venatoris | open post.

[ He definitely misconstrues what Cas means - while Dean pauses briefly in his work, using his other hand to lightly cover the angel's for a few moments, he eventually starts back up, cleaning Cas up, because...

Well. Dean needs to, really. It feels like his fault, somehow.

(logically, he knows it isn't. he couldn't go with Cas, Dean tagging along would've just resulted in Cas being weaker, and possibly dying, but Dean has a savior complex and coupled with that survivors guilt he likes to harbor, it's a fucking mess and somehow, in some way, it's his fault.)

Dean wants to fix this in the only way he can, which is finishing what he's started. Clean the wound, disinfect, pour Cas a shot, press it in his hand ]

I'm sorry. [ It's not quite an admission of guilt, because technically Dean did nothing wrong, he didn't distract Cas, and he did behave himself (though he'd started poking around on his crappy phone late last night, calling Bobby, asking him what he knew about holy oil locations and how long it would take to get there).

Still...he made Cas promise. Would he have had to kill his siblings if Dean hadn't made him do it?

It makes him uncomfortable, so he focuses on wiping blood away, fixing what he can. ]

Get some rest, Cas. [ The wound taped, Cas propped up...he looks more helpless tan he is, injured like this, and Dean wants go scream at God for allowing any of this to happen. ]

I'll be alright.

[ 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. ]

I said I would.

[ He wont tell Cas about the argument he had with Bobby and Sam, because it's irrelevant, and he's been in pretty constant contact with his brother ever since he left. Like, Sam gets, kind of, why Dean won't leave, but it's frustrating because they're supposed to be sticking together and both Sam and Dean's self righteousness won't let either of them concede. Dean promised he'd stay. Sam knows there's a monster killing people. It's a tug of morals, and neither brother won the war.

Once Cas is better, he'll meet up with Sam. Bobby sent Rufus to meet up with him, he's sure that Sam will be fine until he gets there. As long as Sammy has backup, Dean feels...

Well. Not good about it, but better. ]

Course. [ Dean rests his hand on Cas' arm, looking down at where his fingers are twisted in Dean's shirt, and lightly squeezes. A little gesture of affection. ]

I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? Get some sleep.

[ Castiel doesn't need to know the details to see that this room is only being slept in by one person, and that whatever came to pass between Dean and Sam, he's the one to blame for it. He'll have to make sure they're reunited, when he's well enough to keep his eyes open. Right now, even that feels like a struggle.

The pain is nice. It's warm. Human. He can't feel Dean's pulse or smell the chemicals in his soap as usual, but the blurriness to his senses makes the more important ones seem to stand out. The flannel under the grip of his hands is worn soft from repeated washing, and Dean's hand when it covers his is solid and warm and very much alive. Castiel releases the shirt to thread his fingers through Dean's. He wishes, as he closes his eyes and his breathing begins to even out, that he could put Dean to sleep, and they could rest together. He's not sure why the idea comes to him. The thought is arbitrary and unplanned, surprisingly human. He likes the idea. It's a much more comforting thought that any of the memories from the last three days that try to chase him towards waking. ]

Thank you, Dean.

[ Castiel turns his face towards Dean on the pillow, and as he relaxes into sleep, his hand falls away from the comforting tangle of Dean's fingers. ]

Anytime, Cas.

[ None of that self-flagellation, Cas. Dean won't stand for it. Dean, at this point, believes that he makes his own decisions, and he could have left with Sam if he wanted to do so, but he didn't.

So here he is.

Fingers laced with the angel, grip gentle, light, but firm. He waits until Cas' eyes fall closed, stop moving beneath the lids, before he reaches out to brush his hair from his face, soft and careful, like a lover.

God, he's in deep shit, isn't he.

Fuck.

Cas falls asleep, and Dean is left once more to hsis thoughts, and he'll pick up the phone to call Sam again, check in, make sure he's okay, that everything is fine.

We're good, Sam assures him. Rufus is here, we're good, Dean. I promise. Take your time. I'm...I'm sorry, we fought.

Dean will sigh, run a hand through fluffy, unstyled hair, because he hasn't showered in days, he's been waiting for Cas, he's so goddamn tired.

It's okay, Sammy. I'm sorry too. I didn't mean the stuff I said.

Me either, Dean.

He feels better when he hangs up, and god-- he's glad there's a 40 waiting for him, and he'll tip some into a glass as he goes to take a shower, leaving the bathroom door open to keep an eye on the angel.

Twenty minutes later he'll emerge, toweling his hair, another slung low on his hips, and Cas is still asleep, so Dean orders a pizza, sits at the little motel table and devours half, stuffing the rest in the mini fridge and grabs a beer.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room for a while, not sure if he should use the extra bed in there or crawl in by Cas, but eventually...

Dean puts his toxic masculinity on the shelf, because he promised Cas he'd be here when he woke up, and slides in next to the angel and curls close, eventually dozing off with a half drank beer on the nightstand, his head under Cas' chin. ]

[ Angels don't dream because angels don't sleep. They don't need to. Their bodies don't require it and their minds are machine designed to follow orders, not to have complex moral dilemmas in need of untangling in dreams each night. While Castiel sleeps, he returns to Heaven. He throws himself at the feet of his superiors and begs forgiveness for the murders of his kin. They accept him back into their fold. They demand allegiance to Michael, and he gives it. He doesn't understand why he gives it, until there is Michael in Dean's skin, but that isn't Dean, Dean is gone.

Castiel wakes with a deep inhale. The room is dark and quiet. There's heat against his side and a weight pressing down on his chest, and for a panicked moment, he thinks he was wounded more terribly than his grace could heal. The fear is instantaneous and just as quickly gone as he realizes with a flood of warmth that it's Dean pressed against him. The weight of Dean's head on his collar and soft, sleepy exhales against his chest has Castiel's heart pounding so quickly that he worries Dean might hear it. His chest aches with affection. "Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful."

He should wake Dean, now that he himself is awake. Even though it's still dark through the curtained windows and beyond, Dean would prefer to be roused. Castiel knows Dean's rules about personal space and privacy, and watching him sleep is explicitly against them. He shouldn't be lingering like this, allowing himself to revel in how the worry lines around Dean's eyes are smoothed out and how beautifully at peace he looks away from a world that has been unkind. He absolutely should not touch Dean without permission, but he'd like to. He'd like to trace his lips and his jaw, and tilt up his chin, and wake Dean from his sleep with a kiss, like in a children's story. Castiel lifts his hand from the bed, and hesitates, and lays it back at his side. ]

Dean.

[ His voice is rusted and thick with disuse, though a more honest part of him wonders if he isn't being quiet because he'd prefer if Dean continued to sleep against him, just like this. He presses his face to Dean's hair, and there's a different smell to the soap, now, though he can't tell the difference on a molecular level, so his grace must not be as recovered as he'd hoped. All he can tell is that it's a clean smell, a pleasant one, that if he ever comes across it again will always remind him of Dean's weight and his warmth and his kindness. ]

Dean, are you awake?

[ His dreams are usually fitful; Dean doesn't often sleep well, nor does he sleep very long. A few hours a night, at most, if that - he has more drinks per week than hours of sleep, which is unhealthy, but he manages to function and somehow keep it together, so no one really complains. Sam has seen this for the past few years, the way his habits have deteriorated, how Dean will get a beer at four in the morning if he wakes up, the crisp carbonation on his tongue heaven's sweet song.

Sam says nothing, because what can he say? He can't deprive Dean of his coping mechanisms, especially not in the midst of all of this. Not after what he's done, after the things he's said - the things Dean has said, too.

But now, in this brief, quiet moment, he is asleep, dreamless and eternal, features smooth and worry free. Cas is warm under his cheek, Dean's breathing even and easy, head on Cas' chest, the steady thump of a heartbeat under his ear. He's comfortable, safe - soft in the moment, warm and dewy with the few hours of sleep he's managed, hotel soap on his skin, dandelions in his hair from the shampoo. Kinda sissy, but he uses what he's given, because they dont buy it or carry it, it's a waste of space. ]

Mm.

[ Cas' low, gravely voice pulls him from his bliss, and Dean fights it, wanting to go back to sleep, to keep his eyes shut forever, bask in this beautiful moment. ]

I am now. [ Groggy, bleary eyed, he shifts, realizing he's fallen asleep on Cas and probably drooled a little, and he rubs his eyes, stifling a yawn. ]

Crap, did I fall asleep on you? [ Let him just...drag himself awake a little more and try to sit up. ]

[ It's a very human thing, to sleep, to wake. Humans spend more than a third of their brief lives in bed asleep, and Castiel always thought it was a curious decision of God's, and a waste. Watching Dean wake beside him now, sweetly vulnerable and made soft with sleep, Castiel believes he understands God's purpose. He'd gladly spend a third of his very long life in bed if it meant sharing intimate moments like this with someone he loves over and over again. His eyes drop to Dean's lips and the request to kiss him is there in the sandpaper-rough back of his throat. Then Dean is sitting up, and Castiel's eyes lift, the request swallowed back, saved for another time. He doesn't sit up himself immediately, stiff with inaction and injury though he feels. He can't imagine moving in any way but towards Dean if he tried. ]

Yes. But I didn't mind. You're welcome to fall asleep on me again any time.

[ That's not an offer he can see Dean accepting, but for how much he enjoyed the intimacy of sleeping with Dean, he feels compelled to offer it, anyway. It's a nice dream.

Castiel frowns at the memory of the dream (if that's what it was; it must have been) of Michael. He doesn't want Dean to leave, but there are far more important things than what he wants. The impending apocalypse, for instance. ]

Where's Sam? Is he alright?

[ If the Winchesters are fighting with each other because of Castiel's incompetence, it's imperative he see them make amends, regardless of the dwindling state of his grace. ]

I appreciate the offer.

[ Dean flashes him a little smile, shifting so he can better face Cas on the bed, look him over, inspect his handiwork from before their impromptu nap.

A nap that lasted longer than he sleeps in a night, oddly enough. Maybe that's what it's like to feel safe, pressed in against someone you care about. He tries not to think too much about that, dig too deep. It'll just...unearth more shit he isn't sure how to handle or deal with. ]

Sam's fine. He's with Rufus, working another job. I talked to him after you passed out last night. How're you feeling, by the way?

[ Because that's important, and Dean is worried.

He peels back the bandage he put on Cas' deepest wound, seeing if it's healed - he doesn't know how fast angels...regenerate or whatever. ]

[ A part of Castiel was expecting Dean to immediately leave the bed upon awaking, so to see Dean linger, even if it's only to check over his wounds, warms him. He nods, distracted by the information about Sam. It's good that Sam isn't alone, and that he and Dean talked, though Castiel is still eager to see them reunited. He doesn't know Rufus, and he doesn't trust Sam not to do something incredibly stupid while Dean isn't around.

He isn't paying attention to Dean's question, but his attention is brought back instantly, and he hisses in pain at the peeling of the bandage away from his skin, sticky with dried blood. Even after hours of regeneration, that wound is still oozing slowly. Castiel frowns and his hands fist in the sheets at his sides. ]

That's... concerning.

[ He almost leaves it at that, but a glance up at Dean tells him that Dean is worried for him, so he explains, reluctantly. ]

My grace isn't regenerating as quickly as it should.

[ It's terrifying. Castiel's grace is the closest thing to a soul he has; it's himself, his very essence of all that he is. As long as some small amount of it remains, it makes more of itself like the limbs of a starfish or human blood, but if that process is stalled... What is he, if not himself?

There is nothing to be done for it, though, and Castiel doesn't want to alarm Dean. He's already taken up more of Dean's time than he should. As life-changing as that night together was a few nights ago, and as desperately as he'd like to keep that promise to Dean, Dean has far more important work to do elsewhere. He should be with Sam, helping the world to survive this apocalypse in whatever way they can. ]

Thank you for staying with me, Dean, but it may take some time for me to fully heal. You should go to Sam.

What do you mean, it's not regenerating as quick as it should?

[ The nuances of angels are beyond him - he barely understands what Cas' Grace is, let alone how it truly functions. ]

How can it not be regenerating? Why can't you get it up?

[ He talks as he moves; the first aid kit is still on the nightstand where Dean left it, resting next to the beer he didn't finish. Dean reaches for it, pops it open, and rummages for a fresh bandage, more antiseptic. ]

I'm not leaving you. Either we stay here, or I haul you into the Impala and we go together.

[ The questions are grating, and Castiel's answer to Dean is terse, because Castiel he doesn't have an answer. ]

I don't know why.

[ He looks down at the wound at his side and presses his fingers to it, as if touch alone might heal it, but of course all it does is leave his fingers bloody. He's never been cut off from Heaven's power before. He's never been stabbed with another angel's blade, either. It could be either of those things, or it might be divine retribution for the number of brothers and sisters he's killed. He has no idea why his grace isn't regenerating or if it will fully recover at all, and it's as frustrating as it is terrifying.

Whether he regains the lion's share of his grace or not, though, there are larger forces at work that still need seeing to. Dean needs to see to them. ]

I'll go with you. ...I'll try not to be a burden.

[ Starting right now. He sits up, and the wound in his side burns painfully, but it isn't so bad that he can't walk on it. He'd made it here, after all. He can go to wherever Dean needs to be. ]

[ It's a lot of questions Dean's firing at him, and, well. You know. The pissiness is fine, he gets it, Cas doesn't know the answers - though he does give the angel kind of a look, like c'mon man I don't know shit about angel physiology, cut me some slack. ]

Don't poke it. Jeeze, you're like a toddler.

[ He swats Cas' fingers away, dabbing at the blood with some gauze before padding the wound and pressing another bandage gently over his skin. ]

You're not a burden. Just relax and stop moving-- [ Honestly, it really is like having a toddler (from what he remembers of Sammy's toddler stage, anyway); ] let me pack and load the car, and we'll go, okay?

[ Castiel isn't any less irritated, though he realizes, as Dean cleans and bandages his wound again with careful, gentle touches, that his anger at Dean's questions is misdirected. He sighs and looks away, resigning himself to his disturbingly human-like state. He is very much a burden to Dean, though Dean is kind enough to suggest otherwise. Still, Dean agrees to move on, and Castiel is grateful for that, too, even if it means a long car ride instead of spending more time alone together in bed with Dean. God is indifferent, and life is unfair. ]

Yes, thank you. That would be best.

[ Relaxing is an impossible request, but Castiel can at least follow Dean's order not to move. Though, he'd prefer to help. ]

Don't forget the holy oil.

[ It's likely an unnecessary reminder, but given that object is the reason he killed more of his kind, was tortured, and now is disturbingly low on grace, he has some attachment to seeing it cared for until its use. ]

[ Life has always been unfair for Dean. In his experience, it's often traumatic and full of rage and pain than it is anything else, so he expects nothing less. A cruel twist of fate they had such an intense night together, only for there to be no time for a repeat, especially not with Cas oozing blood and unable to Doctor Who himself a new body. ]

Just close your eyes and I'll load everything, oil included. I'll come get you when I'm done, okay?

[ And for God's sake, leave your boo boos alone. ]

[ Castiel has lived as an observer of mankind's tragedies for thousands of years, Dean's included. It's much different to experience tragedy himself firsthand. To be human is to suffer, and yet Dean's suffering has made him into the person he is. He's a good man, infinitely strong, and willing to take on the burden that Castiel has become at the moment, even knowing he would be useless to their fight as he is now. Castiel can only hope he endures this trial as well as Dean has and becomes better for it.

He's not sure how closing his eyes will help anything at all, but he's not in a position to argue it. ]

Alright.

[ Still sitting up, he closes his eyes and uses the moment to meditate, to search inside of himself and sideways through space and time, to reflect on his grace. It feels an awful lot like shouting into a void. He stretches his wings, and he can't tell if he feels them unfurl or if what he feels is only a phantom memory of the action. He stretches them out further, sees a destination in his mind, tries to fly. Instead of going to that place, he feels a wave of nausea, like falling, and opens his eyes, startled by the dizziness. This is truly what being human feels like, he realizes: feeling scared, grounded in space and time, and alone.

He looks towards Dean wide-eyed, despite the earlier request, and watches him quietly, for the calming sake of it. ]

[ There's not a whole lot to gather. The Winchester's pack light, damn near everything they own in the back of the Impala - clothes and weapons combined. Dean crams what few clothes he has laying around into his duffle, then picks up the oil and gently, carefully, tucks it into his bag, surrounding it with clothes, padding it, to make sure it doesn't break. Cas sacrificed a lot for this - it's a priceless treasure now.

He'll haul it over his shoulder, meet Cas' eyes that are open now, and lifts a brow. ]

You okay over there? Hanging on?

[ Jesus, Dean doesn't know what he'd do if he actually lost Cas. They've had some scares, but...

He can't even entertain the thought. ]

[ What matters most to Dean aren't material things, an idea seen by some humans as the path towards enlightenment. The care he takes to wrap and carry the jug of holy oil at Castiel's request means that much more for it. Castiel doesn't immediately stand as he takes a moment to appreciate Dean. ]

I was just wondering if the existential dread I feel at the potential loss of my grace is at all comparable to the human condition.

[ In other words, no, he's not okay, but yes, he is "hanging on." Since Dean seems fully packed, Castiel takes it as his cue to stand. He's slow and unsteady, in pain and still dusted in dried blood, but he manages to gather himself enough to walk with relative pride to meet Dean by the door. ]

Um. Yeah. Yeah, I'd say probably.

[ Dean is pretty familiar with that feeling, the impending doom of the universe, the thoughts that nothing he does ruly matter, especially if this is all prophecy, anyway. What difference do his choices make, where is the free will?

He's very, very familiar with existential dread. ]

Careful, man. Lemme help you. [ Lean on him, Cas, on the side that doesn't have the duffle. Use his arm as a crutch. Something.

He glances over at the angel beside him, faces close, his eyes briefly dropping to those pretty lips that had been all over him a few nights ago.

Get it together, Dean. ]

Can you make it to the car?

I don't like it.

[ The existential dread part, that is. Worrying if your life is devoid of meaning, if the person you thought you were was merely a role you played, and once that occupation is stripped, your sense of self is stripped along with it. Of course Dean is familiar with the idea. He's not only human, he's a human who was raised by an absent father whose only instructions involved taking on the roles of hunter and older brother, and all of that came before the roles the angels assigned to him as a seal of Lucifer and Michael's sword. Dean has more reason than anyone to give in to hopelessness.

And yet he lives on, not only dutifully, but with unrelenting kindness. He's already carrying the weight of his life and Castiel's sacrifice in that bag on his shoulder, but he offers his arm for Castiel to lean on, anyway. Castiel takes the offer for help gladly, not because he's without pride, but because it would be an insult to everything he values to turn Dean away. Dean is warm, solid, and thrumming with life at his side, and rather than take care for where he's walking, Castiel looks up at him adoringly. He is grounded, and he is scared, but he isn't alone. ]

I'm alright. Thank you for the help.

[ He owes Dean for so much more than the support of his arm, and he once again mourns the loss of the chance to show him that. Another time. He doesn't need his grace for what he did with Dean a few nights ago, and if Dean allows him, once his wounds are healed, he'll prove it. ]

I'd like to lie down in the backseat, if that's okay.

[ Castiel's free hand is covering the bandage at his side. He isn't sure if it's bleeding again already or not, but standing up isn't doing the wound any favors. It stings sharply now in a way lying down hadn't, and he'd like to lie down again, if there isn't some reason Dean has for why he shouldn't. ]

Nobody does.

[ He gets his free arm around Cas' waist, encouraging him to lean on Dean, let him share the weight of Cas' dread. Above all, despite whatever they are and whatever they did together, Cas is still Dean's friend, and Dean can be loyal, unhealthily so, to the people he cares about. ]

Watch your step, [ Dean says, glancing over at Cas, flashing him a little smirk when he catches the angel looking at him, fingers absently squeezing at his hip. He's got you, Cas. ]

Yeah, that's what I was thinkin'.

[ He kicks the door to the motel shut behind them as he walks Cas to the car, easing him to lean against the cool metal so Dean can open the back door and shove his clothes onto the floorboard, make room for Cas to lay down. ]

Okay, in you go.

[ The weakness Castiel feels, not only in his abilities but in his physical capabilities at the moment, is infinitely frustrating, but it's not entirely without its benefits. As he leans on Dean with a hand on Dean's shoulder for support, Dean wraps an arm around him, holds him close, and smiles, and Castiel is used feeling a soft warmth when Dean looks at him like that, but there's no glass between his senses and his grace right now, and that warmth he's used to feels more like an arcing, crackling flame. One smile and the press of Dean's fingers into his hip has numbed the pain and energized him. The walk to the car feels instant, like flying, and all too soon, it's time to separate.

Castiel leans against the car and watches Dean with quiet wonder, unsure if these feelings are human or his own, if it's a purely physical reaction to being held with such care. If that's the case, it's no wonder Dean's so promiscuous. Castiel can't imagine how anyone could resist him.

Dean holds open the car door, but Castiel's attention is still on Dean, unwavering. He doesn't make a move to get in. Soon they'll reunite with Sam and Rufus, and he'll have to share Dean's attention once more. As much as that is the right thing, for both Dean and humanity as a whole, Castiel resists it. His time alone with Dean is precious, sacred, and even debilitated as he is, he doesn't want to lose it. ]

Dean...

[ He shouldn't ask. After how terribly he performed his mission, he doesn't deserve the reward of Dean's time. He asks anyway, selfish and jealous for the intimacy Dean had offered him. ]

I know I wasn't able to return on time, as we'd agreed, but I'd still like to keep that promise to you, if you'll allow it.

[ He pulls himself out of the backseat of the car where he'd been rustling around, lost in thoughts of how to make the ride as comfortable as possible. Steal some hotel pillows and blankets, maybe. The impala's backseat isn't awful, Dean's slept in it (and done other...things in it) often enough while on the road, so he figures Cas will probably be okay to nap off and on, provided Dean doesn't blast music or hit any big bumps. ]

Yeah, Cas? [ He rests on the door, tipping his head, flicking his gaze over Cas' face, glancing over his lips and down his neck before he forces himself to look Cas in the eye when the question is posed.

It makes a flush crawl over his face, freckles standing out, blush down his neck. ]

Promise is a promise, Cas. I'm definitely gonna honor my end, if you want. [ It's intimidating, a little, but he said it and he meant it and he wants to. ]

[ Even if the ride isn't smooth or Dean's music is very loud, it's likely that Castiel will be able to sleep just fine through the trip. He feels drained in a way that's uncomfortable. His muscles ache. The sharp pain under his ribs throbs. There's a heavy sort of feeling to his entire body, except for his stomach, which feels like an empty balloon. His body is all but insisting on unconsciousness, and as much as Castiel would rather be awake to talk with (or listen to, or simply watch) Dean, sleep feels as inevitable as breathing, and bleeding, and other similarly human inconveniences. It's an especially inconvenient feeling right now when what he really wants is to push Dean into the back seat and fulfil that promise Dean is still miraculously agreeing to honor. ]

I do want to.

[ Castiel answers emphatically, because regardless of the state of his body, or grace, he will always be willing, where Dean is concerned. It's important Dean know that, how deeply he's wanted and appreciated, loved and admired, though saying as much seems out of the question, and showing it feels restricted to certain moments of solitude and privacy. They have something of that now, and Castiel is tempted. Dean is always lovely, but Castiel is finding he enjoys when Dean's cheeks flush pink like they are now, and there isn't all that much space between them. It would be easy to kiss his mouth. Ultimately, he decides not to take the risk of being dismissed for over-stepping, or making Dean uncomfortable in the moments before a long car ride. ]

When we're both able, then. It's a date.

[ There's no actual date set, but it's an expression he's picked up somewhere, possibly from Dean, and there's something that feels apt about it. He rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, both for the connection and for the support as he maneuvers himself as gingerly as possible into the back seat. ]

A date.

[ Dean nods, confirming it, embedding the moment in his mind; the way Cas looks, the tone of his low voice, the way the hopefulness lifts it, just a little. It's melodious to Dean's ears, which may sound strange, but a promise is a beautiful thing, full of love and want and wishes thrown like pennies into a fountain.

Love is an unfathomable, untouchable thing that others are blessed with, but never Dean; he cannot imagine a life where anyone loves him, because he is undeserving, unworthy.

But oh to have an angel love; this unfathomable being, this creature of pure wonder, interdimensional, wondrous, immeasurable. Cas is unimaginable beauty. Dean cannot even pretend to understand - which is infinitely frustrating, but nothing he can change at the present moment.

Dean sees Cas in the body of Jimmy Novak, a kind man with pretty lips and a lovely body, but there's so much more than that inside - so much more that is unable to break through. He is gentle with Cas, lets him rest, steals the aforementioned blankets and pillows, carefully covers him and props his head, tucking him in, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him, Dean leaned over like he is, eyes fixed on Cas', a hand on his hip from where he'd been tucking him in. ]

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just word vomiting all over this

wait how did you know that word vomit is my kink

just a lucky guess >8)

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