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Hardcore Cuddling

requested by machodean for theficbuddynet!

Pairing: DeanCas Prompt: "OOOO can i have a destiel fic with Punks can get scared of thunder storms too au w/ punk!dean ??? ;w;"

read on AO3

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"And you know what the worst part was?"

Cas, who has spent the entirety of their conversation playing with the sticky strands of hair stuck to his forehead, meets his stare. He's very particular about his hair ― even a touch too much hairspray makes him obsess over it all day until he's basically tangled it all into a ridiculous bird's nest. Which, you know, isn't an inaccurate description of what his hair's turning into right now.

"What?" Cas prompts.

Dean shakes his head, crunches his now empty beer can, and hurls it at the bin. It bounces off the rim and lands beside it, joining two more of its fallen comrades.

"Not only does he criticise me for wearing a Metallica shirt, the guy then gives me a little 'pop quiz' to determine whether I actually listen to their music. The fucking nerve." He shakes his head. "I can list every one of their songs in order of album. I can name Hammett's freaking date of birth."

Cas huffs, absently tugging at his hair again. "I suppose now you can empathise with Charlie and her altercations with the gaming community."

"I mean, that was just a one off for me," Dean says, reaching for another beer. "Charlie gets that every freakin' time she logs on to play that multiplayer game of hers."

Cas nods, finally extricating his fingers and taking a sip of his own beer. His hair is significantly messier, but he seems fairly pleased about that.

"People are shit," he says, offering his drink in a toast.

"Hell yeah they are," Dean says, tapping their beers together. "No matter which area of life they come from ― be it punk, geek, goth, whatever ― elitists are fucking everywhere and they can suck a big one."

"So eloquently put," Cas says with a smirk.

"Sexist pigs can suck a big one, too," Dean says, thinking of Charlie. "An even bigger big one."

Cas nods sagely.

They're sitting on the floor of Cas' new apartment. It's his first time moving out at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Dean's been living on his own for a few months now, so he figured he'd come over and help Cas out, move some furniture, that sort of thing.

Instead, well, they're proving how utterly hopeless they both are. Cas doesn't have a couch, but Dean brought over a case of beer, so it seemed like the best way to handle the couch situation was to get gloriously intoxicated. Never mind an IKEA trip now ― Dean's over the limit and Cas still hasn't got his licence.

What a pair they make. Sitting on the tiled floor, drinking cheap beer, their bodies covered in tattoos and piercings, their jeans ripped around the knees and ankles. Dean's hair, in contrast to Cas', is a perfectly styled mohawk, although the ends are starting to droop since the air is so humid. He had to run through the rain to get to Cas' apartment block, and he's pretty sure the fresh blue dye still stuck to his scalp is leaking down the back of his neck.

They look the exact picture of Deadbeat, a term thrown around a lot by their teachers and parents. They're both working though, with Dean at Singer Garage, and Cas at a tattoo parlor that only opened a month ago. They're earning money, living on their own ― it's better than either of their parents were expecting, so that's something.

Except, you know, Cas doesn't have a couch, or a fridge, or a washing machine. He has a microwave and a toaster, at least. The "essentials".

Meanwhile Dean, who's been spacing out for the past couple of minutes, enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his veins, suddenly comes back to himself at the sound of rain against the window. The sky is dark and grey and the wind is growing stronger, the rain coming down harsher.

"Ugh," he says with disgust.

"The roof leaked the last time it rained," Cas says, squinting out the window. "I had a giant puddle in the kitchen. I better get a bucket ready."

Cas gets to his feet, only wobbling a little bit. The guy's a total lightweight. He drags himself to the kitchen, Dean slyly staring at his ass as he walks away. Hey, he's only human. A well-sculpted ass is a gift to this world, even if it's attached to his best friend.

Dean sags against the wall, sighing up at the ceiling. He's got work tomorrow, and it's not late yet but he doesn't think the rain's going to abate anytime soon.

In his peripheries, he catches a flash of light outside, and an old fear instinctively latches onto him. He exhales, distracting himself with another sip of his beer.

While in the kitchen, Cas can't be seen from the living room, especially when you're sitting on the floor. Cas putters around in there, making a lot of obnoxious clanging sounds while he hunts for a bucket.

"I think it's gonna storm," Cas calls out. He peaks his head around, peering through the doorway. "Will you be right to get home?"

"What?" Dean coughs, waving a hand. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Cas gives him a deadpan stare. "Dean, I know you don't like thunderstorms. You're welcome to stay here tonight, if you wish."

"What, on that infested mattress of yours?" Dean says, wrinkling his nose.

It's secondhand; Cas scavenged it from the side of the road. Dean's not willing to go anywhere near it. Cas, on the other hand, thinks it's more comfortable than the expensive one he used to sleep on back home.

Cas sighs, long-suffering. "Would you rather take the non-existent couch?"

"Dude, I'll just go home. It'll be fine."

Just as he says that, however, there's a rather pointed, booming roar of thunder, strong enough to make the windows quake. Dean's entire body freezes, hands clamping tight around his ankles.

"Dean? Are you―?"

"Fine," he snaps, staring resolutely ahead at a patch of mould on the wall. "M'fine."

Cas sighs again, disappears for a moment, and then comes back out. Suddenly he's slipping into Dean's vision, crouching before him. He lays a hand on Dean's knee.

"Dean," he says slowly, "do you want me to take you home?"

"Quit babying me," Dean grunts, shaking him off. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You're shaking," Cas tells him. "I can feel it."

"That's...unrelated." Dean clears his throat. "I've had too much to drink, that's all."

Cas quirks a brow. Simultaneously, lighting flashes, illuminating the dingy apartment. A few seconds later, thunder growls, rattling Dean's bones.

"It sounds close," Cas says carefully.

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, his hands clamped around his ankles again, his body starting to sweat. "Real close."

"Dean, stay here tonight."

"No, I got work tomorrow."

"Not until midday," Cas reminds him. "Besides, you can drop me off at IKEA in the morning."

Dean looks up at him. "Were you planning on going tomorrow? Or you just finding reasons for me to stay?"

Cas shrugs. "I was not not going to go. I just hadn't made up my mind yet, and now I have." He gives him a small smile. "Come on, it helps me out more than anything."

"But―"

"Stop being difficult," Cas orders, giving him a stern look. "You're staying. End of discussion."

Thunder rumbles then, louder than the previous. Dean simply squeaks, "Okay."

Cas nods encouragingly, planting himself on the floor again, their thighs touching. He lays an arm across Dean's shoulders, pulling him in close, his body warm and sturdy.

"It's darker in my room, you know," Cas says quietly. "We can block out the lightning, and my mattress is more comfortable than this floor, by far."

"I'm not sleeping on your termite-ridden―"

"There are no termites," Cas says impatiently. "You're being a germaphobe."

Dean glares at the floor, tucking himself in closer to Cas. "I'm allowed to be. We live in a disgusting, germy world, okay? I don't have to like that."

Cas cuddles him closer, resting his hand on Dean's shaved head, brushing along the short strands of his hair. "I know, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor, so you're going to have to deal with it, okay?"

Dean grumbles, slipping his head under Cas' chin, his cheek squished against Cas' wide chest.

"Whatever," he huffs.

They stay there on the floor for a little while longer, thunder and lightning ringing out across the skies, brightening up the room intermittently. Dean trembles, but having Cas here makes things easier. The buzzing beneath his skin quietens just a little.

It's kinda weird that he's snuggling with Cas on the floor of his new, crappy apartment, but stranger things have happened in their relationship. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but he's never been opposed to getting up close and personal with his alarmingly attractive best friend.

Eventually, Dean whispers, "You still think I'm really hardcore though, right?"

Cas chuckles. Dean starts when he feels lips pressed to his hairline, but they linger long enough for him to relax into the touch; to enjoy it more than he probably should.

"I've never thought that about you, Dean Winchester," Cas tells him.

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But, uh, don't tell anyone else about this, okay?"

Cas hides his smile in Dean's hair. "Okay, Dean."

"Especially Sam."

"Not a word."

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