Safe and Sound
I remember tears streaming down your face
When I said, I'll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your light
I remember you said, don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed
Tonight
"Cas. Cas, you awake?"
There's no answer. Castiel's sleeping. For the first time in almost four days his breath has evened out in deep and dreamless sleep, and there are no tears in flickering eyes and no nervous twitching in pale hands. He is snuggled tightly against Dean's chest, a dead weight in his embrace. He should probably wake the ex-angel, take him to bed. Lying this way on the couch, Dean's head and shoulders braced against the armrest, legs dangling off of the side and Cas on top of him, will surely result in sore backs in the morning. But he cannot bring himself to rouse the angel from his slumber. Not when he looks so peaceful. Not now that he's finally stopped walking around the bunker restlessly, whispering the names of fallen angels when he thinks Dean can't hear him.
Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
Up until now he hadn't said a word when the brothers were around. Dean suspects it was because he didn't want to hurt them. The night of their return to the bunker after not having closed the gates of Hell and not having stopped Metatron's crazy pursuit advanced in absolute silence. They were all completely taxed out, exhausted from solving riddles and surviving tasks and listening to Crowley's excessive whining, so it didn't exactly occur to any of them to discuss what had happened. They'd just gone to bed, each in their separate rooms, waiting and hoping for something better. The next day Dean and Sam started doing idle chit-chat, still leaving Cas to himself without letting him feel deserted. They'd come visit him in his room, not saying anything, just leaving plates of food, a towel and clean clothes, all the while not looking at him, afraid of the emptiness in those dull eyes. At night he would scream, wordless sounds of terror, whimpers and "Father!" and broken sobs. And Dean could do nothing.
Don't you dare look out your window
Darling, everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold onto this lullaby
Even when the music's gone, gone
Around the third day, marked with yet another lack of appearance from Cas in the main room, they started growing worried. They'd check on him, make sure he hadn't fled ("Sammy, where would he go?") and around midday they managed to get him to leave his bed. Dean cooked him spaghetti and Sam tried to coax him into speaking, but to no avail. At first they tried asking him casual questions – "how are you feeling?", "any idea about how we go about finding the angels, Cas?", "what'd you like to have for dinner?" ("Gimme something, Cas, please. Anything") – but found out that he only responded to simple "yes"-or-"no" questions, and only with little nods or shakes of his head. Then they stopped trying to engage him in conversation and resolved to give him commands. Not orders (he'd had to many of those), just gentle instructions, like making him come watch Star Wars with them or Dean persuading him into a silent game of chess. But though he had joined them and went along with whatever they asked of him, he still wouldn't meet their eyes. At day Dean missed the sound of Cas, but when lying in bed at night, listening to the wrecked cries through the wall separating their rooms, he wished it would just stop.
Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
But today is better.
"Dean?" a thin voice, rough and raspy and heavy with sleep, says his name like a blessing, like that word contains the only thing that keeps his heart beating, "Dean."
A small smile slips across Dean's face, fleeting but there as he mutters, "yeah. Yeah, Cas, I'm here".
"Did I fall asleep?" there's a slight edge of panic in his words, like he isn't allowed to do so. There's also a hushed kind of wonder. Sleeping is new to him. New and strange and human.
Dean nods, and his left hand, the one that has been resting lightly on the small of Castiel's back, starts working soothing circles into the fabric of his sweatshirt. The one he's borrowed from Dean. They'll have to get him some stuff of his own soon. But for now, on the fourth day since the world fell apart, Dean is content with just having Cas close to him and listening to the comforting whispers in his ears.
"You did. But you're good now." His eyes are stinging and wet, cus even though Cas started speaking once again this morning, asking for pancakes in his usual raw baritone, and though they have had several talks since then, his heart still aches at the sound. "You're good, Love". The word is foreign and tastes funny in his mouth, but it's a good kind of funny.
Just close your eyes
You'll be alright
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
He presses his lips against Cas' forehead gingerly, and nothing has felt more right in years. A few tears slip down his cheeks and he is too tired to feel embarrassed about them.
"Are you well, Dean?"
"I'm fine."
"Can we sleep some more now, please?" Cas ask, looking at him with sea-blue eyes and the hint of a smile tugged into the corner of his mouth before dropping his head back onto Dean's chest. His breath is warm against Dean's collarbone and his heart beats a steady rhythm perfectly in sync with Dean's own.
"Yeah" he agrees, "I'd like that". He lies back and closes his eyes and knows that when the light of dawn comes on the fifth day, Cas will be there to bid him a good morning.