Castiel doesn't speak as Sam leads him to his room, and the fallen angel feels somewhat guilty again, at intruding here. He knows that this is different than a motel bed - this bed is Sam's, and Castiel shouldn't impose by sleeping on it. And yet he can't help but want to remain, and doesn't offer to sleep in his own room after all.

It's strange to slip under the covers dressed, and knowing that he's not supposed to part his legs. It's strange that all he can do to recreate the intimacy he associates with the bedroom is to curl his fingers into the sleeve of Sam's shirt, and lay just close enough to feel his body heat without touching him.

Sleep doesn't come easily to Castiel. But it comes, and if he dreams, then it's in stillness and silence, with only a hint of wetness on his cheeks the next morning.