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It’s late and quiet around the bunker. Sam’s just brushed his teeth when he bumps into Cas by chance, just as his friend is going to the room they call his.
Cas doesn’t really use it for much. He charges his phone in it, probably. Other than that… Sam has half an idea to rig a TV set for him there so he can watch it when Sam needs his own room.
Still, they put down clean sheets on the bed when he came back, they gave him a towel, and they call it Cas’ room. And now that they’re all retiring for the night, that’s where the angel’s headed.
He’s fully dressed. Sam finds it mildly unnerving, like Cas is about to sneak out in the night like a naughty teenager.
“Man, do you want a pajama?”
Castiel shrugs. “I’m not going to sleep, anyway.”
“Ok, but you might as well be comfortable. Come on.”
He leads him to his own room, and pulls out a pair of clean sweats and a T-shirt after Cas confirms that he doesn’t even have an undershirt. They’re going to be a bit big on him, but it’s not like he’s going to go around in public in them.
“Change for the night. Relax.”
“Thank you, Sam. I will.”
Sam sees him to the door, where they exchange ‘goodnights’.
Dean, also in sweats and a t-shirt, plus one of those surprisingly plush men of letters robes, is hovering around Cas’ door, holding a book.
“Oh, there you are,” he calls with clear relief. He nods to Sam, who nods back with a yawn.
As he closes his door, he hears Dean telling Cas something about reading through the night. Whether he’s advocating for it, or warning against, Sam doesn’t really hear. He goes to his bed and turns off the light, determined to get his six hours in.
He wakes up a little later than he intended to, thirsty and groggy. Jack is already in the kitchen, munching on a bag of dry cookies and nothing else.
“At least pour yourself some milk, Jack. And we have fresh fruit, you know.”
Jack has the good grace to look sheepish. “Castiel was going to fix me breakfast, but Dean’s in his room and I’m afraid he’ll get mad with me again if I disturb them.”
Sam blinks several times, too asleep to parse what Jack means. “Right…”
He makes coffee, heats a mug of milk with honey, and slices and peels an apple each for Jack and himself.
When he’s done, and since no one else has stirred yet, he takes a mug of hot coffee to Castiel’s room.
He knocks softly and goes in.
Cas is on his bed, wearing the nightclothes Sam lent him. He’s sitting up with a book in his hand, but he looks up from reading to acknowledge Sam, silently.
He’s not alone, though.
Dean is fast asleep next to him, still wrapped in his robe, and with a blanket on top. He’s holding on to Cas with both arms, and drooling with abandon on Sam’s old Stanford T-shirt. Cas is carding his free hand through Dean’s hair, delicately, so as not to disturb him.
“Thank you, Sam,” Cas whispers, putting down his book and reaching out for the mug.
On autopilot, Sam steps forward and hands it to him. He has no idea what to say and worse, he sees Dean wrinkle his nose at the smell of coffee. His brother is about to wake up.
Cas turns his entire focus on Dean, but what he says softly is for Sam. “I was watching over him.”
“Sure,” Sam breathes, and beats a hasty retreat. He hears a jaw-splitting yawn from the door the moment he closes it behind him.
He finds Jack in the communal bathroom, counting strokes aloud as he brushes his teeth. He stops when he spies Sam.
“Is everything all right?” then, because he’s probably still looking a little shell shocked, “am I doing something not-right again?”
“You’re fine,” Sam assures him, and smiles. He hasn’t felt like smiling this wide in a while. “We’re all fine. Today is a good morning, Jack.”