You're so close to me that you nearly died. Dean/Castiel. Supernatural.
Title: Headfirst for Halos
Title Credit: "Headfirst for Halos" by My Chemical Romance.
Author: Octobersghosts
Rating: R (For language)
Summary: Dean remember that day in Hell when Castiel came for him.
Author's Note: I have a lot of time on my hands... Oh, and some of the lines used were from the song "Again" by Flyleaf. That song is amazing!
The first time was Anna. Maybe she wasn't technically all together angel when they did fuck, but former alias suggested so and he didn't complain with the way her hands seemed to work like magic on him. And she was obviously implying that she wanted Dean to fuck her when she said one of the many benefits to human-hood was sex. And he was more than willing to show her those awesome benefits. He likes to think it was just a last Sally thing, for the sake of going away. He doesn't tell her how he doesn't quite like the feelings he gets when she brushes her fingers over Castiel's mark, because they're different, not the same, and it makes him uncomfortable, like someone is stabbing pins through his body. He doesn't think much about it, because he's far too into the sex, and he ignores that feeling, because he'd rather just enjoy the rest as much as possible. She kisses him good bye before she takes her grace back, and Castiel's eyes look like the end of the world to Dean. He ignores it all, because he doesn't want to care.
He doesn't see her again after she gets her grace back, and it honestly doesn't really effect him much. He's too busy trying to stop the demons from breaking the seals to care anyway. There's an apocalypse threatening the world and there isn't time for relationships. He only takes the time to think about it when he's lying in his motel bed, pondering the world. He thinks about how when Castiel is near him the world seems to light on fire, and his body is made of feathers, and he's on top of clouds. He thinks about how Anna's touch brought a blizzard through his body, a cold so unbearable it made him shiver, and it wasn't the same to him.
He likes to think that maybe Cas knew, maybe Cas could sense it. He thinks that maybe Cas was jealous, so jealous that Dean could feel it running through his bones. It amuses him because thinking that Castiel was an envious prick is like impossible to imagine. But at the same time it pains him . . . because he doesn't want to think that Castiel can feel such horrible things . . . and he thinks he should ask Castiel the next time he sees him? Is that how you feel? Is that what I feel? Do we feel each other? And it sends shivers down Dean's spine, and it would be awkward to share the same emotions as an angel. He turns over in his bed and closes his eyes. He'd rather not be an angel's bitch.
Dean doesn't know what to believe anymore. He's losing Sam more and more each and every day. He loathes the angels, and he loathes Hell. At night when he lies upon his motel bed, staring at the ceiling and mourning the empty bed next to him he wishes that life could be the way it used to be. When it was simple, and they went about beating up supernatural shit and saving people. Of days before Hell, when they were brothers, and though they were a broken family they had each other and their trust. Of days before the angel Castiel gripped him right and raised him from perdition. Of days before Ruby swept Sam off his feet and stole him away from Dean. Of days before Heaven and Hell chose them.
The next day the angels kidnap him and keep him inside a room as Sam sets the apocalypse and Lucifer, Satan, the Devil free. Sit back and watch the show unfold they tell him. Dean is frantic, tells Castiel it's not right but Castiel ignores Dean, tries to tell him it's for the best, tries to act like he doesn't really care. Dean knows Castiel though. And if there's anything worth saving . . . than this is it. He thinks there's no hope left and he steps toward the table full of hamburgers, picks one up and brings it to his lips. Bottoms up, he thinks, and is just about to take a bite when Castiel comes back, shoves him up against that wall and Dean can feel hope burning through his soul because Castiel's eyes tell him he believes in Dean. He trusts Dean. He knows Dean. And Castiel dies that day, and Dean fails . . . .
He thinks it's all over. Cas is gone and Sam is . . . He doesn't know Sam anymore. He can't feel him like he used to. He doesn't trust him, and he can't even look him in the eyes because he sees Lucifer and he sees Hell and he sees the world burning. He doesn't want to hate his brother, because god does he love Sam, but it's not the same anymore. But he still has hope. He still believes, because he can still see those blue fucking eyes staring straight through him and they believe in him. And he failed them. And Castiel died for him. He doesn't give up because he wants to make things right. He doesn't want Cas's death to be in vain.
Chuck sends a message to them the next day, and there's hope. They get there and god the blood is everywhere, and Dean wants to vomit, and cry, because it's Cas (Jimmy's, but it's still Cas to him). And he pushes it to the back of his throat because he can't let Sam see him cry.
Michael's weapon has been found, and Dad has hidden it in a storage. Dean sends his prayers to his father for being one smart son of a bitch. He tells Bobby, because he trusts him, might as well be Dean's dad now but . . . There's a problem. Demons. And then Bobby's fucking paralyzed and Dean is Michael's weapon. His vessel. And Zachariah's got this smug look on his face, and Dean wants to wipe it off of him with his fist but he can't because he can't move. He's dying. But he won't say yes though, because he can't just give in to these god damn (and he thinks that's ironic) angels and give them that satisfaction. He thinks it's all over, this is how he'll die but then he comes. Castiel. He's alive, and Dean's heart is pounding in his chest because he's fucking happy and Cas is always there. He kills two of them, and it's just Zach left, but he escapes because there's something wrong with this picture. How is Cas still alive?
"We thought you had died?"
"I did."
"Then how are you alive?"
And he's gone, all angelic and too cool as usual.
Dean and Sam visit Bobby before they go back to the motel and argue
"I don't trust him Dean! He died! We don't know what he is anymore."
"He just saved our lives. What do you want from him? You sure trusted Ruby without much thought."
"Why do you always bring that up Dean? It's over with. I'm sorry! What do you want from me?"
"It's not over Sam, we're living through the fucking apocalypse right now!"
The door slams. Dean screams until he feels his throat aching inside of him. There's a hole in the wall, and dust and particles of wood settled on the floor as evidence. Dean's knuckles are bleeding but he doesn't seem to mind or care or notice. There's pieces of shattered porcelain on the carpet, across from him, and the light bulb is flickering still. Dean stares at the ceiling.
Dean can sense Castiel coming before he hears the sound of feathers fluttering. It's important, but Dean's so far lost he doesn't really pay attention as Cas explains. It's somewhere in Little Heaven, Delaware. Signs of omens. Dean stays put on the bed, unmoving, as Castiel pauses for a reaction. There's this feeling that washes over Dean, like waves that keep pounding against his head, questions whispering in his ear. Are you okay? What's wrong? What happened? He doesn't have to look to see Castiel's curious tilted head, wondering blue eyes boring into his soul and mind, searching for the answer to Dean's problem. He listens to the foot steps come closer but keeps his eyes on the ceiling and the large brown, rotted water stain, and he imagines water dripping onto his body and drowning him. He imagines the world as a better place.
"Sam," and it's just a name but it's the right answer and the right reaction and Castiel knows Dean all too well. He stops at the foot of the bed, still, because he doesn't have to speak to hear Dean. There's unsaid words flying through the air, A Fight? Yeah. He doesn't trust me? Yeah. There's a pause, and then Castiel speaks again. Do you? Dean's eyes harden, not yet shed tears, and he bites his bottom lip for strength and tries to contain himself. . . . Yeah. And the next wave that hits Dean is full of sympathy, no words, just feelings. And he wonders if it's Castiel or it's him that is feeling this, but he doesn't ask it, and he only listens to the emptiness. The furnace buzzing noisily; the rushing water from neighbor's sinks; the sound of Castiel breathing . . .
He's surprised the angel hasn't left yet. He usually does by now, never really stays for more than ten minutes, but he's still waiting, and watching Dean. And Dean feels the next wave, and it's care, it's understanding. It's something comfortable, familiar, and Dean soaks it in because it makes him feel somewhat whole. It's a feeling he used to get, before all this, when his mother held him tight and read stories of monsters, before they became real, before they took her away. They're when his father would give him a proud smile, when he accomplished something and he'd ruffle Dean's hair. It's the feeling he got when he and Sam were okay. When everything was okay. Because nothing was ever okay. Especially not now.
A memory spills through his head, one he's never had, one he's never known. It's of Hell, he thinks, and he's sitting there on his knees staring up at this beautiful white light. And there's this figure in it, and there's this pure and utter love washing over him and cleansing his soul, and he's crying. He feels shame, for torturing, for breaking. He feels redemption. He feels loved. And there's this hand, reaching for him, and this voice whispers a song to him laced with promises that everything would be okay. They don't have to understand you. Dean shivers, and he folds in on himself, bloody and bruised. Wait and know I understand you. And this voice is tempting, so beautiful. Only surrender will help you now. I love you please see and believe again. And Dean is stubborn, he doesn't want to be saved, doesn't deserve this promise because look at what he'd done. He was the epitome of a monster, of a demon, and so many other people deserved to be saved. Why? Why me? And Dean remembers the light brightening, and then . . . he's alive.
Castiel had been that light. He had been the voice that breathed life back into death. Had mended together Dean's tarnished soul, with love and care and patience. He had been that empty and shallow lie of a promise. What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved.
Dean's eyes open suddenly, abruptly, shocking. His body is shaking, caked in cold sweat and he's licking his lips because he remembers. He's up now, and Castiel is still waiting. Has always been waiting. And Dean is angry, confused, and strangely . . . at peace? He's on cloud nine when ever he's near the angel, and it's so fucking weird, but he thinks he understands why.
"You passed out . . . What were you dreaming about, Dean?" That question is familiar, and so is that look.
Dean just stares, can't find an answer, doesn't want to anyway. He can only stare into those deep blue eyes. He can only shudder as he moves his legs over the side of the bed, and scratches at his itching scalp. He is breathing hard, and Castiel is still watching like he has been since he appeared in the room. And he's waiting.
How long? Dean is looking at him again. And those eyes seem to narrow, inquisitive and speculating Dean. How long have I known you? And Castiel's eyes widen slightly, gathering the meaning behind the question, understanding, knowing, and then love. And Dean knows this love, has always felt it somewhere in the back of his head. He remembers it. He remembers everything at once. And Dean thinks he sees a smile tug at the angel's lips, and it's strange, and familiar. Forever.
"What?"
"Why are you asking me this?" Castiel is now stern, all business again.
"You said forever," Dean is desperate for the answer now, and it's burning at the back of his mind like fire. "What does that mean?"
And his eyes are forlorn, with unspoken apologies. And Dean remembers something his mother used to tell him every night before he went to sleep. She'd kiss his forehead, and whisper in his ear. The angels are watching over you Dean.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asks, and he sounds frightened by the answer, but he keeps together and is strong. "Why didn't you . . . do anything?"
There's no way to escape and Castiel knows it. He looks around the room, searching for anything else, when suddenly he sighs. "I was always watching, it was my assigned side-job, to make sure you stayed alive and that everything fell into place. I was forbidden to intervene in your life, until . . . you went to Hell. Once we got word of what Lilith had planned for you Heaven laid siege on Hell. I was the first to be picked, because you were my charge."
Dean's face contorted into anger, because who wouldn't be angry? That Castiel had always been watching and had never fucking done anything for him. He spat curses under his breath as he stood up and faced the angel. His legs felt unsteady, unsure, but Castiel did not budge and kept his posture. He looks sorry.
"You sorry son of a bitch."
"Dean, don't you dare," Castiel growls, growls, at Dean. "You don't think that if I could have I would have given you the world if it made you happy? You don't think it pained me everyday that I couldn't be there to help you? I watched as you were born. I watched as you took your first steps. I watched as you learned to fire your first gun. I had to watch you your whole life and not have any say in what happened to you Dean. I would have done anything to stop your misery if I had been allowed to. You have always been one of my main priorities, Dean."
This makes Dean falter, because Castiel looks so honest, so lost. They're both lost. Dean shakes his head and purses his lips. His voice turns cold, and he spits his words out with venom, and his eyes are set to pry. "I thought angels didn't feel?"
Castiel's eyes roll, and it's very uncharacteristic of him. "No, not the same as humans Dean. We were made to be soldiers, and therefore emotions are dangerous to us. But you . . . I have always loved you in a sense. I suppose, though we do not feel the same ways because we are very different beings, it was a different kind of love."
"Love?" Dean feels his insides churn, because that word is foreign to him, and it's weird. "What do you mean love?"
And Castiel seems to suddenly notice his own choice of words as well, and looks guilty with shame. He opens his mouth, those pink lips struggling for the right thing to say, and now it's Dean that's waiting. Dean staring at those lips, waiting for an answer. But they close, and Castiel looks away. The final wave is pain. It always is.
"I . . . I've said too much," Cas admits, and he is about to pull his angel mojo out and fly away but Dean catches his arm and won't let go. His eyes, those eyes, they fall onto Dean and stare. And is that fear?
Please, please understand. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry. And Dean doesn't understand why Castiel is giving this off. He stares back into those blue eyes, searching, because he knows now that this is real. They feel each other. They know each other. They need each other. It's okay. I understand you. It's okay. It's okay. Dean's promises seem to calm Castiel, and the tension in his shoulders release and he's searching too. They're both searching, for what? And Dean finally thinks he knows the answer.
It's awkward, their lips are stiff at first when they touch, but after a minute of just standing there with their lips on each others there is movement. It's prodding, coaxing, and Castiel is so hesitant at first, asking permission, because he doesn't know if this is right. But as soon as Dean feels that hand on his shoulder, he knows it's definitely right. He knows that he's safe and protected and that Castiel is here. And their tongues are more certain with their actions; they seem to know what to do.
"Dean," Castiel's voice is barely a whisper tickling his ear, breath warm, loving, soft yet rugged hands caressing his cheek and Dean is pushing him back onto the bed. He's lost in his actions, crawling up the mattress to straddle the angel under him. Those timeless blue eyes look newborn and pleading. Dean leans down and steals another gentle kiss. "I love you."
It's more firm this time, more certain, and Dean smiles. He's happy for what feels like the first time since he rose out of his grave. He leans his forehead against the angel's, touches soft and delicate skin, doesn't care if it belongs to Castiel or not because it is him to Dean. Dean knows this body. He knows this man. He knows this angel. Their noses touch, and Castiel's eyes flutter a bit, shivers on his skin, and he watches Dean.
"I love you too."
And that's the second time . . . and he knows this one will be forever.
Title Credit: "Headfirst for Halos" by My Chemical Romance.
Author: Octobersghosts
Rating: R (For language)
Summary: Dean remember that day in Hell when Castiel came for him.
Author's Note: I have a lot of time on my hands... Oh, and some of the lines used were from the song "Again" by Flyleaf. That song is amazing!
The first time was Anna. Maybe she wasn't technically all together angel when they did fuck, but former alias suggested so and he didn't complain with the way her hands seemed to work like magic on him. And she was obviously implying that she wanted Dean to fuck her when she said one of the many benefits to human-hood was sex. And he was more than willing to show her those awesome benefits. He likes to think it was just a last Sally thing, for the sake of going away. He doesn't tell her how he doesn't quite like the feelings he gets when she brushes her fingers over Castiel's mark, because they're different, not the same, and it makes him uncomfortable, like someone is stabbing pins through his body. He doesn't think much about it, because he's far too into the sex, and he ignores that feeling, because he'd rather just enjoy the rest as much as possible. She kisses him good bye before she takes her grace back, and Castiel's eyes look like the end of the world to Dean. He ignores it all, because he doesn't want to care.
He doesn't see her again after she gets her grace back, and it honestly doesn't really effect him much. He's too busy trying to stop the demons from breaking the seals to care anyway. There's an apocalypse threatening the world and there isn't time for relationships. He only takes the time to think about it when he's lying in his motel bed, pondering the world. He thinks about how when Castiel is near him the world seems to light on fire, and his body is made of feathers, and he's on top of clouds. He thinks about how Anna's touch brought a blizzard through his body, a cold so unbearable it made him shiver, and it wasn't the same to him.
He likes to think that maybe Cas knew, maybe Cas could sense it. He thinks that maybe Cas was jealous, so jealous that Dean could feel it running through his bones. It amuses him because thinking that Castiel was an envious prick is like impossible to imagine. But at the same time it pains him . . . because he doesn't want to think that Castiel can feel such horrible things . . . and he thinks he should ask Castiel the next time he sees him? Is that how you feel? Is that what I feel? Do we feel each other? And it sends shivers down Dean's spine, and it would be awkward to share the same emotions as an angel. He turns over in his bed and closes his eyes. He'd rather not be an angel's bitch.
Dean doesn't know what to believe anymore. He's losing Sam more and more each and every day. He loathes the angels, and he loathes Hell. At night when he lies upon his motel bed, staring at the ceiling and mourning the empty bed next to him he wishes that life could be the way it used to be. When it was simple, and they went about beating up supernatural shit and saving people. Of days before Hell, when they were brothers, and though they were a broken family they had each other and their trust. Of days before the angel Castiel gripped him right and raised him from perdition. Of days before Ruby swept Sam off his feet and stole him away from Dean. Of days before Heaven and Hell chose them.
The next day the angels kidnap him and keep him inside a room as Sam sets the apocalypse and Lucifer, Satan, the Devil free. Sit back and watch the show unfold they tell him. Dean is frantic, tells Castiel it's not right but Castiel ignores Dean, tries to tell him it's for the best, tries to act like he doesn't really care. Dean knows Castiel though. And if there's anything worth saving . . . than this is it. He thinks there's no hope left and he steps toward the table full of hamburgers, picks one up and brings it to his lips. Bottoms up, he thinks, and is just about to take a bite when Castiel comes back, shoves him up against that wall and Dean can feel hope burning through his soul because Castiel's eyes tell him he believes in Dean. He trusts Dean. He knows Dean. And Castiel dies that day, and Dean fails . . . .
He thinks it's all over. Cas is gone and Sam is . . . He doesn't know Sam anymore. He can't feel him like he used to. He doesn't trust him, and he can't even look him in the eyes because he sees Lucifer and he sees Hell and he sees the world burning. He doesn't want to hate his brother, because god does he love Sam, but it's not the same anymore. But he still has hope. He still believes, because he can still see those blue fucking eyes staring straight through him and they believe in him. And he failed them. And Castiel died for him. He doesn't give up because he wants to make things right. He doesn't want Cas's death to be in vain.
Chuck sends a message to them the next day, and there's hope. They get there and god the blood is everywhere, and Dean wants to vomit, and cry, because it's Cas (Jimmy's, but it's still Cas to him). And he pushes it to the back of his throat because he can't let Sam see him cry.
Michael's weapon has been found, and Dad has hidden it in a storage. Dean sends his prayers to his father for being one smart son of a bitch. He tells Bobby, because he trusts him, might as well be Dean's dad now but . . . There's a problem. Demons. And then Bobby's fucking paralyzed and Dean is Michael's weapon. His vessel. And Zachariah's got this smug look on his face, and Dean wants to wipe it off of him with his fist but he can't because he can't move. He's dying. But he won't say yes though, because he can't just give in to these god damn (and he thinks that's ironic) angels and give them that satisfaction. He thinks it's all over, this is how he'll die but then he comes. Castiel. He's alive, and Dean's heart is pounding in his chest because he's fucking happy and Cas is always there. He kills two of them, and it's just Zach left, but he escapes because there's something wrong with this picture. How is Cas still alive?
"We thought you had died?"
"I did."
"Then how are you alive?"
And he's gone, all angelic and too cool as usual.
Dean and Sam visit Bobby before they go back to the motel and argue
"I don't trust him Dean! He died! We don't know what he is anymore."
"He just saved our lives. What do you want from him? You sure trusted Ruby without much thought."
"Why do you always bring that up Dean? It's over with. I'm sorry! What do you want from me?"
"It's not over Sam, we're living through the fucking apocalypse right now!"
The door slams. Dean screams until he feels his throat aching inside of him. There's a hole in the wall, and dust and particles of wood settled on the floor as evidence. Dean's knuckles are bleeding but he doesn't seem to mind or care or notice. There's pieces of shattered porcelain on the carpet, across from him, and the light bulb is flickering still. Dean stares at the ceiling.
Dean can sense Castiel coming before he hears the sound of feathers fluttering. It's important, but Dean's so far lost he doesn't really pay attention as Cas explains. It's somewhere in Little Heaven, Delaware. Signs of omens. Dean stays put on the bed, unmoving, as Castiel pauses for a reaction. There's this feeling that washes over Dean, like waves that keep pounding against his head, questions whispering in his ear. Are you okay? What's wrong? What happened? He doesn't have to look to see Castiel's curious tilted head, wondering blue eyes boring into his soul and mind, searching for the answer to Dean's problem. He listens to the foot steps come closer but keeps his eyes on the ceiling and the large brown, rotted water stain, and he imagines water dripping onto his body and drowning him. He imagines the world as a better place.
"Sam," and it's just a name but it's the right answer and the right reaction and Castiel knows Dean all too well. He stops at the foot of the bed, still, because he doesn't have to speak to hear Dean. There's unsaid words flying through the air, A Fight? Yeah. He doesn't trust me? Yeah. There's a pause, and then Castiel speaks again. Do you? Dean's eyes harden, not yet shed tears, and he bites his bottom lip for strength and tries to contain himself. . . . Yeah. And the next wave that hits Dean is full of sympathy, no words, just feelings. And he wonders if it's Castiel or it's him that is feeling this, but he doesn't ask it, and he only listens to the emptiness. The furnace buzzing noisily; the rushing water from neighbor's sinks; the sound of Castiel breathing . . .
He's surprised the angel hasn't left yet. He usually does by now, never really stays for more than ten minutes, but he's still waiting, and watching Dean. And Dean feels the next wave, and it's care, it's understanding. It's something comfortable, familiar, and Dean soaks it in because it makes him feel somewhat whole. It's a feeling he used to get, before all this, when his mother held him tight and read stories of monsters, before they became real, before they took her away. They're when his father would give him a proud smile, when he accomplished something and he'd ruffle Dean's hair. It's the feeling he got when he and Sam were okay. When everything was okay. Because nothing was ever okay. Especially not now.
A memory spills through his head, one he's never had, one he's never known. It's of Hell, he thinks, and he's sitting there on his knees staring up at this beautiful white light. And there's this figure in it, and there's this pure and utter love washing over him and cleansing his soul, and he's crying. He feels shame, for torturing, for breaking. He feels redemption. He feels loved. And there's this hand, reaching for him, and this voice whispers a song to him laced with promises that everything would be okay. They don't have to understand you. Dean shivers, and he folds in on himself, bloody and bruised. Wait and know I understand you. And this voice is tempting, so beautiful. Only surrender will help you now. I love you please see and believe again. And Dean is stubborn, he doesn't want to be saved, doesn't deserve this promise because look at what he'd done. He was the epitome of a monster, of a demon, and so many other people deserved to be saved. Why? Why me? And Dean remembers the light brightening, and then . . . he's alive.
Castiel had been that light. He had been the voice that breathed life back into death. Had mended together Dean's tarnished soul, with love and care and patience. He had been that empty and shallow lie of a promise. What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved.
Dean's eyes open suddenly, abruptly, shocking. His body is shaking, caked in cold sweat and he's licking his lips because he remembers. He's up now, and Castiel is still waiting. Has always been waiting. And Dean is angry, confused, and strangely . . . at peace? He's on cloud nine when ever he's near the angel, and it's so fucking weird, but he thinks he understands why.
"You passed out . . . What were you dreaming about, Dean?" That question is familiar, and so is that look.
Dean just stares, can't find an answer, doesn't want to anyway. He can only stare into those deep blue eyes. He can only shudder as he moves his legs over the side of the bed, and scratches at his itching scalp. He is breathing hard, and Castiel is still watching like he has been since he appeared in the room. And he's waiting.
How long? Dean is looking at him again. And those eyes seem to narrow, inquisitive and speculating Dean. How long have I known you? And Castiel's eyes widen slightly, gathering the meaning behind the question, understanding, knowing, and then love. And Dean knows this love, has always felt it somewhere in the back of his head. He remembers it. He remembers everything at once. And Dean thinks he sees a smile tug at the angel's lips, and it's strange, and familiar. Forever.
"What?"
"Why are you asking me this?" Castiel is now stern, all business again.
"You said forever," Dean is desperate for the answer now, and it's burning at the back of his mind like fire. "What does that mean?"
And his eyes are forlorn, with unspoken apologies. And Dean remembers something his mother used to tell him every night before he went to sleep. She'd kiss his forehead, and whisper in his ear. The angels are watching over you Dean.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asks, and he sounds frightened by the answer, but he keeps together and is strong. "Why didn't you . . . do anything?"
There's no way to escape and Castiel knows it. He looks around the room, searching for anything else, when suddenly he sighs. "I was always watching, it was my assigned side-job, to make sure you stayed alive and that everything fell into place. I was forbidden to intervene in your life, until . . . you went to Hell. Once we got word of what Lilith had planned for you Heaven laid siege on Hell. I was the first to be picked, because you were my charge."
Dean's face contorted into anger, because who wouldn't be angry? That Castiel had always been watching and had never fucking done anything for him. He spat curses under his breath as he stood up and faced the angel. His legs felt unsteady, unsure, but Castiel did not budge and kept his posture. He looks sorry.
"You sorry son of a bitch."
"Dean, don't you dare," Castiel growls, growls, at Dean. "You don't think that if I could have I would have given you the world if it made you happy? You don't think it pained me everyday that I couldn't be there to help you? I watched as you were born. I watched as you took your first steps. I watched as you learned to fire your first gun. I had to watch you your whole life and not have any say in what happened to you Dean. I would have done anything to stop your misery if I had been allowed to. You have always been one of my main priorities, Dean."
This makes Dean falter, because Castiel looks so honest, so lost. They're both lost. Dean shakes his head and purses his lips. His voice turns cold, and he spits his words out with venom, and his eyes are set to pry. "I thought angels didn't feel?"
Castiel's eyes roll, and it's very uncharacteristic of him. "No, not the same as humans Dean. We were made to be soldiers, and therefore emotions are dangerous to us. But you . . . I have always loved you in a sense. I suppose, though we do not feel the same ways because we are very different beings, it was a different kind of love."
"Love?" Dean feels his insides churn, because that word is foreign to him, and it's weird. "What do you mean love?"
And Castiel seems to suddenly notice his own choice of words as well, and looks guilty with shame. He opens his mouth, those pink lips struggling for the right thing to say, and now it's Dean that's waiting. Dean staring at those lips, waiting for an answer. But they close, and Castiel looks away. The final wave is pain. It always is.
"I . . . I've said too much," Cas admits, and he is about to pull his angel mojo out and fly away but Dean catches his arm and won't let go. His eyes, those eyes, they fall onto Dean and stare. And is that fear?
Please, please understand. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry. And Dean doesn't understand why Castiel is giving this off. He stares back into those blue eyes, searching, because he knows now that this is real. They feel each other. They know each other. They need each other. It's okay. I understand you. It's okay. It's okay. Dean's promises seem to calm Castiel, and the tension in his shoulders release and he's searching too. They're both searching, for what? And Dean finally thinks he knows the answer.
It's awkward, their lips are stiff at first when they touch, but after a minute of just standing there with their lips on each others there is movement. It's prodding, coaxing, and Castiel is so hesitant at first, asking permission, because he doesn't know if this is right. But as soon as Dean feels that hand on his shoulder, he knows it's definitely right. He knows that he's safe and protected and that Castiel is here. And their tongues are more certain with their actions; they seem to know what to do.
"Dean," Castiel's voice is barely a whisper tickling his ear, breath warm, loving, soft yet rugged hands caressing his cheek and Dean is pushing him back onto the bed. He's lost in his actions, crawling up the mattress to straddle the angel under him. Those timeless blue eyes look newborn and pleading. Dean leans down and steals another gentle kiss. "I love you."
It's more firm this time, more certain, and Dean smiles. He's happy for what feels like the first time since he rose out of his grave. He leans his forehead against the angel's, touches soft and delicate skin, doesn't care if it belongs to Castiel or not because it is him to Dean. Dean knows this body. He knows this man. He knows this angel. Their noses touch, and Castiel's eyes flutter a bit, shivers on his skin, and he watches Dean.
"I love you too."
And that's the second time . . . and he knows this one will be forever.