Could I request a destiel au where maybe dean has been smoking since he was in high school, and he's never really had a reason to quit. He's perfectly content to stay in his ways until he meets and falls for Sam's friend Castiel, who is severely asthmatic. He can't be around when Dean smokes, because it's a trigger for his attacks, so dean tries to quit for him? (Sorry this is so long! 😂 I love the seven minutes in Heaven ficlet, but the way!)
This got a little longer than I intended (mostly because I spent way too much time on the backstory) so I hope you enjoy it! Also, I’m so glad you liked the seven minutes in heaven fic! (also on ao3!)
Dean had never intended to become a smoker.
It was just something that sort of happened. Like the fact that he lost his virginity in the backseat of his car when he was sixteen or happened to enjoy wearing women's panties or fell in love with his brother's best friend.
He had smoked his first cigarette when he was thirteen.
His mom had been out for the night, having dinner with a few of her friends that she hadn't seen in awhile. Sam was out of the house, having a sleepover with a few of his own friends.
His dad had ended up falling asleep on the couch after watching a rather intense wrestling match. Gunner Lawless had won, of course.
Dean had been bored out of his mind, desperately trying to come up with some way to entertain himself. Like any thirteen year old red-blooded American boy, he was a little reckless, rebellious for the sake of being rebellious.
Watching TV had been out of the question since they only had one, which was stationed in the living room, and turning it on would mean waking his dad. And his dad could be a grumpy son of a bitch when woken from up, like a crotchety old bear whose hibernation had been interrupted.
Video games were out of the question, too. Mostly because they required the use of the TV and partially because Sam had taken their best games with him.
He ate some leftovers from the night before, using the carved up turkey to make a few sandwiches. But as much as he loved food, it was a poor substitute for worthwhile entertainment.
He was desperately searching for a way to pass the time, to cure his mind-numbing boredom, and satisfy his insatiable curiosity. So, with his dad still snoring on the couch, Dean swiped his pack of Marlboros and a lighter and snuck outside to smoke his first cigarette.
His dad had been a smoker since he was a teenager himself, a trait he had picked up from his own dad. Dean had always secretly suspected it had something to do with maintaining a manly image.
Dean's mom had been insisting that John quit smoking for years, citing the numerous health risks involved with the dirty little habit. But his dad had always just brushed it off, always claimed it would be his New Year's resolution, always put it off for another year.
John had finally relented when Mary decided to take a more passive aggressive route.
Whenever John would come home from a long day of work at the garage, covered in grease and grime and sweat, and leaned in to kiss her hello, Mary would twist away. Waving a hand, she would dismiss, "Oh, John, you know I hate kissing you after you've smoked."
That pattern had gone on for weeks. And as much as Dean hated to admit that his mom holding out on his dad in the bedroom — hell, he didn't even like to think about it — was what finally convinced his dad to quit smoking.
John had gradually reduced his cigarette consumption little by little. He slowly but surely went from a pack every few days to a pack a week to a pack a month.
But at thirteen, Dean hadn't been thinking about the fact that his dad was a taking a step to improve his health. All he had been thinking about was trying out a cigarette himself.
With John slumbering on the couch and no one else home to catch him, Dean had tiptoed into his parents' bedroom where he rummaged around for his dad's pack of cigarettes. He had eventually found it in the pocket of his dad's favorite leather jacket along with an old silver Zippo.
Prize in hand, Dean had quietly crept outside to the backyard to enjoy the spoils of his little covert mission. He had hidden in the shadow of a tall pine tree, not wanting any of their neighbors to spot him.
He had shivered a bit, the ground cold beneath his socked feet. Winter would be there soon, hopefully bringing snow days so he could get out of his most boring classes.
He had placed the butt of a cigarette between his lips the same way he had seen his dad do a million times. Flicking the igniter on the Zippo, summoning a small dancing flame, he raised the lighter to the end of the cigarette.
He had only managed to take a few short puffs of the cigarette before he was bent over coughing, hacking up a lung. His eyes had watered from the intensity of his coughing fit, his stomach aching from it.
He hadn't understood how anyone could get addicted to smoking. It was horrible. And it tasted beyond disgusting.
It definitely wasn't as cool as everyone in the movies made it look.
Dean had snubbed out the cigarette after recovering from his fit, tossing it over the fence into their neighbor's trash can to destroy the evidence of his little crime. He hadn't wanted to get the same lecture about how dangerous and disgusting smoking was that his mother had often given his father.
Slipping back inside, he had returned the pack of cigarettes and the Zippo to his dad's jacket pocket. Then he brushed his teeth three times and chugged two glasses of water just to get the taste of nicotine out of his mouth. It really wasn't that cool.
The only people he had ever told included his three best friends and, after swearing him to secrecy, Sam. It remained his dirty little secret for years until more important ones took its place.
He had smoked his second cigarette when he was seventeen, only a few months before he turned eighteen.
He had been at a party celebrating the most recent win of their high school football team, of which he was the star player, voted MVP after nearly every single game they played. One of the other players on the team, a rich kid whose parents were out of town often enough for him to do so, had invited half of the school to his palatial home.
Dean had been hanging out with Benny and Jo, Charlie having already found a pretty girl to disappear upstairs with. They had been sipping on illegally obtained beer in red solo cups, shooting the breeze about school and work and other crap that wouldn't matter once they graduated.
From across the room, a cute cheerleader had caught his eye. In her bright hot pink tank top and the tiny scrap of faded denim that she called shorts, she was rather hard to miss.
She had winked at him, biting her plump bottom lip between her teeth and beckoning him over with a crooked finger, nodding her head towards the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He would have had to be an idiot to refuse such a blatant invitation.
With a salute to his friends that was greeted by a round of eye rolling, Dean had crossed the crowded room to her. The pretty brunette had led him outside to a patio where a few other guys from the football team were hanging out, each of them with at least two girls hanging off their arms, all of whom vying to be the next homecoming queen.
All of them were smoking, the lit ends of their cigarettes bright in the shoddy patio lighting.
He had been smart enough to know that smoking wouldn't make him cool, that he shouldn't smoke just to fit in with a people whose names he barely knew. But he had also been young and dumb enough to only be thinking with the head between his legs.
So when the brunette, whose name he later learned was Amy, pulled a white and green box out of her back pocket and offered him a cigarette, he had accepted without a moment of hesitation.
That time, he managed not to double over coughing, muffling the few coughs that did escape his lips by laughing a little too hard at the stupid jokes one of the other guys made. It had been a menthol cigarette, the taste of mint soothing the nausea he felt thanks to the plethora of chemicals he was inhaling.
Amy had seemed impressed. Enough so that she blew him in the bathroom later.
He had started smoking regularly after that, at least socially. He would accept a cigarette whenever someone at a party or a bar offered him one, telling himself that it would be rude to refuse.
Women seemed to like it, along with a few guys. They told him it made him seem more mysterious, more mature.
Personally, he had to agree. He thought it gave him a bit of a James Dean quality. Especially when he wore his leather jacket.
He started carrying gum and breath mints around wherever he went, for both his own benefit and others. He didn't imagine it was all that enjoyable to kiss someone who tasted like an ashtray.
Unfortunately, he had to hide his smoking from his family. At least until he was old enough to buy us own cigarettes and by then, he was a bona fide smoker.
He smoked between classes while in college, attending the University of Kansas for automotive technologies. He always made sure he could sneak out for a smoke break every few hours at work.
When he moved into his own apartment, he was able to smoke freely, not having to worry about the smoke bothering anyone.
The only place he drew the line was his car. His baby deserved better than the stench of nicotine and tobacco that lingered when he smoked, that soaked into every fiber of his clothing.
His mother had been beside herself when she found out. Not a second later, she had launched into a lecture that Dean already knew by heart, detailing the horrible effects of smoking. Meanwhile, his dad had just looked impossibly guilty, more disappointed in himself than in Dean.
Yet while they both clearly disapproved of his smoking, along with Sam, they accepted that they couldn't make him stop smoking. He doubted that anything could.
He didn't think he would ever find a good reason to quit. Until he met Castiel Novak.
Castiel — or Cas, as Dean had taken to calling him — was the teacher's assistant for Sam's Introduction to English Literature class at the University of Kansas where he was finishing up his general education courses before transferring to Stanford.
From what Sam had told them about his English class, Cas was more of a teacher than the actual professor, some washed up writer named Chuck Shurley. Apparently, Chuck was more interested in bemoaning his own hurdles with his book series than actually teaching.
Cas, on the other hand, had no problem actually teaching the material, from Shakespeare to Vonnegut. And, from Sam's stories about class, he was damn good at it.
Sam talked everyone's ear off about how smart and interesting and nice the TA was, constantly singing Cas' praises and lauding his rather impressive credentials. Apparently, Cas had gone to an Ivy League school and had written his own series dealing with legendary creatures, one that was actually pretty good.
According to Sam, Cas also had a natural talent for making boring, ancient plays written by a bunch of old dead guys fascinating. For making the curriculum less of something they had to suffer through and more of an adventure that they were embarking on together.
It was after that particular comment that Dean had accused Sam of having a crush on the cute teacher's assistant. He pointed out that Sam's girlfriend, Jess, might be a little jealous.
But Jess had just shocked them both by turning to Sam and casually announcing, "Hey, if you're up for it, I wouldn't say no to a threesome."
Dean's suspicions about his little brother being infatuated with the teacher's assistant were further cemented when Sam and Cas continued hanging out after the fall semester ended and Sam was no longer in the class Cas practically taught. Hell, they even had a standing weekly get-together.
They usually went out for coffee or met up at the college library. On one occasion, they had gone out to a local bar for a drink on a Saturday night, leaving Sam with a story about how ridiculously high Cas' alcohol tolerance was.
After months of hearing about the Columbia graduate, published author, one hundred and sixty IQ scoring teacher's assistant, Dean finally asked Sam when he was going to get to meet the fabled Cas.
Sam had just rolled his eyes and told Dean to drop by the campus one day and he would introduce them. The chance of meeting a hot co-ed may or may not have given Dean some extra encouragement to drop in on his little brother at school.
So, the following Thursday, after finishing his early morning shift at Bobby's garage, Dean decided to swing by the school. Sam's last class of the day ended at four o'clock on the dot, his history professor extremely punctual.
Dean pulled up around three forty two, parking in the visitors section to avoid getting fined. That left him some time to kill, even after he made his way to the main building.
Naturally, he lit a cigarette while he waited.
He leaned back against the brick wall of the main building as he smoked. The chilly February air teased at his hair as it rustled the bare branches of nearby ornamental trees, the cold of winter stubbornly lingering.
A group of girls left the building in knit sweaters and leggings, holding cups of hot, steaming coffees. They glanced over at him, raking their eyes up and down his body with blatant interest.
He responded by flashing a bright smile and sending a charming wink their way. Like a gaggle of high school girls, they ducked their heads and giggled amongst themselves as they continued walking to their cars.
The front door opened again, drawing Dean's attention. This time Sam strode out in all of his gargantuan, moose-like glory, his long hair billowing in the wind like he was some kind of Fabio wannabe.
He was wearing a Stanford Law sweater under his brown flannel, already showing off the fact that he had already been accepted to the prestigious school. And people called Dean cocky.
Sam was talking to another man, head tilted to the side as he gestured with his right hand. At first, Dean assumed the other man was the famed Cas but he quickly discounted his theory.
Sam had described Cas well enough that Dean would know the guy from a mile away. And the guy Sam was talking to wasn't Cas.
He was too short, for starters, maybe five eight while Cas was reportedly around Dean's height. Not that it was a glaring discrepancy, just a noticeable one.
He had light brown hair, unlike Cas whose hair was either an extremely dark brown or pitch black, Sam had admitted that he was never sure which color it actually was. He had a full beard that matched his hair color, thicker than the facial hair that Sam claimed Cas had.
He had blue eyes from what Dean could see, finally a similarity with Cas. Cas' eyes were the bluest blue to ever blue if the way practically mooned over them was any indication.
The yet to be named man was dressed more like a student than the uptight, always professional Cas that Sam described, in a tattered hoodie over a graphic t-shirt that was stained in various places. He was wearing faded jeans with tears in the worn out knees, the fabric frayed around his ankles and his dirty sneakers.
Dean was still crossing off reasons on his mental checklist of why the mystery man couldn't possibly be Cas when he overheard Sam say, "Alright. See ya later, Professor Shurley."
"Hey, jerk," Sam said by way of greeting as he made his way over to Dean after waving goodbye to Chuck who continued on his way towards the faculty section of the parking lot. He grimaced when he noticed the cigarette in Dean's hand, disapproval written all over his face.
"Bitch," Dean responded automatically, their rude little way of addressing each other an involuntary reflex at that point. He nodded his chin at Chuck's retreating back, taking another drag of his cigarette as he asked, "So, that's Shurley, huh? The one who wrote all those shitty, pretentious books—"
"Dean..." Sam interrupted, a pinched expression on his face. He waved his hand in front of his throat in a slashing motion, Dean reading the universal 'cut it off' gesture loud and clear.
"Aww, c'mon, Sammy!" Dean groused, throwing up his free hand in exasperation. Gesturing towards Chuck, who was definitely out of earshot, he pointed out, "You said it yourself, the guy's writing is complete shit! He's a total hack!"
"Dean," Sam said again, a bit more urgently this time. His expression went from pinched to pained as he tried yet again, "Knock it o—"
But before Sam could even finish his sentence, another voice piped up. Said voice was gravelly yet as smooth as honeyed whiskey, like whoever it belonged to gargled with Jack Daniel's and grit, as it placated, "It's alright, Sam. My father's writing can be a bit...pretentious, for lack of a better word."
With a thoroughly beleaguered sigh, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a few steps to reveal that there was someone standing behind him. Someone that Dean would recognize anywhere despite having never met him before. Cas.
He was just as good-looking as Sam had claimed, hell, maybe even more so.
He had light blue eyes that were downright angelic, calling to mind giant wings of celestial light and glittering halos. They reminded Dean of clear spring skies, of days spent fishing at the lake, of pleasantly cool mornings.
His lips, which Dean had no shame in admitting drew him in like a moth to the flame, were the most perfect shade of pink, though they looked a bit chapped. Dean would be lying if he said he didn't immediately think about them in a less innocent situation.
His hair was dark like Sam had described and even more messy, seemingly jet black yet dark umber when the pale sunlight hit it. His jawline was made rugged by the dark stubble there, slightly longer than the five o'clock shadow Dean was sporting but not quite long enough to be considered a full beard.
He was dressed like a teacher's assistant, at least Dean's idea of a teacher's assistant, in his black suit and crisp white button up. There was a deep blue tie around his neck, slightly loosened and backwards, both of which made Dean smile at the tiny bit of dishevelment.
It made him more human, less like the infallible angel that Sam had described.
Cas had a tan trench coat hanging over one of his arms, folded carefully to avoid any potential wrinkles. In his free hand, he carried a black leather messenger bag, the strap slung over his shoulder.
Dean was still staring at Cas' black Oxfords, which were immaculately polished and shined, when something suddenly occurred to him, something that Cas had said. Jerking his head up, he met Cas' brilliant blue eyes, his own wide as he blurted, "Wait, did you say... Chuck Shurley's your dad?!"
Cas just nodded, looking remarkably unperturbed for someone whose father had just been rudely insulted by a complete stranger.
"But your last name!" Dean cried out, feeling like a complete idiot the second the words left his mouth. He scrubbed a hand over his face as his cheeks flushed with heat. He really needed to learn to think before speaking.
"By all accounts, I'm a bastard," Cas replied calmly, a tiny smile curling up the corners of those pretty pink lips of his. Shifting his weight to his other foot, he explained, "I was born out of wedlock, thus my father and I do not share a surname."
"Uh, yeah... Yeah, that makes sense," Dean mumbled, mostly to himself. He scratched the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes.
He didn't have the nerve to look Cas in the eye as he stammered out an apology. "Sorry, dude. About what I said 'bout your old man."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas shrug. Tipping his head to the side the tiniest bit, Cas dismissed, "There's no need for apologies. My father's writing certainly does leave something to be desired. He has quite the penchant for killing off fan favorites and absolutely massacring character development."
"I know, right?!" Dean exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about his embarrassment in favor of snapping his head up and beaming at Cas. Absentmindedly flicking some ash off the tip of his cigarette, he gestured around aimlessly, gushing, "Like killing off Felicia? Fucking stupid! And all the queerbaiting? It's ridiculous!"
"You-You actually read those books?" Sam inquired incredulously, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked at Dean like he had just grown two more heads.
"'Course I did. All of 'em," Dean scoffed before raising his cigarette to his lips for another quick puff. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he shrugged and explained, "I wanted to know if Jensen and Misha, stupid names by the way—" he glanced over at Cas "—ever got together, okay?"
"I'm sure my father will be very flattered," Cas stated, his tiny smile growing into something wider and more genuine. Dipping his head, he quipped, "Though I suppose I should leave out the critiques as he never seems to enjoy it when I mention them to him."
Dean barked out a laugh at that, still relieved that Cas didn't seem too upset by the fact that Dean had insulted his father only a few minutes prior. He moved his cigarette to his other hand and flashed one of his most charming grins as he held out his now free hand to Cas.
"I'm Dean, by the way," he announced, his smile widening. "Dean Winchester."
Cas shifted his trench coat to his left arm, his movements careful and meticulous, making sure he didn't rumple his suit. He held his own hand out, shaking Dean's as he beamed at him, introducing, "As I'm sure you've already guessed, I'm Casti—"
But before he could finish, he was suddenly doubled over coughing. He turned his head to cough into the crook of his elbow, his shoulders shaking with the force of his hacking.
His face started to flush a deep red as he continued his forceful coughing, sweat beading at his temples. Whenever there was a pause in his coughing and he had the chance to greedily inhale mouthfuls of air, he wheezed.
"Whoa, Cas!" Dean cried out, dropping his cigarette as he moved towards Cas. But Cas just held up a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks as he continued coughing. "You alright, man?!"
"Jesus, Dean!" Sam reprimanded, setting a hand on Dean's chest and pushing him back a few feet. Dean turned to gawk at his brother, wondering why the hell Sam wasn't letting him help Cas. There was clearly something wrong with the poor guy!
It suddenly made sense when Sam pointed out, "He has asthma!"
Sure enough, when Dean turned to look back at Cas, the teacher's assistant was digging through his messenger bag to pull out an inhaler. He raised it to his lips and took a long inhale as he pressed down on the inhaler pump, closing his eyes as the medicine did its trick, soothing his cough and letting his breath begin to return to normal.
In an instant, Sam was at Cas' side, a hand on his arm as they talked in hushed voices. As Sam fussed over him — asking him if he was okay, if he needed some water, if he wanted to sit down — Cas waved his hand, insisting, "I'm perfectly alright, Sam. I just have a sensitivity to tobacco smoke. I'm fine."
Eyes widening, Dean dropped his gaze to look down at the cigarette he had dropped. Guilt and realization washing over him like a tsunami.
The cigarette was still lit, a thin, undulating stream of smoke rising up towards his face like a vengeful spirit, taunting him. He stomped on it. Dragged the sole of his boot across it until the paper ripped and tobacco was smudged against the gray stone of the front walk.
Snapping his eyes back up, Dean hurried to apologize, babbling, "I'm so sorry, Cas, I had no idea. Is there anything I can d—"
"Dean, it's fine. I'm fine," Cas cut him off with a polite smile as Sam straightened up, dropping his hand from where it had been on Cas' forearm. With a negligible shrug, Cas held up his inhaler, shaking it for emphasis as he explained, "There's a reason why I always carry an emergency inhaler."
Dean had apologized a few more times but Cas had simply continued to wave them off, instead steering the conversation back to introductions. They were finally able to shake each other's hands without anyone breaking into a coughing fit or start bleeding from their eyes.
With Dean's luck, that was the best he was going to get.
They had talked a little bit about Sam's classes, the only four which stood between him and law school all the way in California. They were mostly art classes he needed for his art requirement along with his history class.
Sam asked about the sections that Cas was working with, and indeed mostly teaching himself. Apparently, in addition to being a teacher's assistant for English classes, he helped Chuck with his theology classes.
As both Winchesters walked Cas back to his car, an old Continental that somehow suited Cas more than any other car Dean could ever think of, Sam invited Cas to their dinner with their family some night. It was an invitation that Cas had eagerly accepted, a bright smile on his face.
Just like that, over the next few months, Dean saw more of Cas than he would have expected when Sam had first told him about the TA.
After the first time Cas had gone over to the Winchesters' for dinner, which had gone exceptionally well in spite of Dean's constant worries that he might send Cas into another asthma attack, Cas had become a regular fixture in the Winchester household.
He was invited to dinner at least once a week. Mary and John absolutely adored the dorky little guy, practically adopting him as a third son.
On weekends, when Cas didn't have any classes to work with and didn't have any shifts at his part-time Gas-n-Sip job, he would go over to the Winchesters'. He would spend hours baking in the kitchen with Mary, helping her bake the most amazing culinary creations that Dean always volunteered to taste test.
Other times, usually after he finished with all his classes, he would hang out with Sam. They would talk about everything from what Stanford professors were the best to nerdy shit like Kafka and new Netflix documentaries.
Hell, he even helped John with his extensive records collection. Apparently, one of his brothers, of which he literally had dozens, was an antiques dealer who was always in search of new buyers for vinyl records and other classic rock memorabilia.
He showed up whenever invited to watch baseball games and NASCAR races and wrestling matches even though he admitted to not being a fan of any sport in particular. Regardless, he was always more than willing to sit through Dean and John's, and sometimes even Mary's, loud booing and cheering.
He usually brought over the most decadent treats for them to munch and was always so enthusiastic about whatever they were watching, even though he had no idea what the rules were. Dean just didn't have the heart to tell Cas that just because he was invited he didn't have to actually show up.
Cas started spending time with Dean, too. They would meet up for drinks after work a couple times a week, Cas showing off his notorious alcohol tolerance.
As it turned out, they along swimmingly when Cas wasn't in the throes of an asthma attack and Dean wasn't unknowingly insulting Cas' dad. And even though Cas was pop culturally challenged, they found they loved the same books and had complementary tastes in music.
He ended up meeting Dean's friends, coincidentally already friends with Charlie who worked with one of Cas' brothers, Gabriel, at his bar. Benny, Jo, and Garth all adored Cas on sight, welcoming him into their little group the second they met him.
While Cas was admittedly short on friends, the multitude of siblings he had certainly made up for it. Dean eventually wound up meeting a few of them.
He ran into Balthazar, a blonde blue eyed bastard with an inexplicable British accent, while he was stopping by the Winchesters' to sell John an old Beatles album. Balthazar was nice enough, if not a little condescending.
Dean met another one of Cas' other brothers when Gabriel brought his '69 Mustang into Bobby's garage. As much as they bonded over a mutual love of classic cars, Dean was a little taken aback by Gabriel's inappropriateness and the fact that he threatened to chop Dean's dick off if he ever hurt Cas.
And, of course, Dean had already sort of met Cas' father. Though, he wasn't sure if that counted since they had never been properly introduced or even spoken a single word to each other.
But as much as Dean loved hanging out with Cas, every time he did, he found himself plagued with worry. What if he accidentally sent Cas into another asthma attack?
What if he didn't shower thoroughly enough or wash his clothes well enough and there was still some smoke clinging to him? What if he reeked of tobacco and nicotine every time he sat next to Cas on movie nights and the poor guy had to refrain from vomiting?
Dean was always careful to avoid smoking within two hours before hanging out with Cas, always showering and brushing his teeth beforehand to avoid any lingering scents or smoke. But the worry still lingered, the fear that he would end up hurting Cas somehow.
And the reason that bothered him so very much? He had fallen for Cas. Ass over ankles fallen for him.
He wanted to take Cas out to some fancy restaurant where they looked at people like trash if they asked for ketchup. He wanted to go on a long drive with no destination, Cas sitting beside him in the passenger seat.
He wanted to cook for Cas, make him dinner every night and breakfast in bed every morning. He wanted to cuddle on the couch with Cas while watching one of his lame documentaries, while he ran his fingers through Cas' dark hair.
He wanted to wake up every morning and see Cas lying in bed next to him. He wanted to kiss Cas and see if his chapped lips were rough or smooth, dry or wet.
He wanted to undress Cas, peel him out of his immaculate suits, slow and careful and reverent. He wanted to taste Cas' bare skin, see if it tasted like he imagined, sweet like honey and salty like sweat.
He wanted to get tangled up in silk sheets with Cas and never get untangled. He wanted to lie on a beach with Cas, soaking up the sunlight as waves crashed over their bare skin.
He wanted to marry the freaking guy. He wanted to buy a nice little white picket fence with him, maybe get a dog, adopt a few kids.
God, he wanted everything with Cas. But he couldn't have it. He couldn't have any of it.
Not if he continued smoking.
So the first thing Dean did after working up the nerve to actually ask Cas out on a date was quit smoking. But unlike his dad who had gradually weaned himself of the habit, Dean decided to quit cold turkey.
In the days leading up to their date, he found himself fidgety and woefully unable to focus. He could hardly concentrate on anything, whether it be work or reruns of Dr. Sexy.
He constantly picked at his lips, missing the sensation of holding a cigarette between them. He went through twice as much gum as usual, needing to occupy himself somehow, the repetitiveness of the chewing motion soothing him along with the familiar taste of mint.
As time went on, he grew progressively snappish and terse, growling at the slightest irritation. Bobby ended up sending him home early after he bit Kevin, their receptionist's, head off over something trivial.
By the time Saturday rolled around, he was suffering from bouts of nausea, hot flashes, and a horrible case of insomnia. But he would be damned if he canceled his first, and perhaps only, date with Cas just because he was dealing with a little bit of withdrawal.
He and Cas had agreed to meet at one of the more upscale restaurants in town, a place that was affordable yet fancy enough for a date, at seven which gave Dean enough time to shower and get dressed.
Wanting to look his absolute best, he spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over what to wear. He finally decided on a deep red button up over a black t-shirt and some dark jeans, along with a new pair of boots.
He spent a decent amount of time styling his hair until he deemed it sexy looking enough. He even spritzed himself with some of the expensive cologne he reserved for special occasions.
Despite his difficulty concentrating, craving nicotine more than he ever thought he would, Dean had the presence of mind to stop by a local florist and pick Cas up some flowers. It may be a little sappy but he wanted to make sure Cas knew it was a date, not just a casual hangout.
He made it to the closest flower shop fifteen minutes before it was set to close, feeling like a jackass for holding up the woman behind the counter. He paid double the price for a bouquet of white roses, tulips, and camellia, apologizing for showing up so near closing time.
He was almost late to the restaurant after getting stuck in traffic behind some asshole who wouldn't get off his damn cell phone. Luckily, he managed to pull up to the restaurant with just enough time left for him to fuss over his hair one last time.
"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted from where he was sitting on a wooden bench in front of the restaurant when Dean walked into sight from the parking lot. He smiled shyly at Dean as he twiddled his thumbs, making the mechanic's heart race.
Cas looked devastatingly handsome in a blue chambray shirt and a pair of black jeans, his outfit more casual than any other Dean had seen him in. His hair looked like it had been combed but it was still messy, mussed despite Cas' best efforts at taming it.
He stood when Dean approached, brushing away nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt. Once he walked closer, Dean held out the bouquet he had bought for Cas, announcing, "Uh, I got you these."
"They're beautiful, Dean. Thank you," Cas gushed, taking the bouquet from Dean's hand, careful not to prick himself on the sharp thorns on the rose stems. He brushed his thumb over a pristine white petal, beaming up at Dean as he softly murmured, "Camellias. You remembered."
Of course he had. How could he ever forget Cas' favorite flower? He wasn't an idiot.
Cas had mentioned that he was partial to camellias a month or two ago when he had been helping Mary pick out new flowers for the garden. Dean had been helping his mom build planters for said flowers, lingering in the doorway as Cas and Mary talked about everything from roses to chrysanthemum.
Feeling his face flush at the memory, Dean scratched the back of his neck, valiantly resisting the urge to swoop down and peck Cas on the lips. Instead, he just gave a one shouldered shrug and mumbled, "Yeah, no problem, Cas."
"Shall we go in?" Cas inquired a moment later, still smiling radiantly. He nodded his head towards the front door of the restaurant, drawing Dean's attention away from Cas' lips in favor of looking over at the intricate glass inlay.
He nodded, swallowing heavily to help settle his nerves. As he led Cas up the steps to the front door, he set his hand on the small of his back, relishing the fact that he could actually touch him.
Ever the gentleman, to his mother's delight, Dean held the door for Cas, ushering him inside with a bright smile. They walked side by side to the slim black hostess' podium.
They were greeted by an almost too cheery blonde hostess in a tight black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Tucking two menus under her arm, she asked, "Would you like a table inside or outside on the patio?"
Cas looked to Dean for an answer, his smile soft and sweet. Without much thought, he blurted, "Inside."
Then he remembered the hot flashes that he had been having for the past few days. It was unnecessarily warm within the restaurant considering it was mid-spring.
He glanced around the restaurant, scanning his eyes over the crowd. The place was absolutely packed, tables pressed claustrophobically close to each other.
It was rather loud, scores of people talking over each other to create a dull roar that seemed to echo in his ears. Given his frequent headaches since he decided to quit smoking, he didn't think the noise would be all that good for him.
His fingers tingling a bit, Dean nervously cleared his throat. Before the hostess could round the podium, he quickly amended, "Uh... Actually, on second thought, I think outside might be better."
With a nod, the hostess led them out a side door to the patio. A dozen or so tables were spaced out within a fenced in area, covered with white tablecloths.
It was much quieter outside, only a handful of the tables occupied. There was a flame crackling in a fire pit, casting a warm light over the patio.
There was a slight breeze, typical of the time of year, cool but not cold enough to warrant Dean running back to his car for a jacket. Lights were strung up around the patio, bright but not glaring, providing a hint of romantic ambiance.
Dean pulled out Cas' chair for him, earning a delighted grin from the TA. After pushing Cas' chair in, he rounded the table to take his own seat, accepting a menu from the hostess with a polite smile.
"What'll you be having to drink?" The hostess asked, tugging an order pad out of her waistband. She grabbed a pen out from behind her ear, looking at them expectantly.
"I'll just have water," Cas answered, beaming at the hostess before turning his undivided attention to Dean who was starting to feel a little nauseous.
"Uh, ginger ale for me," he requested, forcing a smile as the hostess jotted it down. Once she finished, she announced that their waitress would be there with their drinks in a few minutes, wishing them a nice night before she disappeared back inside.
"Are you feeling alright, Dean?" Cas questioned, setting his bouquet on the table in favor of reaching out to lay his hand on top of the one Dean had resting on the table.
As much as Dean would have loved to intertwine his fingers with Cas' and hold his hand all night like some freaking sap, he couldn't. His palms were growing sweaty and they were shaking again, a strange tingling in his fingertips.
He yanked his hand away, dropping it onto his lap so he could wipe his palm on his jeans. Glancing between Cas and the napkin wrapped silverware in front of him, he hastily assured, "Yeah, Cas. I'm fine. Never better."
Cas just hummed. He narrowed his eyes for a second before cracking open his menu, encouraging Dean to do the same.
Raking his eyes over the list of entrees, the mere thought of food intensifying his nausea, he started tapping his foot. He could feel a wave of heat crash over him as sweat started beading on the back of his neck, on his upper lip.
He desperately tried to stay focused on the fact that he was on a date with Cas. Because he was actually on a date with Cas!
But he couldn't. The words on the menu seemed to blend together and every time he tried to say something, to initiate some kind of first date small talk, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.
He tried licking his lips, swallowing more than he needed to, but it did no good. If anything, it just made it worse.
Cas seemed rather absorbed in the menu so Dean followed his lead, desperately trying to make out the words in front of him. He finally settled on a burger, figuring he couldn't go wrong with that. Besides, a burger wasn't likely to make his nausea much worse.
Glancing up over the top of his menu, he snuck a look at Cas who was squinting down at his own menu. He was about to say something, anything, to spark a conversation when a different woman appeared beside their table.
She introduced herself as she set down their drinks, flashing a bright grin as she looked between them. Pulling an order pad out of her back pocket, she jotted down their orders. Taking their menus, she flounced away, ponytail swishing behind her.
Cas sent Dean a small smile as he reached out to grab his glass of water which reminded Dean of how thirsty he was. He downed a decent amount of his ginger ale in one sip, praying it would help with his nausea.
The last thing he needed was to throw up his lunch and completely ruin their date. Of course, that made him start thinking about all of the other ways he could fuck it up.
From choking on a chunk of hamburger to saying something stupid and upsetting Cas, the multitude of scenarios raced through his mind at lightning speed. Jesus Christ, one wrong move and he could irrevocably mess things up with Cas.
It was a daunting realization, one that made concentrating even more difficult. He was too wrapped up in his dead end thoughts to ask Cas about his day or the sections he was teaching or how his family was doing.
He took another long sip of his drink, jiggling his leg. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean babbled, "So, uh... Nice night, huh? Not too cold, not too warm. How've your classes been? You’re doing theology again this semester, right?"
Beaming, Cas nodded. But as he launched into a story about the debate they'd had in class about whether the Bible should be interpreted literally or metaphorically, Dean found himself spacing out.
His body was flooded with heat, his palms unbearably sweaty no matter how many times he wiped them on his jeans. And all he could think about was how wonderful a cigarette would be, the soothingly familiar taste calming his anxiety as the nicotine placated his fidgeting.
Maybe he could pick up a pack after the date, just smoke one cigarette then quit for good. But he knew he couldn't do that, it would ruin all of the progress he had already made.
Besides, that would be extremely unfair to Cas. Speaking of which, Cas let out a heavy sigh and frowned at Dean, announcing, "Dean, if you don't want to be here, you don't have to stay."
"What?" Dean squeaked, incredulous. Scrunching his face up in confusion, he said, "Why wouldn't I wanna be here? I wanna be here! I'm having a great time! With you!"
"No, you're not," Cas returned, his tone filled with a sad kind of wistfulness. Shaking his head, he gestured at Dean with his hand, pointing out, "You're fidgeting like you can't wait to leave and you've been staring at the table for ten minutes."
"Shit, I have?" Dean asked helplessly, running a hand down his face in frustration. Way to fuck this up, Winchester, he berated himself.
"Yes, you have," Cas confirmed, his voice turning more resigned by the second. Lowering his eyes to his lap, he explained, "I'm very happy that you asked me out but I've been on enough pity dates to recognize when I'm on one. You don't have to continue the charade. Tell Sam I appreciate the gesture but it's unnecessary, I—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second," Dean cut him off, holding up his hand. "You think Sam put me up to this? To asking you out because he...because he felt bad for you? That's batshit crazy, Cas."
Cas just shrugged, still looking down. Sighing, he announced, "It's happened before. More times than you might think."
"Well, that's not what happened this time," Dean declared firmly. "Believe it or not, Cas, I like you. A lot. That's why I asked you out. I'm just... I'm so fidgety and spacey and shit because I quit smoking, okay?"
That got Cas' attention. He snapped his head up so fast Dean would be surprised if he didn't get whiplash, his mouth forming a perfect o.
"You quit?" Cas inquired after gaining his bearings. Tipping his head to the side in that ridiculously endearing way of his, he went on, "Why?"
"Can't really kiss you if it'll give you an asthma attack," Dean answered, feeling his cheeks flush as he did.
"You quit for me?" Cas murmured in blatant disbelief. When Dean nodded, he asked a follow-up question, inquiring, "Dean, did you quit 'cold turkey'?"
Swallowing a laugh at the fact that Cas actually did the air quotes, Dean nodded again. That earned him a fond eye roll from Cas who let out yet another sigh.
Grabbing the bouquet of flowers, Cas started to stand. Frantically, Dean blurted, "Wait! Where are you going?"
"We're going, Dean," Cas announced. At Dean's confused expression, he clarified, "We'll get our food to go. We need to stop by a pharmacy and get you some nicotine patches."
"Right now?" Dean whined, still worried that he had completely ruined their date. But Cas' sudden blush made him pause.
"Well..." Cas trailed off, biting his bottom lip coyly. "I might be rather eager to kiss you."
Dean didn't think he had ever stood up so fast, nearly overturning his chair in his overzealousness. In a moment he was standing by Cas' side, curling an arm around his waist as they made their way to the counter.
Maybe quitting cold turkey was a good thing. Especially since it meant he got to kiss Cas later.
