Work Text:
1.
Despite growing up on the road hunting down whatever supernatural pain in the ass came along, Dean does know how to be polite and practice good manners and all that. It'd just be stupid not to be able to charm his way into information from reluctant witnesses or out of situations that could definitely lead to an arrest or two.
Admittedly, he didn't show these skills off too often—never more than he had to, never more than was required of him, never more than his dad would've allowed—and he certainly didn't see the need to offer angels any common courtesy. They raised him from Hell and he's grateful, but then they dumped all that Holy Mission crap on him and his gratitude dropped significantly.
Dean doesn't like angels in the beginning and Castiel isn't really too much of an exception, but when Castiel turned against his superiors to try to stop the Apocalypse, Dean's view towards him definitely changed. Before, he'd been intriguing in his…weirdness that Dean originally thought was just an angel thing, but somewhere along the line where Castiel became Cas, he realized it was just a Cas thing and that Cas is just a weird guy.
At first, Dean doesn't realize he's even doing anything different. So what if he showers a little more often when Cas is around? Apocalypse or not, it's not a crime to want to be clean. They can still be civilized while the world tries to screw itself over, Sammy, apocalypses don't mean they have to live in filth.
He doesn't think anything of it until Sam stops in the doorway of the motel's bathroom, because little brothers ignore any and all unwritten rules relating to closed doors meaning privacy (considering that Sam wore his old hand-me-down underwear when he was little, it's probably fair, but still).
"I got dinner." Sam lifts the grease-stained takeout bag up like Dean needs proof of its existence, like he couldn't smell it the second Sam stepped through the door. Hunters have a sixth sense for greasy, artery clogging fast food. "Are you…shaving?"
Dean just grunts as he tries to scrape off the patch of shaving cream between his nose and mouth. "No, I'm painting the walls. Thought this place could use a little touching up."
"Didn't you shave this morning?" The edge of the razor nicks his lip and he curses quietly, licking at the drop of blood that forms as Sam continues, "Since when do you care about cleaning yourself up? Do you have a date or something?"
"What? No." He shoots Sam a glare in the mirror as he washes the lower half of his face off. He can't even remember the last time he wanted to go on a date. "In case you've forgotten, there's a freakin' Apocalypse on our doorstep."
"Yeah, so what are you doing this for?"
Before Dean can reply (though he's not sure what he would've said), there's a familiar rush of air and the bathroom is suddenly even smaller and more crowded. Cas, of course, is about three inches from his face, but he's pretty used to that by now. "Hello, Dean."
"Hey, Cas. Any luck with finding God?" Dean wants to crack a joke about sounding like one of the thousand religious billboards plastered along any highway in North Carolina, but upon seeing Cas' shoulder slump dejectedly, he decides against it and pats him on the shoulder as he passes instead.
Cas follows him from the bathroom and takes the beer Dean offers without a word, though he makes no move to open it and just holds it like it's an accessory. Sam hovers awkwardly in the doorway, holding the bag of food away from his chest like it's a bomb ready to go off at any minute, but eventually trails in and hands Dean his burger. Dean would offer Cas one if he knew it wouldn't be rejected.
"So, uh, what are you doing here, Cas?" Sam asks when Dean's mouth is full; he's long since worked through his hero worship for the angel and now they have a weird, stunted friendship of sorts that definitely borders into an awkward friend-of-a-friend situation with Dean left in the middle.
Cas squints and replies, still just standing there holding his unopened beer, "I called earlier. Dean informed me that it would be beneficial to 'keep in touch' regularly now that there's an apocalypse looming over us."
"Did he now?" Dean doesn't look up and shoves a handful of fries in his mouth, feeling unexpectedly caught as Sam's tone turns teasing. "Funny—he didn't tell me you were coming."
He knows without looking that the implication flies right over Cas' head, but Dean clears his throat and shoots Sam a look, wondering if this is how Sam felt when he found out about his habit of sneaking off with Ruby. "Didn't realize I had to get the okay from you every time I do anything…"
But this is different. Ruby was a demon and most definitely not on their side. Cas is an angel and went from a grey area to what is decidedly their side after rebelling against all the higher-ups to slum it on earth with them. What Sam had with Ruby was…dirty and inherently morally confusing, but Cas is an angel, and beyond that, he's a good—if weird—guy and Dean refuses to feel like he's sneaking around by talking to Cas. Besides, it's not like Sam's his wife or something. He's allowed to do stuff without his every thought and decision being known by his little brother.
For all Dean's grumbling and internal warfare, Sam just rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his jaw. "Just saying a heads up would've been nice. Jerk."
"Bitch."
He's not sneaking around and refuses to feel guilty about it. He just doesn't want to alert Sam to his every move like he had with his dad. And it doesn't mean anything if he tries to look somewhat put together when Cas does stop by to check in. After all, Dean's the one he defied God for. The least he can do is not look like as much of a train wreck as he feels for the angel.
Some part of him knows Cas probably doesn't even care. Judging by the state of his own hair all the time, it's clear appearance isn't all that important to Cas, and Dean's not sure if he cares, either. It just feels…right. He chalks it up to not wanting to live up to the title of 'mud monkey,' as all the other angels have dubbed him, and forgets about it.
-
2.
Sam just doesn't get it, and Dean feels no need to explain to him. Over the time that Dean got to know him, he realized Cas isn't great at conversation, and most references go right over his little haloed head. So, to make it easier for the poor guy to figure out what he's thinking (without relying on any angel telepathy or Vulcan mind-melds or anything), they stare.
Turns out it's easier for Dean, too. Words are hard, and Cas has staring problems on his own that Dean picked up on within ten minutes of knowing him, so it's easy to just look at each other instead of talk. At least, that's how Dean sees it—helping out a super old being that's clueless about how earth works and unable to read between the lines with just about everything.
Sam, of course, doesn't see it like that and clears his throat loudly until Dean looks over at him and barks, "What?"
"Dude, I've been calling you for five minutes. Did you hear anything I just said?"
Dean remains silent as Cas glances at him and answers for him, "You were planning to speak to the victim's family about the attack in hopes of gaining more information to figure out what we may encounter later on during the investigation."
"What he said," Dean mumbles, trying and failing to hide a smirk as he looks back at Cas to see if he'd been a smartass on purpose.
It's tempting to say he hadn't, but Dean can see a glint of amusement in his eyes that he's pretty sure the average joe wouldn't pick up on. Dean can see it though and his smirk wavers into one of distinct approval that Cas acknowledges by turning his body to completely face him, which Dean unconsciously mirrors. Gotta teach him how body language works, after all…
"Dean," Sam snaps, and Dean turns his head without moving his body. "You guys go check out the library. If this is a vampire case, it's probably not their first attack."
"Sure thing, Sammy."
Turns out they are after vampires, and while the three of them are fighting them off, he's reminded again that Sam really just doesn't get it. He and Cas work well together for having not known each other all that long, and there's a certain fluidity to their movements that he never noticed until Sam mentioned it later. There's a deep level of trust involved that Dean's only ever felt with Sammy, and if it's this deep with only the short time they've been friends, Dean can only wonder what it might look like in a few years.
Sam doesn't get it because he's never had that. He and Sam have relied on each other for decades now, but the line between obligation and love is so blurry Dean's not even sure it exists sometimes. Cas has no obligation to stay with Dean, but he does anyway. Dean appreciates that, but sometimes, he feels as lost as Sam must when he looks at Cas, despite having a pretty good understanding of what's running through his feathery brain most of the time.
Dean used to think angels weren't emotional. Between Cas' careful neutrality at the start, Uriel's barely concealed hostility, and Zachariah's frankly sickening pride, he didn't exactly get a good look into what it might be like to be an angel. He still doesn't know most of it and the range of emotions really varies from angel to angel, but he knows what Cas is thinking most of the time, and that's what matters.
With time spent on earth and around them, Cas becomes even more emotional and easier to read. When he's lying, he won't maintain eye contact and will avoid questions he can't answer. When he's hurt, he'll look away but when he's sad, he'll give Sammy and his puppy-dog eyes a run for their money. When he's happy, his eyes will smile even when his mouth doesn't really move.
Sam doesn't seem to see anything when he looks at Cas, doesn't seem to pick up on any of the little clues that tell Dean exactly what his angel is thinking or feeling. Strangely, Dean kinda likes it that way. Staring and silent conversations is his and Cas' thing, and after spending his life living from motel to motel and sharing just about everything with Sam, he selfishly wants to keep this one thing all to himself.
Sam got to have his slice of the normal apple pie life for a little at college before it all poofed away. Dean figures he should be allowed to have something to himself, and Cas seems to only ever really stare at him like that, anyway. Maybe Cas wants to have something like that all to himself, too.
It wouldn't be the strangest or most human thing he's done, but the thought of being an angel's special…anything (barring a weapon or a vessel) is strangely flattering in a way Dean doesn't want to think about. So he doesn't, because this thing is for him and Cas to enjoy, and they've never needed words to express that (though when they do, Dean finds that praying helps him express things he can't say out loud, and Cas is a pretty good listener).
He's never had someone look at him like they understand his every thought before Cas. Sometimes, Dean wonders if Cas is looking at him, or at the soul Cas himself stuffed back in his chest when the angel rebuilt his body. Sometimes, he wishes he could see whatever the angel equivalent of a soul is and could learn Cas the way Cas learned him.
Most of the time, he feels like he already knows him, and all it really takes is one good look to figure out what Cas is thinking. Sam will probably never take the time to learn that, and honestly, Dean's glad. This is his and Cas' thing, after all.
-
3.
"There's no way you're going out like that." Cas glances down at himself and then back up like he sees nothing wrong with his half undone tie or rumpled trench coat, and Dean huffs to himself and starts fixing his tie for him. "Honestly, Cas, I dunno how you haven't strangled yourself with this thing yet. How's anybody gonna take you seriously if it looks like you got into a fistfight with a bunch of pigeons?"
He's midway through smoothing down the shoulders of Cas' coat when Sam clears his throat. "Dean, the, uh, morgue closes in half an hour."
Dean backs away with a short nod, claps Cas on the shoulder once, and leaves the room without a word. The entire drive to the morgue, every time he glances up at the rearview mirror, he sees Cas looking down at his own tie, never saying a word. Worse yet, Sam keeps giving him Looks that he doesn't particularly want to interpret. On top of everything else, they hit an unexpected traffic jam and get gridlocked for forty-five minutes, forcing them to try the morgue again in the morning when a new victim ends up on a slab.
After a long and annoying (and disgusting) ghoul hunt, they go back to the motel completely soaked from a flash rainstorm that at least washed most of the blood and guts off. While he and Sam dry off with towels, Cas just stands there as a puddle grows beneath him, water making his drenched coat hang off his shoulders in a way that can't be pleasant.
"Here, dry off," Dean says, tossing a towel at Cas that the angel catches, though he only stares at it and doesn't move. Once Dean's in a fresh set of clothes, he huffs and snatches up the towel and drops it over Cas' head. "Geez. Do I have to do everything myself around here?"
Once Cas' hair is sufficiently dried, he pulls the towel off, unable to help but smirk when he sees how messed up the angel's hair is. Cas doesn't seem to notice. "Thank you, Dean."
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, take this off." He helps Cas peel out of his trench coat and wrings the thing out over the motel's toilet before hanging it over the curtain rod above the room's heater. Water drips off the edges and pools on the carpeting, but Dean makes no effort to stop it; the carpet needed replaced twenty years ago, anyway. "You need clothes, or are you gonna stand in front of the heater all night?"
Cas just blinks at him and tilts his head, making Sam scoff. "Dude. I think he's got it."
"Got what?" Cas asks, and Dean just rolls his eyes and ushers him over to stand by the heater. He looks pretty pathetic standing there dripping wet, hair glued to his forehead and clothes stuck to every inch of skin available, face morphed in a look of distinct displeasure. Like a sad, miserable puppy. "My wings are saturated," he eventually gripes. "It's…uncomfortable."
Dean raises an eyebrow at Sam before looking back at Cas and swallowing. "Uh…feel free to…whip 'em out, I guess."
Sam shifts awkwardly and eventually leaves to grab the motel's complimentary hairdryer (this place is deluxe) from the bathroom, leaving Dean as the only witness as no less than three of the motel's unnecessary six lights crackle and shatter as the shadows of wings appear. They don't suddenly become solid or anything, and the one goes through the curtains, but they're still pretty impressive—and, now that he thinks about it, strangely…choppy.
Noticing his staring, Cas explains simply, "I'm molting. Otherwise, the water wouldn't be able to affect me."
"Right. Should've known."
Sam returns with the hairdryer and Dean kicks the heater up even further. They spend the next twenty minutes blow drying their angel friend's invisible wings until they're weirdly fluffy for something that isn't technically tangible. Cas thanks them both when they're done, but notably doesn't stash his wings away afterwards, the shadows hovering behind him even as they settle in for bed.
Later, when Sam's asleep and Cas is occupying the little table beneath one of the salt-laden windows, Dean watches him run his fingers through his wings. Preening, his mind supplies, remembering a few documentaries he'd watched when there was nothing on TV and the threat of going to Hell loomed over him. Dean observes him silently from his place on one of the beds while Sam snores in the other one.
His fingers itch to reach out and help, to get the spots in the back Cas clearly has trouble reaching. He chalks it up to just curiosity—how many people can say they've groomed an angel's wings?—but wonders if it goes beyond that. He's never really cared about how things felt before, so why does he now? It'd probably just feel like a…a bird with static electricity to spare, all soft but…sting-y.
He thinks about just asking. Cas doesn't really know much about social boundaries or anything, and touching has never really been a huge thing between them. Cas touches him all the time, whether it's to heal him or just to lay a hand on his shoulder over that faded handprint scar. Dean touches him, too, though usually just to straighten his clothes a bit or ruffle his hair or offer moral support. Would touching Cas' wings really be that big of a leap?
Finally, he just asks, voice cracking a little from being asleep before, "Need anything?"
Cas looks up, one hand holding a wing in place and the other dragging through the feathers, and replies, "No, thank you. You should rest."
"You sure?"
The room's pretty dark with only the dim lights from the parking lot shining through the windows, but Dean swears that Cas rolls his eyes. "Yes, Dean, I'm sure. I've had wings since I was created and have been taking care of them ever since."
Now it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes, not sure how to say that he kind of wants to preen Cas, not sure why that thought even crosses his mind. Maybe it's different. Maybe it's not like touching someone's arm and more like touching their soul or something. Grace. Hell, maybe humans can't even perceive them or whatever and that's why Cas never made his wings appear as more than a (really freakin' awesome) shadow on the wall.
"Geez, touchy. Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."
Dean's pretty sure Cas shoots him a bitchface for that (guy spends too much time around Sam if he's picking up all his facial expressions), but either way, in the morning, Cas is gone and so is the trench coat that had been hanging over the curtain rod all night, only a damp spot left on the carpet below. In Dean's duffel bag, there's a small bundle of dark feathers that shine like an oil spill when he holds them up to the sun. He doesn't tell Sam about them, and Sam never comments about anything in his own bags.
Dean's not sure what it means or why he wants to hide them, but he figures it's like the staring thing—it's his and Cas' thing and he doesn't wanna share when he has so few things all to himself. He sends Cas a quick thank you via prayer before he can talk himself out of it. Sam never finds out about the feathers stuffed in a Ziploc bag hidden beneath his underwear.
Cas must be starting to figure out how he ticks too, since he never brings up the feathers, and Dean never mentions them. Still, in the following months, he'll sometimes find new ones lying in his bag, each more beautiful than the last; as they grow more comfortable around each other, Dean even gets some of the more haggard ones, little spots missing on the vane of the feather.
He loves those ones the most, followed closely by the tiny fluffy ones that are adorably small and soft compared to the others. Sam never talks about getting any feathers of his own, and Dean never talks about his growing collection.
-
4.
Ever since Purgatory, Dean's been feeling…off. He figures it's just some side effect from living in Monster Land for the better part of a year, figures there are lingering effects that come with being in a place not meant for people to live in. It doesn't really interfere with his hunting abilities, so he writes it off.
So what if his heart acts funny sometimes and he wakes up in a cold sweat more often than not, lightheaded and inexplicably anxious no matter how peaceful his dream might've been? Maybe he's just getting old. His knee's been acting up more and more these days too, the joint clicking when he first gets up in the morning and not wanting to bend when he's in the shower (another luxury he missed in Purgatory, right beside food that didn't come from a century-old tin can in one of the cities built around there—trickles of reality seeping through or whatever Cas said).
Then, like flipping a switch, it all disappeared when he looked up in the mirror and saw Cas behind him. Filthy, haggard, sweaty Cas complete with peach fuzz. Cas, who cleaned up and caused a reaction in him that Dean doesn't want to acknowledge. Cas, who wanted to stay behind in Purgatory out of guilt he probably hadn't known before he met them, before he dragged Dean up from Hell as Dean dragged Cas down from Heaven.
That's when he notices Cas is acting weird. He blinks out of conversations and breaks eye contact first only to look strangely…distant, which has never happened before. His face is empty more often than not, expression closed off and unreadable. At first, Dean thought it was because he left Cas behind in Purgatory, but when Cas showed him what truly happened, that theory went out the window.
"Hey, have you noticed Cas seems…off lately?"
Sam glances up from his laptop. "No, why?"
"Dunno. He's acting weird."
"Uh, yeah, that's kinda what he does. He's a weird guy."
Dean makes a frustrated noise and stops picking at the label on his beer to send Sam a look. "No, weirder than usual. He's not acting right."
"Well…he did just come back from Purgatory. It took you a while to get back to normal after you came back." Sam shifts awkwardly and guiltily like he does every time they talk about Purgatory. "Look, Dean—"
"It's fine," he cuts in firmly, because they're not talking about him, they're talking about Cas. Thankfully, Sam shuts up, and Dean lets the silence drag on before reiterating, "I don't know what's going on, but Cas…he isn't right right now."
"How do you know?"
Dean's first instinct is to reel back and ask how Sam doesn't see it, but instead, he thinks for a second. While Sam and Cas have gotten closer over the years, Cas is still his friend first and Sam's second, still closer to him than he is Sam. They have a…profound bond or whatever. Cas has literally taken his every atom in his hands and put him back together, has seen every corner of his mind and soul, knows him probably better than he knows himself.
It's a scary thought, really. A few years ago, it really freaked him out to think about this unfathomable creature knowing everything there is to know about him. Now, it's still weird, but Dean doesn't mind as much; somewhere along the line, he'd gotten to know Cas, too. He might not know Cas' every molecule or know anything about his past, but he knows Cas, knows how he works and how he thinks.
That's how he knows that Cas, no matter how normal he might seem to Sam or whoever else, isn't acting right. Something's weighing in on his mind, and after the years he's had, it's kind of justified. Still, though he's not sure what's going on, he does know that Cas is somehow more scattered now than he had been when he was in the nuthouse (something Dean will never forgive himself for, though he was angry at the time and the idea of dragging Cas around with him seemed like a bad one when he was so…vulnerable).
Unfortunately, Dean ends up being right.
Then, crushing revelation after crushing revelation comes out; Cas was rescued from Purgatory by an angel that hacked into his mind and nearly made him kill him. Cas is struggling mentally to cope with what he'd done in Heaven and the destruction he'd caused. Cas doesn't see a light at the end of the tunnel anymore like Dean hasn't. Cas is suicidal.
It's…a lot. Dean's not sure how to deal with any of it, and Cas does what he always does when he's not sure how to deal with anything either: he flees. Maybe Dean should've been more open to him, should've offered help and support when Cas first uttered the words 'kill myself' in that motel room. But Dean's never had support with any of that and he's not sure how to address it, not sure how to help someone battling with those kinds of thoughts when he's punched his own ticket to save his brother.
He knows Cas knows that, knows Cas probably doesn't even blame him because he's a selfless little feathery bastard, but Dean blames himself every time Cas flies off, blames himself every time he dares to miss Cas when he knows he could've had Cas there if he'd been a little more…there for Cas.
Sam keeps giving him looks and asking how he's holding up, but as Sam goes through the Trials of Hell and gets progressively weaker, even those looks dry up and Dean feels even more alone. Cas asks for help with his own Trials of Heaven, but Dean's only one guy and can't split himself between two people like that as he falls into the now full-time job of taking care of Sammy, as he'd been trained to do since he was a kid. Not to mention the idea of helping his angel with something that means he'll never see him again is…
Then Cas Fell along with all the rest of the angels, and with it, both of their guilt only increased, Cas' with Heaven and Dean's with Cas. The least he could do is offer Cas a place to stay, and even then, depression doesn't just go away. Dean tries to be there for Cas, but he doesn't know how to help someone through that when he himself struggles with it more often than not.
But Cas doesn't blame him. Cas knows everything about him, and Dean knows Cas. Cas knows he's a mess and doesn't know what he's doing, but Dean tries anyway and does what he should've done long ago: he offers support for Cas and stays there, and slowly but surely, he thinks Cas might improve one day. Not get better, but get back to his usual self, even if he seems to be the only one who can tell the difference. And if Dean himself slowly improves right with him, well, he'll just think of that as Cas saving him all over again.
-
5.
"Dean, Cas is human, not a baby."
Dean doesn't bother glancing up from where he's pulling a blanket over Cas' still form; poor guy fell asleep on the couch during a movie and Dean doesn't have the heart to wake him, not when he's been having such a hard time falling asleep since becoming human. Really, he's been having a hard time with every aspect of humanity, from remembering to eat or drink or piss before bed (he's still not sure if Sam knows how many sheets he's had to wash under the apologetic and humiliated ex-angel's nervous gaze and has no intention of telling him) to knowing his limits and dozing off.
Some of it's a mental thing; Cas' only previous experience with falling asleep was back during the Apocalypse when he was Falling or when he was overwise unconscious. Dean doesn't blame him for having issues, but as is, they desperately need to get him on a better sleep schedule. He should probably bring Cas to his bed, but he knows he won't, not when there's such a high chance of Cas being awake for most of the night afterwards.
He's been human for a couple months now, and while Dean's been there as much as he can alongside helping Sam recover, Cas is still…kind of a mess.
It does have some unexpected bright spots, though. Getting to teach Cas the joys of humanity, for example. Ice cream, pie, burgers, hippie honey tea, PB&Js (but not with jam). Crappy TV that apparently becomes hilarious after one too many beers (Cas is a cute drunk as a human—sue him). Hot showers with high water pressure and strawberry shampoo from the women's section, a thick towel and warm pajamas to top it all off.
Cas wearing his clothes…does things to Dean. He's not really sure what, but it makes him feel all weirdly warm on the inside when he sees Cas wearing something of his—which, given his lack of many other clothes, is basically all the time. It's weird, since he never particularly liked seeing little Sammy in his old threads growing up.
But Cas looks all warm and content in his stuff and Dean likes that, likes that his clothes (or the occasional hoodie from Sam, which fit Sam normally but go down to Cas' knees) make Cas feel safe in a way he's probably never felt before, thanks to Heaven. There isn't much he can do to give back to Cas that would be anywhere near as meaningful as Cas giving up his home and wings, but if wearing Dean's stuff and taking long showers makes him happy…well, it's a no-brainer.
Dean doesn't tell Sam this, of course. He wouldn't understand anyway, so Dean instead just says, "Yeah, well, used to do the same to you, in case you forgot."
They both know that Dean's…protective instincts really surged up when Sam was struggling with the aftermath of the Trials of Hell. Sam's still not back to 100%, but he's well enough to bitch and whine about being an independent adult, so Dean backs off and just helps at an arm's length, keeping Sammy well fed and nudging him awake when he falls asleep at the library's table (he hasn't been able to carry Sam since he was ten, so that's not even a possibility). Neither of them mention this, by some unspoken agreement.
"Look, all I'm saying is, Cas can take care of himself—or he at least needs to learn how to."
Dean remembers a tipsy Cas haltingly describing his journey to the Bunker after he'd Fallen and before Dean could go and pick him up—remembers how he thought there was nothing wrong with feeling unsafe at every turn and sleeping on whatever floor he could find, how he thought being constantly hungry and achy and dehydrated was just part of the human experience, how he said he'd woken up after his first night in the Bunker in tears because he felt so comfortable and content and safe—and shakes his head.
Maybe Sam has a point, but Dean…damnit, he likes taking care of people. He was in his glory when he could jump from helping Sam recover to looking after Cas to making sure Kevin stopped acting like he was sixteen and invincible and didn't need to rest. That's not to say he likes when people need help, he just…likes to be wanted, and he's come to terms with that.
In that way, he's had plenty of things to help Cas learn or relearn now that he's human. What certain feelings meant was one of the first and most difficult, since Cas thought being human just meant hunger pains and achy joints; seems that he's growing up like a Winchester after all. Bathroom things were awkward and horrible, but necessary, though they've agreed to never speak of that again.
Every morning since the first one, they brush their teeth and shave together. Sam caught them (not that they were doing anything…bad, so maybe 'caught' isn't the right word) one time and grilled Dean on it over breakfast. Dean tried to stop any and all bathroom cohabiting activities after that, but found that he didn't have the heart to turn Cas away the next morning, so the routine has continued.
"Look, Dean…you can just admit it," Sam says, drawing Dean's attention away from Cas' slack face and over to him. "I'm not gonna judge you for it or anything, and honestly, it's…it's been a long time coming."
Dean looks at him like his hair just grew another three feet. "What the hell are you on about?"
Sam looks right back before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nevermind. I just think maybe you should look at why you worry about Cas so much."
Sam retreats presumably off to bed, but Dean just stands there and stares. Why wouldn't he worry about Cas? Dean's the one that made him lose piece after piece of himself over the years, so it's only right to try to help him rebuild, too. He doesn't have much to offer, but Cas doesn't ask for much, anyway.
So Dean does what he can. He teaches Cas and guides him as he tries to figure out just what being human means. He answers his questions no matter how weird or embarrassing. He offers hugs when it looks like Cas needs one but isn't sure how to ask, and lets Cas hold his hand when he reaches out for it like a little kid in need of comfort.
He doesn't think there's anything really strange about it. Cas only just became human, so Dean's helping him out. Admittedly, he might baby him a little with warm clothes and blankets and hot food, but he's done the same to Sam for years, and now again with Kevin. Sam never comments about him driving forty minutes to a faraway store just to get Kevin his fancy prune juice, and yet looks at him funny every time Dean comes back from the local store with honey (which is every time, because Cas goes through it like water).
Whatever. Sam's just pissed Dean doesn't stoop low enough to buy kale for his hippy salads more than a few times a month. Cas has only just figured out what things taste like, and like hell is Dean gonna pass up the opportunity to introduce him to pie and bacon and all the good things in life.
And if he covers Cas with a blanket now and then when he falls asleep somewhere that isn't his bed? Well, he does the same to Sam and Kevin. That's just him looking after his family and making sure they've all got what they need, just as he's always done. He's a provider, so he's providing—it's as simple as that.
…so why does it feel different? Why does he feel the urge to make sure Cas is properly bundled up when he's more likely to draw a mustache on Sam's face than do more than drape a blanket over him or wake him up? He wants to think it's because he didn't grow up changing Cas' diapers or anything like he had with Sam, but he doesn't feel that way about Kevin either.
It reminds him of the time they went to a bar a week ago and someone seemed interested in Cas, pouring the flirting on hard. Cas didn't even acknowledge it and wasn't interested in anything but the onion rings she delivered, and for some reason, that soothed Dean a little. It didn't stop Sam from nudging him and telling him to release the death grip he had on a bottle of beer, though.
It's just…different. What he and Cas have has always been different, so it shouldn't be too surprising to realize their 'profound bond' or whatever extends beyond a weird angel-human thing. Sure, Cas being human shakes things up a little, but Dean thinks it could be a good thing.
After all, it's pretty hard to flutter off at the drop of a hat without wings, and as selfish as that is, Dean can't help but see that as a good thing. Not that it doesn't twist his heart to hear Cas talk forlornly about his wings or to see him tear up when he finds one of the many Ziplocs Dean keeps in his drawers, but he does like how often Cas is around now.
Cas is his best friend, after all. It'd be weird if he didn't want him to live with him and never leave, right?
…right?
-
+1
The day—November 5th, starting out cloudy and miserable and ending up pleasantly warm—seemed like an uneventful one when Dean first woke up. They sat around in the Bunker all morning and only headed outside to stop at a diner under the guise of wanting some fresh air when really, none of them felt like stocking up on groceries.
The diner was small and trashy, like their usual choice in eating establishments. Dean and Cas were on one side and Sam and Kevin on the other. Dean kept having to tell Kevin to get off his phone and enjoy their time together, but Kevin hasn't been a preppy AP kid for a long time, so he just flipped him off.
Cas left to go to the bathroom at some point (Dean had told him to go before they left, but the stubborn idiot said he didn't have to go) and Dean got up to look at the dessert display case up at the counter despite still waiting for their main course to arrive, and just as he started seriously trying to decide between cherry and apple pie, someone tapped his shoulder.
That's when it happens. This stocky bald guy Dean's never seen before reroutes his entire life with a single sentence: "Hey, your boyfriend needs some help in there."
Dean opens his mouth to reply, but the guy's already walking away, his duties apparently fulfilled. Dean stands there for a minute gaping like a fish both because of the sentence itself and because of the name and face that had immediately appeared in his mind. Someone said 'his boyfriend' and Dean's mind automatically supplied 'Cas'.
He's not even sure if the guy meant to talk to him. Maybe it was a mix up and he'd thought Dean was someone else, someone with a boyfriend, or maybe he'd meant to say best friend, or— Dean shakes his head and pushes into the diner's small bathroom anyway, finding Cas glaring down at the sink like it had personally offended him.
Boyfriend.
"Uh, hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?"
Cas turns the sour look to him for a second before gesturing towards the sink. "I would like to wash my hands, but there's no way to turn on the water. Dean, why is the handle missing?"
Dean takes one good look at it and, on an impulse, waves a hand under the faucet, which quickly starts spitting out water. "Guess it's motion activated," he says when Cas looks at him with wide eyes. "Well, you gonna wash?"
Cas quickly starts washing his hands, but Dean still sticks around to help him figure out how the soap dispenser from Hell works and takes the opportunity to teach him about not using the first paper towel out of the container. Cas listens completely and dutifully in a way not even Sammy had when he was a curious little brat, and that word comes to mind again.
Boyfriend. Is Cas his boyfriend? Well, okay, maybe not, but could he be? It's a question that plagues his mind all the way back to their booth seat. How easy would it be to take Cas' hand under the table? To put an arm around his shoulders during one of their movie nights that usually end with Cas sleeping against his shoulder and Dean with a numb arm? To reach out and touch and hold and…
The waitress drops four plates on the table and leaves. A few years ago, Dean would've been hitting on her. Now the thought makes him kinda sick to his stomach. What could he possibly get from her that would be better than this? Spending time with his family and watching them bicker. Watching Sam eat his Cobb salad and Kevin use his phone under the table and Cas' eyes light up as he steals one of Dean's fries and discovers the taste of overcooked fries and salty ketchup.
This is what he wants in life, and the only way he can think of making it better is to press his luck, and maybe it's stupid and not worth the risk, or maybe it'll be okay. They've always had a weird relationship over the years, and now that Dean's realized some things he'd always kind of ignored, he can't stop thinking about it.
Wanting to be decently clean and presentable was probably the first obvious sign. Cas raised his angst-ridden ass from Hell and saw him at his lowest and most depraved, and yet, Dean wanted Cas to see that there's more to him than that. A stupid thought really, since he's realized by now that Cas knows everything about him—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Over the years, Dean tried to set Sammy up and help him let loose a little, letting him go back to the motel of the week with whoever and never throwing a fit about it even if it meant sleeping in the Impala for the night. On the other hand, the thought of Cas with anyone…else makes him feel kind of sick to his stomach. Granted, so does thinking of just what Sam might be up to in that motel room, but it's a different kind of sick.
Then there's the staring and silent communication, the constant urge to touch and protect and hold, the instinctual way they understand each other in a way that's never needed a title before… Cas' little feather collection stuffed in Dean's drawers—the collection no one else knows about or has—tells him that there's a good chance Cas might be treating him a little differently than he treats everyone else, too…
Ah, who's he kidding? Cas doesn't stand inches away from anyone else or spend time staring at anyone else, doesn't follow anyone else's word as loyally as he follows Dean's (unless it's about going to the bathroom before they leave or not wearing his socks so damn high up his legs). Dean could tell him that humans brush their teeth with the handle part and Cas, even having watched humans for hundreds of thousands of years, would probably try doing it that way, the dumbass.
With that thought comes yet another revelation: he doesn't just like Cas, he…he loves Cas, in a dopey, gushy, gross (to everyone else) kind of way.
"What cesspool are you stewing in?" Kevin asks later on, after the meal and pie and drive back to the Bunker.
Dean must've had one too many (despite only having one and not feeling even a little tipsy), since he's quick to reply, "I think I'm in love with Cas."
"Oh my god, finally," Sam bursts out. "I've been waiting to hear those words for years."
"The tension in here makes me miss Garth's houseboat, even though there's, like, no water pressure in there," Kevin feels the need to contribute. "You've been making us puke in our mouths for far too long, so get in there and tell him or something."
Dean hesitates and waffles and debates about it for well over an hour before ignoring the issue and heading to the store. He returns forty-five minutes later, which is apparently long enough for everyone to have both gone to bed and leave him all alone to unload the groceries. He figures it's late anyway and this'll just have to be tomorrow's problem, and just as he's finishing his nightly routine and getting ready for bed, he notices Cas' door is still open.
A quick glance inside confirms that the room is empty (and still devoid of personality, looking just as it did when Cas first got it, though maybe with a little more displaced dust), and Dean sighs fondly and goes to seek Cas out. When he doesn't find him in the library, map room, or fill-in living room, he goes to his own room on a hunch.
Of course, that's where he finds Cas, the ex-angel all curled up on top of his blankets and hugging one of his pillows. He tries to maneuver Cas underneath the blankets, but ends up half waking him up in the process, making Dean feel caught in a way he doesn't like.
Cas blinks up at him tiredly, adorably drowsy. "Hello, Dean."
"Hey, buddy."
It seems to take Cas a minute to realize where he is, and when he does, he sits up a little. "Oh. I didn't mean to… I can leave."
"You don't have to." Cas looks confused, so Dean adds, like a coward, "You've been saying your back hurt all week. Maybe what you need is some good memory foam, huh?" Dean thinks it's phantom pain from his wings and not just a stiff mattress, but doesn't have the heart to remind him of what he's lost again.
"Dean, I…I can't take your bed from you. I'll leave."
When Cas tries to get up, Dean lightly pushes him back down, and Cas lets him. "What, uh, what are you doing in here anyway? Need something?"
"No," Cas answers too quickly, glancing away. "I should go."
Right. He's lying then. He's a really bad liar, too; if they're gonna keep hunting, they should probably help him get better at it, since cops don't exactly back down when people try to divert the question. Dean sits on the edge of the bed beside him, and Cas shifts uncomfortably. "Why are you here, Cas?"
They look at each other for a long moment before Cas admits, "Sam said you had something to talk to me about, but that I should wait for you to approach me about it." Sam. Of freakin' course he'd be sticking his nose in this. "He…mentioned something about…staring and tension. Is something wrong?"
In hindsight, they probably should've talked. In hindsight, Dean probably shouldn't have just grabbed Cas' face and pushed their mouths together, but hey, he only just realized he's in love with his best friend, so cut him some slack. And anyway, it's pretty hard to regret anything when Cas clumsily kisses back, grabbing at his shirt like a lifeline.
Dean's really starting to get into it, fingers of one hand running through Cas' hair while the other drops to his lower back, when Cas abruptly pulls away panting, his face flushed a deep red as he struggles to suck in air. "Is…" Cas begins just as Dean's wondering if he'd done something wrong, "is kissing always so…breathtaking?"
The word is a strange one and Cas likely means it literally, but Dean can't help but smile and kiss his forehead. Then, realizing he still hasn't explained anything, he all but whispers, "I think I'm in love with you, Cas."
Cas blinks, tilts his head, and says, "Oh."
Oh. Dean confesses his love and Cas says 'oh'. Clearly, there's been a miscalculation somewhere. Maybe the staring was just Cas…liking his soul or something. Maybe the feathers were just because he had nowhere else to dump them. Maybe Cas never felt anything at all when he wore Dean's clothes, never thought anything of them that he didn't think about Sam's…
While Dean starts rethinking things he thought he'd only just understood, Cas continues, "I thought we both knew this a long time ago. Some of your prayers were…" Cas' face goes red again, and Dean probably shouldn't find it so adorable. "Regardless, I'd like to inform you that I…I love you, too…"
Dean can't think of anything else to do but kiss him again, and by the time they're both lying down facing each other, which should be weird but really isn't much different than what they usually do, Dean wonders how he ever thought they were just friends. He also wonders how long Sam knew—or at least thought he knew—but dismisses the thought quickly.
Cas falls asleep quickly that night, but that doesn't mean his sleeping problems suddenly vanish just because they're…doing their thing now, just like Dean's issues don't magically poof away with a kiss. They still have things they need to work on both together and individually, but the closeness intertwined with their usual little quirks helps.
They still stare and hold and touch, but now they're able to do it longer, and with it brings a new sort of comfort. Dean no longer worries about whether Cas would fly away all the time if he got his wings back; instead, he gives Cas a place to land whenever he wants to—which, as it turns out, is basically always.
Looking back a few years later, weighed down by a question and a ring in his pocket as he practices in front of the mirror now that 'boyfriend' doesn't feel like the right term anymore, Dean wonders how he ever thought Cas was just a friend. He really is an idiot sometimes, but he can live with that because Cas loves him, anyway—God help the poor bastard.