morning, sunshine
Castiel isn’t exactly a morning person.
Dean’s got no clue where the former angel picked that up, but for some reason Castiel tries to win a fucking award for crankiness in the early hours of every single goddamned day since he moved into the bunker for good. And he stays that way until there is enough coffee or black tea rushing through his system for him to behave like a moderately decent person.
Dean already wondered whether Castiel perhaps just needs some time to adjust – after all, he’s human for less than two months now – and come to terms with all the sleeping and eating and breathing. It’s quite a change, so it’d be totally understandable.
But deep down Dean is convinced that this is simply Castiel’s normal behavior. He had been a little piece of shit since day one after all.
And Dean can’t help finding it kinda endearing.
So he’s unable to fight a slight smile when he sees Castiel shuffle into the kitchen that morning like a zombie just recently raised from the grave, his lids half-open, just barely enough to spot the coffeemaker. His hair is more of a mess than usual, his sweatpants are hanging quite low and showing off some sharp hipbones and his rumpled shirt is inside out as if Castiel didn’t give a fuck and merely put it on because of the incident one week ago when he walked completely bare chested into the kitchen one morning, almost giving Dean an aneurysm, and was immediately forced to listen to a speech by Sam about decent clothing at the breakfast table while Dean fought with death in the background.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets, looking up from his phone for a second, and flashes the ex-angel a smile, though he knows fairly well that it won’t be appreciated anyway.
Castiel just grumbles something inaudible underneath his breath and takes a mug out of the cabinet without destroying the better part of the kitchen.
And Dean just smiles like a stupid idiot.
Castiel doesn’t notice anything that’s going on around him, his gaze only fixed on the coffee. He downs it in one go, black and hot, his poor throat obviously used to that kind of treatment, and squints at the opposite wall as if there’s some hidden secret he’s contemplating to solve.
But in the end he drops the issue and turns toward the brothers at the table instead.
“Morning, Cas,” Dean says, grinning brightly. “Need more coffee?”
Castiel grunts an incoherent reply and studies the other man intently for a moment.
And then he leans down and presses a warm and quick kiss onto Dean’s lips.
Dean freezes up, but he’s got no chance to respond in any kind before Castiel pulls back again, smiling fondly, and strolls out of the kitchen as if all of this had been a perfectly normal occurrence.
And Dean merely gapes after him, his eyes impossibly widened.
Did that seriously just happen?
“Um … did Cas just kiss you?” Sam asks, his huge forehead wrinkled like he’s deeply in thought, but at the same time there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Dammit.
“Uh …” Dean answers very eloquently, not sure what to say. His lips taste intensely like Castiel, even after that short contact, and he’s got no idea what to do with that. It feels as if his brain had been fried.
“'Cause, man, it really looked like Cas just kissed you,” Sam goes on, now clearly amused. “I didn’t know that you and him –”
“We’re not!” Dean cuts in instantly, suppressing a blush and failing spectacularly. “Um, I mean … you saw him, Sammy. He was half-asleep. He probably thought he was dreaming or something …”
Sam’s smirk becomes even wider hearing that. “Then it’s interesting to know what Cas is dreaming about, don’t you think?”
His eyes glint teasingly and Dean is having a very hard time ignoring him or coming up with some plausible excuse.
All he can think about are the soft press of lips and the fluttery feeling inside his stomach.
“I guess you’re screwed, Dean,” Sam says, laughing aloud.
And Dean isn’t able to deny it.
“I don’t understand tattoos,” Cas says. It’s a random and unexpected statement, out of the blue, but Dean’s used to that from Cas. He glances down at his chest, still bare from just getting out of bed, the anti-possession tattoo sticking out on his skin. “I understand your tattoo, of course,” Cas continues, “but I don’t understand ones that are purely decorative.”
Dean shrugs. “Some people like the art of it, I guess. Self-expression or something.” Cas stares in that way he has as Dean thinks for a moment, then speaks again. “And I think most people get them because they mean something to them. Remind them of something or someone important. Mark an occasion. Whatever.”
“Like they want to be permanently marked with the things they love,” Cas says, somewhat to himself, as he ponders Dean’s words.
“Exactly,” Dean says.
It isn’t mentioned again, and Dean promptly forgets the conversation.
It’s months later when it’s brought up again.
“Would you ever get another tattoo? One that was just for you?” Cas asks.
The Impala is on a busy street, stopped at a red light next to a tattoo parlor. Cas is peering through the window, and Dean rolls his eyes affectionately at his weird mind.
“I never really thought about it. But I guess. Maybe. Depends on what it was.”
Cas nods absently, still staring at the shop.
“Why?” Dean pries. “You thinkin’ about getting one?
Cas doesn’t answer, and the light turns green. Dean pulls away without giving it too much thought.
Again, it’s months later before it’s brought up another time.
They’re fighting a demon, one that unexpectedly showed up outside their motel for no reason other than it heard the Winchesters were there, and foolishly thought it could take them. Dean’s not really struggling with this fight, and he’s just about to pull his knife and finish the guy off, but Cas is suddenly there between them.
Cas is fierce, in protective mode, all electric grace and wings as he takes the demon out with almost no effort at all- just the wild look on his face he always has when Dean is threatened.
“Uh, thanks, Cas,” Dean says automatically, unable to really mean the words. He’s too busy staring at Cas.
Cas’ wings are green.
Dean recognizes that color green. He sees it in the mirror every morning. And he’s sure as hell that Cas’ wings weren’t always that same color.
“What, uh…um, that’s…” Dean’s stammering, unsure of how to ask his question, unsure of what his question is.
Cas looks embarrassed, which is so unlike him that Dean almost laughs. “I decided to change the color of my wings. It’s much the same as a human getting a tattoo.”
He doesn’t need to say anything else. Dean remembers their conversation about tattoos meaning something, about the art being about something or someone important. Marked with the things you love.
It takes a second to sink in, takes another second (or several) for Dean to gather up the courage to say what he’s feeling. “They’re beautiful, Cas.”
Their eyes meet, Cas’ full of surprise and hopeful joy, and Dean feels himself smile.
“I guess we have some things to talk about,” Cas murmurs.
“I guess we do.”
Dean takes a deep breath, then leans in and kisses him instead.
make it better. 12x01 coda. deancas. (ao3)
Dean’s first thought, when he sees his mom for the first time in over thirty years, is that all the pain has been worth it if it means he gets to have her back.
“Mom?” he says.
It feels like the most important word he’s ever spoken.
But Dean and Cas having their first real fight as an actual couple, and it’s about something totally silly but they’re both tired and cranky, so that’s how they end up making a big deal out of it.
And Dean being all “son of a bitch, please don’t ever talk to me again”, because that angel pisses him off sometimes.
To which Cas would reflexively snap “as you wish then Dean, good riddance”, because sometimes this human downright infuriates him.
Followed by the two of them angrily staring each other down for a good minute, that is until the both of them crack simultaneously, eyes burning and matching lumps in their throats.
Dean being the first one to brokenly whisper “Please don’t leave me…”
And Cas immediately melting and with a sigh taking his favorite human being into his strong arms and murmuring a promise of “I would never” into Dean’s ear before he kisses him, hard.
I’ve been cracking myself up thinking of like a college au where Dean just took his patronus quiz and he’s pissed because he got some tiny animal like a cat or a fucking weasel (which is what I got wtf jo) so he’s seething to his best friend Cas who is like really indifferent, trying to study during Dean’s rant until Dean asks what Cas got and Cas says “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I haven’t taken the quiz.”
And Dean immediately pulls out his laptop, muttering “What the hell Cas we have to know NOW. Damn Ravenclaws always too busy studying to do the important things…”
“Ravenclaw?”
“Yeah that’s your house isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
And Dean rolls his eyes. “How do you not know your house?”
“I haven’t taken that quiz either.”
And that launches Dean into another fit because what kind of self-respecting Harry Potter fan hasn’t been sorted into their house?
“But Dean, I’m not a Harry Potter fan. I’ve never even read the books.”
Dean is positively scandalized. He cannot believe his ears or his eyes staring blankly into the face of a man with no shame or remorse for the poisonous confession that had just escaped his beautiful too-pink lips.
“HOW HAVE WE BEEN FRIENDS FOR TEN YEARS AND YOUVE NEVER READ HARRY POTTER?!”
“I didn’t know it was a requirement?”
“Have you seen any of the eight movies?”
“There are eight?”
“OH MY FUCKING GOD CAS.”
Cas has the decency to put his book down. “Dean, I think you’re overreacting.”
“This is not overreacting. I’m friends with a heathen whose never read Harry Potter. Like you couldn’t even be one of those cheaters that just watched the movies, Cas, honestly?”
“It never appealed to me.”
“Who are you?”
Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, if it means that much to you, I will take the quiz.”
“Oh no no no. You have to earn the quiz. We have work to do, Novak.”
And so is the story of how Castiel Novak lost a weekend of studying to marathoning the entire Harry Potter series.
When he finished Dean allowed him to take the sorting quiz. And as predicted he was a Ravenclaw.
Dean rolled his eyes at the result. “Typical.”
“Is it really that big of a deal?”
“Is it a big deal?” Dean scoffed. “Getting sorted into Hufflepuff was the second greatest identify crisis of my life, right behind my sophomore year sexuality crisis.”
And Cas looks skeptical but doesn’t argue because he remembers Dean’s sophomore year sexuality crisis and it was quite a mess.
He lets Dean show him to the patronus quiz and tries not to feel anxious as Dean paces behind him like this animated test determines his entire future.
“I’m an owl.”
Dean sinks onto his bed, a small pout bending his lips. “Oh.”
“Is that bad?” The quiz doesn’t give an explanation, so Cas has no way of knowing if the owl symbolizes something deeper in the Harry Potter universe. Maybe it’s a bad omen.
“No, it’s just… don’t owls eat weasels?”
Cas squints. “I suppose, yes. They eat rodents and small vermin, which would include weasels.”
Dean glares at him. “Wow, thanks, Cas.”
“I don’t understand why you’re disappointed. I’m not going to attack you, Dean.”
And Dean is red now, trying to avoid Cas’s gaze. “I know. But I- I thought we’d be something more… compatible.” He fidgets, releases a resigned sigh. “Makes sense I guess. We’re really different.” Of course Cas is something far better than Dean, something bigger, fiercer, stronger. Something that could easily sweep him up and consume him whole like he was nothing.
Cas shuts the laptop and moves closer to Dean who still can’t look up. “Dean… I don’t know the implications of these animals as you might. But from what I gathered in the movies, they are a pure manifestation of one’s happiest memories. It is not the shape of the patronus that matters, but rather the essence. This quiz made a decision based on a few random parts of my personality, but it never asked me what my happiest memory was. Would you like to know?”
Dean can only nod.
“It was my first day at Lawrence Middle School. I was scared and angry and a group of boys were making fun of my bee socks at lunch. And just when I was at the point of tears, a scrawny kid in a Batman shirt jumped in front of me and poured chocolate milk all over Gordon Walker’s head.” Cas chuckled fondly, just thinking of it. “Then he sat across from me and gave me half of his pb&j.”
Dean is beat red and barely breathing. “You didn’t even like it because of the jelly,” he murmurs because it’s all he can think to say.
“And you stopped putting it on your sandwiches after that so you could share with me.”
“Cas…”
Cas reaches across the small space between them to cup Dean’s jaw and gently turn Dean’s face to look at him. “We may be very different, Dean Winchester, but you have had the single most profound effect on my life since I was eleven years old. You are my happiness,” Cas leans forward, Dean’s eyes glazing over and lips parting, “and I don’t need a quiz to tell me that.”
When their lips meet, Dean forgets all about quizzes and balls of light. He feels Cas’s hand slide to the back of his head, tangling in his hair as Dean’s own hands clutch at Cas’s waist to hold him close, keep their lips pressed together in an endless first kiss.
It’s soft and a little awkward, it’s breathtaking and a bit sloppy, and it’s pure magic.
Cas is heavy and warm, spread across Dean’s lap, his blood cooling quickly where it seeps through both of their shirts.
Dean’s hands are trembling and he can hardly hold the deadweight of the angel – if he even is an angel anymore – who had passed out right into his arms only seconds before.
“Cas? Cas, wake up buddy,” Dean pleads, staring at Cas’s still face as his head lolls backwards, blood running from his nose and mouth. “Oh god, oh god, okay-“
Dean forces himself to breathe and barely pays any notice to Sam sprinting out of the room, shouting that he’s going to get the Impala. He pushes his already bloody palm back on the deep stab wound in Cas’s stomach, swallowing down bile as his hand slips on the blood bubbling up through his fingers.
“Hey, man, you okay?”
Dean looks up, glancing distractedly in Sam’s direction. He shifts, trying to make himself more comfortable in their cramped hiding spot. “Hmm?”
Sam nods to Dean’s hands. “When you’re nervous or scared or whatever, you always play with that. It used to have grooves in it, right? I think you’ve rubbed it smooth.” He chuckles softly, despite their situation.
Dean stills and lifts his left hand, eyeing the silver band on his ring finger. He knows Sam’s right. Whenever they’re in trouble, and Cas isn’t around, he can’t help himself. It makes him feel closer. He used to have a hand print, but after all these years, that has long since faded. Now he has a ring. His wedding ring. And when he finds himself desperately needing his husband, he grips it like a comfort blanket. He closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m okay. We just gotta figure this shit out.” He jerks his head to the side, indicating what’s on the other side of the wall Sam’s leaning against.
Sam looks away, glancing over his shoulder to check out their surroundings. He heaves a breath and shuffles the shotgun in his hands. “Honestly, we could use his help right about now.”
Dean leans his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. “Cas,” he whispers, his fingers gliding over the cool metal. Cas, baby, come on. We’re in a little trouble. “We need you.” I need you.
Behind them, through their heavy breaths and racing thoughts, they fail to hear the rustle of wings. A hand closes around Dean’s, and he opens his eyes to feel relief wash over him; to find himself staring up at that ocean of blue. “Cas,” he breathes. He allows himself a reprieve from the danger of their surroundings for just a brief moment to pull Cas into a kiss: it’s gentle and desperate. Conveying more than he can say in words: the gratitude, the relief, the love.
When Cas pulls back, he touches Dean’s cheek. “Are you hurt?” He glances at Sam. “Are either of you hurt?”
The boys shake their heads. “A few bumps and bruises. Nothing major. But we’re trapped,” Sam says.
Cas nods in understanding. “Hold on.” He settles a hand on both their shoulders, and they suddenly find themselves crowded against the trunk of the Impala.
Sam takes a step back, but Dean grips Cas tight, pulls him closer. “Thank you,” me murmurs, burying his face in the curve of Cas’s neck.
“Of course, Dean.” Cas wraps his arms around Dean and holds him tight. “You know me. I always come when you call.”
Based on this beautiful text post from @collectionofdestiel . The line about Dean praying to his husband to save him punched me right in the damn heart, so I wrote a little drabble. Enjoy!
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Dean held Cas’s naked form in his arms, mouth dry, almost reverent. “Look at you.”
Cas bowed his head slightly, hot under the skin, then met Dean’s eyes in the mirror, his hands moving over Dean’s when he leaned back against the man. Dean’s tongue feeling thick in his mouth, he wedged a hand gently from Cas’s hold.
Slowly, cherishing each moment that passed too quickly, Dean slid his hand from Cas’s shoulder to his wrist. “Look at you, Cas,” Dean words came in a hot gust of breath, the tone of his voice betraying how disbelieving them man was of his own luck.
With only the very tip of his fingers, Dean drew a line through the middle of Cas’s chest, over the solar plexus, right above his belly button, where he splayed his hand to Cas’s stomach, swallowing hard before able to speak again; “Cas, fuck, you’re beautiful. I knew you would be.”Cas smiled at Dean in the mirror, finding Dean’s thigh and brushing a light circle there, needing the touch to anchor himself. Feeling Dean’s hands rove all over him was a thing altogether, but watching him do it added an aesthetic layer Cas had never considered before. Not until they’d walked in through the door. Not until he’d glanced at the mirror while watching Dean undress. Now it felt like he’d been deprived of something wonderful, and he was finally going to get it.
Cas let out a small sound when Dean’s fingers continued on their path, sliding tenderly down the taut skin of Cas’s cock, while his other hand found a nipple to play with.
Up again, a brush of Dean’s rough thumb over the slick tip of Cas’s cock, and Cas had to close his eyes for the time it took for him to calm himself enough to talk. “I love your hands, Dean.” A hiss at a sharp, sobering pinch of his nipple, the simultaneous hand around his cock, and the rest of his sentence spewed out in a low moan; “I love them on me…”
Cas let himself relax fully into those hands, murmuring, pleased at the open-mouthed breath tickling his ear when Dean panted watching them together in the mirror. “Dean, please…”
Dean couldn’t have torn his eyes away from the sight of his own fingers around Cas’s cock, watching keenly as Cas’s balls drew up, how his cock jerked as Dean delved his hand lower and around the sack, a tell that gave away how close to coming Cas was already.
Dean moaned at the realization that he’d get to watch it all happen, watch himself making Cas groan and mewl, watch them both like he’d never seen before.
As aroused as Cas, Dean lowered his hand from Cas’s nipple, then slid it between Cas’s thighs, urging him to spread his legs, never really stopping his strokes along Cas‘s cock.Dean knew Cas couldn’t hold back much longer, feeling the ripple of Cas’s muscles under his arm, holding Cas close to himself.
Eagerly, Cas watched Dean guide his cock between Cas’s legs, pressing hard against Cas’s perineum, Dean’s cock feeling hot against the sensitive skin.
Cas’s eyes were wide when he reached down to touch Dean’s cock, his whole body yearning for it. The mirror reflected Cas’s desperation, his mouth open and eyes gleaming, practically begging for it.
Eyes fixed on the mirror, not knowing what he wanted to see the most and trying to see everything, Cas leaned forward, supporting himself against the wall with both hands, wordlessly asking Dean for more.
In response, Dean withdrew his palm from Cas’s hip, gradually dragging his nails over Cas’s lower back and onto the cleft of his ass, spreading his fingers against Cas’s lower back as Dean pressed the pad of his thumb against Cas’s hole, Dean’s gaze never leaving Cas’s face, drinking in each movement.
Cas groaned, his eyes closing against his will as he thrust against Dean’s hand, his inevitable orgasm flooding through his whole body. Dean got him. Cas could let go now.
Cas forced his eyes open and reached behind himself, grasping Dean’s hip the best he could reach, feeling Dean work his own cock against Cas’s skin, Dean’s groans filling Cas’s senses, their eyes locked as Dean pleaded; “Show me, Cas. Let me watch.”At the end of Dean’s words, Cas came like it was punched out of him, his come splattering onto the mirror in bursts over Dean’s hand.
Through the haze of his orgasm, Cas could feel Dean coming between his thighs, a wide smile spreading on Cas’s lips as he tried to catch his breath. They’d have to reverse the positions before leaving the motel. Who knew when they’d have an opportunity like this again?
Sam thinks he’s still dreaming when he walks into the kitchen early in the morning and notices his brother sitting at the table, eating a freaking apple.
He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes forcefully.
“Uh … Dean?”
Dean pauses his quiet conversation with Castiel who is sitting right next to him and turns his attention toward his brother. “Yeah, Sammy?”
“You’re … eating an apple.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Great deduction, Sherlock.” He snorts loudly. “I eat apples … sometimes.”
That sure as hell is a very new information for Sam. “When?” he asks incredulously.
“Just a few days ago,” Dean answers defensively, pouting like a five-year-old.
Sam makes a beeline for the coffee maker, shaking his head. “That was apple pie.”
Dean scoffs. “Same principle.”
San seriously wants to start a lecture about fruit and sugar and food additives but then Castiel intervenes, “I told him to start eating healthier.”
Dean pulls a face. “I was living on fast food just fine.”
Castiel looks at him with a blank expression. “You were not, Dean,” he disagrees. “You started your lifestyle under the assumption that you probably wouldn’t turn thirty anyway so you didn’t see a point in denying yourself certain pleasures. But this is not the case anymore and I would like to see you grow very old.”
Dean doesn’t seem happy about all this but he can’t make himself to argue. So he just munches his apple and looks pissed.
“I’m telling you the same shit for years, Dean,” Sam grumbles. “And now, coming from Cas, it’s suddenly different? What did he do? Gazed at you with goo-goo eyes until you caved in?”
Dean grimaces. “No, the bastard is withholding sex.”
He shoots the angel a dark look who seems way too pleased with himself. Sam just lifts an eyebrow and doesn’t exactly know how to react.
“At first I thought he was just bluffing,” Dean explains with a sour face. “But we haven’t had sex in four days. And all my seduction plans failed.” He seems especially upset about this last part, probably offended that the angel is able to withstand his sexual powers or something. “So if a few apples and some boiled chicken for dinner will get me laid again, so be it.”
Sam chuckles under his breath while thanking God for bringing Castiel into their lives.
“And maybe we should go for a morning run as well,” the angel suggests. “It’s very beneficial for the cardiovascular system.”
Dean huffs. “Oh please, don’t think –”
“I could do that thing with my tongue tonight,” Castiel interjects, his face clearly screaming victory only by mentioning this.
And Sam really doesn’t want to think too hard about the whole thing.
Dean just stares at Castiel for a whole minute, absolutely motionless, before he finally narrows his eyes and hisses, “Fuck you very much, fucker!”
Suddenly he leaps onto his feet, presses a quick but nonetheless utterly dirty kiss on Castiel’s lips (and Sam would have liked to live on without witnessing this) and grunts, “You’re lucky I’m so horny” before he rushes off, probably to put on some sporty clothes as fast as humanly possible.
And Castiel follows his movements with an amused glint in his eyes and there’s so much fondness in his features that it feels kinda intimate watching this.
“Thank you,” Sam tells the angel when he’s certain that Dean is out of earshot. “Um, not for the whole withholding-sex part … I honestly don’t wanna know what you two do in your free time.” He shudders slightly. “But for looking out for him. He’s great at taking care of everyone else but he doesn’t give a damn about himself. So thanks for that.”
Castiel smiles softly at him. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m actually doing this for very selfish reasons.”
Sam laughs wholeheartedly and pats Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah, I get it, man.”
Because no matter how much Dean may grumble and protest and call them ugly names, seeing him happy and healthy is the best freaking thing ever.
And albeit he will most likely kill them in their sleep at some point it’ll be totally worth it.
One morning, after a handful of fidgety afternoons, Dean sets down a paper bag of breakfast bagels in front of Cas, walks away a couple steps, and then, so in a manner so carefully casual it could only be calculated, wiggles off his old silver ring and throws it to him, with no more lead-in than a grunted, “Hey. Catch.”
Cas catches it easily, barely glancing up from the standard-issue motel copy of the King James that he’s leafing through, but when he actually thinks to inspect what he’s now holding, he frowns. ”Dean?”
By this point, Dean has turned away and is busy shrugging out of his coat. “What?”
“What is this?”
Sam looks up from the desk at the disturbance, looking between them.
Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s a pony, Cas - what does it look like?”
Cas makes an annoyed noise in his throat. “It’s a ring,” he says. There’s a long pause where he waits for some kind of response or explanation, but Dean is suddenly extremely focused on flipping through the files for the case they’re working on; Sam closes his book and leans back in his chair, watching the exchange with amusement. After a beat, Cas goes on, “Dean, why are y—”
Dean snaps the case file shut, colour starting to seep along his neck and jawline. “Look, it’s not rocket science, okay? Either put it on or give it back,” he says gruffly.
Cas looks down at the ring in his hands - silver worn smooth by age and endless wear, a little dented and dirty where it wouldn’t come clean after a fight - and wordlessly slips it on. Ring finger, left hand. It’s a little too big but when Cas looks up his eyes are soft, crinkling at the edges like he’s looking into the sun. “Thank you.”
Dean doesn’t answer this. He jerks his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, no big deal - but he does reach out, just quickly, and touch Cas’ face, knuckle to jawline, and that’s it done and that’s all they need.
Then Dean sees Sam smirking and demands, “What are you looking at?”, because they needed a witness, but he doesn’t have to look so goddamn smug.
Happy belated Birthday, dear!! :D
“Someday I’m going to be a superhero,” Dean says. He’s laying in the grass with Cas, holding tightly to Cas’s hand. They’ve been friends for most of their young lives, and will be friends forever if Dean has anything to say about it.
“Like Superman?” Cas asks, blue eyes curious. Dean likes how big and bright Cas’s eyes are. He doesn’t like the tears that hang in them, though.
“Yeah. When I’m Superman, I can come visit you even when you’re far away.”
For the first time since Cas told Dean his family is moving away, Cas starts to smile. “Will you be Superman soon?”
Dean squeezes Cas’s hand and makes a promise. “Yeah.”
“We need to swing back by that church and check again. The priest has to be connected to something there, right?”
“Yeah, let’s burn the stained glass and see what happens,” Dean responds bitterly. He shoves an entire piece of bacon in his mouth and ignores Cas’ dramatic sigh.
“It’s more likely to be the communion cup or the–”
“I didn’t actually mean that we should burn the glass, Cas.”
Cas angrily squints at Dean, so Dean angrily clenches his jaw back at him.
Sam runs his hand through his hair. “Cas is right. We’ll have to…”
“I don’t want no fag on my fantasy team.”
“…And then regroup back at the motel later tonight. Cas, if you’ll just…”
“What you mean? You see the way he dress? You can’t tell me he ain’t no fruitcake.”
“…OK? Dean? Dean.”
“Hmm?” Dean snaps back to their conversation and reaches across the table for the syrup. “I’m listening.”
Cas’ hand brushes against Dean’s thigh under the booth. Dean bumps his leg against Cas’ and gives him a reassuring smile before turning back toward Sam. “So I spaced out. Whatever. What are we doing?”
As Sam explains the plan once again, the guy with the oppressively thick Southern accent drones on, “I don’t give a flying fuck that he was the MVP, he’s queer as a two-dollar bill.”
Dean digs his fingers into the denim of his jeans, stares down at his plate and inhales his pancakes in order to stop his mouth from saying something idiotic. He comforts himself with the thought that the guy will most likely lose a lot of money with his stupid homo-free fantasy team.
“Dean? Are you sure you’re alright?” Cas asks quietly as if Sam isn’t sitting directly across the table listening intently.
With a thick swallow, Dean shifts his focus from Cas to Sam and back to Cas. “I’m good, Cas.”
The restaurant is pretty busy, so Dean isn’t sure why he even hears the Southern man so clearly. He’s sitting at least four tables away and has wispy gray hair coming out of the back of a baseball cap that’s seen better days. The man with him is significantly younger even with the bushy mustache and receding hairline.
“So, Sam and I are hitting up the church and Cas is scoping out Ms. Mathison’s house. Great. Got it. Where’s our check?” Dean rubs his thighs anxiously, searching around the restaurant for an available server to flag down.
“Dude, what’s going on?” Sam asks with those annoyingly concerned eyebrows of his.
“Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”
Whether it’s stress or anger or just the unfortunate reality of being Dean Winchester, as they slide out of the booth Dean grabs Cas’ hand and all but drags him toward the door.
He makes it three angry steps before Cas tries to rip his hand away. It’s only then that Dean remembers that not only does Sam not know that Dean is anything other than perfectly straight, he also doesn’t know that Dean and Cas make out like horny teenagers in nasty motel beds while Sam sleeps like a baby less than three feet away.
Thanks for the coming out party, homophobic redneck. You’re the real MVP.
Amazingly, Sam doesn’t notice. Right before Sam looks up from his phone, Dean lets go of Cas’ hand and wipes his sweaty palm against his leg. Dean clears his throat and makes eye contact with Cas just long enough to see a stupid smirk on the stupid angel’s face.
Homophobic redneck leans back in his chair, laughing so hard that he actually claps his hands together. Dean stares at the back of his head, wondering what kind of joke would make such a terrible person laugh that much.
As they pass by his table, the man stops laughing and looks each of them up and down. Dean’s heart is beating out of his chest, but he keeps on walking.
“That’s a mighty pretty haircut you got there, queen.”
Dean spins around so fast that Cas has to stop a hand against his chest to keep him from barreling over the mustached man. Dean’s eyes are so wide they’re watering, but for some insane reason he’s also smiling.
“You think my brother’s gay, huh? You think his stupid haircut is girly? Oh, hey, speaking of Gurley, I hear he’s gonna have a great year. You should draft him.”
“Dean–” Sam starts.
The scraping of the redneck’s chair cuts him off. He’s much taller than he looked when he was sitting down. “You got a problem, pretty boy?”
Dean’s grin grows wider. “Nope, we’ll just be on our merry gay way.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning away and stomping toward the door.
Cas’ shoulder brushes up against him a moment later. “Eventually you’re gonna have to explain to me what just happened,” he grumbles.
Dean looks over his shoulder to make sure the man is still watching them. He then slides his arm around Cas’ waist and leans forward to kiss him directly on the mouth.
Dean hardly hears Sam say, “What the hell?” because he’s too busy listening to the sweet, sweet sound of an asshole choking on his food.
Of course Mary will assume that Dean and Cas are a couple when she first sees them together, just like pretty much everybody else does. And surely Dean will be quick to assure her that ‘no mom, it’s not like that!’
So now all I can picture is the three of them at some diner late at night, having some coffee and taking a minute to breathe after all the crazy before they continue their search for Sammy. Mary sitting across from her oldest son and the angel, and asking the default question anyway:
“So how did you two meet?”
Naturally, Cas will be all deadpan like “he stabbed me in the chest”.
While at the same time, Dean will blurt out “he dragged me out of hell”.
And when Mary raises her eyebrows at the two of them in confusion, Cas will undoubtedly roll his eyes at Dean and say something along the lines of “you weren’t conscious for that part, I hardly think it counts”, while simultaneously Dean argues “I didn’t stab you in the chest on purpose!”
Cas’ comeback being “I fail to grasp how you could stab someone in the chest not-on-purpose, Dean”.
And Mary simply smiling smugly at them from behind her mug of coffee while they continue to bicker like a married couple, because she was totally right about their relationship, even if these two idiots won’t admit it.
But Mary watching Dean and Cas constantly bicker and stare at each other and make lame jokes while the other rolls his eyes and smiling every time one of them walks into the room and creeping into each other’s personal space with an unprecedented comfortability and ragging on each other for almost getting themselves killed and stealing touches on the shoulder or at the back and letting their hands linger just a little longer than what’s considered normal
until finally Mary turns to Sam and asks, “Are they always like this?”
and Sam nearly gets tears in his eyes
because finally
someone understands his eight years of silent suffering.