Emoticons and How to Use Them --- a Destiel ficlet
Hey, peeps! I sat down to write some meta yesterday and this came out instead! I hope you’ll enjoy it!
AO3: I need an ao3 account. Sorry, gals and pals, still don’t have one. Characters: Dean/Cas/human!Cas, Sam Winchester, glimpse of Rowena Setting: Sometime in S13, post midseason finale Category: Total fluffety fluff with heavy duty intimacy and non-explicit smuttiness. First kiss/first time. Honesty. Flirting. Handholding. insecure!Dean. soft!Dean. assertive!Cas. (god all these labels but) I just want them to get to be marshmallows melting in hot chocolate with each other so here’s a cuppa! :)
Taster: Why was Cas winking at him? What the hell was this supposed to mean? Why was he winking at Dean at five-fifteen in the goddamn morning? Had something happened? Was this actually code for him being in real trouble? No. Cas wouldn’t have sent this of all things…
Dean gets a very unclear and confusing text from Cas. Dean doesn’t quite know how to handle it. Flashback fluff included with purchase, as well as general Destiel shenanigans.
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It was an emoticon that started it all. A fucking emoticon.
Dean woke up and checked his phone and there it was, in a message from Cas, just some random-ass, early-as-all-hell message. It had been sent at five-fifteen in the morning. Five-fifteen. Cas the angel hadn’t slept and yeah, it wouldn’t have surprised Dean to have seven random messages sent between midnight and dawn because angel Cas had sent him an Argentinian recipe for chickpea soup once at two forty-four on a Friday night and it had made Dean tap out a furious message in response right then and there, telling Cas the angel to stop fucking messaging him when he’s trying to get a few hours sleep in.
Cas had sulked for three days.
But the soup had turned out to be on this side of awesome, so Dean had kind of had to apologise for going off on one.
“Tell me when it’s okay for me to message you, Dean, and I won’t bother you when it’s an inconvenience,” Cas had said, testily, with that glare of his that could move Dean’s bones around in his body, and Dean had tried a smile, tried to placate, tried to charm.
Even though he knew perfectly well how it never worked on Cas.
“Look, you can text me anytime, alright, if it’s… important.”
“Right,” Cas said, stare not giving an inch, jaw setting. “Life and death is okay, but hold off on sharing interesting tidbits.”
Aw, fuck sake.
“Come on, Cas. It’s not like I’m on a set sleeping schedule here. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to get some shuteye. It’s not that I don’t want recipes for… soup, it’s just… You know - timing.”
“Timing,” Cas had repeated, suddenly frowning softly, growing thoughtful, and Dean knew that the mood had turned from irritation to a whole new set of questions and that he’d averted a clipped conversation that never really amounted to anything, following the same pattern of unspoken things that they’d had for a few years now, skirting the issue of… something.
That simmering irritation not actually sitting between them like a bright-eyed animal, hoping this was the moment it got to pounce, because of anything to do with “tidbits” and whether it was alright to share them or not. This bright-eyed animal had everything to do with… something else.
So Dean had started texting Cas before going to sleep, simply writing Shuteye, so that Cas would know not to be in touch unless it was actually life or death, and texting him with an emoji sun once he woke up, which he did without thinking and then just got in the habit of, even though at first he thought it was pretty dumb and, honestly, he never was a fan of emojis because who the fuck communicates using pictures when they’re beyond the age of four anyway?
So yeah, the finer points of this mode of expression was more or less lost on him.
And now he’d gotten a text with an emoticon sent at five-fifteen in the fucking morning, not by Cas the angel, but by Cas the newly minted human, and Cas the newly minted human slept like a log - wherever the hell he put his head down - until nine am, unless his five alarms went off. The coffee maker and soft-and-thoughtful waker of Dean the sleeping bear was long gone.
Dean refused to admit he missed the barely established routine of coffee cup on bedside table, a pause and then fingers soft, soft on his cheek for just the breath of a moment before Cas’ gravelly voice would murmur “Coffee” and he’d be gone again. He refused to admit he missed the unbridled and daring show of intimacy, of understanding. And still, he missed it, with or without the admittance of it.
It was the wink emoticon.
Cas had sent a winking fucking semi-colon smiling sonofabitch completely out of the blue. And nothing else. Just that.
Why was Cas winking at him? What the hell was this supposed to mean? Why was he winking at Dean at five-fifteen in the goddamn morning? Had something happened? Was this actually code for him being in real trouble? No. Cas wouldn’t have sent this of all things…
But what if he’d had the phone in his pocket and he couldn’t actually see what he was texting? What if someone had been looking over his shoulder and he used sending this as a cover for actually calling for backup? Where the hell was he right now, anyway? He’d gone on an intel based mission to a library in Philadelphia, right? But he’d gone on it by request of Rowena the backstabbing bitch so…
Fuck.
Dean squeezed his phone the way anxiety was starting to squeeze at his heart and he threw the covers aside, getting out of bed, stopping as he reached his bedroom door, suddenly unsure.
He should text Cas back and ask if he was okay. Plain and simple like that.
But if this was a wink that had been sent for other reasons.
If this was Cas having hesitated half the night about sending it and then sending it against his better judgment. Because that’s what Dean had nearly done five times in the past month. Well, not that it had been a winking fucking emoticon, but it had been a short query in a direct text about going for a beer. Hey, let’s get a beer Friday night. And then he’d almost added Just the two of us. But deleted that glaring, horribly incriminating addition and typing it back and deleting it three times. And then he’d deleted the whole message. On five different occasions.
He swallowed, glared at his phone, thought about throwing it across the room to get it away from him and forget about it and trust that Cas was fine and that he wouldn’t have texted Dean this stupid emoticon if something really bad was going down, he’d have texted Sam, because…
Because him flirting with Sam would seem really off. Because Cas had been flirting with Dean for weeks. Or so Dean thought. Which was why he’d almost sent that message five times. Chickening out every single time because with Cas he wasn’t sure, he was never just sure of himself around that dickhead. He could be cool and he could act all nonchalant and unmoved, but the truth was that Cas had made his pulse jump into higher gear for years now. For fucking years. And it didn’t look like it was ever going to change, this effect Cas had on him.
Love. Or whatever.
Yeah, fuck.
For one brief second he actually thought about searching online for the real meaning of the wink emoticon. Could it be just between friends? A platonic wink? It must be a thing. Like different flowers had different meanings. And then he felt like bashing his head against the wall because he was such a major asshole and why couldn’t he text Cas and ask if he was okay?
Because what if this was Cas’ version of asking to go for a beer, that’s why.
Dean hesitated for just one more second before leaving his bedroom for the kitchen, where he knew he’d find Sam at this time of the morning.
“Cas sent me this,” Dean said, handing his phone over.
Sam frowned deeply at him, then turned his eyes on the phone, his brow smoothing as he blinked.
“Right, well, maybe he woke up with morning wood because he’d had a dream about you and this is him letting you in on it,” Sam said matter-of-factly.
Dean felt like the room had turned into a vacuum of noiseless self-awareness.
“That’s not… that’s… I… don’t think,” he managed, reaching for the phone, trying to keep the blush creeping up his neck from reaching his face.
“Why don’t you send him the aubergine,” Sam plowed on, having a noisy sip of his coffee before picking up a nearby newspaper. “Live a little.”
“Yeah, so not helpful, man,” Dean said.
“I thought it was,” Sam smirked into his coffee cup and Dean had to muster all his willpower not to smack the cup right out of Sam’s big, stupid hand.
“Maybe he’s in trouble,” Dean tried, without any real conviction.
“I just talked to him,” Sam shook his head, flattening the newspaper out with one firm shake.
“Oh,” Dean mumbled, knowing he should just leave the room, wondering why he was lingering like some douche, staring at Sam like he could somehow save him, like he would actually offer a life raft after just having thrown him into the deep end of this confusing and vast humiliation. “You sure it was him?” Dean tried lightly, wanting his voice to not sound quite as desperate as it unfortunately did.
Sam gave him one of those looks that was somewhere between pity and worry and Dean wanted to punch his face, but didn’t. Then Sam’s expression relaxed again and Dean relaxed with it because he knew here came some real advice at last and Sam said:
“Just send him a smile back, dude.”
Right. Just a smile. No big deal.
Dean shuffled out of the kitchen and back through the bunker to the privacy of his bedroom, phone in hand and thoughts in head and panic in heart. Soft, swirling worry all through him. Goosebumps even rose on his arms as he took a seat on the edge of his bed.
Why would he send Cas a vegetable anyway?
Better stay away from the cryptic emojis and should he use pictures or should he use symbols, mimic Cas or branch out? The problem with emojis was that even though he had no idea what they all meant, he knew there was a whole thing to it, and Cas probably knew all about it because he actually liked emoticons and he used emojis for swift communication, too. He’d always sent a string of them, though, cobbling together some sort of story, usually having to do with where he was currently at. Car-City-Phone meant he was on the road and he’d call when he’d arrived. Phone-Daytime-Hourglass meant he’d call in an hour. Phone-Nighttime-Hourglass meant he’d call in an hour. He just liked being specific.
Dean had always figured it was because angels had no real concept of time, or of space, so Cas had to actually be specific for his own sake more than Dean’s or Sam’s. Dean kind of loved that about him, that he’d always gone out of his way to adjust himself to them like that.
And with that thought he felt how much he missed the dumbass, like a shard in his heart, and he wanted to text him the words that immediately popped in his head. Come home.
Get your ass back here.
Come sleep in my bed and I’ll make you coffee in the morning and bring it in here and wake you with my fingers gently pushing against your cheek. I’ll kiss the sleep from your eyelids and tell you I love you and not to send me fucking confusing text messages ever again.
You’d know what they mean now, Dean.
That’s what Cas would say. And the corner of Dean’s mouth lifted in a small smile at that thought, and he closed his eyes because fuck, how does he do this? How does he not screw this up? He’d been up against the wall more times in his life than he could count, than he could even remember, but he’d never been scared like this. There was this white-hot fear at the thought of losing Cas again and it simmered over his skin, under his skin, through his flesh and veins and into his blood and it made his heart feel like it was going to stop. If he ever lost Cas again…
He almost told him. When Cas gave up his grace, when he chose this life instead of holding onto the existence he’d always known, Dean almost told him.
I can’t lose you. You don’t know what losing you did to me. I don’t work without you, not anymore. I just don’t. Please. Say you won’t leave. Promise me you’ll fight to live. Tell me you’ll stay…
Or some not quite so borderline-prayer, slightly less sappy way of admission.
It was how he felt, though.
It just turned out he didn’t need to say it out loud because there wasn’t any real question of where Cas would live, what he would do, that he was a part of the team, that he wanted to be there for Jack, and with Michael spreading his dark wings over the world, where else could Cas possibly go anyway? Of course he was staying with them, of course they were in this together.
Of course.
Dean opened Cas’ message and began scrolling up in their text conversation, unable to keep the smile off as he reached the links Cas had sent a few weeks ago, ten question marks after the last one. Dean had read them, all of them having to do with the rainforest, the first one had to do with details of it’s destruction, the others had to do with the work done to save it, preserve it, and Dean had known that those question marks were not actually a question, but more an exclamation of “Isn’t this amazing??????????” and Dean had felt all that hope and faith flow into him. Truth was, how Cas still believed so strongly in humanity never failed to make Dean go the big warm and fuzzy. Like there was something more to humans than even they could perceive. Like Cas believed they were all miracle workers that just needed that one incentive to do the right thing.
Fucking former angel and his stupidly big heart.
Almost nine am and Cas would know he’d be up now. Even if he slept soundly he very rarely slept later than eight, so it was time to send a reply. He could just send a wink back? But what if the wink had been some sort of mistake text? Like a butt-dial but closer to the slippery-finger variety? Maybe Cas had sent it and then just thought meh, Dean won’t think anything of it.
But the other night…
The other night they’d stayed up late, researching.
They’d sat under the soft light of the library lamps, next to each other at the big table, reading, muttering to each other if something semi-interesting cropped up.
Dean had forcibly been keeping his feet from inching closer to Cas’; forcibly been keeping his eyes from glancing at Cas’ profile more frequently than they were actually reading sentences in the book in front of him, and pretty much failing in both tasks because his right foot did this soft slide in extreme slow-motion towards Cas’, and Cas’ profile, and the way his eyes moved as he read, and the way he pursed his lips softly once in awhile and in a way that made Dean’s chest ache with longing every single time, all of this was taken in, much more greedily, than the lore he was meant to be digging through.
“You haven’t turned a page in ten minutes,” Cas remarked casually, turning a page.
Dean knew his eyes were softening and that it was dangerous territory to stay up late, just the two of them, and sit close to this man whom he loved, because he’d spent so many years not touching him that recently he’d started touching him as frequently as possible, and possibility arose all the time because he wanted it to. Here he was presented with one of those possibilities, because Cas was right there, and so Dean reached out, for no reason, and gently took hold of Cas’ tie, grasping it and pulling it so that Cas moved to face him, Dean’s mouth already drying because he’d wanted to pull on that tie for a while now, pull on it, wrap it around his hand, get Cas close, real close, all up in each other’s faces close.
“Why are you still wearing this thing?” he wondered, voice too soft and he couldn’t care less.
He gently tugged on the already loosened knot, making the tie come undone beneath his fingers, eyes meeting Cas’, who was looking at him with a slight, questioning frown.
“You hate ties,” Dean said by way of reminder, and excuse, pulling the tie free, listening to it slide out against the fabric of the shirt, released from around Cas’ neck.
“I do hate ties,” Cas confirmed, Dean’s treacherous toes suddenly knocking against Cas’ under the table and Dean was smiling and they weren’t even fucking drunk, but he felt drunk and happy and stupid and fine with it.
Then Cas smiled back and everything was starlight and Dean almost kissed him then.
Almost.
But he chickened out, had mumbled something about how ties suck big time and stuffed it in his pocket as he got to his feet because his skin was heating and his face was flushing and he could barely breathe and he “had to get to bed” so he ran the fuck away from that almost kiss and now there was this goddamn emoticon winking at him and his mouth was dry again and maybe he should just send the fucking aubergine. He had some inkling of what it might insinuate.
His thumb hovered.
Not over the aubergine, but over that regular smiley. Send a smile back. Simple. Could mean anything. Could mean Yeah, saw that wink and it made me smile because funny, dude. Could mean Nice of you to wink at me, I’m smiling back because it was nice. Could mean that he was a complete and utter dickwad who didn’t know fuck-all about how to communicate using fucking pictures and simple symbols because he was lesser than a goddamn four year old.
Fuck.
He typed Hi, then deleted it.
He typed Cas, then stared at the name for over a minute before he deleted it.
He typed Hah yeah that’s— and deleted it.
He typed Something in your eye? — deleted it.
He typed I liked your coffee better. — and deleted it with one hard press of his thumb, groaning with irritation at himself.
Finally he sat perfectly still for a few moments, deciding just to send the smiley face, his thumb hovering and then quickly pressing the emoji and the send button in one swift movement and he closed his eyes.
There.
When he opened them they grew wide as he realised, with a tremor of horror, that he hadn’t sent the regular smiley, he’d sent the one that was laughing out loud-ing all over the place with eyes squeezed into sideways Vs and a big toothy grin all over its annoying yellow face.
f.u.c.k.
Okay, don’t freak out, it’s fine. But this could be taken way wrong, given the possible context. Shit, Cas would think he was laughing at him. Okay, calm. Calm down. Calm. But his hands were shaking as he frantically tried to think of what to do. He stared at the wall, then at his phone, then back at the wall, his phone, then sent the heart emoji.
There was now a hysterically laughing smiley followed by a heart and that was his reply and what the actual hell was that even supposed to mean? Dude, you slay me with your winking but thanks, love you too. The FUCK??
He almost ran back to the kitchen. He needed Sam to tell him what Cas would think. But Sam wouldn’t know, so he wouldn’t be able to answer that question anyway. No, Sam would very calmly raise an eyebrow at the fuck up, then he’d just as calmly and not a little sneakily take a screen shot and he’d message that screen shot to himself and he’d sit on it until the right moment came to go print it in one thousand copies and plaster the goddamn bunker with them. And then he’d just smile and be so damned pleased with himself and…
No.
The time for Sam’s advice was long passed.
Dean closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was a nearly forty year old man and that he was not a teenager anymore and that he had handled archangels on his ass, and God’s sister, and the frigging Devil and he’d become some kind of parent guardian to the Devil’s kid and he was the goddamn firewall of the world and he could send a simple text message without losing his shit.
He looked at the heart again.
And lost his shit.
He sent the fucking heart emoji, what the fuck was wrong with him?
He was typing out Hi sorry that wasn’t— when he was interrupted by a second heart. This one sent to him. He stared at it. At its softly beating, red declaration of… what? What exactly? What were they doing here? What the hell was he supposed to think now? A wink and a heart. But the heart was only in response to his heart - which he hadn’t meant to send. So maybe Cas hadn’t either. Maybe it was just like he meant to do with the regular smiley - just a thing, a reciprocation, not an actual You gave me your heart so here’s mine in return.
But if he was honest with himself, truly honest, he had meant to send that stupid heart.
He’d wanted to send that stupid heart for days, for weeks and months, for years, from the moment he first met this heart-stopping, soul-healing angel he’d wanted to throw his heart in his face and watch him deal with that, unsettle him the way he’d been unsettled, upturn his world the way his world had been upturned, make the angel fall in love with him the way the angel had made him fall, and fall, and fly.
He almost tapped his fingers over a hundred different emojis just to throw sand in this machinery they’d set to work, just to negate the meaning of that heart, one flurry of images to say oh, fuck, hey, don’t know what I’m doing here, remember, this is all for shits and giggles, right, nothing serious going on here, I don’t need you to explain or even mention this ever.
But he didn’t.
Instead he plugged his phone into its charger and left the room before he made a mistake that he couldn’t repair.
Morning had turned to afternoon had moved into evening was inching towards night by the time the door of the bunker opened and Cas walked through it.
Dean hadn’t gone near his phone all day and was on pins and needles, back straightening at the sound of the heavy latch being lifted and the door pushed open.
Cas had called Sam once sometime after lunch, asking if everything was okay with them, since Dean wasn’t replying to his texts. Sam had glared - he’d actually glared in clear annoyance - at Dean and had assured Cas all was fine. They were still researching and could really use those books Cas had gone to get. Cas had said he was on his way home.
Home.
And that he shouldn’t be too late. So naturally Dean’s leg had been popping up and down for the better part of three hours, ever since it officially became evening, and as the evening dragged on toward that too late part of settling into night, he was beginning to feel on the brink of exploding with fearful impatience. He wanted to see Cas, he wanted to know they were good, he wanted to move beyond this and leave it behind, and at the same time he wanted Cas to walk across the floor and kiss him stupid. Grab him and hold him and love him. Damnit.
So he waited. He waited to see which one it would be. He waited and didn’t want to be the one to open his mouth first because he’d ruin it.
Whatever it was.
And now here Cas came, walking down the stairs, carrying five thick volumes in his arms, watching his step before he reached the floor and headed into the library, eyes not meeting Dean’s as he approached the table, setting the books down with a soft moan that did things to Dean he didn’t want to show, so he shifted in his chair, feeling expectant and growing worried it was shining out of his eyes, this blooming, gentle hope that Cas would turn to him and smile in that way that made Dean’s insides catch fire and that he’d say “Coming?” before turning and leaving the room and Dean would know exactly where they were going and he would follow.
He’d follow for the rest of his life.
But Cas just dropped heavily into a chair, rubbing one hand over tired eyes, starting to talk to Sam about what he’d already learned from the text. There seemed to be at least a few remarkable points, so it wasn’t a completely wasted trip, but that big key Rowena was hoping for, it didn’t seem to be in these pages. There could be a clue to where to look next, though, so they knew what they were doing over the weekend, that was for sure. Finely toothed combs and all that.
And then, finally, his eyes met Dean’s.
A brief glance.
Like a momentary lapse of focus. Like he didn’t mean to do it. His jaw clenching, his hand flexing, his throat swallowing, and Dean picked up on every single thing because now he was actually looking for them, and his heart lurched forward like it was on a goddamn roller coaster and suddenly he felt sick.
I could touch him and he wouldn’t flinch.
The thought was bold like neon, like gasoline beneath a match, like a leap of faith into nothing but air, and Dean let it move through his head until it had grown into knowledge so blinding he had to get to his feet, saying a feeble:
“Oh, hey, man - I still have your tie.”
And he left the room and he thought oh, I still have his tie like here’s your tie like isn’t this the tie you bought that time like haven’t you missed this tie like it’s so important I give you this fucking useless thing to tie around your neck right now because if I don’t focus on this useless thing I’ll focus on this one thing that matters the most and I know you hate ties but here’s this one back.
He pulled the tie out of the drawer he’d put it in and when he turned around he wasn’t alone because Cas was in his doorway, small frown on, as ever.
“I hate ties,” he stated.
I know that, Dean wanted to say. Remember? I know that.
But he knew why he brought up the tie. And he realised now, eyes locked with that blue, blue sense of abandon, of losing himself, that Cas knew why, too. Because it wasn’t about handing back some useless thing. It was about reminding them both of the touch, the feel of undress, the knock of toe against toe, the cowardly retreat. It was a reminder of everything that didn’t happen that could have. That should have. It was about asking if everything that didn’t happen was what that wink was all about.
Dean felt like he should look away, but he couldn’t. Eyes on Cas, and Cas’ eyes in his, and everything was quiet except that rush of blood in his ears. He held onto the tie like it was a length of rope attached to something unimaginable. Time stopped.
And then Cas was in his space, and Cas’ hands gently cradled his face, eyes drifting to his lips and they both moved, they melted into each other, finally, equally hungry and commanding, that length of rope unknotting itself and the unimaginable becoming tangible and touchable, tongues dancing, the kiss deep and immediate and without anymore hesitation because nothing had ever felt truer than this, than them, right then.
Hips braced, hands claimed, fingers pulled through soft locks and Dean was making noises he’d never heard himself make before and it was almost harsh, this wanting to be closer, to be given and to take, to succumb. He knew he was done for. He knew it and felt freer than he’d ever felt before, because there was a smile in Cas’ eyes, and more kisses from his lips, and his tongue was eager in tasting him, his hands demanding to be fed, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, wanting it off, wanting to trace over skin, and being wanted like that, by this man, was everything.
This man was everything.
And for the first time since Dean moved into his room, he had someone to share his bed with him.
They came together in a breathless soaring; they slept in a tangled mess of limbs.
Dean woke up only once, when Cas nuzzled his nose into the curve of his neck and sighed softly.
It made Dean smile without opening his eyes, running his hand up to Cas’ shoulder, pulling him more tightly against him.
The next time Dean woke he could tell it was morning, he could tell it was time to get up, and when he checked his phone it said it was almost ten am, his eyes widening in slight surprise, and then he noticed that he had five messages from Cas. He opened the conversation, goosebumps on his arms again.
I made you this said the first text and the second text was a link. The fucker had made him a playlist. Dean couldn’t keep the grin off as he pressed the link and was taken to Spotify, where he eyed the titles and his grin felt like it might break his face in half. Cas had put his heart into songs for him.
Everything okay? asked the third text.
I’m worried stated the fourth.
I’m calling Sam said the fifth.
Dean felt sorry that he hadn’t been braver yesterday, it would have saved them both a helluva tense afternoon, but Cas shifted against him, and the warmth of him along the length of Dean’s body made Dean exhale slowly, putting his phone away, feeling the weight of Cas as he had one arm underneath his head, Cas’ head more or less on his left shoulder and, damn, Cas was so damned gorgeous like this, asleep.
Dean stared for a moment, frozen to the spot, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, that most likely would go wrong, and all the ways both of them could get hurt. Pain and horror and death, right? Twice the worrying about getting ganked. But…
Dean moved his head to place a gentle kiss on Cas’ brow.
He couldn’t keep a smirk down, at himself, at the fluff in his chest like fucking cotton that would just swallow every scare, every worry, every last hesitation that dared to rear its ugly head because of how much he loved the man in his arms. Nothing else mattered.
He ran his mouth softly down the bridge of Cas’ nose, placing his next kiss on Cas’ cheek.
Cas hummed sleepily.
Dean smiled and moved his lips to Cas’, not caring even for a second that whatever breath they’d be engaging in wouldn’t be much fun pre-toothbrushing because he was going to wake Cas with a kiss.
And so he did and it was lazy and a little sloppy and fucking fantastic and Cas’ hand moved into his hair and their chests connected as Dean pulled Cas on top of him and they kissed and kissed themselves properly awake until they were both so awake that there was a slight concern they’d wake up Sam in the process.
Then Dean got up and made coffee and got some half-stale Danish from one of the kitchen cupboards that they could dunk to their hearts’ delight and he got an orange because they were Cas’ favourites and he got the paper for no reason other than that they should have a paper in bed and he came back to his bedroom, hair on end and lips still swollen from making out with Cas and he thought he might explode from the happiness he felt when Cas looked over at him from where he was laying, still in bed, naked, with only Dean’s sheet for cover, hair sticking up unapologetically and the same happy grin on his face that Dean knew he was wearing.
They read the newspaper in severe silence, both dunking their Danish and chewing it loudly until they burst into a fit of giggles at the forced domesticity, chucking the paper out of bed and going right back to the kissing and touching and exploring, learning new things every time fingertips ventured into new territory. Once they’d had their fill again, Cas settled against Dean, throwing an arm across his midsection and kissing his shoulder before their eyes met.
“Hey,” Dean murmured and Cas smiled, bright and beautiful.
“Hey,” he said.
And then there was a swell of emotion and Dean’s eyes grew wet and he thought maybe Cas’ did as well and their foreheads rested together, gently, and the following kissing was a sweet and tender and drawn out affair of light touches and quiet murmurs and then they were holding each other tight and saying words they’d wanted to say for a long time, too damn long, and once that floodgate opened there was no shutting them up, either of them, and honesty became a drug and they talked and talked until Sam banged on the door and yelled for them to get their sore asses out of bed already, Rowena had come back from wherever she went, and reality stepped in, but it wouldn’t ever take over from this; from them. Not ever.
And they had a shower and Sam had to bang on that door too with a “really guys come on”. Already exasperated with them. Making both of them smile wide and Dean ran a towel over Cas’ drop-wet everywhere and it took them another ten minutes to even get back to his bedroom and Dean was distracted watching Cas get dressed and then he was distracted watching Cas run his fingers through his wet hair and then Dean was moaning about having to go do research and couldn’t they do research in bed and Cas suddenly smiled wickedly and it made Dean kiss him long and hard against the wall until Cas finally reminded him they were trying to save the world. Again.
Which was true.
So they left the room to do that other thing they do and as they headed for the library Dean asked:
“Why’d you even send that text so early in the morning?”
“I guess,” Cas replied, reaching out and twisting their fingers together in a loosely firm hold as they entered the library, finishing: “I still have a thing or two to learn about timing.”
And Dean smiled then, and wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, but he didn’t. Instead he moved the halfway grasp their fingers had on each other into a palm-to-palm clutch before planting a chaste kiss on Cas’ mouth, Sam glancing at them, raising pleased eyebrows and failing to keep a contented smirk off his face.
Rowena stared at them before she arranged her face into a blinking mask of seeing this coming a mile away.
“Whatcha got?” Dean asked, stopping by the table and looking down at the big black Book of Shadows open on an image of something that looked like a cross between a ghoul and a chupacabra.
Obviously, they’d got business as usual, even after life changing decisions had been made, all thanks to a goddamn winking emoticon. But however he griped, Dean had to smile a lopsided smile at the thought, glancing up at Cas, their hands still locked together, Dean feeling his whole body unwind, loosen, at ease, unable to resist as he caught Cas’ eye, he widened his smile a tad, and gave him a wink.