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Dean had suffered through countless crap motel bathrooms in his lifetime. Mostly, just having the water approach something a human would consider lukewarm, or feeling pressure that passed for something more than a dribble, was a success for him. Showers that actually removed the grime and gore of a hunt were few and far between.
So Dean didn't even think twice when he found himself alone one night, Sam having gone out for some grub and to restock the thousands of miscellaneous things hunters needed to have on hand. They had been ‘unlucky’ this last case, having run into trouble in town before even checking into a motel, and the state they were in after they dealt with the monster of the week left them no choice but to book into a nicer hotel that was actually inside town limits, simply because it was the only place around that would let them book a room over the phone, thus avoiding awkward questions like “is that a chunk of large intestine in your hair?”
It took only minutes after Sam left the suite before Dean had pulled out their stash of ritual candles and his most comfortable slacks. In the process of digging around in his duffle he was pleased to find that they had some dried peppermint on hand from their random assortment of archaic herbs. Humming under his breath now, he gathered up his supplies, stopping real quick to grab some soap from the miniature kitchen area in the suite. He bundled everything into the spacious bathroom and began setting up. He had barely gotten a glance at the room last night, it had been all his exhausted brain could do to get himself cleaned up and vaguely register that there was the luxury of a honest to god tub. It was earlier this morning, when he had stumbled into the room half-awake to take care of business, that it had registered to his sleep deprived mind that this set up was nice. The room may not have a 5-star Jacuzzi deal, but it did have a clean, functioning bathtub, long enough for him to fit in comfortably, with plenty of space on its flat ledge for his candles. After arraigning them along the perimeter and lighting up the lot, Dean grabbed the cup he had left on the sink the night before and began mixing the dish soap and mint together into a gloop.
Now, Dean was somewhat embarrassed about this, about wanting things like this to be a certain way, but he was beyond kidding himself at this point. Sammy may be the girl in the family, with all his feelings and hair, but Dean knew he didn't always fit the typical American stereotype of male masculinity either-despite being totally badass at all times. He knew he was particular about things, that he always took the time to spike his hair just so, that he liked to match his suit and tie to the color of his eyes, and that a bath just wasn't a bath in his mind without bubbles. So sue him.
Satisfied with his mixture he plugged up the tub, poured in his homemade bubble bath, and began disrobing as he ran the water. The tub was steaming and the room smelled like peppermint by the time he lowered himself into the water with a pleased groan.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly as he flexed and relaxed each muscle in his body, working out the kinks and tension of the week. The water sloshed gently around him as he dipped his hands under, bringing soaked fingers up to swipe appreciatively over his face. He turned the water off as it hit just below the lip of the tub, candle light flickering at the disturbance of air and steam as he leaned back again.
It was perfect. Beginning to relax like he hadn't been able to for months, Dean slipped deeper into the water, bringing it precariously close to overflowing as he closed his eyes, ready to slip off into some pleasant non-thinking time and just zone out. He should have known it was too good to last.
When Castiel appeared it was with barely even his usual shush of wings. Dean gave a surprised hiss, jerking back slightly and splashing water over the edge of the tub.
“Jesus, Cas,” he growled furiously as the angel tipped his head consideringly, his gaze taking in the surroundings and naked hunter before him without comment. Blushing, Dean sank down, thanking his lucky stars that his mix had worked out and that there were plenty of bubbles keeping this from being fantastically awkward, as opposed to just incredibly awkward.
“What the hell do you want?” Dean demanded as Cas moved his gaze to study the candles flickering on the side of the tub. “Because this, this is not cool dude. Don’t you remember that talk we had about knocking first?”
“I have an important matter I would discuss with you-” Cas started, but Dean interrupted with a very loud growl.
“No,” he stated, ignoring the confusion on the other man’s face. Cas was always confused as hell, he could deal. “I’m not doing anything for anyone for the next 24 hours,” Dean said. “I don’t give a flying shit if the goddamn apocalypse is back on schedule or whatever; I am not leaving this room.”
“Why?” Castiel asked, bafflement clear in his voice. “Dean, we have trouble and it would be prudent to deal with it immediately before the situation escalates.”
Dean shook his head. “No.”
Cas stared.
Dean shifted in the water, trying to get comfortable again. “Look Cas,” he started, closing his eyes as he settled back down into the tub.
“I’m just tired. Just fucking tired man,” Dean said, not really giving a shit anymore about being naked or girly or whatever. “I mean- aren’t you?”
There was a long pause, the silence giving nothing away concerning the look Cas was undoubtedly giving him at this moment. He wondered if Cas would just zap him out of the tub and march him off on whatever super important angel business the dude had today.
He heard a shuffle and the sound of fabric folding as Cas moved. Opening his eyes Dean turned his head slightly to find Cas had sunk down to sit on the floor, his chin resting on crossed arms as he leaned on the edge of the tub not fully spaced with candles. Dean stared at him, taking in the way the candle light reflected off his face, giving the angel an almost pensive look. He waited, somehow expecting the inevitable blunt statement on the absurdities of humans or the deadpan deliverance of news that would have him running off on some world saving hunt. But Cas said nothing. He simply sat there, head on his arms, rough stubble pressed against tan coat as he breathed in the peppermint scented steam. Eventually Dean sighed and stretched his own head back, closing his eyes as he gave up trying to puzzle out the motivations of his angel.
A second or so of breathing later brought with it the feeling of fingers gently carding through his water-slicked hair.
“Cas-” Dean said, annoyed at the breach of personal space and startled at the sudden intimacy. Before he could move however, the fingers slipped down, firmly covering Dean’s eyes as Cas purposefully pinned him down.
“Shush,” Castiel ordered, voice just a tad rougher than his usual gravel baritone. “You’re right. I am tired. I am tired of lying and pretending and running around trying to take care of the world. I am tired of arguing over pointless nonsense when we both know what’s going on. So don’t argue with me Dean.”
For a second Dean teetered on the edge of something like fury, he hated being backed into a corner like this when he was vulnerable, hated having his own words thrown back at him. Then the moment was gone, and he simply nodded once, lying back with a whoosh as he let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. “Ok Cas,” he breathed, his own voice sounding rough and foreign in his own ears. “Fine. You win.” Dean closed his eyes. He really didn't want to think anymore.
After a second’s hesitation the fingers were back, hesitant this time as they corded through his hair. Dean let out a soft sigh. It felt good. Cas was right; hell, he had said it himself. He was tired.
Encouraged, Cas increased the pressure of his touch, massaging thin fingertips through the hunter’s wet scalp. Dean made pleased grunts as the fingers moved blissfully back and forth over his head for what felt like hours before trailing down to his brow, thumb pads tracing gently over his lids as Cas’ hands worked to smooth over the frown lines across Dean’s temples. After a time the hands dropped lower, dipping softly in and out of the water as Cas kneaded the thick muscles at the base of Dean’s neck.
Contented sighs escaped the hunter as his angel worked him over with a firm but gentle hand. Dean felt completely boneless, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so relaxed.
After a blissful age of kneading and rubbing the candles were burning low, and Cas drew his hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. Groggily, Dean blinked open his eyes as Cas curled his fingers along the slack muscles of his jaw.
“You should go to bed now Dean,” Castiel murmured as Dean tilted his head into the touch. “I don’t want you to fall asleep in the water.”
Slowly Dean nodded, still feeling boneless, and in something of a pleasure and exhaustion based trance. He thought that Cas stared at him fondly for a second, still limp himself as he rested against the tub. Then Cas, looking almost surprised, leaned in and kissed Dean softly on the lips. In a breath it was over, bright blue eyes meeting astonished green ones.
“We will talk tomorrow. Until then,” the angel said, breaking contact between his breath and Dean’s lips, and Dean suddenly found himself fully clothed, dried, and tucked neatly into his own bed. “Sweet dreams Dean Winchester,” Cas’ voice whispered out of the air and Dean felt his eyes slipping shut, sleep enveloping him gently as he breathed one last conscious sigh of contentment.