Dean was clearly exhausted when he stumbled into Castiel's room the following morning. Cas could actually smell the faint scent of beer emanating off of Dean. He realised the hunter must have been drinking into the night, but he couldn't estimate for how long or how many bottles he had consumed. At the very least, Dean seemed mostly capable of walking what was almost a straight line, and he was clearly aware as to why he was there. It seemed like a premeditated decision rather than one made on a drunken whim. Cas sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could feel his hair almost standing on end, probably having tossed back and forth throughout the night; he remembered doing so long before he fell into the clutches of sleep. Yesterday he had gotten far too close to acting upon his desires, and he knew what kind of consequences would have followed had he done so. He couldn't dare risk making such a mistake—another mistake of a different calibre. Only when he felt he had decently reprimanded himself did he close his eyes and sleep.

Once again, his blankets were tangled tightly around his legs, and he wordlessly started to free himself from them whilst Dean's back was turned. Dean fumbled with the stereo, dropping a couple of the tapes he had brought with him to the floor, but he somehow managed to pick them up without falling over. Cas really struggled to ascertain the level of his intoxication. He wasn't sure at what point he should intervene if he even should at all. Finally, Dean fixed the cassette into the stereo and turned the volume down low until Cas could barely hear it at all. Choosing not to argue it, Cas automatically scooted over to one side of his small bed, the same way he always did, but this time Dean paused to pull his shirt off, and then lifted the blankets and clambered under them. Cas, though previously tired, immediately felt very awake.

Dean never, not under any circumstances, got under the covers.

He always protested against the heat in Castiel's room, claiming he was sweating enough as it was just being there, but Cas had always suspected that there may have been something more to it. Something Dean didn't wish to voice, and Cas wouldn't dare pressure him to explain. Now, all previously unspoken aversions disappeared. Dean got comfortable and Cas was highly aware of the skin of Dean's thighs against his own, and Dean's arm pressed flush against his, and Dean's breath hot against his neck. Now that Dean was closer, Cas could more distinctly smell the beer on his breath, though it was mixed with a definite tang of mint toothpaste. Even brushing his teeth hadn't been enough to mask his night of drinking, so Castiel suspected that Dean had most definitely had enough to get suitably drunk.

"Dean?" Cas asked cautiously.

Dean shuffled in closer, his eyes closed and lips parted, almost as though he was already on the verge of sleep. Peering at Dean's watch, Cas realised it was only three in the morning, a couple hours earlier than Dean's usual time of visitation. Something had brought him from the comfort of his own bed to instead settle himself in the confined, overly warm space of Castiel's.

"Dean?" Cas tried again when there was no response; not so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from the hunter. Perhaps he had already fallen unconscious?

"Cas," Dean answered finally, his voice slurring, the word drawn out long.

"Are you drunk?" Cas asked timidly. He wasn't able to remain sitting up as Dean was so close to him now with one arm draped over his stomach. Cas lied down, his head back on his pillow, but he kept his eyes focused on Dean. It was pointless to ask. It was clear to him now that Dean was, without a doubt, intoxicated.

"Little bit," Dean admitted, licking his lips again. And again, Cas watched, entranced. Up this close, he was better able to see Dean's pale—almost secret—freckles, and what was evidently stubble that had been shaved only yesterday or the day before. He saw the smallest dot of toothpaste at the very corner of Dean's bottom lip. Gently, and ever so cautiously, Cas reached up and brushed the toothpaste away with his thumb.

"Are you okay?" Cas knew how Dean had a tendency to turn to drink in response to emotional turmoil, whether it be guilt or remorse or stress, or something else entirely. He wondered if this particular spree was one of those times.

"Uh huh," Dean nodded briefly, smacking his lips, "Sam and I… had a few beers."

"And I imagine you had a few more than him?" Cas guessed.

"Uh huh," Dean said again. His arm tightened around Castiel's middle. Their legs started to intertwine.

"Are you going to be sick? Should I get you a bucket? Some water?"

"No, I'm fine," Dean dismissed him, "I just want to sleep."

Castiel was hesitant. He took no issue with sharing his bed with Dean, not even if he were to take all the covers or more than his fair share of the mattress. It didn't matter if Dean were to snore loudly in his ear or kick him in his sleep. Quite honestly, and perhaps pathetically, Cas was willing to give Dean whatever he wanted, especially whenever he was drunk or ill. Cas felt the natural instinct to take care of Dean like he was his… well, like his guardian angel. Maybe once upon a time, Castiel was something akin to that, but those days had long since passed them. The truth of the matter was, had Cas really been a guardian, he had been a piss poor one. He had done little more than complicate the Winchesters' lives; Dean's in particular. No amount of care and attention now could ever remedy that, though that didn't keep him from trying.

"Okay… just let me know if you change your mind. I can get you whatever you want," Cas offered gently. He finally closed his eyes, his brow furrowing.

"I've got everything I want right here," Dean assured him, squeezing Castiel's side. His leg brushed between Cas' shins, and then suddenly Dean's thigh was pressed between his legs against his groin. Cas took in a few steady breaths and tried to subtly angle himself away, but it was hopeless. At least Dean seemed too drunk and tired to notice anything.

"Would you like me to turn off the light?" Cas asked, clearing his throat.

"No. Don't move," Dean said quickly, his breath hot against Cas' neck, right below his ear. Castiel shivered and the hairs on his arms stood on end.

Castiel did as Dean asked, just as he had inwardly set out to do. He couldn't argue Dean's request, especially when the hunter was in such a vulnerable state. It would seem cruel to reject Dean's affections; as innocent as they were. Cas simply couldn't turn him away or leave him isolated in the bed. Not that Cas could actually leave even if he wanted to. Dean had such a precise hold on him that made it impossible to turn over, let alone get out of bed. His embrace was warm, and it was so encompassing; so complete. As Dean nuzzled ever closer, Cas felt all the more wanted. Their bodies perfectly curved into one another's, somehow, each edge of theirs fitting into the empty space of the other. Cas believed there wasn't a way for them to be any closer. Finally, with the sheer relief that was the solidity of Dean in and at his side, Cas closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away into sweet dreams.

And he found, with no quarrel about it, that his dreams were no different from his reality.

The next time Cas awoke, before he even had the chance to open his eyes, he felt a cold emptiness at his side. He brushed his hand across the bare mattress, confirming his suspicion that Dean was no longer there. He must have left some time before, as the surface was stone cold, almost as if he had never been there to begin with. Cas wouldn't put it past himself to have actually imagined the whole thing, so for a brief moment, he started to believe that perhaps he really had. But then, glancing over at the stereo, he saw that it was still switched on. It was completely silent, the side of the tape having long since ended, but it was still evidence enough to prove that Dean really had stumbled in at three am to sleep at his side. Cas got up and drifted over to his desk, switching off the stereo with one hand and readjusting his pyjama bottoms over his uncomfortable morning wood with the other. He hoped Dean hadn't seen or felt the hard bulge pressed against his back or hip. With a pang of mortification, Cas thought maybe that was the reason why Dean had left without waking him. A part of him dreaded leaving his room now. It was the part of him that strongly insisted he stay there… forever. But his stomach grumbled, and he felt sickly at having eaten nothing for so many hours. He knew he had little choice but to brave the world outside of his own room, and so he walked swiftly to the bathroom, not granting himself enough time to hesitate or back out entirely. It was the quickest shower he had taken in a long time, with the water pressure and icy temperature like needles pricking the skin of his back. He stood shivering with his arms crossed protectively over his chest until, finally, it was safe for him to turn the tap off and step out. With his stomach once again rumbling, he dressed in another set of Dean's clothes and left the flannel shirt unbuttoned over a slightly oversized plain black tee. He adjusted the buckle on his belt as he exited the bathroom.

As he drew nearer to the kitchen, he could hear Sam and Dean talking, but their voices were coming from the library. Cas bypassed the kitchen which, he noted, was absent of any cooking smells, and continued onwards to join the brothers—despite his every instinct warning him not to. He knew he couldn't possibly hide from them forever—Dean especially—though the idea certainly appealed to him. It seemed best to face his worst fears head on and let the humiliation wash over him in one foul swoop.

"Morning," he greeted, looking solely at Dean. The hunter's back visibly stiffened and he did not turn around to face him the way Sam quickly did. Cas realised that they were both packing their duffel bags and sorting out their belongings on the table as their unfolded clothing assumedly didn't fit when shoving them in the first time. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Cas knew that, once again, Sam and Dean were leaving him.

"Hey, Cas, sleep well?" Sam smiled timidly. He threw a cutting look at Dean's back, as though trying to say 'I told you so'.

"Yeah, I guess so," Cas muttered, also throwing a cutting look at Dean. Dean had clearly endeavoured to leave for another hunt without so much as telling him. He was going to allow Cas to wake to an empty bunker, with probably just a note to explain where it was they had gone. Even worse, Cas imagined, the note would have likely said nothing more than 'Hunting. Be back later.' Lest Dean ever give Castiel enough information that would allow him to follow. Suddenly livid, Cas said through gritted teeth, "It was too warm though. Uncomfortable. Like I was being suffocated."

Sam frowned and lowered his duffel bag, a little taken aback by Cas' aggravation. But Dean understood. He glanced only briefly over his shoulder before looking purposely away, one hand reaching up to rub firmly at his temple.

"I still need to see if I can fix the heating," Sam said finally, his eyes dipped in apology.

"Don't worry about it," Cas dismissed him, "I woke up this morning and felt cold as ice."

"Weird," Sam murmured uncomfortably and cleared his throat. He looked lost standing there, his bag hanging open and half-filled at his side, his other hand still clutching onto a couple of flannel shirts. "I guess… let me know if it gets bad again?"

Neither Cas nor Dean said anything and the tension steadily grew deafening. Sam feigned hearing his phone ringing somewhere in the distance and swiftly fled to answer it, the bulge of his phone in his pocket evident to all of them as he went.

"I was gonna wake you in a minute and let you know we were heading off," Dean offered.

Castiel wasn't good at telling lies, and he wasn't good at knowing when he was being lied to, either. Either Dean wasn't trying very hard to be convincing, or the lie was so profoundly a lie that it could never have passed for truth.

"Were you?"

"Of course."

"I find that hard to believe, considering…" Castiel gestured to Dean's bag and the ammo that sat boxed on the table.

Dean winced but shrugged dismissively, acting as though he had done nothing worth apologising for. And maybe he was right. Cas, after all, had no claim over the brothers. They didn't owe him anything, and he had no right to demand notification of their whereabouts. Cas had no real reason to be informed on their travels as they went from state to state, city to city, on various hunts. While it eased his peace of mind to hear their voices and to be reassured of their safety, it wasn't his place to demand it. Dean could, and would, go wherever he liked, whenever he wanted, and whoever with.

Cas dipped his head ever so slightly. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly.

"It's all good," Dean accepted the apology but looked ashamed for doing so. He rubbed the back of his neck roughly.

Castiel scuffed the floor lightly with his bare foot and shoved his hands unceremoniously into the pockets of his jeans. Dean slowly turned his back and resumed packing, messily folding his shirts and tucking them into his bag. After a moment of awkward silence, Cas stepped forward to assist him. He took more care in folding multiple pairs of jeans and repacked what Dean had done, making everything fit better with room to spare.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled.

"You're welcome," Cas said. He zipped up the duffel bag, focusing all his attention on the task so he had an excuse for avoiding Dean's gaze. The hunter was looking at him again with the same intensity that he reserved for times of immense concern. He was worried about Castiel. Or perhaps for him. In his peripheral vision, Cas saw Dean sidle in closer, one hand reaching out for his side. Cas moved out of reach.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Dean said, "it was shitty of me to stumble in like that. I didn't do anything too stupid, did I?"

"No. Nothing too stupid." Castiel peered up at him. "Hungover?"

"Only a little," Dean admitted, "I've been worse. But… thanks for letting me crash. If it ever happens again, just know you're free to kick me out if you want."

"I didn't want to kick you out." Castiel decided not to tell Dean how he wished that he would sleep beside him in the bed like that more often. He decided not to say how nice it felt to have Dean curling into his side with his arm draped over his waist. Cas decided it wasn't wise to admit how much he liked the feel of Dean's thigh pressed against his crotch and the heat of his breath against his neck. Castiel blushed at the thought of it. "You're uh… welcome anytime, Dean. After all, the bunker is your home. I'm just a guest here."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, his eyes clearly focusing on the pink shade of Cas' skin.

"You're all ready to go," Cas announced abruptly and gestured to Dean's bag. His voice was quiet and lost; just a faint drone of nothingness to his own ears.

"We won't be gone long," Dean reassured him, his hand slowly lowering back to his side. "Sam thinks there's a vamp nest in Marshall County, South Dakota. Should only take a couple days, tops."

Castiel sighed, kicking the floor again lightly. His hands went back into his pockets. "I could go with you. The two of you will be easily outnumbered by an entire nest. I could help."

"You know why you can't, Cas," Dean rejected the offer. "It's not safe out there for you. The angels—"

"The angels what? I wouldn't know, Dean, because you and Sam keep me in the dark."

"It's for your own good," Dean remarked sternly.

"To not know where the angels are or what they are doing or who they could be hurting? How is that—?"

"Because there's nothing you can do about it!" Dean snapped. He grabbed Cas' arms tightly and squeezed.

Cas stared at him. He didn't try to free himself from Dean's grip even as it tightened. Dean's chest was heaving, the skin of his neck and face turning red with a swelling rage. But there, in the green of his eyes, was a resounding pain. Castiel said nothing, his expression flat and unchanging despite Dean's sudden proximity.

Dean faltered and finally withdrew, slowly letting go and taking two cautious steps backward. "We've already talked about this," he mumbled.

"You talked. I gave in," Cas said. He peered down the empty hallway, "I think Sam is waiting for you."

Dean nodded, knowing he had been dismissed. He gathered his things, pausing to adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Then he checked how much ammunition he had, taking his time to count each bullet before repackaging them. It was clear that he was delaying his departure on purpose. He was hoping that whatever had just broken between them could be fixed.

"You'll be safe?" Cas asked.

"Of course. I'm always safe," Dean promised him.

Castiel scoffed and stepped forward to gently poke Dean's collarbone where he knew the healing scar hid beneath his shirt. "Don't be reckless. I expect you to come home in one piece."

"I will."

Cas followed him toward the doorway and Dean suddenly stopped and turned to face him. Cas paused.

"And you'll stay, won't you, Cas?" Dean asked. He placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder, his touch sliding across until his fingers were grazing the skin of his neck. When Cas didn't answer him, Dean slowly, and ever so gently, moved his hand up and caressed his face. Dean's thumb brushed across his cheek. "I want you to stay. Please."

Castiel swallowed firmly and brusquely nodded his head. "I will," he promised.

Appeased, Dean smiled before walking swiftly down the hall and disappearing around the corner, leaving a stunned Castiel behind in his wake.

Thanks for reading this next chapter, guys! I hope you enjoyed this one :) Let me know what you thought in the comments, and keep an eye out for the next chapter!