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For once in their life there weren’t any monsters to kill. In fact the trio has been hunt free for about week and not at each others throats. Sam is taking their long overdue vacation time to finish cataloging (the nerd) a lot of the old artifacts in one of the many Men Of Letters room. Cas is busy helping him when he gets a chance, but mostly he’s been outside the back entrance of the bunker gardening.
At first Dean had given him shit, because gardening, really? Since when did Cas like flowers? When Dean saw the clear hurt on the angels face, he’d felt like the lowest kind of scum. Sam (of course) overheard him, and when Castiel fly off to wherever it is that he goes, his brother reamed him hard for being an insensitive jackass. Apparently Castiel has been wanting to set up a garden for years just outside the bunker. Sam went on to tell Dean how he’s talked about it tons of time, even mentioning how he wants to keep bees and make honey.
Needless to say Dean left the bunker with his tail between his legs, feeling about as awesome as the roadkill alongside the road he passed coming into town.
It isn’t like he isn’t listening when Cas talks, because he listens! It’s just that gardening really doesn’t spark any type of interest for him. But now that he’s thinking about it Dean vaguely remembers Cas talking about different herbs he could plant so the food he was cooking at the time would be more fresh and taste better. How was he suppose to know Cas had been serious?
Sighing, Dean continues walking down Main Street, eyeing the random people setting up with tents and boots on the sidewalk. Huh, must be some sort of farmer’s market. Usually Sam is all over this type of stuff, but then again if he even mentioned it would he have really been listening?
Slumping further into himself, he kicks a random rock wondering how he’s going to make it up to Cas this time. Damnit, today was suppose to be a good day! He and Cas had planned out a whole movie marathon for tonight. They were going to make homemade pizza for dinner and caramel popcorn for the movie. It isn’t like they don’t do something like this every so often, but things have been different lately. Cas is laughing easier, not picking apart all the parts of the movies inaccuracies (most of the time) and actually just looking more relaxed. Most nights they’re up late just drinking and talking long after the movies are over.
If Dean’s being honest with himself, he looks forward more and more to these domestic kind of nights away from hunting, where Castiel is home and they’re just beside each other on the couch in his man cave talking about whatever. Even when he was with Lisa he was never the kind of relaxed he is with Cas. Deep inside his mind, scratching to come to the surface like a bad itch, he thinks he knows the reason. His fathers words whispers through his head as he remembers the things he called him the one night he walked into the bar Dean was suppose to be hustling pool at, and caught him making out with some random burly guy in a booth. Dean had a black eye and a swollen jaw that made it hard to eat for weeks. From that day on his dad kept tabs on where he went, how long he was gone and drilled him about the chicks that would take him back to his place.
Dean slows his pace as he passes a woman sitting at a booth selling some kind of jam or something. She smiles up at him, but he just ducks his head and quickens his pace. What the hell is he even doing? He just needs to man up and apologize to Cas. Somehow, Dean thinks, a simply apology just isn’t going to cut it this time. If he’s really been this serious and planning out what he’s going to do all this time and hasn’t been paying attention, he’s seriously the worst friend ever.
Cringing at the word “friend”, Dean eyes the next booth. He doesn’t see anyone standing around it, but it’s hard not to just walk on past it. There are hundreds of flowers in buckets all around and the fragrance is intoxicating. Dean finds himself stopping mid step and sniffing the air almost drawing him closer to the booth.
“Purple hyacinth,” a voice says.
“Huh?” Dean asks looking around for the owner of the voice.
“You need to give him purple hyacinth to show you’re sorry and ask for forgiveness,” a lady with long, bright bubblegum pink hair says appearing from behind a wall of flowers in the back. “Maybe some alstroemerias, but something tells me this is more of a jonquil type of deal.”
Dean just blinks at her trying to figure out what language she’s speaking.
The girl continues, either completely ignoring the fact Dean hasn’t responded or doesn’t care. “This is a really tricky bouquet. I’m going to need primrose and magenta zinnia’s.” She hums a minute, closing her eyes, forehead furrowing as if she’s concentrating really hard on something. “Oh!” She exclaims. “Deep red carnations.”
“I uh,” Dean clears his throat backing up a few paces. “I don’t really, um, have a person to buy flowers for, lady. I think you’re mistaken.”
The girl actually giggles before waving a hand at him. “You sure got your head far up your own ass, don’t you?”
Dean can actually his eyes go wide as his mouth falls opens. “W-w-what did you just say?” He sputters.
She sighs dramatically walking around grabbing random flowers of various colors and varieties. “I said you got your head up your ass. Don’t pretend you don’t. I could feel your guilt and suppressed feelings all the way down the block.”
Dean narrows his eyes, hand moving to the gun tucked away in the waistband of his pants. “Who the fuck are you? A witch?”
The girl rolls her eyes, flipping her pink hair as he grabs a handful of some little pink flower in the corner. “Not hardly, Dean.” She turns and looks him dead in the eye smirking a bit. “I’m a psychic. Now I’d appreciate if you didn’t shoot me out here in front of all these people.”
Dean’s mind freezes for a minute trying to process what he’s just been told. She’s a physic? Like Missouri? Does that mean she can read his thoughts right now? Shit. Then she probably knows –
“Ugh, chill it with the anxiety. Sheesh, I’m getting emotional whiplash from you,” she says, stopping in front of another selection of flowers and humming with indecision for moment. “And no, I don’t read thoughts per sae. It’s more like I can just read people when they feel things verystrongly.” She side eyes him for a minute before taking her handful of flowers carefully laying them on a piece of paper of large paper on the table at the front of the booth. “I mean, if anyone feels anything strong enough, it’s like they’re practically screaming out what it’s about.” She shrugs.”
“So you…” Dean pauses trying to find the right words.
She grins looking Dean right in the eye. “Right when you started walking my way I could feel sorrow, guilt, anger and deep repressed love.”
He almost chokes, stumbling back. “Whoa, I don’t know –”
“Oh can it,” she huffs carefully starting to pull the paper around the bouquet of flowers. “You can’t lie to the one person who can literally read you like a book. Look, I get that you’re still in the closet or whatever, but you aren’t getting any younger. And from what I’m getting, you and this guy have something stronger than the average joe coming up to my booth asking for a dozen red roses, right?”
Dean doesn’t even know how to respond to that. Never in a million years would he think about buying flowers for Cas. That’s just a little too…
“Gay?” She asks cutting a long strip of twine from a roll. “Go ahead, say it. The word doesn’t bite. Hell, it might actually do you some good. It isn’t like it’s bad thing, right? Oh, your dad was an A plus asshole, so you should probably just disregard all that crap he said.”
Dean just balks at her. What the fuck? “What the fuck! I thought you said you couldn’t read minds!”
She rolls her eyes again so hard she actually moves her head. “I don’t. You are literally projecting your emotions so loud it’s hard not be able to read you like a book. ‘Sides, I’ve gotten really good at reading through the emotions and putting things together over time.”
For the first time since meeting this girl, Dean finally starts to register what she’s doing. “Are you giving me flowers?”
“Well, I made you a bouquet for you to buy to give to that guy your emotions are so deeply bond to,” she snips off a long piece of the twine and then holds up the bouquet, smiling with pride. “That’ll be forty-five dollars.”
“Forty-five dollars!?” He yelps. “For fucking flowers!”
She frowns, her free hand settling on her hip. “Hey, do you even know how difficult it is to grow half these flowers in this climate? This isn’t as easy as it looks.”
“I ain’t giving you forty-five dollars for fricken flowers,” he huffs. “If I even wanted to give him flowers I could just go into the store and pick him up something for ten or something.”
The girl’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Those poor things that have had so many chemicals sprayed on them just sniffing them gives you cancer? Beside the fact that they’re thrown together to appear ‘pretty’, not caring what the actually meaning of any of them stand for. I mean, how would you like it if someone came home from work with a bouquet of ‘I hate you’ in their hand ready to give you. Kinda rude, I think.”
“Flowers are just flowers, or whatever,” Dean says, though from what the girl’s been going on about he doesn’t even believe his own words. “Not like Cas would know what they meant anyway.”
“Mm,” she hums. “Something tells me you’re wrong.”
Dean knows he’s wrong. If Castiel is as into this gardening thing that he thinks he is, there’s no doubt in his mind he’s researched anything and everything about flowers that there is. Which kind of brings up a question, what even is this?
“Floriography,” she states. “Every flower means something.”
Dean nods, not even questioning her pretty much reading his mind. Sighing in defeat, he pulls out his wallet taking two twenties and a ten. “Got change?”
“Nope, sorry,” she says taking the money and handing him the bouquet. “I’ll consider it a ‘thank you’ for helping you grow a pair in order to man up.”
Glaring at her, then back at the flowers, Dean doesn’t even argue. Something tells him it’s a losing battle anyway. He stomps away, gently holding the flowers against his chest. She calls after him, telling him to have a nice day or something, but he tries to block her out. Fricken psychics anyway.
In his car Dean takes a moment to look at the flowers. Honestly the arrangement is kind of nice. It isn’t too gaudy like in a grocery store, and the smell isn’t overpowering. All but maybe one of them he can name, and he sure as hell isn’t going to Google flowers just try and figure out what she gave him. He only hopes that Cas comes back home soon so he can give them to him. The girl seemed pretty set that Cas would love them.
The drive back to the bunker is less wallowing in self pity, and more internally freaking out about actually giving another guy a fricken handful of flowers like some chick flick. Dean tries to remember what the girl said some of them meant, but he keeps coming up blank.
By the time he pulls into their garage and turns the car off, his hands are sweating when he starts panicking about Sam seeing him with them. He’s almost half tempted to stuff them up his shirt to hide them as he runs to his room. As he steps out of the Impala, on hand on the door, the other holding the bouquet he almost does.
The familiar sound of feathers in front of him as him jumping back, shoving the flowers behind his back as the car door slams shut. Dean flinches as the sound echoes throughout the garage. Castiel tilts his head at him, stepping forward into his space so they’re practically nose to nose. Dean gulps, trying to school his face, but the way Cas is looking at him and tilting his head he must be doing a really shit job.
“I came back to apologize for leaving earlier. Something came up and I – you’re acting strange,” Castiel states. “What’s behind your back?”
Dean tries to look surprised, but it probably comes off more constipated than anything. Cas stretches his neck to try and look around Dean, but Dean just turns his body more, blocking Castiel from seeing anything.
“You’re being childish,” Cas huffs. “What do you have behind your back?”
“So, I felt like a dick after this morning.” Dean can actually feel his cheeks getting warm. So help him Chuck, this is the most embarrassing thing he’s ever had to do. He feels like a damn teenage girl. “I shouldn’t teased you like I did. You, uh, like what you do, and that’s cool. I was, being an asshole. You know…what I kinda do,” he coughs and clears his throat wishing Castiel would just cut him off and end this misery, but the asshole is looking at him smugly like he’s actually enjoying this. Dick.
“Anyway,” Dean pulls out the bouquet and shoves them into Castiel’s arms. “I got you this so you’d know I wasn’t full of shit. I mean it. I’m sorry about what I said. I know I can be an asshole and I didn’t – ”
“Dean,” Castiel whispers, barely audible. Dean eyes snap up meeting Castiel’s. “Do you mean it?”
Somehow Dean knows he isn’t talking about the major rambling he just did and more about whatever the flowers are saying. Either way, the answer is, “Yes.” He says, barely a whisper back.
Castiel’s face breaks out into the brightest, biggest smile Dean thinks he’s ever seen him do before, eyes crinkling at the sides included. Dean can’t help by smile with him. A weight on his chest seems to rise as he and Castiel seem to gravitate closer together until their noses are brushing.
“How did you know?” Castiel whispers, his breath tickling Dean’s lips.
“A girl downtown,” he says shrugging. “She helped me piece it all together.”
Castiel pulls back a little, looking him up and down before smirking. “You have no idea what they mean, do you?”
Dean’s whole face burns as he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I have the general idea. She kinda…opened my eyes to the whole ‘feelings’ thing without having to, ya know, do this.”
Castiel nods, his smile faltering just a little as he looks down at the flowers. “These are just flowers. Just you saying you’re sorry?”
Dean realizes he fucked up as visually watches the light start to fade from Castiel. “No!” He exclaims. “I mean it, I mean, those. Fuck, I know what she was trying to say in the flowers, and damnit, I mean it. I mean, I’m sorry, but the other stuff too.”
“Other stuff?” Castiel prods.
“You really gunna make me say it, Cas?” Dean asks.
“How do I know you actually know what these mean unless I have proof?” He asks, his lips twitching at the corners. The asshole. Dean knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. A game he knows he’s going to lose, because everything aside, Dean would do anything to see Cas smile like that again.
Dean rolls his shoulders back, straightening his back and looks Castiel right in the eyes, desperately trying to pretend like his isn’t freaking out and making his whole entire body break out into a sweat.
“I love you.” The words come out more of a hoarse whisper, like his throat is trying to close up on the words. But it’s all worth it when Castiel’s smile comes back at full force.
“Really?” Castiel asks, stepping closer, the flowers being the only thing between them from closing the distance.
Dean nods slightly, but enough that he knows Castiel saw. He doesn’t ask to hear the words again, and honestly Dean isn’t sure he would be able to say them if he asked. He feels exposed, raw, like saying those three little words is bleeding him dry of all the negative bullshit his dad has ever shoved inside his mind.
Cas knocks his forehead against Dean’s, their noses brushing as he hums. “Thank you.” He whispers. “For the flowers.” Dean hums in reply. “I love you too.”
And then they’re lips touch in just the lightest of kisses. Soft enough you’d hardly know it was happening, except for the sudden buzzing of electricity flowing through Dean that has him gasping. He leans in again, pushing harder against Castiel’s lips as the buzzing turns into a hum. His whole body thrums with it as the kiss deepens, their mouths opening up to let each other in.
Dean feels dizzy, high on just feeling Castiel’s lips on his. Hell, if he knew kissing Cas was like this he would have done it years ago. But now, now that he’s standing here on cloud nine, kissing the angel he’s dreamt about kissing for the better part of a decade, there’s nowhere else he’ll ever want to be.