Cas was a little jumpy, to say the least.
In between little flinches whenever he got too close and the way his leg started to shake whenever they sat next to each other, Dean wasn't sure what was going on. What he could do about it. He got that Cas wasn't used to it, of course. Angels don't have relationships. Especially not with humans. Hell, the more he thought about it, Dean wasn't even sure if they knew a relationship beyond "feathery assed business partners."
He tried, though. He really did. Cas seemed fine whenever Sam was briefing them on a case, or whenever they did anything business-y. He was serious, casual, and down-to-earth. Then Dean would rest his hand on Cas' leg or give him a quick peck on the cheek, and his head would be in the clouds all over again.
"...Cas?"
The angel started, caught off guard by the harsh stroke of reality. He was out of it again, Dean noticed. As soon as the hunter had pulled up a chair next to him in the bunker, he started to get all spacey and...leg-bouncy. Dean cast a worried glance over as Cas turned his head back towards the table, dragging himself back to the case.
"Yes, Sam, I'm sorry." he retracted. "You were saying?"
Sam cleared his throat, furrowing his brow for a mere second before he turned back to his laptop. "Right, uh, more angel killings. Folks in Kirksville, Missouri are freaking out about some mysterious wing-shaped markings that painted the grounds of a crime scene. Think it's some kind of sick joke from the killer."
Dean was only half listening, managing quick glances back to Cas. Through the angel's strained, intent focus on Sam, Dean could see him getting antsy. Almost as if he was struggling to keep his head up from where Dean's knee was resting against his.
Give him time, Dean told himself for the fifth time that day. Time. Patience wasn't one of Dean's virtues. It had been two weeks since they officially started dating, and while Dean wasn't itching to get into Cas' pants (well, he sort of was, but that was besides the point), he wasn't sure how much longer he could take the angel's persistent avoidance of physical contact. Dean jumped up.
"Cas and I can take this one." He said, pushing the chair in. "Milk run."
"Milk run?" Sam exclaimed. "Anything killing angels is never good news, since when is it a milk run?"
"C'mon, Sam," Dean brushed off. "There were only two murders, and if you hadn't noticed, Cas is an angel. I think the two of us will be fine. Plus," he added, "I know you've been dying to talk to that new bartender down the road." He wiggled his eyebrows.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. But first sign of trouble, you call me."
"You know it."
~
It got dark quickly. As unwilling as Cas was to go, he was no match for his boyfriend's puppy dog eyes, even if they weren't as convincing as Sam's. They left that night, the Impala packed with angel blades, holy oil, and enough beer to keep Dean sane for the seven hour drive. He wasn't sure if he could last the magnetic pull of Cas' alluring figure, especially when the angel was too hesitant to even hold hands.
Give him time.
"That was the exit." Dean nearly jumped at Cas' voice, having been pretty much silent for the last two hours. He turned his head to see Cas' stone face gazing out the front window, soaked a warm orange from the glow of the street lamps.
"What?" Dean asked, feeling fuzzy from the charmingly handsome physique of his boyfriend. It seemed like every time Dean looked at him, he was drawn in even closer, soon to lose all of himself to the angel. His eyes flickered over his sharp jawline. Dean swerved clumily over the yellow line, earning a honk from the lone truck passing by.
