if dean had been told by cas that he loved him during a time that he was in a state to emotionally process it he would have spent five entire minutes trying to talk cas out of it
“I’m self sabotaging,” Dean says, pacing back and forth.
“Yes,” Castiel agrees. He is leaning against the table in the war room and has been watching Dean do this for the past eight and a half minutes. “You’re being such at the moment.”
“I’m narcissistic.”
“No more than most.”
“I hurt everyone I touch.”
“Not everyone.”
“Well-“ Dean flaps a hand, still not looking at Castiel. He hasn’t looked at Castiel once since Castiel said the words, and if this were anyone else in this situation it would worry him, but this is Dean, and he somewhat expected this. “Well, lots of people.”
“That’s alright. So do I. It’s our job.”
“Well, those aren’t people, Cas. I’m talking about people.”
Castiel opens his mouth, weighing the pros and cons of getting bogged down in semantics with Dean, and decides against it.
“Everybody hurts people sometimes,” he says instead. “It’s the nature of being alive. And,” he adds, because he also decides he can’t help himself. “I am an angel, not a human being. So by your metric, I am not people either.”
“You-“ Dean does look up at this, voice coming out in a squawk. “Of course you’re people! You’re Cas!”
Castiel’s heart swells and beyond even being in love with him, he is just in this moment extraordinarily fond of him.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Yeah, well.” Dean rubs the back of his head before getting back to it. He stops pacing at least, but starts gesticulating. “I die a lot, and it is a pain in the ass, every time.”
“You and I are about equal on that front.”
“You-“ Dean gives him a frustrated look, although Castiel knows he’s not really frustrated at him. “Did I mention I hurt people?”
“You’ve got a far better track record than Sam. Everybody Sam’s ever slept with or wanted to sleep with dies.”
“I-“ Dean considers. “Yeah. Okay. That’s true.”
“When we sleep together, the problem will be circumvented by the fact that whenever we die we seem to come back, so if we get it over with quickly, we should be fine.”
“We-“ Dean’s gaze snaps to Castiel’s. “When?”
“Yes,” Castiel asserts serenely. “When. If you like.”
Dean’s face works the way it does when he wants something incredibly badly, wants to lie about it, and can’t force the words out.
“You don’t have to make this so hard, you know,” Castiel tells him. “This can be very simple.”
“How?” Dean shouts. “How in- Cas, how in God’s name do you- God is after us, Cas, and- and the situation is fucked! Everything is fucked, all of the time! I am- I am fucked up, Cas! How do you- Christ, how do you even think-“
Castiel pushes himself off the war room table, takes Dean’s chin in his hand, and tilts his face so he can kiss him. Dean freezes under his lips, hands hanging in the air where he left them.
When Castiel pulls back, there is a light dusting of red across Dean’s freckles as Dean opens his eyes, and Castiel is hit with it once more, that overwhelming fondness.
“Like that,” Castiel answers simply.
Dean swallows.
“Okay,” he whispers, and rests his hands on either side of Castiel’s face so he can kiss him again.
