Dean was leaning on the roof of the car, his arms holding him up with his forehead resting on the hot metal. He was afraid to open his eyes again, and he was hoping that they'd been playing tricks on him a minute ago. He felt Sam's heavy hand clap his back, "S'not that bad, Dean." Dean groaned in response. "Seriously, man, you'll have her back to normal in no time." He risked opening one of his eyes, then leaned more heavily on the car.
"I just... I need a minute," he joked. Sam chuckled behind him. He stood up straight and exhaled deeply. He'd seen his baby in much worse conditions, and to be completely honest with himself he was relieved to have something to do while they waited for leads about Cas' situation. He shuffled over to the toolbox Sam had wheeled out for him, searching the drawers for where he should start. Sam watched him, no doubt trying to determine if he was strong enough for manual labor. "Sammy, don't worry about me. Fixing baby isn't that strenuous," he winked and nodded towards the house, delegating Sam to leave him to his work. He turned back to the toolbox when he heard Sam's footsteps crunch away on the gravel. Saying a silent prayer, he opened the bottom drawer and sighed in relief to find a hammer and puller set. He put them aside and then grabbed a frame straightener and turned back to face the twisted metal and broken glass.
…
It had taken Cas approximately two days to get bored of the inside of the bunker without Dean to entertain him. He'd taken to sitting on an old cooler and watching him work. Dean might have been annoyed if it had been someone else, but he had to admit that he enjoyed it when Cas' eyes got wide with confusion whenever he asked him to pass him a tool from under the car. Dean used the most obscure names of the tools he could in order to ensure Cas' ignorance and wouldn't hesitate to laugh when Cas' face would materialize closer to the Impala and the ground and he'd huff "and what does that one look like, Dean?" with exasperation.
But it'd been too short a time before Cas could recognize all of them by name and he'd stopped asking what they looked like and started asking what they did. Before long, Dean had begun teaching the angel the basics.
"Alright. So now we're gonna get some of the dents out towards the back," he handed the man the puller, pointing towards the area. Cas approached the dent, stared intently at it, glanced up a Dean, back at the scratched-up metal, then at the plunger-like object in his hand. Dean held in his laughter for as long as he could before it burst out of him. The sheer volume of hilarity startled Cas and his shoulders twitched before he scowled at the guffawing man who now had his hands wrapped around his midsection. It took him a few minutes, but Dean settled, his old bruising on his ribs a little sore from the outburst. Totally worth it, he thought. He stepped closer to the angel, took the tool from him, and bent closer to the dent. He gasped a little from the pain in his side, but ignored it. He looked back and flinched at the proximity of the blue irises that occupied most of his vision; Cas was standing directly behind Dean with his head hovering over his shoulder, his eyes intent on the tool in Dean's hand. "Geez, Cas. Would ya turn down the brights a little?" The hue of his eyes was so crazy blue, and frankly Dean was suddenly unconvinced that they could occur naturally in nature. "Angels don't wear contacts, do they?"
Cas turned the objects in question on him, then, and the angel looked confused. Part of Dean wanted to look away but he simply couldn't tear his gaze from the deep coloring, the differing shades that created a depth that he hadn't noticed before. He always knew they were bright blue, but those dark splotches near his pupils and the light ones that almost looked silver-"What are you talking about, Dean?" Castiel interrupted his reverie. Dean shook his head, collecting his thoughts. He reminded himself of the kind of gay jokes Sam would bust out if he'd witnessed Dean's daydreaming. Logic and common sense restored, he cleared his throat and turned back to the car.
"Nothing," he muttered, and he lined the puller up to the car, placing the suction cup over one of the bigger dents. He was all too aware of the angel watching his actions, his breath a little hot on his left ear. Dean felt sweat break out across his forehead, and he found it hard to keep his breathing regular. He blinked a few times, dispelling the sudden haze that clouded his thoughts. "Hey, Cas? You mind taking a step back?" As the man put more space between them, Dean's shoulders relaxed and he was finally able to demonstrate the tool's use.
They spent the next two hours circling the car, using various techniques to restore the car's smooth exterior. They'd gotten the majority of the bigger ones out before Dean resigned himself to Cas' cooler and watched him work for a while, the heat and the exertion taking the last of his dwindling energy. He wanted to go inside and sleep but he liked watching Cas scope out each dimple in the body of the car, his eyebrows pushed together in seriousness and concentration. He'd just closed his eyes for a second to rest them before he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.
"Dean, you need to rest," the angel's hands slipped under Dean's arms, and he lifted Dean to his feet. Dean was having trouble keeping his eyes open and he tried to protest but it came out as nothing more than a sleepy grumble. He was vaguely aware that he was once again leaning against the angel (he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately), but his lethargy kept him from feeling the shame he would surely remember tomorrow.
Upon drifting in and out of consciousness on the way, Dean opened his eyes to recognize his bed and room, and he let the angel lead him to the former. He collapsed onto the springy mattress and Dean was pretty sure he could hear the angel chuckling a little. Dean managed to grab one of Cas' hands as he withdrew it from Dean's shoulder. "Y'know you don't laugh enough. I like when you laugh," he mumbled. He let Cas' hand drop, wondering if the angel could even make sense of his slurred words. He rolled over to glance up at the him but sleep clutched him before he could open his eyes.