#dclcu

Art by @lovelybydecay

What's already mine - ao3

Summary: Cas finally makes his body a home. Something he never wants to leave, something that will never leave him.

> Biggest thanks to @lovelybydecay for making this amazing art for my fic. You really understood what I wanted and now I can't stop staring at this <3

> and of course @the-rollerchloster for being thee most lovely beta <3

tagging some people under the cut

They live a quiet life, you know? The kind of life where they don’t need more than the basics and each other.

They bought a cabin in the woods, not exactly secluded, but with enough privacy not to be disturbed. It’s  made of wood and surrounded by tall, leafy trees that protect Baby from the inclemencies of the Arkansas weather.

Cas tends to their orchard, the one that was planted from scratch. Dean doesn’t dare to disturb him while he’s focused on it, the nature is his place, after all. He knows the cycles of the Earth, down to an atomic level, better than anyone and Dean’s is the first one to benefit from it. Their pantry is always full of fresh vegetables, always ready for a new recipe to be tested in the wooden kitchen, for Sam to peruse when he comes to visit because Sam didn’t go with them, you know? Dean’d never admit it out loud but he was relieved when his brother turned down the plan that they all live together, purely born from that inner part of him that still feels responsible for his younger brother. Sam didn't agree because he wanted to resume law school, so he still comes to visit but it’s not a constant presence in his life anymore.

Dean’s starting to learn to live for himself.

Sometimes the quiet life is too much for someone who is accustom to be constantly on the run but when the adrenaline in his body is too much to bear, when his mind is racing a hundred miles per hour and seems unable to stop he nevers turns to a bottle. He turns to Cas's firm touch in bed, short commands he happily submits to with the knowledge of years of tender love spoken in praises and lips and a hand stroking his hair. He turns  to his kitchen and the pies he bakes and sell in the town nearby, to lovely people for whom his last name means nothing more than the model of a gun he no longer has to hold in his hands. He turns to the lake, a blue wonder of fresh water from where he can see the mountains, where he learns that he can do things for himself. He can swim or run for hours just for the sake of doing it and not because he’s being chased by a faceless monster.

When he was young he depicted himself having the perfect apple pie life in the form of Sunday barbecues with his neighbours, 2.5 of screaming kids in the backyard of his white picket fence house. An exemplary life, the family he was taught to dream of.

But now he’s here, in a wooden swing holding the hand of the man he loves (his husband, finally) watching the stars of the clearest sky he’s ever seen and he thinks he can’t be further from the life he imagined when he was a kid.