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The pile of books looming at the edge of his desk hasn’t seemed to dwindle in at least the last hour despite his (mostly) uninterrupted cataloguing. Sighing, Dean rubs his hands over his face, pressing the tired from his eyes and glancing towards the wall clock— 2:30.
“Thirty more minutes, Winchester. You can do this.” He whispers it to himself, swiping up on his phone to check for any messages but putting it away before he could even really register whether he had any or not.
Reasoning a change of scenery may help, Dean wanders over to the fiction section and the bright red cart also waiting to be catalogued.
Why did he want to be a librarian again?
Pushing the negativity down, Dean steels himself for the last thirty minutes of work before he can go home and just veg— he’s been counting down to that since he left at 7:30 this morning.
Dean decides to start with a pile that’s precariously stacked on the books properly placed on the rolling cart and is pleasantly surprised to find a battered copy of Slaughterhouse Five at the top. He smiles remembering the first time he read this book— recommended to him by Ms. Moseley, the librarian who more or less changed the entire course of Dean’s life in a helluva lot more ways than one.
The spine is tattered and the book has been well loved, creases and tinged pages feeling comfortable as Dean thumbs through the old pages. It’s reminiscent of the copy he checked out all those years ago. If you had told his punk ass sixteen-year-old self that he’d be back in the same library one day, replacing Ms. Moseley after her retirement he probably would’ve— well, it wouldn’t have been met with any sort of kindness.
It’s not everyday (at least not anymore), but oftentimes Dean finds himself thanking no one in particular that Ms. Moseley took a special interest in the new transfer kid with a chip on his shoulder and an attitude for miles. He wasn’t necessarily on a bad path, but rather wandering listless without a single hint of where he oughta be. A kind smile and the nudge of a good book was all it took.
Dean smiles down at the rip in the corner of said book, too coincidental to not be the very same copy that was practically pristine the first time he held it in his hands. Curiosity getting the best of him, Dean opens to the back page half expecting the folder which used to house check out cards to be empty— most of them are now that the system is digital.
He can’t believe it’s still here.
When he actually thinks about it, he can. He’s positive Ms. Moseley kept this one in particular. She said she didn’t have favorites but Dean knew better. Looking up at no one in particular, Dean sends a note of thanks into the universe in hopes Ms. Moseley feels it. He never believed in all that woowoo crap but just in case, he’d want her to know he appreciates her hanging on to this relic of his past.
Relic is about the only word that fits.
Carefully, as though the cardstock paper will disintegrate when he pulls it from the sleeve, Dean grabs the card and smiles when all his suspicions are confirmed.
Scrawled haphazardly in the first designated box is a sloppy Dean W. followed by the date he first checked out the book. The undeniable scrawl of Ms. Moseley follows in a different color ink, signaling that Dean returned the book to the library only three short days later.
That was the beginning of everything.
Dean can’t stop the tears pricking his eyes when his thumb brushes over the next name on the card. Perfectly centered in the small box with penmanship that Dean would know anywhere is Castiel Novak followed by the very same date that Missouri had put in the box kitty corner. It had only been checked out a few times after Cas— who had it on loan for practically a year, hence the familiar rip— leaving most of the card blank save for a few lines.
Like in every cartoon ever, Dean practically feels a lightbulb go off over his head. He grabs the book and the card before basically sprinting over to his spot at the circulation desk and scouring the desktop for a pen.
As he starts to write, his breath stutters a bit through a tear-filled chuckle. It mimics the beat of his heart as Dean soaks in the beginning of everything immortalized in this flimsy piece of cardboard and some run of the mill ballpoint ink.
He couldn’t imagine a better way to immortalize this moment.
Clock be damned, Dean continues his sprint-like pace down the old steps and across the parking lot to where Baby is safely stowed for the work day.
If he thought he was eager to get home before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels now.
He drives the short distance home, and has barely pulled into the driveway before he’s leaning over to grab a small box he’s kept in the glove box to hide it from prying eyes. It feels light in his hand, the weight from the day he and Sam picked it up no longer accompanying it.
Taking a deep breath, he grabs the book from where it sat in the passenger seat and grounds himself with the feel of it in his hand. How could he have ever doubted that this next step was the right one? It all seems so crystal clear now— nerves and anxiety all but a distant memory when he looks up and sees Cas’s silhouette in the front window.
Dean waves up at his best friend’s confused head tilt, no doubt tipped off to Dean’s arrival by Baby’s purr and wondering why he’s home so early. Cas just offers a soft smile and a shy wave back.
And that’s all it takes, Dean’s ready.
He turns off his car, stuffing the small velvet box into his jacket pocket and making his way to their front door. It’s painted a bright yellow— Cas’s silent pause in front of a similar shade at the paint store being all the hint Dean needed— and when it swings open at Cas’s doing, the world feels like it’s in technicolor. The green of the old tee shirt that is definitely his bounces off the yellow of the door and connects brilliantly with the breathtaking blue that Dean has resigned himself to drown in for the rest of his life.
Oh, yeah… about that.
Without so much as a hello, Dean shoves the book into Cas’s hands. They walk automatically into the front foyer, the door swinging closed behind Dean as Cas looks over the copy, recognition dancing in his eyes.
“Oh Dean, you— you found it.” When Cas finally looks up from the tattered cover, Dean can’t help but notice the water in them threatening to spill over. Despite his initial shock at the gravity of it all, it seems Dean wasn’t alone in the impact of this book on his life… on their life. “When you took the job I thought—hoped that maybe Ms. Moseley would’ve— but it was so long ago that—“
“Me, too, Sunshine.” Dean smiles at Cas’s unbridled emotion over the book, contentment settling in his soul at what only he knows comes next. “And check out the back…”
He expected to be nervous— everyone always says you will be in this moment, but as Cas thumbs through the pages and opens up the back cover, all Dean feels is immense joy and a buttload of anticipation. Dean can tell as soon as Cas spots their names on the card neatly tucked back into its place. As a teary laugh breaks through Cas’s lips, Dean steps into his space, wanting to be as close as possible for what’s coming. Cas looks up at him then, tears spilling down his cheeks and connecting with his smile in a way Dean can’t help but find absolutely stunning. “God, Dean… we were so young.”
This is it.
“Cas… I—“ Cas is back to tracing their ancient John Hancock’s with his finger so Dean uses his right hand (his left currently shoved into his pocket with a death grip around velvet) to tilt Cas’s eyes back up toward him. “Uh, I’ma need you to look at me for this, Casanova.”
Cas’s head tilts and his eyes scrunch and for three whole seconds Dean is transported back to a high school cafeteria and two drifters who found footing with one another.
“What’re you reading?”
“Some dumb book Ms. Moseley gave me.”
“Is it good?”
“Uh, yeah actually.”
“Maybe, I’ll read it after you.”
Those two kids, one so angry with the world and the other so afraid of it, had no way of knowing what was coming. No way of knowing about the life they’d build and break and patch and mend and build again. No way of knowing that someday it’d all come right back to that dumb book.
With a resolve to give those two kids every single thing they deserve, Dean starts…
“Ya know, despite being a literal librarian, I’ve never been all that good with words.” Cas chuckles and Dean takes the moment to lace their fingers together. With the distance they’re at, it’s a slightly awkward grip, but Cas squeezes anyway and Dean continues, “You never seemed to mind all that much. You never made me be someone I wasn’t, yet somehow almost everything I am today is because of you. They say the person you’re meant to be with will complete you, but I think maybe we were already complete. You came into my world and highlighted everything good . You made it brighter and fit right in like the perfect sequel to an already complete best seller.” Dean huffs a laugh, “Wow— uh— that came out in a lot more of a book metaphor than I wanted it to but…”
Dean detangles their fingers, grabbing the book from Cas and finally letting go of the death grip on the ring box in his pocket. He leaves it there, the card being step one. Carefully he pulls the card from the sleeve and puts the book gently into the empty pocket of his jacket. He stares down at what he wrote not twenty minutes ago and smiles before meeting the eyes of the man he loves and (hopefully) sealing the deal.
He turns the card over and hands it to Cas before setting into motion. His knee cracks as it bends to the floor and his hand is shaking when he reaches for the box, but his voice is strong, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I love you more than I ever thought possible and I don’t think I was ever meant to live a life without ya, Cas.” When Dean finally gets the nerve to look up, the ring box sitting open in his palm, Castiel is nodding. The blue of his eyes is swimming as it darts back and forth between the card in his right hand and the ring in Dean’s left. “I know I already wrote it out, but for clarity's sake,” Cas chuckles, his right hand now at his mouth attempting to hold back a giggle that Dean can’t wait to hear for the rest of his life. Confident now that this is what they both want, and kicking himself for ever being worried otherwise, Dean winks, “Castiel Novak, will you marry me?”
Dean doesn’t remember much after that besides an onslaught of kissing and the perfect fit of the gold engagement band as he slid it on Cas’s ring finger. He supposes that’s normal for big moments that you know are going to be big— nerves and excitement and overwhelming joy tending to black out the small details. It makes Dean all the more happy that those two kids never realized how big of a moment they were living in, and that relics of this moment can be theirs forever thanks to a small piece of cardstock and a well loved book.