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Waking up on November 1st is literally like walking through a door from Halloweentown to Christmastown

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Cas almost fell down he was hurrying so much. He tugged on the girl's arm next to him.

  "Come on Amy, we're late, we've got to go fast!" he said, straightening his Prince Eric outfit a little. Amy made a face as she waddled along.

  "Oh, yeah, 'cause it's my fault. You know, we wouldn't be so late if you hadn't insisted on fixing your wig to perfection," she stated huffily.

Cas rolled his eyes, though he still wore a large grin.

  "Whatever, let's just go."

He rushed past the guy calling cues-- not the usual guy, that was for sure-- and into position.

"This is Disneyland, we’re never short-staffed,” Dean complained.

"Yeah, well, tonight we are. You’re gonna have to usher," The Jungle Cruise manager said, handing him a generic Main Street uniform.

"Seriously? What about the custodial staff, why can’t—"

"You’ve worked the show before."

"Yeah, two years ago," Dean grumbled, accepting the uniform. "I’ve been a skipper for ten months, am I really the best person to send over there?"

"It’s not just you, we pulled Lily from the Matterhorn, Dave from Indiana Jones, and Peter from Space Mountain too. Bunch of people just got fired for showing up drunk and they haven’t been replaced. Now hurry up and change, they need you in New Orleans Square in fifteen."

"Fine, fine," He replied, continuing into the locker room. He changed into the Main Street uniform, putting his hat, gun, and belt in his locker and dumping his uniform in the laundry bin for its nightly washing.

" ‘Sup with the outfit, Winchester?" Another freshly relieved skipper, Aaron, asked him.

"They’re sending me over to work Fantasmic."

"Ha! I don’t envy you."

"Yeah, yeah. Have a good weekend," He said with an eye-roll as Aaron left the locker room. Nobody liked working crowd control. In fact, it was widely acknowledged that being on the custodial staff was better than working crowd control. He’d get a nice little overtime check for it, though, so it wasn’t all that bad.

After he was changed, he headed over to New Orleans Square and checked in with the show manager. “They need you backstage to read cues,” She told him, glancing at her clip-board.

"Back there by the docks?"

"Yep. Scan your security card to get in. It’s the door marked ‘Cast Members Only’ right by the docks."

He nodded and headed over there, glad at least to not be working crowd control. He’d rather sell his soul to a demon than work crowd control.

"You the skipper they sent over?" Another manager asked as he entered the room.

"Yes, ma’am."

"Right. You just gotta watch that screen and call cues from this list, but most of the actors know their cues, so no pressure."

He took the list and glanced over it. It seemed easy enough. Anyway, he hadn’t seen Fantasmic in a while, since he was always leading a cruise or out of the park when it was going on. 

The show started without any problems, Dean calling out all the cues fine, until the part where the princes and princesses go out on the rafts for their songs.

"Prince Eric and Princess Ariel to their position, Eric and Ariel to position."

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Cas gave a small chuckle and started eating. Sam lowered his eyebrows disapprovingly at Dean's excuse of not shaving and started eating as well. Kevin shrugged and kept eating, and everyone was eating. It was silent as everyone was enjoying Dean's perfectly tweaked spaghetti. 

  "Dean," Sam commented after swallowing his bite, "You still haven't put your dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. Even though I asked. Several times."

Dean rolled his eyes. He almost said ‘you ain’t Kev’s mom’ but he thought better of it. Team Free Will had seemed to become The Orphan Club.

"Yeah, well, I got important shit to do all the time, I ain’t got time to keep my face smooth," He grumbled, taking a swig of beer. "Anyway. Charlie’s comin’ next week, just so y’all know."

"Who’s Charlie?" Kevin asked, swallowing and wiping his mouth.

"Red-head badass geek lesbian queen."

"…Huh."

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Cas shrugged as he sat down next to Dean.

  "If I recall correctly, Dean, I've never seen you clean shaven either," he commented.

  "Sam said to tell you he's not hungry tonight; doin' something on his laptop," Kevin said to Dean with his mouth jammed with food. Just then, Sam walked in and took a seat at the table.

  "Changed my mind. Don't talk with your mouth full," Sam scolded, dishing up some spaghetti.

"Yep," Dean replied, absently reaching over to wipe away a little blob of foam from under his ear. "Don’t think I’ve ever seen you clean shaven before," He added, taking a seat at the table next to Kevin and dishing some spaghetti onto his plate. He was a damn good cook and he knew it, but he made burgers the best, and kind of resented the nights when they had something else or were away from the bunker and had to resort to shitty diner food. He’d been trying new recipes, though— at least as a baseline, since he usually tweaked the hell out of them— and this one had turned out pretty great.

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Castiel held the razor in his hand, testing it's weight. He puffed on cheek out, looked in the mirror, and dragged the razor across his skin in a diagonal line. That felt weird. But it did seem to get the hair gone. So, he kept going, slowly getting the hang of it. He almost nicked his lip, but pulled back just as he was dragging down. He finished shaving and stared in the mirror for a while, just studying his newly-shaven features. Hmm. Dean's eyes were nicely peanut-shaped, but now that he looked at his, they were just kind of circles. He stuck his tongue out and narrowed his eyes, just standing there. Before he knew it, Dean was hollering 'grub time!' like he did every time it was dinner. Castiel huffed and walked out of the bathroom, coming back over to Dean again. 

  "Have I done it right yet?"

He half-grinned, watching Cas make those silly faces. He took up the razor and rinsed the blood off it, drying it on his jeans. “Be careful with this thing, okay? Go slow. Press hard, but don’t push your skin in, and keep the blade adjacent to yourself. Look.” He dragged it along his own cheek to demonstrate, though there wasn’t any hair there, as he’d shaved earlier that day. “I’m gonna go toss the noodles in the water. Be careful, okay? Shout if you need anything.” He left the bathroom and went back to the kitchen, dumping an entire package of noodles into the pot— if there were leftovers, they could always eat them the next day for lunch or something. He set the table and put the cheese and garlic bread in the middle. He’d wanted to make meatballs too, but he figured he should start off slow— home-made marinara was already a pretty big feat, and it had taken him most of the day to get it ready.

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Cas was silent, just pursing his lips as Dean led him back to the razor. Once the hunter had instructed him what to do, he applied some of the shaving cream on his face. It felt a little odd. He puffed out his cheeks again, making faces at the mirror. Huh. His cheeks looked kind of chubby and weird. He'd never noticed that before. And his eyes were a little oddly shaped. He snapped out of it, looking back at Dean.

  "Done," he said.

"Dude. It’s for your face, not your fingers," Dean said, cleaning the blood away, but holding the cloth tightly to Cas’ finger. "C’mon, I’ll get you a bandaid and show you how to use that thing, okay?" Hand still around Cas’ to keep the rag in place— he didn’t even consider the fact that it really seemed like they were holding hands— Dean lead Cas back to his room and then to the bathroom. He took the rag off and put a bandaid on the cut. "It’ll be better in a few days. Just don’t pick at it, okay?" He took up the can of shaving cream that had already been there— since that bathroom was also the closest to his own room— and handed it to Cas. "Thin layer of this on your cheeks, neck, chin, and above your lip," He instructed, "But get your face wet first.

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Cas sat down obediently, puffing his cheeks out.

  "Your razor was very sharp," he responded gruffly, pursing his lips. He still wasn't used to being wounded. When he was an angel and he was wounded, yeah, it hurt, but not like this. Even such a small injury took away his will to move the digit.

Dean turned away from the pot of boiling water and towards Castiel, taken aback by the bloody finger.

"Aw shit, what happened?" He asked, pulling a chair away from the table and, hands on Cas’ shoulders, gently pushing the man into it. He grabbed a dish rag and dampened it, holding it around Cas’ finger. 

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Cas nodded.

  "Okay, okay, okay," he said as Dean listed off topics. He walked off to change into the new clothes Dean had gotten him-- the shirt was much more snug on his frame than Dean's, and the cuffs of the pants didn't drag on the floor-- and look over the shaver. He'd never shaved before. He inspected the blades, narrowing his eyes. He turned it on, and immediately dropped it as he hadn't moved his finger from the blade. 

  "Hah!" he gasped, picking it up with his unwounded hand and turning it off. He just stared at his bleeding finger for a while before walking back into the kitchen and standing behind Dean.

  "Dean," he called again.

"Hey. Okay, first thing’s first— unless you wanna look like your hero Jesus in a couple more days, you need to learn how to shave, because this is gettin’ ridiculous," Dean stated. "And that’s comin’ from a firm believer in the every-three-days method. I got you some stuff, ‘s in your room. Oh, and I hope your hungry, ‘cause I think I made too much spaghetti sauce."

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Cas walked out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a hand towel. He couldn't clean himself enough, it seemed. He paused at hearing creaking floorboards. Castiel balled the hand towel up in his hands and walked forward, through the hall to the kitchen. And, of course, there was Dean, making dinner. Cas sniffed. Whatever it was, it was going to be good.

  "..Hello, Dean," he greeted casually, un-balling the hand towel and playing with it in his hands.

Dean re-entered the bunker and hung his keys on the nail he’d hammered into the wall by the door. 

"Hey— Cas?"

No answer. He listened closely for a moment, and his ears caught the sound of the shower. He rolled his eyes. Cas sure seemed to enjoy hygiene. 

He went into Cas’ room, which was only a few doors down from his— Sam’s was on the other side of the bunker, as it was really nice for the two of them to finally have some space— and set down the three shopping bags. He began unpacking them, putting the socks and boxers and tee shirts and jeans into the drawers of the dresser that had already been in the room and hanging up the plaid shirts in the closet. Cas had been wearing mostly Dean’s clothes, and while he wasn’t opposed to that, they were a little too big and Dean figured the guy would rather have his own stuff. He used his pocket knife to cut away the plastic casing of the electric shaver and the toothbrush, leaving them on the bed.

That done, he headed into the kitchen to start making dinner for the four of them.

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Cas was surprised that the embrace felt so comfortable. Before he knew it, he was basically snuggling into Dean's chest.

  "...Okay. Goodnight, Dean," he whispered slowly. Dean had said it was going to be alright, and maybe it was getting closer to alright. He suddenly felt like he could get used to the nightmares, brave through them, just be tough. Like Dean had learned to be. Now, he thought, he could do it. And then, he was asleep in the arms of a hunter.

"Hey, don’t worry about it," Dean replied. His first reaction was to furrow his brows and demand for Cas to man up, but that was far too similar to something his father would have done, and honestly he cared about Cas way more than that. Cas was his best friend— he only had a couple friends who weren’t dead. Cas was important. Real important.

"It’s gonna be okay, alright? These dreams won’t last forever. C’mere." He pulled Cas over so he was half on top of Dean, head on his chest, and put an arm around him. He was aware of how completely ridiculous the gesture was, but at the moment he didn’t give a shit.

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  "Cross my heart."

In no more than two minutes, they got into the opposite sides of the admittedly large bed. Cas lay on his side faced away from Dean, staring into the shadowed wall. He closed his eyes, and before he knew it he was asleep.

He burst awake, panting. He must have screamed again, because Dean had sat up and rubbed his stubbly cheek. 

  "S-sorry, I'll try not to...do that," Cas whispered. Dean had said he had hundreds of nightmares like those, but Castiel didn't know how the hunter could handle them each night.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay, c’mon.” He stood up and lead Castiel back to his room, grabbing Cas’ pillow as he did, since there was only one on his bed. He moved it from the middle to the left side and plopped Cas’ down on the right side, closing the door and shutting the lights off.

"Like I said. Tell Sam this happened and I’ll punch someone."

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Castiel looked up.

  "Actually...I believe that may help. Body heat and closeness to another being helps with sleeping," he said slowly, an almost-smile appearing at the side of his mouth. But it didn't reach his eyes, not entirely.

  "Er, ah...thank you, Dean."

"That sounds scary as fuck," Dean replied. "I mean… I’ve had that dream. Hundred times. All alone, no Benny, no you, no nothin’ but me and the monsters. Sometimes I didn’t even have my knife. It’s what happens when you gotta sleep, Cas. You get nightmares about the shit that you won’t think about when you’re awake. ‘S why I try not to sleep more’n five hours at a time. Sleep too long and they find you." He was silent for a moment. "Dude… say a word of what I’m about to suggest to Sam and I’ll behead you, but want to come sleep in my bed? It’s big enough for two probably and a change of scenery might help."

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Cas took a large gulp of water before replying.

  "...Okay. I was...in Purgatory...alone," he started steadily.

  "And there were things coming. That's...that's all. It wasn't that scary, now that I think about it," he muttered, embarrassed, though it did still terrify him.

Dean nodded and half-hit Cas’ shoulder reassuringly before going to the kitchen to get him a water bottle. 

"Here ya go. You ain’t gonna tell me about that dream?" He asked, handing Cas the water bottle and sitting next to him again.

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Cas didn't answer the first question-- Dean wouldn't want to hear more about Purgatory. Cas didn't want to whine. He'd had it good, compared to the Winchesters.

  "Sure, water is good, for hydration, and...yeah, I'd like some water," he sputtered, still feeling the beads of cold sweat on the back of his neck. It was like he could still hear them. I'm awake, I'm awake, I'm awake, he thought.

"Cas, you just screamed," Dean replied, coming into the room and closing the door behind him— habit he had. 

He went to sit down next to his friend. “What were you dreaming about?” He asked, though he was fairly certain he knew— Purgatory. Dean had certainly had a bad wave of those nightmares. He never seemed to stop having nightmares— whether they were about hell, Purgatory, hellhounds, Strigas, his dad, his mom’s death, something happening to Sammy— seemed like everything was nightmare fodder.

"D’you want some water or something?"

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Castiel was now just sitting up in bed, not even trying to sleep anymore. Completely alert. See, he'd convinced himself that maybe he really was in Purgatory, and this one was the dream world. Everything was going smoothly, after all, and that was never the usual.

He jumped when Dean entered, though the man opened the door quietly and spoke in a hush, nighttime voice. 

  "Dean." He wanted to say more, but his throat felt dry and achey. Perhaps he'd screamed too much.

  "I'm sorry, everything is grea-- it's okay," he finally got out.

It killed Dean to ignore those screams, it really did, but for some reason he’d figured that it would be best for Castiel to get used to sleeping on his own terms— Dean didn’t want to inadvertently teach him to sleep like he himself did, curled up with a gun under the bed and facing the door. It wasn’t healthy to be so damn paranoid, but Dean didn’t know any other way to be.

This time, though— this time there was something extra in that scream, some terrified, childish whimper, and he had to go make sure Cas was okay.

Not bothering to put pants on— hey, boxers and a tee shirt is enough when you’re seeing someone who literally rebuilt you from the ground up— he quietly went over to Cas’ room, which was pretty close to his. Sam’s was on the other side of the bunker— it was nice for them to finally have some space, since they’d never had any growing up. Real nice. Dean loved his brother, but he also loved having his own room— being in the same building as Sam was enough.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said, opening the door and poking his head in. "You… is everything okay?"