“What the hell were you thinking??” – “To be completely honest: nothing.”

starsinursa:

The first time they
kiss, it’s not a kiss at all.

Castiel is kneeling in
the mud, and there’s a slow tide of panic starting to wash over him,
because Dean isn’t breathing. Castiel killed the creature that dragged Dean
under the surface, had immediately pulled Dean up for air and onto the shore,
but Dean still isn’t breathing. Castiel’s borrowed grace is weak and
flickering, barely enough to light a candle at the moment and certainly not
enough to do any kind of healing, and Dean still isn’t breathing. Sam is miles
away doing reconnaissance in the town because they didn’t realize they would
stumble across the monster so quickly, and Dean still isn’t breathing.

Objectively, he knows
the concept of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He knows how human bodies work, he knows the complicated processes of the respiratory system. Knowing
and doing are two very different
things, but he also knows how long the human brain can be deprived of air
before suffering permanent damage, so he has no choice but to try.

He expects to feel
something – he’s not sure what – when he puts his lips to Dean’s for the first
time. Maybe something like a shock from static electricity, or a vibration under his vessel’s skin like the rumble of nearby thunder, or a flip in his stomach
like the moment before spreading his wings to fly.
Instead, there’s only the burgeoning panic and the running mantra of breathe breathe breathe.

Castiel breathes air
into him – air that he probably needs for himself. Angels don’t need to breathe, but he’s not much of an
angel at the moment. 

He forces air into
Dean’s mouth again, and again, fingers curled around the back of Dean’s neck.
He’s pausing for another breath when Dean spasms, a wet noise clawing out of his
throat, and starts to cough. Castiel immediately pushes him onto his side, and
Dean heaves up water and continues coughing.

Finally, with a groan,
Dean flops onto his back. He’s breathing heavily, but he’s breathing. The sheer relief brings sudden pinpricks of tears to
Castiel’s eyes, and it’s such a human reaction, but he doesn’t care. He sits back heavily on his heels, and at the movement, Dean’s eyes flick over to him. There’s a moment where Castiel knows they’re both thinking about
how close Dean came to dying.

Then Dean carefully pushes himself onto an elbow and raises his fingers to his lips.

“…dude, please tell me
you didn’t mack on me while I was out,” he jokes weakly. His voice is hoarse and raw from coughing. “Talk
about taking advantage of a guy when he’s down. C’mon, man, you’re better than
that.”

Joking is
good. If Dean is joking, he’s going to be all right.

Castiel huffs and manages a faint smile. “A little gratitude
would be nice.”

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