Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s weird, though, right?” Dean’s staring at Kevin’s closed door, eyes narrowed and voice low. “I mean, the guy’s been moping for three months and all of a sudden he’s–”

“Happy?” inserts Sam dryly. “Dean, maybe we should– go with it, you know? Kevin’s been through a rough time lately.”

“He’s not just happy,” Dean hisses, leaning closer. “He’s– smug! Self-satisfied! Mischievous!”

“Mischievous, Dean? Really?” Sam’s smiling now, that closed-mouthed one that Dean just knows means his brother is trying not to laugh at him.

He throws up his hands. “Fine. You don’t believe me? Fine. But I’m gonna figure out what that kid’s up to. You just watch me, Sam!”

Cas is in the kitchen, sitting on a stool and examining a muffin closely. He looks up when Dean storms in. “Everything all right, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes soften a little when they land on the former angel, now clad in flannel pants and a tee shirt rather than the trenchcoat-and-suit ensemble Dean’s used to seeing. “Yeah, Cas. Just, uh, kind of a mystery.”

“A case?” Cas’s eyes light up a little and he sets the muffin down.

“Nah. Just, uh–” Dean grabs the muffin, taking a bite. “You noticed anything–” he swallows, “anything weird with Kevin lately?”

Cas steals the muffin back, eyes narrowing in a classic I will smite you face. “No.” He takes a bite of the muffin and pauses. “Though–” he makes a face and swallows. “Though he did take a photograph of us a few days ago. That was strange.”

“He what? Of you and me? When?”

“You were asleep, Dean.”

“What.”

“We were watching Star Trek IV. You fell asleep just after Spock mind melded with Gracie. Kevin took a photograph, then fled before I could ask him why. I assumed it was some sort of human custom.”

“You– hang on.” His phone’s buzzing insistently in his pocket and he fumbles it out, glancing at the screen. “Yeah? What’s up, Charlie?”

“Dean! Did you know you’re tumblr-famous?”

“I’m what.” Dean rubs a hand across his face. “Let me guess, this is some internet thing.” He plops down on the stool next to Cas. “Tell me it’s not about the fucking books?”

There’s a pause.

“It’s... not about the books?”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe?” Charlie sighs, her words coming out in a rush. “I mean, it’s not really about the books. Or, it didn’t start about the books, I guess. But there are all these pictures, and–”

Dean can feel a headache sneaking into his temples. “Start from the beginning, Charlie.” Beside him, he feels Cas’s eyes narrowing and boring into the side of his head. “Slowly.”

Cas stands, turning on the coffeemaker, and Dean gives him a grateful smile.

“Okay. So. I, uh, keep up with your fans, you know? I mean, just to make sure– yeah. Anyway. So there’s this blog. And they don’t know it’s you, but, they uh–”

“Charlie.”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Send me a link.” He pauses a moment. “You, uh, you doing okay out there?”

He can hear her smile through the phone. “Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m great, actually.” There’s a voice in the background. “I mean, Oz is awesome, and now that I’ve got wi-fi and stuff–” the voice is more insistent, and Dean can make out Charlie’s name being called. “Hang on, Dean, apparently there’s a situation with a giant caterpillar? Oh my GOD.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I emailed you the link, Dean. I– I gotta go. I’ll catch you later, all right?”

His phone pings. “Yeah, okay, Charlie. You be careful, all right?”

“Uh huh. You too, Dean.” She hangs up just as a cup of coffee is thrust into his hand.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He navigates carefully to the little letter emblem on his phone and hits it.

Charlie’s email is short, just a link and a note saying DO NOT click on any of the reblog links!. He hits the link and nearly drops the phone.

Cas, leaning over his shoulder, comments, “That is a very flattering picture of you, Dean.”

Dean turns towards the hallway and yells, “KEVIN!”

Kevin isn't home, turns out. Sam's the one who emerges from the living room instead, poking his head into the kitchen. "He just left, Dean."

"Left? What do you mean, left? Kid's got heaven and hell both on his tail, and he just -- leaves?"

Sam sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Well, he said he wanted to check out the library. I gave him a cell and a hex bag and checked his tattoo. He’ll be fine, Dean. It's good for him to get out, you know? Make some friends, maybe." He pauses, staring at his brother's set jaw. "What's going on? You look like--"

Dean hands the phone to Sam without a word and Sam's eyes widen. "Uh  wow. Dean, this is-- this is you. And Cas. And you're, um, really close." He stares at it another moment. "And on the Internet?"

"No shit, Sam!"

Cas reaches in and scrolls down the page. "Each post in this blog seems to be a candid photo of you and me, Dean. And each post has considerable notes. It looks as though this blog is somewhat popular." He clicks a few times, bringing up the same post on another page. "And many of its followers have added commentary below on their own reblogs."

Dean and Sam both turn.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. "You seem to know a lot about this site."

Cas turns unblinking eyes on him. "I have a tumblr, Dean. Charlie told me that all humans did."

"I--" he's interrupted by Sam letting out a strangled croak. "Sammy, you all right?"

Sam sets the phone down carefully, shaking his head and backing up. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Dean. They found us."

"Sam?" Cas is confused, looking from Sam to Dean and back again. "What's wrong? Who found it?"

Dean's looking closer now. He groans and drops his face to the table with an audible thunk. "I'm gonna kill Chuck. And if he's dead, I'm gonna kill him again."

Cas picks the phone back up, frowning at the screen. "Dean." His eyes widen. "Dean, they think I'm you. And that you're Sam." He pulls it closer to his face, nose just inches from the screen. His mouth drops open and he sets the phone back down on the table. "Dean, these people think you're in a sexual relationship with your brother."

Dean just lets out another long groan and bangs his head on the table.

It takes Dean a few minutes to swallow his horror and pick the phone back up. Sam’s backed out of the room, shaking his head and telling Dean, “I just– I don’t want to know, all right?” Cas is busy making another cup of coffee, trying again to figure out how to steam the milk and shit on the fancy machine Sam had found in the storeroom.

But he’s curious, and like a trainwreck, he can’t seem to look away.

The blog’s pretty simple, Dean thinks, navigating back to the main page. It’s mostly just photos of Dean and Cas around the bunker. He’s not really sure why the url is ewnopls.tumblr.com; is it an acronym? Does it mean something in a language he doesn’t know?

Anyway, there’s one picture of them from behind, sitting side by side at the breakfast table, sipping on coffee. Dean’s in his robe, feet bare and resting on the crossbeam of his stool. Cas is in a tee he borrowed from Dean, loose at the waist and stretching across his shoulders, and a pair of ridiculous sweats they’d found at a goodwill and he’d taken a liking to. They’re pale gray, a little ragged, and in the photo Dean can just barely make out the word written across the back of them.

(In the store, Cas had picked them up and smiled widely. “They’re labeled, Dean,” he’d said, pointing at the large letters spelling “BUTT” in bold font. Dean, unable to resist Cas’s absurd sense of humor, had refrained from commenting on their intended buyer. If Cas wants to wear them, he can wear them, he’d decided. Not my place to limit the dude any more than those dickbags already did.)

The next picture is the one Cas mentioned earlier, Dean figures, of them on the couch. This one’s from the side, catching Cas’s face in profile as he glances down at Dean, who’s completely passed out and slumped against his side. Cas’s arm is around his shoulders and Dean’s face is pressed into Cas’s ribs. It doesn’t look comfortable, and Dean’s pretty sure that was the morning he woke up with a massive crick in his neck that took all day to work out. Still, it’s a pretty good picture.

The comments below range from ones in nearly indecipherable chat-speak to long, reasoned discussions of why Sam and Dean are so close. Dean’s mostly horrified, but a small part of him is fascinated by the fact that the internet is talking about his life. He’s not gonna even think about the fact that they think he and Cas are– together.

He’s just gotten enthralled in a comment about what movies he probably likes when the front door swings open and he hears Kevin’s voice in the entryway.

Dean sets the phone down and storms towards the front door.

Cas watches him leave, then tucks the phone into his own pocket and walks quietly to his bedroom.

Chapter Text

Cas shuts the door carefully, making sure it latches, before pulling the phone back out and settling on his bed.

Outside the room he hears Dean’s voice, low and angry. Sam’s voice threads through it, placating, and all he hears of Kevin is laughter.

Cas’s tumblr is small. He began it by posting images of the natural world and reblogging jokes he finds amusing. He’s also discovered that many of the television shows Dean watches have a following on the internet. He’s even found a few of his own that he watches when the brothers are out on cases. Sleepy Hollow’s Ichabod Crane makes him smile, for instance, and he’s been informed by Charlie that he cannot tell Dean that he prefers Voyager to the original Star Trek series.

So his blog isn’t popular, or particularly well-known, but he’s learned how to operate the site and speak with the few people he follows and who follow him.

He carefully transfers the URL, letter by letter, into the small laptop Sam had given him. Then he sets aside the phone and starts scrolling.

The pictures make him warm inside; Dean’s face is among his favorite things, and he saves most of them to his desktop. Dean will be angry– no, that’s not the right word. Embarassed? Regardless, Dean won’t be pleased if he sets one as his desktop image again, so instead he just leaves them in a folder.

He’s found that it’s easy to let hours pass while “surfing” tumblr, and this time it’s especially hard to resist. He’s curious about Dean’s reaction to the little stories people have added to the pictures. There’s disgust, of course, at the insinuation that he and his brother have a sexual relationship. But it’s not a new anger to Dean; it seems he’s been aware of this assumption for years. Cas wonders why he’s never heard of it, despite reading the gospels and being involved in Tumblr; it seems it’s a phenomenon common across the entirety of the networking site.

He clicks on the first blog he sees.

Chapter Text

“Dammit, Kevin, it’s not funny!”

Dean’s fuming mad. A year ago, Kevin would be terrified. He’d be apologizing and doing anything he could to get back in Dean’s good graces.

Now, though? Now he can’t stop thinking about what Dean’s face must have looked like when he discovered the Wincest thing.

Kevin’s not a dick. He started the blog as a way to blow off steam, to let out some of the tension that builds up being trapped in the bunker every day. And he can also admit that he's getting fed up with watching Dean dance around Cas while Cas stares at him, oblivious.

But when the Supernatural fandom found it and decided Dean was Sam and Cas was Dean?

Funniest thing in the world. Seriously, Kevin couldn’t make this shit up. Sometimes the internet surprises even him. Sam and Dean are weirdly co-dependent, yeah; Kevin’s never seen brothers like them before, but they’re still brothers. And yeah, okay, they’re both, like, absurdly hot (what? Kevin might be mostly straight, but he can still appreciate a good-looking dude if he wants), and it’s not like the Supernatural books have that many other characters who live through more than one case, but still.

Anyway. Dean’s angry, and Kevin’s pretty sure he knows why.

“Dean!” he says, interrupting Dean’s tirade. “It’s not like I told them it was you! It’s not my fault the internet thinks you guys are adorable.”

Dean splutters a moment, then runs a hand over his face. “You know what? I don’t even care.” He turns, stomping out into the main hallway, muttering, “And we’re not adorable.”

Kevin just shakes his head and pulls out his phone. Bet they’ll love this one, he thinks, uploading that morning’s photo of the two of them bending over to look at the computer screen. Tumblr loves a good ass.

Chapter Text

The first package arrives on a Thursday.

The bunker’s reached a sort of tentative truce now, with Kevin’s blog on a semi-hiatus, Dean glaring at him but saying nothing, Cas staring at both of them like they’re aliens, and Sam just avoiding everyone.

It’s pretty nondescript; just a large envelope, padded and manila and neatly addressed to Dean Winchester. There’s no return address, but that’s not unusual. Dean took out a PO box in the town post office a few months after they discovered the bunker; it’s just a two mile drive and it saves them the trouble of having to explain that yes, the giant round metal door has an address and yes, they do want mail delivery. Dean’s just glad the electricity, water and internet all seem to be magically generated somehow (or at least that no one’s sent them a bill since they’ve been there).

Anyway, having a stable address and a safe PO box has allowed him to start building an information network. He’s been able exchange letters and packages with some of the less tech-savvy hunters from his father’s generation who still haven’t embraced the internet and the Roadhouse 2.0 hunters’ forum Charlie and Garth have been building.

Dean brings his package in with the rest of the mail (a magazine about computer games or something for Kevin, Cas’s seed catalogue, and a box from Amazon for Sam) and dumps it all on the table in the library, yelling, “Mail!”

Kevin wanders in and grabs his magazine as Dean picks up the package, and Sam’s eyes light up at the sight of his Amazon box while Dean struggles with the stupid pull-tab mechanism on his envelope. He’s just getting it open when Cas is suddenly beside him and it’s a testament to how long they’ve known each other that he doesn’t even blink at the way he comes out of nowhere.

So basically, every single resident of the bunker is there when he fumbles the package and dumps a pile of colorful papers all over the floor and table.

Kevin’s the first to pick one up, catching it out of the air where it’s floating. He glances, reddens, and makes a noise halfway between a giggle and a gag, and drops it, then turns and walks out.

Dean picks up the paper and is about to turn it over when Cas speaks beside him.

“This is a remarkably good likeness of you, Dean.”

Dean looks down at the paper in his hand and lets out a strangled noise, heat flaring through him in a way that’s super inappropriate when he’s in a room with his baby brother.

It’s obviously him and Cas, naked and, uh, intimate, on the hood of the impala.

And there’s a post-it note stuck to the center, right over the– the interesting bits, that reads,

You guys have some  talented fans!

<3 CHARLIE

 

Chapter Text

Cas isn’t quite sure why Charlie’s package upset Dean so much. Cas has always been a fan of art, but to find himself the subject, even misdirected? He’s not sure how to feel about it, but his emotions range from “undeserving” to “thrilled,” with no room for “angry” in between.

Dean, on the other hand, seems furious.

But Cas doesn’t really want to think about Dean’s anger right now.

He spreads his bounty out on the bed and picks up the first picture.

In it, he’s sitting upright with Dean curled against his chest. Dean’s eyes are closed and there’s a blanket over his chest, and it’s easy to assume it’s based on the photo Kevin had taken while they’d been on the couch earlier in the week.

Charlie’s marked it with a scrawled drawing that Cas thinks might be a fist with a thumb raised in approval and he smiles. It had been a nice night, watching movies on the couch with Dean. It had been even nicer to have Dean doze against him, warm and relaxed, and he’d remained still for hours despite the numbness in his arm and the fullness of his bladder.

Castiel isn’t stupid. He’s been around humanity for millennia, and he’s read hundreds of works across many cultures describing the experience of being human.

So he knows what he feels for Dean goes beyond friendship. Friendship is what he feels for Sam, and lately for Charlie, and what he hopes they feel in return. But neither of them give him the buzzing in his chest or the heat in his belly that Dean does, and while he’d give his life in an instant for either of them, he doesn’t– he’s not even sure how to describe it. Long for them, maybe? Whatever the case, his relationship with Dean has always been different.

He sets it aside, gently, feeling a smile tugging at his face. He flips the next one over and nearly chokes on his own saliva.

It’s definitely him, and it’s definitely Dean, and he feels his face burning as he stares at their naked flesh. They’re entwined together, eyes locked, and his hands–

The photo cuts off at their waists, but his knees are bent up in a very suggestive pose and he can’t help glancing down at his own knees and imagining how they’d feel, pulled up like that around Dean’s body.

Dean’s expression in the photo is soft, wondering, and Cas can’t resist reaching out to run a finger down his cheek. It’s not a look he’s seen often on the hunter, but he cherishes it when he does.

He wonders briefly how a stranger on the internet could capture Dean so perfectly from just the few photos Kevin has posted, until he remembers some of the artists he’s watched throughout the centuries he’s been stationed watching earth. He’s tried his hand at a few crafts since falling, but the only one he seems to have any talent for is felting, and he’s only successful when he follows someone else’s pattern. He starts to look closer, trying to ascertain the medium of the artwork, but he’s distracted by his newly human body, sighing in annoyance when he notices warmth and movement in his groin.

This is not convenient, he thinks at his erection. It’s nearly time for dinner, and Dean will not appreciate my lateness.

If anything, it swells further.

Cas huffs in frustration and flips to the next photo, hoping to distract himself.

It doesn’t help.

Chapter Text

Dean shuts the door to his bedroom and stares down at the pile of papers in his hands, then shakes his head and sets them on his nightstand.

He gets why everyone thinks it’s so funny. He really does. And it kind of is, he thinks ruefully as he flops down on the bed. I mean, if it were happening to Sam and Kevin, I’d be laughing my ass off. He’s had years to get used to the idea that people on the internet imagine him and his brother having sex. It’s still pretty fucking weird, but it’s not– new weird. Just the same old fucked-up their lives have always been.

Hell, he’d probably still laugh if it were him and Kevin. It would be fucking creepy, because the kid’s like fifteen years younger than he is, but he’d at least get the joke.

But no. It’s gotta be Cas.

Cas, with his stupid rumpled hair and ridiculous grin and who sits just a little too close.

Cas, who’s just come back to them, completely human for the first time, who Dean had thought he’d never see again.

Cas, who hasn’t learned all the human shame and embarrassment and who knows him so well and still looks at him like–

Dean shakes his head, running a hand across his face. Cas, who the internet apparently thinks he’s– fucking? Meant to be fucking? His– his OTP, whatever the hell that is?

His hand brushes something that crinkles, and he frowns, picking up the printout from Charlie that managed to slip from the stack and onto the bed.

It’s a simple sketch, just shoulders up, of him and of Cas and they’re– well, they’re kissing. It’s a gentle kiss, mouths pressed together and faces tilted just enough that their noses don’t collide, and Dean can’t help the slow smile that spreads across his face despite the embarrassment and fucking awkwardness.

Cas is– Dean’s not sure what Cas even is. Best friend I ever had, Bobby called him, he thinks, eyes tracing the lines on the page. But, uh– maybe he’s more than that, now.

He picks up the copy of Slaughterhouse Five that’s been on his nightstand for the past few days and slips the drawing inside. He’s just going to– hold onto it for now.

And if he glances at it later that night when he picks the book up to read before bed? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Chapter Text

It all started as a joke.

When you’re a prophet on the run from Heaven and Hell and you live in a secret bunker in the woods of Kansas with two giant dudes-on-missions, a fallen angel with serious social issues, and the king of Hell in your basement, you gotta find fun wherever you can.

So he started a blog. At first it was just for himself-- it gets lonely in the bunker, even when everyone's home. He needs more than the quest to sustain him. Sam and Dean, Dean and Cas, they're so wrapped up in their own bullshit that sometimes it feels like there's no room for anything or anyone  else.

Kevin doesn't– well, live this, not the way they do. Sure, the last three years would argue against that, but he still hoping to get out and go to school and live a normal life someday, with a job and a degree and a girlfriend and a blog.

He can't get most of those right now. His job's gotta be this prophet thing, it's hard to apply to college when your address doesn't legally exist, and it's not like he meets that many girls with his lifestyle, Charlie notwithstanding.

The blog part, though? That he can do.

It was just him when it started, just posting into the void to vent his frustrations. He couldn’t talk about the prophet stuff or the hunting or even really about Sam and Dean, not without either sounding like a crazy person or revealing more than he wanted to about them and maybe putting everyone in danger.

So instead he started with Dean and Castiel, whose ridiculous pseudo-courtship has apparently been years in the making and is only getting weirder and more awkward for everyone else now that they live in the same building (and are finally the same species).

But then people started finding it.

He never puts captions on the pictures– most of the time you can’t even see their faces. He just leaves them there without comment and chuckles to himself at the fact that Dean and Cas don’t seem to know that they’re basically dating.

But now? Now he’s got seventeen thousand followers and every picture gets hundreds of reblogs and thousands of words of fic and it looks like somehow the entire Supernatural fandom has collectively decided that those two guys are Dean and Sam, and Kevin can’t think about it too long without getting a headache.

Yeah. His life is fucking weird.

Chapter Text

Ever since Charlie let them know about the online versions of the Supernatural books, Sam’s been– well, likes to think of it as just keeping an eye on things. Not the way Kevin or Charlie have, obviously, or he would have known about this whole tumblr phenomenon, but he watches for the release new books and drops into a forum or two every once in a while. He’s also got a Google Alert set up for Becky’s screenname, and if she’s seen Kevin’s blog she’s had the good sense not to correct anyone. (She probably has, he’s pretty sure; she’s still one of the top players in the fan world of Supernatural and seems to be up on most of the newest information).

So he knows there are new books, all the way up to Dean and Cas’s returns from Purgatory, and he’s seen a small but vocal portion of the fans change their minds and switch from writing about Sam and Dean to writing about Dean and Cas.

He’s not sure what he thinks about it, really.

On the one hand, fewer people imagining him and his brother naked together? That’s a good thing. And knowing other people think Cas and Dean need to get their act together and that he hasn’t actually cracked under the strain of their lives? Even better.

But there’s a part of him (a very small part) that feels a little left out.

Which is insane.

He wonders for a moment whether Dean checks in on their fans, too, and then snorts out loud, startling Kevin and Cas into giving him nearly identical looks of annoyance from their respective library tables. He gives them an apologetic smile and clears his throat, pulling his laptop a little closer to him.

Yeah, his brother probably still thinks MySpace is a porno site– okay, maybe that’s a bad example, but his point still stands. For all Dean’s mechanical genius, he’s never been big on computers. If it hadn’t been for Charlie, Dean probably still wouldn’t even know there were more books out there.

He smothers a grin and opens an email to Charlie.

Hey,

Do you think Dean’s heard of “Destiel?”

He hits send and leans back. This could be the start of the most epic prank since he replaced all Dean’s underwear with lacy panties. (He’s still not sure how that didn’t start a prank war. Or, actually, what happened to the panties.)

Chapter Text

Dean’s a little gunshy about emails from Charlie these days.

It’s a tossup, usually, whether they’ll be a case, a fun chatty letter, or something horrible.

She's awesome, she really is, and he's really proud of her for how quickly she's gotten into hunting, but sometimes she gets-- ideas.

Like the whole thing with Kevin's blog.

He sighs and opens the email carefully, wincing in anticipation of some sort of video or image appearing on his screen. When there's nothing, no noise or color, he lets out a long breath and leans in to read.

A minute later, he's kind of wishing it had been another squeaky porcupine video or something.

No, instead it's just an email, but it's one that leaves him with a pounding in his ears and a kind of trembly feeling in his stomach.

Apparently the weird-incest-fans aren’t the only ones who found that blog.

Apparently there are more books now, books with Castiel and with him and people are reading them and assuming things.

He shouldn’t google it.

He really shouldn’t–

Fuck it.

He opens up Internet Explorer and types “Dean Castiel Supernatural” in the searchbar, and hits Enter. The computer whirrs and the results page loads slowly, showing–

“THREE MILLION RESULTS???” He stares at the page in horror. What the hell could people be talking about? Are there even that many pages on the internet?

Against his better judgement, he scrolls down the page, mouse hovering over a link.

It can’t be that bad, right? He thinks, eyes narrowing. I’ll just– check out a few links.

He clicks through.

Okay, so maybe searching for porn about himself was a really fucking bad idea.

Now he’s half horrified, and half weirdly turned on, and he’s really starting to wonder who the hell has this much time on their hands to write this stuff (he definitely gets why people read it now; some of it is really hot, like the one with him and Cas and Cas’s grace and oh my god it’s basically tentacles and why is that turning him on). Some of them are set years ago, before Lucifer and Purgatory and they still read like his life and his voice and it’s freaking him out.

How do these people know him so well? How do they know his secrets and his kinks? How could they possibly get all that from Chuck’s shitty writing?

He’s staring at the story in front of him, one that features strawberries and handcuffs and now he’s completely hard and he wants strawberry pie and he drops his head into his hands.

Why is this my life.

Between his fingers he can just barely see the fabric of his jeans straining with his erection and he stares down willing it to go away.

It’s Cas, he thinks desperately, Cas, who was an angel a few months ago. Cas, who’s my fucking best friend.

Cas, who’s really damn attractive.

Cas, who makes me feel worthwhile and important and–

Fuck.

Dean pushes away from the desk, grabbing the laptop and flopping on his bed.

He’s not gonna think about his– feelings. He’s just not.

He tries to banish the thought of Cas from his mind as he pops first one button, then another on his jeans and sighs with relief at the release of pressure on his dick.

Rhonda Hurley’s big brown eyes swim up in his mind instead and he focuses on that, remembering the smooth slide of satin and the warm touch of hands, but when he comes hard a few minutes later the eyes shift to blue and the ghost of stubble rasps along his skin.

He falls back with a groan, grabbing a handful of tissues and wiping his hand and stomach.

Well, shit.

Chapter Text

When he was an angel, Cas hadn’t quite understood the inherent laziness of humans. They expend so much energy on things that just don’t matter, in the larger scheme, and so much on ways to avoid movement that they perhaps work harder than they would have had they just done whatever they’d been avoiding.

But now that he’s human, he has to admit that be might understand.

He’s sitting in the library with a book, looking into a yearly cycle of deaths in southern Ohio, when he realizes the map he has is about forty years out of date. He glances around, checking the other books on the table, but there’s nothing more accurate and he lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

There’s probably another map somewhere in the shelves, but they’re far away and he’s so comfortable for once, wrapped in the fuzzy coat-blanket Charlie had sent him, and the idea of moving is not at all appealing.

He weighs his choices for a moment, trying to decide if it’s worth it to leave his cocoon. If the patterns hold, there won’t be another beheading for three months, so perhaps he has time to enjoy a little comfort.

He sits for another minute, trying to reclaim the feeling of contentment he’d had before, but it’s impossible. That’s when he spots Dean’s laptop, sitting on the other end of the table and just barely out of reach.

Dean has let me use it before, he reasons. I just need to borrow it quickly. I don’t think he would mind.

He stretches, grateful again for the sleeves that keep the warmth sealed against his skin. His fingertips graze the edge of it and he scrabbles at it but only succeeds in pushing it further away. He flops back into the chair as soon as the cold draft seeps back under the edges of the blanket.

Staring at the computer, eyes narrowed, Cas thinks carefully, rocking back in the chair.

It rolls a little and he feels a smile break across his face. Lowering his feet to the floor from where they’d been curled under the edge of the fleece. He pushes the chair gently, edging it along the table while reaching out. The computer slides easily into his lap, bringing extra warmth onto his thighs, and he flips it open, mentally going through the steps necessary to bring up a reliable map.

The screen lights up quickly, with a friendly beep, and illuminates a block of text on the screen.

Cas doesn’t mean to read it. He really doesn’t. 

But he sees his name, and Dean’s, and can he help it if it catches his eye?

I’ll just read for a moment, he thinks, already scrolling to the top. Just enough to understand what this is about.

He starts at the beginning.

It’s clearly set the first time he came close to falling, when his grace had been slipping away from him and he’d experienced exhaustion and hunger and all the other parts of humanity a little more every day.

It had never been like this, though.

Cas has always had the capability for arousal, at least in an abstract sense. He had watched millennia of human relations and he’d felt as though he understood how they felt, to a certain degree.

But it had worsened as he fell. He’d experienced erections when confronted with porn, and sometimes in the mornings after a night of restless sleep, but Dean had never–

Dean had never found out the extent to which he’d fallen, or how close he’d come to the point of no return.  

He keeps reading.

And Dean had certainly never tried to– to teach him like this. 

Cas knows he should stop reading. He can feel his face flushing and his blood rushing downwards but he can’t look away.

What if Dean had offered? What if instead of trying to muddle through the indignities of human sexuality, he’d had a– a tutor? What if this Dean, the Dean in this story, had been by his side, instead of hundreds of miles away when Castiel fell?

His eyes drift shut as the words blur on the screen. It’s easy to imagine.

Instead of falling alone in Colorado, what if he’d fallen near the bunker? If he’d had a cell phone instead of having to scrounge for change, if Sam hadn’t been so desperately ill, maybe–

There’s a footfall behind him and he lurches in his seat, spinning around to face Dean, who’s clutching a paper bag to his chest and staring right back at him.

Their eyes hold for a moment, Dean’s face as pale as Cas’s is flushed. It snaps as soon as Dean’s eyes shift to the open laptop and back. It’s quick, no more than a flick, but it’s enough that Cas feels his muscles unfreeze.

“Dean–”

Dean looks down, clearing his throat, and drops the bag on the table. “Brought you a burger.” He grabs the laptop, slamming it shut, and clutches it to his chest. “Cas–” He swallows audibly, adam’s apple bobbing. “I, uh–” He’s still avoiding Cas’s eyes and his face is slowly changing from its previous pallor to a deep blush that starts in his cheeks and slips down the opened collar of his shirt.

Cas can’t help it. His eyes trace its path, fixing on the hollow of Dean’s throat and the shadowed skin of his collarbones.

“Cas, did you– did you read anything on it?”

Cas looks up, meets his eyes squarely. “Like what?”

“Uh– a story, or something? Dude, it’s not a hard question. Did you read it?”

“Why?” Cas asks, curious. “Did you?” 

Dean swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, but holds Cas’s gaze. “I– yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

Dean yanks out the chair beside Cas, flopping down into it like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “And I– fuck.” He buries his head in his hands, grinding his palms against his eyesockets. 

When Dean doesn’t seem to be continuing, Cas leans forward until they’re only inches apart. “Dean.” He breathes the name, gently, as if calming a skittish animal, and Dean lets out a shuddery breath. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean pulls his hands from his face, resting his elbows on his knees, and turns until he’s facing Cas. “I wish–” he pauses, then his words come out in a rush. “I wish things had been different, Cas.” He shakes his head. “I should have been there, I should have helped you out dealing with all this human shit. It could have been like–”

“Like the story?” Cas finishes when Dean trails off. “Dean, is that– is that what you want?” There’s a bubble of hope rising it his chest and he tries not to let his human optimism overpower him.

Dean doesn’t answer, just pulls against Cas’s restraining hand.

“Dean–” Cas lets out a long breath, heart pounding in his chest. “It could still be like that.”

Dean’s eyes widen, locking on Cas’s. He stops trying to pull away and opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Cas...”

Cas loosens his grip on Dean’s arm just enough to slide his hand down, over the soft skin on the back of his wrist until his hand covers Dean’s own. Dean’s eyes dart downward, fixing on their fingers where they overlap.

Silently, slowly, he turns his hand over.

Cas shivers as their palms touch, then press together. “Dean...” he whispers, voice breaking.

He’s not sure who moves first, but suddenly his vision is filled with wide green eyes and there are warm lips against his own and a hand sliding up the back of his neck to clutch at his hair. He reaches out with his free hand until it curls in loose fabric at Dean’s waist and he pulls closer, chairs rolling and knees clacking together. There’s heat surging through him and he’s pretty sure nothing has ever felt quite like this.

Dean pulls away first, breathing hard and resting his forehead against Cas’s, eyes meeting Cas’s own from centimeters away. “Cas– I want–”

Cas’s hand comes up and cups Dean’s cheek, thumb on the corner of plush lips, and he stands, pulling Dean up with him by his shirt. “I–” he clears his throat, trying to focus on something besides the hot line of Dean pressed against his body, “I think we should continue this in private.”

Dean blinks, then nods. “Uh. Yeah.”

It’s a good thing Dean’s bedroom isn’t far from the library, because they almost don’t make it inside.

Chapter Text

It’s been a productive day, Sam decides.

He and Kevin found a new occult supply store in Lincoln and stocked up, then stopped for salads at this fancy new place near the highway. Dean laughs every time he passes it, and Sam and Kevin have a pact to never mention it to either of their housemates.

So now they’re driving home, backseat of the impala filled with silver ingots, bags of herbs, and one giant piece of wood that apparently has been blessed to be somehow psychic. 

They’re pulling into the driveway, turning down the dirt road that leads to the garage, when there’s a weird noise from the backseat.

Kevin turns around, staring into the piles of bags, and Sam lets the Impala roll to a stop.

“Dude,” Kevin whispers, “Did you hear that?”

Sam nods, pulling out his gun.

There’s another noise, something like a– a moan?

Kevin carefully lifts a bag at a time, setting them aside as the noises continue, until just the wood remains.

“Sam...” he says, leaning back into his seat, eyes fixed on the knot with the engravings. “Sam, that log is making sex noises.”

That’s when Sam remembers all at once about the artifact’s abilities and about just who is alone in the bunker right now. 

He carefully holsters his gun, turning back to his seat, as the blood drains from his face.

“Kevin.”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“What do you think about a motel tonight?”

Kevin looks from the log to Sam, then back again, as understanding dawns on his face. “Oh my god.”