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Castiel leaned against the door of his and Dean's home garage, and trench coat slung over his arm as he watched his husband show Adam something under the hood of the Impala. Dean's younger brother had cut his hours at the shop back a bit with school back in session, and Castiel knew it wouldn't be long before even the part-time hours would be hard to keep up with the further along he went. Med school was no joke. Despite the rocky beginning and Dean's complicated feelings about his father, he had made a real effort with Adam, and Castiel couldn't be prouder of his husband.
Adam said something that had Dean's head tipping back, a melodic laugh falling out of his sinful mouth drawing Castiel's eye quickly, an almost pavlovian response that he fully accepted at this point in his life. Maybe in their earlier years, he would have been embarrassed, but not anymore. Dean was his sun, and Castiel lived to orbit around him, happy to do so. More than happy, he felt privileged. Of course, Dean would laugh it off if he ever heard Castiel speak so poetically of him and change the subject. Self-deflection was a skill his husband honed sharply, despite the rosy blush that praises often brought to Dean's cheeks.
Watching Dean in his gruff, nurturing element with his brother had Castiel grinning dopily, and he was sure his affection was clearly displayed on his face. Castiel had long given up control over his emotions when it came to Dean years ago. His' bluntness, which could be off-putting to some, only seemed to make Castiel more endearing to Dean, and he didn't bother to hide it.
Dean stepped back from Adam, and clapped him on the shoulder, and turned, coming to a complete stop when his eyes lit on Cas. A wide smile rolled onto Dean's face at the unexpected interruption in his afternoon. As Dean strode over towards him, Castiel welcomed the delightful shiver that ran up his spine as deliciously bowed legs brought his husband closer to him.
Castiel dropped his coat on the nearby tool bench when Dean reached him. Castiel slid his hand up the front of Dean's coveralls, ignoring Dean's protestations that he would get his fingers dirty.
"C'mon, Cas, I'm all greasy."
"Hush," Castiel said as his hand glided up Dean's throat to cup around the back of his neck, thumb resting on the hinge of his jaw. He turned Dean's face, watching as the bow of his lip curved up in a smile. "You're lips are so distracting. It makes me want to kiss you all the time."
Dean chuckled. "I'm sorry," he said cheekily, and Castiel lifted a brow, eyes still on the pale pink of Dean's mouth.
"No, you're not."
"You're right," Dean said cheekily, "I'm not. What are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?"
Laughing, Castiel tugged Dean in for a soft kiss, nipping him playfully before settling his mouth fully over Dean's, tongue seeking its mate and curling around it. Dean had obviously forgotten about his dirty hands as he clutched the back of Castiel's suit jacket, pulling Cas fully against him as they continued to kiss, languorously. They only broke apart when the garage door opened, and Adam's said something about going to Sam's.
"That was a pretty good answer, Cas," Dean said, pressing his brow to Castiel's with a gentle laugh.
"I'm a professor. It's my job to have answers, " he deadpanned, happy when Dean laughed.
"How was the shelter today? Surprised you're back so soon," Dean's said.
"Have you looked at the clock?" Castiel cocked his head. He watched as Dean's brow furrowed as he took Castiel's wrist in his hand, thumb mindless caressing the pulse point as he turned it to look at the time on his watch.
"Two-thirty already?" Dean murmured absently, and Castiel frowned.
"Have you eaten anything since I left this morning?" Castiel had taken the bus that morning for his volunteer shift at the shelter. Dean had already been up, music blasting in their attached garage, with plans of giving his baby a tune-up.
Castiel frowned when Dean looked away guiltily. Ever since hearing about John's parole, Castiel couldn't help but notice that Dean had been distracted and in his head. He wasn't hiding anything, per se. He wasn't emotionally distant with Castiel; in fact, his husband was as affectionate as ever. He was just… quiet. Castiel wasn't used to that. His Dean was a loud, effervescent, bright spirit. Now, he was subdued. Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester, but it was evident that many things were weighing on his mind. Castiel had faith that Dean would open up to him when he was ready. Dean told Castiel not too long ago that things were better when they faced their troubles together.
Of course, this John Winchester thing was a whole other animal. Castiel would love to have just five minutes alone with the man, to use his fist to exact some revenge for the hell he had put his husband through at such a tender age. Dean rarely talked about his dad in general, and when he did, it was usually with his voice tight from trying to keep hold of his emotions. There was a lot of buried anger inside Dean where his dad was concerned, and Castiel hated feeling helpless to make it better. He wished he had the right words; Dean's experience with his father was so vastly different from Castiel's.
"He had a parole hearing today. It's only been five years. Seems soon," Dean slurred. "Doesn't that seem soon for killing two people?"
It was Friday night, and they were tucked up on the couch, sharing a cheap bottle of whiskey Dean had swiped from his Uncle Bobby. A VHS with some slasher fic Castiel had no genuine interest in seeing sat on the coffee table in front of them, next to a bowl of popcorn mixed with m&ms.
"S'mom's death day, you know. Cheers," Dean lifted the bottle, his words bitter. "Happy Anniversary to becoming an orphan."
Castiel didn't know what to say, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He hadn't known. His parents were out for the night, and Castiel was grateful because Dean was getting loud and agitated, and there would be no hiding his lack of sobriety. Knowing the soft spot Chuck and Becky both had for Dean eased Castiel's chest slightly. They'd more likely be heartbroken by Dean's display than mad at him.
"My ma would be so disgusted with him, Cas. You know, his lawyer tried to blame what he did on his grief. Using her death like it's an excuse, like, like, like it makes it all okay." Castiel instinctively reached for Dean's other hand, squeezing, feeling the rough pads of his fingers grip back. " Oh, he was in pain," Dean mocked, " It's completely fine that he just mowed down another family's happiness," Dean took another hard swig. "Fuck that," he said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, "You make a mistake, you own up to it. You pay for it. That's how it works."
In a fucked up way, John is where Dean got his sense of responsibility.
"Baby," Castiel started, " I know you have a lot on your mind right now," his words were soft but pointed. "I am not going to push you to talk about it, but I'm also not going to let you make yourself sick by not taking care of yourself," Castiel angled his head until Dean met his gaze. "Capisce?"
Dean sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, sir," he said teasingly. "And I didn't mean to skip lunch, but Adam stopped by, and I got distracted. How'd your day go?"
There was that deflection again, but Castiel allowed it, stepping back to watch Dean begin to peel off his coveralls, leaving him in a black tee-shirt and jeans.
"It was good," Castiel said as Dean tossed his coveralls onto his workbench, "The Big Ryan's Tall Tales event went extremely well."
Big Ryan was a storyteller who visited schools and other childcare organizations and shared music and stories.
"Yeah? That's good," Dean said, crowding back into Castiel's space again, now that he had divested himself of his oil-stained clothes. "So you're done for the day?" Dean asked, voice somehow both innocent and naughty.
Castiel tilted his head. "Yes," he inhaled sharply as Dean leaned in to nuzzle against Castiel's stubble, pressing a soft kiss behind his ear.
"You wanna go in and relax?" Dean asked, dragging his lips across Castiel's cheek now, whisper-soft.
"Is relax a euphemism for have sex?" Castiel asked gruffly, pulling back to look at Dean in his mossy green eyes, finding love, humor, and banked arousal so easily stirred. "Because I'm okay with that," he said, and Dean laughed brightly, the sound echoing in the garage and making Castiel grin. "But---" Castiel held up a finger, biting his cheek when Dean's lips fell into an immediate pout. "Food first."
Dean looked like he was about to argue, but his growling stomach and Castiel's arched brow dared him to protest. "Fine," Dean grumbled but ruined it by tugging Castiel in for another lingering kiss. Castiel let himself be pressed into the garage door, his own arousal simmering beneath the surface.
Dean's stomach growled again.
Castiel chuckled as Dean grinned sheepishly, following him into the house. Castiel was content to take his time, indulging in late day kisses against the refrigerator as beef stew reheated in the microwave. Between presses of lips, soft sighs, they snickered like children as they joked about hiring a stripper dressed as a clown for Sam and Jo's Jack and Jill bachelor party.
"I don't see how unleashing a childhood trauma is a gift for Sam," Castiel remarked, dryly and Dean huffed out a laugh as they settled on the couch with steaming bowls. Castiel handed Dean a pillow to put on his lap so he wouldn't have to rest the hot bowl on his thighs. Dean eyed Castiel speculatively.
"You taking care of me, sweetheart?" Dean said, voice a bit thick and Castiel felt his heart do its familiar trip and stumble.
"For as long as you'll let me," Castiel answered earnestly.
When they finished, Dean looked at Castiel, and said gruffly, "I'm glad you're home." Castiel's lip kicked up, and a soft grin lit up his face as he soaked in the warmth and sincerity Dean was showering him with. Castiel answered him by burying his face in Dean's neck, peppering the warm skin with little kisses, that would soon turn into a delicious, old-fashioned make-out session. The time for relaxing would come, but this moment, inhaling Dean's woodsmoke and leather scent, indulging in languorous afternoon kisses, was perfection.
"Me too, baby."