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The prospect of a lonely Valentine’s Day feels unusual.
Dean supposes he isn’t technically alone – but spending it with Bobby and Sam doesn’t exactly fill him with the holiday spirit either. With the whole looming end-of-the-world thing on the horizon he’s just not feeling it this year.
He’s not been feeling much of anything lately.
“Dean Winchester in a rut,” Dean mutters with a shake of his head. He takes a long sip from his bottle of beer and places it back onto the kitchen counter.
The worst thing is that with no immediate leads in anything, and seemingly quiet on both the demon and angel front, it really does feel like a holiday, and he can’t even decide whether he’s pleased or pissed about the peace.
Even the monsters are taking some time off. The end of the world goes on pause. Dean Winchester is spending Valentine’s Day alone.
Great headlines, he thinks, real attention grabbers.
He snatches up the bottle and takes another sip.
Sam and Bobby are both researching in the other room, while he’s avoiding them both by drinking a beer and feeling sorry for himself. He’d told them that he’d be getting himself a drink before rejoining them at the books, so he knows he doesn’t have long before Bobby chews him out for slacking off and demands he gets his ass back into the research.
Dean runs a hand over his face and leans back against the counter. It’d be different if he had someone to celebrate with, he supposes. He’s sure Sam and Bobby wouldn’t be on his case about research if he had a date. A real one – with someone he was going steady with and not just some one-night fling… thing.
He reluctantly thinks about the times when they were growing up, when Sam would be lamenting over never staying in one place long enough to get the chance to buy a girl some flowers and take her out. At the time he would tell Sam that he just wasn’t mature enough to appreciate the more no-strings aspects of the holiday like he did.
But he’d rather be a Hell Hound’s chew toy again than ever admit to Sam that he’d always kinda wanted to do the whole flowers and dinner thing with someone too…
Not so much for the flowers and dinner shtick itself – where would he put a bunch of flowers? He hates fancy restaurants – but for what they represented: the excuse to spend a special day with that special someone who understood him better than anyone, and wanted to be with him more than anyone else in the whole world.
And it sucks on a cosmic scale that Dean wants that. He wants it so much. He’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, literally ending soon, and the full-time job of keeping Sam safe, fulfilling his dad’s legacy, saving people, hunting things, and when’s he ever supposed to just have a nice Valentine’s Day with someone like that…
Dean is so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registers the sound of fluttering wings before he catches sight of Cas – appearing between one blink and the next in Bobby’s kitchen.
He flinches so hard he nearly drops his bottle of beer.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean grumbles with a scowl, placing the bottle safely onto the counter. He can’t ignore the burst of something bright and warm exploding in his chest, even as he keeps his scowl firmly in place. “Warn a guy.”
Cas’s hair is windswept and messy, like it always is after that teleporting-flying thing he does. His blue eyes are brighter than ever in the warm light of the kitchen, dark shadows under them as if he hasn’t slept in a week, despite not even needing to sleep at all. Tan trench coat, arms ramrod straight by his sides, five o’clock shadow that just highlights his strong jawline, even though he’s a freakin’ angel and he doesn’t need to shave…
It’s Cas. He’s here.
Dean knows that it’s a bit messed up that the pounding of his heart is so firmly associated with life-or-death situations that his body struggles with the idea that he’s not actively dying when it’s racing through just, pure joy.
Dean only realises he’s been staring without saying anything when Cas finally breaks the silence with a rumbled, “Hello, Dean.”
Unusually Cas’s attention breaks away from Dean before he can reply, and he scans the room intensely.
“What’re we lookin’ for?” Dean asks with amusement, joining in with the strange examination of the room and trying not to acknowledge his pang of disappointment at being disregarded so quickly.
“I’m checking to see that you are not in any danger.”
The disappointment evaporates. “Danger? In Bobby’s kitchen? Not unless Sam’s kale burgers leap out of the fridge and attack me, man,” Dean says. He cracks a smile at the look Cas throws him. “Why would you think I’m in danger?”
Cas levels the full intensity of his gaze onto Dean – (finally, he thinks) – and tilts his head slightly. “You were calling for me. You sounded like you were in pain, so I assumed you were in danger.”
“I… what?”
“You were calling for me,” Cas says again, though now he seems less sure.
Dean takes a step back and pushes down the strange panic that’s formed in the back of his throat. He licks his lips as he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Think you got your wires crossed, buddy. I didn’t say your name.”
Cas takes a step closer and frowns. “But I heard you.”
Dean swallows thickly and takes another step back. (Cas takes another closer.)
When he’d been thinking about spending time with somebody for Valentine’s Day… fuck. He’d been picturing Cas the whole time. Wishing and wishing he would feel the same way about him that he does for Cas.
Cas’s eyes widen. “Ah. Now-” he touches a finger to his own temple. “I can hear you now-”
Dean suddenly feels like a bug under a microscope, but he’s unable to look away from where Cas’s intense blue eyes have him pinned. He feels the kitchen counter behind him as he takes another step backwards.
“Oh, I see,” Cas says, standing so close to him the toes of their shoes are touching. “It’s longing.”
Dean tries to scoff again, but it comes out wrong. He doesn’t want the confused rejection he knows he’ll get – especially on Valentine’s Day of all days. “Listen,” Dean says, hardening his voice, “whatever frequency you’ve been tuning into, it sure ain’t mine.”
“Dean.” Cas looks sad, but there’s something else in his expression that Dean can’t recognise. “I would know the sound of your soul even if every soul on earth spoke to me at once.”
“Holy sh- Cas, you- you can’t just say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
Dean’s ass is still pressed against the counter, and Cas is so close to him he’s invaded all his senses – eyes locked onto his, the smell of petrichor that clings to him, so close that one more tiny step would have Cas between his legs…
Because it gives me hope, Dean thinks, his heart aching and aching, unable to break eye contact.
Cas’s eyes widen. After a moment he reaches out and places his hand gently over the handprint that still sits on Dean’s shoulder. His hand is large and warm over the mark, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat. A tingling warmth spreads through him, rushing out from his shoulder, and settles in his chest – it’s so much it’s almost painful.
“I’m here,” Cas rumbles, in an almost reverent whisper – like the tone he’d use in the hush of a church. “I’m already here with you. I’m here.”
Dean feels a burning sensation in the back of his eyes as his throat closes, and just as he is about to do something really embarrassing like let his tears fall and lean into Cas’s hand like a touch-starved feral cat, Bobby’s voice yells out from the other room, “You got lost in there, boy?”
Dean jumps but doesn’t move away from Cas or remove his hand from his shoulder. “Sorry Bobby!” His voice comes out croakier than he expected, and he clears his throat. “Just seeing how long I can stay in here to avoid the books,” he adds, trying to go for casual and not I think I’m experiencing so much affection I’m either going to cry or my heart will explode.
“Well get your ass back in here and help us, these books ain’t gonna read themselves.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”
Cas opens his mouth to announce his presence, but Dean places a single finger to Cas’s lips, hoping even Angels know the signal to be quiet.
Cas tilts his head in silent question and Dean realises just where his finger is and just how soft Cas’s lips are with a realisation that hits him so hard it’s like a physical punch to the gut. He whips his hand away before he can give into the sudden temptation to push his fingertip past those lips or imagine anything else he’d like them to be touching.
“You wanna play hooky?” Dean asks, almost breathless. He’s feeling young and bold and buzzed on whatever this warm thing is that feels like it could be something big.
And if nothing else he just desperately wanting to spend more time with his best friend.
“I’m not sure I know the rules…”
Dean snorts with amusement. “It’s not a game- it’s- never mind, just-” he reaches out and grips one of Cas’s hands in his, manipulating his fingers so that he’s holding up two, which he places on his forehead. “Just zap us outta here. Somewhere fun.”
Cas says nothing at first and Dean suddenly wonders if he’ll refuse. He forgets sometimes that Cas can be as immovable as a statue if he wanted to be, solid and cold like one too, but the hand he’s holding is warm and pliant and he always seems to let Dean do these things with him.
“I thought that the last time I flew you somewhere it interrupted with your regular bowel movements, and you wouldn’t be doing it again,” Cas says eventually.
“Yeah, well, I might have exaggerated a little.”
“You mean you lied.”
Dean shrugs. “It’s what I do.”
“When you really want something,” Cas whispers, a little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, “you lie about it.”
“Different context,” Dean says, remembering the day he’d told Cas that. I just wanted you in my car. “Anyway, stop bringing up all the contradictory shit I say.”
Cas’s smile widens. “No.”
Dean rolls his eyes with a loud sigh. “Alright, fine. I’d like to fly the Cas Express, please. If everyone else is having the day off, so are we.”
“Dean? Where you at?” Bobby calls from the other room.
Cas’s fingertips are still resting on Dean’s forehead, held in place, but he firmly pulls his hand out of the grip. At first Dean is disappointed to think that it’s a refusal, and something of that must come out in his expression because Cas is quick to lean in and say, “Where shall I take us?”.
The same joy from earlier comes rushing back and Dean grins. “Anywhere, man. Take us anywhere.”
Cas considers this for a second before he takes that final step separating them and twists his arms around Dean’s back, pulling him close and holding him tightly against his chest.
Dean’s brain-to-mouth function stopped working at exactly the moment Cas stepped forwards, and he’s struggling to remember how to breathe when his only thoughts are about how solid and warm the body holding him is, how great he smells, and how soft the trench coat feels under his hands (just when did he hug back anyway?).
“Wh-” Dean eventually manages.
“If I fly with you like this, I can keep you from suffering any ill effects or discomfort,” Cas rumbles directly into Dean’s ear, his breath ghosting over the skin.
Dean shivers.
“I’ll be back later, Bobby!” Dean remembers to yell into the house, his voice coming out strained. Whatever Bobby says in reply is lost to Dean as he grips Cas tighter and laughs a little as he says, “Go, go!”
There’s a tugging sensation in his stomach as he hears a rustling of feathers and the deafening snap and flap of what sounds like enormous wings. Dean scrunches his eyes closed at a sudden dizzying weightlessness and swears he can feel something silky and soft pressing against his back, holding him close and pressing him flush against Cas’s body.
Then Dean feels solid ground under his feet and the moment passes.
Cas gently lets go and Dean misses him already. It takes a lot of effort not to pull him back.
“You’re not gonna fly with Sam or Bobby like that are you?” Dean says, trying to keep his voice casual, as he straightens out his rumpled shirt.
“Just you,” Cas promises.
“Good. ‘Cause that’d be weird. For them. But uh- if you wanted to fly like that again with me, I wouldn’t mind. Didn’t even make me feel queasy this time.”
“I’m glad. My true form held your soul steady.”
“Uh. Thanks?”
“You’re welcome, Dean.”
Cas says it so fondly, so proudly.
Like it’d been a privilege.
Castiel Angel of the Lord used his angelic self to hold Dean’s soul steady while flying him off to wherever, just because Dean had asked him to take them somewhere, and he didn’t like the weird side effects of being zapped through time and space.
The big dumb crush he has on Cas makes sense because Cas is a super-hot badass, who’s hilarious even when he doesn’t mean to be, and he’s full of sass and rebellion.
But when Dean sometimes lets himself think that maybe, maybe, Cas feels something back, he remembers why that would be insane. The guy’s an Angel. He’s amazing.
And Dean is… he’s just a guy.
Eventually Dean realises they’ve been staring at each other again and pulls his gaze away to their surroundings. He whistles. “Where are we?”
They’re standing in an expanse of tall grass that spans as far as Dean can see in any direction – the warm sunlight that they left in Sioux Falls has been replaced by a weaker, greyish light filtered through a thick layer of clouds.
“England,” Cas replies. “I come here sometimes to see the flowers.”
Dean has another look around at the tall grass, reaching up to their knees, but other than the odd thicker patch of shrub or taller sticks, everything is a washed-out shade of green and brown. A cool breeze makes the grass ripple like water.
“The flowers?” Dean repeats.
Cas frowns at him. “They haven’t bloomed yet.”
“Uh-huh, I can see that.” Dean allows himself a teasing grin, which succeeds in Cas’s frown deepening.
“It was… considerably difficult to think of a location when I held you so close to me. This is a favourite place of mine so I must have flown here without consciously deciding to.”
The grin slips from Dean’s face as he fumbles with what to say to that. He can tease and almost-flirt with Cas all day long, but as soon as Cas throws something like that back at him, he can never seem to hold it the fuck together.
“Oh,” Dean finally says.
Nice, he thinks with an internal sigh, real smooth.
Cas saves him from his conversational suicide by crouching down and placing a palm flat onto the ground. When he turns back to look up at Dean, his eyes are glowing bright blue.
“Close your eyes,” Cas commands.
Dean does exactly as he says.
The flash that follows is bright enough to shine harshly even through his eyelids, but once it’s faded Dean blinks a few times and he can’t help the surprised, “Woah,” that he lets out as his vision clears.
The meadow is a sea of vividly coloured flowers, all perfectly in full bloom, and even the grey light can’t wash out the vibrant colours. They’re both standing in a patch of cheerful yellow flowers, but just beyond them are shades of blue and pink, some tall purple stuff poking up among them, and a spattering of small white flowers growing between them like freckles.
They’re all swaying gently in the breeze, and the sudden heady scent of flowers is carried strongly on it.
When Dean turns to look at Cas the smug son of a bitch has his chin held high, and even though he isn’t smiling Dean can see it in the crinkles beside his eyes and the set of his mouth that he wants to.
“I’ll return it back to the way it was before we go.” Cas gently touches the petals of a nearby yellow flower.
Never has Dean wanted to grab the lapels of his trench coat and yank him into a kiss so badly.
He manages to control the impulse, though he can’t help the lick of his lips, which he catches Cas flick his attention to. He visibly swallows and turns away.
Something fluttery is happening in Dean’s stomach, and he can’t even blame the teleporting.
“It’s nice,” Dean finally says, motioning with his chin in a way that means he’s referring to the meadow.
“Wildflowers are my favourite. They spring up wherever they want to – they’re not tended to, they’re not curated or cared for, but they fight on, and they survive, and they bloom beautifully despite their hardships.”
Dean lets out a little laugh. “That sounds like you, buddy.”
Cas whips his head back to him, startled, and tilts his head. “I was describing you, actually.”
“Me?” Dean nearly splutters.
Cas’s eyes squint into a bitchy little expression that Dean knows means that he’s ready for an argument and won’t budge. “I wish you would just accept a compliment,” he huffs.
“Calling me a weed is a compliment?”
“I recall you “calling me” a “weed” first,” Cas fires back, using air quotes in a way that sounds wrong even thought it might technically be right. “Besides. Wildflowers are not technically weeds. There are no such things as weeds. Only plants growing where they naturally want to. It’s humans who decided to classify that as a bad thing. There are numerous types and classifications of wildflower and labelling them all as weeds is disrespectful to their variety. I can keep going,” he says with a glint in his eyes, “or…”
Dean’s brain is still stuck on realising that Cas called him beautiful, but he still manages a playful, “Okay, fine!” He lifts his hands up in surrender. “Compliment accepted. We’re both weeds. Happy?”
A small smile twitches onto Cas’s lips.
“Really? Of course you think that’s a good thing,” Dean says with a long-suffering sigh, but he knows he’s smiling too. “So,” he begins, trying to steer the conversation into something he’s better equipped to deal with, “England, huh? Never been.”
“Until now,” Cas corrects.
“Until now. Man, Sammy’s gonna be so jealous.”
“I like to think, and to observe the flowers. This whole meadow is part of a nature reserve, so people rarely come this way. It’s peaceful.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Good place to think.” Dean is thoughtful himself for a moment, but eventually says, “So when you zap away from us it’s to go to places like this? You got spots all over the world or something?”
“Yes.” Cas looks out over the sea of colourful flowers, seeming all at once out of place in his trench coat and tie and exactly where he should be – an Angel amongst natural wonders. His profile in the grey light surrounded by the pops of vibrancy around them is something Dean can’t look away from. The sharp lines of his nose and jawline are softened by the expression he wears. “When I still worked for Heaven, I would go there most often. But now… I go to places that give me a sense of calm.”
“You go to your happy places. I get that.”
Cas opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, shifting his shoulders like he’s uncomfortable. It’s a very human-like gesture.
“Talk to me,” Dean says.
“I don’t want to make the conversation awkward again.”
Dean leans across and wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulder, filled with a sudden need to make sure that he never feels that way when they’re talking together. “That’s never stopped you before,” Dean says lightly. “Woah, you’re warm!” He squeezes Cas in tighter and shivers when he realises just how cold the breeze has made him – wearing nothing but his jeans, undershirt, and unbuttoned plaid, dressed as he had been for the warmer weather back in Sioux Falls.
“Oh,” Cas says with a furrowed brow, “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t realise you were cold.”
Feathers rustle and swish as something warm, impossibly soft, and velvety, strokes down Dean’s back and around his side. Heat radiates from it, and Dean resists the urge to bury his hands into the invisible, but very solid curtain of feathers enclosing him. He’s warmed up almost immediately, and all the tension leaves his body at once at the sensation of comfort and peace that travels through him from the places that the feathers touch.
“Is that…?” Dean breathes.
Cas shifts again, and what is clearly his wing moves with him, lifting in a self-conscious kind of shrug before it tightens slightly, hugging Dean into his side. “It’s the quickest way to warm you up,” Cas says in a hesitant voice, “but I can remove it if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
Dean shakes his head, leaning into the touch – the strange one armed, one winged side-hug – and feels more comfortable than he has for a long time. “No.” Dean gently runs a finger down the edge of the invisible wing cocooning him in. It makes his fingertips tingle. “I like it. Angel blanket. Thanks, Cas.”
The tingling increases.
“You’re welcome,” Cas eventually replies, his voice quiet and rumbling.
A quiet moment passes between them – comfortable as they both enjoy their closeness and the beauty of the scene around them. Dean closes his eyes and almost loses himself in how relaxed he feels, as if the imminent apocalypse no longer exists. He can still smell the flowers, but overpowering even that is the smell of something wilder and sharper, like the smell in the air when there’s a storm.
His sad, lonely morning at Bobby’s feels like a lifetime away.
Dean suddenly lets out a small laugh.
“What?” Cas says.
“Nothing, nothing, it’s just. Man, I was so bummed this morning when I thought I would be spending Valentine’s alone, and here I am not just getting a bunch of flowers – you’ve given me a whole damn meadow.” Dean is so full of fondness that he can’t even bring himself to try and push it down for once. He basks in it. He turns his head to the side and grins at his best friend. If he were bolder, he’d just move forward those painful few inches and kiss him. And God does he want to.
Instead, Dean lets himself enjoy the way that Cas’s undivided attention is on him; blue eyes staring straight into his, his angel wing wrapped around him for warmth, in the wildflower meadow that he brought to life just for him.
“Next you’ll be taking me for pizza on top of the Eiffel Tower or something,” Dean adds with another laugh.
“I could do that,” Cas says, his voice rumbling deeper than usual, his eyes still locked on Dean’s.
“Are you- Seriously?”
“Yes. Anywhere you want to go.”
Dean considers this for a moment. “Alright. Take me to more of your happy places – take me on the Cas World Tour of happy places.”
Cas pushes Dean gently into place in front of him with his wings. (Dean is too surprised at being manhandled by invisible angel wings to put up any resistance). He grips both of his shoulders in his strong hands, wings draped across his back, and studies him, his eyes darting down to his lips more than once.
“That’s what I was going to say before…” Cas admits quietly, placing a gentle hand against Dean’s cheek. He strokes his thumb tenderly over his cheek bone. “My happiest place is with you, Dean. I’m happiest anywhere as long as you’re with me.”
Dean can’t manage anything more than a startled blink, traitorous tears once again springing into his eyes. The warmth in his chest really does feel like it’s too much for his body to contain. “Are you saying…” You love me? Dean’s thoughts finish the sentence he can’t speak aloud.
“Yes,” Cas answers with no hesitation.
“Me too,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “Me too, Cas. I mean, about you.”
Cas smiles, the widest Dean has ever seen, and he knows he’s echoing the expression right back.
He loves his best friend.
He loves his best friend.
And his best friend loves him back!
And they’re going to spend Valentine’s Day together because they want to. Because there’s no one else they’d rather spend it with.
Dean barely even notices the flowers closing their petals around them, he’s so locked onto Cas’s blue eyes crinkling with happiness and affection. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean,” Cas rumbles, as he pulls Dean forward against his chest, winding his arms around his back, to join his wings.
Between one heartbeat and the next they’ve disappeared with a rustle of feathers.
