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“Where is he?” Castiel said as he ran into the room.
Sam let out a sigh, but not an answer.
“Sam, where is he.”
“In there, but Cas, look—” Before Sam could finish, Castiel had run up to the locked door and pressed his forehead against it, breathing heavily, hands squared by either ear. “He needs some time.”
Castiel’s heart was moving all too quickly for his liking. He still hadn’t gotten used to that feeling. Most of the little quirks of humanity, while nuisances, were dealable, but the heartbeat still threw him off. It was like a little creature running around in his chest. He tried to think of it as a hamster. That’s what Dean told him once. His heart was his own personal pet hamster.
“Have you seen him?” Castiel asked.
Sam shook his head.
“Gabe rushed him in. Said Michael really did a number on him.”
“When can I—”
“Cas, no, sit. You’re exhausted. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“No, and I haven’t.” Sleep wasn’t something Castiel was about to let come between him and Dean. It had been nearly three days and he refused to shut his eyes. No little naps or four hour night sleeps like the Winchesters usually ran on.
Three days had passed and he was starting to hallucinate. Nothing strange, just little things; some stuff moving out of the corner of his eyes and then there was Dean’s voice, casual and relaxed and behind him and it took almost all the energy Castiel had in him to remind himself it wasn’t really Dean.
But Castiel hadn’t heard Dean’s voice in so long, he was afraid he’d forget what it sounded all together. So he almost relished those moments when his mind played tricks on him and he heard Dean laugh or offer him a beer or tell him he was sorry, or that—and this was Castiel’s favorite thing to hear so far—Dean missed him and he’d be back soon and that Castiel was an absolute fudging idiot if he didn’t go and take a nap.
It had nearly been a year since Dean was possessed. Almost a full year had passed and that year was starting to teach Castiel the full impact Dean had on him (teaching Castiel about beer and girls and hunting and porn—unintentionally so—and family and what it feels like to sleep not just feeling safe, but feeling loved… feeling like he mattered.)
Without Dean, Castiel was starting to learn he felt like a shell, an empty vessel. Or what he would imagine an empty vessel might feel after being host to an angel. He was tired all the time, took up no interest in anything other than cases and research that might just get him closer to getting Dean, the Dean who he—No. No. Angels don’t feel things like that. That kind of thing is one of those little bits of humanity he’ll never be able to understand.
And it was another nail in the coffin everytime Castiel admitted that to himself. No. This wasn’t love, and it never would be love. Sure he could tell Dean in a room of all their friends and their family that he loved him, that Castiel loved all of them, but that was the closest Castiel would ever get to anything remotely emulating what it is to love. This wasn’t love. It was reflection.
The angel slowly gave in to his shaking legs and slid down the door, his back against it, knees tucked up to his chest. A tear slipped from his eye and an immediate sense of hopelessness crashed over him like a wave. He felt it the most in his stomach. It was a sort of warm presence, sitting there in what felt like a pit of excitement that Dean was just right there, ever so close, yet he couldn’t stop the tears from coming. He was an angel; he wasn’t supposed to be able to cry and Castiel always knew it was bad when tears started to come.
He was so close, yet so far away. Dean. Right there, on the other side of a door. Castiel could break through it, if he really wanted, but what was the risk that Michael would still be there, floating around in Dean’s subconscious? What if he hadn’t ever left? What if he was never going to leave and Dean was right to have said he would throw himself into the ocean? But thinking about that only made the tears come faster and that feeling in the pit of his stomach just buried itself deeper.
Castiel hated exaggerations, but this, this feeling, if anything, was killing him. At the same time, Castiel had known death, and if he was being honest with himself, this was far worse. This wasn’t killing him. It was forcing him to live.
The more he thought about the impossibility of his tears, the more he thought about Dean, the more tears seemed to come, staining his face and everything was starting to get so hot and sticky, like someone had cranked up the heat in the room. His eyelids grew heavier. Castiel kept forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his eyelids to stay open longer, wider.
Castiel thought it was a dream when Sam bent down to shake him awake.
“Cas, Cas, hey, buddy, get up.” The words seemed to float around Castiel’s ears, never actually going into them.
“Sam, what is it?” His voice came more groggy than intended as he felt for the unforgiving, cold, concrete floor only to find white sheets and a queen size mattress that Castiel couldn’t believe still smelled of sage, pine, and aftershave. It was Dean’s room. Dean’s room with the little lamp and the yellowy light and the dark wood paneling and the headphones and the old photographs and plaid shirts stacked in his drawers and the dark jackets hung up in the closet and—
“Just get up.”
Sam pulled Castiel to his feet and put an arm around his shoulders when he nearly fell back to the bed.
“He’s awake,” Sam said.
“Have you—”
“I ran to get you as soon as I saw. I haven’t gone in but—”
Castiel didn’t even wait for Sam to finish the sentence. He didn’t think, he just let his feet carry him to the door.
It all went by in a flash; running down the hallways, turning the handle and pushing through the door, his chest heaved as he fought the urge to catch his breath, but it all seemed so trivial when he saw Dean, head in his hands, sitting on the twin bed in a dark room.
There was no good way to react to this. There was nothing meaningful enough to say, to do. Hugging him wouldn’t do, and telling Dean how much Castiel missed him, or how stupid he was for letting this happen, wasn’t enough either, so Castiel just stood there, breathing hard against the air in the room. Dean looked up, his green eyes watering.
Castiel knew what he wanted to do, but it wasn’t the time. It was a selfish, yet ruthless thought that had been pining at him for months, really for years. Castiel had been pushing it aside for so long, and no matter how badly he wanted to act on it, it was selfish. It was and would always be selfish.
“Cas,” Dean said, his voice breaking as he pushed up off the bed before running to him and before Castiel could even react, Dean’s arms were wrapped around him, both of them tight against his waist.
Neither of them moved, and Castiel could feel Dean’s heartbeat everywhere; in his own chest, in his ears, in his head, in his arms, in his jaw. It was everywhere, and it didn’t make sense.
“Cas,” Dean said his name again, pulling his arms up from Castiel’s waist to bring his head against Dean’s. Dean held a hand on either side, palms lined up with Castiel’s jawline, as he pressed Castiel’s forehead to his. The only other time anyone held Castiel’s face like this was after a reaper had killed him, but just before Castiel left his body. The last thing he remembered from then was Dean’s hand on his knee, and then both hands on his face. They were shaking then, and they were shaking now.
“Cas.” Dean’s eyes were shut, his mouth hanging open. Castiel stopped caring about words like selfish. He never thought of himself first and he was so suddenly sick and tired of never, not once in all the time he’d lived, being selfish.
Castiel shut his eyes, and he knew in that moment that some things were just worth the risk. He closed the distance between his mouth and Dean’s and for the first time in all his time knowing Dean, Dean relaxed. He let himself lean against Castiel, and they kissed.
It wasn’t weird. Castiel was always worried it would be weird kissing his best friend. But this, it felt like second nature. It didn’t take thoughts, or worries, it just happened, and as he let himself not think, Castiel pushed his hand up Dean’s back and into his hair and he held on, not because he was worried about losing him, but because he could.
Dean pulled his lips from Castiel’s, but kept their heads pressed together. Castiel opened his eyes into Deans, breathing heavy, taking thought into the fact that they were very much taking turns trading breaths, then he laughed. And then Dean laughed. Maybe it was relief or confusion or something else.
“Dude, if you want to kiss me again, that spontaneous thing is definitely the way to go, but next time don’t take so long.”
“Me?” Castiel asked, startled. “What about you?”
“You’re the celestial being, you’ve existed longer, that means you’re,” Dean paused to poke him in the chest before returning his hand to Castiel’s cheek where one of Dean’s fingers stretched to stroke Castiel’s temple. “The mature one and you get to make all the moves.”
“I feel like that’s unfair.”
“I feel like you should kiss me again.”
“I feel like that’s—”
“Oh shut up,” Dean said, and Castiel listened, leaning forward again.
This time their lips met in a different way. It was less needy, less worried, less hurried. It was more focused, more driven, and this time, it was Castiel who pulled away first.
“Since we’re doing the kissing—”
“Doing the kissing?” Dean laughed, pressing another kiss to Castiel’s mouth.
“I think that you should shut up now. Since we are kissing, now, I think we should also consider sleeping, because as you might not have heard, I’ve been running on nothing but pure will, worry, and caffeine which I have learned is a rather effective stimulant, and since you are very much alive, and i am assuming that you are not going anywhere, one of my three fuel options is gone. If you couldn’t guess it’s the worry—”
“Yes, Cas, now stop with the talking.”
Dean’s steps towards the bed were not without a subtle limp before he slipped under the comforter, head falling against the pillow.
“Well?” Dean asked.
Castiel stepped up to the empty space behind Dean, who’d already gotten comfortable lying on his side.
Dean laughed again when Castiel finally got into the bed beside him.
“Why are you laughing?” Castiel asked.
“Because you look so weird. Come on, there isn’t enough room for you to lie on your back.” Dean breathed out, reaching behind himself to grab Castiel’s arm, which he draped over himself, pulling Castiel so that his chest was pressed up against Dean’s back.
“Comfortable?” Castiel asked.
“Oh, very, especially considering I’ve been backseat driving a stuck-up self-righteous angel for the past year.”
“Yes, well I’d assume that would… Um…” Castiel ran out of words before he even finished the sentence.
“Ssssh…” Dean said. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere, you can come up with the rest in the morning.”
For the first time in three days, Castiel closed his eyes feeling what he would assume humans have named safety, which he strongly considered renaming Dean, before acutely falling asleep.