lovesick ➳ destiel oneshots

scar•wor•ship

description: Cas tries to prove to Dean that his scars are beautiful.

note: Day five of my thirty day writing challenge!

words: 1,568

☁

Cas didn't know what to do.

Dean was outright beautiful, yet he didn't think so. It made him horribly upset, seeing Dean looking in the mirror, looking at all of his scars. There were small bullet wounds, stab wounds, scars that he didn't know where they came from, they were just there. Always there. Every time he fought ghosts and killed demons, he would get hurt.

It was just the family business. He would save people, hunt things. Things that Dean could never unsee, corpses and bodies that would always be engraved in the back of his mind. Every time the hunter came back home with any type of injury, Castiel would heal him with his angelic powers. Yet there were still scars tattered across his whole body. 

Castiel had always loved him. Through everything. Thick and thin. Yet Dean probably didn't feel the same. Dean was pretentious, in a good way of course. He always kept his feelings bottled up, not telling anybody about them until it was too late. However, Cas could slightly read his mind, knowing how he felt about Cas and about himself.

"Hello Dean." a swoosh appeared up behind Dean, standing there.

Dean turned around, he wasn't wearing a shirt and his jeans were hanging low, showcasing the V-line of his hipbones. Cas saw Dean's favorite scar, the one on his shoulder where he raised him out of perdition. Cas blinked, tilting his head.

"Hey... hey Cas." Dean stumbled with his words. "One second. Let me put on a shirt."

Succumbing to become a blushing mess, Cas fought the urge. "Why?"

After that question, the air in the room was thin. Dean's breath hitched, holding his jeans with his thumbs in-between his skin and fabric. "Well 'cause... I don't know. I'd rather not you see me half naked."

"I don't mind." Cas said innocently, still looking at his V-line instead of his face. His eyes then flickered back up and Dean could feel the fabric of his jeans harden. It had always happened around Cas, no matter what he did.

No matter if he spoke with his soft yet gravelly voice, if he tilted his head in a way no one else did, it made him feel a way he didn't understand himself. Taking his thumbs out of his waistline, he scratched his neck and then his upper left arm. Cas' stare was intoxicating Dean without liquid, making him nauseous and dizzy. It wasn't fair, how Cas could make Dean feel that way with just his eyes and his lips, no words, no actions. Just staring.

They had always stared, even if it was a cry for help. They stared for too long at restaurants, at the bunker, in front of people. And in this case, at a motel in the middle of deadbeat Nevada. "Listen, I don't care if you don't care. I care, so... you should care."

Dean mentally facepalmed himself. What a fucking joke. He was now more embarrassed than he was ever before. Winchester logic. "I mean..." he coughed. "You know-"

"I understand."

"Oh."

Silence engraved the room, and Dean began swaying on his heels, his hands behind his back, trembling. He started biting on a piece of skin on his lip, trying to distract himself. Cas was now staring at his eyes, endlessly. That always happened, no matter where they were or what they were doing. Dean couldn't help himself, and neither could Cas, apparently.