"Cas."
Castiel shudders. Dean is calling to him. Not that uncommon an occurrence, but there is a hitch in Dean's breath, and he sounds terrified. Whatever it is, Dean can handle it himself. He always does. "Castiel, please." Dean begs, and the sob behind it is unavoidable.
There is a rustle of wings, and a faint tremor in time, and Castiel is standing in the kitchen of a dingy motel room. He hesitates, sees a note on the fridge. Dean, going to the library to research Dullahans. Be back in a few hours. So Sam's not here. Perhaps Dean was being attacked by more 'dullahans' than he could handle.
Getting in over his head is to be expected from Castiel's righteous man, and jumping in to save him is only natural from Dean's angel. He might have denied it in the past, but Castiel can no longer ignore the fact that they belong to each other. Why else would he be here, willing to do whatever it took the protect Dean Winchester?
Castiel ventures darker into the dimly lit room. He finds Dean, pale and trembling , writhing on the bed. Fear is rolling of him in waves and his breathing comes in understands then that whatever monster Dean is fighting, is spun of terror and regret, not flesh and blood.
Castiel would face anything for Dean, but even angels can't stop nightmares. There is nothing he can do but let Dean fight this battle himself. Still, irrationally,Castiel lingers. He doesn't want to watch his best friend like this, but he can't leave him alone.
So he watches the way the light ghosts across Dean's bare back, the muscles pulling taught in eyes follow the curve of Dean's shoulder along his strong jaw, up into his dark lashes. Finally they settle on the man's lips. Dean Winchester is beautiful, Castiel thinks. It is not the first time.
He finds himself ghosting across the room, slipping in beside the trembling hunter. He wraps his arms around Dean, feels a shudder go through the man's body. Castiel extends his wings, blocking out the flickering motel lights, and wraps both of them up inside them. Slowly, as Castiel cards his fingers through the older Winchester's hair, the last of the tension slips from Dean's shoulders.
Castiel holds him tighter, as light dawns through the curtains, casting bars of gold across Dean's back and Castiel's feathers. The sound of the Impala's engine rumbles outside, and Castiel can feel Sam's presence, knows it is time to leave. He leaves a brush of Heaven on Dean's lips before he can stop himself, and disappears.
When Dean Winchester wakes up, he hears the frantic typing of his brother's fingers on the keyboard and smells a faint hint of ozone. When he licks his dry lips, he is surprised to find they taste of salt, apple pie, and the Angel of Thursday.
"Cas?"