Feathers
Title: Feathers
Author: sixxsixxsixx23
Rating: 14A (Dean has a fondness for four letter words)
Summary: It’s nice to have someone to keep you warm at night. Takes place in an alternate reality of sorts after 5x03.
Disclaimer: It's Eric Kripke's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Authors Note: Inspiration struck me between snooze cycles one morning, so I wrote this at work. This is my first time writing Destiel. Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own, as it the completely unoriginal title. Originally posted on Tumblr.
~ ~ ~
If Dean managed to survive the night, he was going to kill Sam. What kind of an idiot picks a hunt in Northern Minnesota in January? After spending far too long tramping through the woods in search of the shallow grave of a murdered teenage girl whose spirit had been causing deadly mishaps to befall local hikers, the brothers were practically frozen solid. One torched corpse later, they were on their way back to town.
Hot showers had done them both good once they’d checked into a motel. Now Sam was curled up with the room’s extra blanket, snoring softly in the bed farthest from the door. His usual spot. Dean made a point of keeping himself between Sam and potential danger. Tonight however, Dean was sorely tempted to say fuck that and make Sam trade with him. Because Sam was next to the only working section of baseboard heater, and Dean was a measly 6 feet away from what had to be the shittiest window in all of Minnesota.
The weather stripping along the bottom and most of the left side had worn so thin that snow was seeping through, dusting the inside of the sill and part of the dinette table with white powder. Along with the snow came frigid wind, whistling obnoxiously through the gap and across Dean’s bed.
He’d moved as close to the edge of the bed as he could manage, huddled pathetically under the thin comforter with his face buried in the musty pillow. Dean’s fingers and toes were completely numb, and he was shivering so hard he was in danger of vibrating himself off the mattress and onto the ratty carpet. Stained and threadbare as it was, it was looking more and more like a better alternative to his current situation. At least down on the floor he’d be out of the direct line of fire.
The fact that Dean was considering sleeping on a motel room floor was a testament to how fucking miserable he was. Sam was a dead man, provided hypothermia didn’t set in before Dean worked up the energy to go over and wail on his brother with the bedside lamp.
The worst part about all this was the fact that Dean had his own personal man-shaped space heater out there somewhere. But he adamantly refused to call Castiel just so he could cuddle. Dean would suffer through frostbite if it meant retaining what was left of his manhood. Sam was still making fun of him for refusing to let Cas get more than an arm’s length from him for three straight days after the whole TV land fiasco.
When Dean’s text message alert went off a few minutes later, he came dangerously close to toppling headfirst off of the bed in his hurry check his phone. Three words: where are you? It took a ridiculously long time for Dean to type a response, but his effort was rewarded almost instantly with a familiar trench coated figure appearing in the middle of the room.
By the time Dean fumbled his phone shut and set it back on the end table, the angel was already standing in the gap between the beds, frowning at the trembling hunter.
“You are cold,” he said by way of greeting.
“No shit,” Dean grumbled, reaching up to push Castiel’s coat and suit jacket off of his shoulders. The angel let the fabric fall in a heap behind him and toed off his dress shoes, lips curving into the tiniest of smiles as Dean tugged on Castiel’s tie, urging him to lie down.
It took a bit of manoeuvring on both of their parts, but soon enough Cas was lying on his side with his back to the useless window, Dean pressing against every inch of the angel he could reach.
“Your timing is awesome,” Dean said, voice muffled against Castiel’s neck.
“It appears to be snowing inside of your room,” Castiel replied, glancing over his shoulder at the ever growing pile of flakes.
“Room sucks,” Dean groused, rubbing the bottom of one chilled foot against Castiel’s calf. As if to emphasize his point, a particularly hard gust of wind rattled the glass, kicking up a swirl of snow on both sides. Dean scowled and burrowed closer. “All Sam’s fault.”
Castiel doubted that the motel’s structural defects had anything to do with the younger Winchester, but he knew better than to comment. Dean did have a point, however. The room was hardly fit to sleep in. Castiel could easily relocate all three of them, but again, he knew better. The fact that it had been Cas who reached out to Dean tonight and not the other way around was a prime example of Dean’s stubborn streak. Leaving would be admitting defeat.
That didn’t mean the angel would let Dean suffer. In one fluid motion he looped his arms around the hunter’s waist and rolled onto his back so that they were lying chest to chest.
“Dude, what are y-” Dean was cut off mid-protest by the sound of flapping wings. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed on to Castiel’s upper arms. It wasn’t until he felt something heavy and warm settle against his back that he realized they hadn’t left the bed.
A wall of inky black feathers settled around him, sheltering him from the cold air. It was only the second time Dean had seen Castiel’s wings.
The first had been the night Zachariah sent Dean into the future. After calling Sam and asking him to meet up with him in Iowa the next day - the agreed upon halfway point between their respective current locations - and retrieving his car from the hotel in Kansas City, he’d checked into a nearby motor inn and made a point of showing Castiel exactly how much he meant to Dean.
He hadn’t expected Cas to indulge his request to see the angel’s wings. And he certainly hadn’t been prepared for the sight. Every bit as expansive as their shadowy outline had been that night in the barn, Dean had been awestruck. Row upon row of sleek, shiny black feathers he couldn’t resist running his fingers through. The downy layer hidden beneath was incredibly soft, unlike anything Dean had ever felt before.
They turned out to be rather sensitive to the right touch, and Dean had a lot of fun with Castiel’s newfound weakness.
With Sam back, they hadn’t had much opportunity to be alone since then. A quickie in the backseat of the Impala while Dean was supposed to be getting dinner; another in Bobby’s panic room while Bobby and Sam were upstairs researching. They were long overdue, and Dean intended to remedy that very soon. But not tonight.
Grinning from ear to ear, Dean wrapped both arms around Castiel’s neck, expressing his gratitude with a single long, sweet kiss. Cas left one arm draped across Dean’s waist, letting the other rest against Dean’s back, hand splayed between the hunter’s shoulder blades.
Dean knew he would be hearing about this until he was ninety once Sam woke up and saw the two of them, but right now he could care less. Head pillowed on Castiel’s shoulder, he let the angel’s warmth chase the chill from his bones and drifted off.
~ ~ ~
Dean opened Bobby’s front door as quietly as the old hinges would allow, careful to keep the rustle of plastic shopping bags to a minimum. Music was playing at a respectable volume in the library. The Rolling Stones. Cas.
Easing the door shut behind him, Dean snuck upstairs to the spare room he now called his own and began pulling open packaging and assembling Castiel’s surprise.
Back downstairs, Dean knew what he would find before he even rounded the corner. Cas was curled up in a corner of the sofa wearing Dean’s old grey hoodie, a mug of coffee in one hand, the other holding a tattered paperback open on the sofa’s arm.
After Castiel fell, Dean made it his mission to keep him from becoming the drugged out, broken shell he’d met at Camp Chitaqua. So far, so good.
The transition hadn’t been easy, especially with the loss of his Grace coinciding with the last stand against Lucifer. Dean still couldn’t believe they’d won. That they’d all survived. Sammy, Cas, Bobby and Adam. All still kicking.
For the most part, Castiel had taken everything in stride. Learning how to take care of himself, how to shoot and to care for their weapons cache, the finer points of social etiquette. Although to be fair, Sam had more to do with that last one than Dean did. Probably for the best, considering Dean’s own people skills.
While Cas was still Cas, he had some new human quirks for Dean to get used to. The guy got seriously cranky when he was hungry, which Dean found kind of adorable when he wasn’t on the receiving end. He was also a kicker and a blanket hog.
So far his biggest issue had been dealing with temperature. Heat wasn’t so bad - they’d spent most of the summer naked, anyway. Fall had been tolerable, with Cas figuring out early on that a flannel shirt, and later a dark blue hooded Carhart jacket would keep the former angel quite comfortable.
Winter was a different story. Cuts and bruises and even cracked ribs Cas could deal with. But cold toes? Not so much. Storm season blew into South Dakota damp and chilly, and Cas had been thoroughly unimpressed. He’d spent nearly every minute they were at Bobby’s close to the fireplace, reading and watching movies on Dean’s laptop. Usually with Dean at his side, cracking jokes about running off to the Caribbean together.
“Now what are you reading?” Dean teased, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the library.
“A Tale of Two Cities. It’s very good,” Cas replied, turning the page. “Have you heard from Sam? I left my phone upstairs.”
“Got a text from Adam about a half hour ago. It’s definitely a werewolf.” Dean sank down beside Cas, sliding a hand up the leg of the former angel’s jeans and rubbing his ankle. “They figure they’ll be able to take care of it tonight. Tomorrow, if their lead doesn’t pan out.” The younger Winchesters were in Michigan, on what was now Adam’s first monster hunt. It had been all demons until now.
“How’s Sam handling it?” Castiel asked, tucking what looked like the label off of a beer bottle between the pages of his novel to mark his place.
“I’m sure he’s fine. That was a while ago.” Dean had almost forgotten about Madison, the pretty legal aid Sam had gotten involved with in San Francisco a few years back who had ended up being the werewolf they were hunting. “Adam’ll keep his mind off of it regardless.”
“True.”
“Bobby still at Jody’s?” The gruff old hunter had been spending a lot of time at the lady sheriff’s place as of late. All of the boys teased him mercilessly about it, but truth was they couldn’t be happier about it. Jody was great, and she made Bobby a lot less grumpy.
“Yes, he is. How did things go in town?”
“You mean did I get your stupid fuzzy socks?” That earned him a glare from Cas. “Yes, I got them. Your goofy long underwear too.” Another glare. Dean grinned, leaning in for a kiss, which Cas grudgingly accepted as the apology it was meant to be.
“I’m so glad you find my discomfort amusing, Dean.”
“Come on, baby,” Dean brushed Castiel’s hair off of his forehead, making it stick straight up. “You know I only tease because I love.”
“Your maturity astounds me,” Cas retorted dryly, pushing Dean’s hand away and not quite managing to keep a small smile at bay.
“Whatever. You hungry? I think there’s still some sauce in the freezer if you want pasta.”
Cas decided to help with dinner, which somehow resulted in pasta ending up on the ceiling. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen when they were left in the kitchen unsupervised.
They cleaned up and washed the dishes, pasta still glued above the sink - seriously, how does that even happen? - and Dean suggested they turn in early. Castiel needed little convincing.
A playful shoving match in the bathroom while they brushed their teeth ended with Cas tearing up the hallway to the bedroom like a bat out of hell, trying his damnedest to avoid it ending in a tickle fight. Another of Castiel’s new human quirks, and one Dean enjoyed way too much.
Cas stopped short in the doorway, eyes on the bed. Dean wasted no time in taking advantage of his prey’s sudden immobility, seizing Cas around the middle and tossing him on to the mattress.
“Don’t!” Cas gasped, wriggling out of Dean’s grasp. “That’s not fair! I was distracted!”
“How is that my problem?” Dean laughed, flipping the other man onto his back, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists.
“But it is! You, you bought us a comforter!” Cas bucked up against Dean, knowing he couldn’t unseat the larger man in his current position, going instead for distraction. Dean grinned down at his lover, taking in his flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
“Do you like it?” Cas blinked. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Staring up into Dean’s smirking face, he hesitated, trying to figure out whether it was a genuine question or Dean’s own attempt at a distraction.
“Um. It’s a nice color?” Cas offered, gaze sliding to the deep purple fabric. Dean chuckled, releasing the former angel’s wrists and rocking back on his heels.
“Yeah. It was either this or paisley.”
“I see. And what made you decide we needed a comforter? I thought you liked Bobby’s old quilt?”
“I do,” Dean agreed. “But I didn’t buy this for me. And it’s not a comforter.” That got a head tilt and another confused blink. Chuckling, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. He undressed and crawled under the covers, motioning for Cas to do the same.
As Castiel tugged the blanket up around his shoulders, he noticed for the first time that the material made a slight crinkling sound. Holding the edge between his thumb and forefinger, he marvelled at the odd texture.
“It’s a duvet,” Dean explained. “Duck down. The good shit, according to the salesgirl.”
“Duck down,” Cas repeated, giving the fabric another experimental squeeze.
“Yeah. Turns out you don’t need...” Dean trailed off, throat suddenly strangely tight as Cas turned those ridiculously blue eyes of his towards him. “You don’t need to be an angel to sleep wrapped up in feathers,” he finished.
“I’ve heard of these,” Cas said softly. “They’re quite expensive, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “But I doubt Charlie Watts is going to care.”
“Dean,” Cas admonished. “We’re not supposed to use the cards here. These are our neighbours.” Dean rolled his eyes, slipping an arm around his partner’s waist and pulling him in close.
“You gonna tell on me?” he teased. Cas smiled and shook his head, turning onto his side and snuggling against Dean’s chest.
“Not if you admit that the pasta was your fault.”
“Seriously, dude? You’re gonna blackmail me with fucking vermicelli?” Castiel huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Dick. I hate you.”
“Shut up. You love me,” Cas shot back, hooking a leg over Dean’s thighs and settling himself more comfortably in Dean’s embrace. Any retort Dean may have had died on his lips as Castiel grabbed fistful of duvet and rubbed it against his cheek. The unabashed joy on his face did funny things to Dean’s insides.
Dean switched off the bedside lamp before tucking the duvet firmly around them both and pressing a kiss against Castiel’s temple. The hunter and the fallen angel were both asleep in minutes, warm and safe and covered in feathers.
Author: sixxsixxsixx23
Rating: 14A (Dean has a fondness for four letter words)
Summary: It’s nice to have someone to keep you warm at night. Takes place in an alternate reality of sorts after 5x03.
Disclaimer: It's Eric Kripke's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Authors Note: Inspiration struck me between snooze cycles one morning, so I wrote this at work. This is my first time writing Destiel. Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own, as it the completely unoriginal title. Originally posted on Tumblr.
~ ~ ~
If Dean managed to survive the night, he was going to kill Sam. What kind of an idiot picks a hunt in Northern Minnesota in January? After spending far too long tramping through the woods in search of the shallow grave of a murdered teenage girl whose spirit had been causing deadly mishaps to befall local hikers, the brothers were practically frozen solid. One torched corpse later, they were on their way back to town.
Hot showers had done them both good once they’d checked into a motel. Now Sam was curled up with the room’s extra blanket, snoring softly in the bed farthest from the door. His usual spot. Dean made a point of keeping himself between Sam and potential danger. Tonight however, Dean was sorely tempted to say fuck that and make Sam trade with him. Because Sam was next to the only working section of baseboard heater, and Dean was a measly 6 feet away from what had to be the shittiest window in all of Minnesota.
The weather stripping along the bottom and most of the left side had worn so thin that snow was seeping through, dusting the inside of the sill and part of the dinette table with white powder. Along with the snow came frigid wind, whistling obnoxiously through the gap and across Dean’s bed.
He’d moved as close to the edge of the bed as he could manage, huddled pathetically under the thin comforter with his face buried in the musty pillow. Dean’s fingers and toes were completely numb, and he was shivering so hard he was in danger of vibrating himself off the mattress and onto the ratty carpet. Stained and threadbare as it was, it was looking more and more like a better alternative to his current situation. At least down on the floor he’d be out of the direct line of fire.
The fact that Dean was considering sleeping on a motel room floor was a testament to how fucking miserable he was. Sam was a dead man, provided hypothermia didn’t set in before Dean worked up the energy to go over and wail on his brother with the bedside lamp.
The worst part about all this was the fact that Dean had his own personal man-shaped space heater out there somewhere. But he adamantly refused to call Castiel just so he could cuddle. Dean would suffer through frostbite if it meant retaining what was left of his manhood. Sam was still making fun of him for refusing to let Cas get more than an arm’s length from him for three straight days after the whole TV land fiasco.
When Dean’s text message alert went off a few minutes later, he came dangerously close to toppling headfirst off of the bed in his hurry check his phone. Three words: where are you? It took a ridiculously long time for Dean to type a response, but his effort was rewarded almost instantly with a familiar trench coated figure appearing in the middle of the room.
By the time Dean fumbled his phone shut and set it back on the end table, the angel was already standing in the gap between the beds, frowning at the trembling hunter.
“You are cold,” he said by way of greeting.
“No shit,” Dean grumbled, reaching up to push Castiel’s coat and suit jacket off of his shoulders. The angel let the fabric fall in a heap behind him and toed off his dress shoes, lips curving into the tiniest of smiles as Dean tugged on Castiel’s tie, urging him to lie down.
It took a bit of manoeuvring on both of their parts, but soon enough Cas was lying on his side with his back to the useless window, Dean pressing against every inch of the angel he could reach.
“Your timing is awesome,” Dean said, voice muffled against Castiel’s neck.
“It appears to be snowing inside of your room,” Castiel replied, glancing over his shoulder at the ever growing pile of flakes.
“Room sucks,” Dean groused, rubbing the bottom of one chilled foot against Castiel’s calf. As if to emphasize his point, a particularly hard gust of wind rattled the glass, kicking up a swirl of snow on both sides. Dean scowled and burrowed closer. “All Sam’s fault.”
Castiel doubted that the motel’s structural defects had anything to do with the younger Winchester, but he knew better than to comment. Dean did have a point, however. The room was hardly fit to sleep in. Castiel could easily relocate all three of them, but again, he knew better. The fact that it had been Cas who reached out to Dean tonight and not the other way around was a prime example of Dean’s stubborn streak. Leaving would be admitting defeat.
That didn’t mean the angel would let Dean suffer. In one fluid motion he looped his arms around the hunter’s waist and rolled onto his back so that they were lying chest to chest.
“Dude, what are y-” Dean was cut off mid-protest by the sound of flapping wings. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed on to Castiel’s upper arms. It wasn’t until he felt something heavy and warm settle against his back that he realized they hadn’t left the bed.
A wall of inky black feathers settled around him, sheltering him from the cold air. It was only the second time Dean had seen Castiel’s wings.
The first had been the night Zachariah sent Dean into the future. After calling Sam and asking him to meet up with him in Iowa the next day - the agreed upon halfway point between their respective current locations - and retrieving his car from the hotel in Kansas City, he’d checked into a nearby motor inn and made a point of showing Castiel exactly how much he meant to Dean.
He hadn’t expected Cas to indulge his request to see the angel’s wings. And he certainly hadn’t been prepared for the sight. Every bit as expansive as their shadowy outline had been that night in the barn, Dean had been awestruck. Row upon row of sleek, shiny black feathers he couldn’t resist running his fingers through. The downy layer hidden beneath was incredibly soft, unlike anything Dean had ever felt before.
They turned out to be rather sensitive to the right touch, and Dean had a lot of fun with Castiel’s newfound weakness.
With Sam back, they hadn’t had much opportunity to be alone since then. A quickie in the backseat of the Impala while Dean was supposed to be getting dinner; another in Bobby’s panic room while Bobby and Sam were upstairs researching. They were long overdue, and Dean intended to remedy that very soon. But not tonight.
Grinning from ear to ear, Dean wrapped both arms around Castiel’s neck, expressing his gratitude with a single long, sweet kiss. Cas left one arm draped across Dean’s waist, letting the other rest against Dean’s back, hand splayed between the hunter’s shoulder blades.
Dean knew he would be hearing about this until he was ninety once Sam woke up and saw the two of them, but right now he could care less. Head pillowed on Castiel’s shoulder, he let the angel’s warmth chase the chill from his bones and drifted off.
~ ~ ~
Dean opened Bobby’s front door as quietly as the old hinges would allow, careful to keep the rustle of plastic shopping bags to a minimum. Music was playing at a respectable volume in the library. The Rolling Stones. Cas.
Easing the door shut behind him, Dean snuck upstairs to the spare room he now called his own and began pulling open packaging and assembling Castiel’s surprise.
Back downstairs, Dean knew what he would find before he even rounded the corner. Cas was curled up in a corner of the sofa wearing Dean’s old grey hoodie, a mug of coffee in one hand, the other holding a tattered paperback open on the sofa’s arm.
After Castiel fell, Dean made it his mission to keep him from becoming the drugged out, broken shell he’d met at Camp Chitaqua. So far, so good.
The transition hadn’t been easy, especially with the loss of his Grace coinciding with the last stand against Lucifer. Dean still couldn’t believe they’d won. That they’d all survived. Sammy, Cas, Bobby and Adam. All still kicking.
For the most part, Castiel had taken everything in stride. Learning how to take care of himself, how to shoot and to care for their weapons cache, the finer points of social etiquette. Although to be fair, Sam had more to do with that last one than Dean did. Probably for the best, considering Dean’s own people skills.
While Cas was still Cas, he had some new human quirks for Dean to get used to. The guy got seriously cranky when he was hungry, which Dean found kind of adorable when he wasn’t on the receiving end. He was also a kicker and a blanket hog.
So far his biggest issue had been dealing with temperature. Heat wasn’t so bad - they’d spent most of the summer naked, anyway. Fall had been tolerable, with Cas figuring out early on that a flannel shirt, and later a dark blue hooded Carhart jacket would keep the former angel quite comfortable.
Winter was a different story. Cuts and bruises and even cracked ribs Cas could deal with. But cold toes? Not so much. Storm season blew into South Dakota damp and chilly, and Cas had been thoroughly unimpressed. He’d spent nearly every minute they were at Bobby’s close to the fireplace, reading and watching movies on Dean’s laptop. Usually with Dean at his side, cracking jokes about running off to the Caribbean together.
“Now what are you reading?” Dean teased, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the library.
“A Tale of Two Cities. It’s very good,” Cas replied, turning the page. “Have you heard from Sam? I left my phone upstairs.”
“Got a text from Adam about a half hour ago. It’s definitely a werewolf.” Dean sank down beside Cas, sliding a hand up the leg of the former angel’s jeans and rubbing his ankle. “They figure they’ll be able to take care of it tonight. Tomorrow, if their lead doesn’t pan out.” The younger Winchesters were in Michigan, on what was now Adam’s first monster hunt. It had been all demons until now.
“How’s Sam handling it?” Castiel asked, tucking what looked like the label off of a beer bottle between the pages of his novel to mark his place.
“I’m sure he’s fine. That was a while ago.” Dean had almost forgotten about Madison, the pretty legal aid Sam had gotten involved with in San Francisco a few years back who had ended up being the werewolf they were hunting. “Adam’ll keep his mind off of it regardless.”
“True.”
“Bobby still at Jody’s?” The gruff old hunter had been spending a lot of time at the lady sheriff’s place as of late. All of the boys teased him mercilessly about it, but truth was they couldn’t be happier about it. Jody was great, and she made Bobby a lot less grumpy.
“Yes, he is. How did things go in town?”
“You mean did I get your stupid fuzzy socks?” That earned him a glare from Cas. “Yes, I got them. Your goofy long underwear too.” Another glare. Dean grinned, leaning in for a kiss, which Cas grudgingly accepted as the apology it was meant to be.
“I’m so glad you find my discomfort amusing, Dean.”
“Come on, baby,” Dean brushed Castiel’s hair off of his forehead, making it stick straight up. “You know I only tease because I love.”
“Your maturity astounds me,” Cas retorted dryly, pushing Dean’s hand away and not quite managing to keep a small smile at bay.
“Whatever. You hungry? I think there’s still some sauce in the freezer if you want pasta.”
Cas decided to help with dinner, which somehow resulted in pasta ending up on the ceiling. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen when they were left in the kitchen unsupervised.
They cleaned up and washed the dishes, pasta still glued above the sink - seriously, how does that even happen? - and Dean suggested they turn in early. Castiel needed little convincing.
A playful shoving match in the bathroom while they brushed their teeth ended with Cas tearing up the hallway to the bedroom like a bat out of hell, trying his damnedest to avoid it ending in a tickle fight. Another of Castiel’s new human quirks, and one Dean enjoyed way too much.
Cas stopped short in the doorway, eyes on the bed. Dean wasted no time in taking advantage of his prey’s sudden immobility, seizing Cas around the middle and tossing him on to the mattress.
“Don’t!” Cas gasped, wriggling out of Dean’s grasp. “That’s not fair! I was distracted!”
“How is that my problem?” Dean laughed, flipping the other man onto his back, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists.
“But it is! You, you bought us a comforter!” Cas bucked up against Dean, knowing he couldn’t unseat the larger man in his current position, going instead for distraction. Dean grinned down at his lover, taking in his flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
“Do you like it?” Cas blinked. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Staring up into Dean’s smirking face, he hesitated, trying to figure out whether it was a genuine question or Dean’s own attempt at a distraction.
“Um. It’s a nice color?” Cas offered, gaze sliding to the deep purple fabric. Dean chuckled, releasing the former angel’s wrists and rocking back on his heels.
“Yeah. It was either this or paisley.”
“I see. And what made you decide we needed a comforter? I thought you liked Bobby’s old quilt?”
“I do,” Dean agreed. “But I didn’t buy this for me. And it’s not a comforter.” That got a head tilt and another confused blink. Chuckling, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. He undressed and crawled under the covers, motioning for Cas to do the same.
As Castiel tugged the blanket up around his shoulders, he noticed for the first time that the material made a slight crinkling sound. Holding the edge between his thumb and forefinger, he marvelled at the odd texture.
“It’s a duvet,” Dean explained. “Duck down. The good shit, according to the salesgirl.”
“Duck down,” Cas repeated, giving the fabric another experimental squeeze.
“Yeah. Turns out you don’t need...” Dean trailed off, throat suddenly strangely tight as Cas turned those ridiculously blue eyes of his towards him. “You don’t need to be an angel to sleep wrapped up in feathers,” he finished.
“I’ve heard of these,” Cas said softly. “They’re quite expensive, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “But I doubt Charlie Watts is going to care.”
“Dean,” Cas admonished. “We’re not supposed to use the cards here. These are our neighbours.” Dean rolled his eyes, slipping an arm around his partner’s waist and pulling him in close.
“You gonna tell on me?” he teased. Cas smiled and shook his head, turning onto his side and snuggling against Dean’s chest.
“Not if you admit that the pasta was your fault.”
“Seriously, dude? You’re gonna blackmail me with fucking vermicelli?” Castiel huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Dick. I hate you.”
“Shut up. You love me,” Cas shot back, hooking a leg over Dean’s thighs and settling himself more comfortably in Dean’s embrace. Any retort Dean may have had died on his lips as Castiel grabbed fistful of duvet and rubbed it against his cheek. The unabashed joy on his face did funny things to Dean’s insides.
Dean switched off the bedside lamp before tucking the duvet firmly around them both and pressing a kiss against Castiel’s temple. The hunter and the fallen angel were both asleep in minutes, warm and safe and covered in feathers.