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Dean Winchester had been married for exactly twenty-six hours when he discovered that Castiel was an absolute menace on a honeymoon.
This was not something anybody had warned him about.
Sam had warned him about international roaming charges.
Eileen had warned him about sunscreen.
Jody had warned him not to get arrested.
Donna had warned him—at considerable length and with several winking emojis—about overexertion.
Dean had responded to that one with a photograph of his middle finger.
Donna had sent back:
THAT’S NOT THE FINGER I MEANT, DEAN-O.
He’d thrown his phone across the bunker kitchen.
Cas had picked it up, read the message, and said, completely straight faced, “I like Donna.”
Yep.
Everybody had been full of advice.
Nobody had thought to mention that apparently the second Cas got a wedding ring on his finger, he became completely fucking insufferable.
Dean should’ve seen it coming. There had been signs.
The first had been at the airport.
They’d barely made it through security before Cas started doing it.
“My husband would like a coffee.”
Dean had slowly turned his head.
The woman behind the counter hadn’t noticed anything unusual. “What size?”
Cas looked at Dean.
Dean stared back.
“My husband,” Cas repeated, with the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, “usually prefers the largest available.”
Dean narrowed his eyes.
Cas stared innocently back.
“Large Americano,” Dean said.
“Certainly.”
They’d walked away with their drinks. Dean managed approximately twelve steps.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“You know what.”
“I ordered you coffee.”
“You called me your husband. Twice.”
Cas took a sip from his own cup. “You are my husband.”
There it was. That tiny fucking smirk.
Dean pointed at him. “Don’t think I don’t see that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.”
Cas continued toward their gate.
Dean followed, trying very hard not to notice the stupid warmth spreading through his chest.
Husband.
Jesus Christ.
He’d thought maybe it would wear off.
The novelty of it.
The weirdness.
The urge to look down at his left hand every six minutes just to make sure the ring was still there.
It hadn’t worn off, not even a tiny bit.
Twenty-six hours later, Dean was still doing it. Right now, in fact. He lay stretched across a hotel bed that probably cost more per night than every motel they’d stayed in during 2009 combined, staring at his own hand.
Silver band. Simple.
Solid. Nothing fancy.
Dean wasn’t really a jewellery kinda guy. What? He wasn’t!
He’d worn amulets. A watch. His mom’s wedding ring. Maybe some beads on his wrist. A handful of fake badges clipped to belts and pockets. That’s it.
But this? This felt different.
He turned his hand slightly. Morning sunlight caught against the ring.
Married. He was married. To Cas.
Dean smiled before he could stop himself.
“You’re doing it again.”
Dean immediately flattened his hand against his stomach.
“Doing what?”
Cas stood near the open balcony doors. And— Okay.
This was bullshit.
Nobody should be allowed to look like that before breakfast. Cas had apparently showered while Dean had been half asleep. His hair was still slightly damp, darker at the ends and sticking up in approximately fourteen directions.
He wore faded blue jeans and a white linen button down,
with the first three buttons undone.
Three.
Dean counted. Again. For scientific purposes. The sleeves were rolled to Cas’ elbows, revealing tanned forearms, and sunlight poured through the balcony doors behind him.
Dean stared. He couldn’t help it, sue him.
Cas raised an eyebrow. “You were looking at your ring.” He said.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was checking my hand.”
“For what?”
Dean thought about it. “Hand stuff.”
Cas’ mouth twitched.
Dean pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face doesn’t speak.”
“Your face is a sarcastic asshole.”
Cas crossed the room, and Dean watched him approach. This was another thing nobody had adequately prepared him for.
Honeymoon Cas.
Apparently regular Castiel—angel of the Lord, former celestial soldier, occasional apocalypse enthusiast—had been walking around for years with an entire alternate personality locked somewhere behind that trench coat.
Honeymoon Cas wore shirts with too many buttons undone. Honeymoon Cas drank wine on balconies. Honeymoon Cas had discovered sunglasses. Honeymoon Cas kept touching Dean.
Not sexually. Well, Not always sexually. That was the problem.
Sometimes it was just a hand against Dean’s lower back while they walked.
Fingers loosely hooked around Dean’s wrist at a restaurant. A palm resting on Dean’s thigh beneath a table. Cas’ thumb brushing across Dean’s wedding ring whenever their hands were close.
Tiny things.
Cas had always touched him.
He’d healed him with two fingers pressed against his forehead. Gripped his shoulder. Grabbed his arm. Hauled him upright after hunts.
But this was different. There was no urgency anymore.
No apocalypse.
No monster waiting outside. No ticking clock.
Cas touched him now simply because he could. And Dean—
Dean didn’t know what the hell to do with that. Mostly he pretended it wasn’t turning him into some embarrassingly lovesick asshole.
Cas stopped beside the bed. “Breakfast,” he said.
Dean’s gaze dropped to the open collar of Cas’ shirt. “Sure. Yeah. Uh-huh.”
“Dean.”
“Hmm?”
“My eyes are higher.”
Dean looked up immediately. Cas was smirking. Actually smirking.
“You son of a bitch.”
Cas leaned down.
Dean expected a kiss. Instead, Cas reached past him and picked Dean’s phone up from the nightstand.
“What’re you doing?” Dean frowned.
Cas unlocked it.
“Hey.”
Cas stepped backward.
“Cas.”
He opened the camera.
Dean sat upright.
“No.”
Cas raised the phone.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sam asked for photographs.”
“Sam can Google the coastline.”
“He asked for photographs of us.”
“He knows what we look like.”
Cas turned the camera toward himself.
Dean stared at him.
“Are you taking a selfie?”
“Yes.”
“You hate selfies.”
“I don’t hate selfies.”
“You once asked me why humans require photographic evidence every time they eat pancakes.”
“I still don’t understand that.”
Cas looked at the screen, then at Dean.
“Come here, Dean.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“I look like shit.”
“You don’t.”
“My hair’s doing something.”
“Your hair is always doing something.”
“Wow. Twenty-six hours and the romance is dead.”
Cas sighed dramatically. Actually fucking dramatically.
Then he grabbed Dean’s ankle. Dean’s eyes widened.
“Don’t you—”
Cas pulled. Dean slid approximately two feet down the mattress. “CAS!”
Cas climbed onto the bed.
“You asshole — give me the damn phone.” Dean laughed despite himself.
“No.”
“Cas.”
“No.”
Dean lunged. Cas twisted away. The mattress bounced beneath them. Dean caught him around the waist. Cas made a startled sound as Dean dragged him backward.
“Gotcha.”
“You’re very mature.”
“You started it.”
“I wanted one photograph.”
“You assaulted me.”
“I pulled your ankle.”
“Violently.”
“You’ve been thrown through walls.”
“Yeah, and I complained about that too.”
Cas laughed. Dean froze. It still did something to him, that sound. Cas had laughed before, obviously, but not enough. Never enough. For years, every smile had seemed borrowed from some future they weren’t sure they’d ever reach, now Cas was sitting on a ridiculously expensive hotel bed in jeans with his shirt half undone, hair still damp from the shower, laughing because Dean was trying to wrestle a phone away from him. Dean loosened his grip. Cas looked at him, the laughter fading into something softer.
Dean swallowed.
There were moments like this now, moments when everything went quiet, when one of them remembered.
The Empty. The confession. The years they’d wasted.
The impossible road that had somehow ended here.
Cas’ gaze dropped briefly to Dean’s mouth.
Dean leaned closer.
“So,” he murmured.
“So,” Cas’ hand settled against his waist.
“You gonna kiss your husband or what?”
There. Cas’ expression changed instantly. Dean grinned. “Oh, you like that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” Dean caught the open edges of Cas’ shirt.
“Husband.”
Cas kissed him, and Dean laughed against his mouth.
The phone was still in Cas’ hand somewhere beside Dean’s shoulder. Dean reached for it blindly, Cas moved it away.
Dean broke the kiss.
“Seriously?” He groaned dramatically.
“We need a photograph.”
“We were having a moment.”
“We’ve had several moments.”
Dean’s eyebrows went up. Cas’ expression remained perfectly innocent.
“Oh, you’ve got jokes now?”
“I’ve always had jokes.”
“No. You’ve had observations that accidentally traumatised people.”
Cas considered that. “That’s…fair.”
Dean laughed again.
Cas lifted the phone. “Come here.”
This time Dean did.
He shifted beside Cas, shoulder pressed against his, and Cas held the phone out. The screen showed both of them. Dean looked sunburned across the nose despite Eileen’s warning.
And Cas…well, Cas looked unfairly good.
“Why do you look like that?”
Cas glanced sideways. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in a cologne commercial.”
“I don’t know.”
“And I look like I got kicked out of a Jimmy Buffett concert.”
“You look very handsome.”
Dean went quiet, the tips of his ears burning that had nothing to do with the heat. Cas turned his attention back to the phone.
Dean looked at him.
“You can’t just say shit like that to me, man.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because we’re trying to take a picture.”
“I don’t understand how those things are related.” Cas frowned.
“Exactly.”
Cas shook his head fondly, and the camera clicked.
“Wait, I wasn’t ready.”
“You were smiling.”
“I don’t smile in pictures.”
“You just did.”
“Delete it.”
“No.”
“Cas.”
“No.”
“Lemme see.”
Cas showed him.
Dean looked, and stopped. It wasn’t posed. Cas wasn’t looking at the camera, he was looking at Dean.
Dean was caught halfway through smiling, eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, shoulder pressed against Cas’ chest. Their rings were visible.
Dean stared at the photograph longer than necessary.
“Delete it?” Cas asked, watching him.
Dean cleared his throat. “No.”
Cas smiled, and Dean immediately recovered.
“But we’re not sending it to Sam.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll make it his lock screen or some weird shit.”
“I think he’d like it.”
“Exactly my point!”
Cas looked back at the phone, and Dean suddenly had an idea. A terrible idea, which historically were his specialty.
“Fine.”
Cas glanced at him.
“Fine?”
“You want a honeymoon picture for Sammy?”
“Yes.”
Dean took the phone.
“Let’s give him a damn honeymoon picture.”
Cas immediately looked suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Making memories, sweetheart.”
“Dean—”
Dean put on the sunglasses lying beside the bed.
“C’mon, sunshine.”
Ten minutes later, Sam Winchester’s phone buzzed approximately four thousand miles away.He opened the message, and stared.
Eileen, sitting beside him, looked over.
On the screen was an offensively beautiful coastline. Blue water, bright sky, a balcony overlooking the sea.
And directly in front of it stood Dean and Cas, both wearing sunglasses, both very obviously displaying their wedding rings toward the camera.
Dean had one arm around Cas’ waist.
Cas had one hand against Dean’s chest, and Dean was kissing Cas’ cheek with enough exaggerated enthusiasm that Cas’ face was slightly squashed beneath his mouth.
Underneath it, Dean had written:
HONEYMOON DAY 2. MARRIAGE STILL GOING STRONG. THOUGHTS & PRAYERS APPRECIATED.
Sam was still staring at the photo when another message arrived.
CAS SAYS HI.
Then:
ACTUALLY HE SAYS “HELLO, SAM.”
Then:
BECAUSE APPARENTLY HI IS TOO CASUAL FOR FAMILY NOW.
Sam began typing, three more dots appeared on Dean’s side, and another photo arrived before Sam could answer.
This one was worse, because Cas was kissing Dean. Not his cheek. Dean’s sunglasses were crooked, one of Cas’ hands was buried in Dean’s hair, Dean’s hand was very clearly gripping Cas’ shirt.
Sam closed his eyes.
Eileen started laughing.
A final message appeared.
OK BREAKFAST TIME BYE
Sam stared at the ceiling, then typed:
I hate both of you.
Dean’s reply came almost immediately.
JEALOUSY IS UGLY ON YOU SAMMY
Sam blocked him for eleven minutes.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
By the time they made it downstairs for breakfast, Dean had decided two things.
One: hotel robes were bullshit.
Two: Cas was going to kill him before the honeymoon was over. Not deliberately, probably. Dean was still keeping an open mind. The problem was that Cas had apparently decided marriage meant there was no longer any reason to exercise restraint. Not that kind of restraint, Dean had already discovered the answer to that particular question somewhere around eleven-thirty on their wedding night, repeatedly. All night. And the next morning. Maybe in the bathroom of the airplane too.
No. This was worse.
Cas was being affectionate.Publicly and constantly, like some kind of lunatic. They’d made it approximately six feet from the elevator before Cas reached for Dean’s hand. Dean looked down, then up. Cas continued walking, their fingers were intertwined. Just—Like that. Cas wasn’t even looking at him, Dean glanced around the hotel lobby, and nobody cared, obviously, nobody cared.
Why would they?
There were couples everywhere.
An older man reading a newspaper while his wife drank coffee beside him.
Two women standing at reception with matching suitcases.
A couple near the doors arguing over a map.
Nobody was staring, nobody gave a shit that Dean Winchester was holding another man’s hand.
His husband’s hand.
Dean looked down again. Silver bands, side by side, Cas’ thumb movinv absently across Dean’s knuckles.
Something tightened behind Dean’s ribs.
“You’re staring at our hands.”
Dean immediately looked forward. “No, I’m not.”
“You were.”
“Watch where you’re walking.”
“I am.”
“Then quit monitoring my eyeballs.”
Cas turned his head.
“You’re very defensive this morning.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“Exactly, it’s clearly a Chronic condition.”
They reached the restaurant, and a woman behind the little podium smiled at them. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Dean said.
“Good morning,” Cas replied.
“Table for two?”
“Yes. My husband would prefer somewhere outside, if possible.”
Dean closed his eyes because there it was. Again.
The woman smiled. “Of course.”
Dean waited until she turned away then leaned toward Cas. “You’ve got a problem.”
Cas looked genuinely confused.
“What problem?”
“You’re addicted.”
“To what?”
“The H-word.”
“Husband?” Cas frowned.
Dean pointed at him.
"See?”
“That is what you are.”
“You don’t have to tell everybody.”
“I was explaining your seating preference.”
“You could’ve said he.”
“That would be less specific.”
Dean stared. Cas stared back.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoy being married to you.”
And there it was, without warning, without hesitation.
Just straight through the ribs.
Dean’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Cas’s expression softened. Then, because he was a dick — apparently even marriage can’t change some things — his mouth twitched.
“Okay.” Dean recovered.
Cas raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“You wanna play?”
“I wasn’t aware we were playing.”
“Oh, we’re playing.”
“Dean—”
“After you, sweetheart.”
Cas stopped walking. Dean smiled. There, interesting, very interesting. Dean filed that away.
They were led through glass doors onto a terrace overlooking the water, it was obnoxiously beautiful, the kind of place Dean would’ve spent most of his life assuming belonged exclusively to people who owned boats and said things like summering. It was all white tables, bright umbrellas, sunlight glittering across blue water.
The ocean stretched beyond the railing.
Dean took one look at the buffet and forgot every emotional complication he’d ever experienced.
“Holy shit.”
Cas followed his gaze. “There’s bacon.”
“There are six kinds of bacon.”
“I believe two of those are ham.”
“Dude. Don’t ruin what is about to be the best day of my life.”
They sat down and Cas immediately reached for the coffee, and Dean reached for the menu. Their knees bumped beneath the table. Neither offered to move.
Dean scanned the page. “Why does every fancy place put avocado on everything?”
“People like avocado.”
“People are wrong.”
“You’ve eaten avocado.”
“Under duress.”
“You ordered guacamole last month.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“It was Mexican.”
Cas stared at him. Dean stared back.
“That explanation made sense to you, didn’t it?” Cas said.
“Perfect sense.”
Cas poured coffee, grinning fondly.
Dean glanced over the top of the menu.
white shirt.
Open collar.
Morning sun.
Wedding ring.
His husband.
Jesus.
This was going to take some getting used to.
A waiter approached. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Dean lowered the menu. “Mornin’.”
“Can I get you started with anything besides coffee?”
Cas looked toward Dean, and Dean saw his opportunity, and took it. “My husband would like orange juice.”
Cas went completely still and Dean nearly lost it.
The waiter didn’t react. “Of course.”
“And he’ll have the pancakes.”
Cas slowly turned his head.
“With blueberries.” Dean continued.
“I don’t want blueberries.”
“My husband loves blueberries.”
“I don’t.”
“He’s just shy.” Dean waved a dismissive hand.
The waiter looked uncertain.
Cas stared at Dean with the flat expression usually reserved for demons and malfunctioning vending machines.
“I would like pancakes,” Cas said carefully, “without the blueberries.”
“Certainly.”
Dean smiled sweetly. “And I’ll have eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, sausage—”
“My husband has high cholesterol.” Cas interrupted.
Dean’s head snapped toward him.
The waiter froze.
“I do not.”
“You’ve never checked.”
“Because I’m thirty-something.”
“You’ve been thirty-something for an alarming length of time.”
Dean stared at him, as Cas calmly picked up his coffee.
The waiter coughed.
Dean pointed across the table. “He used to be an angel.”
The waiter blinked.
Cas took a sip. “He’s joking.”
“Fell from Heaven.”
“Dean.”
“Lost his wings.”
“Dean.”
“Whole thing. Very traumatic.”
The waiter looked between them.
Dean smiled. “Bacon, please. Lots of it.”
The waiter escaped.
Finally Cas said, “You told a stranger I was an angel.”
“You told him I have high cholesterol.”
“You might.”
“Take it back.”
“I can’t alter your lipid profile through verbal declaration.”
Dean leaned back.
“You know, marriage has changed you.”
“We’ve been married for less than three days.”
“Exactly. Look what you’ve become.”
Cas’s mouth twitched.
Dean pointed. “There. That.”
“What?”
“The smirk.”
“I don’t smirk.”
“You absolutely smirk.”
“I smile.”
“No. Smiling is nice. That’s a smirk.”
Cas smiled. Actually smiled.
Dean’s argument immediately died.
Fuck. He looked away, the ocean was suddenly very fascinating.
Cas reached across the table, his fingers touching Dean’s wrist.
“What?” Dean asked. Watching Cas’ fingers.
Cas said nothing.
His thumb brushed once across Dean’s skin.
Dean’s voice softened despite himself. “What?” He asked again.
“You’re happy.”
Dean’s first instinct was immediate.
Deflect, joke, say something stupid.
Yeah, well, unlimited bacon.
Don’t get sentimental on me.
Must be the weather.
Any one of those would’ve worked he’d spent his whole life becoming an expert at finding emergency exits in conversations.
But Cas was looking at him, not demanding anything, not waiting for reassurance. Just—
Looking.
Dean glanced toward the water.
“Yeah.” The word came out quiet.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Cas.”
Cas’ fingers moved down and found Dean’s hand. Dean turned his palm upward, their fingers intertwining across the table.
“It’s weird, though.” Dean said.
“What is?”
“This.”
“Breakfast?”
“No, dumbass.” Dean rubbed his thumb against Cas’ wedding ring. “This.”
Understanding softened Cas’ face.
Dean swallowed.
“I keep thinking somebody’s gonna show up.”
“Chuck?”
“Maybe.”
“Dean—”
“Or Jack’s gonna call. Or Sam. Or somebody’s gonna say there’s some world ending crap happening and we gotta—” He stopped.
Cas squeezed his hand. Dean stared at their joined fingers.
“I don’t know how to do this part, Cas.”
“What part?”
Dean gestured vaguely with his free hand. “This. Nothing.”
Cas looked around.
“We’re eating breakfast.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s something.”
“You know what I mean.”
Cas did, of course he did.
“We spend our whole lives waiting for the next bad thing.” Dean sighed.
“Yes.”
“And now we’re just supposed to…”
“Live?”
Dean looked at him.
Cas said it so simply, like it wasn’t the most terrifying concept Dean had ever encountered.
Live. Not survive.
Not fight. Not save the world. Just live.
Dean huffed. “Sounds suspicious.”
“I think we’ll manage.” Cas smiled.
“You sure?”
“No.” Cas squeezd his hand again. “But I’d like to find out.”
Dean stared at him, then down at their rings, then back at Cas. “Yeah.” His mouth curved. “Me too.”
Their food arrived approximately thirty seconds later, which Dean privately considered excellent timing because another ten seconds of feelings would’ve required him to fake his own death.
He immediately stole one of Cas’ pancakes.
Cas stared at him.
“You have toast.”
“Pancakes are better.”
“Then why didn’t you order pancakes?”
“Because yours taste better.”
“They’re the same pancakes.”
“Not anymore.” Dean poured syrup over the stolen pancake.
Cas watched him.
“You’re incredibly irritating.”
Dean took a bite.
“You married me,” he said with a mouthful of food. “On purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t return me.”
“I kept the receipt.”
Dean nearly choked.
Cas calmly cut another piece of pancake.
Dean pointed his fork at him. “Who the hell are you?” Dean laughed, and that was that.
Breakfast stretched into almost two hours. They ate too much, Dean drank four cups of coffee, Cas stole Dean’s sunglasses and refused to give them back, Dean took twelve photographs as evidence, Cas complained about eleven of them, Dean secretly saved all twelve.
By late morning they were wandering along the waterfront with absolutely nowhere they needed to be.
That was weird too, having no destination, no case, no motel waiting at the end of a six hour drive.
Just sunlight. Shops.
Restaurants, boats rocking lazily in the harbour.
Cas had changed into a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Dean wore a light grey Henley, they had sunglasses on now because Dean had bought another pair after Cas claimed ownership of his. Dean was beginning to suspect honeymoon expenses had not been properly budgeted.
They stopped outside a small shop, and Cas looked through the window.
Dean kept walking.
Three steps later he realised Cas wasn’t beside him.
Cas was staring at something.
Dean doubled back.
“What?”
Cas pointed.
Dean followed his finger to a display of postcards.
Dean frowned. “You want a postcard?”
“Yes.”
“You know phones exist, right?”
“I do.”
“We’ve taken like eighty pictures.”
“Seventy-three.”
Dean stared. “You counted?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
Dean followed Cas into the shop.
Five minutes later, Cas had postcards for Sam, Eileen, Jack, Jody, Donna, Claire and apparently “the bunker,” which Dean explained was not a person.
Cas bought one anyway.
They sat outside at a little table, and Cas started writing.
“What’re you putting?” Dean asked, leaning over.
“Don’t read it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s rude.”
“We’re married.”
“That doesn’t eliminate privacy.”
Dean gasped dramatically. “You’ve so fucking changed.”
Cas ignored him.
Dean leaned farther just to be an asshole, only for Cas to cover the writing with his hand.
“Dean.”
“What?”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re attempting to read over my shoulder.”
“Marriage means sharing.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Pretty sure that’s in the vows.”
“It wasn’t.”
“How would you know? You cried through half of them.”
Cas slowly looked up.
Dean realised his mistake. “Oh, fuck.”
Cas’ eyes narrowed.
Dean stood. “Nope.”
“You cried first.”
“Fake news.”
“You cried when I walked toward you.”
“Sun was in my eyes.”
“We were indoors.”
“Skylight.”
“There wasn’t one.”
“Architectural lighting then.”
“Dean.”
Dean backed away.
“You cried when Sam handed you the rings.” Cas said as he stood.
“Allergies.”
“You cried during my vows.”
“Your vows were manipulative.”
“You cried when—”
Dean grabbed Cas by the front of his shirt and kissed him.
Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk.
Cas made a startled sound against his mouth, Dean obviously took that as an invitation to kiss him harder.
It wasn’t obscene, wasn’t inappropriate, just enough to shut him the hell up. And, admittedly, because he wanted to.
Cas’ hands settled automatically at Dean’s waist and Dean felt him smile.
That bastard.
Dean pulled back. “There.”
“There what?” Cas blinked.
“Argument over.”
“You kissed me because you were losing.”
“I kissed you because you’re pretty.”
Cas froze. Dean smiled.
Oh. Oh, that was good.
He’d found another one.
Dean leaned closer.
“What?”
Cas cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
“You okay there, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“Looking a little pink.”
“It’s warm.”
“Sure.”
Dean kissed the corner of his mouth and Cas’ fingers tightened at his waist.
Dean murmured, “Pretty husband.”
Cas inhaled sharply.
Dean’s grin became absolutely unbearable.
“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
“Dean.”
“What?”
“Stop it.”
“Nope.”
“Dean.”
Dean kissed his cheek. “My husband.” Another kiss. “My gorgeous husband.”
“Dean.”
Another kiss. “My devastatingly handsome—”
Cas caught Dean’s face in both hands.
Dean laughed. “—smoking hot husband—”
Cas kissed him. Dean immediately shut up. Well, mostly. There was a muffled, triumphant noise somewhere against Cas’ mouth. Cas ignored it.
A woman walking past smiled at them, and Dean noticed immediately — something old inside him instinctively tightened, just for a second. A lifetime of looking over his shoulder, checking who was watching. But then the woman nudged the man beside her and said something Dean couldn’t hear. The man glanced over, he smiled too and kept walking. That was all. Nothing happened. The world didn’t end, nobody cared.
Dean looked at Cas cas was already looking at him.
He’d noticed, of course he’d noticed.
Cas noticed everything Dean wished he wouldn’t.
“You alright?” Cas asked quietly.
Dean looked after the couple disappearing down the street, then back at Cas. “Yeah.”
He meant it.
Dean reached for his hand, this time he did it first.
Cas looked down at their hands, then back up at Dean.
“Don’t make a thing out of it.” Dean shrugged.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was thinking that you make me very happy.”
Dean groaned. “God, you’re exhausting.”
Cas smiled, and Dean squeezed his hand.
Ten minutes later Dean stopped dead outside another shop.
Cas nearly walked into him. “What?”
Dean stared through the window.
Cas followed his gaze, his expression immediately becoming suspicious. “Dean.”
“Hmm?”
“Whatever you’re thinking—”
“We need those.”
“We absolutely do not.”
“They’re honeymoon shirts.”
“They’re terrible.”
“They’re perfect.”
In the window hung two matching white T-shirts. Across the front of one:
JUST
Across the other:
MARRIED
Cas stared at them.
Then at Dean.
“No.”
Dean grinned. “C’mon, Cas.”
“No.”
“Sweetheart.”
“No.”
“Husband.”
“No.”
Dean dragged him inside anyway.
Twenty minutes later, Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, walked back onto the street wearing a T-shirt that said MARRIED across his chest. His expression suggested he was reconsidering every decision he’d made since rebelling against Heaven.
Dean walked beside him wearing JUST.
“This is humiliating.”
“This is awesome.”
“I once fought archangels.”
“Yeah.”
“I once ruled Heaven.”
“Briefly.”
“I’ve died multiple times.”
“Show off.”
“And somehow this is the greatest indignity I’ve ever suffered.”
Dean stopped.
Cas kept walking for half a step before their joined hands pulled him back. “What now?”
Dean took out his phone.
“No.”
“One picture.”
“No.”
“For Sammy.”
“You’ve already traumatised Sam today.”
“He’ll recover.”
“Dean.”
Dean lifted the phone. Cas sighed, but moved closer and Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Cas looked at the camera with the exhausted expression of a hostage.
Dean grinned like an idiot.
Click.
Dean looked at it. It was damn perfect, if you asked him.
He sent it immediately.
Sam’s reply came less than a minute later.
I preferred you blocked.
Dean typed:
YOU CANT BLOCK TRUE LOVE SAMUEL
Sam: Watch me.
Dean: CAS SAYS THATS HOMOPHOBIC
Cas looked over his shoulder. “I did not say that.”
Dean typed another message.
CAS WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY HE DID NOT SAY THAT
Sam: Please lose his phone, Cas.
Cas took Dean’s phone.
“Dude!”
Cas typed out a message and hit send before handing his phone back.
Dean looked.
I have considered it. 🤔— Castiel
Dean slowly raised his head, Cas was already walking away.
“Oh, you asshole.”Dean chased after him.
Cas laughed, and actually ran.
Dean followed.
Two grown men in matching JUST MARRIED shirts sprinting along a waterfront while tourists moved out of their way.
Dean caught him near the railing, wrapping both arms around his waist from behind.
Cas laughed harder and Dean buried his face against Cas’ neck. “Got you.” He said, his voice muffled.
“Yes.”
“Take it back.”
“No.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
Cas turned in his arms, their laughter slowly faded.
Dean’s hands remained at his waist, Cas touched his face.
Dean leaned into the palm before he could think about it, Blue eyes meeting Green.
Their wedding rings flashed beneath the afternoon sun.
The ocean moved quietly behind them.
“Hey.” Dean smiled.
Cas’ thumb brushed his cheek. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“We’ve been together all day.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to say hello.”
“I wanted to.”
Dean looked at him for another second, then kissed his palm.
Cas went very still and smiled against his skin.
“Yeah.” Dean lowered their joined hands.
“Me too.”
They started walking again, no particular destination in mind, no schedule to stick to, nothing to hunt, no ending waiting around the corner.
Just Dean.
Just Cas.
Two stupid shirts.
Two silver rings.
And an entire afternoon with absolutely nothing they had to do except live it.
Dean could probably get used to this.
He looked sideways at Cas and Cas caught him staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean shrugged.
Cas narrowed his eyes.
Dean squeezed his hand. “My husband.”
Cas smiled, Dean smiled back. Yeah.
He could definitely get used to this.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Dean discovered at seven-fifteen that evening that Cas owned a black shirt specifically designed to ruin his life. It was not the same black shirt from that morning, Dean checked. Carefully.
Cas came out of the bathroom while Dean was fastening his watch, and Dean’s hands simply stopped moving.
Black button-down.
Black slacks.
Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.
Collar open.
No tie. Hair still damp from the shower.
Wedding ring catching the lamplight.
Dean stared. He stared hard
Cas stopped. “What?”
Dean continued staring.
Cas looked down at himself. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope.”
“You’re staring.”
“Yep.”
Cas waited. Dean shook his head slowly. “You uh—you can’t wear that,” he said, his voice rough, maybe a little breathy.
“Why?” Cas frowned.
“Because we’re going outside.”
“Yes.”
“Where there are people.”
“Yes.”
“Other people. People who have eyes.”
Cas’ expression became suspicious.
Dean gestured vaguely at him. “You look…” He trailed off.
Cas waited.
Dean tried again. “You look…” Nothing.
Cas’s mouth twitched.
“Oh, shut up.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face doesn’t—”
“Don’t start.”
Cas smiled, and Dean finally managed to fasten his watch. He’d gone with a dark green shirt himself, sleeves rolled up, top button undone. Nothing fancy. Except Cas was still looking at him.
Dean noticed. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The staring thing.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Yeah, you were.”
Cas stepped closer, Dean’s eyebrows rose when Cas stopped directly in front of him and reached up and opened another button on Dean’s shirt.
Dean looked down.
Then at Cas. “Excuse me?”
Cas calmly adjusted Dean’s collar. “Better.”
Dean stared after as he Cas walked away.
Dean remained where he was, his legs feeling some type of way. “Okay.”
“Okay what?” Cas asked, picking up his wallet.
“Apparently we’re choosing violence tonight.”
Cas looked genuinely confused.
Dean pointed at him.
“Keep walking, handsome.”
He could’ve sworn Cas blushed, improved Dean’s mood considerably.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Dinner was ridiculous. Not the food, the food was incredible. Dean had ordered steak because there were certain fundamental truths upon which civilization depended, and Castiel had ordered something involving sea bass, lemon and a word Dean couldn’t pronounce.
No.
The ridiculous part was Cas. Cas sitting opposite him beneath strings of warm lights, Cas drinking wine, Cas’ sleeves pushed up his forearms, Cas looking at Dean over the rim of his glass, Cas occasionally reaching across the table for Dean’s hand like he’d been doing it his entire life.
Dean had spent years imagining Castiel in every possible situation.
Cas hunting, driving, asleep in the passenger seat, sitting at the bunker table every morning.
Cas beside him on Bobby’s porch when they were both old and grey.
He’d imagined some things deliberately, others had crept into his head when his guard was down.
But this? He’d never let himself imagine this, because wanting it would’ve been dangerous, wanting Cas had always felt dangerous. Not because Cas was a man, Dean had figured that part of himself out years ago.
Cas was dangerous because Cas mattered, because Dean didn’t know how to want anything this badly without immediately imagining losing it.
And now Cas was sitting across from him. Alive, human enough to feel the wine warming his cheeks.
He was married to him.
Dean looked down at their hands, Cas’ thumb moving over his wedding ring.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Dean smiled.
“Looking at your ring.”
“Maybe I like it.”
“I know.”
Dean looked up and Cas was smiling, that small, private smile Dean had spent years pretending didn’t rearrange his internal organs.
Dean squeezed his hand. “Yours looks pretty damn good too.”
Cas glanced at his own ring. For a moment his expression changed, it softened.
Dean recognised it, he’d caught Cas doing the same thing. In elevators. At breakfast. Standing on the balcony. Sometimes Cas touched the ring without seeming aware of it, like he was checking.
Dean got it. He did it too. Still here. Still real. Still married.
“Hey.”
Cas looked up.
Dean lifted his wineglass. “To us.”
Cas picked up his.
“To us.”
They clinked glasses. Dean drank, Cas did too.
Then Dean added, “And to Sammy not being here.”
“Dean.” Cas sighed.
“What? You want him on our honeymoon?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“I’d simply like you to stop tormenting him.”
“Never gonna happen.”
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
They left the restaurant sometime after ten. Dean was pleasantly warm from wine, not drunk, definitely not drunk.
Slightly— Flexible.
Cas, annoyingly, appeared almost entirely unaffected, Dean suspected angelic cheating despite the fact Cas wasn’t exactly an angel anymore.
“It’s bullshit.”
Cas looked sideways. “What is?”
“You’re walking straight.”
“I usually do.”
“You had wine.”
“So did you.”
“I know. That’s why the sidewalk’s doing that.”
“The sidewalk isn’t doing anything.”
“Exactly what somebody in league with the sidewalk would say.”
Cas stopped walking. Dean continued for two steps before realising.
He turned. “What?”
Cas was staring at him, then he laughed.
“There he is.” Dean grinned.
Cas shook his head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean walked backward.
“You married me.”
“I did.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.”
“No demon deal.”
“No.”
“No spell.”
“No.”
“Full possession of your faculties?”
Cas considered.
Dean pointed. “Don’t.”
Cas smiled. “Come here, Dean.”
Dean went immediately, he didn’t even pretend otherwise.
Cas kissed him beneath a streetlamp. It was the soft, slow kind of kiss. Dean’s hands found Cas’ waist, somebody walked past them and Dean didn’t care.
When Cas pulled away, Dean followed for another quick kiss. Then another.
Cas smiled against his mouth. “Dean.”
“What?”
“We’re in the middle of the pavement.”
“People can go around.”
Cas laughed quietly.
Dean rested their foreheads together.
“Beach?”
Cas looked toward the dark water beyond the buildings. “Yes.”
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
They took their shoes off at the edge of the sand, and Dean rolled his pants slightly at the ankles. Cas didn’t bother.
“You’re gonna get wet.”
Cas looked at the ocean. “I’ve been wet before.”
Dean stopped. Cas kept walking, Dean staring after him. “Dude.”
“What?” Cas asked.
Dean pointed at him.
“You can’t just say shit like that.”
Cas frowned. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Dean caught up. “Still counts.”
“Counts as what?”
“Something I’m gonna remember later.”
Cas’s expression changed, just slightly, but Dean felt it immediately. That shift, that familiar pull between them.
“How much later?” Cas’s expression changed said, stepping closer.
Dean swallowed. “Well.”
The waves moved around their feet, the moonlight catching in Cas’ eyes.
Dean’s voice dropped. “Maybe not that much later.”
Cas kissed him then,
Dean’s shoes nearly slipped from his fingers. He laughed against Cas’ mouth.
“Hold on.” He pulled away. Cas looked mildly offended. Dean held up the shoes. “Logistics.”
Cas took them from him.
Dean stared. “What are you doing?”
Cas tossed both pairs farther up the beach, and Dean watched them land somewhere near the rocks.
He turned back. “You just threw our shoes.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an animal.”
Cas caught the front of Dean’s shirt.
“Oh.” Dean grinned.
Cas kissed him again and Dean forgot about the shoes.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
They walked farther than they’d intended, past the lights, past the restaurants, past the families and couples and little groups sitting near the water until eventually there was nobody and it was just them, the ocean, the moonlight and the stars. The sound of waves rolled against the shore. Dean had sobered somewhere along the way, he didn’t mind. Cas walked beside him with their shoes hanging from one hand now, because apparently he’d retrieved them while Dean wasn’t paying attention.
Dean’s fingers were intertwined with his, neither of them spoke, they didn’t need to.
Dean looked toward the horizon, the moon painted a silver path across the water. “Kinda pretty.”
“Yes.”
Dean looked at Cas, and was already looking at him.
“That was disgustingly cheesy.” Dean snorted.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“That’s worse.”
Cas smiled, and Dean stopped walking. There was nobody around, not a soul. For once, the whole damn world seemed to have had the decency to leave them alone.
Dean reached up and touched Cas’ face, his thumb moving slowly over the stubble along his jaw. Cas leaned into it, that tiny movement nearly broke Dean’s heart.
He’d touched Cas so many times over the years. Grabbed his coat, held his shoulder, pulled him upright, pushed him away, dragged him closer, held onto him because the alternative was letting him fall.
But this was different. There was no urgency, Dean could take his time.
So he did.
His fingers traced Cas’ cheek, his temple, the edge of his ear.
Cas watched him silently.
Dean swallowed.
“Still can’t believe you did it.” He said, his voice rough.
“What?”
“Married me.”
Cas’s brow furrowed.
You asked.”
“Yeah.”
“You seemed to want me to say yes.”
“Smartass.” Dean laughed softly.
Cas caught Dean’s wrist and kissed the inside of it.
Dean went still.
“I’ve wanted you,” Cas said quietly, “for longer than you knew.”
The humour disappeared from Dean’s face. He knew. Now. But sometimes hearing it still hurt, not badly,
Just— for all those years, all those almosts, all those words swallowed because neither of them knew how to say them.
Dean stepped closer.
“I know.”
Cas’ hand slid into Dean’s. “I wish—”
“Don’t.”
Cas stopped. Dean shook his head. “No. Just, don’t.”
“But—”
“We’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Wishing we did it sooner.”
Cas looked at him.
“Because then I start thinking about everything I should’ve said. Everything I should’ve done. Every time I could’ve—” Dean swallowed thickly. “Can’t change it.”
“No.”
Dean touched their rings together, a tiny click of metal. “But we got here.”
Cas looked down. “Yes, we got here.”
Dean’s fingers tightened around his.
Cas kissed him, slowly. There was nothing desperate about it, nothing stolen. They’d had enough stolen kisses, enough almosts, enough endings. This one belonged entirely to them.
Dean’s hands slipped around Cas’s waist and Cas pulled him closer, the ocean lapping behind them.
Cold water reached Dean’s ankles and retreated again.
Dean smiled against Cas’s mouth, Cas kissed the smile and Dean felt something inside him give way, something he’d been holding tight for so long he couldn’t remember what it felt like to loosen his grip. Cas kissed his cheek, his jaw.
Dean tilted his head.
“Cas.”
Cas stopped immediately. Dean opened his eyes, blue meeting green.
“You alright?” Cas whispered.
Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He touched Cas’s face. “More than okay.”
Cas kissed him again. And Dean knew, there wasn’t a discussion, there need to be. They had spent twelve years learning one another’s silences, this one was easy.
Dean took Cas’ hand and him farther from the water toward the shadow of the dunes.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
The sand was cool beneath Dean’s palms.
Somewhere nearby, Cas’ shirt landed beside Dean’s. Dean laughed quietly.
“What?” Cas said, looking down at him.
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“Just thinking.”
“That rarely ends well.”
“Shut up.”
Cas grinned and Dean reached for him. Cas came willingly, of course he did. They kissed beneath a sky crowded with stars, slowly at first, then with twelve years behind it.
Every almost.
Every goodbye.
Every time Dean had looked at Cas and wanted something he couldn’t name.
Every time Cas had loved him without asking to be loved back.
There was no rush now, no motel alarm clock waiting to drag them toward another hunt, no bunker door about to open, no phone ringing.
Only this.
Dean whispered Cas’s name, Cas answered with Dean’s. And sometime after that, beneath moonlight and stars, hidden from the rest of the world by the dunes, Dean made love to his husband.
Not because they might die tomorrow, nor because they’d nearly lost each other, not because the world was ending, because it wasn’t.
It was because they were alive, because they were deeply in love, because they were married, because they had nowhere else to be.
And because they could.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Later, Dean lay on his back staring at the stars, his shirt was somewhere near his left foot, one pant leg had acquired approximately half the beach, his hair was full of sand.
There was sand in places Dean strongly suspected sand had no evolutionary justification for reaching.
Cas lay beside him, his hair was a disaster. Dean smiled to himself.
Cas looked over. “What?”
“Your hair.”
“What about it?”
“Looks like you got electrocuted.”
“You caused it.”
Dean’s grin widened.
“Yeah?”
Cas’ eyes narrowed, and he rolled onto his side. Dean immediately opened an arm for him, Cas moved into it without hesitation, his head settling against Dean’s chest. Dean’s arm closed around him, easy and natural like they’d they’d been doing this forever. Maybe in some ways they had.
Dean looked at the sky, his fingers moving absently through Cas’ hair.
Cas traced something against Dean’s ribs.
“What’re you doing?” Dean asked, glancing down.
“Nothing.”
“Feels suspiciously like something.”
Cas’ finger moved again.
Dean realised. Letters.
C.
Then—
A.
Dean smiled.
“Sap.”
Cas continued.
S.
Dean caught his hand, Cas looked up at him as Dean threaded their fingers together.
Their rings touched. Dean pressed a kiss over the silver band.
Cas went very still.
“Hey.” Dean said, looking at him.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean smiled. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think I’m pretty good at this.”
“At what?”
“Honeymooning.”
“You complained about sand for fifteen minutes.” Cas said.
“Valid complaint.”
“You got lost twice.”
“The streets are stupid.”
“You sent Sam seventeen messages before breakfast.”
“Family communication is important.”
“You bought matching shirts.”
“Those were awesome.”
“You told a waiter I was a fallen angel.”
“You are.”
“And you accused a sidewalk of conspiring against you.”
Dean paused. “Okay, wine was involved in that one.”
Cas smiled.
Dean tugged him closer. “But.”
“But?”
Dean looked down at their joined hands, thumb brushed over Cas’ ring.
“This part.”
Cas waited.
Dean’s voice softened. “Think I’m pretty good at this part.”
Cas understood, he always did. “Being married?”
“Yeah.” Dean nodded.
Cas studied him, then shifted upward to kiss him. “I think so too.”
Dean’s throat tightened. He covered it with a grin. “Obviously.”
Cas rolled his eyes.
“I mean, you married up.”
“Dean.”
“Way up.”
“Dean.”
“Former angel? Hot? Can cook now without setting shit on fire?”
“I set one towel on fire.”
“Exactly. Growth.”
Cas shook his head.
Dean kissed his forehead, and went quiet again. The waves rolled somewhere beyond the dunes, Cas’ breathing slowly matched Dean’s.
Dean watched the stars. He thought about motel ceilings, hundreds of them with cracked plaster and water stains. The flickering neon lights that he’d spent half his life staring at in the dark, waiting for morning so he could get up and do it all again.
There had always been another road, another hunt, another goodbye waiting somewhere ahead.Tonight there was nothing above him but sky.
Nothing ahead he needed to prepare for.
Cas shifted against his chest and Dean tightened his arm.
His husband. Dean smiled.
Fuck.
He was never getting tired of that.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
Dean looked down and Cas’ eyes were closed.
“Wanna know something?”
“Yes.”
“Sam’s gonna lose his shit when he finds out we did it on a beach.”
Cas’ eyes opened.
Dean started laughing.
“We are absolutely not telling Sam.”
“Oh, I’m telling him.”
“No.”
“Christmas dinner.”
“Dean.”
“Before dessert.”
Cas sat up. “You will not.”
Dean was laughing too hard to answer.
Cas stared down at him in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“You married me, sweetheart.” He grinned.
Cas grabbed his shirt and threw it at his face.
Dean laughed into the fabric. “NO REFUNDS!”
And somewhere beneath a sky full of stars, with the ocean rolling endlessly beside them and two silver rings gleaming faintly in the moonlight, Castiel started laughing too.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Dean Winchester woke up furious at the beach.
Not beaches generally, he wasn’t unreasonable.
He had nothing against the concept.
Ocean.
Sunshine.
Cold beer.
Women in bikinis, historically. Men in swim trunks, historically but with significantly less self-examination.
Beaches had contributed positively to Dean Winchester’s life.
Dean’s problem was with one specific beach and its sand.
Dean opened his eyes. Hotel ceiling.
Good. Bed. Better.
Air-conditioning humming quietly. Excellent. Cas asleep beside him. Outstanding.
Dean smiled for approximately three seconds, then he moved his leg.
His expression changed. He moved it again.
Something scratched and Dean froze. Absolutely fucking not.
He lifted the sheet and looked underneath. “You motherfucker.” He stared.
Beside him, Cas made a sleepy sound. Dean continued staring beneath the sheet like he’d discovered evidence of a war crime.
Sand.
There was sand in the bed. Not a little, not the charming remnants of a romantic midnight walk. There was enough sand in the bed to establish an independent coastline.
Dean sat up and sand appeared from somewhere.
Dean stared at it, then slowly turned toward Cas.
Cas was asleep on his stomach, one arm beneath the pillow, hair sticking up spectacularly, completely peaceful.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Cas.”
Nothing. “Cas.”
A grunt.
Dean poked his shoulder. “Cas!”
One blue eye opened. “Stop talking.” He grumbled sleepily.
Dean pointed at the mattress.
Cas blinked. “What?”
“The beach followed us home.”
Cas looked down, then back at Dean.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Dean stared.
“We went to the beach.”
“That’s your response?”
Cas closed his eye.
Dean poked him again. “No. Don’t go back to sleep. We’re in a crisis.”
“We’re not in a crisis.”
“There’s sand in my ass.”
Both of Cas’s eyes opened. Silence.
Dean pointed at him.
“Don’t.” He warned.
Cas’ mouth twitched. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face doesn’t speak.”
“Your face is laughing at my suffering.”
Cas rolled onto his back. “I told you we should shower when we returned.”
“It was two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“I was tired.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘Future Dean can deal with it.’”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” Dean frowned.
“It was you.”
“Could’ve been anybody.”
“You were standing directly in front of me.”
“Circumstantial.”
Cas stared at him.
Dean lifted the sheet again. More sand.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You also refused to change the sheets.”
“I didn’t know we were smuggling half the Mediterranean in our underwear.”
Cas started laughing.
Dean’s head snapped around. “Oh, that’s funny?”
Cas covered his mouth.
Dean stared. “You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You’re laughing.”
Cas’s shoulders shook. “I’m not.”
“You are literally vibrating.”
Cas lost it.
Dean watched in disbelief as his husband rolled onto his side and laughed into the pillow.
“Oh, screw you.”
That made it worse, Cas’ laughter became muffled.
Dean tried to stay offended, he really did, but there was something deeply unfair about Cas laughing first thing in the morning.
Sleepy.
Hair everywhere.
Face half buried in white pillows.
Wedding ring visible against the sheets.
Dean’s mouth betrayed him. It twitched.
Cas looked up. “You’re smiling.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Gas.”
Cas laughed again.
Dean grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.
Cas stared.
Dean hit him again.
“Dean.”
“Asshole.” Another hit.
“I am not the beach.”
“Accomplice.”
Cas grabbed the pillow and Dean pulled. Cas pulled back.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Let go.”
“No.”
“Cas.”
“No.”
Dean lunged. Cas twisted. They went sideways. Dean landed half across him, and Cas’ hands caught his waist.
Dean looked down.
Cas looked up.
The laughter faded.
Not entirely, just enough.
Dean became suddenly aware that neither of them had bothered with much clothing before collapsing into bed.
Cas’ hand rested against his bare back, Dean’s knee was between Cas’ legs.
Morning sunlight spilled across the sheets, and Cas looked at Dean’s mouth.
Dean noticed, he always noticed. “Well.”
“Well?” Cas raised his eyes.
Dean shifted closer.
“Since we’re already awake…”
Cas’ hand moved slowly up Dean’s spine.
“Mornin’, husband.” Dean smiled.
Cas’s expression softened. “Good morning, Dean.”
Dean kissed him. Cas kissed him back, slow and sleep lazy.
Dean sank into it.
One of Cas’ hands slid into his hair, and Dean made a quiet sound against his mouth.
Cas smiled against Dean’s lips.
Dean pulled back. “You smug bastard.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You smiled.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah, but mine was charming.”
Cas reached up and touched Dean’s cheek, Dean’s argument disappearing immediately.
Damn him.
Cas kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, then his cheek, then the freckle beside his nose.
Dean closed his eyes. “Cas.”
Another kiss.
“What?”
Dean smiled. “Nothing.”
Cas kissed his forehead. Dean lowered himself until his head rested in the crook of Cas’ neck, Cas’ arm came around him automatically.
Dean listened to Cas’s heartbeat it was steady, warm, there. He’d done that last night too, listened, touched,
checked it was still beating.
Dean wondered how long it would take before he stopped needing proof.
Maybe never, maybe that was okay.
Cas’ fingers moved lazily through his hair. Dean stared across the room, their clothes from last night were piled near the bathroom.
The black shirt was hanging over a chair, Dean’s green shirt was on the floor.
One sock had somehow ended up near the balcony.
Dean had absolutely no memory of removing socks on the beach.
He frowned. “Cas?”
“Hmm?”
“Where’d my other sock go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You took my clothes off.”
“You participated.”
“Mostly.”
Cas’ chest moved beneath Dean’s cheek with quiet laughter.
Dean lifted his head.
“Did we leave my sock on the beach?”
“Possibly.”
“My good socks.”
“You own approximately thirty identical pairs.”
“They’re not identical.”
“They’re all black.”
“Different emotional qualities.”
Cas looked at him.
Dean nodded seriously. “Some socks have bad energy.” He said in all seriousness.
“I see.”
“You don’t.”
“No. I do not.”
“That’s okay. Marriage is about accepting differences.”
Cas smiled, completely endeared by his husband.
Dean settled back down, and peaceful seconds passed.
Then Dean shifted, sand scratched somewhere deeply offensive.
His face hardened. “Nope.” He sat up.
“Where are you going?” Cas asked, somewhat affronted.
“Shower.”
“Finally.”
Dean pointed. “Don’t get smug.”
“You’re the one who refused last night.”
“I had been through an ordeal.”
Cas’s eyebrows rose.
“An ordeal?”
Dean climbed out of bed. “Yes, an ordeal! My husband took advantage of me on a beach.”
Cas stared at him.
Dean made it three steps.
“Dean.”
Dean turned.
Cas was sitting upright now. “That is not remotely what happened.”
“Got you.” Dean grinned.
Cas threw a pillow.
Dean ducked. “Violence! On our honeymoon!”
“Go shower.”
Dean laughed all the way into the bathroom.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Ten minutes later, Cas heard:
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
He looked toward the bathroom. “Dean?”
“HOW?”
Cas got out of bed. “Are you all right?”
The bathroom door opened and Dean appeared wearing a towel around his waist, his hair was wet, his expression was horrified.
He held one hand out. There were several grains of sand in his palm.
Cas looked.
Then at Dean.
“HOW?”
Cas pressed his lips together.
“Don’t you dare.” Dean warned.
“I haven’t—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Cas failed.
He laughed.
Dean stared at him. “Divorce.”
Cas laughed harder.
“Seventy-seven hours. That’s all you got.”
“Dean—”
“I gave you the best years of my life.”
“We’ve been married for three days.”
“Gone. Wasted.”
Dean disappeared back into the bathroom and Cas followed.
Dean was muttering beneath his breath. “Fucking sand. Satan’s glitter.”
Cas stopped. “What?”
Dean turned. “Satan’s glitter.”
Cas stared.
Dean pointed toward the shower. “It gets everywhere. You can’t get rid of it. You think it’s gone and then—bam—three days later it’s in your goddamn shoe.”
Cas’s mouth twitched. “That’s an accurate description of glitter.”
“Thank you.”
Dean took off his towel and stepped back beneath the water. Cas leaned against the doorway.
Dean looked at him.
“What?”
“You’re complaining about the beach.”
“Correct.”
“You seemed to enjoy it last night.”
Dean paused.
Cas waited.
Dean’s expression slowly changed. “Oh, I enjoyed the beach.” He winked.
Cas’s cheeks coloured.
Dean grinned. “Didn’t hear me complaining then, did you?”
“Dean.”
“Actually, if memory serves—”
“Dean.”
“—pretty sure somebody else was moaning —“
“Dean.”
Dean laughed, and Cas picked up the nearest towel and threw it at him, it immediately became soaked.
Dean stared down.
Then at Cas. “You’re gonna regret that.”
Cas’s eyebrows lifted. “Am I?” He smirked that very Cas smirk.
Dean stepped out of the shower.
Cas backed up immediately. “Dean.”
Dean advanced, water streaming onto the floor.
Cas backed into the bedroom. “Dean.” He repeated.
“What?”
“You’re getting water everywhere.”
“Oh, suddenly we’re concerned about mess?”
“Dean — just —“ Cas turned.
Dean caught him around the waist. “Gotcha.”
Dean pressed his soaking-wet body against Cas’ back.
“Dean!” Cas struggled.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“You’re wet!”
Dean froze. Cas froze. Silence.
Dean slowly turned his head, and Cas closed his eyes.
Dean whispered, “You walked right into that one.”
“I know.”
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Eventually they made it downstairs.
Late, yet again.
Dean blamed Cas.
Cas blamed Dean.
Dean said that was marriage.
Cas said that wasn’t how responsibility worked. Dean said agree to disagree.
Cas said that also wasn’t how responsibility worked.
They found a table outside, Dean immediately ordered coffee, Cas ordered orange juice.
Dean studied him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Cas narrowed his eyes and picked up the menu.
Dean watched him.
Sunlight, blue shirt today, his hair behaving slightly better, silver ring.
Dean’s husband.
His chest did the thing again, that warm, stupid ache.
Cas noticed. “What?”
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring for thirty seconds.”
“Maybe you’re nice to look at.”
Cas stopped and lowered the menu.
“You’ve become unusually forthcoming.”
“Marriage.”
“I don’t think marriage fundamentally changes your personality.”
“Sure it does.”
“How?”
“Tax benefits.”
Cas stared.
“I love you.” Dean grinned.
Cas blinked.
Dean picked up his coffee and took a sip, like he hadn’t just said it casually in the middle of breakfast.
Cas continued staring.
Dean glanced over the cup. “What?”
“You just said you love me.”
“Yeah.”
“In the middle of a conversation about taxes.”
“Multitasking.”
Cas’s expression did that thing, that soft thing.
Dean looked away. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Dean waved vaguely. “…that”
“I love you too.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Dean looked at him. There had been a time when those words would’ve terrified him, maybe they still did, a little.
But fear wasn’t always a warning.
Sometimes fear was just what happened when something mattered.
Dean reached across the table and Cas met him halfway, their fingers intertwining.
Dean looked at their hands, then at Cas.
“Still married?”
Cas glanced at his ring. “Unless your bathroom divorce was legally binding.”
Dean considered that for a second.
“Nah.” He decided.
“No?”
Dean rubbed his thumb across Cas’s knuckles. “Think I’ll keep you.”
“How generous.” Cas smiled.
“Yeah, well.” Dean lifted Cas’s hand, and pressed a kiss over his ring. “Got used to you.”
Cas’ eyes softened.
Dean immediately added, “Plus, Sam would want the wedding gifts back.”
“There it is.”
Dean grinned.
Cas shook his head, their hands remained together.
Neither let go.
After breakfast, they had absolutely no plans. Dean was starting to discover he liked that. Maybe they’d go swimming, maybe they’d rent a boat, maybe they’d spend the afternoon in bed, maybe they’d walk until they found somewhere interesting, or maybe they’d do nothing.
For most of Dean’s life, nothing had meant waiting.
Waiting for a case.
Waiting for a call.
Waiting for the next thing to go wrong.
Now nothing meant something else, it meant Cas sitting across from him drinking coffee, it meant sunlight, it meant stupid matching shirts, it meant sand still hiding somewhere in their hotel room like a malevolent entity.
It meant tomorrow.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
Dean looked at his husband. “Beach tonight?”
Cas stared at him. “You’ve spent the entire morning complaining about the beach.”
“Yeah.”
“You threatened to divorce me because of sand.”
“Temporary insanity.”
“You called it Satan’s glitter.”
“Still stand by that.”
Cas frowned. “Then why would you want to go back?”
Dean leaned across the table.
Cas watched him suspiciously and Dean lowered his voice.
“Unfinished business.” He winked.
Cas’ face turned pink.
Dean sat back, absolutely delighted.
“Oh, yeah.”
Cas picked up his coffee. “You’re incredibly irritating.”
“My own husband called me irritating.”
“I did.”
“Abuse.”
“Dean.”
“I’m telling Sam.”
Cas sighed.
Dean reached for his phone, and Cas immediately grabbed it out of his hand.
“Hey!”
“No.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“Cas.”
Cas put Dean’s phone into his own pocket.
“You can’t confiscate my phone.”
“I just did.”
“That’s theft.”
“Then call the police.”
Dean opened his mouth, stopped.
Cas raised an eyebrow.
Dean pointed at him.
“You’ve been waiting to use that.” He accused.
“Yes.”
Dean stared, then started laughing.
Marriage, apparently, was going to be a pain in his ass. Dean looked down at the remaining grains of sand clinging stubbornly to the cuff of his shorts.
Literally. He brushed them away, then reached across the table and took Cas’ hand again.
Yeah. It was so worth it.
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Dean found the sand at eleven-seventeen.
He knew the exact time because he’d been checking his phone when it happened. They were walking along the waterfront after breakfast, Cas beside him carrying two bottles of water and a canvas bag containing towels, sunscreen and approximately fourteen other things Cas apparently considered essential for surviving four hours beside an ocean.
Dean stopped.
Cas took another two steps before noticing. “What’s wrong?”
Dean didn’t answer. His expression had gone completely blank.
“Dean?”
Dean slowly lifted one foot, shook it.
Something tiny fell from the cuff of his shorts. Dean stared down in indignation.
Cas followed his gaze.
One grain of sand sat on the pavement between them.
Dean pointed. “There.”
Cas looked at him.
“Do you see that?” Dean said, pointing harder.
“Yes.”
“It followed me.”
“It was probably caught in your shorts.”
“Since last night?”
“Apparently.”
“I showered.”
“I know.”
“Twice.”
“Yes.”
“I changed clothes.”
“Yes.”
Dean looked down at the grain, then back at Cas.
“Like I said, Satan’s fucking glitter.”
Cas closed his eyes and Dean heard the tiny exhale through Cas’s nose. “You’re laughing at me.”
“No.”
“Your face is doing the thing.”
“My face—”
“Don’t you dare.”
Cas’s mouth twitched. Dean pointed accusingly.
“This isn’t over.”
“Between you and the sand?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“It thinks it can break me.”
“I’m not certain sand thinks.”
“That’s what it wants you to believe.”
Cas walked away, Dean followed. “You’re taking its side?”
“I wasn’t aware there were sides.”
“There are always sides.”
Cas held out one of the water bottles without looking at him. Dean took it, their fingers brushing. Cas’ wedding ring clicked faintly against Dean’s.
Dean forgot about the sand.
Mostly.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
The beach looked considerably less threatening in daylight, but Dean still didn’t trust it.
Cas had chosen a quieter stretch away from the hotel, where the water was ridiculously blue and the sand—Dean eyed it suspiciously—was almost white.
They found a spot near the water and Cas spread the towels.
Dean removed his T-shirt. Cas stopped.
Dean noticed immediately, he always noticed.
He looked down at himself, then at Cas.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Dean smiled. “Oh.”
Cas unfolded the second towel.
Dean’s smile widened. “You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I’ve seen you without a shirt.”
“Didn’t stop you looking.”
Cas put the bag down and Dean stepped closer. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”
Cas looked directly at him. “Yes.”
Dean’s grin vanished.
Cas walked past, Dean staring after him. “That is cheating.”
Cas glanced over his shoulder. “How?” He asked.
“You can’t just answer.”
“You asked me a question.”
“You’re supposed to get embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because then I win.”
Cas frowned. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.”
“That explains a great deal about you.”
Dean pointed. “Okay. Swim.”
Cas looked toward the ocean, then back. “Is swimming also a competition?”
“Now it is.”
“I don’t want to race.”
“Scared?”
“No.”
“Sounds scared.”
“Dean.”
“First one to that buoy.”
Cas stared at the buoy. “No.”
“Chicken.”
Cas’s eyes narrowed.
Dean grinned a shit eating grin. “Three.”
“Dean.”
“Two.”
“I haven’t agreed—”
“One.”
Dean ran.
“Dean!”
He hit the water at speed, the first wave reaching his knees.
The second reached his waist. The third was approximately six degrees above absolute zero and caused every muscle in Dean’s body to attempt to climb into his rib cage. “JESUS CHRIST!”
Behind him, Cas laughed.
Dean turned to look at him. Cas was standing ankle-deep in the water. Laughing.
“Get in here!” Dean demanded.
“No.”
“You coward!”
“The water is clearly cold.”
“That’s why you gotta commit!”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely—”
A wave hit Dean from behind. He disappeared. Cas’ laughter carried across the water.
Dean surfaced, his hair plastered across his forehead.
He wiped his face. “Okay.” He spluttered.
Cas backed away and Dean started toward him.
“Dean.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You’re going to throw water at me.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
Dean accelerated.
Cas turned, and Dean caught him around the waist.
“Dean!”
Cas tried to twist away, but Dean dragged him backward. “You wanted a honeymoon!”
“I didn’t request hypothermia!”
“Too late!”
They hit the water together, Cas came up spluttering. Dean was laughing too hard to defend himself. Cas shoved water directly into his face.
Dean stopped laughing. “Oh.”
Cas froze.
Dean wiped his eyes.
“You have made a terrible mistake.”
Cas ran.
Dean chased him, and for the next ten minutes, two grown men with several apocalypses between them conducted a water fight with the maturity of unsupervised twelve-year-olds.
Dean won.
Cas, of course, disputed this. Dean explained that Cas’ opinion was irrelevant because history was written by the victors. Cas pushed him underwater and Dean revised the score. Eventually they floated farther out, not far, just enough that Dean’s feet couldn’t quite touch the bottom.
The water had stopped feeling cold, sunlight warmed his face.
He lay on his back, arms loose beside him, for a while he heard nothing but water.
Then—
“Dean.”
He opened one eye.
Cas was beside him, hair soaked, blue eyes brighter against tanned skin.
Dean smiled. “What?”
Cas held out his hand. Dean took it, and they floated there, holding hands in the ocean.
Dean stared at the sky. “This is weird.”
“What is?”
“Us.”
Cas looked over.
Dean squeezed his hand. “Not bad weird.”
“I assumed.”
“Just…” Dean searched for it. “You ever think about how much crap we’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, we’ve been to Heaven.”
“Yes.”
“Hell.”
“Yes.”
“Purgatory.”
“Yes.”
“Alternate universes.”
“Yes.”
“The past.”
“Yes.”
“Scooby-Doo.”
Cas turned his head.
Dean looked back. “Still counts.”
“I wasn’t disputing it.”
“Good.” Dean stared upward again. “Whole damn universe.” The water lifted him gently. “And somehow this might be the weirdest thing.”
“Floating?”
Dean huffed a laugh. “Being happy.”
Cas went quiet.
Dean almost regretted saying it, then Cas’ fingers tightened around his.
“I’m getting used to it.” Cas said.
Dean looked over. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Dean nodded. “Me too.”
Cas drifted closer and Dean hooked an arm around his shoulders.
Dean thought maybe happiness wasn’t supposed to feel enormous, maybe that had been his mistake. He’d always imagined happiness as some finish line.
Fireworks.
Music.
The universe finally announcing that he’d earned it.
But, maybe happiness was just this.
Warm sun.
Cold water.
Cas’ wet hair against his cheek.
A silver ring pressing against Dean’s shoulder.
Nothing happening.
Dean smiled a private smile to himself.
Yeah.
He could live with that.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
By one-thirty, Dean was hungry. By one-forty, Dean was starving. By one-forty-five, according to Cas, Dean was behaving as though food had ceased to exist.
“I haven’t eaten in hours.”
“You had breakfast at ten.”
“Exactly.”
“That was less than four hours ago.”
“My metabolism is heroic.”
“Your metabolism is concerning.”
“My husband thinks I’m heroic.”
“I said your metabolism—”
“Too late.”
They found a little place near the beach selling burgers and fries. Dean ordered enough food for three people.
Cas stole his fries, as usual. Dean stared, as usual.
“You have your own damn fries.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you eating mine?”
“They taste better.”
Dean slowly lowered his burger.
Cas continued eating.
“You son of a bitch.”
Cas’ mouth twitched.
“You did that to me yesterday.”
“That was pancakes.”
“I don’t see the distinction.”
“There are rules.”
“What rules?”
“Food rules.”
“Which you invented.”
“Civilization invented them.”
Cas stole another fry.
Dean slapped his hand, so Cas stole two more.
Dean moved the basket, so Cas reached across him.
“Dude.”
Cas smiled.
Dean narrowed his eyes, then looked at the phone sitting beside his drink.
An idea occurred.
Dean picked it up, and Cas immediately became suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Dean.”
Dean switched to the camera.
“No.”
“Smile.”
“No.”
Dean snapped a picture.
Cas reached for the phone, Dean pulled it away, Hunter reflexes, couldn’t fucking beat ‘em.
“Delete it.” Cas demanded.
“Absolutely not.”
“I was eating.”
“That’s why it’s art.”
“Dean.”
Dean looked at the photograph.
Cas sitting opposite him, his sunglasses pushed into wet hair.
Blue T-shirt, slightly sunburned nose, one of Dean’s stolen fries halfway to his mouth.
Wedding ring visible, that’s when Dean’s smile softened.
Cas noticed, as he always did. “What?”
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”
He saved it to favourites.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
There were photographs everywhere now, Dean hadn’t intended that, neither had Cas.
But somehow their honeymoon had become documented in hundreds of tiny pieces.
Cas asleep on the plane with his head against Dean’s shoulder.
Dean standing on the balcony the first morning holding coffee.
Their rings beside two wineglasses.
Cas wearing Dean’s sunglasses.
Dean in the JUST shirt.
Cas looking deeply offended in MARRIED.
Their feet in the ocean.
Dean’s abandoned shoes.
Cas’s black shirt hanging over the hotel chair.
Two shadows stretched across the sand.
A blurry photograph of Dean laughing.
Another of Cas laughing harder.
One Dean hadn’t known Cas took of him staring out at the water.
One Cas hadn’t known Dean took while he was reading on the balcony.
Nothing important. Everything important.
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
By mid-afternoon, the heat had become oppressive.
Dean rolled onto his stomach next to the beach umbrella.
“I’m dying.”
Cas turned a page of his book. “You said that about hunger.”
“Multiple causes of death exist.”
“You insisted on sitting in the sun.”
“Vacation.”
“You could sit beneath the umbrella.”
“That’s where you are.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Cas lowered the book.
“Wanted you to ask.” Dean grinned.
Cas stared. “You’re impossible.” He said, trying to hide his fondness and failing.
“Yet devastatingly attractive.”
Cas returned to his book.
Dean waited. Nothing. “Cas. Silence. “Cas.”
Page turned.
“Cas.”
“Yes?”
“You’re supposed to agree.”
“I’ve already told you you’re attractive.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I wasn’t aware it expired.”
Dean shifted closer.
Cas kept reading.
Dean put his head on Cas’ thigh. The book lowered.
Dean closed his eyes. “There.”
Cas stared down. “Comfortable?”
“Very.”
“I can’t move.”
“That’s the idea.”
Cas sighed, then his fingers moved into his hair.
Dean’s smile disappeared, and he relaxed instantly.
There were certain things Cas had discovered about Dean that gave him entirely too much power. One was the place just beneath Dean’s jaw that made his brain briefly forget its responsibilities.
Another was that Dean would commit several crimes for homemade pie.
The worst was this. Fingers through his hair. Slow, gentle.
Dean was powerless.
“Don’t stop.” He said softly.
“I thought you were dying.”
“Recovery underway.”
The sound of waves blurred, kids laughed somewhere farther down the beach.
Cas’ fingers continued their slow path through Dean’s hair.
Dean’s breathing evened, he didn’t intend to sleep. That was important.
Dean Winchester did not nap, napping was for toddlers and old men.
He merely rested his eyes
For forty-seven minutes.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
When Dean woke, Cas was asleep too.
Dean didn’t move, Cas’ head had fallen back against the beach chair, book open across his stomach, one hand still rested in Dean’s hair.
Dean slowly reached for his phone.
He took one photograph. No joke.
No stupid caption.
Just Cas asleep.
Then Dean put the phone down, and looked at him. His husband. That word again, it had become almost ridiculous how often Dean thought it.
My husband.
My husband.
My husband.
Like his brain was afraid he’d forget.
Dean touched his ring. Maybe eventually the novelty would wear off. Maybe ten years from now he’d barely notice the silver band.
He hoped not.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
They returned to the hotel sometime after five. Dean showered first, Cas showered second. Dean came out onto the balcony wearing nothing but shorts and carrying two beers. The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon.
Cas joined him a few minutes later, wearing a blue sweater, black slacks, bare feet.
Dean looked. He really looked.
“You’re staring again.” Cas said.
“Yeah.”
No denial this time.
Cas smiled and Dean handed him a beer.
They sat for almost an hour, they didn’t do much. They talked about nothing and everything. Dean told Cas about a road trip he’d taken with Sam when they were twenty-two and sixteen that had ended with a stolen road sign, a flat tire and John being furious.
Cas told Dean about the first time he’d heard music through human ears after becoming mortal.
Dean asked what song it had been. Cas couldn’t remember, obviously Dean declared this unacceptable.
Cas promised to fabricate something appropriately meaningful later.
The sun sank lower, Gold became orange, Orange became pink, the ocean turned molten beneath it.
Dean rested his feet on the balcony railing. Cas’ chair was close enough that their knees touched.
Dean looked toward the horizon. “Last full day.” He said, taking a pull of his beer.
Cas went still. “Technically.”
“Don’t like that.”
“We still have tomorrow morning.”
“Doesn’t count.”
“Why?”
“Airport day.”
Cas nodded as though this were self-evident.
Dean glanced toward him. “You ready to go home?” He asked.
Cas considered. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Dean hadn’t expected that.
Cas looked over. “You aren’t?”
Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Course, I guess.”
But something must’ve shown, because Cas set his beer down.
“Dean.”
“What?”
“You look disappointed.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Dean sighed. “Just…”
He looked at the ocean. “Been nice, is all.”
“Yes.”
“No phones going off. No lore. No somebody needing something.”
“Yes.”
“Just us.”
Cas watched him.
Dean rubbed his thumb over the label on his beer. “And tomorrow it’s over.”
Cas frowned.
“The honeymoon is over.
“Dean.”
“What?”
Cas reached for his hand, and Dean gave it to him easily.
Cas looked down at their rings. “The trip ends tomorrow.”
Dean waited.
Cas lifted his eyes. “Our marriage doesn’t.”
Dean stared.
Cas’s thumb moved across Dean’s ring.
“We aren’t going back to what we were before.”
Something shifted inside Dean’s chest.
It was small and quiet.
“Tomorrow we’ll go home.” Cas continued. He intertwined their fingers. “We’ll unpack.”
Dean smiled faintly.
“You’ll unpack.”
“You’ll leave your suitcase on the floor for three days.”
“Efficient storage.”
“Sam will complain about the number of photographs you sent.”
“He loved them.”
“He blocked you twice.”
“Affectionately.”
“We’ll make dinner.”
“You’ll burn something.”
“I haven’t burned dinner in months.”
“Statistically overdue.”
“Dean.”
Dean smiled.
Cas squeezed his hand. “And then we’ll go to bed.”
Dean looked at him.
“And the next morning, you’ll still be my husband.” Cas added.
There it was, that stupid ache again.
Dean swallowed. “Yeah.”
“And the morning after that.”
Dean looked down.
“And the one after that?”
Cas’ expression softened. “Yes.”
“You keep saying that.” Dean laughed quietly.
“You keep asking.”
“Maybe I like hearing it.”
Cas brought Dean’s hand to his mouth, and kissed over his wedding ring.
Dean stopped breathing for a second.
“You can hear it as many times as you need.”
“Careful.” Dean said looking at him.
“Why?”
“Could be a lot.”
“I know.”
Dean squeezed his hand. “Yeah.”
They watched the rest of the sunset like that, hand in hand.
Later, they got dressed for dinner.
Dean chose the grey Henley, Cas wore black. Again.
Dean came out of the bathroom, and saw him, making him stop in his tracks.
“No.”
Cas looked up from fastening his watch.
“What?”
“We discussed this, Cas.”
“Discussed what?”
“The black.”
Cas looked down.“It’s a shirt.”
“It’s a public safety issue.”
Cas sighed. Dean crossed the room, Cas watching him approach until Dean stopped directly in front of him, adjusted Cas collar
then deliberately opened one more button.
Cas looked down.
Then at Dean. “I thought you objected.”
Dean smoothed the fabric against Cas’ chest. “Changed my mind.”
“Why?”
Dean leaned closer.
“Last night.” He grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Wanna make it memorable.”
“I think the honeymoon has been memorable.”
“Could always improve the average.”
Cas shook his head, and Dean kissed him again, quick. Then another, less quick.
Cas caught Dean’s waist and Dean smiled against his mouth. “Dinner.”
“You started this.”
“I know.” Dean kissed him once more, then pulled away.
Cas looked mildly betrayed.
Dean grinned. “Come on, gorgeous.”
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Dinner became drinks. Drinks became walking.
Walking became music. They found it accidentally, a little bar near the waterfront with its doors thrown open, somebody inside was playing guitar, nothing that Dean recognised. It was slow and easy. A handful of couples were dancing outside beneath strings of lights.
Dean stopped, and Cas looked toward them, then at Dean.
“No.” Cas said.
“I didn’t say anything.” Dean frowned.
“You were going to.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You were going to ask me to dance.”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t dance, Dean.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then why would we?”
Dean held out his hand. “Because we’re on our honeymoon.”
Cas looked at it. Then at him.
Dean wiggled his fingers.
“Come on.”
Cas sighed, but took his hand and Dean led him closer.
There were no steps, no technique. Dean put his hands at Cas’ waist, and Cas rested his around Dean’s shoulders.
They moved. Badly.
Dean stepped on Cas’ foot. Cas elbowed somebody behind him.
Dean apologised.
Cas apologised.
Dean started laughing.
“This was a terrible idea.”
“Yes.”
“Wanna stop?”
Cas looked at him. “No.”
Dean’s laughter faded. “Yeah,” he pulled him closer.
“Me neither.”
Cas’s arms settled more comfortably around his neck, Dean’s hands moved around his back and they swayed. That was all.
Dean didn’t know the song, didn’t know the words, didn’t particularly care.
Cas’s cheek rested against his temple.
Dean closed his eyes. He thought about dancing with Lisa once, about the school dances he’d never attended, about weddings he’d crashed on cases, about all the versions of himself who’d never imagined this one.
Dean Winchester, barely dancing beneath string lights beside an ocean, wedding ring on his finger, Cas in his arms. His husband.
Dean smiled.
Cas felt it.
“What?”
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”
“More nothing?”
“Whole lot of it lately.”
Cas pulled back and Dean looked at him, his eyes were impossibly blue beneath the lights.
Dean leaned in, their noses brushed. “Love you.”
Cas didn’t look surprised this time, he smiled. “I love you too.”
Dean kissed him, nobody clapped, nobody stared, nobody cared.
The music kept playing.
The world kept turning.
Dean kissed his husband beneath the lights.
And that was enough.
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Back at the hotel, Dean stood on the balcony while Cas got ready for bed, the city glowed far below, the coastline curved into darkness.
Dean took out his phone, opened the camera roll. Hundreds of photographs.
He scrolled.
Airport.
Balcony.
Breakfast.
Matching shirts.
Ocean.
Beach.
Cas.
Cas.
Cas.
Cas.
Dean laughed quietly. “Obsessed much?”
“What?”
Dean turned.
Cas stood in the doorway and Dean immediately locked the phone. “Nothing.”
Cas narrowed his eyes. “You were looking at photographs.”
“No.”
“You were.”
Dean slipped the phone into his pocket. “Prove it.” He challenged.
Cas walked toward him, and Dean backed against the railing.
Cas stopped close.
Very close.
“You’ve taken a lot of photographs of me.”
“You’re very photographable.”
“That isn’t a word.”
“Sure it is.”
Cas’s hands settled at Dean’s waist.
Dean looked at him.
Tomorrow. The thought appeared again.
Tomorrow they left.
Dean pushed it away.
Cas touched his cheek. “Take one more.”
Dean frowned. “Huh?”
Cas took Dean’s phone from his pocket and opened the camera, then turned so his back was against Dean’s chest.
Dean understood.
He wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, hooked his chin over Cas’ shoulder, and Cas held the phone up. The coastline glowed behind them, Cas in black, Dean in grey, sun-browned, both slightly tired, both wearing rings. No posing.
No stupid faces.
Dean looked at the screen.
Cas did too. “Ready?”
Dean tightened his arms. “Wait.”
Cas glanced sideways, and Dean kissed his cheek.
Click.
Cas looked at the photograph, Dean stayed right where he was, chin on Cas’ shoulder, arms around his waist.
Cas’ hand rested over Dean’s, their rings beside each other.
Dean smiled. “Send that one to Sam.”
Cas looked surprised. “You want to?”
“Yeah.”
“No insulting caption?”
Dean thought about it for all of 0.2 seconds. “No.”
Dean watched as he sent it.
A minute later, Dean’s phone buzzed.
Sam.
You guys look happy.
Dean stared. There was no joke, no vomiting emoji, no complaint. Just that.
Cas read it over his shoulder as Dean started typing.
Stopped.
Deleted it.
Started again.
Yeah. We are.
He sent it.
Cas’s arms tightened around his. For a while they stayed on the balcony.
No pictures.
No messages.
No need to document it.
Eventually Cas whispered, “Bed?”
Dean kissed his temple. “Yeah, bed.”
They went inside.
Cas turned off the lights, Dean climbed beneath the sheets and Cas joined him.
Dean immediately moved closer, Cas opened an arm so
Dean could settle against him, legs tangled, Dean’s head beneath Cas’ chin.
Their hands found each other beneath the blankets.
Dean stared into the darkness. “Cas?”
“Hmm?”
“Good honeymoon?”
Cas’ fingers tightened around his. “The best.”
Dean smiled. “You haven’t had another one.”
“I don’t need another one for comparison.”
“Scientifically questionable.”
“Dean.”
Dean laughed quietly, then fell silent. Cas kissed the top of his head and Dean closed his eyes.
Tomorrow they’d pack.
Tomorrow they’d get on a plane.
Tomorrow the ocean would disappear beneath the clouds and this place would become photographs on Dean’s phone.
But Cas would be in the seat beside him, Cas would walk through the bunker door beside him, Cas would go to sleep beside him.
And the next morning—
Dean touched his ring beneath the sheets.
Still married.
He smiled. “Night, husband.”
Cas’ hand moved slowly through his hair.
“Goodnight, husband.”
Dean opened his eyes. “Okay, that’s weird when you say it.” He said.
Cas laughed.
Dean grinned into his chest. “Do it again.”
“My husband.”
Dean’s grin widened.
“Again.”
“Dean.”
“Come on.”
“My husband.”
“Again.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You married me.”
Cas kissed his forehead. “I did.”
Dean closed his eyes, and sometime before sleep found him, with Cas’ wedding ring resting cool against his skin, Dean realised he wasn’t quite as sad about tomorrow anymore, because maybe Cas was right. The honeymoon was ending, they weren’t.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Dean woke up with Cas’ face approximately three inches from his own.
This wasn’t unusual.
What was unusual was that Cas was awake, staring at him.
Dean blinked. Cas stared.
Dean blinked again.
“Dude.”
“Good morning.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Watching me sleep like a Victorian ghost.”
Cas frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means creepy.”
“I wasn’t being creepy.”
“You were sitting there silently staring at an unconscious person.”
“I was lying down.”
“Not helping your case.”
Cas’s mouth twitched.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re smiling.”
“No.”
“Yeah, you are.” Dean rolled onto his back, his voice coming out rough with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Seven forty-three.”
Dean’s eyes snapped open. “In the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Why are we conscious?”
“Our flight leaves at twelve-thirty.”
“So?”
“We have to pack.”
Dean closed his eyes. “No.” He said defiantly.
“Dean.”
“Flight’s cancelled.”
“It isn’t.”
“Airport burned down.”
“It didn’t.”
“Pilot called in sick.”
“There are other pilots.”
Dean opened one eye. “Why are you fighting me on this?”
“Because we have to go home.”
Dean groaned and pulled the sheet over his head. “Nope.”
There was silence for two minutes.
“Dean.” Cas finally said.,
“Dead.”
“You’re talking.”
“Ghost.”
Cas pulled the sheet down, Dean immediately grabbed it back, so
Cas pulled harder.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Dean.”
“Till death do us part, buddy. You’re stuck with this now.”
Cas stopped pulling.
Dean waited, and slowly lowered the sheet.
Cas was looking at him. That look.
Dean’s stomach did the stupid little flip it had apparently decided was going to become a regular feature of married life.
“What?”
Cas’ expression softened. “Nothing.”
“Oh, don’t you start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did the face.”
“What face?”
“The face.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Cas leaned closer.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
Cas kissed him, and Dean immediately stopped complaining. Mostly.
It was a lazy morning kiss. Warm, sleepy.
Cas’ hand settled against Dean’s cheek, and Dean’s fingers curled around Cas’ wrist.
When Cas started to pull away, Dean followed, so Cas kissed him again, Dean smiling against his mouth.
“Okay.” Another kiss.
“Maybe.” Another. “We stay.”
Cas pulled back.
“We’re not staying.”
“Worth a shot.” Dean grinned.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Packing was bullshit.
Dean had always believed this. Packing to go somewhere? Fine.
There was purpose to that.
Weapons, clothes, fake IDs. Maybe a toothbrush if he remembered.
Packing to leave somewhere? Bullshit.
It was just organized sadness. Dean stood in front of the open suitcase, hands on hips. Cas walked past carrying neatly folded clothes, and Dean watched him place them inside.
“You know you’re making me look bad.”
“You haven’t packed anything.”
“Exactly.”
Cas straightened. “You could help.”
“I am helping.”
“How?”
“Supervision.”
Cas stared.
Dean pointed at the suitcase. “That shirt goes on the left.”
“Why?”
“Balance.”
“There is no reason it needs to be balanced.”
“That’s quitter talk.”
Cas moved the shirt to the left.
Dean smiled. “See? Teamwork.”
Cas rolled his eyes, exasperated, and walked away.
Dean sat on the edge of the bed, and noticed something on the nightstand.
It was a small paper coaster from the bar where they’d danced. He picked it up, turned it over between his fingers.
It was nothing special, just the bar’s logo. Dean tossed it toward the trash.
“Wait.”
Dean stopped.
Cas crossed the room, plucked the coaster out of Dean’s hand, and put it into his suitcase.
“You’re keeping that?” Dean frowned.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Cas continued packing. Dean watched him, and noticed something else — a folded restaurant receipt.
Cas put that in too.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Hang on.”
Cas glanced up.
Dean moved closer.
“What else you got in there?”
“Clothes.”
“No, no. Show me.”
“Dean.”
“Show me the contraband.”
Cas sighed.
Dean reached into the suitcase, Cas tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Dean pulled out a small collection of things.
The coaster.
The receipt.
A folded napkin from their first breakfast.
A tiny seashell.
One of the hotel key-card sleeves.
The ridiculous postcard Cas had bought.
A ticket from the boat they’d taken around the bay.
Dean stared, then looked at Cas.
Cas suddenly seemed fascinated by folding socks.
Dean held up the coaster. “Seriously?”
Cas didn’t answer.
Dean held up the napkin. “This has ketchup on it.”
“Yes.”
“You kept garbage.”
“They’re souvenirs.”Cas folded another sock.
Dean’s voice softened. “Cas.”
Dean looked down at the little collection in his hands. “Why?”
Cas frowned slightly.
“Because I wanted to remember.”
Dean swallowed.
“The restaurant where you called me your husband for the first time in front of a stranger.” Cas said quietly.
Dean looked at the receipt.
“The bar where we danced.”
The coaster.
“The beach.”
The shell.
“The boat.”
The ticket.
Cas touched the hotel card sleeve.
“Our room.”
Dean’s throat tightened.
Cas looked at him.
“I wanted to keep them.”
Dean stared at his husband, former Angel of the Lord, warrior of Heaven, guy who’d once smited an entire room full of demons without breaking a sweat, was standing barefoot beside a hotel bed because he’d secretly saved a ketchup-stained napkin from their honeymoon.
Dean rubbed his mouth. “Jesus, Cas.”
Cas’s expression changed. “You think it’s stupid.”
“No.” Dean answered too quickly. “No. I don’t.” He looked down at everything again. “It’s…” He struggled.
Cas waited.
Dean finally sighed. “It’s disgustingly adorable.”
“That sounds contradictory.” Cas sighed.
“It is.”
Dean put everything carefully back into the suitcase. “Wait.”
He picked up the postcard, turned it over.
Cas had written something on the back.
Dean read it.
Wish you were here.
Dean stared. Then barked out a laugh.
“You actually wrote to the bunker?”
“Yes.”
“The bunker isn’t a person.”
“I know.”
“Who were you expecting to read this? The dungeon?”
Cas took the postcard. “I thought Sam might find it amusing.”
“Sam has no sense of humour.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
Cas put the postcard away.
Dean pointed. “Marriage has made you mouthy.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Dean stared. Cas stared back. Dean’s face slowly broke into a grin.
“God, I love you.”
Cas smiled. “I know.”
Dean froze. Cas’ eyebrows lifted.
Dean pointed. “Did you just Han Solo me?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
Cas walked into the bathroom.
“You’ve seen Empire.” Dean said following him.
Silence.
“Cas.”
The bathroom door closed. Dean stared at it.
“You smug son of a bitch.”
From behind the door, Cas said,
“I love you too.”
“Better.” Dean grinned.
They checked the room three times.
Cas checked for forgotten clothes,
Dean checked for chargers, Cas checked the bathroom, Dean checked under the bed.
Not because he’d lost anything, but because Dean Winchester had been conditioned by approximately four decades of motel rooms to check under beds before leaving.
He found a sock.
His sock.
“Cas!”
Cas turned to see Dean holdinf up the sock. His missing black sock.
Cas stared at him,
Dean was clutching it to his chest.
“My boy.”
“It’s a sock.”
“He survived.”
“You have thirty identical pairs.”
“They are not identical.”
“They are black socks.”
“They have different emotional qualities, I have told you this.”
Dean put the sock in the suitcase.
“I married a deeply disturbed individual.”
Dean zipped the suitcase. “Too late now. Jokes on you, buddy.”
“Yes. So it would seem.”
Dean looked around.
The room was empty, their things packed, the bed was made, the curtains open, sunlight pouring through the balcony doors.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Dean’s smile faded.
“Dean?”
Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
Dean looked toward the balcony. “Just…”
He shrugged. “Feels weird.”
“Leaving?”
“Yeah.” Dean stared around the room.
“This is gonna sound stupid.”
“I doubt that.”
“You should. I say stupid crap constantly.”
“That’s true.”
Dean looked at him, and Cas’s mouth twitched.
“Feels like when we walk out that door…” Dean Sighed. He rubbed his thumb over his wedding ring. “Like something’s ending.”
Cas looked at him for a long moment, then he reached out, taking Dean’s hand.
“What did I tell you last night?”
Dean looked down.
“The honeymoon ends.”
Cas squeezed. “We don’t.”
Dean smiled faintly.
“Yeah.” Dean rested his forehead against Cas’. “Still married?”
“Yes.”
“Even at baggage claim?”
“Yes.”
“Security?”
“Yes.”
“Even if they confiscate my shampoo?”
“Especially then.”
Dean laughed softly. “Okay.”
Cas kissed him, it was soft and brief.
Dean looked around the hotel room one last time. “Good honeymoon.”
Cas’ thumb moved over his ring. “The best.”
“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “It was.”
He picked up the suitcase. “Let’s go home.”
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
The airport was terrible, naturally.
Dean complained about security.
The seats.
The food.
The price of water.
The existence of duty free.
The fact that a child had been kicking the back of his chair for twenty-three consecutive minutes. He turned around.
The kid stopped.
Dean gave him a thumbs-up.
Cas raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You’re good with children.”
Dean looked offended. “No.”
“You are.”
“I threatened him.”
“You gave him a thumbs-up.”
“Intimidating gesture.”
Cas smiled.
Dean looked out of the terminal window, planes moved slowly beyond the glass.
He frowned. “Still don’t like flying.”
“I know.”
“Humans weren’t built for it.”
“I flew for millennia.”
“You had wings.”
“Yes.”
“Different.”
“How?”
“Less Boeing.”
“That’s fair.” Cas agreed.
Dean nodded. “Thank you.”
A boarding announcement sounded overhead.
Dean’s face fell. “Maybe that’s not ours.”
“It is.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They said our flight number.”
“Coincidence.”
“And our destination.”
“Big airport.”
“And our gate.”
Dean looked at him.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Reality’s.”
“Traitor.”
Cas stood and picked up his bag, but Dean remained seated.
Cas looked down at him. “Dean.”
“I live here now.”
“You hate airports.”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
Cas held out his hand, Dean looked at it, then at Cas, then back at the hand.
Dean sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
He took it.
Cas pulled him to his feet, and Dean immediately moved closer.
“Just so we’re clear, if this plane goes down, I’m haunting you.”
“If the plane goes down, I’ll also be dead.”
Dean paused. “Okay, then we’re haunting Sam.”
“Agreed. That seems fair.”
“Marriage.” Dean grinned.
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
On the plane, Cas took the window seat, Dean pretended that was intentional.
It wasn’t.
Dean hated looking out during takeoff, Cas knew that.
Of course he did.
Their hands rested together on the armrest, Dean’s fingers tightened as the plane began to accelerate. Cas said nothing, just turned his hand beneath Dean’s, palm to palm.
The plane lifted, and Dean stared straight ahead, Cas’ thumb moving across his knuckles.
A minute later Dean muttered, “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“If we die on our honeymoon—”
“We’re not going to die.”
“Terrible story.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“Sam would be unbearable at the funeral.”
Cas looked sideways.
Dean continued. He’d be all, ’Dean always hated flying.’”
“Dean.” Cas sighed.
“Then he’d cry.”
“He would.”
“Big giant moose tears.”
“Probably.”
Dean smiled faintly, Cas squeezed his hand.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Cas frowned.
Dean shrugged.
Cas understood anyway.
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Once the seatbelt sign went off, Dean relaxed approximately twelve percent.
Cas read, Dean attempted to watch a movie. Then another. Then spent fifteen minutes complaining that the screen was too small.
Eventually, he gave up. He looked sideways.
Cas was still reading. Dean watched him.
Cas turned a page.
Dean continued watching.
Another page.
Cas sighed. “Dean.”
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
Dean grinned. “Now you know how it feels.”
Cas kept his eyes on the book. “I don’t stare.”
“Victorian ghost. Seven forty-three this morning.”
“I was admiring you.”
Cas turned another page.
Dean stared at him.
“You can’t just say crap like that and keep reading.”
“I just did.”
Dean reached over and closed Cas’ book. Cas looked down at it. Then at Dean.
“What?”
Dean leaned closer.
“Admiring me?” He said, his brows raised.
“Yes.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. “Why?”
Cas’ expression changed, like the answer was obvious.
“Because you’re my husband.”
There it was. Again.
That stupid word, that stupid wonderful word.
Dean looked down at their hands. “You really like saying that.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Cas’ eyebrows lifted.
Dean looked back at him. “Because I really like hearing it.” He said. Dean reopened the book and handed it back.
“Carry on.”
Cas took it and Dean settled into his seat.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then—
“My husband.”
Dean’s head snapped around.
Cas was reading, completely straight-faced.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re screwing with me.”
Cas turned a page.
“My husband.”
Dean bit back a smile. “Cas.”
“My husband.”
“Dude.”
Cas finally looked at him.
Dean lost the fight with his grin. “You’re such an asshole.”
Cas smiled. “You married me.”
Dean laughed. “Yeah.” He leaned over and kissed Cas’ cheek. “Best damn thing I ever did.”
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
Hours later, the plane descended through clouds, Dean looked out this time.
Home. Not their home exactly, not yet. But familiar roads, familiar sky.
The beginning of the route back to Kansas.
Dean felt something unexpected — Relief.
Not because the honeymoon was over, but because they were going home together.
He looked over at Cas. He was asleep, head tilted slightly toward the window.
Dean took out his phone, took one photograph.
Cas stirred and opened one eye.
“Did you just take a picture of me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Prove it.”
Cas closed his eye again. Dean smiled, and saved it to favourites.
A few minutes later, Cas’ head tipped sideways, landing against Dean’s shoulder.
Dean looked out of the window again, clouds giving way to earth, home was getting closer, Cas breathing softly against him.
Dean rested his cheek against Cas’ hair. For years, coming home had meant something different.
The bunker.
Baby parked safely in the garage.
Weapons cleaned.
Beer.
His trusty memory foam mattress that never forgot him.
Sammy just down the hall.
Safety, as much as people like them ever got it.
But now—
Dean looked down at the silver ring on Cas’ hand. Maybe home wasn’t something waiting for him at the end of the journey anymore, maybe he’d brought it with him.
“Hey, Cas.” He whispered.
Cas made a sleepy noise.
Dean’s smile widened. “Nothin’.”
He rested his head against Cas’, and watched the ground rise slowly to meet them.
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
They were home, and Sam was waiting.
Dean knew he was in trouble the second the bunker door opened.Sam stood there, arms crossed, his expression flat.
Eileen stood beside him, smiling.
Dean stopped halfway down the stairs. “Uh-oh.”
Sam pointed. “You.”
Dean looked behind himself. “Me?”
“You sent me one hundred and forty-three photographs.”
Dean looked at Cas.
“That’s not that many.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “In seven days.”
“Memories, Sammy.”
“You sent me a picture of toast.”
“It looked like Cas.”
“It did not.”
“The burn mark did.”
Cas closed his eyes.
Eileen signed something. Sam looked at her and said, “Don’t encourage him.”
Dean put down his suitcase. “You missed me.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Dean opened his arms. “Come here, bring it in, brother.”
Sam looked horrified as Dean walked toward him.
“Dean.”
“Come on, big guy.”
“Dean.”
Dean hugged him, Sam stood rigidly.
“My baby brother.”
“I hate you.”
Dean smiled against his shoulder. “Missed you too.”
Sam’s arms eventually came up, briefly. Dean didn’t comment, mostly because he liked living. When they pulled apart, Eileen hugged Cas.
Sam looked at Cas.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Thank you, Sam.” Cas nodded.
Sam glanced at Dean. “Really?”
Cas looked at Dean too.
“Why is everybody looking at me?” Dean frowned.
“Yes. Really.” Cas smiled.
Sam relaxed, and Dean pretended not to notice.
Eileen looked at Dean, her eyes dropping to his left hand, that infectious smile spreading across her face.
Dean followed her gaze down to his hand.
His ring.
For some reason, he felt absurdly proud. He lifted his hand.
“Still married.”
“Oh my God.” Sam groaned.
“Seven whole days.”
“Congratulations.”
“Against all odds.”
“Dean.”
“No annulment. No international incident. Nobody arrested.”
Cas cleared his throat.
Dean looked over at him. “What?”
“You nearly got arrested.”
Sam’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Snitch.” Dean pointed at Cas accusingly.
“You attempted to climb a locked gate.”
“There was a shortcut.”
“There was a sign saying private property.”
“Suggestions.”
Sam rubbed both hands over his face. “You’ve been back thirty seconds.” He says, already over it.
“Missed this place.” Dean grinned.
Sam lowered his hands, for a second, his expression softened. “Yeah. Welcome home.”
Dean’s grin faded into something smaller. “Thanks, Sammy.”
Cas’ hand slipped into his, and Dean looked down, his thumb brushing over his skin, then he looked at Cas.
Home.
Yeah, they were.