Wait and See

A Day Off

It takes sometime, way more than it should have, but Dean finds Adam's phone number.

"Interrogate" is a harsh word, but it's accurate.

Adam remembers the beautiful room. He remembers Zakariah. He remembers saying yes.

He's fuzzy on anything that happened after Michael actually took over his body, but he remembers Sam grabbing him and pulling him into the cage.

He remembers a feeling like being submerged in water.

He remembers seeing Sam disappear.

He remembers feeling Michael pulled out of his body, and how it was like boils popping all over his body, and the light that ripped out of him.

And then he was in his house and everything was okay again, and he doesn't want to have memories, old or new, about Dean, or Sam or their Heaven and Hell bullshit.

And then he hangs up.

Dean's out of bed early on his day off. He pulls carefully out from under Cas's arm. Cas makes a noise like "Wstfgl?" but falls back to sleep at Dean's quiet "shhh".

One make out session has turned into a regular nightly make out session. Almost a ritual. A kiss after Chelsea or Thomas leaves inevitably turns into going upstairs to rub against each other with their denim encased hips together and their mouths wandering strictly above the collar bone. Cas is holding out longer and longer, but still popping like a teenager, surprised and grateful. Dean has yet to come from just grinding, but Cas is a fast learner and he's starting to find those sensitive points on Dean's neck and take advantage of them.

Last night he'd found the spot just above Dean's collarbone and between the way he'd groaned in victory when Dean finally spasmed the way he did, and how perturbed he'd seemed when Dean was still going to sleep unsatisfied, Dean had finally caved. He'd jerked himself off with Cas spread over his chest, kissing him and running his fingers through his hair.

He feels less weird about that than he might have, but he's also trying not to think about it, which would be easier if today wasn't laying out in front of him, empty of any obligation. Cas hasn't really asked him anything about what they're doing, and nothing has come up around Chelsea. Dean thinks Cas has probably figured out that Dean is uncomfortable, but might not have worked out all the nuances of why, and that's fair enough. Dean can't either. But Cas's careful not mentioning it is like repression by osmosis and Dean feels bad about it. Cas deserves better.

But they couldn't all grow up fenceless and genderless and only mentally scarred by millennia of war against Hell. That thought, and the coda to it- that Cas was physically scarred in Hell too, for him- makes Dean feel worse.

He goes into the kitchen and starts making Cas coffee. It's even the fancy frilly stuff that Chelsea brought them for the big reunion. And there is still a ton left because that was only a week and a half ago.

Dean runs his hand over his face as the water starts to gurgle.

Only a little over a week since they saw Ellen for the first time after she had died. Only a little over a week since Bobby had offered him and Cas the house. A few days since Hell and Purgatory had started waging war on earth. And only a little over a week and a half since… the whole Cas thing.

Dean sets out a couple mugs.

It's cold and grey and miserable outside, dark clouds switching between rain and sleet. Bobby's supposed to come over with the paperwork for the house today. Dean hopes the weather stops him. The highway between Sioux Falls and Mitchell isn't great on a nice day.

He rubs his hand over his face again. He has that heavy stickiness in his eyes that he used to get when he finally crashed after too many hunts and too many long nights and stayed asleep for most of a day. He's been sleeping better since he and Cas… It's hard for him to sleep without a drink and Cas being there helps, despite the weirdness of… cuddling the former angel.

He pours them both a cup of coffee, cream and sugar, and starts back up to their bedroom. He doesn't quite jump when he sees Cas, wrapped in that blanket, watching him from the stairs.

"Good morning, Dean."

He looks sexed. His long hair is mushed and a little snarled. His lips, slightly pouted, are too flannel pajamas and the blanket around his shoulders kill the effect a little, though.

"Made you this," Dean says, lifting one mug a little.

"Thank you."

Dean heads for the couch and sets both their mugs on the end table before dropping down onto the couch.

Cas grabs his mug as he passes and then sits on the opposite side. Dean flicks a questioning look at Cas and the space between them. Cas pulls his knees up, rewraps his blanket around himself and takes a sip from his mug.

Something's obviously bothering him and Dean's ready for it when he says, "Dean? Are we in a relationship?"

Dean takes a moment of refuge in a deep gulp of his coffee. "Why are you asking?"

Cas scoffs and looks away. Now he's pissed. "Because we live together. And we're very close and we eat together and spend all of our time together and now we're having sex and-"

"Woah- hey-" Dean cuts him off, shocked. "We are not having sex."

Cas gives him an incredulous look. "We had sex last night."

"No, we didn't."

"We both orgasmed. With each other."

Dean feels like he might just die from the embarrassment of having to explain this to Cas. "Grinding and…. jerking off with you… there does not count as sex. You have to…" Dean makes a gesture that consists of interlocking his fingers and moving them together and away from each other. Cas shakes his head- uncomprehending.

Dean clears his throat. "Someone has to… be inside someone else."

Cas is unimpressed with this. "Are we going to have sex then?"

"Not… I don't kn… why?"

"Because… I like… the affection I share with you. I like living here with you. I want to keep living here with you and being close to you. I want to at least bring you to climax myself and I don't understand what I'm supposed to do if you don't want that, or if what we're doing if you don't want that, or what's going to happen if you break up with me. You're very strange and confusing now and I'm upset with you." Cas hunkers down further against the opposing arm.

Dean drinks his coffee again and gives in under Cas's fretful, immature, and oddly worded wrath.

"Okay. Look. And… stop glaring at me. And come here," Dean holds out his arm. Cas rolls his eyes but unclenches and scoots over a little. Dean settles his hand over Cas's elbow.

"You're not stupid. And you've seen the whole history of everything. You've heard people talking and you've probably gotten the looks, considering you were walking around South Dakota with a boyfriend." Dean clears his throat. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"


"Cas… I just… I want you to be here… okay? But this… part of what we're doing is hard for me."

Cas shakes his head. "Do you not… want me physically anymore?"

Dean drops his head into his hand. Cas's only experience with dating had to be a lopsided relationship that ended in less than a month. It's like the insecurity expressway. "Christ, do you have to put it like that?"


"Look, I can't just jump into this. It's not… it's not that I don't want… I just…"

"It's a human gender thing?" Cas probes.

"Yes. Sorry."


"Give me time, man. Just give m-"

Dean is cut off by his phone ringing. It's Bobby calling to cancel the big home buying party. He's been too busy to get the paperwork totally put together and Karen's not letting him out on the highway.

"Yeah, I figured," Dean says. "The highway's gonna be all ice by dark and everyone's died enough this year. We'll do it another time."

"I think Cas should be on the deed too," Bobby says. "Hell, if it were a homestead you'd probably both own it by now anyway. What did his last name end up being again?"

"Novak," Dean supplies.

"Oh. Alright. We'll get it done. Ain't like you boys aren't going anywhere."


"Okay. Well, find something fun to do in the weather."

"Shouldn't we be looking into Crowley and the whole overhaul of Hell thing?"

"You heard. Gabriel. We're B-squad. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid. I've got some work I need to be getting together. Bye."


Dean turns back to Cas. "The old man is really looking to unload this house. I'm starting to worry there's something wrong with it."

Cas shrugs.

Dean hates this. He wants to, he just… can't. It's been a week and a half. That's it. And Cas is right about how fucked up everything would get if something went wrong. Their lives have totally wrapped in on each other's. They're both going to be owners of this house. Hell, if they fuck they'll practically be married.

He wants to know what he really feels and what he's most sure of is that he wants Cas to feel better.

"You know what we should do?"


"Take a day off."

"It is your day off."

Dean huffs out the shadow of a laugh. "Yeah, but from everything."

Cas narrows his eyes. "Everything?"

"Yeah. We'll order Chinese, you don't cook, we let the dishes lay in the sink. And I won't do any research."



"Then what will we do?"

Dean leans in and presses a coffee kiss to Cas's warm mouth. "Practically nothing."

It's almost bliss. Almost because Dean still feels himself looking over his shoulder as he kisses Cas. As the kiss turns to being wrapped around each other on the couch, Dean's arms around Cas's hips, fingers tangling at random for a ridiculous portion of the day while they watch old movies with the rain and sleet humming in the background.

But Cas is smiling at the attention. Dean feels… cozy with it. Wrapped in Cas's blanket with him, not even talking all that much. Dean's a little freaked out by how easily he could get used to this. Like he's gotten used to an honest living, and a home of his own, and friends.

An almost normal life.

Except for this. The man in his arms when he knows it should be a woman. It should be Chelsea or Jo or someone. But neither of them are Cas and dammit if he's starting to think he's been falling for the weird little bastard for months.

He's still running a tally of Hunters he hasn't called yet and psychics he could try to find Sam since calling Adam was a bust. He's been trying to get a hold of Missouri Mosely for months, but no one's heard of her. It's like she was wiped from everyone's existence but his, which the way things are going could definitely be true.

But technically that's not research, it's just organization, so he's still not working on the Sam issue. He's just being with Cas. In a very very not manly way. Cuddling and kissing and cozying for hours on end, even intermittently dozing until it starts to get prematurely dark as the sun sets behind the bruise blue rain clouds.

Cas shifts in his arms, turning to face him and doing something seriously painful to Dean's elbow and ribs in the process that Dean pretends didn't happen.

He smiles at Dean. "This has been a nice day off." Then he kisses him. It's tea flavored and sweet and Dean opens his mouth to it lazily. The credits on whatever it was they were watching start to play. The kiss gets deeper. Their hands start roaming over each other. The kiss gets hotter. Cas's hips start moving against his own, little circles. The long day of just laying on each other, building little steps up to taking little steps, feels like a huge fucking tease all of a sudden.

Dean threads his hands into the hair at the back of Cas's neck and pulls him in a little closer.

"I want to touch you tonight," Cas whispers. It's quiet and maddeningly neutral for something like that. "Please?"

Dean's mind isn't totally sold on this, but his body is sick of this bullshit and pushes forward into Cas. Cas makes a pleased sort of murmur and dives back into the kiss, dragging his hands into Dean's as well so that they're just pulling each other further into the kiss. Cas is warm and eager and everywhere and Dean's too turned on to ignore those simple facts right now. He's been denying himself the kind of orgasms he's been watching Cas have every night and certain parts of him don't care enough about the gender thing to keep putting up with that.

"Yeah. Okay."

"Can we go upstairs?" Cas asks. He gets a weird thrill out of asking this question. Dean doesn't get it, but he likes the way Cas's cheeks flush when he agrees.


Cas presses into a last kiss and a less than subtle thrust of his tongue into Dean's mouth. It should be ridiculous, but it's just stupidly hot. Then he peels away.

They walk upstairs hand in hand. Cas surges back into the kiss when they reach the foot of the bed. Dean wraps his arms around Cas's waist and pulls him close. They're both starting to get hard and Dean feels overheated against the wet chill of the room.

Cas's fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt and tug upward. Dean's heart thrums. He's not sure about shirts off, it's getting a little close to too much- but you know what else men don't do? Spend weeks carefully groping because they're afraid.

Besides. Cas wants this.

"Dean?" Cas asks quietly. Dean nods and grabs Cas's shirt as well. He tugs it upward. Cas laughs when the neckline catches around his nose. Dean feels like an idiot, but Cas doesn't seem to notice and pulls Dean out of his shirt with no problems. Dean runs his hand over Cas's collarbone, tracing his fingers across the tattoo and Cas's firm, flat chest, fingers catching against the sparse smattering of dark hair. For a guy who's always bitching about the cold, he's absolutely burning to the touch.

Cas pulls Dean back into the kiss and turns him so that his back is to the bed, then steps forward. Dean feels the bed hit the backs of his thighs and he falls backward onto the bed, scooting back on instinct when he finds himself at crotch level. Cas follows.

This is a lot. Dean's been on top and in control every night up to now. He's been making sure of it, which is stupid because he's never on top for long with a woman. He likes the weight on top of his body. How much easier it is to touch them. See them.

It's easier to see Cas like this. He's not hesitant. He's not shy. He's not feminine. He looks like he's doing everything in his power not to devour Dean. It occurs to Dean that a millennia old virgin is the same thing as a guy who hasn't gotten laid in thousands of years. The thought makes Cas seem suddenly feral in Dean's eyes, and Dean jumps when Cas plants a kiss to the place where his ribs meet his stomach. The way that Cas looks so damn proud of himself when he looks up and smiles at Dean makes the nerves wrench back down though. Cas thinks dry humping is sex. Dean's safe. Nothing is going that far.

Cas continues to trail his lips up Dean's chest, moving over him, hovering above but not settling down against Dean's body. He niggles his teeth against one of the tendons in Dean's neck and Dean's head rocks back of it's own accord. He lets out an unfamiliar nose and Cas takes instant advantage of the expanse of skin, kissing his way up to Dean's mouth before collapsing into him, tangling himself up in the kiss.

They're chest to chest, bare skin to bare skin. Dean is screaming hard under his jeans and he can feel that Cas is too. His body doesn't care about the fucking fence and it's finally getting what it wanted. Pushed against a warm and loving body, flush along his entire length, weight pressing him down on his back.

He sinks down against the pillows and lets Cas's mouth work down his neck and chest again. He gasps at the sudden lightening of the pressure on his cock before he realizes that Cas has unzipped his fly. He sits up a little. Cas's eyes go wide, but Dean lifts his hips.

It's just the jeans.

Cas shucks his own pants and settles back down against Dean's body. They fall back into their familiar rhythm, Cas rocking down as Dean rocks up, 1-2, 1-2, 1-2. The back-and-forth makes the friction, under just the two layers of thin cotton now, perfect. They're both squirming and gasping. Dean digs his fingers into Cas's arms, drags them up his shoulders, over his back and then his shoulder blades, digging his fingers under the scapula. Cas bucks forward, hard and sudden with a noise that jumps out of his throat. He drops his forehead to Dean's shoulder, making sounds that Dean doesn't understand, but definitely sound like cursing as he gets his breath back.

"Don't do that," Cas finally manages. "Not yet. I want… first… you said…"

He's so turned on he's speechless. Dean can feel his cock starting to smear against his underwear where it's unabashedly tenting.

Cas snakes two fingers underneath the waistband of Dean's boxers.


No Dean thinks, but it's not what he wants to be thinking. He doesn't want to be thinking at all. He wants to be going after Cas with the same gusto that Cas is going after him with.

"We don't have to," Cas huffs out. It's the single least genuine statement Dean has ever heard in a career of professional lying, but the angel's hand doesn't move.

Dean's being such a pussy about this. He never takes what he wants, fucking never, and Cas is gagging to give it to him.

He traces his fingers over the wings of Cas's shoulder blades again and Cas shudders.

Well, it's practically hurting Cas not to let him touch right? He doesn't want that.

"You first," Dean whispers.

Cas's boxers practically evaporate. Thousands of years of pent up sexual energy are definitely coming to a head, and now Cas is straddled over him, naked, cock standing between his legs, right over Dean's.

One layer of cotton.

Dean's surprised that the main descriptor coming to mind is "thick". He'd expected something… like in the old angel paintings to go with Cas's slim build and long hair. Thin and small and artistic… not… like a real cock with precome already shining at the… oh god he'd thought about Castiel's cock.

Son of a bitch.

Cas strokes himself almost absentmindedly, leans down to kiss Dean for a moment and then tugs Dean's boxers down. Dean lifts his hips. Cas tosses them away.

No layers left.

Cas is looking at him. Like looking at him.

"You're lovely," Cas tells him huskily.

"You don't say that to other dudes."

Cas actually rolls his eyes. "No one can hear me." He reaches out for Dean's cock, hovering just above it, fingers at the ready before looking up for permission. Dean nods. He's a little worried about what Cas might do. All indication is that he can get himself off just fine, but this is still Cas.

He's gentle, not hesitant but careful, as though this whole thing is a very delicate operation that can't just be rushed into.

It's not enough, but everything else is too much, and Dean's perfectly content to lay back against the pillows and give himself a minute to adjust while Cas just warms him up. He takes a deep breath and reaches out for Cas's cock. Cas brushes him away.

"Not yet."

Dean waits, the comfortable but slow stroking doesn't change and he grabs Cas's hand.

Cas flinches. "Is this not… what am I doing wrong?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nothing it's fine, just…" he pulls Cas's hand up to his mouth and spits.

"Dean!" Cas looks at him like he just took on dump on his palm, utterly appalled. "You spit on me!"

Dean recalls that spitting on someone was some sort of horrible insult back in biblical times and quickly laughs, "To slick it up," then keeps laughing. This is just the stupidest thing that has ever happened to him. This is why he'll never get why some guys have a thing for virgins. Why do the awkward thing over and over?

Cas doesn't look convinced. Dean spits in his own hand, grabs Cas's dick and starts stroking. Cas's eyes flutter shut.


"Yeah," Dean agrees as Cas grips his cock with this newly wet hand. Better. He grips Cas a little tighter. Cas echoes. Dean speeds up. Cas thrusts up into his hand and then does the same, before pulling Dean's hand away with a whine.

"I want to bring you… off first," Cas whispers.

"Alright," Dean sighs. He drops his hands down onto the bedspread, then as an afterthought tangles his fingers in the covers.

It's getting hot again. The road block of fear is melting away under Cas's eager stroke, the utter stupidity of not knowing quite what they're doing together is fading back as Cas echoes just what Dean was doing to him, then after he's got the pattern down, stoops down to kiss Dean.

The closest Dean has ever come to feeling like this is when he had sex with Anna. The same… understanding of something he's not sure how to articulate, but it wasn't as… good as this. Anna's kiss had been sort of a generic, biblical grace and forgiveness. She kissed him like any other sinner, despite the enormity of his sin.

Cas's ministrations are about him. Not humanity. Not for a hero, not for a sinner, just for Dean. Dean opens his eyes. Cas's cheeks are burning red, a blush that goes all the way down his chest. He's just watching Dean, like he's never seen anything quite like him. Dean rocks up into his hand, seeking more of the adoration as well as more of the friction. Cas starts working him harder, faster.

"Yeah, Cas, just like that," Dean offers.

Cas scoots a little closer to Dean, and as Dean reaches out to grab Cas, reciprocate, even if he has to do it slow and careful because endurance isn't Cas's strong suit quite yet, Cas scoots his hips closer, and lets go of Dean's cock.

His hand comes back wet and holding both of them, squeezing around them and pressing them together and despite Dean's claim that there has to be… penetration, this feels like sex. Pressed intimately into Cas, ratcheted high enough already before Cas is kissing him again, while his hand strokes over both of them and his pants and mutters pour into Dean's mouth. The slide gets better, spit and precum from both of them mixing as the velvety skin slides together.

Dean can't help himself, he's thrusting up into Cas's grip, up into Cas's cock, muttering and panting back into Cas's mouth too as they kiss and thrust and tangle together like they might knot.

Cas comes first, with a cry that makes Dean glad they don't have neighbors. The hot wet drip of Cas's orgasm all over him brings him off too and after a lightning-bright moment they're sticky and panting and covered in each other.

Cas grabs an abandoned sock from earlier off the floor and wipes them both clean while Dean searches for words and comes up with "Wow."

And then, because this is something that happened with Cas, and Dean should listen to Chelsea when she says things like "emotionally 16", the moment goes weird and heartwarming and a little terrifying. The angel flicks the light off, burrows them both under the covers and, buck naked, wraps himself around Dean, the way they've been sleeping all week and says, "I learned that on the internet. I love you."

"You too," Dean murmurs before he has time to think about it. Cas hums happily and Dean lies there until the angel falls asleep and then the fear kicks back in.

Cas sleeps like a dead rock. More accurately like some sort of coral bed that grew around Dean and then died off, trapping him in its fossilized reef.

Dean doesn't sleep very well.

Cas said the L-word. Dean agreed. They practically had sex. Dean lies there until his eyes ache with tiredness, and he finally falls asleep.

He jolts awake to a light room, and the jolt can't carry him all the way up because of the heavy weight of Cas on his chest.

The panic is sudden and absolute.

He can't do this.

He can't let Gabriel relegate him to the cheer squad in the fight against evil. He can't die a mechanic. He can't lie here in bed with Cas every night and be… this guy.

He can practically hear his car calling out to him and the keys are lying on the night stand.

He carefully extricates himself from Cas's arms, feeling the chalky dry feeling on his stomach from where Cas had wiped the come off of him. Cas sleeps on while Dean shoves himself into his clothes from last night and pulls his old duffle, more or less still packed, out from under the bed. He grabs the keys, and works his way downstairs, avoiding the creaking steps and floorboards on his way.

There's something suffocating about the way his somehow doubled possessions are laying around the living room. He ducks around the room grabbing a few books some notes about Hell and monsters and dimensions. He's gotta find Sam. He can't just stay here in suburbia, putting in the time when he's got it. He's gotta start knocking on doors, tracking people down.

He feels a little sick, and drops down onto the couch for a moment to get his bearings, then decides it's just hunger. He goes into the kitchen, grabs a box of the granola bars Chelsea had left behind, shoves them in the duffle with his extra clothes and his knives and his fake credit cards and takes a breath to steel himself.

Over his drumming heart he hears a soft, strange sound from the living room. Cas must have shuffled down to see what he was doing. Shit. He shoves the duffle into a cupboard, takes another breath and walks back into the living room, fake smile plastered on.

The smile falls off the second he crosses into the living room. His entire body freezes.

Sam is sleeping on the couch.

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