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Charlie was scrolling through Dean’s phone while he was in the bathroom during one of their monthly lunches. Her original excuse was to search for photos of Sam to blackmail him with later on, like the time Dean stuck a spoon in Sam’s mouth while he was asleep in the Impala on a cross-country road trip. But Dean was taking far too long today, and what harm could possibly come from a little snooping? She was deep into the folder of notes on the phone when he finally came outside again.
“Dude, you’ve been holding out on me!”
“What? I tell you everything. And hey, give that back!” He scolded, reaching for the phone. Despite being shorter than him, Charlie held it out of his grasp. They wrestled each other until Charlie ducked under the table and crawled through to the other side. Dean and Charlie moved in a circle around the table like a game of cat and mouse. Thankfully, they were alone on the patio so no one paid much attention.
Charlie finally jumped on top of the table with the phone, reading aloud: "’Your body is a museum of curves. It is a living, breathing, work of art that I want to steal and keep for myself’. That’s such a great pick-up line! Have you ever used it before? Can I steal this? Women would be putty in my hands after I dropped a bomb like that.”
Dean couldn’t hear the rest of her running commentary. In general, once you got Charlie on a topic she was interested, you couldn’t really shut her up. It didn’t matter, though. Dean was off in his own thoughts in a memory that now felt like a lifetime ago.
It was early morning at the bunker. Dean and Cas were in bed, sheets and legs tangled together with no discernible start or end. Cas laid awake, content just watching over his righteous man. Dean looked so perfect when he slept - the most peaceful he’d ever look. It was in part because he knew he was safe with Cas there. He didn’t have to worry.
Cas was curled up next to Dean, watching his chest rise up and down with each breath. Unable to stay silent any longer, he whispered: “The sun makes beautiful patterns on your body. Look at how the light dances on your skin.” Cas trailed these patterns with his fingers, mesmerized and in a trance at the simple pleasure of this.
“Your body is a museum of curves. It is a living, breathing, work of art that I want to steal and keep for myself.” Cas started kissing Dean’s collarbone, moving downward towards his chest. He spent his time roaming over every exposed inch of skin above the bed sheets.
“Your body isn’t the only beautiful part of you, though.” Cas crawled up Dean’s body and kissed his temple. “Your mind is equally amazing. I could spend years with it and never truly understand its intricacies.”
“Your soul, though…” Cas stopped mid-sentence, remembering when he first saw Dean and rescued him. Cas put a hand over Dean’s heart and continued. “Your soul is the brightest one I have ever seen. No human is as pure as you.”
By this time, Dean was awake but didn’t dare make a sound. He stayed still and pretended to be asleep, waiting for more.
Cas cradled Dean’s cheeks in his hands, whispering, “You deserved to be adored every day, Dean Winchester. I promise to love and cherish you until the day I die. And then even after that, until we meet again.”
Dean came out of the memory and knew Cas had kept his promise. Dean just hoped that they would meet again, so he could hold Cas one more time and tell him how much Cas meant to Dean. They had their fair share of ups and downs during the relationship, but this was one time that Dean was sure that Cas loved him. Dean had saved those words to remind him of how good things were before Cas died. But eventually, it became too hard for Dean to read through old texts or walk past Cas’ old bedroom. He shut the literal and metaphorical door on that part of his life a long time ago. To say he was unprepared for the onslaught of emotions this one comment brought was an understatement. Dean fought back a tear as he tuned back in to what his friend was saying.
“You know, personally I think museums are old and musty. Reminds me of fieldtrips in elementary school. I mean, sure they’re cool, but totally not romantic. Comparing a girl to a museum? Ew, I’m not gonna imply those things if I’m looking to bang her! I’m sure you could pull it off, though, Mr. Panty Dropper. Give them that signature Winchester smile and your sultry eyes and you’re good to go. Where can I get some of that confidence, huh? Maybe we need another tutorial on flirting.”
Dean faked his way through a chuckle.
It wasn’t that Charlie didn’t know what happened to Cas, but she had a different relationship to him and Dean typically wasn’t one to discuss his feelings. People thought he had moved on. Dean was good at convincing everyone, including himself. And then out of the blue, something like this would shatter his carefully-constructed wall that he kept things like this behind. It would hit him like a freight train at full speed, and yet… he’d willingly step in front of that train and go through the pain if it meant he could relive these memories and hold on to Cas for a little longer. Dean could feel him slipping away, and the more Dean chased after him, the farther away he seemed.
Dean cleared his throat. “Hey Charlie, could we cut this lunch short? I just remembered that Sam wanted me to read up on a new case before we head out in the morning, and I haven’t started yet.”
“Yeah, of course! Duty calls. But I’m gonna hold you to that promise. And remember our LARP event next weekend.”
“Your wish is my command. Maybe you’ll even meet a royal subject worthy of your attention.”
Blushing, she ducked her head and said: “There has been someone I’ve had my eye on lately. But I doubt they’re interested.”
“You’re the Queen of Moondoor. They’d be lucky to have you.”
“Alright, alright. That’s enough, handmaiden. Sheesh, for a guy who claims not to like chick-flick moments, you sure find yourself in them often.”
“You’re right. I don’t like chick-flick moments. They’re gross and make me want to hurl.”
With a scoff, Charlie replied: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Dean rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair. Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek before taking his proffered hand to step off the table, down to the bench, and onto the ground.
She looked back at him. “Peace, bitch.”
He nodded at her before she walked away. Swiping his phone off the table, he briefly glanced at the screen before putting it in his pocket.
He didn’t know when peace would come to him. Maybe one day he’d discover the meaning of the word.