Supernatural fic: The Lovers (1/1)

[bookkbaby]

Title: The Lovers
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: Bookkbaby
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Slash, maybe a little handprint!kink...
Summary: Destiel. Tarot cards are so rarely right, except when they totally are.



Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine. Sadly, Sam and Dean don’t belong to me either and, to my everlasting regret, I have no claim on Castiel either. I make no money from this work, so please don’t sue.

A/N: This is my first foray into the Supernatural fandom! Hopefully it won’t be my last. Enjoy!

Dedicated to MissterCackles, because this is all her fault. She gave me the prompt and asked me to write a drabble. As you can see… the ‘drabble’ bit didn’t exactly work out.

The Lovers

It had been a stupid idea. A monumentally stupid idea.

Most Tarot cards were pieces of junk, anyway. Maybe in the hands of a true psychic, like Missouri or Pamela, the cards might be accurate, but in the hands of some two-bit palm reader in a shithole of a carnival? A Tarot deck would be like any other deck of cards; good for playing poker, but not much else.

Still, Dean couldn't get the bitch's words out of his head.

"But a choice awaits you," the woman said. Her voice was low and serious, as if she truly was some great psychic intent on 'piercing the veil of the universe and revealing its hidden truths' for only $15 a reading. Dean snorted and checked his watch as the woman flipped over the final card.

"'The Lovers'," she said softly. "There is someone you will meet - or perhaps have met already - that you will be drawn to. You are connected, but the choice is yours whether or not you want to pursue that connection. Whichever path you follow will mark you, and neither route is easy. There is sacrifice involved in either choice, though only you can decide what it is you cannot live without."

This was all Sam's fault. Sam was the one who had found the damn case in the first place. Dean had been delighted with the location at first, since carnivals always had at least one clown and he could never pass up a chance to bug Sammy about his stupid fear of clowns. The only time that fear hadn't been completely unwarranted had been when a killer clown had actually been going around and leaving orphaned kids in its wake.

After a week, the carnival had ceased to be as amusing and it had taken them another two days to track down the object the damn ghost was tied to for a little salt and burn. Just in time too, since the carnival was scheduled to leave that night. Dean had convinced Sam to stay for the after party, since there would be booze. Besides, the chick that ran the Tilt-a-Whirl was hot and Dean hadn't gotten the chance to hit that yet. Sam had rolled his eyes, but hadn't pulled a bitchface and graciously agreed that they could use a break before heading off for their next case.

The party was where everything had gone to shit.

Tilt-a-Whirl girl was already engaged and Dean wasn't the kind to encourage cheating. He was the love-'em-and-leave-'em type and proud of it, but he never went after someone who was already attached. At least there had been booze.

The carnival's mystic had been doing free readings for the locals who had been working the carnival while it was in town. A few of the regular carnies had been sick and the guy in charge had taken on some extra help to ensure that everything would be properly run and supervised.
Dean had had a few too many by ten and was more than a little buzzed. If he had been sober and if Sammy had been anything other than a total bitch looking to have a laugh at his older brother's expense, Dean never would have agreed to let the fake psychic do a reading.

And now he couldn't get the damned thing out of his head or shoved safely back into the dark corner he stored everything he Did Not Think About, Ever. Her words kept repeating like a fucking broken record at the forefront of his mind no matter what he tried to distract himself with.

"Whichever path you follow will mark you..."

Unconsciously, Dean raised his right hand and touched his left shoulder. He could feel the raised scar tissue through the thin material of his T-shirt and he squeezed the mark once before scowling and dropping his hand as though the handprint still burned.

He hadn't seen Cas in over a week, since before this case began. Neither Sam nor Dean had expected any danger from something as routine as a haunting and the angel was still searching for God whenever he could. It had made sense to part ways and arrange to meet up after the case was finished, but that didn't mean that Dean had to like it. If he checked his phone at least once every few hours or got more impatient the longer the case dragged on, well, that was perfectly normal. Natural. He did that all the time.

If he turned around (hopefully) every time he heard the sound of beating wings, it was nobody's business but his own.

And this was rapidly devolving into one of those things that he Did Not Think About. At least, not until a stupid mystic woman from a shitty carnival threw it in his face and rubbed his nose in it.

Dean ran a hand over his face, sighing in exasperation. He had been dealing with this just fine, as long as he didn't think too closely about what 'this' was. Denial and Dean had been longtime buddies; Dean dreamed about busty, wanton ladies every night, jerked off to long hair and curves in the shower, never thought about the prick with wings except when necessary, and lived next door to the Easter Bunny and Elvis.

See? Definitely dealing with it.

There was a soft sound of feathers rustling behind him and Dean froze, heat prickling along the marred skin of his arm and through the rest of his body.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, voice deep and grave as always. Dean turned to face him, heart picking up a few paces from shock (not excitement, Don't Think About It, Dean Winchester) when he realized that Cas had yet again landed well within his personal bubble. The angel was barely a foot away, staring up at Dean with those inhumanly intense baby blues of his.

"Dude, we talked about this," Dean said, looking off somewhere over Castiel's shoulder. If his gaze landed for a second on Cas's lips, well, that was a complete accident. "Personal space?"

Cas blinked owlishly and then backed up a step, muttering an apology. Dean breathed a little easier. He let his eyes run over the angel's body, checking for injuries. Very little could harm an angel, but it never hurt to be careful. Dean allowed himself a second, more thorough once-over in the name of caution and then lifted his eyes back to Castiel's face.

The angel's expression was neutral, as usual, but there was a shadow of frustration that told Dean everything he needed to know about how well Castiel's latest search for his Father had gone.

"Didn't find anything?" he asked anyway.

"My search was... unsuccessful," Cas replied. He shifted in place. "Sam texted me with your location."

And Dean's room number, apparently. The brothers had gotten separate rooms. There was some kind of convention going on this week and every motel in a twenty-mile radius was full up. This place had only had singles left. Much as Dean appreciated the privacy, it still tore at his protective instincts to sleep separately from his brother. The Apocalypse was still gearing up and their best chance for survival meant sticking together.

"That sucks," Dean replied, moving around Cas and heading for the only bed. "We don't have a room for you. I didn't think we'd be seeing you until tomorrow, so..." He shrugged and glanced over at the somewhat puffy armchair over in the corner. "Guess you get the chair. I'm not sharing." Dean flopped onto the mattress and folded his arms behind his head, staring up at Castiel. The angel spared a quick glance for the chair but just as quickly dismissed it.

"I do not require rest," he said, meeting Dean's eyes. "I will guard your sleep and wake you in the morning."

Dean felt a frisson of something move down his spine and he shifted on the bed as though trying to avoid an awkwardly placed spring. Castiel was still staring at him, so he sat up and busied himself with the covers. He hadn't let the maid in to clean, so the blankets were still rumpled at the end of the mattress from last night. He pulled them over himself and laid back down before rolling onto his side so that his back was to the angel. He could still feel the weight of Cas's stare and it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"Fine. You do that," Dean said. He cleared his throat and shot a smirk over his shoulder at the angel. "Just don't peep in on any of my dreams. Last time one of you did that, it was Anna and she interrupted these two smokin' chicks in costumes. It was awesome, but way more than your virgin ass could handle."

Castiel tilted his head, his 'I-don't-understand-you-humans' expression stealing over his face.

"I will not... 'peep'," he said. He turned away from Dean and settled himself in the chair.

"'Night, Cas," Dean said, re-settling himself on the bed. He had his back turned to Castiel yet again.

"Goodnight, Dean."

The hunter felt eyes settle on him once more and he shivered, hiking up the blankets until they covered him almost completely. Only the top of his head and his face stayed exposed, but it didn't help. He could feel Cas's gaze penetrate through the layers of cloth between them and he shut his eyes against the feeling. He kept his breathing steady and in short order drifted off with Castiel's eyes still boring into him.

LINE BREAK

There's screaming.

One thousand, one hundred thousand, one million voices, maybe more, and they are all screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming, until their voices are hoarse and they can't cry out any more, and then some of them keep trying until blood pours out of their throats and their vocal cords snap.

And then it begins again the next day.

He can't hear the sound of bones breaking, flesh splitting, or blood dripping over the screams of the damned, but he can feel it. The rotten smell of decay and the metallic scent of blood are thick enough in the air that he can taste them when he opens his mouth to breathe. He chokes.

The whip is raised again and it comes down, drawing an inhuman shriek but no blood. That will come later, once the flesh is tenderized and over-sensitive. No need to cut into it this early; the skin is new, remade just minutes ago for the torture to begin all over again. If the soul is cut into too early, there will be nothing left by midday. He knows from experience. Those were the good days, decades ago, back before he was handed over to Alastair.

There's a laugh reverberating through the chamber. It's high and crazed and hysterical, overjoyed and drunk off of the blood, the screams, the /power/ of being the one in control.

It's familiar.

It's his own.

Dean raises the whip again. He's spent more than thirty years down here and now, finally-

"Dean."

-finally he can dish out a little of what he'd been forced to take. He is nobody's bitch and-

"Dean, wake up."

Dean raises the whip again-

"Dean!"

Dean inhaled sharply, snapping out of the memory in an instant and going for the knife beneath his pillow in the next. His hand had closed around the handle before his brain caught up with his instincts and he recognized the voice.
Cas.

Dean took a shuddering breath and released the knife, taking stock of the situation. Cas was sitting on the bed next to him, one of the angel's hands pressed firmly against the handprint-shaped burn scar on Dean's left arm. Castiel was staring at him with something like concern in his eyes, partially hidden by his usual stoicism.

"Thought I told you not to peep in on my dreams," Dean said, voice hoarse. He was breathing heavily too, heart pounding like he had just run a marathon. Castiel didn't bat an eye.

"I could sense your distress," he said, as though that explained everything. His hand still rested over the mark he had left on Dean's arm; directly over it, Dean realized with a jolt. Cas had shoved his hand up the sleeve of Dean's shirt and was gripping his shoulder tightly.

"'Sense my distress'?" Dean echoed, trying to tug his arm free. Castiel held on. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You and I share a... profound bond, Dean," Castiel said, stumbling a bit over the words 'profound bond'. "When I raised you from Hell and left this mark on you-"

"Whichever path you follow will mark you..."

Dean tensed at the unexpected reminder of his unfortunate Tarot reading. Castiel paused for a moment before continuing.

"This mark had connected us since that day-"

"You are connected..."

Castiel paused again.

"And?" Dean prompted, calming down a bit from the adrenaline rush the dream memory had brought with it.

"Whenever you feel something strongly, I can sense it through the bond. Your distress was... very strong," Castiel said.

"Wait, so you have a direct line to my emotions and you've had it since Day One?" Dean demanded. "Damnit, Cas, were you ever going to tell me? Don't you think that that's something I should know about?!"

"It only works when we're in close proximity or when your emotions are particularly strong," Castiel replied. His eyes narrowed slightly. "It has alerted me when you were in danger-"

"I don't fucking care," Dean snapped, feeling a sudden chill run through him. How much, exactly, could Cas sense? Could Cas tell what he was thinking too, or was it just emotion that went through this freaky angel bond?

How many of Dean's best-kept secrets and Things He Didn't Think About, Ever, were still secrets and things he could not-so-blissfully ignore?

Dean didn't even know the range on this thing; how close was 'close proximity'? Had Cas ever been close enough to sense it when Dean would jerk himself off to fantasies of impossibly blue eyes made darker with want and too-pink lips wrapping around him and drawing him in?

Could Cas sense it now? Dean frantically tried to shove the Things He Didn't Think About back into their dark little corner, but it was like a dam had burst and his brain kept on bringing up moments that, looking back, might have left him open to discovery.

"Anything else you want to tell me, Cas? Better start talking now, because if I find out you've been keeping more secrets from me about this-" But no, wait, Cas didn't know. He couldn't know, must not know, or else why would he still be here? Maybe good luck had decided to favor Dean and he had managed to escape detection from a weird angel sensor he hadn't known existed.

"Dean," Cas started to say, eyes widening. Dean ploughed on ahead.

"I am going to be so pissed if I find them out later, so you might as well just come clean now."

Oh, Jesus, what if Cas had sensed was what going on in Dean's head whenever he took a long, hot shower? 'Clean' may have described his body (and his pipes) afterwards, but his thoughts were anything but.

"Dean..." Cas cleared his throat and looked down at the mattress. Dean felt his stomach drop. Castiel acting nervous was never followed by good news.

"What?" he asked. Cas looked back up.

"If I am in contact with the mark I left on you-" Castiel lightly squeezed Dean's arm, where his hand had been resting since Dean had been pulled from his nightmare. "- or if you pray to me directly, I can sense your thoughts and memories in addition to your emotions. Only what is on the surface, but I must be touching you or you must pray to me by name in order for me to hear you clearly." He didn’t say ‘like I am now’, but he didn’t need to.

The words took a moment to sink in.

Dean felt the blood drain from his face so quickly that he felt dizzy.

"Sonofabitch," he growled, grabbing Castiel's wrist and yanking his hand away from the handprint. Cas didn't struggle, didn't even wince when Dean's grip tightened painfully around the delicate bones. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything," Cas replied. "I touched my mark on you to help ease your distress and allow you to sleep more deeply."

"And why the fuck didn't you let go after I woke up?" Dean demanded. "It's my head, Cas. You can't just pull a Peeping Tom act and expect me to be okay with it." The hunter tossed Castiel's hand aside and got up out of the bed, stomping towards the bathroom.

"Dean-"

"Get out of here. Go bunk with Sammy or something, just leave me the hell alone and forget whatever you think you heard in my head," Dean said.

"I don't want to forget it," Castiel said seriously.

"Too goddamn bad," Dean replied. "What's in my head is none of your business and if you come near me with that freaky mojo again, I'll-" Punch him? Yes, since that had worked so well last time. Kick him off of Team Free Will? They needed him. Killing him was impossible and completely out of the question regardless, what with how the idea of Cas dead made Dean's insides clench up painfully. "You won't like it."

Dean yanked open the bathroom door, needing to have at least one wall insulating him from the angel, but then the door was slammed shut and his back was pressed against the wood before he could so much as blink.

Castiel had pinned him to the door. Cas was warm against Dean's own, warm and pressed so tightly against the hunter than he could feel every hard plane of the angel's borrowed body. Dean shut his eyes, shivering as his blood headed due south. His dick apparently hadn't gotten the memo that this was not going to lead to happy fun times and had perked up hopefully.

"Let go," Dean demanded. His wrists had been pinned as well and Castiel was a lot stronger than he looked. Dean tried to break free anyway, twisting one way and then another, jerking his wrists left and right and up and down in hopes that he'd manage to surprise the angel and break loose. He barely moved, his struggles only amounting to nearly invisible tremors running through his body.

"No," Castiel said.

"Let me go right now and fuck off, and in the morning we'll forget that any of this ever happened. Understood?" Dean asked, feeling a trickle of unease when Castiel's grip tightened minutely around his wrists. Cas wouldn't actually hurt him, Dean had faith in that, but this could very well destroy the rapport he and Cas had built. Castiel was an angel of the Lord; it was one of the reasons Dean had tried to avoid thinking about it, because this? It could never go anywhere.

Angels of the Lord did not fall into bed with humans, especially if their vessel was the same sex as the lustful human. That had to be against about fifty Biblical rules or something, though Dean didn't know jack about the Bible. That's what he had Sammy and Bobby for.

"I've told you already, Dean. I don't want to forget," Cas said. "You never would have told me." It wasn't a question, but Dean answered anyway.

"Fuck no," he snapped, opening his eyes and staring heatedly at Castiel. "You think I wanted this?"

"What do you want?" Cas asked. His voice was oddly pitched. It sounded lower, if that was even possible for a voice as deep as the angel's.

"I want you to let me g-"

"No, Dean," Cas interrupted. He leaned closer, each word sending a puff of air across Dean's lips. "What do you want?"

"C-Cas?" Dean asked. His eyes were drawn to Castiel's lips, temptingly close to his own. If he leaned forward just a little... He felt a shiver run down his spine and had to fight the sudden urge to chuckle.

Here he was, Dean Winchester, womanizer, Casanova, Don Juan, with years of experience and mountains of stamina, shivering with each breath the very, very male angel pinning him down exhaled.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I'm asking you what you want," Cas replied. "Tell me, Dean. Is what I 'think I heard' in your head really what you want?"

Cas was finally learning sarcasm. The scornful emphasis he had put on 'think' was just dripping with the stuff.

"Depends on what you think you heard," Dean said, voice coming out slightly breathy.

"You are well aware of what I picked up on," Cas said. "I want you to tell me out loud. What. Do. You. Want?"

"Why-" Dean started to say, but then he lifted his gaze from Cas's lips to his eyes and the rest of the question died in his throat. Cas's eyes were dark, the pupils dilated and glinting in a way that Dean was familiar with. Intimately. There was another emotion there, bigger and deeper, somehow both darker and brighter than simple desire, but it wasn't something Dean knew.

"'Why' what?" Cas asked. He drew back slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. "If I was mistaken, then tell me to leave. I'll go and we'll forget tonight."

Holy shit. Cas wanted this. Cas wanted him.

"Doesn't this break every rule in the Book?" Dean asked, not caring beyond what it would mean for Castiel if he went against the Bible.

"'Where there is love, there is His grace'," Castiel intoned softly. "My Father does not hate that which makes His children happy."

Dean drew in a long, slow breath and didn’t exhale for several seconds. Castiel met his eyes steadily.

This was bigger than Dean had expected. He swallowed heavily, watching Castiel's eyes track the motion of his throat, and breathed deeply once more to calm his racing heart. This changed things. Cas didn't just want him, Cas cared about him.

Cas cared about him a lot.

The expression on the angel's face - vulnerable, wanting, and terrifyingly more than 'in like' - was not one Dean had ever thought he'd see. Maybe he'd catch glimpses, bits and pieces of those emotions if he watched Dad when he talked about Mom or if he had been around Sammy and Jessica before Jess had been killed, but to have a gaze like that directed at him...

"How long?" he asked. Cas's expression shuttered and he drew back further.

"I held your soul with my Grace when I raised you from Hell. Our bond was forged at that time. I believe it started then," Cas said. Dean's eyes widened.

"Back then? Dude, you were a total dick," he blurted out. Castiel glared and released Dean's wrists before taking two steps backwards.

"I said that that was when it started. I didn't realize for some time what I was... feeling. Emotions are alien to angels. We feel compassion and love for our Father, but beyond that... I had nothing to compare this with." Castiel turned away from Dean. "My apologies."

"Wait! Cas," Dean said, grabbing the angel's wrist. Castiel could have pulled away easily, but instead he stopped and waited. Dean felt frozen, mouth opening and closing without sound coming out. For once, he was speechless.

"... a choice awaits you..."

He could let Cas go, pretend they hadn't had this conversation, and go back to being secure in his heterosexuality (he liked women. Cas was just Cas). He could have a parade of women through his door and he'd still have his angel. Cas wouldn't abandon him, not completely, not until the Apocalypse was over. Afterwards was a whole different story, but Dean still had time. He had time to create memories that he would have long after Cas had returned to Heaven. Dean could have as many meaningless one night stands as he wanted. His life up until now. His life after this, if he let Cas go.

He could hold on. He could pull Cas to him and kiss him, finally press his lips against the mouth he'd tried so hard not to think about. He could take the gamble that Cas would stay with him even though everyone Dean had ever cared about had left him. Sammy has come back, sure, but that didn't erase the sense of loss. He could try an actual relationship, something he had never really had before in his life. In the privacy of his own head, Dean could admit that the thought terrified him. The sheer depth of emotion Dean had seen in Castiel's eyes was as awe-inspiring, as breathtaking, and as dangerous as a tsunami.

"..only you can decide what it is you cannot live without..."

"That bitch was right," Dean muttered, stepping away from the wall and towards Cas. Cas half-turned towards him, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Dean?"

"Cas," Dean said, shifting his grip on Cas's wrist to enclose the angel's hand instead. "I want to kiss you." Cas opened his mouth to say something, but Dean was of the opinion that they had said enough for one night. He didn't wait to hear what Castiel's reply would have been. He stepped closer and closed the last of the distance between them.

Castiel's small, surprised noise was swallowed by Dean's mouth. Dean kept the kiss fairly chaste by his standards, his mouth staying shut and his tongue behind his teeth. He felt Castiel begin to respond and pulled back, grinning.

"Dean, are you certain that this is what you want?" Castiel asked. His voice was a low rumble, thick with desire, and the sound of it sent a scorching heat down Dean's spine. "If we take this any further, there is no forgetting it and pretending it never happened. You will be mine."

The slight growl to the claim should have turned Dean off of the idea. He should have been indignant or angry that Castiel was already being so blatantly possessive.

It was kind of hot. Dean Winchester was nobody's bitch, but the way Cas said 'mine' made it sound more like Dean belonged with him rather than to him. Reciprocal ownership; he could live with that.

Dean smirked.

"I've already got your mark on me," he said, running a hand lazily up his chest and dragging his left sleeve up when his fingers reached it. "Maybe I should leave a few marks on you, so everyone knows that your ass is mine."

Castiel's eyes had fixed briefly on the handprint, pupils dilating further at the sight, and Dean's smirk widened. Castiel looked at him again.

"I have been yours for a very long time, Dean. My ass and every other part of me." Castiel's voice was so serious that Dean almost didn't realize what the angel had said. He chuckled and moved in for another kiss.

"Cas, don't ever change."

LINE BREAK

Sam opened the door to his brother's room, carrying bags filled with what could generously be called breakfast. Overly sugary doughnuts and piles of grease masquerading as biscuits and sausage gravy would be more accurate, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The bags were large and heavy, and so Sam walked right past the two figures entwined on the bed without noticing them.

"Dean, I brought food," Sam said, setting down his burdens on the small table. He heard the sound of blankets rustling behind him, the sounds of Dean waking up, but he ignored them in favor of getting breakfast out of the bags. "Have you seen Cas? I texted him last night, but-"

Sam had been turning as he spoke and the words abruptly stopped in his throat when he finally realized what he had walked in on.

Castiel and Dean (both of whom were now awake and at least one of whom was grumpy) were lying together on the small single. To be more accurate, Castiel was more than half on top of Dean, since the mattress was simply not built to accommodate two fully grown men. One of Dean's arms was curled possessively over Castiel's hips and one of the angel's legs was thrown over Dean's. Castiel's head was bent in towards Dean's neck, his face buried in the hunter's throat.

It was also quite clear, from how low the sheets were draped around their hips, that neither was wearing any clothing.

"Oh my God..." Sam said. He slapped a hand over his eyes. "It really is the Apocalypse. Dean's cuddling."

"I am not!" Dean said waspishly. Sam dropped his hand to level an incredulous stare at his brother, just in time to see Dean's arm tighten around Cas's waist. He didn't otherwise move. "I don't cuddle. Cuddling's for chicks like you, Samantha."

"Seriously?" Sam asked. "Then what do you call this?" He made a vague gesture at the bed. Dean and Castiel were both watching him warily, as if waiting for some kind of explosion.

"Not cuddling," Dean said promptly. Castiel nodded.

"Dean does not 'cuddle'," he said seriously. "This may look like cuddling, but it is not. Dean has sworn vengeance if I tell anyone otherwise."

Sam grinned. Dean's face turned slightly pink across the bridge of his nose.

"Cas," he said warningly. "Stop helping."

"If you two are done 'not cuddling'," Sam said, turning his back to the bed to allow Dean and Cas to get up without scarring him for life. "-I've got breakfast. There's a case up in Montana that we could start tonight if we leave in an hour."

He heard the covers rustling and then two sets of feet hit the thinly-carpet floor. He began fixing himself up a plate, allowing the others time to get dressed.

A hand landed on his arm and he turned, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. Dean stood just behind him and to the side, standing awkwardly in his boxers and a tank top.

"You're all right with this?" Dean asked quietly, glancing towards Castiel. Cas was still in the process of getting dressed and was tucking his shirt into the waistband of his pants. "With me and Cas?"

Sam nodded and smiled.

"A bit relieved, actually," he said. Dean stared at him, confused, and Sam shrugged. "It's about time."

"Wait, 'about time'?" Dean asked. "What do you mean, 'about time'?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"About time you and Cas hooked up. Bobby thought it would take longer and Ellen thought that you would be too stubborn to ever admit it," he said, voice very matter of fact. Dean's mouth dropped open.

"Bobby thought... and Ellen... what?" he demanded. "Sammy, please tell me you're making that up."

"Did you think you were being subtle?" Sam's eyes widened. "Dude, the only person that didn't know was Cas!"

"I didn't know what?"

Sam and Dean turned to look at Cas, who was now fully dressed. The angel was watching them quizzically, head slightly tilted.

"That Dean's in lo-" Sam started to say, but Dean elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Sam winced.

"Sam," Dean growled warningly. Sam shot at a glare at him, rubbing at the soon-to-be-bruise, but his expression faltered when he saw the look in Dean's eyes. Dean's face was serious, asking with his eyes for Sam to not say that word. Not yet.

Not yet.

Sam smiled and nodded; message received. Dean relaxed and stepped away, bringing himself to the table where he started up his own plate.

"Dean cares about you. A lot," Sam said, looking at Castiel. "That's all."

Cas smiled slightly.

"I know that now," he said simply. Sam grinned and then turned back to Dean, who had finished piling his plate with the most fattening items Sam had found for breakfast.

"We're so getting two rooms from now on," Sam said. "I'm not going to leave every time you and your boyfriend want to have sex and I don't want to come back to the room to find his tie hanging on the doorknob."

Dean grinned.

"Fine by me," he said and then leered at Castiel. "You won't hear me complaining. You won't hear me complaining at all."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"As long as I don't hear anything else, either, that's fine," he said, picking up a plain doughnut and biting into it. "I'm happy for you and all, but there are some things I really don't need to hear. Or see. Ever."

"Dean's pretty loud," Castiel commented. "You may want to invest in earplugs if you intend to rent the room next door to ours."

The brothers choked on their food. Castiel calmly reached into the bag of bakery-fresh doughnuts and withdrew one.

"Dude," Sam said. "Speaking of things I didn't need to know..."

Castiel didn't seem concerned. He walked over to Dean and stood next to the hunter, munching on his doughnut. Dean leaned towards him unconsciously, shuffling a half-step so that they were standing closer than usual. Considering how many issues Castiel had with recognizing personal space, that was saying something.

Sam smiled and turned his attention to eating his breakfast. The sooner they got on the road, the better.

The Apocalypse might still be hanging over their heads, but Sam couldn't help feeling really happy for what felt like the first time in weeks. Judging from the slight smiles Dean and Castiel wore, and the glances they kept stealing and sharing, Sam doubted he was the only one who felt like the future was maybe a little bit brighter in their corner of the world.

END

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought!