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Castiel wakes suddenly, blinking in the darkness, and for a minute he’s not sure why.
Then he feels it.
A pulse, almost like a slow heartbeat — the stirrings of something long asleep beginning to stir.
He remembers this feeling. It’s one he didn’t think he would be able to feel again.
He sits up slowly, pushing back the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, then pauses, listening.
Dean stirs, snorts and shuffles, but then his breaths return to their previous gentle, rhythmic snores.
Slowly, quietly so as to not further disturb Dean’s slumber, Castiel rises and pulls the robe from the nearby chair over his naked body. He pads to the door, opens it carefully and slips outside, quietly pulls it closed behind him.
With each footstep down the dim hallway to the map room, he feels it — the pulse thrumming from the earth, rising from his feet and through his body. He enters the map room and climbs the stairs to the landing, winces at the creaking of the door as he opens and then closes it behind him, and ascends the spiral stairs to the outside.
It’s still dark when he steps out, the cement of the stairs leading to the dirt lot at the entrance to the bunker cold against his feet. But as soon as they touch the dirt, the thrumming grows stronger, the pulse beating harder and faster.
His footsteps quicken, his heartbeat rising to match the pulse of the earth as he climbs the slight incline running along the outer walls of the bunker, into the grove of trees at the top. At the summit of the incline, the trees open into a small glade, still bare from the winter. From here, he can see the horizon, just beginning to brighten; the indigo of night fading into light blues and oranges, a sliver of yellow just at the horizon.
The thrumming grows even stronger and as the sun breaks over the horizon. The robe slips from Castiel’s shoulders, falling to the ground. He lifts his arms over his head, reaching for the light — and gasps as the first rays of the dawn brush over his fingertips.
Ostara. Vernal Equinox.
Spring.
As an angel in incorporeal form, he could sense the vibrations of the earth ebbing and flowing with the changing of the seasons, but they held no real significance for him then — only observing them as they affected the humans in his charge. That first Spring after taking Jimmy Novak as his vessel was the first time he had actually felt it — the near-ecstasy of the pulse of the earth coming back to life after the dormancy of winter; but then discovering that most humans still only noticed the visual effects — the greening and flowering of the earth around them — saddened him.
When he lost his Grace and became human like them, he was certain his own experiences would be as limited and pushed it from his mind. What he had gained — taste, touch, feeling, and most of all, love — was so much more than what he’d believed he’d lost.
So when the pulse of the earth had awakened him this morning, he was surprised.
And when the rays of the first sunlight of Spring touch him, the sheer intensity of the feeling rocks him to his core.
As the sun continues to rise, the rays drift down his body, filling him with power and warmth. He pulls in the warmth, down from the palms of his upraised hands, through the crown of his head, his face and chest and abdomen and legs, pulls the warmth into himself until it’s a glowing ember at the core of him; then he falls, dropping to his knees to plant his palms onto the earth. He pushes the warmth from the glowing ember through his arms and into his hands, pushes it into the earth at his feet, and feels the earth awaken underneath him. Breathes in, breathes out, feeling every cell in his body light up.
Slowly, he drops from his knees to sit fully on the ground, legs crossed; his naked skin humming from the sun’s warmth and residual effect of being the conduit of its power. His gaze falls to the ground in front of him, sees a small shoot peeking out from the soil.
He brushes the tiny leaves with gentle fingers. “Hey there, little one.”
He’s not sure how long he sits there, the sun’s rays basking him in golden warmth, but he becomes aware of a new warmth from behind him, the discarded robe being draped over his shoulders, a warm body pressing into him over it, warm arms wrapping around his waist.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s head pops over Castiel’s shoulder, and he rests his chin there.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Not that I don’t admire how gorgeous you are naked in the sunlight,” the whisper in his ear sending shivers scurrying down Castiel’s spine, “but you’re gonna catch your death out here.” Dean’s hands flatten against Castiel’s abdomen and brush lightly up to his chest, leaving a crop of goosebumps in their wake and chasing the breath from his lungs.
Covering Dean’s hands with his own, Castiel leans back into Dean’s warmth. His own personal sun; his light, his love.
“Blessed Ostara, Dean.”
Castiel feels Dean’s brow crinkle in confusion and chuckles.
“Spring, Dean. Happy First Day of Spring.”