Work Text:
Tactile
There are moments, in between the fighting, the monsters and the demons and angels, the new apocalypse at every turn—there are moments where everything is still. Out here, deep in the wilderness where (most of the time) no one can find them, cricket chirps are the only sounds breaking the silence, and every angle of the Milky Way is visible from the roof.
Cas is fascinated with the stars. “They’re not visible from Heaven,” he’d explained one particularly clear night with a wistful smile, “The divine energy blocks their light. It’s a shame; they’re beautiful.” Dean thinks they’re just okay, having seen a lot of stars from a lot of places during his long life on the road and in dingy motel rooms where surviving until the next night was priority over dots in the sky. But on crisp, clear nights, he’ll still go online and check the weather and star charts and all that scientific crap to make sure they don’t wake up in the middle of a downpour at three in the morning again. And to build up his knowledge of the solar system to impress Cas, but of course he just tells himself it’s for the weather.
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They climb through the bedroom window and out to the cold air and slanted tiles of the roof, and Dean produces two thick blankets from seemingly nowhere. He doesn’t buy into any of that “candy hearts and rose petals and candlelight dinner” romance crap, but when Cas smiles at him, he ducks his head and grumbles about how he can’t allow Cas to catch a cold because he doesn’t want to deal with his complaining. Cas, for his part, at least has the grace not to mention the deep blush spreading across Dean’s freckled cheeks.
“Shut up,” Dean mutters, even though Cas hasn’t said a word all night. Cas pecks a quick kiss to his ever-reddening check before straightening and staring. This was the usual routine; Cas, quietly standing with his head tilted back, marveling at the sparkle-speckled sky while Dean silently prepares their impromptu sit under the stars, occasionally glancing up and smiling softly at his boyfriend’s constant wonder at the world.
Eventually, Dean tugs Cas back down to sit on the blanket, smiling wider as it takes a few tries before Cas can tear his eyes away long enough to curl up under the top blanket in the quilt sandwich Dean has made to keep them warm on both ends. One arm curls along the rounded line of the angel’s shoulder, a quiet kiss pressed to his dark hair. Cas smiles as a low murmur begins in his ear, naming the patterns of stars in the thick black quilt of the night sky that have been proven by Google to be correct.