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Sam lays on the motel bed, staring up at the ceiling. Dean lays on the bed across from him, snoring minutely. The room is almost pitch dark, save for the sliver of red light peeking through the broken blinds. His gaze slides over to the window, and he shifts to lie on his side. Dean’s snores cease, and he flips over onto his side. Green eyes catch Hazel.
“Sam, go to sleep,” Dean mumbles and stuffs his face into his pillow. Sam hums in acknowledgment and moves to face away from Dean. He sighs and sits up, wrapping his cover around his shoulders. After ten minutes of staring at the wall, he drags his duffel bag from under his bed and takes out a bottle from a side pocket. Sam opens the cap of the bottle, grabs a few pills out of it, and puts them in his mouth. He swallows the pills dry and grimaces at the feeling of them sliding down his throat.
He lies back down and closes his eyes, willing the melatonin pills to take effect quickly. Insomnia was not a new problem, but it’s more inhibiting now. His reaction time is delayed, and he is constantly tired. The most sleep he was able to scrape up was five hours, which was cumulated from this week. He looks up sluggishly and sees the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers on the LED clockface read 1:26 am. The numbers began to blur together, and he buried his face in the mattress.
Sam squeezes his eyes tightly. His ears catch the faint sound of wings fluttering, and his senses are flooded by a chemical scent. Sam feels heavier under the angelic presence of the new inhabitant in the motel room.
“Sam, why are you not asleep?” Castiel asks. Sam unburies his face and looks up at the angel. Castiel’s face is contorted strangely-- an expression of confusion (and concern, maybe).
“I’ve always struggled with falling asleep,” Sam whispers. His ears strain to determine if he disturbed Dean, but all he hears are his brother’s baritone snores.
“There is no need to worry about Dean hearing us. He is in a deep slumber. He will awake in the morning,” Castiel explains in a dull tone only the angel could achieve. “Would you like me to assist you in sleeping?”
“I already took something to help me sleep.”
Castiel nods and walks over to the window. Sam watches the angel curiously. He was so peculiar in how he acted sometimes-- it surprised Sam. Castiel messes with the blinds for a while, clearly unsure how to use them.
“Do you need help?”
Castiel pauses in his movements and looks at Sam. “Please.” The angel’s admittance throws him off, but Sam still clambers out of bed and walks over to Castiel. He pulls at the blind strings until they cooperate and go up. More light spills into the motel room, illuminating the two of them in bright red, neon light. The moon was in a waxing crescent, so it provided little light to the sky. Sam presses closer to the window, accidentally touching Castiel in the process. Sam’s arm feels as if it was electrocuted like he stuck his finger in an outlet or grabbed onto a livewire. He flinches away from the angel, an apology ready to fall from his lips.
“It is quite alright,” Castiel says. Sam blinks slowly, not even registering he’s already apologized. He smiles sheepishly at the angel and looks out the window again. “I don’t mind your touch; it is pleasant,” Castiel adds thoughtfully. Sam just about chokes on air, he looks over at Castiel in shock. “It is non-intrusive and gentle, like walking through a field of long grass.” Sam continues to stare. Why did Castiel have to keep talking? He could feel his heart beating rapidly and his stomach fluttering with butterflies.
“Are you alright Sam? Your heartbeat is abnormally fast.”
Sam laughs despite himself, his cheeks burning in embarrassment, and his lips form a wide smile.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Sam replies, his voice higher than usual. That was really smooth, Sam. I would believe that, too. He reprimands himself silently for his extra embarrassing reaction to Castiel’s sweet admission.
“Are you positive? Your heart did not sound like that before I spoke. Did I upset you?” Castiel’s calm demeanor melts, worry dancing in his tone. Sam winces slightly-- he had forgotten the angel was becoming more human the longer he spent around him and Dean. He feels Castiel’s grace skirt along his skin, it pulls him from his musings and reminds him he had to speak.
Sam shakes his head, “No, no. I appreciate what you said, it was just very unexpected.”
Castiel relaxes at Sam’s words, his grace retreating and leaving Sam’s skin humming.
“Very well. I should be leaving; you must get rest.”
Sam makes a split-second decision and grabs the angel’s wrist before he can fly off. His hand is shocked by Castiel as if he is made of static electricity.
“Stay?” Sam murmurs. He wants to kick himself for asking Castiel to stay but is pleasantly surprised when Castiel lays his hand over Sam’s. Another jolt of energy sparks over Sam’s skin, and he shivers.
“As you desire,” replies Castiel.
Sam leads the angel to his bed and sits down, pulling Castiel down beside him. The angel blocks him from the blinds they neglected to close. Sam lays down stiffly, feeling silly for asking the angel to stay with him.
He lets his mind wander as he gets comfortable, why did Castiel stay? Sam wasn’t close with the angel, not like Dean is—there is no reason Sam concludes after an undetermined amount of time pondering it. Why can’t he just leave things the way they were? Castiel was warming up to Sam a considerable amount, Castiel was sitting in bed with him at this very moment! He sighs and buries his head in his pillow. It was rougher than he realized, or maybe the pillowcase was slipping off. Sam opens his eyes to adjust his pillowcase only to see that his pillow is Castiel. Why does God hate me? Sam bemoans inwardly. He is about to move away from Castiel and apologize when a hand hesitantly is placed in his hair. A spark of electricity races down his spine, and he thinks his brain short circuits.
Castiel’s fingers begin carding through Sam’s hair, and he melts against the angel. Before he knows it, he falls asleep.