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Castiel heard the desperate plea immediately. He would never admit it to himself, but he had long ago stopped listening for prayers that weren’t the Winchesters. Sometimes it was Sam, which he was more than happy to answer those. But when Dean prayed… nothing else made him feel more fulfilled. It was selfish, deep down he knew it was. But Dean’s prayers were like the smoothest velvet, the softest ripples traveling across a smooth, glassy lake. They were… genuine. Not the words of a faithless man shooting his shot into the dark hoping it would land, but of a being knowing he was looked after, somewhere close to Heaven. And Cas had vowed long ago to always look after him, after both of the Winchesters, for as long as he could.
Instinctively, he knew the warding would be down that night. So when he appeared in the dark Bunker library, he wasn’t surprised, only relieved. Dean’s prayer was much louder this close, a steady stream of words flowing down the hall instead of just a jumbled cloud of thought. He was asking for help, but the words were strung together oddly, more raw than Dean was prone to portray on a regular occasion. Whatever was causing Dean this distress was urgent.
Cas wasted no time racing down the hall. He didn’t care how loud he was, or if he woke up Sam. He would never tell the Winchesters this, but sometimes he could feel the emotions they felt behind their prayers, not just hear the words. Like in this instance. The panic Dean felt was palpable, like iron on his tongue, sharp and strong.
Cas burst into Dean’s room, his angel blade in hand, but stopped cold at the sight before him. Dean was asleep, the covers twisted around him tightly. He was soaked in sweat, twitching and jerking like someone was hurting him in his nightmare. “Cas! Please help me! Get me out of here!” He called out, fear lacing his words
Cas’ heart softened. He stowed away the angel blade, silently approaching Dean’s bed. He hated seeing Dean like this, scared and defenseless. He hated thinking about how long Dean was in Hell, fighting for his sanity alone. He would never forget how Dean’s soul felt in his hands; oozing blackness and pain, but yet with a bright, pure light shining underneath, like the sun peeking through the clouds after a bad storm. Hell was the embodiment of hopelessness and suffering, but Dean Winchester had never lost that goodness, not even with the tools in his hands and blood at his feet. Even if he didn’t realize it was there, Cas could see it. There was a reason he loved him
Careful not to wake him, Cas placed a hand on Dean’s hip, letting his grace shine under his palm. “Rest,” he spoke in Enochian, the words coming out low and deep from his throat, “have peace in your dreams. Do not be afraid, I am here to protect you. Nothing in your nightmares can harm you, Dean Samuel Winchester. You are safe now.”
Cas repeated the words again, watching as Dean stilled, the nightmare leaving his mind. Cas could sense the deep, dreamless sleep hanging over him like a warm blanket and smiled. Angels couldn’t grasp the true scope of human emotion, or so he had been told, but this love felt awfully potent and consuming. It wasn’t even about how Dean looked (though Cas would never say Dean’s green eyes weren’t dreamy and easy to get lost in), it was about what Dean meant to Cas. What Dean had done for him, how Dean had changed him. Dean had brought so much meaning to his life, and had fundamentally changed the way he looked at humanity as a whole. Dean had taught him what it meant to fight for love, to live for love, and most importantly, how to love in the first place. Without Dean (or Sam for that matter)… he didn’t want to think about where he would be.
Cas found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, tenderly rubbing Dean’s hip with his thumb; in Dean’s tossing and turning, his shirt had ridden up, and Cas’ thumb rested on bare skin. His job was done, he had set Dean free from another nightmare, and he could sense no more coming. There was no reason for him to be there anymore. But he rarely had the chance to just look at Dean without anyone questioning it, so he stayed, drinking in his chiseled jaw and crows feet, his soft pink lips, the curve of his body under the blankets. There was nothing lustful in Cas’ gaze, his love for Dean wasn’t about that. Everything he saw, he’d noticed a thousand times over, caught in a thousand small glances and a thousand grazing touches. But in the vulnerableness of sleep, Cas could almost see the righteous essence of Dean’s self seeping through the cracks of his facade, and he wanted to bask in it as long as possible.
Suddenly, Dean shifted, and Cas removed his hand on instinct. He stood up and made to exit the room, desperately trying, and failing, to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest. He set one foot back out in the hall, resisting every urge to turn around-
“Cas?”
The angel froze, his heart pounding. The covers shifted, quickly followed by the sound of bare feet on stone. They stopped a mere arms length away. “Cas, look at me.”
Cas swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to this, this… adrenaline, pumping through his veins and making his breath catch in his lungs. Slowly, he turned, drawing his foot back into the room as he did. Dean stood in front of him, the grey shirt he’d worn to bed still crumpled and stuck to his skin, his sleep bottoms pulled low on his hips. Dean’s eyes glowed, somehow, in the dim light of the corridor outside. “What are you doing here?” Dean asked.
The words came out of his mouth before he could think of a feasible lie (though realistically, there was none) “You called out for me in your sleep.”
Instantly, he felt his face grow warm, which was a new and odd sensation. Dean, however, simply nodded, not looking surprised at all; Cas got the sneaking suspicion that Dean had asked him to confirm something he already knew. “You know, when you use your grace on me in my sleep I can see you, in my dream.”
Cas blinked, at an utter loss for words. How many times had Dean seen him in a recurring nightmare and said nothing the next day?
Dean took a step towards him, and Cas found his body refused to listen to him when he told it to move. His limbs were frozen, but his chest was very, very warm, and the way his heart galloped the rest of him should have been warm enough to move too. “What were you saying to me?”
Cas swallowed hard again. It felt odd to say the words in English. “Rest. Have peace in your dreams. Do not be afraid, I am here to protect you. Nothing in your nightmares can harm you, Dean Samuel Winchester. You are safe now.”
The silence felt suffocating. Cas longed to break it, but he knew it was Dean’s turn to speak. That was normally how humans did it, wasn’t it? Whoever dropped the revelation had to wait for the reaction before they spoke again?
Dean reached out, grabbing Cas’ hand in his own. Cas surrendered his autonomy in that moment, allowing Dean to draw him close. The Winchester placed Cas’ hand on his chest, and the angel was almost startled to find Dean’s heart pounding under his palm, just like Cas’ own. They stood like that for a moment, staring at each other. Cas was finding it very hard to breathe, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He never truly needed air, but in this moment it was like he couldn’t get enough of it in at once.
Finally, Dean spoke quiet words into the small space between them. “What was the first thing you ever said to me?” He asked, the words rumbling pleasantly in Cas’ ears.
It came easily to his mind. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”
Dean’s smile was brighter than the sun. “Damn right.” Before Cas could even think, Dean was kissing him.
Cas had kissed other people before. But this? This was almost holy, blowing every drifting thought about what kissing him might be like out of the water. Dean’s soft lips parted his own with glorious motion, as sweet as honey. Cas melted into Dean’s arms, pulling all of his knowledge up from the depths to respond back, clutching the Winchester as close to him as he could, stray fingers digging into his hair. Dean let out a satisfied groan, and Cas felt his toes curl, happiness soaring through him as their chests pushed against each other for air.
Unfortunately, the human need for oxygen got in the way, and they broke apart, their foreheads pressed together. Cas’ whole body hummed with joy, contentment spinning around his brain in childlike circles. He never wanted to let go of this moment, never wanted it to end.
Dean looked happier than Cas had ever seen him, almost loopy from the high, his eyes shining as he grinned; Cas vowed to get that look back every single day. “Take off your shirt,” Dean instructed.
The nervous adrenaline rushed back in all at once, but Cas did as he asked, and the trench coat slid to the floor, soon followed by his shirt (albeit a bit slower, due to his shaking hands as he undid the buttons). He opened his mouth to ask why, but the question died on his tongue as Dean pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it onto Cas’ discarded clothes. Wordlessly, Dean led him to the bed, sitting back down on it. This time, Cas needed no instruction, and he kicked off his shoes, settling in next to Dean. The covers were still pulled back, but their bodies warmed the space between them perfectly. Cas let out a sigh of contentment as Dean looped an arm around him, gently holding him close. There wasn’t any other word to describe how it felt laying next to Dean but perfect.
“G’night Cas,” Dean mumbled, sleepiness coating his voice.
Normally, Cas didn’t need sleep. He had never truly slept before, except when he was human. But here, so comfortable and warm and safe, with Dean’s heart beat in his ear, it was impossible to resist. So he allowed himself to drift off, barely managing to mumble a goodnight back before he was lost to sweet dreams.