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Cas showed up at Dean’s apartment six minutes before midnight with a six-pack of Ad Astra under his arm and Interstellar on blu-ray.
Cas hadn’t been to his place in months, not since Christmas Eve, when he'd helped Dean bake in preparation for Sam and Jess’s holiday party. His tie was askew, suit jacket unbuttoned and shirt wrinkled. He was sporting two days of scruff and bloodshot eyes, which were unnaturally wide despite the hour—knowing Cas, he spent the last week living on energy bars and shitty burned coffee from the break room while he worked himself ragged. Dean wondered when he slept last.
He stood numb in the doorway, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Cas? What're you doing here?"
"I hate audits." Cas pushed his way into the apartment, brushing past Dean on his way to the kitchen. He set down the beer and the movie, opening a bottle against the edge of the counter. "I probably should’ve called, but I figured what the hell. It’s Friday. Did I wake you?"
"Yeah." Dean closed the door and engaged the lock, rearranging the door mat while he waited for his heart rate to settle.
Months—it’d been months without so much as a text, and now Cas was in his kitchen, looking wild and unsteady. Dean watched as he tilted his head back and guzzled, consuming the beer in just a few swallows. Flushing, he watched Cas’s throat work, the familiar way it bobbed above his collar. He rubbed the back of his neck but left a safety zone of several feet between them. Cas set the bottle down on the counter and let his head hang between his shoulders. They rose and fell with a sigh.
Dean bit his lip. "You, uh. You wanna take off your jacket?"
Cas shrugged one shoulder and opened another beer. He flung the bottle cap into the sink; it rattled to a stop in the drain. Dean silently fished it out and put it in recycling. He gestured toward the movie, abandoned on the counter with Cas’s wallet and keys.
"Heard that was good."
Cas made a noncommittal noise and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"It’s been sitting on my coffee table for a month."
"You want me to put it in?"
Cas snorted, digging a finger into his eye and rubbing hard. "Yes," he said, sounding exasperated. "Yes, Dean, I would like you to put it in."
Dean started, hand hovering just above the blu-ray case. Was that—did Cas just make a sexual reference? They’d only hooked up one time, last Christmas on Sam’s couch, but the result had been disastrous. Cas hadn’t been there when Dean woke up, and after that he stopped calling, wouldn’t make eye contact when Dean dropped by the office to visit Sam. He hadn't replied to Dean’s multitude of texts in the following weeks asking to resume their usual lunches. He'd stopped inviting Dean over after work, and Dean began packing lunch again on Thursdays. Humiliated, he'd written it off as Shit that Happens Under the Influence of Eggnog and nursed a broken heart and the loss of his best friend with a case of cheap whiskey.
He shivered at the ghost sensation of Cas’s hands underneath his shirt, the way he’d purred Dean’s name and thrust against him in the dark—finally, fucking finally—once Sam and Jess had gone to bed. Dean still jerked off to the memory.
Cas gripped the edge of the counter, like it was the only thing holding him up.
A beer was probably a good idea. Dean opened one and switched on the television to distract himself, fiddling with the blu-ray player until it spit out the disc tray. He didn’t hear Cas come up behind him, but he was suddenly in Dean’s peripheral vision. Dean jumped.
"Jesus," he snapped. "Make some noise next time."
"My apologies," Cas said, reaching for the case. He slid his fingernail underneath the plastic to ease it from the spine, then peeled it away and walked it to the trash. "This packaging is wasteful. I should've bought the digital version."
"With your internet connection, you'd be waiting all night for it to download," Dean recalled.
"I got a new router," Cas said, holding out the disc.
"Oh. Awesome." Dean put it into the player. The screen went dark as the movie loaded, and Dean tried to ignore the pang of longing.
"You want anything to eat?" he offered before sitting down.
Cas shook his head and sunk onto the couch, in the dead center. Dean sat to his left, far enough from Cas's side that they weren't touching, but not all the way to the edge. He drank his nerves, rolling the ale in his mouth—malty sweet. Cas's favorite.
God, it'd been a while since they did this.
He started the movie. Cas continued to drink. He removed his jacket ten minutes in, laying it over the arm of the couch. From the way the shirt hung loose at his waist, Dean could tell that Cas was a few pounds lighter than he remembered. They emptied the six-pack within the first half hour, neither of them saying a word. The movie was interesting but not one Dean could follow on two hours of sleep. He struggled to keep his eyes open.
Cas didn't bother to try, leaning his head back against the couch. He rubbed his temples for a while, then allowed his arms to hang limp on his lap. Dean wondered if he should offer a blanket or suggest they go to bed—they could figure things out tomorrow, and Cas looked haggard, not dissimilar to the way he had when they’d met.
Sammy'd probably kill him if he found out Dean had slept with his partner, even if they had been flirting for a year and Dean’s interest had gone from idle crush to fucking heart eyes. But Cas wasn't like the assholes Sam typically associated with, the ones who didn't give Dean the time of day 'cause he was a grease monkey with perpetual black around his fingernails and a literal blue collar. Cas had never once talked down to him, never made a dig about Dean's lack of formal education—he went out of his way to compliment Dean’s mechanical skills. He was a couple years older, successful, and (Dean suspected) lonely.
He lived in a converted loft apartment about a half mile off Massachusetts. Dean had dropped him off when Cas’s Lincoln was in the shop last February. The apartment was upscale but sterile—no photographs, few personal items, no sign of a second resident. Cas didn't even keep a fish. But Dean liked the way the place smelled: fresh and grassy, like the candles Cas said he lit to help him sleep.
They'd had coffee and bullshitted for an hour. Cas laughed, really laughed—a gorgeous and addictive sound. When Dean left, he had Cas’s number in his phone.
Cas had messaged him several times a day, things like, "Did you know the Incas domesticated guinea pigs 3,000 years ago?" and "Your brother needs to eat something other than salad occasionally" with an accompanying picture of a moose-sized tub of romaine. Dean sent back pictures of the cars he worked on. When he’d swung by the office to take Sam for lunch in early spring, Cas had been leaning over Sam’s desk, scrutinizing paperwork. His tie was on backwards. On a whim, Dean had invited him along for lunch. Cas blinked in surprise but agreed. They’d eaten twin burgers while Sam mowed down a lettuce field, and knocked elbows in the booth.
After that, they'd grabbed lunch together most Thursdays, settling on a diner two-and-a-half miles from Winchester Auto. It was within walking distance from the law office and claimed "the finest pie" in Lawrence. (Cas insisted Dean’s was better, but this was damned good—for four dollars a slice, it’d better be.) They'd taken turns paying, until neither of them could remember who paid last. Thursday became Dean’s favorite day of the week.
Their lunches dragged out, sometimes lasting an hour, hour and a half. Bobby stopped ordering Dean back to work after three months. His focus improved, allowing him to complete jobs faster and with fewer mistakes. He slept better and even took up jogging.
"So, you and Cas sure are spending a lot of time together," Sam had commented as he and Dean manned the grill last Fourth of July. Sam had on an apron that said "Caution: Extremely Hot" and wielded tongs like a weapon.
Dean shrugged. "Cas is a cool guy," he dismissed.
"Yeah, he’s great. Are you two, uh…?"
"What?" Dean snapped, sure his face was flame red. "No."
Sam held up his hands. "I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just, if this is some experiment for you and it goes south, it could cause a lot of problems for me."
"He’s a friend, Sammy. Alright?"
"I don’t want him getting hurt."
"You think I do?"
Sam had given him A Look, so Dean scowled and went to find Cas. He was skimming from the dessert spread despite Jess’s warnings that no one was to touch a thing until after dinner. They stole a cherry pie and ate the whole thing with a pair of forks, grinning at each other on Baby’s hood. Cas appeared more rested than usual, his eyes clear and bright. Maybe it was the t-shirt and jeans instead of his usual suit, but he looked younger and, shit, Dean thought as he studied his mouth, really damn attractive.
Cas had become an easy addition to his life. They’d caught movies over the summer and had dinner a handful of times into the fall, when Cas’s schedule prevented him from leaving the office for lunch. He’d picked Dean up in his Lincoln and they sat across from one another in a swanky booth, swapping family stories over truffle fries. Cas’s eyes had crinkled when he laughed, and when he’d put a hand on Dean’s back as they passed through the door, Dean’s heart had stuttered.
On a rainy October evening, they’d ordered Thai and watched a movie at Cas’s place, slumped comfortably against each other by the time the credits rolled. Cas had angled his head toward Dean and looked at him for a long time. His expression had been guarded but soft. Dean had never considered the color of Cas's eyes, like a cloudless sky. He'd heard every breath that Cas took, positive Cas was going to kiss him, positive he wanted him to do it. The swell of emotion washing over him had been happiness. Blood roaring in his ears, Dean’s gaze had flickered to Cas’s lips. He'd licked his own in anticipation.
The rain had increased outside, striking the roof so loudly it drowned the usual rush of cars in the street below, and the way time stilled, he would've sworn they were the only people on Earth. Cas raised a hand, like he might bring it to cup Dean’s face or stroke his hair, but he’d aborted the movement when the wind blew a sheet of rain against the window, curling his fingers into his palm.
"It's late. Do you..." Cas had dropped his eyes. "Are you okay to drive?"
Dean had frowned, swallowing his disappointment.
"Yeah. Thanks for dinner."
He’d stepped in a puddle on the way out of the building and took his frustration out on the steering wheel.
When Cas had fit his mouth to Dean’s on Christmas, it was like something had inevitably drawn them together—a connection that was profound. Cosmic.
Except for the two times Dean called Sam’s office after hours and got Cas instead of their secretary, they hadn't spoken since.
But something made Cas come here tonight, months later, frustrated and strung-out on caffeine, to seek solace on Dean's couch. If it was friendship Cas wanted, Dean could give it to him. The rest—well, he’d already lived without it. He got a blanket from the closet and laid it across Cas's lap.
The next thing he knew, Matthew McConaughey was navigating a tesseract, like something outta 2001, and Cas was asleep on his shoulder.
Dean's chest was tight with emotion. He sat still, trying to piece together what the hell was going on in the movie, afraid to move for fear of waking Cas. If Dean got up, Cas might leave, and it might be another four months before they talked again—if they talked again. He carefully reached for the remote and stopped the movie, letting his head rest against Cas's in return. He'd just close his eyes for a little while and catch a few winks while Cas snoozed.
Did he have eggs? Yeah—he could make something for breakfast, talk Cas into staying for a while so they could work things out. He looked like he could use a good meal, and Dean prided himself on being one helluva cook.
His right arm was numb where it was trapped between them; the blu-ray’s timestamp revealed they’d been asleep for nearly two hours. Dean managed to work his arm free without disturbing Cas. He rested it over Cas’s shoulders. Cas grunted but didn't wake fully, turning into Dean and fisting both hands in his shirt.
"You smell good," he complimented, voice slurry. Dean took a deep breath.
"Yeah," he said, strained. "You too."
Within seconds Cas was asleep again, exhaling against Dean's shoulder, and all Dean could do was lie helplessly and inhale honey and lavender.
He woke up alone.
The disappointment dropped in his stomach like a rock and he almost threw a fist into the couch; but he heard the toilet flush, a faucet running, the soft brush of socked feet over his floor. Cas came back to the living room and settled a few inches away, tugging the blanket over both of them.
"Hey," Dean said. They’d never said hello.
"Hey." Cas’s earlier brashness was absent.
"Look. I don't, uh." Dean took a breath and gestured toward the bedroom. "My bed's a lot bigger."
Cas held Dean’s gaze for a beat. "This is somewhat uncomfortable."
"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "Come on."
"Thank you," Cas mumbled. He rubbed his eyes and stood, offering a hand.
Dean guided him through the dark apartment by his fingertips. Cas stripped off his tie and his dress shirt; they slithered to the bedroom floor with his pants and socks. Dean pulled off the t-shirt he'd thrown on when he heard the knock at the door, opting for just boxers. His heart pounded when Cas crawled into the bed beside him.
"This," Cas groaned, adjusting a pillow between his neck and shoulder. "This is much better."
"Memory foam," Dean grinned.
"It's more comfortable than mine."
"Cas?"
"Yes?"
"Not that I mind, but, uh. How come you came here? It’s been a while since we...hung out."
Cas rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Dean caught the glint of his eyes as he spoke.
"I don't know." He laughed hollowly. "I was sitting alone in my living room staring at a blank TV, and it hit me that I was totally fucking miserable."
Dean didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
"I have a good life," Cas continued. "I'm reasonably successful, even compared with my siblings."
"Tall order."
Cas focused his gaze on a far-off point, like he was watching stars. "I miss you," he murmured. "I miss you so much. I can’t get you out of my head."
Dean cringed at the sting in his eyes.
"How come you never called?" he asked, embarrassed when his voice cracked. "Or wrote? I texted you every day for a month."
"Because I'm an idiot," Cas confessed, wiping his eyes. "I kept all of your messages."
"Oh."
"I thought..." Cas cleared his throat. "Actually, I was hoping the lunch offer was still good."
Dean swallowed. "Sure, yeah." He steeled himself, then continued, "Cas, about what happened at Sam’s..."
"We were drunk," Cas interrupted, toneless. "I’m sorry I took advantage of that. If I could take it back, I would."
"What?" Dean, incredulous, pushed up on an elbow. "Cas, no, I—that was one of the best nights of my life."
Cas looked at him, stunned.
"You never seemed interested in taking things further."
"Neither did you."
They stared at each other for a long time before Cas pursed his lips and brought his hand to Dean's face—a tentative brush of fingers along his jaw, as if he expected Dean to recoil.
"I watched you sleep," he murmured, tracing his cheekbone. "At Sam's. Before I left."
"That’s pretty creepy," Dean whispered, beaming. He leaned into Cas’s hand.
"Probably." Cas stroked his thumb across Dean’s lower lip. "There were so many times I thought about kissing you."
"Yeah?"
"I didn’t think that’s what you wanted. And then at Sam’s, I thought I’d ruined everything and I couldn’t…" He paused to take a breath. "I didn't want to hear you say it had been a mistake."
"Jesus," Dean said, turning his face into Cas’s palm. "Is that why you avoided me when I came to your office?"
Cas nodded. "I felt foolish for behaving the way I did. I wasn’t sure you’d forgive me—frankly, I wasn’t sure I deserved it. I tried to get over you. Unsuccessfully, I might add."
"Y’know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty stupid," Dean observed.
"I'm so sorry."
"Good."
"I'd like to kiss you," Cas whispered, "and then I'd like to sleep. Is that alright?"
Dean answered him by leaning in. The kiss was tender and soft, utterly different from their frenzied scramble in Sam's living room. Cas tasted how Dean remembered, like the beeswax chapstick he preferred. His stubble created friction against Dean's cheek and upper lip, but their movements were slow, almost chaste. Dean kissed Cas until he was smiling.
"Hey, serious question," Dean whispered.
"Hm?"
"How do you like your eggs?"
Cas laughed and kissed him with enthusiasm.
"Scrambled," he said.
"Toast?"
"Yes."
"Bacon?"
"Crispy."
"You better be here when I wake up," Dean mumbled, returning his head to the pillow. Cas wrapped a hand around his and squeezed. Two breaths and he was out.
Dean opened his eyes before the alarm, which he switched off so Cas could sleep in. Cas was facing away from him, naked to the waist and snoring lightly into his pillow. He hadn’t left. Dean was giddy just staring at him. Cas's hair was a mess, sticking up in several places, but he was out cold. He didn't move when Dean got up and dropped a kiss to his cheek. He rummaged through his drawers in the dark, taking out khakis and a red shirt, then padded to the bathroom to get changed.
Dean skipped the shower, opting to wash up with a cloth and brush his teeth. He'd grab a shower once Cas left, or, if he was lucky, while Cas was still here.
It wasn't quite seven. He'd been asleep for a couple hours before Cas showed up, so he was rested enough for the day. He made a pot of coffee, leaving it on warm while he settled into a nest of throw pillows and switched the movie back on.
The plot made more sense in the daylight, though he found himself scratching his head at a couple points. He'd never been a McConaughey fan, but you know what? He didn't mind him in this.
A little before nine, his stomach started to growl, so he began making breakfast. He ran through the shop's work orders while he cracked and whisked the eggs—they had a Gremlin in for a window issue, a couple scheduled oil changes, and Baby needed new tires. He could kill another couple hours here, then head in early afternoon, work a partial shift, and meet Cas for dinner.
The eggs sizzled in the frying pan. Dean broke them up with a spatula, working them over the surface to cook through when his computer chimed. He accepted the call from Sam, whose smiling face filled the screen. His hair was stuck to his forehead and he wore a v-neck shirt, probably just back from a run.
"Morning," Dean greeted.
"Hey, Dean. Jess wanted to know if you can make it for dinner tonight."
"Uh," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder to the bedroom door. He couldn't bring Cas to Sam's, not yet, but if he accepted he'd have to postpone his plans. Of course, Cas could always come over later.
"Dean?" Sam prompted.
"Huh?"
"Dinner?"
"Oh," Dean said, frowning. He nodded as he flipped the eggs over and broke them up with the edge of the spatula. "Yeah. That sounds great. What time?"
"Seven-thirty. That okay?"
"Seven-thirty's great. You need me to bring anything?"
"Jess has been craving your apple pie. Do you have any frozen?"
"Sure," Dean said, making a mental note to pull one out of the freezer. "How’s work going?"
"It’s work." Sam shrugged and yawned simultaneously. "We just wrapped that audit, thank god. Cas has been pretty strung out over it."
"Oh, yeah?" Dean looked away from the screen, to the pan, and tipped the eggs onto a plate. He turned up the heat.
"Yeah, not sure what’s going on with him. He’s always intense, but he’s not himself lately. I think he needs a vacation."
"He needs to get laid," Dean grinned without thinking, reaching for the bacon.
"What?"
"What?"
"You said something," Sam accused.
"Just thinking out loud," Dean lied, making a show of separating the strips. He laid them side-by-side in the pan and stepped back to avoid the grease splatter as the bacon began to sizzle. "How’s Jess doing?"
"The heat’s starting to bother her. She’s got the A/C cranked up so high in the bedroom it’s like sleeping with a penguin."
"You gotta let me know when you want to paint the nursery."
"She nixed your black and white idea," Sam told him. "She said the color palette has to be soothing."
"There’s always your guest room." Dean got out the tongs and adjusted the bacon in the pan, separating the fatty bits where they stuck together.
"If you like decorating so much, why don’t you buy a house?"
"Waste of space for just one guy," Dean shot back.
In the other room, Cas yawned against the rustle of sheets. Dean held his breath until he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, buying him a couple minutes.
"How’s work?" Sam asked, clearly in no rush to hang up.
"No complaints," Dean reported. "Bobby runs a tight ship."
"Are you going in today?"
"In a while. Schedule’s not that full. Figured I could sleep in—I’m gonna eat in a second."
The toilet flushed, and Dean swallowed. Hard.
"If you think of anything else you need for tonight, let me know, otherwise I’ll see you at seven-thirty."
"Yeah, I will. Oh, hey—did you get Jess’s email?"
"She sends me at least five emails a day, Sammy." A drawer opened and closed. "Last one was a bunch of camouflaged animals."
"Well, this one was about the baby shower. She’s wondering if you can help transport stuff to the restaurant."
"Yeah, no problem," Dean blurted just as his bedroom door creaked open and Cas, shirtless and wearing a pair of borrowed pajama pants, walked through it in full view of the camera.
"Morning." Cas’s voice was gravelly with sleep. He dropped a lazy kiss on Dean’s neck and shuffled purposefully toward the coffee, oblivious to the scene he’d interrupted. On screen, Sam’s mouth hung open.
"Something you want to tell me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cas was the one who jumped this time, spinning around with wide eyes focused on the laptop. "Sam?" he exclaimed. Coffee sloshed over the side of his mug and onto the floor.
"Nope!" Dean said, his face burning, "See you at seven-thirty!" and slapped the laptop closed.
"I—" Cas began. He tore a paper towel from the roll and mopped up the mess on the floor, then slumped against the counter. "Dean, I’m sorry," he said into his hands. "I thought I heard you talking to someone, but I didn’t realize it was a video chat."
"It’s fine." It probably wasn’t fine. Maybe it was fine. Dean bit his lip.
Cas took a breath and nodded toward the door. "Do you want me to go?"
"What? No," Dean snapped, angry that Cas would even suggest it, not when they were finally in the same room. "You’re gonna sit your ass down and you’re gonna eat. I can see your damned ribs. When’s the last time you ate something that didn’t come pre-packaged?"
Cas squinted as he thought.
"I had takeout last week."
Dean glowered. "Let me rephrase: when’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?"
Cas, momentarily quiet, looked at him pointedly. "Christmas," he said, a little melancholy. "You make wonderful pie."
Dean blushed and came to him, hesitating before resting his hands on Cas’s bare hips. Cas watched him. Dean stared into his eyes—boundless, infinite. He caught Cas's mouth.
In his pocket, his cell signalled an incoming call that Dean ignored as he kissed Cas delirious.
"You taste minty," he whispered, dizzy.
"I borrowed your toothpaste," Cas confessed. "And I found a new toothbrush in the cabinet. I hope that’s alright."
"Fine."
"I thought that I could leave it here."
It hit him at once, what that meant, like the sun going supernova in his chest. "Yeah," he said, breathless. "Yeah, okay."
His cell rang again. He endured two calls and a string of text inquiries, looping his arms around Cas’s neck and kissing him hard, before he took the phone out and silenced it. He removed the bacon from the heat and pressed the strips between paper towels to absorb excess grease. Cas fit himself to Dean’s back and watched over his shoulder.
"Do you want me to talk to Sam?" he offered, massaging Dean’s lower back.
Dean shook his head and switched off the stove. "I’m having dinner with them tonight." He swayed into Cas’s hands.
"Can I see you later?"
"You’d better." He grinned at Cas over his shoulder, but it faded into something more heartfelt, tinged by the anxiety and the depression Cas’s rejection had cost. "Christ, I missed you."
Abandoned on the counter last night, Cas's phone began to ring. He stepped away to answer but sent the call to voicemail.
"Three guesses who that was," he said, raking a hand through his hair.
Dean snorted and got out a couple plates. "He’s persistent." He rubbed at a kink in his neck only to have Cas's hand replace his, and Cas's mouth replace his fingertips.
"Very."
"Is this gonna fuck up things for you at work?"
"I don’t know," Cas said honestly.
"We should eat," Dean added, though he tilted his head to the side and made no move to fill their plates. Cas kissed from the nape of his neck to his ear, hands flirting with the waistband of Dean's pants.
"Probably," he hummed as he untied them.
The eggs ended up going cold.