A/N: This was written sometime after I watched season 8, so it's not necessarily canon-compliant from then on, but hopefully you can still enjoy it all the same.
Unbelievable
Obeying his father's every word, while empathizing with his emotional instability after mother's death, while trying to protect his younger, awkward, nerdy brother from the fact that everything was just flat out wrong with this world, while hiding his own issues within the deep recesses of his brain, while making sure that he did not simply die every couple days or so; just was not that easy.
He was freaking exhausted all the time; his head hurt, his limbs ached, and his heart felt like it had been used in a round of international Frisbee.
He hadn't slept properly in twenty-five years. And now, after the whole 'Heaven and Angels are real,' debacle, he could say that he probably wouldn't sleep properly unless all the evil was somehow eliminated, and the bastards upstairs were satisfied.
He got by loving beer, pie, porn and the Impala, but in the span of thirty plus years, he had really imagined adding more things to just the basics. He just never had enough time. It's hard to find yourself in purgatory, you know?
But most of all, the thing that made Dean Winchester's life so freaking difficult, was that he was just plain lonely most of the time. Going through life, he had only ever trusted four people and at one point or another most of them had let him down.
His mom and Bobby, God (or somebody...) Bless them, had been the only two constants in his life, but he had never really known his mother, so it was actually just Bobby, who had been always been that person who was so strong and sturdy and simply there for them, that even if he lived a million more years, he could never thank his adopted father enough. But Bobby wasn't here anymore.
Dad had simply started going off on month-long solos when he had turned sixteen, and when he was around, he was always so closed off and emotionally wrecked that physically present was about all he was. Still, he had loved his boys with whatever heart he had salvaged, so Dean knew that he would always make the right call because he had always had the two in his heart. Or so he had always hoped.
Sammy was even more than a train-wreck than Dad, and although he sympathized with the whole Jessica thing, he never really understood why the kid was still so full of angst even after he had fully moved on from the her - and that was according to the brat's own words. As for being there, he had never, like, 'betrayed' him or anything, obviously, (at least not when he was regular, human Sammy) but sometimes he felt like all that he gave to his brother was never really completely communicated back when they were together.
Of course, Dean loved Sam and Sam loved Dean, but the difference between the two was that Dean needed Sammy to need him. But the kid was fed demon blood as a baby, so he didn't really blame his 'dys-functionality' and shallow emotional bonds on him. Nonetheless, his baby brother meant the world to him and he had done everything and would continue to do anything to keep his big-foot-brat happy.
So really, if one breaks it down; it's really just one, plus a half, plus a quarter or trustworthy people.
And then Sammy blames him for drinking too much. Well, sorry kid, but not everyone had their personalized she-demon who loved to listen to angst and let them drink her blood. Ew, okay, well, not that having a demon was something that would have made drink less...
Whatever. Anyway, Dean was not one to harp about things he knew were never going to change. And he hated fluff anyway.
All jokes aside though, Dean really had accepted that his five true loves were going to always be, the Impala, beer, porn, pie, and Sammy.
Okay, so pretend that someone had told him, a couple years back before that whole, 'Heaven And Angels Are Real,' thing, that he would one day trust an introverted angel who's best comeback was to deadpan, 'Ass-butt,' even more than these four people combined.
He would have laughed, maybe slapped them on the back, and ask them what exactly they were smoking and if he could have some.
And then pretend that that same someone would have told him, that this angel would betray that trust to the point where Dean could barely say three words before choking up, even to Sammy.
He would have most likely punched that person in the face and kick them in the gut, before walking over them to the exit of whatever room he was in.
And then what if this 'creepy-ass, determined Mo-Fo,' had decided to pursue this entirely uninterested Winchester and wheeze out that in the end, however, the angel would redeem himself, re-gain his trust and then one day after one-too-many awkward innuendos for two straight males to share, confess his less-than-holy love for Dean, so that he would never be alone again?
Dean would probably have been speechless, before beginning to throw various combinations of holy water, ignited holy fire bombs, silver chips and cleaning agents at the crazy man.
And when the day came that he was sitting on the porch essentially weaponless; (well, Sammy convinced him to wear a cross and he had a bottle opener, which was more useful than expected), watching Sam and an old college lover named Alicia laughing together in their new hometown of Lawrence, Kansas, feeling so freaking full of light and family, Dean was pretty damn speechless.
He wanted to shoot something just to make sure it was not all an illusion, like so many times before.
Suddenly, Sammy waved at him, one arm around his petit new-girlfriend, and motioned that he was going to take the car around to get four ice creams. Dean absently nodded back, not really hearing what he had just said. When the words fully sunk in, however, it was too late; the young couple had already pulled out of the drive-way.
"Why on Earth, would he buy four? I'm not that much of a glutton." he mumbled out anyway, closing his eyes.
"Dean, you are every bit as much of a glutton as you say you are, but I'd like to think the fourth one was for me, seeing as though I have taken a liking to the sugary-sweet desert and was the one who actually asked if they would not mind picking it up since I am unable to at the moment, and since they looked as though they wanted some time alone. Why, did you not want ice cream?" said a familiar voice laced with... was that actually sarcasm?
Normally, that would not have bothered Dean, but when that voice sounded so like-
Dean froze and shut his eyes.
"W-Why can't you move?" he ventured. Suddenly, he felt fresh, almost too-sweet memories, rushing through his mind.
-The side of his body pressed against Dean's as he nuzzled the trunk of an Indian elephant. Crowley taking pictures with his infamous iPhone in the distance, shouting about fan-girls or some such non-sense-
-His long, pale fingers flipping through pages upon pages of incantations as the atmosphere sat heavy with anticipation before the summoning-
-Deathly white knuckles protruded from those same hands as they gripped the steering wheel of the poor Impala, drivers licence tucked into his trench coat. His expression extremely focused, as he inched along a road at 15km/h to the soundtrack of Sammy snoring in the backseat in the lap of that same girl while Dean laughed like no tomorrow-
-One of those same hands intertwined with his own, while those clear blue eyes unraveled him all the way till his core. The other hand stroking Dean in tandem with the inhumanely powerful thrusts that wracked his body with unadulterated pleasure, leaving him begging so fucking hard that they both blushed-
-The four of them; Sam and his gigantic body having to sit in a wooden chair so he would fit in the frame, his girl Alicia perched prettily on the right arm of the same chair, Dean to the left of the two, arms spread open to envelope the two of them and the man who was situated at the farthest right struggling not to look awkward as he wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and pressed one hand to Sam's shoulder-
"Well... You are lying in my lap, Dean."
Dean opened his own eyes. He was indeed lying down with his head pillowed in Castiel, the Angel of the Lord's lap. He took a deep breathe to clear his mind of his thoughts. He opened his eyes.
Smirking tauntingly, he turned around to face up and stare up into the blue blue eyes of the dark-haired man instead.
"And, I don't intend on leaving," he said cockily. Castiel was going to push him off just for the fun of it, but stopped when he saw the insecurity shining in Dean's eyes.
The angel gave a small smile of his own and brought his arms down to encircle the hunter, tightening his hold till he flinched.
"That is good, Dean, because I do not intend on letting you," he said, voice laden with the same brutal honesty he said everything with. He lowered his head down, and moved one of his hands up to craddle Dean's head. As the late afternoon sun sparkled in his green eyes, Castiel pressed a slight, loving kiss onto the other's forehead.
It had been a long time since Dean had been touched that gently. The innocent press of lips that felt like a promise; that regardless of anything, Castiel would never leave Dean Winchester alone.
Dean promised him the same thing with his own kiss; one filled with quiet fire, a sliver hope and a promise of together that transcended his lifetime. Their lifetimes. Life itself. Everything.