AngelEater

The thrift store smelled like old paper and a year’s worth of dust.

Dean had disappeared toward the vinyls twenty minutes ago and Sam beelined directly towards the library, leaving you wandering aimlessly while Cas followed a step behind in silence. Every now and then, he’d pick up some strange object– a lava lamp, a snow globe, a cassette tape– and stare at it with quiet concentration before setting it back down. (The lava lamp really threw him off) You stop in front of one of the shelves, fingers trailing absentmindedly through a basket of tangled jewelry. Most of it was cheap costume stuff– broken chains, tarnished rings…

Then something silver caught your eye. “Oh, this is cute” You absentmindedly hum under your breath. You carefully untangle a necklace from the pile, the faded cord slipping through the chains in the pile. A tiny angel pendant rested against your palm, worn smooth around the edges like someone had loved it for years. It wasn’t flashy or overly detailed, it was a small charm– six wings carefully arranged into the shape of a Seraph. Cas goes quieter than usual by your side. You glance up briefly, expecting one of his little fun facts about jewelry history or religious symbolism, but instead you find him staring at the pendant in your hand with an unreadable expression. “What?” you ask, smiling a little.

His eyes flick upward to meet yours. “That symbol–” He speaks carefully, his voice the usual gravelly murmur. “ –it represents a Seraphim”

“I know” You hum simply, turning the charm over between your fingers. “That’s kinda the reason why I like it” Something flickers across his face too quickly for you to place. Affection, maybe– or his usual confusion.

Before you can figure it out, Dean appears at your side holding three records under one arm. (One Led Zeppelin you’ve definitely seen in his room before) “Please tell me you’re not buyin’ cursed thrift store jewelry”

“It’s not cursed” You scoff with amused dismissal.

“You don’t know that”

“It’s like five bucks, Dean”

“That’s exactly how cursed objects are priced– trust me, m’ an expert” You roll your eyes, ignoring Dean’s continued muttering while stepping toward the register. Cas follows silently behind you, gaze lingering on the necklace the entire time.

By the time you get back to the bunker, you’ve already put it on. At first it settles cold against your skin, tucked just beneath the fabric of your shirt. After a few minutes, you forget you’re even wearing it, like it has already become a part of your outfit without even realizing it.

Cas doesn’t forget it– he notices it at dinner when the pendant slips free from beneath your shirt as you lean across to grab a plate. His sentence cuts off mid-thought, words slowing down. Dean notices immediately. “Dude, you good?”

The angel blinks once, almost like he’d forgotten he was technically still mid-conversation. “Yes” You hide a smile behind your glass, quietly enjoying his internal struggle.

Later that night, the necklace catches Castiel’s attention again when you’re curled up on the library couch beside Sam, listening to him ramble about lore, your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the charm while you read over his shoulder. Again– Cas stares– not openly enough for anyone else to notice. But enough that every time you glance up, his eyes meet yours without flinching– he’s always been weirdly intense with his eye contact.

It keeps happening for days after that– you catch him looking at it while passing each other in the bunker halls, while you’re making coffee, while you’re laughing at one of Dean’s stupid jokes… The strange thing is– he never looks uncomfortable, God no– just thoughtful, quietly mesmerized. It’s almost like the necklace means something more to him than it does to you.

Maybe that’s why you keep wearing it.

One evening, after a hunt leaves everyone exhausted and bruised, you wander into the kitchen wearing one of Dean’s old shirts and little else, already prepared to drop dead in your bed. The Seraph pendant hangs loose against your collarbone as you reach up to push the hair away from your face. Cas appears in the doorway, his gaze lands on the necklace instantly– it stays there.

“You really like it, huh?” You tease softly.

For a moment, he says nothing– then, even quieter than usual “Yes” He admits simply, voice honest and kind per usual. The kitchen falls silent around you, the only sound being somewhere down the hall, from Dean’s movie playing on the TV. Neither of you move, though it’s comfortable, familiar. Your fingers brush against the pendant unconsciously– a little movement you’ve gotten used to doing these past days. “You keep looking at it” It’s not accusing, just pointing it out.

Castiel’s eyes flick upward, meeting yours properly with all their blue intensity. “I know” The honesty in his voice almost makes a quiet chuckle escape you. Almost. You lean back against the counter slightly– trying to read him. “Okay, seriously” You murmur. “What’s going on in that angel mind of yours?” For a second, he says nothing but then his gaze drops back to the necklace resting against your collarbone, like just the sight of it gives him the push to answer.

“Seraphim were considered closest to God” He explains with quiet simplicity. “Before the Fall, their sigils were treated with… reverence” Your teasing expression softens a little, his honesty making a gentle warmth spread through your chest. Cas steps closer before seeming to realize he’s doing it, the movement is hesitant– careful, like he’s approaching something sacred he doesn’t want to ruin. “When I first saw you wearing it” The angel continues softly. “I thought perhaps you admired angels”

“And now?”

His eyes meet yours again. Now there’s something warm there, something unbearably fond. “I am not sure what I think” He murmurs quietly. “I simply like seeing something that reminds me of my home close to your heart” The words settle somewhere deep in your chest, warm and aching all at once– close to your heart, God. You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Cas doesn’t seem to notice the effect he’s having on you– or maybe he does– it’s always hard to tell with him. His gaze remains fixed on the small silver pendant resting against your skin, thoughtful and almost impossibly soft.

“You know…” You murmur after a second, trying to ease some of the tension with a half-hearted attempt at humor. “Most people would probably think that sounds really cheesy”

His brow furrows faintly. “Cheesy?” Sometimes you forget that slang goes right over your angelic companion’s head.

“Yeah. Like… overly romantic” For the first time all evening, Castiel looks genuinely caught off guard. Not dramatically– just a small widening of his eyes, a barely-there stiffness in his shoulders at the realization of his words. He’d been talking purely out of honesty and instinct, now he actually understood the deeper feeling behind it.

“Oh” He says quietly.

The silence that follows is immediate and awkward with nerves. Cas glances away briefly, like he’s sorting carefully through his thoughts before speaking again. “I did not intend to make you uncomfortable”

You quickly shake your head no, a soft, reassuring smile spreading on your lips. Even in utter embarrassment, he still focused on how you were feeling. “You didn’t” His eyes flick back to yours instantly– a weight immediately lifted off his shoulders. “You just…” You let out a nervous little laugh, fingers brushing against the pendant again. “You say things like that so seriously– humans usually hide it or try to brush it off”

“I was being serious” Heat creeps into your face before you can stop it– clearly not used to people being so straightforward with their affection. Castiel watches the reaction happen in real time, gaze strangely intent– like he’s trying to understand every tiny expression you make, determined to understand you to the very core. Then, softer: “I like that you wear it”

his eyes flick to yours, very serious. “yes?”

“you okay?”

“yes.”

you wait for him to say something else. he says nothing else.

then he leans, just slightly, closer to your shoulder.

you blink. “are you smelling me?”

castiel straightens so fast it would be funny if his face weren’t completely sincere. “no.” a beat. “yes.”

you stare at him.

he looks back, unashamed and somehow a little embarrassed, which is a complicated thing to manage with one face. “you smell pleasant,” he explains.

your brain goes wonderfully blank. “oh.”

“not in an alarming way.”

“great,” you say, trying not to laugh. “love that clarification.”

after that, you start noticing it: he sits beside you during research even when there are six empty chairs. he appears in doorways when you pass, head tilting faintly as if he’s caught some invisible thread of you in the air. once, while you were reaching for a book on a high shelf, he stepped behind you to get it first, and when his sleeve brushed your arm, he went very still.

you turned slowly, then. “cas.”

“i was assisting.”

“you were inhaling.”

his mouth parts. closes. “both things can be true.”

that gets you. you laugh, soft and helpless, and his expression gentles in response, like the sound is something he wants to keep but doesn’t know where to put.

one night, you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing lotion into your hands because the bunker air dries your skin out terribly. castiel stands near the doorway, watching with that quiet intensity that used to unsettle you before you learned it usually just means he’s curious. or worried. or both.

“it’s this, isn’t it?” you ask, holding up the bottle.

he steps closer. “yes.”

“you could’ve just said you liked it.”

“i did.”

“you said i smelled pleasant and not alarming.”

“that was accurate.”

you bite your lip to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work.

he notices. of course he does. and his gaze drops to your hands, then returns to your face, softer now. “may i?”

your chest gives a tiny, traitorous flip. “smell my hands?”

“yes.”

you should tease him. really, you should. instead, you offer him one.

castiel takes it carefully, his fingers cool at first, then warmer where they settle around yours. he bends over your hand, not kissing it—-just close enough that his breath brushes your knuckles, slow and reverent in a way that makes your stomach twist.

oh. that’s unfair. “cas,” you say, quieter.

he lifts his eyes. “is this uncomfortable?”

you swallow. “no,” you admit. too honest. “that’s kind of the problem.”

something shifts in his face, small but visible, like he’s filing that away with great care.

he doesn’t let go immediately. neither do you. and when his thumb moves once across the back of your hand, barely there, you realize he isn’t there just to smell the lotion anymore. maybe he never was.

"It's to keep your hair from getting tangled," you murmur. "It's windy out today."

He's warm taffy at the sound of your voice. Pliable and stretchy, he feels his center of grace being pulled towards you. It buzzes when your hands pull away and a finger brushes against his temple on the way down. It's hard to refrain from leaning in.

"I like it," he nods. "Thank you."

From the doorway, Sam smiles and shakes his head, exasperated.

⟡⟡⟡

An early autumn breeze kisses all heat from your skin with a chill, and sends your arm looping through the crook of Cas' elbow. You press close against his side, he presses back because he's got plenty warmth to spare, and the only thing out of place is Dean's smirk.

He stands at Baby with his feet crossed in the near distance, and when Cas glances down, Sam is watching from inside the car with an eerily similar expression.

"They are being weird," he tells you, under his breath.

Your throat bobs with a soft swallow, he notices. And as you step up a curb together and closer to the boys, your arm withdraws and he's left feeling empty. A crack in his chest that yawns into a gap when you throw him a small smile and open your own door to the backseat. He always opens it for you, he likes to, but you're too quick today.

"Aren't they always?"

He hums and slides in beside you, thigh bumping to yours.

While an argument about the volume of music ensues in the front, he watches with gentle cerulean eyes as your fingers twitch and your palm flips up in offering above your lap. He takes it with the only thought in his head being how happy he is to hold your hand like this.

⟡⟡⟡

Six hours into the drive, the sun begins to melt down the sky with beaming rivulets of yellow. Your cheek squished to his shoulder and snoring quietly, fingers tangled into a fold of his coat, Cas thinks you're most pretty. The prettiest. More than stars and flowers.

You're drooling. But in a very sweet, tired and human sort of way, he doesn't mind at all. What does irk him is the slapping of Dean's hands against the wheel and the raspy voice belting from the radio.

"Dean," he grunts, very still. "Stop. Turn it down."

Dean peeks into the rearview. "Why?"

"It is obnoxiously loud. They're sleeping."

A long, bleeding sigh, before Axl Rose is silenced. Sam's head turns to watch Dean, and they share one of their silent conversations that Cas isn't very fond of. The Impala hiccups over a dip in the road, and he brings his bicep around your shoulder to keep you steady and undisturbed.

"This is getting a little ridiculous, man," Dean huffs, words underlain with a stabbed attempt at sincerity.

"What is getting ridiculous?"

It's all quiet for a prolonged moment. His heart squeezes at the feel of your weight, the breath that puffs out through your parted lips and fans on his collar. He likes that he's the one you're resting on. There's a falling in his chest, like a plume of feathers hitting the ground, as he thinks about how he'd like to be this for you always.

He blinks slow.

"All this... cuddling. And the smiles. And the touches."

"It is human nature, our dynamic is as such."

"Your dynamic," Dean repeats in a breath of laughter. "They're into you, dude. You've gotta do something about it."

Cas tilts his head and thinks. About your blooming smile and your hands on his shoulders, face, held between his own. The way you say his name with a dulcet lilt. How he's thrown into a golden, blossoming euphoria when you explain things to him that he pretends not to know about, just to hear you talk.

"Into me. In what way?"

Sam is so merciful as to cut in, turning around in his seat.

"They... they've got a crush on you. They're interested. Romantically."

He knows what a crush is. What had been a complicated topic has become something simpler over his time spent here, sweeter and pure, to think that you harbor such a honeyed thing for him makes his forehead balm.

Silence settles again. Pillowing atop him like fresh snow, he's met with the first loss of words in the spanning, expansive thing that is his existence.

"You good?" Sam asks, patient and knowing.

Cas nods. He is perfect.

⟡⟡⟡

When you fall asleep in your hotel room that night, Cas is there and watching over you. As your eyes flutter open and contract under a hissing ray of early light, he's gone. You sit up, blankets pooling, a lonely ache between your ribs.

It's soothed by the message on your nightstand, relieved to know he hasn't left without a trace or goodbye. His name written in elegant calligraphy on a creased sheet of complementary notepad, you take it and unfold the paper quickly.

I possess a crush on you, too.

Love, Castiel.

❤︎⁠

my cas debut! please have mercy on me as it is my first ever time writing for him!!