Being so in love is painful and terrifying, Castiel ponders. But he has never been this happy and alive.
The beauty of the righteous man's soul makes his grace sing and flow with a new purpose.
In Dean he has found meaning. He has found himself.
Castiel cannot fathom how he could go on so empty, so lonely and incomplete for so many millennia.
He yearns for Dean to know the intensity of this love. Undying, exalted, unconditional. Take him in his
arms and make him feel at home. Worship him for the rest of their existence and beyond. There's something sacred and blasphemous altogether in this devotion and Castiel wants nothing more than lose himself in it.
He is, however, terrified of losing Dean, this friendship they have build through thorns and bitterness
and death. Letting Dean go all those times was the worst punishment. An excruciating agony.
Castiel, torn. Dead inside every time he stares at that dear face and knowing he cannot kiss those soulful eyes, that genuine smile that Dean only reserves for him.
Castiel recoils in himself, avoiding Dean's presence as much as possible. The soul-searching stares, the ghostly touches that had become a soothing routine, the secretive smiles and whispered conversations about nothing and everything, the comforting proximity...all cease during his first winter in the batcave. Their days are soaked in with a coldness that has nothing to do with the crude weather.
And his heart clenches with pain, but he goes through the motions solely by inertia.
Castiel, conflicted. There is a sadness in Dean these days. Dean is lost. Like a child that can no longer bear the weight on his shoulders. And Cas has an epiphany. Dean has noticed the changes in his angel and his sadness mirrors Castiel's.
Castiel sees himself reflected in his beloved: The dark circles under red-rimmed eyes that no longer sparkle, the tight lines of lips that never smile, the tired roughness in his voice, the hunched shoulders, the weariness written in every move...
A spark of hope. Maybe it is not so unrequited, Castiel wants to believe.
Yet days turns into weeks and they both are still miserable. Castiel is not so brave, he discovers derisively.
On a cold Tuesday morning, Castiel wakes up with new resolve. He steps into Dean's personal space and locks eyes with him. It is so unexpected but it has been too long. Dean seems exhausted. Castiel, none the less, gets a glimpse of the little glint of surprise and joy bringing those eyes to life.
Castiel shudders. It is now or never, but a spark of panic makes his stomach twist. His eyes clench shut as his head reels and all he can muster is a whispered 'I love you'...in Enochian. Because he cannot face Dean's hate. Not now. Not ever.
A soft chuckle makes Castiels eyes flutter open. Dean's lips are curled up in a smirk too smug even for this irreverent hunter, but the green of his eyes shine with thousand smiles and a joy Castiel has not seen in a while.
Castiel stares blankly at this man in front of him that suddenly seems very young, less troubled, lighthearted. Dean surges forward, lips so close to Castiel's ear it tickles. He shivers when Dean whispers 'I love you too'.
"But...how..." Castiel tilts his head and frowns, a little bewilder, a little annoyed. Because Dean is all smugness, again, and peals of laughter.
"What is so funny?" And Castiel does not even know why he is snapping like that. When honest-to-god, all he wants to do is kiss the lights out of the little shit that seems to be enjoying himself too much.
Dean's smile is soft, his hand tender on Castiel's face. The affection poured in that little gesture, equally soothing and overwhelming and Castiel leans into the touch like a starved man.
'I...' Dean coughs to clear his voice and to hide the little tremor of it. 'um...may have made some research a while ago...' He inches closer placing his free hand on Castiel's hip a little too possesive to be casual, their foreheads touching, their bodies almost flushed against one another, '...specifically that line...' the words are barely breathed over Castiel's lips and he feels like he is barely clinging to life.
'I was waiting for the right moment, but never found the courage...' Dean continues, voice croaking with emotion and Castiel wants to laugh because both are such fools.
Instead he surges to capture Dean's lips. Because it's all too ridiculously adorable and he needs to shut him up, let his feelings do the talk with eager lips and questing tongue, lose himself in the taste and touch of this man that was his
downfall and his salvation.
On a cold Tuesday morning a broken angel and a broken human finally find themselves.