Work Text:
Dean, Cas says, Dean, sometimes I believe you are the sun. He says it with those great, gaping eyes, coming straight from his great, gaping heart. And Dean doesn't know what it means.
He thinks, he wonders if maybe this makes Cas the moon. Or perhaps the sky? Is he the Earth? Vibrant and vicious and alive? But none of these are right, none of these could be Cas. Cas doesn’t need the sun, he doesn’t need Dean, he shines and thrives in beauty all his own. All his own.
Or maybe Cas was wrong from the start. Maybe Cas is the sun, Cas is the light, and Dean is just the fool forever sitting in the open air, grasping as if to hold the sun like a coin in his hand, smiling with closed eyes, instead, as it settles on his skin, as it kisses his cheeks burning.
But how could Cas be the sun? How could he be the sun when he outshines it? Cas is something greater than the sun
Is he, then, the galaxy? Is he the spirals of the Milky Way? Dancing its great, cosmic dance across the universe, singing a song only the stars can comprehend? Is he great billowing clouds of dust, scattered, spinning planets, is he chaos and fire and gravity?
This isn’t him either, it isn’t right. The galaxy is too empty, the universe too cold. Cas is something bigger. Cas is something huge, something grand.
Cas is vast, but his vastnesses know no emptiness. He is intricate, he is complex, he is a monolith, a skyscraper, he is celestial, he is the ocean and the tide, he is brilliance and stubbornness and beauty and he is filled to the brim with good. Cas can’t be the universe - he’s too good. The universe doesn’t hold a fraction of his goodness, couldn’t hold even a fraction of his heart.
Cas is something all his own.
Cas says he believes Dean is the sun. Dean still isn’t sure what to make of it. But if it means he can shine on Cas, if it means he can settle on his skin and kiss him burning, well. Dean will be the sun.