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Castiel loves storms.
Whenever it rains, he stands outside to watch. He listens to the rolls and rumbles of thunder, letting them wash over him. He loves the steady thrum of it; how the rhythmic sound pulls him under like ocean waves, melting everything else away.
Dean usually joins him, a mug of tea and a warm arm around Cas’ waist, grounding him as he loses himself to Kansas rainstorms.
Watching storms as a human is much different than as an angel. Castiel knew thousands, millions, of storms when he was one of Heaven’s soldiers; he found the weather more irritating than lovely. There was nothing to do on rainy days except sit and wallow in your emotions.
But as a human…it’s breathtaking.
He fell in love with rainstorms when they were still at the Bunker, shortly after Chuck’s defeat.
It was relentlessly pouring with no sign of ceasing, so Castiel had retreated to the safety of Arthur Conan Doyle and a mug of tea.
Only to be interrupted by Dean bounding into his room, hair sopping wet and shirt soaked, dripping water onto his floor.
“Cas!” he said breathlessly, skidding into Castiel’s room and making him look up from his book.
“Yes, Dean?”
“You gotta come outside!”
Dean’s eyes were alight and he was grinning broadly.
Castiel glared at him. “It’s raining,” He said. Dean nodded enthusiastically.
“Why would I go outside in the rain?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Because it’s friggin’ beautiful, that’s why.”
He looked so wonderful with his hair damp and slicked back, shirt sticking to his chest. His eyes were greener than normal.
It wasn’t like Castiel could say no.
He sighed, picked up his bookmark and set A Study In Scarlet on his bedside table. “I still don’t understand why this is so important,” he grumbled, reluctantly standing and reaching for his coat. Dean grabbed his hand (Castiel tried not to think about it too hard) and tugged him out of his room.
“You don’t need a coat, Cas,” he said, pulling him hurriedly up the stairs to the roof.
Dean paused on the landing, one hand on the door and the other still entwined with Cas’. He looked hesitant, and Castiel saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“Just—please, Cas? I swear you’ll like it,” He said imploringly, gazing at Castiel.
Castiel glanced down at their joined hands, before looking back at Dean and squeezing very gently. He nodded at the door.
Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the roof, pulling Castiel into the rain.
He gasped out loud, overwhelmed and wonderstruck, because Dean was right.
The rain was beautiful.
It felt wonderful; streams of rainwater cascading down his face, drenching his hair and shirt. The freezing torrents shocked his body, but it was clean and grounding.
The first thing he noticed was the sound. Inside the Bunker, it’s a background white noise, but outside it’s a cacophony of drumming, of wind and the soft hshhing of trees as they swayed.
There were faint rumbles of thunder in the distance; Castiel could feel the anticipation building as they rolled ever closer. He had to steady his breathing, senses overwhelmed but still craving more.
The rain blurred the world. It softened harsh edges, it made everything seem brighter. The green of the surrounding trees was deepened, the browns darkened, the contrast more stark than ever.
How did he ever think this wasn’t something to be revered? This is nature’s poetry; one of God’s gifts to the Earth and something to be worshipped.
He was wonderstruck.
He turned to look at Dean, who was watching him with a soft, shy smile.
“Pretty, huh?” He said quietly, his voice raspy.
“It’s…beautiful, Dean.” Castiel had managed at last, his voice hoarse. He could feel tears in his eyes, washed away by the rain. “Thank you.”
Dean’s eyes matched the rain-drenched leaves; vibrant and green. Rainwater dripped from his brow into his lashes, his hair tangled from running his fingers through it.
Castiel shifted his hand, tangling their fingers together.
He was shivering; his senses overwhelmed. He lifted his other hand to Dean’s face and felt his breathing hitch as he ran a thumb along his cheekbone.
Castiel had felt it then, tension crackling like lightning, charged with the hope between them. He moved his thumb to graze Dean’s bottom lip, watched him lean into Castiel’s touch.
“Oh, Dean,” Castiel murmured, utterly lost in him.
Dean’s eyes were pleading; there were tears mixing with the water sliding down his cheeks.
Castiel gently leaned in and kissed him.
Dean let out a soft, pleading noise and pressed closer, fisting his hand in Castiel’s shirt.
The rain was a torrential downpour. Their clothes were soaked through, they were freezing and numb, but Castiel just held Dean closer, warmth flooding through his bones as Dean kissed him.
Castiel could taste the rain on Dean’s lips.
+ + + +
When he and Dean moved out of the Bunker, one of Castiel’s only requests was a porch. Dean built him a porch swing and three cushioned chairs facing the woods surrounding their backyard. It’s beautiful and domestic and nothing like Dean ever imagined.
It’s been two years since they moved in, and Castiel still spends every rainstorm there.
That’s where Dean finds him today, curled up on the porch swing under a blanket, watching the rain.
It’s pouring buckets and Dean can tell he’ll have to rake the yard tomorrow (and probably get some candles out, just in case the power goes out again), but for now he joins Castiel, sinking down beside him and setting a hot mug of tea on the table.
Castiel moves to lean against Dean, resting his head on his shoulder. Dean chuckles quietly, wrapping an arm around his (now) husband and pulling him closer, nestling his face in Castiel’s hair. For a moment they just watch the rain cascade down, relishing the earthy, cooling smell and the warmth of their bodies squished together.
“Do you remember?” Castiel says after a while, gazing at the rain.
“The first rainstorm we spent together?” Dean asks.
“Yes.”
“Of course.” Dean replies softly. “I don’t think I’d ever forget. You looked like a kid with free reign in a candy store.”
Castiel’s laugh rumbles through his chest and Dean can’t help but chuckle along.
“It was the first time we kissed,” Castiel murmurs reminiscently, leaning into Dean just a little more.
Castiel can’t see his face, but he knows Dean is smiling.
“Kind of cliché, don’t you think?” Dean muses, “Kissing in the rain.”
“It is a popular romance trope, yes.” Castiel agrees.
Dean squeezes Castiel close. “I don’t regret it, though. Couldn’t help myself; you were too pretty, standin’ in the rain.”
“You think I’m pretty? How romantic.”
“Shuddup,” Dean says, but he’s laughing. “Remember Sam walking onto the roof ‘cos we’d been gone too long?”
Castiel grins. Sam had gone up to the roof to check on them, and when seeing his brother and best friend rather heavily embraced in one another, had fallen backwards down the stairs. He wasn't hurt by any means, but Dean had nearly broken a rib from laughing so hard.
“Jesus, the look on his face. I’ll cherish that forever.” Dean murmurs, his cheek resting on top of Castiel’s head again. Castiel hums in agreement, closing his eyes when Dean presses a kiss to the top of his head.
They fall asleep there, together, watching the rain fall and listening to thunder fade slowly into the distance. Castiel’s content; Dean’s body is warm and familiar beneath his hand, his stomach slowing rising and falling as Castiel melts into him.
It’s beautiful and blessed, and Castiel could stay here forever.