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“Cas, I need to go talk to Sam,” Dean won’t meet the other’s eyes, head focused on the ground and getting the hell out of here as soon as possible.
“He’s out with Charlie. You know that,” Cas replies, calm and collected like he always has been.
“And you won’t let me out of here to go to my room because?” Dean knows why, can feel the unspoken tension that’s been building up for years, but acknowledging that means letting Cas in, and that terrifies him almost as much as losing Cas entirely.
“Dean. We have to talk, you can’t run from your problems and you never could run from me, Dean Winchester. We can go in your room if that is what you’d prefer,” Cas reasons, demeanor never breaking.
“Fine. Let’s just get it over with,” Dean says, cold. It’s his go to reaction, a trauma response after being pushed away after baring his heart so many times. Castiel does not have enough words or power in the universe to convince Dean that he won’t leave, won’t abandon him like all those cruel ones from his past have.
Castiel’s brow furrows, “I don’t mean to upset you. I never do, I hope that’s clear. I-I care for you Dean.”
“Come on,” Dean huffs, finally able to open the door Cas was holding shut, and walking to his room down the hall. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, especially not to Cas, but feelings are hard, alright?
Once they get to his room, Dean and Cas sit beside each other on his bed, never able to be very far apart from each other, even in an argument. Dean thinks of kicking him out all those years ago, and how it’s still one of the hardest things he’s ever done. One of the most painful, too.
“You don’t have to keep checking the door, Dean. No one is coming, I asked them not to,” Castiel states, letting out a heavy sigh, he wishes things were more simple, sometimes.
Somedays, when he’s watching Dean sleep, he wishes he weren’t an angel, that he and Dean could’ve met at a bookstore or something sweet and cliche like most of humanity dreams of. That he might lay with Dean and fall asleep first, Dean curled around him. Castiel wishes, most nights, but especially on the ones Dean has nightmares, that he had been blessed by some other god, one that would give him better parents and better circumstances to grow in. He wishes Dean could have been surrounded with people that would teach him tender movements instead of harsh ones. It’s never been Dean’s fault, his inability to be open, or honest with those he holds the most close; No, the responsibility of those wounds belong to Mary and John Winchester. If Castiel ever meets them again…well, the interaction will end in blood, and Cas doesn’t bleed. He’s sorry for what happened to Mary, of course he is, he doesn’t think he will ever not carry that guilt. But seeing the effects of how she treated Dean in real time, they make him a little bit less sorry. Those aren’t angelic thoughts, and he doesn’t think them often, but he knows there’s nothing he won’t do for Dean Winchester.
“You shouldn’t have. There’s hardly anything to talk about,” Dean responds, staring at his hands, holding still so his shoulders don’t accidentally brush Castiel’s.
“Maybe not to you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time Dean, there’s plenty to say, I think,” Cas says, and suddenly he’s bashful, tucking his chin and trying not to feel the blush that creeps up the neck of his vessel. Humans are so futile in keeping secrets, he thinks, not unkindly. He’s powerful, strong, bigger than most world monuments, and his feelings shouldn’t be so well worn on his sleeve.
“You love me?” Dean asks, though it’s really more of a gasp. Of desperation or disgust, Cas isn’t sure. He’s never been great at reading human emotions.
“Of course I do, why do you think I am ridiculed for it so often? Why do you think I stay to watch you sleep, and eat with you even though all I taste is molecules? Why do I go on walks with you when I could easily appear where I would like? I listen to your music even though the frequency in your tape player pains me when at too high a volume, I protect you before myself and before the world over and over again- Dean, I think I love you more than any being has ever loved another. And maybe I’ve made mistakes- no, I know I have. And I have hurt you, and done things that many cannot imagine forgiving within their current lifetime, but everything I’ve ever done has been out of good intent and the love for you everyone keeps saying I was never meant to have. Did you know the handprint on your arm wasn’t normal? That it was almost like a claim? You’re ruinous to my reputation and you’re beautiful to my heart, and you’ve been mine since before either of us really knew what that meant. I know what it means now and Dean- I don’t think I regret any of it. I just want to know…” Cas pauses the ramble to think for a second, if this is the jump he is willing to take. He will love Dean forever, no matter what happens here and now, and he knows that. More frightening is whether Dean returns that, whether he can forgive Castiel for feeling the way he does. Castiel will never have the ignorance of not knowing the answer to those things ever again. “I just want to know if you regret me. If you wish I hadn’t interfered, and if, if you’ll have me. Not as a friend but as what you would call- a lover.
“Well damn, Cas, warn a guy before you go all Walt Whitman on him,” Dean says, smiling brightly with a relief Cas hasn’t seen in years. He takes it as a good sign.
“Oh,” Cas smiles, small and fragile, at Dean comparing him to such a person, “I don’t think Walt Whitman was an angel, though, Dean.” He easily finds fault in the comparison and tilts his head at the other man in wait of an explanation.
“Forget it just- I love you. And it ain’t easy or simple or any of that bullshit people always told me I’d find- but it’s you. And I know I wouldn’t rather have had any other gorgeous dumbass pull me from down under, and I could never regret having you in my life, Cas. Maybe sometimes I’m too damn cruel, a little less transparent with you than I ought to be, but I could never regret you. The fact that you could even think that just shows how fucking dense I’ve been, how much I’ve already screwed it up with you,” Dean’s voice is full of sorrow and Castiel can tell that he means every word he’s saying.
“You didn’t screw anything up Dean. You’re trying and to me…that’s what matters. That’s all,” Cas says, like it’s that simple. (It really, really is.)
“I want to be with you. Like lovers or whatever the fuck you called it a second ago. Boyfriends, angellovers, somethin’,” Dean’s grumbling happily now, upset at the universe for not having a term for the bond they have.
“It’s a very profound bond that we share, Dean. I told you, I don’t think there’s ever been anything like it. I wasn’t being arrogant, I genuinely believe that our feelings, the bond between the two of our essences’, is almost a coalescence,” Cas says, reading Dean’s thoughts. He is honest but timid all at once, unsure of how it could have ever been this easy.
“Yeah, whatever that means, I’m just glad I have you now. Mine,” Dean sighs happily, allowing his head to rest on Castiel’s shoulder for the first time in, well, ever. “How are we going to tell Sam?”
“Take my coat,” Castiel reasons, “Humans seem to do that when showing romantic affection.”
“They do but Cas, your coat is like, really huge,” Dean says, trying to talk himself out of wearing it really, because Cas doesn’t seem to be buying one second of it.
“Dean, if anyone should tease you, I will rip their limbs to shreds, and burst every blood vessel individually and very slowly. Please, take my coat,” Castiel says, firmly.
Dean grins and puts it on, feeling happier than he’s ever allowed himself to be.