DeanCas Coda to 14×06: Optimism
It’s the most stressful phone call of his fucking life. It seems to ring for five goddamn years, an incessant and high-pitched sound that is the worst kind of ear worm. Dean wants to pull his hair out, and he can’t stop pacing, and when Cas finally—finally—answers, Dean’s heart takes a break from trying to smash through his ribcage to making a mad dash up his throat.
“Dean.”
Cas’s voice is warm and low and sweet, because yeah, fine, when they’re apart, they call each other around this time. So what. It isn’t like that makes them married or anything—hell, they’re still dancing around this fucking thing between them like it’s the fucking viennese waltz. Whatever.
The point is that Cas answers the phone like he’s been waiting for the call all day, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Grits his teeth.
When will they ever get a fucking break?
Because Cas is a perceptive motherfucker with no one else but Dean, he knows to ask what’s wrong when Dean doesn’t immediately start doing the half-assed flirting thing he can never seem to get passed. And because Dean knows exactly how terrifying this is, he stays on the phone through telling Cas, and Cas packing up, and Cas getting in the car, and Cas driving all the way home. Do they talk the whole time? No. But it helps.
Dean hopes to god it helps.
Cas bursts into the Bunker like he’s going to take on Death, and Dean really hopes it doesn’t come to that. His coat billows out behind him. Dean takes him to the infirmary. Jack is still unconscious, but he seems stable. Quick tests revealed nothing magical, and Cas finds nothing malicious or angelic. There’s nothing to do but wait, which is the worst part, though by now Dean’s a fucking pro at it. He makes coffee and brings food and holds Jack’s hand and wraps an arm around Cas. He hugs him tight and runs fingers through his hair and kisses his temple, because in this situation, it’s allowed.
And Dean, in that moment, realizes he feels like shit.
He realizes that it isn’t all empathy for Cas, but something anxious and raw at the bottom of his own heart; that, somehow during the past year, not only has the kid started to grow on him, but Jack’s established himself as yet another member of their fucked up patchwork family. More than that, even.
Dean looks around the room—notes the way he holds Cas and Cas holds Jack and how goddamn miserable it is—and realizes he’s living the apple pie life and didn’t even notice. Real apple pie, though. With all its imperfections. And sure, they hunt monsters for a living, but a white picket fence has never really been his style. This? This is his bag: a dude he loves the crap out of and a kid it turns out he’s just as crazy for. His brother. His mom. All of them, saving people and hunting things, together. A family.
It’s a fucked up revelation to have sitting by Jack’s bedside, but Dean has never been great with timing. He squeezes Cas’s hand and checks Jack’s temperature for the fifth time. No change.
It ain’t the right time to tell Cas—not when they’re both sick with worry over the kid. But Dean gets a little cuddlier than normal; he tells himself it’s okay to be open like this because that’s what you do when you love someone and you have a kid together. That it’s allowed, then.
Cas leans on him.
For the first time basically ever? Dean leans right back.
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