#skepticalfrog

Dean eventually stops, because no matter what he says, he does what Sam wants. Sam bolts out and Cas, if he had the mind to do it, would have wondered why Sam was in such a hurry for food when he is not in imminent risk for starvation. Cas does not have the mind.

“Come on, Cas.”

Dean explains to him on their way that he’s getting takeaways to eat on the hood of the car.

“Do you want somethin’?” Dean asks him.

Cas shakes his head. He finds it flattering that Dean always asks him that, even when he knows that Cas does not eat.

As they walk towards what seems like a sandwich chain, Dean’s shoulders brush against Castiel’s. Dean’s arms are burning against Castiel’s own. They sway, slightly, front and back, probably to keep Dean his balance as he walks. The burn against his arm electrifies the nerves within Castiel’s vessel, sending signals to his borrowed brain.

Dean’s voice is low and breathy besides him.

“Wanna wait outside?”

They are in front of the little shop. Castiel gives him a single nod. He’s afraid that Dean will see through him, see what’s happening inside him. But Dean is a mere human, regardless of the effect he brings to Castiel. Dean does not see it, he gives Cas a nod, pushes the dirty glass door and walks in.

While waiting for Dean, Castiel searches for a streetlight.

The light is a mockery of what Castiel is. Castiel is a cosmic ray of light. Its frequency is invisible to humans, it is powerful, it is ancient, it is part of the mother nature itself. But for now, the streetlight, however orange and murky and flickering it is, is the closest thing to what Castiel actually is.

Castiel is this. He raises his eyes towards the source of the streetlight. Castiel is this, this power, the indivisible divine intent. He does not have a body.

A human body consists of a myriad of nerve endings that conveys electromagnetic signals to each other. All nerve endings work towards the same goal: satisfaction of the body’s desire. The body’s desire is born out of a set of chemical balance created in the body’s brain.

Castiel does not have a body—his brain is his vessel’s brain. The chemical balance created by this brain does not create any chemical balance within Castiel. Castiel therefore does not harbor any desire in the slightest.

Castiel blinks, though he does not need to; he can see, from his Angelic eyes, that Dean is smiling at the waitress without propositioning her.

Castiel does not have a body.

“Ready to go, Cas?”

It is a lie.

The orange artificial light, the poor imitation of light, laughs at Castiel.

Castiel turns around, sees Dean focused on his phone. The streetlight cuts Dean’s face in half.

There are several elements that constitute the human conception of beauty. The ratio of the features on the face, how they mimic the divine golden ratio. The symmetry. The social perception of beauty, the positive correlation a human forms in their formative years to a certain impression due to social and personal circumstances.

All of which are irrelevant to Castiel, and yet. And yet.

“Cas?”

Dean looks up at him. His green eyes glisten under the orange light. Golden flecks dance in his green.

The streetlight screams at Castiel for his blasphemy, and Castiel, defeated, begins his Confession:

Father, he starts, I have sinned.

My stolen fingers burn with the desire to touch. To caress. My stolen heart beats, and my stolen lungs leave me breathless.

Inexplicably, I have a body. And it betrays me for him.

“Cas, somethin’ wrong? Talk to me, buddy.”

The extent to which my desire for him dominates me is questionable.

“Yes, yes. I’m ready.”

“Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Dean.”

It is not a need.

Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel, and Castiel shrugs his concern off with a disinterested brow. Dean rolls his eyes and pats him on the shoulder.

Castiel internally jumps.

“C’mon, Sammy’s at the car.”

To Dean’s receding back, Castiel finishes his Confession.

It is everything I want.

Castiel’s feet follow Dean, obediently.