Author's Note: I couldn't resist, I just really love Destiel. Writing from Cas's POV is so much fun oh my god. Also, please review because every time someone does I almost cry it's so great. Anyway, here.
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
- The Who, Behind Blue Eyes
They say that the most beautiful things are the rarest. That's certainly true with one thing: Dean's laugh. I can only call to mind four times I've heard it.
I remember when he took me to that den of iniquity to try and get me to lose my virginity. I hadn't wanted to. I'd become nervous. I had sabotaged myself. Dean thought it was funny and he let out that astounding laugh and he stopped the matter, and we'd spent the rest of the night talking about the plan, getting it laid out perfectly to better our chances of surviving against Raphael.
At the end of the night, after Dean had had four beers and I'd had forty, he lay on the couch, on the cusp of sleep's grasp, and I sat quietly in the corner. Then a question struck me.
"Dean," I said.
"What?"
I hesitated.
"What, Cas?"
"When Sam died, he went to Heaven. When you sold your soul to bring him back, you went to Hell. Why would you rather spend a few years with him on Earth rather than an eternity in Heaven?"
He sat up a little, trying to think clearly to answer my question. "Well, I didn't really know about Heaven then, you know? I didn't know about all this angel crap. And, Cas, I'm not trying to disrespect your family or your hometown or anything, but it's not real. I mean, it exists, but it just... it's not the same."
I couldn't argue with him. Everything here on Earth is more pronounced, more vivid, especially the pain. But it's worth it. I love it here.
"Even in Hell," he continued, words becoming less slurred as memories sharpen his senses, "the only thought that kept me going was that it wasn't as real as Sammy, living his life up there, because of me."
I smiled a little internally. I decided to let him sleep. Quietly I compiled a list of all my regrets in my head, seeing as I would die the next day. One of them was that I didn't pull Dean out of Hell a month earlier, keeping him from saying yes to Alastair, from all his guilt over the torture. I can see it in his eyes sporadically, the haunted, far off look, as his hands go into his back pockets, stopping himself from reaching our and hurting anyone else.
"Hey, Cas," Dean muttered, turning slightly towards me in his stupor. "Why were you the one to pull me from the pit? Why not Zachariah or Uriel or some other winged dick?"
I steepled my fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "I volunteered."
"Why?"
"I was already... curious about the garrison's motivations. I wanted to be on the "inside track", both with them and you, so I could best help if anything went wrong."
He nodded, and if I didn't know better, I would have sworn he looked a little hurt.
"So." He coughed a little, in that self-conscious way he does when trying to communicate emotion. "So, if you hadn't, uh, if it hadn't been for that... you wouldn't have been on our side?"
I ran his words through my mind. "Dean, that doesn't make much sense."
"Shut up." He rolled over so his back was towards me, but I knew his eyes were still open. I waited for him to find a more eloquent way to phrase his question.
After a few minutes with no response, I said, "I think I understand what you're trying to ask. If the circumstances were different, would I still be with you?"
Dean made a vaguely affirming noise. I pondered the question for a moment before responding. "I don't think so. But I'm very glad I am."
"Even with the Goddamn apocalypse?" he said, very quietly, almost unintelligible.
"Yes. Even with the apocalypse."
I could practically hear him smiling.
I think about this as I watch him in the shower.
I can't see his unclothed body; I stand outside of the shower curtain, which is translucent enough for me to see his outline. I still have the ability to conceal myself from human eyes.
I've been watching him for twenty-one days now. Sitting in the back of the Impala, following him around on cases, "ganking" demons when he can't see and transporting the bodies to the middle of the Pacific ocean, all while trying to figure out what to say to him.
Does he know I kissed him? How can I tell?
Leaving like that was foolish, I know that now. I should have simply concealed myself, but I ran, like a child. I was treading uncertain water so I got out.
Although, knowing Dean, he probably would have known that I was still there. I see him turn around sometimes in the Impala, with the feeling someone's in the backseat. He angles his body slightly towards me, as If I were standing next to him. Kissing him was nice. Very enjoyable. My whole heart is crying out, seeking him, so I can do it again.
I overhear Dean refusing to talk to Sam about his feelings, over and over and over again. Usually he gives in after a few attempts, but not this time.
Maybe there's something he doesn't want to tell Sam (like I kissed him? like he hated it? like he liked it? like I love him? like he loves me?). This would be a plausible deduction, if it weren't completely biased by emotion. Now I see why angels aren't meant to have much of them. They're... irreplaceable. Seeing as I come from Heaven, the land of endless plenty, this is a hard concept to process.
Dean turns the shower off. I avert my eyes as he steps out and wraps a towel around his middle. He begins to move towards the door, but stops. His chest is 23.1 inches from mine. He is looking at me. I want to touch him. I don't touch him. I run my hands through my hair, feeling the slight dampness due to the rising steam from the shower. I imagine running a hand through Dean's hair, over his body –
I stop myself. I cannot, I cannot.
"Cas?" he says, tentative. My breath catches. But no, it's nothing. He's just feeling my presence because of the remains of my Grace inside him.
"Cas, I know you're there. I can see your outline in the steam." He looks annoyed. I show myself; I have no other choice.
"Hello, Dean," I mumble, looking at my feet.
"Cas, what the Hell are you watching me in the shower for?" he practically yells, face and neck flushing slightly pink.
"I saw nothing... inappropriate. I promise." Dean rolls his eyes at me.
"Let me get dressed before we talk." He looks me in the eye, cautious and guarded. I stare back at him. He sighs something like okay and moves into the bedroom. I stay where I am until I hear him call, "Alright. Come on."
I am beside him. He jumps away. "Goddamnit. How many times... give me some warning, okay?"
"My apologies."
He sits on the bed. I sit opposite on Sam's. Neither of us speak or look at each other until I ask, "Where's Sam?"
"Getting ingredients from Garth." He sounds a little rueful.
"Dean, I can explain why –"
"No, no. It... it's okay. Checking up on me and all that. My ethereal Yoda. Great."
I nod, although I don't understand, because I don't want to anger him further.
"Why are you angry?" I ask him. I regret it almost immediately. I don't think I want to know, really.
But he only sighs. "I freaking fell asleep on you, Cas! Like a tenth grader with her first beer bong!" He runs his hands over his face. "I'm so damn vulnerable around you, it's ridiculous." He swallows heavily. "It just stresses me out a bit, alright? It's okay, it just... stresses me out."
He appears so troubled. I want to help. "Dean, when I laid a hand on you in Hell, it created a bond –"
"I'd worked out that much, thanks." He glares at me. I dislike that, though it does favours to the angles of his face. I don't think he remembers the kiss. This is both relieving and heartbreaking.
"You don't need to be afraid, Dean," I tell him softly, forcing him to look me in the eye. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore." He laughs bitterly in response, so I continue. "I mean it. No more. I –"
I manage to stop myself.
"I need you." That should cover what I can't say.
He looks down again. "Not now. Not..." Dean lets out a sigh so deep, so world-weary, that it sends chills down my spine. I often forget that I have only known him for a small portion of his life, and that I myself am only a small portion of his life. He is an everything, expanding out in every direction, his branches latching onto mine, extending them, extending me.
"I need to meet Sam. You should go."
I frown deeply. "Dean, I don't mean to further your discomfort. I am only –"
"Yeah, yeah, got it." He stands and begins digging for what I presume is his FBI suit. "Thanks for dropping in." When he turns back around, I'm gone. I see him stop his search, sit on the bed, and drop his head into his hands. I long to touch him, if only innocently, but I can't. If Dean has taught me anything it's that just because something is within arm's length, doesn't mean it's within arm's reach.
Dean is, once again, in over his head. I don't think he likes it. But for me, it's new, exciting, and only the beginning.
