Chapter Text
***
Going undercover as a couple would have been a brilliant idea to catch the monster they are after if only Dean wasn’t going undercover as a couple with Cas.
Not to get your ideas twisted, the situation felt more like a dream than a nightmare for Dean, which was the whole damn problem. It was far too easy to lose himself into the false pretense of them being an actual couple, to the point where he actually craved the connection.
“Dean? Are you listening?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes he’s been zoning out for two minutes.
“Yeah, sorry Cas. You were saying?”
“Sam thinks we’re hunting an Algea. They were the personified spirits of pain and suffering, grief, sorrow and distress, bringers of weeping and tears. The Algea were related to Oizys…”
They’ve been here for 12 hours, trying to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain. So far 2 people have died here, at the Greystone Retreat in Nashville Tennessee, and the best way they found to try and bring it down was to go undercover as a couple having issues with their marriage.
Which would have been a brilliant idea, if Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t such a sucker for the angel.
But choices were made, and his feelings for his best friend didn’t weigh heavily over saving dozens of people from a murderous maniac supernatural being. So obviously, when Sam pitched the idea, he and Cas were both immediately on board.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Cas’s voice suddenly breaks through his haze and he looks up to him from where he’s sitting on the bed. His tone isn’t questioning, it’s acknowledging.
“Silver kills it, a bullet through the heart. Right?” Dean finally answers, locking with Castiel’s cobalt blue eyes.
The angel is wearing a very different outfit from what he’s used to- “if we’re gonna sell the part about you and me being married, you’re gonna have to wear anything other than this dirty trench-coat and freaking suit that I’ve seen you in for a decade, Cas” Dean had said- and boy oh boy was it a mistake to request for him to wear this.
Cas is wearing one of Dean’s pair of black jeans, the hems carefully folded to fit him perfectly, a pair of brown boots and a fitted navy shirt three buttons down that makes his eyes pop.
And Dean’s going to fucking lose it at some point, because how the hell is he allowed to look this good while wearing Dean’s clothes? It feels like everything has been designed to fit every distinctive part of him in the most perfect way, and Dean is absolutely, blatantly, completely fucked.
Castiel finally sits on the chair facing the hunter, looking almost as distraught as Dean seems to be.
“What’s wrong with you? You seem very… agitated, yet not entirely there with me,” he asks, tilting his head in that particular gesture that’s just… so Cas.
“I’m fine, Cas. I’m just tired. I’m gonna try and get some sleep if you don’t mind, you can keep on with the research if you want to.”
“Actually, I was thinking…” Cas starts then stops, hesitating.
His eyes flicker to the king-sized bed Dean is sitting on before he picks up.
“We should probably sleep together to maintain cover, if either the Algea during the night or the staff tomorrow morning comes in?”
Dean simultaneously feels like his heart has dropped ten stories and is gonna burst on fire. It didn’t occur to him that they might have to literally take their cover to their literal bed.
He’s suddenly not entirely sure that this is either a dream or a nightmare.
“Dean?”
Cas’s voice brings him back to the realm of the living again, and he’s left staring into the angel’s blues for a second before he finds the strength to use his voice again.
“Y-yeah you’re right” he stutters, trying to keep his face neutral while his stomach is making loops inside. “We never know. Are you actually gonna sleep?”
A decade ago, Castiel didn’t need to sleep and would have gladly kept on doing research- or flown out to god knows where angels went after midnight- until the brothers would’ve been up and ready to go. Today’s a different story, and he actually needs some sleep every now and then to recharge his angelic batteries.
Judging by the yawn that just escaped his mouth, Dean figures tonight is one of those nights.
“Yeah, I think I might. Did you pack anything for me to sleep in? I think my sweatpants stayed in the bunker” Cas says with a soft smile.
Dean sighs, checking through his duffel bag to bring out a pair of navy sweatpants that seems to be there specifically for Cas- God bless Sam, but also fuck him a little, cause the color of these sweatpants completely matches Castiel navy shirt and God the things this color does to Castiel’s entire appearance should be fucking illegal.
Castiel thanks him and calls dibs on the shower, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts for 10 minutes, which he uses to check his emails, text Jack to make sure the kid is still alive and breathing while he watches Netflix in the bunker, and text Sam.
When Cas comes out wearing nothing but the damn sweatpants, his hair still wet from the shower sticking in 12 different directions and his chest entirely exposed, Dean feels like his eyes might drop to his feet and his head might explode.
Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t seem to realize the effects he has on Dean.
“Can I borrow one of your shirts? I’m afraid I completely forgot to bring anything to sleep in. I can sleep like this if you don’t have a spare one” the angel says, rubbing his face in a way that makes him look inherently human.
“Yeah, sure. Here, take this one” Dean answers, tossing him an old well-worn Ramones shirt that he’s sure has been his for more than two decades.
Watching him put on his shirt, Dean is suddenly convinced the whole damn universe wants him dead. The thought of Castiel going back to his god-awful suit that hides his broad shoulders and, quite frankly, each of Cas’s most flattering body parts after this feels almost insufferable right now.
“I thought you were going to the shower after me? Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks, visibly concerned by his partner’s apathy
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Jesus fucking Christ, for the last time, I’m fine!” Dean answers, trying to keep himself in check cause now is not the time to fucking lose it, Winchester.
But even the cold shower he inflicts himself with doesn’t seem to help with anything. When he gets back into their room, Castiel is already in bed, cuddled up into one of the cushions. If he didn’t know better, Dean would think he was already asleep.
Silently slipping under the covers next to him, Dean lies on his side to watch him. The angel smiles softly.
“D’you keep wondering if I’m okay because you’re the one who’s actually not okay, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice low, watching the Angel for any kind of reaction.
“I think couple’s therapy is getting to your head, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, trying to sound offended.
“Bite me, Dr. Seuss.”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking” Cas answers with a dramatic roll of his eyes that makes Dean smile even wider. “Should we sleep now?”
“Yeah, yeah sleeping beauty. I’ll turn the lights off.”
“Goodnight, Dean.”
“‘Night, Cas.”
***
Dean wakes up screaming from a nightmare, the room still dark and Castiel hands on his shoulders. Nightmares from his time in Hell don’t occur as much as they used to, but when they do it’s fucking pathetic how they turn Dean into an absolute mess.
“Dean.”
Castiel’s voice acts as a calming balm over the scars of Dean’s mind. He’s turned the bedside table’s light on, and Dean can see how concerned he is when he looks into his eyes.
“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.”
Dean sits up on the bed, suddenly realizing he’s covered in sweat and fuck, why does his head hurt like hell? One of Castiel’s hands finds its way to Dean's shoulder, anchoring him to reality while he presses his face into his own palms.
“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe,” Castiel repeats, and as much as Dean hates feeling vulnerable, he’s okay with feeling vulnerable with Cas right now.
Castiel’s hand moves to his back, softly pressing his fingertips to Dean’s skin into soothing circles. He feels him move beside him, and suddenly Castiel’s face is pressed into his shoulder, his whole body against him.
“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe,” Cas says again, like a mantra.
Dean closes his eyes again, listening to the calm in Castiel’s voice, enjoying the warmth of him against his back.
After a while, his breath goes back to normal and he opens his eyes again, turning his face so that he can see Cas’. The angel looks at him, although not moving from the spot on his shoulder where he seems completely content. And not removing his hand from his back either.
Not that Dean would actually complain.
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks although he seems to already know the answer.
“Not really.”
Castiel gives him a small, reassuring smile, and starts removing himself from Dean’s personal space. The spot he occupied on Dean's shoulder feels cold and the memory of Cas’ hand on his spine left tingles on every square of his skin. Dean reaches out, pulling Castiel’s wrist before the angel gets back to his sleep position.
“Cas, I don’t- Can you…”
There’s a beat in the room, and Castiel’s face softens. Dean has never asked Cas- or anyone in four decades -to stay with him after a nightmare.
But he also never shared a bed with Cas in over a decade of knowing him, and the fact that he just spends half the day posing as his husband might have given him wings. And he could swear he sees a glimmer inside those ocean blues.
“Of course, Dean.”
The hunter falls back onto the mattress, and suddenly Castiel is there against him. It takes them a minute to adjust to each other, Castiel finding his spot in the crook of Dean’s neck, tucking his head right below his chin. Dean instantly wraps his arms around him, breathing in his scent- a hint of honey, sandalwood, and a dash of copper, all distinctively Cas -, his heart still thundering beneath Cas’s cheek.
“This is how it should be every other night” is the last thought that comes to Dean’s mind right before he falls back into the dark limbos of sleep again.
***
The unpleasant sound of an equally unpleasant alarm clock suddenly rips Dean away from a very comfortable sleep. Coming back to his senses, he quickly assesses the other body pressed against his, the other arm tucked around his waist, the face breathing hot against the skin of his neck, and the events from last night come back in waves.
His nightmares, Castiel’s soothing hand and voice, Dean basically asking him to cuddle back to sleep-
Shit.
Lost in the sensations, Dean doesn’t realize right away how something seems to be going on below his waist.
And Castiel is starting to move against him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Dean rapidly strips aways from a very sleepy angel, grabs his jeans and tee-shirt to cover his prominent boner, and makes his way to the bathroom. The whole thing must have lasted 15 seconds tops, but he breathes a sigh of relief once he’s finally in the bathroom, alone with what’s left of his dignity and one half-hard cock.
Jesus Christ, let’s hope this cold shower does the trick, cause there’s no way he’s taking care of this 5 feet away from the reason why he’s like this in the first place.
Thankfully it does, and it takes Dean about 10mn to get back to the room fully showered and dressed, although still dizzy.
Castiel is still in bed and judging by his face, grumpily so.
And to Dean’s demise, he looks freaking fabulous. His bed hair is glorious, and the visible scruff on his face makes Dean want to crawl back into bed with his angel.
Control yourself, Winchester, he thinks, briefly wondering when he started thinking of Cas as “his angel”.
Probably somewhere between last night’s cuddle and 10 fucking years ago is the only answer that comes to mind.
Not that anything happened between them inside that bed, other than a reassuring presence in each other’s personal space. But damn, Dean would do anything for this to happen over and over again.
Maybe he should.
“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says as he walks back into the room.
He sits back on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. Castiel turns on his side to look at the hunter’s back, studying Dean’s movements.
“Dean, I love you, but it’s entirely too early to be awake,” Castiel sighs and Dean’s heart explodes against his ribcage.
“It’s 8 am, what the fuck are you even talking about? Aren’t your angelic batteries charged up enough yet?”
“Not even remotely close. I feel like I’ve been rolled over by a garbage truck, while simultaneously being ripped apart by a shredder,” Cas says, his voice indeed sounding very tired.
“Oh, fancy,” Dean reacts, glancing at Castiel’s face and meeting his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay, though?” he asks with a tiny smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Go get breakfast I’ll join you in 10.”
“Not sure it poses as a steady couple if we show up at separate times,” Dean argues.
“But I thought the whole point was to appear as a struggling couple?”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean smiles at Cas as he grabs his jacket from the chair. “I’ll see you in 10?”
Cas’ only answer is a grumble from where he’s tucked under the covers. Dean leaves the room with a smile on his face, somehow enamored by Cas’ horrendous morning mood. He makes his way to the facility’s breakfast room, which is surprisingly crowded. The buffet is filled with stuff that makes the hunter’s stomach growl, and by the time Castiel joins him- wearing that damn navy shirt that makes Dean’s heart grow 10 times again -he’s already on his second set of pancakes.
“Has anyone talked to you yet?” he asks, dropping on the chair facing Dean.
“Nah. Here, I got you coffee,” Dean smiles as he pushes a cup into Cas’ hands with a smile. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt your garbage-truck-slash-shredder body struggle.”
Castiel smiles at Dean softly, which Dean realizes he’s been doing a lot recently, and thanks him with a nod.
“Did you sleep okay? You know, after the... nightmare,” he asks, carefully trying not to step into Dean’s feelings.
“Yeah. Thank you, Cas. For- well, you know,” Dean says.
He’s about to continue when an employee’s face suddenly blocks his view, and he immediately puts on the mask of Dean Cartellone, Castiel Cartellone’s beloved husband of two years.
“Mister and Mister Cartellone! How is it going this morning?” the man asks with so much enthusiast in his voice it actually makes Dean’s brain tweak.
“Slowly,” Cas grumbles into his coffee, clearly wanting nothing more than being left alone.
Dean slightly rolls his eyes at Cas before smiling quickly at the man, trying to challenge the same kind of enthusiasm as him -Steve, as the name tag said.
“Good, thanks Steve! What’s the program this morning?”
When Dean and Cas find themselves sitting on a couch in front of a therapist 20 minutes later, Dean’s fucking convinced this was the worst idea they’ve ever had in a decade.
And considering the number of bad ideas they’ve had in the past ten years, this sure means something.