It feels like it happens in slow motion.

Cas has stumbled to his feet, touching his chest and trenchcoat like he’s confused by their tangibility. He turns just in time for Jack to tackle-hug him, and for Sam to lope over and wrap his freakishly long arms around them both. Dean thinks they’re laughing, but it’s hard to tell over the rushing in his ears. He feels like he’s walking through molasses.

There are so many things he wants to say, but the words get caught in his throat like an inconvenient, gay traffic jam and it’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other. Sam and Jack drift away. Cas turns.

And then it’s just the two of them.

Cas looks—alive, which is really all that matters. Same blue eyes, same wild dark hair, same clothes. He’s wearing this beaming smile that’s fading in his mouth but staying in his eyes, despite the fact that his shoulders start to tense. He is deliberately, inhumanely still. He’s nervous, Dean realizes.  

Dean’s thought about this a lot. Years. He’s lost sleep over it; not only his own confession, but the idea of… them together; how that would work, what it’d look like. It’s been a source of anxiety and comfort and desire, and now that everything’s over, now that he gets to have his big friggin’ moment, everything he’s ever imagined flies out the goddamn window.

Dean moves before he understands what he’s doing, crushing Castiel to his chest, arms tight around his shoulders, squeezing squeezing if only to convince himself that this is real, he’s here, he’s alive, he’s here. It takes a breath for Cas to hug back, but he does, seemingly content to stay there forever which—sure, but no, because Dean reaches up with one stupid, shaking hand to cradle the back of Cas’s skull, and then he pulls away with just enough space to look into those dumb, gorgeous, blue eyes and—

It isn’t a single kiss.

Sure, there’s the first one; hard and dry and desperate. Clinging. But then there’s another, and another, and he’s calling Cas an asshole and an idiot and saying shit like don’t you ever do that again. And they keep kissing, because now that Dean’s started, he can’t stop; he wants to kiss this man until he gets fucking stubble burn and then kiss him some more. Wants to take him out on a date. Wants to take him to bed.

“How could you—after everything—”

Cas twists his fingers into Dean’s overshirt.

“I—Cas, I—”

Cas nods against his mouth.

And then Dean’s gay traffic jam becomes decidedly un-stuck.

He wrenches away, hands pressing to Cas’s chest when he tries to follow. He’s gorgeous like this; disheveled and flushed to hell, and Dean spares a moment to be embarrassed for them both when Cas drifts forward again like he just can’t help himself. Dean’s fingers press against his reddened lips. “You’re oblivious,” he breathes. His hand moves to trace the line of his brow, the apple of his cheek. Cas watches him raptly, caught somewhere between elation and awe. Dean thumbs the bolt of his jaw. “You need to pay better attention.”

Cas clutches at his wrist. “Dean—”

“How could you ever think I don’t love you?”

Cas flounders, mouthing moving like a fish out of water. “I-I’ll endeavor to do better in the future,” he says. Swallows thickly. Watches as Dean drifts close and brushes their mouths together in an impression of a kiss, something vulnerable and delicate and fucking terrifying.

“…Good,” Dean says. “I—I’ll do that, too.”

Nothing huge, just some post-hunt, smoochy doodles, in case there’s anyone else out there like me who, really needs some softness these days. 

(If you like my work, please consider leaving me a tip! As a self-supporting artist, I’d be very grateful!) 

some dean and cas kissin action bc i couldn’t resist ;0

It’s in his heart. He’s dead. Dean can feel it. Of course, it’s in his heart.

Dean thinks about how he knew it would end like this. Knew it’d be his stupid goddamn heart that got him, one way or another. Hadn’t thought it’d be this literal, maybe, but here he is. And he thinks about how he always knew he’d die on a hunt. He knew, right? 

That’s why, when he looks at Sam, Dean holds it together. He speaks clearly. He tries not to let any of the heartbreak show on his face.

This is okay, he thinks. This has to be okay. He’s been okay with this ending once. He can be okay with it again. The way his future is crumbling around him - he has to be okay with it. There’s no way out. This is where he was always headed.

Shit, he thinks, this hurts. The dying part never gets easier. At least this is the last time he’ll have to do it. His brother looks distraught. 

Inside, Dean wavers. He wanted to go for more walks with the dog. He wanted to see more places just for himself, not for the sake of killing monsters. He wanted more life. He wanted more time.

Sam’s talking and Dean answers but he can feel his body failing him and he’s not sure he’s saying the right things. He asks for it to be okay. He needs it to be okay. If Sam says it, then it can be true. Sam opens his mouth to reply. But it’s another voice that says,

“No.”

Sam swings around, reaching for a weapon. But Dean’s shaking body goes still at the sound of that voice. He knows that voice. And beyond Sam, he can see another face. Someone coming out of the shadows and into the light. Blue eyes blazing, determined. Jaw set.

“No,” Castiel says. “Not like this.” Sam’s knife drops to his side. Castiel steps forward, and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Not like this,” he says again. “Not for you.”

“C-” Dean tries, but Castiel is drawing him forward, away from the rusted point of the nail, and healing him at the same time. Dean’s breath is lost and he can’t finish the word until he’s free. “Cas,” he says. He takes a breath. He’s looking at Castiel. Castiel is in front of him. Castiel saved him. “Cas. You’re alive?”

“Thank God,” Sam says. He’s stepped away, still pale, giving Castiel and Dean a little space.

“Jack came for me,” Castiel says, like it’s nothing, a distraction. He still has his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can feel grace crackling over his skin, searching for any lingering injury.

“Cas,” he says. “I’m - shit, man, I’m okay. You really… I thought I was… I thought I was gone. I thought you were gone. Holy crap, man, I thought that was it for us.” He reaches up, and puts his hand over Castiel’s. When Castiel’s face shifts, Dean tightens his grip, holding Castiel’s hand properly. He can feel his heart pounding. His living, beating heart, the heart that remembers Castiel’s last words to him.

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand. And Dean knows, when he looks at Castiel - knows that he wasn’t destined to end up dead on a hunt in some godforsaken wherever. No, he thinks, no, man, no. He wrecked that destiny, on purpose, a long time ago. He made his own choices. Tore up that script. He gave himself a different life, a better life than that. He can feel the love that led him out of the maze, thudding inside him, when he looks into Castiel’s eyes.

It’s in his heart, and he’s going to live for it. Dean can feel it. It’s in his heart.

dean/cas fic: One More Ride (15x20)

[No summary for obvious reasons]

Read it @ AO3

It’s a rainy and crappy day.

The hunt itself, dragging on days longer than it should have, was a shade away from disaster when the vampire nest had more in the happy family than Sam and Dean previously thought. The Impala got a flat tire on the way back to the bunker. Dean had to hear Sam bitch about the humidity from Missouri to Illinois.

So when they pull into the garage, despite having spent the last week hunting, Dean is ready to kill something.

Then he walks into the bunker.

All the lamps are on in the war room, giving the room a soft, orange glow. Dean can hear a muffled tune coming from the record player in the library. The air is warm and thick with a distinct scent.

Sam stops in front of him, sniffing the air. “Is that pumpkin?”

Dean doesn’t respond. Instead he dumps his duffel into the ground and goes straight to the kitchen.

He’s exactly where Dean expected him to be: head bent over a cookbook (with a title proclaiming ‘Fall Favorites!’), flour splotching his bee apron (something Dean made fun of him for buying, but now something Dean’s second favorite outfit on him), the counter covered in pumpkin purée and cinnamon.

“Cas,” Dean says.

Cas looks over his shoulder, brow furrowed. “Dean.” He holds the cookbook aloft. “Can you explain what this author means by ‘folding in’ ingredients? I’m assuming it’s a mistake, since it’s impossible.”

Stifling a laugh, Dean walks to Cas and leans over his shoulder to look at the page. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Pumpkin pie,” Cas says, grumpily.

“Not apple?”

“No. Pumpkin is seasonal.”

“So is apple, dummy.”

Cas shrugs a shoulder. “I like pumpkin. And to paraphrase your philosophy: chef picks the recipe, consumer shuts his pie-hole.”

“Cake-hole,” Dean corrects. He can’t hold back his smile. “Damn it, I missed you.”

Cas’s face softens, and he says, “I’ve missed you too, Dean,” in that earnest way that never fails to knock the breath out of Dean’s lungs.

Dean takes the recipe book from Cas’s hands, tossing it onto the counter. He turns Cas on his heels and wraps his husband into his arms, uncaring of the flour all over him, and kisses him soundly.

“Making a pie, Cas?” Sam asks from the door.

“Not anymore,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s lips.

Dean laughs and lifts Cas up, depositing him on the counter, flour unsettling into the air. Cas brings his legs around Dean’s waist. Dean kisses him like his life depends on it. He can hear Sam sigh behind them and fast-retreating footsteps.

Cas pulls back and frames Dean’s face with his warm hands. “I’m happy that you’re my home,” he says.

Dean frowns. “You mean that I am home.”

“No.” Cas pushes his forehead against Dean’s, runs a hand across Dean’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “You’re my home, Dean. I’m home when I’m with you.”

Dean doesn’t trust himself to speak with his throat closing the way that it is, so he buries his face into Cas’s shoulder and breathes in his cinnamon spice scent.

It’s a rainy and crappy day, but in the bunker, warm in Cas’s arms, Dean really doesn’t mind anymore.

Something Only I Would Know

Just as Dean was hoisting his left leg onto his bed, one of the phones rang in the library. He sighed and moved his leg rest back into place, then wheeled out to the hallway, hoping he could get to the phone in time. Sam was on a hunt with Eileen out in Iowa, and Jody and Claire were taking out some werewolves up in Nowhere, Michigan, but other than that, nobody else should be calling. 

He didn’t make it in time. As he sifted through the phones to figure out where the missed call came from, something crashed in the kitchen.

“Who’s there?” he yelled forcefully, grabbing a shotgun from a table before pushing himself to the kitchen.

“Son of a bitch,” a familiar voice said just as Dean turned the corner.

He looked right at himself, all six-foot-one of himself standing in the middle of the kitchen, his legs working just fine.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” other Dean said, progressively raising his voice until the end of the sentence was a shout. He glared up at the ceiling. “I’m gonna kill you, Chuck!”

“Which universe are you from?” Dean asked calmly.

Other Dean glared down at him, jaw clenched. “The real one. And you’re obviously from one where I’m bad enough at my job to land myself in a goddamn wheelchair. That’s real great.”

“No,” Dean said, sizing his other self up. “You’re too much like me.” A memory came back to him, something he said to himself in a situation similar to this one, years ago. “Tell me something only I would know.”

“Oh come on, don’t quote me to me.” Other Dean took a beer out of the fridge and tossed the cap in the direction of the trash can. “Although if you’re from a different universe, I guess you wouldn’t have a memory of that. I must just say the same shit in every version of myself.”

“I do have a memory of it.” 

They glared at each other.

Dean said, “Camp Chitaqua.”

Other Dean blinked. “Yeah, OK.” He took a long pull from his beer, staring pointedly at the wheelchair as he did. “What year is it?”

“It’s 2022.”

Other Dean dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Ah, fuck. How’d we end up crippled?”

“No. Tell me something only I would know.”

Other Dean stared at him, annoyed. He lost the staring contest after half a minute, shaking his head and scoffing and then taking another long drink of beer. He then looked down at the table and said loudly, “Cas.”

Keep reading

“Well, I guess it’s time,” Dean said.

Cas squinted at him. “What?”

“Time to talk about it.” Dean opened his arms then dropped them to his sides. “I’m sorry, man, you’ve been back for days and I’ve been trying to think of what to say.” He laughed. “I’ve never, uh…”

“It’s OK, Dean. I didn’t expect to come back, so I of course don’t expect anything of you. In fact, I’m.” He smiled at the floor. “Embarrassed.”

“What? No, Cas, that’s not—” Dean closed his eyes, shook his head. “You’re my family. I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas said slowly. “If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No, I do. Have to. I, uh. I love you, Cas.”

Cas smiled softly at him.

Dean looked at him for a long time. Then, “C’mere, man.”

They were only standing a few feet apart, so Dean took a step forward and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder to reel him in. Cas went easily, folding himself into Dean’s grasp.

“Please don’t ever make a deal like that again, OK?” Dean held the back of Cas’ head, his fingers spread through his hair. “Try not to, at least.”

Cas laughed lightly as they parted from one another. Before he could assure Dean that everything was fine, that they could go back to the way things were before, that they could act the same as they always had, suddenly Dean’s lips were brushing against his, warm hand holding his cheek, a hitch in Dean’s breath as he ended the kiss and rested his forehead against Cas’.

“Oh, um,” Cas said.

Dean abruptly let him go, cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “So, anyway, uh, glad you’re back, Cas. Sorry I—you know, we’ll take things slow.”

“Of course, Dean.”

**********

There was a knock on Dean’s bedroom door. Before Cas could say anything, Sam opened it and stood in the doorway, his mouth open on words left unsaid.

Dean was draped facedown over Cas, one arm slung over his stomach and cheek pressed against his chest, snoring. Cas rubbed his back, his t-shirt rucking up with the movement.

“Go away, Sammy,” Dean mumbled.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Cas and shrugged.

Cas mouthed, “We’re taking things slow.”

Sam gave him a thumbs up and left the room.

dean’s sitting in the library, a beer hanging by his side and pulling at a loose thread in his jeans, when sam yells to him.

“jack’s back,” sam repeats, louder the second time.

dean sighs and pulls himself to his feet. his movements feel slower, heavier. he’s having a hard time finding the energy to go greet jack and act like everything’s fine. he’s having a hard time finding the energy for anything since-

“cas?”

dean barely gets his name out before he’s moving across the room, the force at which he wraps his arms around cas nearly knocking cas off his feet.

“hello, dean.” cas’ voice sounds shaky, quiet, as he presses closer to dean and curls his fingers into the soft fabric of dean’s shirt.

dean barely notices sam ushering jack out of the room as he pulls back a bit, pressing his forehead against cas’ and tries to calm his breathing. he wants to say something, to tell him everything, but cas breaks the silence first.

“you told me before i was terrible at goodbyes,” cas smiles, “and perhaps it’s because they never quite seem to stick.”

dean feels a smile of his own spread across his lips. “your timing is shit too, if that helps.” he takes a breath, lifting his head and pulling back enough to look cas in the eye, “how are you... back?”

“jack and michael came to the empty. michael was able to bargain with it in order to return all of the angels to heaven. they need angels to help reset the balance now that god is caged. jack asked if i would join them, but michael was correct in his assumption that i would not want to return there.”

so that’s what sam tried to tell him, that jack was going to the empty.

“jack will return with michael but first he wanted to bring me home.” the ‘to you’ hangs in the air, unspoken.

“i’m glad you came back, and i....” dean takes a breath before he continues, “cas, what you said before the empty - you can’t just say something like that and -“

cas carefully pulls away, stepping back and looking anywhere but at dean, “i know and i understand. it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, i told you before i know i can’t have-“

dean quickly cuts him off, “you can have this. we can have this. god, cas, do you really think that you haven’t already had me for years?”

cas looks stunned when dean steps forward and places his hand on cas’ cheek before pressing a tentative kiss to his lips. it takes cas a moment before he responds, but when he does a feeling of relief washes over him. they can have this.

when dean pulls back there’s a faint tint of pink to his cheeks as he runs a hand through cas’ hair. “i love you too. i didn’t get to say that before, but i do, god i do.”

Lead Me Home

15x18 coda. Rated M.

They’re back. They’re all back. Everyone Chuck took—Donna, Eileen, Stevie, Bobby, the other hunters.

All of them.

Except one.

Even when it should be impossible, Castiel will always come when Dean calls.

Angst, then fluff, then smut. This is just what I needed to write today.

Read on Ao3

Easy

When Cas came back, Dean didn’t experience the mania he had felt the last time Cas returned from the Empty. He was relieved, of course, but he didn’t know what to do. 

For the first day or two, he couldn’t look Cas in the eye. He was never alone with him. He skirted around him like Cas was the sun and Dean simply an orbiting planet, staying far enough away so as not to burn. 

Cas, for his part, provided Dean the space. He was his usual stoic and steadfast self, but Dean noticed a difference in him anyway. It took him a while to realize that it was Cas’ inherent sadness, that it was gone. He no longer hurt. He was comfortable and content. 

And Dean was jealous. He held tension so fearfully that he woke each morning with pain in his clenched jaw. Don’t look at Cas, don’t be alone with Cas, don’t get too close to Cas, don’t talk to Cas, Cas, Cas.

After a few days, Dean tried to be normal. He started with touch. He knew how to touch Cas, because they had always known touch, had always used touch to communicate with one another. Still, he had to relearn. 

He started easy, with encouraging pats to Cas’ shoulders, a brush of his hand against his elbow, letting his fingers linger for longer than necessary when they handed things between each other. It got easier.

The first time they were alone together, it was morning and Cas was brewing a pot of coffee. They spoke in low tones, across the kitchen from one another, about nothing in particular. But Dean said something that made Cas smile, so Dean crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around him and held him until they heard Sam coming down the hall.

Days turned into weeks, and things began to feel normal. As Dean relaxed into his friendship with Cas, he realized what a relief it was to know the certainty of their relationship’s strength. He never doubted himself anymore, never worried that he might push Cas away or hurt him, because Cas’ love was so solid and sure, ever-present and easy. Sometimes, he looked at Cas and the thought would cross his mind, he loves me, and it didn’t terrify him. The tension eased.

Weeks turned into months, and Dean settled in. He sat across from Cas in the kitchen each morning, mostly in silence. He sat across from him in the library, researching cases, mostly in silence. He went on supply runs, Cas in the passenger seat, listening to music. Dean’s affection poured easily from him, in hugs and caresses and gentle words. Cas accepted all with ease.

Months turned into a year. They were watching a movie together one night after Sam had gone to bed. Dean had his arm comfortably slung over the back of the couch, his fingertips within reach of Cas’ shoulder. Cas sat slightly leaned forward, a small smile on his face, engrossed with the plot.

Dean looked at him for a long time. He paused the movie.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas turned with a surprised look on his face, like he forgot Dean was sitting on the other side of the couch. 

“Uh,” Dean said. “D’you wanna come over here?”

“Over where?”

Dean laughed lightly, then pressed play, turning back toward the TV. “Never mind.”

When the movie ended, they talked about it. Cas enjoyed it and had a lot of things to say. Dean listened. 

After the third time Dean yawned, he said, “I gotta hit the sack, Cas.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Dean.”

He stood from the couch and passed by Cas on his way out of the room, and when his hand accidentally brushed against Cas’ leg, he didn’t stop himself from reaching for him and hauling him up from the couch, leading him down the hall by the hand. 

“Do you ever sleep, Cas?”

“No.”

Dean pulled him down to his bed anyway. “Well, just lay next to me, would you?” He curled onto his side, away from Cas, and fell asleep.

The next time they watched a movie, Dean tipped to the side halfway through and rested his head in Cas’ lap. He fell asleep before it was over, with Cas’ hand a reassuring touch against his shoulder.

Dean knew exactly what day it was that Castiel told him he loved him. He didn’t know if Cas knew, and he wasn’t about to bring it up. But he knew that it was three weeks after the anniversary, and they were on an early-morning supply run, and Dean saw in his peripheral vision the way that Cas was gently tapping his fingers against his thigh to the beat of the music. When Dean looked over for a glimpse of his friend, he found that easy, open smile he had grown so accustomed to over the past year. He looked ahead at the road.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you.”

Cas huffed a laugh. “I love you, too, Dean.”

The road stretched ahead of them; Cas tapped along to the music. 

Dean parked far away from the store, away from all the other cars. He was faster getting out of the car than Cas, so he was able to meet him on the passenger side. He smiled at him, and Cas smiled back, and when Dean cupped the back of his head and pulled him forward for a kiss, it was easy.  

Dean comes back to himself slowly, the sound of his ringing phone growing louder until he realizes it’s in his hand. He puts it to his ear but doesn’t say anything.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice: tinny, worried.

“Yeah. Talk to me.”

A pause, then, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. “Cas is gone.”

“Oh.”

“That’s it? ‘Oh’?” Dean bites his lower lip. He wants to blow up at his brother. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” It sounds like he means it. “I thought Cas might...I just thought we might lose him.”

Dean drifts again, doesn’t say anything.

“Are you OK?” Sam asks lamely.

“Yeah, Sam, I feel fucking great. What do you think?”

“Dean—”

“What did Cas say to you? If you knew he would—what did he say, some kind of goodbye?”

“No,” Sam says. “What did he say to you?”

“I don’t know.” Dean tries to replay the conversation in his head and comes up blank. “I don’t know.”

Sam waits.

They don’t have time for this. Still.

“Did he ever tell you that he loved you?” Dean says.

“Yeah. Once or twice maybe, I’m not sure.”

“What? How can you not be sure?”

Sam huffs a small laugh. “I don’t know, it just wasn’t a big deal I guess.”

“Not a big deal.”

“Dean. Did Cas tell you he’s in love with you?”

“No,” Dean says quickly. “No. That’s not what happened.”

“So what did he say?”

“Wait, what do you mean he’s in love with me? You knew this already?”

“I don’t think now is the best time to—”

“You knew. You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

“Cas is my best friend, Dean, he trusts me. What do you want me to say? Yeah, I knew. Of course he’s in love with you.” Upset, he repeats, “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it, ‘oh’?”

Dean takes a deep breath. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

It takes Sam a long time to answer. “If things were calm—if he had told you, I don’t know, over pizza after a normal hunt, what would you do? When would be a good time?”

Dean suddenly feels tired, the type of deep-set exhaustion that’s been building for years. “Say what you want to say to me, Sammy.”

“This is the worst timing, but it was always gonna be the worst timing,” Sam says impatiently. “I’m sorry. You and Cas...I don’t know. You have to sort through your feelings on your own, I think.”

“It’s too late. He’s gone.”

“If he wasn’t, or if he came back, what would you do?”

Dean grips the phone tighter, forcing himself not to hang up on Sam. The only thought that crosses his mind is giving Cas a hug, which is stupid and makes him hate himself even more than he already does. But then it comes back to him, what Cas said about him, that he doesn’t have to be this angry and broken man, that he is selfless and loving, and it’s hard to hate that.

“Dean?”

He makes a fist with his free hand, tries to remember that he’s talking to his brother, that it’s OK, that Sam isn’t going to judge him. “I, uh. I want him back. I want him, here, with me. Fuck, I love him. I’ve always loved him.” He drops his head and finally lets himself cry, but it comes out as a shaking sob that he can’t control. “Fuck.”

“It’s OK, Dean. It’s OK. We’ll get him back.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the metal cuffs, determining if he could slip them and get the hell out of the back of this cop car. He had far bigger things to worry about; like taking out the group of witches that had framed him for this murder.

He really should have known better though. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don’t touch the victim with bare hands. Fingerprints all over the scene.

Ameatur move, Winchester.

The sooner they got to the station, the sooner he could call Sam. Then his brother could save his ass so they could gank the witches and get as far away from this town as possible.

But no.

Stupid do-gooding officer had to take another call and detour on the way to the station. Great. Just what Dean needed was to have an actual criminal thrown into the backseat with him.

As if on cue, the other back door opened and a man was being pushed in next to Dean. “Both of you stay put.”

“Sure. Not like I have other important things to get to or anything,” Dean grumbled under his breath.

The other man turned and looked at him, and holy shit, was it normal for anyone’s eyes to be that blue?

“You don’t look like much of a criminal,” the man said, looking Dean up and down.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Deep voice. Long lingering gazes over Dean’s body. Shit. The last thing Dean needed was to get a hard-on in the back of a cop car over some random stranger cuffed next to him.

“That’s because I’m not. They got the wrong guy,” Dean said, thunking his head against the window with a sigh.

“Don’t they all say that?” the other man asked, leaning back against the seat and tugging his wrists to see how much give the cuffs had.

“Well, why are you being arrested?” Dean asked, turning his gaze back to the gorgeous man next to him, which was a bad idea because oh God, Dean swore he wasn’t into men but that excuse was rapidly turning to dust in his mind as he ogled the alluring dark haired man next to him.

‘Stop it, Winchester. You do not have time to drool over a potentially deadly yet sinfully attractive man.’

The man gave a small shrug. “Started a fight with a guy harassing a woman in a bar. Turns out that defending someone and throwing the first punch gets you arrested. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. That woman is safe, and that’s all that matters.”

“Ah, look at that. They do still exist. A modern day knight in shining armor,” Dean said, aiming for teasing but missing the mark when his tone came out softer and more awe-stuck.

“More like a knight in shining handcuffs,” the other man replied, lifting his hands so the metal cuffs caught the light of the streetlamp outside. “I’m Castiel, by the way.”

“Dean,” Dean replied, nodding his head slightly in greeting.

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds before Castiel nudged him with his knee. “What did you mean they got the wrong guy?”

Dean chewed his lip for a second. To tell the truth, or not to tell the truth. This man- Castiel- was devastatingly handsome. If he was stuck in a holding cell for the night, odds are they’d be penned up together. Would it be possible to get some action in the middle of a holding cell?

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it with a sigh. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised what I’d believe. Tell me,” Castiel said.

And Dean wanted to. He really really wanted to. But to throw the supernatural at some innocent guy who’s only reason for being arrested was defending the innocent….

“Please, Dean,” Castiel said.

The way Castiel said his name made Dean’s heart lurch and he cracked. “I was arrested for murdering a woman. But it wasn’t me. I was tracking down the things that did murder her.”

“Things? What do you mean, things?”

“Witches, specifically. A group of witches murdered her, and I was trying to figure out what spell they used to do it. I was inspecting the body when the police showed up,” Dean said.

Castiel held his hands up in surprise, the clink of the handcuffs echoing in the car, and the police officer’s voice a quiet murmur from outside as he made a call. “Okay, I heard witches. But I’m going to need you to explain more than that.”

And so Dean did, launching into a condensed story of him and Sam hunting monsters, and ending with the witches killing women from wealthy families in town.

“Still think I don’t look like much of a criminal?” Dean asked, echoing the first words Castiel had said to him when he’d been pushed into the back of the cop car with Dean.

Castiel shook his head strongly, before licking his lips and looking straight at Dean. “I think you’re the knight in shining armor here, Dean. Saving the world from monsters; protecting the little guys who don’t know what’s out there. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I just fell in love with you,” Castiel said, laughing breathily.

Dean grinned, tilting his body towards Castiel’s. “In any other world, this is where I’d throw out some causal line asking if you’d like to get out of here with me,” Dean said, his eyes darting down to Castiel’s mouth.

“We’re a little stuck right now, but I’ll gladly take you up on that offer when we’re both released in the morning,” Castiel said, leaning forwards until their lips were hovering mere millimeters apart.

Just as Dean was about to press his lips to Castiel’s in what would have been an electrifying kiss, the front door swung open and the officer climbed back into the car. “Time to get you both to the station and book you.”

Dean cursed under his breath, pulling away from Castiel and slumping back against the seat in defeat. Castiel’s hands moved to settle on Dean’s knee, and the hunter shivered; his eyes flickering to Castiel’s, only to see the other man was staring at his lips.

Dean smirked, running his tongue over his lower lip and watching as Castiel shuddered. Oh yes. Being arrested might just have been the best thing to ever happen to Dean.

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Breakfast is always a quiet affair at the bunker. Neither Dean nor Cas like to talk before they’ve had a couple of cups of coffee, and Sam has usually already gone out for a run and eaten before they’re even out of bed.

Dean likes it, though. Sitting across from Cas, seeing him safe and content, if a little grumpy in the morning. They eat in companionable silence, feet occasionally bumping into each other underneath the table.

Dean smiles to himself, shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Hm. Kind of bland.

“Pass me the salt, sweetheart.”

Cas just squints at him.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Were you talking to me?”

Dean squints back, confused. “Do you see anyone else in here?”

“You called me sweetheart.”

Dean flushes. There is no way… except playing it back in his head, he realizes that Cas is right.

He clears his throat. “So? Are you gonna pass me the salt?”

After a beat, Cas reaches for the salt shaker. “Here you go… dear.”

“Shut up and eat your eggs.”

Cas obeys, but Dean can see the grin at the corner of his lips. He kicks Cas lightly underneath the table, blushing harder when Cas hooks his ankle around Dean’s, keeping them pressed together.

If they stay that way for the rest of the meal, that’s no one’s business but theirs.

ao3. 

“Hey.” Sam tilts his chin in the direction over Dean’s shoulder. “2 o’clock.” 

Dean glances over his shoulder. Cas, who is sitting next to him in the booth, likewise cranes his head, albeit a little more obviously because the newly human ex-angel still has no sense of manners. 

He knows what Sam is gesturing to immediately: brunette, leggy, skirt on the northside of too short. He distinctly remembers the predatory face she made when he asked her back to his hotel room. 

“Didn’t you hook up with her last time we were in town?” Sam asks in a hushed voice.

Dean pokes a fork at his scrambled eggs. “Uh, yeah. I think so.” 

“Well, go talk to her!” 

“Why the hell would I do that?” 

Sam scoffs, giving him the Younger Sibling Incredulous Look. “Didn’t you say you liked her?” 

“You’re right, Sam. I did like her. So naturally, the next step is me getting down on one knee and saying I want to have her babies.” 

Cas scrunches his forehead. “I have two questions.” 

“Colloquialisms, Cas,” Dean says shortly. He stabs a sausage link and savagely chews it, pointing his fork in Sam’s direction. “I got a rule and you know that. I don’t double-dip. Comes with the job.” 

To Cas’s confused expression, Sam explains, “He means he never sleeps with someone twice, or he might catch feelings.” Cas continues to stare. Sam adds, “Fall in love.” 

“Why would that be bad?” Cas asks.

“Have you seen our profession?” Dean scoffs. “Ain’t for me, that whole thing. But sex is good,” he adds with an especially leering grin. 

Sam groans into his coffee. “You’re gross.” 

“Love is bad,” Cas says musingly. He takes a bite of his waffle drenched in syrup. “I think I understand.” 

“No, just—” Dean sighs. “Forget it. Maybe when you’re more human it’ll click.”

Cas looks at him curiously as he chews. Dean needs to look away. 

* * * 

“There’s too much of your mother in you,” John used to say. 

Too much empathy. 

Too much love. 

It’s what got her killed, after all. 

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