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webcricket · 7 years

Text

To Love Somebody

Characters: CastielXReader, ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3242

A/N: Castiel wants to demonstrate his love for the reader but doesn’t know how. Cue up the most adorable, awkward angel ever as he tries and repeatedly fails to show you his love. Inspired by Castiel’s utterly innocent Websummons app search in episode 12.19 of “how to fix a truck” (no spoilers) – because, you know, the internet has all the answers to life’s complex problems! Pure unadulterated Fluffy Fluff (yes, with capital Fs ‘cause Fluff is capital).

Castiel meandered aimlessly into the library, deep in contemplation, stopped up short by the edge of the glassy smooth mahogany table where Sam and Dean sat steeped in a heap of dusty lore books and Men of Letters file boxes researching the latest case.

The angel had been off his game for days – quieter than usual, less helpful, more vague, seeking solitude in the lesser used domains of the bunker, thoughts wandering again and again to the image of you he held in his mind’s eye. He’d always felt more protective toward you than to other humans, even the Winchesters - your injuries and anguish wounding him in a manner he did not understand. And like the sun, you were the brightest object in any room. He found himself perpetually staring at you, into you - the radiant warmth of your soul pleasantly tugging against his celestial being as he fought the urge to gravitate closer, his grace sparking, flaring, and blazing through his vessel like a wildfire in your company. In your absence, he still sensed and craved this all-consuming burn – the very thought of you enough to stir a tingle of heat and longing within his vessel.

Three days ago, Castiel decided what he was feeling for you could be nothing short of love itself. And now that he had named it, he was bursting at the seams to tell you. Yet his burgeoning love remained tempered with fear you would not return his feelings. He could not confess it outright, could not compromise your friendship - he would rather remain your friend than risk pushing you out of reach and be damned to exist alone in the dark forever remembering what it was like to be bathed in the reflective light of your soul.

“Hey Cas,” Sam glanced up from the worn leather book he was perusing, greeting the angel with a friendly but weary smile.

Cas blinked his bright blue eyes, the cloudy haze of thoughts clearing from their sapphire depths to focus on the immediate surroundings. Noticing the brothers’ presence for the first time, he nodded acknowledgement, plodding to the nearest chair, crumpling into the seat, head lolling backward to study the tin tile work of the ceiling as if it might contain the answers he sought.

Dean curiously noted his friend’s sullen demeanor, snapping shut the laptop, reclining in his chair, and folding brawny arms across his chest, “Okay, I’ll bite - what’s with the frowny face?”

Cas sighed, squaring his shoulders, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. He squinted at the elder Winchester, “I’m searching for the solution to a conundrum vexing me of late.”

“Uh huh,” Dean’s green eyes lit up with amusement, fingers scratching the day-old stubble on his chin, “you try Google?”

“Dean,” Sam chided his brother for the less than helpful remark. Setting down his book, he addressed the angel, “Cas, you know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

“I do,” Cas slowly bobbed his chin. He’d pondered asking the Winchesters for guidance, deciding against it, not wanting to hold any resentment toward his brothers if their advice backfired. They’d forgiven each other for many things over the years, he could not add this to the ledger. The angel forced a half-smile, “And thank you Sam, I appreciate your friendship, but this is something I have to figure out on my own.”

“Well then, I’m going to look for the answers to this case in some pie,” Dean slapped his palms to his knees with a loud clap, standing up. “You know, it’s a universal fact that pie contains all the answers.”

Sam smirked, arching a questioning brow, “Dude, did you just make a math reference?”

Dean gaped blankly at his brother.

Cas elucidated, “Because pi is a transcendental number containing all the information that has ever existed or will exist – everything in the universe.”

“What? No!” Dean shook his head, shuddering, mumbling as he strode from the room in the direction of the kitchen, “Nerds.”

Sam shrugged at Cas as he took up his discarded book in pursuit of actual tangible answers about the case.

The angel peered thoughtfully in the direction of Dean’s exit for some minutes, Dean’s joking suggestion of an internet search resounding in his mind. Fishing the phone from his pocket, he opened the Websummons app and typed in his query: How to show someone you love them. He pressed search, selecting the first link to appear.

Tell them something you appreciate about them, no matter how minor or insignificant. Castiel lounged beside you in the library, near enough for the heat of your body to wash over his vessel, yet not so close as he truly desired. Raptly studying your profile, a lore book lay open and forgotten in his lap. Perceiving the subtle scent of coconut lip balm melting into the soft creases of your mouth, he imaged what your plump pink lips would feel like pressed against his own.

You fidgeted under his scrutiny, crossing and uncrossing your legs repeatedly. You’d known the angel long enough to be used to his tendency to stare. You considered it a cute angelic quirk, knowing he did not mean to be rude or intrusive. Generally, you could ignore this seemingly undivided innocent attention from the angel, but something about the intensity of his stare tonight made it difficult for you to focus on research. Unable to endure it any longer, you cleared your throat, twisting in your chair to confront the angel, “Cas, was there something on your mind?”

His gleaming blue eyes flared a bit wider in surprise, focus shifting to a stray wisp of hair overlying your ear, throat bobbing harshly as he gulped, “I, uh, was just noticing how wonderfully formed your ears are.” It wasn’t exactly what he meant to say - he intended something far more poetic about the glints of yellow glittering in your eyes like tiny points of starlight.

You stifled a chuckle, grinning, laugh lines deepening as you grappled to contain your amusement at his odd compliment.

Cas rambled on, cadence strangely harried, “Did you know that ears, like fingerprints, are unique to the individual?”

“I didn’t know that,” the urge to laugh began to dampen under a shadow of concern at the angel’s strange behavior.

A faint flush of pink bloomed across his cheeks as he continued, fingertips reaching out to push the loose strands of hair behind your ear and lightly brushing the areas he spoke of, “You have a particularly distinguished tragus and beautifully arching helix.”

Fleeting concern forgotten at the tickle of his gentle caress, ears turning beat red, you blushed, “Um, thank you? I think.”

The angel shyly nodded, regard dropping to the book in his lap, staring unseeingly at the words on the page.

Make them their favorite food or a special breakfast in bed. Castiel peered between his phone and the assembled utensils, bowls, and ingredients spread on the shiny steel kitchen counter before him. He strode to the oven, setting it to pre-heat to the temperature indicated by the recipe for chocolate chip cookies. Measuring cup set on the counter, he dumped the bag of flour sideways, sending a cloud of white powder cascading out to quickly overflow the cup and puff into the air. He flinched backward from the explosion of dust, wiping and smearing streaks of flour across his coat. Shedding the trench and suit coats, he shook them out and threw them over the bench, suddenly comprehending the necessity for that silly apron you always wore when baking.

Dean sleepily stumbled in from the hall, clad in boxers, a tight white t-shirt, and his plundered MoL robe. He apathetically surveyed the situation, too tired to muster the sass to properly ask his friend what the hell was going on.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas gestured apologetically at the mess, “I’ll clean this up when I’m done.”

Dean shrugged and grunted in response, lurching toward the coffee pot to pour himself a mug.

Cas returned to his task, placing several sticks of butter in a bowl to soften in the microwave, grateful for Dean’s passive sleep-numbed reaction.

“Sugar,” Dean mumbled zombie-like, fumbling for and not finding the bag beside the coffee maker where it usually resided. He looked over at the cookie ingredients on the counter. Seeing the missing bag, he took it from where the angel had moved it, tossing a spoonful in his mug and putting it back next to the coffee maker where it belonged before dragging his lumbering frame out into the hall.

“Sugar,” Cas echoed Dean’s query, finding the ingredient missing from his stash. A similarly shaped bag on the edge of the counter caught his eye, and he blindly grabbed it, pouring out the appropriate number of cups into the melted butter. Dry and wet ingredients combined, chocolate chips folded in, the dough looked very much like the one you so often made for yourself and the boys. The angel ventured a taste of the raw dough, mimicking your actions when you baked - it tasted like perfectly acceptable molecules to him. He carefully spooned out several dozen cookies and placed them in the oven. Your alarm would go off in 20 minutes. In 13 minutes he would remove the cookies from the oven, allow them to cool on the counter for 5 minutes, then transfer them to a plate still slightly warm, pour you a large glass of cool milk, and make his way to your bedroom to serve you breakfast in bed. He reasoned a special breakfast in bed meant he should also serve your favorite food, regardless of whether that food was breakfast. Everything was falling perfectly into place. Waiting on the oven, cleaning up his mess, he picked up the bag of sugar to put away next to the coffee maker. Finding a bag already there, he read the label of the bag in his hands – salt. He didn’t dwell long on the fact he used salt instead of sugar, there wasn’t time, and after all, the dough looked the same, salt and sugar couldn’t be that different – the oven dinged.

Rolling over with a yawn, you slammed your palm to silence the alarm, hearing someone knocking at the door the instant it was quieted. “Come in,” you ran your fingers through sleep tousled hair and sat up against the headboard.

Castiel pushed open the creaking door, cautiously peering through the opening.

“Cas?” You shifted to get out of bed, alarmed by his early morning incursion, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t get up,” he held up a hand, swinging the door open with his foot to enter the room, “I, uh, I made you breakfast.”

“Really?” You half-smiled, sitting up taller to see the contents of the tray held out in his arms, “It’s not even my birthday or anything.”

“I know,” he set the tray on your lap, “but I wanted to do something special for you.”

Your eyes flitted between the beaming angel and the cookies and milk, wondering what you’d done to deserve this special attention, “I don’t know what to say, thank you Cas.” You bit down on a gooey cookie, wincing, taste buds immediately overwhelmed by saltiness. You made a concerted effort to mask your reaction, chugging half the glass of milk to wash away the disgusting taste, “They’re, uh…”

“Too salty?” Cas offered, brow furrowing, crestfallen as he perched on the edge of the mattress. He should have realized, should have scrapped the whole silly plan when he discovered he’d used salt instead of sugar. Instead he humiliated himself again in front of you. He couldn’t seem to do anything the way he intended.

Setting the tray aside, you crawled to your knees to hug the angel from behind, wrapping your arms firmly around his broad shoulders. Pecking a quick kiss on his stubbly cheek, you murmured in his ear, “It doesn’t matter, I still appreciate the thoughtfulness. I mean it angel, thank you.”

Long after you excused yourself to have a shower, his fingers reflexively lingered over the remembered warmth where your lips had touched his cheek.

Prepare them a relaxing bath. Castiel mysteriously pardoned himself the instant you returned from the hunt with Sam and Dean. Convening around the kitchen table, you and the brothers compared notes over well-earned glasses of bourbon.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the empty threshold, ensuring the angel was long gone, “Hey, what the hell is up with Cas anyway?”

“No idea,” Sam rubbed his sore shoulder, grimacing at the way his palm stuck to dried ghoul guts when he pulled away.

Sam and Dean both gazed expectantly at you for an answer.

“What are you looking at me for?” You shrugged, downing a swig of the deliciously numbing amber liquor.

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “He’s been following you around like a lost puppy for weeks.”

“You’re telling us you haven’t noticed?” Sam added, a smirk curling his mouth.

“What are you talking about? You sure you two don’t have concussions? That ghoul whacked you both pretty good before I ganked him and saved your asses,” you scowled, trying to deflect the inquiry. Cas had been acting strangely around you lately - you couldn’t deny it. You also couldn’t deny you enjoyed the extra attention, and since you hadn’t quite reconciled what that meant to you, you weren’t exactly inclined to talk about it. Finishing off your bourbon, you set the glass down with a loud clank, “Dibs on the shower. I might even leave you boys some hot water.” You disappeared into the hall without another word.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sam grinned once your footsteps faded.

“Cas totally wants to hit that ass,” Dean smirked knowingly.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Dude, it’s not always about sex.”

“What?” Dean leered, green eyes sparkling mischievously, “Have you seriously not had dreams about what it would be like to-”

Sam smacked his brother on the chest, effectively silencing him, “It’s more than that. It’s obvious Cas loves Y/N and Y/N loves him, and I’m pretty sure neither one of them knows it’s mutual.”

“We could totally be their fairy godfathers and hook them up,” Dean excitedly shook Sam’s arm at the idea, “I can’t wait to see what you turn into at midnight.”

“We’re staying out of it,” Sam snorted a laugh, “and obviously you’d turn into a squirrel.”

Castiel scattered fresh rose petals across the steaming surface of the filled claw foot bathtub. He discovered this locked chamber in his late-night solitary sojourns into the unexplored depths of the bunker. Based on the variety of demonic torture objects lining the walls and sigils etched into the tiled floor and ceiling, he surmised the original function of the room to be related to the performance of exorcisms. Of course, he’d cleared all of that paraphernalia from the space, leaving none of the original items save the stark white claw foot bathtub centered in the room. Striking a match, he lit the wicks of several lavender-scented pillar candles circling the inviting bath, switching off the overhead lights to complete the relaxing ambiance. He fluffed an oversized towel on the chair beside the tub, studying the scene one final time to ensure everything was perfect. Satisfied it was exactly the relaxation you deserved after the trials of the latest hunt, he ventured off to find you, leaving a trail of rose petals in his wake for you to follow.

You never made it to the showers. You got only as far as your bedroom, hastily stripping to your underwear, collapsing wearily on the comforter and succumbing to exhaustion.

It was there Castiel found you. There, where he covered your unconscious half naked body with a blanket, careful to tuck you in snug, two fingers barely swiping across your blood spattered forehead to safeguard against unpleasant dreams and bid you goodnight. There, where he gazed through the open door as he departed, hesitating to close it and lose sight of your peaceful countenance. There, where he resigned himself to the thought that maybe angels were never meant to love, not in the way he loved you.

Rising in the morning, legs hanging limply over the edge of the mattress, wiping the vestiges of restful sleep from your eyes with the backs of your fists, you noticed a contrast of red speckling the floor – leading a curious trail from the bed to the door. Hopping down, you plucked a withered petal from the floor, rubbing it between your fingers the unmistakable scent of rose tickling your nose. You followed the curious trail of petals into the hall, winding down the halls and staircases, ending outside a shut cast iron door. Your fingers caught the circular pull at the center of the black door, heaving it open to reveal a pitch black room, the strong smell of lavender rushing past you to fill the hall. Groping along the inside wall, you flipped a switch, lights flickering on to reveal hardened mountains of candle wax circling a long tepid bath.

Kiss them when they least expect it. Castiel was nowhere to be found in the bunker. Sam and Dean had not seen him since the previous night. Your repeated attempts to call him quickly revealed that wherever he went, he left behind his cell phone in the library. You paced the library, staring at the locked screen of the angel’s phone. You typed out the word password in hopes he approached his phone’s security as literally as he handled almost everything else in his life. No such luck. Two more attempts remaining.

Sam frowned pitiably at you over his laptop screen. Blatantly ignoring his previous advice to Dean about not interfering, he cleared his throat, “Try your name.”

You stopped up short, tensely worrried gaze flying to Sam, “What?”

“Your name,” Dean echoed, shaking his head askance at his brother, muttering under his breath, “I thought we were staying out of it.”

“Staying out of what?” You made your way to the table, glowering between the brothers.

“Just try your name,” Sam sighed.

Narrowing your eyes skeptically, you typed your name. It worked. The home screen opened to a browser link listing ways to show someone you love them. The list was a play by play of the sweet things Castiel had been doing for you lately, everything except –

A hand firmly grasped your shoulder, spinning you dizzyingly around, a strong arm sweeping around your waist to hold you steady as you clutched at blurry fistfuls of familiar tan fabric. Before you could regain your bearings, warm pliant lips settled against yours – their movement at first slow and sensual, reassuring but insistent like the fingers gently kneading at the small of your back. You recognized the shade of blue of the eyes so closely gazing back into yours, the potent charged scent of angelic grace filling your nostrils as you inhaled a shaking dazed breath. Eyelids fluttering shut, you dissolved in Castiel’s embrace, lips parting with a moan to savor the intoxicating honeyed taste of his tongue as he deepened the kiss.

Palm smoothing over the delicate flesh of your neck, fingers gliding to twist in your hair, the angel poured all of the meaning behind his failed intentions at demonstrating the depth of his love for you into that single passionate unexpectedly perfect first kiss.

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