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It’s not even anything big that leads him back to the letter, that’s what’s pathetic. They’re at Bobby’s on some wild goose chase because Sam thinks he remembers seeing an old book that could be useful in getting rid of the Mark. Dean’s almost as skeptical of the existence of this book as he is of the idea that they can even get rid of the Mark at all. Still, he goes along with it because Sam is looking at him with that hopeful puppy dog face and Cas is giving him that pleading kitten expression and he’d be an asshole to refuse. Besides, what’s a wasted 7.5 hour drive anyway in the endless shit storm of their lives?
It’s a relatively easy journey. Almost pleasant. He can tell Sam is in the passenger seat Googling the Mark again, but Dean’s given up on that particular battle. Cas stretches out in the backseat, balling the trenchcoat up like a pillow. He naps for most of the drive, snoring sporadically, until they stop for food. They all get burgers at a diner and Dean beams when Cas orders extra bacon on his.
In the car he tells Sam about the “Is ketchup a vegetable?” exchange. He tries to keep a mask of sarcastic disbelief but the corners of his mouth betray him and Sam starts to get ‘that look’ on his face. ‘That look’ is the little “ain’t that sweet?” expression that Dean has come to associate with the moments when Sam is overanalyzing his relationships. Particularly his relationship with Cas. It was out in full force that day they stopped Calliope, right after Sam found out that they had a ‘ship name’ (which by the way, he refuses to stop mispronouncing). It makes Dean want to smack him but he settles for blasting “Shake it Off” just a little too loud. The look gives way to bitch face #9™ and Dean senses that they’re about three seconds away from talking about it when Cas chimes in with the song, gravelly voice ringing from the backseat. Dean doesn’t even restrain a delighted giggle and sings along. Sam puts in earbuds.
When they get to Bobby’s they head straight for the attic, which is the last place Sam remembers seeing this mysterious book. “It’s black and kind of thin. I think it had some kind of warding on the cover, but I’m not sure.” Sam informs them. They each take a corner of the room and begin digging through boxes, silently agreeing to meet in the middle and then move on to other rooms if need be.
Dean goes through a lot of duds while he works and he’s just beginning to wish he’d brought some music in with him when he sees it. There’s a box there marked ‘Dean’ which is about as vague as it could possibly get, and Dean’s heart throbs painfully in his chest when he thinks about Bobby compiling all this stuff for him. It’s nothing special, just the kind of stuff parents usually hang on to. Dean’s birth certificate is in there, along with his original social security card and it almost makes him laugh to be in physical contact with non-fraudulent identification. There’s photos too, not a lot but some of Dean in his younger years, Dean playing ball with Bobby, a candid of an eight year old Sam watching cartoons with Dean (who was 12 and pretending to be disinterested). He almost doesn't spot the letter, and even when he does the memory doesn't come back to him right away. It’s addressed to him, care of Bobby Singer and its postmarked from 2007.
His curiosity reasonably piqued, Dean rips open the envelope.
He actually laughs out loud when he sees what it is. All the seniors in high school had been forced to write a series of “Letters to My Future Self” and turn them in. The school was going to keep them for 10 years before mailing out, and the idea was to see how your life stacked up compared to the way you imagined it in high school. He almost wonders how Bobby ever got ahold of it, until he sees the name “Mrs. Bealer” on one of the assignments. The name pulls up the image of a tall plump woman who ignored his protests about not having a permanent address and demanded he give the address of his closest relative. Dean feels that ache in his heart again and he decides to wait a bit before going through the letters.
He works for another hour or so before he finally declares that he deserves a beer break and takes off downstairs, letters furtively stuffed in his pocket. He doesn’t exactly remember what’s in them and he’d like to look them over before Sam sticks his big moose nose into 18 year old Dean’s business. It’s probably nothing too bad since he was forced to turn it in, but Dean’s not taking any chances. He pops the cap of a beer bottle and takes a long sip while he skims through them.
Some of them are more interesting than others. The ones about career path are essentially worthless because they’re straight bullshit, but some of them are interesting. He mentions the Impala as his dream car in one of them and it brings a smile to his face. The more he thinks about it, the more he actually remembers writing them. He remembers watching the other students around him furiously scribbling about 401ks, how many children they wanted, even what they were going to name their damn dog. Those things didn’t fit into the life of a hunter and Dean made his peace with that a long time ago.
When he gets to the one about future spouses Dean snorts and starts reading through the points. He notes the short statements and the careful avoidance of pronouns in his list. Dean’s known he sometimes felt an attraction to men for the greater part of his life, but it’s never been something he felt comfortable exploring outside of passive little defiances like this one. A simple swap of ‘nice tits’ for ‘nice ass’ was all the gender neutrality he could deal with at the time.
1. Voice that doesn’t annoy the shit out of me.
This one is in reference to a girl he was seeing at the time, a girl he hasn’t thought of in years. She was nice enough and hot as all hell, but there was just something about her voice that always grated at him. It could have been the pitch, it could have been the intonation but whatever it was, Dean remembers hating it. He finds his traitorous mind wandering to voices he’s heard more recently, pleasant ones that sing in his backseat and refuse to let him disparage himself. But he can’t go there, so he plows forward instead.
2. Nice ass
Dean snorts. He has to hand it to his 18 year old self, he had his priorities in order. He takes another swig of his beer and resolutely avoids thinking about asses in black dress pants.
3. Nice eyes
Okay, now that one is just unfair. It’s impossible to think about eyes without thinking about Cas. The entire subject is basically a giant booby trap, waiting to plunge him into any one of the numerous memories he has of Cas’s eyes. It’s not Dean’s fault they’re so bright, anyone would stare in his position. He’s only human! (Although, even that’s debatable at the moment.)
It’s not even so much the eyes themselves, it’s the way Cas looks at him. At first it was disconcerting to have an angel staring at him like he knew every facet of Dean’s soul, but eventually it had become something he expected. Commonplace. Almost nice.
4. Makes me laugh.
Now that he’s thinking about Cas he can’t stop. He remembers taking Cas to the strip club, watching him bring up daddy issues and running out the back door afterward, breathless and laughing so hard his chest hurt. He remembers Cas looking at him with such a guileless pleased expression, waiting for Dean to explain the joke, clearly satisfied with Dean’s amusement. His time with Cas isn’t always a barrel of laughs, but life, the things he has to do… it’s always more fun with Cas than without.
5. Gets along with Sammy
Sure, Cas is pretty much the only living friend they have, outside of Charlie and Jody but Dean thinks it’s safe to say they get along. He snorts when he remembers Cas describing their relationship as “a more profound bond”. He will go to his grave denying the secret thrill that ran through him, the one that still runs through him, that reminds him he is special to an angel. Dean isn’t used to having things of his own. All his life it’s been “Look out for Sammy” and “Take care of Sammy” and that’s never bothered him, the sharing. But having something for himself, someone who puts him first, it’s…nice.
He thinks of the day in the bunker, of raging about trust and being so hurt he surprised himself because he didn’t even think he could feel like that anymore. It’s always been like that with Cas, he’s always been an exception. Stuff that never bothered him with anyone else somehow felt crushing when it came from the angel. He thinks about Sam’s placating “Because it’s Cas.” and how his brother never seems to question how much Cas means to him. Dean doesn’t question it much either, but only because he’s afraid he already knows the answer.
He stops before he gets to the final item on his list.
“Cas?” He croaks loudly, calling up the stairs. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. This cannot be a good plan, but it’s too late to just wave it off and he’s not entirely sure he wants to anyway. Cas doesn’t bother calling back, Dean can hear him moving upstairs and its only a few seconds before Cas makes it to him.
“What is it?” He stops in the doorframe of the kitchen, and there it is again, that head tilt, that ‘cut-straight-through-the-bullshit’ stare that means he’s processing things about Dean on an entirely different level. “Did you find something?”
“No. I mean, yea, maybe… but not anything like you’re thinking. I just…” Dean’s fingers find his hair as he struggles to find the words. The open curiosity in Cas’s expression gradually slips into a concern. His eyes zero in on the letters in Dean’s hand and steps closer to Dean, reaching out in request. Dean gives them over because, what can it really hurt at this point?
He waits while Cas scans the letter, like maybe Cas’ll be able to tell Dean why he called him down. Like maybe Cas can make sense of the swelling feeling in his heart and his sweating palms.
“What is this?” Cas asks, peering up at Dean over the edge of the paper after a moment, blue eyes narrowed into a kittenish squint that Dean pretends doesn’t make him melt inside.
“It’s…me. When I was in high school…” Dean says, even though that doesn’t explain anything. Cas nods and waits for him to continue so Dean does. “They had us write down all these things about our future, and I knew it was total bullshit because hunters don’t get to have the white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog. But they made me do it and they made me write about what I wanted in a…in a partner.” He takes a deep breath and pushes forward. “They mail them out years later and I found it in Bobby’s stuff and I was…”
He can see the last one without looking, the one he tried to erase, burned into his brain now and staring up at Cas from the weathered page. He’s embarrassed that he ever wrote it at all. It seems so silly and needy, and it’s a chick flick moment waiting to happen, but it’s there.
6. Loves me.
Dean wishes Cas would interrupt this train wreck but he doesn’t and it’s out of his mouth before Dean can stop it. “Do you love me?”
Cas looks at him with surprise and Dean can see the gears turning in his head, trying to process what exactly Dean is asking him, what this has to do with the letter, what he should say. Dean thinks his heart stops beating entirely and he suddenly feels nauseous.
“Yes.”
Dean expects it to be hesitant, to match the expression on Cas’s face, but his voice is firm and unquestionable. It’s got that angelic ring to it, like Cas is speaking a truth of the universe, giving Dean insight into the machinations of an almighty. He can feel the moment his heart starts up again, the racing beat of it is actually painful but the nauseous feeling abates a little. Now that it’s out in the open he can’t stop himself from prying. “In what way, Cas? Like a broth-“
“In every way.” It’s that same voice again. No room for doubt. “Why do you ask?”
“I just…” Dean knows he’s blushing and struggles to find the words. “I was reading through these things and I couldn’t get you out of my head. I kept thinking about how you fit all this stuff wrote and I didn’t even know you then. I had no idea you were going to walk into my life and I just, I wanted to know if you fit the last one.”
“You wanted to know if I loved you?” Cas asks again, incredulous.
Dean is so red now his freckles stand out like a beacon but he’s come this far now and his heart won’t let him backtrack anymore. He can’t just keep shoving this under the rug, or making it less than it is because it might be easier. He has no idea how long he has left with Cas. Between the Mark and Cas’s fading grace… “Well, you do! So clearly it’s not totally out of line! I just had to ask.” He exclaims defensively.
“You misunderstand me, Dean. I’m not chastising you. I’m just surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought it was obvious.” Cas replies simply. “We’ve been through much together, you and I. I expected you to know this by now.”
“Well…It’s not that easy. Two people can love each other but... but not want each other in the same way…” Dean tries to explain, a little unsure of how to phrase it.
“You thought I loved you as a brother? As you love Sam?” Cas tries.
Dean can only nod.
“I suspected that was how you felt about me. So I understand the concern." Cas shifts a little closer to Dean, looking worried. "I was…uncertain about the nature of my own feelings until I became human. But since then I have been as clear about my intentions as I thought was wise. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable if you didn’t want our relationship to...progress in that way. ”
“And if I do?” The words are rushed, ripped out of him like he’s got absolutely no control over their exodus. This is it, this is how Dean dies. He finds himself stepping closer to Cas and he’s reminded of that conversation with Jimmy, who described being a vessel as similar to being “chained to a comet”. Dean thinks he knows the feeling. He’s been chained to the comet that is Castiel ever since the angel marched into that barn in Pontiac and it’s been a hell of a ride.
“I…would be amenable to that.” Cas smiles tentatively, blue eyes flicking down to glance at Dean’s mouth.
Dean snorts and brings his hand up to Cas’s cheek, running the edge of his thumb over the dark stubble he finds there. “We’re really going to have to work on your dirty talk.” He smirks and presses his lips to Cas’s chapped ones. Those lips have eluded him for years now, they’ve infuriated him with words he didn’t want to hear, they’ve brought color to his cheeks with sentiments he was scared to believe, but they’ve never crossed this line before. It feels fantastic and long overdue. Cas is a force of nature in all that he does, but he lets Dean take the lead here, which is probably for the best. Even still it’s a little uncoordinated because Dean is just shy of giddy with excitement.
It’s soft and sweet at first but soon Dean is pulling Cas closer to him. He’s got his hands clenched in the front of Cas’s trenchcoat like he means to stop the angel from pulling away (which Cas has no intention of doing anyway, if the hands on Dean’s hips are any indication). Dean swipes his tongue impulsively over Cas’s bottom lip and gives it a gentle suck, drawing out a breathy gasp. Pride thrums through him and he doesn't know why, but it suddenly feels like kissing Cas is the most important thing he’s ever done and he’s determined to do it properly.
His fingers thread through the soft locks of Cas’s hair, gently tugging it between his fingers and this time his reward is a quiet moan as Cas jerks forward to press closer to him. It felt so indescribably right to have Cas in his arms. Dean thinks it might feel even better to have Cas pressed under him, but for now that can wait. His mouth is addictive and even as they kiss Dean can feel Cas mirroring his movements, trying to find what he likes. He’s struck by a pang of affection that melts into the fierce throb of desire when Cas nips at his bottom lip. The kisses bleed into each other, moving from one to another before it even occurs to Dean that maybe he should try to slow this down some. It’s a testament to the force of Dean’s iron will that he manages to pull back for a moment and press his lips to Cas’s neck, his cheek, his forehead. Dean holds him close and breathes a shaky laugh. “You know, Sam is right upstairs.”
Cas snorts. “I am perfectly capable of controlling myself, but if you are uncertain of your ability to do the same then I accept your attempt to use your brother as an excuse.”
Dean laugh is loud and surprises even him. His eyes are warm when he rolls them at Cas, moving to kiss him again. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He growls.
“I’ll just bring you back agai-“
It’s all Cas manages to get out before Dean is kissing the words right out of his mouth.