A/N: I wasn't planning on writing anything for today, but I had a very bad morning and then came online to see various comments about "that", so I needed something to comfort myself with. Then this happened.
"Dean. Dean!"
He's woke sharply from a deep sleep, fumbling. "Sam?"
Wide, green eyes, a desperate hand on his shoulder, still shaking him a little. "I can't make it stop," his brother's muffled voice continues and it's then that Dean realizes his brother's other hand is in front of his nose, pinching a kleenex against it, stained red with blood.
Dean moves, head spinning, still half asleep as he takes over trying to pinch his brother's nose, sitting him forward. "It's ok, you're gonna be ok," he mumbles. "How long?"
"A few minutes," Sam mumbles, leaning into him. "I couldn't stop it, I got scared."
"It's fine, I know." Dean squints at him and peers around, realizing it's barely 6 AM. John had been gone for four days by now, leaving them on their own in some small town on the outskirts of Ohio. Which had been fine until Sam had started coming down with the flu. And now this. Dean takes a deep breath and tries not to panic, knowing that he needs to stay calm for Sam. "You're going to be ok, Sam."
"When's Dad coming home?" he asks, swaying a little until Dean steadies him. "I... I want..."
Dean exhales shakily. "I don't know, Sammy. But I'm here until then. I've got you."
-x
Dean wakes up with a shaky kind of gasp, feeling like something's off. He scrubs at his face, squinting into the darkness, and turns his head to look at the clock. Barely 5:30 AM. He groans wearily and sits up, running his fingers through his hair. He barely gets vertical when Miracle leaps onto the bed, tail wagging cheerfully. "Hey," he greets her quietly, unsurprised at how raspy his voice sounds. Reaching over for a bottle of water he's taken to leaving by his bedside, he downs a generous portion of it before giving the dog a few more scritches. "C'mon," he says softly.
They shuffle slowly to the kitchen, Dean leaning against the counter and trying valiantly to wake up. Things aren't like before, where snapping to attention was a matter of life or death, andf a matter of seconds would determine which way things would fall. Everything is quiet, surprisingly calm most mornings, unless Sam decides to come torment his big brother about this or that at some ungodly hour of the day. Dean hums, filling Miracle's water and food bowls before sinking down into his chair at the table.
He's only been there a minute or two when warm, strong hands rest on his shoulders, reminding him slightly of his memory/dream, but these aren't shaking him, just holding him. "Hey, Cas," he mumbles softly, reaching back to toy with the fingers teasing at the edge of the tank top he'd been sleeping in.
"Can't sleep?" Cas murmurs back, slow, gentle. Like the November morning that's dawning lazily through the windows behind them.
"Weird dreams," Dean sighs, leaning his head back against Cas' warmth. "Memories."
"Oh," Cas says, shifting his hand to gently card through Dean's hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I wanted to get a minute outside before the snow starts."
Dean nods, smiling a little when Cas leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. "S'ok. Miracle was awake anyway."
Cas peers up at the dog for a moment before turning his attention back to Dean, gently massaging his temples. "Do you want to go back to bed?"
"I do, but I don't," he sighs, melting into the touch. "How much snow are we supposed to get?"
"Anywhere from 6 inches to a foot," Cas says. "We're right at the line where the forecast says it could shift rapidly depending on which track the storm takes, so it could go either way."
"Hm." Dean blinks lazily, kind of relieved that they're not in the bunker anymore. For weather like that, there'd always be a chill in the air that they couldn't ever quite shake. At least here they have a space small enough that central heating actually does what it's suppose to, and a fireplace for those cozy evenings where no one has to go anywhere.
"Come on," Cas says quietly. "Let's go back to bed, you can get a little more sleep and we'll figure ouit the rest of the day later." He nudges Dean gently until he grumbles and stands, allowing himself to be led through the house back to the bedroom.
Cas kicks his shoes off and settles in under the sheets with Dean, easing him into his arms and stroking light circles into his back. "Comfy?"
"Yeah," Dean mumbles into his throat, nuzzling closer.
"Think you can sleep now?"
Dean huffs, his eyelashes tickling Cas' skin as he blinks lazily. "Probably."
Cas hums. "Thanksgiving is a few days away," he says after a few moments. "Our first in this house."
"You gonna help me cook?" Dean asks quietly.
"If I must," Cas says dryly, smiling when Dean huffs out a laugh.
"You'd better," he teases. "Don't worry, I'll handle the pies."
"Will there be any for anyone else?"
"... Probably," Dean grumbles.
Cas chuckles and shifts his hand, gently carding his fingers through Dean's hair. The reaction is almost immediate, Dean's breathing slowing as his body grows heavier against Cas' side.
"Hmph," he groans, fighting against his body's need for rest still.
"Sleep, Dean," Cas whispers to him. "I won't leave again."
"Promise?" he mumbles, tightening his grip around Cas' middle just that much more.
"I promise," Cas says solemnly.
Dean sighs and finally relaxes completely, sinking into the sleep his body's come to need more of since hunts became rare and so much easier without Chuck's manipulations.
Cas smiles down at him and relaxes into the warmth of their bed as well, content to lay and cradle Dean close in rest as he thinks about the days to come, watching a parade in front of the fireplace that night, spending the most of the week to come preparing for Thanksgiving with their family, and then encourraging Dean to help him decorate for Christmas once they have the house to themselves again.
It's a level of perfection he never thought either of them could have, and is so relieved they'd gotten it.