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The men cheer as they hoist the sails and the breeze catches them. Castiel feels a strange sense of pride as he looks at his overhauled ship and at his men. It has been two long weeks on shore, but, now, the Angel’s Grace is as good as new. Barely nothing reminds him of the storm that should have been their end, but it wasn't.
They made it through and are now ready to depart. Back to England.
Home.
Nodding at Lieutenant Davies and Midshipman Alfie, and leaving command with Lieutenant Hester, Castiel walks towards his cabin when he sees him.
His heartbeat accelerates and he fights the urge to slow down his steps. Not here. This is neither the time nor the place.
Later. When they are alone. In their cabin.
A smile flits over Ensign Winchester’s face, and the desire to kiss him in broad sunlight fills Castiel’s mind.
“She’s a foxy lady, isn’t she, Sir? Like a leaf in the wind.”
Castiel stops and turns toward him, forcing down a smile. “You aren’t wrong, Ensign. And I have to thank you for your help in getting her back in shape.”
“Only the best for you, Commander.” Dean grins, fully aware of what he is doing to him. “Wouldn’t have wanted to have you stranded in the middle of nowhere. Would be a shame if you never got the chance to make it home to your fancy estate, Sir.”
“Would it, indeed?” Castiel asks, unable to tear his eyes away from his aide.
Dean stays silent, but the look in his eyes is enough of an answer. “Cas,” he whispers after seconds have ticked by, stretching into an eternity.
Castiel shakes his head, aware that it must be imperceptible, but Dean’s shoulders straighten in resigned acknowledgement.
As Castiel walks on, his fingers brush along the back of Dean’s hand. It’s all he can give him now.
It’s enough. It has to be, although it isn’t.
It never is.
It never will be.