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“This last night
We tear into each other,
As if to wound,
As if to find the key to everything,
Before morning”
The bunker is quiet. Almost deathly so. Sam and Jack are in bed, having turned in hours ago. Castiel had retreated to his own room and Dean is alone on his bed, staring at the bottle of Jack on the sink on the opposite wall. He can see the top of his hair in the mirror if he raises his eyes, but he doesn’t want to look at himself; he exhales slowly, closing his eyes. Things are going good. They’ve got a lead on Michael, they’ve got a lead on the spear. It’s not a milk run by any means, but he feels cautiously optimistic.
His door opens. Castiel appears in the light of the hallway, spilling orange glow into the dark depths of Dean’s room. No words are exchanged as Castiel comes inside and shuts the door behind him. Since Dean’s return from his hell ride with Michael, they haven’t really had a chance to talk to each other one on one. Their reunion had been short-lived, Dean too spooked by all the people in the bunker to properly greet Castiel. And with Jack’s death things had gotten stressful and Dean had closed himself off slightly, and looking up into Castiel’s eyes now he regrets it. He regrets so much.
He decides to fix it.
He stands up, reaching for Castiel. Still silent. Castiel meets him halfway and they embrace in the darkness of Dean’s room, the door swinging shut behind Castiel to ensconce them in a safe little bubble. Dean’s arms are on the outside of Castiel’s shoulders and Castiel slips his arms under Dean’s armpits as their faces tuck into each other’s necks. Eyes closed, breathing deep, Dean does his best to convey every emotion roiling inside of him to Castiel. The longing, the desperation, the happiness and the sadness. He knows Castiel understands.
They’ve always been able to say so much without needing words.
They lie down in Dean’s bed, stripping each other of their clothing as they go. It’s the first time they’ve been here in over a year, and it almost feels like the last. Dean tries not to think so morosely, but it’s hard. Having Castiel like this always feels like a gamble. Will he feel better, or worse?
Tonight, with Castiel’s kisses, touches, with his soft smiles and eye crinkles… Dean knows he feels better.
And he’ll hold on to that tightly, white knuckled, and he’ll know that the feeling will carry him through whatever battles lie ahead.