Archive of Our Own

Psalm 41:5 & 42:6

“When will he die and his name perish?”

My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you.

When he was nine years old his father put a loaded gun in his hand, his father told him to watch the door and wait till morning. John was gone for three days. Dean didn’t eat the entire time, except for half of a sandwich that Sam practically forced down his throat. He only ate it because Sam had started crying at the anxiety radiating off of Dean. When John came back he scolded Dean for not cleaning up after himself, never mind Dean couldn’t hold himself up to argue. 

He thinks about that now as he’s holding a spoonful of ground-up carrots, it looks disgusting, orange mush - in front of the face of the tiny human opposite him. He drops his jaw, makes his mouth into an ‘o’ in an effort to get Jack to do the same. Jack doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he swipes at the spoon, sending it flying across the room. Half of it lands on Dean’s face. 

“Right, thank you, Jack,” he grabs the nearby dish towel and wipes it off his face. Jack smiles big back at him. “Why is that so funny to you?”

“Why is what so funny?” Cas waltzes into the room. It’s six in the morning and by no means should the man be awake at this hour. He’s an ugly thing to get up in the mornings.

“Why are you up?” He means it to come out suspicious, but it comes out like a little kid, too curious. 

Cas levels him with a look. “Why are you up?” He says it like Castiel, seriously, but dripping with sarcasm at the same time. His gaze moves from Dean to Jack who is happily bouncing in his high chair. Cas immediately abandons the conversation with Dean to lean down and place a kiss on Jack’s head. He moves around the counter Dean is sitting at with Jack in front of him. He moves toward the coffee machine. He grimaces at the already-made pot on the burner and proceeds to dump it out. Dean huffs. 

“Little man decided five am was a desirable wake-up time,” he says, answering Cas’ question. Cas gives a noncommittal hum, still not looking at Dean. 

Dean keeps his gaze on Cas’ back, his palms are both resting on the countertop, his head lowered in front of him. Dean hadn’t caught it till now, but he’s wearing his shirt. A tattered thing. There’s a hole as big as his pointer finger in the right shoulder. Dean wants to poke it. He thinks about how if it were anyone else he would tell them to take his damn shirt off. Actually, he considers that here too. For different reas-

“Dean?” Dean didn’t realize Cas was closer to him.

“Hm?” He also didn’t realize Jack was closer as well. He realizes it too late after a sticky hand comes up to slap him on the cheek. “Hey!” Jack only gives a squeal of delight and a gap-toothed giggle. Cas gives another sigh, he grabs the dish towel Dean had put back down on the counter. He continues talking to him as he wipes Jack’s hands. 

“I asked if you had bought the ingredients for the dinner tonight.” Shit, no he had not. Cas turns to him, he’s about to ask a dignified What? at the way Cas is looking at him, until he takes the same dish towel and wipes the side of Dean’s face. Dean is looking at Cas’ wrist, the way the tendons move under his skin. Dean wonders if there’s a pulse point under there. He knows there is, he’s checked the same spot over and over when Cas was incapacitated, thought it was a sign whenever there was a beat under that muscle. Cas gives a half-hearted swipe at the skin right below his eyebrow. Cas raises his own.

“What?” It doesn’t come off dignified, it comes out squeaky.

“Did you?” Cas’ raised eyebrow has changed into what Dean calls his I am not sure what’s wrong with you, but I am going to figure it out. Sam always called it his Mother Hen look. 

Right.

“Yes, Cas, I bought the ingredients,” he looks over to see Jack passed out in his high chair, drool dripping off his bottom lip. Dean tips his head and gives a small smile, all fake annoyance he had been radiating slips away. Cas, with his damn dish towel, reaches out and wipes the drool away. Dean snatches out of his hands before he assaults anyone else. Cas doesn’t react. “I still need to go into town to get a couple of tomatoes.” Cas perks up at that. Dean knows what's coming before he says it. 

“The market is open until one today.” 

Dean doesn’t roll his eyes. “Yes, honey.” He doesn’t look at Cas’ face when he stands up.

“Ok, buddy,” Dean raises Jack up from under his arms. “He’s all yours, I need a shower,” He places the toddler in Cas’ arms and goes - not fleas - upstairs. He’s not blushing when he looks in the mirror, the lighting from the sunrise is just hitting his face. 

Michigan seemed like a good place. Kansas was too familiar and he still had to be close to the Midwest, and have some kind of familiarity. So Michigan it was. Sam had suggested Illinois, Eileen voted for Missouri. Cas had said “I remember the lakes,” and smiled when Dean said Michigan. So Michigan it was. The first moderately priced listing - they weren’t trying to turn too many heads - was in Sleeping Bear. There was a cabin on a larger lake in the county, a couple of miles from Lake Michigan. They got the keys in January. It had been a mild winter but there was still snow melting into slush in the front yard. He had immediately made a note of all the things that needed fixing. The roof was covered in moss, the front door didn’t sit right on its hinges, even the deck railing would need to be replaced soon. Cas had noted the two pine trees in the front yard, ‘good shade’ he’d said. 

Dean wanted to kiss him then, he meant to kiss him. 

The bugs are still making noise by the time he gets out of the shower. He’d left the window open, hoping the mirror wouldn’t fog up. It still does. He wipes the mirror with his palm. Sees someone staring back at him. His hair has gotten longer over the months. The consistent close buzz at the sides is gone but it’s not so long he’d have to put it up. He draws the line at man buns. He doesn’t shave as often either. Back in February, he’d gone a whole three weeks without shaving just to see what it was like, he then made the mistake of shaving it all off one day. Jack had screamed when he walked into the room and it had taken him and Cas an hour to calm him down. So that was the last time for that. 

The handprint is still there. It’s not as molted and scary looking as it first was but you can tell it’s there. Below it is a newer one from when he was hauling brush and a rogue too-naturally-sharp stick had come out and slashed his bicep. Next to the handprint, it looks like nothing. 

From the bathroom, he can hear Cas put a record on—the telltale sign of soft static and then the jump of the needle. Dean immediately recognizes it as The Doors and smiles to himself. They’d gotten a half-beat-up turntable from a nearby antique store. It was nearing fifty years old and the wires were shot to hell. But for thirty dollars Dean brought it home and made it his next project. If it was an excuse to take Castiel up and down the rows of musty second-hand record stores? No one could pin it on him. Dean presses a palm to the scar and continues getting dressed. 

… 

Dean didn’t ask why or how Cas got back from the empty. It had been four months, four desperate, hands-on-his-knees-forehead-to-the-tile months. He had counted the days by bottles, he had counted the grief by how much it consumed his day-to-day life. There was something about the grief he couldn’t place, an itch he couldn’t scratch. He knew that if he went any closer, examined it, really looked at, this thing that his grief was, he’d be done for. He knew why this one was different. It was different from his mom, his dad, from Sam. It was more than familial. It was different from Jo, from Charlie, from Benny. It was more than friendly. It was Cas. He was something you couldn’t define. He was an angel. Not a very good one. He was a man, (not really, he would say), not a successful one. He was just- Cas, Castiel; the only part of Dean’s entire life that ever made any sense. 

After, he had woken up, that first day, hungover- yes. But, he felt- inexplicably empty. His chest ached like it was going to fall into itself. A black hole. There was something else. If he didn’t know any better he would say he was being haunted. 

He saw him everywhere, the kitchen, the war room - his bedroom. It lasted days. He wanted to scream or beat his head against a wall. The ghost never said anything, just was there, in the periphery of Dean’s vision. He wanted to scream at it as the days went on, and wanted to ask the ghost where he was. How did he deal with all of it? Dean wanted to scream I wanted to touch you, just one final time, I didn’t even get that. 

He had gotten to touch him the last time. The last time when Cas had been on the ground in front of him. His knees had gotten damp from the mildewy sand. Then, he thought, I meant to say some things. He had carried him, bridal style, ideally, the only way he could carry another grown man. Cas’ head had lolled over onto his chest and Dean had had to swallow a sob. He carried the body of the man he was supposed to love, the man who was supposed to be king. He remembers how warm his body still was, the weight of it. Why was he still warm? How is he so warm?

The cotton he had wrapped him in was rough, he had fixated on it. The tears near the seams, the seams that enclosed his body. It was a distraction. He’d wrapped his ankles and folded his hands together. And if Dean had held his palms over the knuckles of the body in front of him for a second too long, it didn’t matter, there was no one to see. So while he sits in his grief, for far too long, he thinks about how he never got to feel those callused knuckles again. 

Once, just once. It had gotten too much. It had been three weeks of this goddamned phantom in Dean’s life. Three weeks since Cas. It had been in the kitchen of all places. Dean had been at the counter, nursing his first drink of the day, it was past noon thank you very much. 

When there, in front of him was Cas. He looked clearer around the edges, Dean didn’t care. Anger boiled up in him, the same anger that ran through Sam, the anger he knew was thanks to his father. An anger that was wholly his own. 

“Either go poltergeist and kill me,” he didn’t lift his eyes, “or fuck off.” The ghost had left. 

It had been another three months of devastating pain. Sometimes it was a single punch to the gut and sometimes it was a deep ache, like the first growing pain you ever have. There was a current of missing going through him at all times. 

Cas had come back in the afternoon. A likely time for him. It wasn’t like before when he had wandered out from some stranger’s house or been standing in front of a payphone booth. He had just strolled in, all normal-like. He had opened the bunker door and stepped out. Dean had been in the war room, and when he looked up and saw that damn ghost he almost keeled over. He had barely made it out of his chair without sprawling to the ground and he had reached the top of the stairs before Cas had managed to get even a hello out. He should have been safer, he should have had a gun, or salt, or something. If his dad was there- he’s glad his dad wasn’t there. 

Dean had held Cas’ face between his hands. There were a few times when Dean had looked at him, really looked at him, and realized the thing in front of him was holy, divine. Fucking sacred. Dean shouldn’t be touching it. But he was. Hell was yesterday’s news and Heaven was nothing for Dean to be concerned about. There was something sacred in his palms. In Dean Winchester’s palms. He put his forehead against Cas’ and just breathed him in. He had never touched him like this. He wanted to tuck Cas into his chest, where not even God could get him if he tried. He snickered at the thought of tucking a star, a whole galaxy, into his human chest. “What's so funny?” Cas hadn’t moved his forehead, just lowered his eyes so he could look into Dean’s.

And so Dean had kissed him then. It was something in between soft and bend-you-at-your-knees. It was heartbroken. It was an ‘I’m sorry’ and a ‘please don’t go’. Cas didn’t react like he was surprised, he had just given it right back. Dean didn’t know how else to tell him how the four months without him had been. He didn’t know how else to get through it. So he had kissed him, and he didn’t think about Cas kissing him back.

The problem is Dean is ultimately a coward. Michael Sword, Heaven’s Soldier, whatever. Still a coward. So that had been the last time Dean had kissed the man he had told himself he didn’t love because it was easier to swallow. If he didn’t love Cas, he didn’t have to lose him again. 

He didn’t think he had to say it back, he had been saying it for years. He had said it when he had asked him to point out what in all of Chuck’s great fuckery was real. And he already knew when Cas had responded. He had said it when he was too young to know how much the idiotic angel was going to mean to him. When that same idiot was in a circle of fire, pleading with Dean in his own way. I was there, where were you? From the very start, he had only ever been asking him to stay. He didn’t say it back, he put it away. 

After Sam and Eileen had said their ‘hello’s and their ‘it’s good to have you back’s, Cas had wandered into Dean’s room. Dean wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of Cas in his room. He was unfamiliar with Cas being in his room after he had kissed Cas that same day. 

“I wanted to-“ He’s gorgeous.

“It’s ok Cas, we don’t-“, he pauses, thinks about how to make it alright, “It’s ok Cas.” Fear is always at the back of his throat, ripping away the thread of what he wants to say.

He doesn’t want to look at Cas’ face but he does. It’s the face he loves, he’d love whatever face Cas wore. The second he says the words he wants to take them back. Because Cas’ face crumbles, it deteriorates in front of Dean. It’s because of him. Dean is not a brave man. Dean is a coward. I want you, I want all of it. Is what he should have said. But he doesn’t. So, Cas looks at him, with love too big for the room they're in, and Dean looks at him right back. Dean knows Cas has done his fair share of being honest. So Cas leaves and Dean misses him immediately.

…

“Strawberries!” There are two tiny hands fisting into his hair. They should have never let the kid watch Ratatouille. The tiny hands steer him toward the stall with the fresh fruits and veggies laid out over the table. The older lady working the stall peers up at Jack on Dean’s shoulders, she smiles at the pair. 

“Hi there!” She says it to Dean but her eyes are still on Jack. The toddler has lost his attention and is searching the crowd when Dean looks up at him. He knows who he’s looking for, the poor kid looks like a lost little puppy. Dean gets it. He probably looks the same at times. 

“What can I do you for?” Dean scans the table for a basket of strawberries that will be suitable for the mini-Devil on his shoulders. He’s also looking for some tomatoes, he’s not getting nervous about getting the right ones. He’s not. 

A hand appears in his line of vision. The knuckles are familiar. Jack tugs on his hair to be let down. Dean obliges, he sets him on the ground, and lets him lean against his legs. A smaller hand crosses his vision too, it sneaks up and tries to grab at an innocent fruit. The bigger hand moves the small one away and envelopes it. Dean smiles at this and watches Cas hold his son’s hand as he explains how to tell when a tomato is ripe. Cas maneuvers Jack towards the other side of the table, showing him how to press on the ends of honeydews. Jack is enraptured. 

“Have you decided?” Dean looks back at the lady behind the table. Right. He looks at Cas with a bit of fear in his eyes. The lady looks between them, “I’ll just ask the husband,” she says it and turns to Cas who immediately says what they’re looking for. 

They walk away from the stall with two bags full of fruits. Dean doesn’t think about Cas being his husband. Well, he thinks about it, but mostly thinks about not thinking about it. 

They get home and Jack is seconds through the door before he turns around and begs to go to the lake. He looks at Dean, Dean looks at Cas who gives a small nod. 

Thirty minutes later, they’re in the lake, it’s a short walk from the cabin down to the lake. Jack gets so excited to dive in that he forgets to take his shoes off. Cas is calling to him to come back and take them off. And Dean should be helping him out, he should be running in to grab Jack. But. He isn’t. He’s watching Cas yell towards Jack as he’s trying to get out of his clothes in the quickest way possible. Cas practically rips off his shirt and Dean does breath. He just lets it out a little too quickly.

When Cas first came back, minus his grace - one of the first things he did was lose the trenchcoat. Dean didn’t know why, maybe it made him feel more human. He took him shopping though. Cas and him ended up at Kohl’s of all places. Cas had picked four shirts that were the exact same except for the color and Dean had sat in the dressing room with him as he had tried on every one. Dean had nodded at which color he liked and which one he didn’t. ‘Course Dean had acted like this had all been torture. It was a tough sell, an hour in an enclosed space with Cas watching him take his shirt off over and over again. Ya, torture. Dean had realized then that Cas was not scrawny. Sure, he had always noticed Cas had a bit more to him, but not like this. 

So, watching Cas rip his shirt off to dive in after Jack - safe to say it gives him flashbacks.

He manages to make it into the water somehow. Trailing after Cas who is already way out, he has his hand under Jack’s lifejacket as he lets him float. The odd thing about getting into the lake is the drop-off, that’s the thing about good ole natural lakes. So Dean’s foot misses the end of the sandbar and he gets a mouthful of lake water. Under the water, for a split second, he can see the bright blue lifejacket Jack has on and Cas’ legs treading water. He spouts the water out like a fountain, which only makes Jack giggle more than he already was. He hears a four-year-old squeal “Dean!” and a less persistent, “Dean?” at the same time. Dean doggy paddles over to Jack and Cas. Cas doesn’t say it but he looks over at Dean with an assessing look, Dean just nods back. 

Cas has water up to his chin, it’s deep enough that he can’t touch it with his head above water, Dean can tell he’s bobbing down to touch the bottom every now and again. Dean keeps in a giggle. Jack, the spawn that he is, paddles over to Dean and tries to dunk his head underwater. Dean grabs him by the lifejacket buckles before he can succeed. 

“Buddy, what is with you and trying to kill me?” Dean fixes the goggles that had suctioned themselves lopsided on Jack’s face. Cas reaches over and scoops Jack up by the back of his life jacket. Dean does giggle at that because Jack just goes limp. Cas tucks the boy into his chest and keeps him there. 

“Let’s not hurt Dean, okay? We like Dean.” Cas says it with conviction and Dean tries to pass the blush off as sunburn. 

“Dean, you should’ve put sunscreen on.” Dean forgets to tread water for a moment and almost goes under, again. 

When they're out of the water, forty minutes later, because Jack had to do backflips off of Dean’s knee in the sandbar- and then proceeded to swim in between Cas’ legs for a while before he got water up his nose and decided the lake was lame- Cas is trying to wrangle a wily four-year-old into a towel. Dean watches from his seat on the beach. He doesn’t notice the woman walking up to him until she’s looking down at him from where he’s sitting on his grocery store-bought towel. 

“Your son is adorable.” She’s got to be mid-thirties. Ten years ago, she’d be Dean’s type. He should be her type now. “I live just down the beach.” She points over past where Jack is still ducking from Cas. Dean follows her hand, watches Cas’ gummy smile from too far away. “Your husband is adorable too.” Dean looks at her then. She must not catch his confusion. “I’ll see you around, I’ve got to get a move on.” Dean watches her walk away. It’s probably the shortest conversation he’s ever had with anyone here. Cas is making his way over when Dean realizes he didn’t correct her, not on the son part, and not even on the husband part. He seriously needs to examine why everyone and their mother think he and Cas are a couple, married no less. Not that Dean’s offended, he'd just like to see what they see.

Cas stops at his feet, a towel covered Jack by his side. 

“Who was that?” Cas’ sunglasses are sliding down his nose. Dean is trying to find his eyes through the frames.

“Hm?” 

Cas scoffs, “that lady?”

“Oh- I don’t know. She said she lives a bit away.” He watches as Jack waddles up and throws himself down on the sand next to him. “Tired little man?” Dean only hears a groan from the towel-covered toddler. Cas plops down on his other side.

“Did you get her number?” Dean rips his eyes away from Jack.

“Huh?” Cas isn’t looking at him- the fucker is applying more sunscreen to his legs. 

“Her number.” He repeats it as a statement this time and Dean (for a reason he doesn’t, but also, kind of does know) wants to throttle him.

“Why would I get her number?” Dean doesn’t mean to scoff like a teenage girl, but he does. 

“Well-” Cas caps the bottle, “she’s young, fit, attractive. Why not?” Cas puts the bottle down.

“So?” He’s sure his eyebrows are in his hair. Where did Cas learn the word fit?

“She’s your type.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Alright, my apologies.” Dean is going to throttle him. He looks over to check Jack is passed out.

“I don’t- I don’t want that anymore. That’s-” he takes a deep breath and releases it, “I’m not that guy anymore.” He hopes that made sense. “Anyways, she thought you were the adorable one.” He tacks it on at the end to cover up that his cheeks are well passed casually sunburnt and now flaming red. 

“Oh, so she’s intelligent as well.” Dean reaches over and shoves Cas into the sand. The other man just rights himself with the most pleased smile on his face. Dean reaches over and musses at his half-dried hair. Cas just accepts it. Maybe it’s not such a reach that they could be together. Dean pulls his hand back at that thought. 

He knows Cas would be alright with it. He knows he, himself, would be probably the happiest he’s ever been. But probably because Dean didn’t have a normal childhood and no mother figure blah, blah, blah- he’s scared that this is all he can have. It’s more than enough if it’s all he can get. Yes, he wants Cas more than he’s ever wanted anything but he also wants the ease they’ve settled into. The coffee he sets on the counter every morning for when Cas wakes up. The routine of putting Jack to bed. Cas packing a lunch and pushing him out the door to the lake because ‘we live here for a reason, Dean’ when he’s sitting in his room moping about being, well, Dean. He wants it all. He has it all. Yes, maybe he wants to be able to kiss Cas when he dries the dishes Dean washes or wrap him in his arms when he’s reading on the porch. But he’s got it all already. So why push?

When the sun is too warm for a not-fed and tired Jack, they pack up and go back to the house. Cas mouths ‘naptime’ over the boy's head which is pillowed against his chest as they walk in through the backdoor and Dean nods. Dean suggests bath first because half of Jack’s face is still covered in sand from where he passed out on the beach. 

Cas ushers Jack into the bathroom and when Dean asks if Cas wants help, he just replies, “Don’t worry Dean, you’ll get your bath later.” 

Dean goes and sits by himself in his room and does not think.

…

The thing about the man you love dying - for the umpteenth time (and before you ever knew you were in love with him) - is that it makes you wonder. It makes you wonder if God even loves you. If you really ever were his favorite. When Cas died after Jack, Dean wondered if Cas was the favorite or not. He wondered if Cas really was special. He wondered if Cas had doubts - well, ok - he knew he had doubts. Was in his nature wasn’t it? The one with the crack in his chassis. But maybe Cas wasn’t the favorite. Maybe God wasn’t ever going to save him. Later, when Dean prayed. He wasn’t praying for Cas, he was praying for himself. He was saying ‘I know I’m fucked, but please, he’s not - he’s all I’ve got’. He was selfish. And then, he went back to the car and looked at his brother, and pretended that was enough.

Dean remembers looking at his knuckles, the scrapes, the blood. He remembers the scar tissue upon scar tissue on the palms of his hands. He knows they’re there without looking at them. He thinks about what those hands have done. How they’ve butchered and killed and tortured. How they’ve loved. Those same hands have pulled Sam from fire after fire. They’ve pulled Cas up from death. They’ve even held Jack’s little hands in his - trying to make up for all the times he didn’t.

He finds it in an old cigar box, one that had been holding things he didn’t want to look at. It’s under ticket stubs and his dad’s dog tags, it’ll need polishing. He’s put the silver ring he wore throughout his twenties back on his left ring finger. It’s a little harder to fit over his knuckle, a bad break from a few years ago that never healed right. So when he finds it in the back of the closet he sits back on the edge of his bed and slides it on. 

“Dean?” He hears Cas call his name from downstairs. He’s still staring at his finger when Cas walks into the room. The weight of the ring on his finger and Cas standing in his doorway does something to his stomach. 

“Dean?”

“Ya?”

“Sam and Eileen just called. They’re an hour out.” Right, Dean forgot about that. 

“Jack down for his nap?” Cas nods his head. 

“Are you alright Dean?” How Cas just knows is something Dean will have to examine at a later date. Dean shakes his head at the question. He’s usually better with his words. Cas crosses the room and stands in front of Dean. There’s a questioning look on his face when Dean turns his face up to look at him. Dean is a big boy and he has gotten better at facing the things that plague his mind. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t lonely. Cas is in front of him and Dean is lonely. 

So, Dean buries his face in Cas’ torso, wraps his arms around his waist, and just breathes. Cas for his part doesn’t flinch, he just lets out a deep breath and puts both of his hands on the back of Dean’s head. They’ve fought next to each other, against each other, they’ve fucking taken down God, and yet this is the bravest thing they’ve done. Just holding each other. Dean has kissed Cas and yet this feels like something better. He could crawl into his damn ribcage and just exist there. Cas would probably let him. He’s done worse things, taking up space inside Cas can’t be that bad. 

Dean pulls away. He doesn’t look up at Cas, scared of what he might see. 

“I should start prepping things.” He clears his throat. Cas still has his hands on Dean’s head. 

“You want help?” A giggle spills out of Dean, but he wouldn’t let anyone say so.

“Hell no, you stay out of my kitchen.”

Cas smiles down at him and Dean understands why people do stupid shit like get married. He understands why being in love feels like an iron-hot poker going through your chest cavity. He understands why Eileen eats kale for Sam once a month. Cas smiles at him and Dean understands very little. Dean tells himself he’s not going to think about this for the rest of the night, but then Cas moves his palms from Dean’s hair to cup his face, just for a second. Jesus Christ.  

Cas leaves the room and Dean questions whether or not he’s a coward.

…

Sam, Eileen, Jody, and the girls are all at the house, coming from all over. Is it loud? Absolutely. But Dean can hear Jack giggling as Claire chases him around the room so, really? No complaints. Sam is the first one to notice it.

“You get married and not tell me?” Dean blanches at the question and looks down at the ring on his finger.

“Eh- no?” Nice one. 

“Wait, did you?” 

“No! God, no.” He breathes. “I found it, tried it on.” Either Sam doesn’t buy it or he’s bored of the conversation. Dean doesn’t know why he’s so tense, it’s not like he did get married. Whatever. Sam just gives him another look and walks away toward the living room where everyone else is. Dean goes back to cutting tomatoes and listens to the sounds of his family in his house. 

Dean manages to cook for ten people, ten people- and not complain once. Once.  Ok- he complains for a minute when Cas walks into the kitchen to grab another beer. He listens to Dean with his eyebrow cocked and Dean thinks about grabbing him by the damn waistband and- 

Dean serves dinner. He scoops Jack from Claire’s arms and deposits him in his chair with grace. He cuts Jack’s spaghetti into tinier bites so the kid doesn’t choke on a damn noodle. He makes sure he’s eating in between feeding himself and when Jody offers to watch him when she finishes her own plate he agrees. He presses a quick kiss to the kid’s hair after wiping tomato sauce off his cheek. Dean catches Sam’s eye who is giving him a strange look.

“What?” Sam just keeps giving him that odd look.

“Nothin’” 

Dean turns back to his food and continues the conversation with Kaia, whom Dean is beginning to enjoy conversing with. She gives Claire shit but she also makes her smile like nothing else, so sue him, he likes the kid.

Kaia takes a sip of her wine before turning to Dean and asking, “So how long have you and Castiel been together?” Dean retracts his earlier statement. He also chokes on his spaghetti. 

Cas, who is of course sitting next to him- closer than probably necessary- thumps him on the back while he tries to cough his damn lungs back up. Cas, for his part, is not perturbed and just continues talking with Jody.

“Sorry?” It comes out so much squeakier than he would like. Kaia looks around like she’s realized she’s missed something. Claire leans into the conversation, smug.

“Ya, when did you start boning my father?”

He has no excuse for the choking now. Cas just thumps him on the back again giving him a side-eye glance as he does.

“I’m not- we’re not,” he looks at Cas and immediately regrets it when Claire and Kaia track the movement. He regrets it more because it makes Cas tune in to the conversation.

“We’re not what?” 

Claire opens her mouth before Dean can. 

“No, you are.” Dean never liked Claire, he never did.

“Are what?” 

Dean is quicker this time. 

“Oh, let’s not-” 

Not quick enough.

“Fucking.” It’s official, he’s removing Claire from his nonexistent will. 

“Woah!” Donna says it with the biggest smile on her face. When the hell did everyone else join the conversation? Dean looks around and yes, everyone is looking between Dean and Cas. Sam, the asshole, is smiling the goofiest grin.

Cas looks at Dean with a face that tells Dean he really does not know what is going on. Cas looks back at the rest of the table.

“I mean Dean and I once-”

“Ok!” Dean slaps his palm over Cas’ mouth, who just looks mildly unamused. “Cas and I are going to do the dishes, everyone else is going to talk about something else! Cool? Cool.” 

Everyone else thankfully just stacks their dishes up, with smug faces and half-sequestered giggles. Dean moves his hand from Cas’ mouth to the front of his t-shirt and maneuvers him into the kitchen. Cas just lets him, which only makes everyone else giggle more.

They get into the adjoining kitchen and there’s no door to slam to make a point but at least there’s a wall. Cas sets all the dishes in the sink and turns to Dean. 

“What were they laughing about?”

“Um- Kaia thought we were together.” He manages to get it out, one point to Dean. Cas’ expression doesn’t change. Dean raises his eyebrows and gives Cas another pointed look, a hello? 

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“And?” 

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

“So, they think we’re together, why does it matter?” It matters because 1. Cas said he loved Dean and then went and died 2. a bunch of other not-so-important things in Dean's brain happened and Cas came back 3. Dean realized he was in love with Cas and has been for quite some time and 4. Dean has no idea what to do with that.

“They think we’re-”

“Fucking?” Cas should not be able to say that word. Not like that, not with his gaze lowered and focused on Dean.

“Yes.” Dean manages to make it sound normal and not squeaky. 

“Why does it matter if we are?” Cas catches his eyes and Dean’s worried that Cas is gonna get the wrong idea. “Do you want to be?” Ok, Cas might have the wrong idea. Well, no. The right idea. Wait, no. “Dean?”

Dean is having a lot of images flash through his head. Images he should not have while Cas is standing in front of him. Not while Cas is looking at him. Images that Dean usually has alone, by himself, and then pretends like he never had them. Thank you very much. 

“I just-” Dean rubs the back of his neck. Cas catches his wrist on its way back down to his side. Dean holds his breath. 

“I missed this one.” 

Dean looks down at his wrist and sees what Cas means.

“My ring?” 

“Yes.”

Dean doesn’t think about why Cas would miss it, he’s more focused on why Cas is holding his wrist and why Cas is rubbing his thumb over his pulse point. Dean lets his breath out. He slides the ring from his left hand and simply takes Cas’ hand and puts it on his finger. Dean hears a gentle sigh from Cas. 

“You do realize we’re going to have to sleep together?” 

“Huh?”

“You gave up all of the other rooms to everyone else.” Right. Dean did forget about that. Dean breathes out a long sigh and because Cas seems to have this gravitational pull, he puts his forehead on Cas’ shoulder. Cas gives out a chuckle. 

“They’re gonna give me so much shit.”

“Ya, well you can spit in their coffee in the morning.” 

“Cas,” Dean chuckles into his shoulder. He pulls away and makes the mistake of looking at Cas’ face. Dean wants to kiss him. Dean needs to figure out what the hell he wants. 

The rest of the night goes by smoothly. Jody brought Jenga because of course she did. So Jack gets to play it for about twenty minutes until he gets bored and ends up sitting on the back of the couch, trying to braid Cas’ hair with hair ties Claire has been feeding him. Dean has his hand on Jack’s back so he doesn’t fall off the back of the couch. 

“Dad?” Dean looks over.

“Ya buddy?” Jack doesn’t use his words, just makes grabby hands toward Dean. He gets the hint and lifts Jack from his perch onto his lap. Dean looks over at Cas’ hair and giggles at the half braids that are all over his head. They aren’t even really braids, just twisted hair kept in place by the hair ties. Jack giggles at Dean’s giggle.

“Good job, buddy.” 

Cas looks over at the pair and the two of them lose it. Cas just rolls his eyes.

The adults have transitioned over to poker and Donna must have won because she’s chuckling as she pulls the pile of chips toward her. Dean moves to pick Jack up from under his armpits, the toddler knows this routine and instantly begins to protest. 

“Do you want help?” He didn’t realize Sam was sitting on the recliner opposite the couch. Dean nods and tosses Jack over his shoulder which makes the protests die down for a second. Jack only starts up again when Dean gets to the bottom of the stairs. They make it to Jack’s room and Dean plops the kid down on his bed. 

“Ok, you know the drill, pjs, teeth, bed.” 

Jack, because he is half-angel is also half not a pain in the ass when it comes to bedtime, makes Dean read two books but he brushes his teeth with no complaints and only tries to run away once when Dean makes him put his pjs on. Jack almost starts crying when Dean hands him the wrong onesie, luckily Cas washed his favorite. After the process is done, Dean considers if hunting monsters is easier when Sam, who had been an extra hand in the toddler wrangling, corners him before he can descend the stairs. 

“Dean?”

“Ya?”

“You’re a good dad.” Dean would normally brush it off with a joke but he sees the sincerity in Sam’s eyes. Dean has grown up dammit. 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Sam gives one of those genuine smiles, the crow’s feet by his eyes crinkle up and Dean remembers that the kid he raised is all grown up too. 

“And I’m sure you’re a great lover to Cas.” Scratch that, not grown up. 

“Ok, that’s enough. You’re never allowed to say that word.”

“Seriously though, you guys are good together.” Dean has already had his aneurysm about the idea of everyone thinking he and Cas are, whatever. So he just rolls his eyes and walks down the stairs.

“You guys are starting to share facial expressions.”

“Whatever,” Dean says from below him on the staircase, “we always have.”

“Is that an innuendo?” Dean chucks the nearby stuffed animal at Sam’s head. 

…

The cabin has three bedrooms. One for Jack, complete with a race car bed that Dean hopes lasts a while because it costs too much money. Even for unlimited credit cards, too much money. One room for Cas and one for Dean. The porch is screened in and Cas made the smart move to insist on putting a daybed in it. Sam and Eileen take Dean’s room and Dean tries not to be ecstatic about the idea of Sam being under the same roof as him. His heart swells a little more when he thinks about the girls piled onto the porch, taking over the daybed and making makeshift ones on the floor. Even Donna and Jody on the pullout couch have him smiling to himself. Everyone’s situated and Dean stops himself from mother henning and making his rounds to ask if anyone wants a midnight snack or an extra blanket. He shoulders his way through Cas’ bedroom door just after midnight. 

Dean plays it cool and does not gawk at the sight of Cas sitting next to his open window puffing on a joint. Cas doesn’t acknowledge him just blows smoke out the open window. Dean settles down beside Cas on the bed. The open window blows the warm summer night breeze in. The wind ruffles Cas’ hair, he’s been letting it grow. Dean wonders if he just doesn’t realize he’s supposed to cut it. The hair by his ears is starting to curl at the end, the humidity probably doesn’t help. Cas turns to take another hit and Dean can see the beginnings of a ringlet at the back of his neck. Cas turns back toward him and holds the joint out to him. Dean shrugs because why not? He takes a puff and another and another and doesn’t feel anything. Cas puts the joint out in a nearby ashtray.

“When did you start smoking weed?”

“I don’t that often.” Dean just hums. Cas shifts down the bed until he’s sitting in the middle of the bed. Dean copies him. He still isn’t feeling anything.

“Do you think anyone would notice if we went to go get pizza?”

Dean busts out laughing. He slumps forward into Cas. Cas just giggles into his hair. Dean pulls back and means to say, Dude, we just ate? But instead, he catches Cas’ eye and they both burst out laughing again. Dean tries to catch his breath because the amount that he’s laughing for nothing even being said is ridiculous. Cas leans back in a full-body laugh and somehow manages to lose his balance and fall off the side of the bed. The comical wide eyes he makes sends Dean over again. He stage whispers Cas’ name twice before he gets a giggle from the floor in response. 

Either the sound of Cas hitting the floor or the continuous hyena laughter bothered someone in the house because there’s a thump on the wall and a prompt ‘shut up’ that follows. Cas pops up from the floor and Dean has to cover his mouth to suppress his laughter. Dean looks down at himself and then back at Cas. 

“Can I borrow some pjs?”

Cas removes himself from the floor and pads over to his dresser. He digs through it and tosses a pair of pants to Dean. Dean is high so he doesn’t think anything of stripping out of his jeans while still on Cas’ bed. It’s a thing you do when you are alone and not on the bed of your best friend who you might be in love with. Cas turns around from pushing the drawer back in place, he starts to say something. He never finishes because he promptly eats shit and falls face-first into the mattress. Dean can’t hold his laughter this time. 

There’s a short secession of footfall before the door flies open. Sam has his hand on the doorknob.

“Dude! Keep it do-,” Sam looks into the room and Dean imagines he sees two things, Dean with his pants off and Cas picking himself up from where he fell on the mattress which means he’s now half straddling Dean. “Oh my god!” Sam slams the door and Dean hears a muffled string of sorry before he hears Sam retreat down the hall. 

Cas looks up at Dean and with a lopsided grin tells Dean to put his pants on. Dean decidedly does not want to do that. He manages the task and lifts his hips to slide under the covers when he’s done. He hears Cas breathe next to him and suddenly Dean is reminded that he’s high and also coincidentally in love. Two very dangerous things to be. He risks a glance at Cas because he’s a psychopath who hates himself. Cas is looking right back at him. Dean turns on his side to match Cas. There’s a chant going through his brain IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. It’s to the tune of Silly Love Songs unfortunately because Dean is a sap. 

“I’m glad you came back to me.” Dean wonders why he hasn’t ever said it sober. It’s true, Cas coming back, well. It made him feel real again. 

Cas doesn’t answer, he just regards Dean in his usual manner. It makes Dean’s stomach ache. 

Cas leans over the four inches that are separating them and kisses him. It’s not brutal like the first time, it’s just as alarming though. Dean is glad he’s high because usually there would be alarm bells ringing through his head. There isn’t. Not until Cas deepens it and cups the back of Dean’s head. Dean had been kissing back but now he’s definitely with the program. 

He pushes at Cas’ shoulder until he’s flat on his back and then he’s on top of him. Dean hears a punched-out groan and he can’t tell if it’s him or Cas. There are still hands on the side of his face, bracketing him in. Dean is beginning to realize that it’s been a while for him. And he is fully about to break whatever celibacy streak it was he had begun unknowingly. He tugs at the hem of Cas’ shirt until he gets the courage to bunch it up to his shoulders. Cas pulls his hands away from exploring Dean’s face and hair and lifts his arms for Dean to pull his shirt off. And Dean short circuits the same as it did at the beach. He’s never seen Cas workout and yet he’s perfectly toned and- christ. 

“I prefer Castiel, but thank you.” 

Dean giggles and immediately after realizes that he’s never fucking giggled when making out with someone. Dean mutters a shut up into Cas’ mouth which earns him a smile against his lips. Cas’ hands are under his t-shirt and alright, yes, this is going where Dean wants it to go. Cas’s hands are still against Dean’s ribs. Dean tries to tell him to come on, let’s go by kissing him harder until Cas entirely pulls back. Dean opens his eyes to blink at Cas. His hands are still on Dean but they’ve moved from under his shirt to his waist. 

“Dean.” Cas is lovely when he says his name and Dean wants to prove that so he hums and leans back in. Cas pulls away before he can do what he wants. Dean has completely lost the thread of what’s happening. 

“ Dean. ”

“Cas- It’s ok,” Cas cuts him off by placing his palm over Dean’s mouth. Which, ok, kinky.

“Dean, we are not having sex with our entire family under the same roof.” 

“Hey, you started this.” 

Dean’s brain comes back online and he slowly realizes that he was fully going to do exactly that. His monkey brain also takes a moment to say sex with Cas! sex with Cas! but Dean pulls it together. He fully leans back onto his heels and looks at Cas. 

“Ya, ok you’re right.”

“Not that-,” Cas gulps a breath, “Not that I didn’t fully enjoy where that was going.”

Dean is still perched on top of Cas and still stuck on sex with Cas! So he does the smart thing and removes himself. He grabs Cas’s shirt on the way because he can’t concentrate with a half-naked muscular man in the same bed as him. Cas puts it back on and settles back down into the sheets at the same time Dean does. They’re still turned toward each other and Dean is content. He’s content until Cas reaches over and places a kiss on his temple and then he’s just downright ecstatic. 

“I meant it. I’m glad you’re back.” Cas smiles back at him.

“Yes, you certainly showed me your gratitude.” Dean pushes at his face in response, which earns him a peck on the lips when Cas turns back. 

Dean falls asleep with Cas draped over him and declares to himself, silently, in the safety of his own head, that it’s the happiest he’s ever been.

…

He can hear the cicadas when he wakes up. Every seventeen years. Seventeen years ago Dean was in his twenties, thought he had it all figured out. Seventeen years ago he hadn’t even known the things that would be commonplace to him today. The cicadas continue on. Summer is well on its way. There’s a light - ethereal-like pouring into the room. It reminds Dean of that painting he had seen in Missouri. He had been in his young twenties, drifting in between cases. So he had drifted right into the St. Louis art museum. There it was in one of the galleries, a painting of a saint of some sort - Dean can’t remember - this gold light bathing the figure. Dean had imprinted into his memory. He didn’t understand art, but he understood why he had looked at it for so long. He wanted to experience that, that divinity. 

He didn’t know what he was in for. 

The light was peaking through the curtains, wrapping up over Cas. His head is buried under the pillow so the light is only reaching his jaw and his shoulders. The sun is making his hair look deep brown. Dean’s finger twitches. He has not done good things in his life. But maybe this is the one exception. Dean probably looks like the picture of crazy right now. He’s propped up on his elbow staring down at the other man in the bed. He needs to chill out. 

“Are you going to stare at me or get up and make breakfast?” How he doesn’t even move a muscle yet but can still be so bitchy is beyond Dean.

“Oh ya?” Dean is a masochist. 

Cas peeks out from the comforter, bed head worse than usual. A blessing. He immediately pushes Dean off the bed. Dean is reminded that Cas is an asshole. 

“Ow!” Dean picks his ass up off the floor. “So you get me into bed and now you think you can boss me around?” He probably looks pathetic, his chin is on the side of the bed looking over at the lump of blankets. 

“I bossed you around far before I got you into bed.” He rolls over onto the other side of the bed. Dean watches a scruff of dark hair peek over the duvet. “Pancakes please.”

Dean gets up off the ground - slower than he did a decade ago with a blush on his cheeks. He walks over to the side of the bed Cas is on. He dips down and ruffles his hair after pressing a kiss to his hairline. “You’re worse than the toddler.” He pretends not to notice the smirk on the side of Cas’ mouth as he exits the room.

It’s still early, early enough that if Jack is sleeping in, Dean’s not gonna wake him. He descends down the creaky stairs. He turns the corner into the kitchen and sees Eileen there. She’s nursing a cup of coffee. Dean turns to the ancient coffee maker and pours two cups, adding an outrageous amount of creamer to one, and sets it off to the side as he raises the other one to his lips. When he turns around, Eileen looks from the second coffee cup to Dean. Dean loves Eileen because she doesn’t make a comment, just smiles up at him. 

“Sam?” Dean asks. Eileen signs the word for ‘run’ and Dean nods. 

They fall into comfortable silence as Dean begins to make pancakes and others slowly file into the kitchen. Everyone is up and at it, the kitchen growing noisier by the second when Cas walks in with a four-year-old on his hip. Cas just hands Jack over to Dean and grabs his coffee mug. It must be all the excitement from the night before because Jack props his head on Dean’s shoulder and silently watches him plate pancakes for everyone. 

It’s not soon after that the house is empty except for the three of them. It feels weirdly silent now. Jack is getting antsier by the minute and asks Dean to go outside. 

Jack is in his matching sun hat kneeling down next to Cas. He’s watching as Cas explains that the small green strawberries still have a ways to go before they can be picked. Jack nods his head and picks one anyway. Cas watches the act and then looks back at Dean. 

He’s fought the Devil, God, God’s sister, and so much more. But Cas- Cas looking at him like that- he’s never been more afraid. He’s bound to screw it up, he’s Dean Winchester. Cas is- will he’s a lot of things, things Dean can’t define. 

Cas crosses the yard. The midafternoon sun is peaking through the trees leaving a footpath to follow. From this angle, it looks like Cas is lighting up the way towards Dean. Maybe he is. 

Cas reaches Dean and pulls him in. A breath on his cheek and a kiss to his temple. Cas pulls back. 

“What was that for?”

“You seem to forget.” A strong hand moves through the hair at his nape. “I know you, Dean Winchester.”

I know you.

The day ends, the sun fades. They go back inside. The world still spins. 

…

It’s an odd time to do it, he knows that. He knows that he is emotionally constipated, he has been since he was- well, for a long time. But, something about it is just consequential. When he looks back at it he thinks maybe the odd timing was right. He didn’t want it to be in the middle of an end-of-the-world smackdown or in a fancy restaurant surrounded by strangers. It happens in the end days of July, a whole year and two months after Cas came back. Castiel, an angel of the lord, the host of heaven, is lying with his face turned toward the sun. Some freckles are starting to appear on the end of his nose, his cheeks turning pink in the sunlight. Dean has never been good at wanting. Four score and too many apocalypses ago, Famine, had said he was empty, a cavernous black hole. He sees the irony in that now as he looks at Cas and wants. The sun is on Castiel, a former angel of the lord’s face and he’s perfect. Well, he’s grumpy, and an asshole, and petty, and particular - but he’s Cas, so he’s good. He’s everything. So when Cas turns his head to face Dean, presumably to say something mundane, Dean says something first. 

“I love you.”

Cas, for his part, doesn’t even flinch.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean is going to throw something. “You know?!” Cas scoffs. Dean is going to throw him.

“Dean, you are not very subtle.” Cas shifts his hands through the sand. “You love quite loudly.”

Dean doesn’t want to cheapen the moment so he remains silent. Runs his hand through the sand next to Cas’. 

“I-,” where to start?, “Cas, you’re it. I don’t want anything else.”

Cas is finally giving the reaction he wants. Dean wonders if he looked the same way. Dean wonders about all the times Cas loved him when he didn’t deserve it. All the times he loved Cas, just because. It’s odd, most people don’t put the love of their lives in holy fire or beat them bloody under Mark of Cain’s mind control. Most couples have a better track record. Dean wonders if they’re a couple.

“We’re raising a child together, we live together, and we both have romantic feelings for each other, I would say that fits the definition.” Dean didn’t realize he had wondered that last part out loud. “Dean, you put a ring on my finger.” Dean didn’t think he was gonna feel humiliated over Cas saying he feels the same. 

“Dean, I was not made to love you.” 

Alright, now he’s getting mixed signals.

“Oh.”

“Let me finish”, he can tell Cas is trying not to huff, “It was the opposite in fact, I was made to do certain things. To fight wars and be a cog in a heavenly machine. I followed orders, I was good, I was great even. Devotion was in my calvary, that is not foreign to me - but, love was not. This”, he gestures between their bodies, “was not any form of divine intervention. I did all of this for me. It was the first selfish thing I ever did. I loved you on purpose, even if sometimes it feels as natural as anything else.” A pause. “I’d do it every time. Without fail. It’s my greatest flaw and my biggest achievement.”

Usually, a man should be offended by being called someone else's biggest flaw, but not Dean. Not when it’s Cas. Cas is heavenly, and he’s also just some guy. And he loves Dean. 

…

It’s another get together, Dean is preparing for more guests than the meager cabin has ever held. Jack is turning five and he’ll be starting kindergarten in the fall. Dean is trying not to think about it. 

It’s been almost a year with Cas and Dean has managed to not mess it up too much. He’s had days. He’s spent many nights in his old room, now a guest room. One time Jack let him hog the racecar bed and even handed him his favorite stuffed animal because “you need it more than me”. He’d been told by Cas many times “to take a walk and take that bad mood somewhere else”. And he had, every time. He’d always come back, sit on the edge of their bed, and twiddle with the ring on Cas’ finger until Cas let out that telltale breath that all was forgiven. 

The last fight they’d had Dean had asked “Did you mean it? I’m not a killer?” Cas had looked at him like he was Jack, asking if they could keep one of the baby turtles that wandered out from under the dock. Cas had simply held his hand and told him “No, you’re not.”

Now, Dean is baking a cake for his five-year-old while the man he loves sits at the counter and reads this week’s historical romance novel. He’s baking a cake for a five-year-old and death is on his mind. 

“Cas, what happens when we die?” 

“You are the last person I would expect to ask that question, Dean.” He doesn’t even look up from his book.

“Fuck off- you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you into heaven, Dean.” Why is he always saying his name like a prayer?

“But like what happens, if you know- say, you go before me? You’re human now and you’ve got to be older than me.”

“Well,” he pauses, “I’m sure after all this time you’d be able to make an exception for one ghost.” He’s finally looking up at Dean.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll haunt you.” The sentence brings back a thousand things into Dean’s brain. Mostly, it makes him think about those months without Cas. 

“You’ll haunt me?”

“Yes, I’ll haunt you when I’m gone.”

Maybe Castiel did change because of Dean but Dean changed because of Castiel right back. Years ago the thought of just letting a ghost linger in his house for fun would be ridiculous, but now as Cas looks at him he knows he’d do it in a heartbeat. He’d let Cas turn into a damn poltergeist if it meant they got to be together for the rest of Dean’s life. So when Dean kisses Cas, in their kitchen with their things around them, he’s excited for the day Cas will haunt him - it’s crazy what love does to your brain. Cas kisses him back, he always does. When he pulls back, Cas palms the top of his head and kisses his hairline. And heaven can come, now that there’s no one keeping score, but not right now. Dean has things he needs to experience first. People to love. He has a cake to finish up.