Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean stifles the urge to groan aloud and slumps further down in his uncomfortable plastic chair, a fearsome scowl on his face. Cas owes him for this. Big time. 

“Claire needs me,” he’d said two nights ago, puppy eyes dialed up to eleven to blast all of Dean’s complaints and counter-arguments to smithereens. “These might be heavenly artifacts, Dean. I have to go check. They can’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.”

Which. Fuck. How was Dean supposed to argue with that? “Fine,” he’d grumbled, arms crossed. “She better not get either of you killed.”

Cas had smiled, happy he’d gotten his way (asshole), and pulled Dean close. “Thank you. And you don’t need to worry, there’s no reason why we should encounter any trouble,” he’d said, punctuating his reassurance with a kiss. A kiss that Dean, thoroughly whipped as he is, had allowed himself to be mollified by and then returned enthusiastically.

That wasn’t the end of it, though. Cas hadn’t dropped the real bombshell until he’d been walking out the door the next morning. “Oh,” he’d said in dismay, like he’d only just remembered. And maybe he had, but Dean is going to pretend that this was just another layer in the grand plan of Ruining Dean’s Wednesday, because he is bored out of his mind right now and he can. “I forgot, the PTA meeting is tomorrow night. Could you…”

Dean had given Cas a Look, feeling the nebulous plan of settling in on the couch to watch Star Trek reruns draining away faster and faster with every passing second. “C’mon. Really? You can’t miss one?”

Cas had taken the travel mug of coffee Dean had made up for him, bringing the puppy eyes back out, and Dean had only managed to hold out for ten seconds before he’d sighed and leaned in for a slightly grudging kiss. “I can’t promise everything won’t go in one ear and out the other. But I’ll go, I guess.”

Cas had given him a grateful look. “You are so good to me,” he’d said, and Dean had flushed before giving him a little push. 

“Alright, alright. Go look at your rusty bowls or whatever.”

Cas had smiled. “I’ll be back late on Thursday.”

And now Dean is sitting in a sticky plastic school chair, in a classroom that smells like teen angst and gross old books, and he is literally more bored than he has ever been in his entire life.

Some chick named Helen has been monologuing at the front of the classroom for the past fifteen minutes, her loyal gang of suburban moms in the front couple rows nodding and tittering in agreement whenever she makes a point. But thank fuck, Dean thinks as he looks at his watch, they should be done in the next ten minutes or so.

“And don’t forget to join us for the coffee hour in the gym!” Helen says with aggressive perkiness. Dean zones back in, sitting up a little. Coffee hour? And judging by this crew, he’ll bet there are homemade desserts, too. Then Helen meets Dean’s eyes, and she lingers for a significant moment before looking back to the others. “I’d love to speak to all of you about my campaign and answer any questions you have about my platform. See you there!”

Oh. He has to go, now.

— - —

Y’know what, Dean thinks as he cradles a flimsy paper plate loaded with goodies in one hand and a coffee in the other. Tonight isn’t turning out to be half bad.

He’d noticed that he was one of the only dads present when he first got to the meeting, but he hadn’t really registered what that meant because he was so busy being ticked off that he was even doing this in the first place. Now that he’s paying attention, though, he catches every single one of the many, many appreciative glances directed his way, picks up on the clusters of whispering women scattered around the gym. And oh boy. He could have a lot of fun with this.

Helen is the first one to approach him; he sets his coffee down to shake her hand, and because he’s an asshole, hits her with his patented lady-killer grin. It’s a shot in the dark, because it’s been a while since he pulled that baby out, but it works: something softens in Helen’s eyes, and he’s pretty sure he hears one of her lackeys give an actual, honest-to-god gasp. 

“Hi,” she says brightly, and damn, does she ever stop smiling? “I’m Helen.”

“Dean Campbell,” Dean lies easily after the rest of Helen’s cronies have introduced themselves. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Dean,” Helen repeats, carefully selecting a lemon square from the table. “You don’t mind if I call you Dean, do you? It’s so nice to see a father who shows this much interest in the school. When did you and your child join the Smith Center High School family?”

“Not at all. My son just started here this year,” Dean says, pretending like the words ‘Smith Center High School family’ don’t make him want to throw up in his mouth. “We moved here from up near Lawrence.” That’s lies number two and three: Jack started last year (having tweaked his appearance a little so he could pass as a tenth grader), and Dean and Sam have been living just outside of Lebanon itself for the past, like, eight years. But Helen doesn’t need to know that, does she?

He lets a little sadness leak into his expression, and the rapt attention of the small posse of women sharpens even more. “Y’know,” he sighs, “after his mom died, we needed a change. He’s had a lot on his shoulders, and even though he’s a really great kid, it’s been tough.” 

Oh, he nailed that. And he didn’t even have to lie this time. Now these chicks are looking at him like he’s God’s gift to suburbia, and Dean can’t help but preen a little. Shit, Cas is gonna kill himself laughing when he hears about this. He’s been complaining about the PTA harpies ever since he started going to the meetings last year. But Dean manages to keep a straight face, and smiles gratefully at Helen when she puts a hand on his arm.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she simpers, her pink nails clashing horribly with his flannel.

“Thanks,” Dean says earnestly. “It means a lot. But I think I’m finally ready to turn over a new leaf.” Which is exactly what his group of admirers had been hoping to hear, and he’s immediately surrounded with a sea of delighted smiles. “I’ll be honest, though,” he says with a small grin. “I was a little confused during the meeting. What exactly does a newbie need to know to get by around here, huh?”

Dean takes a smug sip of coffee and settles in to listen as the gaggle of women start giving him the cliffsnotes version of the meeting. See? Two birds with one stone: he’s gonna get the info Cas wants, and he gets to raise a little hell. Cas has mentioned more than once that there’s a group of sports parents who really don’t like him, for no reason other than that he’s trying to get more funding allocated to the arts department. He’d bet his left arm that Helen’s one of those, and so he feels absolutely zero remorse for all the shameless flirting he’s doing. 

No one messes with Dean’s husband and gets away with it. 

(Mostly because Cas can be one scary mofo when he feels like it, and he doesn’t take kindly to people being cruel for no reason. But on the off-chance he has to suck it up and play nice…

Well. Dean’s got his back.)

— - —

Several days later

“Hey,” Dean says, glancing at the clock. “You want me to drive you, Jack? It’s gettin’ kinda late.”

Both Jack and Cas look up, identical expressions of quizzical befuddlement on their faces. Dean fights a laugh and raises his eyebrows. “Well? I don’t have to be at the garage until nine, I’ve got time.”

“But… you’ve never driven me to school,” Jack says slowly. 

Dean takes another sip of his coffee. “Yeah, well. I’m offering now. You down?”

Jack smiles brightly, his hair flopping into his eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Dean.”

“No prob,” Dean says. “Now go get your stuff together and call me when you’re ready.”

Jack shoves his last bite of cereal into his mouth and pushes away from the table, a bounce in his step as he deposits his dishes in the kitchen and heads off to grab his homework.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “What is this really about?”

“Nothing,” Dean laughs. “C’mon, I just wanna give the kid a ride. Is that so wrong?”

Cas knows there’s something up, but he just shakes his head and takes another drink of coffee, lips quirked into a fond smile. “You are infuriating.”

Dean drains the last of his coffee and gets up, leaning in to give Cas a quick kiss. “You love it,” he says with a grin.

Cas hums, eyes flicking over Dean’s body. “Indeed I do.”

And maybe there’s a bit of extra sway to Dean step as he walks towards the hall, a little smirk on his face. Because why not?

Cas’ answering laugh is warm and buoyant in Dean’s chest as he and Jack head out to the Impala.

They rock out to Rush on the way to school, and Jack tells Dean about a project he’s gotta do for chemistry. Dean resolves to do this more often; he does his fair share of driving to and from after-school practices, and to the football games Jack’s marching band sometimes plays at, but Jack usually just takes the bus or zaps himself to school if he’s running really late. Dean’s obviously been missing out, though. Jack’s… bubbly in the mornings. It’s really kinda cute.

They pull up to the front of the school and Dean looks over at Jack, a little trepidation sneaking through him. “Hey, kid… you can ask for a ride whenever you want, y’know that? I know we’re not your average family by a long shot, but I’m still kinda your dad. This stuff comes with the territory.”

Jack scoots across the seat and throws his arms around Dean. “You are my dad, Dean,” he says, voice muffled in Dean’s shoulder. “Not just kinda. And I’ll keep that in mind, I had fun this morning.”

Dean gives Jack a watery little smile and pats his shoulder. “Okay. Have fun today, bud.”

He might swipe a hand across his eyes as he watches Jack trot up to the doors of the school. It’s really goddamn dusty in here, for some reason. He’s gotta, um. He needs to vacuum.

But as he puts the car back into drive and starts to pull away, he’s distracted from his warm fuzzies by the very thing he’d been hoping for when he offered to drive Jack this morning. There’s a little group of familiar looking moms standing next to the carpool area, and Dean grins.

Because see, he’s kind of a sucker for drama. Anyone privy to his minor love affair with Dr. Sexy knows that. And playing the role of Mysterious Hot Single Dad at the PTA meeting last week? That shit was better than a sitcom, especially because he already knows the twist: Mysterious Hot Single Dad is actually very decidedly, very happily not single, and is also, in fact, a raging bisexual who’s gonna be batting for the same team until he’s old and grey. All the outward hallmarks of a homewrecker and none of the bite. Like, c’mon. Days of Our Lives couldn’t top that if they tried.

So he rolls to a stop next to the carpool area and rolls down his window. “Morning, ladies,” he says with a lazy salute, tacking a roguish wink onto the end once they’re all paying attention. 

“Oh, Mr. Campbell,” Blue Jacket Mom (Katie?) says with a flirty smile, her group of friends giggling like schoolgirls. “Good morning to you. I have to say, that’s some car you’ve got there.”

“Please, call me Dean,” Dean drawls with a grin. “And she is, isn’t she? My pride and joy.” He pats the door gently, soaking up the attention like a sponge. “By the way, Katie, when’s the next meeting?” (Hell yeah, he thinks as Katie blushes a little. Remembered the right name, for once.) “The last one was great, I’d love to keep coming.”

Katie smiles. “Next week, same time as the last one. I’m bringing brownies.”

“Well, if I wasn’t already sold, that woulda done it. Rebecca, Christine, Pam.” He nods, grinning. “See you there.”

And, as he drives away under the eagle-eyes of Smith Center High’s carpool gang, the first inklings of a plan start to come together in the back of his brain.

He’s totally gonna go to the PTA meeting next week. 

Cas’ll have an aneurysm.

— - —

“Pardon?”

Cas is standing in the entrance way, halfway through putting on his coat and staring blankly at Dean as he grabs his own coat from the hook. Dean keeps smiling. “I said, you mind if I come with?”

“No, I heard you,” Cas says, squinting at Dean in consternation. “I just don’t understand why you’re asking in the first place.”

Dean shrugs, playing innocent. “Cas, they’ve got cookies and stuff lying around afterwards. Homemade. I can’t believe you kept the coffee hour spread from me.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, then grins. “And c’mon, isn’t this what parents do? Get involved with their kids’ schools and then gossip about all the idiots in charge?”

Cas still looks a little leery of Dean’s reasoning, but the parenting thing really got him. “Well, I suppose I won’t stop you if this is really what you want,” he says as he finishes adjusting his coat. He gets dressed up for these things in his classic trench coat and suit get-up, maybe out of some desire to look respectable, and Dean’s almost made him late more than once. There’s just something about the outfit; not that Dean doesn’t love Cas in t-shirts and jeans, but when he’s wearing the monkey suit he can never restrain himself from dragging the guy in by the tie and kissing him stupid.

It might have something to do with the literal decade Dean spent repressing that exact impulse. He never misses a chance to indulge it now, though.

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his keys and stepping in close to Cas. “It’s what I want.” He’s not just talking about the PTA meeting anymore.

Cas raises an eyebrow and opens the door. “That’s another thing — you’re not allowed to distract me while we’re there. I’m serious, Dean. I need to be present.”

Dean rolls his eyes, smiling, and walks outside. “Don’t worry. It’ll be like I don’t even know you.”

— - —

Dean’s as good as his word. As soon as they walk into the school he stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks on ahead of Cas, acting for all the world like he doesn’t know him from Adam. He thinks he hears Cas huff a laugh behind him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it; his whole plan tonight hinges on making sure he doesn’t blow his cover with the Mom Squad.

He finds a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom, making sure there’s no empty seats beside him so Cas has to sit somewhere else. He looks vaguely bemused when he sees what Dean’s done, but goes along with the little charade anyway and heads over to sit with the arts parents in the back corner. Almost none of whom, Dean notes, were among his admirers last week. Which is good. Dean doesn’t wanna sabotage what friends Cas has made here, but he can’t be held accountable for any collateral damage that might occur during the coffee hour.

Because this plan of his might end up getting slightly… nuclear.

This meeting, at least, is more interesting than the last one. Cas speaks up often and intelligently, garnering some thoughtful nods from the current president and the other council members as well as a good chunk of the parents, and Helen’s smile goes brittle and plasticky so fast that it has to be some kind of record. Dean’s so proud of Cas he almost packs it in right then and there and marches across the classroom to lay one on him.

By the time the meeting closes up, Helen looks like she’s about to crack a molar, based on how hard she’s smiling. Dean follows the popular crowd over to the gym, stifling a grin when he sees Cas hanging back to chat with a small, dark-haired woman and her husband. Damn, this is going perfectly. Cas is exactly where Dean wants him.

Helen and her made-up grunts are on Dean as soon as they get into the gym, dragging him into a conversation. Dean lays it on thick, grinning and making eye contact like nobody’s business, and the ladies lap it up. 

The conversation turns, predictably, to Cas. Dean would’ve been surprised if it hadn’t, honestly. 

“Did you hear what Mr. Novak was saying?” Pam sneers during a lull in the conversation. “I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know why that donation shouldn’t go to the football team, the music program can’t possibly need that much to enter their little competition.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, looking around at the circle of women. “Mr. Novak? Was he the guy in the trenchcoat?”

Helen sniffs. “Yes, that’s him. He’s extremely pushy, and he doesn’t care about the athletics programs at all. I think his child, whoever they are, must be in one of the arts programs.” She smiles nastily. “It’s unfortunate, really. He’d be a real asset if he wasn’t… such an odd duck. We’ve tried to include him,” she says (which is how Dean knows he was ostracized from the moment this bitch laid eyes on him), “but he’s just so combative and unwilling to compromise.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work,” Dean says with a smirk, but the titters that rise up in response to his comment make his skin crawl. Gah. Yeah, no remorse here. This lady can go straight to hell. (Not actually. A below-average bully doesn’t deserve eternal damnation. But, y’know. Figuratively.)

Rebecca puts a hand on his arm to get his attention. “So, Dean, you know a fair bit about all of us. What about you? Where do you work?”

Dean smiles warmly at her. “Well, as a matter of fact—”

“Mrs. Williamson.”

The entire group of women goes silent, a fair few of them jumping at the suddenness of the intrusion. Cas stands just outside the circle, his face like stone. His eyes, though. There’s enough righteous fury burning there to power a small city. 

It’s really hot.

Helen gives him a saccharine smile. “Mr. Novak. How nice to see you back this week.” She doesn’t actually say ‘Damn, I’d hoped you were dead’, but she doesn’t have to.

Cas’ face doesn’t move. “It’s good to be back. Unfortunately, I was called away on an urgent business trip.” Then he turns his seek-and-destroy gaze on Dean, and Rebecca’s hand drops quickly from his arm. 

“Dean Campbell,” Dean says with a shit-eating grin. He holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Cas looks like he’s chewing gravel as he gives Dean’s hand a rough, robotic shake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. In fact, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he says stiffly, “if you wouldn’t mind stepping outside.”

Oh hell yes. Dean shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure thing, man.” And with that, Cas turns on his heel and stalks out of the gym.

Dean turns back to the group of moms to find Helen looking about ready to blow her top. He grins and gives them a little eye roll. “Wow, what a hardass,” he jokes, getting a few of the stricken, appalled looks to soften. “Don’t worry, I can handle him. I’ll see you ladies at the next meeting.”

So, tempers somewhat soothed and goodbyes made, Dean walks out of the gym, thoroughly pleased with himself.

Plan part one: terrorize the mean PTA moms? Check. Plan part two: 

In progress.

Cas isn’t in the hallway. Dean strolls across the tiled floor, anticipation building, and walks out into the cool night. No one else is out in the parking lot yet; no one, that is, except for the lone figure leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed. Waiting.

Dean stifles a grin and ambles up.

“Dean Winchester.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yep, that’s me.”

Cas pushes away from the side of the Impala, coming to stand toe to toe with Dean. He glowers up at him. “You are a menace,” he growls. “You did that on purpose.”

Dean lifts one shoulder, Cas’ voice sending a low burst of heat curling through his belly. “Guilty.”

He finds himself slammed up against the car so fast it makes his head spin, Cas’ hands tight on his wrists. He thinks he might make an embarrassing wheezing noise, but he’s not good enough at multitasking that he can think about that for long. Not with Cas’ mouth on his, hot and demanding and possessive.

Fuck, this was a good idea.

— - —

Dean can’t stop smiling as he does the top few buttons of Cas’ shirt back up, and Cas gives him a flat look. “Could you at least attempt to look slightly less pleased with yourself?”

Dean just smiles wider. “Sorry.”

Cas growls, deep in his throat, and pinches Dean’s thigh. “No, you’re not.” He reaches up to grab the back of Dean’s neck, holding him tight by the scruff and forcing him to look Cas in the eye. “As hilarious as you seem to have found that, do not flirt with those women again,” he grits out. “They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat. You are so much more complex than they can hope to comprehend.”

Dean forces himself to keep straightening Cas’ collar, when making him presentable is literally the opposite of what he wants to be doing right now. “But you’re so hot when you get all territorial on me.”

Cas shifts his hand to thumb at the hickey peeking out from the neck of Dean’s t-shirt, pressing just hard enough that Dean shudders a little. Then Cas smirks faintly, and it’s not an expression Dean gets to see on him very often, but damn. It’s a good look.

“If you want to know how much I care for you,” he purrs, his voice dark and smoky, “all you have to do is ask. I’m perfectly willing to oblige you. You know that.”

Resolutely, Dean tightens Cas’ tie. Yeah, getting manhandled into the backseat of the Impala and made out with by a pissy former angel is great and all, but like an idiot, he hadn’t considered the aftermath: having to wrangle said former angel, who’s now handsy, mildly aroused, and ready to ignore stupid things like ‘getting to bed at a regular time’ even though they both have ‘jobs’ they have to get to tomorrow morning. So now he has to be the responsible one. Ugh. “Well, damn. I’ll keep that in mind, Casanova. Maybe for sometime other than a Wednesday night, though, alright?”

He smoothes down Cas’ lapels, shamelessly feeling him up while he’s at it. Because responsible though he may have to be, immune to Cas’ charms he is definitely not. “But dude, those women, the other moms, they really don’t like you. Especially Helen. She hates your guts. I know you’ve been telling me that since you got involved, but shit.”

Cas exhales through his nose, leaning back against the seat and tugging Dean against his side. “She’s a mere annoyance. Even with her group of supporters, she doesn’t have enough pull with the president to affect real change.”

Dean thinks about that, running his fingers over Cas’ tie. “Huh. I guess that’s why she’s running to take his place. Tryin’ to get her mojo back.”

Cas looks sharply over at Dean. “She’s running for president?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? She announced it last meeting. Probably because you weren’t there, actually.”

Cas blinks. “No. You never said anything about that.” 

“Oh.” Dean shrugs. “Well she was telling me all about it last week.”

Cas looks at Dean, and Dean narrows his eyes. “That’s your ‘I’ve got a plan’ face. Cas? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” he says with a crafty little smile, “that I am going to run for PTA president as well. And you, ‘Mr. Campbell’, are going to be my inside man.”

— - —

And so begins Dean’s career as a double agent.

It’s fun. He doesn’t regret giving up hunting, not even a little, but he does miss sneaking around and committing minor felonies sometimes. This is a perfect opportunity for him to stretch those muscles, and he gets to play the homewrecker-bad boy while doing it.

He’s not taking this lightly, though. He has two cardinal rules that he’s decided he’s going to abide by, on pain of no pie for a month. They are:

1. Intelligence gathering is conducted at PTA meetings, and at PTA meetings only. Because Dean knows that if he starts attending the Tupperware parties and going for post-meeting drinks, he’ll get in way too deep and end up blowing this whole thing wide open. Which won’t help Cas become president.
2. Jack will not be discussed or involved in any way. Not only would that make it ridiculously easy for any nosy mom to figure out that Dean was lying his face off, but Jack just wants to play his trumpet and do weird science-y stuff with his forensics club. Dean and Cas aren’t gonna embroil him in the whole sordid intelligence operation they’ve got going on. And he’s a terrible liar. So yeah.

Anyways, things are going well. Dean gets Cas insider info on Helen’s campaign, runs a little counter-intelligence, and flirts his ass off every other Wednesday night. There’s a close call one day, when Helen’s right-hand woman Kathleen shows up at the garage to get her car fixed and hears one of the guys calling Dean “Winchester”, but Dean’s pretty sure he handles it somewhat plausibly. Kathleen doesn’t trust him after that, but all the others are still firmly under the thrall of Dean’s persona, so it doesn’t look like it’s gonna be an issue.

Dean comes up behind Cas where he’s sitting at the table, putting a couple of open beers down next to him and starting to work at the knots in Cas’ shoulders. Normally they’d be doing this the other way around, with Cas working the effects of being hunched over engine blocks all day out of Dean’s neck, but this election has really been stressing him out. Cas groans and leans back into Dean’s hands, abandoning the sheet of paper in front of him. 

Dean peers down at it, smiling. “The bake sale, huh? I hope you’re not planning on making anything yourself, unless you’ve decided assassinating Helen is where we’re at now.”

Cas’s head bumps against Dean’s stomach as he shakes it. “No, I was hoping you might be persuaded to make some cookies.” He cracks his eyes open a little, looking up at Dean. “And if I was going to kill Helen, I wouldn’t poison her. I would throttle her with my bare hands for daring to touch you.”

Dean snorts. “Damn, Cas. No need to get Biblical on her ass for my sake.”

That’s another side effect of this whole thing. Despite the fact that it was Cas’ idea to play up the honey-trap angle in the first place, the guy still hates seeing his mortal enemies hanging off Dean like leeches and giving him bedroom eyes in the school gym with a burning passion. Which, fair. Dean would too, if their positions were reversed. But as a result, Dean shows up to most meetings with at least one visible hickey, and typically gains a few more once he and Cas reconvene in the car. He’s not complaining, though. Far from it. (And hilariously, it only makes his fan club that much more ardent, which in turn fuels Cas’ seething, righteous jealousy. So in Dean’s book, it’s fine. Just an all-around beneficial feedback loop.)

Cas makes a face as Dean digs his thumbs into a particularly tight knot of muscle. “I believe the correct phrasing is ‘get medieval on her ass’, as per Samuel L. Jackson.” After a slight pause he looks seriously up at Dean, his face upside down from Dean’s perspective. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Who’s Zed?”

Dean grins. “Zed’s dead, baby.” He leans down to kiss Cas, in a vaguely Maguire-Dunst Spider-Man sorta way, then pulls out the chair next to him and sits down. “Zed’s dead. But if that was your way of telling me you think I should get a Harley, you coulda just said so.”

Cas laughs and takes Dean’s hand, looking back down at his plan. The sounds of Jack warming up on his trumpet filter down the stairs, and Dean takes a long drink of his beer.

“Y’know,” he says, “I was thinking. How are we gonna reveal that I’ve been on team Cas the whole time when you win the election?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “I assumed you would simply inform Helen with a few well-chosen words.”

Dean stifles a smile and sticks out his bottom lip a little. “Aw, but that’s no fun. C’mon, don’t tell me you can’t think of a better way than that to blow their little minds.”

Cas leans his arm on the back of his chair, looking at Dean with a faint smile on his face. “Well, I’m sure I can come up with something. But first,” he says, “I actually have to win the election.”

Dean smiles back and bumps Cas’ knee with his. “Shut up. There’s no way you’re gonna lose.”

“I wish I shared your certainty,” Cas says, fiddling with the label of his beer. “Helen has a fair number of supporters.”

Dean reaches out and rests a hand on Cas’ knee. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got enough certainty for the both of us. You just focus on being awesome and beating Helen’s entitled ass, ‘kay?”

Cas smiles. “Alright.”

— - —

It’s a close race.

Even after all the parents Cas has talked to, the events he’s attended, the ever-more-underhanded tactics he’d started to employ there at the end, they still don’t really know how it’s gonna pan out until the outgoing president stands up, at the end of the last meeting before the new fiscal year starts, and announces that Cas has won. 

Dean’s sure he must look like he’s passing a kidney stone from how hard he’s trying to keep from jumping out of his seat and celebrating like they just won the Superbowl, but it’s for a good cause. He’s got the perfect way to really solidify Helen’s comeuppance, and if it means waiting to join in with the applause and whistles that are happening right now, then so be it.

Cas comes up to the front, smiling big, and starts in on his acceptance speech. Dean listens with rapt attention, ignoring the incensed muttering from all of Helen’s friends around him, and as Cas starts to wrap up he finally lets himself start to smile.

When Cas gets to his thank-yous, Dean leans forward and taps Helen’s shoulder. She turns to look at him, her pinched, furious scowl relaxing slightly at his proximity.

“Sorry about the loss,” Dean says quietly. “But I was wondering. D’you listen to much Michael Jackson?”

Helen’s face does several very complicated things. “I… what? No,” she hisses back, thoroughly confused. Dean grins, sharp and satisfied, and delivers the killing blow.

“Maybe you should start, then. ‘Cause you’ve been hit by a smooth criminal, lady.”

Right on time, Cas’ eyes meet Dean’s. He smiles. “And last but certainly not least, I would like to thank my husband, Dean, for all his support and assistance over these past months. Thank you all again, and good night.”

The chaos is instantaneous, absolute, and breathtaking.

— - —

Sam blinks. “That sounds… super unethical.”

Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Years of Gratuitous Credit Card Fraud. Get off your high horse and then we can talk.”

Sam snorts a grudging laugh and takes a drink of his beer. “So what, you’ve been doing this for the last four and a half months? Seriously? The five of us had dinner, like, every Sunday, and you never told us?”

Dean shrugs. “It never came up. And it was kinda fun, y’know.” He smirks a little. “Like that couples’ paint night you and Eileen tried.”

Sam really does laugh at that, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe we both forgot that neither of us have any artistic talent. And now that wine’s off the table, we can’t even get drunk enough that it’s funny.”

Dean smiles at the reminder that he’s gonna be an uncle in roughly six months. An uncle. Like, what the hell. That’s insane. “I’m gonna steal that god-awful painting before you can toss it. Y’know, maybe frame it and put it in the dining room. It’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever seen, I love it.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“You first, bitch.”

Sam punches Dean’s shoulder, grinning easily, and heads off to chat with Jack. Dean, released from his brotherly duties, sidles into the kitchen to find Cas and Eileen fussing over the coffee maker, laughing and signing to each other. Dean catches his name sign and what looks like Sam’s before Cas catches sight of him, immediately dropping his hands. Eileen keeps laughing, one hand braced on Cas’ arm, and Dean raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all. What, you trash-talking me to my sister-in-law, Cas? After all I’ve done for you?” He puts a hand to his chest in affected pain. “I’m gutted. Gutted.”

Eileen just shakes her head, still laughing, and breezes by Dean with a huge smile on her face, her hand resting on the swell of her stomach. “Dean Campbell,” she tosses over her shoulder, and Dean goes pink. 

He crosses his arms. “You told her about that first time, didn’t you.”

Cas just laughs and pulls him in, his hands resting low on the small of Dean’s back. “Perhaps. You were very obnoxious. And to be fair, she found my reaction as funny as yours.”

Dean sighs and uncrosses his arms, fighting a smile. “Well. As long as she thought you were stupid, too. I guess that’s alright.”

Cas bumps his nose against Dean’s. “That was… almost fun. But I don’t want to have to watch you repeatedly flirt with anyone else ever again.”

“Good thing I’m happy with you, then,” Dean says softly.

Cas kisses him gently at that, but when he breaks away he’s wearing what Dean affectionately likes to call ‘The Bastard Smirk’. “I wonder if I shouldn’t put you through the same thing, sometime. Just so you know how it feels.”

“Right,” Dean scoffs. “No way.”

The Bastard Smirk grows in intensity. “We’ll see.”

Dean rolls his eyes, dropping a kiss on Cas’ cheek before stepping out of his grasp and heading for the fridge. “Alright, cool. Threats. In the meantime, you gonna help me dish out the goddamn pie and ice cream, or not?”

A pair of hands land on his hips, and a nose nudges at the side of his neck. “Of course, Dean. I do love you, after all.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dean grins. “Love you too, idiot.”

Chapter Text

Angelic fury,

Biblical rage:

Castiel is the name of this

Dominating aura, with

Epic side-eye and a

Forever unfailing

Glower; with a

Heavy-weighted gaze, enough to pop your cheap Botox inserts, and

Immeasurable power, over both you and your budgeting; he is

Justly triggered, and

Killing a bitch is an option.

Lesser offenses are off the table, by which I mean

Mister's gonna get it, but not from you.

Ninny better knock it off, or it'll be

Open season on your asses like they're crappy orange slices and this is a football game.

Prisons in Siberia are lovely this time of year, how about he buys you a one-way ticket?

Quiz: whose is his husband?

Right answer: not yours to look upon.

Seven billion years ago, this badass was born, and

That thunder is comin your way.

U gonna get smacked, because yes,

Violence is absolutely on the table.

Water? would be great, if he could see it coming out of your eyes and washing his hands clean of you.

Xylophones, he would make them from your ribs and play an ode to joy.

You'd better not think this pretty trench coat is all he's good for, and so finally, I tell you:

Zip it, Karen.

That man is unavailable.