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Dean has never been one for having his picture taken.
The world just never seems to stop shitting on them. If it isn’t some apocalypse, it’s someone keeping secrets, or a deal gone wrong. There is always something.
So in the few and far between moments of stillness when it’s just the three of them at the Bunker, Dean tries to sneak canid pictures of Sam and Cas. Maybe it comes from watching the people he loved die around him one too many times and not having anything to look back to when he thinks of them. But the memories, no matter ingrained into his mind, are just that. In time, the images don’t hold as much clarity has they did a year ago. Trying to recall certain conversations starts to seem fuzzy, and with having nothing to look back on to help jog his memory, Dean feels like he’s losing important parts of people.
In the quiet moments before leaping into whatever flavor of saving the world the universe has thrown at them this week, Dean can just open his phone and look at the smiling face of Sam, or rare picture of Castiel laughing. It helps him to remember exactly who and what he’s fighting for.
Currently, Dean is sitting in his usual spot at the War Room table, nursing a beer, listening to Sam and Castiel laughing about a case some months ago. What they thought might be a witch, turned out to be a couple of kids playing really good pranks around town.
“And you just said, ‘I think I’m stuck!’” Sammy laughs.
Dean cracks a smile, watching Castiel’s face scrunch up adorably as he joins in the laughter. He slowly picks up his phone, trying to secretly open his camera.
“And I said, ‘Dean, what do you mean you’re stuck?’” Castiel chuckles, lowering his voice even deeper.
Both he and Sam burst out in laughs louder than before. Dean manages to open the camera and click a picture of Castiel, head tipped back with his face worry free and happy. He turns to Sammy and catches him, bright eyed and smiling wide, face completely open. He looks younger. For a moment, Dean’s heart aches for all the lost years that were stolen from his little brother in doing this thankless, crap job.
“Dean?” Castiel says. “What are you doing?”
Panicking, Dean quickly lowers his phone to the table, laying his hand over it. “Nothin’.”
Sam gets that mischievous smirk on his face before reaching over for his phone. “Uh huh. Sure. Let me see what ‘nothin’ is.”
Dean grabs his phone, yanking it away before Sam grabs it. “Back off, bitch!”
“Just let me see your phone, jerk!” He says getting up from his seat, grinning. “Must be good to have you smiling like that.”
Dean glares at him, holding his phone off to the side and away from Sam. “Dude, just let it go.”
He hears the rustle of wings too late before Castiel has slipped the phone from his fingers. Dean jumps out of his seat, spinning towards Cas to snatch his phone back, but the damage is already done.
Castiel stands there, swiping through his pictures with his head tilted at the screen. Sammy pushes past Dean to stand beside Cas, staring down at his phone. Torn between embarrassment like some girl who’s diary that’s been violated and irritation that no one respects his damn privacy, Dean just glares at them, trying to ignore the fact that his face feels like it’s on fire.
“Dean,” Castiel says quietly. “These are of us.”
“Dude, I don’t remember you taking any of these,” Sammy says without looking up from the phone.
Dean feels his face grow hotter before reaching over and grabbing his phone, pulling it away from them. He shoves it in his pocket and grabs his beer before walking back to the kitchen. “Yeah, well, whatever.”
He yanks open the refrigerator door and grabs another bottle, twisting open the tab angrily before kicking the door shut. Why is he even so embarrassed? It’s not like he did anything weird or wrong. They’re just pictures.
“Why did you take pictures of us?”
Dean jumps, heart racing inside his check. “Fuck, Cas! How many times do I –”
Castiel just squints at him as Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head, and sets his bottle on the counter. “Make some noise next time, shit. One of these times you’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he replies reaching out his hand towards him.
Dean freezes as Castiel’s hand cups his cheek. Over the years it’s been a finger touch to whatever damage he’s gotten to his body, then two fingers. Just over the last couple of years, Cas has started using all his fingers, their touch lingering on his forehead. In rare occasions, he gets the whole hand, palm included. The touch leaves him a tingling reminder under his skin days after.
But never once has Castiel cupped his cheek. Not like this. Not like he’s some precious thing. And definitely not while he’s looking at him so intently. Sure they stare, Dean isn’t oblivious to the way he looks at Castiel, and wishes Castiel would think of him in the same way. Deep down he knows it’s one sided, but you can’t blame a guy for wishing. Hell, sometimes Dean wishes Cas could just feel his longing and know what he wants without having to try and man up to say the words.
After fuck knows how long, he’s never been able to nut up. At this point, Dean doubts he’ll ever be able.
The pad of Castiel’s thumb rubs against the stubble on Dean’s jawline. Dean tenses, eyes frantically searching Cas’, trying to get a read on what the guy is doing or thinking. The pressure doesn’t change, almost featherlight, but enough for Dean to feel it. Cas doesn’t let up, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.
Dean lets himself lean into Castiel’s hand, eyes closing, just enjoying the feeling of being touched. He tries not to think about how long it’s been since someone has actually touched him like this, but his mind goes there anyway. Without warning, his eyes start stinging with how intimate it is what Cas is doing and the closeness between them.
Forcing himself to step back, away from Castiel, feels like he’s ripping his own heart out. Dean actually rubs his chest, breathless at the sudden loss of Castiel’s warmth.
“Cas,” his name comes out more of a broken whisper than anything. Dean isn’t even sure why he’s saying his name.
Dean blinks and Castiel is back in his personal space, both his hands coming up to cup his face this time. Dean practically melts into the touch as he feels a tear fall from the side of his eye.
Their eyes search one another’s, something that happens so frequently it’s just a part of who they are. They don’t exchange any words, and truthfully there isn’t any that hasn’t been said in broken pieces since Castiel rose him from perdition till now.
Slowly, as if to give each other time to back out, their faces move closer together. When they’re close enough that Dean can feel the tickle of Castiel’s warm breath on the hair above his upper lip, he lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he has been holding before leaning in.
The kiss is soft, gentle and not at all like Dean ever pictured their first kiss to be. He always imaged it would be right before one of them was on Death’s door again, in the middle of some fight, both covered in blood, confessing to the other their feelings. It would be heated, rough and messy. There wouldn’t be any time to process it before jumping back in to whatever needed to be done.
No, this kiss is the exact opposite of that.
Dean pulls back, a genuine smile settling on his lips and rests his forehead against Cas’. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s back, just standing there, leaning against each other, soaking the moment in.