Chapter Text
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Entertainment News Nightly. I’m Bela Talbot, and here with me tonight is America’s heartthrob, Sam Winchester, star of Lazarus Rising, and starting this fall, also star of the new Netflix show, Wayward Brothers. Welcome, Sam.”
Bela Talbot, with her glossy blood-red lipstick, and viable-murder-weapon sharp black heels, stands gracefully from her tall director’s chair to graciously welcome America’s newest international star, Sam Winchester, to the brightly lit stage.
“Thanks, Bela. Hey everyone.” Sam’s shy smile and small wave send the crowd of women into a frenzy, and Dean Winchester at his post backstage, steps further behind the cameras to block out some of the noise. Across the sound stage, he sees Sam’s other bodyguard, Castiel Novak, tilt his head.
“See something?” Castiel’s smooth baritone voice filters from his ear piece. It’s irritating how good he sounds over the radio.
Dean taps his throat mic. “Nah, just shrieking women. The decibel level gives me a headache.”
Castiel’s smoky chuckle overtakes the grating screams; a sound that Dean’s unashamed to admit has been keeping him warm for their eleven months together as coworkers, since the man’s icy personality towards him certainly isn’t. “Get used to it. It’ll only get worse with Sam being who he is.”
“Yeah. The all-American Golden Retriever.” Dean’s sharp green eyes sweep over the sound stage and audience, noting the exits and possible blind spots. The studio’s security is top notch, but force of habit and extra vigilance keep him tensed for anything. He’s on high alert until they’re all back home. He never even fully relaxes at hotels. “He’s earned this.”
Sam, with his endlessly charming awkwardness, leans over to air kiss Bela before taking his seat beside her. He’s so tall that his feet almost reach the floor even from up high in the director’s chair. She praises him, apparently as big a fan as the women in her audience, and Sam dips his head just enough for his hair to fall into his face, though he’s wearing too much stage makeup for his blush to be anywhere near visible. “Gosh, you guys are amazing,” he says humbly, casting his soulful hazel eyes around the crowd.
Even through the scratchy mic, the warmth in Castiel’s voice is obvious. “He certainly has.”
During the first part of the interview, both Castiel and Dean are quiet over their radios, half listening to the small talk. It’s these quiet moments Dean sort of enjoys. There’s chaos around them usually, but Castiel is always in his ear. Sometimes a noise he makes adjusting his jacket or shoulder holster will be enough to turn the mic back on for Dean to hear small things like the fabric of his shirt moving. It’s… intimate, in a strange way. And annoying to admit that he kind of likes it. But it’s also the background radiation of his life, and it comforts him.
Eventually, Castiel breaks in and says, “you’ve got someone in your yellow zone. Three o’clock. Can’t see through the glare from the lights.”
Dean glances quickly to his right. “Just Gabriel and his wanderlust.”
“He should be happy. Sam’s doing very well.”
“Charlie?”
“She’s typing quite furiously on two of her three phones.”
Dean laughs softly. He can’t see her next to Castiel from where he’s positioned, but he can imagine it. “Guess it’s good news online.”
“He’s very popular right now on the Twitter.”
Dean snorts. “It’s just Twitter, Cas.”
“Whatever.”
Dean grins to himself. Something he can always count on is Castiel being a belligerent Luddite. One of the many quirks that keeps him interesting. They may not always agree on the job and have some adversarial issues on a personal level, but in the end, not counting himself, Dean wouldn’t trust anyone else with Sam’s safety more than Castiel. In fact, he’s good enough that Sam’s stopped whining about Dean being overprotective because Castiel Novak is worse. But Sam’s become too famous for any lapse in security, so Dean puts up with Castiel’s anal retentiveness in planning every second of the day because it’s kept them all safe. Plus, Dean’s the action guy. He’ll implement any plan as long as he doesn’t have to deal with figuring out the minutiae.
There’s a signal from one of the crew and Dean says, “three minute warning.” He moves back to his previous position closer to the stage to intercept Sam when he comes off set. Castiel has already moved with Charlie to the backstage area. Gabriel also goes back to meet her, so Dean is left standing just to the side to escort his brother.
Thankfully, the show wraps exactly on schedule, and Dean motions to Sam to join him while Bela approaches the audience to distract them from hollering for autographs since Sam’s a sucker for those, too.
“You did good,” he says approvingly, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he takes point towards the dressing room.
“Thanks,” Sam answers. He shakes his hands out and bounces a little on the balls of his feet before following his brother into the small dressing room. It’s cramped with the five of them stuffed inside. “Wonder if I’ll ever not get nervous doing these live shows.” He plops into the chair in front of the vanity mirror and grabs a handful of makeup wipes out of the dispenser on the table to clean himself off.
“Keeps you honest,” Dean says, going for the snack box by the dressing table and pocketing a bit of everything. Sam’s runner is half for himself and half for Dean to stop him from bitching about freaking granola bars and kale chips, or whatever. Castiel shoots him a dirty look that remains ignored.
“Something like that,” Sam says. He scrubs his face harder. “I can deal with the fame and the money, but this makeup is a pain in the ass.”
“Your nerves didn’t even show,” Dean assures him.
“Twitter loves you this morning,” Charlie says brightly, juggling two phones and a tablet. “You’re trending even though your movie is still five days from release. Must be that Texas charm.” She throws herself onto the love seat beside Gabriel, and the both of them seem to communicate by telepathy as they pass the phones and tablet between them.
Castiel stands tall and relaxed by the door and Dean paces the small space. Sam strips out of his nice clothes for the show in favor of worn jeans and a hoodie.
“What’s the schedule for the rest of the day?” Sam asks.
“Nothing else,” Castiel answers immediately. He has a talent for memorizing the schedule better than anyone else. Or any other human being, probably. That’s why Dean’s 80% convinced he’s either an alien or part android. “Your press junket is at the Ritz tomorrow, and then you’re officially on vacation.”
“Thank God,” Sam sighs. “When was the last time I slept in my own bed?”
“Three months and five days ago,” Castiel answers immediately.
Dean snorts. “That was a rhetorical question, Cas.”
“Nevertheless, I had an answer,” he quips back.
“Enough bickering, children,” Gabriel says lightly, as deft as Sam at cutting them off before they get started. “Things are picking up after this. Two weeks off and then to Vancouver for Wayward Brothers. And Crowley’s been down my neck to pencil in a freaking dozen movies during the hiatus between seasons.”
Sam gives himself one last scrub with the makeup wipes, and then turns to face Gabriel. “Is that really necessary? I don’t wanna burn out.”
“He wants to capitalize on your fame while you have it,” Gabriel says with a sneer that clearly illustrates his opinion on the matter.
“He’s the worst,” Charlie says. “No faith in Sam’s talent.”
“To be fair, he goes for quantity over quality,” Gabriel says. “You throw a bunch of shit at the wall, something will stick eventually. And he’s gotten pretty fucking rich doing what he does.”
Charlie scoffs. “Well, if he doesn’t appreciate the rare diamond we have, let’s dump him and move on.”
“Diamonds aren’t all that rare,” Castiel muses.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Missed the point by a mile there.”
“Guys,” Sam pleads giving a hang dog look to his brother. “You promised no sniping today.” Dean’s shrug is a good enough answer for him, and he turns his attention to Charlie and Gabriel. “No hasty decisions, either, okay? Crowley’s done right by me so far, but let’s just take it slow. I’m his big cash cow for the moment, so I understand why he’s being this way. But I want to take the best options. Roles I’m actually suited for, all right?”
Charlie nods. “I’m cool with it. Your fans’ll stick with you if you remain active on Twitter and Facebook, at the very least. They’re digging your accessibility. I barely have to babysit you or edit your feeds.”
Sam chuckles. “Amazing how easy it is for me to not be an asshole.”
Gabriel laughs as well. “Okay, I’m down with the arrangement. Once you’re settled in at home again, I’ll stop by the office and look through the scripts. Pull the good ones.”
“Ones for me,” Sam warns. “Not the ones you just wanna see me in.”
“I didn’t know that other film had full frontal!” Gabriel protests.
“Pfft, you big liar,” Charlie grins.
“I just stopped having nightmares about that,” Dean whines.
Gabriel scowls. “You all lack the ability to appreciate art.”
“My dick isn’t art. The whole thing was embarrassing,” Sam says, but his eyes are shining when they meet Gabriel’s through the mirror. “You’re lucky I didn’t fire you.”
Gabriel sprawls back on the couch like the cat who got the canary. “I am indeed,” he drawls.
The moment is broken thereafter when a PA knocks on the door and informs them that the studio is clear.
“Go time,” Dean says. “Cas?”
Castiel nods as they all stand and gather their things. “The car’s been pulled around back. No stops this time. The entrance isn’t fully secured, so no autographs or pictures.”
Sam makes a face, but says nothing. He tends to put his fans above all else, and often takes issue with Castiel’s priority of too much caution. But then again, Sam hasn’t see the file his bodyguards keep with letters and gifts from problem fans. Of course, it’s their job, and Charlie’s, to keep that stuff as far away from the star as they can. Dean’s more than happy to take the heat if it keeps Sam safe and healthy.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Gabriel says.
The less famous of them surround the most famous, though it makes for a pretty laughable entourage considering Sam’s significant height compared to rest of them. They usher him down the back halls to the private elevator and down to the parking deck. The black shuttle car with tinted windows is already waiting near the exit... along with a dozen fans who sniffed it out, hoping their wait would pay dividends.
They run towards Sam the second they see him.
“Dean,” comes Castiel’s warning tone both over the mic and from right beside him.
Dean steps forward to intercept the crowd before they can mob Sam. He plants his feet and holds up his hands in a stopping motion, channeling both his inner cop and former FBI agent to scowl hard. The tailored suit and ear piece go a long way to make him look official enough that several fans stop in their tracks. “Sorry, ladies,” he says in clipped tones. Not quite as good as Castiel at sounding like the Secret Service, but close enough. “Mr. Winchester’s got a busy schedule today. No selfies or autographs.”
Most of the group look crestfallen, but accepting. Of course, there’s always one intrepid soul. This time she’s a tall blonde, and tries to slip around Dean with her camera up. Fluidly, Dean swings his arm back and grabs her forearm, stalling her movement and dragging her away. Her camera clatters to the ground, and she makes a surprised noise. “I said no,” Dean snaps.
“You broke my fucking camera!” she returns indignantly.
Pulling himself up to his full height, Dean takes a firm step closer, steel in his green eyes. “I don’t fucking care.”
He ignores her further protestations when Castiel’s voice breaks into his ear. “He’s secure. Let’s go. Now.”
Dean walks backwards, still scanning the crowd and ready to jump the angry woman until he’s right at the SUV’s back door, sliding in next to Castiel. He slams the door shut, and the driver expertly maneuvers them around the fans and into the clogged city streets.
Naturally, Castiel lays into Dean the second they’re settled. “You didn’t have to break that poor woman’s camera,” he says gruffly.
Dean snorts. “Fuck off. She was getting handsy, and trying to get in Sam’s face. It was an accident. You know what those are, right?”
“Of course I do,” Castiel returns shortly. “But if you had any measure of self-control, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dean sneers. “Then why didn’t you step in instead, since you’re so fucking good at self-control when things are going nuts and it’s harder to focus? I didn’t see you doing a damn thing but standing by the car letting that woman try to get past me.”
Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. “That woman was half your size. If you couldn’t have stopped her by yourself, you shouldn’t be a bodyguard.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Dean snaps. “I did my damn job and everything’s fine. Why are you so goddamn anal? That fan dropping her own camera is a minor-”
“-Nothing is a minor-”
“Stop!” Sam barks at them both.
Dean’s teeth clack shut, jaw muscle twitching. Castiel looks equally displeased, but obeys Sam’s order.
“Guys, seriously,” Sam continues plaintively when he’s sure they’re both going to stay quiet. “You’re amazing at your job, and you know I appreciate everything you do, but you’re stressing me out. Dean.” He blinks at his brother. “I love you, and I can never thank you enough for retiring from the police force for my sake, but you do need some more… I dunno… restraint?”
“What the hell,” Dean mutters.
“You’re not a cop anymore, or a Fed,” Sam says. “You’re my bodyguard. And even though your job duties are similar, they’re not the same. You’re not the famous one, sure, but you’re still in the public eye. You still have to interact with the fans. And they’ve got camera phones. If something bad happens, it’ll be on YouTube in a second. What you need to do more of, is diffuse the situation, but your instinct is to treat everyone like a criminal. These are fans. They’re not people who need to be slapped into cuffs. A softer touch wouldn’t hurt.”
Dean scowls, but can’t exactly argue with Sam’s logic. He knows his brother is right. When he’d decided to leave the force and work for Sam, he’d taken extensive courses and done endless research with Bobby Singer. The man knows his stuff. He’s been training the world’s best bodyguards as a sort of pseudo-retirement after having served in the armed forces and the FBI. He’d taught Dean a lot, but his formative years couldn’t be polished away so quickly. He’d been a beat cop longer than anything. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to be cordial when you were jumping over garden fences chasing petty thieves, or hauling people into the drunk tank. Plus, Dean has never been known for being soft with anyone. It made him good at his former job. Though it makes both his little brother and his partner rip him a new one on the regular these days.
He hates the way that Castiel is looking at him with a small smirk, but Sam’s on a roll. “And you, Cas,” he says pointedly. He waits until those blue eyes are on him before he continues, “Dean’s right about you a little bit. You are totally anal. Sure, he shouldn’t have put his hands on that lady, but it wasn’t his fault that the camera broke. She’ll probably complain about it on Facebook or something, but that’s it. It’s not a severe incident.”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “It’s the trend, not the single incident. If I let the little things slip, they’ll pile up and-”
“No, they won’t!” Sam insists. “Not always. Look, no one is perfect all the time, but you do an excellent job, and so does Dean. I trust you both implicitly. I appreciate that you put my safety above all else, but you need to lighten up a little bit.”
He leans forward as far as his seatbelt will allow, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “I couldn’t ask for better bodyguards, but I think you two could use a little more cohesion. I want you both to do something for me.”
“What?” Dean asks warily, grateful to see Castiel’s suspicious expression mirroring his own.
Sam smiles encouragingly. “When we get home, I want you two to take some time to get to know each other.”
Castiel and Dean share a startled look. “Uh. We know each other pretty darn well,” Dean says uneasily. “We’ve been coworkers for a year now.”
Shaking his head, Sam says, “I know, but you don’t really, do you? You work together, but I think you’d be able to do better together as a team if you just took some time out to talk. Further than just work stuff. You two always keep it professional. That’s fine with a regular nine to five where you go to separate homes and have separate lives, but that’s not the nature of the beast here. Sometimes this job is twenty-four/seven, and we all live in the same house.”
Gabriel breaks in with a laugh. “You make it sound like they need a counseling weekend at one of those couples’ retreats.”
Even Charlie giggles. “You’d make a hot couple,” she says without so much as glancing up from her phones.
“You’re not helping,” Castiel says dryly.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Gabriel chortles.
Sam groans, bringing them back to focus. “I’m not suggesting anything like that. Just… take some time to have a casual talk. Or a serious talk! Whatever. Lay out some ground rules you can both follow. Maybe that’ll ease the strain a little if there’re some guidelines. I’m not asking for y’all to bare your souls for each other. Just. We gotta try something to ease the tension.”
Castiel hums with interest. “That’s an idea.” He glances at Dean. “We could prepare an SOP. One that the both of us agree on. It could cause less… friction.”
Dean’s also not very good at admitting defeat, but this sort of compromise is a good idea. They might never have the friendship that Sam has with Castiel, but they could iron out the kinks some. “I’m down,” he says at length.
Sam beams. “Great! See? Progress! Take all the time you need. No worries about me. I plan to sleep for like, two days straight, and hang around the house for the rest of the vacation. My freedom is ending really soon, after all.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Sounds about right.”
“As long as you keep up with social media, IDGAF,” Charlie adds. “Maybe take some casual, lazy shots for Instagram.”
“Whatever lets me stay in my pajamas,” Sam says gamely, suddenly all about making everyone happy.
The rest of the ride is spent with Gabriel asking what kinds of movies Sam would be interested in pursuing while he’s on hiatus during the TV show, and Charlie reading him particularly amusing replies to his tweets. She snaps a candid of him laughing to add to Instagram for good measure. Soon enough they’re home. Sam releases a huge sigh the second they’re in the driveway, pulling around the sprawling house to the back entrance. Castiel and Dean exit the vehicle first, though there’s little need to do a security sweep since the home is equipped with the best remote monitoring money can buy as well as high fences. It’s simple instinct that leads them both to do it.
Charlie and Gabriel depart the car next, saying their goodbyes. Charlie often stays at the house in one of the six bedrooms, but since Sam is going on vacation, she’s taking the initiative for a few days off herself. Gabriel, on the other hand, rarely stays over since he has plenty of other clients, though often says that if Sam keeps raking in the movie roles, he might offer an exclusive contract. Dean hadn’t entirely approved of the look the idea put on Sam’s face.
Sam himself climbs out of the car last, thanking the driver, and tromps up the garage entrance directly into the kitchen. “I’m starving and tired,” he whines just as he had when he was a snot-nosed teenager.
Dean smiles. “Plenty of food around. I made sure the house was cleaned and restocked.”
“Thanks,” Sam breathes, yanking open the industrial fridge to grab all the fixings for a huge sandwich. “Guess we haven’t gotten around to finding a new housekeeper, huh?”
“Tough call,” Dean affirms, sidling up to the granite kitchen island, swiping the bag of chips Sam’s tossed down. “Gotta find one who won’t fucking steal from you.”
Grimacing, Sam loads two slices of artisan bread with meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a generous amount of spicy mustard. “How many interviews have you guys gone through?”
“More than I care to think about,” Castiel says. “We have a few promising candidates, pending background checks. At least Crowley’s been able to accommodate reasonable temps in the meantime.”
“Is there any connection that man doesn’t have?” Sam asks.
“Doubtful,” Dean grunts. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you someone soon.”
“Cool,” he says evenly. He’s long given up on being the discerning one where house staff are concerned. Since his fame is pretty new, he hasn’t exactly learned to be distrustful of everyone by rote. Castiel and Dean, on the other hand, don’t have that problem. Therefore, hirings and firings are part of their job descriptions.
So once Sam’s done creating a massive work of sub art, he stacks it on a plate, grabs the chips back from Dean, and makes his way to the hall, turning back before he disappears up to his room. “Please talk,” he says with his huge puppy eyes. “As soon as you can.”
“We will,” Castiel promises, sounding totally genuine.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a little less so.
And then they’re alone. Horribly, strangely, awkwardly alone. Dean drops his eyes to the island and begins to pick up the breadcrumbs Sam left behind one by one, trying not to squirm. He knows Castiel is looking at him. He can feel it. He’s always been able to feel it. It makes his nerve endings itch. He’s not sure whether the feeling is pleasant or not. In fact, he’s not sure about anything with Castiel. The man just… does unusual things to him. Things he has no reference for. But the one thing he does know, is that “soon” for Castiel, once he’s set his mind to getting something done, mean’s “now.”
He also remains silent for so long that Dean is eventually the one to have to look up. As expected, Castiel’s expression is completely blank, but his blue eyes are… compelling.
Dean clears his throat. “Not for nothing,” he quips with a hell of a lot of false bravado, “but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”
An expression that Dean can’t quite convince himself to read, flickers across Castiel’s face. “Indeed,” he says thoughtfully.
The thing is, he realizes that he’s equal parts irritated by, and attracted to, Castiel. It’s not news. He felt the zing of it the first time he’d shook the guy’s hand a year ago. But those feelings fuck up his radar something awful, leaving him on his back foot more of than not; definitely more than he’d like. Even worse, considering he refuses to read the man because he sees his own desires sometimes fleetingly echoed on Castiel’s face. Or it could be his imagination. His gut says it’s not, but the alternative is terrifying. Therefore, he deflects like a champ. With a small snort, he mutters, “joking, Cas.”
Castiel takes four steps around the island so that they’re facing each other on the same side, only a few feet apart. “Were you?”
“I…” Dean breathes out. Sucks in more air. “Are you fucking with me?”
“No,” Castiel answers with all the surety Dean’s ever heard from him. “I’m not.”
“Cas,” Dean groans, face pinching. “I don’t… man, I don’t get you at all. I’m trying here, okay? But I don’t understand a damn thing about you. Can’t ever get a read on you. And lemme say: back in the day, I was one of the best profilers in the city.”
“I know that, and I believe you,” Castiel answers honestly, taking another step closer. “Why do you think you can’t read me?”
Dean shifts back, suddenly nervous. His lower back hits the island. Figuratively backed into a corner. Naturally he’d forget his instincts with Castiel around. “‘Cause I can’t.”
Another step closer. “Do you really hate me, Dean? Is that why?”
He shakes his head. “You’re a good guy,” he says slowly.
Castiel slips his long fingers into his pockets. Dean can’t help but watch. “I didn’t ask you that.”
“I know you didn’t.”
The left side of Castiel’s mouth tilts up slightly. “Don’t want to answer?”
“Can’t answer.” Hell. In the back of his mind, Dean’s trying his absolute best to convince himself that he’s being so needlessly honest because his brother had asked him to try, but in reality, he’s scared shitless of lying to Castiel. Not for fear of reprisal, but because… because. He wants to get a read on the guy. Wants to like the guy. Is kind of afraid once he starts the liking process, it just won’t stop.
“Why not?” A curl of warmth suffuses Castiel’s voice, and the tone burrows straight into Dean’s chest.
He finds himself studying his partner’s shiny dress shoes. “I don’t hate you. It’s something else.”
“Ah.”
No expansion on the exhale, so Dean looks up again. And. Shit. He’s not sure what to do with what he’s seeing. He shakes his head.
“I’m the same,” Castiel admits evenly. “For you. May I be honest with you?”
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, a little mad he didn’t say “no.” No would have been a lot easier.
“I want you.”
Dean’s eyes pop wide.
What?
In the whole of the English language, and in all of the combinations of words that make combinations of sentences that Castiel Novak could have said, that was the last one he expected. Hoped for? Maybe. But that’s a whole other can of worms currently squirming to get the lid off. Doing a damn good job of it, too.
Castiel wants him. Wants him. Wants him. Three words he’d said. “I want you.” Three insignificant words. Three meaningless syllables. If Dean chooses to acknowledge them, as insignificant as they are, they’ll change everything.
“Dude,” he coughs.
Castiel puts some space between them, sensing that it would be easier. It is. And then it isn’t. Dean trails after him until they’re both at the kitchen table, side by side. Castiel doesn’t sit, though, and neither does Dean. He grips the back of the hand carved wooden chair, leaning into it. “I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says. “You can’t read me because you don’t want to. That’s it. I’m familiar with the sentiment. It’s difficult to work with you and keep myself from saying anything.”
“You say lots of things,” Dean teases gently, trying to lighten the mood.
It does have the effect of making Castiel’s smile spread. “Yes. But you aren’t your job all the time. It’s the quiet moments that drew me. Well.” He huffs a small laugh at the whorl in the wood on the table in front of him. “You’re rarely actually quiet, but you understand my meaning, I assume?”
“I do,” Dean answers. “I get it. When I’m just being me. When I’m here. Not on.”
Castiel nods, sucks in air through his teeth. Hesitates like he feels the need to say something, but doesn’t want the reaction he’s expecting.
“Say what you gotta. Might as well.”
Castiel nods again more firmly. “I think with some discipline you and I could come to a better understanding. Less confusion between how we feel about each other in private, and on the job.”
This is the weirdest talk about having a work crush that Dean’s ever experienced, though like most things with Castiel, he’s helpless to do anything except follow along. And again he tries to lighten the mood with his raunchy humor. “Sounds kind of sexy.”
“Good,” Castiel answers immediately, effortlessly cutting through Dean’s second attempt at deflection. “That was my intent.”
He must be asleep. Seriously. This has to be a dream. There’s no other explanation. Dean’s big enough to admit that he’s imagined himself and Castiel in some compromising positions a time or two. But this is different. This simply isn’t sinking in. “Cas…” he ventures. But that’s it. There’s nothing else there. His brain is well and truly fried.
“Have I said something you’re opposed to?” Castiel asks.
It’s that damn monotone that’s throwing Dean off. The same voice he uses to recite Sam’s daily schedule or go over their shifts for the day. He’s talking about getting naked and sweaty, and please stop thinking about it, Dean, like he’s announcing he’s going to go do the laundry. Dean narrows his eyes. “Again I need to ask: are you fucking with me?”
Castiel releases the chair and takes a step back, the only sign of possible surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m serious, man, are you fucking with me right now? I mean, I get it. I’ve been kind of a dick to you recently, but you’re going a little overboard on the payback.”
“Payback?”
Dean rolls his eyes, not down for indulging his play at confusion. Nothing confuses Castiel Goddamn Novak. “Payback. Comeuppance. Punishment. This shit you’re pulling because I was an ass.”
Castiel’s eyes widen to quite the convincing comical expression of shock. “No, Dean,” he says, more expressive than he’s been in recent memory. “I’m not doing that at all. I’m propositioning you.”
Dean laughs. A full, gut-grabbing, noisy guffaw that has him bending double. “Jesus Christ,” he howls, rubbing at the tears in his eyes. “You’re going for broke! Okay, man, I get it! Fine. Uncle. I give up. Shit!”
There’s a hand on his arm suddenly, yanking him back up to standing and Castiel is about an inch away. “I don’t,” he growls, and then he’s shoving against Dean with the fiercest kiss he’s ever experienced.
Oh shit, Dean thinks, pressing forward into the storm, taking Castiel’s mouth for all he can, I give up.