Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean wiped his hands on a rag and leaned against the hood of a rusted-out Dodge, sweat beading along his temple from the afternoon sun. The engine purred beneath the metal, thanks to his latest round of fine-tuning, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. That moment was quickly interrupted by Sam pushing open the shop door, phone in hand, grinning like he was about to ruin Dean’s whole week.

“Got a minute?”

Dean raised a brow. “Depends. Is this gonna involve me putting on a suit or talking to strangers?”

Sam ignored him and strode in. “Adam’s getting married. Wants us there. The wedding’s in three weeks.”

Dean blinked. “Adam? As in our half-brother Adam?”

Sam nodded, leaning on the car beside him. “Says we’re the only family from our dad’s side he’s inviting.”

Dean scoffed. “Hell of a family reunion.”

Sam offered a shrug. “Look, I know we’re not close, but he reached out. I think he’s trying to do something good here.”

Dean stayed silent, his jaw working. He didn’t love the idea. But he didn’t hate Adam either.

“You bringing Gabe?” he asked finally.

“Yeah. And… I was thinking maybe you could bring someone too.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Charlie’s got her thing with that Dorothy chick.”

Sam grinned again, too smug now. “Not her. Castiel.”

“Who?”

“Gabriel’s brother. He’s a vet. You’d like him. I already asked, he’s cool with going.”

Dean scowled. “So I don’t even get a say?”

“You’re going, Dean,” Sam said. “I booked your ticket. I even got him his own so you two wouldn’t be stuck together if you hated each other.”

Dean tossed the rag into a bin. “I’m not going to babysit some guy I don’t know for a weekend.”

“He’s not a kid. He’s a grown-ass man. And believe me—he can handle himself.”

Dean hesitated. Then sighed. “Fine. But I’m not making small talk on a damn plane.”

Sam smirked. “Sure. Just try not to fall in love with him.”

Dean gave him a look that could kill.

But something tugged at him anyway.

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t expect much from the flight. Maybe a stiff drink, some leg room, and a quiet seatmate who didn’t talk his ear off. What he got instead was a man with blue eyes like lightning during a thunderstorm, a perfectly rumpled trench coat, and a deep, polite voice that sent a weird thrill down Dean’s spine the moment he said, “Excuse me, I believe that’s my seat.”

Dean moved aside without a word, eyes trailing down the guy’s body as he settled in. Broad shoulders, soft lips, collarbones peeking out from under a half-buttoned shirt. The man smelled like fresh linen and cedarwood, and when he buckled in and glanced over, Dean forced his mouth shut.

“You heading to a wedding too?” the man asked.

Dean blinked. “Yeah. You?”

A slight smile. “Yes. A friend of the family.”

Dean nodded, swallowing. “You know the groom?”

“Not really. I was invited as someone’s plus one.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Me too.”

They both chuckled softly.

The flight attendants started their safety spiel, but Dean’s attention was firmly fixed on the man beside him. They flirted through the first two rounds of champagne like it was second nature. It wasn’t forced—it flowed, easy and charged. There were teasing glances, not-so-subtle compliments, and lingering fingers brushing between sips.

They didn’t ask names.

It was better that way—anonymous, thrilling, consequence-free.

“You ever join the Mile High Club?” the man asked, voice low and smooth.

Dean stared at him, heat pooling in his gut. “Not yet.”

Another smile. This time, full of promise.

Ten minutes later, they snuck into the cramped airplane bathroom, kissing like it was the only thing keeping them alive. It was clumsy and hot and desperate—gripping hands, low moans, bodies pressed too close in too little space. It was the best sex Dean had ever had, bar none.

When they landed, they exchanged nothing—no names, no numbers. Just a final look. A mutual decision.

Let it stay perfect.

Chapter Text

The wedding venue was a picturesque estate nestled in the hills, all white flowers and too much champagne. Dean smoothed out the sleeves of his black button-up, already wishing he’d brought something less tight across the shoulders. He scanned the crowd, looking for Sam.

“Dean!”

He turned to see Sam weaving through the guests, Gabriel in tow, both dressed like they walked out of a GQ magazine shoot. Sam clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, looking relieved.

“Glad you made it. Try not to get into any fights, alright?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Not planning on it.”

Gabriel leaned in. “Remember what we said—try and impress my brother.”

Dean frowned. “Your brother?”

Before they could answer, Dean’s gaze drifted across the courtyard—and landed on him.

There, standing at the cocktail bar in a navy suit that hugged every curve just right, was the man from the plane. Hair a little tousled, expression calm, sipping something dark with an orange twist.

Dean froze.

Sam followed his gaze, then grinned. “That’s Castiel. C’mon, we’ll introduce you.”

Dean didn’t move. “That’s—no way.”

Gabriel tugged Castiel away from the bar and dragged him across the patio.

“Dean, this is my brother, Castiel. Cas, this is Sam’s brother—Dean.”

Castiel’s glass tilted slightly in his hand. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes widened a fraction before he smoothly extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice even.

Dean took it. “Yeah. You too.”

The shake was brief but electric. The silence lingered.

Gabriel raised a brow. “Did you two already meet or something?”

Dean coughed. “Nah. Just—uh. Jet lag.”

Castiel gave the smallest smirk. “Long flight.”

Dean looked away, ears burning. Sam was still talking, probably about the open bar or the cheese trays, but Dean didn’t hear a word. He could only feel the buzz in his hand from where Castiel had touched him.

Cas gave him a look, barely perceptible, like they were both in on a secret. Dean suddenly wished he’d asked for his name back then.

Too late for that now.

Chapter Text

“Wanna talk?” Castiel asked, tilting his head toward a quieter corner of the garden, away from the hum of jazz and clinking glasses.

Dean didn’t answer, just followed him through the maze of tables and tipsy guests until they found an empty bench under a string of glowing lights.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Dean let out a breath. “So… Gabriel’s your brother.”

Castiel nodded, smoothing invisible creases from his pants. “And Sam’s yours.”

Dean gave a short laugh. “Small world.”

They sat in awkward silence until Dean spoke again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about the plane—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Castiel cut in gently.

Dean’s brow lifted. “You sure?”

Castiel turned to him, face open and calm. “It was… unexpected. But not something I regret.”

Dean swallowed. “Same.”

Another pause. Then Castiel added, “But maybe it’s better if we leave it behind. Just for tonight.”

Dean met his eyes. “You wanna pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Not pretend,” Castiel said softly. “Just… not let it complicate things. We’re here as plus-ones. Let’s do our job.”

Dean smirked. “Being charming and polite?”

“Exactly.”

Dean leaned back against the bench. “Fine. Let’s behave. For the night.”

They both sipped their drinks in silence, a truce quietly settling between them. The chemistry was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but the air between them had shifted—tension replaced with something like camaraderie.

But as the night wore on and the music got louder, the wine poured heavier, and Castiel’s cheeks flushed with color, things blurred again. Dean watched him laugh at something Gabriel said, his head tipped back and carefree, and felt something tug in his chest.

Then a tall guy in a tailored vest sauntered up to Castiel and struck up a conversation. Dean didn’t catch his name, but he caught the way Castiel smiled—reserved but polite, tipsy and trusting.

Dean kept his distance.

Until he overheard the guy whispering to another groomsman near the bar, snickering about “that drunk little tease” and how easy he was going to be once he got him alone.

Dean’s blood ran cold.

They were talking about Castiel.

Chapter Text

Dean slammed his glass down a little harder than necessary, heart hammering as he stalked across the lawn. His fists were clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Bartholomew.

That was the guy’s name. Dean had only caught it in passing, but it stuck. The smooth-talking, smug-faced bastard who had his hands all over Castiel and a mouth full of poison behind his back.

Castiel was still laughing—barely—his words slurring just a little now, too much wine in too short a time. Bartholomew stood close, far too close, his hand ghosting over Cas’s lower back like he already owned him.

Dean marched up, cutting between them without ceremony.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice sharp. “We need to talk.”

Castiel blinked at him, surprised. “Is everything alright?”

Dean ignored the question and looked straight at Bartholomew. “Why don’t you back off for the night?”

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Dean stepped closer, lower voice now. “He’s drunk. Maybe don’t be a creep.”

Castiel frowned. “Dean—”

Bartholomew snorted, brushing it off. “He’s fine. We’re just talking.”

Dean leaned in, so only Bartholomew could hear. “I heard what you said to your buddy. Try anything, and I’ll break your damn jaw.”

Bartholomew’s smirk faded.

Dean turned back to Castiel. “Let’s get you some water.”

But Castiel pulled his arm free, cheeks flushed with anger. “I don’t need your babysitting.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You don’t get to police who I talk to,” Castiel snapped. “Just because we—whatever happened on that plane doesn’t give you the right.”

Dean’s mouth opened, then closed again. He stepped back.

Castiel turned to Bartholomew. “Let’s go.”

Dean watched helplessly as the man slipped an arm around Cas’s waist, guiding him toward the parking lot. Something was wrong—Dean knew it, felt it in his gut.

Then he saw it.

Bartholomew slipped a small vial back into his pocket.

Dean’s blood went ice cold.

Cas stumbled on the steps, barely upright, his limbs heavy and eyes glassy.

Shit. He didn’t just get drunk.

He was drugged.

Dean didn’t wait. He broke into a sprint.

Chapter Text

By the time Dean made it out front, Bartholomew was stuffing Castiel into the passenger seat of a black rental car, trying to play it cool. Cas was barely conscious, head lolling, mumbling incoherently. Dean’s voice tore through the night.

“Hey! Get your hands off him!”

Bartholomew glanced over his shoulder and cursed. He slammed the door shut and jumped into the driver’s seat, tires screeching as he pulled out of the lot.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

There was no time to look for Sam or Gabriel. No time to call the cops and explain what he’d seen. Dean bolted for the curb, flagged down the first cab he saw, and practically dove into the backseat.

“Follow that car. The black one. Fast.”

The driver hesitated—until Dean threw two hundred bucks into his lap.

They peeled off, tailing the car down winding roads that cut through the countryside. But Bartholomew knew what he was doing. He ran red lights, took turns down side streets, and eventually vanished into the night.

Dean slammed his fist against the seat.

“Dammit!”

Still, his instincts kicked in. He scanned the side of the road, looking for signs—tracks in gravel, tire spray on wet pavement. It was a long shot, but Dean had tracked worse.

Then he saw it.

A flicker of headlights behind a cheap roadside motel. Dean yelled for the cabbie to stop, leapt out before the car even rolled to a full halt, and raced toward the lot.

There it was.

Bartholomew’s rental, parked crooked near Room 6.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He burst into the room, fists first.

Bartholomew had Castiel half-naked on the bed, slurring, body limp.

Dean saw red.

He tackled the bastard to the floor, fists flying. Bartholomew fought back weakly, but he was no match. Dean left him groaning and gasping on the carpet, bloodied and dazed.

“Not even enough class to get a decent room,” Dean spat.

He rushed to Castiel’s side, pulling the sheets over his bare skin and gently lifting him off the bed. Cas stirred, murmuring, eyes fluttering.

“Dean…” he slurred.

“I got you,” Dean whispered. “You’re safe now.”

He carried him out into the cool night.

Chapter Text

Dean got them a new room at a better hotel, ignoring the desk clerk’s suspicious glance when he carried Castiel inside, wrapped in his jacket. He laid him down on the clean bed, pulled the comforter up to his chest, and turned the AC low. Castiel shivered once, curling slightly, then stilled.

Dean dragged the armchair over from the corner and sank into it, heart still pounding. He watched Cas carefully—his chest rising and falling, color returning to his cheeks, a little less pale with each passing hour.

He didn’t sleep.

He made sure Castiel was on his side, tucked a pillow behind his back, and kept a trash can close just in case. He sat there in the dim hotel room, watching the slow blink of the bedside clock and nursing a headache.

“Why’d you go with him?” Dean muttered to the dark. “You didn’t even like him.”

But he knew the answer.

Because Dean hadn’t said why. Hadn’t told Cas what he’d overheard, what Bartholomew had planned. He’d just snapped, barked out warnings like a jealous prick and expected Cas to trust him without explanation.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He hated feeling helpless.

Castiel stirred near dawn, a quiet sound escaping his throat. His eyes blinked open, glassy but focused.

“Dean?” he rasped.

Dean was on his feet in an instant. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Castiel looked around slowly, registering the unfamiliar room. “Where…?”

“You’re safe,” Dean said, voice soft. “That guy—Bartholomew—he drugged you. I found you. Got you out.”

Cas went quiet, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he turned his head, eyes meeting Dean’s.

“I remember,” he whispered. “I couldn’t move. I knew what was happening, I just… couldn’t stop it.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. “Don’t. None of that’s on you.”

Castiel reached out slowly, fingers brushing Dean’s wrist. “Thank you.”

Dean let out a breath. “Yeah. Of course.”

It was the gentlest touch. But it anchored them both.

Chapter Text

By the time the sun was up, Castiel looked a little better—still worn out, but sitting up, nursing a bottle of water Dean had forced into his hands.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

Dean sat across from him at the little table, fiddling with the room key card, while Castiel sipped slowly, occasionally glancing at him like he wasn’t sure if he should say something more.

Finally, Cas broke the silence. “You could’ve walked away. No one would’ve blamed you.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Yeah, well. I’m not built that way.”

Cas smiled faintly. It didn’t quite reach his eyes yet, but it was real.

Dean cleared his throat. “You feeling okay? No nausea? Headache?”

“A little dizzy,” Cas admitted. “But better.”

Dean nodded. “You’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

Castiel set the bottle down and looked at him seriously. “Dean… last night. Thank you isn’t enough.”

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable. “You don’t gotta thank me.”

Cas leaned forward slightly. “Still. I want you to know—I remember everything. I wasn’t just… gone. I heard you. I felt you pulling me away.”

Dean met his eyes, something warm and painful blooming behind his ribs. He nodded, once, rough.

They didn’t hug. They didn’t do anything dramatic.

But something shifted quietly between them. A new trust. A thread stitched between two bruised, imperfect hearts.

Later that morning, after Castiel showered and got dressed properly, Dean called Sam and Gabe to let them know everything was fine. Left out the worst parts—they didn’t need to know the gritty details.

They agreed to meet back at the wedding brunch, pretending none of it had happened.

When they parted ways at the hotel, Castiel hesitated, then leaned in and pressed a soft, brief kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Dean froze.

“See you later,” Cas murmured, voice low and full of something that made Dean’s chest ache.

Dean watched him go, touching his cheek like he’d been branded.

Maybe forgetting the plane wasn’t going to be so easy after all.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed.

The wedding was over, the drama buried under polite silences and unanswered questions. Sam and Gabriel tried to poke around, of course—both curious, both suspicious—but Dean kept tight-lipped. So did Castiel.

No one needed to know about the flight, or the bathroom, or the near-assault. Some things were better left unsaid.

Dean got back to work at the shop, falling into the familiar rhythm of grease-stained overalls and the satisfying roar of engines. Charlie kept the books running like a machine, and Garth kept misplacing his wrench, like clockwork.

Life settled.

Until one Thursday morning, a sleek black Volvo sputtered into the lot.

Dean wiped his hands and stepped outside just as the driver’s side door creaked open—and Castiel stepped out, blinking against the sun, looking as surprised as Dean felt.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “You work here.”

Dean smirked. “I own here.”

Cas looked flustered for a second. “I… didn’t know. The receptionist gave me the closest recommendation. I didn’t ask names.”

Dean nodded toward the car. “She giving you trouble?”

“Won’t start. Keeps clicking.”

Dean whistled. “Starter, maybe. Or the battery’s cooked. Want me to take a look?”

“Please.”

While Dean popped the hood and got to work, Castiel lingered nearby, watching the way Dean moved—how sure and easy his hands were. That same pull stirred in his gut, same as on the plane.

“You want coffee?” Dean asked, glancing over.

Castiel smiled. “Always.”

Dean nodded toward the waiting area. “Charlie makes a mean cup. Or I could get you one and meet you there.”

“I’ll wait.”

They walked inside together, shoulders almost brushing.

But just as they stepped through the doorway, a familiar voice chimed in from the front.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite sweetheart.”

Crowley.

He sauntered toward Castiel like he owned the place, grinning as he tossed keys in the air. “Ready to go, love? I figured you’d want a ride back.”

Dean froze.

Castiel blinked. “Oh. Right. I forgot we talked about that.”

Dean felt something twist low in his stomach.

Crowley looped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean dropped the coffee idea, turned on his heel, and went back to the garage without another word.

Chapter Text

The minute Castiel left with Crowley, Charlie came storming into the garage, arms crossed and eyes blazing.

“You looked like someone punched you in the gut,” she said, tossing Dean a wrench.

Dean caught it without looking up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

She perched on the edge of the tool chest. “Dean Winchester, you are many things. Subtle is not one of them.”

Dean sighed and finally looked up. “He left with Crowley.”

Charlie blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh my God. Crowley? You think they’re together?”

“Well, he called him sweetheart.”

“Crowley calls everyone sweetheart. He calls me sweetheart.”

Dean frowned. “He does?”

Charlie nodded. “And cupcake. And sugar tits, once—though that one earned him a slap.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Still. They looked close.”

Charlie smirked. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not—” He stopped himself. Groaned. “Okay, maybe. A little. I just… thought we had something. And now he’s riding off with Crowley like nothing ever happened.”

“Maybe he thought you were with me,” Charlie said casually.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“You get all weird whenever someone mentions your love life. Plus we spend every day together. We live in each other’s pockets. I wouldn’t blame him if he thought I was your girl.”

Dean looked horrified. “He thinks I’m dating you?”

She grinned. “Well, I do have great taste.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This is a mess.”

Charlie nudged him with her foot. “So fix it. Text him. Be a damn adult.”

Dean stared at his phone for a long minute, then shook his head. “No. If he’s with Crowley, I’m not about to get in the way.”

Charlie snorted. “You’re such a coward.”

Dean didn’t respond.

⸻

Across town, Gabriel was sipping a martini when Castiel finally confessed, “I think Dean might be with Charlie.”

Gabriel choked on his drink.

“Dean? With Charlie?” He wheezed. “Castiel, sweetheart. Charlie doesn’t even like men. She’s also been trying to get you two together since she heard about the wedding.”

Castiel stared at him. “She has?”

Gabriel grinned. “You sweet, oblivious nerd.”

Chapter Text

Three days passed.

Dean didn’t text. Neither did Castiel.

But then Castiel’s name popped up on Dean’s phone—an innocent message that hit Dean like a freight train.

[Castiel]: Hi. Just wondering how the car’s coming along. No rush. Just checking in.

Dean stared at it for five full minutes.

Then:
[Dean]: Battery was toast. Got a new one in. She’ll run smooth by tomorrow.

A minute later:
[Castiel]: That’s great. Thank you.

Dean hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

[Dean]: Still want that coffee?

There was a pause.

[Castiel]: Very much.

That kicked off the back-and-forth.

First it was about the car. Then it was random memes Charlie sent Dean that he accidentally forwarded. Then it turned into long threads about Castiel’s clinic, Dean’s stupid clients, Garth’s conspiracy theories, and a very passionate debate over whether strawberry milk was an abomination or a gift from the heavens.

It felt… easy.

At night, Dean found himself waiting for that little buzz from his phone. Cas always texted around midnight—usually with something soft or funny or strange.

He sent pictures too. One of his dog licking peanut butter off a spoon. One of his tea-stained book collection. One of a wild opossum that snuck into the clinic’s back room.

Dean started saving them.

But one morning, that jealous itch came back.

He remembered Crowley’s arm around Cas’s shoulder and that damn “sweetheart,” and before he could stop himself, he sent:

[Dean]: So… how’s your partner?

There was no reply for ten minutes.

Then:
[Castiel]: I’m single. Have been. Crowley’s just a friend.

Dean stared at it.

Then another message popped up.

[Castiel]: And how’s your girlfriend? Charlie?

Dean laughed aloud.

[Dean]: Charlie plays for your team. Also not my girlfriend. Never was.

[Castiel]: Oh. I see.

Dean waited, heart thudding.

Then Cas sent one more:

[Castiel]: That coffee offer still stand?

Dean didn’t hesitate.

[Dean]: Tomorrow. Pick up your car. Stay a while.

Chapter Text

Castiel showed up the next afternoon in a cab, wearing a soft navy sweater and dark jeans that fit like they were made for him. Dean swore under his breath as he watched him walk toward the shop, trying to act normal.

Charlie saw him first. She winked at Dean on her way out the door, tossing the shop keys in the air. “Lock up when you’re done. Don’t forget to… hydrate.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Subtle.”

But then Castiel stepped inside, and Dean forgot how to breathe.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice hoarse.

“Hey,” Cas replied, smiling softly. “She looks good.”

Dean handed him the keys. “Runs better than she looks.”

Castiel nodded. “Thanks again. For everything.”

They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next—until Dean grabbed the thermos he’d left on the counter and offered it.

“Still want that coffee?”

Castiel accepted it, fingers brushing Dean’s, eyes holding his. “Absolutely.”

Minutes later, they were in the Impala, cruising down a long backroad just outside town, the windows down, the sky streaked orange with sunset. They didn’t say much. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was warm, charged.

Dean pulled off at an old dirt trail overlooking a stretch of open fields. Tall grass swayed in the breeze.

He parked.

Castiel looked over. “Why here?”

Dean’s voice dropped. “No neighbors.”

Cas smiled.

Dean reached out, cupping his jaw, slow and careful, giving him a chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

They kissed like it was inevitable—soft at first, then deeper, messier, hotter. Dean’s hands roamed, tugging at Cas’s sweater, pushing it up, skin against skin.

“Backseat?” Cas whispered.

Dean’s breath caught. “You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

They scrambled over the seats like teenagers, laughing between kisses, breathless and giddy. The Impala’s leather interior creaked beneath them as Dean pushed Castiel down gently, covering him with his body.

Clothes came off in slow, teasing pieces. Hands, mouths, heat. Dean kissed down Cas’s chest, coaxed sounds from his lips like it was his job.

When he finally pushed inside, it was slow, deep, grounding. Castiel clung to him, head tipped back, mouth parted in pure pleasure.

“Dean,” he whispered, wrecked. “Don’t stop.”

Dean never wanted to.

Chapter Text

The stars were out by the time they caught their breath, tangled up in the backseat of the Impala.

Dean’s arm was draped across Castiel’s bare stomach, fingertips lazily tracing circles on his skin. The windows were fogged, the air warm and still, and the silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was peaceful.

Cas shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s shoulder. “That was…”

Dean grinned, eyes closed. “Yeah. It was.”

They lay there a while longer, skin cooling, bodies relaxed, hearts pounding slower now but still in sync.

Cas broke the silence first. “Can I ask you something?”

Dean turned his head. “Shoot.”

“Did you ever think we’d end up here? Like this?”

Dean smirked. “You mean naked in my car in the middle of nowhere?”

Cas chuckled, a low, husky sound. “More like… after that flight. Did you think it would ever be more than that?”

Dean went quiet.

He thought back to the anonymous glances, the silent agreement not to ruin it with names or numbers. He remembered Cas’s laugh mid-turbulence and how he smelled like something expensive and clean. How it had all felt electric from the first moment.

“I wanted to,” Dean admitted. “I just didn’t think I’d get the chance.”

Cas turned to face him fully, their noses almost touching. “You have it now.”

Dean kissed him—slow, sweet, nothing like the earlier heat but just as intense. A promise.

Eventually, they sat up, pulling on scattered clothing. Cas was buttoning his jeans when Dean reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it for a second longer than necessary.

“So,” Cas said, voice soft, “what now?”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “Now? I drive you home. Maybe tomorrow, you drive to me.”

Cas smiled. “And the day after that?”

Dean leaned in, lips brushing his again. “We’ll figure it out.”

Chapter Text

It became a rhythm.

Castiel would drop by the shop under the excuse of needing an oil change, or a tire rotation, or just coffee. Dean would roll his eyes, tell him he was a terrible liar, and then hand him a steaming cup anyway.

Sometimes, they’d talk for hours. Sometimes, they didn’t talk at all.

Dean started saving Castiel’s favorite cereal at his place. Cas kept a flannel of Dean’s draped over the back of his office chair at the clinic. They didn’t talk about it. They just let it happen.

One lazy Sunday, Dean was sprawled on Cas’s couch, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt that technically belonged to Cas now, thanks to a very distracting night two weeks ago. Cas walked in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and nudged Dean’s foot off the cushion.

Dean grunted. “You ever not drink coffee?”

“Never,” Cas said, completely deadpan. “It’s a personality trait now.”

Dean took a sip. “Weirdly proud of that, huh?”

Cas settled beside him, resting his bare feet against Dean’s thigh. “I’m dating a mechanic who hums Metallica in his sleep. I think we’ve already accepted our flaws.”

Dean snorted. “I do not hum.”

“You do.”

They fell into silence, the kind that felt like a blanket more than a void.

Eventually, Cas glanced over. “You still think about the wedding?”

Dean’s jaw tensed. “Bartholomew?”

“No. Us. That flight. How it started.”

Dean met his eyes. “Yeah. All the time.”

Cas nodded slowly. “Me too.”

Dean hesitated, then said, “I keep thinking… if that plane hadn’t been delayed. If I hadn’t taken that seat.”

Cas smiled gently. “You’d still have found me. You’re too stubborn not to.”

Dean laughed, then leaned in and kissed him—long, deep, steady.

It was different now.

No rush, no secrets, no pretending it didn’t mean anything.

Just them. Building something real.

Chapter Text

The first time Dean called it “dating,” they were elbow-deep in pizza and laughter, parked at the overlook where they’d first hooked up. Cas had sauce on his cheek and Dean’s hoodie slung over his shoulders.

“So,” Dean said, casual but with that glint in his eye, “this thing we’re doing. You know. The dinners. The sex. The constant texting. That’s dating, right?”

Cas paused, then licked his thumb and wiped sauce off Dean’s chin with zero hesitation. “Is that your version of a DTR?”

Dean raised a brow. “A what now?”

“Define the relationship.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, alright. I guess it is.”

Cas nodded thoughtfully, eyes on the skyline. “Well, in that case… yes. We’re dating.”

Dean looked over at him, quiet for a moment. Then: “Good.”

They kissed. Slow. Full of everything they hadn’t said but had already shown.

Later, when Dean dropped Castiel off at his house, he didn’t drive away. He walked him to the door, and just before Cas could open it, Dean tugged his hand.

Cas turned, brow raised. “Something wrong?”

Dean scratched at the back of his neck. “I was thinking. Maybe you don’t have to stay here tonight.”

Castiel smiled, eyes soft. “Your bed’s warmer.”

“And roomier,” Dean added quickly.

“And it has that weirdly comforting smell of engine oil and leather,” Cas teased.

Dean grinned. “You love it.”

“I do.”

Dean kissed him again, the kind of kiss that didn’t say goodbye—it said come home with me.

They drove back together, windows down, music low.

That night, they curled up in Dean’s bed, legs tangled, breaths synced. Dean fell asleep with his face buried in Cas’s neck and Cas’s fingers tracing lazy patterns down his arm.

It wasn’t just about lust anymore. Or chaos. Or chance.

It was something solid.

Something real.

Dean had never planned on falling in love at 30,000 feet with a stranger whose name he didn’t even know.

But now?

Now he couldn’t imagine his life without that man’s hands in his hair, his laugh in the next room, his sleepy texts at midnight.

It was messy. A little broken.

But it was theirs.

And it was just the beginning.