This will be my One-Shot dump. I'd rather never spam up my profile.

It will be mostly Destiel centered.

I do not own Supernatural. It belongs to Erik Kripke.

Shoes

Post – Season 8

Castiel had originally feared his new human existence. His final fall from Grace left him alone with a metric ton of new sensations and a bombardment of emotion. As a member of the Great Host, sentiment was mutual and universal. He was never as an individual; not truly. An angel was merely a facet of his Father's will. He had a job and his own talents. But his thoughts were never his alone and his love was for God alone. He was not even a 'he.' Waking to a silent and solitary conscience was, at first, harrowing.

Yet it was an easier transition than Castiel imagined. Once he found Dean Winchester, the pieces of his twisted existence fell into place and routines set in. He learned to love the silence of the morning sunrise. It gave him time to find out about who he was as a person. He soon became obsessed with smells and tastes, (something Dean found quite endearing,) teaching himself to cook. As for Castiel's love, it became clear to everyone in the 'BatCave' that this particular gift belonged to one Dean Winchester. Of course, it was only obvious to everyone but Dean.

In all of this wonderful new set of experience, there was one thing Castiel hated more than anything: shoes.

"Cas!" A barking voiced interrupted Castiel's train of thought. What was he thinking about again?

"Hey!" The voice called out a second time as it's owner appeared in the morning light. Dean stalked outside, glaring daggers. In his hands, he held a pair of work boots. "Get your ass over here!"

Cas rolled his eyes as he turned to obey, striding silently to the hunter. "Hello, Dean." He tried to force a nonchalant tone, because he admittedly enjoyed annoying Dean. But he felt his lip twitch slightly and hoped the taller man took no notice. "May I help you?" He asked.

"Put 'em on." Those green eyes were fixed in an intense stare. He thrust the footwear into Cas' hands. Crossing his arms, he continued his intensity shield, desperate not to get sucked into Castiel's games. "Now."

The graceless angel looked down at the boot and sighed. He hated shoes. "But, Dean-"

"No, Cas!" It was short and final.

Narrowing his eyes at the hunter, Castiel sat in the morning dew, enjoying the indignant huff from Dean. He thrust his sock-less feet into each boot, smirking as the curve of them went outward. He smiled and leaned back, showing his work.

"Cas. You are not two. You know your left and right." The tone sounded lighter than before as Dean began to crack. He never could escape the game.

Cas huffed audibly, receiving a grunt from the other man. He switched the shoes and gestured to his feet. "I have shoes on. Are you happy?" He asked, trying to sound annoyed.

"Tie 'em."

"I can't remember how."

"Liar." Despite himself, the elder Winchester kneeled and began to tie the laces, shaking his head. "Ya know, I have work to do. I can't be chasin' you with boots five times a day. You could at least make sure to, ya know, not slice your foot on broken glass."

"Dean, do you not watch where you walk?" His head tilted slightly, acting confused.

"Don't be a smart-ass." He finished both knots and stood.

Castiel looked down and frowned. "They make my feet sweat." He complained.

Dean sighed. "Well, if you put 'em on inside, you'd have socks."

He scowled and shook his head. "They barely help." He sighed heavily and looked down at his feet, smirking. "Can you bring my other shoes instead?" Bait.

Dean held out his hand, leaning towards Cas. The sunlight was skimming the treeline as dawn became day and the beams hit the hunter, illuminating him. The angel held his breath as he soaking in the freckled face and bright green eyes that reminded Castiel of a deep forest. He felt the heat pulling to the surface of the skin on his face and he remembered that it meant that he was blushing. As he had this embarrassing thought, he felt the heat intensify as he was pulled to his now leather-clad feet. Dean's nose fell mere inches from his own as he felt his equilibrium settle.

"Get 'em yourself."

.

Later, Dean passed the entrance of the bunker and stopped. Looking down, he noticed the still wet foot prints on the ground, heading into the BatCave. He opened the door and looked outside and there, on the grass, were the boots. "CAS!"

...

Sorry guys. I'm tired. And let's say drunk.