Finding Faith [Destiel Love Story]

Chapter 3

Dean frowned at the nearly empty box of cereal. He poured the remains into a bowl, setting it on the counter to throw away later. He raised his eyebrows at the tiny breakfast. There was probably less than half a cup in there, which wasn't nearly enough for him. He cursed his past self for leaving so little and reached for the handle on the refrigerator. The sound of it opening had been the loudest thing he heard all morning. He grabbed the milk carton and paused.

He furrowed his eyebrows, casually glancing up to sweep his gaze across the rest of the downstairs area. When he woke up, he had been determined to completely ignore the angel. To not even look at him. That was the plan, anyway. But he couldn't really ignore him if he wasn't even there.

A spark of hope lit up in his chest. Dean quietly shut the refrigerator door and set the milk on the counter, inspecting what he could see of the living room. Slowly, he walked out of the kitchen. His eyes flicked to the sliding glass door that lead out into his minuscule backyard. There wasn't anything out there that hadn't been there the last time he looked outside. Carefully, he crossed beyond the entryway and into the room.

The hope that had caught aflame died out when he spotted the couch. Dark hair peeked out from under the blankets. Castiel had situated himself on the cushions, laying on his back with his head propped against the pillows and the blanket pulled all the way up to his forehead.

Dean was gaping at the lump on his couch. He really hadn't expected the angel to have actually decided to use his makeshift bed. It took him several seconds to even find out where his voice went, and another few seconds to actually say anything.

"What... The hell?"

Castiel didn't respond at first. The blankets dipped and curved with every move of his shoulders, the shifting being the only noise for a moment.

"You went through the trouble of making a suitable place for me to sleep," the covers told him. "I understand that it's only polite to accept the kind gesture."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the couch. "Dude," he started, crossing his arms over his chest, "get out of there."

For Dean, it felt like hours until the covers lifted and fell onto Castiel's lap. One of his hands had splayed across the fabric, then curled inward to grip a fistful of polyester. He really did look as though he just woke up, with the messy hair and tired eyes, but Dean wasn't going to let appearances render his actions after everything that had happened the day before.

Castiel moved so that both of his feet, which were still protected by a pair of dress shoes, landed flat on the floor. "I was under the impression that this was the appropriate thing to do. I did as you asked and stayed down here the entire night," he said.

To be fair, it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened last night. It was a little weird, but Dean considered it a plus that he hadn't watched him as he slept. So he decided to let the angel off the hook for this one.

"Right, Cas. Thanks."

Dean wiped a hand down the entirety of his face, moving it to the nape of his neck. He turned away from Castiel, rubbing the knots out of his shoulder. His arm fell back to his side and he rolled his shoulders as he entered the kitchen, pausing only to glance over at Castiel in the other room. He watched, a little too closely, as the angel stood up and neatly spread the blanket back to rest on the couch. Dean furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Castiel leaning down to awkwardly pat the fabric, almost as if it had feelings. When Castiel turned to face him, he quickly averted his gaze and poured the milk into what little cereal he had. He glared down at the bowl, and then put the milk away.

He grabbed a spoon and took his breakfast to the dining room table where Castiel had already seated himself.

Dean, like any normal person, didn't stare down the guy in front of him. He just started eating, one spoonful at a time, letting his eyes pass over anything as long as they didn't venture across the table.