Archive of Our Own

Dean groans quietly when the silent alarm on his wristwatch brings him out of dreamland. He’s warm, and so, so comfortable, and he really doesn’t want to move. At all.

But he really needs to get up.

He snuggles back into the body behind him, relishing in the soft huff of breath on his neck, and the tightening of an arm around his middle he gets in return. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, getting a strong whiff of the lavender detergent that they use for their laundry, and letting the feeling of comfort and love and happiness surround him.

15 minutes later, another one of his silent alarms goes off. He blinks a couple of times as his eyes open again, and he knows this time, he really does have to get up. And he still really doesn’t want to.

He wiggles his hips back against Cas, just for shits and giggles, and he jumps a little when Cas literally growls, grabbing Dean’s hip with a very firm hand.

“Why are you awake,” Cas says, and it’s a statement, not a question. Cas doesn’t do question marks before coffee.

“I’ve gotta get up, Cas,” Dean whispers over his shoulder. The fingers on his hip grip tighter.

“You should stay,” Cas grumbles back, rubbing his face in circles on the back of Dean’s head. Dean feels a small smile creep onto his face. Cas is like a cat when he’s sleepy, warm and pliant and much more giving of physical attention than he might normally be. He’s adorable, really. Always is, but especially when he’s half awake, squinting at Dean like he can’t believe Dean’s dared to disturb him. Dean’s favorite memory of that face is waking Cas up the morning after their first night in the house, kissing down Cas’ body, making that displeasure morph so nicely into —

Dean’s brought abruptly out of the past by a pointed roll of Cas’ hips against his ass, and he sucks in a quiet gasp.

“I could make it worth your while,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s ear. Dean shivers.

“I have some things to do, angel,” Dean sighs, even as he pushes his hips backwards.

“Yes, me.”

Dean huffs out a laugh as Cas tries to octopus himself around Dean’s body. He twists his upper body a bit so he can reach Cas’ mouth and gives him a soft, chaste kiss before pulling completely away and out of bed.

Cas groans and flops onto his back.

Dean tries to ignore the tent in the blanket.

He really does have things to do.

Even as he stands there watching, Cas drops back into sleep and starts to snore softly. Dean chuckles a bit to himself, and leans over him one more time to tuck the blanket in around his shoulders, making sure the fan above them won’t disrupt the warmth of Cas’ skin.

Dean stops for a moment, his head tilted to the side, his hands still on the blanket on either side of Cas, and just looks. He loves this man so much. He can feel it in the bubble of pressure that starts behind his ribcage and tugs, spreading out through his limbs and tingling in his fingertips, making a muscle low in his abdomen clench and release, and having his toes flex and point for a release of tension. It’s overwhelming, sometimes, just how hard it hits him, when he lets it. But he knows he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world, because if he didn’t have this feeling, he wouldn’t have Cas.

He doesn’t know how anybody in the world could meet Cas and not fall head over heels in love with him. Dean’s just the lucky son of a bitch who caught Cas’ eye in return.

Dean’s the lucky son of a bitch who gets to marry him.

The thought wakes him up, brings him out of the sleepy, lovesick stupor he was staring at his fiance through. He gets to marry Cas. After tonight, he won’t have a fiance anymore. He’ll have a husband.

He drops a quick kiss to Cas’ forehead and chuckles to himself when Cas’ nose crinkles and he pouts a bit in his sleep. What a fuckin’ dork, he thinks fondly, and tries his hardest to stop a ridiculous smile from taking over his entire face.

It’s his wedding day. He’s got work to do.

&

He flicks the lights on in the kitchen as he pulls the door shut behind him. The light pink of the walls keeps the overhead glow from being too harsh on his eyes, and he thinks to himself that — yet again — he was right to choose the color scheme that he had for Bake My Dreams Crumb True.

And he was definitely right to choose the name he had. He gets to reference Hall & Oates every time he picks up the phone or gives out a business card. It’s fuckin’ awesome.

As he begins to move around the kitchen and gather all the ingredients and utensils he’ll need to begin his bake, he pulls out his phone and hooks it up to the surround-sound speaker system he has wired throughout the bakery, letting his “Sunday Kind Of” playlist ring out. So he’s feeling sappy, sue him. Today’s the best day of his life, he will slow dance around his bakery by himself if he wants to. He hums along to Paul Anka and wipes down a workspace on the butcher block on top of his island, noting a couple new scratches that he’ll need to keep an eye on and make sure to oil carefully so that they don’t create a problem in the wood.

Once that’s done, he moves to the espresso machine in the front of house. When he’d first bought the place and had been fixing it up, he’d known he’d wanted to have some kind of coffee option for his customers, but had honestly just planned on having a Keurig. He’d thought it would be the perfect fix to a coffee shop issue — customers would get to pick what K-Cup they wanted themselves, so they’d get exactly what they wanted each and every time.

When Cas had found out that was his plan, Dean honestly thought that it might have been the end of what was only a budding relationship at the time. Cas had looked that horrified. So, espresso machine it was.

He makes himself a couple of shots and pours them into one of his mugs, following them up with a dash of milk, and carries the mug back into the kitchen with him.

It’s time to do what he does best.

Like any good dessert, the first step of this bake deals with sugar. In order to get the texture he needs, he can’t just use granulated sugar, so it goes into the food processor, where it can be pulsed and broken up into superfine sugar. He’s just finished measuring out a cup of the stuff — which is exactly what he needs — when the door to the front of the shop slams open.

He jumps and the sugar goes flying.

Seriously. Some of it even ends up spread across the counter on the other side of the kitchen, that’s how far the stuff flies.

He turns and levels a glare at the door, ready to verbally lash whoever has interrupted him, but his anger fades into exasperation and an eye roll when he sees his brother’s goofy smile and his ridiculous hair pulled up on top of his head.

“For God’s sake, Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you?” Dean groans out, turning to face his brother, hands on his hips.

“I know, I know, don’t slam —”

“You really need to stop with the man-buns.”

Sam shoots him a bitch face and grabs an apron from behind the kitchen door. It has little cartoon avocados in a pattern over the entire thing, and Dean hates it. It’s a bakery, for fuck’s sake, avocados do not belong.

His own apron that looks like a blue-frosted donut with sprinkles is much more appropriate.

“You’ll be thankful for the bun when the bake isn’t ruined by some of my DNA, jerk. And don’t even try to pretend finding a strand of my hair in a brownie wouldn’t put you off baking for at least a week,” Sam smirks, cutting Dean off before he can even say a word. Dean narrows his eyes and turns back to the food processor, tipping the bag of sugar into it again to restart his process.

“Shut up, bitch. And you’re cleanin’ that mess up.”

Sam just nods happily and grabs a rag from the sink he passes on the way over. After he’s been wiping for a few moments and Dean’s resumed grinding sugar, Sam’s head snaps up to stare at Dean as if he’s only just realizing something. Dean raises both his eyebrows and stares back, asking what his brother’s problem is without having to stop his Etta James sing-along.

“Dean, what the hell are you even doing here? It’s your wedding day!” Sam shouts, sounding like he just witnessed someone eat the last of the cinnamon rolls that Dean sells on Saturdays and Saturdays alone. Sam maintains that they are a religious experience, and Dean agrees, because hell yeah, he can bake. If Sam misses the round for the week, he pouts the entire seven days it takes for a batch to come back around.

“Well, yeah, moose, why do you think I’m over here making a cake?” Dean scoffs and — after he’s set aside yet another cup of sugar — adds cake flour and salt to the processor to be aerated with the remaining sugar, pulsing it a few times.

“I thought you guys were getting the cake from Benny’s?” Sam frowns.

“I considered it. But if you think I’m letting my husband eat anything but me or something made by me on our wedding night, then you really don’t know me at all, dude,” he says with a leer — the kind that would normally have Sam turning to the side and making an exaggerated gagging motion at the floor. Instead, he’s just smiling softly at Dean, puppy eyes out in full fuckin’ force.

“What, man?” Dean asks. He cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl so he can begin separating the yolks from the whites. The whites are the only leavening ingredient in the cake, so they need to be freshly separated, or they won’t react with the acid correctly and the cake won’t have the right rise — and nobody likes a short, dense cake.

“Your husband,” Sam says softly, looking for all the world like he’s about to cry. Seriously, Dean swears he sees tears in his brother’s eyes and it’s too early for this. Dean cannot cry before six in the morning. After the scene in bed this morning, he has a very strong feeling he’s going to be on the verge all day today, and this is not an auspicious beginning. “Dean, you’re getting married.”

Sam is suddenly across the kitchen and gripping Dean’s biceps in both hands, giving his brother a watery smile.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, clearing his throat around the sudden blockage in his throat, and thanking the Lord his brother is tall and he can blink back tears while he looks up at Sam. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Sam pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, patting him roughly on the back. They stand there for a minute, arms locked around each other, before Dean pulls back, coughing a bit awkwardly. Don’t cry yet, you mushy bastard. Sam pats his shoulder one more time and moves back a couple steps.

“So. What can I do to help?”

Dean grins.

&

About an hour and half later, three cakes of varying sizes are cooling on the wire rack on the side counter, and Sam and Dean are cleaning up the absolute mess they’ve made of the kitchen.

Believe it or not, he and Sam can bake without destroying their environment, but they’re both in such good moods, both looking forward to the upcoming evening so much, their joy sort of exploded out of them and took the flour, whipped egg whites, and cream with it. Sam still has a fairly large chunk of his egg white concoction on top of his head, and Dean bites his lip to hide his smirk when he notices it.

He’s taking the extra bit of time he has to do the butcher block maintenance he’d thought of before, when his phone buzzes in his back pocket.

Cas: Dean, I thought you were taking today off. Are you at the bakery, when you looked me in the eye and told me you wouldn’t be?

Dean froze, even though Cas was nowhere near him and couldn’t actually do anything. Nevertheless, he’d been caught.

Dean: ...No.

He can almost hear Cas’ sigh.

Most days, Dean enjoyed getting Cas a bit riled up. He looked even more gorgeous than usual when his eyes brightened with mirth or flashed with annoyance, the blue of his irises almost seeming to glow. And Cas could give as good as he got, so most times, it was like sparring with a good friend, getting to throw out fun little comebacks and snarky replies, all while knowing neither of them really meant any of it at all.

But today is supposed to be perfect, and the last thing he wants is for Cas’ memory of today to be tainted by memories of even the slightest bit of unhappiness.

Cas: :(

Aw, hell.

Dean: I’ll be home in 30.

Cas: :)

“He just played you like a fiddle,” Sam said from over Dean’s shoulder. Dean shot about a foot in the air and almost lost his phone in the process. He just managed to catch it after juggling it between his hands a couple times, his heart trying to jump out of his throat. “You’re jumpy today.”

“Shut it,” Dean said, pointing menacingly at Sam. “And he didn’t play me. I was gonna head home, anyway. The bake’ll be ready in 15, and then Cas and I can relax and get ready while you get everything set up at the barn.”

Sam just rolls his eyes and walks back up to the front of the bakery, probably to make himself some more espresso. Kid’s an addict, Dean swears.

He exits out of the Messages app on his phone and stares down at his wallpaper. Eileen had taken the picture of him and Cas the last time they’d all taken a trip down to the coast for a week, when Cas had been about to collapse from exhaustion because of long days at his studio, and Sam was about to pull the hair — that he spent so long growing — straight from his head because of his workload at the firm. From the image, you’d never guess that Cas had been sporting dark circles under his eyes for the entire month before, or that his lips had been so chapped from biting at them during work, Dean could only kiss him lightly and for seconds at a time.

It’d been a very dark time in Dean’s life, he doesn’t like to talk about it.

But in the picture, Cas is grinning widely — the real, true grin that gets so big it shows off his gums, the crinkles by his eyes and on the sides of his nose, his dimples — the grin that still makes Dean’s breath catch in his chest and his heart beat wildly. He’s looking at Eileen behind the camera, so he’s making almost direct eye contact with the lens, seemingly looking right out at Dean. He’d been telling a story — something about one of the men that had come into the shop in that past month — and his arms were held out to the sides, obviously caught in the middle of gesticulating as he spoke. His eyes are bright, almost sparkling, and he looks happy.

To his left, sitting so close to Cas he might as well have been in his lap, is Dean. And honestly, Dean has never seen himself look so much like a lovesick puppy in all his life. He’s got his legs bent in front of him, one arm draped over his knees so he could turn his upper body toward Cas and he’s just gazing at Cas. There’s really no other word for it. His eyes are lidded, but focused solely on Cas’ face, and the smallest, softest smile is perched on his lips.

Any old onlooker could look at Dean in this picture and just know he’s staring at the love of his life. He’s fuckin’ obvious about it. And he loves that damn picture a hell of a lot.

Almost as much as he loves the other man in it.

The man he’s going home to. The man he gets to go home to for the rest of his life.

Sam shrieks from the kitchen. “Dean! Why didn’t you tell me I had egg in my hair?”

&

“Cas?” He calls as he walks in their front door, looking around for his fiance. From the entryway, he can see through the living room and into the kitchen, and that dark head of hair is nowhere to be found. “Did you call me home just to hide from me when I finally got here?”

He hears a laugh from somewhere upstairs.

“Now, what kind of fiance would that make me?” Cas yells, and Dean rushes up the stairs to get to him.

If Cas is upstairs, there’s a good chance he’s in their bedroom. And if he’s in their bedroom — it generally means very happy things for Dean. But as he rounds the corner at the top of the stairs and turns to head through their doorway — he nearly gets his face smashed in by the door, which is slamming closed.

He freezes and blinks at the wood quite literally an inch from the end of his nose. And not the fun kind.

“Okay,” he says, after a moment. “Cas, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on, man?”

“I’m in my tux,” Cas calls back. “You can’t see me before tonight.”

If Dean wasn’t doing his damndest not to melt into a puddle of how fuckin’ cute is this man oh my god on the floor, he’d probably roll his eyes. But as it is, he just takes a couple of steps back and leans against the wall of the hallway opposite their door.

“Angel, I was there when we picked them out. I’ve already seen the tux.”

It’s quiet for a couple minutes on the other side of the door, and Dean is starting to wonder if he should be concerned, but right as he moves to get up and knock on the door, it opens and there’s Cas.

In sweatpants and one of Dean’s old David Bowie t-shirts.

He’s gorgeous, and Dean is the luckiest motherfucker in the entire universe.

“You will only see me in that tux when we meet to walk down the aisle, Dean,” Cas says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “If you have an issue with that, you will have to take it up with your mother, as she is the one who gave me those instructions.”

Dean leans forward and snags Cas’ wrist, pulling Cas toward him, into his chest and wraps his other arm around Cas’ waist to keep him there. He holds Cas’ left hand in between their chests, staring down at it, and traces a feather light horizontal line, back and forth, across the tanned skin where his fourth finger meets the back of his hand. Imagining how good that thick gold band is going to look against that golden skin, bright against the dark ink that covered most of it.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he breathes, still staring at Cas’ hand.

Cas shifts and Dean feels the quick brush of dry lips against his cheekbone. He looks up after they’ve retreated and holds Cas’ gaze for a moment, before dropping his forehead against the one in front of him. They breathe together for seconds, minutes, hours — Dean can’t tell and doesn’t care — swaying gently with their hands clasped between them.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Cas whispers back, and Dean smiles. He lifts Cas’ hand to his lips and even though he might feel a bit foolish, presses a kiss to the fingers he has grasped in his own. He traces that finger again for a few seconds, then looks back up to Cas.

Cas is smiling softly and his eyes are shining. Dean feels tears well up in his own — for the gajillionth time today, he swears — but he just smiles back at Cas and lets them fall.

He loves and is loved. He can cry happy tears about that if he damn well wants to.

Cas kisses his nose.

&

Sam: I’ve got everything you said to bring in the kitchen. Just needs your magic touch.

Dean does up the last button on his dress shirt and replies to Sam in the affirmative, letting him know he’s on his way.

He leans out the door to his dressing room, craning his neck to see both ways down the hallway, checking for signs of Cas, Charlie, or worse — Mary. When he feels confident in the ‘All Clear,’ he tiptoes in the direction of the kitchen and slides around the corner, running to the doors and pushing them open once he makes it in.

He very nearly knocks over a waitress with a very large tray of appetizers. She glares at him, eyes like daggers, and Dean holds both hands up in an innocent gesture and puts on his best grin. Though it doesn’t make her melt like he’s been told it has the power to — which he, of course, only uses for good — she rolls her eyes and moves out of the kitchen, leaving Dean to his bake.

Sam has stacked the tiers on top of each other, just as Dean had asked him to, and all Dean’s gear is laid out neatly on the metal surface of the kitchen counter. Dean’s immensely thankful he has a brother who can take direction well, even if he is a stubborn asshole.

He spins the cake tower in front of him slowly, making notes in his mind of where his decorations are going to go, and he feels a small smile creeping onto his face.

After grabbing the apron Sam had packed him in the bin of supplies and slipping it on, he breaks out the whipping cream and his electric mixer. While he would have preferred to use his KitchenAid stand mixer he had at the shop so he could continue preparing while the topping was made, this would do just as well, and he’s never been afraid of some multitasking.

Just as the cream begins to solidify and form some peaks where the mixer is beating through it, he reaches for the tupperware again, planning on getting some of the berries out so they’re ready to be washed and sliced, he hears a very loud, “Dean Michael Winchester!”

The electric mixer slips in his grip and whipped cream flies.

He looks up and his wide eyes meet the equally wide eyes of his mother, before they both slowly look down at themselves, and then both sigh in relief as they take in the lack of damage to their fancy getups. Neither of them had been hit by the topping grenade. Dean lets out another big breath, and quickly turns the mixer off before anything else potentially disastrous can come to be. The whipped cream is ready, anyway.

But then he sees the look on his mother’s face.

“I cannot believe,” she starts, voice deceptively calm, “that you are in the kitchen, on the day of your wedding, making whipped cream in your tuxedo.”

Dean grimaces, and looks down at himself again. “I don’t have my jacket on?” He tries, sending his best innocent smile her way. Not that he thinks it’ll do him much good, but it’s worth the effort.

Mary shakes her head and moves into the kitchen, and for one moment, Dean thinks he’s going to be dragged back to his dressing room by his ear, but then he gets a whiff of his mom’s perfume and he’s wrapped up in her arms.

“I love you very much, honey,” she whispers into his ear, before pulling back. “But if you get anything on this tuxedo, jacket or no, I am not the only one who will be a threat of very serious damage.”

Yeah. Cas would absolutely murder him. He smiles, thinking of the way Cas gets when he’s angry, throwing his hands all around himself, voice moving out of its normally low register and into something that gets squeakier and squeakier the angrier he gets.

Cas hates it, and Dean can never stop the straight up giggles it causes to break out of his own body. They’ve never managed to actually fight, just because once Dean starts laughing, Cas can’t help himself, and they lose their anger to crying laughter.

Mary snorts, and knowingly eyes the infatuated smile that has spread across his face. “Finish this, and finish getting dressed, so we can get your lovesick butt down the aisle to your husband,” she says sternly, but she can’t hide the happiness in her eyes, even if she is managing to contain her grin.

Dean nods and kisses her quickly on the cheek before making quick work of the rest of his bake, placing berries, dollops of whipped cream, and some small flowers in the perfect pattern. He spins the cake tower one more time, stopping it to wipe a misplaced spot of whipped cream away, and then he steps back, satisfied, excited, and grinning.

It’s time to get himself a husband.

&

“Dean!” Charlie hisses, damn near pushing him toward the big double doors at the end of the hallway. “Where have you been? Cas has been standing in the hallway waiting for thirty seconds, you’re going to be late, and throw off the entire procession, and I will not be held responsible for Mary Winchester’s wrath. Do you hear me?”

“Oh, wow, thirty seconds, Red?” Dean laughs, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Call the cops. I’ve committed a capital crime!”

“You’re such an asshole when you’re happy.”

“I am, you know,” Dean says quietly.

Charlie stops and spins him around to face her, so quickly and with so much force, Dean almost goes around a second time.

“I know you are, and I am so, so happy for you, but if you ruin the careful mask that Gilda managed to paint on my face by making me cry, I will murder you myself and make it look like the biggest accident to ever accident.”

“You wouldn’t do that to Cas,” Dean says smugly, smirking a bit, and Charlie rolls her eyes before leaning up and placing a quick peck on his cheek.

“Go get married, you loser.” She sounds pissed, but her smile’s wide, and she pushes him through the doors that have opened behind him, and there’s Cas.

Dean had thought he knew how it would feel seeing Cas before their walk because he really had been there to pick out the tux, but boy howdy had he been wrong. The man in front of him has taken his breath away, totally and completely. The dark blue tux brings out every facet of color in Cas’ eyes, almost looking like kaleidoscopes, and there’s a comparison Dean never thought he’d make, but Cas brings out the sap in him. His hair’s actually flat, for once, and he’s just smirking at Dean. A white flash pops to his right.

Dean realizes it’s because his mouth is hanging open. He shuts it. And the photographer got it all on camera, Mary giving him direction over his shoulder.

“You look…” Dean trails off, moving slowly into Cas’ space, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist.

“I look...?” Cas prompts, his smirk morphing into a wide smile, and Dean resists the urge to count the eyelashes that sweep Cas’ eyelids. God, he’s a sap.

“Incredible,” Dean breathes, and Cas grabs his cheeks to pull him into a kiss.

“Hey now, you two, save that for the big performance! You’re walking in five,” Mary says, suddenly right next to them and pulling the two of them apart, facing them forward, and starting their march.

Dean looks over at the man whose hand he’s holding, the man he found five years ago when he walked into Cas’ tattoo studio to get the piece that now covers his shoulder; the man he hasn’t let go of since, and doesn’t plan on letting go of anytime soon. The man he loves with his entire heart, his entire being, and who has changed him in ways that Dean never thought possible, but all for the better. The man who -- when just two weeks into their relationship, Dean’s father passed away -- dealt with a grief-addled and unspeakably livid Dean with all the grace and compassion of an angel, like it was something he’d been born to do.

The man who loves Mary like she’s his own mother, who gives as good as he gets to Sam, but would do anything for the man in a heartbeat. Who has stuck close to Eileen’s side ever since she announced she was pregnant, helping her in and out of chairs and carrying “heavy” things for her before she was even showing. The man who folded into the Winchester clan effortlessly, and has never once seemed to think that he would have done anything else.

The man who feels like he belongs, and who makes Dean belong in turn.

He squeezes Cas’ hand, shooting him a grin, and they take their first steps toward their new life.

&

A tapping of silverware against glass across from the table where they’re situated gets his attention, and Dean looks away from Cas’ cheekbone — which he has absolutely not been staring at for the past who knows how long, thank you very much — to see his baby brother standing on the other side of the room, champagne glass lifted high above his head and microphone in hand.

“Hello, everybody,” Sam says, smiling and looking around the room once the talking has quieted. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sam, and I’m Dean’s little brother.”

“Yeah, Samsquatch!” Jo whoops, and Dean sees Ellen smack her on the arm. “Hey!” she yelps, and the room laughs. Bobby’s shaking his head to Ellen’s left.

“Thank you,” Sam laughs, lifting his glass a bit in a small acknowledgement of Jo before he sobers again. “I just wanted to thank you all for being here to celebrate Dean and Cas and their great, storybook, fairytale, love for the ages —”

“Oh my god, dude!” Dean shouts.

“— shut up, Dean. It’s true. But seriously, man, I couldn’t be happier for you. You always talk about how Cas brings out the best in you, and yeah, he does. But one thing I don’t think you truly realize is that you bring out the best in Cas, too.”

Dean feels his eyebrows jump and he looks over at Cas, who’s smiling softly at him. Dean smiles back -- because how can you not smile back when Castiel Novak is smiling at you, honestly -- and Cas inclines his head slightly toward Sam, gently telling Dean to pay attention, and Dean can’t ignore that.

“When Cas came to me and told me he wanted to propose, I started jumping up and down so quickly, I’m surprised I didn’t take off like a rocket,” Sam continues, laughing. “I was so excited, I also think I grabbed Cas by the arms and hugged him so tightly, I may have cracked a few of his ribs.”

He hears Cas’ throaty chuckle, and then there’s a head on his shoulder. He turns without thinking and places a light kiss on the hair there.

“When I’d calmed down — and trust me, it took awhile,” Sam laughs, and Dean smiles. “Cas was just staring at me, waiting, and I realized he wasn’t just asking for my help with the proposal, though I did end up doing that, too. But he was asking for my blessing. The thing is, I think he took my shock at being asked for that as some kind of disapproval, because he started telling me all the reasons why he wanted to marry Dean. And believe me, there were a lot.” And oh, Dean was crying. “So, when I figured out what he was doing, I clicked on my voice memos app on my phone. And I’ve kept it this whole time, for Dean, so he can hear for himself how the rest of us see him. Because we all know what a stubborn jerk he can be.”

“Bitch!” Dean calls out through his tears, cheeks on fire. Sam grins and winks back as the people gathered around them laugh. Dean looks to his right, and Cas is crying, too. He leans over to gently kiss Cas on the cheek, then uses his thumb to wipe a tear away. Cas lets out a little laugh and wipes his own hand over his face, then looks up at Dean from under his eyelashes.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest. Cas is beautiful. He knew Cas was beautiful, but damn… Cas is beautiful. And his brain might be a bit melted.

“They can’t even pay attention to anything other than each other for five minutes,” Sam stage whispers into the mic, and Dean jerks around to glare at him. “Yes, hello, little brother trying to give his best man speech, here. Thank you. So, in the spirit of letting these two have their way with each other as soon as possible —”

“I don’t need to hear that, honey!” Mary calls from the table next to them. Dean’s heart felt close to bursting.

“— I’ll play this, now.”

Cas gasps to Dean’s left and suddenly, the voice he hears every morning before he even opens his eyes, the voice he hears every night before he succumbs to sleep — the voice he thinks he could follow out of Hell, if he had to — growls out through the speakers.

“Sam, when I met Dean, I was in the worst possible place I think a human can be. And you know this. You know why everyone was gone, and why I was all alone. And the thing is, I was numb, so alone didn’t bother me much. I thought that’s how I would be for the rest of my life, and I was -- well, not okay with it, but — wasn’t thinking of changing it, because I didn’t have it left in me to care. But the day Dean walked into my studio…” Cas chuckles on the recording, “going on and on about the piece he was interested in to honor his brother, talking about how proud he was of you, how much you meant to him? Hearing him just talk about you made me care about you. Knowing him -- even then, for only an hour, at the time — changed me. His cares became my cares. He feels things so acutely, more than anyone I’ve ever known, especially his love for others. He loves you so much, as much as he loves every single person he comes into contact with.

“He is the most selfless, loving human being I have ever known. Everything he does, whether it’s good or bad -- and yes, I can be honest and say he doesn’t always make the best decisions —” Dean squeezes Cas’ hand hard in a bit of retaliation. Cas laughs through a sob. “— he does for love. Not only did he make me care again, but he made me love again. And he continues to show me how to love every single day. He is strong — more than strong, actually — extraordinary, brave, and bright. Always saying he’s fine when he’s not, because he cares more about other people’s feelings than he does his own. Don’t worry, we’re working on it. But… he’s a work of art. He’s my role model. He’s my family. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing him that he — and you, and Mary — make the world a better place, and that I am forever grateful Dean walked into my shop that day.”

The recording ends, and Dean is sobbing. He’s crying so hard, he can’t see. His heart is pounding so heavily in his chest, he feels like he might combust any moment now. The only thing keeping him grounded — as always — is Cas’ hand in his, squeezing so tight, he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up with a few burst blood vessels tomorrow morning.

A warm, huge hand comes up to cup the side of his face — gentle, always so gentle — and he meets Cas’ gaze for one second, before collapsing into him as both of his arms come up to circle around Dean’s back.

Distantly, he thinks he can hear Sam wrapping up his speech, and people cheering and clapping, but it feels light-years away. The man holding him — his best friend, his soulmate, his husband — is what his world has narrowed down to and, above all else, Dean knows he’s safe and loved.

“You too,” Dean whispers wetly into Cas’ neck, voice breaking at the end, because he can still hardly breathe, let alone talk. “You too, baby, you too.”

He feels Cas nod as little drops of wetness fall on the top of his head, hears a whispered, “I know,” and that’s when he feels everything drop into place. This is where he was always meant to be.

After a few sniffling, tear-stained moments they pull back, but only far enough for Dean to lean in and kiss his husband soundly on the mouth, deep and heavy and much too intense for a wedding reception surrounded by his family and friends. But no one says anything, and when he pulls back, he’s rewarded with his favorite Cas smile, so bright it could probably burn someone’s eyes out.

“I love you,” Cas whispers.

“I love you,” Dean whispers back.

“This has been the best day of my life.”

“I get to call you my husband every day for the rest of mine. Every day is going to be my new best day.”

Cas laughs, tossing his head back, and Dean will never hear a better sound. He guarantees it.

“I’m so, so glad. Now, do you want some cake that you baked on our wedding day, when you weren’t even supposed to leave the house?”

Dean grins and stands up, pulling Cas with him by the hand. “Nah, I think I’d rather have you eat me instead.”

As Dean pulls Cas by the cake table, people cheering behind them, Sam giving him the smuggest bitch face Dean thinks he’s ever seen, Cas tries to dig his heels in, whining, “Oh my god, is it angel food cake? Dean, you know that’s my favorite!”

And, really — who is Dean to deny his angel?