twentysomething | Excerpts From Carver Edlund's Magnum Opus, 2/2

Cassie. Dean answers immediately.

"Cassie, what's going on?" Dean asks quickly.

"Hey, Dean, are you free tonight?" she asks, cheerfully and Dean breathes a sigh of relief, because nothing can be wrong with Jack, then, if she sounds so calm. Dean glances at the clock as he starts up the car. 7:15.

"I'm in Maryland on a case right now, but I'm headed back. What do you need?" he asks. Cas frowns and Dean mouths "Cassie," and smiles as Cas sighs. At least Dean finds their total aversion to each other humorous. Dean pulls out into traffic.

"Well, one of my girlfriends, Gabi, I told you about Gabi, right, Dean? Well, she just found out her breast cancer is in remission, and a bunch of the girls from work and I want to take her out for drinks, but Sarah, my usual babysitter is out of town on a school trip, and I know it's short notice, Dean, but can you watch Jack tonight and drop him off at school tomorrow?" Cassie says, her voice excited and hopeful. Dean's face breaks out in a grin.

"Yeah, Cassie. No problem at all. I'll be back in DC in an hour, but if you have to leave before that, I can always call Jo, and you can drop him off at the Jeffersonian with her," Dean says, because Jo will take any excuse on God's green earth to baby-sit Jack.

"Ugh, thanks, Dean, you're the best," she croons at him, and Dean's doesn't know what switch it was, but it flipped, and he's just glad he and Cassie can be friends again and good parents, even if Cas makes the world's most polite and stifled vomit faces when Dean is on the phone with her. "I'll drop him off at the Jeffersonian in half an hour!"

"Sure, talk to you later, have a good time," Dean confirms, and immediately dials Jo, ignoring Cas's near sulk as they merge on to the Interstate.

"Yeah, hey, Jo, Cassie had to go out tonight unexpectedly, so she's dropping off Jack at the Jeffersonian in 30, I'll be there in an hour, is that okay?" Dean smirks as he holds the phone a good three inches away from his ear.

"Yes, I'll see you then!" Jo shrieks into his ear, and god, Jack's going to be pumped full of sugar, because she's a spoiler. Jack may be 7, but the way he talks he's going to marry Jo any day now, and it's all because she's a terrible, terrible spoiler. And- Jo hung up on him. Dean snorts, but puts his phone back in its holster, and after a long moment of silence, looks at Cas, who is making a face that says he really wants to say something but is too well-bred to admit eavesdropping. Dean chuckles.

"Alright, Cas, what is it?" Dean asks. Cas just shakes his head.

"Nothing, Dean," he says, which Dean believes like fart. He rolls his eyes.

"Go ahead, you know you want to," Dean prompts. Cas looks like he's going to make it, but finally- no, he can't bite his tongue any longer.

"I just don't think that Cassie treats you very well," Cas says, mildly as he can, which is pretty damn mild, which means he's probably actually super pissed. Dean hazards a glance over, and indeed, Cas has his hands folded tightly in his lap.

"He's my son, Cas, he's my responsibility, I want to watch him," Dean protests and Cas's black expression melts into something contrite and wide-eyed.

"I know, Dean, and I am very glad that you'll get to spend time with Jack tonight. But I don't think it's fair... that Cassie treats you like... a babysitter she doesn't have to pay, when she wants to." Cas says slowly, looking like he'd like to say a lot more. Dean frowns.

"Well, I did knock her up and make her carry my kid around in her body for 9 months," Dean suggests, because really, that covers a lot of ground for him. Cas levels him a “did you think through the implications of your hypothesis, Mr. Shurley” look, which is never a good sign.

"Dean, she chose to limit your custody rights, when you would have given her any assistance, or made a socially normative offer to marry in a- I believe the term is 'shotgun wedding'," Cas tries. Dean resists the urge to laugh or possibly cry.

"It wasn't what she wanted. Besides, we've gotten better, Cas." Dean protests, because really, there's no sensible reason for Cas and Cassie to look at each other like something that crawled out from under the fridge, but they do it anyway. Cas frowns and looks out the window.

"I just think she's still punishing you," Cas mutters. Dean kind of wants to know what Cas thinks she's punishing Dean for- having Jack? Getting her pregnant? But Cas has that terrible, clammed-up expression that he gets when his father sends one of those shitty, dickish letters through fucking Joshua, on paper that's too expensive and impersonal. Dean's not going to get anything out of him- which is weird, because it's Dean's young, stupid, tragic fuck-up, not Cas's. But Dean figures he got Jack out of the deal, and if it's a raw one, it's worth it.

Oh, crap.

"I don't think I have any food in my house," Dean realizes. He glances over to see the faintest of smiles in the corner of Cas's mouth.

"You never have food in your house," Cas finally says. Dean laughs.

"Well, that's true." Dean was raised on take-out, and psychologically, it should make him probably never want to eat it again, but he can't break himself of the habit. It's not that Dean doesn't like to cook, he just usually has a carton of Chinese in front of himself before he even thinks to reach for the frying pan. But he usually makes an effort when he has Jack for meals, because, sure, it didn't stunt his growth and development- well, probably not much- but Dean's based most of his child-rearing theories on doing the inverse of what Dad did, so. "Guess we'll go to the grocery." Cas blinks.

"What?" Dean asks. Cas smiles and there's a sort of sheepish cast to it.

"I need to go grocery shopping, as well. I noticed this morning, and then we got called out and I had completely forgotten," Cas sighs. Dean blinks.

"Well, then, why don't you just eat dinner with us tonight?" Dean blurts out. Cas stares at him. "I mean, grocery shopping sucks by itself, and if we go to the Whole Foods by the Jeffersonian, your apartment is on the way to mine, we can just drop yours off and go cook at mine," Cas stares at him a little longer and Dean feels like an ass.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your time with Jack," Cas insists. Dean waves a hand.

"Jack loves you. Last night on the phone, he asked me about a billion questions about the Egyptology exhibit, and I had no clue how to even attempt an answer. Come over for dinner." Dean says, still feeling like an idiot, but not particularly willing to take no for an answer. After a long moment on I-70, Cas's face lights up into a shy smile that makes something in Dean's chest clench for no discernibly good reason.

"Thank you, Dean. I'd like that," Cas says, quiet under the hum of the Impala's engine buzzing down the highway, and Dean feels like just earned some brownie points, even if he's not sure where or with whom- all he knows is that he feels like he's done good.

They zip down the highway and it's a good twenty minutes of comfortable silence before Dean remembers he had a question to ask.

"What was with the pictures, by the way?" Dean asks. Cas blinks. "Of Mark's arms." Cas shrugs.

"They looked like hand prints to me, but I'll be able to get Jo to extrapolate the shape from the pictures. Tissue isn't really my specialty," Cas admits. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"What, you think the kid was lying about the abuse?" Dean asks. "Or do you think they're connected to why he wouldn't go to school?" Cas shrugs slightly.

"Either way, he didn't want us to notice them. That usually means it's important, right?" Cas replies. Dean grins.

"We'll make a detective of you yet, Cas," Dean says with a grin. Cas just stares at Dean, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"So unscientific." Cas mutters, but he sounds amused and for a day that started out so crappy, it's been pretty awesome, so Dean just takes a deep breath and feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he taps his fingers to the faint strains of the radio.

Dean knows Cas disapproves of speeding, but his small, amused smile stays in place even when Dean goes about 85 on 270 for 15 miles. It's just late enough and they're counter-traffic, so they make it back by 8 and Dean's man enough to admit he's nearly bouncing in his seat. Cas takes the metro to work, because he lives a block or so from Dupont Circle in the gayest neighborhood known to God or man, short of the Castro, and makes noises about the environment and urban crowding when Dean suggests he buy a car. But it means that the useless parking space right by the doors with 'Reserved for Dr. C. Meyer' all over it is all Dean's.

Dean books it up to the lab, even though he can hear Cas laughing faintly behind him. He breezes past Dr. Singer berating Gabriel about filling the lab with goddamn wheat to find Jo's made some sort of hybrid beast in her office that means that she and Jack are playing Wii Bowling on the biggest screen ever. Jack is beating Jo, soundly.

"I hope you're not letting him win," Dean says cheerfully. Jack spins around and tackles him, hard.

"Dad!" Jack cries. "Jo really sucks at Wii Bowling!" Dean suppresses a laugh and grabs Jack in a giant bear hug, collapsing back onto the couch.

"Jack, you know how your mom feels about the word 'sucks'," he says, but he must look deranged, he's grinning so widely. Jack frowns slightly.

"Well, she said that she never wanted to hear me use it. She didn't hear," Jack insists with the firm convictions of 7 year-old logic. Dean takes a second to reflect that at least he never has to wonder if the kid is really his. He just raises his eyebrows at Jack, though, who sighs.

"Okay, I know I still shouldn't say it," Jack says, and Dean squeezes him.

"That's the right answer." Dean replies. "Cas is coming over for dinner tonight, what do you want to help us make?" Jack grins.

"Cas is coming? Awesome, I have questions about mummies. Let's make spaghetti!" he cries, in one of those subject leaps that never fail to make Dean laugh.

"Okay, but I'm going to need your help- Chuck has probably already tricked Cas into looking at some bones, so we need to look as pathetic and starving as possible, so that Cas will come buy groceries with us and take us home and feed us," Dean explains. Jack nods somberly, because Winchesters take getting fed pretty seriously. "All right. You ready? Let me see your pathetic and starving face." Jack's face is made up of equal parts pout and sad eyes, but the clincher is definitely the begging orphan hands. Dean holds up a hand to high-five.

"That's perfect, buddy. Five." Dean instructs. Jack holds up his hand, but pauses.

"Dad, I haven't seen your pathetic and starving face," Jack says. "I need to make sure it's really good. I want meatballs and yours su- aren't great," Dean laughs, because, good back track, kid.

"Nice save, Jack." Dean says and throws down the gauntlet- the face that earns the biggest piece of pie from diner waitresses, that convinces Cas they should stop and get a snack, halfway back from a crime scene. Jack grins and slaps Dean's waiting hand.

"Totally, Dad," Jack praises. "We're getting spaghetti." Dean leans over and whispers in Jack's ear.

"Ice cream from Gifford's." Dean says, super quiet, and laughs as Jack shrieks with joy. He stands up, grabbing Jack and sitting him on his hip. "Although, I don't know, God, you're getting heavy," Dean laughs as Jack makes a face.

"I'm growing!" Jack insists, poking Dean in the ear. "I'm not fat!" Dean realizes Jo is just staring at him with that misty, calculating face all women have when they're naming their future children, and Dean needs to get out of this room, stat.

"Uh, thanks for watching him, Jo," Dean says hastily. Jo waves a hand loosely, snapping back to a normal set of expressions and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

"Never a problem. But next time I'm going to win!" Jo argues, pointing at Jack, who just laughs and laughs.

"Maybe if I let you!" Jack calls over Dean's shoulder as Dean carries him out. Dean bounces Jack just to hear him laugh in indignation.

"Stop teasing Jo," he says. Jack shrugs.

"It's okay, Dad, I'm gonna marry Jo, then I can tease her all I want, like you tease Cas," Jack explains. Dean eyeballs him.

"That is not what married means," Dean tries, because he's totally not touching any of the rest of that sentence with a ten foot pole. Jack shrugs again.

"I guess we can have some kids then," Jack compromises. Dean just laughs and rolls his eyes, adjusting his grip on Jack so he can swipe on to the platform.

Sure enough, Chuck and Cas are bent over a tray holding one of the many piles of goop they liberated from Pastor Jonas' field this morning, in high nerd conference.

"Hey, look over my shoulder, this is gross, you'll get nightmares," Dean tells Jack. Jack frowns.

"Or, it's gross and it'll be awesome," he protests, but subsides easily enough when Dean levels him a look, sighing and pointedly looking backwards. "How am I supposed to look starving and pathetic this way!" Cas and Chuck look up in unison, blinking behind their dorky lab goggles.

"Hey, Cas, hey, Chuck," Jack says, still facing backwards. "I look really sad and hungry, but you can't see my face because Dad says it's too gross over there," Chuck makes a face like he wants to agree that he's sad and hungry and it's too gross, but Chuck pretty much always looks like someone's ran over his dog and he'd just like a stiff drink or twelve- which is ridiculous for a man who makes a living writing book porn about his coworkers.

"Hello, Jack," Cas says with a big smile that's sort of wasted on Jack, because he can't even see it, but Dean's enjoying it... In a totally friendly, he's my partner, not my partner, not-gay kind of way. "Objectively, I think your father is right, this is probably disturbing for a seven year old," Chuck snorts, like he has any room to talk.

"Cas, it's disturbing and I'm 31, I don't think age has anything to do with it," Dean argues.

"I'm almost 8," Jack complains further. Dean rolls his eyes, but Cas smiles further.

"I'm sorry, you're right, almost 8." Cas agrees and Dean heaves a sigh, without any real indignation, but this is why his kid is so mouthy- Cas encourages him. "Is it time for us to go grocery shopping?" Chuck raises both of his eyebrows sky-high but keeps his mouth shut, because okay, trying to see it from someone else's point of view- more over, the point of view of someone who writes him as a fucking lady- this sounds pretty overwhelmingly domestic.

"Yes!" Jack calls. Dean grins.

"C'mon, we could get reported to Child Services if he blabs," Dean kids. Cas frowns. "Not really, Cas." Cas makes a face like of course he knew Dean was kidding, and already starts taking off his lab apron and glasses.

"Excellent work today, Mr. Shurley." Cas says, and Chuck grins, a little disbelievingly. "Please make sure they finish running a full spectrum analysis of the bone cells. Oh, and make sure the lab calls me with the results for the two DNA samples I turned in, I don't care how late it is, just whenever they have it done." And, there it is, Chuck's face falls again into the 'so depressed by my job' range.

Dean has asked Cas why, if Chuck hates his job so much, he stays at the Jeffersonian, but Cas had stared at Dean like he was crazy and said that Chuck loved working there- which may have been the Cas equivalent of “that's just how he looks,” then. Cas snaps off the gloves and tosses them in the awesome red BIOHAZARD trashcan, before slipping off his lab coat.

"Let me just put this away and we'll be set to go," Cas says, which is, predictably, when Gabriel runs on to the platform.

"My experiment supports a timeline like the one Sandra described. And also, judging from the seepage," Gabriel continues mercilessly, even though Dean is horrified by the use of the word “seepage” to describe anything, "Our victim had only been in the field for no more than three, three and a half hours." Cas and Dean exchange a look.

"So the kids are cleared, that's what, 10 in the morning? They were all in school," Dean says. Cas shakes his head.

"Except for Mark," he points out. Dean frowns.

"I don't think he did it- and that kid? Is not dismembering a body and throwing it in a field." Dean argues, then remembers he's holding Jack. "Earmuffs, buddy." Jack sighs like a martyr, but slaps his hands over his ears.

"Mark was obviously upset. He knows more than he told us." Cas insists, as Dean tries to think through this. Wait.

"Mark has his own car," Dean says slowly, running through it all again in his head. "Sandra said the guys picked her up. We know Tommy took his truck, the paint's in it. But they weren't getting more than four people in the cab of that thing. Mark drove by himself." Gabriel snaps his fingers, which is probably the world's most annoying form of thought processing, but well, it's Gabriel.

"Did Mark take the video?" Gabriel asks, walking to the edge of the platform. "Jo, pull the video up and get out here," Dean nods.

"Yeah, why?" Dean shoots back. Gabriel grins, as Jo swipes on to the platform.

"What, Gabriel?" she asks. "It's up." Gabriel walks over, adjusts the screen.

"Okay, so here, it's about 6 minutes in. Judging from the amount of light in the sky, it's maybe 5:30, 6? This is the last point we see any of the other kids. But there's still about 5 minutes of taping. Now, there's no sound, so theoretically, they could be around, still. But-" Gabriel prompts. Dean grins, watching the camera pan around the clearing.

"Mark stays behind to film some more- it looks creepier with no one else around," Dean starts, an idea forming in his head.

"The rest of the kids go, but before Mark gets home- he meets our killer." Gabriel finishes. Dean nods.

"The killer threatens Mark- tells him not to say anything- that's where he got the bruises, the guy roughs him up a bit." Dean finishes. "Pretty slick."

"Can I stop wearing earmuffs?" Jack asks, a hint of irritation in his voice. Dean smiles.

"Yeah, okay, I get the point, Cas you're with us. Whole Foods awaits," Dean commands. Gabriel raises both his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but Jo pinches him, viciously.

"Ow, Jesus, Jo!" Gabriel whines. Yeah, Dean is getting out of here. He uses his free hand to steer Cas down the stairs, pressing a hand to the small of his back, propelling him away from the body.

"Face forward," Dean suggests, and Jack squirms around so that he has an arm around Dean's neck and is facing front again.

"I'm sure it wasn't that gross," Jack disagrees. Dean smiles and bounces Jack.

"Well, that's for me to know and you to avoid," Dean says with a smile. Jack rolls his eyes.

"Anyway," Jack says, all good humor suddenly restored, "Cas, how come the Egyptians didn't have any teeth?" Cas raises his eyebrows, but there's a small smile firmly in place.

"Jack, they most certainly had teeth," Cas explains, hanging his coat up in his office, while Jack stares at the newest weird-ass looking skull Cas has managed to obtain and put on display. "However, many people in Egyptian society had teeth that were extremely worn down. When baking and preparing food, sand would get into their grains, resulting in gritty food. Do you remember the bookcase your father made for me, last year?" Jack nods avidly and Dean just smiles as they head out toward the parking garage.

"He hit his fingers with the hammer a lot and said words that I never heard," Jack replies. Cas smiles even wider and Dean shakes his head.

"I'm sure," Cas says dryly. "But he sanded it, right? With sand paper? What happened?" Jack frowns.

"It got smoother," Jack answers. Cas nods.

"So, rubbing something with sandpaper is somewhat like rubbing together your teeth when you chew- so if there was sand in their food, what do you think happened?" Cas suggests and this is why Dean is glad Jack likes Cas so much- he makes him think for the answers and teaches him stuff- even if it's about Ancient Egyptians. Dean is constantly surprised by how great Cas is with kids- maybe they just instinctively know they can trust him, but Cas is patient on a geologic scale and Dean is always impressed.

"They get smoothed down," Jack concludes, and grins even brighter when he sees Cas's answering smile. "And that's why they don't have teeth." Cas frowns slightly and goes to answer again, but Dean just shakes his head.

"Nah, he's got it, don't worry." Dean reassures him, putting Jack down, going around to get the booster seat out of the trunk, strapping Jack into the back seat.

They get to Whole Foods easily enough- the normal rush of people buying dinner immediately after work having already come and gone, but there’s a wholly different problem residing within. Fifteen minutes into the shopping trip, Dean thinks he's going to have to lay down the law as Cas throws in another box of organo-crunch into the cart. By Dean's count, it's maybe the sixth soy-based product so far.

"That better be for you," he says. Cas tuts- actually fucking tuts- at Dean, looking at him like he's going to get diabetes and gout all at the same time for wanting to eat a bacon cheeseburger and enjoy it. Dean, however, feels that he works out more than enough to balance out, nay, even deserve, those burgers, so he leans across the aisle and throws in a tray of pecan sandies, that Cas stares at like they're the fucking devil.

"You can't eat pop-tarts every morning," Cas replies as Jack gets excited that there are cranberries in the cereal. Dean pushes the cart forward sullenly.

"That sounds like a challenge," he mutters. Cas retaliates by putting Irish oatmeal in the cart. Dean knows that Cas lives organic and likes to make sure that his chicken is free-range, but this is ridiculous. If he wanted to get persecuted for his love of junk food, he would have asked Ellen to come with him, instead. They come to a parting of the ways in front of the meat case.

"You're supposed to choose a blend of pork, lamb and beef." Cas insists stubbornly. "It makes for optimum tenderness. I read it in Food and Wine Magazine." Dean rolls his eyes and throws the lean ground beef in the cart.

"It's called not overcooking them, Cas, that's what makes for optimum tenderness." Dean argues. Cas sighs like Dean spilled oil in Puget Sound, covering otters in crude.

"I still think we should try the ground turkey. It's leaner." Cas complains. Dean sighs.

"It's wrong, Cas. It'd be like, like..." Dean struggles to find a comparison as Jack stares avidly at the lobsters in the case, safe behind glass. "Like, if I came into the lab and said you get smooth kerf marks with a chain saw." Cas stares at Dean.

"You would never. That's patently untrue." Cas says flatly. Dean smiles at him, because the arrow has struck home, so to speak.

"And that is why we're using ground beef." Dean confirms, relishing a victory over the forces of tofurky. Jack tugs sharply on Dean's suit jacket.

"Dad, can we take a lobster home?" he asks, mesmerized. Dean frowns.

"You want to eat a lobster?" Dean thought Jack still hated shellfish. Jack's horrified face is epic in nature.

"Dad, I want to keep him!" Jack insists. Dean runs a hand over his face.

"Jack, we are not keeping a lobster." Dean says, because oh, hell no, he saw Annie Hall against his will once and this is not fucking happening. Jack looks like he's edging toward a pout and Dean needs to head this off at the pass, before he goes home with a fucking lobster, so he shoots Cas a desperate look. Cas blinks, smiles, and then puts on a serious face.

"Jack, do you have a tank like this at home?" Cas asks calmly. Jack shakes his head “no.” "Do you have food for a lobster?" Jack shakes his head “no” again. Cas shrugs lightly.

"Then it doesn't seem fair to bring a lobster home, does it?" Cas prompts. Jack tilts his head to one side and tries to think his way around it, and while it's pretty solid improvisation, Dean notes that it in no way stops Jack from finding a way to bring a lobster home some day, so he should stay vigilant.

"Nope," Jack finally admits. "Can we get Apple Jacks?" Cas turns to Dean, who shrugs. Sounds like a good compromise to him. Apple Jacks in lieu of a lobster.

"Certainly less expensive. Apple Jacks it is," Dean says cheerfully. They head back through the cereal aisle and pick up the offensively neon green box, and after a final conference, it's determined that they're only missing bananas, so Cas volunteers to run back to produce while Dean and Jack get in line to check out. The middle aged woman in front of them in line hands Dean the divider just out of reach.

"Thanks," Dean says with a grin, as he starts to unload groceries around and underneath Jack. She smiles at him kindly.

"I know what it's like to go shopping with young children," she replies, as she ruefully shakes her graying, blond head. "Where did your partner go?" Dean rolls his eyes.

"Apparently we forgot bananas, I-" Dean breaks off, train of thought about potassium being brain food for kids totally derailed. "How did you know he was my partner?" She just smiles even wider.

"It's sort of obvious, dear," she says, actually patting Dean on the wrist where he's still frozen putting organic yogurt on the conveyor belt. "Men like to think they're so subtle, but a woman can always tell." Dean frowns. His badge is in his pocket, how- oh. Oh. Oh, fuck no.

He slaps on his best I-like-women face.

"I'm sorry, I think you uh, misinterpreted, Cas isn't my partner, I mean he is my partner, but he's not my partner- I- I work for the FBI, he's... I'm not gay," Dean finally finishes, lamely. She raises both her eyebrows and opens her mouth and then shuts it again with a large smile.

"I understand," she whispers, and- holy fuck- winks at Dean. Where the shit is Cas when Dean fucking needs him, because, because this is-- oh, Jesus Christ.

"Don't ask, don't tell," she says cheerfully, patting Dean on the wrist again. "But you have a lovely son, dear, you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, it's 2010, after all." Dean feels like he's in the fucking Twilight Zone.

Which is of course when Cas shows up with the fucking bananas, but he just stares at Cas for a moment, because, alright, they're grocery shopping together and Cas knows that Jack's allergic to blueberries and Dean hates olives- even Dean's not sure this isn't an alternative-family-unit endorsed venture.

And by the time Dean gathers enough composure to say something, anything, like 'but I've never even kissed him', she's already swiped her card and directing the bag boy out the left doors. Cas tilts his head slightly.

"Dean," he prompts, and Dean almost says “what, we haven't kissed” before he realizes that the cashier is eyeballing him and he needs to finish unloading the cart. Dean starts, but automatically begins pulling things like flax seed tortilla chips out and putting them on the belt.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asks, a pin scratch line developing between his brows, and Dean's never thought about how close they stand together, but he's thinking it's maybe too close.

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean replies, knee-jerk, too fast. Cas frowns. Dean forces himself to relax and smile naturally as he moves the onions. "Really." Jack stares at the tabloids.

"Dad, what's a stripper?"

Dean bursts into laughter, because there's nothing like your kid reading about the mayor's latest extramarital activities to put things into perspective.

"Nothing you get to know about, kid," Dean promises, lifting Jack out of the cart, letting Cas push it through so the bagger can put their groceries back in. Jack makes a face.

"I only asked because Bruce Noble says his new mom is one," Jack explains and Dean chokes.

"Remind me that you're not doing any play dates at Bruce's any time soon," Dean says, good humor totally restored. This gossip should make him king of the next PTA meeting. The woman ahead in line made a simple mistake, it didn't mean anything. Cas tricks Dean into looking for some non-existant gum so he can pay for the groceries, which doesn't help, but Cas plays it off as payment for the ride and the dinner, which just means Dean will have to invite Cas over a couple of times, no big. They play chicken with a soccer mom driving a Hummer who wants their space but is strangely reluctant to actually let them out of it, and Dean thinks that it must be a design flaw, because he's never been able to manage a Whole Foods parking lot.

The wait outside of Cas's apartment is awkward, because Dean realizes it's a Thursday night and people are finally starting to trickle into the bars in numbers, so he can't find a parking space- which means that he's circling the block again and again as he waits for Cas to finish putting away his groceries in his dumb third story walk up. Which further means that the twentysomethings stuck in line already at Apex keep speculatively staring at Dean like he's cruising for company, which frankly makes him feel like a pervert. Luckily the next time Dean turns the corner back on to 21st, Cas is waiting outside, waving, like Dean has forgotten who he is or that he should pick him up.

They make it home without further incident and it's almost closing time, so they park the car and run up the street to Gifford's, making the beleaguered teenager sell them a pint of vanilla for Dean and mint chocolate chip for Jack and Swiss chocolate for Cas before letting him kick them out at 9:05. Emmaline at the reception desk just nods at them as they head through the lobby back to the garage to get the groceries out of the trunk and rolls her eyes as they come back in with the bags of legitimate food.

"So," Jack starts, sitting on the counter as Dean and Cas actually put the groceries away. Dean's head is in the refrigerator and he passes pantry items to Cas, while Jack stares at some jam unfavorably, "Cas, how come the Egyptians put their brains in jars?" Dean figures Jack will grow out of this phase at some point, but two weeks ago his teacher did a mini-unit on ancient cultures, and Jack had blown right over the Sumerians and Chinese and Vikings, and decided that Ancient Egypt was the shit. Cas blinks as he puts a box of saltines in the cabinet.

"Actually, Jack, the brain was not one of the four organs the ancient Egyptians placed in canopic jars," Cas explains, and Dean spends a moment wondering how the hell Cas knows all this crap, before dismissing it, because Cas knows everything, other than who Sonny and Cher are, or The Who. Well, that's what he has Dean for, really. "They kept the lungs, intestines, stomach and liver. They believed that there was an afterlife much like this one, which is why they would store riches and food with the dead as well. They thought you would need your organs preserved for the next life." Jack stares even harder at the jam, which Dean can see is... raspberry preserves.

"Preserved, not preserves, champ. It's raspberries, not lungs." Dean says with a snort, taking the jar and passing it to Cas.

"What's a obbylicks?" Jack asks, filching a grape off the bunch sitting next to him on the counter. Cas frowns for a second then smiles slightly.

"An obelisk?" Cas prompts gently. Jack frowns himself, then nods, accepting.

"An obelisk." he agrees. Dean shakes his head, pushing some, like, wheat-germ yogurt Cas had insisted upon to the back of the shelf, behind the pickles. Cas hums thoughtfully at Jack.

"Well, what do you think it is?" Cas asks in return, and the thing about it, is he's not condescending- obviously, Jack isn't an intellectual match for Cas- Jack's seven, and Cas has like, a mutant alien brain- but he wants Jack to think for himself and question things and all that other Socratic method related crap that boils down to the fact Cas is a surprisingly good teacher and just good with kids. Jack makes a face that clearly means “if I knew, I wouldn't have asked the question,” but he gives it the old college try.

"Were they like the pyramids? For dead, famous rich people?" Jack asks, face screwed up in anticipation of the correct answer. Cas makes a face of his own that means “yes and no-“ which Dean finds usually appears when whatever he's said follows the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

"Obelisks were placed in pairs at the entrances to temples, to symbolize the sun-god, Ra," Cas explains, awkwardly sort of shuffling without groceries to handle, so Dean rolls his eyes, and forcibly removes Cas's live-coverage-in-the-field coat and takes it out to the coat rack in the hall, shoving Cas into one of the chairs at the breakfast nook. "Some Egyptians even believed it to be a petrified ray of the sun disc, Aten." Dean comes back around the corner and snorts at Jack's rapt expression.

"Petrified like the dinosaurs?" Jack asks delightedly- dinosaurs had been from ages 5 and a half to about two weeks ago- but Cas sort of shakes his head.

"For something to be petrified, silicates from the nearby soil have to leach into the material- it makes it more stone than anything else. Dinosaurs are fossilized." Cas supplies and Jack nods seriously, because to question Cas is to question science, which Jack holds in idolatry, even when he says his prayers before bed. Two nights ago, it had been thanks to God for Mommy, Daddy, and the Discovery Channel. Dean is constantly amazed by Cas's patience- usually, in reference to examining and reexamining bones until Dean's eyes would have fallen out of his head and he would have swept them off the table with a hearty "fuck it"- but seriously, Dean would have quit about four whys ago.

It isn't until the bowls for the ice cream are in the sink that Dean realizes when he invited Cas over for dinner, it wasn't dinner and an interrogation, but when he tries to remind Jack that Cas is a guest and not on the rack in the Spanish Inquisition, Cas just shuts him down with a soft "I don't mind," and explains irrigation in the desert again. Jack passes out in the middle of an episode of Mythbusters, managing to sprawl over both Dean and Cas at the same time, while the two of them are shoved up against opposite arms of the couch. Grant is trying to fix a robot or something and Cas looks fairly engrossed, so Dean picks Jack up carefully and maneuvers him into pajamas in a process born of years of trial and mostly error, but Jack just sort of snuffles once and mumbles a sleepy goodnight. Dean looks up to find Cas standing in the doorway, some indecipherable expression on his face, but before Dean can even frame the question, Cas sort of sheepishly makes a 'shush' motion and cocks his head toward the kitchen. Dean palms a final hand over Jack's indestructibly cowlicked head and pads out silently.

Cas is fidgeting with the sink full of dishes, running steaming hot water into the pan, vaguely orange-pink with leftover tomato sauce.

"I didn't want you to do all the clean up," Cas says earnestly, and Dean rolls his eyes, because it's all going to end up in the dishwasher, anyway, but he still elbows Cas aside gently to get at the sink, just as Cas's cell rings quietly in his jacket pocket, in the hall.

"Go, answer it," Dean says, and of course it's the lab, judging by Cas's
“this is serious business” face.

"Meyer here," he says and Dean cannot help but roll his eyes and snort, because Cas used to answer the phone "Dr. Castiel Meyer, Jeffersonian Institute," and now he answers like a cop- like Dean. "Right, somehow, that's what I thought. Thank you, Chuck, good work. Get some rest." Cas hangs up and gives Dean the “significant news” face, which never fails to amuse him.

"Chuck says the DNA wasn't a match," Cas proclaims and Dean raises an eyebrow.

"What the hell? So who was out there in the field?" Dean asks. Chuck smiles and shakes his head.

"The samples didn't match because Jeff Caplun gave us a false sample." Cas says, looking pleased with himself. Dean crosses his arms, which he realizes is less menacing when his hands are covered in soap suds, but still.

"Explanation. Whenever, Cas." Dean suggests. Cas frowns like Dean is ruining all the fun of his burgeoning dramatic skills, which he better be learning from Gabriel, because Dean is not this much of a drama queen, but explains anyway.

"I strongly suspected that he would not provide us with a legitimate sample. I had Chuck run his profile as well. The sample he gave us- is, without a doubt, from his mother. And the remains in the field are also, doubtlessly, Megan Kaplun. He provided us the very thing that linked them together." Cas says, almost smug. Dean grins.

"Well, I think we have a suspect to ask Mark Phillips about tomorrow, don't you?" Dean asks, grinning, only to raise his eyebrows when Cas frowns.

"Of course, Dean, Jeffrey Caplun falsified evidence, he is the most likely suspect- he had access to the victim, and-" Cas pauses, shoulders slumping. "That was rhetorical." Dean smiles, clapping a hand on Cas's shoulder loosely, feeling soft, worn cotton over warm skin.

"Yep. Now pass me a plate, just because you're a genius and stuff doesn't mean you get out of doing the dishes." Dean says cheerfully. They're comfortable in each other’s space- years of being around each other, undercover ops, late nights and weird Moroccan food, so it's not hard to maneuver around even a kitchen as small as Dean's. However, they still brush hands passing dishes, and bump hips slipping past each other, finishing clearing the last plates off the table from the general mess of dinner. Cas makes a noise of vague amusement, opening the dishwasher, only to find clean dishes already in there.

Dean feels sort of happy and weirdly calm, quiet and domestic, and it's easy to forget that tomorrow they have to tell a man his sister is dead and catch a killer- who is most likely the man in question. Cas does stuff like put the glasses away upside-down in the cupboards and put the silverware in the infrequently-used tray in the drawer, and Dean thinks about how he looks in the late summer sunlight and how he lets Jack trick him into hours of stories about cultures gone for thousands of years and how he smells like ink and spice and Dean stops thinking.

Dean turns, wiping his hands absently on the dishtowel, and Cas is right in front of him, eyes blue and surprised, so Dean kisses him.

For a second, Dean completely panics as Cas stands stock still, but before he can back away, apologize, something- anything- Cas clutches at the hem of Dean's shirt, anchoring his hands on Dean's belt as he kisses back, walking Dean backward until he’s up against the counter. Cas licks his way into Dean's mouth, and anything Dean could have imagined in the split second between thinking and doing, pales in the face of the hot slide of Cas's mouth against his. They break apart, Dean breathing into Cas's slightly parted lips and leaning into his hands- one is snaking its way up under Dean’s shirt, tracing across his stomach, the other resting against Dean's cheek- his thumb is brushing the corner of Dean's mouth.

"I didn't think that you would-" Cas pants, hands still roaming restlessly, running over Dean's skin, like he's trying to get as much of him as possible in case Dean changes his mind- like Dean's going somewhere. "I didn't think that you would ever-" Dean presses his forehead up against Cas's, and thinks about a thousand casual touches and dinners that led them to this.

"Of course I," Dean tries to explain that he gets it now- there was no way they wouldn't end up right here, there was no way this wasn't the inevitable end, from the very first case. "God, Cas." Cas quirks a smile against the skin under Dean's jaw.

"I fail to see God's relevancy in this situation," Cas says, but it's light and amused and happy, so Dean just huffs out a laugh, and draws Cas's face back up and kisses smile after smile onto Cas's lips.

"We'll work on it," Dean promises, and he can't stop grinning. He and Cas make out like teenagers in the kitchen, laughing and whispering between kisses, and Dean feels punch-drunk and almost giddy, so it totally takes him by surprise when Cas suddenly frowns.

"It's late," Cas says, glancing at the hideous ticking-eye cat wall clock Gabriel gave Dean last Christmas, even though his fingers are skimming under the edge of Dean's slacks, lightly calloused finger pads teasing sensitive skin. Dean shakes his head.

"Stay," he insists, because he can't shake the feeling that if Cas walks out the door now, he'll never be able to convince himself this really happened in the light of day Cas's face is amused and a bit skeptical. "I mean, we don't have to do- anything," Dean can feel the barest hint of a blush run up his neck and on to his cheeks. "I mean, not that I wouldn't want- but-" Cas laughs into a kiss, into three kisses pressed quickly against Dean's mouth.

"I'll stay," Cas says, cupping the back of Dean's neck, drawing him close. Dean smiles, relief and loose happiness, low in his stomach and in the way Cas lets Dean drag him back to his room. They do a sort of awkward dance around each other and the bathroom- Cas borrows a toothbrush and steals old flannel pajama pants that once had Quantico stamped on them in flaking screen print- until they're curled around each other like parentheses in his bed, which is really a lot nicer with Cas in it. He's thinking about how he could get used to this- someone to answer Jack's relentless tide of scientific query, someone to buy ice cream for, someone to go grocery shopping with, when he remembers- what seems like a thousand years ago, but was just a couple of hours- a simple misunderstanding that maybe wasn't so wrong, after all.

"Cas," Dean whispers, mouth pressed against Cas's temple. Cas hums low and sweet. "The woman in front of us, at the checkout in the grocery store, she thought we were together, you know." Dean feels a smile against his neck.

"Chuck wrote four novels about how we’re together and bought a house in Florida with the money. I'm moderately certain women in grocery stores know it, too." Cas says, muffled and quiet. Dean huffs a silent laugh.

"I'm sort of embarrassed that everyone, including weird-ass, lady-me in Chuck's perv books got it before I did," Dean mutters. Cas gets up on his elbow and looks at Dean, solemn and serious.

"Then we're just going to have to make up for it with a lot of filthy and awe-inspiring sex," Cas proclaims, like he's bringing the 10 Commandments down from the mountain and holy shit, Dean was about to fall asleep but he's wide awake now. Cas just tucks himself back into the curve of Dean's shoulder peacefully. "Goodnight, Dean."

Dean blinks into the darkness for about 20 seconds.

"That was mean," he finally manages. Cas chuckles sleepily and Dean reminds himself that his son is down the hall and they have a case to solve- which really doesn't change how he feels- electric and nervous and excited- but instead of biting the hickey Dean can see forming even in the low light coming through the blinds, he just slips a hand under Cas's t-shirt, over his ribs and feels them expand and contract, slow and easy, and goes to sleep.

When Dean blinks awake, Cas is staring at him from less than a foot away, eyes very, very blue.

"Good morning," he whispers between them. Dean smiles sleepily.

"You could have woken me up." he says, and his morning breath is probably atrocious, so Dean settles for pressing a kiss to the outside corner of Cas's mouth. Cas frowns.

"I like how you look while you're asleep," Cas says, like he's confessing something dirty, which, Dean supposes it's a little creeperish, but Dean suspects he'd feel the same way if their roles were reversed. Dean glances at the clock. He has about an hour and a half until he needs to leave to take Jack to school- which means there's time for pancakes.

"I like how you look in my bed," Dean counters, because really, he does. Cas smiles slightly, but puts on his best serious face.

"It was very comfortable. I'll have to try it again sometime." Cas says. He's seen Cas calmly proposition people before and never cared for it- he finds now, on the receiving end, he likes it a lot more. Dean would really like nothing more than to pull the covers over Cas and show him just how comfortable it can get in here, but instead he reluctantly gets out from under the warm blankets.

"I'll take you up on that. If you want, there's an extra towel or two in the bathroom- you can take the shower first," Dean offers, putting away for later how Cas stretches, like a cat, before slipping out of bed.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, crowding right up into his personal space, and Dean likes this, likes seeing Cas with terrible bed head and in his pajamas, still sleepy and here. Cas kisses him once, closed-mouthed and sweet, before heading into the bathroom. Dean realizes he's smiling like a flippin' moron, but he can't really stop, so he wakes Jack up and starts cooking breakfast looking like he's totally certifiable. He's not sure how he went from single and straight last night to gay and practically married, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't kind of like it, and if the writing hadn't been on the wall for a while. He likes thinking that they're going to take Jack to school and then solve a murder and he spares a second to think that clearly, his childhood screwed him up worse than he thought- because setting up house sounds more terrifying than taking down a meth lab with a pen knife all by himself, but he wants it, wants it with an ache in his chest that feels like hope. Dean has been integrating Cas into his life for the last four years- giving him keys to his apartment, taking him to his son's birthday parties, and all he can think is that he's just invited Cas into another part of his life, that's all. And it’s a part of his life that means he might get regularly laid, so.

Jack is halfway through his stack of pancakes when Cas comes into the kitchen, hair still faintly damp, wearing an ancient t-shirt that Dean's had since the Academy, worn paper thin by wash after wash, and an equally old pair of jeans, both just a little too big on Cas. Dean knows that if he gets close, Cas will smell like his soap and his laundry and Dean likes that a lot more than is probably healthy or appropriate.

"I borrowed some clothes," Cas states unnecessarily, hesitantly perching on the other seat at the little table in the kitchen. Dean snorts a laugh.

"You're welcome," he says, but he's smiling, so Cas will know it's fine. "You're on pancake duty until I get back, Cas. This is both serious and sacred." Cas takes the spatula like a scalpel- like it really is serious and sacred and Dean just wants to laugh and kiss him. Because really, he's an alien and he's weird and surprising and so tragically endearing, but Jack's sitting there, and that's a battle for another day. Not because it's Cas- if anything, that's probably a point in his favor- but Jack thinks kissing is grosser than gross.

Dean showers and throws on a suit because they're on the edge of running late, but when he comes back out, Jack has his backpack on over his raincoat.

"We watched the news, it's going to rain," Jack declares, which Dean thinks is probably a little bit crap, because Jack will take any excuse to wear his frog rain boots and leap into puddles with willful disregard for the dryness of himself or anyone around him. On the other hand, when he glances out the window there's a steady enough drizzle, he supposes. Cas has his- oh god, why.

"I found my trench coat in your closet," Cas says, only the faintest hint of reproach in his tone as he adjusts the damned thing over his arm. Dean has been gearing himself up to throw the freaking thing down the incinerator for weeks.

"Uh, yeah, funny. I guess it must have gotten stuck behind all the winter stuff somehow," Dean hedges, which is true- he'd stuck it back there himself.

"Mmm," Cas says and Dean sighs and grabs his own sensible black trench coat out of the closet, swiping his keys off the counter, after flicking his eyes over the range to make sure all the burners are off. He resists the urge to snatch the coat out of Cas's hands and fling it out a window as they walk to the elevator together.

"Look, I just- the last three times you wore that coat, someone has tried to shoot you," Dean hisses at Cas quietly as Jack hops ahead, sticking a finger in the graze hole right below Cas's shoulder. Cas raises his eyebrows.

"Dean, I hardly think that's because of my coat," he replies calmly, pulling Dean's hand away from the fraying hole, brushing his thumb softly against Dean's palm. Dean frowns.

"It makes you look like a flasher," Dean snipes back, folding his arms over his chest, because he's not being superstitious- or at least no more than is merited. Jack frowns up at them.

"I think it's cool," Jack offers. "It makes Cas look like a superhero." Cas just tilts his head as if to say 'see?' but Dean just rolls his eyes and pushes them into the elevator.

"Great, I'm never going to win an argument ever again." Dean grouses, but he's still in this indestructible good mood, despite the fucking coat and rain. Because it's Washington, the rain makes everyone drive like an idiot, but Jack is finally safely given over to the AP at Kiss and Ride and Dean is suddenly left alone with Cas again.

"Uh, so," Dean tries, because he's an idiot. Cas doesn't stiffen, but he holds his hands together in his lap and Dean already feels like he's said something wrong.

"Dean," Cas says easily enough. Dean taps his fingers restlessly against the wheel.

"I don't know- I mean- do you want to say something?" Dean asks and Cas raises his eyebrows, and Dean realizes that was probably not exactly the best way of asking, so he tries again. "I mean, I don't know what this is," and wishes he could take that back when Cas's face closes off.

"No, I mean, it's just- we're new. I want- I want what's between us to just be- us. For a little while," Dean clarifies. Cas's expression clears, minutely.

"I can see the logic in that decision," Cas says, finally, after a long moment, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. "After all, I imagine it may be difficult to begin a homosexual relationship with a work partner, especially when one's friends, family and colleagues all believe them to be a heterosexual." And Jesus Christ- Dean hadn't even thought about that- he's going to have to look up the regs on like, a billion things and- Dean takes a deep breath. He slows the car to a stop at a red light, and in the filtered light through the heavy clouds, looks at Cas, soft and familiar and so damn important, in Dean's clothes and his shitty, terrible trench coat and he wants this- he wants Cas. And judging from the things he said last night and the way that Cas touches him- slow, reverent- Cas wants him back, and the rest of it doesn't seem to matter.

"Right," Dean replies thickly and it isn't until the other cars start honking that he realizes the light is green.

Of course, this plan is blown to fucking smithereens by Jo, who takes, like, one look at both of them and drags them into Cas's office.

"Are you sleeping with each other?" she hisses. Dean immediately looks to Cas, who is already looking at Dean, and Dean's gotten convictions on less, so he's not surprised when she squeals and hugs them like they're Santa.

"Gabriel owes me 50 bucks," Jo says cheerfully, crushing herself between them. Dean really needs to get better friends.

"Look, Jo," Dean starts, but Cas cuts in, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

"We are not telling anyone," Cas explains and seriously, Dean feels like an asshole, because Cas has never hidden who he is and Dean doesn't want him to start now, not for him.

But he can't imagine there's any way the Bureau would let them keep working together if they thought that this partnership was any less professional than it already is. And because he and Cas have been so successful, they'll want to put him out in the field still, just with someone who isn't Dean- and Dean doesn't think he could ever trust someone else with Cas's life, and that's the crux of the problem, isn't it? And really, that's it, they can have a professional relationship or- they can go after this thing between them. Dean is stuck for a moment, trying to begin to imagine work without Cas, but then he thinks about the way Cas looked at him this morning, and his decision is made.

"Not right now," Dean amends, because they do need to talk about this- but someone killed Megan Caplun and they need to find out who. Jo looks like they just beat a seal to death in front of the Pope.

"We're at work," Cas agrees, but there's a flatness to his tone that Dean really doesn't like. Jo rolls her eyes.

"Fine, fine, whatever," she says, but after another second, squeaks and hugs them again. Dean sighs, because they definitely haven't heard the last of that. Chuck pokes his head in.

"Dr. Meyer? Agent Winchester?" he asks, and Dean can't tell if he's being timid because he's Chuck or if there's some sort of vibe in the air.

"Yes, Chuck?" Cas replies. Chuck raises a folder.

"I took the liberty last night of requesting Megan Caplun's medical records," Chuck says, walking into the office. "You're not going to believe this, but..." He passes the folder to Cas.

"Megan Caplun had osteogenesis imperfecta," Cas breathes, low and surprised. He pulls an x-ray from the file, holding it up to the light. "Dean, someone would have been able to snap her bones as easily as a chicken bone." Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Thus making it easy enough for say, a 30 something year old man to dismember her," Dean suggests. Cas nods.

"There would be considerable blood loss, but with the fragility of her skeleton, it would have been not challenge at all." Cas agrees. Dean nods.

"I'll call Ellen, get a warrant for the Caplun place. I think it's time for us to pay Mark Phillips a visit, whether he's ready to talk to us or not." Dean says, halfway through dialing already.

They're in the car and barreling down 270, and Dean is absently grateful that they're headed contra-traffic, or they'd never make it out there at this hour. That being said, it does leave him with an awfully large amount of his brain free to think about stuff like Cas and kissing and FBI regulations.

Which further leads to him blurting out stupid shit like, "So, I think we need to talk to Sam." Cas blinks at him slowly.

"I have to confess that I am at a loss as to how Dr. Campbell could help us arrest Jeffrey Caplun," Cas says finally. Dean shakes his head, wrapping one hand more securely around the wheel as he uses the other to gesture between them.

"No, about, about us," Dean stumbles, and he can feel Cas's laser-like focus boring holes in the side of his head. "I don't want to give up being partners- not if we don't have to." Dean can see Cas tilt his head to the side slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"Give up being partners," Cas echoes. Dean shrugs as calmly as he can.

"I don't think there's pretty much anyone I'd trust to be your partner other than me, you know? You're crazy. And you take stupid risks. So, if the bureau is going to split us up, I'm going to have to start looking soon. Maybe a chick. Maybe a lesbian, even, in case you'd just fall for anyone they partner you up with." Dean babbles. Cas looks totally confused.

"... What?" Cas demands. Dean shrugs wildly again, because he's apparently so fucking crazy.

"I mean, you eventually fell for me, right? We're all the same at the FBI, not letting you have guns, asking stupid questions and not knowing Latin." Dean is such a fucking idiot, but he cannot stop his damn mouth. Cas glares at him, which is hotter than it should be.

"Dean, you are not the same," Cas growls, like he's pissed he even has to say it. "You're better than them." Dean doesn't even know what to say to that, so he just swallows thickly and opens his mouth to say something, but Cas isn't done, apparently.

"I've wanted you for years, I'm not letting you go now." Cas drops, like everyone knows, like Dean has no choice in the matter, and Dean feels like maybe- maybe they can make this work.

"Okay," Dean says and whatever is written all over his face must be enough for Cas, because he loses the terrible stiffness he's been carrying around all morning, and Dean stretches out a hand to rub against the hard edge of Cas's bony knee. "Okay." The silence the rest of the way out into Maryland isn't easy, exactly, but it's not the strange live-wire tension of this morning, either, so Dean can put it to one side and pull up to Mark Phillips' house with only Megan Caplun's murder on his mind.

Mark answers the door, still sullen and avoidant, and now that Dean is looking for them, the bruises around his arms are livid.

"I was really planning on being patient, Mark, and letting your conscience do the work for me, but I just don't think we have time for that, sorry." Dean says with a grin. Mark shakes his head.

"Look, I told you yesterday-" Mark starts. "I don't have anything else to say, okay?" Dean rolls his eyes.

"What did he threaten you with? Telling your parents? Hurting you?" Dean pushes. "Mark, whatever he told you he was going to do, if you tell us about it, we can make sure it never happens." Mark shuffles his feet uneasily.

"What's the big deal, okay? So we pulled a stupid prank and I didn't go to school yesterday, why do you even care?" Mark mutters. Dean glances at Cas.

"Because we believe that the person you talked to in Pastor Jonas' field, after you were filming, alone, murdered and left Megan Caplun's body there," Cas says plainly. Mark goes white as a sheet.

"What? Someone killed Megan?" Mark demands. "But that can't no- you're wrong." Mark crosses his arms stubbornly.

"You talked to Jeff Caplun, didn't you?" Dean asks carefully. Mark shakes his head.

"There's no way Jeff would kill Megan." Mark protests. "Jeff just saw the lights in the field. He told me to go before someone called the cops. He said otherwise he'd tell Sheriff Hanks." Got him.

"But you saw Jeff Caplun in the field, he knew about the prank before anyone else. He made those bruises," Dean presses on. Mark shrugs angrily.

"I tried to run, okay, he grabbed me, whatever. I stopped trying after I realized he'd already seen the whole thing." Mark explains.

“Mark, did anyone else know about the prank?” Dean presses. Mark shakes his head.

“No, but, there’s just no way- Jeff’s been taking care of Megan since their parents died, for years, he wouldn’t do that,” Mark insists. Cas shakes his head.

“We need to talk to Jeffrey Caplun,” he says, already turning to head out the door. Dean shrugs and follows him.

“I would really like to wrap this case up so we can have sex,” Cas mutters, stalking toward the Impala and Dean nearly trips over his own feet.

“What?” he asks, stumbling the last few feet to the car. Cas raises his eyebrows, like butter wouldn’t fucking melt in his mouth.

“I think it is time someone made Jeffrey Caplun face the consequences of his actions,” Cas says mildly, like Dean isn’t already half-hard in his pants, thinking about the two of them alone in Dean’s apartment with a whole lot less clothes.

“You’re such a tease,” Dean hisses under his breath, catching the hint of a smirk in the corner of Cas’s mouth.

Well, it’s certainly a new incentive to close a case.

Dean calls Sheriff Hanks’ office on the way there, because after they arrest Jeff Caplun, Dean just doesn’t want him in his car. The house is idyllic and quiet when they pull up, but Dean wants this taken care of before the sheriff gets there. Dean knocks on the door. There’s a few moments of muted rustling and steps, but the door is opened promptly, like Caplun has been waiting for them.

“Agent Winchester,” Caplun says, hiding a shaking hand in his pants pocket. Dean is a little ashamed he didn’t figure this out earlier- he practically screams guilty conscience. “Do you have the test results? Is it- is it Megan?” The foyer reeks of bleach and the old scrolling banister has a bunch of freshly-glued cracks all over the lower half of the wooden slats. Dean can see the whole thing in his head now.

“The sample you gave us did not match the remains in the field,” Cas says simply, and behind the relief on Jeff Caplun’s face is something darker, something ashamed and Dean knows they’re right.

“But it is Megan, isn’t it?” Dean asks quietly. Caplun starts, badly.

“What- but you just said…” he trails off in a panicked breath. Cas tilts his head slightly to one side, looking right through Caplun.

“The sample you gave us yesterday was your mother’s hair, Mr. Caplun. Unless you have any half-siblings through your mother, the remains we found on Pastor Jonas’ property are indisputably your sister’s.” Cas explains colorlessly. Jeff Caplun backs up into the banister, stumbling into it hard, and Dean can hear it cracking again.

“It- it was an accident,” Caplun finally blurts out. Dean holds in a sigh. “She fell.”

“Jeff, you need to tell the truth, now.” Dean says, as level as he can manage. He thinks maybe Caplun will cry, and he hates this part.

“You know- Megan was sick, she could barely leave the house without getting hurt, her bones-“ Caplun breaks off. “When we were kids, we just thought Megan was unlucky- falling the wrong way, clumsy. But Mom finally took her to a specialist and there it was- osteogenesis imperfecta. Like that movie with Bruce Willis.” Caplun looks at them with imploring eyes.

“She was getting worse. She wouldn’t listen- her hearing was starting to go, she wouldn’t use the wheelchair… But she wanted to go to college, she was applying everywhere, but we had talked about it, it just- she couldn’t. We were arguing and she fell down the stairs.” Caplun babbles. “I didn’t push her, I just, I turned toward her and it scared her or something and she fell, and there was blood and she was already gone.”

“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” Dean prompts, the moment he saw the stairs, he knew something had happened, but he still doesn’t know why Caplun would rip her body to shreds like that. Caplun shakes his head.

“She was already dead, I told you.” Caplun insists. “Everyone knew that Megan and I had been fighting, but they didn’t know why, they didn’t know how sick she was,” Dean frowns.

“You thought they’d think you killed her,” Dean suggests, which- he’s not wholly sold on the premise that Caplun didn’t. Caplun nods, frantically.

“So, I thought that maybe, maybe if I could convince the Pastor that it was an accident, he’d stick up for me, right? But then I ran into the kid, Mark, in the field, and I saw what they’d done and I just thought, “what if no one knew?” What if Megan just… ran away from home?” Caplun puts his face in his hands. Dean resists the urge to scrub his hand over his face, hard.

“And you just-“ Dean tries, but he doesn’t know how to say it other than “chopped up your sister and threw her body in a field.” Dean’s an older brother- he understands having to take care of yourself and someone else, the frustration- even though he doubts Megan Caplun could have been more of a little shit than Adam- but he could never do this. Caplun shakes his head miserably.

“I thought- I though if everyone was distracted by the circle, it’d be- no one was ever supposed to know,” Caplun protests weakly. “She was already so broken that- I put her in the thresher.” Dean sort of wants to gag at that, but he holds it together, flicking a quick glance over at Cas, who is stone-faced and impassive.

“God, Jeff,” someone breathes behind them, and Dean whirls around to find two of Sheriff Hanks’ deputies in the doorway. “How- how could you?”

The situation devolves epically fast from there- Caplun clams up and yeah, cries, and they load him into the squad car out front and Dean is seriously done with this case. They’re quiet on the drive back, Cas watching the fields fade into suburbs into city out the window, and he can feel them both processing and putting it away. Dean learned how to separate all of the terrible shit people can do to each other years ago on another continent in another uniform and it hasn’t failed him yet.

And he knows that there’s a dead nineteen year old girl, and he just arrested her brother and there’s a mountain of paperwork to be done about the whole awful, disgusting mess, but- Dean can’t stop thinking about putting it off and sneaking Cas back to his apartment, because- God. He abruptly realizes that Cas may not be, uh… on the same page with him, though.

“So, earlier, when you said-“ Dean starts and Cas just stares at him intently.

“Dean, if we do not stop at your apartment, and I don’t finally get to touch you, I am not going to be productive at all, today.” Cas says finally and Dean swallows, hard.

“Okay, yeah, right, uh. Good.” Dean mumbles and focuses on speeding.

That being said, it feels like it takes forever to get back, and Cas must feel the same way, because the moment the elevator doors ding shut in the lobby of Dean’s building, Cas is pushing him up against the wall, hard, the ornamental hand rail digging into his back, but he doesn’t care, because Cas is kissing him like he can’t get close enough. They break apart long enough to fumble their way down the hall and Dean nearly drops his keys, but they’re in, and Cas drags Dean into the bedroom.

“Somehow you’re pushier than I imagined,” Dean mutters with a laugh into Cas’s mouth.

“In this case, impatience is a compliment, Dean,” Cas says before scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin at the edge of where Dean’s jaw meets his neck and holy fuck, yes.

“If you don’t object, I’m going to take all your clothes off and make you come.” Cas hisses against Dean’s throat and he nearly chokes on air.

“If you don’t hurry, that sentence is going to happen out of order,” Dean admits, because he’s fucking gagging for this, for the greedy slide of skin against skin, and his hands are already slipping under Cas’s borrowed shirt. Cas looks up at him with dark, thoughtful eyes and yeah, they need to get this show on the road now. Cas strips off his clothes efficiently, and Dean is struck motionless for a moment, watching the pull and stretch of lean muscle under skin and okay, yeah, this is different, but it’s Cas and his head and his dick are in firm- hah- agreement on this one.

“Dean, you need to get naked,” Cas instructs with a hint of frown, and then his hands go for Dean’s belt buckle, anyway. Dean sucks in a fast, shallow breath, slips out of his jacket and starts tugging at his tie fit to strangle himself. Cas just chuckles this dirty old man laugh, rough and filthy, that goes straight down Dean’s spine and pools somewhere low in his stomach.

“Easy,” Cas murmurs, batting Dean’s hands aside and extricating Dean from his clothes five times faster than he was managing it. Cas looks hungry and pleased and Dean fights the irrational urge to blush before going for Cas’s mouth again.

“Shut up,” he says between fast, hard kisses, before hooking his leg around Cas’s ankle, effectively tipping them onto the bed. Cas just smiles into the skin that’s not quite shoulder and not quite neck and then rolls them over, straddling one of Dean’s thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long that I don’t even know where to start,” Cas muses, running his hands over Dean’s chest and fuck, that’s unexpectedly hot. Dean can’t stop this feeble little hitch of his hips up into Cas, who just smirks like, yeah, he knows.

“I can pretty much guarantee that this is fine,” Dean says, his voice creeping upwards as Cas’s hand slips lower, brushing across fine hairs and the tender skin over his hip.

“’Fine’ is imprecise,” Cas protests, wrapping his hand around Dean’s dick, which- if he thought he was hard earlier, that was nothing compared to this, he hasn’t felt this twitchy and aroused since he was 16. Cas runs his thumb over the slit, smearing the precome there all over his hand and Dean’s head falls back against the bed, involuntarily.

“Fucking, Jesus, hell,” Dean breathes out unsteadily. Cas grins, shaking his head.

“Better, I suppose,” he concedes, and Dean sort of objects to the idea that Cas can make whole, unaffected sentences and he can’t, so he tugs Cas down and kisses him until Cas’s mouth is red and slick and open.

“Dean,” Cas says insistently, his cock leaking against Dean’s leg and Dean just bites at his mouth again, reaching a hand between them to palm at Cas, and then finally thinking, fuck it, and slicking his hand over both their dicks, jacking them fast. Cas is surprisingly vocal, deep groans and shuddering, broken loud breaths that are extremely gratifying to Dean’s ego. And that lasts until Cas slips a hand behind his balls and strokes and presses and Dean comes all over his own hand and Cas’s dick. He somehow manages to keep working Cas until he mutters, “Just, fucking, come on, Cas,” and Cas makes this strangled sigh and comes, too.

They lay there, limbs tangled together, for some indeterminate period of time before Cas herds them into the shower and you know- wandering hands, round two, easy shower cleanup appreciated. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt this well-fucked without actually fucking before.

“We have to go to work,” Cas reminds him, pulling Dean’s t-shirt over his head again. Dean laughs as Cas kisses him, long and slow and deep, anyway.

“I’m not the one slowing us down,” he returns, tapping his shoe against the side of Cas’s bare foot. Cas shoots him this look that says, “well, whose fault is that,” which is sort of fair, Dean had nearly started round three with an ill-advised- but awesome- groping session.

“Okay, okay, paperwork,” Dean grumbles, pressing an off-center kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth.

“And then meeting with Sam,” Cas agrees. Dean drops Cas off at the lab, because he’s not going in there so Jo can look at him and Cas and read everything they’ve done this afternoon off his face. And because he’d rather put razor blades under his fingernails than talk about his feelings, he runs out of paperwork sooner rather than later, sending it all over to Ellen’s office.

“Dean?” Sam asks, learning in the doorway of the office. “Cas called and said we needed to have a session and that I had to come get you or you’d fake a murder investigation to get out of it?” Sam is puzzled, but he looks vaguely hopeful. Then again, this is probably the first time Dean and Cas have voluntarily asked for Sam’s advice on anything not case-related. Dean thinks that Sam is fairly going to shit himself over this one.

“Uh huh,” Dean says, letting Sam hang in the doorway. Sam blinks, then sighs.

“Are you going to, I don’t know, tell me what this is all about?” Sam prompts, petulantly. Dean grins, because baiting Sam never fails to put him in a good mood.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Dean replies cheerfully. Sam looks like this perp Dean had once arrested who had tried hiding in a port-o-potty for three days- that miserably resigned.

“Dean,” Cas says, reproachful and amused from somewhere behind Sam’s mountain of a carcass.

“If you can get Sasquatch here to come inside, shut the door behind you,” Dean tells Cas, getting up to come sit on the front of his desk. “Do you want to tell him?” Cas smiles, and shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Cas answers dryly. Dean feels his mouth twisting up into this totally stupid grin, because Cas is kind of a dick sometimes, and Dean loves it. Sam’s starting to look pissy and sulky and out of the loop.

“We need your professional advice,” Dean starts, trying to think of the best way to put this, because “we’re dating” sounds dumb and 14 and girly and “we’re fucking” really doesn’t cover it. Sam raises an eyebrow, but nods his head, moving to take one of the armchairs in Dean’s office.

“We wanted to know about the regulations for fraternization between partners,” Dean continues and Sam completely missing the chair and falling flat on his ass is just as good as he thought it’d be.

“I- what- I- what?” Sam demands, pushing his ridiculous floppy bangs out of his face, squinting up at them from the floor, whipping his head back and forth between them.

“We don’t want to get assigned to other partners,” Dean continues, like Sam didn’t even say anything. “But we’re not going to lie or hide this.” Sam is still opening and closing his mouth like a fish, but there’s a suspicious bright gleam to his eyes.

“Are you serious, I swear, Dean, if you’re fucking with me-“ Sam starts, but Cas just raises an eyebrow and Sam claps his hands over his mouth. Dean strongly suspects that’s what’s holding in the “oh my god, oh my god, ohmigod” that’s dying to burst out of Sam’s mouth.

“I just, hold on-“ Sam says, voice tight with something as he whips out his blackberry and starts- starts freaking text someone?

“Sam,” Dean protests, but Sam just shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just Chuck, I’m just-“ Sam admits and oh, God.

“I really hope that’s not just the “oh my God” you’re keeping tucked up in there, because you could just say it,” Dean mutters and Sam gives him the weakest bitchface he’s ever seen, because Sam looks fucking… maniacally happy.

“So, but, really?” Sam asks and Dean just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, Sam, Dean and I are pursuing a relationship.” Cas answers calmly, and it doesn’t sound as stupid as Dean thought it would, coming from Cas. Sam looks like he’s holding in a squeak or something, but he schools his face into something remotely close to normal.

“Well, then,” Sam starts, taking a deep, giddy breath. “This is slightly better than the usual questions I get about this.” Cas tilts his head to the side.

“How so?” Cas asks, intent. Sam smiles widely.

“You’re not actually partners, per se. Dr. Meyer is a consultant, not an agent. Plus, I think you could make a good argument. Your solve rate is unprecedented. With approval and a formal evaluation from a therapist-“ Sam smirks, pointing to himself. “And special dispensation from your supervisor, you just might be able to swing this.” Dean can feel his hand shake, because he’d hoped, but he hadn’t honestly thought that they’d be able to make this work- working and being together- but they just- they might.

“Uh, so, should we?” Dean asks, making a pointing gesture down the hall, toward Michael’s office. Sam shrugs, but his grin is still huge and dopey.

“When have you ever let me tell you what to do?” Sam says with a grin. Dean is halfway out the door before he pauses, darts back in and slaps Sam into an impromptu bro-hug, slapping his back and going right back out the door before Sam can do anything like, hug back- or cry.

Dean’s boss is an asshole, but honestly, that just makes Dean actually listen to him. That, and Michael can still take anyone in the gym.

“Uh, you got a minute?” Dean asks, poking his head in after making sure Michael is by himself in his gargantuan office.

“For you, Dean?” Michael stretches behind the desk. “Still not really, but come on in anyway.” Dean grins, and he’s sure it looks nervous and stupid as hell, but Dean’s trying to have a little faith.

“Cas- Dr. Meyer- and I were talking to uh, Dr. Campbell about the fraternization regs,” Dean tries, because if he has to tell his boss that he’s having gay sex with his partner, he’d like to do it as obliquely as possible. Michael raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and?” Michael finally asks. Dean blinks.

“Uh, you don’t… want to reassign us?” Dean ventures. Michael levels Dean this look that makes him feel like Michael knows about the time he put yogurt in Adam’s shoes.

“Dean, why would I want to do that?” Michael is totally fucking unreadable and Zen behind his desk and Dean is having a total Twilight-Zone day, here.

“Uh, I guess, you don’t?” he tries. Michael smiles slightly.

“Right.” Michael says. There’s a long pause. Michael raises his eyebrows again. “Was there something else?” Dean manages to shake his head, because he doesn’t really trust himself to talk. “Good. Nice work on the Caplun mess.” Dean nods weakly. Michael smiles wider.

“Dean, get out of my office.”

Dean does not need to be told twice.

EPILOGUE:

Lee stared back at Mal.

"Are you serious?" she asked, scoffing a little. Mal nodded, totally unfazed by her facade of irritation.

"I think that we should get it 'out of our system', so to speak. I am reasonably confident that once we have satisfied any physical curiosity or tension, our partnership will be even stronger," he said calmly. Lee snorted.

"Or this will totally end in disaster," she argued. But she had never been one to make good decisions when push came to having sex and if she was being honest, Lee had been dying to get under that lab coat for a long time now. Mal opened his mouth to disagree but she just shook her head. "No, I get it. We're just two good friends- helping each other out- you're between girlfriends, whatever, it's only natural we might start feeling weird about each other." Mal nodded and tilted his head slightly, like he had already undressed her with his mind. Lee tried not to shiver under his intense gaze.

"Right. Mutual benefit, that's all," Mal replied and Lee smiled, dark and dirty.

"As long as it's mutual," she said, already wrapping her hand around the lapels of his jacket.

Chuck shifts anxiously.

"Agent Winchester, I am sincerely uncomfortable with this," he says, twisting the hem of his beaten-up t-shirt. Dean grins from where he's perched on the platform railing.

"Chuck, if you can dish it, you'd better be prepared to take it," Dean says with an expansive shrug. "By the way, Cas is a lot more aggressive than this- take note of that for the next book. Now, where was I? Oh, right. 'Mal leaned in, using every inch of his small height advantage...'"

Excerpts From Carver Edlund's Magnum Opus, 2/2

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