by .com
This Version Beta'd by the beautiful: hausereiring
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jimmy understood his fate when he agreed for Castiel to use his body. He knew it wouldn't age, it wouldn't be worn by time. But can Dean accept that his husband will forever be thirty years old?
Castiel knows time is fluid. It's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff - which is a good description for a BBC show that Mary got into recently. Doctor Who, Castiel thinks it's called. He won't dwell on it now, because thinking about it makes him worry. The room on the other side of their bathroom is empty. Mary's in college studying to be a nurse practitioner. Both of them are extraordinarily proud of her; Dean more so since he didn't lose Mary like he lost Samuel in the time before Dean ever met Castiel.
They've had long talks about that moment. It fills Castiel's heart to know that Dean is proud of their daughter even with his abandonment issues.
"She's not gone Dean," he reminds, "She's just away. But if we wait, she'll come back."
Dean grows with each year even beyond the age of growing; far beyond, if Castiel is true to his human progression knowledge. He watched Mary grow, and now he's watching Dean. Still being 'mojo'd up,' Castiel's vessel does not grow older, it does not age. Unfortunately, he can't say the same for Dean. Almost at the age of forty-nine, Dean is slower physically, quieter, softer. But Castiel wouldn't ever say that out loud to spare himself a night on the couch and angry glances for two days straight. He learned his lesson when Dean turned forty.
After twenty years of knowing the man, and being together officially for sixteen, Castiel knows a few things about the infamous Dean Winchester. A few is an understatement, but over the years, he's learned to be 'modest'.
Castiel knows how Dean likes his coffee, (black with two sugar packets, preferably the French Vanilla kind), how long to leave him alone after an argument, (also, when it's a good time to give Dean cheeseburgers and sit close on the couch after said argument) and what his favourite pie flavor is (which is a trick question because all pie is good pie. But Dean likes apple the best). But he also knows important things, like the spots on Dean's neck and chest which make him shudder and moan when kissed, licked, bit just right, or to let Dean drive him places even though he could just fly there himself, just so Dean feels like he has control. Though Castiel wouldn't leave these mundane things for the world, even if the apocalypse started again.
Sam is living in Albany with Sarah, whom he met at a book conference with Castiel ten years back. Another piece of history Castiel didn't know until Sam explained a hunt six years ago at an antiques auction. He finished his Law degree and is currently working as a closer for a firm. Upon request from Dean, Sam calls every other day around seven. Sometimes they talk for brief minutes other times hours. Castiel ponders this, though: being in a car with someone for hours on end, for continuous years, wouldn't that dwindle the conversation topic? With a shrug and an absent, "Tell Samuel I said hello," the thought is forgotten.
Castiel and Dean both work to help support Mary in college (which she got a scholarship, for but spending money is always a luxury). Castiel works at the local library, and Dean works at a auto repair shop that's owned by a friend of Bobby's. Dean and Bobby hunt on the side, with Castiel in tow. The old hunter visits and calls often. Dean doesn't correct Mary (and never will) when she calls Bobby, Grandpa.
Living with Dean makes time feel fast. The days are short but moments are long. The mornings he spends staring at Dean through the orange light of the dawn sun in their bedroom are beautifully drawn out, until Dean flutters his eyes open. Castiel watches as Dean's brow furrows, the tendons in his arm strain over the grip on the knife under his pillow before smiling.
"Mornin'," the hunter draws.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean stretches like a feline after being curled in a ball for a nap, bones creaking and cracking, letting out a deep sigh. He rolls over onto the angel, mending their bodies together, tangling their limbs and digging his nose into the curve of Castiel's neck. Castiel relishes this moment every morning like it is his last.
Carding through Dean's graying hair, he smells the sweet scent of his hunter's soap and the staining motor oil that Sam swears is in Dean's blood. That's impossible, and would kill Dean, but the smell is still there. Every morning.
"I'm thinking about cooking a big breakfast before you leave," Castiel speaks softly into the distilled morning air.
"Uhu-?" Dean mumbles into his neck. Castiel loves how it tickles, "Breakfast?"
"Yes, Dean."
"Just five more minutes, kay?"
Castiel gives him ten minutes instead. He doesn't want to move either.
Dean, even if he won't admit it, embarrasses easily. Though, to give him credit, takes it well. There are days, like Sundays for example, when Castiel drags Dean out for grocery shopping. (He always 'forgets' something, because Dean didn't tell him. "You're supposed to have this elephant brain but you can't remember the damn mayo?" "Dean, you told me to stop 'reading' your thoughts years ago. I will not know unless you inform me that we are out of mayonnaise!")
Dean holds Castiel's hand walking through the parking lot (after five years of brooding about it) and kisses his temple as he reaches for the green grocery receptacle. He follows the angel like a lost puppy, hands in his pockets, and at times absently throwing random groceries in the basket- Oreos and flash-frozen microwavable fries- when he wants them. (Castiel has learned that Dean is always hungry and the idea "Don't go grocery shopping on an empty stomach" doesn't apply.) But there are days that the grocery store isn't as peaceful as always.
"My son doesn't do that for me; you're lucky." An older women chimes in behind Dean as Castiel is looking through the produce aisle (The damn apples are always bruised).
"Excuse me?" Dean leers, looking at the women with concern. The pit in Castiel's stomach turns in an unsettling way at the tone Dean is taking.
"My son refuses to go shopping with me, let alone help me pick out dinner. You've got a good boy on your hands." She smiles kindly, but the vein on Dean's neck twitches, his jaw clenched. Castiel knows this is the moment, where if she were a vampire or a werewolf, her head would be on a spike.
"I am not his son." Castiel gracefully, slides his hand over Dean's clenched fists at his side. The hunter looks over, angry and flustered but instantly content, twining their fingers together. Castiel's silver ring glistening as much as it can in the fluorescent lights of the super market, however she looks anything but eased by this.
"Oh," she steps back, clearly uncomfortable. "My mistake. I-um... have a nice day!" She flees from the aisle.
"Stupid bitch," Dean growls, squeezing Castiel's hand a little tighter.
Castiel knows to just nod and let Dean push his anger onto the woman. It isn't her fault that Dean's getting older, nor is it her fault for not knowing how old Castiel actually is, what Castiel is. The hunter resents getting older, weaker, but Castiel takes it in stride. Dean is still the quick witted, righteous, beautiful soul he pulled out of Hell. The simple folk of the supermarket don't know these things; they just see two normal men with a significant age difference. It's only human nature to assume what one wants.
Castiel buys him an extra box of Double Stuffed Oreo's with the promise of sex, and the woman's forgotten.
Dean is Dean, and Castiel knows how he latches onto whiskey for comfort when his thoughts are stuck in his head. As much as Castiel can, he clears Dean's liver of the damage he's done, but Dean doesn't know this. He just drinks and broods about his age and the time he's lost to the thing he loves the most; hunting.
Castiel cleaned his wounds when Mary was young, staying with their daughter because Dean needed it. This, Castiel will urge, is in Deans veins: the will to save and hunt to protect his family, or a family like his. Bobby has aged and so has Dean; jobs aren't so easy anymore. Dean watches Castiel move swiftly under attack, unburdened by bruises or creaking bones and bad backs. The unaging face of Castiel haunts Dean. One day he will die. For good.
"And I will be there," he reminds. "Heaven is no longer my home, but it is not a stranger."
Holding the hunter to his chest he breathes, not because he has to, but because he can- to remind Dean that he is tangible, touchable and here to stay as long as he is needed. Castiel might not know what love is, but he thinks that this must be close. Dean nuzzles into the dip of his chest, breathing deep and keeping the tears-that-they-won't-talk-about at bay.
"You won't be gone," he whispers, brushing his lips to the crown of his hunter's head. "You'll be away. But if you wait, I'll be right there with you."