Work Text:
Another job.
Another motel room.
Still on the road, as always.
Dean, a complete food enthusiast, for once didn't feel like getting food.
It's late, obviously he's tired.
Not tired on the way other people are tired.
Not because of a nine to five, stressing about bills (though they do tend to struggle for money).
This is him being tired deep in his very bones.
The kind where he grows sluggish, food seems less appealing, his focus decreases, he'll stop singing along to his own music in the car.
Haunted.
That's the word. He's been looking haunted lately. In everyway- emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically.
He would never admit this out loud, but this is one of the times where hunting actually gets to him.
Sam noticed. Of course he did, he's observant like that.
And as much as he would bring it up. Would tell Dean to take a break, talk about whatever is bothering him, or have some coffee and forget about the case for a few minutes.
He's the one who went out to grab dinner.
He didn't have to ask what kind of order Dean would want, he knows his older brother's food habits by now. He already knows what kind of order he would have wanted.
Technically, he knows that Castiel doesn't need to eat food, but he asked the angel anyway, mainly out of habit and manners.
Castiel answer with one of those typical angel answers who gives out.
By the time he left the motel room, ordered, paid, waited, and got back to their current room.
The sight he came back to was certainly something.
Not what he expected exactly, but he knew that something like this would have happened sooner or later.
Castiel's appearance in particular was slightly jarring.
Not in the trenchcoat or suit.
He's wearing Dean's clothes.
Worn out band shirt with a pair of sweatpants.
Sitting calmly and propped up on the bed, pillow against his back, as he's leaning against the frame.
The tv plays, the volume is on low, but it softly illuminates his face.
He's an angel. He doesn't technically need to sleep- he probably physically can't.
Him dressing like this seems to be more for Dean's comfort than his own.
Dean, however, is fast asleep.
Nestled under the covers of the bed.
He's sleeping on his side, head resting against Castiel's thighs like he belongs there.
His chest rises and falls in slow rhythmic patterns.
Castiel's hand runs through Dean's short hair, methodical yet painfully gentle and soothing.
Those bright blue eyes aren't as intense. Something about them has softened ever so slightly.
Sam doesn't say anything about this, but his lips twitch upwards a little.
He glanced at them but doesn't bring it up- he knows better than to do that.
Instead, he sets the dinner he bought for Dean in the mini fridge to eat later.
He takes his own dinner and sits on the bed, quietly eating, hazel eyes watching the tv.