A/N: I haven't been watching the last couple seasons of Supernatural, nor have I been very active on tumblr lately, but I did hear that thEY FUDGING KILLED OFF CHARLIE BRADBURY. Anyway, watching the show or not, I'll continue writing fanfics because there are some great characters and it's good practice for me as an aspiring writer.

Long live the queen. (Well, I guess she didn't.) *star trek salute*

January, 2000

"It's not fair!" whined Sam. "I miss the cut-off by barely a couple months—I'm going to be in my late-twenties by the time they tell me who my soul mate is! By then I'll probably have met them."

Dean shrugged, thoroughly grinning at Sam's despair. "I don't make the rules, Sammy. And the rules say you gotta be eighteen by the end of the month."

"Ten years, Dean! Ten years I gotta wait until they open up that stupid old book again! Why does it have to be every decade? Why can't it be an annual thing? Or a biannual thing? Heck, I'll take five years over ten—"

"Hey, bitch. You keep telling me that patience is a virtue so why not swallow some of your own medicine, huh?" He was only teasing his kid brother but he didn't even try to hide how smug he was feeling about it all. He was finally going to learn the name of his soul mate. He hoped he got a good name, like Lisa or Cassie—someone smokin' hot but also laid back. He pictured leaning against his baby with a brunette at his side, two cold beers in their hands while they enjoyed a day at the lake.

And then of course mind-blowing sex in the backseat when the evening started to cool off.

Despite the fact that there were literally hundreds waiting outside of Lawrence City Hall, the lines moved surprisingly quickly, and within an hour of arrival Dean and Sam were stepping into the heated lobby. Sounds echoed beneath the soaring domed ceiling: footsteps on marble floors, keyboards clacking, and excited murmurs from all those eager to know their destiny. A bright-eyed intern gestured to an open table, where an assistant with red hair waved at them from behind a clunky laptop. Her nametag read:

Charlie Bradbury, Assistant

Codex of Human Union, Conception, and Kinship

"Hey, guys! Welcome!" Charlie said, smiling genuinely at them. "Are you both here for the big reveal?"

"I am," Dean said. "Sammy here's a little too young." (Two months, Sam grumbled.) "Whatcha got for me?"

"Let's see! I just need your ID and social security number…"

"Wait. What happened to the Book?" Sam asked Charlie as Dean handed over his information. "Are you guys using computers now?"

"Yep! It's so cool, right?" she said excitedly. "We finished transferring all the information leading up to this day into the database just last week. Now whenever new names are added to the list—which is like, always—every town hall will have access to them immediately, rather than having to make calls and copy down information by hand. 'Cause that took forever to sort out. This stuff has to be shared internationally, and then domestically, and then by counties and major cities, townships, and so on. Honestly, I don't know how they did it a century ago."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "But you still can't hand out last names, right?

Charlie shook her head. "Afraid not. The Fate Act of 1924 still stands, no matter how advanced technology gets. Now—" she leaned over the laptop, holding the screen to her chest conspiratorially, "are you ready for your soul mate's name?"

Dean exhaled in one long, steady stream. He wriggled his fingers—how stupid that his hands were shaking. It was just a name, right?

"Lay it on me," he said.

Charlie wrote something down on the pad at her elbow and slid the small white paper across the table to him. This what is it, the big moment…

"Huh. Who knew you were gay," Gabe said, mouth full of Cinnabon.

"I'm not gay," Castiel huffed over his coffee cup. "I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I call it "free love." Don't care what you've got—if you know how use it right, I want it. Besides, who knows when I'll ever meet this 'Kali.' Am I right?"

"I'm not sure I agree with your hedonistic ways, but yes, it is hard to say if and when we'll ever meet our respective soul mates."

Gabe rolled his eyes. "Well, your chances aren't too bad for a name like 'Dean.' I mean, it's not a super common name so you don't have to jump at every John and Mary that comes your way, but it's not like, Cantonese, either."

Frankly, Castiel didn't know what to think of this "Dean," or of this whole set up, for that matter. It was astounding that four simple letters could reveal so much about his future, yet at the same time tell him absolutely nothing at all. When would he meet this man? Would he ever meet him at all? Just because Castiel had a soul mate, didn't mean it was a guarantee that he would ever meet him; Dean could be living in Brazil for all he knew, or he could die tomorrow. So was Castiel supposed to abstain from all other relationships, knowing that they might never match up to what he could have with his soul mate? Or did he just continue enjoying life for the present, so that he did not waste it waiting for someone that would never show up? What if he did meet Dean, only to discover that his soul mate was a serial killer, or someone who was rude to waiters, or—dear god, one of those asshole BMW-owners that cut people off on the freeway?

"Yo, Cas," Gabe said, snapping his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" Castiel said irately.

"The one where it looks like you're offline or buffering or something. Seriously dude, don't think about it too much. I don't think Dean would want to hook up with someone who looks like they're always constipated." Gabriel chuckled as he stuffed the last of his sugary goodness inside his mouth. "As it is, he probably doesn't know what the hell to do with a name like yours."

"The fuck is a Cas-teel?" Dean said, crinkling his nose.

Sam frowned. "I think it's pronounced Cas-ti-el. It looks like a biblical name, like Gabriel or Ezekiel."

"But it's a chick, right?"

Sam did his best not to let out one of his put-upon sighs as they crossed the street into the shopping plaza. All the plaid shirts in the world could make up for his having to have "the talk" with his older brother. "I don't now, Dean. Maybe ten years from now gay marriage will be legal and you won't have this internalized homophobia thing going on."

"Speak English, Sam. Are you saying that I'm being a judgmental dick? Because I got nothing against queers—my policy has always been that whatever people got goin' on in their lives is their own business."

"I don't mean that you're prejudiced against others, Dean. It's just that you have a tendency to...overcompensate, whenever you feel your manliness is being threatened. Honestly, if you acted any more grillin', shed-buildin', car-fixin' alpha male you'd be a Viagra commercial."

Dean scoffed, completely affronted. "You're only saying that 'cause you're such a girl, Samantha. Seriously, I hope my soul mate's a chick, but I ain't gonna judge if it's a dude." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I just…I can't see myself with a guy, y'know? I mean, who's gonna be putting who's you-know-what in who's you-know-where?!"

He flung out his arms in a dramatic display of helplessness, only to send a Styrofoam cup of coffee flying out of someone's hand. Dean spun around to find a dark haired man looking down at the mess on his shirt.

"Shit man, I'm real sorry about that—"

"No, it's fine," the stranger said as the man with him gave him some napkins out of a Cinnabon bag. "I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Dean didn't catch the dark look he threw at his friend.

"No, it's my fault. Well—here, let me get this for you."

Dean stooped down to pick up the coffee cup, only to nearly drop it again as he saw the name scrawled on the side: Casteel. This wasn't…Surely—? He handed back the cup, getting a distracted "thanks" from Casteel, or whatever, and sent a holy crap look in Sam's direction. But Sam only returned it with a puzzled, puppy-eyed expression.

"Look, man, I'm really sorry. Can I at least buy you another coffee?"

"No, really," the man said, finally looking up to meet Dean's eye, "I'll be—"

"Fine," Castiel finished after far too much staring.

"Yes, he is," Gabe muttered under his breath. Castiel wiped the smirk off his brother's face with a stomp to his foot. He cleared his throat.

"It was an accident," he assured.

The stranger in front of him shrugged, as if he weren't the very epitome of beauty and sexual appeal. "Yeah, but I ruined your shirt and everything. And it's cold out. Let me at least get you another coffee, get you warmed up." At that they both blushed.

"I…sure," Castiel said. He was, after all, starting to feel the chill of the wind under the wet patches of his shirt. "I appreciate it…" he added, sticking his hand out.

"Uh…Charlie. Charlie Winchester." Castiel deflated; it was perhaps too much to hope for that he would meet his soul mate on the same day he learnt his name. The man, rather oddly, elbowed his friend roughly in the side before accepting Castiel's hand, shaking it firmly. "What's your name?"

"Castiel," he replied. "But you can call me Cas." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gabriel's eyebrows fly into his hairline; he never let anyone call him anything short of 'Castiel'. Gabriel did anyways, but it didn't mean he was allowed to.

God, he wanted this man in his bed.

Charlie and his brother Sam, the other man with Charlie, accompanied him and Gabriel back to the shop where Castiel ordered another coffee with sugar, Gabriel a lemon bar, and Sam a bran muffin. Charlie graciously paid for it, then suggested that they all sit at the table in the corner. Sam was fascinated by what Castiel had to say about the origins of coffee, but Charlie, rather disappointingly, didn't seem to care for talk about goats and berries. In fact, he didn't seem interested in Castiel at all; he didn't talk much and never made eye contact. However, that changed when the topic of conversation then inevitably switched from small talk to the biggest event of the decade: the Revealing of the Soul Mates.

"Yeah, Charlie here got a really interesting name," Sam said.

"Really?" said Gabriel. "Was it French? Swahili? Pig Latin?"

"No." Charlie made a face at his younger brother. "He's being sarcastic. It was uh, Anna."

"Well heck, man," Gabriel said, laughing good-naturedly, "they may as well have slapped you with a 'Smith'."

Castiel noticed Sam frowning at Charlie, again. Since he first shook hands with them, it seemed that the two brothers had been having an ongoing, albeit silent argument between them. Not one to pry into other people's business, he didn't mention it—but it was still odd.

Charlie coughed. "So, Cas, what kind of name did you get?"

"Yeah, Cas," jeered Gabriel, "tell us all about your dream man." Castiel shot a dark look at his brother.

"It's a dude?" asked Charlie.

Castiel ducked his head, looking down at his coffee. "I'll admit, I was rather surprised to receive a man's name, but if he supposedly is my soul mate then I assume I won't mind what gender he is. But I have faith. I think Dean is a good name, and—Sam, are you alright?"

Charlie thumped his brother on the back while Sam tried to dislodge the bite of bran muffin from his throat. "Yup, I'm good," he wheezed. "Just—just went down the wrong pipe is all."

"Now, Sammy," Charlie chastised, "I've told you, don't take more than you can swallow."

"Good advice for you if you ever find your man," Gabriel said, nudging Castiel. For whatever reason, Charlie suddenly started blushing profusely; Castiel assumed that he had picked up on one of Gabriel's usual innuendos, but he didn't know what the hidden meaning was. Not caring to ask, he got Sam a cup of water from the dispenser at the utensils-and-napkins counter, while Gabriel pondered aloud his chances of a girl named Kali ever studying the Kama Sutra.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean said as soon as they were alone in the car. As they said their goodbyes, Sam had invited Castiel and Gabriel to dinner that Friday night.

"Dean," said Sam, crossing his arms over his chest, "that was your soul mate and you know it. I am not letting him slip through your fingers just because you were too chicken to even tell him your real name, for God's sake!"

"Hey! We—we have no idea what this guy's like—"

Sam fixed him with an angry stare, cut him off. "He's awkward, doesn't understand pop culture references, has a steady job, watches the History Channel, likes walking through the park, and has the sweetest, most innocent disposition I have ever seen in a man. Basically, he's everything you need."

"We have nothing in common!"

"You don't need to have the same interests to get along, just the same values! Y'know, maybe—if you made an actual effort to get to know him—maybe it'll turn out he's just as caring, and loyal, and stubborn and self-sacrificing as you are!"

They came to a halt at a red light. Dean gripped the wheel tightly to keep his hands from trembling. His whole body felt like it was lit up, vibrating with an energy he wasn't sure was giddiness, anger, or nerves. Sam, of course, could see right through him.

"You already like him, don't you?" Sam said softly.

"Sam," Dean said, his voice raw. He opened and closed his mouth, searching for the right words, the right way to express how hopeful and afraid Castiel made him feel, how uncertain he was about this codex thing, how uncertain he was about himself. And shit, his dad…God knows where the hell his dad's been for the last seven months, but when he came back… "What would Dad—"

"Dad isn't here," said Sam bitterly. "Dad is never here. Dad doesn't care about what makes us happy, doesn't even care if we've got enough to eat. So if you think you can have something with Cas, don't even think about what dad might say—just take it and run, all right?"

Blinking back the tears threatening to fall (he could handle only so much estrogen in a day), Dean reached over and ruffled his brother's shaggy hair. "How come you're so smart, huh? Not even outta high school yet and you know exactly what I've gotta hear to get my head out of my ass. You're gonna be one hell of a lawyer."

The light flashed green. Sam grinned his puppy grin at him. "You should make him your world famous burgers! I bet he'd practically fall in love with you after that—"

"Calm down, cupid, it's just grub and some talk, get to know the guys a little better. Besides, just because I'm giving this a chance doesn't mean I'm suddenly into dick, alright? It ain't gonna be easy turning years of fast women and lingerie on its head just because some old book says I belong with a guy I've barely met."

Charlie's homemade burgers were so delicious Castiel could have cried over the fact that he wasn't his soul mate. It wasn't until he's halfway through his third and final helping that he realized his excessive and very enthusiastic moaning had Charlie shifting awkwardly in his chair.

"I apologize if I am making you uncomfortable," he told his hamburger-making god of a host. He huffed a small laugh, "I can't seem to help myself. I am already a big fan of hamburgers but these are perhaps the best I've ever had."

Charlie couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with the napkin in his lap but he flashed a grin at Castiel all the same. "No, it's fine. I'm—I'm glad you like 'em."

They stared at each other curiously. Castiel couldn't imagine why, but he felt…drawn to this man. He was attractive and charming and good to his brother, sure, but there was something in his eyes, in the way he walked, in his easy smiles, that made Castiel eager to know everything about him, yet feel as if he intimately, already did. Charlie, for his part, seemed aware of the pull but was reserved. He joked at Sam's expense, openly frowned at Gabriel when Castiel did, and affectionately scolded Castiel for having never watched Back to the Future, but all the same he seemed…distant.

It was that, and the fact that Charlie's name was not Dean, nor Castiel's Anna, that kept him from hoping for more than a casual friendship with the Winchester brothers.

It only took three weeks for everything to fall apart.

It was Dean's own fault—he didn't know how he had expected to keep up this whole charade, as Castiel was bound to find out sooner or later.

Castiel, and sometimes Gabriel, had become more or less an expected sight at the Winchester household. Dean's original excuse had been that he wanted to know more about the man's character; lately, Dean was realizing that he simply enjoyed Castiel's company. He had been inviting Castiel to everything—pizza and videogames, Sam's nerdy debate events, drinks at the local bar. Hell, there were a couple nights where Dean picked Cas up from work and they went to the grocery store together.

So really, he couldn't blame Sam for what happened.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel said when the younger brother opened the door.

"Hey, Cas!" Sam said pleasantly. "Where's Gabe?"

Castiel stepped inside and carefully removed his coat. "Gabriel will be here shortly. Apparently they threw a baby shower for one of the managers at his office, so he says he'll be bringing the leftover cake."

"Awesome! Well, grab yourself a beer." Sam said, leading him into the kitchen. "Dean will be right down. He wanted to get out the old Mario Kart games, tore up his whole closet trying to—Cas?"

Castiel stood just inside the doorway, mouth gaping. "Could—could you say that again?"

Sam frowned, pulling a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge. "What, Mario Kart?"

"No, no." Castiel shook his head, took a step closer. "What did you call your brother?"

Sam frowned at him some more, and then his eyes grew wide as understanding bloomed across his face. "Shit. I didn't—I meant—oh shit, he's gonna kill me—"

Suddenly Dean appeared, rummaging through the contents of an old shoebox in his arms. "Hey, Sammy, have you seen…"

Sam spun to face him, panic-stricken. "Dean! I mean, Charlie!"

"Huh? Charlie?"

"Dean?"

"Cas!"

"Your name is Dean?"

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry!"

Castiel's chest felt tight, his breathing sharp and quick and not enough.

Charlie was Dean? Was he his Dean, or was it a coincidence? And why didn't Charlie—no, why didn't Dean want to tell him his real name?

"Dean?" he said again, weakly. Charlie, Dean, whoever the hell he was, looked at him pitifully.

"Yeah, Cas…I'm…" Dean's voice shook, and he had trouble looking at him. "Cas, I—"

"Why?"

Dean looked helplessly from him to Sam and back again. "You—you said your soul mate's name was 'Dean' and I couldn't, I was just…"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "Were you afraid that I would…attempt to seduce you? But you said your soul mate's name is Anna—I would never have done anything you didn't want me to…" Dean gave him another sorry look and Castiel paused.

"Your mate's name is not Anna, is it?"

Dean shook his head.

"Is it…?" Unable to continue, Castiel pointed to himself. A moment of hesitation passed, and then Dean nodded sadly.

Oh. Oh. Suddenly Castiel understood—he belonged to Dean, and Dean belonged to him. But Dean didn't want him.

Stupid. Of all the things he had worried about, he had never considered the possibility that his soul mate simply would not want him.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," he mumbled as he pushed past the brothers. Barely managing to grab his coat, he threw open the door and fled.

Dean chased after Castiel.

"Cas! Cas!" he called. Castiel was moving quickly, dodging window-shoppers and dog-walkers, coat billowing behind him in the chilly February wind. Finally, a red light (and a passing semi-truck) forced Castiel to stop at the corner, and gave Dean a moment to catch up while he spun in circles, searching for an escape route. Dean almost smiled—poor Castiel looked like a squirrel caught on a busy road.

"Cas, please—" Castiel jerked his hands away when Dean reached out to grab them. His eyes, their blue color bright with exercise, were distant and rimmed red. Little flurries of snow clung to his dark hair and nipped pink at his nose.

"You didn't have to lie," said Castiel, voice rough but forcefully kept even. "I…appreciate our friendship of the last several weeks but I'd rather we went our separate ways. You clearly don't want me for a mate, and I couldn't bare your pity and contempt if we were to remain acquaintances."

Dean gripped the fabric of Castiel's sleeve between his forefingers, rubbing the material under his thumb. It was amazing that so much of what he'd hoped for, for all his life, was so tangible. Everyone dreams of love, of success and happiness—but how often did they find their chance literally standing in front of them?

"I don't know what I want," Dean said finally. "As a teenager all I wanted a girl with a short skirt and a nice rack, but the older I get the more tired I am—now, I just want a home."

He met Castiel's disappointed and cautious gaze. "Cas, you're nothing like I've ever known, nothing like I've ever wanted. I don't know what to think about you and all this soul mate stuff because I'm not used to happy endings." He took a steadying breath. "But…I feel safe around you. Something just feels…right. Can you feel it?"

Castiel nodded.

"I didn't tell you my real name because I was—I was scared. I wanted to know more about you first, without all of these crap expectations. And…I'd like to know more. If—if you're okay with that."

Castiel looked down and cleared his throat.

"You're going to catch a cold," he said.

Dean looked down at his socked feet, soaking wet in the snow and slush on the pavement. In an instant, the full extent of winter washed over him, reminding him that he had run out into freezing temperatures with shoes or a jacket. Dean blushed, realizing he looked like a shivering idiot, standing on a crowded street corner in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt.

Dean looked back up at Castiel. "Um," he said eloquently. "Yeah, see, this is why people gotta think carefully about who they end up with—there are all kinds of idiots running around this town."

Castiel smiled at him, small but fond. "Indeed. In that case, I'd better stick around and make sure you don't do anything to serious."

"Yeah?" A grin started to spread across Dean's face.

Castiel took off his coat and wrapped it around Dean's shoulder. It was a thick, dark wool thing, but Dean figured it wasn't the only reason he was starting to feel warm. He linked an arm with Cas and they made their way back home.

"You're going to need hot soup and medicine," Castiel said seriously.

"Might need to stay in bed all weekend," added Dean.

"With plenty of blankets."

"And maybe some body heat?"

Castiel whipped his head up with a wide-eyed expression; Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"That can be arranged," Castiel murmured.

Castiel smiled. So maybe they weren't as a good as married-happily-ever-after...but Dean was willing to try.

October 2008

"What the hell is this Prop 8 shit?" Dean threw down the newspaper in disgust. "See, I knew we should have gotten married when we first came out here for Sam's graduation in June. Now those sons of bitches have gone and revoked it, right after we moved out here!"

"From what I understand," Castiel said calmly, eyes never leaving the small LCD television set on the kitchen wall, "most state locals are just as upset over this as we are, Dean."

"We should have gone to Massachusetts."

"But Sam is here in California, and he's doing remarkably well at his new firm."

"Well then Sam should have gone to Massachusetts. Stanford my ass—I should have put him on a plane to Harvard. At least he'd wear layers in Boston. If there should be a ban against anything, it should be against plaid shorts." Dean shuddered, remembering the lunch they'd had with Sam last weekend, when Sam had turned up in his "shut up, Dean, I'm just trying to fit in" outfit.

Castiel imagined with both humor and disgust Dean wearing some of the more horrific fashion crazes of late. Dean was by no means perfect, but thank god that, of all things, his soul mate didn't turn out to be a trilby-wearing Internet troll.

He smiled at him. "Plaid shorts are just a trend, Dean. But that," he looked pointedly at the paper on the table, "is inevitable. It might take another twenty years with the government dragging its feet, but we'll get married someday. Don't worry."

Dean grinned. Castiel was always so matter-of-fact, but he always knew what to say to give Dean hope.

"Maybe someday we'll be watching all this crap on the History Channel, huh?" he said, nodding at the program on Hitler that had Castiel so captivated.

Castiel shrugged. "If the History Channel doesn't change too much by then. It appears they're obsessed with aliens lately."

"We've Only Just Begun" by The Carpenters

A/N: R.I.P. proper educational television

I literally did not know where this was going, so... apologies. Maybe I'll come back and edit sometime.