for the drabble thing: 73 & deancas 💗
73. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
(of course, I think of writing a scene from my upcoming fake relationship fic that I’ll be posting, hopefully, soon. enjoy??)
“Cas, what the hell are you doing?”
Cas looks up, startled from his battle with the scraps of food stuck to the bottom of a pot. “Doing… the dishes,” he says, slowly.
Rolling his eyes, Dean rolls his up sleeves and pushes his hip against Cas’, taking his place at the sink. “You’re doing it all wrong.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really.” Dean holds up the abused sponge that Cas was using. “How far do you think you’re gonna get with the soft side of the sponge? Besides, this crap needs steel wool.”
Cas sighs in acquiescence, grabbing a towel from the drawer “I’ll dry, then, I guess.”
Dean narrows his eyes at Cas. “Do you just pretend to be bad at housework to get out of doing shit?”
There’s a glint in Cas’ eye as his lips twitch into a smile. “I don’t know why you think I’d deceive you like that,” he replies.
Dean tries to look mad but instead huffs out a laugh. “You little shit.”
They wash dishes in companionable silence. Dean finishes the battle with the food-sticky pot and hands it to Cas, who in turn dries it and carefully puts it away. The quiet is nice; Dean doesn’t want to break it. There’s something soothing about Cas next to him, methodically and mindfully drying each dish, his breath steady next to him.
That’s something Dean hasn’t gotten used to yet, with Cas being human: his breathing. Dean never realized how much he’d come to depend on it, to actually find comfort in it.
The quiet is jolted with tension when Dean’s hand brushes Cas’ as he hands him a wet plate. They both look into each other’s eyes, startled.
“Sorry,” Cas murmurs, eyes flickering away.
“It’s okay,” Dean replies, but his voice sounds strange. He turns away. but turns back just as quickly. “Cas -”
“Dean, I - “ Cas pauses, licking his lips nervously. Dean’s eyes follow the action. “I know that one of your ground rules is to not talk about the past. But I need to… explain my actions to you.”
Dean shuts off the water with a whack and clenches the edge of the sink, knuckles white. “Cas, I don’t want you explaining anything. What happened, happened. Nothing’s gonna change that.”
Cas gently grasps Dean’s arm, stepping into his space. “What if I want to try to change it?” he asks softly.
Dean raises his gaze. The air from his lungs is nearly forced out of him from the hopeful look in Cas’ eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, softly.
When Cas leans forward, Dean is aware of Cas’ long and dark eyelashes; how etched deeply the lines under his eyes really are. He’s fully in Dean’s space now, pushing beyond the invisible boundaries that separate them.
The moment is suddenly too soft, too intimate. Dean feels like he won’t be able to breath again.
“Cas…” he says on an exhale, and he feels himself leaning forward into Cas’ inevitable gravity. They’re practically against each other now: Cas’ hand clutching Dean’s arm gently, Dean’s hand coming up to softly graze his fingers against Cas’ cheek. The moment is stifling; yet it feels the most right that Dean has felt in days.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Cas asks, his lips ever-so-slightly brushing against Dean’s as he speaks.
In that moment, Dean can’t think of a reason. Both hands reaching for either side of Cas’ face, he grasps him, sprints past the invisible boundary. He breaks all barriers - joins them together. Brings them home.
