Sincerely, Castiel

October 23, 1997

Dear Dean,

It's getting cold here in New York. I see pumpkins on people's front stairs. Little kids have cut scary faces into them. I think it's quite beautiful.

The cold weather reminds me of the first time we kissed.

It was December 24, 1987. You came home from your freshman year of college for Christmas break. You were depressed, because you missed home; and you missed me.

I tried to cheer you up but nothing worked. After we were done celebrating Christmas Eve at your parents house, you took me outside onto your porch swing.

It was the same house we met in. We sat on the swing, and you looked at the stars. I sat there and bundled myself in my coat.

You looked at your hands and twisted your fingers together in a nervous way. "Cas...," you whispered. I scooted closer to you. You lied your head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around your shoulders.

"I don't want to go back," you said to me quietly. I just comforted you, because I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want you to go back either, but I didn't want to keep you from your dreams.

You lifted yourself into a sitting position and rubbed your gloved hand over your eyes. "I missed you and everybody else too much. I don't think I can go back." You slumped your shoulders and looked into the sky again.

"I don't want you to go back, Dean," I said, me now twisting my fingers together. You looked at me, but I was looking at my hands.

You scooted closer this time. "Cas...," you whispered again. You took two fingers and lifted my chin up to your level. You searched my eyes as if looking for something. "Something has been bothering me lately," you said. "What?" I asked.

You looked down at your hands again. "Cas, I don't think I'm... I think there's something wrong with me," you said. You kept looking at your hands. You were so close to me, I could feel your breath on my body.

"What exactly do you think is wrong?" I asked. You still didn't look up.

"I don't... I don't get attracted to anybody anymore," you said, shyly. This surprised me because you were the big macho guy who always slept around with the popular girls.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused. You gave a frustrated sigh. "I don't find anybody attractive anymore. I don't find girls attractive. I don't find guys attractive. I don't find anybody attractive," you said, finally looking at me. I raised my eyebrow in question.

You sighed and shook your head. "Cas!" you grunted. You grabbed my hands in yours and you looked at me in the eyes with a flame I had never seen before. "I don't find anybody attractive but you."

I formed my mouth into an "O" shape. After a few seconds, I smirked. "I knew it," I said, looking you in the eyes. You looked offended. "What?" you asked, shocked.

"Dean, I knew..." I said, "I've known." And you just looked at me like I had three heads.

Then your features softened, and you grabbed my face with both your hands. "You idiot," you whispered.

Then you gently touched your lips to mine. And at that moment, little snowflakes started to fall.

We sat there in silence, our warm lips touching.

I remember that like it was yesterday.

Do you remember, Dean?

It's hard to visit home in Kansas because it reminds me of you. Your parents miss you a lot. They sometimes call me to see how I'm doing. They are so nice.

I hope you're doing okay. I hope if it gets cold there, you'll put on a coat. I hope it doesn't get cold there.

I have to go, Dean. I have errands to run. I have to mail this letter. Stay safe.

I love you.

Sincerely,
Castiel