Chapter Text
"I waited for you to fall in love with someone else. To get tired of my difficult ways. To tell me, finally, I am leaving you, you're hopeless. But you didn’t & now I’m faced with the biggest terror of my life, knowing I am enough even at my worst for you to love me all your life." - Joseph Pintauro
It’s like this. Sometimes the old single-paned windows let in too much of a draft and the screen door to the backyard has a broken hinge that causes it to slam shut if he doesn’t keep a guiding hand on it, but Dean has never doubted his decision to pack up his measly belongings from the bunker and claim this piece of Kansas prairie as his home just a few short months after defeating Chuck.
Sure his knees hurt something bad after spending the last few days getting all the rotted floorboards out and replacing them, but when he stands up all he can see, and feel , is a job well done. That, and the end of him and Cas having to avoid certain spots when they walk through the halls.
Oh yea, there’s that too.
Because when Dean decided to move out of the Bunker it was obvious Cas was going to come with him.. because… well because . Actually, Dean knows why. Because they love each other. It’s old news. They actually hashed this out like 7 months ago and way before they first moved into the pile of lumbar someone had the audacity to call a house, and it’s been slow going from there. Very slow.
So yea, it’s like this. The house is slowly becoming livable, Dean and Cas are… something , and the chilly March air makes for some very cold mornings.
—
Dean finds himself sitting at their little kitchenette in the early morning drinking coffee with Cas basically every morning. Sometimes with a newspaper (but not often as Dean found it made him want to look for hunts) or with a book or magazine in hand. Sometimes Dean is too restless to sit there and read so he will force Cas, who by all definitions is not a morning person, into talking.
At this moment Dean is jiggling his leg while attempting to balance his coffee cup on the window ledge. He looks out the window and watches as a bird lands at the almost empty bird feeder he had just installed in their backyard before going over in his brain what he had to do that day.
“Dean, would you stop shaking the table, I’m trying to read,” Cas says gruffly, his eyes lifting up to squint at Dean in the morning rays of the sun. His magazine, Better Homes and Garden for fucks sake, lays flat on the formica table.
“S-sorry, I’ll uh—“
“It’s fine if you need to move, just be careful of how hard, and don’t knock your cup over,” he replies, gesturing with his own cup to Dean’s. It’s not even like Cas is drinking coffee today anyway, vastly preferring his weird seasonal fruit teas.
Dean picks up his coffee cup from the ledge; ceramic white with two thin red strips running around the top and begins to fidget with it, running his fingers around the red lines. It isn’t until he begins blowing air between his closed lips, making a soft “puh” sound over and over, that Cas finally closes his magazine with a sigh. Dean can see the cover now, it looks like two people in a kitchen baking something and smiling. That seems nice. Maybe that could be them lat—
“I think I’d like to start a garden soon.”
It takes a second for Dean to realize Cas is speaking to him. Very often Cas speaks out loud to himself, so it isn’t until Dean glances up and sees expectant eyes that his brain switches out of internal planning mode.
“A garden? Like with what?”
“Well I was thinking some tomatoes obviously, and maybe some different types of peppers. I’d like to start off easy to get the hang of it. We could grow some herbs on the porch, and maybe pumpkins for fun. I read in the Farmer’s Almanac while waiting for you at the grocery store last weekend that the last spring frost should be around the middle of April, and that the ideal time to plant tomato seedlings is….”
All Dean can do is sip his coffee while feeling the morning sun start to warm up his face and listen to the gravelly voice that speaks with such soft enthusiasm about something as simple as digging in the dirt. Dean can literally think of no better way to spend his time.
When Can finally finishes his rant on raised beds versus in-ground gardening he looks to Dean and smiles as he asks what's on the agenda today just like he always does.
“I was thinking I would start on the downstairs bathroom so that it will be ready to paint when we get our paint order in a week or so,” Dean says before looking out the window next to them, “I also wanted to fix the broken step on the front porch, but I think it’s going to rain today.”
He looks back over to Cas, ready to hear his response.
“I think I’d like to clean out the cellar today. There seemed to be some leftover items from the last owners I’m interested in, and I’d like to have it ready just in case we need to make use of it in a storm.”
Dean’s stomach clenches. They really didn’t have to worry about bad storms in the Bunker since they were already underground, but Cas seems very concerned about the possibility of a tornado now.
“Right,” Dean replies, “I guess that makes sense, y’know… just in case…”
“Don’t worry,” Cas says warmly, “I’ll keep you safe in the event of a natural disaster. I promise.”
He even smiles at Dean. Like it’s a secret between them. Goddamn. Cas is just so earnest about caring about him it makes his ears warm and face heat up— definitely giving him away.
Cutting the moment short, Dean stands up and walks over to the sink to dump his remaining coffee out and rinse the mug.
“You haven’t finished your coffee once this week.”
“What…huh?” Dean looks back over to Cas who is still at the table.
“It’s just, I’ve noticed that every day this week you’ve dumped out a significant portion of your coffee. Is there something wrong with it?”
“Oh… I,” Dean stalls, rubbing the back of his neck, “I dunno, guess it’s just not that great lately. Maybe the beans are stale or somethin’.”
Damn Cas and his very observant nature. It’s not like not finishing his coffee was something he was aware of or even self-conscious of before. Now Cas is staring at him, head tilted like he’s considering something. His only response is a small ‘hmmm’ in the back of his throat.
“I’ll be in the barn for a bit and then in the downstairs bathroom if you need me.”
And with that Dean walks out of the kitchen to the front door, only stopping in the mudroom to sit on the newly added bench seat and put his work boots on. They feel heavy today. Or maybe Dean’s just walking heavy because it sure feels like every step to the barn is through thick mud.
Actually, ‘barn’ is a strong word for the structure that sits not too far from the house. It’s more like a detached garage. It houses all of Dean’s work tools that he’s accumulated over the past several months along with his beloved Impala. Dean slides his hand over the cloth that’s currently covering it since he traded out his daily wheels for a truck.
He’s hoping when it gets a little warmer out that he and Cas could just get in and take a drive for the day. No destination just the open road. Like old times. They’d listen to music and Dean wouldn’t even tease Cas when he’d want to put on whatever he’s listening to these days. Dean got a glimpse of it the other week when he came home from the store earlier than expected to find Cas belting out the lyrics to some pop song that he was blasting while sweeping the floors. Cas wasn’t even embarrassed, he just wanted Dean to dance with him. So Dean did.
It’s not always like that.
Most of the time Dean’s skin is crawling for him to leave everything behind. He knows everyone is safe. He knows that Jack is in heaven for now sorting things out and that he managed to take care of the truly evil things on the planet after pulling Cas from the Empty. He knows that Sam and Eileen are happy and back at the Bunker assisting the new wave of Hunters who now just work simple ghost haunting cases. He also knows that Jody and Donna and the girls are safe and happy. He even knows that Cas loves him and he loves Cas, he really does. But there’s something about him that still, months later, feels so unsettled.
So most of the time it’s like that.
Like Dean waking up in the middle of the night sweating because he had another nightmare. He’s always careful to extract himself from the bed so he doesn't wake up Cas. Cas who, oh my god , sleeps next to him in the same bed because why wouldn’t they now.
Or it’s like Dean sneaking out to the barn at random times because he keeps a bottle of whiskey hidden in the trunk of the Impala that he might be replacing more often than not. It’s not like Cas said Dean couldn’t drink, but his face when he would walk into the kitchen at 2:00 pm and Dean was holding a glass with a couple fingers worth up to his lips made Dean’s heart hurt. Hurt enough to at least keep up the facade, but not enough to stop.
Or it’s like when Cas is sitting next to Dean on the couch late at night and they are watching some old Western flick on tv. And Dean is tired from the work he did that day and Cas reaches his arm out and puts it around Dean. And it feels like static to Dean who immediately tenses under its weight. Not because he doesn’t want it there but because it makes him so aware that Cas is there and Dean doesn’t know if he’s doing this right or if he’s breathing at a normal rate or if Cas can feel the tremendous effort it’s taking to act very nonchalant about the whole endeavor.
And that’s what frustrates Dean the most. It feels like most of the time Dean is just acting out how he thinks he’s supposed to act. Like he was never told or never learned how to just let someone love him, and it’s not really like he had the opportunity to practice it himself anyway. Because someone loving you makes you pathetic and needy for it. It’s a weakness that Dean could never afford. So it’s hard when Cas wants to hold Dean’s hand or run his fingers through Dean’s hair because it’s something Dean wants but…
But it’s not something he thinks he knows what to do with.
Shockingly he’s more than okay with the kissing and fucking but that’s probably because he has never really tied that to love. But they haven’t really even done that in some time now anyway.
It takes a bit of time and a sip from his hidden bottle for Dean to actually push all of his thoughts into the back of his brain so he can focus on pulling the tools he needs for the downstairs bathroom renovation. By the time he’s dragging his full toolbox back across the lawn, the sky has grown remarkably darker, and Dean can feel the wind picking up. He hauls ass inside, but not before seeing that Cas did in fact make his way to the cellar because the doors are wide open and there’s a soft light coming from deep down.
Dean thinks to himself that sooner or later, he’s going to have to figure out how to pretend he’s doing this whole relationship thing better because Cas is going to find out he’s just faking it. Not the love part, that’s real, just the whole… the whole knowing what to do with it thing . That he feels like he’s literally at the tail end of a game of Jenga and some idiot kid is gonna pull a piece at the bottom without thinking. He’s the idiot kid in this analogy. And when Cas finds that out, he’s going to leave. Obviously.
So yeah, it’s exactly like that.
It’s quite late in the evening by the time Dean is done working in the bathroom. He’s actually surprised Cas hasn’t come to get him to take a break or eat lunch like he normally does. He finishes cleaning up and goes to put his tools back in the barn while wondering where the hell Cas is at. The dark clouds from this morning are hanging low, threatening to spill at any second.
Once again, he sees the cellar doors wide open, this time the light emitting from beneath brighter against the darkening skies. Walking over he calls out Cas’ name, only to be met with Cas stumbling up the stairs quickly.
“Hello Dean,” he says stiffly, like he was embarrassed to be caught out in the cellar still. His clothes are covered in dust and dirt and cobwebs.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies, trying to glance over Cas’ shoulder as Cas is turning around to shut the doors and turn the handle to lock it, “what were you doing all day down there?”
“I was… cleaning it out.”
“Right.”
Why is Cas being so fucking weird about this? He doesn’t have much time to think more about it because suddenly the sky opens up and starts to pour down. Why they stand there in the pouring rain, not moving, Dean will never know. But it takes a good 30 seconds before Dean starts walking towards him and grips the sleeve of Cas’ flannel to drag him toward the back door and shove him inside the house before they can get more soaked.
“Good thing you cleaned it out though, never know when a tornado could hit, y’know,” Dean says softly, trying to ease the tension.
“It’s not ready,” Cas responds a little too quickly. Dean just stares at Cas this time. They’re both dripping onto the kitchen floor and it’s starting to get a little uncomfortable now. Cas seems to pick up on Dean’s questioning look and continues. “I just mean, it’s still a bit dusty. Besides, it’s not even tornado season yet. You have nothing to worry about.”
Then, suddenly, Cas reaches down and pulls off his flannel and undershirt in one swoop. The clothing lands on the tile with a loud wet noise. Now it’s Cas' turn to stare at Dean.
“I’m sure you would be much more comfortable if you took off your wet clothing, Dean.”
Dean doesn’t even get his head out of his shirt before Cas is reaching over and placing his hand on Dean’s bare hip. It burns hot like Dean didn’t even know his skin was so cold and clammy. He squirms away from the touch because it suddenly feels like too much. Too gentle. Too soft. Too… close.
“You bastard,” Dean grins, trying to push past the greasy, uncomfortable feeling of wrongness, “you were just trying to get me naked, weren’t you?”
“No,” Cas laughs, all throat and gums, “but I have to admit it’s not a hardship.” But instead of reaching back out, Cas just looks at Dean warmly, like he would stand here all night with this gap between them. No man’s land spreading just inches from chest to chest.
It’s then that Dean realizes why it works, why they work, and why they shouldn’t. Like a puzzle piece of his earlier thoughts being slotted into place. Because here is Dean offering the bare minimum to Cas today. He listened to him talk this morning. He pulled him out of the rain. He made him laugh. And here is Cas, perfectly content to take what Dean will give him. He shouldn’t be. And Dean wouldn’t even let Cas touch him right then because it wasn’t a closed fist or at night with the lights turned out. Cas should want more. He should take more because Dean’s sure he’s not getting his fair share, and Dean is also sure as hell not able to give what Cas probably wants. He wonders how long they can stay in this form of stasis before Cas realizes that and leaves, before he realizes it’s no longer worth it.
Like the fight has gone out of him, he steps over the pile of clothes to the right of him, walks across the floor, and opens the fridge. Like he’s fucking able to hide in there or something.
“Dean?”
He responds with a noise of acknowledgment, eyes still darting over all the possible combinations they could put together for a quick meal. Cas seems to weigh his response like he’s unsure which direction to go. Finally, he settles. “I’m going to grab a quick shower, then I can help with dinner.”
With that, Cas gathers up the wet shirts and carries them upstairs, probably to the hamper. It isn’t until Dean hears the clanging of the pipes that indicates Cas is showering that he realizes he was waiting for that. His hand that was gripping the fridge door, white-knuckling it, slowly loosens as Dean moves to step away. He quickly pulls his work boots off and rushes upstairs to their room to change out of his damp jeans and throw another flannel on.
He’s already thinking about the easy sandwiches he’s going to put together for dinner. How he’s going to make Cas’ the exact way he’s gonna want it, and leave it on the plate for him to find. How he’s going to be in the unfinished basement by the time Cas makes it out of the shower to check for flooding from the rain and to organize some of the boxes they shoved down there when they moved in. How Cas will know he’s down there by the light shining underneath the crack of the basement door but will leave him be. They’ve done this before.
So Dean knows exactly how this is going to be. What a weird fucking day. Dean wishes he could start over. Wishes he could do it differently. Like maybe he would convince Cas to help him in the downstairs bathroom. Or he’d make sure to take a break and seek Cas out earlier. Make him laugh. Kiss him gently on the cheek as he brushes the cobwebs from Cas’ shoulder. Dean would fill the role he wants to fill, not the one he automatically seems to fill. For now, it’s enough that Cas is in the same house as him. That he will accept the meal Dean has prepared for him and maybe taste the apology in it. That at the end of the night, he will be in their bed when Dean finally slips in. Not touching but just there. It’s enough.
Things actually get better after that. Cas tries cooking Dean breakfast the next day only to end up with burnt scrambled eggs. Dean laughs deeply and tries telling him the secret to cooking them perfectly. They eat toast with jam Cas got from the local grocery store and Dean licks the stickiness off Cas’ fingers. The downstairs bathroom gets finished and Dean and Cas start working on ripping down the ugliest wallpaper Dean has ever seen from the first-floor hallway.
A couple of days later, Dean wakes up to find Cas has already gotten up. His side of the bed is still warm so it couldn’t have been that long ago. He walks down the stairs still in his pajamas while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Cas is at the kitchenette with his cup of tea in hand, but he’s grinning widely behind it. His eyes glance over to Dean who is still standing in the doorway to a package that sits on the table in front of Dean’s seat.
“What’s that?” Dean asks.
“Why don’t you open it and see?”
Dean grabs a pair of scissors from the junk drawer and flips the package over to where it’s taped up, but not before noticing it is addressed to Castiel Winchester. Oh god, he might burn up and die right here just from seeing that.
He slices the blade down the tape and rips the tabs open to find a box with a glass-like structure pictured on it. It looks like a vase, and the box has it labeled Chemex.
Cas is too excited to let Dean figure it out, so he starts describing it.
“It’s a pour-over coffee maker. You put the grinds at the top and pour boiling water over it to make your coffee.”
Out of the box, Cas starts pulling out things like filters and other objects.
“I have a short video you can watch, but I thought you would like to try this instead of that crappy old coffee machine you’ve had for a long time, which is probably why you hate the coffee it makes.”
Crappy. Oh.
Cas is already pulling his phone out of his pocket and pulling up a video. Dean sits through it. Seems like a lot of work for some coffee. But Cas seems so excited about this that it makes Dean want to try.
They start the process, putting their teapot on the stove to start boiling water. Cas is pulling out new coffee grounds he must have gotten at the store yesterday when he went grocery shopping. It takes a few minutes to work through the whole thing, but it’s worth it to stand so close to Cas in the morning. They’re hip to hip as Cas is pouring in the remaining hot water over the grounds. He goes over to the cabinet next to the stove and pulls down not one but two mugs and brings them over. Once the coffee is ready, Cas gently removes the filter, dripping coffee all over the counter, before placing it down in the sink.
“I’ll have to think about that next time,” Cas remarks softly as he begins to pour the coffee into the mugs.
Finally, Dean is able to try this supposedly better coffee. And wow, it actually is better. Fuck him. It actually tastes like coffee and not the burnt shit his Mr. Coffee churns out daily. Dean actually takes another sip, then a gulp, then he’s finishing his mug before setting it down.
Cas is smiling, and oh yea this is why he gets out of bed every day.
“I take it that you like it?” Cas asks, maybe a little too smugly.
“It’s definitely not shit that’s for sure,” he replies.
Dean pours another cup of coffee and takes it over to the kitchenette. It’s not a restless day so he picks up a book he left on the table and starts reading a few pages. He drinks his coffee and he’s enjoying it but there’s something in the back of his mind that’s not letting him fully commit. Sure it’s a lot of extra work in the morning but Cas did it with him and maybe they can keep doing that. It’s kinda stupid but Dean likes when they do stuff together that actually can be done by a single person. It makes him feel like they’re morphed together into this being that has four legs and four arms and one heart and all that mushy, weird shit.
But that’s not it. It’s like his brain is saying, “you can’t enjoy this actually, but I’m not going to tell you why,” and frankly, it’s really fucking annoying.
Trying to ignore that itch, Dean continues reading as the morning sun continues to rise.
It has been going on a week with the new coffee routine in the morning. Most of the time it’s Cas making it since Dean hasn’t really gotten the hang of it yet, despite watching the video a few times. There’s just a lot of steps and waiting and doing things at the right time. Dean sorta maybe misses just flipping the switch and letting things roll.
It’s also been a few weeks since Cas started sneaking off to go do whatever he’s doing in the storm cellar. He won’t let Dean see and that’s fine– not like it matters, Dean can just finish taking the wallpaper down in the hallway himself anyway.
Actually, scratch that, he’s gonna replace the broken porch step finally. He heads down from his room after getting dressed and skips his morning routine of sitting at the kitchen table with Cas. His chest actually feels kinda tight thinking about having to watch Cas filter the coffee through the glass container. He knows Cas doesn’t mind doing it, seems to enjoy it even, but he shouldn’t have to do that for him every day.
Before Dean knows it he’s in the barn and chasing down the feeling with a slightly larger gulp of amber whiskey. Almost empty. He’s gonna have to get a new one the next time he goes into town without Cas.
It’s just. The coffee tastes good. But…he’s not sure. Dean thinks about the time he was 17 years old and freezing his ass off in Riverton, Wyoming after a hunt where he… where he… well he wasalone. And it was snowing because it was fucking January in Wyoming. And he didn’t have a dollar to his name because his dad sent him off one night with just enough money for a bus ticket there after coming back from scoping it out. Said he’d come get him later. Dean didn’t even have anywhere to stay. He just walked down the flat road with nothing for miles on either side of him until he came to an intersection where a small diner sat, lights on to welcome him in. The place was kinda shitty and filled with two other truckers who were stopping for a bite to eat.
Dean had just wanted to get warm enough to feel his fingers again. The waitress had been short with him when he admitted after 20 minutes of pretending he still needed time that he couldn’t order anything. She had told him that he couldn’t stay, that he didn’t belong there if he wasn’t a paying customer. Dean knew that feeling well. He had been making his way through the tables lined with paper placemats when one of the truckers called after him. Dean had bristled and squared his shoulders, ready to tell this guy he wasn’t for sale. But the guy was just holding out a few quarters in his palm. Dean outstretched his hand and the guy dropped them in his waiting palm. Dean mumbled a quick thanks and walked back to his seat. He ordered the only thing he could afford, a cup of coffee. It was black and tasted acrid and was maybe the worst cup he ever had, but it was warmth and it meant he could stay, that for once he could stay.
Dean falls out of thought when he hears the front storm door swing shut. He didn’t even realize he has all the supplies to fix the step and had walked back across the yard, too deep in thought. Now he looks up from where he’s kneeling to Cas who has his arms crossed defensively across his chest and a frown on his face. Oh great.
“You didn’t come to the kitchen after you woke up,” Cas starts.
“Uh, I,” Dean gestures to the hammer in his hand, “I just wanted to get this started, I guess.”
“Oh, I see,” Cas replies, crestfallen.
Dean doesn’t answer back, doesn’t know what to say that would make this better. Doesn’t want to admit that the idea of walking into the kitchen and drinking that coffee fills him with unwanted dread. Instead, Cas continues.
“Would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee anyway?”
No. But Dean can’t say that. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, that would be great.”
Minutes later, Cas comes back out with two mugs, clearly intent on continuing their tradition in the chilly April morning air. Dean walks up to accept his mug from Cas who leans in to kiss Dean first. Dean is a little taken aback when Cas quickly shoves Dean’s chest with his forearm, hot coffee sloshing onto the porch.
“What the fuck?” Dean responds.
“Y-you,” Cas starts, he’s irate now, Dean can tell, “you have alcohol on your breath.”
“I-”
“Dean, what?” Cas continues, seems to be trying to take a deep breath before responding, “Why are you drinking alcohol at 8:00 in the morning?”
But what the fuck is he supposed to tell Cas? He’s got nothing. No reason, not even a good one like a nightmare. It doesn’t even matter because before he can respond, Cas just shoves a coffee cup into Dean’s hand and turns back toward the door.
“I can’t be around you right now. I’m going to say something I regret.”
See. Dean knew this was coming. The Jenga tower is close to collapsing around him. Cas, who claimed to have seen every side of Dean and still loved him, was disillusioned from the start. He can’t be around him. Dean knew this, and it still stings somehow.
He goes back to the porch step, hammer in hand. The coffee in the mug he set on the railing grows cold.