Work Text:
- Clothes
Sam’s muscles tense as he makes out the form in the kitchen—only to immediately relax them again. Not a random intruder, just Cas. Guess a week wasn’t enough time for him to get used to the sight of the former angel out of his trench coat and suit. Turns out underneath all that fabric, he’s broader in the shoulders than Dean, which is also why he’s straining the black Henley he’s wearing. It’s a shirt he’d borrowed from his brother.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets on the way to the refrigerator.
Cas turns from where he’s compiling a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Hello, Sam.”
“Got any plans today? We can see about getting you some of your own clothes, maybe.”
“Oh,” Cas looks down at himself. “I suppose.”
Sam’s forehead furrows at the almost-disappointed tone. “I mean, we can buy similar things if you like that.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Cas answers with a sad shrug, leaving Sam even more confused.
In the end, he ropes Dean into going shopping too, correctly predicting that Cas was going to be overwhelmed by the options at their preferred big box store. The two brothers follow him as he wanders aimlessly up and down the aisles, feeling fabrics rather than seeing them. Sam considers pulling some plaid—before remembering the times Cas has made fun of Dean for looking like a “lumberjack” and realizing he should probably be insulted by that.
Eventually, he shoves some pants at Cas, figuring they had to start somewhere, and wonders where the hell Dean got off to.
Sam is feeling a bit like a creeper, hovering outside of the men’s dressing rooms just in case Cas needs help—and an old lady eyeing him suspiciously proves he’s not wrong to feel that way—when Dean comes striding back over. “Here,” he tells Cas, sticking several items over the door, which Cas’s hands accept a moment later.
When Cas comes out, it’s in tight-fitting blue jeans and a midnight blue sweater the same color as his eyes. “What do you think?” he asks Dean, though he glances over to include Sam last minute.
“Yeah…Definitely, uh, yeah…” Dean mumbles, causing Cas to flash a shy smile.
When they walk out an hour later, it’s with a dozen short-sleeved and long-sleeved plain T-shirts, three more sweaters, a couple hoodies, and a red leather jacket—also a Dean pick.
And yet, when Sam stumbles across Cas in the library the week after, it’s Dean AC/DC shirt he’s wearing.
- Coffee
For a being that never needed to sleep, human Cas is kind of a terror when he just wakes up—which is why Sam rushes to make another pot of coffee after Dean pours the last cup into his mug. Of course, it’s not a minute later that the bed-headed, bleary-eyed man is stomping into the kitchen in a blue robe, headed directly for the coffee maker. The glare he turns on Sam clearly says, I can still cut you to ribbons with an angel blade. And yet, Dean just says, “Morning, Sunshine,” as if that isn’t the most ironic nickname ever.
Cas spots Dean’s coffee and grabs for it with both hands, releasing a sigh after the first sip. Sam figures Dean is going to protest—after all, his brother’s not great without his caffeine either. What he’s not expecting is for Cas to hand the mug back to Dean, who promptly goes in for his own swallow.
“What?” Dean asks when he sees Sam’s raised eyebrows. Sam looks to the cup and back.
Dean snorts. “Cas has felt up both our souls. I’m pretty sure if he had cooties, we’d have already gotten them by now,” he mutters before resuming his internet search for a case. Cas shows no indication he’s paying attention to either of them, head leaning against his arms on the counter, glaring at the coffee machine.
When it finally beeps in readiness, Dean rises to his feet to refill his mug, placing it next to Cas’s cheek.
Neither he nor Sam comment when Cas never gets his own cup.
- Bed
Even though Cas has stayed with them on hundreds of cases, there’s no doubt that the motel feels a little cramped now that there are three men who need to shower, brush their teeth, and sleep in the same space instead of two. Sam will admit, he’s gotten off pretty easily though. Even if Cas and Dean are both tall guys, they still don’t take up as much bed space as Sam, so it makes sense for them to bunk together.
Dean doesn’t even make a fuss about it—just grabs his toiletry bag and heads to the bathroom while Cas unceremoniously flops on the bed. The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 12:03 AM in glowing red letters, so it’s not like Sam blames him.
Despite the lateness—or earliness—of the hour, Sam does have some emails he knows he should answer. Not everyone has access to the same resources that they do living out of the bunker, so Garth’s been forwarding him some non-emergency questions from hunters about various obscure creatures that go bump in the night. He’s halfway through a response about buruburus when Dean exits the bathroom on a cloud of steam—“You could save me some hot water, Jerk.” “I was in there for ten minutes. You take an hour”—and catches sight of Cas, sprawled diagonally across the covers. His eyes roll in exasperation.
“Dude, you gotta move,” Dean tells Cas. “And get under the covers,” he adds, pulling at the sheets. Cas wrinkles his nose in his sleep and a fond smile twitches Dean’s lips before he wipes his face neutral again.
By the time Sam has finished getting himself ready for the night, Dean has managed to make a space for himself on the bed, Cas’s face smushed against his ribs.
Dean’s glare warns Sam not to comment.
- Bed Part II
Sam opens the door to Dean’s room at 7 o’clock in the morning to find his brother clasping his watch to his wrist.
“What’s up, Sammy?” he asks after a minute of Sam silently standing there, hand on the knob.
“Did I, uh, see Cas sneak out of here a while ago?”
“He was here,” Dean responds slowly. “There wasn’t anything 007 about it.”
“Well, I was kinda looking for him, so I stopped by his room first…” he pauses, waiting to see if Dean will catch on, but his brother’s now putting on his boots, pulling the laces tight with an almost ripping sound. “I noticed that, uh, it doesn’t really seem like he’s been sleeping there? Like the bed’s all made and there’s no clothes in the hamper….”
“Geez, Sam, did you look under the mattress to try to find his diary?”
And OK, he maybe deserves that, but, “Is that Cas’s robe?” he asks, pointing to where it’s clearly hanging beside Dean’s on the door to the closet. “Because it’s perfectly cool if it is,” Sam rushes out.
Dean studies him a moment, then goes back to tying his laces. “It’s not what you think.”
“Dean…” Sam starts.
“When he turned the angel switch off, he…had trouble sleeping. Nightmares about, you know—Leviathans and Lucifer and…me drowning myself in a Ma’lak box. So, I figured we’d—hang out, watch some movies, whatever—We both ended up dozing off.”
“And this was yesterday?” Sam asks, trying not to sound like he’s prying too much.
Dean flinches as he straightens back up.
“Not yesterday then.”
“He’s been crashing here for a few weeks…” Dean admits. So... the entire time Cas has been human. “But it’s not—we’re not—” He cuts himself off. “There’s nothing going on, so get your mind out of the gutter.”
“OK, OK,” Sam says, hands up. “I just--”
“Just what?” Dean demands, green eyes flinty and throwing off sparks.
“Never thought about you guys that way,” Sam answers honestly. “But then, I saw Cas this morning and I—it made sense.” In fact, it had shed light on a whole lot. Dean had always had a special relationship—connection—“profound bond”—with Cas that couldn’t be fully described as friendship. Dean needed him.
Sam had seen that when Cas died the last time. Had seen it in the alternative future Chuck had tortured him with. And as for the former Angel of the Lord, he’d proven time and time again that there was nothing in Heaven or on Earth that he would choose over Dean. If you could ignore all the times that they almost killed each other or got mad enough they stopped talking for months, it was kinda sweet.
Dean’s fingers twitch against his jeans leg, instinctively trying to curl into fists. He’s going to say “no homo” and slam the door in Sam’s face—and then probably avoid Cas for weeks while hitting up every strip club in the Tri-State area—because that’s how his brother acts when he’s on the defensive.
“There’s nothing going on,” Dean repeats, fingers still clenching and unclenching. “But--” Sam’s head snaps up to see Dean running a nervous tongue over his bottom lip. “What if…” Dean’s throat seems to close up and Sam can feel his eyes turning puppy-dog pleading even as he tries to hold them back. “What if I was thinking about it?”
Sam paces every word carefully. “If you were thinking about it…I’d say, all I want is for you to be happy, Dean. You and Cas both. And…I think he might be your Jess. Your…Mary.” It might be dangerous bringing up their mom right now, but if Dean doesn’t know that wasn’t Cas’s fault by now, this is never going to work.
Dean swallows and nods, looking away.
When Sam leaves, he doesn’t close the door.
- Kiss
Sam walks into the library—and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Dean and Cas are standing on the opposite end of the room less than two feet apart—eyes roaming the other’s face like helicopter searchlights, looking for… something. Permission maybe? Whatever’s going on, it’s definitely a moment.
And yet, Sam finds himself frozen by indecision. They didn’t see him coming in, but will they notice if he turns and beats a retreat? The barely-audible hum of the electric generators sounds like anticipation.
“Cas…” Dean breathes, taking a half step closer to the other man.
“Dean…” Cas rumbles back, his voice more of a question—and yet, whatever he sees makes him brave enough to fit his hand against Dean’s left shoulder, long fingers splayed. A light shiver runs over his brother’s body.
“Screw it,” Dean declares, suddenly, bringing his own hand to the small of Cas’s back and pushing so the former angel stumbles into him. And then their lips are locked, and Cas is twisting Dean’s hair with a needy sound Sam did not need to know Cas could make, walking his brother backward until he hits a bookshelf.
And at this point, Sam thinks he could set off the grenade launcher and they wouldn’t pay attention, so… He scrambles away, simultaneously happy and kinda traumatized by what he just witnessed.
+1
After a few weeks, Sam decides that life AD (After Destiel) is pretty similar to life BC (Before Casdean). Dean throws his arm around Cas’s shoulder on movie nights—and Cas seems to get a lot more innuendos all of a sudden—but thankfully, the bunker walls are super thick so whatever happens in their bedroom stays in their bedroom.
If anything, they tend to touch each other less in public now—with Dean finally deciding that Cas can tighten his own ties. But they still have whole silent conversations with their eyes--and loud bickering sessions about everything under the sun.
“The prequels were more technologically advanced, Dean,” Cas is currently arguing on their way to help one of Garth’s hunter connections.
“So, what? The pretty CGI colors distracted you from the fact that those movies were shit?”
Dean is, admittedly, right, but it’s kind of his job as a little brother to be a pain in his ass, so... “I mean, the Darth Maul scene is classic.” And sure enough, Dean’s got a vein popping along the side of his neck by the time they pull up to the diner where they are supposed to meet the guy.
The hunter—Toby—is tanned with dark hair and eyes and grips Sam’s hand rather than shakes it. “So, you’re the famous Winchesters,” he says, turning his head to show off the gold hoop in his ear. “And their famous angel.”
“Not an angel anymore,” Cas replies, sliding into the cracked vinyl booth on Dean’s side.
“Sure about that?” Toby asks with a wink.
Cas tilts his head, confused. “Yes.” And just like that, Sam knows this is going to be a long day.
Dean doesn’t react in any way that would be obvious to most. When the waitress comes over and stutters at him with red cheeks, he smiles dangerously at her while he orders his pie and coffee. When Toby asks Cas a bunch of questions about himself, Dean suggests some stories for him to tell—although they’re all ones where Dean is prominently featured as well.
When they decide to head out to where the vampire nest is and Toby offers to give Cas a ride, he lets Cas be the one to tell him, “No, thank you,” before fixing Cas’s clothes the way he hasn’t done in weeks. But Sam can feel what’s coming—like a thunderstorm in the distance.
He almost considers warning Toby away—but he doesn’t know how “out” his brother is—especially around hunters. And then suddenly, they’re at the warehouse, surrounded by pointed teeth.
Somehow, Cas and Dean wind up leading most of the vampires away—up a metal staircase to an open loft. When Sam has beheaded the last of the ones downstairs, he plans to head up there—only to stop in his tracks at the sight of them. Their backs are to each other, twin angel blades moving almost like water in their hands. And even when Dean loses his blade—a vampire twisted his wrist until he dropped it to the floor—he wastes no time kicking it in Cas’s direction, just as Cas tosses his blade to Dean, who catches it in his free hand easily.
By the time the last of them is dusted and Sam sees the new hunter taking purposeful strides over to Cas, he figures it’s Toby’s own fault for not realizing he’s got no chance. “Interested in maybe going somewhere with me to celebrate?” Toby asks the angel in a loud whisper that echoes through the large building, and all Sam is hoping for is that Dean doesn’t punch him.
Instead, Dean tugs Cas forward by his belt loops, swallowing the sound of Cas’s surprise. Two seconds later, Cas is melting into him—and this is so much worse than the library kiss because now Sam is close enough to see tongue. When Dean pulls away from a dazed looking Cas, he doesn’t bother wiping the shine off his lips. “I don’t share,” he tells Toby pointedly, dragging Cas by the hand back to the Impala, leaving Sam to awkwardly wave and follow in their wake.