Grace

Those hands burned on his shoulders. They were his saving grace and his corruption. It was an awkward moment, when his lips crushed down on the others. He expected them to be cool, those lips, but they were warm; the cold in his chest ached for that warmth. Those hands on his shoulders gripped tighter. Here was their moment as those hands hesitated. Not pulling him closer nor pushing him away.


“Dean...” The words were raspy and breathy. He didn’t want to hear that voice. He didn’t want the voice of reason. “Dean, you’re confused.” To hell with that, again Dean pressed his lips against Castiel’s. Those hands were pushing him away.


“Cass,” He hated the neediness where his voice broke. He cleared his throat, he was not needy. “Cass please don’t deny me.” He locked eyes with Cass and found there a flicker of confusion. Those hands released him. His eyes closed as the cold threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his own hands mirror the drop to his sides. It was defeat.


He’d faced nightmares, but this would be the blow to shatter him. The chips in his armor were many, but somewhere down the line Cass had repaired him. He felt again. After Sam’s betrayal he thought he’d never trust again. His resolve had been unraveled, and when he swayed under the weight of his burden, Cass was his to lean on.


Maybe he’d been wrong to let Cass in. He felt the chill rise up from within. The soldier was once again beginning to surface, and it was only then that he felt he could face this denial. His eyes hardened as he opened them. He took one look at the angel. Cass’s tortured eyes bore into him. They were saying sorry. He turned his back on the angel, I won’t forgive you.


Those hands burned on his shoulders. He froze. The world swung. Lips were on his. If this was a dream, Dean prayed to never wake up.

~Oneshot. Short, sweet. GlamRockFace