Chapter 3: Returned
Dean drifted into consciousness slowly, emerging from the black smoothly. Without opening his eyes, he could feel the soft sheets and comforter pulled up to his chest. He stirred a bit, turning to his side. He was warm. In fact, he felt a little bit of heat coming from something next to him. He subconsciously nuzzled in the direction of the radiation heat, grateful to be warm after being cold for so long.
The warmth registered in Dean's mind and he flew his eyes open. A figure lay next to him in the dark, stock-still, and tense. His eyes finally focused on what was lying next to him in with his head on the figure's chest. A familiar trench coat was in his line of vision, a blue tie loosely tied backwards. He slowly lifted his head to see the angel looking down at him, his face flushed and concerned.
"Dean, are you alright?" the angel asked, tilting his head to the side. Dean didn't respond; he just stayed still, realizing what he was doing. He blushed ferociously; he could feel the heat rushing to his face and neck.
"What are you doing?" Castiel asked, genuinely curious about the position he and Dean were in. It's not that he didn't like it; he actually found it quite comforting and that if he could, he could stay there with Dean lying on his chest forever. It was another foolish thought. He should purge these from his mind but the thought was just so tempting.
Dean moved away quickly, rolling off the bed with a groan. He instantly regretted the decision. He missed the warmth of Castiel's body next to him. He missed the contact that he (though there was no way in Hell he would ever admit) craved for.
"Sorry, Cas." He said finally after gaining his voice after what had just happened. What the fuck was I even doing? He thought. He looked down, realizing that he was in very little clothing. If it was even possible, that made him turn even redder.
As if Castiel read his thoughts, he said, "Sam and I had to remove some of your clothing to tend to your wounds. There were six to be exact." This angered Castiel to no end. He was cut off from heaven; he couldn't access the "mojo" from his grace that allowed him to heal. This infuriated him. He was an angel damn it; he should be able to heal the wounds of the one he lo…no. He's not going to go there. Dean doesn't even feel that way. He can't feel that way. Castiel knows he shouldn't think about it but the thought is always in the back his mind, nagging at him. It pained him to have to just sit there and know that his love could never be returned, that Dean doesn't notice. His thoughts wandered around for a while. He let himself think freely while Dean gathered clothes.
Dean picked up a pair of jeans off the floor and slipped through them. Castiel let his eyes fall to the ground while Dean got dressed. He knew the human would be upset with him if he saw Castiel looking at him while he was dressing himself. He occupied his time as Dean fiddled with his belt and eventually put on a shirt. He sat down on the bed next to Castiel and began to put on his shoes. He could feel the silence piercing through the air and Dean was tired of it.
"So what happened?" he asked.
"You were out for several hours. As I stated before, Sam and I attended to your wounds while you were out. You mumbled something in your sleep and pulled me down into the position we were previously in."
"Oh. Sorry 'bout that," was all Dean could muster.
"It's fine, Dean," was what he said. More than fine, was what Castiel thought. They sat in silence, contemplating whether or not they should speak.
Finally, Castiel stood and spoke. "I'm sorry, Dean. I have duties to attend to in heaven. I shall return." With that, a flutter of wings sounded in the broken silence of the room. The eldest Winchester flopped onto the bed faced down and blew out a heavy sigh, followed by a small noise of frustration. Of all people, why did he have to choose Cas? He probably didn't even like anybody that way. Even if he did, he probably didn't even swing that way. Hell, he didn't even know he batted for that team since yesterday.
A small pop broke Dean from his thoughts. He saw a figure standing by the window, facing away from him. Dean shot up and grabbed his gun and Ruby's knife from the bedside table. The figure turned around and let out a small chuckle. Oh shit.
"Hello, Dean," said the fairy.
AN: That took a lot longer than expected. I had writer's block something awful, so sorry about the long ass wait. Thanks to an awesome saber-toothed moose lion for her help on this one. Onward to Chapter 4!