Archive of Our Own ^beta

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It was 2:47 am when Dean Winchester saw Castiel Novak’s first video. The storm outside was waging war on his bedroom window, spare branches flying, thunder shaking the blinds, and like usual, he wasn’t able to sleep. Sleep hadn’t come easy to Dean since he was four years old, no matter how effective he always prayed the lullaby that his third glass of whiskey was singing to him would be. Most nights he’d take advantage of the time differences while he was on tour and call a friend, usually Jo, and talk about all the bullshit they’d lived through together, all the plans they’d made as children that they had never followed through on. But tonight, she was working, so he’d settled on mindlessly scrolling TikTok. His algorithm was sort of all over the place, hopping from batman videos, to dog grooming, to…..
He paused for a second as the video started to play, the crashing sounds of thunder mixing with the strumming of a clearly secondhand guitar. He recognized the sound immediately, it was one of his. He let a smile chase across his face as he listened, as he watched, this man play. His voice had a bit of the gravel to it that Dean’s did, but he sounded smoother, and it seemed like he was putting his heart and soul into every single word, every single chord. Dean let his eyes drift to the background, a bedroom. There were shelves behind a perfectly made bed, adorned with little golden bees, framed pictures of the man singing with large groups of people, and figurines that Dean couldn’t zoom in enough to make out the identities of. The blue curtains matched the tie that the man was wearing, and there were posters next to the window, one for what looked like a band, and one that seemed like a movie.Even as he scanned, Dean could only tear his eyes away from the man singing for a few seconds at a time. His eyes, the bluest Dean had ever seen, kept drawing him in like a siren. The man’s eyes, Cas’ eyes, as the username on the video taught him, seemed to be looking right through the screen, through the phone, and into Dean himself. He clicked on the profile, eager to figure out Cas, to know who this guy was, why he picked Dean’s music to sing.
212k followers. A bio that just read “I make music for people who need an escape”. Dean clicked on the only pinned video, the cover of it being Cas smiling and pointing at a family photo.
“So. People have asked about my name” Cas said to the camera, eyebrows scrunched together. “Cas is actually not short for any of the names that have been guessed so far, it’s short for Castiel. See, my family was super, and I mean super, religious. We’re all named after angels, all 16 of us” He laughed a little, and Dean raised his eyebrows, realizing that the people he assumed were cousins in that picture were all Cas’ siblings. “Damn” he muttered softly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey, “mom and dad really got busy, huh?” He kept watching, intrigued equally by Cas’ words and those damn blue eyes. “We have a Lucifer, a Michael, a Gabriel….” Dean clicked off the video as Cas kept explaining, searching through the rest of the videos, clicking on anything that looked interesting, which seemed to be anything that had Cas’ face in it. There were covers of Dean’s songs, a cover of ‘the water is fine’ as a duet with a girl he assumed might be Cas’ sister, a girl he mentioned in the caption as being named Anna, although she wasn’t tagged. A few months ago, he had posted an original song. The caption said it was for all the kids that grew up living through religious trauma. Cas was in a church, stained glass mural behind him, the colors dancing around his face as he played that same guitar, his eyes looking up into the camera every few chords, looking so full of righteous anger that Dean almost had to look away. As he started to sing, Dean closed his eyes fully, absorbing the sound of Cas’ voice, selfishly imagining that Cas was singing just to him, not the thousands of people he has posted it for.
‘Born to save people, molded to the name I never asked for, guardian angel to the lost, the sinners, the hopeful. When I needed saving, when I reached for the sky, there was no hand there to guide me, always left on that same church pew, always asking why’
It was raw, and powerful, and beautiful, and for those few minutes he listened, Dean could absolutely picture Cas as an angel, beautiful and graceful, full of enough power to destroy cities, and to bring men to their knees. He watched all the way until the end of the song, before finding another cover of one of his. ‘Drowning’, one of his favorites. The way Cas sang it, played it, made it feel different, but it felt similar enough that the sounds almost lulled him to sleep. He couldn’t let Cas disappear from him, couldn’t let this man and his music pass by without doing something to talk to him, to make the sounds still ringing in his ears more permanent. He took a long drag from his glass, clicked the little plus sign to follow Cas and Dean began to type out a comment before he drifted off.
“Good song choice. Love listening to you”

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It wasn’t even 8 am yet when Cas woke up to his phone vibrating, quite frankly scaring the shit out of him. He rolled over with a groan, black hair sticking up in every possible direction, his chronic bed head even worse than usual. 7:12 am, fuck. It was way too early to be awake, and yet here he was, holding his vibrating phone, screen blinding him with the alert that he was getting a phone call from Meg. What the hell did Meg Masters, who he barely tolerated, want from him at 7:12 am on a Friday morning?

“Hello?” He answered, voice groggy with sleep. He expected her to start ranting about her boyfriend of the week dumping her, or some shitty TV show she had spent all night watching instead of sleeping, but the only sound coming from Cas’ phone speaker was an ear shattering yell. “Oh my God!” Meg shouted, practically delirious with excited laughter. “Look at your comments right now” Cas rolled his eyes a little, still half asleep, but opened his phone as he blinked himself awake. 3 new comments, nothing unusual. One from Gabe, one from a user he didn’t know, and one from……
His hands felt like weights all of a sudden, and he dropped his phone, which dramatically slid out of his bed and onto the floor with a crash, leaving him staring at the wall, in disbelief as Meg kept asking if he was okay. “I’m fine!” He shouted, reaching down to retrieve his phone, lucky it wasn’t cracked. He stared at the comment for another few minutes, convinced that he must have been seeing things. “Meg” he muttered, still looking at it “is this real? There’s no way this could be real. There’s no way that’s him”

“Dude, I double checked. Hell, triple checked even. It’s him, verified and all. And he fucking followed you” Cas was fully convinced he was dreaming, but he kept listening to Meg, kept reading the comment over and over again, just in case this was all real like she was assuring him it was. Sure enough, Dean Winchester had liked a slew of his videos, commented on one, and followed him. Something in his stomach started to do backflips when he realized that Dean Winchester, #1 on billboard, face on the side of the bus he took to work every day, poster on his wall, Dean Winchester, had been looking at his profile. Dean had been looking his face, hearing him sing, thinking of him, at 3 in the morning. “I have to go” he muttered, hitting the end call button before Meg could object, or make any snarky comments about Cas’ “crush” on Dean.

“What the actual fuck” he said softly, hitting the reply button under Dean’s comment with shaky fingers. What would he even say to Dean fucking Winchester? What could he possibly say to the man he’d admired, and become borderline infatuated with, since high school? Should he make a joke? Respond with a video? A meme? Before he could actually respond to Dean, he made a video showcasing the comment to the ‘wake up, they hit the pentagon’ sound, knowing the joke was too funny to miss out on, made even better by how he was still half asleep and messy-haired. But the real challenge was still there. He needed to say something, anything, in a direct response to Dean. It would be the stupidest decision he’d ever make if he ignored it. ‘I’ll sing for you anytime, sweetheart’ he typed, hitting post before he could chicken out. He could swear he was feeling his heartbeat in his teeth as he stared at where his notifications popped up, half convinced he had responded to a stranger and hallucinated that it was Dean. But before he could spiral too far out of control, a notification popped up. A comment. Dean’s comment. ‘Too Sweet by Hozier. Makes me think of you’

Despite distinctly feeling like he was going to die, Cas immediately grabbed his guitar, starting to practice the chords, strings biting at his skin, his mumbles of the lyrics floating around him, the world still not feeling real. Dean Winchester was listening to fucking Hozier and thinking of him. What the hell was his life? Once he was satisfied with the way he was playing, which wasn’t hard since he already knew the song, he made himself look presentable, dressed in a black tee shirt, hair mostly flat to his head, and sat down, pressing record. And Cas started to sing the song that reminded Dean of him.

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“Dean”
“Dean”
“Dean, are you even listening to me?”
Dean looked up from his phone, giving his attention to Sam sitting across the table from him. “Yeah, always” he muttered, taking a long drink of the beer bottle sitting in front of him. “Then what did I say?” Sam asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Uh, something about law school?” Sam rolled his eyes, trying to snatch Dean’s phone from his hand, almost knocking over the milkshake in front of him, making dean smack at his hand like they were kids again.

“Dude, what could possibly be so important that you’ve been staring at your phone for the past hour?” Dean managed to get the phone away from his brother’s prying hands and safely tucked into his jacket pocket, attention returning to Sam, tapping his hands on the tabletop as he watched waitresses bustle around, none of them carrying the burger he ordered, much to his dismay. “It’s not important, just doing superstar stuff” he laughed it off, waving his hand at Sam, willing his brother to not ask any more about the phone, about the way he’d been going back and forth with Cas in the comments of his latest video. The video Cas had made for Dean. The thought made something in him stir, but he brushed it away like he was doing with Sam. “For a second, with that stupid smirk on your face, I woulda thought you were looking at one of your porn sites” Dean’s face went bright red as the wires crossed a little and he very very briefly imagined porn and Cas in the same scenario. Whatever. That was normal. Every guy did that. It wasn’t anything weird. He laughed a little and took another swig of beer, swallowing heavily before raising his eyebrows almost cartoonishly at Sam. “Hey, don’t ever disrespect bustyasianbeauties.com in my presence again”
“Dean that’s disgusting” sam sneered.

Before Dean could make another retort, or steer the subject in another direction, a waitress made it to their table, dropping a burger in front of Dean, and a salad in front of Sam. “Thanks…..uh, Becky?” He said, reading the name tag perched on her plaid blouse. “Yeah, of course” She said softly, passing him another beer. As she handed it to him, she made eye contact, and her eyes became as big as dinner plates. “Oh my God, are you Dean Winchester?!” She practically shouted, making Dean lean back casually, giving her a wink and a wave “the one and only”. In a shocking turn of events, she turned to Sam, seemingly unimpressed with who Dean was other than him being Sam’s brother. “That means you’re Sam!”She legitimately swooned in Sam’s direction, hand over her chest like she was in a dramatic period piece. “I’ve read every single article about your brother, just so I can highlight the lines where he mentions you. Oh, and I’ve commented on every single one of your Instagram posts, and according to my friend who’s really into Star signs, we’re like ultra compatible” this might have been the funniest thing Dean had ever heard, so he let her keep talking, ranting about Sam’s hair, and how he should be just as famous as Dean before she eventually got waved back to the kitchen by a scruffy looking line cook, not before leaving her number on a blank bill slip, surrounded by doodled hearts.

“Wow” Sam laughed awkwardly, picking up his fork. “Yeah, now you know how it feels” Dean snorted, sinking his teeth into his burger, letting out an almost lustful sound as he chewed. “Anyway, what were you saying? Before your future wife interrupted us?” It was rare that they had time to catch up like this, with Sam being in college, and Dean being on tour, but this was something Dean craved more than any shitty diner burger or cold beer. Time with his brother made him feel like a real person, like Dean, like something more than just a name fans screamed. “Well-“ Sam smiled “I got an interview at Stanford law school” Dean grinned. “Hey, no kidding! I’m proud of you, Sammy” Sam shrugged off what Dean said but he was still smiling, happy from the acknowledgement of Dean’s pride. “Yeah, it’ll be easy to transfer my credits and everything, since it’s the same school I got my other degrees at. And it means I don’t have to move, so I’ll be closer to you, no extra housing costs.” As Sam talked, Dean finished inhaling his burger and the fries that came with it, savoring every bite as much as he could. He’d grown up never knowing when his next meal would be, if there even would be a next one, so he knew better than to let food get past him without eating every last crumb, and doing it as quickly as he could. They chatted idly about school, about Sam’s homework, and Dean’s new lyrics, and by the time Sam was finished, he stood up to leave, awkwardly waving at the kiss Becky blew him from the table she was serving, pursing his lips and wrinkling his nose.

“Hey- Elle Woods” Dean caught Sam’s attention as he moved closer to the door, tossing him the keys to the impala. “Go unlock the car, I’ll be right behind you, just gotta piss” once he was safely in the men’s bathroom, a single person one, he locked the door behind him and pulled out his phone, finally able to look at his conversation with Cas, without prying eyes. He glanced over the last comment he’d posted, smiling as he read. And sure enough, there was a response from Cas right under it, just 38 seconds ago. ‘Next time you’re in San Francisco, come sing with me’ something pulled at Dean’s chest, this urge he’d been feeling to constantly talk to Cas, to listen to his videos, was pushing him to go. To really show up, even though he knew Cas was just joking, just being playful. He washed his hands, trying to play it cool, and walked out to the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat and smiling at Sam. If he dropped Sam off at his apartment now, he’d be in San Francisco in less than an hour.

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If one more thing interrupted Cas while he was trying to read, he was going to lose it. First it was his upstairs neighbors, who apparently had a contract to either have the loudest sex possible, or rearrange all the furniture in their apartment every single Sunday. Then it was text after text from Gabriel, who sent another ten new texts for every one that Cas ignored, like there was a hydra hiding behind his keyboard, growing new heads every time it was left on read. Not to mention that he kept reading and re-reading the same lines over and over again, thinking about why Dean hadn’t responded to his latest comment, and what he might have been doing, instead of actually paying attention. Really, three hours was not a long time for someone to take to reply. Dean had a life, hell, Dean had a huge life, but still….Cas felt odd sitting there with no notifications from him after the past few days of back and forth almost every hour.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to get back to the line he was on, but before he could even get the first word read, there was a knock on his door. “What the fuck do you want now?” He sighed, dramatically standing up and tossing his book down on the bed. “I swear to God, Meg, if you’re at my door right now, trying to get me to party with you, I might actually commit a murder.” He fumed to himself as he padded to the front door, opening it harshly. “What do you-“ that was not Meg. That was absolutely not Meg. That was green eyes, stubble, and a calloused hand holding a guitar case. Panicking, Cas slammed the door shut. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Dean Winchester was at his front door. He was standing outside the door, and Cas had just slammed said door right in his face. He couldn’t come in. He couldn’t come in and see the unwashed dishes in the sink, the pajama pants Cas was wearing, the bee stickers on his guitar case, was he overthinking it? He was definitely overthinking it. But there was only so much a man could do mid panic attack, or maybe mid dying, Cas honestly couldn’t tell which of the two was happening right now. Okay. Okay, he just had to open the door. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, let Dean remember him as the dick that slammed a door in his face. Anything else would be better than that. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, and opened it again, looking at Dean, illuminated by the sunlight, like a fucking Greek God.

“You gonna slam the door again, or am I safe to come in?” Dean said gently, raising his hands in a mock surrender. Cas chuckled, stepping back so Dean had space to come by him and into the apartment. “Well, it’s not every day that a guy I met four days ago shows up at my apartment” Cas defended himself, trying his hardest not to stare as Dean walked in, standing in the middle of the living room, if you could call a space that small a living room. “Yeah, sorry, I kinda wanted to surprise you. I saw your post with that Meg girl, and I messaged her. She was really quick to give me your address, better watch out, make sure she doesn’t go giving that to somebody who has bad intentions” Cas shut the door, locking it with sweaty hands, before going to stand next to dean, unsure of what amount of space to leave between them. “And what exactly are your intentions, Mr.Winchester?” He said playfully, suddenly very aware of how dean was taller than him, how many more freckles were on his face once you saw them in person and not through pixels. “You told me to sing with you. So here I am” Cas took a tentative step closer, swallowing down his nerves, making his way past dean into his bedroom, calling out a little “let me get my guitar” over his shoulder.

“Sit down” he said as he got back into the room, gesturing towards the beaten up old couch he’d gotten from Facebook marketplace when he moved in. Dean almost immediately sat, doing what Cas said without question, and Cas very carefully tucked that information away for later. “Do you wanna……” he sighed a little, before dissolving into laughter. “What did I do?!” Dean laughed with him, helping Cas sit down on the cushion next to him. “Nothing!” He giggled. “I’m just sitting on my couch next to Dean Winchester, who just showed up at my front door out of nowhere, what the fuck is my life?” Dean laughed back at him, giving him a lopsided smile “I dunno about yours, but mine is a hell of a lot better now that I’m sitting here with you” Cas sighed off his laughs, sobered up by the way dean was looking at him, with the blatant flirting coming out of his mouth. Was he always like this? “We recording this?” Dean asked nonchalantly, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Cas nodded, setting up his phone on the chair in front of them. “Any requests?” He offered to dean, eyebrows raised. Dean thought for a second, chewing on his lip. “You like Hozier, right? Let’s do take me to church” Cas nodded and hit record, letting himself fall into the music. He danced a waltz with dean’s voice, with both of their guitars, his living room transformed into a grand ballroom. When they finished, he stopped the recording, posting it before he could nitpick every note he’d sung and played, which was his usual tactic, and turned to dean. “You’re even better in person” he giggled. “That’s what all the chicks say” Dean said with a wink. They sat there for a minute, leaning closer and closer, staring into each other’s eyes in a way that felt almost painful, yet completely and totally necessary. Before Cas could open his mouth again, he was colliding with dean, both of them crashing towards each other, Dean’s hands going to Cas’ waist, Cas’ resting on Dean’s chest. Neither of them stopped to think, like hungry, desperate animals. Cas’ first kiss with Dean Winchester tasted like honey, whiskey, and cigarettes, and Cas found himself praying again for the first time in years, to a God he wasn’t even sure existed, that it would never stop.

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Dean Winchester wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. It was a simple fact, didn’t make him homophobic, didn’t make him an asshole, it was just who he was. Staring at Batman’s ass didn’t make him gay, wearing chapstick didn’t make him gay, and kissing Cas didn’t make him gay. In all honesty, he didn’t know what that made him. But he knew two things. First of all, he couldn’t be gay. Second of all, he was absolutely not in the business of denying himself simple pleasures, which included kissing people he just met. Honestly, Cas was one of the best kisses Dean had ever experienced. His lips were soft, and as cliche as it might be, sweet. He tasted like sunlight filtering through trees on a burning hot summer day, he felt like fireworks bursting through the sky on the Fourth of July, so loud that you can feel it in your chest. Their kiss went from the couch to Dean getting his back pushed against the wall in the hallway, corner of a silver picture frame poking him in the shoulder blade. It went from there to Cas’ bedroom, dean barely even able to look around before they were on the bed.

No, kissing Cas definitely didn’t make him gay. Letting Cas strip off his flannel, the tee shirt under it, and his jeans, leaving him in a pair of dark grey boxers, didn’t make him gay. Cas’ tongue making its way down his chest, deliberately swirling over his freckles like it was making starry night out of him, that was 100% without a doubt, not gay. Dean’s thoughts were cut off by Cas’ hot tongue tracing over his nipple, the mixture of warm body and cold air making him moan lewdly, like a trained porn star. It must have caught Cas off guard, because he looked up at dean from his place latched onto Dean’s chest with big eyes, a dark brow raised. “Sorry” he muttered, very very aware of just how tight his boxers were now. “Don’t be sorry” Cas said gently, one hand moving down to cup dean through his boxers. “Just be louder for me, hm, baby?” Dean genuinely thought he might have finished right then and there, if it weren’t for every single cell in his body wanting this to keep going, to keep hearing Cas call him baby, to keep tasting lemon and honey on Cas’ breath.

He sucked in a breath as Cas moved down his stomach, one hand firmly on Dean’s hip, keeping him pinned to the bed, Cas now almost hovering over him. His little licks and kisses turned into bites, leaving blossoms of purple and blue over his tanned skin, until Cas’ nose was sitting on the waistband of Dean’s boxers. Through his ragged breaths, Dean let out a soft “Please”. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for, just aware enough to know that he wanted Cas and his mouth everywhere. “You don’t have to beg, Dean” Cas sighed gently, sliding Dean’s boxers down his thighs and tossing them unceremoniously out of the way, over his shoulder and to the floor. “Although…” he mused, hand tracing over Dean’s cock, already starting to leak precum. “I bet you’re very pretty when you do beg” before dean could retort, Cas had him in his mouth, halfway down at first, and slowly, like falling, Cas had taken all of him. “Cas….” Dean let out a breathy little moan, hand coming to Cas’ head to stroke through the soft hair, enjoying the intimacy of his hand in Cas’ hair more than the warm mouth wrapped around his cock, amazed that Cas was letting him have this, letting Dean in, letting him feel closer to Cas than he ever had to another human being.

As Cas kept kept sucking on him, head bobbing expertly, tongue teasing over the tip, Dean couldn’t do anything but feel. No thinking, no second guessing, no doubting himself or all the decisions that led him here. Just Cas’ mouth, Cas’ hair, this burning desire in his chest to keep looking at Cas, to never stop looking him. As Cas kept up his hard work, Dean bent at an almost unnatural angle so he could unfasten Cas’ jeans, sliding them down as impatiently as Cas had undressed him, like he was starving and Cas was the first food he’d seen in months. He pushed the pants down to Cas’ knees, and reached his hand into the other man’s underwear, grasping his very hard cock with a firm hand, giving it a few tugs. Within a few minutes, Dean was losing himself, coming into Cas’ eager mouth, mixing his fluids with Cas’ deep moans around him. Before long, Cas was right behind him, making a mess onto Dean’s hand, which Dean was not worried about in the slightest. “Thank you” he said gently to Cas, moving so they could lay next to each other, Dean letting Cas spoon him, both of them panting, their sweaty skin sticking together. “Anything for you, baby” Cas almost cooed, holding dean close, making him feel safe for the first time in his life.

No, it wasn’t gay to kiss Castiel Novak. It wasn’t gay to let Cas give him a blowjob in a cramped twin bed, or to give him a handjob in the same space. It wasn’t gay to feel safe with him, to feel appreciated. To feel like sex was closeness, not just lust. No, it certainly wasn’t gay when Dean Winchester fell asleep tangled up in Cas’ arms, dreaming of nothing but blue eyes and music made by their moans.

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The sunlight streaming through the window danced over Cas’ shoulders, snaking through his hair like an almost halo. It was warm, and inviting, like the company of the man he had fallen asleep holding. Only, one small problem. He was no longer holding anyone. It sobered him up immediately, going from a slow blinking wake-up to fully aware, hands slipping over the sheets, grasping at air, like he might stumble into an invisible Dean Winchester. Maybe he had dreamed it. Maybe that’s all this was, it was a very elaborate wet dream, and it had felt so real that it had convinced Cas that it really happened. But he could still feel it. His mouth still tasted salty, he could remember the feeling of rough hands in his hair far too well. Fuck. He had given Dean Winchester a blowjob, and Dean fucking Winchester had ghosted him.

Cas’ immediate reaction was to grab his phone. Maybe this was all easily explained, if he just looked at his messages instead of jumping to conclusions and letting his anxiety consume him. Maybe Dean had an emergency, or had to get back on the road to his next show. Maybe he had taken his time getting out of the bed, gazing at Cas for as long as he could. Maybe he had even kissed him goodbye. Surely, there would be a message on his screen explaining why he’d left, where he’d gone, how much fun he’d had. That had to be it. He clicked the phone awake, cringing at the dried come on his stomach as he moved. Okay, a text from Meg, TikTok notifications that people had liked his videos, a call from Gabe. And from Dean? Fucking nothing. No direct messages, no comments, no nothing. That bastard.

Before he could even spiral into a meltdown over how Dean had hated his body, or only wanted him for said body, he decided to send a message. Communication was key, right? The only way to know what had happened was to talk about it, right? Surely. He typed out a message to dean, backspacing more times than he was breathing, no words sounding right in his head, looking right on the screen. What the fuck do you say to an international superstar who shows up at your door, lets you suck his sick, and then completely disappears the next morning? How do you even go about phrasing any of the questions racing through your head? Was Dean really the totally straight ladies’ man that the media played him up to be? Had he just wanted to experiment and now that he was sure either way he had no use for Cas? Rein it in, he reminded himself. Spiraling would do no good, not for anyone. He took a deep breath and finally sent his message.

‘Waking up alone is never fun. Where’d you end up?”

Cas must have checked his messages once a minute all day after sending that. After each question on his biology homework, after every song that played on his playlist, after each bite of a disappointing dinner. Distracting himself with trying to play guitar didn’t help either. Suddenly the sound of his guitar felt lonely, isolated, without the melody of Dean’s to go along with it, the way his fingers moved over the frets made him think of the way dean had stroked his cock, and nothing was ever going to be the same again. All day went by, and still no response from Dean.

All week went by, and no response from Dean.
All fucking month went by, and no fucking response from Dean.

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For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have his dad, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap gas station beer, barking orders at him, sending him from city to city on a wild goose chase for the thing that killed his mom, even though that thing had always just been a house fire, plain and simple. There was no manager booking gigs for him without asking, adding tour stops on a whim, even if that shortened Dean’s usual four hours of sleep down to none. No Sam to follow like a lost puppy, pouring gasoline on his little brother’s dreams, hoping they’d be a big enough fire one day to burn down their shared shitty past. No, none of that now, just Dean and his leather jacket hiked up to cover his face, wind biting at his cheeks, harsh and unforgiving. He was was driving aimlessly around San Fransisco, windows down, mind racing. He had kissed Castiel Novak. He had let Cas take him in his mouth, swallow him down like it was nothing. His hands had been all over Cas, over his face, his hair, his cock. What the fuck had he done?

The first time he’d ever considered that he might have liked men was before he even had a word for it. He was 9 years old, watching Empire Strikes Back on a shitty motel TV, static crackling over every scene, and his stomach filled with butterflies every time he saw Han Solo on screen, the same way it did when he saw Princess Leia. And when they kissed in that hallway on the Falcon? Dean didn’t know which one he’d rather be. It didn’t feel wrong or dirty then. Maybe a little confusing, but he was a kid, so the feeling of wanting to be kissed, or to kiss someone, was all new to him, whether it was toward a man or a woman. The second time was much less innocent. He was 15 then, and he was alone in yet another shitty motel room, and like any other 15 year old boy away from his dad and brother, he had stumbled his way onto a porn channel, after paying the $5 to view it. His eyes wandered between the man and the woman, not caring about the burning shame rising in his chest every time the man’s abs and strong thighs got him just as hard as watching the woman’s mouth fall open in exaggerated moans. By the time Dean was 16, he knew he liked men. He would never utter a word about it to anyone, too used to his father’s casual slurs, to the signs he’d see on the side of the road as they drove, saying that gay people would end up burning in hell. He was already sure that he was destined to wind up there anyway, why give the devil another reason?

He was content for months to admit to himself that he liked men. To keep it buried in his soul, his own personal secret, like a kid that had hoarded candy away in their bedroom. That stopped one day, the day of his 17th birthday. They had stopped for the night in Riverton, Wyoming, and were walking a downtown street, past an old cathedral. It must have had some historical significance, because there was a plaque outside, once golden and shiny, now bronze and dirty, worn down by rain and sun. He paused to read it, Sammy settling in against his side, still clinging close to Dean like he was a toddler, cautious of the world outside of his big brother, the only constant that he had ever known.
‘Riverton church, founded 1893. The church was home to a convent of nuns until a tragedy shut the church’s doors a few years later. Two nuns, names unknown to history, found love with each other. Unable to face the cruel reality of never being able to be together, they chose to end their own lives, and the church was closed until 2005, when it reopened for visitors.’
Something in Dean ached as he read what happened to the nuns. He felt loss in every corner of his body, carrying the pain of grief, and of knowing that he was like them, unable to ever truly be himself. He could only sit with those thoughts for a few minutes before John’s calloused hand was grabbing the back of his neck, squeezing him rougher than Dean would ever be able to forget, leaving fingertip shaped bruises on him. “That’s what they deserved” he muttered, steering the boys away from the sign, the church, the nuns. “If one of my boys was ever queer, I’d rather see you dead than with a man”. It was right then and there that Dean vowed to never even think of a man like that again. He wouldn’t just keep it secret from his father, or from the world, he would shove it into a little tiny box, and he would crush it. He would make it go away, he had to.

He pulled off into the parking lot of a motel, deciding it was too late to ruminate on those memories. He had no concerts scheduled until 2 months from now, no one to meet with, nothing to do. He checked in online under a fake name, got a keycard added to the digital wallet on his phone and crashed into the bed.

He didn’t leave the motel room all day.
He didn’t leave the motel room all week.
He didn’t leave the fucking motel room all fucking month.

It wasn’t until 28 days later that he finally gave in to the yearning he couldn’t stop, and messaged Cas.

‘I think I’m bisexual’

Chapter Text

He thinks he’s bisexual. That’s the message. After 28 days of spending every spare second wondering what the hell is so wrong with him it made Dean run, that’s the message that Cas wakes up to. The funniest part is that he just thinks he might be. Maybe it was just him, but Cas was pretty sure that letting a man suck your dick made you bisexual beyond a shadow of a doubt. It took everything in him to not explode with anger seeing that message. No apology, no reasoning, just some little discovery. And what was Cas supposed to do with that? Was he Dean’s therapist? Was he supposed to be honored to be Dean Winchester’s bi awakening and never mention it to anyone ever again? Was it really just an experiment? Consumed by all of the emotions flooding his brain, Cas stood up mid-lecture, slammed his laptop shut, and walked out of the classroom, leaning against the carpeted wall in the hallway of his shitty little community college.

Realistically, there were only 3 ways to respond to Dean’s message. Option one, he could ignore it. He could give Dean the same treatment that had been given to him and just act like the message- hell the whole encounter even, never happened. Option two, he could send back something cruel. He could really dig his heels in, refuse to let Dean push and pull him around, say something he’d regret in an hour but would bring him a level of catharsis he hadn’t felt in years. Or option number three, he could be genuine. He could ask about Dean’s little discovery, he could tell him how badly it hurt to wake up alone and to be ignored for so long, he could keep getting to know every nook and cranny of Dean Winchester, and desperately pray that it would ever lead somewhere. After a long while of staring at his phone screen and chewing on his bottom lip, Cas finally gave in to option three.

‘I’m glad you finally realized that one. Guess it takes a lot to admit it, huh?”
Almost immediately, there’s a message from Dean, and Cas couldn’t help but picture Dean sitting there, staring at his phone, desperate for a reply. It thrilled him, and made him remember the last time he had seen Dean desperate, and how gorgeous he’d looked then. As he read over Dean’s message like a starving man getting a crumb of bread, Cas couldn’t help but smile, his one isolated message starting a back and forth, with messages between them every few seconds, like a frantic, lust-driven game of tennis.
‘You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted it to. First man I’ve ever kissed. I’m sorry I ran’
‘I don’t think sorry is gonna cut it. I thought you hated me. Or were experimenting with me. Or just wanted a quick suck before you went off being a superstar again’
‘I don’t think I knew what I wanted’
‘Knew? Past tense? Do you know now?’
‘I think it took a lot of thinking. And you’ve got every right to tell me to fuck off’
‘Let’s hear it then, Winchester’
‘I want you’
‘You know where I live’

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester hated California. He hated the clogged up roads, full of traffic at any time of day. He hated overpriced grocery stores. He hated crafted IPA’s and green smoothies when all he wanted was a gas station beer and a bag of pretzels. But driving back through San Francisco, away from his shitty hiding spot in a motel that smelled like despair and rotting wood, racing towards a small apartment, he had nothing but love for the state. Suddenly all that mattered was the sun playing peek-a-boo with light grey clouds, and how it reminded him of the twinkle in Cas’ eyes. All he paid attention to was the purr of baby’s engine and the sound of Cas’ voice that hadn’t left his head in a month. He pulled up to the same house he’d left a month ago, hiding under the dark morning sky, and thanked any god that might have existed that Cas had given him this chance. Honestly, he wasn’t just excited. He was worried. Actually, Dean was so fucking scared he could feel the fear pooling in his stomach and fighting it’s way down his arms and hands, cold and unknowing, but somehow the most enticing thing he’d ever felt, despite it all.

It was almost 2 when he pulled up outside of Cas’ apartment. Truthfully, he wanted to be there so much earlier. After Cas had given him the okay to come by at almost 11 am, he had wanted to get there as fast as he could. But he had to play it cool. He was cool. He was so totally cool. His boots thudded against the sidewalk as he winded his way to the front door, matching the way his heart was pounding against his ribcage, almost like it wanted to escape. He knocked once. Twice. Three times. On the third try, the door swung open, and Dean was greeted by the sight of a very shirtless Cas, standing with one hip quirked to the side, hair messy in a way that made him look like he didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought of him.

‘Hey’
‘Hi’

Dean shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. Did he kiss Cas? Did he start stuttering over a broken apology? Did he just walk right in and make himself comfortable? Should he sing like he was in a fucking musical? He didn’t have long to ponder because before he knew it, Cas was coming towards him, grabbing him by the back of the neck, pulling Dean into the apartment and shutting the door with his outstretched foot. Their kiss was just explosive as the other ones had been. Full of want and need, tongues colliding in a desperate plea for something, anything more. Cas’ hand played with his hair as they walked together, pushing and pulling like a pair of waves, back to Cas’ bedroom. Dean was starting to think that him spread out over Cas’ navy blue sheets was just as decorative to him as the pictures hanging in the hallways.

His back collided with the mattress in an unceremonious squeak of springs and Cas was on top of him in an instant, like a jungle cat on its prey. Their mouths felt like they were equipped with magnets, never wanting to part from each other. They kissed for what felt like hours, Cas’ teeth making quick work of Dean’s bottom lip, Dean tracing patterns over Cas’ bare shoulders. It felt so much more intimate than sex, Dean felt more exposed in jeans and a tee shirt than he ever had naked, feeling like it was his soul on display to Cas rather than his body. They just laid there in Cas’ bed, kissing and touching each other anywhere they could reach until it got noticeably dark, and the moon reflected off of Cas’ blue eyes, making them look like steel.

“I wish we could do this every day” Dean sighed, already dreading the next lineup of concerts and events he knew was coming in just shy of three weeks now. “I wish I could just stay in this bed. Like an island, with just us on it” Cas smiled at him, now laying on his back, with Dean’s head resting on his chest. “Get me flowers next time” he said thoughtfully, on corner of his mouth having caught his bottom lip, chewing it while he thought, something that Dean logged away as one of Cas’ cute little quirks. “Will do” he promised. They both sighed together, which lead to a little laugh reverberating through both of them, like a purr, Dean feeling more content now than he had in a long time, more at home than he ever had. “And next time-“ he added “we get pie afterwards” Cas chuckled and placed a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “Careful, cowboy, you’ll make me fall in love with you”

Dean slowly started to drift off in Cas’ arms, not running like he had the last time, just content to stay where he was, safe and warm, and cramped into this shitty little twin bed he was starting to love. “That’s the plan” he swore, both a promise to Cas and to himself, although the deep breathing beside him made him unsure if Cas had heard it at all. He guessed it didn’t matter. Dean wasn’t going anywhere, so he had all the time in the world to prove it to him.

Chapter Text

The next month and a half were a daze. Cas felt like an addict for most of it, constantly chasing the high of Dean being in his bed, in his mouth, in his arms. He felt a deep ache to be around Dean more often than he even needed to breathe, and Dean was more than happy to fill that need the entire time. He didn’t have any concerts, any events to go to, it was all just about them. Almost every morning, Cas woke up to a sleepy Dean, to his bedhead, and got to kiss him awake. He got to shower with Dean, learning how Dean hated the water on his face and had a specific way of wiping his eyes to get it off. He would leave for class and come home to a fresh bouquet of flowers on his folding table he used as a dinner table, usually sunflowers or daises. He came back from his shifts at the 7-11 late at night to the smell of burgers floating around the tiny kitchen and the sound of Dean singing along to his classic rock playlist making his heart swell.

Three weeks into this self-imposed accidental isolation/bliss, they decided to post another video together. This time they weren’t singing, just ranking their favorite fleetwood Mac songs, which devolved into playful arguments and barked-out laughter, Cas not even paying attention to the comments because he was always too caught up staring at Dean whenever he rewatched the video. He was sure there were people freaking out about Dean being in his videos, people speculating about the two of them, but he didn’t care. Time didn’t feel real, life itself didn’t feel real, the only thing that mattered was drowning in Dean’s candy apple colored eyes and screaming music with him at 3 am when he would rather die than sleep, because sleep meant he wouldn’t be able to stare at Dean, kiss Dean, breath in Dean’s cigarette smoke, not because he liked the taste of it, but because it was the taste of Dean.

Four weeks in and he found out that Dean was afraid of spiders. There was a big brown one huddled in the corner, where the wall into his bedroom, into THEIR bedroom now he supposed, met the hallway. Dean had screamed when he saw it, and jumped back so violently any onlooker would have assumed that he had been shot. Cas laughed at him, killing the spider with a shoe, earning him a mock swoon from a still very nervous Dean, who loudly proclaimed that Cas was his hero. He had never been anyone’s hero before.

By the fifth week, they were posting videos together almost every day, on cas’ account and Dean’s. They sang together, played pranks on each other, posted videos of them shopping together, Cas eventually posted the video of him killing the spider as Dean screeched and yelled behind the camera. Every single comment was wondering about the nature of their relationship, asking if they were fucking. Before long, there were articles from the daily Mail, sent to them
By friends and family, about how they were the next Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Cas could tell it made Dean anxious, and he told Dean they could take it slow, take Dean’s lead on anything public. When Dean asked to not be public, Cas agreed. Surely that would be a temporary thing.

It was six weeks in when Dean called Cas his boyfriend for the first time. They were cooking together. Well, more accurately, Dean was cooking, tending to bacon in a frying pan, as Cas playfully poked at him, and sang children’s songs that had been stuck in his head all day after hearing Meg mention them. The grease had popped and hit an oblivious Cas in the arm, making him Yelp. “Hey! Watch it! You’re trying to kill me” he pouted at Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean raised Cas’ hand and pressed a kiss to it with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’d never kill my boyfriend. At least not with bacon grease. And not until you get a good life insurance policy”

By week 7, Dean had to leave again, headed to a concert in Vermont, much to Cas’ dismay. They said a long, drawn out goodbye that would put Casablanca to shame, both of them teary-eyed and Dean’s jaw tight. They posted one last video together, singing I wanna hold your hand by the Beatles. They were too caught up in saying goodbye (or as Dean insisted on calling it, a see-you-later, because goodbye discounted the fact that he’d be back as soon as he could) that they didn’t check over the video before posting it. Neither of them noticed the trail of hickeys visible on Dean’s neck, leading down to the collar of the shirt he was wearing. Cas’ shirt.

It was 7 weeks into their relationship when they officially broke the fucking internet.

Chapter Text

Cas Novak
43 min ago

@user9985437
‘is that dean Winchester?????’
-view 208 replies

@jesseturner882
‘Which could mean nothing’

@user556385
-NOT WHICH COULD BE NOTHING I”M SCREAMING

@deanwinchestersbusssssy
‘SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP RIPPING MY HAIR OUT’

@Lydiaaaaaaa
‘Chat is this real????’

@gaycasnovaktruther
‘Was it casual when we sang a love song together and you were wearing my shirt’
-view 93 replies

@fightthefairies
‘Why did I watch this 4 times before noticing the hickeys HELP!!!’

@user1969
‘I fucking knew it! I knew it!’

@bustyasianbeauty
‘if I had a man look at me the way Cas is looking at Dean in this video I would simply perish’

@baby6969
‘noooooo Cas stop it that’s my husband’

@roadhouseash
-your so real for that bestie

@deanwinchesterswife
‘THIS HAS GOT TO BE AI OR SOMETHING RIGHT??’

@meg666
‘Cas sis did you mean to post this?’

@lawrence2005
‘BE WHO YOU AREEEEE FOR YOUR PRIDDDEEEEE’

@user7774569976
‘This is my fucking roman empire’

@adam99253
‘HELLO?????’

@j2
‘are they lovers?’
@user3m05
-no worse

@frenchconnection99987
‘SO IT MINE CAS??????’
-view 48 replies

Chapter Text

"You wanna tell me what the fuck I woke up to this morning?"
Dean didn't even have to turn his head to know that the grating voice that had just shouted at him was his manager, Dick. A man that claimed that he knew what was best for everyone at all times, whether he took into account their feelings or not. A man that Dean had to remind himself was not his father far more often than not. He hadn't even made it to Vermont before the video he and Cas had posted together had blown up, and he knew he would face the wrath of everyone on his team for it sooner or later, but God that didn't stop the dread from pooling in his stomach when he heard Dick's voice at the door, less prepared for the confrontation than he had ever been for anything in his life.
"Listen, I didn't notice the bruises before he posted it" Dean shot back from his spot on the couch in the little dressing room the venue had provided for him, a bowl of skittle balanced on his propped-up knee, guitar lazily resting next to him. "I know it's not the best look, but we can make this work, okay?"
Dick tutted and walked closer to Dean, his tall figure almost blocking Dean in like a trapped animal, reminding him again of his father and all his righteous anger, rained down on Dean through cigarette burns and fists. "Dean.....let me explain something to you" He said as gently as someone like Dick could muster, sitting next to Dean and moving his guitar off of the couch. "What you have right now? This fan base, these awards, your celebrity parties? That's fickle. Sure, some young people might see you as brave, might admire your devotion to your little.....boytoy" he spit the word out with so much venom that Dean visibly flinched, which only served to help drive Dick's point closer to home. "But the majority of this empire you've built? Oh, buddy, you built it off of the backs of middle-aged, mid-western fuckfaces that are so far up Jesus' ass they might not ever see the light of day again. You didn't make it this far by telling the internet you like scooby doo, or mentioning at a meet and greet that you want a little pet doggy some day, and sure as all fuck didn't get where you are now by being some fucking faggot"

The church. The nuns. The hand gripping the back of his neck like a death sentence. Dean was 17 again, staring at a historical plaque, hearing his father say he'd rather see Dean dead than with a man. He begged with his eyes to get rid of the sting tearing through them but it was no use. He looked up at Dick like a wounded animal, jaw held tight, tears threatening to spill over the red rims of his bright green eyes, misty half-formed tears clinging to his eyelashes. He didn't dare say a word, knowing that whatever he said would leave him no closer to getting away from Dick's rage. He just tried to quiet the fear, to grip his knee, denim biting into his clenched hand.

"I built you, Dean Winchester. If it weren't for me, you would be living in some shitbox motel room with your brother begging to go to a college you would keep him locked away from because you're too desperate to have somebody love you to ever let him out of your sight. Or better yet, dead in a ditch like your drunk dad, huh? I made you, and I will not let you throw away everything I've built"
Dean pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, staring at the text from Cas on the locked screen, Cas telling him he loved him with three blue heart emojis. "Just let me tell him I love him" Dean pleaded.
"It would look bad" Dick muttered, pulling the phone away from Dean and putting it into his own pocket. He grabbed Dean's shoulder, squeezing tight like John would have. "You go out there and you sing like your life depends on it. I'll figure this out"

Dean went on stage that night in a blur of blinding lights, and fans cheering his name. But he felt so fucking empty. Nothing meant anything without Cas. He was so fucking empty, and so fucking scared, and he wished that he could shred his fingers on the strings of his guitar until they were nothing but bone.
'i love you' he said in his head as he watched blue lights dance across the balcony seats, the closest he might ever get again to the blue of Cas' eyes

Chapter Text

“I can’t fucking believe I let him do this to me again” Cas sighed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, phone on the counter beside him, Gabriel on speakerphone as Cas went through his fridge, figuring out what there was to make for dinner.
“It had to be bad this time if you’ve got me on the line” Gabe added, some loud noise coming from the background, not unusual for him. “How long has it been since you’ve heard from him”
Cas bit his lip, leaving a dent in it, wishing he could split it open and feel warm blood down his chin, a stark contrast to the cold kitchen air, tinged with the scent of the refrigerator. “8 fucking days. And the last message I sent him said I loved him”
Gabe was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, as if he was deep in thought. Or paying attention to whatever was making noise in the background. “If it were me, I’d forget about him. I’d text him a nice little ‘hey Buddy, fuck you’ and post on TikTok about my celebrity booty call, especially if you expose all his weird kinks”
Cas rolled his eyes a little, but was comforted by the playfulness of the suggestion, Gabe’s jokes almost making him forget about the biting pain in his chest, threatening to sting over his eyes in heavy tears. Almost.
“I couldn’t do that if I tried” Cas sighed again. “Not only do I not want to embarrass him, for some fucking reason, I also wasn’t kidding when I said I love him. Maybe this really is just a booty call situation to him, I don’t know, but isn’t that better than nothing? At least then I’d see him when he wanted me, at least then I could have some time with him”
Gabe snorted “yeah, real romantic, getting your cock up his ass every six months when he’s bored”
Cas shut the fridge in annoyance, panic, boredom, he couldn’t tell. “You’re no help”
“And I’ve never wanted to be helpful, big bro. Seriously though, don’t let him push you around, stand up for yourself”
Cas nodded, going back to the counter where the phone was to lean against it. “I love you. I’ll figure this out” he promised his brother, knowing deep down he may never be able to.
“$10 says he’s not even gay”
“Goodbye Gabriel”

It was nine days later when Cas did the unthinkable and went to church. 17 days with no contact from Dean, and he didn’t know what to do. He had been walking home from class, taking the long way to try and stifle some of the thoughts that had been tormenting him since the first day Dean hadn’t responded, when he walked by an old cathedral. It was a dark stone grey, carved years and years ago, red door shining in the evening sun. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked in, liking the roughness against his palm, almost reminding him of Dean’s calloused hand. 17 days and still, everything went back to Dean. Cas was afraid it always would.

No one was inside, so Cas found an empty pew, tracing his hand over the dark wood, looking around at the colors playing over the carpet, coming from the stained glass window. The green of Dean’s eyes, the red of his skin when Cas nipped it until it was almost bleeding, the blue of Cas’ eyes, the brown of the whiskey on Dean’s breath when they first kissed. Even in this holy place, Dean was the only thing he could think of. Maybe his dad had been right to try and fill the void in his heart with religion, but maybe it had just been the wrong one. Maybe to Cas, Dean was his God, his guitar and whiskey and car angels.

He knelt behind one of the pews, tongue heavy in his mouth with unfamiliarity as he began to speak. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t know if you even exist. And honestly, it would be really embarrassing if you didn’t. But I need to talk to you about Dean” he dug a nail into the pew, soft wood giving way under him, pliant, like Dean. “I would beg you to bring him back to me. That would be my big ask. But at this point, I’d settle for you just keeping him safe” he paused for a minute, breathing in the air that smelled like wood and stale air and old books. “I might be a sinner, for the things I’ve done with him. But I’m letting you know right now that I won’t ever change. If you’re real and you hate me for it? Fine. But I love him. And I am who I am. Just….please” Cas didn’t know what his desperate plea was for, but he didn’t even care. He took another minute to sit in the thick silence before getting up to leave, shutting the heavy door behind him, hoping that for the first time in his life, his prayer might be answered.

Chapter Text

The burn of whiskey down Dean’s throat was such a familiar sting that it had become comforting by the time he was 19. It chased away the still-lingering feeling of Cas on his lips, the memory of soft lips on his, the feeling of warm, salty, come down his throat. He had to forget. Remembering wasn’t an option.

One shot. Two. Three. Four. Five.
A fruity drink with an umbrella that someone had slid over to him.
One beer. Two. Three.
Something that tasted like honey, that made him cringe because it was so close to the taste of Cas he could reach and almost touch it. Almost.

Three hours into the party, the one he assumed was being thrown for him, he was dizzy, head so light he could have floated away. The room was spotted with black, his eyes blurry. Yep, he was drunk. And God, it was good. Any thoughts of Cas that he couldn’t chase away could be dismissed as nothing more than a fantasy, fueled by liquid libation. He loved Cas, he needed Cas. No, he was just drunk. Denial had always come easy to Dean, and even easier with the help of alcohol. Shame blossomed in his chest for a moment, embarrassed of the way he treated Cas, even in his own head. Not only was that the man he loved, but he was a person. He didn’t deserve Dean running away from him again. But that was what Dean did. He gave people what they wanted, what they needed from him, and when it got too serious, he ran. The shame felt hot and heavy against him, but before long, it ran so close to the hot burn of vodka that he almost didn’t notice.

Three hours into the party and Dick had shown up. “Who the fuck let him in” Dean slurred to no one in particular, voice low. A woman was with him, probably close to Dean’s age. She was pretty, without a doubt. The kind of woman that Dean definitely would have gone for without a second thought if he hadn’t been so consumed with chasing away thoughts of Cas. She was shorter than him, but not too short, dark brown hair, big brown eyes. If she was Dick’s date, he pitied her, he thought. He hoped silently that she could slip away from him and maybe enjoy some part of her night without him breathing down her neck.

Three hours and fifteen minutes into the party, Dick had finished making his rounds to everyone else, playing nice, his smile reminding Dean of a hyena curling it’s lip, and had walked up to where Dean was sitting at the bar, girl still in tow. “Dean” he greeted, fixing him with a cold stare that Dean knew to take as instruction. “Someone I’d like you to meet, this is Lisa”
Dean smiled at her the best he could, thumb swirling over the rim of his glass, sticky with alcohol and tears that Dean didn’t remember crying. Up close she was definitely pretty, definitely his type. He was sure Dick knew that, and he started to understand.
“Lisa Braeden” she said with a wave, flipping her hair over her shoulder, appearing casual, even though Dean could tell she was nervous.
“Hey” he said softly, winking at her. So this was what Dick wanted. Quell the rumors by having Dean seen with a woman, especially a pretty one, especially one his type. And maybe if Dick was lucky, Dean would like her, and forget about his silly little fantasy with Cas. Choice was an illusion for Dean, it always had been. John asked him if he wanted to travel to their next state, but it was never a question. Dick brought him a pretty woman, but it was never to see if they naturally hit it off. Dean was an obedient dog, trained to push aside what he wanted and submit to everyone around him. It was his role, must have been what God made him for.

It was 5 hours into the party, when people had started to leave, and only disorderly stragglers remained, that Dean bent Lisa Braeden over a pool table, desperately imagining her long brown hair as short black curls, imagining the sweet taste of Cas on his lips.

Chapter Text

Cas’ most vivid memories of childhood had always been of his dad preaching, standing at a wooden podium above hundreds of people, ranting about the anger of God, the Old Testament justice, how mercy came in floods that wiped out cities, families torn apart, plagues and blood rivers. He always remembered wondering how someone could tolerate, let alone worship someone who thought those nightmarish things were not just okay, but the way to lead the world in the right direction. But now? Now he understood. He understood more than ever as he packed up a suitcase. Clothes, toothbrush, shoes, VIP tickets to Dean’s show in Chicago. He held the anger close to his chest, knowing that in his own way, he was going to flood Dean’s life, but ignoring the only mercy that vengeful God had offered, delighting in the idea that Dean would never get the chance to build his own ark. Was it petty? Yes. Did it make Dean un-abandon him? No. Was it right? Absolutely not. But Cas didn’t give a fuck. He needed to see him, needed to get all of this out of his system, off his chest. He wanted Dean to know how bad he had hurt him. Scratch that, he NEEDED it.

He spent the entire plane ride thinking about what he would say. Would he hurt Dean? Go for the low blows, because he wouldn’t be able to help it? Would he drag Dean’s girlfriend into it? Insult her just as bad? Even just thinking of her next to him made Cas want to scream. Thinking of her hands on his chest, her getting to feel his pulse rise and fall, her being comforted by his scent made him clench the arm of his seat in desperation, anger thrumming through his veins so hard he could
Hear it rush through his body.

By the time he arrived at the arena, the anger was a real thing, its own living breathing human, and it walked beside Cas in a way that his dad’s God never could, heavy steps pushing him forward. His tickets let him backstage to meet Dean before the concert, and they had cost him nine months of wages from 7-11, putting every penny towards vengeance, consumed with it. Even when every muscle in his body longed to make Dean pay, sometimes he would imagine the conflict turn soft, imagine dean’s bright green eyes turn gentle, imagine them walking away from this together. It always happened as he drifted off to sleep. But that was a dream, full of sweetness and it could never be real life. Dreams were for idiots, people who had never heard the man they love say they love a woman on a stage as a spotlight chases him, watching them on red carpets and on magazines, people had never had to feel dirty and wrong, knowing the world would never view their love as something real, as anything like the love she had for him.

As he walked backstage with a group of chattering fans, he felt those knives in his chest all over again, felt the pangs of loss, the grief he felt from losing dean, the bitterness that someone else got to have him, making him want to snarl like a possessive animal. By the time they were in the dressing room, Dean standing in front of them, the daydreams and plans becoming real, Cas didn’t even known if he could speak at all, his throat suddenly dry, the smell of Dean hitting him in the face. It was clear that the man didn’t expect to see him, his jaw had gone slack, and his eyes looked like he was seeing a ghost. The crowd of other fans parted like the Red Sea as Dean took a few cautionary steps towards cas. “Cas…..?” He muttered softly.

Cas couldn’t help the tears that stung at his eyes, their warmth so far from comforting. “Don’t fucking touch me” he warned, once again feeling every part the feral animal he was sure he looked like. “I didn’t come here to gawk over you, to listen to your music, to see you, don’t get your fucking hopes up”
“I-“ Dean seemed to be struggling to find the right words, eyes darting around like cornered prey. To Cas, to the other fans, to the security in the corner.

“Oh, what’s the matter , Winchester? Can’t talk? That’s really fucking usual for you, actually. What has it been now? 10 and a half months? Poor thing, must be too busy, is that it? Or maybe you got over me? Sure seems like it”

“Cas you don’t wanna do this” he almost pleaded, and that was all it took to unleash the beast that had been dwelling deep under the surface of Cas’ barely suppressed rage. This man had no right to ask for anything from him, much less discretion. “Let’s talk in private, I can……just let me…” he looked scared, and for a moment cas wanted to hold him. Just for a moment.

Security stepped forward to get between them, but Dean raised his hand, and Cas held his breath for a second. He wanted to think that he had the power in this situation, but he knew that Dean could have him escorted out at any second. “Everyone, just give me a moment with my friend here, and then we can meet back up after the show, huh?” He said to the other fans with feigned confidence, voice dripping that poisonous charm that Cas had become addicted to, making him almost itch for his next fix. When the two of them were the only ones left, Dean put his hands in his pockets, a silent submission that made cas even angrier, wanting to see Dean put up a fight. Wanting to show him how much hearing the word friend come out of his mouth stung.

“The first time, I believed your little act. It was scary when I realized I was gay, I get it. I understand the way it feels. I remember feeling lost, feeling isolated, thinking I was broken because I was made that way. I gave you all the grace I had to give. But this time? I’m all out of grace, Dean” he felt like he couldn’t move, like he had scraped the bottom of his barrel just to be there, and the only thing coming up was dust. Dean just stood there watching him, staring in a way that felt both terrifying and gentle. “Fucking say something!” Cas shouted, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Fucking do something!”

“I’m going to be a father” he said slowly, softly, like it was a realization to him.

“What?”

“I’m going to be a father, Lisa is pregnant. Cas I……I can’t let myself have this, have us. I can’t lose everything, I can’t abandon my son”

“Oh but you can abandon me?” Cas spat. Dean was silent, and cas knew he probably couldn’t fit what he needed to say into words. For a split second, cas felt bad for surprising him.

“Answer me this” he poised, taking a few steps closer so he was almost chest to chest with Dean. “Do you love her?”

Dean was silent for a minute, breathing heavily, biting the inside of his lip, chewing on it, the way cas had seen him do a thousand times. “No. But I won’t be my dad. It was stupid to get with her, I should never have done it, I should have stood up for you. For myself. But I did. And that little boy deserves what I never got. It’s too late for me to happy, too late for me to reinvent who I am. But he has a shot”

Cas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The next time you wanna play pretend, call someone else” he pushed out, turning away from Dean, walking back out of the room. It was over. He thought he’d feel relieved, feel powerful, feel SOMETHING. But he couldn’t. He just clutched the zipper of his jacket tightly , leaving the imprint of it on his hand, Dean’s voice replaying in his head. His Dean was gone. The man he loved belonged to the bright lights, the crowd chants, and the soft hands of a newborn with Lisa Braeden’s eyes, and that man would never be his again

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester’s life had never been easy. He was steeped in cigarette smoke, dried blood on his fists, the hum of neon signs as background music to screaming fights. If anyone had asked him growing up what he thought his life would be like when it was fully his own, he would have told you that he would end up pissing off the wrong person and getting shot in a dirty dive bar, or driving when he thought he was just barely tipsy, his beloved baby becoming his tomb, metal mummifying him, immortalized forever by Sam’s stories, at rest with the father he always thought must have hated him, even when he loved him in all the wrong ways. He never would have imagined being famous, his voice carrying through millions of people, becoming someone’s song, someone’s first dance, the soundtrack to peoples’ lives. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have expected to be a dad. He had taken decent care of Sammy, but necessity was different than choice, and he would have thought he’d poison whatever kid he brought into the world, trickled down from man to man in his family. But now it had been six months since he divorced Lisa, and the baby he spent most of his time cradling against his chest had become the most important thing in his life. He had paused his shows, stopped drinking, stopped smoking, stopped doing all the reckless shit that would have brought him to that early end he had spent so much time expecting.

A year after the Dean incident, as his friends had dubbed their big fight backstage, Castiel graduated from college. He walked the stage in dress shoes too small for him, bought at a thrift store with the quarters he’d been collecting in an antique bowl for years. The chords around his neck felt like promises, loose enough to finally, finally, not feel like a noose. He hadn’t been with anyone since Dean left, but it felt good, made him focused, made him feel fulfilled in a way that no partner ever had. He smiled for pictures, shaking his head as Gabe and Meg screamed his name, and squeezed his social work diploma in his hand. Castiel Novak, graduate. Social worker, as soon as he found a job, happily single, newly in therapy, newly sporting a tattoo on his forearm, a bee with watercolor wings. He was a new man, his own man, and damn if it didn’t feel good.

Ben was five years old when Dean officially retired. Sam had gotten in him therapy, a feat he would have said was impossible before, and it had given him the confidence to tell Dick Roman to fuck off, to eat his ass, to get lost, every single thing Dean could think to tell him, not all of it making sense. But it didn’t matter. He released one last song, his very first, his very only song that was truly his, not something pumped up while struggling against the weight of Dick’s thumb pinning him down. It was raw and big, and about the two boys with dark hair that had made him feel okay finally just being him. He moved back to Kansas officially, to a house with a porch, across from Sam, now a divorce and family law attorney, and his girlfriend Eileen, who Dean and Ben both loved. He rented bounce houses for Ben’s birthdays, and felt content as he went from Dean Winchester, to Dean on the PTA, Ben’s dad, the king of bake sales and organizing field trips.

Ten years into this new life, Cas became a foster parent. He had always considered it, but had always imagined doing it with a partner beside him. But his therapist and his friends had encouraged him to stop waiting for Prince Charming to solve his problems, and to do what he wanted, to live a life he would love, one that he could look back on and not regret a single part of. Within months, he got his first placement, a twelve year old boy named Jack, who had lost his mother. They immediately became friends, doing everything together. Cas got pretty damn good at morning pancakes, styling a colorful tie for school dances, holding Jack through his first real heartbreak. By the time Jack was fifteen, he was officially adopted, officially Jack Kline-Novak, part of the family. The first Novak who had been loved unconditionally, taught to be kind over anything, valued for just being there, not for his loyalty to a church full of secrets.

Dean sobbed the day Ben left for college, amazed at how eighteen had felt so mature when it was him, and how it looked so small on Ben. His face had grown up with him, making him look even more like
Dean, sporting the same square jaw, crooked smirk, and fluffy hair. The only difference were his big dark eyes, a gift from a mom neither of them talked to anymore, reminding him of Sammy, making him cry even harder. It was sad tears, afraid to be alone for the first time, happy tears for his baby, living the life he never got to live, tears of pride, knowing that Ben was the smartest Winchester to be around, which he’d say to Sam’s face, and the very first to never feel John Winchester’s grip on his neck. By this time, they were both Singers, realizing that Bobby had always been the one there for Dean, and now for Ben. He rolled next to Dean as they entered the tiny dorm room for the first time, Bobby reassuring him that Ben would be okay, he was only an hour away. They got lunch together as a family, Dean, Ben, Bobby, Sam, Eileen, and Sam’s ten year old son, Dean’s first nephew, Robert Dean Singer, who went by Dean. Ben made him order a fancy iced coffee, with almond milk and honey, and damn it, he had liked it.

By the time Jack had moved out, Cas had reduced his hours of social work, the job taking a toll on him, even with how much he loved it. It had been 18 years since the Dean incident, and most of the time he didn’t think of it, only occasionally when Jack would wear a leather jacket, or one of Dean’s songs would play on the oldies station, making him feel ancient, more focused on the idea that his favorite music in college was now considered a throwback, than the ache that used to burn through his chest when he heard his ex-boyfriend’s voice. After some convincing from Meg, he finally caved and bought bees, opening a small storefront at the edge of their neighborhood, in their new home state of Colorado, where Cas could see the mountains everywhere, making him feel small in a way that felt peaceful compared to the way his father had always made him feel small with insults and tests of faith. He would work in the small wooden building after his real job, spending evenings selling honey and CD’s of his folk music, and loaves of sourdough, which really was nothing compared to all the time he got time he got to spend chatting with the whole neighborhood, all of them making sure he and his bees and his son never felt lonely again.

By Ben’s junior year, Dean had cut his visits to see him down to just once a semester, giving him his own space to discover himself, to make mistakes, to hang out with girls, to apparently pick up the guitar, following a circle of creativity instead of a cycle of violence, which made Dean glow with pride. One of his drives home had taken longer than usual, Dean decided to take the back roads like he used to, to watch the dust get kicked up under his tires, as he sang along to classic work on a cassette tape, more concerned with having fun screaming the words and drumming badly on the steering wheel than with sounding sexy to middle aged women and approachable to blue collar men. He drove by a small roadside store that night, the sunset a backdrop like a painting against the light blue of the building, decorated with small painted bees, and a sign that advertised fresh honey. He remembered the coffee from Ben’s first day and pulled over, thinking to himself that he could try to make something similar at home sometime. The man behind the counter greeted him as he walked in, looking up at him, Dean immediately locking eyes with blue eyes he’d know anywhere.

Cas used to imagine this exact moment all the time, in the months following the Dean incident, used to imagine how it would go, back and forth between bitter and angry versus joyful and loving. He could never have imagined the feeling in his whole body when he saw those candy apple green eyes on him again, like a live wire touched to his skin. Twenty years since the last time they saw each other, Dean and Cas spent the entire night talking. It all seemed so far away, a different lifetime, and it was almost like a stranger had stopped into his store, into his life, wearing the face of an old friend. The awkwardness faded gently, and they had leaned against the counter until they both had red imprints on their elbows, talking about their kids, their lives, their homes. Pictures were exchanged of Dean’s rescue dog Miracle, and the former street cat Cas had taken in, Purrrrgatory. Dean was less angry, rounded out, the harsh edges smoothed out. Cas was less naive, watching him carefully, maybe a little longer than was necessary.

It was a year after they met again before Dean and Cas went on their first official date, a hole-in-the-wall diner where Dean ordered something called a pig in a poke, and they shared a slice of apple pie. They spent more hours talking that day, Dean explaining the scars on his arm over the cold tabletop, Cas throwing his head back to laugh at a bad joke. More and more dates came after that, more shared slices of pie, more uncomfortable conversations about expectations and boundaries, more singing together again, voices thicker with age, more falling asleep on FaceTime, or curled into each other, backs more comfortable than they ever had been on that old twin bed.

Twenty five years after the Dean incident, to the day, they changed the meaning of that date. It wasn’t the anniversary of the time Cas had screamed at Dean, the date of their last meeting, the date of both of their biggest heartbreaks. Now it was the day they became Mr. and Mr. Dean and Castiel Novak-Singer. It was the date they donned matching tuxes, Cas in a candy apple green bow tie, Dean in a sky blue tie, wearing dress shoes that fit them, no more smaller shoes because they were they only thing affordable. No more bigger shoes to desperately try and fill. Just Dean, just Cas, just Gabe officiating, just Ben’s new girlfriend catching the bouquet, just Cas getting cake in Dean’s hair, making Dean chase him around the room with another piece as a threat.

Mr. And Mr. Dean and Cas Novak-Singer became grandfathers on November 5th. They were grey by then, and they cried while they held their grandfather, tarnished gold rings cool against her skin. She had Ben’s eyes.

Their lives didn’t end that day backstage. Their love hadn’t jumped out of the car like they thought, it had just fallen asleep in the backseat, like their grandchildren did on their way home from their house, tired from hunting grasshoppers and playing Pappaw’s guitar.

“Goodnight Cas” Dean muttered as they settled into bed on their tenth wedding anniversary. “I love you”

“I know”