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A lot of times, shows get called queerbait incorrectly, specifically because the audience sees potential, and they COULD take it there, but the showmakers don't take it there because that was never the plan. This includes things like BBC Sherlock and the MCU. Without the active choice to make Destiel a viable canon, this is where Supernatural would fit. Not going along with a popular ship that wasn't planned to exist in the first place is not queerbait.

Actual queerbait happens when the showmakers never intend it but act like they are gonna, promote the story as such, and then actively choose not follow through. This is where I'd put things like What We Do in the Shadows. It's a promotional stunt, done to attract viewers via the Will-They-Won't-They, knowing full well that They Won't.

Both the queerbait and not-quite-queerbait things often have an extra salt rubbed in the wound by slapping a big giant helping of Excessively Het Stuff on top at the end, juuuust to make sure we get the message that This Is Not For You. This is where you get things like Steve Rogers going back in time to marry Peggy thereby destroying 10 years & multiple movies & shows worth of character development and other character relationships. Compulsory Het additions are used just to really emphasize that yeah, they're SUPER FUCKIN STRAIGHT and SOULMATES.

As a narrative example, in the case of queerbait, excessively het endings are like that high school prank trope, where someone pretends they're gonna take the loser to prom, then shows up with their Real Date to throw eggs at them on the porch on prom night. In the case of not-quite-queerbait, the excessively het ending is where you have that popular kid that's always nice to the loser, that the loser has a crush on, but is still gonna date the other popular kid, not out of spite, but simply because they weren't interested in the first place.

But we do have a realm of Queer media that plans to be queer and follows through, like Heated Rivalry, Our Flag Means Death, Sense8, assorted movies. But there's a different flavor to media like this. It starts out and carries through as openly queer. It celebrates queerness. But often, because it is so openly queer, these get boxed in as "Queer Show" to the exclusion of all else. It's advertising focuses on that it's queer. The narratives often revolve around what it means to be queer. Narrative elements that aren't Being Queer are, very often, just a backdrop. The stories are incredibly conscious and aware of their queerness, of their queer audience. They deal with themes around identity, the closet, sexuality, family dysfunction, societal expectations, religious and authoritarian pressure, fear of rejection, grief, romance, safety, isolation — things that are deemed "the Queer experience". And these are absolutely fair themes to apply; there's a reason those resonate.

Now. Supernatural.

Supernatural didn't set out to directly be queer media. It has always held elements of it, yes, and I will argue for that forever. But it's intended audience was not out and proud queer people the way that Queer Media (tm) was. It talks about several similar themes — patriarchal pressures, grief, family dysfunction, the conflict between sacrifice for the community vs. choosing what is right for yourself. It's one of the reasons why other queer themes like the closet slot in so easily. But the characters were not intended to be out and proud and open. Often when queer media features a character in the closet, the narrative is about them coming out. It deals with their interiority around their sexuality — guilt, shame, passion, fear. At some point, they're always intended to Come Out.

Supernatural handles the closet differently. A queer reading of Supernatural deals with a character that has no intention of ever coming out. For whom the closet is still more safe than it is a trap. And, importantly, there are other concerns than if it's safe to be openly queer. Being openly queer, after all, is about fulfillment and self-actualization. But Supernatural is a war story. It's narrative revolves around survival, around sacrifice, around saving the world. And so it's themes treat self-actualization as a distant dream. Often an unachievable one. Maybe one day, when the Mission is complete, we can stop. We can have a home and love and a life. ...but the Mission will never be over, will it? That life just isn't for us, I guess.

And then there's Cas. Cas, who comes from this hyper religious background, who undergoes religious indoctrination and re-education, who is given conversion therapy to literally kill the person that he loves. His love, in the eyes of heaven, is illicit, forbidden, in every sense. Cas who chooses to escape his cult for a beautiful boy that believes in him. Who gives up everything for Dean, always drawn to him specifically, protecting him, supporting him, sacrificing for him. Cas, who misses and loves his family in spite of their rejection and abuse, who keeps fighting and begging for them to see him, to give up their prejudices and see the beauty that he sees, to be free of the prison they have made for themselves.

And Dean, for whom family is everything. Dean who is willing to sacrifice everything if it means protecting innocents. Dean who craves comfort and safety for himself, but moreover, someone that he can feel safe to drop the mask around. And then he meets Cas, who becomes his best friend. Who sees his vulnerabilities and weaknesses and doesn't judge him for them, who accepts him - all of him. Who also is willing to do the hard thing, to make the big sacrifices, to protect the innocent. Cas who is funny, and steadfast, and strong, and kind but also kind of a bitch, who loves humanity as much as Dean does.

They make each other want to be better. They challenge each other. They accept each other and support each other, even when they fail. They help each other up, dust them off, and say let's try again. We'll do better this time. They fight the good fight, but they also protect each other's right to rest, to have things for themselves for once.

Is it any wonder that the audience looked at this and said oh. Obviously they're in love.

But they didn't start out that way. Cas wasn't supposed to be there. He was meant to die three episodes in. A minor throwaway character, there to serve a quick purpose, and be discarded.

But the energy just felt... interesting. Lightning in a bottle, they called it. The way Cas and Dean clicked onscreen, the way they reacted to each other. And so the showrunners reworked the plan. And they kept reworking it. And kept reworking it. Every season, every new showrunner, every new writer, adding on. Misha and Jensen, adding their spin.

It wasn't planned. Not initially. But it worked, and it made the story better, made it more interesting. Cas & Dean's dynamic was interesting, and it made each of their characters as individuals better. Offered complexity and complication and subtlety.

It would have been so, so easy for them to leave it at that. No one would have been surprised if they left it at that. I'm sure many would have cried queerbait — they already were. And others would have been very smug and triumphant with yet another win over the gays, I'm sure. Because fuck us and our exhausting wish to feel seen and accepted, right?

But they didn't. They chose to go there. Cas confessed, and it was explicitly romantic, explicitly and openly queer. and it mattered. It mattered SO MUCH because it wasn't originally planned. Because the writers and showrunners of Supernatural, for all their flaws, were willing to follow through on an element of the story that developed over time, instead of chickening out, or forcing it to fit a heteronormative mold. They let the characters develop and change and grow according to what clicked in the narrative, according to what made the story more interesting. One of Supernatural's strengths is that, in spite of it's formulaic plot structuring, in spite of all the negative influences against it, they managed to coax out characters that feel True and Real. Not always, and sometimes they have setbacks, but when they nail it, it's because they let the characters develop instead of fighting it. Cas's confession was so, so earned. Taking something that had been implicit, that had underlaid the entire show if you knew what to look for, and bringing it into the open where everyone can see it. And that was something they excelled with from the start with Cas — they saw character & story potential and they used it.

The love is explicit. It is canon. The queerness is there, openly, verbally, on screen. It's there, and it's ours, and it is true. And it validates everything that Destiel fans had been seeing and arguing for for years.