hey, im ashley. i write destiel fanfiction and post it here. Find me on AO3 and Fanfiction.net under Arya3610. please ask me things and send things, i love talking to people :)
Hey guys!! I just wanted to let you know that I am still here
I am still in the fandom, I am still into fanfic, and I am still having ideas and prompts in my folders
I know I'm being very very quiet at the moment, but that's what happens when you try to take 3 literature classes, an Honors colloquium, a senior seminar, and a teaching methods course all in one semester.
Please stay with me! in about a month, we'll hit the summer and I can start being more active 💜💜
I know I'm usually pretty quiet on this blog, but I just wanted to send out a quick note to all of you who might be deleting/moving to different platforms. I, personally, am not currently planning on moving platforms. I will be staying on tumblr. However, for those of you that are moving:
I am completely okay with you downloading my works for personal enjoyment/keeping.
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Castiel gets hurt on a hunt and Dean doesn't seem happy about it.
Read it on AO3!
Dean was upset.
Dean was upset pretty often, to be honest, but Cas had learned the differences. Sometimes “upset” was really just annoyance, caused by Sam’s hair in the bathroom drain again or Cas leaving the milk on the counter. Sometimes “upset” was for fun, fake huffs and the too-straight-to-be-natural lips Dean got when he wouldn’t let himself laugh at Kevin or Charlie’s bad jokes again. Cas had learned that “upset” was a scale, tipping one way or another with any small shift in the bunker that Dean couldn’t control.
But this wasn’t the usual gone-in-an-hour “upset”.
Dean was upset. And it was Castiel’s fault.
Castiel and his bleeding shoulder, the blood dripping down and tickling his arm all the way. The ghost had caught him by surprise and threw him against a wall, but that wasn’t anything new. That had happened to all of them, more often than any of them wanted to admit. But the huge decorative metal sunflower on the wall, well, that wasn’t something every house had.
He wasn’t sure how exactly it had happened, if one of the large petals had been bent previously or if he had hit it at just the right angle, but whatever it had been, it hadn’t gone well for him. Cas had thought he had just hit a mantle or something at first, and he clenched his jaw against the sound trying to escape. It was like feeling a hot punch to his shoulder, shock blunting the sharp pain of sliced flesh. It wasn’t until he felt the blood trickling down his arm that he realized he had been stabbed.
Stabbed by a fucking sunflower. Once Dean calmed down, Cas was never going to hear the end of this.
Dean and Sam had dealt with the ghost pretty quickly after that, Dean looking more panicked than usual. They had patched him up enough to drive back to the bunker, not too far away, and Dean told him he’d fix him up better when they got home.
With how upset Dean was, Cas wasn’t sure he wanted him to.
He trailed after them as they got out of the Impala, carefully avoiding the right sides of door frames and hallways. Charlie’s voice was echoing through the bunker, yelling from what sounded like the war room, probably something at Kevin about a game or show again.
Dean and Sam made eye contact and nodded, looking tired.
“Hey, I’ll see you guys in a bit, I’m going to shower and probably nap before braving that,” Sam waved his hand tiredly in the direction of the noise.
“Yeah, us too.” Dean replied, already splitting off to the right. “See you later.” He said shortly, barely raising his voice enough to be heard behind him.
Cas sighed, watching him go for a moment. Hopefully he wasn’t angry-upset. “We’ll see you later, Sam.” He nodded to him and followed Dean down the hall to their bedroom.
Their bedroom.
God that sounded nice. It hadn’t been theirs for too long, but Cas was already too in love with the idea to let himself think it was anything but permanent.
Even now, as Dean stomped his way into their room and turned to look at him with Greek fire in his eyes, Cas wanted this to be his forever. Sharing a room, sharing breaths, sharing moments stolen in the day, here and there.
Maybe not this, exactly, he could do without the flaring nostrils and the crossed arms, but he’d take every second he could get.
“Sit down.” Dean said, grabbing his first aid kit. “Coat off, shirt off.”
Cas sighed and slowly dropped his trenchcoat, the material sticking strangely to his bloody arm. He used his good arm to loosen his tie, pulling it just enough to slip over his head. He reached for his shirt buttons, but his hurt shoulder burned in protest, the makeshift gauze and tape pulling on the skin around it. He made a wounded sound, then grimaced at himself for it. He had been hurt far worse before, he should be able to handle this.
“Hold on,” Dean said, soft for the first time since they got to the bunker, stepping forward and slowly lowering Cas’ hands. He undid Cas’ shirt buttons one at a time, gently, as if he thought going too fast would worsen the injury. “How are you feeling?” He asked, still feather-soft, as he lowered Cas’ shirt off his shoulders and let it drop, leaving Cas in only his undershirt.
“I’ll live,” Cas replied quietly, with some kind of grim humor he only found when he was bleeding on someone’s carpet. It just usually wasn’t his own carpet. “I’m sorry.” He said softly, feeling like a child approaching a street cat. He might be a little afraid, and it might hiss and bite, but, man, did it look soft and tempting.
“What?” Dean seemed genuinely confused as he rested his hands on Cas’ hips, gently rubbing his thumbs on his hip bones. “Why are you sorry?”
Cas shrugged the one shoulder it didn’t hurt to move. He couldn’t look Dean in the face. He felt himself detach from the situation, emotionally withdrawing behind makeshift barricades. For how short of a time he’d been human, he’d figured out a lot about himself. He didn’t like cold feet. He loved hot showers. Chocolate was worth fighting over.
And he couldn’t stand anger.
He didn’t know why, and he hadn’t tried too hard to figure out the cause. Fighting sent him out of the room, in search of a calm corner to hide out it. Raised voices made him feel like a child, like the child he had never been, flinching and shrinking away from the anger.
Maybe it was just because it was usually Sam and Dean, people he loved like family.
Maybe he’d seen his own family torn apart too badly to be patchworked back together again and knew how that felt. Knew how it destroyed everyone involved.
Maybe he couldn’t have that happen again, just as he found a family after all this time.
He didn’t know why. But he couldn’t look Dean in the eyes.
“Hey,” Dean gently nudged his nose against Cas’ cheek. “Hey, Angel. I’m not mad at you.”
Cas narrowed his eyes at the gun on the wall behind Dean’s left ear.
Dean sighed quietly and nudged him again. “I’m really not. I mean, yeah, be more careful next time, you asshole, but it’s not your fault you’re hurt.”
“Okay,” Cas felt himself slowly coming back into the conversation, cautiously looking somewhere near Dean’s eyes. “But you are mad.” He flinched a little at himself for saying it, but he knew it was true. He’d rather get it out there than have it simmering underneath them until it boiled over and burned them both.
“Yeah,” Dean admitted. He stepped back and started peeling Cas’ undershirt up, prodding him to raise his arms. “I’m mad at myself.” He turned away, dropping the bloody shirt on the pile with the rest of the clothes. “Get on the bed.”
Cas slowly walked over and sat on the bed, feet flat on the floor and back straight and he sank into the memory foam. “Why are you mad at yourself?”
“Mmm,” Dean seemed to be searching for words, or actively running from them, as he walked around the bed. Castiel felt the mattress dip ever so slightly as Dean kneeled behind him, peeling off the tape from the temporary bandage. He hissed through his teeth, but said, “It’s not too bad. You’re gonna feel it for a while, that’s for sure, but you don’t need surgery or anything.”
“Dean,” Cas closed his eyes at the prodding, clenching his fists. “Why are you mad at yourself?”
Dean sighed again, and Cas felt the ice cube sting of disinfectant. “I’m a piece of shit, Cas.”
“What?” Cas screwed up his face, both at the sensation and the words. “No, you’re not. You’re a good man.”
“Nah,” Dean’s tone was almost casual, but too light, like a helium balloon waiting for his string to be cut. “I’m not.”
“You’re…” Cas felt himself grasp for words. Kind. Brave. Loving. Strong. Thoughtful. “You’re great.” Damn it. He would punch himself in the face if he thought it wouldn’t undo all the work Dean was putting into his shoulder right now.
“Well, I don’t feel very great.” Cas felt a pressure on the back of his good shoulder and Dean’s hair brushing against his skin. “You’re hurt, Cas.” He could feel Dean’s breath against his back, and suppressed a shiver. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect you.”
“You can’t protect me all the time, Dean.”
“I can damn sure try, Angel.”
Cas sighed and closed his eyes, trying to think of how to convince Dean he shouldn’t be mad at himself. Any route would just lead back here, it seemed, like the innumerable dead ends of a labyrinth. So what should he say? What could he say?
He felt Dean lean back and start fiddling with the first aid kit again, probably getting ready to stitch him up. He hated stitches, they hurt for days. He never wanted to do anything except sit and let himself heal, trying to avoid the pulling pinch of moving them. It was like when Charlie got a cold, ordering them all around and complaining she couldn’t do anything because…
“You can’t argue with me.” Cas said, opening his eyes and looking at the TV in front of him.
“Uh, pretty sure I can, Cas?” Dean sounded confused.
“No you can’t. I’m sick.”
“You’re not sick, Cas, you’re injured.” Dean rustled around behind him again.
“Same thing, Dean.” Cas insisted stubbornly. “You have to let me win. Because I’m sick. Or injured, I suppose.”
Dean snorted, “Oh, is that how it works? Someone’s been spending too much time with Charlie.” Cas felt a hand on his arm, a support and a warning. “Gonna start stitching you up now.” Dean said quietly.
“Yes, that is how it works,” Cas gritted his teeth against the pain, still unwilling to lose the argument. “You can’t argue with me.”
“Okay, Angel.” Dean laughed, still carefully pulling thread. “I won’t argue.”
“Good.” Cas sighed as he felt the thread being cut, slumping slightly in relief. “You’re great. No arguments.”
Dean laughed again, standing and carrying all the supplies to the desk. “Fine. But only because you’re ‘sick’.” He leaned his hip against the desk, crossing his arms with a smile. “What now?”
Cas squinted at him.
Dean rolled his eyes a little, but he was still smiling. “You’re sick, Cas. You get to decide what we do now. That’s how it works.”
“Oh,” Cas stared at Dean for a second, momentarily thrown off track by how great his arms looked in this lighting. He blinked at his own thoughts, shaking his head. “I think I need sleep.” He looked up again, making eye contact. “Can you stay here with me?”
Dean laughed softly. He walked over to the bed, leaned down and cupped Castiel’s jaw, gently lifting it up, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “That’s not how you ask, Feathers.” He said. Cas found himself unable to respond, too engrossed in watching the crinkles around Dean’s eyes and feeling Dean’s breath on his lips. “If you’re sick, you insist. You demand.” Dean kissed him again, thumb rubbing gently on Cas’ cheekbone. “You don’t ask nicely.”
“Then,” Cas mumbled, eyes falling closed. “Stay with me. Let’s nap together.” He drew away a little bit, wrinkling his nose. “But wash your hands first, they smell like alcohol and blood.”
Dean laughed again, stealing a final kiss before standing straight. “Alright, Cas, I’ll go wash my hands and then I’ll be back. Do you want anything while I’m at it, Mr. Patient?” He raised his eyebrows in joking question.
“No,” Cas started pulling back the covers as best he could with one hand, ready to sleep as soon as he could. “Just hurry back.”
Dean winked as he reached the door. “Always, Angel.”
Many hunters don’t begin fighting until after they’ve had a chance to live. After they’ve experienced anger, sadness, and happiness. After they’ve felt love, swaying awkwardly at the prom beside a girl in a slightly too-small dress who’s holding her glittering shoes in her left hand because her feet hurt too much to wear them. After they’ve learned how it was to feel that love, express it in words and action, how to share it with another. After they’ve had a family, their wife or husband, a few kids, a dog, and a house with an unkempt lawn. After they’ve had it ripped away from them in one night, just one bad night when their spouse was home late and then was never home at all.
Dean Winchester never had a life outside of hunting. He was never allowed it. And while he did learn how it felt to experience love, he never had the chance to learn to show it, to share it. He was a handsome, rugged boy in a leather jacket who moved in from out of town with a shady past and a cocky smirk; the girls that flocked around him weren’t looking for feelings. They wouldn’t accept them. He felt his love quietly, smiling through the pain of silence in his own suppressed, private way.
A few years after they met, once Castiel began sincerely learning Dean, how he acted and spoke, he started seeing all the little things Dean did to show his love. All the little texts of “Be careful”, “Made it to the motel”, and “You safe?”. Every time Cas got to sit in the front of the Impala; especially the precious few times Dean let him drive it. Even a beer, slid down the table at just the right speed, a burger dropped in front of him without comment, a bracing hand on his shoulder for just a few moments. He never said the words, but Castiel never felt that he needed to.
The first time Castiel drew his courage and said the words, Dean responded by reaching out and pulling him in for a warm hug, a soft kiss pressed to his temple, a muttered “same” against his hair. Since then, Castiel said the words constantly. He was used to white rooms and unfeeling soldiers. He didn’t know how to express love, not really, not like Dean could. So he settled for telling Dean every time he realized, once again, that he loved him. When he saw a black car on the street that shined bright from a new wash, when he saw a plaid shirt on a woman walking by, when he saw the golden sun peeking through the spring-green leaves just right. After something reminded him of Dean and he felt overwhelmed by his love. He pulled out his phone and sent a text, out of the blue and expecting no response, sometimes all three words, sometimes just the most important one, sometimes just a heart or a smiley face.
Dean’s responses were always swift, usually an insult or brush-off, but even in those Castiel could feel Dean’s small, flustered smile as clearly as if they were face-to-face. “Dork” and “Nerd” became terms of affection over text, and then in person, as well, said fondly through a laugh while responding to a request for kiss or a hand to hold (requests that were never denied).
Dean, although still hunting, enduring what many would consider worse than death, will never be able to give Castiel enough for letting him live a life. A life with too-long stares and a warmth in his chest. Glimpses of tan cloth out of the corner of his eye that make him smile and a back against his own in the middle of a brawl. The chance to take a few moments, just a few, when lying in bed, facing blue eyes and chapped lips, to reach out and touch. A life that finally allows him, faced with the undeniable fact that Castiel is here, here for good, here to stay; the chance to build up his courage and say those three words.
And he’ll try his entire life to love Castiel as much as he deserves for just responding with a small, confused smile, as if he already knew, and an affectionate, “I love you, too, you dork.”
(If you liked it, leave me a kudos or comment on AO3!)
Cas and Meg are working in a coffeeshop that a certain customer frequents every morning. Castiel is very shy, and hasn't even told Mr. Grande-Americano-No-Sugar-No-Cream-Please-Just-Coffee his name, or asked for the man's.
And then he accidentally introduces himself, in about the best way possible.
Read it on AO3!
“You know, Clarence, he’s not gonna bite.” Meg smirked from her casual lean against the countertop, dangerously close to the new espresso maker. “Actually, if he does, send him my way, I’d love to— “
“Aannnd we’re done.” Castiel interrupted, furiously scrubbing down the glass top of the display case. He could feel his face burning. “Let’s talk about something else. How old are these cake pops?” He was throwing out a weak line, he knew, but he was hoping it would hold. Maybe she’ll let it go this time, he thought desperately. He heard his imaginary rescue rope snapping as soon as Meg rolled her eyes.
“I’m just saying,” she pushed off from the counter and strolled over to the case Castiel was polishing a new hole into, cocking a hip against the ledge. “It wouldn’t hurt to say more than his total.” She raised a single eyebrow at him. “Maybe your name?”
Castiel tossed the rag over to the drink-making counter before crouching to rearrange the cookies. They didn’t need to be rearranged; not a lot of people bought cookies before 7:16 in the morning. Castiel just needed to be doing something with his hands to distract himself. Not that it’s working, he grumbled to himself. Aloud, he mumbled, “I wear a name tag.”
Meg rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over the uniform green apron. “Where is your name tag right now?”
He stubbornly remained silent while pushing the scones just a hair to the left. It’s in the bottom of my backpack. No, it’s not, it’s on my desk at home. No, wait, it’s…
“Clarence?”
“I have one.” He squinted angrily at the slice of carrot cake.
Meg patted his shoulder. “Sure you do.” She turned back to the new espresso machine, turning it on and fiddling with some buttons. “Just introduce yourself. Flirt a little, give him your number.” She threw another smirk over her shoulder. “Easy.”
The bell above the door gave its automated ding, but they both ignored it. Customers usually interrupted them when they were ready to order, some more politely than others. It’d been weeks since they’d jumped to attention at the tone.
“Oh, sure,” Castiel scoffed. He stood as he turned to her, leaning against the register. “That’ll go so well. I’ll just say, ‘Hi, I’m Castiel. I’m too scared to give you my phone number, but I’ve wanted to since the first day you came in.’ Which,” he interrupted himself, giving Meg a black look, “Just sounds creepy.” He crossed his arms and continued, “’I don’t know your name but I have your order memorized, Mr. Grande-Americano-No-Sugar-No-Cream-Please-Just-Coffee.’” He glared at Meg again. “And if I haven’t scared him off by that point, I’d say, ‘I have four older brothers who will try to skin you alive, a mother that will talk your ear off, and I really like your eyes. Will you go on a date with me?’”
“Will they skin me before or after the date?”
Castiel’s back went rigid, his hands froze, and his eyes went so wide he could feel them straining. No, no nonono. He desperately looked at Meg, face heating up to rival the coffee machines. Please, he begged Meg with his eyes, please tell me that is not Mr. Grande-Americano-No-Sugar-No-Cream-Please-Just-Coffee. Please tell me that is virtually anyone else.
She looked like she was torn between embarrassment for her friend and delight that something was finally happening.
All in all, not a promising expression.
Castiel slowly turned his head, certain that his face was strawberry red, and locked eyes with Mr. Grande-Americano-No-Sugar-No-Cream-Please-Just-Coffee. Whose lips were twitching into a small grin on one side of his mouth, his hair was glowing in the morning sun, and his green eyes were sparkling.
How am I supposed to explain myself, Castiel thought hysterically, while his eyes are freaking sparkling?
“Um,” Castiel turned fully around to face the man, glancing down at the counter and nervously fiddling with the Sharpie in his apron pocket. “I, uh…” Damage control, damage control, come on. He closed his eyes and gave himself a second to breathe before he peered carefully up at the customer. “How…” he began haltingly, “much of that… did you hear?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the man sounded like he was teasing, voice as light as his blonde hair, still catching the sun magnificently. “I think, about, hmm… All of it?” his grin stretched to his entire face. “Yeah, actually, I think it was all of it.”
Meg snorted to herself, but Castiel elected to ignore that for the moment. There were more pressing issues right now.
“Great.” Castiel replied, his voice about two octaves higher than he meant for it to be. At least he doesn’t seem angry, right? “Great, um,” he stared down at the register again and ran his hand through his hair. “Great.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” The man pressed, voice still casual.
Castiel fought through his inner panic to remember what the question even was, but he couldn’t really remember anything past the Cute-Customer-At-Work hearing his embarrassing spiel.
Mr. Americano took mercy on him, still smiling. He has a wonderful smile. I hope he smiles like that all the time, Castiel drifted for a second before snapping back to reality at his words.
“Will your brothers skin me alive before or after the date?”
Castiel blinked a few times. Wait… what? “Aa…fter?”
“Okay.” The man smiled again. “Then, if you still want to go on that date, how about you write your number on my cup, and I’ll text you later?” His eyes sparkled again. How does he do that?
“Um…” Castiel felt his blush kick up again. “Yeah,” He nearly whispered, looking down at the register. “I’d like that.”
“Great,” the man replied happily. “In that case, I’ll have the usual.” He winked.
Castiel shyly smiled at the man, punching in his Grande Americano, No Sugar, No Cream. He fiddled with his Sharpie again, glancing up and daring to ask, “Can I have a name for the order?”
The man laughed and handed over his cash. “It’s Dean.” He put the change he got back into the tip jar. “Nice to finally meet you, Castiel.” He winked again before ambling to the pick-up counter.
Castiel smiled at the tip jar. That was very nice of him, he didn’t have to do that. He turned and poured the man’s – Dean’s – coffee, carefully slipping on the heat sleeve and lid. After clicking his Sharpie a few times, still incredibly nervous about it, he bent over and wrote on the cup.
After a few moments of writing, he called Dean’s name and carefully handed over his just-coffee. He blushed heavily at what he had written, but he didn’t regret doing it. It’s true, after all.
Dean smiled softly at the message, but seemed to get that Castiel was too shy to laugh at. “I have to go to work, but I’ll text you later? We’ll set up that date.” He said softly.
“Yes,” Castiel smiled down at the counter. “Please do.”
“Alright. Talk to you later, Castiel.” Dean smiled blindingly once more before turning and exiting the coffee shop.
Castiel smiled to himself as he turned around, only to come face-to-face with Meg.
“Well,” she drawled, arms crossed. “That was interesting.”
“Mmhhm.” Castiel hummed in agreement, still too happy for her to get to him.
“What did you write on the cup there, Clarence?”
“My name…” he stalled, “my number…”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And obviously something else?”
Castiel awkwardly ran his hand through his hair again. “I wrote that I really did like his eyes.” He mumbled. “And I drew a small… a very small heart.”
“You dog! I knew you had it in ya!” She crowed, both congratulating and slightly teasing him.
“Yeah, well,” He shrugged, face burning.
“Mhm.” She shook her head. “You realize,” she turned back to the machines, “If you guys end up being in this for the long haul, I can always say that I was the one that got you two lovebirds together?”
Castiel smiled again, thinking about being in it for the long haul with Dean. They didn’t know much about each other yet, but he knew enough to make the man attractive. He was polite, even nice, to baristas, he gave them tip money, he always brushed it off with a laugh and a “no problem” when his order was wrong (it had been weird, at first, to get just regular coffee orders), and he was patient, for a few things. The small talk over the weeks had shown he was incredibly proud of his younger brother, loved his mother, and helped out his friends, too.
Whoever Dean ended up being, Castiel could feel in his heart that he would be okay with it. Even like whoever it was. Maybe, one day, love him.
He blushed slightly again at his own sappy thoughts before replying to Meg. “I’ll deny it to my dying day.”
She smirked at him. “I know you will, Clarence. I know you will.”
Dean is a high schooler working part-time at a carnival, painting faces for the night.
Castiel is a high schooler that isn't allowed to pick what he gets.
Read it on AO3!
A hand smacked the fold-out table that was Dean’s “booth”, his head jerking up from his phone at the sharp noise amid the hubbub of the crowd.
“Hey, there, artsy,” a short, blonde man said, grinning crookedly, hand still flat on the plastic surface, “My brother wants to get his face painted, and we were hoping you could help with that.”
Dean raised his eyebrows but plastered on his professional, customer-service, dealing-with-rude-people smile. If the man couldn’t be bothered to read the stupidly bright and colorful sign declaring Face Painting, $10, there was a large chance Dean would need to work hard to keep his cool. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He stuck his phone in his pocket before waving vaguely at the assortment of paint-splattered brushes standing proudly out of a red plastic cup. Not incredibly professional, but he did work at a fall carnival, after all. It’s not like he could afford a nice studio set-up as a high schooler with a part-time gig. Plus, his usual clientele consisted of four-to-seven year olds, and as long as Dean knew how to paint Spider-Man, they couldn’t care less. “Long as you’ve got ten bucks, I’ll paint whatever he wants.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter what he wants.” The man grinned wider. “Ooh Cassie!” He turned and sang over his shoulder, “Come here!”
“Cassie” parted from the throng and walked over, radiating embarrassment. He looked about Dean’s age, which was a welcome surprise after painting children all night. No offense to the little guys, but the squirming and nose wrinkling made it hard to paint straight. He was cute, too, Dean mused to himself. Dark, messy hair and blue eyes. The trench coat was a little weird, sure, but certainly not the worst choice to protect against the October temps. “Gabe, do we really have to do this right now?”
“Yes.” Gabe’s face was serious, but Dean trusted that about as far as he could throw the guy. He could still see the corner of his mouth twitching and the wicked amusement in his eyes. “You agreed to this, bucko.”
“Yes, but I thought it would take you longer to find someone.” Cassie muttered, rubbing his forearm nervously. His eyes were locked onto his brother’s, obviously trying to puppy-dog-eyes his way out of the situation.
Damn. Guy could give Sam a run for his money. Dean chuckled quietly to himself.
Unfortunately for Cassie, it seemed Gabe was immune to the look. He turned back to Dean, smirk firmly back in place. “Columbo here- “
“Rude.” Cassie muttered quietly.
“-has agreed to sit still while you paint whatever your little heart desires all over his pretty face. And then walk around with it all night, no matter what it is.”
Dean blinked and slowly raised his eyebrows. “And just why would he agree to do that?” He glanced over at the teen, who still looked incredibly like he wanted to disappear.
“Not your problem, sweet cheeks.” The blonde finally lifted his hand to reveal a crumpled ten on the cheap table. “We got ten bucks, you paint. Weren’t those the rules?” He gasped dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand, “Unless you changed them?”
“No,” Dean plastered on his fake smile again, suppressing the urge to punch the guy. “Those are still the rules.”
“Well, ain’t that just swell.” Gabe turned and raised his eyebrows at his brother, sweeping his hand dramatically to the wooden stool across from Dean. “You sit, Cassie. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. That cotton candy looks to die for. Paint something good!” Gabe disappeared as quickly as he had come, melting seamlessly into the Friday-night crowd.
After a few moments, Cassie shuffled awkwardly around the table, lowering himself slowly onto the seat.
It was almost comical, how much taller that made him than Dean. The stool was higher up, for the kids, so it put the guy at least a full head above Dean. This one might hurt his neck a little, Dean noted.
“You know,” Dean began conversationally, fiddling with his paints, carefully avoiding eye contact. He felt like, if anything, that might make the guy more embarrassed. “If you want, we could just tell him to shove it. I won’t get fired or anything.”
“No, I did agree to this.” The teen muttered, but he still sounded like he was marching into his own grave. His eyes were focused intensely on the red and white striped canvas wall behind Dean’s head.
“Yeah, it’s frickin’ ugly, isn’t it?” Dean turned around to where Cassie was looking, trying to lighten the mood. “I tried to ask for a black one or something, but the owner of this place is really weirdly attached to the whole ‘carnival’ look.”
Cassie cracked a small smile, shoulders loosening a bit. His feet rested on the bottom rung of the stool, legs clearly longer than the seat was made for.
“So what’s your real name?” Dean asked, turning back. “I have a feeling it ain’t actually ‘Cassie’.”
“No, it isn’t, Gabe just likes to call me that because he knows it bothers me. My name is Castiel.” It looked like the small talk was helping him relax, so Dean kept going.
“Hate to agree with that guy,” Dean screwed up his face in distaste, leisurely picking up a brush. He was hoping if he started slowly, he wouldn’t spook the guy. “But it is kind of the older brother’s right to call the younger one nicknames. God knows I bug Sammy enough with it.” He dipped the brush into blue paint, almost absentmindedly.
“Yes, well,” Castiel shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”
Dean chuckled. “No, it doesn’t.” He lifted his hand, bringing it up to Castiel’s face carefully, but not yet touching his skin. He smiled at the widened eyes, slight panic obvious in them. “The paint might be a little cold, but don’t worry. This doesn’t hurt at all.” He said soothingly, drawing from past experiences with freaked-out toddlers.
“I’m not worried it will hurt.” Castiel screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled. Dean sighed internally. So much for that, then. “I’m worried about what you’re going to paint.” He cracked his eyes open when he didn’t feel anything on his face.
Dean laughed, lowering his hand again. “Don’t worry, dude. You seem like a really nice guy, so far, anyway, and I’m not the type to paint dicks on anyone’s face. Even if they’re a dick.”
The slight blush and averted eyes told Dean that had been exactly what the other boy had been expecting.
“No way, man!” Dean crowed. He felt slightly offended, but couldn’t help but sit back and laugh. “You thought I was going to draw dicks on your face!”
A woman walking by his table cast an offended glare at him and hurried her little boy along. Dean snorted at the kid’s delighted grin, still giggling to himself.
“Well!” Castiel began defensively, “You’re a high school boy! They draw dicks on everything!” He pointed at Dean, “Plus, if Gabe got to choose the design, he definitely would have told you to paint them on me.”
Dean pursed his lips sympathetically, but couldn’t help the small chuckles still escaping. “Yeah, I met him for thirty seconds and I could see that. Don’t worry,” He held up his free hand, the other still resting on his knee with a dripping paintbrush. “I promise I will not paint dicks on your face. Scout’s honor.”
Castiel squinted at him suspiciously, but nodded acceptance. “Okay, fine. You may continue.” His shoes squeaked on the cheap wooden rung. “I trust that you won’t paint inappropriate things on my face.” His face smoothed out as he relaxed again.
“Oh, are all inappropriate things banned?” Dean grinned, quickly reaching up and swiping a few calculated lines on Castiel’s face. “I just promised no dicks, we didn’t talk about other stuff.”
Castiel squinted at Dean again, lips pressed tightly together, obviously trying to figure out whether he was kidding. The crowd noise seemed louder in the silence, overlapping voices creating a rumbling background to the impromptu staring contest. “… you wouldn’t.” A game booth a few tents down started ringing some kind of bell.
Dean snickered at the look, secretly thinking that it was adorable. It was like a puppy growling at you. Especially with the random streaks of blue across his forehead. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m joking, Castiel. I am not going to paint inappropriate things on your face.”
“Good.” Castiel muttered, his face slowly returning to a calm expression. His hands tangled together in his lap, he still visibly looked a little unsure about the situation.
Dean calmly reached up and started adding lines, dipping back into his paints every few strokes. “So why are you doing this?” He asked gently, dabbing color onto a temple. “Don’t get me wrong, face paint is a way better route than a tattoo or something, but no offense, you don’t really look like you want to be here.” He leaned in and stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he grabbed his thinnest brush, beginning to slowly add web-thin lines.
“No,” Castiel protested softly, “I don’t mind it here. I like the energy. It’s almost like sitting in the middle of a thunderstorm.” His smile crinkled the wet paint next to his eyes.
Dean felt the odd sensation of simultaneous disappointment at the smears and appreciation of the cute smile. He smiled and shook his head at himself, reaching up to fix the area.
“I just don’t like to participate. It’s very suffocating, the crowds are…” He shrugged self-consciously. “Gabe says I plan too much. I’m not ‘impulsive enough’.” He did the little air quotes, the dork. “This was supposed to show that he was wrong.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, adding more white to his paper plate “palette”, mixing a lighter shade of blue. “I don’t know, man, it kind of just sounds like an opportunity for him to mess with you.” He would know, he’d pulled schemes like this on Sam enough.
Castiel sighed before scrunching his nose at the touch of the brush on the bridge of it. “Yeah, I figured that out about five seconds after I agreed to it. Like you said, though, face paint is better than a tattoo.”
The game booth bell rang out again. “… he wouldn’t.” No way.
“Oh, I assure you, he would.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Crazy, dude. Your brother is crazy.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Castiel muttered darkly.
“Probably not,” Dean agreed. He used his free hand to gently push some curls off of Castiel’s forehead, smoothly adding a few more lines.
Castiel’s eyes slipped closed, apparently now used to the feeling of the brush. “He once replaced every document on my laptop with a copy of the Bee Movie script.”
Dean winced in sympathy. “Ah, damn. He didn’t erase anything super important, did he?”
“No,” he sighed, “I had back-up copies of everything incredibly important.” His mouth twisted into what Dean could only describe as a pout, and a cute one. “It did put me a few days behind on a final paper, though.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Dean said, dipping into some gray. “I haven’t done anything like that to Sam, just the little stuff. Itching powder in his underwear, spoon in his mouth while he’s sleeping,” he shrugged, even though he knew Cas couldn’t see it. “Nothing that would really hurt him or ruin anything critical.”
Castiel scrunched up his nose again, and Dean sighed at the new smudges. “That’s certainly better than my brother, but it still doesn’t sound too pleasant for Sam.”
“He always gets me back, don’t worry about him too much.” Dean carefully corrected the blotches and continued. “Don’t wrinkle your nose like that.” He admonished softly. “It messes up the paint.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think about it.” Castiel seemed embarrassed by that.
“Not a big deal,” Dean tried to soothe, lightly brushing a few more curls out of his way. “You’re doing way better than my usual, promise. Have you ever tried to paint the Batman symbol on the cheek of a five-year-old who just finished his third cotton candy?” He shuddered loudly.
“No,” the corner of Cas’ mouth twitched up faintly. “Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart.” Dean muttered darkly.
Castiel chuckled under his breath before they both fell silent again.
A girl walked by arm-in-arm with her girlfriend, both laughing loudly at something. A boy a few stalls down whooped as he won a stuffed crocodile. The crowd continued to buzz, friends yelling at each other across the path as parents scolded children for wandering off.
It was oddly peaceful, sitting here, painting Castiel’s face. It was nice, Dean thought as he switched brushes again. A comfortable silence.
“What are you painting?” Castiel asked quietly, eyes closed.
Dean grinned lightly at the hesitancy in the other boy’s voice. “Cas, I am painting a giant Hello Kitty design.” He said, keeping his voice low and calm. “Aaaallll over your face. You have a pretty little pink bow here.” He tapped the handle of the brush against Cas’ temple, “A nice little yellow nose here,” tapped against the tip of Cas’ nose, “And whiskers.” He traced the handle over Cas’ cheeks teasingly.
“Dean,” Cas’ voice was amused, if anything. His eyes stayed shut, seemingly unconcerned. “You haven’t painted my nose or cheeks, and you were using like five different shades of blue.”
Dean chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, okay, Columbo, you’re right.” He sat back for a moment to take in the whole design critically. “You know that Willy Wonka movie with that blueberry chick?”
Cas’ eyes flew open and he shifted suddenly, about to stand. “You did not- “
Dean quickly reached out and tugged him back down, laughing. “No, no, Cas, of course I didn’t.”
“You better not have.” He muttered as he sat again. “I have to walk around with this all night, you know.”
Dean nodded, pretending solemnity, dotting a few more places. “I know, Gabe told me.”
“Assbutt.” Castiel muttered.
The bell rang out from the game booth again. Dean carefully sat down his brush and raised his eyebrows. “Assbutt?”
Castiel looked over at the churro truck down the way, avoiding Dean’s eye line. “Yes.” His cheeks looked suspiciously pink. “And are you calling me Cas now?”
Dean suppressed a smile and shook his head. Dork. “Yes.” He reached out and turned Cas’ face back to him, doing a final sweep of the design. “Lookin’ good.” It really did look good; at least Dean thought so. It had helped that no one else had wanted their face painted. He hadn’t had to rush to get to another customer.
“Are you done?” Cas didn’t seem to mind the hand that was still resting against his cheek, but Dean put it down anyway. No need to freak out the guy.
Dean hummed an affirmative before grabbing his hand mirror and holding it against his chest. “You ready to see it?”
Castiel looked unsure, but nodded anyway.
Dean felt a warm glow fill him at the guy’s trust, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. The game booth bell started ringing again, this time flashing lights, too. Someone had just won big. Dean raised the mirror to Castiel’s height. “Ta-da!”
Castiel looked awestruck. A few moments passed, silence from both teens as someone at a game booth yelled something about a palm tree. “… how did you do this?” He whispered, reverently trailing his fingers across the lines.
Dean suddenly felt bashful and dropped his arm, shrugging awkwardly. “I just painted it, dude.” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure. “So you like it?”
Castiel gently pried the mirror from Dean’s hand and held it up to his face, turning left and right to see the entire piece. “Oh my gosh. It’s amazing! I love this!” He beamed at Dean, who couldn’t help but smile back in the face of that gummy smile.
Castiel continued to examine himself in the mirror, admiring the beautifully complicated network of blue lighting emanating from his right temple, arcing across his face to the other side. Dean had layered different shades of blues and whites, making each branch look incredibly 3D and lifelike, and even added some stormy clouds across his hairline. He couldn’t stop smiling at it; the artwork was so stunning.
Dean leaned back against his chair, quietly satisfied that Castiel liked the final product. “Soo…” He drawled, “I guess this means you’ll take risks more often, huh?”
Castiel lowered the mirror and beamed at him again, replying, “If it ends anything like this, I will become the most reckless person in Lawrence.”
Dean rolled his eyes and took back his mirror, putting it back on the table. “Slow down there, Evil Kenevil, you can work your way up. Nothing dangerous, you got me? I kind of like your weird, dorky ass.”
Cas rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I feel like I should be insulted, but I think that was a compliment, so thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck again. “So, look, uh…”
Castiel waited patiently, fingers absently reaching up to brush against the paint again. It probably itched, Dean thought.
He blew out a hard breath before deciding to just get it over with. “I know we didn’t talk all that much, but you seem like a really cool guy.” And you’re unbelievably adorable, Dean added silently. “I haven’t taken my break yet and, if you’re not in too much of a rush to get back to your brother, I’d like to see if we can’t hang out some more. Maybe.” He glanced up. “Like get dinner or something.”
Castiel tilted his head to the side, reminding Dean of when they got Bones as a puppy. He couldn’t help chuckling again at the cute motion. “Would it be a dinner-date or just a dinner?”
“Well,” Dean tapped his fingers against the table, staring at a yellow splotch on his ring finger. “That’s up to you, I guess.” He glanced up, “I wouldn’t mind it being a date, but if you’re not comfortable with that, we can just get food as friends. No pressure.” It would be a little disappointing, sure, but he definitely wouldn’t mind being friends with Castiel.
Castiel ran his hand through his hair, a few curls falling onto his forehead. “I would like for it to be a date, as well.” He smiled shyly.
Dean stood up, brushing his jeans off. “Awesome.” He smiled and stepped forward, gently brushing the curls back off Cas’ head. “Careful with that for a minute,” he warned quietly, “paint might not be totally dry yet.”
Castiel hummed acknowledgement, and Dean could see the slight blush at their closeness, without a brush in between them. They both smiled softly at the other.
“C’mon.” Dean took a step towards the main thoroughfare, sticking his hand back to Cas and wiggling his fingers in invitation. “We won’t find gourmet steaks, but Garth’s deep-fried turkey legs are pretty great, if that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds good to me.” Cas sent Dean a quick smile as he took the painter's hand.
“Will Gabe be worried if we aren’t here when he finally comes back?” Dean asked, beginning to find his way through the throng. He accidentally bumped into a woman, both parties muttering a quick apology.
“Probably.” Cas stepped closer, grip tightening on Dean’s hand. Dean smiled privately at the action. “But he always is telling me to be more impulsive, so, if anything, he’ll be proud.”
“He wouldn’t leave here without you, would he?”
Castiel was silent for a few paces, “You have a car, right?”
Dean threw back his head and laughed, squeezing Cas’ hand and stopping in front of Garth’s truck. He had a feeling he was going to have a very good night.
Castiel was set up on a blind date with Zachariah. There’s a basketball game, a kiss cam, and rejections. Dean is there to save the day.
Read it on Ao3!
Castiel knew it was a bad idea to come here tonight. He didn’t even like basketball. Not that he had anything against it, in theory, but this place was loud, everyone was sweaty, and he didn’t even know which team he was supposed to be rooting for.
Time Heals All Wounds (But Cookies Don't Hurt, Either)
Castiel and Dean catch up, fill in gaps. Some fillings are painful, but they make it through.
Cas works up the courage to confess something he's kept hidden for a long time.
Hypothetically.
AKA - The continuation of the one with cookies and chocolate milk where Castiel is scared, but that's okay.
You don't necessarily need to read the first part to understand this, but it might help.
Read it on AO3!
After their reunion in the kitchen, Dean stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that he must’ve picked up from somewhere. The room felt awkward, but the edges were still warm with relief and happiness. Castiel wiped his eyes again and tried to recollect his thoughts.
“Um… Sorry about that.”
Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “About the hug?” It had been a great hug. He had felt so warm and cared for. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged; his mother certainly hadn’t hugged him for years.
“Yeah, uh,” Dean rubbed his elbow and glanced up from the floor. “I’m just… happy to see you, I guess.”
Castiel tugged on the sleeve of his trench coat, feeling his nerves return, and looked down at the floor. “I wasn’t exactly complaining.” He said softly. “I’m happy to see you, too.” He doubted Dean knew how much.
“Yeah, well,” Dean blew a quick breath through his nose, the facsimile of a laugh, “Doesn’t mean I had the right to maul you like that.”
“It’s really okay, Dean.” Castiel smiled tentatively. He wouldn’t mind Dean doing it again, to be honest, but now probably wasn’t the best time to say that.
Dean smiled back. “Well, we should catch up, man! D’you want to go up to my room?” Dean glanced around the kitchen like he expected his mother to jump out from behind the fridge.
Cas nodded. He would like it if they relearned each other. Neither one was the exact same as they were at seven years old. He certainly wasn’t the same little boy he used to be. Plus, he would love to see how Dean’s room had changed. Were his walls still dark green? Did he still have that baseball bat shaped lamp? His sheets probably didn’t still have racecars on them, right? He smiled at Dean’s hand wave and followed him up the stairs.
“I haven’t seen you in years, dude. Are you going to school around here?”
“Yes, I’m starting at KU this semester.”
“No kidding?” Dean turned around at the doorway to his room and gave him a bright smile. “So’m I. We should see if we can’t meet up sometime, for lunch or something.”
“Yeah,” Cas said softly, smiling back. “I’d like that.”
Dean turned away quickly, cheeks a little pink. Probably from climbing the stairs.
They sat on Dean’s bed (he did not have racecar sheets, but he did still have the baseball bat lamp) and talked for hours. They talked about classes, their possible majors, dorm rooms; they discussed what had happened since they last saw each other. They laughed at memories and talked about friends, school; anything that came to mind. Castiel didn’t bring up his feelings, but Castiel knew it now just as certainly as he had twelve years ago. Maybe even more now, with the wonderful man that he could clearly see Dean had grown up to be; Castiel was in love with Dean Winchester.
Eventually, Castiel did end up receiving another hug, but not in the way he wanted. Dean had asked about his mom, how she was doing, and Cas couldn’t stop himself from breaking down. He felt the hot tears coursing down his face as he tried to get out between great, shuddering breaths that she wouldn’t talk to him anymore. How she had changed after he had told her he was asexual, grown cold and sharp. She wouldn’t even let him explain what it was, just heard that he wasn’t straight, wasn’t normal, and stopped caring.
He forced out how, when he told her that he was moving back to Kansas for college, she had tried to force him to stay, all the things she had screamed at him. He didn’t even know why she wanted him to stay, she hated him anyway. She had for a long time.
Mary had always felt more like a mom to him than Naomi, and he hadn’t even heard from her in twelve years.
Dean wrapped him in a hug, rubbing circles into his back as he shook and tried to calm down. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean said softly. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said shakily, closed eyes resting on Dean’s shoulder. “I didn’t need to tell you that. I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry.”
“No, Cas, don’t say you’re sorry.” Cas felt him shake his head. “It’s fine. You needed to get it out. That’s a lot to hold in.”
Castiel hummed, acknowledging, but neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He focused on his breathing, slowly returning back to regular breaths instead of the shaking gasps he had been letting out.
“You know,” Dean said softly, after a few minutes spent simply holding Castiel, “My mom was talking about making some chocolate chip cookies earlier. Do you want to go see if we can’t steal a couple?”
Castiel felt his eyes well up again, mind flooding with the memories he had used to keep himself going. He took a few more measured, careful breaths. He had cried on Dean enough today. “Yeah,” he whispered, pulling back reluctantly. He fiddled with the button on his sleeve, focusing on the threads holding it in place. “That would be nice.”
“Great,” Dean beamed at him again, he could see out of the corner of his eye. “And hey,” Dean reached over and gently brushed a few strands of hair off of Castiel’s forehead.
Castiel looked up slowly, tentatively giving Dean a small smile.
“Let’s see if we can’t swipe some chocolate milk, too.” Dean winked at him.
Dean stood to leave, but Cas couldn’t make himself get up. He reached out and snagged the end of Dean’s sleeve, looking anywhere but Dean’s face as the other man turned back.
If Dean remembered that too, that meant something, right? After all these years, he still remembered that chocolate milk was Cas’ favorite, that it always got him to stop crying after he scraped his knee or stubbed his toe. Dean remembered them stealing the cookies, too, although Cas wouldn’t have blamed him at all for forgetting that in the years they were apart. He even remembered that they always snuck chocolate chip, because Cas didn’t like the snickerdoodles Mary made.
Cas didn’t have much courage left, not after everything he had done today, but that line bolstered what little he could muster.
“Ca-“
“What,” Castiel started softly, scared to let himself hope. He made a frustrated noise, angry at himself. He could move all the way here, fight with his mother, enroll at a college nearly across the country, and he was chickening out here?
No.
“What would you say,” he still couldn’t look Dean in the eye, focusing on his thumbnail, white as he clutched Dean’s sleeve. He couldn’t do it. He felt his heart stop in his chest and plummet to his stomach. He couldn’t do it. He felt like crying again. “…if I told you that I had a crush on you when we were little?”
Cas felt Dean slowly sit back down, but wouldn’t take his eyes off of his own hand. Coward. Castiel was a coward.
“I would say,” Castiel watched as Dean’s hand slowly covered his own. “That I’m glad you had a crush on me,” Dean spoke measuredly, “…because I had a crush on you, too.” Dean carefully eased Cas’ grip off of his sleeve, “And… I would say…that I hope yours didn’t end when you left.” He slowly threaded their fingers together. “Because mine didn’t.”
Castiel slowly traced his eyes up to Dean’s face, taking in the small smile and the odd mix of nerves and confidence in his eyes. What? Dean liked him, too? After all this time? “What would you say,” he was whispering now, again, but not out of fear, this time. Not fully, anyway. “If I told you that mine didn’t either?” He felt exposed, having put himself out there like this. In a few seconds, Cas would ever be elated or devastated. It was up to Dean, now.
Dean’s smile grew. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Well, Cas, I don’t know that I would say much. But I might do something, if you would be okay with it.”
“What?” Please don’t say it was ‘punch Castiel in the face’. Or ‘throw Castiel out of the house’. Or ‘laugh at Castiel for falling for this’. Just, Cas’ thoughts were gaining hysteria again, please don’t be anything bad, please.
Dean leaned closer, hands still clasped together on his bedspread. “What would you say,” he was whispering now, too, and Cas could feel his breath on his lips. “If I told you that I really want to kiss you right now?”
Castiel felt his heart slowly move back up to his chest before beginning to beat double time. “I would say,” Castiel whispered back, “That I would really like to kiss you, too.” His eyes fell to the blankets again.
“Hmm.” Dean smiled. Then he leaned back suddenly. “Too bad this is all hypothetical, then, huh?”
Castiel made a strangled sound and tried to tug his hand away from Dean’s, but it was held in an iron grip. “You asshole.” Was he just playing with Castiel, then? Had all of this been a joke, a horrible, terrible prank? “If you were messing with me, why not just tell me to leave? What was all of this, a trick?”
Dean shook his head, and still wouldn’t let go. “No, Cas, I’m not messing with you. Hey, come on, look at me,” He reached forward and took Cas’ jaw in his hand, forcing him to look Dean in the eye. “This wasn’t a hoax, or a rank, or any of that. I’m not saying I don’t like you. I do like you. A lot. I’ve liked you for a long time.” He raised their joined hands and smiled at Cas. “I just want to hear it from you. I’ve wanted to hear it from you for a long time, okay? Not as a hypothetical. Do you like me?” He slid his hand to gently cup Cas’ cheek.
Castiel tried to glare at him, still kind of pissed from the psych out, but felt his old fear creep over him again and douse the fire. He still couldn’t look Dean in the eye. He turned his face more into Dean’s hand, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Yes,” he said softly, into the skin there. “I like you.” He glanced up for a moment, seeing Dean’s happiness and relief. Had he really not been sure? After all that? “I’ve liked you since we were little.” He smiled faintly, and Dean felt the curve of his mouth against his palm. “Every time my mother went too far, I always felt better by remembering us stealing your mom’s chocolate chip cookies and how your freckles stretched out when you smiled.” He glared at Dean again. “I’m reconsidering, though, after that crap.”
“Aw, no, Cas. I promise, I won’t do it again, okay?” Dean laughed. “I just wanted to hear it. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to freak you out like that.” Dean smiled, and leaned back in, “Can I kiss you now?”
“I’m tempted to say no, you jerk.” Castiel grumped, still muttering into Dean’s hand. “But,” he sighed softly, in pretend petulance. He really was over it, by now. It was a little mean, but Dean hadn’t meant anything by it. And Cas believed him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. “Yes, I suppose I would like that.”
They both smiled into the kiss, and felt each other’s happiness through it.
Dean leaned back and stroked his thumb across Cas’, hands still held together. “Now let’s go see if we can’t steal some cookies, alright?”
“Okay.” Cas sighed. “But I get an extra. I need it after that joke you pulled on me. You owe me a glass of chocolate milk for that, by the way.” Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean, trying to look intimidating. Judging by the laugh, it hadn’t worked very well.
Dean kissed the tip of his nose. “Alright, I promise you a big glass of chocolate milk. I could even see if we have any crazy straws, really get that childhood experience.”
Cas smiled down at the bedspread. “I had forgotten about the crazy straws.” He whispered happily. He looked up at Dean, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Yeah,” he was so happy, he felt his smile split his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I would like that.”
I am writing a short paper for a class regarding the motivation of fanfic writing and author’s views toward these motivations. If any fanfic writers could take this survey, I would be very appreciative!!
The hyperlink is above, but just in case, the link is:
I wanted to talk for a second about some acephobia that I’ve experienced. Because yes, there’s the obvious “asexuality isn’t real” “lol r u a plant” “you’re not queer enough to be lgbt” stuff, but there’s other things out there too. there’s the lowkey stuff that you might doubt yourself for noticing.
for context, I’m homoromantic ace. and the thing is, I’ve had friends treat me differently after I told them I’m asexual - friends who treated me with easy respect after I told them I was gay. these friends didn’t ask awkward questions and didn’t try to directly pressure me into anything after I came out as ace; it’s just that whenever I demonstrated even the slightest interest in another person, instead of being like “oh cool!” like before, they now encouraged it and celebrated it with a fervour that confused me. “I’m so happy for you,” they said, and “I’m so happy you were wrong about being ace” is what they meant. they took my romantic feelings as a joyful sign that my asexuality was over. it was so lowkey that for ages I couldn’t figure out why it bugged me. they were just being happy for me.
a different example: my closest friend of several years handled me being queer with absolute equanimity until I came out as ace. she couldn’t understand it. she liked the fact that I didn’t have sex with people, up until the point where I came out as ace - she thought it made me kind of a badass, until she realised I wasn’t holding myself back or fighting temptation, I was just… being myself and doing what I wanted to do. after I came out, her respect for me crumbled and our relationship withered before my eyes and, again, it took me forever to join these dots because her feelings only emerged in tiny glimpses over months and months. “you look hot today. oh, wait, you don’t do hot anymore, right?” “that isn’t your thing anymore, right?” “you don’t do that anymore, right?”
she was so angry with me about it and I didn’t even see it until after our relationship was over, because she hid it so well. she knew it was an unacceptable anger to feel. it only leaked out in near-invisible words and phrases and tones of voice.
the reason I want to talk about this is simple: if you’re ace, then you might have experienced things like this. questions, sentences, facial expressions, comments that bother you for a reason you can’t explain. asexuality itself goes unseen so often that microaggressions against ace people can also pass under the radar. these negative behaviours can leave us feeling invisible or hurt or angry - and we might not even know why. we might blame ourselves for overreacting; we might dismiss our feelings as baseless. but I want you to know, if you’re struggling with things like this, that your feelings aren’t without cause. you’re not wrong. you aren’t imagining things. you are not making it up. these behaviours are real and they happen all the time, and they’re not okay.
if you want to reblog this post and talk about any acephobia like this that you’ve experienced, please feel free to do so if you’re comfortable sharing! and if something springs to mind when I say that, please don’t doubt yourself or think “oh, but that wasn’t bad enough to be worth talking about/no one cares/it was no big deal…” if it came to your mind, it was bad enough. it hurt you. and it’s OK - no, it’s vital - to talk about it.
So this isn’t a microaggression but it’s an experience I’ve had that I want to talk about, if that’s okay.
I found out about asexuality through tumblr and was super excited about it. I didn’t know much about it, but what I’d researched sounded so right for me. The first person I told was my friend, as a casual mention at school because I didn’t want to have a big discussion about it. (I was super nervous, my heart felt like it was in my stomach.)
They didn’t understand, which, I mean, it was a few years ago, it wasn’t as widespread as it is now, I wasn’t super surprised by that. But then they asked me if, like, I could still date people. If I’d still be willing to be with someone one day. Basically asking me if I’d ever “get better”.
And that... was so damaging for me. I was trying to tell my best friend who I was, when I wasn’t even all that sure of myself, and they asked me if I’d ever “get over it”. I didn’t even know what to say, and to be honest I don’t quite remember what I did say. I think I kind of mumbled something and quickly changed the subject.
I dropped it for years. I had the term in the back of my mind, but I was no longer researching it. I stopped trying to figure out who I was. I just... After being so casually rejected like that by someone I thought I could trust with anything?
It took me a while to come back around to the subject, to be able to learn about asexuality and talk about it without feeling that hollow, crushing rejection.
And, you know, to them, it wasn’t a big deal. They’ve probably forgotten about this conversation. They’ve accepted me since then, they know I’m ace and they’re supportive, but that is something that I will never be able to get out of the back of my mind. Just their flippant casualty as they rejected my entire being, my entire self, when I was so unsure about it to begin with. A kind word or some support would have been life-changing. An “I accept you” or even a simple “Okay” would have meant the world to me. But, instead, I was rejected. And I can never forget that.
“But I need it!” Dean argued, laughing with his boyfriend. He did not need that mug, and he knew it.
“No, Dean, you do not need a $30 coffee mug.” Castiel shot him an amused look. It was pretty obvious Dean was not fooling anyone. “I don’t care what it says. You need to spend your money like a rational adult.”
“Excuse you, I am a great example of a mature, rational idiot.” Dean’s face paled as he realized what he just said.
Castiel turned around slowly, grin on his face. “You’re a what?”
“I- “
“You’re a what now, Dean?”
“I said- “
“What did you say?”
Dean groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I didn’t.”
“You did.” Castiel laughed loudly and sat next to Dean on his bed. “You did.”
Dean pushed Cas over, smiling despite himself. “Okay, okay, laugh it up.”
“Oh, I plan to.” Castiel was still giggling to himself, now lying on his back in Dean’s bed. “Rational idiot.” He repeated quietly to himself before bursting into laughter again.
Dean sighed but couldn’t help his grin as he flopped down next to Cas. “Like you’ve never made a mistake before.”
Cas turned his head and hummed before reaching down and linking their fingers. “Sure I have. And you laughed at me, remember?” His eyes were twinkling, damn it. “Turnabout is fair play, my dear.”
Dean rolled his eyes but was still smiling. “Okay, babe.”
Castiel was still chuckling.
Dean leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I still love you, you know.”
“Oh, really?” Castiel snickered. “Is this one of those decisions you made as a mature, rational idiot?”
“You know, I’m starting to think so.” Dean childishly stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend.
Castiel rolled his eyes and raised their joined hands to kiss the back of Dean’s. “I love you, too.” He snorted in laughter. “Idiot.”
Dean groaned, laughing through the sound. “I am never going to live this down, am I?”
“Of course not.” Cas grinned at him, eyes crinkled.
Dean’s bandages are finally ready to come off. Castiel is scared that he might not like what he sees.
Also more bad pun jokes and sappy stuff.
This is a sequel to my last fic, “What-If’s”.
Read it on AO3!
“Are you ready, Mr. Winchester?”
Dean would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t afraid of hurting himself. He settled for blowing out a scoff. “I’ve been waiting to get these bandages off for two weeks, dude. I think I’m ready.”
Castiel and Dean used to be inseparable, before Cas had to move away. He clung to the memories of their time together, hoarding them like gold.
And now, he's here.
But will Dean remember him?
Read it on AO3!
When they moved, Naomi told him to forget.
Outwardly, he did. He stopped talking about it, carefully minding his words and actions.
He kept the memories buried in the back of his mind, treasured and secret.
Castiel wouldn’t forget the crooked smiles and the sweaty hands. He held onto the emerald eyes and chocolate-smeared cheeks. The smothered giggles as they snuck chocolate milk from the kitchen, so certain they had escaped unnoticed. The way freckles looked when they were stretched wide in a gap-toothed grin.
Castiel refused to let the memories go.
And now, as he stood sweating on an old, familiar doorstep, he refused to let his fears take over.
He had moved out as soon as he could, choosing a college near where he had grown up as a child. His mother had refused to speak with him after their last fight, and he tried not to mind. It was hard, even after everything she had done. Naomi had caused him so much pain, so much hurt, but she was still his mother. It hurt so, so much to let go of the hope that one day he’d make her proud.
He had moved into the dorms of the University of Kansas on a Tuesday, carefully tucking away the clothes and few belongings he had managed to take with him. It had taken him an hour to find the house. A full day to find the courage to walk up the path. He tried to work up his nerve by wearing the nicest clothes he had, a rumpled white dress shirt and an old blue tie. His old trench coat, the one fight he had managed to win as a teenager, a security blanket purchased with saved-up birthday money.
It was Thursday, and his hands shook as he stared at the white door. He didn’t even know if they lived here anymore. He didn’t know what he would do if they didn’t.
Castiel took a deep breath and knocked. He tried not to hyperventilate as he listened to the footsteps approach.
The door swung open, and his breath caught.
“Hello.” Mary Winchester said, smiling politely. Her blonde hair was short now, not the long, soft curls he remembered. She had more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, soft lines that showed her kindness.
Castiel felt his eyes tear up.
“Can I help you?” She looked confused, but she kept smiling.
“Um,” Castiel wiped his eyes with his sleeve, laughing quietly in a mixture of embarrassment and relief. “Hi, sorry.” He smiled at the woman, eyes still shining. “My name is Castiel. I don’t know if you remember me, but I used to live next door. I, um,” He trailed off, suddenly realizing he didn’t have an excuse for being here.
Thankfully, Mary didn’t seem to need one, her face lighting up in recognition. “Castiel! Of course I remember you, I could never get you and Dean apart! Come in!” She waved him in, closing the door softly behind him and continuing to talk over her shoulder as she led him to the kitchen.
Castiel smiled softly to himself as he realized he knew the way.
“How are you doing? I haven’t heard from you or your mom since you moved.”
“I’m doing well,” he slowly sat in the edge of the chair she indicated. “I, ah,” he tried to find something to say that didn’t involve his mother, “I’m going to KU this semester.”
“That’s good,” she smiled at him. “Would you like some water? Coffee? Tea?”
“Um,” Castiel hesitated, unused to this level of hospitality, “Water is fine, thank you.”
“Not a problem,” she filled a glass of water and set it in front of him, settling herself in the chair opposite. “How’s your mom doing?”
“Um,” Castiel hesitated again, trying to find a delicate way to phrase it. “I’m not entirely sure. We’ve had a bit of a… falling-out, recently.”
Mary sighed, but her small frown was understanding. “I hope this isn’t rude, Castiel, but I have to say I’m not entirely surprised. Your mother was a very difficult woman to get along with.”
Castiel remained silent, internally battling himself on whether to defend his mother or agree.
“Oh,” Mary exclaimed, as if realizing something. “I should tell Dean you’re here! You know, he was so sad when you left, I couldn’t get him to smile at me for the longest time. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see you.”
“Oh,” Castiel’s heart beat double time, nerves returning with a vengeance. This is why he came here, why was he so afraid? “Are you sure?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking quietly. What if Dean… didn’t want to see him? What if Dean had forgotten him?
Which one would be worse?
Mary’s eyes softened. “Of course I’m sure, sweetheart.” She stood, patting his shoulder as she passed. “I’ll send him down. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
He managed to nod as she left. He stared at the tabletop, trying to calm himself down. Mary was nice. She wouldn’t lie to him, right? She wouldn’t trick him like that, right? That would be too mean, right? His thoughts became increasingly hysterical, trying to convince himself of things he wasn’t sure of.
He took shuddering deep breaths, counting 2 in… 1 hold… 4 out… 1 hold…
He remembered the laughter they had shared, the bright smiles. What chocolate chip cookies tasted like when they were eaten underneath tablecloths, falling apart because they were still a little too hot. He took a final deep breath and let it out, smiling softly to himself. It would be okay.
Castiel’s head jerked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He shot to his feet and turned to face the door as a figure walked through it.
Castiel stared at Dean, trying to memorize this new person, just in case he did kick Cas out. He had a look of confusion on his face. Mary must not have told him who he was meeting. His eyes were greener than he remembered. He was tall, taller than Castiel now. His hair was a very light brown, almost blonde, no doubt lightened by the summer sun.
He… Castiel’s eyes filled with tears again. He had So. Many. Freckles.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel managed, voice watery. He shook his head at himself, wiping his eyes.
Dean’s eyes widened as he took a halting step forward. “Cas?” His voice was so low it was almost a whisper.
Castiel couldn’t stop the giant smile that broke across his face. “You remembered me.” Dean remembered him. He laughed wetly.
“You’re here,” Dean said, stepping forward again. He still looked a little shell-shocked.
“I am,” Castiel agreed, staring again. He couldn’t stop himself.
Dean rewarded him with a brilliant smile. His eyes looked like they were shining, too. He walked forward and wrapped Castiel in a tight hug. “Hey, Cas.” He said softly.
Castiel buried his face in Dean’s shoulder. “Hello, Dean.” He said again, just because he could.
“I missed you so much, man.” Dean’s arms tightened around him.
“I missed you, too.” Castiel couldn’t stop himself from laughing softly.
“What?” Dean pulled back but kept his hands on Cas’ shoulders, still smiling hugely. “What’s so funny?”
Castiel shook his head, wiping his eyes with his sleeve again. “I just… I thought you would’ve forgotten me.” He leaned forward and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder again. “I’m so glad you didn’t.” He said quietly.
There was a pause, a breath a time where each just soaked the other in.
“I could never forget you, Castiel.” Dean said softly.
AU where one person has a sort of difficult name and the other is the barista who always says their name right
also Cas gets sick and Dean is sweet
Read it on AO3!
“Cas...teel?”
Castiel sighed but smiled kindly at the barista as he took his drink. “Thank you.”
“No prob, man,” the guy threw back, already turning to prepare the next drink in the never-ending line that was the campus Starbucks during midterms.
Castiel carefully navigated the crowd, making sure not to spill any of his drink on his way back to his table.
“Why didn't you correct him?” Jessica asked as he sat down, her voice slightly louder than normal to be heard over the buzz of conversation around them.
Castiel took a cautious sip of his chai tea and made a face at the immediate burning of his mouth. “It's not really worth it anymore, to be honest,” he replied, absentmindedly flipping through his theology textbook. “I used to try, but they would always forget by the next time I ordered. Also,” he glanced up at the line, “He could use a break. It's his exam week, too, but he has to be here instead of studying. I got the drink I ordered, that's really all I ask.”
Jess swept her long, blonde hair into a ponytail and sighed. “I'm just saying, if he got my name wrong, I definitely wouldn't just let it go like that.”
Castiel just chuckled. “Well, 'Jess' is a great deal easier than 'Castiel', so I think you're safe. Now, what part did you want to go over?”
Jess opened her own textbook, “I just didn't really understand this part here, on page, uh, 224.”
Castiel turned to the correct page and started explaining the main ideas.
A few hours later, Jess closed her book with an air of finality. “Thank you so much, Castiel, I feel a lot better about this test tomorrow.”
Castiel gave her a small smile at her as he finished his drink. “It's really no problem, Jess. Explaining things to other people is a good way to help me remember the material as well.”
She started packing her things into her backpack. “Well, either way, it was extremely helpful.” She paused and looked up at him. “Are you sure you don't want any money or something? I mean, we were here for at least three hours, and tutors usually charge like at least $10 an hour or something.”
Castiel waved off the offer, beginning to pack up his own books away. “This wasn't a tutoring session; it was just a friend helping out a friend. Don't worry about it.”
Jessica still looked unsure. “If you say so.” She slowly resumed her packing.
“I do. It was no trouble.” Castiel stood, already done. “Would you like me to walk you back to your dorm?”
Jess laughed, standing as well. “It's like 5 o'clock, Castiel, not midnight. It's still light out, I'll be fine. Plus,” she grinned wolfishly, “I'm meeting my boyfriend in about half an hour.” She checked the time on her phone and nodded, seemingly to herself.
Castiel tossed his empty cup in the trash as they left the coffeehouse. “All right, then, I suppose I'll see you in class tomorrow. Make sure to get enough sleep,” he reminded her. “I wouldn't want you passing out halfway through the exam just because you were out until 3 in the morning with your boyfriend.” He shot her a crooked smile.
Jess laughed and swatted at his arm. “Excuse you, I know how to control myself!” She winked at him. “Gotta go, don't want to be late!” She waved back at him as she walked briskly away.
Castiel shook his head with a tiny smile at her sudden exit. They had met a few weeks earlier, at the beginning of the semester in their theology class. Jess, as fearless and impulsive as he now knew she always was, she sat down next to him and introduced herself.
“Hello, my name is Jessica Moore, and you look like the smartest person here, can I sit next to you?” She had stuck her hand out for a handshake.
Castiel had just sat there for a moment, blinking at the sudden entrance. He had shaken her hand tentatively. “Hello, Jessica, my name is Castiel Novak, and I suppose if you want to you could sit next to me.”
Jessica’s eyes had widened at his deep voice, obviously not expecting such a gravelly sound, but all she had said was “Cool.”
As the class had gone on, they had each learned about the other. Castiel had learned that Jess was very intelligent, but often tried to go faster than she probably should, both in class and simply in life in general. She had a boyfriend named Sam, who she had described as clumsy, tall, and adorable. She obviously adored him, and if the constant stream of texts and calls were any indication, he felt the same.
Jess had, in turn, learned that Castiel was, at least in her mind, “the smartest person there”, and tended to work more methodically than she did. He was often, if not always, reading a book of some sort every time she walked into the classroom, but would put it away without complaint if she wanted to talk to him. He didn't seem to have a girlfriend, and by the look on his face when the guy in front of them had decided to wear a tighter shirt than usual, not very interested in looking for one. She hadn't asked about it, though, just let it be, which Castiel was thankful for. He was gay, and he wasn’t ashamed about it, but he didn’t feel the need to tell everyone as soon as he met them. He didn't really want to get into that conversation that soon.
He did, however, want to get into his dorm soon, he thought, glancing around at the dead grass everywhere. Winter was coming, and he felt it through his jacket he had put on that morning. He started walking quickly toward his room, sticking his hands into his pockets in a late attempt to protect them from the chill.
Jessica walked into the campus Starbucks, huge smile beaming on her face.
Castiel glanced up from his book at the cheery jingle from the bell over the door and gave a slight smile back at her. “It went well, then?” He asked when she reached the table, closing his book and slipping it into his bag.
“Cas, it was fantastic!” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, tapping it a few times before turning it to show him the screen. She had pulled up her theology page in her Blackboard account, showing the grade from the midterm. “I got a 98, Cas!! Everything you said would be on it was on it, and the explanations you gave were so helpful!”
Castiel looked up from the screen and smiled again, “I’m glad you did well. It was all of your hard work that paid off, I just helped a small bit.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, sure. I could only get so far on my own, though. You helped a lot more than you let yourself take credit for. You have to let me pay you something. Or at least treat you to a drink. You don’t have one yet, right?”
Castiel shook his head. “No, I was waiting until you got here. I didn’t want to drink it all before you came.”
Jess grabbed his hand, standing and leading him to the counter. “Well, I’m buying your coffee, then! What do you want, Castiel?”
He gave a small laugh under his breath. “It really was all your studying, but if you insist, I’m not going to complain. I usually get chai tea.” He looked up at the counter and immediately slowed his steps.
The man behind the counter was stunning. His hair was shining bronze in the afternoon sun and the standard green apron made his green eyes pop. He was standing behind the register, waiting on them to get there with a big smile. Cas tilted his head slightly, confused at the giant grin being directed their way.
Jess smiled at Cas again and let go of his hand as they reached the counter. “A chai tea it is!” She turned to the barista, smile still in place, “Hello! I’d-- Dean?”
The handsome man behind the counter laughed. “Hey, Jess! How’s it goin’?”
She laughed through her greeting. “Hey, Dean! I didn’t know you worked here! I would’ve come in more often. Gotta take advantage of that friends and family discount.”
He shook his head with a grin. “Nah, it’s new. I was just hired a few days ago. I’ve been told I make good coffee, though, so don’t try to pull any ‘re-do’ stunts or anything.” He pointed a playfully threatening finger at her. “By the way, who’s your friend? I saw you holding his hand, I need a name to tell Sam who he lost you to.” He winked at Castiel.
Dean laughed a lot. And smiled. Castiel liked it.
Jessica giggled back. “Sam doesn’t need to worry. Dean, this is my friend Castiel Novak. He’s the one responsible for me acing my theology midterm!” She smiled at Castiel again. “You remember by boyfriend, Sam, right?” Castiel nodded. “This is his brother, Dean Winchester.”
“Hey, Castiel.” Dean said his name slowly, like he was testing it out, and then smiled at him. Castiel felt his cheeks warm at the direct attention, but didn’t let himself linger on it.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel chuckled at the look on Dean’s face.
“Man, I was not expecting that voice out of you.” Dean’s look of surprise quickly turned into amusement.
“Yes, I know.” Castiel nodded at the man. “No one ever is. I’ve gotten some… interesting responses, to say the least.”
“I’ll bet.” He laughs, “Anyway, I should actually do my job.” Dean lifted his hands to the register, ready to punch in their orders. “What’ll it be, guys?”
“I’m treating my savior to a drink for his help, so it’ll just be one order,” Jess explained. “I’ll have a grande peppermint mocha and Castiel would like a chai tea.”
“What size?” Dean asked, a small wrinkle between his scrunched eyebrows as he slowly typed in the order, obviously not yet used to the system.
“A grande is fine, thank you.” Castiel told him.
“Okay…” he poked at a few more buttons, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, before a number flashed on the readout. “That’ll be $9.52.” Dean looked up with an air of triumph.
Castiel gave him a small smile. His pride at his little achievement was cute. Dean met his eyes and gave him a grin.
Jess held up her debit card and Dean’s face fell. She laughed at his glare. “Not an expert at the card reader, yet?”
“No,” he grumbled, looking at the register again, searching for the right keys. “Would it kill you to pay with cash?”
“Hey, my boss does direct deposits into my bank account.” She shrugged. “I never have any actual money on hand.” She looked at Castiel. “Do you ever have cash?”
Castiel shook his head, “No, my boss does the same thing. I use my card for everything.” He gave a sympathetic look to Dean. “Sorry.”
Dean rolled his eyes but let it drop. He tapped a few buttons, “Okay… you can swipe your card now?”
She raised her eyebrow. “Was that a question?”
“… No?”
She swiped her card and the machine chirped.
“Ha!” Dean beamed. “I did it right!”
Jess giggled as she put in her PIN. “Good job!”
Castiel laughed under his breath and smiled at the barista. “Good work.”
Dean preened a bit before laughing it off. “I’ll get faster after a few more days. If you guys want to go sit down, I’ll call your names when I’m done with your drinks.”
Jessica looked around. The room was nearly empty. There was a nervous looking man in the back corner and an Asian kid spread over two tables by the windows, but the rest of the room was barren. “Everyone’s gone home for fall break, Dean. There’s like two other guys in here. I’m pretty sure you can just say our order. Or just say ‘Hey, guys’.”
Dean waved her off. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? Don’t you want to hear your name called out?” He looked at Castiel with an imploring face.
“Sure.” Castiel croaked, unable to think straight with the green eyes holding him in place. And after all, he would like to hear Dean say his name again.
“Good!” Dean grinned. “Then it’s settled!” He clapped his hands before turning to the coffee machines.
Jess gave Castiel a calculating look as they moved towards their table. He ducked his head a little and felt himself blush, but sat down and tried to act normal.
“So,” he coughed, “How did your other midterms go?”
“… Fine.” She let it go, but gave him a look at clearly said we’re talking about this later. “How about yours?”
“They went well.” Castiel smiled gratefully. “How is your job at the comic book store?”
“It’s great! The owner’s a woman named Charlie, and she’s so cool!” Jessica gushed. “There’s a huge TV in the kid’s corner that just plays, like, Batman and other comic book cartoons all day. I can see it from the counter, and it helps pass the time when business is slow. She has Star Trek, Star Wars, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, you name it, she’s got it all over the place! It’s so colorful!” She smiled. “And, she’s super understanding if I ever have to call in or if I’m late. I’m really glad I got this job.”
Castiel chuckled at her enthusiasm and happiness. “It sounds amazing.”
“It is! Are you sick of your job, yet? I know you’ve only worked there for a few weeks, but if you want I can always ask Charlie about an opening.” She offered.
Castiel shook his head. “No, thank you. My job is great. I like working at the bookstore.” He smiled softly. “It’s a small place, but it’s fantastic. It’s run by this woman, Mary, and it’s cozy. There are armchairs, a wonderful children’s section, and most of the customers are polite.”
“Well, I’m glad we both have good jobs! It sucks to be stuck in a job you can’t stand just to pay the rent.” They shared a smile.
“Jess! Castiel!” Dean called from the pick-up counter.
Jessica rolled her eyes at the call and at Castiel’s resulting smile, but stood up, walking with Castiel to the drinks.
“See?” Dean asked, leaning on the counter. “Wasn’t that more fun than me calling out ‘one peppermint mocha and one chai tea’?”
Jess narrowed her eyes at him. “You can pretend that that was for our benefit all you want, Dean, but we both know that was all for you.”
“Now, Jess, that hurts.” Dean protested, but his eyes twinkled. “Why on Earth would you say such things?”
“The truth must out, my friend.” She picked up her drink, taking a cautious sip. “Your coffee IS pretty good, though, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Told ya.” Dean winked at her. “What about you, Castiel?” He turned to Castiel, a small smile in place. “What do you think? I haven’t had any chai tea orders yet, so you get to be the first judge.”
Castiel carefully picked up the cup, feeling the temperature as best as he could through the cardboard. He slowly took a sip, happily surprised it was warm enough to be pleasant but not hot enough to scald. “It’s good.” He smiled down at the counter, avoiding eye contact. “Also, thank you for pronouncing my name right. Most people forget how to say it by the time they call it out.” He gave Dean a small mock toast, ears burning at his own awkwardness.
“I’m glad you like it,” Dean’s smile dimmed. “But the name thing must suck. I’m sorry it gets messed up so much.”
Castiel shrugged, taking a drink of his tea. “I’m used to it. It’s not a big deal, but it was nice for someone to get it right.”
“I’ll bet.” Dean grimaced sympathetically.
“Well, Dean, it was nice talking to you,” Jess said, “but you should probably get back to work.” She nodded over to the register, where a man was waiting patiently.
“You’re right,” he nodded to Castiel, “It was nice meeting you, Castiel. Jess, you still comin’ to dinner tomorrow?”
“Yup! Wouldn’t give up a chance for Mary’s cooking!”
Dean chuckled as he started walking to the customer. “See you then!”
Castiel turned to Jess. “Did you say Mary?”
She led him back to their table. “Yeah, Dean and Sam’s mom name is Mary. Her cooking is to die for.” She made an appreciative sound.
Castiel hummed in thought as he sat down. “I wonder if it’s a coincidence that Dean’s mother and my boss have the same name.”
Jess looked considering. “I think it is? It’s a pretty common name, and I don’t think Sam has mentioned anything about a bookstore before. He probably would have said something if his mother owned one, you know?”
“You’re right. Ah, well,” he dismissed it. “They’re probably not the same person. I’m being silly.”
“That would’ve been so great, though.” Jessica laughed.
Castiel just smiled, but secretly agreed. If the Winchester boys’ mother and his boss were the same Mary, he’d have had more chances to see Dean.
He looked at the cup when he got home, after talking with Jessica for a while at Starbucks. Dean had written his name in solid letters, and, amazingly, he had spelled it correctly just from hearing it. Castiel smiled and ran his thumb over the Sharpie. He hoped Dean would be working the next time he went for a drink.
Winter break was not his favorite vacation, Cas decided, leaning against the register at work. Sure, he didn’t have to do any homework for a few weeks, but the mind-numbing boredom sort of ruined that reward. Mary had let him work more hours after he had told her that he wasn’t going home for the holidays, but there were still his days off and long nights alone in his apartment with nothing to do. Yesterday he had spent over an hour attempting to make chai tea as good as Dean had made, simply because he had nothing else to do. He hadn’t succeeded (but then, he hadn’t thought he would).
“Excuse me, uh, Ca… Caw… Cah-sty-al?”
Cas straightened up and put on his bright customer-service smile. The older woman looked a little angry that she needed to ask for help, and the type to complain about every second Castiel wasted not helping her find what she wanted. Castiel didn’t want to start a scene in Mary’s store, he liked the calm atmosphere here. He’d rather it stayed that way for those trying to read. “Yes, how can I help you, ma’am?”
After answering increasingly belligerent questions, smiling politely in response to a few pointed jabs at his names and his parents (“What could they have been thinking? A name like that…”), and walking the woman over to the cooking section, he felt justified in sitting behind the register and laying his head down on the counter.
“You could have told her to leave, you know.” Mary’s voice came from behind him. She sounded amused, but he could hear the edge of anger. “I would’ve supported you. She was being incredibly rude and belligerent.” She walked up next to him and rested a motherly hand on his shoulder. Her wavy blonde hair looked as soft as it had the day she hired him, and her eyes shined with concern.
Castiel raised his head and sent her a weak smile. “It wasn’t a problem. Everyone has to deal with rude customers at some point. We can’t kick them all out or you’d never make any money.”
Mary squeezed his shoulder but let her hand drop. She sighed, “True, but that doesn’t mean it’s ever a fun experience. Did you straighten up the children’s area?”
Castiel nodded. “The romance and cooking sections, too. I should just have to do a final walkthrough after closing.”
“You can head out early, if you want to, hon.” Mary gave him a kind smile. “I can do the closing stuff just fine. I’m sure you’d like to go home after dealing with her.”
Castiel nodded gratefully. “I’d like that, if you’re sure you’ll be alright.”
She rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “You’re only leaving ten minutes early. Besides, I ran this place by myself for a long while before you got here, Castiel. It’ll be fine. Go,” She shooed him away playfully.
He smiled at her gratefully as he grabbed his bag from underneath the counter and logged out of the register. “Thank you, Mary.” He shrugged on his coat quickly.
“Don’t thank me yet!” She called as he opened the door, bell ringing cheerfully. “You still have a double shift on Friday!”
“I’m looking forward to it!” He laughed, the door swinging closed behind him. He walked down the street, hiding his hands from the chill in his pockets. He could go home. Or… he could go to the campus Starbucks and see if Dean was working. He rubbed his hand against the inside of his pocket. He could use a warm drink, his throat felt kind of scratchy today… and he couldn’t make his tea as good as Dean’s…
Castiel redirected his footsteps to lead to Starbucks, hoping Dean was on shift.
When Cas reached the café, Dean was behind the counter, but it didn’t look like he’d be able to talk. Castiel wasn’t the only one wanting a drink; the place was absolutely packed, a long line wrapping around the floor. A dark-haired girl was running the register, tapping away much quicker than Dean had been the other day. Dean had been assigned to making all of the drinks, by the way he was flitting around behind the counter. Castiel smiled to himself at Dean’s controlled panic, obviously overwhelmed but managing well. Waiting patiently in line, he watched as Dean moved his hands fluidly over the machines, quickly scribbled names on cups, and yelled to be heard over the crowd. His hair was messier than last time, like he’d been running his hands through it in panic every free moment. Castiel smiled to himself at the thought.
The woman at the counter was polite and looked much more accustomed to the rush than Dean. She smiled at Castiel as he stepped forward. He could see the relief in her eyes at his simple order, and smiled back thankfully when she wrote down his name without any laughter or judgement. He decided to tip her a little more than usual. She could probably use it, he thought, taking long, complicated orders all day.
He walked to the other counter to wait, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. He really was feeling drained from work. He glanced back up at Dean and froze when his eyes met shining green ones.
Dean grinned at him and waved with a Sharpie-holding hand before looking down at the ticket and writing a name on the cup.
“Alfie!” He called, clicking the Sharpie and hooking it on his apron. Alfie took his cup with a bright smile and cheerful nod, thankfully blocking Castiel from Dean’s line of sight for a few moments. His ears felt hot.
Castiel pulled out his phone to distract himself, texting Jess about the vacation. She was very disappointed that classes resumed in a few days, unlike Castiel. She had spent nearly all break with her boyfriend, apparently, and didn’t want that to end. He assured her that Sam would no doubt text her as often as humanly possible, and they could always meet up.
“Castiel!”
Cas nearly dropped his phone. He looked around for the friend calling his name, cocking his head when he didn’t see anyone.
“Drink for Castiel!”
Oh. He blushed and walked up to the counter. Dean was grinning at him, looking amused. Castiel was relieved to see that his smile was kind, at least. More like the “laughing with you” feeling than the “laughing at you” kind.
“Sorry,” Castiel ducked his head a little, reaching for the cup. “I’m not used to it sounding…” He trailed off, trying to find a nice way of wording it. Dean had remembered his name. And how to pronounce it. Correctly.
“Correct?” Dean supplied, still grinning. His smile slid off and suddenly, he looked concerned. “Wait, that was right, right? Cas-tee-ell?”
Cas nodded, looking at the cup to avoid eye contact. “Yes, you’re correct. Um.” He glanced up and back down immediately, embarrassingly red-faced. “Thank you for remembering.”
“Yeah, ‘course, man.” Dean looked like he wanted to keep talking, glancing regretfully at the huge stack of orders to fill. He sighed. “Well, better get back to the grind.” He looked delighted at his pun, smiling like the sun at Cas. “See you later?” Castiel hoped he was actually hearing the hope in Dean’s voice and not just imagining it.
Castiel nodded, awkwardly taking a step backward. “Yes. I, um,” he took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Cool.” Dean smiled at him again before turning away.
Castiel walked home, alternatively running his thumb over the Sharpie letters and cursing himself for being an idiot.
Castiel walked into Starbucks, struggling to fix his scarf. He finally got to lie how he wanted as he reached the counter. He looked up, only to be met by a handsome barista with amusement in his green eyes.
“Hey, Castiel.” Dean said. “Is your scarf trying to strangle you?”
Castiel stared at him for a moment. Dean had remembered him. He had remembered his name without reading it from a receipt.
“Um…” It sounded like he had gravel coating his vocal cords. Castiel cleared his throat, ears burning. “Hello, Dean. Yes, it seems like it might be. Although the wind almost blew it away, so I suppose it was the better alternative.” He rasped. “At least this way I get to keep it.”
Dean chuckled, but his eyebrows creased. “I guess so. How are you?” He looked concerned. “I remember your voice being deep, but not that gravelly. You don’t sound too hot.”
Castiel shook his head, pausing to cough before he replied. “Unfortunately, I seem to have caught a cold.” He winced at the pain in his throat.
“That sucks, man,” Dean said sympathetically. “Do you want your chai tea to be a little hotter than normal today? It might feel better on your throat.”
Oh. Dean had remembered his order, too. Castiel was unable to stop the full-on blush that took over his face. He ducked his head a bit, hiding in his scarf. “Yes, that would be nice.”
“Alright.” Dean smiled softly at him. “So, a hot grande chai tea?” His fingers flew over the screen much faster than before.
“Yes, please,” Castiel said hoarsely.
“It’ll be $3.50.”
Castiel tilted his head to the side, confused. “Isn’t that a little low? It’s usually $4.25.”
Dean shrugged, smiling. “Friends and family discount.”
“Oh,” Castiel said softly, pulling his debit card out of his wallet. Dean thought of him as a friend. Cas suddenly felt warm and hid his smile in his scarf. “Thank you, Dean.”
“No problem, Cas.” Dean winked, hitting the buttons to bring up the card payment. “You can swipe your card now.”
“Cas?”
Dean blinked. “Oh, yeah, sorry, it just slipped out. Bad habit, I guess. I give everybody nicknames. Sammy, Jess, you know.” He gave Castiel another concerned look. “Is it okay if I call you Cas?”
“Yes.” Cas replied, looking down, purposely breaking eye contact to swipe his card. It was more than okay. He had a small smile on his face as he keyed in his PIN. “It’s perfectly fine.”
Cas finished paying and walked to a barstool, trying very hard not to trip and embarrass himself. He sat down at the bar next to the counter, facing Dean. He wanted to talk to the man more. Dean was cheerful and incredibly nice.
Cas set his bag down on the stool beside him and opened it. He sniffled, rooting around to try and locate a tissue in the bottom. Going from the cold outside to the warm interior of the store was making his nose run like crazy. Snot was not attractive. And besides trying to look attractive, he just felt gross and wanted to be able to breathe through his nose.
“Hey, Cas!”
Castiel looked up just in time to see a small to-go pack of Kleenex plop on the counter in front of him.
Dean winked. “Former boy scout. Always prepared.” He laughed at himself and turned back to the machines.
Castiel smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Dean.”
“No prob, Cas.”
He picked up the packet and pulled out a Kleenex, turning away from the counter to try and blow his nose as discreetly as possible. It still sounded horribly loud in the nearly deserted café, and it ended with him coughing roughly, but at least he could breathe now. Kind of. “Hey, Dean?”
Dean threw him a glance and a smile as his hands tinkered with the machines. “Yeah, Cas, what’s up?”
“Would you mind watching my bag for a moment?” He grimaced at his germy hands, one still holding the dirty tissue. “I’d really like to wash my hands now but I don’t want my laptop or anything stolen.”
Dean nodded as he slid a cardboard sleeve on an empty cup. “Yeah, ’course.” He held out his hand over the counter. “If you’re really worried, I can keep it back here for a minute. Not technically allowed,” he rolled his eyes, “But it’s, like, two minutes and there’s no one else working who’ll rat us out.” He winked, hand still outstretched.
Castiel gave him a soft smile and carefully handed over his messenger bag, feeling his cheeks warm. “As long as you’re sure I’m not getting you in trouble. Thank you, Dean.”
Dean bent and tucked the bag under the counter with one hand, waving the other dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, Cas,” He straightened and playfully shooed Castiel off of his barstool. “Now go decontaminate, we don’t need an epidemic starting. Especially not while I’m on shift.”
Castiel chuckled quietly as he slid off the seat, the sound raspy. “I doubt it’ll cause much harm, it’s just a cold.”
Dean leaned back dramatically, raising his hand in a pose like a bad Shakespearian actor. “I can see the headlines now! ‘Local Barista Brings Zombie Apocalypse! Experts Say Bad Handwashing Habits to Blame!’”
Castiel shook his head but smiled. “How about, ‘Local Barista Floods Store. Caused by Lack of Attention, Experts Say.’”
“Nah, that’s too long to be a good headline.” Dean scoffed. “Also, I doubt you can flood the entire store by not paying attention when you wash your hands. There’s a drain in the bathroom floor for that.”
“Dean,” Castiel rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t talking about me.” He pointed behind Dean.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows before turning around and cursing loudly. He hadn’t been paying attention to the machines and the coffee cup had overflowed, spilling hot water over the counter and in a growing puddle in the floor. He rushed over to shut off the machine.
Castiel laughed as he turned to walk to the bathroom, throwing the used tissue in a trash can on the way and ignoring the grumbled curses behind him. The door swung shut and he walked to the sinks, washing his hands thoroughly. As he tried to dry his hands with the sub-par paper towels, Cas caught his reflection in the mirror and leaned forward, frowning slightly. His face was redder than it should be. He brushed a hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back and feeling the temperature there. It felt a little warm.
He ignored it and turned to throw the wad of paper towels away. It was probably just from being around Dean, he reasoned. He usually blushed more around the man.
Cas regained his seat at the counter, smiling to himself at Dean’s put-out expression.
“You,” Dean pointed, with the hand that wasn’t holding up a mop, “could have told me about that before it spilled over.” He seemed more amused than upset by the incident.
Castiel hummed acknowledgement. “I could have.”
Dean continued to grumble with mock severity as he mopped. “After everything I do for you, kindheartedly gifting you tissues from my own personal emergency stash, selflessly protecting your laptop from random coffeehouse strangers,” he leaned the mop against the back wall, throwing Cas a teasing glare as he started over on the drink. “Even using my precious friends and family discount on you! I should make you give me that 75 cents.” He grinned at Cas to show that he was joking.
“You should.” Castiel agreed, nodding solemnly. “I deserve to pay you back for this wrong I have committed.” He smiled down at the counter, leaning his elbows against it. “Unfortunately, unless you have a card reader for your cell phone, I am woefully unable to pay you back for this atrocity.” He looked up at Dean, laughing quietly to himself at the man’s concentrated stare at the cup. It was not going to overflow this time, that much was for sure. “No cash, remember? I only have a debit card.” He coughed roughly into his elbow.
Dean sighed loudly as he turned off the water, “I suppose, if you truly cannot pay with money, you could repay your debt another way.” He grinned as he sat down the completed drink in front of Castiel, leaning his elbows against the counter in a mirror of Cas’ position. “Drink for Castiel.”
Castiel smiled and raised his eyebrow, taking a slow sip of the tea. He closed his eyes and sighed for a moment. The heat really did feel wonderful on his raw throat. Calming. “What did you have in mind?” He opened his eyes to see Dean watching him intently, eyes narrowed. “Dean?”
“Sorry, just,” Dean muttered, raising his hand to brush Cas’ hair back, his fingertips resting gently against the man’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay, man? You look flushed. And you feel a little warm.”
Castiel blushed hard at the sudden attention and Dean’s cool fingers against his skin. “It’s just a cold.” He replied quietly, not really answering the question.
Dean hummed, looking thoughtful, but withdrew his hand.
Castiel fought the irrational urge to grab Dean’s wrist and put his hand back. He ducked his head into his elbow as he coughed again.
“Um,” Castiel began, embarrassed at his own scattered thoughts, “would you mind handing me my bag? I need to get a couple pages of my paper done before work.”
Dean still looked concerned, but gave Cas his bag back. “Are you sure you’re good to work? You’re really worrying me here, Castiel.”
Cas ignored the shiver he got when Dean said his full name. He nodded his thanks and gave Dean a small smile. “I’m really fine, Dean. If it makes you feel better, I work at a small bookstore, it’s not incredibly strenuous work.” He took out his laptop and pressed the power button, glancing at Dean’s still-worried face as it booted up.
“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” Dean asked abruptly.
“No,” Cas responded, too quickly. He blushed and coughed, as much to hide his embarrassment as to clear his lungs. He took a couple of deep breaths. “I don’t have any plans.”
“Good.” Dean pointed an authoritative finger at him. “Take some cold medicine before you go to bed and take it easy tomorrow.” He sounded motherly. “You don’t want to be passing out or starting epidemics.”
It reminded Castiel of Mary, oddly, and he smothered his smile at the comparison. “Alright,” he agreed softly. It felt nice to be cared for, even if it was just in passing, from a friend of a friend. He pushed away the twinge of hurt that thought awarded him. Dean thought of him as a friend, right? He had used his “friends and family” discount, after all.
“Good.” Dean brought back the sunny grin. “So what class is the paper for? If you don’t mind answering, I mean. I’ll understand if you want to write, I’ll just…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, cutting himself off.
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Cas told him. As cute as nervous Dean was, he didn’t want to make the man feel unwanted. “It’s just for a lower-level English class. I’m not sure what program I’m going for yet, so I’m working on getting all the basic classes out of the way.”
Dean’s smile returned, and Castiel was happy that he could put it there. He still looked worried, but was masking it pretty well. “No shame in not knowing yet. It took my mom a few years before she figured out what she wanted to do. It’s better to decide later and know for sure than to pick something early just to get it out of the way, you know? What’s the paper supposed to be about?”
Castiel smiled quietly at Dean’s assurances and took another soothing drink of his tea. “Our interpretation of a work. It’s theme, diction, symbolism, and all of those things.” He opened a new document on his computer. “It’s nothing dreadfully exciting.” He coughed again, his already weak voice waning from overuse.
Dean looked concerned again, but obviously decided to stop prodding. “If you say so, man. I’ll let you work. I’ll be right here. If you need anything let me know, alright?”
Castiel nodded. His throat hurt. His head was starting to hurt, too. He really should get some cold medicine before tonight.
Castiel typed for a long while, the steady click-clacking of his fingers on the keys melding softly with Dean’s distracted humming. A few more people came in for drinks, but the cold wind was obviously keeping most of them away.
His eyes started getting fuzzy and his headache steadily worsened. Eventually he stopped typing, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and leaning forward, resting for a moment. He felt a warm palm on his shoulder, gently comforting.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean sounded really worried, he noticed faintly. “I made you some herbal tea, okay? I put a lot of honey in it, so it should feel really good on your throat.” Cas heard the clink of a cup set down in front of him. “Hey, look at me.” He said softly.
Castiel opened his eyes and let his hands fall to the counter, blinking blearily at the man in front of him.
“You’re really making me worry, here, dude.” Dean peered into his eyes like he’d be able to see any viruses swimming inside.
Castiel blinked a few times to clear his vision and smiled at Dean. “I’m really fine.” He carefully picked up the mug in front of him, trying to minimize any accidents or spills. His fingers felt oddly clumsy and thick. “I have to work tonight.”
He didn’t, not really. He had enough to pay rent and scrape by on groceries, even if he would have to eat a bit more Ramen than last month. Mary was nice, she’d understand. But he couldn’t go back to his apartment. His empty, cold apartment.
His mind was suddenly flooded with childhood memories. Castiel, sick and alone in a house that felt too big, even now, when he went back to visit as an adult. A place that was always just a house, never really a home. It was too cold for that, too full of emptiness, stuffed to the spotless ceilings with smothering, suffocating silence. He remembers being a little boy, sweating from fever and shivering from fear. The white walls echoing his stares, the empty hallways resounding with dead air. His whimpers went unheard, his mother too busy to tend to a sick child. She sent the housekeeper with food and medicine, but the housekeeper never liked him. A messy child in a house with white walls, carpets, curtains. The source of never-ending messes to clean and laundry to bleach. She left as soon as she had made sure he hadn’t died. And Castiel was left alone, a scared child in a spotless house.
Dean’s face came back into focus, and he looked somehow even more anxious than before. His hand still rested on Cas’ shoulder, a calm, comforting weight. “I have to work tonight.” Cas repeated. He took a long drink of the tea. Dean was right, it took the edge off of the burning pain in his throat. Cas looked up at Dean. “I’ll take cold medicine tonight and sleep all day tomorrow, okay?” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to comfort Dean, but he did. “Don’t be so worried.” He managed a half smile.
Dean didn’t look like he was going to follow that order. Dean looked like he was going to smash that order to pieces. He raised his other hand, resting it on Cas’ forehead. “Cas,” he said softly, “You’re burning up. You need to sleep. Call in to work, okay? Tell your boss you’re sick. I get off in ten minutes. Let me drive you home.”
Cas closed his eyes at the feeling of Dean’s cool hand against his skin. It was tempting. So tempting. But… “No, Dean.” He didn’t open his eyes, not wanting to see the pinch of frustration he’s sure Dean’s eyes would be showing right now. “Thank you for the offer, but I have to go to work.”
Dean huffed. “If you say so, dude. Your boss should be impressed by your determination.” His hand was growing warmer, absorbing heat from Castiel’s flushed skin. “You’d better come in on my next shift, though, and show me you’re alive.”
Castiel hummed an affirmative and finally opened his eyes. “Sure. You’ll have to tell me when your next shift is, though.” He glanced at his phone screen to check the time. “I have to go now, if I want to be on time.” Dean’s eyes, green and gold, worry and anxiety, stared back. Castiel broke the eye contact, packing up his laptop carefully.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice still sounded concerned, but he managed to trim the edges with humor. “I know how you can pay me back for your grave misdeeds today.”
“Oh?” Castiel said lightly, brain a little foggy. “How’s that?” He coughed again as he stood from the stool, preparing to leave.
“Give me your number.”
Castiel blinked slowly.
“How else am I supposed to tell you my next shift? I don’t want to make you late for work. This way, you’ll know, and I can rest assured that you’ll know when to come in and show me proof that you weren’t taken out by the cold from hell.” Dean joked.
“Um,” Castiel blushed through the fever flush. He hoped Dean used it for other things as well. He liked talking to Dean. He was funny, witty, and caring, Cas could already tell from their limited interactions. He would really like to get to know Dean better. “Yeah. Okay.”
His shift was almost over.
It wasn’t. He was trying to trick his brain into believing it, trying to push himself through until he could get home. No matter how much he didn’t want to go there, either.
It was a mantra he was repeating to himself. It was what would get him through the next few hours.
His shift was almost over.
He had abandoned his scarf long ago, feeling too hot. He began sweating, and every time he ran his hand through his hair if felt wetter.
The tea had felt so wonderful on his throat, but the warmth had worn off on the walk to the store. His throat was so rough, he felt like he had swallowed carpet and it had given him rug burn all the way down. Burning pain, worsened with every swallow.
His shift was almost over.
He tried to stay behind the counter as much as possible, leaning heavily on it. He smiled at the customers, helped them find things, and immediately retreated to what was increasingly feeling like his “safe space”.
He was trying to convince himself that the mess the last patron had left in the cooking section would be easier to clean up now than it would be in an hour. He wasn’t really succeeding.
His shift was almost over.
“Castiel!” He heard Mary shout from the back room. “Could you please move these boxes to the front and start shelving? And be careful, they’re a little heavy!”
“Yeah!” He called back, immediately regretting the decision. Burning discomfort had turned sharp, a heat blister burst open. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ride out the wave of pain.
His shift was almost over. His shift was almost over.
“Thank you,” her voice neared the doorway. “They’ve been in the back for a while now, so I thought—“ She walked through and immediately cut herself off. “Castiel, you look awful, are you alright?”
He nodded, unwilling to speak on the heels of the recent agony.
Mary, if anything, looked more concerned. “Honey, you look like you’re about to keel over any second. I think you need to go.” She reached out and felt his forehead, an odd mirror of Dean. Castiel missed him, strange as that was. Dean was nice, and he let Cas be quiet around him. Cas wanted to be quiet. Unfortunately, Mary was clucking her tongue at the temperature she felt. “Definitely a fever. You’re burning up. You need to sleep. You’re going home.”
Castiel geared himself up for another round of “I’m fine’s” before sighing in defeat. Screw it. He really wanted to go home, no matter how hollow it was. At least at home he could lie down. “Okay.”
His shift was over.
He sagged to the counter, finally allowing himself the luxury to do more than lean.
“Here,” Mary dragged a folding chair from the back room and pointed at it sternly. “Sit.”
Castiel sat. He put his arms on the counter and laid his head down.
“Now, I’m calling my son.” Cas heard the rustling as Mary pulled her cell out of her pocket. “I’m not going to let you walk home with a fever in this wind. I know it might be a little awkward to be in the car with a stranger, but I raised my boys to be gentlemen. He’ll get you home safe and sound, and he’ll call to let me know not to look through the obituaries for you.”
Castiel didn’t say anything, struggling to stay awake now that he had let himself relax. Mary was on a roll anyway, and she was stubborn at the best of times. Nothing he could say would change her mind regardless. He drifted in and out of awareness as Mary called her son. Cas hoped he was nice. Mary was a good woman, her son was probably polite, at the least. Hopefully.
“Could you come down to the shop… one of my employees… fever… don’t feel right in letting him… needs a ride home… know his address? Well…”
Castiel moved his arms apart and let his forehead rest on the cool counter. He hoped that when he stood up he didn’t leave a damp spot from his sweat, that would be pretty gross. Actually, thinking about it, he hoped that he could stand up. He was feeling pretty shaky now, and he was so tired.
“Okay… See you in a few minutes.” Mary hung up and pocketed her phone. Castiel shook himself in an attempt to fully absorb what she was about to say.
“Okay, sweetie, he’s on his way. Don’t worry about those boxes, I’ll get him to come move them after he drops you off. Just worry about getting better, alright? Do you have your bag and everything you need before he gets here?”
Castiel lifted his head with difficultly. It felt incredibly heavy. “Yes.” He ground out. He reached up with shaky fingers and carefully logged himself out of the register. He pulled his bag from under the counter and set it on his lap, wrapping his arms around it like a favorite stuffed animal and thunking his head back down on the counter.
She slowly rubbed large circles onto his back. It was a weird sensation, Castiel decided. It was oddly comforting and soothing, but it was entirely unfamiliar. He wondered if every mother did this for their kids. Well, every mother besides his own. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” She sounded like she was trying to joke, but the words belied her actual concern. Castiel really thought she should meet Dean; they were so similar.
Castiel shook his head against the counter. Well… that was a lot of spinning for just a shake of his head. Castiel hummed and changed his answer to a shrug.
“Alright, sweetheart. You can rest if you want to, okay? I’ll wake you up when he gets here. Do you want to go to the beanbag in the young adult section to nap?”
It was probably better for his back to sleep in a beanbag than hunched over a counter, and he would probably fall off of the folding chair at some point, if he didn’t move. The beanbag was safer. Castiel nodded and slowly sat up. He coughed, groaning at the pain it caused his throat.
He slowly stood, leaning heavily on the counter. Mary supported him from the other side and across the open area to the young adult section. He was dimly surprised by her strength, he wasn’t exactly small, but didn’t comment. He sat heavily and immediately curled up as small as possible on his side in the beanbag, still clutching his messenger bag like a teddy bear.
“Go ahead and nap, Castiel, you have a few minutes. He had just gotten home from work, so he had to get ready to leave again. I’m going to look in the back and see if I might have anything for a cold or fever in my desk. I’ll wake you up to take it if I do, okay?”
Castiel nodded approval, hoping he wasn’t wiping his sweat on the material. He’d pay to clean it when he was better.
He fell asleep, waking up once to painfully swallow the teal pills Mary found. He hoarsely thanked her, for the pills and for everything. She smiled and pushed his hair off of his forehead.
“It’s not a problem, Castiel. You’re an excellent employee and a good man. You know, I have two boys of my own, around your age, and when they get sick they’re completely reliant on whoever they can be.” She winked at him. “The big babies always beg me for my tomato and rice soup.”
Cas smiled at her as she left. She was a wonderful woman. He should really bring her something nice for her birthday. People like flowers, right? He could do that. Or chocolates? Maybe Mary was more of a homemade cookies kind of person. He drifted back off thinking of all the increasingly outlandish things he could give to Mary for her birthday.
“Hey, mom! You back there?”
Castiel dimly recognized a voice from the front of the store. He was only half-awake and he was determined to get his other half back under. He clung stubbornly to the dream he had been having, something to do with nice baristas and pretty eyes.
“Yeah, ‘course, mom. Y’know, it’s weird, I know a guy who was looking pretty bad earlier, too. I hope he made it okay.” The son muttered to himself. “I’ll have to call him when I get home.”
“Must be going around,” Mary said. “He’s back in the young adult section, I made him nap in the beanbag. You might stop on the way to his house and get some cold medicine, in case he doesn’t have any. Better safe than sorry.”
“Yeah, good plan, mom,” the voice was growing closer, but Castiel was slipping back under and didn’t really care.
“Oh,” the son’s footsteps stopped in front of Cas. “Oh, buddy.” Castiel felt someone get closer. From the rustling, it sounded like the son had crouched. “Hey, sleepyhead. You want to wake up for me?” Castiel felt gentle fingers brush his hair back again. No, he did not want to wake up. He mumbled a little and snuggled further into the beanbag, trying to sleep again.
Wait, that voice sounded kind of familiar.
Mary’s son chuckled. “Come on, sunshine. Wake up. Let me see those pretty eyes.”
Castiel felt light fingers trying to gently shake him awake. He knew that laugh, too.
“Dean?” He mumbled, groggily opening his eyes.
“There he is.” Dean said, voice low and warm. “See, I told you your boss would understand.”
Cas squinted at him for a moment. “What are you doing here?” He rubbed his eyes and slowly uncurled his legs.
Dean smiled at him. “Mom called me. Said she had a worker that needed a ride home. That you?”
“Um,” Castiel sat up fully and hugged his bag to his chest again. “Yes.” He paused again, sleep- and fever-addled brain trying to work it out. “Mary is your mother?”
“She sure is,” Dean nodded. “Best mom anyone could ask for.” He smiled again. “Guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot then, huh?”
Castiel just nodded. His throat was aching again, and he was so tired. He sneezed, turning his head as close to his elbow as he could without letting go of his bag.
Dean’s smile turned soft and understanding. “Let’s get you home, alright? Once you get some medicine in you, you can sleep all you want.”
Castiel nodded again. Sleep did sound nice. He was still sweating a lot and his head was starting to pound. He slung his bag across his body and carefully stood, trying not to topple over.
Dean stood smoothly and helped pull Cas to his feet, supporting him once he was upright. Cas leaned heavily on Dean, trusting Dean wouldn’t be grossed out by his sweat. He hadn’t been at the café, right? Cas tried to reason.
“You good?” Dean asked, still holding both of Cas’ hands.
Cas nodded. He regretfully withdrew his hands and swayed a little on the spot.
“Are you sure?” Dean peered into his eyes again. “I don’t mind helping you out. I’d rather you not pass out and hurt yourself fallin’ on somethin’.”
Castiel nodded. He took a couple of deep breaths before taking one step forward. His knees immediately buckled, but he managed to catch himself and keep mostly upright.
“Okay, no.” Dean ducked under one of Cas’ arms and supported him with an arm around his waist. “You’re not falling on my watch.”
Castiel’s ears burned red, but he had to admit that it was a better alternative to giving himself a fallen-bruised forehead. “Thanks.” He said hoarsely.
“Not a problem, man.” Dean said cheerfully, leading him into the main shop. “Hey, mom,” His voice turned softer, and Castiel could see the obvious love Dean had for his mother. “Me and Cas are going to head out, alright? We’ll stop at a Walgreen’s or something for medicine.”
Mary looked confused by the closeness of the two, and raised an eyebrow at the nickname. She just shook her head at her son, smiling. “Okay, sweetheart. He did take a couple NyQuil just a little bit ago, but it’ll be good to stock up. Call me once you get there, okay? Can’t have my best employee go missing.”
Dean snorted but nodded. “You got it. Oh, can you text me the address, by the way? I think Cas needs to rest his throat for a bit.”
Castiel smiled at his thoughtfulness. He turned his face into Dean’s shoulder, trying to hide his silly grin from Mary. He wasn’t so sure he succeeded.
“Yes, of course.” Mary walked to the door and held it open as they awkwardly made their way through. “I’ll talk to you later, Dean. Castiel, get some rest, okay, hon?”
Castiel nodded to her. She walked back inside, probably to get her phone and text Dean his address.
They walked up next to the passenger door of a gorgeous black car. Cas didn’t know what year it was, but it was obviously an older car. And lovingly cared for, looking at the shine. Cas would’ve complimented it if he didn’t feel like his throat would bleed if he tried to speak. Dean held onto Castiel’s waist tighter, moving his other arm up to grab his keys out of his jacket pocket. He leaned forward slightly to unlock the door and eased it open with a small creak.
“Okay, here we go.” Dean muttered.
With Dean’s help, Castiel eased himself onto the smooth leather seats, pulling his bag’s strap over his shoulder and resting it on his lap.
Dean closed the passenger door gently and walked over to the driver’s side. The door creaked as he opened it and slid inside. He closed the door and started the engine in one smooth motion. “Alright, Cas. I should get mom’s text in a minute, but can you point in a general direction for me? We can hit a Walgreen’s on the way.”
Castiel lifted his hand and pointed the way he usually walked to work before wrapping it tightly around his bag. He didn’t know why holding his bag brought him comfort, but he wasn’t about to overthink it. “Would it be okay if I took a nap?” He whispered. The NyQuil Mary had given him was really hitting him hard. Cas was having trouble keeping his eyes open.
“Yeah, buddy.” Dean said softly. “That’s fine. I’ll run in and grab stuff when we get there. Do you have anything you want besides the cold medicine?”
Castiel shook his head and leaned it against the window. The engine noise was strangely comforting, the low rumble promising safety from silence.
“Okay. Get some rest if you can.”
Castiel hummed. He felt a brush against his stomach and opened his eyes to see Dean reaching across and fastening his lap belt.
“Safety first.” Dean muttered, leaning back.
“Former boy scout thing?” Cas managed to whisper.
Dean grinned at him, relief in his smile. “‘Course.”
Castiel noticed that Dean didn’t fasten his own belt before reaching for the gear shift. He vaguely wondered if that meant anything as his eyes slid shut again.
“Sorry there’s no shoulder belts,” Dean said, reversing out of the parking space.
Castiel blinked his tired eyes open to look at Dean. His mother had always been very strict about looking at someone when they were speaking, and it was a hard habit to break.
“Baby’s a classic and I don’t want to change anything about her.” He grinned roguishly as he drove in the direction Cas had pointed.
Castiel hummed again in understanding. His eyes slipped closed. He knew it was the polite thing to do, to look at someone when they were speaking, but he was so tired. He hoped Dean would understand.
Dean kept talking but Castiel couldn’t catch the words. The sounds streamed through his mind, the lulling timbre of Dean’s voice, but they were waves in an ocean, holding no meaning or shape. Castiel fell asleep to the sea, buoyed by the dull roar of the engine.
“Cas?”
Castiel felt a hand resting on his shoulder. He mumbled something and turned his head towards the noise.
“Hey, bud.” Dean’s voice was soft again. Castiel liked it when Dean’s voice was soft. It made him feel nice. “Can you wake up again for me? We’re at your place.” Castiel felt the thumb of the hand on his shoulder slowly brush back and forth.
“Mm?” Castiel murmured. His eyelids were incredibly heavy, but he managed to slowly drag them open. He sluggishly blinked at Dean.
Dean’s smile was as soft as his voice. “There he is.” He hummed. “You with me or are you still asleep?”
Castiel stared at Dean for a minute, trying to make his brain work. He saw that Dean was crouched by Cas’ open door before losing the battle of keeping his eyes open.
“Ca-as,” Dean dragged his name out. He sounded like he wanted to laugh at Castiel. Cas wished he would, he really liked Dean’s laugh. It made him want to laugh, too. “Come on.” He shook Cas’ shoulder gently. “I may look like I could carry you up ten flights of stairs, but I swear I can only do two.” His hand moved from Cas’ shoulder to brush his hair back from his forehead again. A lot of people had been doing that lately. Maybe he should get a haircut. “And from the address mom texted me, you live on the third floor.”
Castiel succeeded in blinking his eyes open again. “There’s ‘n elevator.” He mumbled tiredly, admiring Dean’s face as he laughed under his breath. He turned his head and coughed tiredly into his shoulder.
“Are you usually not a morning person or is this the NyQuil talking?” Dean asked, still chuckling as he reached across an unbuckled Cas’ seatbelt.
Castiel blinked down at his legs, trying to force them to move. “Both.” He managed to get one leg onto the pavement relatively okay. The second one made contact with asphalt, but it forced him to turn. He was hit with a wave of lightheadedness. He swayed, nearly falling forward onto Dean.
Dean caught him by his shoulders, looking exceedingly worried. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He muttered, carefully standing while holding Castiel in place. “Are you going to be okay to just sit here for a minute while I grab the bags?”
Castiel fought down the dizziness and grumbled affirmation. He wobbled a little bit, but stayed upright while Dean walked around to the driver’s side for the bags. The white plastic rustled loudly as it was pulled out of the car. Cas wondered why there was more than one bag. Hadn’t Dean just bought cold medicine?
“-tiel?”
Castiel blinked and his eyes focused on Dean, crouched in front of him again. He looked anxious.
“Are you sure this is just a cold, man?” Dean felt Cas’ forehead again. “You’re burning up. You’re kind of scaring me, here.” Dean gave Cas an uncertain smile. “What would I tell Jess if her favorite tutor died on me?”
Castiel smiled softly. “M’okay.” He relaxed his grip on his bag and slowly reached a hand up to rub at his eyes. “Tired.” He whispered.
Dean’s hand moved from Cas’ forehead to his hair. He ran his fingers through the sweaty curls. It felt nice. “I know, buddy, I know,” he soothed. “You can go to sleep once you get home.” He smiled crookedly, “Come on, let’s brave this elevator of yours.”
Castiel nodded slowly. He clumsily pulled his shoulder strap over his head and slid closer to the door.
Dean stood and gave Cas some room, plastic bags in one hand. He reached out with the other to help pull him to his feet.
Castiel leaned his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. He fought the urge to just bury his head in the other man. He would bet it would feel lovely, just leaning against Dean while he slowly stroked Cas’ hair, but he had woken up enough to realize it wouldn’t be the best idea.
Dean managed to swing the passenger door shut with the hand holding the bags and turned toward the door, arm slung firmly around Cas’ waist. “You don’t need a key to the building or anything, right?”
Castiel shook his head as they walked. “Just the apartment.” He whispered. His voice didn’t want to go any louder.
Dean nodded in confirmation as he slowly supported Cas up the steps to the door. “Man, I’m glad your building has an elevator.” He said, pushing open the door and leading Cas through. “I’m not sure you could make it up three flights of stairs.” They made their way across the lobby to the elevator.
“I’d be fine.” Castiel protested softly, determinedly reaching out to push the elevator button. As if that showed his exceptional ability to climb stairs.
“Okay, man.” Dean chuckled. “I believe you.”
“Good.” Castiel muttered mulishly. He was a little grumpy, but he had just woken up, after all. He needed to get some coffee. Or go to sleep again, that sounded better.
There was a ding as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. They walked in and turned around slowly. Cas reached forward and poked at the right button, still stubbornly trying to prove that he would’ve been fine with stairs.
“This elevator stinks.” Dean’s nose wrinkled.
“Mm,” Castiel hummed agreement as the doors slid shut. He usually took the stairs, but he had used the elevator a few times. It always smelled like an odd combination of cooking cabbage and wet dog. “I think Mrs. Pemberton on the fourth floor uses it to take her dog out for walks.” He mumbled, still pretty sleepy.
“Well, sure, that explains the dog smell. But why the rotten egg smell?” Dean gently shook the arm that was supporting Cas. He was probably trying to keep him awake, Cas realized. “Do you have a weird neighbor that hides eggs for Easter egg hunts and then forgets to tell anyone to look for them?”
Castiel blinked at the glowing “3” button. This elevator was very slow. “Um,” he tried to focus. “I always thought it smelled more like cabbage than rotten eggs.”
Dean chuckled. “Then, do you have a weird neighbor that hides cabbage for Easter cabbage hunts and then forgets to tell anyone to look for them?”
“No,” Castiel’s throat was hurting. “He tells us to look for them, we just don’t bother. No one here is really a fan of cabbage.”
Dean laughed loudly as the elevator dinged again and the doors re-opened. “Really? Not one person takes the opportunity for free leafy green vegetables? Think of all the money you would save on meals, Cas!” They stepped out of the elevator and paused. “Which one is your place?”
Feeling slightly more awake, Castiel took a few steps forward without Dean’s support and stopped in front of his door. He unzipped his bag and started rummaging through it to find his keys. “Sure, I would save money, but think of the other consequences.”
“Other consequences, huh?” Dean was watching him very closely to make sure he wouldn’t fall. “Like what?”
“Cabbage breath.” He made a face at Dean. His hand brushed against cold metal and he pulled out his keys.
Dean laughed again. Cas liked making Dean laugh. “That’s true.”
“All the money I saved with free cabbage would be wasted on extra toothpaste and mouthwash.” Castiel muttered as he slid his key in the lock and opened the door.
“Ah,” Dean lamented as he trailed behind Cas into the room, “The sacrifices we make for minty fresh breath.”
Cas shut the door behind them and put his keys in the bowl he had by the door. He gestured Dean towards the kitchen, hoping that Dean would understand his need to be quiet for now. He smiled thankfully as Dean just nodded and walked into the other room.
He set his bag on the couch and threw his coat over the back before joining Dean in the kitchen. He tilted his head in confusion as Dean unloaded what was definitely more than just cold medicine.
“So,” Dean looked slightly embarrassed at himself, “I bought a few extra things? I saw a Walmart before we passed any other stores so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to just… get some other stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.
Cas smiled slightly at Dean and gave him a little thumbs-up to show it was okay. He slumped down at the table and looked muzzily at the pile of items. Something about sitting down in his own home made his drowsiness come roaring back.
Dean smiled at the thumbs-up, eyes crinkling, but didn’t say anything about it. “I grabbed some NyQuil and some DayQuil because, well,” he shrugged, “you may want to be awake for some of tomorrow.”
Cas squinted at him in skepticism. Dean was being incredibly thoughtful. He probably wouldn’t know that being asleep was the best way to get through sickness alone. It sounded like he had always had Mary watching out for him, or Sam for company. Not bleached silences and deaf walls.
He shivered at bit at the thought of being alone. NyQuil was definitely the better option.
Dean’s concerned mother look retuned. “Are you cold? Do you want a blanket or something?”
Castiel closed his eyes and shook his head. He dragged them open again and raised his eyebrows slowly to indicate that Dean should continue telling him about the groceries.
Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, as if he was scanning for lies. “Okay, I’m going to tell you what I got, but then it’s straight to bed, mister!” He pointed a finger at Cas, jokingly serious.
Castiel huffed a breath through his nose, a facsimile of a laugh, and tilted his head in understanding. He coughed into his elbow again.
“Good,” Dean muttered. His eyes returned to the tabletop. “I grabbed a bottle of orange juice, for vitamin C and all.” He picked up the small orange bottle and shook it a bit. “Some tissues because I thought you might want to breathe a little,” he smiled as he tapped a blue Kleenex box. “I, um,” he looked embarrassed again, “I also got some tomatoes, a few other vegetables, and some rice.”
Castiel blinked slowly.
“My mom always makes us this soup when Sammy and I get sick,” Dean haltingly explained, “Tomato and rice? It’s really good, I swear,” Dean sounded like he was trying to convince Cas of something.
Castiel furrowed his brow but nodded. She had told Cas that just a bit ago. Maybe Cas was too tired to understand what Dean meant.
“I thought you might want to try some?” Dean looked incredibly nervous. Almost… scared? “I mean, I can leave if you want me to, I know we don’t know each other all that well, but it always makes me feel better and I thought you might like it.” Dean was ranting now. It was pretty cute, Cas thought. “You don’t have to try it; you might not like it. Damn, I didn’t even ask you if you were allergic to anything, you aren’t allergic to tomatoes or anything are you?” Dean stopped suddenly and flushed.
Castiel stared at him for a second before smiling as wide as his face would let him. Dean wanted to make him food. His mother’s special comfort food that Dean craved when he was sick. That was unbelievably sweet, and Castiel felt a thousand times better already. Plus, he wasn’t leaving Cas alone yet. He shook his head, happy but still sluggish. He really needed a nap.
Dean recognized the smile as acceptance and smiled back. “Good. Go change into pajamas or something more comfortable and take a nap. That NyQuil’s probably still in your system and you look wiped.” He shooed Castiel gently from the table. “I’ll make food. Do you want me to wake you up when it’s done or would you rather sleep?”
Cas bit his lip in thought. As tired as he was, he was also pretty hungry. And he’d rather be awake when Dean left than wake up later to a cold, empty apartment. He glanced at the food and back at Dean, seeing if he got the message.
“I’ll come get you when the food’s ready,” Dean winked at him.
Castiel smiled and nodded his thanks before sluggishly walking to his room. He closed the door gently and switched out his jeans for old, baggy sweatpants. He pulled off his nicer work shirt and pulled on a ratty old t-shirt from high school that proclaimed the fighting power of the “St. Joseph’s Mighty Angels” in cracked black letters.
He gently eased the door open again, smiling to himself at the clattering of dishes in the kitchen. He collapsed onto his bed and burrowed into the covers, falling asleep quickly.
The walls were melting. The ceiling was sagging lower and lower, and Cas knew that he would suffocate when it reached him. He couldn’t move. He could only watch as it dipped, trapped by his military-tight sheets.
He could scream or yell for help, if he wanted to, but he didn’t bother. He knew it wouldn’t matter.
He tried to thrash against the restraining cloth, whimpering to himself and sobbing breathlessly. Every movement pulled the blankets tighter, his throat constricted by the cloth and the panic.
“Oh, Castiel.” His mother sighed, leaning against the doorway. Had she been there just a moment ago? Had she always been there? Was she even there now? “You shouldn’t fight it, Castiel. You know better.”
Her hair was pulled back in her usual bun, suit as well-pressed and presentable as always. Her face was in the professional smile he always saw it in when she was in the newspaper or online.
The ceiling drooped, steadily stretching terrifyingly closer.
“Mother,” he begged, tears leaking down his face. In the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t change anything, his mother only ever did what she felt like doing, but in his panic he couldn’t help himself.
She just tsked at him in disapproval and watched. Her eyes were blue, like his own, but so void of warmth they were black holes.
The ceiling sagged so far it touched his nose. He felt the heaviness of it, the stone cold texture.
He screamed and thrashed as he was slowly smothered by the weight.
Castiel awoke to himself clutching onto Dean’s shirt and immediately sat up, nearly cracking their skulls together in the process. He felt tears in his eyes and couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped him.
“Hey, hey,” Dean soothed. He was sitting on his bed and rubbed Cas’ back soothingly. “S’okay, everything’s okay, it was just a dream.”
Castiel whimpered and buried his face into Dean’s shoulder.
“I know,” Dean whispered calmingly. “It’ll all be okay, you’re fine.”
“I was so alone,” Cas whispered. “Mother was there but she wasn’t there, no one was there, it was just me and this… this thing.”
Dean hummed in acknowledgement, hand still moving in calming circles.
“It was all so quiet, everything was silent.” Castiel laughed hysterically. “I was suffocating and all I could hear was myself dying, nothing else even squeaked or, or cracked, or anything.”
Dean’s hand moved up to run through Cas’ hair. “You’re okay now, Cas.”
Castiel drew in a shaky breath and just let himself rest against Dean for a few moments. He had been right, earlier, this was nice. Dean’s fingers felt nice running through his hair.
Castiel’s brain finally engaged and he realized that he was leaning, sweaty and tear-streaked, against a man he wasn’t even quite sure counted him as a friend. He leaned back, blushing at himself.
Dean almost looked like he wanted to leave his hand where it was, but he let it slide down to the bed.
“Sorry,” Castiel whispered, looking at an old tea stain shaped like a bean on the corner of his comforter.
Dean tilted Cas’ head up with a hand under his chin. “Don’t be sorry,” he looked sad. “Nightmares happen to the best of us. Can’t control that.” He quirked a little smirk. “And, hey, at least you had good timing. The soup is ready if you want some.”
Castiel nodded. His throat felt worlds better, scratchy rather than blistering, but he was in a quiet mood. That NyQuil really did its job. Or maybe he had just overworked it earlier, talking to Dean in the café?
“D’you wanna come out to the kitchen to eat or d’you want me to bring a bowl in here?” Dean’s soft smile returned. “I don’t mind either way, but I am legally required to tell you that you have a 95% less chance of spilling scalding hot soup on yourself if you have a table in front of you.”
Castiel did feel like he could handle shuffling out to the kitchen and collapsing into a chair. He tilted his head toward the kitchen in silent choice.
Dean’s smile stayed firmly in place as he moved his hand from under Cas’ chin (how long had that been there?) and backed up from the bed. “Need help?”
Castiel shook his head. He could stand on his own, at least.
“Okay, I’ll go ahead and dish a bowl.” Dean walked to the kitchen.
Castiel wiped off his face with his sheets, hoping he didn’t have tear tracks on his face. He stood slowly and reached for his fuzziest, most comfortable blanket. He draped it around his shoulders like a cloak of security and shuffled to the kitchen.
Dean’s back was to Cas as he ladled some soup into a bowl, but he turned his head at the rustling.
Cas was sure he looked like an absolute disaster, bedhead sticking up all over, nose running, face probably red and blotchy from crying. Not to mention the green fuzzy blanket he had over his shoulders.
Dean’s eyes crinkled as he turned back to the soup and muttered something to himself. Cas couldn’t hear it, but it sounded like he said “boot”? Maybe “fruit”? Something “-ute”.
Castiel sagged down into a chair, watching Dean. He had taken off his leather jacket he had on, now just wearing a plaid over shirt with something underneath. Castiel couldn’t quite tell from the back.
Dean turned around and set two bowls down on the table, reaching over to a drawer and pulling out two spoons. “I hope it’s okay, I made myself familiar with your kitchen.” Dean quirked another smile, but underneath it Castiel could read the slight anxiety.
He just smiled and nodded, reaching a hand from under his blanket to take a spoon.
“Careful, dude, it’s hot.” Dean warned as he handed the utensil over.
Castiel took a spoonful and blew on it, raising his eyebrows and over exaggerating the motion.
Dean rolled his eyes and took a spoonful of his bowl. “Okay, smartass, but if you burn your tongue you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Castiel nodded seriously, the corner of his mouth twitching. He made sure it was cooled enough to eat and tried a bite. He smiled at the bowl. It was delicious, just like Dean had promised. He took another spoonful.
“Soooooo,” Dean prodded.
Cas raised his eyebrows innocently. “Mmhm?”
Dean gave him an unimpressed look.
Castiel chuckled. “It’s good, Dean.” He said, finally able to manage a normal volume. He still sounded gravelly, but much better than before. “It’s fantastic, actually. Is there any way I could bribe you into giving me the recipe?”
Dean snorted, but it did look like Cas’ answer had put him more at ease. “First of all, my own mother didn’t even give me this recipe, I had to figure it out by myself through years of careful experimentation.” He sighed dramatically. “So many good tomatoes. So many bad results.”
Castiel nodded gravely and took another bite. “Their sacrifices were not in vain.”
“Thank you,” Dean replied, eyes glittering. “Secondly, I regret to inform you that there is no actual ‘recipe’.” He took a bite of his own portion. “You see, Cas,” he pointed at Cas with his spoon, “This is something we call ‘country cooking’. It’s all in pinches and dashes,” he shrugged, taking another spoonful. “You add when you think will taste good in the amount you want. No ‘teaspoons’ or ‘cups’ or any of that.”
Castiel blinked at Dean. He grew up in a world of exact measurements and straight lines. This sounded like… chaos. Castiel beamed at him. It sounded like fun.
Dean looked surprised by Castiel’s reaction but beamed back happily. “Looks like you’re alright with that, then. I suppose,” he gave a put-upon sigh, “If you truly desire, I can teach you my ways.”
“Really?” Castiel asked, finishing his bowl. It had been wonderful.
“Under one condition.”
Castiel leaned back, re-wrapping his blanket around himself. “Of course,” he replied, nodding seriously. “I would expect no less. One cannot just go around revealing secrets with reckless abandon. Society would fall.” He coughed into his blanket, and, thankfully, it sounded less rough than before.
Dean laughed.
“What’s the condition?” Cas asked with a small smile.
Dean turned a little red and he coughed in to his hand. “Gonadatwithme?”
“What?”
Dean took a deep breath and looked Cas directly in the eyes. “Go on a date with me?”
Castiel just stared at him in surprise.
“I mean,” Dean began rambling, “You don’t have to say yes, I’ll still teach you if you want me to, and this isn’t like, me asking for payback or anything,” he gestured wildly to the soup and the box of tissues still on the table, “That shit was all just because you were sick and I wanted to help you out a little- “
“- and you can kick me out right now if I’m making you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to make this- “. Dean stopped himself short. “Yeah?” He asked sheepishly.
“Yeah,” Castiel said, smiling. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”
“Oh, well.” Dean’s smile was radiant. “Good.”
Five Years Later
“Caaaas,” Dean whined, head hanging over the back of their couch. “I’m dying.”
Castiel chuckled as his kissed Dean’s forehead. “You’re not dying, Dean, it’s just a cold.”
Dean sniffled and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. “Is the soup done yet?” he asked miserably.
Castiel tasted a spoonful. “Mm, just a few more minutes.”
Dean pouted at the Cas’ answer but didn’t complain.
Cas smiled as he thought about the numerous times he had made it over the last five years, at first just for Dean and then Sam. Mary had laughed and passed the metaphorical baton, claiming his tasted better anyway. He had even made her a batch last August, when she had caught a bug off of a child visiting the bookstore.
Jess, who had been a happily married Jessica Winchester for two years now, had craved it all throughout her pregnancy. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the calls at crazy hours begging (ordering) him to bring over a pot of tomato rice soup. Dean was always grumbly about the 2 AM calls, but Cas always managed to calm him down with soft kisses and jokes about unfound Easter cabbage.
“D’you think Mrs. Pemberton would let me borrow her dog if I asked nice?” Dean wondered aloud. “From the wet dog smell in the elevator, that has to be one fluffy dude.”
Castiel tried not to smile as he replied. “She might, but from the way she was looking at you the other day it might be ‘under one condition’.”
Dean groaned. “Oh my god, Cas, that was five years ago.” He buried his face in his hands, “Let me live. And,” He peered into the kitchen, pointing as seriously as he could with a fluffy blanket wrapped around him, “You said yes, remember?”
Castiel hummed and let his smile show, “Sure, but it’s still cute.”
“Caaasss,” Dean groaned. “Stoooop.”
“Of course, Dean.” He walked over and sat next to Dean, leaning in to whisper, “Under one condition.”
“Caaaaassssss.”
Castiel laughed, running his hand through Dean’s short, brown hair. “Okay, okay. Do you need anything?” He murmured.
Dean turned to Cas and hugged him, resting his head on Cas’ shoulder. “Just you.”
Castiel laughed quietly but continued petting Dean’s hair. “I’m not going to make your cold go away any faster, you know. You might want to replace me with some medicine.”
“Nah,” Dean’s grip tightened, “I could never replace you.”
Castiel and Dean argue a lot, but they both know how much the other loves them. They joke about breaking up constantly, neither taking it seriously. One day, Dean asks for a divorce instead.
Read it on AO3!
“That’s it, we have to break up.”
Castiel rolled his eyes at the sink and laughed. “Dean, we are not breaking up just because you don’t like that I keep the ketchup in the fridge.” He continued to wash the lettuce, unbothered by Dean’s proclamation.
