Chapter Text
The oven timer dinged.
Sweat beading on his forehead, Dean armed himself with his bright red oven mitts, took the pie out of the oven, and set it on the counter to cool.
The oscillating fan sitting on the kitchen table didn’t do much more than move hot air around, but at least the air was moving. Maybe. Dean had aimed it at the kitchen, but he barely felt a breeze. The window was open, but it didn’t do anything to bring down the heat. Dean leaned his head against the wall beside it and wiped his face. His t-shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. The perfect sphere of yellow sunlight, up high in the clear blue sky, beamed down on Dean.
Yeah, Cas did point out it was an act of hubris— his words— to bake in the middle of a summer heat wave but, the moment he smelled the heavenly combination of apples, cinnamon, vanilla, and brown sugar then saw that crispy, golden crust, Cas would be begging for a piece of Dean's pie.
Cas always wanted a piece of Dean. So much so that Dean's last few attempts at pies had been burnt to a crisp, as the two of them were otherwise occupied upstairs, on the couch, one time right on the kitchen floor, and forgot all about them. If nothing else, the smoke wafting through the house reminded them to change the batteries in the detectors. Safety first and all that.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Dean smiled. Cas moved quietly, but not as quiet as a ghost, and Dean enjoyed hearing him move around like an everyday human. An everyday human who occasionally ran into doors because he forgot he could no longer simply phase through them. The crack on the bedroom door, made only a day after Cas’s revival, made Dean chuckle every time he saw it.
Cas entered the kitchen. He was a sight to behold, with Dean’s sweatpants low on his hips and Dean’s plain white t-shirt, worn to softness, on his chest. Cas’s hair was damp from the shower and the fragrance of Dean’s body wash wafted off of him. Dean walked up to Cas, pressed his face into Cas’s neck, and breathed him in. The deep, dark, possessive part of Dean stirred in his chest. He liked it when Cas wore his clothes, bore his scent. It was like a mark, a claim, a message to the world that Cas was Dean’s and Dean’s alone.
Dean ran his fingers through Cas’s hair. “You took a shower?” Dean nipped at the bolt of Cas’s jaw. “Without me?”
“You were busy.” Cas hummed as Dean continued to play with his hair, reminiscent of a contented cat. “I suppose you’ll have to help me work up a sweat later. Give me a reason to do it again.”
“Well, if you insist…”
“However, considering the heat in this room, you may not have to do any work at all.”
Making sure Cas could see him, Dean rolled his eyes. Fondly, of course. “Whatever, buddy. You sit at that table and eat your slice of humble pie.”
Cas raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were making apple.”
God, Dean loved him. He loved Cas’s eyes. He loved the pile of library books Cas kept beside their bed. He loved Cas's dry sense of humour. He loved Cas’s kindness, even when he was being a dick. He loved Cas’s hands and how they felt on his body. He loved Cas’s voice. He loved how Cas always wore Dean’s clothes, despite the fact Dean had bought Cas his own.
“Smartass,” Dean said. He wondered if Cas could tell that he was really saying, I love you.
Dean took Cas by the hand and led him to the table. Dean pulled out a chair like a gentleman and indicated he should sit down. Cas indulged Dean, letting Dean push his chair back in once he settled on the seat cushion Dean had picked out a few weeks ago. One was attached to each chair. They were pretty damn comfy if Dean said so himself. And he did.
As he sliced up and plated two generous slices of steaming, gleaming, delicious homemade apple pie, Dean noticed Cas staring out the window. He did that a lot, peering out into the world beyond the house. In fact, he was hardly ever inside it, electing to spend his time reading his books on the patio furniture on the front porch— blue, just like Dean wanted— or taking long walks in the woods. Cas never said anything about it, but Dean knew he was itching to leave, to go somewhere past the bounds of Geist.
And Dean understood why, he really did, but a part of him hurt at the thought that he couldn't keep Cas here in this safe and warm house, with the force of his love alone.
No, Dean wouldn’t do that. That was what Naomi did to Cas.
Dean added a scoop of ice cream to each plate, then two forks. He carried the wonderful pies over to the kitchen table. He placed one in front of Cas and took the second one for his own, sitting in the chair across from Cas.
“Tah-Dah!” Dean cast his arms wide. “My greatest creation.”
With an amused huff, Cas shook his head. He picked up his fork and scooped up a bite of pie. When he closed his mouth around it, his eyelids fluttered close and he let out the most sinful sound Dean ever heard.
“Good, right?” Dean said, grinning.
Cas nodded and shoved another forkful into his mouth.
Dean dug into his slice and, fucking hell, he was a goddamn culinary genius. Ever since Cas had returned to his body, Dean had cooked a lot. Cas could eat again, experience food and flavours for the first time in a decade, and Dean wanted to let him try everything. Dean loved making food for Cas, learning that he enjoyed burgers, that he liked jelly but found jam unsettling, and that he preferred red licorice to black, the heathen.
While he’d become a pretty good cook, Dean hadn’t quite mastered baking. Though, after this pie, Dean might be an expert now.
That meant it was time to do something else, to move on.
“Hey, uh, Cas?” Dean pushed the last bit of crispy, golden crust around on his plate.
Cas hummed in acknowledgement, his mouth full with the final bite of his pie. He’d practically licked the plate clean. Dean felt a lot of pride at that.
“I was thinking…” Dean stood, gathered the plates, and brought them to the sink. “That, um…” The plates slipped out of his hands, crashing loudly against the metal. He checked the sink. Nothing broke. “That we should go on a trip.”
Cas’s head swivelled around. “A trip?”
“Yeah, I mean, I can’t expect you to stay cooped up here forever, right?”
Cas remained quiet for a moment. “I’m perfectly content with you.”
“I know,” Dean said, and he did know. “But you’re not happy in this house.”
“I…” Cas lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Dean stepped in front of Cas’s chair and kneeled before him, taking his hand. “You’re free now, Cas. You can go anywhere you want. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”
“You're not forcing me.” Cas squeezed Dean’s hand. “And you’re happy here.”
Dean was. He woke up in his own bed every morning next to the man he loved. He cooked in his own kitchen. He had his own television. Just last month, he mowed his own lawn and then had a beer on his own porch for the first time in his life. But…
“I’m happy when I’m with you,” Dean said, “and I can be with you here or on the road or in some off-brand motel. I could show you all the best burger joints in the lower forty-eight, or the biggest ball of twine. I could take you to the beach. I think you’d look great in a speedo.”
Cas laughed, the sound watery. “Only if we wear matching patterned shirts.”
“Obviously.”
Cas looked at Dean like he offered him the world on a platter. In a way, Dean had.
“Okay,” Cas said.
Dean surged forward, sealing the deal with a kiss. Oh, they were definitely going to work up a sweat now. That’ll teach Cas to shower without Dean.
⁂
The pile of books balanced precariously on Cas’s lap. He rescued them every time Dean drove over a bump in the road or slowed to a stop, never losing a single one. When Dean parked in front of the library, Dean slung his arm over the back of his baby’s bench seat and angled himself toward Cas.
“You’re sure?” Dean asked.
Cas stared past Dean to the library’s entrance, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He considered Dean’s question, then nodded his certainty.
“You think she’ll buy it?” Dean wondered. Sure, they rehearsed their story but… it was a bit unbelievable, wasn’t it?
“Well, if she doesn’t,” Cas said, “we were planning to leave anyway, right?”
“Right.” Dean opened the Impala’s door. “Let's go before we change our minds.”
The library had just opened when they entered. Myrtle was hard at work at the front desk, so focused on the computer before her she didn’t notice their approach. Dean waited a moment, then another. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Myrtle,” he said, “just want to let you know…”
Myrtle had looked up when Dean spoke, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. Her eyes focused over Dean’s shoulder.
“Hello,” Cas said, quiet, hesitant. He juggled the stack of books. He’d insisted on carrying them all himself.
Each step careful and deliberate, Myrtle moved from behind the counter. Stopping before Cas, she leaned in and squinted at him, not speaking for a long while. Cas’s shoulders filled with tension, and he flicked his gaze to Dean. Dean offered him a nod he hoped was reassuring, then reached to grab the books, which were slipping from Cas’s nervous hands, and placed them on the desk.
“Castiel?” Myrtle said, astonished. She shook her head. “No, no you’d be— you’re— it—”
Cas glanced at Dean again. He’d confessed before they left that morning that he wasn’t sure how to talk to people who weren’t Dean. He hadn’t since he was a kid, after all. As he put it, his people skills were rusty. Dean assured Cas he’d help.
“So,” Dean said. “Remember when I said I had a sick friend and he wasn’t going to get better? Well, uh, he got better.”
Myrtle didn’t reply to that. She continued to stare.
“Thank you,” Cas said, “for all the book recommendations. Dean tells me you helped him choose them. I enjoyed your selections.” He swallowed. “I always have.”
“Castiel.” Myrtle’s eyes filled with tears. “It really is you! I— I thought— I swore—” She pressed a hand to her mouth and took a breath. “You look incredible for your age. Gosh, you’re making me feel old.”
Dean was about to speak up again, but Cas figured out what to do. He opened his arms and, when she nodded, embraced her. As they hugged, Cas said something to her Dean couldn’t make out. It made her laugh. When they let go, she was smiling.
Myrtle wiped her eyes and pushed back her hair. She stepped back to speak to both men. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Now that Cas is feeling better,” Dean said. “I thought it was time to show him the world.”
“On a magic carpet ride?” Myrtle asked.
“No, in a car,” Cas said.
“No, that’s—” Myrtle shook her head. “Oh, you’re certainly Castiel.”
Cas tilted his head and squinted.
God, Dean loved him.
“Anyway,” Dean continued, “we’ll be gone for a while and we had all these books to bring back. Also, well, we were wondering if you’d keep an eye on the house.”
Cas reached into his pocket and brought out his house key. He held it out to Myrtle. She watched it swing from the tree shaped keychain. She didn’t take it.
“I assure you,” Cas said, seriously, “it is no longer haunted.”
Well, he’d know. Dean pursed his lips to keep from laughing at Myrtle's confused stare. She reached out and grabbed the key.
“I left a pie in the fridge for you and your wife,” Dean said. “Hope you both like cherry.”
“Samina loves cherry.” Myrtle closed her palm around the key. “I wish you both a safe journey.”
They exchanged goodbyes and well wishes, and weren’t permitted to leave until they took at least one book from the discard pile. Dean picked one. Cas chose five.
Once they loaded the books into the back seat, Dean drove away from the library. Together, Dean and Cas left Geist.
Neither of them looked back.
⁂
The door was plain. It was grey. It had a handle. It had gold numbers stuck to it at eye level: 101.
Ground floor, near the exits for easy escape. Old habits die hard.
“You’re ready?” Cas asked, his shoulder pressed against Dean’s, a comforting presence.
“No,” Dean said. “What if he slams the door in my face?”
“What if he doesn’t?”
They’d had this talk already. They’d been having this talk ever since Cas caught Dean reading the alumni list for Stanford.
Dean’s heart beat so hard against his chest it hurt. He turned his head to see Cas— tanned and glowing from their week on the beach— and instantly calmed.
“Sure you don’t want to see your brother?” Dean asked.
Cas snorted. “Now he would slam the door in your face.”
During his research and quest to locate this building and this particular door, Dean had discovered records about Raphael Novak. He was the head of a law firm, having flown up the ranks at a young age. He never married or had children. As far as Dean could tell, all Raphael did was work. In every single interview Dean had read, Raphael attributed all his success to the memory of the father he never found.
Dean had mentioned this to Cas, who was completely disinterested, until Dean said who was working for that particular firm.
“You know what?” Dean said. “We should go. We could head back to Nevada. Hit Vegas again. Vegas was fun, right?”
“Dean,” Cas rumbled, his eyes narrowed.
“Remember that hotel room with the silk sheets?”
Cas tried to stay stern, but there was a wistful tone in his voice when he replied, “I remember.”
“Also, you know, now that I think about it, we didn’t stop for dinner. How could I be so silly?” Dean laughed, high and reedy. “Yeah, let’s just…”
Before he could turn, Cas grabbed Dean’s hand. “You spent all that time looking for this address. We’ve driven here. We’re standing in front of it. All that’s left for you to do is knock.”
Dean peered at the door again. It was the gate to a fancy castle, barricaded and locked tight. It was a bank vault with biometric scanners. It was a normal door.
He raised his hand. He lowered it.
“I— I want to,” Dean said. “It’s just—”
Cas squeezed Dean’s hand. “I love you.”
Dean gasped.
And, before Dean could process that Cas said those words to him for the first time ever, Cas knocked on the door.
Asshole. He knew Dean wouldn't be able to stop him after— after saying that.
“You dick,” Dean hissed out the side of his mouth.
Cas smiled.
Footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. A pause. Then locks clicked in release and the door wrenched open.
Dean's mouth dropped open.
Sam.
Standing there, in his brown hoodie, sock feet, and slightly too short jeans, stood his little brother. He wasn't as scrawny as Dean remembered. Sam was broader, more muscled. Had he joined a gym? Did he put on one of those dorky skin tight suits and hopped on those bikes that go nowhere?
Dean's overgrown brother took up the whole damn doorway with his height and bulk. Sam's hair brushed over his shoulders— did work let him keep it like that?— and he stared at Dean with surprise written into every part of his face.
They stared at each other. They said nothing. Cas squeezed Dean’s hand again.
“You should get a haircut,” Dean said.
Sam ran his fingers through his ridiculous hair. A wedding band glinted on his finger. Dean felt a pang of regret. He should have been there when Sam tied the knot. Sam observed Dean, attention drawn to his hand in Cas’s.
Dean held back his panic. Let Sam see. Let Sam figure it out. If this was what made Sam slam the door in his face, so be it. Dean wasn't going to hide Cas.
When Sam met Dean’s gaze again, there was a flash behind his eyes that Dean almost didn’t catch, gone too fast for Dean to figure out what it meant.
“I—” Sam reached out, about to touch Dean on the shoulder, but he let his arm fall back to his side before he made contact.
“Babe?” A woman yelled from inside the apartment. “Who is it?”
“It’s—” Sam began. His jaw worked up and down a few times, but he didn’t finish what he was saying.
A pretty blonde appeared over Sam’s shoulder, her hand wrapping around Sam’s bicep. She squeezed in next to him, half of her body visible. “It’s… what?”
“My—” Sam swallowed. “My brother. Jess, this is— Uh, Jessica, this is— this is Dean.”
Clearly, Jessica understood the gravity of the moment. She leaned into Sam, offering support. “And his friend?”
“Castiel,” Cas supplied.
“Cas is, uh…” Dean glanced at Cas. God, Dean loved him. “He’s my partner.”
“Your… hunting partner?” Sam asked, choosing his words carefully.
“No. He’s my everything partner.”
Cas gazed at Dean in much the same way he did the sunrise that first morning of his resurrection: awe, rapture, pure joy.
Sam rubbed his chin, silent for a few loud, urgent beats of Dean's heart. Dean could see Sam think over years of childhood, recontextualizing his memories. "Huh."
An awkward silence followed. Jessica looked at Sam, then Dean, then Cas. When no one spoke she asked, “How about I make some coffee? Do you want some coffee? Or maybe a beer?”
They all nodded. Once Jessica disappeared from view, Sam leaned in.
“Why are you here?" Sam peered into the hallway. “Where’s Dad?”
“Fucked if I know, Sammy,” Dean said. “He disappeared a couple years ago and I haven’t heard from him since.” Dean patted Sam on the chest. “How about that beer?”
Sam turned aside, letting Dean and Cas into the apartment, his eyes as big as dinner plates. The place was sleek and modern with grey floors, white walls, and black furnishings. Fancy. Perfect for an up and coming hotshot lawyer.
Dean whistled as he moved further in. “This is bigger than my house.”
“You have a house?” Sam asked.
“And a Cas. We have a lot to catch up on, it looks like. You got married.”
“I— I did.”
Sam led them to the kitchen, where gleaming appliances and a big round table with many chairs awaited them. Jessica hummed as she gathered mugs from the cupboard.
Sam stopped in the hallway. He turned to Dean. Sam stared at him, trying to size him up, trying to figure out what was going on. Their family didn't tend to make friendly house calls, though that was exactly what Dean was attempting to do. Dean couldn’t blame Sam for showing distrust, even as he squirmed under the scrutiny. If it wasn’t for Cas, still there holding his hand, Dean would have run screaming a long time ago.
“Why are you here?” Sam asked again.
“Because...” Dean took a deep breath. “Because I wanted to see you.” He gave Sam a tight smile. “You look good, Sammy.”
Sam nodded, blinking rapidly. It took a minute before Dean realized Sam was trying to hold back tears. “And you’re— you’re alive. And you’re—” Sam glanced at Cas. “Happy?”
Dean smiled. “I am.”
The reason for that happiness ran his thumb over Dean's knuckles.
Sam studied Cas, scrutinizing him. Cas didn't blink as he stared back, steadfastly refusing to break eye contact. Eventually, Sam returned his attention to Dean and nodded his acceptance.
"Good," Sam said.
It wasn't like Dean needed anyone's approval or anything to be with Cas— not even Sam’s— but Dean relaxed, his shoulders coming down from his ears to a normal height. He hadn't realized how much he was hoping Sam would be cool about it.
Sam turned to the kitchen. “I think we should catch up.”
Before they followed him into the room, Dean yanked on Cas’s hand. He pushed close to Cas and pressed his lips against Cas’s ear.
“I can’t believe you’d say that,” Dean whispered, “and use it as a weapon against me.”
“Well, it’s true,” Cas whispered back. “I do love you.”
And it nearly knocked Dean off his feet. He needed to take a few seconds to recover from the force of it.
“You’re such an asshole,” Dean muttered.
Cas let out a happy hum. Dean knew right then that Cas would get anything he wanted whenever he spoke those words. But, hey, Dean would hear them all the time. How incredible was that?
“But…” Dean sighed. “I don’t think I’d be in here without you. So, thanks.”
“Of course,” Cas replied.
Cas left a peck on Dean’s cheek. He made a move to break away, but Dean wrapped an arm around him before he could go. Holding Cas there, Dean mustered up all his strength and courage to release those three little words out of his mouth. He never thought he’d say them. He never thought he'd have the chance. He never thought he'd be capable.
But he was going to say them now. Cas deserved to hear it. He whispered the words, holding their sweetness on his tongue a moment longer, then released them in a rush.
“I love you."
He felt Cas shiver at the words. Dean kissed Cas, not caring if Sam or Jessica saw them. When they parted, he draped his arm over Cas’s shoulders and, together, they entered the kitchen.