BECAUSE I AM AMAZING AND MADE OF AMAZESAUCE, THAT’S HOW
THAT MAKES ABSOLUTE SENSE NOW I THINK ABOUT IT
Dean’s incredulity wafted through the air, light blue and sort of crinkly. “Seriously, dude? You scratched the words ‘kiss me’ into a candy wrapper? That’s your key?”
“Why not?” Castiel’s voice was a rumble in the air waves, and in the flesh pressed against his spine, and a tingle of conscious thought in the back of his mind. “It means he can only be released by someone conscious enough to read that ticket, and whom he trusts enough even in this state to let them close enough to kiss. And, of course, someone with the persistence and power to coax him into resuming this material form in the first place.”
Another lull, with thoughts busily whirring in the background on both sides, which were easy to tune out in favour of the delicious texture of Dean’s jacket, smooth and rich and promising, and the brush of cotton-polyester lining when fingers curled around the edge.
“You’re telling me that Gabriel actually put himself in stasis until a handsome prince turns up to –”
“Dean.” Impatience, and fondness, and command.
The feel of Dean in front, hovering over his knees, pressing against his fingertips, went suddenly cagey, and indignant, and exasperated. “What? He’s your brother!”
“And if it doesn’t work, then I will kiss him,” Castiel returned, grave and level and stamping down the flicker of hope that danced across the back of his mind.
Silence; then, “We’re never talking about this again, you hear me?”.