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When Dean walks up into the library, Cas is sitting at the first table with headphones in. It causes an immediate stutter in Dean’s brain, a trip over a rock that makes everything inside of him stumble. He looks over his shoulder frowning, as if the empty air would give him some sort of answer, or would agree with him that This is weird, right?
The headphones are connected to Cas’s actual phone, which is turned horizontally in his hands like he’s watching a video. Does Cas even know how to watch videos on his phone? Whatever he’s looking at has him absorbed because he doesn’t even acknowledge Dean’s presence until Dean sits down across from him.
Cas looks up lazily, until his eyes land on Dean’s face and suddenly they go wide as he guiltily rips the earbuds out of his ears. It’s panic, and not even the bad kind, more like ‘I forgot to leave a sock on the door’ kind. And Dean’s always been a curious son of a bitch, even before he and Cas (well, mostly Cas) sacked up and got together. Now, that alarmed expression is as tempting as the apple to Eve, and sets all types of gears turning in Dean’s head.
“You watching porn without me?” Dean asks with his most charming smile and leans a little closer over the table.
Cas still looks frazzled, but he manages an annoyed huff, “Dean, you’re aware I don’t watch porn.”
“Yeah, yeah, buzzkill. One of these days I’ll get you to break and watch something with me.”
“Why would we watch porn together when we have the ability to actually have sex?” Cas asks like he doesn’t really care what the answer is.
“C’mon! It’s sexy!” Dean argues, his voice pitching up at the end. “You can’t tell me there’s nothing appealing about watching people getting it on while we sit there together.” He throws his voice down to a bumbling purr, just on the north side of joking. “Maybe we both still have our clothes on and our shoulders are touching. Both of us getting hard and pretending we’re not, but we both know because we’re both watching the same person falling apart.” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips.
Cas looks a little more interested, but his eyes are narrowed. The corner of his lip pulls up. Dean suddenly feels like he made a grave mistake.
“Perhaps I could see the appeal. You squirming around beside me and trying to hide how turned on you are. But of course, it would be obvious. I would watch you and know exactly how the images on the screen were making you feel. I would know exactly how hard you were from watching some naked stranger being treated like a toy for pleasure. You, imagining yourself in their exact position.” Cas smiles to himself. “Yes, maybe I can see the allure in that.”
Dean’s hand turns into a white-knuckled fist that he raps against the table in feigned nonchalance while his cheeks puff out with the breath he’s holding. When he lets it out, there’s a whining “Heh,” on the end of it. He nods, clears his throat. Cas is looking way too smug. “Mmm, mmhmm, yep. You’re a quick learner, Cas.” Dean can’t help the way his voice comes out strangled.
“So, I’ve been told,” Cas says almost airly, that son of a bitch. Dean’s half hard under the table and something tells him that Cas isn’t gonna help him with his little problem since Dean’s the one who started it, anyway. Maybe if he asks really nicely.
Before he gets the chance to start groveling, Cas continues, “Was there something you needed, or did you come here just to bother me?” The words are mean, but they come out fond.
Dean mock pouts at him. “What? I’m not allowed to want to sit with my devastatingly handsome boyfriend?”
And for some reason, that’s what gets Cas flustered. His eyes dart around, and there’s a happy little blush on his cheeks. “No, I suppose that’s alright.” He smiles down softly at his chest, and it makes Dean feel like he’s cracking in half, that he put that look on Cas’s face.
Cas’s fingers twitch around the earbuds he’s still holding, and the movement draws Dean back to the matter at hand.
“So if you aren’t watching some skin on skin action, what’s with the headphones?”
The smile on Cas’s face drops back into a frown, and he looks decidedly unhappy about the change in conversation.
“It’s nothing, Dean,” Cas says, and when Dean raises a disbelieving eyebrow, Cas sighs. “It really is nothing. Nothing that you need to be worried about.”
Now, Dean raises both eyebrows. He stretches out his hand and drums his fingertips on the table. “Well, that’s good to hear. Ever thought that I might just want to know what you’re up to even if it’s not bad?”
Cas’s face softens again. God, he just does things to Dean. And Dean’s allowed to feel it now, after everything, so he lets it bloom inside of him. It’s like stretching a muscle after years of disuse, and it’s difficult in the same way that it feels wonderful. It’s what Cas deserves after everything Dean has put him through.
“Of course. I-” Cas stops, and his eyes flicker away self-consciously. “I guess it’s just- odd.”
“Odd?” Dean watches him, trying to keep his tone joking. When Cas just stares at one of the bookcases and purses his lips, Dean feels like maybe he missed the mark.
“Cas,” he tries more quietly. He can do this, he knows he can. “I’m not- whatever it is, man, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I promise to keep the jokes to a minimum, okay? What does ‘odd’ even mean to us, anymore? It’s not like we’re the friggin’ Brady Bunch.”
The tease doesn’t land quite the way Dean wants because Cas doesn’t smile, but he does look back to meet Dean’s eyes.
“They are-” Cas sighs, “Sam suggested them to me. They’re videos that are supposed to help with anxiety.”
Dean is absolutely baffled, and he’s sure it shows on his face. That’s it? Videos to help with anxiety, and Cas is treating it like he got caught with his hand down his pants.
“Okaaay,” Dean draws the word out in obvious question. “I mean, that’s good, right? That they help you. Am I missing something?”
“They’re very- specific, I suppose.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrow, “So, it is a porn thing?”
“No, Dean,” and Cas actually rolls his eyes at him. As if it’s Dean’s fault that Cas isn’t making any sense. Cas has that look like he knows he just has to bite the bullet but he doesn’t want to, and he sighs. “It’s called A.S.M.R. It’s the use of sounds and visual elements to try to induce relaxation in the viewer.”
“That still doesn’t sound that weird to me, Cas. Like, meditation or whatever hippie crap Sam is into?”
Cas huffs and pulls the plug of his headphones out of their port in his phone. He puts it down on the table and rotates it so that it’s right-side-up for Dean before pushing play.
There’s a woman with pink hair on the screen with what looks like a microphone in front of her, and nothing else besides some drapery and fairy lights in the background. The video is halfway watched, from where Cas had frantically paused it, and Dean observes with intrigue as the woman brushes out her pastel pink curls. It’s silent for a few seconds, with just the gentle sound of the brush moving through tangles floating in the Bunker air before she looks back into the camera and starts speaking.
“My hair is feeling,” she speaks so softly that it’s almost a whisper, “like, just a little bit dry on the ends, so I’m going to put on a little bit of serum. Um, lately I’ve just been using this one from Joico, it’s like ‘K-Pak Color Therapy’, it’s a ‘restorative styling oil’.”
Her makeup is done pin-up style, all clean and classy, and her voice is gentle as she continues talking and rubs the serum together in between her fingertips. It’s decidedly not porn. It’s kind of fascinating, actually, and Dean leans in closer to the screen, tilts his head. He taps on the screen so that the tiny title appears in the top left corner, which reads: Brushing Out My Curls for Vintage Waves, a sparkle emoji, and then, ASMR wooden brush.
“Huh,” he finally says over the woman’s soft voice. He looks up and Cas is watching him with a guarded expression on his face. “So, it’s like an instruction video? About hair?” Dean is genuinely curious and finds his eyes wandering back down to the screen where the woman resumes brushing through her curls.
“Of sorts,” Cas says hesitantly. “It’s less about teaching the skill and more about finding peace in observing the process.”
Dean continues to watch and finds himself absorbed in her gentle movements, the sound of her soft hair pulling through the bristles. It makes everything in him take pause, like his whole body is stopping to absorb the moment. He feels a smile tug onto his lips.
“This is cool, man,” Dean says and is surprised to find that he means it. He kind of gets what Cas meant, about it being a little odd. It’s not strange as much as it’s weirdly intimate, but Dean could see how the sounds and imagery could be relaxing. Hell, he feels pretty damn relaxed and he’s been watching it for two minutes. “She’s cute, too.”
When Dean looks up again, Cas is smiling. “Yes, she’s very beautiful,” he says, like he’s glad that Dean agrees. “She is one of my favorites.”
“Wait, there’s more?”
Cas hums. “Many. It’s rather popular from what Sam tells me, though a large subset of people find it strange. I was unsure whether you would fall into that category or not,” he admits.
“I mean, even if I thought it was ten levels of bizarre, I wouldn’t dog on you if you liked it,” Dean says seriously, because he needs Cas to get it. Dean knows he can be a dick, can be immature, and take shit too far, but he’s working on it. He wants to be better, especially for Cas.
Cas just nods, still with that warm look on his face, and says, “I’ll keep that in mind, Dean.”
But Cas’s words about there being more to this ASMR thing ignite that dangerous spark of curiosity in Dean once again, and he rotates Cas’s phone to look through the suggested videos. Many of them have thumbnails of similar setups to the video he’s watching, even if there’re different people featured in them. He looks at the titles, frowns when the same word keeps reappearing in them.
“What are… tingles?” His face scrunches up. “That definitely sounds R-Rated, dude.”
Cas looks all shy again at that. “I assure you, it’s nothing inappropriate. From what I understand, there is a physical sensation that some people feel when they watch videos like this.”
Dean shoots him a suggestive smirk, like that’s supposed to make any of this sound less erotic, and Cas has that long-suffering look on his face as he tilts it up towards the ceiling as if asking for strength. Maybe he actually is. The thought makes Dean want to laugh, that Jack is just somewhere in Heaven when he hears Jack, my human boyfriend is being an absolute pain in my ass, again.
“Not that kind of physical sensation,” Cas retorts. “It’s more like… the feeling of goosebumps.”
“What, like the chills or something?”
“I-” Cas frowns, “Yes, I suppose that’s an accurate comparison.”
“Weird,” Dean says, but he’s smiling, “how does that even work?”
And Cas looks just as intrigued, leans closer over the table. “That’s the strangest part, Dean. No one knows why it happens. How could something as simple as someone whispering create subconscious physical sensation?”
“Dude, that’s- that’s kinda awesome. Freaky, but awesome.”
“I agree,” Cas seems pleased, and that warm energy is radiating off of him in a way that Dean can’t tell if it’s an angel thing or if Dean’s just in love.
Dean forces down the dopey smile trying to overtake his mouth and says, “So, uh, you ever get the tingles then?”
Cas’s eyes drop down at the table where he’s twirling the earbud wires around. “Yes, every so often. It’s- very pleasant.”
“Who knew that angels liked watching ladies brushing their hair so much?”
There’s something so fucking endearing about Castiel, all of the time, but especially when Dean gets to see him like this, whole and domestic and home. It makes Dean’s fingers itch to reach across and grab Cas’s hand, so he does. He squeezes the fingers wrapped in his and Cas looks like a snowman melting under the sun.
...
Now that Dean knows Cas’s not-so-secret secret, it’s like he notices the angel on his phone constantly. Always turned horizontal, always with his earbuds in, always with a sleepy look on his face.
And the thing is, Dean maybe loves it a little bit. He’ll walk in to find Cas almost snoozing sitting up, and he’ll ask what the title is or what the video’s about. If Dean doesn’t have anywhere to be, he’ll pull up a chair beside him and make grabby hands for an earbud that Cas will mock-begrudgingly hand over so that they can watch what’s left of the video together.
Dean likes knowing what Cas likes. And so what if he starts to recognize the ASMR peoples’ faces? Which ones Cas gravitates to, like the girl with the pink hair that Dean now knows calls herself A.L.B.
Because getting together with Cas has started a whole ‘nother round of nesting. Dean finally has the time and peace to try to be a good boyfriend, and there aren’t many things that could stop him on his stealth (admittedly not so stealth) mission to make Cas happy. Cas likes ASMR, and Dean can get behind that.
So when one day Dean sits in on a video of A.L.B. playing with her wife’s hair, Dean is struck with inspiration so intense he’s surprised he doesn’t shoot right out of his chair to start drawing up a game plan.
If there’s one thing about Dean Winchester that can’t be denied by even angels or demons, it’s his frankly frightening enthusiasm.
...
Research isn’t fun, but Dean knows it’s necessary, and he’s goddamn good at it when he puts his mind to it.
He starts at the most logical place he can think of: Cas’s YouTube watch history.
It’s easy enough, especially because after Dean’s entire recommended page got clogged with ASMR videos, he realized the account Cas was watching all of the videos on was Dean’s.
When he starts scrolling down the list, he mostly sees the familiar faces of A.L.B. and another girl named Gibi. Dean’s not sure what’s up with the names, but he figures it’s a privacy thing. That, or Gibi’s parents really hated her. There’re a few unfamiliar setups as well, many of them have the word tutorial in their title, Dean notes.
He needs to find a pattern in what Cas likes. He also needs to figure out how this tingle thing works in the first place. There’s no way in hell that he’s going into this cold.
Dean singles in on the repeated watches first. Every time he sees the same video come up more than once in the history bar, he marks it down. He scrolls all the way back into the week and a half before where the videos pitter out, marking the beginning of Cas’s new favorite pastime. When Dean looks at his final list, he’s surprised to find about five videos that Cas seems to be watching over and over again, a few of them ringing a bell from Dean’s impromptu viewing sessions with the angel.
ASMR Over-Explaining & Repeating Simple Tasks
Playing with Short Hair Gently (ASMR whisper affirmations/hair sounds/brush sounds/ear touching)
Making Creme Brulee ASMR Cooking Series
Positive Affirmations for Heavy Stressful Times (ASMR whispering + gentle tapping)
Some of them are a little lengthy, but it’s not like Dean is swimming in work these days, so he makes himself sit through and watch each of them. It’s rounding on two hours later when Dean finally finishes with a sleepy and satisfied smile. He looks down at the pad of paper he’s been keeping notes and doodling on, nods to himself. Not too shabby, Winchester.
Now, what to do with all of this information.
Dean shrugs to himself, the corners of his lips pulling down as he types how to do asmr into the YouTube search bar. He sees Gibi’s increasingly familiar face in the first suggested video, but it’s a tutorial about how to start an actual channel, so he keeps scrolling. There’re a few more promising looking titles, but once he clicks on them it’s clear they’re not giving actual instructions. He huffs in annoyance.
But then, as if the holy choir (or maybe just Jack) was smiling down on him, another, more recent, Gibi video appears with the words ASMR for Beginners large on the thumbnail: New to ASMR? Click Here!
Dean holds his breath. And then she’s actually talking about ASMR, what it is, how it works, and he wiggles happily in his seat. Thirty minutes of sweet, sweet explanation. Dean has this in the bag.
“Gibi, sister, you’re about to find a wildly expensive fruit basket in your P.O. box.”
...
Dean runs into Eileen in the hallway.
“Eileen, I need your help.”
Something nervous passes through Eileen’s eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean rushes, raising a hand out as if to steady her, “yeah, sorry, everything’s good.” He brings the hand to his chin, before moving it down into the cradle of his other palm. Good. For extra measure, he turns his hands into fists and overlaps his wrists before pulling them apart. Safe.
The set of her shoulders eases and she smiles at him.
“I just- uh, well, I have this thing that I’m trying to do for Cas, but I might need help.”
Eileen’s mouth ticks up, that mischievous look she gets when Dean gets her in on a prank for Sam. “What’s up?”
Dean smiles back at her. “You know how Cas has been watching all those videos lately?”
“You mean-” Eileen starts, and then brings her hands together and up to the side of her face to imitate sleeping on them. Dean’s smile stretches until his eyes turn into crescents.
“Exactly. The reason he goes Bedtime Bear is ‘cause they’re relaxation videos. They’re supposed to, like, imitate close personal attention or something. But, I thought, why watch a video when you could have the real thing, right?” He knows he probably sounds ridiculous, all giddy energy, but Eileen is nodding along with him.
“That sounds like fun, but what do you need me for?”
And Dean knows that she’s already invested. “Because I think I might need to practice first. Also, I need makeup brushes.” He pretends to hold a brush between his fingers to paint his face.
She lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh. “You are full of surprises, Dean Winchester.”
When she says ‘Dean’, she makes a gesture similar to the one he made himself earlier, her hands balled into fists as she double taps her wrists together, and on the word ‘Winchester’, she places her palm flat just under her shoulder where he and Sam’s anti-possession tattoos are inked.
Eileen never really asked any of them what they wanted their names to be, she just started making the same motion every time she mentioned them. Dean understood the reference to their tattoos immediately, but he had no clue what the motion Eileen was making in tandem with his name was supposed to mean. He had googled it when he went to bed that night, and when the word Protect had been the result, he damn near cried himself to sleep.
After that, he watched more closely.
Jack’s name meant Smiley.
Sam’s name meant Solid.
Cas’s name meant Lover.
“So, you in?” Dean asks because he already knows the answer.
Eileen nods, raises her hand to her forehead to salute.
They wait until everyone else is occupied the next morning, when Cas is reading in the library and Sam is out for his run. But with the threat of Cas coming back to Dean’s room at some point, or Sam going into his and Eileen’s, Dean and Eileen end up pulling two chairs into the storage room and locking the door.
“That’s not suspicious at all,” Eileen says sarcastically.
“We’ll just tell them we’re in here making out,” he grunts, dragging his chair so it’s directly across from hers.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face. For a moment they just sit and look at each other, and Dean suddenly feels extremely awkward.
“Uhh,” he rubs his palms on his thighs, “I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”
“That’s why we’re practicing,” Eileen says kindly, and he’s so fucking glad he asked her to help. Dean breathes in deeply through his nose, nods at her. “Start with what you need me to do.”
“Right,” Dean nods again, mostly to himself. “So, the goal of these videos is to give people somethin’ called tingles, which is basically just fancy talk for goosebumps from what I can tell. I got no idea how it works, but Cas said he’s gotten ‘em before, so I’ll let him do the heavy lifting. What I need you to do is tell me if you get goosebumps and what did it so that I can, uh-” Dean feels inexplicably embarrassed- “take notes.” He taps his temple with his pointer finger.
“Easy,” she says and signs like he doesn’t sound like a crazy person.
“Okay,” he gulps. He tries to remember what the girl, Gibi, had said in her beginner’s video. “So, first, they ask if they can touch you, ‘cause-’cause consent is good.”
Eileen gives him a prompting look.
“So, can I- uh-” Dean clears his throat, “May I touch your face?”
“You may,” Eileen nods and smiles.
Dean steels himself and thinks about the careful fingers that A.L.B. had used when touching her wife, or the other video where she’s playing with her friend’s hair. He thinks about intent. He thinks about what it means to reach out to someone with the goal of making them feel, what exactly? Important, maybe. Seen. Held in one way or another. What was it that A.L.B. said that had sat under Dean’s skin for longer than it should have? Everybody likes to be touched gently.
Eileen watches him as he raises a finger to brush along her forehead. It feels weirdly personal, even stranger knowing that it’s completely unromantic and unsexual. His finger falters, but Eileen looks at him encouragingly.
He grazes it down the side of her face, down her cheek and across her jawline, around the whole perimeter of her face. When he gets back to his starting point on her forehead, he stops again.
“That feels nice,” Eileen’s eyes flutter shut for just a second before they open again. “Keep going.” It’s not a question but a command with that attitude that she has, and if there’s one thing Dean can do, it’s orders that he knows he can follow.
“Any tingles?” Dean asks, to which Eileen hums a negative.
“Not yet. Like I said, keep going.”
Dean huffs out a laugh, “Yes, your highness.”
So he continues, touches across the bridge of her nose and her eyebrows, the dip underneath her eyes. It’s sort of… nice. Dean can feel his brain slowing down with his movements to a place that’s weirdly meditative. As meditative as he can get, anyway.
It strikes Dean that this might actually be the exact opposite of torturing a person. Instead of the methodical tearing apart of a soul with every tool and trick to make them suffer, this is the methodical pleasure of closeness, a ritual of making someone else feel good in the simplest way possible.
It’s easy to forget that Eileen knows what Hell is like, too. She hides it better than Dean did, probably because she’s a lot stronger than Dean ever could be. At least Dean knew what he signed up for when he got himself sent downstairs. He remembers coming topside, and how any touch born from safety or comfort felt like a miracle.
“Is it okay if I touch your neck?” he asks, and he barely recognizes his own voice, how soft it is even though he knows Eileen can’t hear it.
She looks almost sleepy as she nods, so Dean figures he must be doing something right.
Dean thinks he remembers A.L.B. touching her friend's ears, around the shell, and it seems strange, but doesn’t this whole thing? So he brings both hands up to cup around either side of Eileen's neck. He tilts his head curiously and lets his fingertips run feather-light from the conch to the lobe.
To his shock, her shoulder hunch the slightest bit. “Tingles,” she says gleefully.
He’s grinning before he even knows it. “Really? What did it feel like?”
Eileen’s eyes are bright with her own excitement. “It feels like,” she pauses, wiggles her fingers around, “static up my neck and on my head. I get why they’re called tingles. It’s very tingly.”
“And it’s good?”
Eileen nods, quick and enthusiastic, “It’s awesome.” She curls her fingers in slightly and motions back and forth across her mouth. Awesome.
“Should I keep going?”
There’s a smile barely hiding under a faux glare. “If you stop now, I’ll put your hand in warm water while you sleep.”
Dean holds up his hands in surrender. He feels light with it, with this new discovery that he can make people feel something pleasant with the fingers that some days he swears he can still see blood on no matter how clean they are. “How about we break out the makeup brushes? Apparently, those are, like, pretty sweet.”
“Sure,” Eileen says, and points to the makeup bag at her feet.
He roots through it and finds what looks like a clean, puffy brush about the diameter of a dime.
“Perfect,” he mutters, straightening up in his chair and leaning in again. “Ready?” He crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger with the hand he has free and shakes it side to side. Ready?
She wiggles excitedly in her seat and repeats the sign to him. “Ready.”
Dean starts on Eileen’s cheekbone to get her used to the sensation, starts tracing her features with it. When the bristles brush against her hairline, she says, “Tingles,” again. He swipes the brush slowly back and forth across the area, and his eyes go wide when she physically shivers.
“God, this is bizarre. It’s like that makeover scene in The Princess Diaries, which makes me Paulo,” Dean says, and he can’t really blame Eileen when she doesn’t bother answering. “I think I’d make a cool Paulo. I’m gonna touch your ears again.”
He brushes across to her left temple and then down, letting the fluffy surface barely graze the skin. Her hair has fallen forward, so he uses his fingers to push it back gently behind her ear which earns him a quiet hum. When he touches the brush to the outer shell, Eileen tilts her neck to accommodate him. She sighs happily.
“This is the best feeling ever.”
Dean laughs to cover up the way the comment makes his chest weirdly tight. “Sam’s really that bad in the bedroom, huh?”
She sticks her tongue out at him, “Not what I said, asshole.” Silence falls over them again for a moment before Eileen speaks up, “Is it okay if I close my eyes?”
The question is loaded and layered despite how innocuous it is. Because to Dean, closing his eyes just takes away his ability to see, but to Eileen, it’s making herself vulnerable to him in a way that’s hard for Dean to wrap his head around. Eileen uses sight to communicate, to see signs and to read lips, so closing her eyes means… he can’t really imagine it if he’s honest with himself. Dean doesn’t know how many people he would trust with the power she’s giving him now. He wonders if she’s more comfortable with him than he originally thought. Definitely more than he deserves. He thinks about how the name she gave him meant Protect.
“‘Course. Just keep me updated on Operation Tingles.”
“Got it. Tap my shoulder-” Eileen demonstrates by tapping her own shoulder with her pointer finger- “if you need something.” She smiles at him one last time before her eyes close and the quiet of the storage room settles around him.
Dean doesn’t get many moments like these, but it seems like the tides are changing these days. He could get used to it.
He stays where he is for a moment and traces the brush around all of the divots of Eileen’s ear. It reminds Dean of painting a picture, and he wonders when he stopped drawing for fun. Maybe he’ll pick a pencil back up with all of his free time now. Cas would like that.
Dean reaches out and touches Eileen’s chin softly, the way he would prompt Sammy to move when he’d patch him up, tilting her head to the other side and starting on the other ear. That gets him a silent wiggling of fingers, the same motion she made earlier when describing her tingles, but her eyes stay decidedly closed. Dean smiles, anyway.
A melody floats into his mind from thin air, and Dean finds himself humming Life On Mars? while he tracks the brush down Eileen’s neck. Tingles. Dean thinks he’s getting good at this. He falls into a rhythm with his humming, earning himself some wiggly fingers every so often.
He’s not sure how much time has passed when he finally pulls away. With a gentle tap to Eileen’s shoulder, blurry brown eyes open to look at him. Warmth threatens to overflow Dean, at this woman who’s one of his best friends for all intents and purposes, who managed to worm her way into their little family.
Dean holds up the backs of both hands towards Eileen before swishing them so that she can see his palms. All done. He doesn’t even bother speaking with the motion, not wanting to break the fragile bubble of peace they’re in.
Eileen smiles. “I feel like I need to take a nap. You’re a natural.” She looks a little sad underneath, though. Dean wonders if she’s as disappointed as he feels that their little spa day is coming to an end. It’s like he’s a little kid, or what little kids were supposed to act like, anyway.
“You know,” he says, and is surprised when his voice comes out rusty. He clears his throat. “practice makes perfect. I didn’t even get to do the hair stuff.”
Eileen brightens, and Dean’s a little bit proud of himself. Already getting better at reading the room. “I think I can find an opening on my calendar.” She makes a number four with her right hand and sweeps the fingers along the flat surface she’s made with her left. Calendar.
“How does the same time tomorrow sound?”
...
It’s just after dinner, and Dean is full to the brim with good food and good company. Even though Dean was the one who cooked, he still insists that he’s on dish duty. Each domestic task he gets to do feels like a miracle and birthday present all at once, something that he can’t seem to get enough of. He’s sure everyone else is the Bunker has at least a creeping suspicion of his motives, but no one ever says anything to him about it. Dean’s pretty sure Sam’s just glad he gets out of the chores.
Of course, Eileen offers to help dry, but Dean waves her off and hands her a beer, telling her to take a load off. She rolls her eyes at him even as she leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Whatever you say, Mother Hen.”
The casual affection is still new, with both Cas and Eileen. Maybe just in general. He even finds himself hugging Sammy more, just because he can, just because his little brother is there and somehow they both made it through. Dean soaks it up like a daffodil under the sun, not that he’d tell anyone that. He hip checks Eileen with a, “You love it,” and waits until she turns away to smile.
Even though everyone is relieved of kitchen duty, the three other members of the Bunker stay seated at the now clean table, nursing drinks as Sam explains whatever his show of the week is. From what Dean picks out, it has something to do with architecture.
Dean’s two plates down with suds to his wrists when he feels the weight of a warm hand on the small of his back. It only makes him start a little bit, the cup he’s in the middle of rinsing slipping between his fingers and back to the bottom of the sink.
When Dean looks up, Cas is standing to the left of him. What the fuck is he so handsome for? Wearing a pair of Dean’s jeans that are just a hair too long for him and a cream-toned sweater that he’d seen at Walmart while they were out that makes him cuddly like a kitten. Of course, Dean’s always known that Cas is attractive rather objectively, but now he knows it subjectively and it makes Dean feel out of his fucking gourd.
“I can dry,” Cas says softly. He doesn’t wait for a response from Dean before he grabs the towel off the counter and holds out a waiting hand for Dean to pass him a dish. And Dean is helpless to do anything but put one of the clean plates into his palm.
Sam and Eileen continue their conversation behind them, voices talking in half-formed sentences between quick signs that make the conversation impossible to follow without actively watching it. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas, then another, as they wash and dry in silence. He has to keep reminding himself that he finally gets to have this, finally gets to live, and with all of the people he loves.
“You’re not as secretive as you think you are,” Cas rumbles. Dean’s head snaps up to look over at him, and, oh yeah, his face is hot. But Cas is the picture of innocence, smiling down pleased at the dish he has wrapped in the towel.
And Dean would do anything to keep seeing that smile.
“What are you doing tonight?” Dean asks before he realizes what a stupid question that is.
Cas shoots him a raised eyebrow. “I don’t have any plans…”
This is it, Dean just knows. Suddenly he’s so excited about his surprise that it makes him shift on his feet, fighting down a grin while his stomach erupts in nervousness.
“I got a thing- um- a surprise for you.”
Both of Castiel’s eyebrows draw up now. “You… have a surprise for me.” It sits right between a disbelieving statement and a question.
Oh, god. Dean shrugs to play it cool. “I mean, yeah, it’s just- just something.”
“Just something,” Cas says in that same voice, which earns him a glare from Dean.
“You gonna keep repeating everything I say?”
“Consider your surprise a success, Dean, as I’m very surprised right now. As well as excited to see what it is.” Cas’s face smooths out fondly, and Dean is so beyond fucked.
Dean clears his throat. “Right. Well, I got a few things to set up, and then, you know- surprise!”
Cas eyes him up, just staring at him, and Dean feels his slightly terrified smile drop with nerves. Cas’s damp hand lands on his shoulder to give a squeeze before it trails up to cup the side of Dean’s neck. “I’m sure it’s lovely, Dean. Now hand me the cup you’ve been washing for the past five minutes while you were pretending not to look at me.”
A mortified puff of air escapes Dean’s lips. “I didn’t- I wasn’t- You-” he gives up with a sigh as he hangs his head. “It’s a nice sweater.”
Once all of the dishes are clean and back in their rightful spots, Dean and Cas make their way out into the hall. Dean motions for Cas to go ahead of him, and when they pass where Sam and Eileen are still talking, Dean signs It’s happening! Keep Sam busy frantically behind Sam’s back. They’d been sneaking off to ‘practice’ for a week now, to a point where it’s sort of just a meditative act for both of them that neither is willing to give up yet. Suddenly, it’s time to put his skills to the test.
When Eileen’s eyes widen, Sam turns around to investigate. He looks at Dean curiously while Eileen signs Good luck! where Sam can’t see. Dean smiles in response, which makes Sam whip back around in his seat to give his girlfriend the stink eye.
“I don’t even want to know,” Sam says and signs. Dean just pats him on the back
...
“Alright, Cas, you can come in now.”
Dean watches with thrumming anticipation as Cas makes his way into Dean’s tiny bedroom. Cas’s face is open in something like awe, and Dean wonders what this all must look like from the outside.
There are a few candles in deep, wide dishes dotted around, while fairy lights are hung up haphazardly around the shelf above Dean’s bed. He had felt whole-heartedly out of his element as he set it all up. Dean doesn’t think he’s owned a candle in his life. Like, ever. But Eileen had suggested them with a knowing look on her face, and Dean had a fake credit card burning a hole in his pocket and an abhorrent desire to make his boyfriend happy so he chucked a few into the cart.
But now as Dean steps back and takes it all in, he thinks he might have to bake Eileen some special muffins in thanks for her recommendation. The result of her decor idea is a warm yellow glow that makes everything feel like a secret, like two kids in a pillow fort.
“Dean, this is… You did this for me?” Cas asks slowly, so sincere.
And Dean hasn’t even gotten to the actual surprise, yet.
“This?” Dean says in feigned nonchalance. He feels like he’s a second from ralphing. “This is just the mood lighting, Cas. Had to get the ambiance right.”
Cas is watching him with intrigue now. “Right for what, exactly?”
Dean walks past the confused angel to shut the still open bedroom door to buy himself more time, but it’s not much, and then he’s face to face with Cas again.
Like a bandaid. Just rip it off.
Dean opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Where does he even start? He tries to remember the explanation he had planned ahead of time, but the words slip through the cracks of his brain like water. When the silence stretches a beat too long, Cas starts to look worried.
“Is this some sort of occasion I should have remembered?”
“No,” Dean hurries out. “No, nothing special about today, I just wanted to- I got this idea, see-”
Cas is looking at Dean like he’s grown a second head, and Dean moans in frustration.
He scratches the back of his neck just to do something with his hand as he finally says, “You know those relaxation videos you’ve been watching?”
Cas snorts. “The ones that you watch with me?”
“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’ll admit to that. It was actually the watching that gave me this idea. Last week, when we were in the Dean Cave, we watched that one video of A.L.B. and her wife. The one where she played with her hair? I guess I didn't realize that the whole ASMR thing was- I dunno- real? I thought, you know, it was something that’s just in videos. But when I realized I could do that for you actually? What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try?”
There's a dawning realization on Cas’s face as his eyes go wide, wider. He’s flushed and shocked and staring.
“Dean,” Cas’s voice breaks in a crest over the syllable
“Those videos, they make you happy, man. Hell, just watching them with you makes me happy. So-so I wanted to give you that. Something for us to do together that’s more than the sex- which is fantastic, by the way. Because- Cas, you better thank me for this later, ‘cause this is ain’t my thing- but, uh, how we are, it’s about more than the sex, okay?”
Cas opens his mouth to speak, but Dean cuts him off with his nervous spilling of words that he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started.
“So I asked Eileen to help, and I’ve been practicing this ASMR stuff with her so that I knew I could do it right. I’m not exactly a professional or anything, but Eileen seems to like it so- so I must be okay. And it’s nice for me, too, honestly. Sometimes, I-... It’s hard for me to remember that I’m allowed to do stuff like this now. I like- Taking care of people, that’s what I’m good at, it’s what I do. And I don’t want to take for granted that I have the time to do it now. Or a-a person who makes me want to do this shit in the first place.” Dean sighs, his hands clenching and unclenching around his thumbs as he finally falls silent.
And then Cas is walking closer, reaching up so that his fingers graze the stubble on Dean’s cheek. Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he swallows hard.
“I understand, Dean,” Cas says like he really means it. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s face right there, open and shining. “We’ve been through more than most. It brings a certain appreciation for things that maybe seem small to others. But you and I, we know better.”
“Cas, I love you,” Dean breathes beside the angel’s palm because he doesn’t know what else to say but goddamn does he mean it.
The words still make Cas fragile and watery, even though it’s been months since Dean first said them. “And it’s the most wonderful thing that I’ve ever heard.” Dean knows he’s telling the truth.
He hums and doesn’t say whatever self-deprecating thought would have been on his tongue a year ago. There’s no room for it anymore.
“You’re about to hear something else wonderful once you take that sweater off.”
Cas’s eyes narrow in that fond way that Dean likes to think is reserved for him, before stepping away to tug the cream sweater over his head. No matter how many times Dean has seen Cas in any state of undress, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. The dude’s a fucking beefcake under all of his accountant clothes.
Dean whistles below his breath. “How’d I bag a guy like you, anyway?”
“You didn’t. I ‘bagged’ you and it took over a decade.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, Mr. Humble, not all of us have balls of steel. Now,” Dean walks the few feet to the bed and climbs up onto it, sits so that he’s leaning back against the headboard while his legs are criss-cross applesauce under him. Criss-cross applesauce. Nice. “Get your humble ass over here and put your inflated head in my lap.”
Cas purses his lips, but scoots all of his gloriously shirtless body onto the bed, maneuvering himself so that the crown of his skull is just pressed into Dean’s crotch.
For a second they just look at each other, upside down in the other’s eyes from the angle. They share matching shy smiles. Dean’s still not used to how much he’s been smiling these days. Smiling because he means it.
And it’s just Cas, and the nerves start to ebb away. Nothing Dean hasn’t done before with Eileen.
“Relax,” Dean softens his voice the way he’s been practicing to himself in the shower where no one can hear him over the moving water. Quiet and affectionate like he’s reading from the children’s books he used to steal from the library to read to Sammy all those years ago. “I’m about to start. Are you comfortable?”
Cas doesn’t bother answering verbally, just nods. His eyes are so full of satin love that it drills into the bedrock of Dean’s skin, makes his heart rocket up into his throat. Dean can’t wait to touch him gently.
“Good. Close your eyes whenever you want.” Cas’s baby blues shut without hesitation. “Is it alright if I touch your face?”
“Yes,” Cas says on the wisp of a breath.
Dean slowly brings his right hand up and lays it gently across the expanse of the angel’s forehead, sweeping it back through the dark hair before repeating the gesture like a petting. His left hand cups softly under the hinge of Cas’s jaw. He doesn’t miss the way that Cas lets out a sigh and grows heavier in Dean’s lap.
“Like a cat,” Dean murmurs unthinkingly, and it earns him a cracked eye and a half-hearted glare from Cas. Dean just gives him an innocent grin. “Close your eyes, angel.”
He lets the hand on Cas’s forehead lift to trail a finger from Cas’s temple to his chin. The same way he’s been doing with Eileen for the last week, he maps the contours of Cas’s face while his left hand remains a steady anchor.
Over the nose, across the lips, down the bump of cheekbones. “I’m gonna talk, Cas, and I want you to listen. No arguing or witty comebacks, got it?”
Cas gives a barely shifting nod, his expression unchanging where it’s slack with his still shut eyes.
Dean takes a deep, halting breath in. The moment of truth. The truth being all sorts of mushy things that Dean usually keeps buried under his ribs and behind walls of arteries, that he’s sure Cas knows but that Dean never actually tells him. But positive affirmations had been a factor in at least two of Cas’s most-watched videos, and if Dean’s going to deliver, he’s going to fucking deliver. Frightening enthusiasm, idiotic stubbornness. He even wrote a script ahead of time so he wouldn’t blank out.
“Cas,” Dean tries the name in his mouth first, somewhere familiar. “Castiel.” His fingers skim feather-light in patterns over the delicate skin of Cas’s face.
“Castiel,” he repeats, trying to mimic the calming cadence of A.L.B.’s voice. It’s smoother and slower in its quietness, the gravel usually lodged there all but gone, leaving behind the weathered soft wet sand of the beach. “Angel of Jack. Angel who loves so big that the world had to bend around you to compensate. I’m sure you noticed, but Eileen’s sign for your name is Lover. I liked that a lot when I figured it out, ‘cause that’s what you are, Cas. And you love me, too, you weirdo.”
Dean allows himself to study the features he’s tracing. He takes in the bags under Cas’s eyes that’ve always just been there, his crow’s feet, the unflinching line of his nose, the transition from the stubble on his chin to the smooth expanse of skin across his cheeks. Under paper-thin eyelids, bottomless eyes.
“You’re good, Cas. Real good, right down to your bones and whatever else you’re hiding under there. All that you inside that I can’t see. And you’ve got your family right here with you, Jack in heaven whenever you want to see him. All of us together for good this time. All of us are safe. It feels like a fever-dream, doesn’t it? But it’s not. All of us are safe, Cas.”
Just saying the words and knowing their truth makes Dean’s throat tighten.
“So relax. I’m gonna touch your neck, now.” Both of Dean’s hands trail to the soft whiskers that spill down from Cas’s jaw onto his throat and then down further to his collarbones. “Just relax, Cas, I’m gonna take care of you. All you have to worry about are those tingles. I’ll worry about the rest, right here, right now, just let me take care of you. You deserve it.”
Dean’s spindling fingers wander to the sides of Cas’s neck and then back to center over the bump of his Adam’s apple. He circles it, drawing patterns out from it like rays of sunshine over Cas’s warm skin.
“You’re alright. Everything’s alright.”
It’s bizarrely easy to fall into this. In some ways, it reminds Dean of when he would comfort Sam after a nightmare when he was younger, much younger, a lifetime away. Dean likes feeling useful. He likes knowing that Cas is at the other end of his reassurances.
“Shhh,” he soothes, feels his own heart rate cool, “shhh, shhh, everything’s okay. You’re safe. Everything is okay. Relax… just relax. I’m right here. I’m right here, Cas, taking care of you. Easy. It’s that easy. Me doing all the talkin’, you doing all the listening. It’s good. It’s all good, all good. It’s all okay. Sammy and Eileen down the hall, Claire and Kaia all safe with Jody, Jack just a wing flap away. Mmmm. Nothing to worry about anymore. Just my voice. Just my voice.”
Under his ministrations, Cas is unnaturally still, no movement of breath from his chest and no minute fluttering of his eyelids. The only things separating him from a statue at The Louvre are the flush that spans his cheeks and his relaxed, parted lips.
He’s so beautiful. Really actually beautiful in a way that makes Dean ache.
“I know I joke about how good-lookin’ you are. You’ve been in bed with me, it’s not exactly a secret how hot I find you. At least not these days, huh? But you- you’re beautiful.” The word almost gets stuck in Dean’s throat, but he forces it out anyway. He swallows. “A real looker, Cas. It makes me want- this is weird, now that I say it out loud. Uh, but sometimes when I look at you, it’s like my brain goes all slow and fuzzy like it’s hibernating. Like a rabbit. I don’t think rabbits hibernate, but that’s not the point. Just something about you that makes me feel really good and safe. Even on days where shit’s still hard, and I get paranoid and I burn breakfast and I feel like holing up in my room for the next week, just lookin’ at you makes things better. ‘Cause you’re Cas. You’re just- you make things easier. Like a blanket.”
Somehow saying all of this is much simpler and much harder than Dean thought it’d be. But it’s doable with Cas’s eyes closed, where Dean can pretend that he’s talking to himself instead of spilling his guts to his angel boyfriend that dragged his ass out of hell what feels like a lifetime ago.
Even then, Dean can only take so much honesty, and he itches to take a break from the topic no matter how true the words are.
“How am I doing so far?”
Cas huffs out a breath that Dean thinks is supposed to be a laugh, but it’s so quiet that it doesn’t hit its mark. “It feels- indescribable. I know all words of all languages, and none of them are adequate. I don’t think-” and then he stops even though his tone implied that there was more to the sentence. Cas frowns.
“None of that, Eeyore,” Dean chides as his fingers drift upwards to smooth the frown away. “Tell me, Cas. I promise not to be a dick.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Cas admits. Dean notices the flush high on the angel’s cheeks and nose darkening.
“Well, that’s the opposite of what’s gonna happen here. I’m not putting my ass out there for you to be the one with cold feet. ‘Sides, like I said, you’re safe here, Cas, all the way. I mean it. So I’ll ask you again, how ‘bout that? Let’s start over. What I’m doin’, how I’m talking to you and touching you right now, does it feel good?”
“It’s more than good, Dean.” A pause, then more hesitantly, “I don’t think I have ever felt so treasured in my millennia of living.”
Dean’s throat tightens, and he’s proud that his trailing fingers only stutter for an instant.
“Cas,” he whispers, feeling like a cup overflowing.
For the first time, Cas’s eyelids flutter, as if the angel is going to open them to look up at Dean. It twists something nervous in him, and Dean’s hand moves to cup across the expanse of Cas’s eye.
“Don’t. It’s- ah- It’s easier when you’re not looking at me,” Dean admits sheepishly.
Below him, Cas’s lips pull into a soft smile. “Alright.”
Even with Cas’s agreeance, Dean doesn’t move his hand, just relaxes it like a living sleep mask.
“I’m glad that this is good, Cas. ‘Cause you are, ya know- treasured. By a lot of people. Especially me. And you deserve to know it. I probably don’t tell you as often as I should, but what can I say, once a Winchester, always a Winchester.”
“You show me plenty, Dean,” Castiel quietly interrupts, the ghost of his smile still on his face.
And, well, who’s Dean to argue with a tone like that. For a long moment, they just sit in the comfortable silence together
“You know what, angel?” Dean eventually breaks the quiet with his voice still pitched low.
“Hmm?”
“I haven’t even gotten to show you my signature move, yet.”
Dean’s hands are shifting again, and he’s pleased when Cas’s eyes stay shut even though they’re not covered anymore. Both hands drift to either side of Cas’s head, playing the hair there before delicately tracing the line of the shells of Cas’s ears.
He watches with glee at the subtle hitch in Cas’s shoulders. Then, to Dean’s surprise, Cas let out a pleased little, “Ahh,” noise. It’s nothing Dean has heard before, not even in the bedroom, like Cas just ate the most exquisite chocolate ice cream to exist. Dean’s fingers pass further down to the lobe, up to the conch.
“Yeah,” Dean can’t even keep the grin out of his words, “that was Eileen’s reaction, too. Consistently her favorite part.”
“Well, Eileen has taste,” Cas states plainly, then, “please keep going.”
“I have brushes, too, like in the videos. Eileen liked those a lot if you want to try them.”
The corner of Cas’s mouth twitches. “While that sounds wonderful, this is… I enjoy the feeling of your hands. Knowing that they’re your hands.” He doesn’t say anything else, but Dean thinks he understands.
“I can do that,” Dean replies softly.
They waste away together between gentle touches. Dean’s fingers become adventurous every once in a while, exploring the strong tendon down the side of Cas’s neck and the feathery feeling of the curls at the end of Cas’s hair, but they ultimately return to drawing delicate patterns across his ears, the sensitive skin just behind them.
There are goosebumps lining Cas’s shoulders now, and down to where his nipples have hardened. It makes him look extra vulnerable, Dean thinks, lying here shirtless in Dean’s lap while Dean looks down at him. Once again, the defenselessness of giving up sight, even for a second. An unfathomable entity getting goosebumps from head rubs.
Eventually, Dean pulls his fingers from Cas’s hair. Cas makes a questioning noise in his throat.
“I’m not done yet, got something else,” Dean says. It earns him a sleepy, noncommittal grunt. “C’mon, angel. I gotta move for this part.”
“Why?”
“I just told you I wasn’t stopping, didn’t I? Have a little faith, Cas, thought that was your M.O.”
Blue eyes crack themselves open into a glare. It’s not very menacing with Cas’s hair all fucked up and the warm current still running behind his heavy eyelids.
Dean shifts and carefully extracts himself out from under Cas’s head, setting it back gently on the pillow he’d just freed up. He lays himself down parallel to Cas on his side, his elbow pressed into the mattress and a palm on his cheek to prop up his head. “Flip over for me?”
With the sigh of a man who’d just been asked to walk across the sea to Russia, Castiel rolls gracefully over onto his stomach. He brings his arms up to gather them underneath the pillow, pulling the skin of his back taut like stretched canvas.
Cas has a few freckles spattered around. Nothing compared to Dean, but a relic of the time that Jimmy Novak spent in the sun all of those years ago that form wide constellations. Taking Cas in like this, without the haze of heated kisses and promised good times, makes Dean marvel at the humanness of him. All of that warm skin, bare and tempting and waiting to be touched.
Dean’s free hand moves with a mind of its own up to the nape of Cas’s neck. He lets his fingernails rasp through the short hair there, and Cas hums his approval.
“That’s wonderful,” Cas mumbles into the pillow. “You’re very good at this.”
“Like I said, I’ve been practicing.” Dean can’t resist straining his neck to press a kiss to Cas’s shoulder blade, but he doesn’t linger on it. “This time I’m gonna draw on your back.”
“Is that why I’ve been shirtless this whole time? I thought you just enjoyed looking at my nipples.”
Dean’s mouth falls open with indignation. “You're a motherfucker, you know that?”
“You’re not denying it,” comes Cas’s smug, muffled voice.
“Yeah, well, I’m allowed to like your nipples, I’m your boyfriend.”
Cas lets out a soft and delighted chirp, and Dean wonders how a person with such a low-pitched voice could have produced a noise like that. It’s followed by an awed, “Yes, you are.”
Affection threatens to crack Dean in two.
“Yes, I am,” he parrots, maybe feeling a little in awe himself. His broad hand rubs circles on Cas’s back, and Cas turns to liquid under it. Dean watches as Cas’s shoulder slump further forward, his head drooping and lengthening his neck. “Ready for the next part?”
“Mmm, very much so.”
Dean pushes his lips together against the smile trying to bud on his face. “I know you’re into the instruction videos, so I figured I’d give you a step-by-step on how I make my cinnamon pancakes. How does that sound?”
“Delightful.”
This part’s going to much easier than the earlier Feelings portion of the night, and Dean finds himself relaxing beside the angel. With fingertips drawing lines between the marks of Cas’s freckles, Dean starts speaking quietly again.
“So I’m gonna tell you how I make my world-famous cinnamon pancakes, loved by all who reside within the Bunker and those lucky enough to have seen me in an apron. Let me describe ‘em to you, so you understand how absolutely delicious they are even though you can’t taste them. Imagine being wrapped up in a warm blanket made of sunshine and all things good, and then being able to taste what that feels like.”
Just like before, Cas’s body is almost worryingly still, like if he allows himself to move for something as small as a breath he’ll miss an important detail or sensation. It makes Dean want to get a rise out of him even more. Dean leans in closer until he’s puffing hot air onto Cas’s ear and whispers, “It’s heavenly, Castiel. Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly. And I know all about heavenly.”
Cas’s neck twitches and goosebumps rise to the surface of his skin underneath Dean’s warm hand. It’s mesmerizing, drawing Dean in to stay near, to hold on to the way he can smell ozone and ancient redwoods this close. He continues huddled up against Cas’s side.
“They’re fluffy, the way any good pancake should be. Trust me on this, I’m a pancake connoisseur. Best consumed after cooling down for about two minutes, just to take the edge off of ‘em. It’s like a slumber party in your mouth.”
Dean’s fingers dance across the outcroppings of Cas’s shoulder blades, and he tries to imagine the enormous wings he knows are there but that he can’t see.
“And lucky for everyone, they’re pretty easy to make. Let me tell you, Cas, Castiel.” The use of Cas’s full name earns Dean a small shiver. He grins. “Castiel,” Dean puts emphasis on the C and T constants, letting them hiss and stick on his teeth, “let me tell you how I make them. How about I tell you how I make them, and then you just listen? You just listen, and I’ll tell you how I make them. It’s pretty simple.
“First, you have to get out all the ingredients. It’s good to see what you’re working with when you’re cooking. If I don’t have everything out, I’ll forget to add somethin’ important. Cinnamon pancakes are easy to make, but they’re not very good when you forget to put sugar in them. That is a mistake I have made more times than I’d like to admit, especially if I’m off my game in the morning. Lucky for me and everyone else, the second batch always seems to turn out alright.
“Once I have all of my ingredients out, I need a bowl to mix them together in and a spoon to do the mixing. I got this special pancake bowl I use. It’s an old ceramic clunker that I found in one of the cabinets, it's probably older than Sammy and I combined, and it has this weird retro design around the edges.” Dean imagines the design in question and draws it messily and absentmindedly with his fingertip over the small of Cas’s back; a clunky, geometric continuous line that’s all sharp angles.
“Like something you’d see in I Love Lucy. I only make my world-famous cinnamon pancakes with that bowl because they always taste better. This is an indisputable fact. There’s something special about that ceramic bowl, and it makes my pancakes delicious. I’m not one to question the pancake gods when they smile down on me.”
Dean traces the shape of a smiley face, using two of Cas’s freckles as the eyes.
“Now, making these pancakes is a very delicate thing, okay? It takes precision, it takes moxy, Castiel. They have to be perfect, ‘cause I know I’m making them for my family, see? Only the best for my family.” To Dean’s surprise, Cas nods just barely as if in understanding.
“Family…” Cas mumbles through slack lips.
Dean’s jaw clenches against the low burning in his throat.
“Exactly. I have this family; it’s me, Dean- D-E-A-N,” as he spells out the letters, he writes them in a big scrawl across Cas’s skin, from the space between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, “and Sam- S-A-M,” he continues to move his finger along with his spelling, “and Eileen- now this one’s a little longer, so pay attention. Eileen- E-I-L-E-E-N. And last but not least, this nerdy angel named Castiel, but I just call him Cas- C-A-S. I have plenty of other family, too, they just don’t live here with us. But when they visit, you bet I make them my world-famous cinnamon pancakes.”
Castiel squirms slightly against him. “Keep…” he trails off like he’s too sedated to finish the thought. Dean waits a beat, and finally, Cas concludes, “like that.”
“Spelling the words?” Dean clarifies.
“Mmmmm,” Cas slurs, “‘s good.”
“Anything for you, sunshine,” and he’s a little stunned with how those words just slipped out of him, a casual pet name when the only one he ever usually uses is Angel, because really it’s barely a pet name at all, more of an accurate descriptor. Maybe, also, a little surprised with how much he means it.
But Cas just makes a low, happy noise, and somehow manages to press even closer until Dean’s chest and stomach are lined up against Cas’s side. It’s like Cas’s contentedness is seeping out of him and into Dean, because he finds himself settling deeper into the memory foam as he continues.
“So, for these pancakes, I start with the dry, D-R-Y, ingredients. Real professionals keep the dry ingredients and the wet, W-E-T, ingredients separate until the end. I have no idea what it does, but I’m not one to question Gordon Ramsey.
“I double”- here, Dean draws a two- “everything to make sure I have enough pancakes to feed everyone, so keep that in mind. Keep in mind that all of the measurements I tell you are double”- another two- “the original recipe, R-E-C-I-P-E.
“First, you got your flour, F-L-O-U-R, which you need two cups of.” He writes out 2 CPS. “The flour goes in the retro ceramic bowl. Then you put in five tablespoons of sugar,” 5 TBSP, “four teaspoons of baking powder,” 4 TSP, “two teaspoons of baking soda,” 2 TSP, “and then the star of the show, four teaspoons of cinnamon.” 4 TSP. “I could try to spell cinnamon, but I’d probably fuck it up. However, just because I can’t spell it doesn’t mean you don’t need it. You can’t forget the cinnamon, Castiel, or else they’re not gonna be cinnamon pancakes, and where’s the fun in that? It’s like Frozen without the singing. Who wants cinnamon pancakes without the cinnamon, cinnamon, cinnamon?
“Now, the last thing I add is a secret, S-E-C-R-E-T, ingredient that solidifies these bad boys in the Hall of Fame. I’m allowed to change the recipe because I’m Dean Winchester. Now listen closely, because this is absolutely top secret information. I add in one teaspoon,” 1 TSP, “of brown sugar, B-R-O-W-N S-U-G-A-R. Brown sugar is the game-changer, remember that Castiel. Brown sugar.”
Cas gives a semi-affirming huff, and Dean grins. He lets his hand roam up into Cas’s soft hair before trailing down the line of his spine to the waistband of his pants, and then back up again.
“Dry ingredients: Done, D-O-N-E. Now we focus on the wet ingredients. We need a separate bowl to mix them, like I said, I have no idea why. I will say, though, the hard part is over. The wet ingredients are a little easier.
“For the wet ingredients, you need two cups of milk, M-I-L-K, four eggs, E-G-G-S, and one stick of melted butter, B-U-T-T-E-R. And that’s it, easy-peasy. You whisk those all together, and then mix them into your dry ingredients.” Dean uses the flat side of a curled fist to rub circles on Cas’s back as if he were holding a real spoon to mix the batter. “Mix, mix, tchoo, tchoo, tchoo.”
Dean’s added sound effects earn him a single, soft laugh, a peel on a puff of air, and a decidedly delighted, “Yeah.”
“Now, for the finale, we actually make the pancakes. Sam bought me a big griddle that I can put over the stovetop, I’m sure you’ve seen it. I use it to make burgers. But we’re not making burgers, now are we? We’re making Dean Winchester’s world-famous cinnamon pancakes.”
And Dean doesn’t even know when, but somewhere along the line he really started to get into this. It itches the same part of his brain that movies do, that LARPing does, a fun little escape full of stories that make people happy. He can hear his own excitement in his tone, though it stays as quiet as when he started.
“You need to get the griddle to the perfect temperature, or else you’ll burn the pancakes, and that would be a damn shame. I usually turn the stovetop to medium, M-E-D-I-U-M, and then put it to low, L-O-W, once the pancakes start cooking. That’s how you get the perfect toasting on them.
“Once you have the griddle set up, you need something to pour the batter with. Usually, I just use the measuring cup that I used for the milk since it’s already gonna need cleaned anyway. You put the bowl down beside the stove, and you scoop away. The griddle’s pretty big, so you can get, like, eight pancakes going at once. You have to make a lot, because Sam will say he’s not going to eat any, and then he’ll eat six, leaving me and poor Eileen to pick at the scraps.
“But we have to make them before we can eat them, right? I’ll scoop the batter onto the griddle and count them for you. Shwoop,” Dean pretends to gather something off of Cas’s back, and then draws a baseball-sized circle up near the right side of his neck with his pointer finger, “One.” He repeats the scooping motion, “Shwoop,” draws another circle to the left of Cas’s neck, “Two.”
Dean continues in this pattern until he draws the final eighth circle around the left dimple just above Cas’s waistband. “Shwoop, and eight.”
“Now we have to wait a few minutes until they get these little bubbles in them, that’s how you know they’re ready to be flipped. Once you see those bubbles, Castiel, it’s all systems go. You flip all the pancakes.”
Going back to the general spots where Dean had ‘poured’ his pancake batter, he taps his fingers on each of the eight areas and carefully whispers, “Flip,” into Cas’s ear for each one.
“We’re almost done now. I can practically smell all that sweet, cinnamon goodness, can’t you? Just give the pancakes one last minute to finish cooking, and then they’re ready to plate.” Dean’s hand runs in two quick swipes over the length of Cas’s back. “Got ‘em all. And then, well, you eat them! Bon appetit! Num num num. And that, Castiel, is how you make cinnamon pancakes.”
Finally, Dean falls silent. He doesn’t think he’s talked for this long uninterrupted in years, certainly not in this hushed tone. His throat tickles a little from it, and he wishes he would’ve brought in water. Next time, he thinks to himself with a smile. He’s pretty sure there’s gonna be a next time.
Even though Dean stops talking, he continues to graze his fingertips up and down Cas’s skin lazily.
After two minutes have passed by in comfortable silence, Dean asks softly, “How’d I do?”
It takes Cas another thirty seconds to answer. “I think... “ his voice thick like honey, “I have merged with your bed.”
“That good, huh?”
“Oh, yes,” Cas sighs, “better than you could comprehend. You have quite the talent.”
“Sounds like I found my second calling. Maybe I should leave retirement to pursue these miraculous skills I’ve discovered.”
“No,” Cas growls without any heat, “just for me,” a pause, “and Eileen. No one else deserves it.”
“I think you might be right. My magic touch is reserved for the family.”
Dean looks at the side of Cas’s face where it’s partially buried in the pillow, at the messy nest of his hair, down the expanse of his loose body, and finds he can’t resist anymore. He kisses Cas’s head just above his ear, and then down to his bare shoulder. The kisses multiply out as easily as anything until Cas is covered in their butterfly ghosts.
“When I had thought, for all those years, of what it might be like for us to be together, I could never have imagined this.”
Before, maybe Dean would have immediately been offended or annoyed Cas into explaining. But he knows better now, that sometimes Cas just needs a second to figure out what’s going on in his head, so Dean settles on making a questioning noise while he presses a kiss to the top notch of Cas’s spine.
“I know that sometimes…” Cas starts hesitantly, “you feel small compared to me, because of what I am.” Dean opens his mouth to argue, pretty much just out of principle since Cas nailed that one on the head, but Cas stops him with an, “It’s alright, Dean. It must be strange to be in your position, I’m sure. But-but you should know, that being close to you like this, you are- remarkable. The way that you touch me, when you go out of your way to kiss me… I feel minuscule in comparison. You’re not the only one who’s unsure of how to accept things they never thought they would have.”
Dean’s mouth is pressed between Cas’s shoulder blades when the angel stops speaking. They stay glued there in shock, in some unknown emotion that feels like empathy and remorse and love that’s too big for him. Way too big. It turns over and over under Dean’s skin and he does the only thing he can think of.
He pushes himself up off of his elbow, using his hip for leverage against the bed as he swings his leg over both of Cas’s. His momentum takes him all the way up until his knees are aligned with Cas’s and his chest is a pillar against Cas’s back. He lets all of his weight bear down, knows that Cas can take it unflinchingly.
And take it Cas does, sinking down into the memory foam and letting Dean wrap around him like a blanket. Touching is all Dean can think to do, and he brings his arms up to rest directly over where Cas’s are still wrapped around the pillow. They’re mirrors of each other, touching from their ankles to their wrists.
“Cas,” Dean whispers into the skin of his neck. He noses behind Cas’s ear. “We’re two pessimistic sons of bitches, aren’t we? Peas in an unbelieving pod. But here we are. We’re both too small for each other, and we’re the same exact size.” He squeezes Cas’s hands gently. “Well, almost; I have an inch or two on you.”
Dean lets his lips hang open, wet against Cas’s stubble. His front teeth graze skin on each exhale. “But here we are. If someone would’ve told me at 26 that I’d find someone who-who would watch my stupid movies with me, and make me feel safe, and really, actually love me, I wouldn’t have even known what to do with it. I definitely wouldn’t have believed it. And then you just waltz into my life and yank my ass out of hell like I’m a stuffed animal in a glorified claw machine. And it’s over for me. It’s been over for me, Cas, for twelve years. If I get the chance to make you feel even half of how-how right you make me feel, I’ll be happy.”
“Every day, Dean, you do every day” Cas murmurs back. “Every morning that you say that you love me. And now, this. When I tell you how wonderful this felt, I’m doing the sensation a great disservice by using such a common word. I’ll show you if you’ll let me. We’ll switch places, and I’ll touch you as reverently as you deserve to be touched.”
Dean’s brow furrows against the words, the way they worm their way in between his ribs to where something soft has been waiting to hear them. “Yeah, o-okay, angel.”
Cas shifts underneath him. “I liked it when you called me sunshine, before,” he breathes out like it’s an admittance. Maybe it is.
But Dean just swallows and pulls away far enough to kiss the back of Cas’s head. He buries his nose there and takes in the smell of petrichor.
“Okay, sunshine.”
Dean thinks he might actually send A.L.B. and that Gibi girl a fruit basket after all.