Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winchester Kitchen – Morning

The sun filters through the windows of the Winchester kitchen in soft gold. A pan sizzles on the stove. Mary hums a tune as she flips pancakes. John sips coffee at the table, reading the paper. Sam’s already dressed for his early lecture, his bag slung over his chair. Jess is beside him, sleepy but smiling. They keep sneaking little glances at each other—soulmate-level soft.

Dean stumbles in late, still shirtless, hair a mess. He grunts a “morning” and drops into a chair, reaching for bacon before even saying hello.

> Mary: “Rough night, honey?”

Dean (mouth full): “Nah. Just thinking.”

Sam (smirking): “That’s dangerous.”

Dean glares at him but doesn’t argue.

> John: “About classes?”

Dean: “No. About soulmates.”

Everyone at the table pauses.

> Dean (continued, quiet): “I just… I think I’ve given up.”

Mary frowns, setting down the spatula.

> Dean: “Everyone’s got someone. Sammy’s got Jess, you and Dad had the dream story. And me? I’ve bumped into more people than a Roomba and heard jack shit. No voices. No mental sparks. Just regular ol’ silence.”

> Sam: “You can’t rush it, man. It happens when it happens.”

Jess gently squeezes Sam’s hand. He smiles, and Dean pointedly looks away.

> Mary: “You know, I didn’t hear your father’s voice until I dropped a textbook on his foot in the library.”

> John (grinning): “All I heard was ‘oh no I broke his toe oh no oh no.’ Very romantic.”

> Mary: “And I heard, ‘what kind of klutz slams a three-pound book on a guy’s foot?’ It was mutual chaos.”

Everyone laughs but Dean just leans back with a tired sigh.

> Dean: “Yeah, well. I’ve run into people, spilled drinks, tripped over chairs, and got mugged once—and still nothing. Either my soulmate’s dead or I’m just… defective.”

Mary leans in, brushing his hair back.

> Mary: “You’re not broken. Maybe your person’s just late.”

Sam, trying to lighten the mood, tosses him a granola bar.

> Sam: “Or maybe they’re just as clumsy as you are and you’ll collide face-first at college today.”

> Dean (grinning faintly): “If they insult me in their head, I’m walking away.”

> Jess (teasing): “What if it’s love at first insult?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but something in him shifts—an almost imperceptible glimmer of what if.

---

College Campus – Midmorning

Dean walks through the crowded walkway of campus, earbuds in but not playing music. He’s distracted, thinking about the morning. About soulmates. About how damn lucky Sam is.

And then—BAM.

He collides with someone coming out of the building. Books go flying. His elbow hits someone’s ribs. And then…

> A voice, not his own, loud and crystal clear in his head:

“What an asshole…”

Dean freezes. His breath catches. Slowly, he turns.

> Dean (thinking): “What the fuck?”

The stranger, a tall guy with messy black hair and storm-blue eyes, has also stopped mid-step. He turns too. Their eyes meet.

The crowd swirls around them.

Both of them—Dean and Castiel—just stand there, staring, mouths slightly open.

> Dean (thinking): “No. Fucking. Way.”

> Castiel (thinking): “Oh. Shit.”

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester skipped class. Again.

This time, it wasn’t because he overslept or forgot which building he was supposed to be in. This time, it was because his entire life had decided to sucker-punch him in the face in the middle of campus.

He hadn't meant to collide with the guy. Honestly. Just walking, minding his own business, heading toward a vending machine. And then—boom. Elbow to gut. Books on the ground. Annoyed scowl.

And then the voice.

Not the guy’s actual voice—though that one had been sharp, clipped, kinda gravelly—but the other voice. The one in his head. That didn’t belong to him.

> “What an asshole…”

Dean had frozen. Like, full-stop, deer-in-headlights, blood-left-his-brain frozen. He stared at the guy. The guy stared back. Then Dean did the only thing that made sense in the moment.

He ran.

Now he was hiding in the back of the campus library, wedged between two towering shelves of books on psychology and emotional development. Irony? Absolutely. But at least it was quiet.

> “No. No way. That didn’t happen. That can’t happen.”

His heart was still hammering. He sat with his back against the shelf, head in his hands, trying to remember how to breathe.

> “It’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe it was just a brain glitch. Like a mental burp. Like one of those deja vu things.”

But he knew better.

The world didn’t work like that.

The rule was simple: you meet your soulmate, you touch, and then—bam—you start hearing their thoughts whenever they’re nearby. It was rare, weird, and occasionally awkward as hell.

He just didn’t think it’d ever happen to him.

Across the library, Castiel Novak flipped a page in his notebook and frowned. The voice had been going nonstop for the past five minutes, a chaotic stream of internal yelling, denial, and—yes—panic.

> “No no no no no I’m not gay I’m not gay—”

Castiel adjusted his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled slowly.

> “Well. That explains the dramatic exit.”

He scanned the area until he saw him.

There, crouched between the shelves like a spooked dog, was the leather-jacket-wearing trainwreck from earlier. Castiel tilted his head. Objectively attractive. Classic golden-boy look. Probably popular. Probably a flirt.

> “Why me,” Castiel thought flatly.

And yet… there was something kind of endearing about the way the guy was melting down in complete silence, unaware he was broadcasting everything.

> “God, I ran away. I ran away from my soulmate. That’s not normal, right? Who does that? What if he thinks I’m a freak?”

Cas stood up and quietly approached. He walked with careful steps, the way you approach a stray cat you don’t want to scare off.

> “Hey.”

Dean jolted like he’d been tasered.

Cas knelt slightly to meet his eye level.

> “You okay?”

Dean blinked up at him, pupils wide, like a man seeing a ghost—and maybe he was.

> SHIT. IT’S THE VOICE. IT’S HIM. HE’S EVEN HOTTER UP CLOSE. FUCK.

Castiel didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head again, curious.

> “You’re thinking very loudly,” he said dryly. “And panicking even louder.”

Dean’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.

> “It’s okay,” Castiel added, straightening. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He turned to go, already smiling to himself.

> “What an adorable idiot.”

Dean shot up like a missile.

> “HEY! I’M NOT AN IDIOT!”

Too loud. Too fast.

Every head in the library turned toward him.

Dean stood frozen, arms half-raised, like he was trying to physically block the embarrassment from reaching him. Castiel didn’t turn around. Just kept walking, shoulders shaking.

Dean dropped back into a crouch, groaning into his palms.

> “This is it. This is how I die. Not from a demon, not in a car crash, not even from heartbreak. From secondhand embarrassment. In the psychology aisle.”

Somewhere nearby, Cas’s laughter echoed, low and warm and annoyingly attractive.

---

Chapter Text

The Dorm

Dean burst into their shared dorm like the building was on fire.

> “SAM. Emergency.”

Sam looked up from his laptop, calm as ever. Jess was perched on the edge of the bed reading, but she paused, raising an eyebrow.

> “What happened?” Sam asked slowly. “Did you flunk already? Break something? Get arrested?”

> “Worse.” Dean collapsed onto the couch, face first. “I met him.”

Jess blinked. “Wait. Him?”

Dean turned his face to the side, muffled. “My soulmate.”

Sam sat up straight. “Wait, for real?!”

> “Yup. Right on campus. I ran into him. Literally. Books. Elbows. Eye contact. And then boom—the Voice. It was loud and judgy and totally real and I ran like a coward.”

Jess: “So… normal meet-cute?”

> “Not when your soulmate thinks you're an asshole,” Dean muttered. “First thought I ever heard from him was ‘what an asshole.’ I mean, he’s not wrong but DAMN.”

Sam tried very hard not to laugh. “What happened after that?”

Dean sighed. “I hid in the library. He found me. Then he called me out for thinking too loud. Then he walked away, laughing. I yelled in public. In a library. Everyone stared.”

Jess bit her lip to hide her grin. “Did you at least catch his name?”

> “Nope. Just caught the fact that he’s unfairly hot and has a voice like gravel dipped in sarcasm.”

> “So what’s the plan?” Sam asked.

> “Plan? I have no plan. My plan was never having a soulmate, not finding him and being a disaster.”

Jess and Sam exchanged a glance.

> “You’ll figure it out,” Sam said gently. “You always do.”

> “I didn’t figure it out,” Dean muttered. “He did. He figured me out in like two minutes. He’s probably telling someone about the disaster soulmate he just got cursed with.”

---

The Coffee Shop

> “So,” Meg said, sipping her iced latte, “how’s your day been?”

> “Chaotic,” Cas answered simply, staring into his coffee like it held divine answers.

> “Elaborate.”

> “I met my soulmate.”

Meg’s drink froze mid-sip.

> “I—wait, what?! Cas! You met him?!”

> “He slammed into me. Spilled my books. Then I thought, ‘what an asshole,’ and he froze like I shot him. Then he ran. Not walked. Ran.”

Meg blinked.

> “So... love at first insult.”

Cas nodded, serious. “Apparently.”

> “Okay, so who is he? What’s he like?”

Cas sighed. “Tall. Freckles. Leather jacket. Very confused. He was hiding in the psychology aisle and broadcasting a full mental breakdown. Loudly.”

> “Oh my god, you got a dumb pretty one. I love that for you.”

Cas stared off into space.

> “He yelled at me. In the library.”

> “Kinky.”

> “Meg.”

> “Okay okay, but are you gonna see him again?”

Cas hesitated. Then—

> “...I hope so.”

Meg raised her eyebrows.

> “Someone’s already soft.”

> “No,” Cas said quickly. “I just… I’m curious.”

Meg smirked. “Curious. Got it.”

---

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester was not looking for anyone. Especially not some broody guy with murder-eyes and a voice that lived rent-free in his head.

He was just… walking. By the English building. Again.

For the third time.

> “This is dumb,” he muttered, pulling his hoodie up like that made him less conspicuous. “I’m not a weirdo. I’m just—curious. Checking. Recon.”

A group of students passed him, giving him a weird look. Probably because he was standing under a tree near the bike rack pretending to be on a phone call.

> “Fine. I am a weirdo,” Dean whispered.

But the guy—his soulmate, or whatever—was nowhere. Dean hadn’t seen him since the library meltdown, and part of him was starting to wonder if he hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe he knocked his head on the bookshelf harder than he remembered.

Except… he still heard that faint hum sometimes.

Not words. Not full thoughts. Just that odd static in the back of his mind when he got close to something familiar.

> Like a whisper right out of reach.

---

A few buildings away, Castiel sat alone under a maple tree near the Literature Annex, a well-worn journal open in his lap.

He wasn’t watching the sidewalk. He was definitely not glancing up every few seconds to scan passing faces. That would imply he was hoping to see someone.

He wasn’t.

He was drawing.

Definitely.

The pencil scratched softly across the page—long lines, sharp angles, messy detail. He hadn’t meant to draw that face again, but somehow the memory had burned itself into his muscle memory. Strong jawline. Tired eyes. Freckles. That dumb leather jacket.

He stared at the page.

> “I should’ve gotten his name.”

Cas shut the journal with a sigh.

Meg dropped onto the grass beside him like she belonged there, biting into a granola bar without warning.

> “So,” she said, mouth full, “seen your chaos soulmate again?”

> “No,” Castiel said flatly.

> “Aw. Still pretending you’re not completely obsessed?”

He didn’t respond. Meg smirked.

> “You’re doodling his face again.”

> “I’m drawing,” he corrected.

> “Sure,” she said, leaning over. “Drawing your weird straight-panic disaster man. Very subtle.”

Cas scowled and turned the page.

> “What if he’s avoiding me?” he asked quietly.

Meg blinked.

> “Wait… you’re the one avoiding him.”

> “Am I?” Cas frowned. “I don’t even know where he is.”

> “Library,” Meg said casually. “That’s where you met him, right? Soulmate Ground Zero. Go full rom-com.”

Cas looked down.

> “It doesn’t feel like the right time. He… panicked.”

> “Sounds like he’s got some stuff to figure out. But you showing up again might help.”

Castiel didn’t answer.

But he didn’t flip the page, either.

---

That afternoon, Dean wandered into the student union under the pretense of “grabbing coffee.” Which he did. But then he just… stood around.

Looking.

Not that he admitted that.

> “I’m just killing time,” he muttered to himself.

> “In a building you’ve never set foot in before?” Sam would probably say.

> “Yes, Samuel. Let me vibe in peace.”

Dean spotted a familiar shade of black trench coat walking up the stairs just as he turned toward the lower hall.

Their paths crossed—literally by seconds.

Dean paused.

So did Cas.

A strange static buzz passed between them. Barely a sound, not quite a thought—like a song lyric you almost remembered.

They both turned their heads.

Dean squinted up the stairwell. Cas glanced over his shoulder.

No one there.

Dean’s heart thumped harder.

> “What the hell is this Bond nonsense?” he muttered, and took another long sip of lukewarm coffee.

---

That night, both of them laid in their beds. Different rooms. Different corners of campus.

Neither sleeping.

Both thinking.

About the moment.

The silence.

The voice.

---

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t even remember signing up for the seminar.

“Collaborative Problem Solving Across Disciplines.” Sounded like a lot of words for something that would let him skip a gen-ed credit.

Sam had shoved the flyer in his face a week ago.

> “It’ll look good on your transcript,” Sam had said. “Plus, it’s just two weekends. You can survive that.”

What Sam didn’t mention?

It was hosted by the psych department and the liberal arts faculty. Dean’s major was applied mechanics. Which meant he’d probably get grouped with weirdos who liked reading. No offense.

He slouched into the lecture hall a few minutes late, coffee in hand, and made his way to the back—far enough to be invisible, close enough to bail if things got weird.

Across campus, Castiel Novak was already seated two rows from the front, journal on his lap, sharp gaze half-lidded behind wire-frame glasses.

He also hadn’t signed up willingly.

> “It’s mandatory,” his advisor said. “Cross-discipline participation is part of your scholarship program.”

So here he was.

In a room full of loud undergrads and smirking TAs, wishing he had just forged a doctor’s note.

He hadn’t looked at the group list yet. Didn’t care.

---

Thirty minutes later, the professor clapped her hands.

> “Alright, everyone! Groups have been randomized for the first project. You’ll work together over the next two weekends. Check your emails!”

Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He opened it half-heartedly.

His eyes stopped.

Group 6:

Dean Winchester

Castiel Novak

Becky Rosen

Kevin Tran

He stared at the name.

And stared.

> “No. No, nope, nuh-uh, this can’t be real. This is the universe playing a very unfunny joke.”

He glanced around the room, scanning faces like someone trying to find a sniper in a crowd.

And then he saw him.

Two rows down.

Reading his phone.

And frowning.

Hard.

Dean ducked immediately.

Cas, meanwhile, stared at the screen.

> “Dean.”

The voice in his head was familiar now. Too familiar.

He didn’t react. Didn’t turn.

Just slowly—deliberately—got up from his seat and made his way to the back of the hall where the group tables were being marked with paper signs.

Table 6.

Dean was already there, fidgeting with a pen, trying very hard not to make eye contact.

> “Hey,” Cas said, voice perfectly neutral.

Dean flinched.

> “Oh. Uh. Hi.”

> “So. Partners.”

Dean gave a stiff laugh. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

> “Incredibly.”

They both sat down.

Becky bounced in a moment later, breathless. “Ooh, I LOVE when the universe throws people together! I can feel the chemistry in this group!”

Dean nearly choked on air.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Can you.”

Kevin looked at them and immediately put in headphones.

> “This is going to be a disaster,” Dean muttered.

> “Possibly,” Cas said calmly. “But I’ve seen worse.”

Dean glanced sideways.

> “Like what?”

Cas didn’t smile, but the edge of his mouth twitched.

> “My last partner tried to convince me Plato was a Marvel villain.”

Dean snorted. “Okay, that’s bad.”

Cas looked at him directly.

> “Worse than someone yelling in a library?”

Dean winced.

> “Touché.”

---

The professor approached.

> “This weekend, you’ll build a hypothetical solution to a real-world problem. Communication, planning, leadership. You’ve got two weeks. Be creative.”

As she walked away, Dean turned toward Cas again.

> “So… we’re really doing this, huh?”

Cas shrugged. “Seems like it.”

Dean tapped the table nervously.

> “Cool. Awesome. Totally normal. Just group project things.”

He didn’t say anything else.

But in the back of his mind, a quiet voice whispered—

> “At least now I’ll get to see him again.”

And from Cas’s side of the table, a hum of thought echoed back—

> “Let’s see what you’re really like, Dean Winchester.”

-----

Chapter Text

The bell over the coffee shop door jingled faintly as Dean stepped in, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

It was their second group meetup, and the place was busier than last time—buzzing conversation, espresso machines steaming, people everywhere.

Dean looked around for a moment, spotted Becky waving from the corner, and started walking her way—

“Hey, Dean!”

He turned at the sound of his name.

Lisa Braeden stood just to the left of the order counter, flanked by two of her friends who immediately turned away, pretending they weren’t listening while whispering like they were in a soap opera.

“Oh. Hey, Lisa,” Dean said, blinking.

She smiled—nervous, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t know you hung out here.”

Dean chuckled. “Group project. Not really my scene otherwise.”

“Oh,” Lisa said, then hesitated. “Actually… I was hoping to catch you.”

Dean tilted his head. “Yeah?”

Lisa swallowed, cheeks going slightly pink. “So, um. There’s this party Friday night—Delta House. There’s dancing, music, the whole deal. It’s kind of tradition to go with a partner and… I thought maybe…”

Her voice softened, hopeful.

“Maybe you’d want to go with me?”

---

Behind him, just steps into the shop, Castiel froze.

He hadn’t meant to listen.

He hadn’t expected to hear anything.

But he had.

And now, every part of him was still—shoulders tense, heart hammering, eyes fixed on the back of Dean Winchester like he could burn through him with sheer silence.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Just waited.

Dean hesitated. Just for a second.

Then smiled.

Forced.

Too wide.

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, voice warm, trying too hard. “That sounds great.”

Lisa brightened. “Awesome! I’ll text you the details?”

Dean nodded. “Cool. Yeah. Totally.”

She reached out and touched his arm lightly before leaving.

The warmth of her hand stayed longer than he expected.

But so did the cold behind him.

He turned—just a little—and caught a flash of a coat, blue eyes quickly looking away, and the sound of a chair sliding at their table across the room.

> Shit.

---

Dean walked over slowly.

Becky was already rattling off ideas with Kevin half-listening. Cas was seated silently across from her, not saying a word, not even looking up when Dean sat down next to him.

Dean glanced at him.

Cas’s face was unreadable.

Eyes forward. Hands folded. Entire body tense like someone had just closed a door too hard in his chest.

Becky didn’t notice.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh. What did I miss?”

Cas finally looked at him.

Cool. Distant. No trace of the softness from before.

“Nothing important,” he said. “We’re waiting on you.”

Dean didn’t know why that stung so badly.

He opened his phone, needing a distraction, and Lisa’s text popped up.

> Lisa: “I’m really glad you said yes 🥺💛”

Dean smiled. Reflex.

Cas’s eyes twitched.

No one noticed—but Dean felt it.

> He heard that.

> He’s hearing all of this, isn’t he?

He didn’t look up.

Couldn’t.

The air between them had gone thin—sharp with things unsaid and hearts trying too hard to beat in opposite directions.

---

Chapter Text

It was funny how silence could get so loud when you were trying to avoid someone.

Dean hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to Castiel since the last coffee shop meetup. And none of them had been the right ones.

Now, they sat at opposite ends of a library table, both pretending they were there just for the project. Just for school. Just for work.

Becky and Kevin had split off to handle their parts elsewhere. It was just the two of them now.

Dean tapped his fingers against his laptop.

Cas flipped a page in his book too carefully.

The air was thick—suffocating.

---

They were supposed to be working on their slides—Cas and Dean had been assigned the opening half of the project. Becky, being Becky, had practically shouted that “the face of the group should match the voice of the soul,” whatever that meant. Dean didn’t ask.

What it meant was now Cas and Dean were alone together a lot more than Dean had planned for. And it was… hell.

Becky had done most of the planning—she’d set up a shared doc, sent reminders, even suggested color schemes like it was prom. Kevin just did what he was told. Cas didn’t say much, and Dean—well. Dean mostly stared at his screen and tried not to think about the way Cas hadn’t really looked at him since the coffee shop.

---

Dean squinted at the screen. The shared document looked fine. Basic. Empty in all the ways that mattered.

> “Add your notes here. Keep it clear.”

Cas had typed that earlier.

No “Hey,” no “Thanks,” no Cas-isms that had started to creep in before everything turned... weird.

Before Lisa.

Before Dean said “yes” to something safe.

Before Cas had overheard every beat of his panic-drenched heart.

---

Dean looked up.

Cas’s eyes were fixed on the page, but his jaw was tight. Like he was reading something he hated.

Or hearing something he couldn’t unhear.

> “Why did it feel like I just punched someone who didn’t even throw the first swing?”

Dean sighed, loud enough that Cas’s eyes flicked up for the first time in twenty minutes.

Their gazes met. Only for a second.

But it was enough to burn.

Dean swallowed. “You good with the first two slides?”

Cas blinked once. Nodded. “Yes.”

Then dropped his gaze again.

Dean stared.

> “Say something else. Say anything. Joke about fonts. Complain about Becky’s emojis. Hell, just look at me like you used to.”

Nothing came.

---

That night, back in his dorm, Dean sat slouched in bed, laptop shut, barely touched dinner on the desk.

His phone lit up.

> Lisa: “You still good for Friday? I’m excited 😊”

He didn’t answer right away.

He tossed the phone on his pillow. Stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

Then picked it back up.

> “Yeah. Still good. Can’t wait.”

He paused.

Deleted the last part.

> “Yeah, all good.”

Sent.

Closed his eyes.

---

Across town, Castiel sat in his room, lights dimmed, a cup of untouched tea beside him. The project tab was still open, but he hadn’t typed a word in over an hour.

He’d heard Dean’s message in his head.

Muted. Filtered. Not loud like before. Like Dean was learning how to dull himself—how to keep Cas out.

> “He’s trying to bury it.”

> “He thinks this is what he has to do.”

Cas closed the laptop gently. Like shutting a door.

But doors never stayed shut around Dean Winchester.

---

The next afternoon

The library meeting started the same.

Quiet shuffling of paper. Low clack of keys.

Dean sat across from Cas again. Tried not to fidget. Tried not to notice how Cas’s sleeves were rolled a little higher today. How his hair looked a little more ruffled.

Cas typed something.

Dean typed nothing.

“Can I...” Dean started, then stopped.

Cas looked up.

Dean floundered. “You wanna swap sections? Like—I don’t mind handling the stats part, if you hate it.”

Cas shook his head slowly. “I prefer it.”

Dean nodded. “Cool. Yeah.”

They worked in silence for another half hour.

But it wasn’t silence. Not really.

It was white noise buzzing between their fingers.

---

When the meeting wrapped, Cas stood.

Dean stood too—but didn’t move.

Cas slung his bag over his shoulder, nodded once, then turned.

Dean watched him go.

> “Stop him. Say anything. Ask about his day. Tell him you didn’t mean to hurt him. That it wasn’t about Lisa—it was about you. About being scared out of your damn mind.”

But the words never came.

Dean let the silence win again.

Outside, the sky was beginning to dim.

---

Chapter Text

The coffee shop was louder than usual, the soft hum of espresso machines barely covering the buzz of voices and clinking mugs. Dean slid into a seat at the back, laptop under one arm, second coffee of the day in the other. He’d arrived early—mostly to avoid another awkward silence with Cas, and maybe to run over the slides before anyone else showed up.

Except he wasn’t the first one.

Lisa was already there, waving at him with a bright grin like she’d been waiting forever.

"Hey, Dean! I got you this," she said, holding out a takeout cup with his name scribbled in careful handwriting.

Dean blinked. "Oh—uh. Thanks?"

Lisa slid into the seat beside him, too close to be casual. Her shoulder bumped his and she didn’t move away. "Hope I got it right. You like caramel, yeah?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. He didn’t remember ever telling her that. Maybe she’d asked Sam. Maybe she just guessed.

Before he could dwell on it, Becky and Kevin arrived in a whirlwind of noise and half-unplugged headphones. Becky plopped down across the table, barely glancing up. Kevin grunted a greeting and opened his notes.

Dean tapped his laptop awake. Lisa was still leaning close. Becky glanced up, doing a quick scan. She arched a brow but didn’t say anything—just smirked and began talking about font consistency like it was war strategy.

They’d been working for ten minutes when the bell over the shop door chimed.

Castiel stepped in.

Dean didn’t see him at first. Lisa laughed at something he’d half-said. Her fingers brushed his arm. Dean flinched at the contact, not because he didn’t like it, but because something shifted in the air the moment Cas entered.

Cas stood a few feet behind Dean, frozen, his gaze locked on the two of them. His eyes flicked down to Lisa’s hand on Dean’s sleeve, then to Dean’s face.

He sat down across from Dean without a word. His expression was unreadable.

“You look comfortable.”

The voice brushed against the inside of Dean’s mind like wind catching the edge of a page. Familiar. Quiet. Heavy.

Dean’s shoulders stiffened. He didn’t reply—not out loud, and not in thought. He hoped Cas hadn’t noticed the way his fingers tensed around his cup.

“She touches you like she’s already yours.”

Dean focused harder on the spreadsheet Kevin was pointing at. Didn’t look up. Didn’t look across.

Lisa leaned in closer. "You think we should use those graphs Becky sent? Or just go with images?"

Dean gave a distracted nod. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever looks cleaner."

Cas didn’t say anything—not out loud. But his thoughts came louder this time.

“You smile more with her.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t smiled once. Not really.

“Do you even hear me anymore?”

That one landed like a punch.

Dean looked up then. Cas was staring down at his notes, pen unmoving, hands too still. Dean opened his mouth, then closed it.

Lisa laughed again. Too loud. Too bright. It grated.

Dean muttered under his breath, "Stop it."

Cas’s eyes flicked to him. Just for a second.

Then Cas closed his laptop with a soft click, not harsh, just… final.

"I think I’ll finish my part at home," he said, tone polite, voice neutral.

Becky barely noticed. Kevin nodded absently. Lisa smiled sweetly. "See you, Cas!"

Cas didn’t return the smile.

Dean watched him turn, bag over one shoulder, shoulders squared like he wasn’t crumbling on the inside.

As he passed through the door, Dean heard it—clearer than any of the others, the last thread of Castiel’s thoughts before he closed himself off completely:

“I wish I’d never heard your voice.”

Dean stared at the empty doorway for a long time.

And Lisa, still beside him, didn’t notice.

---

Chapter Text

The group chat had quieted. Not completely—Becky still spammed ideas at 2 a.m., Kevin sent the occasional PDF—but Castiel hadn’t typed a single word since the last meeting. Not even a read receipt.

Dean noticed. More than he wanted to admit.

At first, he convinced himself Cas was just busy. Or annoyed at something unrelated. But by day three of silence, it felt personal. He sent a short message—“You coming to the next prep meeting?”—and left it at that. No reply.

Lisa was still around. She texted him most nights with links, study notes, and little winks tucked between emojis. She meant well. She didn’t deserve the slow guilt curling in his chest every time her name lit up his phone.

---

Sam noticed before Dean said anything.

They were grabbing breakfast—eggs and burnt toast and silence. Dean was picking at his plate.

“You good?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You seem… off.”

Dean shrugged. “Group project stress, y’know.”

Sam hummed. “That kid—Cas. You two seemed tight. What happened?”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “He’s just intense. It’s whatever.”

Sam didn’t buy it. He stabbed at his pancakes. “You ever think maybe that intensity’s about you?”

Dean looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam raised a brow. “Nothing.”

But the seed had been planted. Dean didn’t say another word.

---

Meg showed up later that day.

Dean had just finished his class when she cornered him outside the building, her arms crossed and expression sharp.

“You got a minute?”

Dean blinked. “Uh. Sure?”

She cut right in. “You know you’re breaking him, right?”

Dean’s stomach flipped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. Castiel.”

Dean looked away. “He’s the one ignoring me, if anything.”

Meg scoffed. “Because he’s trying not to lose it. You either want him or you don’t. But don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t—” Dean started, but she was already walking away.

“Figure it out, Winchester. Before you wreck both of you.”

---

That evening, Lisa texted again. A meme. A casual invite to hang out and finalize the final slides for the presentation. Dean hesitated… and said yes.

They met at the library. She was all smiles and warmth, still oblivious to the storm inside him. She leaned over his laptop screen, her fingers brushing his again. Her laugh rang clear.

Dean sat still. Staring at the empty chat on his phone.

No Castiel.

No voice.

Just silence.

Lisa didn’t notice the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She didn’t see the way he flinched when she called his name too softly. And Dean didn’t explain. Couldn’t explain.

---

The night dragged on. Lisa said goodbye with a hopeful smile. Dean walked home, phone in hand, staring at Cas’s name in their chat thread.

He started typing. Stopped. Deleted.

The silence stretched on.

And Castiel? Still hadn’t said a word.

---

Chapter Text

The group chat buzzed with life again, at least for everyone except Castiel.

Becky had declared a last-minute video call to finalize the slides and divide speaking parts for the presentation. Dean joined late, sitting on his bed, laptop balanced on his knees, the familiar hum of tension already knotting in his chest.

Everyone was there—Becky, Kevin—and after a beat, Castiel’s name blinked into the call. But his camera remained off.

“Cas? You in?” Becky asked.

There was a pause, and then his voice, soft and distant, came through the speaker. “Yes. I’m here.”

Dean’s fingers hovered over the trackpad. He wanted to say something—anything—but Cas didn’t even greet them, didn’t ask how anyone was doing, didn’t ask about progress. He sounded like he hadn’t slept in days.

The others filled the silence with casual chatter and small talk, but Dean only half-listened. He kept glancing at the black square labeled Castiel, wishing it would light up, show his face. He needed to see him. Needed to know if Cas looked as hollow as he sounded.

When Cas finally spoke again, his voice cracked slightly. “Kevin, you can take the first part. I’ll handle the middle.”

Dean barely heard the rest.

---

Somewhere miles away, Castiel sat curled on his bedroom floor, the laptop propped on a nearby chair. His hoodie was pulled tight over his head, the sleeves swallowed his hands. Balthazar was in the living room, loudly making cocktails he wasn’t invited to mix.

Cas didn’t want company. But Balthazar had showed up unannounced, with an armful of bags and a smirk that said I know you won’t turn me away.

And he hadn’t.

He hadn’t said no to a lot of things lately.

Not to Balthazar, not to the hollowness in his chest, and not to the cold certainty that Dean Winchester didn’t want him. Not really.

He rubbed his eyes, sore and red. They’d been stinging for days. Sleep had been a ghost.

His mind spiraled—again—to those early years. When kids in school would wake up and suddenly know. A name written on their palm. A voice whispering in their dreams. A feeling.

He had none of that.

He remembered being seven. Watching his classmates run to the swings, already hand-in-hand with someone they were destined for. One by one, they were chosen. Marked. Found.

He was always the leftover.

He remembered what his mother told him once, her voice so gentle it still echoed: “It may take longer for you. But when it happens, it will be unlike anything else. You’ll be loved in a way that makes the wait worth it.”

Castiel had waited. And then one day, it happened. He heard Dean’s voice—not just in his ears, but in his mind. A connection he couldn’t explain. He clung to it.

But Dean didn’t want him.

Worse—Dean was scared of him.

---

Dean stared at his phone as the video call dragged on. Cas hadn’t said another word after assigning the slides. The screen showed nothing. His voice was a flicker—so quiet it barely felt real.

Dean opened a chat window. Typed: “You okay?”

Then deleted it.

Typed again: “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Backspaced until it was blank.

His phone buzzed.

Lisa. Calling.

Dean stared at the screen. Let it ring until it stopped.

He looked back down at the chat with Cas. The blinking cursor in the message box stared back at him.

He didn’t send anything.

But he thought it. Hard.

And for a second—just a flicker—he felt the echo of his own ache coming back to him.

---

Back in his room, Castiel’s fingers tightened into the fabric of his sleeve.

He didn’t hear words.

But he felt Dean’s sorrow.

Like a thread, tugging tight.

---

Chapter Text

Castiel hadn’t spoken to Dean since the video call.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because what he’d felt during that silence—the ache, the hesitation, the unsent words—had cracked something inside him. He felt rejected. And not just by Dean, but by the universe itself.

Why would the thread lead to someone who doesn’t want me? The thought echoed over and over until it was a scream under his skin.

Balthazar, annoyingly perceptive, picked up on his stormy mood and declared, “We’re going out tonight. Non-negotiable.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel muttered, curling deeper into the couch.

Meg popped her head in from the hallway. “You’re going. You don’t have to like it, you just have to put on pants.”

He tried to resist. He really did. But twenty minutes later, Meg had strong-armed him into a black shirt and dragged him out with Balthazar grinning like a wolf the whole way.

---

Across town, Dean was in the exact same mindset.

“Not going,” he grunted into his pillow.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam groaned. “Jo’s in town for one night. You can’t mope forever.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Sam said, tugging the blanket off him. “Bela’s coming too.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Even more reason to stay home.”

But Sam didn’t back down, and eventually, Jo showed up in person to guilt-trip him into getting dressed.

“I hate you all,” Dean grumbled as they headed to the bar.

Poor Dean.He didn’t know Lisa would be there.

---

Lisa spotted him first.

Her friends leaned in, giggling quietly as they whispered things like, “Maybe it’s fate,” and “You should say hi. He’s totally alone.”

Dean didn’t notice her at first. He was busy mentally checking out, standing near Sam while the group grabbed drinks. Then Lisa tapped him lightly on the arm.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, startled.

“Hey,” she smiled. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Same.”

They made awkward small talk. Lisa’s friends hovered just out of earshot, clearly invested. Then, her voice dropped slightly as she asked, “Wanna dance?”

Dean hesitated.

Every cell in his body screamed no. But saying that aloud felt harsh. So he nodded. “Sure.”

---

At the bar’s far end, Castiel downed another drink, eyes hazy. The warmth in his chest did nothing to dull the cold.

Then he looked across the room—and froze.

Dean. On the dance floor. With Lisa.

They weren’t holding each other close. Dean didn’t look happy. But Castiel’s stomach still twisted violently.

Balthazar leaned closer, smirking. “That who I think it is?”

Castiel said nothing.

---

Dean barely moved with the music. His head buzzed with regret.

He didn’t want to be dancing with Lisa.

He didn’t want to be here.

His heart was somewhere else, and the name at the center of it echoed quietly in his thoughts—Cas.

What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered. Why does it feel like I’m losing something I never even had?

Castiel heard it.

Not the words. But the weight.

He could feel the anguish through the thread like an echo pressing against his ribs. But he mistook it. He thought Dean was disgusted with the connection. That he was ashamed. That the only reason he danced with Lisa was to pretend this tether wasn’t real.

Dean looked up, suddenly sensing eyes on him.

His gaze locked with Castiel’s across the crowd.

Cas looked like he was about to shatter.

Dean stepped away from Lisa immediately.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I—I have to—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He pushed through the crowd, searching for that dark mop of hair and that half-zipped jacket, but by the time he reached the edge of the room, Castiel was already gone.

---

Chapter Text

Dean shoved past the crowd, his heart hammering as he tried to track Cas through the bodies, the music, the neon haze. But the second he reached the front doors of the bar, Castiel was gone.

Not just out of reach—gone.

The street outside buzzed with cars, lights, laughter. But no dark trench coat, no tense shoulders, no stormy blue eyes. Dean looked left, right, spun around once, then again—panic bubbling under his ribs.

"Cas?" he tried, but it got swallowed by the night.

---

Castiel walked fast, practically running.

The cold bit at his skin, and it felt good. It distracted from the ache inside him. The ache that started the second Dean had looked him in the eye and still stayed on that dance floor.

Meg’s voice shouted behind him. “Cas! Where the hell are you going?!”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because if he did, he’d scream. And crying in front of Meg and Balthazar wasn’t an option.

The world blurred as the tears came anyway.

You can’t make someone love you back.

He remembered his mother’s voice. Her hand on his shoulder when he was eight and crying because everyone in his class had already found their soulmate marks—except him. She told him his would come. That when it did, it would feel like magic.

And now that it had… it just hurt.

---

Back at the bar, Meg returned inside, muttering curses under her breath. She scanned the crowd, and sure enough—Dean appeared again, looking around, lost.

“He’s gone,” she said bluntly, cutting off his search.

Dean’s face twisted with confusion and something close to panic. “What? But—”

“I tried to stop him. He wasn’t listening.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, heart thudding painfully.

Balthazar, already a few drinks in, slung an arm lazily over the booth and said, “Y’know, Cas is… fragile. All squishy emotion on the inside. Like a very moody croissant.”

Dean blinked.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ignore him.”

But Dean didn’t. Not really. Because even in Balthazar’s nonsense, something clicked. Cas wasn’t cold. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. Wrecked, even.

Dean sank into the nearest seat, head in his hands.

Why did I say yes to that dance? Why didn’t I just say something, anything, when I saw him standing there?

“I wish I could just show him,” he murmured. “How invested I am. How much this… thing matters. That I’m not trying to run. I just—don’t know how to stand still without screwing it all up.”

His head dropped back, and then—

He felt it.

A whisper. A thought. Raw and jagged, leaking through the soulmate bond like a cry in the dark.

Why did it have to be him? Why would God tie me to someone who won’t even acknowledge me? If this is fate, why does it feel like punishment?

Dean’s heart clenched.

He closed his eyes.

You’re wrong, he thought.

And this time, he pushed it through the bond deliberately.

"You’re so damn wrong."

---

Chapter Text

The coffee shop buzzed with low conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine, but Dean barely heard a word.

Becky was going over presentation points, Kevin chimed in with layout suggestions, Jo was arguing with Bela about color schemes. Dean just stared blankly at the table.

He wasn’t here. Not really.

Not since the bond had pulsed again last night. Not since he heard those godawful thoughts from Cas, so thick with grief it made his lungs feel heavy.

“Alright,” Becky clapped. “We’re good! Kevin, can you drop those templates off at Cas’s? He said he had the files printed at home.”

Before Kevin could answer, Dean finally spoke up.

“I’ll go.”

The entire table went still for a second.

Dean didn’t explain. He just stood, grabbing his bag.

Outside, as he pushed open the door, Lisa appeared in front of him like a carefully timed coincidence.

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

Dean barely looked at her.

“Sorry,” he muttered and brushed past.

---

It didn’t take long to reach Cas’s house. He’d only been here a handful of times, but the path burned in his memory like second nature.

Dean rang the bell, heart pounding. Footsteps shuffled behind the door.

Balthazar opened it, looking vaguely annoyed and wildly overdressed for staying in.

“Well, look who’s here,” he drawled. “Loverboy.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“Your guy’s locked himself in his room. Not speaking. Not eating. Not living, apparently.” He leaned on the doorframe. “Try to knock some sense into him before he drowns in sad indie music and emotional repression.”

Dean opened his mouth.

Balthazar waved him off. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving. Fix what needs fixing.”

And with that, he was gone.

Dean stepped inside, the silence of the house thick and unfamiliar.

He walked slowly down the hallway, heart hammering harder with each step. The bond was heavy. Every breath felt like dragging an anchor.

He stopped outside the closed bedroom door.

Knocked once.

No response.

He placed his palm on the wood. Leaned in.

“Cas…” he whispered. “Hey. I—”

His voice cracked.

“I know you don’t want to hear anything from me right now. And I know I’ve probably screwed this up more than I even realize. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The silence on the other side was deafening.

Dean closed his eyes.

Please, he thought, unsure if it was out loud or sent through the bond. Please just let me in.

And then he reached for the handle.

---

The handle turned with a soft click.

Dean held his breath.

The door creaked open to reveal Cas—barefoot, rumpled, and clearly not sober. His hair was messier than usual, cheeks flushed, and his eyes glassy and unfocused. A bottle of whiskey rested loosely in one hand.

Cas blinked at him.

Then he smiled.

A soft, tipsy, heartbreaking smile.

“My God,” Cas murmured, “I’m drunk enough to even see you here. Not just hear your little ramblings through the damn bond about your so-called new, self-claimed soulmate.”

Dean’s chest tightened.

Cas swayed a little, then reached forward and gently patted Dean’s cheek. His palm was warm, clumsy.

“Look at that,” he whispered. “You feel real.”

Dean closed his eyes at the touch.

That one small contact—fragile and fleeting—felt like the closest thing to home he’d known in years.

When he opened his eyes, Cas was already walking back across the room.

He slumped into his chair by the window, grabbed a second glass from the cluttered side table, and poured a sloppy double pour into both.

“Come on,” he said, lifting his glass. “Let’s drink. To fate. Or irony. Or whatever joke the universe thinks this is.”

Dean stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him.

And for the first time in days, they were finally in the same room—with nowhere left to hide.

---

Chapter Text

Cas stumbled a little as he opened the door, the sharp scent of whiskey lingering in the air. He blinked at Dean, surprise flashing in his eyes before a crooked grin tugged at his lips.

“My god,” Cas murmured, swaying slightly. “I’m drunk enough to see you here. Not just hear you rant in my head about your... self-proclaimed soulmate.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Cas stepped closer, reaching out to brush Dean’s cheek with his fingers. “You even feel real,” he whispered, smile dimming into something fragile.

Dean’s eyes closed at the touch. It was soft, fleeting — but it felt like home. When he opened them, Cas had already turned around and shuffled into the living room.

“Come on,” Cas said as he sank into the couch. He poured two drinks — one for Dean, one for himself. “Sit. Drink with me.”

Dean hesitated before moving to sit beside him. He didn’t touch the drink.

Cas stared into his glass. His voice came quieter now, raw around the edges. “When I was a kid, I thought I was broken. Everyone else found their soulmate so early — seven, ten, fifteen. And me? Nothing. Just… silence.”

He took a shaky sip. “They said maybe I didn’t have one. That the universe forgot me. Even the teachers — they’d give me these soft smiles like I was some kind of charity case.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

“My mom,” Cas went on, voice thinner now, “she used to say, ‘Your soulmate will love you the way no one else can.’ I clung to that. For years, I clung to it.”

He laughed, dry and hollow. “And then it happened. Finally. Late, but it happened. And it was you.”

Dean’s hands were clenched in his lap.

“You — the one who looked at me like I was too much. Who couldn’t even meet my eyes without flinching.” Cas shook his head, glass trembling in his grip. “You made me feel like I was something to be ashamed of.”

Dean stayed silent, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I told myself not to care. That it was just bad timing. That maybe you needed space,” Cas said, wiping a tear with the back of his hand. “But the bond… it doesn’t care about space. Or time. Or whether or not you’re ready.”

He let out a breath, voice barely holding together. “I feel everything when it comes to you. The hurt, the distance, the way you pull away every time I get too close. And I still can’t stop feeling it.”

Dean looked at him then — really looked at him. Cas’s eyes were rimmed red, cheeks damp, expression stripped bare.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Cas whispered. “But I’m so tired of trying to be something you’ll finally want.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He set his glass down and slumped back against the couch, wiping at his face. The words had exhausted him, and it showed in the way his body sagged — shoulders folded in, breath uneven.

Dean still hadn’t spoken. He just sat there, heavy with everything he couldn’t say.

Within minutes, Cas was asleep — or something like it. Curled into himself on the couch, tear tracks still visible, lips parted slightly as his breathing evened out.

Dean stood quietly.

He hovered, unsure. Then he bent down, brushing a gentle kiss to Cas’s forehead.

“Get some rest,” he whispered.

He lingered for a second, then turned, walking to the door.

It clicked shut behind him, the quiet house holding its breath.

---

Chapter Text

Dean sat in his car long after the engine had cooled.

The street outside Cas’s apartment was still, quiet. A couple of porch lights flickered on in the distance, but Dean barely noticed. His fingers were clenched tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white.

He could still hear Cas’s voice — broken, trembling, honest in a way that cut deeper than anything Dean had ever heard.

"I don’t know what I did wrong."

Dean shut his eyes. God.

He hadn’t said anything. Not a word. He just let Cas spill years of pain onto the floor between them and walked away like a goddamn coward.

Not because he didn’t care — but because he cared too much. Because the moment he looked at Cas, really looked at him, everything Dean had been shoving down started clawing its way up.

The guilt. The fear. The ache.

And the truth.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

The bond had never felt louder. It hummed under his skin, insistent and heavy, like it was waiting for him to stop pretending.

Cas’s words echoed again.

"I still felt it. Every bit of it… and I hated loving you."

Dean breathed out a curse and slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

He didn’t want to be this version of himself — the one who couldn’t say the right thing until it was too late. The one who made the person he was meant for feel like a mistake.

Cas had fallen asleep crying on a couch, thinking he wasn’t wanted.

And Dean had let that happen.

A notification lit up his phone. A message from Sam:

> u okay? Kevin said you ghosted the group again.

Dean stared at it.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. For a second, he considered typing something — “I think I messed everything up.” Or maybe “I think I’m in love with him and I didn’t even realize it until now.”

But he didn’t hit send.

Instead, he locked the phone and set it aside. Rested his hands in his lap. Let himself feel.

No distractions. No pretending.

Just the truth.

Cas had told him everything.

Now it was Dean’s turn to figure out what the hell he was going to do with it.

---

Chapter Text

The group chat pinged just before noon:

Cas: I’ll be there today.

Dean stared at the message for a long time, thumbs motionless over the keyboard.

Kevin: Library?

Cas: Yes.

Becky: Took you long enough.

Dean didn’t respond. He just grabbed his keys.

---

Cas was already tucked into his usual seat by the window when Dean arrived at the library. His shoulders were rigid, eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his laptop. He didn’t acknowledge Dean, but Dean felt it — the bond humming, low and strained.

He sat across from him, heartbeat louder than necessary.

Cas didn’t speak.

Neither did Dean.

And still—

“You didn’t answer me.”

Dean’s head jerked slightly. The voice hadn’t been spoken aloud.

It pulsed through their bond, quiet, frayed.

“The other night... you left.”

Dean lowered his gaze. “You were drunk, Cas.”

“And if I hadn’t been?”

Dean looked up. Cas still hadn’t moved — but his eyes, for the first time in days, were locked on Dean’s.

“Would you have kissed me then?”

Dean’s throat closed.

“I would’ve done a lot of things differently.”

“But not that?”

Dean didn’t answer.

Cas’s breath hitched. His fingers gripped the table’s edge.

“You’re ashamed of it,” Cas said, bitterness laced through every word. “You’d rather pretend I didn’t say anything. That nothing happened.”

“That’s not true,” Dean replied.

Cas stood suddenly, too loud for a library. Kevin looked over, eyebrows raised. Becky paused mid-highlight.

Cas sat down again roughly, opening his laptop like a shield.

Becky sighed. “You know what? We can’t talk in here. Too quiet.”

Kevin perked up. “Café down the street?”

Cas muttered, “Fine.”

---

The coffee shop buzzed with quiet energy, all mismatched mugs and indie music. They settled at a corner booth, laptops out, Becky setting the pace with sharp Post-It notes and snappy assignments.

Cas said nothing. He hadn’t looked at Dean once since they left the library.

Dean, meanwhile, was unraveling.

Because the bond hadn’t quieted. If anything, it was louder now — every unspoken word between them hanging thick in the air.

Then the café door chimed.

Dean looked up—and time stuttered.

Lisa Braeden stepped inside, raven hair loose around her shoulders, casual and warm and elegant. Her eyes lit up when she saw Dean.

“Hey,” she said, walking over. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Dean blinked. “Hey—uh, yeah. Group thing.”

She smiled and slid into the seat beside him. “Just wanted to ask about the dance. You’re still coming, right?”

He nodded automatically. “Yeah. I said I would.”

“Perfect,” she said, her hand brushing his arm. “You’ll make the night better, you know.”

And that’s when it snapped.

“There she is,” Cas’s voice echoed in Dean’s mind. Sharp, steady.

Dean flinched slightly.

“Your soulmate. The one you actually want.”

Dean clenched his jaw.

Across the booth, Cas still hadn’t looked up. But his mind was blazing through the bond.

“The one you don’t have to explain. Or apologize for.”

Dean’s heart twisted.

“She suits you, Dean.” A pause. “You should go with her. Pretend I never said anything.”

Dean opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t worry,” Cas added, cold and quiet. “I get it now.”

Cas shut his laptop and stood up.

“Wait—” Dean said aloud.

Becky looked up, confused. “Cas? We haven’t even—”

“I’ll catch up later,” Cas muttered. “Got other things to do.”

He turned to go.

Dean stood instinctively, fingers twitching toward him. “Cas—just talk to me.”

Cas stopped just long enough to say, barely above a whisper, “We already did.”

Then he walked out.

Lisa blinked. “Was that... okay?”

Dean sank into the seat, pulse racing.

Across the table, Kevin muttered under his breath, “Someone’s gonna need a rewrite of this project... and maybe their life.”

Dean didn’t laugh.

He was too busy drowning in the silence Cas left behind.

Chapter Text

The party was loud, bright, and far too warm. Dean hadn’t wanted to come, not really. But Lisa had smiled, and he’d said yes out of habit. It was easier than explaining the war going on in his head.

The last thing he expected was Cas.

Balthazar had dragged him in, but Castiel didn’t look forced. He looked... resigned. Hair neatly styled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his throat. And when Ishim held out his hand, Cas took it without pause.

Dean stiffened.

"You look like you're about to set the place on fire," Lisa laughed, touching his arm. “Wanna dance?”

Dean hesitated — then nodded.

They moved slowly under the lights, Lisa talking about the music, the people. Dean tried to listen, but his eyes kept drifting across the room.

To Cas.

To Ishim.

To the way Cas was letting himself be led, hand on Ishim’s shoulder, chin tilted like he wasn’t fully in the moment.

And then — Cas looked at him.

Locked eyes with Dean over Ishim’s shoulder and smiled. Sharp. Knowing.

"You jealous?" Cas’s voice echoed in Dean’s head. Their bond — quiet these past few days — flared like a struck match.

Dean gritted his teeth.

"Don’t do that."

"Do what? Dance? Or use the bond you keep pretending doesn't exist?"

Dean twirled Lisa, keeping his jaw tight.

"You’re trying to piss me off."

Cas’s response was instant. "It’s working."

Dean watched as Ishim leaned in and said something near Cas’s ear. Cas didn’t move — but his gaze never left Dean’s.

"Is this what you want?" Dean asked, pulse pounding. "Him?"

"Isn’t this what you want?" Cas shot back. "She fits. She smiles when you smile. She doesn’t hide. You look good together."

Lisa laughed softly in front of him, completely unaware.

"You’re drunk on spite, Cas."

"And you’re drunk on denial."

Dean’s hand tightened at Lisa’s waist.

Across the room, Cas slid closer to Ishim — not by much. But enough.

"If you don’t want me," Cas murmured in his mind, "then why are you staring like that?"

Dean had had enough.

"I swear to God, Cas—"

"Can you even do something about it?"

Dean sighed.

"See? Just leave it for your own good and focus on your date." Cas provoked him enough

Challenge accepted.

Dean didn’t excuse himself. He simply stopped mid-step, dropped Lisa’s hand, and crossed the floor with intent. Cas raised an eyebrow as he approached, unbothered.

Ishim turned when Dean reached them — but before he could speak, Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist.

“Excuse us,” Dean said tightly.

Cas didn’t resist.

Didn’t even look at Ishim as he was led away.

Chapter Text

The music still pulsed behind them, dulled by hallway walls and distance. Dean hadn’t spoken since dragging Castiel away from the dance floor. His grip had loosened but hadn’t let go until they reached a dim corridor just past the restrooms, tucked away behind polished banquet doors.

Cas yanked his wrist free, glaring. “What the hell was that?”

Dean opened his mouth, stalled, then closed it again.

“No, say it,” Cas pressed, voice sharp. “Because from where I stood, it looked like you couldn’t handle someone else touching me. Even though you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want to.”

“That’s not—” Dean tried.

Cas didn’t let him finish. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to keep me at arm’s length, stringing me along, only to act like I’ve betrayed you when I dare to move a single inch away.”

Dean flinched. “It wasn’t like that, Cas—”

“Then tell me what it was like,” Cas snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, it felt like you wanted me hidden. Erased. Something to bury under smiles with Lisa and polite lies.”

Dean looked down. He couldn’t meet his eyes.

“You made me feel like I was something to be ashamed of,” Cas said, quieter now, but no less furious. “You left me dangling in silence for days. And now suddenly you show up, rip me away from someone who actually looked at me like I mattered, and you don’t even have a damn reason?”

Dean’s chest rose and fell with short, heavy breaths.

Cas stepped back. “You don’t want to choose me. You just want me not to be chosen by anyone else.”

He turned, beginning to walk away.

Dean reached out. “Cas—wait.”

Cas didn’t stop.

Dean caught his hand again — gentler this time. “Don’t go. Please.”

Cas hesitated.

“I’m not done,” Dean said, breath catching. “Let me fix this. Because I’m—I'm done fighting myself.”

Cas turned slowly, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

Dean’s voice trembled, but the words were steady. “If it’s you… If the universe chose you for me… then fine. Let it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it. I’m tired of acting like you don’t matter, when you’re the only one who does.”

Silence stretched between them.

Cas stared at him, stunned — raw and bruised, but listening.

“I can’t change the way I’ve hurt you,” Dean continued. “I know that. But I can stop running. And if you’ll let me… I’ll start trying to be worthy of what we have.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a long moment. But he didn’t pull his hand away either.

And that — for now — was enough.

---

Chapter Text

Castiel didn’t mean to end up alone again. It just kept happening — people talking around him, music pulsing too loud, the heat of the crowd suffocating. He had stepped out for air and found the rooftop terrace by accident.

It was quiet here. Mostly. Quiet enough to hear his own thoughts.

He sat on the stone ledge, elbows on his knees, staring into nothing, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The wind tugged gently at his shirt.

He didn’t look up when the bond shifted. He felt Dean long before he heard him — a pull in the chest, a sting behind the ribs. Always the same ache.

“I figured you’d come up here,” Dean said softly, like if he spoke too loud Cas would disappear.

Cas didn’t answer. The bond was warm and tense between them, stretched but not snapping. He didn’t want it to snap. Not now.

Dean leaned on the opposite wall, hands in his jacket pockets. “You always run when you’re about to say something real.”

Cas flicked ash over the ledge. “And you always show up when I least want to see you.”

Dean gave a short laugh. “But you never actually tell me to leave.”

Silence.

Cas looked up at him finally. “Why are you here, Dean?”

Dean didn’t move. “Because you’re here.”

That shouldn’t have landed the way it did. It shouldn’t have made Cas’s throat tighten or his hands shake, but it did. He looked away again, jaw clenched. “You didn’t want this. You made that clear.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted,” Dean said. “I was scared. I thought if I kept my distance, I could control it. But I was wrong. And I hurt you.”

Cas’s voice was low and sharp. “You did.”

Dean took a breath. “And I know saying sorry won’t fix anything. But I’m here anyway.”

The bond crackled — not violently, but intensely, like static before a storm. Cas felt the words before they were said.

“I miss you.”

Dean said it aloud, like it had been waiting on his tongue for years.

Cas stood up slowly, cigarette forgotten.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Dean took a step forward, only one. “I miss you.”

The distance shrank. The air thinned. They were standing face to face now, barely a breath between them.

Cas searched his face, all of it — the regret, the hesitation, the longing.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak.

He just kissed him.

Soft, slow, trembling at first. But Dean responded like he’d been holding his breath for chapters — weeks — years. His hands cupped Cas’s jaw gently, reverently, like he thought Cas might shatter. And maybe he would’ve, if it had come any earlier. But now?

Now it just felt like relief.

The bond didn’t burn. It didn’t scream.

It just settled — a soft, warm hum that said finally.

When they pulled back, Cas didn’t let go.

“I’m still angry,” he murmured.

Dean nodded. “You should be.”

“But I wanted to kiss you anyway.”

Dean smiled faintly. “Then we’re both guilty.”

They stood in the quiet, pressed close, no longer fighting the pull.

---

Chapter Text

The One Where the World Stops Watching

Cas kissed him again.

Not gently. Not cautiously. Not like he was asking permission.

Like he meant it. Like he had been waiting his whole life for the chance to just do it.

Dean barely registered the moment their lips met — just the sudden warmth, the way Cas grabbed his collar, the soft hitch in his breath as their mouths moved, desperate and too much, and not enough.

Dean didn’t stop him.

He surged forward instead, arms wrapping around Cas’s waist, pulling him in like he was trying to memorize the shape of him by touch alone. Cas gasped into the kiss, fingers slipping up into Dean’s hair, tugging hard like he didn’t trust any of this to be real unless he left marks.

The room spun. The music thumped faintly through the walls, but none of it mattered. It was all static. All white noise.

Cas pressed Dean against the wall just outside the balcony doors, and Dean let him, head tipped back, lips parting again under the weight of another kiss — this one even more bruising.

Their bond pulsed between them, loud and glowing. You’re mine. You’re real. I want this. Neither said it aloud, but both heard it.

And then—

“Dean?”

They froze.

Dean’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Lisa standing in the hallway — wide-eyed, stunned, the polite smile she always wore dropped like a glass on tile.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to— Sorry.”

She turned around and walked off before either of them could speak.

Dean dropped his head back against the wall with a dull thunk, his arms still locked tight around Cas’s waist. Cas hadn’t moved. His fingers were still curled in Dean’s jacket, his mouth swollen from the kiss, his body stiff like he’d been carved from stone.

Dean exhaled hard, chest heaving.

“Well,” he muttered, “that could’ve gone worse.”

Cas didn’t say anything.

Dean pulled back just enough to see his face. “You okay?”

Cas looked at him — dazed, blinking like he wasn’t sure what year it was. “She saw.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure we both saw her see.”

Cas finally let go of Dean’s collar, straightening up, but not backing away.

Dean’s hand stayed firm on his waist. “You wanna get out of here?”

Cas hesitated. “I was going to go home.”

Dean’s face shifted — the smallest flicker of disappointment before he nodded. “Right. Yeah.”

“But—” Cas interrupted, voice lower now, more certain, “—only if you come with me.”

Dean stilled.

Cas met his eyes. “If you want to.”

Dean’s fingers curled a little tighter at his side, lips twitching with something caught between relief and something far more dangerous.

“I want to,” he said. “I really, really want to.”

Cas exhaled, then nodded once. “Then let’s go.”

And together, without a word to anyone else, they slipped out of the party. Out of the noise. Out of the pretending.

Into something that, finally, felt real.

Chapter Text

Cas found Meg leaning by the drinks table, Balthazar halfway through a dramatic retelling of someone else's scandal. They both turned when they saw him approach.

“You look like hell,” Meg said, sipping her wine.

“I’m leaving,” Cas said simply, voice low and firm.

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “Alone?”

Cas didn’t answer right away. He just gave them a look — a quiet mix of exhaustion, clarity, and something heavier. Like he was done fighting everything and everyone, including himself.

Meg’s smirk faltered. “You okay?”

“I will be,” Cas said, and then he turned.

Across the room, Dean was talking to Lisa. His head was slightly bowed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck — a familiar gesture when guilt curled at his edges.

“I didn’t mean for tonight to be like this,” Dean was saying. “I know you didn’t sign up for… all this.”

Lisa gave a soft, understanding nod. “You didn’t ruin it. I think I was already starting to realize it wasn’t going anywhere. Not really.”

Dean’s eyes met hers, apologetic. “I’m sorry anyway.”

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “Go do whatever your heart’s clearly screaming at you to do.”

Cas didn’t wait to hear more. He walked right up, eyes locked on Dean. No words. Just the heat of everything unspoken simmering between them.

Dean turned, sensing him even before he arrived.

Cas grabbed his hand.

And Dean let himself be pulled.

Out of the party. Past the lights and voices and music. Into the cool night.

Into Baby.

The silence between them was loaded, but not heavy. Dean’s hand stayed in Cas’s the whole ride. Neither spoke, but neither needed to. The bond hummed warm and full — like their hearts were no longer pushing in opposite directions.

Dean parked outside Cas’s apartment. He cut the engine but didn’t move, just looked over. Cas turned toward him, the low street lamp outside casting golden shadows across his face.

“I didn’t want to go home alone,” Cas said. “Not tonight.”

Dean swallowed. “You’re not going to.”

They walked upstairs together — quiet, hearts thudding loud in their chests.

Cas unlocked the door and stepped in, letting the soft light from a single lamp warm the dim room. Dean hesitated at the threshold, and Cas turned back, offering him a silent invitation.

Dean came in.

The door clicked shut behind him.

---

Chapter Text

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the world seemed to narrow into silence — except for the shared breath between them, heavy with everything unspoken.

Dean turned around just in time for Cas to press him against the door, the cool wood biting into his spine as Cas leaned in and kissed him.

It was rough. Sudden. Like something that had been caged far too long had finally snapped its restraints.

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, the shock of it freezing him for a second — and then he kissed back. Fully. Hungrily. Like they’d both been starving for the same thing and had only now realized it.

Cas's hands gripped Dean's jacket like it anchored him to this moment. Dean let it happen for a beat, heart pounding, bond flaring in quiet waves between them.

Then he gently placed his hands on Cas’s shoulders. Not to push him away — just to pause him.

“You done being jealous of Lisa now?” Dean asked, not aloud, but through their bond — a thought soft and warm, threaded with affection. “I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere. Least of all to her.”

Cas stilled, lips just a breath away from Dean’s. His eyes burned with a different kind of fire now — clearer, but no less intense.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at Dean, breathing him in like oxygen.

Then, barely above a whisper, Cas leaned in, his lips brushing the edge of Dean’s ear as he murmured, “Nope. Not done yet.”

The words sent a shiver down Dean’s spine — not just the sound of them, but the way they slid through the bond, bold and unmistakably sure.

And Dean? Dean didn't even pretend to fight it anymore.

Chapter Text

The door shut behind them with a quiet click, and for a moment, the world fell away. Only the soft hum of the night outside, the muted sound of their breath, and the stillness between them remained.

Dean stood with his back to the door, chest rising and falling as he looked at Cas—really looked at him. The tension between them was taut, but not angry. It was thick with want, with the unsaid, with everything that had been bubbling under the surface for too long.

Cas stepped forward, slowly. His hands came up to Dean’s face like he was still afraid he might disappear if touched too suddenly. “I want this,” he said quietly, honestly.

Dean swallowed. “Me too.”

They met in the middle, lips brushing softly at first—tentative, testing. But once they had each other, neither seemed able to stop. Cas pressed closer, hands slipping into Dean’s hair, kissing deeper now, with heat and hunger.

Dean moaned low in his throat, and it was like a switch flipped inside Cas.

Cas kissed him harder, walking him backward until Dean’s back met the bedroom wall. Dean pulled him closer, fingers gripping the fabric of Cas’s coat like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Clothes came off in slow, breathless pieces. Cas was careful, reverent even, taking his time as he slid Dean’s jacket off his shoulders, undid each button of his shirt. Dean’s hands were rougher, a little more frantic, but his eyes never left Cas’s face—not even for a second.

When they were bare, the air between them buzzed with something tender and raw. Their chests touched, skin against skin, and the warmth was dizzying.

“You sure?” Cas whispered against Dean’s jaw, his breath hot.

Dean nodded, his voice rough. “Yeah. Just… go slow. We’ve never… y’know.”

“I know,” Cas said. “I will.”

They made their way to the bed, Cas guiding Dean gently down onto his back. He kissed him again, slower this time. Devotional.

Cas reached for the lube in the drawer, pausing only long enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Dean nodded, legs slightly parted in anticipation, and trust shone in his gaze.

Cas’s fingers were careful—gentle as he circled and stroked and pressed. Dean tensed at first, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey,” Cas murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

Dean relaxed, slowly, with every soothing word Cas gave him, every kiss to his chest, every careful stretch of his fingers. One finger. Then two. Then a third.

It wasn’t perfect. Dean winced here and there, and Cas paused every time, checking in.

But they got there.

When Cas finally pressed in—slow and deep—Dean let out a shaky breath. The fullness was new, strange, but not unwelcome. His hands slid up Cas’s back, holding on.

Cas stilled completely, forehead resting against Dean’s. “You okay?”

Dean smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just… don’t move yet.”

They stayed like that—pressed close, breathing together—for long moments. Then, slowly, Cas began to move. Each thrust was unhurried, careful, made with intent rather than force.

Dean’s hands found Cas’s face. “Look at me,” he whispered.

Cas did. And when he did, something in Dean broke open.

It was everything—the soft creak of the mattress, the heat building between them, the trust wrapped inside every movement, every glance. And through it all, the bond hummed.

Their souls recognized each other long before their bodies had. But now, for the first time, they weren’t just connected. They were one.

Cas kissed him through it. Deep and slow and reverent.

And when Dean came, it was with a gasp of Cas’s name and tears in his eyes.

Cas followed soon after, collapsing into Dean’s arms, burying his face into his neck.

They stayed like that—sweaty, trembling, tangled together beneath the sheets.

Neither of them said “I love you.”

Not yet.

But it was there. In every touch. In the silence that needed no filling. In the way Cas’s hand never left Dean’s chest. In the way Dean’s thumb rubbed slow circles on Cas’s back.

It was enough. For tonight, it was everything.

---

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds, painting golden lines across the sheets tangled around them. Castiel stirred first, blinking slowly as his senses adjusted. His back was warm, pressed against Dean’s chest, one strong arm slung lazily around his waist.

For a moment, Cas just stayed there. Breathing in the quiet. Letting the weight of what they’d done settle into something solid — not guilt, not confusion, just... real.

Dean groaned softly behind him, pressing his face into Cas’s shoulder. “God,” he mumbled. “Why’s the sun so damn loud?”

Cas huffed a laugh.

Dean tightened his grip, not quite ready to let go. “What time is it?”

Cas turned enough to check his phone on the nightstand. “Ten thirty.”

Dean blinked awake at that. “Shit. We missed the group meeting.”

“And our study session,” Cas added, but he didn’t sound sorry.

Dean sighed and flopped onto his back, dragging the covers up over his face dramatically. “We are terrible students.”

“We are,” Cas said softly, rolling onto his side to face him. “But maybe, just this once, we had something more important to do.”

Dean lowered the covers and looked at him. Really looked. And it hit him again — the soul-deep rightness of it. Of waking up next to him.

“Cas,” he said, voice low, still raspy with sleep. “You know last night wasn’t... just a thing, right? Like, I didn’t — I’m not walking away from it.”

Cas blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in tone.

Dean swallowed, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Cas’s forehead. “Go out with me. For real. Like, actual date. Not just stolen moments or dances at parties or... making out until we forget we’re supposed to be functional adults.”

Cas’s lips twitched. “You’re asking me out while you’re still half under the covers, your hair a mess, and you forgot about the world outside this room?”

Dean smirked. “Is that a yes?”

Cas leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s a yes.”

Dean grinned against his mouth. “Cool. But, uh, we should probably text the group. Let them know we’re alive.”

Cas sighed, already regretting the idea of facing Becky’s inevitable spam of ‘WHERE R U??’ texts.

“I’ll text. You make coffee?”

Dean stretched, groaning. “I just asked you out. And already I’m the coffee guy?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “You did forget the group meeting. That deserves some level of penance.”

Dean groaned louder but slid out of bed, muttering something about divine punishment as he grabbed his shirt.

Cas smiled to himself, heart full, body aching in the best way, and a rare peace settling in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, the day ahead felt good. Not because it was easy — but because it started with Dean.

---

Chapter Text

Cas handed him a mug. “You should go home and get ready. You’ve got that meeting.”

Dean took a sip and nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll be back.”

Cas didn’t doubt it.

---

At the Winchester household, breakfast was already on the table. Sam sat with his tablet open, clearly mid-research. Mary and John were seated across from him, quiet but alert. When Dean walked in, hoodie pulled over his head, they all looked up.

“You’re late,” Mary said. “And you look like you haven’t slept.”

Dean grabbed a glass of orange juice. “I did sleep. Just… not here.”

John frowned. “You okay, son?”

Dean sat down and reached for a slice of toast. “Yeah. Actually, I think I am.”

Mary exchanged a glance with John. “Where were you?”

Dean chewed slowly, swallowed. “With someone. Someone important.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up. “Cas?”

Dean nodded. “He’s my soulmate.”

There was a pause — not heavy, not cold. Just… surprised.

John cleared his throat. “Well, alright.”

Mary gave a small smile. “I hope he’s good to you.”

“He is.”

Dean stood again. “I gotta go. Group project meeting. I’ll grab breakfast at the café.”

As he reached the hallway, he pulled out his phone and called Cas.

“You up or still passed out?” Dean asked when Cas picked up.

“I’m up,” Cas said. “And dressed. Somewhat.”

Dean grinned. “Meet you at the café in twenty?”

“Make it thirty. I told Meg I’d buy her coffee. She wants an update.”

Dean chuckled. “I bet she does.”

---

Back at Cas’s place, he was tugging on his sweater when his phone buzzed again — a video call this time.

He sighed and answered.

Meg’s smirking face filled the screen. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man of the hour.”

Cas blushed instantly. “I’m meeting you in thirty minutes. Must this interrogation happen now?”

“Damn right it must,” Meg purred. “You’ve got that just-got-laid glow, babe. Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not—” Cas tried, but she cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me with those flushed cheeks. I invented post-soulmate hookup blushing.”

Cas gave her a fond glare. “Coffee. Thirty minutes.”

She winked. “Can’t wait.”

As the call ended, Cas stared at himself in the mirror for a moment. His reflection didn’t look any different. But inside?

He felt like everything had shifted

Chapter Text

Cas arrived at the café first, his hair still slightly damp from a rushed shower and his coat barely buttoned over his sweater. He tucked himself into a corner booth, trying to look casual despite the jittery nerves. The place smelled like roasted beans and syrup, and sunlight pooled on the floor through the wide windows.

He checked his phone.

No new texts.

But he didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, Dean walked in, wind-blown and warm from the sun, eyes immediately searching the café before locking onto Cas. He gave a small smile—the kind that was still a little shy but unmistakably real.

Cas couldn’t help returning it.

Dean slid into the seat across from him. “You beat me here?”

“Miracles do happen,” Cas murmured, sipping his coffee.

Before either of them could dive deeper into the moment, a voice chirped beside the table.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brooding academic,” Meg said, sliding into the booth beside Cas without asking.

Cas nearly choked on his coffee.

Dean chuckled lowly. “You told her?”

Cas gave him a helpless look.

Meg narrowed her eyes. “Told me? No. But I’m not blind. You disappear mid-party, your hair’s a mess, and now you’re glowing like you swallowed the moon.”

Dean smirked. “He’s blushing.”

“I am not,” Cas muttered, but his ears said otherwise.

Meg leaned on the table, smirking at Dean. “So, you finally pulled your head out of your—”

“Meg,” Cas warned.

Dean just laughed. “Fair.”

She winked at Cas. “You owe me two coffees for keeping your secret that long. Also, I want details later. Not the gross ones. Maybe the gross ones. We’ll see.”

Cas groaned softly.

Meg got up with a smirk. “Anyway, enjoy your tragic gay brunch. I’ll see you losers later.”

As she walked off, Dean leaned forward, his voice softer. “She’s not wrong, though.”

Cas raised a brow. “About what?”

“You’re glowing.”

That earned him a quiet scoff and averted eyes, but Cas couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

They stayed there, talking about nothing and everything—about their group project, the upcoming deadline, the library’s bad Wi-Fi, and how neither had slept much lately for very different reasons.

Then Cas glanced at the time and tilted his head. “We’re supposed to meet the group in fifteen minutes.”

Dean groaned. “Right. Kevin’s probably typing a five-paragraph passive-aggressive essay in the group chat already.”

“He started thirty minutes ago,” Cas said, checking his phone. “We’re featured by name.”

They stood and made their way to the back of the café, where the team had pushed two tables together by the windows. Kevin was furiously typing something into his laptop while Becky animatedly scrolled through Pinterest boards for design references.

Becky spotted them first. “Oh my god,” she mouthed, eyes darting between the two.

Kevin just looked up and sighed, muttering, “About time.”

Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, we got coffee distracted.”

Cas quietly slid into a chair across from Becky. Dean sat beside him—not too close, but not too far either. The distance between them was careful. Respectful. But anyone with eyes could see the shift.

Becky narrowed her eyes, then gave Cas a small grin. “You good?”

“I’m... managing,” Cas said quietly.

“Managing,” Kevin echoed, not looking up. “Managing is not submitting a 40-slide pitch deck three hours before class because someone forgot what day it was.”

Cas blinked. “You actually did that?”

Kevin muttered, “Because I knew you wouldn’t.”

Dean laughed. “He’s got you pegged, Cas.”

Cas didn’t respond, just gave Kevin a slight nod—one of gratitude, the kind Kevin didn’t acknowledge but clearly understood.

Becky, sensing the moment, leaned over her laptop toward Cas and whispered, “I’ll ask you later.” Then she turned back with the most forced, exaggerated casualness in the world.

Dean nudged Cas gently under the table with his knee.

And Cas, for once, didn’t pull away.

---

Chapter Text

The café buzzed with soft conversation and the hum of machines, sunlight slanting through the windows in warm golden strips. Dean stirred his coffee absently, eyes flicking across the table to where Cas sat beside Meg. Their knees brushed every now and then, but Cas hadn’t looked his way once since they sat down.

Becky and Kevin were deep in conversation, laptop screens up, notes spread between them like they were prepping for war. The project was the excuse. The tension? That was all Dean and Cas.

“So,” Kevin said, not looking up, “we’re still aiming to present by next Friday, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, a little too quickly. “Friday’s good.”

Cas didn’t respond.

Meg raised an eyebrow and leaned in slightly toward Cas. “You gonna stay moody the whole time, or just until he cracks?” she whispered, not that quietly.

Cas didn’t react. He flipped through the pages of his notebook, jaw tight.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, if we’re doing this, we need to talk.”

“We’re already talking,” Cas said flatly, still not looking at him.

“I meant you and me,” Dean said. “Properly.”

That finally earned him a glance. Brief, sharp, and unreadable.

Kevin coughed loudly. “Should we… give you guys a minute?”

“No need,” Cas said quickly, and Meg elbowed him.

“Cas,” she muttered, “stop being a brick wall.”

Dean stood. “Okay. I do need a minute. With Cas.”

Cas blinked, surprised, but didn’t resist when Dean reached for his arm and gently pulled him up. They stepped outside, into the sunlight and soft street noise.

Cas crossed his arms. “Dean—”

“I know I messed up,” Dean said, voice low. “I know it took me too long. But I meant what I said last night. About not fighting it anymore.”

Cas watched him quietly, still guarded, but softer now.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Dean added. “But… I just wanted you to know I’m all in. Whatever this is. Us.”

There was a long pause, then Cas looked away, lips twitching slightly.

“You dragged me out in front of Kevin and Becky to tell me that?” he asked.

Dean grinned. “Well, I figured it was more respectful than pinning you to a door again.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Come on,” Dean said, nudging him. “We’ve got work to do. Plus, Kevin might combust if we’re late again.”

They went back inside, and for the first time all morning, Cas sat a little closer than before. And when their knees brushed again, this time, he didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

They stepped out of the café together, the late afternoon sun casting a golden warmth over the sidewalk. Their hands brushed once, then again, and finally Dean took the hint and curled his fingers around Castiel’s. Cas didn’t pull away.

For a few steps, they walked in silence — not tense, not awkward. Just full. Content. Like the air between them didn’t need to be filled with words anymore.

Dean was the one to break the quiet.

“You know,” he started, voice casual, “I wasn’t kidding back there.”

Cas turned his head. “About what?”

Dean glanced down at their joined hands, then back at the road ahead. “Us. Dating. For real.”

“I assumed you weren’t,” Cas said softly, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

Dean chuckled nervously. “Good. 'Cause I’m serious about this, Cas. I mean—” he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, “—I used to think the bond was just some messed-up cosmic thing. A joke, even. But... turns out, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”

Cas slowed his steps slightly, gaze focused on Dean.

“And maybe that means someday we... I don’t know, do something stupid like get married.” Dean laughed under his breath, almost embarrassed. “Or adopt a kid or two. Something crazy like that.”

He looked back at Cas — who had very visibly stopped breathing.

“Oh God,” Dean said, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean right now. I mean eventually. If we—if you’d even want that. Someday. Not today. I’m not proposing—”

Cas, bright pink now, finally exhaled a shaky laugh. “Dean.”

“What?”

“I’m not running.”

“Oh,” Dean said, blinking. “That’s a first.”

Cas rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of his hand. “It was... surprising. But not unwelcome.”

Dean relaxed again, letting out a slow breath. Then he nudged Cas with his shoulder, playful again. “Wanna grab a drink tonight? My treat.”

Cas turned toward him, cheeks still slightly pink. “Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date.”

Cas smiled. “Then yes.”

Dean grinned, feeling a strange flutter in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years. Not fear. Not dread. Just... something like hope.

Chapter Text

Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing over at Cas with a lazy grin. “So… I’m pickin’ you up at seven?”

Cas looked ahead, unreadable as ever, but there was the faintest curve to his lips. “That sounds perfect”

Dean smirked, teeth tugging at his bottom lip for just a second.

They reached the small split in the sidewalk where they’d part ways — one heading toward the school lot, the other toward the neighborhood strip. Dean hesitated. The moment hung there, soft and warm and full of possibilities.

He leaned in and brushed a kiss to Cas’s cheek, casual and quick. “See you tonight.”

But before he could pull back fully, Cas’s hand curled around his collar, tugging him forward. Dean blinked just as Cas’s lips met his — not hurried, not unsure, just steady and certain and completely Cas.

Dean froze for half a second, then melted into it, hands still stuck in his pockets like he didn’t trust them to behave. When they parted, Cas simply looked at him, calm and composed, while Dean just stood there blinking.

“Bye, Dean,” Cas said, turning and walking away like he hadn’t just short-circuited Dean’s entire brain.

Dean stood in place for a full five seconds before he remembered how to move.

He didn’t stop blushing until he was halfway up the steps to his front door.

Dean stepped inside, toeing off his boots at the door. The house smelled like fresh coffee and toast — Sam must’ve left recently, which meant…

“Dean?” Mary’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

He winced. “Hey, Mom.”

She peeked out from the kitchen doorway, wearing that same look she always had when she knew something was up — soft but far too observant. “You’re late. I thought you went out just for coffee with your group.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, lips still faintly curved despite the ambush. “Yeah. I mean… we did. I just… walked Cas home after.”

Mary stepped into the hall fully now, a towel in her hand, eyes narrowing playfully. “Cas, huh?”

Dean gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s a thing now.”

Mary blinked. “Oh.”

“I mean, it’s—he’s…” Dean let out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “He’s my soulmate, Mom.”

Her gaze softened immediately. “I know.”

Dean looked up. “Wait, what?”

Mary chuckled, walking closer and placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Honey, I’m your mother. I’ve seen the way you talk about him — the way you light up when his name comes up. I didn’t want to push. But I’m glad… I’m so glad.”

Dean swallowed the sudden knot in his throat.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said, then paused. “Is he?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I think… I think we both are finally getting there.”

There was a shuffle behind them — John, leaning on the wall, arms crossed but relaxed.

“You know,” his dad said, “I wasn’t sure about all this soulmate stuff before. But if he makes you this stupidly happy, I guess I can learn to believe in it.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Thanks, Dad.”

Mary smiled and nudged Dean’s arm. “We want to meet him properly. Maybe he can come over for Christmas dinner?”

Dean blinked. “Whoa. That’s—uh, yeah. I think he’d like that.”

He felt warm all over again. Not from the kiss this time, but from the quiet, steady way his world was finally falling into place.

__________________

Cas was already waiting by the Impala when Dean pulled up. He was wearing black, sleek slacks and a navy button-up that somehow made his eyes even more intense in the soft glow of the streetlight. He didn't smile, but Dean could tell — from the way he tilted his head and shifted a little closer — that he was glad to see him.

"You look good," Dean said, a little breathless.

"So do you," Cas replied, voice low.

Dean opened the passenger door for him with a dramatic bow, earning a quiet chuckle before Cas slid in. They drove in comfortable silence, soft music humming in the background, the bond between them humming like static just under the skin. Warm. Constant.

Their destination wasn’t flashy — a cozy, dimly-lit bar downtown where Dean knew the bartender and the music was mellow. Just what they needed.

Over drinks and shared appetizers, conversation came easy. They talked about stupid things — favorite horror movies, the worst books they'd read for assignments, the weirdest things Kevin had said in the group chat lately.

Then, over the rim of his glass, Cas tilted his head. “You told your family.”

Dean looked up, surprised. “How’d you know?”

Cas gave a pointed look. “You’ve been blushing like a kid all evening.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright. I did. This morning.”

“And?” Cas asked, fingers idly brushing against Dean’s across the table.

“They were cool. Mom wants to meet you properly. For Christmas.”

Cas blinked. “Christmas?”

Dean nodded, suddenly nervous. “Too soon?”

“No,” Cas said softly. “Just… unexpected. But not unwelcome.”

Dean exhaled slowly, relief softening the lines around his mouth. “Good.”

They lingered there for a while longer, neither in a rush to leave. When they finally did, Dean walked Cas to his apartment — but it was different this time. No questions, no confusion. Just that same hum beneath the skin. Steady. Right.

At Cas’s door, Dean hesitated. “So… this was a date, right?”

Cas leaned closer. “It better have been.”

Dean chuckled, eyes fluttering shut as Cas leaned in and kissed him — slow, certain, without hesitation.

And when they finally pulled back, Cas didn’t let go of his hand.

“Come in?” he asked.

Dean squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Dean had never thought endings could feel like beginnings. But standing in Cas’s apartment, his coat still hanging half-off one shoulder, he realized that’s exactly what this was.

The door clicked shut behind them, muting the hum of the street outside. Cas didn’t say anything at first — just stepped closer, fingertips brushing Dean’s sleeve as though he couldn’t decide whether to take his coat or just pull him in.

Dean grinned. “You’re staring.”

Cas tilted his head. “You’re worth staring at.”

Dean laughed softly, shaking his head, but his chest was doing that ridiculous fluttery thing again. “You always this smooth?”

“Only with you.”

There wasn’t much talking after that. The distance between them vanished like it had never been there, and Dean found himself pulled into another kiss — the kind that was slow and grounding, not urgent, not desperate. Just… theirs.

By the time they broke apart, Dean’s coat had slid to the floor, and they’d somehow gravitated toward the couch. They sat, knees brushing, the silence comfortable and steady. Cas poured them both a drink — nothing fancy, just the cheap whiskey Dean liked — and they clinked glasses like it was some unspoken promise.

“You know,” Dean said after a sip, “tonight’s been… good. Like, stupid good. And I’m not the kinda guy who says that without worrying I’ll jinx it.”

Cas gave him that steady, unblinking look. “Then don’t think of it as luck. Think of it as… inevitable.”

Dean smirked. “Inevitable, huh? Big word.”

“I mean it,” Cas replied quietly. “This. Us. From the moment we met, it was only a matter of time.”

Dean let out a long breath, leaning back into the couch. “Guess I can live with that.”

They talked about nothing and everything — the movie they could watch next time, the places Cas wanted to take him, how Kevin was going to lose his mind when he found out they were officially dating. And when Dean’s phone buzzed with a text from his mom — Don’t forget, Christmas dinner — he didn’t even bother hiding the small smile it brought.

“You’ll come?” Dean asked, more hopeful than he meant to sound.

Cas’s answer was instant. “Of course.”

The rest of the evening passed in that easy, unhurried way that made Dean’s bones feel lighter. When it got late, Dean left reluctantly, Cas walking him to the door. They kissed one last time, the kind of kiss that lingered even after Dean had stepped into the hall.

The drive home was quiet. No music, just the low hum of the Impala and the soft replay of the night in his head. By the time he parked in the driveway, Dean knew — really knew — that this wasn’t just some chapter in his life.

It was the start of something he didn’t want to end.

And for once, he didn’t need to say it out loud.

Cas already knew.