#ratedpg

The alcohol helped none, and neither did the food. Mary’s laughter with Bobby (not Bobby) and Sam’s conversation with Charlie (not Charlie -- that’s not Charlie) and a few of the other saved souls only echoed in his head like white noise.

Dean made his way to the outskirts of the gathering, stopping for a quick chat here and there with people so his getaway attempt wouldn’t be too noticeable. But someone did notice, and as Dean managed to break free and head down the hallway, Cas followed.

Halfway to his room Dean realized someone had joined him. He didn’t feel like talking, but made quick conversation points in his head anyways just to get the person away just enough to slam the door in their face.

Reaching his door, he spun around, mouth open to politely tell the person to fuck off when he saw the familiar face, looking as tired as he felt.

A switch flipped in his brain, and exhaustion finally took over. Dean collapsed in on himself and his cheery facade crumbled in an instant. The expression on Dean’s face must have alarmed Cas because without a moment's hesitation, he pushed Dean into the room with a gentle hand on his back.

The door didn’t even finish its journey closed before Dean all but crumpled against Cas with a sharp exhale, arms winding around his waist. His forehead rested against steady shoulders and Dean just breathed. Muffled sounds from the crowd several walls away made their way into the room but they were just traces of what seemed like a different world. Dean already felt better locked in a room away from the eyes and mouths of other people.

They stood together for several minutes, no words even whispered between them. The silence welcomed them. Moments like these Dean cherished, able to think clear for the first time in sometimes several days; a momentary break in the chaos marathon he seemed to be running for years on end. They used to scare him, silence and isolation often brought inner demons out and they were worse than the actual demons. But now, he learned to appreciate them when he could get them.

The two eventually broke apart, Dean turning his back almost immediately heading for his bed. He needed to decompress. He used to half ass joke that he wouldn’t ever make it to this age, that his life concocted a suicide mission to end itself. But somehow, through everything, he made it to now and sometimes he wished he didn’t. He was getting too old for all of it.

As Dean sat at the end of the bed, untying his shoes, Cas shed his coat and blazer, a silent agreement to stay in the room until things died down out there. Once upon a time Dean hated the invasion of privacy, he hated when Cas invited himself into whatever moment Dean had for himself but now he welcomed it. The man knew how to stay quiet, and got better at reading Dean’s mood.

Sufficiently dressed down, Dean leaned back and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed, and brought it forward. He settled down on his stomach, head turned to the side.

“I’m tired.”

Cas said nothing at first, instead dragging the reading chair in the corner over to the side of the bed, sitting with his feet propped up near Dean’s.

“I think we all are.”

Dean closed his eyes as Cas stretched in the chair. He had grabbed a book before settling in. Dean didn’t want the image of this dressed down angel reading a book next to him. The domesticity of their encounters sometimes took him by surprise, and he didn’t need to deal with it right now.

“I just feel like we still missed something.” Dean mumbled.

More silence followed that statement to the point Dean cracked one eye open to make sure Cas still sat next to him. The book rested on his lap as he stared at the wall behind Dean.

“I feel like that all the time. With everything we do. I think we just get so overwhelmed we get scared we’re doing the wrong thing.”

“Maybe. But I’ve learned to trust my gut instinct more often than not.”

Cas sighed, and Dean could feel the annoyance radiate off of him.

“What was the solution then? You being caught there? Again? What would that have done?” The pages of the book rustled, and the chair creaked, “All of us trapped in there? You think that would have ended well for anyone?”

All the questions thrown at Dean made the absolute exhaustion roar back. They weren’t new, he asked himself those hypotheticals since they’ve been back. He knew the real answer that his brain screamed back at him: Why can’t all this just not exist.

In the past couple years, Dean found himself fantasizing about the early years, the good ol’ years where all they had to worry about was a ghost coming after them. A salt, burn, and the day was done. The complexity of his life, of all their lives, twisted and turned in every direction, causing him whiplash.

Another page in the book turned as Dean’s mind tried to calm itself down. He kept his eyes closed, but head still facing Cas in the chair. The flapping of pages every so often eventually lulling him into a half dream state.

Tomorrow was always another day, but Dean didn’t want tomorrow to come half the time. The desire to go to sleep with the present day completed in full was strong. The desire to wake up the next day with no pressing issues or some world ending catastrophe tugged at his heart more and more as the years went on.