Chapter Text
Although Sam and Dean had spent most of their lives hunting, they had each experienced the apple pie lifestyle at least once. Cas had never gotten that spoonful of normal before. Heaven didn’t leave room for family meals and fights over who left the empty beer bottles lying about. Heaven didn’t do family the way humans did family. And most humans certainly didn’t do family the way the Winchesters did family. If anyone had asked him only half a decade ago, Cas would have never considered that one day he’d have this. He could have never imagined that he’d belong here.
Yet here he stood, slaving over a hot stove and trying his best not to ruin the scrambled eggs because it was his morning to make breakfast. The toast was already slightly burnt and he knew the eggs were going to be salty. The coffee had just finished brewing and the kitchen smelt vaguely of vanilla.
Cas glanced over his shoulder at the boys. Sam was busying himself with the new blender. Whatever he’d put inside had created a liquid that was an obnoxious shade of green. It resembled thick, swamp water. Cas thought that, no matter how badly he screwed up breakfast this morning, it would at least taste better than the sludge Sam was making.
Dean often grumbled that he was a shitty cook but Sam assured him he was getting better by the week. He appreciated Dean’s crass honesty as much as Sam’s encouragement. He knew he was a crappy cook – a very crappy cook quite frankly – but he enjoyed making something for his family. It was small, broken and each member was practically being held together with gum and paper clips. It didn’t matter because they were his. And sometimes, in moments like these, he liked to imagine that he was theirs too.
He dished out breakfast and brought Dean a cup of coffee. The smile he got in thanks was sunny enough that he felt a lump in his throat. Right at his pulse where his grace should have been. This right here was why he enjoyed manning the kitchen.
“Mmm,” Dean moaned around his first sip, “Love it when it’s Cas’s day to do breakfast.”
“I thought you said my cooking was awful.”
“Well, yeah. It is,” Dean eyed the toast, “But it’s edible enough and the coffee always makes up for it.”
“Too much coffee isn’t good for you Dean,” Sam piped up from the other end of the room.
“Yeah but you think that,” he gestured at the blender, “whatever you’re making over there is healthy.”
“It is healthy.”
“That crap looks like the beginning of a super villain origin story.”
“It’s kale shake.”
“It looks disgusting. I’d brave Cas’s eggs over that any day. Oof!”
Cas elbowed him as he walked by. Dean had the decency to at least look apologetic before taking another sip of his coffee. He sighed and leaned back into his seat. By the end of the meal, Dean had had about two cups. There was only a little bit left in the pot.
He looked up at the sudden weight of hand lying on his shoulder. “You’ve had enough for the morning,” was all Cas said. He watched the corners of Dean’s mouth kick up into a smile. Cas knew he’d been planning on grabbing a third cup.
“So what? You telepathic now, Cas?” he teased, “Got some angel mojo hidden away that I don’t know about?”
Cas returned the smile with an ease he was growing into. “I don’t need mojo to know the man I rebuilt. You know that.”
They were simple words said in a matter-of-fact tone and zero fanfare, but Dean fell quiet. He did know. He hadn’t forgotten what Cas had done all those years ago. He just didn’t make a habit of talking about it. The topic wasn’t taboo or anything but it felt too heavy to talk about aloud.
Almost as if Cas could read his thoughts, he gave a sad little smile and removed his hand. “I had better go move my things,” he said, “It’s about time you got your room back to yourself.” Sam watched him leave before shaking his head.
“A friend rebuilds you from soul to skin and you act like it’s something so horrible,” Sam huffed.
“Yeah, because all I need are more reminders of things I owe him for.”
“Maybe try not being such an ass next time you have to share a room.”
“There’s not going to be a next time.”
Dean bristled under the stare Sam fixed him with. He couldn’t quite read it but he could tell that there were expectations there. Expectations for what, he had no idea. Not liking where this might be heading, he figured it was best to get his brother busy.
He got to his feet and stretched yawning, “C’’mon, Samsquatch. Time to clear up.” It was their routine. Every day someone else made breakfast and the other two would clean the kitchen. Cas usually left a disaster in his wake; spilled salt on the counters, food on the stove, stray egg shells that thankfully no longer made it into the cooked meal. It truly was a two man job to clean up after him but a glance around the kitchen and Dean realized that Cas was getting better at that too.
He was learning and improving and getting better at everyday things. It was so human that the realization gave him pause. This meant something. It was small and maybe a tad insignificant, but it meant a lot. Cas was learning human things because he was getting the chance to. It was because he stuck around long enough to. He wasn’t flying off for weeks and months at a time anymore. He was here. He was letting them treat him like family.
When Dean returned to his bedroom, all of Cas’s things were gone – the duffle bag of clothes, the laptop, his pillow, the extra blankets. He knew he should have felt relieved, happy even. Suddenly his room felt too big and too empty. Colder somehow. It reminded him of the first time he entered it years ago. There had been nothing of his to make it feel like home. It had felt every bit like another temporary motel.
“You okay?”
He spun around to find Cas leaning against the door frame. Something inside Dean relaxed a fraction. Barely noticeable, but it was a weight off his shoulders. His first instinct was to lie. Say that yeah, he was fine. He was okay. Instead he shook his head.
“Feels a lot different with you gone, man,” he looked around the room, “Guess I got used to sharing.”
“I know what you mean.”
“…you do?”
“Yes. My room feels,” he paused for a moment, “lonelier, I suppose.”
Dean would have never admitted it first but now that Cas had, it felt okay to agree. It was easier when he knew Cas felt the same.
“I know what you mean,” he echoed Cas’s words from before.
“Would you find it weird if I slept here again? For one more night?”
“Are you serious?”
“I usually am, yes.”
And Dean had to fight back a smile because he knew that response. Once upon a time he’d have read that as Cas being clueless about social interactions or something. Now he knew his dry sarcasm and subtle sass better. Cas was being a lil shit.
“Alright fine. One night,” he agreed. And although his tone suggested that he was only doing this for Cas, they both knew he wanted this for himself too. They also knew he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
So for the rest of the day, neither of them brought it up. Dean passed Sam countless times, but he never mentioned a thing. Sam didn’t need to know about this. Dean wasn’t sure how comfortable he was about what this might mean. It was one thing to share a bed out of necessity. It was something else entirely to share a bed simply because you knew you’d miss someone otherwise.
That night he showered with his stomach in knots. There was no reason for these nerves, but his body seemed to disagree. While Cas showered, Dean dressed and made the bed. He tossed the pillows to one side of the room so he could smooth out the sheets properly. Then he put them back in place. He scratched his head looking from one pillow to the next.
He wasn’t sure which pillow belonged to whom. He, Sam and Cas all had identical looking pillows and sheet sets. With a shrug, he figured it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. When Cas walked in, half naked in boxers and socks, he crawled into bed for the night.
That was when Dean heard a soft, “Oh.” Cas raised his head and stared at the pillow for a short while, the wheels in his mind turning. He felt that he should tell Dean that their pillows had been swapped by accident. On the other hand he also didn’t want them to switch back. The pillow, soft and recently fluffed, held the headiest scent. It was so very Dean. He couldn’t place the markers though. He couldn’t say if it smelt of Dean’s soap or lotion or cologne or detergent. He had no idea what things had come together to create this scent. Eons of life and he couldn’t even do that. Whatever it was made him sink deeper under the blankets and burrow his nose into the pillow case.
This was good. If he could get away with it, he would take this pillow back to his room instead of his own. Perhaps Dean wouldn’t notice. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
But Dean noticed. The moment he rest his head, the scent hit him. It was clean yet slightly musky and it rubbed against his senses. He should have said something right that second but he didn’t want to. It was that homey element that had been missing. It wasn’t pictures of Mary or wall mounted with guns or a stack of skin mags. It was this right here. He pointedly avoided thinking about the fact that ‘this’ was really Cas. It was simpler to just bury his nose in the pillow and inhale.
At some point later in the night, Cas’s voice came out soft and tentative.
“Dean? You awake?”
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Nothing—.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not nothing.”
“I never thanked you for Purgatory, did I?”
Dean turned so that he could face him. His brow furrowed. “You think you need to thank me for that? I never got you out,” Dean scowled at the memory. Cas lay on his back, fingers drumming against his chest. He seemed deep in thought.
“You thought I was worth saving, even when I didn’t. That was important, I think.”
“Yeah, well you did the same when I was in hell.”
“You were an order. One I’d carry out again a thousand times, mind you. But I was still ordered to save you.”
“What are you saying, Cas?”
“I’m…I don’t know,” he stared at the ceiling, “But I just wanted you to know that what you did in Purgatory was important.”
“You were practically human there too,” Dean recalled, “You got cold and dirty and grew a damn beard.”
“Yes,” Cas smiled, “It was a peculiar place. You taught me about body heat.”
Dean’s face flushed at that. He remembered those days clearly. He remembered huddling Cas against him on those drafty evenings. At least they assumed it was evenings. There were no sunrises or sunsets in that place, which made sense considering how many nocturnal supernatural creatures wound up there. Either way he did remember.
Cas’s hands always got chilly first. Dean taught him to blow hot air on them and place them in his pockets. Sometimes Dean would hold his hand, unselfconscious because of the distinct lack of people around. There was no one to judge except Benny, who couldn’t have cared less if he tried. Dean would sometimes walk for what felt like days with Cas’s hand in his; warm, secure, close by always. It was a comfort to himself to finally have Cas where he could see him. He’d spent far too long hunting him down to want to let him out of sight again.
And here he was now, safe and sound in his bed. In the bunker. “If you want to thank me for Purgatory, don’t ever let me leave you behind again,” Dean said in his firmest tone. A hand, very familiar at this point, slipped into his. Dean didn’t pull away and Cas’s grip didn’t allow it. “If that’s what you need,” was all he said but it sounded like a promise to Dean’s ears.
“You’re family, Cas. You’re ours. Of course it’s what I need,” he sighed because he needed Cas to understand. He didn’t want him to feel like Kevin had. He didn’t need him to feel like he was only a tool to be used and discarded. However it wasn’t needed. Cas understood well enough.
It was clear in the tightening in his chest. The swooping feeling in his belly. And though Cas just received exactly what he’d wanted since moving into the bunker, he wasn’t all he wanted. “What if that’s not enough?” he asked.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean frowned up at the ex-angel now hovering over him. Cas searched his face; wide green eyes, full lips, a tiny galaxy of freckles. “I need more than that from you,” he murmured, “More than family. More than friends. More than brothers in arms.”
He’d never seen Dean’s eyes dim like this. He had certainly never seen that kind of sadness there. “I don’t got much to give, Cas. If this isn’t enough then I don’t know what more you want from me,” he said.
Cas looked at Dean long and hard. He cupped his face and gave a sigh. “You are one of the most important human beings in all of space and time and you still manage to sell yourself short,” he said. Dean just looked more confused. Cas leaned in and pressed his lips to his forehead. “I love you, you ass,” he murmured into his skin, “You are more than enough. Most days you’re too much. Sometime you are more than I deserve.” And even as Cas felt the tentative fingers brushing across his ribs, he could almost sense Dean’s doubt.
“Cas, I don’t think you—.”
“Dean Winchester I love you. I need you to shut up and let me do that.”
Only when the doubt in his eyes shifted to something that resembled acceptance did Cas press another kiss to his lips. Heart thrumming behind his ribcage, he leaned into the thumb rasping over his cheek and smiled. Dean looked stunned and awed and flushed. Cas thought he was beautiful like that. He wanted to keep that look on his face as long as he could tonight.