#i know i have a tag list somewhere but pls forgive me i'm not quite in my head these days

[surlybobbies]

The Noises of Routine (deancas 3.7k)

Excerpt: 

Cas’s apartment has always been quiet, but now he’s even more thankful for it because he can hear Dean everywhere: the creak of his footsteps on the floorboards, the running water of the shower, the music that sometimes drifts from behind his closed door into the living room.

Cas wants the sounds even closer. He wants Dean’s footsteps in his bedroom, Dean’s murmur from the pillow next to his, Dean’s music from the nightstand while he gets ready for bed. He wants the noises of a lifetime of routine, the noise of a life with Dean in it.

(quarantine fic. Dean and Cas stay in Cas's apartment.)

Rating: T Tags: Quarantine fic, friends to lovers, emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending, roommates

Notes: A fic written for the “Quarantine and Chill” round of gift exchange on the Profound Bond discord. My giftee is @zigostia!  I’m glad they enjoyed it, and I’m glad to be able to share it with you all too!

You can read it on ao3 here or

When the news breaks, Dean and Cas’s eyes connect over Cas’s tiny kitchen island. Dean is standing over a pot of chili. There’s an empty bowl in his hand. Cas is perched on his secondhand stool with a chili stain on his collar.

They stare at each other while the broadcast continues from the TV behind Cas. He can see the light shifting on Dean’s throat when he swallows.

“With the confirmation of the first case of covid-19, the governor has issued a statewide stay-at-home order effective midnight Monday. We can expect to hear about how long this order may last during her press conference in a few minutes.”

Dean puts the bowl down. He doesn’t break eye contact with Cas, though it’s obvious his mind is miles away. “That’s… not good.”

Cas opens his mouth but he can’t find anything to say. He had known this moment would come eventually, his eyes having been glued to the TV now for weeks, but here in the moment he can’t quite comprehend it.

Dean’s hand skates over his eyes. “Fuck.”

“We’ll be fine,” Cas says, startled out of his shock by Dean’s distress. “Let’s make a trip tomorrow to Costco - “

But Dean is shaking his head.

Then Cas remembers. “Your lease is up next month.”

“In three weeks.” Dean gestures toward the TV. “This isn’t going to be over in three weeks.” He walks to the couch in front of the TV and sinks down into it. “How the hell am I going to find a new place in quarantine?”

“Surely your landlord won’t kick you out - “ Cas shuts his trap when Dean sends him a look because they both know his landlord’s reputation. At a loss, Cas wanders over and stands behind the couch. For a while they watch the news. The governor is late to his press conference and the anchor is repeating the talking points of the breaking news. Cas’s eyes slide to Dean, sitting on the right side of the couch. Cas knows there’s a permanent divot in the cushion from all the time he’s spent there. Struck by a sudden idea, Cas says, “If you don’t find a place, you can take my couch for as long as you need.”

Dean’s head sinks slowly into his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbles to his lap.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Cas stares at the back of Dean’s head, trying to figure out the reason behind his behavior. Then it hits him. “But before that you have three weeks stuck in your apartment.”

“With my neighbors stuck in their apartment.”

“Their dog,” Cas remembers.

“Their dog,” Dean groans.

A silence falls between them, though meanwhile the governor has finally made his way onto the TV screen. “Looking at the data, if we all do our part by staying home or otherwise practicing social distancing, we can expect to emerge from this situation in about four weeks.”

Dean, his head still in his hands, says some very choice words about his opinion.

“Stay with me, then,” Cas says.

Four beats. Quiet. Then, “Say again?”

“I’ve got a spare bedroom. You’ve got clothes here already. Pack your things and stay with me for four weeks.”

Dean lifts his hand and twists around to stare incredulously at Cas. “Pack my things? Cas, that’s a whole fucking apartment’s worth of shit - you want me to get it here in three days?”

“So you’re thinking about it.”

“I’m not thinking about it.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “The dog.”

Dean’s face falls suddenly. “The dog,” he sighs in defeat. “Fuck.”

So he moves in. Cas’s apartment is suddenly full of beat-up boxes, most shoved under tables and stashed in corners, ready to be moved again for when Dean finds a place of his own. Dean takes a few of the boxes into Cas’s spare bedroom.

Within a few days there’s evidence of Dean’s presence all over the apartment: his jacket in a pile with Cas’s near the door, his toothbrush in a separate cup near Cas’s, his shoes by his bedroom door, a spare sock in the dryer. It makes Cas feel warm in a way he doesn’t dwell on, even when he notices the way Dean smiles at him without fail every morning when he finally emerges from his blanket cocoon in the spare bedroom.

It’s hurtfully easy to live with Dean, but every time Cas wakes up looking forward to spending his day within Dean’s orbit, he walks into the living room and catches sight of the boxes under the coffee table and remembers why Dean’s there, why Cas is there, and why the streets outside are empty. Their days are simple and easy, yes, but there’s always an undercurrent of anxiety that Cas can’t seem to shake.

The first time they go grocery-shopping during the stay-at-home order, they go together, and only because neither wanted the other one to go, but neither could no one go, and so their stubbornness resulted in this:

Dean, driving. Cas handing him a disposable face mask before they get out of the car. Worried frowns hidden behind cotton and elastic. Without speaking, they quickly understand their roles: Dean handles the cart and Cas handles the groceries. They watch each other - what they touch and what they don’t. Cas watches as Dean weaves through the shoppers, his mouth a thin line every time someone gets too close to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but once they get into the car and wipe down their hands with antibacterial wipes, Cas heaves a huge sigh. Dean looks at him, and his eyes are gentle. They don’t speak on the ride home and eventually Cas’s heart begins to calm.

In the apartment, they take 45 minutes to wipe down their groceries. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” Dean sighs, after stashing the milk in the fridge.

Cas has spent the last 45 minutes watching Dean’s hands under the guise of health and hygiene. “I’m getting used to it,” he says.

Their routine takes shape over time and ends up looking a little like this:

Cas wakes up first. He makes the coffee. Then he skims through the news on his phone while he waits for Dean to wake up and start breakfast. They didn’t plan the arrangement: it came about only because Cas never ate breakfast and Dean figured out very quickly that if he wanted food in the morning he’d have to make it himself.

Eventually Cas starts joining him for breakfast, but Dean is still without fail the one standing at the stove every morning with a spatula in his hand.

They sit near the window to eat for the most part. They chat about the pains of working from home, all while watching the eerily empty streets outside and carefully avoiding the topic that dominates the news.

They go through bacon at an alarming rate, and one day when they run out Dean sulks the whole day.

“Threw me off,” he complains at the end of the day, sprawled across the couch with an arm over his eyes. “Accidentally left my meeting when I wanted to mute myself.”

Cas cooks dinner to give Dean a break. Cas is not a great cook but Dean always clears his plate with relish and claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder before clearing up and starting on the dishes. Cas lets him handle the dishes to avoid the judgmental look Dean had cast on him the first time he saw Cas washing up. “You’re using too much water,” he’d said, wincing.

Cas had blinked at him. “You’re welcome to do them yourself.”

“Honestly, I’d prefer that.”

So Dean handles the dishes and Cas wipes up the table and waits for Dean on the couch where they channel surf for a few hours.

When Dean starts to nod off, Cas will shut off the TV and nudge Dean until he trudges toward the bathroom to brush his teeth.

At the end of each night they end up behind different doors.

The stay-at-home order continues. The four weeks that the governor’s data had projected at the beginning passes as cases have not shown a decline. Quarantine edges into months. Cas’s hair gets long and Dean laughs every time he catches sight of him. Then one day he runs his hands through it in passing, and neither of them laugh. Dean just quirks a smile and takes his coffee and goes into his room to start work, and Cas collapses into an armchair because he’s in love with his best friend and can’t stand it.

The next day Cas lets Dean take clippers to his hair. It’s gotten out of hand, he says, but mostly he wants to feel Dean’s hands again. Dean turns on the clippers and Cas watches him in the mirror.

“You don’t need to look so worried,” Dean says, grinning.

“I’m not” is all Cas says.

Their eyes connect in the mirror. Dean’s grin falls a little, replaced by something soft and surprised and thoughtful. He’s silent through the rest of the haircut, and Cas lets his eyelids fall shut with every pass of Dean’s hand through his hair.

When they’re done Cas nods his approval at his reflection, turning his head left and right. “Who needs a barber when you have Dean Winchester?”

He catches Dean’s eye. Dean has been staring.

“Dean?”

Dean grins suddenly and begins packing up the clippers, winding the wire around his fingers. He won’t look at Cas. “Not bad, eh?”

The TV says the state will reopen in phases beginning in a week. The chyron across the screen confirms what Cas thinks he’s hearing, but it’s difficult to believe after so long in one place. Cas tries to catch Dean’s eye, but is unsurprised not to succeed. In recent days Dean is either staring into Cas’s soul or looking away completely and it’s more often the latter than the former.

“I still don’t think it’s safe,” Cas ventures, a little hesitant because Dean’s staring out the window again at the empty streets.

“It’s not,” Dean says. There’s a trace of anger in his voice, but Cas knows it’s not directed toward him.

“Will you stay a little longer then?”

Dean looks at him finally. He looks sad. “Yeah, probably. Sorry.” He clears Cas’s plate from in front of him and walks it to the sink.

They spend the first few weeks after the reopening of the state in much the same way as they did in quarantine. Cas’s apartment has always been quiet, but now he’s even more thankful for it because he can hear Dean everywhere: the creak of his footsteps on the floorboards, the running water of the shower, the music that sometimes drifts from behind his closed door into the living room.

Cas wants the sounds even closer. He wants Dean’s footsteps in his bedroom, Dean’s murmur from the pillow next to his, Dean’s music from the nightstand while he gets ready for bed. He wants the noises of a lifetime of routine, the noise of a life with Dean in it.

The want is not new. What is new is the sour feeling in his gut knowing that everything he wants is only just out of reach. If he could stretch out his fingers just a little bit more, he’d be able to pull Dean closer and keep him from leaving. Every day the boxes in his living room greet Cas and remind him that despite whatever routine they’ve established, Cas’s apartment is destined to return to its silence.

One day Cas finishes work early and wanders into the living room to see Dean sitting on the couch scrolling through pictures on his phone with a frown.

“Finished up?” Cas prods cautiously as he reaches for a glass in his cupboard.

Dean barely looks up. “Nah,” he said. “Took the day off so I could concentrate on looking for an apartment.”

Cas’s stomach sinks. He thinks of his next words carefully as he turns on the tap and fills his glass. “How’s it going?”

“There’s a few options. I might take a look at one of them later on today.”

Cas doesn’t respond. He’s staring at his glass of water.

“Wanna come with?”

Cas suddenly realizes how much he’s missed sitting in the passenger seat of Dean’s car. The trips they’ve taken recently have only been fraught with worry and tension, and Cas desperately wants to correct that. “If you’ll have me,” he replies.

Cas can hear the smile in Dean’s answer: “You know I will, Cas.”

The apartment building is nice but painfully far from Cas’s. After almost three months of living with Dean, the concept of having him almost an hour away makes Cas feel sick.

“You okay?” Dean asks, as they make their way to the building door. “You’re squinting again.”

Cas scowls, but Dean can’t see it behind the mask. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Dean says, in the tone he’s reserved for when he doesn’t want to bother with Cas’s attitude. He presses a buzzer. A few seconds later, they’re being ushered up a set of stairs by a sweet old lady with curlers in her hair who coos over them and chatters about the possibility of having another wonderful tenant. She opens up the apartment and lingers at the door while Dean and Cas wander.

“At least it’s furnished,” Cas comments. The furniture is mismatched and a little beaten, but it will do.

Dean just shrugs. He’s been quiet since entering the apartment.

They make their way to the single bedroom. In it is a queen-sized bed and nothing else. They stand at the door and look at it for a long moment. Cas bites his tongue and digs his fingernails into his palm, trying not to think about who Dean might share it with. “It’s a decent size,” he manages to say. It might be the mask covering his mouth, but to his ears his voice sounds distant.

Dean looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“The place, not the bed,” Cas corrects.

It’s difficult to read Dean’s facial expression through the mask when he says, “I wish there were another bedroom for you.”

“That’s very kind,” Cas replies, a little taken aback. “But don’t let me influence your decision. It’s your apartment.”

Dean just shrugs and turns away.

In the end they leave only with words of thanks for the old lady and reassurances that Dean will get back to her.

When they return to Cas’s apartment, Dean throws his keys onto the table near the door and then takes off his shoes. His jacket goes on top of Cas’s on the door hook. He takes off his disposable mask and holds out a hand silently for Cas’s. When he gets it, he throws both into the trash and washes his hands.

He looks like he’s headed toward the fridge when he notices Cas watching him from his spot by the door.

“What?” he asks as he reaches for the fridge handle.

Cas takes a long breath. “Stay here.”

Dean freezes just as he opens the fridge. He blinks at Cas. “What?”

Cas has just watched Dean move through the apartment like it was his own, and it makes Cas desperate to be understood. “You’ve been here for two months already. Your clothes keep getting mixed up with mine, and you’ve taken over the fridge. We haven’t killed each other. You might as well just stay.”

Dean grabs a beer from the fridge. He looks at it, looks into the fridge, then looks at Cas. Cas knows from years of experience that Dean’s going to crack a joke, and he does: “Is that your only requirement for a roommate? ‘Must not murder me’?”

Cas still hasn’t moved from his spot near the apartment door. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” Dean says. He closes the fridge and then pops the top off of his beer to take a long swig. When he’s done, he just looks at Cas and blinks.

“That’s not a yes,” Cas points out after an uncomfortable few seconds of silence.

Dean leans against the counter and stares at his socks. “I gotta think about it.”

Anxiety worms its way under Cas’s skin, but he’s determined to quash it. He moves toward the sink near Dean to start dinner. He had plans to make a pot of chili again, but for the life of him he can’t remember where to start. After washing his hands, he opens the cupboard and grabs a few spices that sound familiar. Dean is still leaning against the counter a few feet away.

Cas puts the spices down and stares at them, hands on hips. He must looked stumped because Dean clears his throat and says, “Onion.”

Cas doesn’t acknowledge it but he turns to get the onion anyhow. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him as he reaches for the bowl behind Dean. Cas is close enough to smell Dean’s aftershave and almost crazy enough to lean in closer. He doesn’t, though he desperately wants to. Cas can feel a blush blooming on his cheeks but he avoids Dean’s eyes and turns away, onion in hand.

Cas begins to dice the onion. He’s never been great with a knife but this time, with Dean’s eyes on the back of his neck, he’s somehow even worse. It takes forever, and by the time forever has passed, Cas’s eyes are irritated from slicing the onion. Dean snorts at him when Cas turns around, eyes squinted, to wash his hands and rinse out his eyes.

“Every single time,” Dean says. Cas’s eyes are barely open so he can’t see Dean’s expression, but he can hear the traces of affection in his voice. “Go faster next time.”

“You’re hired the next time I need to cut onions,” Cas says as he washes his hands.

Dean’s quiet. Cas hears him take another swig of his beer as he leans down to try to rinse out his eyes. When he straightens, he feels Dean pushing a towel into his hand.

“Thanks,” Cas mumbles as he wipes his face. When he’s finished blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Cas is finally able to focus on Dean, who’s watching him intently.

The apartment is silent save for the whir of the fridge and the swing of the ceiling fan. If Cas listened really closely he might be able to hear the murmur of conversation from his neighbors, but right now he’s focused in on Dean, who’s living and breathing in front of him, a testament to the wonders of the universe.

In this moment it’s almost as if Dean is thinking the same thing about Cas. His eyes dance between Cas’s. His throat bobs. Cas is about to ask what’s wrong, but the words die on his tongue when Dean suddenly puts his bottle down and then lifts a hand to fit around Cas’s jaw. His hand is cold and slightly wet from the condensation. A shaky thumb grazes Cas’s mouth.

“I do want to stay, Cas,” he says quietly. “But you need to know what that means for me.”

Cas’s heart is in his throat. He opens his mouth to speak, and Dean’s thumb follows his bottom lip. He forgets his words.

Dean waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he gives Cas a pretend scowl. “You gotta say something.”

“P-please clarify,” Cas stammers. His cheeks are on fire, and his eyes are welling up again.

Dean kisses him. It’s just a touch of his lips against Cas’s, small enough to argue that it was barely anything at all, but Cas knows it for what it is: a question he has to answer.

“Clear enough?” Dean asks softly, staring at his socks again. He’s dropped his hands and linked them together in front of him. He’s still leaning against the counter. Cas would be angry with him for looking so goddamn cool but he’s too busy trying to process the fact that Dean has just kissed him.

Cas swallows. The towel in his hand is crushed by his nervous fist. “My offer still stands,” he says. “My home is always open to you.”

Dean looks up at him through his eyelashes with a slightly exasperated look. “Where I’m gonna live is not really the most important issue at hand right now.” His eyes dip down to Cas’s lips then back up to Cas’s eyes. It’s an invitation if Cas ever saw one.

Cas steps forward and kisses Dean. It’s a proper one this time, one that involves Dean’s hands on Cas’s ribs and Cas’s hands in Dean’s hair. Cas feels like there’s a current of electricity running through him, up to his ears and down to his toes, running through Dean everywhere their skin touches. It’s only when Dean makes an eager noise low in his throat that Cas pulls away (not without an effort), making Dean scowl.

“Dinner,” Cas says, his vocabulary greatly reduced. He wants to wrap himself up in Dean but knows there has to be a long talk beforehand, and they can’t do that when Dean’s hands are trying to inch down Cas’s waistband.

Dean closes his eyes. “Fine,” he mumbles.

Cas steps away and Dean’s hands drop. “But I take it you’re staying.”

Dean’s mouth twitches upward, though his eyes remain closed. “You couldn’t pay me to leave after that, Cas.”

Cas indulges in a pleased smile because he knows Dean can’t see it. He returns to the cupboard. By the time he’s gotten the ingredients gathered, Dean has gotten the bowls and cutlery, the pot and the stirring spoon. He arranges them on the kitchen island, then steps away.

Cas watches as Dean drags a box from underneath the coffee table and opens it. The sound of the cardboard is comforting in the silence.

“Hey,” Dean says, looking toward Cas. “Where should I put my mom’s picture?”