Who: Castiel + Dean Winchester What: First Date! When: 9/26 [evening] Where: Paris Rating: Low! Status: Complete
Castiel was anxious. Possibly ridiculously so, but he couldn't seem to help it. This was his first real date with Dean since they'd met. Sure, there had been that first time, with the coffee and the trip to the park that boasted his favorite view, but he wasn't sure that counted so much -- not because it hadn't been important, because it had (Castiel had fallen in love that day) -- it simply had not really been a date.
So he was excited. He wanted to try, he wanted this to be good. He wanted for the both of them to talk like normal adults and just have a good time.
He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, making sure that his midnight blue dress shirt was tucked properly into black slacks and that the waistcoat he'd chosen was buttoned properly. It was rare he thought about things like these, but the shirt made his eyes look brighter, and matched with his wings. Not that Dean would know that, but it made Castiel feel kind of good, so that had to count for something. He'd debated on a tie for a long while, but had eventually vetoed it in lieu of undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, and then fiddling with the collar awkwardly like some sort of teenager.
His hair was impossible, and so he did absolutely nothing with it.
Dean was still out, but that was okay. He'd be home soon enough, and it gave Cas some time to figure out how to deal with his emotions. He was still feeling a little worried about the other night when Samandriel had taken him into Dean's dreams. Awful. Horrible. Hopeful. Cas wasn't sure he could keep the secret that he'd done it much longer though, wasn't sure he wanted to. It was hard to look Dean properly in the eye and have that knowledge and kept secret.
Dean got back from Lucifer’s honestly doing better for having taken the trip over there. The kid even woke up long enough to offer him a groggy greeting before curling back up in the big fluffy blanket on the couch. Dean didn’t want to know why the kid had ended up there instead of the bed he’d been in and he didn’t ask. It was cute in a way that seemingly Samandriel could only pull off.
And honestly, somehow watching Lucifer look at the kid gave him weird hope for his own relationship. It reminded him of the way Cas looked at him particularly when he seemed to think that Dean wasn’t paying attention, all soppy and in love no matter how broken anyone was. There’d been a kiss goodbye and a peaceful drive home (peacefully loud, but it was Dean,) before he parked the car in the garage and noticed that Cas too was home. “Hey angel,” he called out as he set his keys in the dish and took off his shoes. “Sorry I’m late.” He wasn’t, but he still didn’t like the idea of Cas just waiting for him.
Dean wasn't late, but Cas accepted the called out apology anyway, because there was little else to do with it. "Hello, Dean," he said it loud, nearly a shout, before flicking off the bathroom light and heading for the stairs. He could get used to being a little louder, a little more vibrant. He wanted to learn how to fill all the empty spaces in their home with something more than orderly silence. Castiel thought maybe Dean would like that. Maybe he would, too.
"How was Lucifer?" he asked, going down the stairs and peeking around the wall that divided them from the kitchen, searching out for Dean. Cas was rather proud of himself for just sounding curious and not even a little jealous. It was hard to be jealous when this was so clearly their night.
Dean was unloading groceries into the fridge, back to Cas when he heard his husband come downstairs. “Good. I think Samandriel says hello, but I also don’t know if he was speaking English or not.” He unloaded the rest of the perishables and turned to see...well shit. “Hey gorgeous,” he said, smirking just a little at Castiel’s choice of attire. He tried not to think too much about his grease stained jeans, the rip in his knee that hadn’t been there when he bought them, and his faded t-shirt in comparison.
Castiel didn't seem to notice their vast differences in attire. While he never dressed like Dean and probably never would, he thought the look suited Dean more than any finer attire might. It was very honest, in a way.
He smiled, just this side of shy. "Hello," he repeated, clearly pleased with the response.
“You got big plans for us tonight then?” he asked, a six pack of coke settling heavily on the counter while he quite obviously checked out the angel. What? It was kind of breaking Cas’ normal boring wardrobe choices. Dean thought he was allowed to ask.
Letting himself be checked out, Cas rolled his shoulders in one of his not-quite shrugs before closing the little gap between them and offering Dean a tiny, closed mouth kiss on the lips. "I might," he agreed. "I thought maybe dinner somewhere. But I am of the opinion that it shouldn't just be my choice, so if you had an idea…" He didn't quite finish the sentence - it was something he did often, but the point was made, and there was no other reason to keep up with the thought.
Dean stole a bit more of a kiss than he was being offered simply because he could. “I don’t.”
Cas would have given more kisses away for free, Dean certainly didn't need to steal them. In fact, he offered one more proper one before pulling away a tiny bit and arching a brow. "Well then," he said, licking his lower lip like he could still maybe get more of Dean's taste from it. "Would you like to have dinner in France tonight?"
“Yeah why not. Lemme get changed?” Dean asked, setting the bread on the counter by the microwave before he started towards the stairs. And go to the bathroom, he thought, but Cas didn’t really need to know what weird angel flying did to Dean’s digestive system.
He really didn't. Castiel sat on enough guilt through the days, and learning of something like that probably wouldn't prove helpful.
"Okay," he said, watching Dean with a thoughtful expression as he went up the stairs. He chewed his forever chapped bottom lip and considered the pros and cons of bringing up Dean's dreams tonight. On one hand, he hated keeping what he knew a secrets and felt poorly for it. On the other, he really didn't want to ruin the night.
Sighing to himself, he followed up the stairs a moment later in order to find a proper pair of shoes.
Dean changed into a nicer pair of jeans and a button down, and after thinking about it for a moment, did go with a tie, but only because he wasn’t in the mood for a damn vest since he hauled that thing out every time they went to Lux anyway. There was a very definite limit to the number of times a week Dean was willing to put on things with more than maybe two buttons. This might’ve been the end of it.
“Acceptable?” he asked, coming out of the bathroom to get Cas’ approval.
Cas, now seated on the edge of the bed, tilted his head to the side and gave Dean a proper once over. "Yes," he said, as if that question required all the stoicism and solemnity that he could offer. "You look very handsome."
“You’d say that anyway,” Dean said, slipping into his shoes. He held his hand out for Cas only after triple checking to make sure his wallet, phone and keys were, in fact, in his pockets.
"And I would mean it." Because for as much as Castiel liked Samandriel and was attracted to him on a level of emotion and something he couldn't altogether describe, Dean was still the only person he'd ever met whom he was physically attracted to.
After obligatory pocket checks were done, Cas took Dean's hand, considered where they wanted to be, and then they were there.
The street was rustic feeling. Cobblestones and sort of cute street lamps, and the Eiffel Tower wasn't too far off on the horizon and -- and it was very dark otherwise. "Oh." Castiel said, not even just borderline sad. "Timezones."
“Hey,” Dean said quietly, squeezing Cas’ hand. “There’s gotta be some cafe or something open, right?”
"Are cafes romantic?" Cas furrowed his eyebrows and glanced over at Dean worriedly. He'd really, really been aiming for romantic. And since he didn't honestly know much about it, he'd gone for the overplayed in movies sort of romance - nice dinner in a quiet spot with a candle on the table, or… whatever. Still. They were here, and Dean had a point. "Yes, okay."
“It’s France,” Dean pointed out. “It’s gonna be romantic.” He tugged Cas along a little. “Come on. We’ll go for a walk and see what we come across, okay?”
So they walked. Despite the lateness of the night, the streets weren't completely empty. Cas was glad, though, that they didn't have any crowds to contend with.
For a while, it was just comfortable silence, and they wandered hand in hand, Castiel a little closer than really necessary. But as comfortable as he was with the silence, he knew that wasn't the point here. They were meant to get to know each other. So, he started talking. "I don't know really what one is meant to do on a date," he admitted, stealing a peek at Dean. "It's been a very long time."
“Yeah, for me too,” Dean agreed softly. “Maybe...you share a secret and then I will?” It was awkward, but the pair of them had gotten pretty good at awkward.
Castiel was always good at being awkward, he was more or less just hardwired for it. He nodded, considering what he might have kept secret, and what was just unknown fact. Maybe both were fine for this, since it was sharing either way.
It was probably smart to keep things light, and then maybe work into bigger things. He had a secret that he wanted to spill now more than ever, after all. He squeezed Dean's hand and let his gaze wander to the distant but still large beacon that was the Eiffel Tower. "Before these last few weeks, I'd never been out of the state. I think at some point I would like to really see snow."
“You’ve never seen snow?” Dean asked, trying to wrap his head around that. “We’ll have a white christmas then, okay? Go to one of those motels that’s built entirely out of ice.” He supposed that made it his turn then, didn’t it? “I’m really allergic to cats.” Hey, it was something Cas didn’t know, right?
That admission made a tiny laugh bubble out of Cas. "Are you? It's good you didn't end up being allergic to yourself." That would have really made things weird. …Not that things hadn't gotten weird anyway. That made him go a bit more sober, and he shook his head. "That might be interesting. Ice motel." He hadn't known they'd existed, it seemed a strange concept.
"I sort of want a treehouse." Pointedly, he looked at the ground and twisted his lips to the side a little. "It's fairly childish." But he thought it would be the perfect place to cozy up and read books.
Dean’s smile was soft, but it crinkled the corners of his eyes anyway while he thought about it. “I’ll build you a treehouse,” he said softly. “And it won’t even have a ladder. You can just have your own little private space outside to do whatever you like in.” He’d always kinda wanted a treehouse as a kid too. Dean got it. He really did. “I always wanted to go to college.” It was one of those quiet, secret desires he’d kept to himself. Sam was the one going to college. Dean was the grunt work, but...but he always thought maybe he might be smart enough to manage it. The Service would pay for it. That wasn’t the issue. He just had to find the confidence, right?
Cas liked the idea of a treehouse. Blankets, pillows, books, a little lamp and Dean, curling up with all of those things and just staying for hours. He mouth twitched into a little smile and he nodded, a tiny bob of his head.
"Why don't you go? We could afford it. You should go." Cas would pay for that and never regret it for a second. He realized it was his turn, but this was a conversation.
“I don’t know what I’d study,” Dean said. “I mean, my whole life until the Service was about making sure my brother got everything he needed and then it was making sure the men did and now...I don’t know how to begin figuring out what I want. So I just, I don’t know.”
"You could just try general requirements," Cas noted, bumping shoulders with Dean entirely on purpose. "See if you like any of that." Softer, he went on. "Your brother is doing fine on his own, and there's no one you need to look after here. You should do more of what you want, Dean. Even if that is only figuring out what that is." Those self help books he'd been reading during his lunch breaks were actually sort of helpful.
Dean shook his head. “I need to look after you,” he said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug that was a lot like Cas’. But he could just try general courses. Maybe he’d apply to like a community college or something for spring semester. At least he’d gotten off his ass and done his GED, right? Fuck, he needed to figure out where that got filed.
Shaking his head as well, Cas offered another twitch of a smile. He didn't really need looking after, but he wouldn't really object either. "I think you can study and watch me read on the couch at the same time." He didn't even say it sarcastically, just a mild encouragement.
They'd talk more about that later. Cas would make a point of getting some brochures from local colleges and sticking them on the kitchen table. But now it was his turn again, and he sighed, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. "I've seen your dreams," he said, soft, concerned.
Dean stopped walking long enough to look at Cas curiously. “What’d you see?” he asked, forcing himself to meet his husband’s eyes.
The angel met his gaze and held it, like he so often did. Eye contact was important. This conversation was important. He did not let go of Dean's hand. "A lot of things," he said, tone hesitant. "It… they shifted around a lot."
“Cas,” Dean said trying to keep things calm and steady for his angel. “I’m not mad at you. I just need to know what you know.” He cleared his throat and looked down. “Might be easier to talk about some shit that I don’t want to if you’ve already got some idea about crap.”
Eye contact broken, Cas skirted his gaze back to the ground and then rolled his shoulders again in a little shrug. He was, admittedly, more than a little relieved that Dean wasn't angry. It was like a tremendous weight from his conscience.
"You were… younger," he started finally. "Your father was there for part of it. You were stitching yourself up," his free hand ghosted over a spot on Dean's side, "there. And then he was … well. He shouldn't have said those things." Even now, Cas was angry again over it.
Dean looked down at where Cas’ fingers brushed his side and knew immediately the scar he was talking about. “I’m...yeah. I don’t know what to say.” It might’ve been easier to talk, but Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to say about his Dad. John was an asshole and he really, really hated that the other man still had so much control over Dean’s life even though he didn’t see him anymore.
"You don't have to say anything, right now," Castiel assured, because he wasn't sure what else to do. He wasn't done yet, anyway. He wanted to get through it all. "It shifted, like I said. The next part your father was gone. You were -- at war. There was," a pause, because he didn't like picturing this one any more than the last, possibly less. "A lot of death. And everyone looked like --" But he didn't want to finish. He looked at his shoes.
“You and Sam,” Dean finished, because that dream he knew. That was one of the few that kept coming back lately. Over and over again an endless loop of the two most important people to him dying. “Fucked up thing is compared to some guys, I didn’t even see that much combat over there.” He saw some, but it wasn’t like he’d actually been on the front lines of anything. Most of the time what he saw was the aftermath, half wrecked vehicles being salvaged for whatever parts were still somewhere close to useable. He was only really the guy who went out when they were damn sure they were going to need a competent mechanic in a rig for an op.
All that didn’t mean that he didn’t know what death looked like or that what had happened didn’t hit him hard. When it came down to it, Dean was way more of a peace-loving hippie than he’d ever let on.
"Yes," Cas agreed, tone gravel, slightly uncomfortable -- which was only fair, given the topic. "It was awful," he said, even though that was obvious already. He still remembered the smell, and he was suddenly glad they weren't sitting down to dinner.
"You blame yourself for too many things that aren't your fault, that could not possibly be changed or fixed." Cas glanced over at Dean again, looking vaguely apologetic.
Dean started walking again, but to his credit, didn’t let go of Castiel’s hand. “You’ve seen what’s in my head,” he said softly. “How could you possibly expect me to do anything but that?”
"I don't," that wasn't exactly true, but Castiel didn't feel the need to tack on yet to that sentence. It wasn't that he expected anything, it was that he hoped that eventually Dean would see things that way. "I just.. you should know that. That's all."
He held Dean's hand tighter, stopping them again. "There was one more. Dream."
Dean stopped a step ahead of Castiel and looked back at him. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. If the dream he remembered waking up to was the one Cas had seen… “Just a dream, right. I wouldn’t uh…” Dean cleared his throat. “Don’t put too much stock into things that happen in my head. Most of them aren’t real and never will be. Which...is good.” Mostly. Almost entirely.
Castiel looked more than a little sad over that, squinting slightly and dipping his head down. They both knew what dream he was talking about, and he wasn't going to believe Dean's words as truth here -- there had been too much hope for that to be something Dean didn't care for. He wasn't about to ruin something that had been so perfect, even if it had been imagined.
He licked his lower lip, stuck his free hand into the pocket of his slacks. "Well," he said cautiously. "I do not think if we ever had children that they could have my eyes. Breeding with an Angel is strictly forbidden." He paused for a beat. "And I believe that green is the more dominant color in the gene pool, either way. ...Beside brown." Awkward. But hopeful.
Dean took that quiet little hope that a sign that maybe Cas might actually want a family in the future. Not...not any time soon of course, but at some point. Maybe when they were ready like a couple years down the road. “Well,” Dean said, clearing his throat, “maybe...maybe you’re still not angel enough to read like that? Like...maybe you could just go have some frozen somewhere and when we’re ready...we could hope for a kid with your eyes. Or at least try for it, right?”
That made Castiel smile. Not one of those little shy smiles, or lip twitches, but a bright full smile with all teeth and a flash of gums. "Maybe," he agreed, ducking his head down again, but in a completely different way than he had last. "We could do that."
“Come on,” Dean said, tugging him along. “There’s lights on at the end of the block. Looks like someplace open and I could use...is pie just pie in French?” What? Dean didn’t fucking know.
Luckily, Cas did. He knew all languages, and delighted in actually being able to use the Knowledge. "It's tarte," Cas said, allowing himself to be dragged back into walking. "Usually. Depending."
“Let’s go get some tarte then,” Dean said, smiling. Yeah. Date night was turning out to be a pretty good idea for both of them.