Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“No, you won’t,” Sam replied, the absolute bastard.

They were talking on the phone but Dean knew—he knew—his asshole of a little brother was smiling.

“You tricked me into this, you dick.”

“What? Tricked you into being healthy, Dean?”

“Yes!”

Sam huffed. “Well, excuse me for caring whether you live long enough to have grandkids one day.”

“Pff. Putting the cart before the horse there, Sammy? Grandkids implies kids, which implies someone finding me worth sticking around for. And you know what happened last time I tried that.” Dean ran a hand down his face, palm lingering over his mouth.

“Just try to have fun, Dean. Please? For me? You know I’d be there if I could. What’s the worst that could—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Dean could hear the major bitchface.

“Look, dude,” Dean said. “You’re the one who talked me into this stupid thing.”

“It’s not stupid.” In Dean’s mind, in that moment, Sam was five years old again, all crossed arms and stamping feet.

Maneuvering the Impala onto the gravel lot at the trailhead, he shoved the gear shift into park a little rougher than he normally would have and made a mental apology to his Baby.

“Oh, please!” Dean scoffed. “The sales department is only doing it for brownie points with the execs.”

“That’s not true—”

“Whatever,” Dean interrupted. “Yesterday you promised you’d be here, and now you’re sick with the fucking flu? You owe me big, asshole.”

“Fine! Just wait, Dean. You’re going to have a great time, and then you’ll have to thank me for making you go.”

“Fat chance of that! See ya, shithead.”

“Real classy, De—”

Dean hung up and was mildly satisfied to know Sam would stew about being cut off for at least a little while.

The gremlin deserved it. He didn’t even sound stuffed up. Friggin’ liar.

Now, Dean was going to have to endure a “team building” afternoon of hiking with colleagues who probably hadn’t spent any significant time outside—except to commute—in years.

Not that he was a shining example of outdoorsmanship, himself. The extent of Dean’s wilderness experience was limited to sitting on the sidelines during Sammy’s soccer practices and a brief stint with the Boy Scouts at his mom’s insistence. If he really wanted to pad the list, he might also add barbecuing to it—that was done outside, so it could be included on a technicality, right? Right. After all, he didn’t call himself the meat man for nothin’. Any self-respecting, red-blooded American man would be proud to get a taste of what Dean could wizard up with a grill wand in hand—he was sure of it.

Unfortunately, there would be no barbecuing this weekend. Only pain.

A five-mile hike with his coworkers was not at all Dean’s idea of a Saturday well-spent. In fact, after years fielding their IT problems, he found most of them to be incompetent morons. It was frankly terrifying that these same people operated one-ton hunks of metal at highway speeds to get to and fro. He really didn’t find the prospect of spending several hours with them enticing.

No, the only reason he was here was because Sam had promised that Castiel from Sales was going. And Dean may have had the teeniest, tiniest crush on the man, maybe wanted to take him out on every date he’d ever be able to think up, maybe wanted to spend every night and every morning with him—but he could never work up the guts to actually speak to him in the halls. Sam had promised to play wingman, the traitor. But as Dean stepped out of the car and into the admittedly pleasant weather, a brisk late-autumn breeze ruffling his collar, he didn’t see any other familiar faces. The parking spaces were mostly vacant. The only other people around were a couple clinging to each other like newlyweds and a handful of teenagers hanging out at a picnic table. One of them was steadily carving something into the green-painted wood with a pocket knife, hunched into his jacket and trying unsuccessfully to hide behind his friend.

Dean might have only been twenty-eight in actuality, but he was sixty-five in spirit. Maybe this was the type of shit he would’ve done when he was younger to try to seem ‘edgy,’ but he wasn’t going to stand for it now—and maybe he wanted to take his frustration out on someone, just a little. Sue him, the outdoors made him itchy.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, stomping towards the kids. Their heads all jerked up at the sound of his voice, eyes wide. “Knock it off! Other people want to enjoy that table too, punks!”

The teenagers scattered like deer, and Dean thought that he’d maybe gone a little overboard, shouting like a lunatic at a bunch of kids. Boy, getting left to hike on his own really did a number on his psyche.

Just as the regret was really starting to sink in, he caught a flash of yellow go by.

Dean knew that yellow. It was painted onto the bike Castiel showed up to work on everyday. It lived on the bike rack ten feet away from Baby’s driver-side door. Dean could identify that shade of sunshine in his sleep.

Castiel braked and parked his bike, sliding off the seat in one fluid motion. He was looking in Dean’s direction and even raised his hand in a dorky half-wave that was more endearing than it had any right to be.

Dean was mortified. Castiel had to have witnessed his stupid outburst.

“Hello,” Castiel said as he strode over to Dean. He was kitted out in hiking boots, fitted cargo pants that pulled against his thighs as he walked—dear God, Dean was going to melt—and a zipped-up windbreaker. He even had a compact, rugged backpack slung over his shoulders.

The guy looked like he’d be right at home in a Patagonia ad. Or one of Dean’s wet dreams. Probably both.

He extended an arm, a wide smile crinkling his entire face. “Dean, isn’t it?”

Feeling supremely underprepared in comparison, Dean forced himself to nod and shook the outstretched hand. Castiel’s grip was firm, all business, the kind of handshake that sealed deals.

Damn, he’s stronger than he looks.

A flustered smile tilted one side of Dean’s mouth as he dropped Castiel’s hand.

This is the part where you respond, he reminded himself.

“That’s me. And you’re Castiel.” Duh. Everyone knew Castiel Novak. His name and face were always on the top-sellers board in the office foyer. Impossible to miss.

Castiel beamed, brighter than Dean thought possible. “I am. That was quite noble of you, by the way, defending the picnic table from those kids.”

At first, Dean thought Castiel was making fun of him. The salesman’s expression remained genuine, though. No traces of disapproval or provocation.

“I always tell myself I’ll be more confrontational when I see things like that, but I never am,” Castiel continued. “It makes me so sad to see public places defaced. I’m glad you did something about it.”

“O-oh,” Dean stammered. “Fuck, I mean, I was just— S’no problem, man.”

Castiel smiled at him again, and that was when Dean realized he was well and truly screwed.

At work, Dean always seemed like he was ticked off about something. But Castiel figured it might just be because he was stuck working a job that genuinely didn’t suit him. After all, with a face like that—chiseled cheekbones, a perfect cupid’s bow to his lips, piercing green eyes—and charisma to match, what did Dean Winchester have to be so upset about all the time? There had to be more to that story, and Castiel was dying to find out.

The fact that Castiel had managed to rattle this particular colleague amused him to no end, though he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Instead, he tried for a disarming smile. Honey over vinegar, right?

He hadn’t been lying about the picnic table, though. Castiel truly disliked seeing people ruin nice things for everyone else. If his brother were here, he would have told Castiel not to be such a snob about it, but that’s only because Gabriel’s own teenage rebellion was cut short when he had to face reality and support himself after he emancipated from their parents.

Speaking of…

“Gabe said we had at least five RSVPs,” Castiel said, turning to survey the area. He was usually punctual, but road construction had forced him to take a detour and he was later than he liked. While he figured there’d be latecomers, he didn’t think he’d be only the second one to show at 15 after the hour.

Dean was still staring at him when he turned back. “Well, you and I make two,” Dean said. “My brother would have made three, but he’s supposedly home sick with the flu. I assume Gabe was the fourth?”

“Yes, though he texted me his cancellation just before I left the house. Also suspiciously under the weather.” Castiel frowned down at the phone he pulled from his back pocket to check for missed calls. “But I guess it’s just about that time of year, hmm?”

Dean hummed, not sounding convinced in the least. “Well, let’s wait a bit and see if anyone else makes their way out here.”

Castiel waited with Dean for a full fifteen minutes before Dean threw his hands up and let out an aggravated sigh.

“What a waste of a drive,” Dean grumbled.

“Not necessarily,” Castiel replied, his heartbeat quickening. “We could still go on the hike.”

“What?”

“We could go on the hike,” Castiel repeated.

“Just the two of us?”

“Why not?”

Castiel held Dean’s gaze and forced his expression to remain calm and collected, nothing like the anxiety that was building up inside of him.

Why had he suggested that? Dean was going to think he was weird and say no or something, and then they would both leave and go back to only seeing each other in the hallways at work and Castiel would never get to speak to him again and—

“Sure.” Dean shrugged.

Castiel blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. Drove all this way out here to go on a hike, so I’m going on a damn hike.”

Less than ten minutes into the “outdoor adventure,” Dean was starting to kick himself for his decision to wear so many layers. He’d been comfortable in his t-shirt, flannel, and jacket when they’d just been standing around, but now that they were walking at a brisk pace in almost direct sunlight, he could feel the sweat gathering under his arms and along his back. There were much better reasons to be breaking a sweat, one of which was sauntering along beside him, greeting a squirrel chittering on an overhanging branch—like the squirrel could understand him, the goofball.

And why was that so adorable?

Before Dean could follow the train of his thoughts any further off the track, they came to a fork in the path and Castiel stopped to poke around in his pack for something. Dean paused to give himself a break as much as Castiel. He slid out of his jacket and tied it around his waist while Castiel extracted an honest-to-God paper guidemap and zipped up his bag.

Dean laughed. “Where’d you dig up that old fossil?”

Castiel looked up from the map and squinted, a frown gracing his mouth. “Stores still sell maps, you know. I like to be prepared in case of poor cell reception.”

Great. Now Dean had gone and offended him. “No, that’s smart,” he was quick to reply. “I was kidding, mostly.”

Castiel stared back blankly.

“It’s a Star Wars reference,” Dean clarified. “You know. Han Solo?”

“Oh. I didn’t understand it.”

“Yeah, I got that. Have you seriously never seen the movies? Harrison freakin’ Ford, man.”

“Guess I was more of a Clint Eastwood type of guy,” Castiel said with a shrug, looking back down at the map he was steadily unfolding in his hands.

Grateful for Castiel’s distraction, Dean pivoted on his heel to survey the surrounding area while fighting a rush of heat to his face. Castiel had just name-dropped one of the most iconic silver screen cowboys of all time.

So what if Dean had a cowboy fetish? So what if Dean was actively imagining Castiel wearing nothing but—

Dean cleared his throat and spun back around. “You’ve at least got opinions on Indiana Jones, right? That’s, like, genre-adjacent.”

“I can’t say I—”

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t seen that, either,” Dean interrupted, outward palms emphasizing his incredulity.

Castiel looked to the sky in mock annoyance. There was a hint of an impish smile on his face, though, and Dean might’ve missed it if he hadn’t already been staring at his lips. “Alright, then. I won’t tell you.”

“Dude.” Dean only managed to refrain from scoffing because he didn’t want to piss off the hot guy for real. “We have got to work on your pop culture knowledge.”

“Dean, the point of the hike is to unplug for a while. We can worry about my cinematic education the next time we hang out, alright?”

He might have protested, except for the realization of what Castiel was implying. “Wait, you’d want to get together again sometime?”

“Well… yes, if you’d be amenable to that,” Castiel murmured, cheeks a ruddy pink. Suddenly, Dean didn’t feel so self-conscious about his own blush, which had most assuredly deepened. “I realize that most people find me sort of strange, especially our coworkers, so please don’t feel pressured to indulge me.”

Dean stared at him for a minute. Castiel took the time to seemingly purposefully study the scenery around them, keeping only half of his face visible to Dean.

“Who told you you were ‘strange’?” Dean demanded.

The tone of his voice must have shocked Castiel, because he turned to look at Dean’s face, his eyebrows perched up near his hairline. However, his features soon settled into a frown, and he drew his bottom lip in between his teeth, looking embarrassed.

“You don’t need to be gentle with me, Dean,” he stated, and Dean tried desperately to prevent his mind from whirling down a path of how else that sentence may be interpreted. “Most of my team has told me one way or another that I don’t fit the mold of a salesperson. Bartholomew has been particularly vocal about his and others’ opinions on the matter.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean spat, shocking even himself with the vehemence behind the statement. Sure, he’d had an eye on the guy for a while now because of how absurdly attractive he was (how could you not), but through the little time he’d spent with him, even just today, he could tell that Castiel was so fucking sincere in everything he did. The idea of someone belittling him for it made Dean want to punch something. Or someone, based on Castiel’s shared information.

“Dean—” Castiel began, but Dean cut him off.

“No, Cas, seriously, that’s fucking ridiculous.” His arms were waving around without his permission and he probably looked like a crazy person (again), but this was important, dammit. “So what if you’re a little different from everybody else in the department? Personally, I think that’s a fucking fantastic thing. I can’t stand working on any of those guys’ computers because they’re all smarmy, smug shitheads. If anyone says you don’t fit the mold, it should be a fucking compliment. Also, Bart’s a whole other brand of asshole, so I don’t know that I would listen to anything he says.”

He finally made eye contact with Castiel again, a little sheepish over his outburst (and the berating of Castiel’s team), but Castiel was just… gazing at him, a small smile on his face. After a few seconds where Castiel still hadn’t said anything, Dean was starting to feel antsy. “What, dude?”

“You called me Cas,” he replied softly, the corners of his mouth curving up just a bit more. “And all those things you said were… Dean, that was so kind.”

“Nah, man, it was nothing, just—”

Castiel grabbed Dean’s bicep, effectively ending his sentence. “Thank you.” Dean could only nod at him, blinking, his voice having made a quick and orderly exit from the building. “You are also unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Oh,” Dean breathed, not barely aware of the sound he’d made. “Well, that’s…” He cleared his throat as Castiel’s eyes gleamed at him, before they looked down and to his left.

“Oh! Dean, look!” Castiel spun him carefully and pointed from around his back. “A chipmunk!”

It was difficult to focus with Castiel’s arm across his shoulder blades, but sure enough, on the edge of the trail, Dean found a tiny chipmunk chewing on something in its hands. It froze and blinked up at them, and Castiel let out a joyful sound before it took off down the path.

“Let’s see what else we can find!” Castiel exclaimed, abruptly pulling Dean forward from where their hands were now connected. When had that happened? “I read that there are nearly 200 species of birds along this route!”

Dean followed, an amused curiosity settling into his chest alongside eagerness to see where his companion might lead them.

It felt like they’d only been walking for a few minutes, the seconds flying by as they chatted easily under the late-afternoon sunlight which dappled the trail, filtering through the trees overhead. Once again, their boots crunched to a stop at a sign that indicated two possible directions, the first being back toward the parking lot and the other further up into the hills. Below the arrows, a colorful map—much like the one in Castiel’s hands—indicated their current location as well as the trails and other landmarks in the area.

Castiel compared the sign’s map to his own with a sigh. “Welp, this is the turnaround. I don’t know about you, but that was the shortest two-point-five miles I’ve ever walked.”

“No way. Already?” Dean stepped forward to examine the sign further, squinting against the sun in his eyes to look over the map. A moment later, he burst out laughing, and it took him several moments more to regain his composure. “Hold up. There’s a point-of-interest called Tit’s Peak? Dude, we gotta check that one out.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but its name comes from Poecile gambeli, also known as the mountain chickadee,” Castiel explained, directing a wry glance at Dean. “There’s nothing particularly titillating about it.”

Green eyes shined mischievously bright as Dean leveled his gaze on Castiel, a large, pleasantly surprised grin spreading across his features, before he let out what sounded like a hastily choked-back giggle. “Oh, man. You’re funny, too? That’s just unfair.” Before Castiel had a moment to ponder that, Dean continued, “Come on. After all that talk on the way up here, you can’t tell me you don’t want a chance to see the birds. Besides, can you imagine the look on Sam and Gabe’s faces when we tell them we got to see some gorgeous tits on our hike?”

“That sounds like a call from HR waiting to happen,” Castiel said in as serious a tone as he could muster, though he couldn’t keep the smirk away from the edge of his mouth.

Dean doubled over laughing again before starting off in the direction of the landmark. “Alright, Mr. Titillating, sure. It doesn’t look like it’s too far ahead. Let’s go!”

“I don’t know, Dean. That map can be deceiving. It’s at least another few miles and then we’ve got to turn around and get back before dark…”

“Please?” Dean stopped and turned, pleading by jutting out his lower lip. “Besides, my phone’s almost at full charge and I’m sure you’ve got a real flashlight in that Boy Scout pack of yours.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he stepped forward after Dean anyway. What could he say? The pouty freckled face was unfairly compelling.

“Okay, okay. Keep an eye out for a little gray-and-white bird with black markings.”

Dean talked a big game in his head when he looked at the trail map and thought he’d have no problem navigating them to their new destination, but the farther they walked, the less sure of himself he became. Each tree looked the same as the last and, although there was enough identifiable trail when they’d started out, the path had devolved into no more than crushed greenery underfoot, even more difficult to discern in the fading light of early evening. The trek was more difficult than either of them had been anticipating based on (their ostensibly poor interpretation of) the topography, and they found themselves at a near crouch in order to ascend while maintaining their centers of balance.

He tried not to let his worries betray him, though. Castiel was certainly still enjoying himself. No less than three times already, he’d stopped them with an excited touch to Dean’s shoulder, the other hand gesturing enthusiastically toward a specific species of beetle or one of the many birds flying about. They even spotted a fox darting into some far-off foliage thanks to the binoculars Castiel had withdrawn from some secret pocket. Like a freakin’ Rocky Mountains Mary Poppins.

Castiel knew an astonishing number of facts about wildlife and about nature in general. Apparently, he’d been kind of a hippie in college—at one point, he took a year off of school to hitchhike across the country, living off the land and ‘experiencing the universe as the universe experiencing itself,’ he’d told Dean somewhat sheepishly. It sounded like code for getting high by a bonfire, but Dean didn’t question it. He appreciated the mystery.

As they continued on, Castiel explained that he’d always felt more of a kinship toward animals than people, and Dean could understand that, to an extent. Dean himself didn’t have much faith in humanity these days, though the more he learned about Castiel, the more he reconsidered his position on generalizing the species as a whole. The man was an absolute delight. His gruff exterior was just that—an armor put on to protect him from those who might use his social awkwardness against him. Most folks, especially in the business world, respected a firm hand, and he’d had to work hard to mold himself into the corporate warrior his family expected him to be.

Dean felt a brief sense of loss that he hadn’t met Castiel sooner, though he was immensely thankful that their first real conversation had happened here, away from the heavy expectations and stupidly ingrained norms of the types of people they worked with. The ability to actually be himself around Castiel—to make geeky jokes and let some of his bravado drop—was freeing.

“The auto industry just ain’t the same these days, you know? Too much cheap plastic. And they all look alike.”

He’d been going on for the last five minutes about how his car was his pride and joy, his Baby. Castiel was listening diligently and, to his credit, had been asking encouraging questions as if he really cared. Coming from a guy who rode his bike everywhere in an effort to slow the ongoing decline of the planet, that meant a lot.

After a few moments of silence, Castiel spoke up. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking.” He paused, evidently continuing that very train of thought. “Y’know, Cas, you’re a pretty cool guy. A-and don’t go repeating this to my brother or anything, but I’m super glad he convinced me to give this a shot.”

The other man ducked his head for a moment, then raised it with a bashful smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

Fuck me, he sounds so earnest, Dean thought with a hopscotch heart, his cheeks beginning to flame. “Y-yeah… uh, thanks.”

His palms were sweating, which was stupid considering the chill in the air, but he stuffed them into the back pockets of his jeans as he walked beside Castiel up the last stretch of trail leading to the summit. It had evened out to where they were no longer advancing at such a quad-burning uphill climb, though there were precautionary guard rails present on one side of them now, given the sheer drops in certain spots. Not too much further ahead, he could make out a wooden sign engraved with the name of their destination. And past that, a small plateau sprinkled with broken chunks of boulders and more fencing formed the observation area.

A young man in jogging attire was stretching his legs against one of the rocks as Dean and Castiel approached. He nodded to them, then took off in the opposite direction, leaving them as isolated as before.

Dean took a seat on one of the flatter stones, facing the clearest view of the nature around them, and Castiel settled in on the other side of the makeshift bench. The sun was starting to put its final touches on the evening sky, transforming the heavens from bright golden yellow to a smudgy pink-orange. “Wow. This view sure is something else, huh?”

Beside him, Castiel was silent, probably distracted by the splendor of the park. Dean glanced back—and his breath caught in his throat. Castiel was looking dead at him, his smile tipping up just the slightest bit more when he saw Dean had noticed. Dean wanted to speak, say anything, but something in the distance behind Castiel caught Dean’s eye and effectively distracted him.

Perched atop an angled piece of fence was a smallish bird-shaped blob. The details were unclear at this range, but it looked to be a white body and black wings.

“Cas! Cas, look!” Dean all but shouted. He was determined to win this game of I Spy. “Is that one of them?”

“Shhshhshh,” Castiel hushed as he spun around, lifting the binoculars for a better look and swatting blindly back at Dean with his free hand. “Ah, no. The black markings aren’t quite right. I believe that’s a nutcracker.”

“Ouch. I feel sorry for the guy who named ‘em,” Dean laughed, and was gratified to hear Castiel join him. “How can you tell?”

“Their wings and tail have some black feathers. But they’re larger and more slender than the chickadee. Longer beaks. And no black on the head.”

“You sure you got your bird lore down pat?” Dean joked. “This is ‘Tit’s Peak’ after all. Let me have a go, wouldja?”

He plucked the binoculars straight out of Castiel’s hands and pulled them to his eyes without flipping them the proper way around. As expected, everything looked like it’d shrunk a good amount, the bird in question even more impossible to distinguish. He heard Castiel snort, so he turned towards him with a large grin. Castiel’s laugh was infectious, and he was gonna do his damndest to hear it as loudly and as often as he could.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said. “What’re ya doing all the way over there, buddy?”

“I think you’ll find that I’m quite close.”

Dean jerked at the proximity of Castiel’s voice and quickly lowered the binoculars. Castiel was directly in front of him now, staring at Dean with a sort of intense consideration that made Dean’s insides squirm.

“That’s what she said,” Dean said meekly.

Castiel blinked, brows furrowing.

“What?” he asked.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to keep a delirious smile off his face and nervous laughter out of his voice. “You said, ‘I’m close.’ … That’s what she said.”

Castiel stared at him for a moment before slapping a hand to his face.

“Dean,” he complained. “I get enough roasting from Gabe as it is. I don’t need it from you, too.”

Dean smirked. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he amended, the pet name popping into his head and tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. Maybe Castiel wouldn’t notice the slip-up if Dean steamrolled into his next trick. “Let me try again.”

He held the binoculars up to his eyes, this time the correct way, and made a theatrical sweep of the area. At the end of his exaggerated show, he distinctly landed his sights back on Castiel, who was biting his lip to keep from giving Dean the satisfaction of laughing.

“You’re the only chickadee I see.”

Castiel cracked up then, even as he shook his head, his smile brighter than the sun’s last bold rebellion against the darkness, setting fire to the sky. “Give me those,” Castiel said, holding out his hand for the return of his binoculars. “You obviously aren’t taking the birding seriously.”

Dean passed him the binoculars but froze when Castiel’s long fingers encircled his. The touch had been unintentional, probably, but he let his hand linger and lifted his gaze. His breath hitched like it wanted to stop and curl up right there in his chest, keeping him in this space between two heartbeats forever. Hell, he might just let it.

“Dean?”

“I wanna kiss you,” Dean said on a frantic exhalation. “Can I kiss you?”

Castiel’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. He nodded—slowly, small—his eyes on Dean’s mouth, and Dean leaned in.

This wasn’t the first first kiss of Dean’s life, by any means. He’d had a timid peck from a high school girlfriend. He’d traded rough, passionate kisses through a buzz of alcohol in the backseat of his car. He’d had the kind of kiss that comes after a round of Truth or Dare, shuffling closer on shy feet until someone made the first move amidst wolf-whistles and hooting and hollering.

Kissing Castiel was none of these things. It felt as natural as something he’d been doing his entire life with the excitement of a brand-new experience. He’d forged some sort of bond with Castiel, even in the short time they’d known each other. It was more than a smooched cheek but nowhere near the rushed crash of teeth and tongues where the only goal was to get off. Though his nerves were pulled taut as bow strings, every pulse strumming a duet shared between their bones, this kiss was unhurried and unafraid. Savoring the whiskey-smooth slide of lips on lips. The pleasantness of simply touching and being touched.

Then Dean felt his lips pull back from his teeth, and he was smiling, laughing, into Castiel’s mouth where his own expression was beginning to be mirrored. Dean, unwilling to let go—of Castiel or the moment—brought his hands up to cup the sides of Castiel’s face, tilting his head slightly and pressing their mouths closer to each other once more.

When they finally broke apart, they used the breather as an opportunity to appreciate the whole reason they went on this hike: the gorgeous view. Honestly, Dean had never really seen anything like it, and—he might deny it if said out loud, of course—enjoying it with Castiel made it a thousand times better.

They got caught up in the magic of it all—perhaps a bit too caught up, because by the time they decided they should begin heading back, they realized they were hopelessly turned around.

Not lost, mind you. Just turned around. Luckily, Castiel had had the foresight to bring a few supplies: some water bottles, a handful of granola bars, a small first aid kit, and an emergency blanket. No flashlight after all, but they still had their phones.

Dean, on the other hand, only had a pack of gum in one pocket and his wallet in the other. The wallet had nothing helpful, unless a flavored condom counted. (Hey, at least he was prepared for something, right?) But there was no need to panic. They just needed to figure out which way they’d gotten up to the peak and work their way backward.

Dean was studying the map, turning it this way and that in the final dusty scraps of daylight, when a sudden yelp sounded from behind him followed by snapping twigs and a series of undignified, pained grunts that grew quieter and quieter. He whirled around, sending up a quick prayer to whoever or whatever might be listening—oh no, please, I finally got to kiss him, don’t take him away from me now—but Castiel was gone.

“Cas?” Dean shouted, crumpling the map up into a ball that could be shoved into the backpack as he moved toward the ledge. “Cas!”

“I—I’m fine, Dean,” came from far, far below him.

“Dude,” Dean breathed. It was not a whimper, no matter what anyone said. His chin dropped to his chest, and he took a second to laugh in anxious relief as the adrenaline spike dipped, giving him emotional whiplash. “Man, you just rolled off a cliff. I don’t think ‘fine’ really covers it.”

“It was hardly a cliff,” he heard Castiel sigh, and Dean sent the strongest stink eye he could muster down toward the top of Castiel’s head, which he could just barely see through the brush. Sam would have been proud. “It was more of a ridge. Or a precipice, if you really wanted to be specific.”

“Asshole,” Dean mumbled to himself, hearing the smug smile in Castiel’s voice, but if he was with it enough to crack wise, it meant he probably hadn’t done something horrible like split his head open. It also meant Dean didn’t have to worry about finding enough cell service to call a damn ambulance, figure out how to get the fuckin’ thing to where they were, and then somehow make it back out.

Well, rescue helicopters were a thing, but that was beside the point. He didn’t even want to think about Sam’s reaction to Dean calling one of those.

This way, Castiel could possibly make his way back to Dean himself, or Dean had much more time to figure out a way down to him.

“Alright, buddy,” Dean called down, and he saw Castiel turn his head a bit and then those baby blues were peering up at him. Good, no spinal injuries. Castiel wasn’t paralyzed. All good things. “How ya feeling? You think you can walk?”

He watched as Castiel maneuvered himself onto his belly, and Dean had the fleeting thought that he was going to slither up the side of the cliff like a snake, but then Castiel yelped again, and the thought bubble popped. Huh. Maybe the elements were getting to him.

“I’m going to say that walking is out of the question,” Castiel muttered, but with a voice as deep as his, it carried. “I believe my ankle may be seriously sprained, if not broken.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Yes, thank you, Dean. That is very helpful.”

“Alright, alright, quit your bitchin’. I’m comin’.” Dean rolled his eyes as he started to pick his way down the slope, but he couldn’t keep a slight, fond smile from his lips. He then fought the urge to roll his eyes again at himself, because honestly… Castiel mumbling to himself about how a (potentially) broken ankle entitled him to some level of ‘bitching’ (and the fact that Dean could hear the air quotes) did not call for a chick flick moment.

He was calm. He was cool and completely collected. No rom-com moments to witness with Dean Winchester.

As he worked his way down, Castiel’s mutterings grew louder and more enthusiastic, and Dean couldn’t help himself. Castiel was detailing exactly what Dean could do to his ankle to see how he liked it, and Dean let out a startled bark of laughter. But just then, some of the underbrush slipped out from under his heel, and his arms pinwheeled as he slid about three feet down, a small, very manly shriek escaping him. He fell into a crouch, but promptly lost the bit of balance he’d found and landed hard on his ass. When he tried to correct and pick himself back up, he somehow twisted his body the absolute wrong way and ended up rolling down the rest of the slope, only finally coming to a stop once he was completely covered in dead leaves, twigs, and very, very cold mud. He lay on his back for a moment to gather his bearings, do a mental check to make sure nothing of his was broken, and stared up at the sky, contemplating the many different ways he could end his brother’s life for getting him into this mess.

“That was very smooth.”

The voice came from directly to his left and, sure enough, he’d stumbled his way right to his target. “Nailed it,” Dean proclaimed, grinning upside down at Castiel and more impressed by his own navigational skills than anything. Castiel merely arched an eyebrow at him, his injured leg stretched out in front of him with the other pulled up to his chest. Dean kept grinning and Castiel’s cheeks grew rosy, which just made Dean grin all the more. He rolled over onto his stomach before pushing up and walking over to Castiel on his knees. Castiel watched him with a look of resigned disbelief, but those cheeks got pinker and pinker, so Dean kept knee-walking closer and closer. He made it all the way over, stopping next to Castiel and wiggling into the mud for a moment in an imitation of getting nice and comfy, then leaned in, grasped Castiel’s jaw, and kissed him gently.

It was quick, soft, and dry—the total and complete opposite of their makeout session on top of Tit’s Peak; not that he was complaining—and Castiel blinked slowly up at him once he’d pulled away. Dean smiled once again and ran his thumb over Castiel’s lower lip.

“Thought I’d lost ya there, slugger,” he said dryly.

Castiel opened his mouth—likely to share some truly scathing commentary, based on his expression—but let out a pained gasp instead when he tried to shift. Dean instantly repositioned for a better look, pulling Castiel’s ankle into his lap for examination. As he tenderly turned it side to side, wincing at the bruises that were already forming, Castiel outright growled. When Dean looked up in mild surprise, Castiel grimaced.

“I apologize,” he murmured, staring down at his hands as they twisted in his lap.

“You don’t have to apologize, man. You did quite a number on this thing,” Dean said as he moved to rummage through Castiel’s backpack for the first aid supplies. “Was just thinkin’ we might have to change your nickname to Tiger, cause you sure didn’t sound like a chickadee just then.”

Castiel groaned and his head dropped back between his shoulder blades. Dean let out a triumphant noise—both for his quip’s reception and for successfully locating an elastic bandage—and started to take care of the wounded limb and all of its accompanying scrapes.

In the time it took Dean to tend to Castiel’s injuries, brush himself off, and hunt down Castiel’s now-shattered cell phone, night had nearly settled in. Although it’d be tough enough to stumble around with an injured ankle in the light of day, let alone when he couldn’t see two feet in front of him, the last thing Castiel wanted to do was stay out in the woods any longer than they absolutely needed to. Dean was convinced the best course of action was to stay put right where they were and see if Castiel’s ankle started to feel better, but Castiel insisted that he was well enough to begin the hike back—however sluggish the progress may be.

Once Dean had pulled Castiel up to his feet, Castiel tried to take a few steps. He managed to make it about a foot away from Dean’s unimpressed look of disbelief before he hit a slight incline that twisted his ankle just so. His leg gave out and a soft, involuntary “Ah!” escaped him. He huffed and grudgingly accepted that he didn’t have the strength to walk independently.

Dean ambled up next to Castiel’s position on the ground and dropped into a crouch, while Castiel kept his head facing away and steadfastly ignored him. It was quiet for a moment, and then Dean sighed.

“Here,” he offered, “let me help you.”

He practically lifted Castiel up and slung Castiel’s arm around his neck. Castiel swallowed when Dean’s arm wrapped around Castiel’s waist to stable him. Pressed up against Dean like this, Castiel could feel the hard planes of muscle that made up Dean’s arm and side. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Dean was much hotter and much fitter than the average IT guy—really, than the average person—but he hadn’t expected to be dealing with it at such close range.

If Castiel’s ankle weren’t throbbing, he’d have been very pleased with himself for managing to pull Dean in so close. As it stood, the sharp twinge that shot up the length of his nerves from ankle to hip commanded most of his brain capacity, especially once they started walking again. Given the situation—Dean supporting the weight of a grown man and a backpack full of gear—it wasn’t shocking that they weren’t getting anywhere quickly. Castiel had expected that, and his main concern was keeping himself from passing out, answering Dean’s random questions every once in a while, so he wasn’t too worried until about 45 minutes in, when they arrived in a clearing that seemed a little too familiar.

“Dean,” Castiel started, and his knight in plaid and blue jeans stopped immediately, turning to face Castiel and examining him worriedly.

“Dude, you okay? You’re not nauseous, are you? If you’re gonna puke, you’d better tell me ASAP, because I’m not gonna be able to handle the weight of that, too, and I’d rather not drop you like a sack of very sexy potatoes.”

Castiel wasn’t about to try to untangle that one.

“No, Dean. I’m not going to vomit, thank you.” He ignored Dean’s look of displeasure and continued, “It’s just… isn’t that the same rock formation we passed 20 minutes ago?”

Dean’s sight line followed the tilt of Castiel’s head, staring through squinted eyes at the stone hillside. He pursed his lips and a look of confusion flickered over his features, which Castiel did not only see because he was staring at the man so intently. Definitely not.

“It couldn’t be, man,” Dean grumbled. He tilted his head to the other side, away from Cas, and cracked his neck. “We’re working our way down the trail. We’ll find Baby shining in the starlight in no time.”

“I… yeah, but, remember? I said it looked like a Doberman with its tongue out. Dean, I think we’re really lo—”

“We’re not lost,” Dean interrupted. “We just gotta keep going this direction.”

“Okay, maybe Fido agrees with you.”

Castiel chuckled and reached around Dean’s back for the map.

There weren’t many things that Dean hated. Yeah, sure, if Sam were here, he would scoff and point out that every time Dean was even in the same room where someone mentioned Twilight, he’d go off on a 35-minute rant about sparkling vampires being the absolute worst creature to make a movie about, so it was obvious he hated supernatural lore butchered for the sake of catering to adults with questionable judgment and pre-teens (whose questionable judgment was safely assumed). But Dean refused to be criticized for being right. Other than that, he liked to think he was a pretty easy-going guy. But being proven wrong?

Yeah. He hated being wrong.

Unfortunately, Dean had clearly pissed off the universe or some deity somewhere, because he was so very wrong when he thought he could find the way back.

It was well past dark now, and Dean was tired and hungry and angry. He wouldn’t have expected Castiel to fare much better, but aside from the occasional winces when Dean jostled him the wrong way, the guy’s disposition was downright sunny. And while Dean would love to be able to admire that kind of optimistic outlook on life at the moment, his fatigue declined to cooperate.

To his credit, Castiel had been trying to keep their spirits up with more stories from his time in Appalachia, though his banter had grown less energetic the longer they soldiered on. After the third comment Castiel made that Dean acknowledged only with an exhausted grunt, Castiel’s weight suddenly went dead. Dean yelped and wrapped his arms around the other man, narrowly keeping him from slipping from his grip and into a rather large pile of damp leaves. He propped him against a tree trunk to glare into the dude’s face (because what the fuck), but when he got him upright, Castiel’s eyes were closed.

“Cas?” Dean barked. “Hey! Cas! Wake up!”

He tapped Castiel’s cheek lightly but repeatedly, trying to choke down fear. What if Castiel actually had hit his head in the fall earlier, and Dean had missed it? What if his brain had been bleeding this entire time, and now, because of Dean and his stupid inability to navigate anything that wasn’t a motherboard, Castiel was gonna die out here? God only knew how long it would take anyone to find them, and with Dean’s luck, he’d most likely have been eaten by jackalopes or the tailypo at that point.

Shit—he would finally find a person who actually seemed to enjoy his company and inane sense of humor, only to end up getting him killed. He should’ve just stayed home, Sasquatch brother be damned. He was gonna end up in prison.

Dean tried patting the other cheek, more forcefully. “Cas, don’t do this to me, man. C’mon, c’mon.”

Castiel groaned.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean breathed. “Cas, dude, what the hell?”

Dazed blue eyes slowly flitted around his face, taking in his panicked expression. “Why were you hitting me?”

Dean blinked. “Why was I hitting you? You passed out! I probably prevented a brain aneurysm. You should be thanking me for saving your life!”

“I don’t think that’s how you fix an aneurysm,” Castiel mumbled, picking his weight up off of Dean and moving to stand on his own. He was still majorly favoring his bad ankle, so Dean kept his hands out, hovering around Castiel’s midsection just in case he toppled over again. “And I didn’t really pass out, per se.”

Dean snorted. Castiel was making a scowly face at the trees, seemingly determined to keep from looking at him. Hey, Dean could understand if the guy was embarrassed, but facts were facts.

“The hell you didn’t. I literally just caught the full brunt of a whole lot of muscle when you lost consciousness. If that wasn’t a fainting spell, then I’m Batman.”

Castiel was still refusing to look at him, but Dean was ninety percent sure Castiel’s cheeks had darkened, the man’s arms coming up to cross his chest. The fabric of his jacket stretched around the bulk of his biceps, and Dean found the saliva in his mouth mysteriously lacking as the few streaks of moonlight seemed to shine directly on the mountains and valleys those muscles created.

And Dean was pretty proud of his own physique, alright? He did what he needed to keep himself looking good for the people he wanted to impress, and the resulting strength sure didn’t hurt when lifting boxes full of laptops or the ancient computer monitors some of the older employees insisted on riding until they died. But looking at Castiel? If hiking made him look like that, Dean needed to commune with nature more often. Especially if he got to do so with Castiel.

As he stood there considering what other ways he might like to commune with Castiel, he noticed the object of said thoughts was starting to sway where he stood. He moved forward and touched Castiel’s arm gently, noticing how the man didn’t even start at the sudden sensation. That… probably wasn’t great.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said softly. “You’re lookin’ pretty beat, and I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with your ankle like this, and there’s less goddamn light out here than on a cloudy night in Gotham City. I think we might be better off finding a place to settle in until we’re able to see where we’re going.”

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but it morphed into a yawn, and he stumbled a bit with the force of it, falling right into Dean’s arms. He sighed, looking extremely put out, but grumbled, “I think you may be correct.”

“Come on—there’s a spot up there that looks like it could keep us from becoming bear food.”

“There aren’t any bears here, Dean.”

“That’s what the bears want you to think.”

Castiel was beginning to grow attached to Dean Winchester, he would admit to that, but right now, he kind of wanted to strangle him. They (or, rather, Dean) had found a large divot in the rocky slopes that made up the winding trail. After ensuring the outcropping wasn’t deep enough to conceal an animal den of any kind, Dean had ushered Castiel inside and lowered him to the ground, tucked against the wall. Like a gentleman, he’d given Castiel his jacket to use as a pillow. Then, like the well-meaning dumbass Castiel was discovering he was, he’d sat directly in front of Castiel’s outstretched body to keep watch for threats unknown (see: nonexistent).

While Castiel had the benefit of Dean’s long frame blocking most of the chilly night air, Dean was shivering, negating any real rest Castiel might have otherwise gotten.

“Dean, you’re shaking.”

“I am not—I have no idea what you’re t-talking about,” he stuttered through chattering teeth, and Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes for the fourth time in as many minutes.

“You don’t need to sit up all night. We’ll be fine here until morning—I promise. I’ve been to this park many times, and the most dangerous wildlife around are snakes and maybe some species of spider.” Dean started to turn, stars illuminating the slow panic creeping in, so Castiel quickly continued. “Most insects and arachnids seal themselves away when it gets cold and go dormant, and reptiles brumate.”

“Brumate? Like those fancy wine tumblers? Sammy’s got one of them at home.”

Castiel pinched the meat of Dean’s hip playfully, making the other man squirm, then reached for his pack. “Brumation is to cold-blooded animals as hibernation is to warm-blooded animals.”

Dean grinned, and Castiel could feel the tense line of him relax. “You’re such a nerd.”

“I thought you liked that about me,” Castiel said with a pout as he removed the emergency blanket from his bag.

“Don’t worry, I do. I, uh, really do, actually.”

Ah.

Castiel was glad it was too dark for Dean to notice he was blushing. He cleared his throat.

“Come sit with me?”

“You’re laying on the ground, Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Come lay with me, then.”

“Lay with you, huh?” Dean asked, and Castiel could practically hear his eyebrows lifting suggestively.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said. “You’re just as tired as I am—more, probably, since you helped me walk. Get some sleep.”

“But what about—”

“Dean,” Castiel firmly interjected. “We’ll be fine.”

They stared at one another for a few moments, but Castiel could be stubborn when he wanted. Finally, Dean relented. He shuffled closer to Castiel and gestured. “How are we going to do this?” he asked.

Castiel hummed and drummed his fingers as he thought. Then he shifted himself forward to create a space between himself and the rock wall.

“Come here,” he said, patting the newly open space and swallowing down the heart that had leapt into his throat. The purpose was to get Dean warm, after all. It definitely wasn’t because Castiel liked the thought of sleeping next to him. It was a purely pragmatic move.

Dean essentially crawled over Castiel, jack-knifing into a (frankly comical) Downward Dog-type pose to avoid an ungraceful collision with Castiel’s “sensitive bits,” and laid down next to him. Castiel threw the blanket over Dean and tucked it around his side, making Dean laugh over his mother-henning. Dean’s skin was far colder than Castiel would have expected, and he scooted in closer to the man next to him, hoping to spread as much body heat as possible.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t realize it could get this fuckin’ freezing out here at night,” Dean groused, moving closer to Castiel—slowly, like if he was subtle enough, Castiel might not notice. Castiel fought a contented smile and moved his own inch closer to Dean.

He was hyper-aware of their positions—it was impossible not to be. Dean was pressed up against his back in a way that made it impossible for Castiel to not think less-than-wholesome thoughts. He was only human, after all.

It would be so, so easy to turn around and press his lips to Dean’s. Castiel’s face heated at the thought. They’d kissed twice already—surely once again would be no big deal.

“Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean hummed, his breath a warm tickle against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel licked his lips. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sure Dean could feel it.

“Cas?”

“My lips are cold,” Castiel blurted.

“Your… What?”

“My lips,” Castiel said, clearing his throat. “They’re cold.”

Dean did not say anything, and Castiel began to fret, sure that he’d crossed some sort of line.

“Are— are you making a move on me?” Dean finally asked, chuckling.

Castiel knew his face was dark red.

“I was trying to,” he grouched as he glanced over his shoulder to glower at Dean.

Dean started laughing harder. “Buddy, that might have been the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We can’t all be as charming and suave as you, Dean—”

“You think I’m charming and suave?”

Castiel spluttered. “That’s not the point! I’m trying to—”

“Kiss me?” Dean interrupted. Castiel couldn’t make out his face clearly but he knew Dean was smirking. Arrogant bastard. Stupidly attractive, endearing, hilarious, and sweet arrogant bastard. Frankly, it was rude that a man like Dean could even exist to make fun of Castiel like that.

“Not anymore!”

Dean laughed once more, then leaned up and over and pressed his lips to Castiel’s, evaporating all of his worries.

“Damn,” Dean said, pulling back by only an inch. “Your lips are cold.”

“Well, it wasn’t entirely a ploy,” Castiel said grumpily. He kissed Dean again.

They lost themselves in kisses, in the feel of each other—Dean’s fingertips carding through Castiel’s hair and Castiel flipping toward Dean so his palms could cradle Dean’s face, thumbs running over his cheekbones even as he pulled him in for more—until Dean disrupted the pattern with a yawn. Castiel patted his cheek gently and snuggled in close, tucking his face under Dean’s chin as Dean wrapped his arms tighter around Castiel’s body.

It was quiet for several minutes—Dean was teetering on the verge of sleep, just thinking about how nice it was to be sharing Castiel’s body warmth—when he heard Castiel say, “Dean?”

He didn’t open his eyes, but he rubbed his chin mildly into the top of Castiel’s head to indicate that he was listening. “Whassamatter, Chickadee?”

Castiel straight-up giggled at the endearment, but sobered enough to elaborate. “I, uh, don’t think Gabe and Sam really have the flu.”

Dean sat upright. Castiel got jerked halfway up with him, letting out a sort of outraged squawk when his arms unlocked from around Dean’s middle and he fell back to the ground. “What?!” Dean demanded.

On the ground, Castiel had his arms up above his head and crossed over his eyes. “That was so dramatic,” he said matter-of-factly.

Dean flicked an armpit and Castiel jumped, then turned a glare on him that looked liable to melt stone. Seriously. Dean almost checked his shirt to make sure holes hadn’t been burned into the fabric.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t think Sam and Gabe really have the flu’?”

Castiel shrugged. “I asked Gabe to set up this event because, frankly, I thought that if I was the one to send out the invitation, no one would show. And I was hoping to make a friend, considering the most anyone talks to me is in meetings. I figured I might at least earn a hello in the hallways, but I should’ve considered how meddling my brother can be.”

There were a couple seconds of silence before Dean started moving back into Castiel’s embrace, saying quietly as he went, “I would’ve said hi to you, Cas. And I definitely wouldn’t’ve needed to be dragged here by my meddling brother if you’d set this up yourself.”

“What?”

Dean turned over in Castiel’s arms, facing him with cheeks he was sure were the color of raspberries. He could literally feel the heat coming off them—Dean had the distant thought that it might have been enough to spark a fire to keep them from freezing off their family jewels, but he shook it off. Castiel made his brain fuckin’ ridiculous.

He reached out to grab the hem of Castiel’s shirt, tugging on a loose thread and watching it slip through his fingers to avoid Castiel’s gaze when he said, “I, uh, may have been talking a little bit about you to Charlie recently. And Sam. And maybe some others. Like my mom.”

Castiel hummed, but didn’t say anything, so Dean mustered his courage and looked back up to Castiel’s eyes. He was smiling—a precious, affectionate thing—and his eyes almost seemed to twinkle, twin stars against the night sky. Like some fuckin’ Santa Claus in a Christmas movie, or something. It made Dean’s breath catch in his chest, though, and he didn’t remember Kris Kringle ever having that effect on him.

“Talking about what?”

“I may have been telling them about this really hot guy that works in Sales, who’s got these fuckin’ ridiculously blue eyes, and whose smiles light a room up like the sun, and who has the most stupidly adorable crinkles on the sides of his eyes when he does. Maybe.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, clearing his throat and lamenting the fact that he no longer had a way to hide his face. He settled for staring up at the sky, clearing his throat once more. “Yep.”

“I must confess that I’ve spoken to Gabe about you before. More than once. More than a few times, actually,” Cas said timidly, and Dean dropped his chin quickly to lock eyes with him.

“Really?”

“You’re easy to talk about.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was a compliment!” Cas said in a rush. “Of course it was a compliment, Dean. How could it not be?”

“Hey, I know,” Dean replied quietly, lowering himself to snuggle back into Castiel’s arms. They wrapped around him so effortlessly, so automatically, that Dean felt his heart melt in his chest. “I know. Just teasin’, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas audibly swallowed, his arms briefly tightening around Dean’s waist. “Well, now what?”

“I think… that I’d like to take you on a date—a real date. One with a bar, or a restaurant—somewhere that serves burgers and beer. You like burgers, right?”

“I do.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was worried I’d have to break up with you already.”

“Dean,” Cas said, sounding unamused.

“Just joking,” Dean said. He moved his head up from Cas’s chest and pressed a quick peck to his lips as an apology (and not for selfish reasons whatsoever) before nuzzling back into the valley between his pecs. They made lovely pillows.

“A date, then?”

“Yep,” Dean murmured. “A date. Gonna date you, Cas. So much of a date. Put that shit on the calendar.”

He was drifting off, beginning to talk nonsense, so he pressed his face harder into Cas and focused on succumbing to the sandman. Cas hummed a few measures of some delicate tune, vibrating the side of Dean’s face and almost creating some white noise, before his arms slackened slightly around Dean as the song tapered off. His breathing evened out, and as Dean also drifted into sleep, he couldn’t help but feel very, very lucky for getting roped into a hike with Castiel.

Castiel woke to a cacophony of near-constant bird chatter coming from what sounded like directly above him. But that didn’t make much sense. He was cozy—even if not exactly comfy, for some reason—and why would birds be up above his bed? Unless Gabriel had decided it was a fantastic idea to leave one of his windows open again.

When he cracked an eyelid open, it all came rushing back, and he realized the warmth he had nuzzled into just seconds before was emanating from the very broad and firm chest of one Dean Winchester.

Oh, right. He wasn’t comfortable because they were on the ground. In the middle of the forest. And his ankle was busted.

He sighed, knowing that people might start to enter and roam the park grounds with the impending light of dawn. The last thing he wanted was to be discovered curled up under an emergency blanket with a guy who, unfortunately, was still covered in mud, leaves, and twigs from his trip down the incline to rescue Castiel’s clumsy ass. He simply couldn’t think of a single explanation that would make the situation seem even slightly normal. So, he straightened his legs, stretching the muscles and sucking in air when he accidentally flexed the ankle that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

After breathing through the pain, he attempted to extricate himself from Dean’s grasp, but Dean positively would not let go. He seemed to be just as attached to his sleep and the positions he ended up in as Castiel was, and Castiel tried not to let affection blossom too much at the thought.

Finally, once he had wiggled free one inch at a time (holding back an entirely masculine noise of adoration when Dean grumbled about someone taking his teddy bear), he rolled to the edge of the blanket and sat up. He tilted his head left, then right, already dreading the verbal lashing he was going to get from Balthazar at his next chiropractic appointment. His neck sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies—and Snap, Crackle, and Pop were not his friends.

Once he’d worked out some of the tension and checked to make sure he hadn’t disturbed Dean (he hadn’t—Dean was still snoring, arms open where Castiel had been), he looked to his left.

“Oh.”

He turned and shoved Dean gently on the shoulder. “Dean, wake up.” Dean didn’t move. “Dean.” Castiel pushed him with both hands, and the other man rolled over once before popping up on his elbows and glaring. His hair was sticking up in a few places, and Castiel thought he looked like a cranky hedgehog.

“What?”

Castiel pointed over his shoulder. “I think I found Baby.” He looked back in that direction before turning to face Dean again, watching the understanding slowly creep onto his face as bleary eyes adjusted.

The Impala was parked just where Dean had left her—no more than a Little League field away from the spot where they’d hunkered down. If they’d endured just a little longer, they’d have reached the edge of the parking lot and been able to orient themselves. The park gate still would have kept them locked in, but at least they could have slept in the shelter of the car.

He watched as Dean worked his way into a sitting position, going through the same song and dance Castiel had, trying to manipulate the ten thousand knots that had no doubt worked their way into his shoulders and back. But as he regained the inches he’d lost from the contraction of his spine, Dean’s eyes went wide.

“For fuck’s sake,” he breathed. “She was right there the whole damn time?!”

Castiel sighed. “Yes, it seems she was.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean whined and flopped back down on the ground, but the action ended with a harsh crunch and Dean’s face screwed up tight, his mouth partially open and only allowing quick, shallow breaths. Castiel immediately moved over him, hands fluttering around Dean’s arms while trying to determine the best way to assist. What if he’d seriously damaged a vertebra, or hit some vital nerve? What if, after a night of sleeping on the ground, Dean’s body had finally said ‘enough’ and exacted its revenge?

“Dean? Are you okay? How can I help?”

“Dude,” Dean groaned. “I think I landed on a rock. That hurt like hell.”

Moving to grasp Dean’s hand and give him something to squeeze to work through the pain, Castiel opened his mouth to ask what hurt most when Dean’s phone rang out a cheerful guitar riff.

“Hey, buddy, you mind getting that for me?” Dean was still on his back, fully crushing Castiel’s hand now, but his voice was starting to return to the lower pitch Castiel had gotten familiar with. “Sammy’s probably freaking out that I haven’t made it home.”

Castiel nodded and dug into Dean’s pockets, trying to determine which one held the electronic device.

“Damn, Cas, take a guy to dinner first.”

“Shut up,” he chided, but there was no heat behind the words. “And I think this experience counts as more than enough of a first date. Dinner will be our second.” He finally found the phone—briefly noting the caller ID—and answered, watching Dean’s cheeks grow pinker and pinker as he sputtered. “Hello?”

“Oh,” Sam blurted, and Castiel could practically feel the confusion coming through the screen. It was quiet for a few moments before he heard Sam mumble, “Well, this went swimmingly.”

Castiel jerked his head back, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. But as he went to ask what, exactly, Sam could mean by that and why he didn’t sound sick in the slightest—a very familiar voice came across the line, just barely audible in the background.

“No way. It worked?”

Castiel was going to kill Gabriel. Slowly. Painfully. He’d get creative with it, too. Really make the message stick.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it between them, hitting the speaker button with so much force, he was honestly a little surprised the screen didn’t crack. Dean had been watching him from his now half-sitting position, and he stared at his phone in Cas’ hand.

“Who—?”

“Sam,” Castiel growled, and Dean’s facial expression morphed to match that meme of the man blinking. “Let me talk to my brother.” There was an awkward cough from Sam’s end of things before the call got both louder and fuzzier.

“You’re on speaker,” Sam gritted out, voice rough.

“Hiya, boys!” Gabriel called. Castiel heard a choked off laugh on their end. He was strongly considering including Sam in his vividly detailed Gabriel murder plan. “You two have a nice hike?”

“I am going to murder him,” Dean declared, staring impassively up at the sky. Castiel resisted the urge to give him a high-five.

“It sure seems like you had a nice hike, which means our plan worked perfectly! Oh, it warms my cold, dead heart to picture the two of you snuggled up together for an extended period of time. I think some thank yous for me and Sammy boy may be appropriate!”

“And I think you’ll be impressed by the number of innovative methods I’ve devised to remove your soul from this mortal plane,” Castiel said flatly. Dean gave him a thumbs up.

“Really, Cassie? I’m touched.”

Yeah, in the head, maybe.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Guys,” Dean cut in, finally in a full sitting position, leaning into Castiel’s side. “Cas fell off a cliff. He sprained his ankle and we had to sleep in the fucking woods. We could have died!”

“And Dean may have just injured a vertebra,” Castiel added for good measure, sparing the embarrassing detail of how.

Gabe’s voice was muffled, but still audibly smug. “Injured a vertebra, huh? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

There was some shuffling, a slightly strangled shout from Gabe (“What? It sounds hot!”) before Sam’s voice came back, louder than before. “Wait, what? What happened?”

Castiel watched as Dean’s eyes slid over to his, and even though absolutely nothing about this was funny, he almost broke down into hysterics at the exasperated expression on Dean’s face.

“He doesn’t listen to a goddamn thing I say,” Dean muttered. Castiel hiccuped on a giggle.

“I resent that, Dean.”

“I resent you.”

“Oh-kay,” Sam laughed. “You’re obviously fine. Castiel, are you really okay? Do we need to come help you guys?”

Castiel sighed. He honestly felt alright. His ankle had even stopped its sharp throbbing from his initial movement this morning and was sending out significantly fewer distressed pain signals. Did he need Sam and Gabriel to come help them, with their overly pleased smiles and Gabriel’s smug attitude?

No. No he did not.

What he really needed was something more filling than granola bars and something caffeinated inside his stomach and an actual bed with an actual mattress. He almost moaned aloud at the thought of getting back to the most wonderful place on the planet: the cushiony sheets and pillows waiting for him at home.

“No,” he said, resigned, at the exact same time that Dean shouted, “Yes! Right now!”

All four of them stopped talking for a moment before Castiel heard Gabriel murmur, “Aw, they’re already having their first lovers’ spat.” And Castiel promptly hung up. Dean let out a bark of laughter.

Castiel smiled. The fact that he could make Dean laugh, even if it was at the cost of his own frustration, still left him in awe. He’d never really found someone who got his sense of humor, not to mention shared it. But even his strangest idiosyncrasies hadn’t seemed to faze Dean, and Castiel was left wondering if the man before him may be some sort of fever dream—possibly brought on by the “flu” Gabriel and Sam had been so suddenly affected by.

“Well,” Dean started once he’d calmed. “I think we should go get your ankle checked, buddy.”

Castiel shook his head as they both clambered to their feet. Once there, he put some extra weight on his ankle and was pleasantly surprised when he found it could carry most of his body weight without sending him to the ground. “I just want food. And a shower. And a bed.”

Dean’s phone chirped again. With a small grunt of pain, he crouched back down to grab it from its position on the blanket and grinned when he read whatever was waiting for him there. He typed a rapid staccato with both thumbs before shoving the device into his back pocket, stuffing the blanket into Castiel’s backpack, and hoisting the bag onto his shoulder.

“That,” he said while looping his arm through Castiel’s and starting them on a cautious stroll to the car, “can be arranged, Chickadee. Your bike is being picked up, and I just negotiated the deal of a lifetime.”

Opening the Impala’s passenger door for Castiel and helping him in, Dean continued, “As Sam’s punishment for meddling in his much smarter, much more handsome older brother’s love life, the Winchester home will be empty for the rest of the day.”

When Dean climbed into the driver’s seat, Castiel felt the chassis give quietly as it adjusted to the balance of their combined weight. “And, it just so happens that this same older brother makes an excellent omelet, has an en suite shower with the best water pressure in the apartment, and owns a very comfy, ludicrously overpriced memory foam mattress,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in Castiel’s direction as he turned the key into the ignition cylinder. Castiel bit his lip against a laugh, trying to keep the butterflies in his chest from bursting free. “Whaddya say?”

Castiel pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping an index finger to his cheek. “I say… under one condition.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“We put that memory foam to good use.”

Dean grinned and swooped in to catch Castiel’s lips in a kiss of sweet, molten heat that bloomed in Castiel’s chest and spread throughout his limbs.

He’d never tell Gabriel, but this was one time Castiel was thankful for his meddling brother.

And if Sam let his boredom get the better of him, arriving home early enough to walk in on a scene he’d rather drink bleach than witness?

Well, Sam had been warned. He’d just have to deal with the consequences of reaping what he’d sown—mental scars and all.