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Cas insisted on taking him to every appointment, even though Dean only ever rolled his eyes at every new house they saw.
“You’re just one dude, Cas,” he said as they left the third house (it was a decent size but needed a fair amount of repairs). “What do you need with a whole house?”
Cas assumed that Dean would just dodge the question if he asked why his purchasing a house was so objectionable, so he never asked. Calmly and patiently (and not for the first time) he answered,“I’m in good financial shape, and I can afford to start thinking about the future.”
“This place is way too big and way too far,” Dean cut in, almost like if he spoke fast enough Cas’s answer wouldn’t count. He fished his keys out of his pocket.
“Too far from where?”
Dean scowled at Cas as he walked around to the driver’s seat of the Impala. “From my place, jackass.”
They slid into the front seat. “Then I’ll tell the realtor to look for some properties near you,” Cas said, knowing full well it wouldn’t appease Dean but still wanting to see his reaction.
“You do that,” Dean said darkly, adjusting the rearview mirror.
The next few houses were a bust, and Dean celebrated when Cas announced in the fall that he was taking a break from his house hunt.
“Trust me, Cas,” he said, knocking his beer bottle against Cas’s as they sat on Cas’s couch, “Home ownership? Big bag of dicks. You’d have to take care of a yard and clean gutters and do all the repairs yourself - and your neighbors might turn out to be assholes, but you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it because you sank your life savings into the house.”
“That’s not how mortgages work, Dean,” Cas said, though he did concede some of Dean’s points with a sip of his beer.
Dean was already turning on the TV so they could catch the season premiere of Dr. Sexy, MD. When he was distracted by the opening theme song - he always sang along despite his insistence he didn’t know the words - Cas reached out silently with his beer bottle and touched the cold glass to Dean’s cheek.
Dean yelped immediately, clapping a hand against his cheek. He scowled at Cas. “You’re lucky the show’s on, or you’d regret that.”
Cas settled against the arm of the sofa and smiled. “You know I never regret spending time with you.”
Dean threw a cushion at him. “If you ever do buy a house, I’m egging it every weekend.”
“It’s not if, but when,” Cas pointed out. “And you might as well buy your own house with all the eggs you’d be buying.”
“Shut up and watch Dr. Sexy,” Dean scolded.
Their truce over Cas’s housing situation lasted only two months; in December, Cas’s realtor called.
“She says it has all I asked for,” Cas explained. “And it’s within my budget.”
They were seated for dinner at Sam and Eileen’s house, though the couple was studiously pretending not to be involved in the discussion.
Dean was frowning at Cas over his serving of pot roast. “I still don’t get why you need a house, Cas - if you need an office space, just get a bigger apartment. You’d get your space, but without all the hassle.”
Everything Dean said was true, but he didn’t quite understand where Cas was coming from, and Cas didn’t know how to explain it to Dean without getting too close to the painful truth. A bigger apartment was indeed the most logical choice for Cas’s situation, but owning a house was something that Cas had always dreamed of. For years now he’d wished for it: having a porch swing, a garage for his car, a backyard big enough for a dog.
Enough space for a family, maybe.
He had nothing yet to fill the house with - not even a car - but owning a house would at least get him a little closer to a dream that seemed so out of reach.
Even though that dream was sitting across the table from Cas, wearing flannel and staring like Cas had grown two heads.
“I’m investing in my future,” Cas eventually said diplomatically, ignoring Dean’s intense gaze. He turned to Sam. “Will you please pass me the broccoli, Sam?”
Sam seemed relieved to do anything other than sit and pretend he was a statue. He lifted the bowl, but Dean intercepted it.
“No brocolli for you,” he snapped at Cas. “The hell do you mean ‘investing in your future’?”
Cas looked at Eileen for help, but she just bit down on a cheeky smile and sat back to observe.
Dean was still staring Cas down. He was holding the bowl of brocolli close to his chest. “Sammy, tell Cas what a pain it is to maintain a house.”
Sam fidgeted. “It’s actually not too bad - “
“Never mind,” Dean interrupted. “Eileen, you’re my last hope.”
Eileen gave Cas a look. “Don’t buy a house.”
Dean let out a triumphant laugh and jabbed a finger in her direction. “Knew you were too smart for Sammy.”
“Use the money for a wedding instead,” Eileen continued.
All three of the men at the table swung their gazes on her. “Wedding?” they all asked in varying degrees of confusion.
Eileen pointed at Dean and Cas, then signed along as she said, “You’re already acting like an old married couple.”
Sam threw his head back in laughter while Dean rolled his eyes. Eventually he handed over the bowl of brocolli to Cas with a sarcastic, “Here, honey.”
Cas kicked him under the table. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The house the realtor showed them was perfect; even Dean could find nothing to say. He just wandered around looking at the walls with a disconsolate air about him, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.
“He’ll come around,” the realtor said when she caught Cas watching him. “I’m glad he at least walked in the door.”
On a number of occasions, Dean had steadfastly refused to enter a house because of some imagined flaw in the architecture. “I hope you’re right,” Cas said.
The realtor looked at her phone and excused herself. “Take your time,” she called over her shoulder.
Cas found Dean in the living room, staring at the fireplace. “What do you think?” he asked, once he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean to examine the hearth. “Too big? Too small?”
“I’m surprised you still want my opinion,” Dean said. His tone was miffed.
Cas could feel Dean’s gaze on his profile, but he fixed his eyes in front of him, where a fire might burn in just a few short weeks if everything went according to plan. “I will always value your opinion, no matter how wrong it might be.”
Dean snorted. His elbow brushed Cas’s. “So where’s Miss Fancy Pants? I’m sure she has an opinion.”
“You’ll be spending much more time in my house than she will,” Cas said, “So her opinion doesn’t count. Also, be careful or I might mistake that tone for jealousy.”
Dean didn’t answer, and Cas tried his best not to read too much into his silence.
Eventually Dean turned to face Cas. His tone was casual but Cas heard hesitation in each syllable. “Sammy and I never had a fireplace growing up. It was always tiny apartments with heating that never worked half the time. It’s why I’m so damn proud of him, y’know? Got the whole picket fence scene over there with Eileen.”
“You could have it too,” Cas pointed out, though it hurt to say - and it was true. Dean had come close to the picket-fence ideal a few times in their ten-year-long friendship, but Dean had never quite allowed his relationships to progress far enough for down payments on a mortgage. “You have the money, and it’s not as if there’s a shortage of people willing to date you.”
Dean looked away, rolling his eyes a little bit. His cheeks were pink, but it was a colder-than-usual winter, so it wasn’t unusual. “That’s not why I brought it up.”
“Then why?”
Dean’s sigh was pinched - short and frustrated. “I want it for you too, Cas - you deserve it too.”
Cas’s stomach flipped. He tried to ignore it. “Thank you. But why do you seem so angry about it?”
“That’s the thing, Cas,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t got an explanation. I’ve been a dick to you for months and I always feel bad about it when I get home, but then I start up all over again the next time you bring up the whole house thing.”
Cas looked down at his feet, hoping to give Dean the space to think. “Your honesty is appreciated.”
Dean blew out a frustrated breath. “Whatever, man,” he said. He put a hand on the fireplace and glared at it. “If you’re still thinking of getting a house, this place is as good as it’ll get.”
Cas smiled. He touched the fireplace too. “You’re welcome to sit in front of the fireplace any time, Dean.”
Dean was looking around. “Install a TV above it, some couches around it - I might take you up on that offer.”
It was the most Cas could hope for, and he was looking forward to it.
Move-in day (more like move-in week) was stressful, but having Dean there made it bearable.
At the end of day 3, Cas found Dean lounging on the rug in front of the fireplace, leaning back against the couch with his legs extended in front of him. The fireplace was roaring; it was actually far too warm for Cas’s liking, but Dean was enjoying himself and Cas hated to interrupt. He joined Dean on the rug and passed Dean a beer from the kitchen, where his newly-installed fridge had just come to temperature.
The kitchen was an actual room in the house, not just an extension of the living room, and Cas could already imagine in perfect, painful clarity the way Dean would move around the room as he prepared burger patties or whipped up some chicken noodle soup or baked an apple pie.
The image lent him the courage to say what he’d been trying to say for the past three days. “You know the guest room is as good as yours, right? You can do what you like with it.”
Dean made a noncommital noise as he tipped his bottle back. “You don’t have to do that, man.”
“I want to,” Cas said simply. “You’ve spent enough nights on my couch.”
Dean shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m sure you’ll find some other use for a spare room.”
Cas thought. He thought really hard. But - “I can’t think of a better use than for you.”
Cas had hoped it would allay whatever worries Dean had, but Dean just put his beer down on the floor next to the rug and scrubbed both hands down his face. He looked exhausted when he turned his face to meet Cas’s gaze. “Cas, you bought this house for your future, right? So save it for - you know. That.”
“I - do you not consider yourself part of my future?” Cas wondered how a conversation could feel like a breakup when there was no relationship involved to break up.
“That’s not what I mean, man. I mean like - you want a family, right? Someone to grow old with and a kid and a dog and all that?” Dean took a deep breath and smiled; it was wide but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll be right there with you, I promise, but if you’re gonna kick me out of that room in a few years I’d rather just crash on the couch.”
Cas scratched his brow. He realized suddenly that they were no longer just talking about Cas’s spare room, and that maybe they were beginning to uncover the source of Dean’s frustration with Cas’s house hunt. “Dean, you’re - you’re much more important to me than any of the things you just mentioned. Purchasing a house doesn’t change that.”
Dean was still smiling, but it was fake and fading. His throat bobbed. “You’ll need that room one day.”
None of this conversation made any sense to Cas. “Why does this feel like a goodbye, Dean?”
Dean pulled one of his knees up and wrapped his arms around it. He gave up his attempts at a smile for a long, deep sigh. “It’s not goodbye, dude,” he said, in a tone that implied that it was. “I’m just letting you know that you don’t need to let me hold you back anymore. You bought a house, and I’m proud of you. You’re one step closer to that apple pie life.”
“If you’re holding me back, it’s only because you won’t come with me.” It was the truth, or as close to the truth as Cas could get.
Dean stared at him, eyebrows knitting together. Then he shook his head. “I’m dead on my feet and this conversation’s goin’ over my head. Can we talk tomorrow? I’m gonna head out.”
He started getting up, but Cas grabbed his hand before he could walk away. If Dean was going to leave him anyway, Cas might as well say it all. “I’m never going to have that apple pie life, Dean.”
Dean was looking at the door, but his fingers clenched in Cas’s hand. “You will, Cas.”
“Not without you.”
Dean closed his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Cas got to his feet, heart thundering. He didn’t let go of Dean’s hand. His other hand came up to brace Dean’s elbow. “I don’t want you to have the guest room.” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say, but it was the first thing to come out of his mouth and he couldn’t take it back. He wanted to laugh and cry and scream at the same time.
Dean’s eyes opened to flash him an faux-irritated look. “Gee, thanks?”
“That’s not - “ Cas was sure there was a speech somewhere in his head, but he cut himself off to step closer, close enough to see Dean’s pupils dilate, figuring maybe that closeness was what would get through to Dean - and it worked, because Dean’s expression changed instantly from exasperation to surprise, then dawning realization.
Dean’s fingers twitched in Cas’s hand. It was clammy and warm from the fire, but Cas held on all the same. Dean licked his lips. “Cas, you’re not serious.”
Cas didn’t let himself dwell on Dean’s tone because he couldn’t afford to. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, and he was going to get it out, shaky voice and aching heart be damned, because if Dean wanted to leave Cas’s life, let it be because of the truth: “My apple pie life is the one where I can sit in front of a fireplace with you, Dean. Just you. That someone I want to grow old with? That’s you.”
It took a few seconds for Dean to react. Worry and hope crossed his face, and it was only after a deep, shaky breath that Dean’s free hand came up tentatively. He touched two fingers to Cas’s cheek, his expression wondrous when Cas didn’t flinch away. “You’re serious.”
Cas’s heart was on the verge of combusting at Dean’s hushed, reverent voice. “Buying a house was the closest I could get to the life I wanted.”
Dean’s fingers were still barely grazing Cas’s cheek, like he was scared the bubble of truth they’d made would burst. “And you want - “
“You,” Cas confirmed, voice tremulous.
Dean’s soft, relieved laugh came out of the blue, but it was more than welcome because Cas was on the verge of crying from the hopes that Dean understood.
“I don’t want you to have the guest room,” Cas repeated - softly, though, mostly because if he spoke any louder he feared his voice would break.
Dean’s eyes were searching. His hand had finally come to rest on Cas’s cheek, secure and warm. “Cas, you’re a goddamn angel, but you need to say what you mean because I’m a dumbass.”
“Please share my bedroom with me.” It took courage, but he said it. “I’ve been in love with you for years.” He touched Dean’s waist. They were still holding hands. “I don’t know how else I can explain it to you.”
Dean was beaming. He was absolutely radiant. Cas couldn’t believe that his words had made him so happy. Dean was taking in Cas’s face, every detail; Cas would have felt self-conscious but Dean’s expression was so hopeful, more hopeful than Cas had ever seen him in their years-long friendship.
“I thought I was going to lose you to some woman and her kids one day,” Dean admitted, letting go of Cas’s hand to clutch his ribs and pull him closer. “Every time we pulled up to a new place, that’s all I could imagine.”
Cas spared him a sad look. “I’ve never given you any indication that’s what I wanted - “
“Buying a house ‘for the future’ is indication enough, dude,” Dean said, but he was smiling, his forehead against Cas’s. The hand on Cas’s ribs was expansive and comforting. “By the way, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Cas was distracted by Dean’s lips. He’d never allowed himself to dwell on the thought of them, but now he could barely concentrate on anything else. “What offer are talking about?”
Dean touched Cas’s lips with a thumb. His wide smile had been replaced by the slightest upward tilt of his mouth. “The bedroom one.”
“Oh,” Cas breathed.
Dean tilted his head hopefully.
“Oh,” Cas whispered again. He saw the briefest glimpse of mirth in Dean’s eyes before he closed his eyes and met Dean in the middle.
And then Cas was kissing his best friend.
In his house.
In front of the fireplace that Dean had fallen in love with.
Next to the kitchen where Dean would cook his specialty pies and burgers and soup and whatever else he wanted to make.
As far as Cas was concerned, everything in this house was just as much Dean’s as it was Cas’s.
Besides the spare bedroom. Dean was never going to touch that spare bedroom.
Cas tried to put that all into his kiss, into the drag of his hand down Dean’s back, into the way his other hand clutched at Dean’s ribcage.
It must have worked because when Dean drew back, his eyes were misty and his smile was back. “I never let myself think I could have this,” he said.
Cas took Dean’s hand and tugged him down onto the couch where Dean immediately boxed Cas in with his arms, eliciting laughter from both of them. The light from the fire made Dean’s eyes shine even brighter.