#pb100

When Castiel returns to the living room, Dean is slouched into the couch cushions, remote clutched loosely in a half-open fist on his thigh. Eyes closed, belly rising and falling with his peaceful breaths, his head tips back at a pinchy angle.

Before Castiel can touch him, Dean startles himself awake with a soft snore, blinking hard in an endearing daze. His green eyes land on Castiel and crinkle immediately at the corners: spiderwebbing proof of years of joy, of laughter. Lightness. All the wonderful things Dean deserves.

He wishes this was easier.

The adjustment to being human has been like trying to claw his way out of a pit. It wasn’t enough to find out that they managed to save the world, after all, no more apocalypses and no more uncaring God, and it wasn’t enough to find himself awake in the Empty, rough hands he knew well wrapped around his wrists, pulling him to some semblance of safety. He’s not sure what will be enough. 

Right now, as he lies in bed, he contemplates his newfound humanity and freedom, and as he does, he notices small sounds in the silence. Most notable is Dean breathing beside him, fast asleep with his face mashed into his pillow. Dean still sleeps like the dead, still gets grumpy when you wake him up. Now, after a tear-stained welcome back, Cas is privy to those habits, among others. And there are other things, besides the man beside him, that Cas is privy to now. Everything is sharper, deeper, and it’s an adjustment, and it’s not easy, but it has to be worth it. 

It has to be. 

Hey, Cas. I’m no good at fancy love letters or whatever, so here’s something better. I hope you like it, and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Dean.

Inside the package is a cassette player and a tape. The label simply reads: I love you.

Dean wears a different watch these days.

It’s the one he found inexplicitly perched on the nightstand in Cas’ room — after he managed to pry himself off the dungeon floor and stagger blindly down the hall; drawn there, hoping for something, anything, to bring him peace — and immediately put it on.

If he realizes the tick marks denoting the minutes shine brighter than they should or that the second hand seems to pulse, he takes no notice. All he cares about is that the watch reminds him of Cas — feels like Cas.

for @profoundnet‘s PB100 prompt, Peen. “Alright, Dean. It’s time to peen.”

Sam stopped. What did Cas say?

“It’s not my first time, Cas.”

“I know, Dean, but this is delicate and requires a special technique.”

Sam moved closer, unable to ignore his curiosity.

“Is this okay, Cas?”

“That feels right. Now move your hand like this, Dean.”

The ring of metal hitting metal caught Sam off-guard and sent him stumbling inside.

“Hey, Sam. Cas is showing me how to maintain his Angel Blade. Apparently, it’s called peening?”

When Cas leans a little closer, a flirty tilt to his lips, Dean doesn’t pull away. Tells himself it’d be rude.

When Cas leads him gently by the wrist somewhere more private, Dean goes. Tells himself he’s only doing it to temper his curiosity. Straight guys can be curious, too.

Then Cas kisses him to breathlessness, and Dean’s brain gets fried.

Oh.

Oh.

Castiel isn’t a cupid. But sometimes, for completely selfish reasons, he wishes he were.

When they finish up that hunt in Dodge City, they go out for beers. Jack goes to the jukebox and Sam, electing not to be a third wheel, follows. Cas sits across from Dean; staring, frowning, thinking again of cherubs and their divine mission.

Dean looks up, “Somethin’ on your mind, Cas?”

Castiel extends his index finger and thumb. Makes a gun. Levels the tip of his finger to line up with Dean’s chest.

He closes one eye and shoots.

“Pew”

It was a show down, between man and toddler. A battle of wills over bath time. The toddler, one Jack Kline, was protesting the end of his day. The two year old knew, through the ritualistic schedule that his father had established his entire existence, that bath time meant eventual bed time and he did not want to go.