Noxi: *heavy breathing* Hey all. So. This. It is my first. Destiel. I don't ship it (though I support my loves who do and if it happens I will be happy for happy Dean and Cas). Even after I've written this mush. But here I am thanks to the beautiful ed-geins-tailor over on Tumblr. She's a shipper and is always showing me a bunch of Destiel fluff. Now, I've been struck by a writing bug that I can't deny. Thus, this little piece of glory. The idea came from a post on Tumblr where someone talked about Dean waking up in the night because of Cas, and because his sleep schedule was fucked, and then going to sleep because of Cas.

My Muse produced this. So, without further of my crap, here.

Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke

Fallen in Sleep

He lay there for some time listening to the sounds around him. The TV was on in the main room, but he didn't remember leaving it on before he went to sleep, which meant that Sam had been up recently. He didn't like to think why. Sam had always slept better than he did, unless he was plagued by nightmares again. Sometimes he dreamed about the pit, sometimes about mom or dad. Sometimes it wasn't anything more than watching him die, again. He remembered waking up a few times to see Sam watching him from the doorway before he'd caught him and he'd walk away.

He'd done the same thing. He'd woken up countless nights before. From nightmares, or his internal clock. He'd roll out of bed and turn on the TV, watch late night, read the books that had been left behind. He'd read up on recipes, plan something different for Sammy the next day. Cas had gotten him some tea to try, because he knew he was getting up in the middle of the night, restless. The tea didn't work, but he wasn't going to tell Cas that.

But most nights, he'd have to get up and check on Sam if the nightmares had gotten to him that bad.

Sleeping in two separate rooms had its disadvantages.

But it was the heavy breathing next to him that was the most disquieting. One hand rested beneath his head under the pillow, toying with the blade he kept there even though the bunker should be safe, safer than any place they'd ever called home. The hilt was worn by the years, but the blade was as sharp as ever. He knew because he was the one who sharpened it a week ago.

His other arm was pinned down by the body at his side; warm, inviting, soft. There was a small groan next to him and he couldn't stop the way his chest expanded slightly at the sound.

But it still wasn't something he was used to, even if it had been several nights since he'd decided that they could finally share his bed. Every time he shifted, Dean would wake up, instantly alert. Every time his breath hitched in dreams, Dean's hand searched for the blade, grasping at it desperately.

And every time his body shifted closer to his, he couldn't help but grow rigid, frozen, and unsure of what to do.

What was he supposed to do? He never thought they would come to this, never thought it would be them. Even now that frantic feeling tightened his chest. He wanted to do things right, wanted whatever was happening between them to be right.

But he just didn't know how to do this. He thought that if they shared the same bed, the same space, things might get easier. Instead, it only made him more anxious.

He ran his hand across his face, breathing deep. He couldn't sleep anymore. Even if he was tired, which he wasn't, his brain wasn't going to let him sleep.

He glanced across the room at the clock, glaring in the dark, reading it at four forty-seven. It wouldn't matter. He'd slept at just over four and half hours. And as much as it conflicted him to get up and leave, he couldn't just lay there any longer. He wasn't going to fall back asleep any time soon, and if he stayed, he was just going to give himself an anxiety attack.

He turned on his side gently, so as not to wake his companion, and sighed, feeling it deep from his stomach.

That was the feeling that had brought them here. He watched him, Cas, sleeping soundly beside him, and felt a feeling in his chest stir. He pulled his trapped arm slowly toward him, until his hand rested against Cas' bare side and he curled his fingers against his flesh.

Cas sighed and curled toward him, reflexively. Dean stilled as their heads drew closer, and he swallowed nervously. This was what he'd been reduced to. A fumbling idiot who didn't know how to act around him.

He and Cas had shared personal space before, not that Cas knew what personal space was. But he'd gotten to expect it. Knew that Cas went by his own rules, and didn't care to try and figure out what being human meant. No, Cas had his own ideas.

He'd walk in on him taking a shower, and brush his teeth. Something human, something he remembered Lisa used to do to him. He should have known Cas would do the same. Or Cas would fold the clothes, and make a show of doing his boxers when Sam was around. Pointing out which designs he liked best. He nipped that quickly.

Or Cas would slip a mug of coffee into his hand when he wasn't looking, his fingers just grazing across his. He had never expected that one, or the way it sent a shiver of pleasant surprise across his skin.

The way he would stare at him with those blue eyes the color of a perfect sky, straight into his soul.

The scariest part was that Cas knew his soul. Knew it like he knew every inch of his skin, and had never been ashamed to look. Cas knew all the darkness in his soul and he was still here.

That was what held him back. That was what kept him awake long into the waking morning, when Sam would come from his room blinking blearily at him but say nothing, like he knew.

And that was how Sam would find him, more and more.

"Dean?" He looked up as Sam shuffled out of his room, dragging a hand across his face tiredly. It seemed Cas was the only one blessed with sleep in the bunker so far, though Dean wasn't going to begrudge him that. So many things had been ripped from him this past year and he deserved what he could get.

"Can't sleep either?" he asked flopping down onto the couch next to him.

He nodded, flipping a page in his dad's journal, eyes skimming over the scribble that decorated each page. Sam watched for a moment, and nodded at the book.

"Dad's journal again?" He stopped on a page that started off talking about mom, and looked at Sam.

"Something you wanna say?" Sam held his gaze before responding.

"You know I'm okay with it right? You and Cas?" Dean growled, and went back to the journal, flipping the pages more violently. He didn't want to have this conversation with Sam again. Once was embarrassing enough.

"Dean," Sam said exasperatedly, stopping him with a hand. "Is something else bothering you?"

Dean stopped, and stared at the drawing of an angel sigil, one done by his own hand next to his dad's words on religion. It was added in after the he'd met Cas, after the angels had given them hell, literally. A lot of things had changed after they had met Cas.

He had changed.

"You can be happy Dean," Sam murmured. Dean glanced up at him, and he knew that Sam would see that in his eyes. Knew that all of his fears would be seen. "You deserve that."

That was the problem. Did he deserve to be happy? The whole world was full of shit, and everyone could use a little happy. Who said it was his turn first?

"Take a number," he grumbled to himself, and rolled over, abruptly pulling his hand out from under Cas. He sighed, and shifted to the end of the bed, letting his feet hang off the edge.

"Dean," Cas murmured, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him against his chest. Dean stiffened at first, as the warmth behind him seeped through his shirt and then relaxed as Cas ran his lips across the base of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

A hand splayed out over his stomach, and Dean laced their fingers together, hesitantly.

"Sleep," he growled unexpectedly, and Dean swallowed warily. He slipped his hand under the pillow, fingers ghosting across the knife and he heard Cas sigh heavily behind him. He gripped the hand at his stomach tightly, and settled, his body easing back into the bed.

The warm feeling that spread over him eased his doubts slowly, and he knew, in the back of his mind, that he did deserve to be happy too. But it was that warring voice that said there were others out there, who weren't happy, who didn't have what he did that held him back.

His fingers loosened from Cas' and he shifted away. But Cas curled his fingers around his side, and tugged him back.

"Cas, what –" His fingers curled into his skin, and his face buried against his neck. Dean didn't want to admit that his heart skipped a beat and a flush spread over his neck, where Cas' lips were.

"You don't think you deserve to be happy," he whispered, his breath washing over him. Dean heaved a sigh, the warm feeling disappearing. "That's what's keeping you awake."

It was one thing for Sam to know, but he'd never wanted Cas to know.

"That's what's keeping you away from me."

"Cas, that's not –"

Cas kissed his shoulder, and the words left him. Of course Cas would know. For as dense as he was, he was perceptive about everything he shouldn't have been.

"No one's commanding me to be here," he said. Dean turned onto his back, Cas' hand sliding across his hips, and found his eyes in the dark.

The blue, deeper, like the night sky, bored into him. "And the only thing I want you to do is be happy," he murmured, leaning down, eyes lowering as his lips pressed gently to his. Dean felt his chest expand, as warmth took him over.

"Happy with me," he whispered against his lips. He leaned back, eyes wide with that look Dean had grown accustomed to. "I'm human now, aren't I? I can't be punished for straying from a path that isn't mine to follow. And I can't be happy without you." Dean let his words settle, and then reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes, running his hand slowly across his forehead and down his cheek.

"Fallen angels haven't been very good for us," he mocked, growling, and Cas smirked. Cas lay down at his side, head on his shoulder and sighed contently.

"Then it's a good thing I'm a Winchester." Dean had never felt his heart expand so quickly before, and never had he felt such pride.

"Sleep," Cas murmured once more, and Dean, feeling the warmth of his angel at his side, felt himself drift.

And he slept once more.

A/N: Be gentle? Thank you for reading.