written for @ltleflrt, who requested "borrowing clothes" (and also a continuation of my "dean wearing cas' coat" agenda)
"Mind if I grab this?"
There's a grunt from the Cas-shaped pile underneath the covers, which Dean takes as a yes. He shrugs the trenchcoat on over top of his boxers and tshirt, grabs the carton of cigarettes from his nightstand and heads outside.
It's a cool night, and Dean is still covered in a thin layer of sweat. Hence, the coat. He lights a cigarette, inhaling slowly. It rained earlier in the evening, the pavement still slick and shining under the artificial glow of the lampposts. It reminds Dean of the way Cas' eyes looked, peering down at him in the dark of their motel room, and he feels his ears grow warm at the reminder.
He should still be in there, huddled with Cas in the warmth underneath the covers. Doesn't really have an explanation for why he isn't, other than sometimes he just needs a moment to himself; to breathe, to slow his racing heart.
Cas' coat is comforting, covering Dean's shoulders and sheltering him from the chilly evening air. It almost feels like armor, like nothing bad could get to him so long as he keeps it on.
He used to feel that way about Dad's old leather jacket. Then, at some point, the heaviness begun to wear on him. It started to feel less like armor, and more like a cage.
Stupid thing to think, really. They're just clothes.
Dean throws the cigarette on the ground, grinding the stub underneath his heel. His nose is starting to feel cold.
Cas is still underneath the covers, unmoving as Dean closes the door. Dean takes off the coat, hanging it carefully, and slips into bed, wrapping his arms around Cas.
As if on instinct, Cas shifts, turning around and putting his hand on Dean's waist, pulling him in closer.
"You're cold," he complains, voice laced with sleep.
"Sorry," Dean says. He presses a kiss into Cas' hairline.
Cas hums. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." It doesn't feel like a lie. "Just needed some fresh air."
