Nothing Short Of Supernatural

Assistance

"I find human interpretations of divine lore to be fascinating. The myths often contain kernels of truth."

Castiel enters the conversation with genuine interest, his head tilting in that characteristic way as he considers the overlap between story and reality. I can't help but appreciate the change in subject, my earlier arousal gradually ebbing away beneath the flow of the dull scholarly conversation.

I relax leaning back in the booth, sipping my coffee, and observe Cas engage with Sam, watching the subtle nuances of his expression-it's like witnessing a rare and quiet art form.

The angles of his face shift with each thought, illuminated by the diner's soft lighting, and it's easy to get caught up in the simple, often overlooked beauty of his humanity.

As they discuss the threads of destiny woven into myths, I find a contentment in these small, almost stolen, moments. The way Castiel's eyes light up with intellectual curiosity, or the contemplative frown that etches his features-it's more than just physical attraction. It's an admiration for the being he is: complex, multifaceted, both ancient and achingly new to this world.

I take another bite of pie, the taste sweet on my tongue, and let the feeling of quiet happiness settle in my chest. Having Cas in my life, this celestial creature with the blue eyes that seem to hold the depth of the cosmos-it's nothing short of miraculous. Each day with him feels like stealing fire from the gods, a precious gift that burns brightly even in the darkest of nights.

I place my hand on Cas' thigh. His demeanor remaining unchanged, a portrait of focused engagement as he converses with Sam, perhaps accustomed to our subtle forms of contact or simply exercising his angelic restraint. Despite the lack of visible reaction, I can sense an undercurrent of awareness between us; a silent acknowledgment of the connection, fleeting as it may be beneath the diner's table.

I clear my throat to temporarily interrupt their conversation, "Damn, get a room you two."

"Relax, Dean. It's just a good talk about old legends." Sam responds with a chuckle.

There's a splash of humor in Sam's response, completely oblivious to the double entendre in my jest. The corners of Cas' mouth twitch, a suppressed smile betraying his understanding.

"Indeed, Dean. We wouldn't want to make a scene in this fine establishment." Cas plays along, a twinkle in his eyes as he continues the lighthearted facade. The subtle communication relayed through our concealed touch and the meaningful glances we exchange are enough to sustain us until we're alone again.

I smirk at Cas over my coffee cup. "Alright, scoot. I gotta hit the can."

I push myself up from the booth, setting the coffee cup down with a soft clink. Castiel shifts to let me out, his movements deliberate and unhurried, the subtlety of his grace never failing to catch my attention.

I pat Sam's shoulder on my way by, "No pie stealing while I'm gone, okay?"

"Hey, I'm a hunter, not a thief. Your pie's safe with me." He replies, throwing his hands up in feigned defense. His eyes spark with mirth at the familiar jest. He's always good-natured about our ribbing-it's as much a part of our dynamic as the lore and the leather.

As I stride away toward the restroom, I catch Castiel's gaze tracking my departure. There's a silent message there, something that speaks of the later, the quiet we'll find together once the plates are cleared and the diner's neon fades in the rearview mirror. I let a knowing smile curve my lips before I slip away from their view.

***

After I finish, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face, collecting myself to endure more of Cas' teasing.