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Dean said it back, of course he said it back. It was the first thing he said when they got Cas back. It was the only thing he knew how to say. He knew he loved Cas, and that was what had been holding him together while Cas had been dead.
Now, though, standing in front of the ice cream at the grocery store, he’s starting to feel terrified and remarkably unmoored by everything. They haven’t talked about it. Dean’s not sure what they are, what the next move is, how he’s supposed to get through this. Everyone died, and then Cas died, and then they got everyone back, and then they fought to finally get Cas back, too.
So now what?
“Mint chocolate chip….or peppermint. I wonder what the difference is between mint and peppermint. Of course, I doubt it tastes anything like real mint,” Cas says, crouching in front of the open freezer door, comparing two containers.
“We could get ‘em both,” Dean offers.
“No, that’s alright.” Cas stands up, holding the tub of mint chocolate chip, “This one is fine. I like the color.”
“Right.” Dean takes the tub from him and puts it in the basket, “That’s nearly everything.”
“I’ll go get the milk,” Cas says, “You can go get in line.”
“No, I’ll come with you.” Dean knows he needs to say something, anything, he feels like, after a month and a half of whatever this is, he’s gonna explode.
Cas dithers between two percent and whole milk until Dean takes the whole milk from him and puts it in the basket. Their fingers brush, and Cas glances up at him before abruptly turning and putting the other milk back in the fridge.
“Cas, we, uh….” Dean swallows, “We need to talk.”
“About?”
Dean inhales, slowly, and then says, “About….us, I guess.”
“Ah.” Cas frowns, “Is there something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, no, it’s—“
“It’s not all you.”
“I’m just….overwhelmed.” Dean feels like it’s a lame excuse to be constantly freezing up on this conversation, the what are we conversation.
“That makes sense.” And then Cas takes the basket from him and starts pushing it towards the checkout. Dean guesses he should follow. What else can he do?
*****
The one thing I want—it’s something I know I can’t have.
Dean wants to tell Cas that he can have this, but he still hasn’t figured out how.
It’s another day, a week later, and another grocery run. As Dean drives and Black Flag plays on low volume, Cas goes through their shopping list, before pausing and asking, “Do you really think Jack should be eating so much sugary cereal?”
“Uh….” Dean reflects on his own eating habits, on beer and bacon and cheeseburgers, and shrugs, “I guess it’s whatever you think.”
“Maybe we should get some healthier cereal that’s still sweet.” Cas makes a note of it on his shopping list, actual pen and paper shopping list, and it strikes Dean how Cas that is. He normally just roams through the store until he thinks he has everything, or writes a slapdash, shorthand list in the notes app of his phone. But Cas uses a post-it note pad and a blue ballpoint pen and he stashes them in one of his trench coat pockets.
“Cas, I—“ the words stick in Dean’s throat halfway through, but Cas just smiles at him serenely and fiddles with the radio.
“I know,” he says, “I know.”
******
When Dean walks into the bunker’s kitchen the next Saturday, Sam and Cas are having an animated conversation about leeks (the vegetable, Dean thinks, not the plumbing thing).
“Hey,” Sam says, “Cas and I were just talking about the farmer’s market.”
“Are you going?” Dean asks.
“No, Eileen and I have some stuff to take care of.”
“You could come with me, if you wanted?” Cas asks. He’s dressed much more casually than usual, in jeans and one of Dean’s old Henleys.
“Sure,” Dean says, “But I’m driving.”
“Of course.” Cas’s smile is small, content.
When they get to the farmer’s market, Cas is completely in his element. He makes small talk with the farmers, complementing their carrots and tomatoes and strawberries, smiling the whole way through. Dean trails behind him. Normally, he would feel wrong-footed, but something about this feels right, feels good. Feels like what he could have, if he could just get it together to do something, to not just say I love you once and then freeze up.
At one booth there’s honey, and Cas strikes up an animated conversation with the woman in charge about bees and what different types of flowers she’s planted for her bees to pollinate.
“What do you think, Dean?” Cas asks, turning towards him, “What kind of honey should we get?”
Dean looks into Cas’s eyes, bluer than he’s ever seen them, before replying, “Whichever you want the most.”
When they walk away from the booth with Cas’s chosen lavender honey, the backs of their hands brush together, and Dean takes Cas’s hand, interlacing their fingers.
“How are you?” Cas asks.
“Better than ever,” Dean replies.
Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.