Dean is looking right at him and he still can't wrap his head around it. He's a kid, he's fucking three, and he's extending his arms towards Cas who collects him in his arms with barely any effort. Like he was always meant to do that, like he was ready for it.
Yes, when Jack was first born he expected him to be... well, a newborn, but upon finding him and everything that followed, the concept was long buried in the back of his mind. He never thought it would happen.
Correction: Jack has always been a kid.
But now Jack is human (his own wish to Amara, who he bestowed his power to), and, therefore, looks his age. Three.
He's cuddling up to his father, Dean's angel-no-more, whom they just rescued from the Empty a few hours ago. With whom he still has so much to talk about. Jack's tiny arms are wrapped around his neck and his head is pressed tightly against it, and Cas is smiling like he could fly all over again.
That's his kid. That is a kid.
And it suddenly all comes rushing back to Dean. How unfairly he treated him. How much pressure he put on him. How little he appreciated all that he did.
But now he got Cas back, again, and he's a little three year old kid, and Dean can feel the tears prickling behind his eyes.
He's such a piece of shit. He was no better than John.
The tears spill over as Cas starts humming a tune and bouncing Jack softly, pressing him tighter against him and caressing his little blond head. Cas turns when Dean fails to suppress a shaky exhale and a sniff, and Cas must recognize the all-consuming guilt in his eyes. He steps toward him with a sad smile, never interrupting the bouncing or the song that Dean now recognizes as Believe It Or Not. It's incredibly endearing and just makes him cry more.
Cas swivels so Dean can see Jack's face now. Up close, it's incredibly clear that it's him, an uncanny resemblance to his dad and big blue eyes that find his.
And then Jack is smiling and reaching for him, begging to exchange arms.
Dean takes him and, instead of settling against him like he did Cas, Jack starts wiping at his cheeks with his tiny, chubby hands, and Dean can't believe he ever thought this being could be anything close to evil, much less treat him like he was.
It's at that moment that Dean decides he's gonna spend the rest of his life making it up to him.
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I have this vision of Dorym in my head and it's like. Ok. It's nighttime, and they're sitting on a bench. Dorian is playing his lute, a soft melody. He's concentrated as hell, kinda leaning toward the neck of the instrument, focused on his chords. He doesn't want to mess up, not with Orym listening.
There's a blanket of stars overhead, some trees behind them, warm light from nearby buildings. Assuming Dorian is right-handed, Orym sits on his left, in the direction where Dorian is leaning. He sits real comfy, one leg up on the bench, the other folded underneath. He's facing Dorian. His arm is on the back of the bench and he's resting his head on his hand, watching and listening intently and enamored. (With the music, of course.)
Dorian can't really remember the lyrics to the song, but he starts mumbling the melody, a scattered word here and there that kinda feels right. Orym is flushed red. When Dorian does sing through a few verses— his voice heartfelt, smooth as silk, and so very Dorian— Orym sighs involuntarily. He tries to disguise it as a yawn.
Dorian stops playing immediately. "Are you tired?" he asks. "We can go inside, if you want."
Orym thinks about it, examining the genuine concern and care in his friend's eyes, in his tensed expression. Orym wishes he had the guts— the will— to reach forward and run a finger down Dorian's cheek, ease some of that tension.
He doesn't. Not quite yet. "No," he says instead. "Play another one. Please."
Dorian smiles, licks his lips, and turns his attention back to his lute. The wind that perpetually blows through his hair moves it out of his face, allowing him complete, unobstructed focus. He eases into another song.
Orym is powerless to do anything but drink in the moment, hanging onto Dorian's every move, note, strum. He can't take his eyes off of him.
Dorian plays until his fingers ache, and even then, he wishes he could continue. Anything to make Orym keep smiling like that.
to finish off my follower celebration! free space bonus day! based on @faithroad 's prompt "sleepy" which I turned into dean pining. mid to late seasons, no empty deal, happy ending.
2.5k words — read on ao3 or below
Dean kinda regrets not making Sam drive. Kinda.
Sam is the one who insisted on hauling ass and making it back home tonight. Sam is not the one with the fucked-up ankle. He's the one who should be sitting at the wheel at 3 am, struggling to keep his eyes open, instead of sprawled out in the backseat snoring like a damn tractor.
But no. It’s Dean driving. And it’s 'cause he wanted to sit next to Cas. 'Cause the hunt was bad and the wolves were good, and one of them had Cas by the neck at one point, and Dean–
Well, that werewolf is dead now. And Cas is fine. But Dean just… needs him close. At least ‘til they get home.
(He's also the one driving 'cause he's the best damn big brother on the face of the Earth, okay?)
If he’s being honest with himself, Dean always wants to sit next to Cas. But they have a routine by now; Dean drives, Sam sits shotgun, Cas in the back. Dean usually doesn’t fight it. Enforces it, actually.
Tonight he let that change. He asked Sam to sit in the back. There's more to it than just the close call though, and if Dean let himself think about it for more than a second, he'd know why. Deep down, he does know why.
Dean is scared. He's scared of losing Cas and he's sick of almost losing him, of the constant scares now that his grace is low and he's not as invincible as he used to be. If something were to happen to Cas (again), and Dean didn't spend every second with him that he could…
He doesn't want to think about it. He's too tired for that right now.
In fact, that’s probably all it is. Yeah, that's it. The hunt was long and crappy and they've barely slept, and Dean is too exhausted to hold himself back. Too sleepy to force his desires down, to pretend that he doesn’t want…
That he doesn’t want.
He allows himself a glance in Cas’s direction. He's looking out the window, laying his head on his trench coat which is bundled up against the door, his right arm tucked underneath. His suit jacket and tie are on his lap and he’s holding them there with his left hand. Dean wants, so badly, to reach over and take it, interlock their fingers without a word, as if that were a normal thing for them to do.
As sleepy as he is, Dean still has half a mind not to. His fingers flex on the wheel.
He drives for another half hour.
---
When Dean finally stops the car and shuts off the ignition, Sam feels it. He jolts awake and steps out in silence. Ungrateful bitch.
He didn't even say it out loud, but Dean takes that back. It was such a long hunt.
He lets his eyes close and drops his head back. He feels heavy. His whole body aches. He doesn’t realize how quickly he’s drifting off until he’s startled by Cas’s voice, soft, a gentle melody in the quiet space of the garage.
“Dean, you should get to bed.”
Cas, in his weird part-angel part-not state, doesn’t really need to sleep. Dean looks at him; the right side of his hair is sticking up in all directions, his eyes are smiling at him though his lips are not, the top of his dress shirt is unbuttoned–
Dean looks away. Swallows.
He lays his head back again. "Not like I've never slept in Baby before, Cas."
“Dean, I’m sorry.”
That makes Dean’s head turn, brows knitted together.
“What for?”
Cas looks genuinely regretful, facing Dean but not making eye contact. Instead, he looks downward, to Dean's legs. “Your ankle. If my grace were–”
“Don’t.”
It’s not a scold. There’s no bite in it. Dean just hates it when Cas blames himself, and how goddamn often he does. Cas meets his eyes.
“Just don’t, man,” Dean pleads.
Then he smiles at him, and Cas smiles back.
“Alright,” Cas says, gathering his things, “But you are not sleeping in the car, Dean. I'll help you, it's the least I can do."
And there he goes again, belittling himself. Dean doesn’t really have it in him to argue any further; he'll get it through Cas's thick head one day that he's worth more than what he can do. One day.
(Right now, Dean does kinda wanna get to his bed. It's been a while and he hopes it still remembers him.)
Dean pulls himself up and out of the car with effort, wincing when his right ankle– the fucked-up one– gets a bit too much weight put on it. Cas walks over to his side of the car, putting on his layers again on the way.
He'd never admit it, but Dean's skin is buzzing in anticipation, waiting. Cas will hold him up by his waist. Dean’s arm will be around Cas’s shoulders. Maybe Cas will grab his hand as he helps him walk to the–
Nope. None of that happens.
Instead, Dean gets swept off his feet, and then Cas is carrying him. Bridal style.
Dean tends to forget that the guy still has his strength.
In any other circumstance, Dean would probably be embarrassed. But there’s no one around, he’s utterly exhausted, and in Cas’s arms, he feels weightless. He settles, wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck.
Mistake. It brings their faces so much closer together, and now Dean can't look away. The curls behind Cas's ear, the slope of his cheekbone, his perpetual stubble… he's so close, and Dean is shamelessly drinking him in. If he surged forward a couple of inches, his nose would touch Cas's jaw. That's how close he is, and when is Dean ever going to get any closer? He rests his head, getting comfortable.
Cas looks straight ahead, weaving through the bunker halls with practiced ease, and he's blissfully unaware of Dean's staring. This is probably creepy, Dean realizes, so he closes his eyes.
---
The next moment Dean consciously registers is when his head hits the pillow.
"I tried not to wake you."
Dean fully opens his eyes and Cas is by his bed, still standing only half upright. There's a sheepish smile on his face as he straightens up.
"'S alright." Dean rubs his face and sits up to at least take his shoes off, and Cas takes a single step back. "Thanks," he says, and he feels like it's nowhere near enough for what Cas just did, but he can't think of anything better so it'll have to do.
Cas just smiles, tight-lipped.
"What're you gonna do?" Dean asks, unlacing his boots, and looking up at him. He's still at arm's length. Always at arm's length.
"I don't know." Cas puts his hands in his coat pockets. Dean wishes he'd let himself be comfortable. This is his home too. "Read. Maybe watch something on the Netflix."
Dean chuckles. He still calls it that after the one phone call they had when Dean told him to step away from it.
"Something funny?"
It's a genuine question. Dean pulls off the second boot and stands. Still with a smile on his face, he says "it's nothin'."
And then they're just standing there. Dean thinks maybe he wasn't being that creepy earlier, after all, ‘cause this? This is normal for them. Staring at each other in silence as if the silence will speak for them. Like, perhaps, if he looks at Cas long enough, at his eyes, his lips… Cas will know what Dean wants. Or maybe Dean's wants will vanish.
Dean will take either. He hopes for both just as strongly.
Cas breaks his gaze and says "I should go. Get some rest, Dean."
In that split second, as Cas turns to leave, Dean realizes two things.
One, neither of the things he's hoping for are going to happen. Cas isn't going to magically know what Dean wants, and this yearning, this constant clench deep in Dean's chest whenever he's around Cas, isn't just going away on its own.
Two, extreme exhaustion doesn't just weaken the physical and cognitive defenses. It also shatters the emotional ones into a million pieces.
He's never been so tired and he's never felt so brave.
Before he can stop it, Dean's hand darts out and grabs Cas's forearm.
Cas looks down at it, then up at Dean, then back down. "What's wrong?" He asks, worried.
"Nothin', just…"
Dean's mouth is dry, and he's fighting his eyelids to stay open. He knows what he wants to say and fuck he wants to go to sleep. So he just gets it over with.
"You don't have to go."
Cas looks back up at him, confused.
"You can stay if you want. Here."
Cas squints. "I'm not planning on leaving the bunker, Dean."
"No, I–"
Dean smiles and hangs his head because he can't help it. Because Cas just being Cas makes him smile, and he can't ever help it, much less now that he's completely given up. He lets his hand slide lower and lower down Cas's arm until he's lazily holding on to his fingers.
"I mean, here here. With me."
"Why?" Cas looks down at their entangled fingers and he's so confused. Jeez, this couldn't be any more difficult. "What do you need?"
"Nothin', fuck, Cas, I just want you to. I– I want you –" Dean steps closer, taking Cas's hand in full, interlocking their fingers like he wanted to do back in the car and since always. "–to take off that stupid coat, and that stupid jacket, and those stupid shoes, and anything else that you want–"
Cas looks less confused by the second, thank fuck. Dean feels like he's about to collapse on the spot, but he needs Cas to understand.
"–and I want you to lay down in that goddamn bed."
Dean is pleading at this point. He's about to fall over, and Cas firmly holding onto both his hand and his gaze feels like the only thing keeping him upright.
Cas stares at him with an expression that Dean can't quite decipher, but the confusion is gone. "With you," Cas says. Not asking. It's like he's completing Dean's sentence, and in a way, he is.
"With me," Dean says, for good measure.
He's not expecting much. He's not even expecting Cas to say yes. The way Cas keeps looking and looking and looking at him with that squint, chapped lips parted and brows furrowed, Dean isn't sure if he's trying to make up his mind, or read Dean's. The longer he does it though, the more Dean is convinced he's going to walk out that door and not talk to him for at least a month.
Dean starts to let go of his hand and is about to tell him that the choice is his, because of course it is.
Cas doesn't let him. He pulls Dean to him by that same hand and whatever short distance remained between them is gone.
Dean's brain is lagging. Buffering and loading like a desktop in '98. But when the bar finally fills up all the way, he wraps his arms around Cas's waist, and kisses him back. Cas's hands are on his face, snaking their way up to Dean's hair, and fuck that's heaven. Better than.
As many times as Dean has imagined and even dreamt of this, there's one thing he never could've foreseen: how hungry Cas is. His lips move like they're running out of time (they're not), he pulls Dean ever closer like he's going to float away (he's not), and his tongue explores so eagerly, like this is the only time he'll ever kiss Dean (it's not, if Dean can help it).
Hell, they're gonna have to do this again, 'cause right now Dean is running on fumes. He just doesn't have it in him to return all of Cas's fervor and enthusiasm and passion, to kiss him the way he deserves. Cas seems to pick up on that, how hard Dean is trying and probably failing miserably.
"You're tired," he says, barely pulling away, forehead to forehead and nuzzling his nose against Dean's.
Dean drops his head on Cas's shoulder, buries his face in the crook of his neck. "Yeah. 'm sorry," he mumbles into it.
"No, don't be."
Cas wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders and hugs him, holds him, stroking the hair at the back of his neck with his fingertips. Dean leaves a soft kiss on Cas's neck and hugs him even tighter, arms wrapped around him, under the stupid coat and jacket. He inhales deeply; Cas smells like honey and a thunderstorm, and Dean fucking loves it.
He feels himself drifting off again and pushes himself off of Cas. He needs to change. He needs to fall into bed. He needs to sleep for at least a week.
But there's one thing he wants, more than anything.
"Stay, Cas. Please."
Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Cas smile at him so bright.
"Of course, Dean."
---
Dean wakes up the next morning– well, day – and Cas is still here, on the right side of the bed. Dean is half laying on top of him, actually, arm around his torso and head on top of his chest. Cas has one arm underneath Dean and wrapped around him, his hand on Dean's left shoulder, where it belongs. He's drawing circles on it with his thumb.
He's playing that candy matching game on his phone with the other hand.
"Mornin'."
"Afternoon," Cas corrects him. "It's 3:27 pm."
Dean chuckles, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Shit."
"You needed it." Cas locks his phone and sets it down on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, did you–" Dean finally looks at Cas, propping himself up on his elbow. The hand that was on Dean's shoulder, Cas puts under his head. His arm flexes. He looks content. Blissful. He's not wearing a shirt, just the sweatpants that Dean gave him the night before (which is slowly coming back to Dean now). His hair is even messier than usual, and shit he looks good. Really good.
…What was Dean gonna say.
"Um–" right, he gulps, "–did you stay here the whole time?"
"Yes."
"Playing that game?"
"And some others."
"And you never left?"
"Of course not."
Cas smiles, and Dean's heart skips a beat. Then Cas licks his lips and those electric blue eyes give Dean a once-over, and Dean wonders how the fuck he's even still breathing.
Then Cas's smile falters, and he gets that confused look again, searching Dean's expression. "Do you... want me to le–"
"Never," Dean answers instantly.
Cas's smile is back. He reaches up, cupping Dean's face, and Dean shuts his eyes as he leans into it. When he opens his eyes again, Cas is looking at him like he can't get enough, like he's waited forever for this. Dean knows the feeling.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says softly.
And that's when Dean finally kisses Cas, kisses him like he deserves, with the endless bounds of love and desire that, for years now, he's been holding back and pushing down with all he's got.
Now he puts all he's got into showing Cas how much he's worth, and they don't leave Dean's room for the rest of the afternoon.
or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did
Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3
Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words
CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole
1 - 1994
Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.
"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."
Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.
"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."
Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.
Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.
Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.
---
2 - 2000
Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.
Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.
The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.
For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.
He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.
But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.
Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.
Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME
“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.
“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.
The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”
He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.
“Hey man, wait.”
The guy stopped walking.
“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”
He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.
“What’s bisexual?”
The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.
“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.
Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.
The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.
Or maybe he was right.
But he couldn’t be.
Dean couldn’t be… that.
Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.
---
3 - 2004
By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.
The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.
But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.
Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.
And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.
Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.
So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.
It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.
Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.
He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.
He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.
That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.
But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.
Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.
He left Indianapolis the next day.
---
4 - 2008
Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.
Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.
“You what ?” he gawked.
Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”
“You went to one of these Pride things?”
“Yeah, dude.”
Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.
“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”
“She was in the what?”
“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”
“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.
“Green.”
“What?”
“Light’s green. Green means go.”
Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.
He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.
“You okay, Dean?”
“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”
Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.
---
5 - 2014
Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.
“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."
Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."
“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”
Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”
“Pride.”
Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.
“You good?”
“Yeah, what was that?”
“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”
“Why uh… Why? Why me?”
She knows.
“I dunno.”
She knows she knows she knows.
“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”
And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.
“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”
“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”
“Yeah.”
And she hung up.
Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.
But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.
John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.
Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.
It still got his heart split in two.
Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?
It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.
Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.
Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?
---
+1 - 2021
Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.
They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.
They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…
Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.
Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.
He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.
He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.
Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.
He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”
Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.
Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.
Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.
“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”
Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.
“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”
Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.
Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.
They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.
“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.
Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”
It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.
“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.
“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.
“The parade? No, not really.”
And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."
He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.
And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.
"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."
The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.
Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.
They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.
He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.
When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.
Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.
---
The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.
They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.
They fit right in.
The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.
The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.
Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?
He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.
On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.
He’s proud to be here.
The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.
“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.
“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.
Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.
“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”
She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.
Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.
“What’s up?”
If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.
“Look around, Dean.”
“What for?”
“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”
So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.
And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.
There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.
He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.
He has it now too. He can be himself.
Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.
“Dean, I am so proud of you.”
And then he cries.
---
They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.
Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.
There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.
“What?”
“That’s the bisexual flag.”
So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”
He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.
“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”
Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.
He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.
“Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.
Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.
So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.
The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.
Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈
Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words
It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.
"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."
From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"
"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.
He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.
The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.
"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.
Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."
"Right. Cats and dogs."
It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).
A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.
"Smart."
"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.
If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.
Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.
"Here, let me."
Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.
He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.
Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.
His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.
How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.
“Are you alright, Dean?”
Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”
“You seem… spaced.”
Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.
“Yeah, um. Just tired.”
Mr. Smooth, everybody.
“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”
Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.
“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”
Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.
“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”
“You done with your homework?”
A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”
“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.
“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”
“And you wanted to keep me company.”
Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.
Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.
Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.
“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.
“You not going?”
“I want to finish this chapter.”
The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.
“Well, g’night, Cas.”
“Good night, Dean.”
Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.
He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.
It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:
How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.
With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:
You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.
Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.
“Cas?” He chokes out.
Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”
He’s nervous.
Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.
Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”
He’s asking this now???
“September firs–”
Oh. Oh shit.
“Cas isn’t today the–”
“The night we met. Two years ago.”
Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.
“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”
Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.
“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”
Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.
Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.
At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.
“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”
Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.
But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.
“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.
Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.
Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.
They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.
No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.
“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.
And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.
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some saileen sweetness for my follower celebration! day 4: "is that a threat?"
1.3k words — read on ao3 or below
Eileen makes up her mind during a hunt.
It's not one big wow moment that puts the thought in her head, like in the movies. It's one little thing after another, and none of them are really new or groundbreaking, but each moment further confirms how she feels and what she wants, and she eventually arrives at a conclusion.
It starts just after she stabs the djinn, when Sam– previously in a headlock– shrugs it off of him and stands up straight. He's covered head to toe in gunk and blood. He has a bruised ankle and probably a broken rib or two. He's completely out of breath from wrestling the djinn, but he shoots Eileen a questioning look, asking if she's okay. Eileen thinks she could look at this man and be looked at by him for the rest of her life, and she'll never stop getting the wind knocked out of her.
She nods as if to say yeah, I'm good, and Sam wastes no time rushing over to the victim. He begins helping him down, with little to no regard for his own pain and exhaustion. He'll complain later, she's sure of it, once Ruben is home safe and sound and it's just them in Eileen’s car. But for now, he's laser-focused on making sure the job gets done and gets done right. That's commitment, purpose, and it's one that Eileen shares with him; it’s a purpose that she can picture herself fulfilling with Sam at her side until the hopefully-not-so-bitter end.
She starts seriously considering it as she watches Sam carefully tend to Ruben. They were lucky; the djinn only had him for about a day and he doesn't appear to be terribly harmed. He's mostly conscious at this point, so Sam crouches in front of him on the ground, probably to explain the situation. She starts cleaning up the mess and gathering their things as Sam talks to him, all sympathetic looks and comforting touches. She's never known anyone as good, as kind.
Later, when they drop Ruben off at his building, Sam walks him to the door. The guy looks wrecked– his dream was apparently one in which he didn't lose his family at the border– and Eileen watches from the driver's seat as Sam hugs him. That man is all heart, all 6'5" of him.
Yeah. She's positive.
Sam gets back in the passenger seat with an exhale. He's still all gross and exhausted, but somehow, he's also the most handsome he's ever looked.
"What?" He asks, noticing her staring.
Eileen clicks her tongue and shakes her head, as if regretful. "You need to stop being so awesome."
Sam visibly chuckles, caught off-guard. "Me? Awesome?"
"Yeah. It's gotta stop."
He laughs in full, dropping his head. His hair falls in his face and his dimples make an appearance, and Eileen has never been more sure of anything in her life than of the thing she wants to say right this second.
Sam shifts in his seat, making sure he's facing her head-on. "Can I ask why?"
"You just have to," she says in all seriousness. "Or else I'm gonna have to marry you."
Eileen watches carefully as Sam's smile falters, but never really leaves. He's studying her expression, probably trying to figure out if she's kidding or not. When Eileen keeps her gaze locked on his, his eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise, and if he were speaking, he’d be asking wait, really?
Eileen nods slightly. Yes, really.
"Is that a threat?" He finally asks, and he's still blinking in a bit of disbelief, but the smile is completely back. "Or a promise?"
Eileen is the one caught off-guard now, but she plays it off with a shrug and says: "You pick."
Sam wastes no time in cupping her face with his hands and meeting her halfway, slamming their lips together. He scoots closer, kissing her with a passion that Eileen had never known before him. It's fast and intense at first, but the longer the kiss lasts, the slower and more tender it becomes. He's caressing her cheeks and all the way down to her shoulders, while Eileen pulls him closer by the shirt and holds on to his waist.
Again, he's gross right now. Like, really gross. They both are, all sweat and dirt and djinn stink, but it's still a perfect kiss. They part and rest their foreheads against each other, terrible breaths mingling together into a stench that would make any sane person back away. But fuck, Eileen is on cloud nine right now, and she couldn't care less about any of that.
Sam eventually pulls away, caressing her jaw with his thumb to get her attention.
She looks up at him, and there are tears brimming his eyes. With his hands, he signs "Promise.”
---
It's years before they finally get around to it. In between establishing a hunter network, renovating the bunker into a safehouse for hunters and friendly creatures alike, and helping to raise Jack when they can, free time to plan a wedding is sparse.
But Sam Winchester keeps his promises.
One morning while cooking together in the bunker kitchen, Eileen knocks over a spatula without noticing, and it ends up under the counter. Sam figures she’s gonna need that (since she’s in charge of the pancakes), so he walks over, taps her waist so she’ll know he’s there, and kneels down to get it.
He’s on one knee as he hands it to her, and in that split second, he realizes… It's been pretty quiet lately. Calm. They’re not hunting as often, they’ve got a good team helping in the bunker; there’s never been a better time.
As she takes the spatula from him, he squeezes her wrist. With her full attention on him, he smiles up at her and signs “Marry me?”
Eileen breaks out into a grin but rolls her eyes like she always does when Sam is being ridiculous. (He does it on purpose, usually, if only to see that smile on her face.) She pulls him up to his feet by his collar and then pulls him down to kiss her, before signing “Yes.”
They decide to do it small, a gathering of close friends at Garth's farmhouse on St. Patrick's Day. But, of course, because of the same hunter network they’ve spent years establishing, the news of the wedding spreads way too fast and far too wide. Pretty much every hunter and person (human or otherwise) that Sam and Eileen have ever made friends with shows up on the day, regardless of whether they received an invite. They end up moving the wedding outdoors at the last minute to make space for everyone, and it's a lot rowdier and messier than they pictured, but it's happy. It's really happy.
(Cas and Dean's was nothing like this. They retired early on to be Jack's parents 24/7, and because they weren't very active in the network, their wedding was actually a small gathering of their closest friends. Lucky bastards.)
Amara Herself comes down to officiate. Garth's twins are the flower boys, and Jack is the ring bearer. Dean is Eileen's best man, while Cas is Sam's. However, it's Dean who walks Sam down the aisle and hands him off to his bride, because it just makes sense. (And no, he's definitely not crying a little.)
When Sam finishes signing his vows and failing to not tear up; once he's done talking about how finding someone to share his life with seemed impossible, but that changed when he met Eileen; once he's said he'll always be there for her to come home to, because she taught him what home feels like; once he's reassured her that he'll always be her partner…
She grins and responds with something he honestly should've seen coming.
A coda fic of my beloved 10x20 "Angel Heart" bc Cas and Claire are my everything, for @emeraldcas 's celebration!
Prompt: meaningful moments
1.2k words – read on ao3 or below
First, it's a matter of where.
Dean says that the mall is a safe bet, and he’s probably right. It has options, a wide array of stores with near endless possibilities, so Cas asks him for a ride to the nearest one.
As Dean pulls into the parking lot, he asks "You really think you'll finally win her over like this?"
"I'm not trying to "win her over", Dean." Cas air quotes. "It's her birthday. A present is customary, isn't it?"
It's not a rhetorical question, and Dean seems to understand that after studying Cas's gaze on him.
"Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy."
Once inside, the number of options becomes overwhelming rather than comforting. Hundreds of people bustle about, bumping into them with reckless abandon. Cas pauses a few steps from the entrance, breathing heavily and looking every which way, trying to figure out where to begin and coming up blank.
He’s never been to a mall before.
Dean, staring daggers at the back of someone who almost trampled them, puts a hand on Cas’s back. “C’mon. Let’s try this way,” he says, leading him down the hall to their right.
They walk for a while. Cas quietly studies every store they pass, while Dean speaks up every two minutes with a new idea. Tech store? A new phone. Clothing store? A jacket, hers is looking a bit worn. Shoe store? Do you know her size? We can get her some boots or something.
“Dean,” Cas finally says, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Dean’s arm. He's grateful for the ride, and he's grateful for Dean’s suggestions. Really, he is. “Thank you, but… This is my gift to her. I need to choose on my own.”
Dean starts doing that adorable thing where he can’t decide if he wants to shake his head or nod. “Uh, yeah, no. No problem, angel. You got this. I’ll shut up.”
Right now, Cas is less focused on the gift itself and more on finding a store that feels fitting, one that Claire might pick out on her own. He puts his hands in his pockets and scans the stores in sight. Further down the hall, one storefront stands out. The walls are black, the windows dimly lit, and the sign is made of backlit block letters. It feels… edgy. She’d like it.
“There.” Cas nods toward it. “The Hot Topical.”
The other thing is the matter of what.
Luckily, the Hot Topical seems to have a bit of everything. Dean sets off on his own soon after walking in, saying something about some Star Wars character or other. There's an overwhelming amount of pop culture merchandise, most of which Cas now recognizes. But he's not sure what kind of shows or movies Claire likes, so he opts against those.
Walking deeper into the store, he comes across the jewelry displays. Claire might like some, maybe stud earrings or a necklace, nothing too frilly. But if she's going to keep hunting, and she is, it's not very practical to wear things that can get caught and slow her down. He keeps walking.
The music section is mostly t-shirts. This is where he finds Dean, eyeing the wall curiously, but not looking like he's going to buy.
“Find anything?” Dean asks when he feels Cas next to him.
“Not yet.”
“You will. You got this," he says again, and Cas greatly appreciates the vote of confidence.
Dean turns his attention back to the shirts, and Cas, who isn't all that sure about Claire’s music taste either, goes over to the furthermost wall.
The back of the store is where they keep the miscellaneous things, apparently. One half of the wall is full of small, bobblehead-ish figurines whose heads don’t bobble (as Cas discovers when he picks one of the boxes up and shakes it). The other half of the wall has quite a few things: bags and backpacks on display, a few accessories such as mesh gloves that wouldn’t keep one warm in the slightest, and unnecessarily intricate belts. At the bottom of the wall, however, he spots some shelves with plushies.
That’s where something catches Cas’s eye.
Dean is already at the back of the line when Cas gets there. He's buying an enamel Scooby-Doo keychain and says it's because Baby's is old and he needs a new one; the unbridled delight in his eyes gives him away, though.
"A stuffed animal?" He asks when he notices what Cas is holding. There's no judgment in it. A bit of amusement and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fondness, Cas thinks.
Cas holds up the cat for Dean to take and examine. "It's an... inside thing."
"Right," Dean says, and hands it back.
Dean asks if he even has any money, to which Cas doesn't answer, realizing he doesn't. Dean happily pays for both items.
---
"She kept it, y'know," Dean says behind him, the next day. He pats Cas's shoulder, then heads back to the car, keys jingling against the new keychain.
Castiel stands there for a second, watching the cab roll completely out of the parking lot and out of sight, and he's wishing he could have hugged her longer. Despite having him and the Winchesters and soon Jody Mills, despite knowing she'll always have them… Claire is more alone now than she's ever been. Cas knows she's tough, tougher than she should've had to be, but she's still a kid (as much as she insists she's not).
He… doesn't pray. Not anymore. But he hopes. He hopes for her every day, hopes for her wellness and safety, hopes he'll be able to see her face again and not just read her words or hear her voice through a phone. And right this second, he's also hoping that his present to her, (which she kept, Cas thinks fondly), will be able to serve its purpose. That it'll be a small source of comfort if she were to ever need it.
---
That night, as Claire settles into a motel bed, she gets a text from Cas. It's a Grumpy Cat meme, one of many cat memes she's received from him since they agreed to stay in touch more. In this one, the image is the cat lying in bed with that face of his, and it says "How many people got trampled on Black Friday this year? Not enough".
After having cried herself out in the backseat of the cab, she actually smiles for the first time all afternoon; it's not a wide or toothy smile but it's a smile, and she lets out an amused exhale through her nose, so that's something.
She texts him haha and the eye roll emoji.
Are you safe? Cas shoots back.
She double-checked all the locks on all the doors and windows. She's got a knife under the pillow and a gun under the bed. She's all set to get to Jody's by tomorrow. She breathes deep, squeezing the plushie tighter against her chest, and texts back.
I am. Night Cas
She doesn't have time to put the phone down before it dings again.
Good night, Claire. Sweet dreams.
They probably won't be all that sweet. They haven't been sweet in years. But at least now, when the bitter dreams inevitably wake her up, she's got something to hold. Or maybe strangle. Depends on the dream.
Plus, she's got an angel-dad watching over her, too. In a sense.
Claire lets the dryness in her eyes and the heaviness in her body take over, and she falls asleep. Grumpy Cat in hand.
