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Cas had fallen from grace and the Winchesters took him in with open arms. The Men Of Letters Headquarters was quite comfortable— a fitting home for the two hunters who used to be in his care. While Cas was trying to adjust to normal human life, he refused to have a change of clothes, deeming it unnecessary.
"Can't wear those forever, Cas." Dean said while Cas was sitting on the right side of his bed. Sam, as usual, was stuck in the library, flipping through the books that weren't about hunting.
"I have... I have worn them for some time, now. I do not understand why I have to change."
"You're human, now, man. You're going to start sweating." Dean was busy digging into his very limited wardrobe.
"And?"
"You're gonna start to smell pretty soon. Just— no person in his right mind would wear the same thing five days in a row."
"I see. But all you have are plaid." Cas cocked his head to the side, unamused by the fact.
"Is there a problem?" Dean turned around, scowling.
"I would like to go shopping. I believe it is also a human ritual."
"Shopping?" Dean repeated in disbelief.
"Yes."
By some miracle, Cas managed to force him into shopping for new clothes at the nearest department store. He had a few extra bucks, originally for beer, that went to Castiel's white sweatshirt.
"A sweatshirt. You're kidding." Dean said on the drive home, the ex-angel sitting quietly in the passenger seat. The sweatshirt was a bit too long for his arms, covering half of his hand, with two black numbers on the front.
"I like this a lot." Cas looked very innocent from the corner of Dean's eye; his elbow was propped up, his chin was resting on his hand, and the side of his forehead pressed against the glass. His eyes gleamed blue under the faint winter sun, his face slightly paler than before.
"Have you been eating? You're pale as a ghost." Dean pointed out, shifting his attention from Cas to the road.
"I don't get hungry."
"You might have been fine with nothing for years, but you don't have your angel mojo now, Cas. You gotta eat."
"I don't want to."
"You're such a child, sometimes." Dean murmured, turning up the radio.
When they got home, Cas was left in Dean's bedroom, a sort of unspoken agreement between the two brothers that Cas had to stay with Dean as long as he still had nightmares. He settled into the sheets, resting his head on the pillow while a yawn escaped from his lips. Dean entered the room, shedding the two extra layers of clothes he usually wore. He sat on the left side of the bed, untying his boots.
"Did you take off your shoes?" He asked, but Cas didn't answer; instead, he buried himself under the blankets.
"Damn it, Cas, take off your shoes first!" Dean saw that Cas turned away from him. His fingers peeked from the top of the blanket, holding it up over his head. This was becoming a daily thing— Cas would forget to take off his shoes, Dean would get mad and tickle him off the bed whenever he hides under the sheets.
"Sometimes, I wonder if you're doing this on purpose." Dean chuckled, leaning towards Cas and pressing his fingers lightly on Cas' waist where he was most ticklish. He poked lightly, earning a jerk and a soft laugh from the other, with the occasional "Dean, stop." He tickled Cas off the bed where he fell with a thud. To his surprise, when Cas uncovered his head, he was crying.
"Hey, don't cry, man." Dean gently walked to Cas, sitting in front of him on the floor. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," Cas replied, shaking his head. "I don't know why."
"Is it the nightmares?"
"No."
"What do you feel?"
"I feel frustrated."
"Frustrated because?"
"I do not understand what is happening. I'm not used to this, Dean, all the doubt and uncertainty. The vagueness and the ambiguity. I cannot place why I'm crying."
"Hey, nobody said it was easy." Dean smiled, placing a hand over Castiel's. "We'll figure it out." He raised his free hand to cup Cas' cheek, wiping his tears with his thumb. Cas covered Dean's hand with his own, the soft cloth of the sweatshirt riding up to his knuckles again. They stayed like that for a little while until Cas stopped crying, rubbing small circles on his cheek and soft whispers of "It'll be okay." and "Trust me."
Dean noticed the way the sweatshirt covered Cas' hand, and he remembered— it's an unusual thing, but he always found the way a sweatshirt would ride up to half of someone's hand really frickin' cute, for lack of better words. And Cas, who used to be the holy angel of the Lord, was here in front of him, the stubble on his chin rubbing on Dean's palm while his cheek dried from tears. The look on Cas' face, all wide eyes and slightly furrowed eyebrows; the past four years, he always did feel something for Cas. He was too scared to admit it to himself, to Sam, or to anyone for that matter, but it always was there. This was home, and maybe he could finally—
"The sweatshirt really fits you, Cas." Dean now had his hands on both sides of Cas' cheeks while Cas' rested on his knees. Dean was wiping the last of Cas' tears away from his face, sweeping stray strands of hair from his eyes, too.
"I like it, too." He answered, looking from his sweatshirt and up to Dean's eyes, smiling.
Dean instinctively kissed Cas, fast and devoid of any other thought in his head. Cas, at first, was startled but eventually leaned into the kiss, placing his hands on both sides of Dean's waist. When they pulled away, Dean pressed their foreheads together and whispered, "You're so fucking cute sometimes." Cas pecked him on the lips one last time, still smiling, before tickling Dean down to the floor and hovering above him.
"Thank you, Dean." Castiel's hands were planted on the floor.
"For what?" Dean latched his hands on the back of Cas' neck, pulling him down a little more. They kissed again, tongues and open mouths, small pants and grunts coming from both of them. A small laugh escaped from Cas' lips when they broke the kiss, and Dean can't help it when his heart melted at the realization that Cas was slowly becoming more and more human.
"Why are you laughing?" Dean chuckled as Cas started to stand, extending his arm for Dean to grab onto as the hunter pulled himself up. Dean turned off the main lights and lit the bedside lamp for Cas, because even if he'd rather have the lights off, Cas liked it better with the lamp on and he's pretty much okay with that. Cas sat on his side of the bed while Dean was on his, tucking themselves in under the sheets and resting their heads on the pillows. They faced each other, both smiling. Dean had one hand holding Cas', and the other chording through his hair or cupping his cheek. Cas' hand rested on Dean's back, and there they were— snuggled up in the comfort of their home on a winter night.
"I was so afraid," Cas said softly, never breaking eye contact with the hunter across him. "I thought I would never find my way back to you again."
"Of course, you would. I knew you would." Dean smiled, moving closer into Cas and resting his head on Cas' chest.
"How could you have known?"
"Because you'll always be my angel."