Chapter Text
A stretch of warm weather at the end of May follows them into June. Dean’s never exactly been an outdoors kinda person. He’ll take lounging in front of a good movie in a cool, dark room over sweltering under the sun, having to deal with bugs, and getting covered in dirt any day. But it’s not like he has much choice, nowadays. Between the choice of wrangling a toddler in his shoebox apartment or giving her space to get her energy out means nearly every free moment is spent playing in the grassy park across the street, or loading Emma into the car to let her clamber over the tiny plastic slide Bobby and Ellen constructed in their backyard.
Dean doesn’t mind the park too much. It’s fun to run around with her, and he tries to keep her – and him – out of the sun, so he only got burned once before Cas scolded him for not putting sunblock on.
Besides, Dean promised her ducklings, and, by God, has he delivered ducklings. Cas was right, the park is littered with the fluffy things this time of year. They’re so plentiful, Dean can hardly see the surface of the small pond at the center of the park. They follow behind their respective parent ducks in circling swarms. Dean marvels at the fact their mother ducks can keep track of which are hers. Dean has enough trouble with just one.
“Emma,” Dean calls for the umpteenth time that afternoon, jogging to catch up to Emma’s surprisingly quick legs for being so damn tiny. “You gotta stay by Daddy, sweetheart.”
The few teenagers Emma had run towarddon’t seem to mind the intrusion. Instead, the two girls sitting on the blanket and holding hands make noises of rapture at the sight of Emma’s bouncing pigtails and pudgy cheeks. Their guy friend tries to hide his own smile, clearly too cool to think a baby’s cute.
Dean swoops Emma into his arms, spinning her around until she shrieks with laughter.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dean says, sending the kids an abashed smile.
“Oh my God, don’t be,” the girl with blond hair gushes.
“She’s adorable.” The dark-haired girl adds.
“It’s okay, man,” the guy says.
“Don’t be such a dude-bro, Eliot.” Dean sees the blond girl elbow the guy hard in the ribs as Dean turns away, hauling Emma back toward the cooler and blanket he spread on the ground by the pond.
“Down! Down!” Emma tells him, squirming.
“You gonna run off again?” Dean asks, but the idea of scolding her doesn’t stick around. He can’t exactly blame her for having more energy than he has.
“Run, run, run, run, run!” Emma replies, and Dean chuckles. He releases her back to the ground and she immediately dashes away. Dean knows it’s coming, this time, so it’s easier to keep alongside her, subtly herding her away from other peoples’ dinner picnics.
Emma finally finds some ferns that pique her interest long enough to stop running. She grabs at the leaves with her small, clumsy fingers, pulling without doing any damage to the plant.
Dean plops onto the ground besides her, “You like those?” Dean asks her. “Yeah? You like ‘em better than the rocks you looked at fifteen minutes ago, or the same?”
“Gah!” Emma tells him nonsensically, still smiling. She falls without looking into Dean’s lap, pulling the fern with her. Her momentum pulls the plant out at the roots, and she looks puzzled at her own strength, waving the fern in Dean’s face.
“What color is it, peanut?” Dean asks. “Is it green? Can you say green?”
“Children can usually developmentally grasp the idea of colors at 18 months,” a voice tells him from behind, and Dean’s smiling before he even looks over his shoulder to see Cas walking toward him. He’s not wearing shoes, which is usual after his yoga class by the pond, but he must have dropped his mat off at the blanket before coming over to join Emma and Dean.
“Gween!” Emma cries.
“Yeah, but my kid is a genius,” Dean says proudly, squishing Emma in a hug and rubbing a kiss into her hair. She giggles and tries to shake herself away from him.
“Of course she is,” Cas agrees. Emma looks up at the sound of his voice and hobbles back to her feet. She runs toward him and Cas catches her in his arms, pulling her into the air so he can plant a soft kiss against her forehead. “Good evening, Emma,” he tells her gravely.
Dean’s chest aches with the sweetness of the picture. He’ll never get over seeing Cas interact with his daughter.
“Hewwo, hewwo!” Emma chatters.
“Hi,” Dean says, pushing himself to his feet. He forces himself not to look for any witnesses, instead leaning forward so he can peck Cas quick on the corner of the mouth. It’s fine. No one’s going to say anything.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says pleasantly.
“Hungry?” Dean says gruffly to compensate at the mushiness in his chest he gets from seeing Cas smile.
“Very,” Cas replies.
“What about you, peanut? You ready for dinner?” Dean teases his daughter, poking her under her arm. She screeches and tries to hide against Cas’s chest. Cas brings up his arm and guards her from Dean’s attack.
Dean leads them back to their picnic blanket, Cas following with Emma on his hip. Dean heads right to the cooler, kneeling to open it and pull out the cold cuts and assorted vegetables he packed for dinner.
Cas’s mat is, in fact, rolled up beside the cooler. Emma sees it and wants to unroll it. Cas patiently allows her to do as she’d like. She gets on her hands and feet, sticking her butt in the air, and announces, “Yoda!” which makes Dean laugh.
“A very good downward facing dog,” Cas tells her. Emma hears the word ‘dog’ and starts barking.
Dean makes up a sandwich for himself and Cas. For Emma, he cuts up chunks of cheese and pieces of turkey with a plastic knife and puts them on a paper plate with some cucumbers so she can pick at them with her fingers.
Dinner is messy, as usual with a toddler. Emma spots the container of mayo in the cooler and wines until Dean gives her a tiny spoonful so she can dip her turkey in it. It mostly ends up around her mouth instead of in it, and she wipes her fingers on her strawberry-patterned shorts before Cas can get to her with a napkin.
But Dean doesn’t care about the mess. Emma keeps him and Cas entertained with her mindless chatter, and Dean even gets a few moments to hold Cas’s hand in-between ingesting his own dinner and making sure Emma doesn’t eat the cucumber slices she dropped in the grass.
There’s a minor disaster when the lid of Emma’s sippy cup unscrews, dousing Dean’s sleeve in milk. Dean tries to shake the worst of it off, but Emma’s grabbing for her cup, so Dean doesn’t have a lot of choice but to ignore the spill for now in favor of getting Emma her drink. Cas grabs a fistful of napkins and dabs at Dean’s arm for him, frantically trying to stop the spread of the liquid.
“Damn,” Dean laughs it off. “Least there are worse things than dealing with a wet arm for the rest of the night.”
“Just take it off,” Cas suggests. “It’ll smell when it dries.”
“Trust me,” Dean says. “I’ve smelled worse with this one around.” Emma is too engulfed in gulping down her milk to realize she’s being talked about.
“I’ve got a spare sweater in my bag,” Cas offers.
“No, it’s…fine,” Dean says. There’s a tremendous twist of nerves in his stomach, and then he shrugs off his flannel overshirt, bundling it into a ball and tossing it across the blanket. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt underneath, and the sun feels good on his bare skin.
Cas grins at him, and Dean avoids his gaze, but he can’t quite hide his own smile. He was twelve the last time he showed his arms in public.
Meg does damn good work, something Dean already knew from the intricate wings spread across Cas’s shoulders, but it’s even more evident when the proof is on Dean’s own skin. Both inner arms, once slotted with scars and burn marks, are now webbed with delicately lined tattoos: an oak tree, branches wrapping around his wrist, on his left, and an arrow on his right – fletching fanning at his wrist and point ending in the crook of his elbow. The feathers weren’t out of any conscious desire to copy Cas – just because Meg was really, really good at feathers. Dean’s man enough to admit Cas held his hand the whole session; Dean’s never been the biggest fan of needles.
He still needs to get the rest of both sleeves done – he’s thinking a roaring tiger on his left shoulder and some birds or roses or shit on his right bicep. For now, revealing his upper arms means he’s still showing off his scars, but at least people will notice the tats, now, before anything else.
Plus, as Dean confessed to Cas when the ink was still covered with plastic wrap and medical tape, it made him less inclined to cut if it meant destroying such nice artwork. Cas told him that was a beautiful metaphor, and it took Dean all of forty-five seconds before he understood, ducked his head, and muttered, “Shut up.”
Emma’s done with her milk. Cas grabs another napkin to wipe the drips around her mouth, then he reaches into his bag to dig out his jar of birdseed.
“Would you like to go feed the ducklings, Emma?”
“Yes!” Emma is on her feet at once. Cas stretches out his hand to grab hers, and – like he’s some kind of baby whisperer, Emma slows at his touch.
“We’ll have to be calm if we don’t want to scare them off,” Cas explains. Emma nods hastily, eyes huge at the seriousness of this task.
Dean watches the two of them walk down to the edge of the pond, an ache in his cheeks and high in his throat. It’s a lot to take in. He marvels as Cas unscrews the jar and helps Emma grab clumsy fistfuls of seeds to drop into the water. Soon enough, she’s got a small army of ducks coming over to peck at the floating seeds. Cas is so sweet with her – so Goddamn patient with her. He speaks and listens to her as if she was a grownup, giving her his soul attention, like she’s the most important thing in the world.
The sun is high above the horizon at this time of year, despite the fact it’s after six and Dean’s gonna have to drag Emma across the street soon to give her a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed by seven-thirty. Dean’s tempted to let her stay up as late as she wants, but he’s not stupid enough to get her overtired and then try to wrangle her into bed. Let alone the guilt he’d feel about dumping a grumpy kid at Seraphina’s tomorrow morning.
But he can let her and Cas spend a little more time together.
Dean packs the cooler again, stuffing their trash into a plastic grocery bag. He’s just about to climb to his feet to head over to Emma for a five-minute warning when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He checks to make sure Cas has got Emma well-handled – he’s crouching beside her, calmly talking to her about why she’s not allowed to bring the ducklings home – so Dean pulls his phone out to check the notification.
It’s a text from Charlie:
Big news. Big BIG news. Really big news. Like meet in person big news. You free after the munchkin goes down????
He wonders if maybe she and Meg have finally decided to take the plunge toward more than mooning over each other and tagging each other on Facebook posts. Maybe it’s about time Meg got the shotgun under the sink spiel from him, although Charlie and Meg would probably tell him, respectively, to stop being such a sexist pig and he’s not the only one who knows how to handle a gun. It sounds like she’s excited, whatever this big surprise news is, so Dean forgoes anxiety in favor of sending her back a quick sure thing.
The five-minute warning is always a fifty-fifty chance. Either it’s received with a meek otay or a raging tantrum. Thank God, it’s the former tonight. Dean stands with Cas and Emma at the shoreline for the last few minutes before he finally calls it, and Emma lets herself be bundled in his arms, waving goodbye to her new feathered friends.
Dean carries Emma in one arm and the cooler on the other, and Cas rolls the picnic blanket into his yoga bag, finally slipping his sandals back on for the trek across the pavement to the apartment.
Dean and Cas part ways at the door. First, Cas bestows another kiss to Emma’s forehead. She takes his face between her two hands and plants a sloppy kiss to the tip of his nose. Cas’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. Dean doesn’t have a free arm to give Cas a hug goodbye, so he bends forward to kiss Cas briefly on the lips.
“See you,” Dean says.
“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas replies warmly.
Dean hasn’t incorporated Cas into Emma’s bedtime routine, yet. It’s something Dean wants to keep private for a while longer. Besides, Emma’s an excitable kid. Having another person there when Dean’s trying to settle her for sleep – even a familiar and soothing presence like Cas’s – would likely just rile her up.
What with Wednesdays and every-other weekend taken up with Emma, and weekdays spent waking up early for work, it means that Dean hasn’t actually had Cas over to spend the night yet. Dean’s sure it’s not unusual for other couples who’ve been dating for a month and half to not sleepover, but it’s certainly unusual for Dean. In fact, it’s unheard of before Cas. But Dean doesn’t think it’s bad. In fact, it’s kinda okay.
They haven’t even gone farther than handies in Cas's apartment. Which is – well, tell Dean he would have gone a month and a half in a bona fide relationship without once having actual sex – Cas would chide him for that remark, Dean, all sex is actual sex, there doesn’t need to be penetration – Dean would have called you crazy. Yet, here he is.
For not having sex, they sure do talk about it a lot. Sometimes somberly, leaving Dean or Cas in tears again, sometimes teasingly, until Dean’s balls ache and he has to jerk himself off in the shower after he bids Cas goodnight. Dean knows they will eventually, but Billie explained that it’s a careful and very individualized process. There’s no instruction manual for getting back on the proverbial horse.
Dean even worked up enough courage to go to a clinic to make sure he was a-okay after his encounter with Nick. It wasn’t a great experience – felt invasive and claustrophobic like every visit to a doctor – but he came back clear, so it was worth it. What can he say: he never got the chance to be a boy scout, but he certainly likes to be prepared.
Dean climbs the stairs to the fourth floor, prompting Emma to think about which book she wants him to read tonight.
“You wanna read about the rabbit? What about the trucks again?” he asks.
The parenting class he took over the winter impressed on him the importance of routines. He never had much of a routine growing up – no bedtime or bath time or time to eat meals. But things seem to go much smoother with Emma if Dean keeps to a set list of activities. She’s more likely to cooperate with taking her bath if he talks her through a promise of a bedtime story well in advance.
“Twucks,” Emma answers.
“Trucks please?” Dean reminds her.
“Twucks pweaze,” Emma parrots.
Dean sets her down in his apartment while he puts the cooler on the counter to unpack later. No way is he letting Emma get ahold of her toys on the way to the bathroom. He’ll never pull her away without tears if she gets her hands on the building blocks.
“Remember,” he tells her gently, “Bath first, story second.”
“Mmm’okay,” Emma agrees with a second’s thought.
Dean fills the tub with water and bubble bath, bad knee protesting the hard bathroom floor, while Emma struggles with the sleeves on the strawberry t-shirt that matches her shorts. She tells him stubbornly “No!” when he tries to help her peel herself out, which makes Dean raise his eyebrows and smile. He eventually has to help her when her efforts turn to frustrated whining, but he manages to place her in the tub before she gets too upset.
He lathers up her hair quick while she’s distracted bobbing the rubber duck Dean got her in preparation for the duckling trip today. He washes out the shampoo carefully, shielding her eyes with his palm. Despite his efforts to keep the water in the tub, his jeans get soaked from the knees down.
Finally, he eases himself off the floor, straightening his aching leg out in front of him as he perches on the closed toilet lid, letting Emma splash for a while before the water goes cold.
He wraps her up like a burrito in a towel, and giggles follow them out of the bathroom and into her soft jammies. Then it’s time to read about trucks for the nth-time. Emma’s wide awake for the first part of the book, but – like a switch flips – she’s out in a second flat before Dean reaches the end.
She’s been a pretty good sleeper ever since she got used to the apartment, but Dean still moves as carefully as possible so he doesn’t wake her as he puts the sandwich makings away in the fridge and tucks the cooler back into the closet. Then he goes into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar so he can listen for any changes in her breathing. He mops up the water on the floor, brushes his teeth, and changes out of his soggy jeans into a pair of sweatpants.
He peels the NicoDerm patch off his shoulder. He only wears it for sixteen hours a day because they were giving him seriously whacked out dreams overnight. On the plus side though, it has helped with the whole cigarette craving thing. Although he’s still left with the issue of what to do with his hands. Cas gave him a Rubik’s Cube for a fidget toy. Sometimes when he feels particularly antsy, he spins the cubes mindlessly until the plastic edges turn his fingers pink.
Dean usually turns out the light early on nights Emma sleeps over, watching YouTube videos on mute or reading under his cellphone flashlight until he gets tired enough to try to sleep. He doesn’t take sleeping pills when his daughter’s here – if she wakes up, he wants to be alert – but usually she exhausts him so much that, by the end of the day, he drifts off pretty quickly.
But tonight, Dean sends Charlie a text and then creeps over the couch to climb out of the window onto the fire escape. He leaves his curtains and window open enough so he can still see and hear Emma sleeping.
Charlie comes out of her own window almost immediately. Dean can see at once that she’s excited – she’s practically vibrating in her fuzzy pink socks and Star Wars hoodie.
“Dude!” she hisses, making sure to keep her voice low to not disturb Emma inside the apartment. “Dude – you won’t believe this –”
Her energy is infectious. Despite Dean’s aching knee and eyes itching with tiredness, he’s smiling. “What did you do this time, Charles?”
“So, you know I made bank on my parents’ house. And that plus the stuff I’ve saved from Twitch – well, anyway, I did a thing! I bought a house! Like an actual building with walls and a roof and shit!”
“Charlie, really? That’s awesome!” Dean replies, a little thunderstruck.
“I know it’s sudden, and I would a’ told you sooner, but I wanted it to be a surprise, and I wasn’t sure it was gonna work out – but I close in three weeks, and then I can move my shit and start, like, living there. It’s in Independence, so it’s, you know, across town, but still super close –”
“I’m really happy for you, kid,” Dean says, not telling her how happy he is that she’s only gonna be across town. He doesn’t need to verbalize how much of a needy shmuck he is.
“And, here’s the thing,” Charlie continues, mouth running a hundred miles an hour. “It’s a townhouse. Two floors plus a finished basement. Previous owner outfitted it for two apartments. Functional kitchenette on the second floor and a full bath – plus two bedrooms and something that could be a living room. Now me, I’m a born basement dweller, so I’m turning that into a full-on Twitch studio with a bed crammed in the corner. I’ve also got the first floor with a kitchen and tv room and stuff. But that leaves the whole upstairs, and I definitely don’t have enough stuff to fill it up, unless I turn it into a full-floor terrarium for Smeagol.”
“Okay,” Dean says, losing the thread of her rambling. “You gonna get tenants or something?”
Charlie fixes him with a flat gaze, one that tells him Dean definitely missed something important. “You, doofus! If I want to get a tenant, I want it to be you.”
“Wait, what?” Dean says.
“What?” Charlie comes back at him. “You’re looking for a place, right? Somewhere with more room for Emma? Well – this is the perfect solution!”
“Charlie, I –” Dean doesn’t know what to say. “You don’t have to – I can’t –”
“Can’t what?” Charlie demands. “Dude, I want you to move in with me. You’re my best friend. You have a frikken adorable kid. You know how to make pie. You unclog my toilet. Who doesn’t want that kind of housemate?”
“I – Charlie –” Dean says a little desperately. There’s a painful feeling in his chest, and he can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking. The thought bad idea bad idea patters against his skull, but at the same time there’s a strong, clear sense of yearning inside his body. He wants to – he wants to move in with Charlie so fucking bad.
Because this is the solution, isn’t it? Charlie said the upstairs apartment had two bedrooms. Emma could have her own space. Dean could have his own space – Dean could –
“I don’t have the money for something like that,” Dean finishes helplessly.
“Dude, what do you think I am? I’m not gonna bankrupt you. I’ll let you pay rent just because I know you won’t move in for free. We’ll work something out, I promise.”
“Charlie, I –” but Dean doesn’t know what else to say. I can’t. I’m crazy. You don’t want me there –
But what if – what if –
“I mean, I’m not gonna force you if you really don’t want to,” Charlie wheedles. “But, I mean, it’d really be helping me out. This way I won’t get stuck with some loser stranger who wrecks the place, you know?”
Dean gulps back the sudden lump in his throat. He does the only thing that feel natural: gathers Charlie into a hug and lays a kiss in her hair. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” he says thickly.
Charlie grins into his chest. “This mean you’re saying yes?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, smile aching across his face. “It’s a yes.”
OOO
Whoever thought it was a good idea to move not one, but two people’s entire possession on one very hot, very muggy July afternoon deserves to be drawn and quartered. Turns out you can collect a lot of crap after a year of staying in one place, but if Dean’s stuff wasn’t enough to consider, there’s also Charlie’s. And Charlie’s got a helluva lot of stuff.
Dean’s already soaked with sweat, and it’s only his third trip into the house, arms laden with cardboard boxes crammed with Charlie’s plethora of electronic equipment.
“Just dump it wherever,” Charlie instructs him, coming through the door with a couple of sacks of clothes – probably all graphic tees. Dean leaves the boxes under the window in the living room, takes a minute to wipe the sweat off his face, and heads back through the door, nearly plowing into Cas, who’s taking the stairs to the second story with an armload of Dean’s things.
“Oof, sorry,” Dean says, jumping out of the way.
“I can’t promise I won’t break another coffee maker,” Cas says dryly as he skirts Dean and continues on his way, “But I am trying to avoid it this time.”
Dean grins at the callback to their first meeting. “Just means you’ll have to bring me another mug in the morning, sunshine.”
Dean leaves through the door to grab another load. Sam is in the back of Bobby’s truck – borrowed for the occasion to transport the larger piece: Dean’s couch and Charlie’s loveseat and desks – passing items down to Eileen, who’s dressed for the Olympics in running shorts and a tank.
“You wanna try to lift this monster up the stairs?” Sam says when he spots Dean, kicking the tarp-covered couch with his toe.
“There is no try,” Dean says, sending Eileen a smile as she passes him with another box. “There is only do.”
Sam groans at the reference, making Dean grin wider. The two of them manage to slide the couch out of the truck bed, hefting it across the slightly overgrown, weed-filled lawn to the front stairs.
“You just gonna stand there and look pretty?” Dean asks Cas over his shoulder when they manage to inch the couch through the front door, stopping to catch their breath at the base of the stairs. Damn, Dean thought he was in pretty good shape; he’s gonna have to start lifting again.
“I’m supervising,” Cas tells him, the cheeky bastard.
They do finally manage to get the couch to the second floor – Charlie had yelled “Pivot!” at them from the hallway, seemingly thinking she was hilarious – and crammed against the wall of Dean’s tiny living room, right outside the top of the stairs. Dean will have to get a baby gate if he wants to let Emma loose in the space.
Then it’s back down the stairs for more crap. All in all, it takes four hours and to get everything unloaded from the cars, and all six of them – after Meg shows up halfway through with a half-drunk can of Monster and a burst of snark – are coated in sweat and exhausted by the end of it.
“Okay, that’s it,” Meg declares, falling backward to join Charlie on the floor. The room is rimmed with boxes, bags, and baskets of things. Dean marvels at Charlie’s ability to fit so much stuff in her tiny studio apartment. “I’m calling for pizza, stat.”
“You’re amazing,” Charlie says, rolling over on her side to smack her lips sloppily against Meg’s cheek.
“Ugh,” Dean groans at the show of affection.
“Don’t be homophobic, Winchester,” Meg warns, wagging her finger at him.
“Yeah, don’t be homophobic, Dean,” Sam says, walking in from the hallway with the last armful of kitchen gadgets, clearly not witnessing the previous exchange.
“Hey!” Dean says.
“Yes,” Cas says playfully, dropping into the too-tight space left on Charlie’s loveseat beside Dean to kiss Dean on the jaw. “Stop being so homophobic.”
Dean’s face burns. Charlie sighs, “Awww,” from the floor.
“Ugh,” Meg and Sam say in tandem.
Meg takes out her cellphone to make a call for enough pizza and wings to feed a very hungry army, which, given the way Eileen keeps interjecting to add to the order, seems like the right kind of assumption for the day.
“Oof,” Charlie says, bending her legs at the knees and staring at the ceiling. “I guess this means I’m supposed to dig out the plates.”
“Mine are all upstairs,” Dean says.
“Maybe in a minute,” Charlie decides.
“Sammy, make yourself useful,” Dean waves lazily at his little brother. “Get Charlie’s plates from the – you know – that one box.”
“Fuck you,” Sam replies, but it’s too warm and he’s too rundown to sound at all convincing.
“Don’t pester your brother,” Cas says, nestling close to Dean’s side, and – despite the heat – Dean finds he doesn’t at all mind the physical affection. He wrenches his arm free from between them and tosses it over Cas’s shoulders.
“Someone’s gotta pester him,” Dean defends himself.
“Let Eileen do it,” Cas replies, signing to Eileen and sending her a wink.
Eileen grins devilishly, “With pleasure.”
“Jesus, I can’t escape,” Sam groans. He leaves to drop the last box off in Charlie’s kitchen. He returns a moment later to join the girls on the floor, crossing his long legs in a way that makes Dean’s knee ache just looking at it. He joins his hand with Eileen’s, and she presses her head into his shoulder. They’re cute – not like Dean’s ever gonna tell Sam that, but they’re definitely cute.
When the delivery man shows up with the pizza, everyone scrambles for cash so they can pay. Meg brings the stack of boxes and sack of wings across the floor to Charlie’s kitchen. They forgo plates, eating with their hands and catching grease in the napkins that came with the pizza.
Soon after, Sam and Eileen leave to go to a social worker friend’s Fourth of July barbeque.
“Don’t get blown up by the fireworks,” Charlie calls after them.
“Nah,” Sam says. “Donna’s partner is a cop, so no fireworks tonight.”
“Boo,” Charlie replies.
“Donna?” Dean pipes up. “Donna Hanscum?”
“You know Donna?” Sam exclaims, eyebrows shooting up. “How?”
“It’s a small world,” Dean says, skating the issue because he doesn’t want to get into the long story of knowing Kaia at AA and knowing Donna from visitation. It’s not a lie; it is a damn small world.
“I’ve known Donna for years,” Eileen adds. “We should have you over sometime when she and Jody come for dinner. Cas, you as well.”
“As long as Jody doesn’t arrest me, sure,” Dean replies when Cas nods his head at the suggestion. They’ve been trying to do couply things like that, lately. Dean likes the idea of hanging out with Cas, Sam, and Eileen. Like double dates, or something.
“Jody’s good people,” Sam protests.
“For a cop,” Dean finishes for him.
Eileen laughs, shaking her head at the brothers. “Just don’t do anything illegal while you’re eating dinner.”
“Hear that, Cas?” Dean nudges his shoulder against Cas’s. “No pot smoking in front of the nice cop lady.”
“Someone say pot smoking?” Meg peaks her head out from the kitchen where she and Charlie had been wrapping the leftovers in aluminum foil.
Sam and Eileen laugh, gathering wallets and keys on the way out the door. After his brother and girlfriend leave, Dean gets the distinct feeling that Charlie and Meg want to spend some time alone together – cooling off, or whatever. So, Dean drags Cas upstairs with him to begin straightening out his own apartment.
“Hope you’re good at putting together furniture,” Dean says over his shoulder as they climb the stairs.
“Assembling flat pack furniture is the top reason couples divorce, behind money struggles,” Cas replies.
“No shit, really?” Dean says, but then he catches sight of Cas’s glinting eyes, and he rolls his eyes. “Nerd.”
Cas grins and stops at the top of the stairs to grab Dean’s hand. He spins him around to plant a kiss on his lips. Maybe Meg and Charlie weren’t the only ones anxious to get alone.
“Careful,” Dean says, detaching mouths long enough to get a breath in. “Don’t think Charlie’s old mattress is big enough for the both of us.” Charlie sold her loft bed in favor of getting a new frame for her basement bedroom, and when she’d offered Dean the mattress to use before Dean could buy his own bed, he’d jumped at the chance, seeing as he actually has a bedroom, now, instead of just a living room with a pullout couch.
“Mmh,” Cas hums low in his throat. “I think I can kiss you well enough while standing.”
Dean smiles into Cas’s lips. And that’s what they do: just kiss for a while, arms wrapped around shoulders, standing at the top of the stairs, in the living room of Dean’s new apartment. The idea is a little dizzying – not just that Dean has a new apartment, but that just kissing someone like Cas could feel so damn good. That Dean could feel so damn good.
The happiness that bubbles up in his chest is so different than the crazed delight of mania. It’s something calmer. It’s peaceful and full and simmering.
Cas stops suddenly, pulling away so he can meet Dean’s eyes, and his gaze is solemn and sincere. Dean kinda wants to duck away – maybe just dive back for Cas’s lips so they can keep kissing.
“I’m really happy for you,” Cas says, like he read Dean’s mind.
Dean’s chest tightens. Everything in him wants to pull back from Cas, maybe roll his eyes, make some snarky comment about not counting their chickens. But, instead, he breathes deep, lets the air out through his nose. Smiles, and it feels warm and right on his face.
“I’m happy for me, too,” Dean says.
Cas beams at him. Dean really does roll his eyes at that, but instead of tugging away, he brings Cas in again to smack his lips once more with a quick kiss.
“Come on,” Dean says, thumping Cas on the shoulder and bringing him over to the pile of cardboard in the corner of the living room, “we got a crib to rebuild.”