inonebasket | (no subject)

What.

"What the hell, Cas?"

He's known Castiel long enough to know that yeah, the guy is a little weird sometimes, but this is pushing it, even for him. A second later, Dean pushes himself upright--ow--and follows after Cas, standing in the doorway to watch him.

"You are being ten kinds of creepy right now and that is saying something, Cas, because you are one creepy son of a bitch. Good creepy, usually, but still creepy. Spill your guts. What's going on upstairs, huh?"

Castiel stows the kit and removes their duffel bags, setting them on the concrete to close the trunk. He brings their luggage inside and sidles past Dean smoothly, not even so much as brushing against his shirt.

"I think the Leviathan are focusing on you as a personal insult to me. You need to be more careful from now on."

"Finally, he speaks!"

Dean slams the door with his good arm, barely even looking at the locks when he throws them.

"Cas, they've been coming at me--and Sam and Bobby--for months. It's nothing new. The way you're acting, though, that is. You wanna explain that to me? Because I've seen you get pissed before and that was...that was pretty awesome, actually. Why don't you pull that out more often?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, Dean. It was reactive." You freakin' idiot. Cas glares at Dean and drops their duffels onto the floor next to a rickety table, crouching to rummage through his for a change of clothes. The black blood has dried sticky and crusty onto his skin and clothes and he needs to wash up.

"Right, then you need to react more. It's effective."

Dean settles onto the bed, sprawling across it. God it feels good to be horizontal. His everything hurts. Especially his arm. He yawns hugely and stretches, ignoring the twinges in his muscles and not paying a damn bit of attention to Cas.

Again, Castiel ignores Dean and heads into the bathroom for a quick scrub down. He emerges ten minutes later, freshly cleaned and robed, and sits down on the floor to lean against the bed, closing his eyes.

"Cas." Dean sounds half asleep. "Get on the damn bed."

"I feel the need to touch you to reassure myself. You think it's creepy." Cas shifts his weight, but doesn't get up. "I'll stay down here."

"Get up on the damn bed, Cas." He rolls over and scoots away, making room. "You not talking's gonna creep me out a hell of a lot more than you poking at me occasionally to make sure I'm not dead."

Well fine, if he's gonna be like that.

Cas pulls himself to his feet and climbs onto the mattress, curling up onto his side and facing Dean. He's gonna watch you fall asleep, like a creeper, just to make a point.

Oh, let him. It's not like it's the first time Dean's shared his bed with someone, though to be fair, he'd prefer it if Cas were a little more curvy than he is. Had tits instead of junk. But whatever. He's shared with Sammy before, when space was tight, money was tighter, and the weather cold. It's not that big a deal to share bed space with another dude.

Dean shifts on the mattress, trying not to jostle his bruised arm too much and trying not to think about how bad that's gonna feel come morning. Nothing to be done for it now. They'll fly under the radar for a couple days until it heals up and tackle more Leviathans after. Smiling a little at the thought of ganking more of those bastards (for certain values of ganking), Dean shuts his eyes and settles in.

"Night, Cas. Get some sleep."

"Good night, Dean."

Cas doesn't let himself sleep until he's sure Dean's gone, and it's the first night he sleeps without waking up in the middle of the night and climbing the roof toward the stars.

Some time during the night his hand makes its way over to Dean's chest to rest there, palm-down. He isn't any closer than he was; still that barely-there platonic space that Dean seemed to need to rest comfortably, but his arm rises and falls with the breaths Dean takes.

Castiel sleeps straight through the morning.

Dean has a quieter night than he's used to. Yeah, he's been pretty nightmare free in general since picking Cas up again, but he still tends to move around in his sleep a lot. Not this time. With Castiel's hand on his chest, Dean stays where he is the whole night through and well into morning.

When he wakes up, he's slept well enough that he actually feels charitable and tries to dislodge Cas without waking him, too.

It isn't difficult to do considering it's just a hand, but Cas wakes anyway and pushes himself up sleepily. His face is red and pillow-creased since he'd slept on his stomach all night long, and without even a look or a word to Dean he rolls out of bed and heads over to the coffee maker.

He'd stared creepily at Dean as he made coffee for four days. Castiel is sure he's capable of making Dean's coffee, now. It can't be that hard; water, coffee, pot, button. There.

Once that's done Castiel returns to Dean and reaches for his wrist to look at his arm.

That's very nice of Cas to do. Dean will reserve judgement on the coffee until he's actually tasted it.

Before Cas can take his arm, Dean shakes his head and gets up, aiming for the bathroom. "You gotta let me take care of business first, Cas. I am not awake enough to deal with you poking at my bruises for fun."

Silence follows as Castiel watches Dean head into the bathroom, then rubs a hand down his face and leans against the dresser to watch the coffee percolate since he has nothing better to do.

Words still feel just as cheap as they did last night, but with the shock and adrenaline long since worn off Castiel feels more wrung-out and resigned than emotional.

Dean takes his time in the bathroom, mostly because he isn't used to doing things with his left hand, and that eats up a lot of time. Peeing isn't hard, but brushing his teeth proves to be more difficult than he anticipates and he nearly ends up with toothpaste up his nose. Still coughing slightly, he finally emerges from the bathroom a good 15 minutes later and heads straight for the coffee to pour himself a cup.

Yes, okay, he just burned his tongue on it. In the grand scheme of these, does that really matter much?

"Hey. Cas. You okay?"

"Fine." Castiel takes Dean's wrist and turns his arm in his hands. "This should be in a sling."

"It'll be okay, I've had worse." Dean only puts up with it because it's Cas manhandling him. "And you're not fine. I know fine when I see it and the look on your face says 'I'm not fine'. Come on, Cas. You're allowed to be freaked out. We're dealing with some pretty scary stuff here."

Castiel's eyes narrow and he lets go of Dean's arm. "I'm driving today."

Excuse you, Cas. "No, you're not."

Castiel gestures. "You need your right hand to drive, Dean."

"Yes, I do and no, you're not driving my baby again." If they have to stay here for another day, then dammit, they will stay here for another day.

"We can't stay here any longer," Cas insists stubbornly, and it's almost like he can read Dean's mind again. He collects Dean's toiletries and stuffs them into his duffel. "The Leviathan is most likely mobile again and will be very unhappy with both of us. Staying put is too dangerous."

Dean makes a face. He hates it when other people are right.

"Okay, so we lie low for a while. And you drive, but only to the next town, we clear?"