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The day started the way a lot of them did lately, strangely quiet. Not the ominous kind of quiet that made Dean instinctively reach for his gun, or the unnatural hush of a cursed town. No, this was a softer kind of silence. The rare kind. The kind that meant, for once, they weren’t running from something or chasing down the end of the world.
Dean Winchester stood barefoot in the bunker’s kitchen, rough palms wrapped around a chipped Kansas City Royals mug that had definitely belonged to someone else once upon a time. Maybe Sam, maybe one of the hunters who’d passed through on their way to a bloody ending. Dean didn’t remember. It didn’t matter. It fit his hand now, solid and a little too hot, grounding him while the last dregs of sleep clung stubbornly to his eyes.
He took another slow sip, wincing slightly at the strength. Just the way he liked it. Bitter and as black as his car.
The bunker was quiet. Peaceful. Almost suspiciously so. The hum of the fluorescent lights above him was the loudest thing in the room, besides the occasional creak of old floorboards or the soft rumble of the heater kicking in. Outside, the Kansas wind was rattling faintly against the bunker doors, but down here, wrapped in the stale warmth of routine and familiarity, it was like being inside a pocket of stillness. A rare thing.
Dean never used to trust mornings like this. Too many times they’d led into something bloody. But lately... lately, the mornings had started to feel less like an omen to disaster and more like the reward for surviving it.
Somewhere in the bunker, a door creaked open.
“Cas!” Dean called out, voice still rough with sleep. “If you’re wandering around looking for the Enochian texts, Sam moved ’em to the west archive!”
There was a muffled answer from somewhere deeper in the bunker, probably the library, followed by the soft rustling of a trench coat. Dean didn’t have to look to know exactly how Cas would appear: stoic, rumpled, probably with that faint furrow between his brows that said he’d been overthinking something again.
A moment later, Castiel stepped into the kitchen. And yep, he looked exactly as expected. Like some detective pulled out of black-and-white film.
Dean rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the warmth curling in his chest. “Still rockin’ the full angel wardrobe first thing in the morning?”
Cas looked down at himself, genuinely puzzled. “It’s functional.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You sleep in that thing?”
“I don’t sleep.”
“Right,” Dean muttered, smirking behind the rim of his mug. Still, the image of Cas lying awake through the night, probably reading ancient texts or staring up at the ceiling, made something ache inside him. Dean didn’t say that out loud. He didn’t say a lot of things out loud.
He watched Cas drift closer to the counter, not to pour himself a cup, because of course he wouldn’t, but just to stand nearby, close enough for the scent of Dean’s coffee to wrap around him like something warm and familiar.
It wasn’t about the coffee. It was about being there.
Dean took another slow sip, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, months maybe, he let himself enjoy the stillness of having Cas in the room. No monsters. No blood. No looming apocalypse. Just the two of them, and a moment.
When Sam finally showed up, damp-haired and dragging his laptop like it was an extension of his arm, the morning slipped into its familiar rhythm. All three of them settled in the war room: Sam took over the table, already muttering about encrypted files and translation errors. Dean sprawled on the couch, a newspaper in his lap that he had no intention of actually reading. Cas hovered between them, pretending to read some lore book but sneaking glances at every now and then.
Dean felt every single one.
It used to make him tense. That steady, unwavering gaze. Like Cas was dissecting him with his eyes, trying to find the pieces Dean kept buried under bravado and sarcasm. But that was before. Before everything, before the last big fight, before the walls came down and stayed down.
Now?
Now it was something else entirely.
It was still intense. Still unflexible. But it didn’t feel like exposure anymore. It felt like... being seen. And not judged for it.
Dean shifted slightly on the couch, pretending to flip a page he hadn’t actually read. He could still feel Cas’s eyes on him. Warm. Curious. Steady.
God, he’d missed this kind of quiet. The normalcy of it, however weird their version of normal was. No bloodstains. No last stands. Just coffee, and someone looking at him like he was worth something.
Cas looked at him again.
Dean looked away, fighting the urge to grin.
“You’re not actually reading that,” Sam said without glancing up.
Dean didn’t even try to deny it. “There’s a Sudoku.”
Sam snorted. “Which you suck at.”
“Shut up.”
Cas tilted his head, ever the earnest one. “Sudoku isn’t difficult. It’s a matter of logic and placement.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe I like making mistakes. Keeps me humble.”
Cas blinked at that. Actually considered it, like Dean had said something profound.
Dean bit back a laugh and took another sip of coffee.
It was a good morning. Which, for Dean, still felt like a miracle every time it happened. He was showered, in clean clothes, and there was absolutely no plan to do anything productive. Sam was occupied. Cas had mentioned needing to grab supplies, something to do with repairing an angelic ward or whatever, and Dean had every intention of loafing around until dinnertime.
And maybe, just maybe, saying something he’d been thinking about for a long time.
He’d been circling it for weeks now. Ever since Cas came back, really came back, after everything, they’d been moving around each other like planets with overlapping orbits. Never quite crashing. Never quite drifting away.
Dean had spent his whole life not saying the things he wanted. But today felt... safe.
Maybe it was time.
He was still turning that thought over in his head when Cas announced that he was leaving for the store. That look on his face, the faint crease of indecision, like he was weighing the ethics of walking versus gas mileage, made Dean’s heart jump a little.
Dean stood, too fast. “Hey, Cas—aren’t you forgetting something?”
Cas paused. “Forgetting something?”
Dean blinked.
Shit.
He’d meant the keys. Cas always forgot the keys.
But Cas was looking at him differently now.
Stepping closer.
Dean’s mouth went dry.
Sam glanced up from his laptop, and Dean could see the knowing curve of his brother’s mouth forming like an incoming storm.
Cas took another step.
Dean opened his mouth to explain, to backpedal, to make some sarcastic quip that would deflect the heat suddenly climbing up his neck.
“Cas, I meant—”
But Cas was already there.
He leaned in gently, like he was asking a question with his whole body. His lips brushed Dean’s cheek; soft, tentative, reverent.
The kiss was nothing. And it was everything.
Dean’s heart detonated behind his ribs like a goddamn firework.
Dean stared at Cas.
The air in the room had shifted, thick with something warm and crackling. It was like the moment just after a hunt, when the adrenaline still buzzed and everything felt too bright. Only there were no monsters here. Just Cas. Close. Watching him.
Cas pulled back slowly, his head tilted in that mild, curious way of his, as if awaiting confirmation that he’d done something correctly. That he’d followed some unspoken rule Dean had offered.
Dean’s brain had been scrambled like cheap diner eggs, messy, lumpy, and completely non-functional. He could still feel it, too. The heat of Cas’s lips on his cheek, the echo of it lingering like a brand. His skin burned where it had happened, a single, startling point of contact that had detonated across his entire nervous system.
His voice came out cracked and uneven. “What the hell was that?”
Cas blinked, calm as ever. “You said I forgot something,” he said plainly, like it was the simplest equation in the world. “I assumed…”
Dean gaped at him. His mouth opened and closed a few times, nothing coming out. Behind him, Sam let out a noise, half laughter, half gasp, and lost all composure.
“You thought I meant… a kiss?” Dean asked, because apparently his mouth was no longer attached to his brain.
Cas nodded without hesitation. “Yes. Isn’t that customary? To say goodbye before leaving for an errand?”
Dean could hear Sam choking now, doing a terrible job hiding his laughter behind his sleeve.
Dean’s stomach flipped. His ears were burning. “No—Cas—I meant your keys.”
Cas blinked again. “Oh.”
There was a pause. A long one.
Sam did not pause.
“You said—‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’” he wheezed, quoting Dean in a pitch-perfect imitation. “Oh my God, Cas thought you meant—”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
Sam was wiping actual tears from his eyes now. “That was beautiful.”
“It was a mistake!” Dean barked, already feeling the flush spreading down his neck, which, naturally, only made Sam laugh harder and Cas look even more confused.
Cas, bless him, hadn’t moved. His brows drew together slightly, his voice quiet. “You didn’t want me to kiss you?”
Dean’s stomach dropped through the floor.
Cas looked so damn earnest. So serious. Like he honestly wasn’t sure whether he’d just stepped over some line or broken something fragile. Like he was bracing himself for rejection with open hands and no armor.
Dean felt like he’d kicked a puppy.
“No! I mean—yes! I mean—” He rubbed at the back of his neck, mortified. “I didn’t—damn it, Cas.”
Sam made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh, a cough, or a dying goose. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look.
He turned away instead, pacing toward the kitchen like moving would somehow settle the fire under his skin.
“Dean,” Cas said softly.
It stopped him cold.
There was something in the way he said his name. A thread of concern so gentle it tugged at Dean’s ribs. Like Cas was reaching out without moving, offering something that Dean didn’t know how to take.
He turned back.
Cas was still standing there, shoulders drawn tight, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His expression was all confusion and quiet hurt, and Dean hated himself for putting that look there.
He exhaled slowly. “You surprised me, man. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Cas said, and straightened a little, like he was trying to absorb the new information and file it somewhere safe.
Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not that I… didn’t like it.”
Sam made a choking noise into his coffee.
Dean pressed on, ignoring him. “It’s just—you can’t spring something like that on a guy in the middle of a Tuesday morning. After Sudoku and caffeine and—” He waved a hand. “I wasn’t ready.”
“I thought you were asking,” Cas said. “So I responded in kind. I apologize if I misread your intentions.”
Dean was quiet for a second. Something in his chest turned over.
“You didn’t,” he said softly. “Really.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam raise a brow. He ignored it.
“I mean, you misread the question,” Dean clarified, “yeah. But the… the other stuff.”
Cas tilted his head. “The other stuff?”
Dean could feel heat crawling back up his neck. He looked away, muttering, “Forget it. It’s fine.”
“Dean.”
There was weight in the way Cas said his name. Not pressure. Not insistence. Just... presence. Solid. Steady.
Dean sighed and faced him again.
“Look, man, if you’re gonna start kissing me on the cheek when you go out,” he said, trying for casual and missing by a mile, “you can’t just do it once and then act like it was a fluke.”
Cas blinked. “Would you like me to make it a pattern?”
Sam made a startled sound that he tried, and failed again, to pass off as a cough.
Dean’s heart was pounding like a bass drum. He shrugged, trying to look cool and only managing to look like he was overheating. “I mean. Maybe.”
Cas stared at him for a long moment, like he was weighing that word—maybe—against something deeper.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
And just like that, it was over.
Cas walked to the table, picked up the keys Dean had so helpfully reminded him of, gave him a look that might’ve been fond amusement, and left the room.
Dean stood there, stunned.
The empty space where Cas had just been seemed to hum with leftover warmth.
“Did that just happen?” he asked.
Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Dude. You have to tell him.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m serious.” Sam shut his laptop with a dramatic little snap. “You’ve been dancing around each other for years, and now he thinks cheek kisses are some kind of casual domestic ritual. You need to say something.”
Dean flopped into a chair and dropped his face into his hands. “I wasn’t trying to start a ritual. I just wanted him to grab his damn keys.”
“You should’ve said, ‘Hey Cas, you forgot your keys,’” Sam said helpfully. “But you didn’t. You said it all flirty, like you were expecting a goodbye kiss. Honestly, I’m proud of him for going for it.”
“I wasn’t flirty!”
“You were so flirty.”
Dean groaned into his palms.
Sam nudged him gently. “You didn’t hate it though.”
Dean peeked out through his fingers, voice low. “No. I really didn’t.”
_________________________________________________________________________
The rest of the day was a bust.
Dean tried to work on Baby in the garage, which normally helped. Usually the weight of a socket wrench in his hand, the familiar creak of the Impala’s hood, and the smell of oil were enough to calm him down. But not today.
Today, he kept getting distracted.
By the memory of Cas’s hand brushing his arm.
By the way he’d leaned in so gently, like he was offering something sacred.
By the heat of that kiss; not passionate, not heated, just real. Soft. Undeniable.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d liked it.
How much he wanted it again.
How terrifying that was.
Around three, Cas came back.
He just appeared in the hallway like always, carrying a small box of supplies and brushing dust from his sleeve like nothing had happened.
Dean, crouched by the wheel well, nearly dropped his wrench.
Cas gave him a nod. A faint, unreadable smile. And kept walking.
Dean stood up. “That’s it?”
Cas paused mid-stride. “What is?”
Dean wiped his hands on a rag, stepping out from under the hood. “You’re not gonna say anything? After this morning?”
Cas turned to face him, expression calm. “Would you prefer I kissed you again?”
Dean’s breath caught.
Cas didn’t flinch. “I don’t mind. If that’s the custom now.”
Dean’s mouth opened, then closed again. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Cas.”
Cas’s brow furrowed. “Why not? You said I didn’t misread the other part.”
“You didn’t,” Dean said, voice low.
Cas stepped closer.
There were only inches between them now. Dean could see the dust on Cas’s coat, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Then why are you hesitating?” Cas asked.
Dean didn’t know. Not exactly. Habit, maybe. Years of pretending. Years of almost. Of swallowing down what he wanted and calling it safety.
But when he looked into Cas’s eyes, clear, unwavering, open, he felt something shift.
Something old, and scared, and tired finally gave up.
He leaned in.
And this time, *he* kissed Cas.
_________________________________________________________________________
Dean’s heart was still racing from the kiss when he pulled away, just far enough to meet Cas’s eyes. His pulse pounded in his throat, a wild, erratic rhythm, and his fingertips still tingled from where they’d brushed Cas’s skin. He could feel the warmth of Cas’s body in the scant inches between them, like the ghost of the kiss was still humming in the air.
And Cas… Cas was standing there like the world had stilled around him. His lips were parted, slightly pinker than usual, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. His expression wasn’t blank, not exactly, but it was unreadable in a way that made Dean’s stomach twist. Like Cas had felt it just as much as he had and didn’t know what to do with it.
Dean didn’t either. All he knew was that he hadn’t imagined the way Cas had leaned into him, hadn’t misread the way Cas’s hand had gripped his sleeve like he was anchoring himself. That kiss hadn’t been a mistake. It had been inevitable. Years in the making. A slow-burn truth that had finally, finally sparked into flame.
And now it was burning through him.
He exhaled shakily, trying to get his feet back under him. “Cas…” His voice cracked, and he rubbed the back of his neck, the movement jerky, like it couldn’t decide whether to be casual or terrified. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”
Cas tilted his head. “What is it?” he asked, gently, eyes never leaving Dean’s.
Dean looked away for a beat, staring down at the floor like it might offer him some divine script of what to say next. “You’ve been… around for a long time now, Cas. A real long while.”
“I have,” Cas said softly, stepping a little closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to be felt.
Dean nodded. “And you’ve—” He paused, the lump in his throat tightening. “You’ve always looked at me like that. Like you see straight through me. And I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
Cas frowned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not that,” Dean said quickly, finally meeting his eyes again. “It’s just… You made me feel things I didn’t know how to handle. And I was scared of it. Of you. Of what you made me want.”
Cas’s brow furrowed with something between sorrow and tenderness. “You were scared of me?”
Dean nodded. “Not because you’re an angel. But because you’re you. You’re good. You’re better than I’ll ever be. And I—I didn’t think I deserved to feel something like this. Not from you.”
There was a pause, long enough for Dean to regret saying it out loud. But then Cas spoke, his voice steady and low. “You don’t have to be afraid of it, Dean. Not anymore.”
Dean felt those words land inside him like a prayer being answered. Like grace, washing over him.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
Cas nodded. “Yes. You don’t have to be alone in this.”
Dean stepped forward again, feeling something rise in his chest he hadn’t let himself feel in years—hope. “Cas,” he said, and this time his voice didn’t shake, “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to keep acting like you don’t make my heart race every time you look at me.”
For a moment, Cas just looked at him, unreadable again, but then he lifted one hand, cupped Dean’s jaw with the kind of reverence that made Dean feel like he was something holy. There was no hesitation. No fear. Just Cas, reaching for him like he’d been waiting his whole existence for this.
“I’ve never wanted you to be afraid, Dean,” Cas said, voice quiet but unshakable. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean’s breath hitched. And this time, when he leaned in, it wasn’t careful. It was certain.
Their lips met again, and the world narrowed to just this, the slide of Cas’s mouth against his, the way their noses bumped slightly before they adjusted, the way Cas made a soft, almost startled sound that sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. It started slow, hesitant, like they were still figuring out how to fit together after all this time, but then Cas’s fingers slid into Dean’s hair, and the kiss deepened, grew hungry and breathless and full of everything they’d never dared to say aloud.
Dean’s hands found Cas’s waist, tugging him closer, and Cas came willingly, like he’d been waiting for permission to fall into this. His other hand settled at the back of Dean’s neck, thumb stroking gently along the skin there, grounding him.
Dean couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. All he could do was feel Cas’s lips, soft and firm all at once, the brush of stubble, the faint taste of grace like something ancient and electric humming against his tongue.
It was overwhelming. It was perfect.
When they finally parted, breathless and blinking, Dean felt like his lungs were working for the first time. Like he’d just remembered how to breathe.
Cas was still close, still touching him, his gaze warm and sure. “Dean,” he whispered, voice thick with something raw and unguarded. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.”
Dean blinked, stunned. “What do you mean?”
Cas’s lips curved into a soft, impossibly fond smile. “That I’m in love with you.”
Dean’s heart nearly stopped. He stared at Cas, the words slamming into him with all the force of truth he hadn’t let himself want. In love. Cas had said it, said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He opened his mouth, choked, then finally managed to whisper, “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, Cas. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
Cas didn’t answer with words this time. He didn’t need to. His hand slid back to Dean’s neck, and he kissed him again, slower, softer, but no less sure.
And this time, it didn’t feel like the beginning of something new.
It felt like coming home.
_________________________________________________________________________
They didn’t know exactly when Sam walked in.
But they knew exactly when he cleared his throat, loud, pointed, and very Sam.
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, jerking back from Cas like a teenager caught making out in the janitor’s closet.
Cas blinked, lips still parted, clearly disoriented.
Sam stood in the doorway, looking way too smug for someone who’d just stumbled into his brother’s emotional and physical epiphany.
“Well,” Sam said, arching an eyebrow, “guess I should’ve called first.”
Dean groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, Sam, can you not just materialize like a ghost every time I finally kiss the guy?”
“I live here,” Sam said flatly, walking to the kitchen with all the casual calm of someone who hadn’t just walked in on his brother and an angel of the Lord mid-make-out. “Technically, I’m allowed to come home whenever I want.”
Dean muttered under his breath, “Technically, I’m allowed to change the locks.”
Cas, ever helpful, looked between them and added, “Perhaps we should establish a system. Maybe a sock on the doorknob?”
Dean whipped his head toward him. “Cas. No.”
Sam choked on a laugh as he unloaded groceries into the fridge. “Honestly? I’d prefer the sock. Better than walking in and seeing Dean about to suck face with an angel. ”
“We already kissed, Sam. That ship has sailed. And it was glorious,” Dean grinned, leaning against the counter, far too pleased with himself.
Cas looked quietly proud. “It was very meaningful.”
“Ugh,” Sam muttered, shaking his head.
Dean reached over and patted Sam on the shoulder. “Then consider it a penance for all the years you made fun of me for liking Dr. Sexy.”
“That was one time,” Sam protested.
“It was every time,” Dean shot back. “Also, you’ve been giving me crap about Cas for a decade, so really, this is just karma.”
“I never gave you crap,” Sam defended, smirking now. “I gently nudged you toward emotional maturity.”
“By calling me a coward.”
“Gentle. Nudging,” Sam repeated with a deadpan expression.
Cas stepped in like a referee breaking up a preschool scuffle. “I don’t think Dean is a coward,” he said sincerely.
Dean looked over, warmth settling in his chest. “Thanks, Cas.”
Sam just threw up his hands. “Alright. I’m leaving the room again before one of you starts serenading the other.”
Dean shrugged. “Not ruling it out.”
Cas tilted his head. “I could sing. I remember some of the songs Dean listens to while cleaning the kitchen. There’s one about a woman in a red dress—”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean yelped, flushing. “Cas, you’re gonna learn about privacy if it kills me.”
Sam was already laughing as he walked out of the kitchen. “Y’all are disgusting. Let me know when I can come back in without needing lifelong therapy."
“Never,” Dean called after him. Then he turned back to Cas, his grin returning full-force. “So, you staying for pizza?”
Cas nodded solemnly. “If that’s part of the ritual, then yes.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Cas. It’s definitely part of the ritual.”
They spent the next hour sitting on the worn old couch in the bunker’s library, pizza box open between them, Cas carefully removing pepperoni and offering them to Dean like sacred offerings, and Dean pretending he didn’t love every second of it.
Sam walked past at one point with headphones on, saw Cas with a slice of pizza in one hand and Dean curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, and muttered, “I hate it here,” loud enough for them to hear.
Dean just lifted his beer in salute. “Get used to it, Sammy.”
Cas looked at Dean, then at Sam. “We could leave a sock out next time, if it helps.”
Sam groaned and disappeared down the hall.
Dean leaned his head on Cas’s shoulder and sighed. “Best damn pizza night of my life.”
Cas smiled, warm and quiet. “Mine too.”