In Which Dean And Cas Find A Home.

In which Dean and Cas find a home.

“That one.”

Dean followed the trajectory of Castiel’s pointed finger: a house, red like a barn, with dark brown shutters on the windows. A wild garden was blooming over most of the concrete path leading up to the front door, and ivy grew in reckless abandon over most of the house. “That one? It looks like no one even lives there.”

“It has a wild beauty,” Castiel shrugged.

They continued their walk down the quiet neighborhood street. It was a warm day; Dean could feel the sun leaking through his leather jacket. The occasional bird twittered from one of the tall oak trees’ branches draped over the road, and white noise filtered from the freeway in the distance.

“I wouldn’t want to live on this street,” Dean said.

“Why not?”

“You can hear the highway.”

“You spend most of your day travelling on a highway,” Castiel gently reminded him.

“I know; but when I’m home, I want my peace and quiet.”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. He nodded his head to the left of them, toward a sprawling rambler. “What about that one?”

“I want two floors. At least.”

A few more steps and Castiel gestured to a towering old Victorian-style home, at least three stories high. It was akin to the types of houses Dean and Sam had squatted in over the years while healing from a difficult hunt: dilapidated and abandoned. Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at Castiel, who said defensively, “It’s tall, like you wanted.”

Dean was beginning to realize that Castiel had no idea what was considered a proper home to live in. He held out his arm; it hit Castiel across the chest and he stopped. “Look at this one,” Dean said before Castiel could protest.

The house that Dean chose smiled at them with a huge bay window, its glass reflecting the afternoon sunlight. It was painted a gentle grey with a large cedar door as an entrance. A little white porch, decorated with a splatter of wicker lawn chairs and a collection of wind chimes, was seated at the entrance.

Dean put a hand gently onto Castiel’s back, smiling down at him. “Well?”

Blue eyes turned from the house to regard him. “It has a very nice garden,” he stated.

“You’re really jonesin’ for a garden, aren’t you?”

The corners of Castiel’s lips lifted into a small grin. “What do you wish for in a house?”

“A big kitchen,” Dean replied without any thought. “Big kitchen with lots of sunlight. I want to be able to see the crap that I cook. And I want a huge bathroom, one that connects to our bedroom. A shower that I can actually move around in; not one of those ‘I’m a shower but also a crappy bathtub’ situations. And a big garage to work on Baby, and a huge TV so you can watch your dumb soap operas and… what?” Dean asked, self consciously cowering under Castiel’s gummy smile.

Castiel laced his fingers between Dean’s, pressing into his side. “A comfortable couch,” he continued softly. “For when we watch my ‘dumb soap operas’.”

“Yeah,” Dean said in a hoarse voice. “Not leather. A soft fabric…maybe.”

“Can we have a large living room as well? Higher ceilings? We can hang plants.”

Dean scoffed, “Hang plants?”

“They brighten up a room, Dean.”

Both men stood for a moment longer, hands entwined, staring wistfully at the house. Dean tried very hard not to think of the symbolism in that moment: the house in front of them owned by someone else. Someone who can live a very normal life with sunny kitchens, a garage, kids, maybe even a dog if they wanted.

Someone who could live a traditionally long life with someone they loved, giving them all the gardens they wanted in the world.

“Let’s go,” Dean said abruptly, pulling Castiel away from the house. “We told Sam we’d only be on this stupid walk for an hour.”

“Dean.” He felt Castiel tug against his hand, pulling him into his space. He stared at Dean very intently, brushing a hand against his neck, making Dean’s skin shiver.

When Dean didn’t protest or move away, Castiel’s hand came up to cradle his cheek. Dean’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes against the touch. “Cas, we’re in public,” he murmured in a barely argumentative tone as Castiel’s chest pressed up against his.

“I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Regretful, then.” Dean felt gentle lips pressing against his jawline. “You don’t need a house to have a home. Sam is your home, as is the Impala, and the bunker.”

“I think you’re forgetting someone there, Cas,” Dean said as his arms tightened around Castiel in an embrace.

“Who?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You, ya dummy.”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel rested his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder, smiling into the crook of his neck. “You are my home as well, Dean.”

Dean’s hand ran up and down Castiel’s back. “We’d be happy in a house,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. He pressed a kiss against Dean’s lips and guided him up the road, toward where Dean had parked the Impala. “One day, we will be.”