dean and cas, and creation
“Atoms,” Dean says.
Castiel slowly lowers the battered old copy of War and Peace (and why the hell does Bobby own War and Peace, anyway? Dean wonders) he’s been reading and gives Dean a curious look. “Atoms?”
“You know how many atoms I have in my body.”
“Oh, yes,” Cas replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Seven billion, billion, billion of them. That’s only an average, though. To give you an exact figure would take a long and unnecessary amount of time.”
Dean’s still wrapping his head around that one when Cas continues, “I rebuilt you, Dean. I had to fashion you new atoms, craft you new cells. And I had to do it very carefully. I couldn’t help but commit it all to memory along the way.”
“So you know…more?”
Cas blinks. “I know everything about you, Dean.”
There’s a brief moment of quiet between them, filled only by the soft drip of the leaky kitchen faucet on last week’s dishes. Dean runs a hand over his mouth. “Then why are you still here?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you’ve seen my soul,” Dean says, taking a few bold steps into the room, “and you know my heart the way you say you do, then why the hell are you still here? Because anyone in their right mind would’ve turned tail and left me in the dust by now. And I wouldn’t have blamed them for a second.”
Cas rises from the armchair. “Would you like me to go?”
“No,” Dean says too quickly. “I just – I don’t understand why you haven’t.”
“Dean,” Cas replies fondly, something like a smile coming to rest on his lips.
“What?”
“Dean,” Cas says again, this time with a rare bit of laughter on his breath.
“Sorry, but I’m not really grasping what’s so funny about this. I’m trying to have a serious talk here, Cas,” Dean snaps. He feels foolish, ashamed.
At last, Castiel steps forward. “Do you really think your flaws are enough to keep me from you? I have seen your heart, yes,” he says warmly, “and there is nothing in it that would make me want to leave.”
Dean opens his mouth to reply but finds he has absolutely nothing to say. Cas smiles at him again, this time a little more shyly.
“There are one hundred billion stars in this galaxy, Dean, but the ten trillion cells in your body are far more beautiful to me than any constellation.”
Cas takes another step forward and, with an incredible amount of care, lifts his hands to trace the contours of Dean’s face. And Dean just stands there, watching him.
“There are ninety-nine freckles on your face,” Cas observes.
Dean swallows. “That so?”
A pause, then:
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay.”
What follows is the harsh sound of a chair skidding across the floor, two bodies crashing into the nearest wall, a laugh that’s deep and gravelly and heard all too rarely. A man and an angel, atoms and star-stuff, colliding.
This is really beautiful.
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