Night Moves
Tags: Destiel yearning for eachother in a sickeningly beautiful way.
Summary:
When a broken-down Impala strands Dean and Cas in the middle of a Nebraska summer, what starts as a routine hunt turns into something slower—something real. Haunted by old songs, late-night drives, and the ache of almosts, they find themselves tangled in the quiet space between what they want and what they're afraid to reach for. Somewhere between thunder and starlight, they stop running—and start remembering what it feels like to fall.
First posted on my AO3 account: ficxworm
‼️STORY BELOW THE CUT‼️
They landed in Nebraska in early July. Not because they wanted to, but because the hunt brought them there.
A simple case: vengeful spirit, old farmland, a family too scared to sleep. It was supposed to be in and out. One salt-and-burn and they’d be gone before the sun baked the fields dry again.
But the Impala had other plans.
Dean lifted the hood and muttered a long string of curses that didn’t solve the problem. “Alternator’s shot,” he finally said. “Could be a few days.”
He’d expected Cas to offer a miracle fix. Instead, Cas just stood beside him, gaze flicking up to the warm orange horizon. “Then we’ll wait.”
Dean didn’t ask why Cas didn’t fly off. He didn’t want him to.
They got a room at a crooked little motel outside town. Paint chipped off the siding. Buzzing neon sign out front that barely spelled “VACANCY.”
Two beds. A dusty TV. One radio near the office playing the kind of music Dean grew up with—worn vinyl voices crackling through the quiet.
On the second night, the song came on.
“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy…”
Dean froze halfway through a sip of beer, head tipping toward the radio like it was pulling him back in time. “Man. Haven’t heard that in years.”
Cas glanced over from his seat by the window. “You know this song?”
“Yeah.” Dean leaned back. “This one’s a classic. Old flame kind of song. First times. Summer nights. The stuff that doesn’t leave.”
Cas tilted his head. “You liked that?”
Dean looked at him. Really looked. No trench coat. Just a rumpled button-up and quiet eyes full of stars. “Didn’t really get to have it.”
Cas didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away, either.
The third night, they drove.
No destination. Just Dean behind the wheel and Cas in the passenger seat, the windows down, the wind threading through the empty space between them.
The music played low. Dean didn’t talk much, didn’t need to. Every now and then he glanced sideways and caught Cas watching the road, his profile soft in the glow of the dash lights.
Dean’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel.
He wanted to reach over. Just a brush of knuckles. Just… something.
But he didn’t.
Cas broke the silence eventually. “You used to do this a lot.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Drive aimlessly?”
“Drive to feel less alone.”
Dean swallowed. “Guess some habits don’t die easy.”
Cas didn’t respond. But his hand stayed close to Dean’s on the seat between them. Not touching. Just near.
God, that near was worse than anything.
It stretched like that for weeks.
Cas didn’t leave when the car was fixed.
He found excuses. A broken radio tower. A local haunting. A series of small, forgettable problems they could help with. And Dean let it happen.
They kept sharing motel rooms. Kept staying up too late. Beer between them, stars above them, the same damn song playing on the radio more nights than not.
Dean started watching Cas when he wasn’t supposed to.
In the way his fingers curled around a coffee cup. The way he looked at a thunderstorm like it was speaking to him in a language Dean would never understand. The way he sat too close.
And then one night, in a lull between words, Cas asked, “What would you have done, if things had been different?”
Dean didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Maybe I’d have had a summer like the song,” he said, voice thick. “Back seats. First times. Somebody who made the dark feel less… heavy.”
He didn’t look at Cas when he said it.
But he felt the answer in the way Cas breathed.
Felt it in the silence between them.
The next part came slowly, painfully.
One night, Cas fell asleep on the other bed. Dean watched him from across the room—watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand curled under the pillow, the way his brow furrowed like he was still waiting for something, even in sleep.
Dean lay back. Stared at the ceiling. Wondered what it would feel like to reach for that hand.
The storm rolled in just before dawn. Rain on the windows, lightning flickering like some distant memory. Dean got up. Walked to the window. Didn’t expect the words that came out of his mouth.
“I wish I met you before all of this.”
Cas stirred behind him. “Would it have made a difference?”
Dean didn’t turn around. “Maybe I’d have kissed you by now.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Cas’ voice was low. “Then you still can.”
Dean turned, eyes catching the softest flicker of something open on Cas’ face. But he didn’t move.
Not yet.
Rain still tapped gently at the window. A low rumble of thunder faded into the distance. The silence between them pressed like a weight, heavy and waiting.
Dean stood with one hand resting on the window frame. He could feel Cas’ gaze on his back, steady and warm.
“Then you still can.”
Dean let the words hang there. Let them echo.
He swallowed thickly. “You don’t get to say stuff like that and expect me to think you mean it.”
Cas sat up slowly on the edge of the bed, the blanket pooling around his waist. His voice was quiet. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
Dean turned around.
Cas was looking at him like he always did—serious, focused, but now there was something else underneath. Something soft. Something fragile.
Dean’s voice cracked around the edges. “You have no idea what that would mean for me.”
“I think I do,” Cas said. “Because it would mean the same for me.”
Dean dragged a hand down his face, pacing a step to the left like he couldn’t contain the storm inside his chest. “This isn’t a one-night kind of thing, Cas. I don’t… I don’t do that with people who matter.”
“You matter to me,” Cas said. “You always have.”
Dean let out a bitter breath of laughter. “You know how long I’ve wanted to tell you that? How long I’ve been—” He stopped. Bit the words off like they’d betray him.
Cas rose from the bed and took a slow step forward. “Then say it now.”
Dean looked at him.
Really looked.
The low lamplight caught in Cas’ hair, his skin glowing like something holy. There was distance between them, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt alive.
Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I want you.”
Cas’ breath caught.
Dean shook his head, pacing back a step. “But it’s not just wanting. I—I need you, Cas. And that scares the hell out of me.”
“I know,” Cas said. “It scares me too.”
Dean let that sit for a long moment. His jaw clenched. He reached out, just barely, like he might touch Cas’ arm—then pulled back.
“But if I start this,” Dean said, “I’m not gonna be able to stop.”
Cas stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
“Then don’t.”
But Dean didn’t move.
Not yet.
Because this wasn’t some quick-flash summer fling. Not with Cas.
This was the song you didn’t sing out loud because it hurt too much. The memory that never faded, even when you tried to drown it in whiskey or women or years of running.
So instead of kissing him, Dean reached up and cupped Cas’ face—just held him there, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.
Cas leaned into it.
Dean pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “Not tonight,” he murmured.
Cas nodded. “Okay.”
Dean could feel him breathing. Steady. Patient.
That was the worst part. That Cas would wait. That he’d give Dean all the time in the world. And it made Dean want to give him everything he had.
But not yet.
He pulled back, slow and reluctant. “Let’s just… sit, for now.”
Cas smiled, small and sad. “That’s enough.”
They sat on the bed, side by side. Their hands found each other in the quiet.
And outside, the rain kept falling.
Eventually the rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with it—like the storm had gotten into their bones.
Dean didn’t sleep much. Not after what he said. Not after what he almost did.
He kept his back to Cas most of the night, eyes open, staring at the shadows on the wall. But he could hear him breathing. Could feel the space between their beds like it was still buzzing from the words they’d shared.
In the morning, sunlight streamed in soft and gold.
Cas was already awake, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in both hands. He didn’t speak when Dean stirred. Just looked at him like none of it scared him.
Dean sat up slowly. “You sleep okay?”
Cas tilted his head. “I didn’t sleep much. But I didn’t mind.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “About last night…”
“You don’t have to explain,” Cas said. “You were honest. I respect that.”
Dean’s throat tightened. “Still feels like I should’ve done something.”
“You did.” Cas’ gaze was gentle. “You stayed.”
That did something to Dean. Made his chest ache with the weight of how seen he felt. Like Cas understood the things he couldn’t say out loud.
Dean stood, brushing past Cas on the way to the sink. His shoulder bumped Cas’, and he froze for just half a breath too long before continuing.
When he glanced back, Cas was smiling.
Not in victory.
Just in quiet understanding.
The stars were out in full that night—clearer than Dean had seen in a long while. No streetlights, no neon signs, no hum of motel A/C units. Just the hush of the earth and the sky hanging wide above them like it had secrets it hadn’t told anyone else.
They’d driven until the road ran out, pulled off onto a dirt patch beside a windbreak of trees, cornfields stretching out in every direction. Dean had killed the engine but left the radio on low.
And there it was again—that song—drifting out of the old speakers like it had been waiting for them.
“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy…”
Cas stood beside the Impala, hands in the pockets of his coat, his eyes turned upward like he was listening to something the rest of the world couldn’t hear.
Dean leaned against the passenger door, arms crossed, watching him.
Something about the way Cas looked in the starlight made Dean feel like he was looking at something sacred. Not in a holy way. In a human way. The kind that got into your chest and stayed there.
“I used to think this song was just about getting laid,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice light. “Backseat stuff. You know. Typical high school fantasy.”
Cas turned slightly, his gaze drifting to Dean. “And now?”
Dean let out a breath, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “Now it feels like… trying to hold onto a moment you know is gonna slip through your fingers. Like you already miss it, even while it’s still happening.”
Cas said nothing for a beat.
Then, softly: “You don’t have to miss this. Not if you let yourself have it.”
Dean’s stomach tightened.
“You always make it sound so easy,” he murmured.
Cas took a step forward. “It’s not easy. But it’s real.”
Dean’s throat worked around something hard and invisible. “You scare the hell out of me, Cas.”
“I know,” Cas said. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
That hit harder than Dean expected.
He looked down, then slowly walked around the car, gravel crunching under his boots. Cas didn’t move. Just watched him come closer, until they stood barely a foot apart.
Dean reached out—carefully, like Cas might shatter if he touched him wrong—and rested his hand lightly on Cas’ chest.
He could feel the steady beat of his heart through the thin fabric.
And something in Dean cracked open. “You were the only good thing in the worst parts of my life,” Dean whispered. “I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”
Cas’ hand came up, covering Dean’s.
“Maybe,” Cas said, “you let yourself feel it. Just this once.”
Dean leaned forward slowly. Gave Cas every chance to move. But he didn’t.
Their foreheads touched again, a quiet ache between them.
And when Dean finally kissed him—it wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t messy or unsure. It was slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for more, because it already was more.
Cas kissed him like he’d been patient for years.
Dean kissed him like it was the first time he’d let himself need someone.
The song played on in the background.
“I woke last night to the sound of thunder / How far off, I sat and wondered…”
When they finally broke apart, Dean didn’t step back.
He rested his forehead against Cas’, breathing him in like he was the only steady thing in the world.
“This is gonna ruin me,” he whispered.
Cas gave a small, wry smile. “No. This is going to save you.”
And for once, Dean let himself believe it.
The kiss lingered like smoke—like something that would leave a taste behind, no matter how long the night stretched.
Dean didn’t move.
He kept Cas close, their foreheads still touching, their hands still held between them.
And for once, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was full.
After a moment, Cas pulled back just enough to look Dean in the eyes. “You’re shaking.”
Dean huffed a laugh and didn’t deny it. “Yeah, well. Turns out letting myself want something doesn’t come easy.”
Cas’ thumb brushed lightly across Dean’s knuckles. “You don’t have to want it all at once. Just a little at a time.”
Dean swallowed hard, nodding. “This… whatever this is… I want to try. With you.”
Cas’ smile was soft and genuine. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
The sky stretched wide and quiet above them, stars blinking like distant promises. A breeze stirred through the cornfields, rustling like music beneath the last notes of the song fading out.
“Started hummin’ a song from 1962 / Ain’t it funny how the night moves…”
Dean tilted his head back, looking up at the sky with a breath that came easier now. Then he looked at Cas again—really looked—and something in his chest settled.
“Come here,” he murmured, tugging Cas toward the Impala.
They leaned against the hood together, side by side. Dean threw an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and Cas leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world. Dean’s hand found the back of Cas’ neck, his thumb tracing lazy circles into his skin.
“You know,” Dean said after a while, voice quieter now, “this is the first time I’ve felt like I wasn’t running toward something—or away from something. Just… standing still. And it’s not so bad.”
Cas looked at him, blue eyes shining in the starlight. “That’s what love does.”
Dean turned to him, mouth quirking into a smile. “Yeah? You think that’s what this is?”
Cas didn’t flinch. “I know it is.”
Dean’s breath caught, and for once, he didn’t try to laugh it off. He didn’t deflect or run. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek—slow, reverent—and then rested his head against Cas’.
“Then I guess I’m in it,” he murmured. “All the way.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Dean Winchester felt like he wasn’t just chasing a memory.
He was making one.
“With autumn closin' in…”