Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean saw from the corner of his eye Claire’s screen light up and ping with a new notification a few miles away from the bunker.

She had fallen asleep around Kansas City four hours prior, knocking out cold after the emotions of the weekend, and Dean didn’t have the heart to keep her awake for company. She had lasted way longer than Sam did on long trips, after all, and her being shotgun had been way nicer than his brother’s monotonous spewing of facts about some lore that Dean already knew but chose to feign ignorance about.

Instead, the two of them had talked the entire time until she fell asleep, for over eight hours, about their WandaVision theories and how it would link to the rest of the previous and upcoming MCU, about the new instalments in the Star Wars Universe, about Lovecraft and Vonnegut, while blasting Led Zeppelin and blink-182 from the radio, with Jack completely engrossed on his book in the backseat.

Dean had told the kid to stop reading in the car somewhere in the middle of Tennessee, remembering all too well the countless times Sammy had done something like that and had ended up barfing all over from motion sickness over the years, much to his and his father’s displeasure, but Jack had just ignored him, telling him that he needed to finish Eldest before they got back so they could talk about it at dinner. And he had then added something along the lines of ‘I’m the new God’ and ‘I choose not to get motion sickness’, amusing both the driver and the shotgun to no end.

Nevertheless, Dean had cast alarmed glances back at him every time he had to take a sharp turn and he had relaxed only once his kid had fallen asleep before St. Louis, his face smoothed against his duffle bag with the book sprawled over his chest, ready to fall at any moment.

And Dean had then reached back with one hand still on the steering wheel just as they entered the I-70, managing to catch the book in the exact moment it fell down, keeping it open and using his finger as a makeshift bookmark, before grabbing an old receipt that was laying around and sticking it in between the pages to keep the kid’s place. Jack had complained one too many times about how annoying it was to not know exactly on which page he had stopped reading and Dean just wanted to avoid the extra stress, doing everything he could to make his kid’s life easier.

If anyone would have told his 26 years old self, the one that had gone back to Sammy asking for help to find their father out of desperation and that couldn’t fathom a life in which he was fine, let alone happy, that in fifteen years he would be alive and practically retired from active field duty, manning the archives and essentially doing what Bobby had done for him in his first years alone, with two de facto kids basically following in his footsteps and being both pains in his ass and amongst the best things that had ever happened to him, while his angel husband fixed the Heaven after having defeated the God, he would have definitely shot an entire barrel at them on sight.

But now? Now, he heard Claire’s phone ping once more without giving it much thought, only registering in his periphery that the sound had effectively woken her up from where she was resting bundled up on the car seat, instead of having her head directly against the glass window. He watched from the corner of his eye, never really taking his vision off the dark road, as she blinked awake at the noise, her nose scrunching up as she yawned and stretched in the limited space of the Impala’s front seat, before she turned straight to him, ignoring the phone on her lap and choosing to ask: “Are we there yet?” in a sleep-filled voice.

“Not yet, ten more minutes,” he replied, silently laughing at the mess of hair that she had created turning around against the car seat. Her curly hair was creating a sort of halo effect all around her head and he had to resist the urge to snap a picture, his phone already filled with adorable and domestic photos of his entire family.

Hell, his lock screen was a picture of Castiel wearing the blue apron that they had gotten at a thrift shop a couple of months prior and that read ‘Kiss the Cook’, proudly presenting a fuming loaf of bread that they had baked!

Instead, Dean grabbed one of the spare hair-ties he always kept around the gear shift, quietly handing it to her with practised ease. He silently watched from the corner of his eyes as she tied it around her hair in a bun, pulling out some strands to frame her face better.

He knew better than to ask her questions or to talk straight after she had woken up, especially from a nap, so he just raised the volume of the radio slightly, catching the quiet notes from the music that he had turned almost all the way down to let his kids sleep peacefully. Or, at least, as peacefully as they could in a moving car.

And, indeed, Claire just rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and yawned some more for good measure, never uttering a word, before turning her attention to the phone and getting momentarily blinded by the luminosity from the device, softly cursing before immediately lowering it.

Dean took in the moment of distraction to check on the other sleeping form now sprawled out on the backseat, noticing how Jack had now turned on his stomach with his leg up in the air, against the door frame at a rather odd angle that could have been comfortable only for him.

He quietly bumped Claire’s shoulder to get the girl’s attention away from her texting, silently motioning at her to turn around to witness the Majestic All-Powerful snoring and drooling over his own clothes, and she wasted no time in taking a picture while they both snickered at the sight, knowing just how heavy Jack’s sleep could get whenever he was tired, probably filing it under the blackmail material she kept to make Jack do her chores or to vote for her choice on movie nights.

She then quickly went back to her screen, which must have meant it was Kaia on the other line, waiting for a reply.

They remained in comfortable silence, Dean driving and Claire engrossed in her texting, when another notification appeared, this time on Dean’s phone. He nodded at the girl to pick it up and watched as she read the message that had just arrived with a smile on her face, wondering who it must’ve been from.

It could’ve been Cas checking in, but he had already called him as they drove past Belleville, telling him that they’d be there in an hour and that they were all famished, having left Arrington first thing in the morning, stopping only for gas refills and bathroom breaks, just like old times.

Jack had been practically vibrating out of his skin as soon as they got in the car, wanting to tell Castiel all about his first solo hunt and how great it had been, and he had awoken both him and Claire at the crack of dawn with an already packed up Impala and two cups of coffee, ready to leave and get back home. Dean had briefly wondered if Jack hadn’t already flown back to the bunker only to be sent back by his husband, excited as he was.

His suspicion got confirmed when said husband sent him a text around 10 in the morning, telling him to lecture their kid about how impolite it had been to leave them hanging when they couldn’t fly as well. Dean had then done as he was told, reminding Jack that just because he was the new God, that didn’t mean that he could do whatever he wanted, that he should’ve told him he was leaving and that he shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

After all, Jack had been the one to suggest he lived his life like a human, like a hunter, to understand what his new powers and responsibilities meant to their full extent and to avoid making Chuck’s same mistakes, and so Dean and Castiel had been adamant with their rules on his use of magic, which included flying.

He was just a kid, and he should’ve behaved as such, he then added, elbowing Claire in the side as she snorted at his words.

Not that he could blame her: neither Dean nor Claire had had the luxury of being ‘just kids,’ not really knowing what being a kid even meant, but that didn’t stop either from trying to give Jack the full experience.

Which, for Dean and Cas, meant giving him structure and safety and love, being the parental figure that neither of them had ever had, and, for Claire, it meant being his big sister, helping him pull pranks on their ‘old men’, hiding all the snacks before movie nights and driving around town when neither could sleep, plus countless other things that they kept in between the two of them, bickering and laughing at inside jokes.

“What are you writing there?” he asked once she didn’t voluntarily supply him with who exactly had texted him, instead choosing to reply on her own accords without letting him know who was on the other line.

And Dean didn’t find it in himself to get even slightly affronted at her actions, so happy with the fact that she was comfortable enough around him to be carefree like that. It had taken them a long time to get where they were, and Dean wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

He had felt, all those years prior, a sick sense of guilt whenever he looked at the girl. It was partly his fault, after all, if Castiel hadn’t had to use Jimmy Novak as his vessel. If he hadn’t been the Righteous Man, if he hadn’t broken the First Seal and if he hadn’t been rescued from Hell, Claire’s life would have been very different. And he would still get the nasty sensation whenever she got injured on a hunt or even when she stabbed her toes against the countless corners around the bunker, promptly yelling ‘Son of a bitch!’ at the top of her lungs.

But those were issues that he was slowly but surely resolving with his shifter therapist, who was doing their damned best to help him get over his imposter syndrome, among the other burning pile of shit that was his mental health. And the love and comfort of his family did wonders, especially against the nasty thoughts that crept down on him every morning, urging him to stay in bed and do nothing, to be nothing.

Because, now, he had the motivation to get out of bed and start on breakfast without having to worry about monsters first thing in the morning. He followed healthy routines and ate his vegetables regularly, knowing that he could arrive at an old age if he only let his body live properly, without drowning it in dirty fats and cheap alcohol. He was nowhere willing to go and do daily morning jogs, which were three words that shouldn’t be used in the same sentence, unlike his psycho brother did, but he treated himself right, as he always should have. With all the time in the world, now that he had cut his own strings.

And, on those days when he did choose to stay under the covers, too tired and weary to do anything more than sleep and breathe, so would Cas, spooning him and cuddling to his heart’s content, chasing away the mean voices. And eventually Claire and Jack would come and search for them, telling them that they were going on a ‘grocery run’, only to come back with everything but actual food.

And now, after many hours and even more tears and after countless conversations that would have definitely sent him back into a mental asylum if his shrink wasn’t into the supernatural, he was finally doing better.

He smiled to himself at the progress he had made as he turned the car away from the main road, effectively getting into the bunker’s territory as he grabbed the garage remote from the glove box.

One year ago, he was worried and defeated, unsure of what was real and what was created only for Chuck’s personal amusement, hopelessly fighting in a war he didn’t think he could win, drained and scared and tired.

And now, he was working on his own happiness, doing what he loved with the people he loved, happily married to the love of his life and with a network of people that cared about him, not because he was a Winchester and a damn good hunter, but because he was Dean, their family and their friend, someone worthy of love and affection and of good things that did actually happen.

Talk about good character development!

Claire pulled him out of his internal monologue, lifting her head from the phone long enough to simply say: “It’s Garth,” before she went back to typing with a manic smile on her face, illuminated only by the brightness of Dean’s phone.

“What does he say?”

She took her time with her reply, crackling to herself as she kept on tapping on his screen, tilting the device away from Dean’s line of sight. “He’s angry that we went to Gwynn Castle without inviting him.”

“It’s not like there was a Renaissance festival happening, nor any LARPing for the matter. Besides, we were on a hunt!” he defended himself, turning around to face her as the garage door slowly opened. No matter how many times he oiled and changed the gears that pulled it up, the damned thing was still slow, but Dean had gotten used to it during the years, having it as a kind of winding down moment from a drive, no matter how long or short.

He was used to parking Baby wherever and having a solid place to keep her, a place where he could fix and coddle her just as she deserved to, was incredibly nice. After years bumping around from place to place, dirty motel to dirtier motel, he finally had somewhere he could call his own, a place he could look forward to being, with his own bed and his own kitchen and his own stuff, with no strings attached.

Claire began laughing out loud, not minding her volume since they had finally arrived back home. “Jack was on a hunt, we were fangirling,” she claimed, poking at Dean’s chest with the phone and passing it over him, who immediately checked to see if he needed to do some damage control over his kid’s work.

“Garth doesn’t need to know that…” he said once he had read through all the sad face emoticons that the werewolf had sent, relieved that nothing too incriminating had come out from the conversation.

Well, that was until Claire had shoved her own phone in Dean’s face, text chat open to her contact for Garth and a video being delivered through the Wi-Fi of the bunker. “Too late,” she just said, faking innocence, “I already sent him a copy of the video.”
“Claire, tell me you’re joking right at this instant!”

It had been her idea to record their reactions at the sight of the Castle, her phone propped over the console while the radio quietly played some country music. After all, it wasn’t every day that either got to be in Arrington, Tennessee, location of Taylor Swift’s very own ‘Love Story’. They had ended up taking dozens of pictures and forcing Jack to tour the place with them after he was done with his hunt, effectively breaking in without a guide. But that hadn’t been the most illegal thing they had done during their trip, so both he and Claire reasoned it was alright. They were allowed a little bit of breaking and entering, as a treat, Claire had claimed as she took a selfie from the balcony and even Jack had agreed.

She had then sent some of the photos along their family group chat, with Alex making her swear she’d be asked to tag along next time they went somewhere fancy, but so far the video remained a secret between her, Dean and Jack.

He would definitely show Cas once they got back home, and Eileen probably, but nowhere in his intention he meant for Garth to see it!

“He’s my dentist! I don’t wanna get on his bad side!” Claire fired back, hugging her phone to her chest with the least apologetic expression ever.

“It’s Garth we’re talking about, he doesn’t have a bad side,” he told her curtly, before slowly easing Baby inside, parking her in her own designated spot just as Claire grabbed the remote from his hand to close the door once they were inside, “And he’s my dentist too! Can’t a man have dignity left!”
“It’s Garth we’re talking about,” the girl parroted back at him with a mocking tone.

Dean was about to reply, when the sound of fabric rustling from the backseat caught his attention. He watched from the rear-view mirror as Jack sat up straighter and stretched his arms over his head, bumping hands over the roof of the Impala and immediately apologising to the car.

They were raising their son well.

“Hey, good morning sleeping beauty! Rise and shine!” he said, shifting Baby into park and finally stopping the car after hours on the road. In the morning, he’d give her a complete make-over, making sure she was right and beautiful again, without a single speckle of dirt on her gorgeous paint job, but now he was too tired to even think about cooking.

Good thing Cas was already there and had probably ordered take out.

He loved his husband dearly, with every single atom of his body and soul, but he was first and foremost an Angel of the Lord and he had destroyed his beloved kitchen one too many times trying to make cereal. He would trust him to lead the new legions of Heaven, to fix the mistakes Chuck had made, to rule over the entire fucking world even. But he would not trust him to not burn water.

“Did we reach our destination yet?” Jack asked in a similar sleep-filled voice to the one Claire had used not long before, rubbing his eyes in the same way his sister did. Dean’s heart swelled at the sight and grew a tenfold at the knowledge that they were already this close, despite everything.

They were raising their kids well.

“Just now. Did you use your radar to wait until we were here to wake up?” he asked, turning around to ruffle his blonde hair, causing the kid to scoff and try to smooth the mop on top of his head down, although all the tossing and turning on the backside for hours hadn’t been kind to him.
“No,” he claimed, once he had managed to somehow fix his bangs. He was definitely taking a page out of Sam’s book, letting it grow a little bit, and he was constantly blowing strands out of his face like some sort of new-age Lola Bunny. “But I heard Claire shout about Garth.”

The girl in question had already jumped out of the car, taking in a moment to stretch. But she had managed to hear perfectly and stuck her head through the window just moments before Dean reached over to close it, peering down at the Nephilim. “Aren’t you a heavy sleeper?” she asked snappily, resting her head on her crossed hands on the windowsill.
“You didn’t realise just how loud you were…” Dean heard Jack comment as he got out of the Impala himself, leaving the two siblings to their bickering undisturbed. He knew first-hand that it was best to avoid getting in the crossfire of the two of them teasing each other, having a very similar experience with his own brother.

He walked around the car to grab his bag from the trunk, when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the halls.

“How was the trip?” Cas asked, walking to give both Claire and Jack a welcoming hug.

Claire just uttered a quick ‘Fine,’ before grabbing her phone once again and calling Jody to let her know they were back, safe and sound, while Jack wasted no time in launching himself into a detailed description of his first real hunt all alone, although Cas already knew pretty much the whole ordeal, being fed information from Dean at every turn.

The kid had found on his own some ghost activity a couple of days prior, presenting his findings all excitedly at breakfast about what he suspected was a haunted house and all but demanding he could go, assuring his fathers that he was more than capable of doing so. It had been the first time since the whole Chuck ordeal that he asked to go on a hunt, and so both Dean and Cas were a little bit hesitant on letting him go all by himself, even when he insisted he wanted to deal with the ghost alone.

In the end, they both caved in and Castiel agreed on joining him as some sort of chaperone. That was until Jack revealed the actual location of his hunt as Arrington, Tennessee, which made Dean jump up and decide right then and there that he’d be the one to go, after promising he wouldn’t get involved with the hunt unless Jack asked him to.

Which was incredibly fine for him, since he already had other plans in mind.

Claire just shoved up with her own duffle already prepared in a Reputation hoodie when they were ready to leave. Neither she nor Dean spoke about it, silently agreeing on their itinerary.

The job was indeed a walk in the park, especially with Jack’s amazing research on which Dean had congratulated the kid every time he could. And they had managed to cross the checks on their itinerary on the same day, totally under the authorities’ radars, which was always a win-win.

The fangirling at the Castle was just an added bonus.

Jack was now in the middle of recounting just how he had dug the ghost’s grave with a shovel basically by himself under Claire and Dean’s proud eyes, when Cas kindly and politely stopped him, reminding him that he could keep telling his tale in the kitchen with some food.

“Go get a shower first,” Dean called back at both their kids before they exited the garage, “we’ve been in the Impala for close to 13 hours without stops, none of us is going to sit at the table unless we’re clean.”

And, while it was absolutely something at the bottom of his intended list of things to do first thing when he got home, Dean intended to follow his own instructions himself. Long were now the days when he just planted himself on the nearest bed face first and called it quits. He had a night face routine that he followed religiously, as well as a morning one and a special ‘treat yourself’ for Sundays and lazy days.

Another thing that 26 years old Dean would’ve bitched about, if he only knew.

“But I’m hungry!” Jack lamented in a very little-kid fashion, only missing the little foot stomping down as part of his ensemble.
“The quicker you go, the sooner you’ll eat,” Castiel responded patiently. It had taken the angel a while to understand the human need to bathe and clean themselves, after centuries without a permanent vessel and after a decade in the same clothes, but he had finally gotten the hang of it, even when he wasn’t human himself anymore. But still, he enjoyed the rituals and he liked keeping his body clean and fit and, after Jack gave him human taste buds to make him live life with Dean as a regular human while still maintaining his angel mojo and status upstairs, where he helped and directed the renovations, Castiel could finally enjoy food as well, not having to pretend anymore.

Now, if only he could be left unsupervised in the kitchen without smiting every single pot out of existence…

“But…” Jack still bewailed, only to be stopped once again by Dean, leaving no room for discussion: “No ‘but’s kiddo, you stink.”

It had been kind of weird, in the beginning, disciplining the new God and forcing him to eat his vegetables, but he had gotten the hang of it pretty quickly. After all, he just had to do everything he had already done to raise Sam, without the fear of his father looming over. Basically a walk in the park.

“Fine!” both kids yelled, disappearing down the long line of hallways that connected the rooms of the bunker, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the garage.

“Hello, Dean,” the angel whispered, wrapping his arms around him and giving him a soft peck on the cheek, uncaring of the stubble that had grown in the past few days of distance. He had completely forgotten his shaving kit at home, but part of him was certain that Castiel had just kept it hidden before he left, conscious that Dean was too lazy and too cheap to buy a new one for only a weekend and that his husband would then show up with a new beard in a couple of days, all for Cas to play with before it was shaved off in the morning.

“Hi yourself, did you miss me?” he asked, fully well knowing the answer already. He and Cas had called and texted each other every available moment, with Claire making fake gagging noises whenever they were ‘sappy’ over the phone. It all made Dean amp up on the sappiness and lovey-dovey stuff in front of her.

Another thing that 26 years old Dean would have died over was the casual display of affection, the ‘chick flick’ moments and the being absolutely and unrestrainedly head over heels in love. “Is the day long?”

He playfully shoved Cas a little with his shoulder, letting his arms fall to the angel’s side to hold firmly onto his hips, hooking his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. Another difference from before and now, was the fact that Cas wore different clothes, instead of always being in full suit and trench coat ensemble.

Now, when he was at home, in the bunker, or when he was on Earth, off from his Heavenly duties, he wore human clothes that he liked and had bought himself, or that he had simply raided from Dean’s thinning closet, adding himself to the list of people that stole tees and flannels and sweatshirts from him.

It had been endearing, in the beginning, seeing Cas in one of his shirts, flipping pancakes casually in the morning, or taking one of his jackets when they headed out on grocery runs. Besides, the jeans that he had bought did his ass justice and it was a pity to hide all that under the glorious trench coat.

But things started to become complicated when he was left with an empty wardrobe because his husband had decided to take all of his graphic shirts for himself, their son had ‘borrowed’ all of his sweaters and their daughter had kept all of his flannels as prisoners in her room.

He then had to retaliate every way he could, in a war that ended when he only wore underwear and an apron that said: ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy.’ He got almost all of his clothes back from the kids pretty immediately after that, but it had been harder to get back what Cas had stolen.

In the end, they both settled for a shared closet and called it quits.

“You’re such a flirt!” he exclaimed, smiling at the memory, before placing a tender kiss on the corner of his husband’s mouth, choosing to place his head in the nook of his neck and remain there. He could easily fall asleep, with the only sounds being Castiel’s breathing and the beating of his heart.

That was, after all, the way he did fall asleep almost every night, safe in the arms of his angel and holding on for dear life.

“How was it?” Cas asked eventually, never once removing his arms from around Dean.
“Fine, the kids had fun and that’s all that matters,” he answered honestly, walking back to lean against the closed hood of the Impala and bringing his husband with him, their hands linked.

They had discovered, straight after rescuing Cas from the Empty, that neither could fathom not touching the other for long periods.

Not that Dean minded, he loved having his hands all over Cas.

But their connection went deeper than the physicality, now. They held onto each other for stability, for safety, because they loved each other. He didn’t have to immediately retreat his hands from the angel’s shoulders, afraid of getting burned or shamed. That had been one of the first things he had dealt with his shrink and, while his fear of abandonment and his touch starvation had taken a long time to become slightly better, he was finally able to enjoy physical affection without growing nervous at the mere thought of holding hands.

Dean took in the moment of silence to rest his head on one of Castiel’s shoulders, a gesture that now came naturally to both parts, before he continued in his tale: “Plus Jack did an amazing job! You should’ve been there, he was so confident and gentle with the ghost, he managed to reassure them before he burned the remains and it was just so natural? I don’t know, man, I’m getting old, this new generation is far better than I was at their age.”

“You did not know anything about the supernatural when you were Jack’s age,” Castiel commented in earnest, eliciting a surprised laugh out of Dean.
“Alright, smartass, it was a figure of speech.”

“Did you have fun?”

“I did, me and Claire were fangirling the entire time. It was cute, but if anyone asks…” Dean trailed off, motioning with a finger crossing over his throat. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Even if all of their friends and family already knew him and knew pretty much everything about him. But hey! A man should be allowed his pretend secrecy!
Castiel nodded solemnly at his words: “Yes, I know, Dean. Your ‘tough exterior’ should be preserved from mockery,” he commented, voice emotionless and face stoic, immobile if not for the air quotes he kept on insisting on using even at the most inappropriate times, like “Why is this ‘toilet’ paper ‘4 layers’ while this one is ‘2 layers’?” or “I was there when ‘oil’ was ‘first’ produced, Dean, I do not think ‘this’ was the ‘intended use’.”
He hadn’t complained anymore afterwards, after being shown that maybe that was one of the intended uses after all.

“And… you’re mocking me right now!” he added, burying once again his face in Castiel’s neck, playfully leaving brief kisses to the exposed skin, causing the angel to shiver despite the warm weather.

They had discovered, on the many nights they spent awake, that in giving him new taste receptors to make his life on Earth more human despite still being an angel in all his glory, Jack had also activated some of Jimmy’s old nerves that had gone dormant, useless to the purpose of a vessel. Amongst those nerves, lying somewhere, was the fact that he was a ticklish man, which translated into a now ticklish angel.

Which was something that Dean exploited at every chance he got.
“I would never!” Castiel screamed, trying to get away from Dean’s vicious and cruel attack on his one human weakness that he couldn’t control. Nevermind that he could have easily asked Jack to restore his insensibility to avoid such things, he enjoyed the feeling way too much.

They then returned to their initial position, hands linked, basking in each other’s presence.
“How was your weekend?” Dean asked softly, even if he already knew everything that had happened, just wanting to steal a few more minutes alone from their family with his husband, even if it made him selfish.

That had been another of the issues he was working on, with his therapist telling him that he was “Allowed to be selfish, goddamn! You saved the world more times than I can count, you’re entitled to as many Star Trek marathons that your heart desires!”

They were very enabling, especially towards the things that Marie Kondo-ed sparked joy in Dean’s life, but so was the rest of his family. In the end, they all wanted the same thing: for Dean to be happy, even when he refused to grasp happiness himself.

“Quite alright, as I already told you, but thank you for asking,” Castiel obliged him, slinging an arm over Dean’s shoulders and bringing them even closer than they already were, personal space be fucked. “I had to make a trip to Heaven to discuss some reforms with Naomi today, but other than that, it was rather uneventful.”
“You’re okay? Did she mess around with your memories some more?”

Although Naomi was now semi-forgiven and loyal to Jack, doing an excellent job training the new angels and keeping Heaven in reign under Jack’s requested reconstructions, all her previous actions still haunted them both. More than once, Castiel had been awoken by nightmares in which he succeeded in her mission, calming down only once he made sure that Dean was alive and well, next to him.
“Do not be ridiculous, Dean. She cannot do that anymore.”

“Well, just in case you need a refreshing…” he trailed off, leaning upwards and placing his lips gently over Cas’.

Kissing Cas was easily his favourite activity ever. After spending over a decade dreaming about how soft his lips might be, how they would fit well over his own, he had finally found out the truth. And the reality was much more perfect than anything he had ever hoped for. Cas kissed heavenly, for lack of a better word. He took his time, teasing and nibbling at the soft skin of Dean’s lips, without hurry or a single care in the world disturbing them. They could and would regularly get lost in each other, in their very well earned peace and quiet.

Eventually though, betrayed by his puny human lungs, Dean had to break their wonderful kiss to breathe, but Cas just continued with his lips down his jaw, down his neck, as Dean’s hands made their way to the angel’s head, grasping the soft strands of jet black hair.

“…I forgot to mention,” Castiel continued, punctuating each word with a kiss or a small bite that he was sure would leave a mark, “your brother helped me today and he and Eileen are staying here for the night. I supposed it would be alright with you, right?” he then asked rhetorically, directly against Dean’s lips, before ducking down and capturing them with his, not giving him the time to answer even if he wanted to.

Not that he wanted to: it was a regular occurrence that Sam and Eileen stayed at the bunker, it was still their home as well. The two lovebirds had found and taken over an old bookstore in Lincoln and had moved there almost immediately after defeating Chuck and, while it was relatively close, it was still a two and half hours’ drive, which meant that they stayed overnight every time they swung by the bunker, whether for company, to do research or for family dinners.

 Still, Dean felt like he should have replied nevertheless: “Yeah, it’s fine, buddy, but don’t talk about my brother when you have your tongue down my throat.”

Points like that needed to be driven straight home when dealing with immortal beings as old as Time itself, after all.

“I apologise, would you rather I talk about your brother when my tongue is in other places?” Castiel inquired seriously, although he did a poor job at hiding the smile that had appeared on his face, always enjoying teasing Dean mercilessly.

“Sweetheart!” Dean lamented, dropping his head in the palm of his hands to hide his blushing cheeks away from Castiel’s gaze. That cosmic wavelength had a way of making Dean flustered like a teenager dealing with their first crush, an ability that he used and abused whenever they were alone. It was Dean’s Achilles Heel, his very personal Trojan Horse.

Suddenly, an idea made its way through Dean’s brain. “You know what?” he asked conspiratorially, leaning away from the Impala and moving to stand in between Cas’ open legs, placing his hands on his hips once again.
“What, Dean?”
“I just had a thought.”
“Really? That is rare!” Cas exclaimed, mere inches from Dean’s lips.

Of course, he then did what every responsible, grown adult would do: sticking his tongue out in mockery at his husband, he immediately ducked out of the way before Castiel could catch him and capture his mouth once again, breathlessly laughing as he yelled: “Shut up, man!” and walked to the closest door of the Impala, sliding into the backseat with ease. Cas followed suit, essentially ‘trapping’ him in the tiny space, just as Dean had intended.

“This is better, isn’t it?” he asked once Castiel’s hands had made their way under his shirt, softly tracing the countless scars he knew were there.
“Maybe…” the angel replied, removing the piece of fabric in one swift move, despite the tiny space they were in, “If I recall correctly, we have never done anything inside the Impala…” he trailed off, laying horizontally over Dean on the backseat.
“What a shame,” he concurred, mimicking his husband’s actions and getting greeted with the glorious sight of his torso, slightly illuminated by the garage lights, with the shadows that played over the defined muscles, “we must rectify that immediately!”
“Jack and Claire were hungry and you still have to bathe after such a long trip…” Cas commented somewhere over his neck, fervently and reverently kissing at the pulse of Dean’s jugular, sending his head into a frenzy without controlling the blood flow. But, despite his words, he wasn’t showing signs of slowing down, letting his hands roam over Dean’s exposed skin and slowly move towards his belt.
“Our Princess Leia is gonna take half an hour to shower, we have time.”

“Well, in that case…” Castiel leaned down, taking hold of their kiss once again as Dean wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him down flush against his body in a practised move.

They lost the track of time, entangled in each other’s arms, safe and sound and the happiest they had ever been.

It wasn’t until Cas’ hands had completely detached Dean’s belt, slowly and lazily removing it from the belt loops of his jeans and throwing it somewhere behind him through the open car door, that both realised there were footsteps coming closer.

Unfortunately for the newcomer, neither was willing to stop in their paths, partially shielded from view by the Impala herself.

“Hey, guys, dinner’s ready, what is keeping you two…” Sam began to say, undoubtedly stopping dead on his tracks when he saw neither Dean nor Cas at a first glance. Both husbands kept impossibly still, trying not to get caught like high-schoolers fooling around, and Castiel silently began snickering, the sound smothered by Dean’s bicep. Or at least he tried to.

Again, unfortunately for Sam, the small sound was still audible and it drew the younger Winchester closer to the Impala, the floor echoing his cautious steps. Dean could imagine the scene: the room dimly lit, as per usual; the car in her usual spot, uncharacteristically with one of the doors open, a careless mistake that Dean would have never done to his Baby; his own duffle bag still laying on the floor, untouched, probably next to a belt, if Castiel’s throwing hadn’t been entirely mindless.

And, indeed, it didn’t take either long to hear Sam’s reaction.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, GUYS, NOT IN THE CAR!” they heard the high pitched shrieks resonate through the garage walls, probably all the way to the core of the bunker, jumping from tile to tile.
Neither Dean nor Cas could keep down their laughter anymore, breaking down in a fit of giggles that shook the car some more, for great measure. Sam’s responding pained groan came clear to their ears as if it was music.

“It ain’t your car anymore, Sammy,” Dean said, failing to keep the smile off his face. And, really, who could blame him? He had the love of his life shirtless and on top of him, while simultaneously he was embarrassing his annoying little brother.

Paradise on Earth indeed.
“MY FUCKING EYES. I NEED BLEACH!” he kept on screaming, wisely keeping a certain distance from the open door.
“You are being overdramatic, Sam,” Castiel commented in a monotonous voice, merely stating a simple fact as if crossing an item from the shopping list, and Dean could not help himself from stealing a kiss, his own smile never falling down, “Dean and I are practically fully clothed.”

It was honestly a miracle, the way no other member of their family had ventured in the garage despite the shouts that had probably arrived all the way to Sioux Falls by now.

“BLEACH! LIKE, ACTUAL FUCKING BURNING ACID DRIPPING DOWN MY EYES, I AM SCARRED FOR LIFE!” Sam continued to cry out like a banshee, but his voice was growing more distant with every new repetition of the word ‘bleach’, followed by his brother’s rather hurried retreating footsteps.

And Dean couldn’t bring himself to care, not when his husband was laughing beautifully, on top of him, shirtless and with his face smooched down on Dean’s neck, slightly tickling him with the way his hair was brushing against his stubble. Cas was definitely due a haircut, but he knew that the moment he brought up the topic, he would be met with at least three other hands ready to take the scissors away from him and he would have to defeat each person in a mortal hand to hand combat, while Eileen did all the grooming and probably recorded the entire ordeal for posterity.

Not exactly how he planned to spend his Monday, but it would definitely do.

Hell, if anyone had told 26 years old Dean that in 15 years he’d be this happy, he might call it wishful thinking, alongside of ‘impossible’ and ‘not me’ and ‘you got the wrong guy’, but 42 years old Dean was more than okay with the way things turned out.

It had been a very bloody road, but he had finally arrived mostly intact.

“Well, I hate to admit it but he is quite right,” Castiel said softly, pulling him out of his revelling over his brother’s misery.
Dean watched for one more moment the way the shadows played over Cas’ features, the way light seemed to be drawn to him, almost creating a halo of sorts. His own personal celestial wavelength. “Yeah, let’s go. We’re too old to make out on the backseat of a car anyway.”

Cas then exited the Impala, holding the car door gallantly for Dean: “Well, there is a very convenient bed waiting for us, if you’d like,” he commented, almost offhandedly, as if he was unsure of what the answer might end up being.
“As if you even need to ask!” he commented, putting on his shirt and leaning down to grab his bag and belt, purposefully pulling an Elle Woods in front of his still shirtless husband.
“Consent is of the utmost importance, Dean.”
“I know that very well, my dear angel,” he responded seriously, finishing to pull the belt through his loops. He then placed both of his hands on Castiel’s cheeks and squeezed lightly, just because he could, causing his lips to pout adorably, “But I do remember some vows citing how I’d like for you to do anything you wished to me.”
Cas actually snorted at that, shaking his head in between Dean’s hands, “Good thing we exchanged personalised vows privately, otherwise your brother would have combusted on the spot.”

Dean linked their hands once more, intertwining their fingers together, and he pulled his beloved away from the incriminating car, feeling the classic signs of hunger start to become noticeable.

He waited a moment by the door of the garage, turning around and stealing a kiss from his husband simply because he could, because he wanted to, because he was allowed to.

Because he was happy. He finally had everything he had always dreamed about, a home, a great and wide family, and the love of his life by his side, until the very End.

Not bad for the guy who wouldn’t live past 30, he thought, shutting off the lights.