broken ➳ destiel

thirteen

"breathing is hard. when you cry so much, it makes you realize that breathing is hard." david levithan

☁

A few days had gone by of Castiel, the ex-angel, being alone in the bunker. He had figured out how to do simple things himself, like turn on a microwave. He got pretty excited about that. It was pretty simple, however. 

He also bathed himself. He went into the bathroom, and turned the shower knob, and felt the water. It was an icy cold chill that trickled down his hand, so he turned it more. That time, it was a blazing hot sensation that burned his hand, so then he adjusted it again. Then, it was just right. He was very proud of himself.

But all he could think about was Dean. Was he going to be okay? Castiel thought of his eyes, as if they almost weren't real, because of how exorbitantly green were. He imagined his body, the way his biceps were tight against his shirts, his bow legs and how they always seemed to stay five feet away from each other at all times. He thought of his voice, how fulfilling it was. Like it was a campfire out on a midnight trip. It's ember so warm and calm. Dean's voice was like a giant blanket, covering him up, his words telling him it would be okay. He thought of the way his shoulders sunk in relief, them so calm and serene. The silver lining of his smile, the way it always seemed to bright up a whole room on a cloudy day.

Castiel had felt feelings towards the man that he knew he never felt before, sensations gleaming through his body whenever he was around. Witnessing his smile was like thousands of sparks igniting through the sky. But why didn't he think that about Sam? Perhaps Dean and Castiel's bond were more profound, rather than Sam and Castiel's. Dean had saved him, he picked him up and had cared for him.

If he didn't almost kill the angel, where would Castiel be at now? Would he be mindlessly resurrecting people, at a hope that his brothers and sisters would rejoice and notice him? Castiel kept wondering why he wanted attention, why he wanted love. Was Castiel meant to be human?

The ex-angel knew, though, that he felt differently around the older one. He felt warmer, happier, safer. But he wasn't around him all hours of the day. He was a busy man, which made Castiel feel miserable. He wanted Dean's attention, like every second of his human life was to make Dean happy. He loved for Dean to be happy. He yearned for him to be happy. 

It was like they were meant to be. Soulmates, some would say. Like God himself had made Dean Winchester for Castiel. Like God himself had made Castiel for Dean Winchester. It was pure, true. But what if Dean didn't believe in fate? Hell, what if Dean didn't want to be with a man? Castiel imagined that Dean rejected him and his affection, and it made the angel want to sob. 

Every second, every minute, every hour Castiel thought of Dean. His hair, sandy like rust and wet with gel. Bristly with each strand. Castiel's fingers wanted to simply touch the back of it, to feel his skin and the softness of his neck. He wanted to plant kisses like roses on his delicate nose and his unshaven cheeks. He imagined his ears, rounded yet pointed, how they were slightly hidden with unbrushed hair, and stuck out with combed and cut hair. Green tea eyes, cat-like, even, surrounded with a black bark like a ring.

His hands, how they were mellow at the touch. His silver ring, that was slipped on his pointer finger. The way they came together when he was relaxed, almost as if he was ready to blow a punch at any time. He was alert that way. The ex-angel wanted to entwine his fingers with his and feel his slightly chapped, coarse hands. The hands that could protect Castiel. They could wrap around his body, enclosing him with a hug. They could bash anybody at any given time. He wanted Dean's hands to touch him no person had ever touched him before, get rid of the petals off of Castiel's white rose.