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Dean Winchester is a stubborn man.
This, Castiel has always known. The hunter has always been firm on doing things his way, intent on that being their best plan of action. But every so often, Castiel has to burst the bubble and force him to listen. In Dean's defence, he's gotten better over the years.
They've been on the road for hours, heading back to the bunker after a case down south including werewolves and ghouls. It'd been a trying case that had spanned an entire week, almost resulting in Dean being turned. Dean has been getting increasingly tired and agitated as the hours go by, even if he shut it down every time Castiel broached the subject.
Eventually, Castiel had had enough. With motels out of the option—there weren't any for miles, and Castiel had a feeling they'd be booked anyway, wasting time and fuel. "You're going to pull over here, and sleep," he'd told Dean.
Dean had scoffed, "Yeah right."
"I mean it, Dean," Castiel had warned. "You've been driving for miles. If you want to keep making the journey, I'll drive, but-"
"Oh you're not driving Baby."
Dean pulled into a lay-by and killed the engine, looking over to Castiel. "I'll take an hour, tops."
Castiel had plucked the keys from Dean's hands easily, holding them away from him. "You're going to get a proper rest. Then, and only then, am I giving your keys back."
Dean had huffed and sunk down in the front seat, arms crossed over his chest. "You're a real pain in my ass, you know that?"
"You have told me many a time," Castiel replies, patting Dean on the shoulder. In the short time it takes him to get comfortable, adjusting his legs and pressing his back to the door, Dean has already drifted off.
Admittedly, Castiel had not expected him to fall asleep that quickly. For a moment or two, he simply sits there watching the hunter, taking in his slumped shoulders, the lack of tension in his form. Lately things have been more hectic. More hunts, less rest. Surviving on minimal sleep and unhealthy diner meals.
That's not all that's been going on lately.
He can't pinpoint when it started, but both he and Dean have been daring to edging closer to the conversation. The one about feelings, about what they are. They nearly kissed two weeks ago but Dean had pulled away at the last second, leaving the room completely.
Castiel hasn't held it against him. He'd never make Dean do anything he didn't want to, something he wasn't ready to do. But he can't lie and say that he's been growing frustrated with it all. The conversation needs to happen.
Looking at Dean now, Castiel has to force himself to keep his hands to himself. All he wants is to run his hand over Dean's hair, caress his cheeks, soothe any anxieties he may be having in his sleep. For so long, Castiel has watched over Dean whilst he sleeps, keeping him safe, hidden from harm. But with the lines blurring and boundaries changing and shifting, should Castiel be here? Is it wrong of him to stay?
Just as Castiel is about to plunge into his crisis head first, Dean whimpers. The angel watches as the hunter twitches, another whimper falling from his lips, then another, and then-
Dean sits up with a gasp, chest heaving. Castiel puts his hand out to comfort him, only for Dean to jump away from him, backing himself into the corner between the door and seat.
"Dean, it's all right," Castiel says softly, retracting his hand, allowing it to rest on the seat. "You're with me. You were sleeping, I think you were having a bad dream."
Dean's breath is laboured but slowly calming down, his knuckles losing that shade of red as his fingers relax their grip on the door handle and the back of the seat.
The two of them are quiet as Dean tries to pull himself together, eyelashes damp with unshed tears, eyes cast down. Eventually, Castiel offers his hand out to Dean again.
The hunter eyes it wearily, then looks up at the angel, making eye contact.
"I will watch over you," Castiel promises, keeping his hand stretched out. "Nothing will hurt you whilst I'm here, Dean."
Dean doesn't take his hand straight away. Instead he stares, as if taking in his options, as if trying to calculate what this all means. Just when Castiel is about to offer some space, Dean's hand lays in his.
They make eye contact again, but this time Castiel doesn't hesitate. He pulls Dean into his side, shrugs off his trenchcoat, and lays it over him.
In response, Dean softens against the angel, resting his head on his shoulder. His hand comes up to rest on Castiel's chest, but he doesn't yet close his eyes. "I don't want to sleep just yet," he says quietly, looking up to Castiel.
"Okay," Castiel says simply. "Do you want the radio on?"
"No. I'm okay."
Castiel doesn't argue. Instead, he runs his hand up and down Dean's back, slowly, fingertips trailing over the material of the trenchcoat.
Eventually, Dean falls back asleep. Only this time he's tucked against the one person who has never failed to keep him safe, with unwrithering trust that Castiel won't break that streak now.