I know, its been forever, but here's a thing.
Enjoy~!
Maybe it's the funny way he dances to AC/DC when he thinks he's alone, leaving the bathroom door open because he 'knows' he's the only one home, so that when Castiel comes up the stairs to find whatever it is that he's looking for, he sees Dean go sliding across the bathroom floor with a towel wrapped half-hazardly around his waist, singing like there is no tomorrow and doing a horrible rendition of the Cha Cha Slide.
Maybe it's because he cares more about a piece of metal than the house, and insists over and over again to his friends who just laugh and tease him that it isn't like that, but they let the subject drop, and Dean shakes his head and takes another sip of beer. But Castiel and Sam understand. That car means so much more than a means of transportation. It's memories of the boys' father, gruff and callous, but still that familiar link with home, and driving too fast down scorching black tops with the windows rolled down while the engine's purrs and snarls are the only sound present.
Maybe it's how dinner disappears faster than it can be put on the table, and as much as he tries instilling some semblance of manners in the country boy from Kansas, all Castiel receives is a mumbled, open mouthed apology, that sends mashed potatoes flying down the table, and all Dean gets is a slightly frustrated, but a fond sigh and shake of the head in return.
Maybe it's a million other things, but all he's sure of is that one name will march around his head and heart for the rest of his existence and he doesn't particularly care. Castiel doesn't know the rhyme or reason for why love happens, but it does, and it had gripped him tight and wouldn't let go.
It showed in the way he gently curled fingers in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck, chin propped up on a steady shoulder, and slowly swayed back and forth to a song that wasn't actually meant for slow dancing but it was all they had, so it worked.
It looked like clear autumn afternoons, raking leaves and placing pumpkins, until a set of arms wrestled Castiel into the nice pile of leaves he'd made, scattering them everywhere and generally causing a raucous that drew the disapproving attention of their nosy neighbor.
It's the way Dean looks in the mornings with his hair all mussed from sleep, drool coming out of his mouth, and Castiel can't help but smile at the soft snoring before burrowing further under their sun warmed quilt.
It's how Dean swings his niece and nephew up into the air amidst a chorus of excited toddler laughter, and then gently tucks them both in at night when he and Cas are babysitting for Sam and Sarah. Tiny Benjamin and Jennifer, who can't even comprehend the pronunciation of 'Castiel' and simply call him 'Unc'a Cassy' or to his extreme horror, 'Cassy Wassy', love their Uncle Dean more than anything, but yet, still refuse to refer to him as 'Deany Weeny'.
And it warms Castiel's heart more than anything when Dean turns to him during a game of hide and go seek, where you can clearly hear Ben's muffled giggling behind a curtain, and mouths 'I want some.'
Castiel knows it's the way Dean stares down at the bundle in his arms, with equal looks of awe and nerves, and whispers, "Hey, baby." They leave with their daughter that day, both slightly giddy and stupid, and keep glancing back in the Impala to check and see if she's still there. She is, and then promptly vomits on Dean once they get home, but he just laughs it off, complaining about how much he hated that shirt anyways, and Castiel adds that to his list.
It's in the way Charlotte runs past on her birthday, clad in a pink tutu and a miniature version of her daddy's favorite AC/DC shirt, chattering senselessly to her cousins and big Uncle Moose while Dean flips hamburgers and hums under his breath to the little kid CD mix Sarah put together.
It's Dean's eyes that crinkle when he smiles, his great booming laugh, the one where he tips his head back and practically shakes with mirth, how he scoops Charlie up when he comes home from work and spins her around before leaning past her blonde curls to give Castiel a kiss.
It's everything that goes on the list Castiel began compiling years ago when he pulled a slightly startled man out of the way of oncoming traffic, and instantly fell in love. It's everything he knows about Dean Winchester, which correlates quite nicely with the things he loves about Dean Winchester.
Similarly, Dean has his own list and shares it with Castiel on nights they lay curled up on the couch, a blonde cherub snuggled in-between them, and their angsty cat Crowley flicking at their ears.
Except,
Instead of rowdy singing and car worship, instead of one brother, instead of poor manners and a tendency to be too loud, Dean knows of soft piano music, flitting through their house in the early evenings of December, exclusively carols at this time of year, and stops whatever he's doing so he can listen in.
He knows how much Castiel believes in walking to wherever he's going, and how he drags anyone standing nearby with him as he traipses about town, clutching reusable grocery bags and Charlie, the strap of his laptop bag slung carelessly over one shoulder and sometimes his giggling daughter over the other.
He unfortunately knows every one of Castiel's brothers and sisters, for the Milton family is quite extensive and erratic, and has spent too much time hiding from Michael's religious zeal, Gabriel's pranks which are far less malicious than Luke's, call me 'Lucifer', Raphael's piss poor sense of humor, and Anna that one awkward time she came onto him at her Birthday party.
He also knows that being a Milton meant fancy black tie dinners, and more than one fork, and ballroom dancing, and every child playing an instrument, that was than culminated in a Christmas Orchestra performance, a mandatory concert that they still put on to this day despite the fact that they were all happily married, or living up the bachelor life in the case of Luke and his cousin Balthazar.
He knows that if he disturbs Castiel when he's reading, there will be hell to be paid, but he doesn't really mind, cause in those quite afternoons Cas curls up on the window bench, a ratty copy of 'Tale of Two Cities' in hand, and with sunlight streaming over his bent head, he looks downright angelic.
Dean knows all these things, and loves all these things, even the Katy Perry turned classical that sometimes wrenches from their poor piano, or the fact that his feet hurt every Saturday because Castiel has taken them to the local farmer's market. He even loves the Miltons, despite the horror of waking up to Gabriel and Luke busting into their room in speedos screaming Teenage Dream, clearly the love of Katy Perry is a genetic thing, and the multiple forks at dinner, and the stupid tux he's forced to wear once a year.
He really doesn't mind the ballroom dancing, even though he is awful at it, or the quite time imposed every afternoon while Charlie naps, because then he can watch Cas and work on his list, which grows day by day along with Cas'.