They sit on the roof of the Impala outside the Bunker, the man and the tired angel. It’s nice out. The clouds have disappeared, and a light breeze swirls in from the west, ruffling their hair. The angel talks: about the fallen empires of the world, about the beginning, about humans and stars. The man hands the angel a beer and listens. The angel pauses.
"I don't understand how after all humanity has done, after all you have created, you decided to make pictures out of stars."
"What?" Dean raises an eyebrow, confused.
"Constellations. They're like those connect-the-dots picture books you could find at a convenience store." Cas smiles softly. "Those books are very nice."
"Cas, those books are for five-year olds, not angels that are as old as time."
"I'm not as old as time." Cas replies automatically, rolling his eyes. "Really, Dean. I can’t grasp how you can draw lines between stars that are billions of miles away from each other, and name it after a cooking utensil, out of all things."
"It's kinda dumb, I guess. 'Specially the whole Big Dipper, Little Dipper thing." He pauses. "But it's nice, you know? That us humans on this tiny-ass planet can be in charge of something. Hell, we could name the whole goddamn universe. I mean, it's space, dude. The final frontier." He gestures dramatically at the sky, pleased with himself."How's that for free will?" He tosses Cas a lopsided grin.
"The stars deserve more than that." Cas muses. "They deserve to be individual, to burn alone."
"If they're all individuals they won't be remembered. People are stupid, Cas. We remember pictures. We can't memorize the names of a billion stars. Actually, I bet Sam could, the nerd." He grins, and Cas could swear he can see the shape of Orion in the freckles on the bridge of his nose.
"It's like me, you, and Sam." He continues. "No one's gonna remember Dean Winchester in ten years. I'm that star, right there.” He points at the sky with one hand, grabbing Cas’s shoulder with the other. “If you asked anyone on the goddamn planet, I don't think anyone would know its name.” Cas looks skeptical. “No one human would know its name.” He amends hastily. “But Team Free Will, on the other hand, we're the fucking Big Dipper.”
Cas smiles at him. "But that's where you're wrong. You're no star.”
Dean smirks humorlessly at that. Of course he’s not. A star is never a stitched-together alcoholic mess of a hunter, after all. Maybe Cas is finally realizing that.
Cas looks him deliberately in the eye and continues. “I can spot at least eight constellations on your face alone. You, Dean Winchester, are an entire universe." He leans in close, right into Dean’s personal space bubble, letting their noses nearly brush. “You are everything."
Dean licks his lips, letting his eyes flick down to Cas’s mouth before quickly making eye contact again. "Damn, Cas. You sure know how to sweet talk a guy." His voice comes out raspy and sarcastic. Neither of them is sure who leaned in first, but then he, Dean Winchester, is kissing a goddamn angel of the lord (he’s pretty sure that’s a sin, but he’s already been to hell, so fuck it). Cas melts into him, smiling against his mouth.
Cas thinks he sees the beauty in constellations now, and he might even be ready to draw his own.