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Dean had been expecting Heaven.
Instead, when he opened his eyes in Castiel’s djinn world, he was met with suburbia, of all things. The sun shone and birds chirped down on rows of little white houses and perfectly trimmed, perfectly green lawns.
It was so perfectly sunny outside that Dean wished he’d brought sunglasses or something.
It wasn’t hard to find which house was supposed to be Castiel’s; there was a little garden out front and a painted bee on the mailbox. As he stepped closer to the front porch, where a lone rocking chair and a cheerful welcome mat greeted him, he tried to peer through the curtains. Getting Cas alone would be imperative to convincing him that he was just in a dream, and he had to wake up.
But what was this place, anyway? What was here that Cas wanted so badly? It couldn’t just be living in the suburbs– did he have a kid? A wife?
Dean’s stomach felt suddenly queasy at the idea of Cas having a wife. Who would Cas’s dream wife even be? An angel, a demon, a hunter? What would she look like?
There was a loud laugh from somewhere inside. Dean ducked to the side of the window, peering around the corner to see inside the cozy living room. Cas’s back was to the window, but Dean could recognize him easily from the back even when he’d traded in his signature trench coat for a gray t-shirt.
Claire, of all people, was sitting on the couch, laughing along with Cas. Claire– that made sense. Did that make Cas’s wife whoever his wife had been when he was Jimmy Novak? Was that what Cas really wanted: Jimmy Novak’s old life, with a wife and kids and no ghosts or hunting or Winchesters to mess it all up?
Dean hated to take this all away from Cas– if this apple pie life was even what he really wanted– but it was for Cas’s sake. None of this was real, and it would kill Cas if he stayed. So really, Dean was doing him a favor from pulling him away from his wife.
Cas and Claire seemed to be talking to someone out of frame– the wife, probably. He’d have to wait until they left, get Cas on his own, convince him to come back. Cas had to come back.
Another person entered the room– not the wife. It was…Dean.
A healthier, happier looking Dean, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He was actually smiling, laughing along with whatever joke Claire and Cas were. So maybe Cas’s dream world did have space for the Winchesters in it– Dean smiled softly to himself. Of course Cas cared enough to make sure he had his own apple pie life. He probably had a house and his own wife and–
Fake Dean came closer to Cas, put his arm around Cas’s waist, and pressed a kiss to Cas’s lips.
Dean stood frozen, watching it through the window, too stunned to even care that if Fake Dean looked up, he’d make eye contact with Dean and Dean would be busted.
Cas’s hand came up to cup Fake Dean’s cheek, his fingers running through Fake Dean’s hair. Dean had to force himself to look away, that queasy feeling growing in his stomach again. He was…Cas wanted him ? Like this?
He’d known for a long time that he loved Cas. But he’d made his peace that Cas would never love him back, not like that. But this was something else. Dean wasn’t built for this kind of apple pie life, not like Cas so clearly wanted. He’d never get a house and a kid in the suburbs. If Cas wanted this from him, then Cas had fallen in love with someone who wasn’t him.
Or maybe Cas didn’t want him at all, and that was a flaw in the djinn’s thinking. Dean didn’t like that explanation, either.
“Dean?”
He turned at the sound of Cas’s voice. He hadn’t even heard Cas step outside. He tried to speak, but any words were lodged firmly in his throat, along with his frantically beating heart.
“What are you doing out here?” Cas asked. There was a light smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and Dean watched that smile fade away into dread. “You’re…”
“I’m real,” Dean said. “The djinn got you, you’re in…”
Cas scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing one of Dean’s shirts, the AC/DC shirts. Dean didn’t think he could ever look at that shirt again without thinking about this moment, and Cas wearing it while standing on their suburban front porch.
Was it even fair to say theirs if it wasn’t really Dean’s to have?
“Of course this isn’t real,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, he asked, “How much did you see?”
“Enough to know we’re married,” Dean said. “Cas, is this really–”
“Excuse me, Dean, I need to go kill myself.”
When Dean woke up from the dream root, Cas was in their motel room, staring out the window as rain thundered against it. Dean stood up, moving closer to him. He was wearing his trench coat again. Dean wasn’t sure why he found that so surprising.
“Cas.”
“Dean.” Cas turned around, face unreadable. “I just wanted to tell you goodbye before I left. I’m sure Sam will be back soon.”
“No, Cas, wait!” Dean lunged forward, grabbing Cas by the wrist and stopping him. Cas looked down at the contact like burned, and Dean dropped his hand. “Can we talk? Please?”
Cas swallowed, and Dean tracked the movement of it with his eyes, the image of Fake Dean and Cas kissing burned into his vision like a sunspot he couldn’t blink away.
“If that’s really the kind of life you want, then I’m sorry I can’t give it to you. You deserve to be happy, and if that’s what makes you happy–”
“You don’t have to apologize. I don’t expect you to reciprocate.” He gave Dean a small, sad smile. “It was enough that we were friends. Though I suppose you may not feel comfortable with me around anymore–”
“Just stop, okay? Let me talk.”
Cas glanced towards the door and sighed. “If you’re just going to reject me, I’d prefer it if you just let me leave.”
How could Cas ever think that?
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Then what are you going to say?”
Dean swallowed. He’d imagined this hundreds of times, but of course the words were failing him. He was good at kissing and flirting and having sex; he’d never been good at these chick-flick moments and big, sweeping love confessions.
“The truth is that if the djinn had gotten me instead, I would’ve ended up in the same damn dream you did. But I can’t give you that white picket fence life. I tried it with Lisa and Ben, and I failed them. I can’t fail you. Not again.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I love you, Cas. Not like a brother. But if that’s the life you want, I can’t give it to you. I’d just ruin it for you. And you deserve better than that– deserve better than me.”
“Dean.” Despite the gravelly tone, there was an edge of comforting softness in Cas’s voice. He took Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Cas’s fingers were warm and slightly calloused against his, and the contact sent sparks dancing across Dean’s skin. “It wasn’t the white picket fence part I wanted.”
“You say that, but when we found you as Emmanual, you had a wife . Don’t tell me you weren’t happy then.”
“That wasn’t me . And I’m happiest just being with you.” Cas’s other hand came up to cup Dean’s cheek, lightly stroking Dean’s skin with his thumb, and Dean leaned into the touch unconsciously. With a tiny smirk, Cas added, “Contrary to what you seem to believe, you are enough.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I’d enjoy that very much.”
Dean’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned forward, Cas’s breath fanning across his face as their lips finally–
The motel door swung open, and Dean pulled away, glaring daggers at his brother.
“I finished clearing out the djinn nest, we should be good to-” Sam froze in the doorway, eyes tracking the distance– or lack thereof– between Dean and Cas. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze in favor of snagging the keys from the table. “I’m going for a beer run. Don’t do anything on my bed.”
Dean turned back to Cas, smiling. “Oh, we’re totally going to do stuff on his bed.”
“I don’t want to be thinking about your brother when I’m kissing you.”
Dean sat down on his bed, using their interlocked fingers to pull Cas down with him. Their lips met, and Dean could’ve sworn that this was the real djinn dream– Cas’s lips were chapped and pliant against his, tasting faintly of honey, and they felt perfect against Dean’s. When he pulled away, Cas was wearing a gummy smile that made Dean just want to kiss him all over again.
“How was that?” Dean asked, before he could stop himself. “Better than Fake Me?”
“You’re real,” Cas said wryly. “Of course it’s better.”
They were still tangled together when Sam came back to the motel room three hours later, beer bottles clinking in hand.
“What? C’mon, guys, I’m happy for you but I can’t just stay outside all night.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it, Sammy,” Dean replied, planting an exaggerated kiss on Cas’s cheek. “We’re in love.”