#maypromptseries

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

“Sorry, Jack,” Dean says, checking his phone for the umpteenth time this hour, “It’s really cancelled.”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Jack gives Dean a half-hearted hug and plods out of the kitchen, leaving Dean alone and unsure of what to do.

Ever since Cas mentioned that the cashier at the grocery store (because Cas is somehow friends with everyone) told him there was a drive-in movie theater in Smith Center, Jack’s been begging to go. Tonight there was supposed to be a showing of Finding Nemo, which Dean knew would make him cry but Jack wanted to see it (it’s funny raising a kid who loves both the Die Hard franchise and every Disney movie ever made). Eileen and Sam were going to come, too, make a night of it.

But now it’s been rained out, which means Jack’s disappointed, which means that Dean feels like, somehow, he’s gotta find a way to fix this.

Even if the weather is, like Jack said, not Dean’s fault. 

Half an hour later, Dean’s still moping in the kitchen and contemplating rummaging through the fridge for a beer--he’s pretty sure there are a couple still in there, behind Sam’s kale that he keeps stealing (kale is actually not that bad, but Sam can never find out that Dean thinks that or he’ll never hear the end of it)--when he hears footsteps that he instantly recognizes as Cas’s.

“You seem more upset than Jack is,” Cas says, coming around the kitchen island to rest a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“He was so excited.” Dean leans into Cas’s touch, snakes an arm around his waist. “I don’t like disappointing him.” I’ve done it too much before. “I thought maybe we could just watch a movie in the Deancave but--”

“It wouldn’t be as special.” Cas smiles at him. “I have an idea.” 

Cas banishes everyone from the garage, so Dean actually helps Sam with research for once instead of avoiding it to work on one of the cars. Cas lets Eileen in on whatever his plan is, though, and since he’s is far better at signing than Sam and Dean, they have no clue what’s going on. 

After a dinner of eggplant parmesan (eggplants? Not so bad either, as it turns out, although eating them is always vaguely embarrassing since Claire visited and taught Cas what the eggplant emoji means), Eileen ushers them all into the garage, and Dean’s mouth nearly drops open.

Cas has commandeered the bunker’s projectors and one of their spare sets of sheets, setting both up against one of the walls with Sam’s laptop plugged into the projector, and there are blankets and pillows all over the floor. 

“I also brought snacks,” Cas says. He then drops said snacks when Jack slams into him with a hug. “Eileen helped,” Cas adds, and Jack hugs her, too. 

They settle down to watch the movie--for the first half, Jack sprawls out on his own blanket, getting popcorn everywhere (it occurs to Dean that he's going to end up sweeping the garage later, isn't he?), but halfway through Jack moseys on over to Dean and Cas’ blanket and shoves himself in between them, decidedly not fully cognizant of the fact that he’s also adult-sized. 

Cas moves over anyways to make room, and then Jack steals some of Dean’s popcorn, but Dean can’t find it in himself to complain, not when the kid still looks happier than a damn clam. 

Dean takes a glance over at Sam and Eileen, Sam’s arm wrapped around her and her head on his shoulder, and can’t help but smile. His family is here, and they’re happy and safe. 

Rain, snow, or sunshine, this is all he needs.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Dean comes to with a choke of breath, landing heavy on the ground. He rolls over, right shoulder aching, and finds himself with his face in the dirt and a mouthful of grass. He move to spit it out when something heavy lands on top of him, knocking all the air out of him.

When Dean figures out how to use his windpipe again, he chokes out, “Get off!” only it comes out as more of a growl than real words. Whatever it is on top of him gets the message, though, and Dean relaxes.

When Dean finally turns his still-pounding head to the side, he thinks for a moment that he’s actually still out of it, maybe the fall was harder than he thought, because there’s a pair of blue eyes blinking at him slowly, eyes he never thought he’d see again.

It all comes rushing back to him--a tearful confession, then a shaking knife in his hand as he carved names, each more precious than the last, into a table. Holding out a gun in front of a careless god and then dropping it to the ground, remembering the words of that confession. A month of silence. Then, one day, a glimmer of hope, a thread of magic Dean followed until he found his way into inky blackness, seizing a familiar hand right before getting spit back out.

Dean stares at Cas in wonder for a second, thinking that he could reach out and touch him, and then he does, but not to hug or kiss or any of the other dozens of things Dean’s been interested in doing over the years.

Instead, he shoves Cas, saying through gritted teeth, “You asshole.”

Cas’s face falls, and Dean instantly regrets his words, but the ball is already rolling, so he keeps going.

“You--you don’t get to say shit like that and then die. Did you ever think to ask me how I felt? Or were you just gonna hold that in forever? And did you--”

“If you rescued me just to yell at me, I’m going back,” Cas says drily, and it’s his particular, inimitable brand of snark that breaks through the cacophony of emotions Dean’s been trying to get a handle on since Cas died. 

Dean gets a handful of the collar of Cas’s shirt and buries his face in Cas’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.”

“I would say I missed you, too,” Cas has a gentle hand on his back now, “But I wasn’t really awake until you came.”

“Well, I was tryin’ to wake you up.” Dean leans back, takes in Cas’s face, which still has tear-tracks down it as if it’s only been a minute since the Empty swallowed up his smile instead of a month. “Cas, there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“I think I already know.”

“I want you to hear it.” Dean leans in, presses his lips to the corner of Cas’s mouth. “I love you, too. Don’t go dying on me again.”

Cas turns his head, kisses Dean properly. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Dean wishes he could bottle the expression on Cas’s face, put the warmth radiating from him up for sale. “Now let’s go home.”

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

When Dean finally pulls into the gravel drive, the bumps in the road jolting Cas out of his slumber in the passenger’s seat, the sight that greets him isn't exactly what he was expecting. 

The listing for the lakeside house had included the phrase needs work, and the pictures had shown some shingles missing, a couple busted boards on the back deck, but it wasn’t too expensive and there was a Home Depot half an hour away. And there was a fireplace, and the aforementioned lake, and a sunroom that Cas could fill with plants.

It’s a little worse for wear than he expected, though. 

Dean turns to Cas, ready to apologize for moving them to a place that they probably can’t easily live in for a while (does the gas for the stove and fireplace even work? Dean makes a note to check), but he shuts his mouth upon the expression on Cas’ face.

Because while Dean felt a bit of disappointment when he saw their new house, Cas looks...peaceful. Full of joy. He looks happy, and for a brief moment Dean’s back in a storeroom, with Cas smiling at him beatifically right before he--

This is a different kind of smile, though. And Cas is here, in his car, eyes shining at a dilapidated lake house, like he somehow won the fucking lottery by getting to hold Dean’s hand across the bench seat and drive to this place.

“What do you think?” Dean manages to croak out, and Cas’ smile turns to him.

“I love it,” Cas replies.

“It’s gonna need a lot of work.”

“Oh, absolutely.” But Cas looks satisfied with that.

It occurs to Dean, in this moment, with Cas’ apparent joy over fixing this place up, that it’s kind of like them--a little bit broken from the start, which happens when one of you stabs the other upon meeting, when you’re busy defying fate to even be in the same room. Over the years, things haven’t always been perfect, or clean, or tidy. And getting to right now, getting to the part where they can be happy, took Cas literally dying and Dean almost going the same way. 

But they’ve made it work, and they can make this house work.

They can make this home work. 

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

coffee to go

Dean’s having what you might call a bad day.

It’s barely nine in the morning, and he’s already overslept, burnt his breakfast, was late to work and--

“Fuck,” Dean says emphatically, dropping his wrench as, yet again, the car he’s working on fails to start. Bobby frowns at him.

“Swearin’ at it ain’t gonna fix it. Go take a break.” Bobby gestures to the front of the garage. “Think there’s someone here for you, anyways.”

Dean sighs. It would be just his luck if he forgot a detailing appointment or something today. He wipes his hands off on his coveralls and trudges out front.

Instead of an annoyed customer in front of Bobby’s auto shop, Cas is standing outside, scrolling through something on his phone. When he hears Dean’s footsteps, he looks up, his face brightening.

“Thought I left you at home,” Dean says. Cas is a children’s book author, so while Dean gets covered in grease and oil at the garage, Cas is in his office at their house, writing stories about talking dogs and magical plants.

(They’re good stories, though.)

“You forgot your coffee,” Cas says, holding out Dean’s thermos (Cas gave it to him for his birthday last year--it’s got a cartoon cowboy on it). Dean gratefully accepts it, opening the lid and inhaling the fumes.

Dean eventually stops smelling the coffee to snag Cas by the arm and pull him in. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, kissing him on the cheek--Cas moves his head to catch Dean’s lips with his own. 

“Anytime,” Cas says after pulling away.

“Now go get back to your kittens in trees.”

“It’s dragons this time!” Cas replies with a smile.

Dean takes a deep sip of his coffee as he watches Cas turn back in the direction of their house. He knows that the ten-minute walk will take him at least half an hour, because Cas likes to stop and look at all the flowers at the other houses. Dean’s sure he’ll hear all about them at dinner.

Maybe today will be a good day after all.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

“Aren’t orchids hard to grow?” Sam had asked when he saw Cas’s potted plant on Dean and Cas’s kitchen island.

Cas had shaken his head, carefully misting the flower with water. “It just requires patience.”

Now, the orchid has been on the counter for a month, blooming yellow, and Cas is still taking care of it with methodical precision. Dean has enjoyed this journey--as he watches the flower grow, he gets to watch Cas grow along with it. 

Cas, newly human, has preferences, as it turns out. Jelly over jam. Buttered popcorn over salted. Briefs over boxers. Half-n-half over cream in his coffee. He likes to sleep under a comforter because of the weight but always kicks it off halfway through the night. He takes his showers scalding hot, likes to be the big spoon (Dean’s not complaining), loves procedural crime shows. 

(He also has some other preferences in the bedroom that don’t include types of blankets or spooning, but Dean’s eating breakfast and if he thinks about those preferences he won’t do anything for the rest of the day.)

Cas is inspecting the orchid’s leaves, his back to Dean, and Dean appreciates the view--one of Dean’s old t-shirts, stretched across Cas’s shoulders, Cas’s dark hair, sprinkled with grey, strewn everywhere. Dean doesn’t look down at his lower half, clad in just briefs, because once again, breakfast and trying to have a productive day and not get it on in the kitchen where there’s a risk of Jack randomly walking in. 

Dean’ll never tell Cas, because he thinks Cas likes to keep it his own little secret, but he looked it up once, what a yellow orchid means: new beginnings. Maybe that’s why Cas dotes on the flower so much, because it’s part of his--their new beginning. New house. New kind of freedom. New relationship (but it sure does feel old, like a well-worn pair of jeans, soft and pliant). 

New happiness. 

Cas turns away from the flowerpot and towards Dean, a gummy, half-caffeinated smile on his face, and Dean’s pretty sure this is the happiest moment of his life. He thinks that all the time--when he spots Cas reading on their front porch, or when Cas is breathing gently on his neck in the early morning, or when they take the dog for a walk and Cas stops to look at all the flowers--but that doesn’t make it any less true.

As long as he’s got this, he’s good.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

four.

There are voices coming from the kitchen. 

Dean notices this when he gets up to go to the bathroom at five fucking am, because he can’t just drink beer and relax anymore (getting older is the pits). Dean’s intent on getting back into his warm bed, where Cas is still asleep (and probably hogging all the damn blankets) when he hears said voices--it sounds like Claire and Jack.

Jody, Donna, and the girls got here yesterday, and were supposed to stay with Sam and Eileen until Jack insisted that Claire stay at Dean and Cas’s. They’ve instantly become thicker than thieves, which Dean thinks is a little bit dangerous.

“Now you can’t tell Dean I gave you this, because he’ll think it’s unsafe or whatever.” That’s Claire, and Dean wonders what, exactly, she’s up to. Trying to corrupt his four-year-old, probably.

Four-year-old. Damn.

Dean’s emotions sometimes come fast, like a riptide, and at the asscrack of dawn he’s a lot more vulnerable. It’s hard to believe that Jack is four, even harder to believe that Jack is four and wants to live in his house (his house) and chat up his sorta-sister in the kitchen and trust Dean to plan his birthday party.

“He won’t mind and I don’t think Sam will, either,” comes Jack’s reply, “But Cas’ll say I can’t have it.”

Dean chooses that moment to come into the kitchen and see why his kinda-kids are having a party at five in the morning. “I’ll see if I can put a good word in,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” Claire says accusatorially and Dean returns her eye-roll with a matching one.

(Cas would say it was immature, if he was here.)

“Well,” Dean replies, “There were some people making a bunch of noise.”

“We were very quiet,” Jack says. “Claire was giving me this knife.” He holds up a utility knife, much like the one Dean remembers having when he was a teenager, and it makes him nearly chuckle that Claire gave someone with the ability to smite things a knife, but Jack looks so damn happy about it.

So Dean clears his throat. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Technically,” Jack says, “I was born at night. So it’s not my birthday yet.”

“What, should we move your party? Cancel it entirely?”

Jack frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just kidding.” Dean pulls Jack towards him into a one-armed hug. “Don’t do anything dangerous, okay?”

“Weird warning,” Claire mutters.

“I’m giving it,” Dean says, “Because I’m going back to bed. I expect to see you two again at eight, and I expect the house to still be intact. You mess with Cas’s mug collection and we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Oh, we’re definitely waking you up earlier,” she says.

“You can only do that if you wake up Cas, too.” 

“Deal.”

Dean watches Claire and Jack make twin grins at him, and then heads out of the kitchen with a slight shudder. He definitely needs to keep an eye on them during Jack’s party later today.

The mattress sags slightly as he climbs back into it, and Cas rolls over, batting at Dean sleepily as he lays back down.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, voice fuzzy.

“Bathroom,” Dean replies, snagging Cas’s waist and pulling him in close. “We’ve got a few more hours.”

(He decides to keep Jack’s new knife a secret.)

Dean drifts off to visions of what the rest of the day will be like--Jack, who is essentially a preschooler despite being fully adult-sized, will try to find space in Dean and Cas’s bed while Claire stands in the doorway and laughs. There’ll be a big party with all of Jack’s friends and family (well, the family that counts), enough cake to feed an army (Jack couldn’t pick a flavor so Dean made......several), and at least four magical fiascos. It wouldn’t be his family if all of those things weren't included, and it hits Dean suddenly that he's way too fucking happy for the early hour.

Well, having something to celebrate will do that to a man.

And Jack is four. That’s sure as hell something worth celebrating.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

a/n: I decided to make today’s a nifty lil college au :) so I just thought I would include this note!

“Cas?” Dean called through the apartment, “You here?”

No answer.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered, pulling out his phone and calling Cas. He hadn’t been able to find him anywhere since this morning.

This morning. It had been an accident--Dean had asked Cas about the schedule for the trip they were going on this weekend with friends, and Cas said he had a screenshot of it, so Dean had opened his phone, a normal occurrence, since they were best friends. They both knew each other’s passcodes and there were no secrets between them. Or so Dean had thought. 

Instead, when he got Cas’s photos, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before: an album named dean <3, which was full of just...pictures of Dean. Pictures he’d never seen--blurry silhouettes of him watching TV, him flicking water at Cas while they did the dishes, his back while he was hunched over a textbook at the kitchen table. 

Dean had stared up at Cas, who seemed to be able to read exactly what he’d seen from his expression (because of course Cas could, Cas knew Dean better than anyone). Cas had snatched his phone back and straight-up left the apartment. 

Dean hadn’t been able to find him anywhere--he wasn’t at their favorite coffeeshop, lurking in the engineering building’s labs (Cas was an English major, but he was also the president of their university’s beekeeping club, and the engineering professors let him build hives and boxes in the lab), eating at the union, lounging in the sunshine in the quad, or, now, in their apartment.

Dean waited for Cas to pick up the phone, and then realized that he could faintly hear Cas’s ringtone (AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long, which Dean had set as a prank and Cas had never changed) coming from Cas’s room.

“Jackass,” Dean muttered, hanging up and going to pound on Cas’ door.

“Go away,” Cas replied, voice muffled. 

“Nope.” Dean shoved open the door to reveal Cas laying face-down on his bed, with his honeybee blanket Dean had gotten him for Christmas last year (it was impossibly soft and part of Dean always thought about stealing it) pulled halfway over him. Dean went to sit on the edge of the bed and yanked the blanket off of Cas.

“Can’t you see that I’m mortified?” Cas said, voice still muffled, and Dean shoved him until Cas was laying on his side. Cas squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s your plan?” Dean asked, “You’re just gonna never look at me again?”

“Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am?” Dean said incredulously.

Cas cracked open an eye. “You’re not?”

“No, asshole. I wanna know what you meant by having all those pictures. Was that a friendly heart? Or something else?”

“A friendly heart? Do you have a photo album of Charlie with a heart?”

“Cas, Charlie’s a lesbian. It would be a ridiculously unrequited love.”

Cas opened his other eye. “Okay, how about Meg? Benny? Jo?”

“...No.”

“Me either.” Cas rolled over to face the wall. “Thus, mortification.”

“I’m going to stab you,” Dean said. “Stop being impossible. I never said I was mad. You just left. For the record--” He unlocked his phone (his lock screen was him and Cas at a football game, which they mostly went to so they could hang out with friends and test their ability to sneak beer into the stadium) and went to his photos before shoving his phone into Cas’s face.

Because there was an album named cas <3 with the same kind of pictures. 

“Let’s try this conversation again--” Dean started, but he was interrupted by Cas sitting up and kissing him. 

Well, this worked too.

Maybe even better than talking.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

strawberry lemonade

"Do you want carrots, Jack?” Dean asks the toddler in his arms. 

“No.”

“Celery?”

“No.”

“We have to get some kind of vegetables, kiddo.” Dean sighs inwardly. Jack’s been grumpy all morning, and neither he nor Cas has been able to figure out why. He didn’t stay up too late last night, he’s had breakfast, and he even pouted his way into getting to wear his favorite hat again despite the fact that it probably needs to be washed.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart.

But Cas is talking to the Turners at their honey stand a few booths down at the farmer’s market, and Jack’s being a little too rowdy for that, so now Dean is on cranky toddler duty. 

“What about broccoli?” Dean tries. “We can put it in your mac-n-cheese.”

That gets Jack’s attention. “Trees?”

“Yeah, buddy, trees.” Dean sets Jack down to actually pay for some broccoli, and by the time he’s finished shoving his change back in his wallet (and blushing profusely, because the farmer running this stand said the picture in it of him, Cas, and Jack was sweet), Jack has somehow vanished.

“Well, shit,” Dean mutters, putting the broccoli in one of the cloth bags Cas always insists they bring to the market. He scans the crowd for a pint-sized blonde kid in overalls, and eventually spots him, in Cas’ arms.

“The boss let you buy any vegetables?” Cas asks by way of greeting, and Dean shows him the broccoli before frowning at Jack.

“You can’t just run away like that,” Dean says. “You scared me.”

“I wanted Papa,” Jack replies, and Dean sighs. No matter what, Daddy will never be Jack’s favorite, but Dean gets it--he thinks Cas is pretty great, too.

“Jack also wanted some of Jody’s strawberry lemonade,” Cas adds. 

"I see...” Dean reaches out to ruffle Jack’s hair. “You had ulterior motives. Sure, why not?”

When Dean finds himself sitting at a picnic table a few minutes later with a sweating cup of strawberry lemonade, a much happier Jack, and a practically beaming Cas talking to him about lavender honey, he realizes that the stress from the start of his day is beginning to fade.

Sure, parenting isn’t for the faint of heart, and Jack will probably be upset about something else later, but for now? He’s with his family, and that’s pretty damn good.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Dean triple-checks to make sure he’s got everything--the sandwiches, the cheese sticks, a Coke for him and a sparkling water (peach, of course) for Cas, and Jack’s juice box.

(He once forgot the juice box. It was not a good day.)

“C’mon, Jack,” he says. “Stop--no, don’t tug on the dog’s tail. She doesn’t like that.” Dean scoops up his four-year-old and balances him on one hip while trying to grab his bag with the other. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

“Daddy, I wanna get Marvin,” Jack replies stubbornly, and Dean sighs. 

“Okay, but you have to come right out to the car. Papa’s waiting for us.”

Cas is a physics professor at KSU, and he gets an hour break for lunch on Wednesdays--a break that Dean and Jack typically join him for, if they can manage to leave the house on time. Dean stands outside the car for about two minutes before he goes back inside to see if Jack has found his beloved teddy bear, Marvin. 

“Jack,” he calls, “We have to leave!” 

Dean hears tiny footsteps coming down the stairs and then Jack emerges, holding Marvin in one arm and his Disney Princess coloring book in the other. “I wanna show Papa the pictures we colored this morning.” 

“Okay, okay,” Dean says. “We will. But you have to get in your carseat so we can go.”

Before Jack, Dean had been a mechanic, but he doesn’t mind his current gig of being a stay-at-home dad. He’ll miss Jack when he goes off to pre-kindergarten in the fall, but he hasn’t decided if he’ll go back to full-time work. Dean probably won’t ever admit it out loud, but while he loved being a head mechanic, being Daddy has been the most rewarding job he’s ever had. 

The drive to the university only takes about ten minutes, but in that time they cycle through three different CDs and Jack has a minor meltdown about not bringing the dog. 

(The last time they brought her with them to lunch, she escaped and Cas had to chase her across campus in a suit.) 

Eventually, though, they’re there, and Cas is waiting for them at a picnic table outside his building. Jack, once he’s free of his carseat and the child-locked rear car door, runs over to Cas, throwing his tiny arms around Cas’ legs.

“Papa!” he says, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Cas replies, even though it’s only been four hours since he left for work. 

“Did you miss me?” Dean asks, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Always,” Cas says sincerely. 

As Dean helps Jack put the straw in his juice box and then watches Cas very seriously consider all of Jack’s pictures in his coloring book (Jack’s current favorite princess is Aurora from Sleeping Beauty), Dean wonders what his Wednesdays will look like next year. Maybe Cas will still have lunch with him without their kid around, if he’s lucky. 

But Dean’s already pretty lucky, he thinks, and whatever happens next year might be different, but it’ll still be good. It might even better, because he won't get apple juice spilled on himself regularly. 

He still loves his job, though, sticky t-shirt and all.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

spirit

Not a day goes by where Dean doesn’t think about Cas.

Of course, he doesn’t think about him constantly--Dean’s pretty sure that he’d go off the deep end if he did that, and he’s already standing on the diving board, poised to dive into twenty-eight feet of water, so he’s not trying to get any more nuts. 

He does his best, he really does. He makes breakfast (tries not to think about making Cas peanut butter toast. Maybe even peanut butter and honey toast). Walks the dog (Cas would love Miracle). Goes on a drive, listens to his favorite music (he made Cas a mixtape once). 

That’s what thinking about Cas is like--he pops up at random. Dean’ll turn on the TV and half-expect to hear the familiar cadence of Cas’s footsteps, the rustle of his damned trench coat. Cas never put up a fight about Dean’s cowboy movies, would even steal popcorn despite the fact that he didn’t need to eat. Or Dean’ll grab a beer out of the fridge, almost ask Cas if he wants one. But Cas isn’t here. Cas isn’t really anywhere. 

Sam is, and so is Eileen, and Jack, sometimes, but they’re not--they can never be--

Yeah.

Right now, Dean is at the grocery store, trying to figure out what kind of cereal to get, when he spots the display of honey in bear-shaped containers and almost loses his shit, right there next to the loaves of bread and boxes of Frosted Flakes. He remembers another time--Cas was a little scrambled, kept trying to say sorry in his own way. Cas’d died and came back, then. He always came back.

Well. Not anymore.

Dean thinks that yelling at the honey bears why did you only let me know you loved me when you knew I could never say it back?! will get him escorted out of the store, and this is the closest places to get groceries to the bunker, so he holds it in, even as he pushes his cart past the beer and wonders if he ever had Cas try a strawberry ale, as he stands in line and wishes Cas was here to squint at People Magazine headlines, as he thinks about how the cashier would have loved Cas because everyone loved Cas, but when he gets to the car, he can’t anymore.

“Dumb sonofabitch,” Dean mutters, leaning his head against the top of the Impala. He needs to open the trunk, load the groceries--there’s milk and chicken and eggs, shit that he doesn’t want to go bad and it’s not a quick trip home--but he just...can’t.

Sam’s talking about him and Eileen maybe getting their own place. Dean and Cas could be doing that--Cas loved plants, Dean could give him plants. Jack and Cas could get more time together. Dean would let Cas watch whatever he wanted on movie night, do just about anything to get him back. If Cas ever came back, Dean’d give him the whole damn world. There’s a gaping hole--would it have been better to never know that Cas loved him, so that he wouldn’t miss what he could’ve had if he hadn’t stood in his own way?

Dean doesn’t know the answer to that, and he’s glad he doesn’t. 

He loads the groceries, slides into the front seat. Reaches his fingers out across the leather.

“Do you know,” Dean says to the empty car, “How many times I thought about doing this? Holding your hand?”

There’s no answer.

Cas is gone, and only the spirit of him is left.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

nostalgia

Dean wakes up, as usual, to the smell of coffee and the sound of conversation over the radio downstairs.

This is the way he’s woken up for the past few months, with laughter filling his house and sunshine gathering in his room. Moving out of the bunker was one of those decisions that was hard to make, but once he'd made it, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. 

He owed a lot to the first place that had felt like home in a long time, but it was nice to look out his back window and see storm clouds gathering and barbecue on the back deck and pile his family onto their squashy couches and watch movies with the fireplace roaring.

It’s a bit warm for the fireplace to be on today, though, and in that spirit, Dean throws off his sheets and heads downstairs. 

Sam and Eileen, who live a few streets over and are at Dean and Cas’ house more often than not, are in the breakfast nook by the window, drinking coffee (the breakfast nook was something Cas insisted on, and Dean was helpless to tell him no), while Cas is at the stove, making some sort of giant mess. 

Dean steps over Jack and Miracle play-wrestling on the floor to wrap his arms around Cas’ waist and press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “What’re you doing?” Dean asks. “Besides getting my stove all dirty.”

“Pancakes,” Cas says, concentrating on pouring some batter, which is lumpy. “I think I made them right.”

“I helped!” Jack says from the floor, and Dean is half-sure that the pancakes are going to have salt instead of sugar, but he decides to just let the morning happen. He pulls himself away from Cas to get a cup of coffee, and then heads to the breakfast nook.

“Budge over,” Dean says to Sam, before signing, “Good morning,” to Eileen.

“I see,” Sam says, “You’re playing favorites.” 

“Of course Eileen is my favorite,” Dean replies. He’s trying to get better at signing--he’s still a bit clumsy, but at least he hasn’t signed fuck you to her like Sam did when he met her. 

Before long, the pancakes are ready, and they’re all crammed in around the breakfast nook’s table. Dean has to creatively prevent Jack from feeding Miracle bits of sausage under the table, and Cas knocks over the syrup with his elbow, but, as always, their family breakfasts are full of laughter and cheerful conversation (and Eileen and Cas getting annoyed with Dean and Sam’s bickering and having conversations that Dean can’t even hope to understand, because apparently knowing all human languages extends to sign language). 

After they’re done eating, Sam sighs and leans back before nodding at Cas, who vanishes into the sunroom and comes back a minute later with a slightly lumpy package.

“So, uh,” Sam starts awkwardly, “We wanted to...well. Cas?”

“We just wanted to make something for you,” Cas says, offering the package to Dean. 

“Is it suddenly my birthday?” Dean asks. “Or did I miss a holiday?”

“This is just for fun,” Eileen signs, and Dean nods, carefully untying the ribbon. The amount of tape on the package indicates that Jack helped wrap it. 

Under the paper is a photo album, nothing fancy, but when Dean flips through it, he finds some pictures of himself he’s never seen before--from when he was a kid, playing ball with Bobby or toting Sam around--and some that he thought were lost forever, like the picture of him, Sam, Cas, Bobby, Jo, and Ellen from an apocalypse that feels like it was a thousand years ago. And then there are pictures he remembers, like him and Cas in cowboy hats on that case in Dodge City. 

“We reached out to everyone,” Sam says, “All the hunters we thought Dad might know, anyone Cas or Eileen could think of...”

“It’s...” Dean’s a lot a loss for words. “Damn, guys. This is really nice.”

“Do you like it?” Cas asks softly.

“Uh...yeah,” Dean says. “I really do.” 

While everyone else gets up, putting dishes in the dishwasher and tucking various toppings back into the kitchen cabinets (the whipped cream has to be hidden from Jack), Dean keeps flipping through the photos. There’s a couple he doesn’t think anyone ever took a photo of--it’s him and Jack fishing, right before Jack was about to die, and him and Claire playing mini-golf. 

Cas hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean suddenly realizes that everyone else must have gone to the living room or something, because the kitchen is empty.

“We may have pulled a few strings to get some of these,” Cas says. 

“I was starting to wonder if I’d been spied on,” Dean replies. “I guess not. Good things do happen, huh?”

“All the time.” Cas turns his head to kiss Dean’s cheek. “There’s extra coffee in the pot. You can join us whenever you’re ready.”

Dean is left alone with his memories, but for once, he doesn’t think that’s such a bad thing.

There’s some pretty good stuff in here.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

getaway

Every morning, early, before the tide goes back out, Cas goes to the beach to look at the tide pools. Microcosms of the ocean, he likes to call them, just like his personal experience is a microcosm of a much larger story. 

The little fish and urchins are only part of the beach for a handful of hours before they return, and Cas sometimes sees his life like this now: he has been granted the opportunity to be human, and like all humans, one day he’ll die and retreat into that ocean.

It’s taken some getting used to, to be fair. Cas is mostly serene about it all--he chose this, didn’t he, to no longer be an angel and get to spend the rest of his days with his family? But there are discomforts that have come with it, and then there’s Dean’s resistance.

Dean, who, every morning of the trip, tries to grab onto Cas and keep him from leaving, even though Cas promises he’ll be back and means it. Dean, who blames himself for Cas being human now, no matter how many times Cas assures him that it’s not his fault. Comfort, much like humanity, is a work in progress. 

Cas just likes the tide pools and a little bit of quiet time in the morning, when the sand is cool between his toes, the sky’s blue still slightly murky, the beach quiet. 

So quiet that Cas can register the footsteps behind him, the ever-so-slight sound of feet sinking into the sand. He doesn’t bother to look over as Dean sits down next to him on the ground--because of course it’s Dean. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just watching the fish in the little pool flipping their fins, until Dean says softly, “I see why you like it out here.” 

Cas hums in agreement.

“It’s supposed to rain today,” Dean adds. “Maybe we can finally do that puzzle you brought or something.”

Cas smiles to himself--he got resoundingly mocked for bringing a stupid puzzle to a beach vacation, what the hell, Cas?--but he supposes it’s finally going to come in handy.

If it rains, maybe they can sit on the beach house’s porch and do the puzzle or have a drink or just lounge on the stoop together and watch the rain--Dean likes proximity, likes his hand in Cas’s or an arm around him.

“Whaddya think?” Dean asks.

Cas leans his head against Dean’s shoulder. “Sounds wonderful.” 

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

another magical friday night

This is the third night this week.

Arguably, Cas shouldn’t be upset that Dean’s going out again. It’s a Friday, and it’s not like he and Dean are joined at the hip, even if they are roommates. They’re their own people with their own friends. 

Except Cas’s friends are all other classics majors who spend their evenings getting wine-drunk and arguing about how Sophocles relates to the hit TV show Riverdale and Dean’s friends are cool people who go to frat parties.

And even that wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the events of this past Sunday night, when, no alcohol involved, they’d kissed.

It was like no kiss Cas had ever experienced--when he’d imagined kissing his best friend (and he’d definitely thought about it), it had always been some passionate thing, Dean’s back pressed against the doorjamb, a kiss that ended in a tangle of sheets.

Instead, he got a kiss of familiarity, a gentle press of lips like they’d done this a thousand times before.

(They hadn’t. Cas would know if they had.)

And that kiss had bloomed like hope inside his chest, until Dean started going out with his friends more than he normally did--Dean’s a dedicated student and normally reserves partying for the weekends.

It’s left Cas alone in their apartment with only his Ancient Greek translation work and thoughts for company, and tonight, while Dean’s presumably at a bar chatting up some pretty girl, Cas’s thoughts are swirling. 

The thing is, Cas is aware of his flaws, better than anyone. He doesn’t pick up his dirty socks. He’s rude before coffee. Sometimes he talks too much and other times not enough. He doesn’t love going out, the crush of people, noise, and booze overwhelming. He actually likes Ancient Greek. 

And, no matter how Dean kissed him last weekend, he’s never going to measure up to anyone else Dean could find.

Cas watches a couple episodes of White Collar, eats some stale popcorn, and decides to give up and call it a night at about ten pm. For once, he sort of wishes he was with his friends, getting drunk and overanalyzing vapid TV shows. 

But he’ll be fine.

***************************

Cas wakes up to someone rolling into him. 

He scrambles up in his bed, yanking back his blanket and eliciting a groan from whoever has decided to take up residence on his mattress. The person rolls over and in the dim streetlight filtering in through the window, Cas realizes that it’s Dean, and that Dean is glaring at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, his voice all muzzy with sleep, “I’m cold.”

“You have your own bed,” Cas replies pointedly.

“Missed you, though.”

Cas’s heart jumps, and then he remembers that Dean was out at the bar. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not.” Dean pushes himself up onto his elbows and leans forward, exhaling into Cas’s face.

“Gross.” But Dean’s telling the truth--Cas doesn’t detect any alcohol on his breath, only the faint smell of nachos--yuck--and Sprite.

“Toldya so.” Dean flops back down. “And you’ve been avoiding me anyways.”

“Have not.”

Now Dean glares at him again. “Have to. Ever since we--”

Cas brandishes a finger at Dean. “You’ve been avoiding me!”

Dean stares. “Wait. You mean I’m not a horrible friend that you never want to speak to again?”

“When did I say that?”

Dean looks sheepish. “Uh...never.”

It strikes Cas suddenly how stupid he’s been for the past week--acting like Dean wants nothing to do with him, trying not to be in the same room as him for too long (quite a feat, when you live together and have developed a habit of one person pissing and the other taking a shower like privacy is no big deal). 

And now Dean is here, in his bed. 

Second chance. 

Cas is about to find a way to lean in when Dean beats him to it, clumsily grabbing a fistful of Cas’s hoodie and yanking him down. Cas misses by a mile, hitting the pillow with his face instead of Dean. They dissolve into a tangle of laughter, and then Dean leans in and kisses his smile, gentle and warm. 

Cas’ll get that other kind of kiss at some point, he’s pretty sure of it. But for now, he’s more than happy with this.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

lake house

Cas is usually up first, sitting on their back porch, looking out over the still water while he takes a sip of his tea or leafs through his book. Lately he’s been into birding, and a thrift-store bird-book find has taken up permanent residence on the porch swing. 

Other days, he goes on walks around the lake, lets the dew dampen the soles of his feet--he never brings his phone, but he tells Dean I’ll come back, I’ll always come back. 

(Dean believes him, because it’s the truth.)

Today, though, rain pounds on the eaves of their house, a house with creaky stairs and one leaky window in the sunroom (which Dean refers to as the greenhouse, because Cas keeps all his indoor plants there) and a big yellow kitchen with flea market barstools that Cas sits on while Dean cooks. 

Cas stretches languidly in their bed, Dean still sound asleep beside him. Technically, they don’t have plans for the day. There are things they need to do at some point--Dean’s been promising to touch up the paint on the back siding for at least a week, and Cas needs to figure out why his peace lily is dying, and they promised they’d bring something to dinner with Sam and Eileen tomorrow (Dean is advocating for making a pie), but none of it’s pressing or immediate.

And he could get up, could watch the rain fall out the back window or sit on the porch still. The first time it rained here, Cas even went out in it, fully clothed, which made Dean laugh until Cas convinced him to come, too. There was something cleansing about the water of the earth, which might be why Cas also loves the lake practically at the edge of their backyard.

But Cas doesn't really feel like getting out of bed, so instead he just sits up and switches on the little lamp on his nightstand and starts reading--when he’s not reading his bird book, it’s usually trashy mystery novels.

Cas is just getting to the part where hard-boiled Detective Henry Samson is attempting to seduce his client Natalie, whose husband died under “mysterious circumstances,” when he feels the mattress shift and then a comfortable weight in his lap.

He looks down to see that Dean’s awake now, smiling up at him sleepily, and Cas uses one hand to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean says, voice gritty with sleep, and Cas lets out a small laugh.

“It’s not really sunny outside today,” he replies.

“So we should stay in bed?” Dean asks, before reaching up to take Cas’ book and toss it over onto the other side of the bed.

Cas slips back down under the comforter, sighs as Dean’s arms wrap around his waist. “Now I’ll never find out who killed Natalie’s husband.”

“It was either a jilted lover or Natalie herself,” Dean replies, “That’s always how those books go.”

“Mmm,” Cas replies noncommittally, already being lured back into sleep by the steady thrum of the rain on the roof and Dean’s warm body against his.

It’s okay to take their time, because now they have tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and Cas wouldn’t have it any other way.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

After weeks of going to the hardware store for boards, nails, hinges, and, once, a new doorknob, the little lake house is finally fixed up enough for them to start painting. 

So, after a hearty breakfast of toast, bacon, and eggs--in which one of the eyes of the stove stops working, which adds another project to Dean’s seemingly never-ending list--they take Cas’s truck to the hardware store. They’re practically regulars there, especially since there’s a garden center attached that Cas spends roughly half his time at. Randy, who always seems to be there when they’re getting supplies, happily greets them at the door.

“Lookin’ for two-by-fours?” Randy asks. “We got more of the weather-treated in yesterday.”

Dean shakes his head. “We’re getting paint.”

“Paint? Ooh, things are picking up! C’mon.” Randy eagerly leads them across the store to the paint section, where there’s a wall of paint chips. “Knock yourselves out.” 

Dean and Cas spent at least a week talking about paint before making the trek into town (if Dean ever hears about paint again after finishing this house, he’s gonna throw himself into the lake behind it), so they know they want a pale yellow for the kitchen, dark green for the living room, white for the bathroom, and so on and so forth.

The only room they haven’t decided on is their bedroom. Dean’s about to ask Cas what color he’s thinking about, but Cas is deep in the trenches of deciding between Pineapple Delight, Pale Daffodil, and Touch of Lemon for the kitchen, so Dean decides to strike out on his own.

He finds himself instantly drawn to the blues on the other side of the paint section. Some of them are too green, like the aqua-tinged Waikiki Blue, and others are too pale, but then Dean finds a collection of cerulean shades, like the clear, clean blue of a wide-open sky, shades with names like True Azure, Deep Royal, and Blue Harbour.

Dean turns to call to Cas, get his opinion on one of these colors, maybe, but Cas is now deep in conversation with Randy about Isle of Pines, the dark green they chose for the living room, and he decides to select the shade Endless Blue.

(Later that night when they’re curled up on the couch because they moved all the furniture in their bedroom to paint, Dean will know, even with a spring digging into his back, indicating that their thrift store couch isn’t gonna cut it anymore, that he made the right choice.)

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Ever since Cas got back, they’ve fallen into a routine.

(Saying he “got back” makes it sound like he went on a vacation, though, and not like Dean had to fight his way into the Empty and get covered with black goo and bad memories to bring Cas home.)

This is one of Dean’s favorite parts of that routine, the part where it’s time to go to bed. He’s already under the covers, just waiting for Cas to get back from watering all the potted plants he’s got scattered around the bunker.

Cas takes care of them with a precise, thoughtful air, even though not all the plants make it, seeing as they live underground, but it’s so Cas of him to keep giving a shit about lost causes.

(Dean once tried to compare himself to one of Cas’s dying plants and briefly thought he was going to end up sleeping in one of the armchairs in the Deancave for a week until Cas smothered him in affection instead of berating him.)

Dean hears the soft footsteps down the hall that indicate that Cas is coming to bed, and a few moments later he’s walking through the doorway in his pajamas, one of Dean’s old t-shirts and a pair of flannel pants. When Cas climbs into bed, he instantly rolls into Dean’s personal space, throwing an arm across his waist, and Dean lets himself take comfort in the embrace.

“How are the plants?” he asks.

“I think another one’s dying.” Cas keeps his voice light, but Dean can feel in his body language that he’s disappointed.

Dean rolls to face Cas, presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “One day I’m gonna find you a place to live with windows.”

“You’d leave the bunker?”

“Cas, we can do whatever we want now. And the bunker isn’t going anywhere. It could be...a home base. A halfway house. I dunno, it’s just got all these rooms and I know Sam’s wanting to get Eileen out and you...” Dean tips his head into Cas’s chest. “You deserve some sunshine.”

“Okay,” Cas says softly. “I—I like that.”

“We’ll start looking tomorrow,” Dean says, and Cas brings Dean’s head back up with a hand to kiss him.

They stay like that, trading soft touches in the nighttime quiet of their bed, until Cas goes, “Dean, do you know how a mortgage works?”

“I can figure it out.”

“But—“

Dean silences him with a kiss. “Tomorrow. I’m busy right now.”