I'm sorry. I should be working on my ROTG fic, but when the muse calls, she calls.
(That's barely an excuse, really. I'm actually really sorry.)
This is neoneco, live from the Comfy Chair.
When Dean wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering from the damp sweat coating his sheets, Castiel is sitting dociley at the side of his bed. The angel's back is rigidly straight, and he's perched on the very edge of his standard motel room chair.
Dean thinks Castiel shouldn't be sitting on that chair. It probably has diseases.
"You've been having trouble sleeping," Castiel intones, his head quirking slightly to the side and his stiff shoulders hunching. His eyes are watching Dean avidly. They have been since Dean had fallen asleep.
Dean feels too tired to snark at the angel for his obvious and unnecessary comment, because of course he would be feeling a bit loopy after goddamn HELL, Cas. He lays in silence and tries to adjust his breathing to correspond with Sam's rumbled snores.
After what feels like hours, but isn't, of trying to trick his brain into relaxing enough for sleep, Dean re-opens his eyes to see Castiel, sitting just as serenely as before. Like he was merely observing the hours between night and day, and patiently waiting for it to end and the next day to start.
"Don't you have some place more important to be right now?" Dean snaps, his deprivation of sleep quite negatively affecting his tolerance of socially oblivious angels.
"Yes," Castiel says, making no move to abandon his vigilant post.
The 'though I'd rather stay here with you' goes unsaid.