Chapter Text
Cas crept into the room, pulling off his jacket and slipping off his shoes.
Dean was lounging on the bed, eyes following Cas as he traded his jeans for soft frog patterned pajama pants and his shirt for a band tee that was haphazardly draped over a chair in the corner.
“So,” he said, “angel of mine, what’d they say?”
“They’ve given up,” Cas said, pulling the shirt over his head. “Sam didn’t want to involve tentacles and Charlie is out of ideas. They’re both very disappointed.”
“Serves them right,” Dean said almost petulantly. “That’s what they get for trying to set me up with my boyfriend.”
Cas rolled his eyes. “You do realize that if they knew, they wouldn’t be trying to set us up.”
“Well, yeah,” Dean said, “but it’s pretty funny.”
“It is,” Cas agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I found their attempt to have strangers flirt with me particularly amusing.”
“That was not amusing,” Dean said, souring.
“You still sound jealous,” Cas noted, even more amused.
“Yeah, well. I don’t wanna share you,” Dean said. “You’re my boyfriend, not theirs.”
“I’m glad,” Cas said. “I wouldn’t want to be any of their boyfriends. But you’re very cute when you’re jealous.”
“I’m going to kick Sam’s ass,” Dean decided.
“Won’t the look on Sam’s face be satisfying enough?” Cas asked.
“What, when he finds out we’ve been—“ Dean waved a hand vaguely, “—you know, us this whole time?” At Cas’ nod, his lips twisted into a small, satisfied smirk. “That’s gonna be priceless.”
“You’re never going to let them hear the end of it, are you?” Cas said.
“Nope. Like I said, serves ‘em right.” Dean put an arm around Cas as he sat down on the bed.
“Serves them right for giving us several excuses to spend the night together without having to mind our volume?” Cas raised an eyebrow. “You seemed fairly happy with their attempts then.”
Dean blushed and grumbled, “Shut up.”
Cas smiled, only a little bit smug.
“Asshole,” Dean said.
If anything, Cas’ smile grew more endeared. “Yes, honeybee?”
Dean leaned into him, head finding a spot to rest itself on Cas’ shoulder, as though he’d done it a thousand times. “You’re ridiculous,” he said.
“But you love me for it,” Cas said, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s head.
Dean sighed contently. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Unbeknownst to Sam, Charlie, or the legions of hellers outside their room, Dean and Cas were very much canon. Canon when Dean fell asleep to Cas’ fingers running through his hair. Canon when they shared stolen kisses in the Impala, on hunts, in town. When Cas stole Dean’s fries and Dean grumbled at him.
It would be particularly canon when Sam walked in on them making out after a ghoul hunt, learned that they had been together for the better part of six months, and left a cackling Dean and thoroughly entertained Cas behind to go slam his head against a wall and call Charlie.
But for now, lying together in their room, the rest of the world oblivious, destiel was still incredibly canon. And it was heavenly.