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Dean likes mornings at the Bunker. Legit breakfasts that he makes himself without having to rush to meet check out time at a motel, without using the grimy kitchens that was probably littered with cockroach shit, without having to resort to gross diner food that felt like a punch to his arteries.
Wait, scratch that: Dean liked mornings, before Sammy made them Bitch Before Breakfast sessions and wanted to sob over feelings together. Seriously, they're not on fucking Oprah.
"I'm serious, Dean." Sam's disgustingly earnest eyes peek at him over the ridiculous mess he liked to call hair. "Why haven't you done anything about Cas? I mean, it's been years, years of endlessly watching you two undress each other with your eyes in polite company. Seriously? When are you gonna tell him you lo-"
"Shut up, Sam," Dean snaps, rubbing his eyes and getting started with the bacon. Fuck's sake, can't a man have scrambled eggs without feelings getting in the way?
Dean can actually hear Sam making his signature "I do not understand your emotional constipation, Dean, why must you insist on ruining my flowery ideas about relationships and life in general" face. It's a well-practice face. "Dean-"
"Look, Sammy. We've talked about this, we've discussed all the ways it's a horrible idea, we've gone over them so many times I've got them practically memorized. I have a mental cabinet named 'Me and Cas Shit'. But us complicating things just to get our dicks wet isn't necessary. It's just not worth it." Dean's spouted the speech a million times, mostly to himself. For all the good it did to get rid of the fucking feelings.
Fucking feelings.
Sam lets out an aggravated breath, but otherwise stays silent. Good. Rehashing the same damn problem just gets them all tangled up in a whole bunch of useless.
But Sam was apparently just luring him to a false sense of security because as soon as he sits down with a steaming plate of eggs and bacon, he opens his whore mouth again.
"Is that really what you think you and Cas are about?"
Dean hesitates, wary of the soft tone in his voice. "I mean, no, that's not everything, but a large part of me and Cas is sexual tension so-"
"No, it isn't. Dean, sex is not even near the top of the list of why you and Cas love each other."
"Woah, hey, who said anything about-"
"You-Dean, he pulled you out of hell. Then he proceeded to abandon his life for you, a human he really didn't need care for, shouldn't even be capable of caring about. He died for you, not even just once. He came at your beck and call, even when his superiors where doing God knew what to him in Heaven." Sam's looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Dean, he's loved you from the moment he touched your soul in hell. I mean, he basically said so. Hester-Back in that cabin, Hester said that Cas has been lost since he touched your soul and Dean-do you think that's normal? Do you think angels give themselves like that for their charges like Cas gave-continues to give himself to you?
"And don't even suggest that he didn't affect you. You-You're lighter when he's around. You nearly drank yourself to death when we were trying to gank the Leviathans, and yeah, I know some of it was Bobby, but you were a mess even before that. You lugged around that trenchcoat. You had nightmares about leaving him in Purgatory. The first time I'd seen you smile so wide after the trials was when you had Cas in the bunker. You love him so much that it terrifies me to watch you two together because a) eye sex and b) you look at each other like you never want to look away."
Dean is quiet because there's no breath in his lungs. Dean is silent because if he opened his mouth, he thinks his heart would shatter.
"You broke him, and you saved him. He found you broken and broke himself to save you."
Dean feels a terrifying heat in the vicinity of his heart, feels his pulse race in his fingers, his neck.
Sam sighs, turning away from his and playing around with his eggs. "Dean, I love you. You're my brother, I couldn't stop loving you no matter what you did. And Cas is practically a brother, too. So please, I am begging you, don't wait for him to never come back before you tell him you love him. Don't let him be your Jess."
~
Dean spent the whole day mulling over Sam's words, his heart never quite slowing down. He feels like his skin is pulled too taut over his skin, feels pushed to breaking point, and it's strange. Purgatory could never break him. But Cas-Cas did it without effort.
So now he's lying on his bed that remembers him and wondering if he should call a number seared into his brain. Wonders if his angel remembers him, too.
Suddenly, there's a quiet sound and Cas stands there in all his human glory, dishevelled hair and piercing eyes that he felt on his soul.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean shoots up, accidentally pressing that call button under Cas' name. Awkwardly, a ringing sound emanates from the angel's pocket. Dean winces as Cas slowly pulls out his ringing phone and tilts his head at it.
Cas turns back to him, eyes soft. "Sam-Sam told me to come. To the bunker. He said you wanted to see me. To-tell me something."
Bastard, Dean internally mutters, gritting his teeth. But Dean's been a coward for a long time, and the words that sit on his tongue have been worried along his teeth for too long.
"I love you."
Nothing explodes, there's no (disturbingly inappropriate) chorus of angels singing to their epic romance, no rose petals falling dramatically in the background anime-style.
There's just a man with tired eyes and another with a tired soul and there's no telling where one ends and the other begins. There's just strings pulled too-tight to snapping and foreheads meeting like surfacing from under water and breathing in .
"I have loved you since I first touched you, Dean. You drove me, a beacon of light in a chokingly vile place. You saved me in darkness." Dean feels the rumble of of his chest under his hands and it feels like sunlight.
"Yeah, Cas. Ditto."