Chapter Ten - I Pray To You Every Night
You guys are damn lucky I have covid and it's keeping me awake at night so I can do uninterrupted five-hour writing sessions. (I'm fine though, should be almost through, so no worries:) Anyway, this chapter shouldn't exist. It was not in the original plan and is 4.7k words of pure self-indulgence, yall.
*sighs in Aziraphale voice* I'm soft... (heh. Shoutout to the Good Omens fandom)
Sorry for typos. I hope you enjoy it as well.
Also yeah, this got all posted pretty quickly, I was these ten chapters ahead on my main account and somehow forgot to post it here, so I just dropped everything for now and will release the rest of the chapters slowly when they're written and go up on the other sites as well:)
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
Cas is sitting on his bed reading Sense & Sensibility when he hears it.
Well, hears it might not quite cover it. He feels it. Something reaching for him. A longing. A call.
Can you feel a call? It's so tangible it almost seems to actually form a sound.
Cas.
The clock on his bedside table tells him that it's 2:30 at night and Cas sits up straighter, lets the book fall close in his lap with his thumb inside, marking the page. He listens, which means he reaches out with his grace, gropes for the feeling.
Cas. Cas, please.
It's familiar. He knows that feeling. It has a warm undertone he knows all too well, but right now, it's heavier than he's used to, laced with fear and desperation. Dean.
Cas, please, don't.
He's on his feet before he's even made the decision to move. The book lies forgotten on his mattress. Cas grabs the trenchcoat that's draped over a chair in passing, throws it over his pyjamas while he flies through the door. His bare feet echo loudly on the tiles as he hurries through the darkness. He doesn't care to switch the light on. His feet would know the way blindfolded.
When his hand finds the door handle a few seconds later, he doesn't even knock.
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
Dean awakes from his dream with a start. He's panting, his hairline feels a bit sweaty and his covers are twisted around his ankles. He takes a few moments to just sit and bring his mind to terms with his body, to draw his conscience back into reality from where it's still half-stuck in the realm of sleep. He closes his eyes, concentrates on the welcome darkness that chases the pictures away, black replacing hard blue eyes, a turned back, a door falling shut.
It's not real. He's here, in his room, just a few feet away. Dean breathes out through his mouth and feels in relief how his heart rate begins to slow down.
He's used to nightmares. His life's served him with more than enough material for those. There was Hell, purgatory, the death of loved ones, the death of countless people he hadn't known and hadn't been able to save. Visions above visions of horrible scenes he's actually seen play out in front of him and that he's spent years living through again and again at night.
Then, there's the shit his mind comes up with by itself. As if reality doesn't have enough in store already. His imagination might be even worse. He's used to dreaming about Sammy dying in multiple ways -Dean being too late when he goes through the trials to close the gates of Hell, Sammy making a stupid deal to save him, Dean having to take him out because they failed to get his soul back from the cage.
He's used to dreaming about Cas by now, too. A few weeks ago, it had always been the Empty taking him, night after night after night.
Today is new.
Today is worse.
He barely has time to order his sheets and wipe the moisture from his brow when the door's practically ripped open. There's no light streaming in from the corridor and the figure standing in the doorway is just a blurry shadow before the door falls shut again.
"Dean."
The voice is unmistakable, though. He blinks and Cas is standing next to his bed, he can see him better up close, blue eyes wide and frightened, a deep furrow in his brow.
"Cas? What are you doing here?"
Dean switches the lamp on his nightstand on, blinks into the sudden brightness.
"I-I..." Cas tenses a little, squirms on his feet in a mixture of concern and what seems to be slight embarrassment. "I...followed your call."
"My what?" Shit. Had he been talking in his sleep? Please, no, for the love of-
"I could feel you calling for me", Cas explains and Dean relaxes a little. Feel. That's bad enough, but still better than hear.
"Ah." Words are a little rare right now. His brain doesn't feel quite awake yet. "Okay..."
"I didn't mean to intrude", Cas continues, now obviously embarrassed. "I just wanted to check if you're alright."
"That's fine." Dean heaves himself up against the headboard, rubs his tired eyes. "That was..." Nice? Kind? What a good friend would do? Whatever. "Thanks, Cas."
Cas sways back and forth on his feet a little, a smile blooming in the corner of his mouth. God, he's fucking adorable and Dean loves him so much it hurts.
"So...you're alright?"
"Yeah, Cas, I'm good. Just a dream."
"Oh." Cas looks at his feet and Dean's face heats up a little as he asks himself if Cas has connected the dots, if he wonders if the dream included him. Y'know, with that...call he'd apparently done and shit. It's hardly the first time Dean has prayed to Cas. It's the first time he's been told he also does it unconsciously.
I prayed to you every night.
But Cas doesn't ask, just stands next to his bed a little awkwardly. Dean feels the urge to look at him, to soak up that energy of shyness and concern that tells him this Cas worries about him, cares about him.
"I should probably...head back. Let you sleep." Cas nods towards the door, hesitantly starts to retreat. He graces him with another smile. "Good night, Dean."
Dean watches helplessly how the angel turns around, makes his way through the room. He wants to open his mouth, but finds the words stuck in his throat. He doesn't want to see him walk through the door, not again. He doesn't want to be reminded of the pictures in his dream. He doesn't want to be left alone with the memories. He doesn't want to be left alone at all.
"C-Cas." His voice sounds a bit sore, his tongue stumbling over the name he has to press out. "Cas, wait."
The angel turns with his hand on the doorhandle, tilts his head at him. (Damn, that head tilt.) Then understanding flashes over Cas' face and he smiles compassionately.
"Oh, right. Would you like me to take your dreams from you?", he asks, and Dean is tempted to take him up on the offer, take the easy way, the normal this-is-what-we-do way. But it's not what he wants.
"No, actually, I..." Dean curses the heat he can feel creeping up his cheeks, prays it doesn't show. "I think I'm gonna stay awake for a bit. And I was wondering if you...ah." He swallows, takes a deep breath. "Would you like to stay?", he then blurts out before he can think better of it, licks his lips. "H-Here, I mean. Right now? With...with me?" He panics slightly when he sees Cas' eyes widen in surprise and he knows it's too late to row back now, tries nevertheless. "Maybe we could talk or...I dunno." Dean shrugs his shoulders, attempts to appear light-hearted, casual, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. "But only if you want to, you don't have to, obviously-"
"Of course." Cas interrupts him softly, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I...I'd like that."
"G-Great." Dean releases a breath, can hardly believe his luck when he watches Cas crossing the room again, towards him, towards his bed, where he comes to stand and looks around, obviously unsure how to proceed. There's a chair in the corner, covered in clothes Dean had ditched on it at the end of the day. Cas looks at it for a long moment, takes a step towards it, throws a questioning glance at Dean.
"Should I...?"
"Ah, screw that, come on." Dean pats the other side of his bed in a surge of recklessness he hadn't known he had in him. "But lose the coat, dude. And please, for the love of God, don't ever put it over PJs again." He has just now realised what Cas is wearing. He's ridiculous and Dean loves him so much he doesn't know what to do with himself. The coat is hanging over a pair of baggy cotton pyjamas, sky-blue with a bee print. Dean had gotten those for him. It had been a Christmas present.
I don't sleep, Dean, Cas had pointed out quite unnecessarily.
And? Dean had pushed them back in Cas' hand. You can't wear that suit and coat 24/7. Pull the stick out of your ass, Cas. They're comfy. Just take them. You don't have to wear them if you don't want to.
He wears them. He wears them now and something warm spreads in Dean's chest. (There had been a second pair in the pack, green with honey-pots. It's residing somewhere in the depths of Dean's drawers right now, secretive and unworn, and definitely only because green is a much better colour on him, and definitely not because the thought of him and Cas owning matching pyjamas makes something in Dean go mental.)
"Sure, Dean." Cas shrugs out of the coat and places it on the same chair that's already loaded with Dean's clothes, and no, that picture doesn't do things to Dean's gut at all. He turns back to the bed and looks at it like it's gonna eat him alive, drawing a smirk from Dean when he awkwardly climbs on.
Dean loves it when Cas does human things awkwardly. For one, it's fucking adorable (even though Dean would never ever have admitted that out loud to anyone.) But mostly, it's a reminder that Cas doesn't know how to be human because he simply isn't human. He's an angel, a fucking angel, and still he's here, out of heaven, out of his element, and it's all for Dean. Cas is here because he chose to be here, with him. At least that's what Dean likes to tell himself in the secrecy of that place in his mind where he keeps all the pretty little lies, wrapped in bows to mask them as truths even to himself.
Cas is Dean's human credential. If he stays, there must be something good about him left, right?
He can't help but smile to himself now, looking at the angel sitting on his bed, on the covers. Cas' back is straight against the headboard, hands folded in his lap, eyes lowered.
"You serious?" Dean crooks an eyebrow at him, can't hold back the amused smirk at Cas' confused face when he looks at him.
"What?"
"I ain't bitin', man." Cas tilts his head, again.
"That scenario hadn't crossed my mind", he says, completely serious, and Dean snorts.
"Then what, you afraid of accidentally touching me, Cas?" He said it jokingly, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he can't deny the cold knot in his gut. "'Cause we can build a frickin' pillow wall if you want."
"Of course not, Dean." Cas sounds a bit smaller than before, but he doesn't avert his eyes. "I'm not...afraid to touch you."
Relief floods Dean, much more than would probably be appropriate. Let's not think too closely about the Why here, shall we.
"Then come on, get under there." He tugs at the covers that are stuck under Cas' thighs. (Oh fuck, Cas' thighs.) "Don't want you gettin' cold", he says like an idiot and Cas squints his eyes.
"I don't experience the cold the way you do, Dean."
I know that. That's not what I'm getting at, genius.
"Yeah, whatever." He gestures in the angel's general direction, captures the length of him with an awkward wave of his hand. "This? This is weird, so..."
"Weird? In what way?" Jesus, Cas...
"Cas." Dean sighs in exasperation. "Just get under the damn covers."
The angel looks at him for a moment, that typical unreadable Cas-face, squinted eyes and head-tilt that Dean has long given up pretending doesn't drive him crazy. He feels scrutinized, but can't look away, his tongue darting out to unconsciously wet his lips. For a second he almost thinks Cas' eyes may have flitted down to his mouth, but he quickly dismisses the thought as a game of his imagination. The blue eyes blink, and the moment is over.
Cas stands without a word, pulls the blanket back and slides back into bed. He throws a quick glance at Dean once he's settled down, gives him a wry smile.
It occurs to Dean then that maybe he didn't think this through. Because now Cas is next to him in his bed, and Dean is wearing nothing but an old grey shirt and a pair of boxers. No, he certainly didn't think this through. He should know himself better, shouldn't he, should know that the mere sight of the angel so close and under his goddamn blanket would make the possesiveness he's not entitled to feel stick her head out of the box he tries to lock her in. Not to talk about the fact that his dick has no goddamn chill around Cas. But this is neither the time nor place. Wait, actually, this kinda is the place- For fuck's sake, Dean, pull yourself together!
He looks over at Cas, at the innocent smile, the shy way his eyes are lowered.
Nope. Definitely not the time or place. Or person. He's gonna behave. He's gonna enjoy what he's been given here, even though he has no fucking clue why he'd gotten so lucky. Cas is here. Cas is here.
It's a bit awkward, the same kind of awkward that had been lying over the room ever since Dean asked him to stay, and still, it's not uncomfortable. Cas looks right there. Dean scolds himself for the thought. But he can't shrug the feeling nevertheless.
"Thank you." Dean had meant for it to come out as teasing, but his voice fails him, and it sounds broken and shaky instead. He can't tell if Cas noticed. His blue eyes are glued to the covers, the covers they're suddenly sharing, and he lets his hand glide over the flannel. Dean wonders if it's a conscious movement or if the angel is just lost in thoughts.
"So you...don't want to talk about it, I suppose?", Cas says after a while, gaze on his fingers that are slightly grasping at the fabric they're placed on. "I mean you don't have to. Just...if you wanted. You could tell me, you know."
Dean swallows. Here we go.
"Yeah." He mirrors Cas' position, looks down and pretends to concentrate on playing with the blanket. "Yeah, Cas, I know. Thanks. But I don't...don't even remember it."
It's a lie. Of course it's a lie. Dean wonders if Cas knows it's a lie.
"Okay." Cas nods, voice soft and understanding.
Dean wants to remember the sound of his voice like that the way he remembers everything in his dream.
It hasn't been the usual scenario. Some case gone sideways, some supernatural power they couldn't defeat, some End of The World crap they couldn't stop. Usually, it's something else that takes his loved ones from him. This time, Cas had chosen to leave.
Why should I waste my time here, Dean?, Dream-Cas had asked, jaw tight and eyes sparkling angrily. Dean had known that what he actually meant was 'Why should I waste my time with you'. He remembers that it had felt wrong to him, even asleep. Something telling him that this couldn't be real, because Cas would never do this, say these things. Not his Cas. But the anger and disappointment on that beautiful face had been so intense, his words -despite the sense of wrongness- sounded so true.
The face that looks at him right now is nothing like that at all, just full of kindness and concern.
I have no wish to go anywhere else, Dean, this Cas -his Cas- has told him on that bench.
No one appreciates me here, the wrong Cas had said coldly. I deserve better than this. I don't know why I've bothered with this for so long. Dean had begged. He had begged and hadn't given a shit. He had cried, he had pleaded, he had kneeled on the floor. But Cas was unrelenting how he hovered above Dean, eyes filled with pity and disgust.
The eyes directed at him now are all softness and warmth.
Look at you, it echoes in Dean's ears, Now you pretend to care about me. Now that you're about to lose something that could be useful to you. Well, guess what. I'm not your little play thing that you can just pull out and discard however you please. You don't own me, Dean. And off he went, trenchcoat ripped mercilessly out of Dean's grip, leaving him on the floor with nothing but the eachoing of the heavy bunker door as it fell shut behind him for the last time.
This time, nothing had taken Cas from him, nothing but Dean himself. This time, Cas had chosen to leave. This time, Cas had wanted to leave.
And it's worse. So much worse.
"Cas." The words flood out of his mouth before he can stop them. He isn't sure he wants to. He doesn't even care how desperate and pathetic he sounds. "I hope you know that..we want you here. With us." With me.
I want you to be here with me. I want you to be with me. (Happiness is in being.)
Cas' head snaps up at that, wide eyes settling on Dean's face, mouth slightly open.
"Of course, Dean." His voice is soft yet firm, his brow furrowed. "Why would you-" He breaks off, a realization lighting up in his eyes and turning the frown of surprise in one of concern. "Does this have to do with-?"
"No", Dean lies too hurriedly. He doesn't have to ask what Cas means. "I dunno. It was just that I...I want you to feel at home here, Cas." He doesn't just want Cas to be here. He wants Cas to want to be here. "Because it is. Your home. As much as it's Sam's and mine and...if- if you want that too, then..." Dean trails off, prepares to finally say the word he'd held back for so long.
"Stay", he breathes out then, asks. And it's easy, liberating. "Please, stay. For as long as you want to, as long as you want..." Me. For as long as you want me.
"Dean." Cas looks at him intensely, stares almost, but it isn't uncomfortable, they do this all the time. "I'm not going anywhere", he says, confused yet sincere. "I told you, I have no wish to leave. And I won't."
Dean sees how Cas' hands clench where they're neatly placed on the blanket. He knows that clench. He's done the same countless times around Cas. He's done it to keep himself from reaching out, from touching, from taking. Because he knows, if he was given a finger, he'd take the whole arm. It's strange though, seeing Cas do it, because why would he. Why would he want to take? What would he want to take? There's nothing Dean has to give. Nothing worth taking, not to anyone, certainly not to Cas. So why would Cas do that? There's no purpose. There's no need, either. Because Dean also knows, if Cas found anything he wanted, there's nothing he wouldn't allow to be taken, nothing that he wouldn't want to give. A finger, an arm, his whole body. Everything. Anything. Those fists, they're clenching around futility, holding onto a lie they've both been telling far too long - to themselves as much as each other.
"Promise." He can't stop himself. He's lost him too many times. Too late, he registers what he's actually asking here, realizes what he's demanding.
No. Stop. You can't do that. Don't let him answer.
"Sorry." Dean shakes his head, curses himself under his breath. "That wasn't- I had no right to ask that-"
"I promise." Cas' voice is steady and sure. Dean feels like falling apart.
"Wha- Really?"
"Dean." And finally, the angel's hand reaches out to lightly settle over Dean's. The hunter stares at it for a second, his brain failing to catch up with what's happening. But he can't look for long. He has to look at Cas' face again, he has to. "I promise", Cas repeats and there's no hesitation, no uncertainty, just a smile.
Everything in Dean's mind screams at him to tell Cas not to.
Don't. You shouldn't. You mustn't. Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't make promises you shouldn't keep. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it.
But he can't rip his gaze away from the blue eyes, can't ignore the warmth of fingers curling reassuringly around his own.
He swallows.
"Okay."
~oOo~
They start talking. They talk about whatever comes to their mind. And it's easy. It's wonderful.
They talk about Sam and Eileen, how happy they seem, how happy they are for them. (Dean doesn't mention the jealousy that has buried its ugly teeth in that happiness. He knows he's not entitled. He knows it's not fair to them. He promises himself that none of them will ever notice.) They make fun of how Sam looks like a love-sick puppy whenever he looks at her and Cas laughs, unaware that Dean is directing the same sort of look at him. They talk about Jack and what they think Heaven might look like now. They tell each other stories about the kid and smile. They laugh together and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Cas feels at ease.
At some point around two hours later, he notices Dean getting quieter, his yawns become more frequent, but ever time Cas offers to leave, Dean holds him back.
And finally, he's asleep, and Cas is still there.
He knows he should leave, he knows he should. But he doesn't want to. He's always enjoyed watching Dean in his sleep, and even though the hunter told him not to, he can't just let such an opportunity pass by. Then there's also the fact that Dean has fallen asleep with his head on Cas' shoulder. He has no choice but to stay, right? Right?
During the next half-hour, Cas indulges. He looks unabashedly, shamelessly, lets himself get lost in the sight of Dean's peaceful features, the feeling of his warm body so close. He's gradually slipped lower so his head is nestled in the crook of Cas' arm now and the angel's fingers twitch with the want to bury in his hair.
For another half-hour, he resists. It's only when Dean starts to shift in his sleep that Cas finally cracks. He listens to Dean murmuring under his breath, something Cas almost thinks might be his name, and for the millionth time that night, he wonders if Dean had actually been dreaming about him earlier. It's only then, seeing him writhe in unease, that Cas gives into the surge of recklessness and lets his hand settle on Dean's head. It's a bold move, he knows, what if Dean wakes up and finds him like this? He's probably gonna ask Cas what the fuck he thinks he's doing, everything this night achieved might be ruined. But Dean's hair is impossibly soft under his fingers and Dean's breathing calms more with every stroke of Cas' hand, and he can't stop himself.
Until Dean twitches and slowly opens one of his eyes. Cas tenses in shock, swiftly withdraws his fingers, but it's too late.
"Did you- Did you just have your fingers in my hair?" He sounds sleepy, just one eye popped open from where he's tucked into Cas' side. Cas doesn't have enough time or mental capacity to notice that he isn't freaking out about their current position.
"S-Sorry", he says, the first thing that comes to his mind. "I-I...I didn't know you were- And I thought- You were restless and I thought it would calm you." He bites his lip. "I'm sorry, Dean, I shouldn't have-"
But Dean hums and nuzzles into Cas' side and the angel freezes.
"Do it...do it again?", Dean mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.
"Really?" Cas isn't sure what to make of this. Dean is obviously still half-asleep and doesn't know what he's saying or doing. Is he taking advantage when he just...lets him? Is this wrong? Will Dean remember in the morning and hate him for using him like this? Will he-
"Yeah. Kinda nice", Dean slurs with his eyes closed, shattering the last of Cas' determination to stop him. "But only if you don't mind..."
"I don't mind at all", Cas whispers in wonder, but Dean doesn't hear him. He's already fallen asleep again.
Cas leans his head back against the headboard, takes a deep breath. He's surrounded by the feeling of Dean, his hand in his hair, the nose pressed in his side, a foot that searches for warmth. And maybe it's all those overwhelming sensations that make him stupid and reckless, but once he's absolutely sure Dean is deep in sleep once more, Cas takes one more leap of faith and leans down to press a kiss to Dean's forehead. To his surprise, Dean hums in his sleep, unconsciously writhing to lean into the touch. Cas smiles. It's not the first time he notices. He's felt it before, this reluctance to let go, a look that lasted longer than was strictly appropriate, the warmth of a hand that kept holding onto his for a few seconds longer than would have been necessary. And that sense of longing, the one that had called him to Dean's room tonight, the one he can feel now, quieter and happier, the one he'd felt countless times before, toned-down and held-back.
Back then, he'd never thought, never dared to hope it could be a sign that Dean feels those things too, those things Cas hadn't properly understood before he spent some time as a human and was faced with the full, terrifying, beautiful force of it all. He still doesn't dare believe it now, but at this moment, he can't deny the tiny spark of hope that takes root in his heart.
Cas knows it well himself, that pressing need to touch, to be close, to keep something that threatens to slip through his fingers like running sand. It had frightened him, the first time he felt it, the newness of emotion, the unexpected intensity, the unfamiliar want of another being's presence - just this particular one, so much stronger and different from the general love for creation he'd been taught to feel.
He wonders if it would get better if he could just follow those needs, just reach out and touch when he desires to do so instead of the desperation that comes with fighting those urges. It would be incredibly liberating, the knowledge that he's actually allowed to, that his attentions are not only tolerated but wanted. It's a wondrous thing to him, Dean wanting him back that way - in any way, really. So it's no surprise that every sign of Dean's appreciation for Cas' touch fills the angel with a fuzzy warm sensation, and may it just be this sleep-driven search for comfort. It's one of the reasons he enjoys watching Dean sleep so much. The lack of restriction that comes with unconsciousness, the freedom of showing desires that the hunter keeps so carefully hidden, even denies their existence, in the realm of waking control. Cas revels in those moments when Dean lets his guard down like this (even more so when he does it consciously - but Cas would take what he could get) and he would never tire of using such moments to shower him with as many gentle, loving touches as he can.
He allows himself a moment to indulge in the fantasy that he actually could. Dean deserves it. He deserves to be touched and treated like the valuable, precious thing that he is, the way Cas knows Dean refuses to believe he is worthy of, even if he can't help to dream of it.
As if on cue, Dean rolls over in his sleep and wraps his arm around Cas, pulling him closer. Cas knows he isn't aware of what he's doing, and for a second he freezes, but then he simply can't help but melt into the mattress. This is what he wants. This is what truly feels like home.
And for the first time since he'd been created, Castiel thinks that he might become quite fond of the concept of sleeping himself.
~oOo~
When Dean wakes up from a dreamless sleep the next morning, Cas will be gone, the left side of his bed will be empty and cold, and the vague images of someone warm and comforting in his arms will be dismissed as wishful thinking.