Dean blinked and looked around, trying to get his bearings in the dark room as he was unceremoniously jerked out of his dreams.
He heard it again and groaned. Every night this week, he had been woken up by the same cat, owned by some idiot who apparently didn’t realize that this building had a No Pets policy. He glanced at his alarm clock and sure enough, it was midnight, right on schedule. He had no clue why this cat decided to meow really loudly at midnight every night, but it had been going on for a week and Dean was really starting to get pissed. He worked at his uncle’s auto parts shop and taught mechanics classes at the local community college, which meant he had a full schedule that required sleep – something he’d been sorely lacking recently. Thankfully, after a few minutes, the cat’s meowing finally started to die down, and he guessed it was safe to attempt to sleep again, grumbling something about asshole neighbors with their asshole cats as he slowly drifted off into sleep for the second time that night.
Sunlight poured in through the window when Dean woke up the next morning. He was worried for a second that he was late for work, but then he remembered that it was Saturday. No work to go to or classes to teach. He sighed gratefully, sinking deeper into his mattress, determined to savor his time before the sun completely rose.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard it: the unmistakable mrow of his neighbor’s feline.
“That’s it!” he grumbled, deciding to go and give this neighbor a piece of his mind. He climbed out of bed and grabbed the first clean clothes he saw, putting them on quickly and leaving his apartment, determined to voice his complaints.
He knocked loudly and impatiently on the door of the apartment next to his, but no one answered, so he banged harder until finally the door opened.
<p><b><p></b> <b>Sam & Dean:</b> *in the Impala*<p/><b>Dean:</b> Uh, Sam... You know, uh, Cas, uh.. He means a lot to me.<p/><b>Sam:</b> ... Yeah, I know. He means a lot to us both, Dean.<p/><b>Dean:</b> No, I mean.. He really means... A lot.<p/><b>Sam:</b> Well, yeah. He's family, right?<p/><b>Dean:</b> No, I-- *sighs* Here. *slips a cassette tape into player* *"Cherry Pie" blares from speakers*<p/><b>Sam:</b> ...<p/><b>Dean:</b> ...<p/><b>Sam:</b> *smiles* I knew it.<p/><b>Dean:</b> Shut up.<p/><b>Sam:</b> Does he know?<p/><b>Dean:</b> Yes... No. SHut uP.<p/></p><p/></p>
I was the first person in line for Cockles ops and since there had been a girl getting a Misha re-take right before me, Jensen was talking with Clif while he waited. Misha actually had to pull Jensen over to the op.
So Jensen comes up, apologizes to me for the wait, and I tell him it’s fine (I may have stuttered a little, he’s VERY pretty and this was my first time meeting him)
I give Misha the asexual pride flag and ask him to put it over his shoulders. I knew Misha already knew what the flag was (see here and here), but I was uncertain about Jensen, so I hand him the bisexual pride flag (he actually needed help getting it over both shoulders) and tell him, “Just so you know, this is the bisexual pride flag”.
He can’t hear me over the music, so he says, “What?”
So I repeat, “This is the bisexual pride flag, for people that are fans of bisexual Dean. Is this ok?” (I forget exactly what I said, but I know I mentioned what it was, why, and I checked to see if he was cool with it.)
Jensen thinks about it for a moment, then smiles and chuckles a bit. He nods and goes, “Ok, let’s do this.”
I turned to face the camera, Chris snaps the picture, and I collect the flags. Jensen actually pulled me into a hug as I was leaving. (And several people in line cheered and told me ‘thank you’.)
This was honestly pretty magical and I’m glad it turned out so well!
There are some things Dean and Sam just don’t talk about. Things
that would be weird or uncomfortable, things that can be ignored for
the sake of keeping the peace. Sam never mentions the folder of kinky
porn he found on Dean’s laptop. Dean never mentions the stress
relieving facial mud mask and bath oils Sam keeps under his sink. And
they never talk about Cas.
Sam doesn’t mention it the first time Dean makes a dirty joke, and
Cas blinks at them in confusion.
“But Dean, last night you said you very much enjoyed when I-”
Dean starts talking over him, cutting him off, and Sam pretends
not to have noticed anything strange.
Sam doesn’t say anything when he hears them through Dean’s closed
door one night, relaxed laughter floating down the hallway into Sam’s
room, followed soon by not-so-relaxed moaning. Sam just shuts his
door, then invests in some noise canceling headphones.
Sam doesn’t tease them when Cas starts wearing Dean’s t-shirts
around the bunker. The old faded cotton shits, with pictures of
Dean’s favorite bands, are just a tiny bit too big for the angel, but
he looks so happy in them that Sam can’t find the heart to even make
Sam keeps it to himself when he notices the two of them always
sitting on the same side of the booth in diners and restaurants,
their arms pressing against each other and disappearing under the
table, where they are no doubt holding hands. Sam orders dessert so
they can sit a little longer.
And Sam doesn’t say a word the morning Cas comes into the bunker
kitchen, hair wild and mussed, a beaming smile on his face and a
silver ring on his left hand. He just gets up, finds Dean in the
garage where he is working on the Impala, and wraps his older brother
in a hug. Dean’s cheeks flush, but he simply nods when Sam finally
And that gesture is enough. There are some things they don’t need
to talk about.
They kiss for the first time in the bunker’s kitchen. Dean shuffles up wearily beside Cas in front of the coffee pot, and mumbles, “Morning.” His hand doesn’t reach the cabinet pull before Cas taps his shoulder and slides him a mug, already filled, and Dean thinks nothing of leaning over that extra inch.
They kiss for the first time during a stakeout, huddled together because the engine makes too much noise to let the car idle, and it’s not forty degrees tonight. Cas’s breath is warm against his cheek and when he whispers Dean’s name, it comes out like fog that Dean chases to its source.
They kiss for the first time on the hood of the Impala, watching the stars, while Sam politely looks away; inside a locked bathroom door, gauze covering the worst of Dean’s injuries and a bruise blooming on Castiel’s jaw; lying on a motel bed, Netflix forgotten on the laptop between them.
Their first kiss is in Maine, in Michigan, in Kansas, in California; in a greasy spoon over breakfast and broken down on the side of a highway. The kiss is tender and frightened and heated and chaste; long and lingering, and over too fast.
So many times, Dean has imagined kissing him. They could have a second, a third, a lifetime, if he could get past the first.