"Have you ever considered retirement?"
"What?" Dean ejected beer out of his mouth at the mention of the forbidden "r" word. He wiped the dribble from his chin with the back of his shirt sleeve.
"Hypothetically speaking," Sam said. "If you could retire right now; leave the hunting, the demons, the angels, the monsters – If you could live out the rest of your life somewhere doing something different, what would it be?"
Dean grabbed at his little brother's lap top, turning it around to view the screen. "Are you dissecting my brain, Doctor?" He half expected to see some analytical bullshit website. Instead, Sam had a few windows opened concerning a potential haunting in Northern California. A little family diner was experiencing strange disturbances around their property. Up turned garbage bins had the owners only slightly concerned at first. When the inside of the place was being ransacked without much showing a break in, they were convinced that there was something strange going on. Dean was ready to chalk it up to some homeless guy rooting through the trash for a semi-eaten sandwich, an unlocked door and a place for the guy to call it a night.
"No, I'm not psychoanalyzing you," Sam said, giving his brother that annoyed look that screamed, "Shut the fuck up and answer the stupid question already."
"Okay, fine." Dean slid the laptop across the table. "I have actually thought about where I'd like to live if I wasn't here in the bunker."
"Yeah?"
Dean took a gulp of beer. "Yeah, I uh," he smiled shyly at the prospect, curling the peeling bottle label with his thumb. "I'd like a place in middle America, like here in Kansas or something. Just a nice simple brick house with a fenced in yard. Gonna have a big, mean ass dog." He used his hands as emphasis of the beast's girth. "A beautiful German Sheppard or a Rottweiler. Maybe a Mastiff. You know, one that'll both alert me to danger and keep the fucking kids off my lawn." He chuckled at the prospect of yelling at children at an old age. The life of a hunter was usually short lived, despite the few that had made it past their fifties. Dean counted himself lucky so far. Even with forty peering around the corner. Bobby had led the last of his hunter's life at his home with his junk yard and panic room. Why couldn't Dean?
"And I'll probably end up fixing cars for quick cash. I already tried the whole construction thing. Wasn't my favorite, but it paid the bills. I'd just want a comfortable life, is all." Dean coughed. The conversation at the war room table was on the verge of being ripped out of a Lifetime movie. He needed an out before it got even more sappy. "You want another beer?"
"Sure." He held out his empty. "Just out of curiosity," Sam pulled the bottle away from Dean's reach at the last second, "is there anyone special in this Pleasantville life of yours?"
"Why? You hooking me up with some hot brunette?" Dean smiled picturing himself with his dark haired beauty in his run of the mill life.
Sam let Dean take the bottle from his grasp. "Just wondering."
Dean tossed the beer bottles into the bin with the rest of the empties. It was filling up fast. He mentally jotted down taking back the returnable bottles at the bottom of his ever growing to-do list. At least grocery shopping seemed pretty normal since they now have a fridge and a pantry to call their own. They didn't have to live out of a cooler and eat shitty gas station hot dogs on a regular basis. "And we need more beer," he muttered to himself as he pulled out the last two bottles.
"Do you need me to get you more beer?"
"Shit Cas," Dean exclaimed as he almost jumped out of his skin. "I thought you were getting better at not sneaking up behind me."
"I'm sorry, Dean. I assumed you heard me come in."
"Next time don't assume." He shut the fridge door and admired the man before him. Three weeks of living wingless left Castiel looking like he'd been human all his life. Except for one thing. "Did you lose a battle with Clorox?" He reached out a hand to grasp the lapel of the sweat shirt to get a better look at the stain.
Castiel looked down at his hoodie where a large bleach splotch had discolored the fabric. "I attempted to do laundry earlier today. I grabbed the wrong chemical."
Dean playfully touched the former angel's chin. "I'll buy you a new one." He walked towards the door, turning around at the last second to face Castiel. "Alright, I'm feeling generous. I'll throw in a free tutorial on the Winchester Wash Cycle." Castiel looked at the man with furrowed brows. A look that Dean knew all too well. Words weren't computing in that angel brain of his. "It's my patented cure all for blood removal. It also gets out other bodily fluids," Dean added with a wink.
"Such as?"
"Take a guess," Dean said over his shoulder. Castiel followed at his heels.
Castiel said within earshot of Sam, "I'd really like to know what orifice these bodily fluids are coming from, Dean."
Sam couldn't help but groan. "What are you teaching him now?"
Dean slammed his brother's beer in front of him, splashing a few drops on the wooden table. "It's nothing," he said as he sat back into his seat.
"Dean said he can wash out bodily fluids from clothes. I was just curious what orifice he meant," Castiel explained.
"Maybe he can show you where those fluids actually come from," Sam snickered behind his laptop. He had been subtly attempting to push their buttons for months to no avail. He got that Castiel was slow on the uptake, but Dean was still over compensating. With each pass, Dean withdrew further into his manly man persona. And the last few days it was getting worse. Sam was tired of the act. The guy needed to get over it.
Dean glared at his little brother like every other time he threw a comment like this his way. If only he had hacked the kid up into tiny pieces when he had the chance. He downed half of his beer in one go. "Anything new concerning this diner?" At least he had a diversion.
Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. Way to change the subject. "It's not worth the drive. Called up some hunters in the area, they're heading over there. Probably just some punk ass kids terrorizing the poor the owners."
"Figures," Dean said. "If it's not angels, it's demons. If it's not demons, it's monsters. If it's not monsters, it's ghosts. And if it's not ghosts, it's some royally fucked up humans who I want no part in dealing with. They're worse than witches." Dean shuttered at the thought of more bodily fluids to scrub out of his favorite shirts.
"So, I guess we'll be crashing here for the night," Sam said as he shut his laptop.
"Then this calls for a beer run," Dean said, standing from his seat. Maybe he would splurge and buy a nice bourbon. He could use a good liquor buzz.
"I'll go with you," Castiel offered.
"Change your hoodie first. I'm not walking around the store with you looking like you lost a fight with a bottle of peroxide."
The local grocery store was empty despite the few people who were snagging necessities off the shelves in preparation for the oncoming storm. Predictions called for high winds with heavy rain. It seemed the Winchesters weren't the only ones in need of alcohol, toilet paper and sugary snacks.
"What do you like more, Cas?" Dean asked. He held up two pints of ice cream. "Chocolate or vanilla?"
"Vanilla sounds good," Castiel replied. Dean tossed both flavors into the hand basket Castiel was carrying. "Why ask for my opinion if you're buying both?"
"I can like both. There's no law saying that I can't enjoy both." Dean smirked, nudging his shoulder into Castiel's as they continued down the frozen food aisle.
"No, there isn't," Castiel said deadpan.
Dean audibly sighed. "You still don't get it."
"Get what?" Castiel's confused face was exactly what Dean liked causing. His innocence was charming. Like a child in wonderment. A grown ass child who wasn't exactly as naive as he appeared. And Dean enjoyed knowing this first hand.
"Nothing dude. Let's just get the alcohol and something heavy on the sugar."
It wasn't Dean's brain that processed what he did next. Sam would say that it was his subconscious that over powered his ability to keep his hands to himself. Dean would say that he wasn't thinking. Period. Just one simple little touch. That's all it ended up being. An innocent touch that clearly was the wrong place, wrong time. The two men passed a middle aged woman with her child. She took one look at them and snatched her son's hand, pulling the child away. Dean froze. He let go of Castiel's hand and watched the mother and child quickly turn the corner to the next aisle. Her glare alone had Dean wanting to throw salt on her.
Castiel stopped. "What is it Dean?" He looked panicked. "Demon? Angel?"
Dean gritted his teeth. "No, dude. Just fucking bigots."
They continued shopping in relative silence. Dean kept his hands in his jacket pockets the rest of the trip, only freeing them to grab an item off of a shelf. He had to start thinking with his brain. Though he continued to listen to his dick as he snagged a bottle of liquid pleasure off the shelf while Castiel perused the different smelling soaps. Recreational free time at the bunker was a rarity. Dean treasured those moments he had for the carnal things in life.
Once they reached the parking lot, Castiel stopped Dean before he could even reach the Impala. "What's going on, Dean?"
"Nothing's going on, let's just get this stuff in the car and head out." He looked towards the horizon. An ominous black cloud was rolling its way east. The opposite direction back to the bunker.
"We were shopping, that woman and her child passed us, and you tensed up."
Dean attempted to maneuver himself around Castiel to get to the trunk. "Can we just get going? We're gonna drive right into this mess if we don't move our asses." He gestured towards the massive blackness that clung to the sky like smoke. God forbid it was the rolling darkness of pure evil. The wind was picking up, sending a chill down his spine. Just their luck if mother nature decided to have its first snow of the season.
"We will talk Dean Winchester," Castiel said sternly. The sudden drop of his full name had Dean on edge.
They sat in silence for a few minutes until Castiel spoke. "When are you going to tell Sam?" He had been running this conversation over in his head for the last few days, dreading the outcome. Sam needed to know soon after having had a simple break through at the store. And Castiel wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. Dean careened the vehicle to the shoulder and stepped on the break.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to," Dean replied. He put his baby into park.
Castiel shifted in the passenger seat to better look at the man next to him. "I can bring it up to Sam for you, if you can't even bare a woman and her small child to see you as you are."
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "I'd rather he hear it from me, man. I mean, I'm not going to kick you out of the room or anything, I just would rather it be from me. And fuck," Dean smacked his palms against the steering wheel in agitation. Castiel reached for his hand, squeezing it slightly in reassurance. The former angel knew this was difficult for the man to admit to himself. Dean was pretty damn close to shedding off the words that were still on repeat in his mind. Words that carried the voice of his father. Phrases that burned a hole in his heart.
"I'll be with you when you tell Sam. I'm sure he'll be understanding."
"Yeah," Dean swallowed hard, attempting to shove down his emotions. He wasn't going to cry. There will be no tears. He'd show no emotion. "Sam would be the only one to accept me for who I am."
Castiel let go of Dean's rough, callused hand. The winter was rapidly approaching. Pretty soon Dean's hands were going to chap and crack. They always did. Castiel couldn't bear to see any more blood on those knuckles. Though in their line of work, that was a difficulty in it of itself.
Dean broke the silence, "I'll tell Sammy tonight." He put the Impala back into drive.
"If you think it's time."
"I do." He returned Castiel's earlier hand squeeze with a firm grip, lacing their fingers together. "After all of his shit lately, I might as well, right? Either he suspects something, or he just feels the need to constantly fuck with me. Lately fucking with me has been his favorite pastime." Dean eased the car back onto the road as rain drops fell heavy on the windshield.
Sam was still behind his laptop when Dean entered the bunker. Like lighting, Sam shut the computer with a thud. "I didn't hear the Impala pull up."
Dean looked quizzically at his little brother. Gone for thirty minutes and already looking at porn? New record for the kid. "I parked it in the garage. Looks like a nasty storm and I just washed her. Plus, I doubt we'll be heading out any time soon. Wind's picking up."
"So, beer?" Sam asked. Getting caught with porn open was embarrassing enough. He was just happy that he didn't have his hand down his pants. Though, after living with Dean most of his adult life, he was shocked that it hadn't happened more often.
"Enough to last us through the storm." Dean set two cases of cheap beer on the table. Twelve cans each. Surely the right amount to get drunk for the night. He was going to need the liquid courage. "Cas has the liquor and snacks."
"Where is he?"
Dean shrugged. "Had to use the bathroom, I think. Still trying to get used to," he air quoted, "'human waste secretion.'"
Sam chuckled. "Only Cas would use a phrase like that."
"One of the many things I love about that dude," he said with little thought. At the realization of the word vomit that he spewed at his brother, Dean froze. "Tell me I didn't just say that out loud."
"You just said that out loud," Sam repeated as he grabbed a can out of the box.
"Fuck." Dean opened a beer downing half of it in one gulp. He spoke softly, "This isn't how I wanted you to know."
"What? That you have a huge crush on your best friend?" Sam nonchalantly took a sip of his beer.
Dean nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "That we've been seeing each other since he lost his grace." Dean barely raised his voice. Maybe Sam couldn't hear his confession. Perhaps this was bizarre-o world. That he'd wake up any second and this scenario of coming clean with his baby brother never happened. Gabriel, are you there?
"Which time?" Sam asked.
"Does it matter?"
"It might, Dean. I'd like to know how long you two have been shacking up under my nose."
Dean didn't want to get into an argument over this. His dating life wasn't his little brother's concern. He downed the last of the can. "It's only been a few weeks," he said quietly.
"Oh," Sam sighed.
"Oh, that it's it? Oh?"
"Could have me fooled," Sam said with a shrug.
"Eh, fuck you Sammy," Dean shot back.
"Seven years, Dean." He flinched at hearing the anger in his little brother's voice. "Seven goddamn years of you two and your innuendo." Dean didn't speak and Sam elevated his voice as he continued. "Whether Castiel knew what was happening is another story, but I know you knew what you were doing. And don't lie to me and say that you didn't go out of your fucking way for the guy. I mean, shit, Dean. You saved his fucking trench coat."
"So?" Dean scoffed. "What's wrong with saving his trench?"
"Well, it clearly isn't something that a friend would do, that's for sure."
Dean glared at his little brother. "And what would a friend do, huh? Throw the thing out after losing the guy? I thought I lost him for good, thought that he wasn't coming back, that I would never get to fucking see his face again. That trench coat was all I had."
"And it took you this fucking long to figure shit out?"
"Hey, I've had a hard time figuring shit out for myself, I mean, fuck." Dean was pissed that Sam was yelling at him. Not for what he suspected, though he wished that Sam would just storm off in anger, but for keeping things to himself.
"I just can't believe you never came to me with this sooner," Sam said. "We talked as kids, spent the last eleven years trapped in that beast of a car of yours."
"Leave my baby out of this," Dean interjected.
"Why didn't you, Dean? Why didn't you think that I'd understand? That I'd be here for you?" Sam watched as his older brother seemed to shrink in on himself at each question.
He collapsed into a chair. "Because." The word come out hoarse. Dean coughed. His throat felt clogged up and his eyes started to well. Dean wiped his face with his sleeve. "Because of Dad. Because I couldn't face you knowing."
"Dean," Sam said softly. He sat down in a chair next to his brother.
"I never considered acting out what I felt, not while we were still hunting with Dad. It wasn't until I met Cas, before I even found out about the whole profound bond thing between us, that I started to unearth some repressed shit." Dean paused. There wasn't any turning back. He had to open up to Sam. The kid might as well know the truth. "I think I was in middle school when Dad found out that I liked guys. He beat the shit out of me for something stupid. Told me to be a man, not to cry, to not show emotion. I took it to heart after he beat it into my head a few more times after that. Then I got with as many chicks as I could in high school. Shit," Dean chuckled awkwardly. "I love the female body with all its curves but, fuck, Sam. What's so wrong with this?"
"There isn't anything wrong with it," Sam said in a normal tone. He was done fighting. Dean was spilling his guts and he had no intention of pissing off his brother even further. It was a miracle that Dean was this open with his feelings. Years of repression needed to be voiced.
"It's taken me to my late thirties to feel some sort of comfort in my own skin." Dean popped open another beer. He prayed that Castiel would come back to him with the bourbon. The beer was like water. It went down all too easy. Dean need the liquor burn just to feel something. To feel anything other than the numbness that coursed through his body.
"As long as you're happy, I'll support you."
"Thanks Sammy." The boys didn't speak. They sat in silence as they drank beer and let things settle. Castiel still hadn't showed.
Castiel kissed Dean on the temple. Before he left the couch, he whispered into the man's ear, "I think I can get away with sleeping in your bed tonight." Dean bit his lower lip. He tried to keep his cool, even though there was no way he was going to hide his growing arousal at those words. With those deep tones. Castiel left Dean to writhe in his frustration on purpose.
Sam looked towards his brother with drunken half shut eyes. "You can leave with him if you want. I won't tell."
"Just shut your face," Dean retorted. He wanted to desperately follow that man to the bedroom. They had been like teenagers since that night three weeks ago when Castiel showed up at the bunker with little else but the clothes on his back. It had been far too long for Dean to have been away from his angel. And since that night, nothing went beyond ravenously making out and rutting like sixteen year olds on his bed. Dean never let it go any further, though his body craved to be touched, to be explored, and to find out what makes this angel of his explode with pleasure. But really, what Dean wanted the most, was to feel the beautiful man inside him. He wanted to be the one to let go, to put faith in someone else with the knowledge that it's going to be okay. That he could finally be submissive for a change. That there was nothing in the world that could interrupt his bliss.
Dean adjusted his dick. It wasn't the time to come undone. Not with having come out to his brother a few hours earlier. Hardly how Dean wanted to remember this major milestone in the future. Would there even be a future to look back at this day? How long did he have on this earth? Could he ever reach his Pleasantville life that he had envisioned? And would Castiel stick around long enough to enjoy it with him?
Over twenty years ago Dean never would have even suggested sleeping with another man. It wasn't right. It wasn't normal. It wasn't how John raised his sons. No matter how hard he suppressed his feelings over the years, having Castiel in his life drove Dean to contemplate what his father had reinforced since middle school.
It was near the end of eighth grade. The Winchesters had shacked up in a rundown apartment building that had cheap rent. John had been investigating a local haunt which proved to be more complicated than he had previously expected resulting in something cheaper than a daily motel bill. Sam had been getting comfortable in his class and had made a few friends. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't about to settle. He was old enough to understand that making friends wasn't in the plan. Friends would only let you down. Family would never leave you.
After two months of living out of an apartment with a broken window during the middle of winter, Dean decided he had had enough. He dragged Sam with him to a local roller rink where a lot of the kids their ages hung out on the weekends. It had an arcade where Dean had been attempting to beat the high score at a shooting game for the last couple hours.
"If this freakin' thing was a real gun, I'd have blasted that zombie to hell," Dean had said. He stopped midgame and looked around for Sam. The kid was chatting with a few kids he recognized from school. He shook his head at his little brother and shoved a few more quarters in the slot. Dean tilted the plastic rifle to the left for a reload, and popped off a few more zombie heads.
"You're a good shot." Dean turned to see a dark haired kid around his age. He wore a jean jacket with pins and patches placed strategically on the denim. His blue eyes were stunning.
"Thanks," Dean said, putting a few more fake bullets in the heads of computer generated zombies. Their moans were coupled with the unrealistic splatter of blood. Hardly close to the real thing.
When Dean gave up at reaching the high score, he sat around talking to the kid. He went by Burke, a probable last name, and attended the same school as the Winchesters. And when they started talking about music, Dean quickly found himself further attracted to the kid. It took no time at all for the boys to escape to a private corner in an alley. Dean hadn't questioned it while he enjoyed himself, letting the other teen take the lead. And Dean had wanted more. It had been his first time doing anything with another guy, though little did he know, it would be his last until adulthood.
"Dean Winchester." A voice had bellowed through the parking lot. It got louder as Dean started to shift himself out from behind his new friend.
The rest of the day had been intentionally repressed. Dean started to recall, with the aid of way too much alcohol, that his father pulled him by the arm to the Impala, shoved him into the back seat, and left him there to get Sam. John left Sam at a fellow hunter's house. Dean had been dragged back to the apartment. He had barely spoken until they reached the confines of the half empty building. And for the next few weeks Dean did his best to hide the bruises and cuts that lined his torso.
"Fucking shit," Dean exclaimed at remembering that night. Sam shifted in his arm chair, mumbling something incoherent. "Sammy."
"What?" Sam was on the verge of drifting off to sleep.
"Do you think that if Mom were still alive, that she'd be okay with me, you know."
The question was thrown at Sam out of left field, pulling him out of his stupor. "You knew her a little longer than me."
"Yeah, but we did meet her before either of us was born," Dean said.
"We did, but still. I really don't think I can answer that for you. I mean, I could lie and say that yeah, Mom would still love you no matter what gender you fall in love with, but I won't."
"So, you don't think she'd approve of me," Dean said quietly. "Like Dad. Like Bobby."
"What do you mean, 'like Bobby'?" Dean slumped further into the couch. Fucking alcohol.
"Bobby brought it up once. You were detoxing in the panic room. Getting drunk always leads to conversations about life shit," Dean started to say, realizing that his words spoke true. "I guess it's been pretty fucking obvious for years."
"I don't see Bobby hating you for being bi," Sam said.
"He said that he wasn't going to be like Dad, that I was a grown ass man and I could do whatever the hell I wanted, and that he wanted me to be happy," Dean paused. "But he didn't approve."
"God, Dean," Sam said. "Shit. Really?"
"Yeah, really." Dean downed the last of his bourbon. The show that was on the television went to commercial break. Neither brother could recall what they we're watching. Sam looked like he was about to fall asleep any second. "I think I've had enough of this coming clean shit for one night." He clutched Sam's shoulder before he left the room and said, "Thanks for not being an asshole."
"Love you too, Dean."
"Shut up, bitch," he retorted down the hall.
"Jerk," Sam mumbled to himself, knowing full well his brother was out of earshot.
A soft snoring came from the lump under the sheets. Dean did his best to ease himself into the bed. It was nice to finally curl around the man without any fear. Sam now knew and he approved. It was all that Dean could ask for from his little brother. All that he could ask for from family.
"Dean," Castiel mumbled as he felt arms draw up around his torso.
"Go back to sleep," Dean said.
Castiel shifted more comfortably in the hunter's arms. "Sam still awake?"
"Probably not for long," Dean replied. "He was about to pass out in front of the TV."
"Should we move him to his room?"
Dean laughed. "His moose of an ass? I think he'll be okay. If he wakes up, he can find his own damn bed."
"Are you sure, Dean?"
"Yes." Dean kissed Castiel's t-shirt clad shoulder. "Go back to sleep."
They had done this previously. Castiel would wake the hunter in the middle of the night citing nightmares as his excuse to crawl into the man's bed. At first Dean assumed that Castiel truly couldn't fall asleep. After the next few nights, he waited impatiently to have his angel to keep him warm. The bunker had heat, but there was something to having another body nearby. Something to rely on. A constant in their unpredictable lives. A bond that couldn't be broken. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without the man in his arms.
"Sam asked me yesterday about where I'd like to be if I could retire from hunting." Dean propped himself against the headboard. The time on the clock was the only tell that is was early morning. There was no natural sun light streaming through windows in the bunker. The one thing Dean missed about waking up in motel rooms.
"What was your response?" Castiel asked. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"It doesn't really matter," Dean said with a shrug.
"Okay," Castiel said. He wasn't going to push the question.
Dean didn't take long to quickly say, "It doesn't matter because my answer has changed."
"So, Dean Winchester," Castiel said after he propped himself up on his elbow, "where would you live out your retirement years?"
"Right here." Dean jabbed his pointer finger into the mattress as emphasis. "I can't leave this bunker. Just the thought of not calling this place home anymore seems wrong. Like I'm not doing this place any justice if I up and leave it in five years."
"There's more, isn't there?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "Sam is family. The last of us Winchesters. I have this weird feeling that if I leave him, I won't keep in contact with him."
"And why is that?"
"We've been through too much shit together. Do I want to be reminded of all of it by sticking around the kid? Or forget everything that we've been through for a quiet, simple live in the 'burbs?"
"Which would you prefer?"
"Staying here with Sam, in our home, drinking and watching crap television."
"And what about me?"
"What about you?" Dean teased.
"Am I not in this future of yours?"
"Of course you are, man," Dean replied as he gently pushed a stray lock of Castiel's hair back. "You're not leaving me any time soon. I've had enough of that over the years."
"Good," Castiel said. "The three of us are an odd family."
Dean countered, "What family isn't?"