No but think about Dean and Cas dancing together.
In the evenings after dinner, Dean would get out his vinyls and start blasting old music on the record player. He would dance around the room, singing at the top of his lungs. At first Cas would be incredibly confused and Dean would grab his hand and try to dance with him, but Cas would just shake his head and blush and tell Dean that he "can’t because he doesn’t know how."
Dean would think that this is absolutely unacceptable! And he would set aside an hour every evening to teach Cas how to dance properly. Cas would blush a lot when he made mistakes, stepping on Dean’s feet or taking a step too soon and slamming into Dean’s chest. But they would laugh it off and Dean would tell him to try again and so he would.
After a week or two of practice Cas would be a pretty damn good dancer. They would move to the music so well together, grinning at each other and eyes trained on each other. They would be so focused on staring into each other’s eyes that they wouldn’t notice Sam standing off to the side with a camera and a smirk on his face, taking a few pictures of the two of them being ridiculously in love.
And the next morning at breakfast Sam would give the picture to Dean and tell him, “Just fucking tell him you love him, Dean.” Dean would stutter and try to deny it but Sam would just roll his eyes and say, “IF you don’t tell him, I WILL. Because this is getting ridiculous.”
So right before Cas comes downstairs for his “dance lesson”, Dean would change the record to a slower, more romantic one. Because honestly, Dean’s a fucking sap and if he’s going to FINALLY tell Cas how he feels about him, he’s going to do it right. They would start dancing and Dean would take Cas’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and pulling the other man close. Cas would look at him, perplexed but curious. Dean wouldn’t give explanation he would just blurt out, “I love you.” Cas would smile back at him, leaning in and kissing him before saying, “I love you too, Dean.”
Then they would dance for the next fifty minutes to slow, romantic songs and makeout while making googly eyes at each other.
I want to write about Cas standing in the rain.
The first time Dean and Cas kiss, it’s in the rain. Cas is standing just outside the bunker, face upturned looking into the slate sky. The water runs in rivulets down his face, slipping into his collar and down the back of his t-shirt, which is just beginning to stick to his back. Dean heard the first clap of thunder from inside the bunker, so he pokes he head outside.
"Jesus, Cas, you don’t have to stand in the rain you know," he says, staying in the safety of the dry entranceway.
Cas turns to him, reluctant to give up his inspection of the sky, but his smile upon seeing Dean is filled with bliss. It lights up his face, and he’s beautiful. Dean steps out of the bunker and into the rain. If anything, Cas’s smile grows bigger.
"It’s wonderful, isn’t it?" Cas asks, and Dean nods dumbly, unable to find words. He’s not sure if Cas was asking about the weather, or something else. To Dean, though, it’s Cas. It’s all about Cas.
Cas is soaked through to the skin, the light t-shirt clinging tightly to his chest and shoulders. Some small, animal part of Dean’s brain notices, files that away for later (and there will be a later), while the rest of him gets drawn into Cas’s orbit.
Dean lifts a hand, hesitant at first, and then with more certainty when Cas continues to smile. Dean brushes a lock of sopping wet hair out of Cas’s eyes while Cas stands stock still. There’s a pause, not just of Dean and Cas’s movements, but of everything. The rain slows, the dull roar of its splatter dropping to a background hum. Dean’s heart, hammering like a jack rabbit’s just a moment before, has reduced to a languid rhythm. Cas’s breathing quiets.
Dean kisses Cas then, because what else does one do in the rain with the person one loves? Cas’s response is unequivocal; he presses his hand to Dean’s back and brings them together, chest-to-chest. Dean’s got a fistful of wet t-shirt in one hand and his other palm cradles Cas’s cheek. They fall into each other, and for a long time there’s nothing but lips and tongue and teeth and each other.
Their first kiss in the rain, but their second kiss is in the doorway to the bunker. The third is in the hallway, and the fourth in the library. Five, six and seven? Those are in Dean’s room.
For thekingslover, who requested protective!Dean and HS!AU (warning for implied homophobia)
It’s almost 2 a.m. when Dean’s cell rings.
He groans and rolls over in bed, groping irritably for phone. It’s too late - or too early - for this shit and Dean had just started to drift off.
He hits ‘talk’ and brings the phone to his ear.
"What?" he says.
There’s only static for a moment. Then a harsh, shuddering breath. Dean frowns. He feels more awake by the second.
"Hello?" Dean says, voice gentler this time even though he doesn’t yet recognize the voice on the other side of the line.
There’s another breath.
"Dean," the other person says.
Dean goes immediately from irritation to worry. He sits up in bed, wide awake like he’d just chugged several cups of strong coffee.
"Cas?" he says. "What is it?"
Cas never calls him this late. Cas is rarely even awake this late, so Dean knows that whatever has him calling Dean, sounding like he’s on the edge of crying, is serious.
“Damn it, Dean.”
He thinks of the resigned way Cas said it. You can tell they’ve known each other a long time now. Cas just expects Dean to fuck up and disappoint him. He’s got a solid grasp on the routine, at least.
Dean twists his beer bottle around, rolling the cold glass against his palm until the label’s soaked through with condensation and wrinkling off the glass. He wonders if he should peel the label off, the way he did for the whiskey and the first few beers. There’s a host of naked bottles on the kitchen table. They’re standing next to their wilted labels, which are piled up like dirty laundry. It’s harder to see the edges of the label on the bottle in his hands. There’s no more daylight filtering through the high windows—not that there was ever much, the grass is so damn tall outside the bunker—and he hasn’t bothered to get up and turn on the lights.
Dean focuses on the words. Damn it, Dean. Definitely two separate words for damn it. Cas is still a little too uptight to say dammit.
based on this post - x
The name has been on his wrist since he was born, standing out against tanned skin as a reminder. Every now and then, it tickles, itches, and makes Dean squirm. It is a reminder. He has never wanted a soulmate. Dean would much rather keep the one-night-stands going with girls who cover up the names on their wrists with makeup or bracelets. Every so often, Dean manages to get a glimpse.
The name on Dean’s wrist is unlike any of the others he has seen before. It is like something out of the Bible. Castiel. It is undeniably strange, a name that Dean has never heard before. Out of all the girls he had to get stuck with, he is stuck with the one with a freaky name. He wouldn’t be surprised if the chick got bullied for it as a kid. Of course, there was nothing to say he would ever meet this girl. Hell, even if he met her, nothing could make him marry her.
The name on his Mom’s wrist was not John. In fact, Dean never found out what it really was. All she had told him on his sixteenth birthday was that she had not married her soulmate. Her ‘soulmate’ had been a homophobic dick who Mary could not bring herself to marry, even date. In the back of Dean’s mind, his subconscious hopes that Castiel would be the same. Not because he doesn’t want to find someone he connected with, but because commitment has always terrified him. Marriage is not something he ever wants.
Fuck, Dean’s little brother had found his soulmate in his first year of college. Jessica Moore. Dean has always seen her as a bright ray of sunshine, with her huge smile and wide eyes. She has always been undoubtedly beautiful, and Dean often wonders how Sam managed to get so fucking lucky.
Seeing how close they are makes Dean vaguely wish that Castiel would just hurry up and stumble into his life, already. But when he leaves Sam to go back home, the thoughts disappear from his mind. He doesn’t need anyone but himself.
but pls dean is such a cuddler and when it’s really cold he’ll just come into cas’s room, get into bed and crawl under the blanket and nuzzle into cas’s neck and cas will grumble because dean’s nose is cold but he’d shift closer against him anyways and they’d fall asleep cuddled up like that