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“The big miracle is your power to raise the dead. Love does that. And it raised me, too. How alive do you think I was— before?” - Kurt Vonnegut
It was late at night when Dean heard the telltale footsteps of someone walking down the Bunker hallway toward the kitchen where he sat. Judging by the rhythmic tapping and heavy footfall Dean knows it’s Castiel— who never had to learn how to step heel to toe within his vessel in order to move silently through the halls. Dean should be comforted knowing that Cas will come in and want to hear more about the Mrs. Butters incident that he’s sure Jack just got done telling him all about, but it just makes him grip his glass of whiskey harder.
He doesn’t want to talk about all the celebrating and fun because he doesn’t know how to do it without feeling like there’s something missing. He feels like not enough time has passed since purgatory and his pleading prayer to Cas to feel confident that Cas won’t want to leave again at his next mistake. He— he doesn’t have enough time to think of an excuse to get up because Cas is rounding the corner and Dean has to look up and plaster on one of his smiles, one he often uses to get Sam to stop asking him if he’s okay after a hunt goes wrong.
“Hey Cas, whe-” Dean starts. He wants to ask where Cas was, but the creeping feeling that he’s going to say the wrong thing again grows up his throat and stops him from continuing.
Cas seems to notice, but instead of saying anything, he turns his look of concern into a soft smile. Dean doesn’t deserve that.
“Hello Dean, I hear you’ve had an exciting past couple of days.”
Cas is already sitting down on the stool next to Dean—not across like any normal person would do. He’s looking at Dean like he’s trying to understand why Dean is out here in the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey while everyone else in the Bunker is asleep in their rooms. It’s not like he will find anything—Dean doesn’t know why he’s out here anyway. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he knew Cas wouldn’t seek him out if he was tucked away in his room this late at night. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with this gnawing neediness in his chest to be around Cas, especially now, but not knowing how to just say it without sounding pathetic. Kneeling on the ground in purgatory was the closest he ever came to admitting it, and Dean’s not about to recreate that scenario. It takes him a second to realize there was more to what Cas saying but he was too busy thinking about himself to realize. Stupid.
“-ean? Are you listening?”
“Y-yeah, m’sorry I’m just tired. What did you say?”
“I was saying Jack told me that you made them a cake. I thought that was very kind. I just wish I had been here to see it.”
There it is.
“It’s no big deal, we celebrated Sammy’s birthday too. Well, Mrs. Butters had more of a hand in that,” Dean lets out a short laugh, “and she did a better job with the cake than me.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Cas says softly, “Jack showed me a picture, and besides, who made the cake and the meaning behind it means a lot more I’m sure. Someone once told me that food made with love tastes better.”
Dean can feel the tips of his ear heating up and he turns his face to the wall to stop Cas from seeing what he’s sure is a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. How can Cas just say that stuff so easily like it doesn’t hit Dean’s chest and make his breath come out uneven? He needs to say something to get this conversation back on track.
“Yeah well, there’s still some left if you want a piece.”
He gets up, not even waiting for a response from Cas, and walks over to where the cake is sitting on the counter under the metal cover. He pulls a plate off the drying rack by the sink and cuts a small piece. It feels good, to be moving and using his hands and getting food on a plate to give to someone.
“Jack also showed me the pumpkins you carved too. I have to say I did find yours a bit grotesque,” Cas is saying as Dean searches for a fork. Dean can’t help but let out a laugh as he sets down the plate in front of Cas.
“C’mon man! It’s genius. I mean a pumpkin throwing up its own inside guts. Besides, that’s how it feels to even touch the inside of one.”
Dean’s shaking his hands out as if they were wet and he’s trying to dry them.
“Very well, I think maybe I’d like to try to carve one sometime. I’ve even read that you can bake the seeds and I think that could be fun.”
“Yeah, we could do that!” Dean says. He doesn’t know how Cas does it. How he always manages to make Dean feel better. But also worse because he knows he doesn’t know how to give it back in a way that matters. So he tries.
“Y’know, we can celebrate your birthday too.”
“Dean, I am an angel. I’m older than time. I don’t have a date of birth.”
“Well, we can make one up! It doesn’t matter. Don’t you want to celebrate something about you?”
“I don’t know, Dean. It just doesn’t seem that important to me. It’s enough to be back in the Bunker with everyone.”
Dean’s stomach turns in. He doesn’t know why this is so important to him. He notices— belatedly— that Cas hasn’t even taken a bite of the slice of cake placed in front of him. Now Dean is determined. He wants Cas to feel celebrated. He wants Cas to know that he is wanted here— that if he had to do it again he would want to beg Cas to stay, even if he’s not sure he would be able to.
“C’mon man, your birthday is like the one day you get to force people to be nice to you. Besides, it’s kinda nice knowing everyone is together in one place and it’s not for something bad for once. I can bake another cake and we can have a movie night and you can finally pick the movie and I won’t even comment on your choice this time! And—”
Dean trails off. He realizes he’s been rambling, and Cas’ rejection to it is starting to make his throat feel tight and his shoulders tense up. Cas just looks at him like he’s considering something. Or like he’s looking at Dean, really looking at him. It makes Dean feel like he wants to shrink down to escape, but also maybe for once not. Cas feels like warmth and safety and lately like this overwhelming something he feels every time he meets Cas’ eyes across the room or places his hand on his shoulder as he’s walking past.
Cas opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes it as he reconsiders his argument. Dean is quick to change the subject— wanting to be the one in control of the rejection. The warmth he was feeling earlier over the thinking about celebrating Cas is gone.
“Just forget about it, man. We don’t have to celebrate your birthday. Just forget I said anything,” Dean mumbles as he lifts his forgotten whiskey glass to his mouth and downs the three fingers he poured earlier, his last words getting caught in the echo of the glass. He goes to pour more, but the thought of sitting here any longer is making his leg bounce— electricity thrumming through him now.
“Dean, I—“
Fuck it. Dean pours another three fingers. He can hear Cas swallow hard. It’s funny the things Cas does now to appear more human even when he doesn’t need to just to fit in. Here he is, sitting down with Dean acting human, trying to understand, and Dean is just acting like an asshole like always. Like he forgets that it wasn’t that long ago that he said the wrong things and it made Cas leave. But Cas continues, determined to finish.
“I’m wondering if maybe you would like to celebrate your birthday.”
Dean scoffs. It’s not about him, it's about Cas. How does he explain that it can’t be about him, not ever? He’s too selfish as it is, the idea of people coming together for him is too much.
“It’s not about me,” Dean settles with saying, “I don’t— I can’t—”
Except maybe he does want it.
“You just got done telling me why we should celebrate my birthday. I don’t think it’s incorrect to apply the same logic to you. Except that in all the years I’ve known you I can’t recall a time we did celebrate your birthday.”
“Cause something has always come up. If you can’t tell we’ve pretty much been a part of some crisis every year. Besides, I ain’t ever celebrated my birthday growing up so I guess it doesn’t matter for me.” It can’t be about me.
Dean is recalling all the years he spent staying up in the motel thinking John will come back and remember. Or waking up a year and few months after his mom had died and for the first stumbling moments between wakefulness and unconsciousness thinking he smelled pancakes like his mom always made on birthday mornings.
“I think it should matter to you.”
In a moment of weakness, Dean admits something that hurt him earlier.
“Mrs. Butters… she had mentioned to me that I’m too old to want to celebrate my birthday,” He tries to laugh to make it come out light, but it falls flat, “sorry Cas, but I think you missed the train there buddy.”
“That’s nonsense, Dean. I think you’re never too old to celebrate. Especially the lifestyle you lead. I think every year you grow older should be cause for celebration. Even the physical displays of aging like the grey hairs I notice lining your beard when you let it grow in, or the lines that come out when you smile.”
Dean blushes again.
“I just wanted to do something special for you, Cas”
Dean doesn’t know what it is, maybe it’s the late hour or the whiskey he’s had finally hitting him, or just the strong pull of Cas’ body heat on his side that makes him want to lean over and drown in it to finally feel warm again. He said something that in the past would have had to be yanked out of him, but tonight he’s offering it freely.
“What if I said that it would be special for me to see you get to celebrate a birthday,” Cas responds with a slight tilt of his head, “Would you let us do that?”
Dean’s quiet. He thinks about what it would mean. For Cas and Jack and Sam and hey maybe even Eileen and Jody and Donna and Claire and Alex an— and yeah for everyone to be together, in one place, and happy. He thinks he would like that.
“Y-yeah, Cas, I would let you do that,” Dean says carefully, using the language that Cas gave him to make it easy to answer.
“I would like that very much. I will talk to Sam and Jack tomorrow and we can set something up. I know your birthday has already passed this year but seeing as you celebrated Sam and Jack’s this week I don’t think it would be too out of place to celebrate now. I want to do something to make you happy.”
As Cas is talking he places his hand on Dean’s arm, making his fingers wrap around Dean’s wrist. Dean actually maybe feels himself grow warmer. Like it starts in the tiny sliver of skin to skin he feels just off the cuff of his flannel and grows up his arm until it’s filling up his body. Like how it feels when Can heals him with his grace. He’s holding onto Dean like he knows that too many kind words will make Dean want to get up, to flee, to do anything to get away.
Cas continues, “I know that everything with Chuck lately has made it hard to believe you can be happy— that your happiness is not your own— but it can be Dean. And we will defeat Chuck and we will get our happy ending.”
Cas sounded so sure of everything. Dean wants to believe it. Just like he wants to believe that the pressure behind his eyes is from lack of sleep and not tears that threaten to push out. With Cas sitting right next to him it feels inevitable.
“I want pie— cherry,” is all Dean manages to say, his voice sounding strained in a way he hates. All Cas does is tighten his grip slightly and nod his head.
“Cherry it is,” he says smiling.
“…and I want to watch Lost Boys and I don’t want to hear anyone complaining.”
“Of course Dean, it’s your day.”
“Or maybe we could get Jody and the girls to come down and we have a cook out,” Dean suggests shyly.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea Dean, we can call them tomorrow.”
Dean can feel that pressure in his chest again, only this time it feels good. It’s that overwhelming something that he doesn’t have a name for. He couldn’t even describe it if he was asked. He just looks down at the glass in his hand grinning like an idiot. They sit silently for a few minutes before Dean speaks up.
“Are you going to eat your cake?”
“Actually,” Cas starts as he gets up from his stool. Dean instantly feels the loss of warmth and weight on his wrist, cursing himself for getting used to it. He stops short from reaching back out, searching for it again. It’s no use anyway, Cas is already across the kitchen searching in one of the junk drawers. He comes back with an extra fork and one of the birthday candles they had used in Jack’s cake earlier that day. He sticks it in the side of the cake and sits down before looking over at Dean.
“Can I borrow your lighter?”
Dean reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a zippo and hands it over to Cas, feeling the softness of his outstretched palm. Cas flips open the lighter, striking down on the wheel to create the flame. He lights the candle and flips the zippo closed before setting it down on the table. He then pushes the plate toward Dean.
“Go ahead, make a wish Dean.”
Dean just looks up at Cas stunned, thinking there’s nothing he could wish for. He’s just staring at Cas, eyes wide, belatedly thinking he must be so readable to Cas right now— seriously unable to hide a single thing. Actually—Dean thought he was thinking, but now that he considers it, there’s no thoughts in his mind as he surges forward to grab Cas’ face in his hands. It just feels right. He stops just short of pressing his lips to Cas’ lips, uneven breath ghosting over it.
Can I— can I kiss you,” Dean says so quietly he’s not even sure he’s said it. It feels so stupid to ask now, when he’s so close, to open himself up to rejection— but he has to be sure before he does it. He can’t imagine a scenario where Cas says no, doesn’t want to imagine. His tongue peaks out as he wets his lips nervously.
“Of course,” Cas breathes out, matching Dean’s level of softness.
Not even waiting to see if there’s more, Dean closes the gap between them and he’s kissing Cas. He’s actually kissing him. And he can’t believe how easy it was, not after how long he spent thinking about it— dreaming about it.
All too soon Cas is pulling away and Dean is embarrassingly out of breath. Dean rubs his thumbs over Cas’ cheek as he tries to catch his breath. He realizes that Cas’ one hand had found its way to his shoulder and the other was gripping his thigh. And yeah that… that.
It is Cas who speaks first.
“I think you’re supposed to blow out the candle before your wish is granted.”
“Shut up,” Dean laughs. He removes his hands from Cas’ face and places them on the table, leans over and blows out the candle. “My wish was actually for a stripper.”
Cas looks up from the cake to Dean and rolls his eyes, grinning.
“You’re incorrigible.”
Not wanting to wait any longer, Dean reaches out and puts his hand on top of Cas’ hand on his thigh. His cheeks heating up again.
“Thank you, Cas, for wanting to celebrate my birthday and for… y’know…”
“I think I do,” Can responds, and he reaches down to grab a fork and picks up a piece of the cake. He brings it into his mouth as Dean watches. Stares.
“It’s perfect, Dean. Made with love and all.”
Dean’s still blushing and just grips Cas’ hand harder. Yeah, he’s nervous about defeating Chuck and escaping his control. But right now he believes what Cas said earlier, that he will get his happy ending. It feels like enough.