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The door of the motel room shuts behind him. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes as the silence from the car ride carries over into the small shared space Dean’s brought them for the night.
He hadn't said much on the ride over from Nora’s other than a few aborted rants about personal safety and the importance of cell phones, neither of which made its way to their finish as Cas, both times, levelled him with a look that he hoped, in someway, was reminiscent of his previously powerful state.
He knew he couldn’t listen to Dean try and care about him, about his situation, to put on his caregiver voice and attempt to soothe or reprimand, whatever he was trying to go for as they made their way across town.
They ended up in a motel, where Cas stands against the wall beside the door, taking in the room and its one, singular, solitary, bed. His stomach knots itself further as Dean just barrels through the room without tossing him a look.
He hasn’t looked at him since he picked him up.
Dean tosses his duffel bag on the couch across from the bed and turns to see him, still, staring at the bed. He can’t bring himself to look anywhere else. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying at the teared skin with his teeth.
It’s a nasty habit Nora had said once, and he supposes that’s true, but it’s something to do.
Dean’s earlier anger and tension shrinks into something else, something he can’t quite pinpoint, it’s so difficult now, to understand the small little intricacies that make up human emotion —the way the eyes can soften and harden, the furrowing of brows, even eye contact. It's all so important now that he's human, but he can't understand a thing—. He coughs, “Uh,” rubbing at the back of his neck, “It was all they had.” Nodding to the bed which Cas can’t bring himself to look away from.
From the corner of his eye he notes a blush rising on Dean’s neck and remembers the almost deserted parking lot they just walked across. This was certainly not the only room available, but Dean must’ve forgotten, so used to him not sleeping, not needing to rest. Dean looks so sheepish, so… it’s not embarrassment that turns his face red, perhaps it’s something more akin to vulnerability? The bed means something that makes Dean uncomfortable, and like one of those cartoons Dean watches, it’s like a lightbulb clicks on above his head.
He gives Dean a small, closed-lip smile and nods.Dean never allows himself anything, so if he wants to continue his habit of sleeping in his own room, Cas will let him.
He doesn’t need to share a room with Dean, he doesn’t even need Dean to be here, he’s doing fine on his own. Mostly. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Dean here, but that’s something else entirely.
“Okay,” he bites at his bottom lip and the taste of iron fills his mouth. He re-adjusts the bag in his hands, holding his one change of clothes, some money, and a blanket. He left his sleeping bag in the trunk of the car when he first gathered his things, but now all things considered, he wishes he didn’t.
“I understand, could you hand me the keys to the Impala, I just want to grab my sleeping bag before I head out.”
He doesn’t understand the situation, not really. If Dean hadn’t wanted Cas to stay with him, he could’ve dropped him back off at the Gas ‘n’ Sip, he could’ve said he had the night shift so Dean wouldn’t feel any sort of need to help him out. Why drive him all the way to the other side of town just to have him leave?
It’s an exhausting thing, carrying around a body, tending to its needs which he still can’t quite figure out. There’s something so fragile about being human he can’t stand it, but he knows not to say any of this outloud. Like he told Dean earlier that day, the intricacies of human emotion and thought are so vivid and complicated, he struggles. There are so many rules and rituals and silent understandings that Cas feels one odd stare away from self-imploding. He just wishes at least for right now (but not for the first time) that when he’s tired and hungry, and his hand is still dripping blood around the handkerchief Dean wrapped it in, that he had his grace back.
He wants to tend his wounds, he wants to stop the incessant hunger that rips its way though his body, he wants the fabric of his clothing to stop touching his skin in a way that makes him feel like his flesh is burning off and his hair to stay out of his face. He wants his grace back so he doesn’t feel these small and incandescent things. He wants the feeling of infinity back inside this vessel that’s taken him prisoner, he wants and it's all so large and overwhelming he doesn't want it at all.
But one look at Dean, standing in front of him, looking at him, he realizes (maybe for the first time) it’s still there, all of it. The stars, the galaxy, entire solar systems exist in the space between them.
Dean blinks, “Uh...”
“The keys to the car? I left my sleeping bag in there, I would like to retrieve it before I head back to— before I leave.” He stutters, another thing he finds himself doing recently, and frequently too. Before, his grace was almost like a buffer, to put it bluntly, allowing him to flow through his vessel, for language to move without fault. Now he finds himself tripping over his own tongue, heavy in his mouth.
Dean hasn’t moved from where he stands by the couch. “You’re leaving? I mean— you can if you want I guess, I— yeah you can do whatever you want, I can’t stop you, I just. Sorry about the one bed man.” He isn’t looking at him and he’s fidgeting with his hands, which Cas knows is never a good sign.
He shuffles his weight, the backs of his heels starting to get sore.
“Okay, I thought I understood, but I’m beginning to think I don’t... You don’t want me to leave?” He knows this question is a bit of a stretch, he’s pushing it, but he’s exhausted and if he’s going to be leaving he needs to go now before it gets too dark and too cold.
“You can leave if you want.” He says, eyes planted on the green carpet.
“Okay...” He’s selfish, he’s always been selfish. He wants to stay, he wants Dean to want him to stay. He wants to look at Dean and feel the heat of the sun and see the glint of millions of stars in his eyes, he wants to hear the spheres rotating on their axis as Dean breathes, intune with the universe, with Cas. He finds himself here, in Dean. His grace is gone and his exhaustion is heavy on the bones he’s appropriated but Dean looks at him and he sees it all, everything he once was, and it’s beautiful.
He swings on his heels to face the door. It’s always hard to leave him, but he knows it’s easier for Dean when he’s gone, and that’s what makes it possible: the fact that Dean will be better off without him. But before he can remember that he needs to use the door, that he can’t just disappear no matter how much he wants to, there’s a hand on his shoulder. Then, Dean is spinning him back around. “Jesus, Cas, just.” He grabs the bag from Cas’ hand and tosses it onto the mattress. “Shut up.”
The bag bounces slightly then topples over onto one of the pillows. He watches his clothes pour out and onto the bed. He doesn’t say anything, Dean’s actions speaking plenty for the both of them. He’s staying. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Dean hesitates but steps back, leaving Cas again, standing beside the door. He's always stepping back, leaving space when all Cas wants to do is reach out and touch.
He uses his now free hand to pull back the handkerchief covering the bloody wound on his hand. Dean had wrapped it angrily as they sat in the car before he began his multiple speeches. He presses his thumb down onto the cut through the fabric and watches as it bleeds right through. His finger comes back soaked in his blood.
He bleeds now, and he can’t do a thing about it.
“Cas?” and like a moth, to a flame, Cas comes back to himself, he blinks and Dean is standing a lot closer than he remembers him standing. He looks down to where Dean is looking, both his right hand and left fingers and dripping in blood.
“Oh, I think... I wasn’t paying attention. Did you say something?”
He’s been finding it harder to pay attention now that he’s no longer an Angel. Before, there were so many things happening all at once, and he was able to focus on each one simultaneously without missing a thing. He was intune with the fabric of the universe, and now, he forgets things, he gets lost in his own head. The internal monologue of his voice inside his own head is not something entirely new to him, all there was were voices, and noise, those are what he’s accustomed to, but it being a single solitary voice, his voice, is so isolating, and yet, he gets lost in it.
"Nothing worth repeating." He’s looking at him now for the first time since they got into the car, and Cas finds himself looking back, though not for a lack of trying.
He nods. He isn’t able to count each of Dean’s blinks now that he blinks himself. He’s closer than he has been in a while and yet he finds it hard to notice all the freckles he used to be able to count with his eyes closed. He can’t even bring himself to look at Dean long enough to try, the heaviness of his gaze weighs on him harder now.
It’s only been a handful of minutes, maybe an hour, and yet he has missed the deep green of his eyes looking back at him. He may not be able to see Dean’s soul anymore, but as the saying goes, looking at his eyes is almost as rewarding, especially when they’re swimming in warmth the way they so rarely are. He’s always so burdened, so hardened, reflected in the deep green of his gaze, but there’s none of that here, nothing but warmth. There’s something else too, but Cas can’t think about it without thinking about the fact that he can’t feel Dean's feelings. That he can’t reach inside his mind and figure out what he’s thinking, can’t even touch him now without the pretense of healing his wounds. But this, just looking without touching, looking without knowing or seeing or thinking; just looking is something so beautiful. He’s not anywhere else, he’s not hearing the vibrations of the Earth or the chatter of the Host, or seeing through the astral planes. He’s just in a room with Dean, looking at him while he’s looking back and it’s almost everything he’s ever wanted.
None of this is new, however, he basks in their familiarity.
After being thrown into the unfamiliar territory of humanity, it’s somewhat comforting to know that after everything-- this, whatever he has for Dean, whatever these feelings accumulate into— remain the same.
He breaks the silence, blinking away from Dean’s gaze only for a second before being drawn back in like a magnet. “Today, at the Gas ‘n’ Sip, when you first showed up, ordering your jerky and menthols, you were making fun of me weren’t you.”
Dean tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, swinging his weight between his heels and the balls of his feet. He looks so young sometimes, when he doesn't mean to. “Uh, yeah man. Sorry about that, it’s just Heavenly Angel serving gas station hot dogs, it’s funny I guess.”
“I’m not an Angel.” He knows Dean didn't mean any harm by it, but it still digs into his skin, so fragile now, susceptible to all sorts of damage—Dean's words, too apparently.
Dean looks up at him then, eyes wide, mouth dropped open in surprise. He quickly closes it and moves in close, placing his hands on Cas' shoulders with only a slight hesitation, he feels the weight of planets, of the milky way in the flex of his fingers on his vest. “No, right. I mean yeah, I know that. Its .. I’ve seen you Mazel Tov Cocktail an Archangel, I’ve seen you be God and now you’re behind a counter wearing a name tag that says Steve.” He says it in a way Cas knows he's supposed to understand, that he's meaning something else when it speaks but like always, it gets lost in translation.
“You’re ashamed of me...I know, I apologize Dean, I’m nothing like I was when you first met me, I am no longer useful to you or your brother, I can’t help in the ways that you need me to, but I’ve found usefulness with Nora and the work that I do, there’s order, and there’s stability, and there are always things to do and I’m helping people, I am, maybe not the way that you’re used to or familiar with, but I am.”
Dean face changes into something less severe, something softer, something pleading. “Is that what...You think.. Cas, man, come on.”
“Sorry for the outburst, I’m just. I’m tired. I think I want to have a shower, so excuse me.” There will be time for this conversation, but now isn't it. The stars are too bright and the heat too much to bare, he needs to remember that it isn't always like this, that when Dean goes, so does everything else.
“Yeah, yeah okay.” Dean whispers, letting him go; the galaxy goes with him.
He watches as the blood from his hand drips from his hand and swirls around the tub and down the drain. The cuts weren’t as deep as he thought, the thorns from the rose only barely dug past the surface. They sting when the water hits them but it’s nothing he can’t manage, though it hurts more than he thought it would.
He spends longer than he would like to admit reading over the numerous bottles lining the small edge of the tub, trying to remember what he was told at the shelter— he’s fairly certain that shampoo is first, but he doesn’t really know where to go from there.
The water sputters above him, he sighs. One handed, he scrubs a small amount of the shampoo through his hair, then the conditioner though he doesn't understand the purpose. He takes the body wash in hand, not wanting to use any of the cloths folded up on the sink so as not to bother Dean, and uses his one good hand to scrub his body clean.
It’s an odd feeling, cleanliness. He never had to deal with it before, sure there were stains, and dirt that muddied the vessel but it was barely a thought to rid it of them. Now it’s an experience, it’s almost religious. Taking the time to take care of the body it's akin to worship. Though the only being worth worshiping sits outside this room, trying his hardest to be so kind to a thing like Cas, he supposes there’s nothing wrong with trying to take care of the self, no matter how much he knows he doesn’t deserve it.
The bedroom chills him when he enters with nothing but a towel around his waist. Dean is sitting on the couch, the TV is on but he’s not watching it, his head in his hands, which sit atop his knees, deep in thought..
Cas doesn’t want to disturb him so he’s careful, stepping around the bed eyes searching for his possessions. He stills. His bag, the one with his one change of clothes, sits beside Dean on the couch, where he knows he didn't leave them.
"Dean—",
He startles and looks up like he's been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, though he can't see why that is. "Sorry, I just... my bag. I need to change."
Dean looks over at the bag beside him and clicks his tongue agains the back of his teeth, "No." Cas is about to protest, when he's hit with a ball of fabric. “Here” Cas leans down and picks up a shirt and a pair of pyjamas, the sort Dean wears to bed, from the floor. “You can keep those, by the way, I won’t miss ‘em.”
Cas rubs his clean fingers across the soft, worn fabric of the black t-shirt, there’s writing on it but it’s faded from age and wear, most likely a band Dean likes written across the front. The pants are red and checkered, he’s seen Dean in these quite a few times.
“Are you sure, I can just--” He doesn’t really know what the other options are, he could sleep in the clothes that Dean won't let him near for whatever reason, which is what he was aiming for, but Dean would obviously dislikes that, he wants him to be human, to act human, and although Dean mostly sleeps in his clothes, Cas shouldn’t, for whatever means.
“Get changed. You’re probably exhausted, right? Well, me too.”
After carefully folding his work uniform and placing them on top of the back of the toilet for him to change into tomorrow morning. He slips into Dean’s clothing. They’re just as soft as he thought they’d be. When he gets back into the room he finds Dean sitting on the bed, fiddling with his first-aid kit. Looking up, his mouth parts, his eyes roam over Cas’ body. He must look ridiculous, dressed in clothing that doesn’t belong to him, clothing that sits wide and loose on his frame.
After a moment Dean blinks and looks away, the blush from earlier returning. He wishes he would do it more often, blush, he’s so beautiful.
Dean pats the space beside him, “let’s just get that all cleaned up okay?” He nods towards his injured hand, where the blood has just started to drip down his palm again.
The bed creaks under both their weights as Cas bends a knee over the bed, turning himself towards Dean, his right leg hanging over the side of the bed. The carpet scratches at his bare feet, but he can’t find it in himself to move— not when Dean is so careful with his hand, eyes narrowed in focus. He watches carefully as Dean’s fingers work their way around the cuts, inspecting the damage.
Once the blood is cleaned from his wound, Dean rips open the packet with his teeth with careful precision. He pours a bit on the cotton ball and begins carefully dabbing it on the cuts.
Cas watches him and watches him and as he does so, the overwhelming feelings, the ones that feel as if they could swallow him alive, the ones he wants to let swallow him alive, bubble under the surface of his skin. Dean is so careful with him, his touch is light as he wipes the excess disinfectant off, and careful when he places the plaster over his cuts; it’s not a touch he’s worthy of, he shouldn’t be sitting here letting Dean touch him like he's something precious, like his touch isn’t the something to be sacrificed for. It’s terrifying how much he needs his grace and even more so that he would give up far more than it to feel this touch again.
“Why did you come here, Dean?”
Cas wishes more than anything he could feel the longing he knows Dean is carrying, he’s always carrying it, can’t remember a time when he didn’t feel it, save for now. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows it like it’s his own, the way it feels, the heaviness of it all, the way if Cas isn’t careful it could consume them both. Dean is always carrying the weight of it and yet Cas has never known what it is.
“There was a case, Cas.” He places Cas’ hand back in his own lap, looking away, as he busies himself with putting the first-aid kit away.
He doesn't know how yet, but he wants to be brave; he thinks this is the way how. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why did you come to the Gas ‘N’ Sip, why did you come find me?”
The words are heavy on his tongue, he doesn’t think he wants Dean to answer if he’s being honest but he was doing fine, he was figuring things out and Dean had to show up and remind him, to dredge everything back up right after he had just figured out how to live without him.
The silence is suffocating as Cas watches Dean pick and pull at the blankets below them, he doesn’t want Dean’s answer. He doesn’t want to hear about responsibility, about guilt, about family. They’ve done this for years. He’s so tired of it all. And yet, he needs it. He needs Dean’s voice in his ears, his careful touch, even his guilt and his shame and his hate; no matter what it is, good or bad, it’s for him, and selfishly, he takes it all.
Maybe he asked so he could hear it all one last time before morning breaks and they go on their separate ways. Or, maybe he asked just hoping Dean might have another answer tucked beneath that tongue of his.
“Cas, I…” He starts, sitting so close to Cas but not touching him, “I needed to see you okay. I turned you out, man, when you needed me and I fucked everything up. I need you to know that I’m sorry and that I understand if you’re angry with me but there are things happening, things going on that I can’t tell you and that’s the only reason you had to go, it wasn’t me or Sam, okay? Has nothing to do with you.. I—”
Dean reaches between them, grasping Cas’ uninjured hand like a lifeline.“Can you just stay tonight? You can hate me all you want but just please, stay.” It’s almost like a prayer, the way Dean speaks to him sometimes.
His chest tightens as Dean looks at him with pleading eyes, in no world, or time would he have ever imagined Dean would ask this of him. His grip crushes his fingers, turning the tips of his fingers white-- almost as if Dean would keep him here no matter what his answer was. It’s a welcoming thought. He can almost imagine Dean wanting to keep him in the way Cas wants to keep him.
His chest crumbles and he feels the weight of Dean’s desire like a proverbial knife to the gut, cutting through his blood, tissue and muscle, cutting past his humanity, his weakness to where his grace has been extracted and a soul has taken root. He recognizes this, this need, this desire to be and it’s freeing, being able to see so much of himself, past the space and the stars and all of creation he feels when he looks at Dean, but knowing that at least one part of Dean, however small it is, can’t let Cas go.
“You mean that? You want me to stay with you tonight?”
Dean’s chest heaves with an inhale, his grip tightens then he releases his hand. “Yeah man, if you--, yeah, I do.”
Lighter than he's felt in months, in ages, he takes Dean's hand back into his own, “Thank you Dean.”
Dean pulls back like he's been burnt, jumping off the bed before Cas can even register that he's moved. He watches as Dean runs a shaking hand through his hair, he's agitated him somehow. “Fuck, don’t. Don’t thank me. Please.”
He pulls his other leg up onto the bed, seated facing Dean. The heart in his chest, his heart, has picked up in pace, he an feel it thumping against his ribcage. Maybe Dean can hear it too.“Why not?”
“This would-- you should hate me Cas. Jesus, I hate me.” He says like it's definitive, like Dean's self-worth should be reflected back on Cas' own opinion of him. Sure, being told to leave the bunker was one of the worst things he could have heard after becoming human, but he always knew there was a reason behind it— even if that reason was just Cas' uselessness. But, even then, when he found himself alone and without a home, he never hated Dean, just wished he understood him more.
“I could never hate you, Dean.” He responds, simply, and easily because it's true.
Dean’s face darkens even further, grits his teeth, “why not man? I mean look at you— I mean, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, look at where you are, what’s happened. You should hate me.”
“I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."
Dean laughs, but it's dark, and malicious, he never knew laughter could be so unhappy. “Do what, Cas? See how I fucked everything up and how I can’t do anything about it?”
Cas reaches out and grabs Dean’s hand, steadying him. “You don’t have to do anything Dean, this isn’t about that, I know you’re hurting, I know how much pain it causes you to see a friend in trouble and thinking you’re the one who caused it or made it worse, or whatever it is that’s digging itself into your brain. I promise you, whatever the reason is or was that I couldn’t stay in the bunker, I understand.”
“You’re… If I was you, I’d want nothing to do with me.” He sounds so small when he says it, like he's ashamed if he says it enough times, Cas might start to believe it.
But, if there's anything Cas is and always will be, it's stubborn. “Well, then I’m glad I’m me, and you’re you.”
Cas watches as Dean’s lip quirks up into a small smile, one he doesn't get to see very often, and then watches it quickly disappear. “Yeah, I guess so too.”
He’s seen the birth of creation at the hands of God, felt the warmth of the first fire, heard the beauty of the first poetry and even now as his memories begin to fade under the limitations of the human mind, Dean’s smile is and always will, make them pale in comparison.
“So uh, buddy don't worry about the bed, s'all yours, I’ll take the couch.”
“No, really it's fine Dean, I’ll take it. I’m sure you’ve become accustomed to a mattress with the bunker now as your home and though this motel certainly doesn’t have the memory foam you boasted about, I’m sure it’s a lot closer than that couch.”
“Cas, just go to bed.”
Cas has always been kind of selfish when it comes to Dean and what comes out of his mouth next is possibly the most he’s been in a long time. “Then I’m not sleeping on the bed without you in it as well.”
“What?” Dean’s body tenses, Cas can see the tendons in his neck sticking out against the skin. His fingers are curling into his palms.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Dean just stares at him, then blinks over at the bed. The blush is back and it’s crawling slowly up his neck. Cas is about to take it back, to blame the exhaustion or the blood loss but then Dean’s body relaxes.
“Um, okay. Sure.” He mumbles. Cas isn’t even sure he heard him right before Dean side-steps past Cas into the bathroom. The door shuts before Cas can even question him, leaving him standing there, alone, wondering if he's going to be sleeping alone again. He collapses backwards onto the mattress. He’s more tired than he thought he was, he’s still not used to regulating his body but he feels the weight of it, how it pulls at his eyelids, makes his body heavy. Once he pulls back the blankets and slips into bed the exhaustion finally takes over. He doesn’t know if he can sleep but he closes his eyes anyway. The fabric of the blanket scratches at his skin, feels strange, a new sensation he wasn’t really expecting. The human body is so strange, there are feelings for everything. He can hear a faint rustling and a muffled voice behind the wall but he can’t quite make out what he’s saying, then the shower starts and all there is the drowning noise of the water hitting the linoleum tub.
Finally alone for the first time since Nora left for her bowling date Cas sits with it. He’s used to being alone now, it’s familiar. It doesn’t feel like everything else, he doesn’t even think there is a feeling for it, just something that is ingrained inside him. He doesn’t want it though, he craves connection, the feeling he gets when he’s with Dean and Sam but he doesn’t deserve those things, he deserves his loneliness so the only thing he can do is live with it.
Usually at these points in the night when he's alone he would search his mind for Dean, memories of their encounters, and reach for the feelings that being with him brings up. There’s nothing to bring up now, it’s all there, bubbling just under the surface of his skin, pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin. He’s bursting with it, with everything. It’s overwhelming and terrifying but the feeling of Feeling is so addictive, so heavy, it makes up for everything. All except one thing.
Dean never says what he means, never says what he wants or says what he needs to. He’s denied himself for so long he doesn’t think Dean even knows what he wants, even if he was faced with it. Dean doesn’t let himself be vulnerable if he can help it, there’s always something coming, something after them or something they’re after, there’s no time for it. The only time, the only time ever that Cas ever hears anything remotely close to a truth is when Dean prays.
He’s prayed to him more times than anyone has in the history of the world, each time is him reaching out, looking for a connection, looking for guidance, for help, for him. Dean will never be able to see him as he truly is, not born one of the special few who can see Angelic true forms, and when he ascends to heaven after his death, Cas will either having been stuck human will be destined to his own heavenly prison cell, or if he’s received his grace back, will be slung out into the Empty (because he can’t honestly picture a future where he makes it out alive). Dean praying is the closest Cas can get to him in his true form, to hear his voice, to feel it, to see him praying as if he was sitting right next to him.
He doesn’t even realize he’s falling asleep until he wakes to the sound of Dean slipping into the bed behind him. The bedroom is dark, he can barely make Dean out in the shadows, not even sure which way he’s facing. There’s a rustle of blankets, Dean turning around in the bed to face him, must be, he thinks.
What he wouldn’t give to have his angelic sight back even just for a moment, to see Dean freshly showered, hair damp, wrapped in a blanket ready to sleep. For a bed as big as it is, there really isn’t that much space between them. Cas could probably barely get his arm stretched out before he found his hand on Dean’s cheek. The room is so quiet and dark, he almost feels brave because of it. He can’t hear prayers, he can’t heal, he’s just a man now, but he can do this, he can imagine. He can think about his hand on Dean’s skin, in Dean’s hair, touching him the way he deserves to be touched.
“Out of everything, out of all of it that I lost to Metatron and his tricks, it’s hearing your prayers I miss most.” He whispers, hoping Dean hasn't fallen asleep yet.
A beat, then: “That can’t be... That can’t be right, man. No way." More shuffling, a kick into Cas' calf, then, "what about your powers, your magic fingers or mind-reading or whatever. It’s not me, I don’t even. I don’t even pray right I just— I just. say things, dumb things.”
Cas' chest aches, he wishes he knew how to voice whatever it is that he feels when he's with him, if only to sooth him. He wishes, more than anything, that Dean could know how much he means to him without Cas having to say anything at all, it'd be too much he thinks, it is too much, Dean wouldn't like it.
“No Dean, no, not at all. Your prayers are very dear to me, even now I think of them when I’m feeling alone. It-it’s getting harder now, to hang onto them but they’re still with me, for now at least.”
He could certainly tell Dean that each prayer from him is like Revelation itself, tell him how much purpose he finds in the quiet confessions and conversations Dean has with him. There are times when Dean prays to him, like when they were stuck in Purgatory and every night for months all Cas had in between running and fighting for his life in the dark, bloody night was Dean’s quiet pleas to please hear him, to know that Dean was looking for him, that he’d find him, that was sorry, and the even quieter there’s something I need to tell you, though years later and he’s still never told him, at least he doesn’t think he has.
The words hang heavy in the air. He can’t keep doing this, he can’t keep speaking without thinking, Dean is going to get him to leave, or Dean himself is going to get up and leave which would be even worse.
He’s about to slip out of the blankets, to leave before Dean can when Dean reaches out across the blanket and wraps his fingers around Cas’ hand underneath the blanket.
“I still pray to you.”
The words suck all the air out of his lungs and out of the room itself.
There’s another rustling of fabric, the mattress dipping. Cas’ heart gallops in his chest, he thought about Dean leaving but actually being faced with the actuality of it all is terrifying. He’s always the one to leave first, he doesn’t know if he could survive watching Dean leave him.
“Wait-- Dean, just wait.” He pleads out into the darkness, he feels weak and pathetic and everything Dean most likely thinks of him as well but if he is honest to himself, he needs this, needs Dean in the same bed as him even if they aren’t touching, needs them to be in the same room, sharing the same air. This will all be gone in the morning when the sunlight streams through that broken blind, Dean will be awake and out of bed and Cas will be alone in this bed like it all never happened, then Dean will leave and Cas will have to remember what it means to be alone, though he’s been almost lonely this entire time.
It’s one thing to be alone, but something else entirely to feel it deep within oneself. He was a terrible angel, a terrible human, he can’t quite seem to make anything work for him.
Now Dean is leaving and everything, everything is crumbling down around him. He thought he could make it work, he did make it work, it was working . Then Dean showed up and reminded him how far he’s fallen, how much he’s failed and how terribly life-shattering and mind-numbingly in love he is with him.
“Cas,” his voice shakes, it’s quieter than he’s used to, there’s something different, something familiar about the way he says his name but he can’t quite place it.
“Cas,” he repeats, more steady than the first, and Cas realizes that Dean is praying.
“I know it’s been hard for you, really hard and I know I’ve done nothing to help, hell, I’ve made it even worse for you. I just," Cas pulls himself up, kneeling like he knows Dean is doing too, his heart is racing again and he knows without a doubt, Dean can hear it too now.
"Praying was never something I did, I never understood it, I never thought anyone was listening. But, you are, you’re listening aren't you?" Always Dean, always he wants to say, he wants to shout it loud enough for him to hear, to understand.
He hears Dean take a breath, it's shaky, wet. What he wouldn't give to turn the light on, but he knows Dean needs it off, they both do. "And I need that." He says, more quiet, and if Cas closes his eyes, it's like he's hearing his voice through his grace like before, "I think I need you. Like need you, need you. I’ve never... needed anyone before and it terrifies me, you terrify me because when I look at you, when I think about you, it’s just you. I don’t... I don’t see usefulness or a way to use you, I mean sure sometimes you come in handy but it’s more than that, it’s me seeing you and just wanting and I don't know what to do about it."
His voice soaks in the very depths of Cas’ bones, into the soul he thinks he’s finally grown and lights up his entire body. He feels his chest tightening and knows what this feeling is more than most, his eyes are welling up, blurring the darkness before him. Dean shouldn’t be doing this, he’s nothing to pray to, nothing to pray for. But Dean says he needs him, that he wants him, that it’s terrifying and he chokes back a sob at how much he understands what he means. He can hear Dean’s words, hear the stutter of his voice, the hitches in his breath but he can’t feel it, it leaves him aching for the warmth of Dean’s soul reaching out for him in moments like these when Dean prays for him.
He needs that warmth, that connection, that togetherness so much he’s shaking with it. Wiping the tears from his cheeks he fumbles around the blankets. He reaches toward the sound of Dean’s voice, mumbling something quiet, something Cas wants to hear but the ache inside him is too deep, too hungry for anything other than this. He clasps his hands around Dean’s face, cupping his cheeks and pulls him into a kiss.
It’s still dark, he can’t quite see perfectly but the feeling of Dean’s lips on his own is unlike anything he’s ever felt in his entire existence. He thought he saw creation in the space between them, in the gentle way they held each other's gaze, in the soft touches Dean afforded to him; but here, pressing his lips against Dean's, he feels the heat of the Big Bang, there's something building inside him, something pressurized, and everything but him and Dean are collateral damage.
He’s not even sure he’s doing it right Dean is just as still as Cas is, he’s about to pull back, to apologize, to leave, to never bother him again but then Dean shifts, the lamp beside them clicks on, and Dean catches Cas’ lips fully and his chest erupts into a supernova of feeling. That connection, the warmth and holiness that he had felt when Dean prayed to him almost pales in comparison to this press of lips. He’s missed the longing, the feeling of being wanted, of being needed, and this, this is everything.
One of Dean’s hands comes up from where they’ve been digging into the blanket to wrap around Cas’ arm, the other one digs in further to the mattress. His own hand drops from Dean’s face and reaches for that hand, he can feel the tightness of his grip, the fingers surely turning white with the force. They come apart pliantly when Cas blindly wraps his fingers around him, silently asking, begging for more touch, more connection. Cas’ body is all a-light, every nerve and cell in his being lit up, sensitive and shaking with the need to touch, to hold, to keep. He’s already thinking about how to keep this feeling within him, He feels the touch of the divine through Dean’s lips,
Dean intertwines their fingers against the mattress and Cas’ heart leaps and stutters, he pulls back and opens his eyes, hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them. It’s brighter down here, he can make out the features on Dean’s face, he can see him leaning forward, chasing his lips, can see his eyes flutter open and his eyes to drop to their hands on the bed.
Their chests are heaving with stolen breath and Dean hasn’t said anything since Cas kissed him. He doesn’t know what to do now, he doesn’t really understand human relationships other than what Dean has told him, and maybe this is just a moment in time for Dean, maybe he’s letting Cas have this because he can’t give him anything else and he’s okay with that, all he’s ever wanted is Dean. They can go back to the way it was, the distance, and the careful, calculated touches and the uncomplicated friendship if it means they can just be if Cas hasn't just ruined everything.
Dean leans forward, getting off his knees and presses a kiss to Cas’ lips. It’s soft and careful, a shadow of what just transpired and yet Cas’ body shakes with it. Then, he pulls back. Not far, their noses are almost touching, he’s slightly blurry in his vision.
“Is this okay?” Dean whispers, voice deeper than he’s used to and Cas smiles and has to bite back a small laugh. This is more than okay, this is everything that Cas has ever let himself imagine. Dean's eyebrows furrow in confusion and before he can misunderstand, Cas swings his arms around his neck and pulls him down, pulling the entirety of his weight on top of him, letting Dean push him into the mattress.
Their kisses never turn heated, Dean slides his hands up Cas’ back underneath his borrowed shirt but never pulls it off. Cas’ own hands find their way up to Dean’s shirt as well, resting on the small of his back. Dean places kisses all along his neck, across his face. Cas keeps his eyes closed, attempting to burn his touch into his memory with force alone and too scared to see how Dean looks as he touches his skin. Dean draws small sounds from Cas’ throat with each press of lips, sounds he never knew he could make. He wants to stay like this forever, lock the front door and keep them hidden from the world, existing only here for themselves. But he can’t, because in the morning Dean will leave and he will be left alone, only the memory of this left and one day that too will fade, his mind not what it once was.
Cas wants to kiss him too, wants to kiss every part of him but Dean doesn’t let up, keeps him pressed beneath him. He’s whispering things into his skin, things he can’t quite make out. His head is swimming with desires, with wants he’s too afraid to name but he doesn’t need to, this is more than enough. He finds his way back to Cas' mouth, and he lets out a sound that when they part to breathe Dean's eyes are dark and wanting. He reaches to pull him back down, to feel everything again, but Dean turns over and flops back into the mattress, pulling Cas onto his chest and wrapping a hand around him. His hands are shaking as they roam around his back.
“If I hadn’t… If you didn’t have to leave... Would you have stayed?” His voice, shaking, laced with heat, with want.
Cas reaches up Dean's chest, past where he's closed his eyes, and runs his fingers through the short hair on Dean’s head, still slightly damp from his shower. “Would you have asked me to?”
Dean is quiet, Cas rubs his thumb across Dean’s temple and doesn’t miss the stutter of breath that escapes Dean’s lips. Dean’s hand rubs electric currents up and down Cas’ arms. With every touch from Dean his own body feels that much closer to divinity, he would build altars in Dean’s name just to receive the burning warmth that floods in his chest when his fingers touch his skin.
“There are things... Things I can’t tell you, it’s not because I don’t trust you, I trust you, with everything, with my life—"
“Perhaps not now.” He whispers into the fabric of Dean's t-shirt.
Dean digs his fingers into Cas’ shoulder, “Yes now. Yes, always. No matter what, I’m always going to trust you. Cas, you’re my best friend...and I.. I need you okay? I just, I just can’t have you at the bunker right now. But, soon everything will be okay, it’ll be better and I’ll come down here and get you and we’ll get you all settled at home, because...it is.. It’s your home okay. You have a place there, at the bunker, with me. Just--”
“Just not now.” He whispers, it catches on the small lump forming in his throat. He wishes the lights were still off, that the darkness still hung overhead, he doesn’t want Dean to see how hard being away from is for him.
“Cas.” His voice breaks and he pulls Cas up until his head is tucked into the crease of his neck. “I’m going to fix everything okay, if you want your grace back we’ll get it back, if you don’t then we’ll figure that out too. I need you Cas, really I do and not because you're useful or because I feel like I have to but because... Well, you heard me, earlier. I guess I’m just trying to say don’t give up on me yet.”
“I never could Dean. Losing my grace the way I did is something I never wanted, but to be close to you like this, to feel you, to be touched by you, to feel the warmth of your body on my skin, I would give it up all over again just for this.” He feels Dean suck in a breath of disbelief above him, and Cas' chest tightens, and he realizes without a doubt, that he loves him. That this feeling that's been eating him up, threatening to consume him isn't just a desire to be needed, or a desire to be close, it's love. All encompassing, love. He's in love with Dean Winchester.
He pulls himself back to look Dean in the eyes, “I couldn’t place these feelings, couldn’t figure out what it all meant, I’ve carried them with me for years, they’ve built up and they’ve strengthened but I never had a name, never needed one, just the fact that I could feel at all was wonderful in its own right but, but I think I know now, I think I understand. I feel as if I just woke up, Dean. Not from sleep, but deep slumber. I feel as if I’m still shaking off the last legs of it but I feel awake.”
“I don't..” He can feel Dean’s eyes are searching his face, looking for answers perhaps or just looking. Although he feels safe in the dark, feels bravery he has only ever felt in the light when he was light, he can never tell Dean what he means. To burden Dean with his feelings, his love would rip their relationship to pieces, it would change everything, it would change Dean. He deserves to know he is loved, but to be loved by him is something he doesn’t deserve, he doesn’t deserve the weight of it all, Cas can carry it all for as long as he lives, he doesn’t need it in return, he just needs this.
He leans forward clicks the lamp back off, and places a small kiss on Dean’s cheek, “Let’s get some sleep now, okay? You have a long drive back in the morning.” He burrows his head back into Dean's chest and waits for his breathing to level out, for him to sleep, before letting the tears that found their way out, fall. He hears Anna's voice at the back of his mind, It gets worse. He's in love, and it's going to get worse.