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Of all of the stupid ideas Dean’s had over the past couple of years, he has the self-awareness to realize that this plan in particular blurs the line between “genius” and “extremely goddamned stupid”.
The thing is, Cas has been acting pretty damn normal about everything that happened, as if he didn’t say what he said to Dean and then die, as if he didn’t miraculously get brought back and was now finally here with Dean, no strings attached, no God or shitty deals or anything out to get them.
To Cas, it’s just another Thursday.
It leaves Dean feeling off-kilter, his stomach in knots- because okay, maybe Cas didn’t kiss him in the basement because of the imminent danger coupled with the Everything Else that was going on, but maybe, just maybe, now that he’s back, and they’re safe, he would? Maybe, now that there’s no Chuck or apocalypse or life-or-death deals hanging over their heads, he might? And Dean- Dean just wants to give the guy a fair shot, y’know? Cas deserves a fair chance. It’s Cas, after all. The least Dean could do after everything he’s done for him is give him a chance.
A chance to kiss him, that is.
Because- alright, maybe they didn’t have enough time then, in the basement, but now- now he could kiss Dean, and Dean would let him. He’d let him. And it’d confirm to him that Cas’ confession was romantic, that Cas is in fact, in love with him, and he’d- he’d. He’d figure out the rest after.
But for now, Dean picks more romantic movies during movie nights- more 50 First Dates and less Diehard- he brings Cas to low-lit bars and fancier, four star restaurants where he can barely pronounce any of the names on the menu. He slings his arm over Cas’ shoulder while they’re walking in the street, and takes Cas back to his own room every night. Y’know, like a gentleman. He even lets his eyes wander, downward, to Cas’ eternally chapped lips, all the while willing Cas to just fucking grab him. And kiss him. To put him- to put the both of them- out of their misery. At the back of his mind Dean wonders if Cas could feel just how fucking clammy his hands are through the fabric of his trench coat when he has his arm over him. He shakes the thought away each time. Man the fuck up, Winchester, he thinks. Dude died for you, pulled you outta hell, almost spent an eternity in fuck knows where. For YOU. Giving him an in is the least he could do. Cas deserves so much more, he thinks. So much more than a sorry excuse for a human pushing fifty who doesn’t even know a desert spoon from a soup spoon.
Cas is confused.
It’s not a new nor unwelcome emotion for him, but nevertheless, he is confused.
He is grateful, of course. He always is. For Jack bringing him back, for the Winchesters welcoming him back into their home with open arms. For the world to finally be at peace (or as close to peace as it can get) without any heavenly or hellish interferences.
And he’s happy, of course he is. For the garden the boys allowed him to cultivate in the small patch of green on the bunker’s roof, for the birds that sing the same song every morning, for knowing that everyone he knows and loves is safe, and finally free.
For Dean for not bringing up what he said to him before he died.
For the fact that Dean, in spite of all his brashness and anger, hasn’t treated Cas as differently as he thought he would after he said those three words to him.
Well.
Not differently in the way Cas expected, at least.
So yes. Cas is confused. He’s confused by the movies of a more romantic nature being queued for movie nights, for dinners with just the two of them you can classify under “intimate”, for Dean’s accelerated heartbeat when he walks Cas back to his room, every night, without fail.
He just doesn’t understand it at all. He’d let himself wonder, once, before that night at the bunker, what would happen should he confess. He deduced that the best case scenario was that Dean wouldn’t ever look him in the eyes again, and that the worst case scenario was. Well. Pretty bad.
Never in a million lifetimes would Cas expect Dean to treat and react to him in such a… peculiar fashion. It saddens him, because of course Dean would think that he’d have to act this way out of obligation, because he thinks that he needs to spend more time with Cas, or give him more hugs, or cook him breakfast- because he feels indebted to him, because of course the confession is a burden to him no matter how many smiles he gives Cas.
Cas finds himself longing for the days where Dean would hold him at an arm’s length, where he’d tell Cas that he was standing too close, staring too long, where he’d brush Cas off with a grumble and a hasty excuse. Because at least Cas knew that that was authentically Dean, and, well, he’s had no trouble simply observing from afar. It’s all he’s ever done.
He doesn’t know what to do now.
Dean seriously doesn’t know what Cas’ problem is.
He’s given him so many ins, so many chances, so many opportunities to grab his face and plant it on his- especially with the fact that Sam moved out two weeks ago, citing the fact that he “doesn’t want to witness this slow motion car crash” and the fact that Eileen is “much more stable” than they’re being right now. Dean rolled his eyes at that one. He was being a good pal. Cas was being the stupid one. And so what if Dean can’t stop thinking about Cas kissing him? So what if he can’t get the image out of his head? So what if he finds his daydreams becoming more and more Cas-shaped, of Cas kissing him hard and slow, gentle and fast, at the kitchen table, on the couch, in the Impala, right outside the diner they’ve eaten at. So what? It’s the goddamned 21st Century. Dean can think about this shit all he wants. If anyone had a problem with Cas’ orientation, they could kiss his ass.
After all, he’s just trying to be a good friend. Better than he was, at least.
Thus, each and every time he’s primed them both into a Prime Kissing Scenario, as he likes to call it in his head, he holds his breath, prays the chapstick lasted long enough, and he thinks: Now. He’s gonna kiss me now.
And he tries not to feel- bereft? Disappointed? Upset? When Cas never does, when Cas doesn’t close the gap between them. It’s so fucking frustrating, he’s just tryin’ his damndest to be a good friend, all right? He’s tryin’ to give his buddy an in. And Cas is making it harder than it should be.
And so, when it does finally happen, it, of course, does not go to plan. Because since when did anything involving the two of them ever did? It happens in the most mundane of scenarios, too- no fireworks or fancy restaurants or a huge brass band swelling behind them.
It happens when he’s walking Cas back to his room.
It’s a Tuesday.
He just wants his buddy to have a good night’s rest, of course.
And Cas- Cas is talking about flowers? His garden? New tomato plants? Dean can’t really pinpoint what exactly, which is out of character for him because he loves it when Cas talks about his garden.
Dean feels like he’s at his wits end. He’s tried everything known to man and yet- no dice. They’re almost at Cas’ room, and Cas hasn’t laid one on him yet. It’s been weeks of this- of strawberry-flavored chapstick and the sweatiest fucking palms Dean’s ever had, including the time when he asked Charlotte on the playground if she wanted to play on the slides with him when he was 8, of a constant will he, will he, will he ringing in his head. As they inch ever closer to the heavy metal door of Cas’ room, the white noise of Cas’ chattering becomes more and more like a deafening ring.
And all Dean can focus on is Cas and Fuck, his lips are so dry and Is he going to kiss me now?
He snaps. And the dam bursts.
And the ringing is so loud he’s sure that even Chuck can hear it from wherever the fuck he is.
And he grabs Cas by the ratty band shirt that Dean once called his, and kisses him.
Because maybe Cas has been just too polite to make the first move, or whatever, and the least Dean can do is help his buddy out. To put him out of his misery.
And for a split fucking second the ringing clears and it’s perfect and amazing and all he can think is, Finally.
But then, he realizes that Cas isn’t kissing back.
Dean’s eyes snap open- when he closed them, he has no idea- and he lets Cas go and properly looks at him, and what he sees makes his stomach drop. Cas just looks so fucking wrecked, something broken and fragile in his expression, and before Dean can react or apologize or fucking do anything besides just standing there and gaping at him, Cas’ hands come up to where Dean’s are still gripping at his shirt and whispers:
“You don’t have to do this, Dean.”
And it’s like a bucket of ice cold water got doused on Dean’s fucking soul, because if he didn’t know whether or not the confession was romantic in nature before, he knows now. Cas isn’t IN love with him. Cas just loves him, because Cas is his friend. His best friend. Because he’s family. And Dean just betrayed all of that by fucking kissing him.
Dean quickly lets go of Cas’ shirt and stumbles back, the tendrils of a panic attack taking root in the very core of his soul as he mumbles out a feeble apology before beelining for his room, all the while thinking you kissed him you kissed him you fucking IDIOT he didn’t mean it that way and YOU kissed HIM.
His door slams shut with a clang that echoes throughout the bunker.
If it wasn’t painfully obvious before, it sure is now. Cas isn’t IN love with him. Cas just loves him, because Cas is his friend. His family. And Dean- Dean just fucking kissed him.
If only Dad could see him now.
Dean is kissing him.
Cas shorts circuits, feeling a thousand and one emotions he’s never felt before and some he’s all too familiar with take root in his chest, blooming out towards of what’s left of his wings, and all he wants to do is to close his eyes, and lean in.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t, because he did this to Dean. His confession, his dying words… It made Dean think that he had to do this- that he’s obligated to give a piece of himself to Cas because of it, because of course the ever self-sacrificing Winchester would think that this is what he has to do to justify other people’s love for him. Cas sees how Dean looks- his brows furrowed, face flushed, eyes pinched shut, hands trembling at where they’re bunched at his shirt- he just looks like he’s ready to snap, tension basically radiating off him in waves. And Cas’ heart breaks, because all he ever wanted was to let Dean know he was loved- wholly and unconditionally- he was never meant to come back or live with the aftermath. It was never about reciprocation, Cas wouldn’t even dream of it, not even in the own comfort of his mind. In a sense, it was almost the perfect way to do it, because Cas is a coward. He’s lead armies and killed thousands and he still thinks that the only way he would’ve ever said those three words to Dean was if he knew that he would never come back from it.
But he’s back. And he doesn’t get any sort of heavenly pardon. He has to, as most humans do, “live with it”.
Cas thinks that this is the first time he’s ever wished that he hadn’t come back.
He feels Dean peel off him in a flash, lips red and cheeks flushed, as he stumbles backwards.
He sees Dean’s hand shake. He can’t bring himself to do anything but bring his own hands over Dean’s. He tells him he doesn’t have to do this. He wants Dean to understand. He needs Dean to understand.
Dean’s eyes go wide in shock before he releases him, mumbling an apology as he sprints down the hallway. Cas thinks, I did this. I did this to him.
He watches Dean go. He stands there, in that hallway, for a long, long time.
Selfishly, he lets his tongue dart over his lips.
Strawberries, he thinks he tastes.
Understandably, they both spend some time just avoiding each other for awhile, the both of them assuming that that’s what the other person wants because they both think that they’ve irrevocably fucked up The Friendship. And the bunker’s been quiet the past couple months, especially after winding down from hunting, especially without Sam or Eileen there to sooth over the tension between them, but it’s moreso, now. But, it’s fine. It’s fine.
Cas enjoys the quiet, anyway.
He has, however, been using Dean as his own personal chauffeur for the last couple of weeks, his truck finally breaking down beyond repair when he was out cold, but by then, it didn’t matter anyway, since Dean had seemed so gung-ho on spending time with him and taking him out everywhere. He figured he could probably hold off on getting a car. In hindsight- he realizes he was being selfish- taking advantage of Dean’s kindness like that, wanting to spend as much time with him as possible, even if it was for something small and mundane that Cas could’ve easily taken the bus and done himself- like getting eggs. And thus, as another consequence of avoiding Dean, Cas finds himself stranded at the bunker. It’s not the first time in his life he’s felt like a flightless bird, but it’s the first time he’s acutely aware that he should probably leave the nest and get out of Dean’s hair. Sam took the other car when he moved out, and Cas definitely can’t ask to borrow Baby- not now, anyway, not with how they’ve- with how he’s made a mess of things. But, he still wants to go to the farmer’s market in town on Saturdays, because he enjoys routine, enjoys making small talk about people who don’t know the full nature of his past. He enjoys the few new friends he’s made there, enjoys doing small tricks with what’s left of his depleting Grace to impress and awe the kids. And he prefers the tomatoes from there.
He resorts to taking the bus, ducking out earlier than he used to with Dean in order to get to the market. As a result, he arrives home later as well, later than he would have had Dean just driven him, but he figures that since Sam is finally coming over to visit next week he could probably just hold off on getting a car until Sam’s able to drive him to the local dealership. It’s not like he minds it much, anyway- being a millennia-old ex-cosmic being- sometimes, it’s nice to just sit and watch the world pass by in a dingy old bus.
Sometimes.
Other times, it’s crowded, and people won’t stop elbowing him in his stomach.
A downside to all of this is that it does, unfortunately, leave his groceries becoming bruised and smushed.
He still thinks it’s better than asking Dean to drive him.
He gets lost in these thoughts one Saturday morning, right as he’s about to leave, double and triple checking to make sure he’s got everything- everything that he used to not even think twice about because Dean was the one who got it- his keys, quarters for the bus fare there and back, money for food- and he feels himself bump into something solid and familiar.
Dean. Barely awake, nursing a cup of coffee in hand. Cas stares for a moment, not having been in this close proximity to Dean for the better part of a couple weeks, at his scruff and his ruffled hair, and he has to shake himself out of it before he does something stupid like grabbing him by his ratty dead guy robe and kissing him.
“Excuse me, Dean,” he says, stepping back. He checks the time on his watch. The bus will be here soon. He has to leave right now unless he wants to wait another half hour for the next one.
“Where you headed?” Dean asks, angling for smalltalk. His voice is deep and rumbly from sleep. It dusts Cas’ cheeks pink.
“Farmer’s market,” He replies, eyes downcast, feeling somewhat guilty, because even though he knows that Dean only ever drove him and around and took him everywhere was because he thought that he had to do that because of Cas’ confession, he still, selfishly, indulgently, viewed the farmer’s market as “their” thing. He feels like he’s betraying Dean, just a little, by going himself, even though he’s pretty sure that Dean’s more than happy to not wake up at the crack of dawn every Saturday and have Cas drag him around showing him overpriced produce.
When he looks back up to Dean, he’s- confused, to say the least. Because for a second, Dean just looks stricken- because of what, Cas can’t tell, but before Cas can say anything or leave, Dean surprises them both and tells Cas he can take him.
And Cas wants. He wants, so much, to spend with Dean, to be near him again, to have unbruised pears for the week. He’s torn- it’s hard to say no to Dean, but a part of him knows he should, anyway, because Dean just woke up, because Dean shouldn’t feel the need to drive Castiel everywhere, because the farmer’s market was never really Dean’s thing to begin with. But before he can reply, Dean abruptly blurts out, “Unless you don’t want me to take you. If you wanna go alone, that’s- that’s fine too.”
And, oh, Cas doesn’t want that. So he puts his foot in his mouth.
“No, I’d like that, Dean. I- I’d like that a lot.” He replies, before he can even process the words coming out of his mouth.
They stand there in silence for a moment, and then two, and Cas thinks that maybe he sounded a little too pathetic, a little too desperate.
“Okay. Good. I’ll uh- I’ll meet ya by Baby in 10? I gotta change.”
Cas nods, ignoring the thrumming in his ears before Dean awkwardly shuffles away, a slight hop in his step. He smiles to himself as he walks to the garage. He leaves his keys behind.
The car ride over goes surprisingly okay, all things considered. Definitely tense, tenser than it used to be, but Dean puts on the radio and for a moment they both pretend that it's like the Old Days, that the silence is a comfortable one. Dean still feels the guilt gnawing at the corners of his mind- how could he have forgotten that Cas didn’t have a CAR? He knows how much Cas enjoys his routines, and the farmer’s market was basically The Thing Cas looked forward to the most every single week. He feels like a dick. Cas didn’t do anything wrong, he thinks, gripping the steering wheel. YOU’RE the one who went and made it weird by kissing him, you asshole. He resolves to stop acting so god damned WEIRD, because it’s fine, it’s fine that Cas didn’t like him Like That, wasn’t that what he wanted, anyway? Now things can go back to the way they were. Cas is his friend- his best friend, and he fuckin’ DIED for Dean and what does he give him in return? An unwanted kiss in a frigid hallway and a cold shoulder for the better part of 3 weeks. He chews on his bottom lip, lost in his own thoughts, before Cas snaps him out of it by telling him that they’re here. Dean pulls over, parks on the side of the street, and resolved to do better. He has to. Because this was Cas.
Okay, okay. You can do this, Winchester. He smiles at Cas- like THAT can fix anything, before they both hop on out of the car.
The small, tentative one he gets in return is more than he deserves, this he knows for sure.
The market is, for all intents and purposes, small. It’s a couple of booths in the parking lot of a Church, benches scattered here and there for people to sit down and eat. It’s quaint. Dean breathes in the smell of fresh bread, takes in the sounds of children laughing and screaming. He hadn’t realized how much he’s missed it, missed this. He hadn’t realize how much of his going-out time revolved around Cas, and without Cas to hang around the past couple of weeks, he basically turned into a shut-in. He looks up at the sky and smiles. They all worked so goddamned hard to have this, to have the world finally be free, and now he’s just shooting himself in the foot. He has to be better. He has to.
For Cas.
Dean does have to physically restrain himself from being too touchy with Cas like he was just a couple of weeks ago. He has to stop himself from tugging on his arm or reaching over his shoulder to try a free sample of something vegan-and-gluten free. But he still wants to show Cas that he cares, wants to make up for the Everything that he’s caused, so he helps Cas carry everything, ignoring his excuses of having half-angel super strength, gives him his portion of the free samples, lets Cas lead them to wherever he wants without his constant tugging and pulling to move them onto the other booths. And for a while, things were going good. Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t completely fuck up the one good thing in his life. He thinks that maybe they can come back from The Incident, as he now likes to refer to it in his mind, that they can go back to being Dean-and-Cas. This was Cas, after all, and Dean would be damned (again) before he fucks this up beyond repair (again). As their conversation picks up into their old, easy banter, he feels himself getting lighter. He thinks that maybe they’re gonna be alright. That, okay, he’s messed up, he fucked up, but Cas is kind and gracious enough to let the kiss thing slide. Because Cas always was more patient, more forgiving, more accepting than Dean ever was or could be. And he’s grateful, of course he is, so he lets himself be dragged over to one of Cas’ favorite booths- the honey one, and Dean sits back on his heels as he lets Cas pour over each and every new flavour they have on offer. He smiles, a small, fond thing, when he knows Cas isn’t looking. He thinks, Okay, Cas isn’t in love with me. And that’s okay. He thinks it’s kinda fucking weird, even for his standards, just how hung up he is over the whole in-love thing anyway, because, isn’t that what he wanted? A confirmation on what Cas truly meant in that basement, all those months ago? And he got it. He got his answer.
But he just. He just can’t get the memory of kissing Cas out of his mind, can’t stop thinking about the What if he kissed me back? Which turns into a Do I want him to kiss me back? Which turns into a Why do I WANT him to kiss me back? And before Dean can spiral into a full-on panic attack as he follows THAT train of thought, the owner of the honey booth, Ellie, pulls him out of his thoughts and Cas out of his own quiet contemplation and says, “You two make a cute couple.”
Dean blanches, seeing Cas almost immediately stiffen next to him.
“We’re not, we’re- we’re not.” Dean says, firmly, his voice cracking on it. He can’t bear to look at Cas. The last thing he needed now was Anything to remind Cas of what he did all those weeks ago, especially while things were just getting back to the way they were.
Ellie immediately looks embarrassed, apologizing profusely, saying her sorries for assuming. And then.
“I just- I just thought that maybe that something happened, you know, since it’s been so long since I’ve seen you out here, Dean and I just- I was just happy you guys were back again! Together- Uh- I mean, not together-together, I mean- I was just glad you guys patched things up-”
“Patch what up?” Dean says, putting his foot in his mouth, and it only causes Ellie to apologize more, rambling with it, and she’s talking about how Cas was one of his favorite customers, and she’s STILL apologizing, and Cas, bless him, puts her out of her misery by calmly and gently telling her it’s no trouble. He drags Dean away, back to the car, all the while Cas isn’t looking at him, didn’t even end up buying that jar of fancy clover honey he’d been eyeing, and all Dean can think is:
Fuck. They all probably think we’re a couple.
Which becomes a:
Fuck, I want us to be a couple.
In the car, it’s Cas who breaks the silence first, Dean mentally melting the fuck down in his own head.
“Dean, we should talk.” he says, ominous as hell, and Dean thinks, No, as he jerks his head yes.
“About what happened in the hallway those weeks ago, I-” Cas’ hands grip his brown paper bag full of clementines. “I wish you didn’t do that, Dean, you need to know that you didn’t have to do that.” and they’re both not looking at each other, and Dean wills Baby to just swallow him whole.
“I never wanted you to feel like you had to do- anything, all of it. everything you did since I've returned.” Cas continues on. “What I said in the basement was never about that.”
Dean hears Cas’ words echo in his head. It’s never about that. It’s never about that. It was never romantic and Dean just had to get his fucked up wires crossed over, had to kiss Cas, had to want Cas to kiss him back.
“Right,” he grits out, not trusting himself to look at Cas or say anything else in that moment, body going on autopilot as starts Baby up.
But then Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, and he can't help it, can't help but look at him, and Cas just looks so fucking sad. He always kinda did, especially before, but back then everyone kinda was, y’know? But now? Now that they're free? now that there's no more cosmic destiny shit hanging on the horizon? Now that they're both fucking alive ? Dean thinks Cas shouldn't look that sad. Dean thinks, guiltily, I made him that sad.
“I just want you to be happy, Dean,” Cas says, almost a whisper, even though it's just the two of them in the car, even though in this moment, in Baby, it feels like it's always been just the two of them in the whole wide world. And Dean thinks, Maybe Cas didn't love him the way Dean wanted him to. Maybe it was his fault for being so fucked up, for wanting to see things that weren’t there, for putting that shit all on Cas when the dude just came back from the goddamned dead. For kissing him. But he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he tried- he could be happy. He could be happy just having Cas next to him, could be so fucking happy just being alive and driving Cas to as many overpriced markets as he wanted, for as long as Cas would have him, before Cas eventually gets sick of Dean’s shit- of the same few breakfasts he knows how to make, of his terrible cowboy movies, of his too-loud music, of his constant need to want to gravitate towards Cas. And it hurts, of course it fuckin’ hurts- to think of Cas leaving him, but, if Dean’s lucky- that’s still a long ways off. If Dean played his cards right, if Dean just acted like any good friend would, he wouldn't have to think of that future until a long, long time from now. And he knows Cas said that happiness wasn't in the having, but- he could have it, right now. Dean could have it. even if it’s just for awhile. And he could make Cas happy. He’d stop making him so fucking sad all the time, he’d stop treating him like shit and he’d do anything he wanted, just like any good friend would.
A little slice of heaven, just for the two of them.
And they could have it if Dean just stopped acting so goddamned weird.
Dean swallows, steels himself. He breathes out, flexing his grip on the worn-down leather of Baby’s steering wheel. He can do this. Cas was his friend, and it was the least he deserved. He deserved so much fucking more than anything Dean could ever give or do for him, in fact. And so, it's the easiest thing in the world when Dean pats Cas’ hand where it's still on his shoulder, giving him an easy smile that maybe doesn’t reach all the way up to his eyes. It’s the easiest thing in the world when he says:
“I'm happy, Cas.”
Because he was. He could be. He is. And Cas seems to be placated by that, smiling back, before removing his hand from his shoulder. Dean drives, and they sit in a companionable silence, no radio this time, as the world passes them by. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Cas was happy. Cas was alive, and he was happy, and Dean was making him miserable by twisting the words he said to him in that basement into something else. For wanting them to mean something else. And because Cas is a good friend, he wants Dean to be happy too. And Dean could.
He steps down on the accelerator, road clear of any other vehicles. He could be so goddamned happy. He'd do it for Cas.
Things eventually go back to semi-normal. It’s definitely not as tense as the weeks after the Hallway Incident, but normal, all things considered. And Cas was grateful. Cas thinks that Dean finally got it, finally understood that he didn't have to feel like he needed to do anything to reciprocate Cas’ confession, and Cas is relieved. Cas could still sense a lingering undertone of something thrumming beneath Dean, his angel senses no longer sharp enough to hone in on what it is exactly, only able to feel the pinprick energy of something adjacent to longing the weeks following the farmer’s market incident, following their talk in the car. But Cas doesn’t push Dean, doesn’t ask him about it, hopes that time will soothe it over, thinks that Dean’ll calm down eventually.
Cas holds off on getting a car just a while longer, enjoying the easy companionship they’ve fallen back into, selfishly wanting to spend more time with Dean, just for now. And besides- Cas is just happy to see Dean smile again. To not have him think that Cas’ presence required some sort of obligation to do something for him. Dean spent his entire life thinking he was just a tool for others to use and cull from that Cas is just content at the sight of Dean just being wholly, utterly, just himself. But sometimes, just sometimes, it's easy for Cas to slip into what-ifs, because it is, because its just the two of them in the bunker these days, because his heart has grown weak with his years on earth and being around Dean, because Dean shows him silly videos he finds online because he knows it’ll make Cas laugh, because they spend 20 minutes in the cereal aisle arguing with one another over each and every box. Because Dean leaves his bacon slightly rubbery, not crisp the way Cas himself likes it, and he calls it an abomination and a waste of good fuckin’ meat but he still does it anyway, because he knows that's how Cas likes it. Because when they're in the middle of watching reruns of something terrible on TV, Dean laughs and slings his arm behind the couch, behind Cas. And in those moments, in those fleeting, small moments in the everyday mundanity of their lives, it's so easy. It's so easy for Cas to pretend, just for a split second, that Dean wants him the way he does, that Dean loves him in any way other than familial.
And he’d never tell another living soul about this, won’t even dare utter it in a prayer, but sometimes, when he sleeps, he dreams of living in a white and blue house by a lake. He dreams of having a backyard with chickens and geese and tomatoes and bell peppers and flowers. He dreams of walking down the boardwalk, to Dean, who’s idly fishing at the edge, who’s mostly just taking in the serenity of the wilderness they are in more than anything. in his dreams, he walks up next to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. In his dreams, he cradles Dean's face in his hands, tells him that dinner’s ready. In his dreams, Dean tells him off, tells him that he’s gonna get dirt on him from where he just harvested his snap peas. In his dreams, Dean doesn’t push his hands away despite his complaining. In his dreams, Cas leans in, down, and takes Dean in for an easy, simple kiss.
When Cas gets those dreams, he can't look at Dean the entire day afterward. He knows he’s not being fair, but he- he just can't.
But, life carries on, and they slip back into an easy routine. Dean suggests a Star Wars marathon one night, because he’s feeling nostalgic, because he’s affronted that Cas has only watched the reboots. Cas agrees easily, and they sit on the couch, a carefully calculated distance between them. Dean’s enjoying the movie, basically quoting Han’s lines word-for-word, before Cas tells him to knock it off, that he’s ruining the immersion. Dean flicks a popcorn at him and tells him that Sam's been rubbing off on him, and Cas just rolls his eyes good-naturedly. They breeze past A New Hope pretty easily, Cas enjoying the effects and the characters, and they put on Empire next.
And if Dean realiszs that the gap between them got smaller, he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t try to move away.
Somewhere, at the back of Dean's mind, a voice yells that he’s being selfish, yells at him to fuckin’ behave. But he just- he can’t help it, because his favorite movie is playing in the background, and Cas is sitting on the couch, leaning slightly onto the armrest, wearing a faded old Zepp shirt he stole from Dean's laundry months ago. Because Cas laughs at all the stupid jokes Han says, because his expression gets closed off when Darth Vader appears on screen. Because before- Cas seemed so fucking untouchable, so fucking far away, a larger-than-life being that Dean could only share fleeting moments with, but now he’s just sitting on a couch, in Dean’s shirt, eating way-too-buttered popcorn, and Dean is just absolutely mesmerized.
On screen, the Millennium Falcon lurches, sending Leia and Han into each other’s arms.
“Don’t get excited,” Han says, smirking at Leia, and Cas isn’t even looking at Dean, but Dean just can’t fucking take his eyes off Cas. Dean lets his eyes drop to Cas’ lips, and he’s leaning in, like a moth to a lamp, like a man in a drought stumbling onto the last oasis on Earth, and he’s leaning in, and in, and in, and his mind is just going Cas, Cas, Cas, and Fuck, he could just, it’d be so fucking easy to just-
“Dean. what are you doing.” Cas says, stiffly, drawing Dean out of his thoughts.
On screen, Han and Leia let go of each other.
Dean’s stomach sinks, realizing just what the fuck he’s doing, seeing Cas’ face a mere inch away from his. But he can't bring himself to pull back, Can’t fucking do anything except stare at Cas’ impossibly blue eyes.
“Uh,” he tries, wracking his brain for an excuse, yelling at himself to fix this NOW before things go sideways. “You got somethin’ on your nose…?” he tries, lamely, bringing his hand up to Cas’ face, trying to sell his excuse.
But Cas catches his hand, grips it tightly in his. Dean gulps.
“Dean,” he starts, and Fuck, he sounds so sad, and it was Dean’s fault. Because Dean can’t keep his hands to himself, can’t just be normal around Cas, can’t just be a good fucking friend and not try to kiss him.
“I thought i told you- you don’t have to do this. I told you,” Cas says, almost pleading, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Dean is terrible, but the words still hit him like ice cold fucking water. He wrenches his hand out of Cas’ grip, feeling burned, even though it's not even Cas’ fault, even though he’s just being an asshole about all this.
He leans back, finally putting some space between them.
“Yeah, I know. I know.” he stutters out, feeling chastised. “I just, I can't help it,” he whispers. And Cas still looks so fucking sad. But he barrels on anyway, words tumbling out of him before he can stop himself.
“It’s just, I know, okay? I know y’don’t love me like that, and I'm sorry. i just- I can't help it, and if- i get if you wanna leave. I get it.” he finishes, the last part coming out barely as a whisper, because he’s so sure he’s just gone and fucked this whole thing up. This good thing they had going- and Cas would probably want to leave, to put some space between them.
But Cas is just stumped, fucking confused, actually, and he asks him, “Why would- why on earth would i want to leave, Dean?”
And Dean looks up at him, barely able to breathe. He feels like if he doesn’t say it now he’d just keel over and die. That despite the fact that Cas doesn’t love him That Way, despite the fact that Cas probably doesn’t want to hear it, he has to say it, physically unable to stop himself from being so goddamned selfish.
“Because I love you,” he says, simply, easily, seeing Cas stiffen before him. “And I know,” he babbles on, unable to stop himself, “I know I don't ‘have to do this’, I know you didn't mean it that way, I know you don't want this- me , like this. I know. I just,” he stops, breathing heavily.
“I love you,” he finishes, lamely, a poor imitation of what Cas said to him all those months ago. He doesn’t even know what he wants Cas to say, just knows he needs to say it.
“You don’t have to do this, Dean,” Cas repeats, again, and Dean feels hot embarrassment run through his system.
“I know, I know-“ Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off.
“You don’t have to say these things to make me stay, or to be with you. you don’t have to say it because you think I want- or need to hear it.” Cas looks determined now, brows furrowed as he says it. “I told you, Dean, it never was about the having, for me. I know I couldn’t- can’t have you. I know it.” And Dean is slightly confused now, but Cas continues on, “My confession never hinged on your reciprocation, and I had hoped we would both be able to put it behind us, to not let it affect our friendship,” he’s breathing heavily now, righteous and stubborn. “But that was foolish of me, and I apologise. but Dean,” he says, staring deep into Dean’s eyes, into his soul, really, and Dean is all but mesmerised, letting Cas’ words really sink in. “You don’t owe me anything. when I said that saying it was just enough for me, I really, truly, meant it.”
And Dean is just. He's just.
“You love me?”
Cas looks mildly affronted by that. “What- Dean,” he looks pained now. the long-suffering kind. The kind that people who are in Dean’s life for too long seem to get. “Did you not hear what I told you in the basement, or are you being purposefully obtuse right now?”
Dean ignores that, leans back in, never once taking his eyes off Cas. “No no, you-“ he clears his throat. “You love me?” he says, putting emphasis on it.
“Yes.”
“I- you love me.”
“Dean,” Cas feels the beginnings of a headache, feels extremely left-footed with how the conversation is going. “We've been through this. Yes. I love you.”
“No, no, like,” he swallows, steering himself. “You love me, like- feelings and shit,”
“Feelings and shit,” Cas repeats, brows furrowing.
“Like,” and Dean’s searching for the words, searching for the terms to describe it.
“Like in the movies,” he says, at last.
“Like in the movies,” Cas repeats, again, brows furrowing further.
“Like- like Han and Leia,” he says, gesturing to the screen in front of them. On it, the gang is fixing the Falcon, and Han just made an excuse to go find Leia. He feels positively manic right now, every single atom in him bursting with him trying to just convey what the fuck he’s trying to mean.
“Like Jack and Ennis,” he finishes, smiling wryly, unable to help himself.
“I… Suppose?” Cas says, tilting his head, and Dean thinks he shouldn't look so goddamned cute, not with the sheer gravity of Everything that Dean feels is hinging on this conversation.
“I love you unconditionally, Dean, I,” and Cas looks down, at his hands. “I love you. And I would enjoy your company, your companionship in any way you are comfortable with.” He still feels off, like he doesn’t really understand why Dean is bringing this up, really, because wasn’t Cas clear enough? Cas died and he wasn’t clear enough?
“Was I speaking in tongues? ” he says, unable to help himself. “Was I not clear, in the basement-? I love you, Dean. You. More than just ‘like in the movies’ - it’s- it’s-“ Cas searches for the right words to say, sure that one misstep and everything would split open.
“It’s the only thing I've ever been sure of, in my entire existence.” he confesses.
“Then why didn't you kiss me?” Dean blurts out, suddenly. And Cas is still confused, but Dean clarifies, “In the basement, I mean. if you- if you loved me that way, then why didn't you kiss me?”
Cas doesn't know where this line of questioning is going, but since he’s here, he might as well just see it through to the end.
“In case you didn't realize, Dean,” he says dryly, “we were about to die. And I would never do that to you- to do something that you’d never consent to, to take advantage of you in a moment like that.” He swallows. “Even if I was about to die. How could I?”
Dean just stares at him blankly. “So confessing your love and dying in front of me is okay, but laying one on me isn't?”
Cas frowns. “It’s different, and you're being difficult right now.”
“I'm being difficult? Me?” Dean says, almost hysterical, before calming down. Dean thinks maybe Cas has a point. He tries to steer them back to the conversation at hand.
“Okay, but, I love you too,” he says instead, entire body pulsing with it.
“Dean- I told you, you don’t have to-“ and Cas sounds exasperated now. But Dean just leans in closer, grabbing Cas’ hands with his own. Cas mouth closes shut with a click.
“No, Cas, I,” and he doesn't know how else to fucking say it to make Cas understand, to make him get it, but he tries, anyway.
“I love you too.”
Cas doesn’t move for a while, not even a fraction of an inch, his eyes just gazing deeply into Dean’s own, like Dean holds the secrets of the entire fucking universe, and Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but try and will Cas to just get it.
And then, after what feels like an eternity later, Cas just straightens up, and goes:
“Oh.”
He looks down at their hands, at where Dean has an almost vice-grip on his. He looks amazed, like he found a goddamned pot of gold, and his eyes dart back up to Dean. “You mean it.”
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out. “I do. love you, that is.” Because it feels like the dam has burst, and Dean can’t stop himself now, feeling light-headed. “You fuckin’ idiot, how could I not love you?” Dean feels the puzzle pieces of the past few weeks slotting together in his head.
“Oh,” he realizes. “You thought I did that shit because I thought I had to,” he looks down, suddenly furious with himself, that he ever treated Cas so poorly that Cas would ever even think that Dean loves him out of some misguided call of duty. “That’s bullshit, Cas,” He wants Cas to understand. He wants Cas to get it. “I love you because I love you, not because I need to. I want to. And of course I do- how could I not? ” And Cas is staring at him, not moving an inch.
“I fucking love you,” he finishes, and Cas just suddenly looks so fucking happy, the happiest Dean has ever seen him, really, and Dean thinks, I made him that happy, and it’s his turn to stare back, stunned.
“I’m going to kiss you now,'' Cas whispers, like he can't even believe the words he's saying. And Dean can feel his entire body tingling with excitement, with the thought of Cas, Cas, Cas.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes out.
On screen, Han murmurs You’re trembling to Leia as he leans in. Leia shoots back, I’m not trembling. But she is.
Cas untangles their hands, lets it snake up to Dean’s face, and he takes it in like he has so many times before in his dreams, feeling Dean’s scruff and skin and hair, except this time- it’s different.
Because when Cas closes the gap between them, feeling the tendrils of Dean’s manic joy through his lips, through his skin, through it just fucking radiating off Dean, the kiss isn't perfect. Because they bump noses and Cas’ back feels strained from leaning in too long and Dean’s knee is digging into his leg, because Dean tastes like stale beer and leftover kebabs that they had earlier on, because Cas knows his own lips are chapped because he still hasn’t adjusted to the sheer amount of water he has to drink now as a half-angel-half-human, but he smiles anyway, leans into it as Dean finds the back of his head, his deft, sturdy fingers curling into his dark hair.
On screen, Han and Leia kiss, the score swelling with it.
And it's different, entirely so, because unlike his dreams, and unlike the movies- this was real.