Work Text:
Faced once again with the leaded glass and heavy wooden door of the Roadhouse, Dean takes a deep breath.
Just fucking go in.
The hesitation he has every time he’s at this door is quite frankly embarrassing– even more so when he reaches for the handle just as someone else exits the restaurant and he has to awkwardly side step out of their way. It jostles the confidence out of him and he finds himself back to being unsure why he’s even here.
And so the cycle starts over again.
Luckily, this time, he works through it uninterrupted and is able to walk through the door.
For a brief moment he remembers when the smell of the Roadhouse was comforting.
Then that moment passes.
The restaurant is packed today– more than usual– and when he sits down at his regular spot at the bar, the ceremonial shot Jo usually has waiting for him is nowhere to be found.
And neither is Jo.
He’s just about to get up and leave when she bursts through the double swinging doors that lead to the kitchen and spots him shifting in his seat, “Shit! Dean! Is it 3 already?” She pauses at a table to drop off some drinks before turning back towards him. “I’m fucking slammed right now but Cas can help you once he’s done grabbing some ice.”
She shoots him an apologetic look before turning to the next table to get them their food.
Dean can’t find enough energy in himself to do more than nod.
He waits impatiently for this new bartender to return– his knee pounding into the underside of the bar as it shakes almost uncontrollably. Seeing as he only comes in here once a month he supposes it’s not that out of the question that Ellen would’ve hired on more help that Dean wasn’t aware of, but the change in staff feels monumental.
Like everyone else is moving on.
Logically, he knows they’d have to fill Lisa’s position, but he can’t help but feel like she’s going to walk through that door and take her spot behind the bar just like she always does… did.
Fuck.
Dean starts to feel the tears well in his eyes. The realization that the world started spinning for everyone else sometime in the last two years despite his remaining at a staunch halt isn’t a new one, but it seems to hit him harder every time.
You don’t have to do this.
He reminds himself Lisa is dead and wouldn’t know that he kept up their tradition. No one would blame him or even care if he got up to leave. No one cared when it took him almost a year to even park Baby in the lot let alone come into the Roadhouse. No one bats an eye that even now it’s only once a month.
Lisa always measured their time together in months— 76 months abruptly stopped without warning.
Now he measures their time apart in the same way— 25 and counting.
Then the bartender appears and is walking his way and Dean decides to stay resolute in his decision to keep up their monthly promise. He isn’t sure of the rules, but he thinks promises don’t end with ‘til death do us part so Dean stays on the stool as the bartender approaches.
“What’re you having?” The man’s voice is deep . The pitch of it is somehow intriguing and comforting all at once and maybe that’s why he’s a good bartender because if Dean didn’t have to pick up Ben he’s pretty sure he could sit here all night just to hear that voice again.
Pull yourself together, man.
“Oh– uh– Jameson.” The bartender locks eyes with Dean as he orders and Dean has to tell his heart to calm the fuck down.
It’s too soon. It’s not fair to Lisa. What the fuck?
A slew of emotions run through him before he averts his gaze to focus on a hangnail he’s convinced himself is much more interesting than the electric blue eyes looking at him quizzically.
He’s really not in the mood to spill his life story to a bartender— it doesn’t get more cliche than that.
“Good choice. Mind if I join you?” Dean hesitates at the bartender’s question, this is their thing– Lisa and him. There’s no reason to turn down the bartender though– not any tangible one anyway. Plus the guy can pour whatever he wants whenever he wants so who is Dean to stop him.
Dean just shakes his head.
The hangnail he’s proceeded to pull on until he sees the beginning of blood becomes less interesting than watching the bartender’s hands work. Dean watches his long fingers grab two shot glasses from below the counter and then expertly pour them to just below the rim. He can’t help but flick his eyes to the bartender’s forearms, the muscles flexing as he tightens the bottle and puts it back against the wall of the bar where it belongs.
Knock it off, man.
His brain schools him back to his purpose for being here. The bartender doesn’t say anything else, but lifts his shot glass– which looks small in the man’s hands– in cheers.
Dean reciprocates before throwing it back and relishing in the burn of the liquid traveling down his throat.
Fuck, he misses her.
The bartender sets his glass down next to Dean’s before grabbing them both and nodding in Dean’s direction. Dean goes to pull out his wallet and the man waves him off, “That one’s on me.” The gravelly voice makes Dean’s heart beat faster again but he ignores it in the face of the man’s kindness.
One whole year of this and Jo’s never once taken the shot with him or offered to pay.
This morbid tradition seems to suck a lot less when he doesn't have to do it alone.
Dean isn’t sure what compels him to grab the bar napkin and a pen, but he assumes it’s the company– something he hasn’t felt the need for in far too long. Leaving a generous tip and the short note, Dean waves at a frazzled Jo and glances once more at the back of the bartender before taking a deep breath. Keeping each part of the tradition as alive as possible, Dean kisses his fingers, and runs them gently over the ancient, small carving in the bartop wood.
“See ya, Lis.” He whispers it almost inaudibly, taps the carving once more, and leaves the Roadhouse for what he intends to be another month.
. . .
Cas’s heart practically stops when he hears the soft whisper from the man at the end of the bar. His first instinct is to walk back over there, slip into the role of bartender/therapist, and do what he can to help the guy.
How could someone so beautiful be in so much pain?
All he knows is he’d like a crack at whatever made him that way.
Curiosity getting the best of him, and the rest of his customers satisfied, Cas walks over to the far end of the bar to see what exactly was worth a parting kiss.
L + D = <3
Oh.
Cas understands more than he’d like to– loss. Not just any loss, loss of someone you love. He can’t truly relate to what that’s like but he can imagine in his own way.
Poor guy.
With his mind suddenly far away, Cas goes to wipe down the bar. He shakes his head when he spots the overly generous tip that the man left behind– enough to more than pay for the set of shots they shared, but then he notices something scrawled out on the napkin beside the cash.
He tells himself to settle down– there’s no way a man that sad left him his number.
You barely exchanged more than three words, Cas.
Still, Cas grabs the napkin and attempts to decipher the shotty handwriting marked across the napkin.
Misery loves company
Thanks
Cas wishes he didn’t smile so wide. Something he did must’ve brought even a small moment of peace to the guy who captivated him the moment he walked through the door.
(He had to feign a trip for ice just to calm down at the mere sight of him.)
Tucking the napkin and the tip into his pocket, a silent hope sits deep in his chest that the man will return tomorrow. Despite physically returning to work, Cas finds himself mentally wandering fields of green that just so happen to match the color of the stranger’s eyes.
Shit.
. . .
Cas waves as he cleans up Dean’s glass from the bartop at 3:30 p.m. on the dot.
Since his first visit, Dean has come back from 3-3:30 every weekday. He now nurses a drink, rather than taking a quick shot and heading out the door. It’s been almost three weeks of green eyes, soft smiles, and questions Cas can’t bring himself to ask. Cas would ask, but they don’t talk much, his new regular preferring to cheers their glasses and then sit in companionable silence as they drink.
It’s driving Cas wild.
He can’t get the green eyes, soft lips, and bow legs out of his head– Dean becoming a regular in his dreams just as much as he is at the Roadhouse. Yesterday only made matters worse when Cas pretended not to recognize Dean for a moment and then Dean’s eyes filled with mirth as he threw his head back in laughter at Cas’s lame joke– Cas is pretty sure he could die happy having only heard the sound once.
He puts the glass below the counter and turns to reorganize the bottles on the back of the bar when he sees Jo staring at him. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“What’d you do to Dean?” She asks it warily, catching Cas off guard. He bends down to hopefully remain out of Jo’s sight and resorts to putting bottles of beer into the lower fridge. Jo doesn’t budge so Cas resolves to answering her question frankly.
“Served him a Jack and Coke like I do everyday,” he quips.
“Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” Jo walks behind the bar and leans on the ledge right above Cas’s head, “Besides his shot per month, Dean hasn’t so much as driven past the Roadhouse in over a year.”
Cas is almost positive his heart stops. “I– didn’t do anything.”
Jo doesn’t look convinced, “Bullshit. You did something , even if it was just those baby blues of yours.” She winks and turns around leaving Cas in the wake of his realization.
Truly, Cas isn’t sure what keeps Dean coming back. He can’t help but hope it has something to do with him, but due to the fact they’ve probably shared only 30 words in the whole time they’ve known each other, he’s not sure that’s the most logical conclusion.
But still he hopes.
For the rest of his shift Cas wonders more about Dean than he has in the past three weeks. He didn’t think it was possible– all his thoughts already consumed by green, flannel, and scruff– but it turns out it is and now those thoughts are mixed with the intense desire to know the man.
Cas is fucked.
Either way, he decides that when Dean comes in the bar tomorrow he’s going to actually talk to the man whose laugh, smile, scent, and story has racked his brain since the moment they locked eyes.
. . .
“Hello.” Dean jumps at the sound of Cas’s voice.
“Jesus,” he grabs his chest in mock fear, “we need to put a bell on you.”
Cas’s face levels out, he sets down the glass he’s drying, and his head tilts. Dean is pretty sure it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. He’d be lying to himself if he said Cas’s head tilts aren’t one of the many reasons he can’t seem to stay away from the Roadhouse.
He’s conflicted over his want to be here and his want to stay faithful to Lisa and his want for the man he’s only spoken 26 words to.
Well, 35 words now.
Lisa would roll her eyes at his complete inability to flirt with a man despite being proudly bisexual and for some reason that gives him more comfort than it probably should.
He’s been at war with himself since he left the bar three weeks ago. The ache of Lisa’s loss is still ever present but starting to feel more like a bruise than an open wound. Everyday Ben reminds him more and more of his first love, but the affection is no longer accompanied by grief. Dean feels as though the greatest gift he could’ve received was Lisa living on through their son.
Holding onto that, his mind turns to Cas.
Cas, who comforts him with silence and companionship unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Cas, who tells awful jokes and pulls dumb pranks but never expects more than a smile or laugh from Dean. Cas, whose eyes are so blue that sometimes Dean finds himself lost in them as though he’s soared into the sky. Cas, who’s given Dean real hope for the first time since burying his best friend.
Cas, who did all this in only 35 words.
Cas, who is talking to him right now and upping the word count and Dean has no idea what he’s saying, “Wait, what?”
The blue disappears behind Cas’s eyelids as he rolls his eyes at Dean’s lack of attention, “I was saying that you should come to the Roadhouse after 3:30 sometime because the regulars are really much more fun after 5.”
His eyes are glinting with joy and Dean is positive he’s never seen anything so beautiful.
“What, you don’t like Bobby and Rufus? I don’t think they’re so bad… sorta got that old grouch charm...” Dean trails off, shocked at the joking tone of his own voice– is he… flirting?
Cas deadpans, “They aren’t bad but they’re also much older than the evening clientele.”
“Touche.” Dean tilts his glass towards the bartender and he feels something stir in his gut at the smile he receives in return. He’s not sure where this confidence and need to talk came from but Cas seems to be in a better mood than Dean’s seen him since he started coming back to the Roadhouse. Maybe that’s what prompts him to continue talking, “That being said, I got somewhere to be everyday at 3:45 so the after five crowd will just have to do without me.”
Cas hesitates a bit and Dean knows he’s dying to ask where Dean could possibly have to be everyday at 3:45 but Dean’s nothing if not stubborn so he’ll make the man ask before bearing his soul to a bartender.
“You know, they say bartenders are just cheaper therapists.” Cas levels with him, his bare forearms now resting against the edge of the bar and Dean becomes acutely aware of how close the two of them are standing.
Not that he minds.
“Who says that?” Dean feels himself smile in jest… it feels good to smile on instinct rather than calculated direction in an attempt to prove he’s fine .
“I do.” Cas squints and Dean can’t help but blush under the scrutiny. Then Cas’s head tilts again and Dean is a goner.
“I have a son.” Shit. That definitely isn’t how he expected to tell Cas about Ben. He braces for impact– either the cold shoulder or some speech about his bravery for raising a kid all on his own. He’s dealt with both in the years since Lisa passed, and frankly he’s sick of it. Dean raises Ben as good as he can’t but he’s no saint. As for the cold shoulder, good riddance. Ever since he laid eyes on his boy he’s known he’d be a package deal for life.
“Oh,” Castiel smiles softly, “What’s his name?” Dean blinks— not used to such ease with this news.
“Ben. His name is Ben.” When Cas looks towards him softly, Dean can’t stop his chest from swelling with pride. “He’s uh— he’s 4 and I have to get him from daycare.” A genuine smile arcs across the bartender’s face and Dean can’t possibly fathom what he did to deserve discovering the eighth wonder of the world.
Jesus, Winchester. Pull yourself together.
“Ah, well, that truly does trump watching Bobby and Rufus quarrel all night long.” Cas smiles softly before heading to the other end of the bar and helping to refill some sodas for one of Jo’s tables.
Dean watches him go and can feel the absolutely ridiculous smile that is plastered to his face. He wishes that he and Cas had started talking weeks ago, and in the back of his mind he hopes they’ll make up for lost time.
(They do.)
The days following are filled with more conversation than Dean has entertained in months. They touch on their likes and dislikes— Cas loves bees but is terrified of spiders, Cas loves the color green and shopping for fresh produce at the Saturday farmers market, Cas loves the Lord of the Rings movies but has only read The Hobbit.
Through it all, Cas never once asks about Lisa. He doesn’t ask Dean if he’s ok, if he’s coping, or if Ben misses his mom.
His budding friendship with the blue-eyed bartender is simple and without the knowledge of past pain that taints the rest of the pieces of Dean’s life.
It’s easy.
Two weeks after Dean opened up to Cas about Ben, they’re in a heated discussion over whether or not baseball has too many innings— Cas thinks there’d be more mass appeal if the games weren’t so long and Dean isn’t sure how something coined “America’s pastime” doesn’t already have enough ‘mass appeal’— when Cas is pulled away to help Jo clear a few tables.
Dean smiles as he watches him go, ignoring the butterflies that have taken permanent residence in his stomach anytime he’s within a one mile radius of Cas, and checks his phone to see it’s almost time for pick up.
He waves Cas over who nods knowingly and heads to the back toward the register. Dean is digging in his wallet when Cas sets the receipt down on the bar with a quick “Have a goodnight, Dean” before heading back to help Jo who is now rolling utensils with the napkins before the dinner rush.
Finding what he assumes is enough cash, Dean finally looks to the bartop for the receipt but finds only a slightly crumpled bar napkin. He looks at Cas, whose gaze is trained so intently on the utensils you’d think he’s on guard duty in case they up and walk away, before reaching curiously for the napkin.
Misery loves company
Thanks
He recognizes his own handwriting first, ignoring the absolutely stupid way his gut flips at the thought of Cas keeping this napkin all these weeks.
Then he notices an addition in blue:
Yes, it does. (555) 276-8927
Dean’s heart is pounding in a way he knows it hasn’t in years. With no clue what to do, he panics, grabbing the napkin and leaving the Roadhouse faster than he thought he was still capable of at 31.
He slams the door of Baby and finds himself hyperventilating, his mind running a mile per minute and his chest heaving.
His first thoughts are of Lisa. Beautiful, kind, fiery Lisa who brought out the best in Dean, who was taken from the world way too young in some sick act by the universe. Lisa who told him to be happy— wanted him to be happy—
Always did, always will.
Her words echo through the caverns of his memories and he feels a tear break the floodgates.
Lisa who gave him his son.
The tears pour heavier as he thinks of Ben. So young, too young— too young to not have a mother, too young to understand where she’s gone, too young to help Dean remember when only two years later he struggles to remember the exact sound of her voice.
Too young.
Dean tries to ignore the scariest part of all of this— that when it comes down to it, the emotion he’s wrestling with most is want. He feels regret, shame, disloyalty, sadness, but most of all he feels how badly he wants this .
. . .
Castiel wasn’t sure what to expect after passing Dean his number, but when the door to the Roadhouse swings shut with a loud crack . He flinches.
“Jeeze, what got his panties in a bunch?” Jo mumbles with a bit of amusement that Cas can tell is there to mask her genuine concern.
He sighs, “Me.”
Jo’s head snaps up and when their eyes meet she must be able to tell Cas isn’t lying, “Shit, Novak, whaddya do now?”
Resigned, Castiel grabs another set of utensils and continues the monotonous process of wrapping them in a napkin. He hasn’t come clean about his crush on the green-eyed regular who came in all those weeks ago, but as much as he wants to know Dean, he’s really only scratched the surface. If their interactions are any clue, Cas can tell Jo and Dean are close— like family.
He ignores the churning of want that litters his insides at the idea of calling Dean family.
“I thought we were, ya know,” Jo looks at Cas with unamused eyes and he realizes he’s going to have to elaborate, “well, I don’t know, ‘hitting it off’ or something!”
Jo rolls her eyes as she always does when he uses air quotes but otherwise keeps her face almost comically still, clearly waiting for further explanation.
“We’ve been talking a bit more when he comes in and today, before he left, I just thought it’d be nice if we could talk outside of the Roadhouse so I lefthimmynumberinsteadofhisbill.” Cas rushes through the last bit, embarrassed and nervous and not totally sure how Jo is going to take this onslaught of information— he’s not even sure she knew he was gay.
Come to think of it, he’s not even sure Dean is.
Shit.
There is a flash of pity in Jo’s eyes before something that looks an awful lot like hope overtakes her features. Still wrapping utensils, she quietly continues, “Do you know why Dean was in here that day?”
For a moment, Castiel wracks his brain for an answer he knows he won’t find, but shakes his head solemnly at the realization he may not know Dean Winchester as well as he thought he did. Jo nods curtly, “That’s what I thought.”
Cas waits for her to elaborate, but after a beat, realizes it’s probably not Jo’s story to tell. The carving Dean traced over that first day and the lack of any mention of Ben’s mother are Cas’s only hints to the sadness he’s always sensed behind the man’s eyes.
He’d give his soul to help that sadness subside.
Jo gives Cas a sad smile, “You’d be good for him, and I think that’s probably what scares him most. Just… don’t give up.”
Unsure how to respond, Cas nods, suddenly resolute in his decision to pursue Dean but to do so on Dean’s terms. He can be patient.
Especially for a man like Dean.
Patience becomes a sort of mantra for the bartender— each new day adding to the tally of days since he last saw or heard from Dean.
Patience.
. . .
“Dad? What is this place?” Ben is tilting his head in a way that is so Lisa it almost stops Dean from parking the Impala.
“This is mommy and daddy’s favorite restaurant.” He chokes up a bit over mommy but ultimately makes it through the whole sentence and plasters what he hopes is a genuine enough smile to fool his son.
“Then why do you look scared ?”
Apparently not.
But Ben’s perceptiveness ultimately calms Dean’s nerves a little bit and he chuckles. “Because today I’m going to introduce you to someone new and I really hope you like him.”
Dean ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him this is make or break. It sounds a lot like Sam.
Over the past 11 days since Cas left Dean his number, Dean has called Sam no less than fifty times. They yelled and sat in silence and Sam lectured while Dean sat stoic and in one of the last calls Dean broke down crying in guilt that Sam assured him was misplaced. He and Sam also talked at length about Ben and how someone else will fit into the equation and whether Dean wanted Cas to fit.
He does. And Cas will.
Lisa would want you to be happy and Cas isn’t a replacement he’s just the next part of your story.
Hearing the words he knew to be true from the mouth of someone who knew Lisa was all it took to make the leap.
Well… that and a shot of Jameson but who could blame him?
He takes Ben’s hand, looking both ways as they cross the gravel parking lot. They reach the front and Dean takes a brief moment to collect himself.
He wants this and Lisa would want this for them, too.
With a deep sigh Dean pushes on the door of the restaurant, holding it open awkwardly so Ben can walk beneath his arm.
Ben walks in like he owns the place. Dean hears a squeal from him as soon as he spots Jo and before he knows it he’s lost his son in the arms of one of his oldest friends.
The sight practically shatters his heartstrings and he silently curses himself for waiting so long to bring Ben here— then he remembers why they’re here in the first place.
Cas.
Dean scans the room despite knowing exactly where to find him.
When he finally gets the nerve to look behind the bar, his breath hitches and Dean feels like he’s seeing Cas for the first time all over again. Without the weight of guilt and conscience dragging him under a dark cloud, he can see everything Cas must’ve seen for the weeks they spent chipping away at small pieces of one another from across a bar.
Dean waits for the fear, for the nerves, for the inevitable want to run, but instead, relief washes over every inch of him. Cas must sense it because his face transitions from something screwed and nervous to a soft smile that Dean is pretty sure he wouldn’t mind waking up next to for the foreseeable future.
Dean smiles, too.
Just as he’s about to make his way towards Cas, confess everything, and beg him for a chance at whatever this is going to be, Ben comes barreling back and slams hard into his legs causing him to practically topple over with the force of it.
Cas’s laugh combines with Ben’s and Deans heart thuds a stupid rhythm.
He shoots Cas a ‘sure, real funny ’ look before turning towards Ben and squatting down to level with his son. He gulps, “Alright, kid, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Ben nods enthusiastically and Dean straightens, grabbing his little hand and walking him towards the bartender. Dean glances towards Cas and his heart flutters at the realization that the soft smile has been replaced with complete and utter affection— it’s entirely directed at Ben.
Dean’s pretty sure he just fell a little bit more for the man.
Ben and him reach the bar and Dean grabs beneath his armpits to hoist his son onto the bartop. Cas glances— nervous now— between the two of them.
On instinct, Dean reaches to cover Cas’s hand— a comforting gesture he’s not sure he’s earned but he hopes will become practically commonplace someday.
Then he turns back to his son, who’s now staring at Cas with wonder in his eyes that Dean can completely relate to, “Ben, this is my— this is Castiel.”
Cas smiles brightly before offering the hand not covered by Dean’s out in a handshake, “Hi Ben! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Ben takes Cas’s hand immediately, “Hi Casteel! Daddy made me put on my new shirt to meet you so you must be really important.”
Dean blushes ferociously, before looking at Cas and seeing the bartender's cheeks are redder than his.
“It’s a very nice shirt, Ben. I absolutely love bees.” Cas smiles as he pokes Ben gently on one of the bees littering the light blue button up Dean bought him because it reminded him of Cas.
Ben’s eyes light up, “Do you have honeybees?!”
Cas laughs and the joy of it shoots through Dean like a direct shot of serotonin, “No, unfortunately I do not have my own honeybees.”
“Oh! That’s ok! The zoo has honeybees and Dad said we could go to the zoo tomorrow because tomorrow is Friday and Dad doesn’t have to work on Fridays. Do you have to work on Fridays, Casteel?” Ben is kicking his legs back and forth as he talks a mile a minute and Dean glances towards Cas to see how he’s taking it all in and smiles when Cas responds, seemingly keeping up with his son’s multiple trains of thought.
“I do work on Fridays, but I’m technically off by two most days…”
Dean isn’t sure why Cas is trailing off and blushing but soon it’s his turn when Ben practically yells, “Oh, we go to the zoo at two! Dad said we go at two! Right, Dad?! Casteel, can you come to the zoo to see the honeybees? Dad, Casteel can come right?!”
Dean does his best not to analyze the way his stomach flipped at Ben’s quick approval of Cas and his invitation to the zoo— and the way he totally butchers his name.
Are they? Could this really—? It isn’t until the fifteenth time he’s played it over in his head that he really realizes what Cas said… I’m technically off at two most days.
Most days? Dean is at the Roadhouse “most days” and Cas is always here. Cas isn’t— is he?
Bravery quells in Dean’s stomach as the bartender and his son look at him expectantly, but he tampers his questions in an effort to answer Ben, “Yes. I’d love it if Cas came,” he smiles at Cas, “that is if it’s ok with Cas...” Ben looks at Cas with a wide smile and Cas looks down at Dean’s son with something so close to admiration that it makes Dean’s heart squeeze.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Dean’s sure he’s imagining the tinge of tears in Cas’s eyes.
Completely clueless to the meaning of it all, Ben beams, “Cool! I’m gonna go play with Jo!”
Then he jumps off the bartop in a move that terrifies both Dean and Cas but in no time flat he’s back up and running across the restaurant at lightning speed leaving them alone for the first time in eleven days.
Dean uses what’s left of bravery from before to speak first, “You don't usually get off at two… We go to the zoo a lot, you don’t have to take off just because Ben asked.”
Cas’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead in shock as blush creeps across his cheekbones. Dean holds his gaze, eyes begging for some sort of explanation.
“Ah, yeah…I mean… Ellen switched my schedule two weeks ago because Garth needed to have nights but—“ Cas trails off, ducking his head and grabbing a bar rag to fidget with the tag.
Dean needs to hear it. “But what, Cas?”
Cas sighs, still neglecting to meet Dean’s eye, and hesitates for what feels like an eternity. Probably breaking some sacred bartender/regular code, Dean slides from his stool and makes quick work of the short behind the bar. This is definitely against Ellen’s rules if nothing else, but if Jo notices while playing with Ben from across the room she doesn’t say anything.
Dean takes Cas’s chin; lifting the man’s face gently until their eyes lock. When Cas’s nervous blues meet hopeful greens, Dean traces his hand to the side of Cas’s face rubbing the apple of his cheekbone affectionately.
Wanting this moment ingrained in him forever, he takes a deep breath, “But what, Cas.”
Cas closes his eyes and Dean knows what he’s feeling. When he opens them again, Dean can sense the honesty brewing behind them, “But I wanted to be here… with you.”
Dean smiles in relief and it’s Cas’s smile in return that gives him all the courage he needs. With his hand still on Cas’s cheek, the anticipation boiling between them, Dean glances quickly across the restaurant where Jo has Ben turned away from them. She winks and Dean smiles wider before glancing back at Cas.
Then he goes for it, the monumental shift from strangers to more not seeming so scary now that he knows the feelings are reciprocated.
And so is the kiss— beautifully and wonderfully reciprocated.
This is the first of many kisses. Sometimes, they kiss in front of honeybees at the zoo, and a lot of times, they kiss at the Roadhouse. Cas kisses Dean’s tears when he tells him about Lisa and the meaning of the tradition Cas helps him upkeep each month. They kiss once to seal the deal almost one year to the day after their first. Dean kisses Cas as he uses a pocket knife to carve their initials next to the ones Lisa carved all those years ago. Over the years, they kiss dramatically wherever they can just to embarrass Ben (who really doesn’t mind that they kiss at all). (Cas kisses Dean especially hard the night Ben first calls him dad). And, most importantly, they kiss every morning and each night, in a small promise to spend their lives in the best of company— each other’s.