Archive of Our Own

The Impala’s engine chugged and rumbled as Dean pulled into the parking spot two along from the front office of the motel. The car’s silver rims gleamed with neon blue, reflecting the sign over it: Overnight Orion. A wayward tuft of grass skimmed the wheel plates, fluttering in the crisp night-time breeze.

Dean yanked the handbrake and killed the engine, flipping the keys in his hand. “I’ll get us a room, you stay here,” he said to his passenger.

“I’ve never gotten a room without Sam before,” Castiel replied, ignoring Dean’s instruction and clambering out the passenger side door, closing it as Dean closed his own simultaneously. The clap of the closing doors made the grass bluster, catching on Dean’s boots. He felt a tickle, and shifted his feet so he was standing on the tarmac rather than a flowerbed.

He sighed, gazing over the car’s roof. “All right, fine. Just― don’t... talk.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, clearly unimpressed, but he looked as if he might obey.

Dean pushed the office door open, going ahead, then turning and letting Castiel enter behind him, holding the door for him. It was warm inside, with the distinct dryness that came with a fan heater and too many lights. The vertical wooden panels on the walls were decorated with credentials, certificates and such, along with the occasional photo. Spotlights picked out the best and most important, and they drew the eye: Castiel wandered in front of Dean and went straight over to the starboard wall to look.

“Dean, look at this,” he said, eyes scanning the framed papers. “They have a partnership with the local pancake house.”

Dean gave the red-haired Viking behind the front desk a polite smile, drifting over to Cas. “Uh-huh,” he said, under his breath. “Yeah, these places tend to strike deals with other local businesses. Gets the guests coming back, I guess.”

“We should make use of it, we might get discounted pancakes,” Castiel said. His low voice and the earnest tone he spoke in were ill-suited to his words. Dean smiled, brushing his bicep against Cas’ as he stood beside him.

“Maybe we should. You ever had pancakes before?”

Castiel shook his head, eyes set on the wall still. “I would like to try them. I’d try your favourite first, then experiment from there.”

The burly man behind the desk cleared his throat. Dean glanced over, lapping his tongue at his lips quickly as he saw the man’s stern eyes were set on him and Cas. The guy probably thought Dean and Cas were a couple, and Dean had absolutely no idea what gave people that impression.

...Okay, maybe he did know. They stood too close, and they talked about oddly personal things – which Dean only half blamed on Cas. Cas started it. But Dean was perpetuating it.

It had been two days so far. Sam had ‘issues’ to deal with (i.e. he was sick of Dean nearly driving off the road because he’d been too lost in Cas’ eyes) and he planned to reconvene with them in about a week, but in the meantime, it was just the two of them. Just Dean and Cas. Alone.

The thing was, Dean liked it. He liked those curious, suspicious looks people had been giving him and Cas ever since they’d ditched Sam back in Colorado. Dean knew what shop clerks and tollkeepers were thinking about him, and for the first time in his life, their assumptions didn’t bother him. It felt good. Empowering, even.

It used to be Dean and Sam, people used to assume they were together-together, but even that had stopped after a few years – Dean put it down to him being too far out of Sam’s league for anyone to believe. It was so much better when it was Cas. Nobody had assumed up-front they were a couple, but Dean had seen the discerning squints and the question marks in their eyes.

The best part was, Cas was completely oblivious. Dean could do whatever he liked: flirt mercilessly, touch Cas in places he ought not be touching, tell the waitress he was covering the dinner bill as a special treat for his special friend, and not once did Cas flinch, complain, or otherwise indicate Dean was overstepping his bounds. He sat, and he blinked, and he showed Dean things that might be of interest. Potential pancake discounts, for example.

―Where was he? Oh yeah. The motel clerk cleared his throat, suspecting.

Dean flashed the guy a tiny smile, pressing closer to Cas’ side. “Hey, we should get our room,” he muttered, sliding a hand against Cas’ lower back, putting pressure there. Cas had such a beautiful arc in his spine, Dean could only imagine how it would feel without the trenchcoat, suit jacket or shirt between skin and hand. “You, uh, wanna come with? So you know how it’s done.”

Castiel drifted away from the wall, following Dean’s guiding hand. Dean walked proudly, saying in his mind over and over: We’re together. We’re together. Yeah, that’s right, big guy, he kisses me on the lips. Gay as a freaking butterfly house in springtime. At least, I wish― No, shut the hell up. We’re together. Look at how good we are together.

Casually, Dean rested his elbow on the front desk, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “Hey. Yeah, we’d like to get a room? One room.” His hand rubbed Cas’ back a little. The guy couldn’t see Dean’s hand from where he was standing, but he probably had surveillance video from behind; Dean was keeping up appearances.

“Mm-hm, we can do that,” the man said. Dean projected his thoughts loudly in the man’s direction: Offer us a queen bed. Offer a double. Anything with one bed. If that one bed was offered only for Dean to rebuff it and take two queens, Dean felt it would be worth it. He didn’t know why anyone’s assumptions gave him such a rush, but they did.

“How many beds are you after?” the man continued. Dean glowed inside. They weren’t offered two beds automatically, and that was awesome.

“Uhhh, what’ve you got?” Dean asked, scratching behind his ear, not looking at Cas. He was getting hot under his collar, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the excitement of perpetuating, or because Cas was staring at the side of his face. Staring and staring.

“We got doubles, kings, singles or queens, and there’s singles with a couch pull-out, depends what your budget looks like. Single rooms start from thirty bucks per night. How long will you be staying?”

“One night,” Dean said, licking his lips. He flicked his eyes over to Cas, blood searing under his skin as Cas gazed back with his perfect midday blues. “Just one night, right― h-honey?”

Oh Jesus Christ, that did not just come out of his mouth.

...It did. And boy, it felt good.

Castiel was frowning delicately, gazing back the way he always did. “I’m not sure, Dean, I don’t know where we’re going or how long we’re staying.”

Dean’s breath stuttered – much like his thoughts – and he returned his eyes to the motel clerk, picking up a hasty smile. “One night. I’m, uh, taking my buddy here on a surprise trip. Top secret destination.” He winked, pleased when the clerk offered a returning smile.

“I hope you’re enjoying the trip,” the man said to Castiel.

Castiel was about to reply, mouth open, when Dean cut across him; “What kinds of rooms have you got again?”

The man listed the types over again, and Dean swallowed, fingers clutching the back of Cas’ coat. All he could think about was that calling Cas ‘honey’ had been a terrible thing to do. What if he’d noticed? The man certainly had: he finished his sentence, “―but I’m sure you’d be happier with one of our larger suites. Each of them have one king-size bed to share, and a lavish ensuite bathroom.”

Castiel looked at Dean. “Are we going to sleep together, Dean?”

This was where Dean panicked and killed his own buzz with his tongue. “What! No!” Christ, his hands were sweating; he closed his fist and swept it well away from Cas’ back. “No, we’re not― We’re not together.”

Castiel said, confused, “Yes we are, Dean―?”

Dean huffed at him, managing a flighty smile. “No, no― He means together-together. Like, romantically. We don't kiss or snuggle or anything, Cas, and we don’t – sleep together.” He turned his spooked eyes on the motel clerk, forcing a grin. “One room, two queens. Whatever’s cheapest, don’t care about the view.”

The man was surprised, but beyond raising his shaggy red eyebrows, he said nothing on the subject. The only other words he spoke were, “Have a good night. Checkout is eleven a.m. tomorrow.”

Dean didn’t look back at Cas, not until they had their room key, he’d paid what was due for the room, and they were back out in the parking lot, but that whole time, Dean couldn’t help think Cas seemed... disappointed.

Maybe he was imagining it.

Dean took his duffel bag out of the car and carried it over his shoulder to their room. Cas trailed behind, carrying nothing. When Dean had the key in the lock, plastic tags dangling, Castiel quietly said, “When Sam books a room, he asks for one room with two queen-size beds: one for you, and one for him. The same thing you asked for in the end, in fact.”

“Yeah, and?” Dean retorted, shoving open the door and going inside, hitting the light switch the moment he found it. The room was decorated like the office, with wooden panels, spotlights in the ceiling. The two beds were set staggered, toe-to-toe, the diagonal space between them making up the walkway to the ensuite in the far left corner. There was a mirror on the wall ahead, reflecting Dean’s frown so clearly he had to look away.

Castiel took a while to reply, closing the door first, then going to sit on the bed closer to the window, farther from the bathroom. When he spoke, it was with a tone of sadness. “You’ve booked hundreds – thousands of motel rooms. I’m surprised you had to ask what was available, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I forgot,” Dean said, throwing his jacket to the bed, toeing off his boots, then zipping open his duffel bag. “Come on, it’s one in the morning, I’ve been driving all day. We slept in the freaking car last night, I’m knackered. You can’t expect me to remember everything.”

He couldn’t look at Cas while he spoke. Cas would see the lies in his eyes, as Dean saw in his own. Damn that overly-clean mirror.

Castiel took a breath. “But―”

“But nothing! I wasn’t sure what kinds of rooms they had, end of story! So just – drop it!”

And Castiel dropped it. He was silent.

He said absolutely nothing for twenty minutes. He turned down the beer from the mini-fridge Dean offered him, he ignored Dean when he said he was going in the shower. He remained seated on the bed, and was still sitting there, still wearing his trenchcoat, when Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel curled on his head and another around his waist.

“You’re not even gonna look at me?” Dean muttered, slinking past Cas’ knees, letting his towel brush him on purpose. “Don’t do this, Cas. I told you. I’m tired and I’m crabby. I’m screwing up all over the place.”

Castiel stared at the floor.

Dean got dressed. The carpet was gruff under his bare feet, but the air was pleasantly warm. Castiel, however, was exuding a pointed chill into the room.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, scuffing the heels of his jeans on the carpet as he went up to his friend. “Look, I’m sorry. This is―” He sighed. “This is the one time me and you are going to have space to, I don’t know, talk. It’s going to suck if we waste it.”

Dean sat down on the corner of his own bed, facing Castiel. He reached out his fingers, leaning forward until he touched Cas’ knee. “Look at me, buddy.”

Castiel’s eye flicked up, and Dean couldn’t help the huge smile that lit his face. “Hey. Knew you were listening.”

Castiel huffed, eyes darting away, then back. “You’re very – difficult.”

“Oh, like you can talk,” Dean said lightly, leaning back into the mattress on his hands. “You’re like a robot that ran outta gas and stalled. I worried for a little while.”

Castiel squinted. Dean shook his head, passing it off with a chuckle. “Let’s just chill out for a bit. You, go take a shower, you reek. Tomorrow we’ll go get your pancakes, all right? Call it a vacation.”

“To a top secret destination,” Castiel said. “Where are we going?”

Dean’s mouth paused in its half-open position. “Oh. You’re actually expecting to go somewhere.”

“You told Bert we were going somewhere nice.”

“Bert?”

“The man in the office. He had a name tag.”

Dean smiled softly, looking nervously down at his own toes. “What I said, about a destination? That was B.S., Cas, I was just trying not to make him think I’d kidnapped you or something.”

“We’re wandering aimlessly.”

“...Pretty much, yeah. At least until we head back and meet up with Sam.”

Again, Castiel looked forlorn, like someone had told him he couldn’t play with his favourite teddy because the dog snatched it and made off with it. He looked like that a lot of the time, really.

Dean flopped back into his bed and closed his eyes, giving up for the moment. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t have a case to work on.

Dean cracked an eye open to see Castiel moseying on into the bathroom with fresh clothes in hand, still wearing his trenchcoat. Dean grinned and shook his head as Cas shut the door then ran the shower. What were the chances he showered in the coat? Cas wasn’t stupid, Dean didn’t think he really would – but it was an amusing mental image.

For a while, Dean made use of the wi-fi in the room, scrolling Twitter feeds on his phone, browsing news headlines. After five minutes his eyes started to prickle with fatigue, and he yawned. Trying to keep himself awake, he perused local headlines, seeing if there was anything supernatural-looking worthy of his attention.

He quit before he could find anything. He didn’t want to find anything. He wanted to get pancakes, drive aimlessly, listen to Castiel grouch about nothing, and enjoy it. Screw saving the world, Dean wanted a break.

He tried to convince himself he deserved it, but that was too difficult. The best he deserved was a decent night’s sleep, and with that in mind, he got his wash kit from his bag and traipsed over to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles on the wood. “Hey, Cas? Can I come in? Gotta brush my teeth.”

He stifled another yawn, pinching his eyes tightly shut. Castiel murmured something which echoed, and Dean took that as permission to enter.

The room was steamy, and Dean flipped the switch for the extractor fan. “You gotta ventilate, Cas, nobody likes a mildewy bathroom.”

“Sorry,” came the dull rumble from beyond the shower curtain.

Dean’s toes brushed up against Cas’ trenchcoat and other clothes, which he’d left on the floor. Dean picked it all up, layering it over one arm. He took it to the bedroom and lay it on Cas’ bed, then went back and shut himself into the bathroom with all the steam, so Cas wouldn’t get cold from the draft.

Dean glanced towards the thick, translucent shower curtain, beyond which was a blurry tan-coloured man shape, with dark hair and muscular yet slim limbs. Dean couldn’t make out the details, but that didn’t stop him from imagining them. A tilt of his head actually got him an almost-view of Cas’ treasure trail, dark and wet. Dean hurriedly looked away, glad the mirror in here was steamed up so his blush couldn’t be seen. He swallowed, then reached a hand for his wash kit.

Castiel splashed water against the curtain, on the wall; it seemed so loud to Dean. He could hear Cas’ bare feet squeaking on the shower tray, and his sighs as he ran his hands back through his hair.

Trying to ignore Cas, Dean pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste. He rinsed the brush head, shook it dry, then squirted some paste onto the brush. He closed his tired eyes as he set the brush on his teeth; he could do this in his sleep.

Dean was almost done when Castiel turned the shower off. Dean’s eyes snapped open, full consciousness returning brighter and more loudly than before. Cas pulled back the curtain, and Dean’s focus locked on the mirror ahead, willing his eyes not to move, why wouldn’t they close? Cas brushed past, taking a clean towel from the shelf to Dean’s side. Warmth poured off him, air shifting so the hair rose on Dean’s arms, and other bits rose too. Goddamn it. Everything in the mirror was hazy white – with a blur of tan. The clearer parts of the mirror showed skin. Real, actual naked skin.

“Is that how you brush your teeth?” Castiel asked, leaning into Dean’s side vision, hair dripping onto the back of Dean’s left hand, which was gripped like a vice around the sink’s ridge. “I wasn’t sure what the brush was for, but I imagined there was somewhat more, um... brushing.”

Dean blinked, coming to his senses. He was standing with the brush dangling from his open mouth, hand loose on the handle. He choked on the paste, suddenly leaning over the sink to spit it out. He gasped for air, turning the tap on to wash his hand clean of bubbly drool. Frick, this was embarrassing. He was officially blaming this on his tiredness.

“No,” he finally managed to say. “No, that’s―” He coughed. “That’s not how I do it usually.”

He shoved his brush back into his washbag and left the bag there, quickly swiping a damp palm over his lips to clear away the burning residue. Feeling uncommonly fresh, he fled into the bedroom, only glancing back once to see Cas’ waist tied up in a brown towel, leg hair streaked with water, feet immaculately kept.

Dean heaved a breath of dehydrated air as he neared his bed.

This attraction was distracting for Dean, exactly like Sam said it was. They’d argued, Dean and Sam. Sam had said, in a fit of frustration: it was dangerous; either go for it or forget it. The delay, the dragging it out, it was infuriating.

Sam had softened then, looking at Dean’s shamed expression and offering sympathy. He’d said, “If it’s this bad for me, watching you pine after him day after day... I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. It’s hurting you, Dean, I know you feel it. All I’m asking is that you do something about it.”

After then, they’d gone their separate ways.

There was a special destination, but Dean was too much of a coward to say. They were destined for things that made Dean’s stomach tense up in electric fits, his whole body filled with equal parts excitement and dread. It scared him. And it exhilarated him. The best he could do was to pretend Cas was his boyfriend in front of strangers – and even that was too much.

Dean felt like he would meet up with Sam at the end of the week, only having made the problem worse. Each hour that wore on, Dean thought more and more about how things could be. How scared he was to get there. How much would change.

And how much would stay the same.

What could really change between them, after all? Dean couldn’t love Cas any more than he already did, he was certain of that. Cas... was unreadable. Dean didn’t know what he thought about any of this. Castiel sat. He stared. He tilted his head, he laughed at jokes once Dean explained them, and he wanted pancakes. That was the best Dean could get out of him. Did he love Dean? Dean didn’t know.

Perhaps that was why making a real move was so hard.

Dean perked his head off the bed as he heard his wash kit’s zipper being pulled, then some fumbling. “Cas, you okay?”

“Mmmh-hm,” Castiel called back, clearly with something in his mouth. Dean dazedly thought about him having something very sensitive and very private in his mouth, but retracted the thought almost immediately. He buried his face down into a pillow, bashing his forehead into it over and over. Every casual interaction alone with Cas gave his mind a steamy moment followed by a cold shower. His libido was brittle like weatherworn terracotta, weakened by too many changing seasons.

Dean expected to hear the sound of a toothbrush on teeth, repetitive and wispy, but Dean only heard more fumbling, and a frustrated sigh.

Dean rolled over and sat up, facing the bathroom. “Cas, what’re you doing?”

Castiel turned around and peered past the door, his jaw working, lips smacking. “‘M...?”

Dean wore a curious expression as he scooted off the bed and padded over to Cas. “Is that...? Are you... eating toothpaste?”

Castiel frowned, then exerted himself as he swallowed. His tongue poked out, blue like the paste. “Bleugh,” he said, nose wrinkled. “It makes my stomach acid feel cold.”

Dean gaped, unsure if the lump in his throat was laughter or disgust. “Y- You, uh...”

Castiel put the toothpaste tube up to his lip and squeezed out a dollop onto the tip of his tongue. “I missed some teeth,” he said cheerlessly, pressing the dollop to his palate.

“Cas!” Dean lurched forward and snatched the toothpaste from him. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing? This stuff’ll make you sick.”

Castiel frowned again, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “I’m p’actish’in-g good o’wal hygiene.”

Dean choked on a laugh, tossing the paste into his washbag, with his disbelieving stare set on Cas’ face. “How the hell are you millenia-whatever old and not know how to brush your damn teeth?”

Castiel blinked, swallowing his mouthful of paste. Dean winced, letting out a low complaint of “Eughh.”

Castiel huffed, and his breath was admittedly very minty. “How am I supposed to do it?”

“You have a brush, right?” Dean said, reaching for the washbag with his cautious eyes still on Cas. “You put it in with mine, didn’t you... Oh, here.” He tugged out a tattered plastic baggie with an airtight seal, containing a hair comb, a half-empty travel-size toothpaste tube, a basic blue toothbrush with tidy white bristles – unused – and a breath mint in its own packet. Dean shook his head, mildly awed. “You’ve had this how many weeks?”

“I received it at the homeless shelter I stayed in after I lost my wings,” Castiel said.

At once, guilt rushed into Dean’s system, and he looked at Castiel with gentle eyes. “Man... I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel said, eyes drifting away from Dean’s. “If anyone’s, it was mine. I was naive.”

Dean let out a soft breath. “Yeah. Well, we were all naive, once.” He put on a smile for Cas’ sake, reaching a hand to pat his bare bicep. “Learning’s hard when there’s nobody to teach you, you know?” His thumb grazed Cas’ skin, then he took his hand back, opening the baggie and pulling out Cas’ toothbrush. “Luckily for you, you’ve got me now.”

Castiel took the brush as it was handed to him. “I feel as if common sense ought to have been applied here.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah,” he chuckled, turning towards the sink and pressing his elbow against Cas’. “It’s fine though, maybe it wasn’t obvious.”

Castiel fiddled with the brush, then gave Dean a slow, tender look as Dean held his eye. “Sometimes,” Castiel said, “someone might think things aren’t obvious to everyone. But they are. In fact, they might even be more obvious to others than themselves.”

Dean’s mouth slid open, not even trying to make sense of that. It was like Cas was talking about something completely different, and Dean was too tired to work out what it was.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, exactly. And, this brush. Hang on, I’ll do it too, so you can copy. Monkey see, monkey do. Heh-heh.”

Castiel’s lips flattened, and he adjusted his bare feet on the tiles, shaking off one mindset and preparing for another.

Dean squished out some paste from the toothpaste tube Cas had borrowed. “Juuuust enough to cover the top. See?”

Castiel nodded, taking the paste.

“Wait―” Dean snatched the paste back. “I’d wash that brush if I were you. Don’t know where it’s been. These things collect germs like nobody’s business.” He turned the tap on for Cas, letting the water run gushing and hot.

Castiel obediently washed the bristles under the running tap, flicking them so they sprang tiny droplets in every direction. “All right, enough,” Dean grinned, slapping the faucet off. “Now put the paste on.”

Cas squeezed out the same amount as Dean had used onto his own brush.

“Perfect,” Dean said. He tossed the tube into the wash kit, then took a breath in preparation. “Now, the idea is to brush away all the grossness. There’s plaque and bits of food and germs in your mouth, it’s all very Louis Pasteur. I read somewhere that mouths are worse than toilet seats for germs, and if that isn’t reason to brush properly, I don’t know what is.” He smiled, seeing Castiel’s baffled expression.

“Look, we’ll start with the top front teeth. Move back.” Dean gestured, pointing at his cheek, moving his finger towards his ear. “Brush down in – I dunno, sweeping motions. Start at the gum and brush towards the tooth. Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Copy me.”

Dean swallowed, licked his lips, then put his toothbrush to his front teeth and pressed the paste down gently. He grinned, watching Cas do the same, also using his right hand.

“Move it in li’l circles,” Dean mumbled, gesticulating more exaggeratedly than he needed to. “Like you’re polishin’.”

Castiel squinted, again doing as Dean did. Dean snickered, watching Cas’ elbow move up and down. “Gentler,” Dean said, lowering his brush to speak. “No need to press so hard.”

Castiel tried, concentrating.

Dean moved his brush to his fang teeth – he didn’t know what they were called, but they were the ones vampires had fangs over. He nodded when Cas did the same. “Yup, ‘s good.”

They moved to the top side teeth, where Cas made an extra effort to brush downwards rather than back and forth. Dean didn’t think he was doing it right, it looked too clumsy; Cas didn’t have the movement practised enough.

“Hang on,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Mhf.” He closed his mouth around his brush, so it hung between his rounded lips. His hands reached for Cas’ brush, and he took it from him, tugging it from his mouth. He found the handle of Cas’ brush was slimmer and slipperier in his grip than his own. “‘m g’nna brush for ya,” Dean mumbled, disliking the way his own brush hit his palate as he spoke. He bit down on it so it poinged up and remained horizontal like a diving board. “Jus’ stay put, don’t move,” he instructed. “Op’n wide.”

Castiel opened his mouth the way a baby crocodile might. Dean smirked, then set the bristles of the brush gently on the outer side of Cas’ top left teeth, and put his other hand against Cas’ jaw to steady his head. Cas had his eyes on Dean, and Dean refused to look back in case he blushed – or worse, his blood went somewhere other than his face. Focusing on Cas’ teeth, Dean brushed the way his mother taught him to brush. Gentle yet firm strokes. Sweep, sweep, sweep.

Once that top row was done, Dean moved on to Cas’ bottom left teeth. He knew he ought to pass the brush back to Cas so he learned to do it himself, but it was kinda... nice. Brushing for him. Like Mary did for Dean, like Dean did for Sam. Of course, there was a vein of sexuality that was never present for Mary or Sam – Dean couldn’t deny it was arousing to do something like this. There was intimacy in it. This was Castiel’s mouth. This was Castiel’s tongue, his pink and shivering tongue. It was a curious muscle, it prodded and licked at whatever Dean did with the brush. Dean only dared to imagine the other ways that tongue might explore.

Cas was still gazing at him.

Dean finished all of Cas’ left teeth, then handed the brush back to Cas. He had turquoise foam dripping down his chin, but that was barely a slight on his beauty. “There,” Dean said, popping his own brush from his mouth. He gestured at Cas with it. “There, you can go ahead and do the other side. Do it how I did it.”

“The clean side feels colder,” Castiel mused, blinking as he began to brush his right teeth. “Is it true people do this twice a day?”

“Heh,” Dean shrugged. “We’re meant to. Two or three times, last I heard. But mostly I only get the chance to do it once. This morning I brushed without water, and that was gross. But it foams less without water. You’re drooling ‘cause the brush was wet.”

“And because―”

Castiel ended his sentence abruptly. Dean eyed him to see if something was the matter, but apparently, Cas had simply decided to stop talking. His eyes were turned awkwardly away, like he was avoiding Dean’s contact.

“Because what,” Dean prompted.

“Nothing, I was just drooling,” Castiel said. “I’m human now, it happens.”

Then he gagged.

Dean put his own brush down on the sink ledge, spitting out the paste in his mouth. He straightened, giving Cas the space to gag over the sink. Toothpaste foam and drool trailed into the basin in shiny ropes of liquid, and Dean waited patiently, one hand resting on Cas’ shoulder to soothe him.

When Castiel spat one last time, he straightened up and looked guiltily at Dean, then put the brush back in his mouth and carried on brushing. His mouth and lips were smeared with miniscule bubbles, a dash of turquoise up near his eye, a white crust drying on his stubble.

“That was your gag reflex,” Dean explained. “You have to spit or that happens.”

“It wasn’t the liquid that choked me, it was the brush hitting my throat,” Castiel said sulkily.

“W-well. Um. That’s a bummer.”

“Is it?”

Dean licked his lips, eyes to the sink as he washed Cas’ spit away. He quickly wiped his face, then rinsed his hands. Reaching for a towel, he worked up the courage to say, “It is if you were ever planning on giving someone a blowjob.”

Frick. His self-filtering system was busted to Hell and back.

“Blowjob,” Castiel said. “Oral sex.”

Dean was definitely blushing now, there was no hiding from it. “Uh-huh.”

Castiel’s brush slowed, then slid out of his mouth. “You’re implying you one day expect me to pleasure a man.”

Dean almost gasped. “Wh-wh― No, what, I mean―”

“Do you have trouble with your gag reflex?”

Dean goggled at Castiel’s innocent expression with complete and utter flabbergastation. “Cas, what are you―?”

“What I mean to ask is, have you ever pleasured a man?”

“Cas, what the hell?! You can’t ask me that crap!”

“But have you?”

Dean’s mouth was hanging open. “That’s―! That’s none of your business!” He couldn’t believe these things were coming out of Cas’ mouth, nor the ease with which they came. Stunned, Dean shook his head and stumbled out of the bathroom, heading straight for the bed. His hand pressed to his forehead, thoughts and feelings reeling. It was like Cas had just catapulted him into space, there was no turning around.

“Dean,” Castiel called from the bathroom, “I’ve finished my teeth, what do I do now?”

Dean, thoroughly shaken, sat on the bed and glanced back through the open door. “Um. Did you rinse?”

“No.”

“Wash the brush, put some water in your mouth and swill it around, then spit and wash your face. Don’t put your brush back wet, leave it to air.”

Dean sank his face down into his hands, staring at the carpet. He listened to Cas following his instructions, thinking only of the conversation they’d had – if he could call it that. Dean felt humiliated, and while he knew that hadn’t been Cas’ intention, he felt very, very wrong inside. Uneasy. And... a little sad.

Castiel closed the bathroom door, and Dean was alone for a while. He heard Cas rustling, getting dressed. Dean wondered if he’d ever again see him as close to naked as he had been these past few minutes.

When Castiel emerged, he was dressed in Dean’s favourite grey Batman t-shirt and the pair of jeans Dean had lent him a few days ago. He looked like a hunter: undernourished and tired, but tough.

Dean ran his hands back through his hair, letting out a breath through his nose. “Just so you’re aware, Cas,” he said, “those things you asked me. Don’t ask anyone else that, okay? Nobody likes having their preferences questioned, or their bedding history pulled under a magnifying glass. Especially not by―”

He cut himself off. Especially not by potential lovers.

“Especially not those who you are romantically interested in,” Castiel finished.

Dean’s blood flow stopped somewhere in the region of his fingertips. His whisper came out as a rasp, directed at Castiel’s turned back: “What?”

Castiel slowly spun around on the balls of his feet, his eyes tracking from the floor to Dean’s bare feet, to his parted knees, then up to his forward-curving spine. Their eyes met as Dean stared, mouth open, body riling with hope and confusion and a fair amount of adrenaline.

“I wouldn’t,” Castiel said softly. “I wouldn’t ask anyone else those questions. Nobody else has an answer which would interest me.”

Dean again forced air into his mouth to murmur, “What?”

Castiel slumped slightly, a dull line appearing in the set of his mouth. “Dean, why are we here? Why are we in the middle of nowhere, alone? Don’t tell me it’s because Sam needed a break from hunting, you’ve told me that five times already, and you’ve lied every single time. You are not as difficult to read as you think you are.”

Dean slid his arms closer to his chest, fingers touching his elbow in a preview to defensiveness. He never quite made it there; Castiel broke his defence swiftly: “We’re here because you won’t say anything to me. In our time together we talk about hunting, we talk about Sam, about music and food and the weather, and never once do we talk about why you want to touch me.”

Dean sank forward over his thighs, hands braided across the nape of his neck as he kept his head down. Cas knew everything. That realisation washed over Dean like a year’s worth of half-melted popsicles at once, fragmented and cold on his skin.

“There are things,” Castiel said, “which I don’t understand. Humanity’s intricacies; toothpaste. There are cultures in the world whose method of oral hygiene consists mainly of chewing particular kinds of twig. I know about those, I’ve spent time with those people. They share with me their ways, they offer their time and they teach me their various cultures. They give me things to take away when I leave, whether physical gifts, or experience and knowledge.”

Dean sensed Castiel approaching, and didn’t look up when Castiel sat down beside him, sinking into the mattress. Castiel put a hand on Dean’s knee, resting it there. Dean’s eyes fixed on it. Cas had beautiful fingernails, slim fingers.

“Dean,” Castiel went on, his warmth incredibly present at Dean’s side, “I stay with you, I spend time with you. You don’t teach me, or show me, or talk. You get on with what you do, and somehow... I still learn. I see from an outsider’s perspective more than I do with any other culture. I’m part of your life but you block me out. And yet, Dean, that entices me. You are a challenge.” His hand squeezed Dean’s knee. “Your acceptance is an unobtainable prize.”

“But tonight―”

“Tonight you taught me for the first time,” Castiel said, a smile bleeding into his words. His hand stroked Dean’s knee, and Dean flushed with heat he tried to cool but couldn’t. The touch was magnificent. “I tease,” Castiel said, again smiling wider. “Forgive me, I enjoy your blush. But these interactions between you and I are as much a wargame as the rest of our lives. I would never have revealed how much I know unless it were crucial. Unless it would give me the outcome I desire.”

Dean ran his hand over his tired face, lifting his head. He still couldn’t meet Cas’ eye, despite his proximity and his blurry shape at the corner of Dean’s eye looking so enticing. “And,” Dean said, forcing out the word, “what outcome do you desire?”

Castiel sighed.

He didn’t answer. Then his hand retreated, and Dean’s knee was left cold.

Dean turned his head without meaning to. Cas’ eyes were playful, sparkling, but as sad as they always were. “You tell me what I want, Dean.”

Oh, no. That was too difficult, because the answer was so easily lifted to Dean’s tongue. There was apparent harmony between their desires; Cas knew what the answer was, and he knew Dean knew too, and that made it impossible to say aloud.

Dean licked his lips. Could he say it? Would it be easier to fall into it now or to push it away and ache forever for this moment to return?

This was his once-in-a-lifetime chance to get what he wanted. Or more like, his one chance to get what he didn’t deserve.

What he wanted. What Cas wanted.

And there was the breaker. It wasn’t just Dean who wanted it. Cas’ happiness rested in the balance too. To answer Castiel’s request in truth was half selfish, half selfless. That cancelled it all out, right? Nothing was to change.

Nothing was to change, except everything.

“You want to―”

Dean got that far, then realised he didn’t know. He didn’t know what the word was. Date? Court? Marry? All were too fluffy for his tastes, too impossible for their lives to accomodate. Dean, he wanted the passion and the safety that came with touch, with Cas’ hands and his lips; he wanted the compassion in his eyes and his smile, he wanted the future. He wanted him. He wanted him in every way known to man and then some known only to Dean. He wanted his blood and his heart and his kinship, and how could that ever be summed up in words?

So Dean left his words in his throat and he used his mouth instead.

He fell.

Castiel’s hands took the sides of Dean’s face, his breath caressing his tongue. Dean rested his thigh between Cas’ before he realised he had moved, and their lips had met long ago. Seconds ago were history now. This was another kiss.

Kiss.

Dean murmured, feeling the softness of tongue on his lip, the burn of toothpaste. It was not the same between them: Castiel was electric mint in the saltwater sea, lightning cords running in the current to strike the sky miles and miles around the planet’s surface. Dean was garden mint, tended by the sun and rooted in dry earth, aching but still hardy, still toughened at the stem. He felt small. He felt so small he was untethered from his base, and yet, he couldn’t avoid the thought that Castiel felt as uprooted as Dean did.

They were drifting.

Castiel cooed and fell back into the bed, fingers grappling to keep his grip in Dean’s t-shirt collar and pull him down too. Castiel was a firm shape under Dean, shoulders like pylons, hands still that of a soldier. Dean shivered and laughed into Cas’ breath, helplessly hard on him, and not ashamed. He had always been proud of his humanity, and this night was only proof it was something to be proud of. Mistakes and shame could fall away sometimes, and honest connection – fingertips to the soft part of his neck, lips on the spikes of his jaw – were what kept the bad things at bay.

Castiel’s voice was a hush of breath, his eyes hooded new moons. Dean heard his words distantly, spoken like sugar to the back of his tongue. “We should share your bed tonight.”

Dean murmured his reply, knowing it was agreement.

Castiel helped Dean to crawl between the sheets, mouth following his, kisses barely breaking. They dragged and snuffled, laughed when it tickled, laughed when it hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt. Perfect things could not be painless, not when Castiel was as forceful as he was, and Dean had not yet learned to tame him.

Perhaps he would never tame him. Perhaps that was good.

Perhaps he could teach him.

“Some other time,” Castiel muttered, resting his breath on Dean’s lips like he was a visitor to the doorstep, trying to move in. “This will be continued.”

“I should think so,” Dean said dangerously, eyes watching Cas’ smile. “If this is some kind of dream and I wake up, I’m going to kill someone.”

Castiel chuckled, smoothing fingers around Dean’s face like he was framing him, cherishing the sight of his face against the second pillow. “You’re definitely not dreaming. This existence is too vast and the past between us is too complicated to be something so simple as a dream.”

Dean let Castiel kiss his upper lip, pressing back in time to kiss twice.

“Tomorrow,” Castiel said, caressing Dean’s naked hip under his shirt, under the blanket, “we’ll go and get pancakes.”

Dean grinned, fingering Cas’ hand until their digits slid together and locked, still in contact with Dean’s hip. “We’ll start with Nutella, then move on to maple syrup and strawberry jam,” Dean promised. Again, he kissed Castiel, frowning and smiling at once as he leaned his face over him, peering down. “Someday I’m gonna pretend you’re a pancake too, just you wait.”

Castiel blinked, realising what that meant. “That... sounds...”

“Delicious.” Dean grinned. “Yes.”

Castiel smiled his secretive, sly smile, eyes dipping to Dean’s sternum, legs twining together, the contact made lumpen by their jeans. “What I was going to say was, tomorrow, when we get pancakes, you should introduce me to our server as your romantic partner. Whatever moniker you wish to give me. I would very much like that.”

Dean’s smile fluttered, feeling something horribly lovely beam into his chest, like a tiny ray of sunshine. “What, like...?”

“Companion? Husband. Lover. I don’t mind.”

Heat rose into Dean’s cheeks, making them bright. “How about ‘my buddy Cas’?”

“Why that? That doesn’t imply anything romantic―”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “It doesn’t matter what I call you, because it’s how we act around each other that tips people off. You know. Me... with my hand on your waist. Or, um, me whispering things in your ear. Touching your hands.”

“You do all that anyway.”

Dean rolled over in the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a simmer of delight running smoothly in his veins. “Yeah,” he whispered, gaze roving Cas’ face as he lay on top this time, peering down with pure adoration in his blue eyes.

“People think we’re in love,” Castiel surmised.

Dean nodded, lifting his head to put another mint-flavoured kiss on Castiel’s lips.

“Possibly,” Castiel said, tilting his head and tracing the tip of his nose down Dean’s cheek, “they’re seeing something very visible. Something obvious.”

Dean laughed and rolled them over again, pressing his weight into Castiel. They were both so solid, it was wonderful. Castiel was the perfect size for rolling with, and someday soon he was going to prove to be perfect for rocking with, too.

Dean sighed, sinking his belly against Cas’, straddling his hips below the covers. “I get what you meant earlier. About... some things being obvious to some people. I didn’t realise you knew.”

“I’ve been around millenia,” Castiel said, smirking. “I’ve seen enough humanity to know which signals mean attraction, even the kind which certain men attempt to keep hidden.”

“Let’s be honest, though,” Dean grinned, “I didn’t hide it that well.”

“Especially not these last few days, no.”

Dean smiled, rolling onto his back once again, this time not bringing Cas along with him. They lay together, eyes overwhelmed by the spotlight lamps above.

Under the blanket, their hands held on to each other.

Dean realised there were words people said at this point. A three-word confession. Turning his head, he looked worriedly at Cas. “Do I have to say it?”

Castiel turned his head and looked back. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to. But you already know.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile was radiant. “Yes, I already know.”

“Okay.” Dean relaxed. “Cool.”

“For the record, I feel the same way,” Castiel said, his whole face adorned with sincerity. “Very much so.”

Dean smiled, and he smiled happily; the smile was not forced in the slightest. He didn’t reply, and neither did Castiel.

They went on gazing at each other until their eyes drooped low, exhausted.

Dean watched Castiel fall asleep. He hadn’t meant to watch, but every time his eyes closed, they snapped back open to check Castiel was still there, that he wasn’t slipping into a world where their confluence wasn’t reality. Every time, he was relieved to see those aging lines under Cas’ eyes as the other man sailed towards sleep.

Dean was left keeping watch, suddenly not tired at all. Castiel had existed for countless aeons without ever resting, and here he was, weak and useless in slumber. Dean rolled closer, cradling his head and kissing his eyelids, hushing Castiel when he stirred.

Affection. He felt it.

Time passed and Dean couldn’t sleep. How could he, when so much had happened? This was how life was going to be now. Castiel, weak in his arms. Dean, also weak. But both with strong heartbeats, strong hands. Tomorrow morning, they would get pancakes. They’d be together-together. Sam could be a smug asshole all he wanted when they reconvened, but this was Dean’s win. Dean had Cas now, he had him forever.

Eventually, the exhaustion from his long day caught up with him, and his breath slowed to almost nothing, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier until they closed. The twist of mint still lingered on Dean’s tongue, strong enough to keep for the hours until he woke. The flavour would always remind Dean of this beautiful night, the night on which they shared their very first minty fresh kisses.

He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist from behind, kissed his neck, then breathed out and felt content.