Make a Date of It

caffeinedeathwarrior:

Dean knew he’d never be with Cas. 

It was just too complicated.  Yeah, the younger hunting
community did seem significantly more progressive than John’s old
buddies, throwing around f slurs and laughing over beers, but Dean
was in his thirties.  His late thirties.  

No one came out at this age, and if he did, he was sure they would
think he was faking, having some bizarre mid-life sexual crisis or
trying to get attention.  Moreover, he was a legend among
hunters:  he didn’t want his going both ways to become the
talk of the town, their variation of celebrity gossip, even if it
wasn’t in a completely negative context.  

So he could never be with Cas.  It just wasn’t practical.  

Still, he couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of longing
as he watched Cas stitch up his trench coat, delicate fans of dark
eyelashes over soft, tired bags and prominent cheekbones, stubble
sprinkling his jaw.

Man, it would be great if Cas was human.  If Dean was just a
normal guy who’d met him in a park or a grocery store, who could
have worked out his sexuality in his teens or twenties like any
normal fence-sitter, instead of worrying about his brother’s life
or the damn apocalypse. 

Or even if it wasn’t, even if things were just as they were now,
Dean couldn’t help but think how amazing it would be to hold him in
his arms late at night while he slept, press his nose to that dark
mess of hair and breath in the soapy smell of shampoo.  Maybe
start to see a grey hair or two.

That was another pleasant thought:  Cas going grey, Cas the
silver fox.  He’d always had a thing for mature guys, though
he’d absolutely never admit it, and he was surprised to find the
idea of getting old together with Cas a pleasant one.

But then, he’d blown his chance to have human Cas, hadn’t he?
 Cas had been human once, been ready to settle down in the
bunker for good, and Dean had kicked him to the curb.  He’d
spent every day regretting it.

“Dean, are you okay?”

Dean blinked, remembering Sam was there.  He was sitting
perpendicular to Dean at the long wooden table, open laptop and book
of lore in front of him, looking at Dean with concerned, puppyish
eyes.  

Even Cas paused in his mending the wounded sleeve, looking up to
see what this latest drama could be.   

Dean cleared his throat.  “’Course I’m okay.  Why
wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged.  “You’ve just been sort of
spacing out for a really long time.  You looked kind of upset.”

“Bullshit,” Dean scoffed, a tad defensively.  “M’not
upset.”

“I noticed, too,” Cas pointed out.  “But it’s been a
rudimentary aspect of his personality since I’ve known him, so I
generally elect to ignore it.”  There was a brief pause as
Dean mustered a glower.  “If you’d like, I could read his
mind…?”

“No!”  Dean cried, horrified by the suggestion.  

Sam ran a palm over his face, clearly trying not to laugh.
 Sadistic bastard.  “It’s fine, Cas.  I’m sure
Dean is just…distracted.” 

Cas nodded hesitantly.  “Very well.  Let me know if
this changes, Dean:  I should very much like to help.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it,” Dean muttered, pretending to go
back to his laptop.  

God, Cas was a sweetheart.  Oblivious, but a sweetheart.
 Dean could see now that all he’d ever wanted to do was help.
 To help Dean.

So many missed opportunities, over the years they’d known each
other.  So many times he’d noticed that mouth, full and
chapped and supple, when he could have closed the gap between them
and let the warmth consume him.  So many times he could have
said something, anything, to convey to Cas how he felt. 

Dean froze suddenly as a realization dawned on him then:  if
he could look back on moments five years ago that he could have told
Cas how he felt but didn’t, five years from now, would he feel the
same way?  Would he still be hooking up with the same sexually
frustrated housewives that liked to boss him around the way he
craved, or odd bull named Larry, only to come home feeling empty and
full of regret?  Would he still be watching Cas from afar and
wishing he’d said something, anything, to convey that he loved him
as more than a friend?  To convey that he loved him at all? 

It’s too late, said that nagging little voice in his
head.  Too complicated.  He isn’t even your
species!  

Dean realized he didn’t care.  He’d spent his whole life
watching people wait for some idyllic scenario to come along to show
their loved ones how they felt:  John promising he’d give his
boys the life they deserved after he got his precious revenge, Mary
studiously avoiding them until she could mold their lives into what
she’d envisioned for them over thirty years prior.  

Dean wasn’t going to repeat their mistakes.  He couldn’t.

Think of the hunters!  the voice persisted.  Do
you really want them knowing you like guys? 

Dean scoffed inwardly.  At the end of the day, who fucking
cares?  He’d met gay hunters before.  One of them was a
goddamn witch.  The hunting community had changed a lot since
he’d last been involved.

And yeah, he was sure there was still some homophobia lurking, but
was he really gonna let that stop him?  Besides:  there
might be some young hunter kid scared to come out of the closet, who
might be inspired to if he knew Dean Winchester was bi.  

Dean could have really used someone like that when he was younger.

“Cas, do you wanna go get burgers?” 

Dean blurted the phrase out without thinking, causing both Sam and
Cas looking up in surprise.  

Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling very awkward as silence hung
thick in the air.  

“I mean…just if you want to, that is,”
he added, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously as he felt
his ears grow hot.

Cas blinked.  “Certainly.  You know I love burgers,
Dean.”

Dean stared at him, then chuckled awkwardly, not really processing
that he’d just said yes.  “Yeah, that’s, uh.  Kinda
why I asked.”

There was a long silence before Cas offered, “Shall we go
now, or…?” 

Dean blinked, still in a haze as he registered the question.  “No
no.  I mean, uh.  We can if you want to,
but I was kinda thinking we could go tomorrow night.”  He
swallowed, palm rubbing over his trachea.  “Y’know.  Make
a date of it.” 

Dean chuckled awkwardly again as Cas’s eyes widened, expression
unreadable.  He was peripherally aware of Sam’s comically
baffled facial expression, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.  He
looked as though if you poked him with your finger, he would fall
over. 

Finally, Cas said quietly.  “I would love that, Dean.”

“…Great.”  Dean cleared his throat, nodding slowly.  A
nervous smile spread over his face.  “Great!  Uh,
tomorrow at eight, then?”

“That would be wonderful, Dean.”  

Dean had to resist the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl.
 Everything about this was incredible.  The fact that he’d
just asked Cas out on a date.  The fact that he’d said ‘yes.’
 The way Cas said his name. 

Dean.  Dean.  Dean.  

Dean thought he could listen to that voice say his name forever
and never get tired of it.

He and Cas sat there in mutually baffled silence for a moment or
two longer, before Sam’s exhausted, relieved sigh broke the spell.

“Fucking finally.”