Cas is disoriented. He is human. He is thirsty. And he is thoroughly unprepared for Dean yelling at him. “…what?”
“Twelve fucking years, Cas! Twelve-“ Dean’s hands come up to clench at his hair. “Do you have any idea how much pussy I turned down-“
“Okay, Jesus,” Sam cuts in as Cas becomes aware that Sam and Eileen are also here for this. “Can we just-“
“I was drowning,” Dean says loudly. “I was drowning in dick and pussy, Cas, and I turned it all down because I was moping over you.”
Cas is disoriented, human, thirsty, and transitioning all those things to the mode Dean had once labeled kinda bitchy, dude. “Clearly, if this is your idea of romance.”
“My idea of romance?” Dean screeches. “I have been- dude, I have been so romantic. I made you a mixtape!”
“You derive joy and comfort from foisting your taste on other people.”
“I let you use my knives!”
“You let Sam use your knives, Dean-“
“You-“ Cas pauses. Actually, he doesn’t have anything good for that one, and Dean can tell, because he gesticulates triumphantly. “Dean-“
“I am in love with you,” Dean bursts out, all red in the face. “You dumb, stupid son of a bitch, and I want to spend the rest of my stupid little life with you, if you’re cool with that.”
The silence that hangs in the barn is heavy, Cas abruptly so thunderstruck that he can feel it in the soles of his shoes. He swallows, mouth still dry.
“I’m meant to walk in your step,” he answers. “I have… you are my anchor in anything. Everything. Of course I’m going to spend the rest of your life with you. Where else would I go?”
Dean stares at him, looking increasingly like a pufferfish. Cas should know. He watched God make them.
“We’re gonna go,” Sam says, grabbing Eileen’s elbow as he takes a look at Dean’s face. “Good to have you back, Cas.”
“Bye, Cas,” Eileen adds. The two of them beat a hasty retreat.
“Are you just gonna stare at me,” Cas finally snaps. “Or-“
Dean strides up to him. He grabs Cas by the front of the trench coat and slams him up against the wall. Cas opens his mouth to complain, vociferously, only to have Dean’s mouth sealed to it instead, and he quickly decides this is better, sinking a hand into Dean’s hair, gripping his collar with the other so tight he’s white knuckling it.
After a minute, or hours, or days, Dean pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, nose brushing against Cas’, close enough for Cas to count every freckle.
“Yeah?” Dean answers softly.
“Do you… have something to drink?”
Dean huffs a snort. “Yeah. Yeah, I got some water in the car. Just water. I’m, uh. I’m trying to cut back on the booze.”
“Good.” Cas manages to pry his grasp off Dean’s shirt to rest that hand on his neck. “That’s good.”
Dean gives him the most beatific smile, the one where his eyes get all crinkly at the corner, and not for the first time, Cas is breathtaken at the sight of Dean Winchester.
“Drowning in it,” he tells Cas. “From demons, from humans, from Crowley-“
“Don’t ever bring up Crowley’s genitalia to me again,” Cas answers, and kisses him just to make sure he doesn’t.
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