#deancas fandom

Castiel often has more money in his wallet than his father left Dean to feed his little brother and himself with when his old man left them to battle his demons, mostly for a month or longer.

But Dean tries to ignore that fact. Castiel is kind and funny, and he has the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. Eyes that sparkle in the shop light, looking expectantly at him.

"The sequins are totally your style, and the unicorn and rainbow glitter match your white sneakers. You know, the pride edition."

Dean isn't a fashion expert, but he's a Castiel expert, and the teen loves everything glittery and sparkling. Dean would never dare wear the stuff his friend rocks in public. But Castiel has Dean now, ready to sandbag anybody who so much as looks wrong at his angel.

Castiel swirls around in front of the mirror. "You're right. And I love it. But I also want the jeans and I already got the boots. I think I'll have to let it go." He breathes a sigh and opens the zipper to put the hoodie back on the hanger.

"Maybe your mum will get it for you for your birthday," Dean tries to comfort him.

"Nah. You know my mother. She thinks clothes as gifts are for poor people," Castiel says, his eyes apologising immediately. Dean looks away. He would have been happy to get clothes for his birthday. The last present he got was an amulet from his brother Sammy.

Dean runs his fingers over the hoodie. The fabric is so soft. Castiel would surely love it on mild summer nights. And he'd look so cute in it. If Dean could just afford to buy it. But even the money from his paper route wouldn't be enough to pay for it.

Dean plays with the amulet hanging around his neck. He never dared ask where Sam got it from or the money for it. Dean doesn't want his brother to be a thief. He raised him better. Nobody but Dean himself knows that he, on the other hand, has broken the law several times. Hunger makes you do such things. It was a necessity.

Other than food, Dean has never stolen a single thing in his life, except for a few pens in motels. But Dean doesn't think that that truly counts as theft.

Castiel has already moved to the tills to pay for his jeans while Dean is still standing there, rooted to the spot, his heart running a hundred miles per minute. Castiel would look so happy if he gave him the hoodie as a birthday gift. Who knows? Maybe he would even kiss him, spurred on by joy, and then, he would realise what a good kisser Dean is, and he wouldn't stop kissing him, and then…

Dean's hands move of their own accord. They take the hoodie and stuff it into his backpack while his eyes scan the surroundings like they are still used to doing from his past food raids. He throws the rucksack over his shoulder and walks to the entrance, where he waits for Castiel to catch up with his bags.

They step outside together, a high pitched alarm going off. A security guard checks Castiel's bag and receipt while Dean breaks out in a sweat.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

What if he ends up in juvie? His father would kill him. Bobby has no money for a lawyer, and worst of all, he'd lose Castiel's friendship. His parents barely approve of them spending time together, and with a conviction, there's no way they'd allow Dean to ever step near their son again. And Castiel surely wouldn't want to be friends with him after this, anyway.

Tears prick Dean's eyes when he opens his backpack, and the security guard pulls the crumpled hoodie out. Castiel's eyes grow wide in shock. Dean doesn't say anything. It's one thing he learnt from endless nights of watching crime shows in some godforsaken motel with Sammy curled up sleeping at his side.

Stoically, he lets the guard bring him to an interrogation room where he waits for the police to pick him up. He cries silent tears, his cheeks burning in shame.

All he wanted was a nice gift for the boy he loves. He knows that stealing is wrong. But he couldn't help it, the vision too strong, pulling him in.

There is a battle of words in front of the door, but the voices barely register in Dean's head. He knows he's fucked.

When the door opens, he expects a police officer to enter, but it's Castiel, all righteous anger and sorrowful eyes. He looks like an avenging angel on a mission. Of course, he is. Dean embarrassed him in his favourite clothing store. What was Dean thinking?

Castiel sinks on one knee right in front of Dean. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice way too gentle and in stark contrast to the sight he was just a second ago. Dean feels like getting whiplash. He shakes his head, a sob falling from his lips.

"Why did you take the hoodie, Dean?" Dean shakes his head once more. He can't answer. If he does, his mess-up becomes real. "I know you'd never wear it. Did you take it for me?"

Dean nods, and the tears fall even harder. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "So sorry. Cass, I…"

Castiel considers him for a long moment, then cups Dean's face with both hands and brushes his tears away. "It's okay. I've got this. It's gonna be alright," he promises, leans forward, and presses a soft kiss on Dean's lips. He smiles when he pulls back. "I'll handle it."

Dean doesn't know what that means. He nods anyway. He touches his lips when Castiel leaves the room. He kissed him. Dean's world might collapse, but Castiel kissed him. That's all that matters now.

***

45 minutes later, the security guard returns and hands Dean his backpack. "You can leave."

Dean knits his brow together but scrambles up from his chair and heads out. Castiel and the family chauffeur are waiting outside the shop for him, Castiel clad in the hoodie that Dean stole for him.

"How…?"

Castiel smiles. "I'm not the first Novak to get caught red-handed," he says and winks at Dean. "Come on, I need pizza after that. Andrew will drive us to Tony's." He takes Dean's hand and drags him to the limousine.

As soon as the door closes, Castiel kisses Dean again, with much more passion than back in the interrogation room. And Dean kisses back as good as he can.

After what feels like minutes, they emerge from the kiss, laughing as they both try to catch their breath.

"Never do that again," Castiel says with a voice that brooks no backtalk.

"Kissing you?" Dean croaks.

"Stealing. You're everything I need."

Dean nods. "Never again. I promise."

Castiel smiles at him brightly. "Good. I like a bad boy, but I don't want my boyfriend to end up in juvie."

Dean rips the flashlight from Castiel's hand, still angry at destiny or whatever. The light falls on the backseat of the Impala. He knows if he'll sleep there, he won't be able to sit through the eight-hour drive home tomorrow. He's too old for this crap.

He lets out a long exhale and walks to the trunk, rummaging through it until he finds what he's looking for. He's thankful that his boyfriend stays quiet. Dean thinks if Castiel approaches him, he'll say something he'd regret later. He just knows it.

Dean finds the tent hidden under way too many weapons. He pulls it out with the two sleeping bags Sam insisted on buying. They are brand new and made to withstand the coldest of winters. Dean had bitched about it when Sam suggested the purchase, and he didn't stop bitching ever since about them being a waste of storage space.

Dean just hopes that Castiel won't rat him out. The angel loves everything mundane he experiences with Dean, now that their lives have calmed down a little. And he loves talking about it, may it be ayurvedic massages or the wonders of drain cleaner.

Dean throws the tent bag on the ground and scans the surroundings. It's been dry here for the last few days. Thank god for little mercies.

Castiel gets caught in the flashlight, his head tilted to the side. Dean ponders briefly to ask if Castiel can still see in the dark. But he always chickens out when it comes to his partner's fading grace. Dean doesn't get why Jack couldn't at least do that for the man he called his father. Hands-off approach, that's all very well, but…

Dean shakes the thoughts away and puts the flashlight on the ground to illuminate the space he plans to erect the tent on. It's easier than he remembers. Some things that were drilled into you as a kid, you never forget. And John took good care of training Dean to build a shelter out in nowhere, made him practice putting up a tent for hours.

That shit ain't sheep, so you better not lose a single peg, son!

Dean was so anxious when he had to run from a grizzly once and didn't find his tent for several hours, the stupid trees just looking all the same.

He shakes the memory away and goes to work. Castiel takes the flashlight without a word and angles it perfectly. It doesn't take long until the tent stands.

Castiel smiles at him softly as Dean builds a campfire. "You're a very talented man."

His boyfriend just chuckles without mirth. "Thank my old man for that," Dean presses out.

"If I should ever meet him again, there's only one thing I'd thank him for."

Dean chews his lip but doesn't ask for what. He knows John is in Castiel's bad books. Just another of the many topics they are dancing around. He breathes a sigh and gets up, watching the flames lick some of the darkness away.

"I hate camping," he says, memories of outdoor training and hunts flickering through his mind.

"Some of your movies made it look rather romantic," Castiel says and embraces him from behind, his cheek resting against Dean's shoulder.

"I didn't show you camping inspired horror movies yet," he chuckles. He doesn't like them. The human brain can never do justice to the real horrors waiting in the darkness. But Dean has seen them way too often to enjoy it on screen.

Castiel presses a kiss against Dean's neck before he takes the sleeping bags out of their sleeves and connects them. Dean watches him with furrowed eyes. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

Castiel stops his work and looks up at Dean. "I watched the world for aeons, Dean." He says it as if it were an answer to any question Dean could ever ask him. Maybe it is.

"You watched couples camping together like a creep, or what?"

"There was a mission…"

Dean chuckles. "You're really not as innocent as you lead others to believe, aren't you?"

Castiel's lips curl into a wicked smile. "If anyone knows that, then, it's you."

Dean bites his lip and runs a hand over his neck. No, he won't blush. Dammit!

Castiel looks up at the sky, the orange light of the flames creeping into all of his angles, making him look like the ethereal creature that he is.

"You are made of stardust, Dean, and still they don't hold a candle against you. You taught me things I never imagined. Love. Compassion. Fornication."

Dean shuffles his feet. "Stop it, Cass!"

"Do I make you uncomfortable stating the truth?"

Yes, maybe he does. It brings up all the mixed feelings he still has, even after being together for a while.

"I'm happy you taught me, and I'm looking forward to all the things I will experience and learn because I'm with the love of my life."

Dean has no words to answer that, so he just kisses him, a little too bruising. Castiel lets the sleeping bags fall and melts into Dean's body as if they were perfectly moulded just to do it. Maybe they are.

Later, cuddled up in their double sleeping bag, Castiel's skin so warm against his own, Dean must admit camping isn't that bad at all.

~~~~~~~~~

Fear curls razor-sharp through his stomach. He doesn't want to hurt Castiel, doesn't want their relationship to head south. But he doesn't know how to make this work. The business is hanging on a thread. If he wants to keep it operating in the black, he needs to work long hours. There's no financial wriggle room to hire more people.

Dean slips out of his shoes and walks into their dimly lit kitchen-diner. The table is set beautifully, the candles not lit yet, but a bottle of his favourite red wine is already breathing in a decanter. Castiel taught him to like more than beer and whiskey.

It smells like food is still on the stove, but it's empty as far as he can see. Dean worries his lip between his teeth. Did Castiel leave in frustration?

"Cass?" he more croaks than calls. No answer. "Castiel?" he tries louder.

"Coming. Just give me a sec."

Dean breathes out in relief. Castiel sounds good-tempered even though he really shouldn't. It's past nine. Dean should have been here at six.

"Hello, Dean." The familiar greeting washes away some of the dread tightening his chest. Castiel cups the back of his head and kisses him. Dean flinches in surprise, sobs quietly into his boyfriend's lips. "Shh. Don't. We're good."

Dean pulls back and regards him. "Are we?"

Castiel breathes a sigh. "Yes. We are. I know you don't do this to get away from me." He gives him a close-lipped smile.

Dean shakes his head. "I hate Zachariah. I wish we could afford to lose him."

"I know."

Dean furrows his brow. "Why are you so…?"

"Understanding?" Dean nods. "I don't want us to spend the little time we have fighting. I'm frustrated, but none of us feels better just because we talk it to death. This project will end, eventually. But I don't want us to just survive until then."

Dean kisses him softly and leans their foreheads together. "I love you."

Castiel pecks his lips and smiles. "I love you, too. Come on. I'm starving. And surely you are, too."

Dean nods and pulls his boyfriend into a tight hug. He presses a kiss into Castiel's hair before he lets go of him. "What's for dinner?"

Castiel turns and walks to the far side of the kitchen where he switches on the light underneath the cabinet.

Dean chuckles. "You found my mother's crockpot?"

Castiel chuckles. "No more drying or cooling food when you're coming late. I learnt my lesson." There is not a hint of heat lacing the words, and Dean relaxes further.

He stares at Castiel's back for a long moment, then pulls the matches out of a drawer and lights the candles. Castiel puts the slow cooker's ceramic bowl in the middle of the table and serves each of them a generous helping of lasagna.

"You're an angel," Dean says and moans around the first forkful. "This is so good."

Castiel smiles and fills wine into their glasses. "I hope you don't miss the crunchy cheese on top."

Dean grins over the rim of his wine glass. "This is perfect."

The 'you are perfect' hangs unspoken between them, but Dean knows Castiel can hear it. He was always good in looking through all the layers Dean shows to the world to his very core, the unmasked Dean—sensitive, vulnerable, loving without boundaries.

They eat mostly in silence, fingers woven together as they enjoy the desert.

"This was nice," Castiel states when they finished it off.

Dean nods. "My mum used to cook stew in it. I must ask Sammy if it's in her cookbook. She used to write down all the recipes, you know?" Castiel nods. "Maybe I could prepare dinner in the morning so that you don't always have to cook."

Castiel shakes his head. "It's not a chore, Dean."

"I know. But you deserve a free evening now and then, don't you think?"

Castiel gets up and brings the plates to the sink and opens the tap. "I wouldn't mind."

Dean brings the pot to him and pulls Castiel into his arms, kissing him while the water fills the sink. They stop when Castiel needs to yawn.

"Go get ready for bed," Dean says. "I'll handle the dishes."

Castiel nods and presses a peck to Dean's cheek. "Join me when you're done," he says.

Dean brushes their noses together. "I'll be with you in a minute.

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