[ He would be surprised that Dean slept so quickly had it not been for the lacking bits of conversation and his general unsteadiness due to the alcohol he'd drank. He isn't, which leaves him several minutes to lay there with their hands close and his eyes focused on his face. There's more he probably could have said, more he might have wanted to. Still, he keeps them to himself, and once he's sure Dean isn't going to wake up with the slightest bit of movement, he twists away to text Sam.
It's a long conversation, one he refuses to accept but tries to stay objective to. He wants to trust Sam, that he won't repeat the mistakes of all those years ago, but he can't be certain of it. Even if he's agreed not to pursue whatever it is they're planning, he can't. His instincts are too intact to ignore; something is brewing, and it isn't going to be good once it finally breaks.
Castiel rubs his eyes, the pull of sleep too difficult to ignore much longer after that.
And vaguely, he recalls his dreams. This night they're full of light and oddly soft, not the nightmares he'd have drowned out with pills or booze. He'd been a relatively heavy sleeper at first, when his grace had slowly dwindled to nothing. In fact, he could have slept for days at a time before, but the necessity to be alert had quickly erased that. So, the sudden shift beneath him has tension filtering in and consciousness surfacing rather fast.
The disoriented feeling is still there though, blinking and trying to determine the time. Nothing gives it away; it couldn't have been more than a few hours later, at least. ]
What is it? [ Castiel's turn to be paranoid, voice low from sleep and tired as if he expects some impending threat. It goes unnoticed that he'd somehow sprawled out across the bed and thus Dean, pressed right up against him. Perhaps he hadn't given it any thought because it wouldn't be the first time he's woken up like this with others and with far less clothes.
If it's not important, he's going to roll over and go back to sleep. ]
no subject
It's a long conversation, one he refuses to accept but tries to stay objective to. He wants to trust Sam, that he won't repeat the mistakes of all those years ago, but he can't be certain of it. Even if he's agreed not to pursue whatever it is they're planning, he can't. His instincts are too intact to ignore; something is brewing, and it isn't going to be good once it finally breaks.
Castiel rubs his eyes, the pull of sleep too difficult to ignore much longer after that.
And vaguely, he recalls his dreams. This night they're full of light and oddly soft, not the nightmares he'd have drowned out with pills or booze. He'd been a relatively heavy sleeper at first, when his grace had slowly dwindled to nothing. In fact, he could have slept for days at a time before, but the necessity to be alert had quickly erased that. So, the sudden shift beneath him has tension filtering in and consciousness surfacing rather fast.
The disoriented feeling is still there though, blinking and trying to determine the time. Nothing gives it away; it couldn't have been more than a few hours later, at least. ]
What is it? [ Castiel's turn to be paranoid, voice low from sleep and tired as if he expects some impending threat. It goes unnoticed that he'd somehow sprawled out across the bed and thus Dean, pressed right up against him. Perhaps he hadn't given it any thought because it wouldn't be the first time he's woken up like this with others and with far less clothes.
If it's not important, he's going to roll over and go back to sleep. ]