Chapter Text
“Darling, you’re my, my, my, my…lover.” As the song ends, the applause is just as much for Dean and Cas as it is for the band, bodies on the dancefloor turning to face them. Even the band starts clapping for them, Lenore smiling huge (and jeez, Dean can’t believe she’s still singing here).
“Congratulations, you two!” she exclaims, and Dean gets his wires totally crossed and signs his response at her—force of habit when trying to talk to someone across a noisy room. He forgets that ASL is not universal knowledge.
Cas notices his fuck-up and chuckles affectionately, turning to face the stage and calling out a translation. “That was beautiful, you guys! Thank you so much!”
Lenore hears, thankfully. “You’re so welcome; thanks for sharing your love with us tonight!”
Dean’s suddenly subjected to an onslaught of strangers, not exactly swarming them, but definitely approaching to clap hands on their shoulders and offer their own words of congratulations. Des is there, squeezing his arm, and Sorenta materializes out of nowhere with a kiss on the cheek for each of them. An older gentleman tells them to be good to each other. One girl (probably still in high school) says they’re a beautiful couple, and Dean doesn’t know about his side of things, but he definitely knows that Cas more than makes that true.
It’s only a little overwhelming, but Cas picks up on it and gracefully manages to extract them both from the centre of the dancefloor and make their exit, back towards their table.
Benny’s waiting there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a warm smile on his face. Dean feels kind of awkward all of a sudden: how much of that did Benny see? It’s one thing for Benny to watch them being lightly affectionate with each other (Dean did kiss Cas in front of him earlier, but it was really just a peck or two). It’s another thing entirely for him to witness their very public display of maximum lovey-dovey mush. That’s not the sort of thing that you just…subject your ex to.
Benny doesn’t look bothered, though. In fact, he looks happy. Really happy.
“Aw, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Benny teases when they approach, eyeing Dean mirthfully.
Dean chortles and shakes his head. “You told them about the Taylor thing, huh?”
As if it’s nothing, as if it’s no big deal, Benny shrugs. “I asked if they could do Daylight , but they didn’t know it. They said this one was off the same album—did that end up working for y’all?”
And son of a bitch, Dean would have to be soulless to not be completely and utterly touched by that gesture. What kind of man creates such a meaningful and sentimental moment for his ex and his new partner? What kind of man does that without centring himself at all; just out of the goodness of his selfless heart?
Apparently Benny does. And Dean’s overcome by the realization that this God-awful yuckiness he’s been living with is gone; that confusion about what happened, that worry about Benny’s wellbeing, that guilt for all the regrettable things he said in anger…it’s all gone. Dean’s brain feels like a room with a piece of furniture missing: weirdly empty, not bad, but he’s going to have to fill that space with something else. Something a little nicer, maybe.
It kind of reminds him of how he felt after doing EMDR with Cain, all those years ago, to rid him of the flashback nightmares after Ben died. Once the memory was reprocessed, it stopped taking up such a huge piece of real estate in his mind, and…wow, did Cas just inadvertently force him to reprocess his ending with Benny this evening? Is that what that was?
No matter how many times he experiences it, the psychology of working through tough shit will never not be cool to Dean. This is one for the books.
As they exchange their goodbyes, it becomes abundantly clear how sincere everyone is: Cas and Benny genuinely agree that it was nice to meet each other, and Dean and Benny genuinely agree that it was good to see each other again. A lot has changed since that encounter in the grocery store, just hours ago, when Dean couldn’t wait to get the hell away and was frustrated with Cas for making that impossible.
Yeah, Cas really does make everything better.
They’re at that tipping point in their goodbye; the one where enough social niceties have been exchanged for it to be acceptable to leave, but there’s still so much more to say. It’s a choice that has to be made quickly, and Dean finds his hands moving before his brain catches up and realizes that he’s already made his decision.
As discreetly as possible (that is to say, not very), Dean signs to Cas, “I need a couple more minutes with him.”
Cas gives him a small nod of understanding, signing back. “Okay, I’ll wait in the car.”
With one last parting smile and a handshake, Cas addresses Benny. “Thank you again—this was amazing. We will be back.”
Benny actually seems really delighted to hear that. “Yeah, you better! You take care now, alright?”
While Cas dips his hand into the front pocket of Dean’s jeans to retrieve the keys and take off with them, Dean reorients himself, turning to face Benny squarely. Benny looks interested, but not exactly surprised to see Dean still standing there.
“What? Just can’t get enough, cher?” Benny quips, eyes sparkling.
Dean laughs with him, but there’s something wistful about it. Truthfully, he never thought he’d see Benny get older. He never thought he’d get to change what “the last time I saw Benny” meant, but he does. Dean can finally be rid of that mental image; a version of Benny pushing forty, so sad and exhausted, carrying that last box of his things out of the apartment that they used to call theirs. Now, he gets to see Benny just like this: pushing fifty, smiling, saying goodbye after a great night at The Chopped Head, exactly where he belongs. That’s an image that makes sense. Dean feels like everything has been repaired.
“I guess I just wanted to say thank you,” Dean admits candidly.
Benny grins. “Hey, you don’t have to thank me. The food ain’t nothin’, and the conversation…I needed it just as bad as you did,” he adds sincerely, and hell if Dean doesn’t believe him. They both needed that, so much.
But Dean has more to say. “Yeah, but not just for dinner and for talking things out,” he clarifies, shaking his head to clear it. One deep breath, and he continues. “Thank you for the good years. I was so mad back then, I never got to tell you that…but they were six really good years, Benny. I loved you a lot, and you loved me in exactly the way I never felt I deserved before. You loved me and I believed you, and what’s more: I believed I was worth it. For that…man, I owe you,” he chuckles. Sometimes Dean wonders what kind of partner he’d be today, had Benny not shown him the gentleness he’d needed so badly to learn. Seven years in therapy had done a hell of a lot, but Benny really took him that extra mile. Cain taught him the theory of building self-worth, but Benny forced him to practice it every single day, holding him accountable and leading by example. The breakup might’ve done some serious damage, but it didn’t totally erase everything: Benny’s unintentional lessons still live in Dean’s bones.
He knows for a fact that he’s a good husband to Cas because of it. Dean has learned, mostly from counselling teenage girls with boy problems, that loving a guy who hates himself is tiring work. You’re always trying to prove him wrong, your love is met with resentment, and it’s a feeling of rejection like none other when he starts accusing you of misunderstanding him: surely you don’t really know him, if you don’t agree that he’s worthless. Self-hatred on the part of one person is a relationship killer, and had Dean not been handled so tenderly by Benny, things might’ve gone that way with Cas. Dean wouldn’t have been ready for Castiel Novak and the huge, boundless, infinite amount of love that he’s capable of giving. Bigger than heaven and a million times brighter, he’s whispered into Dean’s ear on more than one intimate night.
Benny’s gaze softens, jaw ticking, shoulders tightening, all his emotional tells that Dean once knew so well. “You don’t owe me nothin’, Dean. Those six years, you made me happier than I’d ever been—you cared for me in a way no one else had. And damn, I’d never laughed as much in my entire life,” he chuckles, smiling at the memory. Dean does too, saying nothing, letting Benny continue. “I still got love for you, brother,” he says seriously, fixing his eyes on Dean like it’s the most important thing he’ll ever say. “I do. It looks different now, but I still got it.”
Wow. With a slow exhale, Dean looks around at this place.
The Chopped Head is all love, all the time. Always has been. And it’s because Benny’s entire heart lives in the walls, each detail a careful reflection of who he is. Dean fell in love with Benny here, and he never thought he’d get to have that experience of being in love here again. But then tonight happened, he brought Cas, and Benny saw a good thing and blessed it; fed it magical wine and food and song. That’s just who Benny is. And Dean realizes, with a golden-warm pang, that he loves him for it.
“I’ve got love for you, too,” Dean tells him honestly. And yes: it’s way different. So, so beyond different from what it was a decade ago, and lightyears removed from what he feels for Cas. But love exists in many places and ways, and Dean can’t deny that it exists here too.
“Alright, alright…” Benny sighs fondly, shaking his head before opening his arms. “Bring it here, then.”
It’s not even odd. Embracing Benny is as familiar as the food here, awakening some kind of sense memory in Dean as he squeezes tight and feels the body heat transferring through his clothes, Benny always running at a hotter temperature than any other person. He’s still a good hugger, Dean notes.
Dean realizes that he doesn’t remember the last hug he shared with Benny. He remembers their last kiss (not good, overly impassioned and unreciprocated, Dean clinging desperately to Benny’s shirt while trying to convince him to stay)—but their last hug? He has no idea.
Doesn’t matter. This one will do just fine, he thinks.
It lasts a little longer than a typical hug would, but when they do eventually pull away, Dean recognizes that it was the exact right amount. It’s not like pulling away from Cas (Dean always wants to grab him again immediately, never willing to let him walk away)—he feels ready, like he’s had his fill until they meet again. And wow: Dean’s pretty sure they will meet again. It’s baffling to think how, just this morning, the idea of seeing Benny again would’ve filled him with profound dread.
“Listen, cher,” Benny says, face aglow with sincerity. “We don’t gotta be best friends or anything, but I’d like to be friendly. Next time y’all are in town, you give me a call.” He suddenly produces a business card from his apron pocket, stiff card stock with his name, title, and contact information.
Dean grins. “Alright. I think we can manage that,” he teases, digging his wallet out from the back of his jeans to deposit the card into it. While he’s in there, though, his own private practice business cards catch his eye, slotted into one of the pockets.
Without a second thought, he plucks one out and passes it to Benny. “You can give me a shout too, if you’re ever in Seattle—I don’t know why you would be, but if you happen to be…or even if you just want to say hey, you can drop a line or whatever,” Dean tells him, realizing that he sounds like an idiot but somehow comfortable enough to not really care. He’s looked a lot worse in front of Benny.
Benny takes it, and his smile lights up his whole face—no, his whole body—as he reads it . “I’ll be sure to do that, Doctor Dean Winchester, PhD, licensed psychologist,” he says slyly, but Dean can tell that the fancy-schmancy honorific brings him immense joy. Last time they saw each other, Dean was merely a PhD candidate, dissertation not yet defended. Benny looks…proud of him.
Touching though that is, Dean still rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me ‘doctor’, it’s weird,” he protests mildly, not having the energy to explain that the only people who really call him that are his superiors at work, and Cas, but only when he wants to get Dean all flustered.
Shooting him a playful look, Benny claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Get outta here, Dr. Winchester,” he chuckles, nodding towards the door. “You got a good man waiting out there.”
It’s a dismissal that’s just so classic Benny, it gives Dean yet another blast of warmth—but not quite enough to draw it out into a proper Midwest goodbye. Fact is, there is a good man sitting in his car, and Dean would be remiss to keep him waiting. So, he accepts the instruction. One last look at that kind face, those blue eyes, and one last goodbye from their mouths…and Dean is out the door.
As he steps out into the warm night and looks out at all the illuminated old-school street lamps, Dean thinks that Benny might’ve just graduated from “my ex” to “an old friend”.
He never realized how badly he always wanted that, deep down. He never let himself want it—that’s asking for trouble—but it was there. He’s always been envious of people who had amicable breakups (hell, Cas still sees his ex Mick on the rare occasion, and somehow there’s zero weirdness there), but amicable breakups are for reasonably well-adjusted people who have no clinically-significant attachment baggage. So, not for Dean.
It feels freaking amazing to have gotten here eventually.
Maybe that’s why Dean feels a little fuzzy-wuzzy on the short walk from the restaurant to the car, but deep in his heart, he knows that the wine is catching up to him. His now-low tolerance would be embarrassing, if it didn’t mean that Dean’s been drinking way less and getting ahead of his own genetic loading for alcoholism.
Cas does look a little surprised when Dean opens the passenger’s side door, but that’s mostly overshadowed by how happy he looks when he sees Dean. That will never get old.
“Scoot over, you’re driving,” Dean informs him, knowing that Cas is a total tank and can hold his liquor.
Cas raises a challenging eyebrow. “Oh, am I?” he asks, but he obliges anyway, sliding himself across the bench seat towards the steering wheel.
“Yep. I’m still feeling the wine,” Dean explains, gingerly lowering himself into the passenger’s seat as the bloat from dinner persists. Once he’s settled, he looks over at Cas and watches as he very sexily puts the keys in the ignition, firing Baby up like it’s what he was born to do. Even after all these years, Dean’s still totally dumbstruck by Cas’s side profile: it’s fucking unfair. How did Dean manage to land this guy? He has no idea, but he ain’t complaining.
Cas puts the car in reverse and moves to look out the back window, but on his way he catches Dean’s eye and pauses. “Are you sure it’s the wine? Or did you just want to get off on watching me drive your car?” he challenges.
Heh. Nice. “It can’t be both?” Dean asks innocently.
Cas’s response is a mere hum, his focus now on backing out of the parking stall, conscientious as ever. Cas is a very safe driver, which is honestly kind of hot.
Once they get on the road, though, Dean starts right up yapping. “You were right. That was fun. And necessary, I think,” he adds, as if he doesn’t know it to be true.
Cas smirks, eyes still on the road. “You know how I love being right,” he says neutrally, fighting to keep the smug note out of his voice. “Did you have a nice goodbye, then?”
Dean sighs heavily, but it’s a happy one. “Yeah,” he says, voice a little softer than he’d intended. And then, “He said he’s still got love for me.”
There isn't even a beat, not one little pause. “You’re very loveable,” Cas says simply, now steering Baby down the main drag at a decent clip, the light from the street lamps doing his face all kinds of favours as they pass by. Dean just has to reach out and touch, but Cas intercepts his hand, quickly kissing Dean’s knuckles before letting go and returning his own hand to the steering wheel. Dean compromises by draping his arm across the seat back, right behind Cas’s shoulders.
“Yeah yeah, sure,” Dean brushes the compliment off flippantly. “But here’s the weird part: I realized I still have some love for him, too.”
It’s an admission that Dean would expect to garner some sort of big reaction, but Cas is far from surprised and even further from scandalized. “That’s not news to me,” he says mildly. “You don’t worry about someone that much if you don’t love them, Dean.” The way he says it, it’s clear that Cas isn’t speaking generally. He means Dean specifically.
Dean pauses to think about that, and as he does, he genuinely can’t believe how dense he had to be to not know that. Of course he still loves Benny. There are people you meet in life, special people who bring you so much light and change you for the better. No matter what happens, you’ll always love that person a little bit—even if it’s just that one version of the person, a snapshot of who they were when you knew them. For Dean, Benny was always a harbinger of good, and that never changed. Their breakup didn’t cancel that out. Dean worried because he cared, and he cared because he loved. He still cares, and he still loves.
“Damn,” he huffs through a short laugh. “Cas, I gotta say—you kind of know me better than I know myself.”
A little chuckle. “I don’t know about that,” Cas counters. “But you are my favourite thing to study.”
“You love studying. Nerd.”
“ You have a PhD,” Cas reminds him drily, never passing up an opportunity to point out that Dean has done nearly as much postsecondary education as Cas—eleven years to his fourteen—and spends a good amount of his spare time reading the latest research (though to be fair, Dean’s got nothing on Cas in this regard: the guy’s constantly poring over medical journals).
Still, Dean’s got a counterargument. “Yeah, but I have a PhD in a cool rock-n-roll way,” he says flippantly.
Cas casts a glance over to him, amused in one of those “yes dear” kind of ways. “I see,” he says. “So my medical doctorate makes me…?”
“A nerd,” Dean finishes without any further explanation. “A nerd who likes studying cool rock-n-roll psychologists.”
“Just one,” Cas corrects. “And perhaps my favourite thing about him is how very loving he is, to everyone he knows.”
Dean’s heart drums up a little bubble of warmth, popping and spreading through his whole chest. “Aw, Cas,” he teases, smiling wolfishly. “Don’t stop. What’s your second favourite thing about me?”
Without skipping a beat, Cas glances over with a meaningful look. “How great you are at navigating Lawrence, Kansas,” he says pointedly, eyeing the road. “I need directions. Help.”
Right. While Cas knew the correct cardinal direction to take them in, he hasn’t exactly consolidated a detailed mental map of the city in the same way Dean has, and it’s made even trickier in the dark. Their AirBNB is in the suburbs in a different area of town from Bobby and Ellen’s, which just adds to the unfamiliarity: Cas has only been to Lawrence a small handful of times, after all.
Dean ends up dutifully directing Cas the rest of the way, through the streets he knows so well by virtue of having lived here for so many years of his life. The neighbourhood they’re staying in is, oddly enough, the same one that Lisa’s family moved to shortly after Ben was born. Dean’s driven these streets hundreds of times, doing pick-up and drop-off in full adherence to the shared custody agreement they had. Dean would show up first thing on Saturday mornings and have breakfast with Lisa and her family, then he’d take Ben and keep him until Tuesday mornings, dropping him back at Lisa’s before his long commute to class at K-State. Those weekends with Ben were his lifeline all through his undergrad. Dean already let himself feel all wistful about being in this neighbourhood when they first arrived in town several days ago, and he already let himself feel sad that Cas will never get to meet Ben (again), so he spares himself the trouble and just rides the high of tonight.
They arrive back at the AirBNB just before ten o’clock and immediately start on their sleepy transition to bedtime, savouring the last night they’ll have here before the long journey home. It’s a small laneway house with a studio floor plan, probably not much bigger than their living room at home. The furnishings are cozy, and the bed is probably one of the comfiest they’ve encountered outside their own bedroom—needless to say, neither of them are excited to be leaving tomorrow, facing down a three-night string of mystery beds. At least they’ll be home in a few days (and at least Dean’s at a point in his life where musty motel rooms are a thing of the past).
Cas leaves Dean to his three-minute speed shower, sympathetic to the fact that he needs to get the day’s nervous sweats off of him, but not sympathetic enough to join him in there (a betrayal like none other, but Dean will get over it). It’s probably for the best: joint showers are rarely quick, with them, and they really do need to be up bright and early if they’re going to make it to Denver at a reasonable hour tomorrow. Ugh. Dean hates that snore-fest stretch of the I-70, but at least things will get incrementally more scenic as they approach Utah the following day. Dean is once again grateful that Cas is willing to accommodate (or perhaps enable) his aerophobia without much complaint—though Dean’s gotta say, it might be something worth working on. Maybe.
Once he’s dried off and in a pair of clean boxers, Dean exits the bathroom and is greeted by the adorably familiar sight of a messy-haired Cas, shirtless and upright against the headboard, talking to his phone screen and listening as it talks back.
“Hey, Meg,” Dean says as he pulls back the blankets on his side of the bed, sliding under them and depositing himself right up against Cas, head resting on his shoulder. Meg’s in her kitchen, wearing an ancient oversized University of Minnesota t-shirt that Dean knows used to belong to Cas in another life. She has a lot of Cas’s old things; pretty much everything he didn’t want to bring to Seattle with him when he first moved there, over twenty years ago.
She smiles a little wolfishly, eyeing his state of undress. “Hi Dean,” she greets him. “Showing off the goods?”
Dean, more than used to Meg’s teasing by now, props himself up and flexes a bicep for her, Cas compliantly tilting the phone screen to get a good shot of the gun show.
“Hot!” she says appreciatively, quickly followed by a bite of what appears to be gnocchi. “Clarence was just telling me about that old flame of yours. Tell me, Dean: how many mental breakdowns did you have to squash down today?”
Dean huffs a laugh, burying his face in Cas’s neck. “Probably three,” he estimates, voice muffled, thinking back to how all control of the day slipped right out of his hands and landed in Cas’s scheming little paws. “Your platonic soulmate here is a dick.”
That makes both Cas and Meg laugh out loud, Cas’s shoulder jostling Dean. “You came around to it eventually,” Cas tells him fondly, and then to Meg, “He already told me I was right.”
“Ooh, I bet you’ll be riding that high for weeks,” Meg posits, absolutely correctly. Cas is a smug little shit like that, and Dean loves him so goddamn much.
With a self-satisfied little hum, Cas says, “I certainly will.” Dean flips him off, sliding down to rest his head on the pillow, leaving the two of them to their little chit-chat and sighing when Cas starts carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. He goes completely docile, enjoying the sensation, and the situation is so familiar that he almost convinces himself that they’re having a normal night back at home. Meg often has a presence in their bedtime routine, probably at least twice a week, and Dean’s so used to it that he can pretty much tune them both out as they talk about whatever it is that best friends talk about. He finds their conversations soothing, almost hypnotic, and he usually ends up drifting in and out of consciousness as they chat. Tonight is exactly that.
He fades back into awareness when the tone audibly shifts, indicating that a goodbye is imminent. Dean lifts his head and squirms back up to Cas’s level, popping into view on the phone screen. Even in the tiny image, Dean can see how tired he looks.
“Goodnight, Meg,” Cas is saying, his voice a comforting rumble.
“Night, Meg,” Dean mumbles through a yawn.
She laughs lightly, not at all tired because Meg is a freak who never sleeps. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your sloppy blowjobs or whatever it is you’re planning on doing to each other,” she says flippantly.
“Meg,” Cas chides just as Dean rolls over to bury his face in the pillow, groaning. He’s still reeling from the volume and density of dinner, and Dean is not warm to the idea of any activity that involves moving or even breathing too hard. And the last thing he wants right now is a dick in his mouth.
Clearly delighted by their reactions to her bullshit, Meg laughs. “Get some, Clarence,” she says in lieu of a proper goodbye, ending the call without another word. Typical.
Cas doesn’t move for a few moments, probably doing something on his phone (Dean’s still lying face-down in the pillow). After a minute, though, Dean hears him plug in the charging cable and deposit his phone onto the nightstand. A warm hand lands on Dean’s upper back, doting and gentle, and he totally melts.
“Can you get the light?” Cas asks softly, and shit, that’s right, the lamp is on Dean’s side of the bed. Terrific.
Grumbling, Dean rolls to face Cas and offers him the most despondent look he can muster. “Dude, I’m so bloated. I might be pregnant.”
Furrowing his brow, Cas tosses back the covers to get a good look at Dean’s stomach, taking a moment to poke it gently. “Twelve to fourteen weeks, I’d venture. Definitely second trimester,” he says seriously, making Dean laugh.
“You’re a little bloated too, angel,” Dean points out, running his index finger from the waistband of Cas’s underwear and up past his navel, feeling a swell there. Those sharp hip bones still persist, though, and Dean has to fight the urge to lean over and bite them. If he had his way, Cas would always have a bruise there. That will have to wait until another night.
Cas catches his hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing Dean’s fingertips gently. The sweetness of the gesture has Dean’s heart squeezing tightly, and it only squeezes tighter when Cas dips his head down to brush his lips against Dean’s forehead. “Dean,” he murmurs, slowly tracing his nose along his temple.
“Yeah?” Dean replies, eyes fluttering closed.
“The light?”
Of course. Heaving a sigh that’s only a little bit bitchy, Dean flips over, straining to reach the switch on the lamp without having to actually sit up. It’s a stretch, but he does get it, and the room is suddenly plunged into darkness.
There’s no time for Dean’s eyes to adjust before Cas is tugging him back with freakish strength, pulling him close and making a little spoon out of him. Dean lets himself be manhandled, because who doesn’t enjoy a good display of cuddly dominance? Dean is certainly an appreciator, and he can’t resist snuggling backward, rubbing his ass against Cas’s crotch—and suddenly freezing, because there’s a firm and familiar something poking into him, back there.
“Don’t be doing that,” Cas warns.
“You are not hard right now,” Dean states in disbelief.
“Correct. What you’re feeling now is an illusion.”
Dean snorts. “I can’t believe you’re hard. Really.”
Cas tightens his arm around Dean’s chest, pulling him closer and nuzzling his cheek against Dean’s affectionately, like a cat. “You can’t just…caress my stomach like that and look at my hips like you want to eat them,” he insists. “What did you expect?”
Dean hums, considering that, and he supposes he gets it. “We can’t do sloppy blowjobs, though,” he states, only a small glimmer of forlornness in it. “I ate way too much.”
There’s a puff of air against Dean’s skin, indicating a little laugh from Cas. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs, dipping his head to plant a wet kiss onto Dean’s neck.
Dean’s brain can’t engage enough to parse out what Cas might mean by that. “Because I ate enough food to sustain a small village?” he asks, perplexed.
He gets another amused little kiss for that. “No. Because you were a very good sport today,” Cas clarifies. “You had some hard conversations.”
Ah. Dean sighs. “They were conversations that I needed to have,” he admits. “And I’m glad I had them. I told you that you were right, but I never said thank you—so, thank you. For making me go there and talk to him,” he finishes lamely, not having the energy to sound more intelligent about it.
“It wasn’t without its selfish reasons,” Cas admits. “I really wanted to try the food—thank you for relenting,” he adds. “But I did think it would be good for you, too. It’s always been so clear that there was something unresolved between you two. You both deserved a chance to repair it.”
Man, but Cas is such a wonderful partner, even when he’s being sneaky and conniving. Dean loves him so much in this moment, he can’t stand another second without his mouth against his husband’s. Dean squirms to turn around, forcibly moving Cas’s arm so he can get himself situated properly before diving in, kissing Cas like he's the sweetest air after holding one’s breath. The little mmm sound he makes is one Dean wishes he could trap in a jar and keep forever.
“You’re so good to me,” Dean murmurs against Cas’s lips, going back in for another kiss like it would be a crime not to. “Even when you’re being an asshole about it, you’re so fucking good to me. You heal things in me that I didn’t know needed healing; it’s like you know me down to the atom—how the hell do you do that?” Never in a million years would Dean have thought “hmm, I would probably feel a lot better if I knew that Benny was doing alright”, but it took Cas probably three seconds to figure that out, just by watching the two of them interact in the grocery store today. Heck, he probably had it figured out years ago, hearing the stories and studying Dean’s expressions and posture. Dean is his favourite thing to study, after all.
Cas chuckles, indulging Dean with as many kisses as he wants. “You bring that out in me,” he whispers. “You are worth knowing wholly, and you deserve every good thing I’m capable of offering.”
Dean lets out a little whine that comes from the back of his throat, because that’s a lot, dammit, and no matter how many times Cas reminds him, he will always be caught off guard by sentiments like that. His self-esteem is pretty good these days, but old habits need a little reassurance sometimes.
There’s only one thing he can say to that. “I love you,” he sighs. “I love you so much, baby.”
He can barely see Cas in the darkness, but he doesn’t have to. He can feel the softness in his expression, just by existing near it. “I love you too,” he says softly. “More than you’ll ever know.”
It’s that peace, that gentleness, that makes Dean feel so held. It’s the sweet little kisses he gets on each cheek, the tip of his nose, and right on his mouth; they might as well be little blessings from on high, offering protection during slumber. It doesn’t matter where they go or how comfy the bed is: here, in Cas’s arms, is the safest little slice of home he could ever hope for. With Cas, Dean can fall asleep believing, even if only for the night, that all is well in his world.
It’s an hour later when Dean comes to, feeling Cas shift from sleep to wakefulness—not because he moved, but because Dean’s body is so synced to Cas’s on a molecular level.
“Hmm,” Dean mumbles, not opening his eyes.
“Dean?” Cas says softly, voice full of sleep.
As if Dean doesn’t feel completely wrecked by the sound of Cas saying his name. “Yeah?”
“I was right about the spinach.”
Probably. “Shut the fuck up.”