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This, Dean thinks, was a great idea.
He knows that Cas doesn’t exactly agree. The alpha is standing next to him in line with a very serious expression on his face, his eyes watchful and alert. He’s scanning the crowd around them as though the children in fairy and cat and superhero costumes are going to pose a legitimate threat to Dean. The way he has his hand resting on his plastic gun holster adds another element to the absurdity.
Dean nudges Cas as they step forward in line, bumping him in the hip with his own six-shooter. “Relax, cowboy. This town is big enough for the two of us and the kids.”
Cas blinks, looking over at Dean. He looks unfairly cute in his cowboy hat – Dean knew he would. He picked it out himself, after all, blatantly ignoring the way that Bal had snickered at him when he’d fished it out of the hat bin at the party store. “Your fantasy is showing,” he’d teased, and Dean had just scowled and thrown a viking helmet at him.
Dean’s got his own Stetson to match – black where Cas’s is white. He reaches up to adjust the alpha’s so it’s cocked back correctly on his head and not jammed down like a toboggan. “It’s just the zoo, babe. We’re here to have a good time.”
“I simply don’t understand why we needed to attend at night,” Cas says grumpily. He doesn’t comment when Dean continues to fuss at him, reaching up to straighten his plastic sheriff’s badge – just turns to accommodate him silently. They’re next in line, and Dean snags his little plastic pistol out of its holster and presents it to the bored looking security guard at the gate.
Cas does the same, turning to continue to complain at Dean as the guard inspects the cheap props. They collectively weigh about an ounce and are neon green, so Dean’s not too worried they’ll be confiscated. “It seems absurd to go to the zoo when it is too dark to see the animals,” Cas continues, frowning.
Dean shakes his head, grinning at the alpha as their plastic sidearms are returned to them. “First of all, it’s Boo at the Zoo. A halloween event wouldn’t make sense in the daytime. It wouldn’t be spooky.”
Cas rolls his eyes, following Dean through the metal detector. “I would hardly call this spooky,” he points out, gesturing at the corny decorations, but Dean ignores him. They step into the zoo and Dean looks around with wide, excited eyes.
Everywhere he turns, there are kids and couples in costumes – get-ups ranging from plastic masks to extensive cosplays. Even the employees have gotten into the spirit of things – many of them are sporting witch or pirate hats, and even more have animal ears and facepaint.
“Second,” Dean continues, casually reaching down to hold Cas’s hand, “lots of the animals are nocturnal, so they’ll be out anyway. And Sam told me that the keepers are gonna be feeding a lot of them, too, so we can see ‘em better than usual.”
Cas sighs in a way that tells Dean he knows he’s not going to win this one. His palm is warm and steady, and he allows Dean to lead them to a kiosk that is filled with tri-fold maps without protest. Dean picks up one and shakes it out one handed, looking through the different exhibits.
He’s well aware of why Cas is nervous. Even now, crowded places like this tend to set Dean on edge. He struggles, most days, to handle too many people at once. But he’s been getting way better, and Benny told him last session that he should think about getting out more just to do fun stuff – not just work for the center. So, really, Dean’s just following medical advice here.
That’s the argument he’d used on Cas, anyway, and it had worked.
“Third,” Dean continues, bringing the map a little closer to himself – he really should be wearing his damn glasses, but they make him look old, and Dean isn’t old, thank you very much. “You’re here, so I’m gonna be fine.”
Cas grumbles something inaudible under his breath, but he relents – relaxes a little, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Your bandana is crooked,” he says, in lieu of admitting that Dean is right.
Dean grins at him as Cas reaches over to fix it, his blue eyes squinting a little as he tries to get it just right. “Thanks, partner,” Dean says in an exaggerated drawl, leaning forward to peck Cas on the cheek.
Cas’s mouth twitches at the corner, so Dean knows he’s won.
Together, they meander through the exhibits and crowds of excited, squealing kids. There are lots of families here – lots of harried looking parents chasing after giggling kids. Dean grins as a wayward toddler tries to snatch a bag of cotton candy right off of a cart, chuckles at a mother who is valiantly struggling to wrangle all three of her children together in front of the giraffes while her laughing wife snaps a photo.
More than one kid smiles and waves at him, and Dean tips his cowboy hat with a wink every time it happens. Finds himself laughing with mothers and fathers who share a conspiratorial or thankful smile with him when he does so.
Along with the levity is a glimmer of an ache, too. A glimmer of a wish for a family of his own. But that ache is well worn and familiar, something that he has grown to accept. Something that has grown to be a part of him. So he acknowledges it, pats it gently, and sends it packing.
Tonight, Dean thinks fiercely, is going to be a good night.
Unfortunately, not everyone is as friendly as they could be.
As usual, he gets a scattering of dirty looks from some haughty folks – sour-faced conservative women, mostly, that don’t like the fact that a childless, bitch male is in their family friendly environment. He can see the complaints forming in their heads now, but Dean isn’t really bothered by them. He’s faced down far worse than the disapproval of a couple of fuckin’ Karens.
Besides, no one is going to say shit to a free omega with his alpha husband, and Dean knows it – so he returns those nasty looks with interest, wielding his wedding band and Cas himself like twin shields for his heart.
But, what does bother him, even now, are the leers. Specifically, of course, the ones from alphas. Dean has been free for a long time, but he still has to fight not to drop his eyes. Has to fight not to quail under the gaze of men who, once upon a time, might have been exactly the type to buy him.
It’s Cas, of course, who continues to remind him that those days are over. The men who dare to ogle at Dean are either very brave, or very stupid – every single one of them averts their eyes when Cas meets their leer with a snarling glare. Cowards.
It’s no different than usual, and, honestly, if all he had to deal with were idiots and creeps, Dean would be fine. He’s faced down much worse. But they aren’t the only reason he’s not so great in places like this.
These days, Dean spends the vast majority of his time in the center, or with people who work there. Sure, he rides along with Jody when she does pick-ups, but he always waits in the car. He’s there for moral support, there to show the newbies that they aren’t in danger anymore – she’s the one that handles the purchases, and the assholes.
Dean’s not exactly upset about that. But it does mean that his tolerance for the everyday indignities and humiliation of slavery has degraged pretty dramatically over the years.
There aren’t many slaves around tonight. The ones he sees appear to be domestic – omegas and the occasional beta, hurrying behind otherwise normal looking families. Dean spots one trying desperately to calm a fussy pair of toddlers in a stroller while their bored looking father texts away, paying them no mind at all until one of the kids starts screaming.
She and Dean both flinch when the man snaps something at her, and Dean can just catch the sound of her meek, quiet apology.
Dean grips Cas’s hand a little tighter, and looks away.
It’s hard to watch. He’d spent over a decade in positions as bad, or worse, than hers, and it’s still hard to watch. And he wants to help so badly it’s painful. Wants to punch the man right in his goddamn teeth, wants to rip his stupid phone out of his hand and chuck it into the elephant enclosure behind him.
But he can’t, because that wouldn’t solve anything.
Early on – before he established himself as a flight risk – Dean had masters that were more public in their abuse. Masters who liked to parade him. And, every once in a while, someone with justice in their eyes would speak up in his defense.
Dean had quickly learned to dread it.
It’d happened more than once over the years. A well meaning college kid who admonished his master for jerking the leash a little too hard when Dean had hesitated to follow him into a bar. A furious mother with a wide eyed toddler who chewed out another for kicking him in the ribs – caused a scene right in the middle of the damn supermarket, all because Dean hadn’t obeyed fast enough.
Inevitably, those people had gone on their merry way, secure in the thought that they’d done a good deed by speaking up. And then his master would give him that look, the one that told Dean he was going to pay the price for a stranger’s well-intentioned kindness.
He had. In blood and bruises. So, he already knows that he’s not gonna make that woman’s life any better by playing at being a hero. He’d only make it worse.
Cas notices what’s going on, of course. He rubs his thumb along Dean’s knuckles. Moves a little closer, till he can slip his arm around Dean’s waist, his body warm and solid against him, his scent calm and smooth in a way that encourages Dean to breathe a little slower. He doesn’t have to look at the alpha to know that he’s glaring daggers at the man with the phone, doesn’t have to pay attention to where they’re going to know that Cas is steering him somewhere off the main path.
They’ve gone through this song and dance many, many times.
Sure enough, they end up stepping into the cool, LED-lit reptile cave a few moments later. Cas leads him straight to a bench in front of a long, beady-eyed anaconda, and when they sit down together the alpha holds him steadily against his side.
There’s nothing to say. Cas just holds him through it for a while. Rests his head on top of Dean’s, wrapping himself around him like an oversized security blanket. Dean would protest if it didn’t help. As it is, he just lets his eyes glaze over, lets himself stare at the vines and leaves and little moist patches of moss growing inside of the snake’s tank.
Dean lets himself be angry. Lets himself be sad. It’s still hard, some days, for him to allow himself to feel much of anything. But Cas, as always, is his safe place.
Eventually, he sighs. Squeezes Cas’s hand in a gentle pulse. And, together, they stand up, square their shoulders, and keep walking.
Dean wants to save everyone. He knows that Cas does, too. But they can’t.
All they can do is move forward.
After that, at least, things get easier.
Eventually, Dean can breathe again without feeling like there’s something stuck in his chest. Cas breaks the last of the tension by dragging Dean in for an awkward selfie in front of a bronze sculpture of a lion that’s covered in green cobwebs and neon plastic spiders, a determined look on his face.
At the last second, Dean turns and kisses his cheek, his cowboy hat falling halfway off his head as he does so – Cas fumbles to catch it, and the resulting picture is as chaotic as it is precious. He sends the selfie to Sam, and laughs when Sam replies with a string of puking faces. Dean’s not particularly bothered by that, seeing as how he’s been suffering through Sam and Elieen’s pictures on Instagram for far too long for his brother to have any room to talk.
Cas quickly begins to enjoy himself as well. He’s enamored by the animals, and actually stops to read each and every little placard in front of the exhibits. Dean isn’t that invested, but it’s fun to watch the alpha get excited.
“Did you know,” Cas starts, for the twentieth time in the last half hour, “that the ringtail cat is more closely related to raccoons than felines?”
“Had no idea, babe,” Dean replies, also for the twentieth time, and Cas hums and reads the rest of the placard with avid fascination. Dean glances at the weird little lemur thing, but he’s really more interested in staring at Cas’s head tilt as he watches.
The avian section of the zoo seems to capture the alpha’s attention the most – he actually gets so excited that he has a little bounce in his step when they get to the birds. He excitedly tells Dean facts about the falcons and the parrots and the ornery looking owl that glares at them through the chicken wire, all without having to read the cards at all, and Dean just nods and listens and smiles at the alpha like the absolute dope that he is. He’s so stupidly in love that it isn’t even funny.
They walk on through the raptors, passing by a huge exhibit where there are lots of different birds with long legs wading around a shallow lake. Castiel, halfway through a long winded explanation about the pink coloration of spoonbills, pauses mid sentence, and Dean glances over. The alpha is looking at Dean with a twinkle in his eye.
“What?” Dean asks, nudging him with his shoulder.
“You smell happy,” Castiel replies, blatantly pleased as punch. He looks like a puffed up rooster, strutting along beside him. “That’s all.”
“Well, I am happy,” Dean says, blushing a little.
He hadn’t realized how true it was until now. With his alpha’s hand in his, and the crickets chirping, and the pathways lit up by green and orange string lights and silly pumpkin lanterns, he feels more at ease than he ever thought he would. Not so long ago, happiness like this was something he couldn’t even dream about. But, against all odds, he’s found it. And he’s going to enjoy it.
He ducks his head, mulling over his words as a couple of kids dart past him, laughing and squealing as their werewolf-masked father makes grabby claws at them.
He takes a deep breath. “I mean. Things aren’t perfect. They never will be. But… It's a nice night, and this is fun, and... you’re here.” He unsuccessfully suppresses a smile. “Now, quit making me feel all sappy.”
“I will not,” Cas says pleasantly. He’s irritatingly cute when he’s smug.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean adds mischievously. “And you look hot in your cowboy boots.”
It’s the alpha’s turn to blush – he glances down at the offending footwear as though he’s forgotten he was wearing it. “I do?”
“Yep,” Dean says smugly. “And that little hat.”
“It’s not little,” Cas grumbles, but the sparkle in his eyes tells Dean he’s enjoying the attention.
“My cute alpha cowboy,” Dean teases, grinning like a fool. He pauses, knocks his hat up with two fingers, then leans over and does the same to Cas’s. The man’s mouth twitches into a smile as Dean moves closer, but he doesn’t complete the kiss – he makes Dean do all the work.
Not that Dean minds.
They linger there off the side of the path for a while, each with an arm wrapped around the waist of the other. Cas hums when Dean noses playfully at his neck, outright laughs when Dean rubs himself on his skin in a childish show of mine. “Afraid that someone else will fall in love with the boots, too?” he murmurs, and Dean huffs out a laugh.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says confidently, because he knows better than that.
The way Cas kisses him tells him he very much agrees.