Chapter Text
Dean,
I’m not sure if this will get to you, or if you will even care to read it as you do not know me, but I thought you should know that I think you are beautiful.
Cas
*
“Dean?”
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grins, staring down at the slip of paper in his hands, “Guess what!”
Dean hears a crackly sigh from the other end of the line and grins even harder when he imagines the accompanying eye roll. “What?”
“I have a fan!”
Dean can almost hear the bitchface, “Dean, you have people crowding the stage door every night, this really isn’t news.”
“No, I mean like an actual fan! He left me a note and everything!”
There’s a moment’s pause while Sam processes the words, “…What?”
Dean is grinning so hard and staring so intently at the note that he almost knocks a kid right off his bike. He stops walking and leans against a wall, breath clouding in the air in front of him but excitement warming him all the way to his toes. “I don’t know, man, I was just leaving the theatre and the door guy gave me this slip of paper and told me some dude in an ‘ugly-ass trenchcoat’ left it for me!”
“Oh yeah?” Sam sounds interested now, “What’s it say?”
“He thinks I’m beautiful!” Dean flutters his eyelashes and Sam laughs as if he can see him.
“Oh okay, so he’s clearly a lunatic.”
Dean huffs. “Shut up, bitch, I’m adorable.”
Sam laughs again and Dean wishes again that California weren’t so far from Illinois.
“Dude, seriously, you do realise this guy is probably a class-A weirdo, right?”
Dean’s smile slips a little and he looks up from the note, “Why? Because he thinks I’m good?”
Sam sighs, “No, because he left a note with the door guy for a guy he’s never met! Who does that?”
Dean looks at the note again and runs his thumb across the signature along the bottom, “Maybe he’s just a nice guy!”
Sam sighs. “Yeah,” he says, longsuffering and unconvincing, “maybe.”
“Whatever.” Dean frowns and hangs up, suddenly annoyed. He drops the note to the ground and wraps his coat tighter around himself.
He only makes it 5 steps before he’s turning round and picking it back up again.
*
Dean,
The last time I wrote you a note it was following a performance my brother made me attend. But this time I attended all on my own. I always thought ballet would be a rather tedious use of my time, but I find myself utterly captivated by you.
Cas
*
“So let me get this straight,” Balthazar says, eyebrows raised and amused smirk on his face, “after having to forcibly drag you to that bloody ballet; you not only go again, 3 times in as many months, but you’re also writing love notes to the hot male lead?”
Cas sighs and glares at his brother, “You did not forcibly drag me, Balthazar, don’t exaggerate. And they’re not love notes. I just… appreciate his work.”
Balthazar snorts. “Cassie, you appreciate someone’s work, you clap when it’s over and maybe recommend it to a friend. You don’t spend hundreds of dollars on ballet performances or leave notes with security guards. What you have is a crush.”
Cas blushes. Balthazar’s right of course, there’s no denying it. And it’s ridiculous really, he knows it is. He’s spent the last 25 years arguing with Balthazar about how dull and pretentious ballet is and all it takes is one beautiful man with green eyes and a galaxy of freckles scattered across his cheeks and Cas is hooked. It’s crazy, and out of character and makes Cas’s heart flutter in his chest at the thought of it, but his brother is right.
He has a crush on Dean Winchester. And he’s so screwed.
*
Dean,
It has been brought to my attention that this is not considered socially appropriate. I’m sorry if I have made you feel uncomfortable, I only wished you to know that I never had any interest in ballet before I saw you. My brother thinks it’s pathetic, how incapable I am of looking away from you, but he also thinks obscenely low V-neck shirts are still in fashion so I tend not to listen to him.
Cas
*
Dean leans against the wall next to the stage door and laughs, a familiar warmth seeping up from the note, through his fingertips and up past his ribs to the tips of his ears. He swipes his thumb softly over the signature like he always does and wonders again who ‘Cas’ is.
He’s smart, Dean knows that much from the way he writes, and he must be relatively wealthy. Tickets to the ballet really aren’t cheap, after all. He has at least one brother who Dean likes to think is older, as Cas talks about him with the same fond exasperation that Sam talks about Dean.
He doesn’t know much about people, that much is clear from his formal, awkward way of writing, but he’s also the kind of person who takes the time to make a complete stranger feel good about themselves. So he’s kind, and Dean can’t help but hope that innocence never fades.
He’s funny too, though Dean suspects that part is unintentional. He has a quiet kind of humour that’s so inexplicably endearing that Dean feels ridiculous about it, and it’s while he’s laughing softly that his agent (and incidentally his best friend) appears next to him, draping a heavy arm over his shoulder and startling Dean into stuffing the note quickly into his pocket.
“Hey brother, what you grinnin’ about?”
“Nothing,” Dean says a little too quickly, “Just happy the last show went so well.”
Benny laughs and draws him closer, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to his cheek, “Congratulations, Twinkletoes.”
Dean shoves him away with a snort, “You’re just jealous you can’t dance for shit.”
Benny rolls his eyes, “Yeah,” he drawls, “but luckily for my bank account, you can.”
“Aw,” Dean bats his eyelashes at his friend, “You always say the sweetest things.”
Benny shoves at him, grinning, and they start the short walk to the hotel around the corner. They don’t talk much, but Dean finds himself enjoying the quiet. He fingers the note in his pocket gently and wonders whether he’ll ever hear from Cas again.
“So, Washington next week. You ready to say goodbye to Chicago?”
Dean stubbornly ignores the sudden ache in his chest and nods. He listens to Benny tell him about his rehearsal schedule for his next show and tries not to think about why the small slip of paper feels a little heavier than it did before.
*
Dean,
Is it ‘creepy’ of me to fly across the country just to see you on opening night? Balthazar seems to think so. I apologise if I come across as a ‘stalker’. I will not apologise, however, for thinking this performance even better than your last. You tell a story better than any writer ever could, Dean. I am honoured to have witnessed it.
Cas
*
“Oh my God, I thought Balthazar was exaggerating.”
Cas glares up at his oldest brother, “Hello to you too, Gabriel, please come in.”
“Oh-ho!” Crows Gabriel, flinging himself onto the couch and stretching out with his feet flung unceremoniously across Cas’s lap, “A comedian now, are we?”
Cas pushes his feet off and sighs, “What are you doing here, Gabriel?”
“What, I can’t pop in and see my baby bro on a Saturday night?”
Cas just stares, impatiently.
“Fine,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Balthazar told me you flew to Washington in February. To see a ballet. And that now you’re sulking because you can’t go to California until June. To see another ballet.”
“I’m not sulking,” Cas says, petulantly and Gabriel snorts.
“Yeah, okay. Except you have unwashed dishes still on the table, no tie, and your ridiculous coat is on the floor in the hall.” Cas puts down the paper he was grading and sighs. Gabriel’s face softens a little. “What’s going on, Cas?”
Cas blushes and lets his head fall back against the sofa, “It’s opening night tonight.”
Gabriel nudges his thigh with a foot, “You’re talking about Mr Tall, Hot and Flexible, right?”
Cas groans and covers his face with his hands, “He’s so flexible, Gabriel, it’s ridiculous.”
Gabriel laughs and nudges Cas’s thigh again. Cas bats his foot away half-heartedly and turns to look at him.
“His name’s Dean. And he’s really stupidly attractive, and when he dances, he feels it, you know? And it makes me feel like I know him, even though I don’t. He makes me feel like… like he’s dancing just for me.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Wow you’re overdramatic when you’re horny.”
Cas glares again, “That’s not what this is, Gabriel.”
Gabriel holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I know. It’s just… you’re really not sounding like you right now, you know? Cas, you’re writing this guy love notes.”
Cas is going to kill Balthazar, “They’re not love notes!”
“Cas,” Gabriel’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hair, “Why don’t you just wait at the stage door? You know normal people don’t travel across the country just to leave a note.”
Cas sighs again and looks away from his brother. He remembers that night in December, giving the note to the doorman and leaving with his head down. He remembers turning around again, the thought of this being Dean’s last night making him brave, and rounding the corner to see a handsome, broad-shouldered man press a kiss against Dean’s freckled cheek, an arm flung familiarly around him.
Cas had walked straight back home, determined for all of three weeks that he wouldn’t bother looking up where Dean was going next.
“He has a boyfriend,” Cas says eventually, and tries to believe he doesn’t care.
“So why leave the notes at all?”
“Because the notes aren’t for me.” Cas snaps, and Gabriel looks confused, “I’m not writing them in the hope that he will somehow fall in love with me. This isn’t some ridiculous scheme to get him into bed.”
“Then what the hell is it, Castiel?”
Cas shrugs and leans his head back against the couch again, “I just want him to feel good about himself, you know? I just… he deserves to know he matters.”
Gabriel sighs and shakes his head. He stands and pulls Cas up with him.
“Alright, Casanova, I’m getting you out of the house.”
He ruffles Cas’s hair like he used to when they were kids and Cas pushes his hand away with a smile, “No,” he says firmly, but they both know he’s fighting a losing battle, “I have hundreds of papers still to grade.”
“Yep and you won’t be able to concentrate properly until you’ve got some food in your belly and some fresh air in your lungs.” He drags Cas out into the hallway and shoves his crumpled coat into his arms, “And if I hear one more mournful sigh over Mr. McDreamy, I’ll follow you to CA next month and tell him about the time you got drunk and – ”
Cas throws a scarf at his brother’s face as he pulls on his shoes, but he still follows him out of the door with a grin on his face.
*
Dean,
I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to opening night this time, I had approximately five million papers to grade and apparently wanting to attend a ballet performance in San Francisco was not a good enough excuse to ignore them. After seeing you tonight I find myself stubbornly disagreeing. You make an incredible prince, Dean.
Cas
*
Dean grunts in frustration. He just can’t get enough turns into this damn pirouette. He takes a long drag from his water bottle and starts the music again from the top.
He loves dancing at this time of night. It’s quiet, everyone else having gone home hours ago, and Dean appreciates the peace that comes from dancing alone. It winds him down for the night, not having to dance for anyone else, not having his movements dictated and scrutinised. It’s freeing. Relaxing. And Dean feels happiest when he can just close his eyes and let the music take him where it wants.
As the music reaches a crescendo, Dean throws himself from a grand jeté through into a pirouette and he’s so immersed in it he doesn’t even hear the door open.
“So who’s Cas?”
Dean stumbles.
Benny is standing with his arms folded, leaning against the barre and smirking.
Dean coughs and rubs the back of his neck, “Who?” he asks, not meeting Benny’s eyes.
Benny holds up a handful of notes and raises his eyebrows, “Cas.”
If Dean weren’t already flushed from dancing, he’s pretty sure he’d be blushing like crazy right now. He scowls at his friend and strides over to snatch the notes out of his hands. He frowns down at them and smooths the creases out. Damn Benny and his massive, clumsy hands.
“What the hell, dude! These were in my wallet!”
“You left it at my place last night. Just bein’ helpful.”
“By going through it?!” Dean snaps, taking his wallet from Benny a little more forcefully than necessary, and putting the notes carefully back inside.
Benny raises his hands, “Alright well, someone’s a little touchy.”
Dean glares up at him again and starts to stretch, more to avoid eye contact than anything. Benny sighs.
“Dean, come on. She’s obviously not a nobody.”
“He,” Dean corrects, almost without thinking.
“What?”
“Cas is a he,” Dean risks a look at his best friend and sighs, “and I don’t know who he is. I’ve never met him.”
Benny’s eyebrows climb even higher, “And yet he writes you love notes?”
Dean really does blush at that and his foot nearly slips right off where it rests on the barre, “They’re not love notes, man. He just… appreciates my work. And he leaves these little notes with the doorman whenever he sees a show, that’s all.”
Dean stares intently at his own feet as he leans down to press his hands to the floor and refuses to think about how much more the notes mean than that.
“Right,” Benny drawls, “That’s all. Dean, you have 11 notes from this guy in your wallet. When did this even start?”
Dean sighs and straightens up, leaning next to Benny against the barre, “Almost a year ago now.”
Benny lets out a low whistle and Dean lets his head fall back against the mirror behind them.
“He just…” Dean swallows and closes his eyes. He just what? Why does he carry the notes around with him? Why does he feel so warm every time he’s handed a new one? “He sees me.”
He can feel Benny’s eyes on the side of his face. It’s pathetic, he knows. It’s not even like he has a bad life. I mean yeah, he doesn’t see his little brother as often as he’d like and travelling around all the time means he doesn’t have that many friends, but he’s never been bothered about that before. He’s successful in a job he loves and he travels the country with his best friend by his side, so he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden these notes make him feel like he matters for the first time in his life. Why he reads them instead of talking to his brother whenever his dad doesn’t make it to one of his shows. Why stroking a thumb across the three letters at the bottom makes him feel connected to this guy somehow.
Benny claps a hand against his shoulder and when he opens his eyes he can see concern written all over his friend’s face. But he doesn’t say anything, just squeezes his shoulder and leaves, tipping his hat playfully at him on his way out, and Dean is so insanely grateful that he smiles all the way home.
*
Dean,
I have never been a fan of Romeo and Juliet, I find it overdramatic and unrealistic. But once again you have made something that should have been unremarkable into something beautiful and captivating. I think I will come back on closing night.
Cas
*
It’s weird, Cas thinks, how his life is exactly the same as it always was and yet he feels so different. He’d always considered himself a relatively content person, with brothers he’s close with and a job he enjoys. He used to let the days slip past him in pleasant routine, dinner with Balthazar on Friday nights, lunch with Gabriel on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Saturdays he’d send an email to Anna to check that everything was okay and the rest of the weekend would be used for grading and lesson planning.
He always thought he was happy like this, and he doesn’t understand how his life has gone so suddenly from content to not enough without any of his daily routines changing.
Except he knows exactly how. Now, instead of enjoying weekends spent reading and talking to his sister, he itches for the time to pass, watching the dates roll by too slowly until he can see Dean again. Now, sometimes when he wakes up in the morning he rolls over to look at the empty side of the bed and wonders what it would be like to be in love. To have someone there who’d make him giddy with smiling too much, and happy instead of this restless kind of longing.
And if this person always ends up looking like Dean, Cas tries not to think about it. Except he can’t stop thinking about it. Even as his brothers start practically throwing people at him, blind date after blind date with eyes not the right shade of green or cheeks too clear to find constellations across their skin.
*
Dean,
Sometimes I wonder if you ever even get these notes or whether I’ve just been writing to no one all this time. I’ve lost count of how many notes I’ve written now and how many performances I’ve seen, but I know it was 2 years ago today that I first saw you. I hope you know that watching you means a lot to me, and that what you do brings people joy.
Cas
*
“Hey, Your Majesty. Got a minute?”
“Deano!” Charlie shouts and Dean laughs as he moves his phone away from his ear, “My favourite handmaiden! What the hell dude, it’s been like… a million years!”
Dean snorts, “It’s been 3 weeks at most, you weirdo.”
“Yeah well maybe I was talking in Narnian years.”
Dean frowns, “That makes no sense.”
“Yeah well, your face makes no sense.”
Dean chuckles. He’d bet his car that Charlie’s pouting right now. “If you’re done making witty comebacks, you think you could do me a favour?”
Charlie lets out a dramatic sigh, “Depends. Does it involve me getting up?”
Dean grins and flops down onto his couch, “You got your laptop on hand?”
“Duh.”
“Then no.”
“Okay then,” Charlie agrees, “What d’you need?”
Dean bites his lip for a second, running his fingers over note number 23, and clears his throat.
“D’you think you could find someone for me? His name’s Cas, C-a-s, but I’m guessing it’s short for something?” There’s a pause where Charlie doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “He’s a professor somewhere in Illinios, probably Chicago. And he has a brother called Balthazar and at least one more brother but I don’t know his name. And he wears a trenchcoat.”
The silence that follows only lasts a second before Charlie starts giggling.
“You slept with a professor? Dude that’s hot.”
Dean flushes and almost chokes on his own spit, “I didn’t sleep with Cas!” he splutters, but Charlie only laughs even harder. “I didn’t! Seriously Charlie, I’ve never even met the guy okay? Shut up!”
“Okay, okay!” Charlie says through her laughter, “Don’t get your tutu all in a bunch, I’m looking.”
And bless her, she does look. And she doesn’t ask any more questions even though Dean knows she’s dying to. And when she calls him back a couple of hours later she sounds genuinely sorry that she couldn’t find him.
“I’m sorry, Dean. There are a lot of schools in Illinois and I really can’t get very far with only ‘Cas’ to go on.”
Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face. He figured. “Okay, yeah. I get it. Thanks anyway, kiddo.”
“No problem, Natalie Portman.”
Dean groans and hangs up with a laugh. He starts ‘Swan Lake’ in 2 months and he fucking hates it. I mean sure, the money’s good and it’s Broadway so there’ll be a shit load of casting directors there but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. It’s one of those shows where the female lead gets all the good bits and he swears, for the millionth time this month, that one day he’s going to put together a male-led production.
*
Dean,
I think Swan Lake would be much improved by having you playing every role. Just something you might like to suggest to the director.
Cas
*
‘The Nutcracker’ is weird. He thinks it would probably be quite a confusing story to begin with but he’s pretty sure his lack of understanding stems from his inability to look away from Dean. Even more so than usual, that is.
There’s something off about him today, and it took a while for Cas to notice. His lines are still long and elegant and the shapes he makes as he flies his way around the stage are still mesmerising in their fluidity, but there’s a tightness around his lips that isn’t usually there. His brow is furrowed just a little, and sometimes Cas thinks his shoulders lie a little stiffer than they usually do.
He’s sad about something and Cas feels a pang of sorrow in his chest. He thinks about running a comforting hand through his hair to sooth the lines on his brow and kissing the corners of his mouth until his downturned lips stretch wide in a smile. He thinks about wrapping his arms around him and feeling him relax against his chest, the tense line of his shoulders loosening a little under Cas’s fingers.
But Dean has someone for that already and Cas feels his chest tighten at the thought.
*
Dean,
Your performance was outstanding, as always, but I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little sad. I hope everything is okay. Of course, it may just have been the mouse with seven heads. That was surely disturbing enough to put anyone on edge.
Cas
*
“I’m tellin’ you, brother,” Benny says as they’re walking back to the hotel, “I didn’t notice a damn thing. There was nothing off about your dancin’, don’t worry about it.”
“Exactly!” Dean grins, “Hell, I didn’t even notice!” He lifts the note to Benny’s face as they walk, smile turning softer, “but Cas did.”
Benny rolls his eyes and chuckles softly, “I swear to God, Dean, you’re so far gone on this boy it’s not even funny.”
Dean blushes and shoves at Benny’s shoulder, sending his friend staggering a little under the unexpected attack, “Shut up,” Dean mumbles, but he’s grinning. And it only serves to make Benny laugh even harder.
“You better hope he ain’t some middle aged man with a fetish for tights,” Benny teases as they enter the lobby and Dean rolls his eyes at him.
“I’ll have you know that the door guy back in New York said he was about my age.”
Benny stops walking and frowns at him, “And you didn’t think to share with the class?”
Dean shrugs and tries to hide his blush by ducking his head, “What does it matter? Never gonna meet him anyway.”
Benny rolls his eyes again and leads them to the elevator. They walk back to their rooms in silence but Benny stops when they get to Dean’s door.
“You’re not still upset about ‘Don Quixote’ are ya?”
Dean shrugs and goes to open his door. Benny claps a hand on his shoulder.
“Dean,” he says, squeezing, “You aced that audition, alright? It’s not your fault the other guy was sleepin’ with the casting director.”
Dean smiles and hits Benny on the arm gently, “Yeah I know. Meet you downstairs for breakfast?”
Benny nods and pulls back, walking over to his own door. Before he goes inside though, he turns around and grins, “Don’t think I don’t know why you’re really upset about it, Winchester.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean mumbles.
“Yeah yeah, like I don’t know who lives in Chicago,” Benny laughs, and when Dean blushes and flips him off, Benny laughs so hard Dean can still hear him after he shuts his own door.
He’s still thinking about it the next morning as he waits in the lobby for his friend to get the hell out of bed. He’s leaning against a wall and wondering just how pathetic it is to want a job in Chicago so badly (in a ballet that Dean is sure Cas would really enjoy too), when he sees a man standing across the room at the front desk. He’s wearing a trenchcoat.
Dean sighs. How many guys in trenchcoats does he see every day and think ‘hey what if that’s Cas?’. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. He stares at the guy’s back the entire time he’s there and it’s ridiculous.
He’s just about to force himself to turn away, really he is, when the guy in question turns around and –
And looks right at him.
Son of a bitch.
The guy is unfairly good looking. Like… really. His dark hair is all over the place, making Dean pretty sure he hasn’t bothered to brush it yet this morning, and he’s got just enough stubble that he can’t have shaved for a couple of days. His jaw is strong and his eyes are fucking insanely blue and they’re staring at Dean like he has multiple heads.
Dean feels realisation crash over him like a tidal wave. This guy in the oversized trenchcoat and adorably backwards tie is looking at him like a deer in the headlights. He’s staring at Dean like he cannot believe what he’s seeing and his face is so red, Dean’s frankly worried about his circulation. His eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open and his entire body seems frozen to the spot.
And there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind.
He’s just pushing himself up off the wall when a large hand slaps him on the back, and something about that startles the man across the lobby into motion. Dean catches a glimpse of sadness cross his face before the man’s turning around and walking quickly towards the door.
Dean completely ignores Benny, who must be pretty confused right about now, and doesn’t even think about it.
“Cas!” he shouts. And the man freezes.
Dean jogs over to him, standing just behind him near the revolving doors, and when Cas slowly turns around to face him, Dean’s pretty sure neither of them are breathing.
There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, wide blue eyes soaking in Dean’s face in a way that makes Dean’s cheeks warm and his ears tingly with anticipation.
Cas swallows and takes a shaky breath, “How did you know it was me?”
His voice is low. Really low. Low enough that Dean’s face gets even warmer at the thought of how it might sound saying his name.
He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Dude, you were staring at me like you’d seen a ghost! Plus, you know,” He gestures vaguely, “The trenchcoat.”
Cas looks down at his coat in confusion for a second before sighing to himself.
“The doorman told you?” he asks, looking embarrassed, and Dean smiles because damn this guy is cute as hell.
“Yeah. Back in Chicago. Pretty much all I could get out of any of ‘em,” Dean says with a smile and Cas ducks his head and laughs shakily.
There’s another silence, a little awkward as Cas looks down at his feet and Dean stares, still a little shell-shocked, at the top of his head.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says eventually, hands fidgeting nervously with the belt of his coat, “I didn’t think you’d – ”
“Hey, no, don’t apologise, man!” Dean steps forward a little and Cas looks up at him, “Honestly? Sometimes your notes were all that got me through the harsh reviews and bad auditions.”
He smiles gently, trying to convey everything the notes meant to him in one look, but Cas is frowning and his eyes are flicking between him and Benny, who’s still standing on the other side of the lobby.
“I don’t understand,” Cas says, confused, “What about your boyfriend?”
“What?” Dean asks, probably too loud, “You mean Benny?” he gestures back at his friend and when Cas nods, Dean can’t help but laugh, a little horrified.
“Oh my God, dude no,” Dean pulls a face and shudders dramatically, “He’s my agent.”
The relief on Cas’s face sends a rush of electricity right to Dean’s knees. “Oh,” he says, ducking his head, but Dean doesn’t miss the small smile tentatively blossoming across Cas’s lips.
Dean chuckles, lowering his head a little to coax Cas’s gaze back to his, “Is that why you never stayed to talk to me?” he asks, softly, “You thought Benny was my boyfriend?”
Cas huffs and shrugs a little, which Dean guesses means yes.
“I was worried you’d think I was ‘creepy’” he says, hands coming up to do ridiculously awkward air quotes.
Dean snorts, “Well, are you?”
Cas tilts his head slightly to one side in thought, “No,” he says slowly, “I don’t think so. But I’ve been told I don’t have a very good grasp on social norms.”
Dean laughs out loud then and throws his head back. When he looks back at Cas, he’s smiling softly at him, and Dean can’t help but reach out and nudge his ankle with his foot.
“Is that why we’ve been talking for like… five whole minutes and you still haven’t asked me out?” he asks, looking up at Cas through his lashes with what he hopes is a winning smile.
Cas stops breathing for a good few seconds before the corners of his mouth start to twitch upwards, hopefully.
“Would you…” he ducks his head again and nudges Dean’s ankle right back, “Would you say yes if I did?”
Dean grins and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. He holds it out so that Cas can see the collection of notes inside, and runs a thumb over the edges of them gently. Dean hears Cas’s breath hitch and when their eyes meet again, they’re both smiling.
“Not that I want to spoil the ending or anything, Cas, but I think I’m probably a safe bet.”
They grin at each other over nearly 3 years’ worth of notes, and Dean feels something shift and slot into place. He feels the warmth of every single note amplified and sweeping through his body like a flood. Cas laughs, and Dean feels the sound plant roots in his heart.
“Dean?” he asks, eyes not leaving his for a second.
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to accompany me to breakfast?”
Dean reaches across the space between them and flips his tie the right way round. Cas’s breath catches again and Dean gives the tie a playful tug.
“Lead the way, professor,” He says, and shoves his wallet back into his pocket.
As they make their way out of the door, Dean hears a snort from somewhere behind them.
“I’ll just have breakfast on my own then!” Benny calls from the other side of the room, and Dean turns around to give him an exaggerated salute.
When Cas laughs beside him, he feels the sound vibrate up his arm where it’s pressed against his shoulder, and the roots he planted only minutes ago start to blossom, and twine their way like vines around his ribs.