Chapter Text
Dean didn’t set an alarm for the next morning, so it was nearly ten by the time they woke up. Sun streamed through the windows and a quick glance at the number of people sprawled on deck chairs and towels on the pool deck below told them it was already threatening to be a scorcher. By the time they were showered and dressed, heading downstairs for breakfast, Cas was already starting to get anxious.
“Cas, I promise, it’s a good surprise,” Dean pleaded as the elevator doors slid open and let them loose in the lobby.
“I do trust you.” Cas kept his eyes on his feet as he spoke. “I just…”
“Don’t like surprises.” Dean finished the sentence for him. Cas was silent, his shoulders hunched. Dean slipped his hand into Cas’ as they walked, interlacing their fingers and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I know. But you just have to bear with me a little longer. Just until after breakfast, ok? And if we get there and you hate it, then the surprise is cancelled and we go do something else. No pressure.”
“OK,” Cas replied, but his voice was tight. “But coffee first. I don’t do surprises on an empty stomach.” Dean nodded in agreement. He didn’t like to do much of anything before coffee.
The nice thing about Vegas, Dean thought, was that there were buffets everywhere. The food was ridiculously cheap. It was that false sense of security thing again, where they lure you in with all the trappings in hopes that you’ll lose what you saved at the poker tables and slot machines.
Breakfast did a very good job of tricking Cas in to forgetting about his stress. They sat down bearing plates piled high with bacon and eggs and whatever other breakfast foods struck their fancy. The buffet was an insane assortment of anything you could consider eating in the morning hours, and some things Dean couldn’t imagine ever eating for breakfast, but hey, to each their own. He’d chosen his favourites, bacon and scrambled eggs and hash browns in abundance, while Cas had taken a somewhat more modest portion and rounded it out with fresh fruit. And coffee. So much coffee.
“I still don’t understand how you can drink your coffee with so much…stuff in it,” teased Dean, sitting back to sip casually at his own cup of plain black goodness.
“And I can’t comprehend how you enjoy it straight like that. It’s never appealed to me.”
“Fair,” he admitted. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree, on the subject of coffee.” Cas frowned.
“We disagree on plenty else, you know.” Cas paused for a moment to pop a bright red strawberry into his mouth, smiling a little as he chewed and thought. “Like surprises.”
“I think we’re allowed to disagree on some things, Cas. How fucking boring would it be to date someone who thought exactly the same as you did on every single little thing? I’d go out of my mind within a week. Besides, we agree on the stuff that matters.” Dean waved a strip of bacon around like a baton as he spoke, punctuating he statement by jabbing the air with the crispy bit of meat.
“Such as?” asked Cas.
“Like the fact that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me?” Dean’s tone was almost questioning, like he was uncertain that Cas would agree all of a sudden.
“Oh god, Dean, this isn’t a Vegas wedding thing is it? Because seriously, I love you, but I’m not going anywhere near an Elvis impersonator—“ Dean cut him off.
“Cas, no! That’s totally not what I was saying. Not that I…I mean if you…I could….like someday…but not…Fuck.” Dean stammered his words, trying desperately to get a handle on the situation. He’d only meant it as flattery, and now he had a big pile of awkward on his hands. Just perfect.
“Oh thank god,” Cas replied, the relief in his voice clear. “I mean, you’re wonderful, but I’ve never actually wanted to get married and I certainly wouldn’t change my mind for a spur of the moment thing in Vegas. Don’t scare me like that!”
“Promise. If I ever decide I want to marry you, I won’t spring it on you at a breakfast buffet in a city with 24 hour wedding chapels.” Dean drank the remainder of his cup of coffee in a hurried gulp, trying to steady his twisting gut.
“Well that’s a fucking relief. What were we even talking about?” Cas queried. He seemed much calmer than Dean felt about the whole debacle, which was entirely out of character being that Cas was the one losing his shit about an innocuous surprise. Maybe he was so chill because he knew for a fact it wasn’t an over the top proposal looming over him?
“We were talking,” continued Dean, glancing around for the attendant with the coffee pot. “About how you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and how we totally, completely agree on that fact.”
“Yeah,” Cas droned, rolling his eyes. “I’m such a catch.”
“Are you serious? I still have to fight this with you? Do you have any idea how amazing you are? How much better my life is with you in it?” Cas flushed, eyes downcast, shrinking under the praise. He was silent for a moment and when he spoke, his voice was soft.
“Fine, I will grant you that I’m the best thing ever to happen to you, if you concede that you’re the best thing ever to happen to me.”
“Motion carried,” Dean acquiesced with a smug grin on his face. “I can accept these terms.”
Less than an hour later, Dean dragged Cas bodily across the floor of a casino several blocks down the strip from where their hotel stood. Cas resisted somewhat, his earlier anxiety returned somewhat, and tried to tug his hand out of Dean’s grasp.
“I thought you said we weren’t gambling,” he whined, and Dean drew up short.
“We’re not,” came Dean’s reply. “Just trust me. It’s through here,” he gestured to a set of double doors just a few feet to their right. Cas slumped his shoulders and followed grudgingly, squinting as Dean opened the doors and they stepped out into the bright late-morning sunlight. Cas’ eyes fell on a platform with turnstiles, and a little covered area that looked like nothing so much as a train station.
“I don’t understand,” he began, and Dean reached down to take his hand again.
“Look up, Cas.” Dean pointed with his free hand to the twisting, twirling mass of metal that extended into the sky above, looping and weaving far up into the air. Distantly, they could hear the sound of the cart roaring over the track as the current batch of riders hurtled through the sky, screaming with delight as the coaster thrilled their senses.
“Charlie told me you’d never ridden one,” Dean stated plainly, turning to smile at Cas. “And I just couldn’t let that stand.” Cas stated, dumbfounded. He didn’t speak, and his face didn’t give Dean any indication of his opinion. “Are you…is this a good surprise?” Cas laughed suddenly, a joyous sound that heaved his chest and lit up his face.
“It’s an amazing surprise, Dean. I’ve always wanted to ride a roller-coaster. I had no idea they had one in Las Vegas though.” He beamed at Dean as he spoke, his voice full of happy emotions, of excitement and wonder.
“There’s more than one. This is the tamest of them, as far as the internet weirdoes who rate roller coasters are concerned. I figured we’d start here, and if you like it, we can ride the rest of them. What do you think?” Dean laughed as Cas threw his arms around Dean’s neck in reply, dropping little kisses on his lips and his face.
“You plan good vacations,” Cas announced. “Let’s go ride this thing.”
There wasn’t much of a line for the coaster, so Cas only had a few minutes to let the anticipation build as they watched other riders climb into the cars and depart down the track, returning shortly later with windswept hair and wide eyed glee on their faces. When it was their turn, Dean paid the attendant and they climbed into their seats. The safety bar latched in place and Cas was pleasantly aware of how close the confines of the cart placed him to the warmth of Dean’s body. Their hips pressed together, shoulders jostling as they settled into place, and just as the car began to move slowly forward, hauled by some unseen chain beneath, Dean interlaced his fingers with Cas’ and gave him a little squeeze.
“It is customary to scream, I’ve noticed,” Cas said softly, scarcely audible over the click-clack of the wheels. They’d begun the slow climb up the first hill, building up enough height that kinetic force could carry them through the twists and loops that would soon follow.
“Yes,” Dean replied with a laugh. “But I don’t think it’s like, a rule or anything. I think people scream because it’s thrilling. Just do what feels natural.” And then they were cresting the hill. The cart paused momentarily at the top, like it was taunting them, giving them a chance to ponder and anticipate what they were about to undertake. Cas had a brief, split second worry that this was a terrible idea, that the cart was going to fly off the rails or they were going to get stuck up here or an errant seagull was going to fly into their path and he’d be struck in the face (never mind how far they were from the ocean, he’d read a story, it definitely happened to someone once, it could totally happen again.) In the face of something fun and new and exciting, of course Mister Worst Case Scenario would rear his head again. Just as the panic started to set in, Dean gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and Cas forced himself to settle, to let go of the strain, and the cart began to move.
There was no gradual buildup this time. The second the brake released, the cart careened down the metal hill at breakneck speed, gaining momentum as it went. Cas felt a wordless howl escape his lips, but he couldn’t recall telling his lungs to scream. His blood pulsed in his temples and his heart leapt in his chest and somehow, his arms were above his head, flailing in freedom as he plummeted toward certain death. But just as he thought the descent would stop with him splattered on the ground, the cart changed course, following the track into a banked turn, looping and spinning and barrelling forward as if it hadn’t just threatened to kill them all. Cas had a bare second to catch his breath before they ascended another hill, smaller than the first, moving much faster than they had climbed the initial hill. There was no pause at the top of this hill, either. The instant they crested, gravity pulled them downward just as it pulled a shrill scream from Cas’ lips. He was vaguely aware of Dean’s hand clutching his own as they trailed above their heads, but he couldn’t pick out any individual shriek in the din to tell if Dean was screaming along with him. He’d have to ask later.
The second hill gave way immediately to a twisting corkscrew. Cas had just enough time to recognize the shape of the upcoming track as they reached the low point of the track, just enough time to acknowledge the fact that this would put them upside-down for just the briefest of moments, but not enough time to process that fact and do any sort of panicking. He gripped Dean’s hand just a little tighter and filled his lungs with life-giving air, and as the car propelled them into the air and hung them from the sky, he let out a shout that quickly became a laugh. It came out boisterous and full of life, and it was only then that Cas really acknowledged how much fun he was having. He couldn’t be sure, not with the wind whipping in his face and the howling, but he was pretty sure there was a grin on his face the size of Texas.
The corkscrew survived, Cas and Dean quickly found themselves climbing what would prove to be the last hill of the track. It wasn’t as large as the first, but slightly larger than the second. Cas forgot to be apprehensive as they made their ascent and gave himself over completely to the rapturous joy of motion. He never would have expected it, but he enjoyed being hurtled through the air on this man-made monstrosity. He threw his head back and laughed loud and clear, delighting in the freedom he felt as the cart dropped toward the ground one last time. He was still laughing by the time they pulled up to the little station, the sound ringing in his ears as he and Dean exited the cart and stepped on to the platform.
“So you liked it then,” Dean stated obtusely. Cas turned to face him as they walked back into the casino, and saw the delight he knew was clear on his face mirrored on Dean’s.
“How many more of these did you say there were in Las Vegas?” Cas replied, sliding his arm around Dean’s waist and pressing close against him as they walked.
Cas and Dean rode every single coaster in Vegas over the next two days. They rode corkscrews and loops. They rode coasters that hung you from the track instead of the traditional method of dragging the cart over top of it. They rode metal ones, and one old-school wooden coaster that looked rickety enough that Cas almost balked, but it turned out to be one of their favourites. They rode every single roller coaster in the city, and then went back and rode their favourites again. By the end of their second day in Vegas, Dean was sure they’d spent more time on coasters than on solid ground. He couldn’t bring himself to complain, though, because the only time he’d ever seen Castiel that free, that uninhibited before had been during sex, and roller coasters were decidedly more appropriate for public consumption. It made him immeasurably happy to know that Cas could have that kind of joy and that Dean wasn’t the only thing that could give it to him. He felt…almost proud.
After the final coaster run of their afternoon, Dean insisted they go to an actual restaurant for dinner. They’d subsisted the last two days on room service and fast food, whatever could be grabbed and eaten in transit between one coaster and the next. Not that Dean was complaining, because the room service was usually eaten nude, and was either preceded or closely followed by sex, slow and languorous or hard and passionate, depending on how the mood took them. But Dean wanted to sit down at a table and order off a menu and have someone bring food to them. Possibly with some kind of alcohol that didn’t come out of little airline bottles. So they dressed up relatively nicely, in slacks and dress shirts and made their way into the hotel’s restaurant, not the one that hosted the breakfast buffet, but the nicer one that actually qualified as a restaurant. Dean almost ordered a bottle of wine, then decided against it at the last minute, as neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about wine. He ordered a whiskey instead, and Cas asked for a rum and coke.
“So what do you want to do with our last day in Vegas?” Dean asked. The waiter had just walked away with their orders. He sipped his whiskey slowly, letting the burn of it crawl down his throat and warm his insides. Not that he needed warming, because they were in the middle of the desert in July, but it still lit a pleasant fire in his belly. “Want to ride coasters again? Want to see some sights? We could lounge by the pool, or catch a show, or if you’re feeling super adventurous we could even play a few hands of blackjack. Whatever you want to do.” Cas fixed him with a flat look.
“Do you have any idea how insurmountably the odds are stacked in favour of the house at a blackjack table? I’ve seen the numbers. It’s statistically unlikely to be a profitable endeavour.” Cas swirled his drink thoughtfully.
“You know you’re on vacation, right? You don’t have to be an accountant right now.”
“I don’t think this way because I’m an accountant. I’m an accountant because I think this way. In any case, no, don’t want to play blackjack. I think I would like to go ride one coaster again, the big one, and then I would like to spend the rest of the day being as lazy as possible.”
“Naked lazy?” Dean suggested, a gleam in his eye that could only be described as hungry.
“Maybe,” Cas teased, but they both knew he meant yes.
Dean would argue, if you asked him about it, that he would always choose pie over any other available dessert option, any day off the week, no matter what the occasion. Period. End of story. It was pie or nothing. The only questions ever came if there were multiple kinds of pie being offered and then he'd have to think long and hard about what kind of pie based mood he was in. And even then, if pecan pie was on the list of available pies, Dean would stop listening to the rest of the options and that would be that. So it should stand to reason as far as he’s concerned that any situation, person, place or thing that can cause him to willingly consume not-pie when pie is an option is a very important person, place, thing or occasion indeed. He can count on the fingers of one hand the scenarios in his life that have met the immensely discerning criteria required for consensual pie evasion and have change left over to count something else on. Once, when he was three, he let his mom have the last slice of pie and ate pudding instead, which he regretted for days afterwards. Adult Dean would later recall that it was an entirely meaningful gesture and especially in the absence of any memories of his mother past the age of four he would cherish it for the rest of his days. Shortly before his demise, John had come home particularly drunk and broken the majority of their dishes. The next day he’d braved his hangover to purchase a pie at the grocery store, by way of half-hearted apology. He’d never actually used the words “I’m sorry,” but it was obvious that was his intent. Dean had steadfastly refused to eat the pie because he felt like it would constitute tacit acceptance of his father’s behaviour, and he wouldn’t have accepted a verbal apology so he sure as hell wasn’t going to accept a culinary one. And that night in Vegas, the dessert menu boasted an elaborate chocolate fondue, featuring fresh strawberries and pineapple, bite sized pieces of chocolate and vanilla cakes, and little tiny brownies with walnuts nestled inside. It was intended as a shared dessert, and even Dean couldn’t deny the implications of refusing when Cas suggested it was something he might enjoy as a conclusion to their meal, so he’d spared only a half glance for the line on the menu that proclaimed ‘Ask your server about our featured pie,’ and told Cas they should order the fondue. The gravity of the gesture was not lost on Castiel.
“Are you certain, Dean? They have pie.” His face bore a look of deep concern, like he was worried that Dean not having pie when pie was available constituted some sort of illness. Normally he’d be correct.
“I know they have pie, Cas. You can get pie everywhere. You cannot get,” he glanced down, reading the wording directly off the menu for emphasis, “’an indulgent assortment of fresh fruit and pastry items, perfect for dipping in our signature rich dark chocolate and white chocolate fondues. Made from the finest quality chocolate, infused with Madagascar vanilla and tempered with fresh cream,’ everywhere. So that’s what we’re having.” He set the menu down on the table, closed it firmly, and crossed his arms with a look on his face that he hoped carried a tone of determination and not the wavering commitment to his decision that his mind was playing at. If Cas suggested one more time that he have pie instead, his resolve might crumble and the thoughtfulness of his gesture would be completely destroyed.
“Well if you’re sure,” Cas began.
“I am,” Dean interrupted.
“Ok then.”
The fondue was delivered on a rolling cart by a waiter who simpered and preened like his life depended on it. He cleared all the unnecessary accoutrements from the table, fawning meticulously over the removal of salt and pepper shakers, dinner dishes, empty glasses, and the floral arrangement that had sat off to the side of their place settings for the entirety of the meal, before finally arranging the gleaming metal fondue pots with their little sterno flames in the centre of the table and the various dishes to either side. He proffered two-tonged forks for each of them and poured coffee, fresh and steaming, before smiling a thin-lipped smile and striding back to whatever the fuck he did when he wasn’t being ten gallons of fastidious in a five gallon bucket.
When the waiter finally left, Cas and Dean surveyed the spread laid out before them with disbelief. It was massive. Dean wasn’t sure they could finish them all if there were four of them. Still, Cas’ face had excitement painted all over, so they tucked in with gusto and enthusiasm.
Dean decided that the brownie pieces dipped in the white chocolate were his favourite, but there wasn’t really anything on the spread that he didn’t enjoy. It was no pie, that’s for sure, but it was delicious all the same. Cas spread his attention around evenly, so it wasn’t clear what he liked best, but he hummed and smiled and made happy noises and that was plenty.
“You’ve got a little something.” Dean reached out to swipe a finger across Cas’ chin, collecting the spot of white chocolate that had situated itself just below his lip. Cas turned his head just slightly and caught Dean’s finger in his mouth. His tongue flicked across the pad of Dean’s finger and Dean was sure he was just after the chocolate but the sight of Cas mouthing contentedly at his finger carried a decidedly suggestive note that refused to be ignored. He smiled and pulled his hand away slowly, then swiped a piece of cake through the chocolate with his fingers and popped it into his mouth, sucking the errant crumbs off his thumb before casually turning his attention to his coffee.
“Dean…” Cas narrowed his eyes across the table.
“What?! I’m not doing anything!” He flashed a smug grin at Cas, fully aware that he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“No, of course you’re not. There was nothing intentionally suggestive in that gesture at all.” Cas rolled his eyes.
“Oh come on, you started it. I’m just rising to the occasion.”
“I started it? How do you figure?!” Cas set his fork down and gazed at Dean intently.
“I was just getting chocolate off your face! You were the one who started sucking on my finger.” Castiel pondered for a moment before replying.
“You don’t usually complain when I use my mouth in that particular manner.” His voice was light, conversational, but Dean was floored. He tore his eyes away from Cas only long enough to get the attention of their simpering waiter and requested the bill. “What’s wrong, Dean? Is dessert not agreeing with you?” Cas, the little shit, sat across the table and smirked.
“You may have started this,” Dean dropped his voice to speak low and warm, “But as soon as we get back up to the room, I’m going to finish it.”
Dean managed to keep his hands to himself in the elevator ride upstairs, which was just as well because he was fairly certain the family of four sharing the space with them would not have appreciated their children being present for the things he wanted to be doing in that elevator. He managed to restrain himself just long enough to let the door click shut behind them in the safety of the hotel room, and then he was pressing Cas against the door, claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss and already working furiously at the buttons on Cas’ shirt. He managed to work them all open with only a little bit of difficulty. Reason told him that if he just slowed down a little, it might be easier, but honestly his brain was far past being able to accept that totally workable solution. Slow was not an option.
“Cas,” groaned Dean, pulling him away from the door by one belt loop and leading him towards the bed. He stripped his own shirt off as they went. When they reached the bed, Dean quickly freed Cas of his slacks, then dropped his own before climbing onto the bed beside his lover, letting his lips and tongue trail up Cas’ chest as he moved up towards the mountain of pillows. Dean palmed at Cas’ dick through his shorts as their mouths met in a feverish kiss, driving the breath from Dean’s lungs with its intensity. Cas’ hands bracketed Dean’s face, holding him close so he could kiss him over and over and over. Soon, Dean began to grind his hips against Cas’ thigh, a desperate, dirty roll that left no doubt as to how hard he was, trapped in his boxers.
“I want you on top.” Dean’s words were more a moan than a sentence, punctuated by his hand grasping at the waistband of Cas’ underwear to tug it downwards and free the length of his cock from the confining fabric. Cas hissed and arched as Dean’s palm pressed against his erection, his hips rolling upward to meet the firm pressure.
“That sounds a whole lot more like me finishing it than you finishing it,” Cas said, as accusingly as he could as he bucked his hips into the friction of Dean’s hand.
“That sounds a whole lot like complaining. Should I take that as a no?”
“You really, really should not. You should, however, get naked. That would help.” Cas answered with more than a little snark in his voice as he rolled away from Dean’s attentions to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand. They really should have tucked it away before leaving for the day. The housekeeping staff probably would have appreciated that. When he rolled back over, Dean had managed to discard his underwear and lay on his side, propped up on one elbow to stare at Cas through heavy lids. Cas rolled him over with a firm hand on his hip, and Dean tucked his legs under and pressed onto hands and knees, wiggling his hips a little as Cas teased at his hole with a single lubed finger. He cried out when Cas pushed in to the first knuckle, pressing only as much as he thought Dean could take, but giving a little more on each go. He worked in a second finger soon after, and Dean dropped his head to groan into the pillow. Dean opened up to his touch gradually and by the time Cas had a third finger worked in, Dean was moaning constantly, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Cas didn’t waste any further time slicking himself up and lining up to drive into the tight heat of Dean’s ass, bottoming out in an agonizingly slow thrust. His hands clutched at Dean’s hips possessively, holding on for dear life as his hips met Dean’s thighs. Cas leaned over to mouth at Dean’s shoulder as his hips began to roll, one hand braced on the mattress and the other caressing Dean’s arm, his chest, his back.
“You feel so good…” Cas breathed, scarcely able to form words. Already he felt the beginnings of his orgasm forming at the edge of perception, the explosive heat taking shape in his belly. His hips accelerated with each passing moment, so that the sound of skin on skin filled the air and mingled with the rasp of breath and the little punched out moans that fell from Dean’s hips.
Dean, for his own part, was needy and wanted more. He pushed back against Cas’ thrusts, taking him deeper and deeper, crying out when Cas pushed into his sweet spot. Cas responded in kind. He ceased the tantalizing roll of his hips and let it become a hard drive, slamming his hips into Deans mercilessly and dragging his hand down beneath his partner to wrap around Dean’s thick cock.
“Fuck, Cas! Yes! Just like that!” Dean whimpered. Cas drove into him with relentless focus, biting into the meat of his shoulder as he shifted his hips to meet Dean’s sweet spot with every few thrusts. Dean’s whimpering became a dizzying string of profanity, begging Cas more and fuck yes and harder, and Cas was helpless to deny him. He slammed home with renewed vigour, driven by the absolutely filthy noises falling from Dean’s lips, and he was just starting to feel his climax loom when Dean tensed beneath him, coming hard in Cas’ hand as he moaned and babbled.
“Right there Cas, yes, oh god yes, so good, fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you!” the words fell from his mouth like a divine litany as he came, and it dragged Cas right over the edge with him. He came hard, riding Dean through his orgasm as his hips broke rhythm, and his mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’, because he didn’t want anything to stop him from hearing the gorgeous words Dean offered up in his own moment of ecstasy. They collapsed to the mattress in a breathless, sticky heap, neither party wanting to move for long minutes afterwards. When they finally did move, it was only long enough to clean up and climb right back in to bed. Cas fell asleep almost instantly curled up to Dean’s side, and his sleep was peaceful and dreamless.
Dean refused to tell Cas anything about the final leg of their journey, except that they had to check out of the hotel in Vegas at 1 am and get directly on the road. He denied any further details and wouldn’t speak any further on the subject. They’d spent their final day in Vegas naked and lazy in the hotel room like Cas had decreed, and Cas was grateful for this because they curled up to sleep almost immediately after the dinner they ordered from room service and slept right until Dean’s alarm went off at midnight. He was still bleary when the valet pulled the Impala to a stop outside the front doors. Their bags were stowed securely in the trunk, and after a careful once-over Dean decided nothing untoward had happened to his baby, so he tipped the man and settled himself in to the driver’s seat. Cas fell asleep before they made the city limits.
When he woke again, it was still dark The car wasn’t moving and Dean had turned the radio off.
“Oh good, you’re awake. We’re here.” Dean grinned in the dark, reaching out to clasp Cas’s hand in a warm and familiar gesture.
“Where’s here?” Cas asked.
“You’ll see,” was the only reply Dean would give. He got out of the car and gestured for Cas to do the same. There was a blanket lain over the hood of the Impala. Cas couldn’t tell where they were except that it was a parking lot. The night air carried a chill even in the summer and he was glad for the shared warmth as he climbed on to the hood beside Dean, who promptly covered them both with another blanket. They were quiet for a time, staring into the night sky at the fading stars. Cas figured it must be nearing morning, because the black was starting to fade to deep blue in places, and a faint light could be seen from the horizon.
“I don’t want you to miss out on things,” Dean said suddenly, interrupting the calm. “I want you to have everything, all the good things. I want you to have vacations and roller coasters and chocolate fondue.”
“I want that too,” Cas replied.
“Look,” Dean said suddenly, pointing out into the distance. There, past the few other cars they could see, past a sea of RV’s and campers, the sun had just peeked up the tiniest bit above the horizon, spilling orange-pink light into the sky. Cas watched in awe for more minutes than he could put number to as the most perfect sunrise he could ever recall watching painted itself across the sky. It was like all of creation was coming to life before his eyes, the world lighting up for the very first time and he was there to witness it.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathed an eternity later, when there was enough light in the sky to really call it morning, and it was only then that he tore his eyes from the sky to look at the rest of the world it had revealed. Just past the parking lot, past the rows of motor homes and recreational vehicles, a gaping chasm split the world, a canyon so large Castiel could understand immediately why they’d named it Grand.
“You told Charlie once that you wanted to watch the sun rise over the Grand Canyon, but you thought you’d never get to go,” Dean offered, his voice soft and patient. “I wanted you to learn that some surprises are good.” When Cas turned to look at Dean, there were unshed tears in his perfect blue eyes, sparkling, joyous tears. He looked like someone had just given him the world.
“This is the most amazing, most perfect thing anyone has ever done for me, Dean. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.” His voice was full of emotion, reverence and gratitude and joy and marvel and wonder.
“Just let me keep being one of your good things,” Dean replied, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to his lips, gentle and chaste.
“Always,” Cas replied, and he meant it.
Hours later, when the sun had fully risen and they’d driven back out of the park to eat breakfast and drink coffee and laugh, Dean and Cas returned to the Canyon to do the tourist thing. They stood, pressed together at the hip and gazed out over the majesty of the scene, each drinking in the detail of the day, imprinting it on their memories to keep for all time.
“You two on your honeymoon?” a young woman drawled in a thick Texas accent. She held hands with a tall man Cas assumed was her husband, judging by the rings on their left hands and the dreamy looks in their eyes.
“No,” Cas replied, laughing slightly. “Just on vacation.”
“Oh, well you got that look to ya. You know, the ‘we’re madly in love and we don’t care who knows it,’ look.” Cas knew the one she was talking about. The dreamy one. The one she wore. He hadn’t realized it would be so obvious to look at them but he supposed her assessment was correct. They were madly in love, and Cas really didn’t care who knew it. “Name’s Sandra, and this is my husband Derek,” she said, gesturing to the man beside her.
“I’m Castiel,” he replied politely, extending a hand to shake theirs. “And this is Dean.” Dean shook their hands as well, grinning that broad grin that made him so charming.
“So Dean, Castiel, how’d you two meet?” Sandra drawled as Derek pulled a camera out of his pocket and snapped a few pictures of the canyon.
“A mutual friend introduced us. Her name is Pamela,” Castiel replied instinctively. Dean laughed loudly, drawing Cas in and kissing him chastely on the lips.
“That’s the abridged version,” he teased. “Lemme tell you how it really happened.”