Work Text:
They were… normal .
They were your average forty-something year old men; working the same job for the last one and a half decades, packing each other’s lunch in the morning over coffee and french toast (with flax seeds and almond milk instead of eggs; courtesy of Castiel’s his mid-life crisis), rushing to their jobs in their respective cars and hours later coming back to their little house, tired and content. On Wednesdays Dean would come home an hour late, hands full of groceries and sometime in the middle of each month Castiel would leave earlier in the morning - packed with a thermos filled with coffee and his french toast wrapped in his favorite bee’s wrap - bill envelopes in his pockets, way overdue because he always forgets the damn things.
It took Dean approximately five minutes into the dream to figure it out. Waking up spooned by Cas (a very human and very snoring Cas), his body rested and healthy. Even half-awake he couldn’t not notice how his knees didn’t pop with every move, the easy roll of his right shoulder - what with not have dislocated it multiple times - and the empty, weaponless space underneath his pillow. It felt like a dream and he easily concluded it was one.
It took him ten minutes upon soundlessly leaving the bed and exploring the house he was in, settling in the kitchen, to find a routine. To fall into their routine. Of course, it wasn’t without a few bizarre glances from Castiel when he couldn’t find where they kept the damn eggs, then finding out they haven’t eaten eggs in a few years and ‘ are you alright, Dean? Did I tire you out last night?’ to which Dean only stared. But once he passed the initial shock and confusion it was easy to adapt. After all it was still himself; still Dean, stripped down to a man who pays his taxes and makes his husband avocado sandwiches and only checks the locks twice and the stove once before he goes to bed.
Dean knew exactly how to play this role, his mind has pictured this exact situation more times than he cares to count. After ten minutes he knew exactly where they kept their silverware and what brand of milk they had in the fridge (the regular milk that is; his version didn’t have almonds in any way, shape or form). He easily found his way to Bobby’s garage, and if that wasn’t enough to make him overstay his welcome then the picture of his brother’s happy family in his wallet did the trick. He was in the middle of paying for gas ( of course for his Baby) when he found the photograph; his gigantic brother’s hand wrapped around a version of Jessica with wrinkles around her eyes, a little blonde girl with green eyes in her hands that he just knew was named Mary.
He did not tear up in the middle of the freaking gas station.
But he did, and that was it, wasn’t it? This version of himself, the Dean Winchester he could never be, teared up in a gas station because his brother had a family, he spend extra dollars on organic produce and detoured to the farmer’s market to get his husband that freaking honey-scented shampoo that was different from the one in the store, Dean because it was bee-friendly. He even had a damn husband in the first place. He was married to man and had no shame for it whatsoever. There was nothing holding him back from loving unconditionally, from freeing himself of his father’s views. Nothing keeping him from sitting in all fours naked in front of Castiel or holding his husband and stroking his hair while he cried softly because one of his students committed suicide and ‘ I could have done something, Dean, I should have.’.
Never in his wildest, real life, dreams could he aspire to be that person. So if he decided to live a few days more in that anti-reality it was nobody’s business but his. And if those days turned into months, well, time flies.
*
Castiel woke up to the sound of music and the smell of breakfast food.
That is another thing now; waking up. Not entirely new but not familiar enough either. Those few seconds of disorientation until he becomes aware of his body and the state of his grace remind him too much of all the times he failed to control his own self. All the times someone or some thing else was moving his own (or as close as ownership can get) flesh with Castiel watching behind fictitious bars in his mind. Those small moments are usually the hardest part of his day.
Right now his nostrils fill with the essence of bacon and potatoes enough to remind him of who and where he is. His remaining grace is sufficient to clean himself instantly but Castiel still chooses the human way; it’s easier to belong entirely in one species, or at least pretend to.
His feet drag him to the Men of Letters’ bathroom closest to his room where he methodically brushes his teeth the way Dean showed him years ago.
Dean.
The last two weeks the hunter has been acting… weird. For lack of better word.
Castiel understands that a Djinn-fueled hallucination is an overall ‘nasty’ experience. A man’s mind can endure so much in such small amount of time without breaking. Of course Dean has no such problems; the hunter has experienced way more unpleasant situations in his life so far and has come out undamaged, or close enough.
Still, ever since he and Sam killed the Djinn that attacked him in Des Moines Castiel gets an disquieting feeling every time he is alone with Dean. There is something inexplicable in his eyes every time they lock with Castiel’s, an electricity in his touch that lingers more than it used to, a cloud in the pit of his soul, or the shadow of which Castiel can still see.
To Castiel’s knowledge Djinns can be counted in various categories; depending on situation and need the can feed on pretty much any emotion if they have to. The hallucinations they build can be someone’s dream as much as it can be their worst nightmare, it all depends to the type of Djinn and it’s personal ‘appetite’. He has no idea what type Dean encountered, what he was forced to live through or for how long, but he suspects that it was nothing good, if the way Dean’s eyes get clouded more often now is anything to go by.
But even if he knew for certain that the hunter’s experience was an unpleasant one, he still can’t specify the situation. He can’t determine whether Dean was put to suffer in a world much like the apocalyptic one Zachariah time-traveled him to, full of war and loss, if it’s the fact that he came back to a life full of war and loss and lack of normalcy that he grieves over.
With his thoughts elsewhere and his feet having a mind of their own, Castiel finds himself in the bunker’s kitchen and he can’t help but admire the picture painted in front of him. Dean is standing above the stove in his favorite robe and socks, holding a spatula and humming along some folk tune Castiel have never heard of echoing from his phone. It makes his quasi-human heart burst with such affection he still has no control over. He was recently able to put a name at the strange emotions he has been feeling for years for the hunter, yet when it comes to actually experiencing them and eliminating them, naming them didn’t help much.
“Mornin’ Cas!” Dean greets him without looking at him or stopping his tasks. “Sit and grab. I made bacon, hashbrowns and tofu scrabble.” Dean informes him and yes, that is another habit the hunter acquired since he woke up from the dream. Castiel had no idea what tofu even was ten days ago and now it has sneaked its way into their breakfast routine instead of the usual eggs. When he attempted to ask Dean why he decided to substitute eggs and wondered when they will eat eggs again he all but bit his tongue at the heartbroken look the hunter gave him. He has yet to ask again and doubts that he even will since it’s not half bad and Sam was excited enough for the three of them.
Castiel sits heavily on the kitchen chair at the same time Dean situates a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel mumbles, takes a sip and asks; “Where is Sam?”
“Ooh. he left last night, went to Eileen.” he accompanies his answer with a smirk and a wiggling of his brows, but Castiel can see the clear happiness at his brother’s encounters.
“Oh, that’s nice. I really enjoy her.” Castiel says and he means it. Eileen Leahy is a strong-willed, smart and overall ‘tough as nails’, as they say, female that he first met six months ago, in circumstances he never imagined he would find himself into.
“Yeah, I bet you do.” Dean winks at him, clearly referring to that incredibly awkward night months ago where Castiel, woken up from a nightmare, decided to spend the rest of his night in the bunker’s library only to find a very naked female in the lap of a very naked Sam sitting in one of the chairs. While the younger Winchester looked scandalized - a sentiment Castiel shared - the female quickly got up, wore Sam’s flannel shirt and took Castiel’s hand while introducing herself as Eileen Leahy. Needless to mention, Dean teased his brother endlessly the next few weeks.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. She is an exquisite human and a great match for your brother.”
“Yeah, she is. He’s one lucky sucker.” Dean agreed with no little sadness in his eyes.
Before Castiel could ask about his well-being Dean was already serving him breakfast and turning the music louder.
*
His father once told him - albeit drunk - that the moment he laid eyes on Dean’s mother every other female all but disappeared. Any other place in the world felt empty if he couldn’t have Mary with him. Any other version of himself; a John with money and fame and a stable mind would always be lacking to the John with war flashbacks but his wife by his side.
It was that night that Dean realized he could never even aspire to have that kind of normalcy. He could pretend all he wanted, like he did with Cassie and with Lisa and everyone in between. He could pretend for a night, for a few weeks or even a whole year, but he since the he knew . That scared twelve year old had figured it out, figured everything while cleaning his father’s vomit off the motel carpet to save them from the extra charge.
So it really is a surprise now that Dean can’t seem to get past the Dream. Can’t ignore a life he didn’t technically live, yet nothing has ever felt as real and fundamental. He can’t get his mind to understand that Jess died decades ago, that the only Mary Winchester that ever existed took her own life years ago, months after he sons rescued her from the apocalyptic universe, and that Castiel is absolutely, definitely not his husband.
But as he sits now across the kitchen table, watching the angel eat his breakfast and drink his second cup of coffee he can’t stop his heart from beating rapidly. There’s no denying it that Dean came back… enlightened from the Dream. There’s no better word for it. Well, Sam would probably say ‘ clingy ’ if Dean asked him - which he didn’t, ever - but Dean knows what he saw. What he lived .
He knows it was a mistake to stay that long in the hallucination, but he just couldn’t leave. Not when he would be cooking in their kitchen and Castiel would wrap his arms around his middle and kiss his neck. Not when he would rest his head on his husband’s shoulder late at night, when they would cuddle in the couch while watching some lame documentary about wood-carving. He couldn’t leave when things were so perfect, and he absolutely could not abandon his husband when he laid in a hospital bed, comatose.
“Dean?” Castiel asks and stops Dean’s train of thought.
“Huh?”
“I asked; are you not hungry? You haven't touched your breakfast and I know it's perfectly cooked. Is everything alright?”
Dean looks down at his plate only to find it offensively filled with food. Huh. He could swear he ate enough for two with how full he feels. Maybe not with breakfast, but full nonetheless. His mind is filled with memories of a life he didn't live, heart full of regret and fear and grieve and so, so much love it could burst through his skin.
“Dean.”
“You know what? It's kinda early, Sam is away and Garth’s got that rugaru in Montana covered; I think I'm just gonna, uh, get some shut-eye.”
“You woke up an hour ago.” Cas reasons but Dean longs to feel the mattress taking his form; he remembers so much, it's nice for something to remember him back. He doubts he'll actually sleep, and even more so that his sleep won't be filled with nightmares, but he'll take his chances. He could be lucky and dream this time. “Didn't sleep well last night.”
“ You didn't sleep well yesterday either.” Dean would ask him how the hell he knows that if the worry in his face didn't make him look so much like him.
It is him , his mind reasons, but he really isn't.
He could be, maybe he still can be, but he's not, and Dean can't decide if he's happy about the fact or not. Still, he couldn't take his eyes away if his life depended on it.
“None of us sleeps well ever , Cas, let's not point fingers.” Dean says but Cas doesn't seem convinced.
“You know that's not what I mean.”
“I really don't.” Dean lies while packing his breakfast in tupperware because his stomach may be closed but he's not gonna waste food.
“What's up with you, Dean?” Cas asks, so sincere and so human that his chest hurts.
“Just tired, man. S’been a few long weeks.” And it's the truth, too. Those two weeks have been soul-sucking, to say the least. It's hard to mourn for someone’s loss when they are eating breakfast with you every morning. To miss the touch of their lips when you have never actually felt it. It’s a challenge, really. Because Dean knows that this situation, like pretty much everything in his life so far, is his own fault.
Cas is fixing him a perplexed gaze now, like he’s trying to read his mind with his remaining grace and Dean can feel panic rise at the thought alone.
“Alright, yeah. I’ll just, uh, go then.” Dean clears his throat uselessly. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“Dean.” Cas says authoritatively. “I think we need to talk.”
“We can talk later, right?” He says as he hurries towards his room, clapping Cas’ shoulder on his way, and locks the door as soon as he enters, ignoring the angel’s angry protests.
And if his hand lingers a few seconds more than usual on the angel’s hand, well, neither says anything about it.
*
They don’t really talk about it, none of them.
Days turn into weeks, salt-and-burns and low-level hunts take up most of their time, weeks become months and everyone drifts more and more apart.
Sam is absent more often than not, living in the bright side of the shit life they were given with Eileen and almost certainly some mutt Dean keeps smelling on him.
He’s happy and it shows, and Dean couldn’t be more satisfied.
Castiel, on the other hand, is always there. Always occupying the second bed in every motel, always across the bench in look-alike dinners across the continent, ordering burgers and stealing Dean’s fries, situated in his leather armchair in the Bunker’s library at all times. Always there yet at arm’s length, establishing the space between him and him.
And as Castiel becomes more human by the week, settling at Dean’s side as an ally, Dean can’t help but push himself back like a magnet.
It’s three months and two weeks after Castiel’s almost confrontation that he seems to finally had it.
They’re on their fourth round of shots, followed by a couple of beers, in some nameless dive in Omaha, celebrating another successful hunt when Dean’s phone rings.
“Heya, Sammy.” Dean slurs, pleasantly buzzed. For the first time in months alcohol doesn’t seem like a nemesis.
“Hey, Dean.” Says a round, slightly nasal female voice from the other line.
“How is my sister doing? Give her a kiss for me.”
“I will. Where are you?”
“Nebraska. You?” Dean asks while ordering another round, earning a very measured glare from Castiel from across the table.
“We’re in Los Angeles, actually. Funny thing; there was this hunter, Joe Marshall, right? Well, he called me a couple of weeks ago about some blood donating business scam…”
As Sam goes on about the hunt of the week Dean finds his eyes drawn to Cas like a magnet. Not that that’s a new thing; Dean and Cas have always been making eye contact for longer than strictly necessary, but right now it’s different. It’s not inexplicable, though he wishes it was. He wishes there was some big, bad witch to blame this fixation on. He wishes Castiel didn’t look so much like the other Castiel right now, all the while drinking in the similarities like he’s dying of thirst.
“...and then Eileen chopped it’s head of and I asked her to marry me.”
What?
“What?”
“I’m- I mean we- are getting married. Don’t know how or where or what religion the mystery is gonna be in, don’t know if she’s gonna wear a dress or a jumpsuit, but we’re getting married, Dean.”
“Oh my God, Sam…” Dean is actually going to cry right now. Castiel is gesturing wildly, trying to grab his attention but Dean’s brother is getting married and his voice sounds thick with emotion and if Dean’s life amounted to anything, ever, it’s for this moment. It’s for his kid brother announcing him that he found someone to spend his life with, even after everything, after dying and losing and grieving and the Apocalypse and between Heaven and Hell Sam is getting married. Sam is getting married.
“Sam is getting married.” He says and a tear rolls down his cheek and he couldn’t give less of a shit. “Fuck, Sam…”
“I know, Dean. I know.” Sam agrees immediately because he does know. He knows that it’s not the ring or the paper or even the proposal itself. It’s not the idea or the intention. For all intents and purposes Sam and Eileen are already married, nothing is going to change.
It’s the promise. The promise that means so much more when you are a hunter. To pledge yourself in a life where you coexist by choice. The promise of his brother to his significant other that he will eat less bacon - not that he even needs to, the health freak -, that he will exercise more - again, same-, that he will come back home after a long day, a long hunt. That he will not sacrifice himself given the first chance. Nor will he flee across the state when the first obstacle appears.
A promise Dean could never give, but damn, does he want to.
“Sam, man. I don’t know what to say. I’m so happy for you you don’t even know. So happy for the both of you.” A few more stray tears escape but he pays them no mind.
“Sam, congratulations to both of you. This is a very wise choice you made.” Cas all but shouts from across the table.
“Thank you, Cas!” His brother all but shouts in his damn ear. “Have fun guys, we’ll Skype tomorrow ‘cause Eileen has something to tell you about a case either way.”
“Bye, Sam.” Dean and Cas say their goodbyes and he pockets his phone.
There’s a weird silence settled on their table after that. Companionable, yet weird. Heavy with something Dean is not ready to name. Rounds keep coming and Dean keeps staring at Castiel, memorizing the lines of his face for what seems like the first time. Maybe it’s the copious amount of alcohol, or those tears they didn’t speak about, or maybe it’s his brother tying the knot but Dean feels reckless tonight.
“We were married, you know.”
Castiel stares.
“I figured.” The ex-angel says after a while and Dean’s mind fails to catch up.
“What?”
Cas looks at him like he’s an idiot and he probably is.
“You died.” Dean confesses and he really is an idiot.
“So did you.” Castiel retorts.
“So did I.” Dean agrees.
Another round of shots fills their table before anyone speaks.
It’s him who breaks the silence. “I couldn’t have you. Even when you were next to me, sleeping on the same bed, I couldn’t have you. I knew it wasn’t really you, not really your choice, but I just- I couldn’t leave. It was still you, man. The closest I could get and we were normal. We were just fine and Sam was fucking happy and Bobby was alive and everything was so damn beautiful.” He fights for a breath. “And then it wasn’t.”
Cas looks at him quizzically.
“Drunk driver. Some college party across the high school you- he - worked at, you know how it is. Shitload of alcohol and weed and who the fuck knows what else and the dude didn’t see the stop sign and everything went to hell. He was fighting, three whole months, tooth and nail. At some point I was convinced he’d make it. But even if he did, even if you -- it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t real.”
Castiel looks at him for a long time before answering. “Your brother is happy now , Dean. And you can’t ‘love’ someone back to life. If you could I can guarantee you all the monsters in the world would hate me for keeping Dean Winchester alive for eternity.” He says while bringing his hand to cup Dean’s in the middle of the table.
“I couldn’t live without him. Without you.”
“And you killed yourself.” Castiel finishes. Dean nods. “Pretty convenient timing I would say.”
“Sam doesn’t know.” Dean cautions.
“He does not. He thinks you woke up because we killed the Djinn.”
“How do you know?” Dean questions and Castiel looks at him with a smile that confirms his previous doubts about him being an idiot.
“We should head back to the motel.” Dean settles on after a few moments.
At Cas’ agreement he lenses their fingers together, leaving a few twenties on the table with his other hand and heading for their room.
The walk is short and calm, the temperature is damn ideal and Dean feels like the sun just came out. They enter their room and go about their routine of cleaning up. An hour later finds them in the motel couch, watching some action movie even Dean doesn’t know.
It’s rare for his mind to be so quiet, so content.
“I missed you.” Dean confesses. “Everyday ever since I woke up, I missed you like hell. I couldn’t get past it, I still can’t. I have convinced myself, all those years ago and all the time I know you that I can’t have you. I just can’t. Not the right time, or the right place or circumstances. Not the right mental state or hell, even species. Nothing was right about us.
“I actually sought solace in the fact that, given the right everything, we could be together. We could be happy and careless and boring and grow old together and the cherry on top. I was okay with that, with knowing that we could be something, everything. But we weren’t, Cas. We fought a lot and had crappy sex sometimes and we didn’t even drink damn milk and you died.
“We were normal and i still lost you. A damn curse that’s what I am.” Another fucking tear rolls down his skin and he feels Castiel’s thumb chase it away.
“I thought, that out of all people, you would know by now, Dean. There’s no such thing as normal. ” Cas holds his face in both hands and smiles. “There’s Fate but there’s free will. There’s Heaven but there’s Hell. There’s love, but there’s life. And most of the time, there’s choice.
“Your brother, after losing the love of his life, chose to find his companion, to let her be his significant other. Your mother, after being giver the gift of life, chose to refuse it. You, ever after realising that you were hallucinating, you chose to forget it, you chose to live it, with everything it made you live through. Could these things change? Could we change them? Yes. But that would be disrespecting the choices these people made, no matter what the consequences.
“It was not my choice to fall in love with you. I couldn’t help it. But I did choose to ‘fall in life’ with you.”
So Dean kisses him. There’s not much else he could do. And Cas kisses him back, soft and sweet and gentle and it’s better than any dream.
“I could do this forever.” Dean says after they break apart and Castiel chuckles. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“I doubt our lives will be healthy if we decide to do this for the rest of our time.”
“Shut up, smartass.” Dean kisses him again to do so, more thoroughly this time.
The movie ends predictably and Castiel’s bed sits unoccupied for the rest of their stay, but that’s okay because next time they choose to buy a kind instead of two twins.
Dean’s mattress has to remember another body now.