He'd seen countless sunsets, and yet there was something so ethereal about them, that he found himself wanting to relive the same moment over and over again— that exact moment when the sun would touch the horizon tentatively like a lover, dip its round curve into the crook of the horizon, and slowly disappear as the sound of crickets and frogs chimed in to celebrate the union of day and night.
This had become his favorite spot since a few hundred years, but really any Kansas mountain high enough would do. The sunsets here were just so spectacularly beautiful, that Castiel flew here whenever it was possible. He had begun to think of this as his own little sanctuary, a secret reprieve from the battles of his everyday life that had become so overwhelmingly constant. He'd begun bringing a few candy-bars in his pocket whenever he would stop by to munch on them. It was a bit useless, however, since he couldn't taste the candy as a whole, only all the constituent atoms. He did it anyway as a sort of tribute to the time he was human, when he could indulge in all kinds of gustatory pleasures. It was rather poetic.
Castiel never thought of himself as much of a poet, that was more Metraton or Gabriel, but he appreciated the form just as much as any other being with good taste. His time with the Winchester brothers had also taught him to consume classic skin-mags and cheap porn, but he wasn't complaining. There was a rather amusing quality to human sexuality, and Castiel found himself confused by it. He didn't work that way. He was an angel; the concept simply didn't apply to him. He always felt it was fluid, everchanging, unshaped, like mist. He didn't understand why Dean became so flustered when Castiel would pop in on him when Dean was underdressed, or why Sam would quickly close his laptop sometimes when he came unannounced. It seemed all so trivial to him. They wouldn't explain either when he asked.
Cas turned around when he heard the familiar rumble of a vehicle. It was Dean.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, as he took out two beers, offered him one, and sat down on the trunk.
"I could ask you the same."
"Yeah, but I asked first, grumpy angel, so you answer first."
Castiel sighed. "I come here to watch the sunset sometimes. It's a good spot. There are no distractions."
"I was just passing by on a ride, and I saw you, standing like a dork out here in the middle of nowhere. Nothing special in the papers, no news of a good case since weeks. Sam's gone on a grocery run, and I'm bored out of my mind. There's only so long you can sit in front of the TV without dozing off, you know?"
Castiel didn't know, but he nodded along and pretended to. It was important to him to appear as much of 'not-an-idiot' as possible, at least in front of Dean, so he would continue to let him help them. He didn't have any such problems with the cavemen, they were far simpler, if a bit exasperating.
"You ever just feel old, now? I exercise every day after cleaning out my guns, but there's just that feeling I can't shake off, it's not a creaky knee or painful back—"
"I am billions of years old, Dean."
"How many sunsets have you seen then?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "On Earth? One trillion six hundred forty-two billion five hundred thousand, if we round it up."
Dean shook his head and laughed, taking another swig. He'd really have to teach Cas about idioms sometime.
They sat in silence for a few minutes after, drinking in quiet solace, listening to the boisterous wind blowing its way through the grassy fields below, and the beautiful tall trees behind them. It was signaling the onset of summer, and Dean couldn't be more grateful. He was never really a winter person. He always preferred the scorching American sun over snow any day, and though it made having road trips with Sam unbearably hot, sticky, and irritating, it just felt right in a way the frigid atmosphere of winter didn't.
"It's rather poetic, really," Cas said after a while, breaking his reverie.
"Huh?"
"Beauty is a societal construct, but I suppose more or less some things can be defined as universally beautiful, such as natural elements like stars, the moon, flowers, or in this case," he paused, looking at Dean again, and fixating on his apple-green eyes in the dimming light of the sky, "the sunset. I have had access to some of the most spectacular moments in Earth's history, and I have read descriptions that try to become that moment through words. They come close, but they never truly describe that exact feeling in all its intensity because the moment you put a feeling to paper, the second you write it down in ink or open your mouth to convert it into words, something is lost. You cannot truly compare your lover to roses, or their eyes to stars, because it is… simply ridiculous. I understand there is no other way to describe what one feels otherwise without a comparison of some kind, but I have always felt it is an injustice to the beauty of both. Particularly in love poems. You should read the kind of flattery they get up to, it's nauseating. Very few poets do it right."
Dean blinked at him, his eyebrow scrunched a little. "I— I suppose you're right. You read a lot of love poems?"
Castiel just looked up at the sky, where he could see some of the first stars of the evening appearing. The sky looked different a few million years ago.
He then replied, slowly.
"And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any he belied with false compare."