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“Let’s go on a road trip.”
Dean looks up at Cas from his knitting. He won’t tell Cas what the end product is meant to be, but the lavender yarn is one of Cas’ favourites “A road trip?” He looks out the window; the sun is nearly set. Deep indigos bleed across the sky. “Like now?”
“Yes.” Cas says. He doesn’t quite understand what Dean is missing. “Is that okay?”
Dean quickly finishes his line before wrapping up the project and setting it in the wicker basket next to the rocking chair. “I’ll get the keys.”
“I’m driving,” Cas says. His hands twitch, he fights the urge lock them in a fist.
Dean stops, giving Cas a once over. “Okay. As long as you know where you’re taking us.”
“It was one time –”
Dean waves a hand at him, “Yeah, yeah. Where are we going?”
Cas’ heart thunders in his chest. “It’s a surprise.”
Dean raises an eyebrow in question.
“I packed snacks. And juice boxes.”
“Oh good,” Dean says, reaching for Cas’ hand beneath his sweater sleeves. “Wouldn’t want to starve out in who-knows-where.”
Cas squints at Dean. “You’re not funny.”
The lines at corners of Dean’s eyes deepen; he gives Cas a winning smile. “I’m hilarious.”
Cas goes to leave, Dean’s hand still firmly in his. He gives it a squeeze as he leads them out of the house.
***
“You didn’t grab any music,” Dean says, looking around the truck console.
Cas’ hands tighten on the wheel. He thought he remembered. “Apologies. I had other things on my mind.”
Dean starts fiddling with the radio dials. “Know any good stations?”
Cas shakes his head. “I find the voices grating.”
“Yeah, fair enough bud,” Dean says. His eyes cloud over as he focuses on the different stations. He eventually settles on some old country station. He keeps the volume low; Cas can’t make out which artist is playing.
Dean leans back in his seat, best he can despite his height. “So when did you find this place?”
“I was cat-sitting for Mrs. Elmer. She has old trails connecting to the back of her property. I explored one day.”
Dean picks at one of his nails, grimacing at the next song playing on the radio. “And we have to go visit this place in the middle of the goddamned night?”
“You’re not very patient,” Cas says, taking his eyes off the road to glare at Dean.
Dean is taken aback. “Me? Not patient?” he asks. Then he laughs, “You’re full of shit.”
Cas can’t stop his own smile from spilling across his face. “You trust me?”
“Always.”
Cas reaches a hand over for Dean to take. Dean’s hand molds to the shape of his own, and Cas starts hearing the music from the radio.
***
The park job is nothing to be proud of. Cas veered off the grid road, bumping and jostling against the ditch of the field.
“Jesus!” Dean exclaimed.
“No,” Cas said, shifting the truck into park, “I am Castiel.”
“Shut up!” Dean exclaims, already pushing against his truck door to get out.
The slam of their truck doors rang through the night. Moths and mosquitos swarm around the headlights before they shut off. Dean swats at some of them. The dew is heavy in the air.
“Will you get the cooler from the back?” Cas asks, unlatching the hatch of the truck.
A door on the truck unlocks as Cas reaches into the back for a large duffel bag. He opens the closure on the top and pulls out the old comforter. He tucks the now empty bag under the mattress in the truck bed, and shakes the blanket out. Another slam of the truck door rings out across the wide expanse of field. Cas spreads the comforter out against the mattress.
“Do you even know what’s growing in this field?” Dean asks, setting the cooler on the tail gate. He looks at Cas’ set up. “What’s this?”
Cas looks at him, eyes wide. “Our destination.” He walks to the side of the truck and steps up on the wheel to swing a leg over and climb into the box.
Dean gets the picture and quickly follows suit.
“And no, I don’t know what’s growing here," Cas says, answering Dean's original question. "Barley?”
Cas sits on top of the comforter, passing a hand over the worn cotton. The orange and red flowers stand out against the periwinkle cover. Dean, on the other hand, unties his boots and crawls underneath the blanket. He leans back on his elbows, inclining his head towards Cas.
“You gotta funny idea of romantic,” he says in a low voice, staring up at the faint white stars blinking down at them.
Cas rests his head on Dean’s. He hates to break the silence. He picks out the beginnings of Ursa Major. “Guess that makes two of us.”
Dean leans his head away, briefly. “Hey,” he says, feigning insult. He leans back in; his breath is warm against Cas’ chest. “Didn’t mean to take so long.”
Cas presses a kiss to the crown of Dean’s head. “You were taking your time.”
“I thought –” Dean pauses, his throat works, “You had to know?”
Cas thinks for a moment. The crickets have chirped up again, now that they’re done disturbing the peace of an empty field. Distantly, the deep croak of frogs from the creek further along the grid fills the air. The dark wraps around them in comfort, in shelter.
“I didn’t.”
Dean stops breathing.
“But in some ways, I did,” Cas says.
Dean exhales deeply, burying his head against Cas’ ribs.
“It’s like right now,” Cas continues, fighting to keep his voice even. “We’re in the dark, and I can’t see you. Not very well, at least. But I feel you. I know without a doubt that you’re by my side, and I know you aren’t going anywhere. Sometimes I feel you so keenly, I can’t comprehend why people would need a compass to find their way home.” A cool breeze of wind tickles at the back of Cas’ neck, startles the breath out of him. “I wasn’t sure how you felt, and yet I knew more than anything that coming back to you was like coming home.”
The moonlight slices through the clouds, illuminating a sliver of Dean’s face. Dean’s eyes are searching Cas’. His lips are pressed tight together. “And now? You know now that –”
“Every day, with everything I am,” Cas says, brushing his thumb against the apple of Dean’s cheek, “Because I’m nothing without you.” He leans down to kiss Dean. Dean’s nose is cold against Cas’ skin. Dean sits up more, and grabs a fistful of Cas’ sweater, pulling him down. Cas’ hand moves to trace the hair around Dean’s ear before breaking away. “I love you,” Cas says. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”
“It was worth it,” Dean says, slowly releasing the fabric of Cas’ sweater. “Like this sweater, by the way. Where’d you get it?”
“Dean.”
“Do I know the guy?”
Cas leans down to kiss Dean again, remaining chaste. Dean’s eyelashes flutter, tickling Cas’ cheeks. “Happy five months.”
“Happy five months,” Dean grins up at him, pressing his face into the space of Cas’ neck. “What sort of snacks did you pack?”
“Really?” Cas asks, eyeing Dean.
“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice pitching up.
“Sandwiches. Jack helped me make them before Bobby and Rufus picked him up.”
He can feel Dean frown against his skin. “So you’re telling me our sandwiches are covered in our kid’s cooties?”
“I made him wash his hands!”
“Cas, that kid is permanently sticky. I’m still washing marshmallow goo out of my hair.”
Cas shakes his head, “Your hair is short –”
“I’m telling you, it hides.”
“Whatever you say, dear,” Cas says before shuffling down the bed to drag the cooler closer.
Dean groans at the lack of warmth. “Since when am I your ‘dear’?”
“When you married me?” Cas suggests, raising his left hand up, wiggling his fingers back and forth. His ring gleams in what little moonlight remains. He opens the cooler and starts digging around. He tosses a bag to Dean.
“Well if I’m your dear,” Dean says, catching the sandwich, “then you are washing marshmallow goo out of my hair the next time I find it.”
“Of course,” Cas says, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Juice box?”
“Apple?”
Cas tosses the box to Dean, which he fails to catch. It bounces against the mattress. “Nice throw,” Dean says, sarcastic.
Cas tilts his head in challenge and says in an equal tone, “Nice catch.” He shuffles back to Dean, reclining back against the back of the box. He rests his head against Dean, who remains sitting up. Half his sandwich is already gone.
“I thought you didn’t like kid cooties?” Cas asks, taking the first bite of his sandwich.
“It’s a good sandwich!” Dean says, his mouth half full.
“Ever easy to please. . .”
“You make a peanut butter and honey sandwich and expect me not to enjoy it?” Dean says, finishing the sandwich.
Cas fights a growing smile; it’s a losing battle. “You’re welcome. I know how much you like them.”
"You're something else with those bees," Dean says as he brushes the crumbs off his hands. He rests his hands on his thighs, pressing down against his muscle. He asks, “Are you coming grocery shopping tomorrow?”
Cas sets his sandwich down, reaching for his orange juice box. He removes the straw and stabs it through the top. “Do you want me to come?”
Dean exhales, distracting himself with his own juice box. “Not if you don’t want to,” he says, fiddling with the plastic around the straw. “I know someone needs to stay with Jack, but I was thinking if we went early, before Bobby drops him off.”
Cas raises his brow at Dean. “Like a date? At eight in the morning?”
“Hey, you can’t judge!” Dean points a finger at Cas. “We’re currently on a date at –” Dean shakes his sleeve up and checks his watch, “– ten-twenty-three.”
“I would love to go grocery shopping with you,” Cas says, resting a hand over Dean’s watch. “It’s a date.”
“Good,” Dean’s shoulders relax and he finally sticking the straw into his juice box. “Sam was saying that the bunker’s been busier than ever these past two months.”
“He and Eileen seem to have made a good business of it.”
“Yeah,” Dean says. Cas can see him fighting against his emotions. “He seems really happy with it. With Eileen. Sammy’s got the life he deserves. Can you believe it?” Dean tries to hide the thickness of his voice behind surprise. It doesn’t fool Cas.
“I can,” Cas says. “He’s happy. We’re happy. It’s time we get what we deserve.”
Cas feels a cold drop on his hand. He inspects it, thinking it’s from the straw of his juice box. But the juice box is in his other hand. Another drop lands, this time on his cheek, then another on his head. He looks up, and smiles.
“Dean, it’s raining.”
“Ah, shit,” Dean says, grabbing his garbage and juice box. He moves up to the cooler and throws his garbage in. He holds out a hand to Cas and says, “Here, hand me your stuff.”
“I’m not done my orange juice,” Cas says, only handing Dean is half-eaten sandwich.
Dean slams the lid of the cooler, disturbing the peace of night. The raindrops begin hitting their skin faster and faster, raising goosebumps and sending a chill right down to Cas’ bones. He hops down from the truck bed and grabs the cooler from Dean. Dean grabs his boots and throws them on, not bothering to tie them tight. “There’s a bag for that comforter under this corner,” Cas points before going to the side doors. He sets the cooler on the floor of the truck, slams the door, and goes back to help Dean wrap up the blanket.
“Just leave it in the back,” Cas says, going up to the driver’s door. He opens the door and settles back into his seat. He turns the ignition, and lets the engine run. The rain, steadily falling now, plinks and plops against the windshield. Cas turns the wipers on as Dean steps into the passenger side.
Dean scrubs at his head. “God, that’s cold. Ready?”
Cas licks his lips, hands flexing against the steering wheel. His mouth opens, closes. Then he says, “I don’t know how to drive out of the field.”
Dean’s eyes widen. He turns in his seat to face Cas. “You drove into this field without knowing how to drive out?”
“I didn’t think that far ahead. I had–”
“Yeah, yeah, other things on your mind,” Dean says. “It’s really not complicated bud.”
Cas glares at Dean, “Then what do I do?”
“Well like with any vehicle, you’re going to put it in drive, and then you’re going to steer towards the road and you’re going to drive up the ditch.”
Cas keeps his eyes on Dean. His hands fall from the wheel into his lap.
“You want me to drive home?” Dean asks.
“Yes please,” Cas says, already one foot out the door.
The rain hits the top of his head, and he squints as it rolls down his forehead. Dean is already halfway to the other side, saying, “I can’t believe you’re making me get out of this truck back in the rain just to switch seats because you can’t drive out of a goddamned ditch!”
Cas walks to the passenger side without comment. He lets Dean air out his grievances to the crickets. He hopes the crickets enjoy this performance.
They both slam their respective doors, and settle into their new seats.
“Thank you,” Cas says, fiddling with the radio. There isn’t any voice coming from the speakers, just static.
Dean holds back a laugh. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he says, “And just leave the radio. We’re out of range is all.”
Dean shifts the truck into drive and navigates the obstacle of the ditch with ease. With a slight jostle, the tires are grinding against gravel road. Some of the rocks kick up around the tires, clinking against the shell of the truck.
Cas rests his arm against the passenger window, watching the raindrops stream against the windows as Dean accelerates. He has his head propped up by his hand.
“It was good,” Dean says once he’s happy with his speed. He turns the speed of the windshield wipers up. “I had a good time, while it lasted.”
“You did?” Cas asks, looking back at Dean.
“Yeah,” Dean relaxes in his seat, one arm extended to steer. “I liked it. The stargazing. And I like you, so.” He goes quiet, biting at his lip.
Cas’ heart warms. “What about the rain?”
Dean shakes his head with a laugh, “No I think we can skip that next time.”
“We could bring our rain boots,” Cas suggests.
“And splash around in the puddles?” Dean asks.
Cas laughs now. “Whatever you want,” he says, and his next choice of words just makes him laugh more, “dear.”
This time, it makes Dean laugh, too. They’re giddy on life, they’ve got love pumping through their veins. Who would have thought this is what it felt like to receive what you deserve?
Cas wouldn’t have it any other way.
The radio crackles, and a country melody fills the truck cab.
***
When they get back home, they’re both soaked. They kick off their boots, and Dean is shivering. He has his arms wrapped tightly around him despite his protests that, “I’m fine, Cas. The night is cold, what do you expect? I’ll live.”
At the stairs, Cas wraps his arms around Dean, rubbing his hands up and down his back. “Go upstairs and run a bath. I’ll put the kettle to boil.”
Dean grimaces. “You and your tea.”
“I can bring you something warm, too? Hot chocolate?”
He can feel Dean’s brow furrow against his shoulder as he groans. “Yeah, okay. But not too hot!”
“Never,” Cas says, letting Dean go. He misses the proximity already. He trails a hand up Dean's arm. “Get the bath running. I’ll be up shortly.”
Dean places a foot on the first step before he pauses. He eyes Cas from the side. “You’re coming in, too?”
Cas can’t hide the rude obviousness from bleeding into his voice. “Yes. Do you want the marshmallow out of your hair or not?”
Dean bites back a smile. He races up the stairs, pointing at Cas, “I’ll prove you wrong, just you wait!”
Cas lets his hand trail along the stair bannister. “I can hardly contain my excitement,” he says, his gaze following Dean up the stairs.
Dean hits the top step, and Cas is about to turn away to the kitchen when Dean calls up at him from the upstairs landing, “Hey, Angel!”
Cas’ hand rests on the post of the stair railings. He looks back up at Dean, expectantly. He knows what he’s waiting for.
Dean has offered many expressions to Cas over their time together, from the basic expressions of joy or anger or fear, or the indescribable ways Dean would twist his face when everything was on his mind and he had no words to explain his feelings. How many stares had they shared, just the two of them, how many gazes had they saved just for each other? How many looks were reserved just for the two of them, expressions that only they could decipher?
The expression Dean wears is one of that kind, one that would seem a mystery to anyone else, intent locked behind infinitesimal barriers. But Cas is the key to Dean’s heart, and he knows with every line, every muscle in Dean’s face what he’s saying. It is a look that Cas will never forget.
He doesn’t just have everything he needs; Dean Winchester finally has everything he wants. For once in their long lives, they have what they deserve.
“I love you,” Dean says.
A tear trails down his cheek.
*