Fic: Sleeping Beauty in the Backseat
Title: Sleeping Beauty in the Backseat
Characters: Dean/Castiel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13/Spoilers for 5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon"
Word Count: 1100
Summary: From c00kie's prompt: Cas sleeping in the back of the Impala with his trench coat draped over him.
The Impala groans in her old familiar voice when Dean drops himself into the driver’s seat. He takes a second to appreciate the small sense of “home” that comes with it - the way it smells like him and Sam and about five thousand takeout meals, and the way the dip in the driver’s seat fits perfectly to the back of him, like it used to fit his dad years ago. The motel they’re checked into is twelve feet away, the true hideousness of its mustard yellow siding hidden in the dim light just before dawn, and that’s where all their bags are - along with Sam, who still hasn’t gotten his gigantic ass out of bed - but that’s not home. The Impala? She’s it.
So when Dean closes the door and hears a soft snort from the backseat, his internal Homeland Security agent goes apeshit, sounding alarms on threat level red and sending him reaching for a gun he left on the nightstand. But when he pivots in his seat, ready for some sort of attack, it’s just Castiel.
Castiel, spread out across the backseat with his cheek pressed deep into the seat and his coat draped over him, half-covering his head. His eyebrows are knitted so hard together it looks like it ought to hurt, but he seems to be fast asleep.
It’s been about thirty-six hours since they told him about God.
Dean’s heart clenches a little, but his shoulders relax and his threat level drops back to yellow. Keying the ignition, he lets the easy rumble of the engine melt into him. The last couple of days have sucked; if Cas has found a minute of peace in any form, he’s not gonna interrupt it. He drives.
He wonders, though, about the trench coat being off. He’s never seen Castiel not wearing it, and he’s always been sorta curious about how the guy would look without it. He’s seen Jimmy Novak in just the suit, but that’s different.
Dean stops at a cafe on the edge of town. He doesn’t bother locking the Impala when he goes inside, because hey, guard angel on duty. When he comes back out, three coffees and a buttload of sugars and creamers for Sam balanced in a cardboard holder, Castiel is sitting upright in the backseat, blinking bleary-eyed at the windshield. He does look different in just Jimmy Novak’s suit - like he’s swimming in the clothes instead of wearing them, he’s so slouched over.
“Hey,” Dean says, taking his seat. “You thirsty?”
Castiel blinks at him like a little kid who’s just woken up from a nap, like the world is way too bright and it’s his fault. “I don’t know what thirsty feels like.”
“Here,” Dean says, and passes him one of the coffees. He takes a long draw of his own coffee before getting back on the road.
In the rearview, Castiel sips carefully, one hand around the cup and the other supporting its bottom. It’s the way Dad always wanted them to drink, to keep from spilling crap in the car, and it makes Dean weirdly happy. The guy’s probably never had coffee before.
“It’s good, right?” Dean asks.
And all Castiel says is, “Yes,” in a small, perplexed voice.
That’s all he says for the whole ride, and it isn’t until they pull back into the motel parking lot that Dean tries to get anything more out of him.
“So, you need sleep now?” he asks.
Castiel lowers the cup from his lips. “No.”
Dean pushes the parking brake and turns around. “Then why play Sleeping Beauty in my backseat?”
Castiel licks his lips, his eyes flitting from Dean’s chin to the cup in his hands. “I chose to sleep. I couldn’t stand to go on feeling…”
Shit. Dean swallows, but it doesn’t make the guilt knotted in his throat any smaller. “Did it help?”
“Until I woke up,” Castiel says, one hand venturing away from the coffee cup to explore the leather seat. “The construction of this car…the give of the upholstery…my Father’s hand in it is clear as water.”
“Yeah, mine, too,” Dean says, smirking. And then, because the guy’s just sitting there looking so small, and because Dean’s always sorta wondered what that mussed up hair feels like, he reaches out and ruffles the angel’s hair. It feels soft - not prickly, like he expected. That raises Castiel’s eyes to his. They’re huge and wet and lost as hell.
“How do you live with that?” he says.
“I, uh, I dunno,” Dean says, and takes another swig of his drink. “I guess I don’t really think about it much.”
Castiel closes his eyes, his eyebrows doing that thing that twists up Dean’s insides again. “I can’t imagine thinking of anything else.”
So because Dean’s always sorta wondered about it, and because the guy just basically issued a challenge to distract him, Dean slides his hand to the back of Castiel’s hair and leans over the seat to kiss him.
Castiel’s lips are dry but soft, and they start to move when his do, responding with a perfectly chaste amount of pressure. Dean’s fingers flex at the back of Castiel’s head, and that seems to be some sort of cue, because the guy pushes back now, inviting him in. It’s a little awkward, but it tastes like the coffee that both of Castiel’s hands are still firmly affixed to between his knees. And it does the trick. When Dean pulls back, Castiel’s eyes are focused again, and he’s straightened up slightly.
It takes Dean a second to realize exactly what he’s just done, and then he bites back a surge of panic - oh god oh shit I kissed a guy oh fuck I kissed Castiel - and he puts on a smile. “You can, uh, stay here as long as you want. Sleep, hang out, whatever. Just don’t wear out my tapes.”
“Okay,” Castiel says, a hint of a smile turning up his lips.
“Good,” Dean says, and nods to convince himself. “Good.” He gets out of the car and closes the door softly, like he’s still afraid of waking something inside. And then he heads back to the motel room, where his brother’s still asleep and the smell of coffee will wake up one more person and he’ll be the one wishing he could think about something else.
His body hums pleasantly as he turns away from the Impala, and he’s pretty sure it’s not from the caffeine.
THE END!
Characters: Dean/Castiel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13/Spoilers for 5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon"
Word Count: 1100
Summary: From c00kie's prompt: Cas sleeping in the back of the Impala with his trench coat draped over him.
The Impala groans in her old familiar voice when Dean drops himself into the driver’s seat. He takes a second to appreciate the small sense of “home” that comes with it - the way it smells like him and Sam and about five thousand takeout meals, and the way the dip in the driver’s seat fits perfectly to the back of him, like it used to fit his dad years ago. The motel they’re checked into is twelve feet away, the true hideousness of its mustard yellow siding hidden in the dim light just before dawn, and that’s where all their bags are - along with Sam, who still hasn’t gotten his gigantic ass out of bed - but that’s not home. The Impala? She’s it.
So when Dean closes the door and hears a soft snort from the backseat, his internal Homeland Security agent goes apeshit, sounding alarms on threat level red and sending him reaching for a gun he left on the nightstand. But when he pivots in his seat, ready for some sort of attack, it’s just Castiel.
Castiel, spread out across the backseat with his cheek pressed deep into the seat and his coat draped over him, half-covering his head. His eyebrows are knitted so hard together it looks like it ought to hurt, but he seems to be fast asleep.
It’s been about thirty-six hours since they told him about God.
Dean’s heart clenches a little, but his shoulders relax and his threat level drops back to yellow. Keying the ignition, he lets the easy rumble of the engine melt into him. The last couple of days have sucked; if Cas has found a minute of peace in any form, he’s not gonna interrupt it. He drives.
He wonders, though, about the trench coat being off. He’s never seen Castiel not wearing it, and he’s always been sorta curious about how the guy would look without it. He’s seen Jimmy Novak in just the suit, but that’s different.
Dean stops at a cafe on the edge of town. He doesn’t bother locking the Impala when he goes inside, because hey, guard angel on duty. When he comes back out, three coffees and a buttload of sugars and creamers for Sam balanced in a cardboard holder, Castiel is sitting upright in the backseat, blinking bleary-eyed at the windshield. He does look different in just Jimmy Novak’s suit - like he’s swimming in the clothes instead of wearing them, he’s so slouched over.
“Hey,” Dean says, taking his seat. “You thirsty?”
Castiel blinks at him like a little kid who’s just woken up from a nap, like the world is way too bright and it’s his fault. “I don’t know what thirsty feels like.”
“Here,” Dean says, and passes him one of the coffees. He takes a long draw of his own coffee before getting back on the road.
In the rearview, Castiel sips carefully, one hand around the cup and the other supporting its bottom. It’s the way Dad always wanted them to drink, to keep from spilling crap in the car, and it makes Dean weirdly happy. The guy’s probably never had coffee before.
“It’s good, right?” Dean asks.
And all Castiel says is, “Yes,” in a small, perplexed voice.
That’s all he says for the whole ride, and it isn’t until they pull back into the motel parking lot that Dean tries to get anything more out of him.
“So, you need sleep now?” he asks.
Castiel lowers the cup from his lips. “No.”
Dean pushes the parking brake and turns around. “Then why play Sleeping Beauty in my backseat?”
Castiel licks his lips, his eyes flitting from Dean’s chin to the cup in his hands. “I chose to sleep. I couldn’t stand to go on feeling…”
Shit. Dean swallows, but it doesn’t make the guilt knotted in his throat any smaller. “Did it help?”
“Until I woke up,” Castiel says, one hand venturing away from the coffee cup to explore the leather seat. “The construction of this car…the give of the upholstery…my Father’s hand in it is clear as water.”
“Yeah, mine, too,” Dean says, smirking. And then, because the guy’s just sitting there looking so small, and because Dean’s always sorta wondered what that mussed up hair feels like, he reaches out and ruffles the angel’s hair. It feels soft - not prickly, like he expected. That raises Castiel’s eyes to his. They’re huge and wet and lost as hell.
“How do you live with that?” he says.
“I, uh, I dunno,” Dean says, and takes another swig of his drink. “I guess I don’t really think about it much.”
Castiel closes his eyes, his eyebrows doing that thing that twists up Dean’s insides again. “I can’t imagine thinking of anything else.”
So because Dean’s always sorta wondered about it, and because the guy just basically issued a challenge to distract him, Dean slides his hand to the back of Castiel’s hair and leans over the seat to kiss him.
Castiel’s lips are dry but soft, and they start to move when his do, responding with a perfectly chaste amount of pressure. Dean’s fingers flex at the back of Castiel’s head, and that seems to be some sort of cue, because the guy pushes back now, inviting him in. It’s a little awkward, but it tastes like the coffee that both of Castiel’s hands are still firmly affixed to between his knees. And it does the trick. When Dean pulls back, Castiel’s eyes are focused again, and he’s straightened up slightly.
It takes Dean a second to realize exactly what he’s just done, and then he bites back a surge of panic - oh god oh shit I kissed a guy oh fuck I kissed Castiel - and he puts on a smile. “You can, uh, stay here as long as you want. Sleep, hang out, whatever. Just don’t wear out my tapes.”
“Okay,” Castiel says, a hint of a smile turning up his lips.
“Good,” Dean says, and nods to convince himself. “Good.” He gets out of the car and closes the door softly, like he’s still afraid of waking something inside. And then he heads back to the motel room, where his brother’s still asleep and the smell of coffee will wake up one more person and he’ll be the one wishing he could think about something else.
His body hums pleasantly as he turns away from the Impala, and he’s pretty sure it’s not from the caffeine.
THE END!