When Dean sent Cas off from the bunker, he only gave him a backpack stuffed with food and some clothes, and a few one hundred dollar bills, just enough to survive. That was more than he'd had before anyway, and he'd managed pretty fine then. That is until he got stabbed.
Cas is a clever boy, after all, so on their long-awaited, next meeting, Dean expected less stinky clothes on him and hopefully much less blood.
But he definitely didn't expect this.
Dean's annoyed, at first, when Cas is running late. He keeps checking the time, sitting on the hood of the Impala and getting impatient, then a little nervous, as time passes by. But it's not like Cas can pop up wherever he wants anymore, and he surely picked a strange place for the meeting, in the middle of freaking nowhere. Barely accessible for a pedestrian.
He adds driving lessons to the list of things he wants to do with Cas, once he can finally keep him around, then he turns at the sound of an engine getting closer. He hardly spares the approaching motorcyclist a glance, as he lets the guy pass him by. But the guy doesn't drive by, he stops instead, with a squeal of his brakes and the crunch of gravel escaping from under his wheels, as he makes a half turn. Total show off.
Dean tries to decide between ignoring the guy, if he attempts to chat him up, and telling him to fuck off, even though his leather jacket might be doing things to Dean… Well, "fuck off" that is.
Before he can get off the hood, he needs to lean back again, as the guy takes his helmet off, to reveal a mess of dark hair and an all too familiar face, partially hidden behind the scruff.
"Whoah," Dean exclaims, at the same time Cas goes with his usual "Hello, Dean," and the mouth spread in a wide grin.
Cas puts the helmet down and takes off his leather gloves and all Dean can do is watch him, while he, with one, quick move, gets off the vehicle. There's something in his moves that's far from the awkward angel, yet somehow holds a lot of the old warrior's grace and precision.
He stands up straight, with the black, leather jacket, fitted perfectly, just like the tight black jeans. So not Cas-like, yet looking like it's the outfit he's been made for. The whole new version of Cas, standing right before Dean, the exact opposite of the man who left the bunker weeks ago, with his shoulders hunched under the ill-fitted hoodie; lost, miserable and alone. This Cas beams with his former confidence and something new, which Dean can't put his finger on, yet.
"Hey, Cas, that's- uh, wow," Dean mumbles, still taken aback, and then shuts up, embarrassed, to which Cas huffs out a chuckle.
Dean takes a second to regain his composure and Cas doesn't say a word, just waits, running his fingers through his hair, trying to put the wayward strands in place.
"When'd you learn to- Where'd you even get this?" Dean says finally, redirecting his attention to the vehicle.
It's kind of a junk actually, could use some fixing and a lot of body work, but apparently, for Cas, it is fine as long as it functions as it should.
"My friend gave it to me. She said that if I can get it to work, I can have it," Cas explains quickly. "And… it's been a long time, Dean," he adds with a note of bitterness, hidden behind a smirk.
Dean throws another apology while his mind still revolves around the jacket, the bike, and the friend. But he's not gonna touch that subject, Cas can have friends after all, right?
"How the hell did you know how to get it to work?" he asks instead, with a dash of irony in his voice.
"Huh." Cas glances at his motorcycle, then back at Dean, and, tucking his hands into his pockets, he musters all his sass into sarcastic: "Did you know, there are actual books from which you can learn things?" He watches Dean's face struck with bewilderment. "Who'd have thought."
"Alright," Dean sighs, "alright. I'm glad you've been doing good."
Still, he can't help staring at him marveled, like he's looking at a different person than the Cas he knew. Like it's yet another version of Cas, after all, those he's witnessed so far. Or maybe he's just forgotten the good, old Cas, before the whole mess with the fall and the mind control and Sam's crazy. Maybe after all that madness, Cas has just finally found his sea legs and he's kicking ass again, like he should.
Either way, it's a good kind of change, as long as he's not hopeless and hapless. If he doesn't need Dean anymore and is fine on his own, that's even better, right? Even if Dean still needs him?
Dean swallows hard at the thought and shakes it off. After all, he was the one who pushed him away in the first place.
"So why'd you call me, anyway?"
To that Cas smiles his little smile, pulling out a leathered journal. And for a second he's again that dorky angel Dean knew, as he spreads the pieces from newspapers on the Impala's hood.
Staring into Dean's eyes, with his unchangeable blue, he tilts his head.
"Because I need your help, of course."
"Dude, this one was so easy I'm actually embarrassed for you."
Orange light pierces through the darkness of the cemetery, as Cas cradles the lit matches in his palms to shield the flame from wind. The glow licks his skin, dancing with the shadows on his face, so mesmerizing Dean has to look away. Within a second the flame turns into fire, when Cas throws matches down the grave, on the old bones bathed in salt and gasoline.
"You could've done it alone, as well," Dean keeps teasing, still trying to hide how grateful he was hearing Cas's voice on the phone, just this morning.
"I didn't want to strain myself digging the grave," Cas deadpans, packing Dean's duffle bag.
"So you used me?" His dramatic whisper is covered with layers of fake resentment and hurt.
"Pretty much, yes."
It's Dean who starts to laugh first, but Cas follows right after him, a hushed sound carried over the flames.
They take their time, waiting in silence until the flames slowly start to die down on the charred bones. No one can bust their little party in the middle of nowhere and catch them desecrating a grave that shouldn't even be there.
"So, really, you didn't call me because of some b-class ghost you practically figured out yourself," Dean picks up the topic again on their way to the motorcycle. "I'm sure you knew how to do a little salt'n'burn."
"Yes, I was aware of how it works," Cas agrees. "But Dean- I'm not a hunter," he reminds him.
And Dean's hit with a realization that it is something that he needed to be reminded about. With hunting being the only way of life he's known, it felt natural that Cas would become a hunter too. But instead, he became this: a regular Hell's Angel wannabe, with an honest job in a Gas-n-Sip, having friends and an actual life. And under a sting of jealousy, Dean feels he should be happy for him.
"I guess leaving did you good."
Dean regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but Cas just snorts at that.
"You threw me out. So if that's how you want to excuse it"
"Yeah, I did," he admits, and it's good to say it out loud, how much he fucked up. "I'm sorry, Cas. I-"
"Can we go?" Cas cuts him off, taking his place in the seat.
Dean, without another word, readjusts the bag on his back in an annoyingly uncomfortable fashion and takes the helmet Cas holds out to him. He doesn't push his luck. After all, he never expected it to be easy. No hugging it out until all is forgiven.
He sits behind the impatient guy and, not as shyly as earlier, he grabs Cas's sides for balance. His fingers claw into the leather of Cas's jacket, when the machine starts maneuvering among the trees, before reaching the rough, rocky path they rolled up here on.
"Dean!" Cas shouts over the engine's noise. "You might want to hold on!"
"I am holding on!"
"I mean really hold on!"
Dean's hesitant at first, but just one glance at the dark abyss ahead, into which the road, way steeper than it seemed on the way up, disappears, and his eyes grow wide.
"Dude, no!" he protests, torn between not wanting to sound like a wuss and not wanting to die.
"Hold on!"
That is the last warning that Dean gets before the roar drowns whatever he'd like to say next and the gasp, involuntarily escaping his mouth.
Suddenly he finds himself all too close to Cas, practically glued to his leather-clad back, with arms wrapped tightly around Cas's chest. Next thing he knows is they're rushing down, with the trees on both sides turned into a blur. The wheels jump on the rocks and roots sticking out from the ground and make Dean's stomach churn because he's done some jackass things in his life, but all was good, as long as he was the one in control.
But he can't steer now, he can't lead Cas's arms and the calculated movements of his body. All he can do is trust him and his abilities, and, for those few minutes, let Cas be in charge of both of their lives, whatever the outcome is. But hasn't Dean done that already? Put his life in Cas's hands, placed all his faith in him when being the most vulnerable?
Angel or not, it's still Cas, after all. So despite the dizziness and the illusion of nothingness surrounding him, Dean closes his eyes. With no barrier between them, Dean lets Cas's body guide his, following the machine, leaning from side to side. With their heads close to each other, hidden in the helmets Dean is thankful for, cursing them at the same time, he drowns in the muffled, distant sounds and the blowing air trying to fight them.
If that's what falling feels like, then he should hold on to Cas with all he's got.
They go slower and slower when the road gets flat, but Dean still doesn't want to open his eyes or let go.
"Dean?" The gravel of Cas's voice forces him to give up.
There are no trees around them anymore, just the broad plains on the outskirts of Cas's town.
"Hey, we didn't die," he replies with a fake surprise, pulling back.
His hands wander across Cas's chest back to his sides and Dean misses his heat as soon as the cold air floods in the space between them. The rest of the ride is smooth, as soon as they reach the asphalt.
"Alright, you're pretty decent, I'll give you that."
It's easier to hide the praise behind the usual tease, when he can fully convey it in a smile and the look of his eyes, when he glances at Cas. It's good to take a breath of air unfiltered by the helmet again and feel the wind in his messed up hair. He's surely not cheating on his Baby again anytime soon.
"Where are we?" Dean asks, looking around for the Impala, and then following Cas's gaze when he doesn't find her.
It's almost two a.m., yet the lights in one of the low buildings along the street are still on. It's one of those twenty-four per seven diners that save his life regularly.
"I thought you might be hungry." Cas shrugs. "I know I am."
Dean nods and follows him. It's actually a fucking fantastic idea because he hasn't eaten since morning and his stomach is not happy with that fact.
The place is almost empty, but a couple of insomniacs sitting by the door, with their heads held low over their plates and half-emptied cups.
Cas leads him to the farthest corner, where they can talk without risking being overheard. People don't necessary react well to guys with dirt-smeared clothes, talking about ghosts and demons and dick angels in the middle of the night.
Dean watches Cas closely as they choose their orders. It's hard to judge his mood, after the afternoon of swinging between the good, old camaraderie and the dangerous edge of anger and well-justified resentment. And with the fight hovering over their heads, it feels like Dean's each word might push the scales to the wrong side.
"You've changed so much," Dean says finally when they have placed their order.
"I'm sorry to disappoint." The corner of his lips curls up.
"No, I didn't– That's not what I meant. Just–" He's looking for a way to explain, but he can't find words. He can't really say what it is exactly, whether it's the new-old self-confidence or the sass or his fucking leather jacket. But he knows one thing. "You're different. Good different."
To that Cas doesn't blush stupidly, nor thanks for the compliment. He just chuckles shortly and grabs a fry from the delivered plate. And Dean starts to think he could fall in love with that chuckle. He could fall in love with Cas's scruff, and hair messier than usually, and with that fucking jacket. He thinks he could fall in love with Cas all over again.
"Anyway, you're the Wild One now, huh?" he continues, trying to get the thought off his mind.
"I'm not any-" Cas trails off and huffs out a quiet laughter when he catches up. "I still don't understand your movie references."
And at that Dean starts to laugh and is flushed with the warm feeling on the inside because that's still his favorite nerdy angel, right here. It's still his Cas, too.
"Good. You will," he assures him with a silent threat of multiple movie marathons with a very unhealthy amount of popcorn and whiskey. "And we've found some really sweet, vintage motorcycles in the bunker. You're gonna love them."
"In the bunker," Cas echoes emotionlessly and Dean's face falls.
In the bunker Dean kicked him out of. In the bunker that's Dean's home, but not Cas's. In the bunker where another angel is welcomed more than Cas.
But Cas still doesn't know about the last part.
"You're not a liability," Dean shoots, finally, and hopes that it's enough.
But it's not and he wishes he could tell him all about Zeke. How much easier would everything be and how good it would be to have someone to talk to about him at last. But he can't, because Cas wouldn't understand. How could he?
"It's okay Dean, I could bring danger on you, I understand that." And Cas is so stupidly stoic about it again, like the last time when they were saying goodbyes. Even if his heart was breaking. And nothing about it was okay. "I'm fine on my own."
"No, Cas, it's-" Dean's voice almost cracks. "It's about Sam. You know if it was about me… But it's something that… Ezekiel… did."
"Is Sam alright?" Cas intrudes him with a note of concern, although the last time he saw Sam, he was perfectly fine.
"Yeah, he, he will be. Just give me time, alright?" He's almost pleading, because for all he knows, Cas can just get up and say goodbye, because with this new life, he doesn't need Dean anymore. And Dean could understand it if he did that, but it's not easy to let go. "I'll sort it all out, then I'll come back for you. Okay? I'll come back soon."
And when Cas nods his head, Dean breathes a sigh of relief.
"I hate doing this, I really do, believe me."
Cas is quiet and Dean can tell that he wants to ask, but he doesn't. He changes the topic, instead, like there's nothing more here to talk about. And Dean couldn't be more thankful for it, even if the atmosphere still feels strained somehow. But with what Dean did being so dumb and so bad, a full disclosure surely wouldn't fix it.
They finish their meals while recapping their last few weeks apart and discussing the angel situation, and all too soon Cas drops Dean off by the Impala.
"Are you sure you're good to drive?"
"What, you want to take me to your room?" Dean answers before he thinks about it and gets a tiny, dirty smile in response that makes him choke. "Nah, I'm fine, it's just a few hours drive, I'll be home by sunrise."
"Alright, then."
Cas is suddenly close to Dean, whose back is pressed against the car. The devilish smile still plays on the fallen angel's lips as they meet Dean's. Quick, straightforward press, deepened, with heat of Cas's breath and with scratching of his scruff on Dean's cheeks. Dean can barely control himself, with his body stiffened, trying to whisper "Cas" against his mouth, and failing with just the tiniest whimper escaping instead.
"The hell was that?" Dean demands to know when the kiss breaks, more shocked at the plot twist than anything else.
"Just trying out." His answer as casual as possible, but the shit-eating grin gives him away.
"You… you were trying me out?" Dean mumbles, still struggling to regain his composure.
"Yup."
"Idiot," Dean comments, and then curiosity wins. "You liked it?"
"I imagined better," Cas says and chuckles at Dean's reaction.
And that's when Dean thinks fuck it and kisses that stupid chuckle off his lips and shows him better. It's about honor after all. And about Cas. About the closeness and about finally. About for how long he's wanted to do it and about how many times he had to lose him before he could. And about how he wants Cas here and now and with him in the bunker and about how he doesn't want to let go anymore.
And then, it's about Cas's soft lips and the flick of his tongue against Dean's and Cas's fingers caressing his neck, and about Dean's palms against his fucking jacket he might have to lose later tonight. And about small noises and gasps, escaping Cas's occupied mouth.
"How about this?" Dean murmurs, barely breaking apart.
He feels Cas smile.
"Hmm, yeah, that's better," he keeps teasing, tugging at Dean's shirt. "What a shame you have to go."
"Well," Dean doesn't hesitate this time, "I think I might not make it home before sunrise."