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spn fic: The Name Game
Title: The Name Game
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,100
Summary: "They haven't called my number," Cas complains, glancing around the office.
Notes: This is disgusting fluff. Enter at your own risk. Inspired by these screencaps, where it looks like they're doing some boring, bureaucratic waiting.
[AO3]
the name game
"They haven't called my number," Cas complains, glancing around the office.
Dean checks his watch and shrugs. "It's only been an hour."
"Is that normal?"
"I guess," Dean says, shrugging again. He wouldn't know; he hasn't bothered with something like this since he was sixteen. Maybe fifteen. He doesn't really remember, except that he'd applied in some flyspeck town in Louisiana. A poltergeist had broken his dad's left arm at the shoulder, and someone had needed to be legal to drive for the next three months.
Cas subsides a little, his chair creaking as he folds his arms and stretches his legs. He glares suspiciously at the other people in the waiting area, and at a small group of people just coming through the door, and Dean smiles, clearing his throat as he swallows a laugh. Cas has only been human again for a couple of months, but he hasn't wasted any time learning how to be impatient. Or put-upon. He nudges Cas' knee with his and tries to settle in, himself. The chairs are uncomfortable to the point that Dean's ass is starting to go numb, and it's gearing up to be a hot day, the sun slicing through the window behind them like a knife, hot enough that his collar is damp with sweat.
"Now serving A-25."
A-25 is a tall and blonde young woman in what looks like a Waffle House uniform; Cas huffs under his breath as she approaches the counter. "I'm certain she arrived her after us."
"You're testing as a new driver." Which is why they'd made a three hour trip to Wichita at the crack of dawn; the small office in Smith City only deals with renewals and title transfers. "She's probably here for something easy." Dean nudges Cas' knee again, and gestures to the papers in Cas' lap. "You got everything you need? We'll have to come back if you don't."
"Yes. Sam was able to provide a birth certificate, a Social Security Card, and a passport. He also created a pink slip for my vehicle."
"I still don't understand why he couldn't whip you up a driver's license, too."
"He tried several times, but found himself blocked by something," Cas explains, shuffling the papers around. He chews at his lip in a way that makes him look incredibly human. "He said the DMV's... security protocols have been updated in a manner Charlie's instructions didn't anticipate. He was unable to circumvent them on his own."
Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wincing at the pins-and-needles feeling in his ass. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I know."
"We've got everything you need for a fake one back at the bunker." They had to, considering the rate they blew through stolen credit cards. "It's not like Sammy and I are living legal. You're a hunter now, and most hunters don't."
"I want a driver's license. A real one," Cas says insistently. "I'm also human now, and I -- "
"Now serving A-26."
A-26 is an older guy in a cheap suit and a cheaper toupee. Cas huffs again, louder; Dean wishes he could lean in and kiss the grumpy frown right off his mouth.
"Hey, did you pick out a last name?" he asks instead, because the Wichita DMV isn't really a PDA kind of venue. "You need to have one for official stuff."
Cas looks at him like he's grown a second head. "Winchester."
"What?"
Silently, Cas passes over his paperwork -- a passport for Castiel Winchester, a Social Security card for Castiel Winchester, and a Kansas birth certificate for Castiel Winchester -- and Dean just stares at it, unable to breathe around the sudden ache in his chest. It's about thirty percent panic, because most days Dean won't admit they're in an actual relationship, because that makes him think about Lisa and Cassie and Robyn and all the hundred thousand million ways this could go horribly wrong, and about how easily Cas could destroy him just by leaving, which is inevitable because there's only so long people are ever willing to put up with Dean's bullshit, but the other seventy percent is soft and slow and warm, and comes from someplace deep underneath his ribs, the same place that lets Cas be the big spoon and thinks Cas is adorable when he wears ugly sweaters and sometimes wishes he could hold Cas' hand in public without getting stared at, or without someone saying something stupid that Dean would be forced to answer with a fistfight.
"You, um." Dean can't seem to make his voice work. "You know we're not married, right?"
Cas narrows his eyes a little. "We haven't applied for a license, no."
"Cas -- "
"We live together," Cas points out, his voice kind of bruised around the edges. "We sleep in the same bed. You make me breakfast in the morning."
Dean opens his mouth, ready to tell Cas that it isn't that fucking easy, but the words don't come out, they stick in the back of his throat, sour and thick, and Cas is starting to look hurt in a way that makes Dean want to kick himself in the ass. He thinks about Cas breathing against the back of his neck at night, and Cas' shoulder nudging his when they're back-to-back on a hunt, and the terrible music Cas tries to listen to on long drives, and how his voice cracks when he sings in the shower, and how he tried (and failed) to bake a cake for Dean's birthday, and how he stayed up for five days when Dean had the flu, just so he could check Dean's temperature and feed Dean soup and stroke his fingers through Dean's hair, and maybe -- maybe it is that fucking easy after all.
"Dean, if you're uncomfortable, I can have your brother change it to something else."
"No. That's not -- no. I just didn't, um. I didn't know you wanted... that."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Dean doesn't bother; it's an incredibly long list. Instead, he pulls the driver's license form out of Cas' hand, and where his name and relation to driver are listed as the emergency contact, he scratches out friend and very carefully writes husband. His hands only shake a little.
"Dean," Cas says, and -- wow. His smile is completely unfair. "We still haven't applied for a license."
"Don't worry about it." That office is on the other side of town, and the ID in Dean's wallet is for a Gerald Winters. "Sam can hack us one when we get home."
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,100
Summary: "They haven't called my number," Cas complains, glancing around the office.
Notes: This is disgusting fluff. Enter at your own risk. Inspired by these screencaps, where it looks like they're doing some boring, bureaucratic waiting.
[AO3]
"They haven't called my number," Cas complains, glancing around the office.
Dean checks his watch and shrugs. "It's only been an hour."
"Is that normal?"
"I guess," Dean says, shrugging again. He wouldn't know; he hasn't bothered with something like this since he was sixteen. Maybe fifteen. He doesn't really remember, except that he'd applied in some flyspeck town in Louisiana. A poltergeist had broken his dad's left arm at the shoulder, and someone had needed to be legal to drive for the next three months.
Cas subsides a little, his chair creaking as he folds his arms and stretches his legs. He glares suspiciously at the other people in the waiting area, and at a small group of people just coming through the door, and Dean smiles, clearing his throat as he swallows a laugh. Cas has only been human again for a couple of months, but he hasn't wasted any time learning how to be impatient. Or put-upon. He nudges Cas' knee with his and tries to settle in, himself. The chairs are uncomfortable to the point that Dean's ass is starting to go numb, and it's gearing up to be a hot day, the sun slicing through the window behind them like a knife, hot enough that his collar is damp with sweat.
"Now serving A-25."
A-25 is a tall and blonde young woman in what looks like a Waffle House uniform; Cas huffs under his breath as she approaches the counter. "I'm certain she arrived her after us."
"You're testing as a new driver." Which is why they'd made a three hour trip to Wichita at the crack of dawn; the small office in Smith City only deals with renewals and title transfers. "She's probably here for something easy." Dean nudges Cas' knee again, and gestures to the papers in Cas' lap. "You got everything you need? We'll have to come back if you don't."
"Yes. Sam was able to provide a birth certificate, a Social Security Card, and a passport. He also created a pink slip for my vehicle."
"I still don't understand why he couldn't whip you up a driver's license, too."
"He tried several times, but found himself blocked by something," Cas explains, shuffling the papers around. He chews at his lip in a way that makes him look incredibly human. "He said the DMV's... security protocols have been updated in a manner Charlie's instructions didn't anticipate. He was unable to circumvent them on his own."
Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wincing at the pins-and-needles feeling in his ass. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I know."
"We've got everything you need for a fake one back at the bunker." They had to, considering the rate they blew through stolen credit cards. "It's not like Sammy and I are living legal. You're a hunter now, and most hunters don't."
"I want a driver's license. A real one," Cas says insistently. "I'm also human now, and I -- "
"Now serving A-26."
A-26 is an older guy in a cheap suit and a cheaper toupee. Cas huffs again, louder; Dean wishes he could lean in and kiss the grumpy frown right off his mouth.
"Hey, did you pick out a last name?" he asks instead, because the Wichita DMV isn't really a PDA kind of venue. "You need to have one for official stuff."
Cas looks at him like he's grown a second head. "Winchester."
"What?"
Silently, Cas passes over his paperwork -- a passport for Castiel Winchester, a Social Security card for Castiel Winchester, and a Kansas birth certificate for Castiel Winchester -- and Dean just stares at it, unable to breathe around the sudden ache in his chest. It's about thirty percent panic, because most days Dean won't admit they're in an actual relationship, because that makes him think about Lisa and Cassie and Robyn and all the hundred thousand million ways this could go horribly wrong, and about how easily Cas could destroy him just by leaving, which is inevitable because there's only so long people are ever willing to put up with Dean's bullshit, but the other seventy percent is soft and slow and warm, and comes from someplace deep underneath his ribs, the same place that lets Cas be the big spoon and thinks Cas is adorable when he wears ugly sweaters and sometimes wishes he could hold Cas' hand in public without getting stared at, or without someone saying something stupid that Dean would be forced to answer with a fistfight.
"You, um." Dean can't seem to make his voice work. "You know we're not married, right?"
Cas narrows his eyes a little. "We haven't applied for a license, no."
"Cas -- "
"We live together," Cas points out, his voice kind of bruised around the edges. "We sleep in the same bed. You make me breakfast in the morning."
Dean opens his mouth, ready to tell Cas that it isn't that fucking easy, but the words don't come out, they stick in the back of his throat, sour and thick, and Cas is starting to look hurt in a way that makes Dean want to kick himself in the ass. He thinks about Cas breathing against the back of his neck at night, and Cas' shoulder nudging his when they're back-to-back on a hunt, and the terrible music Cas tries to listen to on long drives, and how his voice cracks when he sings in the shower, and how he tried (and failed) to bake a cake for Dean's birthday, and how he stayed up for five days when Dean had the flu, just so he could check Dean's temperature and feed Dean soup and stroke his fingers through Dean's hair, and maybe -- maybe it is that fucking easy after all.
"Dean, if you're uncomfortable, I can have your brother change it to something else."
"No. That's not -- no. I just didn't, um. I didn't know you wanted... that."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Dean doesn't bother; it's an incredibly long list. Instead, he pulls the driver's license form out of Cas' hand, and where his name and relation to driver are listed as the emergency contact, he scratches out friend and very carefully writes husband. His hands only shake a little.
"Dean," Cas says, and -- wow. His smile is completely unfair. "We still haven't applied for a license."
"Don't worry about it." That office is on the other side of town, and the ID in Dean's wallet is for a Gerald Winters. "Sam can hack us one when we get home."