Title: Could've Been Dean

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: What's theirs is theirs; what's mine is mine. It's as simple as that.

Summary: It could've been him… but probably not. Dean looks in on a past relationship.

A/N: Listening to old country songs really gives my muse the swift kick the keester that she needs, you know? Inspired by Billy Ray Cyrus's (the good days, when he still had the mullet!) Could've Been Me. If you listen to that song, you'll know why it fits.

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Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing there. He and Sam had just been passing through Missouri when he had happened upon a newspaper and saw the announcement. He didn't even know whether or not Sam had seen his face turn another whole shade of gray, but he knew his little brother heard his stomach drop all the way down to his feet. Sam looked from Dean to the paper, and back to Dean, eyebrows raised.

"Dean, is that really…"

"Shut up, Sam."

Thankfully, Sam had done as he was told, for once, and didn't say anymore about it. But once they had deposited their bags on the beds and settled in for the night, Dean began pacing. He even got violent with a pillow or two, throwing them around and to the floor, making Sam wince. Finally, the younger Winchester had to speak up.

"Dean, do you want to go?"

"No, Sammy."

"Are you sure?"

"Sam…"

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

Another hour past, and Dean's stomach hadn't stopped trying to carve its way out of his body with a paring knife. Another five minutes and he was grabbing his coat and keys, anxious to do something, anything. Sam was up in a moment, reaching for his jacket, when Dean shot him a look that would have put Iceman to shame. "Stay," Dean said, holding out his hand for emphasis.

Sam sank back down into his chair, brow furrowing in concern. "You sure you don't want me to go, in case something needs to be said and you can't say it right away?"

Dean smirked at that, a little color coming back into his cheeks and he heaved a sigh. "Thanks, but no. I got this."

And that's how he arrived at the wedding, the awkward stranger standing at the back of the church, in a leather jacket and dirty jeans among black ties and dresses. It had already begun; he managed to slip in behind an usher, and no one was paying him much attention as it was – they were too focused on the bride. Dean could hardly breathe himself for looking at her. She glowed with a radiance that he had never quite been able to coax from her, even at his best. He was no fashion expert, but the white dress she was wearing was perfect, from the top of delicately-veil covered head, to her invisible feet. She looked at the poor sap across from her so lovingly that it almost brought tears to Dean's eyes.

He had dreamt about being that guy for years. He had kept thinking that, maybe, he would come back someday and sweep her off her feet, take her away somewhere and make her officially his. In his younger, stupider days, he had carried around a ring, hoping that the right moment would jump in his face, dancing stark- naked, and he would just pop the question. She would have said yes, he knew it. Dad would have been proud of him, maybe, and Sam might have even have been an uncle. That whole life could've been his, and he threw it away to fight monsters and ghosts and the damn Apocalypse.

Fuck, Dean thought, tears welling in his eyes, I'm starting to sound like Sam.

When the preacher asked for any objections, he bit his lip to keep from speaking out. For a moment, he regretted not bringing Sam, and then regretted his regret. There was nothing he could do about it now, and what would be the point? She was happy, and he couldn't want more than that.

Even so, when he saw her kiss her groom and saw the tears streaking down her face, his heart twisted inside. He could've had this, maybe. The new couple turned to come down the aisle and he saw his chance to make a quick getaway, but Dean couldn't resist watching just a little bit longer, twisting the knife in his stomach just a little harder. She was so beautiful, smiling like that, and he grinned. Even now, years later, he loved her like he had back then.

Their eyes met and confusion flitted across her face, and Dean knew that she knew. He smiled and waved, and she smiled back, leaning in closer to her groom. That's when he couldn't take anymore, when he knew he had to leave. He slipped between the church doors and set off down the street at a jog, anxious to run off some of his emotion before driving back to that motel room and his little brother.

As the bride reached the front door, she looked over the heads of her family and friends, searching for Dean's face, but he was gone. That was the style of Dean Winchester – he stayed just long enough for your heart to start racing, and then he disappeared.

Still, Cassie thought as she ducked under her new husband's arm, Dean could've been the one.