[ the stillness doesn’t surprise, nor is it off-putting. it wasn't dean's surface-level smoothness with women that cas fell for (even if it does have it's own amusing appeal). The kiss alone, Dean’s initiation of it without prompting, is plenty enough reassurance of affection. The word/action balance with Dean’s always been heavily weighted to one side, and he understands what real communication looks like from him. dean's already spoken volumes in the ways that matter.
Perhaps it’s strange that Cas finds such natural ease in the intimacy, but he's never developed the same wariness of it that the brothers possess, dean in particular. More so, a certain fascination that’s turned to awe with the actual experience. What dean calls “a wreck” cas sees as beautiful, rare, a naked truth that he’s privileged to be trusted with. If he could pause reality, curl some protective bubble around the both of them, to allow Dean all the time he needs to quietly wait it out and let it process, he would.
Unfortunately, they’re hanging out in a dead lizard’s vegetable garden during acid-rain monsoon season so, not the best timing, but Cas takes what he can get. The entire clan of space people could fuck right off the edge of this new-earth at the moment, for all he’s willing to split his attention from the man in his arms.
The rawness in his eyes, the slightest tilt into the touch. It tells him more than dean could push past his lips, bringing on butterflies doing barrel rolls in Castiel’s stomach. He never thought they’d be here. That this could exist in reality, alongside all the rest of their tangled up complication and obstacles, like there’s only ever been room for pain and strife, suffocating out the possibility of more.
But this isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. Endlessly running, trying to outpace their fears, isn’t the only option here. That realization keeps filtering back in, the corners of Cas’s lips instinctively pulling to grin so much he presses his lips together, trying to school the giddiness from his features. 12 years with this emotion burrowed deep in his chest has felt like eons, waiting, oscillating between foolish hope and resigned acceptance.
Loving Dean was never really a choice. The minefield and baggage haven’t intimidated him. Frustrated, confused or irritated at times, but never frightened, and after the Mark of Cain, Cas doubts any level of corruption or hurt-inspired damage could smudge away these feelings. He’d give anything to allow dean an easier life, with warmer, kinder memories, yet that isn’t within his current power, or ethical code.
The words that come after, don't ever do that again, echo back to April’s apartment, and all the times he heard ‘just don’t get dead again’, but this one’s different. This one’s a deathly, desperate kind of serious, and it’s clear why. Guilt gnaws at Cas, for leaving like he did, and his eyes fall to the floor for a beat, mind chewing on the command. Telling him ‘i can’t promise you that and you can’t either’ isn’t acceptable. This tone isn’t a voice you argue with, and as firm as it sounds, what cas reads underneath is please don’t do that to me again.
Some cynical part of Cas had taken comfort in the knowledge that Dean losing him - it wouldn’t be like losing Sam. it wouldn’t completely destroy him, he would mourn and move past it, even if that mourning took far longer than anyone would’ve liked. He’d thought. He’d told himself. Taking in the man before him now, it’s clear Cas was, once again, entirely and embarrassingly wrong in his assumptions.
He hears it, underneath the firmness and grit - If you go, I go. Cas can’t know what grief Dean went through after his departure, but it’s clear now how deeply it wounded him. For a man so pained by abandonment to watch his closest friend say “I love you, and goodbye forever”, both offering something precious and telling him he’ll never have it in the same breath... Okay, yeah. He gets it.
A warm hand finds a home over dean’s heart, palm flat against his chest, and cas stares down at the connection, as if he could look straight through the flesh, muscle and rib cage at the organ itself, judge how it beats and the relative health, where the cracks and fault lines lay. ]
I won’t. [ Cas tells him softly, sincerely, finding Dean’s eyes. They’ve made these claims before - no man left behind, we don’t make deals, whatever, but they always end up there eventually. Perhaps that was Chuck’s manipulation, or perhaps they’re far too comfortable with sacrifice, rarely truly acknowledging the cost of it on those left behind (you assume you won’t have to see it, or be around to watch later). They have to change, someday. May as well be here, now. ] If you won’t.
[ we both stop sprinting to jump on the grenade for the other. Dying for a loved one is relatively easy, he’s done it several times by now and found nothing truly difficult about it (until the last one, that is). Living and being present for those who need you there, and hurt for your loss, is maybe a new concept for them both. Perhaps they have to force self-worth on the other by holding their own longevity hostage. Maybe that’s how this works.
Or maybe dean’s about to be much more angry. Cas can only give him the truth, not dictate how he feels about it.
It’s in admiring the shifting colors and glow of dean’s soul that something new suddenly catches his attention, and cas can’t believe he didn’t notice earlier. Then again, he’d been pretty distracted. ]
Wait, do you —
[ pausing, cas pulls back a half-step to pan his limited human vision out, hands lingering on his chest and bicep to twist Dean partly to the side. Right there, arching over his back and extending across his shoulders - bright, ethereal wings.
For a single, horrifying second, castiel’s terrified that he’s looking at Michael-Wearing-Dean, until he studies the aura. He knows what looks like dean winchester, and how very far it is from his older brothers. No, these new appendages are possession free - all Dean’s own. A new and utterly baffling discovery, that leaves Cas blinking like a confused fawn. ]
no subject
Perhaps it’s strange that Cas finds such natural ease in the intimacy, but he's never developed the same wariness of it that the brothers possess, dean in particular. More so, a certain fascination that’s turned to awe with the actual experience. What dean calls “a wreck” cas sees as beautiful, rare, a naked truth that he’s privileged to be trusted with. If he could pause reality, curl some protective bubble around the both of them, to allow Dean all the time he needs to quietly wait it out and let it process, he would.
Unfortunately, they’re hanging out in a dead lizard’s vegetable garden during acid-rain monsoon season so, not the best timing, but Cas takes what he can get. The entire clan of space people could fuck right off the edge of this new-earth at the moment, for all he’s willing to split his attention from the man in his arms.
The rawness in his eyes, the slightest tilt into the touch. It tells him more than dean could push past his lips, bringing on butterflies doing barrel rolls in Castiel’s stomach. He never thought they’d be here. That this could exist in reality, alongside all the rest of their tangled up complication and obstacles, like there’s only ever been room for pain and strife, suffocating out the possibility of more.
But this isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. Endlessly running, trying to outpace their fears, isn’t the only option here. That realization keeps filtering back in, the corners of Cas’s lips instinctively pulling to grin so much he presses his lips together, trying to school the giddiness from his features. 12 years with this emotion burrowed deep in his chest has felt like eons, waiting, oscillating between foolish hope and resigned acceptance.
Loving Dean was never really a choice. The minefield and baggage haven’t intimidated him. Frustrated, confused or irritated at times, but never frightened, and after the Mark of Cain, Cas doubts any level of corruption or hurt-inspired damage could smudge away these feelings. He’d give anything to allow dean an easier life, with warmer, kinder memories, yet that isn’t within his current power, or ethical code.
The words that come after, don't ever do that again, echo back to April’s apartment, and all the times he heard ‘just don’t get dead again’, but this one’s different. This one’s a deathly, desperate kind of serious, and it’s clear why. Guilt gnaws at Cas, for leaving like he did, and his eyes fall to the floor for a beat, mind chewing on the command. Telling him ‘i can’t promise you that and you can’t either’ isn’t acceptable. This tone isn’t a voice you argue with, and as firm as it sounds, what cas reads underneath is please don’t do that to me again.
Some cynical part of Cas had taken comfort in the knowledge that Dean losing him - it wouldn’t be like losing Sam. it wouldn’t completely destroy him, he would mourn and move past it, even if that mourning took far longer than anyone would’ve liked. He’d thought. He’d told himself. Taking in the man before him now, it’s clear Cas was, once again, entirely and embarrassingly wrong in his assumptions.
He hears it, underneath the firmness and grit - If you go, I go. Cas can’t know what grief Dean went through after his departure, but it’s clear now how deeply it wounded him. For a man so pained by abandonment to watch his closest friend say “I love you, and goodbye forever”, both offering something precious and telling him he’ll never have it in the same breath... Okay, yeah. He gets it.
A warm hand finds a home over dean’s heart, palm flat against his chest, and cas stares down at the connection, as if he could look straight through the flesh, muscle and rib cage at the organ itself, judge how it beats and the relative health, where the cracks and fault lines lay. ]
I won’t. [ Cas tells him softly, sincerely, finding Dean’s eyes. They’ve made these claims before - no man left behind, we don’t make deals, whatever, but they always end up there eventually. Perhaps that was Chuck’s manipulation, or perhaps they’re far too comfortable with sacrifice, rarely truly acknowledging the cost of it on those left behind (you assume you won’t have to see it, or be around to watch later). They have to change, someday. May as well be here, now. ] If you won’t.
[ we both stop sprinting to jump on the grenade for the other. Dying for a loved one is relatively easy, he’s done it several times by now and found nothing truly difficult about it (until the last one, that is). Living and being present for those who need you there, and hurt for your loss, is maybe a new concept for them both. Perhaps they have to force self-worth on the other by holding their own longevity hostage. Maybe that’s how this works.
Or maybe dean’s about to be much more angry. Cas can only give him the truth, not dictate how he feels about it.
It’s in admiring the shifting colors and glow of dean’s soul that something new suddenly catches his attention, and cas can’t believe he didn’t notice earlier. Then again, he’d been pretty distracted. ]
Wait, do you —
[ pausing, cas pulls back a half-step to pan his limited human vision out, hands lingering on his chest and bicep to twist Dean partly to the side. Right there, arching over his back and extending across his shoulders - bright, ethereal wings.
For a single, horrifying second, castiel’s terrified that he’s looking at Michael-Wearing-Dean, until he studies the aura. He knows what looks like dean winchester, and how very far it is from his older brothers. No, these new appendages are possession free - all Dean’s own. A new and utterly baffling discovery, that leaves Cas blinking like a confused fawn. ]
Dean, do you have wings?