pantheonofdiscord:

The “I love you” just comes out one day, with zero preamble or premeditation.

And it’s entirely Cas’ fault.

See, Dean is just sitting there, staring out the streaky diner window, waiting for Cas to bring their food over. He’s minding his own goddamn business.

The two plates drop down onto the table with a slight clatter. Dean lets out a perfunctory “thanks,” Cas responds with a perfunctory nod, and everything is completely fucking normal.

Until Dean takes a bite out of his burger, and is suddenly overwhelmed with crunchy, salty goodness.

He chews and swallows, mouth watering. “Did you get extra bacon on mine?”

“Mhm,” Cas says idly, distracted by his triple-decker club something. Unlike Dean, he doesn’t bother with decorum, and answers with his mouth still full. “You like bac’n.”

“I love you.”

Cas freezes, his sandwich half-crammed into his mouth, bulgy cheeks and even bulgier eyes sliding slowly across the table to meet Dean’s. There’s barbeque sauce on his chin.

Panicked like he’s never been in his entire goddamn monster-filled life, Dean instantly redirects his gaze to the burger in his shaking hands. “I love you – bacon. You’re… you’re just so good.”

And he shoves the burger at his face with enough force to make his teeth hurt.

Cas’ wide eyes narrow to two highly suspicious slits.

There’s twenty-one seconds of agonizing silence as Dean forces the gigantic bite down his gullet. “Yep, bacon. God’s gift to man, Cas, mark it down. He said so himself once, actually, come to think of it.” He’s rambling like a Gilmore girl and his face is on fire.

Cas nods, slowly. “I see.”

Dean’s heart is in his throat but mercifully, Cas seems to let it go. He returns his focus to his sandwich, and the two of them spend the rest of their meal in overwhelmingly awkward silence.

They’re finishing up, draining the last dregs of their coffees, and Dean starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten away with it. His stupid heartbeat finally starts to calm the fuck down.

“I love you.”

Heart suddenly back to hummingbird levels, Dean whips his head around, only to find Cas focused and intent and serious and definitely, one hundred percent talking to his fucking coffee mug.

“Yep, coffee. Very good. One of my favourite things. Definitely.” The little shit is just sitting there, gravely nodding at the mug.

Dean can feel his face turning puce. His hands start shaking again.

Still not looking at him, Cas takes a sip of the coffee, and Dean suddenly feels weirdly jealous – Cas just sitting there, tonguing the ceramic.

So he does the only logical thing. He reaches across the table with both hands, yanks at the lapels of Cas’ coat, and smashes their mouths together.

About two seconds later he remembers that they’re in fucking public, so he rips his mouth away and sits back down on his side of the booth, clearing his throat about six times louder than necessary.

When he finally gets the courage to look up at Cas’ face, he’s grinning in a dazed kind of way, eyes drifting a little bit.

“I just, uh,” Dean mumbles, face still hot. “I just love coffee too.”