All Roads Lead to Cas
Chapter 1
Twilight Zone
For a hunter of the supernatural, there is never a moment of peace as they must always be alert, ready for danger that may be so bold as to break tradition and attempt to find them. So, early in their training, hunters are taught lessons that are more valuable than any gold or silver could ever be as it is these things that may one day save their life. From the beginning, the intrepid hunters have this secret knowledge forcibly impressed upon their brains. They learn how to maintain while sleep deprived, how to ask for help, how to hide pain, how to treat wounds, how to rest anywhere, how to sleep lightly, and above all how to be constantly vigilant of their surroundings. Without these most basic tenements, death was imminent.
These instructions had been particularly pounded into the somewhat dense head of Dean Winchester, but on this particular morning, he found that he honestly didn't care. If a monster was going to destroy him, to torture and kill him, so be it, because for once, there seemed to be a soft bed underneath him and no impending danger swirling over his head. No apocalypse, no demons, no ghosts, no monsters, it was just him and the dim awareness that someone had their arms wrapped tightly around his torso.
Instead of being concerned, he found that he didn't care where he was or who this particular conquest was. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the closeness of the moment, the intimacy that he would leave behind as soon as he pulled on his clothes and walked out of those doors forever. Though, for a moment, he could easily forget the life that he lived, bouncing from motel to motel, slaying monster after monster, and waiting for the next one to appear. For just this brief span of time, he could revel in the life that might have been his had he not grown up in the lifestyle. He could pretend that this person loved him, and that he would be there with her forever.
"Good morning," the groggy voice next to him murmured, still carrying the remnants of sleep.
"Mmmm," the relaxed man replied without moving.
The last thing that he wanted to do was open his eyes and resume his complicated identity as Dean Winchester, to go back to his life as it was instead of how he wished it could be. He just wanted to rest here in utter stillness for as long as he possibly could, but his bedmate had other ideas. She rubbed her cheeks against his and to his surprise, it felt startlingly rough, like… like… stubble.
Stubble. Green eyes flew wide in shock and open mouthed horror as he turned around, only to be confronted by a disturbingly familiar face. He would know those blue eyes and dark, messy hair anywhere. "Cas?" he barked nervously, staring at the apparently shirtless man that was lying next to him in bed. Though, he wasn't much one for prayer, Dean earnestly hoped that the angel was clothed underneath the sheets, and that this was all some misunderstanding of epic proportions that would be righted with only an awkward conversation. "Wha- What? What are you doing, man?"
Cas laughed, a deep rumble in his chest as he shifted closer so that said chest was flush against the other man's back. He moved with startling normalcy as though this was a long established, expected occurrence. "I'm trying to rest and ignore the throb I get every time I move." He grinned. His blue eyes were alight with laughter. He was happy, still clothed in the blinding afterglow of a night of wonderful, back-arching, marathon sex that only one person could give him.
Meanwhile, Dean was sure that he'd entered some form of mental or emotional shock. Cas was next to him in bed and alluding to the fact that they'd had sex, that they'd been together just the night before and bumped pelvises. No, he had to be imagining this. It couldn't be real. "Oh, yeah, sure." He nodded with a nearly hysterical chuckle. "How did we end up like this?"
Castiel propped himself up on his arm and used the other to begin gently stroking Dean's exposed side, his fingers barely making contact and causing goosebumps. The hunter stiffened, trying to ignore the pleasant feelings that rocked through his spine as he was touched in ways that no one had touched him in months. "Well, it started with dinner at the restaurant, followed by chocolate covered strawberries, pledges of your undying love, and then a night of intense, passionate love making."
Dean found himself reeling as he slogged through his own alcohol-addled mind, trying to remember any of that, all to no avail. His last memory was of nothing more than the usual bar jaunt after a case, and, yes, Cas had been there, but he couldn't remember any type of dinner or passionate anything. There were drinks, that much was certain, and he'd been sitting next to the angel on the stool, checking out the bartender. Then Cas was talking to him, asking him something, but what was it? Why couldn't he remember those words? They were right there on the edge of his mind, waiting if he could just reach a little farther and touch them… "Cas, whatever this is, it isn't right. Something's going on, and I just can't put my finger on it but… there's something."
"What is it, Dean?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Just, do you ever wake up feeling like you're in the Twilight Zone? Like any minute you'll find out everybody else has a pig's head or something? Yeah, that's this moment."
"Dean, everything's okay. Nothing's changed while you were asleep, I promise. And if it has, we'll conquer it together." He spoke with calm assurance as though he really did know this for a fact. And the hunter couldn't help but relax slightly.
"Cas, dammit, I just don't know. I don't know what's going on." He laid his head in his hands, rubbing the heel into his eyes as he hoped for some clarity.
Cerulean eyes held him down as they stared into the deepest portions of himself. It was as though they'd known him for an eternity, that even before he was born, those orbs had watched him while he was nothing more than a gleam in God's eye. And now, they knew what he needed and were willing to give it to him. "I'm going to go and make breakfast, okay? You stay here for a few minutes, and then follow me out. I'll tell you everything you need to know." That tone. Dean knew that tone; it was seductive, scintillating, and exactly the thing used to get any woman fall into bed with you. It was foolproof, alluring, and wholly disturbing when he knew that it was being used on him for the same purpose.
Thankfully, he was spared from answering by the shifting of the bed and the creak of the springs. Good, Cas was getting up and leaving him the privacy his own space. He exhaled a breath of relief, though as he wasn't aware of the angel's state of dress, he refused to turn around or even give the slightest bit of attention to the expanse of white skin that he caught from the corner of his eyes. He didn't see the tight flex of muscle as the bouncing globes moved out of the room, being, for lack of a better word, cheeky.
When the door finally shut, he exhaled a second breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
What the hell was this and what was he supposed to do? How had he ended up in a cheerful, canary yellow bedroom where he'd apparently had sex with Cas, the angel who couldn't even work a toaster?
His mind ran through a marathon of possible scenarios. Obviously, he'd been drunk and not in the right frame of mind at the bar, but why had his friend gone along with it? Had he wanted this to happen? Could the celestial being have secretly had feelings for him all along, and finally decided to act on them? Ugh, these questions continued to swirl around his surprisingly pain-free head.
There was no denying that this utterly changed their relationship. Now, every look, every glance, every touch would be filled with the sordid knowledge of what they'd done, and an awkward embarrassment as they each struggled to live with themselves. Even if no one else found out, they would know and that could be enough to end the friendship that was so painstakingly cultivated. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted to the ceiling.
He wanted to run, to get into his car and drive until he ran out of road. Maybe, then he could think, stop the thoughts and fears that were bouncing, back and forth, energetically in his mind, knocking him from side to side in the process. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was the best thing to do, but a small voice niggled at the back of his mind, warning him not to, that it would only be a temporary band-aid on this gaping wound.
He knew he shouldn't be but he was seriously considering it. Temporary, wasn't that how he lived? Would it be so bad to run if he felt that was the best alternative? Wasn't it better to leave than to do something stupid and mess up their relationship? Ah, but that voice that had chided him before kept him still. Only the fact that this was Cas kept him rooted to the spot. This was his best friend, his comrade in arms, his confidant, the angel that had given up everything that he'd ever trusted to protect him. He wasn't going to leave Cas like he was just an easy lay that he'd picked up in some side-of-the-road bar. No, he couldn't, he wouldn't. Instead, he would face this as a man and not as a child.
The hunter stood carefully, glad to find that he was indeed wearing his boxers. 'Small miracles for large packages' he thought as he analyzed his surrounding, absorbing every detail from the bright yellow walls that reminded him of sunshine to the massive white bed that dominated the center of the room like a tainted symbol of they'd just done. Obviously, this wasn't just another rundown motel. From the amount of open space, he supposed it was probably a house or an apartment, though it was somewhat large to be an apartment. A house then, they had just had sex in someone's house. That knowledge shook him for a moment, before he decided to stop overthinking everything. Right now, his only duty was to find out what was going on.
He left the room and padded softly down the hall, his eyes catching every detail in case they may come in handy later. The bright walls were lined with rows of photographs, pictures of him and Sam, side by side, and others of him and Cas, holding hands, laughing, and even kissing. These pictures spanned years, looking as though they dated back to his twenties. "What the hell?" He said aloud. What was this and why was he kissing Castiel of all people? And how did these pictures exist when he hadn't even met the angel yet?
"Dean! Are you up yet?"
The green eyed man shuttered nervously. He couldn't possibly understand what this thing was and what it meant. For now, he was all alone in this confusing world that seemed to be nothing like his own. Until he knew exactly what this was, he couldn't trust anyone, least of all Cas.
"Yeah. I'm up," he nodded, entering the kitchen. It was a large, open room, full of the latest appliances and complete with a comfortable breakfast nook. There was even the stereotypical, homey type of scrubbed wooden table with matching chairs that sat in a corner in front of honest to goodness bay windows. All of this was so outside of the sphere Dean knew that he found himself trembling slightly. It was a home, and not just a temporary resting place, not just another set of rooms and suspicious sheets. It was… something that he'd secretly always wanted, a place of his own that he could rest. "Coffee?"
Castiel, who was still only clad in his underwear bustled about at the stove, turning and moving fluidly from one task to another. Of course, Dean didn't notice any of this as he faced the Keurig, delighting in the refreshing cup and the rush of caffeine through his system. Sadly, his pleasure was short lived due to the crashing reality that had overtaken him in a moment of clarity.
Here he was in the kitchen with his half-naked friend who appeared to have a romantic inclination towards him. There were no words that could magically resolve this situation, nothing that could be said to limit the awkwardness, though he knew that a conversation would be necessary sooner rather than later if they wanted to continue being friends.
Out of everything that he'd endured, he knew what he couldn't. During his life, he'd lost so many people that he loved, his mother, Ellen, Jo, his father, Ash. With all of that in consideration, he couldn't just let the angel walk out of his life, just let him leave as easily as he'd come on the tails of his trench coat. No, he would do almost anything to keep this easy friendship.
He was roused from his thoughts by the warm chest that crashed into his back and the strong, well defined hands that teased at the waistband of his underwear. "Stop!" he screeched, his body stiffening. "Cas! What the hell are you doing?"
"Just trying to give you something before work," he murmured, and Dean struggled to ignore the warm breath that was ghosting across the shell of his ear in the way that always made his hackles rise to attention. His body was betraying him, and he couldn't let it win. This wasn't just another bar girl, this wasn't the time to let himself go.
"Well, stop, okay?" With a rough shrug, he was free to breathe less stifling air. He stood there, braced against the counter, ignoring the feeling of loss as cool air hit his exposed back. "I… just… I can't." He couldn't put it into words, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't be in a relationship with Cas, couldn't do this again, couldn't pretend that everything was normal when it obviously wasn't.
The angel lingered over him, hands held suspended as though he wanted to take the other man into his arms. "You had the dream again, didn't you? The one where you were a hunter that stopped ghosts and monsters?" He shook his head as those blue eyes focused on Dean, concern bright in them. "You're always so tense afterwards, so nervous."
"Dream?" Had his life really been a dream, nothing more than the images conjured by his mind? Had all of the pain and misery been nothing more than a horrible nightmare? No, he'd lived it, experienced every heart breaking moment from the loss of his mother to his brother's trip to hell, from his father's death to the soulless creature that emerged, from hell to now and he knew that no mind, no matter how disturbed, could create something like that. Even the darkest corners had their limits that some light could probe, so he knew that this was the dream, the fake reality while his suffering had been very real. "You're saying that it was a dream?" His legs grew weak and rubbery underneath him and he collapsed him, just barely making it to the table.
Cas was next to him in a second, gently holding his hand, trying to keep him rooted to the present. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here, Dean. You know that. I won't leave you."
All the other man could do was nod, because breathing was difficult. His shoulders and chest were heaving as he struggled to regain his grasp on his world. In the midst of all of this, he remembered the months directly following his mother's death. There had been the panic attacks that had been dangerous, frightening moments when he found himself curled in a ball, panting for air and clawing at his throat as he struggled not to black out. This was just as bad if not. He could see black edges at the corner of his vision, slowly coming closer. He was going to fall under the veil, he could feel it coming to him…
"Breathe with me." Blue stared into green with such a potent amount of reassurance and… love. Love that even in the midst of his panicking the hunter couldn't resist and his ragged breath fell in line with the other man's. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He closed his eyes focusing only on the steady breaths and the steady hand that held his. For a moment, he lost himself, wholly concentrated on the man that was acting as a cable and holding him to this world. "Breathe, it's okay. I'm here, Dean." And he was there. He was a solid rock, a fortress, a foundation, and exactly what Dean needed in that moment. As long as Cas was there, he knew that he had a chance.
It was nearly ten minutes later before Dean had managed to get his breathing under control enough to speak. His voice and his body was shaky as though he'd just been through an ordeal. Which, consequently he had been. He could feel exhaustion in his bones, quivering and taut beneath his skin, down to the very core of his bones. If he closed his eyes, he knew that he'd fall asleep and stay that way for hours, perhaps even days. "What was that?"
"Another panic attack. The first in almost a year, though I'm not really surprised as today tends to have varying affects on you." Cas remembered the first one that he'd ever seen. Dean was lying on the floor in a tight ball writhing, and it had taken him almost two hours to calm the man down. He hadn't known what to do, feeling the situation out with his own perception as he talked, rocked, and murmured to the man. Surprisingly, he eventually got Dean to calm down, and come back to him. When he'd looked into those green tear filled eyes, he made up in his mind that he always wanted to be there, that he always wanted to be the one to make him feel better.
Dean absorbed all of this, wondering what was wrong with him. What sort of trauma had he suffered that could cause all of this if there weren't monsters here? "Why?"
The blue eyed man shook his head in gentle acceptance. "You're so bad with dates. It's our anniversary, remember?"
Anniversary, anniversary. With a startled gasp, he noticed the ring on Castiel's left hand. The silver band was simple with a few meager diamonds that were most likely cubic zirconia, but that wasn't what held his concentration. He was more focused on the inscription on the side; it was his name 'Dean' in calligraphic script, pretty and ornate in a way that he would have normally considered to be cheesy or overdone. Though he couldn't deny that it had a certain style that he didn't absolutely hate and didn't wholly object to. "Yeah, anniversary," he mumbled. As much as he wanted to rebel, to yell and scream that this was all a lie, he realized that it was better to play along at least until he knew what was going on. Because, while it wasn't reality, it was real to Cas, and that was all that mattered. He just had to keep it together. He knew that he could hold out for just a little longer, just until he understood all of this mess.
"Four years married, and as of today, eight years since you first came out to everyone." A dreamy expression passed over those sky colored orbs as he took a moment to celebrate nostalgia. He remembered when he first met Dean, just another face in the bar, but somehow they'd found each other. One, out and proud, the other straight and afraid yet willing if given the right push. And what a push it was. Those first few years had been a whirlwind of emotions and passion, and somehow it had managed to remain between just the two of them, a secret, until at last Dean had stepped forward and told everyone what they were to each other.
Cas had never expected that, to be loved as he was. He'd never expected Dean to be so generous, so caring or for every touch to excite him as it did. Because, he'd never felt that way before. Every glance, every smile sent raw shivers raging down his spine and made his toes curl in delight.
However, Castiel had also been there for the pain. He'd held the strong man to his chest and let him cry, then he'd wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd supported him through family crisis and tragedy. They'd both made sacrifices for each other, and there were nights that neither of them slept, they just sat together, hands entwined as they stared at the ceiling. And others, they talked until the sun rose, told each other secrets that no one else knew. In that room, with each other, they were safe. When there was no one else, Dean had always been able to lean on Cas, to depend on him to save him from himself.
"We're together," Dean mumbled. When considering the evidence, there was no way around it. In this twisted mess, these two had begun a lasting relationship. From Cas's concerned glances, he could only suppose it was a very powerful one. If only he knew the hows and whens so that he could find some way to rationalize it in his head. Because maybe the facts would make all of this come together in some form of sense that would solve the mystery of everything.
"I love you, Dean, and I wish you didn't have to go to work today, so I could show you just how much…" the innuendo in his voice was clear and sent rolling shivers down the hunter's spine. He could feel a tingle in his abdomen and a desire somewhere in the farthest corners of his mind. No, he reasoned. It wasn't Cas, it was his raw nerves, making him susceptible to his friend's advances. He only needed to focus, to resist until he could escape the close confines of the kitchen and find fresh, non-hormone laden air.
"Yeah, but somebody's gotta bring home the bacon… I need to go to work."
The angel sighed and pulled away with a resigned pout. "You're right. Bobby's probably waiting for you now. Go on. I already packed your breakfast." Cas handed his partner his breakfast and leaned in for his customary and tender kiss, only to receive Dean's cheek instead. He was far from daunted as he tried again, only to receive the same treatment. "And what was that?"
The hunter smiled warily as he tried to focus on anything but those pink lips and the raw feelings that the stubble had left behind. "Work… gotta go… don't want to be late."
"Ah, fair enough. I'll be waiting when you get here," he smiled. If there was one thing that Castiel understood, it was Dean Winchester. He knew when his partner needed his space, especially after an attack of that magnitude and so provided him with it. After all, it had been a traumatic morning for the human, and the last thing that Cas wanted was to accidentally push too hard and hurt him. Because as much as he would have liked to kiss Dean, he cared more about catering to his mental and emotional needs than his own selfish physical ones. It was this that made Cas the best mate, he was always considerate, always guarding his Dean and protecting him even when the man wasn't protecting himself. "Have a good day."
"Yeah. You too." Dean wandered outside, more confused than he'd ever been. This was all too much for his mind to attempt to decipher. One minute he was in a bar and the next he finds himself in a four year marriage to Castiel of all people.
How many hundreds of times had people taunted the two of them? How many times had he had to explain that he wasn't gay? How many times had he shrugged it off as nothing? Of course, they'd been teased for their "profound bond", but there had never been anything but friendship between the two, the close camaraderie that was born when two individuals risked their lives for each other time and time again. If there was more he couldn't remember it, couldn't remember a time when he'd…
No. He couldn't, he wouldn't allow himself to focus on this. Instead, he devoted his attention to the hum of his baby below him and the familiar weight of the steering wheel in his hands. All of this was comfortable, a normality in a world where such things didn't exist. From his own experience, it seemed that the Impala was the only constant in his life, never changing, never evolving, simply being exactly as it had been when his father had first given it to him all of those years ago. It didn't have a soul to lose, it wasn't broken, it wasn't confessing its love to him. It was just moving along the gray stretch of road, elegantly sliding past the other traffic.
He drove along, not knowing exactly where he was going, but following some strange urge to move in one direction until his mental map stopped and he found himself parked in front of a nicely finished garage. The discrete sign read 'Singer and Son's Automotive'. A car shop. It was fitting that he would work here, using his hands to do the things that they did best, create and maintain beauty.
Upon entry of the establishment, he found himself surrounded by the familiar comfort of automotive parts. The carnage of engines and shiny tools were littered about him in an organized disarray that made him smile fondly. And best of all, he could see that cars were raised above him as men worked at them.
Dean felt his hands itch when he spied a 1969 Camaro. He wanted nothing more than to open its innards and take care of it, piece by piece. "She's a beaut, isn't she?" Bobby asked from where he'd appeared at the younger man's side. Dean smiled at the bearded, gnarled face of the man who'd always been like a father to him. It pleased him to know that despite the madness that surrounded him in this place, this one, crotchety man would always be the same rather grumpy individual that he knew and loved. He would always be the guy who taught him to throw a ball and shoot a rifle, who taught him how to swim and how to properly hold a crossbow, who'd taught him twenty ways to decapitate a monster and taught him how to be properly smooth when it came the ladies.
"Yeah, all muscle and sleek lines. And an engine with a hum out of this world," he mused. He really wanted to slide beneath this metal god and pay homage by allowing his hands to praise it with hard work and dedication. He would be gentle and he would be kind as his fingers trailed along her undercarriage, extracting all of her precious secrets with the promise that he'd never reveal them.
"Speakin' of muscles and hummin', how's Cas?" The hunter stiffened, refusing to turn from the car. This, the metal and mechanics, he could handle, but anything dealing with the insanity of this morning was an impossibility. He wanted to lose himself, forget about Cas and this supposed relationship that they had, because if he thought about it, he may lose what was left of his already precarious sanity.
"Good. He's good." It was a noncommittal answer that could mean anything, and hopefully would be enough to get the older man to leave him alone.
Or not. "Excited for tonight?"
"Y…yeah, he's like a hamster in a wheel, really excited." Too excited in ways that Dean couldn't possibly understand nor did he want to. Out of it all, he refused to attempt to ponder the meanings of what Castiel wanted from him, whether it was emotional or physical. Physical, he shuddered as nothing that he imagined could be worse than that.
Bobby's hazel eyes narrowed. If there was one thing that he was good at, it was reading Dean. Over the nearly thirty years that he'd been doing it, he'd rarely been wrong. He'd been there for Dean's breakdown, watched his boy shudder in a mass of tears. He hadn't even allowed Bobby to touch him or come too close. The older man couldn't help but admit that he'd been worried, and blamed himself for not seeing it before. He was the boy's second father for God's sake. How hadn't he seen how John and Mary's deaths would affect him? How hadn't he seen the cracks that had formed? When he finally realized what was happening, it was too late for him to do anything, thankfully, someone else had picked up where he'd failed.
After Cas had put him back together, Bobby had made up his mind that he would watch more carefully than he'd ever done before. He'd be damned if anything like that slip up on him again.
Now, what he was seeing in front of him disturbed his peace of mind. There was a recognizable tightness in the boy's posture, a jerking pulse in his jaw and weariness in his heart. It was now or never, time to stop it before it could begin. "Son, are you okay?" he asked, laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. "It's your anniversary, and I've seen death row prisoners happier than you are."
"I don't know, Bobby. I'm just… I don't know…" There was a multitude of things that he wanted to say. He wanted to let his mentor know that he didn't belong here in this life with Castiel. He wanted to remind him of their lives as hunters, recount the hundreds of adventures that they'd bravely embarked on, but somehow, in the bright sunshine, surrounded by normality, it seemed heinous to even attempt to drag up the monsters that stalked the night. This was neither the place nor the time to delve into such darkness, and so he let it go, choosing to say nothing at all.
"You and Cas fighting?"
The green eyed man chuckled. If only it was something so simple as a lover's quarrel with his partner. No, it was the fact that he shouldn't have a partner at all. This wasn't him, wasn't who he was supposed to be. It couldn't be. The Dean that he knew spent his night in the company of good women, warming their beds. He had sex indiscriminately, he drank, and he did dangerous, stupid things, but he didn't fall in love. Not with a man, not with Cas. "No. We're great, I guess…"
Bobby had known him too well to fall for another of his lies. He could hear and feel the slippery quality in his tone, that this was not the truth, but he couldn't let him get away with this. He wouldn't be responsible for another bout of broken Dean. "You guess? What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that I don't know, Bobby. I just don't know with all of this anniversary stuff. What if… I don't know…. What if none of this is real?"
The older man sighed heavily. The doubt. It couldn't be the doubt. He couldn't go back to those first days when the younger man was ready to withdraw at the slightest sound, when he'd almost destroyed his relationship with the only person who'd ever loved him. "You need to relax and get yourself together before you do something you'll regret. Let me tell you what you're going to do. You're going to get to work, then go to lunch with Sam like you planned, come back, work, then you're going to go home to Cas, talk to him, tell him you love him, then do whatever you usually do that I don't even want to think about, and you're going to be okay. Understand me, boy?"
For once, his mentor's advice didn't help to set him at ease. If anything, it only put him more on edge as he was obviously expected to be this person that he didn't even know anymore. "Yeah, Bobby, thanks."
"You're welcome. Now get to work. I don't pay you to stand here running your mouth." He fondly squeezed the youngster's shoulder, infusing the gesture with all of the love and support that he could muster. Though he didn't' say it enough, he was quite proud of the man that Dean had become and the family that he'd started. In every way, he'd found a happy ending in someone's arms and Bobby would be damned if he let anyone, even Dean himself, mess it up. "Idjit."
All the while, the man in question lost himself in the finer inner workings of the vehicles. He treated each one with a gentle respect, goading and teasing them just enough to get the response that he wanted. Because, as his father had taught him, a beautiful car was like a good woman. If treated gently, taken care of, and loved it would flourish, but if mistreated, they became rusty and maladjusted.
With that lesson in mind, Dean became just as gentle of a mechanic as he was a lover. Every piece was a treasure, a tiny nugget of gold. He fine-tuned it, making it the best he could, shining each in turn until everything was perfect. His job was its own reward. It took more than just quick hands. The mind and eyes also had to be sharp as some problems were easily overlooked without the proper training.
Dean had amassed that considerable knowledge in a small space of time. It was one of the few lessons that his father had ingrained in his head. From ten years old, he'd been forced to change the oil, fill her up, and keep Baby in peak condition. It was his duty and his passion. Now, in this world, he'd managed to make a career of what he knew best and from all that he'd seen, he was happy there.
Happiness. It felt like a foreign concept, a theoretical notion that didn't exist in the real world. As he'd learned from his own experiences, all he could hope for was a fleeting sense of contentment. After a long hunt or after a particularly rousing night of triumphant sex, Dean would sink into the confines of his mind and feel sated, content though also full with the knowledge that this was only a temporary measure. As soon as this afterglow had faded, he would wake back up in the painful misery of the life that he'd been given, and know that this was his reality.
But somehow, the him of this world had broken down all of the conventions that he'd clung to. Somewhere in the midst of all of this normality, there was a spark, the possibility of something great. In his mind, he could imagine learning to love this. Working in the garage, living in a home instead of a cheap motel, having something to be dedicated to other than the job that he'd trained for. Maybe… and he hated himself for even considering it…but maybe just maybe, he could get used to this. Maybe, he could learn to love this life if he was given the chance. After all, it couldn't be so bad, not if it meant that he was finally free.
"Hey, man, lunch time."
Dean reluctantly straightened up from the vehicle that he was working on. "Yeah, just let me wash up first." The Sam of this place was so much like his own. Overly large with long hair and a teasing smile, though there was one key difference that slightly bothered the elder sibling. His usual monstrous plaids were replaced by the tight, tailored monkey suit that cost more than he made in a week. "Whoa, Sammy. Did someone die?"
"Two people, actually. I just finished settling their estate, so lunch is on me." He smiled in that mischievous way that was uniquely Sam, and Dean felt reassured that everything was going to be fine, because it seemed as though that was the one thing that would never change despite their circumstances. They were the Winchesters and they would take care of each other, always be there for each other, because who else would?
"Can't say no to that. I'll make sure to order the steak," he grinned as he made his way to the large, metal sink on the back wall. He scrubbed his hands and arms free of the oil and grime of the day, watching the black rust slip down the sink with dark remnants clinging hungrily to the metal. It was rather poetic how something so dark could be so easily washed away, however life didn't work that way. The darkness remained, clung for all it was worth to its victim, and only let go once he or she had exhaled their last breath.
"C'mon, Dean. I'll even let you drive," the younger Winchester beamed. He enjoyed this the most, time with his big brother. The years before Cas had been rough on them all, but none had taken the losses quite like Dean. It was so typical, the refusal to deal with complicated emotions even as he'd been falling, sinking, and unable to say anything about it. But Castiel had seen through all of that barbed pain, and pieced him together again. He'd raised him from the mires or perdition like some avenging angel and slowly repaired the cracks in ways that even Sam couldn't. It was only now, eight years later, that things were finally taking on some semblance of normality, and whenever he saw his brother smile or laugh, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and his own smile widen slightly.
"Of course I'm driving," he snorted. "Think I'd trust you with Baby? Not in that monkey suit."
Sam shook his head. His wardrobe was always a source of contention from his brother who was fortunate enough to always be allowed to dress in casual, comfortable clothing. Though, he couldn't deny that he'd much rather have his suits than exist as constantly sweaty. Ugh, that was a life that he couldn't possibly imagine.
The two brothers rode together in comfortable camaraderie. There was something about this time together that felt too much like hunting to Dean, with the only difference being the absence of an armory in the trunk. Though, he supposed it wasn't so bad, not as long as he got to sit in this small, quiet diner with his baby brother, with all cares gone to the wind.
It was exactly the kind of place that Sam and Dean would frequent. Small, classic, red vinyl booths, and attractive waitresses in short skirts. It was the place that boasted the best burgers and pie in the area, and probably had a steady clientele. It was the place that people found by accident, but kept coming because of the service and the food that was greasy and artery clogging, but delicious. "Can I help you?" the busty brunette asked, pen poised over pad as she labored under the yoke of professionalism, all while making love to the boys with her dark, mysterious eyes.
"Yeah, I'll take the bacon burger with cheese, and a beer," Dean ordered without even having to look at the menu. In general, he didn't diverge from that. Though it may not have been the most healthy choice, it was his own because when you lived as a hunter, even the next moment wasn't promised to you. If he was going to die young, then dammit, he was going to die happy.
"Okay, and you, sir?" She turned to Sam, her eyes scanning his body as though she wanted nothing more than to see it naked and thrusting above her.
"The grilled chicken salad, please."
"Very good. I'll be right back with your orders," she murmured as she turned and walked away, her body swaying just enough to catch any man in the area's attention. As a hot blooded male, Dean couldn't help but glance appreciatively, though he was quickly brought back to earth by the long-haired man that sat across from him.
"Dean, what's going on with you? And none of that 'I don't know what you're talking about' crap," Sam said sternly. He'd been through this since they were kids. He knew that Dean saw him as the younger brother, someone that needed to be protected, so he couldn't open up about his problems for fear of hurting him. But Sam was an adult now, a man. He wanted to help, and he knew that he could if he was given the chance. "Seriously, what's wrong?"
For a horribly tense moment, Dean thought about telling his brother the truth, that he didn't belong. There was nothing that he wanted more than to trust this Sam as he trusted his own, to pour all of the angst of his soul onto the table and allow him to pick it up. But upon second consideration, he realized that it would be no good. No, he needed to research this first before he dragged the other man into it and ruined his life.
It wasn't that he was hiding anything or even that he didn't trust him, but he needed to make sure that everything was okay before he brought this man who was obviously no hunter into the middle of this mess. Just a day or two and he would have this figured out and know exactly what to do. "Geeze, Sammy. What makes you think something's wrong? Can't I just be quiet for once?"
"You haven't mentioned Cas once. Usually, by this point, you'd have made me mildly uncomfortable with information from your sex life." The larger man shook his head, trying to clear those residuals from his mind. He hated to think about all of the stories that had ruined his peace of mind, and forever changed the way that he looked at his brother in-law. "Is everything okay with you two?"
"You realize I'm with Cas, right? Cas, Cas. Like Cas, male Cas, right?" He tried to emphasize his meaning clearly so that even his brother could understand. Hell, so that he could attempt to understand. Because, even now it still boggled his mind that of all the people, male or female, it was Cas who had somehow managed to snag his heart.
"Please, don't tell me we're doing this again." Sam let out a tense sigh as he reclined in the wooden chair that creaked loudly from his weight. He shook his wooly head, trying to stave off the headache that was brewing on the periphery, just waiting for its opportunity to take him over.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this!" He gesticulated wildly, his voice rising slightly. "You remember when you first came out, first got together? You really did a number on him and I don't want to see you do that again, not because of some crazy, seven year itch!"
"Eight," Dean corrected quietly. His mind was spinning as he considered himself with disgust. Apparently, he'd hurt Cas before and that idea bothered him, perhaps, more than even his marriage did, because if there was one thing that Dean Winchester couldn't imagine it was hurting anyone. Especially Cas, the innocent, almost naïve angel that he'd grown to care for. It seemed like the blackest evil to do anything to hurt that man, and shatter the seemingly indestructible faith that he had in humanity and in Dean. "And don't worry. I won't… I can't hurt Cas."
"Look, I know things have been rough for the last few years, and you're still healing. I get that." He paused, his eyes riveted on his brother, searching for some sign of relapse. He'd been there, just a helpless bystander as Dean crumbled in front of his eyes. He tried his best to comfort the man with words and actions, but they only pushed him closer and closer to the inevitable edge. After a while, he almost felt like giving up and accepting the fact that he'd lost the brother that he'd always known, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. This was Dean who'd been willing to do anything for him, so he had to hold on even tighter than before. And hold on he did, just long enough to see Castiel change his brother for the better, to bring him back to this world from the edge of the other. It was only after Cas that he began to smile again, began to laugh and to trust them all again. Without the dark haired man, he didn't know where they'd be now. A darker part of him suspected they'd be standing around a green grave, staring at a tombstone marked for 'Dean Winchester'. "Just… if you need someone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away."
"Thanks Sammy. I'm not good with this emotion stuff… it's just… have you ever woken up and just couldn't believe who you were with?"
The larger man smiled. "Lately… yeah, I… I know exactly what you mean."
"Yeah?" Dean couldn't miss that Sam was meaning this in a very different way than he was. It explained why he hadn't checked out the very available and very interested waitress. He had someone of his own. "Oh, I know that look. Who're you seeing?"
Red spread across Sam's face as he stared down at the pitted scratched surface of the table. Thankfully, someone, somewhere took pity on him, and he was spared from answering by the arrival of their food. The waitress was all grins as she did her job, though the younger Winchester brother mostly ignored her existence, and Dean resisted the urge to make a comment, focusing instead on his food.
The two ate lunch as they always did. Sam enjoyed munching his salad while Dean savored in the rich, smoky flavor of the burger, glad that this, at least, hadn't changed. This burger was delicious and had nothing to do with Castiel. It was the first thing all day that was simply his, with no punitive reminders.
For a time, the two men focused solely on their food, both ravenous from their respective hard days at work, but when conversation resumed, it was of a different bent. Instead of loves and lovers, they talked about their work, and the finer parts of tinkering with cars and skirting the intricacies of the law.
It was surreal for Dean to know that his Sammy was, in fact, a lawyer as he'd always wanted to be. Without monsters, he'd achieved all of his dreams and still become a man they could both be proud of. This Sam that was so much the same, yet so different as the light in his eyes hadn't been extinguished by a lifetime of hunting monsters. There was still a pervasive sense of hope, and a lingering air of dreams that made the older man's heart swell in his chest. His brother had accomplished his dreams, and was happy.
All the way back to the garage, he couldn't help but bask in it. His entire life had been dedicated to making sure that Sammy was happy and healthy and it appeared that he'd done just that here. Sam had everything that he could want, a law career, a significant other, and a relationship with his older brother. Dean didn't think he'd ever been quite so happy or quite so proud. Though he was somewhat jealous because he wanted that too.
It wasn't until he'd resumed his position under the car, he realized that he too had managed to find a measure of happiness here. He had a job that catered to his needs, he had his family with Bobby and Sam. He had a home that wasn't just another set of queen beds in another garish motel room. It was a place that was finally his.
"Go on. Take the rest of the night off, and have fun," Bobby said from beside the beast that he was currently working on. He had to admire the good work that the younger man always did. He had a certain way with cars, a natural ability that could bring even the worst clunker back to life, and that was why the older man hired him. It wasn't because of familial obligation. He didn't believe in that. The only reason Dean had a job was because he deserved it, had been earning it since he was only ten years old and first handed a socket wrench.
Dean rolled out from beneath it, staring at the man in shock. Off early? That wasn't the Bobby Singer that he knew, in fact, it was the opposite of what he expected. Honestly, this night must also be important to the mechanic. "Well, thanks, Bobby. I'm almost done here."
"No, you're done now. And before you say anything, I'm more than capable of changing the damn oil. I was doing this before you were even born. So, go to the back, get a shower, change clothes, and have a good anniversary, ya' idjit." Almost reluctantly, Dean complied, going along with it for reasons that even he didn't understand anymore.
The washroom in the back was spacious and comfortable, done in varying tones of cool blue tile and ceramics that had obviously not been chosen by Bobby as his tastes ranged from grungy to grimy on a good day and plain disgusting on a bad one. Much to the hunter's surprise, the water was hot without having to wait for an extended period of time, though even the heat couldn't release the tension in his muscles as he thought about what was waiting for him at home.
In his mind's eye, he could see Castiel waiting for him on the couch or at the kitchen table. The other man would be all smiles and all hands while Dean would stand stiffly in his embrace, unsure of what to do or say. Every murmur, every word would feel wrong because it was Cas who said them, but they would be filled with such fervent emotion, that it would feel like a sin to turn away from them.
Honestly, he didn't know if he could do this. For the duration of the ride home, he felt himself trembling, and not even the hum of his Baby was able to calm him down. He didn't want to hurt Castiel, but this was more than he could hope to handle. Love was something for other people, a feeling, a moment of sudden cosmic realization that he himself had never wanted to feel, because love left one open to attack, left one open to destruction if they let it happen.
'But this is Cas', he thought to himself as he sat in front of his small, suburban home. He stared at the chipper yellow paint, hating it as much as he hated himself for being so selfish, so broken. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Had it been anyone else in that house, he would have gathered what was left of his self-respect and driven away, slept in his car and thought nothing else about it, but this wasn't anyone else. This was Castiel, the angel who had lifted him from Perdition.
He owed the man so much for all of the assistance that he'd given them. Without his help, who knew what state the world would be end. Honestly speaking, at best it would be Armageddon, at worse, there wouldn't be a world to save any more. How could that level of devotion and attention compare with a small amount of fear on Dean's side? No, he couldn't just run away from all of this confusion. He had to do what was best, not for himself, but for the angel.
At least for this one special day that meant the most to him, he could be who he was supposed to be.
With shaky legs, he entered the house, wincing at the loud creak of the door that echoed through the small entry way. His facial expression quickly changed as he inhaled the potent odor of garlic mixed with tomatoes. The scent tickled his nose, drawing him forward into the kitchen, his burger from earlier completely forgotten.
The scent only got stronger the closer he got to the kitchen, so much so that his mouth began to water as he imagined what was waiting for him. "Cas?" he called as he stared around the dark room that was bathed only in the dim glow of candlelight. Shadows danced in the room, falling everywhere and giving off an air of sensual mystery, the likes of which he'd only ever seen in the late night naughtiness of his favorite Casa Erotica films.
"Dean." The dark haired man stepped out of the shadows. To Dean's surprise, he was no longer clad only in boxers, but was now wearing dark slacks that clung tightly to his body and a white dress shirt that he knew had purposefully been unbuttoned at the top so he could catch a glimpse of that toned chest. "How was work?"
"Uh, good. Fixed a few cars, even got to get a handle on the '69 Camaro. Not nearly as nice as the '67, but not much is." Cars. This was a safe topic, one that Dean desperately wanted to continue so that he didn't focus too much on the pale, exposed flesh that was attempting to goad him to action.
"Are you hungry?" he murmured, his voice little more than a purr as he was obviously alluding to more than food.
"Ye…yeah."
Cas gently took his hand, leading him to the table and sitting him down in front of one of two covered dishes. "I made your favorite." He removed the cover with a flourish, revealing a beautifully arranged plate full of five cheese lasagna and a small salad. "Enjoy."
And enjoy, he did. Their meal consisted of little conversation as Dean tried his best to focus solely on the food so as to do it justice. He sat, delighting in the taste of the food as it danced on his palate. The complicated entanglement of the flavors of tomato, cheese, and garlic, filling him with raptures, and even the salad tasted much better than he could have imagined. With salads like that, he could almost understand why Sam liked them so much, though he'd never compare them to a burger.
All the while, he tried to ignore the hypnotic power of Cas's blue eyes. They watched his every moment, smiling and radiating a type of love that Dean knew he could never reciprocate. It was sad almost, but that was the Cas that he knew, giving everything that he had even when he knew it was a lost cause.
"Dessert?" he asked. "I made pie."
"Pie?" Why was all of this so perfect, so… so… Cas?
"It is your favorite."
His favorite. Cas knew him better than he even knew himself, understood his burger and pie obsession, knew the details of his childhood, had even rebuilt his body. "Yes, please."
Dean's slice of pie was more like a slab, large and whole. The first bite made the hunter shudder as he would readily admit that this was the best pie that he'd ever eaten. It was all golden brown crust and perfectly soft apples, drenched in thick, gooey syrup His mouth was spinning on a journey, flying through the air, and sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body and out of his toes. "Mmm," he moaned wantonly. "Amazing."
"Thank you." Cas smiled brightly as he stared in green pools. This was the Dean that he'd fallen in love with. This was the man that he trusted with all of his being, heart, mind and body. His agile finger deftly caught a stray crumb and he brought it slowly to his mouth, sucking obscenely. "I hope you'd like it."
The hunter shivered, attempting to ignore the other man's implications and exactly what that mouth could do if given the chance. "Like it? I love it."
The man's smile stretched across his face. "And I love you, Mr. Winchester. More than I've ever loved anyone else." He scooted closer, grabbing Dean's hand in his own and holding it so that his partner couldn't pull away.
The trapped man tried to fight the pervasive feeling of panic that his instincts had created in him. In his line of work, getting caught was a death sentence. Without careful maneuvering, a restrained hand, could mean an extremely unpleasant end, and so it took all of his self-control to stay still. Because more than anything, he wanted to jerk away from the firm grasp, but he had to keep reminding himself this was Cas. Cas would never intentionally hurt him. Cas was his friend. He would be fine if he just trusted him.
"I can't explain how much I love you. And I know for the past few months we've been talking about children and adopting. I know that you want to, and well… I'm finally ready. Dean Winchester, there's nothing I'd rather do than have a child with you, because despite your reservations, I know you'll be a great father. We both will."
Tears stung the older Winchester's eyes as he thought about the possibilities. Kids had always been a luxury, something that he'd refused to even think about, because he knew the risks and what this life did to people, to children. Hell, until that time with Lisa, he'd never even considered it, all too aware of what it cost to be raised in the life. It meant no soccer games, no school plays, no lasting friendships, constant danger, fear, and an extreme, constant sense of being different. It was one price that he'd always been unwilling to pay, but if things had been different, if he'd been different, he knew he would have enjoyed the light patter of feet. He would have enjoyed every minute of his life, and loved the small person that would come to him with tiny, everyday problems that he could solve one hundred times over. "I… I don't know what to say," he murmured.
"You don't have to say anything."
"Cas, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you," he whispered, feeling the need to be quiet as though any loud noise could disturb the precarious balance of the air. "And I don't want to screw some helpless kid up." And he knew that any child that he had would be ruined. His own wounds were bloody and open. There was no chance that he wouldn't inadvertently bruise his offspring, show him too much of a world that no one should have to see. After all, his own father hadn't meant to permanently scar him; it was the farthest thing from his mind, but it had still happened and still ruined him.
Those eyes. He felt like they knew him even better than he knew himself, like they'd examined every fragment of his psyche and still, for some reason, found him worthy. Like an x-ray, they cut through the superficial outer layers and saw right down to the core that he tried so very hard to hide from everyone. They knew him, they had found him and pieced him back together, and now they were loving him, caring for him as he'd never known was possible for a hunter. "You've never hurt me, Dean. You love me, just as you'd love any child that we'd have. You'd take care of it, adore it, and know just the right things to say… just like you do with me." Honesty quivered in every syllable that dripped from his lips. He truly believed that Dean was worth something, somehow redeemable. It seemed surreal to the green eyed man, as though this couldn't be his life. How could anyone trust him so much when he was worth so little?
"Thanks, Cas." His voice cracked and a tear slid down his cheek from all that he knew he'd never have. He wouldn't have kids or a family or a wife. He would be a hunter until the day that one of those monsters got him first, and even then the most he could hope for was a quiet corner of hell to be tortured in for the rest of eternity.
"Shhh," his friend urged, gently patting his hand. Dean had almost forgotten that it was being held, and at this gesture, he tensed. Castiel released it just as suddenly as he'd grabbed it, getting up to blow out the candles, taking his time with each until they were plunged into inky darkness.
Somehow, even in the pitch black oppressiveness of the room, he was able to find Dean's hand again, and pull it gently towards the bedroom. "Come on." With only the slightest hesitation, the hunter followed, focusing on anything but the hand in his own or the fact that they appeared to be heading to the dreaded bedroom, the place where he least wanted to go.
Until this point, it had all been innocence. Holding hands, smiles, furtive glances, and that was as far as the hunter was willing to go. He could see a road stretching out in front of him, and as long as he followed it, he would be fine, but any detours could send him careening off the end of a cliff, and ultimately to his demise.
He vainly struggled to find the words to say, to refuse this unspoken offer. Yet, he found himself in shock, unable to say anything even as he was undressed, stripped down to his boxers. He just stood paralyzed while Cas did the same, displaying the toned abdomen and the prominent jut of his hips.
It was funny how here in the bedroom, everything took on different connotations. The blue eyed gaze, no longer felt comforting, but was now predatory, hungry, making Dean painfully aware of their closeness and the lack of clothing as a barrier. In the darkness, with only the light of the moon, Cas's pale skin shone lightly and somehow his voice became impossibly deeper. It was a low growling hum that rumbled throughout the room. "Lie with me, please."
"What?"
"Let me hold you, protect you, love you, just as I have for the past eight years," he begged.
This was another detour, another turn that may lead him down a road that he didn't want to ride on. It was a place that he wouldn't willingly go to, but as he stared into the inquiring blue orbs, he found that he couldn't say no. They were so utterly full of trust and love, of hope that to extinguish that light would be the most horrible crime ever committed, appeased only by the bloodiest and most savage of all death. Because to break that heart would be to destroy, to murder something so pure and complete that even the cruelest of men and monsters would weep.
As a man of heart and morals, Dean couldn't stand be the one to do that. Not when his request was so small and so very innocent. "O…okay." He whispered, all of a sudden, feeling the need to be quiet as though he was intruding on a sacred, holy ceremony.
In all honesty, he wasn't sure about how to go about all of this. Dean had warmed more beds than he could count, spending his nights in carnal pleasure of the highest degree, expending himself until he was a limp, tired body that required rest. As such, he'd held more than his fair share of women. He'd wrapped his arms around them, and let his head rest against soft shoulders. He'd been a source of comfort and warmth, but had never himself been held, never let himself be vulnerable. He didn't know what to expect or that it would feel so…so… good.
Cas was a warm wall of skin behind him, with strong arms that held him close and made him feel all the more concrete because of it. In that grasp, there were no ulterior motives or attempts at subterfuge. There was only Dean and there was only Castiel, resting together in the softness of this bed. There was no strangeness, nothing to be feared as long as this trust existed between the two.
For hours, they rested in silent acknowledgement of one another, content in this peace until, at last, their eyes began to grow heavy and their bodies began to demand payment for the toll they'd taken throughout the day. Bright eyes faded and closed for just a few seconds before preserving just enough to snap open for another brief length of time before the need to rest would overcome them again.
At last, Cas resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed falling asleep and that fighting it was futile. "I love you, Dean," he murmured before he slipped out of consciousness.
"Mmmm," his husband murmured, unable to say it back. Because, if he was being honest, he did love Cas. The angel had come to mean so much to him. He was friend, a comrade in arms, a brother, but he was most certainly not a lover. Never in that way.
As he too faded from this plane of thought, his brain murmured one last half thought that warmed the depths of his mind. His last thought before his brain drifted: This isn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, I could get used to this.
A/N:
Well! It's the summer before what's supposed to be my freshman year of college, and I know I haven't done as much writing as I was supposed to, but don't fear I plan to donate a good portion of the rest of this time to you people (mainly so I don't self-destruct from mental distress).
Anyway, thanks for reading all of this rambling note. I hope you enjoyed this beginning of my first multi-chapter Supernatural story that began as yet another challenge with my best friend. I know it seems weird right now, but stick around. Everything is made clearer in the next chapter.
Thanks a lot for reading. Tell me what you think about it! Remember, reviews feed me and I'm not afraid of the flames.
Remember: Reviews= happy camper. Happy camper= quicker updates. Quicker updates= you reading more. It's a cycle keep it going!
Yours truly, madly, and deeply,
Einstinette