Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s odd that I’ve never heard of such a ritual,” Cas said through the bad connection. It sounded to Dean like he was in a tunnel.

“It’s not like you’ve read every book the world, man. If you did, you’d understand my Harry Potter references.” Dean tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could rifle through his bag. He knew he’d packed socks. He always packed socks. They were right up there with underwear and rock salt on his Hunt Necessities list. No, he didn’t have an actual list. He wasn’t Sam, the big dork. Of course, if he’d had a real list, he wouldn’t have forgotten socks this time.

“It’s a ritual concerning an angel, Dean. I’m fairly certain I’ve read most such books.”

“Most is not all, Cas. Look, we’re running really short on time here. Are you in? We need to perform the ritual in the next twenty minutes if we want to get this yeti/chupacabra/Swamp Thing-whatever monster. It’ll go into hibernation after tonight, and the next chance to gank it is in like four hundred years.”

“Forty-two years,” Sam intoned from the hotel desk where his face was buried in the book on angels he’d been scouring in a last-ditch effort to find a way to beat this weirdo monster (yeti-cabra?) they’d been hunting for three days.

They knew very little about it except that it appeared every few decades, killed a handful of people, then disappeared again. They didn’t know how to defeat it, and it was definitely too strong for them to fight the normal way, as evidenced by Sam’s broken ribs and sprained ankle and Dean’s concussion and dislocated shoulder. They’d been at a loss on what to do next when Sam had the genius idea of finding a spell to give one of them a boost of super juice to make them strong enough to take down the huge chupa-yeti (nah, yeti-cabra was better, though it missed the Swamp Thing aspect). Then he remembered something he’d read in the angel book he’d been schlepping around recently to learn more about the dicks they now consorted with on the regular (well, mostly they consorted with just the one, and he wasn’t a dick. In fact, Dean’s feelings for him had begun to move in a worrisome direction over the past year or two that he refused to think about).

“Whatever, Sam. Basically, we probably won’t still be hunting the next time this guy rolls into town, and I’d like to take care of it myself. It’s a bitch to fight, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“So this ritual would temporarily boost your strength by tapping into my grace? How do we keep it from burning you from the inside out? You can’t even hear my real voice without it causing damage. I don’t think I’m comfortable with this …”

Dean could hear the anxious concern in his best friend’s voice, and he could easily imagine the half-constipated-half-endearing expression that usually went along with it.

“It’ll be fine, Professor Stomachache. The connection should be pretty small. You probably won’t even notice the drain, if Sammy is reading his Enochian correctly.”

Sam snorted, which could’ve meant that either Sam hated having his big brain questioned or he was questioning his own abilities. Dean was hoping for the first one. This ritual was their last resort, given that Cas was busy on his own hunt and couldn’t help until tomorrow, when the swamp-residing yeti-cabra would already have gone to ground for the next two hundred and forty years.

“I’d just feel better if I could read the book myself. I would know of any such rituals, and I’m afraid that whoever wrote the book misapprehended another ritual.”

“He’s checked his homework twice. It’s a real simple ritual. We just need your consent, a stick of incense, and some chanting. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, slimy yeti-cabra taken care of, back home in time for Dancing with the Stars.”

The gust from Cas’s sigh was almost strong enough to travel through the radio waves or whatever cell phones transmitted through and tickle Dean’s ear on the other side. He pushed the notion away, not wanting to think about Cas’s breath and his ear in the same thought.

“Fine, I can’t leave the guy I’m tailing, so if Sam is one hundred percent confident–”

“Oh yeah, Sammy’s got this, for sure.”

Sam’s head jerked up, brow wrinkled. Dean shot him a smile and thumbs up, then let out a relieved breath as he found a spare pair of socks in the side pocket of his bag that he swore he never used.

“What do I need to do?”

“Uhh.” Dean looked over at his brother, who was now muttering to himself and looking confused. “Sam. What’s he need to do?”

Sam shuffled some papers with his translation of the ritual. He could manage Latin pretty well, and his Enochian was getting better, but the ritual was written in some weird combo of the two, and he’d been complaining about declensions for the last hour. Whatever those were, they didn’t sound pleasant. Sam handed a page over and pointed to the relevant section.

“Dear God, Sammy, you’re handwriting is getting worse.” Sam gave him his bitchface, then went back to muttering and rifling through pages. Dean squinted at the page and read the line into his phone.

“Are you certain, Dean?” Cas asked. “That’s remarkably similar to the wording for another bond–”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this ritual cribbed the words from another one. People love their shortcuts. Why reinvent the wheel?”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed.

“Well?”

“You’re sure this is temporary?”

Dean dropped his head back and scrunched his face up. “Yes, absolutely.” Cas was a great dude, but he worried too much. Dean caught a glance at the setting sun in the window and swore. “Cas, we gotta do this now, if we’re doing it at all.”

“Damn,” Cas replied. “My guy just left his house. I need to follow. Yes, fine. Do the ritual. Do I say the words now?”

Dean waved to Sam and put his phone on speaker. Sam lit the incense (they’d smell like patchouli for fucking days after this, on top of swamp smell) and held up the book.

“Do you need me for the whole ritual?” Cas asked, sounding distracted.

“No,” Sam replied. “Just say the line, and then you can go.”

“Right.” Cas sighed again, the noise accompanied by the sounds of an angel in a trench coat walking quickly through the woods. He said the line in Enochian, which meant Dean only understood its meaning based on Sam’s rough translation for him earlier. It was something like I, Castiel, Angel of the Lord and of Thursday, do submit to this bond, to be a helpmate—for protection, for aid, for strength, for support—until it reaches its conclusion, but don’t quote him on that.

Sam’s reply had something to do with hearing Castiel’s words and accepting them. He nodded at Dean, who said his line, which mirrored Cas’s, and Sam said his line again.

“Ok, that’s it. Thanks, Cas, we’ve got it from here,” Sam said

“Be safe, Dean,” Cas said.

“You too, Cas.” Dean hung up and raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“Okay, do the rest of the woowoo so we can get to it. We’re literally losing daylight.”

***

The hunt and ensuing fight end up being a breeze. Not only was Dean stronger than he’d ever been, but he was faster—both in body and mind—his brain whirling and his limbs flying. There must’ve been some healing component too, because his aches and pains from earlier fights were gone. Decapitation ended up working on the unholy lovechild between Bigfoot and Alec Holland, but they burned the body too, just to be sure.

Dean was edgy the entire drive back, which was not unheard of after a big fight, and was less surprising when coupled with the angel mojo running through him. He tapped repeatedly on the wheel until Sam gives him bitchface for the third time, so he cranked the radio and sang along with AC/DC for the rest of the (thankfully short) trip.

Still vibrating out of his seat by the time they arrived, Dean went a few rounds with the punching bag and jump rope for a while, then went for a goddamn run when that didn’t calm him. Is that what Cas felt like all the time? No wonder he was often grouchy. Dean would go spare if he was constantly raring for a fight, unable to calm his pumping blood.

After his fifth lap, he realized he was starving, and went inside for some munchies. Two triple-decker sandwiches and a whole bag of chips later, his heart stopped feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest, and he finally settled down with some beer and Mad Max (Fury Road, because Charlize Theron was hot with a shaved head). Sam gave him a few funny looks every time Dean passed by his library table, where he was still buried in that stupid angel book, but said nothing. He stayed silent until the final car chase of the film, when the big lug clomped over to Dean’s favorite reading nook and paused the movie.

“What the actual fuck, Sammy?” Dean tried to start it back up, but Sam shut the laptop screen.

“Umm.” Sam’s face morphed from determined to squirrely, his eyes darting to the side and his fingers tapping on the book he was still holding. “We’ve maybe got just a tiny bit of a problem.”

Dean sat up straight. “Cas? No,” he waved the panicked thought away. “Cas is fine.”

Sam sat down across from him. “Why do you say that?”

Dean shrugged. “Because he is. I’d know if he …. Oh.” His eyes went wide. How did he know Cas was alright? He wasn’t sure, but the knowledge sat firm in him all the same. Cas was perfectly safe. He frowned at his brother. “What went wrong? Did you say the words wrong?”

Sam shook his head. “I said everything perfectly. And, um, that’s the problem.”

“Sam.” He raised his intonation at the end of the syllable in warning. “What. Did. You. Do.”

Sam scrunched his eyes closed. “I didn’t read the fine print.”

“Aw shit. Am I gonna die again? Yeah, I’m gonna die. Fuck. Cas will not be happy. He was already uncomfortable with doing this …” Dean leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He hoped it didn’t hurt, but it’d likely burn him up from the inside out, like Cas had worried it would do. Not pleasant, based on what he’d seen from Pamela’s eyes getting seared out of their sockets when she saw Cas’s true form, a million years ago, before he realized angels even existed.

“No! You won’t die. Well, I don’t think so, but since I can’t find any accounts of this ritual being performed between an angel and human, it’s hard to know for sure …” Sam wrinkled his brow and gave Dean that damn puppy dog face.

Dean waved his hands. “Wait, what? I thought this ritual was specifically meant to be between an angel and human. How are there no accounts of it?”

“Well …” Sam sighed and thumped the musty old book on the table between them. “It turns out that the author wrote this ritual speculatively, based closely on another ritual they’d heard about.” Sam grimaced.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. Shit like this wasn’t supposed to happen when Sam was in charge. He was the careful, thoughtful one. It was Dean who impulsively jumped into a half-baked plan without thought for the consequences.

“So, what does this mean? Just that I’m the guinea pig who may or may not be fine? Wait and see?”

“A little bit, yes … but we’ve also got two small … problems.”

Dean crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Sam continued.

“So … Number one. I may have mistranslated a word, but it’s a super common problem. The two symbols are almost identical, and the handwriting is pretty sloppy in the book and …”

“What symbol, Sam.” It came out less a question and more a demand.

“Temporary.”

It took Dean a few moments understand what he meant. “So the word you thought meant temporary doesn’t mean temporary? Then what the hell does it mean? Oh fuck.” He rubbed his temple. “Let me guess. It’s the exact fucking opposite of temporary.”

Well, that was kinda fucked up, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. If he could fight better and faster, that was a good thing, right? Wait.

“Wait. So if the bond is permanent, does that mean I can’t die? If I’ve got angel mojo coursing through these veins, does that make me invincible? Will I age? What if I age but never die? Do I keep getting more and more wrinkled and tiny, but never die? Ew no, please tell me I won’t live forever.” He looked pleadingly at his brother.

Sam’s eyes were wide. “Um, well, I can’t say for sure on the living forever part. It’s complete conjecture, but yeah, you’ll be faster and stronger, so you definitely won’t get hurt as easily.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But that’s not all.”

“What now? Oh, there was a number two, wasn’t there? What is it?”

“Okay, Dean, before I tell you, you have to promise not to kill me,” Sam began, and Dean shook his head. Nothing good ever started with Sam saying those words.

“Just tell me” he ground out.

“Right, so.” Sam flipped between a few pages, and Dean was ninety-nine percent sure it was a stalling tactic. He gave his brother a warning look, and Sam slumped in defeat. “This bond … it’s not just meant to share strength between an angel and a human. Or, I guess, for the original ritual it would’ve been two angels.”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“You might be just a little bit … slightly … umm …” he mumbled something that sounded to Dean like buried, or maybe harried.

“Say again?”

“Married?” Sam paused. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell with this weird Latin-Enochian mix, and angel culture is difficult to understand anyways, so I’ll want Cas to look this over and confirm, but … you’re kinda married now? Bonded is a closer translation, though, I think.” He looked up from the book and grimaced. “Oops?”

There was a rushing in Dean’s ears. No. No. Nope. This was not happening. Sammy’d got it wrong. This was just a misunderstanding. Cas would arrive, read the ritual, and laugh at Sam’s basic understanding of Enochian. He’d explain that, at most, the binding wasn’t temporary, but still, at least the ritual had absolutely nothing to do with angel marriage. In fact, angel best friends did it all the time (did angels have best friends? They seemed an unfriendly bunch, not likely to make BFFs, but what did Dean know, maybe they got together, braided each other’s hair, and dished about their latest smiting). No biggie.

Suuuuure. If only they were that lucky. Dean slumped low in his chair, put his hands over his face, and groaned. His heart beat far too fast, and he tried to keep his breathing even. It wasn’t working. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“I’m really sorry, Dean. We were in a bit of a rush, but it’s my fault I didn’t take the time to read everything thoroughly. And I will work nonstop until I find a way to undo it, okay? There’s got to be a way out of this.”

There was a sort of … tingle at the back of Dean’s mind, but before he could wonder what it was, there was a flap of wings, and he knew without looking that his be-trench-coated angel (no! not his angel, just his best friend) stood before them, head cocked.

“Dean? Is everything okay?”

Dean pulled his hands away, and sure enough, Cas stood just as he’d pictured him, trench coat, head cock, and all.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sammy here just made a huge fucking mistake, is all.” He glared at his traitorous sibling.

Sam was looking at Cas. “Did you know before you flew here that Dean was upset?”

“I …” Cas stopped and thought. “Yes, I suppose I did.” He frowned. “Is this a side effect of the ritual? Is that the mistake?”

Dean gave a bitter laugh. “I need alcohol.”

After a welcome clap on the shoulder to Cas, he left Sam to explain the necessaries and stalked toward the kitchen, but before he could pull open the fridge door for another beer, he thought better of it. He needed a lot of alcohol if he wanted to get through this. He diverted to the alcohol stash and pulled out the whiskey. He twisted the cap off and took a good glug, and then a second for luck, then headed back to the library and the fate that awaited him there. There had better be a way to renege on this … he couldn’t even think marriage, so he went with bond. There was no way he could be stuck the rest of his life with Castiel at his side.

Even if a part of him longed for it.

***

Cas sighed and pushed the book away, then got up and started pacing. Dean had been drinking steadily for the last hour as he watched Sam and Cas scour yellowed pages, debate ideas, and even get into a yelling match at one point. Cas had confirmed Sam’s belief that it was indeed cribbed from the angelic marriage bonding ritual used to join angels in a romantic union (even though Dean still had trouble believing angels could feel love that way) and that it was permanent. Apparently angel divorce didn’t exist, because of course not. Angels were very Extra like that.

The only time Dean had spoken was to ask if there were actual romantic effects to worry about. If all it meant was that he had extra fighting power and that Cas got … something from Dean in return (no clue what that might be, though, as he said he’d felt the same so far and Dean didn’t have anything special to give anyway), then it might not be the end of the world. But Cas had glared and gone back to reading without answering. At that point, Dean started taking larger drinks from his new friend, whiskey, and shut up.

He was contemplating a drunk nap when Cas started his pacing, and after a few dizzying turns, he came to sit next to Dean in one of the reading nooks. Which was good, because he was starting to feel a little sick. Maybe he should slow down the drinking. Cas did that staring-at-Dean-from-too-close thing, then spared a short glance for Sam.

“Sam, Dean and I need to talk.”

“Okay, uh, right.” Sam closed the book he was reading, stacked a few more on top of it, and picked them all up. “I’ll, uh,” he nodded his head toward the rooms, “go to bed now?”

“Thank you,” Cas said, his voice calm and patient.

He was always so patient with them, the dumb humans he’d decided to adopt. Dean still didn’t know why. Sure, he’d rebuilt Dean from almost scratch, fought on their side during all that apocalypse business, and all sorts of other wild shit. But really, what did he get out of the whole relationship? It seemed he spent all of his time bailing the Winchesters out of one messed up hunt or another, and those few times he himself made a mistake that he needed their help to get out of, the mistake was the result of another idiotic thing they (Dean) had done first.

Maybe he was about to tell Dean that he’d had enough, reached his limit. They’d manage this “marriage” as best they could, but from a distance, like divorced parents with joint custody. The thought made Dean feel sick again, and he was contemplating a dash for the nearest sink when he felt a tap on his forehead, the alcohol fog he’d worked on so hard disappeared, and the need to hurl (mostly) went away.

“What the hell, Cas? Give it back.” He crossed his arms and tried for one of those pouts Sam always used to great effect. Apparently it didn’t work on Cas.

“We need to talk.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” Dean tried to stand to go search for more alcohol, but Cas grabbed his arm to stop him. A rush of … something very good flowed through him, and he really didn’t want to think about how exactly it affected him. He swallowed hard and slumped farther into his chair instead. “Fine. Whatever. What do we need to talk about, Castiel?”

Cas quirked an eyebrow at the use of his full name.

“Many things, but first of all, how are you?”

Dean paused from whatever quip he wanted to blurt out to relax the tension in the room. Fuck, there Cas went again, caring too much about little humans who couldn’t manage to get anything right. And double fuck, because Dean hadn’t even thought about Cas’s feelings since this whole shitshow began. No, that wasn’t quite true. Years into their friendship, he was pretty good at reading Cas’s moods. He knew his friend was more than a little miffed—at the whole thing, at Sam and Dean, at the world—tired of fixing other people’s mistakes, overwhelmed at the lack of easy answers, and just plain upset, like he was a few steps from crying into his pillow, if he had a pillow. There was also that … thing in the back of Dean’s mind that told him that what he read on Cas’s face was true, and also that even though Cas felt all those things, he wasn’t going to leave Dean, and he wasn’t going to give up on finding an answer. Something deeper rand behind all that, but Dean was not skillful enough to figure out what. He usually buried his feelings, so he didn’t even know how to read his own, let alone anyone else’s.

All this was to say, if Dean knew all of this about Cas, then Cas must be able to read exactly how Dean was feeling in return, which meant he didn’t need to ask. So then why was he? A courtesy? Didn’t seem likely, as human emotions were not his strong suit. Granted, this wasn’t just any old human, it was Dean, who Cas cared about, for whatever unknown reason. But in any case, he doubted courtesy was the answer. Perhaps to make Dean voice his own feelings?

He ended up shrugging. “Pissed at Sam. And this dumb nameless witch who made up a ritual and then didn’t test it or change it enough to stop it from being angel marriage. I mean, we have no clue how this is going to affect us, affect you. I’m getting a steady stream of your mojo, which is great for me, but what if I completely empty out your grace? What if it makes you fall? What if you can’t fly anymore? What if–”

Cas put a finger to Dean’s lips to stop the flow (the river of worries that Dean didn’t even know he’d been feeling), and Dean felt a calm settle in him. He took a deep breath, and when it seemed that he wouldn’t continue worry-word-vomiting, Cas pulled his hand away. For some dumb reason, Dean wanted to follow it, to feel that small connection to his friend again, but he pushed the needy thought away. He raised his eyebrow in a wordless question of well? that Cas was able to understand.

“I’m fine, Dean. I’ll be fine. I’ve been checking my grace reserves. There’s an infinitesimal amount flowing to you, but it’s being replaced as usual by my connection to Heaven. And I won’t fall because of this bond. If I was going to, it would have happened immediately. I’m more worried what my grace will do to you. There’s no record of anything close to this being performed on a human before. I’ll need to watch you closely for the next few months. I hope that the amount of grace you’re in contact with is so small that it won’t affect you any more than my healing you would. I expect that your wounds will heal much faster, if not immediately from now on.”

“Cas, you can’t watch over me like a worried mom for months. You’ve got your own life to live, your own job to do. I want this bond to affect you as little as possible. Sam and I can keep a close watch, and I can shoot you a prayer if I start feeling bad. You can pop in once every couple of weeks for a deeper angel diagnostic.” Dean felt a shiver of sadness run through him at the thought of not seeing Cas more frequently, but he shook the feeling away. That was weird. He was usually completely fine not seeing Cas often. Well, as fine as he could be, given– nope, not going there now.

“Ah, yes. That’s the other thing …”

Cas lowered his gaze to his lap. The move alerted Dean to the fact that his own hand on his knee was covered by Cas’s hand. He jerked back in surprise and frowned up at Cas, who blushed. Wait, blushed? Angels didn’t blush. They were shameless, and emotionless. Well, Cas had feelings now, but he’d yet to come close to blushing or showing other physical discomfort.

“Cas?”

“The thing is …” Cas paused, then started over. “Though some of the effects of the ritual were immediate, there are some that need to settle in slowly over time. The best way for that to occur is physical contact. It allows for our essences to mix, to learn each other.”

“So, what. We gotta hold hands for a few weeks?” He had a thought and immediately panicked. He almost didn’t ask, but ignorance would not last long no matter how far he ran from it, so he manned up and asked. “Uh, we don’t have to have, like, angel sex, do we?” Funny that, even though his usual no homo reaction would be to retreat, this time he felt the need to cling on, so he put his hand back down, this time on top of Cas’s, which had fallen to his chair arm when Dean initially pulled back.

“No! No. I mean, angel sex isn’t exactly a thing, though there is a dance that melds graces that is often done by angels who share a romantic bond, and I have heard it is pleasurable, in a sense, but you wouldn’t be able to do that, as a human. You’d need to become energy waves, and I don’t think that’s possible, even with our bond.” Cas looked thoughtful.

“Do we, uh, need to do a human version …?” Sex, he could say sex. He’d already said it. But he suddenly felt like a blushing Catholic school girl. Fuck this whole situation. It was. So. Messed. Up.

“Ah, no. No version of … sex is required for the bond. Just some physical connection, I would say skin to skin. Hand holding,” Cas added after seeing Dean’s still panicked expression,” should be enough.”

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. Hand holding was better than the alternative, true, but it was still difficult to take in. He had a feeling he’d need to confront some long-buried feelings very soon, whether he wanted to or not. Close proximity to his best friend for weeks would not be easy.

“Uh, how long do we need to do this for?”

“A quick touch two or three times an hour, though the more constant the touch, the quicker the bond will settle. You’ll feel the pull when the need becomes absolutely necessary, and relief when the touch has done its job.”

“No, I mean– well, actually, that explains a few things …” Dean thought back to every time he felt anxious over the last hour or two and a touch between the two of them calmed him. Some biological imperative, it seemed, to use Sam speak. “I meant, how long will it take the bond to settle? A few days? Weeks?” He prayed for the former, but prepared for the latter.

Cas shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The bond has always been performed in Heaven, and only between angels. Not only does time work differently in Heaven, but your own human vessel will react differently to the bond than an angel’s Heavenly vessel. In fact, my own human vessel will likely react differently as well. If I had to estimate, I’d say between two months and two years.”

Dean choked on air. “What the fuck, Cas? One, that’s not an estimate, that’s throwing numbers against a wall and seeing what sticks, and two, how can you say that so casually? We’re going to be angel handcuffed together for some unknown amount of time, and you act like we’re discussing where to go for taco Tuesday. This is our fucking lives we’re talking about here. You can’t just act like it’s no biggie.”

Cas stiffened and pulled his hand away, and Dean felt and hated the loss immediately. Damn bond, fucking with his mind already. He sat back and rubbed his temple.

“You know what? This is a lot to take in. I think I need a breather.” He stood up, and Cas mirrored the movement, reaching out a hand when Dean took a few steps back (leave a little room for the holy spirit, Dean thought bitterly). “Alone,” he continued, backing farther away.

“The bond,” Cas said, looking small and confused.

“Just a little time alone, Cas, please,” Dean pleaded, ignoring how Cas’s expression tore at his heart. “How long until we absolutely need to touch again?”

Cas shrugged, eyes to the ground. “Twenty, thirty minutes? At the very most, maybe an hour. We’ll feel the pull almost immediately, but it will be a small annoyance at the back of your mind. Then you’ll start getting anxious, like when you walk into a room and just know something is about to jump and try to kill you.” Dean huffed a laugh. He knew that feeling very well. He waited for Cas to continue. “Then nausea, like you felt earlier when I was up pacing. That’s all we’ve experienced so far, so I can’t say what will happen after that, but I imagine we’ll just start feeling worse.”

“Awesome, the great angel-human guinea pig experiment begins,” Dean bit out. “I’ll come find you when it gets bad.”

“Dean?” Cas called out when Dean was almost to the door.

Dean closed his eyes a moment, but he turned around and looked at his friend. He looked so small.

“I’m sorry.”

What the fuck? Why did he think this was his fault? Dean wanted to cross back to his friend but stifled the urge. “I’m fucking pissed, but not at you. But I do need some space, if your predictions are true. I can’t … I just …” He dropped his head back and shook it. “I need to be alone.” He whirled and left the room before he could see what his words did to Cas.

He wasn’t even sure why Cas was acting so hurt. He had to be as pissed at this whole thing as Dean was, maybe more. At least Dean got increased strength and speed. What did Cas get out of it? A babysitting job, a bond with a useless human, and even more problems to worry about. It wasn’t exactly even-steven.

He took a moment to stop his apparently unnoticed wandering to punch the nearest wall, then cursed when a bright pain lit up his knuckles. He was examining the split skin and contemplating finding the first aid kit when the pain dulled and the skin melded back together. By the time his skin was back to normal, the pain was gone. He gave his knuckles a final contemplative glance, then dug in his pocket for his knife. He lifted his left arm so the forearm was showing and slid the knife into his skin in a move so practiced it barely registered (his life was really fucked up). Again, he watched as his skin began to knit back together. He felt a tingle at the back of his mind just before the flap of feathers announced Cas’s presence in the hall. His expression was that of a long-suffering mother, watching a child do really dumb experiments just to test his limits.

He held up his pristine arm and grinned. “Look, Ma, no wounds!” He bounced his eyebrows up and down a few times.

“Don’t. Do. That.” Then Cas flapped back out before Dean could reply.

“Spoilsport,” he muttered, but then laughed when he remembered his skin fusing back together. This was going to be useful.

He started walking again. First, he hit the kitchen for a six pack. He was still annoyed that Cas had gotten rid of his alcohol fog earlier, and he planned on recreating that feeling, just for funsies. There was a brief moment of panic that he wouldn’t be able to get drunk, that his body would just heal itself before the haze could hit, but he then he realized he’d already gotten drunk since the bonding, and he let out a little sigh of relief. Of course, that had been early on, and perhaps now that the bond had begun settling, it would be different this time. Only one way to find out. He continued to the garage after his pit stop, thinking he could have some quiet time with Baby before needing his next angel hit.

Within twenty minutes, he’d cracked open his fourth beer, and he barely had a buzz, which meant he could feel the effects of alcohol, but it was far more dulled than it would have been in his pre-bonding days. Dean hoped he’d get to keep at least this little bit, and not have the effects lessen even more as the bond cemented itself further inside him. Shaking his head in disgust, he slid out from under Baby. She had new oil, and her engine sounded great. He was a little annoyed that he kept his car in such good shape that it took very little work when he wanted to really spoil her. But on the other hand, he was proud to have such a well-maintained car, given all she’d been through over the years.

Sitting up made him dizzy for a moment, and he shook his head to clear it. He should probably eat. It had been a while, and he had no idea what his metabolism would be like with the bond. He was reluctant to even step foot back in the bunker proper, though, for fear he’d run into Cas before he was ready to see him. Or that Cas would take his entering the space as a signal to come find him, which would take exactly three seconds with the bond. So instead, Dean sat in the front seat of his car, and worked his way through the last beers in the pack.

By the time he was done, he was finally on his way to (but not yet) drunk, but he had gained quite a few other physical symptoms, and none of them fun. He felt nauseous, and his head had started pounding about ten minutes back. His skin felt like it had ants crawling under it, and the pull to find Cas was so strong, he had to physically stop himself from moving. Dean wasn’t sure why he was being so stubborn about this. He couldn’t win. Cas said the symptoms would increase the longer they were apart, and no amount of mule-headedness would stop them. But he felt the need to test those limits as far as he could, in part because that’s what he did, but also because he needed it to be known how much he hated what was happening, and plant his flag in I Am Not Happy land. Plus, maybe Sam would be the one to find his unconscious body and feel really bad about it. Bitch.

Speaking of unconsciousness, he knew he needed to go now, unless he wanted to hit that stage, but he didn’t make it passed getting out of the car, stumbling, and trying to say Cas’s name before blackness overtook him.

***

When he woke, Dean’s back was resting on the cold concrete of the garage, Sam’s mopey, concerned face floated above him, and something warm and right was at his side, touching from shoulder to ankle, which turned out to be a literal sleeping angel. He felt a tightness at his chest that concerned him until he realized it was just Cas’s arm wrapped around him, hand gripping Dean’s arm firmly but not painfully. Opposite of painful, in fact. Compared to the last hour of loneliness, the contact was perfect. Soft, warm, comforting, like a thick blanket on a snowy day. He closed his eyes and drifted in the feeling. Yeah, this was the stuff.

He was pulled back to consciousness by his brother’s worried “Dean? Cas?”

Dean opened his eyes again and glared up at the dumb face still hovering. “Go away, Sammy, I’m resting.”

“Thank God,” Sam huffed. “Are you okay? It looks like you both collapsed. What happened? One minute, Cas was talking to me, looking a little out of it, and the next, he gasped and zapped himself out of my room. I’ve spent the past five minutes trying to find you guys.”

Had he really only been out five minutes? He felt like he’d had an eight-hour sleep. He sat up, causing Cas’s arm to drop away, and he felt the loss immediately. Done with being stubborn, at least for a while, he immediately put his hand on top of Cas’s, where it lay on the angel’s chest. The relief was instant, but the short separation had roused Cas from his own sleep. He blinked a few times, and Dean didn’t let himself think it was cute.

He’d never seen Cas sleep before. It made him seem … more relatable. Human. He’d been on his way already, what with the feelings that had been slipping under his stoic angel façade lately, but sleep was something different altogether. He wondered if he’d get to see sleeping Cas again, seeing as they were stuck together for next two months to two years, or if the sleeping only happened because Dean had to be a dumbass and test the limits of this ridiculous bond. He hoped it was that, and not that the bond was draining Cas far more than he’d told Dean it was. He might like seeing Cas be a little more human, but he didn’t want him to lose his angeltude (angelity, angelness?)—his grace, his mojo, whatever it was that made Cas Cas. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if his being a weak human weakened Cas in return. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t an even exchange. If Dean got super strength, Cas should get something good in return, though what that might be, Dean had no clue.

Cas sat up and shook his head. It had to be weird to wake up from sleep for an angel, since angels didn’t sleep. Dean squeezed his hand and reluctantly let go, though he leaned just a bit so their shoulders touched. Even though it wasn’t skin-to-skin contact, it felt better than being completely separated. Cas hummed softly, and Dean knew he was having the same thought.

“What happened?” Sam asked again, brows furrowed.

“Apparently being angel married means we gotta touch every so often, otherwise the bond freaks out,” Dean said, gruffer than he wanted, but he was still annoyed at this whole shitshow and couldn’t keep the feeling out of his voice. Cas pulled away slightly, and Dean hated the feeling of loss the bond was forcing on him. He could miss Cas well enough on his own; he didn’t need a bond to pile it on more.

“For forever?!?” Sam’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock.

“Ah, no. Just until the bond settles,” Cas explained, getting to his feet.

Dean took his hand long enough to stand, but dropped it as soon as he had his balance. It wasn’t like they could go around constantly touching for the next insert-vague-time-period-here. He didn’t want to get used to the feeling. He’d top up only when he started getting nauseous. That seemed like a good limit.

“Maybe we can move this inside?” Dean suggested. “I just spent five-plus minutes on the cold concrete in only a t-shirt and jeans.” He rubbed his chilled arms.

“It feels hot to me,” Cas said, running a finger between his neck and shirt collar.

“I’ve told you, angel, the number of layers you insist on wearing is ridiculous. That can’t be comfortable. How many years have you been wearing the same outfit now?”

Sam stopped them both with hands to their arms. Even that brief secondary contact seemed to calm the bond for just a moment. Dean took a deep breath.

“Wait, Cas, you’re hot?” Sam asked.

“Well, yes, as Dean noted, I’m wearing three layers, plus–”

“Cas, you don’t get hot. You don’t feel discomfort at all. At least, you’ve never thought to tell us if you did.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The bond was hurting Cas, he knew it. God, he would comb the entire bunker and every library on the continent to find a way to break this union. This wasn’t sustainable.

Cas just shrugged, though. “I don’t think what I’m actually feeling has changed, only that how I experience it has changed. Whereas before, I would make note of the sensation and move on—like how you would note the color of Dean’s shirt—now I’m not so distanced from the sensation. My way of interacting with the world is changing, I believe.” He looked mildly thoughtful about it, but not concerned, while Dean quietly freaked out, not happy with how this bond was exchanging what it gave each of them. An angel feeling heat and expressing discomfort wasn’t a good thing.

Before he could share his thoughts, his stomach growled loud enough to make the two others turn and stare at him. “What, it’s been a few hours, okay?” He shouldered past them and headed for the kitchen, hoping the chili in the fridge hadn’t gone off yet. A piping bowl of chili and a huge ol’ hunk of sourdough would really hit the spot.

He pulled the leftovers from the fridge, opened the lid, and sniffed. Smelled okay. And angel mojo seemed to be doing a decent job keeping him in good health, when he wasn’t pretending it didn’t exist, so he probably wouldn’t die from it, or even puke from food poisoning. He decided to chance it, and threw it in the microwave to heat. He found the bread and cut off a huge slice, then went hunting for whatever else he could find. All he could scrounge up was an apple, and while it wasn’t in pie form, it was better than nothing. When the microwave beeped, he brought everything over to the table and dug in. After a while, he realized it was awfully quiet, and he looked up to see Cas and Sam staring at him—Sam with his usual “Dean is a pig” disgusted expression, and Cas in confusion, mixed with a slight interest, which was new.

“Want some?” He hated to offer up the last of the food when he was so hungry, but it was Cas. Luckily, Cas shook his head, so Dean dove back in. Damn, that hit the spot. Just the right mix of meat, beans, and tomatoes, topped off with the best spice mix he’d ever tasted. Even the apple was decent, though it’d be better as pie. He wondered if he could try his hand at baking. Lebanon didn’t exactly have a great food selection, as tiny as it was.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Huh?” Sam asked.

“The bond. We gonna go out and field test it, or lay low until we can find more info on it?”

“So you’re suddenly okay with having this bond?” Sam asked, looking skeptical.

“Fuck, no. This whole shitshow sucks, but until we can find a way to break it, we might as well have a little fun.” He bounced his eyebrows up and down a few times and smirked.

Okay, he wasn’t actually quite so chill with this whole thing—he still felt terrible for what it was doing to Cas, and the less said about the constant need to touch him, the better—but now that he was feeling less fainty and his belly was full, he could at least push down the guilt for a little while. They all needed a little humor at the moment.

“I wonder what happens if I get shot …”

Sam literally face palmed and tiredly said, “Dean,” while Cas’s reaction was much more … reaction-y.

“No.” It wasn’t a shout, and Cas didn’t jump up or do any flailing, but he might as well have, for all that the feeling of fear slammed into Dean. He almost physically reeled back at it.

“Fine. Okay. It was just a thought.” He tried to stop his voice shaking at the emotional barrage but didn’t really succeed.

Sam looked between the two of them and said, “I’ll let you two talk it out. I’m going to bed for real this time.” He got up and headed out as quickly as possible while not actually running. Wuss.

Dean concentrated on the last few bites of chili and waited for Cas to break the silence. If he was going to shoot down Dean’s ideas, he’d have to come up with his own.

“Look, Dean,” Cas began, and only then did Dean realize they were leaning against each other’s shoulders again. He didn’t like this bond unconsciously doing touchy things. He had free will, damn it, and no amount of fondness for his friend would make him wish otherwise. No matter how good it felt.

“I appreciate that you want to know the limits of the bond, but we can’t just jump in with both feet. We need to be cautious.”

Cas’s words were soft but firm, and Dean felt like shit for about the eight thousandth time that day. Why couldn’t Cas have been saddled with someone who could do this shit better—the give and take, the caution, the noticing of feelings before he put his foot straight into his mouth. Someone whole who could be there for him. Granted, anyone fitting that description would not get themselves in this mess to begin with. They’d be home, raising their two-point-whatever children—white picket fence and apple pie life firmly in place.

“Yeah. ‘Course. That’s way smarter.” Dean rubbed his eyes, and realized he was tired. The power nap on the garage floor had helped in the short term, but it wasn’t a full night’s sleep. Not that he’d had one of those in years. But it’d be nice to conk out for a few hours at least.

“Look, I’m tired. Think I’ll hit the hay.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean cleaned up the mess from his late-night snack, then headed for his room, only realizing when he reached his door that Cas had followed. Of course, not like they could spend more than thirty minutes apart. He cursed the bond yet again.

“Right, we can’t be apart all night … Um, well, you can–”

“I can pull up a chair next to the bed.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay?”

The plan didn’t sit right with Dean, but it wasn’t until he was brushing his teeth that it hit him. If Cas was feeling warmth from layers of clothes, then he probably would be uncomfortable sitting in a wooden chair all night, while Dean snoozed in comfort on the memory foam (his best purchase since settling in at the bunker). He was wondering how to offer a more comfortable spot next to him on the bed—it wasn’t weird, they wouldn’t even be sleeping in the same bed; Dean would be sleeping and Cas, an angel of the Lord, not a human, would be sitting next to him, probably reading or thinking existential thoughts or whatever—as he walked across the room and pulled back the covers on the bed. He broke down when Cas pulled up that hard chair next to Dean as he climbed into bed.

“No, Cas. Wait. You can’t sit there all night.”

Cas froze, then stiffly stepped back. “Alright. I can stand just outside your door, if you don’t mind me coming in and out of the room periodically to quiet the bond.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that … the chair isn’t very comfortable. You can’t sit in that thing every night for the foreseeable future. You won’t last two days that way. Just … get on the fucking bed, okay? Other side,” he added when Cas looked at him puzzled, waving to the empty side. Dean was generally a middle of the bed sleeper, and the bed wasn’t exactly big, but he thought he could manage to keep to his side if there was someone else taking up space. Hopefully. With the damn bond, who knew what could happen, and he deliberately didn’t let himself think on it.

Cas pulled the chair away slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard Dean correctly. After the chair was back in the corner, he looked at Dean again in question, and Dean nodded before realizing Cas was pulling at his shirt collar again. “Wait, change out of that ridiculous accountant-in-the-rain get-up and put on some normal clothes first. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

Cas looked down at himself, then back at Dean. “What should I wear?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said in exasperation. He was tired and starting to itch from the lack of contact. “Zap up whatever sounds comfortable.”

“Dean, I have no experience with human clothing, other than what I’m currently wearing. I don’t know what ‘seems comfortable.’”

At least Dean wasn’t the only grumpy one. He softened and waved to his dresser. “Second drawer down, there are shirts and pajama pants. Pick whatever feels nice.” He definitely didn’t let himself think about Cas wearing his clothes. He also kept his eyes firmly on the blanket covering his legs, just in case Cas didn’t twinkle his way into the new clothes rather than putting them on the human way. However, with that now-familiar tingle at the back of his brain and the more familiar flap of wings, Cas was out of his uniform and into a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and gray pants, and he was sitting on the bed.

“Better?” Dean managed a smirk with the question.

Cas cocked his head and thought about it. “Yes, it’s pleasantly cool, and the material is very soft. I should have realized all of your clothes would feel as comfortable as you always look.”

Dean paused, unsure how to react to that … compliment? “Great,” he finally said. “Now, sleep. Wait! You don’t sleep. Do you need to grab some books, or borrow my laptop to watch Netflix? Or …” Before he could finish, a stack of books appeared on the bedside table. “Right, okay then. You can leave the light on to read; it won’t bother me, which I’m sure you know, since you’ve watched me sleep before.” He didn’t even think of it as a dig until Cas replied softly.

“I’ll keep my eyes on my books all night. No creepy staring.”

Shit, he cursed silently and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Just … it’s fine, whatever you need to do to quiet the bond. Stare at me all night, hold my hand, whatever. Just, don’t wait until you’re about to pass out to touch me, okay? I mean it. Do whatever the bond wants.” Not trusting himself to look at his friend again, he turned on his side away from Cas and burrowed under the covers. “Night, Cas,” he murmured, and though the angel said nothing, he put his hand on Dean’s arm for a few moments, and that was almost as good.

***

Dean was surprised to find himself not wrapped around Cas the next morning. He was facing toward him, and they were holding hands rather tightly, but that was as risqué as it got. He used his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his mouth (very minimal, thank goodness) as he turned on his back and sighed.

“Morning,” he mumbled, finishing his usual wake-up routine.

“Good morning, Dean,” came the reply from his side. He glanced over to see Cas in much the same position as the night before—pajamas on, sitting up, book in lap. His hair had that same just-woke-up-but-artful way that Dean had always envied, plus the five-o-clock shadow he had no matter what time of day it was. It was annoyingly hot. And he did not just think that about his best friend, angel married or not. Fuck, it was only day two of forever. He really hoped they weren’t stuck living in each other’s pockets for two whole years. He was pulling for two months, but wasn’t betting on it.

“Find anything?” He yawned, reluctantly let go of Cas’s hand, and stretched. When he finished, his right hand landed very close to where Cas’s left lay on the bed between them, though he didn’t grab it again—no need to get greedy.

Usually, he was a get-up-and-go type of guy. Not so much because he was a morning person but rather to psyche himself up for another day of living. But this morning, he was content to chill on the bed next to his friend and talk about things. He sat up and waited for Cas’s answer.

“Not unless you want to summon a cupid and make them do your bidding. Or trap an angel without holy oil. Or rename a seraph. Or make Gabriel do the chicken dance while reciting the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’”

“Wait, really?” Dean craned his head to look his bondmate in the eye and saw a mixture of frustration and tired humor on his face. He huffed a laugh. “You’re getting better at sarcasm, dude. Maybe that’s what you’re getting from me out of this deal.” He nudged Cas on the shoulder, then left it there.

Cas chuckled and shook his head. “These books have nothing helpful. I’ll have to start on the next stack this morning. Unfortunately for our situation, but fortunately for angels everywhere, the bunker has woefully inadequate resources on angels.”

Dean felt frustration bleed through their link a little. Not as strongly has Cas’s fear last night, but still noticeable. He wracked his brain for an idea to distract him, and after a moment he clapped his hands. “Okay, I’m banning book reading for the next two hours.”

“What?”

“It’s time for breakfast, coffee, and Saturday morning cartoons.”

“It’s Wednesday, and I don’t eat.”

“But I know you enjoy watching me eat, and Saturday morning cartoons haven’t been an actual thing since streaming services popped up, so it all works out, doesn’t it?” He stood and popped his back, then pointed an accusatory finger at Cas, who was eyeing his terrible suit and trench coat after getting out of bed. “No clothes!”

Cas looked down at himself. “None?”

“No. I mean, no adult clothes. Keep those jammies on, sport. It’s like a snow day without the snow.”

Cas cocked his head. “There is a chance of snow today, actually. Twenty-two percent, light dusting at most.”

“Did you mojo up that answer?” He knew a damn lot, but predicting the weather without even walking outside seemed extreme.

Cas pulled his phone out of his pocket and wiggled it at him. “Google-fu, actually.”

Dean barked a laugh and slung an arm around Cas’s shoulders. “You’re learning, man, you’re learning.” He led them out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. “Okay, the coffeemaker is calling my name.”

When they got there, Dean went to see if they had any pancake mix and syrup left. If they were out, they’d have to get dressed and head into town for supplies. He could have asked Cas to miracle him a breakfast, but where was the fun in that? He really wanted to make them the old-fashioned way. Once he confirmed they had mix, syrup, and even some slightly frost-bitten sausage in the freezer, he turned to get the coffee maker going only to find Cas already measuring out the grounds.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms to watch. Not because he didn’t trust Cast to do it right—the angel always did things perfectly after the first try, and he seemed to know what he was doing, so this wasn’t his first time—but just to enjoy watching him do something so human and ordinary.

Cas finished his careful measuring and grabbed the pot to add water. “Sam taught me a few months ago. He said that even though I had no reason to need to get on your good side, it’s always better to make sure coffee is available before you turn into a ‘grumpy motherfucker.’”

The air quotes and the curse passing Cas’s angelic lips succeeded in drawing a laugh from Dean, and Cas smirked in return. Then he shook cinnamon into the grounds before closing the lid.

“Wait, did Sam teach you about the cinnamon? I thought maybe we had better coffee than what you can get at a Gas-N-Sip, because it’s tasted great, but now that I think about it, I was tasting cinnamon.”

Cas shook his head. “I read about it.”

“You Googled how to make the perfect cup of coffee, didn’t you, you overachiever?”

Cas shrugged. “To do that, I’d need a coffee grinder, access to freshly roasted beans, and either a French press or a gooseneck kettle and pour-over cone.”

Dean stared at him. “I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“Suffice it to say, I went with the materials available, which include a basic coffee maker, cheap beans, and cinnamon.”

“Well, I like it.” Dean shook himself and focused making pancake batter, but he paused while measuring out the mix. “Wait, if Sam doesn’t do the cinnamon, and I’ve tasted it in my coffee for entire month we’ve lived here, does that mean you …”

“I cheated a little,” Cas confessed. “I wasn’t always available to make it by hand, so sometimes I just set it up from afar and asked it to start brewing when you woke up.” He looked worried, and that just wouldn’t do.

Dean shook head and went back to the pancakes. “You’re too much, you know that, angel? Just don’t feel like you need to, for my sake. I’m likely to turn into a lazy son of a bitch if you pamper me too much.” He shot Cas a wink at that last bit, then grabbed the whisk to mix up the batter.

He had to admit it was nice, doing this domestic morning thing with someone. Sam was a run-at-dawn, gulp-down-a-smoothie kind of guy most mornings they stayed at the bunker, which made Dean sad. One of his few clear memories of Mary Winchester was her making pancakes on Saturday mornings—chocolate chip with whip cream if she was in a particularly generous mood—and he missed having that with someone. And sure, Cas wouldn’t eat the pancakes, but he’d sit at the table and hold a mug of fragrant coffee while they chatted about whatever. Yeah, it was definitely nice.

They talked about their respective plans for the day while the food cooked, which Dean guessed weren’t so respective when they couldn’t be apart for more than a half hour. So far, their schedule included breakfast, cartoons (oh yeah, he was serious about that), checking the library and archives for any resources on angels that may have been mis-shelved, and a trip out for much-needed food supplies. Dean wracked his brain for anything else they’d need to keep themselves entertained for the next few weeks until they had figured out the limits of the bond or found a way to nullify it.

“A TV!” Dean exclaimed as Sam wandered into the kitchen. The last of the pancakes were coming off the griddle, and Cas had poured two mugs of coffee. He didn’t need the caffeine, and his taster didn’t work like a human’s, but he said the flavor was so strong he could almost taste it over the taste of atoms, and he liked holding the warm mug.

“A TV what?” asked Sam, pouring his own cup of joe.

“I’m gonna buy a TV today. I’m tired of crowding around a laptop to watch movies, and if Cas an’ I are stuck here for a while, I’m gonna need some quality entertainment. Can you imagine watching Furiosa stalking across the desert in 1080p HD? So hot.”

Both of the others looked at him in confusion, but neither asked him to explain, knowing too well where that rabbit hole could go.

“Okay. Be sure to pick up–”

“We have a list,” Cas said, proudly brandishing the sheet of paper he’d just finished writing on. “Add anything not already on there.”

Sam took the paper and raised an eyebrow. “How domestic of you.”

“I always make it all the way home only to realize I forgot toothpaste,” Dean muttered defensively. “Cas thought a list might help.”

“Do you need toothpaste, Dean?” Cas asked.

“Not this time … Anyway, grab a plate, Sammy. It’s time for pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons.”

“It’s not Sat–”

“Streaming. You know better, Samuel.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but grabbed a plate, a few pancakes, and his coffee. “You do realize it’s almost noon, right?”

“Holy shit, really?” Dean went for his phone before realizing it was still in the bedroom, so he looked at Cas wordlessly asking for both the time and an explanation for the late start.

“It’s currently eleven twenty-three. I didn’t wake you up because you looked like you could use it, and who knows what physical toll this bond is taking on you,” Cas explained, and he sounded sad. Dean hated that tone.

“Well, it is our snow day, so I’ll allow it.”

“It’s not snowing,” Sam said, confused.

“But we could get a light dusting,” Dean shot back. “Grab the coffee pot, Cas, and come on. It’s cartoon time.”

They settled around a laptop in the library, Dean and Sam trying not to drip syrup all over themselves. Yeah, they definitely needed a TV. A big one. With comfy furniture to sit on. There was a mostly empty room they could put it in, and there were bound to be chairs or couches hanging out somewhere in the building that were comfier than the wooden library ones, which were fine for you keeping you awake while researching, but weren’t great for lounging and TV watching.

Dean was about to start up Netflix when Cas hummed in surprise. The brothers looked over at him.

“My taste buds seem to be interacting with the world the same way my temperature receptors are. I can … actually taste the coffee now.” He frowned at the mug. “I don’t think I like it. It tastes nothing like it smells.” He set the mug on the table and pushed it away, still frowning. “Why are there so many Starbucks if that’s how coffee tastes?”

Dean and Sam laughed.

“It’s a bit of an acquired taste, man.” Dean stood up and patted Cas on the arm, aiming for the bare skin of his lower arm, since it had been a few minutes since they’d touched. The ants under his skin calmed. “I think I can help. Be right back.”

He jogged to the kitchen, grabbed the sugar, and looked for the milk, only to remember he’d used the last of it on the pancakes. Frowning at the powdered creamer that was God knows how old, he had a flash of brilliance and dug out a packet of cocoa mix he’d bought last week. Sugar, milk, chocolate, and tiny marshmallows should help with the bitter coffee flavor. Then he decided, fuck it, and dug out two more packets, then headed back to the library.

Sam was trying to explain Scooby Doo to a confused Cas when Dean returned, waving the packets triumphantly. “Mochas, anyone?”

“Really? I thought you were firmly on Team Black Coffee,” Sam said, waving away a packet.

Dean shrugged, passing a packet to Cas. “It’s a snow day. Seemed like a good idea.”

He then directed Cas to dump a quarter of the mix into his coffee and stir it, then try the coffee again. Cas took a sip, and he looked at it contemplatively before dumping in the rest of the mix and stirring again. He pronounced his next sip ‘palatable,” and settled back into his chair. Dean doctored his own coffee with (much less) of the second packet, then hit play on the Netflix screen.

Scooby ran across the screen, and he settled in to watch.

***

After a few episodes of those meddling kids—during which Cas had asked about thirty-three confused questions that made Dean laugh and rib him gently—they split up. Sam headed back to the archives, where he’d already been sequestered during Dean’s sleep-in, to continue his search. Dean and Cas headed into one of the bigger nearby towns for supplies.

They started by picking up the TV Dean had been fighting for all morning. As they drove toward the grocery store after, Dean spied a second-hand store and realized they’d missed something on their list. He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. Cas looked at him questioningly.

“You need clothes, bud.”

Cas frowned (sadly?) and pulled at his borrowed flannel shirt. “These I’m wearing will suit me fine. I don’t need more.”

“Yeah, well. One, I think you wear a size smaller than me, so we should get you something that fits a little better, and two, don’t you want something that’s a little more … you?”

“More me? I don’t understand.”

Dean searched for an explanation Cas could understand. “Okay, so everyone has a personality that makes them them, right? Quirks and habits and flaws. Well, to us humans, clothing is an extension of our personality. It matches our likes and our lives. So a goth wears all back, elaborate clothing. Someone really perky and happy wears bright clothes. Fancy people wear fancy clothes. Joe Schmoes like me wear jeans and flannel. Get it?”

Cas thought a moment, then nodded slowly. “My clothes give strangers an indication as to who I am before they even meet me.”

“Yeah, something like that. So, you wanna go in and pick out some threads?”

“Yes, I think I’d like that.” Cas gave him a small smile, touched his wrist, and opened the car door. Dean followed.

“How do I know what clothing matches my personality?” Cas asked, looking overwhelmed at the racks of clothes in front of them. They’d wandered the store a bit before finding the men’s section and were now standing between the shirts and jeans racks.

“Oh, you know. Just whatever calls to you, I guess?”

“Calls to me?” Cas gave him the same look he’d given when Dean had explained how Shaggy and Scooby could fit sandwiches the size of their heads into their mouths in two bites.

Dean chuckled and bumped his shoulder. “Things that you think look nice and comfortable.”

“Oh, like when I picked out my pajamas last night.”

“You didn’t just grab what was on top?” Dean asked. Never having cared about clothes before, Dean assumed Cas’s own choices last night and this morning had been the first things he’d grabbed.

“I was going to, but then I saw the Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, and it reminded me of the first hunt I went with you on that wasn’t related to the apocalypse. You wore the shirt the night after the hunt ended, and that night has always stuck in my memory. Then I touched it, and it was very soft, and I liked that.”

Dean remembered that hunt. A rugaru in Utah. They’d had a question on lore, and Bobby wasn’t answering, so Dean had decided to pray to Cas, asking for help. When he showed up and answered their questions, he’d had this puppy dog look on his face, and Dean had spontaneously asked if he wanted to join them. They’d been hunting together off and on ever since, and Dean had never been happier. Not only was it easier with an angel on hand, but it was just plain fun, having his best friend with him.

He smiled softly at Cas now. “Yeah, like that. As for your style, hmmm … it’s hard to separate the idea of you from that damn suit you’ve been wearing, so give me a minute.” He closed his eyes and tried to picture Cas in other clothes. He pushed away the thrilling thought of Cas in his pajamas the night before. What would a human Cas wear? He opened his eyes and looked around until something caught his eye. He smiled, grabbed Cas’s hand, and pulled him to a nearby rack of sweaters.

“I think you’re a sweater guy.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“I dunno … You’re just soft and fuzzy to me?”

“I have the appropriate amount of hair for a human.”

Dean laughed. “No, your personality. You’re comforting and warm to be around.”

Cas dropped the sweater sleeve he was feeling and looked up in surprise. “I am?”

Dean scratched his neck, feeling embarrassed. “Yeah? I mean, you’re my best friend, so I obviously feel comfortable around you. And when you’re around, I feel like everything is going to be okay, no matter what.”

Cas smiled softly. “Oh.”

He started looking through the sweaters once Dean pointed him to the right section for his size. Dean encouraged him to grab anything that he liked the look of, and then he’d try everything on and see what suited him. It was weird to Dean to think about having to try on clothes—he’d been dressing himself for so long and had stopped growing ages ago, so he was comfortable just grabbing and buying—but he figured Cas needed to see and feel the clothes to know what he wanted. They selected some t-shirts and even a few flannels, plus some jeans, then headed for the changing rooms. Dean waited outside while Cas went into a room. Dean thought he’d mojo a clothing change, but was surprised to hear rustling, like he was actually changing clothes by hand. He liked it when Cas tried to do things the human way. Cas’s love for humanity was one of the things that made him so special, and he was glad Cas was getting to experience this life, even if the situation itself was far from ideal.

Cas came out a few moments later wearing a t-shirt, flannel shirt, and jeans. It was weird seeing Cas in patterned clothes, and the green and blue of the flannel was so different from his drab suit and trench coat. It didn’t look bad, but it didn’t look like Cas either. The jeans, however, looked excellent on him, fitting like a glove. Wow.

He pretended nonchalance. “Not bad. What do you think?”

“The t-shirt has itchy seams, but the flannel and jeans feel nice.”

“Okay, then. Get back in there and try on the next set.” Dean nodded to the changing room.

Next was a Henley and another pair of jeans, both of which were signed off on. The next time Cas came out of the room, Dean had to swallow hard and push down every emotion, afraid they were strong enough to bleed through the link. Cas looked perfect. He wore sapphire blue t-shirt that reflected his eyes under a fluffy dark brown cardigan that fell slightly past his hips and had two large pockets, along with the first pair of jeans. Dean wanted to bury himself in Cas, he looked so soft and comfortable. Yeah, that was Cas.

He cleared his throat. “Looks comfortable. Do you like it?”

Cas ran a hand down a sleeve. “It’s very soft. And I like the colors.”

“Well, ya look good, man. I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to get you out of those damn clothes.”

There was a giggle to Dean’s left, and he looked over to see a young woman with a hand over her mouth and mirth in her eyes. He felt a flush on his face.

“That sounded less dirty in my head. I just mean, you look more comfortable now that you’re not in the suit and coat. I think the brainy professor look suits you better.”

Cas looked a little pink himself, but he was smiling. “Thank you. I do like it.”

Not wanting his eyes to stray back to Cas’s body, Dean nudged him back to the changing room. “Git back in there. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

They ended up with the cardigan, both pairs of jeans, a couple of Henleys, the blue t-shirt plus two others, another t-shirt and soft flannel pants for pajamas, the flannel shirt he’d tried on first, and a surprisingly fancy and soft cashmere sweater in a dark green. They also picked up a coat on their way to the register. Dean got a tiny little kick from spoiling Cas, but he kept that thought to himself.

Cas immediately angel changed into the cardigan combo Dean had liked so much as they headed for the grocery store. It was moving toward late afternoon and Dean was flagging a bit. Weird that he could hunt for days and be fine, but an afternoon of shopping near killed him. He was ready to be back home, in front of their new TV, and rubbing shoulders on a couch with Cas. It was a pipe dream, though, as he knew they’d be camping out in the library for the foreseeable future trying to find some answers to the bond problem. Maybe they could move a couch into the library so they could at least be comfortable while they worked.

After the grocery store, they picked up some Greek and headed back to the bunker. Sam met them at the door during the second trip inside, and he helped Dean unload the TV (not nearly large enough for Dean’s taste, but it was still far better than a laptop screen). Cas offered to zap it inside for them, but Dean waved off the help. Angel mojo was all well and good when they were fighting some hinky monster or demons, but he preferred doing things the old-fashioned way. In his line of work, he couldn’t let himself get lazy. That’d just get him killed.

While Sam unpacked dinner at the table, Dean popped a frozen pie (genius) into the oven so it’d be ready for an evening snack while they researched. He could practically taste the cinnamony apples already.

“By the way, nice threads, Cas,” Sam said, sitting down to eat. “You look very you.”

“See!” Dean said, sitting down next to Cas, who held a take-out cup of sage tea he’d picked up when they got their take-out. He wasn’t eating—still didn’t need to, thank goodness—but he was well into the habit of trying to blend in by having a drink in front of him any time he was around food. “All you need is a pair of glasses and you could be teaching a philosophy course at some fancy college.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you, Sam. Dean explained to me how clothing reflects personality, and I have to say, I feel I understand myself a little better now. It was an enlightening shopping trip. Also, it’s very soft.” He ran his hand over his cardigan again.

“Where did you go?” Sam asked after chewing and swallowing a bite of his shawarma. Dude was far too polite to be a hunter.

“Given how much of a prima donna this one is about the texture of clothes, I figured second hand was the way to go, since worn stuff tends to be softer. Went to a place we found by the grocery store.”

“Oh,” Cas said, a look of surprise on his face.

“Cas?” Dean asked, wondering what had caused it.

“It’s just … I thought you took me there because there was no need to spend money on anything new for me.” He kept his gaze on his tea, which he’d yet to drink.

“Whoa, no. Cas, where’d you get an idea like that?” Dean felt a stab of hurt that Cas thought Dean thought so little of his worth, but he supposed it made sense, considering Cas’s sense of self-worth wasn’t that much better than Dean’s. “Any money spent on you isn’t a waste. If you want to go to a fancy store and get anything else, you just let me know. Whatever you want, we’ll get it.”

Cas looked up through his lashes and smiled. “Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

Uncomfortable with the amount of feels he was feeling, Dean pointed to the cup. “Drink your tea, nerd.”

Cas took a sip and sighed happily. “I like tea far better than coffee.”

The brothers laughed.

Taking his own advice, Dean dug into his combo plate and groaned in food ecstasy. “Oh yeah, that hits the spot. Cas, you gotta try to this falafel. It’s amazing.”

“I don’t need to eat, though.”

Dean shrugged and held his fork out to Cas, who just looked at it curiously. “Think you should try food now that you can taste it.” He wiggled the fork a little. “Just try a bite.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth obediently, and Dean fed him the falafel. Don’t think about those lips, dumbass, Dean berated himself as he watched Cas chew thoughtfully. He quickly stuffed another bite in his own mouth.

“Mmm.” Cas looked pleased. “There are so many flavors. It’s a bit overwhelming, but in a good way?”

Dean grinned. “We’ll have to do Indian sometime. You’ll love it. Want anymore?” He waved his fork at his plate.

Cas contemplated the spread. “Does it all taste like the falafel?”

“Well, no, because they’re all different foods. But I guess if you liked the spices, try the gyro meat.”

Cas sat and stared at him, and Dean got the hint and loaded his fork with the spiced meat and held it up for Cas to take. Why was feeding another person so intimate? And why did performing such a simple act make Dean want to explode? He didn’t let himself answer that question. Cas groaned in pleasure, and Dean stood up quickly. He had to get away from this, if only for a moment.

“I need a beer. Anyone else?”

The others both shook their heads, and Dean power walked over to the fridge. He stood for a minute with the door open, trying to cool his heated face. Stop it, Winchester. You’ve successfully hidden your feelings for years, don’t let something as stupid as an accidental bond change that. Which was a bit counterintuitive, seeing as how, usually, such a bond was formed so that feelings could be shared between the bondmates. Still, this bond was accidental. Which means neither of them actually wanted it, which meant they should fight it. Right? Right?!? He sighed.

“Good talk, coach,” he muttered, grabbing a beer bottle and heading back to the table.

When he sat back down, Sam was explaining his findings of the afternoon as Cas sneaked another bite of Dean’s meal. Dean rolled his eyes and waved away the fork Cas sheepishly offered to him, holding up the new one he picked up on his way back to the table.

“Keep it, you filcher. I grabbed another because I know you.” He mock glared at Cas, and Sam laughed. Cas bit his lip, then speared another falafel.

“If you really don’t mind …”

Dean felt his face melt into far too fond a smile. “I don’t.”

***

After dinner, Sam went back to his latest pile of research. Cas started walking to one of the archive rooms, and when Dean didn’t follow, he turned around to stare curiously at him.

Dean pointed down the hall. “You know I’m not so good with the book research. I’m gonna search some of the storage rooms, see if they have anything good.”

Cast stepped toward him. “Alright, let’s go.”

Dean took a step back. “Nah, you stay here. I need some space. Plus, you can do more good here.”

It hurt to see the wounded expression on Cas’s face, but Dean held strong. He really did need to get some distance if he was going to survive this. Plus, he actually did enjoy a little alone time each day to recharge. He was feeling a little worn down from the constant interaction all day. Even being around someone he lo– he enjoyed being around could get exhausting after a while.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before things get bad. See?” He set an alarm for twenty minutes and showed it to Cas. “And I’ll be just a few rooms down from you.”

Cas nodded slowly, then took his own step backwards. “Of course. See you soon.” He turned and headed through the archive room door. Dean watched him a moment longer, then turned around himself. Distance was good. They both needed it.

While he was searching a dusty set of shelves a few minutes later, his phone vibrated. When he saw it was a call from Bobby, he answered.

“Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”

“Sam tells me you and Cas got hitched.” Even over a cell connection, Dean could hear the exasperated humor in Bobby’s gruff tone. He calmed, hearing the man reacting exactly like he always did.

“Fuck Sam.”

Bobby chuckled. “Sounds like you’re taking it well.”

Dean sighed, and leaned against the nearest shelf, fiddling with some sort of jewelry box. It was probably cursed, and he shouldn’t touch it, but that didn’t stop him.

“Oh, you know me, always looking on the bright side of life.”

“Yeah, more like bury any feelings and pretend you’re good. But are you really good, son? This is me, you can talk to me.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, probably smearing dust all over but not caring. “Awww, I dunno. I mean, it could be worse? At least it’s my best friend and not someone I hate. It’s luckily not literally any other angel. But still …” he sighed. “I like the guy, right? He’s pretty cool for an angel, and he’s wicked funny when he’s not trying, but still, being stuck constantly within a 15-foot radius of anyone is not going to go over well with me, no matter how much I like ‘em. I need my space. But with this stupid bond, I can’t go more than 20 minutes without needing to get my Castiel fix, like I’m a damn addict. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Bobby hummed. He was rarely one for long speeches, but he was great for venting to when things were getting tense. And now that Dean got going, he wanted to say it all. He might not be comfortable with spilling all of his feelings for his best friend to Bobby, but he could get at least a few off his chest.

“And what about poor Cas? Dude is way too good deserve this situation. It was mine and Sam’s fault to begin with, and then he didn’t even stuck with a good human like Mother Theresa, just my dumb, broken, grumpy ass. Not to mention, I’m getting all of these cool powers out of it—strength, speed, quick thinking, I think I can even smell and see better—and what’s he getting? Being super sensitive to fabric textures and the ability to taste food. What the fuck kind of exchange is that? It sucks, and I gotta find a way to get him out of this deal. What if he falls or becomes increasingly human and one day he dies? I can’t have that on me. I’ve already done so many shitty things to him, I can’t let his end be on my head. Fuck, he should’ve run ages ago.”

He leaned his head back against the shelf behind him. Well, that was a bit … much, but hell, had it felt good to get it out in the open. He’d shared bits of it with Cas, of course, but Cas was always so accommodating and careful. Bobby at least could understand where Dean was coming from.

“You’re an idjit, boy.”

Dean straightened in surprise. “What?”

“That angel couldn’t have bonded with anyone but you. He’s been following you around like a puppy since the Lucifer ordeal. Hell, he built you from the soul up and marked you with his own handprint. You two already have a bond deeper than any two humans have, and most certainly more than any angel and human. I have a feeling that if you asked him, Cas would tell you that the ritual wouldn’t have even worked if there wasn’t some measure of compatibility between the two of you.”

“No, it was just a ritual, we said the words, burned the incense, that’s all. It would’ve worked on anyone.”

“Mmmhhmm,” Bobby hummed skeptically.

“So, what are you saying? That we should just keep the bond, since we’re ‘made for each other’? That we shouldn’t even try to find a way to break it? I can’t do that to him, Bobby. He’d be stuck with me for the rest of my life. And that’s not even getting into the supposed romantic effects that we might not know about. This is basically a marriage contract, and Cas said only angels who truly want to be together forever even attempt it. What if there’s another angel he’s meant to actually bond with? I’d be depriving him of that.”

“And you?”

Dean’s heart thumped hard. “What do you mean?”

Bobby sighed, and Dean knew he’d be taking off his cap to scratch his head. “Look, if you wanna keep certain things to yourself, you’re allowed. But you hafta know Sam and I will support you no matter what. We love you, idjit that you are.”

“I don’t–”

“I’m just sayin’, talk things out with your angel before you go trying to break something he might not want broken.”

As if conjured from their talk, Cas appeared in the door to the storage room. His concerned face morphed to understanding when he saw Dean was on the phone. Dean nodded at him and held up a finger.

“Look, Bobby. Thanks for calling, really. I gotta get going. Did you find anything in your library?”

“Maybe. But I’ll call your brother to tell him about it. But really, Dean, I know you hate it, but talk. Share your feelings. Don’t pretend to know what’s best for Castiel. Ask him what he wants, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. Sure. I’ll let you call Sam now. Thanks for checking in.”

“Of course. Talk to you later.”

Dean signed off and looked at his phone, where he could see his timer had gone off without him noticing. That explained Cas’s presence. He waved his angel over. Cas walked up to him, touching his hand to Dean’s bare arm, and Dean felt the immediate relief of the connection. The ill effects built up slowly enough, and he’d been distracted enough by the phone call that he hadn’t really noticed the nausea and shakiness. And he could feel where a headache was starting to build, now that he thought about it. All of that went away after they touched, though. He hadn’t realized how many thoughtless touches they must’ve had throughout the day, because this was the first time he’d felt the nausea since the night before.

For once though, even with the relief, that one small point of contact wasn’t enough. He wanted to bodily curl up into Cas’s comforting presence. He wanted to put his arms around him, bury his head in Cas’s neck, and breathe him in slowly. He wasn’t sure if that was the bond talking, or his own feelings, and he was too scared to do the soul searching it’d take to find the answer. He’d been pushing it away for so long now, it was almost automatic at that point. So he pushed it away again, though he allowed the one small touch to continue. He breathed easier when he could feel Cas’s warmth.

“Everything okay?” Cas asked softly.

“Yeah, ‘course. Just Bobby mother henning, like he does. Even if we quit hunting today, he’d find a way to worry about cancer or lightning strikes or something else just as unlikely to hurt us.” Dean opened a cardboard box with his free hand and peeked inside. It looked like a hand of glory, so he grimaced and closed the box again. “Any luck in the archives?”

Cas shrugged. “Not really. Though there are a few books that sound interesting for my own edification. I put them in our– I- I mean your room to read tonight.”

Dean felt a little thrill in his stomach when Cas used the word our, even though he backtracked on it. He said it without thought, like it was so easy to think of something jointly belonging to them. It was nice. Taking at least a tiny hint of Bobby’s advice, he talked.

“It’s okay, it is our room, after all. At least until we can be out of each other’s sight for longer than fifteen minutes at a time.”

“I don’t want to intrude …” Cas began slowly.

Dean turned to face him full on. Dear God, what did Cas think he was, some ogre? Then a few recent memories flitted across his mind—him asking for space, being stubborn and staying away until they literally collapsed—they’d cleared up the second-hand store thing, but before then Cas had believed Dean didn’t care enough about him to pay for new clothes. Maybe Dean was acting like an ogre. What Cas didn’t know was that Dean’s actions were only in an effort to protect his own fragile feelings. But in doing so, he’d hurt Cas. He really was a shitty bondmate. He’d need to find a way to make Cas feel appreciated, even if it broke his own heart. They were best friends who just happened to now have a bit of a codependence problem. He needed to start acting like he cared. Not that it was an act …

“No, Cas, not at all. Look, I know my actions so far haven’t been particularly welcoming. But you know me, I don’t handle change well, and I feel really bad that we’ve saddled you with this problem. I’m trying to adjust, but as Bobby let me know, I’m being an idiot to you in the process. I keep thinking I know what you want, but we haven’t really talked about this. What do you want?”

Cas fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan with his free hand, looking down at the floor. “I want you to be happy, Dean. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well we’re buttin’ heads then, because I want you to be happy. So, besides me being happy, what do you want? Do you want to go back to Heaven?”

“No!” Seemingly surprised by his own intensity, Cas paused, then tried again. “I don’t fit in Heaven anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I played the obedient son and soldier, but something always felt like it was missing. It wasn’t until I came to Earth that I began to understand. We angels were made to love and revere humanity, and somewhere in Heaven’s single-mindedness to defeat Hell, we forgot that. I love humanity and Earth, and I think I belong here now. I probably always did.”

“Okay, good, we’re getting somewhere now.” Dean squeeze Cas’s hand. “So, staying on Earth. Do you want to travel? See the world and humanity?”

Cas shrugged. “Maybe? It’s been interesting seeing the different regions of the U.S. while hunting with you. This country is so varied and fascinating.”

“Do you want to see more outside of here, though?”

“I don’t know …”

“Okay, we’ll come back to that, then. What else do you want? Do you want to own a house? Set up a bookstore? Walk dogs?”

“No.” Cas shook his head. “I like hunting. With you. I like helping people and seeing you shine when you’re able to save a life. I like watching you and Sam bicker. I like your car … and seeing the world speed by from her windows. I like talking to waitresses at truck stops and hearing their stories. I like …” He petered off. “I like my life now, I think.”

It was suddenly hard to breathe. The things Cas listed, they were the things Dean loved too. He and Sam (and their father) had been hunting together for so long, that he really didn’t question Sam staying on with him, when there was so much work to do. But a part of Dean still saw Sam eventually settling down with a family and having some sense of normalcy. And that made Dean feel alone, because he knew he was not destined for that life. He’d hunt until the day he died. And yeah, a part of him wanted the whole family thing too—he thought back fondly to Lisa and Ben—but truthfully, that life wasn’t for him. He needed the chase, the thrill of the hunt, the relief at saving another person from things that went bump in the night. But maybe, just maybe … he could have a little of both with Cas. At least a platonic version of it. But could he do that? Be with Cas while not really being with Cas the way he wanted to? For years? Decades?

And wasn’t that a wild thought, having decades of life left. For so long now, especially since the crossroads deal, he’d lived life a day at a time, not expecting to see the end of the year, and then was pleasantly surprised when he added another candle to his theoretical birthday cake. But with the protection of the bond, he might actually live to see old age.

“It’s not so bad a life, is it?” Dean finally said, and he liked the smile he got in return.

“No, it really isn’t.”

“Okay then. I think I can provide you with hunting, seeing more of humanity, and plenty of bickering between me and Sammy, so if that’s really what you want …” It was hard to believe, but he wouldn’t fight it, seeing as he wanted Cas to stay too.

“I really do want that, Dean.”

“Well then. I do suggest we keep researching the bond, though, just to make sure it won’t hurt you in some unknown way, but I guess we can concentrate on that, rather than on trying to break it?”

Cas beamed at him. Fuck, that look would be the death of him, for sure. Of course, seeing that smile made Dean want to do more to earn that look again.

“I think I saw some spare bookshelves in the next room. Wanna help me move one into our bedroom?” The use of our was just as thrilling when he said as when Cas had done so.

Cas cocked his head. “Why?”

“Well, if you’re gonna be hanging out there awake every night, you should have somewhere to keep the books you like the best. You’ll probably run out of space on the built-in shelf pretty quick. Do you want a bigger desk? The one in there is kinda small, but I’ve seen some bigger ones somewhere. Is the couch comfortable enough for you, when you don’t want to sit on the bed? We can look for softer chair, if you prefer.” Dean pulled his bondmate to the door, trying to remember where he’d seen the fancy desks. “Do you need a set of drawers for your new clothes?”

“Ah …”

Dean turned to look back at Cas, whose face was set to stunned.

“What? Oh, am I presuming too much? I just wanted …” Shit, had he fucked things up already? Wouldn’t be surprising. Even when he tried to do the right thing, he did it wrong.

“No, no. It’s- it’s good. It’s just … you really want me around? I thought after you came to hide in here, that it meant you’d prefer to be alone all the time.”

Dean really was a damn ogre, wasn’t he? “I really do want you around. When I say I need some space, I mean just for a little while. I’ve always been like this. I learned to find little hideaways when me and Sammy were cooped up in a single motel room, waiting for Dad to come back from a hunt. Sometimes I can be a little bit of an introvert, ya know? I just need some peace and quiet to recharge for a minute. It’s not about you at all. Promise. So, what do you say we go on a bookshelf hunt, huh? And then maybe you can help me search the storage rooms to make sure there are no angel books layin’ around?”

“Okay.” Cas’s smile was shy, and Dean kinda liked it a lot.

“Everything okay with you two?”

His automatic defense system in place, Dean dropped Cas’s hand like it was a hot brick as soon as he saw Sam come around the corner. And by the time he realized how Cas might take the move—that’d he’d think Dean was ashamed of touching him—it was too late to grab it again. Shit. Thank you, John Winchester, for your A-plus parenting, he thought bitterly.

“Yeah, just trying to remember where some empty bookshelves are. Thought Cas could use one in our room to put his personal books on and class up the joint.” There, that would help, right? He was calling it their room and showing that he wanted Cas to be comfortable there. He looked over at his angel to find that he was frowning. Maybe not as good a save as Dean expected then …

Before he could try something else, his phone vibrated. The timer he’d set for the pie was going off. “Oh, I gotta go get the pie out of the oven. I’ll be right back.” He nudged Cas’s hand with his own before heading down the hall. “I think I saw the bookshelves in the next room, if y’all want to go look for them.”

By the time he’d pulled out the pie—smelling amazing, if he did say so himself—and set it on the counter to cool, Sam and Cas had found the empty shelves: tall, real wood shelves, sturdy and with a nice stain on them. They really didn’t make things like they used to. These days they’d have to hunt high and low and pay out the nose for quality like that. Quality was heavy though, and they needed all three of them to transfer the chosen shelf from storage to the bedroom.

Sam left to go hunt for the fancy desks Dean knew he’d seen somewhere, while Dean made sure the placement suited Cas. Cas started to transfer the books on his bedside table to the shelf, but Dean stopped him. “They’re all dusty,” he explained before digging through his drawers for a ratty old shirt to use as a dust cloth.

“Clean off the dust with this,” he said, handing it over.

Cas pursed his lips for a moment before patting Dean’s nose with it.

Dean went cross-eyed trying to figure out what he was doing.

“You said to clean off the dust.”

Dean’s hand flew to his nose. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“It was … endearingly human,” Cas explained with a smirk before turning to dust off the shelf.

He’d just finished when Sam poked his head back in. “Guys? I found the desk, but I’m not sure we can move it ourselves. It’s, like, twice as heavy as the shelves.”

Moments later, the three of them stood around the desk, trying to decide how to get it moved through the narrow doorways of the bunker.

Dean hummed. “Cas, I think this is all on you, dude. Can you,” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “miracle it into the room?”

Cas’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you. Yes.” With a wave of his hand and a tingle in Dean’s brain, the big desk disappeared and was replaced by the smaller one that had been in the bedroom.

After that, Sam split off to go back to the library as they walked through the halls back to their room. “I’ll leave you guys to finish rearranging your room. I’m going to get back to researching.”

“Sure, Sammy. Oh,” Dean snapped his fingers. “Change in plan. Focus on effects of the bond, rather than trying to break it.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up, but he smiled. “Yeah, okay.” He waved toward the bedrooms. “Good luck with the feng shui project.”

“If you want another set of drawers, we might need you to zap them in the room, since we lost the pack mule,” Dean told Cas as they reached the room.

“No, I think I’m okay. I only have a few things, and I’ve got room on the shelf above the bed if you’d rather have the dresser to yourself.”

“Nah, I think I’ve got enough room for your two pairs of fuzzy socks and three items of clothing,” Dean replied sarcastically. The dude was a really easy roommate to have. “You want me to put your books on the shelves while you do your clothes?”

Cas debated but shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll read them tonight, then put them away.”

“Then find more tomorrow, right?” Dean teased.

“Well, you did make us lug a huge shelf in here. I should do it the courtesy of filling it up,” Cas teased right back.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, you definitely should.

***

It was so easy to fall into a routine with Cas that it took a while for Dean to notice they’d done so. Though when he thought about it, so much with Cas was easy now that he’d stopped fighting it. Waking up next to him, hands locked together, was easy. Chatting lazily at the breakfast table was easy. Working their way through the storage rooms—now more of a treasure hunt to discover the secrets of their new home rather than with any effort to find something to fix their little problem—was easy. Doing research was easy, especially now that they’d moved a loveseat into the library to relax on while they read. They both took to wearing short-sleeved shirts, or their long-sleeved ones rolled up, so that they could stay in close contact. They set up a mancave (the others vetoed Dean’s suggestion of Deancave) with their new TV, a bar, and comfy furniture—those storage rooms were a treasure trove for more than weird, creepy objects—and had worked their way through Lord of the Rings (extended editions, of course), the Alien and Predator series, and Star Wars in quick succession. Dean was even trying his hand at baking, and subjecting Sam and Cas to his results, over Cas’s protestations that he didn’t need to eat, and that he definitely didn’t deserve to be subjected to the charcoal brick Dean called his first loaf of bread.

For the first time since he was four years old, Dean finally felt like he had a place to call home. There’d been Bobby’s place, but they’d visited only rarely, so that wasn’t quite it. But the bunker, it was his. No, it was theirs—his and Cas’s and Sam’s. He had a real bedroom with a mattress that remembered him and a kitchen he loved and a mancave like normal guys had. He had a favorite reading nook in the library and a favorite showerhead in the bathroom. He recognized the weird smell of the third storage room and that one light in the hallway that always flickered after midnight. He could walk from the bedroom to the kitchen in his sleep. He woke up every day at precisely eight oh three because that was when Cas slide out of bed to go start the coffee. This place, in just a couple of months, had become home. And the day that Cas called it home, too, made it even better.

He’d be trying to do better to show Cas that he wanted him there. The movie nights and the cooking and all of their routines, they were a comfort to him, but his first thought had been to provide a place for Cas and Sam to feel safe and happy in.

A few weeks into their new life, Dean and Cas were sitting in their reading nook in the library, the one with the loveseat, absentmindedly checking out some boxes from the archives. Sam was on a new kick to check that everything was catalogued correctly, and they were supposedly helping, but were instead mostly goofing off. Well, Dean was goofing off. Cas was working.

“Twenty-two seconds!” Dean crowed, cheering his own prowess of balancing a knife on his finger.

“Clearly, you are the greatest sportsman who ever lived,” Cas intoned, making notes on catalogue cards.

“You bet your ass I am. And now, I’m going to go be the greatest chef who ever lived and start on dinner.” He stood and stretched.

“With Sam out, there’s no need to cook anything, as I don’t need it.”

“I see how it is.” Dean put a mock-offended hand on his chest. “I cook and clean for you, and you don’t even appreciate me trying to make this house a home.” He wiped away a fake tear.

Cas stood and took Dean’s hands into his own, all sincerity and seriousness. “Dean, I have never felt more at home than I do here with you and Sam. Truly. I worried when I first learned of the permanence of the bond, because I thought you didn’t want me here. I thought I’d be in the way, or just an afterthought to your own life. But you have done so much to make me feel included in your lives and your home. Don’t ever think I don’t appreciate it.”

Dean untangled one of their clasped hands to rub self-consciously at his neck. “I mean, I was kinda joking there. But, wow, I didn’t know you felt like that. You think I’m doing good? Because sometimes I feel like I’m doin’ it all wrong. I haven’t had a home since I was, like, four. I’m pretty clueless on how it all works. And I can’t manage to talk Sam into really moving in. Have you seen his bedroom? It’s practically as bare as the guest rooms.”

Cas squeezed his hand. “You’re naturally a caretaker, Dean. Any time you want those around you to be happy, you’re doing it right. And that’s what you’ve done here. Sam will come around. He just needs time. But at least in my case, for the first time in my four hundred million years of life, I feel like I have a real home, so much more than Heaven ever was.”

Dean smiled. “Good. I feel like it’s a real home too.”