imagine if cas was feeling lonely/sad in the bunker and listening to some sweet music on the radio and Dean woke up just to dance with him and make him happy
They find the love seat at an estate sale outside of town. The seat is sturdy and clean – perfect, Dean says, for a single person to sprawl (and maybe fall asleep) on while watching TV. He pats it appreciatively in the sunny, stubbled wheat field. Bounces once or twice to test the cushion. Perfect.
The bunker’s full these days. Full of hunters and researchers, medics and cooks. But there are still little nods to his legacy here. This is Dean’s chair, Dean’s mug, Dean’s favorite weaponry. They all seem to know the invisible territorial lines although Dean never hears a word exchanged on the subject. This new seat – it’s Dean’s seat.
The TV room is full. The new Star Wars is out and hunters have emerged from their rooms in unruly numbers. Despite the crowd, Dean doesn’t have to share his seat. He doesn’t…except he does. Because Cas is standing off in the corner with his hands pushed into the pockets of his worn, second-hand jeans. Dean can tell that he’s debating the merits of staying in the crowded TV room, standing while the others sit. (They’re human, he’s an angel. He can take it. Really.)
Dean sighs. Scoots over. Makes eye contact. Pats the cushion. After a long awkward interlude of squinting and frowning, Cas finally takes Dean up on his offer and settles into the cushions. His thigh is hot against Dean’s. They lean away from each other, draped on opposite arm rests.
Dean’s not sure when it happened, or how. But he wakes up later in a dark room lit only by the blue-black glow of the sleeping screen. He’s on the seat, wrapped around a warm body. Somebody must have draped a blanket over both of them and it’s intimate and…comforting. “Cas?” he whispers into the fabric of Cas’s shirt.
“Mmph,” comes the reply. Then, a moment later Cas tenses. “What is it, Dean?”
Neither of them move. Dean barely breathes.
“Nothing,” Dean says, finally. “It’s nothing.” Slowly, carefully, he slides his arm down to wrap around Cas, encircling him. He tucks his head alongside the curve of Cas’s warm back with the deliberation of a chess master moving a knight. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.
Cas slowly relaxes against him and Dean knows he’s won – they’ve both won – when Cas burrows his cheek into the armrest like a bird settling into a nest. “Okay,” he sighs and the movement of his rib cage shifts Dean’s arm out. In. “Night.”
“G’night.” Dean lets himself melt back into the love seat, into slumber, into the warm touch of Castiel.
Perfect.
Added bonus, here’s a little behind-the-scenes. The underside of the dudes before I glued them onto the chair. Glamorous!
Mayerine 