Author Note: I actually wrote this story like...six months ago? And then completely forgot about editing it? (Whoops.) Anyways, it's set in the middle of Season 10, and I basically just wanted to write some cute DeanCas to combat all that angsty Mark of Cain stuff that was going on. Hope you like it xx

I miss you.

He hadn't meant for it to happen, but somewhere in the hazy realm between being awake and asleep the words had made themselves to the forefront of his mind. And Cas had heard them.

Shit.

Dean opened his eyes, stared up at the inky darkness of the ceiling.

"Shit," he said aloud, throwing back the covers and sitting up in bed. He glanced first at his alarm clock (3:48AM. Great.) and then at his phone. Could a prayer be undone?

He knew it was impossible even as he thought it. Those things were basically direct transmissions to Angels; they were like emails that way. Dean had always hated emails.

He buried his face in his hands, letting out a groan. He'd tried so hard to be okay with the fact that Cas was away more often than not lately; the phone calls had been kept to a minimum, and on the rare occasions that Cas was at the Bunker, Dean had been the picture of nonchalance. Anything to avoid coming off as needy.

And now he'd blown it all. Cas would know.

His phone remained dark and silent on the bedside table, and a flicker of hope unfurled in Dean's chest. Maybe he hadn't thought the words directly at Cas. Maybe it hadn't actually–

As if on cue, the phone buzzed, its screen lighting up and illuminating the room: Castiel calling.

He stared at it for a few seconds before heaving a sigh and picking up.

"Dean," Cas' voice crackled across the line. "Why aren't you asleep?"

A laugh escaped his mouth, short and surprised. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I was," Cas said, "until…"

"Right," Dean said. "Cas, I wasn't…" He paused, started over. "It was an accident. I didn't mean–"

"It's alright, Dean," Cas said quietly. "The emotions you're experiencing are perfectly normal."

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes, his cheeks hot. Cas understood. Of course he did. That didn't do anything to lessen how utterly stupid he felt. What he'd just done was the equivalent of giving your diary to the person you wanted least to read it.

He took in a slow breath, let the silence stretch taut between them before saying, "Where are you right now?"

There was some shuffling on Cas' end of the line. The jangle of keys, the sound of things being picked up and moved around, before he found what he was looking for.

"Budget Inn," he recited flatly, "Gladstone, Oregon."

Oregon. Five states and thousands of miles away. He'd driven across the country and back too many times to count, but in that moment the distance between them seemed insurmountable.

"How's the search going?" he asked, if only to keep from dwelling on these thoughts.

"It's been…difficult," Cas admitted. "Many of the Angels do not want to be found."

"I'll bet," Dean said. "Those poor buggers have been on Heaven's leash for – what, forever? Once they got let loose in the dog park there's no way they'd want to go back."

"They'd be returning to an entirely different regime: Hannah is the best leader we've ever had," Cas said. "But you're right, humanity does have its temptations." His voice pitched low on the last word, sending a thrill up Dean's spine.

He remembered a hand pressed firmly to his mouth, the wall of the Green Room cool against his back as fiery blue eyes met his. He remembered how Cas had forsaken fate, and Heaven, and his father's great plan in a simple sentence: 'We're making it up as we go'. And maybe that had been the beginning of it all. He couldn't recall the when and the why of falling, only that Cas had met him halfway.

"I hate this," he blurted out, and immediately regretted the words. Cas had more important things to think about: there were rogue Angels, there was a mission. He didn't have time to cater to Dean and his petty human insecurities. And yet…and yet… "I just really fucking wish you were here right now," he said, so quietly he wasn't sure Cas had heard.

There was a long pause, and then: "I could be."

"What? Wait, I–" Dean broke off with a wince as static filled his ear. He was about to call back when the air in the room shifted.

"Hello, Dean." The all-too-familiar greeting. Only Cas wasn't in Oregon anymore. He was here, in the Bunker.

Dean stared at him, barely able to make him out in the dark. His hair was rumpled, his trench coat hanging off one shoulder. As if he'd just come in from a storm.

"You shouldn't have," he said, even as he breathed a sigh of relief, even as his hands ached to touch Cas, to hold him. He kept them firmly by his sides. "You're still running on borrowed grace. You shouldn't have."

Cas lifted a shoulder and dropped it again in a remarkably human gesture. "This was worth it."

Dean let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, shaking his head. "Being an Angel has its perks, huh?"

"It would seem so," Cas inclined his head, looking at Dean expectantly.

"Well…" Dean stared down at his hands, running a thumb over the callouses on his palm. "I guess, since you're here…"

"Dean," Cas huffed, the way he had taken to doing when the hunter was being ridiculous. He made his way around the side of the bed, shedding his trench coat and suit jacket as he went. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Dean finally lay back down. He turned to face Cas, allowed himself to be drawn closer.

"I miss you, too," Cas' breath ghosted across his lips.

Dean's hand came up to cup Cas' jaw, his fingers grazing across the stubble there. This was the thing he could never ask for: the two of them simply lying together, taking comfort in each other's presence. "Still don't understand how you can sleep in those clothes," he said gruffly.

He felt Cas' mouth curve upwards against his own. "Call it Angelic discipline. Besides, I rarely need to sleep. Tonight was the first time in weeks."

"Hmph," was all Dean said.

The silence settled around them, falling in with the ebb and flow of their breathing. Dean could feel sleep pressing in from all sides, warm and inviting. But he fought it back, wanting to savour every moment. He couldn't count the number of times he'd dozed off with Cas and woken up alone, the sheets beside him rumpled but bare.

Seconds turned into minutes, and staying awake became a struggle to keep his head above water. He was flailing, sinking. Until finally he said what he'd been trying not to.

"Will you stay?"

It didn't seem so scary, whispered in the dark.

Cas' mouth moved to Dean's cheek, to his temple, placing a brief kiss there. "Of course."

And with that, the last of Dean's worry melted away. Cas was here, at least for a little while, and that was all that mattered.

He was halfway to sleep when the Angel murmured something, so quietly that he wasn't even sure he'd heard it properly. It was a jumble of letters that sounded like I love you, but Dean was too far gone to make any sense of it.

When he woke up the next morning, Cas told him again.

This time, Dean knew exactly what it meant. And he said it back.