I have no idea where I am going with this fic, ya'll, I just got the idea for the first few lines and it all kinda vomited out after that. I have the intention of continuing it, I think? I dunno. Thoughts?
Dean could flirt with Cas; he could tease him, poke fun at him, and roll his eyes at every joke Cas never got. He could stare at Cas; could meet his gaze and hold it, reading all the love and lust in Castiel's blue eyes. Dean could hold him, letting his hugs linger, his grip too tight as he clung to his angel, letting his hand rest on Cas's forearm for a heartbeat too long, always letting go too soon.
Dean could watch Cas; when no one else was looking, he could let his eyes roam over his loves face, could let himself imagine what those thick full lips that were always slightly chapped would feel like on his own. He could dream of Cas; letting him invade his most private places, seeking refuge in his presence, seeking comfort in his deep, gravely voice.
Dean could pretend; he could call Castiel his brother, he could feign that the love was familial, he could convince himself there was nothing more to it... Until he closed his eyes at night, and it was Castiel who swam through his mind.
Dean could pretend that the boys he flirted with as a young boy and a teenager were just childish antics; that John Winchester hadn't raised up faggot. He could pretend that the thought of his father knowing the feelings he had didn't terrify him. He could pretend that Castiel hadn't turned the notion of childish crushes to something more; something profound and deep. He could pretend that Cas hadn't single highhandedly made him better, stronger, and more capable than ever; that the angel's pure unbridled love hadn't made him strive to deserve it.
He could pretend that the image of Lucifer wearing his angels skin hadn't made him feel physically ill, and that he didn't worry for Castiel every time he didn't contact him for a few days... but he couldn't hide his relief every time he heard from Cas again. He couldn't control the fantasies that came unbidden to his mind every time he toyed with himself, and he couldn't pretend that those fantasies didn't make him cum harder than he ever had.
Dean couldn't think of Lucifer taking over his love's body without bile rising inside of him. He couldn't find words to describe the relief that flooded him when Amara threw the abomination from his angel's body... he couldn't help but wonder if she had perhaps done that for him. She had always maintained that she was fond of Dean.
He couldn't forget the words of the sweet old lady, Mildred, hadn't struck a chord when she told him he was pining. He couldn't pretend that when he sat in a confessional booth, his mind had wandered to Castiel, and the words "Recent events made me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And I don't know; there's things, there's people, feelings that I-I want to experience differently than I did before, or maybe even the first time." had come from his lips. Dean couldn't deny that it was the closest he had ever gotten to admitting out loud that his feelings for the angel were real, they were there, and they were eating at him in ways that he had never experienced before.
Dean couldn't pretend that Sam didn't know, he couldn't pretend he didn't see the sidelong glances and questioning looks. He couldn't deny that seeing his love for the angel, portrayed through song on a stage of young girls, had made him feel defensive and flustered. He couldn't deny that it bothered him, that others seemed so easily see what he tried so hard to hide.
More than anything, he couldn't pretend his mother wasn't staring him down right now, and he couldn't pretend she hadn't just asked him the question he was most terrified she would ask.
"So... you and Castiel." She had started.
"Yeah, I told you, he's an angel." Dean answered, as none comically as possible.
She gave him a pointed look, a quiet questioning frown crossing her features. "That's not what I mean, Dean..."
Dean wrinkled his brow, looking at his mother in question. "You mean... oh, no. I mean, he's Cas... he's a brother to us. He's some of the only family I have but no, no nothing like 'that'... I mean... no." He answered quickly, flustered and his face turning red.
A small smile played at his mothers lips. "Oh, I see..." She answered. "Well, I guess I just thought I saw something else then." She paused for a moment, watching a dozen things cross over her sons features. Fear, confusion, and embarrassment contorted his features. He was such a strong man, self assured and confident and powerful. She had never wanted the hunters life for her boy, but here he was, and regardless of what he did she was proud of him. He had saved the world more than once, and as his mother 'proud' didn't begin to cover it; but she would have felt the same if he had become a car mechanic instead. "You know." She told him, tentatively reaching her hand out and taking her sons, squeezing his fingers lightly. "I would love you either way."
Dean felt himself flush again, color rising up his neck as he almost choked on the bite of sandwich he had just taken. He chewed vigorously, sweat beading at the nap of his neck as embarrassment flooded him. But it was more than embarrassment; somewhere in the back of his mind, something clicked. He wanted to deny that it mattered at all, but hearing his mother say she would love him either way made something flicker inside him. The fear of what he was, what he was feeling, what he had always been afraid of letting in, all seemed to fade a fraction.
He forced out an awkward laugh. "Well, thanks, mom. I'll... uh... let you know, if anything changes.
Mary Winchester smiled. "You do that."
Dean nodded, and pretended like the conversation didn't strike a chord deep within him; in a place he had ignored even existed since his father first uttered the word 'faggot' in his presence when he was young.
Later, when the bunker was quiet and the night had settled in, Dean couldn't pretend that his mothers words didn't reverberate in his mind. He couldn't pretend that the last image that floated through his mind as he drifted off to sleep was azure eyes and a tan trench coat.
