Cas is trying to fix breakfast when Dean falls in love.
They’ve always been together, even when they weren’t. They’ve always known that whatever exists between them is cosmic, is a fate not even they can refuse.
But it takes Dean walking into the kitchen and seeing Cas squinting at the toaster to really accept it.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks warily.
Cas just stares at the toaster, leaning forward slightly, all muscles tense like he’s ready to take flight. “Making toast.”
Dean isn’t sure whether he should be rolling his eyes or leaving the room quickly. He decides on continuing to investigate. “You don’t eat toast.”
Cas still doesn’t flinch. “You do.”
Dean nods. “Thanks for that. But why do you look like you’re at war with the toaster?”
Cas brushes the question away with a shake of his head, concentrating. When the toast pops up, he jumps, arms raising slightly in an almost defensive stance.
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean asks, finally irritated enough to let it show in his voice.
Cas moves to the toaster, still wearing an undershirt and boxers and looking nothing like the warrior angel he is. “I don’t understand why the toast pops out so aggressively. Maybe it’s a way for humans to get their blood flowing in the morning. But I don’t trust it.”
Dean pauses for a moment to let that sink in, then starts laughing, deep and loud guffaws from somewhere so deep it almost never sees daylight. And that’s when he falls in love.
He walks forward and accepts the plate of toast Cas is proudly thrusting toward him, and sets it on the counter.
“Don’t you want to eat?” Cas asks, face falling slightly.
Dean runs his hands through that messy, dark hair, then pulls Cas into his arms, locking his hands at the small of Cas’ back. “In a minute.”
Ugh remember when “Destiel episode” just meant they were in the same room staring at each other too much and Cas squinted at Dean’s pop culture references and Dean messed with Cas’s tie and licked his lips too much? What happened to those guys.
Dean squeezes Cas’s hand a little as he points out a shooting star that zips by. They’re lying on their backs on top of the impala in the middle of a desert strip.
“Alright, Cas, you win,” Dean says, sighing deeper into a sense of comfort and calm. “This isn’t too bad.It was a good idea.”
He can see Cas smiling in that way that makes his eyes crinkle as he pulls Dean closer, kissing him on the forehead.
“What is it with angels and stars, anyway? You’d think you’ve had enough of the skies for a lifetime. Hell knows I’d be happy if I never got on a plane again.”
Dean smirks. “Literally. Hell knows.”
Cas rolls his eyes. “I knew what you meant, Dean.”
Another star pummels through the sky in a curved arc, appearing and disappearing in a flash.
“Really, though,” he continues. “Why?”
Cas sighs, looking as if he’s struggling to accept the fact that Dean is unwilling to let it go.
“It’s…” Cas starts, uncomfortably, “kind of personal.”
Slowly, Dean nods. Cas can have his secrets if he needs to.
“Ok. No biggie,” he shrugs while trying to avoid the curious itch in his brain.
But Cas looks torn, anyway. Even if Dean isn’t going to push it, suddenly it seems like he’s contemplating it.
“I want to tell you, but it’s going to sound kind of strange.”
Dean, cocking an eyebrow:
Cas bites his lip.
“When I pulled you from hell…” Cas starts reluctantly, “I put you back together again.”
Dean waits for Cas to continue. He knows this, but somehow it’s still strange to hear it out loud. Strange to think about. He nods.
But, Cas has a half smile and his hand is getting slightly tighter in Dean’s as he talks.
“Well,” he says. “Humans are made of atoms and matter. Cells. Water. Dust.”
Dean squints, looking down at his own skin, feeling goosbumps prickling.
Cas sits up on the Car, glancing down at Dean as if he were a fond memory.
“You’re made of comets and stardust,” he says proudly with a smile. “I put bits of the stars inside you. So, the sky doesn’t really make me think of heaven. It makes me think of you.”
Dean sits up, too, squinting.
“Cas,” he says. “That’s… kind of a weird thought.” He smirks, “and a little bit sappy…”
Letting go of Dean’s hand, Cas turns away, looking frustrated.
Dean glances again at his arm, wondering suddenly about the patch of freckles near the elbow that reminds him of a constellation.
With his thumb, Dean reaches out, running it along Cas’s jaw, pulling his boyfriend’s annoyed gaze back to him.
“You make me think of heaven, too,” Dean finally whispers. “Not the real, nightmare one. But the one where it’s you and me under the stars and the cold metal of the impala underneath us. And I get to hold your hand for as long as I want.”
Cas squints. “You’re talking about right now,” he says.
“I’m talking about right now,” Dean confirms.
Cas’s smile is shy and perfect, and there’s another shooting star over the tip of his left shoulder.
“I can live with that,” Cas says.
Dean pulls Cas in for a deep, long kiss, his thumb still perched under Cas’s chin.
“Mia piccola stella,” Cas says with a smile when they pull apart.
Dean makes a face.
“My little star,” Cas says, proudly.
Dean smirks, and doesn’t even call his boyfriend a sap again as they tangle themselves back into each other’s arms to watch the meteor shower. Instead, Dean returns the forehead kiss grabbing Cas’s hand again..
“This was a good idea,” he says, and Cas squeezes his hand back.
When they get back to the bunker, Dean is surprised to see Mom head toward the room they’d assigned to her all those months ago. He assumed she’d leave as soon as they were safely back underground. He’s still staring down the hallway after her when he hears Cas sigh.
He turns to find him slumped in a kitchen chair, his hands in his lap and his coat closed enough to cover the blood and black…goo on his shirt. He’s staring down at the table with a crease between his brow.
“You OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he takes a tentative seat perpendicular to him.
Dean balks at the honesty but doesn’t say anything. He leans forward and folds his hands on top of the table. Somewhere in the direction of Sam’s room, a door opens and closes.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” Cas continues, still staring at the table. “I would’ve never…”
Suddenly Cas’ eyes pop up and past Dean as Sam enters the kitchen.
None of them say anything as Sam grabs a cold cup of coffee. Dean and Cas look at each other. When Sam leaves, Cas’ eyes find the table again.
“I wouldn’t’ve…said what I said,” Cas continues, hesitance clear in his tone, “If I had known…”
A couple of seconds pass before it clicks for Dean. “That you weren’t actually gonna die?”
Cas nods minutely.
Dean leans back, runs a hand up through his hair and then drops it to his knee. “Look, man, you know I ain’t good at this. But you are family, so…what you said…it’s not–it doesn’t–you’re not trying to take it back, are you?” What the fuck–that’s not what he meant to say at all.
“No, of course not.” For some reason, Cas sounds angry. “It’s just that I–nothing.” He quickly turns his head to the side, the way he used to do when Dean had hurt his feelings.
“Cas,” Dean says softly. He waits until Cas looks at him. “I was scared to death when I saw that…what that spear did to you. I can’t lose you, man. So, uh, tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, spit it out.” It’s too harsh, too casual, but anything else wouldn’t be Dean.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Cas squints at him. “It was a declaration made because I thought it was the last chance I would get to tell you. I couldn’t die without telling you that I…that.”
Dean leans forward again and wipes his hand over his mouth. “You, uh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You know I’m not–I’m not very good at the whole, uh, love thing, but I know it’s there. I know we’re–you know, we’re good.”
Cas squints harder and leans forward so they’re only inches apart. “You knew I was in love with you?”
“That’s not–you didn’t–that’s not what you said, man. You didn’t say that.”
That’s his “quit being a dense idiot, Dean” voice.
Dean huffs a nervous laugh and stares at the table. “Yeah, uh, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you had died.”
Now Cas is laughing, too. “We are terrible at this.”
Dean lifts his eyes shyly. Cas is studying him.
“Do you remember…” Dean stops and sucks in a breath. He shouldn’t be talking about this. “That day in the cemetery, when we all thought I was gonna die.”
Cas nods once but doesn’t say anything.
“I wanted to, uh, say something.” Dean smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to–to kiss you.” He winces in embarrassment.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Dean looks sharply over at him.
“If you waited until you were on the brink of death to kiss me, I would’ve killed you myself.”
“You waited until your deathbed to tell me you lo–”
Cas cuts Dean’s argument off with a kiss. It’s just a tentative press of lips, but Dean still lets out a needy, embarrassing whimper as it happens. When Cas pulls away, Dean mumbles, “Nuh-uh,” and grabs him by the cheek to pull him back in. His hip is digging into the edge of the table, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
It’s sloppy and too fast and Cas is breathing heavy and whispering, “I love you,” over and over right against Dean’s mouth and it’s all too much and not nearly enough.
Later, in the pitch black of his room, lying breathless next to an angel, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.
Pairing: Castiel x Sam x Dean x Virgin!Reader (no destiel, sastiel,or wincest–sorry!)
Word Count: 4.3k words of SIN
Warnings: it’s a threesome with dean as a voyeur. and the reader’s a virgin. lots of orgasms. and there’s oral. tada!
A/N: this is my first time writing a threesome, so be kind, friends!! feedback is so greatly appreciated!
You, Sam, Dean and Cas sat around the map table sharing a bottle of whiskey, celebrating another successful hunt. It was nights like these—full of laughter, jokes and telling stories—that you treasured most. Being a hunter pretty much ensured a short-lived life, so you always treasured the small moments of joy spent with your best friends.
Dean’s halfway through his coffee by the time Cas comes out of the coffeeshop with a cup that’s way too big for coffee.
“Tell me that’s quadruple espresso.” He knows what the answer’s gonna be before he even finishes the sentence.
“No,” Cas replies simply. “It’s a Pumpkin Spice Latte.”
He could have lived in sweet ignorance, but no, he just had to open his mouth. “I regret asking.”
Cas pushes his cup under Dean’s nose. A sweet smell of not-coffee shoots up straight into his head. “Do you want some?”
Dean’s upper lip rides up in distaste. “Get this off my face.”
“Wow. You should sue Sam for ruining your taste in coffee. And I mean real coffee.”
“I don’t get it, Dean.” Cas looks at him weirdly. “You love sweets. What is wrong with sweet coffee? It’s got whipped cream on, look.”
Cas takes off the cover to reveal a partially melted island of whipped cream drifting on top of the beige liquid.
“It looks dead.”
Cas rolls his eyes and covers the cup. He takes a sip and doesn’t fail to make obnoxious sounds of pleasure and lick his lips. If they weren’t currently walking down the semi-busy street, Dean’d say it’s pornographic.
“Coffee’s supposed to be strong and black and bitter as life to get you on your feet.”
Cas just shrugs and keeps sipping his coffee, savoring every drop like it’s some nectar of the gods he’s drinking, not overpriced sugared water.
“You say that as if you couldn’t like both.” After a pause, he adds, “You know, it’s not fair.”
Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas. “What is?”
“Ever since I’m human, you’ve been making me try everything that you like. But when I want to share with you something I like, you oppose. Do you really think my own taste is so terrible?”
Wow, is he really trying to guilt trip Dean right now? What the hell is this? It’s coffee. There’s no need to play the human card.
“Give it to me,” Dean grumbles nearly ripping the cup out of Cas’s hand. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
content: Dean feels
uncomfortable with the flirting attempts by the cashier at the
grocery store, but thankfully Castiel comes to his rescue – though
seriously not the way Dean expected.
word count: 2,174
Dean really doesn’t like visiting
the small grocery store in Lebanon right at the town’s center.
And thankfully most of the time he’s
got other options – mainly the big supermarket next to the highway
–, but once in a while he’s got no other choice due to time issues
or saving gas or whatever else might come up.
And it’s not like the store itself
is crappy or something. No, not at all. It may be small, but it’s got
everything they need, even Dean’s favorite brand
of beer. Hell, they even sell those awesome chocolate brownies
you can’t find nearly anywhere anymore!
So yeah, it’s a nice enough store.
But there’s a big problem – the
cashier who seems to live in that stupid shop!
At least Dean’s got that impression
since she’s always there when he walks through the door,
smiling at him so broadly as soon as she spots him as if the only
purpose of her life is waiting for Dean to arrive at the store.
Her name is Stacy and she looks like
seventeen although she reassured him many times before (by
emphasizing Every. Single. Word.) that she’s old enough to drink –
while at the same time giggling like she just shared a juicy secret
and fluttering her eyelashes
in a way she probably thinks seductive. Her flirting attempts are
countless, clumsy, awkward and leave Dean highly uncomfortable.
But she never stops.
Dean can’t help admiring her
persistence a bit. Not even
hints that he could easily be her father age wise
made her back off. Dean tried being nice and polite about it and used
grumbles and grunts a few weeks later when his maturity
hadn’t been very effective, but nothing seems to impress that girl.
Every time Dean starts to talk and attempts to make himself clear she
simply sighs deeply and gazes into his eyes or checks out his ass,
not at all interested in what he has to say.
Summary: Dean considers himself a laid back guy, but he can get pretty damn possessive when it comes to anyone else hitting on his boyfriend. A diner and a flirty waitress compel Dean to show everyone who Castiel belongs to.
Dean Winchester was by no means a possessive man. Of course, it was no secret he’d been with quite a few partners, and he’d never had problems with any of them flirting with other people. Hell, he’d even been in a few open relationships, and found them downright liberating.
But this…this was Cas. And though it was impossible to articulate why, that simple fact made it a different manner entirely.
Dean watched as the buxom, blond waitress buzzed around his oblivious boyfriend like a honeybee, voice sickly sweet and thick with Southern accent.
In the past, Dean might have been jealous that she wasn’t flirting with him instead, but he couldn’t blame her for digging Cas: he knew from experience that there was some serious seductive power in those puppydog eyes.
No, Dean didn’t care that sometimes the ladies favored Cas. He just wanted them to get the hell away from his boyfriend.
“Alright, folks, lemme get this straight,” said the woman, finally straightening up. Becky, her name tag read. Of course it was Becky: it seemed to Dean that all irksome blond women in this world were named Becky. “So nachos and milkshake and a large caeser salad for the boys here, and a triple cheeseburger for you, sugar?”
Cas nodded, evidently oblivious. “Yes, please.”
“And steak with mushrooms,” added Mary. “Bloody.”
“You got it, ma’am,” said Becky, not appearing to notice the venom in Mary’s tone: she was, it would appear, just as possessive as Dean was when it came to her angelic in-law. “You’re orders should be comin’ right up before you can say Jack Robinson!”
Dean glowered after Becky as the woman bounced away, the curly blond locks he sourly presumed to be hair extensions jiggling with every step. He was just glad he was finally out with his family, so that he no longer had to hide this specific brand of loathing.
Peripherally, he was aware of Sam’s awkward attempts to initiate small-talk, to which he responded with unintelligible grunting noises. It was soon clear to everyone involved that Dean was in no mood for idle chitchat.
Soon, Becky returned with their orders, still oblivious to Dean giving her the stink eye. It was all he could do not to flip over the table in a fit of rage when she bent over to put Cas’s burgers in front of him, putting her cleavage directly in his face.
Sam watched his brother in concern as he sulkily watched her leave.
“WHAT,” Dean demanded, mouth full of nachos.
“I think you should talk to Cas, man,” Sam suggested discretely.
Cas, eyebrows rumpled, watched the scene in confusion.
“What? What for?” Dean scoffed, a stray chunk of tortilla chip flying from his mouth and landing on the table cloth. Dignity, it would seem, was not his virtue today.
“We came here to relax, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Mary pointedly. “And I don’t like to say it, sweetheart, but you’re souring the mood a little.”
Dean huffed. “Well, you’re one to talk, Bloody Mary.”
“Don’t use that tone with me, young man.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, Dean. I know you’ve been doing this for most of your relationship with Cas, but not everything can be solved with weirdly expressive staring contests.”
Well, that was just rude.
“Go talk to your boyfriend, Dean,” Sam reiterated. “Tell him what’s bothering you. Consistency and communication, right?”
Dean looked beleaguerdly to the duo flanking him, and sighed in capitulation. “Maybe…maybe you’re right.”
Ignoring Sam and Mary’s gentle encouragements, he looked to Cas, who seemed to have given up on trying to follow along with the conversation and was now occupying himself with his burgers.
Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Cas, buddy. You wanna come to the bathroom with me for a sec?”
Cas looked confused. “You know I don’t require that kind of bodily function, Dean.”
“Yeah, no. Not what I meant,” Dean sighed, ignoring Sam and Mary’s stifled snickers. “What I meant was…do you wanna maybe go somewhere a little more, y’know. Private?”
Cas squinted, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Is this regarding intercourse?” he whispered sagely.
“NO!” Dean barked, ears getting hot. A few people at the surrounding tables looked up, and Dean lowered his voice. “No. Just…come with me to the bathroom, alright? I wanna talk to you.”
In the past, Dean might have worried how it would look to be walking to a very small, one-room restroom with another man. Now it barely crossed his mind.
Cas watched Dean, puzzled, as he locked the door behind him.
Then, he sighed, turned to face Cas and tried (failed) to get his thoughts together.
“That is a variation of my name, yes,” Cas deadpanned.
Dean gave him a look. “Cas, y’know…I’m not a possessive sort of guy, right?”
“I know nothing of the kind, Dean. You were a demon, after all.”
Dean’s eyelids fluttered. Here he was, actually trying to have a serious conversation for once in his life, and Cas had to go and turn into a goddamn comedian.
Seeming to sense his discomfort, Cas offered, “I noticed you sometimes use humor to diffuse tense situations.”
“Yeah, well, I appreciate the effort, Cas,” Dean sighed, wisely deciding not to add but it’s not working. “Look, I don’t expect you to realize this, but that waitress out there…the way she was talking to you…”
“She was flirting with me,” Cas supplied. “I know.”
Dean blinked comprehensibly. “…You, uh. You do?”
Now, it was Cas’s time to give Dean a look. “I may still be new to the ways of mankind, Dean, but I’m not nearly so naive as you take me for.”
Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re not, are you?”
“I also noticed it was bothering you immensely,” Cas stated. “Why is that, Dean?”
Dean stared at him, suddenly wishing he’d been more subtle. Then, he sighed, looking almost abashedly down at his boots.
“Look, Cas,” he reluctantly began. “I know I haven’t always treated you as good as I should have: when I said I didn’t care you were broken, when I kicked you outta the bunker, when I nearly killed you that time-”
“Dean, you know I-”
“You forgive me,” Dean concluded for him, almost bitterly. “I know. You said it before. But I don’t.”
Cas shakes his head, looking at Dean with such wide-eyed adoration it makes Dean sick. “Dean,” he murmured.
Dean sighed, looking pensively off into the distance. “And even before then, I was so damn mean to you, y’know? Calling you a sissy and a coward and a…”
“A baby in a trench coat?” Cas offered.
In spite of himself, Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that too. Point is, you deserve better than me, Cas. And someday, selfish as it might be, I’m scared you’re gonna realize that. And then, uh…and then…” Dean bit his lip, unable to will himself to finish.
Cas seemed to read his mind. “I’ll never leave you, Dean.”
“No, Dean. You’ve said you’re piece, now you listen: you are the most beautiful human being I have ever seen in all my Father’s creation, and contrary to what you may think, I have seen many. I’ve loved you since I first saw your soul in hell, and perhaps even before. I’ve loved you since before I could identify the emotion of love at all, but I knew even then that being with you, holding you in my arms, fulfilled some primordial need I wasn’t aware I had. I love you, Dean,” Cas reiterated. “And even if I must leave you someday, I’ll always find you again.”
Dean’s eyes felt damp now. His mouth flopped open for a moment or two, searching vainly for something to say.
Then, next thing he knew, he was doing something different with his lips entirely, kissing Castiel’s furiously as he pressed him up against the tiled bathroom wall.
“Dean,” Cas groaned, his deepened voice going straight to Dean’s pants.
Cas evidently noticed the change, too, because he looked up at him slyly beneath half-lidded blue eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t about intercourse, Dean?”
Dean stared at him, then huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Buddy, you are not as innocent as everyone thinks you are.”
You could here a pin drop in the restaurant as the disheveled duo exited the bathroom, Dean grinning stupidly and stinking of sex, Cas’s cheeks still flushed pink and usual sex hair exacerbated.
Sam, Mary, and yes, Becky too, all gape at them, owl-eyed, as they approach the table. It was incredibly awkward, for everyone except Dean: he was still too bathed in afterglow to feel anything but smug about the situation.
Finally, it was Becky who broke the silence. “Um. You folks want desert?”
“Not for me, sweetheart,” Dean grinned, fingers laced possessively with Cas’s. “I just had myself a Sunshine Special.”
Of course, it’s a silly joke, one that only a few of those present will understand. And besides, what Cas had ordered at the other place was a sunrise special, but Dean looked so happy with the whole situation that Cas couldn’t bare to correct him.
After Becky bustled away, Sam leaned over, infamous bitchface firmly in place. “That is not what I meant when I said you guys should talk.”
Dean looked helplessly over at where the lemon was standing on one of the library tables, cheerfully pulling pages out of an old spell book for fun. “I guess?”
“Why would you even have a spell that summons lemons?” Cas asked.
Sam cleared his throat. He had a black eye from trying to catch the lemon earlier after it had slipped out of the dungeon a by leaping directly into his face (who knew demon traps didn’t hold citrus fruit?) and bowling him over to clear a path to the door. “We think it was a failed attempt at a spell from the days of ships crossing oceans on long journeys… If they could summon fresh fruit straight onto the ship, more cargo space is free.” He squinted at the scroll they’d found and turned it slightly sideways to off-set the slant of the writing. “We thought a demon-summoning spell that only needed a few candles might be a good way to save on all the ingredients.”
“That lemon does not look like it wants to be eaten.” Cas watched it hop down from the table and run to the war room, where it began kicking folders off the table, smiling its happy little smile all the while.
“You’re telling me,” Dean said, rolling one shoulder and wincing. It was incredible how much it hurt to have a twenty pound piece of fruit cannonball into you from the balcony by the front door. Thankfully it seemed to have been put off by some of the warding and hadn’t tried venturing outside.
“Perhaps there’s a counter spell to send it back?” Cas asked, stepping carefully out of the way as the lemon rushed past squealing and dragging a roll of rapidly unwinding toilet paper. They watched it go, despair on their faces. It had been a long day. The Bunker had never been more of a mess.
“We tried to find one, but this scroll is practically illegible,” Sam said.
Cas took the scroll and his eyes darted over each line at a regular reading pace. “It’s just in cursive. It even says, ‘How to Summon A Lemon”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
Sam cleared his throat again. “Who even learns how to write in cursive any more these days.”
“We had monsters to hunt when we were kids.”
Cas rolled his eyes at them.
“It says the lemon comes from a fairy realm. I think we should be able to find some banishing spells in some of the books in here.”
“If it doesn’t destroy them all first.”
There were a series of prolonged metallic crashes from down the hall.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Sam said despairingly.
Dean pulled his gun out. “That’s it. We’re ending this and having tequila shots with lemon to celebrate.”
Cas frowns from across the table, picking at the last of his fries. He watches suspiciously as Dean pushes aside his plate and hands over a wrapped rectangular box. Blue eyes squint at the red paper before Castiel purses his lips. “Is this a prank?”
Dean shakes his head, clearly trying to bite back a smile. “Nothin’ funny, I swear. I just… saw something I thought you could use for work.”
Cas squints harder. “So you wrapped it?”
“Just open it, asshole.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Trust me.”
Grumbling half-heartedly about how asshole is a totally inappropriate name to call your husband, Castiel methodically unwraps his gift, long fingers carefully removing the paper and opening the box. He pulls out a children’s picture book called The Honeybee Man and grins.
“Saw it in the bookstore and figured the kids would like it,” Dean says, watching carefully as Castiel runs his fingers over the book’s hardcover. “Hey, uh, open it for a sec? I think I mighta left the receipt inside.”
Once open, the book clatters noisily onto the table. Dean grins.
Cas feels his heart stop.
He stares at the tiny piece of paper tucked in against the story’s first page, eyes wide as he reads the adoption slip over and over again. Shaking, his hands come up to his face and his vision blurs, face turning hot as blue darts up to meet green. “I… Are we…?”
“Found out this morning,” Dean confirms. “So… you could bring that book to school Monday morning. Or, uh, y’know. You could keep it. For our kid.”
Giving a watery, joyful laugh, Castiel reaches over the table and grabs his husband’s hand. “For our kid,” he repeats, awed.
I’ve been cracking myself up thinking of like a college au where Dean just took his patronus quiz and he’s pissed because he got some tiny animal like a cat or a fucking weasel (which is what I got wtf jo) so he’s seething to his best friend Cas who is like really indifferent, trying to study during Dean’s rant until Dean asks what Cas got and Cas says “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I haven’t taken the quiz.”
And Dean immediately pulls out his laptop, muttering “What the hell Cas we have to know NOW. Damn Ravenclaws always too busy studying to do the important things…”
“Yeah that’s your house isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
And Dean rolls his eyes. “How do you not know your house?”
“I haven’t taken that quiz either.”
And that launches Dean into another fit because what kind of self-respecting Harry Potter fan hasn’t been sorted into their house?
“But Dean, I’m not a Harry Potter fan. I’ve never even read the books.”
Dean is positively scandalized. He cannot believe his ears or his eyes staring blankly into the face of a man with no shame or remorse for the poisonous confession that had just escaped his beautiful too-pink lips.
“HOW HAVE WE BEEN FRIENDS FOR TEN YEARS AND YOUVE NEVER READ HARRY POTTER?!”
“I didn’t know it was a requirement?”
“Have you seen any of the eight movies?”
“There are eight?”
“OH MY FUCKING GOD CAS.”
Cas has the decency to put his book down. “Dean, I think you’re overreacting.”
“This is not overreacting. I’m friends with a heathen whose never read Harry Potter. Like you couldn’t even be one of those cheaters that just watched the movies, Cas, honestly?”
“It never appealed to me.”
“Who are you?”
Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, if it means that much to you, I will take the quiz.”
“Oh no no no. You have to earn the quiz. We have work to do, Novak.”
And so is the story of how Castiel Novak lost a weekend of studying to marathoning the entire Harry Potter series.
When he finished Dean allowed him to take the sorting quiz. And as predicted he was a Ravenclaw.
Dean rolled his eyes at the result. “Typical.”
“Is it really that big of a deal?”
“Is it a big deal?” Dean scoffed. “Getting sorted into Hufflepuff was the second greatest identify crisis of my life, right behind my sophomore year sexuality crisis.”
And Cas looks skeptical but doesn’t argue because he remembers Dean’s sophomore year sexuality crisis and it was quite a mess.
He lets Dean show him to the patronus quiz and tries not to feel anxious as Dean paces behind him like this animated test determines his entire future.
“I’m an owl.”
Dean sinks onto his bed, a small pout bending his lips. “Oh.”
“Is that bad?” The quiz doesn’t give an explanation, so Cas has no way of knowing if the owl symbolizes something deeper in the Harry Potter universe. Maybe it’s a bad omen.
“No, it’s just… don’t owls eat weasels?”
Cas squints. “I suppose, yes. They eat rodents and small vermin, which would include weasels.”
Dean glares at him. “Wow, thanks, Cas.”
“I don’t understand why you’re disappointed. I’m not going to attack you, Dean.”
And Dean is red now, trying to avoid Cas’s gaze. “I know. But I- I thought we’d be something more… compatible.” He fidgets, releases a resigned sigh. “Makes sense I guess. We’re really different.” Of course Cas is something far better than Dean, something bigger, fiercer, stronger. Something that could easily sweep him up and consume him whole like he was nothing.
Cas shuts the laptop and moves closer to Dean who still can’t look up. “Dean… I don’t know the implications of these animals as you might. But from what I gathered in the movies, they are a pure manifestation of one’s happiest memories. It is not the shape of the patronus that matters, but rather the essence. This quiz made a decision based on a few random parts of my personality, but it never asked me what my happiest memory was. Would you like to know?”
Dean can only nod.
“It was my first day at Lawrence Middle School. I was scared and angry and a group of boys were making fun of my bee socks at lunch. And just when I was at the point of tears, a scrawny kid in a Batman shirt jumped in front of me and poured chocolate milk all over Gordon Walker’s head.” Cas chuckled fondly, just thinking of it. “Then he sat across from me and gave me half of his pb&j.”
Dean is beat red and barely breathing. “You didn’t even like it because of the jelly,” he murmurs because it’s all he can think to say.
“And you stopped putting it on your sandwiches after that so you could share with me.”
Cas reaches across the small space between them to cup Dean’s jaw and gently turn Dean’s face to look at him. “We may be very different, Dean Winchester, but you have had the single most profound effect on my life since I was eleven years old. You are my happiness,” Cas leans forward, Dean’s eyes glazing over and lips parting, “and I don’t need a quiz to tell me that.”
When their lips meet, Dean forgets all about quizzes and balls of light. He feels Cas’s hand slide to the back of his head, tangling in his hair as Dean’s own hands clutch at Cas’s waist to hold him close, keep their lips pressed together in an endless first kiss.
It’s soft and a little awkward, it’s breathtaking and a bit sloppy, and it’s pure magic.
“Hello, Dean” Cas says, as the elder Winchester stops several feet from him, incredulous face lit against the blue of the call-box.
“Sammy, get the kit,” Dean barks.
“Uh, hey Cas,” Sam waves at him, but goes to the trunk and brings what Dean asks.
Cas blinks as he gets a face-full of holy water.
“Roll up your sleeve,” Dean says roughly.
Cas opens his mouth a little, but he does it. Dean grips his forearm and cuts it with a silver knife. Cas notices Dean’s hand is shaking slightly.
“Not a shifter then,” Dean growls. “How do I know you’re not Lucifer or some other angel-dick in disguise?”
“Ask me something,” Cas says, arms dangling by his side, the cut already vanished.
“Lucifer’s been in your frickin’ head so….”
“You gave me a mix-tape,” Cas blurts, “It had a song on it called Travelling Riverside Blues, about squeezing citrus fruit.”
Dean shoots a quick glance back at Sammy, who is sitting on the hood of the Impala studying a patch of dirt, hard.
“So?” Dean’s voice is rough.
“Lucifer was gone from my head then. It’s me, Dean.”
Dean steps in and shoves Castiel’s chest, hard. He yells, “I burned your friggin’ body! It can’t be you! Where the hell have you been, man? And who’s controlling you now? Leviathan, Naomi? Jack? It’s always something!”
Cas blinks. This is not quite the welcome he was expecting. He lets Dean shove him, once, twice, then he reaches out and gently grips Dean’s sleeves.
“I’m sorry, I thought…”
“What? You thought what, Cas?! That everything would be peachy down here?”
“I thought perhaps you and Sam made a deal…”
“Who with?” Dean yells. “What, you think I didn’t try? I prayed to that SOB Chuck until I bust a gut. Amara too. Crowley’s dead so…”
“I want to help… Dean, please… I was in the Empty.”
Dean gawps and goes limp in Cas’ grip, “The Empty? What the hell was that like?”
“Black, formless, filled with dead angels and nightmares,” Cas says bluntly.
Dean sags against him a little. “How d’you get out?”
“I fought the Guardian. I fought to get out, to get….” Cas hesitates.
“Home…” Dean says in a rush.
“Yes,” Cas says very quietly, “home.”
“C’mon,” Dean says, “let’s go home, Cas.”
“Hey Cas, it’s unbelievable, it’s amazing to see you, what even?” Sam rolls him, without hesitation into a hug. Cas squints at the streetlight.
“I’ll drive,” Sam says to Dean, “Get in the back and y’know, check on him or something?”
Dean makes an “Uh, ok, well, reluctantly if you say so” face, which Sam gives a good appearance of buying.
As they drive in the dark, Sam takes a glance or two in the mirror.
First they are quiet, just looking at each other.
Later, they are still quiet, but he sees their fingers, laced together on the seat between them.
The whole of Baby fills up with the kind of wonder and hush that falls over a town on Christmas morning.
A/N: Now that it’s finally summer, I hope to write more stuff! <3 And hopefully not just Cas XD I need to give other boys some attention too, so if you want, you can drop a request in my ask or message it to me <3