Kneeling at the foot of the sofa, Dean placed a tender hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and shook it gently, rousing the little boy from sleep. “Cas, wake up, buddy,” he crooned, running his hand down the side of the child’s face. “Castiel, you can’t sleep on the couch. It’s not comfortable. Let’s get you into your bed.”
Castiel made a small noise of discontentment, attempting to roll over only to have Dean pick him up. He fit perfectly in Dean’s arms, as if made specifically for them. Castiel whined, grabbing for the sofa, but at Dean's insistency, he wrapped his short arms around Dean’s neck, and pressed his face against the man’s shoulder. He muttered something, muffled by the fabric of Dean’s shirt.
“What was that, little man?” Dean asked as he carried Cas to his room, where the walls were painted with doves, and the ceiling with stars.
“Read me a bedtime story?” Cas murmured, finishing with a yawn while he rubbed his eyes.
Dean gently lowered Castiel into the race car bed, and nodded. “Sure, buddy. I can read you a story. Which one tonight?”
“The one with the angels, please.”