Chapter Text
Hours 0-1
Everyone thought Sam was God’s gift to creation.
Sweet, kind, nice, loving, adorable Sam Winchester. So cute! Sure, he was nine feet tall, but he was just a big ol’ teddy bear if you listened to literally anyone in the entire world talk about him, with his big green-brown cow eyes and floppy hair. Couldn’t hurt a fly, people would coo, such a sweet boy, was the refrain of their childhood.
Dean knew better. Sam was an asshole. He was evil apparently, maybe possessed by Satan, and he must hate Dean, specifically, to ask him to do this. Dean needed to organize an exorcism or something, give him a Southern-style baptism in one of those giant bathtubs full of holy water.
Because only a truly sick, evil, twisted, sadistic human being would ask Dean Winchester to get on a goddamn plane just to go to a wedding.
Dean clutched his duffel bag, staring at the boarding gate looming before him. He had his ticket in his other hand, and it was like holding his own death certificate. The gate agent was literally calling his name. The doors were going to close.
C’mon Dean, it’ll take you almost a week to drive here and back, Sam had wheedled. You don’t have that much time off. It’s just seven hours by plane! Here and back, easy! Get on an early flight and I’ll take you out for drinks and food after!
Dean internally cursed his brother with every half-remembered incantation from every horror movie he had ever seen. His hand around the duffel bag’s straps was starting to hurt, knuckles white around the fabric, and the gate agent was looking annoyed as she called his name again, followed by the words last call.
He didn’t have time to drive to California now. If he didn’t get on this plane, he’d miss Sam’s wedding.
Serve him right.
Dean saw Sam’s hopeful smile in their Zoom call when his brother had asked Dean to be his best man. Heard Sam’s tearful confessions of how much he loved Eileen while Dean drove him home from the bachelor party Dean had hosted for him back in Kansas, of how happy he was and how excited he was about their life together. Sam’s dopey-ass face years ago when he’d told Dean this new girl he’d started dating was the One.
Sam’s little ten year old face, hugging Dean around the middle.
Dean swore nastily enough to burn the ears of anyone who might be listening and stomped up to the gate, slapping his ticket down on the counter. “Dean Winchester,” he growled, shoving his free hand in his pocket to keep it from shaking too obviously.
“Mr. Winchester, so good of you to join us.” She gave a tight smile, clearing having noticed him hovering through three calls over the intercom for him. She scanned his ticket and gestured. “Go ahead, your seat is 27B. Have a nice flight and thank you for choosing us today.”
Trust me, lady, I didn’t choose anything about this. Dean gave a strained smile of his own and faced down the gallows, putting one foot in front of the other. The jetway was fine, but then there was the airplane and there was the door, and there was a gap below the door. He stopped, freezing on the platform where the floor stopped and the airplane started, and one of the stewardesses looked out at him.
“Sir,” she said in a tone that held edges to it even as she tried to smile, “We really need you to take your seat so we can stay on time.” Yeah, he’d read once how air crews didn’t get paid while they were waiting at the gate, only while they were in the air. That was bullshit. Another reason to hate airplanes and airlines and air-everything.
But he was costing her and her coworkers money and Dean was a dick but not that much of a dick, so he forced himself to keep moving. The airplane folded around him as he stepped on, the walls rising up and curving around him like a coffin. His mouth ran dry and the stewardess took his ticket, then gestured.
“Ten rows down in coach on the left,” she said, and he nodded numbly and started slowly moving again as the intercom buzzed that now that we have our last passenger with us we can begin pre-boarding.
23, 24, 25, 26, 27. He looked at his ticket again, shoving his duffel into the mercifully-open bin above the seats labelled 27A, 27B. Thank God or the saints or angels or whatever the hell was paying attention, because he had an aisle seat. Dean stiffly slid into his seat and glanced at his seatmate- all he could really see was a balled-up tan trenchcoat against the side of the airplane serving as a pillow and a shock of dark hair, but there was enough of the profile visible that if Dean were literally anywhere else, it might get his attention.
As was, Dean focused on the seat in front of him and tried not to throw up.
The stewardesses started their safety demonstration and Dean’s nausea increased. He buckled himself in and almost had a panic attack when the seatbelt didn’t latch right away, but then it did and he breathed a little easier. And then the cabin lights dimmed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on breathing steadily.
They were backing up.
They were turning.
The wings were making noise.
And then with a jerk, they were moving, and an incredibly unmanly sound broke from Dean’s lips as he gripped the armrests. One of the armrests jerked beneath his hand and he barely registered under the panic that he must have grabbed his seatmate’s arm instead of the plastic arm of the seat, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut and gritted out sorry, sorry, sorry as he released his death-grip on the poor dude who had just been trying to sleep.
The wheels lifted from the ground and Dean damn near whimpered as they wobbled, terror ripping through him. He was going to die. He was going to die here in an airport in Kansas and Sam’s wedding would be ruined and-
A tiny miracle interrupted the hurricane of terror in his head, taking the form of warmth curving around his right wrist, around the back of his hand. Solid, strong, heavy warmth, and that was followed by a low voice, a voice that could have been from some kind of divine being ( god?! Dean wondered wildly);
“You’re alright. We will level out soon, the climb is going to slow in the next thirty seconds. There won’t be much turbulence today so this should be the worst of it. There is virtually nothing happening in SFO today, so it should be an exceptionally smooth landing. Here.” Something pressed into the hand that wasn’t circled by warmth and safety. “I don’t know if you have any gum, but you’re welcome to have this piece. Chew it, it will help with the pressure build-up in your ears.”
And now that this stupid-heavenly-gorgeous voice mentioned it, there was pressure that wasn’t fear-related pressing against Dean’s ears and sinus cavities. He stuck the gum in his mouth- luckily it was mostly unwrapped so pulling the rest of the foil off with one hand was easy- and the voice hummed comfortingly as there was almost a little bump in the air and then the pressure around them softened and eased slightly. Level out, the voice had said. Right. Dean chewed his gum furiously and the pressure in his ears shifted and popped a little, the easing of that pain smoothing over some of the jittery anxiety that was curling in Dean’s bones. His shoulders lowered a little, some of the terror leaking out of his muscles.
“There,” the voice continued, warming slightly. “It’s a long flight, unfortunately for you. But it should be easy from here on out.” The warmth moved off his wrist and Dean opened his eyes to see his seatmate leaning back, giving him a small smile as he pulled his hand away from Dean’s. The bluest eyes Dean had ever seen looked back at him, a little sleepy but mostly just calm and steady, and Jesus Christ, but he was gorgeous. His profile had been good, but full-on was exceptional.
Dean managed to keep his gum from falling out of his mouth as he gaped and nodded a little, feeling his face heat. “I uh- thanks. I don’t like planes.”
“I gathered.” His seatmate’s lips quirked very slightly.
“Sorry I grabbed you.” Dean winced. He hadn’t been careful because he’d thought it was plastic, and he knew he was plenty strong enough to do damage in panic. He glanced down at the man’s arm, but he was wearing a soft navy sweater over a button-up, so Dean couldn’t tell if he’d marked him at all. “Sorry if I got you. You were sleeping, too.”
The other man shook his head. “I was, but it’s fine. It’s a long flight, as I said.” His long fingers unwrapped another piece of gum and popped it in his mouth, and okay, Dean was definitely not scared enough not to notice that mouth, holy shit. “Are you from Kansas City?”
“No.” Dean tore his eyes away from the shape of his lips and glanced at what other distractions he could find- the in-flight magazine, always thrilling; The safety brochure- no thanks, he didn’t need another panic attack; his phone, which needed a charger; none of it was more interesting than his seatmate, who was still watching him. Dean shrugged a little, leg bouncing as jittery energy coursed through him. “I live in Lawrence. It’s about thirty minutes out.”
His seatmate nodded. “And you’re flying to San Francisco for business or for fun? I would imagine, given your dislike of air travel, it’s not something frivolous.” His lips quirked again and Dean forced himself to meet the man’s eyes- but that didn’t really help, given how breathtakingly blue they were. Like the blue of the sky and the ocean and bluebells and that one shade Honda made six years ago, but all the best striations of all those things mixed into one.
“Uh- no. Wedding. My brother’s wedding, he’s getting married.” Planes made him stupid, Dean decided fiercely as he tried to find words. It wasn’t the gorgeous stranger beside him- Dean had taken plenty of men and women home without a problem. He was a slick dude. He could flirt his way into your bed in under ten minutes and it had been proven.
Hot Seatmate nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see why that would be incentive enough to get you on a plane. You’re a good brother. Are the two of you close?”
“Yeah.” Not even Sam moving two-thousand miles away could change that. They texted literally every day, called every few days, Zoomed once a week. Sam flew out when he could and Dean drove when he could. “Idiot needs me there, it’s not about being a good brother. It’s about making sure the groom doesn’t pass out and waste all of his new wife’s family’s fancy catering when they’ve gotta wheel him to the ER.” He snorted.
“Does he have a nervous disposition in general?”
“Sammy? Nah. She makes him nervous, kinda, since he loves her so much and he wants all that shit so much, you know? The whole picket-fence-white-wedding-2.5-kids thing.” Dean couldn’t imagine it for himself and he thought it was ridiculous that Sam would be happy with such a little life, but at the same time, the way his brother looked at Eileen made something in Dean’s chest curl up tight and quiet down about it.
Shit, if the kid wanted the American Dream, Dean would help him paint the goddamn fences any color he wanted.
Hot Seatmate considered this, folding his trenchcoat in his lap. “It’s nice that you’re supporting him even though that isn’t something you’re interested in for yourself.” Dean frowned at him, trying to figure how he knew that, and his seatmate raised a hand. “I’m not prying. I’m distracting you.”
“What?” Dean blinked and realized he wasn’t panicking anymore; the tension in his body having bled away, his legs no longer bouncing and hands no longer shaking. He blinked, a little of the fear returning with the awareness of its absence, and he rubbed the back of his neck. The gum, the hand on Dean’s wrist, the low crust-of-the-earth rumble of his voice in Dean’s ear, they’d all come together to make this somewhat bearable already. “Oh. Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” his seatmate said earnestly, and Dean laughed.
“No, man, you didn’t. Shit, you’re the first thing that ever chilled me out on a plane.”
His seatmate blinked, then gave a tiny smile, the lines of his shoulders relaxing. He held out a hand. “Castiel. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Dean. Uh, yeah, Dean.” What the hell kind of name was Castiel? “Quite a name you’ve got there.”
Castiel sighed and tilted his head at him. “My entire family is like that; my mother and father were religious studies majors. I have a brother named Balthazar, another named Raphael, and a sister named Hester. I also have one named Hannah, she’s the lucky one.”
Dean grinned at him, popping his gum. “Lots of weird-named siblings, huh Cas?” Something lit in Castiel’s eyes at the nickname and he tilted his head again. Dean immediately catalogued this as Insanely Cute, but still- “Sorry, probably shouldn’t nickname you.”
“I am a fairly formal person,” Castiel mused, “But I enjoy the informality of nicknames. My brother Gabriel has never said a person’s legal name in his entire life and will bend himself into pretzels to find a name that suits.” He shook his head. “It can be a challenge. I have another brother named Uriel, and in addition to the others, the nicknames can be… interesting.”
Dean snorted. And he thought he had it bad with just one sibling. “I guess so, damn. So your turn, then- are you from Kansas City, or from San Francisco?”
“Neither.” Cas shook his head. “I live in Boston, but I’m not there often enough to really call it home.”
“Traveling businessman?” Dean concluded shrewdly, and Cas’ eyes crinkled.
“Airline pilot,” he shot back, and Dean stared at him. The horror. “I’m off-duty- my supervisor told me that if I didn’t begin taking PTO she would stop assigning me shifts.” He squinted at the seat in front of him in an adorable little scowl. “I told her that was unprofessional and she made some creative threats so here I am, taking ‘time off.’” He did the actual air quotes and Dean was pretty sure that, despite the dude’s occupation, this man was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen in his life. “Which I was going to do this weekend anyway, as I have an event to go to as well. My cousin-”
“Anything to drink?” The stewardess popped up with a bright smile.
“Do you serve alcohol?” Dean almost begged, and she passed him a ‘menu.’ Cas ordered water and Dean ordered a Jack Daniels and a Woodford Reserve whiskey. She nodded and vanished, and Dean looked back at Cas, trying to remember what they’d been talking about. “Pilot, huh? So you do this shit all the time? No wonder you’re good at it.”
Cas rewarded that with a chuckle. “I do fly quite a bit,” he agreed, and Dean was momentarily completely distracted from the death-tube around them by the way his seatmate’s eyes danced when he laughed. “But I understand when people are nervous about air travel. It isn’t for everyone. You didn’t want to drive?”
“I wanted to,” Dean disagreed firmly. He’d fought with Sam and Bobby about it for the better part of a week. “But work couldn’t spare me long enough. A flight’s faster and gets me back to work before we’ve got issues. Thank you.” He accepted his drinks and handed Cas’ to him as the stewardess smiled and moved on down the line.
Castiel nodded thoughtfully, sipping at his water. “There isn’t anyone who could cover for you longer? Are you a manager?”
Dean shrugged and eyed his drinks- twenty bucks for these tiny ass shots of alcohol? Sam was absolutely going to take him out for beers tonight and Dean was going to get smashed on his little brother’s fancy-pants lawyer dime. “Sorta? I work at an auto repair place.” Sounded stupid. Dude was a pilot. He drove death-machines through the air and laughed at danger daily. “I restore classic cars, do complicated rehauls, shit like that.” Better. Dean knocked back his shot of Jack. “Nobody else in the shop can really handle it.” Better yet. “Plus, my boss is coming out too since he’s our foster dad and Sammy wants him there for the big shindig, you know? So nobody can cover my stuff since we’re both here.”
“Oh.” Cas blinked and Dean bristled slightly, prepared for the usual oh how nice, a foster family that was good in theory but in reality was just pity sugar-coated as he sipped at his Woodford, but Cas surprised him. “That’s good that the business can spare you both, then. I’m sure your brother appreciates having his family with him for something like this.”
Oh. Dean nodded a little and considered killing the rest of the whiskey, but given that he’d already downed the Jack, he made himself sip the Woodford. He was calmer now anyway. “Yeah. Bobby’s good like that. So Bobby’d give me the time off, but we wouldn’t meet deadlines, so.”
Cas watched him, then gave another tentative, tiny smile. Dean wondered if he was capable of doing anything that wasn’t adorable. “You take a lot of pride in your work, that’s important to have. Work that has meaning, that brings joy, isn’t something everyone is able to find.”
Dean laughed a little awkwardly. Joy? Yeah, he supposed it did bring him joy but he wouldn’t have thought of that phrasing. “Do you want to see the love of my life?” he asked, and Castiel nodded slowly. Dean opened his phone and scrolled through the photos, then presented his seatmate with what had to be the most beautiful thing the pilot had ever set eyes on.
Cas paused, then shook his head and gave an actual laugh, and it was lucky for Dean that when Cas laughed his eyes scrunched shut, because Dean almost dropped his whiskey. The things that actual, real laughter did to this dude’s face…
“The love of your life is a car,” Cas managed after a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. “An old car?”
“Hey.” Dean pointed at him sharply. “This is Baby and you’re lucky you get to see her. She’s not old, she’s classic and she’s perfect.”
“My apologies.” Cas laughed again and Dean almost forgave him for the old comment. “She’s very nice.”
“She’s better than nice, you asshole,” Dean informed him, and Cas shook his head again, a bigger, warmer smile settling on his face. “She’s a lady and I treat her like one. You’ve never been in love with a car?”
“No, I can’t say I have.” Cas leaned back in his chair, amused. “I spend more time flying planes than driving cars, if I’m to be honest with you. I was incredibly fond of my first Cessna, though, so I suppose I can understand that. Did you restore her yourself?”
“Yeah, mostly.” With a little help from his father and a lot from Bobby. “I’m the only one who touches her now, that’s for damn sure.”
“Hm.” Cas smiled at him and over the intercom, the stewardess let them know that the seatbelt light was off, so they were welcome to move about the cabin. Dean found that he had no interest in ‘moving about the cabin’ and started quizzing Cas on what pilot school was like.
Hours 2-3
“Suck it.” Dean slapped down his cards and Cas sighed, then handed over three peanut M&M’s. Dean crunched them victoriously. “You suck at poker. Alright so… worst date?”
“January twenty-eighth,” Cas informed him decisively, and Dean frowned at him. Cas squinted back. “What? It’s too cold to do anything and there are no holidays to look forward to for ages other than Lent, and that isn’t really considered a holiday, and Valentine’s Day, which is a corporate nightmare even if the sentiment of it is nice enough.”
“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” Dean informed him, and stole another M&M. Cas fixed him with a wrathful glare. “I meant the worst date you’ve ever been on. Like, dating someone.”
Cas considered, twisting the cards in his hands thoughtfully. Dean had charmed them off a stewardess and they were proving very useful as something to pass the time. Cas was terrible at this game. “I don’t date much,” he hedged.
“Well then you’ve got less to decide on,” Dean snarked. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours- it’s a good one about a chick I picked up when I came out to visit Sammy once. It ends up in the ocean.”
Those blue eyes flicked up at him, the expression there confusingly assessing for a moment, and then he squared his shoulders, facing Dean fully and lowering his cards. “Last year I took a coworker out for drinks after a shift and he overindulged, threw up all over himself, urinated in the airport proper before I could stop him, and got arrested by airport security,” he said, and there was a challenge there that Dean had to sort through before realizing what would put up the other man’s defenses, as he registered the pronouns.
“That sounds like a disaster,” Dean agreed, popping a pretzel in his mouth, and carefully worded the next bit. Cas knowing he was bi was absolutely a good idea. “I went out on a date with a trucker once and I was the drunk one in that scenario. Dude was a beast, I have no idea where he put all the beer, man . Lucky he was a good guy and he just made sure I got into my apartment and left, so I didn’t get arrested. Although I did piss on a church, probably why it was just a one date thing.”
“A church?” Cas was watching him with a fascination that Dean recognized. Dean was an attractive man, and one who rarely spent the night alone if he didn’t want to. He knew when someone was interested, although Cas was being obvious enough about it that he didn’t exactly need to be Sherlock Holmes to suss that out. “That’s incredibly blasphemous, Dean.”
“What can I say? I’m a rebel.” Dean grinned at him and Cas busied himself with sorting through his cards (not that it would help him- he was a horrible card player), a tinge of pink high on his cheeks. Dean grinned wider. “So that was your worst date. What was your best date?”
“We didn’t hear your worst date, and I haven’t lost this hand yet,” Cas informed him primly, and Dean laughed and accepted the point, launching into the story of what Sam called the Pier Girl Incident.
*******************
“So your parents were into religious studies?” Dean stretched as much as he could in the little seats about thirty minutes later, once they’d returned the cards to the stewardess. “What was that like? Were they super, like- I dunno, religious?”
“Yes, I suppose you could classify them that way.” Castiel was carefully working his way through a book of sudokus in pen, which was impressive as hell. He seemed to be able to hold a proper conversation at the same time as well, which was also insane. “They loved Scripture and treated it as their favorite book, they read about it, discussed it at length, went to museums and exhibitions and held study groups in our home about it. We attended as many churches as there were in Boston as children, cycling through many different congregations. Often for research purposes. We celebrated every Christian holiday that there was. I sincerely considered going into religious studies myself, if not devoting myself to the cloth.”
“The clo- oh, like, being a priest or whatever?” Dean blinked at him and Cas nodded, confidently writing a 4 in a tiny square. “Why didn’t you?”
Cas glanced at him. “I’m gay, Dean,” he said, in a tone that conveyed a thousand eye-rolls without giving one, and Dean grinned at him. Cas snorted and looked back at his book. “When I realized how many religious institutions would cause me to suffocate who I was, I decided to take a different path. There are plenty of congregations across the world I could lead as a gay man, but I wasn’t entirely sure it was my calling and I wanted to reserve those spaces for other queer people for whom it is a calling.”
“Huh.” Dean watched him curiously. “That’s really cool of you.”
Cas’ lips curved into a small half-smile. “It sounds simpler than it was. I struggled quite a bit for a long time, but I’ve made my peace with all of it now. I’m lucky that my parents didn’t disown me and my siblings are still part of my life, regardless of who I love. There are many for whom that would not be the result of coming-out.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Dean had, luckily, never had to come out to his dad. When he’d awkwardly told Bobby, his foster-father had growled that he didn’t care who Dean brought home as long as that person treated him alright and wasn’t afraid to get oil on their clothes, girl or boy, and had tossed a broom at him and made Dean sweep the garage to keep them from having a real heart-to-heart about it. Sam had gotten all ally-y about it and he and Eileen had made shirts and gone to Pride Parades with Dean and had ‘very helpfully’ sent him some LGBT history books (that Dean had lied about reading- fiction was fine but non-fiction put him to sleep).
Dean realized he’d disappeared into memory and blinked himself back to the present. Cas was quietly working on his sudokus, and Dean, strangely, didn’t feel a need to fill the silence. He always did normally- he wanted music, he wanted noise, he wanted a distraction from himself. But here with Cas, silence had a restful quality.
That didn’t mean, of course, that Dean didn’t want to speak to Cas, given the near-divine rumble of the other man’s voice (made sense he’d thought about being a pastor or a priest or whatever). But it was nice that there wasn’t a need for it the way there was for almost everyone who wasn’t Sam or Bobby.
Cas looked up at him and gave a small smile, tilting his head. “How are you feeling now?”
Dean grinned back at him. “I think you might be my own personal guardian angel,” he informed him, and Cas scoffed, looking away, but the wash of pink across his cheekbones made Dean’s grin widen and he pulled out the in-flight magazine to decide what the most insane thing was that he could order and send to Sam and Eileen’s house as a wedding present.
He tried to ignore the jolt of sensation when his hand brushed Cas’, and his seatmate’s pen paused just a little too long in writing the next number. Dean buried his smile in the magazine.
Hours 4-5
“So you said you have a ton of siblings?” Dean asked curiously, sipping at his beer. Cas nodded as he stirred his coffee slowly. “What’s that like? Are you going to eat that cookie?”
Cas rolled his eyes and Dean grinned as the man’s shoulders went along for the ride, but he slid the Biscoff onto Dean’s tray so it was a win. “I do have quite a few siblings, yes. I am one of ten.”
“Ten, Jesus,” Dean sputtered. “That’s just way too many kids, dude. Did you guys live on a farm where everyone could run wild, or did you just have a gigantic house? Ten kids in one place would be insane.” No wonder Dean’s constant chatter didn’t bother him, though- ten kids and two adults would make anyone tolerant of noise.
Cas shook his head indulgently. “We were fortunate enough to have a good-sized home, yes, but most of us still shared rooms. I have Raphael, Uriel, Gabriel, Hannah and Anna- they’re twins- Balthazar, Hester, Naomi, and Michael.”
“Wait, there’s a theme there,” Dean said slowly, something connecting in his long-ago memories of Catholic Sunday-School, and Cas nodded.
“Yes, most of us are named after angels of some sort. I’m named after a very obscure apocryphal angel myself. As I said, my parents are academics who specialize in religious studies, and no one told them that a child named Uriel or Raphael or Castiel would likely not fare well in a public middle-school.”
Dean winced. “Rough childhood, huh?”
Cas shrugged. “Not so much. The good thing about having ten siblings is that if one is being picked on, you have an entire army to back you up. It was like having a garrison of soldiers at times and we mostly helped each other make it through. I was very lucky in most ways of my life and cannot really complain.” He sipped at his coffee. “I can’t imagine having only one sibling. Doesn’t that get exhausting?”
“Exhausting?” Dean frowned. Sure, Sam could be exhausting at times, but that was because he was a little shit.
“One sibling, one person to share things with.” Cas waved a hand. “When I needed comfort, I went to Hannah or Anna. When I needed cheering, I went to Balthazar or Gabriel. When I needed assistance with avenging a wrong, I went to Uriel or Michael. If I had a serious problem, I would direct it to Naomi or Raphael, or sometimes Hester. If one of them needed assistance with schooling or planning some revenge, they came to me. We were able to spread the mental load out among ten of us, but only one other sibling would be… quite a lot for any one person to fulfil.”
Dean tapped his boots on the footrest. “Hadn’t really thought of it like that, but… we moved around a lot when we were younger- my dad couldn’t handle shit after my mom died and he didn’t want to stay in one place. So me and Sammy, we were all each other really had. We didn’t make friends because you’d be gone in a few weeks or six months, you know? So we just kinda… I don’t know, figured it out. I guess it’s a lot sometimes, to be each other’s only support. But Sam’s been settled in California for a while now so he’s got stability and stuff, and I’ve been in Lawrence for a long time and I’ve got people there too, so it’s not just us anymore.”
Cas nodded thoughtfully, watching him as if he was hearing more than Dean was saying. “You said your foster father was named Bobby? Have you been with him for a long time?”
“Yeah, since I was sixteen. Sammy was twelve.” Their dad had wrapped himself around a tree and Dean had been filled with a kind of helpless rage, almost vibrating with it as the social workers tried to explain ‘next steps.’ We’ll do everything we can to place you two together in a home, she’d explained, and Dean had nearly attacked something at the idea of his little brother going to a different ‘home’ than he was.
He’d been in the middle of making plans to take Sammy and steal a car to sleep in it, to get a part-time job down South where it was warm enough to sleep in a car until they had the money to get an apartment, when Bobby had walked into the shabby waiting room at the police station. Sam had burst into tears and Dean had just stared at Bobby, feeling grateful and hollow in turns as the older man explained that he was taking them home.
To his home.
Bobby had been a fucking miracle, John Winchester’s best friend who’d been on some paperwork somewhere the social workers had found, listed as an emergency contact. Bobby had put every single thing in his life on hold to drive across the country and bring the Winchester boys back to his place, to give them a home and stability for the first time since their mom had died.
Dean felt his throat tighten around a hard lump as he shrugged a little. That had been a rough time, and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever thanked Bobby for getting all three of them through it, for dealing with Dean’s anger and constant rule-breaking until teenage hormones and grief had burned out enough for him to realize just how good they had it.
Dean took a longer drink of his beer. “Yeah, Bobby’s a good dude. Took us in, cleared out half his house so we’d have room. Gave me a job, taught me how to fix shit instead of break it, kept me on when I figured out what I was doing. The Impala- Baby, the love of my life- she was my mom and dad’s, and Bobby’d had her in the back of his yard. He let me fix her up, helped me source parts, all of it. Good dude.”
Cas’ smile, when Dean glanced up at it, was beautiful. “I’m glad that you had someone like that in your life,” he said sincerely, and Dean looked away from that brightly honest expression. “I think you are a credit to your family.”
Dean sputtered into his absurdly-tiny this cost me nine dollars beer. “Dude, you have no idea what-”
“I’m allowed to have an opinion,” Cas informed him peevishly, and Dean eyed him, then relented, shifting in his seat.
“Well. Thanks. Sam’s the brain of the outfit, he went to a bigwig school and shit. I never wanted to go to school, was never any good at it. Working in the shop, getting dirty, that’s where it’s at.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the trades,” Cas agreed easily, and Dean glanced at him. There was that sincerity again. “I think restoring classic cars, when the tools and the parts and the machines themselves take a specialized skill-set, is incredibly impressive and something to be proud of. I imagine it took years of refining your technique. It’s an attractive quality.”
Something flickered in Cas’ eyes as they looked at each other, eyes locking, and here, this was where Dean was comfortable. Getting praised, talking about his messed-up childhood, those were no-no subjects but this heat that leapt between them, the way Cas’ pupils dilated the longer they kept eye-contact, this was somewhere Dean was comfortable. He loved the chase, loved the hunt when someone was interested in you.
“Yeah?” Dean let his voice lower slightly, not breaking eye-contact. Cas had expressed that he was interested in men and Dean had made his past with guys known- how about they see where this could go? “Even though I get all oily and dirty at work? You’re a pilot, you’re in suits and fancy outfits all the time. Me getting all grimy and oily at the shop, that’s not weird?”
Cas stilled, the black of his pupils eating up a little more of the spectacular blue of his irises. “I- what? No. Of course not.”
“The fact I’ve got to strip as soon as I get home and take long showers to get all the oil off me, that’s not gross to you?” Dean shifted slightly, just enough that his leg pressed up against Cas’, but it was a double-edged sword because although Cas gave a sharp little inhale, Dean’s own thoughts veered off-road as the heat of Cas’ thigh seared into him. “I get engine-lube everywhere and it takes a while to get lube off, right? It’s a pain in the ass.”
“Right.” Cas’ voice sank into a deeper register and Dean grinned slowly. “Of course. I imagine- engine-lube. Lubricant. Is a difficult thing to remove from your skin.”
“It really is,” Dean agreed, leaning forward very slightly as if imparting wisdom. He could catch Cas’ cologne now- light but sexy, all heat and something like lemongrass, almost. “That’s another technique I had to refine, gettin’ clean after work. Takes a lot of scrubbing, a lot of soap and water. I stay in the shower for long enough my water bill gets insane sometimes, just scrubbing at my skin.”
Cas licked his lips, nodding slowly. He looked almost dazed. “Of course, yes. Naturally.”
“You and me should get a drink at the bar, when we get off the plane.” Dean shifted just a tiny bit closer. It was like a spell had been cast, nothing existing in the world other than the color of Cas’ eyes and the flush rising on his cheeks and the absolutely insane black hair above that- hair that Dean was going to pull and fist and impossibly fuck up worse than it currently was, so help him God.
Cas blinked. “I- no, I spend so much time at airport bars.”
Well, there was the spell broken. Dean sat back sharply, rejection a cold splash of water. “Oh. Yeah, right. That’s cool.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.” Cas shook his head quickly, hand raising as if to catch Dean but not making contact as something very like desperation shot across his face. “No, I just meant- I don’t want to be in an airport again after this, it would be like my asking you to hang out at your garage after hours. But any other place, I would- yes, I would very much like to get a drink with you when we land, outside of the airport. That would be good.”
Oh. Dean relaxed and shot him a grin. That made sense, he guessed- he wouldn’t necessarily bring a date to the shop for fun.
An image of Cas laid out on one of their workbenches, arching up as his voice shouted Dean’s name echoed off the walls rose in Dean’s mind and he forced it back down immediately. Okay, so maybe he would, but that was beside the point.
“Okay, cool,” Dean agreed, bumping his knee against Cas’. “I uh- I don’t know San Francisco really, but there’s always bars around.”
Cas nodded slowly. “I have stayed at my hotel before,” he said, tone just a bit too casual to be casual. “And the bar on the ground floor is exceptionally nice.”
Holy shit, he was inviting Dean to his hotel.
Dean’s grin almost hurt his face. “Hell yeah, then. Hotel bars are awesome sometimes. Let’s do it.” He’d text Sam when he landed and explain not to wait up. Dean moved to pull his phone out of his pocket and his bladder made the situation known. He unbuckled and immediately felt a little unsafe, the ‘Cas bubble’ of safety dissipating slightly without the pressure on his abdomen, but it was a necessary evil. “I’ve gotta hit the bathroom, I’ll be back. But definitely drinks after, yeah.”
“Yes.” Cas watched him go, heat in his eyes, and even though Dean did, legitimately, need to use the bathroom, he was a little sad that Cas didn’t follow him into the tiny stall.
But he had a hotel room.
And he’d invited Dean there.
Hours 6-7
A little lurch made Dean open his eyes and he frowned, then blinked as reality seeped back in. Right- airplane, he was going to Sam’s wedding, and that weight on his shoulder was Castiel, a hot-ass airline pilot with whom he was getting drinks later.
They’d been listening to music together- Dean had pulled out his wired earbuds and they’d each taken an ear so Dean could give Cas a proper musical education. Apparently at some point they’d both fallen asleep. Dean looked down at the man slumped over on him, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, and smiled a little, watching him.
He really was gorgeous. Just absolutely beautiful, all sculpted cheekbones and strong jaw and dark stubble, thick dark hair Dean could still feel under his cheek. The dude was built too- he must work out, given that piloting wasn’t physically strenuous. He had strong thighs and the kind of biceps that not even his dorky Mr. Rogers sweater-and-button-up combo could hide. Dean took a brief moment to (somewhat sacrilegiously) thank God that Cas hadn’t become a priest.
But this warmth was different from the heat of earlier when they’d flirted. Dean tried to think through it as Cas’ soft breaths fluttered across his neck and face, seemingly utterly at peace sleeping on a complete stranger.
Cas had been startled awake by what had had to be a nearly-bruising grip on his arm to see a man beside him who had been losing his mind, and the dude hadn’t taken more than three seconds to go into soothing mode. Probably had something to do with all the siblings, but maybe it was just him, too, just something Cas was.
They’d talked for literally almost six full hours and hadn’t run out of things to say to each other. When was the last time that happened? Dean tried to think back. Even a lot of the people he’d actually dated-dated had eventually run out of things to say and they’d resorted to sex to fill the silences. But with Cas, there had always been something. Which was weird and new and honestly kind of awesome.
It wasn’t just that Dean wanted him (and who could blame the dude if they’d seen Cas) but he actually liked him. Enjoyed his company, respected what he knew of him, wanted to spend more time to see if there was any potential there.
He hadn’t seen potential in anyone in a long time. Since Lisa, really. He looked down at Cas as Metallica hummed in one ear, the other earbud still snug in Cas’ ear that was pressed against Dean’s shoulder, his nose brushing Dean’s neck. Cas had a light, tiny, almost sweet sort of snore that Dean could imagine falling asleep to. It would be comforting in a dark bedroom, a sort of I’m still here. And he was warm too, so if Cas was snuggled up against his back, snores rumbling from his chest to Dean’s spine, shit. That would be better than any back massager to help him get to sleep.
Whoa dude, you’re so far ahead of yourself, Dean reminded himself in alarm. What the hell was he doing, thinking about falling asleep with Cas? He was a nice guy, would probably be an excellent hookup, but-
Well? But what?
He paused, considering this carefully. He didn’t want the 9-5 picket-fence life that Sam wanted. He’d always wanted stability and consistency, but he didn’t necessarily want a ton of kids and cookouts and everything perfect. So a normal life, a normal relationship, probably wouldn’t do it for him.
But Cas had explained how he’d usually work three or four days in a row, then home for two or three days, then another three to four-day stint. That was consistent, more or less. He’d explained how he could sort of choose where he landed and where ‘home’ was, so if he wanted to visit siblings or friends in other places it was fairly easy to simply pick up a flight going there or flying it if he needed, to switch shifts with someone if that was necessary.
So Dean could have his own time, and then he could have time with Cas. He’d be able to miss him a little, so when they got together it would be awesome instead of just ‘hey man I just saw you literally eight hours ago for breakfast.’ He could pick Cas up from the airport, they could spend his off-days together, and when he had to go back to work, Dean could drive him back and drop him off.
That could… be really cool. Potentially. No bending himself into pieces to fit into someone else’s life- they could both maybe do their own thing, which is all Dean had ever wanted. He’d spent most of his life following the whims of other people, so being able to choose his own shit mattered, so…
Dean watched Cas sleeping, fitting this new idea of partnership into his head. Yeah, that could be seriously awesome. If that was what Cas wanted, if that was the sort of relationship and life he wanted, Dean could see how that would fit into his idea of family and partnership shockingly well.
They could see how drinks today went, and then how after went (Dean had no illusions that there would be an after and it would probably be amazing, considering those arms and thighs) and then maybe… he’d get Cas’ number. They could just sorta stay in contact, flirty text when Cas could. Sometimes maybe Cas would have a layover in Kansas City and they’d just… see how things went.
Yeah. Yeah, that was the plan. That was a really good plan. Just real casual, easy, let things play out like they did.
But it was certainly a beautifully shiny future.
Of course it was then, when Dean was relaxed and comfortable, basking in Cas’ warmth and the strangely steadying power of Cas’ breathing drifting across his skin, that the intercom buzzed to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to San Francisco, California. The local time is seven thirty-two. For your safety and the safety of others, please be seated with your seatbelts fastened and your seatbacks in the upright and locked position. Please take all your belongings with you. We would like to thank you for flying with us today and hope to see you again. We are beginning our final descent now.”
Final descent was a phrase that sent Dean’s body into fight-or-flight and every muscle locked down as his breath caught in his throat. Cas stirred and lifted his head, looking around sleepily. “Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face, “I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Dean assured him through his teeth as the wings made a horrific sound that probably meant they were tearing off.
Cas blinked, sleepiness disappearing, and pulled the earbud out of his ear and followed it with tugging the other out of Dean’s. He tucked them into the seat-pocket and rifled through his coat pocket, holding out another piece of gum. Dean took it with a jerky motion and Cas hesitated.
“It seemed to help when I spoke to you, on takeoff. Would-”
“Just do what you did when we took off, man.” Dean managed as the plane dropped, and he squeezed his eyes closed, his life flashing behind his eyelids as he pulverized the gum between his teeth.
Fingers curled around his wrist, warm and gentle, and a little of the terror ebbed away as Cas’ leg pressed against his, his arm resting down over Dean’s. “We’re descending,” Cas murmured, and this time his voice was even more soothing than before, because Dean knew who it was who was speaking to him. “Captain Flynn is doing an excellent job. He’s engaging the flaps now, controlling the descent. You can see the buildings clearly enough now to see the numbers.”
The plane gave a sharp wobble and a sound broke from Dean where he still sat, eyes squeezed shut. Cas’ fingers tightened on his wrist. “There was a small eddy, but we are level again. We should be touching down in a moment. There will be a jolt, and then he will engage the braking flaps. I’ve flown with him before, it should be excellent. And then we will gather our things and get that drink. I think I may get a Cosmopolitan. I’ve never had one, but it sounds-”
A jolt- the wheels had hit and Dean crushed the gum between his jaws because the fucking plane was weaving, the engines were screaming, and they were going to die in a fiery ball on the tarmac -
“-to me, it sounds rather fancy. Gabriel and Balthazar always make fun of my drink orders, but they aren’t any better in my opinion, because they are excessively fussy about specific wines for the former and IPAs for the latter, and it can truly be ridiculous. I think-” The engines slowed, the pressure in Dean’s chest eased, and he could breathe suddenly as the plane tooled down the runway, no longer screaming out of the sky.
“I hate planes, I hate them so much,” Dean breathed, sagging back into the seat, and Cas gave a chuckle, releasing his hand and patting his shoulder.
“You did very well,” he intoned, and Dean opened one eye to glare at him. Cas looked away, obviously trying not to laugh, and Dean jabbed him in the side.
“You’re the worst,” he informed him. “Second only to my brother, who made me do this.”
Cas pulled out his phone, turning it back on. “Well, I’d hope that the journey wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. If when we disembark you are still in the mood for…” he trailed off as his phone buzzed repeatedly and he scrolled through texts that had apparently come in while his phone was off. From Dean’s position next to him, it looked like the same person had texted him multiple times. Cas shook his head sharply, unhappily. “Oh, god.”
“Is everything okay?” Dean sat up immediately. “Do you-” Cas’ phone lit up, the name Meg Masters popping up on the screen as an incoming call, and Cas glared at the ceiling as the plane very slowly rolled to a stop. “Do you need to take that?”
“Yes.” Cas worked his jaw. “It’s my boss, she’s a demon- yes?” he picked up the call, pressing it to his ear, and Dean’s attention bounced to the stewardesses as they worked on the door in the front, listening to Cas’ conversation with half an ear. “Meg, you realize that I have- I asked this off months ago, I have an actual obligation. It’s a rather important role, I cannot just- of course in theory I will make it, but if you’re wrong?” He pressed his lips into a thin line and a stewardess picked up the phone for the intercom.
“Welcome to San Francisco,” the girl chirped, and people murmured back at her. “It’s beautiful out there. Now, when we take the ‘fasten seatbelt sign’ off, we really need everyone to stay in their seats as there’s a crew member we need to escort off first so he can make a connecting flight and ensure a safe and on-time flight for our other guests!”
Wait. No. Dean’s head whipped to Cas, who was looking more and more miserable.
“Meg, if you’re wrong and there’s an issue, this could completely ruin- yes, I understand you have no desire to- fine. Fine. But you owe me. Another week of PTO at least and today and tomorrow’s time back since I won’t be using it.” Cas’ eyes met Dean’s and his misery seemed to increase. “Yes, I did have plans. Fine. Yes. I know. You’re welcome, but you owe me.” He hung up and the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign dinged off. People rustled, unhappy, and Dean and Cas didn’t look away from each other.
“You have to go?” Dean guessed, trying not to pout.
“I do.” Cas didn’t look any happier. “There is apparently a family emergency for one of the pilots here and since I’m already here, I-”
“Captain Novak?” A stewardess hovered beside them. “This way, please. Excuse us, sir.” She gestured for Dean to get up so Cas could get out, and he moved to get out of the way as Cas gathered his things quickly and grabbed a small rolling bag from the overhead compartment. Cas turned to meet Dean’s eyes, opening his mouth, but the stewardess was herding him down the aisle and away from Dean before they could say anything else to each other.
It was then, as Captain Castiel Novak was ushered off the plane and out of sight and everyone else on the plane stood up immediately and bustled to get their things, that Dean realized he hadn’t gotten Cas’ number.