there’s something i’ve been meaning to say…; for bittercasgirl, who wanted one where cas is the one dragging his feet.
They return to the motel shortly after midnight. The Impala jolts over a pothole in the driveway, and Dean mutters, “Home sweet home,” under his breath.
It’s a tired and dingy place, faded curtains in each window and a roof that sags over the office. A dying hedge lines the path that runs alongside the rooms. Castiel’s car is waiting beneath a buzzing light, its color muddied by the dull, sodium glare. Dean parks in the space beside it. He pockets the keys with a sigh, rolling his shoulders before he opens the door. Sam hunches forward, stretching his back. They move stiffly as they walk to the trunk.
The darkness is an old, unfathomable evil. It hasn’t made an open move since being released, but having it loose has sparked a wave of monster activity that rivals the period when Eve walked the earth. The Winchesters have worked nearly every day of the last four months, stopping for the night in cheap motels or sleeping in the car. Castiel has been with them for all of it. He knows penance when he sees it. He understands the aching, bruised, purple feeling that comes from a debt that can’t be repaid.
Sam carries his bag to the room, pausing to tell Dean,“ I’m taking a shower.” He turns on the lights as he closes the door, and the brief flare brightens the blood smeared on his face and caked on his clothes. None of it is his. Cas doesn’t offer to remove it; he also understands the simple, human pleasure of a hot shower.
Dean is still at the trunk when Castiel climbs out of the backseat, moving weapons and clothes between his bags. His hands are sooty from building and stoking a pyre. He has a spot of blood just behind his ear, and Castiel fills with a feeling that’s both sickly green and furious red. The wraith had moved faster than he’d anticipated, tackling Dean to the ground. It just managed to pierce Dean’s skin before Castiel’s hands found its throat.
“You sticking around?” Dean asks. He always asks.
“It’s not too late for a pizza,” Dean says, closing the trunk. “I know you don’t eat, but – you choked down a cheese slice the last time.”
Castiel smiles, a rosy warmth blooming beneath his ribs. “If you’re hungry.”
Dean hesitates for a moment. He sets his bag on the ground and rubs the back of his neck. A soft expression crosses his face as he says, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”
“For the Sports Illustrated shoot I wanted to be at my most feminine shape, and I don’t feel my most attractive at 135lbs, which is the weight I fight at. At 150 pounds, I feel like I’m at my healthiest and my strongest and my most beautiful.”- Ronda Rousey