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Dean was pretty proud of his Deancave. It was perfect. It was perfect for him and Cas, and it was only a plus that Sam wasn’t entirely impressed with it. This meant he wouldn’t want to spend so much time there – which may or may not have been by design, but Dean would insist on pleading the fifth if ever asked – leaving a lot of room for him and his angel to be together without moosely interruptions.
Not that they were together together.
Yet. His brain betrayed him with its incessant hope.
It was just a space where they could be Dean and Cas, and no one had to put up a performance for anyone’s sake. He sometimes wondered if these quiet moments they shared would have made it into Chuck’s Supernatural books, and if they did, how they would be written. What kind of subtext would be woven into the words?
You can’t spell subtext without s-e-x.
He definitely didn’t need to be thinking about sex in relation to Cas, especially when he was waiting for the guy to come join him for a Black Mirror marathon. If Little Dean tried to get into the mix, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t say something completely uncalled for.
He didn’t want anything to ruin this. They had been looking forward to doing this for a while, but between random little hunts and errands that kept popping up, they hadn’t had much promised time to kick back and binge watch anything good. They had decided last night on the drive back from taking down a werewolf that they would dedicate today to kicking up their feet on the recliners and watching Netflix all day.
Sure, they would try putting on a movie to watch on Dean’s laptop on a motel bed, but Sammy was always trying to go to sleep early, and the light and noise disturbed him, so they would never get farther than half way through. It was frustrating, but it was still nice to know that even on the road, he and Cas could share their little ritual.
Black Mirror was kind of a perfect show for their schedule because each episode was its own independent story, so the pressure of cliffhangers never made it even more unbearable to wait until the next time they could sit down to binge. It also sparked interesting conversation between the hunter and angel, not that they were lacking or required a catalyst to their never-ending dialogue. But they would go down rabbit holes pertaining to what ever morally ambiguous societal condition the episode they watched was about. Cas would talk about the repetition of history and Dean would listen in rapt attention to his descriptions of the rise and fall of civilization. Dean had the response of someone taking part in society, thank you very much, and not as an observer, and their discussions had the potential to last hours, letting them stretch their shared time into the earliest hours of the morning.
But more and more Cas was falling into the same category as him. But Dean didn’t like to think so much about the word falling.
He wasn’t just an angel observing and performing miracles when prayed to. He was no longer just a watchful shepherd, minding Creation from his post. Dean didn’t really know what to equate him to. There really wasn’t a metaphor to do justice to who his angel was.
His Cas sat in 24hour diners and nibbled on French fries from Dean’s plate, and then healed the server’s muscle pains with a handshake on the way out. Dean’s angel bought toilet paper at the grocery store and restored the cashier’s serotonin sensitivity when he handed them the money. His Cas loved humanity more than most humans.
Dean loved him for it.
Sometimes Dean feared that Cas’ engagement with the human experience would make him fall, lose him his Grace. His mind was seared with images of familiar eyes and an unfamiliar loose smile dressed in a flowy blue shirt and torn jeans.
He wondered if there were small changes or if his Grace was dissipating too slow to notice and this fed his fear. But Cas had the unique gift of making Dean feel simultaneously terrified and courageously in love.
It was that love that drove him to set up this sanctuary for the two of them. It was that love that had him waiting to watch a disheartening show much later into the night than was responsible for an adult who was tasked with saving lives every day, just to enjoy the company and conversation of his best friend.
Fuck if that didn’t scare him.
He was brave enough to admit it to himself, but not enough to say it aloud.
Until then, he hoped that things like this clued Cas in on his feelings.
Light footsteps made him perk up. He had now become somewhat attuned to the barely perceivable sound of Cas’ steps, though he was still able to sneak up on him occasionally.
“Hey sunshine. Took you long enough. Your apple wedges are room temperature now.” Dean gestured at the snack he prepared for him.
“Dean I’m so sorry, but something came up on angel radio that requires my attention.”
Dean got up and clapped his hands to his thighs. “Alright well, let me get packed and we can head out.” He was determined not to let himself be separated from Cas again because of some stupid rogue angel or anything else that could go wrong.
Cas had a head tilt for almost everything he was thinking. The one Dean was getting now clearly read why are you doing this, and he was sound in his resolve not to let the cuteness get to him. In fact, it could be said that it was because of the cuteness that he couldn’t let anything happen to his angel.
“I promise I will be in no danger, and it won’t even take very long. It is however, unavoidable.”
“If it’s no big deal why can’t someone else deal with it? You’re not the only damn angel!”
“No, but I believe I am best equipped to deal with it. I knew this cupid once, and I have to convince her that despite her good intentions, her increased level of couplings is creating greater problems.”
“Well what’s stopping me from going with you?” Dean remembered the last time they had dealt with a cupid together. The guy was weird. And naked. Maybe Dean had a problem with Cas being alone with a naked lady. Maybe he fantasized that going at the cupid together would spark a coupling of their own. Maybe he just didn’t want to wait at the Bunker, worried sick, waiting for Cas, with nothing but his impatience.
“Dean. I promise. I will be back by morning.”
Something he learned from his short and sporadic stints in relationships was that he had to pick his battles. He supposed this was one of the ones he would have to give to Cas. He wasn’t happy about it. He trusted him, but he didn’t trust the rest of the fucking world not to hurt him.
“Ok. Just, be safe. Let me know when you get there.”
“I will. And we have tomorrow to watch Netflix together. We can make a day of it. Don’t watch any episodes without me.” There was more than a promise in Castiel’s smile. There was hope. And it lit Dean up from the inside out. He’d do anything for that look.
One more thing he could admit to himself, but too scared to say aloud.
“I’ll wait.”
“Thank you, Dean. I’ll text you as soon as I get there.”
It might be cheesy or skeevy or stupid, but he couldn’t help thinking he hated to see him leave, but loved to watch him go. It helped that he hadn’t put his trench coat on yet. Not even those stupid slacks could completely hide what Dean imagined to be a gloriously muscular ass.
The guy had dreams.