Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dishes from lunch have been scraped, washed, dried, and put away. Dinner is in the oven and won't be ready for a couple of hours. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, nothing much is going on for anyone, and Dean has completely run out of tasks and chores he could use to delay this moment.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and whooshes it out into the hallway of the Bunker. Shoving one trembling hand into the pocket of his jeans, he uses the other one to knock on the frame of the open door to Cas's room. “Hey, uh... Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice tight.

Cas looks up from the massive novel in his hands. His eyes immediately brighten with the look of intense focus he seems to aim only at Dean. “Of course,” he replies with a gentle smile. The book is tossed aside onto his bed, forgotten in an instant.

Dean can feel his throat trying to close up, but he pushes the words through in bursts. “It– It's about what y– Before. When you. Those things you said when...”

.....

After everything that went down... After Cas spoke his deepest truth and was taken by the Empty for it... After Dean cried himself hoarse and then dragged his numb, leaden body up off the dungeon floor... After Chuck took everyone away, and then Jack brought everyone back except one... After Dean vowed to just put his head down and do his best to live the life that had been dropped in his lap like an unwanted gift... After he nearly died a week later on a goddamn rusty nail in the middle of a fight with vamps wearing dumbass clown masks...

Dean had taken a good hard look at the rebar he'd almost gotten skewered with, and a good hard look at the way he'd been living since that night in the dungeon, and he'd realized that he'd been half-assing it all. Hunting, getting out of hunting, looking for a normie job, figuring out what he was actually going to do with the life that had been granted him: he hadn't been putting his whole heart into any of it.

The clarity that came with yet another near-death forced his priorities into apple-pie order: Nothing else was ever going to matter if he didn't get Cas back.

.....

It had taken grueling days and sleepless nights, weeks upon weeks of heartbreak and tedium and stress and uncertainty and a maddening amount of research to find it, but the actual spell that brought Cas back from the Empty was simple and straightforward to cast. Within seconds of Cas falling through the rift and back into the Bunker he was wrapped in an embrace. Dean had held him close, closer than he'd ever dared to before.

“Never do that again,” he'd muttered over and over into the meat of his friend's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to crack the ribs of a mortal man. “Don't leave me again. You can't leave any more, ever.”

“I won't,” Cas had replied again and again, patient as ever, his stubbled cheek resting warm against Dean's temple. “I never will. I never wanted to.”

.....

Cas has been back from the Empty for a month. He's fully angeled-up, thanks to Jack – wings and grace and (presumably) harp intact. Hunts are now a thing of the past, this newly peaceful world another gift from the new God. Sam is doing some distance learning, working towards his Master's in Library & Information Sciences. Eileen has taken up oil painting, and she's getting damn good at it. Dean is cooking his way through Julia Child. Cas is reading the entire Lebanon public library, having exhausted the Bunker's supply of fiction in his first week back. Jack stops by for family dinner and a movie night every Thursday.

It's been so good, this simple day-to-day life, together in their home. Dean's been focusing on that, enjoying the profound luxury of having all of the people he loves most under one roof, where he can look and see that they're safe whenever he needs to. He's been reveling in it, in fact, marveling at how easy it is to live in his own skin when he's not constantly jittering with worry.

But even while he's been relaxing into this new domestic paradise, he's been relentlessly aware of a giant elephant giving him the hairy eyeball from the corner of whatever room he's in. He can't put this moment off any longer. He doesn't know whether he'll survive this conversation, but he just, he needs to know...

“When you said you l-love me, Cas... What kind of love did you mean?” The question tears its way out of him like it's being pulled up through every inch of his guts with a fishhook.

In contrast, Cas's answer seems to flow effortlessly from his mouth like cool water. “I meant every kind of love, Dean. I love you like a friend. I love you like a brother. I love you like a lover. I love you like my god. It's all there, and it always will be, but you're under no obligation to take the entirety of it on. Whatever kind of love you want from me, it's yours. I am content to hold the rest within myself forever.”

His words are so beautiful, so selfless, so exactly what Dean wants to hear but knows he doesn't deserve, that it makes him instantly angry. He feels his ears flush hot, and he shakes his head hard to cool them.

“So, what, you're saying you're some kind of endlessly giving love buffet for me to sample from however I please? I can just stroll by with a plate any time I feel like it and pick out whatever looks good? Take what I want and leave the rest to rot? What the fuck, Cas! How can you do that? How can you love like that?”

The look Cas gives him is impossibly soft, unfathomably fond. “Oh Dean, in matters of loving I had the very best teacher.”

Dean doesn't know how he gets back to his room after that. He has a vague memory of nodding like a jackass and thanking Cas for his honesty before skedaddling like his ass is on fire.

He's got a lot to think about.

Chapter Text

The week that follows proceeds more or less as usual, although every moment is spiced with just a touch of aloof awkwardness on Dean's part as his brain processes and reexamines every assumption he's ever held about himself and about their relationship. Sunday morning brings another knock at Cas's open door.

“Let's hang out today, 'kay? Wear something comfortable. Bring a sweater.” Dean delivers these sentences easy-breezy, then turns on his heel and leaves without waiting for an answer. Neither man is concerned about the curtness of the invitation. Cas will always go where Dean wants him, and they both know it down to the core of their bones, just as they both know the reverse is true.

Ten minutes later they're pulling out of the Bunker's concealed access road and onto State Route 140. Pancake-flat Kansas farmland stretches for miles around them in all directions; there isn't another car in sight. Dean floors it and looks fondly over at Cas, watching as he rolls his window down and points his face into the wind, eyes closed in bliss (and to keep the dust out, a lesson he learned the hard way on a previous jaunt through America's gritty Heartland).

Baby gets them to Salina in just over an hour, by which time Cas looks like he's been living his whole life in a wind tunnel. Dean just gives him a grin. “C'mon, Mowgli,” he teases, climbing out of the car. “Got somethin' I want you to try.”

Jerri's Diner looks like every kitschy, retro, all-nite greasy spoon they've ever visited in their years on the road. There's a counter with a line of stools, an old-fashioned cash register by the door, booths along the walls, and a rickety sign at the entrance inviting patrons to seat themselves. With a closer look, however, charming little touches begin to resolve from the sameness. The countertop gleams, iridescent chips embedded in the Formica sparkling like opals, and the stools that run along it have lush padded backs. The antique register chimes musically with each button press. The red pleather of the booths looks butter-soft. The patrons are smiling, chatting, enjoying their meals and the congenial atmosphere.

Ensconced side-by-side in a booth that's every bit as comfortable as it looks, Dean orders them both the house special with fries. The special is revealed to be a burger topped with bleu cheese, honey, bacon, caramelized onion, and hot sauce. After their first attempt at a family dinner had resulted in disappointment and hurt feelings, Jack had kindly gifted Cas with the ability to once again taste and enjoy food as a human does. He puts this gift to use with gusto now. The burger is complex and flavorful. It's a tantalizing, messy meal, and they eat in companionable silence.

As they're leaving the restaurant, Cas thanks him for the excursion and begins to walk back to the car. Dean shakes his head and laughs. “Oh hell no, pal, we are not done yet.” He snags Cas by the sleeve of his sweater and leads their way down Main Street.

It's a beautiful sunny afternoon in downtown Salina, and the street is full of quaint little shops. They're far from the only people here. Some bustle past, intent on specific tasks or destinations. Others, like them, dawdle, window shop, enjoy the day.

They stand outside a candy store for a while, watching a man pour molten fudge from an oversized copper kettle onto a marble cooling slab. The noises Dean finds himself making as he stares, imagining the sumptuous taste, are near sexual. Eventually Cas, looking oddly flushed, ducks into the shop. He emerges a moment later with a small white box that he presents with a flourish. Inside are four thick pieces of fudge, still warm. Dean insists that Cas try one, and he beams at the angel's startled look of pleasure.

Next to the candy shop there's an adoption center for the local animal shelter. A half dozen tiny kittens tumble and totter in the window, their stumpy tails pointed ever-skyward like useless radio antennas. After they've stood there enjoying the feline hijinks for a few minutes, Cas clears his throat. Dean has to roll his eyes. Oh boy, here it comes, he thinks ruefully.

“Now that things are calm,” his friend begins. “And we aren't continually leaving the Bunker for hunts, would you be open to considering a pet?” He gestures at the rambunctious fuzzballs in the window. “Cats are extremely independent creatures, fastidious, but very loving.”

“Sorry, bud,” Dean replies with a shake of his head. “Not an option. I'm allergic. Can't be near 'em for more than a couple minutes without sneezing my face off.”

Cas gives him a look of stern disbelief. “Dean, I healed you of your allergies years ago. The only reason I originally left them in place when I remade you after Hell is because I still cared back then what my superiors thought of me. My orders were to recreate your body exactly, and so I did. Once I stopped giving a shit about Heaven, though, I cleared up all your allergies, seasonal and animal-related. I also cured your mild eczema, and a few minor cavities. I've also been monitoring and controlling your cholesterol levels.”

“Dude, seriously? You did all that without asking?”

A scoff and a rakish grin. “Are you complaining?”

Dean considers for about a millisecond. “Nah, guess not. Well, thanks, man. You're always looking out for me, so, thanks. And about the cat, uh, maybe. I think we'd need to discuss that with Sam and Eileen. Jack, too. It's their home as much as it is ours, y'know? But... maybe.”

Cas nods, satisfied for now.

Something catches Dean's eye in the reflection on the adoption center's window, and his face lights up.

“Oh, no way!” he exclaims, grabbing Cas's hand and tugging him across the street to a used record store. “Holy crap, this place looks amazing!!”

Dean insists on combing the entire store like it's a crime scene, flipping through every album on every rack and exclaiming joyfully at each vintage treasure he unearths. If he somehow “forgets” to let go of Cas's hand the entire time, neither of them mentions it. They leave the store almost an hour later, fingers still entwined. In their free hands they each hold a stack of vinyl classics.

As they're dropping their purchases into the Impala's trunk, Dean's stomach growls.

“Okay, you ready for some dinner?” he asks. “There's an awesome steak house about an hour away, just past Ellsworth. I stopped there once a few years back and I've never forgotten it. Best New York strip I've ever had.”

Cas, pliant as ever where Dean is concerned, readily assents.

.....

By the time the sun reaches the horizon that evening they're parked, feeling well-fed and mellow, in a secluded field not far from the Bunker. They lay back, side by side on Baby's hood, and watch the sky as it fades from blue to purple to black.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, nudging Cas's shoulder with his own. “I saw a sign for a petting zoo on the way back from the steak house. You wanna go tomorrow?”

When Cas doesn't respond immediately, Dean looks away from the emerging stars and glances over at him. He looks confused, troubled.

“Cas?” Dean prompts, concern in his voice.

The angel sighs, and doesn't meet his eyes. “Dean... Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, 'course.”

“I don't want to presume, and if I've misinterpreted, please don't be offended, but... Is this a date?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says gently. “I'm sorry I didn't ever say that part out loud. I wanted to. It's just, I dunno, words are hard. I guess I kind of figured it would be easier to show instead of tell, y'know?” He looks up at the stars for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts. Cas sits with him in silence, a soft smile on his face. “But, that's kind of a cop out, huh? You deserve to hear it. So, yes. This is a date, Cas, and I hope it's been a good one. I wanted to take you out, treat you right, give you nice things, make you happy.” He reaches for Cas's hand and continues. “I always want to do that. You remember what we talked about last weekend, about how you feel for me?”

“I do. You called me a 'love buffet,'” Cas says with a sideways grin.

“Yeah, well, you know me and buffets, man. I'll keep going back and loading up my plate, again and again, until they kick me out. I want it all, Cas. Everything you can give me. Because all the ways you love me? I love you right back like that, too. I have for years. You're it for me, man, and–”

Cas reaches out and lays a warm hand on his cheek. “Please, Dean” he says, beseeching. “May I kiss you now?”

“Oh, fuck yes.”

Chapter Text

Oh my, little shiny thing / Gets me in the morning / Bringing me round / From the deepest sleep / Wakin' me up / And layin' me down - “Doraldina's Prophecies”, Masters of Reality

Dean wakes to the delectable pleasure of an angel's mouth around his cock, soft and hot and clever. The only reason he knows he's not still dreaming is that none of his dreams could ever be as perfect as this. He moans and rests a gentle hand on his lover's messy mop of hair.

It's been a week since their first date, and they've been “taking it slow,” at least by the wham-bam-thank-you-sir-or-ma'am standards of Dean's old life. There have been kisses, so many kisses. Neither of them seems able to go more than half an hour without mouth-to-skin contact, and every passing peck threatens to explode into the kind of make-out sesh that results in his brother throwing a pillow at them. Dean's lips feel constantly flushed, tender with overuse, but that hasn't kept him from pressing them against his boyfriend (boyfriend!!!) about a thousand times a day.

They've stayed above the belt so far, though. Mouths have wandered, hands have roamed, teeth have come into play, but they've kept it pretty PG (well, PG-13 maybe). If you'd sat past-Dean down and described to him a scenario where two people pine for each other for over a decade, finally get together, and then a week goes by and still no one's fucked, no one's come, no one's even gotten any over-the-pants action, he would have called that torture. But it hasn't been torture. It hasn't been frustrating. It's been delicious.

The brush of Cas's fingertip along Dean's cheekbone gives him full-body shivers. The taste of Cas's tongue makes his teeth buzz. The junior-high shenanigans they've been indulging in together have been exponentially better than any sex Dean's ever had in his slutty, slutty life. He hasn't felt frustrated or deprived in the slightest these last seven days; honestly, he's been more satisfied than he ever knew he could be.

Which is not to suggest that he's about to use the hand he's got tangled in Cas's bedhead to push that mind-meltingly talented mouth off of his junk. If Cas is ready to take things to the next level between them (and the way his tongue is currently exploring Dean's slit seems to indicate a readiness), that is A-OK with him.

“Casssss,” he groans. “Fuck. Sweetheart.” Then his angel does something with his throat that steals Dean's breath away and leaves him panting. His thighs shake and his gut tightens as he rushes full-speed at the orgasm he now realizes he's been steadily building towards for a week. “Shit, I'm close,” he warns.

Cas lets him go for a moment, briefly replacing his mouth with a warm, gentle hand. “Do it, Dean. Please,” he begs in a voice roughened with sleep and arousal. “I want you to.”

Then Dean's cock is back in its new all-time favorite place to be, and who is Dean to deny Cas anything he asks for? He comes long and hard, sensation flowing over him in hot, lush waves. Cas swallows him down, milking him to the point of overstimulation before letting go with an obscene slurp.

Dean whooshes out a breath, his body melting into the mattress like butter on a hot biscuit. There's a goofy smile on his face, and Cas plants a kiss right beside it.

“Good morning, beloved,” he says, his voice gruff but so, so tender. “Ready to start the day?”

Dean sits up then, and pushes his angel down onto his back. “Hmmm... Not quite yet. I really wanna make you come right now.”

“Oh, fuck yes.”

.....

Dean has two big stacks of waffles staying warm in the oven, and he's putting the finishing touches on a spinach and ham frittata, when Sam walks in to the kitchen. The moose, sweaty and rumpled after his morning run, smirks at him while he eases the eggs out of the cast iron pan and onto a platter, humming as he works.

“Help you with somethin', Sammy?” he eventually asks, laying strips of bacon in the pan.

“Is any of that–” Sam begins, but Dean is quick to cut him off with a wave.

“Your turkey bacon is waiting in the oven with the waffles. I did that crap first so it wouldn't touch any of my lovely pork products and accidentally become delicious.”

His brother scoffs and strides across the room to the refrigerator. Yanking the door open, he pulls out his bottle of green juice and downs it in a half dozen huge swigs. Tossing the bottle in the sink, he turns and leans against the counter.

“Can I ask you something?” he says as he wipes his mouth.

“Shoot.”

He crosses his arms and gives Dean the penetrating stare that always makes him imagine the lawyer his kid brother could've become. “You and Cas...” he begins, his tone careful like he's afraid Dean's going to spook. “Are you guys, like, together now? A couple?”

Dean ain't spooked. “Hundred percent,” he replies airily.

“Huh.”

“What 'huh'?”

Sam shakes his head. “Never thought you had it in you to settle down with someone. Or to be so certain about it.”

Dean has to scoff. “Shows how much you know about me, man. I'm living my lifelong fucking fantasy right now. Took me a lot of years to accept that I could have this. I'm grabbing on to it with both hands and I'm never letting go.”

“Wow, well. Happy for you guys.” He starts to move in for a hug but Dean dodges him, turning back to the stove and the sizzling bacon.

“Thanks, Sammy. Me too. Now scoot, sweathog. Go take your shower and wake Eileen up. We all need to get breakfast down the hatch so we can make our appointment at the animal shelter.”