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Dean doesn't think he's ever felt this way before. And hell, if that doesn't make him sound like such a girl. But it's the truth, and he can't deny he feels at peace, content.
Because Cas is here, safe, cuddled up next to him in his bed, sleeping easily.
A month after the angels fell, Cas had suddenly appeared on the footstep of the bunker, bedraggled and haggard, unease and hope warring in his eyes. Before he could even say anything, Dean had surged forward and brought Cas into a bone-crushing hug, relief seeping out of every pore in his body.
After doing the usual monster tests, they brought him in, and began the process of integrating Cas into their routine. Cas was quiet for days, shoulders slumped and a dejected look on his face, and Dean had no idea what to say or do to make him feel better. What could he say?
A week later, Cas came up to him hesitantly and muttered a quiet "I'm sorry". Something clenched in Dean's chest, and he wrapped the fallen angel in his arms, holding him close. Cas tensed at first, but he melted into the embrace and returned it just as fiercely.
"It's not your fault," he said soothingly into Cas' ear, and Cas only held him tighter.
Cas gradually started to talk again, joined in on their conversations, kept Kevin company as he translated the Angel tablet. He helped Sam research, he watched Dean in the kitchen, and he tended a little garden just outside of the bunker (sometimes he’d feed the birds, too). Dean even took him into town to show him the very human necessity of shopping for groceries and clothes.
He did have an ulterior motive, though, taking Cas into Lebanon: the former angel needed to get inked. Dean wasn’t going to take any chances, especially with Abaddon still MIA and Cas fully human. When Dean told him about the appointment he had set up with the local tattoo parlor, a flicker of sadness and resentment passed through his eyes before it disappeared, and Dean knew why: as an angel, he didn’t need to worry about the possibility of being possessed. For millennia he hadn’t had to think about it, but now? He was as susceptible as anyone and he understood the precaution. It likely didn’t make him feel any better about being human, though, and Dean felt terrible for being the one to bring it up.
“It’s all right, Dean,” he said. “It needs to be done.”
“Yeah, but – ”
“It’s fine, Dean,” he stressed, and that was the end of it.
The tattoo took a few hours, and Cas hadn’t made a single noise throughout the whole ordeal, but he was incredibly tense and kept biting his lip until it started to bleed. He kept clenching and unclenching the fingers of his left hand and halfway through, Dean offered his own hand for Cas to hold onto, which he accepted it gratefully. Cas’ placement choice of the tattoo was a bit of a surprise: the inner wrist of his right arm. Dean made a mental note to ask him why later.
After the tattoo, Dean took him clothes shopping and had him pick out his own clothes. It was kind of adorable yet heartbreaking, how lost and confused Cas looked in the department store. Cas ended up picking jeans, collared plaid shirts, and plain black, grey, and white undershirts. His choices looked oddly like his and Sam’s wardrobe and, well, Dean supposed he couldn't blame Cas: the Winchesters were the closest he’s been to humans in centuries. Dean sighed and decided to have Cas try on other random clothes just for fun; they had all day, after all.
It ended up that Cas really liked sweaters, and it didn’t matter how atrocious they looked, he put as many as he could in their cart. He grabbed a couple of scarves for fall, too. Cas insisted that they come back in a few months so he could get an appropriate coat for winter and Dean couldn’t say no. Because, well, he would need it. Dean even noticed Cas eyeing a nice leather jacket, and when Cas was in the fitting room, Dean took a peek at its price, winced a little, and decided to hell with it and threw it in the cart, too. He’d just have to cut up Robert O’Reilly’s credit card later.
Dean had Cas try some boots and picked up some socks and underwear. Cas surprised him again by picking boxer briefs and Dean was not imagining Cas in boxer briefs, he wasn’t. ‘Cause fuck, he had seen Cas’ body when he first arrived at the bunker, a bit battered up and dirty, and who would’ve thought that bulky trench coat and ill-fitting cheap suit had been hiding a lithe yet muscular runner’s physique?
And yeah, Dean was so screwed, thinking about his best friend this way, former angel of the Lord.
When they were checking out, Cas spotted the leather jacket and asked Dean why it was in their cart.
“It’s for you, Cas,” he said, picking it up and holding it up against Cas to make sure he had chosen the right size.
“Dean – ”
“I saw you looking at it, and it’d look good on you. Besides, it’s fall, and it’s a bit nippy.”
“But Dean – ”
“No buts, Cas,” Dean cut him off again, putting the jacket on the counter for the cashier to ring up. “It’s all right, okay? I want to get it for you.” You deserve nice things.
Cas frowned and searched his eyes for a moment, and he seemed to understand and he ducked his head to hide a small smile. “Thank you, Dean,” he said softly, and Dean grinned at Cas’ embarrassment. He turned to the cashier, who was looking between the two of them with mild amusement. Dean flashed the cashier – his nametag said “Chris” – a smile and shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ gesture.
Dean paid for their purchases and they hefted their bags back to the Impala. Afterwards, Dean took Cas to the supermarket, and that was an entirely new adventure.
Cas bombarded him with questions, not understanding why there were so many different types of, well, everything. Dean tried to explain that they all tasted different and some people prefer certain things, but it simply didn’t make sense to Cas, being newly human and never requiring food until a few months ago. The only foods Dean remembers seeing him eat were burgers during their run-in with Famine and popcorn when they were watching the demon-curing video in the bunker.
So against his better judgment, Dean bought some of everything. Well, almost everything. He felt really wasteful, because there was no way in hell the four of them would be able to finish all of this food, but Cas needed to find out what he liked, and if this was the way it was going to happen, Dean figured he might as well do it all in one go. And Dean was kind of looking forward to seeing what kind of food Cas liked so he’d have a better idea of what to cook.
When they finally got back to the bunker and started to unload the Impala, it was well past sunset. Sam came out to help them put away the food, saying that he had slipped Kevin a sleeping pill after the kid refused to sleep after 54 hours of toiling on the Angel tablet nonstop. Cas trudged to his room, laden with his new clothes while Dean and Sam took care of the groceries. Though when Sam saw the ten different types of cheese, five kinds of bread, seven bars of chocolate, twenty boxes of tea and coffee, four half gallons of milk, and a dozen cereal boxes, he raised an amused and curious eyebrow. Dean fought a blush and shrugged, “Blame Cas.” That was all he said as explanation and Sam thankfully didn’t push the subject, though he swore that his brother had a smirk on his face when he left the kitchen. Bitch.
The following morning, Cas stumbled into the kitchen half past ten and made a beeline to the coffee pot – they had picked up pretty quickly that Cas was not a morning person and needed a cup before he was fully functional. Dean had brewed one of the blends they had picked up the day before. It was a Sumatra dark roast and though Dean enjoyed coffee, he sure as hell couldn’t tell the difference between the ones he usually had. He could tell if it was shitty coffee, but the subtleties were lost on him. But Cas probably could, and really this was the whole point, wasn’t it? Helping Cas figure out what he liked and what he didn’t.
Dean watched Cas take a sip of his black coffee and Cas sighed happily, his shoulders slumping and his lips curling up slightly in a pleased smile.
“This is good,” he murmured, taking another sip.
“Yeah?” Dean asked noncommittally. “There’s cream and sugar, too, if you want to try it with that.”
Cas blinked slowly and tilted his head in thought. “Oh.”
Dean chuckled, and waved his arm in the general direction of the cream and sugar. “Have at it, Cas.”
Every day thereafter, Cas would stumble into the kitchen, take a sip of his coffee and add cream, sugar, or both, and Dean would spread out different kinds of food for Cas to try. Dean was having a lot of fun whipping up different recipes to add to his culinary repertoire, and watching Cas’ reactions was definitely a bonus.
After a few weeks, Cas had a better idea of what kinds of food he enjoyed (turns out the former angel was quite a chocolate junkie) and what he didn’t (he made a ridiculously adorable face, nose scrunched up, when he took his first bite of sourdough bread). And Cas had taken to watching Dean in the kitchen, curious as to how Dean prepared all this food. Dean eventually invited Cas to help him out. Though hesitant at first, Cas took to working in the kitchen like a fish to water.
After a few trial and errors, they figured out that Cas shouldn’t be allowed in front of the stove, regardless of being under Dean’s keen supervision. Instead, he kept to the cutting board; Cas was incredibly adept with knives. They did, however, find out that Cas was fantastic at baking, and it was ironic since Dean was shit at it. He doesn’t know why or how, but every time he tried to bake, something terrible would happen to the product, even if he followed the recipe to the tee. So in the end, it worked out: Dean cooked and Cas baked. And Kevin and Sam did the wash up afterwards.
Dean’s life had turned incredibly domestic in the few months since Cas started living with them in the bunker, and a very small part of Dean wanted to rebel at the feeling, but he didn’t because it felt right. Sam was getting better, Kevin wasn’t sending himself to an early grave by working nonstop, Charlie visited from time to time, and Cas . . . Cas was adjusting. He still got frustrated at some minor idiosyncrasy of humanity and sometimes he’d fall into one of his depressed moods, but Dean made sure he’d never stay in that mindset for long. Because after all the years they’d known each other, it was time for Dean to look out for his angel.
There was still a lot left unsaid between them, and Dean was tentative to bring it up. But there was something hanging between them that they hadn't smoothed out yet, and Dean hadn't even bothered to scrutinize it. And it wasn't like he hadn't noticed that their dynamic was changing. It had been for a while. Their stares had grown more intense, their personal space issues became near non-existent, and the tension between them was so thick that sometimes Dean could barely focus let alone breathe when Cas was in the same room.
Dean knew what he wanted from Cas, but he didn’t know if Cas wanted the same thing. He was, after all, newly human and emotions were likely still a complete mystery to him. So Dean did his best to keep his distance, which, he was starting to find out, was nigh impossible despite the gigantic size of the bunker. It was like some unseen force was pulling them together, and sometimes at the most inopportune moments. Like when Dean passed by the showers only to catch an eyeful of a half-naked, dripping wet Cas, a towel slung low across his hips. Or when Cas had taken to going running with Sam, and his running shorts left little to the imagination and fuck his legs and ass were toned.
Then Sam had suggested Dean teach Cas how to shoot a gun, which meant close proximity with Cas, pressing his body close to ensure he was in a proper stance and holding the gun correctly. Sam was fucking doing this on purpose, the damned moose. But shooting had always relaxed Dean, and he managed to get through the lessons without much embarrassment. It turned out that the former angel was total crap with a handgun, but he was fierce with a sniper rifle. And, of course, he had excellent swordsmanship and knife-throwing abilities.
Cas had even insisted that Dean teach him how to assemble and disassemble a firearm for future reference and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Cas’ hands. And though Dean wasn’t completely sure, he thought he saw a small smirk on Cas’ lips. Dean was trying to be a gentleman and give Cas space to figure out how to be human, and here he was practically killing him with sexual frustration. The sneaky bastard.
It took another month of pussyfooting around each other before Sam – even Kevin – had enough and threatened to lock them both in the dungeon (with Crowley, those jerks) until he and Cas sorted out all the issues hanging in between them. The good and the bad.
So Dean finally relented and sat Cas down in his room and they talked. For hours. Dean had never felt so vulnerable in his life; he had willingly and openly discussed his thoughts and emotions with Cas, the one being he held so much feeling for.
They discussed everything – every betrayal, every hope, every desire, every hurt. Dean would deny to anyone who asked that they'd both shed a few tears in those hours. And damn was it draining.
And just when they were on the precipice of breaching the topic of whatever they had growing between them, Cas let out a huge yawn and Dean laughed at the disgruntled look on Cas’ face. He supposed it could wait one more day; he was exhausted, too. So Dean pulled Cas in close and tucked them into bed.
"Dean?"
He shushed him tiredly and wrapped an arm loosely around Cas' waist. "Just stay. Stay with me tonight. We’ll finish talking tomorrow."
Cas hesitated for a moment, then sighed and relaxed into Dean. "Okay."
The former angel fell asleep almost immediately, and Dean felt a sudden surge of warmth and love for the man in his arms. It almost scared him, how much he wanted this, how much he longed for this. And he never wanted to let it go.
He was woken a few hours later by soft whimpers and gasps, Cas twitching under the blanket. Dean blinked the sleep from his eyes and reached for Cas' shoulder. His brow was furrowed, sweat beaded on his forehead, fingers twisted in the sheets, breath short and frantic. A nightmare.
"Cas," he shook the fallen angel gently. "Cas, wake up."
"No," he whined quietly. "'M sorry."
His voice sounded so broken, so afraid, that Dean felt just a little bit lost. Because this was a former angel, succumbing to sleep and nightmares like any other ordinary human. This was Cas frightened.
“Hey,” Dean shook him harder. “Wake up.”
Cas gasped and shot up in bed, and Dean pulled away just in time to barely manage getting headbutted.
“Cas?” Dean asked tentatively, a hand hovering over Cas’ shoulder, unsure if he’d flinch away.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Cas. It’s me.”
And before Dean could do anything, Dean found his arms full of angel. “It’s my fault, Dean,” he said, his words muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “If I hadn’t – ”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean soothes, laying them back down on the bed and holding Cas to his chest. “It’ll be okay.”
“You’re just saying that.”
Dean huffed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, maybe I am.” Cas tensed in his arms and Dean brought his hand up to curl his fingers at the nape of Cas’ neck. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to believe it.”
Silence fell between them, and Dean thought Cas had fallen back to sleep until that gravely voice spoke up. “I don’t know if I can do the same.”
“Then I’ll believe for both of us.” Dean winced inwardly at how lame that sounded, but he ruthlessly shoved the feeling away and focused on Cas. Because Cas needed him right now. "You never said you were having nightmares," he said softly, running his fingers through Cas’ hair.
Cas sighed and buried his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. "I didn't want to be a burden," he admitted quietly.
"A – ?" Dean started, then stopped and sighed softly. "Cas, look at me." Cas reluctantly complied, looking miserable. "What I'm going to say next, I need you to never forget it, okay?" Cas nodded after a moment's pause, lips down-turned slightly in confusion. "You will never ever be a burden."
“Dean – ”
“Ever.”
Cas searched his eyes, his face, and Dean never broke eye contact. “Okay,” Cas finally said. He scooted in closer and curled himself into Dean, and Dean tightened his grip around Cas’ shoulders. He threw his other arm over Cas’ waist and shifted a bit to get himself comfortable. They fell asleep again, tangled up in each other, and Cas slept through the rest of the night without another nightmare.
When Dean woke up again in the morning, Cas was surprisingly awake already, regarding Dean with quiet longing and affection. “Hey,” Dean croaked, his throat scratchy from sleep, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Good morning, Dean.”
His smile widened. He lifted a hand to lightly trace his fingers down Cas’ jawline and he heard the fallen angel’s breath hitch. Maybe they didn’t need to have a conversation about this; Dean was always better at action rather than words, and last night’s heart-to-heart had pretty much revealed exactly how much Cas meant to him, how much he needed him. He licked his lips and watched Cas follow the movement with his eyes. Yeah, they were definitely on the same page.
Dean brought his fingers to rest under Cas’ chin and leaned forward so their mouths were a hairsbreadth away from each other. It was up to Cas to close the distance. And he did, brushing his lips tentatively across Dean’s and Dean let out a soft sigh. Dean pressed closer, relishing in finally feeling those lips against his own and he hummed appreciatively.
They kissed leisurely, Dean teaching Cas how he liked to be kissed and Dean learning about Cas. Dean kept it slow and sensual, never pushing any further than a light brush of tongue against Cas’ lips. He wasn’t sure how long they remained in bed, but when they finally pulled away from each other, it was nearing eight o’clock and his stomach was starting to protest.
Wordlessly, they got out of bed and, having fallen asleep in their clothes from the previous night, changed into something else. Dean threw some of his clothes at Cas, silently giddy at the thought of Cas wearing his stuff. Though Dean had a time trying to tamp down his desire after their make-out session, though relatively tame. It had been a long time since he kissed just to kiss.
Before they exited his room, Cas pulled him in for another quick kiss, surprising him. But Dean grinned widely, feeling so incredibly happy that he took Cas’ hand and walked to the kitchen, their fingers intertwined.
Kevin and Sam shared a look when Dean and Cas entered the kitchen, Cas’ clothes a clear indicator at where he spent the night, but Dean really couldn't care less. Cas was smiling unreservedly, the happiest he’s been since his fall, and Dean wanted him to remain so.
After that first night, Cas never slept in his own room again. Neither had really said anything out loud about it, but it was a silent agreement that Dean’s room was now Cas’, too. They fell asleep together and they woke up together, and Cas’ nightmares became fewer and further between the longer he slept with Dean.
And Dean couldn’t deny that it felt good to have a warm body next to him, to wake up to Cas’ bedraggled hair and grumpy frown and bright blue eyes. It felt right.
Every morning, Dean would wake before Cas – there were those rare mornings when he’d wake with Cas already staring at him adoringly and Dean would always crack a joke, but Cas never changed his habits – and Dean would relish for a moment at how awesome his life became. Granted, there was still a shit ton of stuff that they had to take care of, with the fallen angels, Metatron, and Abaddon, but this right here, their bubble of security, their escape from the world, their home was perfect.
And now, with Cas curled up against him, nose nuzzled into the crook of Dean’s neck, his breath warm against his chest, he was content and full of love.
It was the morning after they were finally intimate with each other. It had taken Dean another month before he even allowed his hands to wander during their kisses, and another two weeks before Cas finally had enough.
“I want you, Dean. All of you. Stop holding yourself back.”
And despite how much Dean had been looking forward to that moment, he had been as nervous as a virginal teenager, because this was Cas and he made him feel all sorts of embarrassing stuff. Cas had surprised him – he was always surprising him, and Dean hoped that Cas will never stop surprising him – and had taken charge, and Dean allowed himself to be swept away with sensation. And to put it lightly, last night was amazing, and it felt like the final piece of his life had finally slotted into place.
Dean ghosted his fingers down Cas’ cheekbones, down to his chin, just a little bit in awe that this person, this man, this former angel, chose to be with him of all people. Cas will probably spend as much time as he could to prove him otherwise. Because that’s just how they are. And he thinks he could get used to it.
This peaceful, easy feeling.
Cas shifted as he started to wake. He blinked his eyes open, and their eyes met. Cas’ lips pulled into a content smile. "Hello, Dean," he mumbled sleepily.
Dean returned the smile and curled his arm tighter around his angel – always his angel. "Hey, Cas."
Yeah, he could get used to it.