Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey there sunshine," swinging arms and legs in a stiff, almost-skipping motion whilst licking his lips and flashing a smile that just misses being easy, Dean Winchester clears his throat and stops just behind the chair wherein sits Castiel, Angel of the Lord, as he had initially referred to himself all those years ago.

"Hello Dean," the angel says, as gentle and easy and solid as always. With a - warmth, and affection within his face and words, something that hasn't been on Dean's radar the entire time they've known each other, but makes his heart want to do a triple-lindy out of his chest at the way the guy speaks now.

Cas lifts his eyes and smiles softly. "How are you?" He's asking this as he turns the page of some book, the text looks like it's in enochian, and Dean's dumbass thought goes straight to his mouth from his brain as he says

"I'm good, Cas. You reading up on how much those flying-ass monkeys miss you in Heaven?"

Cas's face darkens. "Oh, they don't miss me," he says darkly. "Whoever is left-" and his face drops.

Dean is sweating, backpedaling. Swearing internally because he was going to make a comment (and still might) about what that Alfie dude had said, about Cas's heart -

Screw it, may as well say it anyway. Since Cas was the one to tell him

Knowing you has changed me. I love you.

"Yeah, well you always had too much heart for 'em, anyway," Dean says weakly.

The angel actually snorts, and speaks more softly "Thank you for saying so, but none of my siblings would see that as a positive thing. My...penchant for learning to emote was one of the things Naomi told me I was ....'reprogrammed' on multiple occasions for." Castiel lifts his hands and actually correctly uses air quotes before dropping both hands into his lap.

And, oh, Dean realizes. Oh, crap. Cas wasn't there to hear that. He wasn't with Dean and Sam and Crowley and Kevin or his mom. Probably the wildest grouping there had ever been for any of them; Crowley had told them on that occasion he'd bought the moon!

Or claimed it, that douche said, for Hell. Tried to bid his own soul. That was when Cas was in the middle of all...the lobotomizing at bible camp, Dean realizes with cold dread. So even if he was ready to pull out the fact he heard another angel say that, which he isn't, the timeframe of it was arguably during one of the worst experiences - or at least, top ten for the angel, Dean would say. Top ten at least in recent years.

Didn't stack up to some things Dean said to him, or to the simple fact that he's here, he's back, out of the Empty, and Dean hasn't said anything much to him at all. He hasn't brought up Cas's... happiness, or. His confession, actually; because what else had it been? Them both standing there staring at each other, so close to dying for, Dean thought, good; Cas pouring tears and pouring out his heart, his feelings -

Feelings Dean was too much of a coward to say anything to. Too much of a dick to bring up again.

So here he is, fumbling something like those idiots should be sorry they lost you, and the fact that Naomi bitch ever programmed -

"Reprogrammed, Dean," the guy is interjecting, all serious and saying with a steady gaze from those clear blue eyes "She told me... I came off the belt with a crack in my chassis. She had fixed me before, but in Falling the way I did," he inclines his head, gesture as much as words saying "for you" so clearly it's like he spoke in his original angelic tone, the one that blew every window in and made Dean's ears feel like they were bleeding

"Ya couldn't be fixed, huh?" Dean's voice is nearly a mumble with how rough it's gone, and low. He feels as though his windpipe is being tightened, like he's losing the ability to breathe. And all this after some stupid comment, way to go, he chastises himself. Of course, he'd say something stupid. Dean winces and blinks as Cas just turns his head and says

"That is what she indirectly told me, yes."

"Well, that's bullshit, Cas," Dean snaps, feeling a fire in his throat, like he'd pressed a gun there, the hot muzzle -

He thinks he gets what got Bobby so bad now, how the guy could get so freaking angry that he'd blow air and find something to throw

Especially when Cas just sits here right now and -still so calmly!- tells him "There was always something ... different. Strange, I suppose, about me." He pauses, a crease forming between his brows as they drop a little. "Even Lucifer told me what an odd thing I was."

Now it is Dean who scoffs. "Lucifer, the friggin devil? Look, Cas, if we go by any'a HIS crap -" Dean stops, shakes his head. "Unbelievable," he almost whispers. Grabbing hold of and then dropping hands from his hair "...ya know you make it so damn difficult, Cas"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas instantly replies with his eyes widening, a softer look of sorrow crosses his face. "Clearly this conversation is a distressing one for you," but it is also absolutely clear the guy is confused. Which is amply evidenced when next he asks "-I make it... difficult to do what, exactly? Besides hunt, which of course you have far more experience with, but"

Dean sighs heavily, letting out a groan as he drops to sit beside the angel at the table where he has laid out various texts, alongside the one he's currently evidently reading.

Why, who the hell knows.

Resting, practically slamming forearms atop the table heavily, shoving fingertips through his hair again, Dean's voice is muffled on his next words. "this has nothing to do with hunting, I'm trying -" dropping hands and turning his face to look at Cas incredulously. Guess he has to come right out and say it. How fitting, for a guy whose modus operandi would probably be best or aptly described as 'on the nose'. "I've been trying to flirt with you, pal."

"...Oh" Cas's eyes drop to study the table and he opens and closes his hands. A wind would whip up at this moment, if they were outdoors. "I'm sorry," he says at length, speaking far lower.

There is what sounds like a sigh, a hissing intake of breath from Dean beside him. And then, a chuckle.

Dean's strong hand reaches out and clasps his arm, and the angel looks up to see Dean's eyes crinkled. Such kindness he has. "It's okay, man. You don't hafta keep apologizin'. 'Sides I haven't exactly been uh, upfront or, how would you say it? Forthcoming -" Dean hits upon the word, a shift and quirk of his mouth precedes pause before he grows still. Castiel's gaze flickers back and forth across the table as he abruptly snaps his head once again upright, thinking wAit-

Dean clears his throat and says now quick, before he chickens out (which he can't believe, he's Dean Winchester, what is wrong with him?) He faces Cas, feels face and ears burning. Licking his lips and smacking them before lowering his chin and lifting his fingers in an almost-accusatory gesture, eyes widening "Cas, you know I'm flirting, right? And you're cool with it? Because I'm gonna get us a table at a burger place if you are" and he's babbling, saying "I'll even listen to that crap music you like, I don't-"

"Dean." Cas says his name as if calling, and his hands are on Dean's knees and then somehow, his face as the guy says, patting Dean on the cheek so gently that Dean almost has heart failure "I don't need to eat, as you know. But I am very adept at sitting," he jokes, a teasing cant to his tone. Dean can tell it's Cas joking from the twinkle in his eyes, and if he had any less self-control he would be throwing himself at him.

"Is that -" Dean's throat is about to close. His eyes get big and his voice nearly squeaks. Holy shit. "Is that a yes, d'you wanna get a burger with me?"

And with a smile as heart-rending as the one he gave before the Empty took him (though with none of that bullshit happening this time, damnit) Castiel says simply "Of course, Dean." A slight pause "... it's a date."

A date.

As it stands, Dean is floored. He blinks, shakes his head with a slight sharp sound and explosive exhale. "You - alright. Okay I'll uh - just go an' get a table for us then" practically staggering to his feet and ready to grab the keys to Baby - because he can tell, from the nod and little smile Cas now gives him that the guy wants to do this and Dean sure as hell 's not passing such an opportunity up.

It's a date. They're going on a friggin date!

And if Dean pumps his fist or jumps and clicks his heels in the air, friggin sue him. He is going on an actual date, so he can totally get a pass.

Just like Swayze.

Chapter Text

It's a wonder Dean even gets the car out of the garage and down roads to the aforementioned burger joint, he's so struck by the simple fact that Cas, his best friend, the angel who's been with him through thick and thin after pulling his ass from the fire, has said yes to go on a friggin date. Not just a date, but a dinner date. With HIM, Dean, who now that he thinks about it, hasn't gone on many 'a those, or any, really. Unless any'a those times he'd met up with Cassie in the months he was with her are somethin' that goes along date lines.

Except those get-togethers all happened more than a dozen years ago. Maybe drinks count, but usually there's an object in mind; a goal, rather. It was a means to get into bed, or a closet, car, or even a bathroom (he'll never forgive himself for that one, for multiple reasons, most important being it had allowed some crazy bastards to kidnap Sammy). The physical was always a goal for Dean and his partners, though he was so focused on giving pleasure to others it was a sort of cold shock whenever he felt comforted, if not loved.

It wasn't about love, like he said - he wasn't the love-making type. Oh sure, it was fun, and even emotional in some cases.

But Dean isn't accustomed to a feeling this strong. It's like...he's been branded, or something. It's a hidden side of his heart, alright, tucked away from all the pain he's caused and the crap he's been through.

Or maybe it's seasoned with the pain, somehow; point is that the simple truth remains, and it's how he feels. Or that he feels, a lot. A whole helluva lot.

Yes, he was flirting with Cas. And yes, flirting is something he likes to do (he didn't fuckin need heaven-version mind-meld Pamela telling him that to know. It's practically his default).

But the flirting even if sentiments are real, the flirting itself isn't - doesn't express his real feeling. He can't find the right words, though, so he's going into this slightly more fancy than a run-of-the-mill bar food place - where there are TABLES and complimentary bread baskets. May not be cloth napkins with stitching and all those different kinds of silverware, but it's better than Biggerson's - there aren't just stained booths and creaky bar stools. He pokes his head in after asking for a table for two under Winchester. Dean. "My name's Dean," he introduces himself and immediately closes his eyes and nearly drops his head into a hand because of how stupid he sounds.

Honestly, he's an idiot. Or he sure as hell feels like one.

But he jogs back to the car with heart hammering and palms starting to sweat, they almost slip off Baby's wheel, but he grits his teeth and swears under his breath, pressing palms to jeans before turning on the car, throwing hand across the seat (and imagining Cas there, his skin under Dean's hand, how he could rub circles on his neck or cup his hand and pull the angel in-)

No. He's not going to focus on that. This is a date. Just a date. Their FIRST date, too, which means Dean has to take it slow. If ever there was a time for - dare he friggin say it, even to himself - romantic gestures, or the stuff of romance novels, this'd be it. On impulse, and at the memory of Cas going on what the guy had thought was a date (which was Dean's fault too, he put the idea in Cas's head when all the lady he worked with had asked was if he could come to her place that evening). Not everything is a booty call, Dean, Sam would say -and has on multiple occasions with rolling eyes. But he's the one always getting propositions from cougars, so. Dean smirks and feels himself calm down. Not that he hadn't been, it's just a big damn deal to ask to go out with the being who said not just that he loves him, but that knowing Dean has CHANGED him - never mind all that stuff he said about Dean being loving and selfless and - that's a whole 'nother area that is still tough for Dean to think about. He gives his head a shake and turns on the radio.

There's time for at least one song before he gets back to the Bunker. And of course he hears the familiar voice, drumbeats, and guitar licks of Survivor.

...Words don't come easy
Feelings I hide even from myself
I'm ready to share without hesitation
I've been saving this moment
For someone who's saving this moment too
Tell me it's you

I'll give you everything that I got
Say you'll never turn and run
Cause each and every beat of my heart
Tells me you're the only one
I've cast aside, this foolish pride
I know I can keep you satisfied;
I'll prove it tonight in so many ways...
That's a promise from the heart
In good faith

In the roles that we have chosen
Behind the parts we sometimes play
Lies the passage to the real me
With no illusions in the way
Words don't come easy
But I'll get the feeling across somehow
Let it be now...

I'll give you everything that I got
Say you'll never turn and run
Cause each and every beat of my heart
Tells me you're the only one
I've cast aside, this foolish pride
I know I can keep you satisfied
I'll prove it tonight in so many ways
That's a promise from the heart
In good faith

Damn it, why do all these lyrics hit so perfectly into what he's doing and how he feels? Dean grips Baby's wheel with white knuckles even as, yeah, he likely wouldn't ever say it like this but

He has faith in Castiel. And he's damn sure going to prove what he feels, how much he cares. On this date and however else he can. Because he knows he'd be the one of the two of them to turn and run, but he's not going to.

Cas is here, and Dean's not going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Castiel sits mostly still for long moments after Dean leaves.

The closing door and rumble of Impala engine departing the Bunker's garage brings his fingers up to tap at the edge of the table beside which he sits, and then Castiel's gaze grows focused prior to a realization as he he stands and strides with purpose out of the library area, atrium and down the hall.

He pauses at the doorway of Dean's room, turning on the light and noting the open closet.

Dean had made a space, or showed him a space, on one side of the closet with several hangers and garment bags. "For your suits, and if you ever, uh, wanna hang up that trench," he said with a rub at the back of his neck with one hand. Dean's voice had gotten gruff, skin of his face, neck, and even ears growing pinker than usual, and the angel nearly asked whether or not Dean was all right.

But something in the way the man didn't quite look at him had Castiel simply inclining his head and saying "Thank you, Dean."

He has a few clothing articles in his possession, one of which being the light blue shirt he had worn for an extended amount of time, as a human. Beside this shirt hangs the hooded sweatshirt in a shade of maroon that he had also worn, along with a pair of jeans.

He has several pairs of jeans now, as well as sweatpants and a few t-shirts that were once Dean's. He had given them to the angel one morning after Castiel shuffled through the kitchen wearing trenchcoat and collared shirt. He slept in the shirt, yes; but Dean never asked, he simply said "here, Cas," and handed the shirts and pants over. "These might be more comfortable than wearin' that coat an' suit all the time," and as opposed to their little spat about clothing that had ended with the angel spitting at least he didn't look like a lumberjack, Dean didn't tell him to ditch the suit. Or the coat. He simply said, here have these clothes, and with them expressed a desire for Castiel to be comfortable.

The angel thinks about this now as he switches out his currently somewhat wrinkled white collared shirt for the blue one, leaving off a tie and instead undoing a button as he recalls Dean telling him to do on one occasion. Of course it had been before the mistakenly believed date with Nora, but he is sure Dean's expertise in the area renders his to be, and remain, sound advice.

Particularly since - the angel pauses, eyes widening as he thinks - this is a date he is going on, now.

He wonders if he should 'lose the suit' as Dean has previously told him to do, and instead wear one of his pairs of jeans, but decides against it, choosing his more closely cut darker suit rather than the grey one he wears most often.

He has laid out his coat and bends to tie his shoes (having begun to emulate Dean in the bunker by wearing only socks, though at times the floor slips under his feet) when the opening and closing door precedes rapid footsteps and Dean's voice calling out "Well I made the reservat-" a stop, and then rougher now Dean's voice continues "Cas? Where are ya, buddy?"

His tone seems almost uncertain as he calls out again, only for the angel to finish with his shoes and lift his head, saying back "I'm here," and Dean, footsteps moving at a sharp clip, nearly skids past his open bedroom door before turning and stopping, frozen framed in it. Castiel looks up from his seat on the side of the bed, suit on, shoes tied, and a small smile curving his lips up.

"Hello Dean," he says. "I came in here to ready myself...for our date." He pauses as Dean wets his lips, and adds "is this too -much? Too formal, perhaps? I remember you saying to me-"

Dean shakes his head, clears his throat. "No, Cas, it's fine. You're fine." After taking a breath in, Dean's eyes crinkle. "You're - lookin' really good, buddy."

Cas feels a warmth flutter inside him as though his heart has somehow sprouted wings, and he gathers his coat into his arms, hugging it as again he inclines his head before feeling the widening of his own smile. "Thank you," he says quietly, with a sense of awe that Dean has spoken such things, told Castiel he was flirting, directly asking if he wanted to go on a date, and now this. It's something he never dared hope, before. Never thought he could have.

He doesn't know what Dean sees now in his face, but it must be some expression of his immense thankfulness because Dean softens. He comes into the room with an "ah, buddy," vocalized softly as he reaches out and pats Cas on the shoulder, licking his lips. Giving a squeeze, Dean's voice goes rough again as he mumbles something like "'s what you deserve ta hear." To know, something about the look in his eyes adds; and then he speaks a little louder "but I'm gonna need a minute to freshen up, pal."

"Oh." Castiel nods. "Of course, I ap-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't," Dean lets go and lifts his hand as he cuts off the angel's words. "Alright? I just gotta get myself presentable," he roughs up and then flattens his hair. "Can't hold a candle to ya lookin' that good, but I'm gonna try." He grins and shoves at Cas to send him from the room before the seraph can tell him anything along the lines of what he has always wanted to say, hoping that somehow, Dean can come to believe it:

You are and remain as you have been since I first saw your soul in Hell. You are beautiful, Dean Winchester.

Chapter Text

The longer he stands - or sits, or strides about the main area of the Bunker now that he's vacated Dean's room in order to wait for the other to reappear - the more Cas is beginning to feel ...twitchy, as Dean might refer to his manner.

Dean is particular and meticulous about appearance, both his own as well as others' - the angel recalls how he tightened tie and buttoned shirt, brushing at Cas's shoulders and saying 'when humans want something really bad, we lie.' He recalls asking why, only for Dean to make a joke about becoming the president, but Castiel is as much unaccustomed to the possibility of Dean offering a non-joking answer to that question as he is to his friend taking a large amount of time to clothe himself. Of course, it is a blink of an eye in the perspective of his lifespan as a seraph, but with Dean, the length of time he has remained by this incredible man in feeling and then yearning, finds in this moment an ache that is clenching in his chest, even more endless.

When Dean appears at last, his hair is darker than typical from dampness, his cheeks are pinked, and he is wearing a color humans call olive green, a shirt with only one button, its neck open. Not a flannel in sight. His pants are a dark deep blue, jeans unfaded, as if new -or nearly new. "Even wore m' good boots," Dean's voice is rough as he speaks in a manner not unlike his typical joking vocal tone. But his eyes crinkle and his features are soft as he adds "Hey, Cas. You ready?"

"Hello, Dean. Yes, I am," and have been for years! would probably not be the most effective or best way to continue his sentence, so cocking his head a little, "...I was born ready, so to speak, though it might make more sense to say, as ready as I've been since we met."

Dean coughs. If he was drinking something, he would choke. As it is, his eyes bulge as he thumps himself in the chest. "I, ah, fair enough, Cas," busying himself with picking up his coat off a place it seemed to fall, haphazard. He pats at a pocket to make sure Baby's keys are where he stashed them, and adds "well let's get movin', we're burning daylight," before inwardly cursing himself for the least romantic way to begin a date.

But fuck it, since when is he romantic? Dean grumbles this inwardly as he holds the door open for Cas to come behind him and then holds up a finger as he's jogging around Baby's exterior to unlock the passenger door. Cas has a little forehead crease, he looks almost confused, which is adorable. "...I can certainly open the door and enter your vehicle on my own," his voice rumbles deeply "but thank you, Dean."

Dean licks his lips and takes a breath as he slaps at the top of the car door, wanting to ask hasn't the guy ever seen a romantic movie?! But that'd mean he would be talking about a chick flick, or chick FLICKS, plural, and Dean has sworn to himself (no matter what Sam says about him loving them) he swears he won't get caught referencing one directly.

Won't get caught directly.

As it is, Dean says "Just get in the car, Cas," and has an internal crisis at the way the guy's eyes widen. He wonders for the drive if he had snapped at him, if he had finally just been the biggest dick imaginable (and not in a good way) and Cas is gonna eat a burger and then wink out on him. Or, is the guy not even gonna eat, will he get out of the car, decide he doesn't need this, and leave? Dean honestly wonders why he hasn't left yet. He's back from outta the Empty after saying that amazing - Dean can't call it horseshit, can't think of it that way either.

Cas told him all these things, that he was selfless, loving. That he did everything for love, everything; from raising Sam to fighting for the world...and Dean had never expected, nor experienced the sense of being flayed right down to his essence by words like those; but Cas had gotten to the very heart of him - he took Dean's fear, his constant shame, of being daddy's blunt instrument, driven by hate, defined by vengeance and horror and bloodshed - he took all that, and tipped it on its head. Said that Dean had changed HIM, had taught this eons-old angel to care, and because Dean cared, because of being how friggin...the way he thought Dean was, he loved him.

Cas told Dean he loved him.

And Dean doesn't think anything he even tries to say will compare to all of that, so he's opening doors and leading Cas to a cozy booth by a window, after they get out of the car and into the restaurant. He says "Two, for Dean Winchester," and makes it clear to their server that it's just one check tonight before leaning on elbows and lacing his hands, partly to keep them from tapping or shaking. He keeps face low before lifting his eyes and offering Cas a smile

"Well here we are, pal."

Chapter Text

Here they are. Not for the first time, sitting together ; not even the first time it has been just the two of them. Sitting, talking, sharing a meal (or in Cas's case, offering his food for Dean to eat). It isn't even the first occasion they have shared heartfelt moments in the space they share, and the looks they give one another.

This is simply - or not so much - the first verbally christened 'date' the pair of them has ever been on.

Perhaps it's no wonder Dean is fidgeting, feels himself sweating. He swallows and clears his throat and does his damnedest not to drown in Cas's eyes, as the guy just looks and keeps looking at him with the expression he's worn consistently for ...years, and what Dean knows now as love. He is saying something, now, the deep rumbling of his voice easing tension in Dean's shoulders even as a delightful shiver skips down his spine - fuck, get it together, he chides himself; clenches his teeth and strikes slightly at the side of his head closer to the wall before blinking and exhaling heavily.

The waitress has already come by, and Dean can't even give the "my devastatingly handsome friend here" spiel to her, much less any of his own (as Sam would say) moronic moves. He wouldn't want to. DOESN'T want to, it just. Might ease things a little bit, because they're the same two people - beings - as before, as they've always been. Now they just...feel things for each other.

Well, Cas does. And Dean knows he does, which is still mind blowing, if he is completely honest with himself. It's also hard to believe - not because of Cas, at all, because everything about the guy shows how good he is, and proves his capacity to care. This is Dean himself not being able to believe, or handle, that what means so MUCH to this angel is, well, him.

Except, maybe...

Maybe - well almost definitely - Cas doesn't see himself as some great guy, either. He's got doubts like Dean does, had them almost since they met, or before - who's to say Dean hadn't started the whole process of Cas's change, he just jump-started the - feelings? But that thought gets everything in Dean's head to stutter, more like screech to a halt, and then Cas is leaning in, across the table with his blue shirt perfectly open and sternum visible, his muscles clear through the fabric and his eyes all soulful as he's saying "Dean."

Dean blinks and jerks - not quite jumps - and he definitely isn't swearing as he clears his throat and says "yeah Cas?" Definitely not startling like a guilty teenager, the guilty teenager he was when -

Dean shuts that thought train down, forcibly derailing as he focuses on the angel who says "I was saying, yes, we're here in an establishment at which I don't think you've ever eaten before," eyes shifting to scan the walkways between tables, the variable lighting due to small lamps in sconces and alcoves recessed along the walls. The wooden tables are polished and sturdy, and the material padding each booth is comfortable, almost soft.

"Surprised, huh?" One side of Dean's mouth lifts a little. "I was too, but don't worry, I c'n actually pay for it." He pats at a pocket. "I mean, I hadta get a real job at some point, right? Can't just hole up in the Bunker with ya and commit credit fraud... what?" Dean stops speaking as Cas's eyes have narrowed, even as the color seems to spark.

"You - just said," the angel speaks slowly "... you mentioned 'holing up in the Bunker' with me, Dean."

Oh. Oh, crap "I uh," Dean feels his face burn now. He definitely grabs and chugs from a glass of water, an actual glass of water, their server had brought over, and his right hand slips on the surface of the table (and menu that's inside an actual fancy laminate sleeve and the cutesy metal corners that are definitely more for form than function) "uh, what? I mean -" taking a breath and seeing something like a fragile sense of... uncertainty in Cas's eyes, mixed with this so-bright hope that it causes Dean's chest to clench "yeah I guess I did, buddy," he speaks almost breathlessly, tone dropping low.

"Oh" Castiel's eyes widen, and a small smile flickers across his face. And then he is flushing, dropping gaze downward as he returns "I'd like that, Dean."

Which makes Dean's brain short-circuit. "You, uh. You would?"

"Yes," Cas says, lifting his eyes back to Dean's. "Very much. Any time I can spend with you, the two of us" as people pass their booth, he adds "uninterrupted" not missing the way Dean's throat bobs slow or how his tongue wets lips as his gaze darkens, green eyes falling before rising again "is time that I consider well-spent. I'm sure we can find things to do," he adds in a manner of speaking that some romance novel would call coquettish.

At least, that's what Dean figures. If he ever read romance novels, which he didn't. Doesn't. That'd be Sam, he's the girl who would, and -

"Damn," whispers Dean, feeling his heart lurch at the sincerity of the words, as well as speed up from the innuendo. "I'm sure we -could." Kinda makes him want to take Cas back to the Bunker right now, but they haven't even ordered any food yet, and he had asked the guy on this date in the first place, damnit!

So they do order food, Dean having a time tearing his eyes away from Cas's, and he can tell the other's eyes remain on him as he orders. He drops eyes to spread napkin, anyway, and the conversation ends up being a pretty normal one for them as they wait for food, Cas asking what kinds of jobs Dean has been looking for, and Dean snorts "what makes ya think I been looking? Filled out a couple applications and-"

"And you certainly drove to at least scope the locations out," Cas replies evenly, tone matter-of-fact. "Even as - you haven't talked to Sam about this, have you?"

It's the simplicity of the query that nearly makes Dean groan as much as chuckle, because of how well Cas knows him. "I'll tell him," he says, and at the raising of an eyebrow in skepticism, not to mention a slightly tilted head, "Jeez, Cas," Dean blurts "I will! Just -give me a break, man. I wanted to tell you first! I mean, if you, if we, us - this -" Dean waves both hands, and the fork he holds in one, around vaguely as much as emphatically. Smooth, Dean. Real smooth.

He licks his lips.

"If we're - together, then we'll be together on this."

After speaking thus, Dean's eyes bulge as he realizes what he said - and Castiel, meanwhile, only stares.

Again Dean's mental mantra consists of a trio of words:

...Oh. Oh, crap.

Chapter Text

Dean feels sweat collecting at the edges of his hair, and it's as though time stretches, or the present moment does; everything else muffling, zooming out except for the expression on Cas's face. It's one of surprise, and then thoughtfulness, and there is hesitancy, a hesitation as he presses thin lips together and drops his bright gaze briefly; his nimble fingers skate across the edge of the table, and Dean's attention is drawn to them, and to the thought of them clenching, clutching, holding him - get a grip, no, figure out what you need to say to him, Dean almost snarls to himself. Don't freak him out. "I mean, uh, this is -" new and different, and scary as all hell, mostly because 'a how I feel about you "we don't hafta...be together, or use - have a label, I just uh want you...with me. If you - if you want." Only if he wants, because that's a lot, and it makes Dean's throat click and start to close up. He stares at Cas, his eyes wide and almost itching as much as he shuffles his body back and forth, tapping at his plate and then taking a big bite of food to deal with the fact that he's waiting. I want ya to know I c'n - that YOU can have this. That we can have it, together. That you- I know ya said you love me, but d'you wanna be with me, pal? God, that's lame as hell to ask aloud, Dean berates himself. Get a friggin grip.

Yet Cas, in return, reaches out to Dean. His eyes grow soft and shining, the way they were when he told Dean that knowing him had changed him; when he spoke about his feelings. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in being. It's just saying it. And yet Dean is saying, now, that he wants Castiel - with him.

And more than anything, the angel feels a sustained flutter of such joy, and gratitude, because he never thought - he knew, was sure what he wanted he couldn't have.

Yet with these words, and the way Dean acts whilst speaking them, as well as the feelings of longing, and needing - not just needing the angel, but needing to TELL him, that are so potent as to for Castiel, be nearly audible within Dean; they extend as would a prayer sustained by belief. By faith. This realization makes Cas feel warm, and he says "I do, Dean," grave but with affection imbued. "I want to be - with you - very much."

He looks, and smiles, and Dean gasps out the slightest noise before he drops his chin and his utensils are clattering down as he's moving, shoving out of his side of the booth - in front of which his dinner plate now stands empty. And as Castiel turns towards him, automatically with eyes narrowing and hand reaching in concern, Dean grabs on to and wraps his arms around the angel, pulling Cas to him in a tight hug.

Cas rocks forward, almost wobbling in balance at the abruptness of Dean's grasp; he twists to better reciprocate the hug, reaching his own arms carefully, almost stiff but more slow as his eyes widen and then close. Dean's cheek and jaw are pressed against the side of his face, and he's kind of rocking back and forth with Cas, a little. The seraph pats Dean's upper back and then holds, arms wrapping, one over Dean's to secure him. To keep him close.

One of Dean's knees rests on the seat of the booth next to Cas and they are still entwined as their server returns with the typical "Is everything all right over here?"

"Everything is perfect," Cas says, and he can feel Dean's face heat up as his arms as if reflexively tighten. The server responds

"I'm happy to hear that. Either of you save room for dessert?"

Castiel should, and does, expect Dean to relinquish his tight hold, but he doesn't move from the angel's side despite turning his head.

"I did, if you've got pie," Dean says. Cas smiles.

Chapter Text

Pie is brought, Dean offering to share a bite (and only a bite) with the angel. Yet the sheer bliss that suffuses his face, crinkling his eyes and breaking his mouth into a beaming smile is better to Castiel than any dessert could be. "And that's only cause you don't understand th' magnificence of pie," Dean mumbles around a mouthful before swallowing eventually and adding "an' you're sappy," which would be, by Dean's own estimation, a comment that is derogatory, except for the fact that he nudges Cas and squeezes his knee in tender fashion.

They've been sitting next to one another since their hug, and the angel wonders if he has always felt such acute shifts in air and temperature, as well as infinitesimal movement through space, as he does when Dean is this close beside him. He feels the other's shoulder brush his, his fingers as they nudge and curl; sees how Dean lifts himself at an angle, shirt rising to expose skin as he reaches for his wallet to pay after the last of his pie has been masticated. There's a ...crackle, almost, a spark in the air when Dean folds bills for their server and asks if Cas is ready to go, before sliding out of the booth and offering his hand. Palm-up, fingers slightly curled. It's as if he doesn't think about it, like it happens unconsciously, and his fingers jerk as his head drops to look when Cas slides out of the booth after and curls his fingers around Dean's.

They stand together without moving for a little while, until Dean's eyes crinkle in a real smile and he squeezes Cas's hand. The host of the restaurant calls to "have a good night!", Prompting a belated response of acknowledgement, as Castiel strode, coat flying behind, to open the doors for Dean, pulling his human by the hand he still holds. Dean swallows, fingertips touching to, lacing with Cas's with a zap that could be static electricity or-

Dean doesn't even finish the thought, because the night is cold and bright with stars and moon a-shining, and he is grabbing his best friend's hand and lifting his arm for a spin, pulling Cas in with hand holding his tighter, the other tapping at his back as they move in an impromptu dance step. Cas laughs, a burbling chuckle not unlike the one he made through tears when he said he felt happiness, in the knowledge and vocalization that knowing Dean had changed him, but this time

This time he is still with Dean, and nothing is, or will be coming for them; nothing but the night itself.

<<<\\°°//>>>

End of the night, date coming to a close, Dean lets them quietly into the Bunker after they had danced back to the car and drove Baby through the night together, windows down and radio low, reveling in each other's company. Dean is acting like a gentleman, which he is, damnit - hanging up his own coat after offering to take the angel's, and putting down Baby's keys. He walks past his room to Cas's, dropping him off, so to speak. But they stand before the door, the angel rocking on the balls of his feet, folding hands by his fingers together and shifting shoulders in his suit.

And Dean registers with a burning sort of ache tugging inside him, that he doesn't want to leave. Doesn't want Cas to stay in this ...spare room, which it basically is, even though - especially after the fact it's Dean's closet that holds the guy's clothes for him! It's ridiculous, and Dean wants to do something about it, but the only thing he thinks to ask is "hey, are you gonna ...watch over me, Cas? For old times' sake?"

Castiel, having almost stepped across the threshold of the room already, turns his head and looks at Dean. The other is all set to squirm, but keeps his eyes on Cas anyhow. "You've told me that makes you uncomfortable, Dean. I think you called it - 'creepy' on occasion."

Blinking, Dean blurts before he can think his way out of saying it "well if you were in beD with me it wouldn't be creepy," after which he freezes and slowly closes his eyes.

"...What?" Cas' response is delayed, quiet. Dean peeks his eyes open again to see the other squint and stare.

"What" Dean, for the upteenth time this night, feels himself getting red in the face. He coughs, almost prepared to be defensive, but then decides screw it, and adds "I'm sayin' - if, uh. If you want to-"

"Yes," Cas says immediately.

"So, like. You want to. Watch over me, or whatever?" Dean's brain is practically stalling out now.

Cas speaks in a direct but also slightly awkward way, as he shuffles his feet and drops his gaze a little whilst stepping back towards Dean, through the door again.

He lifts his eyes and says with voice always low, this time dropping even lower in a manner that makes a shiver skip down Dean's spine "I mean I...want to share a bed with you, Dean."

Dean feels like his mind has actually ceased functioning. He stares, licks his lips, rocks on his heels and then has to stop himself from grinning ear to ear and grabbing Cas, yanking him down the hall to his own bedroom. He thinks he manages to say "okay" in a tone that isn't completely strangled. Turns and beckons with "alright, well, c'mon" and totally isn't trembling like a friggin leaf whilst making sure his outerwear is situated.

He knows his breathing picks up as he tells Cas to turn around and helps him slide the suit jacket off his shoulders. The sight of that blue collared shirt DOES things to Dean, but he presses his lips together and bites the inside of one cheek, eyes as much as hands dragging down Cas's arms and body, the muscles of his shoulders visible and venerable. (Where'd he even get that word? He's not the nerdy one, but Cas is venerable, to Dean.)

He moves slow, walking around and leaning over to get a hanger, his eyes on Cas's eyes and face the entire time (at least, the time he isn't watching his back flex or checking out the curve of his ass in his slacks). He tells Cas "lose the suit, I got the trench" and swallows as Cas responds with

"Okay Dean" before the guy drops trou like it's the easiest thing in the world. Jesus, why can't Dean do that? He's usually set, taking off belt with one hand and shucking jeans before shrugging out of his shirt, but his hands are shaking tonight. He doesn't think - or tries not to think about it - until strong hands, warm, or maybe that's his skin; maybe cool to the touch as always are Cas's hands, catching his and squeezing with long fingers. "Dean," the seraph gently says, blue gaze tracking across face and meeting Dean's green one "it's alright. I'll go to the bathroom and wash" and he squeezes Dean's hands, dropping them before turning and heading into the bathroom.

The sound of running water gets Dean moving, and once in boxer briefs and an old T-shirt he's knocking, and then sticking his head around the half-open door, feeling like an idiot for freezing up. But Cas simply offers his space at the sink, dabbing skin with towel and moving past Dean with a squeeze of his shoulder. His shirt is unbuttoned, slacks hanging over an arm, and he busies himself with hanging then until cheeks pink and hair mussed, Dean stands on one side of his bed and Castiel the other.

Their standing almost-stalemate is stopped by Dean saying "oh, fuck it," and flinging down the blanket. He turns off the overhead light, grabbing a pillow with one hand and throwing his body into bed. Curling around the pillow as he hugs it to his stomach, Dean adds "you gettin' in here, Cas?"

"I - yes," Cas flexes his hand, opening it from a fist as he turns and faces Dean, eyes travelling over him and along the bedspread, sheets, blanket, and pillows.

"Well are you waitin' for an engraved invitation?" Dean is prompting, and he flashes his teeth in a smile that is nigh a smirk.

Which Castiel sighs at, and sits in a manner almost sharp, legs extended straight as rods as "I wanted to ensure your comfort first, Dean," he retorts.

Dean raises one eyebrow. "Oh yeah? That's why you're pulllin' out the formal crap, huh?"

Castiel shoots upright. "If it isn't to your liking, I can leave," he deadpans in manner close to cold, but as he moves, Dean reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist.

"No, stay," instead of continuing to banter, Dean's voice wobbles thickly on his words. He clears his throat and lets Cas go, reaching up to scratch his own neck and looking down into his lap, awkward. "I mean unless you don't want to - anymore -" to Dean's own horror, his voice cracks now, and he squeezes eyes closed.

Movement beside him precedes strength of arms and pulling of his body to be cradled by Cas's, the angel's lips close to his hair. Stretching body out again, "I do, Dean," Cas reassures in his steadfast gravelly way. "I'll remain with you for as long as you'll allow me."

Dean's breaths, having exploded from his chest, begin evening, and he snuggles around pillow and up to Cas, murmuring "alrigh', good," in response as he starts to relax.

Eventually the other shifts him so as to be able to sleep with pillow and blankets comfortably, in his own space; but the angel cannot help himself, and cups a hand to Dean's full cheek, stroking thumb across his lips and then brushing fingers to one side of his face.

Chapter Text

Dean, curled around and hugging his pillow into himself while sleeping, arm over it and with one cheek smashed into the cloth, is wholly relaxed. His left arm bent, elbow resting with hand hanging in the air is extended partially towards Cas. The angel is lying stretched straight and still on his side facing Dean, atop the blanket and sheet, as he had pulled and tucked both to cover Dean's body rather than his own.

Castiel's hand, with fingers extended, continues brushing and then his palm caresses, holds onto Dean's cheek while he sleeps.

Blinking awake to feel the touch of fingers and weight beneath his cheek of Cas's cupped hand, his eyes sparkling somehow brighter blue than the surrounding dearth of light would warrant, Dean inhales, lifts hand from around his pillow to stretch and scrub at his face, before jerking awake enough to register and blurt in response: "Crap, I didn't drool on or kick ya last night, did I, Cas?"

It's less a blurt of words than mumbles, but Dean also registers the fact that the angel lies on top of the blankets rather than under them. Dean feels a crushing sensation of shame in his chest. Did he not tell Cas to get IN bed, which meant under the covers? Did he not invite the guy to actually, well. He doesn't sleep or anything - as he's told Dean lotsa times before, (and the guy doesn't seem to be one for curling up, either. Though that's beside the present point) but he coulda at LEAST gotten more comfortable. Allowed himself to.

Unless - but maybe he didn't want to, which Dean wouldn't blame him, as he hasn't told Cas in so many words well, much of anything, still - and then Cas strokes his skin with a gentle graze of knuckles and Dean freezes, wide eyes looking into the other's.

The guy chuckles, thumb now stroking lines and circles on Dean's plump cheek, and Dean closes his eyes with a shuddering breath as he melts into the touch. Cas' low tone is gentle, soft. "No, Dean. You're fine. If I woke you, I apologize..." He trails off, eyes now seeming to darken with a look of concern

Which is when Dean opens his eyes and shakes his head. "You're good, man" he utters, hoarse. And then he half-lunges, half-lurches to move into Cas's arms and wraps him in a hug. Cuddles against the angel because he can't help himself. Throws himself into Cas's arms and mumbles "thanks f' stayin' with me, Cas" into the seraph's neck and upper chest.

Dean cannot fully think to fruition what he'd imagined, or more like worried; somewhere in his head - that sometime in the night, or after their date, Cas would decide to leave. That maybe this wasn't what he wanted, or that their date sucked, that he was wrong, they should just stay friends, or whatever; that he'd wake up to another 'adios' and yet -

Yet none of that takes into account the fact that this is Cas. Cas. The most badass, loving angel who keeps on coming back swinging, staying in the ring with them - with Dean, because that's really, truly what he has been doing, this whole time. Except it isn't even a ring, not in the fighting sense; unless it's the fact that the two of them have been fighting to be - to STAY together, even when the very orchestrator of their story tried to write something else. The attempted orchestrator, mind; because Cas - and Dean - as well as Sammy all broke free from the narrative.

And this moment, series of moments; their date, all the ... everything is culminated in the two of them remaining by each other's side, through everything, but most importantly (and especially) here and now with open arms. Dean hopes Cas can see, can tell what his love means, and that... That Dean loves him too. He clutches the angel's back and shoulders tight.

Castiel's eyes flutter as Dean speaks and cuddles close. Part of him is taken aback, overwhelmed, but with a general and specific sense of joy. He carefully lifts one hand to hold and stroke the back of Dean's head as he says, "Oh, Dean. Thank you... for letting me stay."

Dean gulps in response to that, his grip on Cas getting tighter, and buries himself even closer to the angel. Eyes shut now, he shifts and nuzzles his face, nose and cheek to the length of Cas's jaw and slope of his neck. Feeling the other's pulse along with the rapidity of his own heartbeat, Dean tremblingly presses lips to the angel's skin in a kiss that he holds in place for long moments.

Cas's gasp coincides with the clenching of both his hands on each of Dean's shoulders, an inhale of air and then grasp at Dean's hair, as if by reflex. A ringing groan vibrates from Dean's mouth into Cas's chest, and the seraph is set to relinquish hold or even move away, but Dean unfastens lips only to gasp a "yes, ah- 'a course, Cas" with a gulp, licking of lips before Dean adds "...I always will."

Awestruck, the angel whispers "Dean" before sight of fluttering at the corner of Dean's mouth curves into a smile. His eyes twinkle before he drops his face to continue kissing a line along the seraph's sternum, interspersing with press and pull of lips the gentle touches of his tongue.

They haven't yet kissed on the mouth, but Castiel doesn't want Dean to stop doing this. It is as if all, each touch is not holy, but real. Grounding him in this moment, this place.

With these feelings, and with Dean.

Most importantly, with Dean.

And he, and neither one of them would have it any other way.