For Lis, on the occasion of her birthday.
Many thanks to Lily for her unparalled work as a beta
They’re lying on the couch one night, legs threaded together, sprawled across each other’s bodies while the credits to Raiders of the Lost Ark roll, when Dean decides to take Cas out on a date. The flickering lights hit the sharp planes of his boyfriend’s face and he can’t look away, staring for every one of the long minutes before the screen glows blue. He stares the way he knows Cas does at him during the long nights the other man can’t find sleep. They’re often up late studying together, but more often than not Dean crashes first. Some nights Cas never joins him—Dean knows because the sheets are too cool and he doesn’t have any drool on his chest, like he does now. Those mornings he usually lets Cas feign sleep long enough for him to make a pot of coffee and bring some up in Cas’s favorite mug. The insomnia worries him—the bruises under Cas’s eyes are more pronounced than ever and while Cas blames it on midterms, Dean has a feeling they’ll deepen until graduation. Another reason to do something nice, something special.
He does it right. He makes reservations and everything. He even picks Cas up at his place. No matter that Cas spends four nights a week at Dean’s, and most afternoons besides, which just makes sense—Dean’s apartment is closer to campus than the place Cas shares with his brother— but whatever, he’s doing it right, dammit. And man is he glad he is—Cas is fucking smoking in a suit. Dean didn’t even know Cas owned one, let alone one with a waistcoat that draws eyes to the hip bones he fucking knows lurk beneath the pressed waistband of the smartly tailored slacks. His boyfriend looks up from fiddling with his cufflinks (fucking cufflinks. Fuck.) to shoot him a smug look because he’s an asshole. Dean groans and hurries him to the car, opening the passenger door before scooting around to slide behind the wheel.
He’s not nervous. Of course he’s not. They’ve been on dates before. Sure, they’ve mostly been to the Roadhouse, but it serves food so it’s more like a restaurant than a bar, and they’ve spent loads of times across the tables in diners at wee hours, shins pressed together in a solid line. Ok, so maybe they mostly skipped the whole “dating” thing somewhere between growing up together and being together. But Dean’s had dates. He was with Cassie for all of high school junior year, took Lisa out when they started at Kent State. But those weren’t anything like this, just plastic table cloths and shallow conversation. Not that they weren’t great, because they totally were. For a bit there he thought that maybe what he had with Lisa was it, even. But no one has ever been Cas. He can handle a date— it’s what normal couples do. They can be normal.
Dean can totally do normal.