Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dean arrived at the Bunker just in time for the night’s round of movies to start, and Charlie had all but clocked his trip to gather supplies- her acclaimed spot officially the long couch’s corner in the den, which was surrounded by the most blankets.

“Took you long enough,” Sam said once his brother entered the room, standing from the single-person armchair and moving to help set the bags of snack food on the coffee table by their feet. He was caught by surprise, however, when he found a full stock of bottles, and not just their typical beer.

“Whoa. Sunset rum? Dean,” the younger Winchester began, holding the drink up to the light and inspecting the labels. He scoffed “This stuff is strong. Like, even for you, strong.”

“Sam, we have more than earned ourselves a little taste of sunset,” Dean said, shrugging off his jacket and falling back against the pillows to Charlie’s right. “Ain’t that right?”

“I think I’ll pass,” she told him, reaching over and pulling a package of cheese puffs into her lap. “But...if you might be getting tipsy...you up for a challenge, Dean?”

“Sure, why the hell not,” the Winchester in question answered, meeting her conspiratorial smirk with one of his own. “Lay it on me.”

“Yess,” she fist pumped, with the triumphant sound effect to match. “Alright, first movie in the queue is…” she said aloud, navigating the television in front of them. “Home Alone. So, take a shot,” she decided, “every time Kevin pulls one over on Harry and Marv. Or any time Kevin screams.”

“Harry and Marv, that’s the, uh, the two assholes harassing him, right?” Dean asked, setting up a shot glass and glancing up at the screen.

“Mmhm,” she hummed in confirmation, pressing a handful of air-fried cheese into her mouth. She looked over at Sam, not suppressing the delighted twinkle in her eyes. “How long do you think it’ll take before the drink hits him? Ten bucks or a new beanbag for the den say we can ask him anything we want by the time Marv’s head gets blowtorched.”

Sam scoffed in agreement. “He’ll be lights out by the time we get the glue and feathers.”

Dean had taken the predictions as a challenge, not bowing down from throwing back a shot whenever he was prompted by any sort of decisive howl from the television (or any time there was fire on screen), and trying his damn hardest to maintain lucidity.

In all honesty, he should’ve known better.

That was never going to happen.

His commentary had veered from sharp and sarcastic to undeniably intoxicated by the time the so-called “Wet Bandits” had even entered the booby-trapped house, well before Charlie and Sam had believed it would hit him- and once Dean had started rambling on about how hard it “actually is” for a pre-teen to get their hands on quality tar, there had been no point in leaving the movie on.

“It’s fine,” Charlie whispered loudly to the only other sober one in the room, swallowing popcorn and cherishing the feel of salty butter in the crevices of her throat. “This is all the entertainment we need.”

Sam nodded, and sat back, letting out a contented sigh. Dean would be crabby as hell in the morning, but in the meantime, at least he might get some good photos. The little sibling in him was counting on it.

“You know, if Cas were here, he’d get it,” Dean was saying, pulling the attention back to him with the wave of a hand.

“Get what, Dean?” Sam asked, having lost track of the winding stream of inebriated thoughts long ago.

“This, that we’re…” he looked around as if looking for the words, like he might find the answers to all of his problems in a pair of blue eyes that weren’t there to supply them. “Damnit.” He slouched back, as if in defeat, his lower lip curling forward into the slightest of pouts so innocent, it seemed as though he’d stolen it from simpler times.

“Hey, what is it?” Charlie asked, shifting to her side so she could look her couchmate in the eyes. “Come on, you can tell us.”

Dean made a face like he was unsure whether to speak, and while part of Sam wanted to laugh, he decided to let their surrogate sister take the lead in the effort of comfort. God knows, after everything the years had thrown at them, Dean could surely use it, even if it was only for a night. And so, eventually, the meaningful looks won out, and Dean sighed, giving in and opening his mouth to spill.

“Do you ever look at Cas...and think about what a great friend he is?” the older, sunset-softened Winchester wondered aloud, his gaze far off like he was staring open-hearted into an invisible patch of clouds.

Charlie’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she looked over at Sam, making a gesture for him to record this as well as give the first answer.

“Well, uh...sure, Dean,” the younger brother said, pulling out his phone, and pressing record on the camera. “Cas is one of the best friends we’ve ever had.”

At that, Dean made a face, one neither of them could decipher. “Friend,” he repeated with a shake of his head, but it was too slurred for anyone but him to understand.

“And...he’s so powerful,” Dean continued, “but he...you forget he was ever chugging the god squad kool-aid, you know?” He snorted airily, though the drunken mist seemed to go right back inside his nose. “Hell, half the time I forget how long he was around before us.”

“Oh, definitely,” Charlie answered this time. “When I was reading Edlund’s stuff? You could see it. Humanity changed him.” She stopped, and made a visible face of thought, and Sam’s breath hitched slightly in anticipation. “Though, honestly?” she said next. “I think it might’ve been one human in particular.”

Dean looked at her, drunkenly, but almost trepidantly as if in a hope he never believed would be realized. He sighed, letting his head drop to the cushions of the couch behind him, reaching forward blindly for his bottle but finding nothing except crumbs to meet his fingers. “Figures,” he muttered, though whether it be about ‘humanity’ or about the lack of accessible alcohol, no one could tell. “It’s always one human,” he said bitterly. “What, was it that lady who conned him into babysitting for her?” he asked, his tone dripping. “Of course Chuck bought into that crap.”

“No…” Charlie said, shifting closer, but slightly out of the way so that Sam would get the full view of his brother’s face. “Try again. Or, oh, tell me something else about Cas.” She gave her tipsy target a nudge, just gently enough that he wouldn’t fall over completely. “What’s another thing you like about him?”

Dean’s face scrunched up in thought, and he stared up at the ceiling, smiling as the alcohol’s buzz allowed his mind to shift the patterns in the uneven paint to the familiar folds of a beige-colored trench coat. “He’s...intense. But when he’s smiling, his eyes, just…” he thought for a second. “Gon van graungraþ, unvaunpa na.” He said it lucidly, and took the other two in the room by surprise. “Enochian,” he said, by way of explanation, his voice now back to its hazy half-slur. “Cas...says things in it sometimes. All quiet, when he thinks no one notices how sad he looks.” Dean’s hand drifted to the area beneath his sternum, rubbing over his shirt as if trying to push the phantom tugging from his heart. “I notice, though,” he whispered.

“What did those enochian words mean, Dean?” Sam asked gently, touched that his brother would turn to learning an ancient language just for Cas.

“...stars of hyacinth,” Dean murmured finally. He looked like he wanted to continue, but he shifted to the side, and began to yawn, looking as if he might fall asleep. “A flower. Beautiful. Just...like he is.”

“That’s not the only reason I’m in love with him, though.”

The room went quiet, and then Dean was out cold in about a minute, his string of thoughts left off with no close to that chapter in sight. Sam stopped the recording, and then stood, looking over his screen before carefully returning it to his pocket. “We should clean up,” he said, somewhat quietly despite the knowledge that Dean probably wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

Charlie shook herself from the moment’s hold, and nodded, beginning to assemble the snacks and silently vowing to celebrate loudly the second she returned to her room. Meanwhile, Sam took up the half empty bottle of sunset, looking down at the receipt sitting next to it. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but then something caught his eye, something that made him look twice.

“Hey, Charlie?” he called, taking the slip in his hands. “I’m gonna be right back.”

“Okay,” she called back from the direction of the kitchen. “Watch out for any traps. Never know when a movie might spill into reality around here.”

Sam smiled thinly, and then went up to his room, pulling out his phone and dialing a certain witch’s number without delay.

“Ah, Samuel,” a voice greeted after only a couple rings, the lilting accent from the other side of the line sounding very pleased with herself. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sunset rum, Rowena?” Sam asked, skipping the pleasantries. “Really?”

She was silent for a second, and then began to laugh, for once not maliciously which meant that Sam almost couldn’t find a reason to be resentful. “I take it he’s fallen asleep by now?” she asked.

“What did you do?”

“Oh...it’s a simple enough matter to spell a bottle or two that someone’s eyeing, then spell the receipt once more as they leave. A classic signature, really. Only the best ones ever catch it. With the exception of you, of course,” she clarified in aside. “I figured if you lot were planning to enjoy yourselves, you might as well finally get that boy to admit how he feels about a certain angel on your collective shoulders.”

Sam paused. “How did you…”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Samuel,” she told him, loosely scoffing. “Anyone with eyes and half a brain can see it in his face. And after the last time you called me? You can’t blame me if I’d finally had enough.”

Sam remembered. Cas had been on the receiving end of a curse, having taken the hit for Dean, and his brother had been a twitchy wreck for days.

“So…” Rowena asked, breaking the contemplative silence. “Did you get it on video?”

Sam wanted to remain stoic, but finally sighed, admitting it. “Yes.”

“Well, then. Call me after you show it to him, dear. There will be celebrations, and I expect full credit.”

Sam moved to reply, but the line was cut, and all he could do was run a hand through his hair.

Well… he thought, hoping his brother would eventually thank him. Here goes.

He pulled up his messages, and tapped on the contact for Cas, attaching the recording he’d just made and waiting for it to load. “Watch this when you get the chance,” Sam typed out beneath it, hitting send, and once it was done he tucked the device away. He smiled.

Maybe Rowena was right on this one.

It was about time this had finally happened.

Cas was sitting alone in the driver’s seat of his truck, the night sky obscuring most of his surroundings as he took out his phone, and found a message from Sam awaiting him.

He frowned, just a little, but tapped to open it, the screen’s soft glow casting over his face once the video quietly began to play.

“Well, uh...sure, Dean,” Sam’s voice was speaking from behind the camera’s view, and the viewing angel squinted, making out the form of Charlie (wrapped in blankets), and then Dean himself, rested at her side. “Cas is one of the best friends we’ve ever had.”

Dean said something the microphone didn’t pick up, and then the angle shifted slightly, focusing closer on Dean as he evidently moved to continue speaking.

“And...he’s so powerful, but he...you forget he was ever chugging the god squad kool-aid, you know?” Dean’s features hazily rearranged, and Cas leaned in, watching more closely and finding himself grateful that the background room’s lights had been turned on. “Hell, half the time I forget how long he was around before us.”

You aren’t the only one who forgets, Dean, Cas thought silently.

“Oh, definitely,” Charlie answered. “When I was reading Edlund’s stuff? You could see it. Humanity changed him.” She stopped, and the camera stilled. “Though, honestly?” she said next. “I think it might’ve been one human in particular.”

The rapt listener felt his breathing slightly hitch. Just where was this conversation intending to go?

Dean looked at her, and then sighed, muttering something only slightly audible. “It’s always one human,” he said, and Castiel was surprised to detect a note of hardness. “What, was it that lady who conned him into babysitting for her? Of course Chuck bought into that crap.”

The angel winced, remembering that day, and those long months alone as a human all too well.

He was surprised that Dean recalled the woman, though. That encounter had been years ago.

“No…” Charlie said, shifting closer, but evidently taking care not to obscure the camera’s angle. “Try again. Or, oh, tell me something else about Cas. What’s another thing you like about him?”

...what?

Dean’s face aimed up toward the ceiling, and while Castiel couldn’t say whether or not he wanted to keep watching, he found that he couldn’t look away. “He’s...intense,” the WInchester said eventually. “But when he’s smiling, his eyes, just…” Dean thought for a second. “Gon van graungraþ, unvaunpa na.”

Castiel went still in shock, unsure that he had truly heard that as intended.

“Enochian,” Dean continued, by way of explanation, issuing confirmation that Cas had never expected to receive.

When did Dean learn enochian? And the words for that…

“Cas...says things in it sometimes. All quiet, when he thinks no one notices how sad he looks.” At this, Cas nearly flinched, sharply drawing air but finding himself only able to release it with a quiver. “I notice, though,” the hunter finished quietly.

Cas could almost feel his heartstrings pull.

“What did those enochian words mean, Dean?” Sam asked.

“...stars of hyacinth,” Dean and Cas whispered, on opposite sides of the screen at the same time.

“A flower. Beautiful. Just...like he is,” the Winchester continued, eyes bright, despite his eyelids drooping.

“That’s not the only reason I’m in love with him, though.”

Dean at last fell asleep, and Sam quietly stood to mark the video’s end.

The angel stared at the black screen in his hands, none of his thoughts able to tell him what to do next.

Thank you, Sam, he moved to type in reply to the video, despite how his fingers felt almost numb from the shock. I should be back at the bunker by tomorrow evening.

The lead he’d been following out near the pacific had been a bust, so there was nothing keeping him away. Not anymore.

Great, Sam sent back. Then, after a moment: Good luck, buddy.

If you want it, you both deserve this.

It was a long drive back to Lebanon, a solid 1200 miles ahead.

But the whole way there...this was nearly all Castiel could think about.