That Was Beautiful. I Have No Words...

That was beautiful. I have no words...

mornings are for lovers ~ a quick destiel drabble, 780 words.

Early morning, still veiled by fog. Dean has just pulled the Impala up to a diner that looks to be straight out of the ’60s, complete with teal and chrome trim. Sam is first to get out of the car, stretching his arms above his head in hopes to pop his spine. Dean and Cas lag behind, slow-moving and muttering complaints under their breath about it being too early and I need some damn coffee.

Used to the two being barely functional before their caffeine fix, Sam waits patiently, hands now stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. That is, until Dean waves him off, still standing by the driver’s side door, and says, “Go on ahead, Sammy. I need to talk to Cas.”

There’s no further explanation, just Dean staring back at Sam expectantly. Sam raises an eyebrow at him – a little surprised that Dean even managed to speak coherently this early – but relents. “Okay,” Sam says, if a little hesitantly, and goes into the diner alone, getting a table for the three of them.

He’s seated in a booth that looks out the front windows, orders a coffee for himself (he doesn’t know how long they’ll be, and Dean will complain if his has gone cold), and again, waits for the other two to join. He passes the time by scrolling through news articles on his phone, flicking occasional glances at Dean and Cas where they stand next to the Impala, their heads inclined towards one another – although that’s all Sam can see from his spot.

Maybe ten minutes pass, possibly more. When Sam raises his eyes to check on the two outside, they’re caught in an embrace; Cas’ arms are around Dean’s shoulders, Dean has fistfuls of Cas’ coat, like they’re holding on. Sam averts his gaze – something about the moment seemed too… It’s not for Sam to see.

It’s another couple minutes, though no more than five, before Dean and Cas make it into the diner, coming over to Sam and sitting on the same side booth. Sam takes note of Dean’s reddened cheeks, the near bashful way they keep looking at each other from under their lashes, the soft smile Cas has.

“Did you order yet?” Dean asks Sam, and clearly they weren’t going to talk about what just happened.

“Just coffee,” Sam answers, sliding his gaze to Cas for a second, who keeps fiddling with something on his left hand, out of view from Sam.

The waitress comes up to their table, and Sam lets the questions bubbling around his mind drop for now.

It doesn’t click for Sam until later, while they’re driving out on some back road. Or, well, it became more obvious. Cas is in the passenger seat with a book in his lap. He reaches over to Dean, dropping his arm over the length of the back rest, hand on Dean’s shoulder. Cas’ fingers begin to sift idly through the hair at Dean’s nape, and Sam sees it.

A ring.

Oh. Oh.

Sam is quiet for a few moments, letting this new information sink in. Sam has never seen his brother happier, or more at ease, and the same goes for Cas. He’s happy for them. “Congrats, you guys,” Sam says eventually, and he means it.

It’s Cas who turns to look at him, smiling more with his eyes. “Thank you, Sam,” he says, and Sam smiles back.

Dean catches Sam’s eye in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Sam. He nods, once, giving his silent support, and then Dean returns his gaze back to the road – though Sam can see from the movement of his cheek that he’s smiling.

~

Dean and Cas were married on a Thursday morning in the parking lot of some nondescript diner, Dean pressing Cas back to the driver’s side door of the Impala. For others, it was hardly perfect, but to Cas and Dean, it was more than they ever thought they would get. Their vows to each other were only for them to hear. Dean had spoken his in the hollow under Cas’ ear, against his skin, heart so full he felt close to erupting, but Cas held him together – like always. Cas, for his part, said his in Enochian first, then in English, hands cupping Dean’s jaw, words whispered against Dean’s mouth. Then they’d kissed, soft and chaste, and Dean pointedly ignored the stinging in his eyes, while Cas’ thumbs stroked over his cheeks, murmuring softly in Enochian.

It was theirs, and it was good.