Archive of Our Own

Dean found Cas sitting at the table in the kitchen, reading.

    “Trying to give Sam and Eileen some privacy?” he asked.

    Castiel looked up, blue eyes vibrant. “A bunker with such few common areas does make it hard to have time alone with just one person. Even reading in the War Room while they’re in the library seemed too close.” His gaze slid to the bag Dean carried on one shoulder. “Where are you off to?”

    “Killing two birds with one stone,” Dean said. He went to the fridge, retrieving several water bottles to put into the backpack. “Gonna get some air and give Sam and Eileen space.” He bit his bottom lip before carefully turning his gaze to Castiel. “You want to come?”

    Castiel didn’t hesitate, pushing to his feet. “Yes.”

    A crooked grin crept onto Dean’s face, then he bit his lip again, gaze drifting over Castiel’s usual ensemble. “Cas, buddy, we’ve got to get you some different outfits.”

    Setting the backpack down, Dean jerked his head. “C’mon. You can borrow some of my clothes and a pair of boots. Or Sam’s if mine don’t fit.” As they made their way down the corridor, Dean twisted up his face. “How is it we got the kid clothes but you still don’t have any?”

    “I assume it’s because there’s enough human in him that he requires things like showers and changes of clothes, whereas I do not.”

    In Dean’s room, he looked Castiel up and down again before gesturing to a line of hooks on the wall.

    “Hang up your coat and jacket. I need to be able to see what might fit you.”

    The fabric made a rustling noise as it slid off Castiel’s arms and Dean rhythmically sifted through the shirts hanging in his small closet.

    Pulling out two plaid shirts, Dean held them up, one and then the other, against Castiel’s torso, narrowed eyes regarding the garment and taking in Castiel’s features at the same time. He put one of them back and pulled out another.

    “Wouldn’t hurt, y’know,” Dean began, “if you started taking part in some of those human rituals yourself.”

    “I don’t need to…?”

    “And I don’t need a memory foam mattress, but it’s a wonderful thing to have. Here. Overshirt and undershirt. Here are jeans, and you can try these boots.” Huffing out a breath, hands on hips, Dean surveyed his selections and nodded to himself, clapping Cas on the shoulder as he passed by him. “You change. I’m gonna tell Sam we’re heading out.”

Castiel was quick to change his clothes, re-appearing almost as soon as Dean finished explaining they were going on a hike.

    “We live underground, Sam,” Dean insisted. “Sometimes a man needs air and space and the sun, otherwise the walls start closing in. There’s enough crazy in our lives without adding ourselves to it.”

    Sam rolled his eyes, waving Dean off with a shooing motion and a laugh. “Alright, then. Go spread your wings or whatever.”

    Grinning, Dean signed a quick goodbye to Eileen, then headed for the kitchen to retrieve his bag.

    “You make a valid point,” Castiel commented as they climbed the stairs.

    “I always do,” Dean said. “But which one was it this time?”

“About needing… breathing room, I suppose.”

Dean grunted as they stepped into the sunlight. “We grew up nomads. Never sticking to one place too long. That hyper-vigilance is too ingrained in me, and I get stir crazy. Me and stir-crazy don’t mix well.” Cas followed wordlessly as Dean climbed the steep incline, headed for the treeline. “And, well, hitting the bar just doesn’t do the trick anymore. Jody basically scolded me into trying this.”

“Trying what?”

Sweeping out an arm, Dean indicated the trees all around them, the trail he’d all but worn into the ground. “This. Just… getting out, rather than trading one set of walls for another.”

Dean stopped, turning to look back over his shoulder, mouth twisted.

Castiel touched his fingers to Dean’s wrist, eyes scanning their surroundings. “What is it?”

Lips pursed, Dean held up his index finger. “I’m swearing you to absolute secrecy, Cas.”

“...Okay.”

“Total and complete, you know nothing about what you’re about to see or where you’re going, and our walk was absolutely random and in the opposite direction, okay?”

Leaning back and tilting his head, Castiel squinted at him. “... Okay,” he said, the word drawn out and slow.

The implicit though confused trust made Dean’s face splint into a fond grin, and he readjusted the bag before jerking his head. “C’mon, then.”

Walking, Dean closed his eyes, breathing deep and feeling lighter for it, before opening his eyes again. Just getting to move helped the jittering under his skin, but being out in the open, with the clean air and the sun warm on his skin… Hell, it was practically a sedative.

They walked in companionable silence for about two miles, the trees and foliage changing as they did. The forest grew lush, trees changing from scraggly, desaturated trees to something warmer and more vibrant. The air was thick with the scent of evergreens and water as they neared their destination.

As the trees grew closer, they had to push branches out of the way. Dean held them up and out of the way so that Cas could pass underneath, but stopped him as they reached a veritable wall of evergreens.

A crease appeared between Castiel’s brows as he looked at Dean in silent question.

Unable to keep the grin off his face, Dean held up his finger again. “Remember: absolute secrecy. You saw nothing, and you don’t know anything about what you’re about to not see, okay?”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth ticked up, eyes bright with mischief and a shared secret. “We wandered a grey wood in the other direction before coming back. It was very boring. I don’t understand the point.”

Sweeping out an arm for Castiel to go first, Dean’s grin was nearly giddy. “That’s what I like to hear! After you.”

Dean tried and failed, to contain his excitement, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to at least rein in his grin.

He immediately lost control of it as they pressed through the fir trees and he heard Castiel draw in a gasp.

Dean stood beside him, humming in his throat as he took in the sight of the verdant meadow that looked like they’d walked straight into a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Cas’ wide blue eyes swung around, trying to take it all in. “Dean, this is…” He made a soft sound, air expelled from his lungs when his vocabulary couldn’t suffice.

Hands on his hips, Dean tilted his chin up, unable to stop smiling. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

“It’s beautiful.”

And it was. There was so much green, but then there were vibrant splashes of color all over the meadow where flowers grew unencumbered. Birds sang in the trees, the sound mixing with that of the river, and the air was all evergreens and wildflowers.

Dean drew in a deep breath, the tension in his body uncoiling, shoulders dropping. “C’mon,” he coaxed, nudging Castiel with his elbow. “We can set up over there.”

“Set up?”

Dean made his way through the flowers following what was more-or-less a path. “Yeah. Bit of a campsite by the water.”

There were flowering bushes and fruit plants closer to the water. Around their calves, flowers were thick and fragrant but cut off suddenly in an impossible semi-circle. Most of the area was clear, save for a firepit made from stones and mortar.

Dean nodded to it as he slid the bag off his shoulders and sank to his knees. “That? Was a pain in the ass to build.”

Castiel considered it, head tilted. “You would never know by looking at it.” He looked at Dean. “It shows excellent craftsmanship.”

Dean looked away to hide his blush. “Hardly, but thanks.”

He tossed one of the water bottles to Cas before pulling out the rolled-up blanket. Standing, Dean shook out the sturdy fabric, flaring it out so it settled neatly on the grass.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Curious, Castiel did as bade, watching as Dean moved over to the fire pit.

Removing the tarp-covered lid and setting it against the side of the fire pit’s wall, Dean retrieved the canvas bag resting on the elevated grate inside. He was quick to open it and pull out the pruning shears.

Back of his neck and ears hot, Dean carefully avoided looking at Castiel as he made his way around the area, cutting any flowers that had passed the perimeter he’d made by laying a series of stripped limbs.

Cas probably didn’t get how much Dean was showing his hand here. There was no way to excuse away a firepit or an obvious perimeter. There wasn’t any reason Dean would have gardening tools safely tucked away in a bag unless he used them.

But, Dean consoled himself, Cas would also be the last person to judge or laugh at Dean for this dirty little secret.

It didn’t do anything to hide the blush burning his face as Dean finished and settled down on the blanket next to Cas with a handful of daisies.

“Pretty sure these qualify as a weed,” he said. “Didn’t understand the phrase ‘popping up like daisies’ until I had this little spot. Just knew they were resilient and easy to grow. ‘S why I picked them.”

Castiel watched Dean’s hands as he set the flower bundle down, then began stripping off their leaves one at a time.

“So you planted the daisies?”

Nimble fingers slowed in their methodical work, and Dean ducked his head a little more. “...Kinda planted the whole meadow.”

Another gasp from Castiel, and then he pushed to his knees, taking it all in again, the countless flowers and fruit-bearing bushes. “Dean, this is…” he let out a breath, “it’s incredible.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, unable to keep from smiling as his pride preened a little under the praise.

Castiel settled back down again, weight resting on one arm as he watched Dean continue to strip leaves from stems.

“Are you going to tell me how this came to be? Or is that a secret you want to keep?”

Dean shrugged. “It came to be kinda for the same reasons I swore you to secrecy. One, this is my spot, you know? And, two, well… Sam would laugh, then he would have questions, then he’d have pity, then I wouldn’t be able to come out here anymore because he’d look at me every time and know, y’know? He’d give me that same forlorn puppy look every time, and I just can’t deal with that.” He stole a sideways glance at Castiel, who nodded. Dean began weaving stems of the flowers together. “And, I don’t know, it’s an old habit we both picked up growing up on the road and in each other’s pockets. When we found certain things, we’d try to keep the other one from finding out, just wanting something strictly ours. When we found something, we guarded it jealously.”

Castiel picked up a couple of the daisies, carefully watching Dean’s movements and trying to replicate them.

Dean faltered, then dropped his chain and pushed to his feet again, pruning shears in hand. “Hold that thought,” he told Cas, before going around the perimeter snipping more daisies.

He cut more than maintenance required, humming a Led Zeppelin tune under his breath as he worked. With the rate they grew, Dean could have cut twice as many and still not had to worry about overdoing it.

When finished, Dean had a bouquet so large it took both hands to hold the stems.

He gave Cas a crooked grin as he sat back down. “I come bearing flowers.”

“They’re lovely,” Castiel murmured, eyes soft as he looked from the bouquet to Dean. “Thank you for this.”

Heat rushed to Dean’s face and he dropped his head, feeling that old, familiar tension crackle between them. The way they said things while saying something else entirely, the way they said more than they should without having to speak a word.

Dean shifted so he and Castiel were sitting cross-legged and facing one another, their knees touching. He divvied up the flowers between them, setting half in Castiel’s lap before plucking one up and making a point of methodically removing the leaves.

Castiel followed his lead, his long, graceful fingers plucking one leaf at a time, then setting the daisy by his side.

Coughing, Dean swallowed and cleared his throat. “So, uh, yeah. There I am, no longer a demon, free of the Mark, free of Amara, went through all that with Kelly and Jack, lost you, lost mom, and just... God, so much going wrong at every turn. Like, forget killing my liver, the stress was going to get me first. Wouldn’t even get the chance to drive me insane first.”

Blue eyes looked at him from beneath dark lashes. “I wish I could spare you the hardships you’ve endured.”

Dean met his gaze. “Yeah, well. I guess we keep forgetting we’re supposed to do this as a family instead of on our own… that’s when we’re at our best, right? Better together?”

Cas’ lips spread in a smile, the silence becoming a Moment™ as the two of them smiled at one another before Dean dragged his gaze away. He couldn’t rid himself of the smile, though.

“So, uh, there I am up at Jody’s working a case with her, but, uh. I mean, you know how these things go. Like a frog in a pot of hot water.”

“I do not know how things are like a frog being boiled.”

A breathy chuckle spluttered out of Dean. “No, it’s… okay, so, if you try to put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will immediately jump out. But if you put it in regular water, then turn up the heat, the frog doesn’t notice and doesn’t jump out. See? But I’m the frog.”

“Secretly a prince?” Castiel inquired.

Dean looked up to see him smirking, one brow lifted. Cheeky bastard. Dean honestly wasn’t sure if Cas was teasing him or flirting, and, wow, that second option was just kinda more than Dean’s mind to comprehend, so that was a big Negative Ghost Rider on that line of thought.

Chuckling, Dean returned to his flowers, now carefully beginning to weave them together so Cas could mimic the movements.

“I was a knight once, never a prince,” he joked. “Thing was, I was anxious and antsy. Sam and I were both just… kinda used to it? One of those gradual things you don’t realize. And it’s not really noticeable until you slow down and have nothing to keep you busy.”

“I take it Jody noticed?”

“Jody noticed because I was driving her up the wall with it.” He chuckled. “I didn’t realize how fidgety I was-- kept moving, kept messing with stuff, tapping out a beat. So, we’re at a nursing facility, right? Possible monster Angel of Death nurse-- not an actual angel of death, Cas-- who’s playing God and handing out ‘mercy.’ We’re in the middle of talking to a resident when Jody about snaps her pen and shoves to her feet before dragging me off to the side, shoving a nearby thing of yarn and a crochet needle in my hands. ‘Here! Fiddle with this before I shoot you and call it self-defense.’”

Castiel spluttered a laugh.

“Yeah,” agreed Dean. “Of course, I don’t know the first thing about crochet and I’m just staring at her blankly. I think I said as much, because she snaps at me, ‘Start with a slip knot, then make a chain. I’m sure you Winchester boys know your way around knots. Figure it out .’ Dude, I kid you not, I was scared to make a sound the rest of the day. She made me bring the crochet stuff with us and handed the front desk a twenty.”

Shoulders shaking, Castiel wiped a hand over his mouth, trying to control his smile. “That sounds about right.”

Dean's self-deprecating grin became playful. “Man, what I would give to be a fly on the wall over at her house right now. Jack probably has no idea what to do or what he’s gotten himself into. I’m torn between thinking he’s gonna come back traumatized or, like, not coming back. We’ll just get a facetime video of all of them hugging him or something. ‘We’ve adopted him. He’s our baby now. You can’t have him back; he lives here.”

“I have to be honest, Dean. I don’t think he’s ever been safer.”

“Got that right.”

Cas’ fingers got tangled up, his stems coming apart. He watched Dean’s hands again. “Did you ‘figure it out?’”

“...Yes, actually.” He felt his face burn crimson. “When I thought about it like Jody said, that I needed to figure out how to make knots with it, well… we Winchester boys know our knots. I had no idea what to do with the chain as it got longer, but it kept Jody from killing me, so. Pulled it up on my phone how to do the stitches when Jody refused to let me touch a pen or paperwork the rest of the evening. I crocheted as we talked the case. Jody has a pot… cozy… thing now. I don’t know what you call it. You can sit a hot pot or pan on it.”

Castiel straightened, blinking. “Wait. You mean, all it took to make you stop fidgeting and driving everybody up the wall was to hand you yarn and a hook?”

“What do you mean everybody?”

“I mean everybody,” Cas shot back. “You think you haven’t driven us to near murder before? If I’d realized keeping your hands busy was all you needed--”

“Anyway,” Dean cut in, then pointed at Cas with a glare. “Also, you’re a dick.”

“You love me.”

“Not even a little. As I was saying: Jody went on this spiel about outlets and anxiety and… uh, what did she call it? Long-term something-something of hyper-vigilance? Basically, stress management in healthier ways than bar fights and hookups.” Cas opened his mouth, and Dean jabbed a finger at him. “One more quip from you, smart ass, and not only will I not tell you the story, but I also won’t bring you back here with me.”

Cas’ mouth clicked shut.

Dean plucked a broken daisy stem, flicking the flower at Castiel’s face.

It hit Castiel’s temple as he turned his head, the two of them smirking at each other with mischief dancing in their eyes.

“Question, before you continue,” Castiel said. He held up his open palm. “A genuine one.”

“Shoot.”

“If you picked up crocheting that fast, why did you not continue with it-- aside from your habitual aversion to non-masculine behavior in front of Sam?”

Dean shrugged. “And do what? Sit around making blankets we don’t really need? Seemed like a fast track to clutter.”

“Aren’t there other things you can make?”

“Nothing I can think of that we might need.” He waved, dismissive. “That’s for people in houses, not people who live in a bunker.”

“You could… I don’t know, sell them?”

“I don’t think there’s a market for crocheted blankets.”

“Donate them?”

“I dunno. Maybe. But I didn’t. Did this instead.”

Castiel’s hands had stilled, and he looked around again. “You did an amazing job. It’s beautiful.”

“Stop,” drawled Dean, rolling his eyes before leaning forward with the flower crown of daisies and placing it on Castiel’s head. “Here. Have a halo and let me finish.”

Castiel’s eyes went up, though he couldn’t see the crown. “I got an upgrade. I like this one much better.”

“So! Jody tells me to, literally, take a hike. You know how she is; sounds like one of my coaches from back in high school. ‘Walk it off, Winchester!’ I do. Thought it might be good to run recon of the area, anyway, see if we needed to put in any sort of safety measures. Aaaand I found this place.” His mouth twisted. “It was pretty much overgrown with tall grass and weeds, you know? Made the area unusable and a hot spot for snakes and other things. And, well, we’ve got machetes in spades.”

Castiel’s eyebrows lifted. “You cleared the area with only a machete?”

“Sometimes I used two machetes. Dual-wielding was fun.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not entirely,” Dean conceded with a laugh. “I did go into town. Even cutting it back, I was still concerned about snakes, so I took another approach. Replace the grass. Got stuff I could carry-- like a scythe. Made pretty quick work of it, actually. That was the easy part.” He lifted and dropped his shoulder. “Then, started stowing gardening tools here, figuring out what I could easily carry here while keeping it to myself, then figured out ways to come out here without drawing attention. And, Jody was right. Having something to keep me busy helped with the restlessness and anxiety.”

Castiel looked around again. “This is marvellous.”

“Flatterer,” Dean muttered, corner of his mouth ticking up as he returned to weaving together daisies.

“And this?” Castiel’s elegant fingers touched Dean’s hand.

Huffing a laugh and feeling himself blush, Dean admitted, “Okay, so… here’s the thing-- and don’t laugh. But, uh, I’m like 99% sure I have ADHD. Teachers wanted to test me for it in school, but Dad wasn’t going to allow that, and I was terrified what his reaction would be if they said something to him.”

Castiel squinted. “...I don’t understand.”

“Which part?”

“Oh, I understand John Winchester was an abusive asshole--” a snorting laugh burst out of Dean, “but I meant about being only 99% sure. And what exactly is… that?”

Smiling, Dean clasped his bottom lip between his teeth as he met blue eyes. “Your blunt honesty is always on-point, Feathers.” He winked, then nodded at the daisies still in Castiel’s lap, weaving his own as he began talking again. “It’s something that has to be officially diagnosed, which, obviously, I never have, but I live in this house and know it pretty well, you know?”

“It’s an illness?”

“No, it’s… it’s similar to autism, I guess, in that it’s just how the brain processes information, requires outlets and stimulation, a hyper-fixation on certain things and zero interest or ability to remember details about things that don’t interest you, etc. I could take apart and rebuild Baby in my sleep but if you gave me a blank map, I couldn’t label a quarter of the states-- despite having been to all of them a hundred times. My way of seeing and interacting with the world is different from Sam's, not only because of our life experiences but because of how my brain does its thing. I get... frazzle-brained and restless. Can’t sit still. I fidget. Go for a drive. Clean. Turn an entire meadow into a garden. Drink myself into a buzz. Listen to music that’s either at a certain volume or so many beats per minute because…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s like static or, uh... crazy traffic and no order, but it’s in my head. Too many things, none of it controlled, bouncing around and loud. You give me the, y’know, whatever-- Adderall, music, a task-- and it’s like… like a cop stepping in to direct traffic, and suddenly things are moving a lot more smoothly.” He flicked a glance up and then back down. “That probably doesn’t make much sense.”

Dean flinched when Castiel covered his hands with one of his own. He dragged his gaze up, meeting Castiel’s gaze head-on.

Castiel looked serious, the furrow between his brow and the set of his jaw when determined to do something, like the fate of the world hung in the balance.

“I may not be able to completely understand your experience, Dean, but there’s nothing wrong with it, either.” Blue eyes searched Dean's face. “I experience the world differently than you, than Sam, differently than even Jack. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that. People can’t meet you halfway if they don’t know where you’re standing.”

He made it sound so simple. So normal. But it wasn’t. It never had been. You stowed your crap; you adapted and got by. You didn’t go out there making other people aware of your weak points, expecting them to compensate and pick up the slack or add to the list of crap on their own plate.

Dean dropped his gaze.

Castiel stroked the pad of his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “No two pairs of eyes see the world the same. It’s not a bad thing, it just is.”

Biting his lip, Dean pulled away and cleared his throat. “So, uh, one summer I signed Sammy up for this, uh… I dunno. Library summer camp? Or something? I took him every day, then waited around for a couple of hours.” He coughed. “Couldn’t leave him there and go somewhere else for a while, Dad would have killed me. There was a girl there for the same reasons. Nowhere to go, no way to get there, and not really enough time to do anything before you had to be back.

“So, we’d kill time together— which was, admittedly, better than doing it alone. Anyway, we ended up shooting the breeze and making flower chains. She showed me how, and it was a relief because then it was something I could do with my hands, y’know? Tapping or pacing is obvious and gets on people’s nerves. But she showed me this, and that’s what we would do. And, I don’t know, it’s a way to be quiet and calm. It’s quiet. And focused.”

“...Like crocheting.” Dean blinked and looked up. “It takes a sort of… precision to do.”

Mouth curving at the corner, Dean snorted and turned his face away. “Oh my God. I picked something even worse than being Granny Smith.”

He jerked back when Cas reached out and —with thumb and middle finger— flicked Dean’s head.

“Dude!”

Castiel kept his hand poised, one brow lifting. “I will do it again. Give me a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because I am tired of your self-deprecating nonsense.”

When Dean didn’t respond, brows furrowed, Castiel sat back on his hands.

“Dean, there is absolutely nothing wrong with crocheting or flower chains or gardening or having ADHD and needing some sort of constant stimulation. And if Sam knew, he’d tell you the same thing.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s not that sim—“

“Do you hold it against Eileen that she’s deaf?”

“What? No. Why—“

“That she experiences the world differently than you, forcing you to meet her halfway? That she learned to speak and read lips, but you’re also having to learn her language to communicate?”

“Dude, it’s not the same—“

Weight still on his hands, Cas unfolded one leg, kicking Dean square in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards.

Dean made an undignified squawk, air knocked out of him from the kick and then his back hitting the ground.

Then, Dean found himself looking up at Castiel as the other man moved with him, settling himself so he straddled Dean’s hips.

Castiel glowered at Dean. “If you are quite done with your self-flagellation, I’d like to welcome you back to reality.” He folded his arms. “No one does, will, or would give a fuck, so stop doing it for them.”

Lashes fluttering as his mouth fell open, Dean stared.

And stared some more. At the angel sitting on top of him with his ‘I am this close to smiting you’ face on in full-force.

“You just swore,” Dean exclaimed, unconsciously settling his hands on Cas’ thighs. “I am a terrible influence! I’ve taught an angel to swear! What level of hell is that going to send me to? Y’know, just so I can be prepared.”

Castiel lifted one brow, and it was a look he did that Dean would never admit to finding attractive as well as endearing.

“Hell is the least of your worries, right now.” Dean couldn’t help it; he grinned. Castiel scowled. “You’re not cute. Dean, I’m neither male nor female, and I’m not your species. How much have you helped me through the years? How much do you continue to help?” His expression softened, eyes warming as they roamed over Dean’s face. “You take people in, no questions asked, and you’re there for them every step of the way. Let us love you in return.”

Heat crept up Dean’s neck and to his face. He had to look away. Being looked at, scrutinized with such earnestness was too much.

Even still, Dean could feel Castiel’s gaze on him.

Mouth twisted, Dean balled his hands into fists, bouncing them against Cas’ thighs. “Dick move, by the way.”

“I’m a strategist,” Castiel countered. “Maximum impact, minimal effort.”

“You wanna get off?” Dean groused, shooting him a side glare. The corner of Cas’ mouth tugged up in a smirk, and Dean realized why, shoving ineffectually at him as his face went tomato red. “Off of me, Cas. Do you wanna get off of me?”

Rather than climbing off, Castiel leaned forward, planting a hand by Dean’s face.

Air? What was air? Dean had no idea or what you were meant to do with it. Breathing? Never heard of her.

Castiel used his leverage to roll off of Dean, landing on his back beside him.

Whole body hot and sparking like a livewire, Dean picked up the fallen flower crown, dropping it on Castiel’s face.

“Dropped your halo.”

“These will die so soon.” he turned his head, and they were looking at each other, blue eyes that deep, unfathomable intent. “When they do, will you make me another?”

Dean gave him a lopsided smile. “...Yeah, Cas. I will.”

Castiel rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow. “You know--”

“Oh no, you have on your plotting-face.”

“--we didn’t end up braiding most of those daisies. We could take them back to the bunker. Splash of color and the outside while underground?”

Dean scowled. “You’re cheating.”

Castiel’s lips spread in a gummy smile. “I already have you on the ground, Dean. Means I already won. Also, I lied. You are cute, but I promise not to tell anybody.”

Face breaking out into a grin even as he blushed, Dean lifted his hand to thwack Cas in the middle of his forehead with thumb and middle finger. “Flirt.”

Cas winked. “Just promise not to tell anybody.”

“--brought way too many,” Dean tossed over his shoulder as they entered the bunker. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. What are we going to put them in?”

    Bundle of daisies securely held in his hands, Castiel tilted his head. “Don’t you have any vases?”

    “We live in a bunker, Cas. No, we do not have vases.”

    “There are plenty of empty jars in the supply closet.” He shrugged. “Those will do just as well.”

    “They’re just going to die anyway,” Dean quipped.

    He knew their bickering was an act, a way to take the awkward out of the situation, diffuse it best they could for Dean’s sake.

    Dean kinda loved him for it.

    “I have bad news for you about the circle of life, Dean,” Cas stated, voice grave. “They would die outside, too.”

    In the library, Sam had arranged himself askew in one of the reading chairs, one long leg hooked over the armrest as he read. He looked up over his book at their commotion, blinking and jerking back in surprise.

    “What’s this?” he asked as he stood. He waved to get Eileen’s attention.

    She looked up, brows raised, before following his like of attention and getting up, as well.

    Dean feigned being distracted from their quipping, glancing at him as he set down his bundle of flowers, and shouldered off his backpack. “Wha-? Flowers, Sam. These are called flowers.”

    “We could put a jar on each table of the library,” Cas offered. “A pop of white against all the brown.”

    Sam’s brow was furrowed, head tilting like a confused labrador. “...Why do you have flowers?”

    “Because we live underground! I told you! Not like we can open a window or something,” he gestured to the flowers laid out on the map table, “so bringing a little bit of the outside in.” He turned back to Castiel. “With your logic, we might as well put at least one in the kitchen. Break up all the silver and beige.”

    “Where did you get them?” asked Sam, picking one up to examine.

    “We picked them, Sam! From the garden. My garden. We need jars.”

    “Wait. What?” Sam looked him up and down. “Who are you, and where’s my brother?”

    “Oh my God, Sam, let me live. Let me and my personal Secret Garden live! I can only tune Baby so much. I needed something to do with my hands. You gonna help with the jars or not?”

    Sam jerked, frowning. His expression changed between one blink and the next, from the suspicious confusion he got when suspecting a possible prank, to… just Sam. Like Dean asked him to hand him a wrench or a book of lore.

    “Yeah, sure.” He jerked his head at Eileen, reaching out to squeeze her fingers and smile before they headed for the corridor.

    Dean was bursting at the seams with the need to move, his skin too small to hold the erupting volcano of anxious energy that could have sent him pinging off the walls.

    When they were out of earshot, he deflated with a sigh. “Well, that went better than I thought.”

    Cas shifted his weight, making their shoulders bump together.

    They shared a secret smile.

    “I told you,” said Castiel.

    Dean waved him off with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You know there's still gonna be questions. And he’s gonna ask to go.”

    “Sure, but you know it’s only because he’s curious. Which, Sam naturally is. He’s bright and inquisitive.”

    Dean blew a raspberry. “Yeah, that’s what all his teachers used to say, too.”

    Long fingers curled around Dean’s palm, stilling his anxious fiddling.

    A shiver ran down the length of Dean’s spine when the pad of Cas’ thumb brushed over his skin. “Just from this exchange, it’s clear the garden is your space. You know Sam. You raised him. He understands the need for your own space and things better than anyone else could. Letting people in only shows them a facet that was already there to begin with.” He squeezed Dean’s hand. “It’s not a big deal. It just is.”

    Eyes on their hands, Dean drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

    Withdrawing, Castiel began separating the daisies into individual bundles. “You know, now that you have me thinking about it, I should probably look into having a hobby. I’ve never had one before.”

    “Not ever?”

    Castiel slid him a sidelong look. “Angel. Of. The. Lord.”

    Snorting a chuckle, Dean conceded the point with a tilt of his head. “The point is yours, Mr. Spock.”

    “Your description of crocheting has me curious to try it.” He paused. “Maybe the meticulousness and concentration will help distract from the lack of noise in my head.”

    Dean looked at him. “Angel Radio is completely cut off, then?”

    Cas dropped his eyes. “Like the flick of a switch.”

    Mouth open, words caught in Dean’s throat because what the heck can you say to something like that?

    You fly by the seat of your pants, obviously.

    “Uh, well, I mean, it’s not like there was ever anything good on, right?” he asked, bumping Castiel’s shoulder and smiling when he looked up. “Pretty sure-- that while wildly different-- you’re gonna enjoy having some peace and quiet, for once.”

    The smirk he got in return was playful. “Peace and quiet? With Winchesters? I very much doubt that.”

    “Oh come on. We’re not that bad.”

    “You’re always getting yourselves into trouble.”

    “We also get ourselves out of trouble.”

    A breathy laugh punched out of Cas. “The two of you couldn’t get yourselves out of a wet bag without help.”

    Dean squawked and straightened. “I resent that.”

    Sam and Eileen returned, both carrying several jars and jugs.

    “We need to put them in water,” Eileen said, jerking her head toward the kitchen. “You have to cut the stems.”

    Dean stared after them, brows furrowed. He felt… he wasn’t sure ‘bereft’ was the correct word, but like he’d missed something. A skip and forward jump in the song that left out the verse. Pages missing from a book.

    “Yeah, this did not go down remotely like I thought it would,” he admitted after a long pause. He frowned. “Now, I feel kind of dumb.”

    “It wasn’t dumb. You were raised to be fearful of who you are. Apprehension is to be expected, but hopefully, this will show you that the landing’s much softer than you expected,” he said, neatly arranging the daisies together again so he could carry his half into the kitchen. He slid Dean a look as he turned. “And of all the things you are-- brilliant, charming, a pain in the ass-- ‘dumb’ is one thing you aren’t.”

    Squinting, Dean watched Cas’ back, Cas who was wearing Dean’s clothes and smiled at Dean like they shared a secret joke, who was as much a part of their family and at Dean’s back as one could be. Who said things with a smirk and a glint in his eye like he had his own secrets and mischief.

    “Y’know,” Dean began, “I joked about it earlier, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually flirting with me.”

    Castiel looked over his shoulder. Rather than the wide-eyed surprise or embarrassment, there was patient amusement there.

    “I have been for a while,” Cas said. He winked. “Thanks for finally noticing.”

    Dean spluttered, language and words leaving him with only aborted noises and sounds as Castiel continued on to the kitchen, and Dean blushed so hot and fierce he was probably glowing.

    “I-ju-- You-- ngk-- t-tha-- wha??”

    There was no one to give him answers, but there was the sense he was expected and was keeping them-- him?-- waiting.

    A breathy laugh punching out of him, Dean scooped up his arm full of daisies and followed after them into the kitchen.