Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester never thought his life would turn out like this.

At thirty-six, he had settled into a rhythm—his café, his daughter, his little bubble of warmth in an otherwise unpredictable world. Some mornings, when the smell of fresh coffee filled the shop, and Claire sat across from him stealing bites of his pie, Dean almost believed that things were exactly as they should be.

But then there were the cracks—the ghost of Lisa’s voice, the weight of past wounds, the occasional lonely nights.

He never regretted leaving Lisa, not for a second. What he did regret was how much damage she had left behind. Claire barely spoke to her anymore, and Lisa blamed Dean for everything—her career struggles, Claire’s defiance, even her own deep-seated prejudices.

Dean sighed as he wiped down the counter, glancing up at the sound of the bell jingling over the door.

“Morning, Cas,” he greeted with an easy smile.

Castiel Novak, philosophy teacher, single dad, and painfully gorgeous Alpha, walked in with his daughter Emma at his side. Cas was dressed in his usual sharp slacks and a button-down, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been running behind schedule.

“Dean,” Cas greeted, giving him that small, reserved smile that always made something warm settle in Dean’s chest. “We’ll take the usual.”

Emma rolled her eyes, nudging her dad playfully. “You should get something different for once, dad.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “And risk disappointing your mother’s genes? Hardly.”

Dean chuckled as he turned toward the coffee machine. “Coming right up.”

Claire walked out from the back, spotting Emma immediately. “Hey, Em,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against Emma’s.

Emma smirked. “Morning, Winchester.”

Dean watched them with a fond smile. Claire and Emma had been inseparable since they met in Cas’s class. It made sense—the daughters of two single parents, both with complicated families, both fiercely protective of the people they loved.

Cas settled onto a barstool, his sharp blue eyes scanning Dean. “How’s business?”

Dean shrugged. “Same as always. Though I’ve got a new walnut honey pie recipe I’ve been meaning to try. Maybe you and Emma can be my taste testers.”

Cas tilted his head slightly. “I’d be honored.”

Dean felt the warmth creep up his neck, so he turned away, busying himself with the coffee. It was ridiculous, how easily Cas made him feel like a damn teenager.

“Dean,” Cas said suddenly, his voice quieter.

Dean glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Cas hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You look tired.”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just a long night. Nothing new.”

Cas didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he said softly, “You know, you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Dean’s chest tightened slightly. He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn’t sure—but before he could answer, Claire groaned dramatically.

“Oh my god,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “Can you two just date already?”

Dean choked on his coffee.

Emma burst out laughing. Cas, to his credit, merely tilted his head like a confused puppy.

Dean coughed, shooting his daughter a look. “Claire—”

Claire smirked. “What? It’s so obvious, mom. You literally blush every time Mr. Novak breathes in your general direction.”

Cas turned to Dean, completely serious. “You blush when I breathe?”

Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Cas’s chuckle was soft, but warm. “For the record,” he said, taking his coffee, “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Dean froze. Wait. What?

Cas simply smiled, then turned toward the door. “Come along, Emma. We’ll be late.”

Dean watched him leave, his heart pounding as Claire grinned at him like the little menace she was.

“…Shut up,” he muttered, sipping his coffee to hide his very obvious blush.

Claire just smirked.

Chapter Text

The café smelled like cinnamon and honey, the warmth of the ovens filling the small space as Dean worked behind the counter. His hands moved on autopilot—rolling out pie dough, dusting flour from his apron.

But his mind? That was an absolute mess.

Cas had said he "wouldn’t be opposed" to dating. What the hell did that even mean?

“Mom, you’re ruining that crust.”

Dean blinked, realizing that his fingers had been pressing too hard into the dough. He looked up to see Claire standing by the counter, arms crossed, her usual knowing smirk plastered across her face.

Dean sighed dramatically. “Oh, forgive me, oh wise one. Clearly, I need your professional insight on pie-making.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re just distracted.”

Dean wiped his hands on a towel, narrowing his eyes at her. “And why am I distracted, Claire?”

Claire popped a piece of pie crust into her mouth. “Because Mr. Novak is in love with you, and you’re just now realizing it.”

Dean nearly died.

“Excuse me?!” He grabbed a dish towel and threw it at her, but Claire dodged effortlessly, cackling.

“You heard me.” She leaned against the counter. “I mean, it’s painfully obvious, mom. You two flirt all the time—”

“We do not.”

“You literally just made heart-eyes at him this morning.”

Dean groaned, rubbing his temples. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Cas doesn’t think about me like that.”

Claire gave him a deadpan stare. “Mom, he calls you ‘Dean’ in that deep Alpha voice, he shows up every morning for coffee even though you know he has one of those fancy machines at home, and he looks at you like you’re a damn dessert.”

Dean turned red. “You need to stop hanging out with Emma.”

Claire grinned. “Emma agrees with me.”

Dean groaned. “Of course she does.”

Claire popped another piece of pie crust into her mouth. “So, when are you gonna ask him out?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’ve got so much faith in me, don’t you?”

Claire smirked. “Mom, I know you. You like Cas. He likes you. Emma and I already decided you’re endgame, so can you two just make it official already?”

Dean sighed, but deep down, his heart warmed. Claire had always been his fiercest supporter, always choosing him over Lisa, always making him feel like he was enough.

He reached across the counter, ruffling her hair. “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

Claire grinned. “And you’re stalling.”

Before Dean could come up with a retort, the café door swung open—and in walked Cas.

Oh, shit.

Chapter Text

Cas had a way of commanding a room without trying. It was an Alpha thing, sure, but with Cas, it was different. He wasn’t loud or arrogant like most Alphas Dean had known. He was steady. Grounded. Safe.

Dean swallowed hard as Cas approached the counter, his usual small smile in place.

“Good evening, Dean.”

Dean definitely didn’t blush. (Okay, maybe a little.)

“Hey, Cas.” He cleared his throat. “You’re here late.”

Cas glanced at Claire, then back at Dean. “Emma is at a study session, so I thought I’d stop by.” He hesitated, then added, “And I wanted to see you.”

Claire beamed. Dean nearly dropped the coffee pot.

“W-Well,” Dean stammered, desperately trying to regain composure, “you picked a good night. I just finished a new walnut honey pie recipe.”

Cas’s lips quirked. “Then I’d love to try it.”

Dean turned, busying himself with cutting a slice, because if he looked at Cas for one more second, he was going to combust.

As he placed the plate in front of Cas, Claire leaned in, stage-whispering, “He made it special for you.”

Dean kicked her under the counter.

Cas chuckled, blue eyes twinkling as he picked up his fork. “Then I’ll consider myself honored.”

Claire smirked, hopping off the counter. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Claire,” Dean warned.

Claire winked at Cas. “Good luck, Mr. Novak. You’ll need it.”

Cas, the absolute traitor, just smiled.

As Claire left, Dean finally let out a deep breath. “I swear, she’s trying to kill me.”

Cas took a bite of the pie, his expression softening. “She loves you.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Cas set his fork down, meeting Dean’s gaze. “She just wants her mom to be happy.”

Dean swallowed. There was something unspoken in Cas’s voice, something gentle but sure.

“…And what do you want, Cas?” Dean asked quietly.

Cas’s eyes darkened slightly. “I think you already know.”

Dean’s breath caught.

For the first time in a long time, he let himself hope.

Chapter Text

The walnut honey pie was long forgotten.

Dean couldn’t look away from Cas, his heart hammering against his ribs. The café, the hum of the ovens, the faint scent of coffee—all of it faded.

Cas was looking at him like he meant something.

Dean swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the counter. “Cas, I…” He trailed off, his usual quick wit failing him.

Cas, ever patient, simply waited.

Dean wasn’t used to this. He was used to Alphas who took control, who talked over him, who made decisions for him. But Cas? Cas gave him space.

That, more than anything, made him want to take a chance.

Dean exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay,” he said, voice soft. “Let’s say—for argument’s sake—that I do have feelings for you.”

Cas’s lips twitched. “For argument’s sake?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Cas didn’t shut up. Instead, he reached across the counter, brushing his fingers over Dean’s wrist—gentle, hesitant. “Then I’d say that I feel the same.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

Cas squeezed his wrist lightly. “And I’d say I’d like to take you out properly.”

Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Like… a date?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. A real date. You and me.”

Dean definitely wasn’t blushing. (Okay, fine, he was.)

“…You asking me out in my own café?” he muttered, trying for casual, but his voice was hoarse.

Cas smiled softly. “It felt like the right place.”

Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head. God, he was whipped.

“…Yeah, okay,” he said finally. “I’d like that.”

Cas’s fingers brushed against his one last time before he pulled back. “Saturday?”

Dean definitely didn’t giggle. (Shut up, Claire.)

“Saturday,” he agreed.

Cas nodded once, then stood. “Good.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t demand more. Just gave Dean a lingering look before turning toward the door.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean watched him go, his heart doing stupid things.

He was so in trouble.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester, café owner, omega, and literal parent to a 20-years-old girl, had never once in his life stood in front of his closet and whispered the words:
“I have nothing to wear.”
Until now.

“Mom,” Claire said from the bed, chin in her hand, tone flat, “you’ve been staring at the same four shirts for twenty minutes.”

Dean turned to glare at her, currently holding up a fitted black button-down like it had personally betrayed him. “This one’s too much, right? Too—I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it?”

Claire tilted her head. “Depends. Are you trying to seduce him on the first date?”

Dean flushed. “No! God. It’s dinner. I just—I want to look nice.”

“You already look nice,” Claire said immediately. Then, just as fast: “But also, no. Not that one.”

Dean groaned, tossing it onto the bed. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna pass out. My lungs are going to give up and Cas will find me curled up in a flannel grave.”

Claire rolled her eyes and got up. “Alright. Move, mom. Mama Bear's taking over.”

Dean stepped aside with a sigh as Claire barreled into the closet like a woman on a mission. “You know,” he muttered, “I was this close to just wearing jeans and a hoodie.”

Claire froze. “Absolutely not. This is your first date in like, what, two decades? You are not meeting a hot alpha wearing a hoodie, mom.”

Dean folded his arms, watching her with a pout. “You said he already loves me.”

Claire pulled out a soft olive sweater and dark jeans and eyed them critically. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can dress like a teenage girl.”

Dean cackled despite himself. “You’re so mean to me.”

Claire held up the sweater. “You wanna impress Mr. Novak or not?”

Dean blinked. “Wait. I like that one.”

Claire grinned. “I know. You wore it when he complimented your eyes last week and turned bright red.”

“…Traitor.”

“Truth-teller,” she said sweetly.

They worked together, tossing options, rejecting things for being too try-hard or not enough. At one point, Claire pulled out a tight maroon shirt and raised an eyebrow.

Dean shook his head. “I am not wearing that. That screams ‘omega in heat’ and I’m trying to scream ‘emotionally available and open to connection.’”

Claire wheezed. “Okay, okay. Got it. Sexy but not slutty. Sweet but not desperate.”

Dean stared at her. “What?”

She lifted a shoulder innocently. “I listen when you complain about your dating life.”

Eventually, they settled on the olive sweater, dark jeans that hugged just enough, and a soft leather jacket Dean hadn’t worn in a while.

“This,” Claire declared, “is the one.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay yeah, this works. You gonna help with my hair?”

“Already ahead of you.” Claire pointed to the chair. “C'mon sit down, mom.”

Dean sat.

Claire stood behind him, twisting her fingers through his hair with practiced care, smoothing, curling, fluffing, until it looked like a stylist had taken their sweet time with every strand. A little soft wave here, a piece tucked just right there. She didn’t say anything for a moment—just worked, focused and fierce.

Then she stepped back and reached for the perfume on the dresser—Dean’s favorite omega blend. She spritzed it delicately across his neck and collarbone. The scent bloomed in the air: honey, cinnamon, sugar, and fresh coffee. Warm, rich, familiar. It smelled like Dean. Not the flustered version, not the anxious one—but the real him.

“You smell like cinnamon and coffee, just like you.”

Dean stared at himself in the mirror. He looked good—like someone who belonged in a romcom.

Claire pinned a silver cuff on his wrist and gave a satisfied nod. “Hot. But in a ‘I own a café and will emotionally destroy you with baked goods’ way.”

Dean laughed, nerves easing just a bit. “You really think so?”

Claire leaned her chin on his shoulder, smiling into the mirror. “I think he’s going to fall harder than he already has.”

Dean blinked back something dangerously close to tears. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“Don’t get soft on me now, mom."

Dean blinked. “Is this what I was like when you were fifteen and had your first date?”

Claire snorted. “Worse. You made me carry a knife.”

Dean looked smug. “Good parenting.”

Claire was more gentle now, pulling his hair into place with care.

Dean caught the shift. “Claire, honey,” he said gently. “You okay with this?”

Claire looked at him for a long beat. Then nodded. “I’m just... I’m really happy for you. You’ve always made me feel safe, mom. And now you get to have someone who makes you feel safe. You deserve that.”

Dean’s throat wobbled. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She hugged back and kissed his temple. Then sniffed and stepped back. “Now. Do you have your inhaler, mom?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Claire—”

“Do you have it.”

He sighed, reached into his pocket, showed her. “Yes, mom.”

“Good,” she said, stepping aside. “Because if you forget it, and Mr. Novak has to carry your asthmatic ass back here in a bridal style, I swear to god—”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best daughter in the world, mom."

"Yes, you are and I love you." He said gently.

Claire softened. “I love you too, mom. And I want you to be safe and happy, okay? Just be yourself. But if he breaks your heart, I will slash his tires.”

Dean chuckled. “You’re a menace.”

“Alpha instincts, baby. Now go get your man.”

Meanwhile, across town, Castiel Novak stood very still while Emma fixed his collar.

“You’re fidgeting, dad.” she said.

“I am not.”

“You just ironed that shirt twice in a row. You’re fidgeting.”

Cas exhaled. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Emma stepped back and looked him over—slacks, button-up, cardigan. Classic dad.

“You’ll be fine, dad. You already make him laugh. Just be you.”

“I never thought I’d—” Cas started, then stopped.

“What?” Emma asked, voice softer now.

“I never thought I’d feel this again,” Cas admitted. “This kind of hope.”

Emma smiled. “You deserve it, dad. And Dean’s… good for you.”

Cas looked at her. “You really think so?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. I see how you look at him. And how he looks at you. It’s safe. You’re both safe with each other.”

Cas pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you, baby.”

Emma held on. “Just be good to each other. That’s all.”

At 7:00 PM, the doorbell rang.

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat.

Claire opened the door—and immediately stepped outside, arms crossed like a bouncer guarding a celebrity.

Cas blinked. “Claire.”

“Mr. Novak,” she said seriously. “I just wanna say one thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright.”

“If you hurt my mom,” Claire said sweetly, “I will make your life miserable. I will learn your class schedule, I will egg your car, and I will never let you date again.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Claire grinned. “Great. Now go sweep him off his feet.”

Dean finally appeared behind her.

Cas’s breath caught. “Hi, Cas.” Dean said softly.

Cas offered his hand. “Hello, Dean."

They stood there for a moment, just looking. Then Dean took his hand—and everything else melted away.

Claire blocked the threshold once more. “Have him home by midnight.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Claire—”

“Go, mom,” she said, shooing them with both hands. “And text me if you need backup!”

Later that night, Claire and Emma were spread out on the couch surrounded by snacks and sarcasm.

“You think they’re holding hands already?” Claire asked, biting into a cookie.

Emma shrugged. “Give it twenty minutes. Your mom was looking fine.”

Claire smirked. “He really was.”

They clinked their glasses together happily.

“To our stupidly adorable, anxiety-ridden parents,” Emma declared.

“To endgame,” Claire said.

And somewhere across town, Dean Winchester laughed too—his hand in Cas’s, his heart fluttering, maybe for the first time…

…without fear.

Chapter Text

The restaurant was all soft candlelight and old jazz—classy, quiet, like something out of a black-and-white movie. Every table glowed, the walls were deep green velvet, and a slow saxophone hummed under the clink of silverware.

Dean tried not to panic.

He looked great—Claire had made sure of that. His sweater was perfect, his hair wasn’t doing anything weird, and Cas hadn’t stopped smiling since he picked him up. But none of that changed the fact that Dean’s palms were sweating and his throat was tight and his brain kept spinning in circles like what if this is a disaster, what if I ruin everything, what if Lisa was right about everything—

“Dean,” Cas said gently.

Dean blinked. Cas was already holding the wine list out, his fingers warm where they brushed Dean’s. “Would you like to pick?”

Dean stared at him for a beat. Then huffed a breath and took the menu. “I didn’t even hear you say anything. Sorry. I’m—uh—little nervous.”

Cas didn’t flinch. “That’s alright.”

Dean looked down at the list. Tried to focus. Tried to stop being a mess.

“Do you like red or white?” he asked, voice low.

Cas’s smile softened. “Whatever you like is fine.”

Dean snorted. “Not helpful, Cas.”

“I know, Dean.” Cas murmured, amused. “But I like seeing you make choices. You’re very decisive when you’re not trying to overthink.”

Dean went still for a moment. Because—how dare he be seen like that. How dare Cas know that much about him already.

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” Dean admitted. He meant dating, but also: letting someone in, letting someone look.

Cas’s expression didn’t change, but something warmer bloomed in it. “Me either.”

Dean swallowed. “I feel like a teenager.”

“You’re very composed for a teenager,” Cas said, dry.

Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway.

They settled on a red, something soft and smooth that didn’t burn on the way down. Dean took a sip, eyes skimming the menu, and slowly—slowly—his muscles started to unclench.

“So,” he said after a beat. “Did Emma coach you too?”

Cas chuckled, folding his hands on the table. “She threatened to post my college poetry online if I made you cry.”

Dean wheezed. “Wow. Effective.”

“She’s very persuasive.”

Dean smiled behind his glass. “Claire said if I forgot my inhaler, you’d have to carry me home.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Cas said easily. Then added, after a beat, “But I’m glad you brought it.”

Dean blinked. Then flushed. “...Thanks.”

They talked. About safe things at first—classes and coffee blends, the pie Cas tried to replicate and failed spectacularly at. But then things shifted.

Dean reached for his water, then paused, voice quieter. “I keep waiting to mess this up.”

Cas looked up.

Dean kept his eyes on the condensation on the glass. “Lisa used to say I was too intense. Too… emotional. Not enough, not useful either. Just this mess in between.”

Cas didn’t say anything. He just listened.

Dean exhaled. “Sometimes I still hear her. In my head. Even when I’m happy.” He swallowed. “Especially when I’m happy.”

The table was quiet. Just the music and the faint hum of other conversations.

Then Cas reached out—slowly, carefully—and set his hand on Dean’s. “You don’t have to explain, Dean.”

Dean looked up.

“I don’t want the version of you who hides,” Cas said softly. “I want the version who talks too much about pie, and cries during kids’ graduation ceremonies, and threatens his daughter’s dates with baking utensils.”

Dean blinked. His throat was hot and tight. “That version’s kind of a wreck.”

Cas’s thumb traced his knuckles. “Then I’m honored to be wrecked with him.”

Dean made a soft, choked laugh. “God, Cas, you’re such a sap.”

Cas tilted his head. “Is that bad?”

“No,” Dean said, voice catching. “It’s really… not.”

Their food came. Fancy pasta with weird names and too much garnish, but Dean didn’t care. Not when Cas kept looking at him like that. Like he mattered. Like he wasn’t too much. Like maybe he was exactly enough.

By dessert, Dean was laughing. Cas had told the story of Emma’s attempt at baking a cake for his birthday, which had ended in mild kitchen fire and frosting on the ceiling. Dean’s face hurt from smiling. His wine was half-finished, his sweater sleeves were pushed to his elbows, and somewhere between the tiramisu and the second round of coffee, his knee had ended up brushing Cas’s under the table—and stayed there.

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” Dean admitted, voice soft.

Cas looked at him with something quiet in his eyes. “Then don’t.”

Dean bit his lip. “You wanna go for a walk?”

Cas stood, offering his hand. “Sure.”

Outside, the air was cool and damp. The city lights flickered across the street, and Dean tucked his hands in his pockets as they walked, close enough that their arms kept bumping.

“I keep thinking this’ll stop feeling so terrifying,” Dean said, voice barely above a whisper.

Cas glanced over. “It won’t. Not right away.”

Dean looked at him. “That’s comforting.”

Cas gave him a small smile. “But it’ll start feeling worth it.”

Dean stopped walking. Just—stopped.

Cas did too, turning toward him, brows lifting slightly.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Dean said quietly. “I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of messing this up. I don’t wanna ruin what we have.”

Cas didn’t speak. Just reached up, cupped the side of Dean’s neck with one hand, thumb soft behind his jaw.

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” Cas said, eyes warm. “But even if you get scared, even if it’s messy—Dean, I’ll still be here.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “You say stuff like that and then you expect me not to cry?”

Cas leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m kind of hoping you’ll let yourself.”

Dean’s laugh was watery. His hands clutched at Cas’s coat, grounding himself.

“I really like you,” he whispered.

“I really like you too.”

And under the streetlights, surrounded by the hush of the city, Cas kissed him—gentle, steady, a promise more than a question.

Dean melted into it.

Not because he was ready. But because for the first time in years, someone had made him believe he could be.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The world didn’t rush back in.

There was no dramatic swell of music, no shiver of lightning or flare of magic. Just the quiet press of lips and rain-damp streetlight, the hush of a city breathing around them, and Dean’s heart beating hard behind his ribs like it didn’t know how to stop.

Cas’s hand was still on his neck. Gentle. Warm. Solid in a way Dean hadn’t let himself need in years.

When the kiss broke, Dean stayed close—forehead to forehead, his breath mingling with Cas’s in the cold air.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Dean let his eyes flutter shut. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel it.

The safety.

The stillness.

Cas’s fingers moved—barely. A soft sweep down the back of his neck, like a whisper: I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Dean exhaled. Shaky. But whole.

When he finally opened his eyes, Cas was already watching him.

Not pushing. Not expecting.

Just watching.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh. That happened.”

Cas tilted his head, the smallest smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “It did.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Another pause.

Cas brushed a knuckle along Dean’s cheekbone. “Was that alright?”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Oh, yes.” Then softer. “Better than alright.”

Cas didn’t smile at that. Not quite. He just looked—relieved. Like maybe he’d been holding his breath too.

They walked a little more after that. Not far. Just enough to feel the movement of the city around them. Cas didn’t reach for his hand, but he stayed close, shoulder brushing Dean’s now and then. Like gravity had shifted.

Dean didn’t move away.

They stopped outside his building sometime past ten. The lights in the café below were off, Claire’s window upstairs still glowing faintly with a warm, amber lamp.

Dean stared up at it, quiet.

Cas followed his gaze. “Emma’s probably texting Claire every detail of tonight as we speak.”

Dean cracked a smile. “God help us.”

Cas looked at him. “Would you like me to come in?”

The question was soft. Not suggestive. Not loaded. Just… open.

Dean’s stomach flipped.

He thought about saying yes. About the warmth of having Cas beside him on the couch, the quiet safety of a night shared.

But his body was still buzzing. His nerves frayed in that raw, hopeful way that came with first steps and second chances.

He bit his lip. “I want to. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Cas’s voice was quiet. Steady. “You’ve already given me more than enough tonight.”

Dean looked at him—really looked at him.

And then, slowly, he stepped in and wrapped his arms around Cas’s middle. Not a kiss. Not a joke.

Just a full-body, tired, vulnerable hug.

Cas made a small sound of surprise—but then he folded around him like he’d been waiting to be let in. His arms came around Dean’s back, hands smoothing across the soft cotton of his sweater, warm and grounding.

Dean’s face pressed into his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Eventually, Dean pulled back, blinking fast. “I don’t usually do this.”

Cas nodded. “I know.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Cas smiled—open, soft, something like wonder in his eyes. “I’d like that very much.”

Dean stepped back toward the door, heart aching in the best way.

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

He waited until Cas had turned the corner before he slipped inside. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Upstairs, Claire was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a blanket and a knowing smile.

“Well?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

Dean didn’t say anything.

Just leaned back against the door with a hand pressed to his chest, like maybe he could keep the feeling in.

Claire’s smile softened. “You okay?”

Dean nodded slowly.

“Yes” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I really am.”

Chapter Text

Dean woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Claire humming off-key in the kitchen.

It was the kind of morning that felt soft before he even opened his eyes—dim sunlight leaking through the curtains, the faint chill of early fall threading in from the slightly cracked window, the ache in his cheeks from smiling too much the night before.

He lay there for a moment, breathing.

Not thinking. Just being.

Then his phone buzzed.

He rolled over, blinking blearily at the screen.

1 New Message — Cas
I hope you slept well. I can’t stop thinking about your smile.

Dean groaned softly, but he was already smiling like a fool. He buried his face in the pillow for a second, heart pounding in that new, nervous way that wasn’t fear—it was something warmer. Something real.

“Gross,” Claire’s voice called from the kitchen. “You’re smiling. At your phone. You’re in love, mom.”

Dean shouted back, “I will ground you.”

She laughed, unbothered. “That doesn’t work anymore. I’m a legal adult.”

Dean dragged himself out of bed, padding into the kitchen in a worn t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Claire handed him coffee like the true gift she was.

“So,” she said, propping herself against the counter, “was there a kiss?”

Dean sipped, then nodded.

Claire grinned. “Did it blow your little heart out of your chest?”

Dean groaned again, half-laughing. “Jesus, Claire.”

“I’m serious, mom. Do I need to get the defibrillator?”

Dean leaned on the counter, coffee warming his hands. “It was… soft. Gentle. Like he didn’t want to scare me. But he still meant it.”

Claire’s smile softened. “Sounds like him.”

Dean nodded. “I didn’t ask him in.”

Claire arched a brow.

“I wanted to,” he said. “God, I really wanted to. But I needed—just—I needed to hold the moment without rushing it.”

Claire came over and hugged him from the side. “You did the right thing, mom. And you don’t have to explain. You’re allowed to take this at your own speed.”

Dean hugged back. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She grinned. “Also, I may or may not have told Emma that he looked like he was glowing when he left.”

Dean groaned. “Stop matchmaking. Let us be awkward in peace.”

Claire kissed his cheek and went back to stirring oatmeal. “Too late. We already have a wedding Pinterest board.”

Dean blinked. “You what?”

“Nothing!”

Cas woke up before his alarm. He lay still in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, the soft weight of memory curling around him like warmth.

Dean’s laugh. The press of his hands. The tremble in his breath after the kiss.

Cas closed his eyes and held the image like prayer.

Emma was already in the kitchen when he came down, pouring cereal with exactly zero grace.

She glanced at him over her spoon. “You’re glowing, dad.”

Cas blinked. “I am not.”

Emma smirked. “You really are. It’s giving Dean just kissed me and I haven’t emotionally recovered yet vibes.”

Cas poured himself coffee. “We kissed, yes.”

Emma fist-pumped. “Ha! Told you!”

Cas sipped quietly. “It was… very real. And very beautiful.”

Emma tilted her head. “You okay, dad?”

Cas looked at her. “I’m not used to feeling this much. But it’s good. It’s good to feel.”

Emma smiled. “He makes you happy.”

Cas nodded. “He makes me feel whole.”

Emma stood and wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I’m proud of you, dad. And I like him. A lot.”

Cas closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

She pulled back, then added, “Just don’t get weird about texting him. No emoji poetry or anything. Keep it chill.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “I once published a collection of existential love poems about entropy.”

Emma looked horrified. “And we’re banning your phone. Effective immediately.”

Cas laughed—really laughed. The kind that felt lighter than air.

Later, as he stepped out the door, he sent Dean another message.

When you’re ready, I’d love to take you to that bookstore you mentioned. I’d like to know more about the stories you love.

The reply came ten seconds later.

Dean:
You’re gonna make me fall harder, Cas.

Cas stared at the screen. Then tucked his phone into his coat pocket.

Good, he thought.

That’s exactly the plan.

Chapter Text

The bookstore wasn’t big.

Tucked between a florist and a vintage clothing shop, it leaned slightly to one side like it had exhaled a little too hard once and never straightened up again. Inside, it smelled like paper, cinnamon oil, and old wood. The bell over the door chimed softly as Dean stepped inside.

Cas was already waiting.

He stood near the poetry shelves, hands in his coat pockets, scarf loose around his neck, his eyes soft as candlelight. When he looked up and saw Dean, his whole face shifted—like relief, like sunrise.

Dean hovered in the doorway, heart doing something silly in his chest.

Cas stepped toward him, slow and careful. He didn’t say anything at first—just reached out and brushed his knuckles over Dean’s hand, then gently took it in his own and lifted it to his lips.

A kiss to his knuckles. Then one to the inside of his wrist.

Dean melted on the spot.

“Hey, Cas.” he said softly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cas whispered back, thumb brushing gently over the band of Dean’s glove. “You came.”

Dean melted, quiet and warm, into the nickname, and he gave a small smile. “Couldn’t stay away from you.”

Cas leaned in—close enough that his forehead rested lightly against Dean’s. His free hand came up to cradle the back of Dean’s neck, warm and steady.

“Let me hold you for a second,” Cas murmured.

Dean nodded, already stepping into the circle of his arms.

Cas wrapped him up immediately. Arms around Dean’s shoulders, face buried in his hair, breathing him in like a promise. He kissed the top of Dean’s head once, then again. A press of love, of you’re safe now, of mine.

Dean sighed into him, letting himself be held. Letting the weight of everything settle for just a moment.

When they parted, it was only because Dean’s stomach grumbled quietly between them.

Cas chuckled. “Do I need to feed you before you faint in my arms?”

Dean blushed, nudging him gently. “I would die dramatically in your arms for the drama, don’t tempt me.”

Cas kissed his hair again, then his temple. “Please don’t. I just got you here, sweetheart.”

They wandered slowly through the bookstore, arms brushing, steps easy. Cas paused near a heartbreak display.

Dean gave him a Look.

“Really, Cas? We’re doing that table?”

Cas raised a brow. “I thought we were embracing emotional devastation.”

Dean huffed. “You’re hot but insufferable.”

Cas leaned in. “You think I’m hot and insufferable. That’s a powerful combination.”

Dean flushed scarlet and ducked behind a cookbook. “Shut up, Mr. Philosopher."

They sat in the little reading nook at the back—two squishy armchairs and a candle flickering between them. Dean curled into his chair, holding a copy of Giovanni’s Room, and Cas settled beside him with some obscure philosophy tome he pretended to be interested in.

But every few minutes, Cas looked up. Watched Dean.

Dean caught him once and smiled—small, sweet, shy.

“Why are you staring at me?" he whispered.

Cas reached over, took his hand again, and kissed the back of it.

“You’re beautiful when you’re peaceful, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll stop staring when the stars do.”

Dean laughed quietly, cheeks warm. After a moment, he leaned forward, heart thudding.

And kissed Cas’s cheek.

Soft. Hesitant. Sweet.

Cas stilled—then turned to him fully, eyes bright and full of something reverent.

He kissed Dean’s forehead, then again just above his eyebrow, then down to the tip of his nose.

“I love your courage,” Cas whispered. “Even when it’s quiet.”

Dean pressed their foreheads together, barely breathing.

“I haven’t felt this safe in… I don’t even remember,” he admitted.

“You’re safe,” Cas said, holding his hand tightly. “As long as I’m here, no one will touch you. Not unless you want it.”

Dean’s eyes shimmered.

They sat like that for a long while—hands held, breath shared, peace wrapped around them like a blanket.

When they stepped outside, the sky was turning a soft peach-pink, the streetlights just beginning to glow. They carried matching bags of books, and Dean didn’t let go of Cas’s hand.

This time, Cas brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles again.

Dean leaned closer and whispered, “I’m glad it’s you, Cas.”

Cas smiled softly. “It’s always been you.”

Chapter Text

Dean’s stomach growled so loudly in the car that Cas nearly swerved into the next lane.

“You’re hungry,” Cas said flatly, glancing over with narrowed eyes.

Dean, who was pretending to study the passing trees like they were of great national importance, muttered, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Cas said, already flipping on the turn signal. “You look like one strong breeze away from fainting.”

Dean didn’t argue. Mostly because Cas had that determined tilt to his jaw, the one that said resistance is futile, get in loser, we’re nourishing you.

So they ended up in a tiny neighborhood restaurant where the menus were laminated and the waiter called everyone “darling.” Cas ordered for Dean when he hesitated too long, and Dean didn’t even flinch at it—not because he couldn’t, but because Cas got it right. Again.

Warm soup, a grilled cheese, a small plate of roasted vegetables. Cas kept sliding things toward him with the quiet insistence of someone feeding a very beloved, very stubborn stray.

Dean cleared his plate.

Cas didn’t say I told you so. He just smiled like he’d won something important.

Afterward, they stopped by a little corner pâtisserie—the kind with pastel walls, soft music, and éclairs displayed like fine jewelry. Cas picked two honey almond-glazed ones for the girls, then hesitated before choosing a strawberry and caramel for himself—and one for Dean.

Dean tried to protest. Cas didn’t let him.

Before they’d even made it to the car, Cas broke off a delicate piece and held it to Dean’s lips with a quiet, expectant look.

Dean blinked, cheeks going pink, but took the bite anyway.

“You’re so thoughtful,” he mumbled around it, voice soft, mouth sweet.

“You’re underfed,” Cas murmured, brushing a crumb gently from Dean’s lower lip. “We’re working on it.”

They sat in the car afterward, parked beneath a tree as the late sun poured in golden through the windshield. The box rested between them, mostly empty now. Dean glanced at Cas, then away, then back again.

His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re… husband material.”

Cas stilled for a breath. Then smiled—slow and quiet and sure.

“I’m glad I heard that,” he said, gaze steady.

Dean’s blush deepened. He ducked his head, smiling into his hand, but Cas leaned closer.

“And just so you know,” he added, voice low and warm, “You're good mother material, honey."

Dean froze, heart fluttering, eyes wide. Cas reached out, tender and unhurried, and brushed his thumb along Dean’s lower lip.

“There’s still a little crumb,” he said softly.

And then he kissed him—slow, careful, full of warmth and want and everything he wasn’t saying out loud.

Dean melted into it. Completely. Like sugar on the tongue.

By the time Cas pulled away, Dean was breathless, pink to his ears, and smiling like someone who’d just been handed the world.

Cas didn’t say another word.

He didn’t have to.

Back at Cas’s apartment, Dean sank into the couch like gravity had doubled. Cas made coffee—real, rich, the good kind—and handed Dean a warm mug before sitting beside him. Not just beside, actually.

He pulled Dean into his arms, settled him against his chest like it was where Dean had always been meant to be. Safe, small, and held.

Dean went without protest.

Cas kissed his hair once. Then again. Then, soft and reverent, the tips of Dean’s fingers, his knuckles—each one a vow.

Dean leaned up, shy but sure, and kissed Cas’s cheek.

It was quiet after that. Just the sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the heater.

Dean dozed first, head tucked under Cas’s chin. Cas’s arms never loosened.

Later that night, when Claire and Emma returned from the university library, the apartment was dark except for the stove light.

Claire dropped her bag. Emma stopped mid-step.

There, on the couch, lay their ridiculous, wonderful parents: Dean sprawled across Cas’s chest like a sleepy cat, Cas’s arms wrapped around him like he was afraid someone might try and steal him in the night.

“They are so cute,” Emma whispered, a little too fond.

Claire took out her phone and snapped a picture. “This is going in the scrapbook.”

Cas didn’t stir.

Dean made a soft, content noise in his sleep and snuggled closer.

And both girls smiled, quiet and full-hearted, as they tiptoed past into the kitchen.

Home was different now. But maybe, finally, it was better.