Beds are sacred spaces. It meant Dean had something of his own. Maybe not a whole room, but some where he could lay his problems to rest. Each mattress Dean ever claimed became holy ground. He'd sleep, send out his silent prayers, play with Sammy. When he was old enough, it was where he made love, where he read books, where he kept praying. If there was something in the world Dean never took for granted, it was a good mattress.
His bed is cold though. His blankets don't even seem to hold him anymore, the fabric almost hovering a hairs-breath off his skin. He shivers under them, his body still off to one side. Every soft caress these days comes from his pillow. Every whisper is that of his sheets. Every grumble for five more minutes is his bed frame. In the break of dawn, the only one who remembers Dean Winchester is his memory foam mattress.
The room rolls towards the hole in his bed, a negative space he never quite acknowledges is there. He rearranged the room some time ago. Another nightstand found its place beside the bed, its surface clean of any clutter. Like someone will come and claim it with their own mess. His pillow stays glued to his side of the bed, offering up that stretch of space like a sacrifice. Dean never quite knew when these subtle changes happened, just that it felt natural. Though another person hadn't shared his bed since Lisa.
He constantly longs to fill that hole. It makes him jumpy at night. He can't sleep for hours sometimes, imagining what it would be like to have someone with him. To have someone to come home to.
He spends hours in the library now instead, reading up on the lore. Even if there is nothing on Amara, he can learn more about other things. He can occupy his mind. He can erase his consciousness of any thought of her and their weird bond. Ground himself.
He stumbles back to his bedroom eventually, eyes half-lidded and feet shuffling heavily.
Tonight, he finds Cas sitting on the edge of his bed. He frowns slightly at the angel, taking in his button up, tie, and dress slacks. Castiel's hands sit in his lap as he looks around the room. When he senses Dean, he jumps and stands up.
"I'm sorry, Dean! I came to see if you were still awake and became curious."
Dean smiles. "Don't get your feathers all ruffled, Cas. It's fine. Nothing special in here though."
The angel frowns at the expression the hunter uses, but stays standing in the middle of Dean's bedroom. Sleep deprivation scrambling his thought process, Dean thinks nothing of passing by the angel to get to his dresser. He pulls his flannel off his shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Cas's eyes widen when the hunter tugs his t-shirt off his head and wiggles out of his jeans. The hunter stretches in his boxers and Cas freezes.
Castiel had seen Dean naked before, had pieced every one of his cells back together. But that was a mission- a holy one, but still a mission. Now, Cas blushes. He can't seem to look away as Dean pulls out a worn Metallica shirt and slips it on. He smiles at Cas when he turns back around to crawl into bed.
"Something wrong?" the hunter asks, eyes searching his best friend's. There's something tense about him, making him stand hunched around himself. Like he's trying to keep himself from spilling out of his body.
The angel stares at his charge, lips parted in surprised. He looks at the wall above Dean's head for a second before shaking his head. "I am restless. With my grace back I don't need sleep, but the silent time while you and Sam are asleep makes me anxious."
Nodding his head, Dean burrows under his covers and yawns.
"I got the same way my first week as a demon," Dean admits, yawning again. "Not having to sleep screwed with my internal clock. I tried to push through, but eventually started lying in bed again, even sleeping sometimes."
A heavy silence envelopes both angel and hunter. It's not cold, but warm with understanding and shared feelings. Dean hums, stretching his legs out under the blankets. As seconds pass by without another word spoken, Dean opens his eyes to see if Castiel is still there. Cas hangs his head, shoulders slumped as he stands at the foot of the bed. The hunter's chest pangs, heart attempting to break out his ribcage.
Clearing his throat, Dean gets the angel to look at him, an eye brow raised in curiosity. A tan hand pats the empty space, a soft smile on Dean's lips. Cas hadn't seen Dean look so at ease in months and couldn't help but smile back as he steps forward.
He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sure, Dean? I can go to my room…"
Castiel hopes his voice doesn't betray his own reluctance to be alone again as he waits for Dean's answer. When the hunter shakes his head, patting the bed again, he sighs. He slowly sits on the edge of bed, giving Dean time to change his mind. Instead of rejection, he hears Dean scoff.
"Cas, for Christ's sake, you can't sleep in that. You know that."
Cas meets Dean's eyes, lips parted to make an excuse about being alright despite his past preferences. The green is soft and hazy, surprising the angel. He'd never seen Dean's eyes look like that, like the gardens in Heaven. He's shocked into silence, still staring.
The hunter huffs, poking Castiel's side. "Get the stick out of your ass. You can't relax if you're not comfortable."
Laughing quietly, Castiel nods. He begins working at the buttons of his shirt, watching as his own skin reveals itself button by button. The chilly air coaxes his skin into goosebumps that cover his back. Dean lightly traces the tense muscles, making Cas jump. Dean giggles, pulling his hand away and yawning again. His body rocks slightly as he gets more comfortable and closes his eyes. His words are slurred when he says, ""ere's shirts in my 'resser. You can use one if yer 'old."
Castiel stands, smiling down at his charge. He opens the first drawer of the dresser, pulling out a plain black t-shirt and putting it on. The fabric is soft and smells like Dean, nothing like his course dress shirt. Hesitating for a second, Cas looks over his shoulder before unbuttoning his pants. Dean lies on the bed, rolled onto his side with his eyes closed. The angel swiftly takes off the pants, folding them and putting them on top of the dresser with his shirt. He shuffles to the bed, staring down at the covers as he contemplates whether he should lie on top of them or under them. While he would enjoy the warmth, he doesn't want Dean to be uncomfortable due to their proximity.
Dean smiles at his angel, pulling down the covers for him. Castiel smiles back, settling underneath the sheets and comforter. He rests on his side, facing Dean. Instantly, he feels calmer. Days of work, of using his grace, catch up to him. It pulls at his mind, makes his eyes heavy. Dean's hand pats the top of his, then stays there, a warm touch lulling him farther into sleep.
"Thank you, Dean," he whispers.
"'ight, Cas," Dean replies, face slack as he drifts to sleep. Castiel turns his hand over, lightly gripping the hunter's as he closes his eyes.
Dean sighs contentedly in his sleep. He'd finally filled that hole.