Dean studied the wall of his room critically. Sure, there was some space in between the various weapons he had hung up, but was it enough?
… did Cas even have posters he’d want to put up?
Dean shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. This really shouldn’t be this hard. Or this nerve-wrecking. It was just Cas, after all.
But then again, this was Cas.
Dean had already emptied two of his dresser drawers, mostly of the lint and cobwebs that had taken up residence there. He’d never been one to hoard clothes, mostly because that was impractical when you were living out of a duffle bag. He’d attempted to tidy the desk too, but given up when he realized he was just shuffling the few items upon it around.
He let out a frustrated groan. Dean had wanted to clear some space for Cas, and while he was relatively pleased about the half-empty dresser, it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted something visible; knickknacks on the shelves, posters on the walls, a hand-knitted blanket on the bed. Something obvious that showed this wasn’t just Dean’s room anymore.
It looked like he couldn’t even do that. His room had hardly changed and Cas was supposed to move his stuff in here today.
What if Cas ended up thinking this was a mistake? What if Cas didn’t have enough space for his things? It wasn’t as if the newly-fallen angel had much in the way of material possessions, and if Cas felt obligated to give those up just because Dean liked waking up with Cas in the mornings…
Dean was pulled out of his thoughts by the door opening. He turned to see Cas poking his head into the room, carrying a large box under one arm, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His expression was soft and warm, and Dean felt his own lips twitch upwards in response.
“Hey,” Dean said, walking to the door to help Cas with his things. Cas shifted so Dean could grab the box, which Dean nearly dropped upon realizing that it was, in fact, a lot heavier than Cas had made it seem. “What do you got in here, bricks?”
“Books,” Cas replied matter-of-factly, still smiling as he leaned forward to kiss Dean chastely on the mouth. He pulled away after a moment, leaving Dean sighing in contentment. “Help me unpack?”
“Sure,” Dean said. He set the box on the bed and opened the top up while Cas disappeared through the door again. Cas was back a second later with a pillow and a blanket, both of which he immediately set on the bed and then laid his duffle on top.
Dean stared for a moment at the second pillow next to his on what was now, officially, their bed.
Cas didn’t spare the sight a second glance, instead moving on to his duffle bag and opening it up. He quickly transferred the entire contents of the bag to the bottom two drawers of Dean’s dresser, then folded the bag and set it on the closet shelf next to Dean’s.
Dean shook himself and started going through the box Cas had brought. As he thought, there wasn’t much in it. There was a framed photograph of him, Cas, and Sam. Beneath that were a few knickknacks Cas had collected over the years; a coffee mug Dean thought might be from Biggerson’s, smooth river rocks the size of Cas’s palm, a few dark feathers that gleamed like an oil spill. And, as promised, at the bottom of the box were books.
A few were titles Dean recognized, some he had even read and enjoyed, and yet others were things he would never in a million years admit to reading. Cheap romance novels, books of poetry, textbooks on things like history, biology, and even…
Dean snorted, his cheeks turning faintly pink as he lifted up an illustrated copy of The Gay Kama Sutra.
“Really, Cas?” he said, raising an eyebrow. Cas shrugged.
“It’s been very informative,” he said. “Charlie gave it to me.”
“Of course she did,” Dean muttered, flipping through the pages. He heard Cas chuckle quietly as he began to move the books from the box onto the small bookcase that housed Dean’s few, well-loved copies of Vonnegut.
Dean paused on one particularly… interesting illustration in the book, coughed, and quickly closed it.
“Remind me to send her a fruit basket,” he said, handing it over to Cas. Cas stashed it with the rest of the books, right next to a volume of poems by Byron.
The rocks and feathers from the box found their place on top of the dresser. The mug Cas placed on the desk, right next to the mason jar full of pens and pencils. The framed photograph found space right next to it.
And, quite suddenly, it was done. Dean blinked as Cas broke down the cardboard box he’d carried his things in with a satisfied hum.
“Is that everything?” Dean asked, looking around. Everywhere he looked, he could see Cas.
“Yes, that’s all,” Cas said, surveying the room filled with their mingled possessions for the first time with a pleased smile.
The room looked suddenly fuller, more lived-in. As if maybe Dean hadn’t needed to move things around to accomodate Cas, but instead Cas slipped neatly into the gaps Dean hadn’t even realized were there.
Dean smiled, chest fit to burst with emotion, and reached out to tug Cas closer. Cas came willingly, tilting his head for the expected kiss. Dean obliged him.
“I’m sure we’ll find more stuff. We haven’t even been to the Grand Canyon yet,” Dean said, leaning his forehead against Cas’s.
“I look forward to it,” Cas replied, leaning in to kiss Dean again.