“I can do whatever you want, babe.”
Quiet moments like this are a rarity. Moments where they needn’t worry about demons or angels or apocalypses. No heaven, no hell. No blood. No pain. Just the two of them, existing alongside each other. When hands that are so accustomed to killing instead give gentle touches, when war-hardened features soften into looks of utmost serenity. Just the two of them. Together.
They’ve managed to escape the watchful eyes of his brother without notice; and here, at such a late hour, they’re living under the presumption that he’ll be too busy sleeping to catch them. They hold each other close ---- so close that they could count as one single figure ---- yet somehow still not close enough. One of Dean’s hand’s moves rhythmically up & down Castiel’s back, while the other lays gently upon his cheek. Castiel’s arms are tucked in front of him, his hands resting upon Dean’s chest. Their foreheads are pressed together, Dean guiding them as they sway to the soft, scratchy music coming from Dean’s record player. Castiel can feel his heartbeat beneath his fingers. Slow. Steady.
It feels...right.
And yet, there is a part of Castiel that is still deeply, desperately afraid. Eventually, they will have to part. The music will have to stop. Dean’s hand will have to leave his cheek. They’ll have to pretend as if this was but a dream, stifling their feelings deep, where no one can see them. Dean will have to let go.
Castiel thinks of everyone that he’s let himself get close to. Balthazar. Dead. Gabriel. Dead. Gadreel. Dead. Charlie. Dead. Hannah. Dead. Dead, dead, dead. Everything he loves is eventually laid to waste. He fears, more than anything, that Dean is next. He can’t let go.
Castiel’s fingers curl tightly into the fabric of Dean’s shirt. His lips find Dean’s in a long, urgent kiss.
Whatever he wants. Yes ---- he knows what he wants. What he needs.
❝ Stay. ❞
