#usersheya

Dean’s had a shit week, so when Cas comes over to watch a movie, Dean pulls out more booze than normal. By the time one am rolls around, they’re both lying in Dean’s bed, with Cas’ feet propped up against the wall, drunker than a pair of skunks while they argue about seventies music. 

When Dean wakes up the next morning, it’s to the heavy weight of Cas halfway on top of him. There’s something stuck in his throat at the sight of his best friend, hair everywhere, breathing against his collarbone. Dean decides to act like it’s not a big deal, because it’s not, right? It’s Cas, and hanging out with Cas is easier than breathing. 

The second time is an invitation.

Cas comes over to watch the season premiere of NCIS with Dean, and, as they’re wont to do, they stay up too late and maybe have one beer too many, and Cas isn’t safe to drive home. He tries to sleep on the couch, but Dean’s nerves are loosened by the alcohol and he offers Cas the other side of his bed, no sweat. 

This time when Dean wakes up, they’re spooning, with Cas tucked up against Dean, his nose on Dean’s neck. Even with the weight of the blankets, hot and thick, it’s kind of perfect, so Dean decides to act like it’s nothing again. After all, it’s still Cas.

The third time is an assumption, and it is a big deal, but not because of Dean.

Their whole friend group does rotating game night, and this time it’s at Dean’s apartment. Dean’s starting to notice a theme--his friends come over, everyone gets drunk, it’s not safe to drive home, they spend the night. What’s different is that he and Cas have shared a bed now, and when their friend Charlie starts assigning everyone sleeping spaces, because she just does stuff like that, takes charge, she throws out that Cas and Dean can sleep in Dean’s bed.

And they can, they have before, except now their whole friend group is watching, and Dean’s stomach clenches, but then everyone scatters, so Dean just grabs Cas by the hoodie sleeve and pulls him to his bedroom. 

Normally Cas is an animated chatterbox, even when he’s drunk or deliriously sleepy (especially then, and it’s maybe-kinda-sorta adorable), but tonight he’s dead silent and even turns away from Dean as he puts his pajamas on. He lays next to Dean in the bed, stiff as a board. 

Dean lasts about three and a half minutes before he rolls over to face Cas, reaching out a hand to touch Cas’ wrist. Cas startles.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Dean frowns, even though he knows Cas can barely see him in the dark. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re--what? Dude, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Dean moves his fingers from touching Cas’ wrist to holding it loosely. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“You have?” Dean cocks an eyebrow. 

“I haven’t?” Cas’ brow is furrowed, Dean can tell, despite the inky blackness of his room.

“I would tell you if you made me uncomfortable. Why would you think that?” “I dunno, maybe in front of our friends it looked like...something’s going on?”

“Do you want something to be going on?” Dean asks.

“Do you?” Cas counters. 

And, well, yeah. 

The answer to that is yeah, Dean does. And has for a while. But Cas is one: his best friend and two: one of kind. There aren’t a ton of Castiel Miltons just lying around. Dean’s pretty sure Cas is the only person anything like himself: a bumblebee-obsessed librarian who holds his liquor better than anyone Dean’s met, who also likes to kickbox and has a cat named Merlin and can’t cook for shit. Who gets the ugliest and most threadbare sweaters at the thrift store because no one else will buy them, Dean, who pretends to like Led Zeppelin for Dean’s benefit, who drives the most fuck-ugly gold vintage car on the planet, who never, ever, ever brushes his hair, who likes tea over coffee, who--

“Dean?”

Dean’s half-drunk brain is still attempting to track the conversation, so he decides it’ll be a genius idea to try and kiss Cas, except it’s dark, and Dean misses by...a lot, hitting Cas’ jawline sideways. For some reason, that sends him into a fit of gut-splitting laughter, and--

“Shhhh, Dean, everyone else is trying to sleep!”

“S-sorry,” Dean says, fighting past his delirium, and he starts laughing again, and then Cas is kissing him, properly, with a good amount of force. They break apart after a moment and Dean brings a hand up to Cas’ cheek. “Trying to shut me up?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“Asshole.”

“Uh-huh.” And then Cas is kissing him again, and that’s that. 

Cas had thought he wanted Dean when he was an angel, but he had been wrong. 

Time could no longer be counted in exact nanoseconds. The ages of the stars were not immediately visible anymore. He couldn’t heal an injury in a moment, with only the celestial intent coursing through him. 

But what he could do was feel more acutely. 

Earlier, when Cas had been yanked out of the Empty by a portal in a seemingly nondescript barn in Pontiac, Illinois, Dean had instantly pulled him into a hug, wrapped his arms tight around Cas, leaned back and put a hand to Cas’ cheek. Cas had found himself chasing into the contact, even when Dean’s hand left and all that remained was Dean’s broad smile and a let’s get you home, buddy. 

Now Cas was alone, in his room in the bunker. It was empty, save the furniture, and he was lying under the blankets Dean had offered after a rousing evening with him, Sam, Eileen, and Jack. It was good to be here, especially after dying for what he thought was one last time. 

But the room was colder than he expected without the tempering power of his grace, and the loneliness was greater, too. Cas longed to be held, to just be with someone, but instead there was this aching chasm.

Cas lay there in silence, his head on his cool pillow, for some indeterminate stretch of time before his door creaked open and a sliver of light came in through the hallway. He could see Dean, illuminated in profile, and then Dean whispered, “Hey, Cas? You awake?”

“Yeah.” Cas propped himself on an elbow. “Is anything wrong?” “Nah.” Dean stepped into his room, shutting the door with a soft click. “Just couldn’t sleep and wanted to check on you, first night of being human and all.” Dean sat on the edge of his bed, and Cas felt the mattress sink. “You okay?”

“I...” Cas swallowed. He couldn’t admit to Dean how he was feeling, especially when Dean hadn’t mentioned the confession at all--a clear rejection, the Dean version of a nice let-down. And it was fine. 

It was fine.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Dean quipped, “Since you’re awake too? Budge over.” 

Cas complied, and a moment later Dean was lying down next to him, the proximity too great to bear. He resisted the urge to lean into Dean’s personal space, but then Dean made the decision for him, throwing an arm around Cas. 

“Dean, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t have to what? Make sure you’re okay? Something’s eating at you. You’ve been weird all day.” 

“I did just get brought back to life again.”

“Okay, fair.” Dean laughed, scooting closer to Cas until their chests were nearly touching, and when he spoke again Cas felt it. “But you just...I dunno. I--if you didn’t mean what you said, before you left, I--I get it, you know. Things have changed and--”

Cas took a deep breath and moved back, despite how much he wanted to stay close to Dean. “I’m not taking it back. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can leave, but I’m not going to lie--”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Dean placed a flat palm on Cas’ chest. “Who said anything about leaving? Or me being uncomfortable? I--” Now Dean took a deep breath. “I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself. What I mean is...me too, Cas. Me too.” He leaned his head onto Cas’ shoulder, and Cas felt dampness. Dean was crying.

“You--” Cas’ voice shook in disbelief. “You...you--”

“Yeah, Cas, I love you, too, dammit. And I came to drag your ass out of the Empty because I wasn't losing you. Not again.” 

Cas let Dean hold him tighter, felt him let out a chest-wracking sob, and then Dean pulled his head up to lean his forehead against Cas’. “I wanted you to be with me,” Dean whispered. “But I was afraid you’d changed your mind.”

“I could never change my mind about you,” Cas interjected. 

Dean laughed. “People have before.”

“But not me.”

“That’s true.”

Their first kiss was soft and tentative, and so was the second one, but on the third one Cas leaned into the contact, into just being touched and held, and it tipped. They stayed like that for a long time, lips parted, exploring, warming something inside of Cas’ chest. 

Eventually, though, tiredness overtook them and the kisses got lazier and lazier, until Dean pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Cas’ jaw and leaned heavily into him.

“M’sleepy,” Dean said.

“Then go to sleep.” Cas knew he didn’t sound much more awake.

“Kay.” Dean softened against him and was asleep within minutes. Cas felt himself dropping off, too, but as he did, he knew that the aching chasm had been filled.

“Dean, I need your advice.”

Dean looked up from his engineering textbook at the sound of Cas’ voice. “Shoot.” 

“What do you do when you’re in love with someone?”

“Cas, what the fuck kind of question is that?” Dean shut his book and gestured to the other chair at their kitchen table in their postage-stamp sized apartment. “Siddown.”

Cas did, but he kept staring at Dean, which was...well, it was Cas, so it was’t weird for him. 

“First of all...are you completely, one hundred percent sure you’re in love?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded.

“How close are you to this person?” Cas tilted his head, considering. “Really close.”

“Like us?” Dean asked. He and Cas had borrowed each other’s underwear before in their three years of living together, so he figured their relationship was a pretty damn good litmus test.

“Definitely.” Cas’ sureness took Dean slightly aback, but once again, Cas was like that sometimes--convicted.

“Okay...are they with anyone right now?”

“Nope.” 

“Recently?”

“Not in...over two years,” Cas said, pressing his hands flat to the table. “Dean, this is a lot of questions.”

“I don’t want you to do anything dumb, man. Love is...tricky.”

“I see.” Cas looked like he didn’t quite believe Dean. 

“Final question...do you think telling them would fuck your relationship up?”

This took Cas longer to answer--he stared out their window, eventually propping his chin in his hand. Dean took the time to let his gaze rake over his friend--the messy, dark hair, the bluest blue eyes, the rumpled sweatpants, sweatshirt, and bee-patterened slipper socks.

He couldn’t help the jealously that coiled in his gut at the thought of Cas being in love with someone, but he tried to push it away, because Cas deserved a life, even if Dean didn’t really have one anymore.

(Well, he had his coursework. And cars. And watching TV with Cas. But if Cas was in love--)

“I hope it doesn’t,” Cas finally said, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.

“So you think it’s worth the risk to tell them?”

Cas shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, don’t make it a big deal, no flowers and streamers and shit. Just tell ‘em how you feel and see what they say.”

“Okay.” Cas smiled at him. “Thanks for the advice, Dean.”

Then the fucker just got up from the table and left, and Dean couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the afternoon.

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

The other shoe dropped when they were doing the aforementioned watching TV that night.

Dean had made pizza (something about homemade crust was insanely delicious) and they were making their way through season three of Arrested Development when Cas said, over the dulcet tones of two of the characters arguing, “Dean?”

Dean wedged half a slice of pizza in his mouth. “Hm?”

“I love you.”

The pizza fell out of Dean’s mouth.

He turned to look at Cas so fast that he nearly got whiplash. “You what?”

“You said to make it casual.” There was the goddamned head tilt again. “Was this not casual enough?” “It’s--fuck.” Dean picked up the remote and paused the episode. “Why didn’t you just say this earlier?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how. So I asked for your advice, and you said--” “Dammit, Cas, I know what I said.” Dean set his plate of half-eaten pizza on the coffee table. “But you--”

“Are you mad?” Cas looked nervous for the first time in this whole ordeal.

“No, I’m--” Shocked? Confused? Probably dreaming? “Surprised. But, uh, not in a bad way.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean decided to cut out the middle man (aka Cas and his straight-fucking-forward lines of questioning) and grabbed a fistful of Cas’ sweatshirt.

And then he was kissing Cas, easy as that. 

“I, uh...” Dean started, once he finally managed to come up for air because holy hell, Cas was a good kisser, “I...feel the same way, y’know.”

“You love me?”

“No shit, Cas.” Dean paused at the smile that was spreading on his roommate’s face. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll consider it.” Cas picked up the remote and unpaused the show, and this time, when they were done eating, they drifted closer together until they were practically cuddling, and fuck if it wasn’t great.

“You’re Castiel,” Dean says. “I’m Dean.”

“I’ve never been introduced to myself before,” Castiel replies, but he’s grinning, and he sticks out his hand for Dean to shake. Dean helps Castiel pick up the papers he dropped when Dean ran into him, and they walk to their next class together, because it turns out Religion 101 and Intro to Philosophy are in the same building. Castiel tosses Dean a peace sign as he turns towards his classroom, and Dean waves back. 

II. A week later, Dean's outside his history professor’s office to get feedback on a paper when Castiel walks up, his head buried in a book. He looks up when Dean coughs, and then a smile grows on his face.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel asks, as if there hasn’t been a gap in their conversation at all. 

“I’ve been better. Dr. Turner is about to ream me over this essay. I may have...left it until the last minute.” Dean paused. “How are you?”

“Trying to finish reading this book before my next class. I may have...also left it until the last minute.” Castiel’s smile grows broader. 

Just then, Dr. Turner opens his office door, and Dean smiles at Castiel ruefully. 

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel says, just as Dean follows Dr. Turner into the office and is about to close the door, “I never got a last name.”

“Winchester. You?”

“Novak.” 

III. “Who the hell would drive this monstrosity?” Benny, Dean’s coworker at the auto shop he works at after class, asks. They’re both staring at a massive gold Lincoln Continental from the seventies that has a popped tire and is, according to their boss, making “funny noises.”

“That would be me,” a familiar voice says, and Dean turns to see the shock of dark hair and vibrant blue gaze that indicates Castiel Novak. 

“Oh, hey, Cas--Castiel,” Dean says.

“Cas is fine. But yes, I drive this...’monstrosity.’” Cas uses finger quotes and everything. 

“You and Dean should get along, then,” Benny quips, “He acts like his car was God’s gift to mankind.”

“Hey!” Dean protests. “Baby demands respect.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “You call your car Baby?”

“So what?” Dean frowns at Cas, although it’s difficult, what with the twinkle he can see in the other guy’s eye. 

“So can you fix my car?”

“We can,” Benny says. “For sure.” 

After Cas leaves, Benny elbows Dean and winks at him. Dean decides to pretend not to know Benny for the rest of their shift. 

IV. They see each other all the time after that, almost like the universe is pushing them together. When Cas sees Dean’s car, his dad’s old 1967 Chevy Impala, he tells Dean it’s a “ridiculous” car, and Dean only doesn’t write him off completely because he’s starting to like Cas.

They run into each other in the student union or the library and do homework. If they’re both at the coffeeshop where Dean first heard Cas’ name, they sit together. Cas shows Dean pictures of his cats and Dean tells Cas stories about what his little brother, Sam, who’s still in high school, has been up to. He learns that Cas’ whole family lives over five hundred miles away, that Cas chose this university to get away from them. Cas learns in turn that Dean is only thirty minutes from his hometown on purpose, in case his mom or brother need him. 

Cas is a member of their university’s beekeeping club and he’s double majoring in philosophy and English. Dean doesn’t know what he wants to major in yet, maybe social work, so he’s getting all his pre-reqs out of the way. Cas says that it’s okay to not know what he wants to do, and Dean believes him. 

This goes on for a couple of months, and at some point hardly a day goes by where they don’t see each other, and it’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to Dean. 

V. Dean doesn’t often go to parties, but his friend Charlie who he met in DnD club found out about some frat having one this weekend and apparently they had to go, which is how he’s found himself standing awkwardly in the hallway of a random fraternity, nursing a potentially hazardous red Solo cup of jungle juice. 

“Well hey there, stranger.” 

Dean turns to see Cas holding a beer. “Hey,” Dean replies, feeling his face warm. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Cas, but Cas is his friend, and besides, Cas is cool. Interesting. He writes poetry and wears vintage button-down shirts and paints his own Converse. Dean feels like he himself is what would happen if you made the midwest a person: flannel, leather, ripped jeans, work boots, none of it to be aesthetic. This is just what he looks like.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, takes a sip of his drink.

“Come here often?” Cas asks after a moment. The hallway is dark, the music audible even though they aren’t in the main room.

“Ha.” Dean swirls his jungle juice. “Charlie--I’ve told you about her, I think--she dragged me here. Pretty sure she’s making out with her girlfriend on a couch as we speak.”

“She threw you to the wolves?”

“A little.” Dean smiles ruefully. “I’m usually reading mystery novels on the weekends and she told me I was boring.” “That’s funny.” Cas smiles with just his eyes. “I would say you’re anything but boring.” 

Dean shrugs. He’s glad for the dim lighting because he just knows his face is getting redder the longer this conversation goes on. He fidgets with the cuff of his flannel with the hand not holding his drink and stares off into space. 

“Hey Dean?” Cas says suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Do you like me?” Cas tilts his head slightly, like he always does. 

“What?” Dean sets his cup on the windowsill next to him. “Do I--what?”

“Just wondering. It’s alright if you don’t.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Do you...like me?” God, this feels like he’s in eighth grade again, crushing on the guy that would always let him borrow a pen in science class. 

Cas considers for a moment. “Definitely.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

Cas somehow tilts his head further. “Well?”

“Uh, yes. I, uh--” Dean fumbles, but he can’t take his eyes off Cas, who knocks back the rest of his beer and sets the bottle on the floor before stepping into Dean’s personal space. 

“Can I kiss you?” Cas is smiling.

“Please.” 

At first, it’s gentle--just a tentative press of lips, Dean can feel the upward curve of Cas’ lips. Then it turns into something a little heavier as Dean’s brain gets back online and he remembers that he has hands, and that’s Cas’ tongue, tentatively exploring, and then not-so-tentatively exploring, and Dean’s pretty sure he might explode.

Eventually they part--Cas has backed Dean against the nearest wall, and Dean has his hands on Cas’ hips, pulling them together, and then Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s.

“Hey Dean?”

“You can’t be serious,” Dean said, staring at Cas incredulously. “We’re seniors in college and you’ve never shotgunned a beer?” “Dean, you know I’ve never even gone to a party.” 

“Sure you have. You go to Meg’s Christmas party with me every year.”

Cas frowned at Dean. “That’s different. It’s just our friends, and no one’s shotputting anything.”

“It’s shotgunning, doofus. Look, let’s practice before the party, ‘kay?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Fine.” 

“We don’t have to be at the Sigma Nu house for a couple of hours and we can walk,” Dean continued, crossing their tiny apartment kitchen to grab a six-pack of beer out of the fridge. “Consider it pre-gaming.” 

“Right.”

Dean laughed at Cas’ sour expression. The two of them had met freshman year, when they were in the same Writing 101 class, and had been inseparable ever since. Even though, Cas wasn’t much of a partier, and Dean was always goading his friend to join him on adventures. They weren’t going to be in their early twenties forever. They weren’t technically invited to the Sigma Nu party, they weren’t even in the fraternity, but Dean had a couple of friends in it, so he’d wrangled permission.

(And if Dean secretly hoped that getting Cas tipsy would lead to other things happening, well...that was his business.) 

Dean pulled one of the cans off the six-pack and went to stand over the sink. He pulled another one off and tossed it to Cas. “C’mere.”

When they were both standing over the sad stack of dirty dishes neither of them had washed after breakfast that morning, Dean pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “So what you do is you stab a hole low down on the can here, okay? And then put your mouth to the hole and pop the tab.”

“...Why is it called shotgunning?” Cas raised his eyebrows. 

“You’ll see.” Dean stabbed a hole in his can and then passed his keys to Cas. 

The trick with shotgunning was to go fast, or else you would get sprayed with beer, and Dean realized about two seconds after Cas stabbed his can that he’d forgotten to mention that. Dean already had his beer popped open, but Cas--

“I hate you,” Cas said, dripping beer and scowling. “I really and truly hate you.”

Any beer that Dean had already guzzled came spewing from his nose as he doubled over in laughter. 

“This isn’t funny, Dean!”

Dean finally pulled himself together. “You’re right, it’s hilarious.”

Cas’ scowl deepened. 

“Okay, big boy,” Dean said, “You can change, you’re not gonna melt.” 

Dean had meant go to your room and change, but Cas interpreted that as take off your shirt right now. 

Not that Dean was opposed. 

It was just...woah. 

“Can I try again? I don’t want to have to change more than once.” Cas’ voice snapped Dean out of his reverie.

“Sure.” Dean swallowed. “Let’s go for round two.”

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

By the time they got back to their apartment after the party, both of them were well and truly trashed. The two and a half beers they’d each had at their apartment, practicing shotgunning, combined with several drinks, some terrifying Jungle Juice (it was made at a frat house, so of course it was terrifying), and a few rounds of shots made for some serious stumbling as they attempted to get up the stairs. 

“I’m tired,” Cas informed Dean, collapsing onto the floor as soon as they got inside the front door.

“Nuh-uh, buddy,” Dean said, trying to pull Cas up. “You’re gonna sleep in a bed.”

It was a struggle, but Dean managed to wrestle Cas into his room, where Cas promptly stripped down to his boxers and collapsed onto the bed. Dean turned to head to his own room and do the same when there was a hand on his wrist. 

“Stay?” Cas asked, and, well, Dean had heard worse ideas, so he did.

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

Dean woke up feeling like something had died inside his mouth, and his throat felt like cotton when he swallowed. He burrowed deeper into his warm, soft pillow, groaning. Going to the Sigma Nu party last night had been a terrible idea.

The party. 

Dean’s eyes snapped open to discover that the warm, soft pillow was, in fact, a shirtless Cas, and that said shirtless Cas was blinking his big blue eyes at Dean blearily.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean quipped, trying for jovial even as his heart pounded in his chest at Cas’ proximity. Cas smiled at him, wide and gummy. 

“I’ve got to pee,” Cas said by way of greeting, and then pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek before rolling out of bed and stumbling down the hall. 

Dean put his hand to his cheek, to the spot where Cas’ lips had just been. Cas had kissed him as if it was casual or something they always did (it wasn’t, despite Dean wanting it to be). 

When Cas came back a few minutes later, he stood at the side of the bed, tilting his head at Dean. “What’s wrong?”

“You, uh...” Dean swallowed. “You kissed me.”

“Mmm?” Cas climbed back into bed. 

“You haven’t done that before.”

“Oh.” Now Cas was staring at him. “I didn’t realize.”

“That we don’t kiss?”

“That I had kissed you.”

Before Dean’s brain could tell him wait, stop, don’t say that, he was blurting, “Do you want to try again?”

Cas didn’t reply, just gave him one long, searching look before seizing him by the shoulders and kissing him again, for real this time, on the lips. Dean’s brain shorted out for a second and then he actually started kissing Cas back. The morning breath was the pits, and Cas was way too enthusiastic for being hungover, but Dean honestly couldn’t give a damn.

“You know,” he said, once they had separated and he was looking into Cas’ eyes again, “There’s another kind of shotgunning we could try.” 

“Does it involve making out?” Cas asked.

"What kind of yogurt do I want, Dean?”

Dean rolls his his eyes--this is the sixth time Cas has asked him this question. He accidentally gets raspberry once and apparently he’s never going to live it down. 

“Blueberry,” Dean replies, “But if you ask again I’m getting vanilla.”

Cas gasps from his spot on their tiny apartment’s couch, where his textbooks are spread out over the coffee table. “You wouldn’t.”

“I most definitely would.” Dean turns to the entryway to grab his keys and the reusable shopping bags Cas insists on.

“You got the rest of the list?”

“You know it. And look, when I get back you’re gonna take a break and let me make you dinner, alright?” Dean knows from three years of having Cas as a roommate that if someone doesn’t force him to take a break, he never will.

“Fine.” Cas sighed.

“I’ll be back in a hour. Love you.” Dean heads out the door, patting his back pocket to make sure he does, in fact, have the list. 

“Dean!”

Dean turns to see Cas standing in the doorway. “Did I forget something?”

“I, uh, no?” Cas’ brow is furrowed, and that’s never a good sign.

“What’s up?”

“You just, uh...” Cas swallows. “You said that--”

I’ll be back in an hour. Love you.

Well, shit.

Dean smiles weakly. “Y’know, like a--”

“Like a brother. Yeah, I get it.” Cas’ shoulders sag and he turns into their apartment. “Have a good time at the store.”

“Hang on,” Dean says, his brain finally catching up with Cas’ dejected tone, “Don’t you go putting words in my mouth.”

Cas turns back around, his eyes wide. 

“I love-love you,” Dean continues. “I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s true.”

“Oh.” A small smile starts to form on Cas’ face. “I love-love you, too.”

“Uh, okay.” Dean clears his throat, his face hot. “I’m actually gonna go to the store now.” 

Before he can head to the stairs, Cas grabs him by the shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. Dean turns his head slightly and catches Cas’ lips. It’s a brief kiss, gentle, but it’s also kinda-sorta perfect. Cas pulls away a moment later and waves Dean down the hallway, grinning. 

“How’s--” Dean stumbled as Dr. Moseley fixed him with a smile. “He’s great. Hasn’t been able to make it to the last few meetings because of Classics Society.”

“Mmm.” Dr. Moseley’s smile grew. “You know, Dean, if I’m not mistaken that boy was coming to book club just for you.”

Dean let out a nervous laugh and then glanced at his phone. “Dr. Moseley, I gotta go, traffic’s gonna get real bad soon.”

“Alright. Drive safe. And remember what I said about Cas.” She winked at him and Dean turned and sped out of her office as fast as he could. 

Dean and Cas had been randomly assigned as roommates freshman year, and they were now halfway through their senior year of college and still living together. Dean couldn’t imagine it any other way--and he couldn’t imagine Cas thinking that way about him, the way Dr. Moseley (his English professor and the faculty sponsor of KSU’s book club) was implying. 

Because Cas was just like that. If someone needed something, Cas was the first person to offer to help. He loved to tag along on adventures and offered great advice and was never upset to end up the designated driver when their friend group went to parties. 

Sure, Dean had been nursing a pretty intense crush on his best friend for about three years now, but he had already accepted that how Cas felt and how he himself felt were two different things. 

Or were they?

All afternoon, as Dean worked on his homework in the living room of their cramped apartment, Dr. Moseley’s insinuations crept through his mind, knocking him off his focus. Dean didn’t have time to be distracted--balancing a mechanical engineering major, English minor, and his job at the auto shop was enough work as it was. 

Cas came home at his normal time, when he got off work at the campus bookstore, and he greeted Dean with his usual “Hello!” before heading to the kitchen and making a fuck-ton of noise.

Dean sighed and set down his textbook, hauling himself off the couch and into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Cooking.”

“Cas, you don’t cook.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Get out of my way.” 

Dinner prep went the same as always, except Dean was hyper-aware of every time Cas brushed against him or Cas’ gaze lingered on him. He managed to keep it together until after they ate, cleaned up, and watched an episode of Jersey Shore while making fun of all the people on it, but as soon as he could Dean escaped to his room and pulled out his phone to text their friend Charlie.

Dean, 7:45pm: hey charles i got a question Charlie, 7:47pm: shoot Dean, 7:50pm: does cas like me?

Dean’s phone rang about three seconds after he sent the message, and he answered it to Charlie practically guffawing in his ear.

“Shut up,” Dean said emphatically. “Are you saying--”

“Yes, Dean, yes.” Charlie was still laughing. “Literally since you two met. You could text Jo or Benny or Ash right now and they would all tell you the same thing. Hell, you could ask Sam, and he doesn’t even go to KSU.”

“I hate you,” Dean said.

“Don’t. Look, now you can shoot your shot. Cas definitely likes you. You should hear him rhapsodize about your eyes--”

Dean hung up on her.

He didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning with the knowledge that Cas might like him. Even with confirmation from Charlie, it still felt way too good to be true.

But maybe she was right. Maybe he should give it a go.

Dean sighed and dragged himself out of bed thirty minutes earlier than usual the next morning and set about making breakfast. Cas typically had a bowl of cereal, but he appreciated it when Dean made breakfast, and, well, what was it that his mom always said? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? 

Cas shuffled blearily into the kitchen at their normal wake-up time and poured himself a cup of the coffee Dean had made, draining it before finally saying, “Good morning, Dean.” 

“Mornin’. I made breakfast.” Dean gestured at the table and hoped Cas’ hadn’t gotten cold. 

“Thanks.” Cas took his seat at their minuscule kitchen table, took a sip of his orange juice, and then took a look at his plate before promptly spitting it out.

Dean raised an eyebrow, anxiety swirling in his gut. 

“S-sorry,” Cas said, swallowing before looking up at Dean, eyes wide. “Did you mean for the--”

“Toast to be shaped like a heart? Yeah.” It sounded worse, and so goddamn cheesy, out loud. Dean would have spit out his orange juice, too.

“Charlie told me something might happen but I thought she was messing with me,” Cas said, his voice full of awe. He was still staring at Dean and it was almost too much.

“Charlie told you--I’m gonna kill her,” Dean vowed.

“Please don’t.” Cas was smiling now, and it was too much, so Dean did the only logical thing and crossed to the table before hauling Cas out of his chair. With Cas’ face mere inches from his and Cas’ pajama shirt balled up in his fist, Dean froze. Cas’ gaze was patient but searching. “I’m glad she told me,” Cas whispered, and that was that--Cas was closing the gap and they were kissing. 

Dean had daydreamed about this moment for a long time, but never quite like this. Objectively, it should have been an awful kiss--Cas had terrible morning breath that also tasted vaguely like orange juice, and it was a little off-center at first, and Dean was pushing Cas into the table in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but it was also perfect.

Dean eventually forced himself to come up for air. Cas was grinning at him, wide and gummy, his lips spit-slick from the kiss, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back.

“That was nice,” Cas said.

“Eat your damn breakfast,” Dean replied, but he could tell that he sounded too happy to be serious. 

a/n: set post-mark of cain :)

Two and a fourth teaspoons of yeast. Half a teaspoon of sugar. Two and a fourth cups of lukewarm water.

Stir, let sit until the yeast dissolves. 

Mix in three more tablespoons of sugar. A tablespoon of salt. Two tablespoons of oil. And flour, nearly seven cups of it, half a cup at a time. 

The dough should be soft.

Turn it out on the counter. Sprinkle flour. Knead it, knead it, knead it. Press your hands gently into the dough, see the indentations your fingers leave. Flip, fold, press. Flip, fold, press. Flip, fold, Dean. Flip, Dean....Dean...

Dean.

“Dean!” 

Dean’s head snaps up from the counter to see Cas staring at him, eyes wide with concern. Cas has been doing that a lot lately, ever since Dean got back to whatever serves as normal for a hunter.

“Hm?” Dean asks, wiping his floury hands off on his jeans. “What’s up?”

“You were a little...out of it.” 

Dean looks down at the counter, at the ball of dough. The next step is to put it in a greased bowl and let it rise until it’s doubled in size. “Just got in a rhythm.”

“You’ve been making a lot of bread.” Cas walks around the island, stands just slightly outside of Dean’s personal space. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just like it.” Dean doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how nice it is to use his hands to make something. Yeast is alive. The bread is alive. The soft and warm and pliable under his hands and it reminds him that he’s more than what came before.

But he doesn’t know how to explain that to Cas, Cas who promised to stay with him until the end of it all, Cas who helped save him, Cas who he almost killed. The same hands that are making this bread beat his best friend’s face to a pulp.

That face is still staring at him, expression soft and open despite the brow furrowed in concern. 

“You wanna try kneading?” Dean asks, offers. He steps aside slightly, gestures to the dough.

“Sure?” Cas pushes up his sleeves, stares at the ball. “How do I do it?”

“I can show you.” Dean reaches around Cas, presses the dough flat. Flip, fold, press. The movement is rhythmic, slow. Eventually he passes the dough off to Cas, their fingers brushing. Dean turns and busies himself with getting a bowl and greasing it with olive oil.

Cas loves him.

Cas hasn’t said it, but Dean knows. It’s all been falling together these past few weeks since they got rid of the mark, the way that Cas was so desperate to help and so stubborn. The way that he’s always been like that when it comes to Dean. 

He’s pretty sure he’s not worthy of Cas loving him the way he does.

He brings the bowl over to Cas, watches as Cas carefully tips the dough into it. Dean greases the top of the ball and then covers it with plastic wrap and sets it on the island. He turns again to Cas standing inches from him, too close. 

Not close enough. 

Before he can stop himself, Dean’s taking Cas’ hand in his, bringing their intertwined fingers up to his mouth. Cas stares at him curiously, a small smile forming.

“Thank you,” Dean finally says, his voice breaking against his will.

“For what?”

“For looking out for me.”

“Oh Dean,” Cas replies, leaning in. He catches Dean’s jaw with his lips, then moves and they’re kissing properly. He says against Dean’s mouth, “It’s never a hardship.”