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The morning of September 25th starts out just like every other morning preceding.
Dean wakes up around eight - later than normal but now that Sam, Dean and Cas are taking a break from hunting for awhile, Dean can sleep for as long as he pleased.
It’s kinda nice.
Instead of rushing to get ready and drive off to some small town filled with ghosts and demons, Dean gets out of bed at a quarter after eight and heads into the bathroom for a nice, long shower - the bunker’s water pressure is magnificent after all. He takes his sweet time underneath the scalding spray, basking in the comforting steam that seeps into him and rejuvenates him from the inside out.
After he’s showered and changed - feeling a bit more like himself - Dean lumbers down the stairs, yawning loudly. He walks into the kitchen, muttering a gruff, “Good morning,” to Cas as he beelines over to the coffee maker. It is empty. Dean frowns, turning back around to face Cas, who sits at the kitchen table, back straight, a steaming mug of coffee next to him and the daily newspaper unfolded in his hands.
“Hey Cas?”
Cas raises his head, placing the paper down and looks over his shoulder at Dean, “Yes?”
“Did you… make coffee?” Dean asks carefully. He doesn’t want to come off like he expected Cas to make coffee for him or anything, but surely Cas couldn’t have drank a whole pot already.
A smiled graces over Cas’s face.
“I did. Your cup is on the table,” Cas replies.
“Oh.”
Dean moves away from the empty coffee maker and plops down across from Cas at the table, where - sure enough - there is a cup of coffee in a ceramic green mug. His fingers grasp the handle of the mug and he slowly brings it up to his lips, taking a generous gulp of the light brown liquid. It’s hot, probably too hot and feels like lava going down his throat, but tastes so good that he takes another gulp. Cas can make some damn good coffee.
“What did you put in this? It’s really good,” Dean compliments him.
“A few teaspoons of cream, a few of sugar and a dash of cinnamon. I was worried you wouldn’t approve of it, I am glad that you do,” Cas replies, face slightly flushed at Dean’s compliment.
Dean grins, “Yeah it’s great.”
A companionable silence overtakes them. Cas reads the paper, sipping at his coffee every few minutes and Dean watches. It should feel strange to be this domestic and in a way, it does. Dean’s not used to spending time with Cas outside of fighting and right now, seeing him act so casual, so human feels wrong in a thousand ways, but completely right in a million more. Yet, despite his newly-present humanness, there’s still parts of Cas that are wholly angelic. The way he sits for example, tall, stoic and straight-backed as if slouching would start the next apocalypse. Remnants of his angelic state remain in his muscles in the way the newspaper is held taut in his hands, how his eyes scan the page, searching seriously through the lines like this article on puppies will cure cancer.
Cas may be just a human now whose greatest joys in life are make Dean a cup of coffee in the mornings, but he used to be something unfathomable, a being so incredible that his voice would shake the mountains, the touch of his hand would bring the dead back to life. Now he’s a man with a penchant for antique shopping, good coffee, nerdy movies and loves pb&j who doesn’t mind that he’s merely a human but instead rejoices in the fact.
But that’s not the worst part, Dean realizes. The worst part is that Cas gave up everything that he was, just so he could live out a dumb human life at Dean’s side.
Cas smiles, laughing a little at something in the paper, running his fingers through his hair and it’s such a human gesture that Dean’s heart jumps into his throat.
Shit, I’m fucking in love with Cas.
It is an earth-shattering realization that almost knocks Dean - and his coffee - out of his chair. He’s just staring at Cas, mouth agape and flapping open and closed like a fish, until Cas finally notices him and narrows his eyes.
“Dean are you alright?”
His is sticking up at every angle making him look like an angry Pomeranian and it’s all Dean can do to stop himself from reaching across the table to tangle his fingers in it. But he doesn’t. Instead his lips twist up into a grin and he rises from his chair, gripping his now empty coffee cup in his hand and moves over to Cas’s side of the table.
Without hesitation, he leans down and slides his fingers along Cas’s cheek, pressing their lips together gently.
When Dean pulls away Cas is blushing and smiling wider than Dean’s ever seen him smile. A warmth rushes throughout Dean’s body that can only be described as happiness.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean finally replies, “I’m real good.”