Chapter Text
Dean had an awful day at work, both Bobby and Benny were home with the stomach bug that had knocked Dean himself out earlier in the week, so here he was, behind on his work and alone in the garage on a Friday afternoon. On top of that, his least favorite customer in the whole world had come by, demanding that Dean inspect his car right that very second. Dean had tried to protest, but he knew that Alastair would only hang around longer if he didn’t get his way.
As soon as Alastair had left, manhandling his poor car harshly over the kerb, making Dean wince, he sighed and reached for his cold cup of coffee. Of course, since this was the worst day ever, he managed to knock the cup over, sending the brown liquid flying across the notes Dean had been taking on the work he did on the Camry that just hadn’t cooperated earlier. He sighed even deeper and as he bent to pick up the cup, he felt tears burning behind his eyelids. He hated being this frustrated and clumsy and just plain stupid.
But the absolute worst thing about this day was that Castiel still wouldn’t be home once Dean finally managed to finish up his work at the garage. He wouldn’t be back until Sunday from his very important conference on the implications of the newly found Bible fragments, where Castiel was a keynote speaker. Dean was so incredibly proud of his husband, but sometimes he just wished that being a professor didn’t entail just as much travelling as it did.
Some paperwork and a thorough mopping of the floor later Dean was finally sat behind the wheel of his Baby, slowly making his way home to their shared house on the other side of town. As he drove, he saw groups of friends laughing and joking as they stepped out from the bowling alley, couples walking hand in hand, and parents with small children rolling their eyes at their antics. A pang of longing hit him again, and Dean couldn’t wait to get home. At least there he could sulk on his own without the reminder of other people’s happiness. When he got home, he would jump in the shower, warm up some of the stew Castiel had made the weekend before he left and grab a beer before falling asleep to whatever was on that evening. He had wanted to tidy the house a bit more before Castiel returned, but he reminded himself grumpily that he’d have the whole weekend to clean.
He parked the car and turned off the engine, sitting in silence just a second before grabbing his bag and heading inside. Dean glanced at the dark windows of the living room and Castiel’s home office facing the street as he looked for his keys, hoping for a second that he’d find the lights turned on. He stopped when he couldn’t find his keys, checking his pockets and his bag again. In an instant he knew where he had forgotten them, on Bobby’s desk when he’d dropped off the day’s paperwork, putting them down for just one second when he had to scribble down a note regarding the coffee-stained papers. Dean felt tears rising again, and he almost just gave up and thought about sleeping on their deck until he could find it in himself to drive all the way back to the garage.
Then, he realized that they had a spare key hidden in a flowerpot decorated with painted bees in their backyard, something that had started when Sammy had needed an escape from their father, and Dean didn’t want him to always have to call ahead, then continued when one of Castiel’s students had turned up one late night, crying about being kicked out for being gay. The spare key was a well-kept secret, but one they gladly shared with anyone in need of a shower, a warm hug or just some reassuring words. Dean made his way into their yard easily, even if the sky had darkened and the string lights, he had put up a few weeks earlier were turned off. With the key in hand, he turned around, before stopping in his tracks.
There, in their warmly lit kitchen, in a dark grey knitted vest and white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair as tousled as ever, was Cas. He hadn’t noticed Dean yet, instead focused on whatever he was preparing to drop into the boiling pot on the stove. Dean scrambled, fumbling with the key to unlock the back door that led into the kitchen from the garden. He stumbled through the door once he managed to get it open, and just stared at his husband, who turned around to smile warmly at him.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, and swept Dean up in a hug.
“You’re- You’re home,” Dean croaked, and felt a tear roll down his cheek as he tangled his hands in the soft grey sweater vest he secretly loved. He felt all the stress from the past week and all the frustration from the day leave him, quietly seeping away.
“Yes, the conference ended this morning, and I couldn’t stand a whole weekend with those stuffy old-,” Castiel laughed, before sensing Dean’s anxiety. “What’s the matter, Dean?”
“It’s nothin’, just had a bad day is all,” Dean mumbled, “’m glad you’re home.”
Castiel untangled Dean’s hands from his vest and leaned back so he could study his face. He smiled gently and wiped away another tear threatening to fall before leaning in to kiss Dean sweetly.
“I’m home now,” he whispered against Dean’s lips, “I’m home.”