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It was a hot Friday afternoon when Cas found a little black and white box, sat in between the piles of what some would call junk. It had the words Magnetic Poetry emblazoned across the top, and Cas knew he must have it. He dug around in his pockets for a crumbled one dollar bill, and paid the nice people running the garage sale. He made his way back to the Impala, where Dean waited for him. Without speaking, they got in the Impala and Dean headed back to the bunker.
Dean wasn't much for garage sales, but Cas sure was. He felt connected to things that no one wanted anymore. So, of course, when Dean and Cas were on their way back from lunch at the local diner, Cas begged Dean to follow a bright green yard sale sign. Dean was reluctant, but he gave in, with a quiet "only because it's you" that Cas certainly wasn't supposed to hear.
When he got home, he sat by the fridge, arranging the words printed on magnets, writing little notes and poems across the surface.
It was a daily matter after that, for Cas to go to the large Bunker fridge and write something new with the limited words at his disposal. It felt similar to him, in a way. There weren't possibly enough words to express what he feels at a given time, and so he has to make do or compromise. It was soothing to him.
Over the past couple months, more word sets appeared on the fridge. Cas never knew how they got there, only that he'd wake up with more words than he went to sleep with. And, every so often, someone around the bunker would arrange the words for Cas to find. Dumb stuff from Dean, neat arrangements from Sam, and nonsensical lines from Jack, that were somehow equally heartwarming.
One morning, Cas awoke to find a slew of new words, most of them lewd or cursing. Dean's doing, of course, evidenced by a 'fuck you' followed by a handwritten 'Sam' tile. Cas hid a smile at that show of obvious affection that was so very Dean. Without thinking, he pulled an 'I', a 'love', and a 'you' out from his growing collection and placed them under Dean's words, before wandering off to make a pot of coffee.
It hit Cas many hours later that what he said was a bad move. Sure, of course he felt that way, but he couldn't outright say it, not without compromising what he and Dean had.
He made his way back to the kitchen, panic making his hands shake in a very human way. There's absolutely no way Dean hasn't seen it. He was just in here getting a beer.
He stopped short at the fridge. The morning's words were moved away, replaced by 'I love rocks and gardens' followed by 'what is sordid'. Clearly the work of Jack.
Cas let out a breath. Crisis averted.
Except, perhaps not. It felt like Dean was avoiding him that afternoon and evening. Normally, Wednesdays were their movie nights. Or, as Sam likes to call them, 'make Cas learn all of Dean's dumbass references' nights. Cas went to bed worried and hopeful that the morning proved to be different.
Dean got up at six in the morning, a damn feat for him. He wanted to get up before Cas did, and he woke up anywhere between seven and noon. He stumbled through his coffee routine, the one he has to enact whenever Cas either isn’t awake or isn’t around to have him a pot ready.
The words Cas left him have been seared in his mind ever since he saw them yesterday. He was only on his first sip of coffee, so he'd convinced himself it wasn't real, until Sam cornered him in the library later, spewing all sorts of things like asking Dean if he feels the same about Cas, and that he owes it to Cas to tell him if he does. Dean tried to pass himself off as stupid, asking if Jack wasn't the one who said that. After all, Jack learned recently to say 'I love you' almost over anything--and everything, as evidenced by his reaction to Dean accidentally tipping over the milk jug, complete with a very disappointed tone.
But, of course, they both knew Dean was playing dumb. Cas always lined up the words as perfectly as he could, scarily uniform for being human now. There was no way to mistake those words as being from anybody else, and, according to Sam, addressed to anyone else but Dean.
That was how Dean found himself here, in the Bunker kitchen before the sun had risen, staring down a formidable sea of words.
As much as he hates to admit it, Sam was right. He doesn't see Cas as just a friend. Sam says that Cas feels the same way, and Dean has no choice but to believe him. Plus, he's getting up there in his years, and this aching he thought would go away eventually simply hasn't. Maybe this will put an end to that, good or bad outcome. Besides, it's Cas's decision after this point. Whether or not he decides Dean isn't good enough for him is all on Cas.
Dean takes a deep breath, setting down the coffee mug. He doesn't know why he's so nervous--after all, it's just a few stupid words on magnets, right? They mean nothing.
That doesn't stop his legs from shaking when he shuffles the tiles around, taking an agonizingly long time to write it out.. He takes a step back, heart knocking in his chest. Analyzing the spread in front of him, he reaches forward and pulls down a few new words, hoping for clarity with this new addition.
Footsteps echo in the distance, and he grabs his mug before retreating to his room, unable to bear being here when Cas wakes up. He leaves eight simple words strung behind him.
'I love you too'; below that, 'not as a friend'.