Work Text:
All I ever wanted was a spot in the mountains
With an A-frame cabin and nobody counting our days
Or cursing or praising our name
- "America 2" - The Midnight
It’s snowing.
It’s snowing outside, and Castiel can’t feel it now like he could when he was an angel, but he can tell by the way that the cold seeps in through the old bones of the house, radiating from the window to the the left of the bed, where brilliant gold-white rays of light have begun to trickle in through the gaps in the curtains, dappling the bedspread in bright freckles which mirror the freckles that dot Dean’s cheekbones in a perfectly imperfect pattern. The bright sunlight, although scarce, still manages to illuminate the room enough for Cas to make out the dips and shadows, peaks and valleys of two bodies underneath the covers, legs tangled together. It’s snowing, which makes Cas just want to curl up under the sheets and snuggle into the warmth of the man next to him and sleep the day away, so he does exactly that. At least, until the phone on the bedside table begins to buzz quietly, signifying that he should think about getting up soon.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the sleeping form at his side, Cas begins to slowly roll out of bed. With even the smallest movements, he can feel the way that the cold makes his joints stiff and sore, and god, he’s getting old - something he never thought would happen, but he absolutely cherishes. Dean calls him crazy, when he points things like this out, like how the bitter wind bites his cheeks in the frigid Rocky Mountain air, or how sometimes, his shoulder will ache all day if he sleeps wrong. Dean hates the idea of getting old, hates the aches and pains and hates the signs of aging, but Cas cherishes them. It reminds him that he’s human, reminds him that he gets to spend this time growing old with Dean.
Dean, who really isn’t all that old in the grand scheme of things. Sure, counting Hell and Purgatory and time loops and everything else in between, he’s seen more years than most people do in a lifetime, but physically, he’s only just shy of forty-six. So, so young, as far as Cas is concerned.
So Cas cherishes the aches and pains that come with getting older, that always seem to arise when the weather changes, which Dean says is just a thing that happens . Those very aches and pains cause Cas to stretch just a little bit more as he moves to climb out of bed, and apparently the movement is enough to rouse Dean, or at the very least, alert him that the source of warmth is about to abandon him, and he can’t have that. So just as Cas moves to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean wraps an arm impossibly tighter around his middle, pulling him back down into the plush blankets.
“Dean,” Cas starts, a protest forming on his lips, but the other man is quick to silence it.
“Stay,” Dean grumbles sleepily, tightening his hold around Cas’ waist.
“I need to get up,” Cas says with a sigh, even as his own hand comes up to cover Dean’s where it’s pressing against his stomach. “We need to get up - the bar isn’t going to open itself.”
It’s a funny statement, when Cas thinks about everything that lead up to this moment. Years ago, before the end of the world and the end of Chuck and The Empty and coming back, Cas never would have been able to imagine having a life like this - a normal life with Dean, one that consists of lazy mornings on the weekends and home cooked meals and long drives in the summer and eventually even opening up their own bar in their very own slice of heaven, nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. If someone told Cas that he’d be able to have this , everything he ever wanted and then some, he would have called them crazy, he would have seen it as a trick, a trap, because there was no way that the universe would allow him to have this after everything they’ve been through, after everything he has done.
Yet, he’s here, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. So maybe that’s why it doesn’t take much convincing on Dean’s part to get him to cave, to stay in bed just a little longer. Or maybe it’s just the sleepy tone of Dean’s voice as he mumbles, “We’re snowed in, it doesn’t matter.”
Cas opens his mouth to argue, to tell Dean that he has absolutely no way of knowing that they’re snowed in, because when they went to bed last night, it had only just started snowing, and he knows for a fact that he hasn’t looked outside since.
“Just a few more minutes…” Dean insists, his voice warm and syrupy as he pulls Cas flush against him under the cover.
And Cas wants to tell Dean that they can cuddle up in bed together later, after work, but the words die in his throat. Instead, he finds himself thinking of the french toast that he’d been planning on making for breakfast before they started their day, and ultimately decides to scrap the idea. Coffee and a bagel will suffice - that’ll shave some time off of getting ready. And if they share a shower…
“A few more minutes,” Cas finally agrees, and he can’t help but smile to himself when Dean simply pulls him impossibly closer.
Cas is already awake enough that he doesn’t quite drift off again, but he does let himself relax into Dean’s arms, eyes falling closed against the warm morning light. And as they lay side by side together in bed, Dean’s arm wrapped around his middle, Dean’s even breathing tickling the hairs on the back of his neck, Cas can’t help but reflect on the events that brought them here - to this very moment. Memories flash behind Cas’ closed eyes - memories of Dean holding him close in the kitchen as some old song floated quietly through the bunker, Dean showing him how to change the Impala’s oil on a hot summer day, wiping sweat from his brow as he smiled proudly at him, the peaceful, carefree look on Dean’s face as they drove down the highway together one late fall afternoon, finally free and happy.
Cas can’t help but think of the life they’ve built together, this home in Colorado, their decision to open The Roadhouse only a few miles down the road, because Dean wanted to keep helping people in some way, even if it just meant giving them a place where they’d be welcome, hunter or not. He thinks of Dean and just how far he has come in the time that they’ve known each other, in the time that they’ve been together. Cas would be lying if he said it was easy, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth the hard work, if for nothing more than to wake up to Dean’s warm smile every morning.
So maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Dean to convince Cas to stay in bed, because Cas could never say no to a moment like this with him, because they’ve earned it. If it means having to rush through getting ready and hoping the roads aren’t too terrible, then so be it. He’ll take a moment like this with Dean over anything.
It isn’t until Cas feels movement behind him, until he feels Dean’s lips brushing gingerly against the back of his neck, that his thoughts finally derail. By the time Cas finally blinks his eyes open, Dean is sliding his hand up his chest, the kisses littered across his neck just a little more firm.
Cas can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face.
It’s an awkward movement beneath the covers, but it’s completely worth it when Cas eventually turns to face Dean, fully taking in the sight of him now. The room isn’t much brighter than it had been when he originally awoke, but that doesn’t make the sight of Dean, his face framed in soft, brilliant morning light any less stunning. The rays of sunlight that manage to seep in between the cracks in the curtain bring out the natural highlights (and even some grays) in Dean’s messy hair and catch subtle flecks of gold floating in the green pools of his irises. He looks… well, angelic, and isn’t that a fucking thought? Cas is sure that if he voiced it, it would get a good laugh out of the other man.
So instead, he doesn’t wax poetic about Dean’s beauty, or about how his eyes twinkle in the early morning light, or how he wishes there was enough time in the day to count every single freckle that litters his cheeks and shoulders and arms. Instead, he just offers Dean a small smile and a quiet, “Good morning.”
Dean, in return, choses that moment to reach up wordlessly, his right hand coming up to cup Castiel’s face, thumb gently grazing his cheekbone as he gazes up at him with a sleepy, smile on his face.
And god. Cas is done for.
Without another word, without Dean asking or begging or rolling his eyes and leaning up on his elbows to just close the distance himself, Castiel dips down and catches Dean’s lips in a soft kiss. And when Dean hums pleasantly against him, Cas knows that he won’t be pulling away anytime soon.
Over the past few years, Castiel has come to learn that Dean has many different ways of kissing. There’s the quick good morning kiss, as he ducks past Cas with a cup of coffee - sometimes it lands on his cheek, other times in his hair, and if he’s lucky, he turns his head at just the right time and gets a chaste peck on the lips. There’s the late afternoon kiss, particularly when they haven’t seen much of one another throughout the day. Those ones, Dean puts a little more care into - he’ll pause thoughtfully, put a hand on Cas’ arm, or the junction between his neck and shoulder, or maybe even on his cheek, and he lingers for just a moment, pressing a meaningful kiss to his lips before offering a smile or a greeting or even just a gentle squeeze before they part. There’s also the stolen moments throughout the day or late at night or sometimes even early in the morning, when Dean lets himself get lost in it, tilting his head to the side and letting his hands drift to Cas’ hair or his hips or winding his arms around his neck. He always looks a little dazed after those kisses, and Cas tries not to let it give him an ego. And of course, there’s the heated kisses as they fall into bed together, or as Cas presses him up against the front door as it clicks shut behind them or as Dean climbs into his lap on the couch, that always leave him breathless and wanting more.
And then… then, there are kisses like this. Slow, reverent kisses in the golden morning light, blankets falling around Cas’ waist as Dean’s hand slides to cradle the back of his head, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft, meaningful presses of lips, but so purposeful and full that Cas feels like his chest might burst. This kind of kiss is Cas’ favorite.
He loves these moments that don’t feel rushed, when he has the time to really take it all in, to feel Dean beneath him, to move in sync like they were meant to do this. They take their time with these kisses, moving lazily against one another, until Dean parts his lips and deepens the kiss, and Cas moves to accommodate him, until his free hand - the one not propping him up - is in Dean’s hair. Cas isn’t sure how much time passes before he’s moving, his knee slotting in between Dean’s legs, like their bodies were meant to fit together.
Eventually, Cas comes up for air, because that’s a thing he has to do now, and he’s never been more grateful for such a human need, because then he’s looking down at Dean, and he’s not sure if he feels short of breath from the intense make-out session, or if it’s simply due to the sheer beauty of the man underneath him. Dean looks up at him, his eyes shining in the morning light, a mischievous, lopsided smile falling across his face.
“Hey,” Dean murmurs, his voice rough, and that’s really all it takes for Cas before he’s diving back in, catching his parted lips in a kiss.
It’s foolish, really, because Castiel knows that he should be getting out of bed soon, that he needs to get ready for the day and eventually get down to The Roadhouse to begin opening, but he can’t help it. He can’t help it when Dean looks at him like that, when Dean looks like that. It should be embarrassing, Cas should feel at least a little bit of shame at how easily he caves to Dean’s pouts and sweet words and kissable lips, but he can’t help it, and he blames it on years of wishing, of daydreaming and longing. All of that time spent wondering what it would be like to kiss Dean, to press him into the mattress and comb his fingers through his hair, to have him, and here they are , after everything. So Cas can’t help it.
That’s not to say that he’s not reasonable, though. Cas knows that he lets it go just a little too far - he should have stopped when Dean started getting handsy - but it isn’t until Dean is kissing down the column of his throat that Cas finally makes the decision to pull back, just slightly, enough to look him in the eyes and give him an apologetic smile.
“Dean -”
Dean’s eyes go wide for a moment before he groans with annoyance. “Cas -”
“We need to get up,” Cas tells him ruefully, even as his fingers dance along the back of Dean’s head, unmoving despite the fact that he has pulled away.
“You wouldn’t dare ,” Dean shoots back, but there’s no venom to his tone. Although Cas is sure that Dean is at least a little bit annoyed that this moment is getting cut short, he’s not angry by any means.
Cas leans down at that, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose, earning a sigh in response. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he murmurs, “I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes, but there’s a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and it makes Cas’ stomach flip-flop. “You better.”
“I will,” Cas swears, pressing another chaste kiss to Dean’s lips, and then, after a lingering moment of hesitation, he’s rolling over and climbing out of bed. He pretends that he doesn’t feel Dean’s eyes on him as he pulls on a discarded pair of sweats and a faded old t-shirt from the floor before stepping out into the hallway, but honestly, he loves knowing that Dean is watching him, that Dean wants him. For so long, he found himself wondering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, those desires, so he doesn’t take it for granted and revels in the attention.
But still, they have a life here and a bar to run, so despite his desire to simply spend all day in bed with Dean, Cas pulls himself together and makes the decision to start getting ready for the day.
The hardwood floors are cold against his bare feet when Castiel steps out of the bedroom and into the hallway, but he doesn’t backtrack for a pair of thick socks or slippers for fear that if he returns now, he’ll never get out of bed. So instead, Cas sucks up the discomfort and begins to make his way down the hallway and towards the staircase, which overlooks the first story of their house. Their house, which Cas still sometimes struggles to wrap his head around. Their house that they own together, that they picked out together, furnished together and made their own.
Their house , which always looks absolutely breathtaking in the golden morning sunlight, the wooden details and furnishings practically glowing in the right light, but it looks even more surreal now, with white light reflecting off of the fresh snow outside and bathing the entire house in a surreal haze, which shines in through the massive windows on the westward facing all. Massive windows that show -
At least four, maybe even five feet of snow outside where the wind has blown drifts up against the doors. Cas pauses on the landing at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight before him. It’s absolutely stunning, but it’s also mind blowing to look outside, unable to even make out the furniture on the back porch where they normally host barbecues and parties over the summer.
And yeah, okay. Dean was right. They’re definitely snowed in.
The sight is absolutely breathtaking, though, so for a moment, Cas just takes it in - the massive snow drifts outside, the vast expanse of the white-washed wilderness around them, barely visible through the snow storm outside. He takes in the sight of the cabin - their home - lit up beautifully by pure white light, the sun trying its best to shine through the thick cloud cover, diffused into this beautiful, soft white glow that illuminates everything it touches. From where Cas stands, he takes in their furniture - a well worn sofa and a handmade coffee table, the kitchen table where they share breakfast most mornings and dinner nearly every night. He takes in the photographs that litter the southern wall - photos of Sam and Eileen, of Charlie and Bobbe and all of their found family that make his heart swell every time he looks at them, a candid photo of him and Dean just after they had moved to Colorado, Dean’s arm thrown casually over his shoulder as they stand in front of the grill on the back porch of this very house.
Sometimes, Cas can’t believe that they’ve managed to build this life together, that they’re actually allowed to have this. Sometimes, Cas feels like at any moment, he’ll open his eyes and find himself right back in The Empty, or in Heaven with Jack, longing for a second chance, enough time, a life to spend with Dean. For years, Cas just assumed that he’d never find himself here, that there was no conceivable way that he’d end up here, and yet here he is. Sometimes, he finds himself thinking back to that fateful day in the bunker, when he spilled it all, when he saved Dean’s life and sacrificed his own, and he wonders how he ever ended up here. When Castiel experienced true happiness back then, he was naive enough to think that it couldn’t get much better than that - it couldn’t get better finally telling Dean how he felt without worrying about whether or not the feeling was reciprocated, because it didn’t matter. Back then, that’s all he thought he could get - just saying it.
But now…
Cas shakes his head, a smile falling across his face as he takes in the sight of their home, bathed in beautiful morning light. Now, he knows what true happiness feels like. Although saying it was enough back then, nothing will beat the feeling of Dean saying it back, of Dean asking him to move to Colorado, to start a life together.
It’s kind of comical now, looking back on it, what his true happiness looks like compared to back then. And while Cas will always stand by the fact that just saying it would have been enough, he can’t deny that this feels good. This feels so much better than admitting his feelings before his inevitable demise. Reciprocated love - unconditional love - feels better than he ever could have imagined, and his true happiness now isn’t in just saying it - it’s in the home that they share, in the life that they’ve built together. True happiness is the pride that he feels when he leaves The Roadhouse after a long day, it’s long dives in the mountains and not worrying about hurrying home. It’s spending lazy afternoons in bed, watching movies together or Dean teaching him a new recipe when they cook together. It’s laying in bed next to Dean and watching the way that the warm morning sunlight lights up his eyes.
It’s the man laying in bed in the other room, the man who still loves him after everything they’ve been through. The man who is likely going to give him plenty of grief when he realizes that they are , indeed, snowed in.
At that thought, Cas takes a deep breath, smiles to himself, and sheepishly makes his way back to their bedroom. He’ll have to send a text to their staff and let them know that they won’t be opening today, but that can wait at least a few minutes, he decides, as he pads quietly back down the hallway. The door is still cracked open from when Cas stepped out just a couple of minutes ago, so he only has to push it open gently when he steps foot back inside.
When Cas steps back into the bedroom, it’s to find Dean a little more awake, propped up on one elbow, scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up, though, when Cas steps back into the room, offering a soft smile, and the sight stops Cas in his tracks. It’s so mundane, really, Dean lying there in his underwear, sheets falling down around his waist, the planes of his chest and stomach bathed in morning light and drastic shadows. He looks like a renaissance painting, though if Cas voiced that thought out loud, he’s sure he’d never hear the end of it.
“How’s it look out there?” Dean’s voice shakes him out of his reverie, and for a moment, Cas struggles to find the words to respond, still so caught up in Dean and their home and this life that they’ve managed to build together. How did he get so lucky?
But instead of voicing all of that, Cas simply clears his throat and answers, “It appears that we are snowed in.”
And Dean -
Dean fucking laughs. It’s this surprised, happy, bright thing that lights up his face and makes the room feel that much warmer. Dean laughs a whole hell of a lot more these days, and Cas revels in the fact that he has some part in it, that he plays a part in Dean’s happiness. Even now, standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom, the idea that they have this, that there isn’t something terrible waiting around the corner, that there isn’t some price they have to pay for this, that they can just be , is mind boggling. It’s enough to bring a smile to Castiel’s face as well.
He crosses the room at that, not bothering to shut the door behind him, allowing even more light to spill into the safehaven that is their bedroom, and before long, Cas is kneeling on their plush mattress, reaching out for Dean. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t need to. In the three years that they’ve been together and even longer before that, Cas has already said enough. He knows that Dean knows, and he knows that Dean returns his feelings and then some. If there’s anything that Cas is certain of, it’s Dean’s love, and god how incredible is that?
So he doesn’t say anything as he reaches out, cupping Dean’s face in his hands like he’s something delicate, something precious, something to behold, because he is. He doesn’t say anything, but the look says it all, and when Dean meets him halfway for a passionate, long-awaited kiss, Cas finds himself thinking that this - this was worth fighting for.