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The first meeting of theirs after becoming... whatever it is they are is awkward. It's a bumbling mess of nerves and trepidation—possibly the most embarrassing thing to witness: Two grown men hovering around each other like they hold fire in their palms, ready to burn the other.
Cas probably does. He's an angel. Dean's still confused on everything they can do.
He can almost hear Cas' chiding response of, "No, we cannot conjure fire. Not how you are thinking, anyway." Because of course.
Unluckily for Sam, he's the one to bear witness to it.
"You two seem..." He doesn't finish his sentence. He only raises a single eyebrow, casting a sidelong glance toward Cas.
Dean bristles. "We're fine."
Cas' head slowly turns to Dean, lips in a pondering pout. Dean wants to crawl against the wall, maybe eat the drywall or something. But they're in the bunker, so, no drywall.
"I believe your brother only means to question why—"
"Cas."
"Dean," Sam chuckles, quickly hiding it behind his hand. "This isn't the way to convince me."
"Who said I'm convincing you of anything?"
"You. Kind of."
"Nuh-uh." Because Dean is still a child at heart. "Bullshit. We're normal. Like always."
Cas still stands a ravine's gaping width away from Dean.
Dean's skin itches from the proximity.
Sam's eyebrow remains, his teeth visible from the impish grin that splits his mouth. Dean would reach over and throttle Sam if it didn't remind him so much of dingy motel rooms and mac and cheese with hotdogs. "Well," Sam says, smooth as ever in the face of awkwardness, "I'm sure you're both anxious to know if there's any work."
Dean's fingertips tap against his thigh, the toe of his boot rattling against the tile. The scent of the sun and old books is Dean's only warning before a hand touches his own gently, pulling it into one of rough calluses. Dean knows his own hand is covered in them–and scars from countless spells–but the ones that don the other's feel older, more powerful.
His brain finally catches up to the rest of his functions. He yanks his hand against Cas', but it doesn't budge. He tries again, and again. And again.
Cas only holds Dean's wrist, cupping the back of his hand with a near reverence. Dean lowers his head to find Cas' eyes.
"What are you doing?" It leaves his mouth meaner than intended.
Cas looks out to the room again, eyes scanning Sam before returning to Dean. "You were nervous," he answers, as if it is that simple.
Dean's mind stutters on were. He opens his mouth to dispute it, say he was never nervous.
"Or, perhaps more accurately, are," Cas corrects.
"My brother is right there," Dean grits through his teeth.
Sam is silent. He is an onlooker to Dean's mortification.
"I thought this was to be normal between us, seeing how we—"
"No! No! Stop!" Dean's hands shoot in front of him, grabbing a hold of Cas' shoulders as though an angel blade was coming for him. "We don't have to say it. Especially now."
"Oh," Cas says. "It's a secret, then." He gives a conspiratorial wink. It's agonizingly slow and his eyelid doesn't fully close.
Dean's eyes widen. Oh, this ridiculous—
"This doesn't help your case, guys."
"Sam."
"What?" He's laughing again, arms open wide. "Now, you're talking about secrets! I can't be curious?"
Dean feels his lips tilt into a frown. He watches Cas' own do it in tandem. "Not about this," Dean hisses. "Read a book, or something."
Sam sighs, long but light. "You're acting like he didn't come to me with questions. That I answered."
Dean points a finger at Sam. "You told him to read—"
And Dean just lost the game. He told Sam everything by that little slipup.
Sam points back, face glowing in the glee that teasing his older brother brings. "I knew it!" He moves his finger to point at Cas. "I knew that was why you two were being so weird."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbles. "Nothing even happened. So, shut up."
Cas tilts his head in the way that annoyingly endears Dean. He counteracts that tug of affection by imagining Cas' brain sloshing inside his skull. "I would not classify what occurred the other night as nothing."
Sam clams up, arms back in the air, pleading. "No," he shouts, "No sex talk."
"Grow up," Dean says. "We didn't even—"
"Dude!"
"We only shared a kiss."
The room is quiet, the faint buzzing of the electricity the only thing left to be heard.
"I thought it was lovely. It may be the best touch I have ever known."
Sam's mouth twists, but Dean can't decipher why. Dean can't care, though. Not when Cas said that sappy shit. Dean needs to diffuse the tension, ease it up with a joke. But the words echo inside his head, each syllable hitting with a new profound sense of adoration. Cas only looks at Dean, his eyes still the same impossible blue they have always been, but they seem... more. It's nonsensical, but they feel endless. Dean almost believes Cas.
"Again," Dean says instead, "We're in front of my brother."
Cas nods his head, somewhere between solemn and coy. "I know. I thought he deserved to know. He is the one who recommended those books to me."
That's what reboots Sam. "You actually read them?"
"Of course," Cas replies. "Thank you again. They were very informative."
"I'm glad," Sam pauses, but it's not long enough for Dean to cut in. "I'm gonna just..." He motions toward the doorway, slinging his laptop underneath his arm, lips pulled tight into a line.
"Yeah," Dean sighs. "You do that."
As Sam walks by them, he puts a hand to Cas' shoulder, squeezing it briefly. His voice is low, clearly meant for Cas' ears only, but Dean's practiced in the art of eavesdropping. "Good luck," is what his kid brother says, and Dean has no idea what he could possibly mean by it. Dean's a good guy. He's a great fucking catch, even. Who the hell needs luck when it comes to him?
It's only them inside the enclosed space. They're apart by only one pace, but neither move to correct it. Dean only looks at Cas, eyes roving over the lines of his jaw, his tousled hair, and the small peek of his collarbone from his collar. Dean's reaching for Cas' buttons before he's fully thought it through, fingers cradling the fabric loosely as he steps closer. Cas stays, hands hovering just above Dean's middle. Dean rolls his eyes, but nods.
"You can touch me," Dean whispers, face blazing. "Or don't. Up to you."
Cas' hands curl around Dean, pads of fingers pressing against newly healed bruises and aches. A warmth radiates from the contact, fizzling out to each nook and cranny of Dean's limbs. A thumb begins to caress the bottom-most rib, slow and careful. "If I could choose," Cas says, the quiet breaking between them, "I would never willingly part from you, Dean. Your presence alone brings me utmost peace and understanding."
Dean's hold on the buttons tightens and he tears his gaze away from Cas. He takes a breath in, filling his lungs as much as he can. Cas' hand follows with the expansion of his diaphragm, thumb still moving along the fabric of Dean's shirt. "Understanding? Of what?"
"Of what it is to be truly human and in love."
Jesus Christ. They only kissed once.
"I've told you before how you have taught me much. I find I learn many new things with you, with a surplus of knowledge in newfound emotions." Cas pushes into Dean's space, feet bracketing Dean's. "Alongside you, I would never achieve the boredom of complete knowing."
"That's poetic," Dean replies callously, but his heart betrays him by hammering inside his ribcage, and surely Cas feels it. He brings his palm to rest on Cas' neck, thumb pressing into his jaw.
"Your heart is racing," Cas says, mouth falling into a deep frown, brows creasing in worry. "I hope I did not upset you."
Dean shakes his head, pulling Cas forward by his neck. "No," he murmurs. "I..." He can't find the words. He knows his blood boils inside his veins for a reason, but he can't pinpoint it. Is it the way Cas said it? Is it all too soon? Too fast? But to hear him tell it, it's been a long time coming. And Dean... He can't find any disagreements there. "I don't know what it is, Cas."
Honesty.
"That's all right," he replies, frown lifting, but worry is still stitched into the lines of his face. "Would you like me to stop—"
"No," Dean interrupts. "No. I... The touching isn't what's wrong. It's something..."
Cas pushes his forehead to Dean's. His eyes stay open, but Dean cannot handle it, so he closes his own. His stomach twists in regret from the loss of seeing Cas' lips so close to his own, but even the briefest flicker of eye contact had sent his skin burning. "Is it because your brother knows?"
Dean hesitates, gears and cogs turning inside his head. They don't reach a well-drawn conclusion, only sputtering half-thoughts of how Cas' forehead is dry, how the thumb now rests along his hipbone. "I already knew that he knew," Dean finally says. "I really don't know what it is, man."
Cas' thumb digs into Dean a little harsher than before. "Apologies," he mutters, "I was amused by the nickname."
"I've been calling you that for years."
"Yes," Dean can hear the smile in Cas' voice, "But that was before."
Dean pulls his head from Cas', staring him down. "I'm not calling you babe."
"Why not? Many couples do, as I've learned from Sam's books."
"Sure. They're characters in a book. You're an angel," Dean pauses, realization dawning. "Who says we're a couple?"
Cas' eyes soften, making Dean's teeth ache. "I do, if you will have me."
Dean puts on a big show of annoyance, throwing his head back and groaning, returning to Cas with a lopsided grin because he knows Cas can see right through him. "We'll see."
"I look forward to—"
Dean cuts him off with a press of lips, holding him tightly against his chest. Cas slides his mouth against Dean's gently, fingers dipping into the belt loops of his jeans. Dean tilts his head, gaining leverage to press further, sighing against Cas' skin. They both stumble from the added pressure, falling into one another's grasp as they cling to the connection. Dean's lips break briefly from the laugh bubbling inside his chest, escaping his mouth before Cas rushes to close the gap once more.
It's still not a very good kiss–maybe even worse because Dean still kind of has the aftertaste of stale coffee in his mouth–but Cas is holding him, and he is holding Cas.
Dean parts for air, his lungs burning from the lack of it, and Cas attempts to follow eagerly. Dean leaves him soft, chaste pecks as he goes, but Cas still tries. An honest-to-God giggle falls from Dean's mouth at the sight, but he won't ever admit to it. He grins lazily at the angel, Cas putting soft pressing of lips to Dean's jaw.
"You know," Dean breathes, "You get better at that, I'll say it's a done deal."
Cas pulls away, eyes set in a new emotion Dean can't read. "I thought I was sufficient, thus our coupling."
Dean laughs, bright and quiet, a secret between them. "You've gotta use modern words."
"They are," Cas argues. "Am I really..." His words lull. "Do you believe me to be bad at kissing? Is that the cause of your embarrassment at my declaration?"
Dean sighs, putting his hand to Cas' shoulder. "Lot to unpack there, pal."
"Begin with my first question, please."
He rolls his eyes, but Cas looks at him with an earnestness Dean can't refuse. "Kind of," he replies. Cas' shoulders sag. "But it's fine. You'll figure out what I like."
"Meaning, I am still allowed to kiss you."
"Yeah." Dean slides his hand up to scratch at Cas' nape. "I'm gonna say something sappy, okay? Don't make a big deal out of it. I'll punch you if you do." Cas nods, serious as a heart attack. "Even if the technique ain't there, the feeling is. And that's more than enough."
There's a pregnant silence in the air as Cas chews on the words.
"You truly are a man in which no other could ever compare, Dean."
"Come on," Dean scoffs. "You're biased. You just kissed me."
"My mind has never been as tranquil as it is in this moment, beside you in bliss."
Dean feels the telltale tingle in his nose that means tears are gathering in his eyes. He's unsure why he's emotional like this, but he is. He sniffles, the sound muffled by the brick that surrounds them, but Cas–in all his angelic glory–still knows.
"Gotta get you into writing your thoughts down," Dean says, "So I don't have to hear them."
Cas sulks. "You deserve to know of my adoration for you."
Dean raises a single eyebrow, blunt nails digging a little deeper into Cas' skin. The angel doesn't wince. "Adoration? That's what you're gonna call this?"
"Yes," he hums. "A compromise between myself and your innermost doubts regarding love and cherishment."
"Wow," Dean deadpans. "Romantic."
Cas beams at Dean, a rare glimpse of teeth. "That's an original work of mine. No reference material needed."
"Really?" Dean replies sardonically.
"Really," is his response.
They're silent again, but it's comfortable. Easy—the kind of quiet that often raises the hairs on Dean's neck because it means something is watching. But it's still only them in the nook, holding the other and watching with a word Dean does not dare use. It settles somewhere inside Dean's chest, taking root so it may grow for many years to come, wrapping each new day with a twining built from this moment; this moment where Dean knows inside his very core that he is safe inside his angel's arms, and his angel is safe in his. All worries of venomous words and sulfur-reeking racks dwindle inside this fleeting moment.
"You're calm," Cas whispers, the timbre low, almost a growl. He breathes deeply, nose pressing against the meeting point of Dean's ear and jaw. "Good."
Dean's eyes flutter closed. "Yeah," he says intelligently.
Cas kisses him, a delicate brush against his pulse. "We will learn this together, Dean. For as long as it will take, I will learn this with you."
Dean lets the tears fall, the droplets trailing down his nose. Cas only brings a hand to cup him, wiping them only when they gather too close near Dean's mouth. "It might be a while," Dean says.
"Then, a while it shall be."
Dean chortles. "Sap." He opens his eyes and through the blurry streaks he sees Cas' own pondering him, waiting for Dean to meet his gaze.
"If I am sap, then you are the tree from which I pour."
Dean shakes his head fondly, tears drying. "Case in point."
"It does not bother you?"
"No, Cas," Dean sighs. "If it did, I'd've walked away."
"Perhaps I will take to writing my more... romantic thoughts down. It overwhelms you."
"In a good way," Dean corrects. "Because that's what romance is about. Wooing, or whatever."
Cas returns to that blinding smile, the sought after rarity Dean gets to claim with ease. "Allow me to woo you. Right now."
Dean purses his lips, feigning a battle inside his head. "How about this," Dean offers. "We practice kissing, you get to say whatever poetic shit you want after."
The lights flicker inside the bunker. "A win-win," Cas says, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"A win-win," he repeats. He goes to say more, to lay ground rules, but Cas surges forward, capturing Dean's lips. Dean melts slowly, attempting to remain steadfast, but he fails as Cas tugs on Dean's belt loop, bringing their hips closer.
Dean just hopes all monsters took a vacation today. He's booked and busy for the next hour or so.