Dean stands up from his assigned seat at the table. He got tucked into the far corner of the ballroom, along with a bunch of other schmucks that didn't fit in nicely with everyone else. Because here, among this family, everything has to fit in perfectly or be hidden from anyone's sight and gotten rid of at the nearest chance.
He straightens the lapels and does up the button of his tailored suit. He sank half of his savings into it just to look like a million dollars. He never thought he was that petty, but there he is. Breaking his own heart into pieces. Again.
But at least looking good as hell while at it.
The way towards the center table seems endless, but legs carry him without connection to his brain. He can only be glad for that: otherwise he'd probably turn around and flee. It would be the smart thing to do. But then, Cas is the one thing Dean never could be smart about.
As he passes by each seat, he can't shake the feeling of eyes tracking his moves, of the whispers that follow him.
"Look! It's that Dean guy. Can't believe he had the guts to come."
What a terrible moment to develop self-consciousness. Or maybe it's been growing in him slowly, every day since their summer ended, tenderly nurtured by snide remarks about every aspect of Dean's being, dismissive glares and Cas's blocked credit cards.
It's ridiculous, of course. There are no whispers because no one cares. If anyone noticed him, at best, they'll wonder in passing whose third cousin's husband he is. How could they ever know his name? There was no official introduction to Cas's family and those whom Dean had the misfortune to meet would rather tear out their own tonsils than admit their brother is close with someone like him.
And now Cas is close, again, though not in any way that matters. He's poking at a slice of some overpriced cake on his plate, listening to a rant from some guy Dean doesn't know—but might as well be yet another of his brothers. Not that Dean cares who the guy is and how much trouble Dean gets Cas in. He's still gonna do it. He's right here, just a few steps away and still unnoticed.
Funny, Cas used to say Dean's the stars in his sky. Right now, his sky must be clouded as fuck, then, 'cause he might as well be invisible.
Until he steps up too close to be unnoticed and too close to be ignored; his knuckles tap gently on the mahogany table.
"Hi, Cas."
The words barely make it through Dean's throat, but he makes sure he doesn't try to clear it—he can't show Cas how nervous he is.
How can he be this fucking nervous around the man who used to be his whole world?
"Dean," Cas lets out, as soon as his eyes dart and land on Dean's face. He looks awfully surprised to see him for a guy who addressed and sent Dean's invitation and who accepted his gift and best wishes today before conveniently needing to be elsewhere, anywhere Dean was not. "Are you enjoying the reception?" Cas asks, as soon as he collects himself and slips into a polite tone with a polite smile on top.
Dean only nods to that because what can he even say? Something like 'this is the worst day of my life' probably wouldn't be taken too well. Besides, Dean might be petty, but he's not that pathetic, yet. And the other guy's eyes don't stop boring into him.
Dean takes a deep, calming breath and outstretches his hand to Cas.
"May I have this dance with you, Cas?"
Cas's eyes grow wide, as if Dean just asked him to murder his own father, not to sway to the rhythm for three minutes. Then they snap to the white, puffy cloud of Kelly's dress, the well-designed tufts of fabric masterfully obscuring her belly. She spins around the ballroom with an older man who must be her dad. Her face glows and Dean couldn't blame her if he tried. Some people just get to be more lucky than others, don't they?
"Come on, it's just one dance." Cas is looking a little lost with his wandering eyes. Dean encourages him with a flick of his fingers. "I'm sure you don't need the approval of your wife—" Dean's tongue nearly stumbles on the word, so strange and loathsome "—to have one last dance with your…old friend, right?"
Dean's quite impressed with himself, with how easily that stupid phrase passed his lips. Calling himself an old friend of Cas's is like calling the Mariana Trench a rut. But he's really gotten used to that one.
It's been four months, eight days and seventeen or so hours since that evening on the staircase in Dean's block where Cas told him his plans for the future. No, not about the little house in some tiny town in Kansas, right across the street from the best pies in the Midwest, the long road trips along the interstate with Zeppelin blasting in the speakers, or showing Dean the magnificence of the Grand Canyon for the first time or making it all the way to Canada just to see the northern lights.
"I'm going back home," he said, staring at the obscene graffiti right beside Dean's door. For all his longing gazes, the coward couldn't even look Dean in the eye the one time it mattered.
Maybe if he did, if Dean tried harder to make him lift his eyes, raise his head up one more time, he'd manage to keep that rebellious spark inside Cas smoldering for a little while longer. But he didn't. Because he was tired. He was so fucking exhausted of the same thing, over and over again—of Cas slipping away, back into his family's arms because peace was easier than freedom. Loyalty was easier than love.
"Cas, please—" Dean only let out. He should have begged harder, he should have poured his whole heart out instead of letting it shatter. But he didn't. So maybe it's his fault, after all. "Do you hear yourself?"
This time Cas's eyes dropped down to the dirty stairs beneath his overpaid leather boots.
"I'm marrying Kelly in the spring."
Dean blinked. He had to hear it wrong.
"Oh, so you're just gonna clean up your brother's mess?" he snapped. It was unfair. To Cas, to Dean, to Kelly.
But the baby daddy former golden boy, unlike Cas, knew how to drop out of their dad's reach, so the black sheep was enough for a cover-up.
Sure, they'd both known that had been what Cas's father expected of him. But the last time the subject had come up, Cas had been just as appalled as Dean, if not more. And now—now he was just gonna do it because he got bored of his little rebellion.
"I'm doing this for her."
It took Dean a moment to compose himself. "Is this what you want?"
"It's the right thing to do."
That wasn't what Dean was asking. "Is this what you want, Cas?" he repeated, more firmly.
Cas took a pause and just for a moment, hope sparked inside Dean, only to be squashed right away.
"Yes," Cas said and, at last, his eyes found Dean's and their blue felt colder than that harsh December. "That's what I decided and I ask you to respect it."
And Dean did respect it. He respected it the way you respect a mortgage deal, not how you respect a riot. He never tried calling Cas after that, never let his legs stray to Cas's old favorite coffee shop just in case he was there, sipping his latte, nor did anything stupid like that.
Except that one time when he got too drunk and Cas's number was still on his speed dial, and Cas didn't pick up anyway.
But Dean never made peace with the decision and never stopped waiting for a call, for Cas's remorseful face at his door, apologies pouring from his lips—no, Dean wouldn't even need those. As he had done every time that Cas had faltered and come back, Dean would take him back in without a word. How could Cas let that be the end of their story?
None of that happened. Not through Christmas and New Years and the blooming of Cas's beloved flowers. Until the envelope that appeared in Dean's post box. You're cordially invited… and all that.
Now, there Dean is, standing in front of the man, waiting. And waiting. And waiting until the discomfort becomes palpable and more than a few pairs of eyes, for real, this time, fixate on them. Cas's brother's included.
Cas's mouth opens, at last, but what comes out is not what Dean expected to hear. Or maybe he did. He's not sure anymore.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Cas seems embarrassed, almost angry. Dean gets punched in the gut. Again.
"Oh. Okay," he says, his lips pursed, his head bobs in disappointment.
Then he turns on his heel to walk away, humiliated. Again.
And he's got the whole ballroom to cross to get to the door. Past the tables lined alongside, past the swirling on the polished parquet. Past Kelly, with her beautiful wedding dress and her beautiful smile.
He catches her just as the song fades. A gentle touch on her arm. "Hey, Kelly."
"Dean!" She turns to him with a bright smile befitting a bride. "Are you having fun?"
Her words sound a little rehearsed, like she's asked the same question a dozen times this evening. That's kind of her job, isn't it? Making sure the guests aren't sulking and ruining fun for others?
So he can't blame her for those words, as cruel as they feel. He smiles back at her before she can realize her mistake. She's not exactly oblivious to the messed up game that's been going on between the three of them. Nor to the way Dean's been treated here—a dirty secret almost, hidden away in the corner.
"Yeah, the food is great," Dean says. That one thing's not even a lie, even if he couldn't push much of it through his clenched throat.
"Right? It's amazing."
There's that look of astonishment on her face as she casts eyes around them. Saying amazing, she doesn't just mean the food. It's the most expensive ballroom on the east coast and the decorations perfected to the dot, it's the fine wine that's been maturing in the private cellars for decades and the private jet waiting to take them on the honeymoon on a private island.
It's her brand new life, full of expensive cars, luxury and scrutiny.
She never even asked for the Shurleys' money. She wanted the baby daddy to take responsibility, not his brother's wedding ring. Perhaps neither Kelly nor Dean can ever really get what they want.
"So, do you wanna dance with the bride?" she asks, raising her hand to his shoulder. But that's not what Dean came to her for. His eyes glancing towards the door give him away. "Oh, you're leaving already?"
Why does her smile fall in disappointment at that? Why is she this nice to him at all? His very presence here could have started trouble any moment and turned her dream night into ruin.
If Dean really wanted to, if that was what he came here for, he could still have Cas—and for more than a dance. Cas is a decent man, but Dean's always been his one weakness.
If only Dean caught him in an empty corridor, in the golden-plated restroom or in one of the guest suites upstairs. If he only waited a little bit longer, until the wine went into Cas's head, not enough to get him drunk, but just enough to loosen him up and make him want things, crave things, like Dean, like his lips, like his body.
They'd both regret it come morning. Dean could never look himself in the eye again. But Cas has always been his one weakness, too.
But their story is over. All three of them know it. Now it's Kelly's time in Cas's spotlight.
"Yeah, I've got to work tomorrow." Dean sweetens his lie with an apologetic smile. "And it's a long way back home."
"I just wanted to wish you happiness. You and Cas and the baby—"
"—Jack," she cuts in with her palm resting softly on her belly.
Dean licks his lip. He didn't need to know the baby's name. He'll probably read it in the papers anyway.
"—And Jack," he echoes. "I know you'll do great."
He should tell her to be careful, too. Not just with the family she just got herself into. With Cas. Because Cas will never really love her, not the way he loved Dean. But it's only Dean's own broken heart speaking: Cas might be capable of hurting, but he's still a good man. He'll keep Kelly happy and safe and he'll take good care of the baby, too. And that's what Kelly deserves after what she's been through.
"Thank you, Dean. I wish you all the best, too. Truly."
Before Dean can say goodbye and walk away, a hand lands on his shoulder.
"Dean." Cas's breath tickles the back of Dean's ear. "Let's dance."
Dean could swear he heard nerves in his voice and, as he turns, the look on Cas's face tells him he's not here because he grew a little courage and changed his mind.
He doesn't want him talking to Kelly. What kind of douche is Cas taking Dean for?
"One last dance," Cas says firmly whether for Kelly's sake or Dean's, Dean doesn't know. Maybe for his own.
For a brief moment Dean wants to refuse. It's too late. He's ready to leave. And he wants to spite Cas, wants him to hurt. Wants to leave him here on the dance floor looking like an idiot the same way he made Dean look like one.
But it's their last dance. So Dean slips his palm into Cas's, their fingers interlacing as smoothly, fitting as perfectly as they always have. This was one big mistake. But the song's already playing. Their legs are already bouncing to the slow beat. Why did it have to be a slow song?
"What did you think I'd say to her?" Dean can't hide the rejection in his voice.
Cas at least has the decency to look ashamed—though it might be just that he got caught and called out.
"I don't know, but—" he pauses, looking for words. His eyes stuck somewhere on the pattern of Dean's tie. "It's not all a lie, you know?" he says, at last. "I do love her. You're not the only center of my world."
Dean swallows hard, but he can't show how much these words hurt.
Except, he never demanded that of him—this sort of complete devotion. He just wanted Cas to stay, the rest was all Cas's choice to give.
"You'd better."
And that is that. They dance in silence, stealing glances, aching for more. Both of their hearts breaking all over again. Is it worth it? Dean's not so sure. But their story deserved the right ending.
Just before the very last notes of the song play out, Dean unlinks their hands. He can't let Cas pull away first, this time. This time, Dean's walking away. And walking away for good.
"Thanks for the dance," he says in the brief moment of silence between the songs. "And for our time."
Before Cas can say anything, Dean turns to the door and leaves the love of his life behind, forever.