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Sam and Castiel dropped Dean off at the motel room before heading back to the library. He’d done his part, interviewed the victims and gotten what information he could from local PD. Leave it to those two nerds to do the research work.
All Dean wanted was a shower, beer and a few uninterrupted hours of bad TV. And that’s exactly what he was going to do, thank you very much.
Almost an hour later he stepped out of the shower, having enjoyed using all the hot water just for himself. Dean toweled himself off, scrubbing his hair roughly. He secured the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door.
The cool air of the room hit his steam warmed skin causing it to pebble with goosebumps immediately. He walked over to the dresser where he’d set his duffle to grab his sleep pants and a clean t-shirt. Just as he was about to loosen the towel, his hands stilled.
Dean looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes squinting up in concentration. Huh.
He turned to the side, now glaring at himself critically. When had this band of fat shown up? Surely it hadn’t always been there, he would remember seeing this!
Dean poked at the offending extra bit of pudge that ran from below his belly button over the crest of his hips. He loosened his towel and pushed it lower, convinced momentarily that he’d just tightened the towel too much and it was causing his flesh to spill over.
No such luck.
Dean was frowning at his reflection, turning left and right to assess the situation. Maybe Sammy was right, hewas getting older and needed to stop eating so many burgers and so much pie. But he was a hunter, damnit!
He smoothed his palms down from his ribs to the top of the towel, scowling when he felt the firm muscles over his ribcage give way to the soft flesh. Was this what those girls at the bar had meant when they’d told him he had a “Dad Bod”?
Dean pinched the offensive flesh repeatedly, looking at himself in utter disgust. When had he allowed this to happen? He was suddenly glad John Winchester was not around to criticize him for this.
Was he really getting old? Dean leaned forward to look at his face. Sure he saw himself in the mirror every day, in a different motel room in a different town. But he never really looked.
And there they were. The telltale wrinkles around his eyes. Dean frowned and noticed the slight lines around his mouth accentuated with the gesture.
Leaning in closer, his brows drawing together severely, he noticed a few grey hairs scattered through his russet colored hair. Not only was he fat, he was getting old!
Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Dean pushed back from the mirror and paced the room. He stopped long enough to grab the beer he’d bought earlier and downed one in three large gulps.
Grabbing a second beer, he resumed pacing back and forth. He took an angry pull from the bottle every time he turned to pace in the other direction. His free hand was raking through his hair angrily.
After he finished his fourth beer, Dean stalked up to the mirror again. He untied the towel and bared himself to the mirror and its criticisms.
A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.
He pushed and prodded again, feeling the give of the soft flesh under his fingers. He turned and looked at himself from every angle, noting with abject disgust he appeared to have love handles when looking at himself from the back.
Quickly Dean secured the towel. He didn’t want to even look at himself. And neither would anyone else. A strange, strangled sound escaped his throat.
Dean had always been good looking. He’d never had any problems getting somebody to share his bed for a night. Now he doubted he’d ever turn anyone’s head again. The recent rejection in the bar was his proof.
Old and fat. The mantra repeated over in his head again and again.
By the time Dean had finished the entire six pack, he was back in front of the mirror criticizing everything he could see. Sure he’d taken a few curvy girls to bed, and if he was honest he’d enjoyed the extra softness and how they’d felt as he’d sunk into them. But there was a difference in a soft, curvy woman and a fat, old man.
Dean was so intent on his criticism of himself, he missed the soft whup whup of wings announcing Castiel’s return to the motel room. Castiel stood silently, frowning in confusion as Dean poked and prodded himself.
“Dean,” Castiel finally broke his silence.
Dean jumped and turned to face Castiel. He grabbed his t-shirt from the top of his duffle, pulling it quickly over his head. He didn’t want to see the look of repulsion on Castiel’s face.
“What are you doing, Dean,” Castiel asked, head tilted to the side.
“I was, uh, I just got out of the shower and was getting dressed. Aren’t you supposed to be at the library with Sam,” Dean asked.
“But your hair and skin are dry, Dean. You’ve been out of the shower for some time now,” Castiel observed.
Busted, Dean thought.
“Why are you so upset, Dean? You’ve been praying on and off and seemed very agitated for the last hour. Has something happened? Are you alright,” Castiel stepped closer to Dean slowly. He was worried about his hunter.
“I wasn’t praying, Cas” Dean spat out.
“Something has obviously upset you, Dean. Can I be of assistance,” Castiel asked carefully.
Dean fisted both hands in his hair, pulling at the short strands before rounding on Castiel.
“I’m old, fat and disgusting! That’s what’s wrong, Cas. I’m old, fat and disgusting!”
Castiel’s eyes went wide in alarm. “Dean I assure you, you’re not old, fat or disgusting.”
Dean ripped his t-shirt off in anger, standing before the angel in just the towel.
“Look at me, Cas. Look! Unless you can mojo away all this,” Dean grabbed his lower belly in both hands, jiggling it for emphasis, “then no, you can’t help me.”
Castiel’s frown deepened and his eyebrows drew together as he regarded his friend.
“Just…go back to helping Sam. I just want to be left alone,” Dean finally said, moving to sit down on the closest bed.
Castiel sat down on the bed across from Dean. The defeated look and depressed posture of his friend made his very grace ache.
“Dean,” Castiel began carefully. “Are you upset that you have gained a small amount of weight in the last few years?”
Dean scoffed.
“Well, thanks for noticing.”
“You’re welcome, Dean. I notice everything about you and your brother. I consider it my personal responsibility to pay attention to you, especially. I put your body together once, you remember,” Castiel replied.
Dean leveled Castiel with a glare.
“Well this,” again Dean grabbed the soft bit of flesh below his belly button, “wasn’t there then, was it?”
Castiel pursed his lips.
“No, Dean. But that was eight years ago, a significant passage of time for a human. Your bodies change constantly over a lifetime. The closer you get to forty…”
Dean stood up abruptly and stormed away from Castiel.
“You don’t need to remind me that I’m almost forty, Cas!”
“My apologies, Dean. You’re only 37. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re older than you are,” Castiel amended.
Dean resumed his pacing in the confining space. Of course Castiel had shown up at the worst time, right in the middle of a meltdown. The last person he wanted to make privy to his inner turmoil was now reminding him he was getting older.
Great.
“Cas it’s just, it’s not because I’m, I mean…” Dean didn’t have a clue how to explain this to Castiel without divulging more about his thoughts than he intended. Some things Dean Winchester firmly intended to remain in his head where they belonged.
He scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. Castiel was regarding him with his eyes squinted and head tilted. Dean would never admit out loud how endearing he found that.
“Dean, you know you can tell me anything,” Castiel said from his perch on the bed.
Sighing in frustration, Dean rummaged around in his duffel for something to do.
Suddenly there was a warm hand placed on his back. Dean spun around and suddenly there was Castiel, all up in his personal space.
Damn angel would never learn.
“Are you afraid you will no longer be viewed as attractive because you are heavier than you were eight years ago, Dean?”
Dean could feel the color in his cheeks blooming to life under the scrutiny of those blue eyes.
“I understand how important it is for you to be viewed as sexually desirable to the opposite sex. You place great value on your sex appeal, Dean. But I assure you, you are just as appealing now as you were the day I first gazed upon you,” Castiel spoke with all seriousness.
Dean’s mouth had fallen open while Castiel spoke.
“Cas, you can’t just…you uh, can’t just say things like that man.”
Lame, Winchester. Lame.
“Why not, Dean? It’s the truth. I think you’ve grown more attractive with the passage of time, actually. I do not think the addition of a small amount of fat around your belly is unappealing at all,” Castiel replied.
Dean was suddenly very aware he was standing there in nothing but a towel. And what the fuck did Castiel just say?
“Cas I uh, I really don’t know what to say here.”
Castiel smiled, one of his all too infrequent genuine smiles. “It’s OK, Dean. I know you’re not attracted to human males, and this vessel is of course male. It doesn’t alter my feelings for you, however.”
Dean wanted to object, to stop Castiel from telling him all these things. Instead his mouth betrayed him.
“Cas, are you telling me you’re attracted to me?”
“Yes, Dean.”
Just like that, huh? He just says yes, Dean like it’s no big deal.
Stupid angels.
So Dean did the only thing that came to mind. He took one step forward to close the space between them, brought his hand behind Castiel’s head and kissed him.
Castiel didn’t kiss him back at first, and Dean started to doubt his actions. Maybe Castiel had meant something else, or maybe angels did things differently.
But then Castiel returned the kiss, a pleased hum emanated from his throat and his hands found the soft flesh above the towel still wrapped around Dean’s waist.
Dean started to pull back at the feel of Castiel’s thumbs gently stroking over the pudge, the very source of his distress. But then he realized it felt, well it kind of felt, nice.
After several minutes of exchanging soft kisses, they pulled back slowly. Castiel’s thumbs were still rubbing over Dean’s skin, Dean’s hand still gently cupping the back of Castiel’s head. They looked at each other, and Dean was struck with the fondness in Castiel’s eyes.
Had that always been there and he’d missed it?
“I think we have a lot to talk about, Cas,” Dean said with a slight grin.
“I would agree, Dean,” Castiel replied, returning the grin with a slight curve of his lips.
Dean felt a flutter in his stomach he’d not felt in longer than he wanted to think about. Hope was such a fragile thing, especially in the lives of hunters.
“Maybe later, I think we have a little lost time to make up for,” Dean said with a wink.
And if Castiel later worshipped the soft skin of Dean’s belly with his lips and fingers, and if Dean had reveled in how it made him feel… well that’s really nobody’s business now is it?