#dcsmb

Well, that wasn’t fair. Dean did consent to this, filling out all the paperwork and signing over his life for science. And for money. $500 for one week of marriage wasn’t bad.

Dean could feel his hands start to sweat in Castiel’s even just thinking about it. Marriage .

Marry your coworker for a week, they said. It’ll be a fun experiment, they said.

$500. Dean heard.

Marrying Castiel was better than a stranger, Dean guessed. At least he knew Castiel, sort of. They’d been working together for two and a half years or so. Not together together but their offices were close to each other. And it was a small-ish practice they worked for so they knew each other well enough. Like Dean knew that Castiel would pick up any feline clients if his allergies were acting up and Castiel trusted Dean not to laugh when Castiel had trouble with snakes.

“There’s a reason it was a snake that got Adam and Eve kicked out of the garden, Dean.” Castiel had told him once. “It’s because they’re fucking evil.”

They were basically already work married, Dean reasoned. Bringing it home for a week shouldn’t be too huge of a deal.

He was hoping he was right.

After their fake vows and the awkward fist bump that they substituted for a marital kiss, Charlie’s friend, Gilda, reminded them of the rules of the study.

“So, Castiel, you’re going to be living at Dean’s apartment for the week and you’ll be sharing a bed, a closet, a bathroom. The whole shebang!” She was way too excited about their fake marriage. “Now, obviously you’ll talk to each other while you’re living together but you’re also required to send four texts a day–”

“Each?” Dean didn’t think he sent four texts a week .

“Of course!” Gilda answered like it was obvious. “Four texts a day, each, minimum . You can send more if you like.”

“Do the contents of the texts matter?” Castiel asked, his voice low and serious.

Gilda scrunched her nose. “I don’t think so, no.”

Castiel looked at Dean, still serious. “Prepare to receive four poop emojis from me every day.”

Dean laughed. Gilda looked annoyed but carried on. “You’re also to share five meals over the course of the week. Either home-cooked or eating out is up to you.”

“So, like, dates.” Dean interrupted again. “Five dates in a week ?”

Gilda looked exasperated now. “Not every moment of time you spend together is a date.”

“Sharing a meal is usually considered a date,” Castiel argued.

Gilda huffed out a breath. “Yes, fine. But a lunch date or a brunch or something is not a real date. You’re just eating together.” She looked grumpy. “And you guys are married this week; it wouldn’t kill you to go on a few dates.”

Dean tried not to wince as he wiped his hands on his jeans. That word again.

“Okay,” he allowed, “Sorry. What else do we have to do?”

She looked mollified but hesitant. Dean guessed she hadn’t expected them to object so much to sharing meals and now wasn’t sure if she should tell them the next bit. They both waited, Castiel helping things by staring at her until she was uncomfortable enough to spit it out. “You each have to perform two random acts of love. Nice things for each other that aren’t planned.”

“Random acts of love ?” Dean was horrified.

Charlie sighed from where she was standing off to the side. She’d been one of their ‘witnesses’ for the ’wedding.’ “Dean, you do that shit all the time. Bringing people coffee and cooking someone’s favorite meal.” She looked at Gilda, conspiratorially. “He literally sends me a picture of a different dog every morning with a message that he ‘hopes my day isn’t ruff.’”

Dean blushed. “That’s not random acts of love , though. I just care about you. Wouldn’t love be flowers and chocolate and all that bullshit?”

Gilda smiled, back in her groove again thanks to Charlie’s interference. “Not necessarily! It always made me feel loved when my ex-girlfriend would pack my lunch in the morning.”

Charlie’s head whipped around so fast her own ponytail whacked her in the face. “Ow, fuck. Ex - girl friend?” Gilda smiled at her, coyly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Right, anything else?”

Gilda looked back at him, smile still in place. “Well, we picked you for this study knowing you have married friends so you’re to have one double date with them. This is to explore how it is to hang out with couple friends.”

Dean looked at Castiel. “Do you have married friends?”

Castiel shrugged. “I do but none I’d feel comfortable dining with.”

Dean sighed. He’d been afraid of that. “That means I gotta call Sammy.” His eyes widened, thinking of something for the first time. “You don’t know sign language do you?”

Castiel stared at Dean for a couple of seconds before bringing up his hands to sign yes, why do you ask .

Dean sighed again, relieved. “Great, wow, you’re already a lot better off than I am.” He turned back to Gilda. “Okay, we should be fine.”

Gilda looked curious but pleased. “Great! Here are your cameras.” She handed each of them a small, cheap, handheld video recorder. Blue for Castiel and green for Dean. “So you don’t get them confused.” Gilda winked. “Just use these to document your time together. Interesting moments, you can have little confessionals. We’re going to be having an interview after the week is up but we would like you to use these like diaries! Documenting your week together in real time!”

Dean looked at his camera in distrust and looked over to see Castiel examining his with mild bemusement. He was sure neither of these cameras would see light again until the week was up.

“Aaaaand that’s it!” Gilda beamed. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and threw up a handful of rice. “Happy honeymoon!”

Dean and Castiel winced as the rice hit them, shaking themselves so the loose grains fell to the floor. They looked at each other in shared exasperation before Dean narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at his new fake husband. “Hey.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes too, though that was more his natural look. Dean tried not to smile.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

   “Are you carrying me over the threshold?” Dean joked, pushing his apartment door open. They had completed the ceremony a couple hours ago. Now it was time for Castiel to move in.

Castiel paused in the doorway, tilting his head, his single suitcase set on its wheels. “I will if you wish, but this is your home; isn’t it customary you carry me?”

Dean snorted, walking into the room on his own steam. “Not with that much luggage, dude.” He called back, flicking on lights as he walked. “Who am I, Samantha Wright?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s one suitcase.”

“And the heaviest thing I’ve lifted recently was that obese golden retriever last week.”

Castiel smiled, coming into the room. “Yes, Mr. Tatkovsky’s pride and joy. How was the Duchess Anastasia?”

Dean groaned and shot Castiel a look, not bothering to elaborate. Cas laughed.

Vet stuff. Vet stuff was a good, safe topic. They were both comfortable in their careers; they knew what they were about when they were being vets.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t dwell forever. There were very real, very practical marital concerns that required their immediate attention.

“Where should I put my things?”

Dean turned away, not wanting to show Castiel the look on his face, as he led him toward his bedroom. Dean had known, intellectually, that they would be sharing his space, but it was still his space. Dean hadn’t had a roommate since his brother went to college, and never with someone whose diaper he hadn’t changed. Living spaces meant family to Dean, and Cas wasn’t… that.

He muscled through his anxiety with a gruff, “I cleared a couple drawers for you” and a hasty retreat to the bathroom. He swore, quietly, when he realized he couldn’t hide there long.  Castiel was going to have toiletries that he would need to set up; his products would be living on Dean’s sink. Cas’s toothbrush next to his toothbrush. Dean was feeling vaguely pukey.

“I’m going to go grab a cigarette.” Dean didn’t smoke. “You take your time settling in, I’ll be back up in a bit. Then we can…” But Dean didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He hastened out before he could see if Cas noticed.

As soon as he stepped outside he was dialing Sammy.

“Hello.”

Dean released a breath, heartened by the sound of his brother’s voice. “Sammy, hey, you busy?”

“Too busy for my favorite newlywed? Never!” Dean was less heartened now. “How goes the married life?”

Dean couldn’t even work himself up to making this sound any less pathetic, he wasn’t sure how much time he had. “I’m freakin’ out, man.” he hissed. “I haven’t spent any time outside of work with this guy and all of a sudden his shoes are next to my shoes and there’s a poop emoji in my messages and we have to eat together… What if he doesn’t like the way I chew? Friendships have been ruined for less.”

“Dean.” Sam laughed. “Relax, we both already know he’s going to hate the way you chew.”

Dean groaned. “Sam–”

“I know, sorry. But look: he agreed to this. We know you wanted the money and maybe he does too but whatever it is, he signed up so he can’t object too badly. And even if it is the worst thing it’s only for a week.”

Dean groaned again. “I know, I know , I get it in my head but when he was setting up his shaving kit in my bathroom I almost had a panic attack.”

“That’ll pass.” A beat. “Probably. Look, you can’t think about it like a stranger moving in on your turf. You guys are married.” Dean flinched. “I can hear you flinching, stop it.” Asshole. “If you need to construct an elaborate backstory for yourself in your head to make this okay, I think that’s fine. Pretend you’re a demon inhabiting your own body and this guy–”

“Castiel.”

“-Castiel and your vessel already have some involved romantic history. You don’t want Castiel to know you’re possessing his real husband so you have to act like nothing is wrong. Is that better?”

Dean mulled it over, kicking aside some of the cigarette butts on the stoop from the actual smokers in the building. “I mean, demon possession, though? There are probably 10 better scenarios that don’t have me cast as a demon.”

Sam huffed, half amused, half exasperated. “Whatever, jerk, I was just trying to help.”

“Bitch.” Dean grinned. “Oh, hey, are you and Eileen free at all this week? Cas and I need to have a double date with a married couple.”

“ Another married couple.” Dean scowled. “I can hear you scowling. Yeah, we’re free. Any day specifically?”

Dean told him he’d check with Cas and let Sam know. They hung up and Dean braced himself to walk back into his apartment.

It was worse than Dean thought: it looked exactly the same. Well, almost exactly the same, which is worse than worse. All of his shit was in the same place but there were additions. That wasn’t his key on the hook. That wasn’t his wallet on the end table. That wasn’t his trench coat on the coat rack. What the fuck, a trench coat ?

You’re a demon. He told himself. You are inhabiting this vessel to wreak so-far unknown unspeakable evil on this earth. You are undercover. Give nothing away .

Castiel emerged from the bedroom in socked feet, his face in that same benignly curious expression. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean knew the demon thing wasn’t going to work.

Socked feet .

He clapped his hands together once, loudly. “Fuck it, first random act of love. We’re getting ice cream.”

   They did not get ice cream but in fact frozen yogurt, which Dean grumbled about all the way there.

Castiel kept up with the same cool logic from the passenger seat of Dean’s Impala. “It’s serve yourself, Dean. You can get as much as you want and do your own toppings and everything.”

Dean did love cookie dough bits. “S’healthy, though.” he grumbled anyway.

Castiel shrugged, rolling his eyes. “It tastes the same.”

“If you close your eyes.”

Dean winced. It was an automatic response: a reference at the ready. But why a musical? Maybe Castiel didn’t notice.

But no, Castiel’s look of surprised delight meant he knew exactly what Dean was quoting.

He didn’t mention it, though.

Dean was grateful.

“Love is sacrifice,” Castiel continued, resolutely smacking his own thighs, “You sacrificing fattening frozen dairy in favor of slightly less fattening frozen yogurt means we can really count this as a random act of love.”

Dean grumbled a bit but mostly for show. He was glad Castiel had the same loophole-finding reluctance that he did with this whole mandatory-romance shit.

“Also, you’re paying. Monetary sacrifice.”

Dean snorted. Little shit.

Castiel did have a point about the self-serving part, though. Dean had probably too much fun combining flavors and topping in his dish, darting between the yogurt machines and the topping station.

“You gotta do layers, Cas,” Dean explained. “If you do the froyo all at once, then you’ve got all the topping on top and none when you get to the bottom.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched in amusement but he didn’t look away from where he was carefully stacking toppings. “You said ‘froyo.’”

Dean’s yogurt was definitely more expensive, heavy from the multiple trips to the yogurt machines. Cas’s was mostly just toppings. Dean didn’t feel cheated paying for both.

They both paused with their cups after stepping away from the counter, glancing at each other questioningly.

“So… are we gonna sit or take them home or…”

Castiel cocked his head in that way that was becoming very familiar to Dean. “If we eat them here, does that count as a meal together?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Dean grinned, clapping a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, causing bits of his tower of toppings to be jostled onto the floor. “Whoops.” He set his yogurt cup on a nearby table as he went to get napkins to clean up the mess.

By the time he got back, Castiel had sat down at the table and begun eating.

“Guess we’re staying then.” Dean muttered to himself, stomach tightening in anxiety.

Here’s the thing… Dean liked to eat. A lot.

He both liked to eat a large quantity of food and he really liked to eat. Food was Dean’s friend and he was very effusive in his appreciation of that friendship.

That is to say he’s been scolded on multiple occasions for chewing with his mouth open, talking with food in his mouth, moaning, sighing, stealing food off of other people’s plates, and – on one memorable occasion – forgetting to use his fork.

He often forgot to engage with other people while he was eating, forgetting about everything but the food in front of him.

It’s why he didn’t take dates out to eat. When he had dates, that is.

But Castiel didn’t even look up at Dean when he sat down, focusing intently on digging all of the chocolate turtles out of his frozen yogurt.

Dean hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He stared into his frozen yogurt, swirling the different flavors together in one big frozen muddy pond, when he felt his phone buzz.

Dean glanced at Cas, who was still digging for gold with his small pink plastic spoon, seemingly unaffected. Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket to see he had a text from Castiel.

It was two poop emojis, each with their own emoji that looked like an ice cream dish.

Dean barked out a startled laugh, glancing back at Castiel. Cas, for his part, didn’t look up, still messing with his toppings. But Dean could swear he saw just the smallest shadow of a smile.

He grinned, pocketing his phone and picking up his spoon.

They didn’t speak at all but Castiel looked up with that same ghost smile at every groan, every lip smack, and every sigh. Dean caught himself going a little bit overboard just to see if he could annoy Castiel. But Cas just smiled every time.

It was an unexpected relief. Dean started smiling back.

It was still a surprise, however, that when they’d finished their desserts, Castiel reached over and wiped off Dean’s face with his own napkin.

“So sloppy, darling, honestly.” Castiel smirked. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

Dean belly laughed all the way to the car.

  “Cas, don’t fall in love with me.”

Castiel sighed, dropping the extra pillow at the top of the bed. “Of course not, Dean.”

Seeing Cas like this, soft and dressed down for bed, was weirding Dean out a little bit by how not weirded out he was.

Of course Castiel wore a worn and stretched out ACDC t-shirt to bed. Of course he slept in his boxers. Of course he kept his socks on because he had poor blood circulation in his feet.

“Out of respect for you, Dean. Cold feet when you’re sharing a bed is no joke.”

Nothing weird about any of it.

Socked feet.

Dean shook his head again, focusing on making up the bed so they could share. “I’m just saying, man. You’re looking mighty cozy.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, climbing into his side of the bed.

Dean had been expecting the first night together to be full of landmines: Do they share the sink to brush their teeth? Are they going to leave the room to change into their pajamas? Does Cas have a weird noise maker machine he needs to sleep?

But Castiel apparently was immune to social landmines because he just did whatever the fuck he wanted, asserting his space in Dean’s apartment as if he’d always been there. He brushed his teeth while Dean was in the shower. He stripped down right there while Dean was flossing. He liked to listen to audiobooks to fall asleep, but he was considerate enough to ask Dean what book he would be okay with. He wanted to avoid spoiling Dean for something he hadn’t already read. That was nice.

It calmed Dean in a way he hadn’t expected. Yeah, it was strange watching Castiel insert his things among Dean’s possessions but once he was there he was there. No fuss. Not a big deal.

Dean hadn’t realized he just needed someone way less dramatic than he was.

Cas was squinting at his phone when Dean climbed into bed, a line of intense concentration between his eyebrows. Dean took a minute to catalogue the expression. There was the frown that meant Castiel didn’t understand. There was the frown that meant he was listening. There was the frown that meant he totally thought Dean’s joke was funny but didn’t think it appropriate for the workplace.

This frown was apparently What’s-a-good-book-for-Dean-and-me-to-fall-asleep-to?

“How do you feel about Holes ?”

“Drive around them or you’ll ruin your suspension.”

Castiel’s ‘Stop-being-cute’ frown. Dean liked that one.

“ Holes . The novel. Louis Sachar.”

“What, that kid’s book?” Castiel nodded. “I mean, I never read it but I saw the movie.”

Castiel shook his head, sadly. “Oh no, Dean, you should really experience the book. The movie is very good but there’s nothing quite like reading the original text. I won’t ruin that one for you.” He continued browsing.

Pleasant bewilderment weighed on Dean’s eyebrows, quirking his mouth up a tick. “It’s a kid’s book, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t look up. “So it should be a very quick read.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling a bit. He slumped down in the bed, lying flat on his back and letting his eyes slip gently shut. He could have probably fallen asleep like that but, out of politeness, he waited to see if Castiel would ask his opinion again.

It couldn’t have been three minutes until Castiel spoke again. “How about A Wrinkle in Time ?”

Dean smiled, letting his eyes stay shut. “That book scared the shit out of Sammy as a kid. He kept making me promise I wouldn’t let my mind get taken over like that kid Charles Wallace.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that would be a little frightening before bedtime.” Hearing these childlike words in the deep gravelly voice of a grown man like Castiel made Dean laugh again, opening his eyes to look back at him. Castiel didn’t seem to understand what was funny (insert frown) but he said nothing, looking back at his phone. Dean’s eyes slipped shut again.

A couple minutes later: “ The Outsiders ?”

Dean opened both eyes, narrowing them at Castiel. “What’s with all the kid’s books, Cas? I have read adult books too, you know. You don’t have to worry about spoiling me for something written for people over the age of 13.”

He wasn’t really mad. He was used to people being surprised when they found out how well read he was. Book lovers always thought he was too pretty to be one of them. Or too athletic or not the right kind of nerdy. They were always really shocked that he could quote almost the entire first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone from memory or that he’d written papers in college exploring the difference in Jane Austen’s form of literary feminism versus more contemporary works by Octavia Butler.

Cas didn’t blush or start stammering like Dean expected him to, though. He shouldn’t have been surprised – Cas had caught his Rent reference earlier – but he was still slightly thrown when Castiel dismissed him kindly with an, “Of course not, Dean. I just find young adult literature to be more comforting to fall asleep to. It’s familiar and simple, you know? Like a classic bedtime story.”

The careful thoughtfulness pulled a small smile out of Dean, the whimsy of Cas’s reasoning charming him. “Yeah, no, I can get that. Charlie likes me to read The Hobbit to her when she’s sick.”

Castiel nodded, smiling benignly. “I think I have The Hobbit . Would you like to listen to that?”

“That’d be great, Cas.”

Castiel smiled again, tapping on his phone.

Dean settled into bed, making sure to keep to his side but untensing his body enough to sleep. He usually slept on his side but he didn’t want to risk facing Castiel or facing away from him and rolling into his space in the night.

Castiel tapped his phone once more and some introductory music started to play. He set his phone on his nightstand and turned to face Dean, shutting his eyes.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

Dean studied Cas for a moment: relaxed. Comfortable. Content.

“Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

The familiar words washed over Dean and made his brain go very quiet. His eyes slipped shut.

He hadn’t fallen asleep that easily in years.

  They did not wake up spooning each other.

Dean wasn’t sure where the stereotype came from that when two people sleep in the same bed they inevitably gravitate toward each other over the course of the night. Every time he so much as nudged any part of Castiel, Dean was immediately roused from his sleep and scooched the fuck back to his side. He was very conscious of how to share a bed, having grown up sharing beds with his brother where Koala-sleeping was met with an immediate response in the form of a dutch oven.

Not that he thought Castiel would fart on him, it was just a precaution.

Cas had also kept to his side, tensing up when Dean got close. Dean got the message loud and clear. They didn’t have to talk about it.

The morning went much the same way as the night before: Castiel pretending he shared space with Dean every morning and doing basically whatever he wanted. He must have woken some time in the night to silence the audiobook because his phone was quiet as he lumbered into the bathroom. Cas was a little less pleasant in the morning than he had been last night. Dean knew from some memorable mornings that Castiel had come to work without drinking coffee that he was not a morning person. Seeing Castiel, sleep-worn and grumpy like this, put Dean in a really good mood. He wasn’t sure why.

  The rest of the day proceeded as normal at the clinic, barring the minor argument they’d had that morning over who was going to drive.

Dean insisted they had to take the Impala because, “No husband of mine is going to be seen in a fucking Prius.”

Castiel protested that, countering with, “Dean, the only music you have in your car is hair metal and Taylor Swift. We’re taking my car.”

They took Castiel’s car. But only because Dean didn’t want to pay for gas.

This pattern continued for the next couple days: they went to their separate offices, met with their separate clients. Castiel took Dean’s cats and Dean took Cas’s snakes. They comforted families whose pets had to be put down and helped excited children name their newborn puppies. There were a few more smiles and inside jokes between them but otherwise it was business as usual.

Sharing meals wasn’t nearly as big a deal as they made it, seeing as they usually took their lunch breaks at the same time anyway, leaving the clinic under the care of their resident, Krissy. They continued their tradition of getting food and not talking, usually with Cas sending text messages with poop emojis eating an emoji form of whatever they themselves had decided on that day.

They fulfilled their five-meal requirement in the first two days. Dean had already completed one of his random acts of love on the first day with the frozen yogurt and Castiel made Dean his own playlist of acceptable music for their drives to and from work. They texted each other exclusively in emojis but they hit at least seven a day.

They ate dinner on the couch where they were making their way through watching Property Brothers on Netflix, mildly arguing over which twin was more attractive. When they went to bed they would listen to Tolkein, falling asleep to the sounds of adventure.

It was basically like a friendship. Just all the time.

They were fucking killing this marriage game.

  “Can’t we just get beer?” Dean frowned at the selection of wines Castiel was currently also frowning at. “Wine is too complicated. What if Sam’s serving fish? We can’t drink red wine with fish. But I fucking hate white wine.”

“Beer is for friendship-like camaraderie,” Cas said, gravely, inspecting a bottle of Moscoto. “Wine is for married people.”

Dean groaned, scuffing his foot against the floor like a child. “So just because I have a husband I have to drink fruity shit?” Castiel smirked and Dean tried not to smile in response. “I’m a man, dammit. What about scotch, isn’t scotch fancy?”

Dean shuffled after Cas as Cas ignored him in favor of scanning the wall of reds. “Scotch doesn’t pair well with foods. Scotch pairs well with cigars.” At this Cas turned to level a look at Dean. “But cigars smell bad and no husband of mine will share my bed after smoking one.”

Dean blushed, as he always did when Cas casually mentioned sharing beds. Because, yes, they shared a bed – had been for the better part of a week already – but it’s not the kind of ‘sharing a bed’ he’d imagined married people did. No sex for one.

Not that he thought about having sex with Cas.

“We’re getting the Syrah,” Cas said definitively, grabbing two bottles off the shelf. “This one or this one?”

They were red wines which was as far as Dean’s wine comprehension went. He pointed vaguely to the wine that had the prettier label. “Why Sarah?”

“Syrah,” Castiel corrected, mildly, putting the other wine on the shelf, “is a dark fruit wine, and dark fruit wines are supposed to be best with grilled meats of all kinds.”

“Grilled meats?”

“Yeah, grilled meats. Like the brisket Sam’s been smoking for the past seven hours.”

Dean did a double take. “Sam’s been smoking a brisket for seven hours?”

“Yes.”

“And you know this.”

Cas just nodded, grasping the wine Dean chose in two hands, and making his way toward the cash register. The casual way Castiel said it, as if it was completely normal for him to be more informed about Dean’s brother than Dean.

Dean didn’t like it.

“Oh, well I’m glad he told you,” Dean grunted, his hands fidgeting. “Wouldn’t want to go in blind. Glad he contacted you. Glad he told you what was up.”

They were in line now so there wasn’t much for Cas to frown at outside of Dean. Dean muttered at the floor to avoid it.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean cleared his throat gruffly and flexed his shoulders. “It’s fine.”

“Dean.”

Dean looked up at the soft way Cas said his name. He wasn’t frowning but instead had a warm, understanding smile. “Sam called while you were in the shower. I just picked up the phone.”

The wind left Dean’s sails immediately. “Oh.”

Castiel chuckled. “Yeah, oh.” He took one hand off the wine bottle and lightly cupped Dean’s forearm. “He’s your brother, Dean.” Cas smirked. “And he’s my brother-in-law. At least for the next three days.”

Dean laughed, looking at the floor again, this time bashfully. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…” Dean didn’t know how to finish. What he was feeling.

Cas nodded anyway, that same warm smile on his face.

“Next customer!”

Dean startled, looking over Cas’s shoulder at the empty spaces in line leading right up to the cash register. “Sorry! Sorry,” Dean called, nudging Cas with the arm Cas wasn’t still gripping. Cas shot him one last smirk before letting go and walking toward the register, his face falling back into his neutral expression of bewildered disgruntlement.

Dean texted Cas the poop emoji next to a wine bottle.

  It took a lot of convincing, but after Dean promised that it could count as Castiel’s second act of love, they were allowed to drive to Sam and Eileen’s house in the Impala.

“And you’re going to tell Gilda that my acts of love were better and more thoughtful than anything you did,” Castiel pouted from the passenger seat.

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear.” Dean grinned, one hand on the steering wheel.

It hadn’t occurred to him since he got in the driver’s seat how long it had been since he’d driven his baby. After the first day, he’d mostly stopped putting up a stink about driving his own car to work, unwilling to displease a grumpy morning Cas. Starting up the engine and hearing her roar felt just like coming home.

Sam was waiting outside when they pulled up, his arms draped over Eileen.

Dean grinned over at Cas as he parked, excited to introduce him to his better half. Sam represented everything Dean had done right, with his wife and his career and his white picket fence. But looking at Cas, though his face looked like it was in his usual perplexed expression, a bit of uncharacteristic nervousness showed behind his eyes.

Castiel, the same guy who inserted himself so seamlessly into Dean’s life so it was like he’d always been there. Castiel who took Dean’s obnoxious eating habits in stride and who considered Dean’s literary preferences. Castiel who Dean hadn’t seen shaken during this entire experiment was nervous to meet Dean’s gentle giant of a brother.

He obviously didn’t want to show it, keeping his face carefully casual in a way that was only casual for Cas. If Dean hadn’t been cataloguing his expressions for the better part of a week, he might not have seen the change. But it was there, and Dean didn’t want it to be.

He hesitated for only a second before throwing open his door and stepping out of the car, quickly rounding the back to open Cas’s door for him.

Cas blinked at him in surprise when Dean threw his door open, holding out a hand to help Cas out. He followed Dean’s lead, though; as he gripped the wine bottle in one hand and Dean’s hand in the other, he pulled himself from the vehicle.

Dean smiled at him once they were facing each other and wouldn’t look away until Cas smiled back.

Once he was smiling and mildly pink in the cheeks, Dean hauled him by his hand up the steps to meet the married Winchesters.

Er, the other married Winchesters.

Would Cas take his name?

“Sammy!” Dean went in to hug his brother, one armed since his other was still firmly gripping Cas’s hand.

“H-hey, Dean.” Sam smiled, laughing a little nervously. Dean got why when Sam shot a look at his and Cas’s clasped hands.

“What? I can’t hold hands with my husband?” He heard Cas laugh softly behind him and squeezed his hand once before letting go so he could sign for Eileen.

“Sam, Eileen, this is Castiel.” Dean paused after sign-spelling Cas’s name. He turned to him. “Do you have a name sign, Cas? Your full name is a finger fumble waiting to happen.”

Cas nodded, bringing his right hand up to make a ‘C’ and then touching his thumb and forefinger together to tap it to the side of his mouth and immediately swatting in front of it.

Dean tried the sign a few times, hitting himself in the face a couple times trying to get it fluid, before turning and repeating the sign to Eileen. “Castiel.” Name sign.

Eileen smiled and turned to Cas, signing something that was too quick for Dean to get but included part of Cas’s name sign. Cas blushed but, smiling slightly, he passed the bottle of wine to Dean who then passed it to Sam before responding in kind. Eileen laughed.

Dean turned to Sam, an eyebrow raised. “Did you get any of that?”

Sam shrugged, frowning approvingly at the wine. “Something about bees? That’s what the last half of Cas’s name sign means.”

“Bees?” Dean turned back to Cas. Cas’s cheeks were red, obviously having heard everything. He avoided Dean’s eye, probably for the first time ever.

“Come on, Cas, what is it?”

Cas sighed, glancing over at Eileen who grinned at him. “Eileen asked why I chose a bee for my name sign.” He spoke and signed at the same time. He was much better at it than Sam or Dean. “I told her that when I was a child I was obsessed with bees and would be interested in very little else. I chose the sign for bee for my name because I wanted to be one.”

Dean smiled but didn’t laugh like Sam and Eileen. The words ‘child’ and ‘sign’ together like that caught his attention. “You could sign as a kid, Cas? That’s pretty cool.”

Because Dean wasn’t talking directly to Eileen, he didn’t bother to sign. He knew if she really wanted to know what he was saying, she was accomplished enough at reading lips that she’d be able to figure it out. But Castiel signed what Dean was saying as he spoke, without even thinking about it. It was like it was second nature to him.

He continued to sign his own words, his nimble hands precise and fluid in their movement. “Yes, well, it’s a bit of a long story. Perhaps for another time.”

Dean kept poking at him, however, until Eileen intervened.

“Dean, leave Cas alone,” she said aloud, her voice practiced and nice even though she couldn’t hear it, “Come on, we should probably head inside, the brisket should be ready soon.”

  Dinner was amazing.

Dean was definitely the better cook between him and his brother, but give Sammy a grill and half a day and he could do alright.

It also didn’t hurt that Eileen had made the sides. And his and Cas’s wine choice kicked ass, too.

It would be beyond rude to have a conversation when one of the participants couldn’t hear it – and their hands were too busy for signing – so, thanks to Eileen, Dean and Castiel were able to continue their streak of sharing a meal and not talking. But this time, Dean had the added pleasure of grossing out his brother with his chewing and having his husband defend him.

“Cas, you’ve been sharing meals with my brother all week and you haven’t killed him yet? How?”

Cas shrugged, putting down his fork so he could sign for Eileen who wasn’t even looking, so focused on her mac and cheese. “He’s just enjoying himself, letting himself revel in his satisfaction. I quite like Dean’s openness in expressing pleasure.”

Eileen snorted again, apparently at least catching the end of Cas’s speech. Dean just grinned and grabbed Cas’s hand to kiss his knuckles. Cas blushed. He’d blushed more during this one dinner than he had in four days of marriage.

Dean grinned harder.

“So, Cas, now can you tell us the long story? About why you could sign so young? It’s another time.”

Sam and Eileen both shot Dean looks of exasperation, obviously thinking Dean tactless. But, aside from the residual blush on Cas’s face, he didn’t seem to object the question.

“Well, both of my parents are deaf and they raised me believing I was deaf as well. I guess as an infant I didn’t respond to sounds the way a hearing baby would and so they believed I’d inherited the hearing loss. I developed the same as any baby, it’s just that my first words weren’t aloud. ASL is actually my first language, it’s how I first learned to communicate. It wasn’t until I was in kindergarten that I signed and found the other children couldn’t understand me that I first spoke.”

Dean could feel himself gaping. “But, Cas, that’s crazy! They must have known you could hear when you, I don’t know, laughed at something funny on TV or something.”

Cas shook his head. “No sound on any of the TVs. They were all subtitled. My parents didn’t watch much television to begin with. They read a lot of books. I watched the bees.”

Dean just shook his head, not sure if he wanted to laugh. “Cas, buddy, I gotta tell you, that’s the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Cas smiled embarrassedly back. Sam and Eileen rolled their eyes.

After dinner they played Cards Against Humanity, because it was fun and the brothers were awful and the card game didn’t have a lot of talking when you could just read the cards. Cas surprised no one by being the purest snowflake to ever play the game, picking such sweet cards like “a really cool hat” and “a micropig wearing a raincoat and booties,” (going predictably pink when Dean played “Bees?”) and being absolutely horrified by “Auschwitz” and “two dicks at the same time.” Eileen was actually the most fucked up, laughing maniacally every time she managed to make one of the men stammer or blush. Sam ended up winning, again surprising no one, and as the winner, he got to pick who helped him clean up dinner.

Of course he picked Dean.

Dean groaned as he pushed into the kitchen.

“Are you punishing me or did you just want to get me alone so we could talk about our feelings?”

Sam loitered by the door, checking to make sure their spouses were fully distracted. “The second one.”

“So you’re punishing me.” Dean groaned again, just for the drama of it and to see the look it put on Sam’s face.

There. That look.

“Dean, remember how you called me on the verge of a panic attack less than five days ago?”

Dean grabbed random dishes off the table and moved them toward the sink. “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t bother to respond, just leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Waiting.

Dean sighed. “So I got over it, what?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Got over it? Dean, I’ve known you my entire life. When have you ever just ‘gotten over’ something?”

“Are you gonna help me with this shit or is this part of my punishment?”

Sam sighed, taking more dishes over to Dean so he could wash them.

Sam watched him for a minute before asking, “Was it the demon tip? Are you sleeping with him? What’s going on?”

Dean flushed. “No! We’re not– that wasn’t part of the deal. We’re just being married, like we’re supposed to be.”

“Yeah, and it’s an experiment, Dean, you weren’t actually supposed to fall in love.”

Dean dropped the plate he was washing and it landed with a splash in the soapy water, both of the Winchesters’ clothes darkening in spots from the spatter.

They both jerked back, surprised, and Sam looked up at Dean with his mouth gaping.

“Dean… holy shit, I was kidding. I didn’t think you were actually–”

“I’m not. I–” Dean reached for words. He couldn’t grasp them. “I’m not. We’re friends, you know? We’ve gotten a lot closer in the past few days. It could have been a disaster but it’s been kind of… the opposite.”

Dean thought about how nice it’s been, having so much easy companionship.

Being with Cas wasn’t like being with other people. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. He didn’t have to entertain Cas, didn’t have to make sure he was happy or satisfied. But he knew if he did want to talk, Cas was always there and willing to listen. He could show him a funny cat video or tell him a joke or make him a meal and Cas would smile or laugh or be endlessly appreciative.

Dean had loved living with Sam growing up but there was always the anxiety, the worry that Sam was safe and happy. Being with Cas was different: it was all of the comfort of being with someone who understood you with none of the pressure to keep them alive.

“I like Cas,” Dean finished, finally, “I like being around him. I didn’t realize how lonely I was living alone.”

Sam grimaced in sympathy. “So what are you going to do when the week is over?”

Dean shrugged, frowning. “You know, it’s kind of criminal that I work as a veterinarian and I don’t have a dog.”

  Dean saved his final Act of Love until their last day of marriage.

They were ‘married’ on a Monday which meant the coming Monday was booked for their divorce. They’d finished The Hobbit audiobook the night before, so Dean figured this Sunday would be the perfect time for his grand gesture.

“Hey, Cas, you busy?”

Castiel was sitting by the window in their – Dean’s – bedroom, looking out at the trees. “Hmm?”

“Watching the bees, Cas?” Dean grinned, doing Cas’s name sign.

Cas rolled his eyes, not looking away from the window. “There are no bees this high up, Dean. Not without the flower boxes you wouldn’t let me put in.” Dean grinned. “I just like how the wind moves through the leaves,” Cas continued, wistfully.

Dean was glad Cas was still looking out the window. Glad he couldn’t see the stupid smile on his face.

“Well, if you want to take a break from that, look what I got.”

Cas turned, looking at Dean’s face before his eyes dropped to his hands.

His eyes widened just a little and his mouth dropped open in a surprised smile. “ Holes ? You bought the book?”

Dean shrugged, bouncing his shoulders to try and play off the movement. “Well, I mean, you were right: it is kind of a short book. And I really wouldn’t mind reading it.” Cas kept smiling. Dean took a deep breath. “And, you know, since we’re getting divorced tomorrow–” Cas’s smile faltered a bit but he nodded. “I figured we could spend our last afternoon together reading. Like I could read this out loud to you.”

Cas’s mouth dropped open in surprise again. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before finally choking out, “Dean.”

Dean sat on the bed, leaning toward Cas. “You’ve got all your audiobooks but I figure you’ve never had someone read just for you. Not when your parents never talked out loud to you as a kid. You’ve never seen someone’s face while they read, you’ve never had someone stop to appreciate something in the book.” Dean shrugged again. More gently this time. “I thought this would be something you’d like.”

Cas nodded slowly, blue eyes brimming with something that looked a lot like adoration. “I would. I really would.”

Dean looked away, unwilling to confront the emotions in Cas’s eyes. “Cool, cool. Well, um.” He cleared his throat, patting the bed beside him. “Why don’t you get comfy here and we can get started.”

Dean stood up so Cas could settle himself in the bed, turning to his bedside drawer to dig out his wireframes.

Cas smiled curiously when he turned back to him. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“I just need them if I’m reading for a long time.” Dean pushed them up self-consciously. “I don’t like to wear them around the office.”

Cas smirked, knowingly. “The Duchess Anastasia.”

Dean breathed a laugh. “The Duchess Anastasia.”

Cas was curled up under the covers and, even though they’d been sharing a bed for six nights, something about being together under the blankets in the brightness of day turned it into something Dean didn’t want to deal with. He sat on top of the covers.

“Okay.” Dean cleared his throat, sitting so his back was against the headboard. Cas’s head was on the pillow near Dean’s hip. He looked up at him with eager interest. “Okay, so you know I haven’t read this before, so remember that this isn’t going to be as good as the professionals you listen to all the time.”

Cas smiled. “I know, Dean.”

Dean shifted, settling himself into reading. “If I get too excited or trip over words, I’m sorry. I can’t remember the last time I talked for a long time.”

Cas just poked him in the hip, frowning up at him impatiently.

Dean laughed. “Okay, okay, here we go.”

He opened the book and started to read.

  When they woke up they were spooning.

It had been a long afternoon. A good one, but a long one.

Dean had never realized how tiring it was to just read and talk for hours. He ended up getting out of bed and pacing a bit while reading. He sometimes had to pause and get a drink before he could continue, his voice too hoarse to be heard. He stopped several times just to talk at Cas, puzzling through some of the connections in the book. Cas never revealed anything, just smiling mildly and tracking Dean’s face with his eyes.

At one point, when Dean pulled back the covers and got back in the bed, Cas surprised him by curling into his chest. Dean froze, looking down at Cas’s head.

Cas had kept to himself for most of the week. Sure, they had held hands the one time but Dean had initiated that. He would nudge Dean here and there, grab his arm and shove him playfully, but when they were in bed or on the couch, Castiel was very careful about touching.

“Don’t stop,” Cas had said. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Which made Dean think Castiel had carefully considered this move and then done it anyway.

Dean unfroze, slowly, carefully. He rested one of his hands in Cas’s hair and Cas hummed in approval. Dean left his hand there, sometimes scratching at Cas’s scalp. Dean would feel the rumble in Cas’s chest every time he did it.

By the time Dean finished the book, Cas was asleep. It was fair, considering he’d read the book before, but Dean was a little disappointed Cas wasn’t awake so he could talk about the book with him. He wanted to see Cas’s indulgent smile at Dean’s excitement. He wanted to feel the rumble of Cas’s laughter when they were twined so close together. But Dean contented himself to feeling Cas’s breath on his shirt and the warmth of his skin.

It wasn’t a charged contact like Dean was used to. There hadn’t been a pull for Dean to feel more skin or make Cas moan. He maybe would have wanted to pull Cas closer, maybe would have wanted to place a gentle kiss in his hair. But Cas was asleep and couldn’t consent, and it wasn’t like Dean wasn’t happy with the situation as it was. He was extremely comfortable and exhausted from the marathon reading session so, staying where he was, Dean had followed Cas into sleep.

So he guessed that answered that question: It was easy to wake up spooning if you fell asleep tangled up in the first place.

Dean must have shifted down at some point in the night because he was fully horizontal, lying on his side, with Castiel curled behind him, his arm draped over Dean’s stomach. Dean’s neck tickled where Cas’s hair brushed the skin at the top of his shirt and his cheek was pressed firmly between Dean’s shoulder blades, the cool wind of his breath ruffling the fabric.

Dean was the little spoon. It wasn’t wholly unexpected.

Being as closely pressed as they were, it wasn’t surprising that the change in Dean’s breathing, speeding up out of the evenness of sleep, would rouse Cas into wakefulness.

He whined and ground his forehead into Dean’s back, shaking his head as if rejecting consciousness hard enough would put him back to sleep.

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Cas.”

Castiel froze, his head stilling against Dean, his arm tightening unconsciously on Dean’s waist. Dean turned in Castiel’s arm, staying close, but bringing himself face to face with Cas. Cas scooted back so he could see him.

Dean took in Cas’s expression. His eyes were wide, scared but also curious. His eyebrows were cast down in cartoonishly characteristic diagonals, giving him the sad eyes of Eeyore and young Simba, post-stampede. His lips were pulled in between his teeth, as if he was holding his breath. The breath came out in a stutter when Dean lifted his hand to brush the hair off of Cas’s forehead.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, bringing down his hand to cup Cas’s face.

Cas nodded, his voice even rougher from sleep. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Dean chuckled, the laugh no more than a huffed breath across Cas’s cheek. “You didn’t seem to care if I objected to cuddling when you glomped onto me last night.”

Cas’s cheeks tinged pink. “That’s different: we were both awake and aware. And you were reading so it’s like we had something else to focus on. It wasn’t so–”

“Unguarded.”

Cas nodded, curling his hand against Dean’s chest, his other arm still slung over his middle.

Dean smiled softly. “Yeah, Cas, it’s fine. It’s marriage: spooning is practically mandatory.”

Cas didn’t laugh, instead bringing his arm back from around Dean and hugging it to his own chest. Dean frowned.

Cas looked up at him, his face blank. “Divorce today.”

Dean nodded, pulling his hand back from Cas’s face. “Yup. And we didn’t schedule any appointments today at work so...” Dean shrugged as much as he could while lying down.

He meant that to mean they could stay in bed for a while. That they could talk or snuggle or whatever. He was enjoying the closeness. He wanted it to continue.

But Cas brought his other hand back from Dean’s chest. “Right.”

Dean sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, to put some distance between him and Cas. Cas let out an audible sigh of relief and Dean turned to face him, his eyebrows weighed down with concern. “What’s up, Cas? What’s going on?”

Cas pulled himself to sitting, too, bringing his knees up to his chest, his back to the headboard. “Nothing,” he said, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Like hell I won’t worry about it.” Dean said, almost angrily. “We’ve been great all week. You snuggled right up to me last night and now you decide to clam up on me? Come on, what else are husbands for?”

“You’re not my husband.”

Dean physically drew back, surprised at the icy steel Cas infused in those words. It was accusation and condemnation. It bit and growled.

This was not a Castiel Dean had seen. Before this week he knew professional Cas: the vet whose hair was maybe a little unruly but whose temperament was cool enough to calm even the most nervous Chihuahua. Over the past couple days he’d seen curious Cas, playful Cas, embarrassed Cas, contemplative Cas, and last night (Dean’s favorite) cuddly Cas. This was not any of those.

This was an angry Cas. But… Dean took in Cas’s posture, his hands clenching and unclenching against his calf, folded closely to his chest. His eyebrows were tilted in angry slopes but his eyes were wide where they were downcast.

This wasn’t just angry Cas. This was hurt Cas. This was scared Cas.

Dean didn’t like it.

“Alright then,” Dean started. Cas glared at his knees, not looking up. “We can just… get ready and go, then. We’ll grab breakfast or something on the way to the lab.”

Cas nodded to show he understood and Dean disappeared into the shower.

There was no poop emoji waiting for him when he came back out.

  “Okay, first we’re going to be doing your individual closing interviews, and then we’ll review your video diaries from the week, and then we’ll do one more group interview and then you can be on your way!”

“And the $500?” Dean asked.

Gilda rolled her eyes. “Your check is in the mail, Dean. I hope that hasn’t been the only thing you’ve thought about all week.”

It hadn’t been. Dean had actually completely forgotten about the money on the second day, only remembering it now that they were back in the lab. But Gilda didn’t need to know that.

He shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.

Gilda rolled her eyes again.

“Castiel, you’ll come do your interview with me. And Dean, I’m going to let you talk to my trusty assistant.”

“Oh no,” Dean groaned as Charlie popped up grinning next to him.

“Hiya, handmaiden!”

Dean turned to Gilda, desperately. “I’m not going to be able to give a serious interview if Charlie’s doing it.”

“Sorry, Dean,” Gilda shrugged, delicately. “Charlie made an excellent point: You’re only going to open up to someone you’re comfortable with. Charlie is the only person we have on hand.”

Charlie’s cheeks dimpled, elfishly, as she looped Dean’s arm with hers. “Come on, Butternut, it’s time for a girl chat.”

Dean groaned a bit. He could swear he caught a hint of a smile on Cas’s face before he was dragged away. But perhaps that was wishful thinking.

Charlie pulled him into a side room about the size of a walk-in closet. It had two chairs facing each other, a hanging lightbulb, and that was about it.

She pulled the string on the bulb and sat down. “Sit. Let’s dish.”

Dean sighed, sinking into his own chair.

“So…” Charlie started, her hands folded in front of her, looking at Dean in this wickedly curious kind of way. “Did you guys consummate?”

Dean winced and closed his eyes. “Charlie.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right, that wasn’t a real question, hang on.”

She pulled a small spiral notebook out of her back pocket and flipped it open. Holding her phone in her other hand, she hit record and set it on her knee.

“On a scale from 1-10 of how hard you expected marriage to be, before this experiment, you gave it an 8. How do you feel now?”

Dean didn’t take nearly as long to answer as he thought he should have. “Three.”

Charlie looked visibly surprised, her eyebrows hiking up her forehead. “A 3? You went down 5?”

Dean nodded. Charlie waited, probably hoping Dean would elaborate, but Dean just sat, arms folded, saying nothing.

Charlie sighed, wrote something, and moved on to the next question.

There was some stuff about their living arrangements and daily routine, and she checked his phone for his text messages (she had a good chuckle about the poop emojis) before she got to the tricky stuff.

“Were there things that you did or didn’t do this week that you thought might or might not happen in a real marriage?”

Dean remembered this question from the ‘before’ survey. It’s the question he’d been referring to as ‘the sex question’ in his head. In the ‘before’ survey, he’d said, “I expect we won’t have sex and that’s something that definitely happens in real marriages.”

When Charlie asked this time, though, he said, “No. Nothing.”

Charlie’s eyebrows climbed higher than before. “Nothing? Because before you said–”

“I know what I said,” Dean interrupted. “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind in that you had sex with him or you decided marriages don’t need it?”

“Charlie…”

“Hey, this one is an actual question, and you brought it up in your initial interview. I actually do need elaboration. For science.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. “No, we didn’t have sex. We didn’t need to. It felt like a marriage because of all the other stuff.” Dean opened his eyes, meeting Charlie’s gaze. “Sex just wasn’t part of it.”

Charlie nodded and leaned forward, whispering. “But you wanted to, right? Like you thought about it?”

Dean hesitated, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t have said no. But it also wasn’t something I was really thinking about, you know? We were doing other shit.”

Charlie smirked and Dean groaned. “Not like that, you fucking pervert. No, like reading together, and talking about work, and arguing over which Property Brother was hotter.”

Charlie pulled a ‘duh’ face. “Drew.”

“That’s what I said!”

They both laughed and Charlie moved on to questions about their shared meals and their double date with Sam and Eileen.

“Yeah, I didn’t know Cas had this weird thing with sign language.” Dean did Cas’s name sign and laughed to himself.

“What was that?” Charlie asked, trying to repeat the motion.

“Oh, that was Cas’s name sign. It’s a ‘C’ with the word ‘bee’ after it.” He laughed again, repeating the movement.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Oh, like that’s any less dorky than–” She did the sign for “D” and then two cutting motions on the flat of her other hand. “Pie.” “I bet Cas was a kid when he picked his, what’s your excuse?”

Dean snorted but he was blushing.

When they got to the part about random acts of love, Charlie was completely unsurprised that the things Cas did for Dean involved music and his car.

“Such a simple boy, God love ya.”

She was way more interested in Dean’s reading Holes .

“Hold up. You’ve never read Holes? ”

“Well now I have.”

Charlie huffed. “Whatever, but I mean, really? The best movie adaptation of all time and you’d never read the original source material?” She looked genuinely upset. “I’m ashamed at you.”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, laughing. “Are you sure you’re not just jealous? You’re not the only person I’ve read aloud to, now.”

“No, I’m not jealous, but that is interesting.” She peered at him, inquisitively. “You don’t like to talk much.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t dislike talking.”

“No, but you use your words, you know? You don’t just let them hang, you make them do something. And if you don’t think they’re going to do anything, you don’t say anything. You don’t just like to hear the sound of your own voice.”

Dean cocked his head, confused. Charlie grinned at him.

“You read to Cas because you thought it would do something for him. You talked for six hours just because you thought Cas would like it.”

“Yeah…?”

Charlie just spread her hands, her face smug. “That’s an act of love.”

Dean was about to protest that that was the whole point –  that that was what they were assigned – but he knew what she meant.

He didn’t do it for the assignment. Not really. He did it because he wanted to.

  Cas was holding his little blue camera when they stepped back out into the main lab and Gilda was lowering a projection screen.

“Hey, uh, I need to go get my camera,” Dean started, jerking his thumb towards the door. “It’s in my car.” At least it should be, seeing as Dean hadn’t touched it since they gave it to him. He thanked God they’d driven the Impala today.

Gilda waved him off. “You can get it later, I already got your video files.”

Dean blinked. “What? I didn’t–”

“You emailed them to me.” Gilda looked at Dean like he was being dense on purpose. “But you’ll have to wait your turn, I promised Castiel he could go first.”

“Cas–” but before he could finish, the lights dimmed and Cas’s face was filling up the screen.

It was a little off center, like Cas was holding the camera away from himself but he couldn’t see on the screen where the lense was pointing. He was frowning at the device as he tried to steady it and Dean couldn’t help but smile at the expression.

“Hello,” the Cas on screen greeted, “I’m Castiel Novak and this is day one of the marriage experiment. I’m packed and I’m about to drive to Dean Winchester’s apartment. I have to admit I’m looking forward to this week. I’ve been... studying Dean for some time, now, and I’m curious as to how our relationship will grow from here.”

Dean chuckled and glanced over at Cas in the present who was bright red, despite the fact that his face otherwise hadn’t changed from his usual grumpy expression.

The next clip was a blurry shot from through Dean’s bedroom window. He could see himself on the stoop, clearly not smoking, and talking animatedly on the phone to Sam. He couldn’t hear anything he was saying but Cas apparently could. He turned the camera back on himself, his frown weighted with worry. “Dean doesn’t seem to be as excited about this as I am. I’m hoping he’ll change his mind.”

Dean glanced over at Cas again. He was looking at the floor now, playing with the little plastic camera in his hands. Dean walked over to stand next to him, bumping him with his shoulder. When Cas looked up, Dean smiled at him. Cas’s mouth twitched in response.

The next couple clips were taken in random snatches of their everyday life. There was one that was just Cas brushing his teeth while you could hear the shower going in the background. There was one of Cas narrating his trip to the grocery store, complaining about how much floss Dean used. There was one that Cas had somehow got of the two of them without Dean noticing, watching Property Brothers and getting really passionate about backsplash tiles. These were intercut with little confessionals with Cas where he would say things like, “Dean is a lot more self-conscious then I thought he would be,” and, “Dean does this thing when he’s nervous where he looks down at the ground and overcorrects, talking like he’s not bothered at all. I’m trying different things but I think the best thing to do to break him out of it is make him laugh.”

And then there were ones of Dean that Cas seemed to take just because he thought they were worth remembering. There was one at work where Cas had caught him playing with one of the puppies. There was one Cas must have taken on the way to Sam and Eileen’s of Dean driving the Impala and singing along to one of his tapes, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. And there was more than one of Dean sleeping: either napping on the couch or conked out after dinner in his La-Z-Boy or after he thought Cas had gone to bed. And Cas always whispered, “Sleep well, Dean. I’m glad it’s you.”

The final clip had obviously been taken that morning while Dean was in the shower. Cas on screen looked very upset, his hair a giant puff of anxiety. Dean reached over and touched present Cas’s elbow as if that would calm some of past Cas’s distress.

“Well,” the Cas on screen started with a heavy sigh, “It’s D-day. ‘D’ standing for ‘divorce.’ The point I have been dreading all week.” He ran a hand through his hair, giving clue to how it got that way. “I’ve really had the best time and I don’t want it to end. But this isn’t a real marriage, or a real marriage for Dean. Dean wouldn’t want to go on just like this with nothing more. And I don’t want to have sex with him, so.” He sighed again, looking down. A long moment passes before he looks back up. “I don’t regret this. This really was a good challenge to myself and a great experience. I just wish things could be different.”

And with that, the screen went black.

Cas wouldn’t look at Dean. Dean looked over at Charlie, unsure what to do. She made a gesture with her hands that was almost too complicated to interpret but Dean thought he figured it out. He reached over and grabbed Cas’s hand. Charlie gave a thumbs up.

Cas still didn’t look at Dean but he squeezed his hand. Dean squeezed back.

Suddenly the screen lit back up. It was a little tilted and out of focus, like the camera was just left somewhere and started recording by itself. When Sam walked into frame, though, Dean knew that wasn’t the case.

“Dammit.”

The kitchen.

Sam had set him up.

“So I got over it, what?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal. We’re just being married, like we’re supposed to be.”

“It could have been a disaster but it’s been kind of… the opposite.”

“I like Cas. I like being around him.”

This video wasn’t nearly as well composed as Cas’s. It wasn’t clear, it wasn’t as revealing. But this was a confession Dean hadn’t willingly given and so Dean thought he got full points for vulnerability on this one.

Cas squeezed his hand. Dean looked at him.

His head was cocked in that same familiar way and his eyes were a little red, but there was also a shadow of a smile. “You like me?”

Dean released an exasperated laugh. “Of course I like you, Cas. Wasn’t that kind of obvious this morning?”

Cas shook his head, his smile becoming more real. “No, I mean, even without sex or anything. You like me without it?”

Dean flushed but nodded. “Yeah, Cas, even without it.”

Charlie cleared her throat, loudly. When both Dean and Cas turned to look at her she smiled devilishly and hit play on her phone.

“I wouldn’t have said no. But it also wasn’t something I was really thinking about, you know? We were doing other shit...Not like that, you fucking pervert. No, like reading together, and talking about work, and arguing over which Property Brother was hotter.”

Charlie hit pause and Gilda answered, “Jonathan.”

“Drew!” Dean and Charlie yelled, together.

Cas laughed, his voice a little watery. Dean grabbed his other hand.

“There can be marriage without sex, you know? Ours felt real enough.”

Cas nodded, swallowing roughly. “I think so, too.”

Dean smiled at him, leaning in, before he jerked back. “Wait, can I kiss you? Is that an okay thing?”

Cas grinned before leaning up just the tiniest bit to kiss him. It was a warm press of lips and dipping your toe in the bath water to see if it’s hot enough. It was a brush of noses and the smell of freshly mown grass. It was the rasp of stubble under hands and the feel of freshly laundered sheets.

It was nice and safe and home.

They were both smiling when they pulled away.

“So,” Dean said, smoothing Cas’s hair back just as he had that morning, “You wanna get married, Cas?”

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