FIC: The Awesomes (Part II)
Dinner that evening was a somewhat subdued affair, unusual for the Winchester-Novak household. Even Balthazar was quiet, which only added another worry onto Dean's growing list. But he shrugged his shoulders and slurped his stew when Dean tried to talk to him, and he soon gave up.
It was something of a relief when a key turned in the front lock and Sam walked in. The boys abandoned their bowls of Dad Delight to dogpile their uncle, and Castiel declared dinner to be over. Dean captured his gaze across the dinner table, feeling a small thrill run up his spine, answered by the slight flush staining Cas's cheeks. It was Bowling Night.
Tuesday's were Bowling Night. Or as Dean would say, "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge - Bowling Night," always followed by the broadest of winks. Bowling Night was an endless source of embarrassment to the kids. Gabriel thought it was a dorky hobby and Balthazar secretly wanted to go, too. Anna, on the hand, was the only one who suspected (and rightly) that no actual bowling took place on Bowling Night. She thought it was code for having public sex, though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why Uncle Sam would consent to being their lookout. Her face flamed as red as her hair as her fathers bustled around, Dean clearing the table, Cas sprinting upstairs to change into jeans and a t-shirt, and both kissing her forehead before leaving her in charge for the evening.
To Cas, Dean and Sam, Bowling Night meant a return to being Awesome, if only for a couple of hours. The thrill of the hunt! The excitement of the chase! The total intoxication of expending righteous fury on the side of Good! Tuesday nights made the rest of the week bearable. Tuesday nights were when, once again, superheroes walked the earth.
Or sat huddled over the police scanner in the Impala, lurking in an alley mouth in what passed for the "bad" side of town.
"Cheeto?" Sam dangled the bag over the front seat, offering it back and forth between Dean and Cas.
"Don't get that orange shit on my baby's upholstery," Dean said, eyeing the bag. He was putting on a little weight, no two ways about it, but maybe one Cheeto wouldn't be so bad. If he rolled down the window and ate it outside to protect the Impala, of course.
"There're candy bar wrappers on the floor back here, Dean. I don't think a little orange dust would even be noticed." Sam crunched four Cheetos at a time. Sam wasn't putting on extra weight, damn him.
"I would notice," he snapped back. "And Gabe's going to get a stern talking-to when we get home! Another one."
"Is Gabe getting into trouble at school?" Sam asked, swallowing.
Dean glared at him. "Are you asking as his uncle or as a therapist?"
"You need to stop getting your panties into a twist over my profession," Sam said sharply. "And it's family first, you know that."
"Sorry, Sammy." Dean sighed and glanced at Cas. He was staring at the police scanner like he could wake it up with the very force of his will. Dean leaned over the backseat to talk to Sam instead. "Gabe's getting really good with the whole create-things-out-of-thin-air thing," he said. "A little too good. But that's nothing compared to what Anna did."
"Did you two have a fight?"
"What? No! We had a discussion. You would've been proud of me, Sammy."
Sam raised an eyebrow in an expression that Dean had actually taught him when they were kids, and was annoyed to see it used against him.
"Okay, Dr. Winchester," Dean said. "Your daughter comes home with tattoos and wants to know if your husband showed you his wings the first time you fucked. What would you have said? Look at that, I'm asking your opinion! I should write it in the paper."
"She wanted to know if I showed you my wings because I loved you," Cas interrupted before Sam could reply.
"The important bits here, Sam, are that Anna got tattoos and she's thinking about having sex. Sex, Sam!"
"Okay, I got it, Dean!" Sam cleared his throat. "She's seventeen, she's going to be thinking about sex. You have to get Anna to acknowledge her self-worth. You can't make her, but reassure her that you, at least, find her worthy of love and respect."
"We totally did that," Dean said.
"That's good!" Sam paused. "What were her tattoos of?"
"Wings."
"And you think she chose wings because of Cas?"
Dean stared at him. "Do you know any other winged men? And don't be all Oedipus Sex or whatever. I don't want to hear that shit."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Sam said dryly. "Okay, without talking to Anna herself, I think it's obvious that she wants to get closer to you guys. Look - you're her example of a healthy, loving relationship. She's at the age where she wants something like that for herself. It's only natural for her to try to procure it."
"So . . . in your professional opinion, our daughter getting tattoos and wanting sex does not make us terrible parents?"
"No."
"Good."
"So Cas showing you his wings - "
"Nope, share time is over. Eat your Cheetos."
"You're emotionally stunted, you know that right?" Sam asked, chomping on three Cheetos at once.
"Dude! Watch the spit!"
"A bit of spit or orange dust is of no import," Cas said, rousing himself from the scanner. "You two need to be quiet and focus on the work at hand."
"There is no work at hand," Dean grumbled.
Cas shot him a glare and turned up the radio. Dean sighed and leaned back against the window. The car was filled with the sound of Sam munching Cheetos and the occasional squawking voice on the radio, interspersed with plenty of static. It was a slow night. Dean could feel the ennui from the rest of the week creep in. Soon enough they'd have to call it a night. Cas would be disappointed, and Dean hated it when Cas was disappointed. He'd told Sam one night, years ago, soon after Anna was born, that if Cas asked him for the moon, he would wrestle it from the sky for him. He'd been drunk, to be sure, but the sentiment held true despite its sappiness. He laid his hand on Cas's knee and squeezed gently. Cas straightened from his slight slump and turned to look at Dean just as the radio crackled to life.
"Shit, there's a fire at Oasis Plains Housing Development! What's the code? WHAT'S THE CODE?!"
"A fire!" Cas's eyes were suddenly blazing. "Dean, we can beat the truck!"
"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Dean yelled back, putting the Impala into drive and flooring it. Cheetos went flying across the backseat.
Fifteen minutes later, Dean was regretting his enthusiasm as he inhaled another lungful of smoke. An unconscious body was slung over each shoulder, Cas followed with his own double burden and Sam, who did not have the benefit of super-strength, still managed a couple of teenagers over his shoulders.
"Where the hell's outside?" he coughed. "Cas? You see anything?"
"It is on the other side of this wall," Cas said, nodding to the one in front of them.
"Good," Dean grumbled. "I don't know how much more of this I can take." He drew back his fist and punched through the wall. Smoke and dust billowed out . . . into another room. "Dammit!"
All three of them tripped over rubble while crossing into the other room. Dean drew back his fist to break down the next wall.
"Wait!" Sam exclaimed. "I don't think you should do that."
"Did you get a vision?" Dean asked, pausing. His eyes flicked between his brother and Cas. He didn't like the drawn look on Cas's face. They needed to get out of the smoke now.
"Property damage, Dean. Can't we just go through the door?" Sam answered.
"Then open the fucking door, Mind's Eye!"
Sam huffed, but the front door of the house banged open just a few feet from Cas. He immediately ran through, followed by Sam. Dean brought up the rear, grumbling.
Sirens were still approaching as they laid their burdens on the grassy front lawn - the only house with green grass in the development. Oasis Plains wasn't even officially open for business yet, and already they'd had a house fire. Bad luck.
Sam straightened from checking the fire survivors. "All breathing!" he announced happily. "Let's go!"
Dean was just turning to follow when he heard a loud cracking noise. The downstairs windows blew out, sending shards of glass flying - towards the newly-rescued family. Cas was there before Dean could even take a second step, throwing his arms up to catch the brunt of the destruction.
No matter how many times he saw it, and no matter that he knew Cas could just heal himself after, Dean hated to see Cas get hurt. His husband's blood sprayed his face, hot and sticky, and the fuse in his brain that shortcircuited whenever a loved one was in danger blew. He didn't remember grabbing Cas or shoving Sam into the car, but the next time he was aware of his surroundings, there they were, five blocks away with Sam at the wheel and Dean in the backseat, picking glass shards out of Cas's skin and clothes and dropping them into the Cheetos bag.
"Dean? You back with us?" Sam asked. Dean could feel his eyes through the rearview mirror. He nodded, a little embarrassed.
"Thank you for your help, Dean," Cas said gravely. The gashes in his face, arms and neck were knitting back together, golden skin meeting golden skin without even a scar between.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "We almost to your house, Sammy? We need to get you out from behind the wheel of my baby."
Sam rolled his eyes. "A couple more blocks, jerkface."
He pulled over a few minutes later and they all got out of the car.
"So. Haven't had a close one like that in awhile," Sam started. Dean grabbed at the keys and got into the front seat. Sam and Cas talked in low voices for a few moments, but Dean blocked the noise. The blood was pounding in his veins. He wanted nothing more than to get home, check on his kids, watch their breath rise and fall, and then touch every square inch of Cas's body, just to double-check. He stared out the windshield, eyes darting from object to object - a tree across the street, a child's abandoned tricycle, a car down the road that seemed to vanish like it was a mirage. He almost jumped when Cas opened the passenger side door.
Sam rapped his knuckles on the window. "Drive safe, Dean," he said through the glass.
Dean nodded and turned the key in the ignition. At the first stop sign he reached over, grabbed Cas's hand, and pressed a kiss to the palm. After twenty years, there were some things he didn't have to say with words, and the sight of Cas's exhausted smile was answer enough.
***
The kids were in bed by the time they got home, and Dean immediately went to check on each of them while Castiel attempted to get the blood out of his shirt. He looked up when Dean joined him in the bathroom.
"All set?" he asked.
"Gabe's made himself curtains for his bed." Dean snorted. "Like he's a baron or something. One of these mornings we're going to wake up in a damn castle." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"A man's home is his castle," Castiel murmured. He never really felt that. Home wasn't a place, it was the people. Dean laid a hand on his bare back, and he shivered.
"Come on, Cas," Dean whispered, his voice husky. "I need to touch you."
Castiel met his eyes in the mirror and revealed his wings. Someday, maybe, but hopefully never, Dean wouldn't get that look of awe on his face at the first sight of Castiel's wings. There might come a time when his hand didn't tremble as it reached out to make the first contact. If Castiel had his way, that day would never come.
Tension drained out of Dean's shoulders as he touched the feathers, and Castiel mentally kicked himself for not remembering how upset Dean tended to get whenever he had to heal his injuries. It had been a few years since Castiel had suffered a truly bloody wound. He brought the tips of his wings up to touch Dean's face, burnished steel-gray feathers against pale skin, brushing dark eyelashes and a smattering of freckles. Dean shuddered against him and crushed their bodies together, fitting the both of them in the shelter of Castiel's wings. Castiel guided them back into the bedroom and pressed Dean into the mattress.
Sex with Dean was always a bit of an adventure - sometimes athletic, sometimes filthy, sometimes gentle. But on the nights Dean was feeling needy - not that he would admit to that, and Castiel had finally learned not to call it that when talking with Dean - but on those nights, sex did all Dean's talking for him. A gasp meant "don't leave me," a moan meant "I need you always" and his naked body stretched out beneath Castiel meant "I trust you not to hurt me." Castiel knew Dean would die of embarrassment if he could read the purple prose that filled his thoughts each time he thrust into his husband's body, and he kept his mouth shut to prevent the words from bursting out until he could hold it in no longer, babbling incoherently through his climax.
The insomnia came later. Castiel watched 2:00 AM slowly flick the numbers forward to 3:00 AM while his mind raced. He would have to go back to work the next day and deal with Zachariah's fascist rule, while every fiber of his being wanted to be with Dean, being superheroes again. It was so hard to come down from the high of a successful mission. He didn't know how Dean did it, but from the way his forehead knit in his sleep, Castiel had a feeling his sleep wasn't quite as restful as it seemed.
After twenty years of only occasional superhero acts of derring-do, Dean had managed to construct a façade of domestication, and convinced Castiel to hold up his end of it. And he had, gladly, for nearly thirteen years of life undercover. But as each glowing green number flipped closer to another day, all Castiel wanted to do was to spread his wings and fly.
***
Dean watched Castiel over a mug of coffee the next morning, as Cas absently scratched Uriel behind the ears. The kids were running around, stuffing breakfast in their mouths ("Cupcakes don't count as breakfast," he reminded Gabriel, popping it into his own mouth once his son was in the bathroom), gathering their homework and getting dressed. There were bags under Cas's eyes again and Dean pursed his lips. Apparently the awesome sex they'd had the night before hadn't been awesome enough to put him to sleep. Dean had certainly slept, waking with his head on Cas's chest and his arms clinging embarrassingly tight around his husband's waist. Though he couldn't shake the dreams he'd had of running, always running, whether towards something or from something, he couldn't say.
"Do I have tinned tomatoes in my lunch?" Balthazar asked, hefting his lunch bag and peering inside.
"What?" Dean asked, shaking off his reverie. Cas was done with his coffee and heading upstairs to brush (and floss, he was very meticulous) his teeth before walking out to the bus stop. Dean tore his eyes from his retreating back to focus on Balthazar's up-turned face. "Tinned tomatoes? What the hell for?"
Balthazar's little shoulders slumped. "They're British, Dad."
Dean's expression softened. "Sorry, kiddo. We don't have any tinned tomatoes, but we have fish in the freezer. How 'bout we do fish 'n' chips tonight? You can even douse them in malt vinegar."
"We-ell." Balthazar's nose scrunched when he was thinking, just like Cas's. Dean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world, and bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. "Jolly good. I shall partake of my delectation sans vinegar. You have my gratitude."
Dean did laugh then. "Balthazar, munchkin, you do know the British use regular words, right? The accent may sound smarter, but there are as many British idiots as American ones."
Balthazar's eyes opened wide in surprise, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the thundering of Gabriel's and Anna's feet as the two older siblings joined them and jostled for space at the counter to grab their lunches. Cas was hot on their heels and pressed a kiss to each child's forehead before grabbing his lunch. His breath tasted minty fresh when he kissed Dean, but his shoulders were still slumped as he walked out the door. Dean fought the urge to grab him and hustle him back upstairs to do everything in his power to lift the cares from his shoulders. He turned with a sigh to the last lunch.
"To the Batmobile, kidlets. Move." He felt half a fool herding them along like ducklings, but given the slightest leeway, one or the other could slip away. Gabriel used to creep back to his room and hide under the bed when they lived in Florida.
"Dad, do you think you could drop us off at the corner of Arch and West?" Anna asked, buckling her seatbelt.
"That's a block away from your school," Dean replied. "What, are you embarrassed by your old man?"
Anna flushed and looked out the window. Dean stared over at her. Hadn't they made progress the night before? They'd fucking talked about sex, that was huge! Teenagers. It was two steps forwards, two steps back with them.
"I'm letting you out in front of the sycamore tree, same as always," Dean said, hitching his shoulders.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. Anna slammed the door when she got out, walking hurriedly down the path to school, but Gabriel lingered a minute.
"Dragon," he said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Sexy Stanley's last name." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "He's a total dork, Dad. We have to save Anna from herself."
"Thanks, Squirt," Dean said, smiling, as Gabriel hopped out of the car. "And behave yourself today!" he yelled after him.
Balthazar was the last stop before work, and he surprised Dean by reaching over from the backseat to throw his arms around Dean's neck in a partial hug.
"I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you," he muttered in his normal voice. "You're the coolest dad in the middle school."
Dean was whistling to himself when he pulled into his customary spot at the office park that hosted the town hall, a couple of law offices, a real estate agency and the one-room office of the Land & Sea. Ava called, bursting with excitement, as he was turning on his computer - there was something fishy about last night's fire at the Oasis Plains Housing Development, and did he mind if she took lead on it? Dean's heart thudded painfully in his chest as he graciously conceded the story. He then took advantage of the privacy to grossly misuse his position to find out everything he could on Stanley Dragon.
***
Castiel had a half hour commute via bus to Zachariah Adler's Righteous Insurance, several miles down the freeway in a larger town. He could have flown there in five minutes.
The day started like every other day Castiel had spent there: a stack of forms, policyholders that should be paid, and express instructions to find a reason NOT to pay. Castiel stared, unseeing, at the first form for almost thirty minutes, lost in a memory.
It was spring, and he had met Dean Winchester for the first time a week ago. They'd bumped heads coming out of a coffee shop both Castiel and Sam liked. The contact had been fleeting, barely there, but Dean had touched his arm, asked if he was alright, and Castiel had known he would never be alright again. Castiel had taken to following him, just so he could see him, but that day, he'd been distracted by criminal activity along the waterfront. He'd flown in to save the day, only to see it'd already been saved. He could remember each flex of muscle beneath Righteous Man's costume, the grin that was visible beneath his half-mask, and knew it was Dean. And when more members of the gang had shown up, Dean had laughed at the ease with which Castiel dispatched them, throwing his arm around Castiel's shoulders and saying they made a good team. Castiel had kissed him then, their first kiss, tasting of blood and sweat and the thrill of adrenaline.
He came to in his cubby, clutching a pen so hard it had snapped in his hand, cutting his palm. He watched dispassionately as the blood welled up and the wound closed. He used to fight gangs. Fury gripped him so tight, he couldn't breathe. And then Zachariah appeared at his cubicle.
"Castiel! Hard at work, or hardly working?" He winked broadly. "I'm the boss so be careful how you answer!"
Castiel stood up, dropping the pieces of the bloody pen on his stack of forms. "I'm hardly working. You don't allow any work to get done."
All noise ceased in the office as heads poked cautiously above and around cubicle walls. Zachariah stared at him, all traces of false jollity wiped from his face. Castiel stared back. He'd just fucked it up again. The scene played out in his head, of his family's disappointed eyes when he told them he'd lost his job and they'd have to leave once more.
"Tell me, Castiel." Zachariah's voice was deadly soft now. "Whose name is it on all those 'request for payment denied' forms, hmmm?"
Fuck him with a spoon, Castiel thought savagely. 'Castiel Novak' was signed at the bottom of all those forms. Zachariah kept his hands clean.
Zachariah's lips peeled back in a predatory grin. "That's right. Yours. So don't get all self-righteous on me. You're the bad guy here."
Castiel snapped. His hand shot out and closed around Zachariah's throat, easily lifting him. "Never again," he gritted out. "You call yourself 'Righteous' but clearly you do not know what the word even means. You're a disgrace, and I refuse to lower myself to your standards. I am leaving."
He threw Zachariah aside, gathered his messenger bag and trench coat and one personal embellishment from his cubby (a picture of the entire family at Sam and Ruby's wedding), and marched to the stairs. It happened so fast, Zachariah was still struggling to his feet. His erstwhile co-workers were staring at him with a mixture of shock and disgust on their faces. Well, screw them; Castiel had never grown close to any of them. How could you be friends with someone you didn't respect?
He took a deep breath once he was out in the fresh air. The sun warmed his face, but the sense of security it provided was a falsity, he knew. He had just let his family down. There were benches around a man-made pond a couple of blocks away, and he stumbled to them and sank onto the hard wooden planks, his head in his hands.
Dean was going to be disappointed in him. He quailed from the knowledge. Dean's love and respect was the touchstone he'd built his undercover life around. He was no longer Mr. Awesome. Who was he if he couldn't be Castiel Novak, beloved of Dean Winchester and father of their three children and quasi-brother to Sam Winchester?
The bench creaked and shifted as an additional body sat beside him.
"What an absolutely awesome day," came out in a sultry drawl. He could see the woman's pointed boots poking out beneath the hems of her designer jeans.
"Please forgive me if I disagree," Castiel said stiffly.
"For you, sunshine, I could forgive anything."
What was this? Was she hitting on him? Castiel had never been good at telling. The lovers he'd had before Dean had become his lovers when he approached them and asked if they wanted to be. He didn't like all this beating around the bush.
"I'm sorry ma'am," he said, "but I am not interested. I'm happily married."
She laughed then, one of those throaty laughs designed to drive men wild. "Oh, you're adorable," she cooed.
He looked over at her then, raising an eyebrow. She was a tiny thing, dark hair and big dark eyes and a Rosebud mouth. Other men might find her attractive. "Ma'am -"
"Meg. It's Meg, Mr. Awesome." He stared at her in shock as she laughed again. "Yes, I know who you are. I have a business proposition for you."
He recovered enough of his wits to shake his head. "I don't need -"
"A job? Really? Then what are you doing on a park bench at 10:00 AM on a Wednesday?" She shifted closer to him. "Relax, Awesomecakes. Your secret is safe with me. I'm just like you, you know." She snapped her fingers, and a tiny flame appeared, dancing over her knuckles before she blew it out with a provocative pout of her lips.
"What do you want?" he asked warily.
"Your help." Her mouth quirked into a smile. "Help me, Obi-Wan-Awesome. You're my only hope." She dug into her purse and pulled out a card. "My number," she said, pressing it into his hand. "I represent a technology manufacturer. Our plant is on an island not too far from here. One of our competitors has loosed a machine on the island, intent on gathering our prototypes and harming our scientists. We need someone with speed and strength to find it, and destroy it. Someone who won't fail."
Castiel looked down at the card in his hand. Her number was the only information on it. He was more than half-tempted to hand it back when she spoke again.
"For the disposal of this one machine, the work of less than a day for someone with your skills, I'm planning to offer you double your yearly income from Righteous Insurance." Castiel's hand closed convulsively over the card, and she smirked. "Sleep on it, Mr. Awesome. Call me in the morning with your decision."
Castiel watched her leave, his mind whirring.
***
Anna still wasn't speaking to him. She was stubborn as hell, and could hold a grudge like nobody's business. Traits she had inherited from him, to be sure, but Dean just didn't think that this morning warranted a full-on case of the grumps from her. At least she was visible. He glanced across the front seat at her. Scratch that. Her hoodie and jeans sat slumped against the window.
"Hey, Dad?" Gabriel asked from the back seat.
"Yeah, Squirt?"
"Anna's being a douche."
"Hey!" She flickered into being and tried turning around, the seatbelt tightening and forcing her back.
"Don't call your sister a douche, Gabe," Dean answered automatically. "What's going on with you two?"
"Nothing!" Anna exclaimed. Gabriel ignored her.
"We always have the same lunch period on Wednesdays and we always eat together," Gabriel started. Dean swallowed an "oh" of surprise. He hadn't realized Anna and Gabriel were that close - sure they loved each other, but their personalities were so different and no matter where they moved, they each associated with separate circles of friends. "But not today! Today she sat with Stanley Dragon."
Anna shot daggers at her little brother and Dean sighed. His research on Stan the potential lover had barely even given him an outline. He was born in town, and his birth announcement also listed grandparents living within five miles of the town. He'd been on the winning Little League team one year. In eighth grade he'd come in third at the science fair. He'd never appeared in the Court News section of the paper, that was something, at least. His mother's recipe for zucchini bread was printed in a local color article from last May. Whoop de ding.
"I guess Stan knows you exist now, Anna," he said, remembering her wail from the night before.
"I would like to request a change of subject," she said primly.
"Fine," Dean replied. "How about you tell me where you got your tattoos done? You never said, and I owe the artist a couple of busted kneecaps."
Anna shut her mouth tight and stared out the window. There was quiet from the backseat, too, and a sneaky suspicion began to creep into Dean's brain. He'd have to revisit it, though, because Balthazar came running out of the middle school the second he pulled up once again.
"Drive, Jeeves!" he yelled, diving over Gabriel and bonking his head on the opposite door. "Ouch!"
Dean rolled his eyes and pulled away from the curb. He could almost make out what the group of kids chasing Balthazar had been shouting - something like "give it."
"What are you playing at, Balthazar?" he asked.
"Just a game," Balthazar answered quickly. Gabriel snorted.
"A game," Dean repeated. "So those kids chasing you - those are your friends?"
"Uh-huh!"
"You know you can tell your Dada and me if you're having trouble at school, right?" Dean asked him, frowning. What was with his kids, keeping all these things secret? He certainly had never - well, that wasn't true. He had never told his father if he was having problems. John Winchester had had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he'd had no super strength to help him bear the burden. Dean never told him anything that would potentially add to the stress. Sam, on the other hand, had shared each victory and each disappointment with Dean since he could talk. Dean was having trouble adjusting to the fact that his own kids might be different.
"I know that; I'm not stupid!"
Dean waited, but no one was forthcoming. "Fine," he said, turning into their driveway. "You guys get your stuff together and change; we need to leave again soon."
The three kids made a beeline for upstairs and Dean followed them slowly into the house. "Uriel, you grumpy little stinkball. Are you happy to see me?"
Uriel glared at him balefully from beneath his shaggy brow.
"Of course not," Dean muttered.
Wednesday afternoons were always a little crazy in the Winchester-Novak house. Anna had Japanese class at 3:00 in the next town over, Gabriel went to karate practice at 3:30 and Balthazar's piano lessons were also at 3:30, on the other side of town. Dean had just enough time to let Uriel out and herd him back inside before they all needed to pile into the car again. Anna and Gabriel seemed happy with their choices of extracurricular activity, but Dean had a feeling that Balthazar's piano lessons were not long for this world. He'd done swimming, violin, Boy Scouts, tap dance, drums and soccer, moving on from each one after a year or less. Sam has assured Dean that it was only natural for him to want to try new things. It seemed to Dean that everything was only natural, according to Sam, no matter how weird his kids acted.
They didn't get back until after 5:00, and then it was Dean's turn to rush, feeding Uriel and getting a human dinner together, putting on a fresh pot of coffee for Cas. Dean'd laugh at how domestic he'd grown, if he had the time. Before he knew it, it was 6:00, Balthazar's requested fish was frying, the kids were yelling at each other in the living room, but Cas was still not home. Dean sent him a quick text and went to break up the fight. By 6:30, Wii had been banned for the rest of the night, the kids were now giving each other the silent treatment, the chips were starting to burn, and Cas had not answered his phone. He was almost an hour late. By 7:00, Dean had sat the kids down to eat and called Sam. A few times. He was just grabbing his keys to do a driving search when the side door opened and Cas walked in.
"Cas! Jesus, where the hell have you been? Why didn't you answer your phone? Are you okay?" Dean grabbed him by the shoulders to look him over. He avoided meeting Dean's eyes - bad sign number one. He shrugged off Dean's touch - bad sign number two.
"I forgot to re-charge the phone," Cas said irritably. "And I was unexpectedly detained at work." He ignored Uriel - bad sign number three - and immediately sat at the dining room table with the kids. Dean gaped at him. Cas had just lied - bad sign number four. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but twenty years of breathing the same air as Cas, and he knew when he was getting lied to.
He sucked in his breath, ready to let loose, but Cas glanced up from the table and caught his gaze. Dean froze at the pleading look in his eyes, totally at odds with his earlier tone. Cas looked downright scared - of him.
"Hey, yeah, it's okay," Dean mumbled. He hung his keys back up by the door and joined his family.
A fragile peace descended on the room while they ate, punctuated by loud crunching noises from Balthazar. Anna shot him disgusted little glances, but kept her verbal opinion to herself. Gabriel amused himself by using a chip to draw pictures with ketchup-paint on his plate. Normally Dean would tell him to knock it off, but he was focused on Cas.
Something was very wrong. His heart sank as he thought over what it most likely could be. Fucking Zachariah. One of these days he was not going to be able to stop himself from going to that office and wiping the floor with that smarmy prick.
He tried to catch Cas after dinner while Gabriel and Balthazar did the dishes and Anna retreated to her room and a pile of homework.
"I don't want to talk about it," Cas whispered, and Dean had to take a step back. Since when had he become the guy who wanted to talk about feelings? Damn, he'd mellowed so much, he sometimes had trouble remembering what he'd been like when he was young and Righteous Man and falling in love with Mr. Awesome. "I would rather we just have sex."
Dean blinked. Well, he was never going to change so much that he would turn down sex. And a few hours later, after the kids had gone to bed, he leaned back against the headboard and slowly caught his breath, watching Cas through hooded eyes. Cas avoided his gaze, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before stretching out on his side of the bed, his back to Dean.
"Uh, Cas?"
"I'm a little tired, Dean."
"I can see that, but-"
Cas rolled onto his back and turned his head, frowning at Dean. "Are you implying that you were not satisfied?"
"Hell, no!" Dean hastily assured him. "It was an awesome blowjob. I never have any complaints about your blowjobs, trust me. You just, you know, didn't seem all that into it."
"Into it? I swallowed your semen," Cas said in a frosty voice. "It's not a pleasant taste, Dean. How much more 'into it' could I get?"
Dean stared at him for a moment, uncomfortably aware of his exposed and spent wet dick. "Fine." He rolled off the bed and padded over to the bureau for a fresh pair of underwear. His were all mixed in with Cas's until there was no way to tell whose belonged to whom. "Sorry I put you through that. I was going to volunteer to return the favor, but clearly I disgust you."
"Don't be so dramatic." Cas's voice lashed out from the bed, and that was just fucking unfair. Had Dean pressed the issue earlier? No, he had not. He'd let Cas get away with a damn lie.
"I'm not being fucking dramatic." He noticed his voice was rising and he consciously lowered it. "You're the one taking out your frustrations about your shitty job on me."
For a moment he thought he had gone too far. Cas's eyes were narrowed in anger, but as Dean watched, his expression changed, loosening into something much more akin to despair. Dean hadn't seen that look since before Anna was born. Fuck.
"I do have a shitty job," Cas agreed quietly. Dean was back on the bed in two seconds flat.
"No, no, no, I didn't mean-"
"It's no wonder Zachariah's never respected my decisions. If you give someone shit and they take it, what kind of a man are they? And if I can't respect myself," Cas swallowed, "how can I expect you to?"
"No, Cas, baby, I do respect you. Our kids respect you; hell, Anna wants to be like you so much she got wings tattooed on her back!" He pulled Cas half into his lap, anything to touch him as much as he could. "Listen. We can leave. I didn't realize how bad your work was. We can disappear again-"
"No, Dean, we can't. We can't do that to the kids again. Anna will be a senior next year. And Sam's married now, he has his own practice. He and Ruby are talking about having a baby - what if this time he wouldn't be willing to pack everything up and leave with us?"
"Ruby wants to be a mom?" Dean asked, temporarily startled out of his own worries. "Dude, that's - wait, how come Sam didn't say anything to me?"
"I suspect Ruby hasn't told him her decision yet. I chanced upon her perusing a Parenting magazine."
"Huh." He gave himself a shake. "That doesn't change us, Cas. When we started this thing, we said we were going to be happy, and fuck everyone else. Remember? Undercover or not you're still Mr. Awesome. If you feel like shit at work, we need a change."
Cas was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, Dean," he said at last. "I appreciate your support. I shall . . . attempt to make some changes at work."
"And?" Dean asked, kissing Cas's forehead.
"And if we must, we will have a Family Meeting."
"Awesome." They shifted around on the bed until Dean was stretched out on his back and Cas was half-draped on top of him, Dean's fingers absently carding through Cas's hair. "I never thought we'd be a pair of well-adjusted assholes who had things like Family Meetings."
Cas made a noncommittal noise.
"So," Dean continued, "now that we've cleared the air a bit, do you want to fuck me?"
"Maybe in the morning," Cas mumbled, yawning. "I just want you to hold me."
"I can do that," Dean murmured, and tightened his grip, running his hand up and down Cas's back until the other man's breathing evened out and they both fell asleep.
***
Castiel woke early the next morning, the decision clear in his mind. He would tell Dean what had really happened at work - as soon as he had done the job for Meg and received the money. With that buffer, they could figure out their next step together. But he could not admit to Dean how badly he had messed things up without first getting a plan in place to fix things.
He felt a twinge of guilt while watching Dean hustle the kids out the door, and more so when Dean turned back to give him an open-mouthed kiss, but he squashed it ruthlessly with his good intentions. When he left for 'work,' he continued right past the bus stop and into a stand of trees behind the Whole Foods shopping center. No one even glanced at him, and the trees provided some semblance of privacy as he stripped off his trench coat and the shirts beneath it, bundling them together into a roll.
It was the first time he'd spread his wings outside in a couple of years. The last time had been on a family vacation to Northern California. He and Dean had been helping Anna and Gabriel cope with their new-found powers along a deserted stretch of coast. And at night they'd left all three kids in the cabin with Sam, and Castiel had taken Dean flying. They'd wound up on a tiny island off the coast, and had spent the entire night making love in a small clearing that Castiel filled completely with his wings.
The sun warmed his bare back as he flew, his coat burden awkward in his arms. But he was going to fix that. He smiled to himself as he approached the outskirts of Los Angeles, careful to move fast enough so the people on the ground wouldn't look up and be able to tell he was a flying man. He touched down inside the walls of the mansion belonging to Bobby Singer.
He shrugged back into his shirt and coat before ringing the front bell.
"Who the hell is there? Why weren't you stopped at the front gate?" Bobby's voice was even more gruff and curt than Castiel recalled, and not helped by his intercom system. Castiel leaned close to the little box to answer.
"You know me, Bobby Singer. I am Castiel Novak."
There was a pause, followed by a buzzing sound, and then the front door opened wide. Castiel stepped into a marble foyer.
"Were you raised in a damn barn, Mr. Awesome? Bypassing my security, not even calling first - I had half a mind to leave you on the doorstep." Bobby Singer clomped across his marble floor in dusty work boots and stopped an arm's length away. "How the hell are you, kid?"
Castiel tilted his head and looked Bobby up and down. He looked unchanged - as curmudgeonly as ever, and he even still had the same dirty trucker cap on his head. It was hard to believe that rich and powerful men traveled from all over the world to buy suits designed by Bobby Singer.
"I have been better," Castiel answered truthfully. He wondered if he should try to hug Bobby. They'd last seen each other several years ago when Castiel's family was living in Florida. Bobby had stopped in after a fashion show in Miami. He'd found Anna charming, Gabriel trying and Balthazar had earned a black mark in Bobby's book by accidentally breaking a window in Bobby's truck during a rowdy game of wiffle ball. Still, Castiel counted him as a true friend to the Winchester-Novak clan.
"Beer?" Bobby asked, already turning away to lead Castiel deeper into the mansion. "And you can tell me why the hell you showed up without your better half. You flew here, didn't you? Not that I really want to hear the story, but it will save me from my latest order. Damn fool wants an ascot. An ascot!"
It wasn't even ten o'clock in the morning, but Castiel could do with a beer, and it sounded like Bobby could, too. Castiel glanced at the framed pictures that lined the hallway back to the kitchen as he followed Bobby. They were all of superheroes, in the costumes Bobby Singer had made, many sporting weapons or riding vehicles that had also been designed by Bobby Singer. As far as Castiel knew, Bobby was the only one who had come through the Troubles with reputation intact, and definitely the only one with power and influence now. Castiel was counting on him to still have the skill to back it up.
They drank their beers out on the verandah. Castiel sat stiffly on his white wicker chair, a purchase of one of Bobby's ex-wives, no doubt. Perhaps Dr. Visyak, as the chairs were shaped like mini-thrones. Bobby eyed him over the lip of his bottle.
"Do I want to know why you came alone?"
"No."
Bobby waited a minute. "Okay, kid. Never thought I'd see the day," he mumbled to himself, and took a long drink from his bottle.
"This is not a relationship issue," Castiel assured him. "I simply do not want to involve them in something."
Bobby held his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged. "All right. We'll put that one aside." He leaned back in his chair, making a face when an errant piece of wicker poked him in the back. "So, Cas. Twenty years under the radar, you've lived practically in my own backyard for over a year, but today you fly in broad daylight and show up on my doorstep. You want to tell me why? I hate guessing games."
Castiel had always appreciated Bobby's bluntness. It saved time and allowed him to dispense with the niceties, which he wasn't any good at, anyhow.
"I need to be Mr. Awesome today."
"Hate to break it to you, son, but you're always Mr. Awesome."
Castiel blinked. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"I've been working in men's fashion for twenty years now, Cas. One thing I can tell you for certain is that the clothes do not make the man. If you're an asshole naked, you'll still be an asshole in a suit. A poorer asshole, 'cause my suits do not come cheap." Bobby took a long draught of his beer. "Just don't tell any of my fool clients, else I'll be out of a job."
"Though I agree a person's choice of clothing does not change their intrinsic worth, it can influence their self-image, which in turn can change their perception of their intrinsic worth," Castiel said slowly.
Bobby grunted. "Fair enough."
"It may also influence how others see them." Castiel set his beer bottle down on the little round table between their chairs.
"You sure you want to go back down that road, boy?" Bobby asked softly. Castiel did not hesitate to nod, and Bobby sighed. His muscles creaked faintly as he rose to his feet. "'Course I still have it. C'mon."
Castiel followed him back into the house and through its long corridors, his muscles tingling with anticipation. He'd debated all day yesterday, turning over Meg's proposition in his mind and imagining everything that could go wrong with it. But now he'd made his decision, and the knowledge tasted sweet, like sugar on his tongue. He would fly again today, as Mr. Awesome. Bobby was right - he'd never stopped being a superhero. How could he? It was something he couldn't change about himself, like where he'd been born or loving Dean.
"Ah, a couple of security features for this wing," Bobby muttered, stopping abruptly in front of an empty stretch of wall. Castiel tilted his head, watching as Bobby pressed his hand clear through the plaster. A retinal scan descended from the ceiling and scanned Bobby's eye, then Castiel's.
"Welcome, Bobby Singer and Mr. Awesome," intoned a computerized voice, and suddenly the wall melted, and Bobby gestured him through to what must surely have been the largest collection of superhero paraphernalia on the planet.
Castiel spotted Mulletman's motorbike, Gumby Girl's stretchy leggings, Conspiracy Man's robot sidekick, and dozens more. But he had eyes only for the red and black of his old costume.
"Have you made some changes?" he asked, frowning.
"Yeah, well, a couple of modifications." Bobby watched him as he circled the case. "Go on," Bobby urged. "Put the damn thing back on."
The case opened at the touch of his hand and then he had his costume in his arms. He knelt on the floor, cradling it to his chest, a little overcome at the rush of memories. There was an unexpected dampness on his cheeks. Bobby cleared his throat.
"I'll leave you two alone," he said gruffly.
Castiel was dimly aware of Bobby shutting a door before he was shrugging out of his trench coat. He folded his civilian clothes neatly before stepping into the costume. The fabric was even softer than he remembered, clinging and molding to his muscles. He looked down and traced the "A" on his chest, and with a thought, he spread his wings. They burst smoothly through the costume, leaving not a tear, thanks to Bobby.
A foot scuffed the floor behind him, and he turned to see Bobby gazing at his wings, a look of wonder on his face. Castiel raised an eyebrow, and the older man turned a bit red.
"Shut up, boy. It's been awhile."
"Too long," Castiel agreed. He straightened his shoulders. "Thank you for keeping it in such good shape. I will return shortly."
"You going to give me any details?"
"Not at this point," Castiel answered gravely.
"You want to take any toys with you?" Bobby spread his hands, indicating the large room sprinkled with superhero paraphernalia. "I have two more rooms just like this. And a boat. And that invisible plane from-"
"I have my own set of wings," Castiel interrupted. Now that the moment was upon him, he was itching to be off.
"Have it your way." Bobby strode to a desk in the corner and rifled through a drawer. "Here. Comms in the mask."
"You are a good man, Bobby Singer." The half-mask fit smoothly across his forehead, obscuring his eyes. Bobby snorted.
"A good man - as I help you break the law. Well, it's a shit law." Bobby hit a button on the desk and a hole opened in the ceiling. "Good luck. Try not to break anything important."
Castiel shot up high, high, high into the sky, leaving Bobby and his mansion far below. Wind whipped through his hair and caressed his wings. The costume was an aerodynamic dream, and he flew faster and faster, going higher and higher.
Los Angeles was a smear in the distance by the time he used the comms to contact Meg. Less than an hour's flight brought him to the coordinates she sent.
He circled the land mass twice. It was a tiny island, a mountain top poking its lush green head up out of the turquoise water. The laboratory was built into the mountain itself, a partial underground bunker. There was no outward sign of the machine Meg wanted him to destroy. The air smelled faintly cloying, like an overabundance of decaying flowers. Castiel wrinkled his nose as he touched down.
The moment his foot hit the earth a THING exploded out of the trees on his left, aimed, and fired at him. He took off again, lightning fast, trying to get a good look at it, but it didn't give him the chance, firing once more. Trees exploded around him, raining blossoms down from the sky. Decaying flowers, he thought, and flew up. Its firing mechanism couldn't reach that angle right away, and he held himself suspended above it for a few precious seconds to assess the machine.
It looked like a bomb on spider legs with multiple arms ending in laser guns. He needed to determine how heavily armored it was. One of the arms was finally swiveling around to fire at him again and he swooped down, grabbed a rock and flew in close, behind the gun, to shove the rock in its muzzle. He half flew, half ran over the top of it before the gun went off. The arm exploded, sending pieces of shrapnel through the air.
The machine protected him from the worst of the damage, the bomb-shaped body studded with metal pieces. A trickle of blood ran into his eye, and he picked a shard out of his forehead, his skin already healing. The machine began to shake, trying to throw him off, and he went willingly, diving down, following the curve until he was beneath it. There was a hatch below and he tugged, even as the machine lurched around above him, searching for him.
He used his superior strength to finally wrench the hatch open, just as one of its arms snaked around and took aim at him. He let go of the hatch and flew at the weaponized arm, grabbing hold of it. The arm reared back, up into the air, in an attempt to throw him off. His wings beat furiously and his legs tightened around the arm, keeping him on. The other two arms were aiming at him now, though, focusing from either side. He let go at the last minute, dropping to the ground as the guns fired, destroying each other instead of Castiel.
The machine reeled in shock, but he didn't give it time to recover, leaping up and grabbing the final arm, flying low to the ground before coming back up beneath the body of the machine. The laser was powered up, prepared to turn on him and blast him to smithereens, but he didn't give it the chance. He shoved it through the hatch just as it tried to fire. He shot up into the air as fast as he could just as the final arm went off inside the heart of the machine.
The explosion was contained by the hard shell of the machine, but it worked. Castiel watched, hovering, as its body distended and it wobbled on its legs, crashing to the earth with a resounding thud, knocking over even more trees. Leaves and branches fluttered through the air, and after a moment, all was still. Castiel landed lightly beside the broken machine. The whole thing had taken ten minutes, tops.
Meg emerged from the tunnel leading to the laboratory and made her way over to him, slow-clapping.
"Bravo, Mr. Awesome. That was some wicked sexy stunt work there."
"It was not very difficult," Castiel told her, flushing. A part of him really wanted Dean to have seen what he just did, to hear Dean say he was impressed, to see Dean's awestruck look. It had been awhile since he had last basked in that.
"Not very difficult?" Meg arched her brow. "We've been trying to get rid of it for months. But okay, Sparky, it wasn't very difficult." She reached into her pocket and brought out a check. Sure enough, it was for twice his old yearly salary from Zachariah. "Listen, Awesomecakes. If we get any more problems, can we count on you?"
Castiel hesitated. He was only planning on doing this once. Just once, getting the money, and telling Dean all about it. But the rush of adrenaline was addicting. He would tell Dean, and they would do the next one together with Sam, just like the old days. He would tell Dean, but tomorrow. Not tonight, just in case he said no. Castiel could still feel Dean's panic from Tuesday night and the frantic look in his eyes as he picked pieces of the burning house out of Castiel's body. He would have to work on Dean.
"You may call me again," he said cautiously. Meg smiled, a knowing look in her eyes.
"Peachy," she said. "Now scat, Mr. Awesome. I have to clean up your mess."
Castiel left her there, hands on her hips as she took in the destruction of the machine. The wind blew his hair back and he couldn't help the laugh of sheer joy that escaped his lips. Mr. Awesome flew again.
***
Dean sat between his sons, pressing the controller with his thumbs and on the screen, Sallah jumped on a horse.
"Okay, now you're supposed to follow me," Balthazar said, before promptly riding over a cliff. Gabriel snorted with laughter as Balthazar scowled at the screen. Lego Indiana Jones faded out and reappeared.
"That's the tenth time you've died this game, little brother," Gabriel teased him. He was sitting out this one, ensconced in a corner of the couch and eating his way through a bag of Twizzlers.
"I seem to recall Gabe dying several times last time I played this," Dean said absently. He had to concentrate on the screen. His sons seemed to be able to play Wii without their brains turned on, but it required some pretty tricky hand-eye coordination for him. Sallah did a random backflip. What the hell?
The side door opened, and Dean could hear Cas greet Uriel in the kitchen. Dean glanced at the clock. 5:15. Cas was early. That could mean something good, or something very bad.
"How do I pause this thing again?" he asked. Gabriel took the controller from him and did it before Balthazar could manage.
"Hey!" Balthazar exclaimed. "I could've done it! I'm not incompetent, you know."
Cas appeared in the entranceway to the living room and Dean's mouth abruptly went dry. The early arrival definitely meant something good. He swallowed with some difficulty, amazed as he always was when Cas looked at him like that, to realize his skin was not, in fact, on fire.
"You take my place, Squirt," he said, ruffling Gabriel's hair. "I need to talk to your Dada."
"Dada, I got a B+ on my math test today!" Balthazar announced proudly.
"That is good news," Cas responded, his voice a low rumble. He offered Dean a hand to pull him off the couch and didn't let go when Dean was standing. He could feel Gabriel's eyes on their joined hands and was reminded suddenly of what Bambi McSnuffy had said. It was not enough to make him want to stop, though. "We shall order pizza tonight to celebrate," Cas continued.
Both boys perked up at that. They were arguing about topping choices as Cas pulled Dean from the room and up the stairs.
"Anna's in her room," Dean warned, practically tripping over his feet in eagerness.
"Doubtlessly playing her music loudly," Cas said, and closed their bedroom door behind them. Dean was on him in a flash.
There were some things that became routine over time - brushing their teeth while sharing the same sink, grocery shopping, choosing what to watch on TV, even, some nights, sex, when the act was just to relieve a little tension and hasten sleep. But foreplay didn't fall into that category - sometimes rushed, sometimes drawn-out, and sometimes not there at all. As Dean fell back onto the bed, he had a feeling this was going to be one of the times it was mostly non-existent.
Cas straddled his hips and kissed him, fingers fumbling at Dean's belt buckle.
"I want to fuck you very badly right now," he said between kisses. Dean huffed a laugh. Cas was either the worst dirty talker ever, or the best, always stating exactly what he wanted with no finesse. It was usually a massive turn-on for Dean, no matter how outlandish his request. Dean reached into the nightstand drawer and felt around for the lube, trying not to break contact between Cas's mouth and his own.
"I take it you had a good day," Dean said into Cas's mouth, dropping the lube on the bed and reaching for Cas's belt, slipping one hand inside his pants. He stilled when he realized the kisses had stopped. "Cas?" he asked, looking up.
"Dean. I had a very good day. I will tell you about it tomorrow." Cas looked so very serious, a frown darkening his brow. "But right now I wish to make love."
"Okay. We can do that."
Dean spared a fleeting thought for what Cas needed to tell him that he didn't want to say now, but it was chased away by Cas's lips and fingers and cock, making him open up and coaxing moans and words of praise and love from him. It had been awhile since they'd done this face-to-face, Cas's wings spread wide behind him, beating the air on each thrust. Dean arched off the bed and held on to Cas. He knew he was whimpering and didn't care, he knew the bed was shaking and didn't care, he knew-
"Da-ad!"
He knew there was a kid who was going to deeply regret that.
"Gabe says we can't order from Romano's. But that's my favorite!"
"No one's getting any pizza if you don't go away!" Dean managed to get out. He could hear Balthazar on the other side of the door, muttering to himself. "I mean it, Balthazar!"
He could hear Balthazar's footsteps as he shuffled away. Cas was laughing, his rhythm completely disturbed.
"It's not funny," Dean grumbled. Dammit, he'd been so close. It would take forever to get him back up. Though Cas didn't seem to have that problem.
"I think you are especially beautiful when you're angry," he said, and thrust once more, coming inside of Dean as his wings trembled and fluttered. Dean thought Cas was especially beautiful then, but he didn't say so out loud. Though perhaps it showed on his face because when Cas pulled out, he immediately knelt by the bed and took Dean into his mouth. That worked wonders, and just a few minutes later he was coming down Cas's throat.
Cas crawled up the bed and collapsed next to him. Dean gave him a doofy grin. When was the last time they'd had afternoon sex? He couldn't remember. It had probably been interrupted by the kids then, too.
"I think we should get anchovies on the pizza as punishment," he mumbled. He could really fall asleep right then. His jaws creaked in a massive yawn.
"That would be counterproductive," Cas said, eyes twinkling. "You hate anchovies."
"Yeah. They're pretty disgusting."
They both started laughing at the same time.
***
Castiel woke up the next morning feeling something he hadn't since they'd moved to California - relaxed. The whole family had enjoyed dinner the night before, laughing and joking. It turned out Gabriel had convinced Balthazar to knock on their door. Balthazar stole his soda in retaliation, but a full-on fight was averted by the arrival of pizza from Romano's and apparently pizza had magic happy-making qualities. Even Anna smiled and giggled over her pizza.
Castiel stretched and propped himself up on his elbow, the better to watch Dean sleeping beside him. He was still the most beautiful man Castiel had ever seen. The morning sun crept beneath the blinds to highlight his face. There were lines on his forehead and crow's feet around his eyes. Laugh lines, Castiel corrected himself, not crow's feet. Plus a few strands of gray at his temples, fewer than Castiel himself had. The hair made him look distinguished. Still, they both looked younger than they were, thanks to their superpowered blood.
"Are you counting my freckles again?" Dean mumbled into his pillow without opening his eyes.
"You still have thirty-four," Castiel informed him.
"Thank God. If one wandered off during the night, I don't know what I'd do." He cracked open an eye. "Wait, why are we still in bed? Don't you have to get up for work?"
Castiel opened his mouth with every intention of telling the truth, but just then he heard his phone vibrate, gently knocking on the nightstand. It had to be Meg. He had made no friends at the insurance agency, and Sam, his best friend in the world other than Dean, would call them both at the same time, or just Dean.
"I do not have to go to work today," he said instead, "because I have been invited to go to a conference in San Diego. It starts later in the morning."
"That's great!" Dean looked genuinely happy for him and Castiel felt a shiver of unease. He should tell Dean. He really should. After this next job. Dean reached for him then and his brain ceased its higher functions. Dean's body fit so nicely above his own, and Dean sucked on his neck as he slowly jerked them both off. Surely Castiel could be forgiven a delay. He would tell Dean that night.
"I love you!" he gasped when he came. Dean rarely said such things aloud, but Castiel did not see the logic in holding back. He loved Dean when he fucked him, loved Dean when he was angry at him, loved Dean when he kept secrets from him, loved Dean when he worried about him. He liked that Dean knew it.
He checked his messages when Dean was in the shower. It was indeed from Meg, asking him to come back to the island. Her employer wanted to meet him and talk about another job. Castiel chewed his lip. He could go and see if the employer was someone Dean and Sam would consider working for, too. It would be like a reconnaissance mission. He quickly texted back his intention to meet her at the agreed-upon time and got out of bed. The water was still running in the bathroom. Perhaps Dean would like to share his shower.
Part III