Chapter Text
Early morning two days later, Dean finds himself standing in his bedroom trying to breathe through a wave of nerves that’s making his stomach clench. He should be exhausted since he’s barely slept the last few nights, riled all to hell since he came clean to Eileen, but he’s so hyped up with excess adrenaline, he’s practically bouncing off the walls.
Part of what kept him up the last few nights was certainly this nervous energy, building with the anticipation of pushing start on his plan, but the flip side of it has been him just lying awake and thinking through everything, rolling the answer he gave Eileen around in his head when she asked what it was that he wants.
Dean was being sincere when he said he wants a life with Cas, whatever that looks like in this reality, up to and including marriage. He wants to spend the rest of his life loving Cas actively, not from a distance, finding ways to make him happy. Dean wants to experience the joy of being with the man he loves even if it comes with a side gig as a pop culture reference translator and requires buying stock in local honey farms.
Let’s be real, he’d be thrilled for the chance to do either of those things as well.
He’s also managed to acknowledge Eileen was right —about everything, actually— but specifically about the fact that regardless of what caused this rift between them, it’s not going to repair itself. One of them needs to step up to the plate, drop their walls, and be open and vulnerable with the other. And if that person has to be Dean, then okay. That’s fine. He can take the hit.
But dammit, he’s not even sure why he’s so nervous, it’s not like he’s going for some grand gesture today. No, Eileen had all but hit him upside the head about that — don’t try too hard, don’t move too fast.
For once, Dean’s glad someone is telling him what to do, or at least giving him some strongly-worded suggestions, because absolutely nothing he has done has moved the needle even an inch.
Despite all the pain it’s caused him, he knows there were some positives to come out of his recent capture — aside from forcing him to self-reflect and accept his feelings, it also softened his defenses quite a bit — six months ago, he would’ve been unwilling to listen to anyone else’s approach on how to be successful with Cas, heck, he probably would’ve given up on this whole endeavor before he even got started. It’s different now, though, ‘cause he knows what’s at stake, and it’s a helluva lot more than just his pride. So if taking a step back and letting someone else take the reins will move the needle, where’s the down side?
Dean can hear Eileen’s words echoing in his head, and it helps to calm his nerves just a bit.
“I know you’re used to jumping all in, feet first, and hey, A-plus for enthusiasm, but it might do more harm than good here. Try to just…ease into it, okay? Maybe start with being a little warmer — talk to Cas directly, but keep it casual. You’re not going to be able to change things overnight. Whatever is going on in his head seems pretty deeply entrenched, so make sure you go slow and give him time to adjust.”
He thinks about her encouragements, her certainty that this wouldn’t make things worse, that Cas would be receptive to any of this, and he swallows hard, trying to calm his stupid fluttery moth belly.
Nervous as he is, he’s also a little excited. ‘Cause yeah, some part of him really wants to taste-test honesty, wants to be open with Cas and see where it leads them. Constantly biting back truth has just left his lips bloody and bruised, and his heart aching.
He can do this. He can. And anyway, what’s the worst that might happen? Cas finally loses his cool with Dean and tells him to pound sand? Drops the cold but polite act and tells Dean in no uncertain terms what he honestly thinks about him?
Except…that sounds pretty terrible, and wow, Dean doesn’t want to consider the possibility at all, not one bit. The thought makes him a little dizzy honestly, and he grabs at his dresser to steady himself for a second.
But hey, at least then he’d have an answer, right?. There’d be no more beating around the proverbial bush. He could gather the tattered remains of his heart and dignity, move to some godforsaken piece of land in the middle of nowhere, start a salvage yard, drink heavily, and sit on the porch cleaning his shotguns. Like surrogate-father, like son. Every town needs an old crazy guy, no?
Shaking his head, Dean tries to refocus. He can do this. It’s just…it’s just acting like they used to act. It’s pretending there isn’t a hundred-mile wide canyon between them. It’s soft looks, it’s kind words, it’s the occasional, casual touch.
Flirting. It’s flirting. And hell if Dean can’t flirt.
Alright then, Operation: Get Cas is a go, full steam ahead, set phasers to stun, et cetera.
Stealing a last glance at himself in the mirror over his sink, Dean leaves the bedroom and heads to the kitchen. He took a long shower this morning to try to relax, trimmed up his beard, tried to style his hair a bit —he’s been letting it grow since he got back home, for, uh, reasons— and even attempted to put some thought into his clothing choices. Nothing fancy, hell, nothing even very notable, just jeans without any rips or stains, and he skipped the extra flannel layer over his black tee shirt, remembering Eileen’s words about making small adjustments to not scare Cas off.
When he’d asked her yesterday if he should change up his look or anything, she laughed.
“Dean, you —and I’m not telling you this to inflate your ego, nor do I need you to repeat it to Sam, thank you very much— but you’d look good in a paper bag, and you know it. And honestly, Cas knows it too. So, sure, give him something to notice, but don’t go wild. You’re trying not to scare him off, remember?”
So no suit and tie or bouquet of dozen roses, got it. Not that he ever considered doing that kinda fancy date shit. Obviously.
The kitchen is empty when he gets there, which is more than fine with Dean. Gives him a moment to get himself organized. He starts a pot of coffee brewing and then pulls out a mixing bowl and spoon, a spatula, and ingredients for pancakes.
Yeah, yeah. He knows Eileen said start small —don’t do too much too soon, nothing over the top, blah blah blah— but if Dean knows anything about himself, it’s that he communicates best by doing, so he’s bending her suggestions to fit what feels right. And if what feels right is making Cas some peanut butter and jelly pancakes today? Well, so be it.
Besides, he didn’t endure several hours of Garth —and Bess— talking him and Sam’s ears off about love languages to not come out of it understanding that cooking is his, or something like that. Sure, he’d had to nod and agree and pretend like he had a clue while they both yammered on about how people express their love with more than just words — but he googled it later on, in the privacy of his room, and yeah, he gets it now. It still seems like a buncha made-up hokey crap, but whatever, even he can acknowledge that providing for the people he loves is how he shows he cares.
So, pancakes.
He’s just finished the batter and gone to pour himself a cup of coffee when Cas shuffles into the room, still looking half-asleep.
A lightning bolt of nerves shoots through Dean at the sight of him, the feeling so strong it’s as if his entire body locks up for just a moment. Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Woo-sah. It’s all gonna be fine.
Arranging his face into what he hopes is a smile, Dean nods at Cas, acknowledging him.
“Morning, sunshine.” He sees Cas’s eyes brighten for a split-second at the endearment, and then turn suspicious. No problem. It’s no more than he expects. Cas isn’t just going to fall all over himself because Dean used an old pet name.
“...good morning, Dean. I’m surprised to see you in the kitchen so early.” Cas looks leery, unsure what to make of the disruption to their normally scheduled routine.
He’s right, Dean is almost never the first one in the kitchen, at least not anymore. Used to be that he got up before everyone, made coffee and prepped breakfast, and then would bring a mug to Cas to leave on his bedside table. He’d give the angel a little jostle to return him to the land of the living —human Cas was not a morning person, they’d discovered— and then he’d come back to the kitchen to make breakfast. Generally Sam and Eileen would be drawn in by the smell of food, and by the time the cooking was done, Cas would shuffle in as well, finishing his first dose of caffeine and bee-lining for more.
After everything went to shit, Sam and Eileen had taken to making breakfast, and Dean would drag himself out of bed mid-morning to grab a plate of whatever’s left, hopeful to not have to start each morning with his heart being trampled on. They’d shifted back to family breakfasts since they rescued him, but Sam and Eileen still did the cooking, and Dean still showed up on the later end of things, practicing avoidance.
Shrugging, Dean turns towards the stovetop. “Yeah, I dunno, couldn’t sleep? Was thinking about this recipe I saw last night and thought I’d get a head start. You hungry?”
Cas still appears unsure, but he looks over at the bowl and griddle and when his eyes find Dean’s again, there’s a little something there — excitement maybe?
“Pancakes?”
Dean nods. “Yeah, peanut butter and jelly pancakes, in fact.”
Genuine interest spreads across Cas’s face at this. “Oh…that sounds intriguing.”
Dean has to bite his lip to stop an idiotic grin overtaking his face, but hell, it’s so nice to see Cas happy, especially at something Dean did for him. “Yeah, I thought it did. Here, lemme get started on some for you and maybe beauty and the beast will wake up soon for the rest.”
Cas’s gaze lingers on his for a beat and then he nods quickly before heading to the counter to fix his coffee.
Dean quietly lets out a breath and gives his arms a quick shake before focusing on ladling a few generously-sized pancakes onto the griddle-top of the stove. Making sure the heat is on the lower side, he leaves those alone till they’re ready to flip, heading over to the fridge for a jar of jelly. He is actually working off a recipe for once, and he did happen to see it last night, but it wasn’t the casual discovery he made it seem — Dean was up way too late combing something called a Pinterest, eyes going slightly crossed as he scrolled through pages and pages of food pictures, all linking to different blogs and recipe sites. When he finally stumbled onto PB&J pancakes around two in the morning, well, he knew that was the winner.
Knowing Cas is fixing his coffee somewhere in the room behind him causes Dean to feel that kind of edgy tension that comes only from being unexpectedly observed. Trying to ignore the way it's making his insides wobble, he figures Cas has seated himself at the edge of the table, keeping to his minimum distance requirements of approximately a room’s width between the two of them. Needless to say, when Dean closes the fridge and turns around, he’s very surprised to see Cas standing in front of the stove, peering over the setup with curiosity.
Pretending to pay him no notice, Dean empties the jelly into a saucepan and puts it on a burner over low heat to warm, just enough to be pourable and syrupy. He does the same with a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, watching as it slowly melts from semi-solid goop into liquid goop.
Flipping the pancakes while the toppings do their thing, Dean steals a glance at Cas. They haven’t exchanged any further conversation, have barely even made eye contact, but for once, the atmosphere doesn’t feel strained. Yeah, he’s definitely still treading cautiously, but he’s already feeling like breakfast was the right call, judging by how Cas is inhaling deeply in the direction of the griddle, clearly looking forward to sampling the new recipe.
“Alright, think these are just about done.” Dean bends and reaches for a plate and as he turns back to the cooktop, he catches Cas looking at him intently. Playing like he hasn’t noticed, Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Cas’s gaze roams over him, lingering a moment on his bare arms. He has to suppress the little thrill that shoots through him —maybe Eileen was right about this not being one-sided. It’s a heartening thought.
He plates the pancakes and then grabs some spoons for the sauces, plunking one in each pot. Handing the dish over to Cas, he smiles. “Here, go wild.”
Cas takes his pancakes with a nod and a thanks, proceeding to drizzle the melted peanut butter and jelly over his breakfast with great precision. Dean almost wants to snap a picture — it looks even better than the photos on the recipe blog, plus Cas’s brow is furrowed with concentration in a way that makes Dean’s heart skip a beat.
Sam and Eileen wander in just as Cas is walking past them on his way to the table, and they both eye his food appreciatively.
“Oh, what are we having?” Sam sounds unusually interested in the possibility of pancakes for a guy who normally puts grass in his breakfast drinks.
Eileen walks over to the stove to take a closer look, and the expression on her face when she turns to Dean needs no interpretation. It’s plainly saying, “really? We talked about this. Special breakfast is a little more than ‘small’, Dean.”
Tossing her a sheepish face, Dean says nothing and ladles out the rest of the batter, cooking up three more servings of pancakes, plus an extra for Cas. Plates and saucepots make their way to the table, and everyone settles into their food, Dean taking a moment to slide the extra pancake from his plate over to Cas’s nearly empty one before he sits down. Blue eyes snap to his questioningly, but Dean doesn’t say anything, just gives Cas a little shrug and a half-smile. Cas is understandably wary, but Dean spies just the hint of pink tinting the tips of the angel’s ears and he has to duck his head for a moment, pleased as all get out.
“Okay, usually I don’t love pancakes on a random weekday because they’re basically dessert for breakfast, but Dean — these are delicious.” Sam nearly sighs as he cuts another wedge of pancake and drags it through the pool of peanut butter and jelly on his plate.
Dean laughs. “Hey, well, sometimes we need a little dessert for breakfast to make it through the week, am I right?”
Everyone nods, including Cas, and Dean almost snorts at his own words, as though any of them have ever experienced the drudgery of working full-time jobs and living for the weekend. Silence reigns for a few minutes, no sound in the space except for the scrape of utensils on plates and happy murmuring as they devour their food.
It’s a small thing, but Dean hasn’t felt this normal in an eternity. He glances around at his family, takes in the contented expressions on all their faces, Cas especially, and it makes him feel so good.
Yeah, it may be small, but today is most definitely a win.
- : - : - : -
Despite the high of that morning breakfast going so well, the next few days make Dean feel like he’s living on the edge of a knife blade, constantly unsure if he’s doing too much or not enough. He’s been dropping sporadic endearments into conversation and aiming the occasional comment or question to Cas, trying not to grin like an idiot when the direct attention seems to fluster the angel — but goddamn, he’s so fucking cute when he blushes.
He has to keep reminding himself to play it cool, but Cas making actual, extended eye contact with him and smiling at him on purpose is just doing things to Dean, addling his brain in a way he’d almost forgotten it could be. Direct attention from Cas feels like sunlight on his face after a lifetime in the dark and he can’t quite tear himself away.
Problem is, it’s a lot harder than he expected to keep things on a platonic level, because, let’s face it, things with Cas and him have never truly been platonic. It just feels natural to slide back into real flirting, all charming smiles and smoldering looks, something Dean might’ve gotten away with at one point, but all they serve to do now is shut Cas right the fuck down.
Once upon a time, Cas seemed completely oblivious to Dean’s flirtations, innuendo sailing over his head like everything else. Now though, Cas has had the benefit of years to understand the way Dean acts, and it’s pretty clear that he’s picking up on what Dean’s putting down. Unfortunately for Dean, Cas doesn’t seem to be receptive to it in the way that he hoped. Or at all, actually — the uneasy tension that was infrequently finding its way into Cas’s demeanor around Dean now seems more like a permanent fixture. Even though he knew there was a chance that Cas might be put off by his abrupt change in attitude, Dean’s finding it harder to not be bothered by it than he expected, regardless of Eileen’s constant reassurances.
He nearly broke down in the kitchen the other day when Cas picked up his dinner and left the room, mumbling something about not feeling very social. Eileen and Sam did their best to talk him off the ledge — Eileen had filled Sam in on the plan and he was fully on board, both for the happiness of his brother and his friend, but also for the general atmosphere of the Bunker, because, well, it hasn’t been great. At any rate, both of them agreed that Cas was always going to need some time to come around, and that even if Dean is just acting more like their old normal, his current behavior is a departure from the distance of the last few months.
Still, hard as it’s been, Dean’s really trying to not let himself get discouraged. He trusts Sam and Eileen — they’re absolutely the healthier relationship amongst the four of them, for whatever that’s worth, so he’s weighing their opinions a bit heavier than his fears. He knows the culmination of this plan is sitting Cas down to talk openly, so Dean’s holding onto hope that some of these tiny gestures are laying enough groundwork that the eventual conversation won’t feel quite so out of left field.
Just the thought of trying to approach Cas about any of this makes him feel queasy, though, so he’s pretty firmly not thinking about it. Instead, Dean decides to redirect his energies to, well, what should he call it? Is platonic wooing a thing? He so desperately wants to romantically woo Cas, like, hearts and flowers and all that jazz, but he knows he can’t keep pushing the line. For now, he’s got all that emotional shit tucked away in a box in his brain labeled “do not open” and is focusing on being Cas’s best friend again, reminding the angel that they can have fun together without any ulterior motivations.
It might kill him a little bit each time Cas purposely walks the long way around something to avoid passing by Dean directly, but it’s cool. Dean’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.
- : - : - : -
Two weekends later, Dean is making a grocery list while they’re sitting around finishing up dinner. Cas is —shockingly— sitting across from him and Dean keeps having to force himself to not stare.
Openly, at least.
Attempting to distract himself from the stubbled jaw in his direct eyeline, he swivels and addresses the table as a whole. “Hey, what do you guys think about each of us picking a meal to make this week? I can make burgers—oh, Eileen—you could make that pasta again, the vodka cream sauce was un-freaking-real,” he sighs wistfully, knowing his face has gone all dreamy. Looking up at the sound of Eileen’s laughter, Dean winks and continues. “Sam—” he rolls his eyes, “—yeah we know, kale salads—” Sam shoots him a sharp look and opens his mouth to respond, but Dean cuts him off, “—and Cas, what do you think? Maybe a DIY burrito night?”
Though it’s nowhere near the first time it’s happened, Cas still jumps slightly at being directly spoken to by Dean. He seems to be recovering from the surprise a little faster each time, and the fact that he’s sitting across from Dean on purpose is raising all kinds of green flags, so that feels a little like progress.
He looks up, his gaze focusing on Dean. “Oh, uh, yes? I mean, I’d like to have burritos, but I’m not sure if I know how to make all the fillings.”
“Yeah, no, that’s okay, I can help—I mean, we can all cook together, maybe? Could be fun?” Silence hangs in the room for a moment too long and Dean feels himself start to flounder.
Sam jumps in, Jack bless him. “I think that’s a great idea, Dean. We can teach each other our favorite recipes, like a cooking class or something. And Cas, we can all help with the burritos — it’s just the meat and rice that needs cooking, and you know how to do that.”
Cas seems to think this over. “That’s true…okay, then yes, I’d pick burritos.”
Dean meets Sam’s eye briefly, sending a mental thank-you. He’s been overwhelmed with gratitude for his brother these days, and for Eileen as well, of course. They’ve both been more helpful than Dean could’ve ever expected, though he supposes all three of them have a horse in this race on some level. Normally, he’d be pretty unhappy with so many people sticking their noses in his love life, but at this point he wants to fix things with Cas so badly that he’s clean out of dignity. He’ll take whatever help he can get.
Sam enlists Cas to help him with grocery shopping for all the ingredients later that day, and they each pick a night to take their turn as chef and instructor.
It accidentally turns out to be a blast, even beyond the hidden ‘help-Dean-and-Cas-fix-their-relationship’ agenda.
Eileen prepares a pot of her famous pasta alla vodka and a loaf of crusty homemade bread —Sam sneaks in a salad, the weasel— and they all get a little tipsy sampling the ingredients for ‘quality control’ purposes. They eat themselves full to bursting, and Dean has to force himself to not go back for a third helping, because damn, it’s just that good.
Sam, unsurprisingly, cooks up a healthy option: a chicken and quinoa bake with roasted vegetables — he does add enough cheese that Dean decides it cancels out actually eating quinoa. It’s a pretty tasty dinner, all things considered, but fat chance he’s ever mentioning that to Sam.
Dean, naturally, makes burgers — to order, because he’s a nice guy like that. Sam has his with as many veggies as will fit under the bun —lettuce, tomato, avocado, onion— and no cheese. Cas goes for a classic patty-melt style topped with ketchup and mustard. Eileen asks for the works, girl after his own heart that she is, so he makes them both a burger stacked with double patties, cheese, bacon, and a fried egg, tall enough to rival a Scooby sandwich. A pile of roasted potato wedges sits between them all family style, and the evening is full of greasy fingers and French-fry thievery.
Cas is clearly anxious when his turn to lead the class comes, but he walks them through the process of filling and rolling what he calls ‘the perfect burrito’ so sincerely, if Dean hadn’t already been full-on enamored, he would be now. Cas instructs them all in that soft but gravelly voice and with such confident hand movements, looking so pleased with himself when he displays his finished product, that Eileen has to stomp on Dean’s foot when Cas turns away for more tortillas to snap him back to reality. It’s not even till he’s two-thirds of the way through eating his own food that Dean even considers how delicious it is — lord knows he’d have eaten anything Cas handed him with a thank you and a request for seconds, regardless of quality.
All told, it’s a week full of laughter, time spent enjoying one another and shaking up their routine in a way that makes everyone happy.
It also seems to bring some balance back to their dynamic, Cas seeming more and more relaxed in Dean’s presence as time goes on. Every soft look Cas sends in his direction makes it that much harder to hold back all the things Dean wants to do and say, but he manages to limit himself to the occasional shoulder pat and intermittent ‘sunshine’, trying his best to not ruffle Cas’s metaphorical feathers unnecessarily.
The atmosphere continues on in this easy, mostly comfortable way, so when Sam and Eileen plan a date night dinner out of the Bunker, Dean takes a chance and invites Cas to watch a movie together. He ran the idea by Eileen, and she gave her blessing, so now it’s just up to Dean to not fuck it up.
To his honest surprise, Cas agrees without hesitation or caveat, and now that their first solo hangout is upon them, Dean’s almost regretting asking. He’s concerned that somehow he’s going to imply something more than friendship with his film choice, or that he’ll inadvertently slip in some flirtation that will make Cas uncomfortable. In an attempt to keep the evening as clear and straightforward as possible, he lets Cas pick the movie and snack options.
The Dean Cave has long since been upgraded with improved and additional comfort in the form of a sectional, so while the recliners are still available, they’re more like overflow seating. It’s the couch that worries Dean, because he desperately doesn’t want Cas to get the wrong idea.
Unable to figure out a solution to the intimacy of watching a movie alone in the dark on soft, comfortable furniture without it suggesting something more —despite every fiber of his being wanting to scream about how much more it really means to him— Dean resorts to panic-cleaning other parts of the Bunker, and thank goodness, because while he’s returning the crystal tumblers to their table in the library, he stumbles on an idea.
Feeling like a genius, Dean sets up a tray with all of the requested snacks and drinks on the middle couch cushion, providing a physical barrier to each other and avoiding the seating arrangement shuffle altogether. They settle in and Dean mentally pats himself on the back, musing that his setup is almost like sitting in the recliners with a table between them. He certainly doesn’t linger on any memories of the nights they used to spend in here —before the weirdness— their sides pressed close together despite a whole open couch available, fingers brushing the other’s, nearly but never quite holding hands. Definitely not.
Much to Dean’s surprise, Cas’s movie choice is Barbie. It’s a good movie honestly, though a little heavier than he expected for something so vibrantly pink and he can certainly see why it appealed to Cas. What he absorbs of the story hits home in a lot of ways but Dean finds himself distracted — he steals as many looks at Cas as he thinks he can get away with in the dim lighting, watching as the glow from the screen flickers and illuminates the familiar and beautiful features of his best friend’s face. The rest of the time, Dean does his best impression of a normal guy, not someone head-over-heels for his best friend, to apparent success and zero criticism.
The ending gives him a good laugh, both at the content and Cas’s momentary confusion, and Dean busies himself with gathering up the bowls and tray while Cas works it out. He looks up automatically when Cas turns to him, moth to the flame and all that.
He’s met with an achingly soft look and crinkled blue eyes. “Thanks for watching that with me, Dean. It was more emotional than I expected, but I enjoyed it.”
Dean can’t help the smile that overtakes him at those words, and he doesn’t really feel like trying. “No problem, Cas. I enjoyed it more than I expected I would, so thanks for suggesting it.” Pausing for a second, Dean debates whether or not to leave it there. Opting to throw caution to the wind for the moment, he continues, “Plus, I’m always happy for an excuse to hang out with you.”
Cas doesn’t respond, but his eyes go just a shade softer. It’s something a casual onlooker would likely miss, but Dean catches it, grabs ahold of it tightly, and lets the feeling of it warm him from within.
- : - : - : -
It’s been a few weeks of this, and from all perspectives, things are going reasonably well. Cas has become noticeably less alarmed by Dean’s emotional about-face and has been allowing himself to engage more fully, dropping his defensive walls more and more with each interaction. Dean’s been noticing glimmers of the old Cas periodically, and he’s been overjoyed each time he gets a glimpse.
Things have been going so well, in fact, that Sam and EIleen have decided they’re going to take a long weekend and go do some coupley shit. Sam was the one to let Dean know, telling him that they felt like Dean was physically healthy enough to be on his own now, and that neither he nor Eileen was afraid to leave Dean and Cas alone together anymore.
Dean can’t help but feel like it’s a sign, like maybe this is the right moment to try to sit Cas down and finally talk.
Not that he’s going to pounce on Cas the first moment they’re alone, but he’s certainly going to do his best to take advantage of their privacy and see if he can’t steer the conversation towards things unknown and unconfessed, if possible.
Of course, no sooner does the door the Bunker clang shut than Dean feels the itch to get things rolling take root under his skin. He manages to ignore it for about half the day, partly because he has literally no idea what to say, and partly because he’s just plain scared.
He’s fought God and the Devil and won, but he’s afraid to talk about his feelings with Castiel, angel of Thursday.
Muttering to himself in annoyance, Dean heads to the kitchen mid-afternoon in search of a beer. To his surprise, Cas is at the stove cooking something.
Heading for the fridge, Dean grabs a bottle and is just pointing it at Cas to offer him one as well when he notices —with no small amount of amazement— that he’s on the receiving end of a pretty intense look, blue eyes roaming up and down Dean appraisingly, an expression that is vaguely familiar and more than a little hot coloring the angel’s face. Dean feels like he’s frozen to the spot, not wanting to breathe for fear of interrupting whatever it is Cas is thinking — and based on the look on his face, Dean definitely wants him to keep thinking about it. Cas seems to come back to himself with a jolt, eyes snapping to Dean’s and a crimson flush spreading up his neck and cheeks.
Feeling a little speechless, Dean holds up the beer for some kind of diversion and Cas catches the movement, glancing at the beer and nodding before turning back to whatever he’s making.
Letting out a breath and trying to steady himself from…whatever that was, Dean grabs a second bottle, uncaps them both and moves towards the stove slowly, giving them both a minute to compose themselves. Handing a beer to Cas, he takes a deep swig of his own before stepping closer to peer into the frying pan.
”Grilled cheese?”
Cas nods again, seeming slightly more in control of himself than a moment ago, even if his gaze is fixed resolutely on the pan in front of him. “Yes. I find them particularly challenging to get right, considering how simple they are. But I’ve been practicing and I think I’m much improved.”
Dean smirks. “Yeah, think it’s ‘cause they're so simple that they’re tough to master — nothing fancy to hide any mistakes behind, just good ol’ bread and cheese and butter.”
Cas hums in agreement, carefully flipping the sandwich over to reveal a crunchy golden-brown crust on one side.
”Hey, nice one! That looks great.” Dean smiles for real now, suddenly so proud of how well Cas has acclimated to being human, even learning to appreciate the finer things in life, like a flawlessly-made grilled cheese sandwich.
Beaming, Cas turns to him. “Did you want this one? I can make another.”
Dean shakes his head. “Nah, this is a perfect grilled cheese, you earned it. Besides, I’m not that hungry. Had a big lunch earlier.”
He grabs a plate off the stack under the steel island and passes it to Cas, knowing the sandwich is about done. A minute later, Cas slides the crispy, gooey sandwich onto the waiting plate and slices it in half, perfectly-melted cheese oozing out between the slices of bread.
Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean beams. “It’s a work of art, man. Good job.”
He follows Cas to the table and watches with a dopey smile as Cas proceeds to eat his sandwich happily and with more than a little pride. They sit mostly in silence, just the occasional thought tossed between them as they sip their beers and Cas polishes off his food.
Things feel normal, easy, he’d even go so far as to say comfortable, so with a deep, shuddering breath, Dean opens his mouth and hopes for the best.
”So, Cas…” Dean starts, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as wobbly as he feels. “I was wondering if we could, uh…I wanted to talk, if that’s okay?
There’s a fair amount of trepidation in Cas’s response, but his words are neutral to the point of sounding rehearsed. “Oh, um, sure, Dean. What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, uh…” shit—he’s gonna make me spell this out, huh? “—okay, yeah...so, I’m pretty sure you overheard me that day in the war room, when I was arguing with Sam? About what happened in the djinn dream?” Dean sees recognition cross Cas’s face and registers the smallest of nods in response, so he barrels forward, trying to remain positive. “I’d like to tell you about it, if that’s okay?”
Picking up his beer, Cas drains the last of it and swallows, eyes focused on his empty plate. It’s a solid minute before he responds, and when their eyes meet, there’s no warmth in that blue gaze, only ice. Dean feels sick.
”If that’s what you want, then yes, I’ll listen.”
Okay, not…great. But not a no, either. Dean gulps, takes a swig of his beer, and then nods. “Right, uh, okay. So, well, basically it was a lot like our real life, like right after Chuck. But you and I, we lived in a house.”
Cas shifts, his voice laced with thinly-veiled discomfort. “Just us?”
Dean nods. “Mhm, yeah, just us. Sam and Eileen lived across town, and oh!—they had kids! Twin girls, like six years old. Man, they were something else. I can only hope they’re real someday, because those girls were fantastic. We were awesome uncles.”
He glances up at Cas, who is now sitting still, face blank, clearly waiting for Dean to get to some kind of point.
Clearing his throat, Dean continues. “Right yeah, anyway, so I just kinda woke up there one morning, uh, in bed. Um, in our bed. With you.”
Cas’s face is indecipherable and Dean falters for a minute, unsure if he should continue.
He does though, because shit—he’s already in this deep. “We um, yeah…so we lived together. And slept together. In the dream, I mean…”
Dean nearly winces at his own words, because he knows he’s hedging and it’s too vague to make any sense but he has no idea if Cas is silent because he isn’t quite picking up what Dean is putting down or if he just wants Dean to shut the hell up already.
Too long goes by without a word from either of them and Dean is on the verge of asking if Cas needs more explanation when finally Cas looks up at him, eyes a little fiery and maybe just a little hurt.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean.” His voice is low, tight, like he’s barely keeping himself together, but Dean can’t tell whether it’s because he’s angry or something else.
Dean sits back, straightening up, and lets out a breath. “Anything, man. What are you thinking right now?”
“What am I thinking?” Cas gives him a hard look at that, and yeah, oh, Dean can see the hurt now — and it’s a lot more than maybe. But why? Is the idea of being with Dean so unpleasant that he can’t even hear about it? Dean shoves that thought aside quickly, trying not to dwell on imagined hurt when there’s so much real pain in front of him.
“Yeah, I can’t really tell…I don’t know what you’re thinking most of the time anymore, Cas.” Dean tries to keep his voice even, but he feels crushingly defeated and it’s coming through, he knows it.
“Dean, just like I said last time, no part of my grace would’ve influenced your djinn dream. I’m sorry if you are still upset about the memories, but I had thought, had hoped —though I’m realizing that hope was foolish— that we were moving past this. I see now that this situation is not going to improve, so I’m just going to excuse myself.”
Dean gapes at him, almost speechless with confusion. He knows that there’ve been issues with their communication a lot of times throughout the years, but things were never this bad. Right?
Cas stands to leave and Dean is on his feet as well, reaching out, an echo of that horrible day.
“Cas, no, wait, please. Please let me finish—I’m trying to tell you that I’m not upset about this. I’m the opposite of upset, I swear. I want this, Cas.”
Cas squints at him. “I’d rather you didn’t mock me, Dean. I know this isn’t an ideal situation for either of us, but I never imagined you’d stoop to being cruel.”
He turns to leave and again, Dean just watches him go. This time, though, he isn’t shocked into paralysis. This time, Dean’s a lot closer to pissed. Not at Cas exactly, but at this whole fucked up situation. At missing his best friend, at himself for desperately wishing they were more than that, and alright fine, maybe he’s a little bit pissed at Cas for being so evasive and not telling him what the hell is going on. Would it kill him to find the decency to give Dean a goddamn clue? How badly did he unknowingly fuck up that Cas deems it necessary to treat Dean like a near-stranger?
The worst part is that Dean really was trying to be mature and cool about it all, to give Cas space and time and yadda yadda. He listened to all the advice he could take in, he tried things the slow, calm, easy way, and all it got him was a long, winding, heart-wrenching path back to where he started. So, fuck it. Starting now, he’s going for a more direct approach.
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