(forĀ @petrichoravellichor, with loveā¦ happy st. valentineās day 2020, my beautiful wifeyĀ <333)
Rating: Teen Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester Word Count: 1336 Tags: Dean POV, Canonverse, Pure Romantic Fluff
It was a Thursday when it happened.
The three of them had returned home from a hunt the day before. Took down a pack of Weres in Albuquerque and it had been an especially rough one, everyone getting pretty banged up. Sammy had come out of it worst off, but Cas had fixed him up good as new with a shot of grace to fix his bust lip and fractured wrist. Dean, however, had only suffered a few cuts, bruised ribs and a couple broken knuckles. So letting the angel use up more of his precious mojo was an obvious no-go, as far as he was concerned. What with heaven on its way out, who knew what was gonna happen to the few angels that were left? How long would their grace last, now their connection to God was severed? Dean wasnāt going to chance it, wouldnāt let Cas waste his grace on him. Wasnāt worth it. But that meant Cas insisting on keeping my eyes on you, as the dork had put it. Which Dean had found pretty funnyāuntil heād wondered whether Cas meant his who-knows-how-many beady little (huge) true form peepers.
After crawling from his bed, Dean now walked, slowly, into the Bunkerās kitchen. He was always slow these days, before caffeine. But the bruised ribs were definitely playing their part this morning if he were being honest with himself. Which he wasnāt.
Just as he realised he could already smell coffee, he spotted Cas, sat at the centre island, and straightened up his gait. Cas, with his own cup of black and honey, had that Greek statue nose of his buried deep in Deanās old copy of Vonnegutās Catās Cradle. Dean had lent it to him so many damn timesāCas apparently liked to read it over and over and overāheād eventually told the angel he could keep the dog-eared relic heād stolen from a library somewhere in middle America in the mid-nineties, and heād bought himself another copy from Goodwill.
Dean croaked out, āMorninā, Sunshine,ā as usual.
Cas looked up. āHello, Dean.ā Man, Dean would never tire of those two words on Casā lips. āIāve made you some coffee,ā Cas said as he got up to pour another cup. āOh, and I got some more of that maple-bourbon flavour syrup you pretend not to like when Sam is around,ā which he then pulled out of its hiding place at the back of Deanās cupboard.
Dean looked stealthily over his shoulder in case said brother was lurking. āThanks, man. I owe you,ā he whispered.
āWell, you could easily repay me by allowing me to heal your woundsā¦ā Cas said, brows raised in hope.
āNuh-uh, nope. Aināt happeninā. One of usāll have to come up with another idea, Sneaky McSneakerson.ā
Cas glowered and huffed a sigh.
Dean smiled like a six-year-old.
āWell, Iām at least going to check your wounds,ā Cas stated.
āNot even gonna let me drink my damn coffee first, huh?ā
āNuh-uh, nope. Aināt happeninā,ā Cas mimicked.
Dean glowered and huffed his own sigh. But then acquiesced all the same.
Cas walked around the stainless steel kitchen island to Deanās side, his eyes now on the square of dressing protecting a nasty cut on the left side of Deanās forehead. As he reached his destination, his right knee automatically slid between Deanās knees to part them, allowing him to stand in betweenāand closer to Dean. Like, a lot closer.
Dean tried his best to take a slow and secret, calming deep breath.
It didnāt help. Now his sense of smell was just reaffirming what his heart was already screaming at him with each beat: Cas, Casā¦ Cas, Casā¦ Yes, yesā¦ Yes, yesā¦
Cas peeled back the surgical tape and lifted the gauze to check the cut.
Then it just kind of happened. Dean was tired, hadnāt even had his first essential cup of Joe yet, let alone the necessary second. It was just a dumb joke, reallyā¦
āHeh heh, eat your heart out, Doctor Sexy.ā
Cas stilled his ministrations, squinting those baby blues. He looked down at Dean who, with the full implications of what heād just said now dawning on him, bit at his bottom lip and looked away. His cheeks burned like they were covered in gasoline and Cas were a naked flame.
Half a moment later, Cas simply continued with his business.
Dean was confused but thought heād maybe somehow gotten away with the slip. He chanced a look at the angelāonly to blink his surprise at the smile that shaped not only Casā pink lips but lit up his whole face, shining bright. Likeā¦ like actual sunshine.
And then Dean realised heād never seen it, never seen this exact smile. He had a list of all of Casā smiles catalogued in his head, like the list of his favourite Zep tracks or his favourite flavours of pie. There was the stoic one he used on most hunts, that didnāt quite reach his eyes; the nervous one that tended to tick at his beautiful chapped lips; the closed-lipped but warm one heād often save for Sam; the dorky gummy one when heād laugh at one of Deanās hilarious jokes; the small, shy one that sometimes slowly climbed up one side of his pretty face when he thought Dean couldnāt see himā¦ and others too, mostly pretty similar but each with their own unique, minute differences. But this smile? It was different, brand new. It wasā¦ knowing. Elated. Smug, the bastard. But alsoā¦ hopeful? Mostly, Cas just looked genuinely happy. Like, really, really happy.
And that smile was how it started, how it happened. The new smile was what changed everything. Dean had stupidly waited eleven fucking years for that smile, without even knowing he was doing so. But it did it; it gave Dean what he needed to open a door, which he knew in his heart, Cas had been waiting to walk through.
Dean lifted his left hand to where Cas was replacing the gauze, and he took Casā, bringing it to his cheek. He fought to keep his gaze trained on the love of his life, his shitty confidence trying to pull it away, his quick breathing trying to make him pass out. But he managed, even as Casā inquisitive eyes locked onto his, to really look at Cas, trying to force his intentions to flow like Niagra through his pupils. Then, as Cas adorably tilted his head in question, Dean turned his head and pressed a soft but lingering kiss into Casā palm, that brave gaze holding firm as his heartbeat that thundered in his ears.
And there it was, back again. That smile.
Then after what felt like a lifetime, like nothing had happened even though the whole world had shifted beneath their feet, Cas muttered, āYou may drink your coffee now, Dean.ā
Dean just smiled his own smile. It was a small thing but more open and truer thanā¦ than ever. And Casā eyes told Dean that Cas understood. āAsshole,ā Dean muttered back. āStill gonna repay you, though.ā
Cas smirked a smirk heād learned from Dean. āIām sure youāll think of something.ā
And in that moment they didnāt need any more. Both knew what it had meant, what theyād shared. Each knew what the other felt, it had moved through them in lieu of Casā grace. They knew more would grow in time, like wild roses on a graveāDean, for one, would make sure of it. But on that normal, uneventful morning in an underground bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, the most beautiful shit in Deanās entire life had occurred. And if it had meant even just a fraction of that for Cas, Dean was beyond happy. He wondered if the smile he felt growing on his own face looked anything like Casā Deanās Smile... Deanās Thursdayās Smile.
If Dean knew one thing for absolute certain though, it was that heād never, ever forget even a second of the first time heād kissed Castiel.
(unedited, please forgive me!)
