Cas doesn’t kill bugs, on principle, stating their importance to the ecological balance of the Earth, and the fact that they share 44% of their DNA with humans, and thus, with him, now. You relent, watching hum cup spiders in his delicate hands as he takes them outside. The next time you see a cockroach, you trap it under glass and wait for him to rescue it.
Cas is the strangest eater. He hates chocolate, and potatoes, and doesn’t particularly like pie. You tell him it’s downright un-American. He reminds you of the origins of cacao, and tubers, citing their entire biological history before you tell him, “it’s just an expression, Cas,” and he stops. He loves these disgusting vegan taquitos, though, so of course you buy out the grocery store’s entire stock.
Cas is constantly freezing, insisting that the heat be turned up, even though it’s a perfectly reasonable temperature in the bunker. But Cas is new to this, he reminds you, and maybe 73 degrees Fahrenheit is ‘room temperature,’ but all the same, you buy him thick woolen socks and hooded sweatshirts lined in fur. (The faux kind, naturally.)
Cas still has personal space problems. He’s learning, slowly, but he still makes people uncomfortable. He is human now, yes, but still just otherworldly enough that people feel disconcerted by his presence. You watch as they shy away, or cast scandalized glares in his direction. You remember feeling the same way, all those years ago, but now- now you tell those people to fuck off. Mind their damn business. You catch him smiling a private smile in your periphery.
Cas is much too direct. He stares at you sometimes, as he always has; perhaps without the ethereal electricity with which his eyes bored into your skin before his fall, but with no less intensity. He tells you that you are beautiful, that you are his father’s most wondrous creation. You tell him to stop, and he doesn’t. And that’s okay.
Cas has no subtlety. After you finally let go of your outdated insecurities and fall into that gravitational pull you’ve felt for close to a decade, he spends the next morning gazing lovingly in your direction. Sam can tell immediately that the dynamic has shifted, can sense the way you sway into each other’s space, fall into each other’s orbit. Even so, his smug smile isn’t enough to stop you from leaning over and kissing Cas right there in front of him.
Cas is infuriating. He twists the sheets off of the bed in the night and uses your legs to warm his ice cold feet. He refuses to let you take out your frustrations on the jackasses that stare at him, holding you back with a touch to the shoulder. He feels too much, and loves too hard, and makes you insecure, as always, that you are unworthy of it all. But Cas is human now, and yours to keep, and you’d choose him, just like this, if you had it all to do over again.