It was 4 AM and Dean was still awake. He was spent, tired, just plain exhausted really, but there was a tingling in his chest and under his skin he couldn’t quite kick.
He hadn’t seen Cas in a while, so earlier that day when the angel had finally returned, he pulled Dean into a warm hug. Dean hugged back, of course, but he also made sure that the interaction was brief. Just like he always did.
It was funny, really. He always considered touch to be something good, something that felt important. But as it goes, he tried to convince himself he didn’t need it.
In reality, it was all for show. Dean knew. Knew that he wanted it, needed it, but convincing himself of the opposite made the pretending easier. For a while it worked, he kept up the charade for both himself and those around him. But for better and for worse, Cas never stopped trying.
Dean would never go to the extremes of completely avoiding meaningful touches, but he rarely ever allowed himself to show just how much he wanted it. At some point, the walls he put up developed tiny cracks and he had to stop lying to himself. It’s hard to argue with the voice in your head, when you both know the truth.
Instead he told himself it wasn’t a necessity, that he could want it but still survive without it. And so it went on. He craved, he wanted, he pretended.
It wasn’t much different with Cas, at first. Dean played the same game, kept to the same self-set rules. But now as he stared at his ceiling at 4 AM, he thought of the angels soft smile as he hugged Dean, the hundreds of smaller touches between them, the way Dean felt a pull towards Cas, a pull to be near, be close.
It was dangerous. Dean was desperate to focus on the surviving not living, but the pull held promises of crossing that line. And well, that never really worked out for him, now did it?
So Dean tried, he tried to bend the truth, tried to forget, but the tingling stayed, as if it had permanently stained his soul. All he ended up with was a maybe - that maybe the edge of a cliff wouldn’t be so scary.
Before he could do so much as think it through, he was standing in front of the room Cas liked to stay in. It wasn’t far from his own. Dean knocked quietly and after a beat the angel opened the door.
“Dean? It’s late,” confusion was clear in his voice.
“Yeah, I, uh, know,” Dean let out an almost nervous chuckle, “is it okay if I come in?”
Cas seemed even more puzzled at that, but let Dean in nonetheless.
“Is something wrong?” the angel had turned half of his confusion into concern.
Dean wanted to say no. Or maybe. He wanted to tell Cas he missed him, that he was happy to see him, but the words sat heavy in his throat, so he did the next best thing - or really the thing that he actually came for - he pulled Cas in for a hug.
Receiving no explanation from Dean, Cas stood frozen still for a second, before wrapping his arms around him. It was warm, so warm that the tingling under his skin grew into something else, something made of tiny fires wherever Cas was touching him.
Dean had a distant thought of letting go, an echo reminding him how he shouldn’t need this, shouldn’t have it, shouldn’t let it get too far, because once he got deep enough he would get pulled under. And he wasn’t sure he could just move on after that.
But he couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t live on brief hugs, subtle shoulder brushes, short-lived touches. His whole body ached from the need and he couldn’t ignore it much longer.
So Dean stayed. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around Cas, longer than he ever had before. And Cas let him, like he knew the angel would.
Time passed slowly, comfortably. When Dean pulled away, concern was still present on the angels face, but the soft smile had returned as well. Dean was buzzing, contentment flowing through his veins and in the momentary daze he let himself have more.
Dean stood close to the angel, hadn’t stepped away after the hug. He lifted his hand near Cas’ face, held it there for a second, before catching some out of place hairs and pushing them back. Dean then followed the outline of Cas’ jaw, starting below his left ear and ending up at his chin. He let his fingertips move up, tracing along the angels cheekbone. Cas let him, he only moved his arm so it could rest around Dean’s waist again, softly grabbing at his shirt.
They stood there silently. Dean’s eyes followed his own fingertips, but every now and then he would look up, only to find Cas staring back at him, a calmness in his eyes.
Being on the edge really wasn’t that scary. Maybe falling wouldn't be either.
