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Dean does not find people cute or endearing, okay? He does not. Dean is a rugged, manly, beer-swilling, beef-eating badass. He has no feelings except anger and lust and coolness. (He exudes coolness. Coolness is a feeling. Shut up, Sammy).
So the fact that Cas seems to be weirdly good with kids has no effect on Dean. He’s barely even noticed—or, he’s noticed, but in an abstract sort of way, like how he notices that Sam is a nerd, or that Dr. Sexy looks great in cowboy boots.
Er, ignore that last part.
The point is, Cas is good with kids, and that’s cool, but not really something Dean cares about. It’s just something he’s noticed in the last few weeks, since things cooled down with angels and demons.
Sam and Dean go back to hunting your average monsters. Cas drops by occasionally, though he spends most of his time in Heaven. Which is totally fine. Dean doesn’t mind that he never gets to see Cas for longer than a few hours. A day, if he’s lucky.
Anyway, whenever they can, Sam and Dean swing by Sioux Falls on their way back to the bunker. And when they do, Dean calls Cas, who always comes to spend time with Claire.
(Sam had once commented that they were spending a lot of time in Sioux Falls.
You know, if you want to see Cas, you can just ask him to come around more, he had said.
And Dean eloquently retorted, Shut up, Sammy.)
But anyway, they’re sitting in Jody’s living room sipping beer while Claire complains about school and hints that she would rather be out hunting. Jody listens with a tight expression on her face, and at last Cas gets to his feet.
“If you want to hunt, you need proper training,” he says. “Sam and Dean trained for years before they were allowed to hunt on their own.”
Dean winces, seeing the sarcastic retort on the tip of Claire’s tongue.
“Why don’t I show you how to fight with a knife?” asks Cas, sliding the angel-blade from his sleeve.
Claire hesitates. But at last she shrugs and gets to her feet. “Sure, whatever,” she says, but her eyes are shining.
Dean glances at Jody, who sighs. “Be careful, both of you.”
Taking that as assent, Dean hands Claire one of his knives and watches Cas lead the way outside.
“You’re letting him teach her?” Sam asks, echoing Dean’s thoughts.
“She’s been mixed up in trouble before, and she probably will be again.” Jody shakes her head. “I don’t like it, but I’d rather she at least know what she’s doing.”
So they practice for an hour. When Jody sends Dean to bring them in for dinner, he stands for a moment watching Cas—the elegant lines of his body as he slashes and cuts midair, the careful way he corrects Claire.
Dean feels a weird pressure in his chest; probably just allergies or something. He clears his throat. “Uh, dinner, you guys.”
They file inside and wash up. As they load their plates, Claire asks whether they’ll be back in Sioux Falls so Cas can keep teaching her. It’ll be a break from stupid schoolwork, she says. Jody beams and piles extra roast potatoes onto Cas’s plate.
Cas turns to Dean. “When will we be back?” he asks.
Dean’s heartbeat picks up. “Whenever you like.”
Cas smiles at Claire. “Soon, then.”
Soon. I get to see him again soon.
They finish the frigging fantastic dinner Jody made, complete with apple pie, then Dean reluctantly leads the way outside. Claire follows him to the Impala. She bites her lip, as though trying to make up her mind, then says suddenly, “Look after Castiel, okay?”
It’s a simple comment, but it throws Dean a little—why is she asking him this? Why not both him and Sam?
And before he’s done gaping, Cas has come to join them. “Goodbye, Claire,” he says.
She nods. “Bye, Castiel. See you soon, or whatever.”
“See you soon,” Cas echoes.
Claire smiles—just a little—and she steps forward like she’s going in for a hug. But then she stops and clears her throat and slouches back to the front step.
And Cas gets into the backseat, and Dean’s mood lifts even more. He and Sam climb into the car, and Dean switches on the radio.
“You coming back with us then, Cas?” he asks, keeping his tone nice and casual. Sam is smiling for some reason, but he’s always been weird.
“Yes,” says Cas. “I think I would rather hunt with you than spend my time in Heaven. If that’s alright,” he adds.
“Yeah, of course,” says Dean quickly—maybe too quickly. He clears his throat. “Yeah, man, we’ll set up a room for you.” For some reason he can’t stop grinning.
As they pull away from Jody’s house, Cas waves goodbye to Claire. She makes sure to roll her eyes, but she waves back. Cas’s face breaks into a big toothy smile. It’s pretty endearing—rather, it’s pretty—it’s fine. Everything is fine.
And that’s the first time Dean thinks to himself, I guess Cas is pretty good with kids.
But he probably could have convinced himself it was just a stray observation if it didn’t keep happening.
2.
The next time they’re working a series of disappearances in California. While Dean and Cas speak to the grandmother whose son is missing, Sam’s interviewing the hot waitress. Dean’s not quite sure how they wound up with that arrangement, but Cas had been there, and for some reason Dean hadn’t wanted to insist on speaking to the waitress in front of Cas.
So Dean is squished next to Cas on a tiny couch while the poor grandmother, who can barely keep it together, struggles to answer their questions.
“I’m sorry, what did you say your names were?” She pulls her unwashed hair into a bun.
“Agents Clapton and Baker, ma’am.” Dean pulls his notebook out of his pocket (with difficulty, because Cas is shoved right up against him. Not that he’s noticed or anything).
“When was the last time you saw your son?” asks Cas.
The missing man’s toddler, who had been colouring at the coffee table, looks up. “Papa?” she asks, a wobble in her voice.
“He’ll be back soon, Madison, dear,” says the grandmother, forcing a smile. “These nice men are here to find him.
“I last saw him on Friday,” she answers, blinking rapidly.
Dean glances at the little girl. “Is her mother here too, or…?”
“I’m afraid not—car accident.” The grandmother takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I’ve just got cookies in the oven. If you don’t mind-”
“Of course,” says Cas, and she bustles out.
Dean and Cas sit awkwardly for a long moment, the little girl staring up at them.
“Hey, Madison,” says Dean at last. “How old are you, kiddo?”
“Four.” Madison stares at her sparkly Velcro shoes.
“Four, huh. What are you drawing?”
Madison ignores the question and stares up at them through watery eyes.
“Where’s my Papa?” she whispers.
Cas gets up and kneels in front of her, and Dean immediately misses his body heat—uh, because he’s cold, that’s all. California gets real chilly in July.
“Madison, I promise you, we’re going to find him,” says Cas.
And Dean should get mad at him for saying something like that, making a promise he might not be able to keep. But something in Cas’s voice stops him, because he’s reminded suddenly of the first time he met Cas, the dramatic entrance, shower of sparks and all. He feels the same sense of awe, feels like Cas can keep this promise, like Cas can do anything.
“Pinky promise?” whispers Madison.
Cas tilts his head and turns to Dean. “What is a pinky promise? I am not familiar with this method of agreement.”
Dean’s heart skips a beat—probably just leftover manly adrenaline. “It’s a promise you can’t break,” he says, and kneels at the coffee table as well. “Here, you see?” He wraps his pinkie around Madison’s. “Like this. I pinky promise.”
Cas nods seriously and copies the gesture. “We’ll find your Papa, Madison. I pinky promise.”
3.
The next time, it’s the same hunt. They’ve rescued the missing man from his vampire ex-girlfriend, who Cas smited dramatically. Now before they skip town, Cas insists on checking that the kid is okay. When they arrive, the grandmother plies them with two containers full of cookies, and Madison tugs shyly at Cas’s trench coat.
“This is for you,” the kid mutters, and she holds out a piece of paper.
“Thank you,” says Cas, bending down to take it.
Dean looks at his ass—uh, his astoundingly nice back (saved it)—then peers over Cas’s shoulder at the paper.
It’s a drawing of Cas in all his suited, trenchcoated glory. He has a pair of bright crayon-pink butterfly wings sticking out of his back.
Dean just barely holds in his snort.
“It’s you—as an angel.” The kid turns shining eyes on Cas. Her father must have spilled the beans about exactly who rescued him.
Cas smiles back at her. “Thank you, Madison. I love it.”
The kid’s smile gets about a thousand times brighter, and she throws her arms around Cas’s neck, her little feet barely brushing the ground.
Dean wonders why his chest feels tight—probably just heartburn from the bacon cheeseburger he had for lunch.
Cas’s eyes go a little wide, then he hugs back carefully, like he’s worried he might break her.
“You look after your father for me, alright?” says Cas, and the little girl nods solemnly.
“I will, Mr. Angel man.”
“Thank you.” Cas straightens up once more, and he turns that lovely smile from Madison to Dean.
And that’s all it takes—something in Dean lurches and stutters and he goes still.
Oh shit, thinks Dean. Oh shit, I’m in so much trouble.
He feels himself smiling helplessly back at Cas, smiling way too big and too wide, but he can’t seem to help himself.
“Uh, guys? You ready to get going?” Sam cuts in.
“Yeah. Right,” says Dean. But he still stands there, petrified, and Cas has to give him a gentle nudge before he climbs back into the Impala and gets the car in gear, heart beating like it’ll burst out of his chest.
4.
Okay, so maybe he felt a weird thing, Dean thinks that night, staring at the motel ceiling. It wasn’t—what it felt like. Dean is straight. That one time (or that other time, or the recurring dream with Dr. Sexy)—none of those things count. He must have slept with, what, a hundred girls? Which makes him a hundred percent straight. That’s just basic math.
“Dean,” Cas rumbles. “Are you frightened? Your heart rate is significantly elevated.”
Dean freezes. “Cas, we’ve talked about this,” he hisses. “Don’t watch me while I’m sleeping. It’s weird!”
“Apologies, Dean.” Cas has crossed the room, and now he looms over the foot of the bed. God, Cas is standing over his bed in his shirtsleeves, with his mussed hair and a confused pout on his face. Cas is standing over his bed.
Dean feels himself shiver.
“Your heartbeat increased again, Dean. Are you sure you’re alright?”
He flushes. “I’m fine, Cas! Just go to-” Right, he doesn’t sleep. “Just, go back to watching Netflix or whatever.”
Cas tilts his head. “Would you like me to help you sleep?”
Dean’s mouth falls open. “Uh- what?”
Cas considers him for a moment, then nods and steps forward. “I’m going to help you sleep.”
Holy shit, thinks Dean. Then, Wait, Sammy’s in the room.
And even more belatedly, Wait, I’m straight.
But by then Cas is standing right over him, reaching out a hand, and Dean goes still. The angel hesitates, then brushes his hand over Dean’s cheek.
And the feeling is back, worse than ever, and Dean knows all his rationalizing was bullshit.
Cas rubs his thumb once, twice, against Dean’s cheek, grazing his lip. “Sleep, Dean,” he whispers. Dean feels Cas’s grace rush through him, calm him, and he’s asleep in moments.
If that hadn’t been enough to confirm how he felt, the next morning would have done it. When Dean and Sam step out of the motel room, Cas has just healed a little boy who skinned his knee on the sidewalk. Dean watches the angel straighten up and tuck his hands into his trench coat pockets, and he thinks, Beautiful. He thinks, Mine.
5.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean lowers his crowbar.
“Dean!” Sam whirls around the corner. “Are you alright?”
“Fine. Cas finally got him.” Dean gestures to the ghost they’ve been hunting, which is collapsing into flames.
Dean’s cell phone rings. “Yeah, you got him. Took your sweet time, too, buddy.”
He hears the flapping of wings, and Cas appears right in front of him, wide-eyed. “Are you alright?” the angel asks, still speaking into his cell phone.
Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I’m fine too, Cas, thanks for asking.” Sam flashes his best bitchface.
Aww, Samantha’s feelings are hurt. They should all braid his hair and talk about feelings and crap.
Dean’s about to share his awesome burn aloud when they hear it: a baby crying.
Cas’s shoulders stiffen. He strides ahead of them and pushes open a door.
Several nurses and mothers look up. Cas looks the room over, and his eyes land on the crying baby.
“Allow me,” he tells the nurses, and steps forward to the cradle.
“Um-” The nurse looks on the brink of calling security, so Dean hurries over and draws his badge.
“FBI, ma’am. Nothing to worry about. That’s my partner. We were just taking care of the… you know, disturbances in the hospital.”
“Oh, I see.” Her eyes land on the crowbar. “Do you always carry tools on you, Agent...” She squints at his badge. “…Crosby?”
“Uhh…” Dean quickly sets the crowbar down. “I just found it in the hallway. Didn’t want anyone to trip.”
She nods and turns back to Cas, who is bent over the cradle. “Is your partner always like this?”
Dean shrugs. “Yeah, he’s… he’s really good with kids.”
Cas scoops up the baby and cradles it close to his chest. Dean can’t quite make out the words, but he hears the angel’s low voice rumble out something soothing.
And just like that, the baby stops crying. It blinks a couple times then reaches out and curls its tiny hand around Cas’s index finger.
And there it is; the feeling is back with a vengeance, and Dean feels a stupid smile on his face.
“Wow, your partner has the magic touch,” says the nurse, sounding impressed in spite of herself.
“Yeah,” Dean hears himself say, then before he can stop himself: “He’ll be a great parent someday.”
Wait, what? his brain asks, belatedly joining the party.
The nurse sort of does a double take, raising her eyebrow.
“Parent?” asks Cas.
How loudly did he say that?
Apparently loud enough for Cas, Sam, and everyone else to hear.
Dean still might have explained away his comment if not for the massive fucking blush that burns up his entire face. Hell, he’s probably blushing hard enough that NASA could detect the heat signature from space.
“Uh-” says Dean intelligently, somehow managing to blush harder.
“Oh.” The nurse smiles. “That’s great! Sorry, when you said ‘partner,’ I didn’t realize you meant-”
“Cas, Sammy—I mean, Agent Nash, Agent Young, we should—come on.” Dean snatches up the crowbar and gets the hell out of there as fast as he can without actually running.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
What has he done? He never meant to actually discuss the… feelings stuff with Cas. Not for at least another few years or so. He’s not ready, dammit. What if Cas is disgusted? What if he decides he’s had enough of presumptuous humans and leaves for good?
At that, Dean’s stomach drops, and he just barely resists the urge to bludgeon himself with the crowbar and put himself out of his misery.
“Dean, wait up!”
Sam’s voice sends a chill through him, and he walks a little faster. Jesus, he said that shit right in front of Sammy.
“Uh—you two take a cab back to the motel, okay?” Dean turns, but he can’t quite look them in the eye. “I’m just going to—go somewhere. Talk soon!”
He hears Sam start to protest, but then Dean rounds a corner and he sprints for the parking lot.
+1
Dean’s hands are still shaking when he parks outside the motel that evening. He spent a few hours that afternoon just driving, then he pulled over and drank beers by a lake. He would have been happy to stay there for the rest of the day—and the night, and the month—but they were supposed to leave town right after the hunt. Cas and Sam are waiting for him.
Dean shudders and parks Baby. He sees the motel room’s curtains twitch, catches a glimpse of Sam’s worried face and overgrown hair.
Great.
Dean steps out of the car and sets his jaw. Okay. You can do this, Winchester. Just pretend nothing happened. Act like Dad.
Thinking about Dad and whatever he would think of this whole debacle doesn’t exactly help settle Dean’s nerves.
The sound of the door opening is like a gunshot, and it jerks Dean back into focus. He looks up and locks eyes with Sam.
Every time he’s actually imagined how this conversation might go down, he’s thought Sammy would be all bleeding heart, would you like a hug, I love you no matter what. But Dean can’t read Sam’s expression at all, and his heart hammers.
Dean looks at Sam and Sam looks at Dean. At last, he can’t handle the silence anymore.
“Where’s Cas?”
“He’s in the room.”
Well, at least he hasn’t left yet. Dean shifts his weight, fiddles with the car keys.
Pretend nothing happened, Dean. Come on.
“You miss me that much, Samantha? I was only gone a few hours.” He makes a heroic attempt at his usual smirk.
And Sam asks, “Are you in love with him?”
Dean freezes, and for a moment the world seems to hold its breath.
He’s a dude, Sammy.
I’m straight.
He’s my best friend.
But to Dean’s surprise, what actually comes out of his mouth is, “He’s an angel.”
And then they both sort of stare at each other for a long moment.
Because look, Dean has been saying for years that angels are feathery dicks and God is an asshole. But before all this crap went down, before Cas rescued him from hell, if he’d had to imagine what angels are like, he would have imagined someone good and kind and strong. Someone just like Cas.
Mom used to tell him angels were watching over him. And isn’t that exactly what Cas has done? Looked after Dean, saved his sorry ass from hell, helped him out again and again? And now against all odds Cas is here, and it seems he’s here to stay.
What has Dean ever done to deserve that? How can he possibly ask for more?
Sam—who had probably been anticipating more of an argument—seems to get his steam back. “So what if he’s an angel? Why should that make a difference?”
There it is—the touchy-feely crap he was expecting.
Dean shrugs and stares at the wall.
“Dean, you deserve to be happy. How many times have you saved the world?”
He imagines the screaming souls in Hell and tightens his jaw.
Sam shakes his head. “Give me the car keys.”
“What? Why?”
“So you and Cas can have a proper conversation for once.”
There’s a terrifying thought. Dean feels like he’s been drenched in ice water.
Sam carefully pries the Impala keys from Dean’s fist and pats him on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Dean. Just—be honest, okay? You’ve spent enough time avoiding this.”
Wait, what? How long has Sam known?
The Impala roars away, and now it’s just Dean waiting there in the parking lot, staring at a plain motel door. He wonders how much trouble he’d be in if he just turned around and walked and never stopped.
The door swings open. “Hello, Dean.”
Well, there goes that idea. “Hey, Cas.”
The angel steps aside, and Dean reluctantly follows him into the motel room.
Dean goes straight for the fridge. There are still a couple beers left, thank fuck. He cracks one open and drains half of it.
“Dean,” Cas rumbles.
He wishes that voice didn’t send shivers through him.
“Yeah, I’m going to shower, then we can head out.” Dean goes for the shower, but Cas steps in front of him, placing a palm on his shoulder. Right where the handprint used to be.
“Dean,” says Cas again. “What you said at the hospital-”
“Yeah, I think you’d be a good father or whatever.” Dean shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Can I shower now?”
“No. Dean, look at me.”
Cas is still holding onto him. Dean follows the angel’s arm up to his blue, blue eyes. “What, Cas?” He swallows hard.
“Do you want children, Dean?”
He freezes. “Uh… I don’t think that would be a good idea, man. Not with the hunting lifestyle.”
“That’s not what I asked you.” Cas tilts his head. “You’re denying what you really want. I don’t understand humans sometimes.”
It’s so reminiscent of their early encounters, when Cas knew nothing about life on Earth, that Dean laughs. “There’s the angel I know and—” He chokes, then quickly lifts his beer and drinks once more.
Cas watches him with that steady blue gaze, and then he takes the bottle and sets it down. “Dean,” he says, and ducks his eyes. “Dean, I think you do me too much credit. I am not good with children. I ruined Claire’s life.”
“No—hey, Cas, come on,” Dean insists. “You’re great with Claire. I know she’s a teenager and all that, but she loves you.” He swallows hard then mumbles, “She’s not the only one.”
Cas’s eyes snap up, and Dean goes still. Did he seriously just say that?
He’s blushing again. Why the fuck does he have to blush so much around Cas?
But Dean forces himself to stay quiet now, not to make some joke or excuse. He lets the words hang there in the air between them, and he waits. Cas is still touching him. Can he feel Dean shaking?
The angel steps in closer, closer. “Dean,” he whispers, reaching with both hands to cradle Dean’s face. “I have loved you since the moment I saw you.”
Before Dean can even begin to process that, Cas leans in and kisses him.
For a moment Dean is still, then he’s holding Cas, clutching at his shoulders. For some reason there are tears pricking at his eyes. For some reason he’s still shaking. He needs to feel Cas beneath his hands, needs to know this is real, that Cas is going to stay.
When at last they pull back, there are only a couple inches between them.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, hoarse.
Cas wipes gently at his tear-tracks. “Dean,” he says. “You are my family. I want to build a home with you.”
And at that, Dean pulls him close, nods into Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay?” Cas is beaming again, flashing that beautiful smile that makes Dean weak at the knees.
“Okay.” Dean beams, and kisses him again.