Imagine, will you, a time after all of the reunions, all of the sorries and anger and fights. Imagine after there's been silent treatment and screaming and inability to trust and inability to forgive. It's all happened, and so has the crawling back, the begging, the tears and the embraces. Imagine it's all over and done with.
Imagine the day it suddenly feels like normal again, the day Dean looks over at Castiel sitting like a heavy sheepdog in a black suit on his usual chair, and thinks, it's all okay now, isn't it? Between me and him? I think it's finally okay.
Imagine the moment when Castiel catches his eye, and the humble, rueful smile that paints his face is a brand-new expression for him. Imagine Dean's sudden, wholehearted grin back. It's all okay now. This time it's not a thought, it's a fact.
And when you've imagined that, go on and skip a few days. Weeks. Maybe months. It takes a long time for it to happen, a lot of slow smiles and brushing together of shoulders. But watching the sunrise is something they do together, now, after a long hunt, after Sam's packed up and gone to sleep. Sam drives the morning leg of the journey these days, because just before dawn is Castiel's and Dean's time. It's an understanding. Imagine that Sam doesn't ask questions. Why should he? This is the first unabashedly good thing that's happened to his brother in years. He's not rocking that boat. He's not that dumb.
Now imagine the moment that a fleck of gold from the sunrise reflects off the surface of one of Castiel's chapped lips. Dean thinks he has a bug on his mouth or something, and he leans over to brush it away with his thumb.
He's tired, and his aim's a little off. And his thumb catches between Castiel's lips, feels the dark wet warmth there, and it makes him gasp.
He draws his hand back quickly. Castiel closes his lips. Dean still stares.
There's two ways it could go, but the first way's already been done so many times, so imagine that this this the moment when Dean chooses -- on an impulse, or perhaps very deliberately - that this isn't going to be like every other close encounter. That this time the slow, heavy drum of his heart isn't going to be ignored.
Imagine him leaning in.
Imagine the moment of surprise on Castiel's face when he realizes what's going on, the minute moves he makes, trying to determine which way to go. But Dean knows his target, and he doesn't let it get away. His mouth closes over Castiel's sure and bold, tasting sunlight.
Castiel shudders. Or he stiffens. Or he makes a noise of protestation. You imagine how. But Dean's hand covers his, holds him to the park bench where they sit, and Castiel swallows hard beneath the push of Dean's mouth, parts his lips and lets in Dean's softly pressing tongue.
It's velvet-cotton softness and warmth, and Castiel doesn't expect how good it will feel, even though he felt the swipe of a demon's tongue against his once. Imagine his amazement in discovering that this kiss feels entirely different, that kissing Dean is warm in a million ways that Meg's kiss was not. Imagine that million, trickling down through his body, saturating him.
Imagine what Dean says when he breaks away, when the soft sound of their kiss ending is still hanging in the air between them. Maybe it's Castiel's name. Or maybe it's a soft request -- "You okay?" or "Was that a mistake?" Or maybe it's something entirely different, something only you know. Keep it in your mind, and you'll surely imagine Castiel's answer.
Is it nervous stammering? Or does it come with a smile?
Does Dean even hear it, or is he too busy running through his mind a thousand aspects of the kiss, a thousand ways this could go wrong? Or is his whole body so attuned to Castiel, to this moment, that he can't think anything but to lean in and capture Castiel's lips again?
Imagine that second kiss. More tentative than the first, at least initially, but surer as the moments go by. Does Dean dare to put his hands on Castiel's waist and draw him nearer? Does Castiel slide his hand into Dean's hair, tug him forward until they're losing their balance, falling down onto that bench?
Maybe the park is abandoned, and they're left alone to learn the ways of each other's mouth and body, their only witness the sun. Or maybe a jogger is passing by in the early morning light and sees two men with their arms and legs entwined, kissing on the bench as though they may never get the chance again.
And for all they know, maybe they never will. But imagine they do.
Imagine what happens next.