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They got Cas back three months ago today, and Dean wakes up the same way as usual: tangled in at least two of Cas’ limbs and his own fear that this is all a dream. Also as usual, Cas is still asleep, so Dean gently disentangles himself, piles the blankets up around Cas like he’s a nesting bird, and groggily heads to the bathroom. Dean’s lower back pain will have to be proof enough that he’s conscious.
Sam is out running, the masochist, and it’s quiet in the bunker this early. It’s later than Dean usually sleeps, but still barely 7, so he puts on his robe and shuffles to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He uses the fancy stuff Sam gets when he goes out of town for his health nut groceries. Dean made fun of him for it, but then Cas lit up like a firework the first time he tried it, so now it’s the only kind they buy. It’s not just molecules anymore because Cas is human now, again; it was the only way they could get him out of the Empty, but he says he doesn’t mind. Actually, he said he was joyful, that to go through human life with Dean was all he could’ve hoped for, plus a bunch of other terrifyingly romantic things that Dean definitely doesn’t deserve and still can’t fully process, so that conversation ended with Dean manfully not-crying, Cas apologizing, and both of them clinging to each other like life rafts. It’s a work in progress.
Anyway, Cas joins him right when the coffee is almost done and zeroes in on it and Dean, like he just found an oasis in the desert. “Morning, sunshine,” Dean says, and pours them both a cup. He steers Cas to his seat and sets his mug down in front of him.
“Thank you,” Cas rumbles at Dean, eyes still half-closed, and that makes Dean feel warmer than the coffee. Taking care of Cas always does.
They don’t talk much at the table, still waking up, but it’s comfortable. Dean likes that they don’t always need to, that they’ll talk when and if they’re ready, and if not, that’s fine too. Cas is cradling his favorite mug in his gorgeous hands—it says ‘Bee Thankful,’ with little smiling bees on it, because Sam introduced Cas to Etsy and now bee-themed goods keep showing up in their PO box—and his head is still kind of drooping, but he’s wearing Dean’s T-shirt and his hair is a disaster and Dean loves him so much it’s a little bit hard to breathe.
“Hey, Cas,” he starts, and Cas’ eyes snap to Dean’s like he’s the only thing in the world. It always unlocks something in him, to have Cas look at him that way. “You wanna go to the farmer’s market later? That honey vendor you like is supposed to be back.”
Cas smiles, and it’s still a little startling, to see him so expressive, but Dean likes it, would do much worse things than trudge through piles of veggies to earn that smile. “I’d like that. That’s very thoughtful, Dean.”
“I, uh—no problem, Cas.” Dean looks down into the dregs of his coffee, but he can still feel Cas smiling at him, a little smug this time because Cas is on a mission to get Dean to take compliments, so he gives them whenever he feels like it, no filter. It makes Dean squirm, but he also never wants it to stop.
“Dean.” Cas waits for him to look up, back into Cas’ eyes, still blue enough to drown in. “I’m going to go take a shower now. Would you like to come with me?”
Dean feels his eyes go wide. “Yeah, Cas,” he rasps, and has to clear his throat. They’ve only showered together a few times, but he’s sure as hell not going to turn that offer down. “Give me your mug and go get the hot water started, and I’ll be right there.”
Cas smiles at him again as he hands over his mug, and then heads out of the kitchen, stripping out of his shirt as he goes, the bastard. Cas found out very quickly where Dean’s buttons were and how to push them, and now he uses them like it’s military strategy.
Dean makes quick work of washing their mugs and hustles to join Cas in the bathroom. What can he say; he’s inspired. They can eat breakfast later.
Cas is waiting for him in the shower, naked and beautiful, so Dean shucks off his own clothes and adds them to the little pile Cas left by the sink. Cas looks almost golden against the white tiled walls, like he really should have a halo. He draws Dean in like a magnet, his eyes and mouth and hands and the sturdy breadth of his shoulders, which really does it for Dean, as it turns out. Cas really does it for him. Dean can’t get to him quickly enough, has to touch the flare of his hipbone to make sure he’s real. Sometimes Dean’s still convinced that he’ll blink and this will all have been another trick, something fate will take away because he doesn’t deserve it. But Cas has some kind of sixth sense for when Dean is feeling shitty about himself, because he takes Dean’s face in his hands and tilts it up to his, and God, the way Cas looks at him, like he’s the most wonderful thing Cas has ever seen. He’ll never get over it.
“Dean. Whatever you’re thinking, you deserve to be happy.” Cas leans in and kisses the corner of Dean’s eye, where his crow’s feet are, so gently that Dean’s breath catches in his throat. “I want this, and I want you. Do you want me?”
“I—yeah, Cas, you know I do. Always want you,” he manages, and Cas’ thumbs stroke his cheeks.
“Then that’s all that matters here.”
Dean nods, and Cas backs him into the spray and kisses him, slow and deliberate. Dean can feel the hot water driving into his shoulders, loosening the tight muscles there, and Cas presses up against him, solid and alive under Dean’s hands. There’s water beading in Cas’ long eyelashes, running down the line of his nose and snagging on the sharp bow of his mouth like it wants to kiss him almost as badly as Dean does. Dean licks it off, follows the water’s tracks down Cas’ face with his fingers and mouth. Cas tilts his head back for him and Dean kisses down the length of his throat, feeling Cas’ stubble rasp against his nose and chin, and Cas’ pulse thrumming under his lips. He’s making up for lost time, they both are, and he knows Cas’ body by now but he’s still amazed by it, by him. The way he’s so steady, how he always holds Dean so still and makes him take it, all his love and affection, Christ. It feels like the outside world doesn’t exist, like he could stay here with Cas and be safe and warm and loved, like he’s living in the good kind of story this time. He curves his palms around Cas’ shoulder blades; he sighs into Cas’ mouth and holds on.
Years ago this might have been frenzied, but Dean’s getting too old for shower acrobatics, and he thinks he likes this better anyway, this drawn-out exploration. It’s like walking through a home you love and making sure everything is where you left it, and taking comfort in knowing that nothing’s changed. Cas touches Dean like he’s checking his own work, even though it’s been over a decade since hell and Dean’s taken a lot of damage since then. Cas touches him like it’d be a tragedy if even a single cell were missing, like Dean’s body is holy and Cas is the one consecrating it. Cas’ hands are so gentle, and thorough; there's no part of Dean where Cas hasn’t left his fingerprints. Cas keeps looking at his face, all starry-eyed, so Dean crowds in closer and hides it against Cas’ neck, kisses the long cord of muscle that stretches up to his ear and earns a little shiver. Cas’ hands just move to his back, his ass, and Dean knows that if Cas still had wings those would be holding him too.
It’s slow and unhurried, but the water stays warm, so eventually Dean’s breathing starts coming in shallow gasps and Cas finally moves his hand to where Dean needs it most, touches him where he’s so hard for Cas and growls “Yes, Dean, I want to see it,” and that’s more than enough. Cas kisses him through it, and bites him on the shoulder for good measure, making Dean shudder as he comes down.
He grabs at Cas’ biceps, pulls him in with his mouth against Cas’ ear and says “Do it, Cas, come on me,” and Cas groans and does, all over Dean’s stomach. They wash each other off and just stay there for a while, holding on to each other until their breathing’s synced up. It’s awesome. The whole bathroom is fogged with steam, and it smells like vetiver, which is apparently a kind of plant according to the packaging on Dean’s new soap. He just thought it smelled nice.
Cas even dries Dean off afterward, with one of the soft towels. Those are a recent acquisition, because Dean’s former towels had come with the bunker and had admittedly seen better days. Cas complained that they were scratchy, and he made a face like a wet cat whenever he used one. So the next time they’d driven to the Target in Salina, Cas had wandered off to the home section, where Dean had found him fifteen minutes later, stroking all the bath towels like he was at a petting zoo. He’d wanted the plushest ones, and when Dean had tried to argue that they had towels at home, Cas had set his jaw stubbornly and flashed his eyes and said “What’s wrong with wanting soft things, Dean?” So now they have new towels. Human Cas is a bit of a hedonist, it turns out, which sometimes gives Dean nervous flashbacks to Zachariah’s 2014, but this Cas doesn’t seem to be in danger of going off the deep end, and Dean certainly can’t complain about his penchant for touch.
Dean returns the favor with the now-damp towel and ruffles Cas’ hair to finish. Cas glares and Dean grins, and still gets a kiss when he noses in for one. He pecks Cas’ mouth one more time; it’s a good mouth.
“Go get dressed.”
“Hmm,” Cas allows, and leaves Dean to pick up their dirty clothes.
//
Dean’s dressed before Cas is, so he’s already sitting in Baby by the time Cas slides into the passenger seat. Baby’s cabin smells like it always does, home wrapped up in aged leather and gasoline fumes, with the added faint scent of Cas’ honey lavender detergent. Dean side-eyed it when Cas bought it, but he’s gotten used to it, likes the way it smells on Cas’ clothes. Cas brought along a couple of PB&J sandwiches for their breakfast—not exactly Dean’s favorite, but Cas likes them and they’ll have something better for dinner, so Dean eats his once they get out on the road.
Cas holds his hand on the drive there, his thumb making a slow circuit of Dean’s knuckles. Dean knows his cheeks are pink, and the reflex to pull away wells up, but he can feel contentment radiating from Cas like heat off asphalt, so Dean can just man up and let his hand be held, can’t he. It’s not like it’s a hardship. It’s pretty great, actually. Cas doesn’t even say anything when Dean grumbles about trying to find a parking spot big enough for Baby. He manages, though, and Cas grabs his tote bag out of the back seat—this one says ‘Give Bees a Chance’—and leads the way into the farmer’s market. He looks, frankly, a little ridiculous—on their last clothes shopping trip, Cas discovered both cargo shorts and a thrifted fanny pack that he refused to be talked out of—but it’s a beautiful day, and Cas is quietly, incandescently happy, and Dean is honestly so fucking grateful to be following this weirdo around. He would buy Cas a hundred fanny packs for the privilege.
Cas looks at home here in the maze of produce stands, like he belongs, and it makes something swell in Dean’s chest like a balloon. This ancient celestial being is here now—rumpled and human and squinting through a very serious discussion about heirloom seed varieties with a local farmer—because of Dean, because he loves Dean. Dean may never get used to it. He hopes he doesn’t.
Dean’s still thinking about that while he hits a couple nearby stands for dinner ingredients, plus some fresh cherries because hell yes, Dean is going to make a pie this weekend. Cas surfaces long enough to tow Dean to the honey stand and launch back into conversation with the beekeeper there while Dean just kind of hovers, affectionately, and holds Cas’ tote bag. He already knows they’re going to go home with more kinds of honey to try, and Sam is going to needle Dean about being whipped while being transparently thrilled for them both, and it’s totally worth it.
“Dean, can we—“ Cas eventually asks, eyes wide and hopeful and so fucking blue, and Dean doesn’t even let him finish.
“Yeah, babe. Whatever you want.”
//
When they get home, Cas grabs his hand again and tugs him outside to the garden, over to the southwest corner. There’s a mess of new green growth close to the ground, so thick he can barely see the soil. “Look, Dean!” Cas says proudly, and crouches down to run his fingers over the leaves, so gently. “The herbs are coming in.”
“That’s great, Cas,” Dean says, “those’ll be really good to cook with.” Cas beams up at him, and he feels a little bit stunned, like he just took a punch to the solar plexus. He probably looks brainless, but hey, what else is new. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the idea that Cas is happy here with him, that Dean existing in the same space and loving him back can make Cas look like that.
Cas stands up, right into Dean’s personal space like he owns it, which he pretty much does, and hugs him, which, okay. Dean doesn’t question it, just brings his arms up around Cas’ shoulders and gathers him in, feels Cas’ back expand with breath as he sighs happily. His arms squeeze around Dean’s waist, and they lean into each other, heads on each other’s shoulders. Cas’ garden is so green that Dean can smell it, and Cas too; his scent that Dean is always searching for in bed or on the pillow, with the extra note of honey, like Cas is an overgrown bee out here in the middle of his flowers. If they weren’t standing up, Dean could probably fall asleep like this. It’s peaceful.
Cas turns his head to kiss Dean on his cheekbone, light as a feather, and Dean can feel the blood rush into his cheeks to meet him, like Cas summoned it there. His eyelids drop closed, and Cas kisses those too, plus the bridge of his nose and then his mouth, until Dean is swaying forward into Cas’ hands and his warmth, his kindness that Dean wants to bask in like a cat in sunlight.
“Thank you for today, Dean.” Cas presses his smile against Dean’s one more time, and Dean can’t help but do the same.
“Anytime, Cas,” he says, and Cas crinkles his eyes at him like it’s no big deal, like this kind of thing doesn’t still rock Dean’s world on a regular basis. It’d be embarrassing, if he weren’t so damned happy about it. He can’t seem to stop grinning. He actually does wuv hugs, who knew. (Well. Cas, probably.)
He wants—God, he wants to give Cas every good thing. He deserves them; he deserves whatever Dean can give him. What do you get for someone who makes you feel like a stream thawing out after a long winter? Besides dinner, obviously, but hell. Dean’s died and come back he can’t even remember how many times, but he’s never felt alive like this.
//
Dean makes their dinner in kind of a daze—cheeseburger pizza with the tomatoes and mozzarella they got at the farmer’s market, plus cheddar and caramelized onions and ground sirloin—while Cas is outside taking care of his plants. They take their food into the Dean Cave to share over a movie, just the two of them because Sam is at Eileen’s. Cas watches Dean instead of the TV, and when Cas tries the first slice of pizza, he lets out a delighted sound that makes Dean want to burrow into him like a hibernating bear. He eventually falls asleep on Dean’s shoulder after drinking a single beer, and Dean feels a wave of gratitude so strong it’s almost grief, like he might legitimately lose it and wake Cas up by sobbing on him. He’s happy, he thinks, as much as he knows how to be, but his emotions have been all over the place since he got Cas back. He can’t lock them down like he used to; he doesn’t know why. He sort of talked around the subject to Sam once, and Sam seemed to get it but also launched into a whole TED Talk about trauma recovery and emotional regulation and Their Childhood, so Dean bailed and let Cas lecture at him instead about native plant species around the bunker and the importance of supporting pollinators. (Sam emailed him a list of online resources and podcasts later, which pissed Dean off because Sam never knows when to leave well enough alone, but some of that stuff made sense, so, maybe. He’ll consider it.)
Anyway, he kind of just holds Cas for a while, because he can. He lets him doze while Dean drifts, not really thinking about anything in particular, and watches Kirk and Spock save some whales. Cas eventually stirs when he hears the whales singing at the end, and he squints up at Dean with that bewildered little furrow between his brows that Dean wants to kiss, so he does.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He’s smiling a little bit; he can’t help it.
“Dean,” Cas burrs, and blinks at him like a disoriented owl. “Did I miss the movie?”
“Yeah, Cas, but that’s okay. Guess we partied too hard today for a late night, huh?”
“Mmph,” Cas says, and Dean uses both hands to give him a boost out of the dent they made in the couch.
Once he gently herds Cas out the door, Dean takes their plates back to the kitchen for a quick wash and then gets ready for bed. Sometimes he still does a double take at seeing two toothbrushes by the sink. Well, one toothbrush, an electric toothbrush, and a tongue scraper (the last of which Dean still finds deeply gross), because Cas is apparently super intense about oral hygiene when his vessel is no longer running on autopilot. He also likes to stare at Dean while he shaves, and barge in when he’s using the bathroom, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s scared shitless, yeah, but this is the first time that trying to do the whole picket-fence thing, or their version of it, hasn’t felt like a prison, or a ticking bomb. This is something different.
This is—something that gives him ideas. He hasn’t had those since he was a kid. He sees Cas smiling at him every morning and knows that he’s here because he wants to be, because Dean had said stay with me and Cas had said always. It makes Dean wonder things, like what lumber prices are right now and how long it would take him to build some raised garden beds for Cas, so he doesn’t have to stoop so much, or maybe a fence to keep the deer away from his seedlings. He wonders whether the way Cas stares at the sky when they go outdoors means he’s too cooped up underground, and whether Cas might be happier if they lived in a house. He wonders whether things he’s always thought were impossible might be at least a little bit possible, like having a future that’s not soaked in misery and violence, where having some hope isn’t an engraved invitation for life to knock you back down out of spite. A future where good things could happen.
It’s something to think about, anyway.
//
By the time Dean gets to their room, Cas is already half-asleep and curled up in his pajamas. He usually sleeps in T-shirts and drawstring pants, because he says feeling the sheets against his skin is too distracting. As far as Dean’s concerned, though, the sheets have nothing on Cas. He’s wearing a deep blue V-neck that shows off the notch at the base of his throat and makes his eyes glow almost as much as his grace used to. Dean might be staring a little. He still can’t believe this happens every night, that he gets to find Cas in his bed like the world’s greatest teddy bear, that Dean’s not the only one the memory foam remembers.
Cas throws back the covers on Dean’s side and makes a disgruntled noise, like he’s been greatly inconvenienced by Dean taking longer than five minutes. Somewhat inexplicably, Dean finds this adorable, which is probably the wrong word for a fully grown man who used to have superpowers and is strong enough to take Dean in a fair fight, but still: Cas is a grumpy fuck and it’s adorable. Dean gives him what he wants and strips down to his boxers—which Cas watches, slit-eyed—hits the lights, and gets into bed. Cas gathers him in and gives a gratified hum against the back of his neck.
Cas likes to curl around him from behind, throw an arm over his ribs, and then bring his hand up to curve around the front of Dean’s left shoulder, almost but not quite where Cas’ handprint used to be, and then nuzzle his face into the back of Dean’s shoulder and fall asleep like that. It’s a whole thing. Dean’s not even sure if Cas realizes he’s doing it, and Dean’s not going to ask either, because he doesn’t want Cas to stop. It’s like getting tucked into bed, but as an adult. It makes him feel safe and treasured and a lot of other things he can barely bring himself to admit to himself, let alone say out loud. But he’s working on it.
He’s still terrified sometimes, when he wakes up in the middle of the night, that this is literally too good to be true. He has no idea what he’s doing, not really. So many things could go wrong, and Cas is human now; there are a lot of ways to die young, even though they’re hunting less and less these days. But even powered down, Cas always seems to know when Dean is spiraling; he’ll thread his fingers through Dean’s hair and murmur him back to sleep, or stumble into the kitchen and make them tea with honey, until Dean’s heart isn’t rattling its cage so hard. And Cas has his own fears, that Dean is only now learning about, but he wants to be there for Cas like he’s been there for Dean. He wants to make Cas feel loved, all the time, because he is. It may have taken Dean longer to get here, but now that he finally has, he’s not fucking leaving.
“Cas,” Dean says, low. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about this stuff in the dark. “Do you remember, uh…”
Cas’ breath puffs out against his shoulder. “Three months ago today, when you ripped open another dimension to find me, told me it was your turn now, and said that you loved me back? Yes, I remember that, Dean.” He sounds amused, the asshole, but also incredibly fond, and Dean scrunches his eyes shut against it.
“Yeah, okay, smartass,” he grumbles, and swats at Cas’ thigh under the blankets. “I just mean, I know I’m not good with—saying what I feel or whatever, like you are. But you know that I—do, right? You remember that?”
“Dean.” Cas tightens his arm around him, slots them closer together. “I know, because you told me, and you show me every day. You don’t have to say it just because I do. It’s not—a transaction, or an obligation. Knowing that you return it is more than enough.”
“Okay, I—that’s good, Cas. You’re sure, though? Because I can…try, for you. I am trying.”
“I’m sure. You don’t have to try to be anything you’re not. You are perfect the way you are.” Cas kisses the back of his neck, because he’s a sap that way. “I love you, Dean. Very much.”
Dean grins, and if it’s a little bit watery, that’s no one’s business but theirs. “Ditto, Cas.”
“Rest now, Dean,” Cas rumbles, and nips the top of Dean’s spine. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Dean picks up Cas’ hand and kisses his palm, right in the center. “You’d better.”
Cas just smiles against his shoulder, puts his hand over Dean’s heart, and pulls him into the curve of his body, like he’ll shield Dean from every bad thing. “I will.”
Dean knows that Cas will, is the thing. He’ll be here, and they’ll figure all this out together, for as many years as their beat-up bodies will give them. They’ll fight and make up and tell each other the truth, they’ll be terrified and exhilarated and everything in between, and Dean wants it, wants all of it. They’ll love each other, and they’ll do more than just survive; they’ll live. He thinks maybe that’s something they could finally learn to do, if they help each other. He wants to see Cas’ soft smile on his face for the rest of their lives, the one that lights him up from the inside like a paper lantern. Dean wants to be the one who put it there.
But for tonight, well. He falls asleep in Cas’ arms, heart full, and dreams about building him a garden.