#continuing my tradition of attaching my meta tags to my own fic because that's just how I roll...

[mittensmorgul]

I can’t believe Dean and Cas are STILL making out...

Inspired by @elizabethrobertajones‘, uh, inspired fic entitled I can’t believe Dean and Cas made out, wherein I was asked to imagine a completely different scenario to fit that single sentence prompt. *Dean voice: I think I delivered it.*

(updated for the weekend crowd, and because it just reached 666 hits on ao3 and that seemed ominous, you can now read the whole fic on tumblr. I waffled about putting this many words under a read more, but it’s friday so I went nuts)

4.8k, AO3

Dean walked into the coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet up after having spent most of the morning running down multiple leads all over town. They’d started looking into the case when local fly fishermen going out for a leisurely afternoon at the riverfront stopped coming home. After the second disappearance in as many days, a curious hiker had discovered the first of two trashed campsites littered with abandoned gear.

Cas had suggested it might be a Mari-Morgan, and Sam countered with the assertion that it could just as easily be a naiad. Just to be contrary, Dean had laid even odds on it being a witch. Hey, if you went in expecting the worst you’d be less likely to be disappointed. And in Dean’s mind, there was nothing more disappointing than having to deal with a witch.

Both fishermen had been presumed dead, their equipment and campsites stained in blood, with not a trace of what had attacked either man left behind. No footprints, animal tracks, or any signs of a struggle outside the blood splattered heavily around each site. Everything that had been collected at the two scenes had been brought to the morgue for further examination, to determine if the blood belonged to the missing men, or if it constituted enough blood lost for the coroner to declare them officially dead. It was a grim case, witches or no.

They’d Rochambeau’ed that morning to divvy up assignments, and Sam had thrown rock like Dean expected he would; which is why Sam got to spend the morning interviewing the two missing men’s wives, while Dean had trudged through the woods with a grizzled old Park Ranger named Duke. It hadn’t been all that bad, Dean thought, despite the damp and the mud and the bugs. The ranger guy sort of reminded him of Bobby, right down to wearing a tattered old trucker cap instead of the usual Smokey the Bear hat with his ranger uniform.

After swearing to Dean that he wouldn’t sniff any dead guys (well technically Cas hadn’t sworn it, but he’d rolled his eyes at Dean’s admonition, which was good as swearing on it in Dean’s book), Cas spent the morning at the morgue examining (but not sniffing!) the recovered fishing gear. If that lead didn’t pan out, Cas was going to head to the local history center to check their archives for any similar disappearances along that stretch of the river.

Dean wasn’t surprised that he was the first to arrive back at their rendezvous point. His job had been the roughest and dirtiest of the three, but if Sam ventured into the local library after finishing up his interviews and Cas got caught up searching through dusty old archives at the history center, Dean could potentially have a long wait on his hands.

They’d picked the coffee shop because it was the only place in town other than the library with free wifi, and unlike the library they served a fantastic cheeseburger and a half-decent slice of pie. It’s not like taking an hour or two waiting for Sam and Cas to catch up was gonna be a huge burden on Dean. He glanced around the cafe just to make sure he hadn’t somehow missed his gargantuan brother hunched over his laptop at one of the booths in the back of the small seating area. The coast was clear, so he sauntered up to the counter to order. A young man in a black apron and a deep purple polo shirt grinned at him as he approached.

“Welcome to Wired, what can I get you today?”

Dean quickly scanned the menu board bolted to the wall above the cashier's head. “Yeah, I’ll have a cheeseburger, medium rare, with onion and Swiss, and a side of fries.”

“Anything to drink with that?” the man asked, his fingers hovering over the cash register buttons.

“Yeah, um,” Dean paused, noticing an entire section of the menu devoted to the kind of froufy specialty coffee drinks that Sammy ordered just to annoy him, and thought fuck it. He’d been hiking along a muddy river, battling his way through the underbrush, and triumphing over the wilderness all morning. It wouldn’t kill him to have a girly drink to balance out all that manliness. He composed his face as best he could and muttered out his order. “A large salted caramel frozen mochaccino.”

The dude behind the counter grinned at him, but typed in his order without comment. “Your food’ll be up in about ten minutes,” he said a minute later, handing over Dean’s drink. “Have a seat anywhere you like, and someone will bring it to your table.”

Dean picked up the tall paper cup, a little relieved that the barista hadn’t labeled it something like pansy-ass coffee. If Sam showed up before he finished it, he wouldn’t even have to make an excuse about what he was drinking. For all Sam would know, it could’ve been a nice, perfectly manly cup of Coke.

The seating area was nearly empty. It was too late for the lunch rush, having just passed two o’clock. The town was small enough that Dean had a hard time imagining any sort of rush in the little cafe. He instinctively wove his way between the few empty tables to a booth in the far corner so he could sit with his back to the wall and have an unobstructed view of the entire place.

In the next booth over sat two girls, the only other patrons hanging around in the otherwise deserted cafe. Dean guessed they were probably high school students judging by the mess of textbooks scattered across their table. They both ignored their books (and Dean) entirely in favor of taking advantage of the free wifi and messing with some sort of social media app on their phones. It was a good thing, too.

Dean nearly did a double-take when he got a good look the first girl. At first glance, she bore a striking resemblance to a very young Cassie Robinson. He restrained himself from blurting out her name, but the fluttery feeling came right back when he nearly mistook her friend for a much younger Lisa Braeden. He’d gritted his teeth together and shook off the creeping feeling of deja vu times two and got his breathing under control. These girls were complete strangers. Any similarity to women from his distant past was purely coincidental. He couldn’t help wondering if the universe was trying to personally torment him anyway, but he did his best to let it go.

Dean sipped at his salty, caramel-y drink for a minute or two, passively listening in to their frequent outbursts over whatever their friends were saying online. It helped him move past the his stunned initial reaction to both girls, reminding him that they were just two ordinary local teenagers and not specters from his failed romantic history. For the most part, he was just enjoying sitting on his ass for a few minutes, trying not to think about having to hike down that steep and slippery riverbank after dark if it turned out they needed to go back to gank some kinda river monster.

He scanned the room once more for good measure before tipping his head back and closing his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the moment of peaceful relative safety and the mouthwatering aroma of sauteed onions wafting out from the kitchen. His attention had turned completely to the burger he knew was only a few minutes away when suddenly his peace was shattered with a single sentence.

“I can’t believe Dean and Cas made out!” one of the girls exclaimed.

That got Dean’s attention. His eyes snapped open, but he restrained himself from jumping up and demanding a clarification of that random outburst. He even managed to (barely) maintain the disinterested facade he’d been wearing since he’d sat down.

The other girl, the one who’d reminded him of Lisa, snorted and shook her head. “It’s gotta be some sort of publicity stunt. The publishing company’s probably trying to drum up interest in the new series.”

The Cassie girl nodded slowly, and Dean couldn’t see her face, but when she replied she sounded dejected. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Edlund’s got what, seven years worth of fanfic to compete with? If he’s really planning to start writing again, he’d need to do something huge to hook fans back in with new canon.”

Dean almost groaned when he heard the name Edlund, because they couldn’t possibly be talking about Carver Edlund, aka Chuck, aka God. Because he’d floated off to who the fuck knows where with Amara months ago. There was no way in hell he was actually bothering to keep writing the Supernatural books, or the Winchester Gospel, or whatever he was calling it nowadays. Surely he had better things to do than to keep fucking with Dean’s life. They had to be talking about something else. Right?

“Sam and Dean already saved the world and stopped the apocalypse,” the Lisa girl replied. “Can’t really get much bigger than that.”

Dean couldn’t help it. He let out a pained little groan. As if the fact that their case that was going absolutely nowhere wasn’t irritating enough to deal with, apparently he and Sam were about to be used for story fodder again.

The Cassie girl laughed. “True. The only way they could go bigger is if Sam somehow came back from the cage, or Dean finally confessed his feelings to Cas.”

Feelings? Dean thought, the fluttery rush of a few of those unconfessed and repressed feelings threatening to break free. He stomped them down as usual, refocusing on the girls’ conversation.

“Yeah. I wonder where the series picks up again. Right after Swan Song, maybe? Dean prays that night, and Cas comes back to him and they finally tell each other how they feel. Maybe the new books will be about Dean out hunting with his angel by his side for all time.”

While she’d spoken, the Lisa girl’s voice had gone all dreamy and far away, and Dean had to shake himself a bit because his thoughts were wandering off in a dangerously similar direction. It was easier than picturing Lisa-- of all people-- speculating on his post-apocalypse love life. It just felt wrong.

He also couldn’t deny that he’d been wondering more and more what it might be like to settle down like that; if Cas would ever stick around long enough to even try. Dean thought they’d make a good team, anyway. Since they didn’t currently have an apocalypse hanging over their heads and Cas had been sticking around to hunt with him and Sam more and more, maybe it was a good time to give the thought some closer attention. Dean's mind had begun to wander off down that dangerous path when the Cassie girl scoffed.

“No, Rachel. I’m serious. Read the press release for yourself.”

The Cassie girl handed her phone over to her daydreaming friend-- not Lisa, mercifully, but Rachel-- who read aloud, “Flying Wiccan Press, the original publisher of the Supernatural series by Carver Edlund, will reopen its doors through a generous grant from an anonymous donor. After nearly seven years, Edlund promises that the long-awaited new installment in his iconic series will be just what fans of the series have been waiting for.”

Long-awaited? Dean thought with a barely restrained laugh. Iconic? What was that publisher lady smoking? Rachel stopped reading long enough to raise a suspicious eyebrow at her friend, and Dean decided he liked her right then and there. That press release was a bunch of self-aggrandizing bullshit if he ever heard it.

“Are you serious right now, Andi?”

“Keep reading,” Andi-- not Cassie-- insisted, and sat back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest.

“In our exclusive interview, Mr. Edlund shared a few juicy spoilers of what fans of the series are in for. The first novel will deal with Sam’s resurrection from Hell. The second will test their understanding of the hunting lore, bringing both old and new friends and foes into a battle that spans heaven, hell, earth, and… purgatory.” She stopped reading for a second, but Andi egged her on.

“You’re almost to the good bit.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but kept going. “The third book will introduce a nearly catastrophic fate for Castiel, but his ordeal will give him profound new insight into humanity, especially where it concerns the one human he shares a more profound bond with.” She stopped reading for a few seconds, and Dean watched her eyes go a little buggy as her friend started squealing like a teakettle. Rachel cleared her throat and went on. “Will they finally clear the air between them enough for a kiss? All three novels will be published together and can be preordered blah blah oh MY GOD. I can’t believe Dean and Cas made out!”

The two of them were too busy squealing at each other to notice Dean quietly having a heart attack one both over. It took everything he had not to leap from his seat and snatch the phone out of Rachel’s hand to read the words for himself. What the fuck was Chuck even thinking, publishing something like that? He and Cas had never kissed. That hadn’t been what happened at all.

Yeah, Cas had met with a nearly catastrophic fate, back when Metadouche had cleared out heaven and left Cas human for a while. But it had done the opposite of clearing the air between them or whatever the hell Chuck wrote in his new books. They’d all met with a long series of pretty damn catastrophic fates over the last seven years, come to think of it. The whole sun-nearly-imploding thing had been pretty damn catastrophic in itself, and they were only a few months past that particular disaster. Still, Dean hadn’t yet properly worked himself up to completely clearing the air with Cas.

What, he was working up to it. Slowly. Probably.

These kinds of things took time.

“Seven years of nothing but angst and fanfic, and now it’s finally going canon,” Andi said.

“I know, right?” Rachel replied. “The tension must be insane between them by now. I couldn’t even imagine it.”

“Being that in love with each other, sacrificing themselves over and over for each other, and never getting any of the benefits? Yeah. I would've exploded by now. They deserve at least a make out after all that.”

Okay, Dean thought. So maybe he really had taken too long. Then again, Cas really had stuck around this time (finally!), and he hadn’t seemed interested in leaving again. He’d even taken over one of the spare rooms in the bunker instead of haunting the library and hallways all night. Maybe for once he really did intend to stay.

But what if suddenly springing his years of pent-up feelings on the guy scared Cas off? Dean stared out the window and thought about what might change if he were really to sit Cas down, uninterrupted for once, and lay out the whole truth. Then again, if Chuck had written it, it was destined to happen one way or another. How desperately awful could the fallout be if God himself had predicted it happening?

How bad could it be if Dean simply refused to fight against one of Chuck’s prophecies, just this one time?

If anything was worth setting aside his stubborn instinct to rebel against the Grand Plan for, this was probably it. So why the fuck was he so scared?

He was contemplating the long list of potential scenarios that could result from giving in to what was supposedly his destiny (as if simply thinking of Cas as his destiny wasn’t mind-bending enough) when an older woman brought out his cheeseburger and set it in front of him. Dean absently picked at his fries for a minute until he noticed Cas walking up the to the front door of the cafe. He picked up his burger and took a huge bite so he’d have an extra minute to compose himself before he’d be expected to say so much as hey, Cas.

Cas saw him and waved, but detoured to the front counter to order a cup of coffee. He didn’t always eat, even if it was something he’d been doing more and more often lately, but Cas would never turn down a cup of coffee. That gave Dean two precious extra minutes, time enough to appreciate a couple more bites of his burger and battle down his nerves. He scarfed nearly the entire thing while Rachel and Andi began packing up their books. That was probably for the best, he’d thought. The last thing he needed was a couple of nosy fangirls… fangirling over him while all these thoughts about Cas and Chuck and prophecy and destiny floated around in his head.

By the time Cas slid into the seat across the table from Dean, the two girls were making their way toward the exit. Dean followed them out with his eyes before finally turning to Cas and swallowing the last bite of his cheeseburger. It landed in his stomach like a rock.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, picking up his half-melted frozen whateverthehellitwas and taking an overly large gulp to wash everything down.

Cas smiled back at him, cradling his warm mug between his hands. “Hello, Dean. Did you have any success at the river?”

Dean sighed and sat back from the table, his appetite suddenly gone. This wasn’t some weird, awkward date with Cas. They were supposed to be working a case, not... flirting with each other, or whatever Chuck thought was supposed to be happening here. The last fifteen minutes evaporated like an impossible dream, and he disappointingly focused back on the real world again.

“Nah. There was nothing to see. I fell on my ass a couplea times and frightened a deer, and that’s just the highlight reel. You get anything at the morgue?”

Cas hummed and took a sip of his coffee. “I didn’t sense anything from the fishing equipment, either. Other than the fact that all of it was brand new, and yet covered with old blood. There were still price tags affixed to some of the gear, and none of the blood was even human.”

“What, some kinda monster blood you think?” Dean asked, finally wondering if they had a solid lead on what they were hunting. “You think the guys maybe fought back against whatever grabbed them?”

Cas shook his head. “It was pig’s blood, obtained from a local butcher shop about two weeks ago. I questioned the butcher, and he confirmed that he sold a middle-aged woman two gallons worth just before the first disappearance.”

Dean made a disgusted face at that. “He didn’t think that was strange?”

“Oh, he did. The woman said was testing out several blood pudding recipes.”

“Sounds like way too much blood pudding.”

Cas shrugged. “He’d never seen the woman before or since, and she doesn't fit the description of anyone else involved in the case so far.”

“So another dead end.”

Dean sighed and toyed with what was left of his fries. At least he’d managed to gobble down his cheeseburger before the mention of blood pudding killed his appetite for red meat for the rest of the day.

“You hear from Sammy yet?” Dean asked, giving up on his fries and turning back to his salt caramel slush.

Cas shook his head again. “After I left the butcher shop I examined the records at the historical society. These disappearances seem to be unique in the town’s history. Nothing like this has ever happened here before.”

“So is this even a case? Or did these two dudes get together with some mystery chick and fake their own deaths for the insurance money or something?”

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a text from Sam.

>>Starting to think this isn’t a case. The detective just texted to tell me that both fishermen were found alive and well two towns over

“What the hell?” Dean said aloud, before furiously typing out a reply.

“What did he say?” Cas asked, and Dean held up a finger before finishing his message.

<<Where the hell have they been all this time?

>>They both woke up in this little B&B about an hour ago. No memories. The owner insists they both checked in of their own free will and have been hanging out together for the better part of the last two weeks.

<<WTF?

>>I’m heading back to the station to interview them both. If you and Cas want to meet me there in an hour or so, we can probably head home tonight.

Dean relayed the messages to Cas, who agreed with Sam.

“We should probably interview both men to determine if they’d been possessed or otherwise influenced to behave so strangely.”

Dean nodded, studying Cas’s sincere concern. “Maybe this is still our kinda case,” Dean agreed after a few seconds. “Freaked their wives half to death worrying about them. It sucks to have a loved one wander out of your life like that with no explanation.”

Cas’s shoulders slumped and he studied the remaining contents of his mug with an intensity that had Dean concerned that the mug was going to shatter under the force of it. He was about to make a joke about it when Cas looked up and focused that intensity right on him. Dean was now concerned that he was the one in danger of shattering...

“I’m sorry that I ever left you that way, Dean.”

“What?” Dean’s heart rate doubled. This was it. They were gonna clear the air, right here in the corner booth of this tiny cafe. He sucked in a fortifying breath of coffee-scented air and hoped to Chuck he wasn’t about to ruin everything. “No, Cas, I get it. You had important stuff to do. And hey, just like these guys, you always come home eventually.”

Cas finally smiled a little bit. “Home? Yes. I feel like I’m home now. I think I’d like to stay this time.”

Dean blinked a few times and tried to remember to breathe. This was really happening. “Stay. Like, permanently?”

“If you’ll have me. Yes, Dean. I’ve spent a long time trying to determine where I belong. I know you said in the past that I was part of your family, that I’d always have a home with you. I think I finally understand that that’s where I belong.”

“What, at the bunker?” Dean blurted out.

Cas smiled wider. “With you, Dean. Wherever that happens to be.”

Dean nodded and ventured another shaky step out onto the limb that Chuck had written for him. So far, so good, and the branch was holding steady. “Maybe we could try hunting together more. Just the two of us.”

“I think I’d like that very much,” Cas agreed.

Dean’s mind ran back over the good-as-gospel prophecy that he’d fortuitously overheard right before Cas had arrived. For once in his sad, sorry life, Chuck hadn’t steered Dean wrong. They were definitely clearing the air at a rather alarming rate now. All that was left were the big confessions and then, hopefully, the making out. He tried to ignore the feeling that he was about to be strangled by invisible hands and choked out the words he’d been pushing down for years.

“That’s good, Cas, becauseyouknowIloveyouandIjustneedyoutostaywithme.”

As soon as he got it out, his eyes went wide with panic and he stopped breathing entirely. Dean was sure he’d fucked everything up. He’d let one stupid overheard conversation between a couple of teenagers fill him up with the ridiculous notion that their words had really had Chuck’s stamp of approval pasted over them. And really he should’ve known better. For an omnipotent god, Chuck didn’t exactly have a perfect track record with his prophecies. Dean had found a way to bork Chuck’s grand plans a couple of times now. For a few terrifying seconds, he was positive he’d done it again.

Across the table, Cas looked just as stunned as Dean felt, but at least he hadn’t run away. And he’d mercifully not demanded that Dean repeat himself, despite his rushed and garbled delivery.

“I… I love you too, Dean.” Cas tentatively reached one hand out across the table and rested it atop Dean’s.

Where Dean’s palms were damp with panic sweat, Cas’s were warm from cradling his coffee. Even so, Dean didn’t hesitate, flipping his hand over and grasping on to Cas’s. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and tossed down a tip for the waitress before sliding out of the booth and dragging Cas along with him.

As they reached the door Dean muttered under his breath, “We are so not making out in a coffee shop. I don’t give a rat’s ass what Chuck has to say about it.”

They made it all the way back to the Impala before giving in to destiny.

***

“I can’t believe Dean and Cas made out,” Sam said, walking down the sidewalk a few blocks away.

“I know, right?” Chuck agreed, looking and sounding as enthused as a chipmunk rediscovering a lost nut stash.

Amara rolled her eyes at her brother’s glee, but appeared to be quietly content. “That was a lot of trouble to go to, but I believe the result is more than worth the effort.”

“Quite rewarding,” Chuck agreed, dumping the bag of school books he’d borrowed in front of the local high school as they walked past. “That was definitely better than any of the plans I ever came up with for those two. I never could quite get them on the same page. You’ve got a real knack for writing, Sam. You should think about taking over the Supernatural franchise. There’s not a lot of money in it, but maybe you’d be better at it than I ever was.”

“So you’re not really publishing new books, then, right?”

“N-no!” Chuck exclaimed, as Sam loomed over him dangerously.

“He’s retired his typewriter,” Amara confirmed. “It was interesting to play so many different characters this week, though.”

Chuck smiled at his sister, counting off all the people they’d invented to make Sam’s script come to fruition. “Two fishermen, two distraught wives, two teenage girls, one park ranger, one police detective, one nosy and slightly traumatized hiker, and one morgue attendant, and one nice lady with a slightly unnerving passion for finding the ultimate blood pudding recipe. I think it was worth it in the end. Plus, we’ve got new fishing gear!”

He pulled the former "evidence" out of thin air and handed one set of slightly bloodstained fishing gear to Amara, who took it happily.

“So now you’ll teach me to fish?”

“I think so. There’s a few natural wonders I think are best taken in with a few hours of quiet contemplation. Even if it’s occasionally interrupted by a trout.”

“You promised to show me all of your greatest creations, brother. I’ll hold you to your word.”

Chuck grinned at her. “I think you’ve already seen my greatest creation, but the National Parks are worth a visit anyway. Bears are pretty cool. And elk. Arctic foxes are super cute, too... at least when they’re not noshing on even smaller and cuter animals. I think we’ll start with Alaska, then.”

Amara nodded at him, taking in Chuck’s excitement with an equal measure of seriousness.

Chuck turned to Sam. “Give us a call if you need us for anything. You know how to reach us.” And then the two of them disappeared.

Sam smiled at the empty air for a minute and then congratulated himself on a job well done. He wouldn’t have to deal with Dean and Cas pining all over each other anymore, at least. And hey, maybe he really could write better stories than Chuck did. He wasn’t half bad at it, if he said so himself. Not to mention the fact that he now held all the publishing rights to his own life story. It was a win all around.

He strolled slowly back to the parking lot outside the cafe feeling pretty damn proud of himself. Until he reached the Impala, anyway.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the new reality he’d created for himself, and wondered for a moment if it was too late to get Chuck back here to undo this. Dean and Cas were way too busy in the front seat of the Impala for a weekday afternoon in a public parking lot. Sam really had no one to blame but himself for the spectacle he was now forced to live with. He gathered his nerve and marched forward into his own self-made future, grumbling under his breath, “I can’t believe Dean and Cas are still making out.”

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