Thief
Written for @helianthus21, @pray4jensen, & @bend-me-shape-me‘s #SPNStayAtHomeChallenge 20/04 Monday 3. Thief (ahead of time, because what even are schedules at this point?!).
Cross posted to Ao3.
The one where Dean’s love language is 200% Acts of Service. Let’s face it, he’s never been stellar with the feelings words.
When Castiel reappeared at the bunker, he was at the wheel of a stolen, very tragic, jubilee gold 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V. The exterior was in decent shape, but the damn thing was so garishly ostentatious that it made the Impala look like a minivan. Cas, ever stubborn, leaned in harder on his plans to keep it the moment Dean had made an off-color joke about it. Of all the damn cars he could have taken, Cas had to hotwire an outdated, metallic, luxury class coupe so big it had its own damn zip code.
Since Cas has been so insistent about keeping the damn hooptie, Dean figured he may as well get it up to snuff. He had a lot to atone for after Gadreel, the Mark, and Metatron. He never expected Sam and Cas to forgive him, but the fact that they continually did was a testament to their integrity. Team Free Will really put ‘time heals all wounds’ to the grindstone.
And as a result, Dean was up at five thirty on a sunny Saturday morning-there’s no job, no weird headlines in the news, no mysterious deaths in the rural corners of the country. This should have been a lazy day for sleeping in, lounging around the library in his dead guy robe, and making more pancakes that they could possibly eat.
But no, here he was, barely a half cup of coffee in, laying underneath the landboat-changing the oil and looking to replace the sway bar end link bushings. Dean would be damned if Cas was going to drive around the country in a fuckin’ death trap. Better to spend the time he wasn’t sleeping by doing something useful with himself.
He had to get an early start. Regardless of the fact that Cas wouldn’t stir until at least ten o’clock and that he’d hear the heavy stomp of his tired feet well before he made it to the garage, he knew that Cas would fuss about him working on his car. It was easier to get things done while he was still asleep-and this was going to take some time. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission-well in this case anyway.
Dean pulled at the wrench with both hands, trying to force a bolt free through thirty-odd years of rust. It broke loose at the last second. Startled, Dean jumped and banged his head into the undercarriage. “Jesus! Fuck!” Dean could hear his words echoing back around the garage. Dean sighed with frustration and checked his watch. Eight thirty. Time for more coffee.
In his periphery, Dean caught sight of a shadow approaching, pausing at the hood of the car. Dean pushed off from the axel, sliding himself out from beneath it. “Hello, Dean,” Cas’ voice was thick with sleep.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean looked up from the floor. Cas had clearly just woken up, if you could call it that. He was dressed in an oversized crew neck sweater from some roadhouse in Illinois and a pair of Dean’s old gym shorts that were far too short for him to be wearing out of the bunker. Cas rubbed sleepily at his face with the long sleeve of his sweater pulled over his hands. I need at least two more cups of coffee before I’m ready to handle Cas being this damn cute, he thought. Standing up and brushing off his jeans, Dean cokced his head looking at Cas. “Why are you up so early?” I need to fix this.
“I have not been able to feel well rested in some time,” Cas said, voice still thick with sleep.
Dean knew Cas had been restless since he got back, but he didn’t really know the extent of it. Before everything had gone to hell for the seven thousandth time, he and Cas had shared a bed, and much more. If Cas hadn’t been able to sleep then, Dean would pull him close and draw lazy circles in his back to help him relax. Fuck, I haven’t slept more than three hours in one sitting since then, Dean reminded himself. He wasn’t sure it was his place anymore to ask about it, but old habits die hard… “You’re not sleepin’?”
“Not well,” Cas said stiffly. Dean was suddenly much closer to him than he anticipated.
“Come on,” Feeling brave, Dean patted Cas on his arm, “Let’s get some caffeine in you.” Dean walked towards the door to the bunker, pausing to wait when Cas didn’t follow. “Come on,” he said again, voice smooth and low as if he was worried Cas might shout.
Cas followed Dean to the kitchen and accepted a mug of coffee as he set at the table. Staring into the oily black rings of his coffee, Cas could feel himself normalize a bit. Dean plopped down in a chair opposite him, his own cup refilled to the brim.
“Why are you working on my car,” Cas broke the silence. “You are not obligated to fix the Continental.”
“Yeah, I know but…” Dean wasn’t sure what he needed to explain, “…I just didn’t want it to break down on you…”
Cas shook his head, “Dean, that is not your responsibility.” Dean felt the air leave his lungs like he’d been kicked. Things had gotten better, but they weren’t anything like they were before. Maybe some things can’t be fixed.
“I know, but I can fix it…” Dead added weekly, trying to put all his attention on his cup.
“Dean.” Cas’ voice was steady, direct. Awake. Dean looked up, surprised at the change in tone. Cas looked him in the eye, and reached his hand across the table, setting it on top of Dean’s. “You are under no obligation.” His words were loaded.
“I just need… need to fix this,” Dean replied.
Cas squeezed his hand, “You are not obligated to do anything. You have nothing to fix.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas talked over him, “But if working on my car is helpful for you, then I am appreciative of your services.” Dean just blinked, trying to make sure he was hearing right.
Cas stood, still moving slow despite the clarity of his voice, and pulled Dean up to him. Dean let himself be handled, grateful for the contact. “The car isn’t truly mine, regardless.”
“It’s your car now. What was it you said about theft being okay sometimes?” Dean scrunched his nose trying to remember.
Cas let out a quiet laugh, “‘Stealing, of course, is a crime, and a very impolite thing to do. But like most impolite things, it is excusable under certain circumstances.’ I read that in one of your stolen library books.”
“Exactly. You needed this car to get back to us,” Dean said hopefully.
“To get back home to you,” Cas corrected him, pulling him close to his chest and pressing a kiss to his temple.
