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Castiel loves the time in the Impala, riding "shotgun," classic rock blaring, Dean smiling and at ease, fingers laced with his own while he steers one-handed.
We're headed for home
Stopping for gas on the way
I miss you already
He closes his tiny notebook and slips it into his pocket hurriedly as Dean jogs back to the Impala, loaded down with snacks.
Sam is in the back seat, on a video call with Eileen.
A few months ago, Castiel found a book of Haiku stuffed randomly on a shelf in the bunker library.
He devoured it. The short, concise poems spoke to him, echoed something deep within his being. There followed a trip to the Lebanon public library where he checked out several more collections. Sam went with him, but made no comment on his choices of reading material.
Castiel liked the concept of the micro poems encompassing a larger feeling. He felt like that often. Like words could only hint at the depth of emotion in him. Like words weren't sufficient.
Ever since then, he found himself trying to write some haikus of his own. And somehow, they were always about Dean.
Your eyes are so green
I could fall into the depths
Keep your gaze on mine
He knows they aren't great, not good even. But it's an outlet, something to put voice to the range of emotions Dean inspires in him.
There was an 'us', Dean had said all that time ago when Castiel had mustered up the courage to ask. He said he didn't care who knew about them.
Since Sam had caught them together, Dean had been open, lackadaisical even, about the fact that they were sleeping together. All suggestive smiles and innuendo, no matter who's around. Castiel has pretty much moved into Dean's room.
But is that all for Dean? Is it just the physical? They both enjoy each other—as often as they can. But what does Dean feel ? Is there anything more?
Castiel can't bear the thought of speaking of his feelings if they're unrequited. He might scare Dean off, and then he won't even have what little Dean chooses to give of himself.
He won't have heated kisses in the corridors, or a rough hand clasped in his own. He won't have a stubbled face nuzzling into his neck, or the heavy throb of Dean's heart beneath his cheek as he rests his head on his chest. He won't have pleasant sleepless nights occupied in Dean's bed, on top of Dean, inside Dean.
He isn't willing to give any of those things up, to gamble them on love. Those things are precious to him. They're something , and perhaps they're all Dean can manage.
So, he keeps his haikus to himself, scratching them down quickly in a small memo pad always kept in the pocket of his suit pants along with a stub of pencil.
Dean opens the driver side door and dives in, tossing the bag of snacks at Sam.
"Hey!" Sam cries, dropping the bag onto the seat next to him. To the phone, he says, "I gotta go." Then, probably in response to a signed question, "Yeah, he's always a dick."
Dean laughs rather than protest as he maneuvers the Impala back into traffic.
Sam digs in the bag. "Did you get all junk food? What about my Smart Water?"
"They didn't have it. What, you too good for regular, 'dumb' water?" Dean grins at his own joke, but it's just a show. Dean has been off lately. Sorrowful. But he always says he's fine when Castiel asks.
Castiel would wring every last negative emotion from him if he could, draw it onto himself, carry the burden for him.
Castiel thinks of another poem. But he'll have to wait until Dean isn't around to write it down.
Grinning bright, your eyes
Speak of a secret sorrow
Let me hold you close
It's stupid. He knows Dean would think so. His secret, silly poems in his little notebook, like a lovestruck high-schooler.
They head back to the bunker, a little over two hours away still. They pass through a stretch of road which reminds him of that first time with Dean: nothing around but trees and fields, the driving rain too heavy for him to see out the windshield, an arm around his shoulders, his hand on a muscled thigh, kissing until they were both senseless with want.
Dean must have the same thought because he tosses Castiel a wink and drops his hand onto his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Our bodies entwined
Beneath the thunder of rain.
My deepest desire fulfilled
Castiel tucks that away for later. It isn't quite right, but he can work on it. It doesn't really matter if they're good or not, since the poems are just for him.
He remembers Dean's distaste for poetry.
Grass-green eyes flick toward him. "You okay? You been quiet."
"So have you," he counters.
Dean winks. "Just got you on my mind. I'll show you what I'm thinkin' later."
Castiel's body takes notice of his tone. Sultry and promising. They've been sharing a motel room with Sam, so they haven't had any privacy for several days.
A hot flush climbs Castiel's neck. He can feel the blush in his cheeks and he hides a smile.
Sam groans. "You two are so gross. Way worse than me and Eileen."
Dean snorts. "Oh-ho! No we are not ."
There follows a good-natured argument about which couple is more gag-worthy. Castiel smiles as the brothers bicker, deciding to stay out of it.
Castiel hides in his room to scribble down the few poems which have popped into his mind while they were on the road. The room is almost bare, most of his possessions having been moved into Dean's room. But this particular bedroom is still his. He keeps it…in case.
In case one day Dean changes his mind. In case he needs his space. In case he wants to sleep alone. It hasn't happened yet, but it might. And Castiel is always braced for it. He feels like he's waiting for the bubble to burst. As if there's no way this kind of happiness can last.
A knock comes at his door, and it opens without him answering. He scrambles to shove the notebook back in his pocket as Dean pokes his head in. He glances around the room before his eyes settle on Castiel's.
"What are you doing in here? Come to bed."
He smiles crookedly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Unless…you would rather stay here tonight? I mean, we've been in each other's faces for days. You're probably sick of me by now." He gives a forced-sounding laugh.
Castiel reassures him, "I am never 'sick of you,' Dean."
Dean nods and steps back, angling his head toward his room. "Well, come on, then."
Castiel follows him out and to his room. The door is barely shut before Dean turns and pins Castiel against it with his body, dipping his head to claim his mouth. Castiel responds immediately, hands gripping his hips.
Dean moans against his lips. "God, I've missed you." His hands fumble with shirt buttons, his lips following the gradually growing expanse of skin.
Castiel loses himself to the feel of Dean pressed hard against him, the path his lips make down his bare chest. Battle-roughened fingers caressing the smooth skin of his abdomen.
When Dean finally gets Castiel's pants off, the tiny notebook falls from the pocket, still open to his latest poem.
Panic edges out the lust and Castiel's mind clears instantly as Dean reaches for it. "What's this? You taking notes?"
"Dean. Don't—"
But Dean has picked it up, is reading it. Castiel's heart stills. He scrambles to explain.
"It's nothing, really, just scribbles. I don't—they're not—"
Dean makes a choked sound, taking a step back. He lets the hand holding the notebook drop to his side. His voice is hard, his expression inscrutable. "Are these…love poems?"
"Not…precisely. They're just…thoughts I've had."
Dean reads aloud, "My deepest desire fulfilled." He turns the page. "I miss you already." He flips another page, shaking his head. "Let me hold you close." He glares hard at Castiel. "Want to try that again?"
Castiel braces for the worst. Dean is going to break things off. Castiel feels too much. It will scare Dean away.
Inexplicably, his voice sounding choked, he demands, "Who is he, Cas? I need to know who I should beat bloody."
"Who….what?"
His hands fist at his sides, his chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes shine too bright. "The goddamned poems. Who are they about?"
Dean thinks there's someone else? That there could ever be anyone else? "Dean. Slow down and…read them all the way through."
"Why? So I can read about how you're—" His voice breaks. "How you're in love with someone else?"
"Dean," he breathes, heart in his throat. "Just…read one. Any one. Please."
Dean's lips twist in a snarl, but he flips to the first page and he reads, "Black Impala…." He glances up, looking a question at Castiel, confusion written on his face Then he clears his throat and starts again. "Black Impala cruises. Until we stop for a while. You said you like rain." Dean looks up.
"You, Dean. They're all about you. And me. Us."
"You…Damnit, Cas. I thought I'd lost you, was losing you. Christ," he says. He lets out a shaky breath and closes the notebook. He drops it onto the dresser and squeezes his eyes shut beiefly, fists unclenching. "Why wouldn't you show me these?"
"I thought you…didn't care to know my feelings."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Castiel steps back into his pants and tugs his shirt on. This seems like a pants conversation.
He sits on the bed, but Dean stays standing, looming over him with intense eyes holding a question. "I thought you didn't…return the sentiment."
Dean reels back, backside hitting the dresser with a thud. He leans against it like he needs the support and folds his arms over his chest. Sounding angry, he grinds out, "Of course I do! How can you not know that?"
Castiel shrugs, helpless. "You've never said."
"Well, neither have you! I thought we just…had an understanding. An unspoken thing!"
Castiel sucks in a breath. Voice broken, he whispers, "I would like you to speak it."
"Cas…" Dean scrapes a hand over his unshaven face. "I''m yours and you're mine." Dean groans, looking away. "Of course I love you. You idiot. How could I not? I'll say it if I have to, but you should just know."
Castiel beams at him. "Thank you for saying so. I love you, too, Dean."
Dean chuckles. "Now that the painfully obvious is out if the way...where were we?"