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It was just a milk run.
That’s how it started, anyway.
A quick hunt a few hours out of Lebanon. Kill some vamps, save some kids. Dean could do it in his sleep. The nest had been easy enough to track down. Nestled in an abandoned neighborhood on the edge of town, the old house perfectly fit the bill. As a result of Sam’s insistence that Dean was the best out of all of them with kids, Dean is on his own searching for hostages while Sam is off somewhere else in the house looking for the vamps. Cas went with Sam for backup in case there were more vamps than anticipated. Not to say that Sam was incapable, because every creature alive AND dead knew he was. It was just nice to know your friend with the ability to smite anything in the blink of an eye had your back. Although Dean misses having the angel at his flank, he’s glad Cas has gone with Sam for that specific reason.
Dean cringes and curses under his breath as a floorboard creaks, exposing his presence. He quickly scans the room and locks eyes with a little girl peeking out from behind the door to the basement. The kid’s eyes go wide, and before she can make a run for it, Dean throws his hands up and lets the machete he has been clutching in his right-hand fall to the ground. So much for the element of surprise.
“I’m here to help, kid. Are you by yourself?” he asks, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. The girl continues to stare at him for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head and glancing back down the stairs behind her.
“Are the others down there?” he tries again, but instead of being met with an answer, the girl turns and hurries back down into the darkness. Dean sighs and pulls his phone out to text Sam as he follows her to the basement.
I think I found the kids. Meet you out front when you’re done
The stairwell is narrow and smells of old blood and death, which only makes Dean move faster. How long have these kids been trapped down here? How many have already died? He isn’t sure he wants the answer.
Once Dean finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, he tries to assess his surroundings in what little light is being provided by his flashlight. The room, however, appears to be empty, and suddenly Dean has a very bad feeling that he has just fallen into some kind of trap.
“Kid?” he calls out. His hand flies to his hip on instinct when he is met with more silence. Even though he had replaced his gun with a syringe of dead man’s blood last night, he still feels unsteady. The buzz of a phone call in his back pocket startles him and he immediately pulls it out with the hope of Sam delivering good news.
“Sammy?”
“Did you find the kids?”
“Why?”
“Dean, we were way off. The kids are not the hostages. Where are you?”
“What?” Dean chokes out, going completely still.
“It’s the adults. The kids were using them as a cover-up. Where are you?”
“The basement. Sam,” Dean pauses, grip tightening on the syringe. “I don’t even have my machete.”
“What?!” Sam barks. His voice comes out in a huff of breath, suggesting that he’s running. Dean can faintly make out Cas saying something in the background. “Okay, you need to get out of there now! We’re on our way!”
Dean finally moves, spinning around with the intent to run back up the stairs, which would’ve been a great escape plan if said stairs weren’t currently being blocked by the little girl, because of course. Of course they were. He swings the flashlight around in an attempt to find any other way out only to find himself face to face with around fifteen adolescent vampires.
“Fuck!” Dean curses into the speaker before the phone falls to the ground. It dawns on him that this rescue mission is about to turn into an ambush, and he sucks in a breath as the vamps all rush him at once. Dean manages to stick one with the syringe, but his empty hands can only get him so far against the rest. The last thing he hears is Sam calling out his name on the speaker before he is violently thrown and his head connects with the concrete wall.
***
Dean eventually regains consciousness only to immediately groan in pain. The pain means he’s alive, at least. That’s a start.
“Dean?” comes a familiar voice, and all the fight leaves Dean’s body. Cas is here now, which means he must be safe. The burning smell that lingers in the air after he goes all smite-y meets Dean’s nose and comforts him further. It’s short-lived, however, as another bout of pain wracks his body. Something is definitely broken. Or multiple things. Probably the latter, because that would just be Dean’s luck. Dean groans again and fights to open his eyes. They’re swollen shut, though, and he wonders just what had happened while he was unconscious to cause that.
“Dean,” Cas calls out again, much closer this time. “Both of your legs are broken. One of us has to carry you out of here.”
“You,” Dean barely chokes out, too out of it to care about what he is saying.
“What?” Cas sputters, seemingly taken aback by this response.
“Want you to do it,” he says, and Cas says nothing. Dean almost speaks again but swallows whatever he was going to say when he feels arms hesitantly move underneath his back and knees. Cas is gonna carry me out bridal style, he finds himself thinking. Before he can even explore the meaning behind that thought, though, Cas begins to move him and the pressure on his legs is agony.
“I know, Dean. I am so sorry,” Cas says, his voice coming out strained. Dean must’ve made some sort of noise again. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here.” Dean wants to tell him to stop apologizing, but his mind becomes distracted again as the trip up the stairs jostles his whole body into more pain. “I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas sounds like a broken record, but his string of apologies is followed by the welcome feeling of grace seeping into Dean’s skin at every point of contact between them. The feeling is intoxicating as it slowly flows through each injury and mends every broken bone, patch of skin, and blood vessel it can reach. By the time Dean feels the breeze on his face, alerting him that they have made it outside, the bottom half of his body is nearly healed. His head, however, is still throbbing, and he is faintly aware of the blood dripping down the back of his neck.
“My head,” he croaks, turning to tuck himself further into Cas.
“I know, Dean. My grace is working first in the places where I am touching you. I cannot help your head without dropping you.” He sounds defeated and almost like he has been crying, which doesn't make much sense. Angels don’t cry, do they?
“Cas,” Dean says anyway, because he cannot seem to manage anything else. He isn’t even sure what exactly he is asking for. “Please.” At first, Dean gets no answer. As the seconds tick by, he loses faith in ever getting one.
That is, until he feels lips press gently against his forehead.
The relief is almost instant, and Dean cannot help but let out a contented sigh. The grace ebbs and flows underneath his skin, and he wonders if this is what salvation feels like. He is so overwhelmed by the feeling that he neglects to process how exactly he received the relief. Just as he hears Sam open the door to the Impala, Dean passes out again.
***
Dean woke up the next morning tucked into his bed at the bunker and immediately started to panic. Did that really happen? Had Cas really done that? Did it mean anything? Ultimately, his spiral was squashed by Sam coming in to check on him, delivering the news that Cas had left to take care of something, and Dean, in true Dean fashion, sufficed to reduce the moment down to one bore of desperation to help a friend and nothing more.
He had himself convinced that he was satisfied with this deduction right up until Charlie came to visit a week later. They had been in the middle of an episode of The Lord of the Rings (Charlie’s choice) when Dean noticed her looking at him funny. She was staring at the same spot on his forehead that he had caught Sam looking at a few times the past few days, though less subtly. Dean pickes up the remote and hits pause, which causes Charlie to suddenly look anywhere but his face.
“What is it?” he asks, hesitation lacing his voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says rather quickly, making Dean huff.
“Charlie.”
“It’s just…”
“What?”
“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”
“It’s clearly something.”
“Okay, let me rephrase: I don’t think it is something you want to hear,” she answers slowly, moving to meet his eyes. Dean sees question and something else he can’t quite place there, and the soft spot he has for her subdues all hesitancy.
“Just tell me anyway. I know you want to,” he sighs, moving the popcorn bowl to the floor so he can turn to fully face her. She studies his face for a moment before a slow smile creeps up on her own and she moves to mirror him.
“Okay, well…you asked for it. Remember that.”
“Got it,” Dean says flatly, and Charlie has the audacity to laugh at him.
“Okay, I just noticed that you seem to have more freckles than you normally do? Which would usually be a pretty odd and obscure thing to notice, but there are so many new freckles that I do. Right,” she starts, poking him in the middle of his forehead. “Here. There’s a new cluster.”
“Okay?” Dean replies, more confused than anything now. Why would he not want to hear this? It’s weird, but he isn’t upset by it. “Anything else?”
“Have you ever heard freckles be referred to as angel kisses?” she asks, her grin becoming impossibly larger. Dean just stares at her. “Because many people believe that freckles appear where you have been kissed by an angel. So, naturally, I am just curious…”
“Charlie…,” Dean starts, but he isn’t even sure what he wants to say. She ignores him.
“Did you and Cas finally pull your heads out of your asses?” Dean cannot believe what he is hearing. Well, it’s coming from Charlie, so he can, but he still isn’t ready for it.
“I, uh,” he tries. Her eyes seem to light up even more, and he fears he has made it worse.
“No,” he says, and Charlie’s face falls ever so slightly. She manages an “oh”, and Dean rushes to tell her the full story.
“I mean, Cas did, uh, kiss me there. But it was to heal me. He was carrying me and couldn’t reach my head,” he explains. Charlie looks at him curiously, and he feels his stomach flip as a mischievous look takes hold of her eyes again.
“Just to heal you?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes? Why else would he?”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“God, you are such an idiot. Do you realize that?”
Dean throws his hands in the air out of frustration, but before he can question her about whatever she’s talking about further, he hears the door to the bunker open. Sam is back. Charlie notices too, causing her to squeeze his knee and stand up to go greet his little brother.
“Look, lover boy. Just think about it. And I am begging you,” she says, reaching out to touch his forehead again. “Go look in the mirror.” She giggles as she walks away, and Dean feels left in the dark. He understands what Charlie is insinuating. What he doesn’t understand is how she could possibly think that Cas feels the same way about him that Dean feels about Cas. Cas didn’t love him. Why would he?
Despite these thoughts, Dean still finds himself in front of a mirror fifteen minutes later. Now that he’s looking for it, he does notice the difference. Right where Cas had placed his lips a week prior, a new cluster of freckles had accumulated. He tries to trace a pattern with his eyes, but it just makes his head hurt after a while. This just has to be some crazy coincidence. Right? Cas has kissed other people before. Dean is well aware. He witnessed the whole Meg scene and feels guilty for how sick it had made him feel with jealousy. The point is, of all the people Cas has kissed, Dean has never noticed any new freckles. Not on Meg and CERTAINLY not on April. So why him? Is it something Cas has control over? Or something Dean is overthinking that means nothing at all?
Dean eventually manages to tear himself away from the mirror, but the idea haunts him for days. The thought keeps him up at night, and thankfully Sam has the grace to not bring it up.
He caves after the fifth day.
“Dean?” he starts, and the cautious tone in his voice immediately puts Dean on edge. He freezes beside the fridge and suddenly feels cornered within the kitchen.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Perfectly fine, Sammy.”
“Dean,” he says insistently. Dean doesn’t have the patience for this conversation.
“What, Sam? What?!”
“I know you haven’t been sleeping very well. Is something going on with you?” Dean huffs a dry laugh.
“Nothing you could help me with, believe me.” Sam looks hurt, and Dean regrets the way he phrased that sentence. “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t worry about me, dude.”
“Dean-”
“I’ll be in my room,” Dean says, cutting him off. He grabs a beer on his way out and ignores his brother’s protests. When he reaches his bedroom, he slams the door shut behind him and lands rather ungracefully on his memory foam mattress. As if his distress could be sensed, he pulls his phone out to be greeted by a text from Charlie.
Sam told me you aren’t sleeping. Does it have anything to do with what we talked about?
Dean laughs bitterly. Of course Sam told her.
Why would you put that into my head?
He almost immediately regrets saying that once he hits send. He can see that she read it already, though, so there is no taking it back.
Oh Dean
Why don’t you just talk to him?
How am I supposed to talk to him about that?
With your words?
Not funny
Come on
It was a little funny
Not laughing
Okay old man
Anyway
It’s Cas, dude. Nothing you say to him is gonna
make him go awol on you
He isn’t even at the bunker right now
He hasn’t been here since that hunt
Interesting
Very interesting
Why would that be interesting?
He disappears like this all the time
You’re very stupid
And dense
It’s almost endearing
You're not helping at all
Oh really?
You want my kind of help?
I can play that game
Wait Charlie
What do you mean by that
Charlie
Charlie never answers him, and Dean throws his phone down with a grumble. He feels like a stupid teenager again and it’s miserable. All over what? Some stupid theory? He wants to throw up. He nurses his beer and feels like a pathetic mess. The minutes pass slow, and he has no idea what to think. He loves Charlie, but he doesn’t trust her. Not when it comes to stuff like this. He knows better than that. Dean moves to take another swig, but the familiar sound of feathers rustling makes him choke on it.
Dammit, Charlie!
“Dean?” Cas questions from the other side of the door, and Dean’s resolve crumbles.
“Come in, Cas,” he sighs, but it sounds broken. What is wrong with him? The angel reluctantly opens the door and appears nervous as he shuts it behind him.
“Charlie said you, um,” he pauses, and Dean notices that he’s wringing his hands. Such a human habit. “She said you wanted to talk to me.”
“So, what? You just dropped everything to come and see me?” Dean bites out. It sounds like an accusation. He supposes it is. “I thought you were too busy with angel business to come home.” Dean hadn’t realized how hurt he had been by Cas being gone for this long until now. In comparison to how long he’d been gone before, it really shouldn’t have mattered. Something had changed, though, and Dean had missed him worse than usual.
“I was trying to give you space,” Cas blurts out. His eyes fall to the floor and Dean stares at him in confusion.
“Why?”
“I had a feeling you would feel uncomfortable when you woke up regarding the way I healed your head and couldn’t bare to deal with the fallout. So I gave you space. Apparently, according to Charlie, my suspicions were correct.” Dean is having trouble processing this all. Couldn’t bare to deal with the fallout? What does that mean?
“What exactly did Charlie tell you?” Cas still refuses to meet his eyes and he hesitates before answering.
“That you have been freaking out over the freckles my healing left behind and their implications. I am sorry you have lost sleep over this.” He sounds ashamed. Dean is still confused.
“So that was you? They’re from you?”
“Yes, Dean. I apologize. I usually am able to avoid leaving a claim like that, but sometimes when I am feeling overly affectionate I lose control. I can remove them for you now.”
“No!” Dean yells immediately. Cas finally looks up at him, and this time he is the one confused. He squints and gives Dean his signature head tilt, which almost causes the hunter to fold right there. “No, Cas. We’re gonna come back to that thing about leaving a claim later, but I, uh, I like them. Yeah.”
“You do?” Cas asks, and this time Dean swears he seems hopeful.
“I do. I, uh…” Oh god. What is he doing? “Can I have more?”
“What?” Disbelief this time. Not rejection, though. Dean can work with that.
“Can I have more?”
“Dean,” Cas pleads. This time his voice is strained. It does something to Dean’s insides. “Do you understand what you’re asking me? I need to know you understand, because…”
“Because what?” Cas looks like he’s about to cry. Dean moves forward and doesn’t stop until he’s close enough to reach out and touch him.
“Because I need to know this means the same thing to you as it does to me. I don’t think I can do this if it doesn’t.” Dean reaches out and grips Cas’ shoulder, staring at his hand sitting in the same place his own body had been gripped tight and raised from perdition.
“What does it mean to you?”
“Dean…”
“Cas.”
“I fear you will not want me around anymore if I tell you.” Dean moves both hands to the lapels of his coat and pulls him close enough for their lips to brush on his next words.
“Wanna bet, angel?” And then, finally, Dean crashes their lips together. Cas lets out a sound of surprise, and Dean, honest to god, laughs into his mouth. He stops, though, when Cas starts to kiss him back.
Kissing Cas is unlike anything Dean has ever done with anyone else. He’s never had a kiss mean this much, and suddenly he’s crying. Cas’ hands are on his face, cradling him and wiping away the tears, and Dean thinks that this is what Heaven is supposed to feel like. Screw the other angels and screw God. This was Heaven. After what seems like forever, Cas pulls away and stares at Dean in astonishment. His lips are swollen, and Dean blissfully thinks I did that.
“I love you,” Dean admits. It surprises him how easy it is to say it. He watches as Cas’ eyes crinkle at the edges, filling with their own tears. I guess angels do cry.
“I love you too, Dean. So very much. You taught me how to.” The angel is smiling the biggest Dean has ever seen him, and Dean has never felt happier. He dives back in to feel that smile on his own lips, which is only met with eager enthusiasm on Cas’ part.
They spend their night like that, making out lazily in bed and riding the high that comes with finally admitting your feelings for each other after years of pent-up regression. Cas is lying next to him, curled into Dean with his eyes closed, when Charlie attempts to call Dean. He sends her to voicemail and almost instantly receives a text.
What? Too busy to give me an update?
I don’t want to disturb him
He looks peaceful
HA
OH MY GOD
I’M FUCKING AWESOME
You are
You’re welcome
I love you
I know
I take it back Han Solo
Only I can do that
I love you too
Dork
I want details tomorrow <3
***
At around three in the morning, Dean reluctantly untangles himself from the sleeping angel to take a piss. He’d been under the impression that angels didn’t sleep, but Dean wasn’t about to question it. It was Cas, the angel “cursed” with humanity. Of course he could sleep if he wanted to.
With a smile, Dean quietly pads down the hallway to the bathroom. He flicks the light on but stops short once he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Reflected back at him are new freckles around his lips and down his neck, charting constellations on his skin that he doesn’t recognize. Cas probably does. Dean grins even larger and laughs. He isn’t used to getting nice things, let alone getting to keep them.
What a wonderful feeling it is to love and be loved in return.