Stiles idly twirled the sparkling liquid in his champagne flute. The party was in full swing, the huge ballroom glittering with light and full of high society party-goers all too eager to discuss the latest scandal and climb the social ladder.
Ugh. He really did hate these things.
Tugging on the collar of his tuxedo Stiles made his way across the room, ducking gracefully between patrons and dodging the predatory gaze of an ageing socialite, whose frankly frightening stare had been locked on him for the last ten minutes.
He downed the rest of his champagne, handing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. Stiles made his way to the viewing platform, pressing one last smoke bomb to the underside of a table. It was almost time.
The window extended almost the entire length of the ballroom, offering a spectacular, uninterrupted view of the stars beyond.
“What a view huh?” Stiles mentioned to the person next to him.
The man started, looking vaguely surprised to see Stiles standing so close. “Oh, yes.”
Stiles assessed the man beside him. Light scruff, pretty hazel eyes, a truly fantastic ass. The current heir to an entire star system, Prince Derek Hale certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes.
“Not a fan of parties?” Stiles gestured behind them.
Derek grimaced, “Not particularly.”
There was a faint, almost unnoticeable rumble underfoot. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noted several guards speak into their comms and then subtly slip out of the room as they were alerted to the starboard airlock breach. He’d have to give Erica a raise when they got back to base, he would never have felt the distant explosion if he hadn’t been waiting for it.
Stiles smiled at his target, “Nice to meet you…?”
Derek blinked in surprise, clearly unused to people not recognising him, even if Stiles was just feigning ignorance. “Derek.”
“What do you say we get out of here, Derek?” Stiles said.
“What?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was kind of adorable.
Stiles grinned, “Just play along and you’ll be fine.”
The lights cut out right on cue. Surprised murmurs echoed through the room as everything was suddenly plunged into darkness.
–
“You want me to steal a prince?” Stiles exclaimed. He might have also flailed a little too enthusiastically and knocked over the potted plant on Lydia’s desk.
Lydia let out a long-suffering sigh, fixing him with an unamused glare as she righted the plant and brushed dirt off her books. “I have a client that would like to see Prince Hale no longer held as a political prisoner. The payoff is worth the effort.”
“Pulling a heist on an Argent ship, Lydia? The security will be insane. Never mind that I’d be more likely to be blown out of an airlock than arrested if they catch me.” Stiles paced in front of her desk.
Lydia waved a hand dismissively, “Luckily for you, there’s a party aboard that ship in a few days and I have a senator that owes me a favour,” she glanced down to write something in her ledger. “Of course it’s up to you to make your own way off the ship. I trust you can manage?”
Stiles let out a groan and flopped back into his chair.
Lydia smirked, “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve, Stiles? And here I thought you were still the best thief in the galaxy.” She paused, thoughtful. “However self-proclaimed that title is.”
Stiles scowled at her and ran a hand through his hair, mind already racing with possible plans.
He hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.
–
The dim emergency lights snapped back on seconds later, illuminating everything with an eerie amber glow.
Stiles took a step, springing up onto the table in front of him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, voice carrying through the room. “My name is Stiles and I’ll be your entertainment for tonight.”
A well placed holo projector hidden up his sleeve sent a shower of gold sparks into the air when Stiles flung his arm wide, drawing the attention of the crowd. The illusion drew several gasps and catcalls from the audience.
The wonders of modern technology.
“Now, I need a volunteer.” Stiles slid his gaze across the crowd before resting on Derek. He held out a hand. “How about you, sir?”
There was a beat where Derek stared at him intently and it looked like he might not accept. Stiles briefly wondered if the rescue attempt was about to end before it had even begun. Then a strong hand was gripping his and Stiles was pulling Derek up on the table with him, other hand discreetly slipping a metallic cuff onto Derek’s wrist as he did. Derek raised an eyebrow at him and Stiles winked.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Stiles grins at the crowd. “For my next trick, I’m going to make this exceptionally fine gentleman disappear.”
The smoke bombs he’d placed around the room earlier went off without a hitch, obscuring everything in a white cloud.
Stiles squeezed Derek’s arm and hit the button on the metal bands around their wrists. The stealth field burst to life around them, distorting the air like a heat wave.
Stiles lifted a finger to his lips, signalling Derek to keep quiet as he pulled them from the table and they carefully weaved past people to the nearest exit.
They were still holding hands when they made it to the hall outside and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief that they’d gotten past the remaining guards unhindered.
He turned to look at Derek. “I can’t believe that worked so well, now we just need to-”
Stiles was cut off by a strong arm slamming him into the cool metal of the wall and pinning him there. Well, shit.
“Who are you?” Derek growled.
“Whoa, calm down dude.” Stiles gasped as the arm against his throat pressed harder. “This is a rescue, I was hired to rescue you. Well, I mean, technically I’m stealing you. It’s kinda my specialty,” he rambled.
Derek pulled back, looking confused. “I don’t understand. There’s nobody who would…” He trailed off and looked away. Stiles felt something in his heart clench, how long had Derek honestly believed that nobody wanted to help him?
A crackle of static from Stiles’ comm interrupted them. “Stiles, where the hell are you? You’ve got two minutes before the guards get through the bulkheads.” Scott’s muffled voice said urgently.
“Shit,” Stiles hissed and grabbed Derek. “If you want to get off this ship, you need to trust me and we need to start running. Now.”
Derek stared at Stiles as if searching for something. He nodded, seemingly resolved with whatever he saw in Stiles.
They ran down the corridor, Stiles hands bumping against Derek’s. He skidded around a corner almost slipping on the smooth metal. “This should be the way to the-”
An energy blast struck the ceiling above them with a flash of light. Guards were blocking the end of corridor, and their escape route. Stiles grimaced and drew his weapon to return fire, pushing Derek back behind him.
“Other way. Go, go, go.”
They sprinted down the hall, scrambling around another corner, Stiles firing haphazardly behind them as they ran.
“This rescue is going great.” Derek huffed, “I’ve always wanted to be shot at.”
“Oh shut it, your highness,” Stiles snarked back, “I have a plan. Well, most of a plan.” He could improvise something.
“This way,” Derek grabbed Stiles, tugging him around the corner as Stiles let off a few more shots at their pursuers.
Derek led them down another identical corridor and they burst through a set of doors, panting, and Stiles turned to see where they were.
He could see stars twinkling through the glass containment doors of the airlock. Of course it was a goddamn airlock. There were only so many ways off a spaceship. The universe hated him.
“This is punishment for my sins, you know,” Stiles said despondently, staring out at the darkness of space. He vaguely registered Derek bashing at the door panel until the doors slid shut. The metallic thump of magnetic locks engaging. “I joke about an airlock one time.”
Derek was unhooking the emergency space suits near the door, throwing one to Stiles before pulling his own on.
Stiles sighed as he looked down at the sleek material of the suit. He knew he’d regret taking this job.
–
Stiles fidgeted as they stood in the airlock. He’d always hated doing space walks, it was why he always made Isaac or Erica do repairs to the outside of the ship. Really, it was respect for the fact that the only thing protecting him from the certain death of suffocation was a thin carbon fibre suit. A completely healthy, rational fear to have.
Of course, right now there wasn’t enough time for sensible things, like his ship actually docking. They’d have to blow the airlock doors and hope that his crew was prepared enough to catch them when they were shot out into the void.
Understandably, this made Stiles a little nervous. A lot nervous. It was possible he was about to have a minor panic attack.
“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Derek’s hands were on his face, they were nice hands, turning his head until Stiles was looking into pretty hazel-green eyes. “Breathe.”
Stiles sucked in a breath, matching Derek. “Sorry,” he said once he’d gotten his breathing back under control. “It’s just, these things always sound better in theory.”
Derek stared intently at him, “You trust your crew don’t you?”
Stiles blinked, “Always.”
“Then we’ll be fine,” Derek stated.
Stiles felt a smile tug at his mouth. “This is ridiculous, I’m meant to be the one rescuing you and here you are reassuring me. I’ll never live this down.”
“I won’t tell,” Derek said seriously.
Stiles grinned, “What a gentleman. I should steal princes more often.”
Derek muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I hope not’ under his breath as Stiles carefully placed explosives on the outer door.
He set the timer. Ten seconds.
Stiles stepped back and Derek wrapped strong arms around him. The perks of being flung into space, you needed to have a good grip on your partner. Not that Stiles minded.
“Ready?” Stiles breathed.
Derek nodded at him and then, “Your helmet.”
Stiles eyes widened and he slapped at the neck of his suit. The visor slid down with a snick, sealing the suit. “That was clo-”
The airlock door crumpled as the compartment depressurised and suddenly they were spinning weightless through the darkness, stars blurring pinpricks of light flashing past them, nothing but the harsh sound of their own breathing breaking the silence.
It felt like an eternity and for a heart-stopping moment Stiles thought they would overshoot the ship completely and end up spinning aimlessly through space forever.
He had never been more relieved to see the familiar baby blue of Roscoe’s hull as the stealth field dropped and the ship materialised in front of them.
They spun through the open blast doors and were saved from slamming into the wall by a large cargo net strung up at the back of the hanger. The ship’s artificial gravity switched on as the blast doors closed behind them and Stiles hit the floor with a groan, limbs still tangled with Derek’s.
He freed an arm and reached up to pull his helmet off, gasping down breaths of cool filtered air in relief.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Stiles tilted his head to look at Derek, who was looking just as relieved to be back in the relative safety of a ship.
“Neither can I,” Derek met his eyes.
They stared at each other for a moment and then it was like a dam had burst; Derek snorted and Stiles started laughing. They’d survived.
–
“And when we got to the hanger they were both just laughing hysterically on floor,” Scott finished telling the story, hands gesturing wildly.
Cora was grinning at them from across the table. “So dear brother, did you let a thief steal your heart?” She asked slyly.
“Aww, Der, did I steal your heart?” Stiles grinned at him.
“Hardly,” Derek scoffed. “I stole yours.”
Stiles smiled as Derek leaned in to kiss him. He wasn’t wrong.
Prompt: Astronaut!Dean meets Star!Cas
haihaipanda, I may have gone a little overboard :P
Star (noun)
A huge ball of gas held together by gravity. The central core of a star is extremely hot and produces energy. Some of this energy is released as visible light, which makes the star glow. Stars come in different sizes, colors, and temperatures. Our Sun, the center of our solar system, is a yellow star of average temperature and size. Sometimes referred to as ‘heavenly body’.
This is what Dean had always known the definition of a star to be. Gas. Gravity. Pure, unbridled energy in the form of a sphere, visible from lightyears away.
Not a… person.
Granted, nobody has ever looked directly at a star, that’s what the current mission is for. That’s why Dean is wearing this special, bulky suit and has a visor three inches think. That’s why he’s wearing weird sunscreen that smells like sardines.
Outside, in the big, black expanse of the Universe, the star cocks its head to the side.
Dean is convinced he’s going crazy.
“Uh, Benny?” the astronaut asks into his mic. “You seein’ this?”
There is only static on the line. Which, yeah, makes Dean a little nervous, but he’s not being pulled back to the shuttle, so it must be okay. Besides, that’s one of the main attractions of the job in the first place, right? Adventure? Space, the final frontier and all the awesomeness that comes with the unexplored, ever-expanding blackness.
Funnily enough, all this courage flies out the metaphorical window when the star takes a step forward. Because maybe Dean’s eyes are playing tricks, but holy fuck, the thing just stepped forward. In Space. Immediately, hypotheses hum in the back of the astronaut’s brain, but they’re more annoying than useful because shit shit shit now the star has taken another step and they’d been in orbit around it but Dean is definitely feeling some sort of gravitational pull—his safety cord snaps.
Now, Dean panics.
His legs and arms flail wildly in empty Space, and though a tiny voice is telling him: there’s no friction, you know it’s no good, save your strength, save your oxygen, Dean is hard pressed to hear anything other than the blood rushing in his ears.
He comes to a stop.
Everything is deathly quiet.
Dean is looking at the star’s bare feet. They appear human but for the odd, glowing white swirly designs patterning his otherwise gold-tinted and shimmering skin. Dean stares in amazement at the way the thing’s toes wriggle as if he’s standing on a floor, and imagines the analogy he’d been taught in high school; the one where space is a blanket, and all the different planets make different indents in it according to their mass. It’s gotta have a huge mass, Dean’s brain supplies. It’s just compact, and can.. move?
Dean, impossibly, feels a light, curious touch at his foot, the contact causing his gear to glitch and swim with static. He’s soon upright again, the star’s palms up in the universal gesture of peace. From this vantage point, Dean can clearly see his face. Because it is a he. Or, at least, it looks male.
The star is beautiful. And okay, Dean doesn’t really like using that word, because he thinks it’s way too flowery and sweet, especially for a man, but there just isn’t any other word for him. He’s somehow got this wild head of hair so black it’s hard to tell where he ends and Space begins; the only indication comes from the blue tint of the messy strands, and the little sparkles of gold that seem haphazardly caught between them. His jaw is strong and covered in something resembling stubble, of all things, and the bridge of his nose is perfectly straight. He has pretty lips. Pink and soft-looking, they’re practically screaming to be kissed… especially when the star seems to pout ever so, brows furrowing in confusion.
And his eyes.
Sweet Jesus on a cracker, they’re blue. They actually look like they’re every shade of blue all in one, which is impossible, but that’s just what it looks like. They’re bright, too, and not in that literary ‘oh, his eyes were bright like stars’ way… In the literal, ‘they look like light is shining out from behind them’ way. Like there truly is unbridled energy inside the human-looking shell that is this star. It almost feels… divine? Celestial? Dean’s never been one for religion, but hell if this isn’t a god… Which is the last coherent thought he has for a while.
Wings.
They fan out to either side of the star, each easily the length of the shuttle. And these are completely black. So black, you truly can’t tell they’re not part of Space itself. They look like bird wings; composed of dark feathers from root to tip. They also look like jagged rock. Or Onyx. Also velvet. If the Universe was composed of a literal fabric, Dean is convinced it would look like these wings.
The astronaut forces himself to barely acknowledge the fact that his star is completely naked. Though, you know, he’s only human, so… he peeks. A little. And it’s, you know… just as pretty as the rest of him.
Which is a train of thought Dean needs to get away from ASAP.
He moves his gaze far upwards, taking notice of a blue mass of lines and squiggles inked above his heart. The symbols are much too dark against the swirls of light that otherwise occupy the being’s skin, but Dean can’t deny their beauty. Like if angels had a tribal language.
Angels.
It occurs to Dean that he could, possibly, be looking at an angel. It also occurs to him that an angel could be looking at him, too. No pressure.
Though… the winged creature, whatever he is, doesn’t seem to be as concerned with judging Dean for his sins, as he does with figuring him out; the guy’s eyes are literally sparkling with sharp curiosity.
“Uh… hi,” Dean says lamely.
The star (angel?) steps back in alarm. Which is really discombobulating, because the guy has his own gravitational field, and Dean is wholly caught up in it. So, really, they both end up back a step. The star only barely puts his hands up fast enough to catch Dean. “…Hi?” he answers, head cocked and brows furrowed. He leans in towards the spacesuit visor, narrowing his eyes before his entire face lights up. Literally. Again. “Hi!”
And even though it’s weird as fuck that Dean can hear him (space is a vacuum), the human cannot stop himself from smiling.
The otherworldly being quirks his lips as well, pressing the fore and middle fingers of his right hand to the astronaut’s visor, frowning again. He touches the suit again and again and again, knocking Dean to and fro. “Hey hey hey!”
But the star doesn’t listen. Instead, he chews at his bottom lip in thought, understanding washing over his face before he leans in close again, tapping the visor experimentally. With a satisfied nod of his head, he rips off the entire headpiece.
Dean freaks the fuck out.
Because he can’t breathe and he’s gonna die and he knows he can’t explode or anything but fuck does it feel like he will and the star is coming closer and he’s holding him still and what the fuck he’s breathing into Dean’s mouth and— and Dean can breathe. Dean can breathe. He takes huge lungfuls of air, choking and coughing and spluttering as the star looks on anxiously, two fingers pulling back from where they had been touching his forehead. Those blue eyes, however, are still way too close for comfort. “Personal space, dude,” he rasps.
Immediately, the star pulls back, heat rushing to his cheeks. “I… apologize,” he replies, looking incredibly pleased with himself. He keeps his hands at his sides, brows raised in curious excitement as he looks at Dean expectantly, waiting.
Dean is, quite honestly, still stuck on the fact that he’s breathing in Space.
Well, that, and how the hell a voice that rough and sexy comes out of something so.. so... not rough-looking. Seriously, the dude is lean and muscular, sure, but he sounds like a chainsmoker. A really really sexy angel chainsmoker.
Also, he’s naked.
Dean is going to Hell for this.
“I… uh… Thanks. For the air. And stuff.”
The star nods sagely, though he looks troubled. “I am sorry for your suffering,” he says softly. “I did not know you need so much… oxygen.” A cool, shimmering hand reaches out to touch Dean’s cheek, and the astronaut holds his breath for half a second.
“I am… Castiel, of the Light People,” he continues, looking to Dean as if to make sure he’s going about this correctly. “I live here, in the Deep Black. And you are Dean Winchester, of the Dust World. A… human.”
“How-”
“I learn quickly,” the star says bashfully. He extends his two fingers. “When I touch you, I can see you. Inside. All your knowledge and memories. It’s how I know to speak in this tongue.”
If Dean wasn’t feeling so ridiculously violated, he would have been seriously impressed. But, as it is, this star-angel has been privy all his most embarrassing moments and thoughts … including the satin panties. Dean blushes wildly, clearing his throat and forcing himself to still. He wants to yell, he really does… but Light People? Offending an angel might not be the best idea. “Uh, listen, man, you can’t really-”
Castiel is pulling at his spacesuit. Roughly.
And now Dean can’t control himself.
“Hey! HEY!” He yells, trying to push the other being off of him. “What the- Not cool, man! Not! Cool! Stop it! Stop-”
Motherfucker.
Dean’s spacesuit is floating, and Dean is not inside it.
“What the fuck?”
Castiel is pulling at his clothes.
“Oh no. No friggin’ way!”
But the star’s hands are everywhere at once, pushing and pulling until one manages to sneak under Dean’s shirt. Then and only then does Castiel stop. “Oh,” he breathes, as if awed. He meets Dean’s eyes bashfully. “You have…”
“Skin? Yeah, genius, ‘course I do.” And okay, maybe he’s being a little snappy, but Jesus H. Christ, a frikken angel-star-man just wrestled him out of his spacesuit and was trying to get him out of his pants!
Castiel looks taken aback and upset.
Dean doesn’t give a rat’s ass. “Look,” he says. “You can’t just go around touchin’ people like that, okay? Angel or not, you-”
“Angel?”
Oh look, he’s perky and curious again.
The star closes his eyes, brow furrowing as if he’s looking for something in his own mind before he hums thoughtfully. “Angel,” Cas murmurs. “Perhaps.”
“Per—Were you just looking through my memories?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell, man?! You can’t just- what kinda freaky deaky mind tricks you using, huh?!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Stop looking through my head.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. He moves forward, face serious and a little scary as he lifts Dean’s arms to observe them before letting the appendages fall. He tugs at the grey t-shirt. “This is… clothing,” he says. “Second skin.”
“Seriously-?”
“And underneath…”
“Woah, slow down there, Cowboy,” Dean says. “Clothes stay on.”
More curious narrowing of the eyes. “Not always.”
Dean is actually about to fucking lose it again, but something about the way Castiel is looking at him, like he’s a present begging to be unwrapped, gives the human pause. “Well, uh, no, but-”
And Castiel is at it again.
“Fuck, really!?! Would you just- that’s my arm, numbnuts! Wait. CASTIEL, WAIT!”
Everything stops. “Dean?”
“Fine, okay?!” Dean pulls his shirt over his head and pushes down his sweatpants, kicking them off. “Yes, I’m just like you. I have arms and legs and hands but these stay on, Cas.” He motions to his boxer briefs. “You get me?”
“I get you.” But Castiel doesn’t look like he’s even remotely close to listening. Instead, he’s reaching out to press a cool hand to Dean’s chest, chewing his bottom lip through a smile. “You’re…” His gaze falls to the last piece of clothing on Dean’s person. Immediately, Cas moves to cup the human’s package, humming excitedly. “And you’ve got..!”
“Holy- woAH there, Sparkle Boy!” Dean wriggles his way out of Castiel’s hold real quick. “You do not, under any circumstances, touch a man’s junk willy nilly, got it?”
Cas’s face is soft and warm and kind, and though he completely ignores the question, his words are breathed with such complete awe that Dean lets it slide: “Like me.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Sure, he has no respect for personal boundaries, and he’s definitely related to the cat curiosity killed, but Castiel is kinda sweet. A little. Maybe. In a weird sorta way.
And, as it turns out, he’s actually an okay guy when he’s not trying to strip you.
“I… only look for information,” he assures Dean, sometime later. “When I look in your… mind. No personal things."
Castiel is truly a star, not an angel, and he’s been living in the same spot, day after day, for about one billion years. He’s not in contact with his family anymore because his species are generally solitary; they get nursed and babied until their fledgling status is lost, and then it’s off to find a nice patch of Space to occupy for the rest of pretty much forever. Alone. It seems really lonely to Dean, but then again, he’s spent most of his life with his family. Different strokes.
And yet… Castiel is enamoured with the idea of companionship. While they talk he touches Dean constantly; a brush of his leg, his hand, cupping his face… All innocent, light little things as if remind himself that this is real.
Cas explains that his people have stories that paint humans as bloodthirsty, angry little beings; savage and desperate for contact. In the tales, humans have horns and sharp teeth, and they’re evil. “You’re not evil,” Castiel tells Dean affectionately. “You are… good. And no horns or sharp teeth.”
It’s possible that after calming down and getting over the whole almost-naked thing, talking in Space with a star is the coolest and most incredible thing Dean’s ever done.
Dean tells Cas all about his family. He regales him with hilarious tales from his childhood and talks about Sam in almost every story, smiling and gesticulating in ways he quickly learns make Castiel laugh. Dean doesn’t mind. Cas has a nice laugh.
What started out as a pretty hostile (one-sided) conversation, turns into a tête-à-tête, complete with teasing and knocking shoulders. In all honestly, it’s the most fun Dean’s had ever since… well, ever.
“Dean! DEAN! Come in…”
From beside them, the spacesuit radio crackles and dies out again. Except now… Dean doesn’t want to go back. He wants to stay and talk with Castiel some more. A lot more. Preferably until they’ve lost their voices.
But, as always, duty calls.
“So, uh, I guess this is goodbye.” Dean is a lot more disappointed than he probably has the right to be.
“Yes. But not forever. Visit soon.”
Dean huffs a bitter laugh. “No, man, I… I don’t think I can come back.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither party moves.
“This is how we say goodbye,” Castiel says quickly, filling the silence in an attempt to procrastinate. He clasps a hand around Dean’s forearm in a handshake position and motions for the human to do the same. They shake once.
“That’s a pretty epic handshake.”
“Yes, but only for… others,” Castiel says, fumbling through the language. English uses the same words for too many things, especially for this topic. “For Dear Ones, we do differently.”
Dean looks confused.
“Dear Ones are… Beloved!” Castiel exclaims, proud at getting it right. He steps closer to Dean then, hands at his waist as he says softly, seriously: “You are Beloved, and so it is different.”
Dean’s laugh is entirely too nervous to masquerade as anything else. “Uh, Cas, I think you got the translation wrong, man. I can’t be your… beloved, or whatever. We’ve known each for what? A couple of hours? You don’t love me like that.”
Castiel frowns. “No,” he insists, taking Dean’s hands. He places them, palms flat, over his wildly beating heart and does the same on the astronaut’s flesh, smiling at its rapid tattoo. “You see?” he grins, practically bursting at the seams with light. “Love.”
Cas barely leaves time for Dean to collect himself before he’s got them pressed up against each other, his long, cool arms wrapped around the human’s waist as he nuzzles his face into Dean’s adorably. “Beloved,” he sighs, opening his blue eyes to look into candy apple green. “This is how we say goodbye.”
Dean swallows thickly. “O-Oh.” He holds tight to Castiel’s shoulders, heart pounding in double time when the star tuts and shifts so that Dean’s arms drape around his neck. The human feels his cheeks flush. Cas touches the blushing, freckled skin of Dean’s face with a soft smile before nuzzling against him much more slowly this time. “Love,” he explains, fingers still cupped against the warmth.
Dean feels breathless. “Love,” he nods.
What the fuck is he doing?
Dean needs… He needs to get back. He can’t be- He needs to get back.
But he just can’t stop feeling.
Dean pulls away from Castiel then, holding up three fingers. “We’ve got three different ways of saying goodbye,” he explains. “The first one is like yours.”
They shake hands.
“Very similar,” Cas agrees. “Second?”
“Hugging. You usually do this one with family and friends. People you know.”
“Like the Beloved!” Castiel says excitedly when Dean approaches, nuzzling his face and wrapping his arms around the other with a large smile. Dean chuckles. “No, man, no nuzzling. Just- hug. Squeeze.”
“Squeeze…” Cas trails off. He makes that face, the one he gets when he’s sifting through knowledge in his freakish brain before nodding. It’s maybe a little bit adorable. “Squeeze.”
“Not too tight,” Dean warns. “Don’t want you to kill me.”
Castiel’s entire body becomes soft under Dean’s arms and the star shakes his head, inhaling deeply in the crook of his human’s neck. “Never,” he breathes.
Dean is pretty sure he won’t have to worry about leaving, because he’ll just be a useless, girly puddle at Cas’s feet. And guess what? He won’t fucking care. Because this is… it’s… and Cas… fuck.
The human pulls back, smiling a little nervously as his openly trusting and curious star. “Third?”
Castiel nods.
Now, let it be known that Dean Winchester has kissed a lot of people. Girls, guys and everyone in between, Dean is what he likes to call an ‘equal opportunity lover’. He knows how to kiss, and he’s confident because of that knowledge.
Let it be known that Dean has never been this nervous.
He threads their fingers together and Cas gasps at the new contact, pink rushing to his cheeks in something akin to embarrassment as he clears his throat delicately. “Nice,” he murmurs.
“Not done,” Dean smirks. The astronaut moves closer, forehead-to-forehead with Castiel as he closes his eyes, breathing out shakily. He nudges the other’s nose lightly, smiling when Cas reciprocates the action naturally and with a smile of his own. “Like my people,” the star says proudly.
“Almost.” Dean leans down a little, carefully catching Castiel’s mouth in a light kiss. The star doesn’t protest but stands rigid, breath hitching and skin flushing while Dean continues, peppering soft, small smooches to Cas’s lips in the hopes of relaxing him. “Beloved,” he breathes in between kisses. “Cas."
Castiel all but melts.
“Yes,” he whimpers. “Yes, Dean…” He squeezed their hands.
Dean can’t stop talking. With every kiss, he murmurs another pet name, the stupid, cheesy things tumbling from his lips without his permission: “Sweetheart.” Kiss. “Darlin’.” Kiss. “Baby.” Kiss. “Honey.” Kiss. “Cas, beloved…”
Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing, and his ears are on fire, but the way Castiel hums and gasps and puffs up with each word, even if he’s confused, makes everything worth it. At some point, the star begins to murmur as well, powerful words that make him feel warm inside despite the fact that Dean has no idea what’s being said.
They kiss until their mouths are numb.
But, like all good things, it comes to an end.
The pair are thoroughly wrapped up in each other when they hear static crackle from the spacesuit radio again, the technology not as dead as previously thought. They pull away from their wet, soft kisses sporting identical faces of loss.
“I really should…”
“Yes.”
They stare at each other.
“But before,” Castiel says softly, reaching for his right wing. He plucks a large, black feather from it. “A… token,” he fumbles, holding out the black object. “For my Dean. Beloved.” His brown scrunches. “For Dean.” And now, a frustrated sigh. “For my beloved: Dean.”
Dean smiles. Carefully, he slips his mother’s wedding ring from his pinky finger, his only remaining piece of her since the fire, before taking Castiel’s left hand. “For my Cas,” he teases, sliding the metal circle on the star’s shimmering hand. “Beloved.”
***
When Dean is finally grounded again, he invests in a mini observatory. The mission had been sponsored by a private company, and he’d been paid handsomely for his efforts. Of course, Dean tells people that stars are just as they’d thought; big balls of gas, burning and uninteresting. The possibility of seeing Castiel again is not worth putting him in danger. Dean would rather die than see Cas in a cage or a laboratory. He names his star, officially, the Stella Angelus, but privately, refers to him as ‘Castiel’.
Dean settles. He stargazes. He spends his nights outside as long as it’s not cold or raining and tells the sky how his day went. Though Dean never gets a reply, he’s convinced Castiel can hear him.
He keeps his feather with him, always.
And, when he’s a little older, a little wiser, and a little more independent and prepared, Dean Winchester gets contacted by the same company that had hired him half a decade ago.
***
“Hold yo’ horses, brotha-"
“Dude, it don’t matter anyway-”
“Dean, just let him get you set up.”
“Sam, your lawyer brain is out of its domain. It’s fine. We’re fine. Look, I told you, he’s just gonna mojo me anyway-”
“Done.”
Dean stands in the airlock, completely suited up. With emotional goodbyes having been done pre-suit, Sam only hugs him once more before both men go to the control room and press the sequence of buttons that open the lock.
Castiel has bowled Dean over, easily cutting the safety cord as he hugs and paws at the spacesuit. Dean can’t see because Cas is pressing kisses to his visor over and over and over, glowing so brightly the human needs to close his eyes. “Dean! Dean; Sweetheart, Honey, Baby, Darling, Beloved, Dean!”
“Yeah!” the human laughs. “Hey, yeah, in here! Cas, take the-”
In half a heartbeat, Dean is out of his suit and breathing heavily between kisses. Cas doesn’t even bother touching his clothes. “Woah there, Tiger, gimme a sec to- mmph!”
Castiel is chattering excitedly against his mouth, mumbling and murmuring in broken English before he pulls away with a wide grin. He’s practically vibrating as he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Dean’s mouth. “You came back!”
“’Course I did,” the human grins, fingers gripping tight to Cas’s bare waist.
For all his glowing happiness, Castiel looks mildly confused. “Why?”
Dean shrugs, pressing his palms flat above Cas’s heart. “Love.”
Castiel almost blinds Dean.
“Love,” he murmurs happily, lacing their fingers and kissing him again and again and… Cas pauses. “Forever?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.
Dean shrugs again, fidgeting with his fingers. “If you want me that long.”
“Oh, yes,” Castiel breathes seriously, pecking his human’s lips once and shyly. “I want you, always, Dean.”
“Good.” Dean’s smiling so big, it hurts. “’Cause you’re my beloved.”
Cas moves until they’re flush. “Beloved,” he says softly, nuzzling a kiss to Dean’s lips. “I am yours.”
“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” (Song 6:3)
Star definition: (x)
All other space facts from the NASA website
