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Charlie and Sam each go off in their respective directions eventually, exhausted and tipsy on one too many beers. Dean and Cas find themselves smiling at each other over half eaten pieces of pizza and empty beer bottles, until Dean finally ducks his head and chuckles lowly.
“Man,” he says, stacking plates to bring to the kitchen, “I just… that was really nice. Having you all here.”
Cas stands as well, gathering the bottles.
“It was nice to finally meet Charlie,” he says, mouth turning up at the corner. “She’s very… exuberant.”
Dean laughs at that, and Cas follows him to the kitchen, bottles clanking softly against each other.
“I saw you two with that cootie catcher,” Dean warns in the hallway, stopping just before the door to the kitchen. Cas stops too, close enough that the bottles in his hands brush the plates in Dean’s. “Don’t fall for it. Charlie’ll probably predict you living in an igloo in the Arctic with a pet polar bear or something.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Cas says, and he looks like he really means it, “But I don’t believe that’s where my future destination lies.”
Dean makes a face as he opens the door to the kitchen, holding it with his foot for Cas to walk through.
“True,” he concedes, “You’re all graced up again. Guess the world is your oyster, huh?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
He stands beside Cas at the counter, tapping his fingers on the edges of the plates nervously. Something sticks in his throat suddenly and he tries to swallow past it, but finds himself uncooperative. He tries to clear his throat, but it comes out gruff.
“How does it feel?” he asks quietly, leaning his hip against the counter, body angled toward Cas. He doesn’t know what to do with his arms so he crosses them. “To… y’know.” He waves a hand around in a useless gesture. “You finally got that piece of yourself back. Must be nice.” He doesn’t mean the bitterness that leaks out in his tone. He’s beyond thrilled Cas has his groove back.
A furrow appears between Cas’ brows and he takes a small step forward.
“We’re going to find a cure, Dean,” he vows. “And you must remember, it’s not about retrieval. It’s about removal. You will not lose yourself again.” He holds out his arms. “Besides, I’m of much more use to you with my grace intact. We’ll figure something out.”
Dean rolls his eyes and uncrosses his arms, pressing his hand flat to the counter.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, not meeting Cas’ eye, “It’s not about your usefulness.” He doesn’t say what it is about. He lets it sit, unsaid, between them.
“But really,” Dean eventually says, meeting Cas’ gaze, “I want to know. What it was like.”
Cas smiles wistfully.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be what I once was,” he says simply. “My wings are still shredded. I continue to carry that kernel of humanity inside me that most of my siblings don’t possess. I’m unwanted in heaven and my loyalties remain…” his eyes flick to Dean and away, “Divided.” His face smooths out into something softer. “Grace or not, I am what I am.” He holds a hand out in front of him, watching himself make a fist. “Humans can survive without their limbs. It’s not the most apt comparison, but I suppose it’ll have to do.”
Dean nods slowly.
“Well,” he says, “You got this limb sewn back on. I can tell you, not many people get that chance.”
“I’m sure not many people have their limbs sawed off by crazed angels playing at being god.”
“Touché.”
Dean starts piling the dishes in the sink , trying to keep his hands busy. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him. He thinks about how it felt, Cas sitting next to him at the dinner table like it was a thing they did. He thinks about how good it felt to smile for once, to see Cas actually take off that damn trench coat. He thinks about watching Cas get to know Charlie, one side of his family meeting the other. His stomach flips. Eventually he gives up, sighs, and turns around.
“Look,” he says, and it’s something that’s been weighing on him for a long time and it doesn’t even fucking matter now but whatever, “I know I was never there for you when you needed me… us. With the Gadreel thing, and the Gas’n’Sip thing, and the human thing. But you know you’re welcome to stay, right? You don’t have to sleep or anything. You can just. I dunno. Hang.” Weirdly, the thought of Cas not having to sleep anymore pains him. He imagines a sleep rumpled, grumpy, grumbling Cas, and it twinges in his chest. Not as if he was ever in a position to actually see Cas like that or be there for him like that, but now that the opportunity is gone, Dean finds that it stings more than he expects. This is Cas the angel again, who can snap any human fallibility out of existence with a mere click of his fingers. A Cas who doesn’t sleep or eat or shower, and those are all things Dean enjoys doing and now feels like he can’t share with his friend. Dean knows he’s being selfish and dumb and sentimental about all this, but that’s because just like Cas, he is what he is. And what he is is selfish and dumb and sentimental.
Cas blinks slowly at him.
“Hang,” he finally parses out. “You want me to ‘hang’.”
Dean wets his lips in frustration, shaking his head.
“If you got angel business to attend to somewhere else, don’t let me stop you,” he says bitterly, gesturing to the door.
Cas cocks his head, confused.
“I don’t understand,” he says. “I’m here to help you find a cure for the Mark of Cain. I’m here for you, Dean.”
Dean drops his gaze at that, wind completely taken out of his sails.
“Happy to be a waystation,” he comes back with false bravado, and he doesn’t know why he’s being like this, except that he knows exactly why. Because when he was a kid he would let Sam eat the rest of the Lucky Charms. Because just the other day he talked about wanting to go to the beach, and now he’s right back to staring death in the face. Wanting things is no good. Getting them is even worse, because then it’s only a matter of time until he loses it all.
Cas is shaking his head, obviously flummoxed.
“Dean, you’re not a waystation. Not some unclean rest stop just off the highway. I don’t know how to make myself clearer to you. Grace or not, angel or not, my feelings for you have never wavered.” His eyes are liquid, and somehow Dean forgot he could still do that when he was angel’d up. He reaches out as if he’s going to touch Dean, but his hand stops halfway, hovering in the air between them. “You’re a destination. You always have been.”
Dean scoffs, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He feels his cheeks heat and drops his eyes, turning back to the sink to start scrubbing the plates. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Cas’ hand slowly fall back to his side.
He turns on the water and starts scrubbing, ignoring how Cas is just standing there, watching him. The kitchen is silent save for the sound of water hitting the plate, and Dean tries to pretend like he’s alone, despite how he can feel the weight of Cas’ gaze on him. Dean cleans exactly one plate (and not very well) before he shuts the tap off in defeat. Cas is still standing beside him, some kind of immovable force, which- yeah, that’s kind of the whole point of angels isn’t it. It’s their shtick. Though Dean has to admit, the fact that one of those immovable forces is pointing in his direction is kind of hard to believe.
“I wanted to go to the beach,” he mumbles into the quiet room. Cas watches him. “This is so dumb, but I told Sam that- that if the book worked and we could get this-” he flicks his right hand, “-off my damn arm, then we should just… take a vacation. A real one. A long one.”
“You deserve it,” Cas says firmly, and Dean drags a hand down his face in defeat.
“It’s always like pulling teeth with you, ain’t it?” he asks, finally straightening up and meeting Cas’ eye again. Maybe he wasn’t making himself clear. Maybe it’s only in his head that he’s always trying to encourage Cas to come closer.
“I feel like we’re talking past each other,” Cas says uncertainly, “It seems to be a thing we do.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, “Yeah it does, doesn’t it.” He steps away from the sink, from Cas. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says, because he’s afraid of what else he’d say if he doesn’t get the hell out of this conversation as fast as possible. “You have your pick of the rooms if you want, you can watch tv, whatever, I’m just gonna… go.” He makes a beeline for the door, face on fire and tail tucked firmly between his legs. This is an awfully embarrassing showing, even for him.
He escapes to the relative safety of his room, closing the door behind him and practically itching at the seams as he yanks his shirt off, his jeans, defaulting to his most well-worn sweats and a t-shirt that doesn’t smell like spilled beer. He sits on the edge of his bed, face in his hands. Tonight had been good. He doesn’t know why he has to go and ruin it, thinking about what it means now that Cas is all souped up again, and then trying to invite an angel on vacation with him, for Christ’s sake. As if there was- as if he and Cas-
He thinks about Cas calling him a destination and laughs hollowly into his hands. As if he’d have much to offer people at the end of the long journey. As if he’d be a point on the map people would ever set out for in the first place.
There’s a quiet knock at his door, and Dean goes stiff. “Yeah,” he says, unmoving.
“It’s me,” Cas says, voice low and muffled.
“Yean,” Dean repeats, “I figured.” Then, “Come in.”
Somewhere between the kitchen and here, Cas lost his suit jacket as well. He closes the door behind him and just stands there like he’s grown roots.
“Does it actually change anything?” Dean asks, thankful for a safer topic, gesturing to him, “Taking the layers off, I mean. Don’t angels like, self-regulate or something?”
Cas looks down at himself, shrugging.
“It’s not so much about comfort,” he says, “More about familiarity. To my knowledge, if you’re planning to stay in someone’s home longer than a couple minutes, it’s customary to take off your coat. Or, I suppose in my case, coats plural.”
Dean looks down at his lap. Maybe not such a safe topic.
“So you’re… planning to stay, then?”
“As long as I’m welcome.”
“You’re always welcome,” Dean says, too fast.
“Thank you, Dean.” Cas starts fiddling with his cuffs, and when he casually starts to roll up his sleeves, Dean’s mouth goes dry.
“It’s weird,” he manages, clearing his throat, “I figured finding your grace would jam that stick right back up your ass. But you’re still just… you.”
Cas stops in the middle of his second sleeve and glances at Dean, eyebrow raised.
“You haven’t been paying much attention, then,” he says softly. “Besides, I already told you, I am what I am. This grace is just… my home base, so to speak.”
No, Dean’s been paying attention. He’s seen the way Cas’ posture has eased over the years. He’s catalogued every human mannerism that’s manifested itself in Cas’ expressions. But he’s also trying to convince himself that if Cas is a full blown angel again, then whatever’s been happening between them is kaput. Because it all comes back to that sticky situation of wanting things, and the terrifying, heady possibility of getting them. Trying to navigate that push pull between denying and indulging himself has proved way more difficult than he ever could have predicted, and it really does all come down to Cas.
Dean looks up at Cas and even though there’s only a couple steps between them, it feels like they’re staring at each other across a chasm. Dean has no idea how to bridge the gap.
“Just Cas,” he says, and Cas offers up a small smile.
“Just Cas,” he confirms.
Dean bites his tongue for a moment, before blurting out, “I want you to come with us. On that vacation. If we ever, y’know. Go on that vacation.” He cringes at the words, and this is an awfully rickety bridge he’s built, but he’d be lying to himself if he acts like he’s not tired of always being so far away from Cas. Maybe bridging the gap with popsicle sticks and gum isn’t the best start, but it is a start, nonetheless.
“Oh,” Cas says, surprised, and for a blinding second of panic, he thinks Cas is about to say no and his heart practically falls to his- “Yes,” he continues, effectively ending Dean’s runaway train of misery, “I’d like that. A lot.”
“Oh,” Dean mirrors, “Yeah, it would be great… to have you along.” Popsicle sticks and gum is right.
Cas steps further into the room, close enough that his knee brushes the end of Dean’s bed.
“It’s always nice to have a destination in mind,” he says carefully. “Do you know where you want to go?”
Dean swallows.
“Somewhere warm,” he says. “Uh. Somewhere relaxing. Comfortable.” Somewhere with blue eyes and dark hair and an ugly ass trench coat. He clears his throat. “You’re worldly. Any suggestions?”
“I’ve known where I’ve wanted to go for a long time,” Cas says, holding Dean’s gaze.
“Y… yeah?” Dean says, and his thinks his voice is trembling, “And where is that?”
“Anywhere you are,” Cas says with such a sense of finality that Dean can feel the tectonic plates shifting under him, shoving his side of the cliff right into Cas’, effectively closing any chances of this all falling out from under him.
“C’mere,” Dean chokes out, and he’s half rising from the bed as Cas rounds to his side, and for a second they stop, swaying into each other’s space, just looking at each other.
And then they close the gap, and Dean arrives at his destination.