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It was seconds after Dean finally closed his eyes that his alarm began screeching in his ear. At least it felt like seconds anyway.
He rolled over, attempting to smother the damn thing with a pillow. The beeping only grew louder, more insistent. If Dean hadn’t been one step too far out of a dreamless sleep, the phone would've been smashed against the wall by now.
Begrudgingly opening one eyelid, Dean glared at the phone. Weighed up whether it was worth the satisfaction of breaking it anyway.
It wasn’t.
Dean huffed. His face screwed up against the light creeping into his bedroom. Beyond the door, the sounds of shuffling feet and the hum of the coffee machine whirred in the kitchen.
Coffee. Good. Yeah.
With a groan, Dean peeled back the blankets. Once he kicked his legs out into the cool bunker air, he knew there was no going back. He had to get up. Couldn’t remember why, but he did.
Dean’s knees cracked when he got to his feet. His back was stiff and aching, and it took a minute of forcefully grinding the gears in his head to remember why he hurt so bad.
Werewolf hunt. Tumbling backwards down a hill. Landing his ass in a pile of thorns and enough pollen to have him sneeze through two showers and a whole pack of allergy pills.
Dean sniffed. All clear.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his palms. Slipped his feet into his slippers. Where was his robe?
Right, he’s already wearing it.
Dean leaned against the wall as he opened his bedroom door. His eyes weren’t fully open but that was fine. He wasn’t fully awake neither.
The word “shower” came to mind but that thought died the moment the whiff of coffee travelled down the hallway and up his mercifully unblocked nose. Following the scent, Dean let his feet trail him toward the kitchen.
In the split-seconds between each step, Dean sunk into the warm haziness of sleep still pulling at his tired mind. Nothing felt real just yet.
Maybe it wasn’t.
“You look like hell, dude,” Sam’s smug voice reached him through the haze.
Dean blinked real slow at the blurry person shaped-thing in front of him.
“Did you even sleep last night?”
“’m sleepin’,” Dean mumbled in reply.
He felt his shoulder bump against the thing that sounded like Sam as he walked by. Dean turned to glare at his brother, but that would involve opening his eyes all the way so screw that.
He took another couple steps forward and bumped into something warm and solid.
“Good morning, Dean,” said the tan-coloured blur with the sexy voice. “I made you coffee.”
A fond smile pulled on Dean’s lips. He took the proffered mug in hand, inhaling the bitter scent like a lifeline.
The angel smelled good too. He always smelled good.
Dean leaned close to the warmth of Cas’ body. His half-closed lids fell shut. “Thanks, Cas,” he murmured, and pressed a quick kiss to his buddy’s lips.
Cas’ lips are so soft.
Dean patted Cas on the shoulder and shuffled off with his coffee. The first sip burned through the lingering pleasant touch to Dean’s lips. The second tasted bitter and hot, and the third had him sighing in relief.
A quarter way through the coffee, Dean finally felt the first drop of reality settle in his mind. He leaned back in his chair, no longer needing to brace his elbows on the table for support.
Another sip, and the sounds in the bunker finally caught up to him. The distant noise of the shower running. The hum of the florescent lighting. Soft drips from the coffee machine.
The next sip had Dean rolling out his shoulders, thinking about that close call on the hunt yesterday. How stupid he’d been to let the werewolf get the drop on him. How, if it weren’t for that damn hill he’d tumbled down, he would’a been flat on his back with his guts decorating the pavement. Totally at the mercy of that big bastard.
The memory of the werewolf’s breath so close to his face sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. He could still see those yellowed teeth. The gums stained black with old blood and its maw still dripping red from its latest victim.
Eddie was kind of a dick, but he didn’t deserve that shit. His boyfriend hadn’t neither.
Dean pressed the hot mug to his cheek and inhaled deeply. Winced as the sound of the guy’s screams echoed in his ears.
Eddie’s whole leg had been ripped to shreds by the wolf’s teeth. His shirt clinging to his belly in bloody ribbons.
Dean gulped down another sip of coffee.
It was a damn miracle Cas had been on the road with them.
Eddie'd lost a lot of blood. After they’d put the werewolf down – silver bullet through the heart; a clean shot after a messy fight – the dude was passed out. Pale as a damn ghost by the time Cas got to healing him.
Sammy’d done a good job cleaning up the evidence. Dean figured he’d lied pretty convincingly; explaining away Eddie’s torn and bloodied clothes despite his lack of injuries once he came to. Might have patted himself on the back for it if it weren’t for the thorns and dirt littering his skin. Two showers later, and he still felt a coat of filth all over his body.
Dean shifted about in his seat, weary of any lasting thorns digging into his ass.
He took a long drag of his coffee, wondering if he could stamp down his ego for a minute and let Cas heal him up, too. Where the hell was Cas any-
Dean spat his coffee across the table, choking hard. He stood fast, knocking his chair to the floor. A shock of heat burst through his body and his heart pounded dangerously in his chest. Dean continued choking as he raced across the kitchen. Ducked his head around the open doors to peer down the empty hallway.
A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Blood rushed to his ears, leaving him unsteady on his feet.
Dean backed into the table, his hand leaning on the cold patch of coffee he’s spat across the table. He lifted his hand in disgust, flicking his wrist to get rid of the drops.
The roaring in his ears worsened.
Dean realised he was still flicking out his wrist and slowed to a stop.
What the fuck?
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?
The memory played out before his eyes: Cas handing him the coffee. The surprised smile on Cas’ face as he looked down at their held hands.
Oh my god, Dean had held Cas’ hand over the coffee cup. Cas had been the one to pull away.
Dean froze, staring at the spot in the kitchen where it’d all went down. He watched himself lean in, his lips slanting against the angel’s.
He felt the phantom touch of those lips on his own now.
How soft they’d been.
The quiet hitch in Cas’ breath the moment before.
Dean replayed the memory over and over until it seemed fake.
It had to be fake. There’s no way he just kissed his best friend and then patted him on the shoulder like “hey, good game, man!”
There was no fucking way.
Dean ran his fingers through his hair.
His skin felt too hot. Too tight. He had to be dreaming. There was no god damn way.
Dean lifted the abandoned coffee mug, staring into it accusingly. As if it was the coffee’s fault. As if there was any rational explanation for what the fuck he’d just done.
Where the hell was Cas?
A second wave of panic had Dean bracing himself against the table again.
Had Sam seen it happen?
Where was Cas?
What had he done?
Dean paced the kitchen, hands gripping at the short strands of his hair. He caught sight of his reflection on the glass door of the oven. His face was bright red. His damn robe was inside out. He looked down to see part of the robe tucked into the ass of his PJ pants.
Great. Fucking perfect.
He’d just made a move on the guy he was pretty certain he’d been in love with for the past – how many years? – and he looked like this? Really?
Dean banged his forehead against a cabinet.
This can’t be happening. Ain’t no way.
He checked his watch.
Not even 6.15 a.m. and he’d already ruined everything.
#
Castiel stood in a public park, watching the morning dew trickle from the freshly bloomed flowers.
A woman jogged along the open path, skirting an elderly couple walking their dog.
All the world was still waking up, and they had no idea it was the best day of the angel’s life.
A familiar buzzing sounded from the angel’s right. Cas crouched low, bracing a hand on one knee as he regarded the bees.
“Hello, gentle friends,” Cas smiled warmly. He touched two fingers to his bottom lip as if to recall the press of Dean’s lips against his own. “I’ve got some good news for you today.”
#
Sam didn’t know.
That had to count for something, right?
Dean had paced outside the bunker library for twenty minutes. Swinging his arms by his sides, like if he did it enough, it would give him the momentum to stop being a little bitch and propel his ass into the room.
Okay, so maybe Sam caught him and asked what the hell he was doing. So what?
Point was, Sam didn’t seem to know a thing. Which was good. Great, even.
But where the hell was Cas?
Dean had spent the better part of an hour in the shower, switching between zoning out, thinking about all the ways he’d imagined kissing Cas for the first time and the holy terror he felt for how it finally happened.
He’d kissed Cas. Cas, the dorky little guy who didn’t know who John Bonham was. Who wore his tie backwards and listened to pop music in secret. The guy who interrogated a damn cat and once watched porn right there in a room full of dudes.
Dean really didn’t want to think about that right now.
By eleven, Dean had come up with four different speeches on how to worm his way out of this situation. Each was stupider than the last and not a single one close to the truth.
By mid-day, he’d run out of bullets for target practise. Anything to drown out the thoughts racing in his head.
When lunch came around and Sammy droned on and on about some case in Louisiana, Dean had flinched twice at the mention of Cas’ name.
There was still no sign of the guy.
Sam wasn’t surprised in the least when Dean interrupted him to ask where Cas had gone. His brother only shrugged, bitched at Dean for not paying attention to whatever crap he was saying, and kept going.
Dean drowned him out. He couldn’t help it.
He’d gone through all seven stages of grief twice over in the past seven hours. The shock still hit him smack in the face every time Dean let himself think straight for more than a second. The bargaining turned out to be a waste of time. There was no changing what happened.
Dean had kissed his best friend, and now he had to deal with it.
He hadn’t noticed when Sam had left the table. Dean had been pushing his bacon around on his plate long after it went cold, and his beer turned warm. The table was littered with torn off pieces of the label on his beer bottle.
What the hell could he say to Cas?
What if Cas never came back?
What if he hated Dean? Felt violated by what he’d done?
What if he wanted to talk to Dean about it? To ask him why the fuck he’d done something so stupid. They were friends, damn it! Why did Dean have to go ruin it?
What if he’d ruined everything?
What if…
Dean dumped his bacon in the trash. Poured his beer down the sink, and watched the fizz turn to foam turn to nothing but a brown stain that disappeared down the drain.
He had to get out of here.
Cas shouldn’t be the one to leave. This was Dean’s mess. He had to fix it. And the only way to do that was to put as much distance between him and his best friend as Baby could manage.
Dean ignored the voice in the back of his mind calling him a coward for running away. Fuck that. What was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? Confess his undying love to a fucking angel of the lord?
“Oh hey, Cas, remember this morning when I was half-asleep and kissed you like it was a normal thing to do? Sorry about that, by the way. Anyway, I’m in love with you, and I’ve wanted to kiss you stupid for as long as I’ve known you, and I guess the wires crossed in my head and I wasn’t really awake, you see, so yeah. Let’s forget this ever happened because we both know that’s not what you want – which is totally fine by the way – you’re my best friend and it was a total accident.”
Hell no.
Dean had his bag packed and his keys in hand in under five minutes.
He met Sam in the hallway and let the bullshit “booty call” excuse roll off his tongue without looking his brother in the eye. Sam crossed his arms and did that annoying judgey hair flick thing he does before going full lawyer bitch on Dean’s ass. Dean painted on a smug smile and said, “some of us still get laid, Sammy,” and let the dude stew on it.
He supressed the cold realisation that he’d lied about his last couple of hook ups, too. And even those had been few and far between these past couple years.
Maybe that was it – maybe what he needed was to get laid. Didn’t take a genius to realise he was about as touch starved as a man could get.
The first purr of Baby’s engine sent a wave of calm through Dean’s body. Duffle bag in the back seat and Zeppelin on the radio, he was ready to hit the highway. He hadn’t told Sam when he’d be back. He had no idea where he was going. As his foot hit the gas pedal and Baby roared out of the garage, all that mattered was that he was getting out.
#
“I appreciate your advice,” Cas said to the bumble bee pollinating a dandelion, “although I think it’s time I tell the truth.”
The bees had listened to the angel’s story all morning. They’d found the lack of build-up to the moment strange, but despite his own confusion about the timing of the kiss, Cas didn’t mind. He wasn’t always adept to picking up on social cues, never mind those of the romantic sort.
Maybe there was something he’d missed. Dean hadn’t acted any differently around him lately, as far as Cas could recall. He’d recited their recent conversations and interactions to his buzzing friends, and they, too, had been stumped.
He’d made Dean coffee before, of course, and it hadn’t led to a kiss. Dean had thanked him plenty of times over the years.
What had changed?
Cas caught himself smiling again.
Dean had looked beautiful this morning. His freckles muted by flushed cheeks, and his eyes hazy beneath those long lashes.
Castiel had wondered many times what it would be like to be kissed by Dean Winchester. He never imagined it would happen on an unassuming Thursday morning before the sun had fully risen.
He’d pictured soft moments where he’d finally told Dean the truth of him, and Dean responded in kind. Charged kisses in the heat of battle, and devouring kisses in the back of the Impala with Dean pressed into the back seat beneath him. He’d imagined forehead kisses, cheek kisses, kissing under the stars and under imminent threat of death. Slow kisses and hungry kisses, and kisses just because.
But with every waking dream he’d build upon these hopes, the truth had already been spoken.
Perhaps the why and when and how didn’t matter. Maybe the time was right, and that’s all there was to it.
Hope was a buzzing thing in the angel’s chest, and what a friend hope made to a heart filled with love.
Dean had kissed him. And Cas had spent long enough gossiping with his tiny friends about it.
“When I kiss him,” Castiel said to the bees, “I hope he feels the love I feel for him.”
He plucked a single flower from the garden. Lest he make an enemy of loyal friends, Cas regrew the flower from the earth with the touch of his grace, gifting the bees several others for their help.
#
Dean’s belly rumbled over the sound of the engine by five p.m.
He pulled into the nearest diner and parked beneath its flashing red neon sign. He doubled checked the locks on the Impala and did the same with his appearance in the side mirrors.
Not too shabby for a guy who just fucked up his life.
In the diner, he slid into a small corner booth. He winked at the waitress who handed him a menu, more out of obligation than flirting. She was pretty; long blonde hair and hazel eyes hidden beneath long lashes. Exactly Dean’s type.
Too bad he wasn’t interested.
When she returned to take his order, Dean smiled politely and kept the chit-chat to a minimum. The last thing he needed right now was to land his ass in more hot water.
He chowed down on his cheeseburger before the waitress had even come back with the condiments. She’d given him a huge portion of fries – bigger than anyone else seemed to be getting, if all those rednecks glaring at him meant anything – and twirled her hair around her finger when she asked if there was anything else he fancied.
Dean said he was good. Probably didn’t help that he spoke through a mouthful of food, but whatever. Sooner he was back on the road, the better.
His phone buzzed loudly on the table and Dean almost choked on his fries. Coughing and ignoring the stares he’d earned around the cramped diner, he checked the number.
Sam:
You heard from Cas?
The food in Dean’s stomach turned to lead. Frankly it was embarrassing how fast his heart was beating at the mention of Cas’ name.
God, this was so stupid.
His phone buzzed again.
Sam:
He’s looking for you.Sam:
How’s the ‘date’ going?
Dean felt the back of his neck burn as he typed out his reply.
Dean:
Great. What did you tell Cas?
The three dots indicating Sam was typing kept stopping and restarting. Dean was starting to fear the worst, and almost hit ‘call’ when Sam’s reply finally came through.
Sam:
Told him you were being weird and drove off somewhere.Dean:
I told you I have a date.Sam:
Sure.
Irritation at his brother’s disbelief aside, Dean felt some of that weight slip from his shoulders.
Sam hadn’t told Cas about the phony date. That was good, right? At least Cas wasn’t thinking Dean had put the moves on him only to run off with some chick.
Different versions of his brother and Cas’ conversation played out in rapid speed in Dean’s head, and he hated every one of ‘em. Worst of all, he realised as the waitress came back with a sullen face and his check, Cas and Sam were talking.
Would Cas tell Sam what he’d done?
Dean pulled the cash from his wallet and left a hefty tip behind on the table. He didn’t wait for the waitress to return. He needed air, and he needed to put a hell of a lot more miles between him and this dumbass situation he’d put himself in.
Two minutes later, he was speeding out of the road-side diner, and pulling back onto the highway. He cranked the radio up and the window down; the cold air welcome on his flushed skin. Just a couple more hours driving, and he’d pull into some motel. Maybe.
He still had no idea where he was headed, but after an hour driving straight, he pulled off the highway into some smooth dirt road. He lowered the volume on Zepp II and made to check the map on his phone for where the hell this road would take him, when suddenly he was slamming on the breaks, his phone lost beneath the bench seat.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean swerved onto the grassy shoulder, grateful there were no other cars about. He killed the engine and dropped his head to the steering wheel, not sure if his heart was going to burst through his chest or drop out of his ass.
“Damn it, Cas,” he whispered weakly, not lifting his head from the wheel.
He felt the leather of the bench seat dip as the angel scooted closer. A hand rested on Dean’s shoulder a moment later, and Dean didn’t need to look to see the tilted head and furrowed brow of his best friend.
“Are you okay?”
Fuck no.
“’m fine,” Dean mumbled gruffly.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Dean choked out a sullen laugh. “Right.”
The car fell silent for a moment; only the distant sound of cars passing on the highway beyond filled the space between them.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said into the steering wheel. His voice was so small, he wasn’t sure Cas could hear him.
“You kissed me,” Cas replied. Short and simple and matter-of-fact.
Shame roiled in Dean’s guts, but he had to face up to it. He had to. This was Cas, for fuck sake. If anyone deserved a little honesty, it was him.
“Yeah,” Dean said, lifting his head from the wheel but still not looking at the man at his side. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I-“
“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should apologise.”
Something in Cas’ tone had Dean’s head snapping around to face him. The angel was staring at him with those big wide eyes. Dean fought hard not to look at Cas’ lips, or the small smile crooking at the corner.
“Why the hell should you be sorry?” Dean rasped, turning his body fully to face the angel.
Cas’ gaze dropped to his lap. “I didn’t mean to bail on you,” he said, and Dean blinked in confusion at the warm smile growing on the angel’s lips. “I needed time… I was very happy, Dean.”
All the air punched from Dean’s lungs. Certain the ringing in his ears was playing tricks on him, he said, “you were what?”
“Happy,” Cas said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Dean would have rolled his eyes at the tone if his heart wasn’t doing backflips.
“Happy,” Dean repeated, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “You were… happy?”
Cas frowned. “Was I not supposed to feel that way?”
The dude looked so genuinely concerned that something in Dean finally settled into place. His heart was still beating the crap out of his ribs, and he was pretty sure one wrong move and he’d meet his cheeseburger all over again, but slowly his thoughts started piecing themselves together.
They stared at each other in that intense way they always did. Where the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them; time slowing down until it ceased to exist at all.
“Cas?” Dean started, wetting his lips nervously before continuing. “Did you… I mean, did you want me to? Kiss you, I mean.”
The smile that bloomed on his best friend’s face knocked the wind out of Dean all over again.
“I did,” Cas said, serious in that way only he could be. “I do.”
Dean blinked. Blinked again.
Thoughts scrambled over one another like numbers on a slot machine but not a single one formed a complete sentence.
“Dean?”
Cas’ hand cupped Dean’s cheek, warm and rough and so very, very real. Dean leaned into the touch, swallowing hard before looking the angel in the eye again.
“You do?” was all he managed to say. His voice came out gruff and bashful. If his cheeks burned any hotter, he was going to have to crack another window. No way was he taking off his jacket right now. Not with Cas looking at him like that. Not with the air so charged between them he could almost taste the words they weren’t saying.
Cas nodded slowly in response, entirely unashamed.
“…So, you and me,” Dean waved a finger between the two of them, “we’re okay?”
Cas’ smile dimmed to an impatient frown. “Of course.”
Dean blew out a shaking breath. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, seeing stars burst behind his eyelids. All the tension drained from his body at those two simple words from his best friend.
He hadn’t fucked up. Cas wasn’t going anywhere. Not everything was –
Dean’s heart slammed on the breaks as Cas’ words took on a whole new meaning.
Cas wanted Dean to kiss him.
He wanted..?
“Dean, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”
Dean’s attention snapped to the angel, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.
“You… wanna… huh,” Dean cleared his throat. “No, I mean, yeah. I guess that’s only… yeah,” there wasn’t a single credible thought in Dean’s mind that his mouth could latch onto right now. But that didn’t seem to matter.
Cas closed the distance between them, one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other resting gently at the back of Dean’s head.
The kiss was soft at first and Dean was too stunned to move. It was only when Cas made to pull back that Dean kissed him back for real, pulling the angel closer. Then Cas wasn’t holding back; kissing Dean like he meant business.
Dean wasn’t sure how he ended up on his back with the weight of Cas laying on top of him. There was so much he needed to say, so much they had to figure out. But by the way Cas was kissing him, Dean knew this had to mean more than just physical stuff to the guy, too.
Cas kissed him like he was starving for it. Like he’d waited years for this.
They broke apart, breathing heavy and not daring to move too far. Like if they pulled away, they’d somehow take it all back.
Dean couldn’t go back to how things were. Not now.
“Dean, I have to tell you something.”
The bruises on the angel’s lips had never made for a more beautiful smile.
“Me too, Cas,” Dean said, smiling so hard his face hurt. He hoped Cas heard the meaning behind his words. If not, well. They were doing just fine communicating without words for now.
A tulip fell from Cas' breast pocket, and Dean didn't think twice before tucking it safely against the angel's heart. Cas was so damn weird, Dean thought, feeling his chest swell with love.
They’d get there eventually, to those three words.
Right now, Dean felt them in the press of Cas’ lips against his own. In the beating of their hearts pressed close together, in their joined hands and tangled limbs.
Kissing Cas tasted like freedom. It felt like home. And maybe Dean was too far gone on this dorky little guy, but it felt right.
It felt real.