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Castiel stood in the middle of the war room in utter disbelief.
He didn't think he'd be back here. Not again. Not after...
Despite his time in the other realm, his trench coat remained pristine since his return, his hair even more so, but he kept wringing his hands as though the Empty might still be clinging to his fingertips. The Shadow had been a wrathful if not brutal adversary.
Cas was ever grateful he escaped such a wretched place.
Sam, Dean, and Jack observed the angel with varying degrees of concern. Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table, listening intently to Castiel’s tale. Jack sat cross‑legged on the floor, bright‑eyed and eager, like a kid waiting for story time, happy to meet and spend time with his chosen father. Dean hovered near the map table, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t hanging on every word.
For Dean, the fact that Cas was back, standing before him…was everything. The world was just brighter all of a sudden, and music sounded clearer. Dean could hope again, as cheesy as that fuckin’ sounded.
The world didn’t make sense without Cas.
“So,” Sam said gently, “you were saying the Empty… talked to you?”
Castiel nodded, swallowing. “Yes. It… taunted me. It enjoys that sort of thing.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, sounds like another stuck-up dick.”
“It is not a ‘dick,’ Dean,” Castiel said, frowning. “It’s a primordial void of nothingness.”
Dean lifted a hand. “Right. My mistake.”
Castiel took a breath, steadying himself. “It said it knew what I feared. And… who I loved.”
Dean’s head snapped up abruptly, doing a double take. “Wait—hold on. Loved? Like—” He gestured vaguely in the air, as if the right word might materialize if he waved hard enough. “Like love love?”
Sam shot him a pointed look. “Dean.”
“What? I’m just clarifying.”
Castiel’s eyes widened in alarm, the way they did whenever human emotions became a group project. “I—well—I mean—love is a complex—there are many forms of—”
Dean stepped closer, brows raised. “Cas. Buddy. The Empty said it knew who you love. That’s kinda specific.”
Jack leaned forward, chin in his hands. “Ooh, who is it?” He yapped eagerly.
Castiel made a noise that was not quite human and not quite dignified out of sheer fear. He wasn't ready to have this discussion, and here it was, springing up on him and out of his control “I—well—there’s no need to—this isn’t—”
Dean smirked. “C’mon, man. You can’t drop a bomb like that and then just—what, walk it back? Who is it?”
Why did he even bother to say anything at all? Curse his big fat mouth, as the humans would say. Castiel’s eyes flickered anxiously. His face flushed—actually flushed—as he looked everywhere in the room except at Dean.
“Well,” he said, voice cracking, “if you must know, I… I am in love with—”
He panicked. He panicked hard. He couldn’t say the truth, just like that, all happenstance. No. No way. He wouldn’t survive.
It’s not like Dean would even return his feelings. So why burden him? Why open himself to rejection? Why ruin this hard-won friendship Cas held so dear, presuming it was all he could share with Dean?
So his mind made a quick, impromptu decision.
“Sam,” Cas declared in a panic.
The room froze.
Sam blinked in a stupor. “Me?”
No fucking way.
Dean’s face did something complicated and extremely visible. “Sam?! My Sammy?! My little brother Sam?!” His voice got angrier with every word.
Jack gasped. “Sam?!” His head swiveled wildly back and forth between Cas and Sam.
Suddenly, the Empty didn’t seem such a bad place to be. “Yes,” Cas swallowed weakly. “Sam. That is… the man I love. Deeply.”
The others didn’t say anything at first, soaking in the bombshell.
Sam?! He’s in love with fuckin’ Sam?! Fuckin’ nerdy ass, pretentious, kale smoothie drinkin’ Sam?! Dean thought angrily. Oh hell no!
Sam raised both hands. “Cas, I—uh—I’m flattered, but—”
Dean cut in, voice a little too loud. “Yeah, no, that’s great. Fantastic. You two should—uh—go… do whatever nerds in love do. Books. Research. Salad. I don’t know.”
Castiel winced. “Dean—” the elder Winchester was taking this hard. Perhaps it's for the best; Dean didn’t know about his true feelings. If this was how he reacted to Sam being the object of Castiel’s desire…
“Nope,” Dean said, already turning away. “I’m good. Totally good. Love is love, man. Mazel tov.” His face was flushed with outrage, his pulse spiked remarkably, and his foot was stamping at a rapid rate.
Jack whispered, “This is so awkward,” with the delighted fascination of someone watching a nature documentary about animals making terrible decisions.
Castiel looked at Sam helplessly. Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked anywhere but at Castiel.
Sam was still blinking at Castiel like he’d been handed an award he didn’t remember being nominated for. “Cas… wow. I mean—thank you. That’s… really flattering.”
Castiel nodded stiffly, as though he’d just been knighted against his will. “Yes. Well. You are… tall.” He honestly didn’t know what else to say.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh—thanks?” He was an angel, and this was the first positive instance of sexual attraction the guys saw Cas exhibit. Ruby apparently liked him because he was tall, but Sam didn’t like to think of her much.
He loved Jess, and she was a very tall woman. Not as tall as he, but definitely taller than most women.
God, did he miss Jess.
Dean made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, come on. Tall? That’s the bar now?” His green eyes glared at Sam.
Sam turned. “Dean—”
“No, seriously,” Dean said, hands flying up. “Cas has been around for, what, a decade? And the thing that sweeps him off his feet is your… your fuckin’ height?”
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again, because there was no safe answer to that. Jesus, what crawled up his ass? Sam thought.
Jack, meanwhile, was watching Dean with the fascinated intensity of someone observing a rare bird. “Dean, are you… upset?”
“Upset?” Dean barked out a broken laugh that was about as convincing as a cardboard gun. “Why would I be upset? I’m not upset. I’m thrilled. Over the moon. My brother and my—my angel friend. Great. Fantastic. Love that for you guys.”
Castiel winced again. “Dean, I didn’t mean to—”
Dean cut him off, pacing now, hands on his hips. “Nope. Nope. Don’t explain. I get it. Sam’s… Sam." He said lamely. “He’s got the hair, and the… books. And the salad. And whatever else people like about him.”
Sam frowned. “Dean, what are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying,” Dean said, gesturing wildly, “if Cas was gonna fall for someone, it makes sense it’d be you. You’re… you know. You’re the… the responsible one.”
Sam blinked. “You jealous?” He knew he was playing with fire, but that didn’t give Dean the right to be so goddamn bitchy.
Dean froze like someone had hit pause on him.
Jack whispered, “He’s totally jealous,” with a delighted tone.
The Nephilim didn’t know what he was inciting.
Dean sputtered. “I’m not—why would I—jealous?! Of Sam?! Please. I’m waaaaay hotter than Sam!”
Sam threw his hands up. “Hey!”
Castiel looked between them, horrified. “Dean, your attractiveness is not relevant—”
“Exactly!” Dean said, pointing at him. “Thank you. See? Cas agrees.”
“I did not say that,” Castiel said quickly.
“You implied it.”
“I did not imply anything.”
“You implied something.”
“I did not!”
“It doesn’t matter, Dean. I’m the better man anyway.” Sam asserted loudly over Dean’s boasts, earning more of the elder Winchester’s ire.
“Excuse me?” Dean snapped.
“Height aside, I’m eager to learn and expose myself to new things, I keep healthy habits, like my diet, my regular exercise, I don’t take my feelings or issues out on other people, I don’t demand much of anybody, I don’t force things on anyone and frankly, I’m better looking than you in part because I know how to take care of myself.” Sam crossed his arms, smugness taking over the younger Winchester’s form.
Dean looked like he wanted to spit.
Jack raised his hand like he was in class. “I think Dean is jealous because he wanted Cas to be in love with him.”
Dean choked on absolutely nothing. “WHAT!—Jack—no—why would you—why would anyone—”
Sam grinned, amused, while Castiel didn’t know what to think, blinking profusely. “Dean, you’re turning red.”
“I’m NOT turning red,” Dean barked, turning even redder. “I’m just—warm. It’s warm in here.” He fanned his shirt, shrugging off the flannel, leaving only his tee on.
“It’s sixty‑two degrees in here,” Jack said helpfully.
Dean glared at the thermostat like it had personally betrayed him.
Castiel, meanwhile, looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from guilt. “Dean, I assure you, there is no reason for you to feel… anything. About this. At all.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah. Sure. Totally. Why would I feel anything? It’s not like—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “Whatever. I’m fine.”
He was not fine. He was the opposite of fine.
He couldn’t be any less fine right now.
And Sam, bless him, was still trying to be gracious. “Cas, look… I’m really honored. Truly. But I think maybe we should talk about—”
“No,” Castiel said quickly. “No more talking.”
Dean threw his hands up. “Great. Perfect. Let’s all just stop talking. That always works.”
Jack beamed. “This is the best day ever.” He said, happy to be spending time with these guys all together. It truly evoked a sense of family.
Dean began pacing like a caged tiger with unresolved feelings and too much caffeine when Sam cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Sam said gently, staring at the angel. “Cas…maybe you and I should talk. Alone.”
Castiel’s eyes widened in terror. “Alone?!”
“Yeah,” Sam said gently. “You just confessed something huge. I think we should… process it just between us.”
Dean stopped pacing so abruptly that he nearly skidded. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Alone? Why alone?”
Sam gave him a look. “Because Cas just told me he’s in love with me.”
Dean made a noise that could only be described as a wounded car engine. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Of course. Alone time. Great idea.” Why, why WHY?! Did Cas have to love Sam? So he was all tall and shit! Frankly, he was always a little too fuckin’ tall. Derpy fuckin’ asshole.
Being a team player, Jack tugged on Dean’s sleeve. “Dean, we should give them space.”
Dean stared at Jack like he’d suggested they sacrifice Baby to the Empty. “Space? Why would we give them space? They don’t need space. They need—supervision.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Supervision?”
Dean flailed. “I mean—support. Emotional support. From family. Which is me. I’m family.”
“Dean,” Sam said, voice firm, “go. Shoo!”
Castiel frowned miserably. This was going quite poorly. He only said for Sam to move on from the matter, but apparently, it was the only thing consuming everyone’s minds.
No good deed.
“Did you just motherfucking shoo me?!” Dean gawked loudly.
Sam did it again, “Shoo! Shoo! Go away!”
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Jack was already herding him toward the hallway like a damn sheepdog.
“Come on,” Jack said brightly. “Let’s go… somewhere else.”
“So this is what you like?!” Dean yelled as Jack forcibly dragged him off with his inhuman strength. “You like super tall pretentious assholes who have girly hair?!”
“Don’t be bitter, Dean.” Sam’s eyes glittered with joy.
The war room felt impossibly quiet once Dean and Jack disappeared down the hall. Castiel sat rigidly in his chair, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were pale. Sam pulled out the chair across from him and sat down gently, like approaching a spooked animal.
“Cas,” Sam began, voice soft, “I want you to know… I’m really honored. Truly. But I think we should talk about—”
“I lied,” Cas said at once, not wanting to spend another moment in this ridiculous fabrication.
Sam blinked. “Oh.” Well, then. That was brief.
Castiel’s eyes were huge, frantic. “I’m sorry, but I panicked. I panicked, Sam. I am not in love with you. I mean—I love you, of course, platonically, as a brother, as family, but I am not in love with you. I have never been in love with you. Not even a little. Not even once.”
Sam held up his hands. “Okay, that’s okay, Cas. Breathe.” Poor angel looked like he was going to have a panic attack.
“I don’t breathe,” Castiel said, voice cracking.
“Right. Well. Metaphorically breathe.”
Castiel slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. “This is a disaster.”
Sam let out a slow exhale, nodding. “Yeah. A little.”
Castiel peeked through his fingers. “I didn’t mean to say your name. I meant to say—” He stopped himself, but the silence filled in the blank for him.
Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “Dean?”
Castiel made a small, miserable sound, letting out a long breath. “Yes.”
Sam leaned back, absorbing that. “Well… that makes a lot more sense.”
Castiel’s head snapped up. “It does?”
“Cas,” Sam said, smiling gently, “you’ve been following my brother around like a lovesick puppy for years. I’m surprised the Empty didn’t just show you a slideshow.”
Castiel groaned. “Sam, please.” He didn’t care to be called a puppy, though canines could be fiercely loyal, as he was to Dean.
“Hey,” Sam said, reaching across the table to pat his arm, “it’s okay. Really. I’m not upset. I’m not weirded out. I’m not anything except… glad you told me.”
“I didn’t mean to tell you,” Castiel muttered.
“Still counts.”
Castiel sighed, “Dean can never know.”
Sam blinked. “Why not?”
Castiel stared at the table. “Because if he doesn’t feel the same… I could lose him. I could lose everything. Our friendship, our bond, our family. I’ve fought so hard for it. I…can’t risk it.”
Sam softened. “Cas… Dean cares about you. A lot.”
“Not like that,” Castiel whispered.
Sam tilted his head. “You sure?”
Castiel hesitated. “He… seemed upset.”
“Upset?” Sam echoed, fighting a smile. “Cas, he’s currently down the hall kicking furniture and arguing with a stapler.”
Castiel blinked. “Why would he argue with a stapler?”
“Because he’s jealous,” Sam suggested dangerously.
Castiel froze. “Dean Winchester does not get jealous.”
Sam snorted. “Oh, yes, he does. He gets so jealous. Didn't you see him when you said you loved me? I thought he was going to combust.”
Castiel’s eyes widened. “He was… jealous? Of you?”
“Very.” Sam maintained.
Castiel sat back, stunned. “I don’t understand.”
Sam leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Cas… I think Dean might feel something for you. But he’s Dean. He’s emotionally constipated. He needs a push before he’ll say anything about his feelings.”
Castiel frowned. “A push?”
Sam nodded. “And I think we just found the perfect one.”
Castiel blinked. “Sam… what are you suggesting?”
Sam grinned — the kind of grin that meant trouble. “Keep the charade going. Just for a little while. Let Dean stew. Let him feel it. Let him realize what he’s afraid to admit.”
Castiel looked horrified. “Sam, I can’t lie to him.”
“You already did.”
“That was an accident!”
“Then consider this… a strategic accident.” Sam proposed. “If anything, blame me.”
Castiel stared at him, torn between panic and hope. “You really think this will help?”
“I think,” Sam said, standing and clapping him on the shoulder, “that my brother is one good emotional shove away from confessing he’s been in love with you for years.”
Castiel’s eyes bulged out of his eyes, startled. “Years?”
Sam smirked. “Oh yeah. You two have been making heart eyes at each other since ‘09. Frankly, it's embarrassing. Me and Bobby used to talk about it all the time.”
Castiel swallowed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can,” Sam said. “And I’ll help.”
Castiel hesitated. “And if it goes wrong?”
Sam shrugged. “Then Dean will probably break another stapler.”
Castiel sighed. “Very well. I will… continue the charade.” He said tensely. “But if I want to stop—”
“We’ll stop,” Sam said. “Let’s just give it a try, yeah?”
Cas nodded curtly. This was likely not going to end well. But he needed to know…where Dean’s feelings truly lied.
Sam grinned. “Great. Now let’s go find Dean before he starts punching walls.”
Down the hall, a loud crash echoed.
Sam winced. “Too late.”
Dean let himself be pushed, but only physically. Emotionally, he was digging trenches.
As soon as they were out of sight of the war room, in the kitchen where they had retreated, Dean hissed, “Jack, this is a disaster.”
Jack nodded cheerfully. “Yes. But it’s very interesting.”
Dean ran both hands through his hair. “Cas is in love with Sam. Sam. My brother. My moose of a brother. And Sam’s just—what—gonna talk to him about it? Alone? In private? With their faces? And their feelings?”
Jack blinked. “Isn’t that what people do when someone confesses love?”
Dean groaned. “Not in this house.”
“This is a bunker.” Jack pointed.
He kicked a nearby storage crate, ignoring the pain in his foot.
It didn’t budge.
He kicked it again. Still nothing.
He kicked it a third time, much harder, and immediately regretted it. “Ow—son of a—stupid—box!”
Jack watched, fascinated. “Are you… breaking things because you’re jealous and angry? Angry because you’re jealous.”
Dean froze mid‑hobble. “I’m not jealous!”
“You’re breaking things.”
“I’m stress‑testing the bunker.”
“You’re jealous!” Jack insisted.
“You’re a literal fucking baby, you don’t know shit about this!” Dean snapped.
The smile died on Jack’s lips, and he pouted. “You don’t deserve Cas’s love. You’re a jerk! Sam is way nicer than you!”
Dean grabbed a random stack of books and slammed them onto a table. “I’m plenty nice!”
"Nuh-uh!" Jack argued. "You always fly off the handle!"
"Always?" Dean huffed out. "Not always..."
Jack tilted his head. “Dean, you’re acting like someone who’s upset that Cas loves Sam instead of you.”
Dean’s voice cracked. “He doesn’t—he wouldn’t—why would he—”
Jack waited patiently.
Dean threw his hands up. “Fine! Maybe I’m a little jealous. A tiny bit. Like—microscopic.”
Jack nodded. “That makes sense. You love Cas.”
Dean sputtered. “I—what—no—Jack—stop saying things!”
Dean plopped down on a chair and crossed his arms, bouncing his leg.
Jack observed the hunter quietly. “You’re very loud for someone who’s not jealous.” He said after a while.
Dean grabbed a random object — a stapler — and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off harmlessly.
He glared at it. “Even the stapler’s mocking me.”
Jack patted his shoulder. “Dean, maybe you should just tell Cas how you feel.”
Dean scoffed in a high-pitched voice. “What I feel?!”
“You seem to feel something. You’ve been upset since Cas said he was in love with Sam.”
Dean stared at him like he’d suggested they summon Lucifer for brunch. “Jack. Buddy. I can’t even tell myself how I feel.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “That does seem like a problem.”
Dean groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “This is a nightmare.”
And somewhere down the hall, Dean kicked the crate again.
Sam wore the serene expression of a man who had just been handed the keys to a very entertaining disaster. Castiel, on the other hand, looked grim as hell.
Dean and Jack were waiting — or rather, Jack was, while Dean was pretending he hadn’t been pacing a trench into the floor. The elder Winchester straightened the second he saw them. “So. You two done with your… private talk?”
Sam smiled warmly. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Castiel nodded stiffly. “Yes. We have… clarified things.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “Clarified. Great. Love clarification.”
Sam, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, reached out and took Castiel’s hand.
Castiel froze.
Dean’s soul left his body.
Jack whispered, “Oh my,” like he was watching a soap opera.
Sam squeezed Cas’s hand gently. “We talked it through. And… we’re going to see where this goes.”
Dean made a noise that could only be described as a feral sputter. “See where—see where WHAT goes?”
Sam shrugged casually. “You know. Our feelings for each other. Our connection. Our...profound bond.”
Castiel’s fearful eyes drifted up towards Sam as Dean vibrated with fury.
Profound bond?! Cas and Dean thought simultaneously.
“That’s a tad too far, Sam!” Castiel whispered tersely.
“Roll with it, man!” Sam whispered back.
Profound bond?! Dean fumed. That was his and Cas’s thing. Sam was as good as a homewrecker!
Dean’s right eye twitched. “Since when do you two have a connection?! A profound bond, hm?!”
Sam tilted his head. “Cas just told me he’s in love with me. I think that counts.”
Castiel made a strangled sound. “Sam—”
But Sam squeezed his hand again, and Cas swallowed the rest of the sentence like a man trying not to confess to a crime.
“Cas told us both that his profound bond was with me!” Dean’s face was doing something extraordinary as it danced between jealousy, devastation, and panic.
Sam and Cas exchanged a brief glance as the younger Winchester kept talking. “Things change.” He shrugged.
“Oh, come on!” Dean burst out. “You can’t just—just hold hands like that!” He wanted to separate them immediately. It…hurt to see their joined hands.
Sam blinked innocently. “Why not?”
“Because—because—” Dean flailed. “Because it’s weird!”
Jack raised a hand. “Dean, I think you’re having a strong emotional reaction.”
Dean pointed at him. “I am NOT having a strong emotional reaction!” He was absolutely having a strong emotional reaction.
Sam, ever the agent of chaos, leaned slightly closer to Cas. “Dean, it’s okay. You don’t have to be protective. Cas and I can figure this out.”
Dean’s voice cracked. “Protective? I’m not—this isn’t—Sam, you can’t just date Cas!”
Sam blinked. “Why not?”
“Because—because—” Dean sputtered, then threw his hands up. “Because he’s CAS! And you’re not even gay!”
Castiel looked at him, eyes wide and wounded. “Is that… a bad thing?”
Dean froze. “No! I mean—yes! I mean—no! I mean—ugh!”
He grabbed the nearest object — a salt shaker — and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off harmlessly.
Jack nodded. “He’s breaking things again.”
“Well, maybe I want to explore my…sexuality,” Sam suggested.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dean spat loudly.
“No, Dean, I am not fucking kidding you.” Sam huffed. “I know you’re not the most evolved guy around, but I didn’t think you’d be so homophobic.”
“I am not homophobic. It’s just—” Dean rounded on Sam. “You can’t just swoop in and— and— steal Cas!”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Steal him?”
Dean’s voice went up an octave. “YES! STEAL HIM!”
Castiel blinked. “Dean… I am not an object.”
Dean threw his hands up. “I KNOW THAT!”
Sam crossed his arms. “Dean, if you have something to say, maybe you should just say it.”
Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing came out. Just a strangled, emotional wheeze.
Sam sighed dramatically. “Well. If you’re not going to say anything, Cas and I will just—”
He petted Cas’s hand gently.
Dean snapped.
“NO!”
Everyone froze.
Dean’s chest heaved. His face was flushed. His eyes were wild.
“You can’t,” he said, voice cracking. “You can’t just… be with him.”
Sam’s voice softened. “Why not, Dean?”
Dean swallowed hard. Because I love him. Because I’ve loved him for years. Because the thought of losing him makes me feel like I’m dying.
But all he managed was: “Because he’s… mine.”
The room went silent.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up.
Jack gasped.
Castiel stood in the room with bated breath.
Dean realized what he’d said and immediately tried to backpedal. “I mean—not mine mine. Not like—ownership. I don’t—he’s not—ugh, forget it!” He turned away, running a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath.
Sam shot Cas a look that screamed, "I told you so." Cas felt like he might faint.
Dean stormed out of the war room after his impromptu declaration, muttering curses and tripping over his own feet. Sam let him go — partly because Dean needed space, and partly because the younger Winchester knew exactly what was coming next.
Castiel watched him leave with wide, stricken eyes. “Sam… what do we do now?”
Sam smirked. “We wait.”
Jack tilted his head. “For what?”
“For Dean to do something stupid.”
Jack nodded. “That seems likely.”
Dean reappeared a little over an hour later.
And the room went silent.
Because Dean Winchester — hunter, warrior, apocalypse survivor, emotional disaster — was wearing: a white tank top that clung to him, showcasing his pert little nipples and pecs, jean shorts cut so short they could legally be classified as denim punctuation, and a pair of little sneakers for his feet.
And absolutely nothing else.
Cas became as stiff as a board, transfixed by Dean’s new look.
Sam blinked, trying to swallow his mirth. “Dean… what are you wearing?”
Dean shrugged, trying for casualness and landing somewhere between 'deranged' and 'midlife crisis.' “What? It’s hot.”
Jack looked at the thermostat, which remained unchanged. “It’s sixty‑two degrees.” He reminded the elder Winchester.
Dean frowned. “Stop saying that.”
Castiel stared at the older hunter like someone had unplugged his brain.
Dean noticed and smirked.
“Oh,” he said, stretching his arms unnecessarily, “this old thing? Just something I threw on.”
Sam covered his mouth to hide his snort. “Dean, you put on shorts?” The last time he had those on was an unfortunate instance a little over a year ago, when the younger Winchester stumbled into the garage and found his brother in such shorts, washing up his Baby.
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, so what?”
Sam raised an eyebrow, his body trembling from amusement. “Talk about desperate.”
Dean faltered. Was Sam laughing?
Castiel was still staring, eyes wide, lips parted, absolutely transfixed.
Dean noticed that too. Fuck Sam. It was time to put his money-making assets to work. He leaned against the nearby table, flexing every muscle he had and several he probably didn’t. “So, Cas. You and Sam, huh?” He said in an extra deep voice, aiming for sensual.
Castiel jolted like he’d been electrocuted. “Yes. I mean—no. I mean—yes. We are… exploring.”
Dean’s right eye twitched. “Exploring what?” He growled enviously.
Sam squeezed Cas’s hand again, leaning over too much to Dean’s ire. “Our connection.”
Dean’s nostrils flared. “Right. Sure. Your connection.” He hissed. The elder Winchester stretched again, arms over his head, tank top riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach.
Castiel made a tiny, strangled noise.
Dean smirked like a man who had just discovered a superpower.
Sam leaned toward Cas. “Hey, you okay?” He frowned disapprovingly. Cheap shot on Dean’s part. Was he really so insecure?
Then again, this was Dean — so yeah, Sam supposed. This unfortunately tracks.
“No,” Castiel whispered nervously. He’d never seen Dean in so little clothing. Up close and personal like this was overwhelming to say the least.
Dean’s smirk widened. “Something wrong, Cas?” He feigned innocence.
Castiel swallowed. “You appear to be… missing several layers.”
Dean shrugged. “What can I say? I’m feeling free.”
Sam snorted. “You look like you’re about to wash a car for tips.”
“Jealous?” Dean prompted.
Sam laughed. “Of what? Your skinny little chicken thighs?”
Dean looked down at his own legs. “They’re good thighs.”
Jack nodded. “They are very symmetrical.”
Dean arched an eyebrow. “Uh, thank you, Jack.”
Castiel was still staring, absolutely undone.
Sam leaned in and whispered, “Cas, you’re drooling.”
Castiel wiped his mouth, mortified.
Dean saw it too, and his smirk became downright sinful.
“So,” he said, sauntering closer, “how’s that connection going?”
Sam elbowed Cas gently. “Tell him, Cas.”
Castiel squeaked. “It’s… complicated.”
Dean leaned in, voice low. “Yeah? Maybe I can help… uncomplicate it.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Oh, this was working even better than he expected.
Jack whispered, “He’s really working hard to garner Castiel’s attention, isn’t he?”
The chaos continued to spiral even further. Dean strutted — actually strutted — across the war room like a man who had never known shame. The white tank top clung to his body, the jean shorts clung even harder, and the confidence was so forced it practically squeaked.
Sam watched in dawning horror.
Jack watched in dawning fascination.
Castiel watched in dawning as Dean paused in the center of the room, pretending to examine a bookshelf. “Huh. Looks like something fell.”
Nothing had fallen, so Dean knocked a book off the shelf with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
“Oh no,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Guess I'd better pick that up.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean...please don’t.”
Dean bent over. Slowly.
Sam slapped a hand over Jack’s eyes. “NOPE. Absolutely not. You’re a child.”
Jack’s muffled voice floated out from behind Sam’s palm. “I’m in the body of a seventeen-year-old.”
Sam wished someone could cover his own damn eyes right now.
Dean straightened slowly, tossing his short hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. “What? I’m just cleaning.”
Castiel made a tiny, strangled sound.
Dean smirked. “Everything okay, Cas?”
Castiel’s voice cracked. “You appear to be… bending unnecessarily.”
Dean shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful.”
Sam groaned. “Dean, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
Dean pointed at him. “I am embracing myself, you jackass.”
“You’re pushing forty!”
Dean gasped. “Wow. A-ageism!” He almost forgot the word. “In my own bunker.”
Jack peeked between Sam’s fingers. “Dean, why are your shorts so small?”
Dean beamed. “They’re vintage.”
Sam muttered, “They’re a crime against the eyes.”
Castiel was still staring, eyes wide, wings metaphorically flared. “Dean… you are… very exposed.”
Dean sauntered closer. “Oh? Didn’t notice.”
Sam snorted. “You absolutely noticed.”
Dean ignored him. “Whatever, I’m gonna go wash Baby.”
Sam’s head snapped up. “Dean. No.”
Dean grinned. “Yep. Gonna give her a good, thorough scrub.”
Jack clapped. “I love car washes!”
Sam groaned into his hands. “Jack, no, you don’t understand—”
But it was too late.
Dean strutted toward the garage door, every step a calculated display of his toned thighs.
Castiel followed him wordlessly.
Sam blinked. “Cas? Where are you going?”
Castiel didn’t look back. “I must… supervise.”
Sam stared after him. “Supervise?”
Jack tugged Sam’s sleeve. “Sam, what’s happening?”
Sam sighed. “Jack, we’re witnessing a mating ritual.”
Jack gasped. “Like birds?”
“Exactly like birds.”
In the garage, Dean had already prepared a bucket of water — ice cold, because he knew exactly what he was doing — and a giant yellow sponge that looked like it belonged in a cartoon. He dipped the sponge into the water, squeezed it dramatically, and water cascaded down his arm.
Castiel made a strangled noise of sorts, watching the elder Winchester shamelessly make a spectacle of himself.
Dean smirked. “You okay there, Cas?”
Castiel swallowed. “I'm…observing.”
Dean leaned against Baby, sponge in hand. “Good. Observe this.”
He began washing the car. Slowly. Dramatically. Unnecessarily sensually.
Castiel stood frozen, hands at his sides, eyes wide with fascination.
Sam and Jack peeked in from the doorway.
Sam slapped a hand over Jack’s eyes again. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
Jack muffled, “Sam, why is Dean washing the car like that?”
“Because he’s having a crisis.”
“Oh...”
Castiel finally spoke, voice hoarse. “Dean… you are… very wet.”
Dean squeezed the sponge again, water dripping down his chest. “Yeah. Happens when you wash things.”
Sam groaned. “Dean, for the love of God—”
Dean winked at Cas. “What? I’m just doing my chores.”
Castiel’s wings — invisible but absolutely present — flared so hard the air practically hummed.
And Sam realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was working. Far too well. The younger Winchester didn’t even make it three steps into the garage before he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. Dean was in full performance mode — tank top clinging, jean shorts riding dangerously high, sponge dripping theatrically over his arm as he leaned across Baby’s hood like he was auditioning for one of those pin-up calendars.
Sam slapped a hand over Jack’s eyes so fast the kid squeaked. “Nope. Nope. We’re leaving.”
Jack tried to pry Sam’s fingers apart. “But Sam, I want to learn about human rituals!”
“This is not a ritual,” Sam hissed. “This is a midlife crisis.”
Dean glanced over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Hey, Sammy. Enjoying the show?”
Sam groaned. “Dean, please stop talking.”
Dean winked. “Can’t. I’m busy washing my girl.”
He dragged the sponge across the hood in a slow, sweeping arc. Water dripped down his arm, across his chest, down his stomach.
Castiel made a noise that sounded like a celestial hard‑drive crash.
Sam tightened his grip on Jack’s eyes. “We’re going. Right now.”
“But Sam—”
“No buts. Especially not Dean’s.”
Jack blinked behind Sam’s hand. “Is Dean’s butt out?”
“Jack,” Sam said, voice strained, “I am begging you to stop asking questions.”
Dean, hearing this, arched his back just a little more. “Cas, you coming over here or what? I could use an extra set of hands.”
Castiel stepped forward like he was being pulled by a tractor beam. “I… yes. I will… assist.”
Sam’s soul left his body. “Cas, no. Don’t encourage him.”
But Cas was already beside Dean, staring at the sponge like it was a forbidden artifact.
Dean handed it to him. “Here. Nice and slow.”
Cas took it gingerly. “I… am unfamiliar with the proper technique.”
Dean grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”
Sam groaned into his hands. “Oh my God.”
Jack wriggled. “Sam, I want to see!”
“No,” Sam said firmly, dragging him backward. “You’re too young for… whatever this is.”
“I’m a Nephilim—”
“And I’m your uncle,” Sam snapped. “And I’m protecting your innocence.”
Dean bent over the hood again, shorts riding up in a way that defied physics.
Sam yanked Jack out of the garage like the place was on fire. “We’re leaving. We’re leaving right now.” He physically turned Jack around. “We’re going to the library. Or the kitchen. Or literally anywhere else.”
“But Sam—”
“Jack,” Sam said, voice low and haunted, “if you see what’s about to happen, you will never be the same.”
Jack considered this. “Oh. Okay.”
Sam nodded firmly. “Good. Let’s go.”
And with that, Sam Winchester — veteran hunter, apocalypse survivor, the man who had faced Lucifer himself — ran for the hills with a confused Nephilim in tow, fleeing the garage and its unholy thirst trap behind.
Jack called over Sam’s shoulder, “Good luck, Castiel!”
Cas didn’t respond.
He was too busy staring at Dean, entirely entranced.
Dean swiped the sponge back, wet it, wrung it out, water cascading down his chest.
“Cas,” he said, voice low, “you’re staring.”
Castiel swallowed. “I cannot help it.”
Dean smirked. “Good.”
And somewhere down the hall, Sam was banging his head against a wall, muttering, “I did not sign up for this.”
Dean shook his head like a dog, water spraying everywhere. “Oops.”
Cas swallowed. “You are… very wet.”
Dean stepped closer, water dripping down his arms. “Well, c'mon, make yourself useful and help me.” He handed over the sponge. Dean leaned in. “You gotta get the roof too.”
Castiel looked up at the Impala’s roof, then at Dean’s very wet tank top, then back at the roof. “Alright.” Slowly, albeit clumsily, he heaved himself up on the roof of the car. The angel perched awkwardly upon the Impala’s roof, wet sponge in hand, Cas turned to see Dean stepping back, hose dangling loosely from his fingers.
“Careful up there,” Dean said, voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want you to slip.”
Cas opened his mouth to respond—
—and Dean squeezed the trigger.
A sharp spray of cold water hit Castiel square in the chest.
Cas yelped — an actual, startled yelp — and nearly dropped the sponge. His trench coat darkened instantly, plastering itself to his body. His hair, usually so carefully tousled by celestial winds, now hung in dripping, chaotic strands.
“Dean!” Cas sputtered, blinking water out of his eyes. “What—what was that for?”
Dean grinned, wicked and boyish. “You looked...hot.”
Cas froze.
Dean’s smile faltered, just a little. “I mean—warm. You looked warm.”
Cas stared at him, soaked and stunned. “Dean… I am an angel. I don't overheat.”
Dean swallowed. “Yeah. Well. You looked like you needed cooling off.”
Cas slid down from the roof, landing in front of Dean with a wet slap of boots on concrete. Water dripped from his coat, pooling around his feet. He looked wrecked — and not just from the hose.
“Dean,” he said softly, “why are you doing this?”
Dean shrugged, trying for casual and failing spectacularly. “Just washing the car.”
Cas stepped closer. “Dean.”
Dean’s throat bobbed. “What?”
Cas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You sprayed me.”
Dean’s voice cracked. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
Dean’s bravado wavered. “Because… because you were staring.”
Cas blinked. “I always stare at you.”
Dean made a strangled noise. “Cas, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because—” Dean flailed, hose still in hand. “Because it does things to me, okay?”
Cas tilted his head. “What things?”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “Cas…”
“Dean.”
Dean opened his eyes.
Cas was closer now. Close enough that Dean could see droplets clinging to his eyelashes. Close enough that Dean could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the cold water.
Dean’s voice was barely a breath. “Cas… I can’t do this.”
Cas’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”
Dean’s grip tightened on the hose. “Pretend I don’t care.”
Cas’s eyes became soft and bright. “Dean…”
Dean took a shaky breath. “I can’t watch you with Sam. I can’t watch you look at him like that. I can’t—”
Cas regarded him carefully. He looked so sad...the angel never wanted to be responsible for such sadness, not for Dean to suffer. “Dean. I was not looking at Sam. I was never looking at Sam.”
Dean's eyes furrowed. “You said you loved him.”
“I lied.”
Dean froze, mouth agape. “What?”
Cas stepped closer, water dripping from his coat onto Dean’s sneakers. “I lied because I panicked. Because you asked who I loved. Because I wasn’t ready to tell you.”
Dean’s heart hammered. “Tell me what?”
Cas swallowed. “That it’s you.”
Dean’s breath caught.
Cas continued, voice trembling. “It has always been you. I love you, Dean. Not Sam. Not anyone else. You.”
Dean stared at him, stunned, the hose forgotten in his hand.
Water dripped.
The air hummed with a tension that had eased.
And then Dean laughed — a soft, disbelieving, broken laugh.
“Cas,” he whispered, stepping closer, “I’ve been losing my mind over you.”
Cas blinked. “You have?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. I have. I’m in love with you, you idiot.”
Cas’s eyes widened, bright and impossibly blue. “Dean…”
Dean dropped the hose.
It hit the ground with a splash.
He cupped Cas’s face in both hands, water and all.
And finally — finally — he kissed him.
It was messy. Wet. Ridiculous. Perfect.
But Dean and Cas didn’t care.
They were too busy making up for lost time.