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Dear Cas,
I know you won’t admit to it and I know I wasn’t supposed to really see but I’ve watched you cry for your home. Your real home. I’ve seen the way you look when you’re a crumpled heap on the floor with your knees drawn up and your back against the wall. I didn’t want to see but for a while, every time I closed my eyes, you crying was all I saw. With time, that image faded but I don’t think I’ll ever get over you crying. There was something so wrong with it, so…human. I think it was the first real time that the possibility of you being something other than an angel really hit me.
I don’t think you know how much I admire you. You rebelled and you hunted and you fell but somehow, you’re still holding on (this would be the moment where you tell me that you’re barely alive and I’d say that you were wrong because you’re very much alive). You helped me when I needed you and you answered my prayers (who’d have thought? The Great Dean Winchester actually praying) and nobody’s ever done that before. I still don’t understand, though. I don’t see why I’m so special and there are hundreds, no, thousands of people who are so much better. They’re good at something, something other than shooting a gun straight; they have lights at the end of their tunnels. They’re not worn out and tired and Cas, I don’t understand why you would choose to save me, protect me, even love me.
I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you but I’m certain that you’ll figure it out. You’ll read between the lines like you usually do or you’ll get really confused and your nose will crinkle up the way it does when you don’t understand. I like it. Makes you look adorable. Yesterday, I watched you and Sam wash dishes in the kitchen and it sevened like that most normal thing in the world. It reminded me of my mom. I dont remember her washing dishes but it's something she would have done, right? You know, I’ve never had a proper home, not since I was four anyway. I think that’s why I’m so determined to keep the bunker for us, so I can call it home and so we have somewhere to go when things get too much. I like sleeping and knowing you’re there, it’s enough to keep the bad omens away and sometimes, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I’m probably going to hate myself for letting this become a chick-flick moment but sometimes, I watch you when you sleep. Not some crazy sparkly vampire shit but I like watching the way your eyelashes fan out across your cheeks and the way you almost instantly fall asleep (now that you know how to). I guess all the centuries of being awake finally caught up with you, huh?
I could talk about the way your blue eyes shine or the way your stubble feels against my skin but what would be the point? You already know this; you already know how I feel about you. I’m not good with words, on paper or out loud, and I know I’ve never said those words to you, but you know, don’t you? You know how much you mean to me and how I owe my life to you. I’m not talking about when you pulled me out of Hell; I’m talking about all this. All the soft whimpers from your lips and the way your fingertips bruise my sides and the way you just give as much as you take. I don’t think I’ll get over the way you say my name, breathless and needy and safe. And the whispers in the dark, the way we talk when you’re curled around me, that is what I’m talking about.
Can I tell you something?
I haven't told Sam all of it but I've done things I’m ashamed of. All the things I did in Hell come back to me sometimes and I can’t help but think what would have happened if I hadn’t given in so quickly. On the rack, off the rack, on the rack, all of it. I turned into a monster, I didn’t care. I tortured people and I enjoyed it, liked the screams and the begging and the way it felt good. And all these filthy things came out of my mouth and I just couldn’t stop them. Whenever I think about it, it’s like there’s a vice around my lungs but then you just appear and I guess it all disappears for a while.
When you first lost your powers, you were quiet for days. You didn't eat or talk (unless we coaxed you) but you slept a lot. You wrapped your arms around me and fell asleep. Even now, after all this time, I know for a fact that you don’t see how needed you are. Not just by me, either. Sam loves you, he never was a talkative kid when he was younger but he sees something in you, and it’s enough for him to call you his friend. Sure, you may not have your angel mojo but we don’t care. I don’t care. When I look into blue eyes, things get easier. I don’t feel like I have to be in control all the time, I don’t feel as if the whole world’s weight is balancing on my shoulders. It’s those gentle touches and soft spoken words that really matter to me. I used to think that I didn’t deserve something like this, that this sort of life wasn’t for me. But now that I’m here, and we’re tangled in the sheets and with each other, I’ve realised that I wouldn’t ever want anything else. Winchesters don’t get a choice in life, it’s either kill or be killed but Cas, I’m grateful that you got to choose me because I don’t know what I’d do without all this. You, Sam and the Impala are the most important things in my life and I used to think I wasn’t worth it (well, I still do because why on earth would someone like you choose a tired hunter) but I’ve given enough, haven’t I? Am I not allowed to be happy for a change? I’ve suffered enough, felt guilty enough.
The one thing that I'll never be able to stop is how I feel about my dad. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve disappointed him. I gave into Alistair in Hell too quickly, I let Sam die, I let him go off on his own along with countless other things that I’ve done. He’d be angry with me because I had one job: look after Sammy. I couldn’t even do that right even after all he’s told me. I was his soldier, I was supposed to do as he asked but I let him down. He sold his soul for me, gave up his life for me and this is how I repay him? I try to listen to you and Sam, try to see what you see but I don’t think I ever will. There’s just too much going on, you know?
I think I finally realised what I want to say to you.
I want to say sorry for all the crap you went through just to get here (right now, you’d say shut up, Dean, it was worth it) because it just wasn’t fair, was it? Also, I need you, Castiel. And I’m scared because it’s a dirty, filthy need. The type that exists only in your mind, the type that’s worse than anything we’ve hunted. Dangerous and dependent and destructive. So, I’m really fucking terrified when I think about anything going wrong because if it did, it’d destroy me. I don’t think I’d ever be the same again but I try not to think about it because right now, I have you. And that’s more than I’ve ever had before.
Cas, you’re the one thing in my life that I’ve chosen and can’t lose. What, with those stupid blue eyes and the way you cock your head and the way you can get so stubborn that I just want to throttle you. I don’t, of course. I could never. It’s you don’t think you deserve to be saved and I don’t understand that reference and I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters. All these things made me need you more, love you more. They made it so hard for me to forget you.
I don’t think I ever want to forget you.
From,
Dean Winchester.