Sunshine wakes him, warms him. The sight of one squinty impossibly blue eye warms him, the glow of love as powerful as the Milky Way's brightest star.
"I dreamed you were my guardian angel." Dean's morning voice is as graveled as his husband's is all day long. "You had wings and everything."
A snort and the sparkling eye with crinkled corners, indications of overused non-verbal amusement, closes again.
Abandoning the cocoon of plush linens and warmth to relieve morning bladder, Dean passes photographs in wooden frames. Sam, proud and handsome, holding Jessica, round and glowing. Mary and Dean, lips smeared red and cheeks pie-filled but smiling.
In his absence the blue eye opens fully, worriedly. Humans can be so perceptive. Assuring himself that Winchester pride will trump the warnings of the subconscious, Castiel returns to sleep, one arm reaching out to Dean's side of the bed, feeling the warmth.