Work Text:
Hold Me (In Your Tiny, Ruff Paws)
It’s the sound of yelling that gets his attention.
Dean looks up from where he’s tinkering with his clunky old iPod. It’s silent for a moment, and he frowns, wondering if he’d imagined it. Shrugging to himself, he presses play and lets the music wash over him.
“Let go of her!”
The yell is distinctive, familiar.
Dean pauses Stairway to Heaven again, this time yanking his headphones out. He can hear them now, loud jeers and snarls, accompanied by the distinct sounds of someone yelling… and wait, is that a whine? Shoving both his earphones and his iPod into his pocket, he gets to his feet and jogs towards the source of the sounds.
It’s getting dark already, but he’s surprised at how empty the street is, especially since school let out barely half an hour ago.
“Little guardian angel, aren’t you, Cassie?”
Alastair’s voice is a distinctive sneer that sets Dean’s teeth on edge. He speeds up; if that son of a bitch is involved, this can’t be pretty.
“If you are making a pun out of my name, I have to inform you that you’re doing a very poor job of it.”
Cas.
Dean’s heart stutters in his chest. Has Cas’s voice always been that deep and rough when he gets all angry?
God, Dean.
He sounded wrecked that night too. When he leaned in and kissed Dean, licking into his mouth like he was a fucking porn star.
What the fuck, Cas.
It takes the sound of the soft whine for him to realize that he’s gone completely still, just standing there like an idiot, in the middle of the street, hands shoved into his pockets and staring down at the alleyway in the corner.
“It’s okay.”
Cas’s voice is soft, soothing, the same way it was when he pulled back. The same way it always is when he looks at Dean with those goddamned wide blue eyes, like he’s something special. Like he’s meant to be cherished.
What the fuck are you doing, Castiel?
“You like this ugly cur, Castiel?” Azazel snarls Cas’s name as though it’s something dirty.
It snaps something within Dean, because hell no, this is Cas, and no one is going to screw with his best friend. Not if he has something to say about it.
He’s just rounding the alley when the unmistakable sound of a punch crunching against someone’s skin echoes across the silent street. Dean’s back stiffens and he races in, wild-eyed and worried.
Shit, shit, shit -
What if Cas is hurt? What if he’s lying in the alley, broken and shattered because Dean was stupid enough to push him away that night? What if the last thing he ever said to Cas was to get the fuck out of his face?
Cas.
He skids to a stop, eyes darting wildly. His hand is balled into a fist, his mouth is drawn into a tight snarl and Jesus, he’s going to punch anyone who’s hurt Cas -
Something small and soft brushes past his feet and he stumbles. A tiny whimper and then an even softer growl which fades into a whine, and Dean can’t believe his own damned eyes as the puppy crawls between his legs and into the space between the dumpster and the wall.
“Come to save your boyfriend, have you Winchester?” Azazel spits.
Dean looks up and it takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. Cas is holding Alastair in a choking grip while Azazel is lying on the ground in front of them, holding his knee to his chest.
Shit, Cas is a black belt. He doesn’t need Dean’s help, he does fine on his own. He’s always done fine on his own.
“You’re the one on your knees, pal,” he responds automatically.
“Why you faggot piece of-” Alastair begins and then coughs slightly as Cas tightens his grip.
“You should watch your mouth,” he says mildly, and holy shit, why is Dean only now noticing how hot Cas looks all flushed and angry and delicious like this?
Just then, the puppy barks. It’s a small, tiny, lost sound and Cas’s face softens so quickly, Dean’s getting emotional whiplash from how fast he changes gears. He lets go of Alastair and strides over to Dean, brushing past him to go on his knees in front of the dumpster.
“Fucking fag,” Alastair coughs, glaring at both of them. He holds a hand out to Azazel and pulls him up, both of them turning as one to glare at Dean when he snorts.
“This fag just kicked your ass,” he shrugs.
“Why you little-”
“Yeah, yeah, we geddit, you’re bullies and homophobic douches who like hurting little animals. Care to add more to this high school prequel to The Life and Times of a Psychopath?” Dean raises an eyebrow as Alistair sputters. He opens his mouth to protest but Azazel grabs his arm and shakes his head, glaring at Dean.
“Not worth it,” he mutters. “My knee’s busted, let’s get outta here.”
Alastair scowls, but grabs him and deliberately turns around. The two assholes stalk out of the alley stiffly, heading down the street. Dean sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose with his palm as he watches them go.
“Hello.”
Cas’s voice is soft, gentle. But it’s still rough and deep and whiskey-soaked and he turns around to see his best friend for the first time in more than a week.
What the hell are you doin’, Cas?
He lets his eyes linger, watching as Cas reaches out with warm hands towards the shivering mutt. He’s in that stupid fucking sweater-vest, the tan trench thrown on top of it because Cas is always cold, even if it’s barely winter yet. His dark hair is wind-swept and falling into his eyes even as his nose scrunches up into that expression of deep, gentle concern.
Son of a bitch, he’s missed that face. So fucking much.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay, now.”
Dean, it’s okay. It’s alright, I know.
The puppy does exactly what he didn’t then. She stiffens, her whines fading, and then stares up at him, her eyes big and soulful, and then shivers again. Cas continues to murmur, holding his arms out, and a moment later, she has pressed herself against him, rubbing into his thighs and nosing at his face. A big, wet, pink tongue darts out to lick at him and Cas laughs, falling back on his ass. She scrambles over him, a fugly little creature all limbs and fur, and that’s it, that’s all it takes.
Dean’s chest tightens and he can’t breathe, and he’s about to open his mouth and tell Cas, tell him every damned thing -
“You’re hurt.”
Cas’s soft expression turns into a scowl of worry. The puppy whines and and then buries her face in the crook of his neck, slipping over him. That’s when Dean notices the gash on her leg, still open and bleeding.
Fucking Alistair and Azazel.
“C’mon, Cas,” he hears himself saying. “We need to get her to the vet.”
It takes a moment, but Cas finally looks at him. He still doesn’t say anything, but his gaze is more closed off than Dean’s ever seen it before. It hurts, but it ain’t like he doesn’t deserve it, so he simply offers a hand up for him to take.
Cas pauses, considering it for a moment.
The puppy whines again, trying to stand up on top of him but falling to her belly unceremoniously as her foot gives out on her. Cas doesn't hesitate then - he grabs Dean’s hand even as he carefully holds her in place, ignoring her loud yelps of pain and displeasure from being manhandled.
“Thank you,” he says. “I will take her to the vet myself.”
He’s stiff and cold and rigid, and yes, Dean knows it’s his fault, but he can’t… he can’t watch him walk away like this. The puppy barks mournfully from her spot on his shoulder, and before he knows it, Dean’s running ahead, grabbing his arm and whirling him around.
“What, Dean?” he snaps.
“Dr. Fitzgerald’s hospital is too far for the bus at this time and you know it,” Dean says. “Lemme grab the Impala, we can take her in it.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not…” Dean sighs. “Look. She’s hurt and bleedin’. Bus is gonna take a long time if they even let you bring her. What if the cut’s infected?”
Cas looks away from his raised eyebrow and pats her gently. She’s struggling in his grip, both whining from pain and being restrained.
“Lemme help,” Dean stresses. “I’ll drop you off the hospital and then you can go back to hating me in peace.”
Cas’s lips purse in a tight line and he stares at Dean for a long, silent moment. Dean doesn’t look away this time; he meets the probing gaze even if his thumb is rubbing nervous circles into his iPod screen in his pocket.
“Okay.” Cas finally nods. “Get the Impala, please.”
Dean barely holds back his whoop. He hurries forward, out of the alleyway and into the street, heading down the road towards his house. Cas follows him at a sedate pace, carefully holding the puppy up, speaking to her in a warm, soft tone.
“Once we get to the vet, he can take a look at that gash,” he’s saying quietly. “I’m sorry that my classmates were not very nice to you. Human beings are… difficult… sometimes.”
Jesus. Dean’s missed this dork so goddamned much. Who the hell talks to a puppy like it’s a person?
“Once we make sure you’re okay, we must find you a home… a safer one.”
“Make sure Sam doesn’t see him,” Dean says lightly. “Or the kid will insist on keepin’ him, and I dunno if Bobby’d be okay with a mutt in the house.”
“She’s not a mutt,” Cas snaps. “Please don’t call her derogatory names.”
Dean falls quiet, heart twisting in his chest. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Cas looks away and the silence between them is almost stifling. He did this, Dean thinks. He broke them because he was too much a coward to face the truth about himself, and now he’s lost his best goddamned friend.
“Didn’t Bobby have a dog before?” Cas says finally. “Back when you and Sam were still…”
“Wimmy deadbeat dad, yeah,” Dean finishes. He shrugs. “Rumsfeld died when I was about six, I think? Sam barely remembers him. I dunno if Bobby’s over him yet.”
“I see.”
“He uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “He loved him. Bobby I mean. He loved Rumsfeld. I think it’s why he changes subject every time Sam brings up pets, don’t think he’s ready for a new pupper.”
“Understandable.”
There’s a small smile playing the corner of Cas’s lips as he strokes the puppy’s head with a finger. She leans in to lick and he chuckles, and dammit, Dean’s heart has never been this tight and why the hell can’t he breathe?
The lights are out at the house when they get there about five minutes later. It’s clearly empty, and Cas frowns, eyes darting between Dean and the door.
“Sam isn’t back yet?” he asks.
“He’s spendin’ the night at Kevin’s,” Dean replies. “Some nerd shit over Latin exams or whatever. I zoned out after the first three words.”
“And you’re not working at the garage today?”
Cas looks at him curiously, but there’s a familiar tinge of agitation to both his voice and expression that tells Dean that he’s worried. It warms his insides; after a week of not knowing if he would ever talk to him again, it feels good that Cas still cares.
“Didn’t feel like it,” he shrugs. “Bobby gave me a day off. Besides,” he adds as he walks to the garage and presses the button to open the door. “College application essays are due next week,” he reminds Cas, “and for some reason, Bobby thinks I should take time off to work on that shit.” He snorts. “Like any university is gonna take me in.”
“Don’t say that.” Cas response is automatic, reflexive, but the vehement warmth in it is so familiar, Dean soaks it up and stores it away in a quiet corner of his mind he barely ever allows himself to visit. “You’re good, Dean. Your scores are good and you’re brilliant at machines. Any university would be a fool to turn down your application.”
The earnestness with which Cas says makes his breath hitch. Dean smiles and shrugs at him, throwing open the Impala’s door and gesturing for him to get in.
“Make sure she doesn’t scratch the seats,” he calls.
Cas hesitates for a long moment before sliding into the seat next to him. It’s Sam’s seat usually, but when Sam isn’t there, Cas has always taken it, and seeing him there, now, with the puppy on his lap…
Dean wants to punch himself in the face.
He starts the Impala. Baby purrs into life. The puppy on Cas’s lap perks up her ears and then growls, trying to clamber to her feet. She can’t, of course, and then falls to her belly, and whines. Cas clucks, both worried and amused, and then rubs a soothing hand over her head until she calms down and closes her eyes.
“She likes you,” Dean says.
Cas only nods, keeping his eyes trained on the pup. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride and Dean sighs, resigning himself to it.
Dr. Fitzgerald's hospital is crowded when they get in. Dean waves Cas out in the parking lot, telling him to go on ahead while he finds a spot. Cas frowns, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it and then shrugging at him. He slides out of the car, gingerly holding the puppy, and then jogs into the hospital.
It takes him forever to find parking, and by the time he goes in, Cas has already taken the dog inside to the doc. The nurse - Tessa - smiles at him and tells him to take a seat, and Dean doesn’t even hesitate before throwing himself on one of the cold, hard waiting chairs that litter the lobby.
He pulls out his iPod again and sticks the earphones into his ears. Stairway to Heaven picks up where it left off. Dean closes his eyes, leaning back against the chair. Unbidden, the memory of Cas’s wrecked, flushed face flashes behind his eyes, and for once, he doesn’t push it away.
Instead, he focuses on it. He lets himself remember the way Cas’s eyes had softened at him. Lets himself linger on the way Cas’s fingers swiped across his cheek and then his lips, soft and warm at first where they pressed against Dean’s mouth, and then a second later, rough and demanding and taking everything Dean had to give. He remembers the taste of Cas, a little bitter and a little sweet, with a hint of coffee - the same as the dark chocolate they'd been munching on while binge-watching The Great English Baking Show. He remembers laughing at the cake mess onscreen and and then he remembers Cas leaning over him, eyes deep and a shade of blue Dean can’t ever name.
And he remembers the way Cas looked so damned crushed when Dean asked him to get out. He remembers the way he couldn’t breathe, the way his stomach felt like acid was bubbling inside and the way he wanted to punch something repeatedly.
Something soft and wet presses against his calf and Dean yelps. His hand drops to find the source - a brown, floppy-eared head nuzzling into his leg, even as the puppy whines at him in an impatient manner.
“You got out, eh?’ he scratches behind her ear.
She whimpers and then nudges at his leg again. Dean rolls his eyes and bends to pick her up. She yelps, her little paws clawing at his chest - Jesus, she’s small but her claws hurt - before finally settling down on his lap, her head burrowed on to his shoulder.
“Ah, I see she’s already found another friend!”
Dr. Fitzgerald sounds too damned cheerful. Dean rolls his eyes and nods at him, grateful the man isn’t holding is usual, weird-ass sock-puppet. Cas is behind him. He raises an eyebrow at Dean when he sees him cuddling the damned dog.
Dean shrugs, slightly embarrassed. He’s not a big fan of little animal things and Cas knows it.
“She okay, doc?” he asks gruffly.
Dr. Fitzgerald smiles. “She’s gonna be fine,” he says. “Just a small cut, I’ve given Castiel her ointment and instructions on how to care for her. She should be completely okay in a couple days.”
“Cas?” it’s Dean’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
Cas flushes. “I… think I’ll be taking her home with me. Just until she’s healed,” he adds in a hurry.
“Uh-huh.” Dean chuckles. “Whatever you say, dude.”
Like he didn’t see this one coming a mile away. If there’s anything Cas is, it’s a goddamned bleeding heart. For the whole world.
And for a while there, maybe for Dean too. But he’s gone and fucked that one where the sun don’t shine, like he does every damn thing in his life.
“Come on, Cas.” The puppy nuzzles into his neck as he stands up carefully. “Lemme go drop you and the mutt off.”
“She’s not a mutt,” Cas snaps again, though his tone isn’t as harsh as before and his eyes remain soft. “Don’t call her that.”
“Whatever you say.” He whistles and the puppy barks a tiny bark that makes him wince since she’s so close to his ear. “Yeah, you’re a little menace, aren’t you?” he rubs her back, “aren’t you a cute little shithead?”
She whines at him and licks his cheek, and against himself, Dean’s laughing. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Cas smiling, and it only makes him grin wider.
They finish the paperwork with Dr. Fitzgerald and then head out. The puppy wiggles when Dean finally pulls her off of him and hands her over to Cas so he can drive. She lols about in his lap and stares up at Dean, and fuck, it’s only been like an hour, how the hell has she learnt that deep, staring-into-your-soul look Cas has?
“Watcha gonn’ name her?”
Dean’s careful to keep his eyes on the road as he revs up the engine and starts moving.
“I don’t know…” Cas trails off. “My mother is not going to be pleased.” He sighs.
A week ago, Dean would’ve reached out and patted his shoulder. Or at least told him Naomi Novak could suck it and that she was a hell-bitch when she wanted to be and that Cas deserves better. Now, all he can do is swallow hard and nod in trepidation.
“I hear you,” he mutters. “...Sam’s gonna be excited about the dog, though.”
He regrets it almost as soon as he says it. Sam hasn’t been to the Novak house for a week, because Dean’s forbidden him and Jesus H Christ, not having Cas around is screwing everything up.
“How is Sam?”
Cas peers at him, absently scratching the puppy’s forehead. She huffs and leans into his touch, panting happily.
“He’s… good.” Dean says. “He’s good.”
“Good,” Cas echoes. “That’s... good.”
Silence falls between them, awkward and heavy and filled with all the things they can’t say. Dean wants to reach out, but he doesn’t know how, and it hurts. He wants to say I’m sorry and I love you and I was an idiot and a million other things he’s been keeping locked away for longer than he can remember.
Child Services may have taken him away from the homophobic ass that was John Winchester, but they can’t make the damned scars fade easy.
“‘Ere we go.”
Dean pulls the Impala to a stop in front of Cas’s house. It’s quiet and dark and he doesn’t see Naomi’s car in the doorway.
“Guess your mom ain’t home either, eh?” he says.
Cas nods. “Apparently not.”
“Means you can sneak the mutt in,” Dean offers. “Don’t have to face the music yet.”
“Indeed.” Cas hesitates and then leans over to squeeze Dean’s shoulder quickly. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
Dean doesn’t know how to read the silence between them this time. It’s not like they’ve not had fights before. They’ve been best friends since Dean was ten and moved in with Bobby, filled to the brim with rage and anger and all things bitter that John Winchester fed him. Cas, just as lonely and lost with a single, workaholic mother, took one look at him, saw right through his bravado and punched him in the face before adopting him for his own.
Cas has always had a thing for strays, he thinks, looking at the puppy licking at his knuckles right now.
But this silence… it’s different. It’s heavier, somehow; fights with Cas, he’s had, but for the first time in a really, really long time, Dean wonders if this is it . If he’s somehow fucked everything to a point of no return.
“Cas,” he blurts. “Cas, I-”
“I should get going.”
He’s curt and matter-of-fact, two things Cas has always been, because he’s a stupid dork who doesn’t understand small talk. And still, the sting of it punches the breath out of Dean’s lungs. All he can do is swallow tightly.
“O-of course,” he stammers. “I’ll… see you?”
He phrases it as a question, hoping against hope that Cas will answer it with a yes, I’ll see you later Dean or a pick me up in the morning for school, like he always does.
Cas doesn’t do either. He just nods again, pulls the puppy closer and steps out of the Impala. She whines and paws at him, turning mournfully big eyes to Dean, not quite understanding why the humans who saved her are splitting.
He hears her whine all the way down the driveway, until Cas disappears behind the door inside his house.
Me too, puppy, he thinks as he backs the Impala out and back towards his own place. Me too.
*-*-*
<<(Friday 8.30 PM) Please help.
Dean startles at the way his phone screen lights up and vibrates suddenly. Damned thing slips out of his grasp and falls on his face.
“Son of a bitch,” he swears, rubbing his reddening nose. He grabs it from where it lies innocently on his bed and swipes it open to find Cas’s message blinking at him from his notifications.
<<(Friday 8.30 PM) Please help.
There’s a dark patch of wetness that sits over Cas’s name on his screen. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s from his own sweaty, shaky hands. He breathes in slowly, deeply, because no matter how much he tries, his lungs won’t fucking fill.
<<(Friday 8.31 PM) I ’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you so late.
The screen lights up again with Cas’s second message. Absently, Dean notes how strange it looks with the sweat smeared all over the surface, a kind of strange, wet shadow.
“Disturb… late?” he mutters.
It’s barely even nine o’clock.
Well, fuck that.
>>(Friday 8.31 PM) What’s wrong?
His fingers are steady, even if all he can hear is the way his blood pounds through his head. He’s not dealin’ with this shit now, he thinks. He’s going to throw Cas’s rejection into the deepest corner of his brain and pretend the last week didn’t fucking happen, because fuck that.
<<(Friday 8.32 PM) I… I did not mean to disturb you.
<<(Friday 8.32 PM) I know you’re probably busy with the college applications.
<<(Friday 8.32 PM) Or studying for finals.
<<(Friday 8.32 PM) It was out of habit.
The barrage of texts stops there. Dean stares at the last one, eyes re-tracing the shape of each letter again and again and fucking again, teeth gritting so tightly, he’s startled to realize that his jaw hurts.
Out of habit. Out of…
Son of a bitch.
Too late, he types back, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He wishes he had a flip phone instead of this stupid touch-screen. The lack of keys to crunch satisfyingly with his hands is really starting to annoy him.
>>(Friday 8.33 PM) You got my attention.
>>(Friday 8.33 PM) What happened?
>>(Friday 8.33 PM) Are you okay?
He pauses over the last one. Breathes out slowly for a long, heavy second. And then hits send, closing his eyes and waiting for the reply.
His phone vibrates and the message comes.
<<(Friday 8.33 PM) The puppy won’t stop whining.
<<(Friday 8.33 PM) She cried for a while after we got home.
<<(Friday 8.34 PM) I thought it was the wounded leg for a while.
<<(Friday 8.34 PM) But she won’t stop.
<<(Friday 8.34 PM) I think she wants you.
His stomach churns with something more than just Cas now. The image of the puppy, with her stupid big eyes and her soft little whine and those goddamned tiny paws, bleeding and hurt from fucking Alastair, pops into his head.
Well, shit.
It takes him less than a second to make up his mind. He grabs his hoodie, throws on his shoes and runs down the stairs.
“Where you thunderin’ off to like that, boy?”
Bobby raises an eyebrow from where he’s splayed out on the couch in front of the TV. There’s a huge, thick book lying open in his lap and he’s holding a beer, one hand thumbing through the musty, yellowed pages.
“Uh, Cas’s,” he says, waving his phone at him. “He just texted.”
“Finally,” Bobby grunts. “Took ya idjits long enough.”
Dean freezes. “Wha-?” he stammers.
Bobby rolls his eyes. “What, you thought I wasn’t gonna notice that Cas ain’t comin’ round to the house no more?” he peers at Dean. “What’d you do, idjit?”
“What makes you think it was me?” he protests. “Coulda been him!”
Bobby doesn’t say anything, but takes a long, deep sip of his beer. The loud, pointed slurp echoes between them and Dean flushes.
“Fine,” he snaps. “It was me.”
“And?”
Dean looks away. Bobby isn’t John Winchester. He knows it - knows that Bobby’s not gonna have him out on the street because he’s a guy who likes other guys, knows that if he and Sam are both looking at college applications, it’s because of Bobby.
But they’re called irrational fears for a goddamned reason.
“He kissed me,” Dean blurts out. “I… He kissed me, okay?” he glares defiantly back at the man who’s raised him, for a moment picturing not Bobby, but John’s face in front of him.
Well, fuck that. Dean’s never been one to run from danger. He stood between John and Sam when Dad was drunk off his ass, has taken a punch more times than he can count. If there’s anyone he should be coming out to, it’s John - because John and his homophobia can suck it.
Bobby sighs. He straightens up, sets the beer bottle on the coffee-table in front of him and just… looks at Dean.
Christ, what is with the men in his life and the way they stare? Dean can’t read minds, for fuck’s sake.
“You freaked out on him.” It’s not a question, but Dean nods.
“I… I’m…” he looks at Bobby and then whispers what he’s been running from for such a long time. “I like him, Bobby. And I like… guys .”
The corner of Bobby’s lips turn up in a small smile. “I know,” he says. He picks up the beer again and takes another long sip.
Dean waits, but there’s no other response. Bobby just slurps on his beer, like it’s any other night, and throws his legs up on the couch, absently flipping through the pages of whatever weird-ass demonology books he’s reading.
“That’s it?” he says. “You’re not… I just came out to you, and you got nothin’ to say?”
Bobby shrugs. “Does Cas make you happy?” he asks.
Dean blinks. “Uh…” he shuffles from foot-to-foot.
“C’mon, boy. It ain’t a hard question. Does he make you happy?”
His phone vibrates again.
<<(Friday 8.40 PM) She’s crying. I’m certain she wants you.
<<(Friday 8.40 PM) Please hurry.
<<(Friday 8.40 PM) I’ll repay you with Gabe’s apple pie at Angel Cakes tomorrow.
<<(Friday 8.40 PM) With extra vanilla ice cream. And cinnamon hot cocoa.
“Yeah,” Dean blurts. “Yeah, Bobby. He makes me happy as a goddamned clam.”
Because Cas knows that even when he pretends to drink black coffee that is more sludge than coffee, he’d rather have hot cocoa with a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg in it. Because Cas knows that apple pie is both his comfort and congratulatory food, because Cas will always, always come when he calls.
Cas makes him happy.
Bobby rolls his eyes but the affection in his gruff voice is unmistakable. “Then go,” he stresses. “Get your man.”
Dean grins. “Thanks, Bobby.”
He turns and runs out the door, grinning widely at Bobby’s fading call of “Use protection, ya goddamned idjit!” behind him.
*-*-*
Dean hears the puppy even before the door opens. Little, sharp, pointed barks that echoes through the wooden door, and Christ, how can his heart be both this heavy and light at the same time? She wants him, and yes, he knows it’s probably just that he helped save her and that she doesn’t have anyone else, but she wants him .
Suddenly, he thinks he understands why Sam wants a dog so much. Or why Bobby doesn’t wanna replace Rumsfeld quite yet.
The door swings open and Cas is standing there, holding the puppy in his arms. She’s wriggling in his grip, looking like a circus animal as she tries to reach her leg with her mouth. Cas looks so exasperated, it makes Dean want to pull him close and kiss the scowl off of his mouth.
“I need to get her one of those damned cone things,” Cas says in lieu of a greeting.
Dean raises an eyebrow, walking inside as Cas steps away. “Why didn’t the doc get you one right there?”
“He thought she might not need it. The cut isn’t very big and she didn’t bite or scratch it all through the time we were there, so he asked me to come back in if she did worry at it later.”
Dean nods. “I see.”
The puppy barks again, a volley of annoyed, shrill cries, and then closes her jaw gently around Cas’s arm. It’s not hard enough to be painful - she’s still way too tiny for that - but it’s enough that Cas grunts and lets her go, almost dropping her to the ground. She slides down, whimpering at the sudden movement, and Cas sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Will you just…” he waves at Dean, glaring down at her.
Dean has to suppress a snort at how much sass she shows as she turns her back deliberately on Cas. She flicks her tail at him and then pads over to Dean to lick at his calf, an air of injured dignity about her. She’s limping, he notes, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much, because she nuzzles under his chin when he picks her up and rests her big head on his shoulder.
“I thought cats were the sassy motherfuckers,” he says.
Cas rolls his eyes. “Whoever said dogs were sweeter than cats clearly needs to interact more with their pets,” he mutters. He pauses and then looks at Dean. “Are you… I’m sorry I disturbed you,” he says.
“Nah, man,” Dean shrugs. He moves over to the couch and sinks down on it. The puppy yelps. Dean winces as she claws at him, trying to get comfortable before finally plopping down on his lap with her head pillowed against his stomach.
Cas looks at her and then back up at Dean, dark brows creased into a frown. “Of course,” he sighs. “You show up and she’s instantly quiet.”
Dean smirks. “Not my fault the ladies love me, man.”
“I guess you’re a ladies man indeed.”
There’s a pointed, bitter note in Cas’s voice that makes Dean pause. Before he can say anything else, though, Cas has turned away, making his way into the kitchen.
“Soda?” he calls.
“Naw, man, I’m good,” Dean calls back.
A soft whine from his lap grabs his attention and he looks down to see the puppy staring up at him with literal anime eyes - shut up, yes he’s into anime and no, he’s gonna make no apologies about it - all big and brown and soft and sweet. She paws gently at his tummy, stretching her neck out.
“You’re a little shit, aren’t you?” he asks fondly. “You know what you want and you’re gonna geddit, no matter how much whinin’ it takes you. Cute little shit, such a gorgeous little mutt,” he coos, petting the proffered neck.
She sighs happily, leaning into his touch. He can feel the heat of the tiny, hot huffs of breaths she lets out in contentment even through his hoodie, and a warm, happy weight settles in his chest.
“Don’t call her names.”
Dean looks up to see Cas standing in front of him, sipping on a root beer. He rolls his eyes at Cas’s statement and shrugs.
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to call her then?” he snipes.
Cas blinks. “I… haven’t considered it,” he says. “I don’t…” he shoots Dean a helpless look.
Dean pats the spot on the couch next to him. Cas hesitates and then walks around the room to sit gingerly at the edge, eyeing him with a look that’s both cautious and… hopeful?
“You don’t wanna get attached?” Dean finishes softly.
Cas sighs, setting the metal can down on the table before them and nodding. “Yes,” he says.
Dean reaches out with one hand and yanks him closer. Cas yelps and flails, falling back into the couch next to him, almost falling on top of his lap. The puppy barks, a warning screech, and Cas sits up to glare at Dean with those beautiful blue eyes.
“Dammit, Dean,” he growls.
Dean nods at the puppy where she’s trying to claw at her wound. Cas reaches out and gently pulls her paw away and she whines at him angrily, huffing repeatedly.
“Don’tcha think it’s a bit too late for that?” Dean murmurs. “You’re kinda already attached.” As am I. The words are stuck in his throat and he swallows them down like bad medicine that upsets your stomach till you wanna clutch at it and curl up.
Cas smiles bitterly. “I always get too attached,” he mutters.
Dean doesn’t need to know Cas as well as he does to know that he’s not talking about just the puppy alone. “”S not wrong,” he says.
“No,” Cas agrees. “But…” he leans over and then strokes the puppy’s head, a slow, rhythmic motion that has her nuzzling against the palm of his hand. “It does hurt,” he whispers. “When they leave.”
“What if…” Dean clears his throat. “What if they could stay?”
Blue eyes fly to his, widening in shock. Dean doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, doesn’t hide like he always does - because this is Cas, his Cas, and shit, Cas has already been vulnerable enough in front of him by taking that goddamned first step.
“De-Dean?”
Dean shrugs. “I just… she doesn’t have to leave.” Okay, screw that, he’s still terrified and apparently, he can’t be vulnerable. Not just yet. “You could just keep her.”
Cas’s expression falls and then closes off. “My mother would never approve,” he mutters. “And it would be easier to give her to an adoption centre if I did not name her.”
Dean has nothing to say to that, so he just looks down. “She’s…” he trails off, because the puppy is now fast asleep on his lap.
Cas snorts. “She cried for you all evening and now she’s asleep. I give up.”
Dean chuckles. It feels heavy and forced and stifling, but it’s something, and he wants to say the damned words, but they won’t come and he’s just… why is he choking? Why can’t he breathe?
“Dean?”
He looks up to see Cas watching him. He’s close, closer than he was before. But it’s still not Cas -close, not the way Cas usually sits right up in his personal space, and that little bit of distance between them is almost too much for Dean to bear right now.
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t hate you.”
Dean blinks. “Huh?” he says stupidly. “Uh… thanks?”
“Back in the car… when we first found her…” Cas nods at the puppy, “You said I could go back to hating you in peace after you dropped me off.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I don’t hate you, Dean. I don’t think I ever could.” Cas looks away. “No matter how much I want to sometimes.” His voice is such a soft, goddamned whisper, it makes Dean head spin.
“No,” he says roughly. “Cas, you…”
Cas looks up at him, startled. “Dean-”
“Please don’t hate me.” He’s begging and he knows it. “Please don’t hate me, Cas.”
“Dean, I-”
“Don’t hate me… because I…” he gulps, swallows, and then looks down. On his lap, the puppy is fast asleep, her breaths coming in rhythmic, slow beats. She’s so small and tiny and splayed out on his lap as she is, he can feel the thud-thud of her heartbeat against his thigh.
“Because I need you,” he finishes. “I need you, Cas.”
He hears Cas’s rush of breath this time. He knows he’s a goddamned coward, a fucking moron, and Christ, he still can’t say the words, and why is he so stupid-
The rough warmth of Cas’s fingers on his cheek distracts him from the slumbering dog in his lap. Dean looks up and all he sees is a flash of blue, before soft, wet lips are pressing against his own.
Cas is just as hesitant as he was the last time, waiting and vulnerable. He’s letting Dean take the lead. It’s that vulnerability - that sense that Cas would do this again, open himself up to rejection a second time, because the son of a bitch is a fucking masochist - that has Dean leaning in this time to lick into his mouth.
Cas makes a soft, hungry sound and oh damn ... why the hell did they wait so long? Dean huffs and yanks him closer, wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck. The feel of Cas’s stubble against his chin feels delicious, and shit, his pants are tightening and all he wants is to drown in the rough, smoky scent of Cas and never resurface.
“Dean.”
Cas sounds wrecked. Just like last time. His pupils are blown when he pulls back. Dean’s eyes are drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to quickly lick at his bottom lip, all swollen and flushed red. The expression on his face, though is cautious.
“Dean,” he repeats.
It’s strange, how this almost like a parody of the last time. They’ve kissed and Cas is watching him, tense and skittish and waiting for him to yell at him again.
Only this time, it’s not Dean who answers, but the puppy, who’s woken up from all the jostling and is now huffing into Dean’s tummy and glaring up at both of them.
“ Wuff ,” she barks, a sound so indignant and injured, it cuts through the tension in the room easier than a knife chopping through melting butter.
Cas snorts, pulling back. He leans down and strokes her head with gentle, firm fingers. She whines, but settles down again quickly enough, nudging her head against Dean.
“Well, that settles it,” Dean announces. “She’s gonna be Ruff.”
“...Ruff the Dog? Seriously?”
“‘S better than calling her puppy!” Dean protests. “And she can clearly make herself heard.”
As though on cue, the puppy lets out a second soft wuff.
“No.” Cas’s face draws into a stubborn scowl. “You might as well name her Paws for that.”
“Ruff,” Dean insists. He picks her up and both of them turn wide eyes at Cas, who leans back. “Tell him, mutt.”
“Wuff wuff wuff.” She wags her tail enthusiastically in his face.
Ouch.
“Appreciate the enthusiasm,” Dean grunts as he sets her back down on his lap, “But your butt stinks and your tail hurts, Ruff.”
“Wuff, wuff, wuff.”
“Oh by the Lord,” Cas groans. “You’ve named her.” He glares at Dean, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He inches closer, reaching out with a hesitant hand that he presses into Dean’s cheek.
His touch is tentative, like he’s afraid he’s not allowed, like he’s terrified Dean’s gonna push him away again. It makes Dean want to push him into his bed and whisper his love into his skin until Cas believes him, until Cas looks back at him with an expression that’s anything but this heartbreak he sees right now.
“She’s here to stay, Cas,” he whispers. “Ruff’s not going anywhere.”
Cas’s eyes widen. He licks his lip again, quiet and still hesitant. “I can’t… I want more than just a couple of days,” he murmurs. “I can’t do casual, I want… everything. I want her to be mine .” He looks at Dean meaningfully.
Dean smiles. He holds Ruff up and she whines for a moment, annoyed at how she’s being tossed around.
Cas leans in and rests his face against her head. Ruff huffs against his face and then just licks his cheek, slobbering dog-spit all over his mouth. He lets out a rumbling laugh and the sound of it makes goosebumps stand on Dean’s skin.
“She is yours,” Dean murmurs. “Can’t you see that, you idiot?”
Cas sits back, rubbing the dog saliva off of his face. “Dean, I-”
“We’re not going anywhere, Cas,” Dean interrupts. “Ruff and I… we’re here to stay.” He looks away, because Cas’s eyes are too piercing, too knowing, and instead turns to the panting puppy on his lap. “Aren’t we?” he coos at her, patting her forehead. “We’re staying, aren’t we, you stupid, mangy mutt?”
“Don’t call her names,” Cas says automatically. “ You gave her a proper name, use it.”
Dean grins triumphantly. “So you agree with Ruff, then.”
Cas rolls his eyes. “Do I have a choice?” he smiles.
“Ruff doesn’t think so. Do you, Ruff? Hmmm…? You like that name, don’t you, Ruff? Ruff, ruff, ruff,” he imitates barking.
Ruff barks back, raising her paws and clawing at him, wanting to be picked up. Cas chuckles and takes her from Dean, and she nuzzles under his chin, and shit , nothing is solved yet, there’s still so much crap they gotta work through.
But watching him now, with the dog he’s rescued and clearly is in love with, Dean knows… they’re going to be okay.
-end-