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Soap suds cover Dean’s hands in frothy gloves, as he fishes a dirty dinner plate out of the sink. With a small green sponge, he scrubs the surface a few times until it’s clean. Cas hovers at his side, towel in one hand, drying off a bowl and looking the picture of domesticity. He’s wearing one of Dean’s blue t-shirts, and a pair of sweatpants Dean bought him at Goodwill two days ago. There are bags under his now human eyes, due to lack of sleep and the trying past few days taking their toll on him. But he’s happy, that much is evident from the sparkle in his tired eyes, and the pert half-smile permanently embedded onto his mouth.
It’s weird to Dean that Cas is permanently here now. He’s not used to this, the constancy of Cas at his side 24/7, with no random potential deadly trips to Heaven, no fear that Cas will leave him and never come back. There’s no more Lucifer, Amara, and no potential end of the world. Cas is just here, he’s himself, and everything is mostly okay.
In reality, Dean’s pretty sure he’s dreaming and in two seconds he’s going to wake up and a Djinn will be sucking him dry. There’s no way his luck could be this good.
What Dean has with Cas is comfortable, platonic, and despite the fact that a thrum of longing has carved itself in Cas’ name onto his ribs, Dean does nothing about it. Constancy may not be what he knows, but he does know safety. This relationship they have is one of the best Dean has ever known. He’d hate himself if he fucked it up by bringing his definitely non-brotherly love for Cas into the mix.
Wordlessly, Dean hands a plate to Cas’ waiting hands, watching him as he delicately dries it. Cas returns the cheap china to the cupboard, holding the glass as if it’s some precious artifact they’ll need for a future case.
Everything is precious to Cas, and Dean wonders if Cas views him that way too.
Dean dips his hands beneath the water, coating them in warmth, fishing around for the final dirty plates. He catches a mug in his hands, Sam’s coffee cup from this morning, and scowls at the leftover grounds floating in the water. He’ll have to nag Sam about leaving it in the sink later.
He rinses the mug and passes it to Cas. Their knuckles brush, smooth dry skin against slick wet and Dean barely manages to hold back the gasp that leaves his throat. Cas doesn’t seem to notice, humming happily under his breath as he rises slightly up on his toes to reach the top of the cabinet where Sam keeps his dishes. His shirt lifts up, revealing his lightly tanned skin, and suddenly Dean can’t breathe.
Dean forces his eyes away, focusing his brain on something other than Cas, Cas, Cas, and reaches into the sink to pull the plug. The murky water swirls down, and Dean washes the suds off his hands with fresh clean water from the faucet. Cas places the towel onto Dean’s shoulder with a firm press of his hand and a soft, “I’ll be watching TV in the library if you want to join.”
Dean stares after him, as his pulse returns to normal speed, his breath no longer catching in his throat. Cas takes up so much space when he walks, the tall set of his shoulders, the gentle curve of his back, head held high, and the firm way his feet press against the floor like he can feel every step. He’s quiet though, gentle, and Dean wants to know more than anything if Cas kisses how he exists: in control but gentle and attentive to all around him.
Dean dries his hands on the damp towel, returning it to its place next to the oven and follows.
When Dean finds him, hidden among the shelves, perched on the lone couch the Bunker has, Cas is watching the Three Stooges and giggling like he’s high off of it.
“You really like this show don’t you?” Dean asks, plopping down next to him. It warms him in more places than he’d like to admit that Cas enjoys one of his favorite television shows.
“I do, more than I thought I would,” Cas replies. On the TV Larry and Curly are unintentionally hitting Moe in the face with the handles of shovels; Moe has smoke steaming out of his ears.
Dean chuckles, leaning back against the couch, “It’s one of my favorites.”
“I know,” Cas states, turning to briefly smile fondly at Dean, then returning his gaze back to the show.
Dean watches Cas. He watches the movement of his facial features as he reacts to the show, the quirk up of his lips when something humorous happens, and the deep, melodious laughs that bubble out of his throat.
Against the constraints within his own mind, Dean, the epitome of subtlety, bends his arm over the back of the couch and rests it on the curve of Cas’ shoulders. He scoots over on the couch, pressing his thigh firmly against Cas’ warmer one. His hand ends up lingering at the nape of Cas’ neck, and he slowly starts rubbing small circles into the base of Cas’ hairline. Cas doesn’t seem to notice at first, too engrossed in the show, but when he does Dean almost pulls his hand away and runs out of the room. Cas arches his neck into Dean’s hand, a sigh jutting past his lips. He presses the side of his hand, the small pad of his pinky finger against Dean’s thigh, and leaves it there.
Dean wakes a few hours later, arm aching uncomfortably and Cas’ hesitant hand a feather light weight on his waist.
“Dean?” Cas whispers.
Dean blinks at Cas, sitting up to rub the sleep out of his eyes with soft fists.
“You going to bed?” Dean asks, voice scratchy from sleep.
“Yes, I got tired,” Cas says with a pleased half-smile.
“Good, go get some shut eye,” Dean replies. He sucks in a deep breath, and flops back down onto the couch.
“Your bed would be more comfortable,” Cas says, “and you won’t be grumpy with a stiff neck in the morning.”
Dean nods, sighing heavily, “Yeah, I just don’t wanna move.”
“Do you want help?” Cas asks.
Cas’ hand is still resting on his waist, and he’s moving his thumb in careful circles against Dean’s side, barely pressing.
“If you don’t mind,” Dean replies.
Cas’ hand leaves his skin and Dean instantly misses the warmth. He sits up, and raises his head to find Cas in front of him, arms outstretched towards him. He places his hands within Cas’ and pushes up, standing to his feet. He wobbles at full height, still half-asleep, and Cas places a hand on his lower back to steady him.
They part ways when they reach Dean’s room. Cas’ room isn’t far, just two doors down, and Dean is half-tempted to crawl into bed with him. Cas turns to leave, hand trailing along Dean’s back, but Dean grabs Cas’ fingers within his at the last moment.
“Thanks,” Dean says, a soft smile on his lips.
“You’re welcome. See you in the morning,” Cas replies, squeezing Dean’s fingers, and then he heads towards his room.
Their fingers stay joined until Cas is too far away, only then does he let go.
In the morning, Dean wakes first. The hallway is cold, dark, and his stomach grumbles, yearning for sustenance and caffeine. Today coffee will come first, his sleep-muddled brain decides. Downstairs he is met with a scribbled note from Sam.
Went for a run. Don’t worry about breakfast, I’ll bring something back. - Sam
The coffee maker gurgles to life, the water churning, and filtering through the dark Mediterranean beans he ground last night. An earthy, spiced smell wafts through the kitchen, and the hot droplets drip toffee black into the pot. Dean pulls down two mugs from the cupboard. One, a Goodwill classic, dirt brown with “Asshole” printed across the side in bright yellow paint. The other, a gift from the wife of a victim from a recent case, has a white cherub flying through the clouds playing a harp on it. Dean pours two tablespoons of milk into the angelic mug with a dash of sugar, the other he plops two sugar cubes into the murky liquid and a few drops of milk. Carefully balancing the hot ceramic in his hands he climbs back of the stairs. Upon reaching Cas’ room, he raps on the door with his toes.
“Coffee’s up,” Dean says, “Can I come in?”
“I’m awake,” Cas answers in reply, voice gruff as expected.
Dean balances both mugs in one hand for a moment to twist the doorknob, and then switches back, pushing the door open with his hip. Cas is perched on the end of his bed, cross-legged, hair ruffled, with his nose buried in one of those stupid dollar store romance novels Sam picked up for him at the gas station last week.
Cas looks up at him when he walks in, a half-smile appears on his face. He scoots over on the bed to make room for Dean, placing his book aside. He automatically reaches for the angelic mug, but Dean twists his hand away.
“Nope that’s mine, this one is yours,” Dean says, handing the “asshole” mug to Cas. The pads of Cas’ fingers brush over the top of his hand and Dean tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach that the touch produces.
Cas squints at the print on the side and then narrows his eyes at Dean. “I’m an asshole?”
“Only in the mornings,” Dean replies with a wink, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
“Hmm, I suppose you’re not wrong,” Cas says. He takes a large gulp of his coffee, swallowing thickly, his eyes popping wide at the temperature. He’s still getting used to that too.
“Sam went to get breakfast,” Dean says, “He should be back soon.”
Cas nods, gulping down more coffee like a man parched for thirst in the desert. He seems off, distant, Dean wonders if he intruded on Cas’ alone time. He’d seemed pretty engrossed in his book.
“You have any plans for today?” Dean asks.
“I’ll probably read some more, I’m almost done with “Rose.” I might start the garden today, if you’d like to help you’re free to join me, though I know you’re not too fond of gardening,” Cas replies.
“I’ll join you,” Dean says.
Cas looks over at him, surprise crossing briefly over his features. “Really?” The hopeful glint in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed.
Dean shrugs casually, “Yeah, I was gonna look for cases, but I think we’re gonna take a break for a few weeks. Just rest, ya know?”
“You deserve it,” Cas agrees. There’s that little smile again. Dean wishes there was something he could do to keep it on Cas’ face.
“So do you,” Dean adds, nudging at Cas’ side with his elbow.
He smiles softly at Cas, their gazes interlocking for a long moment and Dean’s pulse quickens against his throat. He’s not sure if it’s because Cas is wearing one of his old band t-shirts he’s had since he was a teenager, or that he’s unsure how to actually be with Cas, in whatever way that means.
“Uhm, I’m gonna go check and see if Sam’s back, I’ll meet you downstairs,” Dean says, standing quickly, panic rising inside his chest at the idea that everything he wants with Cas could be a real possibility.
Sam isn’t home yet, and it’s cold downstairs. Dean’s tummy aches, coffee sharply acidic and burning in his tumultuous stomach. He dumps the rest of his coffee into the sink.
After breakfast, Dean and Cas head outside. It’s a typical June morning in Lebanon, the sun shining brilliantly overhead in the cloudless sky. There’s a slight breeze which provides a gentle relief in the direct light. Dean doesn’t mind though; it feels good on his skin.
The garden Cas wants to create is a small one. The desired area is plentiful with soft and knead-able dirt from where an old shed used to stand a few years ago. It was already tore down when they found the place, ramshackle pieces of wood lying in crumpled piles around the area. Yesterday, Cas hoed the ground, overturning the dark dirt to reveal the richer, moist soil beneath. Cas bought seeds at the local grocery store a few days ago: cucumbers, tomatoes, squash, and peppers. He’s starting simple, but it’s just enough that he has something productive to do.
Cas, unused to the heat against his human skin, sheds his t-shirt after five minutes in the sun. He’s already slick with sweat beneath his clothes, skin a natural light tan that will only deepen the longer he stays out here. And Dean, the oh-so-weak man that he is, can’t stop staring at the way the muscles in Cas’s back twist and turn while he digs in the dirt.
“You want me to get some sunscreen, you might burn,” Dean offers, uselessly standing at the edge of the dirt patch, hand resting on the extra shovel.
Cas pauses, looking up at him, blink and squinting at him in the glare of the sun. Dean will have to buy him a pair of sunglasses.
“I’ll be alright,” Cas says. He goes back to digging. Dean looks away, and goes on the other side of him, away from the tantalizing lines of his back. He gets to work removing rocks and thorns hidden beneath the soil that could choke Cas’ plants. By the time he gets to the end of the first row, he’s sweating too and he understands why Cas wanted to take his shirt off so soon.
An hour later, rocks and weeds removed from the plot, Sam comes out of the Bunker bringing with him two water bottles. He tosses one to each of them, smiles and congratulates them with a, “Good work!” and then vanishes back inside out of the heat.
Dean chugs half the bottle in one gulp, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He groans when his hand comes back streaked with dirt. Cas chuckles at him from across the plot. Dean watches him unscrew the bottle, and eagerly drink from the bottle. He tries, god does he ever, to ignore the droplets that miss Cas’ mouth and slip down the smooth lines of his neck, the dip in his collarbones and down his chest. Maybe gardening wasn’t such a good idea.
“We’re almost done for the day,” Cas says, tossing his now empty bottle onto the nearby grass. “After we plant and water the seeds we can go back in.”
“It looks good,” Dean says, looking approvingly over their work.
“It does. I hope it turns out alright,” Cas replies.
He stares at Dean for a moment, and then crosses around the edge of the plot to him.
Squinting at Dean’s forehead, he licks the pad of his thumb, and swipes it across Dean’s forehead a few times. Somehow all the air in Dean’s lungs vanishes.
“There was dirt,” Cas says, an excuse or an explanation, Dean doesn’t know.
“Thanks,” Dean replies, with a soft, eye-crinkling smile. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the packets of seeds, handing a few of them to Cas. Their palms meet, too hot and damp with sweat, but Dean wants more and more and more.
He pulls back, seed packet clenched in his fist, and tears open the top, slowly wandering down the rows and sprinkling them into their specific holes.
Twenty minutes later, seeds buried beneath damp earth, Cas slips an arm around Dean’s waist as they walk back to the Bunker. Dean copies his motion, wrapping his hand around Cas’ hip, internally thrilled to be touching a part of him that isn’t normally exposed.
They pull away at the door, but Dean’s hand feels warm for the rest of the afternoon.
Once inside, Dean heads to the showers to wash the sweat and grime off his body. He thinks Cas is going to follow him in, which wouldn’t be that weird it is a communal shower, but Cas disappears into the library. Maybe it’s better this way.
The shower is quick. He only stays in long enough to refresh his skin and make sure he’s clean and smells nice, and then he’s out and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. After he deems himself presentable, he heads towards the library.
Dean finds Cas, still shirtless, and curled up on the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, with that sappy romance novel under his nose.
“Hey,” Dean says, announcing himself. He plops down onto the couch next to Cas, leaning over to peer at Cas’ book, reading over his shoulder silently, “Rose pines for him, miserable without his body pressed up against hers,” and then backs away, suppressing a smirk. Somehow he’s breathless again, and doesn’t understand why.
“So why do you read these books anyway?” Dean asks, settling back against the cushion, curiously watching Cas.
Cas blinks, breaking out of his reading trance, setting the book on his side next to his hip and turns his gaze on Dean. “I enjoy reading about love. It’s hopeful.”
“Not always,” Dean quickly replies, “Sometimes love doesn’t work out.”
Cas nods slowly, eyes still fixed on Dean. “But sometimes it does.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Cas’ hand twitch, the smallest flick of his wrist, and it moves a few inches closer to the curve of Dean’s knee.
Dean huffs, darting his eyes away from the intent blatantly exposed behind Cas’ eyes.
“What’s even happening in the story right now? Are they fucking?” Dean asks changing the question and quirking up his mouth to lighten the mood.
Cas chuckles, “Not yet, they’re still dancing around each other. It’s bound to happen eventually as soon as Rose stops being an idiot.”
“What’s her deal?” Dean asks, snatching the book from Cas’ side. His thumb grazes the top of Cas’ thigh in the process, and without warning an embarrassed blush rises on his cheeks.
“She’s scared of losing him,” Cas answers bluntly. “Which, in my opinion, is asinine; he nearly died for her,” Cas states, a sort of hardness in his tone.
Dean flips through the pages, stopping near the last half of the book, finding the well-waited for sex scene and smirks. “Hey, that doesn’t mean he’s in love with her,” Dean retorts, pointing an accusing finger at Cas.
“No, but he is,” Cas says, “It’s obvious.”
“Alright, well, I’m pretty sure they’re about to have their happy orgasmic ending soon, so I should let you read,” Dean says, tossing the book to Cas.
Cas squints at Dean, “You spoiled it.”
“Nah,” Dean says, resting a hand on Cas’s bare shoulder, regretting the decision the instant his hands touch warm skin, “They always get together. Keep reading.”
After a lingering glance at Dean, Cas turns his gaze back to the book. Dean stays, hand resting on the curve of Cas’ shoulder blade. His fingers itch to move, to slide into Cas’ hair, to pull him down into a kiss. He wants Cas in his lap. He wants Cas’ taut thighs straddling his waist, and Cas’ warm hands slipping underneath his shirt while they kiss. He wants and wants and wants.
“Do you want me to get you some tea or something?” Dean asks, relinquishing his touch from Cas’ skin.
“If you don’t mind,” Cas says, looking up at him briefly, “Chamomile, with a few drops of honey.”
“I’ll be right back,” Dean says. He smiles softly; patting Cas’ shoulder, then exits the room, thinking Cas is probably the only person in Kansas who drinks hot tea in the middle of June.
The water boils on the stove slower than he would like. He’s been meaning to get Cas a proper tea kettle, but local choices for tea kettles in Lebanon are non-existent. He’ll have to give Amazon a go. The pot squeals, a high-pitched whine and Dean rifles around through the cupboards to find Cas’ tea. He always seems to hide it in a new place every time he makes tea. Last week it was in the seasonings drawer, two days ago Dean found it hiding behind the microwave. Today, Celestial Seasonings peaks out at him from behind a dessert cookbook, the honey right next to it.
Cas is finicky about his tea, if there’s too much or too little honey, he won’t drink it. He’s grumpy about coffee too, but less so than tea. Usually in the mornings all Cas cares about is getting caffeine and less about the form it takes. Dean, with careful fingers, drops two large drops of honey into the warm brewed liquid, dissolving it with a spoon. He brings the mug to his lips, taking a test sip. It tastes how Cas usually makes it, not his kind of drink but if it makes Cas happy and calm, and that’s all that matters.
Hot mug in hand, he heads back to Cas, who is thoroughly engrossed in the book. Dean clears his throat, signaling his entrance and Cas looks up at him, a smile dancing on his mouth.
Dean hands the mug to Cas, and their fingers brush. Dean sucks in a breath, heart beating quick within his chest as he watches Cas take a small sip of the drink. Cas sighs in contentment, resting the warm mug against his chest,
“Thank you Dean, it’s perfect.”
“No problem,” Dean answers, with a shrug.
There’s a tuft of unruly hair on Cas’ head, sticking straight up in the air. Dean has the urge to push his fingers into Cas’ hair to smooth it down.
“I’m gonna go start making something for dinner, anything special you want?” Dean asks.
“I think Sam wanted some sort of squash,” Cas says, then he pauses contemplating, his bottom lip pressed against the mouth of the mug. Dean’s never wanted to be a coffee cup so bad.
“I wouldn’t mind burgers as long as that sounds good to you.”
“Yeah that sounds good,” Dean replies.
Cas takes a long sip of the tea, and Dean tears his eyes away from the shape Cas’ mouth makes on the mug. Making a quick exit to spare himself any more torment, he calls out over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Dean hears two pairs of feet pad into the kitchen and looks up from where he’s standing at the stove. He flips the burgers one last time and they sizzle on the hot surface.
“Smells good,” Sam says approvingly from behind Dean. Cas murmurs his agreement, coming to stand next to Dean at the stove and peer down at the cooking meat.
Dean gestures with the spatula to his left at the small bowl of yellow, lightly seasoned squash sitting next to the stove. “A little bird told me you wanted squash.”
“Dean, you’re the best. Also, thanks Cas,” Sam says. He grabs the bowl off the counter, and snatches a spoon from the drawer, enthusiastically digging into his sautéed veggies as he walks to the dining table.
Cas helps Dean finish the burgers, carrying both his and Sam’s over to the table.
Dinner goes smoothly, though quietly for Dean. He finds there isn’t much for him to add to the debate Sam and Cas are having about the logistics of hieroglyphics. He watches and listens instead, basking in this strange form of happiness he has. Sam is healthy, alive and happy to Dean’s knowledge. Cas, well he’s still recovering, but he’s coping in the best way that he can.
And Dean? Well he’s happy, for the most part. He may not have everything he wants, but he has the people he loves with him and that’s what matters.
It’s Sam’s night to do dishes. Dean dries while Sam washes, leaving Cas to his own devices. By the time they are done, Cas has vanished, likely to be up in his room reading or getting ready for bed. He sleeps a lot; newly human and still recovering from Lucifer’s clutches it’s understandable. Dean still checks in on him, out of worry that either something is wrong, or Cas has finally left him again. But when Dean quietly pushes open Cas’ door, peeking his head into the room, he finds Cas curled up on his side, hands resting underneath the pillow, his blankets haphazardly strewn over him. He closes the door without a sound, and pads to his own room.
A few hours later, Dean is woken by Cas yelling his name.
“Dean! No! No! Dean!” Cas screams.
Dean is out of bed in two seconds flat, flinging open his door and sprinting down the hallway to Cas’ door. He slams open the door, standing in the doorframe. Cas is writhing on the bed, arms tangled around himself, eyes scrunched shut. Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and he’s still yelling Dean’s name.
“Cas!” Dean yells, once, twice, three times, trying to break him out of his stupor. Cas continues to roll around, whimpering and crying out Dean’s name in strangled gasps.
Dean pulls the door closed, and goes to Cas’ bed, climbing in and gently grabbing Cas’ biceps.
“Hey, Cas, c’mon wake up,” Dean urges, shaking him a little. Cas rolls away from him, repeating his name in frantic whispers. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead and Dean’s heart aches at the tear-streaks on his cheeks.
Dean doesn’t know what to do. Usually, when Sam has nightmares, a few good shakes would wake him up. Cas must really be out of it. Dean scoots over to the middle of the bed, closer to Cas who is now on the edge of the mattress. Cas rolls back towards him, and in his curled up state bumps his nose against Dean’s chest. Dean takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Cas’ waist, holding him close against his chest.
“Cas,” Dean says loudly, “It’s me, I’m here, and I’m okay.”
Cas struggles to get out of his grasp, sobbing, “Nononono DEAN!”
Dean holds him fast, tightening his hold around Cas’ waist, pressing Cas more firmly against his chest.
“Cas!” He tries again, louder, and finally Cas’ eyes fly open. He releases a startled gasp of Dean’s name, this time not in terror, and promptly buries his face into the front of Dean’s shirt. His hands fumble to find some part of Dean to hold onto and he settles on grasping fistfuls of Dean’s shirt.
“You’re okay,” Cas whispers.
“I’m okay,” Dean repeats. He pushes a hand into Cas’ hair, stroking through the short strands until Cas has calmed down and his trembling stops.
Cas pulls back a little bit, releasing Dean to stretch out and look at him.
“Was I yelling?” Cas asks.
“Pretty loudly; you kept saying my name. What were you dreaming about?” Dean asks.
“Lucifer was inside me again and he was making me watch him kill you,” Cas answers, bluntly.
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, there’s nothing he can say, so he responds by pulling Cas up against his chest. Cas rests one of his hands on Dean’s side, the other flat against his chest. He buries his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder and breathes out a long heavy breath.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” Cas whispers. His mouth is warm against Dean’s neck, and Dean acutely feels the curve of Cas’ lips resting on his skin.
“I know, but I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” Dean assures him. Another stroke through soft hair, nails scratching at Cas’ scalp, and finding courage somewhere deep inside himself, Dean presses a soft kiss to the top of Cas’ forehead.
Cas doesn’t react. Dean doesn’t know if he’s upset or relieved.
They lay like that for a few minutes, just breathing a slow in and out rhythm together. Cas pulls back first, only a few inches, enough to look at Dean in the haze of darkness.
“Stay?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, it comes out thick, choked and this is it, he thinks.
Dean expects Cas to turn around, to get into a more normal cuddling position, but he doesn’t. Cas stays, mouth warm and hot at Dean’s collarbone, and hands feather light on his abdomen. Their legs are tangled together underneath the sheets, and Cas’ bare feet are cold against his warmer ones.
Dean could get used to this.
“Good night Dean,” Cas murmurs, voice bleary, he’s already drifting back to sleep.
“Night, Cas.”
He adjusts his head on the pillow, and pulls Cas as close against him as possible. Cas fucking nuzzles into the side of his neck, sighing happily as if this is something they do every goddamn day. Maybe this is something they could do every day. The thought alone sends Dean’s heart ricocheting around in his chest, and that familiar longing settles itself into the pit of his belly. He wants a lot of things with Cas, but getting to sleep in the same bed as him? That’s at the top of the list.
The next morning Dean wakes up in Cas’ bed alone. The sheets are cold beneath him, and a draft blows over him, sending a chill down his spine. The blankets are half covering him; Cas’ side of the bed is open and achingly bare. Dean abruptly sits up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and glancing back and forth around the room.
No Cas. Maybe he went to shower? Or, Dean’s brain taunts him, maybe you freaked him out.
Dean pushes the covers off of his legs, and gets out of bed. He pads down the hallway, stretching his arms above his head to wake his stiff muscles. Peeking into the shower room, he finds it empty and continues down the hallway. The kitchen is empty too, same with the library, and all of Cas’ usual hiding spots. It may be six in the morning, but there’s one other place Cas could have possibly gone.
Outside, the soft grass is damp with morning dew and to the east; the sun is making its ascent into the sky; golden orange and brilliant. Dean sees Cas’ silhouette in the light, standing next to his garden, watching the sun. His hands are in his pockets, and even from a few hundred feet away, Dean can see him shivering slightly in the cool air. Idiot, he forgot a shirt again.
Dean stops next to him, “Hey,” he says softly. Cas looks over at him, and gives him a grin brighter than the sun rising in front of them.
“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says. He turns his gaze momentarily back to the sky the instant the sun crests the top of the horizon spilling yellow light across the plains and illuminating the earth. Dean’s hands are resting at his sides, and he almost jumps out of his skin when Cas slips one of his hands into Dean’s, sliding his fingers easily into the spaces between Dean’s.
Cas steps closer so their shoulders are brushing. He gives Dean’s hand a gentle squeeze and leans over, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.
“Were you worried?” He asks.
“What do you mean?”
“When you woke up and I was gone,” Cas states.
“A little,” Dean admits, after a pause.
Cas sighs, lifting his head off of Dean’s shoulder, “I’m not going anywhere. You do know that right?”
“I’d like you to stay,” Dean says, “But if you wanna be somewhere else, I understand.”
“Dean,” Cas says, and his name sounds soft in Cas’ mouth, like a caress. He tugs on Dean’s hand, urging Dean to look at him so they are face to face. “There’s nowhere else in the universe I’d rather be.”
Dean’s throat closes in on itself, and he nods, swallowing thickly at Cas’ words. Sunbeams dance in the blue of Cas’ eyes, diamonds sparkling in his irises. A pang of want reverberates in Dean’s chest, and he shudders out a shaky breath. Cas smiles softly at him, and starts leaning forward. Expecting the inevitable, Dean pre-emptively closes his eyes, waiting for the soft press he’s been dreaming about for years. Cas’ mouth never meets his. Instead, Cas gently presses a kiss at the top of Dean’s forehead, mouth lingering, ghosting warm breath across his skin. Then he’s gone, like the darkness of the night around them, and Dean’s left to watch Cas’ retreating bare back, standing in the glaring sun. He doesn’t bother thinking about what this means, he doesn’t have to; his brain is stuck on a constant loop of: it’s finally happening.
For the rest of the day, Cas is a constant presence at Dean’s side. He follows Dean outside and watches him sweat in the sun, crawling underneath the two ’65 Novas in the yard working on fixing them to mint condition. While Dean works, Cas sits cross-legged in the grass, book in hand, almost finished now, and reads, letting the sun soak into his skin. They both work in companionable silence until the later afternoon, when Dean finally re-emerges from underneath the cars, t-shirt soaked in sweat and grease spots smeared across his hands, cheeks, and all down his arms.
Cas squints at him in the sun, and holds up a glass of cool lemonade, still fresh with large ice cubes floating around. Dean sets his tools down, wandering over to Cas and plopping down in the cold, dry grass next to him.
“I figured you might be thirsty,” Cas says, handing Dean the glass.
“Thanks,” Dean answers, with a small smile. He gulps down half of the glass in one go, and sighs happily. He looks over at Cas and notices Cas has his own lemonade sitting next to his knee in the grass.
“How’s the book?” Dean asks.
“Better,” Cas answers, setting said book down next to him on the grass and leaning back onto his palms.
There might be a breeze now that he’s out in the open, but Dean can feel the sweat dripping down his back and it’s disgusting. He shucks off his shirt, folding it up next to his side on the grass and drops down onto his back in the grass.
“Did Rose and what’s his face finally hook-up?” Dean asks, looking up at Cas from the corner of his eye.
Cas doesn’t answer right away, he just stares. His unashamed eyes trail openly down Dean’s bare chest, greedily drinking in the sight before him. It’s kind of unnerving. Dean almost has an aneurysm when Cas licks his lips, then turns away, focusing his gaze out to the tall grasses swishing in front of him.
“No, but they kissed so I guess that’s something. I was worried for a while true love wouldn’t prevail,” Cas says, mock sarcasm in his voice.
“You’re a cheeseball,” Dean remarks, playfully hitting Cas on the thigh with the back of his hand.
“I learned from the best,” Cas responds seriously. He smirks at Dean, and then falls down onto the grass next to him.
They lie in silence, the only sound the rhythm of their matched breathing. Dean closes his eyes against the brightness of the sun, letting the warmth soak over him in a blanket. Cas’ shoulder is pressed against Dean and if Dean moves his fingers, they bump against Cas’ where they are resting on the grass.
“How are you doing?” Dean asks.
“Better than last night,” Cas answers.
“Do those nightmares happen a lot?”
“Usually at least a couple times a week. Most of the time they are silent,” Cas replies quietly.
Dean rolls over on his side to face Cas, his forehead pinched up in confusion and anger, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Cas replies.
A pang of guilt at his own stupidity and obstinacy against intimacy with Cas shoots through Dean, but he stuffs it down and reaches over, tangling his fingers between Cas’.
“Hey, listen – I’m not uncomfortable. If you need me, you gotta let me know okay?” Dean says. Cas looks over at him and nods solemnly. He’s having trouble meeting Dean’s eyes, but he squeezes Dean’s hand and says, “Okay.”
After a moment Cas asks, “Can I sleep with you tonight?”
Dean colors at the double-meaning of Cas’ words, but he knows at least in this instance Cas’ intentions are innocent.
“Of course,” Dean assures him. He rolls over onto his back again, thinking about how good it felt to have Cas in his arms last night, and a smile graces his face.
Cas keeps his hand within Dean’s, their fingers tangled, and together they watch the clouds pass overhead.
Later that evening, after a dinner of quinoa and thin beef patties, (thanks Sam), Cas falls sleep on the couch watching the newest season of Orange Is The New Black. Dean shakes him awake, and helps him down the hallway to Dean’s room. Half-asleep Cas pulls off his shirt, pants, and socks, leaving him only in boxers, and crawls underneath Dean’s blankets. He curls up on his side, blinking up at Dean, waiting for him to join. Dean matches Cas’ undress, shuts the door, and flicks off the lights. He climbs into bed, scooting over to the middle until Cas’ thigh slips between his. Dean wraps his arm around Cas’ waist, pulling him closer. Cas wiggles forward, resting one hand underneath the pillow, the other resting on the curve of Dean’s hip. He buries his face into Dean’s neck as he did before and with a heavy sigh, relaxes his entire body.
“Is this okay?” Dean asks.
Cas nods against him, “Perfect.”
He’s out less than thirty seconds later. It takes Dean longer to fall asleep, and he listens to the even pace of Cas’ breathing, focusing on the warmth of Cas’ mouth against his neck, selfishly imagining what it would feel like to have those lips pressed against his own.
Morning comes soon enough, and Dean wakes to Cas already awake, eyes open and watching him, a soft expression on his face. Somehow, with Cas trapped in his arms, face only a few inches away, the staring is less creepy than it used to be.
“Morning,” Cas says.
“Hey, how did you sleep? Any nightmares?” Dean asks, blinking his sleepy eyes at Cas.
“None, I slept soundly and undisturbed.”
Dean chuckles, and yawns widely, “Well, I guess you’ll just have to sleep with me more often then, huh?”
“I guess so,” Cas agrees, smiling, clearly pleased at the idea.
Cas’ thumb, still resting on Dean’s hip from the night before, starts rubbing circles into the skin above his boxers. It’s a sensitive spot and he shivers despite his reserves at the contact. He runs his palm up and down Cas’ back in soothing motions. He’s close, so goddamn close.
Snaking his hand around Cas’ side from his back, he slides his hand up Cas’ bare chest. Cas’ muscles tremble beneath his hand. Dean pauses, a flat palm pressed onto Cas’ shoulder, thumbing dipping into the divot of his collarbone. Cas whispers Dean’s name, and the already wrecked sound of his voice sends a jolt through Dean and he swallows down a strangled whimper.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Dean moves his hand up Cas’ neck to caress the side of his cheek, holding Cas’ face in his palm.
“Is it – is it okay if I kiss you?” Dean asks, biting his bottom lip.
Cas smiles, and turns his head, bumping his nose into Dean’s palm. “It only took you eight years to ask; I should say no and make you wait a little longer.”
“Cas,” Dean groans, face heating up as a blush rises up his neck. “Please don’t,” he adds.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Cas asks, tilting his chin up towards Dean’s.
Their mouths are only a few inches apart now; Cas’ breath soft and warm against his lips. There’s an excited fluttering in Dean’s chest; he’s standing on the precipice of what’s been brewing between them for years. With a slight breath in of courage, Dean closes the last few inches between them. His nose bumps clumsily against Cas’ as they try to get the angle right in the darkened room. Dean tries again; his mouth ends up on Cas’ chin, where he presses two open-mouthed kisses. Tipping his head up a few inches, Dean finds Cas’ mouth, finally, bringing their lips together in what will remain forever as the softest kiss of his life. Cas over-eagerly surges forward, in his haste, biting down too hard on Dean’s bottom lip. Dean grunts in pain, startled and pulls back a little. Cas rests his forehead against Dean’s and starts giggling.
“We’re not very good at this,” he says.
“Nope,” Dean agrees with a chuckle, “I guess we’ll just have to practice more.”
Dean doesn’t need light to know Cas is rolling his eyes.
“I guess so,” Cas agrees. He pulls Dean in this time, warm palm resting lightly on Dean’s cheek.
Dean quickly discovers Cas kisses desperately, but with a gentle almost worshipful touch that has Dean trembling and weak in the knees just from his mouth. Cas’ hands cling to every visible inch of Dean’s skin he can touch, he’s starving for it and Dean lets him, melting into Cas’ hands, and the warmth of him.
He wants to be closer though, but he can’t think, not when Cas has his mouth on Dean’s neck, leaving butterfly kisses over his Adam’s apple.
“You’re so beautiful,” Cas murmurs, pressing a kiss along Dean’s jawline.
Cas moves for him, hooking his ankle around Dean’s calf, scooting forward until they’re pressed flush together. His mouth never leaves Dean’s skin.
Together they work their hips, rocking against each other. Dean kisses Cas like his life depends on it, shaky hands gripping Cas’ hips to hold Cas against him. Cas whines into Dean’s mouth, hips canting up. The slide of their cocks, even beneath clothing is euphoric, and Dean can’t help but imagine how good Cas is going to feel inside him.
He’s so far gone on Cas, so goddamn in love.
“Cas,” Dean breathes, open-mouth pressed against Cas’ jaw. His arm slides around Cas’ waist and he buries his face in the notch between Cas’ shoulder and his neck. Cas’ mouth is warm against his ear, panting, and eagerly he rocks his hips against Dean; trying to get closer. Dean doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to be close enough.
“I love you,” Cas murmurs right into Dean’s ear, and Dean comes at his words, sobbing against Cas’ shoulder, hands clutching at Cas’ back.
“Love you,” Dean gasps, rising up to seal his lips against Cas’, thrusting against him until Cas follows him over the edge, with a whimper of Dean’ name. They kiss messily, wet and slow until the shaky aftershocks wear off. Dean ends up with his nose pressed up against Cas’ collarbone, lazily pressing soft kisses against his skin. Cas’ fingers ghost up and own Dean’s back, tracing swirled designs across the wide expanse of his skin. He leans forward, kissing the top of Dean’s forehead.
“You were right,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s hairline, breath hot against Dean’s skin.
“Hmm?”
“They do always get together in the end,” Cas states. He presses a kiss to Dean’s temple, the tip of his nose, and one final lingering one to his mouth.
“We’re not a romance novel, Cas,” Dean teases, bumping their noses together, lips barely brushing against Cas’.
“No,” Cas agrees, hand sliding lovingly up and down Dean’s chest, “We are so much more than that.”