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True to his word, Cas brings pancakes-to-go the next morning in two polystyrene trays. He offers them proudly to Dean from the doorstep.
“Awesome,” Dean says with a grin. Cas slides past him and into the room. There’s plenty of space in the open doorway, but Cas presses close enough that his shoulder nudges Dean’s chest. A warm blossom unfurls in Dean’s stomach at the contact. He feels a dopey grin spread on his face.
“Good morning,” Cas says, tilting his chin up to look Dean squarely in the face.
Should I kiss him? Dean’s mind pesters. Do we do that now?
Before Dean can reach a conclusion, Cas breaks eye contact to scan the room. “Where’s Sam?” he asks.
Ohh… kay, not the question Dean expected. “In the bathroom,” he says. ”Possibly throwing up, definitely feeling sorry for himself.”
Cas nods. “I could heal him.”
“Nah,” Dean replies. “Hangovers are character building. We’ll just toss him in the back of Baby ‘til he sobers up and you can ride up front with me.”
Cas meets Dean’s gaze again and his face breaks slowly from surprise to pleasure. There’s an eager, greedy glint in Cas’s eyes that reminds Dean why he set the alarm so early.
“Sammy!” Dean shouts, still caught by the unguarded excitement on Cas’s face. Only the sound of the bathroom door opening a few moments later pulls him away.
A very green-around-the-gills looking Sam emerges and leans weakly against the door jamb. “You feel like keeping it down?” he asks.
“What’s wrong, Samuel?” Dean asks innocently, as if he has no idea why Sam might be looking so wretched.
Sam grimaces. “What’s wrong is I feel like I went toe to toe with Gunner Lawless circa 1994.”
Dean grins, a little wickedly. “Well good news is Cas brought breakfast.” He pops open one of the trays of pancakes, wafting up the steam and inhaling deeply. “Mmm,” he says, “smell that.”
”Fuck,” Sam curses, fleeing back into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
Dean grin widens. “Serves him right.”
He tosses the trays onto the table, and slides into a chair: the same chair he occupied last night. He bends back the lid of the open tray to give him better access to the pancakes inside. They look every bit as incredible as the photo on the diner menu: a fluffy outer of perfectly golden batter surrounding a sausage patty interior, all soaked in syrup. There’s no fork in the box, so Dean dives straight in. His fingers are sticky from the first bite and he has to stop to lick them more than once. A slight whimper draws his attention and he looks up to see Cas staring back, mouth parted slightly and eyes following every one of Dean’s movements.
”You want some?” Dean asks, as sweetly as the syrup.
“I…” Cas swallows. “I don’t need to eat.”
“Trust me,” Dean says, holding a small piece out between his finger and thumb.
Cas stoops and takes the morsel between his lips. Dean feels the heat of his mouth and the lightest swipe of Cas’s tongue against the pad of his forefinger, and hot damn, the sensation goes straight to his dick.
Cas straightens and makes a show of assessing the dish. “Mmm, not terrible,” he says.
“More where that came from.”
A pretty blush mottles Cas's cheeks. ”I don't doubt it,” he says. ”But I'm content to know you’re enjoying it.”
Dean hums an affirmative, and sets back to his meal with gusto. Who knew it was possible to cook sausage inside a pancake? Genius. He uses the last piece to dab at a puddle of syrup. A trickle of it escapes and trails down the outside of his palm. Dean catches the wayward drop before it reaches his wrist, swiping up the sticky trail with his tongue.
Cas swears quietly beside him.
Dean doesn’t even bother to hide his smile. Him and Cas. Their relationship has always been a bit of a puzzle, fitting the pieces together slowly. And this… this feels like the final piece that reveals the whole. Nothing’s hidden any more.
Damn, why does the Bunker have to be four states away?
Tossing the empty tray in the trash, Dean walks over to the bathroom door. He can hear the faucet running, Sam gargling. He knocks. “Sam?” he says through the wood. “All good?”
The door opens again and an ashen and wobbly Sam appears, bracing himself on the door frame. ”Don't go in there,” he whispers.
“Dramatic bitch,” Dean says. “You done?”
Sam nods slowly. “Yeah. Probably.”
“Good, cause it's time for us to hit the road.”
Sam pulls a miserable face and, as much as Dean enjoys teasing the big lug, he also hates to see him genuinely unhappy.
“Hey, it's alright,” he says, giving Sam’s drooping shoulder a little squeeze. “You get the back seat, catch a few extra zees. Cas can ride shotgun.”
“Thanks,” Sam mumbles. The fact that he's not even protesting goes to show how bad he's feeling.
“Sure, buddy,” Dean says. ”C'mon, I'll even steal you one of these nice… hideous... blankets.” He snatches one of the thick floral bedspread and tosses it over his shoulder. He puts a hand to Sam’s back and guides him towards the door. They leave in sequence, Cas last. A second later Dean lets himself back into the room and snags the second box of pancakes off the table.
Now he’s ready to roll.
****
They don’t even make it to the highway before Sam starts snoring, scrunched up on the back seat with the liberated blanket tucked up under his chin. Dean smiles as he angles the rear view mirror back into its proper position.
“You’re good to him,” Cas says.
“Eh,” Dean replies. “I’m a dick to him too sometimes. Just for balance.”
It’s Cas’s turn to smile.
****
About another hour into the journey the treeline breaks, and the interstate straightens and widens to two full lanes. This is the kind of road Dean loves, and he opens Baby out to a flat eighty. The radio is on low, and Sammy is still snoozing in the back. Cas is watching the world go by out of his window, the wild beauty of land mostly untamed. His skin glints golden in the sun and Dean is struck by how damn lucky he is. Not even for what he hopes is at the end of the road, but for what’s here right now, in this car.
On a whim he reaches out and puts his hand on Cas’s leg, just above the knee. He has what he thinks might be a memory of his dad doing that to his mom, way back in the when. Maybe it’s just a wishful thought. Either way, Cas turns from the window and looks down at Dean’s hand. After a moment, he moves his own hand so it lays over Dean’s; not lacing their fingers nor squeezing, just resting there. He lifts his eyes to Dean’s face, a question parting his lips ever so slightly. Am I doing it right? he seems to be asking, and the way Dean’s heart feels ready to explode says that the answer is yes. He nods, confirming what Cas didn’t even need to ask.
They drive like that all the way to Illinois.
****
Sam wakes up at about the five hour mark.
“Where are we?” is the first thing he asks.
Dean reclaims his hand from Cas’s thigh, clenching and stretching his fingers to get life back into them. “Basically Chicago.”
“Wow,” Sam says, yawning and stretching. He sticks his head between Dean and Cas’s shoulders, leaning into the front. “You stopped for gas?”
“Twice,” Cas confirms. “It seemed best to let you sleep.”
“I need a leak,” Sam informs them.
Dean is already pulling across lanes to exit the tollway. “I hear that.”
****
There’s a gas station just off the slip road. It’s one of those chains that do premium as well as regular. Dean tosses Cas his wallet as they get out of the car. “Give her the good stuff,” he says. Cas nods, and Dean pats Baby’s bonnet before jogging after Sam who’s already en route to the restroom.
They pee in silence, because that’s what normal people do. There’s some muzak playing over a tinny speaker crammed up on the water stained ceiling. Dean hums along mindlessly as he washes his hands. Sam is already drying his on some insubstantial paper towels.
“You seem happy,” Sam says.
“Excuse me?” Dean replies, shaking the water off his hands and drying them on the back of his jeans.
Sam gives him a small smirk and begins walking. “Oh nothin',” he says. “Just thought that when I woke up I saw you…” He looks back over his shoulder as Dean lets the restroom door swing shut a little too loudly behind them.
“Thought you saw what?” Dean says, holding his ground and making Sam stop too.
Sam turns to face him. He shifts his weight foot to foot and the furrow on his brow tells Dean he's making a decision. “I just thought, maybe, something had… changed. Between you and Cas,” he says at last.
Dean's toes curl in his boots. Hell, they're gonna have to have this conversation right here and now, aren’t they?
“Like what?” he asks, it coming out as a challenge more from habit than any desire to make this conversation more awkward than it already is.
There's some colour creeping back into Sam's cheeks. ”Dude.”
Dean eyeballs his brother in silence.
Sam breaks, throwing up his arms. “Cas, man! He was coming on to you all night.”
“Oh. Really?” Dean manages to keep his tone impartial.
“Oh my god,” Sam replies despairingly. “Please tell me you're not this much of an idiot.”
Dean keeps up the act for a few more seconds before he gives in. “Okay, yeah, alright,” he says. “Maybe me and Cas… got some things out in the open.” He lets the statement settle as he watches Sam's face run the gamut of surprise, elation, concern and finally settle on 'ew'.
“Please tell me the two of you didn't bang while I was passed out in the same room,” he says.
Dean gives Sam a second to stew, then laughs. “Hell no,” he says. “You and that gassy ass of yours ruined the mood.”
Sam's eyebrows twitch. “Okay, good,” he says, but also adds a quiet, “sorry”.
Dean shrugs. “Wasn’t the time or place,” he says. “No biggie.” He starts to walk again but Sam stops him with a hand to his arm.
”Just… don’t break his heart,” Sam says, tone low but urgent.
Dean half-smiles, half-scowls at Sammy. It’s sweet that he’s concerned, and annoying that he’d even think that. “Aren’t you supposed to be worried about my heart?” he says, shaking off Sam’s grip. “You're my brother.”
”And don’t you think I won’t be giving him the talk, too,” Sam replies in with an equal mix of humour and seriousness. “I just… I love both of you. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
It’s the chick flick moment, all open and honest, and Dean feels an automatic aversion to talking about feelings and shit rise in his throat. He shoves it down. That’s the old Dean, by which he means the one from twenty four hours ago. Because where did being the old Dean ever get him? Certainly not being 685 short miles (not that he’s counting) from what he hopes to be a very happy ending. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Look, one thing that tackling Chuck taught us is that nothin’ is set in stone. But Cas and me, I think we could be good together. And I don’t want to get to the end of the road without finding out for sure.”
Sam swallows thickly. “Alright,” he says. He claps Dean on the arm. “Good chat.” Sniffling a little, he turns on his heel and heads back towards the Impala.
****
Cas has Baby gassed and ready to go when they arrive. There’s even jerky on the dash, and that’s a sweet touch.
“Okay,” Dean says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s make like California and roll.”
“I thought we were going back to Kansas,” Cas asks.
Dean presses his lips together to stop himself laughing. “We are,” he says, reaching for the driver’s side door.
Sam slips in between him and the Impala. “Uh uh,” he says, “You’ve had, what? Four hours sleep sandwiching twelve hours driving?”
“Give or take,” admits Dean with a shrug.
“Then it’s your turn in the back.”
“But I’m fine.”
Cas tucks himself in behind Dean, close enough that Dean can practically feel the angel’s warmth. “Dean, you should get some rest.”
Dean cranes his neck between the two of them, looking for any indication that they might back down. Sam arches his eyebrow. Cas tips his head.
Dean sighs. “Yeah, alright.”
Sam slides into the driver's seat with only the faintest of victorious smirks. Dean moves to the rear door and opens it. He leans against the frame and looks at Cas. ”You joining me back here?” he asks.
Cas gives him a knowing smile. ”I doubt that you’ll get much sleep if I do,” he replies. His voice is low, rough yet honeyed. Damn, has he always sounded like that? So fucking… sexy? Dean feels the inference behind Cas’s words pool in his stomach, and that only serves to prove the point.
Dean growls. ”God frickin’ dammit,” he curses and all-but throws himself into the Impala.
Cas closes the door for him - which Dean finds oddly charming - then circles the hood and climbs into the passenger seat beside Sam.
”Ready?” Sam asks.
“Just drive, grandma,” Dean grunts. He scrunches up Sam’s blanket and shoves it into the nearside footwell. It’s not like he’s going to need it. He’ll let Sam have his way for a couple of hours, maybe til the next pitstop, and then he’ll take back over.
They pull out into traffic and Sam flicks the radio on. It’s playing Buddy Holly, which isn’t too terrible. Dean hums along quietly. By the commercial, he has his head tipped back against the upholstered window strut. Maybe he’ll just rest his eyes for a few minutes. It has been an intense couple of days. And keeping his strength up might not be the worst idea, not if that look Cas gave him is anything to go by. He allows himself a smug smile and rearranges his jeans to better accommodate his slouched position, fingers lingering just a fraction longer than strictly necessary.
Ten minutes. He’ll just grab ten minutes.
****
Dean wakes slowly, lazily. He’s warm and - if not entirely comfortable - there’s a sense of safety, of security, that he’s not felt since… maybe their first night in the bunker.
The noise of the road and the low familiar purr of Baby’s V8 situates him. He’s buried under a heavy blanket that smells vaguely of beer sweat and fabric softener. There’s something else bundled under his head to, and he turns into it, eyes still closed. That smells different, like a cold morning in the country, a deep earthy scent laced in with something fresh and cleansing. Dean knows the smell, knows it as well as the scent of pie, or bacon or any of the other things that bring him happiness. It’s Cas’s smell, and the receding fog allows his brain to realise that he now has a trenchcoat for a pillow.
He slept, despite his best intentions. And apparently he slept deep enough for either Sam or Cas - he likes to think Cas - to cover him up and give him something soft to rest his head on.
He’s about to drag himself upright and ask where they are when he also realises that Cas is already speaking. There’s something in the angel’s hushed tones that holds Dean’s tongue but pricks up his ears.
“You, of all people, know this isn’t a snap decision,” Cas is saying. There’s a little bit of annoyance and a little bit more disappointment in his voice.
”Yeah, I do,” Sam agrees. ”And seriously, I’m happy for you guys. But… why now?”
Dean should make some noise, give some indication that he’s awake and listening. But he’s only human and - even putting aside the fact that this is apparently not a new discussion between Sam and Cas - his baby bro is making a good point. It’s a question that Dean’s asked himself. And even though he knows it shouldn’t matter, that it should be enough that it has happened, curiosity keeps him silent.
Cas takes a long time to answer, and with each second it’s harder and harder for Dean to stay still. His nose itches. His left ass cheek is numb. At last, though, Cas speaks.
“When I first came to Earth, I thought it was my purpose, that it was part of the being we came to know as Chuck’s plan. Then I rebelled, because I thought Earth needed me. I thought the two of you needed me.”
”We did,” Sam says. ”We do. ”
”That’s not my point,” Cas replies. ”The point is I was doing what I saw as my duty, again. Standing by my friends. By my family. Trying to help my fallen brothers and sisters because I felt responsible for what happened to them.” He takes a deep breath. ”But then we woke all the angels and demons in the empty, locked away the shadow, defeated Chuck, put Jack in charge of heaven, Rowena took over in hell…”
“It was a busy year,” says Sam.
Cas ignores the understatement of the millenium. “But then last night, sat with the two of you, I realised something.” He takes a breath. “All my life, my very long life, I have done what I had to. But being here, on Earth, with him… that’s not a task or a chore or a mission. It’s something I want to do. I care about him - and you, albeit in a different fashion.”
"Not going to lie, Cas,” Sam replies. “I’m okay with different.”
Cas chuckles darkly, then sobers. “I want to be with Dean,” he says, his voice filled with conviction and the cost of brutal honesty. “And I would stand by him as a friend forever, but if he wants it to be something more… I want that too. I want all of it.”
Dean hears a creak from the front seat, the sound of demin shifting against leather. "That’s… kinda beautiful,” his brother says after a beat, and his voice sounds thick. The lump in Dean’s throat echoes the sentiment. “I just… Dean’s not always the best with words. He might struggle to tell you exactly how he feels. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, Cas.”
“I know,” Cas replies, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice.
Neither of them say anything more for a while. Dean eventually decides it’s safe to stir, sneaking a finger out from under the blanket and scratches the end of his nose.
“Dean?” Sam asks, turning away from watching the road to look at the back seat. Dean makes a show of blinking and looking confused.
“Sammy?” he asks in return. He pulls himself upright. “Where are we?” He throws in a yawn for good measure.
Sam returns his attention to the road, a two lane highway bordered by flat land and fields. “Bang centre of Iowa,” he replies. “You sleep well?”
”Hmm, yeah,” Dean says, because he did. ”More of a power nap, though.”
“A four and a half hour power nap” Sam replies dryly.
”I guess I'm just that powerful.” He aims a shit-eating grin in the rear view mirror and the reflected roll of Sam's eyes lets him know it wasn't wasted.
Cas twists in his seat, craning his neck around to snag Dean’s gaze. Dean watches the sinew beside his ear ripple in a long, graceful line. Jeez, the things Dean wants to do to that neck; the kisses he remembers trailing over it, the way he wants to graze his teeth along the taut, tan skin and leave a mark...
“Hungry?” Cas asks.
Dean almost, almost, laughs. Then he realises Cas has a stick of jerky in his hand and is waving it at him over the back of the bench. Dean smirks as he accepts it and rips open the wrapper, taking a bite. “Thanks,” he says. He licks the salt from his lips.
“You’re welcome,” Cas replies distractedly, eyes following the slow swipe of Dean’s tongue.
Sam groans. “So this is my life now.”
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean answers sweetly. “Any chance you could put your foot down a bit? Some of us have places to be.”
“I'm already doing 75,” Sam replies, but Dean feels the tug of acceleration regardless.