3:22 AM
It shouldn't be bothering him. Seriously. It's not like Cas is keeping him awake – he's having the opposite effect, in fact. Normally he has Dean promptly meeting Mr. Sandman and is out like a bear for the winter, that is until Sam knocks on the door at some god forsaken early hour of the morning neighing like the damn Clydesdale he is: "Hey Dean! So get this, I found out some new info on..." and he would continue like this, educating his brother through the door until he was sure Dean got the point to rise and shine. Cas would agree with the gargantuan horse, saying that many doings need to be accomplished that day (and whatever doings they might be, they will not be simple) and the sooner they do them the more time he has to prepare for the next day. Dean would grumble into his pillow, look at the clock, grumble again, call Cas a traitor and hoarsely yell at Sam to shut up.
Every morning, like clockwork.
Maybe he slept too well. The deep sleep that claimed him while in Cas' presence allowed him to lower his guard, to close both eyes instead of leaving one open ready for whatever demon or spook of the week decided that disturbing Dean or his brother during sleeping hours was any better than during waking hours. Having such a sweet yet immensely powerful being beside him in such a vulnerable position made it possible to relax, even if just for a little while. This was not necessarily the best habit to fall into as a hunter but his excuse was that bunker time equals happy time, to hell with unwritten protocol, he had a bed now and he was going to use it.
Regretfully, Dean can not see into the future. He never expected to have another body lying along side him, Castiel at that, but it happened. The agreement was Cas could stay as long as he turned the other way, facing away from Dean. In the bed or along side it, still as a marble statue, staring holes into Dean gave him the heebie-jeebies and made it rather impossible to sleep. For some weeks this deal worked out too, Dean enjoying sharing a bed once again and Cas just happy to be close. But it continued to be all wrong, as the Winchester felt tonight. Beds were meant to be slept in. Well, that and sex, but tonight it's sleep. Cas should be catching the midnight train to Unconscious with him. Instead, he was staring holes in the wall he imagined was Dean. If building material could feel violated, this wall would be covering itself up with a towel and squealing for the man to turn around or blink or something.
How Dean tried to find a means of getting his perpetually alert boyfriend to relax. Rubbing circles on his back; forcing Cas into a hot shower despite the sound argument of "I do not need to shower, I'm an angel"; getting Cas drunk which was a dismal failure as the boys ran out of beer after 13 bottles; Sam teasingly suggesting that Jimmy seemed like the type of guy to drink warm milk before bed, underestimating Dean's all-consuming determination. Inconsiderate of Cas' displeasure with the taste, he forced him to drink the cup down, yielding no positive results.
Sex was always an option and normally would have been the first option, but Dean was still feeling... apprehensive.
One problem at a time.
On the other side of the bed Castiel noticed that Dean's breathing had not steadied and he occasionally sighed or made a hum of contemplation. Worried that the human would not get his self-prescribed 4 hours, leading to a very ornery and grumpy significant other, he decided now was the best time to speak up and get some grasp on Dean's trouble.
"Am I keeping you awake?"
"Nah." Dean reconsidered. "Actually, yes you are. You're not sleeping."
Although Dean could not see, Cas squinted in confusion. "My wakefulness is keeping you from sleeping? I'm facing away from you like you asked."
"That's not the..." Dean turned over onto his other side to face Cas. After several moments of silence and not taking the unspoken cue to do the same, he gently shoved his shoulder.
"Would you like me to leave?"
"I didn't mean–!" Deep calming breaths. He knows not what he does. Dean signed. "Just turn around, would you?"
Dean could not see it in the near-pitch black of his room, save for the red glow of the alarm clock, he felt the angel shift, his knees accidentally knocking into Dean's.
"Ah. Sorry about that," he replied gruffly, his apology sounding no different than a statement. "Would you like me to leave?"
"No Cas, I don't want you to leave," he muttered into his pillow, hoping to suffocate himself before he suffocated Castiel with it. "Just listen for a second. I can't sleep because you're awake."
"I do not understand why this is a problem."
"I don't understand it too much either," Dean admitted, left foot beginning to fidget. "Beds are meant for sleeping, I guess, and it's something you can't or won't do because if I didn't try damn near everything to get you to catch some Z's. But there you are, laying there because I want you to."
Cas shook his head. "That's not so. It was my decision to be here with you; you are not the only one who benefits."
"Suppose it is a little nicer than being on bedside patrol."
"It is."
"But that's what I mean! Sleeping would be so much nicer." Did that sound like a whine? Why in the hell was he whining? Good thing Cas more than likely didn't catch that. (He did.) Hoping to validate his male card again after being caught dead to rights, Dean continued more sharply. "You're here, may as well enjoy the perks."
"But we have tried. Save from knocking me unconscious somehow, and we both do not prefer a method that uses spells" –Dean agreed– "it is not possible."
Dean presented his tarnished male club membership card to the lodge leader and asked him to put it in a paper shredder. This is it. After this, there's no return to the club. He might as well give up the beer, give up the car and the porno and loaded dice and the guns and the greatest collection of music ever assembled by a human no matter what Sam says. There was no going back, for this was Dean's ace in the hole.
"Well, there is one thing I've held back. God I wish I didn't have to do this, but it's all I got left." He cupped Cas's cheek and said with all the conviction and finality he could muster, "You have to promise me that what is about to transpire right now will not leave this room. No mention of it, no jokes, no hidden camera footage, no journal entries, no anything. I'd threaten you with something," he chuckled, "but what the hell can I threaten you with? Best I can manage is send you away on a trip to the other side of the planet but like cute little kicked puppy dog, you'd find your way back home."
"This is not the first time I have heard this kicked puppy analogy being a reference to me. How am I like a dog?"
"Focus here, Cassy! Now promise me, zip, nada, nothing leaves this room. Even after I'm dead and you feel like gossiping to some angel buddies of yours while you get your feathers preened. Comprende?"
"I capiche," replied Cas, a little to sardonically for Dean's liking.
"I'm serious as a coronary, babe."
"Dean..."
He sighed. "OK, OK, you won't tell. 'Course you won't tell." Dean flipped over onto his back, mumbling "Showed him," which made Cas smile. That was a part of Dean's charm. Being so small, so weak and flawed yet had the resolve and fearlessness of someone more powerful. In the end it more often than not lead to the most thorough of ass-kickings, but in situations like this, when the threat of death is a few yards away rather than the normal foot, it was precious. Dean was much like a cat hissing and pawing at a dog twice its size.
Castiel wondered if this dog analogy was similar to the other dog analogy. Maybe he would ask later.
"Well, um, I'm gonna need you to, uh, scooch a little closer to me. Like real close." Castiel obliged and wiggled to close what was already a miniscule gap between him and Dean. "Now you should, I can't believe I'm saying this you better not tell anyone, put your head on my chest."
There was no movement for only a short while as Cas contemplated why Dean had such difficulty saying something as simple as that, but he deferred it to Dean's tumultuous heterosexual consternation and let it pass for his sake. Cas placed his head as he was told, right on the anti-posession tattoo. He began to wonder:
"Should I be asleep now?"
Dean snaked his left arm under Cas's shoulder and pulled him closer. "Slow your role. What did I tell you about patience, Cas?"
"'Be patient, Cas?'" he answered, mimicking Dean's voice.
The Winchester barked a laugh, forgetting how sassy his otherwise gullible angel could be. Not that it didn't stop him from pinching Cas' lips together with his free hand. "No smart-assing in bed. That's a purely daytime activity. Now hush up, I'm gonna wax nostalgic on ya."
Castiel wiggled his jaw back and forth to test how determined Dean was to keep him quiet until he was finished waxing nostalgic. Waxing... Would there be waxing? A sensation cannot be personified, how can it be waxed? How was he expected to sleep if Dean was speaking? Why was he allowing Dean to silence him? Why was this position so... comforting?
"Is it safe to unclamp you?"
Cas hummed in the positive. Truly, the urge to "smart-ass" or speak at all drained from him. Right now he would listen even if he wasn't particularly interested in the words that were spoken. His bare legs were tangled in Dean's and it was so perfectly satisfying. Not even Dean seemed to care.
Dean drew his hand away. "OK then. I guess like every other person on the planet, I have a hard time sleeping too, but it was especially bad as a kid. Had a lot of shit to keep me up back then, but this was before I was young enough to solve problems with excessive amounts of cheap booze. Taking care of Sammy, thinking about mom, moving to yet another state, watching myself slowly turning into my god damn father."
The head on his chest turned up to look at him. Cas didn't say anything, but the movement was enough to draw Dean back to himself. He sniffed. "Sorry 'bout that. Straying off the course. But anyway," he recovered. "Sometimes I'd have to try everything in the book too to get my ass to sleep; some nights called for different methods, others nothing would work. One thing we haven't tried yet for you is music. I haven't mentioned it because I know how much you detest my record collection."
"It is rather detestable."
"Please tell me you're grinning or have your fingers crossed when you say something like that."
"...I am."
"My sweet baby," he mocked a sniffle, "he's such a good liar for me. Pretty soon he's going to be bouncing checks and hustling poker and running pyramid schemes like the big boys!"
"Continue with your remedy, Dean," Cas softly threatened.
"You keep making me go off track! With your sass mouth and mockery of musical perfection... Anyway. You're picky about music, right? Well, I got something that's simple enough for you. You can't find anything to complain about because you're listening to it right now."
Cas pondered for a moment. "Your voice?"
"What, like me singing for you? Dear god no. You've heard me singing in the shower, right? Belt out a little 'Run For The Hills' and everybody runs for the hills." Dean was not the type of man to admit shortcomings, although carrying a tune was one he unquestionably and gracefully admitted. Everything else? He was perfection and let no one tell you otherwise. "Guess again."
What other sound is there other than silence? Castiel's eyes darted around the room in attempt at grasping some hint. More guns mounted on walls than regular human beings have seen in an entire lifetime. Shirts and socks and pants tossed about the room like a wild animal ripped them off their bodies. A typewriter collecting dust (the vehicle of the future Dean Winchester autobiography Killing Demons and Self-Loathing: The Family Business). A photograph of Mary and Dean which Cas had stared at for a total of 2 hours and would more the likely stare at for 2 hours more. If that was not able to put him to sleep he presumed that nothing would, but this did not answer Dean's riddle.
"Come on, man, you should get this. It has a good beat."
"..."
"Beat?"
"..."
"Holy shit Cas, really? Beat? Your head is right over it?"
His head was on Dean's chest, the marked ribs encasing the lungs and heart. As far as he knew, the lungs did not make much noise unless they were filled with a liquid which meant that a human was very ill or about to die. Dean did not seem to be in the throes of death, so that was not it. So that only left the heart.
"Heart... Your beating heart. I understand now."
Is it still to late to suffocate him with a pillow? Dean thought to himself exasperatedly. Why did Cas sound so proud of himself, like a answered a $1000 question on Jeopardy! correctly? "Remind me, if we ever come across a troll guarding a bridge, let me answer the questions, OK? But yeah, that's what I was getting at."
"How is this supposed to help me?" Cas asked with genuine inquisitiveness.
"Chicks apparently love it when they fall asleep listening to their man's heartbeat. It's tender and romantic or some crap like that. The heart keeps the rhythm like a bass drum so it is like music, without the guitar solos and screeching vocals. Besides, anything is worth a shot at this point."
Castiel lifted his head up to look at Dean. Details could not be made out, but he knew he was looking at Dean's eyes. "You truly wish this for me. Why?"
"Well," Dean managed to get out, becoming timid under Cas's glance. "I, I want you to relax a little. You're always keeping vigil over me and Sam but right now you're in bed with me. This should be your off-hours. If we're all in a position where sleep is possible, we should take it. I dunno. I just... want you to. Alright? Sound good enough?"
"Yes, Dean. That will do."
Dean nodded ever-so slightly and used his free hand to press Cas' head gingerly back onto him. "What we're both going to do now is shut our pie holes while you close your eyes and focus on not focusing. Just listen to my heartbeat, OK?"
"I will try."
Dean paused momentarily trying to decide whether or not to say something, but in the end he blurted it out.
"I hope it works."
The mission was well underway by then. Eyes glued shut and head pressed so close to Dean his chest might cave in, Castiel waited and listened. He would not tell Dean he thought this scheme to be asinine, that something as simplistic and childish as this could not render a creature such as himself to sleep. But he did not have the heart to deny Dean this act of compliance, either, for lately the man had not asked much of him. No blood-lettings and trips to the ends of the earth for ritual materials, no unnecessary teleportation. The teasing was still unrelenting, but Cas had long since come to terms that it was how both boys showed camaraderie and affection. He was still getting the knack for dishing out the verbal abuse rather than suffer alone. Insults in the language he had been created knowing did not translate well into English. More to learn, more trials to test his patience.
Futile attempts at normalcy they may be, he would still try for Dean's sake. He was willing to try anything to make his human more at ease with him. The way Cas knew things could be if certain circumstances were different. Perhaps this is something he could teach Dean in the future, to stop holding back emotions or thoughts for whatever reason he feels compelled to bury them. It is not his desire to change the very core of who Dean Winchester is because that is the man whom he saved and the man whom he came to love, but much like he wanted Cas to relax, Cas wanted Dean to untie his tongue. Not permanently... In the safety of a bedroom or car, maybe.
This was not what Dean wanted from him. He was supposed to be quiet, in voice and mind. Dean once again became his center.
Five minutes later Dean asked, becoming more drowsy by the second, "Sleepin' yet?"
"I too have trouble tuning out my conscious mind," Cas said meekly. "Many memories... thoughts... that I do not like being reminded of."
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Dean ran his hand through Cas's hair slower than he intended, forgetting just how silky soft it was. Either Jimmy had superb genetics or Cas was secretly using Sammy's conditioner. "Just let it happen because we can't stop 'em. We've been through too much crap for breathing exercises and yoga to cure our ills. Just come back to me, 'K?"
Cas nodded into Dean's hand and exhaled, tossing an arm over Dean's waist. Dean did not notice as sleep finally took him.
5:11 AM
Dean awoke with a snort remembering to check up on Castiel. There wasn't a message from a dream, not really, only that little start you get when you recall with a brilliant flash that you left the stove on at home or that devil's trap may or may not have a hairline fracture in it.
He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and checked the time on the clock. Two hours, huh? Even if Cas were not able to succeed in passing out, he'd lay there until Dean woke up, in the same position like he did everyday. Patience running dry an hour and forty minutes ago he was quite sure, Cas probably gave up and settled for wall gazing. Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask.
"Hey Cas?"
No reply.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cas? You awake?"
Again, no reply.
No way. The bastard did it? He finally found a way to make the smart-ass silent on a momentary basis? Dean resisted shaking him to confirm this as he did not know if angels were notoriously light sleepers or not. This moment was not going to be fudged on his behalf.
Unfortunately he could not reach the light switch to observe the fruits of his labor but instead raised a celebratory fist in the air before joining Cas instantaneously.