Selfishly Human

Title: Selfishly Human.

Fandom: Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel.

Rating: PG.

Word count: 842

Spoilers: If you know who Castiel is, you're good.

Warnings: None.

Feedback: Yes please.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Supernatural.

Beta:

mithrel looked it over for me. Thanks!Notes: Schmoooop.

Summary: After Castiel falls, sleeping becomes only one of his many new human characteristics.

Link to this fic on DW and on LJ and on AO3.

Castiel was a weirdo, Dean reflected, leaning on the door jamb of the bathroom. Since losing that last shred of his grace a couple of years back, Castiel had developed a keen appreciation for sleep. At first he had disliked the whole idea of wasting so many hours of every day, just lying still with your eyes closed. But then he discovered the joys of sleeping in. The treat of waking up early, only to realize that there was no pressing reason to leave the delicious warmth and comfort of a well-slept-in bed. After that, he evidently made it his goal in life to be able to sleep in every single morning. And woe betide the person who got tasked with prodding him out of bed before ten.

That wasn't the weird part, though. Dean understood the lure of sleep. He himself was way beyond the point where he could ever get out of the habit of getting up at Marine Corps hours, but he got it. No, the weird part was how... un-angelic Castiel had become.

He snored. And drooled in his sleep. He always got cold feet at night, so he would go to bed with thick socks on. But in the middle of the night he would always get too hot, and then toe them off, leaving them balled up at the end of the bed or on the floor. And even though he was a heavy sleeper, he was never a calm one. He would twist, turn and shuffle all night, until the covers were in knots, and his sleep wear was in complete disarray. At this very moment one of his legs were dangling off the end of the bed, his sweat pants bunched up at the knee, while the other leg was completely pulled into the other pants leg. His t-shirt was twisted around his chest, revealing a broad slice of his back, the rumpled sheets only covering about half of his lower body. And his hair was beyond belief! Dean couldn't help but smirk.

Castiel's hair was generally a wild, untameable thing, but add the effect of eight or nine hours of sleep, and it became almost impossibly messy. He turned his head on the pillow, facing Dean, his eyes still closed, and his face marked with lines from the wrinkled pillowcase.

Dean's heart ached.

He felt utterly selfish for thinking it, but secretly he relished all these little things that screamed human. Because as long as Castiel was human... maybe he would stay. With Dean. And that line of thought always ended up making Dean feel so very guilty. Because it wasn't as if Castiel had anywhere else to go. He didn't know anyone other than Dean and Sam. He had no friends or family. Nobody else to turn to, should he ever get sick of Dean's snarking or Sam's bitching. At least when he was asleep Castiel seemed completely content.

So Dean indulged himself, just this once, and slipped into the warm bed, instead of yanking Castiel out of it, as had been his plan. A single blue eye cracked open when the bed dipped, and if nothing else, the sandpaper quality added to the already rough voice definitely told Dean that this was one sleepy dude. “Are you here to tell me to get up? And if so, will whining about it change your mind?”

Dean snickered. “Well, I was gonna kick you out of bed, but I guess we can wait half an hour or so.”

Castiel let his eye fall closed, and sighed. “I knew there was a reason I love you.”

There was that ache in Dean's chest again. Not because Castiel had never told him he loved him before. More because Dean was a stilted douchebag who had so far been unable to say it back, even though anyone with eyes could see how stupidly in love he was with this creature, who was kind of a man now.

“Nah,” he croaked. “The reason you love me is because I spend just a little more cash on motels these days, so you can sleep in a nicer bed.”

Snuffling into the pillow like a contented cat, Castiel edged a little closer, and slinked an arm around Dean's waist.

“No. I would still love you if the beds were horrible. I would probably complain a lot more... but I would still love you.”

“Even if... someone out there... with a big four-poster motherfucker of a bed... gave you a better offer?” Dean asked choppily, unable to help himself. He joked, but even he could hear how utterly he failed at making it sound lighthearted.

Castiel was apparently still half asleep, because he just nuzzled his face into Dean's neck, rumbled: “This is the better offer,” and resumed his snoring and drooling.

The sun crept higher in the sky outside, while Dean told himself that the housekeeper here should be fired, because there had to be a shitload of dust in the room for his eyes to get so wet all of a sudden.

End.