Today's color:

Olive
Ol·ive (ˈäləv/)
adj.
grayish-green, like an unripe olive.

I was inspired by Dean's olive jacket. (One of these days I'm going to post one of these fics on time and have a little party lol)

This chapter is rated K+ for some language.

Enjoy.

In the time Dean has known Cas, he was used to the guy doing some weird shit. But this—Cas standing in the foyer, staring at their coats—probably takes the cake. He has a feeling Cas has been standing there since they got home, an hour ago.

He clears his throat and feels a little bad when Cas startles, looking at him with surprise-wide eyes.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel smiles, body feeling light and warm as it usually does in Dean's presence. "Hello, Dean."

Thankfully Dean doesn't ask why he's been standing in the foyer, lost in thought and looking at their coats. He doesn't think he'd have a satisfactory answer. Dean's fist bumping his shoulder breaks him from his renewed reverie.

"Hungry?" Dean asks, figuring he'll let the weird moment go. If Cas wants to talk about later, at least they can do it on full bellies.

Castiel nods slowly, surprised to realize he is indeed hungry. Dean pats his shoulder again and tells him to wander into the kitchen in 20 minutes.

He nods absently, gaze already sliding back to the coats. It's strange that olive hanging next to tan would affect him like this. But it's the symbolism that's making him warm with affection, feeling awed and humbled.

He knows Dean thinks nothing of placing his jacket on the peg, a habit he started when he was 'nesting' and enjoying having a steady roof over his head. A home for himself and Sam, somewhere safe he didn't hesitate opening to Castiel.

He steps closer, fingers lightly brushing olive canvas. It's surprisingly soft. Sturdy and still in wearable condition, but soft with age and numerous washings. His gaze flicks to his own trenchcoat, just as worn and soft. It had felt odd to take it off the first time and he remembers the bright eyed look of surprise Dean gave him when he hung it up. The way Dean stared at the garments hanging from hooks for a long moment, eyes suspiciously bright. The slow smile that grew on Dean's face.

He still cherishes that smile. The brightness that made Dean's eyes practically light up, the corners crinkled. Sam had looked just as pleasantly surprised, clapping him on the shoulder as he left the room. He'd barely noticed, too caught up in looking at Dean (and is a common occurrence, he knows 'getting a beer' is Sam's way of politely excusing himself from their 'moments).

It had taken him a little while to realize why the Winchesters reacted that way. He'd then felt bad, like an unworthy and unreliable friend. Of course, Dean noticed his silence and cornered him while he was washing the dishes.

It'd been difficult to look at Dean and admit his failings, but he did it because he'd promised himself he'd be open with Dean. Even if it made his face burn with embarrassment, his belly feel tight and unsettled with shame.

Dean had been quiet for a long moment, eyes on the dishtowel in his hand. He didn't expect Dean's hand to slide up his arm, cupping the back of his neck warmly. He dropped the fork he was washing to look at Dean, so many questions on the tip of his tongue. But he'd been rendered speechless by the intimate touch and feared he'd ruin the moment and Dean would drop his hand.

"Cas, we've all fucked up now and then. And yeah, maybe I wish you'd've stuck around a little more but it's not like I ever asked," Dean said softly, gaze on the way his thumb was lightly stroking Cas' neck.

He sighed, stepping closer. "I never knew how to ask," he admitted. Cas always had somewhere to be, something to do, he'd always felt like an idiot for wanting him to stay. Most times it was just because there was a movie marathon on or a fresh 6 pack cooling in the fridge that he didn't want to drink alone.

Castiel stared, lost for words. He hadn't thought of that... That as many times as he'd wanted to stay, Dean had wanted it too.

Dean pressed closer, gaze dropping to Cas' parted mouth for a long moment before meeting Cas' eyes.

"Just so you know, I always want you to stay."

Castiel made a soft sound and still isn't sure who moved first. He just remembers that first kiss. It was awkward until he shook off the surprise and turned into Dean, pressing closer and kissing with purpose. His hands fluttered uselessly for a moment until he rested a tentative hand on Dean's hip.

The sound that came from Dean had him pressing closer, confidence soaring even higher when Dean's hands cupped his face and he deepened the kiss, licking into Dean's mouth. The low moan Dean made as their bodies pressed closer had him feeling dizzy, sliding a hand down Dean's body on an instinct he didn't know he had.

He still wonders what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted.

Thankfully, that wasn't the last kiss and he tries not to initiate anything if Sam is home. It's just better for everyone that way. (He doesn't think there's actually a way to bleach your brain but he'd like to avoid Sam feeling the need to do so, even if Dean finds it endlessly amusing.)

Dean's hand on his shoulders finally has him breaking the staring contest with Dean's jacket. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at Dean, turning to wrap his arms around him and rest his forehead on Dean's.

He can feel Dean chuckle but Dean doesn't ask him about his strange mood. Just nuzzles his nose with his own and places a soft kiss on his mouth, standing there with him in the quiet moment.

It's just as well; he doesn't think he could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense (and doesn't make Dean think his cheese has slid off his cracker). Dean breaks the moment with another kiss and a pat to his back.

"C'mon, dinner's ready. It's your turn to set the table."

Castiel nods and follows Dean.