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It’s not like it’s a big deal.
So, Cas is dating this guy. Cas goes to the freaking farmer’s market and runs into this guy and he gets asked out. Just like that. Gave him a lecture about different types of nuts and Cas was swooning. Whatever. Cas is dating this guy now. A doctor, or he says he is. Chiropractor. As if that’s a real medical profession. Dean hasn’t needed a single day chiropractor visit in his entire life and his shoulder got dislocated a few times even. He’s fine without. Sam tells him he’s being dramatic. Dean kindly disagrees.
The thing is, Cas liked him first. Even made a whole speech about it before he stepped into the black goo, willing to offer heart and soul and stolen body for Dean. For Dean. Cas was in gay love with him and all it took was just some guy who told Cas that the hazelnut was actually a seed and Cas forgot all about liking Dean.
“I’m glad he’s over you,” Sam says, spoon clinking against the glass that he’s stirring his weird protein shake in. Dean glares at him from where he’s frying bacon. Sam’s eyes are glued to the screen, texting Eileen. Jack peers over his shoulder, drinking chocolate milk through a straw. Kid freaking loves straws. Dean bought him a whole box of them, in different colors. “Tell Eileen I wanna play UNO with her!” Jack leaves a chocolate milk stain on Sam’s shoulder. Game night is on tonight and Cas is bringing his boyfriend. Well. Guy he’s dating. The nut guy. Dean scoffs.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Dude.” Dean flips the bacon onto the toasted sandwich, butter and fat melting into the fried egg. He wipes his hands on a towel and shoves the plate at Jack who beams in delight. “Thank you,” he says, drawing out the youuuuuuu. It’s his third or so. Kid’s growing. Dean’s happy to provide. Cas points out that he’s spoiling him but Dean doesn’t care. Jack deserves to be spoiled. After everything.
“What do you mean you’re glad?” Dean grabs a piece of kitchen towel and wipes the fat out of the pan. Gathers up the grease and rest of bacon and egg. Cleans out the burnt pieces. “Well.” Sam takes a sip from his abomination of a drink and finally sets down his phone. He glances at Jack, unsure if he should continue the conversation in front of their twenty year-old toddler. “He kinda, well. You know. He deserves a guy who actually -” Sam pauses, and huffs out a breath, “I’m just glad Cas is happy, that’s all.”
Dean swallows. Down the bitterness.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and watches Jack inhale the sandwich, egg yolk running down his chin. His lashes are still long. Sammy’s were long when he was little, too. Floppy hair, long lashes, always hungry. Jack is the same. Leaves the crust of the sandwich on his plate, wipes his mouth with his shirt. Sam eats the crust. They’re talking about game night again. Planning UNO and that game where you have to guess who you are, and Jack asks if he can show them Minecraft. “Sure buddy,” Sam says, easily and gently. Drops a hand on Jack’s head, ruffles a hand through his hair. Jack leans into the touch, beams up at him.
They look like dad and son. Dean feels something awful clawing a hole into his chest.
Sam’s good at it.
Being there for someone. Offering warmth and comfort without – without controlling them.
He’s not John’s ghost.
Dean’s trying. Sam is excelling.
“Can anyone name the nut which has a shell with poisonous quality?” Roger’s eyes are bright behind his glasses and Dean hates the guy. He’s got an arm wrapped around Cas’ shoulders. Jack went to sleep hours ago, crowned king of UNO. It’s Sam and Eileen, Cas and Roger. And Dean. Fifth wheeling. Eileen doesn’t like Roger either, which helps a little. And Jack didn’t laugh at his jokes. Which helps a lot.
It’s a possessive thing. The thing in Dean’s chest. My family, he thinks. Not yours. Roger takes his arm off Cas’ shoulders. Cas sits there, unbothered. Dean’s kinda drunk. Sam is definitely drunk. Cas’ cheeks are rosy but he doesn’t really get tipsy. Which is a shame. Dean’s throat works as he swallows down his beers, eyes on Cas. What would happen if he lost his inhibitions. Dean’s experienced the blunt fury of him before. Something godly unravelling into blue electric shocks. Cas’ eyes rest on him, burning into him. Dean’s shoulder aches.
“Gee, let me think,” Dean says and feels vicious. “Types of nuts are just so fascinating to me.” Flashes a grin at Cas, who’s frowning. Bares his teeth.
Roger doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Dean feels hot all over, feels drunk and miserable. Cas is out of reach, tucked closer to Roger than to Dean and it’s not fucking right.
Dean is peeling off the label on the beer bottle. It tears into parts, leaving glue and white residue.
Eileen is the one who suggests the game so technically it’s her fault. They’re drunk, it’s that weird week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve and time is endless and too short and has Dean mentioned they’re drunk? The first card suggests a monologue about a topic you love. Dean dares Roger to list twenty types of nuts in under twenty seconds. Eileen cackles. Dean feels floaty.
“Truly, what do you love about Eileen?” Roger asks Sam. Eileen raises an eyebrow, grins. “Truly,” she echoes. Sam smiles, drunk and loose, shoulders relaxed, long legs tucked under the coffee table. Eileen is curled into him. He looks at her. Dean’s throat goes tight. The kid is so goddamn happy. Sam says it to Eileen, facing away from Roger. Hands moving slowly. Carefully. Every word.
She makes me want to be better. She sees me. And she has a great butt.
Eileen laughs and it’s loud and affectionate and infectious and they kiss. Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees Roger reach for Cas’ hand as if he’s touched by this moment too.
“Alright this game is kinda lame,” Dean announces and slaps his hands on his thighs, a little harder than necessary, enough to burn away the stinging feeling in his chest. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”
“You should do at least one dare,” Roger says. “If you don’t feel like monologuing about beer.” A topic you love. Beer. Ha. Roger is so fucking not funny. Dean doesn’t move a single facial muscle. Sam’s gaze is heavy on him. “Dean loves more than just beer,” he says then, voice cutting through the blood rushing in Dean’s ears. “I’d say beer is very low on his list.” Dean thinks if he looked at Sam now, all open and earnest and loyal, he would probably lose it. So he doesn’t.
Cas is so fucking quiet. Look at me, Dean wants to scream. Shake him. Unleash the monster. He keeps looking at his hands as if he’s trying to find something there, anything. A sigil, perhaps. Blood to press his hand somewhere, to ruin a life. Ruin me, Dean thinks. Fuck, he’s drunk. “Dean will do a dare,” Cas says eventually, voice ringing through the room. Windows should shatter, roofs be blown off. Doors be unhinged.
Roger chuckles uncomfortably. “Yeah? Like, what? Kiss someone?” He looks between Dean and Cas like he’s trying to decipher an ancient script. “Yeah okay, I dare you to kiss him.” He grins, like he’s making a joke everyone is in on. Dean’s not gonna kiss a guy. Ha ha. Dean’s not gonna kiss Cas.
“Come on,” Roger nudges Cas into the side. Dean’s bones are led. Cas stands, slowly. Like they’re in a fucking film. Dean thinks if they ever kissed, Cas should have done it before he died. Roger doesn’t know, is the thing. He’s only barely scratching the surface of who Cas is. Who they are. What Cas is capable of.
Dean stands, too. Knee buckling under the sudden weight. Sloppy, messy, drunk.
Dean thinks about twisting his hand into Cas’ hair.
He doesn’t.
“No,” he says, eventually when neither of them move. “Not like that.”
He flees, tension pushing him out of the room and down the hallway, into his own room. Heart slamming.
Nobody mentions it the next day.
#
It took him a week after Cas’ return to bring it up. Voice all hoarse and scratchy, like someone who hadn’t spoken in years. Mouth dry and hot. As if he’d been dead instead of Cas. To hell and back, skin burning. The jacket was stuffed under his pillow still. A handprint the only evidence of what happened. Cas was leaning against the Impala. Face towards the setting sun, golden light poured over him. It was summer and the heat of the day was still lingering around the corner. Just laying herself to rest, not ready to leave. Like a lazy cat, stretching out, fur still warm.
He had discarded the coat. Rolled up his sleeves, forearms exposed, the dusting of dark hair visible against the beginning of a tan. “So,” Dean said and leaned next to Cas. The space between them charged with electric energy. Cas was back, all at once and suddenly and it fucked with Dean’s brain. It’d been a group effort. Jack, Claire, Sam, Dean. Eileen. All of them. Cas was quiet. He talked to Jack at night, he traded jokes and stories with Sam, he signed with Eileen, he texted Claire – but he wouldn’t talk to Dean. And Dean knew, knew that it was because he was embarrassed. Probably felt crippling shame, hot around his neck like a leash. That he had exposed himself like that, to save Dean. That he had revealed his feelings to him.
“I just wanna say –” Dean felt his tongue heavy in his mouth, “I wanna say, nothing ain’t gonna change, between you and me.” Cas looked at him, surprised maybe. Shocked that Dean would address it. His face open in the glowing sun. The smell of cut grass, of sweat, of Jack’s sun lotion. “You ain’t gotta be – you know. It’s – You’re still – “ Dean was scrambling for words but he had to let him know. “Nothing’s gonna change,” he repeated, eyes searching Cas’ face for the hint of a relieved smile, anything. Cas said nothing. Looked and looked and looked at Dean. “Thank you,” he said eventually and Dean felt the opposite of relief.
Jack and Sam emerged from the shelter, Jack’s arms full of big, red cat. “I’m gonna name her Mrs Whiskerson!” he announced proudly and the cat purred against his chin.
#
So, really it’s not a big deal. Like Sam says, Cas deserves someone who likes him back. Someone who is good. Whole. Whose hands are big enough to hold Cas’ heart. Dean ain’t that guy. He just thinks the chiropractor is annoying as hell. Someone who gives monologues on different types of nuts doesn’t deserve Cas either.
Cas returns in the early afternoon. He spent the night at Roger’s. Probably curled around him. Held him in his arms, chest pressed to his back, arms caging him in. Not trapped. Safe. Maybe the windows were open, so they felt the cold breeze in the morning. It hasn’t snowed yet but it is cold as fuck. But Cas runs hot, so he probably asked to open the windows. As long as you hold me, Roger probably said. Asked. And Cas complied. Like he does. Folds himself around the people he loves.
Jack is performing tricks with Mrs Whiskerson. If she’s in a good mood, she plays fetch with him. He throws a small ball towards the far end of the room, somewhere behind the Christmas tree they haven’t yet taken down. “Look, Dad!” Jack squeals when Mrs Whiskerson dutifully trots back, the red and yellow rubber ball between her teeth. He picks her up and squishes her close to his chest. Cas’ eyes are soft and he leans down to kiss Jack’s head and then Mrs Whiskerson’s. The cat gives a dismayed sound, wiggles free and jumps out of Jack’s arms and darts into the next room. She can only take so much entertainment.
Dean’s hyperaware of Cas’ presence in the room. He always is. “How, uh, how was your night?” he asks, casually. Just because he doesn’t like Roger, doesn’t mean he’s gotta let it show. Cas drops a shopping bag on the table where Dean is sitting with his laptop. He was looking up a recipe for this cake Jack requested and accidentally opened up a fanboard discussion about the Dr Sexy finale. Not his fault his laptop has that forum bookmarked. Whatever. “Here, I got us these,” Cas says and retrieves a couple of sparklers. “For tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Jack plops down onto the chair next to Dean and points at the screen, finger sticky as always. “Buddy, I told you to wash your hands after you eat,” Dean says and bats Jack’s hand away. “Are you making me the Minecraft cake?” Jack sounds delighted. “Yep.” Dean shuts the laptop, studies the sparklers. “They’re pretty cool.”
Cas smiles. Small. Pleased. “It’s the new year tonight,” he explains to Jack. “Thought that deserves a celebration.”
“Next year is going to be my favorite year,” Jack says. “Oh yeah?” Dean glances at him, “Why’s that?”
Jack shrugs. He let Claire pierce his right ear. A small golden ring wrapped around his ear lobe. His hair’s longer too now, flipped to the side, fringe hanging all over his face. “Because I have my dad,” he says, all earnestly. “And I have Mrs Whiskerson. And because Claire and I are gonna go on hunts together! Not dangerous ones,” he adds after Dean raises an eyebrow at him.
“Uh huh,” Dean makes. He thinks of Jack, holding light and grace in his frail body, power cursing through him as he kept the rip in time and space open, letting the Empty dissolve. He’s so much bigger than Dean ever will be. But the thought of Jack going hunting on his own, kinda makes his throat go tight and his chest contract. He’s a kid, even though he isn’t. “I think that sounds like a pretty good year,” he says eventually. Jack smiles at him. All warm, open. Like honey.
“Is Robert coming tonight?” Dean asks Cas after Jack has already disappeared again, calling for the cat. Cas gives him a look.
“What?”
“His name’s Roger.” Cas puts away the shopping. Sparklers, champagne, and Jack’s favorite cereal. “And no.” He’s facing away from Dean. Shoulders tense. “I don’t think he’ll join us.” He closes the cupboard, and puts the bag into the assigned drawer. Dean feels a pang of relief. So at least he doesn’t have to pretend to like the guy all night. “Is, is he busy chiropracting or?” he attempts a joke. It doesn’t land. Cas turns around.
“We decided to – “ Cas squares his shoulder, chin jutting forward, ready for battle, “to go separate ways.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say. “That sucks,” he says, because yeah it does suck. He feels elated though, like something is unlocked, or slotted back into place. Fuck, he’s selfish.
“Well.” Cas gives a small smile. “He did talk about nuts
a lot
.”
Eileen comes over sometime in the early evening. Cas is in his room, reading. Maybe pining for Roger. Dean wonders if he remembers that he likes Dean now. Is he gonna confess again? Or was Roger the guy that showed him that there were better guys out there? Like, Dean was just the weird detour he took before he realized he was set up for better and greater things. Dean passes Cas’ room a few times as he moves between the different areas of the bunker, cleaning and vacuuming. Cas doesn’t come out.
So Eileen is a welcome distraction. Sam and Jack are playing chess and she high fives Jack, kisses Sam and then comes into the laundry room and sits across from Dean. He’s ironing some of Jack’s shirts. He knows he doesn’t have to. But he has the time and he needs to busy himself somehow. Smoothing out the crinkles, the iron huffing and puffing as he makes sure to get all the creases.
“Is the nut guy coming?” she signs and Dean grins. God, he loves her. Nope, he shakes his head. Folds the shirt with the dolphin print and puts it onto the Jack pile. He takes a moment to think, then firms two loose fists with his hands, holds them close and moves them apart, his index and middle fingers uncurling. Four becomes two. He hopes he did it right. Eileen mouths, “break up?” Dean nods.
Eileen watches him iron two more of Jack’s shirts. “I feel kinda bad,” Dean admits after a while. “I was kinda a jerk to Roger.”
Eileen shrugs. “If I was in love with Sam and he was dating someone -” she begins. Dean frowns. “In love?” he repeats the hand gesture. Eileen nods. “I’m not in love with Cas,” Dean says. “And anyway, he was in love with me first. And I’m not, so.”
Eileen gives him a blank look. “Oh,” she says out loud after a beat. “Good.” She sounds everything but convinced. She’s got it all wrong. Dean explains, “Eileen, I didn’t like Roger because he was weird and talked about nuts all day. Not because I’m in love with Cas. I mean, hey, I like Cas as much as the next guy. You know, clearly, uh,” he grabs the iron and sets to work on Sam’s jeans. “Clearly I got feelings for the guy, you know, loving ones, platonic ones, whatever. Continuing feelings of love. Doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. Like, I don’t – yeah, he’s an attractive guy, and I do love him, I mean, I -”
Eileen stares at him.
Dean feels a horrible, horrible realization dawn on him. Oh fuck. “I don’t, I-”
He stares back. “Really wish I didn’t know how to read lips,” Eileen says and signs at the same time.
“You knew this entire time?” Dean asks, voice squeaky.
“Duh, we talk about it all the time.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“Me, Sam, Jack. Claire. Well Sam less so. He can be oblivious.”
Dean wants to sink into the floor. Be buried under a pile of fresh smelling laundry. Oh god. Does Cas know? Does Cas pity him? Oh god. Eileen says, no, no he doesn’t. Apparently Cas is pretty clueless. Somebody could have told Dean though, Dean figures. Somebody could have let him in on this big group discussion. “To be fair, I thought you knew.” Eileen points at the iron board and Sam’s jeans. “And you just burned a hole in those.”
So, it’s not a big deal. So Dean is in love with Cas. Cool. He’s in love with his best friend and everyone knows about it except Cas. But Cas and Roger broke up. Something giddy unfolds in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Bursting with warmth. And Cas told him he loved him. A year ago, roughly. Before he–
“Hello, Dean.” Dean whips around and Cas is standing there, in the doorway to the kitchen. It’s edging closer to dinner time now. Jack is putting glitter nail polish on Sam. Eileen is scratching Mrs Whiskerson behind her ears. They have Claire on FaceTime. Cas looks a little dishevelled. He took a nap maybe. Slept through Dean’s realization. Dean’s heart pounds through his chest and right into Cas’ open hand, bleeding and red. His hair is longer now, curls at the back of his neck. “Hi,” Dean says and it comes out small.
How did he not notice sooner? He means, yeah, of course he knows why. Doesn’t wanna touch the decades of suppressed feelings with a stick right now. Cas fills out the room. Fills out his body. “You doing okay?” Dean asks, quietly. Cas grabs himself a beer from the fridge, reaching past Dean. He smells like cheap shampoo. Like bunker. Like home. Oh Dean is fucking whipped. “I’m okay.” Cas opens a beer for him, too. They clink their bottles together. “For what it’s worth, I – I’m sorry.” Dean takes a swig of beer and lets it wash down his throat. “About — I’m sorry you got hurt.”
And he means it.
Cas holds his gaze.
“Thank you,” he says after a beat, expression unreadable. “It was my decision, mostly. I think it’s good to, to start the new year with the people I love.”
“And you didn’t, you don’t love him?” Dean asks, begs, aches.
“No.” Cas sets his beer bottle down on the counter behind Dean. They’re close, inches apart for mere seconds. “No I don’t.” Dean’s breath hitches in his throat. “Right,” he says, mouth dry and hot again, chest too small for how fast his heart is beating. Cas must notice that, right? He must. Dean’s belly fills with light. Something the opposite of heavy. A balloon filling his chest and throat. Cas brushes against his arm as he pulls back and Dean momentarily cannot move. Was it like this the entire time?
“I don’t get it,” Cas says a couple hours later. He’s pressed into Dean’s side. “Where is the audience?” Dean blinks. “Dude, Metatron didn’t include sitcoms when he downloaded pop culture knowledge for you, did he.” Cas looks mildly offended. “The point is that it’s like, it’s a tool to create humor. You include the laugh track to like, make sure everyone knows it’s funny. It’s —- you’ll get it.”
“Do they get together?” Cas asks.
“Rachel and Ross? Oh yeah.”
Cas looks pleased. “Ten seasons, though.” Dean warns him. “And it like. Happens right at the end, for good. Sorry for the spoilers.”
“I don’t mind that.” Cas’ hand rests easily on his thigh. Finger nudges against Dean’s. “Hm?”
“Ten seasons. Watching all that. If it’s worth it, in the end.”
Dean thinks this must be a poignant moment. Say something. He’s a fish on dry land.
The sofa dips under sudden weight and Jack has thrown himself into Cas’ side, sending the laptop flying towards the other end of the couch. “It’s almost midnight!” he announces. He’s wearing a party hat. 2022 in bright, red and gold letters. Dean huffs out a laugh, adjusts the hat on Jack’s head. “You ready for your favorite year?”
They climb up the stairs, all of them. Sam, Eileen, Jack, Cas and Dean. All of them. Family. Jack glows with excitement. He’s freezing, of course. Jumping up and down, burning out his first sparkler already. “Dude,” Dean laughs, feels champagne bursting bubbles inside his throat. Cas looks at him, looks and looks and looks. “What did you mean?”
Sam is pulling Jack close. Puts another sparkler into his hand. Shows him how.
“What did I mean what?”
“Not like that,” Cas echoes. The evening already only a hazy memory. The almost kiss. Dean’s jaw works. He takes a deep breath. Stars are bursting. Jack squeals, “Ten! Nine! Eight!”
Dean looks over. Sam is grinning at him. Bright. Jack is a million suns. Eileen holds them both. Free will explodes into reds and yellows and greens over their heads, Jack holds his sparklers up high over his head, laughs as he spins and spins and spins. “Hello favorite year!” he yells. Dean laughs, meets Cas’ eyes again. Feels his laughter curl into his throat and stay there, like a secret.
It happens like this: He drags him in, grabs him by the lapel of his coat. He kisses him like he’s dying, like he’s taking his first breath. Mouth on mouth, lips pressed into lips. Cas gasps into his mouth, and then kisses him back, tastes electric. “Like that, I meant.” Dean says when he pulls away, grin splitting his face in two. Cas looks at him, mouth wet from having been kissed. Like he’s coming alive. Heaving chests, both of them. “Like that, huh.” Cas laughs and he reaches up to press his hand into Dean’s cheek. Holds him. “Happy favorite year,” he murmurs and then pulls him in for another and another.
Until Jack ambushes them with sparklers, chasing them over concrete, leaving a blazing trail of stars behind him. Throws himself into their arms afterwards, and pretends not to shiver.
So really, it’s no big deal.
Dean’s just gonna be irreversibly and irrevocably, insanely happy.