Destiel Oneshots

Castiel {Destiel}

It was the small things about Castiel that reminded Dean the other wasn't human. Small things that any passerby would have missed, that even Sam may have missed.

Humans moved. They made small shifts and bats of eyes. They fiddled with rings and brushed strands of hair. Humans moved, Castiel never did. He never shifted. He never blank. Not even as hours passed. Instead he would stand so frozen in place it was as if the very skin of his vessel was made of marble or stone.

Humans had warmth, or lack of it. They had cold hands, or warm touches. The girls Dean's fingers had trailed across always had something there; some kind of indication that there was life that beat through their veins. Castiel wasn't cold to the touch, he didn't lack heat, or take Dean's. Castiel was void of it. His skin tempatureless, as if blood didn't beat his veins, and as far as Dean was aware, it didn't.

Humans had pulses, they had beating hearts that raced when they were flustered, and seemed to stop when they were scared. Humans had hearts and Dean was reminded that every time Cas's fingers touched his arm. Humans had hearts, angels did not, and Dean was reminded that every time his head rested against Castiel's chest. His ear not met with a steady beat but an eerie silence.

Castiel wasn't human, and Dean knew that.

Yet then the other would laugh as they danced early in the morning waiting for their coffee to brew.

Or a smile would take over his face as they walked through the park. Ocean blue eyes wide, and shining against the sunlight.

Or tears would trail his cheeks as he and Dean fought over the next dumb thing they'd decided was worth their time.

He'd scream and he'd cry. He'd get flustered, and crinkle his nose, and tilt his head and bat his eyes. He'd ask questions to things Dean didn't know the answer to, or find curiosity in things Dean had never thought second about.

Why's the sky blue?

God, Dean would grumble.

Castiel would bleed, and fall apart. He'd hold Dean in his arms as if it was the last second they'd ever be together, which at times it was. He'd run, and throw things, and clap his hands, and sob, and sing, and dance, and whisper I love you.

In every language dead or alive, in every raging emotion good or bad.

And those were the moments.

The moments Dean realized that Castiel, the angel of Thursday, the angel who rebelled, was built more human than even himself.

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This is nothing but me procrastinating writing Dear Addiction so yah, it's short and stupid but oh well!