#destielficlets

They part after a moment, and Dean blinks, thoroughly dazed.

Cas brushes a thumb over his cheek.

“I think they look wonderful on you, Dean,” he says, voice low and husky.

“Damn,” Dean says, chuckling. “Shoulda gotten these way sooner.”

Cas just nods, smiling as he drinks in the full picture. 

Then, with a glance over his shoulder, he takes Dean’s hand, tugging him towards their room.

“Come on.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, it’s like three in the afternoon—”

“I don’t care.”

“Wow.” Dean grins, but lets himself be pulled along. “You really like them don't you?”

Cas shuts the door behind them, kissing Dean once more before pushing him back on the bed.

“You’re leaving those on,” he says, as he unbuttons his shirt.

~

Afterwards, Cas slips into a slight doze, his cheek plastered to Dean’s side. Now that reading doesn’t give him a headache, Dean thumbs through a paperback as he waits for the angel currently using him as a pillow to wake up.

Cas stirs, eyes fluttering open.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was that tired.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says softly. “I know you stayed up late with Jack last night.”

Cas hums in agreement.

“He does have an odd schedule.”

Then he sits up fully, just looking at Dean again. Dean sets down the book.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cas says with a smile. “Just admiring.”

“Don’t say anything sappy, or you’ll make me fog up my glasses again,” Dean teases. 

“I rather liked that,” Cas murmurs, leaning in.

“You dog,” Dean says back, but accepts Cas’s lips as they meet his. They kiss for a moment, lazy and slow. 

Cas pulls back, stroking at his cheek.

“But you’re happy, right?” He asks, his eyes earnest. “They help?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean lifts the book. “It’s awesome. Don’t have to squint at this chicken scratch anymore.”

Cas smiles, all soft.

“I’m glad.”

Sam hammers on the door.

“People are starting to get here so you better be out and dressed in five minutes or I'm sending Eileen in, naked or not!” He yells.

Dean huffs a laugh, and Cas smirks, giving him a quick peck before pushing himself up.

“Sounds like we’re being summoned.”

~

Later, after hugs from Jody and Donna and all the girls, they do gifts. It’s mostly practical stuff, for his Baby and for the now-occasional hunt. Claire teases him about his glasses for a solid ten minutes, then hands him an impeccably wrapped gift (“Patience helped, okay?”) which turns out to be a copy of Caddyshack II. She appropriately ignores Dean misting up and accepts his bear hug. 

Garth and Bess bring homemade pie, and Charlie taps into the bunker system to put on a pretty impressive playlist. Rowena drops by towards the end of the night, with a bottle of scotch nearly as old as Dean. 

Sam sticks a candle in the pie and Eileen brings it to Dean, starting the chorus while everyone joins in. Dean looks around at his family, everyone he loves, and lastly at Cas, who’s standing at his side, looking at him with such a profound love in his eyes that Dean feels a swell of emotion in his chest. Cas leans in, squeezing Dean’s shoulder before reaching out and readjusting his glasses.

“Make a wish,” he whispers. 

Dean looks back at the candle. 

Dean wants to ask her why the fuck she thinks one room with a king bed would work when he originally asked for two rooms. When Dean specifically asked for a fucking wall to separate him from the gorgeous blue eyed man who he can’t seem to stop thinking about kissing ever since he turned human and moved in with them.

Instead, Dean sighs and shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. Fine.”

He takes the key from her and heads back outside to find their room. Castiel hurries behind him. “Dean, am I misunderstanding or are we sharing a room?”

“We’re sharing.”

“Like you and Sam do?”

“Yes.” Dean pauses. “Well, no.”

They stop outside the door of room 8 and Dean slips the key in. When they get inside, Castiel stands at the end of the bed and stares at it with wide eyes. “You and Sam don’t share a bed.”

“Nope.”

“But we are?”

“It’s all they had available.” Dean locks the door behind them and tosses his bag on the floor, already slipping out of his flannel and kicking off his boots. “It’s a big bed. We’ll be fine.”

Castiel shuffles nervously, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eye. When Dean catches him he blushes and looks back at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Taking one glance at the stained, hard carpeting, Dean shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I understand how you value your personal space, Dean.”

“I-” Dean stops himself before he tells Castiel that he doesn’t mind anymore. That Castiel is welcome in his personal space any damn time he wants. After clearing his throat, Dean mumbles, “Just get in the damn bed. I need to piss.”

Before Castiel can argue further, Dean’s gone. He goes to the bathroom, even though he didn’t have to, then stares at his reflection in the mirror while the water runs. You can do this, Dean. It’s one night. It’s a big bed. Just pretend it’s Sammy.

Feeling better about the situation, Dean actually washes his hands, then takes a deep breath and heads back into the room. The main light is off now, just the small lamp on Dean’s side of the bed left on. Castiel is lying flat on his back, stiff as a board, eyes squeezed shut. It would make Dean laugh if he wasn’t so damn nervous himself.

After stripping down to his boxers, Dean slips under the covers. He intends to roll on his side, face the wall, and hopefully fall straight asleep. Instead, his eyes drift over to the human slightly trembling beside him. He’s still wearing his damn trench coat.

“Cas, you don’t have to sleep in all your clothes.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“It’s not. You’re human now and you can’t bullshit me. That’s uncomfortable.” He glances down, seeing two hard bumps at the bottom of the bed. With an eye roll, he grabs the blanket and rips it off Castiel. “And you’re still wearing your shoes?”

Castiel blushes, squeezing his eyes hard enough to make his whole face scrunch. With a sigh, Dean rolls off the bed and walks toward the end. He takes one of Castiel’s shoes off, then the other, before throwing them both in the direction of his own. After only a slight hesitation, he puts his knee between Castiel’s thighs and rests his weight on the bed, hands coming up to undo his belt.

With a jerk of his body, Castiel’s eyes fly wide open and his mouth forms an ‘O’. “Wh - what are you doing, Dean?”

“Helping you get comfortable.” Dean stops just before unbuttoning his pants. “Is this okay?”

“Huh?” Castiel practically squeaks. “Uh - yeah. Yeah, fine. Okay.”

Gulping, Dean pops open Castiel’s pants, then tugs at the zipper. His hands shake as he slowly slides them down Castiel’s long legs. Dean’s thumb accidently brushes the skin of Castiel’s ankle when he pulls them off and he’s not sure who jumps harder, him or Castiel.

Then everything freezes. Dean stares at the place where Castiel’s cock is tenting his boxers in pure hunger. Castiel stares at it in horror.

Castiel acts first. He puts a hand over himself and quickly gets to his feet, turning his back to Dean. He strips out of his trench coat, suit jacket, tie, dress shirt, and over shirt so that he’s in nothing but his boxers like Dean, then practically dives onto the bed so he’s laying on his stomach. He hurries to yank the blanket over himself, then buries his face in the pillow.

“Cas?”

Nothing.

“Cas?”

With a tiny whimper, Castiel turns so his cheek is squished against his pillow, blue eyes carefully looking at Dean. “Yeah?”

“It’s not a big deal. It happens.”

“I know. It - it happens often.” Dean can’t help but start to harden himself at that, wondering how often Castiel has been hard around him. How often he’s walking around the bunker horny. How often he masturbates in his room. He’s so wrapped up in his own mind, he almost misses Castiel’s softly whispered, “Especially around you.”

Castiel’s face turns bright red and he presses it into the pillow again, nearly curling in on himself.

“Cas?”

Nothing.

“Cas, please look at me.”

“I’m tired.”

“Cas.”

Suddenly, Castiel sits up in the bed. “You’re hot, okay? You’re hot. You’re - with the eyes and the arms and the ass. You’re hot. You’ve always been, but it was manageable as an angel. Now? Now… it’s like I’m on fire when you’re around. And this thing,” he hisses, pointing at his crotch, “Doesn’t know how to control itself.”

Speechless from Castiel’s explosion, all Dean can think to do is grab his face and tug him into a searing kiss. Castiel releases the most adorable squeak before he’s wrapping himself around Dean and kissing him back. Dean pushes him onto his back so he can hover above him, never parting their lips. His cock rubs against Castiel’s through the fabric of his boxers and they both moan, the sound vibrating in their mouths as they explore each other.

Within minutes, they’re frantic. Castiel is tugging at Dean’s hair and Dean’s nearly ripping Castiel’s boxers off. He has to pry Castiel’s hands away from his head once his cock is free, giving him a smile sexy enough to steal Castiel’s breath. “Let go.”

“What - what are you gonna do?”

“Let me go and I’ll show you.”

Castiel hesitates, but then does as told. Dean kisses his way down his chest and stomach. When he presses one against the side of his belly button, Castiel wiggles and laughs a little. Dean arches an eyebrow. “Ticklish?”

“Kinda,” Castiel says in a hushed whisper, looking at Dean through heavy-lidded eyes. “Can’t describe it. Just feels good.”

“Good.” Dean grins. “This will feel even better.”

Before Castiel can ask what he means, Dean’s ducking his head and wrapping his lips around his cock. Castiel bucks at the unexpected sensation. It’s wet and hot and.. Holy shit what’s that? Is that Dean’s tongue? Oh… he’s good at that.

After a minute of letting his body relax beneath Dean’s attention, Castiel gets too impatient. He yanks Dean’s hair hard enough for the man to pop up and glare at him. With a quick shuffle, Castiel is grabbing Dean by the biceps and pushing him, rolling them over so he’s on top.

With a few sharp tugs, Castiel has Dean’s boxers off and he’s crawling on top of him. There’s no foreplay like with Dean. No kisses on his chest and stomach. He just immediately wraps his lips around Dean’s cock and swallows him down. Dean throws his head back and clenches his fists to keep himself from grabbing Castiel’s messy curls and fucking into his mouth.

When Castiel surprisingly takes all of him, letting his cockhead slide to the back of his throat, Dean groans and says, “Alright, up.”

Dean rolls them again and Castiel laughs softly.

“What?” Dean asks against his neck, where he’s now trailing open mouthed kisses.

“Just funny that you can’t give up control for long.”

“Hey now.” Dean pops his head up and glares at Castiel, even as a smile tugs at his lips. “I’m perfectly fine giving up control. I just want to fuck you.”

Whatever Castiel planned to say in return is apparently gone, because all he can do is stare at Dean with his mouth wide open. Then he’s nodding as fast as humanly possible. “Yes. Now.”

“Now who’s impatient?”

“Shut up and fuck me Dean Winchester.” Dean makes a tsking sound but smiles as he slips off the bed. “Where are you going?”

Chuckling at the subtle whine in Castiel’s voice, Dean grabs his pants and digs in his pockets. When he returns to the bed, he waves the packet of lube in the air. Castiel’s eyes go round as if he just now realized what this means.

Before he rips it open, Dean asks, “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“We definitely have to. I’m sure.”

“Alright. Try to just relax and-”

“I know,” Castiel says quickly, cutting him off.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “You know? As in you’ve done this with some other guy?”

The blushing and nervousness from before comes back and Castiel is looking anywhere but at Dean. “I mean - no. Not - no. Just myself.”

Dean actually has to close his eyes and take a breath - that’s how fast more blood rushes to his cock at the idea of Castiel playing with his own hole. Then he’s ripping the packet apart and squeezing lube all over his two fingers.

He pushes Castiel’s legs up toward his chest and spreads them. Just the simple act alone makes Castiel moan and shiver. When Dean gently rubs a finger around his rim, Castiel closes his eyes and starts to breathe heavy. His hole doesn’t even resist when Dean pushes in, and Castiel helps even more by moving his hips to press down.

“Fucking hell, Cas,” Dean groans. “You’re so needy.”

Castiel bites his bottom lip and peers down at him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s hot.” As if to prove his point, Dean slides in a second finger beside the first. He can tell he’s not going to have to do much more to get Castiel comfortable enough for his cock, but he’s loving his reactions too much to pull out. He takes his time to build up the pressure on his prostate, smiling each time Castiel whimpers or bucks his hips or moans.

“When you do this, do you have a toy or do you use your fingers?”

“Both,” Castiel pants.

“Do you pretend it’s me?” That adorable blush creeps back across Castiel’s cheeks and down his throat, and Dean knows his answer. “What do you pretend I’m doin’ to you, Cas? Is it this? Or more?”

Castiel blinks at him like he’s in shock. “Both. Usually - usually more.”

“Yeah? You want more?”

“Dean, please. Need you.”

He’s heard those words before from Castiel. They’ve always managed to seize his heart. This is different though. The power behind them is too great.

“Yeah, okay angel,” Dean whispers. He notices how Castiel reacts to the pet name, loving the way he nibbles on the bottom lip of a smile.

Squeezing the rest of the lube packet onto his cock, Dean strokes it a few times and guides it to Castiel’s opening. They lock eyes and take a breath in sync. Then Dean slowly slides into him, taking his time and rolling his hips as he moves.

By the time he’s fully inside him, he’s not sure who is more impatient - him or Castiel. It’s like a switch flips and they’re suddenly all tongue and teeth and nails. Castiel is lifting his legs to let Dean in deeper, and Dean is fucking him like his life depends on it.

Castiel hisses when Dean bites the apex of his shoulder, scratching down his back in return. It drives Dean wild and he pulls away, gripping Castiel’s hips tight enough to bruise and spreading his legs nice and wide. Moving back until his cock is just inside Castiel’s tight rim, Dean locks eyes with him and grins.

“I wonder if I can fuck you hard enough to make you come untouched.”

“I- ooooh-” Whatever Castiel planned to say is lost when Dean ever so slowly enters him, pressing against his prostate in the best possible way.

He pulls back again, grin widening. “Just wanted to check the angle.”

“‘S perfect,” Castiel slurs, moving his hips in an effort to get Dean to fuck him.

Dean just sits back and watches for a while, appreciating the view as Castiel fucks himself the best he can on Dean’s cock. “You know this is it, right?” Dean finds himself saying.

“This is what?”

“I became an expert at resisting you. At keeping my feelings in check. But it’s over now. You’re perfect and I’m not letting you go.”

Castiel’s breath hitches and his hips pause. “Really? You want me? Like really want me?”

“Yeah.” Dean stares down at where his cock is resting just an inch inside Castiel. He’s panting from the effort of staying still, not wanting to ruin the moment. “If you want me,” he adds, suddenly terrified.

“If I want you?” Castiel asks on an incredulous breath. “Dean, all I’ve ever wanted is you.”

When Dean feels tears pricking his eyes, he holds Castiel tight and starts to fuck him. He will not cry. No chick flick moments. Instead, he focuses on what he knows. What he’s good at. Fucking someone out of their mind.

And he does well. By the time Dean’s close to coming, Castiel is a mewling, shivering mess. He stopped forming coherent words long ago. All he does now is make noises and stare up at Dean with wide blue eyes full of amazement.

Dean notices the second those eyes shift into something more. He knows before Castiel even yells a half-panicked, half-relieved, “‘M gonna come.”

“Good.” Dean speeds up. “Come for me, angel.”

“Oh,” Castiel whispers, his eyes sliding closed at the nickname. He exhales once and then his body bows in Dean’s hands. His cum flies through the air between them, landing all over his own stomach and chest. A few drops even get on his chin.

Moaning, Dean leans forward and licks at the cum on Castiel’s face. Then he presses his lips to his in a rough kiss and bucks into him twice more before stilling, buried as deep as possible inside him. Castiel moans and bites Dean’s lip, then licks the spot.

As Dean comes down from his high, he rests on his elbows and presses his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder. They both suck in deep, shaky breaths until their bodies have calmed. Then Dean is gently pulling out and rolling off Castiel. He stands up, about to grab a towel from the bathroom to clean them, but stops when he sees Castiel’s face.

“Where are you going?” Castiel whispers, sounding more like a small child than a former angel turned man.

Dean’s heart nearly breaks. “Just to the bathroom, angel.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

Castiel looks down at his hand, shoving the broken stylus into his pocket.

“If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says loftily. “And whether he does or not certainly doesn’t affect me.”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Didn’t they send the transfer roster last week?”

Castiel glares at her. She smirks back, giving him a cheeky wink.

Castiel abruptly pushes back from the console, standing.

“I have to go change,” he says shortly.

Once he gets to his quarters and the door slides closed behind him, Castiel sinks back against it, dropping his head in his hands.

Two years. Two years since Castiel chose to stay, and he chose to leave. Two years, of long lonely nights in front of the computer, of avoiding the Observation Deck, of throwing himself into his work. Two years in which Castiel thought he’d successfully ridded every last trace of Dean Winchester from his life.

After that night, Castiel had thrown away everything he’d ever given him. Every trinket, every gift, every scrap of paper―pathetic trophies of infatuation that Castiel had saved like a fool, pressed between the pages of his books.

The rest of the ship noticed, of course, because how could they not―Charlie, especially, had been particularly persistent in trying to get Castiel to tell her what happened. But Castiel resolutely refused to talk about him, and glowered sufficiently at any mention of his name that eventually people just learned to stop bringing him up.

But time marches ever onward, and the training cycle at the Academy is complete. The institution that Dean fled to in the first place is now spitting him back out, thrusting him back into Castiel’s life.

Castiel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. How is he going to stand in front of nearly three hundred people and shake his hand? Just the mention of his name made Castiel want to throw something, bringing back all those memories Castiel tried so hard to forget. It may have been two years, but everything that made the man named Dean Winchester the best part of his life is still imprinted in Castiel’s memory, like a brand.

It’s times like this when Castiel wishes he could be like one of Charlie’s computers, erasing all information at the touch of a button. There would be no pain, no memories―like he had never existed in the first place.

Castiel exhales, looking down at his hands.

He’ll just have to make it quick. It really wouldn’t do for the captain to start a fistfight in front of the entire crew.

x

Roughly thirty minutes later, Castiel finds himself standing stiffly at the end of the receiving line of officers, the collar of his uncomfortable dress uniform cutting into his neck. Something must be off with the temperature regulators in the receiving deck, because he’s sweating, a few locks of hair slipping loose from his hat. He attempts to comb them back into place until Naomi hisses at him to stop fidgeting.

Charlie is beside him as Chief Engineering Officer. She cranes her neck above the crowd, looking at the small group that’s just disembarked from the transport ship.

“Showtime,” she says, adjusting her gloves.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathing in. He can do this.

The new ones pass through first, freshly graduated, young and starry-eyed. Castiel can appreciate their eager enthusiasm. It’s important work they do here on the ship, and they need the best crew to make it possible. They shake his hand vigorously, hopefully interpreting his tight-lipped stare as stoic strength.

Then, the officers.

Hannah, who Castiel has always liked, gives him a warm smile and clasps his hands, telling him how much they missed him. Castiel agrees with the sentiment, but he can barely focus during their conversation, continually darting his eyes towards the end of the line.

The procession inches forward, painfully slow. Cain, Chief Military Strategist, is next, then Billie, and Linda Tran. Crowley, a truly despicable human being, but perhaps the most brilliant Flight Engineer Castiel’s ever worked with, passes with a slimy smile―and then, a face Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Captain Novak,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel smiles back, unable to help himself.

“It has,” he agrees, taking his hand. Despite whatever may have happened between him and his brother, Castiel always liked Sam. “I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you during your absence.”

Sam nods, dropping Castiel’s hand.

“Believe me, we missed it here, too,” he says, smiling. “You never know how good you have it until you have to spend time way out in the boonies.”

Castiel chuckles. He remembers. The time at the Academy might be necessary, but it certainly couldn’t be called comfortable.

Sam turns, indicating the cadets behind them.

“We’ve got a good group for you here, Cas,” he says, dropping the nickname with easy familiarity. “I think you’ll be happy with them.”

“Good to hear,” Castiel replies. “I’m sure they benefited from having you as a teacher.”

Sam shrugs, ever modest.

Naomi clears her throat from behind them, not-so-subtly encouraging him to move it along. Sam smiles and gives Castiel a small little salute, moving away.

Castiel sighs, tugging at his collar. To his left, he hears a low chuckle.

“Still hate that uniform, huh?”

Castiel stiffens.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slowly lowers his hand, looking up into the face he tried two years to forget.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, smiling.

His eyes are bright, shining, like he wants to be here. Funny. Castiel seems to remember he went halfway across the star system just to get away from him.

He extends a hand, holding it out for Castiel to shake.

Castiel clears his throat, but doesn’t move.

“Dr. Winchester,” he replies stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Dean chuckles.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I gotta call you ‘Captain Novak’, now, huh? Sorry.”

He looks up, that soft smile returning.

“Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs.

His hand is still extended, in the distance between them. Naomi must be practically foaming at the mouth at such a lack of decorum. Castiel couldn’t care less.

Dean looks exactly the same, perhaps a few more lines around his eyes, still that perfect shade of green. Dean's eyes always reminded Castiel of Earth.

Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines. He looks Castiel up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on the few locks of hair Castiel knows must still be stubbornly escaping from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Dean continues. “Even after two years.”

“And three months, six days,” Castiel says coolly.

Dean’s smile fades a little.

“Right.”

He pulls back his hand, awkwardly picking at the edge of the hat in his hands.

Castiel’s heart is beating wildly, but he keeps his face still as stone. Dean shifts uncomfortably, then seems to make a decision.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

“Look, Cas, you know I always hated this formal junk,” he murmurs. “Can we talk later, maybe?”

He sounds so cavalier, so oblivious, and Castiel hates it.

“Catch up?” Dean asks. “Away from all these people?”

Castiel gives him his coldest stare.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Running this ship is a full time job.”

Dean blinks, and he stares at him, looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. The monster of heartache and pain inside Castiel roars with a vicious triumph.

“I have enough on my plate as it is,” he continues dismissively. “I simply don’t have time to indulge every junior officer who wants to waste my time.”

He straightens, looking away disinterestedly.

“You’d do best to remember that.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak, merely staring at Castiel, his mouth open in disbelief.

Then he remembers himself, and with a glance at Naomi, he stands up straight, placing his officer’s hat back on his head.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, lowering his eyes. “Well.”

There’s an awkward cough from Charlie to his left. Castiel ignores her.

“It’s good to see you, again, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Really.”

Somehow, he makes it sound genuine.

He exits the platform, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Castiel watches Dean go an uneasy curl in his throat. The brief flare of vengeful satisfaction is already leeching away, leaving him feeling brittle and hollow.

Naomi is already busy shooing the officers into the reception hall, for the welcome banquet. Charlie finds Castiel’s arm and squeezes it, her eyes sympathetic.

“Cas?” She asks quietly. “You okay?”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Think I might have to get back to you on that."

x

Later, after the banquet, after three hours of restless tossing and turning, Castiel slowly gets up, not bothering with shoes.

Wandering the hallways used to be his favorite pastime. The quiet, the stillness. He still does it, on occasion, when he finds sleep isn’t easy in coming. The lights that try to mimic some semblance of a day and night cycle are dimmed low, the halls empty, most retired to their chambers.

Castiel makes his way up to the Observation Deck, taking a brief look around. There’s no one there, no one to spy on the captain of their ship, stealing away in the night for some much needed solitude. He walks the ramp to the very top part of the observatory, leaning his arms on the handrail. Castiel used to spend hours here. He would sit and watch the stars turn, feeling at once very small and very infinite. He sits now, staring out at the vast darkness before him. It’s utterly quiet, the electric hum of the ship the only sound in the gloom.

Unbidden, his thoughts turn to the last conversation he had here.

Castiel had just learned he had been chosen to be the next Captain, a highly selective process that he had stressed about for weeks. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean.

But Dean had come with news of his own.

A teaching job at the Academy. Highly prestigious, second probably only to Castiel’s role―but that meant―

“Two years,” Dean said to his hands, his voice flat. “That’s how long I’d be gone.”

Castiel felt his brief taste of happiness deflate like a suit after a spacewalk.

“Two years?” He echoed, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dean nodded mutely.

“That’s…”

Castiel bit his lip.

“Wow,” is all he managed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke.

“So…”

Castiel hardly dared to say it.

“I’m guessing you knew that when you applied,” he said flatly.

Dean nodded mutely.

“Didn’t really account for you becoming the Captain,” he muttered.

Anger flared within Castiel.

“What, because you think I wouldn’t get it?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, looking up. “God, no, Cas, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” Castiel shot back.

Dean shut his mouth angrily.

“I guess...I guess it’s just hitting me how long two years really is,” he said finally.

Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned.

“You’re not serious,” he whispered. Dean dragged a hand down his face, avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know, Cas!” He said, voice rising in the quiet. “I mean...you’ll have your job, Cas, I'll have mine...who knows if you’ll have any time for me―”

“Oh, I won’t have time for you?” Castiel repeated scathingly. God, he should have known, it’s just like Dean―shove the blame off himself and project it onto Castiel instead of owning his feelings like an adult.

“Just say you don’t want to be with me and get it over with,” he snapped.

“Cas…” Dean started.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean sighed, breath shaky.

“I―”

Castiel looked up.

He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and he didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him break his heart.

He ran like a coward.

Castiel wipes angrily at his eyes, banishing the memory. He can’t change the past, so he might as well not dwell on it.

He looks up, at the wilderness of the stars. They shimmer gently against the blank expanse, his constant companions. Castiel can tell you the distance between Betelguese and Rigel, can calculate the time it would take to travel to Sirius and back, but he could never navigate his own life so surely.

If only humans could be as constant as the Heavens.

Behind him, the floor creaks softly. Castiel goes still.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Dean is standing at the end of the platform, in his sleep pants and shirt. He looks so different out of his uniform. Softer. More like himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, unable to stop the name from coming to his lips.

Dean responds with a bashful smile, one hand twisting nervously into the hem of his shirt.

“Figured I'd find you here."

He glances out at the stars, then back to Castiel.

“You mind if I join you?”

Castiel swallows, but looks away, saying nothing.

Dean seems to take that as permission, and sits, legs hanging over the edge of the deck, next to Castiel.

There once was a time when they’d sit close enough for their knees to knock, their hands lacing over the railing as Dean told stories, weaving grand tales of the constellations and their histories, while Castiel listened, enraptured.

Now the distance of that memory feels vast, lightyears away. They’re both quiet, not speaking a word. The silence is thin, fragile as glass.

“Cas―”

So Dean will be the one to break it.

He pauses, brow furrowing as he searches for words. Castiel bristles, waiting for it.

“Look,” Dean says, turning to face him. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. But―”

“You’re right,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “I don’t.”

Dean goes silent beside him. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look up, Dean is staring at him, hopeless and broken.

“Can you at least let me explain?” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

Castiel is torn. Half of him melts, seeing Dean so desperate. But the other half, the rational part of him that remembers the danger of falling for Dean Winchester cautions him, telling him the smartest thing he can do right now is walk away, and never open his heart again.

He lowers his head, exhaling heavily.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Dean, I just…can’t.”

“You’re angry,” Dean says softly. Castiel scoffs.

“You’re damn right I'm angry,” he mutters. “And I don’t care about any half-assed apology you have for me, not now. Too little, too late.”

He moves back from the railing, pushing himself up. Tears are starting to come to his eyes, hot and bitter, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Dean see him cry.

“Cas, wait―”

He reaches out, grabbing his hand.

Castiel freezes, rooted to the spot. Dean is frozen too, looking down at their joined hands. He doesn’t let go, though.

“Just...slow down, will ya?” Dean says, and there’s a hint of a laugh there, the way he always sounded when he would talk Castiel off the ledge. But now, it only ignites the rage inside him, and Castiel rips his arm from Dean’s grasp, whirling on him.

“No!” Castiel yells, shattering the silence. “You left, and you don’t get to do this now, you don’t get to come waltzing back into my life like everything’s fine―”

Dean’s eyes widen, he holds up his hands.

“Cas―”

“You broke up with me, remember?”

“No, I didn’t, Cas, will you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

Surprisingly, Castiel does. He blinks, slightly stunned at Dean’s words.

What is he talking about?

“Look,” Dean says quickly, probably to prevent Castiel from shouting again. “I only applied to the stupid Academy because Sammy was too―he was freaking out about the process, so I did it with him, just to show him it was nothing. He’s the smart one, so never in a million years did I think they’d choose me, too.”

Castiel crosses his arms, huffing under his breath. Even if he does hate him right now, it always hurts to hear Dean undersell himself.

“The moment I found out, all I wanted to do was talk to my best friend about how fucking scared I was.” Dean sighs. “And then you said you were picked to be Captain, and it all just...seemed too much.”

He looks down, twisting his hands.

“I panicked. God—somehow had it in my mind that the minute I told you you wouldn’t want to be with me, that there wouldn’t be any room in your life for me anymore. And seeing your face in that moment, you were so excited, and then it just slid off your face…"

Castiel remembers. Shit, he had been so happy, so proud—and when Dean told him…

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, not with Dean.

He turns over their last conversation in his mind and all at once it seems to click, now that he knows what Dean must have thought.

“I jumped to conclusions,” Dean admits quietly. “I was...so afraid you wouldn’t want to do the long distance thing for two years so I….kind of...let you break us up before I could.”

Castiel stares at him, a painful bubble of emotion rising in his throat. Oh.

Dean continues.

“If anything, I wanted you to ask me to stay.” He lowers his head, dragging a hand through his short hair. “Which was wrong. I get that now.”

He looks up, huffing out a feeble laugh.

“Believe me, Cas,” he says lowly. “It took me all of about an hour to realize how badly I fucked up. But by that time the solar flares were surging and we had to go.”

Dean bites at his lip.

“I looked for you. I tried. But you had locked yourself away in a meeting and I didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t let me,” he finishes, a sad bitter note in his voice.

Castiel cannot speak, in shock. He never knew. He’d always thought...after that conversation, that Dean had left without so much as a glance back.

“You…”

He eventually trails off. He has no words.

Dean takes a tentative step forward.

“And you know what it’s like out there. The distances are too far, so they restrict communication.” He shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I tried to send transmissions back,” Dean says, rushing out the words. “Every day for a month. They kept telling me personal messages weren’t allowed. I even tried to break into the control center after hours.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, awed and horrified all at once. “You didn’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Nearly got myself tossed out of the airlock for that one.”

His teeth return to his lip again, his green eyes hesitant.

“Sam said I was crazy. I just told him he’d never been in love.”

Castiel's throat goes dry.

They’d never said, not even before Dean left. But Castiel knew he was. Only love leaves that big and jagged of a hole.

“That’s why,” he says softly. “Why I never heard from you the whole two years.”

“And three months, and six days,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I was counting, too.”

He sighs, spreading his hands.

“So, yeah. I messed up. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again, I just―”

Dean never finishes his speech because he doesn't need to. In three swift steps, Castiel has reached him and pulled him in by the front of his shirt.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise as Castiel presses their lips together, but he quickly gets on board, pulling Castiel in by his waist, kissing him back. And he no longer needs to dream about Dean’s warmth, his lips underneath his, the dry rough touch of his palm coming to cup Castiel’s cheek. He’s here, and he’s real, and he’s never going to let him get away again.

Dean pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s

“Damn,” he breathes. “I missed that.”

Castiel tightens his grip.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “So am I.”

He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s.

“I was an idiot,” he murmurs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. Castiel shivers.

“I should have just told you,” Dean finishes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bumping their noses together. “You should have.”

Dean laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Castiel’s ever heard.

“There’s the asshole I remember.”

They both grin, just basking in their closeness, breathing quietly.

“So.”

“So.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“So, this whole time, we wanted to be with each other and we just...weren’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Sounds like it.”

“Wow.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Dean laughs again.

“Sums up the last fifteen years of us knowing each other.” He reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing Castiel’s. “Don’t you think?”

Castiel smiles, turning his hand up so Dean can thread their fingers together. He knows they so much they still have to say, so much to catch up on to fix everything that’s broken between them.

Castiel sets his jaw, grinding his teeth.

He turns, glaring.

“Detective Winchester.”

Dean just smiles back at Castiel’s stormy expression, in a bright, irritating sort of way.

“Gotta say, I’m looking forward to this. Been too long since I’ve been on stakeout duty.” He smirks, tucking his hands in his pockets. “And I do love Italian food.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Uh uh. No way. There will be none of your usual goofing around, you got that? I’ve been chasing this guy for way too long for your unprofessional behavior to blow this.”

Dean places a hand on his chest, mock offended.

“Cas, I’m wounded. Unprofessional? Me?”

“You tried to get a suspect to confess by blasting Air Supply at him,” Castiel says dryly.

“Well, yeah,” Dean says. “But—”

“That gum disaster was the reason I had to cut my hair,” Charlie chimes in helpfully. Dean huffs.

“That was not my fault—”

“And of course, that ridiculousness on Halloween,” Castiel says.

“Hey,” Dean says, holding up a hand. “You were just as into that as I was.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Whatever.”

He jabs his finger in Dean’s chest.

“Just don’t screw things up.”

x

Hour three in a stuffy van with four cops is starting to get unbearable. And only a little bit because of Dean’s proximity to Cas. Only a little.

Benny has his eyes trained on the restaurant, peeking through a pair of binoculars.

“There’s our guy,” he says.

Dean grabs the binoculars. Sure enough, Brady is getting out of a swanky car and striding towards the restaurant. Cas reaches for the van’s door.

“Let’s go.”

“Are you kidding?” Dean grabs his wrist, pulling him back. 

“We can’t go in, we look like cops.” He snorts. “Especially you, Eliot Ness.” 

Cas frowns, glancing down. Dean shakes his head. 

“You gotta lose the trench.”

“I like my coat,” Cas says defensively.

“Dude,” Dean scoffs. “That’s like Cop 101. You might as well sit in his lap and tell him you’re with the NYPD.”

Cas glares at him, but shucks the coat, revealing a—

“And the suit jacket, too,” Dean says. “Jesus, two jackets??”

“It’s winter,” Castiel protests weakly, but he does as commanded, and god that’s even worse, because now he’s left with just a white dress shirt and a blue tie that brings out his eyes.

“Here—”

Jo twists in her seat, helping Cas roll up his sleeves, and for good measure, rakes a hand through his hair.

“Now you look ready for a night out,” she says, smirking.

Cas looks to Dean, raising an eyebrow.

“Well? Satisfactory?”

Dean clears his throat.

“You look—you look good,” he chokes out.

Benny rolls his eyes.

Dean strips off his NYPD issued jacket, sourly wishing he had left the jeans at home. He and Cas exit the van, and are soon in the entrance area of the restaurant—and there’s their perp right in front of them.

“Let’s go,” Cas says, stepping forward—just as Brady links arms with a pretty brunette, and they’re led away into the dimly lit interior of the restaurant.

“Shit,” Cas hisses. “He’s here for a date, not a goddamn dropoff.”

“Then we get a table,” Dean says, and steps up to the hostess.

“Hi, there,” he says, flashing her his most charming smile. “Table for two, please.”

She doesn’t even look up.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “We’re completely booked solid. And we do have, uh—” She glances down, giving Dean a once over. “A certain dress code here, sir.”

Dean bristles, about a half a second away from flashing his badge, when Cas slides in close next to him, linking his arm through Dean’s.

“Oh no, that’s horrible,” he says, turning his lips down into a pout. “Tonight’s a really important night.”

Dean gawks at him, trying to figure out what the hell Cas is playing at, when he says the next words.

“We just got engaged,” Castiel says, smiling at the hostess. “And this is where our first date was.”

Dean just barely stops his jaw from dropping.

The hostess looks to Dean, her eyes going wide. He hastily clears his throat.

“And I mean—I would’ve made a reservation, but I—wasn’t sure he was going to say yes,” he stammers out.

“You were so nervous,” Castiel says, leaning in, his lips brushing Dean’s cheek.

The hostess lets out a soft awwww, her eyes going soft. Dean barely notices. He’s utterly frozen, staring at Cas, his cheek tingling.

“Oh, well, don’t you worry!! I’m sure I could find a place for such a nice couple as yourselves,” she coos, suddenly all smiles and sweetness.

She swans off, and Castiel immediately pulls his arm from Dean’s. Dean doesn’t miss the warmth. Not at all.

“I’m sorry,” Cas apologizes fervently. “Is that okay? I just knew they’ve had issues lately with their image, and I’m sure they’ll want to look all trendy and tolerant….” He sighs, and Dean can practically hear the eye roll in his voice. “I didn’t mean to presume—”

“No, uh—”

Cas tilts his head, watching him. Dean swallows.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m not averse to guys. Kinda the opposite. I’m verse to them. I mean—well—I’m bi,” he finishes lamely. He should really shut up now.

But Cas is smirking.

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Wait—”

Dean doubletakes.

“What do you mean you figured—”

“Great news!” The hostess says, popping up at his elbow. “We found a table!”

Cas’s hand instantly finds Dean’s.

“Isn’t that great, honey?” He asks sweetly. “They found us a table.”

The hostess waves them towards the main part of the restaurant, and Dean plasters a smile on his face.

“Honey?” He whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m improvising, sue me,” Cas shoots back.

The hostess leads them to what looks like the fanciest part of the restaurant, and seats them at a table next to—who else, but their fucking mark. Of course.

“How’s this?” She asks cheerily. Dean tries to look anywhere but at Brady and his date.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Castiel says swiftly. He glares at Dean, sinking into one of the chairs.

Dean sits too, feeling Cas’s stare starting to drill a hole in his head. Yes, he knows that can’t very well discuss their next move with their target in earshot. Brady looks pretty engrossed with his date for now, but you never know.

“Well, hon,” Dean says, smiling tightly. “What next? Hmm?”

“I don’t know,” Cas answers thinly. “Maybe we should just sit, and watch.”

“A movie,” Dean blurts. “After this. A movie.”

Cas blinks at him, then nods.

“Yes, of course. A movie. If anything interesting comes up, I guess we’ll check it out.”

Dean gives him an exaggerated wink. His heart’s beating a mile a minute, but with nothing for it to sit and wait, he leans forward, grabbing the menu.

“Let’s see what they got for appetizers, eh?”

Cas leans forward.

“Seriously?” He lowers his voice. “Now isn’t exactly the time.”

“Wonder if they have a burger,” Dean muses to himself, ignoring Cas’s tone.

Of course, it all gets shot to hell when the waiter comes back with a huge bottle of champagne.

“On the house,” he gushes. “For the happy couple on their engagement!”

He plops the thing in front of them, and Dean can’t even muster up a thank you, gaping. Cas isn’t doing much better.

Brady’s date, however, squeals and places her hand over her heart.

“Oh my god. You just got engaged??? That’s so sweet.”

Cas tries to smile, but it just comes off as a sort of grimace.

“Yes. It….is.”

Dean is silent. Cas gives him a sharp kick under the table.

“Fu—um, uh—yeah. After three—”

“And a half,” Cas interjects, giving the woman a sort of long-suffering but doe-eyed look.

Dean plays along.

“Three and a half years,” he says, his shin still smarting. Goddammit, he’s a cop, not an actor.

Suddenly he’s wishing he signed up to do that dumb play with Sammy back in middle school.

“Sooooooo.”

The lady props her chin up on her hands, batting her eyelashes at them.

“How’d you meet?”

Dean blanks.

“Gym,” he says, the exact same time Cas says “Farmer’s market.”

Cas shoots him a look of panic.

“Farmer’s market at the gym,” Dean blurts quickly.

“Oh wow,” the woman says. “I’ve never heard of something like that.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Cas starts rambling. “All the proceeds go to benefit people in need, you know. Who are hungry.”

“Oh! I volunteer with a soup kitchen downtown!” The woman says, smiling wide. “What organization is it?”

Cas gapes like a fish for a second.

“Happy hands are….hungry hands?” He says, his voice turning up at the end. Dean winces.

But the woman seems oblivious.

“Wow,” she says again. “I’m Jenna, by the way.”

She holds out her hand, and Dean automatically takes it.

“Oh, um. I’m….Robert Plant. And this is my fiancé….”

He trails off.

“Steve,” Castiel blurts.

“....Right,” Dean says. “Steve.”

Brady clears his throat.

“Congratulations again,” he says stiffly. “Excuse us.”

He claims his date’s attention, and Dean keeps the smile on his face until he’s sure they’re distracted. Then he whips back to Cas.

“Robert Plant and Steve?” He hisses under his breath. Christ, how did this man ever become a detective??

“At least it’s a normal name,” Cas shoots back. “Led Zeppelin? Really?”

Dean blinks.

“You know who Robert Plant is?” He asks, surprised. Cas huffs out a breath.

“Of course I do,” he says. “What, do you think I live under a rock?”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Dean says shrugging.

“Ready to order?”

The waiter has appeared again. Dean purses his lips.

“Yeah. What are the specials again?”

“Robert,” Cas says, stressing every word. “I have to use the restroom.”

He pushes back from the table, nodding curtly.

“Excuse me.”

Dean waits for a beat, then stands too.

“I….also have to use the bathroom. Not because we’re gonna do any—I mean, I also just have to pee. A lot of water. Wait, no—Champagne. Y’know, I’m just gonna—”

He whips off after Cas before he can put any more of his foot in his mouth.

Dean finds him in the shadowy hallway that leads toward the bathroom.

“What the hell do we do?” Cas whispers.

“You think I know?” Dean shoots back. “We’re in the best place, I mean, he can’t really go anywhere without us knowing, if we stick right next to him—”

“Dean,” Cas whispers. Dean cuts off, and turns to look at what Cas is staring at.

Brady, perched at the entrance to the kitchen, holding a black briefcase and eyeing them suspiciously.

“Here—”

Dean’s only conscious of Cas grabbing the lapels of his shirt before he’s kissing him.

Dean freezes up, initially shocked at the cool press of Castiel’s lips against his. But after a moment instinct kicks in, and he brings one hand to press against Cas’s back, leaning into him. Cas….smells really good. Like clean soap and a hint of aftershave, and—

Abruptly, Cas pulls back.

“He’s gone,” he murmurs. Dean blinks.

“Oh,” he says hoarsely. “Uh. Right.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“Dean.”

Dean’s arms are still wrapped around Castiel’s waist. He quickly releases him, stepping back.

“He went in the kitchen,” Cas says. He’s avoiding Dean’s eyes, but his cheeks are flushed, and he looks more disheveled than Dean’s ever seen him. Dean licks his lips.

“We should follow him.”

Cas leads, and Dean pulls his gun, quickly flashing his badge as they rush after Brady through the kitchen. He radios to Benny and Jo in the car, speaking quickly.

“We’re on Brady’s tail. He’s about to make the drop.”

“Copy that.”

They tail him to a small little park behind the restaurant, where Brady looks around, before kneeling and dropping the briefcase under a small bush. Dean steps forward.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait—”

Cas throws out a hand.

“If we wait to see who picks it up, we get his buyer too.”

Dean bites his lip. Cas is right.

He radios Benny again.

“Pick up Brady. He’ll be back in the restaurant. We got a confirmed visual.”

“Got it.”

Barely twenty minutes later, they’ve got a confirmed collar from Jo, and Dean spots the buyer—a suspicious looking character who’s been loitering, moving closer to the bush.

“I think this is our guy,” Dean whispers. Cas nods, tightening the grip on his gun.

The buyer looks around, and looks dead at Dean, their eyes locking. Dean curses.

He grabs Cas, spinning him around and pinning him against the tree they’ve been hiding behind. This time, there’s no hesitation, and Cas seems to melt into the kiss, arms winding around Dean’s neck.

The buyer snorts, and reaches for the briefcase.

They break apart, pulling their weapons.

“FREEZE!” Cas yells. “NYPD! WE ARE POLICE COLLEAGUES.”

“THIS IS A WORK EVENT,” Dean says loudly.

x

Both men are handcuffed and on their way back to the precinct, and in less than an hour they’re in Mills’ office, being congratulated on closing the case.

“Nice work, gentlemen.” She folds her hands. “How’d you get the buyer without being seen?”

Dean glances at Cas. Cas coughs.

“We….distracted him,” He says eventually.

Mills narrows her eyes.

“Well.”

She stands.

“I’ll expect your full report by tomorrow. Great work, Novak. Winchester.”

They leave Mills’ office, and Dean dawdles for a moment.

“Hey, uh—Cas?”

Cas turns.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can, I uh—talk to you for a second?”

The evidence lockup is empty, like it always is, and Dean crosses his arms, staring at a spot on the floor.

“So, uh.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“We kissed.”

Cas is quiet, and Dean chances a glance up. His face is unreadable, and Dean’s heart drops.

“But we can be professional about it,” he says quickly. “It happened in the line of duty, and it doesn’t matter. We’ll just—”

Cas closes the space between them in three swift steps, and for the third time that evening, Dean is kissing Castiel.

They break apart a moment or an eternity later. Cas places a hand on Dean’s cheek.

“I don’t think I want to be professional anymore,” he whispers.

Dean smiles back.

It’s been happening for little over a month now.

When the first letter arrived, Castiel assumed it was a mistake. He put it on the communal pile in his apartment’s lobby and thought nothing of it.

But they kept coming. Nearly every day, and nearly all of it junk. Castiel googled it, of course, after wondering what the hell to do—and the internet gave him plenty of advice. He could just chuck it, he could open it (technically a federal felony, but who would be able to check?), or write return to sender.

So that’s what Castiel did. Wrote return to sender and stuck everything back in his mailbox.

The first few envelopes disappeared, but the wrong mail doesn’t stop showing up.

He starts to resent this ‘D. Winchester’—Castiel doesn’t know if they made a mistake, if they actually live in his building and just put the wrong apartment number—or if this is something else entirely. But he’s starting to get pissed at the seemingly endless stream of coupons and catalogues and envelopes. He steals a labelmaker from work and prints his name out in all caps, sticking it on his box so it can’t possibly be missed.

Unsurprisingly, calling the post office doesn’t help.

Castiel gets put on hold, he’s transferred several times—and when he’s finally speaking to an actual human being, they question everything he says, doubt that he knows what he’s talking about in every syllable.

“Are you sure you didn’t register this address?” The voice says, dripping with condescension.

“YES,” Castiel yells, frustrated. “There is no D. Winchester living here, there has never been a D. Winchester living here, and there will never be a D. Winchester living here!”

He slams the phone down, and it gives him a brief sense of satisfaction.

But Castiel still keeps getting the mail.

An ad for food delivery service, and online baked goods store, a Victoria’s Secret coupon for ‘VIP members’. A wedding invitation.

It’s the first piece of personal, actual mail, and Castiel finds his annoyance is slowly turning into guilt. The invitation lists the sender as ‘Sam and Eileen’ and an address upstate.

That one he immediately sends back. It disappears, and Castiel can only cross his fingers and hope it didn’t disappear into the clusterfuck that is the U.S. Postal System.

Then he gets a jury summons.

Oh shit.

This is no longer catalogues and random coupons getting delivered to the wrong address. This is now someone who could get arrested for their mail landing in the wrong box.

The mysterious D. Winchester could get in real trouble for this.

Castiel fingers with the edges of the letter. It’s all official looking, with JURY SUMMONS emblazoned on it in red letters. He chews at the corner of his lip, thinking.

“No, I did not get it. Yes, I checked.”

Castiel looks over. One of his neighbors, the stupidly hot one that’s he’s seen a couple times, also checking his mail, arguing with someone over the phone wedged underneath his ear.

“I’m looking right now. Nada. You trying to cut me out of the wedding, Sammy?”

Castiel freezes.

Sammy. Sam. Wedding invitation. This has to be him.

“Um, excuse me?”

The man turns and looks at Castiel, squinting. He points to the phone in his hand, clearly indicating he’s in the middle of a call.

“I’m sorry to interrupt—” Castiel clears his throat. “But is that Sam of ‘Sam and Eileen’?”

The guy’s eyes widen.

“Call you back, Sammy,” he says, quickly closing his mailbox and pocketing his phone.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Stalker.” He crosses his arms. “You wanna tell me how you know that?”

Castiel shakes his head, explaining quickly.

“No, no—my name is Castiel, 4B. I….think I’ve been getting your mail.”

Castiel holds out the envelope. The guy takes it, scowling a little when he sees what it is. Castiel winces slightly.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

The man looks up, lips turning up in a half-smile.

“So you’re the guy who’s been stealing my mail,” he says. Castiel huffs.

“I haven’t been stealing it,” he says defensively. “You must’ve listed the wrong address.”

“Hey, screw you,” the guy says good-naturedly. “I just moved here and all this apartment stuff is confusing.”

He looks back at his mailbox, then back at Castiel.

“What have you been….doing with it?”

Castiel grimaces.

“To be honest? Mostly tossing it.” He purses his lips. “You get a lot of crap.”

“Sam,” the guy mutters darkly.

Seeing Castiel’s confused expression, he laughs. 

“Aforementioned groom. My brother. Signs me up for random shit as a prank.”

Castiel snorts.

“Including the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue?”

The man goes pink.

“Um. Yeah,” he says quickly. “That one was—um, yes. Definitely a prank.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. Interesting.

“Well, uh.”

The guy smiles, waving the envelope.

“I’m in 3B. You get any more of my stuff, just pop on over. I work the night shift, so I might not answer—but you can always leave stuff outside my door.”

Castiel nods, his heart leaping at having an excuse to talk to the man again.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand.

Castiel takes it. His hand is warm, surprisingly soft.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, smiling. “Nice to finally meet you.”

x

A few days later, he gets another envelope for Dean. 

It sits on Castiel’s coffee table for another week until he’s brave enough to do something about it. He takes a deep breath, walks down the flight of stairs to the door marked ‘3B’. Castiel knocks, but there’s no answer.

Well. Castiel will just have to try later. He’s not going to just....leave the envelope out, where anyone could take it. People might really want to get their hands on a….

Castiel flips it over. American Express exclusive offer.

Castiel groans, thunking his head against the doorframe.

x

He works up his courage that evening, once again knocking on Dean’s door.

This time there’s a brief pause, a scuffle and an echo of footsteps, and then the door opens. Dean smiles, whole face brightening when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” he says. “Ca-stiel….right?”

“Yep. Or Cas. Either’s fine,” Castiel says, holding out the envelope. “Wound up with one of yours again.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They both fall silent, staring at each other awkwardly. Castiel clears his throat. Say something, anything.

“See you around,” he blurts, and turns to go back upstairs cursing himself. Why can he never talk to attractive people, why—

“Hey, Cas?”

Castiel whips back around. Dean is looking up at him, and seems to be chewing his lip.

“You know, I was thinking about how you basically recycled my mail for the last month—”

“Again, mostly junk—”

“And I figured the way you’d make it up to me is going out for a drink.”

Castiel blinks at him.

“What?” He stammers out. Dean shrugs. 

“Caused me a lot of headaches, Cas,” he says, but he’s smiling. “You owe me.”

Castiel looks at him for a moment longer, deciding to just be blunt.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, with an easy grin. “Are you saying yes?”

“Yes,” Castiel says immediately. Dean’s face lights up, and he tosses the envelope somewhere back over his shoulder. 

“Awesome.”

Castiel holds up a finger. “On one condition.”

Dean pauses. “Oh?”

“You have to cancel all those subscriptions,” Castiel says, folding his arms. “Catalogues really aren’t good for the environment.”

Dean laughs, and it lights up Castiel’s soul.

“Deal.”

He claps Castiel on the shoulder, heading downstairs.

“You’re buying!”

x

Dean does end up getting picked for jury duty, but Castiel keeps him company on his lunch breaks every day he has to be at court.

Castiel is Dean’s plus one to the wedding whose invitation they never saw again.

And eventually, Castiel needs to steal the label maker again.

He hands it to Dean, who places it carefully, then takes Castiel’s hand before they head back upstairs.

x

4B

C. NOVAK

and

                                                                              --

The first snowball hits Dean square in the jaw. The second on his right shoulder. The third he dodges, smiling the whole time. Castiel hides behind the impala, trying to catch his breath. Sam warned him not to take on Dean in a snowball fight, but Sam never thought of this: if you hid behind the impala, Dean wouldn’t dare throw anything towards you. It’s working so far.

           “Castiel Novak, you get your ass out from behind there.” Castiel giggles at the way Dean yells at him. He loves when they can be like this. Carefree. Happy.  

           “Who? Me?” Castiel rolls another snowball, then stands up quickly. He throws the ball as hard as he can, but it just hits the wall of snow Dean built for himself as a shield. Dean squats down, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He shoots a quick text to Sam, laughing to himself.

‘Your turn. Just don’t hit my baby.’

In less than a minute he hears Castiel start to squeal. Dean peaks out to watch as Castiel jumps from behind the impala in a panic. He starts running away, looking over his shoulder at Sam. His laughter carries across the yard, giving Dean chills down his spine as he squats to make another snowball. Something crashes into him right when he stands up, sending him stumbling backwards.

Dean catches them both, his arms wrapping tightly around Castiel. The blue-eyed man stares up at him, breathing hard.

“You give up yet?” Dean asks breathlessly, trying not to focus on how cute he is with flushed cheeks. Castiel nods sadly, putting out a pouty lip. Just as Dean starts celebrating his victory, Castiel takes the snowball stashed in his coat pocket and slams it into his face. The snow explodes, flakes scattering in the air. Dean stands frozen for a moment, his eyes close. Then his lips split into a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” Castiel tries to run but Dean catches him around the waist, spinning him in the air. Castiel feels the breath get knocked out of him when he’s dropped to the ground, snow getting pushed up the back of his jacket. He doesn’t care. Not with Dean Winchester on top of him. “Got you.” Dean whispers breathlessly. Castiel nods. There are no truer words.

“You sure did.”

Charlie laughed to herself for a while about Dean’s “problem,” but then forgot all about it. It seemed that despite all of his hang-ups, Dean slowly started to trust Alfie, because sometimes he mentioned Alfie when they talked. Charlie gathered from Dean’s talk that he and Alfie weren’t necessary friends, but got along pretty well, and that was good enough.

Three weeks after that discussion, Charlie noticed that Dean had stumbled when saying Alfie’s name during a story. She raised her brows, prompting Dean to stop. They were once again laying on the grass in front of the main building, enjoying the autumn breeze and trying to forget the fact that they both had heaps of homework they hadn’t even started.

“Trouble in paradise?” Charlie asked. “Was Alfie’s super-niceness just a ruse, after all?”

“Not really,” Dean said. “Or…”

“What is it?”

“It’s uh,” Dean scratched his neck. “His brother is… well…”

“Alfie’s brother? The lawyer one?”

“Yeah. His name’s Castiel Novak.”

Charlie blinked. “Weird name.”

“Tell me about it. Oh! You haven’t heard the best part.” Dean grinned. “Alfie’s real name is Samandriel.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“I’m taking back anything I’ve ever said about ‘Celeste’ being an awful name. That’s an awful name.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Celeste.”

“You call me that one more time and I will email the whole campus the story of you, Rhonda Hurley and a pair of—”

“Alright, alright!”

“So,” Charlie said, “what did this Castiel Novak do, then?”

“Well, he…” Dean looked awkward. “He keeps helping me with stuff.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, he pays for Alfie’s dorming, but then he insisted that he could cover part of mine, especially, after he heard that… And well, I haven’t gotten that many shifts at the bookshop lately, and…”

Dean trailed off, but Charlie caught the meaning nonetheless. It wasn’t like Dean had much money to begin with, and Charlie knew that Dean felt guilty about “using uncle Bobby’s money to waste a few years in college,” as he’d worded it. Charlie had witnessed some of the arguments between Dean and uncle Bobby, and she knew that Bobby definitely didn’t feel that way – he only wanted Dean to get an education and was happy to pay for college, as much as he could, but Dean couldn’t get that into his self-sacrificing head for some reason. All Dean could see was the fact that he was using the money that should’ve belonged to uncle Bobby and the Singer Garage, and so, Dean felt guilty about it. He’d found a job at a local bookshop before college had even started, but even with that, he could barely make ends meet.

Charlie smiled. “So he’s nice to a poor student and offered to cover most of the rent. That’s called being a decent human being, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know, but, like…” Dean scratched his neck awkwardly. “You know he buys Alfie’s books and all, right? Basically pays for whatever Alfie does. Because he’s a—”

“Because he’s a goddamn lawyer, yes, you’ve said that many times.”

“Well, Mr. Novak came by last week, and after he saw my chemistry books, he offered to buy me new ones.”

Charlie blinked. “Well, that’s just reasonable. I don’t understand how you can even pass the class with your edition, it’s five years old.”

“Same information, new package. The publishers just want more money, it’s not like anything revolutionary has happened since. Anyway, I couldn’t accept that.”

“Hm,” Charlie said, and Dean huffed at her little smile.

“Wipe that smirk off your face and tell me, what do I do?”

“Well, has he propositioned you?”

Dean sat up suddenly, mouth falling open. “What? Of course not!”

“But you still think he might be hitting on you.”

“Er, I mean—” Dean huffed. “Whatever. What do you call a roommate’s older brother who’s just being nice and wants to help you out, probably because he views you as a charity case?”

“A sugar daddy.”

Dean gagged, making Charlie laugh. “Charlie, that’s gross!”

“But accurate!”

“Not even remotely! He’s… he’s just being nice!”

“Just don’t come crying to me when he drops his pants and tells you to kneel.”

“Gross, Bradbury!”

Charlie just laughed, and when she was unable to stop, Dean tried to wrestle her for it. It turned into an all-out giggling and tickling war, and in a moment, neither even remembered what they’d been laughing about.

The next week, Charlie ran into Dean in the hallway when she was rushing to her class. She hadn’t seen Dean in a few days, because she’d been busy juggling classes, homework, other social life and Gilda (lovely, wonderful Gilda), so she immediately stopped to say at least hi. Dean hugged her, and when Dean’s shoulder bag dug into Charlie’s stomach, she realized that Dean hadn’t owned that previously.

“Is that a new bag?” Charlie asked when they parted. The black shoulder bag Dean was carrying looked new, and was definitely an improvement to that awful, green back bag Dean had had since elementary school. At least the shoulder bag wasn’t falling apart.

“Er,” Dean said, “Mr. Novak bought me this.”

Charlie blinked. “He bought you a bag?”

“It’s used! He said he found it in a Salvation Army shop.”

“Right. The hot-shot lawyer who earns three times more than your education costs a year bought you a used bag.”

“It’s… nice?”

“And he just gave it to you?”

“It was a gift!” Dean huffed. “Besides, I made him pie for that. You know, because it was polite.”

“You baked him a pie?” Charlie asked, flabbergasted. Dean loved pie in all of its variations, but he only baked it to those he viewed as his closest friends and family.

“It was the polite thing to do!” Dean huffed. “What else would I have served him with tea?”

“You had tea with him.”

“Alfie was there, too,” Dean weakly added.

“Okay,” Charlie said, smiling. She realized that this as clearly a delicate moment, and she shouldn’t prod anymore. Dean would figure it out soon himself. “That was nice of him, really.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It was.” He coughed. “I should—I mean, I’m almost late for—”

“Oh!” Charlie smiled. “I’m almost late, too. See you later!”

Dean left, a slight blush on his face, and Charlie resolved to wait for a few days before prodding again.

She didn’t have to wait for long. Two days after that, she and Dean had lunch together, and Dean surprised Charlie by asking, “What do you think I should wear to an Italian restaurant?”

“To a what now?” Charlie asked. “You have a date!” she realized then.

“It’s not a date!” Dean protested. “Castiel is just taking me and Alfie to eat after midterms. Alfie showed him a picture of the cafeteria food and he nearly gagged. Then he said that this—” Dean punctured his poor excuse of spaghetti with his fork, “—is not even close to Italian food, and we ought to learn the difference.”

“Well, he’s correct. This is more like something the cook made, ate and then vomited to the plates.”

“Eugh. But true,” Dean said.

“He’s not… creepy, is he?” Charlie asked.

“What? No. Actually, Castiel’s really nice. And interesting. He’s kind of dorky, and weird, for a lawyer, you know, but he’s…”

“I see,” Charlie said, when Dean couldn’t come up with any description. She noticed that Dean had shifted from “Mr. Novak” to “Castiel,” but didn’t want to draw attention to it. “How old is he?”

“There’s a big age gap between him and Alfie. I think he’s thirty?”

“It’s not that big of a gap,” Charlie said, teasingly.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. “He’s not grooming me, or anything of the sort.”

“I never said that.” She grinned. “Is he good-looking?”

“What?” Dean paled. “How should I know? I’m not gay!”

“And I’m not attracted to men, and I can still tell when I see a handsome guy. So, c’mon, indulge me.”

Dean twirled his fork in the spaghetti, around and around, and Charlie stared at him and waited.

“I guess he is,” Dean finally grumbled. “He’s… he doesn’t look anything like Alfie, really. He’s my height, and he’s got these big, blue eyes, like ice. Dark hair, and a permanent stubble.”

“Why does that sound familiar? Like something out of a, oh, fairytale?” Charlie pretended to think. “Tall, dark and—”

“Tall, Dark and Brooding, more like,” Dean interrupted, and Charlie laughed.

“If you say so,” she said.

It took two more weeks before Dean mentioned Castiel again. Charlie hadn’t asked him about the not-date at the Italian restaurant with Alfie as a chaperone, but since Dean hadn’t mentioned it, she figured that it must’ve been a pretty important event. She simply bided her time, because Dean would crack sooner or later and tell her everything.

She wasn’t wrong. They were walking through the campus, enjoying the autumn air that was slowly turning towards winter, when Dean cracked at last.

“So,” Dean started, “I think Alfie’s brother might be hitting on me.”

Charlie very nearly tripped on her own feet, but managed to catch herself at the last second. She bit back a grin and asked, “Really? Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding is hitting on you?”

“I regret ever telling you that nickname.”

“The mystery is why you even have a nickname for him,” Charlie reminded him. Dean glared at her, and she huffed. “Alright, alright. Mr. Novak is hitting on you.”

“Might be,” Dean corrected her.

“Fine, might be hitting on you. How do you figure?”

“Well, he…” Dean scratched his neck. “We went to that Italian restaurant a few weeks ago, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it was really nice and… stuff… and I figured I should repay him somehow. So me and Alfie invited him to our place for dinner.”

“That was nice of you. And it’s not that weird to get to know your roommate’s brother.”

“Uh.” Dean looked away. “Actually, Alfie couldn’t be there. He cancelled at the last minute.”

“I see,” Charlie said, barely able to contain her laughter.

“He bought wine,” Dean said. “And dessert, even though I’d baked apple pie.”

“You made him pie again?”

“Well, he liked the last one, so I just thought—anyway. It was nice, he’s nice, it was kinda fun to spend the evening with him. We even watched a few episodes of Orange Is The New Black on my laptop, ‘cause he said he hadn’t caught up to the newest season yet.”

Charlie had to pretend to cover a cough to stifle her laughter. The image of Dean and Mr. Novak sitting on his poor excuse of a bed at the dorm room was simply too much for her. “Okay. And?”

“Well, nothing. That was it. Although, today, I got a text from him, and—”

“You text?”

“Alfie gave him my number as an emergency contact,” Dean protested. “And he says it’s relaxing to text between all those meetings he has.”

“Oh my god,” Charlie laughed, not able to hold her laughter inside anymore. “And he still insists on buying stuff for you?”

“Charlie, it’s not like that, I mean—” Dean paused. “I don’t even know what it’s like. He’s not creepy or anything, he’s just… really nice. Too nice.”

“Like Alfie,” Charlie slyly said.

“Nothing like Alfie. He’s… Cas is different.”

“Oh, so now he’s Cas, is he?” Charlie grinned.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Dean asked, annoyed. “Anyway, I got a text from him today, and, uh…” Charlie blinked when she saw that there was a slight blush on Dean’s cheeks. Kudos to whoever this Castiel Novak was, if he could make Dean blush more than once a century.

“He asked if I was interested in going to a concert with him. He’s got an extra ticket. I don’t even know the band, but I listened to them for a bit on YouTube, and it sounds like my kind of thing, and…” Dean looked elsewhere. “That’s not weird, is it? Asking me to a concert? Do you think I should go?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Charlie asked. “He’s nice, like you’ve said. And handsome, apparently.”

“I guess,” Dean hedged. “His eyes are really, really blue, though, you need to see it yourself. It’s ethereal.”

“Okay,” Charlie smiled. “So why wouldn’t you go?”

“It’s… not weird, is it?”

“Let me recap. Your sugar daddy finally wants to collect, and you chicken out?” Charlie asked.

“For the last time, Charlie, he’s not—my…” Dean paled. “Oh god, he’s totally my sugar daddy. Without the sex, of course.”

Charlie cracked up again, laughing at the face Dean made. “Oh my god, this is the best thing ever. You’ve caught yourself a sugar daddy, and didn’t even realize it!”

“He’s not—I mean—I’m not gay!”

Charlie’s laughter finally subsided, and she calmed down enough to say, “I never said you were.”

“But I’m not!”

“Dean, you’ve spent the last five minutes describing to me how wonderful Castiel Novak is and how his eyes are so blue that you want to go swim in them.”

“I never… said… that…”

“Well, you meant it.”

“But I’m not gay!” Dean protested again, and this just made Charlie roll her eyes.

“But you like him.”

“Of course I like him!” Dean yelled. Then he stopped walking. “Fuck. I like him.”

“Yes, and?”

“Not like that!” Dean said, although it was a feeble attempt. “I just—fuck you, this conversation is over!”

Dean stormed off, and Charlie shook her head after Dean. She almost wished she could be there when Dean finally put the pieces together and talked things through with Castiel, but then again, she definitely didn’t want to be there to see the gross, sweaty man-sex they’d probably have. Urgh.

Three days after that, Dean knocked on Charlie’s dorm room door early in the morning. Charlie sluggishly separated herself from Gilda’s sleeping form and opened the door in nothing but a t-shirt and panties, but she didn’t even have the decency to blush, because Dean had seen her in far worse states. Dean took one look at Gilda’s naked back, and gave a thumbs-up to Charlie. She winked.

“Come in,” she said. “Though, you might wanna be quiet. We had kind of a late night.”

“Uh. Good for you,” Dean said. He stepped in, and then fell silent for a while. “So, uh.” Dean rarely blushed, but now seemed to be one of the few times for that. “Thanks for… what you said.”

“No problem,” Charlie said. She smiled. “So, you went to the concert?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. A small, gentle smile spread on his lips, and it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened. “And um. We had pizza after the concert, and, um, talked. Among other things,” he added.

“Congrats,” Charlie grinned.

“Also, uh. I think you should meet Cas.”

“You mean, I finally get to meet your sugar daddy?” Charlie asked.

“He’s not—”

“Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding?”

“Better, but—”

“Your boyfriend?”

Dean smiled, relaxing. “Yeah, I want you to meet my boyfriend Cas.”

Charlie smiled. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Just, uh, promise me you won’t call him a ‘sugar daddy’. He… really doesn’t like that. Trust me, I tried. It’s bad enough with the nickname he gave me.”

“Really?” Charlie grinned. “And what cute little nickname does he call you?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “‘Sugar.’”