Shelter From The Storm

Shelter From the Storm Title: Shelter From The Storm
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warning: Post season-4, playing with some rumors.
Word Count: 1140
Rating: G
Summary: “I kind of miss you when you’re gone. I kind of worry.”
Notes: Written for the “Roll the Dice” challenge. Theme: blankets.

It was a dark and stormy night—no, really—when there was a knock on to the hotel room door. Dean opened it and there was Castiel, soaked and windblown. “I’m cold.”

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Dean said and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and guided him into the hotel room, holding steady when Castiel stumbled. “Careful! Where have you been? Don’t tell me you walked the whole way from wherever. Not in these clothes.”

“I only have these clothes,” Castiel murmurs, tucking himself against Dean. “They have always been enough.”

“Obviously not anymore,” said Dean and held Castiel’s wrist to feel his pulse. It was slow and thready, confirming what he already suspected. “You’re human now. You have to remember you’re not invincible anymore.” He said to Sam, who was already closing his books and shutting down his computer, “I think it’s hypothermia.”

“Shit,” said Sam and pulled on his jacket. “Soup and hot chocolate?”

“I’m not hungry,” said Castiel, still shivering.

“We have to warm you up from the inside,” said Dean. “You eat. Now get out of these wet clothes–we have to get you under the blankets.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said Sam, grabbing the car keys, and a moment later he was out of the room and Dean heard the Impala purr to life and roar away.

Castiel, meantime, was reluctantly pulling off his raincoat. “I don’t like being cold.”

“I don’t like you being cold either.” He undid Castiel’s tie and Castiel stood still, hands hanging at his sides. “You don’t have to walk everywhere.”

“I hitched,” Castiel said. “Part of the way.”

“You shouldn’t do that, either.” He sighed. “You should have called me.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“We’ll fix that.” He knelt and took the shoes and socks from Castiel’s feet. “You need new everything.” He stuck a finger through a hole in one of the socks and wiggled it. “You know if you’d just stay with us we’d stop having this problem.”

“I have work to do.” Castiel unzipped his trousers and let them fall, and Dean tried not to watch him crawl into bed, still wearing his dingy white shirt and underpants. “You also have work to do.” He settled against the pillow with a sigh.

“Still say we should do it together,” Dean said and covered Castiel with the blankets, and then the blankets from Sam’s bed as well. He sat on the edge and looked down at Castiel. The angel—ex-angel, Dean reminded himself—blinked at him slowly with sleepy blue eyes. “Gotta admit,” Dean said softly, “I kind of miss you when you’re gone. I kind of worry.”

Castiel worked an arm from under the blankets and took Dean’s hand. “It would put you in too much danger us being together.”

“More danger than I’m in every day? I don’t see how that’s possible. Whatever you’re doing . . .” He started stroking the back of Castiel’s hand. “We should do it together. You know, strength in numbers.”

“Not yet, Dean.”

“Someday, then. At least so I can stop worrying about your skinny ass.”

“You never stop worrying about my skinny ass. Get under here with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, grinning, and kicked off his boots. He got under the blankets with Castiel and laid his head on the same pillow. Castiel smiled with pleasure and moved closer to him.

“I am warmer now.”

“Good. Promise me you’ll eat the soup when Sam gets back.”

“As long as it’s not ramen. I don’t like ramen. Too salty.”

“Maybe he’ll get Chunky instead.”

“I like Chunky.” He reached over to touch Dean’s cheek. “I knew you’d look after me,” he said softly.

“Of course I would.” Dean closed his eyes a moment. “Somebody has to. And we’re getting you a phone and new clothes and you’re not hitchhiking anywhere anymore, got it?”

“Yes, Dean.” He held the back of Dean’s head and leaned their foreheads together. His fingertips brushed the skin below his ear.

“Though I’d like it better if you stayed,” Dean added in a whisper.

“Then we wouldn’t have these lovely reunions anymore,” Castiel said.

“We could reunite every morning instead,” Dean said hopefully, and Castiel chuckled again.

“I will be more careful,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“Don’t you want me not to miss you, too?” Dean said and undid the buttons of Castiel’s shirt so he’d be more comfortable. “Or do you not miss me at all?”

“I miss you. But there is work—”

“Yeah, yeah. Work to be done.” He looked up as the doorknob rattled, and Sam let himself in, his hair and the shoulders of his jacket wet from the rain. He carried a plastic bag from a Mini-Mart and a coffee cup in a cardboard holder. Dean rolled out from under the covers and smoothed them over Castiel again as Castiel sat up and propped the pillows behind him.

“I got a couple different kinds of soup,” Sam said as he gave Castiel the cup. “And hot chocolate.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel said and looked at the plastic lid a moment before cracking up then tiny drinking spout and having a cautious first sip.

“I’ll do the soup,” Dean said, because cooking was easier than explaining why he was under the blankets with Castiel, and took the plastic bag. He tossed Sam the bag of potato chips Sam had indulged himself in and grinned when he saw the single serving cans of tomato, chicken noodle and vegetable. “Cas? Tomato?”

“Yes, please.” Dean nodded and put the soup into the microwave and pressed the timer buttons.

“How do you feel?” Sam was saying to Castiel. “Do you know what day it is?”

“It is Thursday,” Castiel said and sipped. “I’m not confused. I’m better now.”

“Just checking,” said Sam, tearing open the bag of potato chips.

The microwave buzzed and Dean took out the soup, hissing at the heat. “Careful,” he said, wrapping it in a spare t-shirt. “It’s hot.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel took the can, and looked at it and his cup with a faintly puzzled expression.

“Alternate,” Dean suggested, and Castiel nodded and started sipping both in turn. “Sammy? Chicken noodle?”

“Yes, please,” Sam said, grinning as he imitated Castiel’s polite tone, and Dean flipped him off on sheer principle.

Dean lay back on the bed with Castiel and his own cup of soup, and Sam lay across the foot. The TV was on but they ignored it, talking instead about the work, their friends, the books they were reading and the stories they’d heard. When he finished his hot chocolate and put the cup aside, Castiel wrapped his warm hand around Dean’s and smiled at him sometimes.

Outside it stormed on, but Dean didn’t give the rain another thought.


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