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Sleeping has always been a human thing. Angels don't need to sleep, but they can, if they want. Dean knows that, so does Cas.
Cas doesn't sleep the first night he's back, when they're in Dodge City, Kansas, working that ghoul case. The four of them together, for the first time.
Then there is the multiverse, the rescue mission, Lucifer and Michael and so much bullshit. They never catch a breath between the world-ending events, and Cas doesn't seem to have a night of free time for the luxury of sleep. Which seems, all things considered, normal and fair. Dean doesn't give it much thought.
Then the real end starts, the battle with God sounds the horn, the charging and dodging and fighting costs them the world. It costs them everyone they care about, everyone on Earth. It costs him Cas. And they save the world, again, one last time.
Dean lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the emptiness eat him up. Cas should be here.
Dean hasn't had a night without nightmares since that night in the bunker. Since Cas disappeared into the Empty with the saddest, yet happiest, smile.
But that is not the end.
Things get better, surprisingly. Life gets easier, the cases are with petty little everyday monsters. Dean has nightmares, but that's normal.
And then, one night, in the deep night, he startles awake. That is not because of a nightmare, he doesn't know why he wakes up so suddenly, but there is something prickling at his skin, a gut feeling pulling in his stomach. Dean blinks at the dark air in his bedroom, feeling something off. He sits up, and turns on the bedside lamp.
There he is, Cas. Standing in the corner of his bedroom, looking at him. The look and face the same as all those other times he'd stood there, watching, waiting for Dean to wake up from his sleep. All those other times Dean would have complained with "Don't do that again," or "That's creepy."
But not this time. Dean finds his breath hitched and his legs already rushing toward Cas, before his mind catches up. His arms wrap around him, his chin sinks into Cas's shoulder, breathing him in. Dean closes his eyes, holding the angel tight, thinking, this is the win of the last battle. Cas is back, the world is at peace, everything is normal now.
Cas holds him tight too. The night is quiet. Dean doesn't go back to sleep that night, nor does Cas. They just sit, and stare, and talk. And the dawn comes.
Jack brought him back. Cas tells him, after Dean's mind comes back online from the looping chanting of "he's back" and "he's alive."
He was deep asleep in the Empty, Cas says, but Jack woke him up again, like last time when the kid was newly born and yearned for him so much his voice reached into the Empty and woke him. This time, he used his god power, and woke him up like the best alarm clock in the world. So now, he's back. Everything is fine now.
Dean has to wipe his eyes again. Sam hugs Cas just as tightly as Dean had.
And this time, Cas stays, for real. Moves all his belongings into the bunker, which means, though, pretty much nothing. Just his angel blade, his trenchcoat and the clothes on him. He doesn't have many belongings, but he has moved in. His bedroom is two doors down the corridor next to Dean's.
Dean's more than happy about everything. For the first time after the God event, after everything wrapped up, he finally has a good night's sleep. A full-length beauty sleep without nightmares, he hopes.
Then in the middle of the night, he wakes up again. Staring at the ceiling of his room again, not sure why. Then he hears the creaky sound of the bunker floor, and a faint squeaky sound when some doors are opened and closed, someone walking around, keeping footsteps as light as they can, but Dean is a light sleeper these days with all the hunter's instinct.
He gets out of his bed.
The corridor is dark with only emergency lights on. But the end of the corridor has some light. He walks toward the light.
The light comes from the kitchen. Dean hesitates before reaching the door. Maybe just a midnight snack for Sam or Cas, maybe nothing to worry about. But his gut says otherwise.
Cas is sitting at the kitchen table. Hands folded, looking stoic, but something clearly unsettles him.
Dean relaxes a little, seeing nothing obviously wrong, but his frown is not entirely eased. "Can't sleep?" he asks.
Cas looks up at him, as if only then noticing he's there. He gives him a small smile. "You know I don't need to sleep."
That doesn't say much, but still. Something is telling.
"Yeah, I know," Dean murmurs, edging toward the table, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him. He regards Cas's face. He's not wounded, not threatened by any immediate danger, expression not twisted in a way that something horrible is worrying him. But still, something is troubling him. Maybe the recent memories and the battle and the encounter with the Empty again?
"What about you?" Cas is watching him, too, Dean realizes. He doesn't know how he looks, maybe a little tired, maybe a little worried. "Can't sleep?"
Dean shrugs. "Nothing to worry about," he says. Which is true.
Cas nods, looking back down at his crossed fingers. Dean follows his eyes.
"Talk to me," Dean says in a quiet voice. "Something's definitely bothering you, that much I can tell. Is it the Empty, again? Not taking you away or anything?"
"No, nothing like that," Cas confirms. "Nothing dangerous or anything like that. We are safe." He glances at Dean briefly, then adds, "I'm safe."
There is a pause. Dean waits.
"It's nothing, really," Cas says. "Angels don't need to sleep anyway. I can read, or something. You should go back to sleep. You need it, much more than I do."
Cas is right, though. The night is late, and Dean is a tired human with too little sleep. He yawns, fighting between staying longer with Cas for the night and going back to his own bed. But the natural exhaustion of his body wins out. His eyelids droop, his brain has difficulty focusing or thinking about serious matters now. So he decides, whatever the matter is, they'll figure it out tomorrow.
So he stands, and gives Cas a light pat on the shoulder. "Maybe read something, it helps," he says, though not really sure what it's supposed to help with. The words just come naturally. "Good night, Cas."
Cas gives him another lopsided small smile and nods. "Good night, Dean," he says.
Dean lies back down in his bed.
They don't really talk about whatever that is, the night encounter. But it happens more than often, gradually.
Cas tries to be quiet, around the bunker, at night, when he has to walk around or do something when both brothers are asleep. But the bunker is old, and there is always a creak or crack here and there in his steps. The floors or doors, or some old shelves when he reaches for a book. And Dean always wakes up. As if his ears are just waiting for the sounds, for the signals.
Most often, he finds Cas in the library, reading some ancient book, just like he suggested. Dean walks into the library as if it's the most normal thing to do in the deepest night. He pours himself a small glass of some alcohol -- whiskey, most times -- and he pours Cas an equal amount, putting it on the desk next to his book.
"What are you reading?" he sits next to him, studying the angel's face.
They still do that a lot, in the daytime too, when there are other people around in the room too, but at night, Dean feels, it's easier, he can do it more freely. As if an intimate moment he grabs for himself, the face and the looks, the angel, taking everything just for himself.
Cas tells him the name of the book, a witchcraft journal, or some ancient history or lore book. Sometimes even just some plain old classic novel. Cas talks about the part of the book that impresses him the most in a quiet voice, and Dean listens.
He asks again, once or twice, about this little odd nightly routine. Cas seems uneasy when night falls, he observes. And when the brothers say goodnight and go into their individual bedrooms, Cas says the same, and goes back to his. But almost always, Dean thinks his shoulders slump, his footsteps reluctant. There is something in him that is screaming: he doesn't want to go back to his room and sleep for the night. Or do whatever angels do at night to pass the human sleeping hours. He looks restless. Maybe that explains why he can't stay put in his room the whole night, why he has to wander around the bunker, spending time in the kitchen and the library, but still acting like everything is fine and quiet and nothing is wrong.
"I'm sorry," Cas says one night, Dean arches an eyebrow in confusion. "For waking you up. I hope to stay as quiet as I can, but this building doesn't seem to allow it."
Dean can't help a small laugh at that, his lips curling a little. "Yeah," he agrees. "I noticed. But nah, it's fine. Not like I sleep like a baby or anything. How are you? Full power and all back?"
"I'm fine," Cas answers, but the voice is controlled, tone too flat. Dean knows him too well now that it fools no more.
"No, you're troubled," Dean points out. "I want to know what's wrong, Cas. I want to help."
Cas sighs, resigned. "The night, the dark, the sleep, it all reminds me too much of the Empty," he confesses, trailing off, not meeting Dean's eyes.
Dean frowns deep, putting his glass down. And waits.
"When I was in the Empty, I was sleeping." Cas looks up briefly, tilting his head in that way he always does, squinting his eyes, emphasizing the word. His fingers twitch slightly, as if tempted to make air quotes around the word "sleeping" just to emphasize it more. "I was always sleeping there, and would be sleeping forever, if no one calls for me, if no one wakes me up and saves me from there."
He swallows, looking down again.
All the while, Dean watches him. Realization dawns. "That's why you can't sleep again, now, ever," he says slowly, voice pained, chest tight. "You're afraid it's like being back in the Empty. That you'll be sleeping forever and never wake up again."
Cas nods silently, the motion small. One hand grasps the other, as if trying to hold it steady to not shake.
Dean presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, controlling a slow, long breath out. "Okay, how do we fix this?"
"I don't think it needs to be fixed," says Cas. "Considering I don't need to sleep at all. You don't need to worry."
And Dean is thinking, he definitely needs to worry, except, Cas is right, angels don't need to sleep. So maybe it's okay for the moment, maybe they still have plenty of time to work it out, or better, to let time fix things, like he always hoped time would.
But no, that is not how time works. That is never how time works.
Time does bring change, but not in a kind, gentle way. It works naturally, but nature is cruel.
It's like aging. For humans, it's adding wrinkles and crow's feet at the corners of the eyes. For angels, it's the fading grace. The changes are subtle and imperceptible by each day, but consistent. Before one notices, the aging would hit, the body would just get tired easily, too worn out by everyday things, by life itself, really.
Dean certainly feels it as the years pass, but he doesn't expect Cas too.
"Shouldn't angels have a life span of eons?" He worries, watching Cas yawn with tiredness, just like any ordinary human when they desire a long sweet night of sleep.
"Probably because I've been through too much, the aging is accelerated," Cas answers, wearily. "Time flows differently in different realms. I think, my time spent in the Empty, it might could count as eons on its own."
Dean frowns deeper. "Does that mean your grace is going to drain soon? Does that mean..." he doesn't finish the sentence but he doesn't have to.
"No, Dean. I'm not going to die, not immediately anyway," Cas says, trying hard to make his voice sound convincing, soothing -- he tried anyway. "It will only make me more human, for the time being. And eventually, maybe truly turn into a human, I'm not sure."
He yawns again, and goes to pour a fresh mug of coffee from the kitchen coffee machine.
Dean watches him, realizing he's lost count of how many times the coffee pot has been refilled. His voice quieter than ever, "That means you'll need sleep."
The fear of sleep. The endless coffee. The stubborn insistence on sitting in the kitchen deep into the night instead of going back to his room. That explains it all.
"I'll be fine, Dean." Cas gulps down the coffee with a wince. He doesn't seem to enjoy any of the coffee's flavor anymore, he is just trying to ingest all the caffeine he needs to resist the inevitable sleep.
"You're tired as hell, and you need sleep." Dean points out the elephant in the room. "It's killing you."
"I'm okay," Cas insists, but his eyelids are really fighting to open now. He tries to stand up to get another mug of coffee, his steps stumble.
"Last time Sam resisted sleeping, he drank three cups of black coffee a night and almost crashed his car. He lasted five days before ending up in a loony bin," Dean tells him in a flat tone, grimacing at his own words. He hates the memory, and he hates bringing it up, but it's a supporting argument he can use right now.
Cas looks at him, with his blue eyes, a little glassy and bloodshot now, like any human with a severe lack of sleep. "We'll see after five days," he insists.
Dean sighs heavily. "We'll have to figure this out fast."
The next morning, Dean finds Cas crashing down on the kitchen table, with a half-full mug of cold coffee tipped over by his hand, his head pillowed on his arms. The angel breathes unevenly, but his eyes are closed, he's fast asleep.
Dean tries his best to exit the kitchen without making any noise on the loose floor tile, and gestures for Sam and Eileen to keep away from the kitchen as far as they can, and stay as quiet as they can.
The bunker is silent like a bomb shelter when everyone lightens their breath, to not disturb one sleeping angel.
And then, there comes the panicked yell from the kitchen.
Dean rushes in, finding Cas startled to his feet, hurries in standing up and backing away from the spot where he fell asleep, eyes wide and panicked. He is murmuring, "No, no, no, I shouldn't sleep. I will never sleep. I promised, I'd never sleep, and nor will you. That's how I can come back, that's how I can come back to Earth, to Dean, and..."
Dean dashes to be right in front of him, automatically putting his hands on Cas's shoulders, then cupping his face, shushing gently. "Hey, hey, Cas, look at me, look at me."
Cas's heartbeat is quick and loud, vibrating through the skin, pulsing beneath Dean's palms. It beats so fast and rushed like the heartbeat of a dying sparrow. Dean aches at the frantic pounding, he forces his eyes on Cas's. "Cas, Cas, you're okay, you're safe. You're alive, you're here, with me."
The dilated pupils in Cas's eyes slowly shrink, the hazy look clearing like morning fog under the newborn sun. His hands clutch Dean's arms, his breath eases the pace gradually. Cas swallows, then, "Dean." His voice hoarse.
"You're okay, you're back now, you hear me?" Dean says again, eyes as steely as he can manage, shaking him gently.
Cas nods slightly. "Sometimes it's easy to forget where I am," he murmurs. "When eyes are closed, it's all dark, black, empty. It's really difficult to tell if it's still the Empty."
"I know, I know." Dean pulls him into a hug, arms around Cas's shoulder, caressing his back like soothing away a nightmare. "Baby steps, we'll work on it in baby steps."
"I shouldn't sleep," Cas says, over his shoulder. Voice low by his ear. "But I have to now. I don't know how to..."
"We'll figure it out. We always do. Just like we figure everything else out," Dean promises him. Maybe also promises himself.
Night comes again. The Earth just spins through another rotation on itself, not caring that someone on its surface is growing increasingly anxious as the hours on the clock slip later and later.
Sam and Dean have spent the day in the library, trying to find if there is anything they can use to help, a spell or something.
"Maybe a sleeping pill?" Sam suggests tentatively, keeping his voice low. They're out of Cas's earshot, but still.
"I don't think it's a good idea," Dean hisses back, glancing in the direction where Cas is.
They don't really know how human Cas is now, or what any chemicals or medications would do to him. The pills might be too much, or too little, or... Dean already starts thinking about all the random news he has seen on TV about how someone's liver failed and died or something like that. He pitches the bridge of his nose. "No pills. I'll come up with something."
He puts a forced smile on, patting Sam on the shoulder even if he's too tall for that gesture to be comfortable. "I had to coax you to eat and sleep when you were a baby, Sammy, bet I can do the same job for an angel."
Sam doesn't look convinced, but he chuckles at the memory anyway. "Okay," he ends up saying. "Just, let me know if there is anything I can help. You know where my bedroom is."
"Yeah, sure," Dean says absent-mindedly. "Night, then."
Sam nods a quick nod, heading out of the library.
Dean walks toward Cas, slow. Cas is reading another book, but not like he's reading for research, more like reading for pleasure.
"Find something fun in there?"
Cas looks up. "It's enjoyable," he answers, showing the book cover to Dean. It's an elegant book cover on a beautifully designed book. The title reads " A Midsummer Night's Dream ".
"Shakespeare, huh?" Dean laughs softly. "Yeah, looks like something you'd enjoy." He doesn't mention it's a book about nights and dreams and sleep. Nor does Cas.
Cas puts the book down, glancing at the wall clock. It's almost midnight. "I guess you're coming to tell me it's about bedtime?"
His tone is considerably calm, compared to what he woke up to this morning. But Dean knows better, the unsteady undercurrent beneath that, he hears it.
Dean hesitates. He wants to say he's not, he doesn't want to see that shade of fear and panic in Cas's eyes again, but he also can't ignore the black circles under Cas's eyes, forming a dark shade that is making him look more tired and aged than ever.
"I'm thinking about trying something else," he whispers, remembering baby Sammy in a cradle, when he was not even a year, crying through the night, shaking like a leaf, probably fearing the dark night as much as Cas is for the Empty now. He remembers he would put the cradle in his arms, patting and caressing, humming some tune he remembered Mom used to sing for him. He was barely five at that time. And that was more than three decades ago.
"If you allow me," he adds.
And Cas nods. "Anything."
The single bed in Cas's room is a bit too small for two grown men. But Dean manages.
They change into soft sleeping clothes, and they lie down.
Dean almost reaches to turn off the bedside lamp, when Cas says quietly, almost sheepishly, "Can we leave the light on? It helps a bit."
The light dyes the corner of the room orange. Not dark, not black, not empty.
"Yeah, of course. We can leave the light on." Dean draws his hand back. "Actually, why don't you come to this side. Closer to the light, maybe it will help too."
Cas smiles a tight smile of appreciation. And they switch sides.
They lie down again.
Cas lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Breath uneven. Dean puts a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid, pounding heartbeat. A small dying bird, he thinks.
"Come here." His arms wrap around Cas, pulling him close.
Cas rolls to his side, facing Dean. His body is stiff, but he follows the move.
Dean tucks one arm under his neck, the other around his back, stroking his back in a smooth pattern, like the angel is just an oversized baby.
Cas keeps his eyes open, but Dean closes his own, starts humming a soft tune.
"You know, it's funny," Cas whispers, "it used to be me watching over your sleep, now it's the other way around." His body relaxes a little bit under the touch, but the muscles are still mostly tense.
"Yeah?" Dean whispers back, voice so quiet as if he's almost falling asleep himself, but his hand on Cas's back is still drawing the pattern, slowly smoothing all the way down, then reaching back up, and doing it again, then again.
"You couldn't see me at that time," Cas continues. "I wasn't in a vessel. But I had my wings over you, just like the way you are now with your arms."
"You had wings over me?" Dean's voice comes slightly louder this time, slightly more awake and curious. But he still keeps his eyes shut, hand steady, breath slow and even.
"You were so young at that time, but you already tossed and turned in your sleep. Especially if Sam had a bad night, you'd wake up at any sound. You never really got to 'sleep like a baby' even when you were a baby." Cas says.
Dean chuckles lightly. "Guess not."
"But I did that, using my wings to block the nightmares and fears. Like your mom asked, to watch over you. You and Sam."
Dean smiles at the picture it paints in his head. "Thanks, Cas," he says, keeping his hands wrapped tighter as he speaks, pulling him closer. Their bodies are inches apart, the warmth of their skin radiating to each other without needing to touch. "Looks like it's my turn now. How you feeling?"
Cas thinks about it, as if he's pulling his attention back to the feeling to get an exact answer. "Good, I think." He says, putting his hand on Dean's waist, hovering there for a moment as if he's uncertain if it's allowed, Dean only edges closer, and Cas settles the weight of his hand down with resolve.
"Still worried?" Dean asks.
"A little," Cas says. He closes his eyes. The vision is not pure black, and the body doesn't feel cold or empty. There is warmth on the skin, a tight pressure on one side, and a very soothing motion of caressing on his back. And he knows, even if his mind is going to sink into the dark unconscious sea of sleep, he knows it's Dean, close by, ready to wake him if his breath hitches or heartbeat races in his dream. The warmth and security, the light and the soothing pressure, Cas clings to it like a terrified new swimmer to a lifebuoy, a panicked plane passenger to a safety belt.
He lets the mind ease, letting go of the clench onto the sober wakefulness, like a diver ready to sink under the water. And he knows, this time, he is not going to choke, and the sleep is not going to be forever. He will wake up, after only a few short hours, and he will wake at home. It's going to be like taking a short trip away from the waking world, not an exile. He thinks. This time, the coming back is going to be quick and easy. His mind will come back home, because he already is.
Cas lets out a long, slow breath. And he says, "Good night, Dean."
Then, quiet and calm, he falls asleep.
So does Dean, without nightmares.
Two quiet rhythms of breathing, in a beautiful, normal night.