Chapter 7
Going to bed would be a nightmare. Paying for the hotel meant sleeping in a real bed, and that was the nicest thing, even if those beds were skeevy motel beds and god knows what happened on them. And sometimes they were lumpy as hell... but better than cramping up in the Impala. Dean loved his baby, but sleeping in her was just not a permanent solution to this problem.
And so after much hesitation and time wasting, Dean found himself in bed with the skirt-wearing individual that he so very badly wanted not to be in bed with. Dean groaned –silently, to ensure that this outburst wasn't heard and misinterpreted by any other party in the room, which would only invite another argument. What they had left to argument after the car ride, Dean had no idea. Why did Sam get a bed to himself? And where the hell had Bella gone, couldn't she have taken the cross-dressing fiend with her? Well, she may actually be a shifter, or a ghost, or a ghoul... or maybe a djinn illusion, thus explaining why Sam finds her being alive to be completely normal.
"I'm cold."
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. Cas had snuggled up next to him –right next to him, leg hooked over Dean's and... and... Dean didn't want to think about the 'and.' "What the hell?"
"I told you: I am cold," the words were punctuating and staccato-like in their delivery: very matter-of-fact, "So I got closer. You're like a walking furnace, you're so hot." Cas nuzzled his face into Dean's chest, absent-mindedly rolling his hips forward against Dean's side –Dean did the only thing he could logically think to do: flip out; which, in hindsight, had very little to do with logic –nothing, actually.
In a flail of arms and legs Dean had manage to throw Cas from the bed while catapulting himself off the other side, "C'mon! Do you have to do that? Really?" Dean stood at the bedside, glaring over the empty surface of rumpled sheets to the wide-eyed man on the floor of the other side. "You're in the same bed as me, you don't have to be so... so..." Dean waved his arms around, as though it would explain the missing sentiment or somehow jog the right words, "so 'touchy-feely,' capiche?"
Cas' bottom lip started to protrude –just slightly, into the most adorable pout. "But I-"
"I don't care," Dean interrupted, averting his gaze to the bedside table and holding up an objective hand to the entire situation. "I don't want to hear about how cold you are, or how close you wanna be or anything else that might lead to anything between the two of us. Just get back in the bed, stay on your side, and get some goddamn sleep." Dean could hear Sam snickering on the other bed, trying hard to pretend like he was asleep but really he was endlessly entertained by his brother's torment. Figures. "Keep laughing, chuckles."
"Oh, I'm laughing," Sam assured him. "Hey Dean, did you ever stop to think that this might be, oh I don't know, just desserts? Karma?" Sam burst into a fit of snickers and choked back laughs.
"You saying that the trickster has something to do with this?"
"What? No, I mean you always womanizing, and then you womanize a man, who clings. I think it's fitting, that's all."
"And here I thought we might have an explanation for all this 'crazy.'" Dean dropped himself back onto the bed, the back of his band falling against his forehead in a dramatic display of exasperation. He faintly felt the bed dip lower to his side, and turned his head to face Cas, "No funny business, you hear me? Hand off."
"Ok, ok," Cas' hands came up in surrender, "just cool your jets. It's not like I'm an alien or something." Cas seriously didn't understand this guy's problem, of course he understood that Dean was homophobic, that Dean didn't really want anything to do with him, while wanting to keep him alive on the general principle of life having intrinsic value. That Cas understood –what he didn't understand was why Dean fought it so hard, all those sidelong glances, appraising stares, and eye-sexing that he denied doing. Dean didn't strike Castiel as the kind of guy who fought what felt good.
Sam stared in awe, and fought back the urge to laugh out loud. This moment needed to be preserved. Sam trained his phone's camera, taking into focus the spectacle before him. His uptight, homophobic brother half covered by the bed sheet, leg draped over his skirted companion with his arm possessively wrapped around the smaller man's torso, face nuzzled into Castiel's chest. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say Dean looked downright content. With a fake shudder sfx, Sam's phone sealed the image into digital history, never to be lived down.
"Hey, Cas," Sam whispered, moving to Castiel's side of the bed. The black haired man 'hmm'd in reply, sounding almost catlike and he snuggled right back into Dean's arms. "Cas," Sam insisted again, nudging the man's shoulder, "you'll want to be awake for this."
Castiel's eyes fluttered open, his vision slowly focusing as he sought out the source of the whispers, "Sam?" He managed out, voice as bleary as his fogged morning brain, "See what?" Cas followed Sam's finger point, directed to the bed beside Castiel –where Dean was lying, happily slotted against Cas' side. Castiel's eyes lit up, "You do care!"
The exclamation shocked Dean right out of sleep and right out of bed. He landed with a heavy thud on the motel floor, frantically scrambling for the knife on instinct, finding purchase under his pillow. Dean brandished the blade, still collecting himself from the wakeup call. "What the hell?"
Cas was not a normal person –a normal person would be terrified that someone pulled a knife on them. Not Cas tho, Cas was apparently more preoccupied with his own thoughts to recognize mortal danger, as demonstrated by his flinging himself onto Dean in a full on hug, kissing his cheek repeatedly –completely with sound effects, 'mwa.'
"Cas," Dean managed an even voice, though his face was tense and he swore he felt his eyebrow twitch. "Would you get off? We've discussed this."
"But you were so cute!" Cas protested, flinging a leg over Dean's thighs, straddling his lap.
Dean wasn't sure which was more pertinent –Cas's relentless advances or being described as cute. "What make me cute?" The advances were commonplace already, and Dean grabbed Cas by the hips and lifted him off, placing the smaller man on the floor next to him.
"This," Sam angled his phone screen so Dean could see it. Sam timed Dean's reaction, watching his brother's face contort in confusion as he made out the image in front of him. Sam pulled his phone back before Dean could snatch it.
"Delete that!"
"Nope, too good to lose. Bella called, she said she'd be here in about an hour."
