Summary: 'Sleep.' It is all that can be said when he is broken, every last defense falling as his memories overflow like the tears in his eyes. It is the only thing he can give Dean, the only comfort he has to offer from the despair- and it is the greatest gift he can give him.
The lights illuminate the brown motel room briefly, flashing by the shapes of two thin beds, one of which is occupied by a slumped figure. Dried boot tracks make a path from the door to the bathroom, then to the table, then to the small bed by the window. It is silent.
Sam is sitting at the shaky table, leaning back in his chair, a pillow lumped against the back for as much comfort as possible. In his hand is a book; a pencil is stuck haphazardly behind his ear and papers litter the table. Stacks of dusty volumes lie by his chair, some thicker than dictionaries and others thinner than notebooks. His eyes are glued to the pages.
Dean tries very hard to keep his breathing steady, knowing that Sam will jump at the first sign of a problem. He has tried to tell himself everything is fine, but it doesn't work, as usual. This happens, every once in a while, usually after a ordinary job. He will be left with too much free time for his mind and everything locked up there will rattle in its cage.
So Dean lies on his back, glaring at the ceiling, daring the tears to come forth as his eyes burn painfully. Everything is slightly hazy through a film of water, though there's not much for him to look at. A choking sound escapes his throat, his body's desperate attempt to breathe after holding back so many sobs. Sam looks up automatically, brow furrowed.
"Dean?" His brother ignores this, concentrating on breathing evenly, eyes closed in false slumber. Sam doesn't buy it for one minute but knows that this is one of those times- it's one of those things, something he can't heal or help at all.
For some reason, Dean, in all his despair, thinks of one name. He thinks of the name he usually does when he's in trouble, or some sort of fix where there seem to be no answers and the world is working against him.
Cas.
Castiel always seems to be a sign for Dean- a sign that no matter how shitty things are going, or how completely nuts everyone has gone, everything will be fine in the end. Cas is his angel in more ways than one, saving his life and many others' in the process.
A fluttering sound, something like a breeze in the summer and crisp papers and something else, fills the room. It is the sound of angel wings, Dean knows, and it means his savior has come. Cas' footsteps are deliberate and evenly paced, not too fast and not too slow. He is by Dean's side in a moment, hovering over his bed like a shy child, unsure of whether permission has been granted or not.
"Cas," Dean manages to choke out, and even he knows how horrible he sounds. He sounds like everything has broken, and maybe it has, because if not why does his chest- heart- hurt so much? He forgets for once that Sam is nearby, able to see and hear this, and instead finds comfort in his awkward angel, his devoted guardian.
Cas' endlessly blue eyes soften, and his usually tight-set mouth relaxes a moment. Everything about him seems to loosen a little, and Dean thinks for a moment that Cas looks the very picture of an angel right now- he is comforting, kind, understanding and simply there. The angel moves forward, gently pulling Dean's boots off to set them on the floor, guiding the hunter into a sleeping position. His hands are big and warm, surprisingly soft as he brushes them against Dean's forehead and then his eyes.
"Sleep," He says quietly, and Dean can swear he hears the pure love in Cas' voice. A faint smile brushes his lips for a moment before he slips into a peaceful slumber, the pains of the world left behind for once. Cas is still, watching the sleeping man with a hand resting gently on Dean's cheek. After a moment, he smiles vaguely, leaning down to brush his lips gently against Dean's forehead, leaving behind the promise of sweet dreams and a night of undisturbed rest.
They are more than just an angel and his charge or an angel and his human. They are more than just an angel and the hunter who relies on him. They are not just friends. They are two souls that fit each other, compliment each other perfectly, and they are content simply being near each other.
Hey all! I've been so busy lately, but this is something I did a while back. Hope to see you soon and I'll try to write whenever I can!