Chapter Text
Chapter One
It wasn’t often that Sam offered to do Dean’s laundry with his own, but Dean had no qualms relinquishing that chore. He hated doing laundry. It was why he ended up wearing the same clothes for days on end. Those clothes were already dirty, and considering their jobs, their lives… Dean didn’t see the point of swapping them out for clean clothes on a daily basis. Less dirty clothes, less laundry to do.
He pulled out the duffel of dirty clothes he kept in his closet. He always waited until it was half full before he dumped them in the washing machine; unless, of course, Sam was feeling charitable. Dean double checked to make sure his favorite pair of boxers were in it. He only owned eight pairs of underwear, one for each day of the week, with a backup pair in case of emergencies.
They were his lucky boxers. Yeah, there were a couple of tears, the elastic was starting to wear, and the AC/DC logo had faded almost entirely, but they were still wearable. Dean bought them a long time ago, and any time something good happened, he always happened to be wearing them. Dean knew it was coincidental, but it made him wonder sometimes.
Dean had been wearing them when they found the bunker, found their home. That awesome night he and Charlie were each other’s wingmen and ended up leaving with the hottest women Dean had seen to date. The day they found out Sam got a free ride to Stanford. Goddamn, he was so proud of him.
He was wearing them every time he got Cas back. And whether or not it was coincidental, Dean figured it couldn’t hurt to not press his luck.
After digging through the pile twice, he let out a frustrated groan. No sign of them. Dean double checked the floor of his closet, and under his bed. Dean hummed as he tried to retrace his steps. He’d worn them on their hunt in Wisconsin a week ago. Damn, he really hoped they got mixed in with Sammy’s stuff.
Dean grabbed the duffel and made his way to the laundry room. He found Sam dumping his laundry into the industrial sized washer. “Hey, my favorite boxers aren’t with your stuff, are they?”
Sam looked over his shoulder with a frown. "Um, I don't think so, but you can check?" Sam stepped away from the machine so Dean had space to go through the laundry.
He leaned over and started digging, but came up with nothing. Shit. Dean drew back. “Maybe I left them at that motel.”
Sam shook his lion mane. "I always go through the room one more time before we leave. I haven't seen them. Maybe they're in your room?"
“I checked. That’s why I asked you. I’ll go ask Cas,” he said as he dumped the clothes from his duffel into the machine. “Don’t start the load until I’m back.”
He didn’t wait for Sam to respond as he made his way to Cas’s room. Dean didn't bother knocking; he just opened the door. “Cas?”
Cas was only wearing his shirt and pants, his hair in complete disarray as he rubbed his back against the wall in his room. He startled a little and froze in his movement before he straightened himself. "Hello, Dean."
Dean let out a surprised huff of laughter. “You alright, Baloo?”
Cas replied with an impressive bitch face. “Yes, it’s just… nothing. What do you want?”
Dude must have woken up on the wrong side of… Well, nothing because angels didn’t sleep. “You seen my favorite boxers? I can’t find them.”
“No,” Cas replied pretty quickly.
“You sure? They’re my AC/DC ones.”
Cas squinted his eyes at him. "They aren't here."
Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, grumpy bear, I’ll leave.”
Cas bit down on his lower lip before he quietly murmured, "I'm sorry."
“For being grumpy, or for my underwear?” he asked with a laugh.
Cas shuffled his feet, not looking at him as he replied, "Both."
Dean shrugged and sighed. “Well, let me know if you have any laundry? We can toss it in with our stuff.”
Cas looked over at his discarded trench coat and down to his shirt. Both covered in blood. "Actually, I think my clothes need to be cleaned. I… I just didn't feel strong enough to use my grace to do it."
Dean held out his arms. “Load me up. You can go back to wall rubbing.”
Cas walked over to the trench coat to pick it up and handed it to Dean, before he unbuttoned his shirt and tugged his tie open, sliding it out of the collar. He shrugged the shirt off, handing it unceremoniously to Dean. "Do you think the tie needs to be washed too?"
“Does it have blood on it?” Also when did Cas get so ripped? Dean tried to not stare, but the guy was… weirdly buff.
Cas looked down at the tie, inspecting it before he sighed. "Yes." He put it on the pile Dean was already carrying. "Thank you."
Dean nodded as he said, “If you need to wash your pants too, you can grab some stuff from my room. Whatever you need; I don’t mind.”
Cas gave him a surprised look. "Um, thank you, Dean. That is very helpful." His hands went to his pants, starting to unbutton them.
“Whoa, Magic Mike. You don’t need to strut your stuff down the hall. Come on,” he breathed out with a laugh. Laughing was Dean’s default response when he found himself in a weird place, like a combination of freaked out and turned on.
Cas looked confused for a moment before he buttoned his pants again and followed Dean to his room.
Dean was grateful he left his door open. He leaned against the frame and nodded towards his closet. “There’s a laundry basket that’s got my clean stuff in it.”
Cas opened the closet and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you keep your clothes in a basket in the closet?" he asked before pulling out one of Dean's cozy plaids, slipping his arms inside the sleeves. He didn't button it, instead his hands went back to his pants and opened them, before dropping them on the ground and pulling them off. He was wearing white boxers that didn't hide anything even though they were baggy.
Dean cleared his throat and forced his gaze to the ceiling. “So I don’t mistake them for the dirty clothes.”
He heard Cas going through his clothes, pulling something out. "I don't understand. Do you put your unwashed clothes in the closet too?"
“Yeah, in duffel bags. If I threw the clean clothes in a duffel, then I wouldn’t know what’s clean.”
For a moment Cas didn't reply, and when Dean looked at him again he looked extremely thoughtful, buttoning up a pair of his jeans. There was a soft, happy trail inching downwards, the muscles in his chest twitching with the movement of his hands. "That sounds like a complicated system."
Dean shrugged and cleared his throat to distract himself. “Works for me.”
Cas walked over and handed him his pants. "I guess that's the most important thing. Thank you, Dean. For the clothes."
Dean nodded. It was weird how different Cas looked wearing Dean’s clothes. Like… comfortable. “Sure. And if you find my boxers, let me know.”
Cas looked away then, nodding softly. "I will," he replied quietly as he started buttoning the shirt. "I… I need to go back to my room. Excuse me," he murmured before he walked past Dean and vanished down the hallway.
“You’re welcome?” he said to the empty room. Dean shook his head.
Weird day.
…. :::: :::: ….
Dean didn’t know why he was sentimental about a pen. It was a shitty, tourist trap pen from Canada that Ben had got him on a class field trip. Whenever he needed a pen, that was the one he grabbed first.
And it was missing. Dean was starting to get frustrated. Granted, they lost stuff all the time; between hopping from motel to motel, and that was without the addition of supernatural creatures fucking with them, it was a standard to leave things behind.
The problem was though, he knew that pen had been in his room. Dean put it in his nightstand the night before. So, either Dean was going crazy, or they had a poltergeist, or friggin’ underpants gnomes.
Dean smacked his hand on the table Sam was sitting at, nose deep in a book on the Co-Ed killer. And I have weird hobbies. Sam visibly startled as Dean said, “We’ve got a poltergeist.”
"What?" Sam looked alarmed. "Why?"
“What do you mean 'why'? We live in an underground bunker filled with haunted artifacts.” Dean rolled his eyes and sat down. “All my shit is disappearing.”
Sam put his book down to give him a long look. "Dean, you lose things all the time."
Dean shook his head. “No, my Canadian Mountie pen is never out of my sight for long. And I know I put it in my room last night.”
"Did you feel any cold spots in your room?" Sam asked, almost bored. "Did you check the EMF?"
“Well, it didn’t show anything, but maybe it isn’t a poltergeist. Maybe it’s something else.” Dean shook his head. “Are you missing stuff?”
Sam leaned back against the chair. "No, I’m not." He grinned teasingly. "Maybe you really have gnomes in your room."
Dean rolled his eyes, but at this point, it wouldn’t really surprise him. “You gonna make jokes, or are you gonna help me find what’s taking my shit?”
Sam sighed before he nodded. "Yeah, alright. I'll look into the lore. How much stuff are you missing?"
“My lucky boxers, the Mountie pen, one of my pocket knives, the Mr. Rogers sweater, my robe, the flannel pajamas Jody got me last Christmas, and a couple shirts, but Cas might have one of them.”
Sam's expression turned thoughtful. "That's a lot of stuff. Have you asked Cas if he can sense anything in your room?"
Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at his brother. “Good idea.” He jumped up and made his way to the hall and towards Cas’s room, making a point to knock on the door this time.
Cas didn't reply. He had been weirdly closed off the past few days, and Dean wondered if he was avoiding him.
Dean knocked even louder and said, “Cas! You in there?”
He heard some shuffling behind the door, and after what felt like an eternity later, Cas opened it, blinking owlishly at him. His hair was a mess and he had pillow lines on his face. "Dean."
“Dude, were you sleeping?”
Cas stepped back and walked to his unmade and rumpled bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Yes. What do you need?"
Dean furrowed his brow. “What’s going on? You losing your mojo?” he asked as he stepped forward and braced his hand on the guy’s forehead.
Cas's skin felt warm. Way too warm. The angel shook his head. "I'm alright. It's just a phase. In a few weeks I'll be back to normal."
“Phase?” What the hell did that mean? “Like angel puberty?”
Cas gave him a bitch face which lost all its power with the bed hair and the pillow patterns decorating his cheek. "No… My grace is… um, reorganizing itself. It's nothing to worry about." It didn't sound like the whole truth.
“Does that mean it’s not amped up enough to sense something?” he asked, taking a mental note to tell Sam to also look into angel lore while he was at it.
Cas tilted his head. "Sensing something? Did you find a case?"
Dean shook his head. “I think we’ve got some kinda poltergeist or something here in the bunker.”
Cas seemed alarmed by that. "Where? I could try to smite it."
“Calm down, tiger,” he said with a laugh. “And I think it’s in my room.”
"Did you see it?" Cas asked as he pushed himself off the bed. He seemed a little unstable on his legs, and the bags under his eyes had bags.
Dean stepped forward to steady him. “No offense, dude, but you look like you’d lose a fight with a feather right now.”
Cas leaned into him for a moment, blue eyes glazed over and glassy as they locked his. "I'm really tired, but I want to help. If it's a ghost in your room, that could be very dangerous. What if it attacks you during the night?"
Dean chuckled and shook his head. “It ain’t that kinda ghost. It’s just swiping my shit.”
Cas froze for a moment before he looked away. "I see. So… you don't know what is causing this?"
“No, but it’s gotta be something. Have you noticed any of your stuff disappearing?” Dean looked around Cas’s bare bones room. It wasn’t like he had much to take.
Cas shook his head slowly. "Um, no." He sat back on the bed again, his eyes drifting shut.
Dean nodded, patting Cas on the shoulder. “Get sleep. Sammy and I will figure it out.”
Cas gave him a soft smile. "I'm sure your belongings aren't really gone, Dean."
That made even less sense. “Mojoless you is optimistic.”
Cas hummed and laid down on the bed, curling into it like a cat. "Everything will be good."
Dean shook his head, unable to hold back the laugh. “Go to sleep, hippie.”
He received a contented hum, and a thumbs up from where Cas was buried under his blanket, as a response.
Unfrigginbelievable. Dean hit the lights and gently closed the door behind him. When he reached the laundry room, his brother was folding the clothes from the dryer.
“No luck,” Dean answered before Sam could ask as he dumped Cas’s stuff in the washing machine. “Also, is there such a thing as angel colds?”
Sam looked surprised at the sight of Cas’s clothes. “Um, what? Is Cas okay?”
“He says it’s a phase, whatever that means, but he’s sleeping, and I think he’s got a fever,” and it’s adorable, his traitorous brain unhelpfully added.
“That sounds worrying. Did he say what kind of phase?” Sam asked curiously as he poured detergent into the washing machine.
Dean shook his head. “No, just that I shouldn’t worry about it.” As he shifted himself up on the dryer, he let out a sigh. “Maybe you should focus on figuring out what’s wrong with Cas; I’ll try to figure out what’s swiping my stuff.”
“Do you think it's related? That whatever is stealing your things, might also be influencing Cas?" Sam asked thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Cas seemed to know what’s happening to him, but ready to take out whatever was taking my stuff, so I’m gonna go with no.”
Sam nodded and sighed. "Alright, I'll hit the angel lore books and you try to find your culprit?"
Dean nodded. “Yeah, you understand Enochian better than I do, anyway.”
…. :::: :::: ….
Dean couldn’t nail down any lore on what was taking his stuff. There was no consistency in what was being taken. Sometimes it was valuable, like the gold-plated wallet clip he stole off a hoity toity fang. And sometimes it had no value whatsoever, like the beat up old copy of Slaughterhouse Five he got from a public library when he was fifteen.
The only logical thing to do was set traps for everything. From a hidden devil’s trap painted with glow in the dark paint, some anti-ghost sigils, a couple of different types of hex bags, a warding or two… Dean figured if that didn’t keep out whatever was pulling a Winona on him, nothing would and he might as well just offer up all of his belongings.
Dean chose to sleep in one of the other rooms that night, just in case any of the traps worked. The following morning, he went to his room, bracing himself for whatever he was going to find. When he opened the door, his shoulders sank in disappointment. Not a thing was out of place.
He even went so far to put some of his stuff from the trunk on display throughout the room. Not a single thing moved. Dean let out a sigh and dropped himself on his bed. The comforter shifted, and Dean caught a glimpse of stark white.
Brow furrowed, Dean pulled the comforter back to reveal an uncovered mattress. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed as he got up to yank the blanket up and off. “Who steals a man’s sheets?”
A moment later Sam appeared in the doorway. "What happened?"
Dean pointed to his bed. “You can’t tell me I’m crazy now.”
Sam gaped at the bed and shook his head slowly. "It stole your sheets?"
“Yeah! None of the damn traps or sigils worked.” Dean sighed and shook his head. “I’m half tempted to get a nanny cam.”
"That's actually not a bad idea. I could install our camera in your room; then you could check the footage tomorrow." Sam pushed some hair out of his face. "I also found a book that could explain why Cas is feeling under the weather."
Dean clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I ever tell you you’re the best?”
"Not often enough," Sam joked before he gestured him to follow him in the library. As soon as they were there, Sam pressed the thick book in Dean's hand. "I marked the sides. Read up on it and tell me what you think, alright? I'll take care of the camera while you’re at it."
Dean nodded and dropped the book on the table. He’d get to it later. Cas didn’t seem to be all that worse, and he kept telling them he was fine. It would be over soon. Dean made his way to the kitchen. He deserved some bacon.
Cas was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing the clothes that Dean had lent him, nursing a cup of… sugar.
Dean couldn’t help the chuckle as he gently patted Cas’s back. “You’re supposed to put some coffee in there too.”
A way too cute noise fell from Cas's lips as he yawned and blinked up at him. "Oh, you're right."
“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked as he braced his hand on Cas’s forehead again. He ignored the weird urge to make the guy soup.
Cas hummed and leaned his warm forehead against Dean's hand. "Yes, your hand feels nice," he murmured tiredly.
Dean withdrew his hand as he stepped back. “Yeah, you’re loopy. Maybe you need to eat. I’m gonna fry up some bacon.”
The chair scratched on the floor when Cas stood up, looking slightly confused. "No, um, I... I'm sorry, I'm a little out of it. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Maybe I should just stay out of your way until this is over."
Dean grasped his shoulders. “Dude, sit. Drink your coffee, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
Cas looked really uncomfortable for a moment before he stared at his sugar cup and nodded. He walked over to the coffee machine, his movements slow and sluggish.
“Dude, if you just tell us what’s happening to you, maybe we can help?”
"There is nothing you can do to help, Dean." Cas replied after a moment, still staring at the coffee machine. "I have to go through this alone. It will be over in a few weeks. There is nothing to worry about."
Dean sighed as he pulled the bacon out of the fridge. “You say that, but you’re sleeping more and more.”
"It's a very energy consuming phase." Cas poured the coffee into his cup as soon as the machine was ready. "It's not unusual."
“Then why didn’t you tell us about it?”
"Dean, I don't want to talk about this," Cas growled.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Jeez, sorry I gave a shit.”
Cas looked up at the ceiling with a sigh before he massaged his forehead with his fingers. "I apologize. I didn't mean to snap at you."
“Yeah, well, I’ll leave it alone. But I’m still cooking you some bacon.”
Cas gave him a soft smile. "Thank you, Dean." He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and Dean could feel Cas's eyes on him. "I'm sorry I didn't inform you about this... phase. I didn't think it was necessary; and I always hope, when it happens, it will be over quickly."
Dean nodded as he turned on the stove and grabbed a frying pan. “How often does it happen?”
Cas shook his head. "It's not a regular event. Sometimes only every thousand years. Sometimes it happens more often."
“And it doesn’t hurt you?”
The reply took a while. "It's very uncomfortable. I try to sleep during that time."
Dean gave him a pointed look. “Seriously, maybe there’s something we can do. I bet Sam could find something in the lore or…”
"Dean," Cas interrupted him, "there is nothing you can do."
“Yeah, but do we really know that? Maybe you don’t know it won’t help ‘cause you haven’t tried a human remedy…”
"There is nothing wrong with me," Cas replied with an irritated tone in his voice. "This is just a phase, and it will be over soon, Dean. You just have to deal with the fact that I will be out of commission for the next few hunts."
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m concerned for you, not for how useful you are.”
"I'm telling you, Dean. I'm fine. My current condition isn't dangerous. It's just very inconvenient and annoying." Cas sighed and massaged his forehead again. “Can we please stop talking about this now?”
“Fine,” he relented with a sigh. “But if you get worse, we’re intervening.”
Cas looked at the ceiling again, like he was praying for strength. "There is nothing you can do anyway."
Dean smirked at him. “You said that about the first apocalypse, too.”
"This is different. I know why this is happening and what I need. But it's nothing I can have." Cas stood up from his chair. "I'm sorry. I have to go back to my bed."
Dean furrowed his brow. “Want me to bring you the sandwich?”
Cas shook his head. “No, just… just let me sleep,” he said before he walked out of the kitchen.
Huh. Maybe Dean should read the book Sammy gave him. Dean stared at the sizzling bacon and figured that could wait until later.
…. :::: :::: ….
This time the picture of him and Mom, from when Dean was a kid, disappeared. Dean immediately pulled up the software to watch the video footage of the camera he set up.
Dean fast forwarded through the bullshit. Dean getting undressed, crawling under the covers, a tell-tale movement of some stress relief before he cleaned himself up and knocked out for the night.
He kept the mouse hovered over the skip button until there was a flash of movement. It took him way too long to figure out how to get it back to the right moment. And after what felt like watching paint dry for another five minutes, that’s when Dean’s door creeped open.
Dean let out an incredulous huff of laughter. “Son of a bitch.”