Prayer [SPN, Destiel, PG]
Title: Prayer
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: romance/fluff, angst
Summary: It had been months since Dean had last contacted Castiel, but after splitting up with Sam almost two months ago, he was growing too lonely to stand his own company.
A/N: Well, this... is older. I like it - it's pointless. Off the timeline, no spoilers. Yada yada.
~*~~*~~*~
Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling and then out of the window to the deep, dark night sky. The motel was far enough from any civilized area that he could see some stars twinkling like tiny snowflakes caught on a vast velvet sheet.
He knew what he wanted but he had a hard time asking for it. It had been months since he'd last contacted Castiel, but after splitting up with Sam almost two months ago, he was growing too lonely to stand his own company. He'd hardly spoken to anyone at all and the fight they'd had was still inside him like a festering wound that refused to raise a fever.
In fact, the loneliness on its own was quickly taking away what little respect he had for himself. He'd paid for two different whores up to this point and it had only made him feel worse, knowing it meant he hadn't even managed to bring a free girl home. Or wanted to - perhaps he hadn't been trying. What the fight with Sam had been about hardly mattered, and he regretted everything he'd said to Castiel as well when they'd last seen. He was certain that when he'd finally open up his mouth and spill out his prayer, nobody would answer to him.
That was what held him back the most; the fear of losing what he was now hanging onto like the famous drowning man onto his last straws, long lost by the sea.
”Cas,” he begun, barely managing a more than a whisper, ”I don't know if you're there - if you listen - but if you do, lend me an ear for just a couple more minutes. For old times' sake if not for anything else. I think you know what's going on, it's your job, isn't it? But in case you don't... I pissed off my baby brother again. Sam's a legit bitch, but I miss him like mad. I don't know how to apologise. Every time I try I end up being too angry with myself to even start. I'm ashamed.”
Dean pulled his legs up on the bed and hugged his knees, eyes still on the stars. He felt much like he was eight years old again, wishing his father would be back, feeling too scared to move to the next room where Sam was sleeping. Now there was no next room. There was the shared bathroom which he'd paranoidly locked up with a chair from this side, just in case someone on the other side wanted to off him.
It didn't seem all that unlikely anymore.
”Now you're probably not listening anymore,” he continued in a moment when the silence begun echoing inside his head like a collapsing mineshaft, ”But if you are, I know you're waiting for me to say sorry. So... screw you, Castiel. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it's bleeding my heart dry. And no, you sad son of a bitch, that is not sarcasm. Every time I think of you it's like my ribs are breaking and pushing into my lungs. Believe me, I know how that feels like, been there more than once.”
He noticed he was on the brink of tears, his breath locking in as his throat convulsed and left him with an awkward hiccup. He shivered, laid his head down and his face into his arms, forehead resting upon his knees.
”So Cas,” he continued, speaking into his lap, ”Everything I said back then was probably bullshit, and I miss you. I miss you more than I miss Sam by now. I know I can contact Sam by cell if I want to... I know what he's up to, we both contact Bobby... But I haven't heard of you since. I know I said awful things. As my friend, you've gotten your share of that. It's just who I am. I can't hold back if I lash out. You're too easy... you never fight back. You accept everything I say to you and when I tell you to go and never come back, you do that. You know, I think every time I've said that to you or anyone else, I wanted to do it myself. I just wanted to go and never come back. And I don't mean it in the sense of walking away and living like I do now. I mean that every time I say that, I'm saying I wish I could just die. When I say it, I say it because I'm hurting so much I can't handle myself.”
He gripped the blanket below and dug his toes into it. His socks got caught under his toe nails and he could almost feel the fabric tearing just the slightest bit from the friction, knowing somewhere deep inside his mind that it had just brought the day closer when he'd need to buy yet another bagful of socks.
Then he realised these thoughts were plastering a safety wall between his consciousness and his prayer, and he forced himself through it again.
”So, Castiel, I... have a wish. You'll be my guardian angel and the falling star I need to make a wish to right now, just... don't actually fall, twice is enough.”
He bit his lip and tried to breathe calmly, or at least stop the involuntary gasps his body forced upon him.
”If you can forgive me... If you still care... I need you here tonight.”
The sound of feathers hitting the air around him came so soon he had hardly finished the sentence, and the next thing he knew were arms around him, holding him so tight he almost resisted and then simply gave up, letting the other pull him closer until he felt the side of his head colliding with the fabric of that familiar trench coat.
Even the scent of it was the same.
The embrace was the usual sort of awkward - too long, too tight and not quite comfortable in any aspect, but Dean didn't care. He almost missed it when it was over.
When he looked up, Castiel was watching him with creased brows and a baffled expression.
”Uh,” Dean mumbled, his hand escaping up to scrape at his overgrown hair, ”Um - hi.”
”Dean, I do not understand why you think I haven't forgiven you. I thought this was what you wanted,” Castiel replied to his greeting.
Dean hesitated and to avoid thinking, he made space on the bed and patted the spot to get the angel to sit down, as the manner Castiel towered above him wasn't really helping him make sense of anything. The least of himself.
When the other had sat down and the silence had grown too long, he shifted uncomfortably and soon found himself staring into the angel's blue eyes. The shade reflected the very dim light from outside, giving them the depth and vastness of the universe around. It was even more stunning than usual, enough so to be threatening.
”Of course it's not what I wanted, idiot,” Dean finally said and tore his gaze off of the angel, reaiming it at the dull blanket underneath, ”It's just what I said.”
Castiel let out a sigh or a weary huff, looking frustratedly elsewhere.
”I will never learn to understand your kind,” he said, ”How am I to know what you want if it isn't the same with what you say?”
Dean felt a smirk creep up on his lips.
”That's the problem I guess,” he said, ”The reason why we humans don't really get along with each other. We don't make any sense.”
He felt the angel looking back at him, slowly, and then examining him patiently in complete silence, but for some reason it didn't make him uncomfortable. He was lost in his own thoughts, comforted by the presence of another, even someone as asocial as Castiel. And what he'd said had been true. He'd missed the angel a lot. Now that he was there, it felt like breathing was easy again.
”Are you... are you busy or anything?” Dean finally asked, stumbling at each word.
”I have forever,” the angel said confidently, calmly.
Dean raised a brow at him before accepting the answer. Perhaps things weren't as hectic up there anymore. He had no idea, they hadn't been talking in a while.
”This is going to sound really creepy,” he said and smiled embarrasedly, ”but can you sit here while I sleep? I'd feel... a lot better, really.”
Castiel tilted his head ever so slightly and looked into Dean's eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. A sense of relief washed into the pit of Dean's stomach. He rose up, pulled off his shirt and dropped his jeans, gathered them into a crude pile on a chair and pushed on the television. He didn't bother looking for the remote - Castiel was quite handy at switching channels at will even without one.
He felt the angel's eyes following his every move and was still surprised by how little he cared, or rather, how good it felt. That was the thing about him; he'd never been a loner.
Finally he resettled upon the bed, pulled the blanket up from the side that wasn't trapped under the angel and moved the pillows from the other end of the bed to the end near both the television and Castiel. After, he moved under the cover, pushed a hand under his pillow and curled up, knees touching Castiel, who had just a moment earlier moved into a cross-legged position on the bed.
”Thanks, Cas.”
As a response, he felt the other's fingers descend into his hair, gently brushing through them again and again.
He didn't want to ask. It felt too good to risk.