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One Year Post-Canon
A kiss to his collarbone. “Gorgeous.”
To his shoulder. “Perfect.”
Knuckles. “Everything. I. Could. Ever.”
Lips. “Want.”
It’s been a year. One year of falling asleep curled up in one another, of waking up to sleepy morning kisses. One year of unconditional, unrelenting love.
After Cas got back from the Empty, he and Dean were practically inseparable, not to mention insatiable. Stolen kisses in the kitchen, lips dragging across tanned expanses of skin, Dean had never been so happy, but something was still wrong. And Cas could see it, too.
After Cas died that last time, Dean fell pretty hard into the bottle. He’d never had a great relationship with alcohol, but after losing the love of his life without even having a chance to say it back? He’s surprised he didn’t drown in all the whiskey he drank.
- - -
“Cas!” Dean sprints the few steps to Castiel and wraps his arms so tightly around him that he thinks he might have broken his ribs had he been human. “Oh god, oh my god, oh my--Cas,” he sobs into the angel’s chest.
Cas hesitates, scared and confused, but he could never deny his hunter anything. He brings his arms up around Dean’s shoulders, gently rocking them from side to side. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Dean. I’m here. I’m here, Dean.”
“I love you,” he sobs. Over and over, like a prayer, the most righteous words to fall from his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He feels Cas freeze under his touch before gripping him tighter. “I love you, too, Dean. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here to love you.”
They stand there like that for some time before Dean reluctantly pulls away to text Sam. They meet up to celebrate, and Sam politely ignores the way Dean clings to his angel, and it’s perfect. It’s perfect. It’s perfect.
Except for every drink Sam and Cas have, Dean has two or three more and by the end of the night, Castiel has lost any hope of having intimate time with Dean, seeing as he’s now vomiting into the toilet.
Castiel declines to comment on it that night, and for several weeks afterward. It’s not until Dean comes home one day, buzzed but conscious, stomping around and slamming doors.
“Dean? What’s going on?”
Dean laughs, a dry mirthless thing. “Nothing, Cas. Absolutely fucking nothing.”
Cas lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder but he shucks it off. Cas can’t help the hurt his face betrays.
“What happened, Dean?”
“Turns out Brother Dearest thinks I’ve got a drinking problem. Grew up with a drunk for a dad, you’d think he’d know the difference, but apparently not. Bugging me to go to therapy like some sorta fuckin sissy.”
Cas says nothing.
“Oh my god!” Dean shouts, reading the flush on his boyfriend’s face. “You think he’s right!”
“I don’t think--”
“I can not believe you’re on his side about this!”
“I’m not on anyone’s side, Dean. I just want you to be healthy and happy. That’s all.”
“I’m perfectly fucking happy, alright? Or at least I would be if people would stay the hell out of my business.”
Cas hunches in on himself.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to imply…”
Dean stands there for a moment, scowling at Cas, but there’s a sickening feeling in his gut. It takes him a minute to place it but… Deja vu. He’s been here before.
He sees himself, young and fearful and desperate to please, cowering in front of his father, smelling the booze on his breath.
He thinks he might puke, and it’s not from the whiskey.
“Cas. Cas, come here.” Dean pulls him into his arms, but he still feels so stiff, so scared. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. You’re right, baby.”
Cas relaxes into Dean’s chest ever so slightly and brings his arms up around his waist.
And that’s how Dean quit drinking. Well, quit getting drunk. Well, quite getting drunk so often. Well, stopped getting caught getting drunk so often.
Fuck.
- - -
Dean pressed his lips to his angel’s neck, sucking a deep purple mark as they frotted together. “Mine. My beautiful, perfect…” He trailed off as he grew closer to his breaking point, so overcome by euphoria that he could hardly think anymore.
They came together, a beautiful blend of “I love you”s and “So good for me”s and “My everything”s.
They lay there together for a moment, catching their breath.
Cas rolls on top of Dean. “You know, we could just stay in tonight.”
“As tempting as that is, we stay in every night. It’s our one year. I think we should go out.”
Cas hums, placing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. “As you wish.”
They shower and dress and then Cas mojos them to some snazzy bar so they won’t have to worry about driving home.
They talk and laugh and drink, with Dean taking care to drink only enough to loosen up, not to make himself sick. All in all, the night’s going great.
That is, until Dean walks over to the bar to get them another round of drinks and turns around to see a gorgeous, muscular man flirting with his boyfriend. He throws his head back and laughs cacophonously at something Cas said. Cas, on the other hand, looked confused, indicating he’d made one of his little accidental jokes that stemmed from his celestiality. The man reaches out and trails his fingertips down Cas’ bicep and Dean thinks he might be sick. Cas looks entirely unfazed, still chatting amicably as the man takes Dean’s seat across the table. Dean wants to move, wants to walk over and tell the guy to get the hell out of his seat but he just can’t. His eyes lock on the man’s bulging muscles and he suddenly feels insecure about his own. How long had it been since he’d worked out? He hardly hunted anymore. His arms and legs were looking a little deflated and his washboard abs were long gone, now replaced with the slightest pooch, the sign of a life well-lived, of home-cooked meals… No, of laziness. Of undeserving.
He turns back to the bar, setting down the beers he’d grabbed for himself and Cas, instead signaling the bartender to bring him something stronger.
It’s ten minutes before Cas wanders over to the bar to see what’s taking him so long. He sees Dean’s empty whiskey glass and something inside of him tenses, waits for the strike.
“Dean?” he starts, cautiously. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yeah, just fucking peachy! My fucking boyfriend was eyefucking some other dude, on our fucking anniversary but I’m perfectly fucking fine!”
“What? Dean, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Cas! He had his hands all over you!”
“Dean, what the hell are you--Wait, that guy?!” He demands, jerking his finger over his shoulder at the muscular man who’d been flirting with him just minutes prior.
“Who the hell else, Cas?! You been flirting with any other dudes I should know about?”
“Dean, I sincerely have no idea what you’re talking about. You know I don’t read social cues very well. I didn’t know he was flirting with me but I do know for a fact that I was not flirting back.”
“Then why were you letting him touch you with his stupid beefy muscly freaking hands?!”
“I don’t know, Dean! Humans touch each other all the time! I don’t understand it; you know that. I thought he was just being friendly.” At this point, they were getting some pretty bizarre looks from the other patrons, so Dean slammed a fifty down on the table and stormed out of the bar, Cas following close behind so he could mojo them home.
He grabbed Dean by the elbow to fly them home, instead of around the shoulders as he normally did. Cas thought this was an obvious display of his indignance, but Dean, in his drunkenness, decided that Cas must no longer be attracted to him. No, rather, he was so repulsed that he could hardly bring himself to touch Dean anymore.
When they got home, Dean really started in on him. Screaming, throwing things. Just like John used to. Not not quite like John used to. Not yet.
Cas cowers against the wall as Dean stalks closer to him and if he had any presence of mind, he might think how funny this all is, an Angel of the Lord, a wave of celestial intent so powerful he could disintegrate Dean with a mere flick of his wrist, cowering in the corner like some Edwardian housewife. Because he could never hurt Dean. No matter what Dean did to him, if he beat him, if he killed him, Cas could never even think of hurting Dean.
That is until he remembers they’re not alone.
Dean is in his face now, pinning him to the wall by the neck, fist reeled back like he’s about to throw the first punch, calling him a “worthless, narcissistic whore” when a small voice speaks out.
“Dad?”
Jack stands there in the doorway, looking more terrified than either Dean or Cas have ever seen him. Kid faced off against God without breaking a sweat but right now, he looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.
Dean immediately drops his fist to his side. Cas straightens against the wall, clears his throat, and pushes gently at Dean’s chest until he backs off. Dean has never looked so ashamed and, if it were just Cas here, he wouldn’t be able to resist taking the broken man in his arms and telling him it’s okay, he forgives him. But it’s not just Cas here. And while he may not care about his own wellbeing, he would lay down his life to keep Jack safe. He will not allow his son to live in a home where he’s in a physical or emotional danger.
Cas clears his throat again and blinks away tears he hadn’t realised were there. “It’s okay, Jack. Your father and I were just talking. Go back to your room now.”
Jack hesitates, hands hanging limp at his sides, tears prickling in his eyes. He looks so small, so scared. “Now, Jack,” Cas says. “We’ll be in in a minute to speak with you.” Jack scurries away like a mouse running from a cat.
Cas shoves Dean away from him, full Angel of the Lord mode. “Now, listen here dickwad.” The name sounds so foreign, rolling off his tongue, like a child picking up his parents bad words. “Jack and I are going to go on a little vacation--Disney World, perhaps--and you are going to get your shit together. I don’t know how, and I don’t really care, but just know that if you ever, ever make my child cry again, we will leave this place and we will never come back. Do you understand?”
Dean nods, eyes still boring holes through the floor.
When they tell Jack about the vacation, both Cas and Dean swallow their tears and replace them with excitement. But Jack knows they’re hurting. He knows they’re fighting. What he doesn’t know is
“Will we come back?”
Dean looks to Cas, choking on a sob that he tries to disguise as a cough. Cas keeps his eyes locked on Dean as he whispers, “Of course, Jack. This is our home.”
Dean nods minutely and Cas and Jack pack their bags, Cas hovering almost protectively around Jack.
An hour later, the bunker is empty save for one very lonely, self-loathing hunter.
That day, Dean went to his first ever AA meeting. He didn’t speak. He still couldn’t even bring himself to say the words, “I’m an alcoholic.” Couldn’t bring himself to talk about his childhood. The guilt he felt after his mother’s death. The people he watched die. The beatings and degradation from his father. The long weeks spent in dingy motels with too little money and the desperation to feed Sammy. The men in the rooms around them.
He called Sammy after the meeting. He couldn’t tell him what had happened. Sam still looked at him with the adoration of a child, like Dean had hung the moon for him and, selfishly, he couldn’t bear to see that look change. Instead, he simply asked Sam about the therapist he’d started seeing when he decided to get out of the life. He asked how to find one for himself.
Jack and Cas did return the following week, with Mickey Mouse ears and a Baby Yoda plushie. Jack looked hesitantly from Dean to Cas and back again before giving Dean a hug. Dean melts into the touch. “I missed you, kid.”
“I missed you, too, Dad.” Jack pulls away and looks back at Cas before awkwardly wandering down the hall to put his luggage away.
Cas walks closer, slowly, too slowly. Scared.
Dean doesn’t say a word; he knows there are no words for what he did. Instead, he hands Cas a small silver chip with the number 24 embossed in it.
Cas turns it over in his hand a few times, blinking back tears. He nods, the smallest, most unnoticeable flick of his chin.
And then he’s crying. Sobbing. Dean’s never seen Cas really cry like this, ugly and loud and angry. He holds him tight around his shoulders while Cas digs his nails into the small of Dean’s back.
They stay like that for a while before Cas finally pulls away to look in Dean’s eyes. He cups his face on either side and kisses him.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again. I couldn’t survive it, Dean. I couldn’t survive it if you hated me.”
“I could never hate you, baby. And I will never, ever hurt you again. I know promises can be empty and I understand if you never forgive me, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I love you more than anything else in this world, Cas.”
“I forgive you. I forgive you and I love you, too, Dean.”
They stay holding each other for what could have been hours. When they finally pulled apart, Jack is standing in the doorway, watching them with a smile on his face.
“Can I have another hug, too?” he asks.
“Come here, kid.” Dean lifts one arm from Castiel’s shoulder and gestures Jack toward them. They all hug again. A family.
“What do you say we order some pizza and watch Star Wars? Your new friend can watch with us” Dean adds, referring to the plushie Jack is still dragging around.
Jack’s face lights up and yeah, everything is going to be okay.
- - -
Two Years Post-Canon
“Dean, come on, we’re gonna be late!”
Dean groans, still exhausted from their anniversary activities. This year, they decided to stay home and watch a movie. Well, half a movie…
Dean enters the library to find Cas already waiting for him, dressed in his ill-fitting business suit, something Dean hasn’t seen in nearly two years.
Dean lets out a loud wolf-whistle and Cas rolls his eyes fondly.
“You didn’t have to get all dressed up, ya know. I sure as hell didn’t,” Dean says, looking down at his dark jeans and olive henley.
“I wanted to look nice. Sue me. Now come on, Dean. We’re gonna be late.”
“Oh, relax. You can always just mojo us there.”
“That’s true, but I know you like to drive. So let’s go.”
Jack is already waiting in the backseat of Baby. Dean immediately realises that Cas must’ve told Jack to dress up, too, because aside from his usual oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans, he’s wearing a lime green bowtie. It’s incredibly tacky and incredibly Jack.
- - -
“My name is Dean and I’m an alcoholic.”
A cluster of voices mutters, “Hi, Dean.”
“And today, I am one year sober.
“I had my first beer when I was nine years old. My dad and I had just gotten back from a hunting trip,” he smirks at Sam, “and he was proud of me. Of course, he would never say that. I don’t even think ‘proud’ was in his vocabulary. So instead, he cracked open a cold one.” Dean is hit with the mental image of his little fingers trying in vain to close around the bottle. “That was kind of his solution to everything. Hell, everyone in my family’s solution. My Uncle Bobby, bless his dumbass, he practically raised me when my dad was too drunk or too pissed to do it himself. But Bobby, he drank, too. Lost his wife real young, just like my dad, just like my brother. Tragedy just seems to run in the family. I’ve lost track of all the friends we’ve lost along the years. But then, about two years ago, everything got real good all of a sudden. My kid brother got married to a girl way out of his league. I was honourably discharged.” Another sly look at Sammy and then at Cas. “And I finally told the love of my life that I was head over heels for him. We even adopted a kid. I had everything I’d ever wanted. And I was still fucking miserable.
“I drank too much, trying to forget about all the bad stuff in the past and focus on the present. I would get piss drunk and I would yell or cry or pass out. And my boyfriend, Cas, he would be there to pick me up and clean me up and drag me to bed. And I would wake up in the morning and apologise and swear off booze and then I’d do the same damn thing a week later.
“And then, one year and one day ago. It was our anniversary. I got wasted and I was yelling and screaming and,” His voice cracks. “I raised my hand to him. And then our kid, he came in and he asked what was going on. And I could just see it, ya know? I could see my dad shoving me into the wall and my baby brother running out to see what was wrong and I could see it, ya know? And the very next day, I came here. And I’ve been sober ever since.”
He fiddles with the bronze chip in his hand. “So thank you, Jack, for making me the person I want to be. You’re a good kid and I’m so damn proud of you.”
“And thank you, Sammy, for helping me find this place and to find a therapist, even though I gave you so much shit for going in the first place.
"And thank you, Eileen. For kicking my brother's ass into shape. Knowing he's with you made it a helluva lot easier to let go of some of that control I'd been clinging to and just focus on me."
“And thank you, Cas. God, thank you, Cas. Thank you for loving me. For seeing the good in me when I sure as hell couldn’t. Thank you for protecting our kid. Thank you for leaving when you had to, and staying when you could. I would have died for anyone, you know that, Cas, but you are the only man on Earth who I chose to live for. I love you so much.” Cas crosses his fingers in a little heart he learned from those silly Korean boys he likes so much.
Dean doesn’t really know how to end such a speech, so he just awkwardly walks back to his seat and leans his head against Cas’ shoulder. Castiel presses a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead while Sam reaches across a smiling Jack to clap Dean on the shoulder. Eileen taps him on the knee to get his attention and then signs, “You did good.”
The meeting is over shortly enough and everyone hugs and Sam and Eileen tear up a bit, which makes Jack tear up, and soon everyone is crying. They agree to meet up at the bunker for a celebratory lunch and right before they start piling into their cars, Sam asks Jack if he’d like to ride with them.
“Oh, no, that’s alright. I can ride with my dads.”
“No, Jack,” he says sternly, with a forced smile. “I really think you’d better ride with us. We have better music.”
Jack gives him a puzzled look but shrugs and gets into Sam’s silver prius (yeah, Dean never let him live that one down).
Dean and Cas get in the car and Dean speeds down the street in the opposite direction as the bunker. “Where are we going?” Castiel asks.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then, shut up and let me drive.”
It’s only a three minute drive to get to the pond, and it’s murky and humid and not at all like the dream Castiel had invaded all those years ago, but it would have to do. The two walk, hand in hand, to the shoreline. Castiel looks into Dean’s loving, exalting eyes and asks, “What are we doing here, Dean?”
“Not quite sure,” Dean whispered, reverent. “I’m making it up as I go.”
Dean falls to one knee, reveling in the ache in his joints, and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. Cas brings one trembling hand up to cover his mouth.
“Dean…”
“Castiel, I meant it when I said you are the only thing that makes my life worth living. You are the reason I want to wake up in the morning and the only person I want with me when I fall asleep at night. I love you more than should be humanly possible. So Cas, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?”
Cas falls to his knees and throws his arms around Dean’s neck. “Yes, yes, to the end of time, yes.”
And they stay like that, clinging desperately to one another, whispering sweet nothings, for minutes or maybe years before Dean’s knees protest louder than his reverent whispers can overshadow. They practically sprint back to Baby, and Dean is suddenly very, very glad the park is empty.