cowboy-like-castiel

[cowboy-like-castiel]

[cowboy-like-castiel]

Drabble Day 9: Magic

Dean's hands slipped down the lapels of Cas’ trenchcoat as his brain swirled. Cas heard their conversation? All of it? Then why would he be reacting this way?

Swallowing thickly, Dean asked, “How much of the conversation did you hear?”

“Enough,” Cas snapped.

Shaking his head, Dean snagged Cas’ wrist, feeling the angel push back, solid and immovable. The way he was with everyone else. Not the usual allowance of touch Cas granted solely and specifically for Dean. “No. Cas. What exactly did you hear?”

Cas pushed past Dean, moving towards the Impala, before thinking better of it and putting distance between anything that was associated with Dean. “How I’m not enough for you. That you need more.”

Dean’s breath stuttered in his chest, and he played back the conversation with Sam in his head. There’s no way he said those words. No way he ever would’ve said Cas wasn’t enough for him.

And then it clicked.

“Cas,” Dean breathed out, fingers reaching for Cas’ hand, only catching his sleeve instead as Cas jerked away. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really?” Cas scoffed. “I knew you’d get tired of me eventually, but you could’ve just said that. You could’ve left me without dragging it out like this. If you didn’t want me-”

“Of course I want you!” Dean gasped, finally catching hold of Cas’ wrist and yanking him close. “Cas. You’re It for me. I thought you knew that.”

“Then it was a lie. Because why would you say I’m not enough if I was It for you?” Cas asked, blue eyes shining brighter with a shimmer of tears.

“I didn’t!” Dean said, dropping his hand down until he could press his fingertips against Cas’. “Cas. I didn’t say that. That was only the beginning of my sentence to Sam. You didn’t hear the end.”

Cas’ hand shifted, half linking their fingers together, before he seemed to catch his betraying hands and he pulled away again. “Go on then. What was it?” Cas asked, except this time it came out as a whisper, too broken to make a sound, and Dean felt his heart crumble, shattered pieces now turned to dust on the tarmac.

The words felt like shards in his chest as he tried to stick the pieces together again. To show Cas the truth. “I said… I told Sam… fuck it. I told him that dating you wasn’t enough. Because it isn’t.”

Cas made a pained sound, and Dean stumbled closer as he rushed to finish what he was trying to say.

“Because you deserve more. Because you’re… you’re everything, Cas. And what we have. It��s magic. Not the bad kind we chase and hunt. But the good kind. The kind you can’t even believe is real, but somehow, it is real. You’re… you're an Angel. You’re magic and power and beauty and Grace. And I want to give you more…”

Dean trailed off, and he reached out, catching Cas’ pinky finger with his own. “Dating you isn’t enough. I want to… fuck, Cas, I wanted this to be different. I wanted it to be special. Magical. But here we are. No ring, but who needs one, right? I wanna marry you, Cas.”

Cas froze with his finger interlocked with Dean’s, as his eyes darted across Dean’s face, trying to read his soul through his eyes. “You want… what?”

Smiling softly, Dean stepped closer, as he whispered the words again. “I want to marry you. Be your husband.” Bringing their joined hands up, Dean pressed his lips to the crook of Cas’ ring finger. “I wanna put a ring right here and call you mine. Whaddya say, Angel? Would you marry me?”

[cowboy-like-castiel]

i just think dean smith would have really hard days at the office when it feels like nothing went right and he comes home, so tired and feeling like he shouldn't be because all he did was sit in his office all day, but god, he comes home shoulders sagging and quietly enters the apartment and rounds the corner, and there cas is, sitting on the couch reading a book and he looks up with a big smile and then he just knows the moment he sees dean, all rumbled and suit coat over his shoulder, that he needs some care and affection so he calls dean's name, soft and sweet, no expectation for a response, and pats the couch beside him and dean sits, sighs, lets his head loll over to look at cas, and cas gets down on his knees between his legs and dean's about to say 'cas, i'm really not up for that right now' when cas bows his head and starts untying his shoes, and he slips them off gently, places them neat and side by side just the way dean prefers, nudges dean's feet so he brings them up on the sofa and then stands, leans close like he's going for a kiss, and just unknots his tie and slips it over dean's head to lay it gently on the end table, and then cas gets back next to him and guides his head to his tummy and dean stretches out on the couch and just breathes cas in while he cards his fingers through his hair, and then cas picks his book back up with one hand and keeps his other in deans hair and dean's eyes well up with tears because he's never had this until cas, nothing so sweet and simple and knowing, and his teeth feel nearly rotten with it, so he lets himself nuzzle in, and he's in his suspenders and slacks still but cas just covers him with a blanket and they just lie there until cas carries him to bed and kisses him goodnight.

#noooo #this is too good

[cowboy-like-castiel]

slut

[cowboy-like-castiel]

this is so terrible and honestly i have no excuse i never meant to lower myself this far down into the destiel trash pit but here i am

[cowboy-like-castiel]

boyfriends

[cowboy-like-castiel]

Boy with a gold earring ✨ [click for HQ]

[cowboy-like-castiel]

slurp

[cowboy-like-castiel]

btw i never realized until now. that literally the first time jedediah and octavius are shown onscreen in the same shot is fukcing. its this

[cowboy-like-castiel]

the boys but the strawberry milkshake trio is happy and goes on regularly scheduled karaoke nights to sing billy joel and spice girls 

[cowboy-like-castiel]

but, dear, cling close to me

2k, Gen, Fluff

The first time they have a fight, it is over something silly. Dean storms out on him, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty house. Castiel stares after him, his heart in his throat, and doesn't ask him to stop. To stay. He doesn't think Dean will come back, either.

It startles him, then, when he hears the roar of the Impala just as the sun sets the horizon on fire. The creak of the driver's door opening, the slam of it falling shut. Footsteps coming up the porch stairs. He hastens into the living room just in time to see Dean lock the door behind him. Castiel watches him, panting, as he toes his boots off, drops his keys in the yellow bowl with the crooked rim that Cas made them.

His face is hard, still. Jaw set, eyes flinty. He doesn't meet Castiel's gaze, makes for the kitchen on steady feet, shoulders curving away as he passes him.

But he's here. He's here.

"You came back," Cas says. His voice is filled with surprise.

Dean turns to him, then. Almost rears back. His eyes dim and his jaw slackens. He looks — hurt.

"And where else would I go, huh?"

Dean's arms lift in a mockery of a shrug. He would sound caustic, if not for the faint tremble in his voice that Castiel notes. He doesn't know what to do with it.

The Bunker, he wants to reply. Home. But that wouldn't be true. The Bunker isn't home for either of them. Hasn't been for a while, now. It is just windowless walls of metal and concrete, underground. It is what it was once meant to be and nothing more.

Shelter, not home.

No, for better or for worse, this is home now. This kitchen with the cracked windowpane that needs fixing, still. The living room, cluttered, with its faded couch and thrifted pillows, Cas' pottery and Dean's books. The garden out back, whose soil is staining Cas' fingertips.

"I don't know," Cas says, and he knows it's the wrong thing to say just as he does. He wants to take it back, but he can't.

He doesn't know how to talk to Dean. Not anymore.

Maybe he never did.

Dean heaves a breath, eyes trained on Castiel, and Cas thinks he feels so impossibly far away.

There is too much crowding the air between them. Too many things unsaid, too many wants unsatisfied. Too many prayers unanswered. Castiel wants to reach Dean through all this, split the fog with his hands. But he doesn't know how.

There is something unnamed brightening Dean's eyes as they flit over Cas' face, the breadth of his chest. His damp, bare feet.

Then, he huffs. Turns away. Says nothing.

The silence echoes. The world darkens. The sky turns the shade of a bruise.

Castiel heads upstairs to wash the scent of the earth off his fingertips.

~

That night, Cas lies in bed on his side, back to the door. He listens for a croak. A chirp. A buzz. Something.

But the night is too cold. Too quiet.

He counts his breaths as they pass his lips, watches the seconds hand of the old-fashioned clock on his bedside table as it moves.

He isn't as startled as he thought he would be when the door to his room opens. When Dean pads in, and the mattress dips as he settles at the foot of the bed. He can almost feel the scratch of Dean's fingernails on the sheets.

Dean says nothing, just sits there. Watches him sleep. Breathes in this space that he doesn't often breach. Castiel keeps his eyes closed and breathes with him.

It is easier, with Dean here.

His thoughts are syrupy with sleep, and not for the first time, he wonders if he should leave. Go back to the bunker until he finds a place he can carve for himself in this world. (It would be easier, this time, in some ways. Harder in others.) He wonders if Dean keeps him here, chains himself to Castiel, out of a misplaced sense of obligation. Of pity.

Castiel doesn't want Dean's pity.

He just wants Dean.

Even if it is as he is now — angry and cold and quiet.

But he doesn't know what Dean wants. Dean doesn't tell him. And selfishly, Castiel waits, not willing to push him farther away.

Castiel waits, the weight of hope heavy in his chest.

~

He wakes to the soft caress of sunlight.

He blinks his eyes open. The sky in his window is lightening, the purples and pinks dissolving into nothing.

It is early — for him, at any rate — but there is a smile fighting his yawn, curving his lips upwards. He pushes himself up on an elbow, rolls his neck.

Finds that he is surprisingly well-rested.

He turns over and sees the top of Dean's head peaking over his mattress, the tips of his hair turning rose-gold in the sunlight.

Cas leans towards him and sees that he's slumped on the floor, leaning against the bed. The morning light falls over his face in strips, paints half of it golden. His freckles stand out in the light, a galaxy of them scattered across his skin. His eyelashes feather over the curve of his cheek.

He is beautiful here, asleep and uncaring. So very beautiful.

And Castiel loves him. He loves him so much that he aches with it.

He swallows, throat dry. Ignores the rapid thudding of his heart. Stretches his fingers towards Dean, watching as they hover over the lines carved into his temples, the corners of his eyes.

He is so tempted to touch them, to learn their shape.

Instead, he sets his palm on the ball on Dean's shoulder. His curled pinkie sits under the edge of the collar of his t-shirt.

"Dean?" he says, softening his sandpaper voice. Shakes him a little.

Dean flinches, then groans at the twinge in his back, and Castiel winces in sympathy.

The bones in their bodies are tired. Cas has learned that much, if nothing else.

Dean blinks himself awake, rubs the grit out of his eyes with his fingers. Smacks his lips together. And all the while, Castiel leaves his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean says, even now. Even when he's angry, and there are bags under his eyes, and tension in the skin of his temples. Even when he fidgets where he sits on the floor, not looking at Cas.

"Good morning, Dean," is his reply, like always. He squeezes Dean's shoulder before letting go. Sits up. Curls his fists in his lap. He feels soft, in the morning, like this. Soft, and small, and so very sad.

What are you doing here? he wants to ask. Why did you sleep on my floor?

Instead, he watches, quiet, as Dean stretches and groans. Then lifts himself onto the bed. Settles into the same dip in the mattress as the night before.

They sit across from each other, not quite looking at each other, and Cas feels his skin crawl. His eyes are starting to sting. He tilts his face up to the ceiling and blinks to keep them dry.

"Fuck," Dean swears, and Cas closes his eyes. "Fuck, this is stupid. I'm so fucking stupid."

Castiel's only warning is the rustle of the sheets before Dean's body slams into his, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a vice like grip. It is only instinct that keeps them upright, Cas' broad frame managing to brace them somehow. His arms wind themselves around Dean's waist.

"I'm sorry," Dean says into his shoulder, tightening his grip. Their hearts race against one another under their thin, cotton shirts. "I'm sorry I was being an ass. I'm sorry I left. And—"

Here, he gulps, and the air around them tenses like it's waiting for more. But then, Dean just sighs. Buries his face in Castiel's shoulder.

"Just — Okay. Yeah. I— Yeah."

He's nodding against Cas' shoulder. And somehow, that — that's enough. That Dean is holding him. That he says Okay like he's bracing himself and like he's said what he wants to, all at once.

Cas holds him back. Thinks he's starting to see past the fog, in the clear light of this morning. Thinks he's beginning to understand.

It settles something in his chest, this revelation. Loosens the pressure around it.

"I hate fighting with you," he mumbles as he closes his eyes and presses his face into the crook of Dean's neck. Breathes.

He is allowed this, for now.

"Me, too, Cas," Dean says, a palm coming up to cradle the back of Cas' head. "Me, too."

~

They eat their breakfast on the deck out back, sitting on the stairs next to each other, their knees knocking together, plates in their laps — French toast and scrambled eggs, Cas' share of it drenched in honey.

The morning feels quieter. Calmer. Nicer.

Or, maybe, it's just Castiel. He doesn't know. Doesn't think he particularly cares, either.

He is beginning to learn their language, his and Dean's, dissonances and all. And it's setting the hope in his chest alight. He is almost buoyant with it.

Then, Dean sets his half-finished breakfast aside. Dangles his elbows from his knees, presses the palms of his hands together, bows his head. Supplicant, almost. Like he's praying.

Cas watches him, his pulse jack-rabbitting. Sets his own plate aside and turns, when he notes the slight tension in Dean's shoulders. He wants to quell the rising tide in his chest but he can't. He can't.

"What is it?" he makes himself ask when Dean is silent for too long. He's surprised his voice is as steady as it is.

"I...," Dean swallows. He tilts his gaze up to Cas'. His eyes are summer-green and gold and Castiel can't look away.

"I won't leave you. Ever. I'm always going to come back, Cas," he says, and it is a promise. It is a promise and it sets the fire in Cas' chest roaring. "Even if I'm pissed off as hell, even if I say stupid shit that pisses you off enough to kick me out....I—I'll still come back here. As long as you'll let me, I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere."

Castiel swallows. Searches Dean's face for something. Something, something.

Something.

When he asks, "Why?" his voice buzzes, thick and sweet.

Dean looks at him with an exasperated fondness that is familiar. He shakes his head, gaze lifting to the sky a moment before it lands back on Cas. Almost as if to say, Why do you think?

But, Castiel waits him out. He wants Dean to tell him. He wants to know, wants to be sure.

The smile slips off Dean's face, but it is replaced by an expression that is softer. More tentative. Almost shy.

Castiel feels a little like he's flying, a little like he's falling.

"Because," Dean gulps, licks his lips. "Because this? Us," — a palm moving in between their bodies, folding the whole world into the space there—, "This is it. This is home."

Oh, Cas thinks. Oh, Oh, Oh.

Then — "Alright," a gasp, a blink. Fireworks in his chest, his throat. "You can stay."

"Yeah?" Dean says, and he's grinning, eyes bright and joyful, and Castiel wants to say, Idiot. Goddamn Idiot! "Good."

Emboldened, Castiel leans forward. Rests his forehead against Dean's collarbone. Dean stills, for a moment, but then he lets him. He lets him.

When Cas slides his palm into Dean's and slots their fingers together, Dean holds fast, curling his hand into Cas' touch.

Castiel brings his free hand up to Dean's neck, holds him close. Breathes him in.

"I love you," he says, because he can't hold it in. Because his chest feels so full. Because he wants to say it again. To let Dean know. "I always will."

Dean sighs, then. Shifts so he can hold Cas better. Closer.

There's a dry press of lips to the warm skin of Castiel's temple.

"I know, sweetheart," Dean says, and there, in those words, in the softness of them where they touch Cas' skin, is everything. "I know."

[cowboy-like-castiel]

yes cowboy your masculinity is perfectly balanced between instinctive and performative now can you please bruce springs-clean your room

[cowboy-like-castiel]

Castiel closes his eyes and tilts his face towards the sun and that is another broken piece finding its way home. The sun feels warmer like this, the warmth on his eyelids a new sensation; he has to suppress a shiver despite the pleasant temperature. Humans do this, he thinks. Living creatures. So I must be alive. He tries to jostle the thought, the shards inside him that still wait for him to glue them together. Join them with gold. So I must be human. He sighs wearily, and another piece falls into place, and it shouldn’t hurt, but there are bruisings along the edges and there isn’t enough gold in the universe to paint over that. He tries to tell himself it’s okay. 

“Dammit, Cas. I told you to use sunblock.” Castiel’s face is hot and the feeling is alien. Ultraviolet doesn’t touch angels. Dean’s face is not burnt, not like his: it’s golden, freckles more prominent than he’s ever seen them. Eyes like a forest in bloom; vivid and breathtaking. They’re soft and worried around the edges. 

“It hurts.”

“Yeah. Sammy might have some aloe vera or something. That usually helps. Why didn’t you listen to me?” 

Castiel swallows, and lifts one hand to touch his own skin. It’s hot under his touch. Corpses are cold, he thinks. He uses a hand to cover his face, feels the icy cold turn sticking burning hot again. Dean’s eyes widen a little, and Cas quickly removes the hand. His skin feels strange and he doesn’t recognize it. But it burns, and dead things don’t burn unless someone else sets them on fire. I did this, Cas thinks. And I’m alive. 

Dean takes another step towards him, a concerned look on his face. And he reads Castiel like a book, sees through the facade which feels like it’s on fire anyway. Another broken shard finds its way home and Castiel open his mouth before he loses his nerve. 

“Sometimes I don’t feel like any of this is real.” He pauses. “A lot of the time, actually. I don’t feel whole, I don’t feel… but I think, I think this sunburn makes me human. It hurts too much to be anything other than proof of humanity”, he adds dryly. He touches his face again even though he know it’ll hurt. He can’t help it. That feels like another mended piece. Whatever shattered inside him resonates with all the little things he struggled to understand as an angel and they’re coming together, one after the other, and he doubts the Empty would play tricks this intricate on him. “I’m alive, Dean.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” Emotion got its grip around his throat and the words come out thick and Castiel’s chest constricts in an echo. Like a remedy, Dean’s hands reach for his shoulders, the small of his back, his sun kissed face inches away, still leaning closer. He swallows audibly. “I’d offer to kiss you better, but don’t want to hurt you.” 

Castiel smiles, and it’s agony, but it will be worth it. 

“I’d like that.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” 

He’s burning up, really. But that’s okay. And it is worth it. 

[cowboy-like-castiel]

Ah, yes. The Ides of June.

[cowboy-like-castiel]

Happy first year anniversary to uuuuuhhhh whatever the FUCK all that was. It’s been! A lot.

[cowboy-like-castiel]

I never knew warmth until I knew it with you.

[cowboy-like-castiel]

slut