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"I think you should call him."
"I think you should mind your own business, Sammy."
Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean thinks he has no fucking right, first of all because he started it, and secondly because Dean is fucking tired and wants to sleep.
"I'm going out, we need some groceries. Do you need anything?"
"Pie. And ice cream. Lots of ice cream. Also, lots of pie."
The thing is, when he got home, Dean decided to calm down, stop acting like a little girl, and start figuring out what he really wants out of life. Too bad Dean Winchester doesn't know shit, and he's managed to fix everything except the things that really matter to him.
So it's July, a month has passed, and he still hasn't heard from Cas.
Well, not that he had to, because he's a free person and can do whatever he wants, okay. Besides, he's back in touch with Benny, Garth, and other old friends, so who needs him? And if he's been huffing and puffing in bed, unable to sleep properly for weeks, Cas isn’t necessarily the reason why.
‘Angel,’ my ass, he finds himself thinking, and he doesn't even regret it.
When Sam gets home, he has one too many things in his hands.
What's that?" Dean asks suspiciously, pointing at the envelope. "Another bill? We paid one three days ago, I'm not going to—"
"Wedding invitations. From Balth and Anna," and that seems to shut him up, which rarely happens.
"Balth’s getting married?" he utters, and Sam frowns because, really, his brother is weird sometimes.
"Yes, with Anna," he repeats. "Are you okay? Didn't you say it yourself that it was clear from afar? Dean, what’s up? You look lost."
"I'm fine. It just seems early, I don't know," Dean mutters, and sees his brother smile sympathetically.
"Is it early for them, or for you?"
And he has that know-it-all expression from a while ago again, which pisses Dean off because, if Sam has something to say, he should just say it.
"I don't have to get married," he states, astonished. Sam sighs.
"I was talking about how you can't miss it, and how Castiel will definitely be invited," he explains, and suddenly Dean understands why he's so anxious.
Fuck.
Dean's been staring at the invitation for at least forty minutes, never taking his eyes off it, so much so that he now knows every detail of that delightful card by heart—yes, he loves it as much as it makes him anxious, and he's silently proud, because Anna deserves someone like Balth; an endless asshole, but still kind.
The thing is, maybe he's not ready to see them again. When he left, he didn't just leave Miami; he left a lot of things unfinished—he left Cas.
And he's not sure Castiel is willing to solve them, because maybe he's already realized what Dean's really like—he realized that someone like him is not worth it because come on, Castiel is too much for anyone, let alone for Dean.
So, maybe the best thing is to call Anna and tell her he can't go. He’s really sorry, but he had an unexpected thing that came up—
"Dean, did you get the invitation? I'm sorry I couldn't let you know sooner, but it was all unexpected, and... I'm getting married, you know? In two weeks. With Balth.”
Well, to be fair, he called her. The fact that he's acting like a child and doesn't have the heart to tell her the truth is another matter entirely.
"You deserve it."
"Oh, I don't—I have no idea. I need a favor, Dean. Could you come over a little early? I need help, I don't want to bother you, but—"
"‘A little’?"
"Uh, the day after tomorrow? Bring Sam, too; he might start to come in handy fixing the light bulbs."
"Sure," Dean sneers; if he's going to suffer, he might as well come too. "And you're not going to get away with this. I want a whole tier of the wedding cake all to myself," he adds, and he's not exactly kidding.
"Dean, thanks. Really, I don't—"
"I can't wait to see you in white, Anna."
The last time Dean fell asleep was Christmas, and then somehow he woke up almost in the summer, so he shouldn't be too surprised to find that two weeks have lasted roughly two days.
Actually, it wasn't even that bad, Dean muses—except when, while choosing the menu, the chef mistook him first for the groom and then for the bride's gay friend. Balthazar muttered something like, "Oh yeah, he is," which isn't far from the truth, apparently.
The worst, however, comes on Friday—two damn days before the wedding—and it seems to have a name.
"Hey, cupcakes. That car outside, parked so shamelessly—is it yours, Dean-o? Oh, but Sammy's there too. It’s my birthday and I forgot it?"
Gabriel and all his brazenness enter the house without even giving Sam time to blush properly, and Dean thinks it's no fun. He’s been living for that, lately.
“Joke’s on you, you came late, and I stole the last parking spot,” Dean scoffs.
"Tell that to the girl who was about to take off your side mirror. We’ve spent half an hour trying to find a fucking spot."
"‘We’?"
"Sorry, I'm late. It took me so long to park."
The voice coming from the hallway is terribly familiar, and Dean feels his palms sweat irrationally.
"There’s a car parked inappropriately out there, it looks like—Dean."
"Cas."
The only times they've eaten this quietly, Dean remembers that it didn't end well. He wonders who'll get up this time: Castiel, Sam, or maybe Dean himself, because he feels Cas's penetrating gaze constantly on him and doesn't know what to do with it, how to protect himself. He doesn't even know if he wants to—because sooner or later, he probably won't have that gaze on him anymore, and Dean is he’s sure he’ll miss it.
"How long did it take you to get here?" Gabriel suddenly asks, and thank God.
"A lot," Sam cracks a smile. "Dean doesn't like the GPS."
Dean can only give him a look that doesn't seem to scare Sam in the slightest.
He's growing up, and I'm getting old.
"Sammy, you should go f—"
Sam laughs. "It's true, though!"
"I just missed an alley!"
"You were going to Wisconsin, Dean."
"Fuck you."
Dean has decided he likes balconies, especially after midnight. He'd like them better if he didn't see his brother being molested by Gabriel down below, but Sam is an adult, so no, that's none of his business.
"Dean."
He tries not to flinch, but. "Shit, Cas." That doesn't seem like a good way to start a conversation.
Cas's gaze is always serious, and this moment is no exception. Irrationally, Dean wishes he could change his expression, even for a moment, to tear some emotion from his eyes.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
Dean snorts, because pouncing on people is serial killer stuff and not exactly pleasant to experience.
Castiel doesn't seem at all bothered by Dean’s lack of effort in finding an answer, and in fact. "You never called me,” he says, quietly.
He's not angry; Cas never is. He says it like a statement, like a certainty, and Dean feels something that goes from shame to embarrassment in a couple of seconds.
"No, I didn't," he whispers.
"Can I know why?" Once again, he's kind, he's good, and he's not treating him badly—and once again, Dean doesn't know what to do, because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve Cas to worry about him, or to ask him what happened after he ignored him for over a month and perhaps even more, if things had gone differently.
"I don't know,” Dean lies. “I'm sorry," he adds, kind of desperately, watching Cas walk away. The last time he did that, Dean had to leave him without knowing when he'd be able to see him again.
"I didn't tell you this for you to feel bad. I'm leaving because it seems obvious to me that you want to be alone."
Dean doesn’t know why, but that seems like an excuse. Cas' first lie. At any other time, Dean might have marked that date on his calendar, but now he can only think that it's not a good sign; Cas has never lied to him. Dean’s losing him, perhaps without ever having truly had him, and all of that is unbearable.
"I didn't mean to…"
There are so many things Dean doesn't want, and he's not sure he can list them all, but before he even has time to think about them, he feels a hand on his shoulder, and then he's alone.
Everything seems to be going downhill. Dean doesn’t remember feeling so nauseous since Christmas five years ago—he had drunk before, during, and after sex, and no, it hadn’t been sexy at all.
Sam makes a point of reminding him of this every single December 25th, and it seems to amuse him immensely. Dean hasn't seen that girl since, and he's not complaining.
"Have you been up all night, Dean-o? It's noon, and lunch isn't already made here, so hurry up."
Dean has every intention of ignoring Gabriel for the rest of his days, partly because he seems happy to interrupt any quiet moment, and also because he puts his hands on his brother.
"I hate babysitting," Gabriel sighs. “I'm going to wake Sam up, don't make me unleash Cas."
There's a little too much wrong with that sentence, so after twenty seconds he's already on his feet, just in time to witness a disturbing version of "Sammy, do you wanna build a snowman?" and when Gabriel closes Sam's door behind himself with a smirk that doesn't bode well, Dean allows himself to bang his head on the table, with a carefully chosen girlish sigh from his personal repertoire.
When he looks up, Balthazar is staring at him. "I wouldn't care about your heart anytime soon, Dean. But I'm getting married tomorrow, and nothing's gone wrong so far, and I'm almost in a good mood, so I'll ask you just once: what's going on?"
"Why the fuck are you getting married?"
He's almost certain he deserves a punch and almost expects it, even though Balthazar seems too… Balthazar to care. "Because that's what makes me happy. I mean, Anna makes me happy, marriage or no marriage. But you know, Dean, for the last few centuries or so, it's been celebrated to demonstrate completeness or whatever the hell it is."
"I didn't mean that, thank you very much," he says, rolling his eyes because Balth is a complete idiot, and why was Dean convinced he could actually talk about certain things with a person who, until two months before, enjoyed leaving banana peels on the floor?
Well, he is getting married, anyway, so if Dean feels like shit, it's perfectly normal.
"Then explain it to me, because I feel like my good nature is quickly wearing thin."
"I don't understand what—"
"I'm sure you can tell Balthy your secrets later, Dean-o, but right now we need your help in the kitchen."
Dean finds himself shoved into a chair by Gabriel, in front of Castiel, who's clearly been awake for a while and is busy chopping up something that looks like rabbit feed—seriously, hamburgers are better.
"Good morning, Dean," Castiel hums, and the only coherent thought Dean Winchester can muster is more or less, oh yeah, say that again, even though he likes to keep it to himself.
"G-good morning. What time exactly did you wake up?"
"Five o'clock. Would you like a carrot?"
"Are you serious?" Dean blurts out.
"Carrots are loaded with fiber, beta-carotene, vitamin C, levulose, dextrose..."
"Thanks, Martha, we wouldn't survive without you."
Castiel tilts his head and puts the knife down, clearly about to ask something, and Dean hopes it's nothing embarrassing, because—
"My name is Castiel, not Julia. That’s also a female name, and therefore not very suitable for me," he clarifies, and no one dares contradict him.
"I think they're just making fun of you, Cas, forget it."
Dean hates it when Sam does that. What's more, he’s now using nicknames without anyone—Dean—allowing him to, and he doesn't know what's making him so irritated.
"Samantha, is that a hickey?"
Oh yes, it is. He can tell perfectly well from the laughter outside the kitchen. And maybe also a little from the fact that Sam has given himself away with a series of actions—like covering it up in no time, blushing like any self-respecting girl, and looking at Gabriel.
"Is there a knife?"
"Excuse me, what?"
"I need a knife," Dean asserts, and Sam looks up in alarm—which isn't right, Dean is not the psychopath in that room.
"Don't look at me like that, I just want to cut the vegetables," he defends himself, somewhat blushing.
"And why would you want to clean the vegetables?" Gabriel asks incredulously, but Cas smiles and hands them to him.
"Oh, now everything is clearer. I need to throw up."
"Shut up, Gabe."
Cas stays quiet all day, and Dean can't help but think he's going to explode sooner or later.
The fact is, he knows what happened; Cas couldn't help but throw it in his face, and he didn't even give him a decent answer, because "I don't know" isn't an answer at all.
Yet maybe that was enough for Cas, or he decided to make it enough because he's Dean Winchester, and that "I don't know" would still be the most detailed explanation he's ever given in his entire life.
"Sammy, you studied law: is it legal for Balth to decide not to have a bachelor party?"
"Yes, Gabe. And by the way, I’m grateful for it. It's too cold to go anywhere."
"But it's July."
"But we have sixty-five degrees," Dean intervenes, and even though he snorts loudly, Gabriel doesn't seem to mind.
"Good." Since the lovebirds are locked in their room, I'm going to do the same," he declares, and Dean has to force himself not to laugh in his face.
"I'm coming," Sam sighs.
"Really?"
Dean has a distinct I-am-your-big-brother-and-I-know-what-happens look that would embarrass anyone—except Cas, because he's Cas—but for once, Sam doesn't seem to care.
"You should talk to Cas, Dean. You know, tell him... well, everything, I guess." Sam's grown up and can now turn things around, and that gives him a pang, even if he doesn't say it.
"I have nothing to say to him, Sam."
Dean is sure Sam is about to say something, but then decides to nod and walk away, leaving him alone with the blanket.
For once, there's something good in Sam's life, and he's not going to ruin it. Gabriel is a total idiot, a five-foot-seven douchebag, but he's decided to look after his brother, in a role he can't replace, otherwise he'd do it without compromise, as he always has. Because nothing comes before Sam.
"You shouldn't worry about Samuel. He's a smart guy, and Gabriel is too."
Castiel is standing against the doorframe and doesn't seem to want to let go. Dean is fine with it, after all; he's almost certain the closeness to Cas isn't all that manageable anymore.
"I know. Before Gabe, he only had one person in his life. I know it's right. I know he's ready. I'm not sure I am," he murmurs, feeling Cas’ insistent gaze on him. Dean can't handle it, so it's a thousand times better to stare at the patchwork quilt.
Then, about two seconds pass, and Castiel is close by, his hip against the seat of the couch and his hand in Dean's hair.
"Stop always thinking about others. For once, think about yourself,” he says, and it’s close to his neck, Dean can feel every single breath, and doesn’t dare to push him away.
In that moment, as the cuts are mending, and Dean can count every lash in Cas's eyes, he doesn't think anything has ever been more right in his life.
"I thought you were angry, you know—for not reaching out to you after you left," he says carefully, because Cas is good, but now and then, he gives that look like he's ready to kill for the cause, and it's completely unexpected.
"I needed to know if you were okay, and Sam's been checking in with me every week, and—what?
"You've been checking in with Sam every week? With Sam, not with me?"
Dean Winchester is a total son of a bitch, and he's always known that for how much as Sam has the gift of puppy eyes, Dean can get anything out of using that I-know-what-you-did-and-I-don't-like-it tone.
Too bad Castiel doesn't seem to give a damn, so nothing happens.
"I needed to know how you were," he repeats, and it's clear he's calling him stupid for not understanding the rest.
"News about me, you ask me, Cas. That's how it works, right? I understand you're shit at relationships, but at least you could figure this out on your own," Dean blurts out, and he's getting angry, and that's not good, not at all.
"I asked Samuel about you because it seemed obvious to me that you didn't want to talk to me, after what happened."
"I don't underst—"
"In Miami, that night on that balcony. I was about to kiss you, Dean."
And that statement really isn't helpful, because it's not as if Dean has thought about anything else since then.
"I know. I know, and—"
"The other night, I would have done it again. For the first time in my life, I... I lost control. I wanted to kiss you so… hard. I could’ve hurt you. Then I thought maybe it wasn't right for you. Which is the same reason I don't talk to my parents, to Michael: it's not right for them. I lost them, but I don't think I could handle losing you. Please forgive me, Dean."
"Did you want to hurt me by kissing me?"
Dean remembers that when they were younger, Sam used to call him stupid at least twenty times per day.
Thinking back, he wasn't entirely wrong.
"I—no, I didn’t mean it like that. I could never hurt you, absolutely," and it's clear that Cas's calm is just a facade, because he never gets a damn joke, and Dean has basically accused him of premeditated murder.
"You know what? Forget it," Dean snorts. "I'll teach you how to understand a joke, one day. Actually, no, you're more… you're fine just the way you are."
"Sometimes you're incomprehensible, Dean," Cas declares, sighing and settling more tightly against him.
"I'm incomprehensible? Look who’s talk—"
"Sleep, Dean."
"What? Like this?" Aren’t you more comfortable in bed?”
"Sleep."
"Okay, okay. I give up. Fuck it."
And if he falls asleep in two minutes, it's not thanks to Cas.
"Do we really need to wake him up? He's so cute."
"It's Dean, Gabe. Wake him up, or we'll get to the wedding when it's finished."
"You're jealous. Dean-o is gorgeous, Sammy, especially when he's sleeping. Not as much as you, obviously. Especially in bed—"
"The worst part is that I'm awake and I can hear you."
It doesn’t shock Gabriel all that much. He just giggles, patting him on the shoulder. “Come on, you’re an adult. It’s not like you don’t have sex. Well, maybe not lately, but still.”
"You're disgusting," Dean reiterates, pointing a finger at his brother because he's the closest, and besides, since when is Sammy old enough for this kind of thing? "You are both disgusting."
"Really nice, Dean-o. A lot of people liked the picture of you and Cas."
"What picture?"
“Hi, Dean.”
At this point, Dean doesn’t even complain about his coronary arteries that sooner or later are going to go out, because Castiel is quiet and just can't stay two fucking inches away from him, and everyone seems to enjoy it. Except Castiel, but he's always serious, that's fine.
“I made you breakfast, it's on the table. Hurry up, or we risk being late for the wedding. And don't make me force you, Dean.”
“Oh, but I'm sure Dean will like that. Belt or whip—"
“Why do you like an idiot like that, Sammy?” Dean throws up his hands in despair and is almost afraid to hear the answer.
"I'm afraid I don't understand what the belt has to do with this, sorry." Castiel is politely confused, but Dean prefers to stuff his mouth with cereal.
"Do you like belts, Dean?" And no, that's too much even for him.
He tries not to choke on his breakfast before protesting. "No! Be careful with the offer, cowboy!"
"That, on the other hand, is a great way to ask you to ride his—"
And thankfully, the thumping of Sam’s chair drowns out the rest, because judging by his face, he didn't say anything nice.
Serves you right to pair with an asshole, Sammy.
Dean has always hated weddings, from the ones he's seen on television to the few he's attended, and now he remembers why.
The problem is all that music, and the lights, and the crying bridesmaids, and God, that's not for him.
"Dean Winchester, right? There's a guy who told me to tell you that—are you crying?"
Dean looks up and meets Charlie, the bride's maid of honor he'd met at the red-haired club a few hours earlier.
"No, I have something in my eye," he murmurs, even though Charlie smiles and looks at him the way people usually look at Sam.
"Yeah, right. Anyway, your boyfriend said he'd wait for you under that tree. Romantic, but watch out for the mosquitoes."
Dean follows Charlie's gaze and catches a glimpse of Castiel smiling at him. That blue tie looks divine on him and—
"Cas isn't my boyfriend," he clarifies, getting up from the step. "He's just a friend."
"For now, dude. I can already picture you two in bed—”
“Okay, thanks.” Dean is hysterical and wonders why he’s surrounded by people who don’t have a sense of modesty. Charlie is a total bitch who should never meet Gabriel—who is grinning, the dick.
He absentmindedly waves to Kevin and Samandriel (why is everyone smiling?) and hopes they'll stop staring because he's not sure he's willing to admit he knows them.
“Hey,” he says, meeting Cas under the tree.
“Hi, Dean.”
“Damn, you gotta stop greeting me like that. We were together until half an hour ago, and—”
“Are you nervous?”
Castiel narrows his eyes, and Dean feels like he's being watched for the first time in his life. He’s almost sure he's blushing because Cas has that bad habit of analyzing him, and Dean doesn't know how to react.
“Maybe I am.” The words come out before he really realizes what he's said, but at that point, screw it, it's over. “That tie. It looks good on you. It matches your eyes.”
"Why are you nervous?"
"It doesn't matter."
And Dean shouldn't feel guilty. He shouldn't, because those are his feelings, not Cas'. And if he wants to keep them to himself, he can, thank you very much.
"Gabriel took a picture of us this morning, and I believe he posted it on every social network available at the moment."
Dean opens his mouth to reiterate his whole idea about Gabriel and how much of an asshole he is, but why keep repeating himself? "You know what? I don't care,” Dean sighs, in the end. “It's with you, no harm done."
"Okay, then. I'm going to congratulate the newlyweds. I wanted to do it earlier, but Gabriel took them for himself."
Castiel isn't angry, and Dean hates it. He hates his way of acting, the fact that he's always calm, that he seems emotionless, and that he hasn't yet yelled at him for his behavior.
"I need you to know something," he says, suddenly. It’s now or never.
He barely notices that he's far away from the reception, that he's alone with Cas, but it doesn't matter, because he's the one who matters, them.
"What you said yesterday—"
"You can forget it, if you want."
"I need you, Cas."
And what he’s just said doesn't make sense, it doesn't because they were talking about ties and weddings, and now Dean is exposing himself like this, and maybe Cas doesn't give a shit about what he has to say, or worse, he might not understand what he's saying, and it would be embarrassing—
"Okay."
"Okay?! Christ, Cas, maybe you don't understand that—"
"You’re in love with me. Probably not half as much as I’m in love with you, but I get the general picture."
Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting, but maybe it’s exactly this: Castiel's gaze is a little brighter, but overall, he's not that different from usual. He still has the same calm look, and Dean's palms are sweating, and now it's even worse because in one fucking sentence, Cas managed to say something he probably won't be able to say in years.
That's not fair.
"If you're expecting a speech, I think you're going to be disappointed. Right now, all I can tell you is... God, Cas, I—"
"I'm here, Dean."
And that's really enough. There are a few inches between them—there were, because now it's just Cas' lips against his, and Dean almost feels like crying. Cas is exasperatingly slow, like he’s memorizing the moment. But then Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat, helpless and hungry, and he responds immediately.
The kiss deepens, and Dean feels Cas's hand slide up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Dean's own hands find Cas's face, his jaw, feeling the slight scratch of stubble under his palms. He tastes like champagne. When Cas presses closer, Dean's back meets the rough bark of the tree behind him.
"Cas—"
"Shut up, Dean."
"But don't—"
"Aren't you too busy for talking?" And oh, Castiel is annoyed. God, that’s hot.
Cas kisses him harder, forcing him to swallow whatever protest Dean was going to make. His hand finds Dean’s hip, just above his belt, and Dean feels Cas’ heartbeat racing where their chests are pressed together.
"I thought you were a man of God," Dean replies, clutching at Cas's jacket.
"I am, indeed. You have doubts?"
"Shoving your tongue in my throat is part of His plan?"
"I can show you my plan for you, Dean."
Dean moans shamelessly against his lips, then Castiel decides to reach new levels of depth, and he can only let it happen, because when he thought of Cas, he never imagined him like this; instead, Cas knows what he’s doing, and a part of Dean screams in jealousy for whoever was clearly there before him.
But Cas is focused on Dean like nothing else exists, like there aren’t tens of people who could see them. Knowing most of the guests, they are probably watching, but Dean can’t bring himself to care for real, because he’s been waiting for ages for Cas to put his hands on him, and he’s definitely not going to stop him any time soon.
Except he has to, because Gabriel is a bad person and Dean hates him.
“Sammy, they’re here.”
“Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Rude, Dean-o. And a hypocrite; at least we don’t fuck in public.”
“We weren’t fucking, what the hell.”
And since that's not embarrassing enough, there's Sam with his I-told-you-so face.
"I'm happy for you, Dean. And for Cas, of course."
"Thanks, Sam," Cas says, solemnly, and Dean doesn't laugh only out of respect for his… well, whatever Cas wants to label the dynamic.
And maybe Cas understands, because he just squeezes his hand tightly, and Dean thinks he's never been better.
"But what are you now, exactly?"
"Mind your fucking business, Gabe."
"Dean and I share a profound bond."
"A profound… what?"
"I'm sure he'll explain to you later how profound it is, Dean."
"Shut up, Sam."