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Cas had been learning a lot about humanity lately. Dean was a very good teacher: well-versed in the rituals and unspoken signs of human communication. Now that Sam and Dean were using Bobby’s house as their main base of operations, Cas found himself immersed in more of these little humanity lessons than ever as they attempted to stop the Apocalypse.
One of Cas’s newfound favorite rituals was the Late Night Talk, which usually consisted of Dean and Bobby (and sometimes Sam, if he hadn’t gone to bed yet) sitting around Bobby’s living room, slowly nursing alcoholic drinks and quietly talking about their lives, dreams, and fears– even if it was still in that stilted, emotions-under-lock-and-key way that the Winchesters usually operated.
Dean had offered Cas a drink once (“nightcap” was supposedly the name, although it just looked like whiskey to Cas), and Cas had taken it for the sole purpose of being allowed to sit in on the Late Night Talk. Dean didn’t offer Cas drinks anymore, but he seemed happy enough when Cas sat down at the small kitchen table anyway, so Cas took that as a standing invitation.
Tonight, Dean was drinking beer, and the topic of conversation was Karen Singer.
“You ever think about retiring ‘nd trying again?” Dean was asking Bobby.
Bobby snorted, taking a swig of his own beer. “Let’s stop this damn apocalypse before we start talking about retirement.”
The corner of Dean’s lip quirked up in a tiny smile. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Bobby rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “What about you?”
Cas found himself focused on Dean’s facial expression; he shook his head, forcing a smile, but Cas had spent more than enough time staring at Dean to detect the cracking sadness in his eyes. “You know me, Bobby. I wasn’t built for the apple pie life. I think I’d just get bored.”
Cas wasn’t exactly sure what an ‘apple pie life’ was, but he knew how much Dean loved pies. He struggled to imagine Dean ever getting bored if it included eating pies. But whatever it was, why didn’t Dean think he could have it?
Looking back at Dean, Cas understood: Dean didn’t think he deserved it.
Bobby sighed. “Dean–”
Dean stood up, cutting the Late Night Talk short. “I’m gonna crash. ‘Night Bobby, Cas.”
Cas watched Dean disappear up the stairs, then turned back to Bobby. “What does an ‘apple pie life’ entail?”
Bobby shrugged. “It's different for everyone– house in the suburbs, white picket fence, wife and kids, maybe a dog.”
Fence, wife, house, dog…and the apple pie, of course. Pushing aside the wife, they all seemed rather achievable. And if Dean wouldn't get them for himself, well, perhaps Cas could get them for him. It would be a small price to pay for Dean's happiness.
The fence seemed like the easiest item to retrieve, by far. Apparently, all that was required was a board painted white, which Castiel was quickly able to locate and bring back to the latest motel Dean and Sam were staying in.
Sam was in the shower when Cas arrived and Dean was sitting on one of the beds. He stood up when he saw Cas, shutting the laptop he was using.
“Hello Dean.”
“Hey, Cas, what's…” He caught sight of the fence in Cas's hand and frowned. “What is that?”
“It's a white picket fence. For you.”
He held it out to Dean, who took it, staring at it.
“Uh, thanks.” Dean cleared his throat. “Is this the only reason you wanted to stop by?”
Cas didn't understand why Dean seemed so confused. Had he done something wrong? Should he have started with the apple pie?
“Yes, that was it,” Cas replied, trying not to let his disappointment show. “Goodbye, Dean.”
Cas flew away with a flap of his wings, already planning out his next step. He'd make sure the next gift was better, clearer with his intended message.
After careful deliberation, Cas decided to save the wife for last. Dean deserved only the best for his future lifelong partner: someone who complemented him perfectly, someone who knew him inside and out, someone who strived to keep him happy. Any woman Cas could think of simply fell short of these requirements.
So…the dog.
Castiel found a shelter claiming to sell them nearby Bobby Singer's house. The teenage employee working there was more than happy to help him once he explained the situation.
“So how long have you and Dean been together?” Emily asked as she walked Cas through rows of cages.
To the shelter's credit, all the dogs seemed well-behaved and well taken care of, but Cas didn't see anything that felt like the perfect dog for Dean.
“I raised him from Perdition about a year and a half ago, and we've been working together ever since.”
“Workplace romance, huh? Sounds cute.”
Cas froze, almost stumbling over Jimmy Novak's shoes. “What? No, Dean and I are not romantically involved. We wouldn't– he doesn't--he's straight.”
The look Emily gave him was decidedly sympathetic, which Cas didn't understand at all. Even if he did like Dean in that way, and Dean somehow liked him back…an angel and a human couldn't be together. Dean saw Cas as an ally, a friend; Cas might earn the title of ‘brother’ one day, but that was all he could hope for.
Not that he was hoping for anything. Just Dean's platonic companionship and long term happiness. Which was why Cas was here.
“So, what kind of dog were you looking for?” Emily asked, breaking the silence.
In the end, Cas walked out with a beagle named Bucket. It– she– came up to about his knee, and she had floppy brown and black ears that matched her multicolored body. Emily had stressed the importance of getting a dog you could bond with, and Bucket was a retired police dog; Cas figured that with both her and Dean retiring from dangerous jobs that protected others, they'd have plenty to bond over.
Also, according to Emily, beagles didn't shed as much as other dog breeds, so Dean wouldn't need to worry about fur on the Impala's seats.
“Good luck with Dean!” Emily said as she handed off Bucket's leash. “Anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually,” Cas said as Bucket sniffed at his shoe. “Where is the nearest ‘suburb’? I need to buy a house.”
A suburb, Cas learned, referred to a cluster of houses usually arranged around a bulb-shaped stretch of road. All the houses were perfectly idyllic and utterly indistinguishable from each other.
Bucket trotted happily by his side as Cas walked towards the ‘for sale’ sign on one of the quaint mailboxes. From the outside, the house looked nice: a garden out front, a garage to keep the Impala safe, a spacious backyard for Bucket to enjoy.
He walked up to the front porch and knocked on the door, wondering if every house in the suburb had a door painted the same color as the window shutters. He could hear voices filtering through the door, rough shapes blurred by the frosted glass windows.
The door swung open to reveal a smiling older woman with grey curls and a floral dress complete with a frilly white apron.
“Hello,” Cas said, mimicking her smile. He wished Dean was here; he was always good at charming his way into houses. “My name is Castiel. I'm interested in buying a house.”
He must've said the right thing because the woman's eyes seemed to light up even more, and she quickly ushered both Cas and Bucket inside.
“Oh, dear, that's wonderful. My name is Amy, and this is my husband, Ray.”
Ray looked a lot like his wife– grey hair, a big smile, sporting a soft-looking cardigan. He stuck out his hand for Cas to shake, which Cas did.
“And who is your dog?” Amy gushed, bending down to coo over Bucket.
“Her name is Bucket. She used to work for the police.”
“Oh, and I bet she was wonderful at it!” Amy said. “I wish we had a treat to give her, but we stopped carrying them after the girl across the street lost her dog.”
“Is the neighborhood nice?” Cas asked. He wasn't entirely sure what the question meant, but it was always brought up in the home improvement shows he's studied in preparation.
“It's very good for families,” Amy assured him. “The school isn't too far from here, and there's a pool a block over for those hot summer months.”
Cas was hit with the sudden visual of Dean emerging from a pool, shirtless and dripping. He cleared his throat and pushed it out of his mind, not entirely sure where it had come from in the first place. “Oh, my friend and I…we won't be having kids.”
Wife and kids, Bobby's voice hissed in Cas's ear, as soon as the words left his mouth. Obviously Cas and Dean would never be able to have kids– the child would be a nephilim– but none of this was for Cas. Dean's ‘apple pie life’ didn't include him, unless the fully-human child he had with his beautiful wife needed a supernatural babysitter.
Amy's eyes twinkled as if she and Cas were sharing a private joke. “Your friend, huh? What's his name?”
“Dean.”
Amy patted Cas's shoulder. “Well, he sounds lovely. And I know we might be on the older side, but this neighborhood is a real accepting place. Both the Donaldsons down the street and the Carsons near the pool fly their flags in the summer.”
Cas made a mental note to ask Dean what flags had to do with summer.
“Yes, Dean certainly is…” The memory of Dean's soul in Hell, brilliant and beautiful, and the rush of fizzling warmth Cas felt when they touched for the first time appeared in his mind's eye. “...very lovely.”
Amy beamed. Cas must be getting better at conversing. He'd have to thank Dean later, maybe over a slice of apple pie. Obviously Cas didn't want a slice– even if Dean would be willing to share it– but he'd be allowed to sit through it, like the Late Night Talks, right?
“Ray, why don't you give Castiel here the tour while I finish up dinner?”
Ray slid his arm around his wife, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Sounds good to me!”
The house had two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms– though how you could have half of a room, Cas still wasn't entirely sure–, a living room, an office, a kitchen, and a dining room. The decorations were more girly than Dean would like, but the blue and yellow color palette of the walls went well with the warm wooden floors.
Walking past the carpeted living room, Cas could envision Dean settling down in that black leather couch, his feet propped up on that ottoman, a beer in his hand and a cowboy movie playing on the TV. He could see Dean in the kitchen like Amy was now, pulling a pot off the stove and laughing a little as Cas hooked his arm around Dean's waist, pulling him in for a–
No.
Cas quickly looked away from the kitchen. Dean would have a wife. Humans and angels weren't supposed to be together. He wasn't sure where these visions– desires– kept coming from; it was the kind of thing he would ask Dean about, if he wasn't a little sick to the stomach at the idea of Dean's reaction to it.
No, he wouldn't bother Dean with it.
In some ways, the actual apple pie felt like an apology, for said visions. He hadn't yet purchased the house in the suburbs, too occupied by the strange things he'd been feeling, but Bobby had been more than happy to lend Cas his kitchen and one of Karen's old family recipes.
He followed the recipe to the letter, determined to give Dean the best apple pie to start his new life with. Bucket laid at Cas's feet, happily accepting the tiny chunks of apple Cas fed her. He carefully slid the pie tin into the oven, peering through the black-tinted door so he could judge whether or not the crust was ‘golden brown’ yet.
The recipe said it would take at least an hour, but Cas was accustomed to waiting.
“Heya, Cas.”
Dean.
Cas stood up and whirled around, trying to keep his cool. “Hello, Dean.”
“Is that pie?” Dean asked eagerly, tilting his head to look past Cas and at the messy counter behind him.
Cas sent up a quick prayer that this pie would turn out perfectly. He didn't want to disappoint Dean. “Yes.”
“Wow, you really know the way to a guy's heart.” Dean's eyes landed on the dog, and his smile shifted. “What's with the dog?”
“Her name is Bucket.” Looking at Dean now– his bright green eyes glittering in the low light, his green canvas jacket framing his figure nicely– all his preparations to give Dean the life he deserved suddenly felt inadequate. “Bobby said it was necessary for an ‘apple pie life’.”
Dean snickered. “Cas, you know that's metaphorical, right?”
Oh. “It's a good thing I didn't buy a house in the suburbs then.”
That tore a genuine laugh out of Dean, and warmth filled Cas's chest as he looked at him, drinking in the sight of Dean so…carefree and happy.
“I didn't pin you as the type to settle down,” Dean said.
Cas froze. Dean froze. The ticking of the grandfather clock in Bobby's living room now sounded ominously loud in the nighttime silence.
When Dean spoke, his voice sounded slightly strangled, laden with realization. “Wait…the fence– Cas…”
“You said you would get bored, but I could tell that you wanted it. With the right person, maybe. Someone who understands the hunting life.”
Cas didn't know where the desperate words were coming from. He tried to stem the tide.
Dean swallowed, his eyes locked on Cas's. As if Cas was the only thing in the room worth looking at. A beat passed, then a smile cracked open on Dean's face.
Cas might've appreciated that smile more if it wasn't paired with Dean getting closer to him, crossing the length of the kitchen, trapping Cas up against the oven. Cas was glad his heart didn't actually beat, because surely Dean would be able to hear it, fluttering frantically in his chest like a caged bird.
“You know, Cas, you might wanna take me on a date first before you start trying to run off into the sunset with me.”
Cas blanched; Dean was never supposed to know about that. “I wasn't–”
Cas's protest was cut off by the pressure of Dean's lips against his. Suddenly, Cas found himself unwilling to protest at all.
One thing Cas thought he would never understand was kissing. Surely it was just a dry pressure, tasting of nothing but molecules…somehow, with Dean, it was much more than that. Warmth, like grace, coursed through Castiel's vessel, emanating from the points where the soft pads of Dean's fingers rested against Cas's hip. The feeling of the oven pressing into his back disappeared, swallowed whole by the overwhelming sensation of Dean's lips, his hands, his firm, warm chest pressed flush against Cas's body.
Dean pulled away slightly, still breathing in Cas's personal space, and when Cas opened his eyes, he could see Dean's soul reaching out for Cas.
Some people were worth falling for, Cas decided. Dean Winchester was one of them. What was one more little rebellion against Heaven, anyway?
His hand on the back of Dean's neck, Cas leaned in, beckoned by Dean's soul. He flipped them, pressing Dean up against the oven, letting his hands explore the body he'd pieced together in Hell.
Dean's soul was just as beautiful as he remembered.
“Someone's eager,” Dean murmured into Cas's jaw, the smile clear in his voice, before surrendering to another kiss.
“I don't want you to get a wife.” If there was a little bit of a growl in Cas's voice, well, no one had to know. Except Dean.
“Wasn't planning on getting one,” was Dean's reply. “I'm all yours.”
Cas was fairly certain he must've overcooked the pie. He didn't keep as close a watch on the color of the crust as he intended, due to certain…circumstances beyond his control.
On a completely unrelated note, he understood the appeal of kissing now. Sitting across Bobby's kitchen table from Dean, Cas was already charting out a hypothesis about whether or not the residues of sticky apple-cinnamon filling would change the texture and taste of a kiss.
Dean let out a low groan as he shoveled more pie into his mouth. The noise startled Cas out of any thoughts he might've had.
“Dude, this is delicious,” Dean said. “You should've just led with this.”
Cas scowled. Taking another bite, Dean rolled his eyes and added, “No, Cas, I won't leave you for the next person who offers me good pie. I have standards.”
Bucket set her nose on Dean's leg, staring up at him with big, pleading eyes. Dean stopped his chewing to look down at her as if trying to judge whether or not the pie was worth giving up, meanwhile Cas was contemplating cutting up another apple, just for her.
“No offense, Cas, but I think your dog likes me more than you.”
“She's supposed to be your dog.”
The fork slipped from Dean's hand halfway up to his mouth. “You were serious about that.”
Cas smiled sheepishly. “Like I said, Bobby told me it was part of the ‘apple pie life’.”
Dean looked down at Bucket, then back up at Cas. “Ours.”
“What?”
“It's our dog now,” Dean said. “I'm not letting you pawn full custody off on me.”
Warm contentment settled deep in Cas's stomach. He leaned over, pecking Dean on the cheek, letting his lips linger. “Fine. Our dog.”