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desinaturalweek · 4 years ago

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For @desinaturalweek day3 - prompt: free space. This is a teeny-tiny (2k, yes i am so sorry) ficlet inspired by this song . cranked this baby out on sleep-drunk braincells, but hope y’all like it! (no betas i am stupid and i like to show that off a lot but thank you @astargayserand @dadboddean because you are the best <3). summary: in which dean is a ya protagonist and castiel is the best and also happy, but in a sad way.

It is a quiet night when Dean tugs him up from his perch on the threadbare sofa with a soft Come on, I gotta show you something. Castiel blinks himself off the edge of sleep as he is led up and out into the night.

There is a chill to the air here, in the midwestern plains, and it coaxes Castiel into awareness. When he takes a deep breath, there is the scent of spring in the air, still, the sweet decay of autumn an almost-forgettable undertone.

When he asks Dean where they’re going, all he receives in answer is a grin - wide and gummy and a little wild - and an uncharacteristically soft We’re gonna watch the stars, followed by another tug on his hand. Castiel huffs at this in feigned annoyance, but he returns Dean’s smile and follows him anyway.

They have a perfectly good backyard to lay down in and turn their eyes towards the sky, but Dean bundles them up in his car and revs up the engine. When Castiel points this out to him as they’re pulling out of their driveway, Dean just shakes his head, his wide smile still in place and says, “You’ve got to drive, Cas. It’s all…part of the experience, you know?"

He does, in fact, not know. But he nods anyway, because this is making Dean smile like that, and Castiel thinks Dean could drive him to the end of the world and he would go, if only for that smile. So, he settles, turning his head to look out the window, watching the silvered fields go by.

They drive for a long while (or so it seems to Castiel, anyway), and Dean doesn’t turn on the radio. There is something about this silence that blankets them that wraps Castiel in comfort, that seems to settle something in him, and he is so very grateful for it.

The night is not windy, Castiel can tell, but the breeze that their drive lifts is a thing of wonder, and Castiel leans against the window-frame with his eyes closed, letting it card through his unruly hair, letting it lull him back into that space where his breath is the only sound, and his heart is quiet and steady, and sleep is just a stone’s throw away.

Castiel feels Dean’s eyes on him, feels fingers somehow both cool and warm tangle in his, feels the soft press of lips on his knuckles, and smiles, not yet opening his eyes. Absently, he wonders if this is all… part of the experience, as Dean had said.

When they stop, it is at a clearing that disappears into woods shrouded in darkness, and Castiel thinks this might just be the most beautiful end of the world.

He leans against the passenger side door of the Impala and watches as Dean lays a blanket procured from the trunk on the ground, watches as he weighs it down with four smooth stones roughly the same size, watches him sprawl on the blanket with a sigh, one hand outstretched, beckoning Castiel.

Across the handful of feet separating them, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes, his breath catching in his throat.

Castiel has seen Dean awash in the buttery light of warm mornings. He has seen the way it gilds him, turning the tips of his hair yellow, bleeding gold into the summer green of his eyes. He has seen the way it warms his pale skin, throwing the constellations of freckles dotting it in sharp relief. In the bright light of the sun, Dean is…ethereal, like an almost-image of his soul is coiled just underneath his skin, as close as it ever will be to Castiel’s now-human eyes.

Watching Dean in the silver-soft light of the moon and the stars, Castiel wonders if he was mistaken. If, perhaps, it is with Dean like this — his hair tipped in silver, his eyes glinting like stars, like gems studded with gems, his skin glowing like the crest of a wave in moonlight — that Castiel will come closest to seeing his soul.

In the slivers of moonlight that crawl onto Dean’s skin as he lays in bed, that slice through the windshield of the Impala sharpening the shadows on his skin, Castiel had not seen him, not like this. Now that he has, he doesn’t think he could look away. Dazed, awed, he wonders if he will ever stop finding everything that is Dean Winchester beautiful.

Even with his eyes trained on Dean, Castiel starts when he appears in front of him, leaning back and blinking rapidly. Dean is smiling, still — (wide and gummy and a little wild) —, as he lifts his hands, palms coming up to bracket Castiel’s face, fingers curling into his hair, thumbs tracing the lines on his skin settling into crow’s feet.

Castiel lets his eyes flutter shut, lets himself lean into this touch, lets it ground him in this moment that once felt so impossible, if only for a second.

When Castiel opens his eyes again, it is to see Dean’s gaze trained on him, roaming his face as if memorizing the shape of it. Dean doesn’t quite open his mouth, doesn’t quite say the words, but Castiel hears them in the silence anyway. He sets his hands on Dean’s hips and leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's— once, twice —, before setting their weight against his.

(He doesn’t quite use his words either, but he hopes Dean hears his response in the breaths they share).

When Dean pulls Castiel’s bottom lip between his own with a tentative brush of his tongue, Castiel pulls back slightly with a shake of his head. It feels wrong, somehow, to unsettle this moment with a kiss, with the insistent press of Dean’s fingers into his skin, with the hot trail of Dean’s mouth along his neck that is sure to follow, that would leave his body fevered with want.

No, what Castiel wants right now, in this moment, is simply touch.

He feels Dean’s confused gaze studying him even with his eyes closed, feels Dean’s frown against his forehead as he leans back in, a palm against Dean’s mouth. He lets their noses bump against each other before tilting his head, just so, nuzzling into Dean.

When he feels the frown ease against his forehead, feels the slight uptick of Dean’s lips against his palm, he lets it fall, because Dean understands. Dean (almost) always seems to understand, now, and Castiel thinks, perhaps, they have both learned the meaning of faith in this life they are building together.

Then Dean’s mouth is pressed against his, the corners turned up slightly, his hands sliding down Castiel’s arms until their fingers are tangled together at Dean’s hips. The silence around them is heavy and wonderful as it blankets them, and Castiel thinks he could stay this way forever, sharing his breath with Dean, cocooned in his embrace, feeling the beating of Dean’s heart just over his.

But then Dean is pulling away and pulling him towards the blanket laid out on the grass by their joined hands, and Castiel follows, the not-so-strange sound of his own startled laughter, echoing, shattering the quiet around them.

Castiel lies on the blanket with his side slightly angled against Dean’s, his head resting against Dean’s shoulder, the beating of Dean’s heart an insistent, grounding staccato under his ears. There is more of Dean’s touch holding him steady, the tangled mess of their fingers an anchor to his thoughts.

Because above him is a galaxy of stars and within him, there is nothing left to reflect it.

Lying in this clearing in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, Castiel remembers watching this very galaxy from perches his human body could never reach now. He remembers unfurling his wings amidst those stars, his being enveloping them, limitless. Castiel remembers feeling like he could stretch himself across the breadth of the universe, like he could expand it with the beating of his wings.

He remembers the detached awareness of his place in Creation, a surety he hadn’t quite had enough of a heart to appreciate then.

The universe laid out above them is beautiful (and absently, Castiel notes that it wouldn’t have been quite the same in their backyard), and it is vast, and Castiel could map the life of every star and planet floating in the ether over their heads. This, more than anything, is overwhelming in a way it never had been before.

He turns away, burrowing his head into Dean’s chest. Castiel feels impossibly small in this moment, a grain of sand slipping through the cracks in space and time. He wonders if he will ever be whole, ever be enough, ever know the surety of his place in this world again.

But then he feels Dean shift on his side a little, his arms coming up around him, the unconscious skating of Dean’s fingers against his spine. When he lifts his head, he finds that Dean is looking at him, his eyes glittering with the reflection of the stars above.

He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, rolls them over so Dean is on his back once more, and surges up to slot Dean’s parted lips against his own.

It is a kiss, this time, if a little reserved and careful, and it is heady in a way that Castiel is not familiar with, but loves, all the same. There are words unspoken slipped into the press of their lips, the teasing drag of their teeth, the tentative slide of their tongues.

Castiel pulls back slightly, his heavy breaths ghosting over Dean’s lips, close enough that he feels the softest tickle as Dean’s eyelashes fan over his cheeks. But then he is looking into Dean’s eyes, pools of murky green that look almost brown in the darkness and Castiel thinks that just as he could map the constellations in the galaxy reflected in Dean’s eyes, he could map the constellations of freckles that spill over the bridge of his nose. He thinks, perhaps, they are not all that different.

Because here is Dean in his little corner of the world, curving his spine to slot Castiel into his arms, and perhaps he will never be whole again, not quite, but he thinks he could learn to be sure of his place here. He thinks he could learn to wrap his arms around this small piece of the universe, learn to stretch the breadth of it with the wings of his heart. He thinks he could learn to be enough, even if it is just so.

Castiel feels Dean’s nose nudge his own, and blinks, returning to the stillness of the night, letting it settle across his shoulders. When he looks at Dean now, the skin around his eyes is pinched with worry. There are questions swirling in the glittering mass of his eyes that don’t find shape in his mouth, but Castiel sees them anyway.

Are you alright? they seem to ask.

Do you know that I love you? they seem to say.

Will you stay? they seem to plead.

And Castiel thinks that he will shatter a little more if he keeps his eyes on Dean’s, so he pinches them close, leaning down to kiss whatever piece of skin he can find.

There is a huff of surprised laughter when Castiel catches the tip of Dean’s nose, but it settles into the awed silence of the night soon, and Dean is pliant and receptive beneath him, his arms loosely wrapped around Castiel’s waist, and Castiel holds Dean’s face like it is precious, peppering it with reverent kisses, pressing desperate answers into his skin with his lips.

Yes, I will stay. Yes. Yes.

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#day 3 j21 #free space #deancas #fic

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