today i’m thinking about nearly-human castiel. he isn’t, but he’s spent so long on earth — by the winchesters’ side — that he could be. almost.
he thinks he must be, sometimes, when human things overwhelm him. when moisture pricks at the corners of his eyes when jack tugs him in tight, when he smells the coffee sam made and feels himself perk up, when he tucks his coat in tight around himself when the wind blows strong through the open windows of dean’s car. it’s imitation, mostly, but sometimes it feels like it isn’t.
and yet, there are some moments when castiel feels so otherly, so different from the people he loves, the people by his side. it’s when he holds claire close and has to remember the limits of her human lungs, when he sits in the library in the dead of night because every soul in the bunker is asleep, when he responds aloud to the words that had sounded in his head and makes dean flush because neither knew it was a silent prayer.
he forgets that humans are frail, and need to breathe and sleep and eat. he forgets, sometimes, even after all these years, but he gets better. he gets almost.
until the first time he holds dean. until the very first moment when the man that castiel gave everything for leans in and presses his lips to the angel’s. then, castiel forgets everything. the lightbulbs burst, because he forgets to reign in his grace. a plate shatters to his left, knocked from the counter because he forgets to keep his wings furled. his eyes stay wide open, because he forgets that humans close them when this happens. when they kiss one another.
it gets easier again, after that, to remember how to be human. maybe that’s because, when dean winchester snores on the angel’s chest, castiel wishes he were human. wishes he could have this until the end of his days.
castiel isn’t human. he knows that. but, he is almost. and if almost is enough for sam and jack and claire and dean, then it is enough for cas.
