It had been a long night.
Dean and Cas climbed, battered, bruised, bloody, and broken in through their motel room door. Sam had been very badly injured and fell unconscious in the car before Cas could heal him. Neither Cas nor Dean wanted to carry Sam in, they also thought sleep would do him some good, so they left him sleeping in the backseat of the Impala. Dean sat down on his bed, the nasty gash on his arm stinging, his blood still leaking from the flaps of skin on either side.
(I hate witches.) Dean grumbled inwardly.
This one in particular had been very hard to gank. The witch masquerading as an innocent housewife had employed her entire set of kitchen cutlery against the hunters and the angel.
(Stupid woman could hardly hit us, even when she was using her spells.) Dean smirked triumphantly.
Cas sat down next to Dean, his light blue eyes showing his concern. He lifted Dean's arm up gingerly and moment later all the pain was erased and the feculent wound had been returned to clear, smooth skin.
"Thanks"
"You're welcome Dean."
"I'm just happy that we stopped her." Dean sighed. "That bitch was just a couple fries short of a happy meal."
(I certainly don't feel satisfied.) Reflected Cas. (We just killed a woman, even if she did deserve it.)
Cas reached up over Dean's bed and switched off the old motel lamp hanging on the poorly wallpapered plaster.
The angel stood in the darkness, a wave of sudden, inescapable loneliness crashed over him. He was used to the feeling however, it happened pretty often.
He strode over to the moldering old armchair in the corner, taking care not to step on the boy's bags or the disgusting looking, suspiciously blood colored stain on the decades old carpet.
The angel sat down, the chair letting out a world weary sigh. Cas sighed too, unable to shake the horrible feeling of isolation.
Dean's breathing was slow, heavy, and relaxed, keeping a soothing rhythm. Cas' breaths sounded dissonant, jarringly loud, and out of sync with his sleeping friend's.
(That witch died alone.) Cas thought.
(No one cared about her...
Maybe that's why she killed those people...)
"No one understands me!" She had shrieked in explanation for the murders she had committed as she attempted to run the Winchesters through with her kitchen knives. "They just didn't get it!"
(No one understood her. She was different...
No one understands ME.) Cas thought.
(NO ONE.
Not even the man sleeping peacefully within 5 feet of him?
Sitting here isn't making me feel much better.) Cas concluded.
The angel lifted himself up out of the chair, his blue eyes downturned, he wrapped his vessel's arms around himself.
(Too close to humans to be a real angel and too unnatural to be quite human.) He reflected.
Dean's dark outline rose and fell with his breathing. Cas walked over to him, he didn't want to be lonely anymore. The isolated angle wanted to be close to someone.
Cas slid down into the too-small-for-two-grown-men bed and without even thinking, as though in some sort of trance, leaned in close to Dean. He could feel the hunter's warmth and wrapped his arms around him. Cas had always liked being close to Dean, but the other man had often reprimanded him for doing so.
He fervently hoped that Dean won't be mad about him being in his personal space. He just wanted to be close to him.
(I hope Dean understands.)
In his sleep Dean grunted and turned to face the angle. Cas, taking this as a sign that the other man didn't mind their closeness, fell asleep with his arms wrapped around the still slightly sweaty hunter.
