There are things in life that Dean has never learned to appreciate as much as he should.
This comes to him one night as he sighs and sags into his nest of freshly laundered pillows, blankets, and sheets. They radiated a warmth- not a gross, damp warmth like the kind he felt whenever he was outside after a good rain, but a crisp, comforting heat that reminded Dean of the simpler times, of the rare summer days he used to enjoy whenever possible.
His muscles slowly began to relax, all the tension drawn out of them by his cocoon of Egyptian cotton, like he was an charge passing on all of his electrons or some scientific, college boy shit like that. Dean closes his eyes, stretches out his legs and curls his toes. A laugh that reflected all the joy he received from such a simple state of comfort bursts from his lips as he buries himself even farther into the fabric, full lips seemingly stuck in a smile for the time being.
When he next opens his eyes, he's not surprised to find that Castiel is there. The angel is observing him quietly with a bemused tilt of his head, and Dean just closes his eyes again and twists his body in just the right way until he was laying not on his side, but on his back.
"This is heaven, Cas," he says with another laugh, head turning to the side, cheek pressing into the sheets, so he was able to lock his gaze onto the dark-haired man.
"This is most certainly not heav-" Castiel starts, but Dean lazily interrupts him with a twirl of one hand, the shadow of a grin on his lips even as he spoke.
"I know- it's a figure of speech. Now shush, I'm trying to enjoy this."
The angel obeys almost instantly, and because of this Dean decides that he will show Cas a little mercy (he's half asleep as he's thinking all this, the edges of his vision growing darker by the minute), so he pats the space beside him on the bed. "Lay down. You'll see," Dean mumbles a few seconds later, mind on other things when it should really be on how much he had to trust Castiel for him to be able to sleep in his presence.
He doesn't expect Castiel to do what he says, he more or less expected him to his angel thing and pop out to find something better to do, but when his body registers the dipping of the mattress and the rustling of the blankets and sheets as the angel settles into bed with him, he's too tired and warm and comfortable to protest so he just rolls over until he's looking right into the angel's eyes.
They're so, so blue, and Dean is preoccupied with fighting sleep so he doesn't care that he is staring. His lips move, neurons firing much too slowly because his brain only realizes everything he's saying moments after it met the air.
"Feels good, don't it?" Dean is smiling again, and he guesses his smile must be contagious or something because he picks up the faint traces of one on Castiel's lips before said lips moved to reply him.
"It does feel nice, yes." And Dean, Dean must have been subconsciously craving some physical contact or something, since he finds his body inching just a bit closer to Castiel. If Castiel notices, he doesn't show it, and Dean thinks that giving into sleep right now would be a good idea.
"Whatever you do, don't leave, Cas. It feels better.. with you laying here, too.." With that final utterance, Dean is fast asleep, stuck in one of his few good dreams where he had all women and apple pie he could ever desire.
Castiel lays there for awhile, watching him until he was sure that Dean was far enough into sleep that it would be safe for him to lean forward and press feather-light kisses over the freckles on Dean's face- freckles that he had placed there when Dean was nothing more than a babe and he was just an angel curious about the human left in his charge.
Dean is still asleep- Castiel would know if he wasn't- but his mouth curls into the tiniest smile in response to the kisses.
Castiel feels his heart ache, and he doesn't know why.