Stolen(Destiel)

Chapter 4

Several weeks later

It was a warm evening, the beginning of spring. A pale body lay half covered by sheets, brown tufts of hair strewn every which way. A man sat hunched on the side of the bed, breathing heavily with watery eyes he tried to blink away. The cold air of the room woke his fully human body to the early morning hours. The night is the hardest time to be alive, and 4am knew all his secrets, or so he had heard someone once say. The room was still except for the two figures, the chest rising and falling steadily on the unconscious body on the bed as he moved an arm in sleep over to where a warm body should be. At feeling the absence, Dean awoke to the morning. Or was it evening? He didn't know. He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes coming upon Castiel who was sitting with his legs over the edge of the bed, his posture betraying his defeated state of mind.

Dean sat up, "Cas?" he spoke in that deep voice he acquired while sleeping. But unlike other times Castiel had heard it such as when Dean awoke from a nap on the couch or in the car, Dean didn't both to clear his throat like he usually did. This was an intimate moment, not a moment to be spoiled by social graces. Dean slid over white cotton sheets towards Castiel who didn't raise his head.

"Cas," Dean let the word out in a whispered breath and slid palms flat over Castiel's sides, feeling the warm, soft skin there before he wrapped his arms gently around Castiel. Upon feeling Dean's touch, Castiel's head perked up ever so slightly in recognition of his lovers hands.

"Bad dream?" Dean spoke again, whispering the word in to Castiel's shoulder. He rested his lips there for a moment, half kissing Castiel, half taking in his scent. He then turned his head so his cheek rested against the back of Castiel's shoulder, face turned towards Castiel.

Castiel nodded his head and simply said, "Yes." He paused and continued, "Something like that."

Dean let a silence fall between them to see if Castiel would talk, then he whispered, "You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to," and he meant it. He was beginning to, if only slightly, come to terms with the fact that there were some things that Castiel would never be able to tell him.

"I don't want to."

That was all Dean needed, but he kept his arms around Castiel, holding him in the darkened hotel room. Castiel felt Dean's heart beating under his chest, the steady pumping of blood creating a rhythm against him and slowly this pulled him from that horrible place, that state of mind. Castiel then gently slid his hand over Dean's arm, feeling the hair there that was becoming so familiar and let his fingers slide in between Dean's that were around his stomach. And Castiel let out a sigh,

"What am I going to do?"

The weight of that sentence must have been crushing, Dean thought. Castiel's grace had been stolen, the apocalypse diverted, and the gates shut to heaven. Castiel would never get back to that heavenly state or place; he was stuck being human until his human body died. He was stuck down here on earth with the cold, and the hunger, and the human necessities. It was maddening; even if he only ever slept five hours a night. He hated it, he didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to go back, go back to believing his father was still up there, watching over everybody with a plan. He wanted to go back to watching the humans, setting up couples instead of falling in love with their offspring. He wanted to just watch over, nothing more. But his grace was gone, and he felt lost and confused.

He squeezed Castiel just slightly, to let him know he was there, and that he cared.

Dean tried to say it twice. He held his breath, let it out through his nostrils once and couldn't do it. So he tried again, and spoke as he exhaled, trying not to let his words be as shaky as he felt inside, "You could stay with me." He then cleared his throat, the amount of anxiety he felt over such a statement reminding him of the real world, the world outside this hotel room and that they would enter back in to in the morning with burnt coffee and diesel exhaust.

Castiel turned his head slightly in Dean's direction, "Yes," he said more casually than perhaps he meant to.

"I mean it. You can stay, with me. Us, you know, like this." Dean tilted his head and kissed Castiel's shoulder softly, eyes half closing. He didn't want to lose his angel.

Castiel began stroking his thumb gently over Dean's index finger, and after a few seconds of a pause, he concurred. "I would like that." He managed a half smile in the overarching darkness of the room that crept in from the corners,

"Me too" replied Dean. And somewhere inside of him, as Castiel turned to kiss him and envelope his lips with his own, a very small crack began to form in one of many walls. And though small, it was the beginning, as Castiel pushed his warm tongue against Deans.