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When Castiel’s alarm rang, it was almost like a blessing. He flipped over in the empty bed. Empty because he’d tossed all his pillows and his threadbare blanket into various corners of the room throughout the night.
It was beyond frustrating, this sleeplessness he couldn’t seem to shake. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. He’d attempted everything from herbal supplements to long walks before bed to warm milk. Nothing seemed to help.
He stumbled blearily out of his room and into the dingy bathroom he shared with Charlie. It was mostly out of courtesy to her that he woke up an extra fifteen minutes early. He was aware that women spent more time in the bathroom as a general rule – he wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he knew they did . So he’d always tried to be polite about it.
Castiel planted both palms against the chipped linoleum counter and glared at his reflection in the mirror. The half moons under his eyes were purple. Dark enough that, if someone were to ask him if he’d been punched, he wouldn’t be surprised. His hair stuck up every which way, but he had given up on taming that years ago. It was only adding to his deranged look now.
He sighed heavily and tried to shake himself out of his stupor by plowing through his morning routine. It was like trying to encourage a hibernating bear to run a marathon. Once he finished brushing his teeth, he tapped the water from the bristles of his toothbrush. It took two tries before he successfully placed the thing back in its plastic cup.
On his way out the bathroom, he bonked straight into the door, offended for all of a second at the pain before he realized he hadn’t opened the thing before trying to leave. With another heavy sigh, he turned the handle. If he couldn’t pull himself together, he really might die of natural causes today.
It was not his fault that his exhaustion had reached such a total and complete level. He went to bed at a reasonable time every night. Did the whole night time routine shebang that the internet swore would work. It seemed that as soon as his head hit the pillow, his body was flooded with a restless energy that simply would not allow him to fall asleep. Oh, he was tired. Beyond tired. He perpetually felt ready for a nap. But as soon as he was horizontal, sleep seemed to avoid him like water to oil.
Charlie’s door was wide open, and Castiel barely had time to register the fact that this was unusual before he stepped into their pathetically small living room and found the woman herself sprawled on the couch.
The apocalyptic world of her video game blinked in and out around her character on the screen of their tiny box television. Words scrolled at the top of the UI. Castiel tore his eyes away and blearily looked down at his friend. Her red curls were spilling every which way. Her headphones were still on, albeit askew, and she was emitting a nearly apneic snore directly into her microphone.
He reached down and unplugged the wire, careful not to jostle her. The soft sounds of people talking on the other end abruptly cut out.
Castiel moved quietly, careful to step over their piled school bags. He was determined not to wake Charlie before her alarm rang. God knew she’d been woken enough this week by his restless wandering.
After a colossal yawn in the kitchen, Castiel decided the only end to this sleepy fog would be either coffee or a dirt nap. He opted for coffee.
With fumbling hands, he picked up the pot, intending to gently lift it from the machine to fill it with water. But no. Of course that was simply too much to ask of his uncoordinated limbs. The pot knocked loudly against the top of the machine and Castiel inhaled a sharp breath, freezing in place. The only response he got from Charlie was a loud, hitching snore.
Overly careful now, he padded to the sink, silent on socked feet, and turned the tap on, shoving the pot underneath the stream. It took a good minute before he realized he hadn’t fucking opened the pot and water was simply flowing off it. Castiel sighed again in frustration and flicked the top up, shoving the glass menace under the water again like his negligence was its fault.
Once the pot was full, he emptied it into the reservoir behind the machine and turned to grab filters from the cabinet. Normally he’d settle with two scoops of grounds, but this was the fifth sleepless night in a row and somehow two didn’t seem nearly enough. He stopped scooping coffee once the paper filter physically could not hold any more.
Time seemed to slip away once he pressed the on button. Castiel was mesmerized by how dusty the kitchen was. The thin slats of sun that made their way through the blinds over the sink seemed to suspend the particles in midair. To make them dance. Funny how you could keep counters clear and dishes put away and yet, the air still held dust.
The beeping of the coffee machine pulled him back to reality like a lifeline. It took a second for his mind to reorder itself and decide that the next step was to grab a mug. Castiel picked one up and stared at it, confused, wondering where the handle was; it took him a few moments to realize it was a bowl . He put it back and was more successful the second time around.
This was absolutely stupid. He was frustrated beyond belief with how his body was behaving. There was legitimately no reason to be experiencing this all consuming insomnia. No reason at all why he shouldn’t be able to lay down and fall asleep like a normal person. God knew he was tired enough to do so.
This last week had been absolute hell as he progressively became more sleep deprived and moody. Last night, he’d put a pan of cut up vegetables in the oven without turning the oven on, and had eaten half a plate of raw carrots for dinner before he realized something was off. He hadn’t been able to focus in class, hadn’t been able to focus on assignments; hell, he had barely been able to focus during conversations. On more than one occasion Charlie had shaken him by the shoulders, giving him a strange look that all but told him he had spaced out again.
Castiel felt like he was at the end of his rope. Ready to do just about anything for a good hour of shut eye. He’d take a cast iron pan to the head at this point.
He sighed heavily. If he got through the day, it would finally be the weekend. No classes and no assignments due immediately. He’d caffeinate heavily today, and tonight, he’d sleep, even if he died trying. Castiel picked up the full pot of coffee and his mug and went to pour it with hands that were shaking worryingly when, as if in slow motion, the pot slipped.
Castiel lunged for it, tipped off balance, grabbed for the counter. He missed, but his hand caught on the handle of the last pan in a stack, flinging it up and sending all the pans on top of it flying.
The coffee pot and all the acrobatic cookware landed on the floor with deafening cracks. Hot coffee splashed in a cinematic spray all over Castiel’s jeans and socks. Shards of glass skidded across the floor like they were on a mission to make the kitchen a death trap. Castiel, or someone, must have screeched, because in the next moment, Charlie slid into the kitchen brandishing the TV remote like a bat, blinking sleep out of her eyes but ready to fight nonetheless.
“GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU FILTHY BURGLAR HE’S JUST A BABY MARSHMALLOW-”
Castiel turned slowly, hands in the air, wet socks squelching and crunching over the glass. When Charlie saw that they were alone she lowered the remote – though, frankly, it didn’t make her any less intimidating.
“Oh, it's just you,” she said, clearly relieved. Then she looked down at the dark puddle Castiel was standing in and rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake Cassie, this is the third pot you’ve broken this month. I can’t keep buying these from Goodwill; they're starting to think I’m making bombs or something!”
“Sorry,” Castiel said sheepishly, looking around to see where he could step to escape the rapidly cooling mess he was standing in.
Charlie sighed, waving off his apology. “Don’t move, dude. You’re gonna slice up your feet.” She picked up a roll of paper towel and tossed it at Castiel without looking. It bumped against his chest and landed on the ground before he could muster together the reflexes to catch it. If he hadn’t already been watching her, he would have missed the worried look that flashed across her face. She grabbed another roll and began mopping up the mess of coffee, carefully picking out the larger glass pieces and dropping them in the trash.
“So. Another late night?” she asked, clearly trying to sound casual. Castiel rolled his eyes and crouched down, tearing off a few pieces of paper to help clean up. The change in position gave him an instant headache.
“This is so exhausting. I have no idea what’s going on.”
From across the room, Charlie snorted. “I know exactly what’s going on. You need to get laid.”
“I don’t see how that would solve anything, Charlie.”
This time she rolled her eyes. “Getting laid solves a lot of things. You should try it. Would work wonders for your stress level.”
“I’m not stressed,” Castiel grumbled, balling up the wet paper towel and tossing it towards the pile Charlie had already made. He missed gloriously. She looked down at the sad wet flop of the paper he had just thrown, then up at him with the same blank, unamused look.
“Yeah, sure. And I’m a wizard.”
Castiel tipped his head to the side, trying to piece together what wizards had to do with sex and what sex had to do with stress. Charlie just shook her head and finished mopping up the coffee and glass mess. She picked up all the pans and set them in the sink, then turned and eyed Castiel seriously.
“You need to figure this out, dude. It’s been what, a week since you’ve slept properly? Is something wrong back home?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, then what? Are you feeling off?”
“No. I’m feeling perfectly normal except for the zombie-like behaviour and complete inability to get any rest.”
“Well,” Charlie trailed off. “I wasn’t entirely kidding about getting laid. Another person in bed with you may help you fall asleep. Not sexually,” she added at Castiel’s raised eyebrow. “Just like, another presence there. The weight of someone.”
Castiel hummed, unable to deny that it sounded nice. “Would you-”
“NOPE,” Charlie interrupted. “Don’t you dare even ask, man. There is no way in hell you’d get me in bed with a dude, even if that dude is you. No offense.”
Castiel grunted, hoping she understood that no offense was taken because he didn’t have the energy to explain with words.
“Post an ad or something,” Charlie shrugged. “It’s uni. I’m sure there are lots of eligible women who would die to have you for a night.”
Castiel stared blankly at her, uncomprehending.
“I’m kidding, Cas. Kinda. But you do need to do something about this. You’re a walking disaster. A danger to society. Plus, I feel like I barely have a best friend anymore; you’ve been replaced by like… a mindless alien replica or something. I miss you.”
“I miss me too. You too. Me you. I-”
“Oh, here we go,” Charlie sighed, running her fingers through her hair, which made Castiel realize she had taken her headset off, then wonder when she had taken it off. It was only when Charlie shot him a weird look did he realize he must have been staring.
“Sorry. I should get to class,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it, which did nothing but worsen his headache.
“Sure. But you maybe wanna put shoes on first?”
Castiel looked down and realized he was still in just socks. Wet coffee socks. Probably not socks he should put inside his shoes.
“Yeah, that’s it. Gears are turning. Take ‘em off and wash your feet, get a new pair, and then you can leave,” Charlie said slowly, which was a good thing because anything faster would have been too much to comprehend. Castiel reached down and took the socks off, balling them up and dropping them straight into the trash with the glass and coffee soaked paper towel. He stepped gingerly into the bathroom, and then to his room to change again.
By the time he made it to the door, Charlie was rummaging around in the fridge for breakfast. She had already changed, and her hair was different. She must have put it up.
“That was fast,” Castiel said, genuinely surprised.
“Huh?” Charlie grunted, taking a huge bite out of an apple and slamming the fridge shut.
“I mean. You’re...ready already? Ready.” Castiel frowned. The words all sounded funny in his mouth. Was he even making any sense?
“Dude, I just had to brush my teeth and pee and change. Doesn’t take hours.”
“Oh,” Castiel said, trying to filter away this information somehow, but his brain was off duty. Refusing to participate. “Well, have a good day,” Castiel said, going for an easy smile. He picked up his car keys and turned to the door, pressing the button to unlock it.
He pressed once, twice, and on the third time Charlie appeared at his side, looking at him like he’d fallen from the sky.
“Sweetie, that unlocks the car . Not the apartment. ” She twisted the handle and opened the door, looking genuinely concerned now. Castiel gave her a tired wave as he left. If this was how the morning went, how the hell would a whole day of classes go?
He had already pulled into the school parking lot by the time he realized he hadn’t actually brought any coffee.
>><<
The morning classes crawled by, yet Castiel couldn’t remember a single thing that was taught by the time the professors dismissed them. He stepped out into the crisp November air, disoriented and nearly delirious.
Half of him knew Charlie was kidding about posting an ad, and the other half still didn’t understand how it would help, but he had reached the point where he was willing to try even the things that did not make sense.
Castiel swung his backpack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and tore a lined sheet of paper straight out of a notebook. He crouched down, using his thigh as a table, and hardly had the energy to care that his writing was mostly illegible.
In a fog, he packed his bag back together and zombied his way over to the nearest announcement board. It was cluttered with brightly coloured posters advertising spare rooms and some sort of winter festival, but the information hardly registered. He pulled a lonely pin out of the cork and stuck his own notice on the board, only distantly aware of how creepy it sounded.
Can’t sleep. Cuddling wanted. Will pay.
Below this, he’d scrawled his phone number. Castiel stared blankly at the wall for a second longer, wondering if he should do the smart thing and simply rip the page down to avoid the risk of being reported for unsavoury business. He blinked slowly, then decided he didn’t care one way or another.
A sharp gust of wind blew a collection of curled brown leaves up into a spiral. Somewhere to his left, a group of students in jerseys tossed a football between them, laughing and pushing one another. It was only when his hands became numb from the cold that Castiel realized he should probably get going.
He checked his watch. There was about an hour before his next class, just enough time to get a coffee and possibly some reading done. He picked his way between the clusters of students, wandering vaguely towards Bean, his usual coffee shop.
Thanks to his inattention lately, he’d have much more work to catch up on than usual. The photography program he was taking wasn’t overly complicated. That is, it was manageable if he stayed on top of his assignments. He’d discovered very quickly in his first semester that falling behind was a death trap. Gabriel would simply kill him if he flunked out now, so near the end of the program.
This lethargy was temporary. It was fixable. It had to be. He’d be back on track in no time.
Castiel resolutely pushed thoughts of failure out of his mind and entered the warmth of the shop. Whatever tension had flooded his body from the sharp cold leached out of him once the smell of coffee hit. He normally loved the cozy atmosphere of the shop, what with its bare light bulbs and exposed brick and worn wood tables. Today, it wasn’t exactly helpful. Feeling at home made the persistent tug of exhaustion stronger. He marched up to the counter, fighting back a yawn.
“Hey Castiel, what’s up?”
“Kevin,” Castiel responded, trying for a warm smile. It was only slightly concerning that the barista knew him by name. “The usual,” he responded. No point worrying a complete stranger with the fuckery his body was up to lately. If he was going to die of exhaustion, he’d damned well do it quietly.
“Same as last time?” Kevin asked, already typing Castiel’s usual order into the screen.
“Yeah, but could you add a couple shots to it?” Castiel tried for an innocent look, as if adding espresso to black coffee wasn’t unusual at all.
“Uh, sure,” Kevin responded, giving him a concerned look anyways. “How many?”
“Four.” He resolutely ignored the way the kid’s eyes widened. If he zoned out during his afternoon classes too, he really would fall behind, and then he’d have bigger problems to worry about than just being tired. Castiel tapped his card on the machine and gave Kevin a wave, turning away before he had a chance to comment.
The coffee was set on the bar surprisingly quickly. Or maybe he had just drifted away from reality again. Castiel picked it up, refusing to even consider that a possibility. He chose a table against the wall and pulled a textbook out of his bag, determined to be productive.
Half an hour and one refill later, his phone buzzed. He set down the second empty cup and unlocked it, only mildly concerned that his hands were shaking. It was an unknown number.
Still looking for someone to take up your cuddling offer?
Castiel stared at the message, uncomprehending. He hadn’t actually thought he’d get a response. But if Charlie thought this was a decent plan… He typed out a response before he could chicken out.
Yes.
His heart pounded as he watched three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.
I’m free tonight if you want ;)
The cheeky tone of the message had Castiel blushing, despite knowing nothing about the person on the other end of the conversation. For all he knew, she could be a creep. Or she could take the offer as a sexual one. Holy shit . What if she thought he was actually asking for sex, and he’d end up in the awkward position of having to let her down and explain that he was very, very gay?
He found himself typing out another message and sending it without even stopping to think.
You do this often?
Fuck. Even that could be taken any which way. Why did he put up that ad?
Never, actually. But I could use some extra pocket money.
Something strange flipped in Castiel’s stomach at that, probably because the message gave him no real information as to who this person was. Distantly, he was aware that he was overthinking, but more than that, he was cursing Charlie for ever planting the idea in his head. His phone buzzed again.
I finish class at 6. Where can I meet you?
The message was innocent enough, unassuming yet still forward in a way that Castiel felt he wasn’t being tricked. Before he could stop himself, he typed out Bean and sent it.
Ah, so you’re the hipster type ;p
Castiel blinked at his phone, then clicked it off without responding. His heart was pounding; possibly because he had no idea what he was getting himself into, possibly because he’d downed eight espresso shots and two large coffees in – he checked his watch – the last hour.
A few moments later, the time actually registered. He packed his books up and left the shop with another wave to Kevin.
Despite being definitely, one hundred percent over caffeinated, Castiel couldn’t focus on the prof’s words for the life of him. If someone put a gun to his head and asked him to repeat the last sentence that was said, he’d simply have to eat a bullet.
What was even more devastating was that this class was the sort that only met once a week and was painfully long. By the time they were dismissed, it was nearing 6pm. Castiel packed his books slowly, anxiety growing now that he had nothing left to do before returning to the coffee shop to meet the person who was insane enough to respond to his hasty note. He had half convinced himself he was off to meet an axe murderer because there was no way any normal person would agree to this.
And yet, by the time he picked his way back to the shop, his nerves had weirdly settled. The truth was, he was just too tired to care one way or another. EIther he’d find the miraculous fix Charlie had taunted him with, or he wouldn’t. No skin off his teeth.
He entered the warmth of the shop for the second time that day and scanned the tables. In one corner, there was a group of girls bent over notebooks and coffee mugs, studying and talking softly. Other than that, the place was empty save for a man in a leather jacket, sprawled languidly in a chair, typing away on his phone.
Castiel was just about to order another coffee when his phone buzzed.
Table by the door.
He swallowed and looked up. The table by the door is where the man was sitting. The heat that flushed through him had nothing to do with the temperature change from inside to outside. Now that he was paying attention, the man was sexy. A model pulled straight out of vogue. Short fringe, brushed roughly to the side. Stubble. Boots. Jeans.
There was no way this would work. A thousand different reasons flooded through Castiel’s mind, the loudest being that no man who looked like that would want to get in bed with the awkward likes of him. And yet, he found his feet taking him to the guy’s table anyways. Traitorous bastards.
“Hi.” The greeting slipped out, and he cringed immediately. Of all the times in the world to have nothing clever to say, this one topped them all. The man looked up, and Castiel nearly swooned at how green his eyes were. He had freckles.
The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise for all of a second before his lips curled into a friendly smile.
“Cuddle ad?” he asked, still watching Castiel like he was anything to look at. Castiel found himself nodding. “Not gonna lie, thought you were a chick.”
“Oh,” Castiel responded, somehow even more awkward than before. His mind was struggling to come up with something, anything to say, but the fog of a sleepless week made thinking an impossible task. “We don’t have to-”
“No. No. It’s not an issue, I just-” The guy laughed, then gestured vaguely to the chair across from him. Castiel found himself sitting down automatically. “Let’s start over. I’m Dean.” He reached out a hand, and Castiel took it, surprised at how warm it was.
“Castiel. Nice to meet you.”
“Huh. Interesting name,” Dean removed his hand from Castiel’s loose grasp and sat forward in his chair. “What’re you studying?”
“Art. Photography major,” Castiel fumbled out, feeling odd and wrong footed under the man’s attention. Dean smiled at him, cocking his head to the side.
“Photography, huh? Never could get the hang of it myself. All my pictures are at an angle or have my thumb half-way over the lens.”
Dean’s voice was entrancing. Deep and a little rough around the edges, just a hint of a southern accent. Soothing. It was a few seconds of horribly awkward silence before Castiel realized he was supposed to respond.
“Oh. Um,” he blurted, blushing. His voice sounded too loud and harsh in comparison. “I’m sure they’re not… awful.”
“You’d be the first,” Dean mused, easily sidestepping what could have been a miserable stumbling block in their conversation. “You want some coffee, man?”
Castiel blinked at him for a second, his eyes widening when the words actually came together in his brain. “Oh – no, you don’t need to do that,” he protested weakly, his words falling on deaf ears as Dean got up.
“You look like you need it. No offense,” he tacked on, grinning down at him. “You know what you want?”
Castiel, already halfway out of his chair, decided it would be less awkward to stand than it would be to let Dean take his order like they were on a date. This wasn’t what this was, and he had to keep reminding himself of it. “I’ll just order with you. Please, let me pay,” he insisted, though it came out less convincing and more desperate.
Dean looked him up and down, and then slowly tucked his wallet back into his pocket. Castiel, hoping he wasn’t offended, stumbled over himself trying to explain. “I mean. I invited you here. Sort of. Right?” he asked more than said, and the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched.
“I think that’s debatable, but you don’t have to convince me all that hard,” he joked, stepping to the side so Castiel could lead the way. “I mean, I’m the one that responded to your… uh. Oh-so professional looking advertisement.”
Castiel, to his surprise, found himself laughing. He didn’t feel as embarrassed as he should have. “Can you tell I’m getting desperate, here?”
“You kinda look like you’ve got some shiner action going there, Cas,” Dean said easily, nudging him with his shoulder. “Coulda figured it out without the notebook paper, I think.”
Castiel sighed. “It’s been… a long couple of days,” he admitted.
Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, tapping the counter idly as they waited for someone to appear from the back. At this time of the evening, the shop was pretty dead – Castiel knew the workers sometimes abandoned the front for breaks, trusting the regulars to keep the place from burning down. “Somethin’ going on?” Dean asked, his voice neutral. “Not to pry, or nothin’. I know you don’t know me from Adam.”
Castiel blinked at him. “I thought your name was Dean?”
Dean chuckled, but a second later, he furrowed his brow. “Oh, man. You’re really out of it, aren’t you?”
Castiel rubbed his forehead. “I tried to unlock my front door with my car keys this morning.”
The look on Dean’s face went from mildly concerned to full blown alarm. “You drove here?”
Castiel was saved from responding by Kevin finally emerging from the back. He glanced at Dean, but smiled brightly at Castiel. “Back again?”
He nodded, feeling Dean’s eyes on him as he dug out his wallet. “Same as before, please,” he said, clearing his throat.
Kevin obediently started to tap his order into the tablet-turned-register, but he paused as if it had just sunk in. “Four shots again?” he asked, a little concern beginning to creep into his tone, too, and Castiel only barely resisted the urge to drop his forehead onto the counter in frustration.
“Whoa,” Dean piped up from beside him. He was leaning over the counter, unashamedly looking at Castiel’s order – and Kevin, the traitor, obligingly angled the tablet so that he could better inspect the caffeine monstrosity that Castiel was ordering. “Man… that seems, uh. Look, I ain’t exactly into the party scene, but I feel like blow would be safer at this point.”
Castiel, poised with his card in the air for a tablet that was not being offered to him, blinked. “Blow?”
“Coke,” Kevin pipped up helpfully. “And, honestly, yeah. This is his third one today.”
Dean’s eyes widened, and before Castiel could blink, his card was being plucked out of his hand. “Buddy, not to be that guy. But I think you’ve had one too many tonight.”
“It – I’m not drinking alcohol,” Castiel sputtered, but Dean ignored him. He plucked his wallet from his other hand, slipped the card inside, and tucked it snuggly into Castiel’s front pocket.
“Driving sleep deprived is twice as dangerous as driving drunk,” Kevin rattled off cheerfully, and at this point Castiel could have reached over the bar to strangle him.
“Right, which is why I’d like to drink some coffee before I drive home,” Castiel gritted out, tapping his foot. He fumbled to slip his wallet out of his pocket again, but his hands weren’t cooperating. The only thing he managed to do was drop it on the floor, then stare at it as though it had betrayed him.
Dean glanced down at the fold of leather, and then at him. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he fished out his own wallet. “We’re gonna have two hot cocoas,” he said firmly, ducking down to grab Castiel’s before he could protest.
Kevin nodded, his fingers flying over the screen. “You want marshmallows?”
“Duh,” Dean answered, smiling as he stood back up. He was still looking at Castiel, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You like marshmallows, right Cas?” he asked innocently, dropping the wallet into his pocket for the second time.
“I –” Castiel started to protest, because hot chocolate was not going to be near enough to wake him up. But Dean’s smile was enough to make him reconsider, as stupid as it might be. “Yes. I suppose. Can’t say I’ve had them in my drink many times.”
“That’s because you’re usually drinking the equivalent to jet fuel, seems like,” Dean said, handing Kevin a folded-over twenty.
“Maybe,” Castiel admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Go on,” Dean said, jerking his head back to nod at their table. “Go sit before you fall down. I’ll wait for them.”
Castiel, too tired to even begin to figure out how to argue, obediently turned around to traipse back to their seats. He could feel his body protesting the lack of caffeine already – his eyes felt heavy and gritty, and he probably could have comfortably slept on the ground right there by the register. If only lying down wouldn’t trigger his brain to turn on all the damn lights.
From behind him, he could hear Dean say, “No, man. Keep the change,” and a faint argument from Kevin, but he was too tired to do anything about that, either.
What felt like seconds later, Dean sat down across from him again, twin mugs of steaming hot chocolate in his large hands. Castiel found himself staring at them for a little too long, and missed the first half of what Dean said.
“– know I’m sexy, but you’re making me blush here, Cas.”
Castiel blinked, his eyes drifting up to meet Dean’s. “Hm?”
Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Here.”
Castiel very carefully took the mug of cocoa from him, and raised it to his mouth. His hands were shaking a little, and he didn’t want to dump it all over his shirt. “Sorry if I was a little too forward, there. Just seems like, if you’re trying to sleep, all that caffeine ain’t really gonna help.”
“I can’t sleep anyway,” Castiel said moodily. “If I don’t have coffee, I’m much more likely to do stupid things. Stupider things,” he amended, when Dean’s eyes flickered to the wallet that was still crammed in his front pocket.
“Things like inviting a stranger back to your apartment?” Dean asked, though the words didn’t sound judgmental. More curious. His eyes were bright in the dim lighting of the coffee shop, and Castiel had to firmly remind himself not to stare into them for too long – no matter how pretty they were.
“Yes,” he agreed simply, exhaustion pulling at him. “Things like that.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time today, setting down the warm, sweet cocoa. “Or perhaps things like… answering a highly suspect anonymous ad.”
Dean laughed, the sound bright and surprisingly good natured, considering that Castiel was insulting him. “Fair,” he admitted, leaning back.
“Why did you, anyway?” Castiel asked, curious in the most mild, sleepy sense. “Answer. Show up here.”
Dean shrugged. “Just wanted to see what would happen.”
“What if I’d been some creep? Would you have just gotten up to leave?”
“I guess it would have depended on how much you were gonna pay me,” Dean joked – though there was a sliver of something a little less humorous in his tone. Castiel wished he had the energy to figure it out, but he didn’t. So he just nodded instead.
“I guess we should talk about that. The, uh. The price,” he said awkwardly after a moment, patting his pocket again. “How much were you –”
But Dean was already shaking his head. “Forget it.”
Castiel felt his heart plummet to the floor. “Oh. Um. I’m sorry, I thought –”
Dean shook his head. “No, I mean. Just. You seem like a nice guy,” Dean explained. “I’d feel kinda scummy taking anything from you right now, you know? I get that you ain’t drunk, but you’re… whatever’s closest.”
Castiel frowned. “I’m capable of making my own choices,” he said stiffly, reaching down to pick up his cup. He managed to stick his hand right in the thankfully cooled liquid instead, and for a moment, they both looked down at it in silence.
“Right,” Dean said, the edge of a laugh in his voice. “I stand corrected.”
Castiel, blushing, wiped his hand sheepishly on his pants. Dean took a sip of his own drink, wiping off the foam mustache with the back of his hand. “So… my place, or yours?”
Blinking, Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Didn’t you just say…”
“I said you weren’t gonna pay me,” Dean clarified, shrugging. “Didn’t say I was bailing completely.”
If he’d been less tired, Castiel would have demanded an explanation. Would have wanted to know why. But, as it was, the only thing he was capable of feeling was relief. “Um,” he said, recovering as best he could as he dug his keys out of his pocket with a fumbling hand. They dropped to the table with a loud clatter, and he winced. “I mean… I guess you could follow me to my apartment. Or, uh. I could drive us?”
Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the keys. “I think the fuck not. You can’t even hold that cup straight.”
“I –” Castiel sputtered, but like magic, the keys vanished from in front of him. When he looked up, they were dangling from Dean’s fingertips. “Um–”
“I’d like to live, personally,” Dean added. “And I’d like you to make it, too. Otherwise it’s gonna be awkward when I show up to your place all alone.”
“Dean, I can’t let you do that,” Castiel said, though his protests were half-hearted. On some level, he was aware that Dean was right – driving was a profoundly bad idea, even if the commute back to his apartment wasn’t a long one. The truth was, he was feeling nothing but relief that the decision was being taken out of his hands.
“You’re gonna have to, bud,” Dean said cheerfully, offering him his hand. “Come on. You look like you’re about to pass out right there.”
“If I could do that, this wouldn’t be happening,” Castiel muttered, but he obligingly put his hand in Dean’s and allowed the man to help pull him up. He swayed dangerously, and Dean rested a hand to his back, steadying him. His touch was warm, and Castiel found himself leaning into it.
“I parked real close, lucky for you,” he said, steering Castiel toward the door. Castiel gave a small wave to Kevin, who waved back with a grin. “Is your car gonna be okay overnight?”
“I’ve got a pass,” Castiel answered blankly, still a little disoriented. He patted his hand to his pocket, frowning. His keys weren’t there. “Have you seen my keys?”
Dean didn’t answer, and after a moment Castiel looked over. The expression on the man’s face was starting to look a lot like Charlie’s so often did, these days. “And you wanted to drive,” he muttered. “Jesus. How have you survived this long?”
“No idea,” Castiel replied honestly. “Luck?”
“That, or someone upstairs really likes you,” Dean mused. “Come on, it’s just around the corner here.”
Castiel allowed himself to be led outside, and by the time he realized his hand was still in Dean’s, it was too awkward to draw attention to it by pulling away. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, anyway. Before he knew it, they had stopped in front of a long, intimidating black car.
“Nice, right?” Dean asked, fishing his keys out of his jacket and unlocking the driver’s side. Castiel squinted at the shape in the darkness. “What do you think of Baby?”
“This is not a human infant,” Castiel replied, studying Dean carefully as he reached for the handle. “It’s a car. And it’s old.”
Dean laughed. “Got me there, Cas,” he said, blatantly amused – though Castiel couldn’t remember saying anything funny. “You know that door ain’t unlocked yet, right?”
Castiel glanced down at his hands, his brow furrowed. “Oh.”
“Here.” A moment later, there was a muffled click, and then Dean was magically on his side again. “Your chariot,” he said with a flourish, opening the door for him with a mischievous smile.
Castiel normally would have protested being treated so gently, or at the very least, had something clever to say, but as it was, he just silently slid into the car. Dean closed the door behind him, and Castiel fought to keep his eyes open as Dean walked back to his side and slid behind the wheel, turning the keys. The car came to life with a low rumble.
“Where to, cowboy?”
Castiel rubbed at his eyes. “Um,” he said unhelpfully, his mind blank. “I…”
“You wanna just give me the address?” Dean asked, clearly taking pity on him. Relieved, Castiel nodded, and Dean tapped it into his phone with his tongue caught between his teeth. It was surprisingly adorable, for a grown man in a leather jacket.
Wordlessly, Dean pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. It was relatively empty, even for a week day, and they made it to the apartment complex quickly. Maybe too quickly – Castiel couldn’t tell if Dean was driving too fast, if he’d spaced out again, or both.
“Number?” Dean asked, once they pulled through the gate.
“666.”
“Funny,” Dean mused, grinning as he pulled smoothly into a space.
“Why?”
“‘Cause you seem more like an angel to me,” he quipped. It took Castiel a pathetically long time to connect the dots.
“Oh. Because that’s the bad number,” he said slowly. His tongue was beginning to feel like lead in his mouth. “Right.”
Dean snorted. “My humor is wasted on you,” he said, though he didn’t sound all that upset about it. “I’m just glad you’re on the ground floor, or I might be carrying you.”
Castiel found himself wishing he wasn’t on the ground floor, but he wasn’t so far gone that he was gonna say that out loud. He blinked, and Dean was suddenly on the passenger side, opening his door for him. “Come on, man. Up you get.”
In a daze, Castiel fumbled to unbuckle his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car. Again, Dean steadied him, and this time, Castiel was far less subtle about leaning into his space. Dean’s chest was warm, and the air was cold, and Jesus Christ he was tired.
“I can tell,” Dean said lowly. Castiel didn’t have the energy to figure out which part he’d said out loud, so he followed Dean inside, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
>><<
When they got to the front door, Dean somehow magically managed to open it. Castiel squinted at him, confused, and Dean just shook his head. “I had your keys, Cas. Remember?”
“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Right.”
In the living room, he could already hear Charlie shouting advice at her team through her headset. He stood marooned in the middle of the entry hall while Dean deadbolted the door behind them and dropped Castiel’s keys onto the little table. He shrugged off his jacket, and Castiel couldn’t really help the way his eyes traced the lines of the man’s chest and arms under his thinner henley.
“That your roommate?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hm?” Castiel said, hardly hearing him. His arms were just so nice.
Dean snapped his fingers a few times, and Castiel’s attention sharpened. “Roommate, right? Not girlfriend? Because I don’t wanna get chased out of here with plates being chucked at my head.”
“Gay,” he replied intelligently, then blinked. “I mean. She... She’s – and I’m, also. Um.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, but before he could clarify, Charlie was shouting at them from the other room. “Cassie, that you?”
“And company,” Dean shouted back.
Abruptly, the sound of her game shut off, and Charlie appeared around the corner like she’d teleported there. Her eyes went comically wide.
“Uh. Hel- lo, she said, looking at Castiel meaningfully. “Cas, I said cuddle buddy, not fuck buddy. Jesus, man. You look like a greek god.”
Dean grinned even as Castiel’s cheeks burned. “You ain’t so bad yourself,” he shot back, but Charlie just rolled her eyes.
“Wrong tree, Romeo.”
“I prefer Dean,” he replied easily, and as he turned around to hang his jacket on the hook by the door, Charlie gave Castiel an exaggerated wink. “And, yeah. Cas told me already.”
“Good on him. Cassie’s tree, though – whoo,” she said, fanning herself – Castiel was about ready to crawl into a hole. “Just begging to be climbed.”
Whatever he’d been expecting – for Dean to grimace, or say he had to leave, or for him to glare at Castiel or accuse him of bringing him here under false pretences – Castiel hadn’t expected him to turn back and look at him with something that looked like interest. “`I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and behind him, Charlie did a little fist pump in the air.
“I’ll leave you two to fuck then,” Charlie said cheerfully, completely ignoring the way Castiel balked at her. “I ordered pizza earlier. There’s some left in the kitchen.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, though he didn’t turn back to look at her as she went back to her game. His eyes lingered on Castiel instead.
Castiel cleared his throat. “I uh… hope you like pineapple,” he said, trying desperately to cover how red his face was. “That’s all she ever orders.”
“Pineapple on pizza is a crime,” Dean responded cheerfully as they walked into the kitchen, not all that offended. “You want a slice too?”
“I’m not hungry,” Castiel said, shaking his head.
“Not to be a mom, or anything,” Dean said, opening the fridge like he belonged there, “but what have you eaten today besides coffee grounds?”
Castiel squinted, willing the rusty gears in his brain to start turning. They didn’t budge. “Um…”
“Right,” Dean said. “Cold, or hot?”
A few minutes later, Castiel was numbly eating a slice of pizza and watching Dean do the same. Admittedly, he did feel marginally better with something in his stomach, and it didn’t take them long to polish it off. That left him free to watch Dean eat, which was much more entertaining. If the man noticed him staring, he was kind enough not to comment on it.
“Wanna get this show on the road?” Dean asked, setting their plates in the sink. “Not too late to send me home, just so you know.”
Castiel felt his stomach swoop. “Please, no,” he blurted, and Dean raised his hands.
“Just thought I’d put it out there,” he said easily. “Lead the way?”
Swallowing, Castiel steadied himself. “I… if you don’t want to…”
“I do,” Dean said simply. “Come on. You’re gonna pass out just standing there.”
Castiel nodded, and, shaking his head to clear it, led Dean out of the kitchen. They passed behind Charlie on the way to Castiel’s room, and the redhead turned around with a smirk.
“The internet says you’re hot, Dean,” she said, snickering. “I’ve got a poll up in the chat – do you, or do you not, have a tattoo?”
Dean smirked. “You’d have to undress me to find out.”
“Wrong tree,” Charlie replied in a sing-song voice, and Dean laughed. Castiel, still struggling to follow the thread of their conversation, just squinted at him when he winked. “You two have fun. I’m going to be out here, headphones on, if you catch my drift.”
“Charlie, we aren’t–”
“Save it,” Charlie said with a grin, waving him off. “See you tomorrow.”
Unwilling – and, frankly, unable – to continue to argue, Castiel gave up. He led Dean to his room, fumbling with the knob for a moment before he managed to open the door. Inside, the room was an unmitigated disaster.
“Fuck,” he summed up.
“Looks like a tornado blew through here,” Dean mused, looking over his shoulder at the nightmare. “What happened?”
Castiel took in a breath. “I… I’m not normally this messy,” he said, shaking his head. The words to explain himself weren’t coming as fast as he’d like them to. “But… on weeks like this, I just…”
“It’s low priority, yeah?” Dean said, sounding far more understanding than Castiel could have hoped. “I get it, man. Bad weeks for me turn into this too.”
“You have insomnia?” Castiel asked blankly, but Dean just paused, his eyes on the piles of laundry all over the room rather than on him.
“No,” he answered. There was no further attempt to explain, and even as exhausted as he was, Castiel could understand a stop sign when he heard one. He didn’t press, and eventually, Dean stepped further into the room.
“So… how do you wanna do this?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Idly, he began to unbutton his shirt, and like a moth to a flame, Castiel drew closer and sat down beside him. “Can’t say I’ve ever just slept with someone to… you know. Sleep.”
Castiel dragged his eyes away from Dean’s hands, blinking sluggishly. “Um.”
Dean watched him struggle for a moment, but after a few seconds, he smiled. “Not much goin’ on up in that attic of yours right now, is there?”
“No,” Castiel blurted, somehow relieved. “I’m… tired.”
The words were pitiful, hardly adequate to explain the pure, soul sick exhaustion that was weighing on every inch of him. But they seemed to be enough for Dean.
He squared his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter, and Castiel felt himself swallow as Dean turned to look him up and down. “First of all, you aren’t gonna sleep in jeans. Strip.”
Castiel’s brain took a good few seconds to process those words, but his hands started moving immediately. Fumbling and clumsy, he struggled to unbutton his shirt, taking far too long. What should have been a simple task quickly became frustrating, and before he knew it he could feel something sharp and hot pressing against the back of his eyes.
Warm hands dragged his increasingly more aggressive attempts to a halt. “Here,” Dean murmured, and without further ado he was unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt for him. If Castiel’s brain visibly blanked out at that, Dean didn’t call him on it.
“There you go,” Dean said, his voice low and soothing. “Now your arms.”
Distant, brain already going a little fuzzy, Castiel moved obligingly, and soon his overshirt was off and on the floor. He stared at it, half confused as to how it was there at all, and then looked back at Dean just in time to see him kneel down in front of him.
“These gotta go, for sure,” he said, almost to himself, as he untied Castiel’s shoes and tugged them off. Clumsily, Castiel did his best to help. Dean stood, then his boots were being kicked off too. “Pants,” he prompted, and Castiel managed to unbutton those and slide them off all on his own.
He looked up to find that Dean had done the same, and the last active brain cells in the line of duty deserted. Dean was… hot. Even if Castiel had the brain power to come up with a more descriptive word, he wouldn't. Standing there in black boxers and a dark t-shirt, Dean was easily the most beautiful man Castiel had ever seen. He sucked in a sharp breath, some awareness returning to his body as he watched Dean reach for the neck of his shirt and tug it off.
Castiel clamped his jaw shut but didn’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from Dean’s treasure trail before he was caught.
“Like what you see?” Dean asked teasingly, leaning back so the muscles over his chest rippled and his hips swayed forward in a wanton display.
“Yes,” Castiel blurted, absolutely no will left inside of him to stop himself. Dean just smiled at him, plopping back down on the bed so that Castiel bounced a little.
“Come on,” he said, scooting to the inner wall. He pulled the covers back and shimmied under them, looking right at home in Castiel’s bed. “You’re gonna be the little spoon.”
Castiel figured, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should probably have put up at least a token protest. He didn’t, though – he just let himself collapse onto the mattress, sliding back until he could feel Dean’s warmth against his skin, closer and closer.
And then, swallowing, he found himself grinding to an abrupt halt.
Dean, apparently impatient for him to dredge up the courage, pulled Castiel flush against him. The line of his arm was warm against his chest. “This okay?”
Castiel had to clear his throat before answering. “Um. Yeah,” he said, his voice a little strangled. And it was. It was more than okay. But his body, for some reason, did not get the memo. He could feel every inch, tense, taut, waiting for a fight that wasn’t going to come because he was supposed to be relaxing. He sighed, if only to give Dean some sort of reassurance that he was comfortable, but the noise came out more like exasperation. There was absolutely no reason for this sudden flood of anxiety, yet here he was, sixth night in a row – except this time with an audience.
“That kinda sounds more like a no,” Dean said after a moment, shifting against him. He pulled his arm back, obviously hesitant. “Did you wanna be the big spoon, or–”
“No,” Castiel said, so frustrated in that moment he could have cried. “No, I. That was fine. It’s just… I can’t seem to…”
“Relax?” Dean finished, sounding far less amused than he had before.
“Yeah,” Castiel admitted on an exhale, releasing some of the tension in his lungs like steam from a pressure cooker. Suddenly, lying down was too much. Lying still was too much. It made no sense whatsoever, but his exhausted body became restless. Filled with jitters from head to toe. Before he could even consider what he was doing, Castiel pushed out from under the blanket and stood. He was shaking in a way that had nothing to do with the sudden cold from leaving Dean’s side. He turned, because seeing the gently confused look on Dean’s face was overwhelmingly mortifying.
Behind him, he could hear the rustle of blankets as Dean sat up. Castiel wanted to turn back, to apologize, but he was afraid if he did he might lose it entirely.
“Can I touch you?” Dean asked after a moment, much closer than Castiel thought he was.
Castiel flinched forward – but, a fractured second later, he nodded. Why not? He’d been fine with cuddling the man, for God’s sake. This shouldn’t be different. Still, the touch did not come right away, and when Dean did make contact, it was only to brush his fingers against Castiel’s, then gently take his hand.
“Oh,” Castiel said, only belatedly realizing he’d done so out loud. It just… hadn’t been what he’d expected. He didn’t even know what he’d thought Dean would do, but something like this – something as innocent and soft as holding his hand – hadn’t occurred to him.
“Sometimes,” Dean started, then cleared his throat. He paused, the easy way he’d spoken for most of the night nowhere to be found. “Sometimes, when I’m… when I’m having a hard time. I just turn on some music. Do you do that?”
“No,” Castiel said, blunt enough that Dean huffed next to him. He swallowed, realizing he needed to soften the blow. “It normally doesn’t…”
His shoulders slumped, embarrassed by the speed at which he slammed down Dean’s ideas. “I’m willing to try anything, at this point,” he amended. No point in shooting Dean down, even if he was pretty sure listening to anything would give him even more useless energy than he already had.
Dean hummed. “No music, then.”
“There’s just…” he started, feeling pressure to explain even though Dean was behind him and he couldn’t see his expression. “There’s already a lot of noise in my head. I know that’s… I know that isn’t normal,” Castiel found himself adding, his throat getting tight. “People have told me that before.”
“People are dicks,” Dean said simply. “It works for me. Shuts everything in my brain up. But this ain’t about me.”
Castiel swallowed. “No?”
“No. It’s about you tonight,” Dean answered. “So… what do you need?”
Castiel huffed. “If I knew that, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Can… I try something?”
Castiel gave a noncommittal hum. He probably should have been nervous about a question like that, but it was hard to care about anything at all. Hard to feel anything at all, except for the screaming, ever present need to sleep and the excessive pounding of his own heart.
Movements slow and obvious, Dean stepped closer, and closer still. His green eyes were soft in the darkness of Castiel’s tiny room. Gently, never looking away, he wrapped his arms around Castiel, until they were pressed chest to chest. And then, as if guided by music only he could hear, he began to sway.
Castiel’s breath caught in his chest for a moment, but when he could string his thoughts back together, he clumsily reached up and wrapped his arms around Dean in turn. The man hummed, a soft, content noise, and hooked his chin over Castiel’s shoulder. It was easy to follow his lead. To let himself melt under the hand that traced its way up his spine. To slowly tip his head and let it rest heavily on Dean’s shoulder.
Later, Castiel couldn’t have said how long they stayed like that – joined together in the semi dark, listening to soundless music, dancing in the gentlest sense of the word. At some point, the rabbit fast racing of his heart slowed and his breaths came and went easily.
“Still with me, Cas?”
Castiel hummed. At some point, he’d closed his eyes, and he didn’t really want to open them again. A moment later, there was a gentle, insistent pressure at the back of his head. It took him a long second to realize Dean had threaded his fingers into his hair. He didn’t have the energy to hold back his punched out groan. Dean chuckled, and Cas felt the sound vibrate through his chest.
“Come on,” Dean murmured. He pulled away and Castiel followed as if magnetized. In truth, he was unwilling to let Dean go far. So when the man tugged the covers back and laid in the bed, Castiel did not hesitate to lie down beside him. To rest his head on the man’s shoulder, his hand on the man’s chest. There was something grounding in the way it rose and fell unhurriedly, like there was nothing left to do but sleep. Not a worry in the world.
Dean might have said something – his voice low and soothing, his breath ghosting over the top of Castiel’s head. Castiel might even have replied. But the words felt far away. Unimportant.
“Don’t go,” Castiel breathed out, a muted worry against a backdrop of Dean .
“I won’t,” Dean replied, but the words seemed less a sound from his lips and more a rumble in his chest.
Castiel inhaled , and was unaware of his next exhale.
Unaware of anything at all.