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“Dude,” Dean says, entering the common area of the Bunker. “Did you buy me ferns?”
Cas doesn’t look up from one of those romance novels he enjoys for some reason. “You require more color in your room.”
Dean scowls. “My levels of color are fine.”
“It’s all one tone. Very... disconcerting.”
“I wish Sam had never introduced you to HGTV.”
Cas turns a page. “Make sure to water it. I wrote out a schedule.”
“Cas, giving me a gift with work isn’t a gift, it’s work.”
Cas looks up at him. “How did you know it was me who gave them to you?”
“Cause it sure as shit wasn’t Sam, Sam’s whole deal is he likes to buy me vegetables cause he thinks one day I’m magically gonna eat them.”
“Oh.” Cas looks vaguely disappointed. Dean isn’t sure why and is about to ask when he looks back down at his book. “Well. Plants like it when you sing to them.”
“Cas, I ain’t singing to greenery.”
The thing is, Dean does water it, though. He’s still not singing to it- you’ve gotta draw the line somewhere- but he follows Cas’s schedule, cause, well, it was a gift from Cas. Cas rarely gives gifts, although he seems endeared by the concept.
So he has to.
That’s the only reason.
One morning Dean wakes up and there’s these weird purple flowers sitting on the little table he uses to throw his shit on.
“Buddy,” he mumbles when he stumbles out in his robe. “You cannot wander into my room while I’m sleeping.”
“I used to watch you while you slept all the time,” Cas answers from where he’s seated at the table, cleaning knives.
“Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of it then, either.”
“I didn’t linger, I was very respectful.”
Dean opens his mouth, sighs, and drops it. “So what are those?”
“Asters.”
“Do I gotta water this one?”
“They’re cut and in water.”
“Is this gonna be a thing with you?”
Cas resheathes a knife. “Yes.”
Dean sighs again. “Okay.”
And okay, so, maybe the flowers are okay. Maybe Dean likes having gifts from Cas. Maybe he likes waking up and seeing them in the morning.
He doesn’t tell anyone. It’s nobody’s fuckin’ business.
“Heliotrope?” Dean demands after Cas tells him what the new one is, little purple flowers in a glass vase.
“Yes.”
“The fuck is a heliotrope?”
“It’s a flower, Dean.”
Dean scowls. “I liked you better when you hadn’t discovered your sense of humor.”
Cas rolls his eyes. “Lying is a sin, Dean.”
“I’m trying to break all the commandments before I die.”
“You’re making quite the headway.” Dean’s scowl deepens. Cas looks around his room. “You should tidy up in here.”
“I like it messy.”
“Seems... disordered.”
The two of them are watching Deadwood. Dean gets the impression Cas suffers through it with a kind of polite and steady dignity, but he asks questions as they watch, and it’s the kinda thing he’d give Sam shit for but he doesn’t mind it so much from Cas, so he answers all of them.
“I can stop with the flowers, if it makes you uncomfortable,” Cas says abruptly after a prolonged period of silence.
Dean blinks, a little thrown. “What?”
“The flowers. If it makes you uncomfortable, I am willing to cease doing so.”
“I.” Dean clears his throat. “It’s, uh. It’s a little weird, Cas. But it’s... fine.” Cas gives him a suspicious look. “Look, am I a guy who beats around the bush? If I wasn’t fine with it, I’d tell you.”
Cas continues to size him up. Dean stares back.
The thing is, it should be weird. Cas is giving him flowers, for Christ’s sake. But, well. It’s Cas. It’s not the same thing as anyone else doing it. So it’s fine.
He kinda likes them, anyway.
Cas’s lips twitch. “Very well.” He returns his attention to the show. “This has significantly fewer cowboy hats than most of the media you consume.”
“Yeah.” Dean looks back at the TV, too. “Still good, though.”
So Dean stops asking what’s going on with them, except to ask what kind of flowers they are. They flow in through his room, red camellias and red and yellow tulips and short little sunflowers. He keeps watering his ferns and he throws out the dead flowers and puts new ones in their place.
Sometimes, after a while, Cas’s face is tinged with sadness, and once when Dean can see the forlorn traces in his face as he puts a vase of red carnations on Dean’s little table (a little cleaner than it was before all this started), he decides to bring it up cause Cas shouldn’t be forlorn, ever. He looks all sad and it’s… kinda upsetting.
“Cas,” he says, steeling himself a little bit. “If this is bumming you out, you don’t have to keep doing it. I don’t want you to-“
“I want to.” Cas gives him a smile so soft Dean wants to avert his eyes a little bit. “Thank you, though.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. “Kinda nice to look at, huh.”
Cas’s eyes crinkle a little at the corners when he smiles, something that distracts Dean to no end. “Yes. Very.”
“So the flowers are nice,” Sam says when they’re around the table researching, Cas having fucked off on some kinda angel business.
“I will punch you in the fucking face,” Dean answers.
“Okay.”
They don’t talk about the flowers again.
“I’m sorry, man,” Sam says, hefting his duffle bag.
Dean huffs. “Yeah, sure you are.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Fine, fuck me for empathizing with you, I guess.”
“What Sam means to say,” Cas cuts in, taking a step forwards. “Is that we will miss you on our hunt and hope your ankle feels better soon.”
“No, it isn’t.” Dean didn’t need the confirming nod from Sam to prove it but he appreciates it nonetheless. “But thanks, Cas. Call me if you get into trouble.”
“We will not,” he replies sedately. “Make sure to keep your ankle elevated.”
Dean scowls at the ankle he’d twisted last week, resting on a pillow on his desk. “It’s really not that-“
“Make sure to keep your ankle elevated,” Cas and Sam say at the same time.
“Alright, alright, Jesus! I’ll keep my fuckin’ ankle elevated. I’m gonna get a cramp, you know.”
“Don’t be a baby, Dean.” Sam gives him a little wave. “Call us if you need anything.”
“Don’t be a baby, Dean,” he’s still mumbling as he flicks through the channels, looking for something to watch. “My name’s Sam and just cause I’m taller I think I’m the older brother, meh meh meh, I like your flowers, meh meh meh, one time when I was a kid I threw your Stretch Armstrong in a river and I’ve never felt bad about it.”
Eventually Dean settles on a movie playing cheesy period dramas, which is extremely fuckin’ embarrassing, but there’s absolutely nothing on and there’s nobody else here and even if there were somebody here, it wouldn’t be anybody’s fuckin’ business.
It is pretty compelling, and Dean eventually gets drawn in, avidly watching as Miss Elizabeth and Jacqueline try to make do while their father is off fighting in the war.
“You can’t trust Radcliffe,” he says through a mouthful of Smartfood as his phone dings. “Look at him, got creep waves rolling right off ‘im.”
He checks his phone. Cas has sent him a blurry picture of a cat with an oversized thumbs up that is so close to the camera that Dean has to assume it’s his. It comes with a text saying he did not like me. hope your ankle is well. Castiel.
Dean grins and takes a picture of his foot, propped up on several pillows on his bed. this elevated enough for you?
He gets a text back almost immediately. it will be adequate.
Dean snorts and puts his phone down just as Cecily says something along the lines of “and, well, you know what red tulips mean in flower language, Margaret, and I quite simply don’t know what to say!”
Dean blinks. Flower language? The fuck is a flower language?
…didn’t Cas give him some red tulips?
Dean doesn’t freak out.
Course he doesn’t freak out. Why would he freak out? Just cause he’d googled every flower Cas ever gave him and almost all of them equated to some lovey dovey touchy feely crap isn’t something to freak out over.
And even if he was freaking out, so what? What’s the big deal? Cas and Sam are gonna be gone on the hunt for three days, so that’s plenty of time to freak out before they get back. It’s fine. Totally fine.
Because the thing is, what do you even do in a situation like that?
Cause the options are tell Cas I know and don’t tell Cas I know. Both? Weird. All sorts of weird. Can he keep a secret of not telling Cas he knows? He’s good at keeping secrets, right? Hell, he pretended to be emotionally stable for most of his life no problem, right?
What if he sorta kinda maybe wants to tell Cas he doesn’t mind?
What if he sorta kinda maybe wants to tell Cas he wouldn’t mind giving him his own red tulips?
Dean cranks the volume on the period drama to try and loudly drown out the sounds of his feelings.
He wakes up, blearily, to the sound of his phone ringing. He grapples in the sheets for it and peers at it. Sammy. He tries for “hello” but only gets to “mm?”
“Did you fall down some stairs?” Sam asks wearily.
“Wha?”
“Did you fall down some stairs?”
“No.”
“You fall down anything else?”
“No.” Dean yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Why? Mm’I cursed?”
“Cas thinks you fell down some stairs.”
He yawns again, trying to pull himself into some semblance of consciousness. “Why’d I have fallen down some stairs?”
“Because you haven’t-“ Dean hears a buzz that sounds like it’s a voice on the other end of the line and he’s suddenly sure he’s speaking along with somebody else. “Replied to any of your texts since 11:53 am.”
“What time’s it?”
“It’s one pm, Dean. You replied to your last text yesterday.”
“S’it really?” He peers at his alarm clock. “Huh.”
“So are you dead or dying or something?”
“Are you dead or dying or something?”
“Real mature, Dean.”
“M’fine. I got distracted by TV and fell asleep.”
“Hang on, Cas wants- ow-“
“Are you sure you haven’t fallen down some stairs?”
Cas’s voice jolts Dean up quick and he sits up. “Yup. Absolutely sure.”
“You did not respond to any of my or Sam’s texts.”
“Got distracted watching TV and passed out, honest. You know how hard I fall asleep sometimes.”
“Hm.” Cas sounds endearingly suspicious and Dean can’t help a little grin, looking at the daffodils on his little table. “You’re not covering for having done something foolhardy on your ankle?”
“Most I’ve used it for is to get snacks and take a piss, Cas.”
There’s a long rush of static as Cas sighs. “My… apologies for my…”
“Overreaction!” Dean hears Sam holler in the background and he grins a little wider knowing what Cas’s face must look like.
“My overeagerness,” Cas finishes, a little sourly.
“Cas, if it was the other way around, I’d be in the Impala halfway back by now.” He tilts his head back against the wall, unable to stop staring at the gentle white and yellow of the daffodils against his wall. “I’ll make sure to text you a couple times today, let you know I haven’t fallen and can’t get up.”
“Yes. Well.” Cas sounds a little embarrassed.
“Cas. It’s fine. Don’t let Sam beat you up about it too much, alright?”
“Sam has been very patient with me.”
“That’s good. Put him back on.”
Sam’s voice comes through a few seconds later. “So you’re good?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Hunt’s going okay?”
“Yeah, we’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Alright. See you then.”
“Right.” Sam hangs up and Dean puts the phone down, watching the flowers sitting on his table quietly.
It can’t have been that easy. Just… hearing Cas’s voice. It can’t have made this all make sense.
He sighs.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters before he rolls out of bed to hit the bathroom and then make some waffles.
This doesn’t mean he talks to him about it, though, for Christ’s sake.
Just because Dean’s ready to accept that there may be feelings on Cas’s end, just because he’s ready to accept that there might be feelings on his end, doesn’t mean he’s ready to tack words onto that. He’s gotta process. Mull. Think some shit over.
So when Cas gives him violets, Dean doesn’t say anything except thank you, even though his stomach flips when he gives him the vase, even though something in his chest constricts every morning when he sees them.
“Dean,” Sam says, sounding gentler than Dean has any patience for right now. “He’s-“
“Don’t tell me he’s fine, Sammy, I’ll lose my fucking mind.” Dean points at Cas, laying very still and unconscious on his bed, face pale. “He’s out like a light.”
“That witch knocked him for a loop pretty good, but he’s fine, Dean, look, he’s breathing.”
“Yeah, for now.”
“Dean.” Sam has that take deep breaths voice and if he says those words Dean will actually fuckin’ hit him. “He’s gonna wake up anywhere from now to five or six hours. He’s gonna be tired and a little creaky, but he’s gonna be okay.”
Dean grits his teeth and looks down at Cas. He always looks smaller, Dean thinks, when he’s been knocked out of commission. Something about him that just makes him want to curve over his body protectively so nobody can hurt him again.
“I’m going out,” he finally snaps, pushing back Sam. He stomps through the Bunker, stopping only to grab his keys and his wallet, and heads out the door.
It’s an impulse purchase, the kind where you know if you think it through you’ll regret it later.
He buys them anyway.
Dean comes back to the Bunker to see Sam reading a book at the table.
“Sorry I was a dick,” he says, dropping the pizza box right in front of him, making him jump. “Here’s food.”
“Thanks.” Sam opens up the box. “So you less of an asshole now?”
“Yeah, for now.” Dean leans against the table, shifting the bag in his arms. “How’s he doing?”
“Same as before. I left out some sweatpants and that emerald knit sweater he likes, I think he might be groggy when he wakes up and might like those better.”
“Sound.”
Sam gestures at the brown paper bag. “What’s that?”
“Ah, that’s just-“ He looks down at it. Fuck. Hadn’t occurred to him he might have to tell Sam. “Just something I got for Cas. I’m gonna go change into sweatpants, okay? Come back for some food.”
“Okay.” Sam picks up his book and goes back to reading it. Dean heads into the rest of the Bunker and hesitates outside Cas’s door before he opens it up.
He rests the bag on the floor when he sees that the comforter isn’t pulled up all the way. He gently tugs it up so it’s resting comfortably over Cas. “Don’t want you to get cold,” he mumbles before he carefully lifts his purchase out of the bag.
It’s a small vase, the six red roses within crammed into it a little bit. The bag’s a little wet cause the water kinda sloshed around, but not too bad, there’s still plenty in the vase. He gently sets it on the nightstand Cas has next to his bed and pushes them in just far enough that they won’t fall off the nightstand and just close enough that Cas could probably touch them, if he wanted to.
Dean takes one long, shaking breath before he heads out of Cas’s room and closes the door behind him. He changes in his own room into a Zeppelin shirt and sweatpants and then returns to the main hall.
“Whatcha reading?” He asks, sitting across the table from Sam.
Sam doesn’t look up. “A book on the history of paper.”
“Sounds dumb.” He gestures. “Pass me the pizza box.”
Sam has gone to bed and Dean is sitting in the main hall, beer in his hand, staring at the wall.
The thing he hadn’t thought about when he’d bought the flowers is that Cas would have to eventually wake up and see them.
He sighs and takes another swig.
Shortly after, Dean hears gentle footsteps padding up towards the table. They’re not as heavy as Sam’s, and they’re muffled slightly, like they’re wearing Cas’s favorite fuzzy socks. The chair next to him is pulled out and they sit together in the quiet.
“How you feeling?” Dean asks eventually.
“Winded.” Cas sounds tired. “I believe I will be… how would you put it… knocked on my ass for the next few days.”
“S’alright.” Dean rests the beer on the table. “Happens to the best of us.”
They’re quiet again.
“Are the flowers on purpose?” Cas asks, and Dean knows what he’s asking. He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Yeah.”
More silence.
“Are we going to discuss it?”
Dean takes another deep breath. “Do we have to?”
“Well. Eventually.”
“Right, eventually, but.” He stares very hard at the wall. “Maybe, uh. Maybe one of us isn’t so good at… talking about feelings. And they need a little while to work up to it. So they need to take… small steps before they go around… verbally admitting to something.”
“Yes,” Cas says dryly. “That does sound like me.”
Dean feels his lips twitch as he looks to the right a little bit. “Sure does.”
“Well. Then it could wait. If there was an understanding.”
“There’s an understanding.”
“Alright.”
They sit in peaceable silence before Dean decides to let his brain take a spin on the wheel of impulse decisions and land on one. He turns and very gently presses his lips against Cas’s, who jumps a little bit next to him before going very still.
Dean pulls away, and Cas blinks at him, eyes very wide and very blue all of the sudden, before he gives him a soft little smile. Dean quickly resumes looking back at the wall, trying to muffle his own a little bit.
“They’re nice flowers, Cas,” he mutters gruffly.
“Yes. I rather enjoyed the ones you brought as well.”
Cas reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. Dean tangles their fingers together. He passes Cas his beer with his free hand and Cas takes it, taking a sip.
The silence is warm, and comfortable, and Dean swears that if he strained, he could pick up the faint smell of roses.