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Dean promptly takes a handful of Excedrin and downs them with a full third of the bottle of Jack. Believe it or not, he's doing better with the drinking than he was. He practically falls into the bed, curling onto his left side and not even bothering to take off his boots. It's just too much effort and requires energy he doesn't have to expend. Who would have thought that riding in a car with cracked ribs and a bone-bruise would end up wearing him out so much?

He spends his time waiting for alcohol and painkillers to work their magic quietly. This is definitely the worst he's felt in a while and yes, he's missing Cas' angelic healing powers something awful.

"Come on, Cas, sleep. No remembering the stars tonight."

Cas isn't in the room, unfortunately. But he does return shortly (again) with a bucket of ice since this motel miraculously has a working ice maker.

Retrieving a towel from the bathroom, Cas fills it with ice, wets the scratchy terrycloth just enough to make it damp and twists it closed. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Dean's arm into his lap, resting the ice on the center of the bruise.

Edited 2011-11-22 08:21 (UTC)

Wow. Mr. Daniels is working his magic but good tonight because Dean could have sworn Cas was right over--no, that's a coat rack. Whatever.

He hisses when Cas applies ice to the bruise, but he's had plenty of experience icing hurts and doesn't yank his arm away. Really, they should have done this yesterday, but better late than never, right?

"You hear me, Cas? Sleep."

"I will." Cas lifts the ice after a moment, looks at the bruise and shifts the towel to the side to cover the edge of the bruise. "When I'm done." He thinks he might understand why Dean complained about being tired after driving all day. He'd just thought Dean was over-exaggerating but driving really is exhausting.

Edited 2011-11-22 08:28 (UTC)

"Leave it. It'll heal even if you don't ice it." Dean's not the only one wiped out here, and he's not nearly drunk enough (or even just tipsy enough for that matter) to see how tired Cas looks.

"Let me do this, Dean."

Cas isn't budging and if Dean wants him to sleep this minute he'll have to knock him out. If he can't heal Dean with his mojo, then he's going to do what he can. Sometimes the emotional exhaustion needs to be treated before the physical.

"Cas." Dean sits up, wraps his good arm around Cas' shoulders and lies back down, dragging Cas with him. "You drove for 16 freaking hours. You are human now. Sleep."

Only that has the complete opposite effect of what Dean was probably going for, considering Cas stiffens like a board, lying rigidly with one fist gripping the ice-towel as it drips onto Dean's arm, shirt and the bedspread.

"Relax, willya? And chuck that thing, it's freezing." Yes, okay, this is weird and kind of uncomfortable and kind of gay, but Dean is tired and he knows Cas is tired and they both need to sleep and neither of them are going to manage more than an hour or two of that if Cas doesn't stop fussing over something as stupid as a little bruise.

Big bruise. Whatever. Dean's had worse.

"Let go, Dean," Cas says in what he hopes is a commanding tone. He'd have already shoved him away if not for the. Y'know. The bone bruise and the cracked ribs and all.

Dean scoffs. "I let go, you're just gonna go back to freezing all the skin off my arm and neither of us is gonna get any sleep."

Castiel feels a shot of the same emotion that had him burying the crowbar into the back of the Leviathan's skull and grabs Dean's shoulder, shoving him back against the mattress. That leaves Castiel hovering over him with a glare, trapping him with hands on either side of Dean's head on the mattress, half-kneeling to the side with his waist twisted.

"Don't."

What.

Dean blinks up at him, confused and tired and just ready for the day to be over already. "Don't what? Don't sleep? I thought that was the point of us getting this damn room."

With a push and not another word Castiel climbs off of Dean, grabs the towel and ice from the bed and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door after himself.

"Cas!"

What is even going on? Man, and he thought Cas was hard to understand when he was still an angel.

Screw it. Dean rolls back onto his side. He's going to sleep.

That's good, because Cas is just going to take a moment to calm himself down. He drops the towel and ice into the sink before gripping the sides tightly and hanging his head, leaning his weight on his arms.

No. Before, as an angel, what he felt for Dean had transcended the physical; Jimmy's body, while it had needs of its own, had been more a container than his. With Castiel's Grace, it hadn't wanted for anything.

Now, though.

Cas runs the tap and washes his face quickly, not bothering to pat it dry. He closes his eyes, feels the water drip down his neck and wet the collar of his T-shirt, feels it stick his eyelashes together and creep through the scruffy beginnings of a beard on his cheeks, chin and throat. Calm.

Thankful that Dean hadn't tried to press the issue, Castiel emerges from the bathroom. Hopefully Dean is already out, because as Cas removes his boots he decides to take the floor just to be safe and curls up on his side, back tucked up against the side of the mattress.

Cas is in the bathroom so long that Dean falls asleep, lying on his back with an arm falling off the mattress. He sleeps soundly for a few hours before something jolts him awake. Blinking into the darkness, it only takes a moment or two for him to realize that Cas is not on the bed where he belongs. With a grunt, Dean pushes up on his elbows, peering over the edge of the bed and--yep. There he is.

He reaches down to ruffle Cas' hair. "Hey. C'mon, we talked about this. Floor's not for sleepin'."

Yeah, despite Cas's temper tantrum, Dean had been right. Cas is exhausted, so Dean's fingers in his hair do very little to wake him up. He makes a low sound, a mixture between a hum and a growl, and tucks his arms beneath himself.

Okay, fine, don't sleep on the bed. Stupid. Dean tries one more time before he quits, getting up and dragging the blanket of the bed to drape it over Cas' prone form.

Hah. It's kind of like tucking Sammy in when he'd stay up too late doing research.

Screw it. Dean snags the pillows and other blanket and drags those to the floor, too, lying down nearby. They're inside and warm and if the floor's hard, well, at least there aren't rocks digging into their backs. It's even better than real camping! Despite the minor discomfort of being on the floor, Dean is back out in a matter of minutes.

Castiel wakes a few hours after that, just before dawn begins to pink the edge of the eastern sky. He's warmer than he thought he would be, but still on the floor and it takes him some time to regain enough of his wits to realize what had happened.

It falls into place when he realizes some time during the night, Dean had come down off of the mattress and brought all the bedding with him. And, some time after that, one of them or both of them had shifted and moved until they were tucked together, blankets and pillows strewn about and over and between like a pile of fabric and limbs.

Castiel's lips are two centimeters from Dean's neck. Something in his still sleep-fuddled brain convinces him to lift his chin and press an open-mouthed kiss against Dean's skin.

That is a remarkably human reaction. If Dean were awake--and if he were able to control his freaking out--he'd even be proud. Lucky for Cas, Dean isn't awake, which means his only reaction is to shift and tug Cas closer to himself with a sigh.

Looks like they both sleep better when sharing space. Dean almost looks...content.

Cas isn't quite awake either, not quite coherent enough to grasp the implications of what he's doing. Instead his brain seems to interpret what's happening as some sort of waking dream, and when Dean pulls him closer that cements it.

So, obviously the only course of action available is to kiss a sleepy line down Dean's throat. Just like the pizza man had done to the baby sitter.

Too bad it isn't a waking dream. And too bad Dean is slowly, slowly starting to wake up. He huffs out a sleepy laugh, reaching up to comb his fingers through Cas' hair.

"C'mon, Lis," he mumbles. "Cut it out."

Lisa's hair feels pretty short, huh?

Cas falls back asleep shortly after the admonishment, nose to Dean's collarbone.

Yes. Yes, actually, it does. That's funny, Dean didn't think she'd gotten a haircut--

This is not Lisa.

Dean jerks himself awake, staring wide eyed at--yeah, that's definitely not Lisa--

"Cas." That better not have been Cas making with the necking.