Dean’s Lost His Wallet. He’s Freaking The Fuck Out. It’s Not Because He’s Gotta Worry About His

Dean’s lost his wallet. He’s freaking the fuck out. It’s not because he’s gotta worry about his credit cards getting stolen—technically, he stole them first—or the shitty savings cards he stuffed in there since he’s got ten more back home. No, Dean’s freaking out because right in the middle of a heated debate with Cas over noodle shapes, the intercom comes on and an totally oblivious lady’s voice says to the entire freaking store—“Would Dean Winchester come to the front desk please? Figure he might want his wallet and photo of his cute husband back.”

To be fair, the old lady was clearly one of those sweethearts who dote on customers and find anyone of a younger generation to be absolutely adorable and not dealing with delicate issues such as the photo of Cas Dean’s been hiding in his wallet for years.

So naturally, in the midst of total mortification, Dean forgets all about bowtie and elbow noodles and avoids Cas at all costs as he makes a beeline for the front desk, perplexed angel at his heels. His ears are burning, his face is burning, Dean feels like the entire store his watching him as he speed walks as fast as he can without full on sprinting.

“Dean—“ Cas hisses, but because he now thinks he’s in an action movie, Dean makes a wild turn into another lane to skitter out of Cas’ view for a moment. It’s enough time for him to pretend he didn’t hear.

The old lady is smiling when Dean reaches the front desk, Cas following and standing too too close right behind him. Her eyes dart from Dean’s bright red flush to Cas, sparkling in fond amusement.

“Was gonna ask you to describe your hubby in the photo to make sure it’s you, hon.” She chuckles in a Southern drawl. “No need to when he’s right behind yah, hm?”

“There is no one behind—?”Cas began, but Dean cut him out with a strangled sort of noise. The lady chuckles again.

“Here’s your wallet, honey. You two have a good day now.”

“Thanks.” Dean wheezes, stuffing his wallet in his pocket like he could bury the last five minutes six feet under.

Neither of them talk about it until they’re in the car.

“What did that lady mean by the husband in your wallet?”

Dean gulps, eyes fixed on the road as if that would save him embarrassment. It doesn’t.

“It ain’t some random smuck, if that’s what you’re asking.” He grunts. “S’just a photo of you I threw in there.”

Cas was silent for a moment.

“Ah.” He murmurs a moment later. “She assumed we were—“

“Yeah.”

“Why did you put it in there?”

“What?”

“You usually keep photos of your family in your nightstand. Why didn’t you put the one of me there too?”

Dean knew how Cas was looking at this. That because he separated Cas’ photo from the ones of him, Sam, Bobby, and Mom, that it didn’t equate him to family. That Dean didn’t see Cas as family like he did the others. And that just couldn’t slide for him.

“‘Cause I wanted to.” He mumbles, ears burning again. “Got a habit of carryin’ a piece of you ‘round when your gone. Your coat, your ashes, your bloody handprint…” he gulps against a sudden lump in his throat. “Guess I’m waiting for you to leave me again. Or somethin’.” He trails off into silence, avoiding the heavy gaze on him.

“I’m not leaving.” Cas says after a long moment. “Never again, unless you ask it of me.”

“I ain’t gonna do that.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere. There’s no need to carry of piece of me around when I will always be right here.”

Dean swallows again.

“Do you believe me?”

And, just how Cas continuously put his faith in Dean, Dean decides it was time to put his faith in Cas.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Dean still keeps the photo in his wallet, not because he thinks Cas will leave him, but because seeing his angel’s face every time he goes for his stolen credit card or shitty savings coupons makes him smile.