Cas drags Dean out to an empty field and sits cross-legged in the overgrown grass, then looks up at him expectantly. Dean doesn’t look around, because he knows they’re alone here. Still he hesitates. Cas smirks and holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers. Dean can no longer resist. He sits in front of the dark-haired man, only for Cas to rearrange him. His long fingers urge Dean to turn around and relax until he’s lying in his lap. Dean struggles momentarily to loosen his limbs and when he does, he understands why Cas brought him here.
At first it’s completely silent. The kind of quiet that’s almost terrifying. But then there are birds singing to each other in the bordering trees and the wind picks up a bit so the blades of grass rub and rustle against each other. It occurs to Dean that this is what peace sounds like.
“This is why you brought me here. For the quiet, right?” Dean asks.
“Do you like it?” Dean waits a beat. This time, he hears Cas breathe. Soft and calm. Safe.
“Well I don’t hate it.”
Cas listens. To the birds, to the grass, to the sound of his fingers brushing lightly through Dean’s hair. Dean doesn’t make a peep. For a bit he stops breathing.
Cas tugs his earlobe roughly.
“Breathe, you idiot,” he mumbles as he pulls a bent cigarette out of his pocket. He sighs. He forgot his lighter. Dean fishes through about a buck of loose change in his pocket and finally pulls his own out. Cas smiles appreciatively.
“This isn’t so bad, right?” He lights the cigarette and takes a drag. Cas means the field. And the being alone together where they are not just a veteran and a freeloader. Here in the field they are just listeners.
“Good.” Cas closes his eyes. Dean looks at his nearly empty beer. They listen. Dean hears a bee buzz past his hear. He doesn’t hear the faded screams or gunfire like he usually does. He doesn’t hear the voice of some old stiff in a starchy uniform telling him Sammy’s been captured. He hears what Cas wanted him to hear and it’s probably beautiful, if he has to admit it to himself.
“Thank you for the flowers, by the way,” Cas whispers. His voice is rich and nurturing and just the same as the rest of the sounds around them. Probably beautiful.
“You said you liked flowers.” Making a crown of flowers wasn’t easy with trembling hands, but he sees it was worth it now.
“That I did. Though I’m sure you remember me mentioning I’m not a big fan of roses.” Dean blanches, until Cas leans down and pecks his lips swiftly. “You’re lucky that I really like you.” At that Dean lets out a relieved whistle. Then Cas ruins it by going for Dean’s beer bottle. They both struggle and let out unexpected pockets of laughter as they wrestle. Neither win. The beer gets spilt and they lie next to each other looking up at the clouds. Dean smiles genuinely for the first time in months.