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“Have no fear, Dean is here!” Castiel’s full body eye roll punctuates Dean’s entrance and Dean’s heart does an annoying pitter-patter. At least this time, it should be returned.
“Hello, Dean. Thank you for doing your literal job.” Cas’ jab holds no heat, in fact, there’s a small smirk pulling at his lips that Dean has yet to see him use with anyone else.
“I’ve yet to get paid for shit.” Dean points out unhelpfully.
“You’re paid in time spent with me,” Cas deadpans. Dean blushes hard—if only the hunter knew how true that was.
“Hardy har har.” He walks closer to the hunter, his skin tingling with the proximity. Cas finally looks away from under the counter where he was probably checking for hex bags and turns toward Dean. A wide smile breaks out across his face and Dean practically melts.
This is it.
“Heya, Cas.” Dean gives his best lopsided smile, looking at his long time crush through long lashes and hoping it’s only bolstering the effect of the love potion.
“Hello, Dean. Again.” Cas tilts his head. “Why are you acting weird? Are you sick?” Panic laces its way through Cas’ features as he walks forward, pressing the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead. “Do you think whatever’s at play here is affecting your—“
Dean swats Cas’ hand away, “Back off, Medicine Woman. I feel fine. Great, even!”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.” Cas backs away, squinting in the most adorable way. “You’re never this cheerful.”
“Come on, Cas. Don’t you notice anything different today?” Dean tries again, waving his hands up and down, smiling his most dazzling smile.
Cas squares off then, crossing his arms and looking Dean up and down. This sort of attention usually makes Dean uncomfortable, but he and Cas have shared enough drawn out eye contact that it feels weird when the hunter isn’t looking at him. Ever since Cas spared him, marking him as “one of the good ones” when he realized Dean was using his magic to heal and help without deals or payment, Dean’s felt inexplicably drawn to the man. Sure, hunter and witch may be a little unorthodox but Cas is funny and kind and bad ass and so fucking gorgeous so can you really blame Dean for falling head over broomstick?
(He doesn’t really have a broomstick.) (On him.)
It’s been a little over three years since then and Cas still calls Dean on hunts where he needs a little witchy expertise—and sometimes when he doesn’t. Dean, for what it’s worth, loves it whenever Cas calls, even more so when it’s just to grab a good burger and some pie after a long day. Every time he’s requested at his hunter’s side, he falls a little more in love.
Until today it’s been unrequited—at least Dean hopes his spell worked. He knows Cas likes him—wouldn’t call him to hang out and work together if he didn’t—but if Dean wanted to give a little extra nudge so one less-fun “L word” turned into the much more powerful one then sue him.
In hindsight, maybe that wasn’t the smoothest move, but he really didn’t want to get stuck pining for twelve years only to share his feelings just in time for one of them to die or something equally as infuriating. Can you imagine?
Cas finally answers Dean’s question with a mischievous smirk. “Well, you don’t look like lumberjack today.”
Dean’s jaw drops of its own accord. Cas, unphased, continues his search for hex bags. He won’t find any—Dean can’t feel anything in this room—but Dean needs a moment to collect himself. “I don’t get it,” he looks at the back of Cas’ head and then back towards his own hands, “the spell should have worked.”
“Excuse me?” Cas—apparently with new found super-hearing—whips around. “Do you want to run that by me again?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be run by you the first time.” Dean winces as the hunter stalks toward him, switchblade flipping out for the first time since Dean met the guy all those years ago.
Dean Winchester, you fucked up.
“Did you curse me?” Cas pushes him against the closest wall, knife tracking its way across his collarbone without breaking skin.
“No?” Dean lies—sorta—it didn’t work soooo.
Cas rolls his eyes but (most) of the fondness Dean has grown accustomed to missing. “Did you try to curse me?” Dean gulps and apparently that’s enough of an affirmative for the hunter. “What the fuck did you try to do to me?”
“I would never try and hurt you, Cas.” Dean insists, voice straining against the threatening pressure of the knife. “I thought you’d know that by now.”
“I don’t think you would but what else could possibly drive you to curse me.”
Dean looks down, it makes the edge of the knife dig a little more uncomfortably but Cas has lightened the pressure just enough that Dean’s skin is still holding strong. The spell didn’t work, but if he’s not honest he’ll definitely lose what he does have with the blue-eyed hunter.
Honesty is the best policy—shit, his conscience sounds a lot like his brother.
“Love.” He looks up when he says it, brave enough to meet Cas’ eye—too much of a coward to keep it inside any longer, too greedy to know the hunter’s response to look away.
Cas gasps. Eyes softening, knife removing itself from Dean’s neck, and his grip on Dean’s waist softening.
Not exactly the response Dean was expecting.
The hunter doesn’t say anything for a while, just staring at Dean who is growing increasingly sweaty now that he’s confessed his deep, dark secret to someone other than his diary. Eventually he can’t take it anymore. “Cas…you gotta say something, man. Even if it’s fuck off . I just—“
“I can’t believe you.” Dean winces, of course Cas doesn’t think he’s capable of this type of emotion. To hunters, witches are monsters and only seen that way. Dean was foolish to think Cas was different. To hope—Cas cuts off his train of thought. “I can’t believe you could be so stupid. ”
Dean blanches. “Ouch?”
Cas drops the knife at his feet, both hands coming up to cup Dean’s face, and Dean isn’t positive that Cas could snap his neck but his dick sorta thinks it’d be hot if he can.
His priorities are all over the place.
“Of course the love spell didn’t work.” Cas gulps now, Dean would say he looks nervous—it isn’t easy to reject your best friend after all. “Love spells don’t work when the cursed is already in love with you.”
Oh. Oh.
“You—wait—me?” Dean stutters, eyes searching for the prank or joke or for the carpet to be pulled out from underneath him. Inside he finds exasperation mixed with warmth and hope and Cas. It’s beautiful. “You’re beautiful.”
He didn’t mean to say it aloud but he refuses to take it back.
“And you’re an idiot.” Cas smiles a gummy smile. Still cupping Dean’s face, brushing a thumb over his high cheekbone now that Dean’s hands have found a home on Cas’ lower back.
“I’m your idiot.” Dean quips back, brushing his nose against Cas’, daring the hunter to be the brave one.
Cas chuckles, closing the gap with a whispered “finally” before kissing Dean senseless.
(Not that he had much sense to begin with.)