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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Written for the Tag-Meme on episode 5.03 in SPN Hurt & Comfort Community. The promp was by Rey17 , who asked for “Obviously Dean and Castiel talked about "personal space" a few times already. ;) I'd love to read those situations and talks!”


There's some justifiable nudity and one swear word.


There are a couple of things that people instinctively know. Things that are always valid and true no matter how old you are, no matter where you are or where you’re from. Things that even both Westerner civilization and Easterner civilization agreed upon. Things that both a Smith and a Mohammed frigging know that you just DO NOT DO.

Things that an angel has no clue about.

Like walking in on a guy while he’s in the crapper.

“Dammit Cas!”

“Dean, we need to talk,” the angel said, completely unaffected by Dean’s seated position or actions.

Dean counted to ten, clenched the edge of the denim pooled around his knees and almost took a deep breath before remembering where he was and what he’d been doing there. He glared at the angel instead. “Do you mind?”

Castiel paused, seemingly evaluating all the possibilities for what he would mind. “I do not,” he finally answered.

Dean pressed a thumb between his eyes. He could feel a headache coming. The sound of the toilet flushing almost drowned the curses that Dean was muttering under his breath.


Vampire blood was kind of like sand- it got everywhere!

For once, the motel bathroom had a decent water pressure and, even though the water wasn’t exactly hot, Dean was in no immediate danger of getting frostbite.

Dean closed his eyes, bending his head low and basking in the rare comfort of tiny pelts of water raining down on him. His muscles felt tight and too confined by his own skin and the feeling of warm water gently hammering them felt like the most wonderful thing ever.

The soap smelled of nothing at all, but it still manage to produce a decent amount of foam, fluffy enough to cover Dean’s arms and chest in a white layer of bubbles.

The hunter watched the foam slip away from his body and down the drain, a visual aid that helped Dean feel cleaner than the odorless soap ever could.

Using the same, quickly shrinking, bar of soap to wash his shot hair, Dean closed his eyes and bent his head under the shower nuzzle.

He was already starting to feel a little bit more human.

Slowly turning around, Dean opened his eyes to find a wet trench coat inside the bathtub with him.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted him emotionlessly.

Dean yelped, his feet slipping on the soapy porcelain. The “motherfucker” that escaped his lips as the world tilted and he fell down, was one continuous sound filled with surprise and anger.


Dean was lying down, a soft surface under his body. The pillow smelled of bleach and old cigars. His head ached fiercely – somewhere in between the worse hangover of his life and having an elephant’s ass seating on his nose.

Dean opened one eye cautiously and peered at the world outside like it was a vicious animal that would attack when provoked.

The first thing he saw was the pair of piercing blue eyes that stood inches from him. “Hrrggggg!” Dean growled, closing his eye and rolling away from the sight.

“Are you feeling better, Dean?” Castiel asked, leaning further closer, gazing intensively in to Dean’s eyes, as if, in case of lack of response, he could find the answer just by looking inside Dean’s head. Through his nose.

Dean rolled back, deciding that this... this had to stop. His heart, that blob of flesh that jumped to his mouth every time the angel materialized inches from his skin, couldn’t take much more of this; and his nose... his nose felt twice its normal size.

Besides, a guy needs his privacy. This whole concept of showing up anywhere at any given time gave Dean chills just from imagining the angel popping up in far worse places than the shower while Dean was taking one. As in, showing up when Dean wasn’t the only one naked and shower wasn’t the verb being used.

“Cas... we need to have a serious talk,” Dean announced with finality as he sat up on the bed. The world did one crazy tilt sideways before settling in a somewhat reasonable angle.

“Despite your numerous accusations of the contraire, I always talk seriously. That was why I came here... it was most unfortunate that you’ve injured yourself in the bathroom before we could—“

Dean ran a hand over his short hair, resisting the urge to pull at it. “What I meant is that it’s time to set some boundaries, because, let me make one thing very clear here, Cas and –are you paying attention to this?” Dean paused, looking the angel in the eye.

Castiel nodded.

“You DO NOT show up, out of nowhere, inches from my face.” When the angel opened his mouth, about to comment Dean threw up a single finger, “AND! You DO NOT show up while I’m in the bathroom, EVER... in fact, you do not show up at all if I happen to be naked, got that?”

Castiel blinked. “Why?”

“Because there’s this thing called personal space and if you ever puff-in! into mine again, I’m putting a frigging bell on your neck!”

The angel looked confused for a moment, looking from Dean’s serious face to his still soapy body. “As you wish,” he said with a nod, before disappearing with a flap of invisible wings.

Dean sighed, flopped back on his bed and decided there and then that he could get dressed in the morning.

The end

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