Chapter Text
Dean wakes to almost near-total darkness. It takes him several confused moments to work out where he is, and why it’s so dark. It’s the unique, but lovely, smell of Cas’s house that helps him orient himself more than anything.
The moment he’d gotten through the door and toed off his shoes, Dean had made a beeline for the spare bedroom. He’d tossed his bag down on the armchair in the corner and dived into the bed, covering his head with the blankets. Cas, of course, came knocking. Dean pretended he didn’t hear it. He’s pretty sure Cas even opened the door at some point, but Dean continued playing the role of ‘useless lump’ in the middle of the bed. It’s a role he’s particularly good at. Eventually Cas had left Dean alone and, after what felt like hours replaying his every mistake in front of his eyes, Dean had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Expecting the house to be silent and cold, Dean’s surprised to see warm light emanating from the direction of the kitchen when he braves leaving his room. The clock on Cas’s ancient VCR reads 4:01am, and Cas is diligent about turning the lights off, which means he’s definitely sitting at the kitchen table, probably with a steaming mug in his hands, trying to work out what he did to make Dean react that way. At this point, Dean can either shrink back to hide in the bedroom again, or man up and go talk to Cas. It’s a decision he doesn’t want to make.
When Dean inches into the room well into the early hours of the morning, Castiel is taken by surprise. He’d actually decided that after this cup of tea he was going to give up and go to bed. He tries to hide that surprise, making himself (hopefully) look welcoming and open to Dean. His makes his voice as neutral as he can. “Are you feeling better now? Did you sleep well?”
Looking at Dean is hard, with the cornered look on his face and the heavy, dark bags beneath his eyes. He watches as Dean lifts his arms from his sides, then drops them back down again, blowing a deep breath out through his mouth.
“Can I come sit?” he asks, sounding small and tired.
Castiel jumps up to pull out a chair for him, and watches as Dean sits down heavily, dropping his head to press at his temples, eyes closed.
Dean mutters a quiet “Thanks,” waiting for Castiel to sit down again before he lifts his head to speak. “Look, I’m really sorry about today,” Dean starts out.
Castiel wants to interject but he knows stopping Dean now might mean him not continuing.
“It’s just…I’m a mess, Cas. Up here.” Dean gestures to his head. “Down here.” He waves a palm at his healing chest. “And in here.” A finger pointing directly at Dean’s heart. “You shouldn’t have to put up with it all, y’know? You’ve got your own life to manage, it’s not up to you to manage mine, too.”
Waiting a beat to see if Dean will continue, Castiel leans forward to ensure he has the other man’s attention, even if he still won’t look Castiel in the eye.
“I want you to listen to me, Dean Winchester.” Castiel does his best not to let how absolutely incensed he is with Dean leak into his voice, but he can’t prevent it completely. “Taking care of you? It’s not something I ‘put up with’,” Castiel informs Dean, using his fingers to quote Dean’s words back at him. “I do it because I do actually care for you. So no, I don’t know. I don’t know why you’re so resistant to getting the help that you need. I don’t know why you’re so upset. I don’t know why you won’t let me give you what you deserve – what everyone deserves,” he adds on, hoping to head off Dean’s next argument.
“Look, if you’d really rather do this on your own, I’ll take you home tomorrow.” It hurts Castiel to say it, but he’s not going to keep Dean a prisoner in his home if Dean doesn’t want to be here. “But I’d really prefer if you stayed, at least for another week? Just until we know you’ll be fine managing the lymph drainage on your own.” Castiel sighs, sitting back in his seat to signal that he’s said his piece. Dean has the floor now.
“Cas, you can’t just…you can’t just say that,” Dean splutters. He hadn’t expected Cas to be so impassioned about keeping Dean here, hadn’t expected for him to insist that Dean does, in fact, deserve to have someone take care of him – because everyone should have that, apparently. He hadn’t expected how small Cas would sound when he practically begged Dean to stay. “I don’t– I can’t– I’m just not someone you should be wasting your time on,” Dean finally gets out. He watches as Cas’ eyes narrow dangerously.
“It’s my time, and it’s my decision whether it’s being wasted or not.” Cas doesn’t leave any room for discussion, his tone warning not to test him. “And I believe my time would be best spent caring for you. Now, if you have no further arguments, there’s some leftovers in the fridge, I think you should eat something.” He’s up out of his chair before Dean can even agree.
****
By the end of the first week, Dean is more than willing to agree to stay longer, if only to have someone help him with the lymph draining massages. They were hard by himself! It doesn’t hurt that Cas is hovering over Dean the entire time, murmuring praise in a soft voice. Dean’s not even sure Cas realizes he’s doing it, but it’s words Dean hasn’t heard often, so he basks in it while he has the chance. It absolutely breaks the ‘personal space’ rule, but Dean will let it pass for this. Besides, with Cas’ face so close, it gives Dean plenty of time to imagine what it would be like to kiss his best friend, to feel those full, pink lips against his own.
Several weeks of nightly massages pass, Cas’ hands gliding over Dean’s skin, aided by vitamin E oil, pressing firmly to ensure that Dean’s body doesn’t retain excess fluid in his chest. One would think Dean would be immune to Cas’ proximity by now, would be too distracted by the low ache and extreme discomfort the massages cause. He’s not, however, and each and every time Cas has to remind Dean to breathe as he does his level best not to pop a boner against Cas’ leg.
Castiel has spent the last four(ish) weeks torturing himself, it feels like. He’s closer to Dean than he’s ever been, and he gets to have his hands on Dean, gliding them over Dean’s skin, pressing firmly into it and getting to feel the strong muscles beneath it. He’s pretty sure that he’s been murmuring praise in a soft voice, but he doesn’t seem to know how to stop it – not that he wants to. They’re words Dean hasn’t heard often, so he deserves to bask in it while he has the chance. They’re breaking Dean’s ‘personal space’ rule, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
They’re just about to set up for tonight’s session when Castiel’s phone rings, Charlie’s name flashing across the screen. She rarely calls Castiel, always texting, so he answers it in case something is wrong.
“Castiel, my man, my dreamy friend, how are you?”
It is clear from her greeting that Charlie is already well on her way to intoxicated. Castiel glances at the clock on Dean’s bedside table to see that it’s only 8:30pm. He’s about to ask what’s going on when he remembers that it’s Donna’s birthday this weekend. He and Dean had both been invited to the party, but when Dean declined, Castiel had too. It had almost caused another argument, Dean insisting that Castiel should go and have fun, but Castiel won out in the end.
“I doubt I’m doing as well as you are right now,” Castiel replies with a chuckle. “I take it you’re enjoying the party?”
“That’s just it, dude! There was a big bar brawl, and they shut the place down for the evening. It’s still hot as balls out and we’re all sitting here sweating while we work out where to go,” Charlie tells him. “I figured your place is probably closest, and maybe we could all come there?”
Any other day, Castiel would have agreed right away, but at the moment he has Dean’s needs to put ahead of his own. “Let me go ask Dean,” Castiel tells her, heading out of Dean’s room towards the washroom, where Dean is enjoying one of the first real showers since his surgery, one where he doesn’t have to avoid tape or bandages, and can wash his own armpits, even if he can’t get to his hair just yet. Castiel has been enjoying the weekly hair wash sessions in the kitchen sink, and he finds himself sad to know they’ll be ending soon.
“Just how is lover boy?” Charlie asks, breaking Castiel’s reverie and reminding him that he needs to find Dean. “Have you two pulled your heads out of your own asses yet?” Charlie starts laughing like she’s said the funniest thing ever.
Castiel just rolls his eyes. “I’ll call you back after I’ve talked to Dean,” he tells her, ending the call before she can protest.
Unsurprisingly, when he asks Dean if he’s up to having guests, Dean says it’s fine. Even if he wasn’t feeling up to it (and Castiel suspects he’s not), Dean would agree. Putting his own needs last is just what Dean does. Castiel almost considers telling Charlie ‘no’ anyways, but then he’d have to explain to Dean why. The call back to Charlie is kept mercifully short, then Castiel goes into preparation mode, trying to get ready for guests.
Watching Cas manically clean his apartment makes Dean itch to help out. He’s got a decent range of movement right now, but Cas has been absolutely adamant that Dean not take on any of the chores. He doesn’t want to fuck anything up because he doesn’t know how Cas wants it done. He does know where the broom and dustpan are, at least, and starts to sweep the floors in the main rooms. The kitchen is finished without too much trouble – Cas has one of those dustpans on a stick, so Dean doesn’t have to bend down or hold the broom weirdly or anything else that would pull on his scars. He’s about halfway through the living room when Cas comes back from the garage with a case of beer in his arms.
“Dean!” Cas chastises. “You aren’t supposed to be exerting yourself!” He looks like he wants to snatch the broom and dustpan from Dean’s hands, but he’s stymied by the beer he holds.
“No, I’m not supposed to be over-exerting myself,” Dean corrects. “Dr. Tran said that a little bit of activity every day is good for me. This is just today’s.” He holds up the items in his hand to reinforce his point. “See, just fine.”
Cas glares at him like he can make Dean do what he wants through simple force of will. “Fine, but if you start hurting, or it feels like too much, you can just stop. You’re a guest here, you don’t need to do chores.”
Cas doesn’t say anything more as he hauls the beer into the kitchen, unaware that he’s left Dean reeling. For a moment – okay, way more than just a moment – Dean had forgotten that he doesn’t live here. He’s been so wrapped up in the quiet domesticity that they’ve been enjoying that he completely forgot that he has a house of his own. Something cold and slimy slithers through Dean’s veins at the idea of heading back to his place, which is likely to happen in the very near future. It’s like he can feel the loneliness seeping into his bones already.
The beer is getting shoved into the fridge a little harshly for something stored in glass bottles, but it’s better than bashing himself over the head with one. Why, why did he have to go and remind Dean – remind both of them, really – that Dean doesn’t actually live here? Ideally, Dean would stay here forever, but Castiel has likely shortened the time of his stay exponentially by reminding him that he does actually have a place of his own to live. Given how adamant he was about going home at the beginning, Castiel is certain Dean’s chomping at the bit to get out of here. Soon enough, he’ll be heading back home, leaving Castiel behind. Something cold and slimy slithers through Castiel’s veins at the idea of Dean heading back to his place, which is likely to happen in the very near future. It’s like he can feel the loneliness seeping into his bones already.
Charlie and the gang arrive on Castiel’s doorstep less than twenty minutes after he had called her back to give her the go-ahead. They’ve all clearly been drinking, and Castiel hates to think how much worse they’d been before the walk over sobered them up a bit. They end up all sprawled around Castiel’s living room, beers in hand, and start up a Back to The Future marathon. A debate about which movie in the series is the best breaks out as soon as the first one ends.
Cas thinks the first one is the best, because it’s the most outstanding overall. Jody agrees, then so does Donna. Castiel is relatively certain this is Donna’s first time seeing the movies, and that she’s just going along with her wife’s vote. Charlie proclaims the second one the best, not only for its slightly darker tone and take on the idea of alternate timelines, but because the ending is, in her words, an ‘absolute masterpiece’. Ash agrees with Charlie, while Jo decides to throw her lot in with Cas. This leaves them all staring at Dean, waiting for his opinion.
“The third one,” Dean states plainly. “Oh come on,” he complains as the rest continue staring at him, “it’s the Wild West! How can you not love that?”
The entire group dissolves into laughter, which seems to be the cue for people to stand up and stretch, go for a bathroom break, or refresh their drinks. Dean wanders into the kitchen behind Charlie, who opens the fridge door and starts grabbing bottles.
“So, how has life been as a lazy housewife?” she asks. “Still blissfully in love with your husband? The honeymoon period hasn’t ended?”
Dean can feel his face flaming, and he wishes he was the one with his head inside a refrigerator.
“Quiet,” Dean hisses. “What if Cas had walked in just then while you were announcing to the whole world that I’m in love with him?”
He watches as Charlie stands up, face going grey when she looks over his shoulder. His heart starts its best imitation of a hummingbird’s at the thought of just who is standing behind him right now.
“Out.” Cas’ voice is flat and dark.
Dean knew his time here was coming to an end, but he didn’t think it was going to end like this. He’s working himself up to turn and walk past Cas so that he can pack up his things when Charlie shoots him what might be a reassuring smile before slipping out of the room. Right. Cas told Charlie to step out, so that the two of them can have a Conversation™. Suddenly, Dean’s so tired he wishes he could sleep for a week. He’s entirely unprepared to face Cas in the wake of his confession, but it’s not like he can get out of the kitchen without running right into him.
Beyond the taut silence in the kitchen, Dean can hear their friends gathering up and getting ready to leave. He feels bad for ruining their evening, especially since they were supposed to be celebrating Donna’s birthday. There’s even a small ice cream cake the group had picked up on the way to Cas’ that they were supposed to share, just chilling in the freezer. Dean wonders what Cas will do with it. Probably make sure it gets back to the person who bought it; he’s conscientious like that.
Dean has the offhand thought that at least he’s in a place now where he could probably do his lymphatic massage by himself, and it’s the last thing he thinks before steeling himself and turning around.
Whatever he thought he was going to see, the absolute devastation that’s written across Cas’ face was not on Dean’s radar. It throws Dean off balance, and everything he’d come up with to say as a self-preservation tactic is wiped from his mind. He can do nothing but stare at Cas with an open mouth.
Dean looks just as shaken when he turns around as Castiel is currently feeling. He’d come into the kitchen to find out if either Dean or Charlie or both wanted to cut the cake before the next movie. The group in the living room had been evenly divided, so they needed to break the tie.
The words that he’d heard as he walked through the door float around Castiel’s head, haunting him. “What if Cas had walked in just then while you were announcing to the whole world that I’m in love with him?” He can’t stop playing the last five words on repeat. Castiel scrambles to find something to say, while his cognitive functions come back online.
“How long?” It’s the first question on Castiel’s mind, and the only words he can seem to force out.
“I don’t…?” Dean furrows his brows, looking far too adorable for the seriousness of the situation.
“How long. Have you been. In love with me.” His words come out choppy and sterner than he’d meant to be, but he needs the answer to that question like he needs food, and water, and air to breathe. Even now he struggles to take a breath, terror taking up so much of the space in his chest that Castiel’s lungs can’t fully expand. He’s held onto this love for so many years, content just with being in love with Dean. The having was not something Castiel could have allowed himself to truly hope for. Now it dangles before his face like so much bait, ready to sink its hooks into him. Whether they’ll drag him to salvation or his own doom, Castiel can’t say just yet.
There’s static in the air, an electric charge that flows between the two men. Dean is hesitant to speak, hesitant to disrupt the current and catch a shock. He doesn’t know why, specifically, Cas is upset, so he’s unable to prepare any arguments for what Cas has to say next. He wants to recant his words, wants to pull them back through space and time so that Cas never hears them.
At the same time, there’s something pleading in Cas’ eyes, something that makes Dean think maybe Cas isn’t as uninterested in him as he seems. Dean has been content with just being in love with Cas. The having was not something he’s ever allowed himself to truly hope for. Now it stares him in the face, and Dean has to find the courage to face it.
Dean swallows hard. “Probably…I’d say probably about three weeks in?” he answers truthfully. He’s not sure exactly when he fell in love with Cas, but he’s got a good idea. “It was sometime around the time that you showed up, not even knowing Sam yet, to help–”
“–help Sam move from one dorm room to another.” Castiel finishes. He remembers it vividly, remembers all of the wonderful things that Sam had said about Dean, remembers himself actively falling in love with Dean despite the man himself being absent. Knowing how much it took for Dean to answer Castiel, he rewards Dean’s bravery with some of his own. “It was the same for me.”
“What?” Dean asks, looking extremely confused. “I wasn’t even there.”
“You didn’t have to be,” Castiel admits. He’s struck with the need to make Dean understand how he looks in other peoples’ eyes. “Dean, you – you have no idea how other people see you. Too many people have told you lies about yourself, and not enough people have told you how much you mean to us. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love, and that’s what makes you extraordinary. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”
“Cas–”
“No, Dean. I know what you think about yourself, and it’s simply not true. I honestly think I fell in love with you through the eyes of all of our friends, in the way that they talk about you, and the impact you’ve had on their lives. You’re a force for good, Dean, and I wish you could see that.” Castiel hopes he doesn’t sound as despairing as he feels. He’s just so close now, he can’t let Dean sabotage this. “Will you let yourself see that?”
Will you let yourself be loved? is the question Castiel would actually like to ask.
Dean has absolutely blue-screened. He’d had merely a sliver of hope that Cas would consider loving him back. He never could have seen a future where Cas professed his love in such an impassioned display. It’s too much for his brain to comprehend, and it’s sent all his systems haywire. When he chuckles, it’s just a little bit delirious.
“God, I’ve been such an idiot,” Dean says wryly. “Y’know, every time I saw how you treated your girlfriend, every time I saw how you interacted with our friends, every time you were kind to me when you didn’t have to be, I’d ask myself when it was my turn, when did I get to have someone like you.”
“Dean, you’ve had me all along,” Castiel vows.
“I’m starting to see that.”
Dean’s next chuckle is a little watery, and Castiel feels the distance between them too acutely. Moving slowly, like he’s approaching a scared animal, Castiel covers the two steps between them before pulling Dean into his arms. He wraps Dean up like Castiel can protect him from all of the world’s hurts. Dean’s hands land on Castiel’s hips, squeezing gently once.
“Dean?” Castiel asks, still not entirely sure that this is real, or that this could be wanted.
“Hmm?” Dean asks from somewhere around the neck area of the raggedy hoodie Castiel’s wearing.
“Can I kiss you?”
There’s a brief pause, but before Castiel has a chance to question if he’s maybe read the situation wrong, Dean’s head pops up, a lascivious grin on his face.
“Hell yeah, you can,” he replies, tugging on the sides of Castiel’s hood to drag their faces closer together to do just that.
****
“Y’know, from what Sam’s told me, you should have had all my shit moved in already, almost single-handedly,” Dean jokes. He walks past where Sam and Cas are struggling with Dean’s massive tool chest, carrying his own box with ease. He puts it down in the middle of all the other boxes.
Sam and Cas don’t need to know it had nothing but his fancy coffee maker in it. Let them think he’s slinging boxes of books like it’s nothing.
“I was almost a decade younger, then,” Castiel reminds Dean as they meet in the kitchen, having come in through the garage door. He saunters forward, slipping his hands around Dean’s hips, then into the back pockets of the well-worn jeans Dean’s wearing. “Besides…” Castiel pulls his hands out of Dean’s pockets and slides them to the backs of Dean’s thighs. “I can still lift what matters.”
Laughter rings through the room. Getting picked up by his boyfriend and set on the kitchen counter was not on Dean’s agenda for today, but he’ll go with it. Especially when it means he has Cas between his legs, running his hands up and down Dean’s thighs. Leaning down, Dean captures Cas’ lips between his, quickly turning the kiss dirty and letting Cas’ tongue tangle with his own. Officially, Dean moves in today, despite the fact that he’s essentially lived here for six months. It feels good to be kissing Cas in what he can now truly consider their kitchen, and not just Cas’.
Good things rarely last for long, in Dean’s opinion, and their makeout session gets cut short by an interrupting moose. “Eww, I’m never eating here again,” Sam says plaintively. “I’ll never get the idea of my brother’s butt on the counter out of my brain.” He shakes his head at them as he sets down a big box marked ‘kitchen shit – be careful you assholes its breakable’.
Dean glares at him when he lets it land just a little too hard on the table. “You break it, you buy it,” he warns, trying hard to maintain his glower when Cas is surreptitiously slipping his hands under Dean’s T-shirt and across the planes of his back. They dip under his waistband, and Dean nearly groans out loud when Cas’ thumbs press exactly where his lower back is aching.
“Whatever.” Sam rolls his eyes as he turns to head back out the door. “You can get the kitchen stuff yourself, I’m sticking to safer rooms.”
“Joke’s on you!” Dean shouts as Sam reaches the open front door. “No room is safe!” He cackles wildly for a moment before turning his gaze back to Cas. “I think we’ve got to take a rain check this time,” Dean tells him. “We should probably help Sam.”
Castiel sighs dramatically before agreeing to continue moving Dean’s things. There likely isn’t much left – they’re very lucky the snow that was threatening hadn’t come down, and they’d had no obstructions while moving. Dean had sold a lot of stuff that they would have had duplicates of, but so had Castiel. He truly wanted this house to feel like it is his and Dean’s, and wanted to integrate Dean’s possessions into his own. It left them with just under half a house worth of things to bring over – the dining chairs that were in better shape than Castiel’s, the recliner that has sentimental value for Dean, the night stands that better match the height of Cas’ bed. Not to mention the record collection and the eclectic mix of bric-a-brac that makes up Dean’s life. It makes something soft expand in Castiel’s chest to see it all.
“Did you have any ideas for dinner tonight?” Dean asks as he grabs another box for the kitchen.
It’s such a mundane question, but it’s exactly that ordinary domesticity that has a jumble of emotions prickling behind Castiel’s sternum, threatening to escape all at once and block his voice. Even six months later, Castiel is amazed that he gets to have this. For so long he’d tried not to let himself think of a future that featured Dean as his partner, failing miserably, but now it’s truly happening. Some days it feels like he’s been hit with a freight train – but in a good way – when he lets himself really think about it. He follows Dean back into the kitchen with a box of his own.
“I believe beer and pizza are the customary sustenance when one moves house,” is Castiel’s belated reply. “Though I wonder if panzerotti counts as pizza. All the components are the same, just assembled differently.”
Dean chuckles lightly before answering. “God, you’re a nerd,” he tells Cas, still laughing. There’s been a lot more of that in his life since he and Cas managed to – as Charlie put it – get their heads out of their asses and got their real feelings out in the open. “But you’re my nerd,” he adds on, wrapping himself around Castiel’s back and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “If panzerotti is what you want, panzerotti is what you’ll get. Tony’s?”
“Would you even consider anywhere else?” Cas asks, turning in Dean’s arms to press a light peck to his lips.
It turns into two pecks, then three, then they’re in danger of offending Sam’s delicate sensibilities again. Dean hears a door shut out in the hallway, and reluctantly pulls back. “Sam,” he offers as the reason.
Cas nods, and seconds later Dean’s giant of a brother walks through the kitchen doorway.
“Oh, c’mon, guys,” Sam whines when he sees they’re pretty much connected at the…well, everything. “You can do that all you want when I’m out of here. Otherwise I’m gonna need that bottle of bleach I saw on the shelf in the garage.”
“What can I say, Sammy,” Dean says, eyes locked on Cas’. “I’m in love.”
The offended scoff behind him isn’t enough to detract from the way Cas’s face brightens like the sun at Dean’s declaration.
“Alright, I give up. I’m out,” Sam tells them.
Dean can’t see him but he’s sure Sam has thrown his hands up dramatically in defeat. It’s a fleeting thought in the back of his mind, as the rest of it is focused solely on Cas. He’d probably be sporting at least a semi if his brother wasn’t in the room. As it is, he can feel a twitch in Cas’ sweatpants when their groins rub together.
“Pizza later?” Dean asks with a roll of his hips, once he’s sure Sam has gone out the front door.
Cas grabs Dean’s ass and grinds them together deliciously.
“Pizza later.”