The Prompt: Dean complains that Cas is away too often so Cas leaves him a stuffed doll of himself to keep Dean company while he's away.
The Drabble:
Dean knew the battle for Heaven was important, really he did. That didn't mean he had to like it. It put Castiel in danger. It took him away from Dean. It was hurting his angel in all kinds of ways and Dean hated that he was useless to help. That he couldn't be there and support his lover.
So, he tried to be understanding. Rather than demanding Castiel get his feathery ass down to Earth he would pray to him and tell him things - how his day went, how Sam was doing, what their hunt of the week was. He would tell Castiel that he missed him and wonder aloud when the angel would be around next. He always finished with something along the lines of "And you better be careful, Cas. Don't you dare let that asshole Raphael get the better of you."
Sometimes Castiel would appear beside Dean, all ruffled hair and blue eyes. They'd kiss, they'd have (very rushed but very good) sex, and Dean would fall asleep curled against Castiel. The angel would always be gone before Dean awoke, but he never left before Dean fell asleep.
Other nights Dean was left with silence and his thoughts. He would be left to worry and thank about if Castiel was alive or not. This was one of those nights.
He never told Sam about his prayers. The soulless bastard would only laugh at him.
That left Dean laying on top of the crappy motel bed staring at the water-stained ceiling as he finished telling Castiel not to die on him. The nights where he got no reply were always the hardest. They always served to remind him of why you should never get close to someone in the business. They were never safe and you knew it. Worrying through you off your game. He knew he shouldn't be letting this happen, but he also knew he didn't have it in him to call it off.
"Don't you dare die, Cas. And feel free to get your feathery ass down here whenever," he griped into the darkness. It came out sharper than he intended it to, but it had been well over a week since Dean had heard anything from the angel and he didn't like what that could mean. Dean waited to hear the tell-tale sound of wings.
Silence.
With a huff he pulled the thing blankets up and prepared to try and sleep. He was sure he wouldn't get much, but he had to try. He rolled over and closed his eyes.
No sooner had he done so when something small and soft fell onto his head. Dean shot up in his bed and grabbed the offending object, suddenly alert and ready for a fight. He calmed when he looked at the had hit him.
In his hand was a small plushie version of Castiel - trenchcoat and messed hair included. It was oddly warm, as if it had been sitting by a fire or in the arms of an affectionate child just seconds ago. Bright, blue button eyes stared up at him with a serious expression that was so very Castiel. It looked about ready to lecture him on the importance of the war in Heaven and Dean couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled up inside of him. There was a note pinned to the stuffed-Cas' chest and Dean opened it.
Dean, I am well. I have been hearing your prayers but the war has been demanding nearly all of my attention. I hope this is enough to assuage your worries. Inside the doll is one of my feathers. I am sure you have noticed the doll's unusual warmth. So long as the doll stays warm I am alive. I will see you as soon as I am able.
Dean rolled his eyes upwards. "That's so not funny, Cas!" He was a grown ass man and his angel boyfriend had just given him a stuffed doll version of said angel boyfriend. It was weird and not a little bit creepy.
With one last muttered prayer towards Castiel about weird gifts Dean rolled back over, doll tucked securely in the crook of his arm, radiating warmth.
