good. You’re warm. I wanted to be with you.”
And yeah, okay. Dean has no objections to that. So he lets Cas stay right where he is; lying halfway on top of him, safe inside his arms and, yeah, warm.
“Okay. Do you want to tell me why you smell like you drank an entire liquor store?”
Dean smirks at the obvious memory, but Cas doesn’t seem to get it as he simply groans in response against him.
“Okay, then.”
“May I stay?” Cas asks almost sheepishly.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out. “Get some sleep.”
He listens for a while as Cas’ breathing slows down and once it’s clear that the somewhat angel has finally fallen asleep, he wraps his arms tighter around him, brushes a kiss against Cas’ forehead and sinks into sleep in his turn.
Life is weird, but Cas is warm against him. And when it comes down to it, that’s all that really matters.
The bed is cold when he wakes up.
He tries to ignore the pang of deception inside his chest- the crux of it all folded beneath his ribs, easy to forget- as he sits down in bed, covers pooling around his waist.
He doesn’t know what he expected- this thing between them, it’s tentative at best. It’s not like they talk about it, or God forbid put a name on it.
He never stays.
Whatever happens, whether it’s a drunken collision and Cas stumbling onto him in bed or something else entirely- whatever it is, Cas never stays.
On and on, the nights come and go but the one thing that never changes is the empty bed when Dean opens his eyes in the morning. Maybe it makes it too real, or maybe despite the years he’s spent on Earth, Cas still doesn’t know bedside manners. Whatever. It’s not like Dean cares after all.
He does, of course he does. But ‘ignore and override’ is slightly easier for Dean to do than acknowledging whatever it is that makes him ache.
Dean sighs and finally gets out of his slumber, puts his jeans from yesterday back on; sniffs at his 3-days-old tee-shirt before deciding against it and putting one of his flannels on instead, and heads for the kitchen.
It’s there that he finds him- brooding into a cup of coffee, fingers clutching the mug tight into his hand, glorious bedhead sticking in at least 10 different directions. An old navy blue t-shirt that Dean is fairly aware was once his, and a pair of sweatpants they got him at goodwill months back. He looks barely awake, his eyes not even wavering from where they’re fixed even when Dean enters the room- and he winces when Dean slides an orange bottle of aspirin across the table.
“Don’t down the bottle, champ,” Dean chuckles as he grabs the coffee pot and pours himself a cup, his eyes never wavering from Cas.
The angel is looking at the container curiously, customary head tilt and squinted eyes, the whole shebang. Dean can’t help but smile, leaning against the kitchen counter as he sips his coffee.
He ignores the slight twig of pain going through his heart like a needle. Not important. Tune back later.
“It’s not gonna bite you, I swear. Just take two and thank me later.”
Cas nods ever so slightly before doing as he’s told and returning right back to brooding into his coffee.
Dean finishes his coffee, his gaze heavy on the side of Cas’ face. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s well aware that they’re dancing with fire. That this isn’t going to end well, that Cas is always going to leave. That there’s no way this will ever transform into anything else than Cas wanting to experience humanity and Dean being a gateway for him.
That this isn’t real.
That none of this is fucking real. That no one ever stays for him, and that one day it will backfire.
But last night with Cas warm by his side, with Cas’ arms wrapped so tightly around him, with Cas’ mouth heavy on the skin of his neck- he allowed himself to have, even for a brief moment.
It’s always like this in the light of day, whatever happens between the two of them. The silent guilt into his guts, the question mark written in golden letters inside his inner forehead. They’re slow dancing in a burning room, and it’s only a matter of time before the room collapses.
Ignore and override.
He pats Cas’ shoulder on his way out of the kitchen, already on his way to make good on the promise he made to Sam yesterday- cataloging artifacts in the library so that they can finally start going through the clutter of the archive.
After 5 minutes, Cas joins him, silently rifling through the boxes.
They don’t talk about it.
What good would it make?
Ignore and override.