I saw a post on tumblr and needed to write this.

Dean Winchester had said stay, and so he had. After everything was over, Castiel stood in a dim motel room, like so many others, watching over the two sleeping boys who'd (yet again) saved the world. There were bruises and breaks, and some injuries less visible that would never truly heal on all of them, but for now the night was quiet. Peaceful.

Castiel was sitting at the table, fulfilling his guardian role by protecting Sam and Dean as they slept. He was tired, exhausted really, as angels shouldn't be, but he'd refused a bed, or the more comfortable armchair, in favor of watching. He needed to watch.

He watched as Sam-energy gone, depleted by the trials-turned over slowly, his movements painful even in sleep. He would take long to recover. He huffed into the pillow, face scrunching up before relaxing. Castiel wanted to look deeper, see if his mind was at rest, but his powers too were depleted by the day, and he didn't feel able to even get up from the chair.

Dean was in the bed closer to him, still and silent. The painkillers he'd taken to help the fractured wrist and hand, and dislocated shoulder had made him loose and floppy before he fell fast asleep. Sam said that was normal, that pain killers like those always knocked Dean flat. But now, he was still, too still.

Castiel, against his will, remembered in a flash the many many times he'd seen a similar sight, the motionless body of his friend. Bodies, repeated over and over in different positions but always still. Just like he was now. Castiel remembered having a break, being able to stand above the Dean doppelganger he'd just killed for a moment or two, and just look. His chest never moved, his face was pale and lax.

The moonlight spread across Dean's face,the real Dean in the room, and made it look just as waxy, as lifeless. Castiel held himself still, reminded himself that he could hear two sets of breathing in the room if he held his own breath, that Dean's chest still rose.

Sam snorted, making him jump, his heartbeat accelerating for no other reason but fear. It was ridiculous, he knew that Dean was alive. In the aftermath of Sam's racket, Castiel listened for Dean's breathing again. Where was it?

His eyes snapped to Dean on the bed, and the man was there, still like he'd been. Was his chest moving? Castiel couldn't be sure. His breath came quicker, far too quick to be healthy.

"Dean," He whispered, and his voice was shaky.

With a scrambled that was in no way angelic, Castiel shot from the chair, and was at Dean's side. He reached out, and felt his pulse. It took a moment to find it (mostly because his hands were trembling, his logical mind informed him coolly) before there was a solid thub dub against his fingertips.

Castiel felt limp with relief, sinking to his knees at the side of the bed without removing his pointer and middle fingers from the assurance of Dean's heartbeat. He breathed out, his breath wavery and almost thick with a sob. Dean was fine. He wasn't dead, not like he'd been a thousand times in Heaven. Castiel thought he could stay right here for the rest of the night, but at that moment, Dean stirred.

Castiel should have pulled back, before Dean could be aware of what he was doing, but Castiel was frozen, unwilling to lose the feeling of life under his hands. He stayed still, his hand against Dean's collar bone, his fingers where he'd placed them.

Dean shifted, moved his head, and blinked at him.

"...C's?" Dean asked. He blinked again. "Wha's wrong?"

Half asleep, Dean fumbled up to his neck, where Castiel's hand still was, and found his fingers still pressed against the pulse. Castiel could not answer Dean's question, not without admitting what had frightened him. But as Castiel simply stared at him, Dean seemed to understand. His hand gripped Castiel's, squeezed and then pulled it away from his neck. Castiel could not contain a small noise of protest.

"Hey, you don't need that. I'm alive, okay. And I'm not going anywhere, you can bet your ass." Dean said, softly so as to not wake Sam. Castiel swallowed, his hand still in Dean's grip, before nodding.

"You okay now?" Dean asked after a minute. Castiel shifted back on his heels, letting his hands slid out of Dean's and into his lap.

"I'm fine."

Dean nodded, and shifted around, deeper into his pillow with a wince. Castiel wished he could spare the energy to heal him.

"Well, just poke me or something, next time, kay?" Dean said, and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. When Castiel didn't move, he met his eyes again. "You want half the bed? You look wiped."

Castiel shook his head, and stood. "I'll resume my watch." He moved back to the chair, heart calm and his breathing normal. Dean smirked a little, barely seen by the light of the alarm clock.

"Still creepy as hell, dude." But he didn't look like he minded. Dean dropped off to sleep again quickly, still under the influence of those pain pills. Castiel sat there relaxed, taking comfort in the fact that Dean's breathing didn't once slow or stutter or stop like it had in Heaven, but was steady and smooth all night.