Work Text:
Mary
She gives him another once-over, adjusts his jacket, straightens his tie. He is handsome, so grown up now, yet can't stay still for more than a few seconds, just as when he was a kid, always finding a new toy, tugging at Sammy's sleeves, running around the house.
"Final touch," she says, putting a flower into his pocket. A periwinkle – something blue. Cas has grown them himself. Few days ago he took Mary to the side while Dean was buried under the hood of Impala, told her with a secretive smile that they were special.
“Let's go, son,” she says, forces her voice not to waver. She tries to remember what she imagined, years ago, holding little Dean in her arms, something along the lines of a pretty girl and a big house, children running around. Most importantly, that worry, beautiful and terrifying, a fear every mother knows – will my child be happy. The moment she saw him – Castiel, Cas, as Dean calls him – it was obvious that her son had only eyes for him.
“Mom, I mean, big weddings—” Dean starts, voice nervous. “Not really my style, is it.”
“You are both in love, been in love for a long time. Today is just a moment to celebrate that,” she says. Dean smiles, a small smile, unsure, so not his style, but so sincere.
She leads him outside, where everybody is already waiting, heads turning to them. Sun makes its way slowly to the horizon, painting the garden in soft shadows and warm hues.
Castiel stands by the wedding arch, handsome and confident, perfect match for her son. Although not made from stone, as an image of Castiel just an hour ago comes to her, his eyes wide and lost, while Claire and Charlie run around him, smoothing his hair, tying his tie.
“Come on, don't let Bobby wait,” she says, pushing Dean gently to where Bobby stands, fighting a smile, waiting to take Dean down the aisle. Dean smiles at her, a little watery, and that's the moment it's clear – he is happy, as happy as she has hoped he one day would be.
Bobby
He stands in line, waits for his turn, listens to all those long-ass speeches, Dean's broad laughter and Cas' more quiet chuckles. It's always hard for him to find the words in situations like this, to form sentences that will push through what he wants to say, all those fancy wishes more suitable for people like Sam, people with academic knowledge and degrees. He straightens his tie, the collar of his stiff shirt too tight. The trip to the bar before would be a good idea; now it's too late.
He starts on another version in his head, but there is no one before him, it's his turn.
Dean grins at him, teeth showing and laugh lines deepening. It was just yesterday that Dean was a child, following Bobby everywhere, looking up at him with his wide, trusting eyes, the way he didn't look at anybody else. He has grown up, not only in looks, broad shoulders and muscled arms and first wrinkles, but also in that dumb head of his, more at peace now, calmer, happier.
Cas stands near Dean, smiling, tie a little crooked. His stance is softer now, his edges gentler, radiating warmth, not much left from the creature that came to them in that barn, made of ice and steel.
Bobby gulps and grunts, both of them staring expectantly at him.
“Just say it, Bobby.” Dean grins. “I know you want to.”
Bobby sighs and stretches his arms.
“Come here, ya idjits,” he grunts, enveloping them both in a crushing hug. “Don't mess this up.”
Charlie
She fidgets with the cassette player, console, two laptops and a bunch of cables, twisting almost like a midcentury ladies' braids where they lead to the two columns of speakers. It would be enough to just press play on any device and load the songs from the USB stick, but Cas insisted.
“You don't understand, Charlie, you have to play it exactly from that tape,” he said.
Charlie doesn't mind – it's what she's good at. She would only wish for more light, a sun already setting and only a glow of strings of lights to guide her. At least she's wearing the pantsuit and not a dress, otherwise bending to plug all those cables would be hell.
Everybody stands in a big circle, Dean and Cas in the middle, ready for their first dance. Dean taps his fingers nervously where his hand lies on Cas' waist, kicks the ground with his dress shoes. Charlie hopes that his lucky underwear gives him some peace, poor guy's nerves probably more frayed than ever.
“Come on, Charlie, I can't wear Star Wars boxers to my fucking wedding,” Dean complained earlier, but obliged when she told him he could, and that he made burgers a main dish.
First notes of “Rain Song” play from the speakers and Dean's face lights up. His body sways, guided by Cas' sure hands, always trusting Cas to take care of him. Cas only has eyes for Dean, and he trips a little, Dean holding him up. Everybody cheers and Charlie makes a beeline to stand with her girlfriend, takes her hand and whistles loudly.
She wonders when Dean will find out that she made Cas wear his lucky boxers too, yellow and dotted with bees.
Sam
Miracle pushes between his legs under the table, makes big eyes at him. Sam tries to avert Miracle's gaze, well aware that he will eventually oblige to his wishes. His dress trousers are already dotted with dog's hair.
He is full of burgers and salads and ice-cream, which means soon enough he will have to make a toast, best man's duty and all, the paper with a speech written hidden safely in the inner pocket of his jacket. He used about a dozen of pages, trying to write it down. How at first he only had Dean, a desperate anchor of any kind of stability and safety, how they both fought their way through the world made of blood and ashes, how Cas came, then, stayed by their side. He tossed that one out, and then other one, full of snark at how dumb his brother and Cas had been, not seeing it sooner, and another, and the next few.
He reaches for the tray of ridiculous mini-pies that Dean insisted on serving, offers one to Eileen.
Cas leans to Dean's ear, whispers something that Sam can't make out, even though he sits on Dean's side. Dean smiles, holds Cas' hand, pushes it to his lips to put a kiss where Cas' wedding ring gleams.
“Disgustingly sweet, they both are,” he signs to Eileen, pours Eileen more wine.
“Hey, I got that!” Dean says on his side, mouth full of ice-cream.
“You are just jealous,” Eileen signs to Sam, smirks. Sam shoves her playfully, but then takes her hand, kisses her on the cheek, admires the way her sleeve slipped, showing the skin of her shoulder.
He stands up, clears his throat, tinkles his fork against the champagne glass.
“Well, it is my duty and pleasure-” he starts, the paper long forgotten, a sight of Dean and Cas so ridiculously in love enough to make the words come to him.
Castiel
Unsure, he keeps to the side of the platform at first, where people chatter, the clinking of glasses and laughter swimming through the air. The lights twinkle in girlands, lush flower beds around the platform attracting swarms of bees and dragonflies and butterflies, just as Castiel has hoped.
His ring shimmers in the soft light, and something warm and bright and too big fills his chest.
But then Charlie pushes him out to the dancefloor, her energy making Cas jump with her. Clairie pulls her out of Charlie's embrace, insisting that it's Beyonce and Cas just has to dance to it with her, until she is stolen by Kaia, a glass of wine in her hand.
“Come on, dad,” Jack grins at him, spins him around and hops around him in a weird mix of every possible dance move.
“Dance together for once!” Jody screams and Dean appears out of nowhere, takes his hand, holds him close. When the song changes to something more upbeat, Dean flexes his body, sways his hips. Heat spreads on Castiel's cheeks and somebody shouts at them to get a room.
Rowena glides through the floor, offers her hand.
“Just don't stomp on my dress, love,” Rowena squints, but her eyes glint with amusement as she sways with him. Jo brings him a tray of shots, shoves him in the side.
“Come on, big boy,” she laughs and they drink them all. Dean runs around the tables, asks everybody what they need, if they are having fun, making jokes. He touches Castiel everytime he passes near, a hand on his shoulder, a kiss to his cheek, a brief hug.
Miracle runs around, pushing between people's legs, barks when Donna snatches a fallen piece of cake from under his nose.
Castiel is sweaty, he lost his jacket somewhere, unbuttoned his shirt. His gaze slides through the crowd. It's not only Dean's – it's their family, their friends. Like a seed that took roots in a good soil, with an abundance of other flowers around it, Castiel has found his place there.
“Let's do something stupid,” Sam says, pats him on the back and sways a little, probably after few drinks already. “What do you think about showing them how to dance a good swing?”
“Yeah,” Castiel grins.
Dean
He makes his way through the crowd, a glass of soda in his hand, the happiness and the whirl of people around him enough to get him drunk. Cas spots him, a wide smile lighting up his face.
His husband, and how is this even possible, a ring on his finger to show everybody that they have chosen each other. All of his fears, that this warm, fuzzy feeling inside would forever be out of his reach, not meant for people like him, people who love gals and guys, who fight with their own minds, who are broken, are now gone, washed away by the wave of pure light.
“Let's get out of here,” Cas says. “Everybody will make it without you for a moment.”
Cas takes his hand, leads him away from the crowd, where cicadas chirp in the tall grass and the stars are glinting on the dark sky.
He corners Cas against the tree, kisses him breathless, thumbs the delicate place under Cas' ear. Cas smells like champagne, earth and sweat and he breathes it in, Cas' fingers twisting into Dean's jacket, holding him close. He pushes his hands under Cas' shirt, lets them roam on the warm, soft skin.
"Later, Dean," Cas says, but his eyes glint and he laughs. Dean gives him a smirk, but it breaks, turns into a soft, mellow smile, Cas so beautiful before him, his hair mussed, a soft map of wrinkles near his eyes.
He kisses Cas' temple before he can stop himself, kisses his cheeks and nose and eyelids and lips. Peppers soft kisses across his neck, the knuckles of his hands, calloused from working in the garden for days on end. Cas melts under the touch of his lips, watches him with wide eyes, filled with awe.
“I love you,” Dean says, kissing Cas in between the words. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats, again and again, until the words lose their edges, blend with one another. A soft melody, as familiar as a purr of Baby's engine, as alien as the hum of ocean waves, a sound he longed to hear for so long.
“I love you too,” Cas says, resting his forehead against Dean's. “Always have, always will.”