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The steering wheel grows hot under the grasp of his hands and Dean can tell it’s just about time.
If there’s one thing Dean has always been good at, it’s cars. Always appreciating them for the mechanical marvel they are, he knows how to perform pretty advanced maintenance, and he loves to drive.
For a kid so enamoured with cars, NASCAR simultaneously seemed like a pipe dream and the only option.
Guess it’s a good thing he was born a Winchester.
Maybe it was dumb luck or blind fate or just really impressive grooming from his father, but Dean has always felt that, even if he hadn’t grown up surrounded by the smells of oil and burnt rubber, he would still love cars. He tells himself that Sam is the control group. The kid grew up in exactly the same household– albeit four years his junior– but never cared enough about cars so much as to learn how to change a flat.
Dean can change a tire in 29 seconds flat.
Their father still managed to wrangle Sam into the “family business”, sending him to Stanford for law and then offering him a salary he couldn’t refuse to join the Winchester Racing legal team.
John Winchester had all of them exactly where he wanted. He’d created a perfect trickle down of him at the top, their mother, Mary, on his right arm, and Sam and Dean firmly in their places as lawyer & driver.
One big happy family.
Gentlemen, start your engines!
The simultaneous roar of his competition and the crowd snaps Dean from his daze and he starts the car. His crew chief is shouting in his ear about something but he only catches the very end, “... not even listening, the idjit.”
Dean snorts.
“I heard that, son. Are you ready? You may be at the start of the pack but this is Talladega so no funny business, ya hear?!” Bobby’s tone is rough. To anyone else he probably sounds mad, but Dean knows better… he’s worried.
A lot can go wrong at Talladega.
That’s why it’s more than a relief when, after three grueling hours of yellow caution flags and pit stops and close calls, Dean crosses the finish line in first place.
The ride to Victory Lane after a win at Talladega will never get old.
Dean’s crew meets him at the car before practically carrying him over to the Winner’s Circle where he’s greeted by Jo. She gives him a wink before lacing her arm through his and kissing him lightly on the cheek.
This is the part he hates.
The bullshit, the politics, the sponsors, and the persona he’s forced to fit into because it “makes good TV”. He’s pretty sure his winning record and competitive style would make for good enough TV but John insists on the pretty girl and cocky attitude to go along with it.
Thank god he has Jo.
She whispers that she’s proud of him before joining him at the podium. He preps for the inevitable sting of champagne in his eyes before addressing the crowd of VIPs as he’s handed the trophy. Dean rattles off his thanks to his sponsors, the pit crew, and his family.
Another notch in the belt of Winchester Racing.
The reporters give Dean the go ahead to celebrate and he turns towards Jo, picking her up and spinning her around before kissing her gently on the forehead. Someone from the pit crew dumps an entire bottle of champagne over their heads and Jo shoots him a glare telling him he’ll pay for that later.
He responds with a look that he hopes tells her to add it to his “I owe you one” tab.
The rest of the night goes by in the blur and soon he and Jo are left alone outside his trailer. She hugs him tightly and he thanks her once again before he notices a flash of red over her shoulder.
Charlie.
Dean smiles to himself before releasing Jo from his hug and smirking knowingly, “Ya know, Harvell. I think you ought to be going. I just saw someone pick the lock to your trailer…”
Jo rolls her eyes but there’s a sparkle that dances through them so brightly that it’s evident even in the dark of the evening. Dean and Dean alone knows that look is reserved for Charlie despite the show Jo puts on with him every week. His smile starts to falter at the thought of everything Jo is giving up for him– or would be if it weren’t 1978.
Jo brings him back from too deep inside his head, “It’s not picking the lock if she has a key, Winchester.”
Dean throws his head back laughing before pushing Jo away gently and telling her to enjoy her night. Jo doesn’t need to be told twice and practically gallops to her trailer one over from his.
Despite every attempt to quell these thoughts, Dean can’t help but think what his life would be like if he too had someone to run home to. Night after night he’s spent attempting to tamper his thoughts from what could’ve been. His heart aches for home, one built out of love and companionship and on purpose and not by blood alone. One he had once, but lost against his will. Because, unfortunately, he too, is gay in 1970s.
Sighing to himself he starts the slow walk to the bar just outside the confining walls of the track. The security guard at the gate turns away just as Dean approaches and he smiles knowing no one is the wiser to his current whereabouts. Dean does this everytime he wins a race— which, recently, is a lot– the pressure from his dad mounting higher and higher with every trip to Victory Lane.
At least he’s found a hobby to blow off some steam.
Dean snorts to himself at the double entendre just as he walks through the old door of the hole in the wall place he spotted on their trip in. While his dad would probably prefer him out at a downtown bar soaking in the limelight of paparazzi and gossiping women, Dean prefers the quiet, dark refuge of local haunts. Here, he can just be Dean. Dean without the baggage, without the expectations, and without the Winchester name… at least for a few hours.
Saddling up to the bar, he gestures to the bartender and orders a beer before turning his head to the TV sat just behind him. The evening news is recapping the race– this is Talladega afterall– and Dean decides he’d rather look anywhere else than at his Winner’s Circle monologue and his own forced intimacy with Jo. Thankfully that’s when the bartender puts down a drink in front of him. Dean reaches for it expecting a pint but finds what he thinks to be whiskey instead. After a brief pause, he looks towards the bartender for an explanation. Without looking up from the glasses he’s cleaning, the man motions to the opposite end of the bar.
His heart is pounding in his ears when he and the stranger make eye contact and the man smiles softly. He tilts his own glass towards Dean in silent cheers before winking and pointedly turning back towards the TV.
Maybe tonight won’t be so bad.
Dean gets up the nerve to walk over to the guy and sit in the stool directly to the left of him. As he sits— thanks to the close proximity of the barstools— Dean’s whole body flushes at the warmth of someone else’s knee on his.
It’s been a long time since physical contact has been more than Jo’s act or his own hand.
The stranger doesn’t move his knee from where it rests against Dean’s and Dean can’t help but notice the small smirk tugging at the corner of the man’s bearded lips. It’s the knowledge that this man is as aware of Dean as Dean is of him that gives him the courage to speak first, “Uh.. thanks for the whiskey.”
The man doesn’t look at him when he responds, “Nice race.” The bearded smirk grows a bit wider.
“Is that all this is for,” Dean flirts. He’s unsure where the boost of confidence came from but he figures an empty bar in a town he won’t be in tomorrow is as good a place as any to make a move.
The man did buy him a drink after all.
He turns his head to look at Dean, and when their eyes meet, there’s a twinkle dancing in the stranger’s gaze before he speaks, “I sure hope not, cher.”
The man’s accent is thicker now that he’s spoken more than two words, and between that and the pet name, Dean guesses he’s probably from Louisiana. Dean takes the moment of comfortable caution to study his face up close. His eyes are crystal blue, somehow vibrant and airy at the same time. Dean’s brain reminds him they’re the wrong shade of blue but he pushes it down focusing instead of the jaw that’s littered with stubble Dean wouldn’t mind feeling against his neck. He’s broad and seems willing and Dean needs this. The man speaks again and Dean is resolute in his decision, “Names Benny. And you’re Dean Winchester.”
It’s not a question. Of course he knows who Dean is. Dean’s hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t recognize him after at least a short conversation. “Recognize” is probably the wrong term— despite being on national television and newspapers and magazines every week, Dean rarely feels seen at all.
But tonight is not the night for these thoughts.
“Can’t get anything past you I see,” Dean winks, turning the charm that everyone across the US knows him for up to eleven, hoping this man will invite him home.
“Not so far.” Benny’s eyes twinkle again and Dean knows he’s in. They share a few more drinks and enough small talk to rival a politician before Dean finally has enough in him to make a move.
“You got a place?”
Benny smirks before turning his face down towards the empty glass in his hands, “I do, but it’s mighty far from here.”
Dean decides rather impulsively that doesn’t care and he tells Benny as much.
“Oh, cher, I’m flattered but I’m ‘bout four hours out of my way. I had a tow job in town so I’m a lil’ out of m’ normal stomping grounds.”
“Perfect.” And, in a rush of bravery fueled by intense desire to be seen and probably whiskey, Dean finds he means it. He’s been looking for a way out, at least a vacation from his family, since the start of this season and being four hours away without so much as a hint for his father to find him while wrapped up with this man seems like a good start.
He’s aching for it. Not for this man in particular, although he’s not hard to look at, but for a chance at a little bit of freedom and the adrenaline rush he’s sure will accompany his first chance in a while to live out his identity without fear.
A chance to be seen as Dean Winchester, 28 from Lawrence, Kansas who loves burgers, cars, and men. He’d be a fool not to take this opportunity at some semblance of normal— small town, remote location, and no John Winchester in sight.
He’s buzzing with anticipation despite the way Benny is eyeing him warily. Benny continues to hesitate a bit longer before nodding, “Alrigh’. Let’s go then, brother.”
When the man grabs Dean’s hand to pull him from the bar, there’s no electricity or spark like Dean had foolishly hoped, but he can’t seem to quell the feeling in his gut that his life is about to change.
. . .
Blinking into a pointed stream of sunlight, Dean rubs the sleep from his eyes as he attempts to orient himself among foreign sheets.
Where am I?
The internal question seems to set off a spark in Dean’s memory: Talladega, Benny, tow truck, eyes.
Eyes?
Dean blames the hangover he can feel threatening the back of his head and rolls off the unfamiliar bed. A quick shower allows him to freshen up at least a bit before he snatches the key on the bedside table and decides to figure out how he got here.
Exiting his room he finds a short hallway— five doors on either side that Dean can only assume lead to twins of the room he woke up to this morning. At the end furthest from his room he sees a set of stairs and decides the front desk would probably be able to fill him in more than he’s capable of on his own.
The spiraling stairs are steep— not to mention Dean has to duck slightly as he moves into the second twist— but they lead to a comfortable looking lobby. At first glance, it’s empty and Dean almost backtracks when he realizes he didn’t even check the time. Only a second later a man pops up from where he was bent behind the main counter and when he looks up their eyes lock immediately.
Oh. Those eyes.
Cas’s eyes.
Cas’s lips are speaking but Dean feels like he’s underwater. “…your friend , Benny seemed sure you’d be able to square up.” Cas must not recognize him because he keeps talking despite the fact that literally every single memory Dean has suppressed since moving from Kansas to Alabama is flooding his brain.
“He’s not— we aren’t—“ Dean isn’t sure why the first thing he wants to clear up is that he and Benny aren’t an item but in his dazed and confused state it seems to be the only thing his brain is capable of.
“Oh, after last night I simply assumed…” Cas’s cheeks are flushed red and he’s once again looking intently at the top of the desk in front of him.
Dean knows he has to say something that will spark Cas’s memory– and so he can see those eyes once again.
He hopes he’s still the only one who calls him Cas. “Well, Cas, you know what assumptions make…” Dean chides back.
Cas stiffens before looking up again, his eyes searching so intently that it’s killing Dean not to just shout out everything he’s wanted to say for nine years.
“I thought it might be but– it can’t be– I mean it couldn’t be…” he responds, softer this time as realization washes over his face. Dean feels the entire world shift into slow motion as Cas moves from around the desk, stepping into Dean’s space for the first time since they were 18 years old. He’s closer than Dean ever thought he’d be again, but the three feet between them still feels as cavernous as the thousands of miles he grew accustomed to long ago. Blue eyes gingerly search Dean’s face, seemingly tracking every new freckle– curiosity still looking as magnificent on Cas as it always has. Dean reasons that he should feel uncomfortable under this level of scrutiny but he finds Cas’ stare as welcome as it ever was. He aches to close the distance like they allowed themselves to all those years ago. The want is so overwhelming he barely hears it when Cas finally comes to terms with their happenstance reunion, “Dean?”
It’s whispered, not loud enough for anyone outside of the air between them to hear, and it lights Dean’s heart on fire. He smiles, brighter than he’s smiled in years— probably since the last time he saw Cas. “Heya, Cas.”
Before he knows it, tears are streaming down both of their faces and they’re hugging– practically hanging on for dear life. For the longest time, they were each other’s only lifelines. Secrets shared among two best friends turned into heated nights under the stars and stolen glances in the daylight.
Dean Winchester had loved Castiel Novak with everything he had.
And Cas had loved him back.
They always knew there was an expiration to their time together, their confessions kept from one another until there was only a summer left. The draft was coming and they knew the possibility of being placed together was slim. Their hopes were all but destroyed once Dean found out his father had forged health documents to get him out of it completely.
That summer was spent like it was the last one they’d ever lived.
For Dean, it might as well have been.
War probably wasn’t any better.
It didn’t take long for life to sweep them up and force their efforts to keep in touch to the side— war and NASCAR training aside. Even still, Dean thought of Cas almost everyday— the man effectively imprinting himself in the little things that littered Dean’s life even nine years later. Whenever he’d thought of Cas, he’d pictured him happy.
He hopes now he can know for sure.
Cas breaks the hug first but the hesitation to separate is almost tangible so Dean keeps his hands on Cas’s shoulders hoping the prolonged contact is welcome. “Cas.” He isn’t sure why he says it, the name he begged himself to forget slipping off his lips easier than his own. Cas smiles at that, something soft and shy— it reminds Dean of the night they first became them.
“I never thought I’d see you again—“
“I’d hoped to see you again—“
They speak at the same time, Cas’ endless pessimism drowned out by Dean’s continued hope that driving Cas to the train nine years ago wouldn’t be the last time he saw the man he loved— loves.
Is he allowed to love him anymore? The thought comes in without permission. The man standing in front of him has lived nine years of life without Dean. Despite every intention that they'd grow up together, life had other plans and Cas might be a distant stranger. Dean doesn’t know anything about Cas’ life now— the thought causing his eyes to flick involuntarily to Cas’ bare left hand— but he knows Cas. He hopes he hasn’t changed a bit, their last promise ringing through his head like a gong.
“Don’t ever change, Cas.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
With that he hopped on a train and the rest is painful history Dean mended with one night stands and reckless driving and ultimately professional driving where he really didn’t care whether he lived or died.
Bobby eventually talked him out of that behavior, but Dean never forgave his dad for carving a path that caused Dean to divert so heavily from where he wanted to be— who he wanted to be with.
But now he’s standing here– right in front of him for the first time in years – he doesn’t intend to fuck this up again.
They chuckle awkwardly at their overlapping statements. It’s subtle, but the backhanded confession that Cas had thought about him since that day at the train station is what gives Dean the confidence to speak first. “Cas… I’ve… I never should’ve let you leave. I never should’ve left… if I could go back I–”
Cas waves him off, “Dean, it’s done. A lot of it was out of your control… out of our control. I just can’t get over the fact that you’re here in my B&B on a random Monday.” Dean smiles at the thought of Cas running a B&B in a small town. It’s not where he would’ve guessed his friend ended up, but it feels righter than rain. “When Benny dragged in some drunk,” Cas laughs at his admission, bringing his hand up to his neck in a move that is so familiar it aches in Dean’s bones, “I thought I’d have to apologize on his behalf and call the poor fucker a cab.” Somewhere along the way Cas moved closer into his space but refrained from looking directly in Dean’s eyes. He looks up to punctuate his statement, “I can still call a cab if that’s what you want.”
His friend’s voice is laced with hesitation but Dean also detects a hint of hope and it’s that small spark that fuels his answer, “I think I’d like to stay awhile…” then his own hesitation creeps in, “If, uh… if that’s alright.”
Cas beams and Dean is pretty sure he’d stay forever if Cas asked.
Even if he doesn’t ask.
“Well, I happen to know the owner so I’m sure I could put in a good word.” It’s playful and reminiscent and Dean can’t stop himself from crowding closer to his long lost love. He tentatively places his hands on Cas’s waist, testing the waters and making sure he’s picking up exactly what Cas is laying down. Cas leans into the touch, moving closer to Dean despite there barely being room to do so. Their noses are brushing and Dean’s about to lean in when Cas speaks so softly, Dean isn’t even sure he actually heard it, “I missed you.”
The dam breaks, the two of them colliding together in a kiss that threatens to make up for lost time. It’s been years but they slot together like missing puzzle pieces and Dean’s heart is practically beating out of his chest. They break apart, panting into one another’s recycled air. Dean rubs his thumb over Cas’s cheek, gawking at the content smile on his friend’s face. It’s so familiar, just a few more wrinkles added to the mix, and Dean curses himself for ever letting this go.
“You’re thinking too loudly, Dean.” Cas grumbles into Dean’s neck where he’s made it his mission to kiss every inch.
“Just kicking myself for wasting so much time without this, sweetheart.” Dean whispers it, the confession feeling like a weight off his chest but monumental all the same. Cas’s old pet name rolls off his tongue like it hasn’t been years since Dean used it.
Cas leans back a bit, his face coming into focus with the increased distance between them, but his hands still clutch desperately into Dean’s shirt– like he’s worried if he let’s go he’ll wake up from what must be a dream.
Dean knows the feeling.
With a head tilt that’s always brought Dean to his knees (sometimes literally– he’s only human) Cas continues, “Well, then let’s not waste anymore.” He takes Dean’s hand, leading him behind the front desk to a small set of steps that must lead to Cas’s permanent residence and Dean feels like every single one of his nerves is on fire. Despite never stepping foot in Cas’s apartment, it feels like coming home.
Probably because home was never a building… home was always Cas.
Dean lays in bed later that night, sated and happier than he’s been in years. He knows the morning brings new challenges– including a shit storm from his father– but he can’t find it in himself to care. No matter what daylight brings, he knows Cas will be there. They’ll need time to learn one another again, to realign on life, and to make plans that can finally be theirs. It won’t be easy… marriage and children and public outings so out of reach for them it’s painful, but as Dean looks over to the sleeping man beside him, he figures he’d rather fight a thousand battles by Cas’s side than live another day without him.
. . .
Years Later
A family runs soaking wet from the ocean, their nice clothes probably ruined, but the smiles on their faces proving it was worth it. The young photographer they’re acting for is laughing, too, their encouragement interrupted by the repetitive click of the camera.
They wander closer to the family, Cas leading Dean by the hand, and wait patiently for a break in the photo session before approaching fully. Dean nods, urging Cas to speak up, “Excuse me… I, uh…” The family and photographer look up towards Cas’s deep voice, curiosity etched across their faces. “Are they yours?” Dean smiles, it’s not the question Cas rehearsed but it does the trick.
The two men look toward where Cas nods, smiling brightly at the children playing in the serf, before the taller of the two answers, “Yes, they are. We’re on vacation and celebrating their official adoption.” The other man wraps his arm around his partner’s waist and Dean squeezes Cas’s hand hoping it encourages him to continue.
“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” Cas looks towards Dean with a soft smile before turning back, “We, uh, we spent many years hiding and just wanted to thank you for being brave enough to do this… and to raise your children to be brave as well.”
The men looked shocked, and if he’s not mistaken, Dean notes the hint of their eyes going misty. They simply nod in understanding before Dean jumps in, “We’re finally getting married tomorrow– now that it’s legal and all. It seems silly at our age, but I swore I’d make an honest man out of him one day.” Dean winks and the couple chuckles while Cas rolls his eyes.
The photographer jumps in then, offering to take their photo for them and positioning them with the water behind them while the other couple looks on. Cas is sure he ruins the photo when he looks at Dean as the shutter clicks but the photographer shows them the back of the camera, and all Dean sees is the love of his life looking at him like he hung the moon. Dean’s prouder of that moment than he ever was in Victory Lane.
The next day in a long line of people– old and young and everything in between– they make official what they’ve known since they were eighteen years old. The photo the young photographer took on the beach ends up at the bottom corner of a People magazine the following week; it’s paired with a short article about Former NASCAR Superstar Dean Winchester and the monumental news that the “friend” who accompanied him to every race was actually the love of his life. They have a good laugh over it before hanging it up in the lobby of their B&B, where they reconnected all those years ago.