Chapter 13: I wish you love
Castiel's POV
2023
Castiel watched Rose and Amy shriek as Sam ignited the last of the fireworks. Dean had gone inside for more warm wine. It was disgusting, but apparently some kind of tradition that needed to be preserved. However, Dean came outside without the wine and a rather smug expression on his face that worried Castiel. Before he had time to ask him about it, Dean asked Sam whether he'd like some help putting the girls to bed.
Their yawns had been increasing exponentially for the last thirty minutes. They protested, since their aim had been to stay awake the entire night, but despite their valiant efforts they were clearly not going to succeed. At least they had made it past midnight.
Castiel turned around and leaned on the gate. Another person who had not succeeded in staying awake was Bobby, who was currently asleep on a deck chair. Castiel watched the fireworks in the distance. They were filling the black sky with bursting colours and figures. In the river, he could see their distorted reflections.
He felt he was doing it wrong. He was doing it wrong. Dean said there was no wrong; that people grieved in different ways, but nonetheless, Castiel felt that he was doing it wrong.
It had been five years since Miranda had died and Castiel was still trying to wrap his head around it. Death; it was... What was it? To be or not to be. Except perhaps the difficulty did not lie in the not being, but in the process of going from the being to the not being.
There was so much of it that he had thought he understood and now discovered he didn't understand at all. The irreversibility of death. Its dubious necessity. Its randomness. Cancer: what did that mean? It was natural, but didn't seem natural at all. It was indiscriminate. There was no cause and effect. Where was the reason? Where was the why? The why was everywhere, except where it was supposed to be. Why Miranda? Why so soon? Why?
And what was it to him? He had liked Miranda and he liked Sam. He liked Amy and Rose. The only one he really loved was Dean. Yet, sometimes he felt that something was missing because she was gone.
When he was only an angel he had usually related to human emotions via Dean. He had tried that again. What did it mean to Dean? Castiel loved Dean, Dean loved Sam and Sam had loved Miranda. Sam was hurt, so Dean was hurt, which meant that Castiel was hurt. The problem was that it didn't hurt enough or at other times too much. Too much grief for this person who was only tangentially related to him.
Crying was supposed to help. Sam had said it made him feel better. Castiel had tried it. It was difficult and afterwards he felt worse, so he couldn't even do that right. He'd practise fighting in the basement with Sam and Dean. Couldn't they do that too? Couldn't they practise mourning? Because he was screwing it up.
The worst thing was when he wanted to go jogging and thought about calling Miranda to ask her to come with him. It took him a few seconds to remember that she couldn't come, because she had died. He was ashamed to tell even Dean. Another thing he hadn't told anyone was that he had tried to do something to prevent Miranda dying. It was perhaps the first time he had regretted becoming human, because his hands could heal nothing. He was helpless.
Sam touched his shoulder and watched the fireworks in the distance with him. Dean kept trying to convince Castiel that Sam was getting better, but there was a sadness in Sam's eyes that hadn't been there before. The taller Winchester smiled at Castiel and suddenly Castiel felt he had to tell him about the efforts he had made, regardless of how fruitless they had been.
'Sam, I want to talk to you about the fight we had when Miranda was dying. I know I said then that I wouldn't do anything, but I lied,' Castiel admitted. Sam looked at him, as if trying to gauge the potential pain his statement would bring.
The fact of the matter was that he had tried to summon Balthazar. It might not have been the most logical choice, since he had been the one to kill Balthazar and upon his resurrection Balthazar would most likely have felt some animosity towards him. Due to the enormous overhaul in heaven, Balthazar was the only angel Castiel could think of who would not laugh in his face as he pleaded for the life of a human. Unfortunately, the pleading never came to pass.
Castiel had called his name, had used some of Bobby's invocations and nothing had happened. After that he had attempted other angels, but none of them had appeared either. Eventually, he had turned to God himself. No sign. If that was praying, Castiel reflected, praying really sucked. At times it felt reassuring, he was sure, but to him it mostly felt like speaking to someone who wasn't there or who was there but wasn't listening.
'I tried to contact them, but no one came. I'd have done it if I could, I hope you know I would,' he said. He shuffled his feet and looked at the dark, swirling water of the river, because he couldn't look at Sam. Suddenly, Sam's hand squeezed his shoulder in a friendly manner.
'I know, Cas. Don't worry. Of course I know,' Sam reassured him. He yawned and Castiel followed suit. The bursts of coloured lights were growing less frequent. It was getting colder too. They should probably wake Bobby before he froze to death. The old man had consumed the most alcohol of them all.
'It's funny. Once or twice a year when I wake up, I still experience a moment where I expect to find her lying next to me. And then I realise she's gone,' Sam whispered. Castiel couldn't see the humour in it. It sounded awful. Yet, it comforted him. Apparently, forgetting that Miranda was dead wasn't an abnormal thing to do if Sam sometimes also did it. That was a relief.
'I'd better wake Bobby and go to sleep if I have to be off first thing in the morning. Happy new year,' Sam said.
'Happy new year,' Castiel returned. He watched Sam open the gate and walk across the pier to Bobby, but he turned around before Sam reached him. As he slowly approached the house, he looked up. All he could see were bright stars and a half moon. The rest of the sky was dark. Silently, he entered the house and mounted the stairs. He didn't want to be responsible for waking Amy and Rose. At other times he enjoyed their company, their inability to be evil. The worst Amy and Rose could aspire to at the age of six was being naughty. Now he wanted to be with Dean.
'Where is Sam going today?' Castiel asked. Dean was lying face down on the bed. It was his trademark position if he was too tired to do anything. Castiel sat down next to him and slipped his hands under Dean's sweater. Dean shuddered as icy hands caressed the soft skin of his back.
'Nest of vampires two towns over. Sam's going there in the morning,' Dean mumbled. His voice was muffled in the sheets, but Castiel heard him perfectly. Frowning, he extracted his hands.
'That doesn't seem like such a good idea.'
Immediately, Dean turned his head to look at him. Just like Sam, Dean had a bitch face and he was employing it now.
'Because I thought of it?' he asked. Sometimes Dean could be very sensitive about his ideas, suggestions and/or plans. The room was chilly, so Castiel was surprised when Dean started to undress. He watched with delight as Dean shed his sweater and the wife beater underneath. Suspecting that Dean was trying to distract him from the topic at hand, but nonetheless intrigued, Castiel sighed.
'No Dean, because it simply isn't a good idea,' he repeated. Dean huffed in indignation and continuing to shed clothes. Boots, socks, jeans. In his boxers, Dean faced him.
'Because I thought of it,' he stated and disappeared into the bathroom. Castiel followed him inside.
'He hasn't shown an interest in hunting for a long time,' Castiel protested. Dean fiddled with the taps until the shower was just the right temperature, which, judging by the clouds of steam was scalding hot. Realising he could use a shower too, because he had spend too long in the cold outside, Castiel began removing items of clothing too.
'His wife died. I'm sure he'd like to kill something. I would if you died,' Dean said and quickly stepped out of his boxers and into the shower. Roughly, he pulled the shower curtain against the wall and continued his explanation, 'And he never has any time to his own. We're always crowding him here and at his work he can't relax either.'
Castiel was trying to undress faster, because even though he couldn't see Dean the thought of Dean's muscular body all supple and wet was doing the usual things to his body. His breathing accelerated as he threw his clothes in the laundry basket and locked the door.
'On his own? You are considering sending him to kill a nest of vampires on his own? Why?'
'Because...' Dean said which was followed by a few undecipherable mumbles and splutters. There wouldn't be a lot of his brain left to concentrate once he joined Dean in the shower, so shivering slightly, Castiel waited. Dean didn't clarify his spluttered mumblings.
'Mumbling only confirms that you're trying to pass a bad idea by me, Dean,' Castiel said loudly, growing increasingly exasperated and aroused. He had long ago discovered that he found it pretty attractive when Dean tried to fool him regarding irrelevant matters. Dean was not very good at it and it was irresistible.
'Because he needs to get out without us looking over his shoulder all the time. He'll stay with Sarah Blake...' Dean answered. Several things clicked in Castiel's mind at that moment and he interrupted him.
'Wait, wait. The woman from the gallery. Sam once liked her. But isn't she married?' he asked.
'How do you even remember that?'
Dean sounded amazed. Castiel didn't understand why. He remembered everything Dean said and Dean knew this.
'Let me guess; you remember everything I say. Look, Sam just needs some distraction,' Dean elucidated. Castiel needed a distraction too, because he could only think about Dean behind the shower curtain. Dean; hot and warm and willing. Dean; glimmering under the steady stream of water and soft under his fingers. Another intense shiver due to the cold shook Castiel and made him attempt to focus again.
'Is this some sort of ill advised matchmaking endeavour? What is the distraction? Sarah or the vampires?'
'Both. For your information, she is divorced now and Sam needs to get out of his funk. Come in here,' Dean requested and because Castiel clearly recognised the lust in Dean's voice he obeyed. The warmth of the water made him sigh with pleasure and he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.
'He has lost his wife,' Castiel objected. It was an important distinction. Sam was not in a funk; he was still in mourning. Yet, it sounded feeble. Mostly, because Castiel was fighting the desire to open his eyes and look at Dean at which point their conversation would be over.
'It has been five years. He'll always miss her. It's time to start living again,' Dean told him. Strong hands slid down Castiel's arms and his eyes fluttered open for a second, but he quickly shut them again. He could feel Dean standing behind him. Not actually feel, as in touch, but he felt Dean's presence. He smelt suspiciously like he always used to smell. Like sweat and pine needles and gunpowder. The gunpowder was from the fireworks, Castiel guessed. The only thing missing was the sharp scent of rock salt.
'Someone has to go with him,' Castiel demanded.
'I'll go,' Dean offered.
'And upset them with your obvious matchmaking? I don't think that's wise.'
'Well, Bobby can't go: he's like a natural cock block,' Dean drily asserted. Castiel wished Dean hadn't said that. His lust for Dean could withstand discussions about Sam and his deceased wife, but it wasn't immune to the use of 'Bobby' and the word 'cock' in one sentence. Disappointed, he ventured to open his eyes. As if he knew what he had done, Dean smirked at him.
'Short of sending Amy and Rose, who I think wouldn't be very useful with hunting vampires and who might prove to be an obstacle to the rekindling of Sam and Sarah's past relationship, it looks like I'm going with him.'
Dean shoved aside the shower curtain and stepped out of Castiel's sight. Sighing heavily, Castiel followed him and turned off the taps. The steam in the bathroom was thick, but Castiel could still observe Dean in all his glory. Dean was a work of art, though whenever Castiel voiced this opinion, Dean shrugged it off hastily.
'You only want to go, because you think my plan is doomed to fail,' Dean muttered and he flicked his towel at Castiel.
'It's not even a plan. A plan has stages. You're merely going to send Sam away and hope they fall in love. It's wishful thinking,' Castiel responded. He didn't mean to be so hard on Dean, but he didn't like the way Dean was pushing Sam. Sam probably didn't appreciate the manipulation either, but he was still easily cowed. Still not normal, if he ever would be again. Suddenly, Dean stopped his vigorous towelling and sought out Castiel's eyes.
'Cas, I just wish he'd have what we have,' he said seriously.
'I do too,' Castiel responded. He wasn't entirely sure Dean's approach was the prudent manner to accomplish this goal. Unlocking the door, Dean walked into the bedroom. He paused in front of the large, oval mirror. Since they had stopped working, Castiel had noticed changes in Dean's body. He was still muscular and lean, but some areas were fleshier than before. Dean patted his stomach and looked questioningly at Castiel as he came out of the bathroom.
'Do I look fat?' he asked, cringing as he spoke, 'Fuck, I sound like a woman. Well, do I?'
Walking up behind Dean and sliding his hands around Dean's slightly expanding waist, Castiel smiled in the mirror.
'More of you for me to love,' he mumbled. An answer that seemed to amuse and annoy Dean at the same time as he slipped out of Castiel's embrace and ducked under the sheets. Noting the enduring low temperature in the bedroom, Castiel swiftly joined him.
'Dude, you're like the master of the backhanded compliment,' Dean complained while they huddled closer for warmth and comfort.
'I don't know what you mean,' Castiel confessed. Dean's body was still hot from the shower.
'Sure you don't,' Dean mocked. He wrapped his arms around Castiel and Castiel felt his breath hitch in his throat. Dean's touch invariably had that effect on him. Still, after all these years.
'Happy new year, Dean.'
'Happy new year, Cas.'
(***)
Castiel woke up with Dean between his legs, very gently prodding his entrance. Drowsily, he spread his legs further to grant Dean better access. Without a pause, Dean slid inside and filled him up. Castiel could think of no better way to start the new year than by making love to Dean. He groaned softly and Dean covered his mouth with his lips. Practised as they were, their rhythm increased slowly until they shuddered to a climax in each other's arms.
It was much slower than Dean usually liked it. Over the years they had become attuned to each other's desires and Dean's favourite remained a quick and rough tumble, preferably without a risk of getting caught. Castiel was less private and more patient and liked to draw out the foreplay until Dean went crazy.
'What was that for?' Castiel asked, nearly breathless.
'Because I love you. And to remind you why you should come back,' Dean smiled. It was still dark, but Castiel found Dean's mouth without any trouble. They kissed for a while. It was over much too soon to Castiel's liking, but he had to pack and shower and eat breakfast, so he reluctantly allowed Dean to break off the kiss.
Sam was already downstairs. There was something different about his hair, which Castiel immediately noticed. It was tousled, but meticulously tousled. He pointed it out to Dean, who grinned and sarcastically mouthed 'wishful thinking' at him.
The drive over took approximately an hour. Sam drove, because Castiel was too easily distracted. Sam kept raking his hand through his hair, upsetting the studied nonchalance of his hair. His behaviour mystified Castiel, who didn't know what to make of it.
At Sarah's place, Sam rang the doorbell. Nervously, his hand reached for his hair, but the door opened before he quite finished the gesture. He paused and studied Sarah. Castiel did the same. Sarah was pretty. Her hair was long and dark. Her lips were plumb and red. She didn't even notice him, until he cleared his throat. Sam seemed to wake up too.
'Sarah, this is Castiel. He's Dean's boyfriend,' Sam said. Sarah shook Castiel's hand. It was a firm handshake. She smiled brightly at him and said it was nice to meet him, but afterwards she immediately focused her attention on Sam again. A raised eyebrow was the only indication she gave of being either surprised that Castiel was there or of Dean's sexual orientation. As Castiel continued to feel superfluous, Sam and Sarah stared at each other some more.
Castiel was reminded of the first time he and Dean had met. There had been awe and distrust on both sides, but in a way it had also been a meeting of minds. Souls, Castiel liked to think. The same thing seemed to be happening now. He might be projecting though. After all, this was not the first time Sam and Sarah met and his meeting with Dean had technically also not been their first.
Yet, something was obviously occurring. Sam was scratching his neck, uncharacteristically shy and Sarah had a faint, amused smile on her lips. Suddenly, a young girl with striking red hair and a freckled nose appeared behind Sarah and nudged her.
'This is my daughter Hannah. Hannah, this is Sam and this is Castiel,' Sarah introduced them. Hannah politely shook Sam's hand and also took Castiel's hand. She frowned at him.
'You're an angel,' Hannah said. Startled, Sam and Castiel exchanged a glance. Sarah was nonplussed by her daughter's announcement.
'The angel of Thursday. Your name,' Hannah clarified. She was still holding Castiel's hand. It was rather different from shaking hands with Rose or Amy. There was an entire personality behind her handshake and her voice. Castiel estimated she was maybe fifteen years old. A person nearly formed, whereas Rose and Amy were just starting to become people with separate personality traits.
'Yes, I know,' he said as he gently extricated his hand. Did young people usually know the names of obscure angels? This would undoubtedly be the point where Dean would have asked Hannah to show him his room, to give Sam and Sarah a few minutes to themselves, but Castiel felt a bit rattled.
'It's a cool name. Mom, can I show Castiel his room?' she asked. Sarah consented. She was probably glad to have a little privacy. Castiel, clutching his bag, followed Hannah up the stairs. Dean hadn't mentioned Sarah's daughter. Perhaps he didn't think she was relevant in his matchmaking scheme.
'You have a strange voice,' was Hannah's next observation.
'Do I?' Castiel asked, amazed. He knew his voice was gravelly. Dean found it sexy. He had never realised that his voice might be unusual or abnormal.
'Yes. Do you do it on purpose?'
'No, it's just my voice.'
'Well, it's very strange,' Hannah repeated, turning around to appraise him. Castiel was used to Sam's daughters blurting things out. Apparently, it was considered cute in children. However, he often inadvertently did that too and past a certain age it was mostly thought embarrassing.
'I'm sorry,' Hannah quietly said as she saw his confused face, 'My directness is becoming less charming and more irritating as I grow older.'
Bemused, Castiel shook his head, but she had already resumed her ascent. On the landing, she opened the first door to her right. He went inside. The room was bright and smelled fresh. Recently cleaned, Castiel guessed. He placed his suitcase on the newly made bed and started to unpack to give Sarah and Sam a little more time together. With no idea of how long they would stay, he had packed for a week. Hannah lingered in the doorway and watched as he filled a drawer with his clothes. He had taken the copy of Hamlet, because it smelled of Dean.
'You like Hamlet?' Hannah inquired. I like how thinking about Hamlet makes me think about Dean, he thought. It made him think about Dean taking care of him after he had been attacked. His head in Dean's lap, Dean stroking his hair. Sadly, he would probably end up sleeping with the book next to him. None of that was an appropriate answer.
'He was an epic waffler,' he stammered. She seemed to ponder his assessment and nodded.
'Yes, he was, wasn't he?'
When he was finished, Hannah was still watching him. She showed him her own room upon his request. It was filled with books. One giant bookcase stuffed with them covered one wall of the room and on her nightstand and desk stacks of books threatened to topple over.
'They like each other, don't they?' she asked. It sounded neither sad nor happy. Rather resigned.
'Yes, they do.'
(***)
During the first few days, Castiel discovered he wasn't needed to help Sam with their actual business. Sarah was adamant that she would help. All that was required of Castiel was to keep Hannah out of the way, while they discussed vampire lore and possible places where the nest may be hidden.
They talked about books and about Dean and Rose and Amy and Bobby. Hannah's curiosity rivalled Castiel's. On the fourth day of their visit, Castiel realised he really liked Hannah. Spending time in her company wasn't a chore; it was nice. It was a strange feeling to like someone again. He hadn't allowed himself to like anyone since Miranda had died.
On the fifth day, a wealthy man from the Netherlands came over to look at an antique chest that Sarah had procured for her auction house. She had inherited the business from her father when he had died. Sam and Hannah were off doing the grocery shopping together, though Hannah had seemed equal measures bored and apprehensive at the prospect.
The man's English was mangled at best. He structured his sentences in ways that made it increasingly difficult to decipher his meaning and his Dutch accent only made matters worse. Castiel came upon them and saw how Sarah struggled to understand him, so he stepped in and briefly acted as interpreter. After the man had bought the chest and had gone, Sarah thanked him.
'Do you speak a lot of languages?' she asked him.
'Yes,' he answered truthfully. It made him think about his lack of employment and how Dean and he had been forced to quit the courses they had been taking when the bar had burned down and Miranda had died. For a long time now they had been living off the money of the sale of Bobby's house and business and later also partly off Sam's pay check as a public defence attorney. Dean had applied for jobs, but he had virtually no schooling. Castiel did have – fake – diplomas, but all his potential employers were uncomfortable in his presence or they thought he was a little off.
It was the way he acted. It wasn't entirely normal, no matter how hard he tried. He was always a tad too honest.
'I know someone who could use an interpreter. Would you be interested in that?'
He nodded. Sarah sat down at the kitchen table and scrutinised him. It was unclear to Castiel how much Sam had told her about his origins, but like Hannah Sarah seemed to sense that something about him was different. Contrary to most people, however, Hannah and Sarah took his weirdness in stride. In fact, Castiel suspected Hannah liked him more, because of it.
'You've earned the seal of approval from Hannah, but I'm not so sure about Sam,' Sarah confided. She sounded slightly worried. Thinking of how to phrase what he wanted to convey, Castiel sat down too.
'That's different. Hannah can see that Sam likes you,' he eventually explained.
'You don't like me?' she joked.
'Not in the same way.'
Castiel had seen the signs without knowing what they meant at first. There were stolen glances, averted gazes and downcast eyes. It was alien to him, mostly because Dean and he had not been coy or subtle. Castiel had always made it especially plain what he felt for Dean, even though he hadn't said anything for a long time.
Ultimately, he naturally started to realise what was happening. It was a continuation of their behaviour during the introductions when they arrived. They were rediscovering how they felt about each other and how alike they were. Castiel could see that. They were both quiet, inherently good and intellectual. Miranda had been good and very intelligent too, but she had been much more boisterous and even abrasive at times. Rather like Dean. Hannah noticed Sam and Sarah's prolonged circling of each other too.
After the meal was over, Sam and Sarah went off to locate the vampires' nest and Castiel was left with a brooding Hannah. They were on the couch in the living room with the TV on, but neither was watching. Castiel thought about Dean. It had been almost a week and he missed him. His body, his wit, his Deanness. They had talked on the phone, but this somehow this only made him long for Dean even more.
'How's Dean? Is he nice?' Hannah suddenly asked.
'Sometimes,' he admitted. She stared at him. It was as if she was constructing a picture of Dean or Dean and him together in her head.
'I am nice sometimes too. And Rose and Amy?' she continued. This was a significant conversation, Castiel knew, but he had little idea of how to conduct it properly.
'They're nice most of the time. You're thinking about adopting us?'
It was a serious question and Hannah treated as such. It was also a stupid question, because surely children couldn't adopt people? If Dean's ridiculous plan that wasn't a plan was going to work, however, Hannah would become part of Sam and Dean's family. A family that had also accepted Castiel into its midst. A family that made him feel like he belonged and had given him a new home. Perhaps this was what Hannah was looking for.
'I am seriously considering it,' she answered and giggled.
(***)
On the seventh day away from Dean, Castiel woke up because something was digging into the side of his face. It was a sharp corner of Hamletfront cover. He put aside the book and rubbed at his cheek. In the bathroom mirror, he saw that a red crease was the result of him sleeping with a book.
The vampires had been taken care of a day before, but Sam had not mentioned leaving yet. Castiel heard in his voice that he missed Amy and Rose whenever he spoke to them on the phone, but still they stayed. Wanting to go back home to Dean, but not wanting to hinder whatever Sam was doing, Castiel had not said anything about leaving either.
Softly, he descended the stairs. As he was about to enter the kitchen, a small hand pulled him back.
'Look,' Hannah whispered. Castiel peeked into the kitchen, where Sam and Sarah were tentatively leaning closer and then, kissing. Hannah beamed at him and Castiel smiled back. Now they could go home.
'Vampires, huh?' Hannah asked and added in a rush, 'That's awesome. I've got all five seasons of Angel, you know.'
(***)
Castiel ran into the house. He had allowed Rose and Amy a hug and Bobby a 'welcome back,' but there was only one person he wanted to see.
'Dean?'
'Upstairs,' that wonderful, familiar voice answered. He took the stairs three steps at a time, losing his balance, but managing to grab hold of the railing. Panting, he entered their bedroom, but Dean was nowhere to be seen.
'Dean?'
Suddenly, the door closed behind him and startled he turned around only to be swung around again and pushed towards the door. Dean's hands were immediately underneath his sweater and his lips were being forced open by a warm tongue. Frantically, Dean rubbed his body against him. There was desperation to Dean's lust. That had not been there before. Not even the first time when Dean had acted out of anger.
Castiel wanted to say something. He wanted to tell Dean how much he had missed him. He wanted to look at Dean and see if he remembered everything correctly. The maddening green-brown colour of his eyes, every line of his body, his spiky hair. A week was a long time to be away from the man you loved. Castiel didn't think they had been separated for that long since they had become a couple.
'God, I love you,' Dean mumbled into his mouth, not giving him any chance to speak too. His hands were everywhere and his mouth never left Castiel's. Dean's closeness dictated his face was a blur. There were no distinctive features to focus on or revel in. There was only the taste of hard liquor on his tongue and the rough touch as Dean's fingers scaled every possible area of Castiel's body.
Their hardness pressed against each other and they moved in unison. They didn't even remove their clothes for their feverish lovemaking. Dean buried his face in Castiel's neck and as Castiel came he could have sworn it was Dean who cried out. His throat felt wet, which must have been sweat because Dean didn't cry. Not when Miranda had died and definitely not during or after sex. He wrapped his arms around Dean, because Dean embraced him tightly until Dean shivered once.
Gently, Castiel held Dean away from him. Dean's eyes were not red or anything indicative of crying, and he pressed a quick, soft kiss to Castiel's lips. Before Castiel could respond, Dean moved away. His smile was awkward, but that was not what worried Castiel.
It was barely noon; what was Dean doing drinking? And he looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had lost weight. Castiel hoped this wasn't a reaction to his remark about Dean's waist. He honestly did like Dean's changing body. He would like Dean whatever he looked like, because he was Dean.
'Dean, what...'
'What with Sam and the girls and Bobby and well...everything, I know I don't say it enough, but you're it. I could never do what Sam did. If you... I couldn't pick myself up and try again. There'd be no second or third chances for me. You're my one fucking chance. You're it. I lied to Sam when I said the one is bullshit, because damn it, you're it for me,' Dean said.
'I love you too,' Castiel said. Could this all be because they had been apart? Had Dean missed him that much? They were long past the time when Dean couldn't say 'I love you.' Castiel had reconciled himself to the reality that in their relationship he would probably always be the one who marvelled at the depth of the love he felt for Dean. He would be the one to make the little sacrifices and romantic gestures and embarrass them in front of other people for the majority of the time. Dean was simply less public and less intense about his affection, but it was definitely there.
After a shared shower and more shared intimacies, Castiel went downstairs. Bobby was in the living room, sipping scotch and looking incredibly satisfied. Taking a seat next to him on the couch, Castiel looked around the room. Everything was the same. Everything looked the same.
'Did something happen while I was away?' he asked. He should really stop reading women's magazines, because now all sorts of scenarios were flitting through his mind. If your boyfriend was suddenly extra nice and affectionate and vocal about his love, sometimes that meant that he had done something. Cheated on you. However, Castiel knew that Dean wouldn't do that.
'No. Why?' Bobby asked in return. Drops were sliding from Castiel's hair to his neck onto his back, because he hadn't dried his hair properly. Dean thought he looked sexier with wet hair, so Castiel had fallen into the habit of keeping it almost dripping wet after a shower. Now, while the drops soaked his sweater, the sensation made him feel uneasy.
'Because Dean is acting as if I've been away for years instead of a week,' he finally answered. Bobby sighed and nodded and looked Castiel over, carefully.
'He's missed you, that's all. Boy can barely function when you're not around.'
2024
It was the mist again. The dense mist around him left his hair and exposed skin wet with tiny drops of water. If he stretched his hand out before him and wiggled his fingers he couldn't see the movement. Close to the ground, the mist was less thick and he could see his feet and the small square of grass on which he was standing.
The familiar smell lingered in the air. Sometimes it was barely detectable and sometimes it was so strong that he had trouble breathing. It was the smell of rotting algae. The typical smell of the river during a long, hot summer. It was the only thing with him in his little circle of visibility. The rest was outside. The fog acted as a protective barrier against sights and sounds.
It was a heavy fog. A fog that seemed to slow down time. It cloaked him. He was suspended in time and space. The house could be two steps away or the river could be two steps away. He didn't know. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't hear anything.
The dream was supposed to be frightening, Castiel thought, but it never was. Not even when he fell into the river. Not even when he found the house and no one was inside. Not even when he just kept walking, not finding anything. Because it was a dream and he knew it was a dream.
As far as he was concerned it was a rather pointless dream. There were times that he contemplated sitting down and staying in place, since the dream was a sort of symbolic exercise in being lost and not finding whatever it is you are looking for. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't find Dean in the dream. The dream had recurred often enough for Castiel to know that.
Still, he didn't like how cold he felt. It was unpleasant. So, he walked, hoping for the dream to segue into something more productive. He tried not to shiver, because that somehow made him feel colder.
'Cas.'
The soft call drifted towards him. At first he thought he was imagining it, but he kept hearing it. Growing louder and more panicked. He recognised Dean's voice. This had never happened before. The dream was always eerily silent and he never encountered anyone. Least of all Dean.
'Cas!'
Now Castiel was starting to feel scared. If Dean needed him, he wanted to be there for him. Despite not being able to see anything, he began to run towards the sound. Reminding himself that it was a dream made no difference. He felt the ground disappear beneath his feet and fell forwards into the river. Its icy water enveloped him and he woke up, gasping in shock.
The sheets weighed him down, like the water and for a second he was disorientated and unsure of his surroundings.
'Cas.'
Castiel turned to his left and felt Dean's body. It was cold to the touch. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Dean moaned again. He shook Dean.
'Dean, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Wake up.'
The air in the room was stifling. Sometime during the night, the power must have failed, because Castiel could see and hear nothing. Not the glowing numbers on the alarm clock. Not the soft whirring of the air conditioning or the louder, labouring fan on the ceiling above the bed. The dreaded human silence had returned. It was as if he was still dreaming, except now darkness had replaced the white haze.
Dean sat up straight. It was disconcerting to feel how cool his skin felt, because the room was so warm. Castiel was sweating and pushed the sheets away. This did nothing to dispel the heat.
'You're alright. It was a dream and I'm right here,' Castiel whispered. As his vision grew accustomed to the darkness, he could see the whites of Dean's eyes.
'Plane crash,' Dean whispered, without Castiel's prompting. It was a lie, but Castiel didn't press. Relieved to be awake and safe, Castiel lay back down and pulled Dean with him. Dean never told him what his nightmares were about. That was fine. Castiel realised his own desire to share literally everything wasn't exactly considered healthy by humans. If Dean wanted to keep that small, insignificant part of his life to himself, that was fine. Except, of course, that Dean's readiness to lie about the subject of his dreams meant that it wasn't insignificant. Yet, it was fine.
The tension of the impending June wedding the day after tomorrow was getting to them both. Instead of Sarah being the bridezilla, it was Sam who was behaving erratic and mean. The day before, he had chewed out Dean for talking to the wedding planner about the reception in the garden, when all Dean had done was offer her coffee. When Castiel had arrived home from work, he had witnessed the entire exchange and when he had dared to intervene Sam had torn into him. Afterwards, the younger Winchester had apologised profusely, but the atmosphere between everyone remained strained.
However, it was not the wedding Sam was worried about. Sarah was feeling a little out of sorts lately. Sam had talked about her lack of appetite, always followed by bouts of excessive eating. Castiel's very own theory was that Sarah might be pregnant. He had consulted some of Miranda's medical books. All signs pointed towards a pregnancy, but Dean had told him to keep quiet and let them figure it out on their own.
'Did you know that Hannah is contemplating a name change?' Castiel said, to break the silence. He was wide awake now, so they might as well talk.
'She wants to be a Winchester?' Dean asked. Hannah was excited about the wedding and about officially becoming Rose and Amy's sister. Even though Sam and the girls had moved into Sarah's house a few months ago, Castiel frequently came home to find Hannah sitting on the pier. She'd call him uncle Cas, which he enjoyed, and they'd talk about his job and her school.
Hannah's father was still very much in the picture, but Hannah liked Sam immensely. She thought Dean was great and she had even taken a shine to Bobby, though his gruffness also scared her a little. Dean said that Sarah and Sam's relationship was pretty much perfect. No evil stepmother or stepsisters in their story. The thing that had at first attracted Hannah's attention was their demon hunting history. Castiel could talk about those days for hours and she would never grow bored. Unbeknownst to her mother, Castiel had allowed her to accompany him on a Wendigo hunt once.
It had been her sixteenth birthday and she had demanded it. After that her desire to hunt had been permanently satisfied and she had focused on the mythology of the creatures they hunted.
'I think she likes the idea of a family where half the members aren't even related to each other,' Castiel explained after a moment of hesitation. What, after all, was Bobby to them all? What was he to Dean? The question made his stomach contract and he twisted his neck to look at Dean. His lover was staring at the ceiling. Their sides were touching. Dean's cold and his hot.
'And you said it was a stupid plan to send Sam to Sarah,' Dean boasted.
'I didn't say it was stupid; I said it wasn't a plan,' Castiel corrected him. Dean smirked in the darkness and gathered Castiel closer to him for a kiss. Their lips barely connected.
'Well, whatever it was, it worked,' he mumbled as he turned around and went to sleep.
2025
Castiel slammed the door, not looking over his shoulder to see whether Dean was anywhere near it, which he immediately regretted. Though his remorse quickly faded when Dean charged through the door and he was unhurt.
'Should I laugh it off? Is that what you want?' Dean asked.
'I don't want anything. You're the one who brought it up.'
Castiel hated feeling like this. He hated being mad at Dean. He hated wanting to take a swing at Dean. However, Dean was currently making it very difficult to feel different.
'You said it was a miracle,' Dean said in an accusing tone.
'Well, it is. You made a giant leap to my mistake, because that's what you wanted to do. Rory has nothing to do with it,' Castiel responded angrily. He couldn't believe they were having this fight again, especially not after Rory had been born mere hours ago. He wasn't being sentimental. Childbirth was a miracle; Sarah agreed with him. People had just gotten used to it. It had become an ordinary miracle. At least, the mother and father of the baby could still appreciate how special it was: Sarah and Sam were over the moon about the arrival of their son.
'Gods perform miracles; you declared yourself God. That's not a leap!' Dean yelled. No matter what Dean said about having forgiven him, he certainly wasted no opportunity to remind Castiel of that one fatal mistake. Farfetched though the opportunity may be. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, Castiel bounded up the stairs.
'Just shut up about it, Dean,' he muttered. He was barely at the top when Dean came up behind him and shoved him. Panting furiously, Castiel righted himself and unscrewed the cap. Dean leaned against the wall. Trying to calm himself, Castiel took a swig, but Dean slapped the bottle out of his hand. For a frightening second, Castiel seriously contemplated pushing him down the stairs.
'I guess we need to talk about this,' he said instead. Dean nodded.
'Talking doesn't seem to do much good, however. We keep having this talk and you keep holding it against me,' Castiel continued.
'So, what do we do?' Dean asked.
'Why don't we fuck?'
Dean flinched as the use of the uncharacteristically crude word. Castiel had always preferred the term 'making love.' That was what sex was to him: a means of showing Dean how much he loved him. But he was beginning to understand that for Dean it was sometimes nothing more than the physical act.
Castiel shoved Dean against the wall. Dean struggled, but somewhere along the way the balance of power had shifted and Castiel was now able to restrain him. He pinned the Winchester's arms to the wall and forced his chest against Dean's back.
'Stop,' Dean demanded, but Castiel didn't listen. Dean never listened to him either. How many times had he apologised? How many years had he been there for Dean to make up for that moment? And it hadn't been entirely his fault to begin with. Dean's shirt had slid down to reveal part of his right shoulder and Castiel bit down on the exposed skin. With his face pressed against the wall, Dean growled in pain and anger and tried to move back. The movement only served to excite Castiel further.
His arousal amazed him. He licked the bite marks, until Dean's growl turned into a needy moan and, instead of resisting, Dean leaned back into Castiel's tongue strokes. Without any regard for what Dean was feeling, Castiel pulled down their trousers and thrust into Dean. Slamming his hips against him, while Dean made wounded, animal-like noises, Castiel found a quick release.
As he dressed, Castiel was appalled to see the damage he had done. Not only the outline of his teeth in the area between shoulder and neck, close to his cherished collarbones, but also the forming bruises on Dean's hips.
'Wow, that was...' Dean exclaimed and to Castiel's astonishment he sighed with obvious satisfaction. Dean had...liked that? Confused, Castiel looked at him. He didn't know what he had expected or what he wanted. Did he want Dean to feel violated? Wasn't this reaction better?
Dean liked it rough; yes, that was true. It didn't need to be full of meaning for Dean. It didn't need to be tender and a million other things Castiel liked. Yet, what they had just done had not been far removed from rape. It had been a combination of rage and wanting to hurt Dean. Nothing to do with love and as a consequence it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. It left Castiel feeling empty.
2026
'Dan of Inequity,' the sign read. Danny thought it was merely a clever way of incorporating his name into the name of the bar, but Castiel knew it was allusion to the night Dean had taken him to a sinful place to lose his virginity. Throughout it all, Castiel had wanted to say that the only person he wanted to lose his virginity to was Dean, but he had thought about Atropos and kept his mouth shut.
If it had been up to Castiel, they would have used the money they had saved up to take courses at the university again, but he had noticed that, apart from the odd jobs Dean sometimes got, Dean was feeling rather useless. So, after Bobby had waved away an offer to pay him back, Castiel had suggested they pool their resources together with Danny and open a new bar.
It was important to feel needed and to be busy, Castiel had experienced. He liked his own job and he wanted Dean to have the same satisfied feeling at the end of a work day.
The drinks were free, because it was the opening night and the bar was packed. Danny's thundering laugh came from the back office, which was also crowded. Despite it being December, the place was hot and stuffy with the body heat of so many people. Dean was behind the bar, pouring drinks and looking better than he had done in ages.
His face shone and when their eyes connected through the throng of customers, he winked at Castiel. Nonetheless, Castiel felt ill at ease. The enormous din was fine, the people were fine, even when they kept bumping into him and mumbling inaudible apologies. He wasn't thinking about the time the bar burned down. Well, he thought about that briefly, but that wasn't what was causing his unease.
It was a feeling. Not of impending doom. Just a little, niggling feeling that everything wasn't as it was supposed to be. He didn't belong. It wasn't the bar. It wasn't about not belonging in a bar. He belonged wherever Dean was. Dean was in a bar, thus, he should be too. Not all the time, though. He had his own work, which he enjoyed, so he couldn't be with Dean all the time. Except right now he was and everything felt wrong.
He was drunk. His hands; human. His feelings; human. He belonged a long, long way from here. Swaying a little as he stood up, he noticed Dean's nod. He looked over at a neatly dressed couple. They were standing hesitantly by the pool table. Castiel shook his head, but Dean nodded again, so Castiel walked over. He didn't even have to fake his intoxication as he bumped into several people on his way to the table.
'Fancy a game?' he slurred. That was exaggerated. The man accepted eagerly and proposed to play for money. Castiel looked over at Dean and received an encouraging nod. Slipping into the routine, Castiel completely fumbled the first game. The triumphant face of the man as Castiel handed over the cash made him feel miserable and he was about to slink back to the bar when Dean came up behind him.
'You have to give him a chance to win back his money. Come on, another game,' Dean prompted as he placed a steadying hand on Castiel's shoulder. After a brief exchange with his female companion, the man acquiesced and doubled the stakes. The alcohol in his system was beginning to make Castiel sad. This eventually always happened. It started out fun and then suddenly his mood swung 180 degrees and he was overly pensive and melancholic. He shook off Dean's hand and easily won the game.
Without protesting, the man paid him, which made Castiel feel worse. It wasn't even necessary. It wasn't necessary at all. Not like with Sam's college money.
(***)
'Why did you do it if you didn't want to?' Dean asked. On their way home, Castiel had said that the hustling had made him feel unpleasant and Dean had reacted with amazement. Apparently, it was all the good old days to him. The heater was fogging up the windows of the car and Dean wiped at the windshield with a dirty cloth.
'I did it to make you happy, but you're not,' Castiel answered. The last part barely registered with either of them at first. Castiel hadn't realised until he said it that it was true. Dean wasn't happy. Throwing the cloth onto the backseat, Dean didn't react to his perceived unhappiness, as if it was a foregone conclusion. He squinted at the road, before turning slightly to look at Castiel.
'What about your happiness? Don't you think about that?'
He didn't. Not really. He had become human for Dean. He had wanted to stay – he had desperately wanted to stay – but if Dean hadn't asked him, he wouldn't have stayed. It was a thing he did for Dean; because Dean wanted it. Ninety-nine percent of the things he did, he did for Dean, and with the one percent left he asked himself whether what he wanted didn't affect Dean negatively.
'I figured, since I try to make you happy, you'd do the same for me,' Castiel admitted in a defeated tone. Dean inhaled and exhaled slowly. He looked wrecked. It wasn't the opening of the bar or the late hour or the conversation they were having. Castiel was remarkably confident that it was a feeling. A feeling Dean had been having for a long time and that he didn't want to tell Castiel about, so Castiel hadn't asked.
'Cas...'
'Forget it.'
2027
Infomercials blared in the background. Bobby was visiting Sam and Sarah. The rest of the house was silent. It was just the sound of the TV and some woman going on and on about shoes that were good for your back.
They were kissing. All the familiar moves. Dean nibbled on his bottom lip and Castiel moaned involuntarily. Neither man's heart was in it. Castiel remembered Dean saying that he had his heart and pleading with him not to hurt him. Well, who was hurting who now? Dean had his heart too. Not that Dean cared. Then Castiel noticed that Dean tilted his head to be able to watch the TV and Castiel pushed him away.
'You were watching the infomercial while we were kissing,' Castiel stated. He was surprised. Not because of the lack of attention, but because of the choice of distraction. Dean didn't like infomercials. There were still times when Castiel couldn't resist a bargain and it would invariably end up gathering dust in a closet. His naivety regarding commercials exasperated Dean.
'So?'
'That's disrespectful.'
Dean glanced at him, before looking at the screen again. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that Castiel couldn't decipher.
'It's what you're supposed to do,' Dean shrugged. He sat down on the couch and stretched his arm to reach for the remote, but Castiel blocked his path. Everyone has a breaking point and this was Castiel's.
Dean's secrecy regarding his nightmares was fine. Dean's ability to have sex without any feelings involved was fine. Dean's tendency to pick fights was fine. Dean's disregard for Castiel's happiness was fine. But he could at least pay attention to him when they were kissing or talking.
'Dean, I feel that I give you everything...'
'I wish you'd stop doing that,' Dean sighed and craned his neck to look past Castiel at the screen. Calmly, Castiel turned off the TV and continued.
'...and I get little in return. The more I give the less I get with you. You can't concentrate on me when we kiss. Why do you have to watch TV?' he asked.
'Because that's what you're supposed to do. I mean, we've been together for fifteen years now? Things fade. Except we're still burning,' Dean said flatly with a dismissive flick of his wrist. Castiel didn't understand what he was hearing. It seemed to him that Dean was saying several things at once and Castiel couldn't select the part that was important.
'Burning? I don't...' he began, but Dean cut him off.
'That's why I try to watch TV when we kiss, because that's what people do after so long a time together. I love you, but that's just what you're supposed to do,' Dean explained. His gaze was intense and Castiel felt as if the fact that Dean kept repeating what you are 'supposed to do' meant something. But what?
There were a lot of things that Castiel had difficulties with: grieving, being funny, and generally behaving like a normal human being. But not with loving Dean. That had come to him naturally. He might not understand his feelings at times, but they had always been there and as they grew stronger he had known how to handle them. Was Dean now telling him that he had not been doing it as it was supposed to be done? Did he love Dean wrong?
The suggestion angered him. At least he wasn't hurting Dean. He wasn't the one creating the distance between them and keeping secrets and acting aloof. That was all Dean.
'I know you love me. But I can see that you don't like it. You don't like that you love me. I love that I love you. It's the best thing I've ever done. If it was a thing I could choose, I would choose to love you. You wouldn't. You said you want Sam to have what we have, but you don't even want it,' Castiel asserted. Dean just sat there, disinterested, and Castiel knew this conversation was accomplishing nothing. It was eerily similar to the fight they kept having about when he had declared himself God.
They were going round in circles. Talking, but not communicating. Touching, but not connecting. As he prepared to exit the room, Dean grabbed his arm. Surprised, Castiel swivelled round to catch a glimpse of panic in Dean's eyes and Dean immediately released his arm.
'Please stay,' Dean whispered, not looking at him. The realisation hit Castiel that Dean had thought he wasn't only leaving the room.
'Of course I'm not leaving. Dean, you can be so obtuse. That is why you treat me the way you do; you know I won't leave. There is no one but you for me. I'm staying. This love might very well be my downfall, but I'm sticking with you. I'm in. Forever,' Castiel comforted him.
The right words in response to that would have been 'I'm in too' or perhaps 'I'll treat you better' or even 'Thank you.' Dean didn't utter any of those responses.
'I love you,' he said. He hung his head in shame, still refusing to look up at Castiel. Castiel's fingers twitched and when he peered down at his hands he was amazed to discover they had formed into fists. He wanted to hit Dean. The feeling was worse than when he felt this violent urge during their more physical fights, because then Dean usually provoked it. It was an entirely different matter to want to hit Dean after he had seconds ago told him he loved him. With difficulty, he unfurled his fingers.
'It doesn't matter, because it isn't the right kind of love. Don't you understand? Not if you hurt me and make me feel miserable. It's no use if you keep saying it all the time. I don't doubt that you love me; you just don't act as if you do.'
Dean remained staring at the ground and he was shivering, which was ridiculous. It was the middle of August and it was warm. Castiel looked at the man he loved more than anything in the world with irritation. There was something else too. Something he had not ever felt when he looked at Dean. Disgust.
'I love you,' Dean repeated.
'Love's a fucking verb!' Castiel shouted. Startled, Dean raised his head and gazed at him. His lips trembled and he shook his head as if to deny what Castiel had said. A slight tightening of his jaw was perceptible. He blinked rapidly.
Dean was unravelling before his very eyes. He simply broke down. To Castiel it was like seeing his world come undone. Dean looked at him, almost viciously, and swallowed hard, pressing his lips together.
'It isn't supposed to feel like this.'
As Castiel sat down next to him on the couch, Dean turned away from him and brushed his sleeve across his face.
'You don't realise how much I need you. I didn't either until you spent that week with Sam at Sarah's,' he confessed. His voice was hoarse and the feeling he expressed raw. Castiel listened.
'I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep; all I thought about was you. It took me by surprise. Sure, I had felt like that. It usually feels like that in the beginning of a relationship. It's intense, but that shit fades, because it is exhausting. Except that, more than ten years into loving you, I was living it. It was hell. Seriously Cas, if I had to choose between a week in hell and a week without you I wouldn't know what to choose. I'd have to think long and hard about it.'
A grimace appeared on Dean's face. They both knew hell and Dean wouldn't refer to it lightly.
'Why didn't you tell me?' Castiel softly asked. Staring straight into his eyes, Dean sighed.
'To have you come out and say, 'oh, that's how it has always been for me when we are apart' and make me feel like an even bigger dick?'
'I wouldn't have...'
'Yes, you would have,' Dean insisted, 'You always loved me more. I couldn't have you find out that I once loved you in a healthier, non-dysfunctional way. Less.'
'It hurts,' Castiel attempted and relieved, Dean nodded. They embraced and kissed. Dean was still shaking with emotion as they broke apart. He grabbed Castiel's shoulders and squeezed so tightly that his nails dug into Castiel's skin. Castiel waited as a genuine smile broke through on Dean's face.
'Yes, it hurts, but I want it. I might not like how it feels sometimes, but you're worth it. Thanks for putting up with my bullshit. Cas, I know I've been a dick, but I'm in it for the long haul and I promise to be better. Will you marry me?'