Standing Together

Chapter 37

A/N I've been failing st writing so this is the last prewritten chapter I have for ya

Castiel has already sent four songs out to smaller artists when the front door opens. Can leans his guitar against the piano — wait, wasn't he going to try to use that thing today? — and leaves his notebook on the floor, setting off to find his fiancé.

Castiel steps into the bedroom just in time to watch Dean collapse on the bed, his face buried in his pillow. Castiel pauses, just looking at him for a moment.

"Dean?" Castiel says uncertainly. "You okay?"

Dean just groans, unmoving.

Castiel walks over and lies down next to him. Dean doesn't even acknowledge him, which is a little concerning from the guy who always puts an arm around him when they're together like this.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asks.

"I hate everything," Dean deadpans, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

"Why?" Castiel asks cautiously. He probably won't understand a word out of his mouth if it has anything to do with football, but he can ask anyway.

But all Dean says is, "It's been a long day."

"Can I help at all?" Castiel asks.

"Do you have a gun?"

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Okay, I don't know if you're planning on shooting yourself or someone else, but it's probably a bad idea either way."

"Can I still do it?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "No, Dean, you can't shoot anybody."

Dean sighs. "Buzzkill."

"Seriously, though, Dean, what's wrong?" Castiel asks.

"Everything," Dean snaps.

"Oh?" Is that his cue to leave before Dean gets mad at him?

"Sorry, sorry," Dean mutters. "I got five hours of sleep last night and everybody's annoying and I just want to sleep for the next fifteen hours."

"If you go to sleep now, you're not going to fall back asleep tonight," Castiel tells him.

"Honestly, I just don't care anymore," Dean says.

"If you sleep on the couch, you probably won't sleep as long," Castiel says. "At least, that's how it works for me. Then you can sleep tonight, too. Best of both worlds."

Dean hesitates, then sighs. "Yeah, you're probably right." He tried to push himself up with his arms, then falls back down on the mattress in defeat. "Or maybe I'll just stay here."

"They worked you hard today, didn't they?" Castiel guesses, an amused smile on his face.

Dean just groans at the thought. He pushes himself to his feet — not quitting halfway this time — and silently walks to the living room. Castiel follows close behind, partially because he wants to be with his fiancé but mostly to make sure he doesn't collapse on the way because he seems exhausted. Dean lies down on the couch, his feet propped up on the other side because he's too tall to lie flat.