When Dean finally said the words, it was in the middle of a laugh.
He had just thrown his head back and laughed openly, warmly, at Cas’s critique of Inception. They had been having a movie night in the Dean Cave. Dean had his feet in Cas’s lap and his body relaxed along the length of the couch.
Cas had looked at him so earnestly and said the most “Cas” thing he could imagine.
It warmed something in Dean’s chest.
He still couldn’t believe they were doing this–that he’d gotten this lucky.
Dean had finally kissed Cas, shared a bed with him, and the world hadn’t ended.
Cas hadn’t been pulled away from him again into the blackened ooze that still sometimes haunted his nightmares.
No, for once, the world hadn’t ended. In many ways it felt like Dean’s life was just beginning; it was something new and good—so good.
But the truth was, Dean hadn’t actually named his feelings the way Cas had.
Cas was so much better at the talking stuff.
He still made sure Cas knew how he felt, but it was so frustrating when he couldn’t get the words out, when they caught in his throat because speaking them aloud felt like having his chest flayed open by hell hounds–terrifying not because of the pain, but because he was on the precipice of losing everything that mattered.
After all, a lifetime of experience had taught Dean that the things he wanted always got ripped away from him, one way or another.
He was trying to work through all that.
They had been officially “together” for a few months now, and Dean was starting to get tired of his own bullshit insecurities.
He already knew that Cas was it for him, that he would never survive losing his angel again. What difference did saying the words actually make aside from the very positive outcome of Cas being reassured of his place in Dean’s life?
They were already all snuggled on the couch.
Who the fuck was he kidding?
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