Work Text:
When it first started, Sam was almost relieved.
He was used to Dean staying up too late- even when they’d been kids, Dean would stay up to wait for Dad to come home, or take the night shift driving when Dad was too tired to do it.
His brother had long ago gotten used to running on six hours. Then four. Sometimes less. Sam would lie awake and listen to Dean lying awake.
The booze helped, but at the same time, it really didn’t. And if Dean sometimes used the booze to knock back a couple nondescript white capsules, Sam wasn’t one to judge. God knows he’d chased his own demons.
And then, abruptly, it stopped.
Sam woke up at seven and came back with coffee and Dean wasn’t up. He surfed through a couple news sites, looking for anything weird, and Dean wasn’t up. He showered, brushed his teeth, and carried a load of mud stained clothes to the coin-op next to the motel lobby.
Sam picked up one of the crumpled pillows, lobbing it at his brother’s sleeping face.
Dean’s eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling like, for a second, he didn’t know where he was.
“Move your ass, checkout’s in an hour.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was an obvious correlation between Dean’s sleep habits and his mood, which wasn’t really all that surprising. You get more sleep, you wake up refreshed and revitalized and you aren’t the kind of grouchy asshole who hits potholes on purpose because your brother’s trying to read.
So at first, Sam didn’t really mind.
Dean’s four hours stretched into six, then eight. He wasn’t drinking as much, and if he was still taking the little white pills, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
He woke up with an appetite, which isn’t to say he hadn’t always woken up with an appetite, but it was different now. They walked to diners for breakfast. Dean started putting cream in his coffee, a sure sign that he was tasting it rather than knocking it back to try to counteract the alcohol still meandering through his bloodstream. He ate vegetables, and that was a change.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time Dean said not to put a gift horse under a microscope and Sam tried to keep that in mind. He focused on Dean’s good mood and even temperament, hell, even the fact that his skin was getting a little color back.
Eight turned into ten and Sam shrugged it off.
So Dean was sleeping in. So what.
That meant Sam got to sleep in, too, and he’d be hard pressed to complain about that.
But there was something about… the way that Dean slept, now. He’d always been active, easily startled, a weapon under the pillow, primed and ready.
Now, though, he slept like the dead. More like the dead than Sam was comfortable admitting. He’d always woken up before Dean, but now he found himself glancing over at his brother to make sure he was still breathing. Once or twice he’d even checked the older man’s pulse. It was there, but it was slow. Too slow.
He’d tried to shake Dean out of it then, at for a few long moments he wasn’t sure it would work. Dean’s body rocked under the force of Sam’s hands, but his eyes stayed closed, his mouth open just a crack.
And then his eyes had opened, full of confusion, and he’d glared at Sam. What’s the big idea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean said everything was fine. Not as young as he used to be.
Sam didn’t buy it for a second. He started doing research, poring through the lore in the mornings before Dean woke up. He had plenty of time.
He was pretty sure Dean wasn’t being poisoned. He’d searched for hex bags and found nothing. There weren’t any marks on Dean’s skin, nothing that he could see, anyway, that would indicate a witching.
He just… slept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hello Dean. Sam.”
The car veered slightly as Dean tried to adjust to the sudden reality of an angel in the backseat. Sam made an aborted attempt to keep a carton of french fries from scattering all over the floor. He was only partly successful.
“Hi, Cas. Little warning next time?”
“Apologies.”
Sam turned in the seat, looking back at their visitor.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Just checking in,” the angel answered, looking at Dean. “I don’t get to be here as often as I’d like.”
The words were pointed, as though they had some meaning that Sam wasn’t understanding. He glanced at Dean, whose eyes were fixed solidly on the road.
“You’re busy, Cas. We get it.” Dean’s words were clipped. Sam looked between the two of them, like he would see the subtext written in the air if he could just focus.
“Did something happen?”
“No,” they answered together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The room was obscenely nice. Judging by the foliage outside the window, they were significantly further south than Dean was used to staying. A warm breeze carried the smell of salt water through the window, and when he tilted his head, Dean could hear the ocean.
“Is this a real place?”
“Someone’s heaven,” Castiel answered from somewhere behind him. Dean crossed to the glass doors. The marble floor was cold under his bare feet. They were high up, the room overlooking a lush green forest, and beyond that, a pale white beach.
“They have good taste,” Dean said quietly. Castiel hummed an approval.
Dean didn’t turn to look. In his mind, he pictured Cas’s face, full lips and blue eyes. It was a vessel- he knew that, and at the same time, he didn’t.
Here, in his mind, Castiel appeared using several vessels. Sometimes no vessel at all. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter as much as he’d thought it would.
Fingers settled on Dean’s bare shoulder, lips on the nape of his neck.
“Come to bed, Dean,” Castiel murmured, and Dean closed his eyes, and went.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I need to go.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do. I’ve been staying too long.”
“There’s no such thing.”
Castiel’s voice was light, feminine. He looked up at Dean with almond eyes, his skin dark as coffee.
“Sam’s getting worried.”
“So tell him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Castiel rolled to the side, stretching languidly, his dark curves a contrast against the white sheets. Dean reached out, stroking his fingers lightly over the swell of Cas’s hip.
“He wouldn’t understand.”
“I could show him. Go to him in his dreams.”
Dean shook his head.
“I’ll figure it out. I just need time.” He paused. “I’m going back now.”
“If you must,” Castiel murmured. He’d rolled onto his belly, head turned toward Dean. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Dean promised. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. And then he was awake.