Dean’s back to normal now, the spell only temporary, magic exhausted by the end of the week. Castiel hears Dean and Sam arguing in the other room—not the angry sort, but the sort of brotherly ‘Why did you spit up on my favourite shirt?’ sort of banter that’ll blow over by tomorrow—as he rests on the separate bed.
Waves of relief washed through him when Dean awoke from a cat nap back to normal (and wrapped in Castiel’s overcoat), but there’s something bittersweet about the spell wearing off, something he can’t totally explain. He sighs, shutting his eyes as he reaches some zen level of relaxation, attempting human meditation.
Two warm hands rest on his chest, the mattress creaking as Dean crawls over him. He nudges the angel’s cheek with his head, stubble sliding against stubble, warm skin pressing together. When Castiel’s eyes open, Dean looms over him, staring deeply into his eyes as the tips of their noses tap together.
“I don’t think it fully wore off,” Dean purrs, tongue flicking out and swiping over Castiel’s upper lip, “Still gonna kiss me even though I’m not a fuzzball?”
Castiel smiles, a hand petting down Dean’s arching spine as the hunter dives down, kissing his angel fully on the mouth. He might miss Dean’s time as a cat, but he’s missed this a whole lot more.