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He’s on fire.
Or he was.
Or he will be, soon.
The flames are lapping at the edges of his perception, reaching towards him in greedy tendrils that paint a watercolor portrait of misery so all-consuming that it almost becomes a comfort. The line between reality and fiction is impossible to pick out, smudged over by the dark haze of smoke and ash. Life. Death. The before… the after. Dean can’t tell which is which, but then again, why even bother to make that distinction?
All of it is burning.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The hunt was nothing out of the ordinary, just an angry spirit with a flair for the dramatic. It was easy to find, easy to rile up, and it should have been easy to eliminate. So easy, in fact, that Dean hadn’t even hesitated to take the job by himself, leaving Sam to help Eileen settle into the bunker, now that their lives are mostly back to normal. Maybe that was his first mistake. Or maybe his first mistake was rushing back into hunting so soon after-- after…
Whatever. Mistakes were definitely made, but what else is new? Dean’s never claimed to be perfect, although honestly he wasn’t planning to screw everything up so badly and so efficiently. That’s gotta be some kind of new record. Just days ago, he and Sam defeated god himself, and now Dean’s going to die alone on the second floor of a mildewy two-bedroom farmhouse in Illinois.
To be clear, the ghost situation has been very much handled. It’s just that the aftermath Dean is left with is… less than ideal, to put it lightly. Apparently Casper the Unfriendly didn’t appreciate having his favorite keepsake torched right in front of him, and in a last-ditch fit of rage, he hurled the bedside table at Dean, knocking him to the floor and the book halfway across the room. The cursed object burned, but then so did the curtains, and the window sill, and then the entire wall. Dean hauled ass out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, but he was already weakened from the fight. By the time he made it to the landing, the smoke coming from downstairs was blinding.
Now, he’s trapped in the hallway with no windows, slumped over on the floor, and the building will burn until there’s nothing left of it or inside it. It seems fitting that his life should end the same way it began. “Ashes to ashes” is almost too on-the-nose, but then, that’s the kind of cosmic irony that’s plagued him all these years, jeering at him as everything turns out so providentially fucked up, the pile of tragedies infuriating if only because of each one's relentless inevitability. He’s supposed to be free of it now, but apparently that just means his life sucks and it’s boring.
There are worse endings, he supposes. Everyone dies at some point, and now seems as good a time as any. He’s saved the world, killed another ghost on top of that, Sam and Eileen have each other, Jack seems to be handling the whole “being god” thing pretty well, and Cas is… well. Maybe soldiers like them just aren’t meant to outlive the war. Dean imagines the thick, jet black smoke snaking around his own limbs, swallowing him whole and dragging him straight to the Empty. It would be quick, painless, easy… but that’s just wishful thinking.
He’s going to burn alive, of course. The blaze will consume him from the inside out. First the smoke will asphyxiate him, then the heat will roast him in his own skin, and finally the flames will clean up the mess. It’s a gruesome death, but a poetic one. And as for where he’s going, he can’t really be sure anymore. Billie had said he’d go to the Empty, but she’s dead now. Jack wasn’t exactly itching to write a whole new rulebook, though. Does a promise like that still hold weight after death? He’d sure like to think so. If dying means going where Cas is, then it’s definitely not all bad. Sam and Cas would both kill him for thinking it, but maybe it’s even for the best. Ever since that day, the regrets have been eating away at him so voraciously that he almost feels bad for this fire; there can’t be much left to feed on. All the things he couldn’t say then run circles in his mind and make him dizzy, or maybe that’s just the ash getting into his lungs.
Cas, he prays silently, Cas, hey, it’s uh… it’s me. You probably can’t even hear me where you are, but I… I got myself into some trouble, and I don’t think I’m getting out of this one. Man, if you were here… He pauses to laugh, but it comes out as more of a weak cough. If you were here, you’d be so pissed right now… Look, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to say it again. I’m not even really saying it now. But I just… I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be stronger. I’m sorry I can’t save myself this time. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry I never said--
“Dean!”
Dean doesn’t believe in miracles, not anymore, but if he had any last bit of hope left, he’d think maybe he was witnessing one now, because that-- that sounded like…
“Dean!” Suddenly there’s a presence around him, a warmth, which doesn’t make any damn sense because he’s literally in a burning building. But even as consciousness starts to slip from his grasp, he knows he’s not alone anymore. Because he’s here. Cas is here.
I have to tell him, is the first thought in Dean’s mind. And in a way, it’s the only one that matters now. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His lungs heave ineffectually.
“Dean, don’t try to speak. Come with me.”
His words are gentle, but Dean can feel it just under the surface, that white-hot righteous fury that could burn fire itself into cold, dark nothingness. He can’t tell if it’s directed at him or on his behalf, or maybe both, but he finds that he doesn’t really care all that much. Seeing Cas again is more than he could have even dreamed of, and whatever happens next, whatever cruel fate is waiting for him on the other side, it will have been worth it for this moment alone. One last chance.
“Cas,” he rasps against the angel’s shoulder as he’s hauled through the scorching heat. He can barely tell which way is up or down, let alone how Cas is getting them out of here. Then again, none of it has to make sense anyway. Cas is an angel. That’s how they’re getting out. That’s how this works. He feels a strange sense of deja-vu, which even in his delirious state he knows is ridiculous because he’s never had any recollection of being dragged out of hell. And yet somehow this is familiar, like a sort of muscle memory.
It occurs to him then that he has no idea where they’re even going, if Cas is escorting him to the Empty, or to hell (wouldn’t that be fucking tragic), or--
Then again, he can’t even be sure that this is really Cas. Dean could be hallucinating now, or maybe some monster just wants to see him suffer one last time before they lose the opportunity for good. A djinn, or a shapeshifter… It certainly feels like Cas, though. And, foolish as it may be, he desperately wants to believe that it is. All of a sudden his hope is restored, reckless and awestruck as ever, as bright as the blaze around him and twice as dangerous.
“Cas, wait.” His voice is barely audible amidst the devastation, but somehow Cas hears him anyway. Somehow he always does.
“Dean,” he answers, “hang on. We’re almost there.”
Dean nods heavily and does as he’s told, but his eyes are already falling shut again. The moment he feels the first breath of fresh air on his face, everything goes dark.
He comes to in the same sad motel room he slept in the night before. The first thing he notices is that this time, he’s not alone. There, kneeling beside the bed like the perfect picture of grief, is Castiel. He’s slumped over in defeat, forehead planted firmly on the edge of the mattress. His fingers are grasping at the brittle, beige sheets, close enough to Dean’s own hand that he can feel the warmth and terror radiating from them.
His tongue feels like a lump of charcoal, and his throat is filled with sand, but he figures he should say something.
“H-hey,” he manages weakly. It seems to be enough. Cas is at full attention so fast it makes Dean dizzy all over again, red-rimmed blue eyes locking onto his with equal parts relief and desperation.
“Dean,” Cas’s own voice sounds more than a little rough around the edges, even more so than normal. “Here.” He hands Dean a large plastic cup of water, not looking away for a second as Dean downs the entire thing in one go. He leaves for a moment to refill it, but wastes no time in returning to his fearful staring.
Dean clears his throat, taking stock of exactly how fucked up he is from the fire. There’s definitely some damage, but he’s recovered from much worse, so he’s not too worried about it. Assuming, of course, that he isn’t still dreaming. “Cas. You’re…” He moves to sit up on the bed. Cas places a hand on his shoulder as he does so, keeping him steady as he shifts back to lean against the headboard.
“Alive, yes,” Cas finishes, retrieving the wobbly desk chair and setting it in his place next to the bed.
“Are you real?”
Cas sits down with a sigh and a soft smile. “I was the last time I checked.”
“And was that… recently?”
He leans just a little bit closer, gently squeezing Dean’s arm to prove his point. “Dean, I’m real. I’m myself. I got out of the Empty. I can tell you about it in more detail later, but for now, I’m more concerned about you.”
Dean waves him away. “‘M fine, Cas. But why are you… I mean, how are you even here?”
Cas slumps back in the chair, just a hint of irritation creeping into his tone when he answers. “I called you as soon as I returned, but you didn’t answer, so I called Sam. He said you’d gone off on a hunt, and I had a bad feeling about it.” He shakes his head, full of disapproval. “I’m amazed he didn’t , honestly.”
Dean laughs. “Well, not everybody’s got your weird angel juice powers, Cas. What was it, like, some kinda spidey-sense tingling?” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis.
Cas looks away from Dean for the first time since he woke up, his gaze dropping to the floor as he says, “I’m… not an angel anymore, Dean.”
“What? ” Suddenly Dean’s questioning his state of consciousness again, because that can’t be right…
Cas meets his eyes once more, his face drawn with obvious remorse. “I would have healed you immediately if I could. I’m sorry. I realize it may be a bit of a disappointment to you, but--”
Dean has to restrain himself from physically lurching forward, just to stop that train of thought in its tracks. Or better yet, derail it completely. He sits up a little straighter as he cuts him off to clarify, “No, that’s-- how the hell could you even--?” He shakes his head in exasperation, then takes a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “That’s not what I meant, Cas. I’m not gonna think any less of you just because you don’t have all your mojo or whatever. And I really am fine. Just passed out from the heat, that’s all.”
Cas narrows his eyes. “Then what’s the problem?”
“If you’re just-- dude, if you’re human, how did you get me out of that house?”
“I’d been following you for a couple of hours,” Cas admits. “I’d planned to wait until the situation was under control before making my presence known, but as soon as I saw the flames, I knew keeping my distance was no longer an option.”
“And then?” Dean presses.
Cas stares at him as though trying to work out whether this is a trick question. “I… walked inside and pulled you out.”
Dean sighs. “No, yeah, I get that, but how? I looked for a way out, Cas. There wasn’t one.”
After a beat of sterile silence just long enough to be noticeable, Cas replies, “Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.” His face is expressionless, but Dean knows him well enough by now to know that it’s very much intentional.
Don’t ask, don't ask, don't a-- “What do you mean?” Dammit.
Suddenly Cas’s eyes seem distant, hollow. He looks like he wants to elaborate, but apparently thinks better of it. Instead he says, “I believe I experienced what humans refer to as an ‘adrenaline rush.’”
He’s changing the subject, but that’s probably for Dean’s comfort, so it’s not like he can call him out on it. “You mean like those stories of mothers lifting cars off their kids?”
Cas smiles, but it still looks more sad than anything else. “This wasn’t quite that impressive, but yes. As I’m sure you’re aware, even humans can do extraordinary things, given the right motivation.”
Dean smirks; he can’t help it. “Oh and I’m the right motivation, huh?” He’s teasing Cas, but he’s also testing him, just a little bit. Because it’s one thing to make grand declarations when you won’t be around to deal with the consequences, especially if it means helping to save the world. It’s something else entirely to say it just because it’s true, just because you want to.
Cas looks just slightly uncomfortable, the faintest hint of regret swimming in his eyes, and he hesitates before saying, “Dean. I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear before--”
Dean backtracks, more than a little desperate not to screw this all up again. He nods his head good-naturedly, if a little too forcefully, as he cuts him off, staring resolutely at the frayed and faded blankets. “Right, sorry. I get it. Deathbed confession’s only supposed to happen once, everybody gets a little melodramatic, but you’re back now, so we can just…” He completely loses that train of thought when he feels Cas take his hand between both of his own. Dean hadn’t even noticed it was shaking.
Cas is silent until Dean finally meets his eyes. Then, in a tone weighted with significance and sincerity, he says, “For much of my time since coming to Earth, you have been my only motivation for making the choices I have.”
“Oh. Well. That’s…” Dean clears his throat, dropping his gaze once again. “I, uh. I maybe could have looked a little harder for the way out.” It comes out mumbled, but it’s a confession, of sorts. As direct as he knows how to be right now.
“But you didn’t.”
“Yeah.” He picks at a loose thread with his free hand, unable to make eye contact for more than a second at a time.
Cas just stares at him. Dean knows he can’t literally see his soul anymore, but he’s sure as hell trying, from the looks of it.
He shrugs his shoulders, stealing a glance towards the door and almost considering making a run for it. “C’mon man, don’t make me say it.”
Cas waits, perfectly still and still holding onto his hand.
Dean rolls his eyes. “I just… I just thought-- I mean I wasn’t thinking, not really. I was already short on oxygen and the heat was getting to me, so it’s not like it was a totally rational thing, but--” He sighs. “I just knew that Sam and Eileen were together and finally gonna have a life, and yeah it’d be tough on them, but it was bound to happen at some point, right?” He laughs bitterly. “And hey, there was that whole thing about me goin’ to the Empty when the time came, and… well, you know.”
“Dean. I don’t.”
Dean sighs. “It’s like… all that stuff you said. I don’t have a speech prepared or anything, but…” He finally pulls his hand away and clenches both fists. “You were gone, Cas.” His voice breaks a little, but he tries his best to ignore it. “The world was saved, again. Maybe for good this time. My job was done, everyone was happy--”
“Everyone except you.” Cas’s voice is painfully soft and his eyes are full of so much fucking sympathy and Dean can’t stand it.
Something in him finally snaps. He stands up, launching himself off the bed and across the room in record time. “What the hell did you expect!? You thought you’d say all that shit, you’d tell me-- you’d say what you did, and then die right in front of me, leave me again, and I’d, what, be inspired by that or something? Filled with hope, with happiness?” He starts pacing along the far wall of the room. “You have no idea…” He trails off, scrubbing a hand over his face and staring at the ceiling. He lets out a breath as he turns back to face Cas, who’s standing as well now but not moving any closer. “Look, maybe you don’t realize this because you never have to stick around and actually deal with it, but I’m a fucking wreck when you’re gone, Cas. And I’m sick of having to act like I didn’t go through all that hell the moment you decide to get miraculously resurrected.”
If Cas is in any way affected by the outburst, he does a hell of a job of hiding it. He’s perfectly calm, maybe even amused, as he replies, “Are you… angry with me for dying?”
Dean throws his hands in the air. It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to start punching the wall or some shit. “Hell yes, I’m angry! I’m fucking pissed! You’re making a habit of this, you know that?” He jabs a finger towards Cas as he says it, just to make sure he’s really paying attention. “And look, I get that sacrificing yourself probably felt like it was the right thing to do, like it was necessary or whatever, and I’m not trying to be ungrateful, but here’s a little newsflash for you, pal: dying’s easy! I mean, shit, we’ve all died before. Any old coward can die. It’s the people who get left behind with the mess that have the hard job, and I can’t-- I…” All of a sudden, he deflates, feeling like his strings have been cut. He lets out a slow exhale, steadying himself and willing the tears to go quietly back where they came from. “Man, I don’t know if I can go through all that again,” Dean all but whispers, shaking his head. “I sure as hell don’t want to.”
“What are you saying?” Cas takes a tentative step towards him, testing the waters to make sure the storm has truly passed.
Dean meets him halfway, reaching out to grip both of his arms and stare deep into his eyes. “I’m saying-- I’m asking… Cas, just. Don’t leave like that again, alright? Please.”
Cas doesn’t even blink. “I will make every effort not to. And I’ll stay as long as you want me around. But Dean, about what happened today--”
“What about it?” Dean intentionally cuts him off, hoping that his flippancy will be enough to steer him away from the subject. He releases him and turns away, but unfortunately, Cas might be the only being in the universe who’s as stubborn as Dean is.
Cas grabs his shoulder, turning Dean back around to face him. “Your life is a sacred thing; you shouldn’t let go of it so easily.” His tone is just this side of threatening, and Dean knows better than to push him, and yet --
He scoffs and takes a step backward. “Oh, like you’re one to talk.”
Cas steps forward, eyes narrowed. “I made that deal to save Jack, I summoned the Empty to save you , and you already know that. What’s your excuse?”
“Excuse?” Dean knows he’ll run out of space very soon, but some irrational part of his brain has him convinced he can escape this conversation if he keeps moving away from Cas. Of course, that’s easier said than done; Cas is matching him with every step.
Cas shrugs, his voice deceptively casual as he says, “If you were so willing to die, I would certainly hope you had a good reason.”
He doesn’t. Or at least, not one that’s good enough. And definitely not one that he can say out loud. He tries to deflect, already knowing it won’t work. “That house was burning down, Cas. You saw it.”
Cas rolls his eyes with his entire body and lets out a sigh that sounds like a lifetime of disappointment. “I saw a house on fire with a way out. And if Dean Winchester had wanted a way out, I have no doubt he would have seen that, as well.”
Dean holds up his hands in a placating gesture, fully aware that there are only a few feet left between him and the wall behind him. “C’mon, man, it’s not like I was the one pulling the trigger. I was just… tired.”
“Tired.”
He stops moving, letting out a dismissive laugh as he says, “Look, it was a mistake, I learned my lesson, no big deal. Can we move on?”
“No big--” Cas is stone-cold and silent for a moment, and then--
Then there is no space between Dean and the wall, because in a matter of milliseconds, Cas has him crowded back against it, hands fisted tightly in his shirt, dispassionate facade cracked open to reveal the blinding rage of someone who’s been forced to interact with the most infuriating person on the planet, which-- yeah, okay. Fair enough.
“Dean Winchester, how dare you,” He spits through gritted teeth, “How dare you speak of yourself like that. Since the day we met, I have pulled you from far too many fires for you to believe that your life is unimportant. If you can’t find a single shred of self-preservation within yourself, the least you could do is recognize how much care and sacrifice I have invested in your well-being, and maybe, just maybe, you could think twice before throwing all of it away the first chance you get.” He presses in closer, if that’s even possible. “Perhaps you could consider that your death might actually be a ‘big deal’ to someone else, and stop being so selfish.”
Dean is appropriately stunned, because come on. Angel or not, the guy can be pretty damn terrifying when he wants to be. At the same time, though, it’s all of a sudden sinking in just how much he’s missed Cas, and how fucking thrilled he is that he’s alive, and… and he’s listening, he is, but he’s also pinned against a wall and Cas is definitely in his personal space, and while he understands the gravity of the situation, some things are just hot, no matter how you slice them.
“So no, we cannot move on, and yes, regardless of my own actions, I do think I’m entitled to feel strongly about your apparent lack of respect for your own life.” Having said his piece, Cas seems to remember himself, backing off to do a quick once-over and make sure he hasn’t actually done any harm.
Dean finally manages to regain just enough of his breath to respond. “So what you’re saying is… you’re pissed at me for almost dying.”
“To put it mildly.”
Dean steps forward now, close enough that he can take both of Cas’s hands in his without actually having to move his arms much at all. “I’m sorry, alright? But like I said, it wasn’t easy.” He drops his head to stare vacantly at the floor between them. Their foreheads are nearly touching, but he doesn't have the guts to actually go for it. Not yet. “Cas, I never got to say…” He cuts himself off, or maybe his throat has just completely stopped working of its own accord. A mercy, really. His voice is barely audible as he chokes out his next words. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Cas gently releases one of his hands to reach for Dean’s face instead, drawing his gaze back up to meet his own. He smiles ruefully, eyes nearly overflowing with emotion. “Well, at this point, I think any goodbyes, unspoken or otherwise, have been rendered somewhat less significant, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dean leans into the touch, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he’s afraid of breaking whatever this delicate moment might possibly turn into. “Yeah, but I don’t mean literally… at least, not just that.” He’s still staring straight into Cas’s eyes, but now that’s mostly because he's determined to keep his line of sight from falling somewhere else.
Cas blinks. “I didn’t realize there was anything left to be said.”
Dean can’t help the laugh that’s torn out of him at that. He shakes his head in disbelief. “Man, you really are one stupid son of a bitch, you know that?”
Cas’s arm falls back to his side. “I…”
He’s saved the trouble of trying to answer a rhetorical question because Dean laughs again, easier this time, gentler. He smiles, genuinely, for the first time in what feels like decades, and pulls Cas in by the shoulders, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug and exhaling all of the grief and anger and hopelessness he’d been holding so tightly to. He lets go of all of it, and he holds onto Cas instead. He buries his face in Cas’s neck and even manages to let go of the tears he’s been holding back, because dammit, Cas is here, and they’re both alive, and this is actually happening and they’re together and this is real. He repeats these thoughts in his head again and again until he can’t stand it anymore, until he knows without a doubt that it’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet somehow not quite enough, because--
“Cas.”
He doesn’t move an inch, still just holding Dean up like that’s his job or something, and Dean feels it more than hears it when he responds. “Yes?”
“There was a lot left to be said.”
“Oh.”
Dean laughs, trying to swallow his embarrassment. This is important. This is what he’s been trying to say all along. “Look… I’m still kind of messed up from the whole ‘almost burning alive’ thing, so I don’t have it all ready to go or anything, and honestly I’ll probably never find the words for most of it, but…”
“But…?”
He tries to hide his face even more, taking one last breath of easy, of comfortable, before taking the plunge. In… out… and… “Me too.” His voice is slightly muffled by the collar of Cas’s shirt, but Dean figures he’ll get the message anyway.
“What?” Or not. Cas goes completely still as he waits for clarification.
Dean clears his throat. “What you said, you know, before, uh… yeah. Me too. I guess that’s kind of the headline.”
Cas pulls back immediately, putting distance between them and eyeing Dean with a cold skepticism that’s kind of ruining the whole mood, honestly. “What do you mean?” he asks, but it’s so monotone that it hardly even sounds like a question.
Dean sighs, twice as loud as he needs to, just to really emphasize how annoying Cas is being about all this. “I mean--” He tries to spit the words out, but his brain just isn’t supplying them today, so instead he goes for plan b. “I mean,” he says, softer this time, reaching out to place a hand on either side of Cas’s face as he steps closer. He doesn’t pull away, which is a good sign, at least. Dean searches his eyes, looking for some kind of confirmation that he isn’t about to make a huge mistake. He remembers what Cas said before, every word, but still. Who ever really knows what’s going on inside his head? Dean doesn’t want to assume. So he leans in, slowly.
He makes it most of the way there, too wrapped up in his own nerves to really notice what Cas is doing, which-- oh, isn’t much of anything. He’s all but frozen, breath a bit shallow, but Dean can’t tell if that’s good or bad in this context. Dean hesitates, biting his own lip. Their faces are nearly touching, but he needs to give Cas every opportunity to back out in case this isn’t actually what he wants.
“Is this okay?” he mumbles, feeling a bit light-headed.
Finally, Cas seems to come back online, huffing out a slightly pained laugh and leveling him with a gaze that’s half exasperation, half adoration, and as a whole is probably the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever witnessed. “Of course it is,” he sighs.
And shit, it’s not like that’s an invitation he can refuse, so with one fluid motion that takes forever and no time at all, Dean is kissing him. Cas seems to be slightly stunned for the first second or two, and then… and then, he’s kissing back, and everything gets a little fuzzy.
After a long, lonely lifetime of “almost”s and “maybe someday”s, Dean considers himself somewhat of an expert in the fine art of fantasizing. Anything involving his best friend, however, remained strictly off-limits, so he’s never really given himself permission to imagine how this would go. Even if he had, though, he’s pretty sure he’d have gotten it all wrong. Because this… this is so much stranger, so much better than any daydream. It’s easy, and it’s complicated. It’s overwhelming.
Dean still has one hand on Cas’s face, thumb tracing back and forth along the edge of his cheekbone. The other one trails its way down to cradle the back of his neck, his fingers curling into the soft hair there. Cas’s arms have snaked around Dean’s waist, and the heat from his palms threatens to sear a fresh mark into him through the fabric of his shirt. He tastes like ashes, like the aftermath of everything burned and born again, and Dean isn’t sure whether he feels more suffocated by the sense memory of what happened two hours ago or by the twelve years worth of repressed impulses that have suddenly sparked to life inside his head. But even amidst all the noise, this is the closest to home he’s ever been. So maybe it isn’t suffocation after all. Maybe this is just being surrounded. Being safe.
Dean pulls away to take a breath, and suddenly the air feels cold, hollow. Not right. Not Cas. “Hey, you know, here’s a crazy idea…” His speech is nearly slurred. He should be embarrassed by being so obvious, but hell, he could do this forever.
“Hmm?” Cas replies eloquently. He blinks his eyes open, focusing them on Dean with a soft smile.
“How ‘bout neither of us die? Not for a long time, anyway.”
Cas hums again, more serious now, nodding slowly as though carefully considering the idea. “Now that sounds like a deal worth making… maybe too good to be true, though. What’s the catch?”
Dean laughs. “You’ll probably have a lot more old Westerns to sit through, cheap diner dates, a lot less personal space…” He lightly massages Cas’s shoulders to emphasize that last point. “What do you say?”
Cas is silent for a moment. “I’d say I have no choice but to accept,” he answers finally, all stoic professionalism as he moves to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Dean follows, sitting as close to him as physically possible without actually ending up on top of him. He turns to look at Cas, shooting him his most blatantly flirtatious grin. “How should we make it official?”
Cas’s mouth quirks up at the corner, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he’s already leaning back in. “I’m fairly certain we can come up with something.”