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Much to Sam’s surprise (and, he suspects, disappointment) Dean has actually been to a pride parade before.
“It was while you were at Stanford,” enough time has passed that Dean’s only a little embarrassed to admit this. “I was headin’ up that way to, uh, ‘check’ on you when Bobby called and told me about a hunt in L.A. Turned out to be a bust but I stayed on for a couple weeks after to have some fun.”
“Bobby was always good at that,” Sam says shrewdly.
“Yeah well, that was more than ten years ago. I’m a grumpy old man now; I’ve had my fun.”
“39 is hardly old, Dean,” Cas (the ageless celestial being) interjects.
“And this time there’s actually a hunt,” Sam adds. “Salt and burn, pretty standard.”
“So I have to go because?”
“Because when was the last time all three of us did something or went somewhere without it being the end of the world?”
“So let’s go to Hawaii or somethin’,” Dean snaps. “Let’s not drive across the country for six hours just to watch a bunch of twinks in shorts and glitter twerk to Katy Perry.”
“Dean that’s –”
“What? Homophobic?” That shuts Sam up, and they glare at each other until Cas steps between them.
“Enough,” he says firmly, holding Dean’s gaze. “I understand why you are so reluctant, Dean. Really,” he adds at Dean’s derisive snort, “I do. But there’s no point in trying to annoy us into leaving without you: it won’t work.”
“You sure about that Cas? ‘Cos I can try harder, real harder…”
“Dean. Stop.” Cas’ tone is strange and there’s a flicker in his eyes, a softening of his mouth so that for a second he almost seems to be pleading.
Belatedly, it occurs to Dean that maybe this parade isn’t just for him, that maybe it’s for a newly human(ish), newly adrift(ish) Castiel. That maybe Cas needs something more tangible than half-heard I love you’s murmured into his back while they drift off to sleep.
“Ok,” he relents, noting that both Sam and Cas’ shoulders sag with relief. “But if you get so much as one speck of glitter anywhere on your body you’re walkin’ home. I ain’t riskin' my baby.”
*
It’s only when they’ve all piled in the car, driving along some stretch of freeway so generic and repetitive that it’s almost like they’re not moving at all, that he discovers they haven’t been completely honest with him.
“So let me get this straight,” he pointedly ignores Sam’s half smile, “it’s not that there’s a ghost and a pride parade; it’s that there’s a ghost because of the pride parade?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Sam shrugs. “We looked into it some and turns out the old park keeper – Harvey Fitzgerald – was also a pretty dedicated street preacher. You know the sort. Billboard round his neck, bible in his hand. He died last month of a heart attack.”
“He always opposed the parade,” Cas adds from the back seat, “but while alive he couldn’t do anything to stop it. This year, however, the run-up to the parade’s been plagued with disaster: the stage has collapsed 3 times already and a night guard was attacked. There are six people in the hospital; all claiming to have seen an angry old man shouting at them.”
Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightens.
“Look, we’ve already discovered where he’s buried,” Sam interjects hurriedly, almost as if he expects Dean to be angry that he’s been tricked into driving Cas towards a homophobic ghost. “And as far as we can tell he had no wife or kids or anyone that would hold onto his stuff so that more or less rules out the possibility of him being tied to an object. We get there, we smoke him and then we relax. It’ll be easy.”
“I still don’t like it,” he meets Cas’ eyes in the mirror and sighs at the determination he sees in them, “but alright.” He’s rewarded by the sight of Cas visibly relaxing, and the sound of Sam’s gentle exhale. “Y’know,” he grumbles, “if I’d known you’d be this excited to go to some stupid parade we would’ve done this ages ago.”
They all laugh and even though none of them means it, the rest of the journey passes smoothly.
*
If only they can say the same for the rest of the hunt.
Turns out there are two Harvey Fitzgeralds. Cousins or something. One Harvey seems, by all accounts, to be a pretty nice guy who’s family are gonna get an awkward phone call tomorrow. The other Harvey though…
The same can’t be said for the other Harvey.
The other Harvey has thrown Sam god knows where and Cas headfirst into a giant gravestone with an angel on top (Dean would laugh at the irony if he wasn’t about to die) and currently has his hands in Dean’s chest, cold fingers trying to find his heart.
“Empty,” he hisses, eyes glowing a lifeless white. “Inside you’re all just empty.”
“Not to be too graphic,” Dean wheezes through the pain, “but I bottom so…”
Harvey hisses in fury and squeezes something inside him: an unbearable agony explodes in his chest, causing Dean to cry out as he falls to his knees. “Abomination,” the ghost snarls, and the look on his face is pure, unadulterated hatred. “Dirty, unholy queer.” He bends down so he’s eye to eye with Dean, forcing him to stare into those white, lifeless pits. These, Dean is suddenly sure, will be the last thing he ever sees, Harvey’s voice the last thing he ever hears. “Gonna send you to Hell where you can burn like the faggot you are.”
“You sure about that?” A familiar voice sounds behind them. It’s Sam, dishevelled and panting and bloody but with the lighter clasped triumphantly in his hand, extended over the open grave. “Cos it seems like you’re the one that’s burning.” Dean falls to the ground as Harvey is consumed, body and soul, in flames.
“Dean!” Sam’s familiar cry of alarm is echoed by Cas’ as they rush over to him. Gentle hands manage to get him up to his knees and keep him there. His brother’s concerned face swims into view, a small, relieved smile breaking across it as Dean begins to pull himself together, the ground solidifying beneath him. “Hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you, Dean. It’s ok.”
Cas comes up beside them, hooking an arm around Dean’s waist and pulling him shakily to his feet. “What was he saying to you?” Cas asks. “The ghost?”
“Just the usual stuff, Y’know.” Dean’s pleased at how steady his voice is, even if it is a bit raspy. He’s careful not to look at either of them as he speaks, focusing on the smoking grave. “I’m gonna kill you, you’re gonna burn in hell. All the greatest hits.”
Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean already knows what he’s going to say. “It’s fine,” he says firmly. “I’m fine. Let’s just get out of here before someone calls the cops.” He could probably walk on his own, but Cas keeps his arms round Dean, supporting him for the short distance to the car and sliding them both into the back seat. Dean fumbles in his pockets for the keys and passes them to Sam, who’s already waiting up front.
The drive back is mercifully silent, Dean rests his head on Cas’ shoulder, glad for the exhaustion that excuses the contact, and pretends not to notice Sam’s worried brown eyes watching him from the rearview mirror. He focuses on watching the road and tries to push Harvey’s face, and hatred, from his mind.
He knows that Sam and probably Cas will want to talk, but exhaustion is darkening the edge of his vision by the time they pull into the parking lot of the motel. They both look haggard under the flickering red neon of the vacancy sign, and he knows that he (the one who’s heart the ghost had tried to strangle) must look much worse. Maybe that’s why they don’t try and make him stay at the car but instead allow him to escape to his bed with nothing more than a quick squeeze on the shoulder from Sam.
The room is dark, almost pitch black, but he’s been in enough motel rooms to feel his way to the bed, kicking off his shoes and stripping off his shirt and pants as he goes. His eyes are drooping closed by the time he hits the pillow, and he’s asleep in seconds.
He drifts in darkness for a while, the distant sounds of the freeway calming the frantic edge to his thoughts. Slowly, however, he becomes aware of eyes watching him from the dark. Pale white eyes – ghost eyes – burning with that same flat, impersonal hatred. They loom large in front of him as he tries futilely to escape their gaze, stretching far above and below. Whispers overtake the gentle noises of sleep, forcing their way into his consciousness but slipping away before he can really comprehend what they’re saying. He brings his hands to his ears but it does nothing to stop the onslaught.
Slowly the eyes begin to change beneath him. The white slides to a glowing, piercing blue to a warm concerned brown before bleeding back to white to blue to brown to yellow to white to blue to brown to white to blue to brown to red to green to white to blue to brown to…all the while the unintelligible whispers rush past him like the wind through dead leaves. He tries desperately to make the out the words, but all he can catch is malice and confusion.
The constant flickering of colours makes his head swim as the eyes seem to grow larger and larger by the second.
No, not larger. Closer. Dean can’t tell if he’s falling or if they’re moving, but no matter what he does, no matter how fast he tries to move away, they draw nearer. Soon his entire vision is a whirl of changing colours, except for the black bottomless pits of the pupils that are drawing closer and closer, and Dean knows that now he’s falling and he’ll never reach the bottom but no matter how hard he struggles he can’t move in any direction so all there’s left do to is fall…
He jerks abruptly awake, involuntarily kicking Cas in the shins as he does so. This, of course, causes Cas to wake too, his surprised breath warm across Dean’s face. “Sorry,” Dean murmurs as Cas grumbles, “had that falling dream thingy.” It’s only half a lie, but he can tell Cas isn’t buying it.
He’s beginning to drift back off to sleep when he hears Cas’ whisper: “He was wrong.”
“Who?”
“The Ghost. I know what he said.”
“Yeah, well, it’s nothin’ I ain’t heard before. It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“What?”
“Sam told me what Harvey called you. What he called us,” Cas pauses, hand sliding upwards to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s ok if he affected you.”
“Me? What about you?” Dean deflects, “You’ve gone from being an angel of the Lord to some ‘unholy faggot’ ‘cos you started stickin’ it to a dude, and you’re just ok with it? With falling for me?” Before he’s even finished saying the words he regrets them. “Shit Cas, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking.”
Cas takes a long time to reply. Dean’s half expecting him to just get up and leave, but instead he sits upright. Dean follows suit and Cas turns to him, eyes dimly illuminated through the thin curtain, the orange of the street lamps rendering them a murky brown. “I won’t pretend that the transition from angel to human – or whatever I am now – has been easy,” he says. “Humans are so...physical compared to angels. I get hungry now, and tired. And my back hurts when I sleep in the car and my nose runs and my breaths smells. And my emotions are so…manifest now. I don’t just experience anger or joy or sadness as abstract concepts, I feel them right down to my bones. But you, Dean Winchester, you make it worth it,” he cups Dean’s face in his hands. “I know you. I know how you take on guilt, so let me be clear: I haven’t fallen. No matter what any ghosts, monsters or even my siblings say, humanity is not a step down for me. You are not a step-down. And besides,” he smiles, “those words have no negative connotations for me: by the time I was familiar enough with human culture to feel the insults within them you had already shown me that they didn’t matter. I haven’t had a lifetime of abuse and shame to contend with, so the words of one lonely, vengeful spirit mean little to me. You, on the other hand, have had a different experience, and admitting that won’t make you weak.”
How did I get so lucky? Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says what Cas wants to hear right now: the truth. “It wasn’t the words so much,” he admits. “It’s not like I haven’t heard that and worse before outta the mouths of people I actually give a damn about. It was the way he looked at me: like I wasn’t even human. Like I was so far away from him that we weren’t even the same species anymore. He didn’t hate me for tryin’ to kill him: he hated me just for existing, and there ain’t a damn thing I could’ve done to change his mind. And I know he doesn’t matter,” he adds when Cas opens his mouth, “and I know he’s wrong. But…” he trails off, not even sure what he was going to say.
Cas kisses him, gently, reverently. “Thank you, Dean.”
“For what?”
“For talking to me when I know you don’t want to. For being open instead of hiding behind your strength. For telling me the truth.”
Dean feels his face heat. “Well, thanks for listening I guess.”
Cas laughs and pulls them both back under the covers.
*
Sam shows up late the next morning with calorific breakfast that Dean takes as the “sorry I told Cas about the homophobic ghost so you’d talk about your feelings’’ peace offering it is. The three of them crowd round the ridiculously undersized table; Sam’s stupidly oversized elbows banging into Dean’s as they cut their pancakes.
“So,” Dean says through a mouthful of food, trying to sound enthusiastic. He owed that much to them at least. To try. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Well, I was thinking we could start in the park: wander round some of the stalls and make sure Harvey’s really gone,” Sam begins and Cas next to him nods in agreement.
“Sounds good, what’s next?”
Cas and Sam exchange a glance. “The park is also where the parade will start,” Cas says slowly.
Dean quashes his first instinct (which is to snort) and his second (which is to shout) and instead tries to make his voice as neutral as possible. “Do you want to be in it?” He asks, watching Cas’ eyes closely.
“Yes but,” Cas pauses, “only with you.”
“I, uh, I can’t promise that’ll happen Cas,” Dean shifts in his seat, Sam’s eyes burning a patch onto his back. “but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
*
The park is a shifting sea of rainbows and flags, almost garish in the weak daylight. The sky is an overcast grey wall, threatening ominously towards rain, but no one on the ground seems to care. Dean absentmindedly accepts a clear rain poncho from an official and uses it to obscure the EMF meter in his hand. He walks the perimeter of the event, keeping close to the metal barriers. A group of teenagers with painted faces eye him with curiosity from the queue. He notices a printed ticket crushed in one of their hands.
“You have to pay for that?” He asks.
“Yeah, $40,” the kid can’t be older than 16, with bright blue hair and pale blue, pink and white stripes on his face (a matching flag round his neck) says, frowning. “Didn’t you?”
Dean shrugs, “Brother sorted it out. Didn’t realise it was such a rip-off.”
“Yeah well, what can you do?” The kid smiles, “that was nice of your brother to do though,” his face falls, “wish mine was like that.” Looking closer, Dean can see that, despite the bright colours, the kid’s clothes are ill-fitting and crumpled in the way that only clothes that live in a duffle bag crumple. He feels an abrupt pang of kinship with the teen.
“I’m pretty lucky,” Dean admits. “Yours older or younger?”
“Older. My parents both work, so it’s mostly just us.”
“And he’s not, uh, supportive?”
The kid laughs hollowly. “He says this whole ‘trans thing’ is just me trying to get attention and that I’m an idiot who doesn’t understand biology. He threw a fit when he found out I was coming here today. I had to sneak out the window.”
“I’ll be honest kid,” Dean says, “I dunno what ‘trans thing’ means but your brother sounds like a real piece of shit to me.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of twenties. “Here,” he stuffs them into the kid’s hands, “seein’ as my brother saved me the trouble of buyin’ a ticket. And you tell your brother,” he adds, backing away before the kid can try to pass the money back, “that if he don’t man up and do his job I’ll kick his ass.”
He turns and nearly walks into Sam and Cas, each with their own EMF meters. “Who were you talking to?” Sam asks
“Just some kid,” Dean says dismissively, hoping fervently that Sam hadn’t heard any of their conversation. “Did you know it costs forty bucks to get in here? What kind of scam are they running?” he ploughs on before either have a chance to answer. “Did you guys pick up anything?”
Cas shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing on my end either,” Sam adds.
“And nothing on mine neither: looks like we smoked Harvey dead and good,” Dean grins.
“You’re in a good mood,” Cas notes, knowingly.
“I’m just glad he’s dead is all.”
They wander slowly through the stalls: Cas stopping to examine each and every one, picking up the merchandise and talking to the owners. Most of the stuff is the same stall to stall, but Dean enjoys watching Cas enjoy himself. He hears Sam settle in beside him.
“Shut up,” he warns, not taking his eyes off Cas.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Shut up anyway.” They stand for a bit longer. “Hey Sammy,” Dean says after a while, “what’s a ‘trans’?”
Sam snorts and suddenly Dean knows he’s being an idiot, “Are you serious?”
“Any reason why I wouldn’t be?”
“No sorry it’s just,” Sam snickers “it’s transgender Dean.”
Dean feels hot around the ears. “Oh.”
“And it’s not ‘a Trans’ a person is Trans.”
“I know that,” Dean snaps, “I’ve seen Orange is the New Black.”
That just makes Sam laugh harder. Cas looks round, curious, before something the vendor says distracts him again. Dean glares at his brother for a while longer before relenting, slapping his now doubled over younger brother on the back.
“God,” Sam gasps, eventually. “I don’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dean deadpans.
“Why were you asking anyway?”
“Oh, it was just something this kid said and–”
“The one you were talking to earlier?” Sam cuts in, “Jesus Dean what did you say to them?”
“I don’t know. Nothin’ bad. Christ Sam, do you really think so little of me?”
“Well it’s not like you’re the most sensitive person at the best of times,” Sam’s says bluntly.
“I’m plenty sensitive,” Dean grumbles, “everything here is just too damn complicated.”
“It wouldn’t be if you put in a minimum amount of effort,” Sam says, exasperated. “It’s not that hard.”
“Listen, Sammy, I have better things to do with my time than memorise a bunch of letters and flags,” Dean snaps. “You’re the one that wanted to come here in the first place, so why don’t you just leave me out of it?”
“Dean c’mon, you don’t have to pretend that this stuff isn’t important anymore.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Sam looks at him steadily, as if he’s trying to decide just how much Dean can hear. A multi-coloured sea of people move behind them, but the area between them stays clear: a little pocket of calm in the glittery chaos. Even Cas has wandered off to a new stall and is bent over to examine a pile of rainbow ties. “I’ve sat and listened to you brag about sex and women for years Dean,” Sam says eventually. “I’ve heard, in excruciating detail, about every random hook up and flirt and whatever. Hell, you’d point at bars we drove past and tell me the name of the girls you’d screwed in the toilets. And yet the way I find out you’re into guys is because you got so drunk you forgot I was there?”
“So?”
Sam sighs. “So, I know the reason you never said anything isn’t because you were shy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dean shrugs “I guess it just never came up.”
“Bullshit. I asked you, Dean. I gave you so many chances to tell me and you ignored them all.”
“Well, maybe it just wasn’t any of your damn business.”
“Why tell me about the women then?”
“I just wanted to give your nerd ass some tips,” Dean says flippantly, “so you could finally get laid.”
“Dean enough!” Sam snaps. “Stop with the goddamn posturing and just admit were ashamed.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Dean snorts. “Just because I didn’t talk about it with you doesn’t mean I was ashamed. Maybe I just didn’t want to talk about it. You ever consider that, huh?”
“Really? You can honestly say there’s no reason you’ve never even called Cas your boyfriend?” Sam retorts, “Or that one of you literally has to be dying for you to kiss him in front of me? I’ve barely ever seen you two hold hands and you’re telling me that that’s ok? That you’re ok?”
Dean opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“And I get it, I really do. I grew up in the same crappy towns and drank in the same crappy bars with the same shitty hunters and rednecks you did. I know how they would’ve treated you if you’d been out: and I know how Dad would’ve reacted too,” Dean’s eye twitches, but he remains silent so Sam ploughs on. “So yeah, I get the masculine posturing, the overcompensation and the internalised homophobia but it’s a different world now – and Dad’s gone: there’s no one left to care. It’s ok for you to be proud of who you are and to be a part of this community.” Sam gestures towards a rainbow flag. “I’m not going to abandon you or think any less of you if you do. I don’t care if you’re gay, or bi or queer, you’re my brother and that’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”
Absently, Dean wonders how many times Sam’s practiced that speech, and how long he’s been keeping it up his sleeve: waiting for the perfect opportunity to unleash his emotions. Maybe he asked Jodie or Cas or even Charlie to help him write it. He thinks about the kid in the queue, how they probably would’ve killed to hear a speech like that from their brother. He’s lucky, he supposes, that Sam is bending over backwards to accept him. But try as he might, he can’t bring himself to be anything but mildly pissed off at the whole situation.
“Are those my only choices then?” He asks acidly. “The repressed, deluded brother you gotta drag out the closet? Or the happy, campy ‘out and proud’ brother who kisses his boyfriend in the middle of the street while you cheer from the sidelines? You really think that’ll go any better for me? We still drink in those ‘crappy’ bars, Sam. We still hunt with those ‘shitty’ people. How can you say it’s a different world when yesterday we burnt a piece of it that hated me so much he came back from the fuckin’ dead? You want me to be ‘ok’ with that?” He sighs at the look on Sam’s face, his anger deflating and leaving him vaguely guilty. “Look, you’re probably right: I’m not good when it comes to emotions and shit, and I probably do have some messed up crap in my head. But none of that is new: I’ve been dealing with this a long time, longer than you probably think, and being a part of this ‘community’ isn’t gonna solve it for me,” he takes a deep breath and forces himself to go on. “All I need – all I’ve ever needed – is my family: is you. I know you’re trying, and I’m sorry I can’t be grateful, but I need you to not try anymore ok? I just need to you to be normal about this, Sammy. Please?”
He’s barely finished the sentence before Sam pulls him into a hug. It’s quick but fierce, and they both come away smiling. “Ok, I promise to stop trying,” Sam laughs. “But before I do, let me just say that I’m so proud –”
“Nope,” Dean interrupts, “you gotta wait for another homophobic ghost to attack me before you’re allowed to finish that sentence. C’mon, let’s find Cas. Oh and just so you know,” he adds, “the reason I don’t call Cas my ‘boyfriend’ is because I’m nearly forty not fourteen.” Sam snorts, but leaves him be.
They wander over to the angel, who is still frowning at the rainbow ties. “I feel like I should be more festive for the parade,” he muses, “do you think this would be suitable?”
“Yeah Cas, I think it’d be perfect,” Sam smiles. “Don’t you agree, Dean?”
“Can’t think of anything more you,” Dean says, stepping beside Cas as he turns to pay. “Wait did you just pay $15 for that?” He shakes his head, winding his arm around Cas’ waist and determinedly not looking at Sam. “Christ this place is such a rip-off.”
Cas hums noncommittally, resting his head briefly on Dean’s shoulder as they walk towards parade. “Most people appear to be with corporations or organisations of some sort,” he says.
“Maybe they’ll have one for holy tax accountants,” Dean teases, “Or fallen angels.”
“That is highly unlikely.”
“I dunno, if Walmart is here, why not heaven? They’d be in good company.”
“There’s an unaffiliated block,” Sam supplies helpfully from the sidelines, “Between Bank of America and Taco Bell. I’ll go find somewhere towards the end to watch and we’ll meet up after ok?”
“Sounds good to me,” Dean says.
“Great, text me if you decide to bail early.”
Sam walks back the way they came as Dean and Cas make their way further into the crowds. Dean drops his hand from Cas’ waist automatically as they pass a large group of leather-clad men, before remembering with a jolt where he is. Slowly, carefully, he takes Cas’ hand in his, twining their fingers together. Cas glances at him in surprise, his eyes crinkling with silent pleasure. People smile at them as they walk by and a man about Dean ’s age winks and murmurs ‘congrats’ as he passes.
They settle comfortably into the middle of the crowd, and Dean plucks the tie out of Cas’ other hand. “Let me do it,” he says, “you’re hopeless at these things.”
“I am not,” Cas grumbles, but he lets Dean unthread his blue tie and replace it with the new one.
“Yes you are,” Dean replies, adjusting the knot, “You always do it backwards. There.”
“How do I look?”
“Even dorkier than usual, somehow.” Dean laughs at the squint/glare Cas throws at him, “I’m joking, I’m joking. You look good. Like always”
“Thanks,” Cas takes his hand again, stroking it gently, “I didn’t hear your conversation with Sam, but it appears to have done you both some good: you seem…unburdened.”
“Yeah, I think we’re finally on the same page,” Dean grins. “It’s amazing what this ‘talking’ thing can do.”
“Yes,” Cas’ tone is serious but his eyes are twinkling, “I’ve heard it draws on ancient and powerful magic that allows you to know others’ innermost thoughts and desires.”
Just then, the large float in front of them begins to blast music, lurching ponderously forward. The crowd around them lets out a cheer, as drums and whistles begin to sound. People begin to stream around them: old and young alike grinning wildly and waving flags and banners. Cas pulls him into motion, and they join the throng.
At the edges, on the other side of the barriers, people have gathered to watch. Most are smiling and cheering, several have their phones out. A few, however, are scowling. One middle-aged woman sees Dean looking at her and her eyes flash with hate. She shouts something at him, though her voice is lost in the cheers and whoops of the crowd. But Dean can guess well enough, and his hand tenses round Castiel’s.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cas murmurs, squeezing back.
“Honestly?” Dean sighs, “I don’t know. But you want to Cas, and that’s enough for now.” At the barriers, a group of elderly ladies are shouting at the woman, gesturing rudely in her face, one of them catches his eye and winks at him, waving him on. “Besides,” he smiles, “maybe this isn’t so bad after all.”