DeanCas Coda to 13x05
Time moves too slow and all at once. It takes five years and five seconds for Dean to be out of the car; hand to the chrome of Baby’s door handle, foot to pavement, eyes trained on the figure in the trench coat—a different trench coat is that him is he here what am I doing I’ve finally cracked. Castiel turns, a spinning top and a rotation of the Earth: big and small and meaningful and nothing at all and Dean…
Dean’s knees almost give out.
He’s pinned by those blue eyes. Stuck. There is a fine tremble moving from the bottom of his heart right out to the tips of his fingers, and Dean is going to fucking pass out. He can’t speak. He can’t move. His hands twitch with the urge to touch. His mouth falls open and he’s choking on all the things he wants to say.
It’s Cas who moves first.
The sound of his footsteps ring out like fucking gunshots, and the coat billows out behind him and Dean briefly has the insane thought that it looks good on him I like this one better than the old one before Castiel is right in front of him and time has sped up again and nothing feels real it has to be a dream it has to but Cas’s eyes are wide and blue and wet and Dean may or may not be crying too and then they’re hugging and solid and here and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t fucking care if this is Castiel or something dressing up like him because he smells like lightening and the earth after a storm and his hair is windswept and soft and his stubble is rough and this is the best win. The most important win.
The win he never thought he’d get to have.
Fuck it.
Dean kisses him. Fast. A chaste, quick, desperate thing because he is done waiting and wasting time. Because no one will die again without at least trying this. Seeing if it works. Seeing if it’s reciprocated.
Which, as it turns out, it is.
Castiel is like a hurricane in his intensity, surging forward to capture Dean’s lips and kiss him messy and wet and eager. His body is warm and his heart is racing through his plain white shirt and when they pull away it’s with Dean’s cry of protest, Cas’s hands coming up to cup his cheeks like he’s something beautiful and worthy of devotion. Their foreheads rest against one another’s and Dean’s fingers tangle so thoroughly in the trench coat they’ve turned white, pulling the fabric against Castiel’s lower back. He nudges their noses, quickly darting forward to steal another kiss before allowing Cas to look his fill.
So close, Dean can see every shade of blue in those eyes of his.
Castiel is the first to smile. The first to huff a whisper of a disbelieving laugh. The first to paw at his cheeks like he can’t believe they’re here, doing this, because it is ridiculous. Dean’s hands move from the coat to anchor themselves at Cas’s wrists and he smiles, too. He cries and he smiles and his heart is too big for his chest. He doesn’t blink in fear of missing something.
Neither does Cas.
Instead, Castiel pushes against Dean’s forehead until it hurts, forcing them to acknowledge the tangibility and realness of the here and now before whispering, reverential and giddy and disbelieving all at the same time:
“Hello, Dean.”
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