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Despite how long they’d been here, the loudness of the night still surprised Castiel sometimes. The continuous buzzing and chirping, courtesy of the crickets and other tiny creatures living on their farm, made him feel as if he were lying outside in the long grass rather than beneath the bed’s covers.
Perhaps it was the fault of his angel radio powers, as Dean had so eloquently put it years ago, amplifying every decibel to both the joy and dismay of Castiel’s ears. But Castiel doubted it; he felt practically human here. There was no reason to use his powers here, in this farm. This little morsel of heaven was safe — it was theirs.
In theory, being lulled to sleep by the chants of southern wildlife held an undeniable rural appeal. Dean loved it, so naturally, Castiel had made it so. Practically, however, on nights when Castiel woke up seemingly without reason, the crickets’ love pleas had a way of crawling inside his head until his odds of retreating back to sleep were basically reduced to nil.
But tonight, Castiel couldn’t blame his inability to return to blissful darkness on the crickets, as much as he would have liked to. No, tonight, the problem had to do with the absence of something, rather than its presence. And rather than something, it was someone, because Castiel did not reside in this house alone, nor was he normally the sole occupant of this bed.
The pillow at his left was still aggressively scrunched up into the rough shape of a ball, suggesting its assailant had only recently withdrawn. In a slow effort, Castiel propped himself up on his palms and listened for any odd sounds.
Just two nights ago, he’d found Dean in the kitchen downstairs, fully absorbed in the process of spreading peanut butter on a piece of grilled toast. Caught in the act, Dean had explained somewhat defensively that night-time cravings were a normal thing and that he “wouldn’t get it”. Not that it mattered here; Dean could eat a million peanut butter sandwiches and never face any of the consequences.
The house’s silence confirmed its emptiness. After letting out a drowsy sigh, Castiel untangled his legs from the thin sheets and pushed himself out of bed. He didn’t bother with slipping on anything above his pyjama pants before heading for the door.
Outside of their bedroom, the hallway was steeped in darkness. Castiel smiled to himself as his bare feet made the oak floorboards creak discordantly. Dean had said it gave the house charm, back when Castiel had first showed it to him, heart pulsing nervously in his throat, quietly hoping for a sign that he had done this right. Dean had told him that his childhood home, the one back in Lawrence, was like that too. This had settled it for Castiel. Anything evoking the feeling of home in Dean was worth keeping. The next day, Castiel had made the floorboards creak just a little louder.
He felt a small tinge of disappointment as he found the kitchen lights off; he wouldn’t have said no at another opportunity to tease Dean gently. The faint smell of cherries still perfumed the air, a sweet reminder of the beautifully latticed cherry-pie Dean had baked them for dessert. For the first harvest of the season, those cherries had given more than they had needed to. Castiel slowly ran a finger over the dinner table, where flour dust still lied stubbornly encrusted in the grain of the wood.
This left one other place for Dean to be found.
Stepping out the front door, Castiel was immediately hit by a comfortable wave of heat. Just humid and warm enough to be coincidentally reminiscent of a Kansas summer night.
His eyes took a few seconds to scour the surrounding field and spot a still figure standing among the tall grass. For a long moment, Castiel’s feet stayed rooted on the fir porch. Solitude was rare for them these days, almost unheard of. They woke up, warm skin touching and sticking in places; they ate, shared jokes and cutlery over the kitchen table; they slept, fingers laced, the same sheet stretched over their shoulders. Perhaps Dean needed this. Needed to be alone for some time.
But Castiel had never been good at leaving Dean alone, so his feet began taking him in Dean’s direction, his mind having little say in it. Below, the long grass brushed gently at his knees. It felt like he’d mowed it yesterday, but clearly, he was somewhat losing track of time here.
Though Dean must have heard his approach, he didn’t turn. Castiel was struck with the temptation to lace his arms around him from behind, but bravely resisted it, instead planting himself at Dean’s side, shoulders not quite touching.
“I think you forgot to mow the grass,” Castiel said simply, in the guise of a hello.
It seemed to be enough to break Dean out of whatever trance he was in, as he let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m pretty sure it’s your turn, angel.”
Something warm and happy bloomed inside Castiel; no matter how many times he heard Dean call him ‘angel’, or ‘my angel’, or ‘sweetheart’, the words never ceased to fill him with delight.
“We could make a deal,” Castiel tried.
Dean turned his head to face him, showing an exaggerated grimace pulling at his lips. “Yeah, sure. Like we don’t know how deals made by Winchesters usually turn out.”
Castiel’s hand brushed against the back of Dean’s, before reaching for his fingers and intertwining them with his. His thumb smoothed over familiar veins and skin, feeling out curves that no longer held any secrets from him.
Castiel looked down at their hands and squeezed Dean’s fingers, before glancing back up at him. “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
Dean replied with a soft hum and he let his head drop onto Castiel’s bare shoulder.
At once, Castiel twisted his head slightly to bury a kiss into his hair. Did it also smell of cherries or was he imagining things?
“Sorry for waking you up,” Dean said, as Castiel felt his jaw shift against his shoulder.
Castiel shook his head imperceptibly, not wishing to disturb Dean’s position. “It’s okay. I’m putting the blame on them, not you.”
He heard Dean exhale a small huff of laughter. “You know, you could always turn them down or something. Your kingdom, your rules.”
“Our kingdom,” Castiel corrected. “And it’s fine, I don’t mind them.” He paused, then added, “I was mostly missing you.”
“Can’t go a few hours without me?” Dean whispered into Castiel’s neck, hot breath tingling against his skin.
Castiel tried not to linger on the sensation.
“You’ve been out here for a few hours?”
At his words, he felt Dean detach from his shoulders and draw away from him, though their hands remained linked. Patiently, he watched Dean’s eyes scour the surrounding field, searching for the right words to express himself.
“I miss him,” Dean finally said.
Castiel bit his lip, considering his words. “Sam will —”
“— I know, Cas.” Dean drew out a sigh, frustration etched in the tautness of his shoulders. “I know, okay? He’ll come when it’s time for him to come. And it’s not like I don’t want him to take his time down there. He — he deserves to enjoy it. No one knows that better than I do. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to...”
“To wait,” Castiel finished. “I understand.”
His free hand climbed up the length of Dean’s arm, stopping to settle itself on the slant of his shoulder, partly skin and partly the fabric of a stretched and faded henley.
“Remember how long you made me wait?” Castiel asked, eyes boring into Dean’s.
Dean offered him an apologetic smile. “To be fair, I didn't know that you were.”
“I know, Dean. And that’s fine, because you’re here now. And eventually, Sam will be here too.” Gently, he slid his palm across Dean’s neck to come cradle the curve of his jaw. “What I mean is, there’s no rush. I know you miss him, and I can’t fix that for you, even though — even though I wish I could. But believe me when I say that this, what you’re feeling now, it won’t matter once he’s here.”
Dean leaned his cheek into Cas’s palm, then lifted his hand to take a hold of Cas’s before bringing his palm to his lips. “Yeah, I know. Deep inside me, there’s a part of me that knows it. But I think I needed to hear it.” He pressed a gentle kiss onto Cas’s skin. “Thank you.”
Failing to contain the profound affection seeping into him at this tenderness, Castiel’s voice broke slightly as he uttered back, “Of course, Dean. Always.”