Like Moses and Batman and James Dean
âDean keeps looking at Cas. He holds the crowbar easy in his hand, grip only tightening in response to whatever subtle changes in the environment he picks up on. Thereâs nothing different about him today than there was yesterday, and yetâ
Dean loves him. Jesus Christ, Dean loves him. He didnât think it was possible and he told Cas exactly that. Has been telling himself that for years. He fucking loves Cas and he doesnât know what to do with it. Itâs been sitting in his chest tangled up with the permanent knot of grief that resides there, and there are times he canât tell the difference between the two. Theyâve grown over each other, swallowed each other up. Sometimes Dean wishes they had cancelled each other out, opposing forces and all, but fat chance. They had grown into each other and grown out the other side of each other and grown roots in each other. Cas resides in him now and while thereâs so much he doesnât know about himself, if he knows one thing itâs that his soil is too fertile. Cas planted that seed and he watered it and it grew and grew and grew and grew and grew. He can pretend his branches donât reach for Cas, but heâs been growing towards him since the start.â
âThings return to normal after that, more or less. Dean feels Cas getting closer, a shadow pooling beneath him as the sun rises overhead. He doesnât move away, but he doesnât move closer, either.
Touch normally exchanged between them, once casual, lingers. Dean counts the press of fingers into his shoulder like he would the seconds between thunder, to determine how close the storm is.â
Author: @saltyfeathersâ
https://archiveofourown.org/works/9779321
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