Fic: Admission (Supernatural)

[keep_counting]

Title: Admission
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Spoilers up to and including 5x21 Two Minutes to Midnight, swearing, angst in high amounts
Genre: Angst/Romance
Word-count: 398
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this.
Summary: Tomorrow the world is quite possibly ending, and Dean really can't bring himself to give a damn.

admission
the act of permitting someone leave to enter
the act of admitting something or coming with an admission

It’s not the flutter of wings anymore, its heavy footsteps on the stairs, because oh right, Cas is human now, fully, hospitalized, gun-shooting human.

Dean still holds high that Bobby getting his legs back is the only good thing to happen recently.

The door swings open and really, it’s not his fault that he’s making the comparison, that in his head creaking footsteps and opening doors has nothing to do with Cas.

He is actually a little surprised to see the angel standing over his bed, despite knowing that he would come.

Knowing he’s the only one who would come, now, in the dead of night, when Dean… well, he doesn’t want to admit that he needs it. Hell no. Shit no. Least of all to Cas, who really, should probably be told, that is only fair, but…

I’m sorry, he wants to says, the words a glaring neon-sign in his head, but they get stuck in his throat, jammed and locked. And he owes him an apology, there are a whole lot of people he owes apologies, but there’s no time now because the world is ending and that…

That thought is so goddamn bad that all the air is actually thrust out of his lungs in one motion, and then Cas hands, soft, long fingers, are touching him and it doesn’t help at all with the whole breathing thing.

Dean wonders if, like alcohol, he has consumed so much guilt in his lifetime that he has become numb to the effects, unable to properly discern if it’s even really there, if it’s not just lukewarm water or misplaced love he drinks.

”Sam is going to say yes to Lucifer,” he tells Cas in the dark. ”He’s…”

It’s not a sob, because Dean Winchester doesn’t fucking sob and cry and whine like a little girl, even to an angel who would think nothing of it, either because he loves him or because he’s used to being let down by Dean (or possibly both), but it is something close, a too sharp intake of breath and an exhale that rattles in his lungs and in the air surrounding them.

Castiel reaches down and lips and fingers ghost over his face. It’s not reassuring, only mildly comforting, but its there and its real and Dean thinks he can wait until morning to tear his insides out.

Just for now.