A cool breeze drifts in through the open window bringing with it the smell of the ocean. Morning light pours past the white sheer drapes that dance with the flow of the wind.

A strong arm pulls tightly against Dean’s waist, squeezing him in a warm embrace that makes him smile. Dean wriggles back against the firm body behind him and sighs as a hand caresses his chest. Hot breath on the back of his neck becomes soft lips and Dean wonders for a moment if he is in heaven.

He rolls over and greets sleepy blue eyes with a grin. Reaches up to run his fingers through soft brown hair still ruffled from last nights exploits. That  handsome face stares at him with so much love, and Dean’s heart still aches just knowing that he is able to have this. Castiel, his angel, now human through choice, pulls Dean close and closes the gap in a kiss that quickly gets heated.

“Morning Sunshine.” Dean mumbles between kisses.

Castiel answers him with another kiss, this time pulling him closer by the hips making Dean painfully aware of his morning wood. Dean huffs and gives him a reciprocating thrust.

Every morning has been this way since they arrived here, and Dean has never felt happier in all his life. After everything they went through, life, death, heaven, hell and even the vast void beyond it all, to have Cas like this, to be together, here, with a rolling coastline of white sand a short walk from their beachside house. Its more than Dean could ever have dreamed of.

It pains him to pull away, but today is important, and they can’t get too distracted. He puts a hand against Castiel’s chest and gets a grumble for his efforts.

“You know what today is right?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Of course.” His gravelly voice never fails to make Dean’s heart flutter, and Castiel takes advantage of that by moving forward and painting light kisses on his jaw. Dean sighs and attempts to stay strong, once again pushing firmly against his lover’s chest.

“We don’t have time.” He groans. “They’ll be here in an hour.”

Castiel huffs and moves away to lie on his back, swinging an arm across his face. It is such a human gesture that Dean pauses to watch in awe, still unused to this version of Castiel, but hopelessly in love with him all the same.

He shuffles forward and kisses Cas’s cheek.

“They’ll be plenty of time for us to be together later.” Pausing to gently bite his ear. “I can’t wait for you to do that thing with your tongue again.” He whispers seductively and feels more than sees the former angel smirk.

Dean loves this. He loves the lazy morning pillow talk. He loves the intimacy. He loves having Cas within reach, just being able to touch him with absolute permission whenever he wants. He especially loves how much Cas seems to love it all right back.

Sam and Eileen will arrive in an hour. It’s been a year since they last saw them. A year since he last held his little brother and tried to hold back tears knowing that everything he was used to was about to change. A year since they defeated one God, and put another God on Heaven’s throne. (Dean tries not to think too hard about how that new God is his adopted son). Sam has been travelling all over the world, gathering magical artefacts, securing old Men of Letters bunkers, collecting more lore books, and thoroughly enjoying every nerdy second of it as far as Dean can tell. It doesn’t help that Sam has a gorgeous, badass hunter and fellow MOL legacy on his arm. Dean can’t wait to see them again.

Cas sighs, whips back the bedsheets and stretches. His back muscles flex and Dean watches as he rises to stand, completely naked, smooth tan skin on display for Dean’s hungry eyes as always. He walks over to the window and for a moment appears to glow in the morning light. This happens every now and then, moments where Cas seems far more ethereal than his human form should allow. Moments when Dean is reminded of the immense power and magnitude that the man standing before him used to contain. Where he is reminded that Cas gave it all up to be with him.

Cas has constantly repeated over the past year that he doesn’t regret it. Dean was always going to be his choice. That even in his darkest moments he would never allow himself to believe that he might one day get to have Dean too. That a creature such as Cas, after everything he had done, could be granted his most secret and most desperate desires. Dean blushes just thinking about some of the things Cas has whispered to him at night, whilst curled together in bed. The past year may not yet have made up for all the long years of distant longing and desire that they each repressed, but damn have they tried.

Cas turns in all his naked glory and flashes Dean a toothy smile. Clearly the goofy look on Dean’s face amuses him, and Dean fakes a pout and throws a pillow in his direction.

“Stop showing off and take a shower already. I wanna have breakfast ready when they get here and you are a huge distraction.”  

Cas doesn’t stop grinning, but that striking gaze of his pierces into Dean’s eyes and Dean feels his heartrate increasing once again.

“I think, it would be much more productive if we showered together.” Cas suggests darkly, voice a deep rumble.

Dean sucks in a breath and glances at the clock.

“I uh- suppose that’ll work.” He feels a shiver run through him as he looks up at Cas’s triumphant smile and rises to stand in front of his angel. “I love you so god damn much.”

Cas pulls him in for another kiss, deep and full of love. When they finally break apart again to catch their breath, Cas rests their foreheads together and they pause to relish in the intimacy of the moment.

“I love you too Dean.” He whispers. “With all my heart and all my soul.”

Dean takes in a shuddered breath, soaking in those words which he will never tire of. This is going to be a great day.

This is going to be a great life.

Dean never thought he’d live long enough to hate getting old, but he has, and he does, and it freaking blows. Forty-one. How the hell did he make it forty-one? Why did he make it to forty-one? His knees creak and his back aches and he’d like to get off this ride now, thanks, because if he can’t eat seven grilled cheeses and parkour after a shifter then what’s the friggin’ point?

Forty-one. Jesus. 

Dean doesn’t want to get out of bed. He doesn’t want to get up. He wants to sink into the memory foam and be twenty-five again. 

“Dean, I know you’re awake.”

Dammit.

Cas sits on the edge of the bed, and from the weird tinkling and sloshing noises Dean can tell that Cas has brought him breakfast (burnt toast with peanut butter) and that his coffee has spilled all over the tray. Despite the piss-poor meal and sub-par delivery, Dean has to actively stop himself from smiling. He groans and buries his face in his pillow.

“M’asleep.”

“You’re forty-one, you’re not dying.”

Keep reading

Carefully, Castiel opens the bunker’s main door, trying to do it as quietly as possible. It’s quite late, and he knows that the Winchester brothers are sleeping; must have been for a few hours.

He lets himself in, closing the door, trying to be quiet once again. The lights are on, as always, and Castiel silently walks down the stairs, glad to be back in the bunker after a few days away. Even if he isn’t welcome in Heaven anymore, he still visits it from time to time, just to check things or to help with any type of problem. Things aren’t perfect up there, but they could be worse.

Heaven used to feel like home. He still cares about Heaven, even if his relationship with Heaven is complicated, so he can’t help having the need to go there once in a while, even if he feels like he doesn’t belong there. Truth is, he never felt like he truly belonged.

Castiel walks through the empty halls of the bunker, keeping his footsteps silent. By the time he reaches Dean’s bedroom door, he sighs, letting out the tension in his shoulders.

The door opens quietly, and Castiel sees Dean, sleeping on his side of the bed, with his hand resting on the empty side that belongs to Castiel. The angel smiles and closes the door after turning on a lamp. Sooner or later Dean will hear him. After living in the road for most of his life, Dean learnt how to wake up every time he heard something. He has been living in the bunker for almost seven years, but he hasn’t been able to get rid of that habit; he probably won’t.

Castiel starts to undress. He looks at Dean from the corner of his eyes, feeling content to see him again, to be able to share a bed with him. Castiel doesn’t need to sleep, but he always gets in bed with Dean. It’s one of his favorite things to do.

By the time Castiel is only wearing his shirt and his underwear, Dean stirs and opens his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean asks with a sleepy voice.

Castiel smiles and his heart melts. He missed him so much. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean manages to make a sleepy smile as Castiel gets inside the bed. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

Dean hums and waits for Cas to lie down next to him. Then, Dean snuggles next to Castiel and the angel gets his arms around Dean, pressing him closer. Dean sighs, happily, and one of his hands cups Castiel’s jaw before he leans to kiss him, softly and tenderly.

Castiel sighs into the kiss, happy to be back to his lover. He almost kisses him desperately. As if he were drowning and Dean was the only one capable of making Castiel breathe.

When Dean pulls away, he gives him a tender look and a sleepy but sweet smile. His thumb traces the corner of Castiel’s mouth and Castiel looks at him, smiling. Dean then sighs and rests his head on Castiel’s chest, placing his ear on top of the angel’s heart as his arms hold Castiel tightly.

“Welcome home, Cas,” Dean murmurs before closing his eyes. “And turn the damn lamp off.”

Castiel chuckles. He turns the light off and holds Dean tighter in his arms. He kisses the crown of Dean’s hair and Dean sighs again, content and relieved.

Even in the dark, Castiel can still see Dean. He smiles as he looks at him, thinking to himself that he has a better home than Heaven ever was. That there is a place where he finally belongs.

Mine

It happened time and time again.

No matter where they went on a case, no matter the diner, no matter who they were interviewing: Every person had eyes for Cas.

Dean had been witnessed to several flirts by both men and women over the many years he knew Cas and accepted it. But, it was only after the dust settled, the grace was gone, and they spent almost every hour of everyday together that he really started to notice. Dean had the privilege that most of those who flirted with Cas wanted.

At first he was just annoyed. Melissa at the Cat’s Eye Diner in Buffalo gave Cas her number which was tossed out as soon as they left the place. Kelsey in Boise paid the most attention to Cas which at first they thought was for an extra tip, until she leaned over and practically stuck her boobs in his face. Cas handled it just fine, brushing it off, but Dean wanted to go toe to toe with her. Mark, David, Samantha, and Kerry were all next. Mrs. Willis was an old, wrinkly thing that really sidled up to Cas with ease. Dean wasn’t as mad about that. He admired her confidence, and the lady’s husband had just been eaten by a werewolf.

But the most annoying part was Cas never noticed, or cared.

It was bugging Dean out big time.

Keep reading

Now I’m thinking about how often Dean and Cas encounter each other in that bunker kitchen. Maybe they have coffee together some mornings, even though Cas doesn’t really need to eat or drink anything but does just for the flavor and to sit there with Dean. Maybe Cas, wandering the bunker late at night, because he doesn’t need to sleep, ends up in the kitchen and finds Dean there at 2 am and Cas is all suspicious about why Dean isn’t asleep. Cas notices the dark circles under Dean’s eyes. He doesn’t want to pry but he sits down across from where Dean is eating his late-night snack and does his “how are you, no really” routine, and after s,ome eye-rolling and busying himself with adding more mustard to his sandwich Dean finally confesses that yeah he had a nightmare, and Cas says “you can tell me about it if you feel like it,” so Dean does. Or maybe one morning Cas finds Dean in there before Sam or Jack are awake, making pancakes for everyone, and Dean tries to talk Cas into having some with them. “So what if you don’t actually need to eat, they taste good. Also we have real maple syrup, Cas. I got some at the farmer’s market.” Or Cas follows Dean in there when Dean goes to get a beer and they bicker about their latest monster or archangel problems and what to do about it. And by now Dean’s almost forgotten that Cas was ever not there, living the bunker, and Cas has almost forgotten to feel out of place–and one night when they’re alone, Dean just pushes Cas up against the fridge and starts kissing him and Cas kisses him back and it’s like they’ve always been here, doing this, since the start.  

Sam still isn’t quite used to it.

Don’t get him wrong - after ten years of trying to ignore the romantic tension in the room, it came as a huge relief when Dean and Cas finally got their shit together and… well, got together. But it’s weird sometimes, too. Like today, when it’s the fourth time he’s caught Dean staring at Cas from across the library, totally ignoring the manuscript he’s supposed to be reading, chin propped in his hands. He looks like an eighth grader staring dreamily at his crush from across the cafeteria, and Sam can’t help but chuckle.

“Dude, you are so besotted.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but Dean is already stirring, tearing his gaze away from Cas and shooting Sam a dirty look.

“What’d you just call me?”

Well, he’s been caught out now. Sam clears his throat.

“Besotted. It means… infatuated. Enamored, smitten.” He pauses, but the last word escapes before he can stop it, a missile built for destruction. “Lovestruck.”

He’s gone too far, Sam knows it immediately. He’s ruined everything. He waits for Dean to sputter out a denial or crack a joke, or worse yet, for his eyes to widen as he starts to panic. He waits for it all to start crashing down.

Instead, Dean surprises him, leaning his cheek against his fist and humming thoughtfully.

“Oh,” he says. And then… that’s it. He nods, already turning away to stare at Cas again, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah.”

21 Mornings

The first morning Dean peeked his head into Castiel’s room in the morning, the corner of his lips turn up at the sight. The former angel was sprawled across his bed, one knee peeking out from under his blanket as his chest rises and falls in deep, even breaths. His face seemed soft, and it was only then that Dean realized the stress that Castiel wore every day. He thought about the way Castiel had watched over him as he slept before the angel’s fall, wondering if Cas had studied Dean’s face in the same way.

It seemed a shame to wake him, to rip him from his peaceful slumber, but Sam had found them a case and it was time to get moving. He hesitated, watching the slight flutter of lashes for a minute, maybe two, before he finally called his name.

The second morning Dean found himself lingering in the doorway, he’d meant to call Cas to the kitchen for breakfast. They’d been on the road for twelve days, and they’d all been exhausted when they arrived back at the bunker. Being there, all together, safe and happy, made the place almost feel like home.

He smiled at the way Cas bundled his blankets around him, imagining that he’d probably be a blanket hog. Not that he imagined sharing a bed with Cas, but maybe someday Cas would share a bed with someone. Dean’s brows reflexively pinched together and his stomach turned at the thought. Shaking his head, he decided he’d just let Cas sleep in.

The following day, Dean found himself at Cas’s door for the third morning. The door had been left ajar, and on his way to the kitchen, the creak of the old bed caught Dean’s attention. He hadn’t meant to spy, but his feet had become rooted to the floor at the movement. Cas had rolled onto his side and stretched languidly, the blankets slipping down to his waist, baring his shirtless torso. When his eyes finally opened, they found Dean staring.

A deer in headlights, Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, trying desperately to figure out what to say before mustering a “Mornin’” and shuffling off, red-faced, down the hallway.

The fourth morning, Dean found Cas’s door open a little more than the previous day. He didn’t know why he was drawn to watching the man sleep, but as he leaned on the doorframe, he couldn’t deny that he was. Maybe it was the way he sometimes stretched across his bed and other times curled up like a cat on a chilly night. Maybe it was the rhythm of his breathing or the flutter of his lashes. Maybe it was the tiny smile that spread across pink lips. Wait.

“Good morning,” Castiel said without opening his eyes.

Dean flushed. Being caught a second time watching Cas sleep definitely slipped him into creeper territory, and this would be the last time, he swore, although that wasn’t the truth.

Every morning, Dean found himself at Castiel’s side until those blue eyes opened unto the world. They didn’t speak about this new routine, and Dean would vehemently deny it, but that this was easily his favorite part of the day.

He returned on the fifth morning, this time not panicking when Castiel greeted him with a gravelly “Hello, Dean.”

On the seventh morning, he placed a warm mug of coffee on the little table beside Cas’s bed.

On the eleventh morning, a chair had appeared in the corner of the room.

On the fourteenth morning, Dean didn’t bother changing out of his pajamas, instead crawling right out of his own bed and crossing the hallway to curl up on the chair until Castiel awakened.

On the eighteenth morning, when Dean slipped into the room, there was a creak of springs. Castiel had shifted to one side of the bed, still curled under his blankets. With eyes still closed, he patted the space beside him. Dean hesitated for a moment.

With a sigh, he acquiesced and sat on the bed. He tucked only his feet under the edge of the blanket and leaned back against the headboard. The warmth of Cas near his side and the soothing sound of his breathing relaxed Dean into forgetting that he had ever questioned crawling into the bed.

On the twentieth morning, Dean woke before dawn. He’d had a nightmare, as he sometimes did, and the images of Hell kept him from falling back asleep. He wandered the halls, the library, the kitchen, the war room… but there was only one place he wanted to be.

He perched on the edge of Castiel’s bed. The movement of the mattress and the creak of the old springs must have alerted Cas to his presence, because he slid to one side, holding the blanket up for Dean to slide in. Without a word, Castiel wrapped Dean into his arms. As Dean lay in the arms of the angel that rescued him from Hell, he knew that this was his safe place. Home.

On the twenty-first day, Dean didn’t tiptoe into Castiel’s room. There was no warm mug of coffee waiting on the small table beside the bed. The chair sat empty in the corner of the room. The bed remained cold and empty.

Dean woke up in his own bed when the cold air sent a chill up his spine. He pulled his blankets back around him and settled back into the warmth of his bed, smiling to himself as he wrapped his arms around Cas’s warm body. He’d been right all along.

Castiel was a blanket hog.

@narraukoiel @petrichoravellichor

Aaaaaah the fluff ♥️♥️♥️

Okay so I know Dean and Cas’s first kiss as this whirlwind-bordering-on-violent thing is super probable and really awesome but just consider for a moment their first kiss being one of those barely there presses of lips.

Dean’s leaning against the bathroom sink, white-knuckling the countertop while Cas dabs a cotton ball soaked in peroxide across the split skin of his cheek. He’s bathed in yellow light from the crappy motel fixtures, and the room is tiny… but Dean honestly doesn’t think that Cas would be any further away if they were doing this in the Bunker. 

And then Castiel’s hand drifts away, and he leans in so close their noses brush, and says, vaguely breathless and in that low, gravel voice: “Done.”

Dean swallows so loud it sounds like a gunshot but stays totally still. Cas nudges their noses experimentally. Leans in a little more. Dean doesn’t fucking move.

And then Cas’s eyes flutter closed, and he brushes their mouth together like a butterfly kiss. It’s so soft Dean barely feels it; his own eyes shut and his brows meet in a small frown but he doesn’t move forward—though he totally, embarrassingly, chases Cas a little when he pulls away. His lips tingle. He’s totally breathless. His cheeks are on freaking fire.

Castiel thumbs his jaw and smiles like Dean hung the moon. 

in-between minutes (reflections in bed)

There are moments when Castiel cannot fathom what he has; when the easy domesticity that keeps him buoyant gives way to an altogether overwhelming feeling of love and devotion and awe. It feels like plummeting to Earth from the fourth sphere—free falling in a way that is both exhilarating and deeply, wildly terrifying. This happens in the quiet moments; the in-between minutes while clearing the table, or taking clothing out of the dryer, or readying himself for bed. Sometimes, he spends fifteen minutes brushing his teeth because he can’t stop wondering at the fact that he made it here. That the fourth sphere is empty, and his wings are useless, and the last eleven years have not, in fact, made up the entirety of his existence.

Sometimes, Castiel has to remind himself that he helped Hebrew slaves build Egytian pyramids.

That he flew among pterodactyls and ran among the first mammals.

That he stared into the primordial soup in wonder, excited by potential of Creation.

And that all of that, every single bit, has paled in comparison to the what he feels right now.

Now: fingers trailing over freckled skin, callouses catching on bullet holes and knife wounds… such easy affection is more incredible than he has the words to say. Wonder and curiousity had been beat out of him in Heaven, but here, in their bed, his sweetness is encouraged. His questions are playfully answered. His love is returned.

He is himself:

Free to have too much heart, to be compassionate, to make mistakes and apologize and make mistakes again. Here, he is encouraged to disagree—to have his own opinions, loudly and unapologetically. He is who he has always been, and he is still welcome; despite hurting one another, despite lying… despite every betrayal and self-sacrificing scheme in the name of keeping each other safe, they are both here together, and Castiel is valued in his own right: one half of an equal partnership.

Dean doesn’t want a soldier.

…Which is just as well, Castiel thinks sweetly, moving to tuck the other man to his chest, their entwined fingers resting over the flaming pentagram above his heart.

Cas isn’t one.

There is something about him—forearms resting on the counter, head hanging between his hands—that is unequivocally gorgeous. Despite the weariness in his shoulders, despite the tension in the line of his spine, the fact that he’s here at all, leaning over the sink, breathing and whole and bathed in dim yellow light is the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen.

“…Dean?”

It takes him a moment too long to come back to himself—like a bear waking from hibernation, Dean pushes himself upright, dazed and unhappy for only a fraction of a second before forcing a smile to stretch across his mouth. He looks ragged. Exhausted. He’d driven straight home like hellfire had been licking at his heels.

“Hey, Cas—wha—”

Castiel doesn’t remember crossing the kitchen, but he comes back to himself in the midst of squeezing Dean tightly to his body. He knows they don’t do this, normally; he knows Dean prefers a clapped hand on the shoulder or chest, and if hugging is necessary, then it needs to be short—but Cas can’t bring himself to care. He buries his face in Dean’s neck, inhaling like he’s starved for breath, fingers curling to press against his shoulders, chests and hips flush. 

It takes a moment, but Dean slowly allows himself to slope forward. Another minute and he’s draping himself over Cas’s frame, clutching at him kitten-weak and desperate.

“Thank you,” Castiel breathes into his skin. “I know this was hard, but Dean, thank you.”

“Thought we couldn’t save everyone?” Dean mumbles into the hug. Something about speaking put strength in his arms; he grips tighter, pulls closer. Cas can feel his heartbeat against his own chest. It’s racing.

Castiel uses every ounce of courage he has left in his body to turn his head and brush lips against the shell of Dean’s ear. “You will always be my exception,” he whispers.

Dean gives a full body shudder, and Castiel feels something warm and lovely open within him, radiating out from his chest all the way to his fingertips. He knows, somehow, that he could kiss him. That he could lean back and tilt Dean’s chin up and he’d be met with wholehearted and enthusiastic consent. And then, well—then he’d be…

Instead, Cas says, “I’ll protect you ’til my last,” and means, I’ll never leave you. He says: “We’ll find another way,” instead of, I love you.

And then he steps back with more regret than he knows what to do with.

Keep reading

Makeshift

Of course I had to write a thing for Dean’s 40th birthday. Unrepentantly silly fluff. Enjoy!

Rating: T Words: 2200 or thereabouts Dean/Cas, and Sam on the side :)

Read it below, or on the ao3 here

Dean had been in a mood all day. Sam knew better than to poke at him about it. They’d been out in the frigid January Minnesota air staking out an old warehouse on the edge of town. Donna had called them in for backup rounding up a couple of Michael’s vampires who’d decided they weren’t ready to go back to hiding in the shadows after their connection to his power was severed. They may not have had Michael’s grace giving them superpowers anymore, but they were still as slippery as any vampires they’d ever dealt with. Old, strong, and worst of all, smart.

Still, though, Cas had been confused by Dean’s grouchiness. He’d woken up that morning in a strange mood, and it had only grown worse and worse all day. Not even the promise of a satisfying end to their miserable hunt had given him the least bit of cheer. They’d spent a frozen dozen hours sitting out in the snow, only to hear from one of Donna’s trusted local informants that the vamps had been spotted leaving town, headed north into the forests that bled into Canada. That had been Dean’s last straw.

Cas could definitely understand his frustration. They’d wasted an entire day while enduring intensely unpleasant circumstances. He and Sam felt that frustration just as acutely as they warmed up in their motel room. But rather than relief at the notion that they may have intimidated the last of Michael’s monsters back into submission, or even contentment at the prospect of a long, hot shower and a warm bed to climb into, Dean seemed almost melancholy, and that was something Cas couldn’t understand. When they’d returned to their motel room, Dean had headed directly for the shower. As soon as the water started up, Cas quietly asked Sam what was wrong.

“It was a bad hunt and a bad day,” Sam said, not looking up from searching through his bag for a warmer pair of socks to wear. “Plus I think he’d probably rather been doing anything else today, you know?”

Cas frowned at that and shook his head. When it was clear that no further explanation was forthcoming, Cas clarified. “No, Sam, I don’t know. Dean usually enjoys hunting, and while I understand today was difficult, I assumed he’d be happier to have been able to help Donna this way, even if we don’t have a pile of dead vampires to show for it.”

Sam looked up at him, holding a fluffy wool sock in each hand, blinking in surprise. There was no way Cas could not know it was Dean’s birthday, right? “He turned forty today. That’s a kinda milestone birthday for most people, but I think he hoped to spend it doing something more fun than freezing his ass off in the woods.”

Cas’s bafflement melted into a frown, his eyebrows pinching together. “Yes, he mentioned wanting to cook a big dinner and watch some of his favorite movies. I was surprised enough that he hadn’t wanted to do something more celebratory. But then again, this marks a different sort of milestone for him.”

It was Sam’s turn to frown now, halfway through peeling off his snow-soaked socks. Cas, however didn’t make him ask for clarification.

“He’s been alive on Earth longer than he was in Hell now.”

Sam’s bare foot went clunking to carpet and his mouth dropped open as he blinked up at Cas. “Well, shit.”

Keep reading

Dean stops the car in front of the bunker door, he streches, scratching the side of his face lightly. Sam is still snoring on the backseat, not even the car stopping wakes him up, Dean shakes his head fondly. Cas is riding shotgun.

He reaches for the door handle, but before he can get out of the car Dean stops him. He was aiming for his shoulder but his hand lands on Cas’ thigh instead, he plans to pat his leg but his brain refuses to cooperate, so he squeezes softly and lets his hand there. The touch is too intimate, he knows, he doesn’t move his hand, he is paralized. There is a heavy silence in the car, Cas eyes Dean’s hand, Dean stares at him, waiting for Cas to tell him to keep his hands to himself, to say they are friends, and that’s all he wants with him. It would hurt him but he wouldn’t blame Cas, he is a big fucking mess.

Cas grips one of his fingers, Dean starts lifting his hand, barely being able to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. His hand doesn’t go far, Cas quickly covers it with his own, keeping it in place.

“Thank you, Cas, you saved our asses back there.” He says softly. It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but when is anything easy for them? Fucking witches. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t been able to pray to Cas just before passing out. Cas smiles softly at him. He settles his free hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I told you once, I will always come when you call.” Dean nods. He wants to say something, he wants to make Cas understand how much he appreciates him, how thankful is for all he has done for him, how much he enjoys having him around, how much he loves him. But words seem to be stuck in his throat, no matter how much he has thought about them; he takes a deep breath, staring at the wheel, not that he can’t see much with the soft light of the moon, but is better that look at those blue eyes, he feels Cas’ stare trained on his face. He can’t speak, but maybe he can say it in another way. Cas’ hand, slowly and unsure, makes its way up from Dean’s shoulder, finally settling over the nape of his neck, after a beat Cas’ thumb sweeps over his ear.

The little gesture of affection is all Dean needed, he turns his head, getting closer to Cas, he presses their foreheads together, and stares into Cas’ eyes, he wants him to understand the step Dean is about to give, and he wants to give him the chance to back off if that’s what he wants. Cas surges forwards, pressing his lips to Dean’s in a quick and chaste kiss. Dean’s pulse beats like a drum in his ears.

Cas opens his mouth, he looks like he is looking for something to say, words seem to fail him too, he kisses Dean again instead.

“You are, Cas, ” Dean starts, he needs to say it,“ you’re really important to me, I know you know that,” Cas nods softly,“ I should say it more, I love having you here with us. This isn’t,” he huffs,“ I don’t want this to be one time thing, Cas.” He wants to wake up next to Cas, every day, he wants to see that smile, the hope and adoration in those eyes he is seeing right now, he wants to give Cas back all the happiness and love he feels when he is with Cas.

“There is nothing that I want more in the world than to be with you, Dean. I want this, with you.”

They both let out the breathe they didn’t know they were holding, great relief washing over them, after letting all out. They are going to kiss again when a loud snore makes them both jump and laugh a little.

“I should wake up sleeping beauty, so we can go to bed.” Cas lets go of him, watching him get out of the car to wake Sam before doing the same, stretching a bit and deeply breathing the cold air around them.

Dean grips Cas’ elbow once they are inside, the angel follows him to his room, he smiles, he isn’t going to wake up without Cas by his side on the morning ever again.

Dean pulls Cas aside at the New Year’s party shortly before midnight. His stomach is in knots and his palms are sweaty but he’s determined. If he doesn’t work up the courage to ask this now he’s not going to.

“I think we should kiss at midnight,” he says. After a beat, he adds, “In front of everyone.”

Cas blinks. When he speaks, his expression is neutral, betraying nothing. “You want your family to know about us?”

“Our family,” Dean stresses, because it is. It isn’t just Sam and Mary and Jack, but Jody and the girls. Even this new Bobby in some roundabout way where he’s kind of their step-dad, although Dean tries not to dwell on that.

“Are you sure?”

It’s a fair question. Dean’s pretty sure none of the others even know he isn’t straight and he hasn’t exactly been eager to let them know.

But screw it. Dean turned forty this year and he’s as close to happily settled down as he’s ever been. He wants to share that happiness with the people he loves, even if it means them looking at him different.

“I’m sure.”

And if he wasn’t sure before, the smile Cas gives him now certainly convinced him.

Dean’s nerves almost get the best of him and he spends most of the last minutes of 2019 in the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror.

He makes it to the living room in time, accepting a glass of sparkling wine from Donna just as the countdown begins. He slips through the crowd to take his place next to Cas, taking his hand and squeezing it softly for reassurance. 

The countdown ends and Dean raises his free hand, tugging Cas in for a kiss in front of their entire family. 

It’s brief, just a peck really, and when Dean opens his eyes again the world is still going on as normal around them. People are cheering, embracing, toasting to the new year. 

Automatically, Dean’s eyes seek out Sam’s, and relief blooms in his chest when he sees Sam looking back at him, beaming. 

A while ago Misha commented on the fact that once you hook up with one of the Winchesters you almost definitely die, and now i’m thinking about this being an actual thing that the whole gang (#everybody lives bc this is fanon and i make the rules) is scared of like a curse. Then one day, when Dean and Cas finally confess their undying love for one another, in the heat of the moment, Dean forgets his fear of “the curse” and sleeps with Cas. Everyone freaks out and takes turns bodyguard-ing Cas because they don’t want to lose him to Dean’s killer dick, only Cas calls bullshit and is just annoyed that Dean won’t let him at his killer dick anymore:/ But then he steps from one insane near-death situation to the next and it’s more than is the norm for him and he starts to doubt… (In the end it turns out that “the curse” was just a baddie called Buck Leming who had kidnapped all past Winchester lovers and no one actually died of Winchester Dick. Everybody’s happy. Cas gets laid again. Sam starts a poly releationship with Sarah and Eileen. The End:)

I wrote a thing: [link]

Cas sits on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap. On the nightstand, the clock ticks over to 3:43 am. He’s tired but he knows he won’t sleep. The bed is too big. Dean’s half is too empty.

They fought again. Cas’s never around enough. Dean’s emotionally distant. They never talk about things until it’s too late and they are screaming them.

Cas stands. He grabs the bedspread, wraps it around his shoulders, and heads out of their bedroom.

Dean’s on the couch, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. Cas doesn’t bother turning on the lights. Dean doesn’t look at him when he crosses the room and stands at the side of the couch.

“I want you,” Cas says.

Dean rolls his eyes and huffs. “Come on, Cas. Now really isn’t the time for -”

“Always,” Cas says.

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