#cactuscas

SPN + small movements 83/?

Jack walked into the library where Dean was sitting hunched over the piece of fabric and looked at him questioningly, giving that head tilt that reminded him so much of Cas. Jack waited for a while before carefully phrasing, “What are you doing?”

“I’m learning to cross-stitch.” Dean didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed at being caught. Maybe he should’ve just stayed in his room, but that room was starting to feel smaller and smaller every day.

“Yes, I got that from the video.” The video in question kept playing as a middle aged woman explained the basics of cross-stitching at a slow pace. “Why are you doing it?”

“I wanted to make something for Cas for our anniversary,” he managed to mumble out, not letting the blush rising high in his cheeks deter him from his plan, “I just need to get the first plant done and it’ll be a breeze.”

“Can I help?” Jack asked, sounding hopeful.

“Nah, bud. I think it’s a one-man job.” At Jack’s faltering smile, Dean added, “But you can make some more coffee and keep me company while I curse out Susan here.” At Jack’s enthusiastic nod, he let a soft smile grace his face too.

And so they sat, watching more videos from more hobbyists and experts, Dean poking himself again and again and Jack talking a mile a minute about a rare bird he saw on his walk.

By the time they were done, Dean had a cramp in his hand and a migraine growing behind his eyes, but he couldn’t help the swell of pride filling him up. It only took all day but he was done.

“Castiel will like it, I’m sure of it.” Jack grinned at him.

“Thanks, kid.” Dean couldn’t help the smile from stretching across his face.

He had gotten a frame from Walmart and it was still in a bag in his closet. He got up and slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder and went to his room. Of course, Cas was already there on their bed and more than a little dirty from his day out in the garden.

“Come on, dude! I just washed the sheets!” Dean exclaimed while shoving the piece of fabric in his pocket unceremoniously. He wasn’t quick enough and Cas was up in a heartbeat standing in front of him.

“What’s that?” And there was the familiar, curious head tilt. Like father, like son.

“It-it’s nothing,” Dean stammered out. The piercing blue eyes stayed on him and he started squirming. “It’s a gift, but it’s not finished yet.”

“For me?” Dean could feel his heart melt at the question and the confused look on his husband’s face.

“Of course it’s for you, dumbass. Who am I going around giving gifts to?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Well, Jack for one, Sam, even Eil-“ Dean cut him off by pressing his lips against Cas’. It was a slow and soft kiss. They broke apart and Cas was smiling dazedly at him. “Let me see it.”

As if Dean could say no. He started to bring out the fabric from his pocket saying, “It isn’t finished yet. I’m gonna put it in a frame and I know it isn’t perfect but this was my first time trying it and Susan really wasn’t as helpful as her views on YouTube might have you bel- what?” Dean breathlessly let out at Cas’ warm expression.

And then Cas looked down to see the cross-stitch and let out a rumble of laughter. The rumble turned into guffaws and he was leaning on Dean to stay upright. And then they were kissing. Harder than before, but still just as sweet. Dean could feel wetness on his cheeks and frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, pulling back and letting their foreheads touch.

“I don’t know. This is just so you. And I love you.” Cas lets out with a watery chuckle.

“I love you too.” Dean pressed tiny kisses against his cheeks and wiped away the tears.

Between their fingers, a piece of fabric with two cacti on each side of the words “what the fucculent” lay intertwined.