ill-go-to-bed-now

Here, Castiel thinks, is where Dean belongs. With his head in Castiel’s lap, hiseyelashes fluttering against the freckled expanse of his cheekbones, his lips parted as though about to sigh. All of him beautiful and relaxed, deep in the sort of slumber that comes with trust and the knowledge that he is being absolutely safe.

Castiel smiles at his own thought and strokes one hand over Dean’s forehead and the other along the curve of his spine, following this primal, cramped position Dean fell asleep in, until he reaches the small of his back and can go no further. He repeats the motion, time and time again, and it is worth it to see Dean let out the softest of sounds and stretch out just so, taking in more space and making himself that much more vulnerable, instinctively.

In lie of bowing his head to scatter kisses to the myriad of freckles adorning Dean’s skin, Castiel’s fingertips dance carefully over Dean’s forehead, to his hairline and down towards his nose and chin and lips, where he is sensitive and sweet; where he is Dean.

Castiel’s smile grows when Dean snuffs as Castiel’s fingers pass his nose and trace along the inviting bow of his upper lip, yet does not pull away but nuzzle against his fingers. He looks almost searching, with his lips brushing Castiel, and it has Castiel aching with love.

Testing, Castiel opens his palm and lays it against the side of Dean’s face. And Dean, as Castiel had hoped he would but feared he would not, lets his face and all of his head lean into the touch, lays himself to rest without any hesitation or disruption to his slumber, seems to sink only deeper into it.

And for a moment, the weight of Dean’s head seems impossibly much, his skull too fragile and his brain too laden. Such a burden for Dean to carry on his shoulders any other day; such a privilege to be party to.

It’s too much, the thought strikes like thunder inside of Castiel’s mind. It’s too much, and it will never be enough.

Yet then, as sleepy he is serene, Dean calls out for Castiel – in what is barely more than a half-hushed, half-pleaded little “Cas” –, presses his lips against a stray thumb and opens all of his posture up to Castiel, lets himself go in his trust and dreams, with loose limbs and sighed names.

And just as Castiel’s heart breaks and brims over both at once, he cradles him closer to himself and he knows that if here is where Dean belongs, then this is where he belongs, too.

good night~