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Bobby must’ve either been blind or straight stupid to not realize it before. Looking at Dean now, it was impossible not to notice the tension between him and that angel of his– the way Dean sought out Cas in every crowded room, the way he stood mere inches away from the angel whenever he could, the way he smiled at Cas when he thought no one was looking.
These days, with everything that was happening with the apocalypse, the Winchester boys staying over at Bobby’s house was becoming an increasingly more frequent occurrence. Not that Bobby was complaining– he enjoyed the company– but he couldn’t help but notice that wherever the Winchesters went– wherever Dean went– Castiel followed, giving Dean the same heart-eyed stare and gummy smile that Dean was giving him.
It just seemed like neither one of them had noticed yet, seeing how Dean was always staring at Castiel like he wanted to kiss him instead of just manning up and doing it.
Bobby hadn’t exactly intended to corner Dean about his relationship with Cas or anything like that. But, well, when Sam went to bed and Cas went off to wherever angels go, Bobby was more than happy to wheel himself into the kitchen where Dean was getting himself another beer.
“So what’s going on between you and the angel?”
Dean almost choked on his beer, grabbing at the kitchen counter for support. Really, Bobby didn’t think it was that surprising of a question to ask.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “I know you’re not that much of an idjit, Dean. You look at him the same way I used to look at Karen.”
Dean set down the beer, rubbing a hand over his face and adopting a wry smile. “You know what? This was a great talk, but I think Sam had the right idea about going to bed.”
He moved to leave the kitchen, but Bobby caught his wrist, stopping him. “I’m not John, you know,” Bobby said.
Dean swallowed, making no move to wrench his hand out of Bobby’s grasp. “What is this about, Bobby?”
“Can we not just talk?”
Bobby dropped Dean’s hand. Dean rolled his eyes, but he returned to his position at the kitchen counter, taking another sip of his opened beer.
“You’re starting to sound like Sam, you know that?”
Bobby shrugged. “Maybe Sam has the right idea sometimes. So, you and the angel, huh?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Dean groused, hiding a smile behind the lip of his bottle. “I mean, he’s…an angel, you know? I don’t even think they feel things like that.”
Bobby was just glad Dean wasn’t denying his own feelings for Castiel. “If any angel is going to develop feelings for a human, it’d be that one. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but he’s not exactly what I pictured angels to be like. Not that I’m complaining, because he’s still the only angel lining up to help us clean up this whole mess.”
“That’s Cas, alright,” Dean said. A comfortable sort of silence fell over the kitchen, and when Dean broke it, it was in a voice that was uncharacteristically quiet. “Do you really think I could do it? I mean, leave the hunting life, get a house in the suburbs, marry him and never look back?"
"Is that even what you really want?" Bobby asked. "You all but said it yourself that you only went back to Lisa and Ben because Sam told you to."
He’d always wanted Sam and Dean to move on from the hunting life, find peace in a peaceful life. But they were damn good hunters, and they didn’t have a “happy life” to get back to. They couldn’t just choose to leave the life the same way John could’ve, or Bobby could.
"You said the same thing, Bobby. You wanted me to get out. And, now what? Because I fell in love with an angel, it's not true anymore?"
"Don’t get bitter with me, Dean,” Bobby said. “I want you to be happy . Sometimes I think you Winchester boys are allergic to that. Sometimes happiness means an apple pie life, and sometimes it means kissing the angel you're in love with and not dying in your 30s. Does he make you happy?”
Dean's resulting smile said it all-- smile and fond and a little sad. "Yeah. Yeah, he does. He saved me, you know? And I don't just mean from Hell. I just mean...he always comes back to me, when I need him. I don't know if I deserve it, but he doesn't seem to care."
“When are you going to tell him?”
Dean swallowed, taking a slow sip of beer. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Part of me never wants to say it.”
Bobby scowled. “You really are allergic to happiness, aren’t you? Boy, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that any angel who keeps coming back to save your sorry asses has to be at least a little in love with you.”
“Yeah, but just because he loves me like a brother doesn’t mean he wants me dreaming about kissing him every night. I mean, what if I tell him, and he leaves?”
“With every time that angel’s come back, you really think one little confession is going to make him stay away? Besides, isn’t it worth the risk, if it means you could have a life with him?”
Dean nodded, staring at Bobby’s shoes rather than his face. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“I usually am, thanks for noticing,” Bobby replied dryly. “Goodnight, kid. And, please, just tell him. The floors around here weren’t built for you to be dancing around each other for this long.”
The comment actually drew a laugh out of Dean, a deep chuckle that echoed around off the walls. “You got it, Bobby.”
"You were wrong, Bobby." Dean's voice quivered a little. Bobby sighed, patting Dean on the arm in a facade of a hug. "If he really loved me-- if we really could've been happy together-- he wouldn't have left me like that."
"He wasn't himself. He was full of those…black goo creatures.”
"Or maybe that was him. The real Cas.”
Maybe Castiel had screwed up by letting all those monsters inside him, but he thought he was doing the right thing. Family meant forgiving each other for dumb screw-ups and mistakes, and after Cas had done for them– after everything Dean felt about him– Cas was family.
"If you really believed that, you wouldn't still have his trenchcoat neatly folded in the back of your trunk."
Dean crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the trunk in question in lieu of meeting Bobby's eyes.
"You never did tell him, did you?" It was hard to not be bitter about it. Dean had happiness right there, the perfect partner handed to him on a silver platter, and he let it go to waste.
"There was never a good time," Dean admitted quietly. "And he kept leaving me. Same way everyone else does."
I'm still here, aren't I? He tried not to grind his teeth too hard. "Did you ever give him a reason to stay?" Dean didn't reply, meaning he knew the answer. Bobby sighed. "Just promise me, Dean, that if Cas ever comes back, that you'll take that trench coat out of your damn trunk and give it to him. At least give him the choice to wear it."
Judging from the tiny smile on Dean's face, he understood. "I promise."
He hated not being able to talk to the Winchester boys, and tell them what idjits they were being all the damn time, but at least he could still see them.
And he could see perfectly clearly that Dean hadn’t followed his advice at all.
Dean and Castiel were sitting mere inches away from each other and the cracked motel table. While Sam explained the tragic lore behind whatever ghost they were hunting, Cas was carefully patching up the gash on Dean’s forearm.
Bobby could see that same familiar awkward tension crackling between Castiel and Dean– the way Dean’s eyes kept flitting down towards Cas’s lips, the way Cas’s feather-light touches brushed over Dean’s arm like he wasn’t sure if he was really allowed to be touching Dean. The way their chairs were turned away from each other even as they leaned into each other’s space.
Nice to see that Dean Winchester was still the same idjit he’d always been. It made Bobby want to scream. And he was a ghost who couldn’t talk, so no one was going to hear him if he did.
“You idjit ,” Bobby said in Dean’s ear. “It was basically my dying friggin’ wish for you to get your head outta your ass and confess to the angel, and you still didn’t do it? Are you really that afraid of rejection? Dean, that angel–”
Sam left the motel room, and Dean used his uninjured hand to reach out and grab Cas’s, tangling their fingers together. He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to Cas’s cheek, which left Cas looking flustered.
Bobby stepped away, unable to keep himself from smiling. He would’ve reached out to pat Dean on the shoulder if his hand wouldn’t’ve gone right through.
“Are you going to kiss me everytime Sam leaves the room?” Cas asked, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“Gotta make up for lost time,” Dean said, with a flirty wink. “I should probably tell him soon though. I’m starting to get a Pavlovian reaction.”
Yeah, Dean Winchester was still an idjit. But at least he was a happier idjit now, Bobby thought.
It wouldn’t be for another few weeks before Dean told Sam– or, more accurately, Sam would tell Dean that he already knew. They’d just finished a hunt and were now piling back into the Impala to head off again. Dean paused with his hand on the driver side door handle, looking up first at Cas, then at Sam.
“Hey, Sam? I have something to tell you.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “This better not be about you and Cas dating.”
Dean scowled. “You knew ?”
“Dean, I’ve known that you’ve been in love with him probably before you did. I’m your brother, I notice things. And before you ask, yeah, I’m okay with it. I’m not Dad.”
Sam pulled open the door, but Dean clicked his tongue, motioning towards the backseat. Sam rolled his eyes again, clamoring into the backseat as Cas took shotgun.
“If we get into a crash because you’re too busy shooting heart-eyes at your boyfriend, I’m haunting you for the rest of your life,” Sam threatened.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam shot back, as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.
But Dean was smiling and Sam was smiling and Bobby couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.
He’d be hoping that Dean would show up to the Roadhouse-in-Heaven with gray hair and laugh lines. But when Dean actually walked in looking old, and happy, it was a pleasant surprise.
“Bobby!” Dean pulled him into a one-armed hug, clapping him on the back. He sat down at the bar beside Bobby, a beer appearing in his hand. When he raised his arm to take a sip, the silver ring on his finger glinted merrily in the bar light.
Bobby motioned towards the ring. “You got out, huh?”
Dean twisted the ring on his finger, smiling down fondly at it the same way Bobby had seen him smiling at a certain angel. “Not exactly. We– I– became you, actually. Helping other Hunters survive, doing research for them, providing a safe place. You would’ve loved the Bunker.”
“And your ring…did that angel boyfriend of yours become your angel husband?”
Dean laughed, his eyes sparkling in the lights of the bar. “Well, officially, Dean Smith married Castiel Novak in the state of Kansas, seeing as how Dean Winchester is legally dead several times over and Cas never existed.” Dean tapped his beer against Bobby’s, his voice soft, but happy. “Thank you, Bobby. I’m not sure it would’ve happened without you.”
Bobby snorted. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever done to make you boys happy. Where’s your angel husband, anyway?”
“He went to go see John, I think.”
Bobby frowned. “You haven’t gone to see John yet? I would’ve figured your old man would’ve been your first stop once you got up here.”
“Yeah, you are.”
Bobby looked down at his beer, trying to hide the sappy smile threatening to overtake his face. Apparently Dean was much less of an idjit than Bobby gave him credit for.