‘I love you’
Relief washed over him and tears fell from his ocean blue eyes as the admission that had haunted his heart and his mind - his very soul - for so long finally burst free. He took a step back, waiting to be taken. The truth brought him joy like he’d never expected, though it was tinged with fear, a trepidation he’d expected but which was not welcome. Any second now he’d be snuffed out. Nothing but a painful memory for those who knew him. But the darkness didn’t come.
He opened his eyes as rough but gentle hands graced his neck, hands he’d dreamed about and longed for, always ever so slightly out of reach. He looked into the green eyes suddenly level with his own, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shook as he raised them to the waist of the man before him.
Any second now.
They stood frozen, and wondered if it had happened without him realising, surely he couldn’t be any happier than this?
Dean’s lips grazed his cheek, and Cas would later swear he heard stubble scratch against stubble like a match being struck, igniting a spark in his lower belly which burst up through his chest and into his shoulders, making his arms tingle and his whole body tremble. Or maybe it was Dean who was shaking. They were so close now that it was hard to know for sure. Dean’s familiar scent of old books, leather and the hint of whisky found its way into Cas’ mind, quieting all thoughts.
‘I love you, too.’ He whispered it so quietly against Cas’ lips that he could barely tell if the words had been uttered at all.
Cas had little time to ponder this, as Dean’s lips pressed against his, softly at first, and then hungrily - neither sure how long they had left, how many kisses could they fit into the mere seconds that remained?
They held each other close as they sunk to the floor, laughing desperately against each other’s lips, whispering their love over and over, finally free from the burdens of secrecy.
They slept there that night, and laid in contented silence until well into the next day, Cas’ trench coat providing a thin layer of familiar warmth. After the silence came the murmured conversations, more ‘I-love-you’s and some ‘why-didn’t-it-work’s that were quickly pushed aside. Then Dean rolled over to face the Angel - his Angel - and then began their afterlife.
For the first few days there was a near feverish passion, each making up for all the times they’d stared intently at the other at all times - trying to remain professional, trying to ignore the pull to kiss the lips that spoke, the jaw that tensed, the brow that furrowed. They either had all the time in the world or none, and they made a nearly silent agreement not to waste another moment.
The weeks that followed saw them begin to relax into their life together. Dean’s rings found a place on Cas’ bedside, and antiques were bought with a future in mind. Dean would lie on the Angel’s chest as he read, falling into the deepest slumber he’d ever experienced, and Cas would close his book, keeping a mental note of the page Dean had lost to sleep before flicking off the light and holding him close for the night.
Months later, they’d almost forgotten the nearly-end of Cas, but Dean still saw a dark, faraway look in Cas’ eyes sometimes, before the Angel realised he was being seen, and the corners of his eyes would crinkle into that warm and loving smile Dean had fallen for all those years ago. Still they relished every touch of hands as they drove down leaf-lined streets in the changing seasons, every soft moan in the middle of the night. They each lived for the way that the dying firelight graced and accentuated the contours of the other’s body, or the way the moonlight picked out the silver hairs beginning to work their way into their temples.
They held hands over breakfast, kept bees, and grew vegetables to make soup. They watched Sam’s family grow from afar and adopted the little grey cat that wandered in through the back door one sweet, summer morning. They were known for giving out the best Halloween candy, and grew an extensive library of horror, sci-fi and romance novels, though Dean swore he had no idea where the lovey dovey shit came from. Still, he read them on the porch, his feet in Cas’ lap as the sun set on the horizon.
Occasionally, on evenings like this where the air smelled sweet and his fingers danced across Dean’s temples in the dying light of a memory of sunset, Cas looked up at the sky and wondered if he really had been taken that day. Maybe he’d gone to heaven by mistake. But then that honey-like husky voice would drag him back to reality with a single question: ‘what’re you thinkin’, about, sweetheart?’ And he’d answer nothing, and hold Dean’s hand a little tighter, glad he’d mentioned loving him all those years ago. Then Dean would melt into his chest with a sigh, and all would be right in the world for another starlit night.
