Work Text:
“Tell me something true.”
Cas thinks for a moment, then says, “The summer solstice isn’t really the longest day of the year. Every day is twenty four hours long. The solstice just has the most sunlight, so people say it’s the longest.”
Dean throws his head back as he laughs. “Very good, Cas. I already knew that, though. Also, it’s April.”
Tilting his head, Cas says, “Next time be more specific.”
. + . + . + .
“Tell me something true.”
“A snail can sleep for three years,” Cas says.
Dean makes an odd noise in his throat. “I have no idea how to respond to that.”
Cas shrugs. “No response is necessary. You asked for a fact, I relayed it.”
Shaking his head, Dean sighs. When Cas turns away, Dean smiles.
. + . + . + .
“Tell me something true.”
“There are 88 official constellations, but people have been telling stories about the stars since stories and stars began.”
Dean looks at Cas’s face in the starlight, then looks back up at the night sky. “Tell me,” he says.
Cas tells a story of a young girl in what is now Spain, who looked at the sky 700 years ago and saw the wings of a butterfly. He tells of a group of young men in Greece's far past who saw Achilles chasing Patrocles, and how they hoped Achilles would one day catch his love.
When Cas falls silent they just look at the stars, side by side in the grass. After a time Dean says, “Thanks.” He hopes it’s enough.
. + . + . + .
“Tell me something true.”
Cas looks at Dean, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally he says, “Green is my favorite color.”
Another color, this one pink, rises to Dean’s cheeks. “Yeah?” he says. The word sticks in his throat.
Cas nods.
“I like blue,” Dean says.
. + . + . + .
“Tell me something true.”
“I don’t regret falling from grace,” Cas says. His words are soft, but resolute.
True.
Dean searches Cas’s face for any sign of sadness, any hint of doubt, but all he sees is the truth he asked for.
“Even though you can’t–” Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off.
“I don’t regret falling from grace.” He emphasizes every word. “I don’t miss healing, or flying, or angel radio. I don’t miss heaven. I don’t miss commanding armies, or striking fear into the hearts of beings with my words alone. You are worth it, Dean Winchester.”
Dean cannot speak. He’s just a guy, a pretty good hunter but fairly average at most everything else. Actually, he screws up just about everything he touches that isn’t about killing monsters. To think that Cas–beautiful, strong, bigger than the Chrysler building Cas–gave everything up for him…
“Please stop thinking like that, Dean,” Cas says. “I can’t get into your head anymore, but your thoughts are plain on your face. I mean every word. You are worth it.” He brushes a kiss on Dean’s cheek, and then he’s gone, almost as if he’d flown.
. + . + . + .
“Tell me something true.”
Cas smiles, the smile that lights up his whole face. “I love you,” he says.
Something inside Dean falls into place; he almost hears the click in his head. Or in his heart. He can’t stop his own grin from spreading across his face. “I know,” he says with a wink.
Cas rolls his eyes, says, “I do pay attention when we watch movies together, Dean. Especially the ones we’ve seen thirteen times.”
“Thirteen?” Dean sputters. “We haven’t watched the Star Wars trilogy–”
“Thirteen times, Dean. I have an excellent memory.”
“Okay, Rain Man,” Dean mutters, pouting.
“Who is–” Cas starts, but Dean interrupts him.
“We’ll watch that one later. Just shut up and kiss me.”
Cas does, and after Dean says, “I love you too, you know.”
Foreheads pressed together, Cas murmurs, “I know.”