"What has the harvest to hope for, but the care of the reaper man?" - DEATH of Discworld, as recorded by the Prophet Terry

...

Sam woke when the sunlight came peeking through the curtains. Like Dean, he didn't sleep well these days. No one seemed to be around. He went to take a shower.

Afterwards, he went see if there was anything to eat. Crowley was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. Without looking up he scooted over to give Sam room.

"Morning," Sam murmured.

"Hi, Ssssam."

"Did you - did you just hiss at me?"

Crowley coughed and put the newspaper away. "My sshell is weakening. I ussed to be allowed my own cussstom body, like Aziraphale, but sssince my demotion I've been sstuck in a sseries of fragile oness." He lowered his sunglasses, revealing golden eyes with slit pupils. "Old traitssss."

Sam shrugged and rummaged through the nearest drawer. "Sorry. Anything I can do to help?"

"There'ssss oatmeal in the cupboard, by the way. You could give me a little of your blood, if you wissssh, ssssince you have the right combo of demonic and divine. Lucifer'ssss preferred vessel. It would help me hold together a little longer. I don't want to worry Aziraphale."

"Um..."

"You don't have to. I would help with the nightmaressss, though, no sssoul forfeited, as thankssss."

After a pause of consideration, with Sam reflecting on his dreams the previous night, he nodded slightly. "What do I do?"

"Come here." Crowley patted the chair next to him. Once Sam was close enough, Crowley put a hand on either side of his head, leaned in, and bit Sam's lower lip with sharp teeth.

"Ow!"

"Sssorry. Besst way." And they kissed, Crowley latching onto Sam's lip and sucking. While this was not an unmixed pleasure, Sam had to admit Crowley was an excellent kisser, which made sense given all the experience he'd had.

"You look like you're getting into it," a soft, initially unfamiliar voice said.

"Well, you know how it is," Crowley said after letting Sam go. His eyes looked normal again. "Humans get curious. Zira doesn't mind as long as I don't go below the belt with anyone but him."

Sam looked at what he first thought was Cas and blinked. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy forlornly waved. "Aziraphale insisted on showing Dean and I his collection of rare Bibles with mistakes in them, including the one that accidentally says, 'Thou shalt commit adultery.' Then Dean made the mistake of asking about his other religious texts. I ducked out to go to the bathroom. You might want to rescue your brother."

"If you could not mention what you saw..." Sam began, rising to his feet.

"I've got bigger things on my mind, seriously, and besides, I think I've only got about ten minutes before Castiel comes back. I can feel him waking up."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take a shower. Might be the last time I get to for a while."

...

Dean was digging into an apple pie - not a piece, the whole pie - when he heard the faint rustle of wings. "So you're back, Cas?"

"Yes." Castiel stood by the window, parting the curtains and gazing at the city outside. His hair was damp and tousled, his blue eyes large. "Sam and Crowley are playing a card game in the library. My brother has gone out on an errand."

"What do you think of him?"

"Grateful but perplexed. Perhaps a little envious. He seems comfortable as himself in a way I no longer know." Castiel stood in silence for a while. Dean waited, eating. Eventually Castiel continued, "I miss my Father."

"At least you know He's still alive. Probably."

Castiel played with the curtain sash. "May I ask a favor of you?"

"Depends what it is." Suddenly they were in the bedroom. Sitting on the bed. Castiel peeled off his coat and placed it on the floor. "What exactly..."

Castiel loosened his tie. "Nothing carnal. Don't worry."

"Uh, okay." He felt the handprint on his shoulder tingle as Catiel touched it. "I'm not sure where this is going."

Lying down with a long exhale, Castiel said, "Just stay here with me, please."

"I don't -"

"Please. Stay." Castiel shut his eyes, his face blank.

Dean stared for a long moment. Then he lay down beside his guardian, putting an arm over him and stroking the angel's hair with his free hand. "I'd rather you didn't tell Sam about this, you cute bastard."

...

"Anyone ever tell you you're a fuddy-duddy, Zira?"

"I'm pretty sure everyone does."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a sexy fuddy-duddy?"

"You. Incessantly." Aziraphale booped Crowley's nose with his index finger.

"Trying to read, guys," Sam complained, trying not to look at two intertwined against one of the bookcases.

"You could join us if you wanted," Crowley suggested.

"No thanks. Not my style."

The fallen angel winked. "You're chewing your lip again, boy."

Aziraphale slipped away from his partner. "Dear, be kind."

"It's not in my nature. It's not even really supposed to be in yours."

"Neither is eating sushi at the Ritz. Or feeding ducks at the park. Or having drunk conversations about dolphins." Aziraphale plucked a paperback from the shelf, incongruous among the leather bound tomes. "You may like this one, Sam. I tracked down the prophets who managed to get the most accurate story about the previous averted apocalypse, even though it was wiped from the memory of most of Creation."

Sam thanked Aziraphale with a slight smile, opening it to the cover page. "Good Omens. Nice title."