Castiel X-Reader - Sad Cuddles

    You sit on the springy motel mattress against the thin pillows, legs stretched out and spine digging into the wooden backboard. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, and your throat feels stiff and tight. It’s hard to hold a good cry inside, especially one that has these particular origins.

    For days, you and the boys have been attempting to track a couple of demons. Sam and Dean have been having one of their little sibling rivalry episodes. Those have always been a bit confusing to you. One moment they’re blaming each other for whatever crap is happening and the next they’ll be putting it all on themselves. Of course, this makes them argue about whose fault it really is. It’s hard to tell what sort of mood they’re in, so you have to be careful about how you act around them. Things that they normally enjoy or at least didn’t mind could set them off. The multiple hours spent cooped up in the car haven’t been helping either.

    Just an hour ago, all three of you had been at a bar downtown. The demons hadn’t been active for a few days, so the boys had decided that it would be okay to relax for a night as long as you all kept your feelers out. Everything had been going pretty smoothly until you had said something that set Dean off. He and Sam had been bickering over their drinks, and you had simply tried to get them to calm down and stop it for just the one night when Dean whirled on you. You knew he hadn’t meant it, but it still stung and you left.

    They still hadn’t come back to the motel. Good riddance. You didn’t feel like dealing with them anyway.

    As you let out a shaky breath, a rustle of feathers disturbs the silence. You glance to your left and see Cass standing in the room not too far from the bed, typical emotionless expression on his face.

    “Hey Cass.” You greet him in a soft voice, not bothering to get up. “What’s up?”

    “Are Sam and Dean around?” He answers in his own low voice.

    You huff. “Nope. They’re out and won’t be back for a while.” Letting out a sigh, you rest your head on the backboard and close your eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly to fight back the ache in your windpipe. The room is silent for a moment as you swallow back a teary hiccup.

    “Is there something wrong, (y/n)?” Cass moves over to sit on the edge of the bed, gently placing a concerned hand on your shoulder.

    “What? No. I’m fine Cass.” Brushing his hand aside, you clear your throat and get up from the bed. You walk into the mini-kitchen that all motel rooms seem to be equipped with and set to work scrubbing one of the plates from last night’s dinner.

    As you turn on the water in the sink, you begin to scrub in vigorous motions, using the blue scrubby to scrape off the bits of food from the white ceramic disc. Angry, emotional thoughts flash in your head the whole time. Why are they always fighting? The world does not revolve around them like they seem to think. There are other people with other problems, and sometimes those other people push back their other problems in order to try and help someone else with another problem. For some reason, Dean friggin’ Winchester seems to think that he can just say whatever he wants when he’s ticked off and then expect one of his please-take-me-back apologies to work when he’s calmed down, and it is most definitely not going to work with me!

    Without noticing, you had begun to get more violent with your scrubbing until the strokes had turned into vicious lashes of emotion. When the last angry thought reaches its climax, the dish slips from your hand, banging the edge of the sink before falling to the floor where it shatters into six knife-edged shards. Swearing under your breath, you kneel down to pick up the pieces, hot anger still making your face warm. Not thinking, you clamp your right hand over the nearest shard, gasping and pulling back when the sharp fragment cuts into your palm. Bringing the jagged, bleeding tear up to your mouth, you press your lips to it in hopes of stopping the pain, but you just succeed in nicking the wound with your teeth. The dam breaks, tears rolling freely down your face as you squeeze your eyes shut and close your hand into a fist around the cut.

    Suddenly, you feel a warm, benevolent presence around you. Opening your eyes and turning your head to the side, you find Cass pressed close to you, one arm wrapped around your shoulders and both hands reaching for your injured one. Wordlessly, he pries your fist open and holds his open palm over yours. A soft, blue light emanates from his hand for a few seconds before he pulls away. The cut is gone and the blood has vanished.

    Turning into his chest, you let the sobs come as they wish, lungs gasping and body shaking violently, silent except for your ragged inhales. Cass slowly wraps one arm around you, using the other to tuck your arms between the both of you and wrap his hand around your wrists to hold them there. For a few minutes, he just lets you cry while resting his head awkwardly against your ear. His warm, steady breaths blow on your neck in an oddly comforting way.

    When the sobs have calmed somewhat, Cass changes position so that he’s seated against the cupboards with his legs crossed. He still holds you, pulling your legs around so that they’re nestled comfortably in his lap. You shift a little so that your head can rest on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck and shoulder pressed against his collarbone. With one arm, he reaches around your back and wraps his hand gently around the spot just below your elbow, pressing your exposed side to him. With his other hand, he reaches up to cup your jaw, stroking your cheek with his thumb. The lights in the room dim until they’re almost off, leaving the room in a soft yellow glow. Cass must have used his angel magic.

    After that, it doesn’t take long for your mind to be numbed by fatigue and the dim lighting. Cass continues the soft stroking on your cheek, and the last thing you remember is him holding you tighter.