#chubby dean

Every once in a while, something insatiable takes over his body. He can't predict it, what sets it off, but it always happens sooner or later. The urge to go all out.

Booze and food.

And soda.

Full-sugar, teeth-aching heaven in a bottle. Just the thought makes him take another swig from the oversized bottle. Two litres. On top of a week's worth of convenience store snacks.

If he didn't know better, he'd think he'd gotten knocked up. His belly almost spherical.

On the first day Chuck was defeated, and the world returned.

On the second Jack gave his god-juice (“Don’t call it that,” Sam grimaced) to Amara for safe keeping until he was ready to assume that power and join her in a balance of light and darkness. This transference resulted in Jack assuming a form that reflected his human age, allowing him to be the child he’d never got the chance to be. It was an opportunity Dean never had, and one he didn’t know how badly he wanted for Jack until he had an armful of toddler pressed into his hip—until the sweet smell of his son’s hair tucked itself under his nose. His son.

That would have been too much for Dean already, but then Amara, more powerful than ever, presented her grandnephew the gift of his father back, just as she had gifted Dean with Mary years ago.

On the third day Cas was human, for good this time. Amara had given him a human soul, which kept him out of the Empty’s reach. He’d stood in the middle of the bunker’s library, flustered and confused, coat and tie disheveled, and Dean had stopped breathing.

“Daddy!” Jack had squealed, reaching for Cas from Dean’s hold.

“Jack.” was all Cas had replied, bewildered as he gathered his son into his arms.

Their son, Dean thought as he stood and watched them embrace.

Sam and Eileen were safe, Jack was safe, Cas was back, and the world was free. Dean didn’t know how to trust it, even though it was all he wanted. If he allowed himself to indulge in hope, he knew he wouldn’t survive having it taken away. If he filled himself up with it all, he’d risk feeling a hunger he couldn’t turn away from.

Dean looked over at where Cas was holding Jack against his side. With one hand Jack held onto Cas’ arm and with the other he was reaching for Dean, little fingers spread wide to grab at him. Dean huddled in and wrapped his arms around the both of them, his left hand splayed over as much of Cas’ back as he could hold, his right wound tight around Jack as he pressed their bodies impossibly close.

What does a starving man do when presented with a sudden bounty?

He shares it.

Two years later Dean found himself washing dishes after dinner. Sam and Eileen had come over to celebrate Jack’s first day of kindergarten. They still lived in the bunker, while Dean, Cas, and Jack moved into a house a few hours away, on the edge of a town with good schools and a zoo (Dean had insisted on the former, Cas on the latter).

Dean took on a few hours here and there at a local garage and Cas occasionally set up a stall at the Saturday farmer’s market when his garden was doing particularly well or when the bees he kept were especially busy, but in all manners that really counted they were retired. Sam and Eileen kept things held down on the hunting front, and Dean surprised himself to find he was more than fine to walk away.

There were still days when he woke up with a phantom pang of hunger, the ghost of a feeling in his stomach like the one he’d come to know growing up after days without so much as stale wonder bread to further stretch stolen meals for Sammy. The muscles in his gut contracted around a hollowness, a pit of fear like a leaky faucet he couldn’t seem to permanently plug.

On those days he’d retreat into himself. He’d be quiet. He’d feel a magnetic tug try and pull him to the bar down the block, even though it had been a long while since he’d picked up so much as a beer.

Before he could self-destruct or leave his body long enough that it could do itself harm, he’d feel Cas at his side or Jack’s weight on his chest. He’d go to bed early and when he’d wake the next morning the pit would be gone.

Dean knew it would never truly go away, but it would always leave just as quick as it came.

Most days though, Dean was good. This particular day especially so.

His family had sat around his table in his house and ate the food that hemade for them. They’d filled up on roast chicken, rosemary potatoes, and laughter.

And pie, of course. Dean made a pie.

He washed the dishes while Sam dried. Or, while Sam was supposed to be drying. Instead he held a dish towel in his hands and leaned against the counter, giving Dean an appraising look.

Dean tried not to snap about the stack of clean, wet dishes piling up, only raised a brow at his brother as he set another plate in front of him.

Sam answered the look with soft grin.

“What?” Dean asked exasperated.

“You’ve gone soft.” Sam replied.

Dean stilled at that. He’d heard those words before from a different mouth. John would bark them out like a slap. But the tone in Sam’s voice made Dean pause.

For the first time in a long time, the word soft didn’t sound like weak.

Soft. Dean thought of his body. What had a few years ago been all hard edges and blunt muscle now gave way easily to the press of fingers. At first Dean was sensitive to the change, worried Cas would no longer find him desirable if his body was not what it had always been.

“I guess the burgers and booze finally caught up to me huh?” Dean disparaged his reflection, holding his belly with both hands in an unforgiving grip.

Cas had come up behind him, threaded his arms through Dean’s and snaked them around his middle so that the ex-angel’s broad hands covered his own. Dean’s grip had loosened as Cas rested his chin in the crook of his neck.

“You think this is a punishment for your past.” Cas had said with his usual unnerving baldness, “But in fact it is a sign of your current blessing.”

Dean had huffed in embarrassed disbelief.

“This is happy weight, Dean.” Cas had pressed on, planting a kiss to his freckled shoulder, “It means you are, perhaps for the first time, truly settled.”

Soft, Dean thought with a plate in his hand, like the sheets on the bed that he shares.

Soft like the still baby-soft skin under Jack’s feet that he presses against Dean’s stomach on those nights he has a bad dream and can only sleep if he’s sandwiched between his dad and daddy.

Soft like Cas’ slightly grown-out hair between Dean’s fingers, like the meat of his thigh that gives way to Dean’s loving hands.

Soft like the mid-morning sun that filters in through their kitchen window and stirs the dust-bunnies into a dance. Those mornings when Dean is cocooned in warmth, a cup of coffee in his hand, Jack pressed up against his back, and Cas flush with his side, holding his face in big hands, leaning down for a soft kiss—

Dean glanced up at Sam, a shy smile on his lips.

You’ve gone soft echoed in his head, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Soft meant that Dean had built a life that was pliant to him for once, something Dean never thought he would get.

Practically born with a gun in his hand, for the longest time Dean was certain he’d die that way, empty and starving and hard as stone.

He had not touched a gun in over a year.

He could smell it in the air. There was no comparable smell, no aromatic adjective that could define it. It smelled like green, but not like plants. It smelled like light but not like fire. It smelled like… righteousness. But that was too pretentious for Castiel to even process. 

He followed it with haste, but not as urgently as someone who thought their true mate might be having their face beaten in. He was in too much shock at the existence of a true mate to think about anything else.

It was a small scuffle, at least, which made the selection of who Castiel might be smelling fortunately narrow. Three guys, two of whom were clearly big Alphas preying on the third.

Castiel sighed a bit, his steps speeding up only to spare this third guy more pain. Because it looked like the third guy was going to be Castiel’s true mate.

Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him.

This scuffling man, though. He was... round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men.

Castiel cleared his throat, the deepness of his voice startling the three men on the ground, as it usually did. People usually expected Castiel’s voice to be higher than it was.

“I think that’s enough,” he said, not quite using his Alpha voice but not leaving room for argument, either.

Apparently there was room for argument, because one of the Alphas – a younger looking guy with floppy, dust-colored hair – sneered up at him from his rather undignified position on the ground. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

“You too prissy to come down here and fight in the mud with us?” said the other one.

Castiel felt his face go stormy and opened his mouth to use his real Alpha voice, when the third and final guy snorted from his feet.

“What, Chet, you’re gonna tussle with this guy? He would tear you apart.”

Castiel looked down at him, a little shocked. The third guy had a giant purple bruise covering the right side of his face and there was blood dripping from his nose straight down his chin, but he looked perfectly at ease. He’d rolled himself to a sitting position, legs folded pretzel style, and he leaned back on his arms like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Chet, the blond guy with the crew cut, went slightly red in the face, but he avoided the third’s eyes. Now that Castiel could get a look at him, he was roughed up as well. Gravel clung to his hairline and his jaw had almost no skin left on it. Ashy hair’s left eye was swelling like crazy.

Castiel looked back at the third where he pulled at the string of his red hoodie, casual as anything.

“I think that actually can be enough for the day,” the guy said, nodding decisively. And he moved to stand up, groaning as he got his to his feet, his bulk moving with him.

When he was standing, Castiel finally got a good look at him. A lot of what Castiel had seen on the ground was still true. He was wearing jeans and converse sneakers, a ratty and now bloodstained hoodie on top. 

And he was fat. A more generous person may have said chubby, but there was no denying this guy was as full-bodied as they came. He carried it well. He was tall – maybe as tall as Castiel himself - and his legs bowed out like they were straining under the weight of his upper half, but he still carried it well. He looked like him being fat didn’t matter. Like he couldn’t care less about it, that he knew he was still hot. Which Castiel was also just now noticing he was. 

The guy ran a hand through his hair, unflattening the sandy strands from the scuffle, and straightened the thick framed glasses on his nose. The glasses didn’t look any worse for wear, despite the face they’d been sitting on looking like it’d been hit with a brick. He had to know Castiel was watching him but he didn’t bother wiping the blood away, letting it drip over his mouth. He blew out a breath through parted lips and tiny drops of blood came spraying out. Castiel recoiled.

The guy winced but still didn't move to wipe the blood away. “Sorry about that.”

He turned to the two still on the ground so that Castiel was left looking at his back. “You guys good?” he said, his voice just this side of goading. “Need help?”

“Fuck you, Winchester,” the non-Chet guy said.

The guy – Winchester – just chuckled.

“Come on, guys,” Winchester said, spreading his hands. “It was fun, but–”

Chet growled – an undeveloped sound from a kid who was maybe just over 19. “Don’t talk to us like some pump-and-dump Omega bitches, man.”

Castiel watched Winchester’s shoulder’s change, rolling back from their relaxed posture into a tenser, more battle-ready position. Castiel took an automatic step back, preparing for another fight to break out.

But all Winchester did was growl “Watch it,” in a deep and dangerous sounding voice that Castiel was not expecting.

He had assumed, upon first approach, that this man was the true mate he’d scented. But he’d mostly assumed that because he didn’t give off the overaggressive Alpha vibes he’d gotten off of the other two, and, well, Castiel himself was an Alpha. And in the three seconds between finding out true mates were real and that he had one and meeting the three men, he hadn’t considered that two Alphas could be true mates.

But Winchester had just used his Alpha voice. And his scent had intensified. And all of it confirmed that he was not just an Alpha but an Alpha who was Castiel’s true mate.

“Oh,” Castiel said.

Winchester turned to wink at him but Castiel watched as his nostrils flared. And he froze, eyes widening.

Chet took a step forward and Winchester whipped around with the headiest growl Castiel had ever heard.

It was so primal, so visceral, that Chet and not-Chet’s knees buckled on impact, both of them folding to a more submissive position.

In the back of Castiel’s mind, he was considering for the first time that perhaps these boys weren’t actually Alphas. The rest of Castiel’s mind, however, was intently focused on Winchester in front of him. His right arm extended, palm turned back in a protective barrier between Castiel and the two other men. His left fist up in an aggressive display as if the growl weren’t enough to keep even the meanest predator at bay.

A strip of skin was exposed between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his sweatshirt. This wasn’t as relevant to the rest of the presentation but it caught Castiel’s attention and held it nonetheless.

There was a low rumble in Winchester’s chest, like he was building up to another growl. But all he said was “Go.”

Chet and not-Chent went, scrambling across the grass and tumbling over each other in their haste to get away.

Winchester held his position, watching them leave, until they turned a corner around a building and were out of sight.

He then turned to Castiel, grin spread wide. “Hi, I’m Dean.”

Winchester – or, Dean, Castiel supposed – still had blood all over his face. His cheek was still purpled and he had grass caught in the short bristles of his sandy hair.

Castiel looked him over for a long moment: long enough for Dean to messily wipe his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, the blood completely unnoticeable against the burgundy fabric. Castiel wondered in an offhand way if that’s why he wore it.

Instead of asking, he said, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean grinned wider. There was even more blood in his teeth.

Castiel reached into one of the deep pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a half-full plastic water-bottle. He offered it to Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel fought a blush.

“To rinse out your mouth,” he explained, his embarrassment making his voice even deeper.

Dean’s eyes lit up in understanding and he took the bottle with another bright grin. “Thanks.”

He took a deep pull from the bottle and swished it around before spitting it out on the grass. Castiel’s face scrunched in disapproval, despite the fact that this was why he’d offered it to Dean in the first place.

Dean, at least, seemed to notice how gross he was being, because he winced before coughing into his fist and turning back to Castiel. “Can I get your name?”

“I’ll tell it to you, but you can’t keep it,” Castiel said, before wincing. “That’s a joke,” he started to explain. “About fairies….”

There was half a second of an awkward pause before Dean rumbled a bit in a laugh. “I get it. It’s funny.”

Castiel’s cheeks heated up again. “Right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Castiel. My name.”

Dean nodded, his smile yet to flag, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

Castiel was reluctant to take Dean’s hand (He’d just watched him wipe his bloody face with his sleeve, who knew where his hands had been?) but he gamely reached out to take Dean’s hand. The hand of his mate.

Dean yanked his hand back before Castiel could make contact though, looking horrified.

“Oh, my God, no, you can’t touch that. I’m disgusting.” He held up his hand like it was evidence in a murder trial. He then looked down at his hoodie and the near-invisible blood crusting on it. “Ah, shit, oh fuck.” He blew out a breath then mumbled. “This is not how this should go.”

Castiel cocked his head, lowering his hand with no small amount of relief. “How what should go?”

“Meeting my true mate,” Dean groaned. “There should be more–” he gestured with his infected hand, “fireworks or rainbows or whatever.”

Dean looked so disgruntled that there were no fireworks or rainbows or whatever and instead just two men, one of whom was dirtied and bloodied from fighting on the lawn, that Castiel couldn’t keep back a fond smile. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean snorted. “It’s not, but I can get there. Hang on.”

Dean reached for the back of his neck, pulling his hoodie off over his head. He knocked his glasses off so he had to pick them up off the ground.

“Why am I still wearing these?” he asked himself in an undertone before shrugging and putting them back on.

He used his hoodie to wipe off the remainder of the dirt and blood on his face, shaking the grass out of his hair. He glanced questioningly at Castiel, holding up the water bottle, and when Castiel nodded in assent, poured some water out on the cleaner sleeve and started rubbing down the crusted stuff along his hairline.

It was one of the most efficient displays of impromptu cleaning Castiel has ever seen.

When Dean was finished and mostly filth free (a truly impressive feat without a mirror) he balled his sweatshirt up, casting a hesitant look at Castiel.

“Can you just– gimme a sec.”

Dean jogged to the dorm building just off the quad, his red t-shirt riding up as he ran, and wound up to throw his balled up sweatshirt through a second floor window.

Castiel watched him, startled, as Dean jogged back, grinning and tugging his shirt down over his belly.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Dean asked brightly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a travel sized hand-sanitizer which he used liberally on his hands and forearms.

“Was that your room?” Castiel asked, still trying to process the flying grime-encrusted sweatshirt.

Dean shrugged. “No. But I know the guys who live there and they should be fine. I’ll text them.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s not Chet is it?”

Dean snorted, shaking out his hands to help dry the hand sanitizer. “No. Fuckin Chet....”

Castiel found himself smiling back and bit his lip, turning his body. “Yes, let’s go for a walk.”

Dean grinned, practically skipping to Castiel’s side, his bulk moving surprisingly well.

Dean pulled his phone out and typed up a text before he forgot. Castiel let him do this, waiting to speak until he put his phone away.

“So I haven’t seen you around before,” Castiel started, unsure where else to begin.

Dean shrugged again. “‘s a big school.”

Castiel scrunched his nose, shoving his hands in his overcoat pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, shooting him a wink.

Castiel rolled his eyes.“We’re true mates,” he said, comfortably blunt. “Why am I just now catching your scent?”

“I transferred up this semester,” Dean answered, also happy to be blunt. He picked at the wrapper of the now empty water bottle he was still holding. “Did three years at a community college, but I could only take specific credits here. So I transferred.”

“Oh, thank God,” Castiel said, letting his shoulders slump a bit in relief. “You’re not a freshman. I was worried.”

Dean snorted. “No, not a freshman.”

Castiel nodded, but squinted his eyes. “But still…” he began again. “Semester’s been happening for six weeks already.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. This was my first fight?”

Castiel nodded, accepting this answer. Alphas’ scents amplified when they were behaving aggressively.

“Well, I guess that’s impressive, in itself,” Castiel allowed. “It’s unusual for Alphas not to drop their hands as soon as they arrive on campus.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before turning to Castiel with an incredulous look on his face. “Do you mean gloves? Drop their gloves?”

Castiel sighed, exasperated. “Yes. It was supposed to be a hockey metaphor. For fighting.”

“No, I got that,” Dean said grinning. “It was cute.”

Castiel flushed again. He scowled.

“What about you, though,” Dean asked, making the plastic of the water bottle crinkle. “Doesn’t look like you fight.”

Castiel startled before he realized Dean had probably picked out the Alpha in his scent. Even still, this was maybe the first time someone had assumed he was an Alpha without Castiel telling them.

“I don’t,” Castiel admitted. 

“So then how’s it fair you can make blanket statements about what ‘Alphas’ do?”

Castiel scowled again. Dean just kept smiling at him.

“Well, you did fight this time.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Chet and Lincoln were asking for it.”

Castiel’s face soured. He didn’t care for that excuse.

But Dean rushed to correct him. “No, like, they were literally asking for it. They’re both betas and, I don’t know, wanted to improve their rep?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t really get it. But they asked me to tussle so I said sure.”

Castiel looked Dean up and down, humming to himself.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think they picked me because they thought I was an easy target?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” Castiel said honestly. “Although, those glasses do give you a certain vulnerable look.”

Dean scoffed, taking off the glasses and pointing at his face. “20/20 vision, baby.” He put the glasses back on. “I’m a programming major. These filter out the blue light so I don’t give myself a migraine staring at screens all day.”

Castiel hummed again, in acceptance this time. “Practical.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Thank you.”

Castiel smiled. “No, I was actually thinking it was unwise to challenge you. Because you’re so much bigger than they are.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You calling me fat, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered automatically and Dean laughed. Castiel’s face was still warming that Dean had called him ‘Cas.’ “But also you have a rather big persona. You are bigger than them, but you also act bigger.”

Dean’s mouth screwed up to the side. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

Dean dropped his chin to his chest, exhaling a laugh.

They turned on the pathway to cross in front of the administration building and Dean excused himself for a moment to throw the empty water bottle into the plastic recycling bin.

“You didn’t want to keep that, did you?” Dean asked, jogging back up. “I didn’t think of it until I already threw it out but it’s not cool for me to throw out your stuff.”

Castiel smiled at him. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m just glad you recycle.”

“I’m environmentally conscious as fuck .” Dean said, pumping his fist.

Castiel laughed. Dean grinned.

“Would you like to get coffee?” Castiel asked, curling his hands in his pockets.

Dean straightened, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.”

Castiel smiled and started walking off campus to his favorite local coffee shop.

Castiel gestured for Dean to order first. Dean did so with no apparent self-consciousness, ordering a caramel macchiato, a pressed sandwich, and a muffin. When the cashier asked if there would be anything else, Castiel stepped in front of Dean, ordered his own loose leaf tea, and then paid for the entire order.

Dean looked very put out by that. “That’s not fair! You shouldn’t have paid for me, I got so much more than you did.”

Castiel shot him a smirk, tucking his change back into his wallet. “I invited you. I’m the Alpha. I pay.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m the Alpha, too.”

Castiel blinked. “Oh. Right.”

He didn’t know how he could have forgotten. Hadn’t he just watched Dean wipe blood and dirt from his body? Hadn’t he just felt the force of Dean’s Alpha voice against those two other men?

Not the first but certainly the heaviest awkward silence fell over them like a physical press.

Dean put his hands in his pockets. “Is that something we’re gonna have to talk about?”

Castiel shook his head, automatically. And then reconsidered. “Perhaps we should.”

Castiel gestured to the attendants behind the counter, alerting them that he and Dean were taking a table and their order should be brought out to them. The attendants nodded in understanding and Castiel turned to find a place to sit.

There was an empty two-person table just off of the entrance in front of the window. Castiel made for it, taking a seat without a fuss.

When he was seated, he looked at Dean, who was looking back at Castiel with something like appreciation.

“Okay, I get it now,” he said, resting his elbows on the table.

Castiel frowned. “Get what?”

“How you’re an Alpha,” Dean explained. “I mean I could smell it, obviously but–” he gestured at Castiel as if to encompass the non-Alpha-ness look of him.

There was the aforementioned hips and thin frame, but how Castiel dressed didn’t help, he was sure. He preferred turtlenecks and oxford shoes, his ankles exposed by the fitted chinos he favored, over any brusque and “masculine” Alpha wear.

Castiel folded his hands, raising an eyebrow in a signal for Dean to continue.

Dean gestured at him again. “Right, and then you do that. Your Alpha eyebrow. And you just casually commanded the whole room so we could get this table.”

Castiel blinked. “The table was open.”

“Except for the three people who were about to take it before they saw your domineering ass.”

Castiel tilted his head. He hasn’t noticed anyone else.

But then, he guessed, that supported Dean’s point.

He hummed to allow the point.

Dean grinned. Then frowned.

“So how is this gonna work?”

Castiel tilted his head the other way.

Dean flexed his shoulders, gearing himself up for the conversation. “We’re true mates, right? So… we’re gonna be together?”

This was the most nervous Castiel had seen Dean. He felt his protective instinct rear up in a way he’d never experienced before. He leaned forward and took Dean’s hand on instinct alone.

“This is a date,” Castiel clarified, watching as Dean’s shoulders untensed even while a blush rose to his cheeks. “I asked you on a date. We’re going to date more, probably.”

He squeezed Dean’s hands. “I can’t guarantee where the dating will go. I’ve never had a true mate before. I’ve never even heard of them in real life. So we’re just going to take this as it comes. Are you okay with that?”

Dean looked from their joined hands then back to Castiel. He immediately changed their grip so Castiel’s hands were held in his.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, a challenge in his tone. “But I’m an Alpha. So you can’t talk to me like I’m some wilting flower. And you can’t think you get to make all the decisions and shit. I’m gonna have something to say about it. Are you okay with that ?”

Tips of Castiel’s brain rejected the firm hold Dean had on him. It wanted to square up against Dean, to assert dominance.

But the rest of Castiel marked the glint in his eye. Caught the turn of his wrist and the cock of his head. All of it was a tease. A challenge, but a tantalizing one. It invited Castiel to play along.

Castiel had never been one for roughhousing play.

But with his true mate – with Dean – he was considering it.

“I can…” He looked down at their tangled hands, how they kept circling and gripping and never letting their skin lose contact, before looking back up at Dean, his own challenging smirk bending his face. “...perhaps be okay with that.”

Dean’s grin was a knife across his face, so different from the genial look of their meeting. It filled Castiel with that same rightness, the same sense of ‘yes, true mate’ but now with a sense of curiosity. A sense of wonder. A sense of wanting to know more.

Their orders arrived. Castiel attended to his tea – pressing the leaves back to pour the steeped water into his mug, adding honey and stirring with a deliberate unaffectedness he’d cultivated.

Dean, meanwhile, devoured his food and coffee without discernment. He had his whole sandwich and muffin swallowed almost simultaneously. It was as impressive as it was disgusting, yet Castiel was oddly charmed. Surely it was the happy and satisfied scent Dean was giving off now that he’d been fed. Castiel couldn’t think of any other scenario where he wouldn’t be repulsed by such a display.

But he was beguiled. And once he’d eaten, Dean did take some time over his macchiato instead of chugging it like an animal. So there were some things to be redeemed.

They talked over their drinks, getting some baseline stuff out of the way. Castiel was a grad student. Dean had a brother. Castiel was an orphan. Dean was raised by a single mother. Castiel liked bees. Dean liked old muscle cars.

By the time both of their mugs were empty, they knew they had to give up their table. But Castiel wanted to know more.

“Here’s my phone number,” he said taking a pen from his pocket and writing it on Dean’s hand.

Dean smiled down at it but nudged Castiel with his shoulder. “You could have just plugged it into my phone.”

Castiel nudged him back. “Yes. But now, you can look at my number on your hand and think of me for the rest of the day.”

Dean smiled wider.

“That’s some pretty soft shit for an Alpha, Cas.”

Castiel smirked like danger, letting what Dean had called his Alpha Eyebrow make his point. “We’re redefining Alpha shit, Dean.”

Dean ducked his head, suddenly shy again.

They were redefining Alpha shit, indeed.

“We should do this again sometime,” Dean said.

They both knew full well they would be doing this again sometime. Again and again for the rest of their lives, probably.

But the way Dean said it was like that challenge again. It was with pride. Like he knew Castiel would say yes but not because they were true mates. But because he trusted that Castiel liked him.

And he did.

Castiel looked Dean over in an obvious up and down that made Dean’s ears turn pink. There was a dare in his eyes. A proposition in the tilt of his head.

Castiel met it with a smile. “I look forward to it.”