A/N – Here be a little Dean/Cas AU. It just popped into my head, so I wrote it. Hope you like it!
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean curses to himself as he pushes his way through the crowd of already drunken student overflowing into the front yard.
As if summoned, Sam appears, grinning even wider than usual, his costume cowboy hat cocked to the side, no doubt due to some horrible dancing.
"Oh, for the love of Christ," Dean says, sighing, "I left you alone for a half hour and you're already shitfaced?"
"I'm twenty-two," Sam says, giving Dean his best 'bitch, please' look, "Plus, it's Halloween! You're supposed to get trashed on Halloween."
Dean regards him silently for a moment, wondering when exactly his bookish little brother had turned into such a normal college guy.
"Fair enough," he says, finally, "Just try not to break anything. Jess'll chop off your balls."
Sam winces visibly, hands moving to shield his crotch instinctively.
"Why are you so surly, anyway?" he pouts, trying his best to glare at Dean through his haze.
"I'm always surly," Dean says, "It's part of my natural manly allure."
Sam frowns, gears moving slowly, but still working. Until finally, the metaphorical light bulb dings in his head.
"Hey, where's Lisa?"
Dean growls, but says nothing.
"Hey," Sam says, eyes going soft the way that Dean hates. He never could stand the sympathy in those hazel eyes.
"Just leave it," Dean says in a clipped tone, "We can do the whole heart to heart tomorrow if you need to, but I just want to forget about it for now, OK?"
Even though it's obvious that he wants to argue, Sam nods.
"Alright," Dean says, "Now where's the alcohol?"
Sam rolls his eyes but points to the far side of the cleared dining room.
"Good man," Dean says, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he heads for the table.
Jess sidles up before Sam can yell after Dean and he wraps around her happily.
She smiles up at him fondly even as she shakes her head in exasperation.
"You're such a lightweight," she says, patting his cheek.
Sam just nods, allowing his girlfriend to pull him back towards their friends, forgetting about Dean for the moment.
Dean snorts to himself as he sees the guy standing next to the drink table. He's wearing what Dean can only describe as a cross between a robe and a toga. It's white and long and actually somehow flowing, but it's also sleeveless. There's a thick leather rope around his middle, acting as a belt, and supporting, as Dean notices, the guy's honest to God sword.
Shaking his head, he grabs the first cup he sees and gulps it down quickly, tossing it back to the table and grabbing another cup in a fluid motion.
"Be careful," toga guy says, in a surprisingly deep voice, "I mixed that up myself. It's strong."
"What is it?" Dean says, already going a little fuzzy at the edges. The fucker wasn't kidding about the drink being strong.
"It's called "Forget Me Not," he replies, turning to fully look at Dean.
For a moment, Dean is stuck on the other man's eyes. They are without a doubt, the bluest thing he's ever seen. Shockingly blue.
He shakes himself of the thought, laughing.
"A few of these and you won't remember shit," he says, smirking in satisfaction when toga-man grins.
"That's what's so great about the name," he says, "Nobody expects it."
"But," Dean frowns, "You warned me."
He shrugs, "You look like you've had a rough day. Didn't want you to get fucked up by accident."
"Believe me," Dean laughs, "There will be nothing accidental about it. I plan to drink till I'm sober again."
The guys gives him another smile, but it seems indulging, like he knows Dean is acting like an idiot, but is too nice to say anything.
"Where's your costume?" he asks, instead, taking in the not unpleasant sight of Dean's simple black t-shirt and dark wash jeans.
"Don't like Halloween," Dean replies, before taking another gulp from his drink.
"Then why come to a Halloween party?"
Dean shrugs, "It's my brother's party, he wouldn't shut up until I said I'd come by." He takes a moment to really look at the other man's costume.
"What are you supposed to be, anyway?"
The guy laughs, a warm sound that Dean is sure the alcohol is making him like so much.
"I'm an angel," he says, as if it should be obvious.
And then Dean notices the wings.
They're ridiculously large, so big that Dean's eyes had skirted over them, assuming they were part of the decorations, not strapped to the other man's back, where he has been leaning against the wall.
"Wow," is all he can manage to say, actually a little dumbstruck at the magnificence of the wings.
"They're pretty great, right?" the guy says, "I made them. Took months."
"No shit?" Dean says, reaching over to touch the feathers before he can help it, stroking his hand down one large wing.
"None at all," he says, smirking, "mostly just wires and feathers. And maybe some blood and weed."
"Weed?" Dean asks, pulling away from the stranger's wings.
The grin the guy gives him is practically blinding.
"You think I wasn't high as a kite when I thought this all up?"
"Point," Dean says, "Hey, what's your name?"
"Castiel," he says, reaching out a hand, "But most people call me Cas."
Dean introduces himself and shakes the offered hand, jerking his own hand back when electricity crackles between their palms.
"Sorry," Cas says, sheepishly, "Must be something to do with my costume, I've been zapping people all night."
"No problem," Dean says, easily enough, absolutely not disappointed that he wasn't the only one that caused those sparks.
"Why do you have a sword?" he asks, "I thought angels were all love and peace and passing notes to virgins."
Castiel smirks and moves closer, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
"When's the last time you read the bible, Dean?"
Dean hedges while he thinks, sure he must have read it at some point in his life.
Castiel just moves closer still, those electric blue eyes intense and welcoming, all at once.
"Angels are warriors of God," he says, "They can be as peaceful or as brutal as He needs them to be."
Dean gulps, unable to pull himself away from this strange, beautiful, possibly insane man in front of him.
Cas laughs a moment later and steps back, running a hand through his jet black hair.
"But I'm just a man," he says, "who's maybe taken too many theology classes."
Dean finds his breath again and offers Cas a small smile.
"It's good to love what you study, I guess."
"It is," Castiel agrees, "But that's not a conversation for a night of drinking. Come on, I've got the good stuff in my trunk. We'll go get wasted on the lawn. It'll be fun."
Dean just stares at him in wonder.
"You're a little bit crazy, aren't you?"
"No," Cas says, so seriously, Dean almost believes it before he cracks a smile, "I'm a lot crazy. But you grow to love me."
"I'm done with love," Dean says, voice bitter, "But I'll take you up on the drinking."
Castiel just spins and heads for the door, leaving Dean with nothing else to do but follow.
An hour later, they're sprawled on the lawn, close enough to feel each other's warmth through the cooling night air. Dean feels like he should move away, that he shouldn't be this close to somebody, even if it doesn't mean anything.
But then he remembers how Lisa tore his heart out not five hours before, and he stops caring about what feels wrong.
"You're not straight, are you?"
The question jars him, even though he doesn't mind Cas asking. He turns to his side to face the other man, coordination battle against inebriation.
"Sometimes," he says, settling for the simplest answer.
Cas leans up on one elbow, mirroring Dean's position.
"So that means…" he says, "That sometimes you're…"
Dean cuts him off with a kiss, pulling Cas on top of him as he falls back to the grass.
They're too drunk for any kind of finesse, but Cas gets with the program quickly, pressing his chest against Dean's, tangling their legs together sloppily.
When they break for air, Dean bucks up for Cas to get off, before standing slowly, reaching out a hand for Cas to follow suit.
He does, keeping his fingers intertwined with Dean's as he asks where they're going.
"My brother's house, remember?" Dean says, irritatingly coherent for the amount of alcohol they've consumed.
"There's a whole spare room in the basement, just for me," Dean says, "with a big, comfy bed, and nobody else around. Hey, where did your wings go?"
"The car," Cas says, dismissively, definitely more interested in the bedroom aspect of the conversation.
Dean sighs teasingly, "Too bad," he says, "I really wanted to fuck you while you were wearing them."
"Jesus," Cas gasps, "You just need to fuck me, now."
"I can do that."
It's late afternoon when Dean finally wakes up, but he's not in nearly as much pain as he assumed he'd be. There's only a dull ache behind his eyes. He's grateful for the darkness of the basement and the bottle of water Cas had made them drink before passing out.
"Shit," he says, remember exactly what he and Cas had gotten up to the night before.
The bed is empty beside him, not even a note left behind, and Dean can't help but feel disappointed. It's not like he was expecting happily ever after, but it always sucks when they take off without as much as a goodbye.
Lisa flashes through his mind before he can stop the thought, and he's torn between cursing her out to the empty room and just lying back down to cry. He had loved her, really loved her, enough that he could actually imagine marrying her and having kids and a dog. The perfect little working class family.
"I do love you, Dean," she'd said. "I do. But I can't do this anymore."
"Do what?" Dean had shouted, angry and confused.
"Nothing!" she yelled, "That's the problem. Everything here is the same, every damn day! I need more than that in life. I want to see the world! Not just this crappy little town."
"You love this town," Dean protested, "You've said it a million times."
"To make you happy!" Lisa said, sighing, "YOU love this town, Dean. Not me."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as five years of his life dissipated before his eyes.
"So, that's it, then?" he said, "You're leaving?"
"As soon as I can," she said, avoiding his gaze, "Erik says…"
"Oh," Dean said, understanding everything perfectly in that moment. "Erik."
"It's not like that," Lisa said, "I swear, he's just helping me make plans."
Dean nodded, not believing her for a second.
"Fine," he said, "Get your shit and leave the key. I'm going to Sammy's. Don't show up."
He'd walked away without glancing back once, even as his chest felt like it was collapsing into itself.
Tears win out in the end, and Dean lets himself cry until there's nothing left, wrapped up in the comforter where nobody can see him.
When he's finally calm, he drags himself to the shower. Turning the water up to almost scalding hot, he steps in, too tired to do much else besides wash up quickly and stand under the water, supporting himself against the wall.
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the tile, willing thoughts of Lisa out of his mind.
To his surprise, it isn't her that he sees. Instead, Dean sees shocking blue eyes, staring into his as they had last night.
He knows it's crazy, but Dean decides then and there that he needs to find Castiel again.
"Who?" Sam asks the next morning, looking up from his cooking to stare at Dean in confusion, "I don't know anybody named Castiel."
"Unique name," Jess says, from her seat at the kitchen table, "Wonder what language it comes from."
"Well, you two are no help," Dean says, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not the one who shacked up with a stranger and can't even remember his last name."
"That's right, baby, you tell him," Jess says, mildly, knowing neither brother is paying her any attention in their little argument.
"I didn't forget his last name," Dean protests, "I never knew it."
"Because that's better," Sam says, mixing the eggs carefully in the pan.
"Shut up," Dean says, "But seriously, somebody has to know this guy. He had wings, for God's sake!"
"Shut it, you," Dean glares, but she just rolls her eyes. It's been far too many years for her to feel intimidated by Dean, even as tall and broad as he is.
"Wait," Sam says, titling his head as he thinks, "The angel guy. He did look familiar. I think I've seen him at school."
Dean's eyes light up with cautious hope, "He's a student? What year? Do you have any classes together?"
Sam laughs, "Easy, boy," he says, "No, I don't think he's a student. He might be a professor. Or a T.A. I know I've seen him on campus, I'm just not sure where."
Dean's shoulders deflate a little bit.
"Sorry," Sam offers, and they both know he means it.
"But hey," Jess offers, "It's a start. I'm sure the school has an employee directory. Maybe you'll get lucky."
Dean grins and moves over to rustle her blonde curls. "That's thinking! Sammy, your girl's got the brains in this operation."
"She does," Sam smiles, "But I cook for her, so it evens out."
"That, and he's got a really big.."
"Jess!" Sam and Dean yell out at the same time.
"I was going to say heart!" Jess defends, "I swear! Good God, people!"
"Oh," Dean says, blushing slightly, "Uh, sorry."
"It's fine," she says, standing to stand in front of Sam. He wraps around her, tucking her head under his chin in a familiar ritual.
Dean wishes they would stop being so ridiculously perfect for each other. It'd be sickening if he didn't love them both so much.
"I'm just gonna head to the school," Dean says, heading out the kitchen door.
"Good luck," Sam says, as he and Jess sway along to nonexistent music.
Dean's halfway across the yard when he hears Jess yell out.
"And he's got a huge dick, too!"
He can't help but laugh at the squeak that comes from Sammy and the subsequent peals of laughter from Jess.
The college campus is large and sprawling, and Dean immediately feels overwhelmed. He'd never gone to college himself, instead, inheriting his father's mechanic business. He loves the place, and his employees and most of all, working on cars.
He'd always expected Sam to complain when he'd inherited the Impala from their dad, but his brother had surprised the all by being mature about the whole thing, even at the age of fifteen.
"It's your car, Dean, we all know that."
"Sammy," Dean said, not sure what else there was to say.
"Dad knew you loved that car, more than anything. You've been helping him fix it up since you were six."
"I…" he said, before he couldn't continue for the restricting of his throat.
Instead, he'd pulled his little brother into a hug, trying not to cry.
"I miss him, too," Sam said, hugging him back.
He's so lost in thought that he passes the administration building and is several yards past it before he realizes he should have stopped. Cursing to himself, he jogs back and pushes open the heavy doors, heading for the main desk.
An incredibly attractive brunette with a name tag that says "Bela" is sitting at the desk, looking at him expectantly.
"Hi," he says, unsure of how to start.
"How can I help you?" she asks, in a smooth English accent.
Dean feels somehow even more out of his element, but he masks it quickly and sends the girl an easy smile.
"I was hoping you could help me track down a friend of mine, actually. I have no idea where his office is, and he's expecting me."
"Name?" she says, apparently completely unaffected by his charm.
Dean finds that just a little bit disconcerting.
"Castiel," he says, looking at her hopefully.
"Is that the first name or last name?"
"First," he says, hoping she doesn't ask for a last name.
He hopes in vain.
"Nothing coming up under Castiel. Last name?" she asks.
"Umm," Dean hedges.
"You don't know your friends last name?" she asks, raising one impeccably tweezed brow at him.
Dean sighs and decides to just tell her the truth.
"Honestly? I only met him two nights ago. We hooked up at a Halloween party, right after my girlfriend of five years ripped my heart out. And then he was just gone when I woke up. But I can't stop thinking about him, and it would be really great if you could just help me find him." He takes a deep breath, "Please."
The only indication that his speech has affected her at all is the slight widening of her eyes. Dean takes that as a good sign, and waits somewhat patiently for her to speak again.
"I want to help you," she says at last, "But I can't find anything with the name Castiel. If you figure out the last name, I'll be happy to try again."
Disappointment is evident of Dean's face and he swears the girl almost looks sympathetic.
"I'm sorry," she says, "Good luck."
"I'm hearing that a lot lately," Dean mutters, but thanks her anyway.
"Not a problem," she says, before dropping her voice to a whisper and leaning forward.
"And if you don't find him… you should considering coming back to visit me. I'll make you forget both of their names."
Dean doesn't doubt that for a moment, but he knows trouble when he sees it, especially in dangerously sexy women.
"I'll find him," he says, instead, walking away as fast as possible without breaking into a run.
The rest of the campus search proves just as fruitless and Dean finally gives up after several hours. Sighing, he heads into work, knowing he's going to need to work extra hard to make up for the time he lost searching. Blessedly, the day is busy and all his mechanics are occupied. Nobody notices when he slips in and heads to his office to start on his paperwork, or when he spaces out moments later, daydreaming of a contagious smile and those bright blue eyes.
Dean stops by Sam's house to grab his things, before heading home. As he pulls out of the driveway, he notices the green of the trees along the yard are flecked with white. Foot on the brake, he leans his head out of the window to get a better looks, and can't help but laugh at what he sees.
Dozens of stray feathers are embedded in the branches, tangled up in the leaves. He'd half convinced himself that the whole thing had been a crazy dream, that Castiel had been just a figment of his imagination. The sight gives him a renewed sense of hope.
Castiel spots Dean a few days after the party. He's got his arms full of grocery bags and is struggling to get his keys out of his pocket. Castiel is moving to help before he can stop himself, and completely takes Dean by surprise when he reaches into the man's pocket and pulls out the keys, moving to unlock the trunk of the gorgeous vintage Impala.
"Hey!" Dean protests, before seeing exactly who it is he's yelling at, and calming down slightly.
"Hello," Castiel replies, grabbing a bag from Dean and placing it gently in the trunk, before tucking the keys back into Dean's pocket.
If Dean squirms a little, Cas pretends not to notice, and most definitely does not smirk.
Dean deposits the rest of the groceries in the trunk and closes it gently, Cas supposes he feels that there's no need to take out his frustration on his baby, after all.
"You could've just grabbed a bag," Dean says, glaring at the other man.
"True," Cas replies, and he knows Dean can see the amusement in his eyes, "But this way was more fun."
His brilliant green eyes go dark in an instant and Cas can't help but take a step closer, crowding Dean against the trunk of the car he loves so much.
"You should've left your number," Dean says, a tinge of real annoyance coloring his face.
Castiel nods and gives Dean what he hopes is an apologetic expression.
"I know," he says, leaning even closer and bracing his arms on the trunk of the car, effectively trapping Dean.
He sees a flare of dominance in Dean's eyes, and knows the man isn't used to being the one trapped, however metaphorically. He could break free in an instant, with one good shove, but they both know that he won't.
Dean swallows roughly before speaking again. Cas watches his throat move with interest, barely restraining reaching out that last few inches and tasting the hollow there. For now.
"Why didn't you?" he asks, and Cas has to admit, Dean has incredible restraint. Surely, he can feel the tension between them.
Cas smirks, intent on delivering a witty comeback, when the look in Dean's eyes catches his off-guard. His eyes are almost golden in the dying light, but it's not the color that halts him. It's the hurt there, so plaintive that he must be a fool to not have seen it before.
"I'm sorry," he says, instead, opting for the truth, "I was late for a family thing, my mother would've had my head."
Dean grins then, and Cas couldn't have stopped from kissing him if there was a gun to his head. He ponders briefly what kind of criminal would create a scenario where he and Dean would be forced to kiss, and where he might hire such a man. His thoughts vanish as Dean pulls him in, spreading his legs to accommodate him as Cas presses him against the trunk.
He's not sure how long they kiss, bent awkward yet perfectly against Dean's car, but when he opens his eyes, the night is dark around them.
His hand is still under Dean's worn grey t-shirt, splayed over the small of his back, and he has no desire to move again. Dean has one hand digging into his hip, the other clutching his shirt, and it hurts a little bit, but Cas can't bring himself to care.
"Shit," Dean says, pulling his hands away from Cas reluctantly, "We're in public. I forgot."
Castiel shrugs, apparently unfazed.
"So?" he asks, "It's the twenty-first century. If they don't like it, they don't have to look."
"That isn't me," Dean says, pushing Cas away so he can stand, "I don't do PDA."
"Then let's go somewhere private," Cas says, desperately wanting to go back to the light mood they'd just been in.
"No," Dean says, "I need to go home. Alone."
"I don't understand," Castiel says, frowning.
Dean doesn't reply, just digs into his pocket and pulls out two business cards. He grabs a pen from his back pocket and scribbles on one before he hands them to Cas.
"That's my number," he says, pointing at the scrawl on the back of one of the cards, "Can I still have yours?"
Cas writes his number without hesitation and hands Dean back the card and his pen, tucking his own card safely in his pocket.
"I still don't understand," he says.
Dean looks at him sadly, and all at once, Castiel wants to find the girl that hurt him and make her pay. Deeply.
"I don't either," he admits, "But I want to see you again. Maybe we can even talk next time."
Cas gives him a wry smile and nods.
Dean nods once, face expressionless for the first time since Cas has met him. He doesn't like it.
"I'll call you," Cas promises, risking a peck to Dean's cheek.
Dean surprises him by turning and kissing him soundly on the mouth, just for a moment.
"Good," he says, and it takes everything for Cas to step away.
He watches Dean drive away, still confused about what just happened. But he knows that there's no way he's letting the man out of his life again if he can help it.
Dean's not sure how he ends up at Sam's house. Except, that's a lie. He knows, he just doesn't want to think about it. Sam lives in the house they grew up in; their mother gave it to them when she moved to Florida with her second husband. He doesn't know how Sam can live in the house their father died in, but he supposed it will always have some sort of hold on them both.
So he sits outside, clutching an unopened beer, legs sprawled out across the grass from his seat on the bottom step of the stairs.
He's so zoned out that he doesn't hear the door open, or feel the wood creak beneath him until Jess sits beside him, nudging his knee with her own.
"Hey," she says, giving him a soft look.
Dean sighs, knowing that if he doesn't talk to her, she'll just keep trying.
"What happened?" she asks, "You tracked him down, didn't you?"
Dean shakes his head and laughs dryly.
"After all that, we just ran into each other at the grocery store, if you can believe it."
"I can," she says, and he doesn't need to look to know that she's smiling.
"Sammy send you out here?" Dean asks, stalling.
Jess shakes her head at him fondly and gives him a little swat upside the head.
"You're my brother too, you know. I can't remember a time in my life without you there."
"That's because you grew up across the street," Dean says, smirking.
"Smartass," she scolds, "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, yeah," he says, but he leans into her anyway when she wraps an arm around him.
They're nearly the same height and it makes her shoulder the perfect place to rest his aching head.
"Tell me about it," Jess says, rubbing his back lightly.
Dean shrugs, but tells her anyway.
"Right there in the parking lot?" she asks, shock clear in her voice, "That's not like you."
"That's what I said!" Dean says, sitting up to face her, "But it was like I couldn't help myself. I had to touch him."
Jess smiles radiantly, and Dean hopes in that moment that Sam stays with this girl forever. He'd be an idiot not to.
"I'm so proud of you," she says, only half teasing.
"I don't want to love him," Dean says, hating how girly it makes him sound, but it's the truth.
"He isn't Lisa. It doesn't have to be like it was with her."
"It was great with Lisa," Dean says, "Until it wasn't. How do you prepare for that?"
Jess regards him for a long moment, but he sees no trace of pity in her eyes. Only kindness.
"You don't," she says, honestly, "There's no guarantee that somebody you love will love you back. Or that they'll love you forever. Or that you'll love them forever."
"Then why bother?" Dean asks, bitterly.
"What else can you do?" Jess says, "Fuck every pretty girl in town until you forget about Lisa? You're not 18 anymore, Dean."
"Don't I know it," Dean says, and all he sounds is tired.
"Twenty-six isn't ancient," Jess soothes, "It's just old enough to know better than to only listen to your dick."
"Who taught you to talk like that?" Dean asks, pretending shock at her language.
"You, asshole," she replies, placing a loud kiss to his cheek.
"Well," Dean says, "good job, then."
"Go home," Jess says, standing, "Get some sleep. And then tomorrow, you call your angel and see if he's worth being this emo about."
"He is," Dean says, automatically, even though he knows it sounds insane.
But Jess just smiles and grabs his beer as she shoos him away.
He drives home with a lighter heart than he's felt all week.
Castiel wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing and just barely catches it before Dean hangs up. Grinning, he gladly accepts Dean's invitation to dinner that night. They make small talk for a few minutes after, and Cas hangs up knowing that Dean is as excited as him for their date.
Castiel rings the doorbell of Dean's unassuming one story house, bouncing slightly in anticipation. He'd dressed up, black slacks and a midnight blue shirt that his friend Anna swore brought out his eyes like the sun. He was never quite sure what she meant, but he figures she was being nice.
Dean answers the door a moment later, dressed in grey slacks and a black tank top, looking harried.
"Come in," he says, "Sorry, got stuck at work, still trying to get dressed." He pauses at last, actually getting a look at Castiel.
"Damn, you look good," he says, swallowing around the sudden tension.
Castiel doesn't bother replying, he just lunges, pushing them both to the couch as he attacks Dean's lips.
"Dinner!" Dean says, weakly, "Food! And talking! And getting to know… Jesus Christ, Cas!"
Cas chuckles from where he's biting at Dean's neck, "Then tell me to stop."
"Don't you fucking dare," Dean says, pushing him up but not letting go of his shirt.
His confusion must show in his eyes because Dean laughs.
"Bedroom," he says, and it's all Cas needs to know.
He should've know, Dean thinks as they move, that they'd fit together perfectly. Cas is hot and tight and perfect around him and he's pretty sure he's died.
That must be it, he thinks, he died a week ago, and Castiel really is an angel, fucking him blissfully into heaven.
"Just a man," Cas says, and Dean realizes that he spoke aloud.
"You keep saying that," Dean pants, "But I don't believe it. You can't be this perfect."
Cas laughs, and Dean would feel offended if the motion didn't send waves of pleasure through his dick.
"Have you looked in a mirror?" Cas says, reaching up to brush a thumb across Dean's cheekbone, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"And you talk too much," Dean says, embarrassed, "I can fix that."
He tugs Cas firmly and twists just right, and it's only a few seconds before Cas is coming, covering Dean's still moving hand. He gasps and clenches even tighter around Dean, and it's over. Dean collapses on top of him after pulling out, letting them both catch their breath.
"We were supposed to get to know each other," Dean says later, after they're showered and dressed in Castiel's pajamas.
Cas shrugs, bringing over the plates of Chinese take-out, handing Dean his chopsticks with his mouth. Dean laughs but leans up and accepts them his lips, rolling his tongue around them in an exaggerated motion.
"Tease," Cas says, pouting.
"Not teasing," Dean says, simply, "But we have to eat first. And get to know each other, like we intended."
"I say we just eat and then have tons of sex," Cas says, grinning widely.
Dean takes the sight of him in, the wild black hair even messier than usual, those electric eyes alive with laughter and warmth, that sinful mouth spread with joy. He could stare at Cas every day and never tire of it, he's sure. But his brain never was good as listening to his heart.
"What about tomorrow, then?" he asks, "And the day after that?"
Cas puts his plate on the coffee table next to Dean's and turns to regard him seriously.
"Tomorrow," he says, "We do it all again. And the next day. And all the days after that. We'll figure it out as we go. And hell, we'll even go to work once in a while. So we don't end up homeless, starving, bums."
"All the days after that, huh?" Dean says, already pulling Cas against him.
"Mm-hmm," Cas says quietly against Dean's lips.
"I can do that," Dean says, before silencing them both again.
The food can wait. They have forever, after all.