Dean hadn't gotten much time to prepare the room. Cas was coming, he was gonna be here today. What Dean had done to restore the chamber had to be enough. It had felt like forever since the brief goodbye kiss at the station. The weak glow of an early morning sun peeking through the clouds, the hot air blowing at their faces from the couch trunk, a wave of hand from behind the glass. It had had to be enough for the long, upcoming months. Hardly the longest they'd ever been apart, and yet it had felt so, so different. But now the time was up and Cas would be home soon.
Cleaning, dusting and completing the shopping list had been quite therapeutic in those fucked up days. He would just change his room for Cas's and for the car when he'd driven for miles to the Home Depot for a new mattress. Memory foam, just like his. Walking around the busy aisles in stores, stuffing his cart with clothes and other basics, just so Cas wouldn't lack anything when he got here, it had always been better than maneuvering the bunker careful not to cross paths with angry Sam.
Sammy had the right to sulk, God knew Dean would be pissed too if someone had pulled a dubious consent possession on his ass. But as long as Sam had remained alive, he could be angry all he wanted. Dean could stand this one, well-deserved strain on the atmosphere. His good mood couldn't be ruined.
Today, Cas was coming home.
And his room was practically ready. It looked a lot like Dean's. The same old furniture, the same new mattress. Only the sheets were nicer than his, blue, of course, to match Cas's eyes. The brick walls were left for Cas to decorate with whatever he'd see fit, half the drawers were stocked with the stuff Dean had bought for him, the rest would wait for Cas to fill up. There was only one thing that was still missing, Cas.
Quick steps echoed, somewhere deep in the bunker, as Dean was finishing doing up the buttons of the pillowcase. He toned out the sound and set the pillow at the head of the mattress. He had bought two of those: a big, puffy one and one that looked more like a pancake, rather than something that might provide any sort of comfort. Who knew how Cas would prefer to sleep, Cas was just weird enough to develop the liking for the world's flattest pillow.
Dean passed a hand over the sheets to smooth a crease and stepped back to inspect his work. The watch on his phone screen told him he still had almost half an hour left until he had to go, but he could leave now as well and grab some snack on the way to welcome Cas with. Unless– One last glance around the room, at the empty spot of the nightstand. Dean slammed his palm on his forehead. He had made too big a deal of the thing to forget about it.
He took a short trip to his own bedroom. It was only across the corridor, door to door. The localization had gotten only partially something to do with his choice. In his bag, still dumped on his bed and mostly unpacked, he found what he was looking for right away, a small, flat box. From his nightstand he grabbed an envelope and returned to Cas's room.
It had taken him three tries for the photospot's doorknob before he had entered and a near runaway attempt when the picture had been being printed. The photograph itself could have hardly been called compromising, snapped God knew how long ago during one of few peaceful moments they had, sharing a beer at Bobby's and sitting in companionable silence. It had been just him and Cas, sitting on a couch, Cas, as always, leaning too close into his personal space. Sam must have snapped it when Dean wasn't looking.
Dean unpacked the plastic frame and put the picture inside it. It was incredibly sappy of Dean, and kind of pushy too. But knowing Cas, there was an off-chance he would appreciate it. And if he didn't, he could always throw the pic away, save the frame for something better, Dean decided, setting it on the nightstand underneath the lamp, where it still stands.
The glass of the frame is a little more dusty now, just like everything else in the room. Except for the bed. Cas, with his presence, undusted the naked bed just fine.
"You don't have to go with me if you don't wanna," Dean offers, standing on the doorstep, hands pushed deep into his pocket.
He regrets the words before he even says them. He's not sure what reaction he's expecting. Because Cas could just say "go without me," and he'd stay to keep on with his shady business. And Dean would go and hope Cas would still be there when he comes back. What else could he do?
Cas doesn't even seem to have noticed Dean's presence, with his nose stuffed into the yellowed pages of a book, one off the pile of books stocked next to his knee.
"Give me a minute," Cas mutters, at last. He furrows his brow, mutters something to himself and feels for the corner of the page. With a swift move, he dog-ears a page in an ancient book before Dean can react.
"Dude!" Dean throws his hand forward like it could stop him when he's so far and it's already too late. At least it finally earns him a glance. The mutilated book slumps sadly into Cas's lap. Dean mitigates himself quickly, crosses his arms and tries to play it cool. "Sam would kill you if he saw you do that."
Cas casts his eyes down in shame and inspect his work. Something he didn't have decency to do yesterday afternoon when he still smiled and chatted and been with Dean more than he'd been for days. Even at night, he came to bed before Dean fell asleep, slipped into the bed, pressed his body along Dean's spine. Drifting away surrounded by Cas's warmth, Dean even let himself forget. Foolish, but he still let himself believe it's okay. That maybe he'd made it all up, he'd written a whole fucking tragedy for nothing.
"You're right," Cas mutters, closing the book and setting it on the nightstand, back cover up. "I'm sorry about that. I'll need that page," he adds for an excuse.
"Use post-its," Dean says, toeing the carpet. "At least you didn't go all ripping it out."
Cas shoots wide eyes at him. "That would be uncivilised."
Dean rolls his eyes but doesn't hold back a brief huff of laughter. How come it still feels so easy? To be around each other, to talk, when he knows Cas is hiding something, and it doesn't even show on his face or in his movements. There is no tension in the line of his shoulders, his eyes don't try to escape Dean's. But it's not that simple with Cas, it never was. They guy who could go for months lying, betraying, using.
"Dean, is something wrong?"
Cas is staring at him, head cocked to the side.
Dean forces his jaw to loosen, though he didn't even know he clenched it until it started to hurt. "Is there?" he want's to ask, he wants to push him, until he confesses what he's up to. But he doesn't. There's two hours of driving ahead, he doesn't want to waste it on Cas's excuses. He won't run a risk of fucking up the road trip when it might as well be their last one.
"All's fine," he ensures him, mustering a smirk.
Cas doesn't seem to bite it but he's gonna have to. It's not Dean who's supposed to be explaining himself. And isn't it hypocritical of Cas to even ask that, when he's the one whose conspiracy is making Dean not fine?
"Okay," Cas says, finally, scooping the rest of books off his bed and hiding them in the nightstand. "Give me five minutes to change," he adds, but he doesn't move from his bed.
He can't leave the room, he can't cross the corridor to get the clothes from their wardrobe. He needs Dean gone first, so he can lock the room.
Dean sighs and backs off to the corridor. "I'll be waiting in the car."
It's been awhile since the last time they ran Baby for a long distance. She's been mostly sitting locked up in the garage these days. It's hard to find a reason to jump behind the wheel in a quarter of square mile town. On the upside, they saved on the fuel, but both Dean and her sure miss their races through the interstates and country roads. If there's anything he misses from his hunting life, besides the saving people part, it's this: just him, the car and the road ahead.
And Cas, of course. Always in the passenger seat, a successor worthy of taking over Sam's spot. He fits there just right, he always has. His face, turned away now, towards the sun. His eyes are closed as he bathes in the warm rays, locks of his hair whirl around in the wind seeping in through the crack.
"It's so nice and warm," he says, pressing the tips of his fingers to the top of the glass.
"Yeah, you can almost feel summer, can't ya," Dean replies, amused.
So they're talking about weather now? Well, it's safe at least, isn't it? Dean won't go into any of the touchy subjects, or pry. Cas won't accidently spill the beans.
"Do you think the guys might have something already?"
"Guys?" Dean glances to Cas confused.
"In Burr Oak," he clarifies, his eyes dart to Dean. "I think we should call Dirk once Sam leaves."
"Oh," is all Dean can say.
He's frankly more than a little surprised, not because he didn't plan to call Dirk soonish – construction work is something they both rather enjoyed last summer and practically the only one they can count on with their current address, and the boss promised to keep spots for them once they get the thing at full speed.
It's Cas talking about the future plans, their plans together. About driving together among the fields at dawn, when Cas tries to catch a little bit more of sleep on their way to Kensington or Red Cloud or Beloit. About handing each other the planks and bandaging each other's injuries, about sipping cold beer in the afternoons and applying cream to each other's burnt shoulders.
But Cas reads Dean's silence all wrong.
"Of course, you still want to–"
"No!" Dean cuts him off. "I mean, yes, I still wanna move out," he corrects. "But while we're here, we should definitely call him."
Cas nods, but his lips press into a thin line. His eyes shift back to the green landscape. Here comes the sulking. Cas turns into an offended child whenever Dean dares to so much as mention the m word.
"You think Reggie's got enough money to enroll this fall?" Dean prompts to change the topic.
It works, Cas's face light up a little.
"She did," he informs him. Apparently, they've kept in touch since last fall. "She's still might be coming, though."
"Good. It's great to have her in the crew," Dean says. "The kid worked so hard she put us both to shame."
Cas's chuckle drowns in the roar of the engine. "I think she put the whole crew to shame. Stan with all his two-fifty pounds of muscle kept saying how he'd never seen a kid carrying the heavy stuff hardly breaking a sweat."
The corner of Dean's lips raises as he nods, but he doesn't have much more to say on the matter. It looks like their summer plans are set. He doesn't so much mind the work. He's looking forward to it, actually, to putting his hand to some honest work and physical effort. A man was not made to sit on his ass all day, Netflix or not.
It's the musty smell of dust that he minds, lingering in the air no matter how much he cleans. It's the yellow glow of electric light that crawls on his skin and sometimes feels to have painted it orange and pale. It's the silence of the open spaces and high ceilings, thick walls that won't let a chirp of a bird nor a buzz of a machine in. It has even gotten worse in the last few days, when neither Cas's steps nor voice nor breath was there to keep it disturbed. The guy's recent weirdness hasn't been helping his anti-moving out cause.
Dean's foot falls heavy on the gas pedal as they roll onto the straight section of the road. He leans back comfortably into the seat, rolls down the window, sets his elbow on its biting edge, his fingers hold onto the roof to put resistance against the wind. The air that seeps into the car brushes his hair with its cold fingers. The longish strays tickle his forehead. He's still to get used to that.
The road is wide and surprisingly empty. The heavy hum of a lone car passes by them every now and then from the opposite direction. There's nothing but fields and a straight ride for twenty miles, it's always the same in Kansas whichever way you go.
It's the same as that day he drove to Hastings to get Cas back. Only the weather was chiller and his windows rolled up. Led Zeppelin played almost all the way there and his stomach curled tighter with each mile. Be it from the excitement or the anxiety. Or both.
Now it's the steady rhythm of Creedence that enters the atmosphere. Dean turns to Cas's fingers tapping it out on his knee.
He raises an eyebrow at the guy. "Not the boy band?"
"I like this song," Cas answers quickly, not taking his eyes of the endless fields rushing by outside. "Beside, you told me to dismantle the iPod jack, can't have Sam see it, right?" he adds, voice amused.
"I wouldn't hear the end of it."
"I'm sure Sam grew out of such childish ways."
"Dude, it's Sam. And he's got three months of that to catch up."
He might be painting his words with annoyance, but the truth is, he can't wait to see his little brother's stupid face and hear his teasing on every turn. But Sam usually has enough reasons for that, he doesn't need to witness Dean tolerating Cas blasting his music in the car, nor hear Dean humming along to Fireproof.
The sun climbs its way to its peak in the sky as they near the town. Its rays no longer reach Cas's face, hidden in the shadow. His head, rested in his palm threatens to loll forward if in his daydream his eyelids tumble down. But he's not falling asleep yet, not with his knee bouncing up and down to the beat.
Still, he's mostly quiet the rest of the way, throws in a topic from time to time, but when their chatter stops, each time, Cas turns back to the horizon, sinks in his thoughts. Absent as if he's not even there. As if Dean's only now going to get him, collect into his arms from the couch that'll roll into the parking lot. Groggy and exhausted from nearly two days in a tight seat and zero leg room, he strolled off the stairs from the heated inside right into the cold air of the fast approaching fall.
He didn't look half as bad as when he had left, even though his smile hardly covered this pained grimace.
"I think my knees are broken," he whined into Dean's collar, as his arms wrapped around Dean's back. "They won't straighten the whole way up."
Dean huffed a soft laugh, never loosening his embrace. "You might need to walk it off," he explained, one hand draping his thick coat around Cas's shoulders. "It's so good to have you back," he muttered, allowing himself the briefest kiss to Cas's temple, innocuous enough not to have Cas's body revolting in his embrace, his arms thrusting at Dean's chest just to wriggle out and run away. It had been four long months since their kiss, and so many miles between them. Just because Cas was back now, there was no telling if they were still on the same page.
But Cas's chest just rose and fell, his chin shifted on Dean's shoulder, as he muttered, "It's good to see you, too."
Dean held onto the firmness of Cas for a few more heartbeats before letting him go. He left him to don the coat as Dean grabbed his duffle bag from the trunk. It didn't seem any heavier than it had been when Dean had seen him off. After all Cas hadn't exactly needed much new stuff, nor had he had money for it.
When he got back to Cas, the man still stood where he'd left him, with his palm pulling the collar up to his nose, though the evening wasn't that cold. He reached out for the bag, but Dean ignored it and threw the straps over his shoulder instead. He lead Cas towards the impala parked in the near corner, his palm placed gently at the small of his back. Instead of inviting Cas to enter, Dean threw the bag on the backseat and turned around.
"Wanna head home right away or straighten your legs first?"
Cas glanced at the passenger seat, judged the little space before it, than pulled a half squat and shook his head. "Give me a minute."
"Sure, you hungry? I got you some burritos on the way here, should still be warm. You like burritos, right?"
He had liked them, that much Dean knew, but the bad memory of that night must have tethered itself to the meal, because Cas winced.
"Could we have something else?"
"Yeah," Dean said, locking the car. "Let's find something open."
They walked with no haste along the street, Dean with his arm thrown around Cas's and Cas didn't protest. It was hardly past ten, so most places were still brightly lit and welcoming. They settled for a simple diner at the end of the street, familiar and mostly empty. Dean ordered a full meal for Cas and just double fries for himself.
They took a spot in the corner with a view on the slowly emptying street. Not like the view mattered to Dean, his eyes were fixed solely on Cas. The guy straightened his legs and put them up on the seat next to Dean. For a while there was nothing between them but a clank of cutlery as Cas kept shoving the steak and fries into his mouth and chowing down on the food like he hadn't eaten in a while.
"Of course, I had sandwiches, but I finished them in the morning," Cas explained when Dean asked about it. "I've been going on chocolate bars since then. They're not very nutritious."
"Depends on who you ask," Dean jokes, squaching more ketchup on his fries.
He decided to let Cas satiate his hunger before delving into the heavier stuff. Finally, when Cas's pace slowed down, he took a deep breath.
"Cas, I'm sorry it took so long."
Cas licked the sauce off his lip and took a sip of tea before answering. "It's okay. Although, I did start running out of books to read, so that was good timing," he added with a lopsided smile. "I found some VHS tapes, too."
"Hey, so you basically had four months of holidays," Dean offered as a poor consolidation.
"Oh, yeah. Right after my shift. And between the hunts. How's Sam?"
"Sam's not talking to me, but he's not dead nor dying so I consider it a win," he answered truthfully, then took a double take at Cas's words. "Wait, you hunted?"
"A little. Didn't end too great for me," he added, pulling up the hem of his sweater and shirt.
Dean gasped at the sight of an ugly scar on his belly. "What happened?"
"Vengeful spirit. Impaling. A few days in a hospital. Not fun."
"Shit," Dean muttered as Cas let his clothes down. "I'm– Listen, Cas, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Bring you chicken soup and all that."
Cas shrugged, but then his face darkened. "I just wish you had trusted me with Sam's health and the Gadreel matter, together we could have gotten rid of him sooner. I might be powerless, but I still hold a lot of knowledge."
"It's not that I didn't trust you, Cas. I couldn't trust that lying bastard. He threatened to let Sam die if I told you."
Cas didn't look at him when he said, "I understand."
"It'll never happen again, I promise." Dean reached to Cas's left hand resting on the table. That got him Cas's attention, his eyes slid from their joined palms to Dean's face. "No more lying, no more withholding the truth, okay?"
That was a big one, Dean had never been good at honesty. But he was just so damn tired of lying to the faces of the people he loved, so tired of those big secrets that tied his mouth shut at put him on edge of explosion. They had nearly cost him everything.
Cas knew. When he nodded with solemn face, he knew the promise might just be for a while and when the push came to shove, Dean would break it, even if in good faith. Still, Cas nodded.
"It sounds good. No more lies."
Dean smiled. His hand lingered on Cas's for a little while longer.
"So what do you say we send the angels back to heaven, together?" Dean offered. "And if we're lucky maybe we'll manage to get your grace back."
Cas's face brightened. "That would be great. Being human is limiting and annoying. I don't know how you've done it for nearly forty years."
"Dude! I'm thirty-four!" Dean snorted, offended, swiping the ketchup with the last fry and shoving it into his mouth. "You ready to go?"
Cas licked the traces of grease off his fingers and noded. "But I need to pee, first," he said matter-of-factly, looking around for the restroom door.
There was no one else but them inside. Finally, for a moment, they were out of reach of curious, malevolent eyes. With a silent click, Dean locked the door behind them, hoping no one would come banging at the door. Still that was a better option than someone barging in, would give Dean time to peel himself off Cas's lips.
If he got to them, that is. If Cas still wanted his lips to make promises that take too long to keep. Four months of lonely battle with day to day shit, all too new to the freshly fallen. And no support from Dean other than a phone call every now and then giving the report on the sucky situation that had never seemed to get them any closer to now.
But they were now and here, at last, and Dean had to at least try. A little heartbreak couldn't hurt more than half the shit he'd been through. And he couldn't wait until they were back in the silence of the Bunker, Dean had waited long enough. And he hoped Cas had too.
He put his palm on Cas's shoulder, before the guy could take another step towards the urinal.
"There's more than one of those, Dean," Cas said, waving towards the wall.
Dean huffed a laugh, as he slipped into Cas's personal space. "Not what I meant," he murmured low, hoping Cas wouldn't play the oblivious and have Dean use words instead of using his mouth.
It was all in Cas's eyes and the nod of his head, right before he moved in closer. This time it was Cas who closed the distance with a force that pushed Dean back. The door rattled behind him as he smashed against it, Cas's mouth smashed against Dean's. The quick burst of passion was not enough to make up for the last four months, but it was enough for a teaser of grand things to come.
"Man, I missed you so much," Dean murmured into Cas's lips as they broke away for air. "I wanted to be there–"
"You're here," Cas cut him off and placed a chaste peck on his mouth. "I wasn't sure you would be. And I don't mean this dirty diner bathroom," he added, taking a step back, as if the sudden realization of their location had killed the mood entirely for him.
It didn't matter, soon they'd be home. In his room, maybe in Cas's, on the mattress smelling with its newness.
"People do worse things in worse places," he joked. "And I'm pretty sure we've used up our entire romantic quota with that kiss in the rain."
Cas squinted at him, head cocked to the side. "How was that romantic? It was freezing. I couldn't stop sneezing for days."
A salve of laughter escaped Dean's throat. "Oh man, you've got a lot of movies to watch. Let's hope Sam didn't change his Netflix password."
"He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago," Dean says, pushing his phone back to the pocket.
He resumes pacing along the Impala's side, the metal, warmed in the sun, feels pleasant under his palm that he slides along the roof and down to the hood. He stops when he reaches Cas, sat on the car, his legs dangling down. Dean's about to turn back to make another length, but Cas stops him.
"It's probably traffic," he reassures, his fingers graze along Dean's forearm.
"Yeah, I know."
He stays where Cas has got him, close within his space, his thigh bumping against Cas's knee as he sways on his heels. They remain quiet for a while, in the middle of a parking lot. Not a living soul surrounding them, though it's just past noon and a perfect weather, there are nothing but empty cars surrounding them.
The early spring sun is not yet hot enough to burn his skin or sprinkle the back of Dean's neck with perspiration. Peaking above them, it cast long shadows of Cas's eyelashes down his cheeks, as the man tilts his face towards it, eyes closed. He pulls towards the sun like he hasn't seen it in months, whether he realizes it or not, he misses it as much as Dean does: the natural light seeping into the kitchen in the morning, pouring on book pages through the window in the living room, drowning the whole house with its warm, yellow glow. Electric light can never compare to that.
"Don't get angry, Cas," Dean starts, unable to keep the words in, "but you would love waking up with rays of sun on your face."
Cas doesn't move, doesn't snap his eyes open to freeze Dean with his stare. The only indication he heard Dean is a slow, heavy sigh. And then the corners of his lips rise, not in an ugly, sarcastic twist, but a smile that brings out his crow's feet.
"I think I would," he muses, to Dean surprise. "I never had a chance."
A spark of hope springs in Dean's chest. It's not a yes, but for the first time Cas said something akin to a maybe. But before he can jump at the opportunity to carry the topic further, to play his card of a long list of perks he's amassed, Cas's turns back to him, eye half-closed from the overexposure to red and orange light piercing through the thin skin.
"But I'd much rather be sure I wake up with you next to me," Cas declares, his hand reaching to Dean, fingertips caressing his jaw.
Dean swallows hard to force down a frustrated growl.
"Come on, Cas, I'll be there," he countered, struggling to keep his voice even. There's only so many times he can listen to Cas prophesying his demise. "I won't just go out and get murdered only because we don't live inside a holy mouse trap."
However Cas imagines that, where his safety starts and where it ends, Dean doesn't really want to get too deep into it, on the off-chance Cas receives a revelation and forbids Dean so much as put a foot outside the Bunker.
They could go on with the same old arguments. Dean'd say he's a goddamn hunter and no amount of time will change it. He'd say he's managed so far just to be reminded of every single time he died. "I can't bring you back, this time," Cas would say and Dean would feel like an ass.
"It's not a risk I can take," Cas concluded spitting the words fast enough to take the edge off the confession.
Dean bows his head down in defeat. He can't protest that. He knows damn well it's not a risk he could take either, even if Cas is going a little overboard there with the safety measures.
But Dean's no right to be disappointed. It's a good thing, Cas talking about future means there is one. He's talking of his future with Dean, of how he's still scared of losing him too. It must mean he's not going anyway, at least not yet. Even if it's just for a little – weeks, months – Dean'll still take it. It's better than only for tonight.
Maybe he is overreacting, after all, letting his wounded imagination and fears get a hold of him. Somehow it used to be easier to believe one day everything would be alright when they were all going through hell. They had little to lose then. He's got everything to lose now.
Maybe he just needs a fresh set of eyes. Luckily, he's about to get one.
"Quarter to one," Cas answers his unasked question.
"I'm gonna call him," Dean announces, reaching out his hand to Cas's cell he's putting back to the pocket. "My battery died," he explains when the guy raises his eyebrow at his open palm.
"You were looking at the time ten minutes ago."
"I was and then it died," Dean lies, hopefully smoothly enough for Cas to bite it.
There's a split second in which Cas is trying to decide whether to believe him.
"Fine," he grumbles, handing Dean the device.
It's wrong, Dean knows, as he's turning around, unlocking the screen with his thumb. He pulls the screen close, listens in for Cas's movements to make sure he doesn't peek over his shoulder and catches him red-handed opening the register of last calls rather than the contact list. As Dean scrolls down, he looks for justification in his head, just for his own conscience's sake. He would never have to do it if Cas hadn't been the one to start it. Somehow the excuse doesn't make him feel much better.
There aren't many positions in the recent history. There's one call from this morning from one of Cas's students. Then there's unanswered call from Dean's, from the store, and one to Claire, but it's too short and too early to be what Dean's looking for. The rest of the calls are all Dean, Claire or the Students. There's Sam's number appearing a time or two as well, but they're all from before yesterday.
Which means Cas deleted the damned dial from the list. Dean's heart drops. That doesn't, at all, paint Cas guilty all over.
"What are you doing?"
Dean's eyes snap to Cas, leaning forward on the hood. Oh, right, calling Sam.
"Aw, here it is!" Dean announces, a bit grotesquely, and explains, "I was looking for Samantha–"
He musters his most innocent smile he usually uses on the authorities and presses dial. But before the signal comes in the speaker, Cas tips his heads to point behind him.
"I think that might be Sam's bus."
Dean turns to see the bus rolling into its slot. They don't move from the Impala's side, watching the bunch of people coming out of the exit. At last, there's Sam. His giant figure stepping to the ground is unmistakeable, though a dark shadow of a beard and hair pulled back into a fucking ponytail throw Dean off guard for a second.
"Sammy!" Dean calls him across the distance and gets a quick wave in return.
Sam joins them a minute later with his baggage and a wide grin. He smothers them in his bear hugs, like he hasn't seen them for years not months, as he chitters about how much he missed them both. He puts his bag into the trunk and they're ready to go.
Despite the protest of everyone else involved, Cas takes the backseat, giving up shotgun to Sam, because, in his words, he can ride it anytime.
"He probably wants to inspect the poor thing that died at the back of your head," Dean jokes. "I always thought you lawyer guys are supposed to look like decent human beings.
"I'm only on the first year, the professors don't care that much as long as it's neat." Sam shrugs. "It's the law firms that do."
"Does that mean at some point soon–?" Dean raises two fingers and snaps them together like scissors. "Aw man, I so gotta be there for it," he says not even hiding excitement. The luscious locks survived all those years of hunting just to be defeated by the conservatism of the law practice.
"Shut up," Sam blurts out, his hand half-consciously reaches to the ponytail.
"Hey, I was offering emotional support–"
"So anyway," Sam cuts in, louder, announcing he's done with the topic. "How have you guys been? Good I hope?"
Dean's smile falls for a split second before he remembers he can't let it show. Not now, with Cas watching him from the back seat, the blue of his eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror. If only they were back in the Bunker, with Cas hermiting in his damned room, Dean wouldn't have to force the corners of his lips to stay curled up.
When he's alone with Sam, sipping beer in the kitchen, he's gonna spill out all his concerns. Going to his little brother for a relationship advice was never Dean's thing, but he also never really had much of an opportunity for it – or much of a relationship. But now, he's totally out of ideas there, and Sam, while not the luckiest when it came to ladies, has certainly had a higher count when it came to a long-ish term partners.
At this point, Dean's not above begging Sam to snoop around, even though he'll probably hear he's being a drama queen. But it's not like Sammy's little heart to heart with Cas can hurt anyone, maybe to him Cas will confess what the hell it is he's up to.
But that'll have to wait because right now, there's Cas's head poked in between them and Dean knows he's waited way too long with a answer to a question this simple. But before he can paraphrase his trademark "I'm fine," Cas puts a palm on his shoulder.
"Yeah, Sam, we're good," he says, smiling softly. "We're really good."
