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Dean finds Cas in a gazebo in the park around the corner from their flat, curled up in on himself with his forehead on his knees. Dean walks over, irritated out of his skin because of how he’s worked himself up on the way over. He walks straight to Cas and grabs his shoulder, shoving him a little.
“What the hell, Cas?” he asks sharply, “I’m in the middle of grilling, I turn around and you’re gone, man? Our burgers are probably cold by now. I’ve been looking for you for an hour. What the fuck?”
Then Dean realizes the way Cas is looking at him, some combination of angry and really, really upset. Dean’s caught a little off guard.
“You didn’t tell me what this holiday is truly about, Dean,” Cas says after a second of silence. “Fallen soldiers.”
This answer further serves to piss Dean off, and he gives Cas a level glare.
“Oh, so you’re pissed I lied and you run off on me? FYI, everybody barbecues and parties it up for Memorial Day. The meaning got lost a long time ago. Not an excuse to be a dick.”
Cas is silent for a very long time after that, and Dean feels vindicated. By default, Cas obviously owes him make-up sex and Dean is topping the fuck out of him. Those are the rules.
“I know so many fallen soldiers,” Cas says finally, “So why me? Why do I get to live when so many of my brothers have fallen? Why have I been brought back when so many…”
… Oh. That explains it.
“No, Cas,” Dean says immediately, shaking his head, realization dawning on him, “No, no, no. Shut up.”
Cas looks at Dean blankly, shaking his head slowly with an even, awful smile. Dean’s heart clenches in his chest. This angel – this warrior of God, who fought his way through hell and helped save the goddamn world – he’s seriously having survivor’s guilt right now?
“You wouldn’t understand, Dean. Your brother is alive – you went to hell to save him. I did… I did nothing to save my brothers. I killed many of them myself. Why do I deserve to –“
Dean can’t take this, can’t hear another second because Cas is so wrong and Dean’s so bad with words that he doesn’t know how to tell him that in a way he’ll believe. He kisses Cas instead, full on the mouth and slightly desperate in the way only someone whose heart is breaking a little can be. Cas’ eyes widen; he doesn’t reciprocate, just lets Dean ravage his mouth and clench at the lapels of his jacket. He looks confused when Dean pulls away and searches Cas’ blue eyes like he’s hoping his kiss might have fixed it.
Of course, it didn’t. Dean scowls.
“You’re – shut up, Cas, Christ,” he says, shaking a little at Cas’ trench coat, “You think you’re the only one who’s watched soldiers die when you should have? Ellen, Jo, my dad… why am I alive, Cas? Why are any of us alive? You tried to stop this war. If anyone deserves to live, it’s you.”
Cas looks uncertain, though not entirely unreceptive. Dean takes the initiative to kiss Cas again, and this time Cas kisses back, hot and heavy like they’re not in a damn park on Memorial Day. To be fair, the gazebo is secluded in a faraway section of the park, shaded heavily by a circle of trees and Dean decides right away that he doesn’t give a fuck.
“Love you, Cas,” Dean says between kisses, “God, I love you. So glad you’re alive, Cas, so glad I’ve got you.”
This causes Cas to pause and look at Dean in that deep way he always does, like he’s looking past Dean’s skin into his soul or something.
“I love you as well, Dean.” And then they’re kissing again.
Cas ends up in Dean’s lap, mouthing and biting at his neck urgently, sucking bruising kisses over the hickeys that are already there, just starting to fade. Dean gets looks for them all the time, on the streets, in the grocery store, everywhere, and he loves it. He fucking loves it. He wishes he could show off his handprint scar, show everyone who he belongs to, who called dibs on his ass in hell… but he can’t. This is the closest he’ll get and he loves it.
Cas’ hands slide under Dean’s shirt and they’re everywhere, slipping up and down Dean’s torso, clawing at him. This is Cas showing Dean that he’s grateful, Dean realizes. Dean actually helped, put something into perspective, made something click for a second. It’s usually Cas making things better, and Dean revels in being important for a minute.
Cas tugs at the edges of Dean’s shirt, willing him to take it off and it’s a little weird because they’re in a park, for God’s sake, but Dean goes with it because Cas needs it and he needs it a little, too. Dean’s got soldiers in his rearview mirror, too, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like Cas is feeling, sometimes. Like he’s wasn’t worth saving, like someone else should have gotten to live instead.
But he’s got Cas, and here and now and all he can do is that whoever there is to thank that he survived for moments like this. Dean lets Cas pull off his shirt and then he’s pulling off Cas’ jacket and shirt, too. His nails ghost up and down Cas’ back, teasing, and Cas whimpers.
“You’re my favorite soldier, Cas,” Dean breathes slightly aware that it’s a stupid sentiment that makes no sense.
“I am somewhat broken, Dean. I’m not an angel anymore. Not a soldier.”
“Still a soldier to me,” Dean says – and gasps, because Cas is biting at his ear in a way that is sinfully perfect from practice and the fact that he just knows Dean in a way no drunken hookup ever could. “Love that you’re mine. Love that I’ve got you, that you’re here. I think you were brought back for me.” Sometimes Dean is a little stunned at how much of a girl he’s become. Then he sees the way Cas looks at him when he says this kind of cheesy shit, and he forgets to be embarrassed.
Cas fingers are on Dean’s zipper and Dean can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pulse going crazy. A sudden thought strikes him and he groans, irritated.
“Save it for the bedroom, baby,” Dean says, breathless, “no lube here.”
“Not a baby Dean,” Cas growls, reaching for his discarded jacket. He produces a packet of lube and Dean’s dick goes from interested to very interested in about two seconds flat. He raises an eyebrow at Cas.
“In your pocket? Seriously?”
“I think of you often,” Cas says, by means of explanation, “How I want you, where I want you… it makes sense to be prepared, should the opportunity arise for those-“
“Shit, Cas, you’re fucking killing me here,” Dean says, because Jesus Christ, Cas is basically admitting to the fact that he fantasizes about Dean all the time and that he’s game to fuck pretty much anywhere. The idea has Dean’s blood running hot.
Cas’ fingers are at Dean’s zipper again, pulling it open and tugging Dean’s jeans and boxers down below his ass. The wooden floor of the gazebo feels extremely weird but Dean ignores it because Cas’ hands are on Dean’s dick too fast for him to care. Dean throws his head back, hitting the gazebo wall with his head. Cas chuckles and the sound of the packet of lube opening sends a tiny bit of electricity coursing through Dean’s system. It’s wet and slippery on Dean’s dick and borderline unbearable. Dean’s slightly desperate to be inside Cas right about now.
Dean tugs at Cas’ jeans and pulls them down, urging Cas on. Cas awkwardly gets on his knees so he can pull his jeans all the way off – in a fucking park, Jesus Christ – and then Dean’s got a lap full of naked angel and it’s slightly overwhelming. Because, again. Park.
“Right here, Cas?” Dean asks, tone smug and slightly awed, “Want me so bad you need me right here, where anyone can see us?” This is borderline dirty talk which isn’t normally Dean’s style, but he is so far past caring it doesn’t even matter. And if the way Cas’ voice is coming short and shallow is any indication, it’s doing it for him, too.
“I can cross it off my list,” Cas says – and that’s it, that’s a wrap, Dean is so done with the slow buildup thing. He plucks the lube from Cas’ hand and slicks his fingers up with the rest of it. Cas’ eyes flutter and he rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, voice doing all sorts of obscene things.
It’s more than a little awkward trying to prep Cas at this angle, but Cas’ quiet whimpers and near-moans are making up for it by far. He squirms, pushing down into Dean’s fingers, mouth forming an ‘o’ against Dean’s neck.
“No more, please, Dean, let me ride you –“
“You’re killing me here, man-“
“Get inside me, Dean. Now.”
Dean’s nothing if not a soldier, and he’s not going to disobey a direct order when it’s so damn insistent. He slips his fingers out, eliciting a soft hiss from Cas. Cas wastes no time, pressing close to Dean and pushing onto him. Dean’s head hits the gazebo again and he moans, vaguely aware that he’s way too loud for their current location. They’ve never tackled this position before and good God does this pressure feel good.
Then Cas is moving, pulsing his hips like a pro and Dean’s hands are everywhere, scratching and pulling. They end up in Cas’ hair, tugging in a way that he knows is just shy of painful (just how Cas likes it). Cas breath chokes and Dean knows he’s hit his prostrate. His thrusts become slightly less calculated, then, breath punctuated by sinful noises that are making Dean a little crazy. His arms wrap around Cas’ waist and he tugs him close. Cas’ chest his heaving against his, shuddering over and over. Dean loves being this close to Cas, feeling his heartbeat, especially during sex. It’s trust in its highest form, gripping each other like this, nearly clinging. He kisses Cas, gasping all the while, and every flex of Cas’ hips is love, love, love. It should be weirder than it is.
But it isn’t.
One of Dean’s hands finds Cas’ dick and it’s all whimpers, then, just a mess of incoherency and whispered nonsense pleas and Dean’s actually caught off guard when he comes. Cas follows shortly after, splattering across Dean’s chest and they’re in a fucking park and it’s awesome. Cas keeps kissing Dean through their orgasms, one hand on Dean’s face and the other carding through his hair.
Cas presses his cheek against Dean’s and brings his mouth to Dean’s ear in a tiny whisper.
“I am glad I’m alive, Dean. You make me happy to be alive.”
“Me too, Cas,” Dean says, chuckling and out of breath. “Me too.”
“Happy Memorial Day, Dean.”
“Happy Memorial Day, Cas.”
Dean kisses Cas’ nose with a smile.
… and that’s when the cop walks by.
*
Fin