Chapter Text
“So, get this,” Sam starts, “I found us a case…”
Dean waits for him to go on, but Sam just stands there, hands in his pockets, bouncing on his toes with a shit-eating grin on his face. Dean glances at Cas standing across the table, but he’s no help, waiting patiently as if Sam isn’t purposely fucking with them. Dean sighs, “Ok. Sam. I’ll bite. What case did you find for us?”
Spurred into action by Dean’s manufactured curiosity, Sam folds himself into a chair next to Cas. “Two couples dead. One of the couples stabbed each other to death in the middle of dinner. The other couple drowned each other in shallow water.”
Sam still looks like the cat who swallowed the canary, but so far Dean doesn’t think much of the case. “Who says the murders aren’t just lovers’ quarrels gone too far?”
“I haven’t told you location.” Sam jumps up out of his seat, and spreads his arms wide to indicate the enormity of what he’s about to say. “The deaths were both this month at one of those couples’ only resorts.”
“Like…” Dean’s forehead scrunches, “with the champagne glass bathtubs?”
Sam stills for a moment and frowns at Dean. “No, man. Not that kind. The classy kind. The kind,” he puts both hands down on the table and leans toward Dean, “on a beach.”
Dean leans back in his chair, “Alright, where is it? California? Florida?”
Sam’s face falters for a fraction of a second. “Jamaica.”
“No.” Dean gets up and walks out of the room. He can hear Sam calling after him, but he doesn’t turn around.
He’s not sure where he’s going, but he’s not standing in there with Sam and Cas and arguing about going to fucking Jamaica. He takes the long way around, and ends up in the kitchen pulling a beer out of the refrigerator. Cas comes in as he’s popping off the cap. “I said no.”
“Dean, Sam is trying to do something for you. He said you,” Cas pauses for a moment, “that you mentioned that you wanted to go to a beach.”
“I wanted to go to a beach in the fucking contiguous United States. Jesus, Sam knows I don’t—“ Dean stops abruptly. He swallows before he continues, “I don’t go anywhere I can’t take Baby.”
Cas tilts his head like the fucking bird he is before asking, “Is this about flying?”
Shit. “No. What the fuck? No. It isn’t. About that. Jamaica’s just not practical man. You’ve got to see that. What if stuff goes down? You know,” he moves the beer in an expansive circle, “around here.”
“Now that I have my grace back, I could easily knock you out for the duration of the flight.”
“Cas, you know you’re not up to full speed, you don’t need to risk your grace for something as stupid as a plane ride.” Cas only shrugs in reply.
“Shit.” Dean takes his beer and walks back into the war room.
“Let’s assume I get past the…the thing with the…” he makes the vaguest possible movement with his hand to indicate a plane, “how do we do it?”
“Ok. I’ve already done some research. I’ve got a job lined up as a bartender. I can work while I’m working, you know? Everyone loves to talk to a bartender, right?”
“Fine, sure. Whatever. What about me and Cas?”
“Dean, that’s the best part. You and Cas go as a couple. That way you get to stay in one of those rooms with the fancy tubs, hang out on the beach. I know it’s not exactly a vacation, but it might be as close as we’re going to get.”
Sam’s still talking, but Dean stops listening. He looks at Cas. Cas’ face is serious as usual, no sign that he’s bothered by Sam’s suggestion. Dean’s bothered. He’s very, very bothered. “Sam, stop.” Sam and Cas both swing around to face him. “That’s not…that’s not gonna happen.” Neither of them speak, waiting for him to go on. He feels ridiculous. He shouldn’t have to explain this to them. He doesn’t even know how to explain this to them. “Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, too complicated? We could just all three get jobs.”
“Look, Dean, half the point of this is for you to get a vacation. This way you can work on the case, but also, you know, enjoy yourself a little bit. And, no offense, but it’s still kinda obvious with any extended exposure that Cas isn’t exactly human.”
Cas bristles at that. Dean’s hoping it might be enough to get Cas on his side. “It isn’t as if I haven’t held a job, Sam. I was a sales associate,” Cas pauses, “and I was good at it.”
Dean pipes in, “He was. I was there. You shoulda seen it, Sammy. No one had any idea an Angel of the Lord was cleaning the slushy machine. He fit right in.”
Cas’ brow furrows, “That’s not entirely true. Nora frequently commented that I was ‘different’ although she didn’t suspect the depth of truth to her words, I’m sure. Besides, I wasn’t an angel at the time, as you may remember.”
And, yeah, fine, Dean knows it was different, but it’s not like Cas wasn’t still Cas, grace or not. “Come on, Cas, you might not have had your grace, but you were still…the stuff that makes you you, was all still there, and as far as I’m concerned you didn’t stop being an angel.”
Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Sam interrupts, “This is what I’m talking about. You two aren’t going to have any trouble acting like a couple. You’re not even going to have to fake it.”
Dean double takes toward Sam, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“What? I mean, I know you’re not a couple. Obviously. I’m just saying, your” Sam actually makes finger quotes, “‘profound bond’ or whatever. You guys have always been a little intense. It just makes the job easier. No one will even look twice at the middle aged dudes bickering about what to have for dinner, or sunscreen or sharks or whatever the hell you two will find to fight about. You’d better start packing. Our flight’s tomorrow morning.” And like it’s decided, Sam gets up and walks out of the room.
Dean’s so stunned he doesn’t even call after him until it’s too late.
“What the fuck?” Dean turns to Cas for backup.
Cas is looking at him through narrowed eyes. “I can see you’re upset about this, but I don’t understand why.”
Dean sighs. Of course Cas doesn’t understand. Cas may be a hell of a lot more human than he was 7 years ago, but he still doesn’t always get the nuances of human relationships. Dean rubs his hand down his face and gives up. “It’s nothin’. Come on, if you’re gonna pass as a tourist you’re gonna need to borrow some of my clothes.”
The walk to Dean’s room is quiet. Cas has never been one for chit-chat and Dean feels defensive in a way that is probably overkill for the situation. Looking at it objectively, his brother has made arrangements to work a case specifically because Dean wanted to walk in the sand. The case is going to involve sharing a room with his best friend. The case is also going to involve wearing a swimsuit, probably near said best friend, who will most likely also be wearing a swimsuit. Dean has hardly ever seen Cas out of his trench coat, much less in shorts. Oh, and he’s going to be telling the world his best friend is actually his boyfriend? Husband? Significant other? Dean shakes his head and opens the door. Cas trails in behind him.
“Ok, I think you’re close enough to my size we can make it work if you use my clothes.”
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with what I’m wearing.”
“You don’t think people at a beachside resort are going to think it’s odd that there is a man on vacation wearing a suit and trench coat on the beach?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t wear the trench coat.”
Dean thinks this might be his breaking point, but when he looks up he sees Cas’ mouth ticking up at one corner.
“Are you…was that a…joke?” Cas smiles just a bit wider. “Asshole,” Dean mutters, but he feels a little better about the whole damn plan if Cas can actually joke about it.
He reaches under the bed and pulls out two duffle bags. He opens the top drawer of his dresser and rummages through his boxers. He pulls out five pair, carefully at random, and tosses them to Cas. Cas catches one and the rest drop at his feet. Cas bends down to pick up the others, but Dean turns away to sort out shirts. He pulls out two plain gray tees, one black, and an AC/DC shirt for himself. He stares at the remaining t-shirts, but feels incapable of choosing. What kind of t-shirt would Cas wear? Plain tee? Band tee? V-neck? Will Dean’s shirts be too big? Dean feels like he doesn’t know Cas at all.
“Dean?” Cas asks, suddenly much closer than he was. He’s holding Dean’s boxers balled up in one fist. The other hand is nearly on his shoulder, though he stops, hovering, when Dean looks up at him. “Are you all right?”
“What? Yeah. Of course, man. Just, I don’t know what you like, you know, to wear?”
“I imagine it would be hard for you to know something about me that I don’t know about myself.” Cas smiles at him.
“I guess no time like the present to learn something new. Have at it. I’d pick out at least 5.” Dean turns away taking the shirts he picked for himself and putting them in the duffle. When he turns around Cas is using one hand to riffle through the drawer, and clutching at the boxers with the other. “Give me those,” Dean says, grabbing them out of Cas’ hand and shoving them in the second duffle. He heads to the closet, figuring they need at least a couple dress shirts between them. He picks them out, rolls them up carefully and distributes them in the duffles. Cas is still standing at the open drawer. His arms hang loosely at his sides. He looks like he’s trying to pick out shirts using telekinesis.
“Come on, Cas. Just pick a couple.”
“How am I supposed to choose?”
“It’s not rocket science, just pick what looks good to you, or what looks good on you.”
“I’ve never thought about what might look good on me.”
“I think there’s a navy t-shirt I’ve never worn in there. It’s probably at the bottom. Take that one. It’ll probably look good.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, you wear a navy suit. That looks alright. Probably because of your eyes.”
“What do my eyes have to do with anything.”
“Jesus, Cas. Your eyes are blue, dude. Navy is blue. It, like, picks up the color or some shit.”
Cas reaches into the drawer and pulls out the t-shirt in question. Next he pulls out a Metallica shirt, then 2 plain whites, and a green Star Wars shirt Charlie brought him that says “Camp Endor, Outer Rim.” Cas holds up the final shirt and says, “I’ve never seen you wear this.”
Dean bites back a maybe you should stick around for more than 12 hours at a time and shrugs instead.
“I think it would look good on you.”
Dean can feel the tips of his ears heating up. He wants to protest that that’s not the kind of thing you say to another dude, but it seems particularly hypocritical since he started it. “Yeah, well, I’ve already picked out my shirts. You take it.”
They end up packing a pair of jeans and sweatpants each, but Dean doesn’t own any shorts. They’ll probably spend their days in swimsuits anyway, but Dean also doesn’t own any of those. Dean hopes whatever fraudulent means Sam is using to pay for this trip includes a trip to the resort gift shop.
They can do this. He can do this. As long as he doesn’t think too much about the flight.
The morning comes faster than Dean would like. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, carefully at first and then pressing hard with the heels of his palms. Why didn’t he just say no? He’s a grown man, he doesn’t have to go along with it just because Sam’s got some stupid plan. It’s not too late. He could just refuse. He should just refuse. He drops his hands from his eyes with a loud sigh. He shuffles out of his room, intent on getting a cup of coffee before he deals with this crap, and walks directly into Cas.
Cas looks…different. They stand in the hallway, still too close from having collided. Dean’s mouth is hanging open a little as he looks at Cas. The first thing he notices is that Cas isn’t wearing his trench coat. The second is that he’s not wearing shoes, just black dress socks with gold toes. After that, the realizations come all at once. He’s wearing a rumpled white t-shirt. He’s still wearing his navy slacks, but they look rumpled too. Cas’ hair is a mess, sticking up at his forehead and in the back. Dean’s brain unhelpfully supplies the description “sex hair.” “Cas, you look,” he stops and tries again, “What…?” Dean grunts in frustration, not even sure what he’s trying to ask.
Cas sighs and rubs his hand through his hair. He splays his fingers as he runs his hand from his forehead to the nape of his neck. Dean is distracted by the tuffs of hair sticking up between his fingers. When he pulls his hand away his hair still looks like a disaster, but a more organized one. “I haven’t wanted to worry you, but it seems as if sleep is a thing I now require,” he clears his throat and looks up at Dean, “at intervals.”
“At intervals? What the hell does that mean?” Dean tries to control the anxiety spiking through him. Sleeping’s not the worst thing that could happen to Cas, but it’s not the best either.
“Exactly what it sounds like, Dean,” Cas snaps, “At. Intervals. I. Sleep.”
Cas’ pissy tone does nothing to calm Dean’s worry, “What kind of fucking intervals, Cas?”
The fight goes out of Cas all at once, “I don’t…it’s not consistent…yet. I’ve, over the last few weeks, I’ve occasionally found myself startled awake. I haven’t been consciously falling asleep, but when my body requires it, I seem to fall asleep for a short period. It usually only lasts a few minutes. The longest was an hour, but last night, for the first time, I thought I’d try to go to sleep on purpose,” he glances down at his clothes, as if his state of undress should be indicative of his plan, “to be prepared for the trip.”
“And?”
“And I slept from the time I left you, until a few minutes ago.”
Dean wants to ask a million questions, but the one that pops out is, “Where did you sleep?”
Cas frowns at him. “In the room Sam showed me.” When Dean doesn’t respond he continues, “A few weeks ago, Sam said, since I’d been spending so much time at the bunker, maybe I should have a room, so that I would feel more at…” he trails off, looking cautiously at Dean, “It’s nothing. Sam was just trying to be helpful.”
Guilt pools in Dean’s stomach. He should have offered Cas that room. He’d been thinking about it for months. He’s the one who told Sam he wanted Cas to have a room, wanted Cas to feel more at home, but, in the end, he was too chicken shit to actually offer him one. He can’t believe Sam did it without even telling him. “No, Cas, it’s cool. You should have a room here. That’s, that’s good. I’m glad. I want you to, uh,” Dean swallows the uncomfortable lump in his throat, “feel more,” Dean stops, flicking his eyes to Cas, “uh, welcome,” he finishes lamely.
Cas blinks once and glances at the space between them. He runs his hands through his hair again and takes a step back. “Well, anyway, it occurs to me I might need something appropriate to sleep in.” He spreads his arms as he looks down at the rumpled dress clothes.
“Yeah, ok. Ok. We can do that, but I need some fucking coffee first.” He puts his arm on Cas’ shoulder and turns him, guiding him toward the kitchen. “Caffeine first, pajamas for the Angel of the Lord second.” Cas lets himself be led with a small frown on his face, as if he’s uncertain if Dean is making fun of him. It pulls a laugh out of Dean that only makes Cas frown harder.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about this.”
“I know, buddy,” Dean briefly pulls Cas’ shoulder close to him in a one armed hug, before letting go completely, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out. Come on.”
Dean manages to keep it together up until the point that he’s actually boarding the plane, but by then it’s too late. Sam is striding ahead and Cas is behind, a hand on his back as if he knows Dean’s considering making a run for it. “Relax, Dean, once we’re seated, I can help.”
Dean grits his teeth and follows Sam. Sam magically folds himself into the first free row, moving across to sit by the window. Dean slides in after him, knocking his knees on the armrests and banging his head on the overhead compartment. He slides into the middle seat and closes his eyes. He feels Cas sit next to him, but doesn’t open his eyes. He focuses on his breathing for a few minutes until he feels Cas’ hand on his knee, “It’ll just be a few minutes, Dean.” He opens one eye and peers up at Cas. His face is closer than he expected and Dean jerks back a fraction.
“Cas, you do know the flight is like 7 hours, right?”
Cas huffs a laugh. “I am aware. Once we start moving, I can,” he reaches two fingers out toward Dean’s forehead meaningfully, before sitting back in his seat.
“You mean,” Dean lowers his voice to a whisper, “you could mojo me to sleep? Like for the whole damn flight? We talked about that.”
Cas shrugs again.
Sam snorts and Dean turns to give him the pissiest face he can muster under the circumstances, “Shut it, Samantha.” Sam holds his hands up defensively and looks back out the window at the crew loading bags.
“I don’t want you wasting your mojo being my personal Xanax prescription.”
“That’s not how my grace works, Dean. It wouldn’t be,” he makes honest to god finger quotes, “a waste.”
Dean pitches his voice lower and asks, “Oh, really? Then why the hell are you sleeping, dude?”
Sam leans over Dean at that, “You’re sleeping?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. My grace is diminished, but stable. It’s not always clear what I can and cannot do until I try, but the energy isn’t fluctuating.”
Dean grunts and grips the armrests tighter. He closes his eyes to focus on his breathing again, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Cas, man, why didn’t you say anything?” Sam asks. He sounds a little hurt, and Dean vindictively hopes he’s giving Cas his puppy dog eyes for the full effect.
“Because it wasn’t an issue until last night.”
“What happened last night?” Sam asks, and Dean can feel Sam leaning into his space. Cas is leaning in on the other side and even without looking Dean is starting to feel boxed in.
“I decided to lay down, but…”
Dean exhales harshly and opens his eyes. Cas and Sam both stop and look at him. “Will you two back off. You’re too fucking close. God, how are 3 grown men supposed to fit in this space.” He presses his hands into the seat in front of him, “This is ridiculous, Jesus.” He’s panting now and he knows he needs to regulate his breathing, but it’s not working. Sam looks exasperated, but Cas calmly places a hand on his knee and says, “Perhaps you’d like to sit on the aisle? That way you wouldn’t feel so constricted?”
He kinda wishes Cas would stop touching him, but he breathes out as slowly as he can and says, “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”
The plane is almost finished boarding, but Cas can’t get into the aisle yet, so he stands up and leans over the empty seat to give Dean some space. Dean lifts the armrest and moves between the two seats to get a little distance from Sam. Cas hovers awkwardly, hips back, but body bowed over the seat in a way that places him almost directly above Dean, but it’s better. Dean is probably going to be humiliated when this is over, but right now he’s as grateful as he’s ever been to Cas. As soon as the aisle clears, Cas steps back. Dean moves out after him and lets Cas back in. When Dean sits down in the aisle seat, it’s not great, but it’s not terrible. Sam and Cas resume their discussion, but Dean leans back and tunes them out.
He manages to fall asleep during takeoff, probably because he stayed up worrying most of the night. When he wakes up he can hear Cas and Sam talking quietly. He can only make out a few words, but he focuses on the sound of their voices, calm, happy, together, until he falls back to sleep.
The next time he wakes up, it’s to a puff of air. Cas is leaning against him, his head tilting dangerously close to Dean’s shoulder, his mouth lined up close to Dean’s ear. Dean turns his head carefully, trying not to wake him. There’s a little pit of worry in his stomach that Cas is sleeping at all, but there’s also the urge to drink in his face like this, so much softer in sleep, something Dean never imagined he’d get to see. He glances past Cas and sees Sam absorbed in a book. If he were really going to wake up, he’d push Cas off. Instead he closes his eyes and wills himself back to sleep.
He wakes up again with only an hour left. He suspects Cas might have used a little mojo on him, in spite of his argument. It’s a two for one that explains Dean’s inexplicable ability to sleep through a 7 hour flight and Cas’ nap on his shoulder. He considers confronting Cas about it, but decides to wait until he has solid ground under his feet. Cas notices his movements and looks up from the in-flight magazine to ask, “How are you doing?”
Dean glares at him a little and grunts, “Fine,” because it’s the truth. Cas tries to act casual, but Dean sees the way his mouth almost turns up at the corner as he says, “Good.” That little bastard definitely mojo’d him. “I’m gonna take a piss,” he announces before standing up. Sam glares over at him and Dean discretely throws him the finger.
Cas looks up at him, “Do you want me to…”
“What, Cas, go with me? Unless you’re interested in joining the mile high club, I think I can piss by myself, thanks.” He’s halfway down the aisle before it registers that he just propositioned Cas, which is why people should stop being nice to him, because he’s always going to respond by being an asshole. “Shit,” he says aloud, earning a dirty look from the mom in the aisle seat closest to him, “Sorry, ma’am.” The farther from his seat he gets, the worse he feels. The anxiety is sneaking back in, but he does really need to piss, so he grits his teeth and makes himself keep walking. His legs are shaking by the time he reaches the back of the plane. When he’s washing his hands he starts to feel better. He’s congratulating himself on relaxing when he opens the door and finds Cas waiting on the other side. “What the hell, Cas?”
Cas shrugs and says simply, “I need to use the restroom.”
Dean gives that statement the side-eye it deserves, but steps aside with a flourish to let Cas in.
Cas pauses at the door, “Maybe you could wait here. I’ll only be a moment, and then you won’t have to stand up when I return to our seats.” Dean has the strong impression butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“Sure. Fine, Cas. That’s not weird at all. Go ‘use the restroom’ I’ll be right here.”
Cas visibly relaxes, “Thank you, Dean. I’ll only be a moment.”
“Uh huh.”
Dean waits a suspiciously short amount of time, though he does hear a flush and running water. “After you,” he says as Cas exits, letting Cas lead the way back to their seats. Before Cas slips into the aisle he puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder, stopping him. “We’re going to talk about this later,” he says.
Cas’ simple “Of course,” is enough for Dean to know he’s on the right track, but what’s done is done, and also, thankfully that includes the flight. He closes his eyes during the descent and is not at all surprised when he wakes up on the ground.