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Castiel and Dean sat in the bunker, both hunched over their laptops, the low hum of the ventilation filling the silence between them. The glow of the screens cast faint shadows on their faces, illuminating tired eyes and furrowed brows. They were looking for any peculiar reports—possible signs of a hunt.
Cas shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking up from the bright screen. Technology still felt foreign; he’d managed with phones, direct communication. But a laptop? A laptop was like being handed the entire world and told to make sense of it.
His gaze drifted to Dean.
Dean was slouched, cheek pressed into his propped-up hand, his eyes heavy but refusing to close. The hunter looked worn thin. When Castiel had returned two days prior, he had found Dean drinking in the kitchen, aimlessly digging for a snack in the middle of the day.
He hadn’t left the bunker in a week, and the restlessness was written all over him.
Sam, at least, had an outlet. He is currently not in the bunker; he had left earlier today, not saying where. Neither Dean nor Cas felt the need to ask any further.
Dean must have felt the angel’s gaze because his eyes flicked up.
“Cas.”
The bubble of Castiel’s thoughts burst. His focus snapped back to Dean, green eyes locking onto him.
“Yes?”
“You’re staring.”
There was a pause. Castiel blinked once, twice, before lowering his gaze, almost sheepishly.
“I apologize.”
Dean leaned back, brows pinched, “What’s up? Did you find something?”
“No,” Castiel’s voice carried its usual low rumble, but Dean felt it deep in his chest, “You seem tired.”
Dean let out a short snort, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m just bored outta my damn mind. There’s absolutely nothing to do.”
Cas studied him with quiet sympathy.
“Surely something will come up soon, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dean leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “But I’ve washed the cars pretty much every day this week. Restocked the fridge, but—” He huffed, lips quirking faintly. “I ate all the food already.”
A small smile tugged at Cas’s mouth, “All the food?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed in mock offense.
“That’s not funny. Don’t laugh,” His voice slipped into a bratty drawl, a tone Cas had come to recognize as uniquely Dean, “And I don’t know… I guess I’m glad Sam’s outta the bunker. I was this close to taking it out on him for no reason.”
Cas’s brow furrowed, “Will you take your anger out on me?”
Dean blinked, startled.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Well, then…” Cas tilted his head, the movement slow, deliberate. “What would you like to do together?”
“Uh–” Dean hesitates, coughing a small laugh of nervousness, “What would– you– I, like to do?”
Cas did not answer right away.
Instead, he simply held Dean’s gaze, unwavering, patient, as if he were giving him all the time in the world to figure it out. Dean grabbed the nearest bottle of water instead, twisting it open and taking a swig.
Cas did not look away once.
Dean re-collected his thoughts, lips pressing together as if weighing what he wanted to say, pausing for a minute.
He cleared his throat, “To think of it, I’m hungry for some takeout.”
Castiel straightened immediately, pushing back his chair, ready to depart.
Dean blinked, caught off guard by how fast Cas responded, the scrape of the chair legs echoing in the empty map room.
“Wait, hold on–let me get ready.”
He was still in soft slacks and socks, clothes he wore when the day had no purpose. Jeans are only when he was going somewhere, doing something. Comfort in the home is a priority.
The angel froze mid-step, turning to look at him with that steady, piercing gaze. Dean could almost feel the question unspoken in Cas’s silence, but he brushed it off with a quick motion, standing and heading toward his room.
Cas was waiting. And Dean didn’t want him to wait long.
Minutes later, he reemerged, tugging on boots and jingling his keys. When he glanced toward the stairs, Cas was already there, posture straight, patient as a sentinel.
“After you,” Cas said, gesturing toward the door.
Dean gave him a look that fell somewhere between suspicion and amusement.
“Alright?” But he went ahead, pushing through, the angel close behind.
The Impala roared to life, and soon enough, the two of them were swallowed by the open road. The late afternoon bled into amber streaks across the sky, the air warm, thick with that end-of-day heaviness. Classic rock thrummed low through the speakers, filling the silence that neither of them seemed eager to break.
Dean drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes flicking sideways now and then. Cas sat with his gaze pinned to the horizon, features softened in the fading light. He looked… content.
Dean swallowed hard, eyes snapping back to the road.
They pulled up at a burger joint Dean knew by heart. The neon sign flickered lazily.
“Be right back,” Dean muttered, swinging the door open. But before he could shut it, Cas was already stepping out too. Dean’s brows knit together. “You can wait in the car.”
“Can’t I accompany you?” Cas asked, squinting at him as though the suggestion itself was offensive.
Dean hesitated. Truth was, Cas never came in with him. Why would he? Food wasn’t part of his life. The guy didn’t eat, didn’t crave. Dean always handled the runs himself. And yet—
“Alright, sure,” Dean said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance.
Inside, the burger place smelled of sizzling patties and fryer oil. Dean led the way, every movement easy, practiced. Cas shadowed him, trench coat brushing against barstool legs as he followed.
Dean motioned him to sit while he placed the order, and soon enough slid into the seat beside him with a sigh, bag claim ticket in hand.
“Cas,” Dean asked, tilting his head, “you ever think about food?”
“I don’t eat, Dean,” Cas replied flatly, eyes fixed forward.
“I know that,” Dean leaned back, gesturing loosely, “but you don’t ever think about, you know… what a good burger tastes like?”
Cas tilted his head, considering. His blue eyes flickered.
“I remember… briefly. From when I was human,” his voice softened. “But I have lost all cravings for it.”
Dean clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
“Shame. It’d be nice to share a burger with you.”
A small curve pulled at the corner of Cas’s mouth. “I would only taste its atomic components, unfortunately.” He paused. “Although… I also wish to know your palate.”
Dean stilled, eyebrows furrowed.
“Know my palate?”
“How delicious food is to you,” Cas reiterated with earnest precision.
Dean’s mind went somewhere it shouldn’t have—quick, sharp thoughts he had no business entertaining in the middle of a burger joint. His cheeks warmed, and he ducked his head, fiddling with a napkin.
Unexpectedly, the employee called his number just then, handing him a heavy paper bag and two sweating cups.
Cas, puzzled, eyed the cups. He naturally reached out to take one.
“You never hydrate,” Dean remarked, almost accusingly, as they headed toward the door.
“I don’t need to,” Cas replied with a scoff, the sound low, nearly amused.
“Yeah, you do, man. Listen to your voice.”
“My voice?” Cas echoed, puzzled, looking at him as they reached the car.
Dean grinned, gravel rough. He pitched his own lower, raspier. “My voice?” He mimicked, deep enough to almost match Cas’s timbre.
For a second, Cas’s lips twitched—like maybe, he’d laugh. Dean thought he wouldn’t mind hearing it.
Dean took the stairs two at a time, the paper bag of food crinkling in one hand and his drink balanced in the other. The bunker was dim, and the yellow light traveling across the rooms washed everything in soft, honeyed tones. The brighter light of the map table contrasted against it.
Cas trails at a leisurely pace. His coat swayed slightly as he descended, one hand loosely gripping the enclosed cup Dean had ordered him.
Unbothered, but curious, he swished the liquid around to catch a glimpse inside; it gleamed pink.
“Dean,” Cas called from halfway down. “What is this?”
Dean looked up from the table where he’d already set the bag, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Lemonade. Thought you’d like it,” he sparks, dropping into his chair.
The bag rustled as he pulled out his burger, the scent of grilled meat and onions instantly filling the air. He drew his seat closer and took a long drink from his own cup before unwrapping his meal.
Cas reached the bottom of the stairs and set his drink gently on the table, next to Dean’s elbow.
“This will have little effect on me,” he noted, his tone apologetic. “But thank you.”
He picked up the spare straw Dean had left and slid it into the lid, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. When he took a sip, his brow furrowed slightly—then softened.
Nothing. Cas murmurs to himself, presumably, because Dean didn’t seem to hear him.
His attention was wholly devoted to the burger in his hands. The first bite was met with a sound between satisfaction and homage—a low, muffled moan that escaped before he could stop it.
“So good,” he sputtered, mouth full.
The corner of Cas’s lips twitched upward, fondness flickering in his eyes. He settled into the chair next to Dean, watching the way he devoured his food like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.
Something was endearing about it.
Cas took another sip of lemonade, the straw making a soft crackle in the quiet. He didn’t expect it to taste like anything; he merely wanted to join Dean.
It made him happy.
Dean didn’t look up, but he could feel Cas’s gaze, warm and faint across the space between them. He swallowed his next bite, pretending not to notice, yet the back of his neck flushed all the same.
Cas never said anything, but Dean was sure he was thinking something. God knows what that angelic mind thinks of.
“Ya like it?” Dean motions dumbly toward the drink.
“Yeah,” Cas mutters, casual but sincere. His eyes softened, for a second, Dean thought maybe that one word carried more meaning than it should have.
The silence returned, heavy but not uncomfortable. The hum of the bunker served as their white noise. Dean drops the wrapper of his burger, eyes unfocused. The grease-stained paper crinkles between his fingers as he smushes it into a ball.
He takes a last swig of his drink to cleanse his palate.
“Cas,” Dean says finally, the word heavier than it should’ve been.
The angel looked up instantly, posture straightened as though called to attention.
Dean exhaled slowly. “I just–” He hesitated, bringing his attention to his thumb running along the condensation on his cup. “It’s been… rough. These last couple of weeks.”
Cas’s expression flickered, grief and guilt threading through his features. Dean didn’t need to look up to know what kind of face Cas was making—the one where his brow knit tight like he was carrying the weight of Dean’s pain himself.
“But you’ve stuck around,” Dean continued. “Even when I didn’t make it easy.” He gave a short, humorless laugh, “Especially then.”
Cas’s hands tightened slightly around his drink, then let go.
“I would never leave,” Cas paused, “You needed me.”
The simple truth hit deeper than Dean expected. He finally looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. There was no judgment there, no pity. Just that steady, unshakable devotion that Cas carried like it was stitched into him.
Dean’s throat tightened. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
He stutters, “Th–thanks, Cas.”
“We will figure this out. Even if it takes some time,” Cas’s reassurance wasn’t new advice to Dean. Oddly enough, hearing it from Cas was different. It was comforting, grounding.
Their faces were close. Close enough that Dean could see the faint crease between Cas’s brows, the soft curve of his mouth. His vision narrowed to the space between them. Dean shifted his chair, angling his body fully toward Cas, knees brushing.
Dean leaned in without fully realizing he was doing it. Cas did not move. He didn’t retreat or lean in—he simply stayed, allowing Dean the choice. That alone nearly undid him.
Dean hesitated, heart pounding hard enough that he was sure Cas could hear it. If he stopped now, he could still pretend this was nothing—that he was feeling a little more sentimental than usual.
Instead, he reached out. His hand brushed Cas’s arm, and before his nerves could catch up, he leaned in and pressed a soft, fleeting peck to the corner of Cas’s lips.
It was barely there. A question more than a statement.
Dean pulled back just enough to see Cas fully, his breath shallow, his chest tight with uncertainty and a fear he might have messed up.
Cas’s eyes flicked from Dean’s to his mouth. He swallowed, lips parting slightly, and then unconsciously licked them.
Cas liked it. He liked being kissed by Dean.
Something in Dean’s expression shifted when he saw it. This time, he cradled Cas’s face with intention, thumbs warm against his jaw, and leaned in again. Cas welcomed the contact without question, eyes closing as he hummed softly into Dean’s lips, the sound vibrating between them.
Cas’s hands drifted to grasp Dean’s forearms, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves like an anchor. Dean’s softer lips brushed on Cas’s rougher lips; the contrast was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish as they further lapped their mouths in a rather sloppy manner. After a couple of breathtaking moments, Cas stilled.
Dean noticed immediately. He pulled back just enough to see Cas as a whole again, his breath shallow.
“What’s up?” Dean whispered, voice gentle, “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” Cas replied, breathless.
Dean didn’t let go. His thumb brushed slowly, reassuringly against Cas’s cheek as he took him in—how flustered and vulnerable he was. Dean wanted to continue bombarding the angel with affection, but he reined himself in, a soft chuckle slipping out.
“What?”
“Did you like it?” Dean lightly teased.
Color rushed to Cas’s face, nodding lightly where Dean held him. The space felt warmer now, heavier between them. Cas’s quiet admission turned Dean on; the way Cas looked at him was dangerously captivating.
“Can we… kiss again?” Cas murmured shyly. His hands squeezed Dean’s arms just a little, and he blinked up at him expectantly.
Dean bit his lip, eyes darkening.
“Yeah,” he said softly. Who was he to deny the angel another kiss?
Then he leaned in again, this time without hesitation. His left hand slid to the back of Cas’s neck, cool fingers against warm skin, and Cas shivered at the contact, his breath hitching as Dean closed the distance once more.
Cas instinctively mirrored Dean’s movements, lifting his hands to rest on either side of Dean's neck. He wasn’t entirely inexperienced, but with Dean, the feeling was different; it filled him with insatiable desire. He wanted to lean into it, to let himself be pulled deeper into the feeling.
As Cas exhaled, Dean shifted, pressing his lips gently to the side of Cas’s neck. His sigh broke into a choked gasp, surprising them both. Dean’s breath lingered against Cas’s skin as he followed the line of his jaw with unhurried kisses, a trail that felt more reverent than demanding.
It was satisfying to Dean to hear the angel come apart with a couple of kisses.
Eventually, Dean pulled back, aiming to brush a playful lick across Cas’s lips before drawing the angel into a hug, arms wrapping securely around his shoulder. Cas melted into the embrace at once, a contented sigh settling between them.