ANYTHING THAT'S FIT TO FIC

“Sit back, ‘cause this is gonna take a while.” Cas fixes him with those big blue eyes and pushes on Dean’s chest, guiding him to settle into the cushions piled up on the bed. The room is filled with flickering light; Cas must’ve lit like a hundred candles. There’s so many of them that the room is warmer than usual, which is handy because they’re both naked.

Once Dean is comfortably nestled, Cas leans forward and gives him a soft kiss. Dean can never get his fill of this – Cas’s soft, pink lips on his. In his younger days, his hook-up days, he felt like there were never enough kisses. It’s different with Cas. They’ll make out for hours sometimes, until their mouths are sore and their lips are crimson.

Today, Cas has different plans. He gives Dean just a taste of his tongue before he moves on. Dean could feel disappointed about that, except that Cas moves on to that spot below his ear that always sends shivers down his body. He groans, and brings his hands up to Cas’s hair, holding him gently in place. In return, Cas grasps his hips and guides him into motion, rocking their soft cocks together at a slow pace.

Cas trails a line of kisses down his throat and across his collarbone. Then he latches on to one of Dean’s nipples and suckles.

“Ohh yeah,” Dean moans. His nips are so fucking sensitive, and Cas knows exactly how to use that to his advantage. In no time, Dean’s cock is hard and starting to leak, and he can feel Cas firming up against him in turn.

Cas spends an excruciating amount of time teasing Dean’s nipples. Dean is flushed all over, fine tremors wracking through him. As his patience nears its limits, he gives his boyfriend’s head a little nudge southwards. He’s gratified by the easy way Cas moves down the bed in response.

Cas’s mouth never leaves his skin as he glides from Dean’s chest down his soft tummy. He drops soft pecking kisses along his treasure trail, and one right on the head of Dean’s cock. He looks up then, and catches Dean’s eye. With a wink and a smirk, he opens his mouth wide and sinks down to the root of Dean’s dick in one graceful movement.

Dean is surrounded by soft, wet heat, and as always, it’s a transformative experience. Despite appearances, Dean Winchester has poetry in his soul, and he could write an epic about this moment. Well, he could if his brain weren’t currently being sucked out of the end of his dick.

Cas pulls out all the stops, taking Dean deep into his throat and swallowing around him again and again. It’s mind-blowingly good, but it’s not how Dean wants to get off tonight. He luxuriates in the sensations for a while, but before he gets too near to the edge he gives Cas a little tug.

“C'mere,” he pants. “Kiss me.”

As usual, Cas goes where Dean leads. He replaces his mouth with his hand, stroking both of them together as he recaptures Dean’s lips with his.

They’re both close now, hard and wet against each other in Cas’s fist. Cas is jacking him perfectly, but Dean’s focus is their mouths, the contrast between the filthy twist of Cas’s wrist and the delicacy of their tangling tongues. He pulls back, puts a little space between them, and looks Dean in the eyes again. He plants one more soft, chaste kiss on Dean’s lips, and Dean would deny it under oath but that’s what brings him over. He feels himself peak and spill, and he feels Cas follow him over the edge.

They hold each other close as their breathing slows and their hearts sync in a placid rhythm. Cas grins at him.

“Sap,” he says.

“Shut up,” Dean retorts. “I just really love you, okay?”

Dean and a kitten battling over Cas’  love for @theabsolutemagicpotato based on this artwork and what you said would be Dean’s thoughts about the picture they make :D (note: Cas named his cat Galadriel because he thought Dean would appreciate it and also because the -el makes it sound like she’s one of his kin:)

She was back again. Perched by Cas’ side while the angel tapped away on his laptop in deep concentration. She was getting comfortable too, rubbing her head against Cas’ thigh, every move aimed at mocking Dean, he was sure.

Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to come up with a way how to proceed even as she purred. One eye snapped open, and Dean swore she was staring right at him, watching Dean’s every reaction and relishing in his pain before she rose and climbed right into Cas’ lap.

Dean was seething.

“Hello, little cuddlebug. What is up?” Cas cooed to her. And the cat purred louder and Cas scratched her on the head and Dean felt a horrible sense of wrongness because that was his place, right there on Cas’ lap. That should be his head being pet. Not that he needed to be pampered like a.. like a kitten! But still. That place on Cas’ lap looked nice and like it had Dean’s name written on it, meaning he had more rights to it than that stupid cat. He was Cas’ boyfriend after all. Hell, he should just speak out and claim his right (after asking nicely, because that was still Cas’ lap, even if Dean’s name was written on it and anyway, he wasn’t as rude as that cat because he’d wait for Cas to finish whatever he was doing on his laptop before he’d interrupt with some Dean-time).

Many things about being human are fascinating and enjoyable, but perhaps the most enjoyable thing, for Castiel at least, is the clothes. Dean’s clothes, especially.

He’s been human for a few months now, and despite both Winchesters buying him clothes they think he’ll like, more often than not they find him in Dean’s clothes. Usually a pair of jeans just a bit too tight on him and one of Dean’s soft, cotton band shirts. At first, Dean had grumbled about his clothes disappearing, but his eyes always lingered on Castiel just a little bit longer than normal. He and Dean basically share a wardrobe now, though Cas has a few jeans of his own that actually fit him.

“Why my clothes?” Dean asks one morning as he sets a mug of coffee on the table in front of Castiel. This is the question Cas has been dreading, so he takes a sip of his coffee as he tries to think of an answer that won’t give things away.

“Your clothes are comfortable,” he settles on, shrugging. “They’re worn-in, and much softer than anything I’ve found in a store.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him and even though he can’t hear Dean’s thoughts anymore, he knows the next question Dean’s going to ask. “Yeah, but why my clothes? Sam’s got worn-in clothes, and we’ve taken you to more than a few thrift shops.”

Cas shrugs, but Dean’s clearly not going to take that as an answer, if his lingering stare is anything to go by. With a sigh, Cas mumbles into his mug, “cotton absorbs smells, and your shirts smell like home.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, and Cas is hoping above anything else that Dean didn’t manage to hear him.

He winces when the sound of Dean’s chair scraping against the concrete fills the silence of the room. Before he can come up with an excuse, Dean’s kneeling next to him.

“Cas, look at me. Please?”

With a reluctant sigh, he sets his mug on the table and turns his gaze to Dean. He’s… smiling.

“Smells like home, huh?”

Cas blushes and turns his face away, though Dean’s hand finds its way to Cas’s jaw and turns his face back.

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

Confused, Cas tilts his head at the hunter. “What do you mean?”

Dean chuckles and in one fluid movement he’s perched on the table in front of Castiel. “If I’d known you felt that way, I would’ve done this way sooner.”

In the space of a single breath, Dean’s lips are covering his and it feels like his heart has lept out of his chest. After a moment’s hesitation, he sits up and kisses Dean back, dazed when Dean pulls away. “What was that for?”

Dean has made a joke about Sam’s hair, so nothing new under the sun. Sam is looking at him, with his bitchface n° 10, thinking that it’s too early in the morning for this kind of thing, even of it is already lunchtime, while he slids in front of them in the other side of the booth. Cas rolls his eyes at Dean fondly.

“Dean, leave Sam alone, you are terrible.” There is no real heat behind his words just fond amusement.

“Thanks Cas.”

“Yes, I am.” Dean says at the same time, pointing at Cas with one of his fries. Cas stares at the chip like it has personally aggravated him. “But you love me.” He takes more fries from the plate and chews on them, waggling his eyebrows at Cas, he suddenly stops though, swallowing down the food forcefully. Before he can freak out or add something, say it was a joke, run away before this can get awkward, Cas pats his cheek softly.

“Yes I love you, I love you very much.” And this is the first time Cas has said those three words to him.

He knew, of course, because he had seen this soft, loving and warm look in Cas’ eyes before, at the little silly gestures Dean does for him, when he takes care of him, when he feels understood, when they kiss or share a single intimate touch. Sam is staring at them, he would make a joke, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, and it’s quite funny to see his brother flushed and gaping at Cas like a fish, luckily he gets to see it a lot of times nowadays, because Cas just loves going around leaving Dean speachless.

Dean never thought this is how it was going to happen, because, yeah, he has always thought about how the perfect moment to say those three words to Cas would be, he has daydreamed about it, looking for the right chance. Maybe in bed one morning sharing lazy kisses, tangled and comfy under the covers, neither of them ready to get up just yet; or maybe watching the stars from the hood of the impala.

Knowing them and their life he always thought it was going to be something epic too, like out of a movie, just both of them in the throes of the battle, blades in hand, fighting side by side, saying those words in case they wouldn’t have the chance to say them later.

But never like this.

He couldn’t love it more, he has to be honest, because it couldn’t be more special, and easy, it feels right, just them, here with him the two persons he loves most in world; in the road back home, in this small diner, the ding from the bell coming from the door every time someone enters , the usual truck passing by outside and the noise of other people’s conversations in the background. Just them, having lunch, joking, without a worry in the horizon. He wouldn’t change it, he wouldn’t change this moment for anything, not a single detail, not a single second of it.

Cas’ hand covers his cheek, bringing him back to reality, he doesn’t know for how long he has been trying to wrap his head around Cas telling him he loves him, Cas is looking at him intensely, expectantly, and even if it isn’t clear in his eyes, Dean knows him well, he can see the tiny spark of doubt there, what if it was a simple joke? What if he was too bold this time around and Dean wasn’t ready to hear those words?

Dean is quick to react once he sees Cas is waiting for something, anything, he nuzzles into Cas’ touch.

“I love you too, Cas.” And he thought it wouldn’t be easy for him to say it, but the words are out of his mouth, as natural as breathing for him, without thinking twice, he feels good, he smiles brightly before moving forwards, capturing Cas’ lips in a brief, sweet kiss.

“Awww.”

“Sam, shut up.” He throws another one of the fries of his plate in his brother’s direction, his gaze not moving from Cas’ face, he smiles smugly when Sam curses, muttering something about getting grease in his hair. Cas shakes his head, kissing him again.

“Eat your food, come on, and behave.” He says against his lips. Dean laughs at that and kisses him one more time before letting him go and turning his attention to his burguer, giving Sam a warning look in the process, he can feel Cas’ eyes trained on his face, the happiness radiating out of him, one of his hands settling over his knee, his body pressed close against Dean’s side. Dean gives him a quick look, smiling at him and shouldering him playfully.

(Fic is also on ao3)

This life Dean has now, he never would’ve been able to imagine it.

They still hunt, of course. But now they have a network of experienced hunters at their fingertips. Instead of hightailing it to South Carolina to track down what might be a wraith, they can make a few phone calls and let another team in the area handle it. Sam, Dean, and Cas usually volunteer for anything within a hundred miles, so there’s still a lot of time on the road, but Dean finds that it’s different when you have a home to go back to. There’s downtime, usually a week or so in between cases, so Dean can watch TV, cook homemade meals, reread Vonnegut novels, listen to records in his room, touch up chipped paint on the Impala. It’s just the right amount of normal, a halfway point he never knew existed.

Sam spends most of his free time in the bunker’s library and archives, helping other hunters via phone and email with research on particularly difficult cases. He’s revamped the Men of Letters index system, and needs only consult a massive spreadsheet to find cross-referenced material for any given question a hunter might have. As an older brother, Dean really wants to be embarrassed by this level of nerdiness, but he’s mostly impressed. Besides, it seems to be fulfilling for Sam in a way that hunting itself never was.

And there’s Cas. He’s not a powered-up angel anymore, but he’s not fully human either. He still wears his holy tax accountant outfit most of the time, except to sleep, which he’s been doing more and more for the past year. At first, the sleeping was incredibly concerning to Dean, but Cas assured him that he wasn’t sick – his grace had just dimmed slightly from being on earth for so many years. “I’ve been away from heaven for a long time,” Cas said. “If I returned, maybe my grace would regenerate, but that could take years. Maybe longer. And I would much rather stay here with you.”

Dean still can’t pinpoint exactly when everything shifted into place between them. It had been happening for a long time.

He feels a little guilty sometimes. For millions of years Cas was an angel, and Dean doesn’t want to be the reason for the loss of that identity. There are certain things about Cas that are the same – he’s philosophical, caring, protective, moody, and stubborn as ever. But now that they’re not busy saving the world every other day, Cas has time to build a more human identity for himself, complete with finer details, and Dean gets to witness it all.

Cas still doesn’t need to eat, but he’s decided he likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, neapolitan ice cream, and sushi. He’ll try almost anything, though, and seems content to pick off Dean’s plate, even when it’s the same old bacon cheeseburger and fries. He’ll happily listen to any music Dean recommends, and seems to somewhat enjoy Physical Graffiti, but when left to his own devices he has far mellower taste. For Christmas last year, Dean bought him a few cassette tapes of artists he seemed to like – Don McLean, John Denver, Simon and Garfunkel. It’s not stuff that Dean would listen to on his own, but he often lets Cas choose the music in the Impala, much to Sam’s indignation.

Dean has learned other things about Cas, too.

Cas likes to sleep naked. He usually ends up curled around Dean, with their legs tangled together. He talks in his sleep, and some nights Dean wakes to hot breath on his neck and the low hum of Cas’ voice as he murmurs something unintelligible. Before they shared the room, Dean slept with a wool blanket, but Cas runs hot, and their combined body heat has rendered blankets unnecessary for most of the year.

When they have no plans for the day, Cas likes to keep him in bed as long as possible, and isn’t afraid to tempt Dean with a nip to his earlobe or a slow, lazy grind against his ass. Not that he needs much tempting. Dean can’t help feeling mortified at the needy sounds Cas can pull from him, the sighs and gasps and moans. But in these moments Cas always looks at him with an expression of untempered devotion, and under his hands Dean has learned to let go.

One of the earlier times, Cas was so tender with him that Dean actually cried. It was the cascade of praise whispered directly into his ear – You feel so good. Dean. Beloved. – combined with the overwhelming realization that Cas meant it, all of it. These words weren’t manufactured for the moment. They were sincere on a scale that Dean had never experienced, and his soul seemed to cave in under their weight. Cas, of course, paused to ask if he was okay. Dean just kissed him, hard, and that must have been answer enough for Cas, because he resumed the gentle rocking of his hips and kissed him back.

Sometimes it’s like that – careful, sappy. Sometimes it’s rough, Cas riding Dean hard with a hand around his throat, just on the verge of too much pressure, an almost feral growl, white knuckles and the harsh scrape of teeth. Dean isn’t afraid, even when Cas pins his wrists above his head, even when the lamp on the nightstand flickers and pops from a surge of residual grace. Considering all the horrific violence in his daily life, and all the people he’s hurt, Dean never expected to enjoy this kind of sex. But with Cas it feels right. It feels right to leave marks on each other out of love rather than rage.

As mind blowing as the sex is, it’s not even Dean’s favorite part. It’s the quieter moments that really get him, like putting his arm around Cas when they’re watching movies on the couch, or the warm, amused look on Cas’ face when Dean inadvertently lets a pet name slip (Be careful, babe). It’s the easy confidence with which Cas takes his hand, even when Sam is watching (Dean’s working on getting used to that part). Or the way Cas recounts his dreams, no matter how mundane, over coffee in the morning, ever fascinated by the complexity of his now part-human subconscious. It’s the methodical press of Cas’ hands against Dean’s sore shoulders after a strenuous hunt, and the obvious fondness in the way Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s jokes.

Castiel felt the words as they were whispered into the back of his neck, pulling him from the pleasant daze of being half-asleep.

He shifted, craning his neck to try and see Dean as he curled around Castiel from behind.

“Oh,” Dean breathed, his voice hitching, “M’sorry. Thought you were asleep.”

“Delilah?” Castiel questioned, his brain still sleep-addled, so he wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “Who’s Delilah?”

“Nothin’.” Dean’s forehead pressed against the base of Castiel’s neck and his arms wrapped tighter around Castiel’s stomach. “Sorry - it was just - dumb.”

Castiel frowned and turned over in their bed, ignoring Dean’s small protests as he moved to face him, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression in the dark to get some sort of indication of his mood.

Dean ducked his head.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel reached out and gently reached for Dean’s hand, squeezing it once.

“It’s not - it’s stupid. You should be sleeping and -”

“Dean.” Castiel said softly, but firmly. “Whatever this is, it’s clearly bothering you, so it’s not stupid. What’s on your mind?”

Castiel waited, counting Dean’s breaths.

“So… you know the bible?”

“I’m vaguely familiar, yes.”

“Right. Duh. Yeah. So, I was reading it, right? For research. And there’s this story of a guy named Samson. He’s super strong and super powerful, but if he wants to stay that way, he can never cut his hair.”

Castiel knows every biblical story backwards and forwards, and he’d even been involved in a few of them as they unfolded, but he didn’t interrupt, just hummed to show he understood.

“Then one day, Samson meets a woman named Delilah, and he… falls in love with her. He falls for her so hard that he can’t see she’s going to be his downfall.”

Dean’s voice gets even quieter.

“And Delilah tricks him, and cuts his hair while he’s asleep. Samson loses all of his power, and gets captured. Because of her, he’s no longer this powerful guy. He would have been better off if he’d never even met her, you know? He would stayed super strong, and feared and -”

“- and you think that you’re the Delilah to my Samson.” Castiel finished, propping himself up on an elbow.

Dean said nothing - and spoke volumes.

“Dean, I may not be an angel anymore,” Castiel murmured, rubbing a thumb along the palm of Dean’s hand, “but that’s not your fault.”

“Feels like it.”

“Delilah was bribed by the Philistines to find out the secret to Samson’s strength so that they could capture him. No offense to Samson, but he lied to her several times only to find out that she had tried those techniques during the night, and still decided to tell her the truth. I never met him, but given those facts, I don’t think Samson was the brightest candle under the bushel.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and looked up at Castiel for the first time since they’d started speaking.

“I understand where you’re seeing the parallels, Dean, but there’s one big difference.”

“What’s that?”

Castiel leaned in a pressed a soft kiss against Dean’s forehead.

“I cut my own hair. I clipped my own wings. And I’d do it again -”

A kiss on his cheek.

“- and again -”

A kiss on his lips.

“- and again -”

Dean let out a soft sigh as he melted against the kiss, and pulled away, looking a little less weighed down than before.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel let his head fall back down onto the pillow and let out a long breath as Dean tucked himself closer.

“So, do you think Sam would lose all of his power if we cut his hair while he slept?” Dean asked.

Castiel quirked a smile.

Dean doesn’t think too much about, it’s just as natural as breathing for him, the moment his eyes meet Cas’ he knows what Cas wants to say, what he is feeling, if he is amused, bored, tired or angry, if he wants to tell Dean he loves him, or if he is waiting for a kiss or a hug. If he needs a break or if he is ready to grasp Dean’s hand and follow for another adventure.

They just need a single look to know if the answer to a plan is a no or a yes, if something they said was the right or the wrong thing to say. A warning or an encouraging push towards the right direction.

He doesn’t think is weird, he thinks it’s nice actually. They just have known the other for so long, they are best friends, he knows Cas by now as well as he knows him, he knows when Cas is keeping something from him, when he is trying not to laugh at an innappropiate time, when he sees something he loves or when something upsets him, he is sad too when he sees the light in Cas’ eyes is gone, hiding behind sadness. Cas knows him just as well, with a simple gesture, he knows if Dean is going to propose something a little adventurous for bed when he raises a single eyebrow, he knows when Dean has a surprise for him, with that little glint in his eyes he is so familiar with and that he loves so much.

It’s nice, great for hunts too, but sometimes, well, sometimes it’s scary, too. Dean knows he can always be honest with Cas, that he will always be listened, and Cas will always take care of him, just like he will give him all of it back; but to think Cas, without even trying, without Dean even noticing, has made his way under his chest, nestling in his heart, it’s a bit scary, because he fears one day he is going to see and be afraid of all the bad that is inside him, in his eyes, next to the good things, always the shadow of nightmares.

He is afraid that one day he is going to look at those eyes and never again see the same welcoming and warm love he sees there now, it would kill him, just like every time he has lost Cas has killed him a bit, all he wanted then was just for his eyes to open and look at him again,ake things right again.

And he can see the same fear in the deep blue of Cas’ eyes, like Dean is simply going to turn his back on him, to tell him to go away and leave him alone, when mistakes and past are a too heavy weight in their shoulders to keep going.

They don’t usually need to give a voice to those doubts, they do, giving and receving confort from whispered words and gentle touches, but they don’t need to most times, they know when those thoughts go through their heads, the fear clouding their eyes, the only thing they can do then is hold each other tightly.

Dean thinks the way Cas is looking at him right now is one of his favourite ones.

His head is resting on Dean’s chest, their limbs tangled on the too tiny for two grown men sofa of their motel room, the low noise of the tv buzzing in the background filling the silence, just like the occassional car outside, the birds, the soft creak of the window with the spring breeze; Cas is smiling gently at him, looking up as he waits for him to wake up from his nap instead of watching the documentary he insisted on watching and that is the main reason why Dean fell asleep in the first place; his smile widdening as Dean opens one eye to look and smile back at him. Cas stares warmly at him, eyes half-lidded, a little spark in them too, like he is waiting for Dean to tell him about his plans for the rest of the day now they are done with the case. And he looks at Dean before talking, like he is expecting the reaction Dean is going to have to whatever he needs to say.

“Hello, Dean.” He mutters then. Dean chuckles and gives him a wink, he says it like they haven’t seen each other for a long time. He wraps his arms around Cas even more tightly, in moments like this he thinks he is still sleeping, a dream so good he never wants to wake up. It’s another one of his greatest fears, this not being real, when he wakes up everyday, warm and comfy with Cas by his side, too good to be true, just like a dream that doesn’t end. He is always awed of all Cas is, of Cas wanting to be here. Cas’ eyes let him know how content he feels here, in this shitty motel room far from home, he looks like this is perfect for him, Dean feels the same, so he stares back and he knows what Cas is going to say before he even opens his mouth, he knows the soft way he is being looked at right now too well. “I love you.” Honesty and adoration are all he can see in Cas’ gaze.

WC: 800

Don’t kill me

Cas was sitting in the library alone, paging through a book Sam had left open on one of the tables when Dean appeared quite suddenly in the corner of his eye

He waited to see if Dean would start up a conversation first, sick of tiptoeing around him and all their arguments as of late. He never knew what would set him off anymore, or what kind of mood he was in.

When the hunter cleared his throat Cas shut over the book and turned to him in his chair.

‘Hey Cas.’ Dean said, awkwardly. As if something were on his mind. He crossed the room to stand next to Cas’ table, but didn’t pull up a chair. The lamp cast a yellow light over his features.

‘Dean.’ Cas nodded at him. The brevity of their recent conversations made something in Cas’ chest ache but he refused to be the only one making an effort anymore.

‘Can we talk? It’s pretty important.’ Dean shifted on his feet, restless.

Cas patiently waited for him to gather the courage to begin.

‘I know I haven’t been the best recently…’ He started, and Cas snorted quietly in agreement.

‘And I know we’ve been fighting more than talking, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. It’s not you, you know that right? I’m just pissed off at everything and everyone.’

Cas nodded again. ‘I know.’ Dean waited to see if he had anything more to say, but he didn’t.

‘After all that’s been going on, I’m just a little wary you know?’

‘And by “all that’s been going on” you mean Jack’s death and Chuck’s war against us?’ Cas clarified, bluntly.

Dean nodded, wincing.

‘I’ve just been thinking. About how there’s only the three of us now. How Chuck could have smote you just as easily as- as Jack. We’ve lost so many people Cas.’ His voice caught and he paused to scrub a hand over his face. ‘I don’t want to lose you too, not again.’

Cas softened almost instantly, dropping all the sharp words he still had to say to Dean over Jack, over how he’d acted leading up to his death. He stood from his chair, putting himself on equal footing with Dean.

‘Dean…’ But he didn’t know what to say next, because he couldn’t promise that he’d survive God’s wrath if he were targeted next. He couldn’t lie and say everything would be fine, either. So he placed a familiar hand on Dean’s shoulder instead and hoped it would be enough.

It wasn’t. Cas found himself being pulled in towards the hunter in what he recognised as one of his bone-crushing hugs. He gave as good as he got though, enclosing him in his own arms when he was close enough.

Being this close to Dean after all the weeks of distance and fighting felt good. Cas could admit that much to himself. What he was struggling with was the old feelings he’d pushed down that kept resurfacing in moments like these. Feelings that told him he should never let this man go again.

But he did. He always did. He extracted himself from Dean’s arms and pulled back to a respectable distance.

What he expected to happen now was for Dean to mutter something about chick-flicks and go get some beers.

What actually happened was that Dean kissed him.

—-

Dean was in a crappy mood. It was a buildup of all the little things (on top of all the recent death and destruction in his fucked up life).

That morning when he’d gone into the shower room Sam had used up all the hot water.

Then, there was only half a spoonful of coffee grounds left in the jar when he gave up on showering and trudged into the kitchen with wet hair.

Then, there was no bacon in the fridge. Or any eggs. Or anything breakfast-y in general.

And to top it all off, when he ventured into the library to try and find Cas, the angel was kissing another guy.

Another guy who was wearing his shirt. And had the same haircut as him. And had his gun in the back waistband of his jeans. What the fuck.

‘What the fuck?!’ Dean cried, not even half as subtly jealous as he tried to be.

Cas started at his voice and jerked away from the man that looked suspiciously like him with a look of horrified confusion.

‘Dean?!’ The angel looked almost comically fast between the two men and took a step back from the one he’d been meeting the face off of.

He realized what had happened when the Dean closest to him smiled a little too widely. His teeth shone too whitely just before the black goo started to spill out over his lips and down his front and his eyes turned black.

The Empty.

‘I was tired of waiting for you to find happiness on your own, Castiel.’ It laughed as it’s black slime oozed across the library floor and began to climb up Cas’ legs, effectively immobilizing him in his attempt to run.

One moment of happiness, that was all it had taken.

Around the third time Dean trips over his own feet, he figures that something must be going on.

He’s been bumping into shit and tripping on every crack in the pavement all day. Through some small mercy, his gun still hasn’t gone off on its own but at this point it’s just a matter of time.

This is why Dean hates witches. It’s never just a straightforward attack, there’s always gotta be some sneaky curse fucking him up. At least they didn’t give him menstrual cramps this time around, just the coordination of the average Meg Ryan character.

He heads back to the motel, where Cas has been hunkered down doing research. This is only his third case since becoming human, and Dean wants to ease him into things, but he’s a walking liability and needs some help.

He gets two steps and half a greeting into the motel room before his toes snag on the carpet and down he goes. Dean braces for impact, but instead of the hard floor he hits something soft and firm.

Dean looks up, still half-way horizontal, flushing when he realized what happened. Cas stares back at him, arms still wrapped around Dean’s after catching him, hands clutching at his elbows.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Dean swallows. He’s pretty sure that by this point he is Meg Ryan, although Cas is a lot better looking than Billy Crystal. Or Tom Hanks, for that matter.

“Yeah,” he finally croaks out.

He straightens, only for his foot to somehow get entangled with Cas’, causing him to loose his balance again and this time dragging Cas down with him.

They hit the bed behind them, and Dean feels grateful for all of two seconds before he realizes that he’s now effectively straddling Cas.

He stares down at Cas, whose eyes have gone wide. There’s a slight flush high on his cheeks, too, and Dean really wants to do something stupid right now. The only thing stopping him, really, is the feeling that if he were to try something he’d probably end up kneeing Cas in the crotch or something equally unromantic.

“I think I’ve been cursed,” he admits.

Cas hums, looking distracted. His eyes keep darting down at Dean’s lips, which is really not helping.

“By the witch we’re hunting,” Dean adds.