It’s something he was planning on saying all night but had been trying to hold in simultaneously. Now he says it, like breeze.
“Stay here tonight.”
Castiel turns around and looks at him. Dean thought he’d never see him again, but he’s back. Alive and real and Cas. Dean feels like he’s been constantly out of breath ever since Cas returned that morning, suddenly on the doorstep of Dean’s motel room.
Dean can’t quite seem to settle, unable to keep his eyes from Castiel. One moment, and he could fade.
“Why?” Castiel asks, curious more so than confused.
“Because,” Dean manages, “…because you’ve been gone, alright? You were dead, and we…. I thought we would never see you again. And I-” Dean’s voice falters. He walks over to Castiel and stands in front of him, his eyes gliding over his face. Every inch of him is real, solid, not like the dreams he’d been having.
Sam and Dean had been getting separate rooms ever since Dean was awake for hours every night and just paced around the room aimlessly. When Dean slept, he’d been having dreams of Castiel being alive and he’d wake up and realize it wasn’t real. He’d rather not sleep than go through that every single night. But this, he wasn’t going to let this be a dream as well.
“Take off your coat, come on.” When Cas just frowns again, Dean does it himself. He slides the beige coat from Castiel’s shoulders and drapes it over the back of a chair.
“Dean, I’m fine with sleeping in the other motel room.”
“I’m not.” Dean rasps. “Please, Cas, don’t go.” Having Castiel around is worth sharing his emotions for. “Not again.”
Cas looks down. He looks different without his trench coat, more human. Maybe he is, in fact, a little more human. Castiel said he isn’t sure, and it’s how he’s been acting all day. Insecure. Dean can feel it whenever he looks at him, and that’s also what scares him.
“I’m sorry.” Castiel looks up to him. “I tried so hard, Dean, I tried so hard to live. For you, for Sam. I tried to stay with you and I failed. I didn’t come back with a win for you.”
“Cas-” Dean grabs his shoulder, solid and real and warm. He looks in Castiel’s blue eyes and realizes how much he’d actually missed him. “Listen.” He begins unsteadily. “You coming back is a win for us, you hear me? You being here is enough.” Dean’s hand slides from Cas’ shoulder. “It’s all I wanted. And that’s why I want you to stay here tonight.”
“I don’t think I’m following.”
“Come on, Cas! What if you leave tonight and I come into your room tomorrow and you’re gone? What if something happens and you- you are gone for good? What if you die? What if- what if I can’t…” Dean curls his fingers into a fist. “What if I can’t let you go again?”
There’s something in Castiel’s eyes that change. It’s surprise, mostly, surprise and confusion and something Dean only recognizes from very few people in his life.
“The last thing I want is to leave another time,” Cas says. “And I- I understand now.”
Dean nods, suddenly empty where words should be, and swallows.
“Then stay. Come on, bed’s big enough.”
As Dean undresses in the darkness, with Castiel on the other side of the bed, Castiel suddenly speaks.
Dean turns around, with his shirt almost off but still hanging on his neck and arm. He can’t see Cas’ face, but he can hear his breathing.
This was super quick doodle because I’ve been wanting to share how much I cry laughing at this one youtube video of two dudes in a bunkbed and every SINGLE TIME I envision the two as Will and Chiyoh on the train… please god watch this video and die with me because I swear to god Chiyoh would beat the shit out of Will this way until she finally decides to toss his ass off.
the reason why bisexual women tend to end up het partnered is nothing to do with our own personal preferences or us “secretly being straight” and everything to do with the fact that heterosexual men outnumber gay & bi women by like a thousand to one
hello if it is ok I'd like to nicely ask about the 'soldiers shoudn't be at pride' posts because I haven't seen them and would also like to know your opinions
Heres the thing. Y'all lack all nuance and critical thinking when it comes to soldiers. The lgbt community is still heavily ostracized in the military. I know its a shocker but yeah. Everyone is pretty much closeted and god forbid they come out. So to see things like “lgbt soldiers shouldn’t be at pride” royally pisses me off. We don’t have a support group for us so yeah…I’m gonna keep going to pride
“I need a shower,” Daisy groans out, rubbing her hands down
her face. She flops back on the seedy motel bed, eyes pointed toward the white,
popcorn ceiling in a withering stare. “Why do I even need a shower? We’re in
the fucking Matrix, none of this is real. Yet still, I smell. It’s completely
Jemma sits at the foot of the bed, inspecting the map they’ve
drawn on the wall (it’s not like it’ll matter, once they shut the framework
down. What’s a little destruction of private property in the grade scheme of
things?). Each of the team’s locations are marked with pushpins, along with
lists of all the information they’ve managed to gather on them. It’s not enough,
Jemma knows. They need more.
“You do smell a little.”
Jemma turns back to her, blinking innocently. “What? I said ‘a
“Whatever.” Daisy pushes off the bed, walks backwards toward
the bathroom. She raises an eyebrow at Fitz, who’s sitting on the other bed. “You
two gonna be okay without adult supervision for a little while?”
Jemma freezes. She and Fitz, this Fitz—Leo, he’s called
here, though she refuses to call him that, even in her head—haven’t been alone
together since they finally managed to convince him to come along. She knows
what Daisy’s implying, and Jemma wishes she wouldn’t. She’s more than a little
uncomfortable with the idea. This isn’t Fitz. Her Fitz. That’s what she tells
herself is the problem, anyway.
“Yeah- uh- yeah, we’ll be fine,” Fitz says when she doesn’t
speak, when it’s gotten just a little uncomfortable.
Daisy eyes them both, then holds up her hands, retreating to
Jemma doesn’t turn around to look at him. She knows what she’ll
see. He’ll be sitting there, looking so much like Fitz but so not, so, so out
of place in his posh suit and scarf. Looking like a person who would never set
foot in a motel of all places, which he’d voiced when they’d arrived. He’s
close, but he’s not Fitz. So she doesn’t look.
Plus, he might be looking back at her. She doesn’t know
exactly why, but that’s the last thing she wants.
So she just focuses on the work in front of her. Not that
she’ll figure out anything new just by staring at the same slips of paper they
have been for the last two days, but still. The effort matters.
He waits until the water is running in the shower before he
speaks. His presence alone is stifling, but his voice is something even more
“Why do you want me back?” he asks, and of all things it’s
not what she expected. It confuses her enough that she looks back at him. He’s
watching her carefully, thoughtfully, not really looking at her eyes but lower
on her face, and it’s so Fitz-like that she wants to cry.
“I- He- obviously
wasn’t very good to you. Why do you even want him back?”
Her eyebrows draw together, mouth popping open in confusion.
“Where are you getting that? Fitz is never anything but good to me.”