I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
-Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
They have been lying on the hard, cold ground for hours, staring up at the stars, talking about nothing and everything and simply enjoying each other's company. A bottle of Scotch sits between them, half-empty, and Castiel can't remember the last time he was so relaxed. Dean is close enough to touch, if he felt inclined to bridge the small gap between their hands, and the smell of him—leather, smoke, and something oddly like burnt pine—wafts around him in a soothing cocoon. The scent of another vampire in his space should not have been comforting but, inexplicably, Castiel feels more at ease than he has in decades. He refuses to think of why that may be, choosing to focus instead on the way their shoulders are almost touching; the rise and fall of Dean's chest a steady noise in the background. Even though he has not had to breathe in years, he still does, clings to the simple human act like a drowning man would a life jacket, and that makes Castiel's chest feel oddly tight for reasons he doesn't quite understand. The man beside him is broken, has had so many horrible things happen that it's a wonder he manages to keep going, and Castiel admires that strength more than anything else.
"Hey Cas," the gruff voice cuts into his thoughts and Castiel tilts his head slightly in answer. "Do you...ah, crap, this is gonna sound stupid...do you ever wonder what you look like now? Because I do. I mean, I know it can't be that different from when I was changed, but there's no way to really be sure." Castiel lifts himself so that supports his weight with his elbows and looks down at the other man.
"Well," he starts slowly, the pleasant buzz from the alcohol making the words form slower than usual, "I haven't really given it much thought. Why do you ask?" Castiel is curious, as always, about the way his friend's mind works. Dean was the singular most interesting person he had ever met, and he was certain that they could roam the earth for centuries and the man would continue to surprise him.
Dean chuckles softly. "I'm a slightly vain man, you know that," Castiel scoffs and is rewarded with a wide grin. "Okay, more than slightly, but either way...I liked knowing how I looked, and not being able to see my reflection is one of the suckiest parts of this."
"If it is any consolation, you are a very attractive man who receives more than their fair share of looks from women." The younger vampire looks at him, face unreadable in the dark even with Castiel's superior vision. "What is it? Did I say something to upset you?" He is worried, suddenly, that Dean had misconstrued his meaning. He is relieved when Dean shakes his head.
"Cas-" he hesitates before sitting up quickly, leaning into Castiel's space, and Cas can smell the liquor on his breath. "Tell me what I look like." The request should not be surprising, considering the topic of conversation, but Castiel is caught off-guard all the same.
"I-what?"
"What do I look like?" There is a pleading note in Dean's voice that is seldom present, a shockingly vulnerable look in his eyes, and Castiel is unsure whether it's the Scotch or something else, but he cannot deny his friend this; needs it almost as much as he knows Dean does.
"You are," stunning, he wants to say, but does not know how it would be taken; how it should be taken, "tall." It is lame, he knows, and he rushes to continue. "Your hair is somewhere between blonde and brown; almost like...wheat," more like gold "and your eyes…" he trails off, searching for the words to describe the kaleidoscope of colour that resides in Dean's irises. Castiel desperately wishes for a light, any light—not that he needs it to tell Dean what his eyes look like, he has long since memorised everything about the man; no, he simply wants to look into them and see the full depth of the colour, the emotions he tries to hide that show in the recesses of forest green. "Your eyes are the most vibrant hazel-green I have ever seen." Dean looks taken aback by the nearly reverent tone in Castiel's voice, but the older vampire doesn't seem to notice; the moon chose that moment to emerge from behind the clouds and the light was shining on directly on Dean, throwing half of his face into sharp relief while the other stays hidden in shadow. Castiel watches, fascinated, as his pupils dilate. "I could spend days describing your eyes, but you would never understand all that I see there." Cas is aware of the fact that he is whispering, but cannot bring himself to speak louder as Dean leans unnecessarily closer to hear his words. "There are golden flecks sprinkled in amongst the green, more noticeable when you're wearing blue but near impossible to see when you are in the dark green shirt I bought you, or when you're wearing a green tie. Sometime I swear I can see a bit of blue there but every time I try to look closer, it's gone, and I'm left wondering if I imagined it." There is something akin to awe on Dean's face as he listens, unbreathing, to Castiel, eyes locked and noses almost touching.
"D-do you really see all that?" Dean asks softly after a moment, and Castiel half-chuckles, half-sighs.
"I see more than just the colour, Dean." A slight shiver runs through the younger man's body as Cas's deep, gravelly voice ghosts over his name, the syllable rolling off of his tongue more intimately than any lover's. "All of the things you try to hide are revealed to me simply by looking into your eyes."
Dean is speechless, staring at Castiel like he has never really seen him before. "I didn't…I had no idea you paid that much attention to me, Cas." His voice is huskier than normal, and soft, as though he doesn't want to interrupt whatever is going on between them. Castiel smiles, a small, self-deprecating grin, and glances down at the grass below his hand.
"You are a weak point for me, Dean," he admits with a quiet reluctance. "I find myself…entranced by everything about you." Silence hangs between them as Cas absent-mindedly begins to pluck individual blades of grass out of the ground, the tension thick and heavy.
"Navy blue."
"What?" Castiel looks up at Dean in confusion, head tilted to one side, and a grin forms on Dean's lips.
"Your eyes are navy blue, so dark and deep I can barely stand it." He glances away and Castiel guesses that if blood still ran through his veins, Dean would be blushing. "When you look at me, it feels like you're staring into my soul—which I guess you kind of are—and you don't judge me." Green meets blue as he glances back up at Cas, gazes holding as he continues. "Despite all the horrible shit I've done in the past, everything you've seen me do…you're still here, still my friend, and you actually see me, Cas." Dean's voice is full of wonder and faith and something dangerous, something both men had been trying to hide for a long time; it bursts forth in Dean's irises, a spark igniting into flames in the forest of his eyes, and Castiel can no longer think with the intensity of it. They stare into each other's eyes for a long time—it could have been hours, days, years—before moving in as one. A brief, gentle, tremblingly chaste touch of lips and what Castiel could swear was a stuttered beat of his long-dead heart later they pull away, touch their foreheads together, and Castiel cannot take his eyes off of the breath-taking man before him. He is strong, and fragile, and broken, and utterly whole; a soft core protected by rough, thorny edges. He is light in shadow, goodness in a form meant for killing, a man who has defied death, performed unspeakable acts of evil without a thought, and still somehow managed to come back from the brink of destruction kind and fierce in his protective loyalty. He is perfect, and flawed, and everything Castiel has ever wanted.
"Of course I see you, Dean Winchester," he breathes, hands coming to rest on Dean's face. "You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man you believe yourself to be. You are beautiful, and I will always see you."