Work Text:
Whoosh.
“Where’s Claire?”
“Holy cheese and crackers!”
Castiel blinked as Donna clutched a hand to her chest, the other gripping the kitchen counter for dear life as she stared, forlorn, at the steak fries now scattered across the floor.
“My apologies...”
Donna waved him off, crouching down to start picking them up and dropping them on the tray, shaking the heat from her fingers each time. “Ten second rule, am I right?” she asked, eyes crinkling with her grin.
Before Castiel could correct her that, according to Dean, it was actually a three second rule, Jody burst into the room, gun drawn.
“What’s going on? What happened?” she asked, startled eyes darting around the room.
Donna dusted off her knees as she stood back up, tray clutched in a pair of colorful oven mitts. “Castiel here was asking after Claire. Somethin’s got his feathers all ruffled, I’m thinkin’.”
Jody’s gaze snapped to his. “Why, what’s wrong? Is it Dean, is he OK? Sam?”
Castiel fiddled with the belt of his trench coat, suddenly sheepish. “They’re both fine. I’m sorry for causing unnecessary concern. It’s purely a...personal matter.” On reflection, he maybe had come in a little hot and harried. No wonder it gave the wrong impression considering their usual fare.
Jody let out a breath before clicking the safety back on the gun and placing it on the table. “It’s a wonder those boys haven’t had a cardiac if that’s how you greet ‘em,” she said with a wry smile, before turning her head towards the hall. “Claire!”
“I can come back another time if-“
Jody waved him off, unconcerned. “Claire!”
“What?”
“Visitor!”
“Busy!”
“It’s Castiel.”
Castiel didn’t know why that should make a difference if she was already engaged but moments later, she slunk into the kitchen, nodding her head in greeting.
“Hello Claire,” he greeted with a small smile.
“You got a case?” she asked.
“Ah, no it’s-“
“He’s got a personal matter,” Donna answered, munching on a cooling fry.
Claire’s eyebrow ticked up. “Okay?”
“I thought you might be the best equipped to help.”
Claire darted a glance at both Jody and Donna who shrugged in response. “OK, well,” she gestured back to the hall, “follow me, I guess.”
Castiel did as beckoned, ending up in Claire’s room. The bed was covered in research (the hunter kind, rather than the school kind) but she brushed it aside to make room for her to perch on the edge. Castiel remained standing.
“So, what’s up?”
“You listen to a lot of music,” Castiel prefaced, hand diving into his pocket to produce the walkman that Sam had bought him from eBay. “I have been listening to this tape but recently the sound has started to warp during some of the songs. I think I may have broken it,” he said, turning the walkman over in his hands, frown dug into his brow. Looking back up at Claire, he asked, “Do you have any suggestions?”
Claire’s eyebrows were up near her hairline as she waited. For what, Castiel had no idea. He thought he’d been pretty clear. “Uh, yeah,” she finally said, “you ever hear of Spotify?”
Castiel tilted his head. “Would they be able to help? I’m not sure I’d want to let a stranger work on it.” In fact, the very idea was repellent.
Claire sighed. “Look, if you’re so attached to the format, why not just get a replacement? Sometimes tapes wear out, I guess.”
“But this was a gift. And you keep those.” Claire’s sardonic expression softened just slightly. “Besides, it was homemade. I wouldn’t be able to replace it.”
The eyebrows were up again. “It’s a DIY tape? For real?” Castiel nodded. “Huh. Cool.” Glancing back to the walkman, she rolled her eyes and sighed again. “Alright fine, Marty McFly, lemme listen and see.”
Passing the walkman over, Claire pressed play, letting the bridge of Kashmir fill the room. Sounding like it was underwater.
“I get what you mean,” Claire said, grimacing. “Good track, though. Mind if I take it out?” Castiel gestured for her to go ahead. But as she popped the device open and pulled the tape out, her movements slowed, eyes darting across the handwriting before flitting back up to the angel.
“Dean made you this?”
“Yes.”
“A mixtape.”
“Yes.”
“Dean made you a mixtape.”
“...Yes.”
“Dean Winchester made-“
Castiel let out a sharp breath, entire head moving with the force of his eye roll. “Yes, Dean Winchester made me a mixtape of his favorite Led Zeppelin songs and now I have broken it so is there anything you can do to help or not?”
Claire stared at Castiel for a moment longer, then back at the tape, thumb brushing over the words. Clearing her throat, she placed both the tape and the walkman down on the bed and said, “I think you should go back to him and just ask him to make you another one.”
Castiel chewed on his bottom lip, glancing at the tape. The thought had crossed his mind. It did seem like the most logical solution, after all. But. “I’m concerned he’ll get angry that I broke it.”
Claire scoffed. “No way. Confused? Yeah, probably because how the hell do you break a tape that quickly? Like, are you listening to it all day, every day or something?” Castiel deigned not to answer that because he suspected that the truthful answer would lead to mockery. “But anger?” She shook her head. “No way. I say talk to him.”
Sighing, Castiel nodded in acceptance. Holding out a hand, Claire passed the items back. “Hey, uh, what other songs are on there? Out of interest,” she asked.
He knew them all by heart, obviously, but it was easier to give her the list. Reaching back into his pocket, he drew out the plastic case with the track listing Dean had written into it and passed it to Claire.
She scanned over it for a few seconds, skimming over the titles, her thumb once again absently running over the writing. “Man, he went pretty ham on the white-out, huh,” she said, nail scratching at some of the dried fluid.
Without thinking, Castiel snatched the case back, not wanting her to accidentally scratch away some of the writing. Clutching it protectively to his chest, he offered her a tight smile. “Sorry. It’s just-“
Claire held up a hand to stop him, “I get it. Sorry.”
She wasn’t wrong, of course. There were three very obvious instances on the small piece of paper where Dean had erased something. Two of the tracks had been written over and then there was just a line of white at the very end. No replacement, just empty space. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered what was under that white strip but he’d never dared ask.
He didn’t know what any of that had to do with pork products, though.
“So, you’ll talk to him?” Claire prompted.
“Yes, I’ll- I’ll ask him to make me a replacement. If he’s amenable.”
Rolling her eyes, Claire stood up to start ushering him out of her room. “Pretty sure there’s not much he wouldn’t be amenable to if you asked.” At Castiel’s confused frown as he crossed the threshold, she just shook her head. “You guys are the worst. Now get outta here, I’m trying to track a vamp,” she said, gesturing back towards the stack of documents.
“Of course. Thank you, Claire.”
She smiled, one of her smaller, more genuine smiles. “Good luck. Rooting for ya,” she said, before slamming the door on his confused face.
~*~
“Dude, some of the tapes in Baby are from the 80s! How the hell have you worn through this one already?”
Castiel’s sigh straddled the line between frustrated and embarrassed. At least Claire seemed to have been right. Dean didn’t seem angry about the damaged gift. Merely confused. Pole-axed, even. He kept turning it over in his fingers from where he was sat on the edge of his bed, as if he could possibly see the wear from the outside.
“It’s merely a more basic form of angel radio. I can tune into the sound waves from wherever I am.”
“What, so you just leave it playing? Constantly?” Castiel nodded. Dean continued to stare at the tape, speechless. Eventually, with a slightly shaky smirk he said, “Must be burning through a lot of batteries on that walkman, huh.”
Castiel wasn’t sure admitting he expended small amounts of his grace to keep the device running without batteries would be too well received so he simply shrugged.
Dean broke eye contact, once again rolling the tape between his fingers. “Yeah, I can make you up another one, no problem. You sure you don’t just wanna go digital?”
“Digital?”
“Yeah, like...I can just set you up on Spotify or something, make a playlist. You can make your own, whatever.”
Apparently Castiel really needed to learn who or what Spotify was. But, whilst he liked the idea of creating his own mixtapes without the presumed restraints of a tape itself, the prospect of losing out on the physical proof of Dean’s friendship was...distressing. His hand clenched the tape case in his pocket, thinking back on the countless times he had read and re-read the careful handwriting within. The only purpose of those words existing just for him. No, he wouldn’t trade that in, thank you.
“I like having the tape. I find it a comfortable presence, strange as that may sound.”
Dean’s responding smile was a soft thing, though the slight pinking of his ears betrayed his embarrassment. “Yeah, no, I uh. I get it. Same for me with the Impala’s keys. Feel uneven when I walk if I don’t got ‘em in my pocket, you know?”
Castiel smiled back, relieved at being understood. “I do.”
Dean cleared his throat, glancing away. “So, uh, same again?” he asked, waving the tape at him. “Nothing you didn’t like and want to swap out?”
Not wanting to cause a fuss, Castiel almost nodded, accepting what was offered. But Claire’s comments stayed his easy acquiescence. Drawing the case out of his pocket, his eyes traced over the track listing. Over the three stark strips of white.
“You made alterations,” he said.
Dean had already been still but Castiel didn’t miss how he tensed further, rooted where he perched. His gaze flicked between Castiel and the case he held. “Uh. Yeah, a couple.”
Knowing he was on shaky ground and not wanting to spook the hunter, Castiel closed the distance to sit beside him, passing him the case. “Would you tell me what you changed?”
Taking the case, Dean swallowed as his eyes scanned his own handwriting. “OK, well this one,” he said, pointing to Track 7: Kashmir, “that was a total brain fart. I started to spell it like cashmere, you know like the fabric? Embarrassing.” Castiel smiled, finding a new fondness for that particular white strip. He would have to keep this case, even if Dean did decide to change the tracks for the new tape.
Fingers moving up to Track 2: What Is and What Should Never Be, he faltered. Castiel didn’t press, just waited. “I put Stairway on there but it, uh. I dunno. Felt insensitive.”
Castiel was familiar with Stairway to Heaven. Had heard it in the Impala several times. It had seemed to him to be a glaring omission but he’d just assumed Dean had favorites that superseded it. The knowledge that he’d removed it out of respect for his complicated relationship with his home warmed something deep inside him.
“That was very thoughtful but unwarranted,” he said. Dean wouldn’t meet his gaze, fixated as it was on the final correction. The one that wasn’t a correction at all, just a plain white stripe under the 13th and final track.
“And this one?” Castiel asked, pointing to it. A nudge, rather than a full on push.
Dean stared at it a moment longer, fingernail scratching absently at the flaky residue. Castiel’s fingers twitched with the desire to snatch it back, as he had done with Claire but instead clenched them into fists to stay the urge.
Eventually, Dean rolled his shoulders in a shrug so casual it came across as anything but. “13 seemed like a better number to end on, you know?”
“Numerology and superstition would say otherwise,” Castiel replied, teasing smile on his face. It fell at Dean’s responding glance. He felt trapped. He wanted out of this conversation. Castiel had pushed too far.
“Look, it was just...” Dean deflated a little, giving a small shake of his head. “It was too much.”
“Too many,” Castiel corrected, without thinking.
A small, humorless scoff. “Right.” He slipped the tape into the case and set it on the bed. Castiel already missed its presence. “So, you want Stairway on the new one?” Dean asked, trying and failing to keep eye contact.
Castiel hesitated. “I would like you to make the tape you want to make,” he said. “Whether that is the one you originally wanted, the one you already gave me or a new one altogether.”
Dean nodded. “Right,” he said again, voice distant. Another awkward cough. “You want a placeholder in the meantime?” he asked, gesturing to the tape. “Dunno how long it’ll take to get round to it between hunts and stuff. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”
Complete with the tentative smile, the offer felt like an olive branch in the car crash that had somehow become this conversation. Castiel gripped it with both hands. “I would like that,” he said.
Dean retrieved a box from under his bed, rummaging through various tapes – some in cases, some loose – before presenting him with one labelled ‘Mary’s Favorite Beatles Trax’ in a hand that Castiel recognised from John’s journal. He took it reverently from Dean’s grip, slipping it into his pocket, relaxing at the weight of it there. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” Dean muttered as he bent down to push the box back out of sight. “So, uh. I’ll leave it in your room when it’s ready, yeah?”
“Yes, thank you, Dean. No hurry.” Even with his fluctuating grace, Castiel could still sense Dean’s frayed nerves and knew that now would be the time to retreat. “And let me know if you get any new leads on your case, if you think I might be able to help,” he said as he headed for the door.
“You got it,” Dean said and his smile seemed genuine enough that Castiel left feeling only slightly unsure of himself as he left the bunker.
~*~
It turned out to only be a few days before Castiel received a text that simply said “Ready and waiting” with an emoji of a VHS tape. Followed by a text saying “wait, is that VHS tape? you know what I meant” and one further text reading “damn things are tiny”.
Sure enough, when he flew back to his room in the bunker, there it sat on his night stand. Castiel snapped a photo of it and sent it back to Dean with a “thank you” to confirm he had received it.
He was gratified to see that Dean had reused the same tape and case but his heart stuttered at the clear changes in the track listing. The first change he noticed was the swapping out of When the Levee Breaks for Stairway to Heaven. Then his eyes caught on the addendum to the tape title. Where once it had said ‘Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx’, now there was a ‘+1’ alongside the 13. And, sure enough, glancing down the track listing, there was now an added track where once there had just been that hastily covered line.
Track 14: Thank You.
It felt like a second gift all on its own. The temptation to skip straight to the new track was almost overwhelming but Castiel tamped it down, wanting to do things properly. Removing the tape from its case, he slipped it into the walkman and retrieved a set of headphones he had left in the night stand.
Settling on the bed, he made one final check that he had put the tape in the right way round before pressing play and closing his eyes.
The tracks were in a slightly different order, likely to accommodate for the length of Stairway but Castiel liked the new order. Looked forward to memorising it all over again.
His hands clenched together over his stomach as Ramble On – the original final track – faded out and he waited with bated breath to see what this new track would bring.
If the sun refused to shine
I would still be loving you
When mountains crumble to the sea
There will still be you and me
Castiel’s eyes snapped open, staring wide at the ceiling, heart in his throat.
The song continued but Castiel’s mind was spiralling, pulse rampaging. By the time the song was closing out, he realised he had barely listened to it and had to rewind with shaking fingers, forgetting he could just manipulate it with his grace.
The lyrics were no less damning the second time around.
Damning. Illuminating. Impossible.
It was too much.
Not too many. He hadn’t meant too many. Had the song been on there from the beginning, Castiel probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. It was a beautiful song in its own right; perfectly reasonable that Dean would include it in his favorite tracks.
It was the omission that told the story.
A story that Castiel desperately hoped he was reading right as he flung the headphones onto the bedspread and fled out of the room towards Dean’s.
Without pausing to knock, he burst into the room. Dean sat propped up on against the headboard, eyes closed as he listened to his record player through heavy set headphones. His eyes flew open as the bed dipped with Castiel crawling to straddle his knees.
Mouth falling open in shock, he tried pulling his head back, dislodging the headphones, to take in the wild eyed gaze of the angel. Castiel’s arms gripped Dean’s shoulders for purchase, words failing him until he saw the shock sink into panic, throat working in a swallow.
“Does it- Do you mean it?” Castiel asked, eyes darting across Dean’s face, waiting to analyse even the most microscopic change in his expression. Any hint of what he might be thinking. When Dean continued to just stare, frozen, Castiel jostled him again. “Dean...” he breathed, the word shaking out of his throat.
And then Dean was nodding. Slight at first before becoming more frantic. “All of it,” he said, voice low, barely above a whisper. But fierce. Honest. “All of it, Cas.”
The desperate noise barely escaped Castiel’s mouth before he was crushing it to Dean’s. Hands clenched into the back of Castiel’s jacket as his own moved to cup Dean’s jaw, torn between wanting to be tender and wanting to drown them both in his outpouring of love. Needing Dean to know. To understand.
Dean kissed back like he’d never get another chance. Like he had to make this count. Pawing at Castiel, running fingers through his hair, over his neck where his lips then traced in turn. “It wasn’t,” he started between kisses, “it wasn’t...too much?”
Castiel would have laughed if he wasn’t too busy peppering kisses along Dean’s forehead, his temple, the corner of his lax mouth. “Never,” he said, finally pulling back so Dean could see him. See the truth in his words. “If I spent every moment of the rest of my existence with you, it still wouldn’t be close to enough.”
Dean’s shudder shook through them both as he hunched his shoulders, burying his face in Castiel’s neck. He felt more than heard the rather wet ‘fuck’ muttered against his collarbone as Dean clenched his fingers tighter in the fabric at Castiel’s shoulders.
The angel rubbed a soothing hand down Dean’s back, giving him a moment. When Dean eventually pulled back, eyes slightly glassy but not wet, he said, “I love you.” Firm. Sure. Terrified.
Castiel’s heart seized. Then restarted at double speed. “Thank you,” he replied.
Dean let out a shaky, beautiful laugh. “Smartass.”
Before Castiel could follow up with his own ‘I love you too’, Dean closed the distance once more. This kiss slower, more chaste. Tentative but not unsure. Savouring, Castiel realised. It was heaven. And he gave himself over to it completely.
Forgotten, the record continued playing, the music faintly echoing from the headphones...
Little drops of rain whisper of the pain
Tears of loves lost in the days gone by.
My love is strong, with you there is no wrong
Together we shall go until we die.