Work Text:
Dean can’t even say how much he missed this beautiful vision above him. He spent a whole hour this morning just touching, running his fingertips over her, re-memorizing all the nooks and crannies that make her special, that make her so uniquely her. He’d spend all day underneath her if he could, working inside her nice and easy, letting her know it’s okay, that she’s back with him and that’s all that matters.
“Dean.”
“Jesus, Cas!” Dean exclaims, nearly flying up and cracking his skull on the underbelly of the Impala. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry,” Cas apologizes. He’s on his hands and knees on the garage floor, peering under the Impala at Dean with a curious look on his face. Cas knows that Dean used to fix cars, and has witnessed him patch up both the Honda and Gabriel’s fucking Gremlin, but still he stares at Dean now with a foreign look in his eye.
“What’s up?” Dean finally asks.
“I know you’re out here having a moment,” Castiel says, “But Sam has been calling you for the last hour and finally called me.”
“Christ,” Dean sighs. “Did he give you that tortured emotional crap?”
“That whole ‘he’s worried about you and loves you very much, despite the fact that you chose not to contact him for an entire decade’ crap?” asks Castiel. “Yes, he did mention something about that.”
“Wow, no need to be a dick,” Dean cocks an eyebrow, and Cas sighs.
“Sorry,” he says again. Going cold turkey on the pot has by no means been a cake walk, and Dean has to wonder if he should even quit at all at this point.
Castiel continues, “He wanted to know if it was okay to give your phone number to Bobby. I’m assuming he meant your uncle Bobby.”
Dean stops cold at that.
“What did you say?”
“I said it would be fine,” Castiel shrugs.
“Shit,” Dean rolls out from under the Impala and digs around in his pocket for his phone. He has about six missed calls from Sam, and now another two from a South Dakota number that Dean would recognize anywhere.
“Has he called you?” asks Castiel, now in front of the car, beside Dean.
His phone starts buzzing again, and Dean lets out a string of swears that offend even him.
He answers the call and puts the phone up to his ear.
“Bobby?”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end, then a breath and a broken, “It’s good to hear your voice again, boy.”
That shouldn’t make Dean want to cry.
“You too, Bobby,” Dean’s voice breaks, and he pulls the phone from his ear. He needs to get his shit together before Bobby thinks he’s gone completely soft.
He takes a breath and squishes the phone to his ear, trying to get as much of Bobby’s presence as is possible in this moment.
“Sorry I uh, y’know… never called,” Dean clears his throat.
“Can it with the sorry,” says Bobby. “I just can’t believe I’m talkin’ to you.”
“Yeah,” Dean shifts and looks over at Cas, who watches him intently. “Bobby, I, uh… I don’t know what to say. Probably ‘cause I got so much to tell you, I don’t even know where to begin.”
He laughs, but only because his body won’t let him do anything else.
“Sam’s comin’ out here in a few weeks,” says Bobby. “Got a break from school. He’s gonna bring Jessica with him. Wouldn’t mind if you and your boy came up too.”
Dean’s stomach drops into a deep fiery pit.
“Sam told you?”
“’course he told me,” Bobby says, and Dean can hear his eyes roll in his sockets all the way from here. “His name’s Cas, right?”
“Yeah,” Dean glances at Cas. “Um, you… that’s it?”
“Well, what the hell do you want me to say?” Bobby comes right back. “You want me to yell at you?”
“Kinda, actually,” Dean nods.
“Yeah, well, tough shit, kid,” Bobby says. “Sam and Jessica will be here on the twenty-first. You and Cas better get your asses up here then too, or I’m comin’ down to Lincoln and huntin’ your pale ass down. Understand?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Dean nods. “We’ll see you then.”
“Damn straight,” Bobby insists. “Or, ya know… not straight, but. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Dean rubs a hand over his face. “…Thanks Bobby.”
They exchange quick goodbyes and hang up.
Dean looks over at Cas, who watches him expectantly.
“I guess we’re going up to Sioux Falls on the twenty-first,” he says.
Castiel lets out a breath and rests his chin on the tops of his knees.
“At least it won’t be a disaster,” Cas says. “Right?”
“Shouldn’t be,” Dean shakes his head. “Bobby’s… I guess I don’t know what he is anymore. But I think you’ll like him.”
Cas nods and looks at Dean.
He smiles.
“You have grease all over your face,” he says. “Dirty boy.”
Dean feels his face heat up, and he gives Castiel a shove.
“You can’t distract me,” says Dean.
“I have plenty of evidence that would prove exactly the opposite,” Castiel breaks out into a toothy grin that sends a wriggle up Dean’s spine.
He rolls to his feet and sets his tools back up on the work bench. Castiel hasn’t made a move to follow, just sits on the garage floor, watching Dean.
“We can’t,” says Dean.
“Oh?” Castiel raises his eyebrows.
“C’mon man, you know we both had Taco King for lunch,” Dean raises his eyebrows, and Castiel rolls his eyes.
“Fine,” he sighs and stands. “Then we get to talk about it.”
Dean groans, “What’s the third option?”
“There isn’t one,” Castiel folds his arms over his chest.
Another, more melodramatic groan.
“Dean,” Castiel cocks an eyebrow. Dean would like nothing more than to grab a beer out of the fridge, but he stops himself.
He stops himself because if Cas can go cold turkey then so can he.
He can try, at least.
“What the hell am I supposed to say, Cas?” he asks. “I—tried, okay? I tried really, really hard to forget about Sam, and my dad, and Bobby, and fucking everything before I came here. Sam undid all of that in a fucking weekend. I’m just supposed to be okay with it?”
“I’m not saying you are,” says Cas. “I am confused, however, because you’ve only ever spoken highly of Bobby and Sam. From what I’d gathered, I thought that you wouldn’t mind seeing them again.”
“I don’t,” Dean insists. “I… I just.”
He runs his fingers through his sweaty hair and stares at a fixed spot on the ground. The problem isn’t with talking to Cas—he’s happy to talk to Cas, because Cas understands him inside and out, in so many ways that nobody else ever could.
The problem is that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, exactly.
Then he admits, “I don’t know.”
Castiel drops his arms back down to his sides, his face losing its hard edge of concentration.
“Well, that’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to know everything that’s happening in your head. When you get like this, though, I don’t know whether or not you’re okay… Do not roll your eyes at me, Dean Winchester.”
Dean lets out a sharp breath through his nose and glowers at Cas.
He’s accepted after so long a time together that Cas cares about him, just as much as he cares for Cas. That had been a hard pill to swallow at first, but after a while he’d managed.
Sometimes he can still feel that phantom lump of insecurity in his throat, that little slice of him that wants to turn over his work bench and ask Cas how—how—he could possibly care for someone like him.
Someone who abandoned his little brother.
Someone who drinks too much, who never finished high school, who took two whole goddamned years before he could finally wrap his tongue around the words I love you.
He can taste whiskey on the back of his tongue, a hopeful apparition courtesy of his rat bastard boozehound brain.
“Okay,” Castiel sighs into the silence. “I’m late for yoga. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine, Cas!” Dean snaps back.
“Great,” Castiel returns, short, sharp. “I’ll be home in a little bit.” He slams the garage door with a little more force than necessary.
Ah, fuck.
oo
Cas gets home a little later than usual.
He reeks of weed and that nag champa incense that practically lives on Andy.
The guilt melts off of Castiel’s face the moment he catches Dean in the middle of a hefty gulp of beer.
Cas sighs and drops his duffel—Dean’s old duffel, actually—by the door and toes off his shoes.
“How long was that?” he asks. “A week?”
“Give or take,” Dean shifts. “You fucked up?”
Cas shakes his head, “Pleasantly level. You?”
“Pleasantly level,” Dean nods back. He sets his beer on the coffee table and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“I am too,” Cas says and comes to sit beside him. “So, what are we sorry about?”
“For bein’ dicks to each other, I guess,” Dean looks over at him. “I am stressed about it. Seein’ Bobby and Sam and all.”
Castiel nods and stares at a fixed point on the coffee table. “I wish that I could help you,” he says softly. “I suppose I do find it… frustrating that I can’t help you as much as I’d like. But it’s not right to take it out on you, and I apologize that I did.”
Dean lets out a hum and buries his face in his hands.
“Fuck this,” he declares. “This whole fuckin’ issue.”
“Which issue?” asks Cas. “There’s a lot of them here.”
“Family,” Dean grumbles, because what else could it be?
“As I recall, neither of us ever leaves this conversation happy with the other,” Castiel points out.
“So we can’t have it?” asks Dean. He doesn’t like it any more than Cas does, but as Ellen has told them countless times, it’s just one of those things you have to do.
“Of course we can,” Cas pulls his feet up onto the couch. His socks are mismatched; one foot dotted with four leaf clovers, the other swirled with paisley. The ends of his jeans are frayed and wet from crunching through the snow; inside his ridiculous socks, Dean can see his toes wiggling with anticipation.
“I don’t wanna see them,” he says, reaching out to absently stroke at the sharp jut of Cas’ ankle.
“You do, though,” Cas reminds him. “Do you have to go? No. It’s stressful and frightening, so it’s not particularly surprising you’d rather not go. However,” he cuts Dean off before he can interject, “worry and fear about something that’s not even here yet is wasted energy.”
Dean looks over at Cas and cocks an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks. “Now Obi-neurotic Kenobi is giving out lessons in anxiety management?”
Cas kicks at him.
“If you don’t go, how will you feel?” he poses. Dean shrugs.
“Guilty?” he offers. “I always feel guilty though.”
“Why guilty?”
“’Cause,” Dean shrugs. “I was told you never turn your back on family, right? Not only did I turn my back on my family, I started a new family. And it’s like, now my old family is coming to see my super-hot Canadian second family and I’m fucking sweating through my goddamned shirt.”
He lifts his arm to emphasize the point, but Cas quickly yanks it back down.
“Dean, there isn’t a turf war for your affection,” he reassures him. “The most we want for you is for you to be happy.”
Dean wrinkles his nose. What a disgusting thing for someone to want for him. Again, he knows that he wishes happiness on others, which means he should be able to expect that others would treat him in kind, but that part of his psyche never quite seemed to mature properly.
“Don’t make that face,” Cas says then, an Dean sticks out his tongue.
“I know I can’t speak for Sam or Bobby,” Cas continues, “But I can speak for myself. I love you. And I know there’s more than enough room in your heart for Sam, and for Bobby too. And if they’re anything remotely close to the people you described, I’ll bet that they know the same thing too.”
Dean lets out a breath and sinks back into the couch cushions.
“It’s the anticipation,” Cas reassures him, and reaches out to stroke the scruff on his jaw. “Once we’re there you’ll feel much better.”
Dean groans and lays his head down on Cas’ lap.
Cas dips down and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“I love you,” he hums. Somehow, the vibrations of the words strike consonance with the rest of the universe. It’s as though when he speaks, he transcends planes of existence and alternate realities, his voice the final suture that brings everything together puts it all in place.
It’s stupid to feel safe in someone’s arms, because that brings up the question ‘are we ever really safe? With Cas, whether they’re curled sleepily up against each other or standing back to back, surrounded by the enemy and ready to go down fighting, Dean has always felt protected, watched over.
Loved.
He reaches up and pulls Cas down into another kiss. It’s an awkward angle, but they both adjust and shift and soon Dean is under Cas, wrapped up in his arms, pulled flush against him, saturated in his heat.
“I love you,” Cas repeats, breath stolen out of his lungs as Dean chases his lips with his.
He could say it every moment of every day for the next hundred years, and Dean doesn’t know that he’d ever believe him entirely. He could do as he does now, peppering kisses over Dean’s eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, or he could write it in the sky in puffy white smoke.
He could even take a bullet for him and Dean would still have this doubt, this disbelief, not to mention a mountain of crushing guilt.
It sucks.
“Dean,” Cas says then, palms resting gingerly on either side of his jaw. “Be here, with me.”
“I am,” Dean furrows his brow.
“Out of your head,” Cas melds their lips together, soft and warm and smoky—so incredibly Cas. “Six years and you think I don’t know you’re still beating yourself up?”
“Shut up,” Dean mutters.
“You are worthy,” Cas kisses his forehead, “of every single ounce of love you’re given.”
“I fucked up, though,” Dean’s voice comes out raw. “Like, really bad. They should hate me.”
“But they don’t, Dean,” Cas kisses him again. “There’s no value in ‘should’. What does Yoda say?”
Dean narrows his eyes and offers, “There is another Skywalker?”
“Ass,” Cas pinches him on the side. “Do, or do not. There is no try.”
Dean groans and looks past Cas’ head at the ceiling.
Cas is having none of that, and has Dean look him in the eye.
“You’re here, right now,” he says, and presses his lips into Dean’s neck. Dean lets out a whimper, because fuck, Cas always feels good.
He lets Cas trail kisses over his neck, and shudders when the rough of Cas’ tongue tickles his sensitive skin, scrapes against his stubble. His hands kick into motion, moving from where they lay planted on Cas’ ribs.
Sweet incense, weed, sweat, and the faint smell of synthetic yoga mat.
Dean slips his hands up under Cas’ shirt and strokes softly at the defined muscles in his back, up and around so he can remove the offending garment and toss it on the floor. He leans up then and licks a long, flat line over one of Cas’ nipples.
He blows cool air over the patch of wet, and Cas shudders.
There’s something in knowing that he has such an effect on Cas that makes his chest swell.
Cas pulls Dean’s t-shirt off too and lays it out over the back of the couch.
He rolls Dean’s nipple ring between his teeth and kisses down, down, down. He always pays Dean’s stomach extra attention, which both mortifies and soothes Dean. It’s a strange sort of dissonance that fires in his brain, but this is something he’s at least learned to live with.
Cas can get his pants unbelted and around his thighs, quick as a flash of lightning. Cas always says it’s from plenty of practice; Dean is pretty sure he has sexy undressing superpowers.
He’s half hard when Cas takes him into his mouth. Cas’ lips stretch, get all dark and shiny with spit and friction, and god he goes so slowly that it makes Dean’s head spin. Cas holds him steady when he tries to thrust up, to speed along the process.
He’s doing this on purpose and it’s just—
Fuck, it’s not nice.
“Dean,” Cas pulls off of him, “relax. Take a deep breath in.”
He takes in a large breath, and so Dean does the same.
When Cas exhales, Dean exhales, though it’s a little tricky because Cas’ hand strokes long and steady over him. It’s the damndest thing, but when you can remember to take a deep breath, it actually does help.
Dean’s muscles melt into the couch, his breathing evens out, and Cas returns to the task at hand. Dean lets himself get lost in Cas’ mouth, in the way that his tongue and lips slide so sweetly over him.
He pulls back again to give his jaw a break, working his hand at the same pace.
“You’re quiet,” says Cas, his voice a little raspy. “Is Gabriel home?”
“No, and I’m enjoying the silence,” Dean manages to keep his voice level.
“I want to hear you, though,” Cas kisses the insides of Dean’s thighs, trailing up to nuzzle his sac, to tease a few licks just behind. Dean doesn’t know if it’s out of obedience that he lets out an audible sigh, or just because that feels so nice.
He kind of wishes he hadn’t whacked off in the shower earlier now.
Dean relaxes enough to let some sounds eke out. A sigh here, a soft moan there, and then, fuck, a series of grunts and groans when Cas swallows him all the way down.
Cas works over him thoroughly, as though there’s nothing on the planet he’d rather be doing than sucking Dean off. He takes every twitch of Dean’s hips, every pulse of precome he can feel leak out of him--Cas takes it all. When he pulls off to catch his breath, Cas nuzzles and kisses the curve of Dean’s belly. He plants kisses all the way back up to Dean’s lips, sucks a hickey into his neck and then murmurs, “Let me take care of you.”
Dean lets out a soft moan; the part of his psyche that’s so disgusted with letting himself be loved falls silent, and he captures Castiel’s lips in his.
“C’mon,” Cas breathes against him. “Let’s go mess up our sheets.”
Dean grins and allows Cas to leap up and pull him back into their room. Somewhere along the way, Cas loses his pants.
He shuts the door behind them, cock bobbing with every step he takes. Dean lets out a chuckle and stretches out on the bed. It’s messy, unmade, because Dean never had to make his bed as a kid and Cas is all about doing what he can to dismantle his leftover childhood habits.
Dean likes it that way, though.
Cas hops on the bed and settles over Dean, grinding their erections together as he bends down for a kiss. Dean expects a laugh after that, or something that will ease the undeniable tension in his chest, but nothing comes. Cas just keeps kissing him, stroking his hands over the expanses of his exposed skin, touching every inch of him.
Except his cock.
God, it’s driving him up the freaking wall, but Cas has an agenda, and when he has an agenda it’s just best to let him stick to it.
“How do you want it?” Cas asks.
“How you wanna give it to me?” Dean replies.
“I want to give you whatever you want,” Cas settles on top of him, pressing their bodies together. Dean sticks out his tongue, but Cas doesn’t tease back. He keeps kissing, keeps nuzzling, keeps up with the tender caresses and the soft breaths.
Dean groans, and Cas flicks up his gaze. Those big blue eyes bore into Dean, like they can read every single ridge in his brain, and decode every thought.
“Can I have it on my stomach?” he hears his voice ask, and Cas gives him a fond smile.
“Of course you can,” he hums. “Here, turn over.”
Dean lets out a quiet sigh and rolls onto his belly. His erection gets squished between his body and the mattress, but who gives a fuck, it feels so good. He can hear Cas rummaging around in their nightstand and may stick his ass up just a little when he hears the lube open.
He lets out a sharp gasp when a slick, oily cold drizzles over his shoulders instead.
“The fuck?”
“I’m giving you a massage, shut up,” Cas’ teeth nip at the back of his neck. “Hang on.”
Dean pokes his head up as Cas’ weight shifts off the bed and he jumps up to light a couple of candles.
“Fuckin’ hippie,” Dean mutters. Cas replies with a wink and turns off the light. The dull, orange glow does bring Dean back down to earth, but Cas got him all worked up and now--
“Holy shit,” Dean moans into his arms as Cas’ hands rub the oil into his skin.
“Good?” asks Cas.
“Magic fingers, baby,” Dean sighs as Cas’ thumbs work into the meat of his shoulders. “God fuckin’ damn.”
Cas chuckles above him. His hands push and pull, molding him back into Dean, rather than some lump of vaguely Dean-shaped human.
The lower Cas goes, the antsier Dean gets. Soon his thumbs massage the dips in the small of his back, his hands palm at the round peaks of Dean’s ass.
Dean shivers when Cas pulls his cheeks apart and spreads him out.
He may whimper when he feels his tongue give him a long, tender lick.
“Up,” Cas instructs and hoists Dean’s hips into the air. Dean’s cock is heavy between his legs, hot and wet as hell. Cas groans, “I wish you could see yourself like this. You’re dripping precome all over the bed.”
Dean moans back, because he can feel it. He just wants Cas deep inside him, fucking him into the mattress, but the shithead is making him wait and it would be a problem if said shithead wasn’t also the object of Dean’s love and affection.
A slick digit slips inside him, and Dean lets out a keening whine.
“Fuck, Cas,” he sighs and wraps his fists up in their sheets. A little more oil and another finger, and Cas starts rocking his hand into Dean, opening him up. He hits that little bundle of nerves, teasing over and over again until Dean is nothing but a panting, desperate mess, practically sobbing into the mattress.
Cas gets him just to the brink, he’s teetering over the edge and fucking Cas takes back his fingers and, “Jesus fucking fuck”
“Agreed,” Cas pants.
Another beat and Cas is against him, pushing inside him, filling him completely and fuck it fees incredible. Cas leans down and presses a kiss right between Dean’s shoulder blades, reaches down and wraps an arm around his chest.
“Are you all right?” Cas murmurs into his ear, hips circling ever so slowly.
“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “Yeah, I’m perfect.”
“No arguments here,” Cas grins that Cheshire Cat grin and snags Dean’s earlobe in his teeth.
Cas rocks into him steadily, lips pressing into his skin, teeth scraping and tongue soothing love bites into bloom. His fingers tug at Dean’s nipple ring before his hand trails down Dean’s stomach, through the treasure trail of hair, and wraps around his dick.
Dean swears and thrusts back harder, simultaneously trying to fuck both Cas’ cock and hand all at once. It’s exhausting and his head is starting to ache, but it’s nothing compared to how fucking long he’s been hard and heavy and desperate for this.
“Sh-shit, Cas,” Dean grunts. “’m not gonna last.”
“Okay,” Cas nods, and just like that he’s got Dean hoisted up by the chest again, his strong, wiry arm holding him firmly in place now as he fucks up at that goddamned angle.
It hits him so hard that, for a second, he’s not able to make any sound at all. Then a splash of come hits his chest and he lets out a wrecked, shuddering groan. Cas is right behind him, going still all but for the fingernails digging into Dean’s skin.
Dean feels a little like he might pass out, and whether or not it’s face down on the bed or still held under Cas’ arm is not his decision to make.
“Dean,” Cas murmurs between hot, sweaty neck kisses.
“Mm?”
“Please, always remember that you are so, so loved.”
Cas doesn’t slide out of him until Dean concedes, “Yeah, all right, I’m loved.”
oo
Dean puts all of his energy into fixing up his car.
He registers her under his name.
He puts her on his car insurance.
It’s a disgusting display of adulthood that can only be counteracted by throwing crumpled up straw wrappers into Charlie’s hair.
“What the hell are you doing?” she finally asks.
Dean shrugs, “Bored.”
Charlie finishes filling a pint glass with a shake of her head and adds it to Dean’s serving tray.
“Next time you throw something at me, it’d best be dolla bills, bitch,” she gives him a smile, and Dean snorts.
Normally, he wouldn’t be averse to working Ladies’ Night in any old bar.
This isn’t any old bar, though, and Ladies’ Night here is one of the worst in terms of tips. Meg had an emergency tonight and couldn’t get anyone to cover for her, and because Dean and Cas are leaving for Sioux Falls tomorrow he has been looking for anything to distract himself.
Plus, it’s never a bad idea to have extra spending cash.
“Are you okay?” asks Charlie when Dean comes back to the bar. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I haven’t,” Dean grumbles and scrubs his face with his hands.
“You’re that nervous about your trip?” asks Charlie, and Dean looks up at her.
He hopes it’s his ‘no duh’ face, but he thinks it may just be his zombie face.
“At least Cas will be with you,” she offers. “Worse comes to worse, he’ll charm all the attention off of you.”
Dean raises his eyebrow.
“Cas?” he asks. “Castiel Novak. Charming.”
“There’s more than one way to be charming,” says Charlie. “And you’re the one who’s lashed your life to him, so it obviously holds some truth.”
“I’d call it endearing more than anything,” Dean replies through a chuckle.
“What’s endearing?” asks Jo, and looks to Charlie, “Scotch and soda and a rum and coke, please.”
“Aye-aye,” Charlie salutes.
“Who’s endearing?” Jo asks again.
“Cas,” says Dean.
“Dean’s disputing my claims that he’s charming,” Charlie replies.
“He is charming,” Jo nods. “And endearing. He worked Ladies’ Night a few weeks ago and walked outta here with tips comin’ outta his ears.”
“Really?” Dean asks.
“I told you,” Charlie shrugs. “Some people are just magnetic.”
“Uh, hello,” Dean throws out his arms. “You couldn’t ask for a more magnetic motherfucker than this right here.”
“Aside from the fact that you look like you just stumbled out of a briar patch,” Jo steps back and gives him a look over.
“Don’t,” Dean stops her. “I don’t wanna know.”
“Good, ‘cause Jesus wouldn’t want me sayin’ it,” Jo takes the drinks from Charlie and sets them on her tray. She leaves them both with a wink, and Charlie gives a happy little sigh.
“That’s charm, right there,” says Dean. “Cas? He called out a mall Santa the other day and accidentally ruined Christmas for like half a dozen kids.”
Charlie sucks in a hiss through her teeth.
“Hate to tell you this Dean, but knowing Cas, that’s still kinda charming,” she says.
“Endearing,” Dean corrects her again.
“It’s okay,” Charlie lets out another happy sigh. “You married your Prince Charming. There’s no shame in that.”
“Fuck you, I’m not a princess,” Dean scowls at her. No matter how many times Gabriel calls him Rapunzel, he will not concede on this point.
He is not a princess.
“Never said you were,” Charlie grins. “Sometimes a prince needs a prince charming.”
“Pretty sure I’m just a tavern wench,” Dean mumbles.
“Dean,” Charlie says then, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay that you’re living happily, you know. There’s no shame in looking out for yourself.”
Dean grumbles and pushes away from the bar. He’s got tables to check on, bare bones tips to collect, and a trip looming over him that he would rather not think about.
Okay that he’s living happily… it’s the least okay thing on the planet and no one fucking understands.
oo
“I am only going to say this once,” says Cas. “Do not burn the house down.”
Gabriel looks up from his bowl of cereal and raises an eyebrow, “They never proved anything in that arson trial, y’know.”
Dean snorts into his cup of coffee. He knows it’s unwise to supplement sleep with coffee, and now that he’s well into his late twenties it’s getting much harder to do so. Cas offered him some of his weed when he got home from work last night, but Dean declined.
He knows he kept Cas up with his tossing and turning, but eventually he settled long enough for Cas to fall asleep.
Thank god he can watch Netflix on his phone.
“I’m driving,” Cas reaches into Dean’s pocket and grabs the keys.
“Like hell you are,” Dean tries to snatch them back, but Cas holds him off with a palm laid right over his heart.
“Dean,” he implores. “Please, let me take care of this.”
The only sound for the following moments is Gabriel chomping his way through a mouthful of Cap’n Crunch.
“Fine,” Dean sighs. Cas affords him a small smile at that, and leans forward to peck a kiss to his lips.
Gabriel blows a raspberry, “Save the sappy stuff for the road, you mooks.”
Cas and Dean both flip him off at the same time.
It’s a much shorter trip to see Dean’s family than it was to see Castiel’s. When Dean checks the route on Cas’ phone, he realizes Bobby’s place isn’t even four hours away.
For some reason, that only makes Dean feel worse.
“You really don’t have a CD player in here?” asks Cas as they merge onto the interstate.
“My baby’s old school,” Dean sinks down into his seat, coffee definitely not doing its job he realizes as he yawns.
“It would not devalue the car to install a CD player,” Cas yawns against his own hand.
“You’re taking Mae West and turning her into Miley Cyrus,” Dean mumbles.
“That is one of the gayest things you have ever said.”
“Gayer than the time I said I wanted to suck your dick while Benny plowed me from behind?”
“Even gayer than when we actually did it,” Cas quips back, and god help him, Dean smiles.
That’s… that’s a good memory.
The rocking back and forth of the car, the familiar smell of the leather interior, the heat filtering into the car and wrapping its cozy arms around Dean—it’s a living, breathing Quaalude, and it knocks Dean out in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
He sleeps the entire ride up, coming to only when he feels Cas’ hand on his shoulder.
“’the hell?” Dean sits up and looks at Cas, who gives him a small smile.
“We’re here,” he says, and Dean looks out the window.
Sure as shit, there they are, sitting right smack in the middle of Singer Salvage Yard. Dean doesn’t even get a moment to adjust before he sees Bobby come out the front door, hands in the pockets of his worn out jeans.
He looks so much older, which okay, Dean should have expected and did expect, but it’s still jarring.
“Take me back,” Dean says.
“Get out of the car, Dean,” Cas leans over and unbuckles him. Dean tries to fight back, but Cas is all the way over him now, opening up the passenger side door and pushing Dean out. His legs are cramped and he has to piss like a racehorse, but the moment he’s unfolded and sprouted up in the open air, Bobby rushes to him and pulls him into a big bear hug.
“It’s good to see you, boy,” Bobby says, emotion cresting his voice.
It’s the smell that gets him, that combination of engine grease, cheap soap, and the same trucker cap Dean remembers from childhood.
He’s not crying.
He’s not.
“Good to see you too, Bobby,” he chokes and immediately pulls away, wiping his face quickly.
“Lord,” Bobby sighs. “I know I’m pretty as a Georgia peach, but there’s no reason to cry about it.”
Dean lets out a laugh and sniffs back the rest of his tears. Relief fills his chest, so much so that he’s able to clear his throat and look back toward his baby. Cas leans forward on the divers side door, arms folded across the top of the car, smiling at the scene before him. Dean rolls his eyes and cocks his head, and from the way Bobby’s looking at him he figures he must be smiling like an idiot.
“Uh, Bobby, this is Cas,” he gestures.
Cas raises a hand in greeting, squinting against the faint winter sun, “Hello, Bobby.”
“Now, you know he’s got blue hair, right?” asks Bobby.
“Yeah, I know,” Dean smiles still, because at that second Castiel realizes, oh, he can come around and say hello up close now.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” says Cas as he shakes Bobby’s hand. “Dean has told me a lot about you.”
“Good to meet you too, Cas,” Bobby returns gruffly. “You’re… a lot more colorful than I pictured.”
Dean puts his face in his hands, “Smooth, Bobby.”
“Good to know he hasn’t kicked the smartass outta you,” Bobby shakes his head. “C’mon in, Sam an’Jess are already here.”
“That would explain the Toolmobile,” Dean gestures to the shiny silver Prius parked close to the house.
Bobby snorts, “Made ‘em take the Chevelle to the grocery store so they wouldn’t get shot.”
Then he smiles and wraps Dean up in a tight, one-armed hug.
“Boy, is it good to have you back.”
Dean feels his whole body heat up as Bobby leads him and Cas inside.
This place still smells the same, too. He wishes his blood would stop pounding in his ears, wish his breath would stop coming so fast so he could hear if the floorboards even squeak the same pitch.
And then he notices, “Bobby, did you clean?”
“Yeah, Felix Unger likes it tidy,” Bobby grumbles. “Kinda stuck after he left. I don’t do much to kick up the dust around here.”
Dean nods back and, shit, it’s way surreal being back here. It’s even more surreal to see Cas, his right here and now, standing in his past.
And sticking out like a big, blue thumb.
“What?” Cas asks and looks behind him.
It’s a picture up on the wall, from eons ago, when dad left them up in Sioux Falls for a couple of days while he worked a pretty gruesome case. Dean can’t be more than twelve in that picture, holding up the head of a brown trout he’d caught just moments before.
He and Sam are both smiling.
“Is that you?” Cas grins, and then his face lights up. “Look at your little freckles!”
Dean furrows his brow and mutters, “Shut up”, but it’s useless, as Cas has hopped the last train to Stonerville and lets out an incriminating laugh.
“Lord,” Dean hears Bobby from the kitchen. “What the hell did he smoke?”
“Nothing as far as I know,” Dean shrugs.
“You’re cute!” Cas attempts to explain, and then his expression falls, “Oh, what, I can’t think this is cute? Look at you.”
“Pretty photogenic for a couple’a spazzes, ain’t they?” Bobby asks from behind a glass of whiskey.
Dean’s mouth floods at the waft of liquor that hits his nose. Bobby may not have the best stuff, but what he does have is plentiful, and Dean used to drink himself silly plenty of times here.
“Who’s this?” Cas points to another picture, and Dean freezes.
Staring stony-faced back at them is, “My dad.”
“That’s your dad?” Cas leans in to take a closer look. “Now I know where you and Sam get your smile.”
Dean rewards the comment with a small huff of a laugh. He’s got plenty of his dad’s already; he’d exchange all of it for the bastard’s hardened stoicism.
The screen door clatters closed and Dean and Cas both snap their attention to the kitchen.
A slim girl with a sweet face and curly blonde hair stands beside Sam, the both of them with canvas bags in tow.
Fucking back-asswards hippie Californians.
“You’re here,” Sam smiles at Dean and he lets out a breath.
He… he didn’t think Dean would come.
“’course I’m here,” Dean nods. “Had to meet the gal who stole my baby brother’s heart. Jessica, I’m Dean. Really nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Dean,” she smiles and takes his hand. “And you must be Cas.”
“Yes,” Cas nods. “Pleased to meet you, Jessica.”
The silence that falls after that is nothing short of awkward. Dean can’t think of a goddamned thing to say, and he knows Bobby sure as shit can’t either. Sam sets his bags down on the counter and starts unloading them.
Dean shifts, his skin all of a sudden too tight and his lungs too small.
“So,” Jess folds her arms over her chest. “How was the drive up?”
“He slept through the entire thing,” Cas shrugs as he picks up another picture frame off of the side table by the couch. That one is a picture of just Sam and Bobby, outside under the Singer Salvage Yard sign.
Dean didn’t know the Sam in that picture.
“You let your copilot fall asleep?” asks Jess. “That’s brave of you.”
“I can’t believe you even let him drive,” Sam mentions.
“Yeah, well, I can’t believe you drink that almond milk crap,” Dean gestures to the carton in Sam’s hand.
“Have you ever tasted it?” asks Sam. “’cause it’s kinda good.”
“It’s a hoax,” Dean insists, folding his arms. “How the hell do you milk an almond?”
“Their almond nipples, obviously,” Cas replies, popping a proverbial pin in Dean’s entire argument.
“It was a joke,” he says over Jessica’s laughter.
“So was mine,” Cas argues back. “Almonds don’t have nipples.”
“You say ‘nipples’ again you’re gettin’ locked up in the basement ‘til you can contain yourself,” Bobby grunts.
Cas frowns.
“Nipples?” he asks. “What’s so bad about nipples?”
Jessica snorts into her own hand.
“Everyone has nipples.”
“Cas!” Dean exclaims, and Cas’ attention snaps to him. “Stop. Saying. Nipples.”
“Why don’t you boys go get your bags from the car,” Bobby interjects loudly, as Sam now tries to hide his laughter.
“It’s not that much, I’ll go,” Dean says, and with that pushes past Jess and out the screen door.
His palms are sweating like crazy, his face feels like it’s on fire. He knew it was a bad idea to come here.
“Hey, Dean,” Sam calls after him. Dean doesn’t stop, but he can hear Sam’s heavy footfalls pounding behind him. “You okay?”
“Dude, what part of any of this makes you think I’m okay?” Dean snaps. He pops the trunk and grabs their bag. That is the nice thing about being with someone as low maintenance as himself: they always travel light.
“Dean—”
“Will you just let me have a fuckin’ minute here?” Dean drops the bag and leans against the Impala. Everything feels too familiar here, too dream-like to be real, yet somehow still too absurd to be anything but reality.
“Look, I know this is hard, okay?” Sam sighs. “Jess had to drag me out of bed this morning, all right, I barely slept. But I’m really, really glad you’re here, Dean.”
He thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better, knowing that Sam had to be dragged here too, but it just makes Dean feel worse.
Dude, comes back inside,” Sam claps him on the shoulder and then flits his eyes to the house just on the other side of the salvage yard. “For real, before Becky sees you.”
“Who’s Becky?” Dean asks, and Sam goes red.
“She’s our neighbor’s kid… she’s kinda had a crush on me since she was like eight, okay?” He looks down at his feet, as though he’s just confessed to the Zodiac Killer murders.
“Aw, now that’s adorable,” Dean looks back at the house, but Sam deters his attention and shoves him back toward the house.
Back inside, Cas helps Jessica put more groceries into the refrigerator. He sees Dean out of the corner of his eye and offers him a smile.
Dean smiles back and picks up a head of lettuce off of the counter, “You guys get a rabbit?”
“Ha-ha,” Sam mocks back. “Good to know your sense of humor didn’t evolve.”
“Fuck you, I’m hilarious,” Dean frowns.
He doesn’t know if Cas forgets where they are or just plain doesn’t care, because his immediate response is to lean in and kiss the pout right off of Dean’s mouth. Dean would crawl into that kiss if he could, wrap himself up safe and sound inside it.
But he can’t, because he doesn’t exactly know how everyone will react to two dudes macking on each other, and he knows if he lets himself get caught up he’ll never stop.
Dean clears his throat when they part, deep red still burning his cheeks.
“I gotta hit the head,” he supplies quickly and pointedly keeps his hands in his pockets as he passes Bobby’s liquor cabinet. Though there’s a bathroom downstairs, Dean takes to the staircase. The burn feels nice in his calves, though he can’t say he’s pleased at being as winded as he is at the top of the landing.
“Fuckin’ double bacon cheeseburgers,” he huffs and rubs a hand over his belly. They’re just so good.
Dean walks down the hallway, stopping just before the bathroom.
This is the spare room, right here, door flung open and luggage spread out all over the room. Christ, how long are Sam and Jess staying?
Dean toes his way inside and gets a lump in his throat when he realizes, shit, this is Sam’s room.
Living with dad was all about minimalism, about masculinity. Dad didn’t like a lot of color, didn’t like a whole lot of anything that was too fey or out of the ordinary. Well, apart from hanging elk horns, there isn’t a whole lot of room for creativity under those stipulations.
There is one familiarity that first catches Dean’s eye—the license plate collage that once hung above his bed now hangs beside Sam’s, so out of place with the sleek tidiness of the rest of his room.
From everything Dean has seen of his little brother, he’s relatively modern, tech-savvy, the kind of guy who has all his photos on a hard drive somewhere.
When he sees a picture of Sam, all decked out in his green graduation robes, with his golden honor cords hanging from his neck, and Bobby standing beside him, Dean can’t help but think the universe put it there just to fuck with him. The diploma in Sam’s hand reads Rockford High School; Sam’s face reads absolute elation; Bobby’s reads pride.
It’s the best he’s ever seen either of them look, and it twists Dean’s guts up inside to know that, yeah, he’s right.
People are way better off when he’s not around.
A knock sounds on the doorjamb and Dean swipes the tear tracks off his face.
Sam stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His hair is so much longer now than dad ever would have allowed, but his eyes remain that same shade of thirteen-year-old worry.
“I tell ya, Sammy, this ain’t half bad,” Dean sniffs up the last of his tears, though his rat bastard voice is still thick and goopy with emotion.
“Dean,” Sam sighs.
“Dude, it’s cool,” Dean reassures him. “It’s—I’m glad you got this. I’m glad you had Bobby, and that you were happy. I’m just—yeah, glad.”
“Would’ve rather had you,” Sam admits to the floor, and Dean lets out a laugh.
“Trust me, you dodged a bullet,” he says. “Man, you got to go to Stanford, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ lawyer… with me you’d probably still be stuck in community college purgatory.”
“Man, I would’ve gotten out and gone to school whether or not I had you,” Sam looks up. “That’s the only situation I did control. Bobby would’ve taken us both, you know that. You could’ve worked here with him, you could’ve been with me. I really, really missed you, Dean. Growing up without you fucking sucked.”
The words jam up in his ears, rattle up in his brain and freeze it all. His veins go icy and his stomach lights on fire. The room is too small and Sam is too big, he’s blocking the whole door.
“Dean?” Sam asks, and fucking fuck fuck fuck, he starts crying again.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Holy crap,” Sam comes forward and attempts to lay a comforting hand on him, but Dean backs away. “Dean, I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to –“
“Sam,” comes Cas’ voice from behind him. Through his blurry vision, Dean can see Sam turn to Cas.
“Jessica was asking for you,” he says, and Sam casts a sidelong look at Dean.
“Go, dude,” Dean manages to keep his voice somewhat level. Sam nods, deflated puppy face and all, and shuffles out of the room. Cas shuts the door behind himself and pads over to Dean.
“Are you okay?”
Dean takes a breath and shakes his head.
“Baby,” Cas huffs a sad sigh and pulls him in close. Dean folds himself into the embrace, lets Cas press kisses into his hair, and Cas just holds him and lets him cry, holds him and whispers in his ear that it’s okay, he’s okay, that they’re here and Cas has got him.
“I gotta sit,” Dean sniffs and pulls back. Cas shifts.
“Would you like me to sit with you?”
Dean sighs and puts his face in his hands. He feels like shit for doing so, but he shakes his head.
“All right,” Cas hums. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Dean nods.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
oo
Cas comes downstairs alone, so Jessica enlists his help in making dinner. She hands him a clear produce bag filled with baby field greens before retrieving an ancient-looking salad spinner.
“You’re putting him to work already?” Sam chuckles from where he returns from the other room, rolling up his sleeves as he comes to join them.
He dips down to give Jessica a kiss, and Cas experiences a very intense, very real desire to jump out the window. Sam glances at Cas, but doesn’t ask about Dean. It’s almost as though he knows, anyway, in the way that he gives a sigh and turns to start gathering herbs and spices from the cupboard above.
It’s a few moments of amiable silence before Bobby enters the kitchen with a beer in hand.
“Aw, what the hell is this?” he groans, peering around Sam’s shoulder.
“Quinoa,” Sam replies.
“Makin’ up words ain’t gonna help me, boy,” Bobby mutters. “Where’s the steak?”
“Salmon,” Sam corrects him. “Salmon, quinoa, field greens, roasted vegetables.”
“Christ, boy, you tryin’ to give me a heart attack?” Bobby grabs at his chest.
“Yeah, Bobby, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’ve gotta eat better. The grain alcohol diet can’t be doing wonders on your system.”
“Which system?” Cas asks.
“Any of them,” Sam replies.
“Damn it, where the hell’s your boy when I need ‘im,” Bobby asks Cas, and Cas feels his cheeks go pink.
These people he doesn’t know, two of whom have never met him, just absorbed him into their unit without a question, the same as Ellen and Jo and Dean had done for him, and then Gabriel.
Lucifer will ask after Dean from time to time when they speak; mother still refers to him as that Dean; Michael hasn’t spoken to him in years.
Here, Dean is his boy, and he is Dean’s.
Here, to Dean’s family, they belong to each other.
Castiel’s heart gives a painful thud, and he wets his lips.
“He’s resting upstairs,” Cas supplies after, admittedly, much too long of a pause.
“Takin’ a nap?” Bobby asks. “Christ on a cracker, both you boys’ve gone soft on me.”
“I’m still not making steak,” Sam says, and Jess gives him a little hip-check and a soft, “Behave.”
“Here,” Bobby claps Cas on the shoulder. “Let’s leave these two to cook up what they’re gonna cook up. You know how to play poker?”
It’s easy being with Dean’s family. Sam and Jess have to have been together for a long while, the way they move so seamlessly around one another in the kitchen. Bobby grabs another beer and a deck of cards and deals out five to the both of them.
Cas doesn’t mention that Dean’s spent the last six years teaching him how to play poker. Dean says he has a good poker face, but until now Castiel’s been pretty sure that Dean was just flattering him to get laid.
“Christ,” Bobby throws down his cards.
“Don’t tell me he’s taking you to the cleaners, Bobby,” says Sam from where he sets up the table.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bobby mutters.
“To be fair, this is the first time I’ve played this relatively sober in a long time,” Cas mentions and gathers up the last of Bobby’s chips from the middle of the coffee table.
“Oh, man,” Sam laughs. “Salt in the wound.”
It’s Sam that says it, Castiel knows, but it sounds not unlike something that would come out of Dean.
“Should I go see if Dean wants to eat?” asks Jess, and Cas shakes his head.
“It’s best to leave him be,” he says. “If he wants to come down, he’ll come down.”
Bobby raises an eyebrow at this, “What, now we’re tip-toein’ around him? He’s a little sensitive, sure, but he’s not a baby.”
“It’s not a matter of being a baby,” Castiel explains. “Dean just needs to be alone when he’s upset.”
Castiel immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing. Perhaps he didn’t need to use the word ‘upset’, and ‘he’s not feeling well’ would have worked just fine. He opens his mouth a few times and tries to back pedal, even though there’s nothing he can say to take it back. And there’s nothing he can say to make that look on Sam’s face go away.
“Well, the hell with that,” Bobby pushes himself up off the couch. “I’m gonna go have a word with him.”
“Bobby, no,” Cas shoots up and steps in front of the staircase. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You let him run and hide every time he’s gotta do somethin’ he doesn’t wanna do?” Bobby asks.
“I don’t let him do anything,” Castiel replies with as much diplomacy as he can muster. They’ve been so kind to him. He can’t just brazenly tell Bobby to fuck off and leave Dean alone; this is not his family.
So he continues, “Dean doesn’t run and hide.”
That gets him three very confused faces.
“Well, he did,” Cas explains. “That one time, and that’s of course why you haven’t seen him in so long, but that was before I knew him. There’s a difference between running from your problems forever and preparing yourself until you’re ready to face them. Believe me when I say that not a day goes by that he doesn’t think of you. The way he speaks about you—you and Sam—I knew he always intended to see you again. Perhaps he was and is a little frightened, but I’ll tell you the thing he’s most terrified about is that you’ve stopped loving him.”
“What?” Sam asks. “How could he even think that?”
Castiel shrugs. Sometimes, it’s hard loving someone who doesn’t believe they’re loveable. Dean has his moments here and there, and he’s certainly gotten a lot better in their time together, but some feelings are just so big that you can’t fight through them on the first try.
“I don’t know,” is all Castiel says, even though he has his own theories. It’s hard to believe you’re worthy of love when the only person whose love you crave consistently kicks dirt in your face. “Please, trust me. He’ll come down when he’s ready.”
That closes the book on that conversation, thank god. Cas unsquares his shoulders and sags a little under the relief of no longer having to stand guard. He catches Sam looking at him, but they don’t exchange words.
“Well,” Jess puts her hands on her hips. “On that note, dinner is ready.”
Castiel takes the seat between Bobby and Sam. Their plates aren’t unlike Dean’s and his at home—mismatched, chipped and well-worn—the cutlery mixed and matched from years of breaking, bending, wear, and replacing.
Much to his delight, it turns out that Jessica and Sam can cook up quite a meal.
It could be due to the fact that Cas and Dean were trying to finish off everything in their fridge before they left, and as a result ended up eating a lot of leftovers these last couple days.
There’s only so much solidified macaroni and cheese a guy can eat.
“This is wonderful,” Cas praises just as Bobby makes a face at his bite of quinoa.
“I’m glad you like it,” Jess smiles. “It’s pretty easy to make. Do you cook?”
“Dean’s more of the cook,” Cas shrugs, which seems to surprise both Sam and Bobby. “Not five-star cuisine or anything, but he likes to cook. He makes very good chili. Did he not cook before?”
“Never really had anything around to cook,” Sam shrugs. “Mostly just survived on cereal and canned soup.”
Cas shifts. He knows that Dean didn’t grow up as well-off as he did, and he knows that he was more well-off than most to begin with. It’s the frankness with which Sam says it that glues Cas’ eyes to his plate.
“Well, it’s easy,” Jess shrugs. “I’m sure you could handle it. It’s tasty and good for you.”
Castiel nods, “A lot of people in my yoga class swear by it.”
“You do yoga?” Jess lights up, and Castiel smiles.
He didn’t realize he could so easily have a conversation about yoga, of all things. He barely talks to Dean about it, mostly because he knows Dean’s interest in any form of meditative physical activity is somehow less than zero.
There’s a lot of easy laughter with this family. Jessica is bright and sweet, Sam is wry and sarcastic, and Bobby, like Cas, just seems happy to be here in the company of such lovely people.
Cas hears a door open and shut upstairs, but he’s so caught up in one of Bobby’s stories that he doesn’t even register it. In fact, the only time anyone even lifts their attention from Bobby is when Dean is right beside them with a desk chair.
“Room for one more?” he asks.
“Of course,” Jess nods as Cas scoots to make room for him.
“Lemme grab you a plate, man,” Sam tosses his napkin onto the table and stands.
“Thanks,” Dean’s lips quirk into a half smile. He looks at Cas, and Cas smiles back at him.
Dean grabs Cas’ hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.
oo
As soon as they have a moment to themselves, Dean wraps his arms around Cas and holds him tight. Even though he hasn’t smoked once today, the scent still lingers in Cas’ hair, on his clothes and skin.
“How’re you doing?” asks Cas, low enough so that Sam and Jess and Bobby can’t hear from the other room.
Dean responds by hugging Cas tighter.
He hates being this clingy, hates that Cas is a living, breathing security blanket that he has to clutch to his chest in times of need. He just wants to be okay enough to hold his own for ten fucking minutes.
“I’m such a fucking wimp,” Dean mutters.
“You are not,” Cas sighs, hand rubbing soothing circles over Dean’s back. “This is a lot, Dean. You’re brave for even being here.”
Dean groans. He knows Cas is being supportive, like he always is, but Dean will never be convinced that he is anything but a Grade A Pansy-Ass Sack of Shit Runaway.
“Hey,” Cas cups his face in his hands, makes Dean look him in the eye. “You can’t change the past. You can’t un-run away. You can spend time with the family I know you loved and missed.”
Dean moans into Cas’ shoulder, even though he knows he’s right.
“You’re okay,” Cas promises then. “I promise, you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Dean repeats.
They part with a kiss.
Cas joins Sam and Jess out in the living room. Sam is on his computer, long limbs draped over the couch as he scrolls through whatever the hell it is he’s scrolling through. Dean supposes he could talk to him, but he looks pretty engrossed.
Jessica and Cas haven’t even been talking for two seconds and they’ve already clicked. From what Dean’s heard over the course of the night, Jessica is from around the same place as Cas, and their families are more or less pretty similar.
This leaves Bobby, who sits out on the porch with a glass of whiskey in hand, enjoying the freezing cold night. As much as it makes him want to throw up, Dean slips out through the door and shoves his hands in his pockets.
It’s just slightly colder than he anticipated.
Mid-December in South Dakota, Dean doesn’t know why he’s surprised.
“Have a seat,” says Bobby without any prompting, without even turning his head. Dean obeys, lowering himself gingerly onto the weathered wicker bench.
“You all right?”
Dean sighs.
This. This is the part he hates about… everything. He hates that people—even people who love him—feel the need to check up on him every goddamned time they speak to him.
“I’m fine,” he replies, knowing that won’t cut it.
“You’ve got a hell of a boy,” Bobby leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Must really love you a lot.”
“Against his better judgment, yeah,” Dean lets out a laugh, hoping to diffuse the situation with a little light humor.
He really should know better by now.
“What the hell happened?”
He knew it was coming. He knew Bobby wouldn’t let him go a whole visit without telling him what happened, why the last time he ever heard from Dean he was a fucking mess.
“Too much,” Dean sighs in response.
“You were a kid when you left, Dean,” Bobby insists. “Just tell me you weren’t livin’ on the streets somewhere.”
“I wasn’t,” Dean shakes his head. “I got lucky. Really fucking lucky.”
He tells Bobby about Ellen and Jo, about how Ellen hauled him back up onto his feet, dusted him off, and got him going again. He has his GED now, he’s been working steadily for ten years.
“Uh-huh,” Bobby nods. “And how long’s your boy been a part of all this?”
Dean lets out a breath, “Almost seven years.”
Christ, that’s a long time.
“Good,” Bobby leans back again. “I like him. He’s a little odd, but I like him. Seems good for you.”
Dean smiles a bit, “Yeah, he is.”
The door opens and closes, and out steps Sam. He’s in a pretty hefty winter coat, and Dean shakes his head.
“What?” asks Sam.
“California winters turned you soft, man,” Dean chuckles, and Sam flips him off. Bobby lets out a gruff laugh, and then silence falls between the three of them.
Dean looks at his fingers and asks, “Did dad notice I was gone?”
“Of course he did,” Sam says. “He may have been a dick, but he was upset that you were gone. You’re his kid.”
“Why didn’t he try to find me?” Dean asks.
“Don’t think he could bring himself to look for you,” Bobby shrugs. “He was pissed, boy, I tell ya.”
Dean looks at Sam, silently begging him to give him something, anything, to confirm that dad didn’t take it out on him in Dean’s absence. Sam shifts and shoves his hands in his coat pockets.
“He didn’t do a whole lot of anything once we realized you were really gone,” says Sam. “It was… it was rough.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dean blurts.
“That dad couldn’t handle anything without a fifth of whiskey?” Sam raises an eyebrow. “Dean, that’s not your fault. That’s the way he was going, sooner or later.”
“You don’t know that,” Dean frowns. “And instead of finding out, he kicked it because of me.”
“Aw hell, boy,” Bobby rolls his eyes. “Your old man never did squat because of you while he was alive, why the hell would you think he’d start then?”
“He did the best he could,” Dean finds himself defending.
“The best he could?” Bobby parrots. “Listen to me, the best he could’ve done was love you boys and take care of you. He may’ve loved you, but what he did? That wasn’t takin’ care of you boys. You wanna prime example of a runaway, there you go: John Winchester.”
“Good to know it runs in the family,” Dean mutters.
“It ain’t the same thing, Dean,” says Bobby. “It’s not unlike your boy said earlier. There’s takin’ a breather until you’re ready to face your problems, and then there’s runnin’ yourself off a cliff so you never have to deal with ‘em. Your dad coulda settled with you boys, coulda faced what it meant to raise you on his own, but he threw himself into his work and never looked back. That’s not doin’ the best you can, boys, that’s runnin’ scared.”
A tremendous weight lifts of Dean’s chest and he sits back.
“What?” asks Sam.
“I’m just… really sorry,” says Dean.
“Dude, it’s not your fault,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you bailed, but… I mean, it sucked, but it’s over. I made it out okay, and you made it out okay. Y’know, maybe that’s how it had to happen.”
Dean nods, though he doesn’t necessarily agree.
“Hey, if you never left, you never would have met Cas,” Sam offers up to Dean’s unspoken doubt.
Dean doesn’t believe in fate. In his world there are no star-crossed lovers, no predestination, nothing but chance and the free will to pursue what you want.
If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have met Castiel.
The universe would not have found a way, and knowing the trajectories they’d been following when they met, it’s entirely likely that neither of them would still be alive.
And if they were still alive, Cas probably still wouldn’t be able to drive, and Dean knows he’d still be trying to keep his eyes off of guys’ asses, wondering what the hell is wrong with himself.
He does not want to know a life without Cas.
“You all right?” asks Bobby, and Dean sniffs back the tears that threaten to spill down his face.
“I’m such a fuckin’ chick,” Dean mutters.
“Are you kidding?” Sam laughs. “Dude, I’d be worried if you weren’t crying.”
“I’m not crying,” Dean frowns.
“Christ, boy,” Bobby rolls his eyes. “You’re passin’ some eye water, it happens to everyone. Own it and shut the hell up about it.”
Sam snorts, and tries to hide his face by looking down at the floor. Bobby finishes his whiskey, Sam starts talking about his Child Welfare Law class.
Figures Sammy would have a bleeding heart when it comes to kids. Hell, Dean does.
“What about Civil Trials?” asks Bobby, and Sam groans.
“Pain in my ass,” he mutters. Bobby may not know what the hell Sam is talking about, but he lets him talk. He engages as best he can, and, shit, that’s so much more than dad ever did for either of them.
The door opens again, and this time it’s Cas.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says. “I’m going to the car.”
Dean hops up and follows him, heart swelling immeasurably at the sight of his lover, his best friend, his partner. He catches the sleeve of Cas’ sweater, and before Cas can get out a ‘what the hell’ Dean covers his lips in a kiss.
He hears Sam call, “Get a room!”
Dean flips him off and pushes Cas back against the Impala.
“What’s gotten into you?” Cas grins as they part. “And don’t say ‘nothing yet’.”
“I love you,” Dean murmurs against his lips, and kisses him again.
“I love you too,” Cas laughs. “I was going to have a nightcap in the car, would you care to join me?”
He pulls a joint out of his pocket and sticks it between his lips.
“Dude, don’t smoke in the car!” Dean exclaims.
“You let me smoke in the car all the time,” Cas reasons.
“Yeah, your car,” Dean iterates. “My baby’s off limits.”
“Fine,” Cas sparks up his lighter and takes a deep inhale off of the other end. His eyes flick up and he says, “Your family left. It’s safe to partake.”
Dean rolls his eyes and comes forward so Cas can shotgun his lungful of smoke into his mouth. He doesn’t know if they ever do it properly—all he knows is that it makes Cas super horny and gets Dean all giggly.
When Dean palms Cas through his jeans, he murmurs a quick “Keep watch” before he sinks to his knees. The ground is cold and wet, but fuck it.
They’re back inside in what Dean presumes is a relatively short amount of time. Sam is back on the couch, reading now, so Dean obviously has to flop down and distract him.
“Oh, god,” Sam laughs. “That’s some skunky stuff, man.”
“Just don’t smell my breath,” Dean mutters contentedly and slings an arm around the back of the couch.
Charming, he thinks Sam says, but Dean’s eyes are fixed on Cas.
“Well, isn’t this precious,” says Jess. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and Sam protests.
“C’mon, it’s late.”
“Precious moments can come at any time of the day,” Jess insists. “Even when one of you has wet knees and messy hair.”
Dean looks down at himself just as Sam busts up laughing, and wouldn’t you know it, so does he.
oo
The next morning, Dean wakes from his place on the couch and gathers his bearings. His head is heavy and full of cotton, his mouth acrid and dry. Cas is sacked out in the adjacent armchair, looking about as comfy as one might expect.
Carefully, Dean pads into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee only to find that someone already has. He shrugs and pours himself a cup, blowing across the top of the mug and smiling fondly at the man asleep in the other room.
Then something catches his eye.
Hanging on the wall, just underneath the picture of Sam and Dean with their trout, there’s now another picture.
Sam and Dean, caught in the throes of hysterical laughter, finally together again.