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Dean hums along to the song playing on the radio - Travelling Riverside Blues, a favorite Zep tune — foot tapping to the beat as he plunges his hands into a bowl filled with ground chuck, eggs, panko crumbs, and Worcestershire sauce. The cool meat squishes delightfully through his fingers as he mixes the ingredients — and then curses softly to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the counter where the spices he meant to add to the meat are gathered, mocking him.
He hears footsteps approaching and looks up hopefully as Sam strolls into the kitchen, a towel around his neck and shirt sticking damply to his skin, obviously fresh from a visit to the bunker’s gym. But any hope Dean had of being saved the hassle of cleaning the raw meat from his hands to add the spices are quickly dashed.
“Hey Dean,” Sam says as he makes a beeline for the refrigerator, completely oblivious to Dean’s plight. He watches, helpless, as Sam hauls the fridge door open to grab a bottle of water and two beers. He turns and pops the tops from the beer bottles on the edge of the counter just like Dean taught him — and Dean grins, unable to help the surge of pride in his chest at the sight. Then, still oblivious, he places the beer bottles on the stainless steel kitchen island where Dean is working the meat. He turns his back to Dean to lean against the island, uncaps and raises the water bottle, downing it in a few gulps. Catching his breath, he crumples the flimsy bottle in his giant paw and tosses it toward the recycle bin, arms pumping the air when the bottle goes in clean. Wipes his mouth with the corner of the towel as he turns back, and finally, Dean thinks, Sam’s eyes fall to Dean’s untouched bottle, then over to see Dean’s hands buried in the bowl. He winces.
“Oops. Guess I should have checked if you were done with that first,” he says, the apology in his voice not stopping him from grabbing his bottle and taking a drink. “Kinda hard to hold a bottle with meat-hands.”
His contrition doesn’t last long, Dean notices, as Sam’s lips twitch up into a smirk. “I could always get you a straw…”
“Shuddup and get over here, make yourself useful,” Dean says, grinning to take the bite out of his words. He nods toward the spices. “Can you bring those over? I need you to add them in.”
Sam nods and sets his bottle down, moving behind Dean to gather the spices and bring them around to the front of the island. At Dean’s direction, Sam sprinkles in the oregano, garlic, and onion powder, then grinds salt and pepper onto the meat as Dean works it in. Nodding in satisfaction, Dean wipes the excess meat from his fingers as he tilts his head toward the paper-lined baking pan on the stove. “Can you bring that over now?” he asks, smiling as Sam sets the pan down and returns to the other side of the island and his beer. Dean forms patties from the seasoned meat and sets them on the pan, pressing a dent into the center as he completes each one. Finally, he takes the empty bowl to the sink, filling it full of soapy water and washing his hands.
“By the way, have you seen Cas? This whole barbeque thing today was his idea but I haven’t seen him since we got up this morning,” he asks, turning back as he grabs a towel to dry his hands.
Sam shakes his head. “Not recently.” He then snaps his fingers. “Oh, Jack popped in a little while ago, maybe they’re out getting set up or something.”
Dean nods and turns toward the fridge to pull out a block of cheddar cheese and a package of bacon. Returning to the island, he sets the cheese down, then pulls a cheese slicer from a drawer and a plate from the shelf. Setting the slicer on the plate, he slides it and the block of cheese pointedly across the island to Sam, then picks up his beer, leans back against the stove, and takes a long pull from the bottle.
Sam chuckles. Getting the hint, he sets his beer down, wordlessly unwraps the cheese, and begins slicing.
Dean grins, then pushes away from the stove and turns to open the package of bacon. He grabs a handful of toothpicks and the pan of hamburger patties, wrapping two pieces around each of them, crossed in the middle. He spikes the ends with a toothpick, his mouth watering in anticipation of biting into one (or, let’s face it, two or three) of these once they’re cooked. Spinning around to face the sink, he washes his hands one more time, then heads to the pantry to pull out the buns. When he returns, he lets out a low whistle, as Sam has finished slicing the cheese, returned the block to the fridge, wrapped the plate of cheese slices and pan of burgers, and is just placing everything into the cooler he’d already filled with ice and beer.
“Damn, Sammy, you’re really on the ball today!”
Slapping a hand on his awesome brother’s shoulders as Sam’s closing the lid, he says, “Alright, let’s go get these on the grill and find out what Cas and Jack have been up to.”
Dean snatches up his neglected beer and takes a sip, smacking his lips in approval, then leads the way out of the kitchen, the cooler wheeling along behind him.
As they emerge at the gravel lot by the entrance to the garage and turn the corner around the back of the bunker where the grill is usually set up, Dean slides to a halt and Sam almost plows into him. No grill. Dean surveys the area — the grill including the propane tank was not light, and if it had been moved, there would be tire tracks from where it had been wheeled off — but there was no indication it had ever been there.
A familiar deep, gravelly voice echoes down from the top of the hill next to the bunker. “Dean… Sam… up here!” Dean turns to face the voice, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light of the midsummer sun, which was just starting to dip toward the crest of the hill. A tall, lean figure is silhouetted there, the sunlight shooting around him setting him aglow, and Dean’s stomach flutters.
Of course Cas had moved the festivities to the meadow on the hill.
Ever since that sunrise three months ago where Dean had found him in that meadow, naked as a jaybird and stunningly gorgeous, Cas had been spending a lot of time up there. It had become a bit of a project for him, the latest addition being a small apiary. The bees feasted on the numerous wildflowers blooming nearby and had just started producing a small amount of delicious wildflower honey, which Cas delighted in putting on just about everything — toast, tea, waffles...
And then Dean blushes as he recalls the very special place Cas had used that honey, just last month during Beltane — by a roaring fire, on a blanket under the stars, Cas dripping a trail of the fire-warmed honey down his naked body and licking it clean…
“Dean? DEAN! C’mon, Cas and Jack moved the grill to the meadow.” Dean blinks and hopes Sam thinks the flush on his cheeks is merely from the sun and follows his brother as he pulls the cooler up the hill. And when he reaches the top, he is not prepared for what he sees.
The fire pit is still there, a small circle surrounded by stones; wood already neatly piled within. But a larger circle had been added around it, made from the same stones as the firepit and encompassing four small log benches surrounding the pit. And on each bench lies a crown of branches, a pair on each which curled into the air like antlers, and with flowers from the meadow woven in and around the branches creating bright splashes of color.
Dean swallows, the butterflies flapping in his stomach erupting and threatening to swarm up his throat as he remembers the crown of actual antlers Cas had placed upon his head during Beltane. Minus the flowers, at least.
“Do you like it?” Cas is suddenly at his elbow, long fingers gently curling around his forearm, then sliding down to slot them between his own. His voice is hushed, somewhere between nervousness and pride.
Dean squeezes his hand, his eyes continuing to take in the scene. “Yeah. It’s… it’s awesome, Cas.”
He drags his eyes away from the scene and they follow Sam as he wheels the cooler toward the grill, stationed to the side of the outer ring.
Right, barbeque.
Putting his questions aside, he pulls Cas in for a hug, his lips brushing against his temple. “You ready for some amazing burgers, sweetheart?”
Before Cas can answer, Jack comes bounding out from the nearby woods with Miracle on his heels. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, spread into a big doggy grin. “Hello, Dean! Hello, Sam!”
As he slides to a stop at the far side of the outer circle and waves, Miracle comes alongside him and calmly sits at his heel. Dean waves back, bemused.
He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to the idea that the half-angel kid he helped raise — who on most occasions still behaved very much like a kid — was capital-G God.
“Hi, Jack!” Sam called, bending over the cooler and removing the pan of burger patties and plate of cheese, setting them on the fold-out table attached to the barbeque to get to the beer underneath. Pulling out four bottles and an opener, he pops the tops and hands one to Cas, the other to Jack as he rounds the circle toward him. Dean drains the bottle he’s holding, dropping it into the paper bag tied to the leg of the small table on the other side of the grill, then grabs the full bottle from Sam.
“Alright, I have burgers to make,” he says; but just as he’s turning toward the grill, he stops and turns back. “But first, big thanks to Cas and Jack for putting this...” he gestures toward the little campsite and grill, “... all of this, together.” Bottles clink and everyone drinks, their smiles as warm as the late afternoon sun shining down on them.
“Okay, I really have to get these burgers on. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.” Dean turns to the grill, lighting the burners; then turns to watch as Sam, Cas, and Jack toss a ball between them, playing keep-away with Miracle. Her excited yips fill the meadow, combined with the happy laughter of his family, and Dean feels that warmth in his chest again.
He never believed he would ever be able to have this — happiness, joy… love. Never in a thousand years. And yet, here he is, the joy bubbling up in his chest escaping in a small chuckle, the grin on his face wide enough to hurt his cheeks. He turns back to the grill, still chuckling, and carefully places the burgers on the grate.
While the burgers cook, Dean turns back to watch his little family — somehow, a Frisbee has materialized, Miracle leaping for it as the three men throw it to each other. Cas makes a throw and Miracle, living up to her name, makes a spectacular leap and snatches it from the air. “Atta girl, Miracle!” Dean whoops. Cas turns to him, blue eyes even bluer against the color high in his cheeks, full lips spread into a smile bright enough to rival the sun. He’s breathtaking and Dean can’t believe such an amazing creature could love someone like him.
But he doesn’t doubt Cas’ love for him, or his love for Cas. Not anymore.
In a breath Cas is there, chest pressed against Dean’s and arms wrapped around his neck.
“Hey, angel,” Dean says breathlessly, then humming as Cas pulls him down into a soft kiss; sweet with a smidge of heat in it, like cayenne pepper dusted over hot chocolate.
Cas pulls away and Dean chases after, but Cas stops him with gentle fingers against his mouth, a soft grin on his lips. “The burgers, Dean.”
Sure enough, the sweet smell of caramelizing meat was beginning to edge toward the bitter smell of carbon. Dean pushes Cas’ fingers aside just enough to drop a quick peck to his lips. “Raincheck,” he says, grinning, and turns quickly to the grill to check the burgers.
They’re perfect, the bacon crispy and the juices running clear as he presses on the patties, the fire spitting and flaring as the juice hits the burners.
“Is there anything I can do?” Cas asks.
Dean shakes his head. “Nah, these babies are done. Just gonna kill the heat, lay the cheese on, and toast the buns and we’ll be ready to chow down.” He glances over his shoulder at Sam and Jack still tossing the Frisbee between them, Miracle taking a breather after her victory. “You can go rally the troops though.” Cas nods and turns away.
Moments later the three join him and a flurry of activity takes place: plates, forks, condiments, potato and macaroni salad all make an appearance seemingly out of nowhere; and when Dean turns with the plates of cooked burgers and toasted buns, his eyes grow wide at the manifestation of not one but two pies — cherry and apple, his favorites.
“Where… what…”
He casts a suspicious eye at Jack, who merely smiles benignly as he loads his plate with macaroni salad.
No need to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean decides, setting the burgers and buns down and loading up a plate for himself.
With one plate almost buckling from the load of two burgers and a second one with everything else on it, Dean starts toward the circle and the benches, but Cas heads him off, guiding him instead to a large gingham blanket staked down in a sunny patch of the meadow. Sam has wheeled the cooler nearby for easy access to the beer, and they all take a seat on the blanket and dig in. The sunlight upon them is warm but not excessively so, the rim of the sun just beginning to kiss the edge of the horizon; the twittering of birds in the trees accompanying the hums of enjoyment and contentment from his family warming Dean even more.
The golden hour reaches them and washes the world with bright color, the sky blazing gold and orange. As the sun dips further, the blues and purples of the far horizon begin to encroach, the sky creeping toward darkness as they finish their meal, leaning back against the blanket and rubbing full stomachs as Miracle sneaks scraps from their discarded plates.
As the last rays of the sun begin to fade, Cas rises and heads toward the circle. Dean sits up with a groan to follow but Cas stops him with a smile and a light kiss. “Wait here, I’ll only be a moment.” Dean rolls onto his side to watch as Cas approaches the outer circle, pausing briefly before crossing over to the pile of wood teepeed in the center of the firepit. Producing a long fireplace match, he flicks the head of it against the striker on the box. The match ignites in bright yellow and orange, and Cas places the burning stick under the firewood. The kindling there catches quickly and before long, the fire is crackling merrily, sparks fluttering into the sky like molten fireflies.
Cas stands and beckons, the firelight sparking in his eyes casting an almost ethereal glow that takes Dean’s breath away. From behind him, he hears the clinking of glass, then Jack is on one side and Sam on the other, and as a unit they approach the circle.
He’s not sure why, but at the edge they all pause as one; it’s as if a gentle force holds them back briefly, then slowly gives way, and they all step into the circle.
Cas stands in front of one of the benches, and that’s when the realization hits Dean — the benches are oriented to the four points of the compass, Cas at the one oriented North, and gestures for each of them to take one of the other four — Dean to the East, Jack to the West, and Sam to the South.
Cas steps behind his bench and crouches down next to the outer circle. A single stone had been removed causing a break in the ring, and as Cas sets the stone back in place, Dean feels a low hum tingle across his skin; the air fresh and clean like the smell before a thunderstorm.
Cas returns to his bench and reaches to either side, hands held out to Dean and Jack, and Dean is surprised to realize he can reach Cas’ hand easily, the fire bright but small enough for them to do so without being too close. As his hand clasps around Cas’, he gasps as a jolt of energy, like the spark of static electricity, passes between them; and then again as his other hand joins with Sam’s.
Then Jack’s hand closes with Cas’ as the last light of the sun fades, Dean feels more than hears a crack, like a sharp slap of a sheet in the wind, the feeling of energy in the air around them causing his skin to erupt in gooseflesh and the hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end; and the world seems to come to a standstill, the wind whispering in the trees and the chirrups of birds settling down for the night fading into the distance.
In the unearthly quiet, Cas intones:
Tonight we honor the spirits and the partnership of the earth and sun, on this, the night before the longest day.
He releases Dean’s and Jack’s hands, but the low hum of energy remains, even as he and Jack release Sam’s.
Cas continues:
Tonight we celebrate the men in our lives who have helped us and shaped us, even as we celebrate the masculine within ourselves.
Cas walks behind the benches but staying within the outer circle, past Jack’s to pass in-between Dean and Sam’s, and turns to face them. He smiles at them both, then reaches for the crown of branches on Dean’s bench and places it in Sam’s hands.
We celebrate those who raised us.
Sam stares at the circlet of branches in his hands, then at Cas, eyes wide. Cas smiles gently and nods, and Sam turns to place the crown on Dean’s head, his hands shaking and eyes glistening. As Dean watches, his heart in his throat, a tear runs down Sam’s cheek, sparking in the firelight. Without a second thought, Dean reaches up to wipe it away, then Sam pulls him into a crushing hug. They stand there for a minute, then with a simultaneous closed fist pound to the back, they back away.
Cas then turns to pick up the crown next to Sam and places it in Jack’s hands. At Cas’ nod, Jack turns to Sam and lifts the crown to Sam’s head. Sam chokes down a sob as he leans over for Jack to place the crown on his head, and then it’s Jack’s turn to be crushed by the moose.
Cas moves to stand by Jack’s bench and picks up the crown there.
We celebrate those who we have raised.
He places the crown on Jack’s head, and as they embrace, Dean can’t hold back the tears any longer, the track of them running in silent rivulets down his cheeks.
Finally, Cas picks up the crown on his bench and moves to stand in front of Dean. For a moment, their eyes meet and time seems to stop and hold its breath — then Cas places the crown in Dean’s hands.
And we celebrate those who love us.
Cas’ voice is low and shaking with emotion. Dean swallows a sob and bites his lip to still his shaking hands as he lifts the crown and places it on Cas’ head. No sooner than his hands have dropped, Cas’ lips are crushed against his, hot and urgent, salty from the tears streaming down his face; and Dean returns the kiss in kind and then some. When they finally part, Dean doesn’t let him get far, his forehead pressed to Cas’ and hands on either side of Cas’ face to keep him there, gasping for air against his lips.
Cas finally reaches up, wrapping long fingers around his wrists and pulling them gently from his face, then sliding down to grasp his hands. Cas catches his gaze, his eyes bright and clear, a soft smile on his face. With a squeeze, he releases Dean’s right hand but keeps hold of the left, moving back to his bench to grasp Jack’s hand again. Dean and Jack reach for Sam’s, and they stand like that for a while, the sound of Dean’s heart beating and the crackling of the fire between them the only sounds in the world.
Finally, Cas breaks the silence, his voice resonant in the summer night air:
We honor each other, and ourselves, as we honor you.
With a small squeeze, Cas drops Dean’s hand, then reaches to remove the crown from his own head, raising it high with whispered words of offering before crouching down to place it at the very edge of the fire.
Wordlessly, Jack and Sam follow suit. Dean raises his but pauses, searching for something momentous or important to say… and then just speaks from the heart, the words uttered in his head and to whoever — whatever — might be listening.
Thank you. Thank you for my family.
Then he, too, crouches and places his crown at the edge of the fire.
Lifelike tendrils of flame reach out to lick at the crowns, snaking through the antler-like branches like fiery fingers, caressing and exploring. Slowly though, entropy takes over and the crowns ignite, the fingers of flame turning each of them ethereal, shining bright in golds and oranges and reds.
And as they burn, Dean begins to feel the hum of energy dissipate, the low level buzzing in his ears growing softer as the crowns crumble to ash. When Cas turns and removes the large stone, breaking the circle, a brush of air rushes past him and out of the circle, like the world exhaling again; and Dean startles as the noises of the woods around them crash back in.
And then, be it the tension breaking so abruptly, or maybe just pure and utter joy, he can’t help the laughter that builds in his chest from bubbling out. It runs out of him like a storm surge, slowly at first with little chuckles and building until he’s doubled over, grasping his knees and gasping for air. As the flood runs out of him, he rises, little bursts of giddy laughter escaping between deep breaths as he brings himself under control. As he does, he notices the cooling tear tracks on his cheeks and his face flushes bright in embarrassment; but when he glances up sheepishly, expecting to see the other men looking at him in concern or annoyance, he’s pleasantly surprised to see them all as affected as he is, cheeks as flushed and tear-stained as his own.
It’s Sam who moves first, walking first to Dean to gather him up in his giant arms, then continuing around the fire to pull in Cas and then Jack.
“I love you guys, so much,” he says, squeezing them all together into a very tight group hug that leaves Dean gasping for air once again.
Sam mumbles embarrassed apologies as he releases them. “Oh! I forgot the beer!”
“And the pie!” Jack adds, dashing over to the table to gather plates and begin cutting slices for everyone, while Sam jogs back over to his bench to gather the beer he’d brought over. Dean takes the opportunity to pull Cas to him, wrapping arms around him and brushing a kiss against his temple.
“That was…” Dean struggles for the right words, and nothing he could think of seemed to work; no words exist to describe what he’d just experienced. So he settles for something he knows he has the words for. “You’re awesome, and I love you so much.”
Dean feels Cas’ body hitch as he chokes down a sob, the arms around Dean’s waist squeezing him even tighter as he buries his face in Dean’s neck.
“I love you too, Dean,” Cas says softly into his ear, his breath hot against Dean’s neck sending shivers up his spine. He pulls back enough to press his forehead against Dean’s, hands clasping the nape of his neck. “So, so much,” he whispers against Dean’s lips before closing the gap, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to them.
Dean could have stayed there forever, breathing Cas’ air and tasting his lips, but for the clatter of the beer bottles inside the cooler — Sam had wheeled it closer to his bench by the fire, apparently having deemed the bottles he had brought with him too warm to drink. And then Jack is calling them over for pie.
With one last quick kiss, Dean’s hands slide from Cas’ waist to grasp his hand, and together they join Sam and Jack at the table, where Jack had not only sliced the pie but served a slice of both pies on plates for each of them, complete with forks and napkins. They grab a plate and head back, nabbing a beer from the cooler as they pass and settling down on the benches by the fire — which, Dean notices in bemusement, was still going just as strong as it was when it was first lit, no sign of it diminishing.
Magic. His thoughts are disrupted by the warmth of Cas’ body as he slides onto the bench next to Dean. It’s long enough for both of them to sit comfortably close, and Dean is completely fine with this, setting his fork down to wrap an arm around Cas’ shoulders and pull him in for a quick kiss to his cheek.
For a while, all is quiet as they enjoy the pie, the beer, and each other’s company; the only sounds being the crackling of the magical never-ending fire and the occasional hoot of an owl in the trees. But then they begin to talk about the men in their lives who have influenced them; of course, Bobby, but also Rufus. Jack regales them with stories of Bobby and Rufus’ adventures in Heaven. He also talks about Ash and the Roadhouse, which leads to Ellen and Jo, and then Mary and Jess — the women who’d influenced the men they’ve become. Dean grinned as Sam began to talk about Eileen with a soft smile on his face and a flush on his cheeks that he’s pretty sure wasn’t coming from the beer or the fire, and makes a note to goad Sammy into giving that woman a call later. She was good for him, and Sammy deserved good things.
The talk dies down and contentment settles in; the crackling of the fire and noises of the night soothing and peaceful. By now, Miracle has rejoined them (and Dean wonders what she must have thought, watching the earlier from outside the circle).
The men have slid off the benches and are now sitting on the ground with their backs propped against them, the fire finally showing signs of burning down. Across the top of the fire, Dean watches in amusement as Jack’s head lolls to the side, brushing against the top of Miracle’s head before he whips it back up with a startled look on his face; and a glance to his right shows Sam looking pretty drowsy as well. And if he’s being honest, the events of the evening — while awesome and amazing — have him feeling pretty drained himself.
But Cas curled tight against him has him warm and content, and he really doesn’t want to move.
Speaking of, the only one that still seems awake and aware is, of course, Cas. Dean tilts his head slightly to observe the man at his side: blue eyes half-lidded and almost black in contrast to the orange and gold reflected in them as he stares into the dancing flames. A small, blissful smile plays across his face and Dean wants nothing more than to taste that smile.
Instead, he nuzzles into the soft hair at Cas’ temple, placing a light brush of lips there. “Time to call it a day, sweetheart,” he says softly in his ear. “The troops are fading.” As if to prove his point, Jack nods off again, almost sinking on top of Miracle this time, and Dean can’t stop a chuckle. “As I was saying…”
“Wait…” Cas straightens and Dean instantly misses his warmth, just then realizing how chilly the night had become as Cas frog-crawls over to his bench, reaches behind and pulls out — to Dean’s infinite surprise — four sleeping bags.
“Will you all camp out with me here tonight?” Cas asks, soft and low, eyes cast down onto the sleeping bags piled in front of him, holding one out before him like an offering.
“Yes!” Jack says, excitement rousing him, and he reaches out to take the offered sleeping bag, hugging it to his chest in delight. “I’ve always wanted to camp out in front of a fire!”
His enthusiasm is contagious, Sam chuckling as he takes the sleeping bag Jack eagerly thrusts into his hands. “Sure thing, Cas.”
As the other two lift their benches to set them outside the circle of stones and begin unrolling their bags in front of the fire, Cas turns to Dean, the remaining sleeping bags. “Dean?” he says softly, shyly, as if Dean would even consider saying no to him.
But Dean’s a little shit and has to have some fun with him. He sighs loudly with an exaggerated eye roll. “Okay, fine… on one condition.”
Cas’ eyes grow comically wide; then, realizing Dean is screwing with him, levels him with a Class One Squint that would have turned him to ash on the spot if he still had his grace. As it is, it takes everything in Dean’s power to not burst into laughter.
“What condition?” Cas asks, suspicious, crossing his arms.
Dean grins and snatches the remaining two sleeping bags. “That you zip yours up to mine and keep me warm, of course!”
From behind him, muffled by the sleeping bag he’s already burritoed himself in, Sam groans. “Ugh, you guys are gross.”
Dean laughs outright but is stunned to silence when he sees the bright smile on Cas’ face, heart skipping a beat at the warmth and happiness filling his blue eyes.
How did I get so lucky…
Dean swallows the emotion down and turns to lift the bench out of the stone ring as Cas rolls out the sleeping bags and zips them together before crawling inside. Dean places a small log onto the fire to keep it going a little longer while they fall asleep, then eagerly joins Cas inside their joined sleeping bags.
He’s no sooner zipped the bag behind him when Cas is there, curling into his side. Dean wraps his arms around his ex-angel and presses a kiss to the top of his head as Cas nuzzles sleepily into Dean’s neck.
“This was a wonderful day, Dean,” Cas murmurs, warm breath against Dean’s ear causing goosebumps to race down his arms. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
The first thing Dean notices upon waking is the empty spot next to him, cold to the touch as he pats a hand over the place where Cas had been sleeping. A missing Cas would send him into either panic or resignation in earlier times, but the sight of the horizon lightening in muted pinks and purples tells him exactly where Cas went.
The second thing he notices is the smell of coffee, and rising on an elbow, he’s surprised to see the source of the smell — a coffee pot, set on a grate placed over the hot pile of embers in the fire pit. Dean takes a deep breath, inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee, and then softly chuckles at the four blue-speckled cups sitting in a row on the remaining bench.
Cas really thought of everything, didn’t he?
As he’s unzipping the bag to crawl out and fetch a couple of the cups, he notices the pile of clothing neatly folded at the bottom of Cas’ side of the sleeping bags and has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and waking Sam and Jack (and Miracle, curled up next to Jack), still sound asleep. Quietly separating the bags, he rolls one up with the clothes inside, tucks it under his arm, then pours coffee into two of the cups and heads to the part of the meadow where they picnicked the day before.
Only recent experience keeps him from fumbling the coffee or the sleeping bag, but he is no less stunned at the sight that greets him: Cas, completely naked, standing tall as the rays of the first sunrise of summer crest the horizon, striking him and setting his skin aglow. His arms are outstretched like he’s waiting to hug the sun as it rises, head tilted back and eyes closed, a beatific smile on his face. As the sun rises higher, Dean watches, mesmerized, as he draws his hands together in front of him as if to scoop in the sun’s rays, then presses them against his chest as he slowly lowers to his knees onto the meadow grass, chin dropping to his clasped hands.
For a moment, time once again stands still.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ voice, barely a whisper, floats over to Dean as if on a ray of light, and Dean is drawn forward, much as he had that first time in March, much as he had that morning in May after a wild night of passion; drawn to kneel behind Cas, placing the two cups beside him and draping the sleeping bag around them both.
“Heya, Cas.”
Cas leans back against him, head falling to Dean’s shoulder and eyes closed, his expression one of complete contentment. Cas inhales deeply through his nose and smiles.
“I see you found the coffee.”
Dean smiles, lips brushing against Cas’ temple. “I did. But how did you know I would come here and bring it to you?”
Cas leans forward and spins around, catching Dean by surprise when Cas all but climbs into his lap, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist before reaching for the coffee cups, offering one to Dean. “You always find me.”
Dean takes the offered cup with a chuckle. “Good thing, too. I’m not sure how Sam or Jack would take seeing you strolling back into the camp buck naked.”
Cas shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee and humming his approval. “Jack would think nothing of it. However, you’re right — Sam might find it odd and perhaps even shocking.” Dean chuckles but then Cas looks up from his coffee, his bright blue eyes meeting Dean’s, and Dean’s breath catches; he’ll never get used to the intensity, the sheer amount of love shining there. “Happy Litha, Dean.”
Dean takes the coffee from Cas and sets both on the ground before grasping the sides of Cas’ face and kissing him; soft at first, then deeper as Cas opens for him. Breathlessly, Dean finally breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to Cas’.
“Happy Litha, Cas. I love you.”
“And I, you, Dean.”