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It wasn't like Cas to be late.
Four years of friendship, four years of Friday night movies and beer, every single week, and he'd never been late before.
Dean wasn't worried. He wasn't.
Cas was a grown man. He could take care of himself, obviously. And there were a thousand things that could have delayed him – even though they never have before, he tried not to think. Traffic jams. Long lines at the store when he stopped for beer. Having to go to a different store because their regular store was out. Hell, it was about time he was late for once in his life. Dean would even congratulate him when he got here. One more step towards being a real human.
He'd never quite given up that joke, though it had been years since they'd had that final screaming fight at work and Dean had accused him of thinking he was above everything, thinking he was superior to all the rest of the people working in their office. He'd called him soulless, said, I'd say you were a replicant, but you're not human enough.
And then Cas had stilled, his face twisting from anger to confusion, and tilted his head.
“What's a replicant?”
Dean had stared, torn between lingering rage, months of pent-up hatred for the guy, and holy shit, he's never seen Blade Runner.
Somehow Dean had managed to convince him to come home with him after work, wondering the whole time what the hell he was doing. But even complete assholes don't deserve to be deprived of Ridley Scott.
And then Cas had turned out to be...awesome, in his own nerdy little way. He'd watched attentively, asked all the right questions, gasped in all the right places, and when Dean accidentally let slip that he thought Harrison Ford was pretty fucking hot, Cas had only nodded in agreement.
Being friends with Dean softened him around the office, too, as he brought him out of his defensive shell and taught Cas how to talk to people. He was, if not popular, well-liked now by the people he worked with closely, tolerated by the rest, and if anyone still talked shit about him behind his back – well, they better not let Dean hear them doing it.
It had become a ritual after that. Every Friday night they'd meet at Dean's – Dean providing the food and Cas, who could barely make toast, bringing the beer – and watch a movie together. Dean had come to depend on it. He thought maybe Cas had, too.
Dean glanced at the clock again. It was fifteen after, now. Not too late. Not really late at all for anyone but Cas. He peeked out the blinds, as if somehow Cas' car was going to materialize on the curb if he stared hard enough.
The food was getting cold on the kitchen counter. Cas would be pissed if he missed Dean's burgers – they were his favorite.
He wouldn't miss them, though. He never missed this.
Even when he was in New York for a business trip last year, he'd flown back home that Friday afternoon, paying for the tickets out of his own pocket to be there for movie night with Dean, before flying back for another meeting the next morning. Dude was crazy.
But Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't been overjoyed to see him there at his door that night.
Cas had only glanced in the kitchen, confused. “You didn't make any food,” he'd said.
“I didn't think you'd be here,” Dean had said sheepishly.
“Dean,” Cas had said, shaking his head. “I'll always be here.”
But it was 6:20 now, and he wasn't here.
Dean broke down and dialed his number.
It didn't even ring, going straight to his voice mail - “I don't understand, why do you want me to say my name?”
“Shit,” Dean muttered, tossing the phone down on the couch. Okay, so his phone was dead. It happens.
Not to Cas, but, well. To most people.
Pacing the living room wasn't going to make Cas show up any faster. Dean forced himself to sit down, though he couldn't quite make himself relax back into the couch.
He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels. Looking for something to distract him.
When he hit the local news, he forgot how to breathe.
That was Cas' building. That was Cas' apartment building on fucking fire.
There was smoke pouring out of every window, the entire structure blackened and collapsing in on itself. A small group of people huddled on the sidewalk across the street, and Dean leaned in, desperately seeking out a ruffled head of dark brown hair, a long tan coat.
Cas wasn't there.
He couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe. Cas wasn't there.
The remote dropped to the floor, his hands shaking too hard to hold onto it anymore. He snatched up his phone and dialed Cas' number again, frantic with the hope that somehow this was a mistake. Cas would pick up, he'd be at the store, he'd just lost signal for a minute, everything was fine, and -
The call went straight to voice mail again.
“No,” he growled. “No, no, fuck, no.”
He was pulling his jacket on before he realized he'd moved, shoving his keys in his pocket. He shouldn't be driving in this state, he knew that, but nothing was going to keep him from getting to that building. If Cas was still in there...
If anyone else were still trapped in that building they'd be gone by now, but he couldn't let himself think like that. Cas was Cas. Of course he'd be fine. He was always fine. If he was in there, nobody was going to stop Dean from going into that building after him, and he'd find him, and he'd be fine and Dean would yell at him a little for making him worry like this and they'd come back to Dean's apartment and eat their cold fucking burgers and watch their goddamn movie and everything would be fucking fine.
He flung the door open.
“Oh!” Cas said, fist raised to knock. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean swallowed, blinked hard. The gears in his brain ground to a halt. “Cas?”
“I'm sorry I'm late,” Cas said, brushing past him. “There was a huge traffic jam outside the store, all these fire trucks kept going by – I don't know where they were going, but there must have been quite a large fire somewhere. I ended up parking the car and walking here. I would have called, but my phone seems to have died on the way.” His face lit up with joy as he stepped into the kitchen and set the beer on the counter. He turned to Dean with a wide, gummy smile. “You made burgers.”
Dean pulled him in by the collar of his coat and kissed him hard.
After a moment of shocked silence, Cas' arms were around his neck and he was kissing back, tugging Dean in closer.
“Dean, I...what was that for?” Cas gasped as they broke apart.
“Don't ever do that again, don't you ever...Cas,” Dean sighed, leaning in to kiss him again and again, softer and slower but no less desperate.
“Mmf,” Cas mumbled against his lips. “Don't do what?”
Dean steered him into the living room, where the TV was still displaying footage of the wreckage as the firefighters battled the last of the flames.
“Oh,” Cas said quietly.
They watched the screen in silence. Cas turned around abruptly, eyes wide. “You thought...”
Dean nodded, swallowing hard.
“Dean,” Cas whispered, wrapping his arms around him again. “I'm so sorry.”
Dean tilted Cas' chin up with a gentle hand and kissed him again. Why had he never done this before?
Cas seemed to share the sentiment, humming blissfully against his mouth, going boneless and relaxed in Dean's arms.
“Oh,” Cas said finally.
“Hmm?” Dean rested his face in the crook of Cas' neck with a happy sigh.
“I suppose I need to find a new place to live now.”
Dean snorted a laugh into Cas' skin. “You think?”
Cas frowned down at him. “It's not funny, Dean. I just lost my home.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry. You're right, I'm sorry. It's not funny.” He squeezed Cas a little tighter and drew back to look at him. “But, uh...well.”
“Yes, Dean?”
“I have this really nice bed,” Dean said.
“Oh?”
“Mm, yeah. King size.”
“I see.”
“Memory foam.”
“Ah.”
“It's, you know. Big enough for two people.”
“What, exactly, are you trying to say?”
“You could stay here,” Dean mumbled. “If you want.”
Cas smiled, that wide, happy smile that only Dean could ever seem to draw out of him.
“It's so sudden,” he teased.
“I dunno, Cas, we've had like, a thousand Friday night dates already. I think we might be at the sleepover stage by now.” Dean couldn't keep the grin off his own face.
“We've had 227 Friday nights,” Cas murmured.
“You count them?” Dean didn't think his smile could get any bigger.
Cas shrugged shyly. “They're...very important to me. You're very important to me. But,” he looked at Dean sharply. “That doesn't mean you get to count all of those as dates. It doesn't count if neither person knows they're on a date.”
“Okay, okay,” Dean said. “So, then...is this our first date?”
“I think it is.”
“Okay. Well, then, for our first date we have cold hamburgers, warm beer, and...well, I had picked Rocky, but I think maybe we should watch Blade Runner instead. For old time's sake.”
“And then afterwards, you can walk me to the bedroom door and give me a polite goodnight kiss? Since it's our first date, after all.” Cas grinned.
“Well...um, I...”
Cas' smile turned wicked. “And then we can go in your room and you can show me around that nice king-sized memory foam bed of yours.”
“Oh, hell yes.”