I’m sorry you fell.

 I’m even more sorry that you fell for him. It’s no easy thing, to be an angel in love with a human. I’m sorry that I have any idea what you’re feeling at all. You were right before. Emotions…feelings…they are dangerous temptations. I barely scratched the surface of human emotion, but you…you were plunged into them headfirst from the very moment you laid hand on Dean Winchester. 

I’m sorry for the pain it must cause you to be unable to help him. But I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you have Metatron. Castiel, you have left a trail of broken things behind you in your attempts to protect him, and you wouldn’t hesitate to add the Scribe to the wreckage. Not if it would save him. Because you’re here today, not as an angel doing his duty, but as a man protecting the one he loves. I’m sorry, Castiel.

prompt by the fantastically cute rachesduncan :Dean and Cas get caught in the pouring rain and they only have one umbrella to share

read it here on AO3

Gabriel walked into the impressive new block of apartments, his delivery bag on his shoulder. Paradise Apartments was all marble and potted-fern sophistication, with wide stairs carpeted in blue and a lobby decorated with nondescript paintings of landscapes. On one wall was a series of metal lockers: they were post boxes belonging to the building’s occupants. Gabriel approached them, pulling a large package out of his bag; Quality Knitting Supplies was stamped in fluting pink ink in the top corner. Gabriel didn’t need to look at the addressee: this had to belong to Castiel, number seven. He balanced the package on the edge of the slot, ready to drop it into Castiel’s post box.

“Oh, excuse me. Sorry. I apologise,” came a voice, echoing down the hallway. Gabriel glanced up the stairs to see a dark-haired man leaving the lift, accidentally hitting someone else in the lift in the face with a large helium balloon. “Please excuse me.” He left the elevator; Gabriel caught sight of the tall, brown-haired man behind him, rolling his eyes and flicking his apartment key – with a large number twelve on it – from hand to hand. The doors slid closed.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Gabriel asked. He’d met Cas once before, when the guy’s knitting supplies hadn’t been able to fit in his post box and he’d had to go upstairs.

“No, it’s not,” Cas said flatly, dragging his balloon behind him. “I just hit an attractive man in the face with a balloon. I’m pretty sure that’s not the best way to catch his attention.”

Gabriel nodded, ignoring the wisecrack comments that came to mind.

“I must go, I have to help set up my cousin’s birthday party,” Cas said, heading for the door with a gloomy expression.

Gabriel cocked his head to one side, turning back to the post boxes. He could push the package into number seven, and be on his way. And yet…

His eyes slid sideways, coming to rest on box number twelve. Sam and Dean Winchester, read the shiny new label. Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

He barely hesitated before pushing the package into the wrong post box.

“Troublemaker, matchmaker,” Gabriel muttered to himself with a grin. “It’s all the same.”

Keep reading

It started subtle. A light grazing of knuckles here, a pat on the shoulder that lingered for a few heartbeats, a brush of shoulders that made both men pause as they pressed together… It was subtle until the day it wasn’t.

Dean was seated at the bunker’s kitchen table with a hoagie of his own creation being chomped to oblivion between his teeth. The air was light that day since there wasn’t a single case on the horizon. Peace filled Dean’s lungs until he couldn’t help but curve his lips around the next bite.

There was no flutter of wings to announce Castiel’s entrance into the kitchen. In it’s place was the soft shuffle of socked feet and the slight drag of a dead man’s robe. The fallen angel made his way with half lidded eyes toward the coffee pot like he did every morning since he had fell completely and was offered a home with the two Winchesters.

“Morning, Cas.” Dean swallowed a chunk of his sandwich to grace Cas with a pleasant smile. His heart couldn’t help but skip when he saw the grouchiness that the angel wore so well. “Rough night?”

Castiel stopped dead in his footsteps. The air was sucked out of the room from a tension Dean didn’t understand when their eyes met. Blue eyes seemed to be calculating something with every ounce of brain power before they widened in realization.

“Uh, dude-” Dean started to say as his face morphed into confusion, his sandwich falling onto the plate forgotten. 

If Dean hadn’t been there the day Castiel fell, he would’ve thought the guy flew. In mere seconds Cas was standing directly in front of Dean’s chair with his hands resting on the hunter’s shoulders. Silence enveloped them and all Dean could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and chest.


“No, Dean. No talking.” 

Lips were attached to Dean’s before he quite knew what was happening. A gasp broke from his throat only causing a tongue to find it’s way into his mouth. Not three seconds passed before Dean’s hands were tangled in Cas’ hair and his eyes were closed as he kissed back with every once of breath he had in him. The kiss might have only lasted a few minutes, but by the time they broke apart Dean felt like years had passed with his lips locked to the angel’s.

“What. The Fuck.” Dean’s breath was choppy and his cheeks heated as his eyes opened to stare into drowning blue. “Was. That.”

“A kiss.” Castiel raised an eyebrow at him with intrigue. “To express that I enjoy waking up in the same household with you every morning.”

Dean couldn’t help but melt into a gooey lopsided grin. “Maybe you should kiss me again… and maybe I would enjoy it if you woke up in the same bed as me every morning.”

Cas’ eyes lit up far brighter than they every had, even when Grace used to course through his veins, as he wasted no time in capturing Dean’s lips in his own.

how about wall slamming sex? like, cas and dean just got in a huge fight and they’re yelling at each other until dean slams cas up against the wall, and soon enough he’s fucking growling, kissing cas hotly and opened mouthed while cas just squeaks at the mere surprise of it

but then cas gets into it, and then their hips are rocking together and the two are moaning and cas just needs more as dean presses him harder into the wall, and then the two are fumbling with clothes, practically ripping them off of each other as they slowly become pools of fabric on the ground

and dean is desperately searching for lube before he finds it and he pins cas to the wall again, cas who wraps his legs around dean, and dean wastes no time shoving his fingers inside of cas until castiel is whimpering and panting

and dean is fucking breathless when cas slides down on his cock, and castiel just makes this little noise of bliss before they’re back to where they started and everything is rough as dean bites into cas’ skin, as he growls and cas just claws at him desperately, feeling every single punctuated thrust dean has to offer until he can’t take it anymore and he’s coming, and dean is doing the same, muffling loud groans into cas’ shoulder before they breath heavily, slowly sliding back down to the floor where the kiss each other languidly, offering begrudging apologies and shy smiles as they interlace their fingers.

Dean hates planes.

They’re loud and cramped and death traps and he really doesn’t want to be here. But that stupid moron Sam invited him over for his graduation and well, Dean can’t miss that for the world.

The only good thing is Castiel right next to him, reading the instructions intently as if they would seriously matter if the plane would crash down.

And no, Dean doesn’t want to think about that!

“Distract me,” he urges his boyfriend. They’re about to start any minute and his racing nerves are killing him.

“How?” Castiel asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” Dean sighs deeply. “Ramble about bees or pollution or some of the other stuff you’re so obsessed about. Kiss me. Give me a blow job. Just something.”

Castiel squints his eyes. “I won’t perform oral sex on you right here and now,” he states firmly. “I don’t want to be banished for life.”

Dean groans. “I didn’t mean …” He closes his eyes. “Just distract me, man. Please!”

“Alright!” Castiel nods and looks like he’s ready for battle. “I think we should move in together.”

Dean blinks.


“It makes sense,” Castiel continues. “We know each other since seven years and started our intimate relationship about a year ago. You practically live in my house anyway. I have got enough space and a huge garage for your car. We should make it official.” He shrugs. “But we could also look for a new place together if you’re more comfortable –”

Dean interrupts him with a kiss, so deep and passionate, it’s not really PG but who the hell cares?

Because this … this is fucking perfect!

Dean thought about moving in together for a while now as well but never got the balls to bring it up. He’s a chickenshit regarding anything emotional. Fortunately Castiel isn’t restricted like that too otherwise their relationship would have been stuck at one point.

“So … are you effectively distracted?” Castiel asks, smiling.

Dean chuckles and presses another, soft kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “I am,” he confirms amused.

“Good,” Castiel says. “And on our next flight I will propose to you. That’s going to be efficient as well, I think.”

Dean’s brain shuts down for a minute because … WHAT?

“Uh …” he answers, blinking rapidly. Castiel didn’t just say that, right? He didn’t … “But … we’ll fly back home in three days.”

Castiel smirks. “I know.”


Fixing A Hole (Dean/Cas, NC-17, 8k+)

Castiel and the Winchesters find themselves in a rut, searching for clues as to where Gadreel and Metatron could be hiding out. Thankfully, Cas still has some informants up his sleeve, one of which happens to be the lead cherub. Although Cas and Sam don’t walk away with much information, Dean walks away with more than he’d bargained for.

In light of February, here it is!! I’m finally finished. Here’s some of the only writing you guys’ll be seeing from me for a while!! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

Imagine Dean and Cas sitting in a diner together the morning after their first time. Both of them having trouble meeting the other’s eye but unable to keep the smiles from their faces. Cas nudging Dean’s foot with his under the table, and Dean responding by hooking their ankles together. They’d both be blushing and quiet and Dean would try and fail to make small talk. They’d be so awkward but so happy, still trying to wrap their heads around just what happened and wondering when it can happen again.

(The answer is half an hour later, in the backseat of the Impala after their drive to some more secluded location)

prompt by the very sweet raleiglnbecket: something where Cas has crap self esteem and generally doesn’t like himself and Dean helps him feel better?

read it here on AO3

Cas stood in front of the wall, a piece of chalk in his hand.

“Write something, anything that comes into your head. A quote, a thought, a word. The idea of this project is for you all to get something off your mind, it’s up to you what that is.” Missouri walked along the corridor, which had an entire wall that was lacquered to a dark shine, perfect for erasable writing. “We’re going to be cleaning the blackboard every few days, so it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Cas studied the wall. He could see where other students had already scribbled things – their names, their numbers, with a few words of borrowed wisdom here and there. It all seemed so completely useless. No one would want to read what he wrote; no one was interested in his ideas. His professors seemed to barely notice him, and his classmates even less so. Small wonder, Cas thought bitterly. With his brown hair and conservative dress, he was hardly memorable.

“Write something, Castiel,” Missouri said gently as she passed behind him. Cas scowled.

What’s the point? he scrawled in angry blue capitals. It was overemotional, angsty, and rather pathetic – but Cas didn’t care. It wasn’t as though he could come up with anything better. He turned away from the wall and headed towards the lunch room.


The next day, Cas was walking to class and had to pass by the Blackboard Wall. He glanced at the hundreds of entries, automatically searching for his own addition; when he found it, he frowned. Underneath his outburst, someone had written,

The sharp end.

Keep reading

They don’t say the words aloud, the hunter and the angel.  One bound by self-doubt, the other awkward despite millennia of existence.  They are spoken nonetheless, if you listen hard enough; resounding in all the little things.

In the lingering looks and the rare, shared smiles…

In Cas’s palm, smoothing from Dean’s shoulder to his wrist in reassurance…

In Dean’s hand, pressed to the small of Cas’s back in guidance…

In the gentle press of Dean’s fingers against Cas’s knee in the Impala…

In their feet, tangling beneath the table at the diner, and in their hands, entwining on its surface…

In the way Cas later rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck…

In the warmth of Cas’s arm as it settles across Dean’s waist…

In the stroke of Dean’s fingers over Cas’s jaw, and the barely-there kiss Cas brushes against Dean’s wrist…

They don’t say the words aloud, the hunter and the angel, but they are spoken nonetheless; the I love you offered with every gesture.


Dean had been wondering about the color of the sky at four in the morning, and what it was called. It was lighter than navy, but darker than azure. It wasn’t baby blue or cornfower blue. Federal blue and ultramarine were just wrong.

The closest Dean could find was cobalt blue, but even then, as he held the paint swatch up to the night sky, it just didn’t feel right. Cobalt didn’t have the depth, the simultaneous luminescence and darkness. Cobalt didn’t capture the feeling of impending sunrise, the way the sky looked like it was glowing in the dark.

Dean finally resigned himself to the fact that there was was no name for this color. He couldn’t imagine any name that could live up to that color, anyway. But then the door crashed open and the lamps popped and sparks flew and Dean looked right into the color of night sky at four in the morning, glowing from the face of an angel of the Lord. That color didn’t have a name, so Dean gave it one.

Castiel blue.

happy birthday to the super sweet rachesduncan!

Cas lay in Dean’s arms, warm and calm.

His head rested on Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arm was curved like an upturned mouth around his body, holding him in close. Cas was pressed along Dean’s side, their legs plaited together under the covers. Dean yawned.

They had been lying this way for hours.

Cas’ eyes were open and softly focused, tracing the same path across the room, round and round. He had every detail memorised, but still he went back over it, and back over it again, and back over it once more, slow and lazy and unending. He wanted the moment painted so indelibly into his memory that he never had to struggle for it, never had to patch in the fading parts with made-up colours.

His right hand was lying just above Dean’s waistband, his fingers moving gently back and forth. The tiny movements were like the whispers and rustlings in a library, enough to ease the silence without breaking it. Every now and then Dean took a slightly deeper breath, which Cas answered with a little extra pressure in his fingers. These days, as always, they did most of their speaking with their bodies.

Cas’ mind was a blissful blank. He needed no wants or wishes to while away the time. Everything that he could possibly want or wish for was right here, in this room, in this moment. Somewhere in the bunker, through the slightly-open door, Sam could be heard cooking dinner.

A sharp trill sliced through the room, suddenly enough to make Cas jump. On Dean’s bedside table, his phone was ringing. Dean sighed, making a little grumbling noise in his throat, and tightened his hold on Cas as though protecting their shared silence from the interruption. After a moment, Cas shifted, tilting his head to look up at Dean.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asked. Dean looked down at him, the skin under his chin wrinkling slightly, his mouth turned gently upwards like the arm curved around Cas’ back.

“No,” he said. “It’s not you.”

They settled down again, and the phone fell silent. Cas allowed his eyes to close.

And They Called It Puppy Love

“Dean!” Cas’ voice echoed through the bunker.

The hunter simply sank a little deeper into his memory foam with his eyes closed. All he wanted was to get maybe a quick nap in. It had been a grueling couple days coming off of a pretty challenging hunt and all he wanted was some peace and goddamn quiet. Little did he know that while he was gone the fallen angel had figured out how to use Snapchat.

“Dean!” Cas’ voice was now louder, which meant it was closer, and before a couple seconds could pass Dean’s door was swinging open.

Cracking an eye open, Dean looked up to see Castiel standing in his doorway in his pajamas with his iPhone grasped carefully in his palm. “I just-“

“Look at this!” Cas’ smile beamed warmth and ignorance as he barged in and took a seat by Dean’s side. With a light chuckle the fallen angel proudly showed Dean the screen of his phone. “I can be a bee!”

This got both Dean’s eyes open and curiosity got him to focus on the picture now almost pressing against his nose. He took hold of a corner of the phone and held it so he could see it better. Even through years of misery, heartache, and death, Dean couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips.

It was a picture of Castiel, lying in bed with an easy smile. The filter did made Cas’ face appear to have bee features with honey running from the top of the screen. Maybe it was just because of how simply endearing it was, or that the fallen angel could find happiness in something most people took for granted, or that Dean can remember the way Cas cared for bees… but something in Dean’s heard warmed at this picture.

“Did you save it?” There was a crack in his voice that he tried to clear with a subtle cough.

Cas nodded quickly before taking the phone back and pressing his thumb on it a couple times. “Dean… would you take a photograph with me?”

“Sure, buddy.” Dean couldn’t help the stutter of his heart at the raw nervousness in his angel’s voice.

The two of them pressed their shoulders together as Cas brought the phone up an arm’s length from them. Dean watched carefully, not really knowing that much about Snapchat, as Cas clicked and held onto his own face. A weird web thing appeared and then options popped up at the bottom. Dean watched with rapt attention as Cas scrolled until he landed on one.

The next second Dean was wide-eyes as dog ears and snouts appeared on their faces. Cas chuckled deeply at Dean’s expression. Looking at the two of them on that screen Dean got the courage to move his hand and set it on Cas’ thigh near his knee. He loved that he could see on the screen how a blush creeped across the fallen angel’s cheeks.


“Take the picture, Cas. We’ll download it to Sam’s computer later. I want a copy to frame.” Dean smiled at the camera lens.

When the picture was taken, their smiling faces frozen on the screen, Dean tilted his head and pressed his lips softly to Cas’ cheek. He was surprised when he went to pull back and was held there by one of Cas’ hands on the back of his neck. Their eyes locked for a split second before Cas closed the distance and pressed their lips together.

A couple days after that Dean set down the framed picture of the two of them as dogs on a nightstand in their shared room. It was a constant reminder, through the all the rough times that would continually plague his life, of his last first kiss.

11x22 sort-of coda

“I’m sorry.”

The apology is accidental, blurted out unintentionally, and Dean feels as surprised as Cas looks by it, but he means it all the same. 

“What for?” Cas asks.

Dean glances away, shrugging lightly. “For your Dad being a dick. You not getting a chance to talk to him or, I don’t know, punch him in the face for being a dick.” He swallows. “For not saving you from Lucifer. We tried, man, you gotta know that, but we just… couldn’t hack it.”

It takes a while for Cas to respond. Dean looks up, and Cas’ eyes are wet with unshed tears but he doesn’t look sad so much as relieved. “Thank you,” he finally says quietly.

“It shouldn’t have gone down the way it did,” Dean adds, feeling emboldened. As much as he hates talking about stuff like this, Cas obviously needs to hear it. “Amara shouldn’t have been the one to blast Lucifer out. It should’ve been…” Me. “Us.”

Cas smiles a little, glancing up to look Dean in the eye. “I appreciate that, Dean, but you couldn’t have saved me. I didn’t want to be saved.”

Dean’s heart seizes, but before he gets the chance to panic too much, Cas continues:

“But I think I’m ready to accept your help now. If you’re still willing to extend it.”

Dean, stupidly, is about to ask what he needs help for now, but the realization floors him before he can open his mouth. Lucifer was a problem, obviously, but he wasn’t the root of Cas’ issues. Just a symptom of them.

Dean’s throat burns, and he’d feel ridiculous about being on the verge of tears for the second time in less than a week but there’s not room for anything but relief.

“Yeah,” he manages, choked out. “Of course, man. Always.”

Just the words feel inadequate, and Dean’s finger itch to reach out to touch, so he gives in and pulls Cas in for a hug. Cas goes tense for a moment before he all but melts into Dean’s embrace, arms wrapping around Dean’s waist and nose burying in the crook of his neck.

“I missed you,” Dean mutters. It feels safer when they’re this close, the words muffled by the fabric of Cas’ coat. He presses a small kiss on Cas’ shoulder because that, too, feels safer. “You know that, right?”

He feels Cas trembling softly against him, arms tightening their hold on Dean to an almost painful grip. “I missed you, too.”

Little Hands, Little Poems

Happy (belated) National Poetry Day!!!!

Have some Kindergarten!Dean and Kindergarten!Cas, you guys! @lovefromdean @whelvenwings @cains-mane @flightlesscas @deanandhiscas

Dean sighed.  He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea.  Mrs. Novak was always telling Dean that boys didn’t do these sorts of things for other boys, like back when he made Cas a special Valentine’s Day card or when he kissed Cas’ boo-boo better that was on his face when he fell on the playground.

But, when his teacher told Dean to write a poem for National Poetry Day, he hadn’t known what to write about.  She told him to write about something special; all he could think about was Cas. So, he had written about Cas.

He held the paper between his little hands and pouted.  He was a big boy; he was in kindergarten.  He was a big boy; he was a big brother to Sammy.  He nodded at the paper before crossing the school yard.

Cas was waiting by Dean’s mother.  He was coming to their house that day.  Cas grinned when he saw Dean.  “Hello, Dean, how was your day?”

They weren’t in the same class this year; they were in pre-K.  It took everything for Dean not to cry when they had to go to different rooms across the hall from each other.  He liked Cas’ teacher, though.  She told Dean that she would take care of Cas during the day and that Dean could take care of him after that.  Dean had nodded.

“It was good, Cas.” He held out his paper.  “I made this for you.  Well, I made it yesterday, but I got it back today.”

Taking it, Cas looked over it.  He was a better reader than Dean.  He read it aloud.  “I want to give you hugs.  We read stories on the rug.  We always watch the bees.  We carved our letters on the tree.  After school is our time.  I’m your friend.  You’re mine.”  Grinning, Cas launched at Dean and hugged him.  “I wrote you one, too, but I don’t get it back until the end of the month when it comes off the board.”

“Okay.  I’m sure it’s awesome.”  Dean smiled.  He was happy that Cas liked the poem.

When Cas pulled away from the hug, he rubbed his nose over Dean’s in an Eskimo kiss.

Dean sighed.  He was sure this was a good thing.  His momma never told Cas that boys didn’t do these sorts of things for other boys.

He took Cas’ hand and turned to his momma.  “We can go now.”

It’s the little things, Sam notices, that change between the two.

When Dean shuffles into the kitchen around nine thirty. He’s been up for two hours-Cas for one. And still half asleep, sinks down into a chair right next to Cas to lean on him, basically. Cas wordlessly hands him his mug of coffee that he conveniently recently refilled. Dean murmurs a thanks, and Cas responds by smoothing his hand over Dean’s head, claiming, “You’re hair is all over the place.”

Instead of letting their shoulders brush when they walk into a diner for lunch, Dean places his arm around Cas’ shoulders. Cas automatically leans into him, and Dean’s thumb absently rubs his arm.

They make dinner together, but instead of showing Cas, then letting him try, Dean simply stands behind him-brings his arms around-and they perform the task like that. Dean lingers even after they’re done, and when he removes his hands from on top of Cas’, his fingers lightly drag along his skin.

Afterwards they watch a movie. When Cas gets tired he shifts so he can lay his head on Dean’s shoulder, rather than go to bed. In turn Dean rests his head on his. He gently shakes Cas’ shoulders when the film is over, and Dean guides the mostly asleep man down the hall. 

Dean remembers the future that Zachariah had sent him to all those years ago. The memory stays firmly rooted in the back of his mind even though Lucifer has been in the cage for years now. One day Sam wore a white blazer for a case and it took everything in Dean not to remember the way Lucifer had sounded coming from his younger brother’s lips in that garden. Other days he will look over the rim of his beer and think to himself that there will never be a day when he needs to strap a thigh holster on and defend a camp from Croats.

But what sticks out the most to him is the fallen angel he met in that timeline. It was frighteningly a reality when Castiel did in fact lose his wings. Every single nightmare seemed to crawl up Dean’s spine until he thought he would physically throw up.  He could remember the hollow depth of those once infinite blue eyes gazing at him with no real weight to them.

For the first month since Castiel fell Dean didn’t even let him take Advil when he got a headache.

For the second month since Castiel fell Dean didn’t allow him to go out to bars or talk to women.

For the third month since Castiel fell Dean wouldn’t allow him out of his sight.

It wasn’t until the fourth month that Castiel finally inquired about the odd behavior coming from the hunter.

Dean sat them both down at the table in the library of the bunker and finally spoke of the weight that had been crushing the bones in his shoulders, “I’m scared that I’m going to fail you just like I had in that other future.”

Cas simply squinted his eyes as if the answer would make more since written in fine print on Dean’s forehead. “What are you-“

“When Zachariah sent me to that place so I could see what would happen if I didn’t say yes to Michael. You… you were so broken, Cas. And it was because of me. I can’t let that happen.” Dean’s eyes fell as the breath seemed to slither out of him. “I promised myself that I would never let you break.”

The fallen angel didn’t say anything for a couple minutes. Instead he seemed to be searching his memory for something. “I remember when that happened. I had flew you to me because we had had an appointment.”

Dean couldn’t help but crack a grin at the memory. “Yeah.”

Castiel was out of his chair in the next moment and crouching down in front of the hunter. Only when their eyes met did he open his mouth. “And I remember what you said to me. You told me to never change. So I didn’t. I was, and will always be, your guardian angel. Nothing in this world can stop me from being just that. I will never stray from you. I will always be your Cas.”

The tears slipped past Dean’s eyelids before he could find the mindset to stop them. Instead of wiping them away, he curled his arms around Cas’ neck and brought them into a breath-stealing hug. “I love you, Cas.”

“I love you, too, Dean. I will never be a broken man when I have you in my arms.”

For the fifth month since Castiel fell Dean didn’t ever go to bed alone, nor did he continue to worry that one day his angel would break.

Cas keeps surprising Dean with hugs.

At first, Dean jumps every time it happens, hand going for the knife that isn’t actually tucked into his waistband because he’s in the relative safety of the bunker and not out on a hunt.

He wants to scold Cas for sneaking up on him like this, but then Cas nuzzles his nose against the nape of Dean’s neck and sighs, and suddenly he doesn’t have the heart anymore. He stays tense until Cas lets go, though.

Dean gets used to it after a while, and it starts to happen more frequently. From a couple of times a week to at least four or five times a day. He’ll be standing around, cooking or cleaning or doing nothing in particular, and then Cas is right behind him, arms wrapping around him. Always from behind.

Sometimes, he inhales a little, like he’s scenting Dean, and that’s kind of weird. Sometimes, he just holds onto Dean, squeezing tightly, and that makes Dean’s chest ache in a way he doesn’t particularly want to examine.

Dean always just stands there. He wants to turn around and wrap his own arms around Cas, wants to say something, maybe, but he isn’t sure what. But just this is enough to set his heart on edge. Just this feels fragile enough.

So Cas keeps surprising Dean with hugs. Dean lets him, and hopes that’s enough.

“It’s a disaster, Cas!”

“You’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m seriously not! That whole mess – it’s a catastrophe! A fucking tragedy!”

Castiel rolls his eyes and suppresses the loud groan that’s rising in his throat. “So our daughter doesn’t like pie. It is not exactly the end of the world, Dean.”

Hate!” Dean corrects him animatedly. “She used the word Hate! Capital-H and everything!”

“Dean …”

“I even let her try different flavors. Apple, pecan, cherry …” Dean sighs deeply. “You should’ve seen her face. She looked as if I was poisoning her.” He closes his eyes. “That will be written on my tombstone one day. Here lies Dean Winchester. His daughter didn’t like pie AT ALL.

Castiel takes both of his hands and squeezes them gently. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean frowns. “What is it?”

“No one on earth – and I honestly mean no one – loves pie as much as you do. And sometimes you get a little obsessed over it.”

“No, I’m not …”

“What about that European tourist at the diner the other day who didn’t know the difference between pie and cake?” Castiel reminds him.

Dean looks ashamed all of a sudden. “Okay, I might have overreacted a little bit …”

“And Mary is four years old, so don’t worry,” Castiel reassures him with a gentle smile. “Tastes can change. Maybe in a year from now on she is going to be crazy about pie just as much as you are. Or she will never like it. And you would need to accept that.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“And now go and eat up all that pies you bought for Mary because I know you want to.”

There is a little smile on Dean’s lips. “You know me so well.”

Castiel sighs. “You’re sometimes not that hard to read, Dean Winchester.”

And for about a year Mary eyes every single pie suspiciously as if she expects her fathers to make her taste them again. Dean tries to convince her once in a while and whenever she refuses he tries his hardest (and fails sometimes) not to look like a kicked puppy.

Finally on her fifth birthday she wants to have cake and pie and Dean is absolutely delighted about this development. But at the party Castiel notices that she barely touches it, even throws a few bites to the neighbor’s dog but tells Dean nonetheless how much she liked his pie. And Castiel realizes quickly that she only puts on that show for her father’s sake.

Afterwards he takes her in his arms and kisses her temple. “You are a very nice and kind girl, my love.”

She returns the embrace firmly. “I like Daddy’s smile.”

“Me too,” Castiel agrees. “But you still hate pie, don’t you?”

She hesitates for a second but in the end grimaces and nods.

“It’s fine, Mary,” Castiel reassures. “You don’t need to lie to me or your father about that, okay? We love you no matter what.” He pets her hair carefully. “And in a few weeks you will become a big sister. Let’s hope your brother is going to love pie.”

And fortunately he does. Very much.

It was close to midnight and Dean should’ve known better than to sit in the Bunker’s library pondering over a number on the page of the calendar. Said item usually had its place in the kitchen, on the wall perpendicular to the stove but for some time now it was under Dean’s unwavering gaze as he eyed the date with unreadable expression. He finally took the red marker from the pen stand and pressed its tip over the paper.

This wasn’t probably the best way to go about it but he was never great with words so he decided this might as well help him to finally say what was on his mind for some time now.  Looking it over for the last time he could feel nervousness starting to build up but what was done was done so he wasn’t going to chicken out now. He walked to the kitchen, put the calendar back on the wall and stared at it again for a minute before he turned off the lights and left the room.

Morning found the older Winchester in front of the stove with a pan full of sizzling bacon strips, another one filled with pancake batch and third containing scrambled eggs. The table was set for three, orange juice on countertop and coffee maker running with smell of fresh hot beverage permeating the air.

‘Good morning, Dean’ he heard along with the sound of chair scraping the floor while it was being pulled away. ‘Smells amazing.’

Winchester offered Castiel a timid smile over his shoulder taking in the look of disheveled dark hair, pajama which was askew and squinting blue eyes now concentrated on the calendar and lips pursed as he mouthed the words. He turned his attention to flipping the pancake as the former angel walked to the wall, clearly to make sure he was right in reading what was written there. From the corner of his eye Dean could see hesitant fingers tracing the pattern on the page as well as the letters beneath.

‘Dean?’ Cas’ voice was laced with mix of confusion, hope and, Dean dared to think, happiness.  As he looked in the now wide open blue eyes he just shrugged and held his gaze for a moment before dropping it down to the floor. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and spreading the blush down on his chest making the freckles stand out.

Turning back to the pans he dumped the food on plates that were prepared beforehand and put the fire out before facing Castiel again with his arms crossed.

‘Look, Cas. I know we talked about it. I know we need to talk about it a lot more and this shit… we’re definitely not over it yet. Hell, it’ll probably take us years to be over it for good, but the thing is – I’m tired of walking on freakin’ eggshells around each other and I think we both know why… Why we started talking about all that in the first place’. He knew he was rambling but this wasn’t about being poetic, this was about getting the point across.

Cas was silent so he took it as a permission to go on.

‘I didn’t lie to you. This thing between us?  It really freaks me out in some ways even though I kind of knew for a long time now. And I know you said we can wait. And that you are totally fine with it-‘ He started gesturing with his arms because Cas’s calm was starting to be a little bit unnerving.

‘Dean-‘ Cas immediately stopped as the green-eyed man raised his hand.

‘Let me finish. I really appreciate that you said that but I… I don’t think that I want to wait any longer. We kind of wasted a lot of time already, so… What do you think?’ he finished, his expression open, vulnerable and most of all hopeful.

Castiel stepped closer to him and with no words took his hands intertwining their fingers as he let the happy smile spread on his face. Dean could see the crinkles by his eyes when he lifted his head moving his gaze from their joined hands to his face.

‘I think I’d like to kiss you now, Dean.’ He stated while the Winchester could feel himself blushing even more. ‘If you’re okay with it, that is?’

Dean did not put much faith behind his voice right now so he just closed his eyes and nodded. A moment later there was a warm, delicious pressure on his lips and he could feel the tension draining from his body in a split second. There was a pleasant buzz of his blood speeding up to match the crazy rhythm of his heart and he squeezed Cas’ hand a little tighter relishing in the happiness overtaking his whole system. Their first kiss was chaste and it slowly evolved staying on the lazy side as they explored each other. It finished not long afterwards with their foreheads touching in what Dean felt like was so far the most intimate gesture. They stayed like that for a little while just taking in the presence of their precious one beside them. Before they sat down for breakfast holding hands on top of the table, Cas looked back to the calendar with today’s date in the middle of the heart that Dean drew the previous night and words below. His smile grew even wider as he looked at the green-eyed man.

‘Happy anniversary to you too, Dean’