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If the very touch of him corrupts, then Castiel was willing to let his very grace, his very being corrupt and corrode his entire self. He remembers the agony from which he grasped him from, pulling Dean from the chains of perdition. He remembers the sting and the burn, of their first meeting that drove the demon blade into his vessel’s form, and as he gazed into the eyes that he so carefully rebuilt, and saw the man whose body he rebuilt to contain the soul that shouldered and sacrificed so much for those he cared for, that was so willing to die and follow the every command of his father, and he knew he would endure that pain a thousand more times and much more, just to protect, aid, and love that tormented soul of the man before him. He knew as he watched him shoulder the weight of the apocalypse, the weight of the guilt of his role in bringing it, and knew that he would do everything in his power to relieve any of that burden that he could, and he would leave no plan unmade. Cas was willing to live, loving Dean from a distance, even though all he wanted was for the loving, kind, self-deprecating man to know how dear he was to him. Cas loved him so much, that he knew the only way that the darkness could come to claim his existence and pull him into eternal rest was to just share an admission of that love with him. He loved Dean so much, that even in the face of eternal death, he experienced true happiness just in the simple act of confessing his love to the man who had held his heart in his bloody, calloused, war-torn hands since Cas had rebuilt his physical body with the same careful, loving consideration that his father had used when Dean was knit together in Mary’s womb all those years before.
There’s something so devastatingly beautiful in that love. In their love.
“the very touch of you corrupts, when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost” yeah i’m gonna need you to never speak again