It’s cold and grimy and you’re already losing light. The air feels wet but the clouds refuse to open up and be done with it. You sigh. It’s not a good sign when even the weather is stuck.
Your flashlight flickers and you feel a little thrill of hope– but nothing else happens. The light fades, you hit the end of it, and it gives one last burst of light before it dies. In a very normal, not-ghost-inflicted way.
You kick a headstone.
“What did Mr. Abraham Jones do to deserve that?”
Your chest lightens just a touch and you turn to face Castiel. You try to smile, but he looks you over and frowns. “You look tired.”
“Graveyard hauntings are the worst,” you say and sit on Mr. Jones’s gravestone. As far as monuments to the dead go, it makes a decent chair. And hey, if he does get offended enough to pop out, you at least get a suspect, and possibly your ghost. Win-win. “Especially when you can’t narrow down who the fucking thing is.”
“Ah.” Castiel sits next to you and you scoot closer to him. “How many has it killed?”
“Just two,” you tell him and briefly consider wrapping your arm around him. You hold off for now, if only because you hope you’ll need both arms soon. “But it’s terrorized a bunch more. Mostly goth teenagers sneaking in to make out.” You put your hand over your heart. “As a former goth teenager, I must protect my people.”
Castiel’s smile starts off stiff and small, but grows the more he looks at you. It makes you smile too and you do put your arm around him. You’re rewarded when he mirrors the action– again, it’s a little stiff, but it’s the thought that counts and touch is something he just needs time to get used to. And hopefully you both have a lot of time.
“Hey,” you say and wait for him to stop scanning the graveyard and look at you. “Wanna make out like goth teenagers?”
He squints and frowns. “I…like the first half, even if I don’t understand the second,” he admits, face lightening a little even as more of the light continues to fade.
You reach up with one hand and grab his jacket lapel so you can pull him in. “Don’t worry,” you say, close enough that when his lips part open they brush against yours. “You got the important part.”