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The turn of the earth is marked by the colours of its seasons - the bright, brisk air in Spring is littered with poignant greens and the soft, decorating hues of flowers beginning to bloom. Summer is even more lively with its chlorophyll rich leaves that hold tightly onto the stiff bark of healthy trees. Fall marks a turn of the tides - things begin to wither, to die, to fall back to the earth that built them up. Bright greens fade to browns and yellows and reds, a natural confetti for the mark of another year passing. But then it grows colder, winds pick up and those fallen leaves decay into the earth; eaten up by the ground beneath the bark. Winter can be bleak; it can be the death of all things before new beginnings arise.
Castiel has never been bothered by Winter. Every Winter from the dawn of time has offered a fresh start at its resolution, and he has no reason to believe this one will be any different from the others now etched into time. But his millenia old bones feel different now; still with Grace but departed from Heaven, Castiel feels the seasons change in his chest, beneath his long borrowed ribcage now stamped with seals of his own. This body is his, and with it, Castiel will feel the seasons change with him.
He moves with the seasons now, watching the leaves, much as he always has, yet with a new appreciation for the feel of the air around him. Nothing feels better than beginning to feel. It’s when he’s lost in thought, eyes trained on the bare branches that remind him of what’s missing in himself, that his phone rings.
The device buzzes in his pocket, leaving a prickly static feeling in his fingertips when he presses the button to accept the call. He doesn’t need to read the screen to know who it is.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says.
“Cas, hey,” comes Dean’s voice, only slightly tinny over the line, “you busy?”
Busy is subjective. In his car, parked on the side of the road somewhere in Montana, theoretically, Castiel is busy. The seasons don’t observe themselves. He makes notes on the changes from previous years; marks somewhere in his memory how each one is different from the last to differentiate between all the Winters he has seen. And yet, no matter where he is parked and no matter the season he sees in the trees, when Dean asks, the answer will always be -
“No, I’m not busy. What is it?” The cold outside his rolled-down window starts to make his nose ache, so ungloved fingers hold onto the ‘roll up’ button as he answers. If Dean can hear the loud electronic sound of the glass shifting, then he doesn’t comment on it. As usual, there is a reason for the call.
“‘Was hopin’ you’d say that. Got a case over here in Michigan right now. Sam’s already working something in Nevada with Eileen and I could use the help if you’re up for it.”
“Of course. I am a ways away, though. It may take me over a day to get there.” It’s just about a full 24 hour drive to get to Michigan from Montana, but he’s not so human as to require rest stops. That being said, no one likes sitting in the same seat for hours on end, so bathroom breaks or not, he can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t like to stretch his legs (and wings) every so often.
Dean doesn’t seem bothered by his delayed arrival time, however. “Sounds good, Cas. I’m still on the way myself so I probably won’t get there too much sooner than you. I’ll send you the details and see ya there. Thanks, Cas.”
The line goes dead before Castiel can answer, but that’s alright. There wasn’t much more that needed to be said. His phone lights up a few seconds later, the text detailing the case and where to meet taking up the screen. With no need for a GPS, Castiel notes the city and starts his car. At least the long drive will be illustrated; bare bark blurring outside of his windows. Winter may be the dead season, but there is nothing near the comfort of such elegantly white calm. Winter is still, and so Castiel moves within it.
~*~*~
It takes Castiel just over his predetermined 24 hours to reach the motel Dean has since said he would be staying in. Pulling up to the back of the lot, Castiel spots the sleek black impala stationed near a room and he parks his own car beside it. By the time Castiel reaches the door, Dean is pulling it open, a wide grin on his face.
“What took you so long?” Dean asks, shifting back into the room to let Castiel follow in behind him. He takes a seat at the small worn table by the window, scattered papers decorating the wood.
“I was in Montana. Unfortunately, there was an accident on the highway and I had to take a bit of a detour to get here. Apologies if I’ve made you wait.” Castiel replies, taking a seat opposite to Dean.
Dean just laughs and shuffles through the printed sheets. “Nah, man, it’s fine, I was just yanking your chain.” He seems to be searching for something in particular in the pile, but Castiel got stuck on his words.
“My chain? Dean, I do not have a chain of any sort and-”
The next laugh is abrupt, accompanied by the muffled sounds of paper reconnecting with wood before Dean’s forehead lays overtop them both. Castiel can hear the pointed air being pushed from Dean’s lungs as he chuckles into the table. He doesn’t know what is so funny, but the laugh lifts his spirits after such a long trip, after such a long time since hearing it last. It had been a few weeks since he had seen Dean at all, but it had been much longer since such a freeing laugh left his chest and Castiel was all the happier to have caused it. Chains or no chains, Castiel was smiling.
“You -” another laugh, “nevermind. Here.” When Dean lifts his head from the table, his cheeks are pink and for some reason Castiel’s stomach flutters at the sight. He grabs the paper he had left on the top, handing it over with a grin to match his own. “There’s been reports of people going missing around here lately. It’s been a while since we’ve seen one, but it could be a Wendigo. It’s the tourists that are disappearing though; I’ve only spoken to a few locals this morning, but most of them said the same thing: everyone around here knows not to go out there. None would tell me why, but I think the woods are a good place to start.”
“Have you spoken to the police already?” Castiel inquires, eyes scanning over the borrowed pages. They told of the people gone missing; there were quite a few - all visitors, all went up for a hike and didn’t make it back. There were stories from longer ago as well; those pages were yellowed with age but they spoke the same tale. Left for a hike, didn’t make it back. Like the ones before, taken in previous Winters that Castiel could picture in his mind by the telltale marks of the year, there were no bodies found. Unlike the years before, all the victims were visitors to the town. At least, it seems, the people around here learned. If only tourism wasn’t such a booming business.
“No,” Dean answers, making Castiel look up from his readings, “don’t know what good it’d do either. There’s no bodies to look at and they’d tell us about as much as those articles will, except they’ll also tell us not to go out there.”
Dean makes a fair point. The police are generally useless in these situations, but even more so than usual in this case. So Castiel nods, affirming the lack of need to visit the local station as he finishes browsing the papers.
“Okay, so you want to just go out there?” It doesn’t seem that wise of a plan, but Castiel isn’t sure there’s a better place to start.
“Well, we can talk to a few more locals, grab a bite to eat and some stuff for the hike maybe, get some shut eye and head out tomorrow. ‘Sound good?”
Anything Dean could suggest would sound good to Castiel, so while the question was unnecessary, Castiel answers anyway. “Yes. Maybe we can get more proof to your suspicions before subjecting ourselves to the wilderness.”
Dean smiles at him again, the warmth of a laugh behind his teeth. The bleeding of light from those lips reminds him of the brighter light of his soul and Castiel can’t help but to smile in return. Dean would always be that bright thing he pieced together a decade ago and Castiel was always in awe when he caught glimpses of that light again.
Dean’s hand smacks down on the table and then, mouth still upturned, he says, “Let’s go then.”
It only takes a fraction of a second for Castiel to follow.
~*~*~
In town, they have little luck. When they ask questions, whether or not they show their badges first, they receive short responses. Either no one really knows much or no one is willing to tell them. To be fair, after the slew of tourists going missing, after years of warning travelers not to go out there, it’s no wonder they no longer see the point in it.
They do get one helpful comment however, spilled from the mouth of an alternative looking teenager. She spoke of how her mother’s best friend went missing when they were her age, along with a few more of their friends. Her mother hadn’t gone with them on the trip that day because she had been feeling under the weather - the lucky sickness, she had called it. There wasn’t much that rescuers could do and after weeks of searching and a few more locals disappearing, they called off the searches, asking that no one enter the woods unless you were a seasoned hiker. And now, even the seasoned hikers no longer go out there.
The recounted tale didn’t offer much new information to them, but it did solidify that after all these years, whatever is out there is still taking people. A Wendigo would make sense here and the fact that no one went out there for such a long time would imply that the creature had not scored a fresh meal in many years. It was likely desperate to get new additions to its supply, so when tourists started returning, foolishly ignoring the warnings of the locals, the creature was undoubtedly ready for the hunt.
“Well, that was a waste of time.” Dean huffs, sliding into the booth at the downtown diner. The seats are comfortable for how old they are; cracked leather dotting around the permanent indents where they sit.
“Not entirely. I’d say we could be fairly confident you were right now.” Castiel says, picking up the menu that the waitress left at the table after directing them to their seats.
“Why, ‘cause of that girl? Didn’t really tell us anything new.” Dean flips the page, eyes scanning over the options as if he’s going to order anything different than his usual diner meal.
“No, but we know that whatever’s out there really hasn’t eaten in quite some time. There’s three men and two women missing now. It could possibly be satisfied with that and we’ll find nothing out there.” Castiel decides to eat, but he rests the menu back on the table; he is going to order whatever Dean does anyway.
“Yeah, or the son of a bitch could be a glutton after all that fasting. C’mon, you saying it wouldn’t want a bite of this? I’d be tasty.” Dean holds out his arms as he asks the question, raising his brows and tilting his chin down to motion to his body. Castiel couldn’t say whether or not Dean would be tasty to a monster, but he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about tasting the man in another sense of the word. Thankfully, Dean wasn’t asking about that sense of the word, and as Castiel opens his mouth to reply, the waitress returns, saving him from possible embarrassment. If Dean doesn’t tip her well, Castiel is going to leave extra cash on the table when they leave.
“All ready to order?” She asks, her singsong voice keeping the air light.
Dean does end up ordering what he always does - a bacon cheeseburger and fries - and Castiel does end up ordering the same. Every once and a while it’s nice to eat, enjoyable almost, but he has learned to order what Dean does over the years. He is never able to finish it, but he enjoys being able to give Dean a little extra food later. It’s the smallest gift he can give and it’s one Dean never questions. It’s safe.
They discuss the case more over food, but there isn’t really much more to decide. When they finish up, they head over to the store for provisions - food, flares, the usual things you’d buy for a hike, more flares - and then they return to the motel.
Once inside, they each take a bed. When Castiel has the all-too-familiar urge to ask to share, he quiets down the request in his mind and pulls back the covers on the bed stationed on his side of the room. Like with eating, Castiel doesn’t necessarily need sleep, but much the same, he does enjoy it from time to time if he can manage it. It would certainly be easier if he could sleep; he wouldn’t have to wait through the hours that Dean slept, longing to be closer but feeling the weight of guilt for having such selfish thoughts.
Unfortunately, even hours after Dean had wished him a good night, wished for him to have ‘sweet dreams’, still Castiel lay awake. The night outside the window is dark and fog gathers in the distance, but with one more look over at Dean, at his peaceful sleeping frame where bits of too-warm skin had slipped out from the covers, Castiel knew he had to step outside.
The downside to beginning to feel was feeling too much.
Out in the night, the air is crisp, sharp in the way it pokes Castiel’s features, threatening to turn them red. It’s nice though - the cold. In the distance, there’s a light, high above parked cars to guide newcomers to the lot. There are no newcomers, of course, but the light is there all the same.
Castiel rakes in a deep breath, feeling the ice around him seep into his lungs. It’s good, grounding. Being so close to Dean again - sometimes it’s too much. Over the years, Castiel has realized what the churning in his stomach means. He knows why his heart beats faster, why he wants to be so close. But that also means he knows why he can’t let himself get closer.
Castiel has touched Dean’s soul, has stitched him back together from ragged shards left scattered in Hell. He has held his being in the palm of his hands and encased that light underneath his skin once more. He has redecorated his skin with constellations of freckles and freed him from his scars. Dean is warmth; he is the sun personified. He is everything that is good; the embodiment of hope and love. And he could never love Castiel the way that he loves him.
And that’s okay. Castiel is capable of loving and not being loved in return. It hurts and it aches and it makes his body itch to move closer, but he will bear the pain to bask in Dean’s light for as long as he’s able. Dean will never be his in the way he wants, but Dean is still his friend and Castiel will be here in whatever way he’ll have him. An angel off the line with a brand new salvation.
The air around him whips and whistles, puffing around his chapping lips in small clouds. He can feel the cold in his fingertips now and can see the bits of ice forming on car doors in the lot. After another moment of reprieve in the sharp press of night, Castiel relinquishes himself back into the room.
It’s just as dark as when he left it, but the room feels much warmer now that he’s been outside. He tries to step quietly, to slip under the covers of his bed without a sound, but the creak of the mattress when he returns to his place gives him away. Dean turns over, eyes barely creaking open as he swipes the back of his hand across them. Castiel sighs.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is rough, bogged down by sleep.
“Go back to sleep, Dean.” Castiel tries, hoping Dean isn’t too far out of sleep yet.
“What time is it, man? What’re you doin’ up?” The covers get shuffled around some more and it’s all Castiel has not to stare too long at the exposed skin of Dean’s chest.
Castiel closes his eyes and attempts to sink into the mattress.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he starts, “but you can, so go back to doing that.”
Instead of doing that, Dean shifts up, letting the covers fully fall from his shoulders as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to situate himself into a proper sitting position. Castiel wasn’t going to win this one.
“You haven’t slept at all?” he asks, voice still low. It was making Castiel’s stomach feel some type of way and that needed to stop.
“No, but I don’t exactly need to sleep, Dean. It’s fine. You do need sleep though, so please try to get some.” It was a last ditch effort really, even though it was partly the truth. He didn’t need to sleep, no matter how much he wishes he could get some at the moment, and Dean does need sleep, especially if they are to set out into the woods tomorrow. Now certainly isn’t the time to worry about the sleep schedule of an angel with a tarnished halo.
“Okay…” he trails off like there’s more he wants to say, but he settles back under his covers, blankets hiding his chest from Castiel’s view again. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. “Why were you outside?”
Castiel pauses, letting his eyes open back up to meet Dean’s - a mistake, truly, as the lovely summer green of his irises are visible even in the dim of the room.
“Cas?” Dean whispers softly. It’s so quiet Castiel isn’t even sure he heard it until Dean leans back up on his elbow. “You okay, buddy?”
“I’m fine, Dean.” He isn't, really, but what else can he say? Being close to you makes me feel like I’m near God - when God was good and worth looking for - but better. Touching you is like caressing a flame because your soul burns just as brightly under your skin as it did in Hell and I wish for nothing more than to be ignited in your flames as I show you how well I know your body. You are beautiful and good and worthy of love and I’d give you every piece of me if only you’d have it. He can’t say those things though, not now, so he says he’s fine and hopes Dean believes him.
Dean eyes him again, the heat of his gaze warming up Castiel’s face from the cold, but he settles back in again and rests his head against the pillow. His mouth hangs open for another moment, a silent hint that he isn’t letting this go just yet, but then he snaps it shut and closes his eyes again.
He doesn’t say anything else until the morning and Castiel never falls asleep.
~*~*~
“Ready to hit the road?” Deans asks, loading up the purchases from the night before into a backpack he had stored in the trunk. They’d need it as soon as they were parked somewhere on the outskirts of the woods so it was best to prepare it beforehand.
“Yes.” responds Castiel, sliding into the front seat of the impala just as Dean finishes up the bag to join him. There is no need to take both cars and Castiel is more than happy to sit in the passenger seat for a change.
In a minute, they are off, carefully treading the almost-icy road towards a safe place to stow the car. It hadn’t snowed the night before, but it was beginning to look more and more like it was going to fix that today. The sky greyed out above them as they drove out of town, a menacing reminder for them to keep track of the time and themselves once they’re out there.
It doesn’t take long for Dean to pull them up to the edge of the forest once they are beyond the city. He finds a wooden awning extending over a few parking spaces near the entrance to a park and bets on that as the safest place for his baby in case the weather turns sour.
“Alright, so we’re just gonna look for any trace of those people for now, okay? As much as I wanna gank this sucker and head home, I don’t like the way those clouds are looking at me.” Dean says as soon as he cuts the engine, head tilted to peer out the window towards the sky. He reaches into the backseat when he’s finished talking to grab for the backpack.
“That’s a good idea. I would rather we not get stuck out there tonight.” Castiel concurs. As much as he loves the seasons, he’s not confident they’d survive a night in ever-growing snowbanks.
“Then we’d better get a move on. C’mon.” Dean groans as he steps out of the warm sanctuary of the vehicle and out into the crisp morning air. By the time they make it a few feet into the woods the cold hurts his face and, angel or not, Castiel already regrets not making Dean buy them gloves and scarves when they were at the store.
Dean pulls out his map a little ways in, flipping and turning it until he’s sure that he’s holding it right. There are spots marked on the paper signifying where the tourists were supposed to have been and after a minute or two of debate, they choose a direction and keep walking.
It takes them close to two full hours to reach the campsites marked on Dean’s map. There are shreds of nylon and polyester dotting the ground but no telltale red flecks to follow further into the woods. Scratches mark the trees nearby, but again, there’s no blood decorating the scenery. Even the scraps of tent fabric on the ground seem out of place, off-putting.
“Something’s not right here.” Dean hums, kneeling down to pick up one of the tattered pieces. He rubs his fingers over the material, fingertips searching for clues he can’t see. It’s undoubtedly cold and crisp from being out in this weather, and from the look on Dean’s face, he doesn’t gather any additional information from this investigation. “It’s - Cas, there’s no blood. What the Hell happened here?”
Castiel turns, scanning his eyes over the ground. There are broken twigs, fallen branches, all those decaying dead leaves that firmly remind him of the season, but there’s no sign of life. There’s almost no sign there ever was life here, at least human. The only clue is that fabric, but the longer he looks, the more it seems torn instead of slashed.
“Dean? Are we sure that anything even happened here? I -”
Castiel stops talking as the first icy flecks begin to drop from the clouds. Already heavy and large, the snowflakes start to come down. The ground beneath their feet is firm and cold, far too ready for the snow for it to cause any to melt, and instead offering the perfect place for the fallen flakes to gather. They watch for a moment as a thin layer begins to form on the ground around them.
“Guess we didn’t get so lucky, huh?” Dean says, pulling Castiel’s awed attention away from the growing sheet of white.
“I guess not. We should head back.”
Dean just nods and tosses one of the torn bits of tent into his backpack before throwing it around his shoulders again.
They turn back towards the direction they came, noses already turning a bright shade of red, and start the trek back. The snow starts coming down even heavier though, if that is even possible, and soon the trees all start to look the same. Any markers they could have left to follow their previous path have been covered in snow, pressed into the dirt and weighed down by icy flurries. Branches get covered as well, layering up to hide any defining features that could tell them where they are. The longer they walk, the more the snow builds up around them, hiding their past footprints and getting them turned around. By the time they’re out there longer than their initial hike up, the snow is banked up to their shins.
“Fucking Hell!” Dean hisses suddenly. Castiel looks over at him and feels his heart lurch in his chest. He’d been focused on the route, intent on getting them back to the car and to safety, only glancing back to be sure Dean was close by even though he knew he was. He hadn’t looked closely in those quick glances though. Dean’s nose and ears were bright red now, bordering on purple; his fingers matched that same hue and no matter how much he rubbed them together, it was clear Dean was losing feeling in them. Buried in the snow, there was no doubt that Dean’s feet were suffering the same fate and if Castiel had stopped at any point to assess himself, he’d have seen that he was in the same freezing boat as Dean.
“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back, Cas.” says Dean, eyes closed as he huffs any warm air his lips can muster onto his fingers. Castiel looks around them, desperate for an idea. He knows there’s a small blanket in the pack, but it’s unlikely that it would fit them both. Castiel doesn’t necessarily need it, but the cold is seeping into his bones in a way he’s not yet used to and reprieve from the chill would still be preferable. There is water and snacks in there, flares and material for fire, but where they are now, the ground is wet and covered and there’s no way they could camp here and survive.
It’s late afternoon now and the sun is already threatening to take away any bit of warmth it has offered thus far. He looks again, desperate to see anything that could help, when his sight catches on a break in the trees in the distance.
“Dean.” is all he says, choosing to raise his arm towards that opening. There’s no guarantee that what’s there will be useful, but moving is better than staying still.
“I’d say fingers crossed there’s something up there, but I can’t feel them enough to cross them.” Dean huffs out, a nervous laugh fleeing his mouth. It pains Castiel more than the cold.
And so, they walk again, feet carrying them carefully over the increasingly slippery ground up to the clearing in the distance. Each step is labored, painful in his boots. He can’t imagine how Dean feels.
At the top, they see it. The trees break away, revealing a frozen over path up to a large cabin. It’s wood appears to be rotting in places; the roof threatens to cave in if the snow gets too heavy. There were bushes there once, thriving and bright in the Spring but shriveled and dying in the snow as they stand. Around the cabin, the windows appear fogged, dirty and smudged from lack of cleaning. Even the wood that holds it up seems worn, but it’s sturdy enough, Castiel thinks, and it’s a break from the wind and snow.
“Oh my God,” the air that comes from Dean’s words probably isn’t warm anymore, but there’s a smile on his freezing lips and the urge to taste that grin overwhelms him. Castiel pushes it down but doesn’t tear his eyes away. “Well, let’s go.” Dean continues, grabbing Castiel’s hand in his and pulling him towards the old wooden door. His heart beats wildly in his chest at the contact and his fingers naturally curl to intertwine with Dean’s. They’re cold and he doubts Dean can even feel how tightly he’s holding on, but there, as they step over the threshold into the old abandoned cabin, Castiel never wants to let go.
When the door closes behind them, they both breathe out in relief. The walls seem sturdier from the inside and they do their best to shelter them from the wind and snow. It’s still cold inside as it’s clear whomever owns the place either no longer cares to keep it running, or no longer can. It doesn’t matter though; there’s a fireplace in the living room and stacks of old wood piled in the corner. There are threadbare blankets on the dusty couch and stiff candles left on shelves that line the walls.
In the kitchen, there are cans of food, likely long since expired, but still probably consumable if necessary. The stove appears to be from the 70s and Castiel doubts it would work even if the rest of the building was up and running anyway. The fridge is old too, cold only due to the air filling the cabin and not from it fulfilling its purpose.
There’s dust on everything and the shuffling of small animals can be heard above them. There’s likely a loft or an attic that they’ve used to hide out, much the same as they are doing. Despite it’s oddities and troubles, it’s cozy enough and a very welcome place.
“Guess we’ve got at least a little bit of luck.” Dean laughs, walking back from the kitchen over to the couch. Castiel follows, seeing a hallway that brandishes two doors. He’s sure they’ll investigate further once they’ve warmed up.
Dean takes a seat and coughs as the dust puffs up from within the cushions. Dean’s shivering, his pink fingers still rubbing together near his lips to find warmth. Castiel steps closer, intent to give Dean every bit of his own warmth and - he stops.
He wants - so much, he wants - to hold him, to take those darkened fingers into his own and bring him peace, safety. He wants to feel Dean come back to him in his hands, to wrap him up in his arms and be the fire that saves him. Instead of stepping closer, he walks towards the logs in the corner, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. He carries them over into the empty fireplace and stacks them until there’s enough to get a decent fire going. There are dried out leaves near the logs so he tosses those in there too. Then, he takes the matches from the backpack and lights one up, watching as the flame spreads from the small chip of wood in his fingers to the brush and logs he’s gathered. It’s good, warm, and it’s better for Dean than his own hands would be.
Dean sighs with content as the flames begin to heat the room, slowly but surely bringing the colour back to his face. “‘Thanks, Cas.” He says it quietly as he softly rubs his hands together near the flames. The feeling in his chest doesn’t go away but Castiel decides to take a seat beside him and soak up some of the heat for himself.
“I’m sorry.” Castiel says softly, more to the fire than to Dean. He means it for Dean, of course, but to direct it towards the flames is easier, safer.
“For what? You didn’t get us into this mess.” Dean replies. The fire can’t answer, so it only makes sense that Dean does.
“For not being able to just fly us out of here.” He responds just as softly. He used to be able to do so much. He could have blinked and brought them back to the car or the motel. Though he could have used his Grace to take the cold from Dean’s bones, it was better to preserve it for if they really needed it. He’s still an angel, but much diminished. He rebuilt Dean with his own hands and now it was a lot just to keep him warm.
“Cas…”
“I could have saved you, before.” He keeps his eyes on the flickering of the flames in front of him. To look to Dean now would surely kill him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Sure seems like you saved us, to me.”
Then, Dean’s hand is there, pressing firmly on Castiel’s shoulder. He can’t feel his touch as strongly through his layers, but there’s always a buzz under his skin when Dean’s this close. Castiel imagines that it’s similar to the static hot burn of the whiskey Dean loves; it feels nice.
Dean is looking at him when he gains the nerve to turn away from the fireplace, green eyes searching Castiel’s the moment they can. There’s a sudden weight in his chest accompanying the tightness that never left him and he does his best not to lean into Dean’s touch. He feels like Salvation; even through layers and melting snow, Dean is the answer to prayers for revelation. Castiel wished for nothing more than to bask in this divinity.
There’s more to be said, more that Castiel wants to confess to Dean, but he lets the quiet settle into the room. Again, he wants to tell him how much he means to him; he wants to get closer, to explore what’s burning in his chest. Since touching his soul in Hell, Castiel has been in love, he just didn’t know what to call it until he was human. Humanity didn’t come with a rulebook, but he hadn’t needed a guide to understand the hum in his heart when Dean was near. When his wings were returned to him, the feelings didn’t go back to that dull, misunderstood ache. He knew them far too well by then. He wonders if Dean knows what this feels like, wants to ask if he’s ever felt the same, but if he gets too close and goes too far he could lose him and that’s a far worse fate than bottling up the fireflies in his belly.
They sit by the fire until the colour comes back to their features and the feeling returns to their fingers. They sit together, Dean with the blanket around his shoulders, until the sun no longer peeks through the dusted windows.
After a while, Dean pulls some food and the bottle of water from the pack and eats. Castiel declines the offer for food, and they talk until the fire begins to dwindle. They explore the rest of the cabin, finding that the other two rooms are a bedroom and bathroom. The plumbing obviously doesn’t work, so the bathroom is fairly useless, but the bedroom has a mattress that seems to be relatively intact with covers that house no bugs, upon inspection. The downside to the bedroom is the lack of a fireplace, so after little deliberation, they drag the bed into the living room and let it rest near the fire.
Castiel sits and watches out the windows as Dean sleeps that night, wondering when the snow will stop. He keeps the fire going through the night, but when morning comes and Dean wakes again, the clouds continue to torture them and the banks of snow continue to grow.
The next day is awkward and frustrating. Dean is bored and tired of feeling cooped up even after one night. He eats through the snacks he had and nearly empties the water bottle which Castiel later fills with snow and brings inside to let it melt. He grumbles and groans and Castiel sticks with his mission to not get too close. He gives Dean his space and doesn’t linger too long when they’re in each other’s vicinity and he keeps his hands to himself despite that always-there magnetic kind of pull to touch him.
But even with the space between them, they talk. Dean asks what Castiel has been up to while he’s away and Castiel offers up what he can. They talk about Dean’s recent cases and about how Sam is doing with Eileen. Dean brings up that Sam has been pushing for a dog and Dean admits that he’s close to agreeing while making Castiel promise not to tell Sam of any such thing. During all of their talks, Castiel keeps himself out of arm’s reach.
They discuss the case, both coming to an agreement that something is fishy about the campsite. If there had been a monster, there’d have been blood, right? If they had been taken, kicking and screaming, there would be a trail to follow. Hell, with all their wandering yesterday, they might have even come across a cave capable of being a hideout, but no such sanctuary had revealed itself to them. The tent was torn, but not shredded in the way that claws tear fabric and there were no other provisions left behind. They both doubt that a Wendigo would have made sure the campers had their backpacks first, so it leaves a big question mark on their clue cards.
After coming to no real conclusion on the matter and the sun setting another time, Dean takes to the bed again as Castiel stokes the fire. The snow is somehow still coming down and Castiel is unsure if it will manage to end overnight. Once the fire is going again, strong and steady, Castiel returns to his perch by the glass.
“You gonna try to get any sleep?” Dean asks, pulling the covers over his frame. Castiel can see him shiver underneath it.
“I would rather be sure you’re safe.” Castiel admits. He blinks and turns quickly, casting his vision out the window beside him.
“Well, you could at least sit down. You’re making me nervous just standing over there.” Dean grumbles, turning over to face away from him. Something tugs at Castiel’s heart and he gives in with a sigh, crossing the room to plant himself on the old couch, Dean near his feet.
“Better?” he asks, attempting not to sound irritated and failing.
“You could at least act like you like being near me, you know. I know I’m not exactly all that much fun to be around, but you could at least pretend like you aren’t counting the seconds ‘til you can get away from me.”
Castiel blinks, stunned. Dean shifts up, deciding that the covers feel more like a trap than a comfort. Castiel stares at him as he stands up from the bed.
“What? I - Dean, I-” he can’t find the words, can’t stitch them together from the ripped fabric letters on his heart. How can Dean not see it? How can he not know that I long to be closer, to be more for him - to him. How could he think that I want to keep this distance? Does he not know that I’d die for him; that I’d rather spend eternity just past his fingertips than a moment in a life where he won’t look at me?
Castiel tries to grasp at those words, to pull them from his chest like a loose string from the seams of his clothes, but the string breaks and his mouth fails him. Dean looks at him, reflections of flames in his eyes even with his back turned to the fire and Castiel feels his gut churn.
“Don’t worry, Cas. I get it. I read you loud and clear.” Dean grits through his teeth. Castiel wonders whether there are tears in Dean’s eyes or if he merely feels them threatening his own. Dean steps away, walks towards the door and throws on his boots faster than Castiel can turn. It feels like he’s lagging behind, like Dean is moving faster than the seconds can tick by and he can’t catch up. Dean’s coat is on him a moment later and the door is pulled open in his palms before he can blink. “I’m going to get more sticks for the fire.” He says, and shuts the door behind him with a loud bang.
The cabin shakes - or, it seems to shake - in the wake of Dean’s departure. It’s like it knows, like the wooden beams that line the place are merely there to hold memories and judgements instead of the roof. It’s cold and one look out the window confirms that the snow hadn’t stopped in the last five minutes that it took Dean to storm outside. The sun is gone now too and there are no lights at the cabin to guide Dean back to him.
Dean is alone, in the snow, in the night, in the woods that could potentially harbour a monster looking for dinner and Castiel let him go . He shakes himself off and pushes himself to his feet immediately, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. There was no time to put out the fire and if the whole thing burns down while he’s gone searching for Dean then he’d taken too long and there’d be no reason to return anyway. He’s not going to let that happen.
Snow still falls, quickly trying to cover up the tracks that Dean left only minutes before. He couldn’t have gotten too far. Not that fast. Castiel is only minutes behind him - surely he’ll catch up.
He follows Dean’s tracks, further and further into the trees. There are patches of snow that have been dug through, a sign Dean had stopped in search of kindling for the fire. Those stops had to have cost him time; there’s no way Castiel is that far behind him, so why can’t he hear him?
Castiel picks up the pace, ignoring each shifted pile of snow in favor of the prints pressed firmly into the ground.
“Dean?” he calls. He’s sure he can see better than Dean out here, so why can’t he see him yet either? “Dean!” he shouts again. He doesn’t care if he wakes up the entire forest, every bit of wildlife nearby can wake up from their slumber for all he cares.
That’s when he hears it - a shuffle, a slip, thuds and scrapes and breathes heaving from exhausted lungs - and his stomach drops.
“Cas!” comes Dean’s voice, labored and shaken. Castiel doesn’t waste a moment looking at the ground and just follows the sound. Dean’s shouts for him grow more frantic as he gets closer and - is that water?
“Dean?” he calls again and he spots him, chest-deep in broken ice, clothes soaked through. The ground in front of Castiel had fallen away and there are divots in the side of the small cliffed area that he’s sure match Dean’s fingers. The cliff shouldn’t have broken with the ground being so frozen, but it must have been days away from falling before the current weather hit and Dean must have stepped just so to tip it over. The ice should have been thick enough too, but the impact of the fall must have been just enough to break through. And now Dean is down there, icy water closing in around him as he calls for him.
Castiel doesn’t wait a second longer. He slides down the bank towards the water and takes careful steps out onto the ice. It’s broken and unstable and there’s a chance he will fall in too, but he doesn’t care. He steps further out as Dean scrambles to get closer. He kneels on the ice and slides, fingertips outstretched as he gets within reach.
Dean’s fingers are colder than he’s ever felt them when they come into his. It’s clear the cold has seeped into Dean’s bones and Castiel rushes to free him from the water. With some struggle, they get a good, strong hold on each other and Castiel pulls. In another moment, Dean is on top of the ice again, soaked and shivering, but on the ice.
Castiel wants to hold him, to press desperate kisses into his chilled skin, to apologize and risk losing him to prove to Dean he was wrong. But keeping him alive is more important, so he keeps pulling him, dragging him over the ice and back onto land. When they’re away from the water, Dean’s breathing gets louder.
“C-Cas,” he starts, shivering as his stiff fingers try in vain to grip onto Castiel’s coat.
“Shut up and hold on.” Castiel directs. He doesn’t need to hear a deathbed confession; he doesn’t need to hear an apology or that he forgives him. What he needs is to get Dean in front of the fireplace again, to get him out of the cold.
Castiel tucks one arm under Dean’s shoulder blades and the other under his knees and lifts him up as he hauls himself to his feet. Dean tries to say something else but it gets lost in the chatter of his teeth. Castiel makes it back up the broken ground, Dean in his arms, and walks as quickly as he can back to the cabin. The footsteps are almost covered as snow continues to fall around them, but Castiel knows the way by now.
It takes him much less time than it did to find him to get them home. The water dripping from Dean’s clothes has thoroughly soaked Castiel’s by the time he opens up the front door and gets them both inside. The fire is still going where he left it and as soon as the door is closed behind them, Castiel can hear that he is shivering as well.
“Cas…” Dean looks up at him, flecks of ice on his eyelashes to match the slightly blue tint to his lips. Those blue lips quiver and it’s all Castiel can do not to press his own to them.
He brings Dean near the fireplace and sets him down on the floor. It’s better to soak the floorboards than the bed, so for now, this will have to do.
“Dean, I- I don’t know what to do. You’re blue, Dean, what do I do? Will you let me heal you?” he asks.
“No.” Dean says, still chattery and far too quickly. “No, Cas, you gotta save that for when you really need it.”
“I need it now.”
“No, you don’t.” Dean volleys.
“Dean - “
“Cas.” Dean’s lips are still blue and there are still snowflakes in his eyes. Castiel can’t see a more worthy time to use his Grace.
“Then what do I do?” he asks again. He’ll do whatever Dean asks, but he won’t let him die. If there’s no other way, he’ll heal him and let him be pissed.
Dean thinks for a moment, then his cheeks flush pink. A good sign of warmth, but how it came about, Castiel doesn’t know. He’s about to ask him what he’s thinking when -
“We’ve just - we’ve got to get out of the wet clothes and into something dry. The fire and blankets should do the rest.” He says, raising his fingers to try to pull off his jacket. They’re still stiff though, and Castiel gives in after a moment of his struggling to help him pull it off. Castiel helps with his other layers too, but Dean doesn’t start to reach for his soaked jeans.
“I… we don’t have a change of clothes.” Dean states.
Castiel suddenly understands the pink in his cheeks. “Oh.”
“Yeah… so just - just close your eyes for a minute, alright?”
Castiel does as he’s told. His eyes squeeze shut and he ignores the rustling of fabric. He thinks instead of his own wet clothes and wonders if he should be doing the same.
“Okay,” Dean says after a minute, “You’ve gotta get out of yours too, Cas, you’ll freeze.”
When he opens his eyes, he sees Dean exactly where he was before, except now he’s only covered by the small blanket that they brought with them. It’s tucked under him, wrapped around his middle and just long enough to reach over his shoulders. It doesn’t cover his chest and most of his legs are out, but they’re facing towards the fire.
Castiel hesitates a moment, but still shucks off his trench coat and suit jacket. The tie and undershirt follow before he strips off his shoes and pants. He doesn’t know whether Dean removed his underwear or not, but Castiel leaves his on despite how wet they are.
When he’s done, he looks over at Dean; he’s still facing the fire, view turned away from him, and he’s still shivering. From another glance, Castiel can tell his lips are still blue. It’s not enough.
He pulls the bed closer and ignores Dean’s look as he instructs him to get settled. Dean does, shifting from the floorboards onto the mattress, hands careful to keep the blanket wrapped tight around himself. The mattress has got to be warmer than the floor; it has to be enough.
“Cas…?” his voice is quiet again, small as it sounded before this whole night went sour. It causes something to ache in Castiel’s chest again.
“Yes, Dean?” He tries not to look, tries to keep his eyes on the fire and away from the burning pull of Dean’s skin.
“Would you-” Dean swallows, Castiel closes his eyes, “Could we…”
“Whatever you want, Dean.”
Dean pauses and Castiel tightens his jaw. He continues to focus on the fire with his eyes, but his mind is entirely turned towards Dean. Because whatever Dean wants, he will give him. It doesn’t matter what he asks for, it’s his. Castiel would fall forever, would die a hundred times and come back a hundred more to give Dean the world.
“Would you come here?” Dean asks, finally. He shifts on the bed, closer to the fire and creating an open space behind him. Castiel can see that he’s still shivering, but at least the colour is starting to return to his lips. “I just… If you don’t want to be near me, that’s okay, but -”
Castiel doesn’t respond, just moves himself into the open space behind him. The mattress creaks under his weight as he tries not to press up against him. If there was space, if they weren’t quite touching, he could stand it.
After a beat, “Could we… closer?”
The breath stills in Castiel’s lungs. Dean must still be cold; he probably just needs to be warmer. Castiel shifts just a little bit closer, his breath now brushing against the back of Dean’s neck. He thinks he sees Dean shiver, but it’s probably just from the cold.
“Cas?”
He can’t do this. He can’t be this close and have it taken away. He can’t touch him and be okay with never touching him again. He can’t feel the buzz of Dean’s soul through the press of his skin and not get drunk on it; he just can’t, he -
Dean turns over and Castiel is lost. His nose is still pink, but it almost touches his own. His lips are still blue, but they’re better now. He smells like the earth and the sun, like the Garden in it’s perpetual Spring and like the crisp air of a Winter morning. Dean is the seasons as they change, beckoning Castiel to watch and fall in love.
“Cas,” Dean starts again, his previous attempt at speech drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears, “why don’t you want to be near me?”
Castiel can see the tremble in his jaw, the hurt in his too green eyes, and he stops caring what could happen to him. If Dean hates him for loving him, that’s okay. If he wants nothing to do with him, at least he has gotten the time he has. If his world crashes around him, then at least Dean will know he was loved.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“Do you understand how hard it is to be near you and not touch you?” Dean blinks back, a flash of hurt turns into confusion. “Dean, all I want is to be close to you.”
“Then why have you been staying as far away as you can get? Even now, you don’t want to touch me.” There’s still hurt in his eyes; Castiel can’t stand it.
“Because if I touch you, I’m afraid I won’t want to stop. I’m afraid of what will happen if I touch you and you ask me to go. You- Dean, you have no idea how intoxicating you are. Being close to you is like being next to the sun. You are the most amazing man that I have ever met and I-”
Dean’s chilled lips connect with his own and - oh . The world stops spinning because time doesn’t need to move forward if they’re held here like this. There are hands on his face before Castiel can bring his to brush against Dean’s side. Dean’s mouth is still cold but it gets warmer by the second, plush lips moving against his own to blanket him in warmth. Kissing Dean is like tasting the stars; it’s drinking from the fountain in the Garden when God is no longer watching. Dean’s mouth is a better sanctuary than Heaven has ever been and he will never again seek revelation from above when it tastes so much sweeter on Dean’s lips.
“Dean-” it comes out as a ragged whisper between kisses. Dean leans back, but leaves his hands against his face. They’re warmer now too.
“Cas, you’re an idiot.” Dean grins and kisses him again. “So what you’re saying is-”
“I love you.” Loving him is easy; falling is always easier than flying. But Dean catches him in a kiss, the smile still tight on his lips and Castiel feels like he’s soaring. “I love you.” He says again, breathless. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And all hope for letting this go shatters on the floor. If Castiel can touch, if he can have this, he wants whatever Dean is willing to give. Without breaking the kiss, Castiel rolls Dean over onto his back and frames his body with his thighs. Air rushes from Dean’s lungs in heavy puffs and when Castiel pulls back to lean on his heels he can see the harsh blush painted heavy on his cheeks.
“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asks, placing his hands on either side of Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes are wide, pupils blown. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
Dean swallows. He searches Castiel’s eyes until his gaze falls to his lips. “I want you to fuck me.” He finally manages, face redder than before. Castiel is about to agree when he continues, “Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly think to bring lube and condoms on a quick trip to check out a crime scene. There’s some in my bag back at the motel though.” He laughs, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smile.
Castiel nods; even if he had to wait a lifetime for that, he would. Whatever Dean gives him is more than enough, but there is one thing he wants. “Let me taste you.” He says, watching Dean’s eyes as they flutter closed. It’s a question, despite his format. He wouldn’t move an inch unless Dean wanted him to.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “yeah, Cas.”
So Castiel kisses him again, chapped lips on Dean’s as he runs his fingers down his side. He trails his lips down Dean’s jaw, reveling in the scratch of his stubble. Down his neck, across his chest, Castiel makes his way in slow, deliberate kisses down his body. Dean squirms, choked noises spilling in broken clips when he stops over one of his nipples. Castiel swipes his tongue over it again, grinning into Dean’s skin as his back arches up to meet him.
Castiel can practically feel Dean’s soul buzzing through his skin, the bright heat of it seeping through his pores to land on his tongue. He tastes of peaches and honey and burns smooth like old whiskey. It’s overwhelming and nowhere near enough.
He drags his lips down Dean’s stomach, pressing firmly just above his hip where the blanket is still draped. He grabs it, the fabric soft in his fingers, and looks up. Dean knows what he’s asking; nodding, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Castiel wants to feel that too, so he leans back up and catches Dean’s mouth in his own, softly grazing his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip and pulling a moan from his throat. He could drown in that sound, if the universe allowed it.
Castiel grins and steals one more kiss before returning to his position near Dean’s hips. In one swift motion, he frees Dean from the covers. His previous suspicion is confirmed then. He’s bare, hard and wanting.
“Cas…” it comes out broken, almost a whine, but Castiel has never heard his name sound sweeter. He closes his eyes and smiles, feeling the wave of want in Dean’s voice. Then, Castiel brings his lips to the side of Dean’s cock and presses them there in a kiss.
Another moan spills from Dean’s lips and Castiel groans in return. It’s too much, having him here, naked and pleading for Castiel to take him apart. He kisses him again, open mouthed, right under the head of his cock. He ends up smiling against him when Dean groans louder than before.
“Cas, please, c’mon, just-”
He’s a begging mess and Castiel wants to taste him too bad to make him wait any longer. He takes him into his mouth and swallows him down.
“Fuck-” Dean breathes, sharp. His hand flies to tangle in Castiel’s hair, guiding his lips around his cock. Castiel hums around him as Dean nearly falls apart. He’s trying to keep himself still, to not fuck into Castiel’s throat, but Castiel just takes him deeper. He can feel him at the back of his throat and at Dean’s next moan he pulls off, leaving him shining and covered in saliva, to lap at the tip.
Dean is looking at him as he flicks his tongue over his cock, but the sight is too much and he tosses his head back into the mattress. “Jesus Christ, Cas, I’m not gonna last if you - ohh…”
Castiel takes him in again, lips wrapped tightly as he moves. His moan is desperate, close to an edge Castiel wants to hear him tip over. He wants to taste him on his tongue; wants to feel Heaven’s greatest weapon be undone in the mouth of his own tainted divinity.
“Fuck, Cas, I’m close, I-”
Castiel pulls off for a second, just briefly, to look him in the eyes as he trails his tongue from base to tip. When Dean closes his eyes, his bottom lip between his teeth again, Castiel brings him back to that edge and pushes him over.
Dean tastes divine, sun-kissed and heady on his tongue. When he says Castiel’s name, it’s in prayer, lips sealed as comes. Castiel could live in that moment forever; the taste of him in his mouth and his voice reverberating in his head, behind his ribs.
When Dean finally opens his eyes, his breath is still coming in pants. “You- let me see you.”
He wants Dean to feel him as much as he had needed to taste him, so he removes the last piece of clothing keeping them apart and crawls back to where he was sitting before, legs framing Dean’s torso.
“You’re so hot, Cas, fuck. Can I…?”
Castiel doesn’t know exactly what he’s wanting to do, but he wants whatever it is. Dean takes him in his hand then, pumping his length in soft strokes. After a moment, he spits into his hand and starts again, The wet grip nearly has Castiel there right away, and after Dean begs to see it, asks again and again for him to give it to him, Castiel tips over that same cliff. He paints Dean’s chest in warm stripes, unable to stop the grin on his lips from forming as he watches Dean swipe a finger through the mess and bring it to his tongue.
Dean hums around his fingers, pleased with himself, and Castiel leans down to take another kiss from him. He can taste himself there and it’s downright sinful the way they taste together.
Castiel was right though; once he felt this, there was no way he could ever give this up. He wants to pull Dean close, to hold him against his chest and feel his holiness in his palms forever, but Dean groans about the mess and Castiel finds himself getting up to grab something to clean them up with. The torn scrap of tent makes for a good enough towel.
Dean grins when he returns to him, his whole body seeking to be closer to Castiel’s.
“You’re warmer now.” He observes, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and holding him close. Dean huffs out a breathy laugh.
“Well, you warmed me up.”
They lay there together, spent and warm and alive, until the sun comes up and the snow stops falling.
In the morning, when their clothes have dried and the bag is packed, they step out of the cabin and back into the snow. It’s still deep, coming up to their knees when their feet fall through and unfortunately, it’s too much to make the trek back down safely. When they look to the sky, it doesn’t threaten to add to the banks, so all they can do is hope for a warm afternoon.
Castiel keeps the water bottle filled, stepping outside to pack snow into it at different intervals throughout the day. Dean ends up testing his luck with some of the canned food left behind in the cupboards and is surprised when it doesn’t end up making him sick.
Conversations drift, floating from yesterday’s activities to the case to Sam and Eileen and back to yesterday. When they sit near the fire, Castiel keeps Dean close. He isn’t sure what it will be like once they’re out of this place, whether Dean will change his mind about all of this, so he keeps him close while he can, just in case. He presses kisses onto his hands, along the freckles on his shoulders and the ones dusted across his cheeks. He tells Dean he loves him and he revels in the way that the fluttery feeling finally settles in his chest.
Dean touches him again that night as the snow begins to melt around the windowsills. Castiel touches him too, soft hands no longer freezing as they trail over heated skin. They find each other in that cabin, their love laid out by the fireplace, and hold each other there. They sleep tangled up and when they wake, the sun streaming through the window, Castiel loses any doubts that this will change. Dean loves him; he tells him through touches, through prayers, and Castiel believes him.
The next day fairs better, the snow softening beneath their boots as they walk, but it could still be a dangerous trip. The sun holds out, promising warmth to help melt the snow, so they agree to let it and settle in for one more day.
Dean grumbles at the canned food this time, telling Castiel how he’s going to be sure to take them for a real meal as soon as they get back into town. He asks if it’s a date, and though Dean turns away, cheeks tinted a lovely pink, he says it is.
The sun does as promised, and by the time they head out the next day, more than half the height of the snow banks have melted. When the bag is packed and the fire is put out, they step out onto the porch for the final time. Castiel turns towards it.
“Thank you.” Castiel says under his breath. The cabin can’t reply, of course, and Dean gives him a strange look as they step off into the snow.
“What’d you do that for?” he asks as they turn their backs to it and head off towards the trees.
“It saved us; saved me. It felt right.” he replies, an easy smile dancing on his lips.
It takes a few minutes to figure out where the cabin is on the map, but once they mark it, the way back down is easy to find. They navigate more through the breaks in the trees than by any dirt path still covered in snow, but eventually they make it back down. The stark contrast of Baby’s black shine to the blanket of snow on the ground makes it easy to spot and Dean nearly hollers when he spots her.
“Oh, Baby, how I missed you.” he sighs, brushing his hand through the bits of snow still melting on her hood. Castiel helps get her cleared off and soon they are piled in with the backpack discarded in the back seat.
“Now what?” Castiel asks, looking out the window as Dean starts the car. Hot air blasts through the vents when she rolls over and he closes his eyes to bask in it.
“What do you mean? With us? I mean, if you - if you changed your mind, that’s alright, just-”
“Dean, I am not sure if you heard me back there, but I love you. Leaving the cabin won’t make me stop just as going there didn’t make me start. I mean the case. What now?”
“Oh.” Dean says, mouth twitching with the threat of a grin as he tries to think it over. “Well, why don’t we get that dinner first, and see from there. I don’t know about you, but I am starving.” He pats the dashboard as he pulls them back out onto the highway and towards town. It doesn’t take long to steer them into the cleared out parking lot of the local diner.
Dean parks and hops out quickly, Castiel watching as he runs around the front of the car to come up to his side and pull the door open. It’s cheesy and cliché and Castiel can’t stop smiling as he steps out of the car and puts his hand in Dean’s. He leads them inside and with the place being almost empty, they get seated right away.
Neither of them look at the menu this time and when the waitress comes back around to grab their order, Dean just orders them the same thing. It’s easy, existing this way; close to each other as if they had always been like this. In a way, they have. Castiel knew Dean’s soul, held it in his palms and reshaped it under his skin before he took a vessel to come to Earth. It feels like the world has been set right now that their hands brush together on the table between them.
It’s when Castiel looks up, hoping to avoid talks of the case just a little bit longer that he sees them.
All five of the missing people are seated at the booth at the other end of the diner. Castiel’s jaw just drops.
“Dean.” he says, voice hushed. Dean picks up on the shift between them and easily follows Castiel’s gaze across the dining room.
“Son of a bitch.” he says in an exhale. “How much do you want to bet those bastards faked everything out in those woods? Fake your death and relocate, fine, but did you have to choose a place like this?” Dean turns away from them and back towards Castiel. “You know, it makes me wonder if the old cases were the same way or if there really is a Wendigo still out there.”
An older woman seated at the table beside them laughs. “Oh, it’s not still out there, honey. Few of us took care of that beast right after it took some of our folks.”
Dean just gawks at her. “Then why does everyone still believe there’s something out there?” he asks.
The woman smiles again. “If you had a town myth that actually kept rowdy children out of the forest, would you want to give them a reason to go out there and find trouble again?” Dean doesn’t answer. “It’s safer this way.” She nods into her coffee.
The waitress walks between their tables then and sets down their matching plates in front of them. The woman grabs her things and places some money on the table as she turns to leave. “The world is lucky to have people like you.” she adds softly, “Good luck with your next monster, boys, and enjoy your life together.” She pats Dean’s hand as she walks past them and they watch her go, hearing the chime of the bell above the door ring in the wake of her departure.
“Huh.” Dean says, picking up his burger. “What gave us away?”
“Perhaps it was the hand holding.” Castiel smiles, lifting his own burger to his lips. He hadn’t wanted food over their stay in the cabin, but the burger smells good and it tastes even better.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Dean agrees.
They eat until Dean’s plate is empty and half of Castiel’s burger and fries are put away in a to-go box for later. Dean calls Sam from in the impala when they get back to the motel and gives him a run down of the case, excluding, of course, what happened between them. He says he wants to tell his brother in person when they get back to the bunker and Castiel can’t blame him for that.
Sam laughs when he tells him that the people were fine, meaning them getting stuck in the woods for a few days is extra hilarious. He doesn’t know that the cabin gave him everything, gave him more than he could have hoped for, so he lets his brother laugh as he holds Castiel’s hand in the front seat.
When he hangs up, Dean rubs his thumb over Castiel’s hand where they rest together on the console.
“So…” Dean says, voice trailing off before reaching his question.
“Yes?”
“We’re back at the motel.” he tries again, as if that is all of the information required to get his point across. Castiel looks over to him to search his features for clues and sees the flush in his cheeks. His mouth twitches up in a smile.
“We are.” Castiel agrees. He’s pretty sure he knows where Dean is going now, but if it’s what he thinks, he wants Dean to say it. He’s got to ask for it.
Dean just grins and squeezes Castiel’s hand before letting him go and cutting the engine. He doesn’t say anything else as he opens up his driver’s side door, Castiel following after him. The backpack stays abandoned in the back seat as they make their way back into the sanctity of a temporary bedroom.
When the door closes behind them, the soft click of the lock falling shut not long after, there’s only a second, a brief rush of air between them before Castiel has Dean pushed up against the hard patterned wall. His hand rests behind his head to cradle him and keep him from harm. Dean huffs out a sharp curse that melds into a moan that Castiel catches with his teeth.
“We’re back at the motel.” Castiel reiterates into Dean’s skin. Dean is flushed and flustered and chokes back a few noises before he’s able to say anything back.
“We are.” Dean manages, grinning as Castiel places rough, biting kisses into his shoulder.
“Does that mean something?” Castiel asks, hiding his knowing smile against Dean’s throat. He feels Dean’s heartbeat pick up under his lips and scrapes his teeth along his pulse point to feel him shiver in his hands.
“I - ahh, I - my bag.” he stutters out, hoping, praying that’s enough.
“What about it?”
Dean knocks his head back against the wall with a groan. “Cas…”
“What?”
Dean bites his lip. “You know.”
“Yes, I do.”
He can’t look at Castiel; his head turns towards the window as he tries to hide the furious blush on his cheeks. “Are you really gonna make me say-”
“Yes.”
Castiel kisses his neck again just to feel him move against him. Dean moves his hips up to buck into Castiel’s, letting loose another shameful groan at the contact.
“I want-” he cuts himself off to whine as Castiel moves back against him, holding his squirming hips against the wall. “I want you to- fuck , Cas- I want you to fuck me.”
There it is. “Yeah?”
Dean whimpers, nodding and pushing against Castiel’s hips in an attempt to get them closer to the bed. Dean wants it - needs it even - and Castiel lets himself be pushed. Dean’s hands move to take off Castiel’s tan coat, leaving it in a heap on the floor to be quickly followed by his own. Castiel lets him eagerly undress them until they’re both down to their boxers, before turning them at the last second so the back of Dean’s knees are the ones that hit the bed and he lands underneath him.
Splayed out and panting, Dean looks like the sky after Castiel finished painting the stars. Once a blank canvas, now a part of the constellations he hung throughout the universe. Freckles dot his skin, begging to be counted, demanding to be kissed. So, Castiel does. He brushes his lips over every fleck of natural ink, runs his hands over his curves and edges. His hand ends up fitting over the raised flesh somehow still branded into his shoulder and something buzzes between them.
Dean gasps, eyes flying wide. There’s a faint glow to them and Castiel’s jaw drops.
“What- Cas, what is this?” Dean meets his eyes and Castiel watches his mouth mirror his own. “Your eyes are glowing.”
“So are yours.” Castiel grins. He can feel it, his Grace still buzzing within him, nestled safely against Dean’s soul. A hand on his mark, Castiel can see, can feel Dean’s soul just as clearly as he could when he met him in Hell. He had left a piece of himself with Dean when he sewed him together and under the palm of his hand he can feel how they’ve settled together behind Dean’s ribs.
“ Mine ?” Dean says - only, his lips don’t move. He speaks within Castiel like a prayer, but heavier, louder.
“Yes.” he says to Dean’s soul, and Dean gives him a lopsided smile as he hears him in his head. It’s closer than Castiel could have ever imagined they could get and both him and Dean land on the next thought at the same time.
“Like this,” Dean says, out loud this time, a blinding smile so bright it matches the glow of their eyes, “fuck me like this.”
They break the contact and their eyes slowly fade back to their natural colours. Dean’s are just as beautiful on their own, but Castiel would by lying if he said he didn’t love the reflection of his Grace behind his irises.
He removes the last bit of clothing and reaches into Dean’s bag, brushing his hand through the items until they land on a bottle, cold and heavy, and a small tin square. He doesn’t miss the way Dean smiles, shy as his ears turn pink.
Castiel wants to touch, to taste him all over again in a million different ways, but Dean spreads his legs underneath him and begs and Castiel is helpless to deny him. In a moment his fingers are slicked and pressed up against him, adding hints of pressure when Dean moans.
He doesn’t push a finger in until Dean begs again, a whimpering mess just trying to hold on as he works it inside him. Around him, Dean is soft and warm and tight, a better place to worship than he’s ever seen. He adds another digit soon after, fucking into the Righteous Man with hands that were discarded from Heaven.
“Cas, please- ” Dean pants, sweat beading on his brow as his hands twitch above his stomach in a desperate attempt not to touch himself.
“Please, what?” he asks, a sly smile on his lips as he removes his sticky fingers. Dean whines at the loss, already squirming on the bed below him. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he strokes himself a few times, tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth. It rolls on easy and Dean’s mouth runs dry as Castiel adds more lube over himself.
“Fuck me - please, Cas, I need - I - want to feel you. Please -”
Castiel smiles down at him, at the man he pulled from the ashes, the man that taught him to love and placed humanity in his palms, and pushes in. Dean drops his head against the pillow and his mouth falls open, hanging there as if he wants to make sound but can’t. His broken noises held shaking in the back of his throat as Castiel starts to move.
“ Holy shit- ” Dean hisses, teeth biting onto his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Castiel finds a rhythm, moving with Dean’s panting breaths as he pushes back to meet him. It should be sinful; he should feel tarnished and broken to be touching Dean this way, but Dean is salvation behind green eyes and Castiel feels more holy than he ever has in Heaven.
“Dean, you’re -”
“Cas, fuck - you’ve got to - I’m -”
Castiel understands; he feels it growing in his own gut as well and he needs it, needs to feel his soul in his hands when he comes. One hand comes up to wrap around Dean’s length, eliciting a lewd moan and another round of begging, and the other comes up to rest against the brand on Dean’s shoulder.
The whole world falls away.
Eyes shining, they’re together. Dean burns bright against him, his honey whiskey soul pressing in close to Castiel’s Grace. It’s fire and ice, Summer and Winter; it’s Heaven dismantled to it’s finest pieces as they move together beyond their vision.
They can hear each other, but they don’t make sound, rolling moans directed at each other’s essence as their bodies move together. When they come, that’s together too; white-hot and blinding. He thinks Dean is yelling, but he can’t tell if it’s out loud or in his mind and he doesn’t care.
By the time they come down and Castiel slides his hand off of Dean’s shoulder, returning them to the colours of this world, their breath is returning. His air is Dean’s to have; his body, his Grace, all of it is Dean’s.
“Cas… oh my god.” the words come out in a single rush of air through red tinted lips. They’re puffy and bitten and Castiel wants to taste them, so he does. He kisses Dean until he can’t breathe, until they’re both smiling and laughing into each other’s skin. It’s perfect, golden.
Castiel pulls himself off of Dean, off of the bed, and walks to the bag left discarded on the floor. Dean groans at his departure, but after he grabs a cloth and wets it in the bathroom sink, Dean’s noises turn grateful. He cleans them up, clearing the bed of everything but the covers and crawls back in next to him.
Shifting close, Dean rests his head on Castiel’s chest. Castiel’s arms are around him, holding him near his heart.
“That was… Cas, that was amazing.”
Castiel hums and places soft kisses in his hair, unable to keep the grin from his lips. Amazing is an understatement. He’s pretty sure they left this plane of existence.
“I love you.” Dean says, reverent. There’s sleep in his voice, but he’s trying to hold on.
“I love you too.”
Castiel holds him, kisses him until his Summer green eyes close and his breathing finds a steady rhythm.
Castiel has felt the seasons change since the dawn of time. He has walked the Earth throughout many eras, but always distant. He has seen the best of Summers and the worst of Winters. He’s felt the world be born again in the Spring just to die in Autumn. He has always thought the seasons were the most beautiful thing; the way they change and shift as time passes.
But he was wrong. Spring’s fresh air and new life can’t hold a candle to the way Dean feels in his hands. Summer’s bright green seems dull in comparison to the clear sky burn of Dean’s soul. Autumn’s auburn leaves, brittle and bright when they return to the earth, are merely a part of the ground that he pulled Dean from when he raised him from Perdition. And Winter, Winter’s dead cold and tranquil white snow is what almost took Dean from him, only to hand him back for Castiel to finally get to keep.
The seasons are not Dean. Dean is love; he’s beauty and hope and perseverance. He’s a sanctuary on his own, a church in which he worships and prays for the salvation that he delivers with his lips. Castiel is a fallen angel with newfound divinity and he will never return to Heaven when Heaven is in his arms.
~*~*~