Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean's in the middle of preparing lunch, Cas at his side, when Chief Singer clears his throat behind the two of them. Cas snaps to attention immediately, back straightening, turning to face the Captain with his hands clasped behind his back respectfully - dude's weird like that - but Dean just looks over his shoulder and offers a little wave. "Heya, Bobby," Dean says. He turns his attention back to the ground meat and spices sizzling in front of him. He found an awesome recipe for fajitas the day before his shift started, and he's looking forward to seeing Castiel's expression when he tries it for the first time. 

"Sir," Cas says, and Dean knows he's dipping his chin a little bit out of deference to their chief. Dean laughs a little and tilts over to bump Castiel's shoulder with his own. 

"Lighten up," he says. Then, without looking over his shoulder, he adds, "What's up, Bobby?"

"Fitzgerald had to go home," Bobby says, and from the tone of voice Dean knows he's scowling. "Dumbass got his fool self sick, ain't safe for him to stay on call with a fever that high."

Dean whistles and pokes at the fajita mix, pushing it around with the spatula. "That's very unfortunate," Cas says, sounding as sincere and awkward as he ever does when he's offering niceties. 

"Yeah, poor Garth," Dean agrees. "But what's that gotta do with us?"

"Fitzgerald was gonna do a fire safety presentation for the kindergarteners at the local elementary school," Bobby starts, and Dean spins around, wielding the spatula as a weapon and says:

"No. Absolutely no. The last time I did a presentation, the kids wiped their grimy, snotty hands all over my uniform, and I caught a cold." He grimaces at the memory of it. 

"You like children," Cas admonishes, turning vivid blue eyes on Dean. Dean flushes a little.

"Well, yeah. Just - school kids? Ugh." His fajita mix is starting to hiss quite loudly, so Dean turns and pokes at it some more, turning the heat down. "And besides," Dean adds, "we just got back from a call, like, half an hour ago."

"Yeah, a call where the only problem was that the gentleman hadn't replaced the batteries in his damn smoke detector in years," Bobby scoffs. At Dean's side, Cas draws in a breath like he's about to say something, but Bobby cuts in. "Look. Take Cas with you if it'll make you feel better. But you're not weaseling your way outta this one, Winchester." 

Dean can feel the force of Bobby's glare on his back. He scowls down at the fajita mix, thinking of all the grand plans he had for the meal today - the vegetables roasting in the oven aren't even finished yet, and he hasn't even started warming up the tortillas, and he'd gone out and gotten a coupla bottles of that stupid pomegranate Izzy that Cas is obsessed with, and he was thinking that he might, y'know, scoot his chair a little closer to bump shoulders with Cas as they ate, maybe even throw an arm over his shoulders when they were finished eating and Cas thanked him for the meal, turning that big-eyed earnest look on him, maybe... well, it doesn't really matter, does it? 'Cuz there's no way Bobby's gonna let them linger over the meal, elbows touching, Cas smiling down at his plate in that slightly-lopsided pleased smile he gets when he's happy.

"I would be more than willing to go with you," Cas says quietly, almost directly in Dean's ear. Dean absolutely, definitely does not jump. When he turns to look at Cas, they're practically nose-to-nose. God, Dean thinks, his eyes are so fucking blue.

"Uh," Dean says eloquently, and then clears his throat. "Um. Yeah, I mean - yeah." His ears are hot, and when he glances at Bobby real fast, he sees that the chief is smirking. He flushes a little deeper. "Anyway," Dean says loudly. "When're we expected?" He shifts a little as Bobby shakes his wrist just enough for his watch to peek over the cuff of his shirt. Cas hasn't moved, is just standing there next to him, so close that Dean can feel the little puffs of air he lets out against his neck.

"'Bout half an hour," Bobby says. "They presentation's gonna start about one. You'll have to leave in a coupla minutes if you wanna get there with time to bring your equipment in."

"Fuck me," Dean mutters, then looks dejectedly down at the fajita mix. His stomach rumbles. The meat is pretty much done, but the vegetables have another - he checks - ten minutes to go. Sighing, he turns off the heat and pushes the skillet to the back of the stove. "You better take my vegetables outta the oven," he says, rounding on Bobby. "If they burn, I'm gonna be pissed."

Bobby holds up his hands in acquiescence. "Can do. I'll even make sure no one so much as looks as your damn greens."

"Thanks," Dean sighs. "Cas, can you cover the skillet? I gotta hunt down a post-it note."

By the time he returns to the kitchen with a note that reads DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT EATING MY STUFF, Cas is quietly making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, devoting the same attention to the task that he does when checking all their equipment for flaws. "To eat on the road," Cas explains when he sees Dean looking. "We'll have to wait until dinner for your fajitas. I'm sure they'll be very good."

"Better be, that recipe got five stars on the food network website," Dean says. He leans back against the counter and watches Cas work. His hair is slightly spiked in the front, the way it gets when Cas takes his helmet off and doesn't bother to smooth his hair out again. It's ridiculous, and a little bit adorable. 

Not that Dean would ever, ever admit that out loud. 

"Here," Cas says after just a minute more. He stacks two sandwiches atop each other and hands them to Dean, then puts his own in one large-ish ziploc bag. "I'll meet you downstairs," he says, and he takes a moment to touch Dean briefly on the shoulder before heading off.

Dean stares after him, chewing numbly on the first of his sandwiches and barely tasting it. God, he is so fucked. He is so, so far in over his head.

He met Cas for the first time a little over three years ago. He was waist-deep in the engine of their largest truck when he heard Bobby's voice floating towards the garage, echoing slightly in the expansive space. "We got four trucks here," Bobby was saying, "Two hoses, an aerial - we gotta hydraulic platform setup just a coupla years ago, brand new - and a support truck. Not exactly what you're used to, I'm guessin' - can't exactly maneuver a fire engine through Yellowstone."

The answering voice was low, like the distant rumbling of thunder. "No, sir."

Dean pulled himself out of the engine slowly, hearing Bobby's heavy footsteps heading his way. "Now," Bobby said, around the far side of the truck so Dean couldn't see, "you got plenty of experience, but fightin' a house fire is a bit different than a wildfire. You've already taken the tests for transfer - so you're officially a part of our team, but we'll keep you on as a sorta intern for the next coupla weeks just to get you used to the new dynamic. That alright with you?"

"Yes, sir." 

Their footsteps were rounding the truck. Dean straightened fully as Bobby came into view, a tall dark-haired man trailing slightly behind him. He was broad-shouldered but lean beneath his slightly rumpled light-blue button down and black slacks. "Cap'n," Dean said, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Fresh meat?" 

"Of a sort," Bobby said with a snort. Behind him, the man shifted his weight slightly, as if uncomfortable, but then steadied himself. "This's Castiel - Castiel Novak. Was a smokejumper back at Yellowstone National Park."

Dean felt his eyebrows jump up practically to his hairline. "A smokejumper?" he repeated, doubling back to look the man - Castiel - over. The man raised his chin just slightly, as if in defiance, and his blue eyes honed in on Dean's with a near-frightening level of intensity.

Smokejumpers were, in Dean's opinion, fucking crazy. They parachuted down into forest fire zones and fought off flames from remote, isolated places nobody else could get to. When Dean thought smokejumper, he thought big, burly men, built like brick houses. He certainly didn't think of someone like this. Castiel had a strong jaw, sharp nose, and high cheekbones, counterbalanced by sweetly curved cheeks and a lush, full mouth - and his eyes were so fucking blue, framed by dark lashes - and for a few moments all Dean could do was stare.

And then he stammered, "Uh, sorry - I - um. I've just, uh - never met a smokejumper before. That's pretty cool, man." He stepped down from the short stepladder he'd been using, and - after wiping his right hand more thoroughly on his t-shirt (though it was already incredibly oil-stained, Dean noticed somewhat self-consciously) - held it out for Castiel to shake. Castiel hesitated a moment, then reached out and clasped Dean's hand in his own. His fingers were narrower than Dean's, but a little longer. 

"Dean Winchester," Dean said after a pause. He let go of Cas' hand and took a step backward. "Nice to meet you."

Cas nodded. "And you," he said. His blue eyes crinkled a little at the corners, but his lips only barely twitched upwards.

"Dean's one of my best captains," Bobby said gruffly. "Been working here since he was old enough to volunteer, and was hanging around my feet longer than that." He clapped Dean on the shoulder once, heavily. "Think you can take care of our boy here for a coupla hours? I got a shitton of paper work to do, and no mind to do it, but it's gotta get done."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sure. I'll, uh, show him the ropes."

"Knew I could count on you," Bobby said, and then he turned away from Dean and gave Castiel a stiff pat on the shoulder. "Don't let him run his mouth too much," Bobby said. "He gives you any trouble, you come to me." Dean rolled his eyes, but Castiel just looked vaguely confused, brow furrowing.

Bobby looked back at Dean and raised his hand in a sort of goodbye, and then turned to trudge away, back to his office - leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

"So," Dean said after the initial few awkward moments. "Smokejumper, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel said, eyes sliding past Dean and landing on the open engine of the truck. "What's wrong with the engine?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh - nothing, actually. Well, nothing anymore. Just finished fixing her up when you got here." Dean touched Castiel's shoulder briefly, a silent request for him to ascend the few steps of the ladder so he could clearly see. "This morning, I noticed the engine was having issues turning over. The UVCH connectors were loose, so that took two seconds to fix, but then I noticed the monitor wasn’t working. Fuel heater fucked itself, blew a fuse. This one here,” he said, pointing. Castiel leaned in a little closer, focusing intensely on the complicated puzzle of interlocking metal and wires. “And that screwed with the PCM—the, um, power-train control monitor. Just had the replace the fuse and,” he shrugs, “it’s good as new. Took ten minutes.”

Castiel was frowning down into the engine. "You're very skilled," he said. "I'm sure most wouldn't have noticed that."

Dean shifted on his feet. "Nah," he said. "I just - I grew up around engines, I know how they work. C'mere, look - I still got some maintenance to do. Lemme get another step ladder, and I'll show you how everything works, alright?"

Castiel looked down at him and smiled - not broadly, just a small thing that pulled the corners of his lips up, but his very face seemed to be brighter. "Yes," he said, "I'd like that very much."

"Cool," Dean said, because he didn't know how else to respond to sincerity of that level. "You just, uh - stay there for a sec, I'll be right back."

In hardly any time at all, he was pulling up another short step ladder and was standing next to Castiel, a few inches separating their shoulders. "Alright, Cas," Dean said, leaning in over the engine. "So, the first thing you do--"

"You called me Cas," Castiel interrupted. Dean felt the back of his neck heat up; he stared down into the engine rather than look over at Castiel.

"It's shorter. Easier to say," Dean explained. "Is that okay?"

There was a short pause, just long enough for Dean to start worrying that it wasn't okay, when Castiel said, "Nobody's ever called me Cas before. I like it." And then, a little quieter, "Thank you, Dean."

It wasn't just the back of Dean's neck anymore; his entire face felt flushed. "Yeah," he said. "No problem, Cas."

"Alright, everybody," Dean says as cheerfully as he can manage, clapping his hands together. In front of him, arranged in a large semi-circle on the gym floor, are maybe fifty kindergarteners. Cas hovers at Dean's side. When Dean chances a look at him, he sees the tension in Cas' jaw and shoulders. Dean tries not to grimace - public scenes are something that Cas has never gotten used to. But here he is, accompanying Dean for no reason other than that Dean was complaining about having to cover for Garth.

The thought makes him a little warm.

The crowd quiets fairly quickly, actually. Dean guesses it has something to do with the fact that both he and Cas are in near-full regalia, black t-shirts and their heavy overalls and boots, helmets on their heads. Their coats and the rest of their equipment is on an old, beat-up push cart the school has so graciously allowed them to use. 

"Okay!" Dean says when everyone quiets down. "I'm Dean, and this is my partner Cas, and we're here to tell you all about fire safety!" 

The kids actually cheer. Okay. Well. Dean can get behind that.

"Now," Dean says, "we're firefighters - can anybody tell me what a firefighter does?"

One little girl near the front shoots her hand up so fast she nearly hits herself in the face. Dean has to choke back an undignified snort. "Let's hear from the little lady in the front," Dean says.

"Firefighters fight fires!" the girl proclaims very loudly, and this time Dean can't hold back the chuckle that bursts out of him. He very quickly composes himself again.

"That's right," Dean says, projecting his voice so everyone can hear him. "But more than that, we help people. We put out fires, sure - but everything we do is to protect you, your families, and your friends."

Dean can feel Castiel's eyes burning at the back of his neck. He clears his throat and glances over at Cas quickly, then looks over his enraptured audience again. "Now," he says, "does anyone know what the first thing you need to remember is, if you're ever in a fire?"

This time, he picks a boy sitting at the very edge of the circle, who's straining so hard to keep his hand up up he's on his knees. "You gotta stop, an' drop, an' then roll," he says.

"Wow, good job, buddy," Dean says. "That's great! And I'm gonna show you all how to do that. Who here wants to help me with a stop, drop, and roll exercise?"

Practically half the fuckin' room jumps to their feet, and the shrieks of kids shouting, "Me! Me!" are so loud that Dean actually takes a step back. Cas passes a hand over his face and sighs loudly into his palm.

The teachers get order fairly quickly; in just a couple of minutes, everybody has quieted down again. "Okay," Dean says. "Well ... don't worry, because we're all gonna get a turn, okay? As soon as my volunteer shows us what to do, we're all gonna get up and find some space and practice for a while. But for now ... "

He looks over at Cas. Cas stares back at him, befuddled, before understanding hits him and his eyes open wide.

"I think it'd probably be best for my partner to demonstrate," Dean says, trying very hard not to smirk. Cas glowers at him briefly, then takes a deep breath and visibly calms himself. He steps up so he's level with Dean and gives the kids an awkward half-wave. 

They wave back. It is fucking adorable.

"Okay, so. Cas, buddy, I'm sorry to say this, but I think you're on fire! What's the first step again?" Dean asks, and he's prepared this time for the wall of noise that slams into him.

"STOP!" the entire crowd roars. Cas flinches a little. Dean touches his back gently, palm resting between his shoulder blades. 

"Awesome," Dean says. He paces over to the side, putting a couple of feet between him and Cas. "So, Cas - are you stopped?"

Cas looks down at his feet, then looks over at Dean and raises his eyebrows. "Well, my feet are firmly on the ground," he says, "and I don't appear to be going anywhere."

Little giggles run through the crowd. Cas tilts his chin down; Dean can't help but grin, knowing there's a tiny, pleased smile pulling at his mouth. 

"Alright, so you're stopped. Can you tell us why it's so important to stop, Cas?"

"I can," Cas says, and he looks over the crowd. "It's very important to stop moving, because if you're, um, running around, the oxygen is going to feed the flames and - I mean, if you're moving around, the fire is going to get bigger."

"Great answer, Cas," Dean says. "Also - if you're moving around too much, it's gonna be hard for someone like us to help you. So it's very important to stop moving. Next, Cas has to ... ?"

"DROP," the kids scream. One girl near the front is giggling and actually bouncing a little. Well. Okay, then.

"You heard 'em, Cas," Dean says. "Don't forget to protect your face! Don't wanna fall down and hurt your nose on the ground." Cas wraps his arms around his head and collapses on the ground in front of Dean. There's a lot more giggling this time around. "You wanna get on the ground because fire and smoke go up, and also because if you're on the ground you can do this next step. What is it again? I forget ..."

"You got to ROLL, silly!" the girl who was giggling shouts. 

"You heard her, Cas," Dean says. Cas peers up at him through his arms, eyes narrowed. Dean has to swallow a grin. He looks like a disgruntled cat. "C'mon, Cas - the fire's spreading!" Dean urges.

Cas shuts his eyes and starts to roll. And the kids. The kids fucking lose it. Because for someone who's been a firefighter for over a decade, Cas still rolls like he's a godamn log, arms and legs stiff, movements jerky. Dean watches him, and the grin on his face softens. He's so fucking lucky.

"Alright, Cas, that's great. Fantastic impression of a worm flopping all over the place. Just lie still for a second, okay?" he says. Cas stills, hands dropping to his sides. He's a little pink in the face, but he smiles up at Dean.

"I'll let you know that I make a fantastic worm," Cas says solemnly, and the giggling starts up again.

"Okay, okay - Cas, can you tell us why it's so important to roll like that?"

Cas props himself up on his elbows and looks over the crowd. "By rolling on the ground, I deprive the fire of oxygen and it’s smothered—the flames will all go out.”

"And," Dean says, pulling a fire blanket out from underneath their coats, "if you see a rug, or a blanket, or a jacket, try to wrap yourself up in it. You'd think it might make the fire worse, but it actually helps a lot of the time. Ready to be wrapped up like a mummy, Cas?"

"Of course," Cas says, a little wryly, and they do exactly that, Cas rolling into the blanket until he's wrapped up snug and tight. The kids are laughing again, but Dean only hears the tiny huff of laughter that escapes Castiel's lips, the smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Dean smiles down at him, stupidly in love, then gets on his knees to help Cas untangle himself.

The rest of the lesson goes by without a hitch. Cas warms up quickly to the kids, although he's pretty shit at dealing with them as a large group; he's much better kneeling next to kids one-on-one and explaining what they didn't understand in his quiet, far-off-thunder voice. His sincerity coaxes a shy little boy into stopping, dropping, and rolling with Cas long enough to start laughing.

The kids thank them at the end with an explosive round of applause. Dean pulls Cas into a bow, hand clasped loosely around Cas' wrist. He can feel Castiel's pulse, a little rapid, fluttering against his fingers. His skin is warm, soft. Dean is only just able to make himself let it go.

Dean and Cas get separated almost immediately upon their return to the station. Dean is called over to help a new volunteer learn her way around the fire truck's equipment, while Cas takes Garth's spot in his unit when a call comes in fifteen minutes after they get back. Chances are, it's probably nothing, but Dean is high-strung and anxious for forty minutes until the engine pulls back into the garage and Cas hops out, pulling his helmet off. His hair sticks up in every direction; even from across the garage Dean can see the vaguely irritated look on Cas' face as he shakes his head.

"Is that your boyfriend or something?" the volunteer, Krissy, asks. She's looking at Dean with a vaguely bored expression on her face. Dean flushes and opens his mouth to explain that No, he and Cas aren't together, but his tongue isn't working.

"Uh," Dean finally manages. "No, we're not - he's my best friend, I - uh ..."

"Anyway," Krissy interrupts. "You were telling me about the ladder extension." She's already focusing on the diagram in front of her again. "You can blab about your boyfriend later, if you want."

"He's not my boyfriend," Dean hisses. Krissy just shrugs.

He's still working with Krissy an hour or so later when Bobby comes looking for him. It's nearing five now, and Dean's stomach is rumbling; two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are not enough lunch for a man of his size.

"Can't believe you're still in the garage," Bobby says when he finds him demonstrating proper safety techniques for handling the hoses to Krissy. "Woulda thought you'd sneak off to the kitchen hours ago."

"You asked me to show Krissy the ropes," Dean says. Bobby snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Since when do you listen to me? 'Sides, I can hear your stomach growling from here. Go finish making your dinner. I just sent Cas up, too. Poor guy looked like he was about to keel over."

Dean straightens up. "What? Was he okay?"

Bobby gives him a knowing look, eyebrows raising. "Oh, he's fine, just exhausted. He's been on four calls today, not to mention following your sorry ass to that elementary school." He pauses, then adds, "He'll probably want some company. And some food."

"Yeah," Dean says, a little distractedly. He'll have to heat up the meat for the fajitas, probably stick the vegetables back in the oven for a little while - but getting everything ready won't take too long. And hardly anybody's going to be eating now - they might actually have some privacy.

(Privacy to do what, Dean doesn't think about.)

Dean wipes his hands on his trousers and twists one way, then the other, to crack his back. "Alright, Krissy," he says. "Good stuff. You should, uh ... I dunno, go find someone else to bother."

"That's professional," Bobby mutters, but Dean's already throwing out a sarcastic salute and heading out of the garage, aiming for the kitchen.

Cas isn't in the kitchen, but when Dean peeks his head into the attached living area - a few sagging couches, a couple of tables to eat at, a TV - he sees that Cas is curled up on the couch closest to the TV, a Bugs Bunny cartoon playing at low volume. Cas doesn't seem to be paying attention; his eyes are closed and he's breathing slow and deep.

Dean just stands there and stares for a while, taking in the slope of Castiel's shoulders and way his knees are pulled partway up to his chest, the sweep of dark hair over his forehead.

After a while, Dean has to look away. His heart is starting to ache. Besides - he's got fajitas to prepare.

It only takes ten minutes to get everything reheated, and then another five to wrap up four fajitas, leaving the rest of the meat and vegetables under foil to keep them warm. Balancing the two plates on one arm - a skill Dean is proud of, having perfected it waiting on tables when he was a teenager - Dean manages to gather utensils and an unopened bottle of Izzy for Cas. He makes his way carefully into the living area, setting down first the bottle and the utensils and then the plates, as quietly as he can, on the table closest to Cas. Then he crouches by Cas, reaching out to rest on hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," Dean murmurs. He squeezes his hand a little, thumb pressing into that perfect indent where Cas' clavicle meets his shoulder. "Cas."

Cas makes a muffled mmmrrph sound and pushes his face into the pillow. Dean chuckles and chances running a gentle hand through his hair before resting it back on his shoulder, nice and easy. "C'mon, buddy," he says. "If you don't wake up, I'm gonna eat all the fajitas."

"No," Cas mutters, but his mouth is pressed against the pillow so it comes out pretty muffled.

"No, I don't wanna get up, or no, as in don't eat my fajita?"

"Ugh," Cas says. One blue eye opens and squints up at Dean, bleary. Watching the pupil dilate is ... unexpectedly sensual. It brings to mind lying in bed with Cas, watching his eyes open at the start of a new day. Their heads on the same pillow, Dean's hand resting in the dip of Cas' waist. Cas leaning forward and touching his forehead to Dean's. The murmured Good morning they would share.

"C'mon," Dean says, and he starts to straighten up but Cas reaches out for him, his hand wrapping around Dean's wrist. 

"No," Cas says again, closing his eyes. "We can eat later."

"The food's gonna get cold," Dean says, but he's already sinking back down onto the floor. Cas pulls his wrist closer, sliding his palm up along Dean's until he can lace their fingers together. Dean is hardly breathing.

"Cas," Dean starts, and then he doesn't know what to say, so he stutters to a halt.

"You have wonderful hands," Cas says. His eyes open again, still a little fuzzy with sleep, but so, so blue. "You are incredible with children," he adds a second later. A wry smile plays at his lips. "I wouldn't stop, drop, and roll for just anyone, you know."

Dean clears his throat. His ears are burning. "Um," he says eloquently. "That's - well, you know, I wouldn't want, um, just anyone to stop, drop, and roll for me. Just, uh, one specific person."

Cas hums a little, mouth softening. "I think you should kiss me," he says, very seriously and very perfunctory, as though Dean's heart doesn't just about fucking stop in his chest.

"Right now?" Dean manages to say. He immediately feels like hitting himself in the fucking face, because of all the things to say -

But Cas is pulling him in, eyes closing, smile growing on his lips again. "Yes," he breathes against Dean's mouth. "Right now."