Oh look I accidentally mini-destiel'd with a concept that most certainly isn't new. Also apparently I'm only capable of writing one-shots because I keep losing motivation for my continuous fics. But whatever. Have some little AU kids and some of the shortest but still the most adorable fluff you'll ever read.

The moment the front door shut and he heard the lock click, Dean took off, running up the stairs and making loud stomps on the wood floors with every step. He was already grinning wildly before he made it to his bedroom and ran over to his open window. Leaning over the ledge a bit, he took his slingshot and a pebble from the jar next to it, and then fired it at the window right across from his.

The window of the other house was opened within several seconds to reveal a boy about Dean's size with black hair that was spiked weirdly on one side, as though his parents had tried to make him clean-cut and proper but he'd wanted to add a little individuality to it.

"Dean?"

"Hey Cas!—My dad just left to go on a hunting trip with his friends. And Sam is having a playdate with Jo—you wanna come over?" He tried to push himself up further on his tip-toes so he didn't have to hold himself completely by his arms, and smiled hopefully at his friend. It had been a couple weeks since they last hung out, since Cas's parents had sent him to a stupid Bible Camp thing.

At first the boy's face was as calm as ever, and then it broke into a smile like Dean's. "Sure, I'll be over in a minute!"

With that, they both rushed downstairs, and Dean waited a minute by the door while Cas, he knew, was probably trying to sneak past his older brothers, who didn't like him being around the Winchesters. Soon enough, there was a knock on the door, and Dean laughed as he opened it, saying, "You don't have to knock, Cas. I told ya that this is pretty much your house too."

Cas didn't say anything, but just smiled. His Christian upbringing just made him feel the need to be polite, even when it wasn't necessary.

He was wearing one of those church shirts with a Bible verse on it, which was pretty much the only sort of clothes he had besides formal stuff for Sundays. Dean knew he didn't really like it all that much, and he made a mental note to save up his money to buy Cas some normal clothes. He would have given him some of his own shirts, but the Winchesters weren't exactly wealthy enough to have a huge wardrobe—ergo, his dad would notice if anything was gone.

Any normal little boy with a friend over would have asked "What do you wanna do?" or something along those lines, but Dean really just wanted to talk to him, so he didn't hesitate to sit on the couch and pat the seat next to him, without even turning on the TV.

"So how was that Christian place?" he asked, sounding a little more put-off than he meant to. Cas didn't seem to take it personally.

"They wanted us to write letters about why we love God," Cas sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest like he—as well as many other eight year-olds—often did. He made an annoyed face, as if looking indignantly back at the camp counselors. "I mean, I do, but it's just weird. I don't want to write about it…."

It became a day like many of their others—Cas complaining and Dean listening and then vice versa, and then just any other conversation they could think of until they finally turned on the TV and then talked some more. Dean would have liked to go to the park or something on any other day, but it was nice to just hang out and talk.

Sometime later, there was an old movie on the TV and neither of them were really watching it—partly because they didn't understand it, but also because Cas was too busy being intrigued by Dean's freckles. He'd never met anyone with so many freckles on their face that some seemed to have fused together. Sitting what would have been too close for comfort if either of them had developed senses of personal space yet, Cas squinted his eyes and looked intently at Dean's face, who found it extremely amusing.

"It would be impossible just to count all these," he noticed in a sort of awe, poking at Dean's cheek. The latter let out a giggle, and at that, he immediately took to trying to poke at every single freckle, marking each one with a boop. "Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop."

Just the fact that his friend could do that with a completely straight face made him laugh out loud like he was being tickled. Which he kind of was. After a minute, he grabbed Cas's wrist to push it away and they both flopped on the couch and giggled as was fit for two eight year-olds.

"You know," Cas started when they seemed to be done, "my mom told me that freckles are angel kisses. When they watch over you, they give you lots of kisses, so I guess angels must really like you."

Dean's expression became almost sad for a moment, but then he smiled fondly and said, practically in a whisper as though it was a secret, "Before she died, my mom always told me that angels were watching over me…. So you're probably right."

Cas grinned and held it for another couple seconds while he raised his hand inconspicuously and then poked Dean in the freckly part of his nose one more time with a final, monotone "Boop."

Before his friend really had a chance to smile at that, though, Cas darted forward and smacked a quick kiss to the bridge of his nose, where the biggest cluster of freckles was. Dean's instinct was to shut his eyes tight like one would when they were getting attacked, fall back, and laugh endearingly.

Angel kisses, of course.

Considering the influence of both of their parents, not to mention that they were teenage boys in high school, discussing feelings wasn't one of the easiest things to do. Or at least it shouldn't have been. But Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak had never been normal boys, and they had almost always been best friends. So it wasn't as difficult and awkward as it could have been.

The fact that it was the Winchesters' back porch and nighttime made it more comfortable, they both supposed. It was as though there were no consequences out here—if something went wrong, they could just escape into the quietness of the night. That was how it felt.

"Well, I mean… we kissed before," Cas recalled, shifting so that he was facing Dean somewhat but still leaning onto the wooden railing. There was a hopeful glint in his eye as he looked to his friend. "Sort of."

For a moment, Dean began to frown in confusion, but then he remembered. He remembered that whole day. "Yeah, but—well, we were young, man!" he said, not so much trying to argue as he was just weakly justifying it, complete with small hand gestures. "We didn't know better, we—we didn't know what it implied—"

"Just because we didn't know doesn't mean it wasn't still implied," Castiel said calmly, looking at him with that way he had, like his amazingly blue eyes were reading into his soul, silently searching, imploring. Dean looked back, hiding his staggering breath until he felt two hands on either side of his jaw. That was when he stopped breathing altogether and had nothing to hide anymore.

He dropped all his inhibitions at once and was ready to give himself up and let himself have what he wanted: Dean closed his eyes and almost involuntarily leaned his head in, letting all his muscles relax, and completely expecting to be kissed on the mouth.

Which was why he was slightly surprised when he felt lips at the bridge of his nose instead, and then on his cheek, and then another and another. At once, Dean realized what was happening and decided he liked this just as well. Every small kiss that Cas planted on his face was where a freckle was, and each of them sent a bit more warmth blossoming to his chest.

It wasn't until the content smile on Dean's lips seemed to be permanent that Cas felt he had kissed every freckle and saw fit to finally move down and finally take that happy mouth with his own.

I completely neglected doing tonight's homework for this one-shot, just so you know. But either way, I'd like reviews so I know what you guys thought of it, since, you know. That's the point of the review system.