* struck
a/n so sorry for not updating i have been so super busy with graduation and all of that!
✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶
It has been four days since Castiel first dropped into the bunker—four days of avoiding him like the plague. You hope and pray that no one has noticed, but then again, God is an asshole named Chuck.
“If you have, like, one conversation with him, you’ll see that he cares for you,” Sam reassures you one night, sitting on your bed with you, both doing your respective things.
“Okay, but rebuttal, Dean is his entire world.” You counter, trying to argue your way out of this conversation. Sam being in your room was normal, but right now it was like he was suffocating you.
Sam groans and runs his hands down his face. He says your name slowly and sighs, “You’ve said, maybe, ten words total to him in the couple of years you’ve been around. You’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”
“I just don’t understand why he had to pick such an attractive vessel. ‘Cuz, like, he picked it, right? He had to come down to earth and choose a body to inhabit?” You complain, hoping the angel will pick up on your thoughts one day so you don’t have to say them.
Sam smiles softly at you and says your name once more. “He heard Jimmy’s prayers for God, and he answered. Can’t help that he was an attractive man to begin with,” the brother laughs and pats your cheek. You roll your eyes and flop back onto your pillows. You sigh loudly and dramatically, entertaining the younger Winchester. Two sets of thunderous footsteps break your dramatics.
“Sam?” You hear Dean ask through your door, knocking. He says your name as well before slowly opening the door. “Just makin’ sure no funny business is goin’ on,” he looks between the two of you before stepping fully into the room. Before you can give a smart-ass response back, Castiel steps through the doorway.
“Dude! She’s like our sister!” Sam throws the pillow he’s been holding at his brother. He dodges it effortlessly, and it hits the angel in the face. You immediately cover your mouth with your hand to attempt to hold back your laugh. Castiel seems completely unfazed, which spurs your laughter more. Sam snorts at his lack of reaction and the way you’re trying to hold it together.
“You did not have to throw the pillow at me,” the angel deadpans, moving closer to the bed where you and Sam are still seated.
Sam laughs out loud, “To be fair, I was aiming for fuck-face over there.” At that, Dean crosses his arms and sits in the chair you have by your desk.
Working up the courage despite your pounding heart and pumping adrenaline, you blurt out: “You can sit on my bed as well, Castiel.”
His head practically whips to you, eyes searching for yours. This does nothing to quell your nerves. The angel nods silently and sits at the open end of your bed, beyond stiff. Studying him quietly, you smile to yourself. The Winchesters both take notice of this interaction, both silently conversing, Sam trying to signal to leave.
Dean clears his throat and makes an excuse to leave your room, Sam following suit. You try to protest, but Sam shoots you a look that says, “Do it; thank me later.” You sigh and turn to Castiel once the brothers leave. “So…” you start, fidgeting with your thumbs.
“You are nervous around me.” He doesn’t even phrase it as a question. He knows it’s true. Castiel shifts on the bed, managing to get closer to you. Closer to you! You repeat in your mind.
You nod, “Yeah, I am.”
“I do not understand, I help the Winchesters. Does this not soothe your nerves?” His voice is addictive, the cadence of his words lulling you closer to him.
“I mean, yeah, it soothes me… but you’re,” you study him, being this close is intoxicating. Does he even know what he’s doing?
“I am what?” The response is immediate. He craves human validation, you remember Sam saying something along those lines a lifetime ago.
“Intimidating,” you confess. You have no fucking idea why you’re admitting everything. His presence is domineering in your space, he is everywhere. This is the first time you’ve had a one-on-one conversation with him, and it’s like you’re vomiting every thought you’ve ever had about him out.
The angel sighs and tilts his head. “I have heard that before. Dean told me to work on being more” he rubs the back of his neck, signaling embarrassment– “welcoming.” You smile at his admission of guilt? Maybe it was something more. The mention of Dean from Castiel’s mouth stirs something within you.
“I see…” You nod your head slowly and look down at your lap. You’ve imagined conversations with him, but this is something different. You never imagined being able to see each freckle on his face. Or his smile lines, carved so deeply in his face, although you’ve never seen him smile. Your mind races, what would he even smile at? The thought starts lingering, longer than you want it to. You’re hyperaware of the silence permeating through your room, unable to pinpoint the emotion behind it: Tense? Awkward? Comfortable?
✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶
Four more days have passed, and the tension between you and Castiel has not settled. Sam and Dean have picked up on it, although the angel has not noticed your unease. “How are your eggs?” he asks one day over breakfast. You nearly choke, not expecting him to speak to you.
“Good,” your answer is short, trying to pretend that Castiel’s voice wasn’t sending shivers down your spine. The angel exhales and nods, deeming your answer sufficient. You study him quietly, poking at your eggs, scared to take another bite, just in case Castiel tries to talk to you again.
Dean huffs your name, “Stop playing with your food.” Sam laughs softly at his brother’s attempt to fluster you. You raise your middle finger to him, rolling your eyes.
“‘m not playing with my food,” you grumble, still pushing your eggs around, “jus’ not hungry.” Castiel watches you closely, his gaze scrutinizing. Looking up, you lock eyes with him and he smiles softly. He looks at your food, then back to you, quirking his head as if he were asking a question. You furrow your brow, trying to hold a silent conversation with the angel while the Winchester brothers’ voices fill the air around you. Castiel reaches for your fork, still in your hand.
“May I?” he essentially whispers, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. You nod, watching his movements carefully. He gathers eggs onto the fork and lifts it to his mouth, taking a bite. What the fuck. Castiel chews slowly, eyebrows creasing.
“Good?” you ask quietly, examining his facial expressions intently.
He shakes his head, swallowing, “Tastes like nothing,” he informs. You tilt your head, confused. What do you mean? Dean seasoned the eggs well. Your thoughts swirl around your brain. Castiel, reading your confusion, smiles and leans closer. Your breath stutters. He is so close that you can see all the different blues in his eyes. “I do not need to eat, therefore, it’s different for me,” the angel answers your unspoken question.
Oh.
Oh.
