A rockstar!AU requested by the beautiful @jtblabfactory! Â
Dean stared at the magazine article in his hands, a puzzling amalgam of feelings brewing inside of him and getting stronger by the minute.
There was awe, for one thing, at the fact that this half-naked incubus was the shy, socially awkward man Dean had once called his friend, amusement at the idea of what it must have taken to get him to pose like that, dread at the old feelings the picture stirred up inside but predominantly, overwhelmingly, what Dean felt was a combination of longing andâŚâlustâ was the only real word for it.  Stronger than anything Dean had ever felt for any girl heâd ever hooked up with, or the small handful of awkward, drunken encounters with men. Â
Dean didnât know he could feel anything this strongly towards anyone, let alone a man, and particularly not for Castiel.
âDean,â came a voice, after what felt like an eternity of blank staring. Â âDean!â
âWhassat?â Â Dean blurted, still in a daze as he finally tore his eyes away from the article (and the tantalizing picture that went with it) in an attempt to get a hold of himself.
Sheepishly, he looked around at the trio (consisting of Charlie, Sam, and Kevin), that still surrounded him, staring at him with expectant, bemused expressions on their faces that made Dean feel like he was stuck in one of those dreams in which heâd shown up to school in his underwear.
 ââŚWhat?â Dean demanded, clearing his throat to cover how much deeper his voice had just gotten.Â
âYou were staring for a pretty long time, Dean,â Sam pointed out.Â
âYeah, for like, five minutes,â Kevin agreed with a glance at his phone.Â
âYeah, itâs called reading the frickinâ article, asshats,â Dean scoffed defensively, though he couldnât hide the flush he felt steadily blossoming across the bridge of his nose.Â
âDean, Iâm pretty sure you were actually drooling,â Charlie chimed in, with a poorly-repressed giggle.
Dean, of course, could do nothing but roll his eyes and pretend that there was no truth to these accusations.Â
He wasnât sure how the subject of the Garrison had come up, but he did remember sitting quietly through the discussion with an ever-increasing amount of discomfort as the subject turned to its frontman. Â Castiel â a name Dean wished he could forget, but knew he never would.Â
âUgh, heâs dreamy,â Charlie had said, theatrically fanning herself with one hand.
âI thought you were gay,â Kevin remarked questioningly.
âI am. Â Doesnât mean I canât appreciate an attractive man and a good smolder when I see one.â
âYou know,â said Sam, ignoring the âSammy-donât-you-frickinâ-dareâ look that Dean was currently shooting him. Â âDean used to be tight with him.â
âShut up, Sammy,â Dean had growled, but kept his eyes downcast.Â
But it was too late. Â Charlie and Kevin were all over him, begging him for details about the reclusive star that Dean absolutely refused to provide. Â He still respected Cas too much for that.
Dean knew where the conversation was going, but that didnât make it any easier when Kevin said, âSo Dean, I know you were tight, but were you, you knowâŚTIGHT?â
Charlie rolled her eyes, and clarified, âHe means, were you guys actually dating?â
âFor Christâs sake Charlie, NO!â Dean snapped, wishing the conversation would come to an end. Â âNow will you PLEASE frickinâ drop it already?â
âBecause if you were,â she said slyly, rummaging through her bag â an ungainly but large and very effective burlap thing she carried everywhere. Â âI have something I think you might appreciate.â
And so, the magazine â and with it, that damned picture â had ended up in his hands. Â
âYâall suck,â Dean ultimately said, only half-serious, as he stood up and hoped they wouldnât notice as he stuffed the magazine in his back pocket. Â âIâm goinâ home.â
Dean thought his troubles were over when he finally reached his beloved impala still parked outside of the Harvelleâs roadhouse, but oh, he was wrong.Â
âDean,â came Samâs voice.
âIâm not talkinâ to you, Sammy!â Â Dean snapped.
Sam rolled his eyes, finally catching up with his brother as he started to unlock the front door. Â âFor the last time, Dean, itâs Sam,â he said. Â âAnd donât you think youâre being a bit immature? Â All I said was that you were tight with the guy!â
Dean only grunted in response, refusing to look his brother in the eye.
âItâs not like I told them about all the time you spent stalking him on the internet, or making that scrapbook filled with all the pictures you took of him-â
âOkay, okay, I get it!  Stop!âÂ
âDean, my point is,â Sam went on, giving him that sympathetic brotherly look that Dean simultaneously loved and absolutely despised. Â âYou obviously still care about him.â
âHe doesnât care about ME, Sammy,â Dean said, trying to appear as indifferent as possible. Â âThatâs the whole problem.â
Sam seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then said, âDean, do you ever actually listen to his songs?â
âNO!â said Dean, more defensively than he meant to.
âTake my word for it,â said Sam, with a knowing wink, before waltzing off back towards the roadhouse with no further explanation.
Dean sat at home, staring forlornly at the magazine in his hands.
Heâd had this problem before, ever since Castiel and his band, the Garrison, had gotten more popular, popping up in magazines, Newspapers, and even billboards seemingly everywhere. Â For Dean, it was torture.
It was torture to hear them talk about Cas, comment on his handsomeness, speculate on his relationship status, and discuss, as one reporter had described it, his âbrooding, reclusive appeal.â  THAT, Dean knew, was utter bullshit â Cas wasnât brooding or reclusive, and if he came off as such it was because he was shy.  Dean wasnât fooled by the steely smolder he put on in all of his photos, sexy as it may have been â there was nothing Cas wanted to do more than stay home and cuddle with ten or twenty adopted cats, binge watch Netflix or the occasional puppy video, and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Dean sighed at the memories, and carefully began to snip out the photograph to be stored with the others, in the rapidly growing portfolio Dean had been accumulating over the past two years: Â photos from magazines, mostly, and a few printed out online articles, all of them of Cas. Â Though, of course, none were quite as risque as this one.
All were lacking the signature trench coat heâd worn during his time with Dean, though, in favor of clothing that was more fashionable and form-fitting. Â Dean wondered if he still had it. Â He wondered if anything else about Cas had changed since heâd seen him last.
Was this behavior just the slightest bit creepy or obsessive? Â Probably. Â But that certainly wasnât something Dean would admit to himself as he pasted in his newest addition and promptly hid the binder back under his bed like a sixth grader.
For the Winchester household, Â the next few weeks passed as they usually did. Â Dean worked two jobs: Â he did construction work Monday through Friday, and helped out at Bobbyâs garage on weekends.
It wasnât easy, but someone had to put Sam through college, and Stamford certainly wasnât paying for itself.
On Friday evenings, Dean and his small posse would meet up at the Harvelle Roadhouse to laugh and talk, and maybe see a movie or something afterwards.
And, for the most part, Dean was content. Â
It was six PM at the Harvelleâs, where he, Sam, Charlie, and Kevin gathered like clockwork, listening to Jo rattle off all the difficult customers sheâd dealt with the week before.
She was just getting through telling them about the twelfth obnoxious drunk man whoâd gotten grabby with her (she ended up braking his wrist), when they heard Ellenâs familiar voice from the bar.
âDean-o! Â Get over here!â
âWhat is it, Elle?â Dean called.Â
âYer boyfriendâs on TV!â
It took Dean a moment to register exactly what Ellen meant. Â And when he finally put the pieces together, he turned to Sam with a look of horror, rage, and sheer betrayal.
âYou TOLD them!? Â Who else did you tell!?â
âNo one, I swear!â Â Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender.
âIt was me,â Charlie admitted. Â When Dean turned to stare at her with shocked indignation, she protested, âHey, itâs not the kind of news I could keep to myself! Â And anyway, the only one I told was Jo.â
When Jo was fixed with Deanâs accusatory glare, she only shrugged, and said sheepishly, âI didnât know it was a secret!â
Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. Â âI canât frickinâ believe you people!â
âYou boys cominâ or not?â Ellen called.Â
Everyone present turned to give Dean an expectant look.
âUgh,â he scoffed, trying to sound as though he was staying neutral to the matter. Â âMight as well.â
Dean stared at the TV screen the way heâd stared at the magazine article weeks before, completely transfixed, lost to world around him: on the Harvelleâs clunky, outdated television set, Cas looked just like he had when Dean had seen him last, disheveled mess of black hair, trench coat and all. Â
From what heâd gathered, he was conversing with a sexually aggressive blond woman about his new album â not that Dean was paying too much attention to what they were actually saying: Â he was far too busy staring at Castielâs eyes, dazzlingly blue even over the screen, hearing the deep, rasping baritone of his voice without ever processing what he was saying.Â
âCool coat, by the way,â she purred, and Dean bristled as she ran polished fingernails lightly over his shoulder.Â
âNo, itâs actually quite warm,â Cas replied politely, completely deadpan, and the interviewer laughed (far harder than was necessary, in Deanâs opinion).
âSo, Cas â I CAN call you Cas, canât I?â the woman drawled.Â
âTell us a little aboutâŚwhere you get your inspiration from?  What INSPIRES you to write these songs?â
âWell, most of them I wrote in honor of someone whoâs very important to me,â he replied, and Dean felt his heart sink.  It shouldnât have surprised him that Cas had found someone else, but he didnât have to like it.  After a brief pause, Castiel added, âAnd a few, of course, are for several of my cats.â
The woman cackled again, obviously convinced he was joking. Â He was not.Â
Dean was still processing the knowledge that Cas was with somebody else now, as the lady went on, âSo, youâve just finished up your latest tour.  Tell us, what are you doing now?â
His answer, however, caught Deanâs attention: Â
âIn the immediate future, Iâll be paying a brief visit to my hometown. Â There are several friends and relatives there I would very much like to get reacquainted with, and perhaps find some inspiration for my latest album.â
If Dean had been zoned out before, now he was dead to the world, vaguely aware of the lady asking Cas about the charities heed been supporting â which included cancer research and, of course, prevention of animal cruelty â as he processed what heâd just heard. Â For the first time in over two years, Castiel was coming home.
Dean lay in bed that night, AC/DC and Metallica on full blast, but was unable to shake Castiel from his mind. Â It kept wandering back to the day he left, again and again.Â
Contrary to popular belief, he and Cas hadnât dated, as much as Dean wished they had. Â So many times, he had tried (and failed) to plan out in his head what he would say. Â
âHey, Cas, you and I have been bros for a long timeâŚâ no, that wasnât right.  âHey, Cas, you can say no if you want to, but I was wondering if maybeâŚâ  That wouldnât do either. Â
Dean simply couldnât find the words or the courage to say what was on his mind, and in his experience, that was the most frustrating sensation in the world.Â
They had been friends, though. Â They would have died for each other, and there were times when they almost did. Â Theyâd stayed with each other when they were at their lowest, Dean letting Cas crash on his sofa, cats and all, when his homophobic aunt Naomi kicked him out for being gay, and Cas eventually returning the favor for Dean. Â Though, by then, the Garrison was just getting really successful, and Cas had a guest room to lend Dean when money was tight and he couldnât make the rent on his apartment.
In retrospect, the thing that had torn them apart was the most ridiculous thing. Â Dean knew, deep down, that Casâs contract with Crowley â the investor that had taken Bobbyâs business years ago â hadnât been his idea. Â It was his shady manager, Metatron, or maybe even his brother Gabriel. Â
Castiel put on a mask of unflinching stoicism, but Dean knew that at his core, he was an innocent, easily coerced by those around him. Â And he also knew he never would have done anything to hurt Dean on purpose.
That did little to take the sting away at the time, though, and they quickly devolved into the worst fight of their entire relationship  â admittedly, they both had said some pretty hurtful things that they probably didnât mean, but what Dean remembered the most was how the argument reached its conclusion:
After the big fight, Cas had shown up at Deanâs door, clearly trying to apologize.Â
âDean,â he had rasped. Â âYou know weâre going on tour in two days. Â But I really donât want to leave until you and I-â
âYou know what, Cas?â Dean had drawled, refusing to look him in the eye. Â âWhen you leave, I donât want you to bother coming back.â
It was childish, he knew.  But Cas apparently didnât know that, and heâd never forget the look on his old friendâs face when he said, ââŚDo you really mean that, Dean?â
It was an answer Dean would regret for the rest of his life.
Six months had passed, and now Dean sat at a table, in front of the cafe where Cas had been working when theyâd met.Â
Heâd been eighteen, Dean had been twenty, and Dean had tried to flirt with him, but Cas, of course, was oblivious.Â
That didnât stop Dean from stopping by every morning before work just to see him, though, suffering through all the jumbled drink orders just to talk to him and see his face, but always lacking the courage to tell him how he really felt.
Now, Dean nervously eyed his watch, sipping his caramel machiato (in spite of ruthlessly making fun of such fancy coffee drinks, Dean secretly adored them). Â Ten minutes late.Â
Of course, it was fully in his character to never be on time, but that didnât stop Dean from worrying: Â had he forgotten? Â Had he changed his mind and decided not to come? Â Was this all some sort of cruel joke? Â Was-
Then, Deanâs heart dropped as his âdateâ came into view, coat billowing around him in the late summer breeze.
Dean wouldnât have made the called Cas to begin with if it hadnât been for Sam (not that it had gone well â Dean had left a painfully awkward voice message asking that they meet, complete with stupid jokes he knew Cas probably wouldnât get. Â Cas, of course, had texted his reply: Â he loved texting â and emoticons, for that matter â more than Dean thought any grown man should).Â
But the fact remains that it had all been stupid Samâs doing: Â ever since the interview that day, heâd been begging Dean to do it, to which Dean always refused, saying things like,Â
âHe doesnât want me, Sammy!â or, âHeâs found someone else by now, he mustâve.â
Thankfully, Sam eventually seemed to give up, but then moved on to something debatably worse: Â he became extremely insistent that Dean listen to his latest album.
Dean, of course, had fought tooth and nail against the idea, but never gave the real reason why: Â he didnât want to hear Castiel â HIS Castiel â singing about somebody else, somebody other than Dean.Â
Sam practically had to hold him down to finally get him to listen to it.  The album itself was entitled âAngel of the Lord,â but in spite of the metal sounding name, the songs themselves sounded a little moreâŚsappy, all named things like âWhen Angels Fly Away,â or âI Gripped You Tight.â  And they all had one thing in common, though:  they were all about love, lost or unrequited, that familiar, beautiful, baritone drawl singing about one person in particular over and over again. Â
By the time it was over, Dean was fairly certain he knew who Cas was describing, but Sam, of course, felt the need to reiterate it to him anyway.
âDonât you get it, Dean?â  he said.  âHeâs talking about YOU.âÂ
âSo, uh,â Dean swallowed, unable to find the words heâd so carefully rehearsed. Â âHowâs it going?â
*WHAT THE HELL, WINCHESTER?* Dean mentally chastised himself. Â *YOU DONâT SEE THE GUY FOR TWO YEARS, AND THE FIRST THING YOU SAY ISÂ âHOWâS IT GOING!?â*
Castiel sort of shrugged, shuffling a little where he stood. Â He didnât do well with vague questions like that, Dean knew, and it was clear he was just as uncomfortable with this situation as Dean was.
He clarified, âUm, howâs life on the road been treating you?â
âLife on the roadâŚsmells,â he replied, making a face. âAnd traveling in a car is slow and confining.â Â
Dean couldnât help but chuckle to himself â after all this time, Cas still couldnât answer a question like a normal human being. Â He talked as if he was something alien, wearing a human suit and experiencing the world around him for the very first time.
âHow are you, Dean?â he asked after a moment, parroting Deanâs words, but with a note of such sincerity that it staggered him a little.Â
âIâm fine, Cas,â Dean started to say, but caught himself.  If he ever wanted to say what was on his mind, now might be his last chance.  âIâm not gonna lie, it hasnât been the same without you around here,â he said, voice thick with unwanted emotion.  âI uhâŚâ he swallowed again, forcing his pride down along with the lump in his throat.  ââŚI missed you, Cas.â
Castiel looked rather taken aback by the answer, brow furrowing and head tilting to one side.  âYouâŚTOLD me to leave, Dean.â
âDammit Cas!â Dean shouted, frustrated with himself as much as he was with his oblivious friend.  âJust âcause I said it doesnât mean I actually wanted it!â
Castielâs âconfused puppy-lookâ intensified. Â
âThe point is,â Dean reiterated, getting a hold of himself. Â âI want you here. Â I want you with me.â Â He was shaking now, unable to believe he was actually saying this allowed. Â âWe need you, Cas. Â I need you.â
Castiel stared at him, expression unreadable â Cas had never been very good at expressing emotion â but his eyes said it all: Â they were full of confusion and regret in equal measures, but overwhelmingly, of love. Â Dean couldnât believe heâd never seen it before.Â
âDo youâŚmean that, Dean?â he asked, slowly.
âOf course I mean it,â Dean scoffed, eyeing the ground.  âIâŚlove you, Cas.â
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.Â
âI said I lo-â Dean didnât have time time to finish. Â The next thing he knew, Castielâs lips were crashing into his own, full and chapped, and tasting like cherry lip balm. Â It was better than Dean had ever imagined.
The kiss went on for what seemed like forever, yet all too short, rough and tender at the same time.
Finally, Cas pulled away, his pools of cerulean meeting Deanâs striking, emerald green.
Six months later, Castiel released his newest album, âthe Righteous Man,â directly crediting Dean as his inspiration.  A year later, he went on tour again.
This time, Dean came with him.