#user_k

Dean is scared. He's scared of losing Cas and he's sick of almost losing him, of the constant scares now that his grace is low and he's not as invincible as he used to be. If something were to happen to Cas (again), and Dean didn't spend every second with him that he could…

He doesn't want to think about it. He's too tired for that right now.

In fact, that’s probably all it is. Yeah, that's it. The hunt was long and crappy and they've barely slept, and Dean is too exhausted to hold himself back. Too sleepy to force his desires down, to pretend that he doesn’t want…

That he doesn’t want.

He allows himself a glance in Cas’s direction. He's looking out the window, laying his head on his trench coat which is bundled up against the door, his right arm tucked underneath. His suit jacket and tie are on his lap and he’s holding them there with his left hand. Dean wants, so badly, to reach over and take it, interlock their fingers without a word, as if that were a normal thing for them to do.

As sleepy as he is, Dean still has half a mind not to. His fingers flex on the wheel.

He drives for another half hour.

---

When Dean finally stops the car and shuts off the ignition, Sam feels it. He jolts awake and steps out in silence. Ungrateful bitch.

He didn't even say it out loud, but Dean takes that back. It was such a long hunt.

He lets his eyes close and drops his head back. He feels heavy. His whole body aches. He doesn’t realize how quickly he’s drifting off until he’s startled by Cas’s voice, soft, a gentle melody in the quiet space of the garage.

“Dean, you should get to bed.”

Cas, in his weird part-angel part-not state, doesn’t really need to sleep. Dean looks at him; the right side of his hair is sticking up in all directions, his eyes are smiling at him though his lips are not, the top of his dress shirt is unbuttoned–

Dean looks away. Swallows.

He lays his head back again. "Not like I've never slept in Baby before, Cas."

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

That makes Dean’s head turn, brows knitted together.

“What for?”

Cas looks genuinely regretful, facing Dean but not making eye contact. Instead, he looks downward, to Dean's legs. “Your ankle. If my grace were–”

“Don’t.”

It’s not a scold. There’s no bite in it. Dean just hates it when Cas blames himself, and how goddamn often he does. Cas meets his eyes.

“Just don’t, man,” Dean pleads.

Then he smiles at him, and Cas smiles back.

“Alright,” Cas says, gathering his things, “But you are not sleeping in the car, Dean. I'll help you, it's the least I can do."

And there he goes again, belittling himself. Dean doesn’t really have it in him to argue any further; he'll get it through Cas's thick head one day that he's worth more than what he can do. One day.

(Right now, Dean does kinda wanna get to his bed. It's been a while and he hopes it still remembers him.)

Dean pulls himself up and out of the car with effort, wincing when his right ankle– the fucked-up one– gets a bit too much weight put on it. Cas walks over to his side of the car, putting on his layers again on the way.

He'd never admit it, but Dean's skin is buzzing in anticipation, waiting. Cas will hold him up by his waist. Dean’s arm will be around Cas’s shoulders. Maybe Cas will grab his hand as he helps him walk to the–

Nope. None of that happens.

Instead, Dean gets swept off his feet, and then Cas is carrying him. Bridal style.

Dean tends to forget that the guy still has his strength.

In any other circumstance, Dean would probably be embarrassed. But there’s no one around, he’s utterly exhausted, and in Cas’s arms, he feels weightless. He settles, wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck.

Mistake. It brings their faces so much closer together, and now Dean can't look away. The curls behind Cas's ear, the slope of his cheekbone, his perpetual stubble… he's so close, and Dean is shamelessly drinking him in. If he surged forward a couple of inches, his nose would touch Cas's jaw. That's how close he is, and when is Dean ever going to get any closer? He rests his head, getting comfortable.

Cas looks straight ahead, weaving through the bunker halls with practiced ease, and he's blissfully unaware of Dean's staring. This is probably creepy, Dean realizes, so he closes his eyes.

---

The next moment Dean consciously registers is when his head hits the pillow.

"I tried not to wake you."

Dean fully opens his eyes and Cas is by his bed, still standing only half upright. There's a sheepish smile on his face as he straightens up.

"'S alright." Dean rubs his face and sits up to at least take his shoes off, and Cas takes a single step back. "Thanks," he says, and he feels like it's nowhere near enough for what Cas just did, but he can't think of anything better so it'll have to do.

Cas just smiles, tight-lipped.

"What're you gonna do?" Dean asks, unlacing his boots, and looking up at him. He's still at arm's length. Always at arm's length.

"I don't know." Cas puts his hands in his coat pockets. Dean wishes he'd let himself be comfortable. This is his home too. "Read. Maybe watch something on the Netflix."

Dean chuckles. He still calls it that after the one phone call they had when Dean told him to step away from it.

"Something funny?"

It's a genuine question. Dean pulls off the second boot and stands. Still with a smile on his face, he says "it's nothin'."

And then they're just standing there. Dean thinks maybe he wasn't being that creepy earlier, after all, ‘cause this? This is normal for them. Staring at each other in silence as if the silence will speak for them. Like, perhaps, if he looks at Cas long enough, at his eyes, his lips… Cas will know what Dean wants. Or maybe Dean's wants will vanish.

Dean will take either. He hopes for both just as strongly.

Cas breaks his gaze and says "I should go. Get some rest, Dean."

In that split second, as Cas turns to leave, Dean realizes two things.

One, neither of the things he's hoping for are going to happen. Cas isn't going to magically know what Dean wants, and this yearning, this constant clench deep in Dean's chest whenever he's around Cas, isn't just going away on its own.

Two, extreme exhaustion doesn't just weaken the physical and cognitive defenses. It also shatters the emotional ones into a million pieces.

He's never been so tired and he's never felt so brave.

Before he can stop it, Dean's hand darts out and grabs Cas's forearm.

Cas looks down at it, then up at Dean, then back down. "What's wrong?" He asks, worried.

"Nothin', just…"

Dean's mouth is dry, and he's fighting his eyelids to stay open. He knows what he wants to say and fuck he wants to go to sleep. So he just gets it over with.

"You don't have to go."

Cas looks back up at him, confused.

"You can stay if you want. Here."

Cas squints. "I'm not planning on leaving the bunker, Dean."

"No, I–"

Dean smiles and hangs his head because he can't help it. Because Cas just being Cas makes him smile, and he can't ever help it, much less now that he's completely given up. He lets his hand slide lower and lower down Cas's arm until he's lazily holding on to his fingers.

"I mean, here here. With me."

"Why?" Cas looks down at their entangled fingers and he's so confused. Jeez, this couldn't be any more difficult. "What do you need?"

"Nothin', fuck, Cas, I just want you to. I– I want you –" Dean steps closer, taking Cas's hand in full, interlocking their fingers like he wanted to do back in the car and since always. "–to take off that stupid coat, and that stupid jacket, and those stupid shoes, and anything else that you want–"

Cas looks less confused by the second, thank fuck. Dean feels like he's about to collapse on the spot, but he needs Cas to understand.

"–and I want you to lay down in that goddamn bed."

Dean is pleading at this point. He's about to fall over, and Cas firmly holding onto both his hand and his gaze feels like the only thing keeping him upright.

Cas stares at him with an expression that Dean can't quite decipher, but the confusion is gone. "With you," Cas says. Not asking. It's like he's completing Dean's sentence, and in a way, he is.

"With me," Dean says, for good measure.

He's not expecting much. He's not even expecting Cas to say yes. The way Cas keeps looking and looking and looking at him with that squint, chapped lips parted and brows furrowed, Dean isn't sure if he's trying to make up his mind, or read Dean's. The longer he does it though, the more Dean is convinced he's going to walk out that door and not talk to him for at least a month.

Dean starts to let go of his hand and is about to tell him that the choice is his, because of course it is.

Cas doesn't let him. He pulls Dean to him by that same hand and whatever short distance remained between them is gone.

Dean's brain is lagging. Buffering and loading like a desktop in '98. But when the bar finally fills up all the way, he wraps his arms around Cas's waist, and kisses him back. Cas's hands are on his face, snaking their way up to Dean's hair, and fuck that's heaven. Better than.

As many times as Dean has imagined and even dreamt of this, there's one thing he never could've foreseen: how hungry Cas is. His lips move like they're running out of time (they're not), he pulls Dean ever closer like he's going to float away (he's not), and his tongue explores so eagerly, like this is the only time he'll ever kiss Dean (it's not, if Dean can help it).

Hell, they're gonna have to do this again, 'cause right now Dean is running on fumes. He just doesn't have it in him to return all of Cas's fervor and enthusiasm and passion, to kiss him the way he deserves. Cas seems to pick up on that, how hard Dean is trying and probably failing miserably.

"You're tired," he says, barely pulling away, forehead to forehead and nuzzling his nose against Dean's.

Dean drops his head on Cas's shoulder, buries his face in the crook of his neck. "Yeah. 'm sorry," he mumbles into it.

"No, don't be."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders and hugs him, holds him, stroking the hair at the back of his neck with his fingertips. Dean leaves a soft kiss on Cas's neck and hugs him even tighter, arms wrapped around him, under the stupid coat and jacket. He inhales deeply; Cas smells like honey and a thunderstorm, and Dean fucking loves it.

He feels himself drifting off again and pushes himself off of Cas. He needs to change. He needs to fall into bed. He needs to sleep for at least a week.

But there's one thing he wants, more than anything.

"Stay, Cas. Please."

Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Cas smile at him so bright.

"Of course, Dean."

---

Dean wakes up the next morning– well, day – and Cas is still here, on the right side of the bed. Dean is half laying on top of him, actually, arm around his torso and head on top of his chest. Cas has one arm underneath Dean and wrapped around him, his hand on Dean's left shoulder, where it belongs. He's drawing circles on it with his thumb.

He's playing that candy matching game on his phone with the other hand.

"Mornin'."

"Afternoon," Cas corrects him. "It's 3:27 pm."

Dean chuckles, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Shit."

"You needed it." Cas locks his phone and sets it down on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, did you–" Dean finally looks at Cas, propping himself up on his elbow. The hand that was on Dean's shoulder, Cas puts under his head. His arm flexes. He looks content. Blissful. He's not wearing a shirt, just the sweatpants that Dean gave him the night before (which is slowly coming back to Dean now). His hair is even messier than usual, and shit he looks good. Really good.

…What was Dean gonna say.

"Um–" right, he gulps, "–did you stay here the whole time?"

"Yes."

"Playing that game?"

"And some others."

"And you never left?"

"Of course not."

Cas smiles, and Dean's heart skips a beat. Then Cas licks his lips and those electric blue eyes give Dean a once-over, and Dean wonders how the fuck he's even still breathing.

Then Cas's smile falters, and he gets that confused look again, searching Dean's expression. "Do you... want me to le–"

"Never," Dean answers instantly.

Cas's smile is back. He reaches up, cupping Dean's face, and Dean shuts his eyes as he leans into it. When he opens his eyes again, Cas is looking at him like he can't get enough, like he's waited forever for this. Dean knows the feeling.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says softly.

And that's when Dean finally kisses Cas, kisses him like he deserves, with the endless bounds of love and desire that, for years now, he's been holding back and pushing down with all he's got.

Now he puts all he's got into showing Cas how much he's worth, and they don't leave Dean's room for the rest of the afternoon.

---

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