[ Castiel protests, though he doesn't make any more of an effort than that to keep Dean from his work. The cleaning and taping of his deepest wound is a waste of Dean's resources, and Castiel feels guilty for it, but the calm, steady application of Dean's affection is its own balm. Dean doesn't need offer Castiel his kindness like this. He didn't need to wait here in this motel room for his return at all. Though Castiel can't help feeling as if Dean would have been better off moving on, with Sam wherever he is, he's grateful Dean chose to stay, even if it's only to offer platitudes that don't help either of them. Dean's company means everything. ]
Thank you for waiting here for me.
[ Rest is all that Castiel really needs. His grace will regenerate. His wounds will knit. There's nothing more he needs but time, and Dean would better serve humanity elsewhere than tending to an angel fallen from Heaven's graces who was foolish enough to get himself gravely injured. He should tell Dean to go. Sam, and the world, need Dean more. When Castiel summons the strength to open his eyes again, though, and sees Dean sitting beside him, he can't find the will to dismiss him. He wants Dean to stay. He wants the kisses of his mouth, and to eat, and drink, and be drunk with love. What other reason does he have for this, all of this? What else about humanity is worth saving than what Dean has shown him? He reaches for him, catches Dean's shirt and holds on with no intent other than to keep Dean close, within arm's reach. ]
I've asked too much of you already, but... Will you stay a while longer?
[ Unconsciousness is tugging at Castiel from all corners, the warm darkness bleeding into the edges of his senses everywhere that isn't the sight and feel of Dean in front of him. Once he gives into it, he's going to be passed out for a while. It's selfish, but he doesn't want to wake up without Dean, left alone to wonder where God's justice is in keeping him alive to repeatedly kill his own kind. He wants to open his eyes and see the answer there in warm hazel eyes and cheeks dusted with a galaxy of freckles. ]
no subject
[ Castiel protests, though he doesn't make any more of an effort than that to keep Dean from his work. The cleaning and taping of his deepest wound is a waste of Dean's resources, and Castiel feels guilty for it, but the calm, steady application of Dean's affection is its own balm. Dean doesn't need offer Castiel his kindness like this. He didn't need to wait here in this motel room for his return at all. Though Castiel can't help feeling as if Dean would have been better off moving on, with Sam wherever he is, he's grateful Dean chose to stay, even if it's only to offer platitudes that don't help either of them. Dean's company means everything. ]
Thank you for waiting here for me.
[ Rest is all that Castiel really needs. His grace will regenerate. His wounds will knit. There's nothing more he needs but time, and Dean would better serve humanity elsewhere than tending to an angel fallen from Heaven's graces who was foolish enough to get himself gravely injured. He should tell Dean to go. Sam, and the world, need Dean more. When Castiel summons the strength to open his eyes again, though, and sees Dean sitting beside him, he can't find the will to dismiss him. He wants Dean to stay. He wants the kisses of his mouth, and to eat, and drink, and be drunk with love. What other reason does he have for this, all of this? What else about humanity is worth saving than what Dean has shown him? He reaches for him, catches Dean's shirt and holds on with no intent other than to keep Dean close, within arm's reach. ]
I've asked too much of you already, but... Will you stay a while longer?
[ Unconsciousness is tugging at Castiel from all corners, the warm darkness bleeding into the edges of his senses everywhere that isn't the sight and feel of Dean in front of him. Once he gives into it, he's going to be passed out for a while. It's selfish, but he doesn't want to wake up without Dean, left alone to wonder where God's justice is in keeping him alive to repeatedly kill his own kind. He wants to open his eyes and see the answer there in warm hazel eyes and cheeks dusted with a galaxy of freckles. ]