#unestablished

I would like to make a request for a blue birdie 💙 and domestic fluff 🤭 (i have nothing specific in mind, so I'll leave it to your beautiful creative imagination!! 💖🤭 Take your time with this req, hehe!)

Also, my first time making a req- 🧍‍♀️

Entry: " Recipe to Reminisce "

Pairing: HSR! Sunday | Reader

Information: After the incident in Penacony, it would take time for everyone to settle back into life on the Express. However, some crew members find adjusting harder than others, particularly their new addition, Sunday. Wanting to make him feel welcome, you research how to make one of his favorite dishes that you overheard him longing for. | 4.6k word count.

Tags: Domestic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Teasing, Tenderness, Pinning, Admiration, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Appreciation, Subtle Flirting, Praise, Unestablished, Misuse of ingredients.

Though you had never mastered the delicate craft of baking, the absence of time spent in the pursuit had never bothered you. Life among the stars kept you perpetually on the move, grappling with the cosmic currents of your adventures on the Astral Express. After your long and exhaustive trek from Penacony, your intrepid crew found a moment's reprieve, a rare stillness in the ceaseless tide of your travels as plans for the next voyage to the enchanting land of Amphoreus began to take shape. This lull in activity stretched over the span of a week, and amidst the maps and charts spread out like a celestial tapestry, you recognized a golden opportunity. It was the perfect chance to warmly welcome the newest addition to your diverse crew, ensuring he felt at home among the swirling constellations and the unfamiliar chaos of life on the express.

You find yourself in the dimly lit confines of the Trailblazer's room, surrounded by the tantalizing scents of fresh ingredients as you prepare a heartfelt welcome gift for Sunday. A deep sense of apprehension fills the air, as you worry about the possibility of him wandering in and catching you off guard during your clandestine preparations. The thought of March discovering your secret and spreading the word sends a chill through you—this moment is meant to be a tranquil escape, a chance not only to prove your baking skills but also to convey to Sunday that he is no longer alone in this journey.

As you glance downstairs, the vibrant camaraderie of your friends echoes in the background, their laughter and chitchat filling the atmosphere with warmth. Himiko is lost in her world, savoring the rich aroma of her coffee, while March and Stelle are caught up in animated conversation over their sugary drinks. Despite their delight, you can’t shake the longing that gnaws at you—a yearning for the comfort of fresh meals, something sorely missed during your travels with the express, where dining means waiting until you reach the next destination.

Determined to turn your cravings into something special, you made the journey back to Penacony three system hours prior, gathering the necessary materials to craft the perfect sweet dessert. The excitement of creating something from scratch fills you with purpose, especially after having asked Pom-Pom to install a kitchen ahead of time. Thankfully, the kitchen arrived just in time for this culinary adventure, providing you with the perfect space to channel your creativity and affection into a dish that will surely bring joy to Sunday’s heart.

Tonight's mission was set in your mind: bake a delicious tray of Pudding Tarts to brighten up Sunday! You pictured the silky custard filling nestled in crisp, golden pastry, and the thought made you smile warmly to yourself, filled with anticipation for the delightful treat you'd create.

Slinking over to him when Steve's on the bleachers, sliding the sunglasses right off his face, gentle and syrup slow, putting them on with a half-hidden wink before he strolls off again, not so much as a hi, how was your day? or can I borrow these?

As if Billy doesn't have six different pairs of shades in the glovebox of the Camaro.

Billy who strides up to Steve in the middle of a party, grips him by his new leather jacket (which he totally didn't buy because it made him think of the one on Billy's shoulders right now) and slides it straight off him, holds it by his teeth on the collar as he shrugs off his own, shoves it into Steve's chest, slips into Steve's and disappears off again.

Sitting at Steve's table in the library, not-quite holding his hand as he pretends to thumb-war him, actually somehow manages to work Steve's bracelet/watch off his wrist and onto his own before he flashes that shark smile and vanishes between the shelves. Steve doesn't even notice until an hour later when he goes to check for the time or fiddle with the twined rope and its not there.

Steve quickly learns not to put anything down and take his eyes off it because even though Billy's nowhere in sight by the time he turns back around its gone. Jackets disappearing off bleachers and lunch hall benches, sunglasses vanishing from the edge of his desk, appearing pushed up into golden curls hours later or draped over toned shoulders.

TW: descriptions of bodily injury, child abuse

Billy and Steve have only been tenuous acquaintances since that night at the Byer house. The fight had been intense but the moment the demodog had fallen out of the fridge at Billy’s feet, it all got derailed. 

“What the fuck is that, Harrington!”

“Uuuuhm-uh-a it’s aaaaa dog.”

“That’s not a fucking dog! That’s an abomination!”

Whether they liked it or not, Billy was part of this now. But the more time he spent with them all, the less Steve hated him. He was actually pretty likable when he wasn’t trying to usurp Steve and claim a crown he no longer wanted to begin with. Steve found he actually really liked having Billy around. They were pretty similar, liked a lot of the same stuff and they got along.

They got along so well that babysitting became a tag team job where Steve and Billy would take turns entertaining the kids, Billy would cook for everyone, Steve would clean up and keeping the kids from running off into the night to stare the boogie man down and spit in its face was much easier together. Billy had even started coming over those nights where the kids had their own thing going on and hanging out with Steve just the two of them. 

One night, he and Billy are watching movies and they end up passing out on the couch. When Steve wakes up alone in the house he doesn’t think much of it. He cleans up from the night before and goes about his day until he has to get ready for work. Then his phone rings. Surprisingly, it’s Max on the line. She’s never called him before and she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Can you come get us?”

Us? “Okay. Of course. Just...take a deep breath, okay? I’ll be right there.”

At first Steve is worried that Billy’s done something. He’s afraid that El and Max are stuck in a scary situation and that he’s gonna have to fight Billy again. But when he pulls up, Max comes out trying desperately to support Billy and get him in the car. He looks like he’s just gone a few rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard and it’s bad. Steve fears the worst. He grabs his bat from the back seat and jumps out to cover them while they hobble to his BMW.

“What was it? Where did it go?”

Max is crying. She swipes away the tears and spits “to the movies with my mom”. Steve is about to tell her that this is not the time for sarcasm but the look on Max’s face tells him she’s not joking. 

“What are you talkin’ about,” he asks carefully. Max sniffs.

“His dad. He was mad that Billy didn’t come home last night.”

Steve’s stomach sinks. Billy looks horrible, beaten bloody and barely coherent. And his own father was the one responsible. It all made so much sense. Everything he had hated about Billy and where it came from was suddenly crystal clear to Steve. He didn’t know if he wanted to be sick or break the man’s god damn windows. 

He does neither and instead, he takes over Billy’s heavy weight. Max lets him take the barely conscious Billy from her and hurries to open the door. He lays Billy across the back seat as gently as he can and Max slides in with him to make sure he doesn’t slide around.

“We have to stop somewhere,” Max says. “He needs bandages a-and medicine and-”

“We’re going to the hospital,” Steve tells her, his tone brooking no argument. 

“Steve, no,” Max pleads. “Please. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you. He’ll never trust me again, Steve. Please!”

“Better that than letting him die, Max,” Steve shouts. He sees her stricken expression in his rearview and feels instantly guilty. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, softer this time. “I’m sorry you’re in this position. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. Both of you. But if we don’t take him and something worse happens...that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” 

Max looks just destroyed and it takes everything Steve has not to scream and punch the steering wheel out of anger at this whole situation. How did he miss this? How did everyone miss this? 

“We’re gonna take him to the hospital and we’re gonna call Hop,” Steve tells her. “Even if Billy’s afraid to talk, you’re a witness. You can tell them everything, Max. He might get pissed but it’s our best chance at getting you both out.”

Max still looked so conflicted. “I promised Billy I wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

Steve sighed through his nose. “I know,” he told her sympathetically. “But you did the right thing asking for help.”

Max was quiet, staring down at Billy’s head in her lap, at the rise and fall of his chest, his curls in his bloodied, beaten face. “What’s gonna happen to him if we blow the whistle on this?”

Steve didn’t have an answer for that. Foster care maybe? But at Billy’s age, months from legal adulthood, it was unlikely. A halfway house seemed more likely unless he had someone to take him in. But compared to this?

His voice was soft, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation at all. “What happens to him if we don’t?”

It was ominous, the atmosphere in the car heavy. But Steve knew they had their answer.

---------------

Billy was in bad shape. Several broken bones, jaw wired shut and the doctor had said he was lucky his left retina hadn’t detached completely with the force he’d taken. He was out most of the time on some pretty serious pain killers which was honestly for the better. Steve hurt just looking at him. But the good news came that neither Billy or Max would be returning to that house. Susan would only be allowed supervised visitation to ensure Max’s safety. 

But then Steve learned that Neil was refusing to allow anyone to collect Billy and Max’s things. Steve was at Billy’s bedside when Hop was talking with Max about it. She and El had been inseparable and Max was allowed to stay with the Hoppers until they either completed the foster application process or the case was settled and they found Max other placement. Whichever came first. 

Steve saw red, his fists clenching at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to go down with his bat and let Neil try to stop him. He wanted to show him real pain. Wanted to put him in a bed just like the one Billy was stuck in now. But then a big hand clasps his shoulder and Steve looks up at Hopper. The look on the man’s face tells him he knows exactly what was in Steve’s heart right now.

“Let the adults handle this, kid,” he told him. “You got them out. That’s already more than you ever should have had to do. And besides,” the man’s eyes fell on the boy in the bed, looking so frail and broken, “You know in your heart where you need to be right now.” 

“I don’t...”

“You do,” Hopper told him, squeezing his shoulder. “We all do. And we’re all here for both of you.”

Steve bit his lip, letting his head drop. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only when you get that murder face on his behalf,” Hopper teased. “But from what I hear, you’re in good company.”

Dean can’t think, not when Cas is this close, with that fire in his eyes and a growl that makes Dean weak at the knees. He’s thought about kissing Cas so many times, and now they’re so close, he could just reach out and do it.

But he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. The silence stretches out between them, fragile and tenuous like spun glass.

Cw: sexual themes, unrequited love.

I pulled my lips away from his. “are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, unable to hide the cockiness in my voice. After all, this is what I do; seduce pretty, twinky boys and I wreck them, no strings attached. The brown eyed boy beneath me seemed to suddenly surge forward with confidence, kissing me again he murmured ; “just promise not to fall in love with me”. I promised, laughing and asking him the same. At the time there was no doubt in my mind, he was just another boy. _____________________________________

“Special Agent Winchester? Come with me.”

Dean straightens up at his post and raises his eyebrows. “Now, sir?” he asks of his boss—the gruff-looking Special Agent Singer who has been in charge of the Presidential detail for as long as anyone can remember. It’s not often that he directly singles out agents, so Dean can’t be sure if this is a good thing or not.

Singer just inclines his head silently. He’s not going to get any extra information, then—but he’s gotten used to that, after so long in the Secret Service. There are always things going on that are above his pay grade or none of his business. He steps away from his post and follows Singer when he turns and walks away, surreptitiously straightening his suit. Wherever they’re going, whoever Singer might be taking him to see, he needs to look like the damn professional that he is.

They walk in silence through the corridors of the West Wing, and Dean tries not to analyze the situation too much in his head, but when they reach the doors of the Oval Office—

“The President has requested to speak with you.”

Nervous butterflies erupt in Dean’s stomach.

President Novak is the kind of guy who will always take time out of his day to chat with his employees—be it a wave here, a ‘hello’ there, or even just the uncanny way he manages to remember little details about the lives of so many of his staff members. For someone tasked with running a whole country, it’s pretty fucking impressive.

But with Dean, it’s different. Always has been, ever since Dean started his detail here.

The first few times they’d met, he’d been little more than a fringe guard. Someone tasked with covering one of the many possible areas and angles, counting the number of tiles on the floor to keep himself entertained until the fleeting moment when the President and his inner team would pass.

Dean had seen him in photos, or on television, but the first time he met President Novak in person, that was it. His colleagues tease him about his unrequited crush, and he’s become the butt of many jokes after he’s been caught staring when his attention is elsewhere, or when he manages to stumble over the briefest of interactions that he has with the guy.

But not long after the first time that Dean crossed the President’s path, he was promoted to the recon team, and then to the inner team, tasked with being President Novak’s personal bodyguards. Being around the President more often makes it easier for Dean to talk to him (he’s almost managed to get over his awkwardness) and, admittedly, stare, but it also means that he gets the opportunity to pay closer attention to President Novak’s habits.

And if Dean happens to catch him staring once, or twice, or a dozen times throughout the day, well. It’s an interesting fact that he files away for a rainy day—when he’s not tasked with literally having the guy’s life in his hands. In this line of work, distractions and emotions are far from ideal.

Dean may have failed more than a little on both fronts, but he’d thought that he’d managed to do an okay job at hiding his infatuation from the man himself.

Considering he’s being called into the Oval Office alone and in the middle of his shift, he’s starting to suspect that that might not be the case.

Special Agent Singer steps back, taking up his position outside the office, and nods towards the closed doors. “Whenever you’re ready, Winchester.”

Whenever you’re ready. As if Dean feels ready in the slightest to face the most powerful man in the United States—the very man Dean has been maybe kind of pining over ever since he joined the President’s detail.

But he has to get it over with sometime, and decent guy or not, the President is not someone who should be kept waiting.

Dean takes a deep breath, steels his nerves, and pushes the door open.  

Even though Dean has been working in the White House for more than a few months now, he’s only seen the inside of the Oval Office a handful of times, and this one is no less nerve-wracking than the others. In fact, it’s more nerve-wracking, because once he’s closed the door behind him and turned to face the rest of the room, it’s then that he realizes—it really only is him and President Novak in here.

The man himself stands up from his desk when he Dean enters, and for the first time Dean has ever seen, he actually looks a little… nervous. He straightens the cuffs of his shirt that are rolled halfway up his forearms and then touches his half-loosened tie as though he’d forgotten to tighten it before Dean entered—not that Dean minds in the slightest. With the messy hair and the more casual look, he might almost be able to forget that he’s standing in front of the President of the United States.

Almost.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Dean asks, and even though they’ve had countless comfortable interactions, he can’t help slipping back into the respectful address.

Novak gives him a quick smile and gestures to the chair opposite his desk. “Welcome, Special Agent Winchester. Please, have a seat. And I’ve told you, you’re welcome to call me Castiel.”

God, that shouldn’t be enough to make Dean’s heart beat faster. He nods jerkily and crosses the room to the desk, taking the offered seat. “Okay, si—Castiel.” He can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment—this is not how a Secret Service agent should be behaving.Get a fucking grip, Winchester. “Why did you want to see me?” he asks, before he can make any more an idiot of himself.

Now that Dean is seated, Novak sits down as well, resting his clasped hands on his desk. He doesn’t fidget or look away, and there aren’t any physical tells that he can see, but Dean begins to get the niggling feeling in his gut that something is wrong.

“We need to talk about your position on my security team,” Novak says finally. His gaze is steady and even, but it feels like the calm façade is born from years of practice. Whatever direction this conversation is going in, the President seems… off. Not his usual self.

Dean swallows. “What do you mean, sir?”

The corners of Novak’s mouth turn down. His voice, when he next speaks, is soft, but his words are blunt.

“I’m having you removed from the White House security detail.”

Dean stares. He stares and he stares and he stares some more, because he can’t quite figure out what the fuck just came out of Novak’s mouth. He’s being removed? What? Why?

“Are you firing me?” he asks, dumbstruck. He knows he’s let himself be distracted by the President more than is probably reasonable, but he hadn’t thought he was that bad at his job. Why the fuck is he being removed from the detail?

There’s a hint of guilt in Novak’s expression, but still, he sticks to his guns. “I—not technically, but—“

“Why?”

President Novak closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in, then exhales. When he opens them, he’s watching Dean with a look in his eyes that Dean can’t even put a name to. “Because I can’t have you around me like this anymore, Dean.”

And suddenly this meeting has become incredibly personal.

“What do you mean, around you?” Dean asks quietly, leaning back in his chair. Novak’s words feel like a physical blow, one that has sent him reeling and that he feels he needs to recover from. He’d thought that they’d been friendly at the least, and had some kind of… connection at the most, but now…

Now it seems as though that’s not the case at all.

For the first time, Novak’s composure seems to crack. He runs his fingers through his hair, looks up at the ceiling for a second, then rests his arms back on the desk. “I mean,” he begins, sounding more vulnerable than Dean has ever heard him, “that while I’m working, I can’t have you near me. You’re distracting, Dean—I’ve seen you watching me, I’ve seen how you look at me and heard how to talk to me, and I can’t get it out of my head. It puts me in a difficult position, because I can’t afford to be distracted or worrying while I’m supposed to be working. I can’t concentrate when I know you’re close by, part of my security team, putting yourself in harm’s way because of me.”

“I do it because it’s my job,” Dean protests hotly, his cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment. It’s clear that the President wants nothing to do with his stupid infatuation, but Dean doesn’t protect him because of some fucking crush, he does it because he took an oath to serve his country and if this is how he does so then so fucking be it.

Novak raises his hands placatingly. “I know,” he acknowledges, “and you’re very good at what you do. But you… you can’t say you haven’t noticed it. Neither of us are working as well as we should, and we can’t keep operating under these conditions—you distracted from your job and me constantly worrying about what could happen if my life really were to be threatened.”

“I’d protect you!” Dean snaps, more forcefully than he meant to. “I might have a dumb crush, okay, but I’d still take a bullet for you. I’d still be able to protect you and do my job.”

“And that’s exactly why I can’t keep you on my team!” Novak shoves back from his desk and stands, palms planted flat on the table as he leans forward towards Dean. His hair is a mess, his eyes wide and voice shaking enough that it makes Dean think fuck, this is really serious. “Because it’s bad enough to know that there are people out there whose job it is to die in my place, but knowing that you’re one of those people? If you died protecting me, Dean, I would never forgive myself.”

What?

Castiel’s last words echo through Dean’s head in the ensuing silence that stretches out between them. The President’s ragged breathing is the only thing that fills the air—and Dean feels as though he’s holding his breath, as though he’s not quite sure what just happened or, more importantly, what all of it means.

“You’d never forgive yourself… If I died?” he asks, his words quiet. “Why me?”

Slowly, all the fire and the determination drains out of Castiel. He sits back down, and when he looks in Dean’s direction, he can’t look him in the eye. Instead, he focuses on a point just over Dean’s right shoulder and addresses that.

“Because I like you, Dean. I like you a lot. And every night, I fall asleep wondering if tomorrow will be the day you’re forced to put your life on the line in exchange for mine, and I feel sick at the thought of it.” He looks down at his hands, folded tightly together on the table in front of him. “I understand if that makes you uncomfortable. If you’re not fully interested in having a relationship with a man, or if my feelings are too strong for you. I would understand if you wanted to resign based on what I’ve just told you. But I can’t…”

His voice cracks.

“I can’t keep you on as part of my security team. It’s more than I can take.”

He finishes talking and, once again, there’s that fucking silence. The silence that seems so full and so heavy that it drapes around Dean’s shoulders and smothers him until he can barely organise his thoughts, until all he can think about is the way Castiel had sounded when he’d told Dean that. Like he was watching his world fall apart in front of his eyes.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“So, just to be clear,” he says. “You’re firing me because you’re into me, and knowing that I’m tasked with protecting you and putting myself in danger for you is worrying you. Yes?”

Novak nods. Fuck, this is so much more touchy-feely than Dean is ever comfortable getting, but for once, he might not be the most emotionally constipated person in the room. It sounds like they’ve both been too stupid to make the first move—though, why the President of the United States is into someone like Dean, he’s not quite sure.

“And if I wasn’t working for you, you’d take me out on a date. Yes?”

Novak pauses, lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, then says, “Yes.”

The witch may be dead, but the curse that she hit Dean with isn't. He won't be able to talk for at least a week, which means Sam winds up filling the silence. Before long, though, he finds himself talking about things he never intended to say out loud.

AO3

FanFiction

Chapters: 1

Word count: 5,071