Work Text:
He doesn’t know if it’s the sudden absence of warmth around him or the sound of a cry that tears him away from slumber, but when Dean opens his eyes he’s instantly aware that something is wrong.
It takes about a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but the moon is full tonight and the dull white glow shines just enough through the blindfolds Cas insisted they installed just a few weeks ago that he’s able to discern the outline of Cas’ silhouette in the dark.
It’s not that Cas waking up in the middle of the night is a new thing. Hell, even after all this time, both of them still experience late-night terrors and have to be talked down a few times a month. It’s more about how Dean still feels hollow watching Cas struggle to find his wind and composure back, his shoulders shaking with the force of his fear. It’s about how he flinches when Dean reaches out and lays his hand on the small of his back under his shirt to try and calm him down, his skin soft and warm under the careful pad of his fingers. It’s about how, when he turns to look at Dean after a minute, the blue of his eyes doesn’t light up the same way it usually does when he looks at his husband next to him.
“You okay?” he asks, just like he does every single time.
Cas shakes his head no, his eyes going to the deep blue cover he’s clutching between his fingers, as if ashamed. It hurts Dean in all the places that haven’t healed yet, even months after finding their way back to each other. He wishes, more than anything, that he could snap his fingers and heal them both, but there’s no way around years of trauma and he’s not stupid enough to think it can just go away anymore.
And so, just like always, Dean slowly draws closer until he’s pressed up against Cas, his chin hooked on his shoulder, his arms around his waist and his chest to his back. They don’t talk, because there’s no need for words. Cas doesn’t need to tell Dean what he dreamt about, and Dean doesn’t need Cas to narrate what fresh hell he just saw. They’ve both got scars, enough horror stories to fill books, and maybe at some point it would be healthy to talk it out, but tonight it’s not about that.
It’s about Cas knowing that Dean is here no matter what. It’s about Cas relaxing against Dean’s body after a while, finally breathing out a deep sigh like the weight of the world on his shoulders finally deflated. It’s about how he slumps into Dean’s arms, how his head fits just right into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, and how his hair smells like Dean’s mint shampoo because he likes to steal it from him.
It’s 3:42 in the morning and there’s really nowhere Dean would rather be than right here, clutching his husband closer against him and breathing him in before brushing a kiss under the cut of his jaw and murmuring an “I love you, come back to bed” into his ear.
And they do, in the end. Cas easily curls around Dean, fitting his head right under his chin, a hand solidly wrapped around Dean’s hip under his shirt. He drifts away again after a while, and Dean holds on for a little longer, listening to the quiet lull of Cas’ breathing against him before he sinks into slumber again.
It will probably be a long time until they can sleep like real people do. But for now, as long as they're here together, all the 3AM wake-up calls are worth it.