Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And that is why it’s not a good idea to root around these boxes without proper precautions.” Sam lectures, his arms crossed and trying (but failing spectacularly) to look stern.

Beside him, Cas shifts uncomfortably, pulling at the handcuff attached a little too tightly to his wrist.

“Shut up and help us get these off.” Dean says, fidgeting with the other end. The cuff was cool against his skin.

“What happened exactly?” Sam asks, finally stopping with his little lecture and taking a better look at the box Dean and Cas had found the handcuffs in.

“Dean was complaining about how dusty and disorganized this room was, so I was helping him sort it out. The boxes were piled together in an unstable manner and this one fell down and broke open before we could stop it.” Cas says, examining the cuff carefully.

“And both of you... just decided to put this on and see?” Sam asks them, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course not! We reached for it at the same time and it just—clicked together.” Dean protests.

Sam looks unconvinced.

“There are no markings on this of any nature.” Cas mutters, tugging the cuff this way and that. Dean huffs in annoyance as his hand is pulled about.

“Well lucky for you it seems to be numbered,” Sam says, squinting at the tiny script on the side of the box. “We can check with the men of letters object records and find out how to fix this. Shouldn’t take too long.”

+

Eighteen hours and a few extremely awkward bathroom trips later, they haven’t found anything and Dean’s eyes are positively burning.

“I’m going to bed. I can’t even see straight anymore.” Sam says, shutting his book. “It’s clearly not harming you guys. Just go to bed and we can figure it out tomorrow.”

Cas grunts in reply and shuts his own book, standing up before Dean is ready and knocking over Dean’s empty coffee mug in the process. It shatters loudly, the pieces flying in every direction.

“Sorry.” Cas says, wincing. “I’ll clean that up tomorrow.”

Sam briefly pats Cas on the shoulder before stretching and ambling off.

“Yeah whatever, come on.” Dean says grumpily, dragging Cas off towards his room.

It’s when he’s reaching for clothes to change into that Dean realizes he can’t take off his shirt. He glares at the damned handcuff.

“Maybe just the pants?” Cas asks him solemnly.

Dean gapes at him, his cheeks flushing as Cas takes his own pants off and folds them as best as he can one-handed. Dean catches a glimpse of white boxer shorts before Cas’s overlong shirt falls to cover them. He finds his gaze wandering to Cas’s thick thighs and muscular looking calves. He is hairier than Dean, but it suits him. And his feet are gorgeous.

“Dean?” Cas says and Dean snaps his head up, mortified.

“Yeah, okay.” he says and peels his own pants off before flinging them away and diving under the sheets hurriedly. Cas squeaks inelegantly before falling on top of him with a thud. Dean groans in pain as Cas’s elbow hits him in the side.

“Dean, it would be better for you to warn me before making any sudden movements.” Cas grumbles as he wiggles away from him and gets into the covers as well. The chain between the cuffs is too short for them to really move too far away from each other and Cas ends up well into Dean’s space.

“Sorry.” Dean mumbles, trying to look away from Cas’s pink, chapped lips that are only inches from his own.

Cas nods absently, examining the cuff around his wrist carefully again. Dean stares at him, at the long eyelashes (How did he never notice how long there were?) fanning his cheeks, at the incredible jawline that could cut glass.

“It is uncomfortable.” Cas says, his sandpaper voice so much deeper from this close. Dean suppresses a shiver. Cas reaches out to hook a finger in Dean’s own cuff and Dean pretty much stops breathing.

“Does your wrist hurt?” Cas asks him, lifting his blue eyes to meet Dean’s.

Dean stared into their depths, uncomprehending. His heart is thudding loudly in his ears and he feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Dean?” Cas frowns a little in concern and then reaches out to gently touch his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Dean kisses him. Cas does nothing. His lips are as rough as Dean thought they might be, but his mouth is wet and unresponsive. Dean pulls away slowly after a minute, his heart sinking in his chest. He should've known that Cas didn't want him that way.

"Dean I-" Cas begins but Dean cuts him off. He doesn't think he can bear to hear anything Cas has to say now.

“We should sleep.” he says, shutting his eyes.

“De-”

"I'm beat, Cas." He’s too ashamed to even look at Cas and wishes heartily that he could just cut off his hand and flee. He can feel the unexpected tears building up, but he’ll be damned if he humiliates himself any further in front of Cas.

He doesn’t sleep for a long time, but he doesn’t open his eyes either.
+

Warmth.

There are fingers stroking his hair and Dean can feel the soft exhales of the person next to him. He enjoys it for a while, vaguely trying to figure out who he had slept with, when it suddenly comes to him and he wakes with a gasp.

Cas is looking at him, his hand frozen in Dean’s hair.

“Dean. I-”

“We should get up. Hit the books again.” Dean says and tries to get up. Cas grabs his shoulder and pulls him straight back down.

“Please Dean. I owe you an apology.”

“Not your fault man.” Dean babbles, not wanting hear Cas reject him as well. “Good talk, yeah?”

“Dean.” Cas says, not raising his voice, but his tone brooked no more interruptions.

“Yeah?” Dean says, resigning himself to the inevitable. He looks away, at Cas’s throat, at the line of Cas’s collar. It’s grimy— Dean makes a mental note to scrub that out with bleach the next time he does the laundry.

Cas sighs and places a hand on Dean’s jaw, lifting it gently to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Cas’s gaze is calm as it bores into him. Even as a human he can be disconcerting.

“You surprised me yesterday.”

“Cas, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll never-”

“But it was not an unpleasant surprise.”

Dean opens his mouth but his words die halfway down his throat. Cas smiles at him gently before tugging him forward and kissing him. Dean freezes for a second before he almost sobs with relief and surges forward into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Cas in. Their teeth clack together and Cas grips Dean’s hair hard with his free hand.

He pulls away from Dean to begin nipping at his throat, his hand tugging at the short strands at the back of his head. Dean slides his palm under Cas’s shirt, stroking at his hipbone. He slots his thigh across Cas's rather prominent erection, making the other man man gasp and attack Dean's mouth again. Dean smiles into the kiss as he begins to rut against Cas, both of them hard and wanting and it’s looking like the hottest sex Dean is ever going to have.

“So get this- Oh god you guys Jesus Christ-” Sam sputters as he bursts into the room.

Dean gives a little squeak of surprise as he springs away from Cas and falls out of the bed.

“What the fuck Sammy can’t you ever knock-”

“I wouldn’t have to if you wouldn’t keep doing this-“

“We seem to be free.” Cas deadpans from the bed, holding up the cuffs. His lips are swollen and his hair is more stuck up than usual. He also looks like sex on legs.

“It was cursed to make people work together.” Sam says, pouting. “I suppose if you’re cuffed together till you can agree to co-operate you’re going to cave eventually.”

“Oh we learnt to co-operate all right.” Dean says, throwing Cas a rather saucy wink. Cas blushes red and Sam groans.

“All right you know what, you’re both free and I’m very happy for you guys. Now I’m going to go far, far away and get breakfast.”

“You do that, Sammy.” Dean says, shutting the door helpfully behind him before turning around to face Cas.

“Now where were we?”

Chapter Text

“Hello sir, what would you like to have?” Cas pastes on a wide smile for the customer in front of him, a reedy looking guy dressed impeccably in a crisp blue shirt, fitted blazer and navy slacks. His feet are shod in leather and his hands are small and delicate-looking.

“Oh?” the man twists his wrist lazily, his gold watch gleaming. He looks up at the menu with some distaste. “Yes a soy caramel macchiato. Decaf. Venti.”

“Of course sir.” Cas says, still smiling. His head is beginning to throb painfully. “Would you like to order something else as well? We just made a batch of double-chocolate muffins, they’re still warm.”

“No.” he says, his voice all clipped and short.

“All right sir, that’ll be $6.27.”

“What? Why is it that expensive?” the man demands, glaring at Cas.

“I’m sorry sir, that is the price of the drink so—”   

“Whatever.” he cuts Cas off and practically flings the money on the counter. “I just spent two years on the continent so just disappoint me with your sad excuse of a drink.”

Cas grits his teeth and nods at the asshole as he ambles away to wait for his coffee.

He’s been working part-time for The Everbean for almost a year now and he loves his job. Ellen, the owner, had offered him the job after Cas started spending most of his free time between classes at the cafe, typing furiously at his ancient laptop. Despite his natural reserve, he generally enjoys chatting with the customers, when they’re not being obnoxious. Plus, he loves coffee.

“I’d spit in his drink if I were you.” Anna says, her red hair tied up in a bun. She’s making one of their specialty teas. Cas shrugs and smiles at her, rubbing his forehead. He can feel the beginnings of a migraine coming. And there’s a paper due on Tuesday.

Cas sighs again as the bell over the door tinkles. It’s only three p.m. and it’s already shaping up to be a bad day— he’s already had three obnoxious customers not counting Mr.I-lived-in-on-the-continent-for-two-years and one woman who had ordered fifteen lattes and then proceeded to complain about how slow the service was. She didn’t even leave a tip. He looks up to see two extremely good-looking guys dressed in a what appeared to be a lot of plaid enter, one of them so tall he nearly hits his head twice on the low beams.

Cas finishes making the macchiato and serves it to the grumpy dude, his eyes on the new arrivals. The taller one seems boyishly excited by the menu, talking and gesticulating, his long hair gleaming in the afternoon light.

“Hello, I’m Cas.” Cas says, stepping behind the counter. “What can I get you both?”

“Hi there Cas, I’m Sam.” the giant says, his eyes warm and friendly. “This is my brother Dean.”

“Hello Dean.” Cas smiles at the other man, but he doesn’t smile back. Up close, Cas can see just how beautiful he is, with freckles dusted over his high cheekbones, long eyelashes and clear green eyes flecked with gold. His lips are pink and perfectly pouted as he grunts in response to Cas’s greeting.

“So Cas.” Sam draws his attention. “What would you recommend? The almond milk Latte or the Green tea one?”

“It depends.” Cas says, getting into the spirit of things. He loves talking about coffee to his customers. “Do you like the flavor of Matcha?”

“I do. It’s a little bitter, but I do enjoy the flavor very much. And I’ve always wondered how green tea and coffee go together. It sounds like such a strange combination.”

“We use a light roast Java gunung owa which blends really well with Matcha. If bitterness was the only issue you had I think you’ll like ours. I always add just a touch of blueberry syrup to take care of that and it’s really popular among our regulars.”

“I’d like to give it a try then.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise. And what about you, Dean?”

“Just a regular coffee. Black.”

“Of course Dean. Would that be 8 or 12 ounces?”

“I don’t know man. A regular large.”

“Would you prefer a medium roast Sumatra or the dark roast Nicaragua? We also have this lovely medium roast Gachami Peaberry that I’d recommend because—”

“Look man. I just want a regular coffee okay?” Dean’s voice is harsh and forbidding and Cas recoils. Oh god, not one of those reverse-snobs. “Just a cup of hot black stuff. I don’t want this bunch of frou-frou Italian bullshit all right?”

Apparently one of those reverse-snobs.

“Dean!” Sam hisses at him. The other man just huffs and crosses his arms.

“What Sammy? I told you we should’ve just picked up something at a drive-through but nooo... you had to be all fancy and be this giant girl and—”

“If gritty instant coffee heated up in a microwave that tastes like boiled cat piss is your thing Dean,” Cas snarls. “I’d be happy to point out the exit to you.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him and a small clink as Anna drops the mug she is washing into the sink. Cas can feel his heartbeat roaring in his ears, and all he wants now is to take off his apron and run back to his room. Dean just gapes at him, his green eyes wide with surprise. There’s a small flicker of hurt in them and Cas is just about to apologize when Dean steps back, his face closed off.

“Fine then.” he says and stomps off, the door slamming behind him.

Every person in the shop is looking at him and Cas wants to sink to the floor in shame. Sure Dean had behaved like a dick, but sniping back at customers was a strict no-no and he had never lost control like that before and he’s served a lot of bigger dicks before. Ellen would fire him in a heartbeat once she found out.

“Cas I’m really, really sorry.” Sam says in a rush and Cas blinks up at him, surprised. “Dean acted liked a complete asshole back there and I know I shouldn’t make excuses but he was probably just really intimidated and I’m so sorry for how he behaved.”

“Its fine, Sam.” Cas says, his voice a little hoarse. “I behaved very rudely as well. Could you just give me five minutes?”

“Sure.” Sam says, backing away from the counter. “It’s probably a good idea for me to let Dean stew for a while anyway.”

Cas nods at him, feeling uncomfortable. He makes up the coffees, picking the medium-roast for Dean and trying to blend it as perfectly as possible. He hands them both to Sam and refuses to accept any money for them, making Sam start apologizing profusely all over again.

“I insist, Sam.” Cas says firmly. “It was unprofessional of me and I hope you’ll let me make it up to you. I hope— I hope Dean enjoys his coffee.”   

“I know he will, thank you Cas.” Sam splutters, his large hands closing over the cups. “I really am sorry.”

Cas tries to smile at him.

“See you around.”

Cas slumps over the counter as Sam leaves, his head in his hands.

He finds himself assaulted with images of the Dean for days afterwards. And sometimes in his more inappropriate dreams.

+

Ellen gives him a mild lecture when Cas informs her of the incident, but she lets him off easy. Sam comes back once a week, then twice, slowly becoming a regular visitor to the shop. He tries out all their coffees and teas, always willing to help test new recipes. He tells Cas he’s a Law student at the local University, the same one Cas attends for his Master’s in English for. Sam is so warm and intelligent and affable that Cas soon finds himself becoming close friends with him.

Both of them are careful not to mention Dean at first, but as months pass, Sam starts slipping up, talking of his brother fondly. Cas latches on to these details despite himself and files them away in a corner of his brain. He learns that the brothers were left motherless at an early age and left to fend for themselves by an alcoholic father. Sam talks about Dean scrimping and saving to put food in his mouth and clothes on his back, quitting school at sixteen to work two jobs. About Dean moving for him, finding a job at an auto shop downtown. About Dean cooking for him in their cramped apartment, driving him around and getting him a dog for Sam’s last birthday.   

“I owe everything to him.” he says misty-eyed one rainy evening, picking up a bag of light roast Sumatra.

Cas nods, his mind going automatically to his own upbringing, filled with money and gadgets but not one person who actually cared.

The dreams about Dean increase and Cas begins to fear he’s fallen in love with the man. Damn Sam and his stories.

+

It’s on a mild Autumn afternoon that Dean makes his appearance once again. Anna is manning the counter and helping Kevin, one of their newer part-timers make some of the simpler orders. There are a steady stream of customers, drawn in by the specials board announcing their fall themed drinks.

The shop is warm and fragrant smelling, filled with a low murmur of people chatting. Cas is busy making a complicated order for a group of music students when it all goes to pot.

“This tastes absolutely disgusting! Where’s the coconut flavor?” The man who’s shouting looks to be in his late fifties, sturdily built and dressed in a large grey coat. He’s waving one of their Pumpkin Spice Lattes belligerently.

“Sir I’m sorry but I did tell you we did not stock coconut milk. It’s still vegan.” Anna says, her hands held up and her voice steady.

“What’s wrong?” Cas rushes over, unwilling to let Anna face this man alone.     

“You.” The man switches his focus on to Cas. “This girl told me that she could make me a Vegan Pumpkin Spice Latte—”

“It is Vegan. I used almond milk instead. I did check with you before I took your order if it was acceptable—” Anna interjects.

“Well it tastes nothing like the one I usually have! Fuck you little shits, you can't even make coffee right and it is not that hard. What do you even do all day?” He’s apoplectic with rage, the spit flying as he yells right into Cas’s face. The shop is quiet and Cas can see a few customers look worriedly over, clearly debating if they should interfere.

“Sir I’m going to have to ask you to stop abusing my colleague and me and leave the premises.” Cas starts to say, but the man doesn’t stop.

“No wonder you’re never going to get anywhere other than working at a coffee shop, you're too stupid to go to college and get a real job! I’m going to complain to your boss and—”

“I think you were told to leave.”

Cas gapes as Dean places a hand on the man’s shoulder and steers him away roughly. The man puts up a struggle against Dean’s firm grip and loses.

“Fine.” He snarls and stomps away, dumping his drink on the counter. It falls over and the coffee drips down to the floor, making Anna hiss under her breath. Kevin rushes up to help, asking Anna if she’s all right. The chatter in the shop slowly picks up again while the two of them clean up.

Cas is stunned, staring at Dean. The other man watches as the door slams shut and then turns back to look at Cas. Dean looks even more beautiful than ever, dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, his hair a little longer than it was the last time Cas saw him. There’s a blush on his cheeks as he orders a Green tea Latte.

Cas obeys in a daze. He hands over the cup to Dean, who blushes even more fiercely as Cas’s fingers touch his.

“Sam’s sick today. Thought this might cheer him up.” Dean stammers out unprompted.

“He is?” Cas asks him, trying to act normal. “Here, let me pack up some ginger cookies, he loves them.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I mean, thank you.”

Cas gives him the warm bag of cookies and smiles nervously at Dean. Dean fumbles as he accepts them, the very tips of his ears red.

“Can I also have one of those— I don’t know what you called it— but the last time—” Dean’s blush is almost painful to look at now.

“A regular coffee?” Cas asks him.

“Yeah. I— I uh— It was an amazing coffee. Can’t seem to stomach anything else now.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Cas smiles.

He makes up the coffee with an almost giddy expression on his face, Anna snorting as she polishes the espresso machine.

“Cas.” Dean says, when Cas hands him his coffee. He’s placed the latte and cookies on the counter and looks nervous. “I’ve been too much of a coward to come here again, but— you’ve got to know I’m really sorry for how I—”

“It’s all right Dean.”

“Uh— Okay. Good. Great, I mean.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?”

“Oh. Yes I’d— Cas I’d love to—” Dean curses as he almost drops the cup. A tiny bit of it splashes on to his white T-shirt, staining it a rich brown. Cas laughs at the dismay and embarrassment on Dean’s face before tugging Dean forward and kissing him hard. Dean is breathing hard by the time Cas pulls away, his lips swollen and wet. Cas smirks at him.

“My shift ends at seven tonight.” Cas says.

“I’ll be there.” Dean stammers, still looking a little dazed. He gather up the coffees and cookies and stumbles out, giving Cas a shy smile as he leaves.

Cas smiles back.        

Chapter Text

Dean scowls as he comes across yet another one of Cas’s books, half open and face-down. Next to it is one of Cas’s many, many coffee mugs. Dean huffs as he abandons his broom and stomps towards the table. Sure enough, there’s a ring of flaky coffee on the rim of the mug. He closes the poor book and straightens out its cover, carefully placing it back in the bookshelf that is all of three steps (three steps!) away.

He dusts the table lightly and finishes sweeping the room, carrying the mug with him as he leaves. The next couple of rooms present the same problem— books left haphazardly, coffee mugs with varying levels of liquid, a couple of coats, one of Cas’s spectacles, socks... Dean ends up piling all the stuff on the side table at the head of the stairs before entering his son’s room.

Ben’s room is spotless, his vintage turntable taking up most of his desk. His stack of records are stacked in a glass display case, next to the Lego princess castle he had persuaded Dean to buy for his Christmas present when he was eight. His numerous anime figurines are arranged by series and the late afternoon sunlight makes the Fiddler on the roof poster over his bed look almost golden. Dean smiles to himself and runs a hand over his absent son’s pillow. The room is unchanged, Ben having left for college over a decade ago. Dean likes to keep it that way.

He sighs and goes into Emma’s room, into the room she had decorated carefully with white muslin curtains she had picked out on her thirteenth birthday. The walls are a pale blue and all the furniture reflects Emma’s handiwork, from the blue patchwork quilt she had handmade to the wooden chair and desk she had bought from a car boot sale and spent an entire summer refurbishing. Dean dusts the already dusted room, straightening Emma’s books and old board games. Sometimes he finds it hard to believe that his daughter is over thirty now, with a family of her own.    

By the time he’s done tidying up Dean’s back is aching and his right knee is twitching. He decides to leave the laundry be and makes himself a cup of cocoa. Cradling the heavy mug carefully in his hands, he collapses into the couch in the living room. He can see the apple tree from here. It was a tiny sapling when Cas had brought it home excitedly one early spring day after they had just moved in. Dean remembers building a tiny tree house for the children years later, Ben and Emma excitedly trying to help and mostly just getting in the way. Now Sam and Eileen’s grandchildren use it whenever they visit.

Dusk is falling and Dean’s long since finished his cocoa when the doorknob rattles slightly and Cas steps in, leaves in his silver hair and dirt underneath his fingernails. There’s a basket in his hands, filled with tulips.

“Hello Dean.” he says, smiling at Dean as he shuffles into their kitchen, tracking mud in his wake. Dean grits his teeth.    

“I just cleaned in here!” he grumbles.

Cas doesn’t respond. Of course he doesn’t. Sometimes Dean thinks that Cas developed a hearing impediment on purpose. The water runs in the kitchen as he painfully extricates himself from the chair. Cas is at the table, surrounded by vases, the tulips spread carefully on newspaper. Normally the sight of Cas’s still beautiful hands arranging the flowers would make Dean smile. Not today though. 

“How much effort would it take to put the fucking mugs in the sink when you’re done with them Cas?” Dean yells, without preamble.

Cas startles and peers at Dean.

“What?”

“And the books. How many times have I told you to put them back when you’re done with them? I mean isn’t it bad enough that all you seem to read nowadays are those crappy bodice rippers—” Dean sucks in a deep breath and starts coughing. Cas looks alarmed and leads Dean gently into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You were cleaning today? Why?” Cas asks him, tilting his head. “Didn’t Nora just come by just last Tuesday?”

 Nora was one of their regular cleaners, sent by the agency five years ago when it started getting too much for Dean. Cas was always hopeless at cleaning and Dean wondered how on earth he used to be a surgeon, with his constant absentmindedness and tendency to clutter.

“Yes she came by just last Tuesday.” Dean hisses. “And look at the place! It’s been all of three days!”

Cas looks around, his mild blue gaze wandering.

“It looks quite spotless to me.”

“That’s because I cleaned!”

“Dean—”

“No, you listen to me! You can’t keep doing this anymore! Stop spreading your shit all over the house, I mean can’t you stick to a room?”

“I do keep telling you we should move to a smaller place.” Cas interrupts, his tone icy.

Dean sighs. The same old argument. Even Sam had started hinting at it after Dean’s last explosive argument with Cas when he and Eileen had come over for their regular Thursday dinner. One minute they were laughing and talking about baby Jo, Emma’s little girl, and the next Dean was screaming himself hoarse at one of Cas’s offhand comments about Dean tiring easily. Perhaps moving to smaller, more convenient apartment might be better for all of them.

But every time Dean thinks of selling the house— the house he and Cas had bought together as newlyweds forty years ago, the house Ben and Emma had grown up in, the house that had so many memories etched into every brick, the only home he had ever had... He just can’t. He remembers pouring every penny he had into the deposit, remembers buying every curtain, every pot and pan and piece of furniture. He’s painted every single room. Dean’s fixed every leaking pipe and busted tile, every broken shingle and creaking door.

He persuades himself it’s for the kids, but Ben is away in Italy, working towards a PhD in Renaissance studies. Emma is a paediatrician and married with two children of her own, living miles away in New York. Dean knows there’s no chance of either of them ever coming back to live here, but sometimes he goes to their childhood rooms and closes his eyes and just pretends...

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is contrite and Dean breaks out of his musing. Cas’s face is blurry and Dean suddenly realises it’s because he’s crying.

Cas wraps his arms around him, his hands trembling.

“Don’t cry.” he says, his voice shaking. “Dean, please. I’ll never say it again. I’m sorry. My love, my darling, please.”

Dean shudders in his arms. Cas smells of wet earth and oranges, of cinnamon and home. Dean wonders if he can actually smell and feel him, or if it’s just muscle memory.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” he breathes, running his hand through Cas’s hair. “I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“No.” Cas says, and pulls away. He winces a little as he sinks into the chair opposite Dean.

Dean takes Cas’s hands in his and strokes them gently. Bending down like that was probably not the best idea.

“I promise I’ll try to be more careful. I just seem to be forgetting things a lot more lately. We are getting older.” Cas says solemnly.

Dean breaks into a watery laugh.

“Don’t give me that you dork, you’ve been like this since you were twenty one.”

Cas huffs. Dean laughs again and gets up to make dinner while Cas slowly arranges in the flowers into various vases and puts them all in their places. They have a leisurely dinner, do the dishes together and settle down to watch a movie. Dean knows it’s pointless— Cas hasn’t stayed up for the end of any movie in ten years. And sure enough he hears gentle snoring before they are even half way through. Dean turns the TV off and coaxes Cas into bed before brushing his teeth and locking up the house.

Cas is snoring and Dean has to poke him a little to make him lie on his side. There’s some grumbling from his husband before he finds the right position and falls asleep almost instantly again. Sleep doesn’t come so easily to Dean though. For a long time he reads in bed, not really processing the words, but letting the action sooth him. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance. There’s a small tapping sound as one of the branches of the apple tree hits the window. Again, Dean wonders if he’s actually hearing them or if he just expects to hear them.

Cas snorts in his sleep, fidgeting. Dean watches the wrinkled face slumped beside him and kisses him gently on the forehead.

“I love you, Cas.” he whispers as he turns off the bed light and puts his book away.

Dean knows every inch of this man, more than he knows himself. He knows which side of the bed Cas prefers, how he always curls into himself like a child in his sleep. He knows how Cas likes his coffee, how he always leaves the peas in his plate. Dean knows the smell of his aftershave, the feel of his stubble in the morning.

And Dean cannot imagine any happiness greater than this, in lying beside his husband, in the home they have both made together and in the memories they both share.

Perhaps he should ask if Nora can start coming by twice a week. And start locking up their spare rooms. And throw away all of Cas’s spare mugs but one.

Chapter Text

Dean secretly loves cleaning. And living in a bunker with two slobs ensured he had a whole bunch of it to do every single day. The two of them were ridiculously anal about the library system they had devised, but Sam seemed incapable of putting his smelly socks in the hamper or scraping the leftovers off his plate before he dumped it in the sink. And Cas was something else entirely— coffee spills that he always forgot to wipe up, towels on the bathroom floor, hair left on the comb, water rings on the furniture.

Dean grumbles and moans about it whenever either of them is in earshot. Sam rolls his eyes, quite immune to Dean’s nagging, but does try to make it up by not whining about Dean ordering the meat lovers pizza four times a week. Cas is more apologetic and a lecture from Dean usually prompts a week of good behavior from him before it all goes to pot again.

Today though, Sam’s at his weekly farmers market trip and Cas is buried in the library under a pile of ancient books, so Dean feels free to really enjoy polishing and scrubbing, headphones plugged in to his favorite musical playlist, singing at the top of his lungs. He zips through the bunker, sweeping and dusting and collecting a dozen used mugs and plates from various rooms. He saves the kitchen for the end, dumping all of the dishes in the sink, wiping the counters and sweeping up crumbs.

He’s singing along to ‘Do you hear the people sing’ and rinsing a week-old plate when he sees the flash of a trench coat from the corner of his eye. Cas is staring at him with wide eyes as Dean whips around. The plate slips from his hands into the sink with a loud clink as Dean hurriedly pulls off his headphones, embarrassment taking over.     

“Jesus Cas, we need to get you a bell.” he mumbles, cheeks red.

“You were singing.” Cas says, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Yes, well. Man can sing when doing the dishes, it’s a dull job.”

“I like to hear you sing. And I liked that song very much.” Cas states from the doorway. “Sing some more?”

Dean stops rinsing the already clean plate and stares at Cas, looking to see if he’s mocking him. But Cas’s eyes are wide and earnest and Dean can’t help but smile a little at the utter sincerity of his request.

Why the hell not? Sam’s probably out orgasming over some perfect tomatoes or kale or something anyway.

Dean grins and disconnects the headphones off the phone. Philippa Soo’s lovely voice starts humming ‘Helpless’ and Dean starts belting it out as well, watching Cas’s eyes positively sparkle with pleasure.

Laughing at my sister as she’s dazzling the room

Then you walked in and my heart went ‘BOOM’

Dean flashes a grin at Cas as he sings along— taking in the man’s unblinking stare, the red in his cheeks and his rapid breathing.

Well. Let it not be said that Dean’s not a performer. He wipes his hands off and walks up to Cas, sweeping the other man into his arms.

She grabbed you by the arm, I’m thinkin’ “I’m through”

Then you look back at me and suddenly I’m Helpless!

Neither of them have the faintest clue about dancing, and there’s much stepping on each other’s toes and banging of elbows but Dean finds himself not caring at all. He can’t stop smiling into Cas’s eyes as he attempts to lead the other man through a wonky waltz of sorts.

Laughin’ at my sister, cuz she wants to form a harem

“You know, Sammy would probably want to form a harem.” Dean says, breaking off his singing, a little breathless.

Cas throws his head back and laughs and Dean tries to maneuver him into an impromptu dip of sorts, which only succeeds in knocking over a (mercifully) pan off the table. It falls with an almighty clatter as Dean starts singing again, a little giddy.

And you turn back to me, smiling, and I’m Helpless!            

Cas beams at him at the lines and Dean quickly pecks him on the lips, his hands tightening around Cas’s waist. Cas joins in the chorus and spins Dean a little too forcefully. Dean’s foot catches a kitchen chair, accidentally knocking it over with a deafening crash. Cas winces a little, but they don’t stop.

I’ve been livin’ without a family since I was a child

My father left, my mother died, I grew up buckwild

This hits a little close to home, and Dean’s eyes are soft as he looks into Cas’s face, his voice lowering. Cas presses a kiss to his forehead and is just about to move to his lips when they hear footsteps hurry down the stairs.

They’re frozen to the floor, arms still around each other as Sam bursts in, shotgun in hand and expression wild. He takes one look at the destroyed kitchen, Dean’s phone still blaring out Hamilton and huffs a sigh.

“Really?” he whines, glaring at the two of them. His hair is plastered to the side and he’s puffing like a racehorse. “I thought the bunker was possessed!”

“Hello Sam.” Cas deadpans, breaking free of the embrace and moving to the sink to fill a glass of water. Dean stands where he is, surprised by how little he cares about Sam discovering his secret love for musicals.

“You sounded like a houseful of dying cats.” Sam grumbles as he gulps the water down with a grateful nod to Cas.

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but is cut off by Cas’s saying earnestly-

“I think he was wonderful.”

And the angel is back to staring at him with those big beautiful blue eyes, so clear yet deep at the same time, smile wide in its fondness. Dean finds himself grinning back at Cas, the itch to drag the other man back into his arms intensifying.

“I’m going back upstairs.” Sam says. “Make all the racket you want, I’m not coming down to save your sorry asses again.”

Neither of them turn to look at him.

“You made me drop some lovely turnips in the hallway.” his brother mutters as he leaves the kitchen. “I just hope they are not bruised.”   

“You do that Sammy.” Dean says, moving forward to place his hands on Cas’s waist again. “Dance another one with me?”

“Only if you promise to sing along as well.”