Chapter Text
Dean looks at Cas and isn't quite sure when it happened – when all his hair turned that shade of snowy white. Time is a moving paradox, palpable in the shifting of days to nights, yet elusive when reaching for it.
“You're beautiful,” Dean says and takes Cas' hand, rubbing a calloused thumb over skin that isn't quite smooth anymore.
Castiel smiles and his eyes, still harboring that blue radiance that captured Dean all those years ago, light up. “Even with these wrinkles and gnarled bones?”
Dean smiles softly, leans in and kisses him. “Even now. You're still beautiful. Still Cas.”