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The hunt was supposed to be a quick in and out, but complications that included a ghoul and an overactive groundskeeper required the boys stay overnight in town. To Dean, it was no big deal, what’s another ratty motel, but he had to admit that he really did miss the bunker and his bed. Homesick wasn’t a feeling Dean had been familiar with before they were blessed with the Men of Letters bunker but now he ached to be resting on his memory foam mattress, underneath the blanket Charlie had knitted him. Still, he knew that home wasn’t necessarily the many hallways of the bunker, but wherever he, Sam, Cas, and Jack were.
In the months since Chuck’s demise and the divinization of Jack, the four men rarely hunted together anymore, if at all. After Jack had brought Cas back from The Empty and released God’s power into the universe, life had slowed down. The jobs that did come up were often turfed to younger and more eager hunters as the Winchesters were nearing retirement, but every so often the four men would take a salt-and-burn to stretch their legs and stay sharp. Most of the time, it was just Dean and Cas taking the random jobs because Sam preferred to stay with Eileen and work from the library and Jack was busy with classes at the local high school. However, when they heard about this job, the “Winchester-Kline family unit” (as Sam liked to call them) came to the conclusion it had been too long since their last joint hunt and they set out for the road.
Which is where Dean now found himself, looking at the small motel room in a small town in Ohio.
“The usual? Jack on the couch, me on one queen, you two on the other?” Sam more said, rather than asked, as he was already throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the wall.
Of course the pair Sam was referring to was Cas and Dean, who had slept in their fair share of motel beds together when hunting. While Dean was an expert in the art of ignoring his feelings for Cas, sharing a bed didn’t make it any easier. It had been especially difficult since Cas’ return, his confession still hanging between them like a question mark. Neither man had brought it up, taking cues from the other that neither of them were really ready to talk about it. Dean surely was not, he was conflicted and confused, ever doubtful and insecure.
He tries not to dwell on it too much, but who was he kidding, he thought about it all the time. Dean’s been told many times he’s a chronic overthinker but he can’t help it, it’s who he is. Here he was, sitting on the motel couch, watching Jeopardy! with his family, and his foremost thoughts are about Cas. He runs through the regular progression in his mind; Cas loves him, Cas doesn’t love him like that , Cas isn’t capable of love because he’s an angel, Cas didn’t actually mean it, Cas does love him like that . For all the scary monsters he’s fought in his life, Dean’s bravery falters when he’s face-to-face with Cas.
Dean spends the rest of the evening oscillating between the thoughts of Cas and a movie called “Paddington” that Jack picked out.
The chirps of the cicadas outside. The small slice of light that cuts across the ceiling. The quiet hum of the AC unit. The motel’s ceiling tiles. Sam and Jack’s alternating snores.
These are the things Dean tells himself to pay attention to instead of the weight of the sleeping angel beside him.
He tells himself to not think of Cas’ peaceful face turned towards Dean or how Cas’ hands are tucked underneath his pillow. He tells himself to not think of the meager inches between their bodies underneath the scratchy sheets. To not think of Cas’ chest or his feet or his wrist or his eyelids or his shoulders.
Dean is all too aware and all too awake. This isn’t the first time Cas and him have shared a bed, he knows this and reminds himself as a way to slow the hammering inside his chest. Sometimes it’s easy, scarily easy, to fall asleep next to Cas. Especially after a particularly difficult hunt or after a few beers, though those usually come in succession, Dean can collapse into the shared motel bed and be out in minutes. Those are the times he wakes up to his body curled just so towards Cas. Cas, who sleeps from time to time as a way to preserve his wilting grace. Cas, who wears Dean’s old t-shirts and gets his scent all over them. Cas, who Dean is in love with.
Dean allows himself one small glance at Cas, who must be dreaming, because his brow is furrowed. Dean almost reaches out to smooth the skin between Cas’ brows but restrains himself with a sigh.
There in the dark, Dean acknowledges his deepest desire. The one that began so many years ago and only burrowed itself deeper and deeper into Dean, until it was this wide cavern of want. It lay next to him now, sleeping in a pair of borrowed sweatpants.
In the light, his desire nestles itself beside Dean’s heart, where it hides behind the sturdy and impenetrable walls. Sometimes it will peek its head out when the sunlight hits Cas at just the right angle or when their legs brush underneath the diner table. It whispers, “ touch him, hold him, love him ”, but Dean quiets it with a gentle smother.
Sometimes the whisper grows loud in a way that makes it impossible to ignore, those are the times where Dean feels it the most. Most times, it comes at night, when he is alone in his bed at the bunker. The roar of want deafens everything else around him, until all he can feel is just him and the hole inside him. This is the time Dean opens himself to the longing, to let it wash over him and drown him. He allows himself to wish: to touch and to be touched. He knows it is the most basic of desires and he feels stupid for not being able to achieve even the simplest of things.
Sometimes he thinks he’ll die if he isn’t loved soon.
Behind the door of his bedroom, where nobody can hear, Dean whispers one word, so soft that it barely escapes his lips: “Cas.”
Now, however, Dean must keep the monster at bay. He knows with Cas right beside him, if he let it off its leash, Dean would do something he’d regret. Next to him, Cas shifts in his sleep, a blip in his dream. He slowly stretches his legs and blinks his eyes as he becomes half-awake.
“Dean, are you awake?” He mumbles quietly.
Under his breath, Dean replies. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Was just thinking about the job.” He lied.
“Well go to sleep, I can feel you thinking from here.”
With that, semi-asleep Cas takes his hand from underneath his pillow and slides it down until he catches Dean’s. Cas’ rubs his thumb on Dean’s up and down once and with one last demand for Dean to sleep, falls back into unconsciousness. It’s a simple and unthinking gesture, a product of Cas’ drowsy state, and something he surely wouldn’t try in the daytime. Dean’s heart jostles and the monster lets out one loud scream. Dean slams a lid on it, demanding its silence and that sleep overtake him. Focusing on the point where his skin meets Cas’, Dean lulls himself to sleep until the night fades to a peaceful black.
When Dean wakes up, it’s to a bright motel room and the loud sounds of highway traffic. The dust of the room mixes with the light above Dean and it fills him with a sense of familiar comfort that most motels do. He lies in the position he was in when he woke up; his head gently resting on Cas’ deceptively strong bicep and their hands still intertwined underneath the blankets. Dean is grateful for the cover of the sheets, the quiet intimacy would be broken if Sam or Jack were to point out Cas and Dean’s proximity. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Dean gently lets go of Cas’ hand to rise from the bed and enter the bathroom. When he steps back out into the room, Cas blinks awake with a stretch and beams directly at Dean. Dean blushes and dips his head as waves of affection bounce back and forth between them. It is only once Sam grumbles a “good morning”, that Dean remembers a world exists outside him and Cas.
“Here, Dean, I made you coffee!” Jack approaches him with a steaming mug.
Dean gives Jack’s hair a tousle in appreciation and settles down on the pullout couch that doubled as Jack’s bed.
He enjoys the warmth of the coffee as the rest of his family mulls about, preparing for the day ahead. Really, he spends most of that time sneaking peeks at Cas, remembering the touch of his hand and the peace that came with it. Even in the bustle of the early morning and the promise of a hunt, Dean thinks about how he would do anything to hold Cas’ hand again.
He takes in the scene before him, admiring his family. He watches Cas and Jack complete their daily ritual, a hug and a kiss on the forehead for Jack. For the first time, Dean thinks that maybe if not happy, he is content. He doesn’t feel so alone anymore, he has people he loves and people who love him. No apocalypse looms over them and Dean finds it easier to breathe. He still likes to hunt but now he has other things to give him meaning like working in the bunker’s garage and baking sourdough bread. He’s found he likes doing the weekly crossword, he’s pretty good at it if he says so himself.
A sip of coffee and Dean catches Cas’ eyes, they share a gentle smile. Sometimes Dean lets himself imagine a future where he hangs up the machete for good and moves to a modest cottage by a lake, like the one where Jack was born. Cas would have a sprawling garden, full of flowers and vegetables, plus a small beehive that he personally cultivated. Dean would take Jack fishing and Claire would visit them often. Sam wouldn’t be too far, only a couple hours away and he and Eileen would start their own family. Growing old with Cas, that’s what he daydreams about.
“Dean!”
Sam’s bark shakes Dean from his reverie and he looks up at his brother.
“Ready to go kill this ghoul?”
Dean shucks his coat on and grabs his keys and gun.
“Let’s do this.”
Dean peels out of the graveyard driveway and guns it towards the highway. Considering the mess they made back with the graves, it was best the hunters get out of Dodge as soon as possible. The group was a little breathless and a lot dirty, plus Sam had a twisted ankle and Cas’ entire left side was scratched up. As soon as they had crossed state lines, Dean guided the Impala into the parking lot of the closest diner he saw.
“Alright, let’s clean up and eat.” He said, taking the keys out of the ignition.
The group entered the diner and collapsed into a booth, smelling like graveyard dirt and dead ghoul.
“Cas, Dean, go wash up first. You guys look like you just mugged ten guys and then rolled around in the mud for fun.” Sam instructed as he started to bandage his own ankle.
Jack offers to use his nephilim powers to heal them but they turn it down, reminding Jack that they all agreed those powers were for emergencies only.
“I forgot the alcohol pads in the trunk, I’ll meet you in there, buddy.” Dean said.
When he opens the bathroom door, Cas is standing by the sinks, shirtless, and trying (and failing) to mop the blood from his shoulder. It takes Dean by surprise, it’s so rare to see Cas out of the trench coat and tie.
He coughs, heart caught in his throat, “Here, let me help you.”
Cas looks up from his wounds and smiles softly at Dean. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, uh, no problem.”
Cas has been around for quite some time and yet Dean is no more used to how he feels around him. When they’re around other people, it’s easier to quiet the buzz in his ears. When they’re alone, it’s deafening. Even before he formally fell in love with Cas, Dean felt the tension of their magnetic attraction. At first, Dean chalked it up to the celestial brand Cas left him, their “profound bond”. But then it was gone and still Dean buzzed.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, but when he met Cas it was like a switch inside him was flipped, a homing beacon that made him always aware of Cas. Whether it was on a hunt or in the bunker, somehow Dean knew where Cas was. He could be thrown in a pitch black room and Dean could feel exactly where Cas was. This homing beacon was always on, thrumming right underneath the surface of Dean’s skin.
When he’s in close proximity to Cas, his body lights itself on fire. It hums and vibrates, and though he can carry on acting normal, Cas covers his thoughts like a cloud.
Now, in the bathroom of some dingy diner, Dean can feel the beacon kick into high alert.
“Hop up on the sink so I can get a better look.”
Cas obeys him, as he always does.
Dean grabs a paper towel from the dispenser and wets it. He examines Cas’ cuts and determines none of them are of terrible concern. A few band-aids and some gauze and the (almost) former angel would be just fine. His fingers shake in the slightest manner. He takes a deep breath in. The buzz in his head fills his entire consciousness.
The steady hum of the fluorescent lights is the only sound in the otherwise quiet linoleum bathroom as Dean slowly wipes the half-dried blood off Cas’ bare chest. He’s always careful but with Cas he is extra careful. He keeps his eyes on the scratches zig-zagging Cas’ skin because he knows if he looks up Cas will see what’s reflected in Dean’s eyes. Even though Cas is the one without a shirt, Dean feels unbearably naked.
He rips open an alcohol swab.
“This will sting.”
“Dean, I know.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mister Tough Guy.”
Cas blows air out of his nose in a combination of fake annoyance and genuine amusement.
Knowing a smile is waiting for him, Dean looks up at Cas with a smirk of his own. Their eyes meet and Dean’s not sure how but the buzzing both comes to an abrupt stop and becomes overwhelmingly loud. Dean wipes the pad over Cas’ wounds.
Cas winces at the sharp, cold sensation and shuts his eyes in pain. His eyelashes flutter and quiver and Dean thinks to himself that it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He grabs the bandages.
He’s taping up the gauze when he feels a hand on his cheek. He lets it guide his face to look at Cas, who has the most affectionate of smiles displayed.
“Thank you, Dean.”
Love floods Dean’s hearts like a levy breaking or a dam crumbling down. For one split second, he allows himself to absorb the feeling of Cas cradling his face and then one split second later, he steps out of the embrace. The levy is rebuilt, the dam holed up once again.
“Yeah, Cas. Anytime.”
He takes a wet paper towel of his own and starts to wipe the blood off his own face, looking at the mirror behind Cas and not at Cas. Cas slides off the sink and grabs a new shirt out of his backpack, and just like that the moment over. All cleaned up, Cas gives Dean one more smile and exits the bathroom, leaving Dean alone.
Hands gripping the edge of the sink, Dean hangs his head. He looks in the mirror and just like every time before, hates what he sees. Today, he hates that he’s a person incapable of receiving love. He hates that he’s not the kind of person to say what he is thinking, what he is feeling. He hates that he can’t tell Cas that he loves him. He hates that he loves too much, too hard. Not for the first time, and surely for not the last time, Dean wonders if he was born unloveable or if it happened some point in his messed up childhood. But now’s not the time for that, he tells himself.
Dean splashes cold water on his face, dries it, and takes a deep breath before opening the bathroom door.
His burger is already on the table when he returns to the booth and he throws a “thanks” to Sam for ordering for him. He takes his seat next to his brother as Jack excitedly recounts the details of their hunt. Cas beams with pride at their son (he always did, he couldn’t help it) and Dean can feel the love pouring out of him. Most times when Cas looked at Jack, Dean looked at Cas. It was a quiet ritual but to Dean, it completed the lines that attached them to each other.
“So what are you learning in school, Jack?” Sam asks, interrupting Dean’s train of thought.
“We’re learning about the Vietnam War in history…”
Dean tucks into his dinner as his son explains to them the details of President Johnson and the student protest movement.
When they leave the restaurant, Dean tosses the Impala keys to Sam.
“You drive. I’m gonna catch some Z’s in the back.”
“Oh, can I drive?!” Jack excitedly asks.
It’s a request Dean can never deny, and he nods with instructions for Sam to play Driver’s Ed teacher.
Cas opens the backseat door and slips in. Dean opens the other one and lowers himself in. Jack turns the key in the ignition and almost stalls, but then the key catches and the engine roars to life. Dean grins at the self-satisfied grin on Jack’s face. He claps him on the shoulder with a “good job” and settles back into his seat. He leans his head back on the worn familiar leather and gets comfortable, settling into his favorite place to call home.
Sam plugs in Jack’s phone to the car’s new AUX cord, some ridiculous gadget Jack and Sam insisted they needed and Dean finally gave in after their constant complaining. Dean still prefers to burn cassette tapes, especially if they’re for Cas.
He turns to look at Cas’ profile, taking a small and secret moment to study the lines of his face. Like he can feel Dean’s stare, Cas turns to and makes eye contact. He gives Dean a small, comfortable smile and Dean returns it. There, next to Cas, in his baby with his brother and son, Dean feels complete.
Dean yawns and tries to get in a comfortable sleeping position but his bones creak in protest. He silently misses the days when he could fall asleep anywhere anytime. In hunter years, Dean is a senior citizen. He shifts one way, then another. He lets out a groan.
“Dean.” Cas whispers.
He pats his own thigh, a silent invitation for Dean to rest his head there. Dean is glad it’s dark because he blushes a deep pink. He moves horizontal, resting his head on Cas’ lap and throwing his feet on the back of Sam’s seat. His boots knock Sam on the head and he turns his head angrily.
“Dean, do you mind?”
“Not at all, Sammy.”
“Yeah, you two look really cute.” Sam retorts.
“Shut up.”
Dean rolls his eyes at his little brother and moves his feet off the seat. He knocks his boots off and they fall to the Impala’s floor. Content, he burrows just a bit more into Cas, pressing the back of his head against Cas’ coat and his cheek squished on Cas’ leg.
“By the way, my pillow at the bunker is so much more comfortable.”
Cas laughs, looking out the window at the passing street lamps. Dean is lulled to sleep by the quiet and familiar sounds of the road.
It’s 2 am and Dean still cannot sleep. After a hunt that required sharing beds, Dean usually found it was hard to adjust falling asleep without Cas, he misses the weight of his friend next to him, misses the pleasant sounds of his steady breathing, misses the quiet peace it brought him. He thinks again of Castiel’s confession in the dungeon, the last moments and the strong “I love you”; thinks about what would have happened if Dean had said it back.
Underneath his door, the little sliver of light reveals a pair of feet walking by and then stopping in front of his door. They retreat and then seconds later, return. Then, a small knock.
“Dean?”
He gets up from his bed, turning his lamp on, and walks to the door, opening it to a pajama-clad Cas.
“I heard your prayer- or well, more like I could feel you...”
Dean raises an eyebrow, confused.
Cas sheepishly averts his gaze, “I sensed that you wanted me.”
“Oh. I was just thinking about…”
Dean lets the sentence trail off because ending it would’ve been too embarrassing. He walks back to his bed and sits on the end, Cas follows him and does the same. He looks at Dean with his signature head tilt, face full of concern.
“Forget about it.” Dean speaks.
They sit in silence for a moment,
“I was having trouble sleeping.” Cas admits.
Dean lets out a hum of solidarity, “Yeah, me too.”
“I find it easier to sleep when I’m next to you.”
Cas’ candor stuns Dean and with a whisper Dean confesses, “Me too.”
Maybe it’s because it’s 2 o'clock in the morning and maybe it’s because they had just returned from a hunt but at that moment Dean finds himself immensely tired. Tired of pretending, tired of ignoring, tired of aching. The weight of the exhaustion propels Dean to move into Cas’ space and in silence, nose barely touching nose.
He can hear a small gasp escape from Cas’ throat and it’s enough to make Dean close the gap between their lips.
Their first kiss is delicate, chaste. This is what he was missing, thinks Dean. All those years back in the confession box of that church, when Dean wished to experience something, feel something different, he knows now that this is what he meant.
Their first kiss turns into a second, and a third, and a fourth, and now Dean’s heart is racing, he is blissfully dizzy.
“Hold on, Cas, hold on.” Dean leans his forehead against Cas’ and catches his breath.
“Is something wrong?” Cas moves and tilts his head, knits his brows.
“No, no, God no. I’m just- I’m not good with words. I want to tell you- I want to tell you so bad. But every time I try to put it into words... I can never find the right ones.”
“You know, I’ve been here since the beginning, Dean. I had watched humans for the longest time. I witnessed great authors, poets, singers, all try and articulate it but none of them can put into words what I feel for you. All I can say is I love you, Dean. I’ve always loved you.”
Cas’ reassurance takes Dean over the edge of the cliff, he nods his head ( it’s the best he can do to say “Me too.” ), and tears spring in his eyes.
Cas leans forward, cupping Dean’s face with his hands, swiping the tears from underneath his eyes. He calmly and delicately kisses the salty tears from Dean’s cheeks. It only makes Dean cry harder.
In the softest voice, Dean whispers, “I feel everything when I’m with you.”
Dean covers Cas’ hands with his own, hand over hand over cheek. They sit there for a beat, just looking at each other. Dean flutters his eyes closed, this moment feels so large in his chest. Then, Dean tilts his head to the left and delicately kisses Cas’ palms. He turns and does the same to Cas’ right. It is holy and raw.
Dean moves their hands until Cas’ palms are resting on his chest and Dean holds them to his heart.
With all his might, he presses his love into Cas’ hands.
In between the sound of their breathing and their beating hearts, the words Dean cannot say pass silently between them.
Cas leans in and gives Dean what must be the best kiss of his life. Dean feels the love pass through him from his head all the way down to his toes, it’s like a warm blanket enveloping him.
Dean leads Cas to the top of his bed and lies down next to him. He takes Cas’ head in his hands and begins to kiss every inch of his face. He kisses his forehead, he kisses his cheeks, he kisses his temple, he kisses his nose. He kisses his eyelids. Cas giggles and it spurns Dean to plant more kisses on his lips, Cas responding in kind.
In between kissing, an involuntary yawn escapes Cas’ mouth and Dean remembers how tired they both are. He kisses Cas once on the forehead and throws his blankets over them, burrowing deep into his bed and into Cas.
“Good night, Dean.” Cas whispers, eyes already closed.
“Good night.”
“I love you.”
Cas falls asleep before Dean, he always did.
In the dark Dean plainly looks at Cas’ open face and because he can, lifts his hand and traces Cas’ jawline with his fingers. He smoothes the wrinkles in between Cas’ eyes, where he so often furrowed his brow. He swipes his thumb over Cas’ eyebrows once, then twice. He thinks about all the times before, unable to touch Cas the way he wished to.
Laying there, next to Cas, Dean is surprised by the gentleness he finds himself capable of. He was so sure his hands were made only for breaking, for killing. Now, he finds they are even better at loving.
Dean makes a promise to himself that if Cas is there in the morning, he’ll tell him.
When he wakes up, the spot where Cas lay is empty. Dean’s entire body instantly runs cold. His heart drops to the bottom of his stomach and he punches the mattress. Cas has left him. Again.
He goes to the kitchen only to find Cas standing over the coffee pot. He’s wearing Dean’s dead guy robe and the plaid slippers Jack bought him. Dean lets out an involuntary sigh of relief. At the sound, Cas looks up from their coffee cups and at Dean. Their eyes meet and in them, Dean can see everything. Their past, their present, and their future, all laid out. In Cas’ eyes, Dean sees the answer. Before Cas can say anything, Dean takes two big steps, grabs him, and kisses him hard.
“I love you.”
Cas, thrown off, laughs in surprise as he regains his balance.
With intense purpose, Dean kisses him again. “I love you, Cas.”
Cas, with the sweetest smile of adoration on his face, replies, “I love you too.”
Cas takes Dean’s hands in his, gently presses his lips against Dean’s cheek, and leads him to the kitchen table. Cas swings his right leg across the bench, straddling the seat, and Dean mirrors him. Dean scoots his body so he’s as close to Cas as possible, throwing his legs over Cas’ thighs, bracketing his entire body. He notches his head in the crook of Cas’ neck and takes a long, deep, breath; it fills Dean with a sense of calmness he’s never felt before. Cas smells like aftershave and honey, and it’s irresistible. They stay like that, gentle and placid, for a moment, taking each other in.
“Oh, dear god!” Sam’s shout brings the pair’s morning activities to a quick stop.
Cas breaks out in a bashful grin and Dean’s entire face turns red.
“We were just-” Dean can’t finish the sentence before Jack bounds in wearing a matching pajama set.
“What happened?!” Jack asks in a concerned voice.
Then he sees Castiel and Dean, tangled in each other, and lets out a soft, “Oh!”
Dean buries his head in his hands, but Cas laughs with joy.
“I believe we interrupted Dean and Cas enjoying each other’s company.” Sam says with his patent snark.
“Shut up, Sam!” Dean says with exasperation, “Stop standing there in your stupid running shorts and make us some breakfast, huh?”
“Just let me be the first to wish you guys a mazel tov.”
“Shut up, bitch!”
After the eggs have been eaten and the coffee drunk, the four enjoy the morning together. Sam reads the newspaper and Cas listens as Jack tells them about a dream he had. As Dean sits there, with his family around him, he feels something shift. It’s as if before, his entire life was tilted on an axis and out of focus. Now, with Cas’ hand resting in his, everything is crystal clear.