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“Cas-”
“I don’t understand.”
“Cas-”
“I really am adamant about this, Sam. I truly do not see a problem with it.”
“Well, there isn’t a problem with it, exactly, but-”
“Then why should I hide it?”
They had been at it for nearly an hour. Castiel was growing tired of the debate, frankly. There were certainly human customs he was yet to grow accustomed to, but in this regard, he was assured he understood far more than Sam did. Sam, however, seemed exasperated in an almost pitying way as he ran the same argument into the ground over and over. “Cas, I’m serious. You cannot tell him. It’s just going to create more problems than it’s worth.”
“But-”
Sam’s temper finally seemed to get the best of him as he snapped, “No! Just trust me, Cas, please, and don’t tell Dean a damn thing. I promise you it won’t end up anywhere you wanna go, and you’ll just be sitting there wishing you listened to me! God, dude, give it a rest!”
Sam’s anger seemed to have been spent on his little outburst as he sighed and ran a hand over his face, but Castiel’s was finally sparked. “Listen, I know you think I don’t ‘understand’ social ‘norms’, but I assure you I understand this one. My father created love and connection for humankind, so how could it possibly be a mistake to share it with Dean?”
The pity overtook Sam’s face as he let out yet another deep sigh. “He doesn’t feel the same way, Cas.”
“Dean loves me, Sam-”
“As a brother. As family. Trust me, dude, I’ve watched him pick up enough chicks to understand that the equipment you’re working with isn’t what he’s looking for.”
Castiel’s usual frown deepened. “But God created love to be more important than things like that, how could one’s…one’s genitals influence love? How could that possibly matter?”
“It may not matter to you, Cas, but I promise it matters to Dean. He’s a douchebag in that way. And maybe he isn’t- I don’t know, he might not have a problem with dudes being into dudes, maybe, but he sure as hell won’t be comfortable with a dude being into him. Just…I know it sucks. But this is one of those deeply human experiences that hurts more than it helps you grow, and you just gotta suck it up and keep it down.” Sam’s expression was tight and unyielding, but Castiel could see the sympathy in his eyes, clear as day. While he was loath to admit it, Castiel had to recognize the wisdom in his words.
“I won’t tell him, Sam.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
-------
Every time Dean gets out from underneath Baby nowadays is harder than the last. While his face isn’t showing his age quite yet- and thank God for that- his knees crackle like they belong to someone a decade senior every time he forces them to pick him off the ground. All the times he’s been slammed into a wall or the ground probably aren’t helping him there. Hell, they’ll probably have to find a doc sufficiently sketchy enough to accept their fraudulent insurance for a knee replacement sooner or later, unless Cas decides to work his mojo and whammy up a set of new hinges for him.
As if he had heard his thoughts, Cas steps into the garage almost tentatively, which is unusual even for such an unusual guy. “You alright there, Cas? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”
Cas frowns. “There are no spirits here. I simply wished to say hello.”
“Well, howdy partner,” Dean snorts as he wipes the residual oil from his hands with some rag from the corner. Rag, or maybe Sammy’s shirt he couldn’t find yesterday and got all pissy about. Whoops. “Surprised you didn’t just pop in like usual, you practicing your doorknob skills or something?”
“I know how to use a doorknob, Dean.”
Yeah, the angel is definitely in some kind of funk. Dean debates taking it easy, but decides to egg him on after about a half-second’s deliberation. “New skill unlocked, huh? You learn more and more every day, sunshine, maybe tomorrow you’ll be working the toaster!” Cas glares for a moment, then disappears with a whoosh of his wings. “Or maybe not,” Dean sighs, tossing down the rag/shirt and making his way back to the kitchen.
Cas has certainly been acting odd lately, but not in a bad way. On more than one occasion, Dean has caught him staring- which isn’t unusual, of course, but the frequency is. They have more or less managed to nip that habit in the bud, but for whatever reason, it seems to ceased its dormancy. Not that Dean minds, of course; it’s never really been all that unwelcome, just odd.
And the little gestures, too. Those are new. The coffee always seems to be finished brewing right when he wants a cup, his clothes will find their way into the dryer when he’s forgotten to move them, he’ll wake up in his favorite armchair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Just small things, but Dean knows Sam wouldn’t do them, so it has to be Cas. Again- unusual, not unwelcome.
So this little funk is a little out of character for Cas, sure, but everybody wakes up on the wrong side of the bed sometimes. (Can you wake up on the wrong side of the bed if you don’t sleep? Dean cans the question to bug Cas with later.) Surely the little gestures will continue right along with the staring, and everything else will settle back to normal. It always manages to with them, despite all odds.
Dean isn’t sure where Cas decided to flit off to this time, but the angel doesn’t resurface until dinner that night. Although none of them really grew up with the whole “family dinner” concept- unless arguing over french fries in the back seat of the Impala with Sam counts- having Jack around means they’re giving it a try. It also means that Dean has to put up with Sam’s insistence on vegetables being part of every meal, although he does still bitch about it every chance he gets. Sure, Jack is technically a toddler, but he doesn’t actually need to eat his fruits and veggies.
The habit of shared dinners also means that the four of them have a habit of ignoring the day’s transgressions and sitting down at a table together, which was a rough adjusting period for everyone, given their shared penchant for running off when they get pissed. Castiel, in particular, has a hard time popping back up around the time the kitchen timer goes off, but after enough puppy eyes from Jack and disappointed sighs from Sam, he’s managed to get his act together. Dean would like to say he doesn’t care either way, but it’s definitely a relief to know that even if he says some dumb shit in the morning, he can still count on seeing Cas around six in the evening.
Tonight is Dean’s turn to cook, which means cleaning the grime off his hands with something more than a shirt. It’s as he’s scrubbing them in the kitchen that he hears the familiar whoosh behind him, and he smiles to himself before turning around to greet the angel who is, without a doubt, uncomfortably close behind him.
Except that he isn’t, this time. Apparently, Cas’s bad mood has lingered, as he is a fully acceptable distance away- which is almost unacceptable given the status quo. While he wears his trenchcoat like usual, the almost anxious little frown he wears with it is entirely new and entirely puzzling.
“Hey, Cas, somebody spit in your Wheaties this morning?” He aims for casual, although he feels far from it for some reason. They all have bad days, sure, but Dean can read Cas well enough (despite his general lack of emotional tells) to know that whatever this is, it’s deeper than some little annoyance.
Cas only frowns deeper at his question, though. “I didn’t eat cereal for breakfast today, I had one of those breakfast sandwiches from the freezer ais-”
“Metaphor, Cas. What the hell’s goin’ on with you today? You’re acting weird.”
He just looks at Dean for a moment before smoothing his features back to their usual ice-cold neutral state. “There’s no problem. I simply didn’t like the joke you made earlier. I haven’t pulled off a doorknob in a very long time. Do you need help preparing dinner?”
Dean blinks at the conversational whiplash and clear lie, but rolls with it. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands. Gotta wash the pan from lunch first, though, wanna dry?”
And so they’re back to normal. Or, Dean-and-Cas normal, anyhow. Sure, Dean catches a few long stares sent his way as Cas chops onions, but he lets it be. Staring is kind of the dude’s MO, after all, and it’s almost comforting given their little interaction earlier. They work in silence, other than Dean giving instructions on how Cas can help with the homemade spaghetti sauce as the water boils. Well, somewhat homemade. It may or may not just be canned sauce with some extra vegetables thrown in to please Sam. It gets the job done, in any case, and tastes damn good too.
By the time the pasta is nearly done cooking, the goliath himself makes his way into the kitchen and nods approvingly at the saucepan. “Don’t gloat, Sammy, I haven’t hopped on the rabbit food train quite yet.”
“Sure, sure. The spinach just told me otherwise, though.” He shoots over a smirk, which Dean responds to with a glare.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Cas doesn’t say anything to the exchange, used to the bickering by now, but he does look fondly between the two of them. That fond look lingers on Dean for a beat too long before he shutters his expression again, looks at Sam, and mutters, “Bathroom,” before hurrying away. Sam watches him go with an almost wry expression.
“He does know that was about the worst excuse he could’ve given, right?” Dean asks with a chuckle, “Pretty sure he doesn’t need to spring any leaks nowadays.”
“Yeah, sure. Might wanna take that pot off the stove, Mr. Al Dente. I’ll go set the table.” Dean curses and hurries back to the forgotten noodles before they start migrating to mushy territory.
Cas ends up reemerging as his plate is being served, and Dean hands it off to him as he enters the kitchen. “Here you go, super pooper. Since I guess you’re doing more than looking in the mirror when you go to the bathroom, now, might as well fill up with something to come out the other end, huh?” It’s crass, but Dean gets the narrowed eyes and huffed breath he was hoping for out of it. Despite being a brick wall half the time, Cas is surprisingly easy to get a rise out of. He puts together his own plate and joins the rest of them at the table.
Per usual, Jack is babbling away. He went to the library today, and is regaling an amused Sam about the dog he encountered there. “And the librarian didn’t even care! I have seen service animals around, but not one time in the library! She was a golden retriever, and she was 6 years old, and she didn’t even bark once. I asked the owner if I could pet her, but she said no.”
“That’s usually the case with service animals, don’t take it personally,” Cas says soothingly in his gravelly voice, “I’m sure the dog would have very much enjoyed it if you pet her.”
Dean can’t help but smile at that. Cas has always been the best with Jack- and even if they had a bit of a rocky start, Dean really does like the kid. What he likes more, though, is watching Cas interact with him like this, acting like the father he is for all intents and purposes. “Alright, kids, are we saying grace or are we ready to dig in?”
“Grace!” Jack pipes up cheerfully before twirling an asinine amount of spaghetti onto his fork. Sam scoffs at him for a moment, and the rest of them follow suit- albeit with smaller bites.
Dinner is a quiet affair, and Dean lets his mind drift to some show he’s been watching with Cas as he eats. They found it channel surfing, and are both hooked despite the fact that it’s only on at 8 on weekdays. Turns out that even when ghost hunting is literally in your job description, shitty fake ghost hunting shows can still be a good watch. Once everyone has finished, Sam and Jack get up to clear the table and start washing up (perks of cooking, no clean-up duty).
“We on for Spector Seekers, or what?”
Cas opens his mouth to respond immediately, but looks furtively towards the kitchen as he seemingly reconsiders whatever he was about to say. “Perhaps you can fill me in on tonight’s episode another time. I’m not quite in the mood to watch a show tonight.” And with that, he pushes away from the table and skulks in the general direction of his room, which he is unlikely to leave for the rest of the night if the past is any indication.
Yeah, there is definitely something up.
----------------
` The next week brings a full moon, and a string of nighttime killings along with it. Sam and Dean take the case alone, per usual, but have a surprisingly difficult time tracking down the perp. While Dean is used to being surprised by sniffing out an unexpected monster, it isn’t often that they encounter a werewolf that really, truly can hide themselves without getting locked up when they turn. It’s exhausting, to say the least, and both Sam and Dean don’t like the idea that they might not find their mark before the lunar cycle makes them lose their chance. The worries end up being unfounded, however, as their mark ends up finding them.
“I’m just saying, Dean, do we really need to take it every time? You’ve racked up about three-quarters of its lifetime mileage since taking it from Dad-”
“First off, Sammy, Baby is a she, not an it,” Dean glares over at Sam as they continue walking the alley back to the car, looking over to see his brother raise his eyebrows and lift his arms in universal sign for surrender. Or in this case, the universal sign for ‘you’re full of horseshit, Dean, but I don’t particularly feel like fighting you right now’. Dean rolls his eyes and continues, “I know you’re a little mechanically challenged, but when you take care of a car like I take care of Baby, mileage is just a number on the dash. She’ll be running until she hits half a million miles, I’m telling you.”
“Sure, Dean. Whatever you say.”
Dean huffs and pushes past Sam to walk ahead, not actually irritated but mildly ticked off by the snort of laughter Sammy oh so elegantly lets out. “I’m gonna go start her then, maybe rack up a few more miles on her before I let your sorry ass back in the-”
“Dean!”
Dean turns in an instant, suddenly in combat mode as he watches Sam get thrown against the wall of one of the buildings they’re walking between. His gun is up in an instant as he shoots off a few silver bullets, but this wolf is apparently a dodgeball champ as he evades every one, continuing to stalk towards Sam, who wheezes on the ground. Dean rushes forward again, silver knife in hand, and watches as the werewolf turns on him slowly.
“Hey, Kujo, cut the theatrics and come fight like a-”
Pain erupts across Dean’s chest. While the wolf had seemed content to play the slow stalker thusfar, he apparently remembered he has super speed and darts forward, clawing through the entire front of Dean’s body in one clean sweep. Dean tries to lift the gun again, fight through it, but he feels himself fall to his knees as his vision blurs.
Shit.
Dean looks up as Sammy stops playing dead over by the wall, letting off round after round while the wolf howls. The whole world seems to sway as he slumps backwards onto a dumpster, feeling very far away from everything except the burning pain in his chest. Through the adrenaline he remembers he has to breathe, has to try to stand, has to help Sammy, but all those tasks seem harder and harder to do with every second. Each breath is a struggle, and soon he can’t even focus on the battle in front of him anymore, although he can hear the yells and the gunfire. The pain is all there is, and the panic sets in quickly as he feels his lungs allow less and less air in with every breath.
“Sammy…” he wheezes out, but the sounds of struggle are still dimly there, and he receives no answer.
“Cas…” he wheezes again, breath catching as black dots fill his vision, and he finally allows himself to stop fighting it and let unconsciousness relieve him of the indescribable, inescapable pain.
----------------
Dean blinks awake slowly, looking up to see intent blue eyes way too close to his. He starts, then curses as he runs a hand across his forehead. “Jesus, Cas, you’re actually gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“You were very injured, Dean,” Cas responds solemnly, not moving or acknowledging Dean’s little comment. “I’m very glad you prayed to me; I almost didn’t get there in time.”
“You always get there in time, Cas. Thanks for the assist, though, as much as I would’ve wanted to get got by some random wolf, of all things.”
Cas simply looks at him, but Dean thinks he sees some sort of brightness enter his eyes that wasn’t there before. Huh. While he usually would’ve continued the light banter at this point, something about that brightness makes Dean dip into his meager store of sincerity. “Seriously, Cas, thank you. I really don’t know what we would do without you. Sammy okay?”
Cas genuinely smiles at that, and Dean is helpless not to smile back. “Sam is fine. I believe he is teaching Jack how to play Mario Kart, at the moment, if you are feeling up to-”
“Oh hell, that kid is going down!”
Life in the bunker moves on. They mostly just consult, nowadays. It’s been a while since Dean got hurt like that, and he figures that everyone else in their unconventional little family is just as apprehensive as he is about returning to field work. Truth is, they just aren’t as young as they used to be. While having an angel on standby is a luxury that makes everything a hundred times easier, Dean knows that Cas hates to see them hurt, no matter how many times he’s seen it before. And while he’s confident that Cas would heal him in a heartbeat, there’s something about that look on his face that he gets that makes Dean want to avoid the angelic assists.
Plus, he’s capable of healing on his own. Most of the time. Not as well as when he was young and thought he was invincible, sure, but a cracked rib or some road burn isn’t the worst thing in the world, all things considered. They manage.
Although it was nice to see the look on Cas’s face when Dean told him he’d be staying out of the game for a while.
Cas continues to attach himself like a sticker to Dean, presumably thinking he’s being discreet. He’s there when Dean cooks dinner, always offering awkwardly to assist in some way. He’s there when Dean is in the garage, silently observing from the doorway as Dean maintains Baby or tinkers around with one of the other vehicles. He’s sitting in the library pretending to read a book as Dean helps another hunter research, he’s looking intently at Dean instead of whatever show they’re watching, he’s watching Dean from the backseat through the rearview mirror whenever they all go out to run errands.
Dean really doesn’t know what to make of it. He knows Cas likes him, maybe not more than he likes Jack, but perhaps more than he likes anyone else. And he likes Cas, too, when he can get past the dude’s weird mannerisms. They get along easily, never really having to think about it too hard. Sure, they’ve had their fair share of struggles over the years, but it’s been over a decade of knowing the angel and Dean still isn’t sick of him. He prefers having him around, even.
It’s just…
The look on Cas’s face, sometimes. Dean knows what it is to be wanted; he knows he’s an attractive man, and he’s charmed the panties off of plenty of women who weren’t shy to admit they liked what they saw. He’s seen hooded eyes locked on him across a bar, has been flirted with and flirted back shamelessly and easily for years. That’s nothing, that’s easy, and when it comes down to it, recognizing attraction is just another skill Dean has in his piggybank. It’s a science, really, and every woman is just like a different model of car that’s easy enough to figure out once you get under the hood.
Cas, though.
Dean doesn’t really know what to make of it. The angel has never exactly been one to follow conventional human social norms, but he’s spent enough time around humans to develop a fairly typical presentation of emotions. But he’s new to those emotions, still, even after over ten years bumming around with the Winchesters, so he’s either laughably easy to read or a stone wall. And attraction is…
It’s much easier to just pretend it isn’t there. If there is anything there. It’s just a residual cling after seeing Dean so hurt after the wolf case, that’s all. Cas will ease off after a little while, and they’ll get back to their normal routine of everyone going their separate ways until family dinner at six in the evening on the dot.
Although, in the meantime, Dean supposes it isn’t too terrible to have Cas around a little more.
-------
“...and then I told her I could do it and I grabbed it all the way from the top shelf for her, and she was so grateful! I asked her if I could help with anything else but she said she couldn’t…”
Dean lets the familiar noise of Jack babbling about today’s good deed wash over him as he takes another bite of his burger. For once, Sam has blessed off on greasy diner fare for dinner, and he damn well is going to enjoy it while he can. Back when they were on the road all the time, quick meals like this lost their luster and even got old, but now that he’s old, they’re rare and enjoyed immensely. Even by the Sasquatch himself, although he’s loath to admit it. He lets out a satisfied moan as Jack continues talking, one loud enough to be heard over the kid’s drone.
“You want us to leave you two alone, Dean?” Sam says, amused, as Jack giggles at the statement. Inexplicably, Dean feels his eyes shift to Cas from across the booth, who’s watching him intently with a little smile on his face. Dean stutters a bit at the intensity of the simple expression, holding a hand over his mouth as he chews and unsuccessfully attempts to scrounge up a witty comeback.
“I, uh-” Dean coughs a bit, turning his gaze back to Sam, words failing him as he keeps darting his eyes back to Cas, “It’s, uh, this is a good spot. We should come here more often.”
Sam just gives him a weird look, turning to Jack again. “What do you think about that? I do like their sweet potato fries, but I feel like they dump extra grease on the burgers just for the hell of it…”
Dean can’t focus on it. God knows why, but his eyes just lock right back on Castiel, sitting serenely in front of him with a glass of water and that content little smile. And he just…looks at him. Can’t help it, really. The angel isn’t even saying a word, but he looks happy, and man, does happy look good on him. Dean has never really been one for eye contact, would rather be stripping a gun or shooting pool while having a conversation, but holding Cas’s gaze is- well, it just isn’t all that difficult. He remembers himself quickly, though, clearing his throat as he picks up the burger again and takes a massive bite. Ketchup runs down his chin as he chews, and he looks over to Sam again with a shit-eating grin on his messy face.
“Ha ha, Dean. Would it kill you to learn some table manners? I mean, seriously, you’re getting it on the-hey!” The bitching is swiftly cut off by Dean running a hand across his face and attempting to smear the goop on Sammy’s shirt. “You’re such a child, Dean, we’re at a restaurant, can’t you for once-”
Yeah, it’s childish, but then Jack starts laughing at the antics, and Cas’s small smile becomes a big one, and Dean can’t help but feel like this is right where he belongs, this moment right here. He gives it up as Sam starts to laugh, too, and settles back into his seat instead of reaching across the table again to keep messing with his brother. And maybe he looks at Cas again, and sees the brightness in those big blue eyes, and maybe that feels like belonging, too. And if those eyes make him grin bigger than anything else that night, sue him. And if he would do anything to make Cas laugh as hard as Sam and Jack are laughing, if he would pull all the childish stunts in the book just to see him as happy as he is right now, is that really a big deal?
-------
It’s impossible to realistically imagine what life in your forties will look like when you’re in your twenties. Sure, you can think about big picture milestones or general goals to have accomplished by that point, but everything is so imminent when you’re young. And when you’re spending your life on the hunt, knowing that every single day could be your last? Forget about it. At twenty, Dean never imagined he’d make it to thirty, much less forty. Kids his age were at least abstractly thinking about what they wanted to do with their lives, how they wanted to set up their futures, but Dean couldn’t even do that. He knew that he would die long before he could establish some kind of life for himself, and he had made peace with that inevitability. Just had to keep securing his next meal, his next motel, and his next fuck in the meantime.
But even though he didn’t expect to make it to some kind of apple-pie-and-picket-fence future, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander from time to time. It was a nice thought, when he was bellied up to some bar or watching some big nasty burn. He knew it would never come, but it was comforting to imagine a future where he wasn’t on the road. He couldn’t allow himself to expect it or even plan for it in any kind of way, but on those lonely nights waiting for dad to call him back as he nursed a bottle of Jack, he thought about having a home. Roots, someplace and someone to call his own. A couple of rugrats, a garage for Baby to sleep in, a wife to kiss goodnight.
It was nice to imagine. To dream. He was usually pretty drunk when he thought like that, though, so the picture in his head was fuzzy around the edges. Was the house in Kansas, or is that a cactus in the front yard? Was he still hunting, or elbows deep in the cars at the shop? Was Sammy living in town with them, or was he still at Stanford?
Was it a wife that he kissed goodnight, or a husband?
It’s not like Dean doesn’t know he swings both ways. He just prefers swinging the way most likely to get him laid. The joints he frequents aren’t exactly crawling with guys that swing his way, too, and he just isn’t good at picking up men. Women, they’re easy. Just the way he looks gives him an in, and if he turns up the charm a little bit, he can sleep with just about any of them. “Hey, baby, you here alone tonight?” “Next round is on me, sweetheart.” “You’re wearing the hell out of that dress, but I think I’d rather see it on my floor.” Easy. He never even tries to go for men. Has never been with one before, but he’s thought about it on occasion. That apple-pie-picket-fence life, though, it was easier to imagine when he was kissing goodnight and stealing the blankets from a woman.
Back then, at least.
Now, Dean is older than he ever thought he would be. He’s already settled into the kind of domestic life he never could’ve pictured for himself as a kid, and he can’t help but admit that he’s enjoying the hell out of it. He’s fulfilled by what their little band of brothers has. He likes having family dinner at 6, and he likes knowing that he doesn’t have to hunt unless he’s bored and itching for an adrenaline rush. He likes watching ghost hunting shows more often than hunting them himself, and he likes knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll be sleeping in his own bed without needing to keep a gun under the pillow. He’s happy, and he wouldn’t change a thing about the life he’s made for himself.
But his mind still wanders, sometimes.
That dream, that fantasy, it never really went away. His libido has faded a bit with age, and while he still likes flirting with the waitress or taking her to bed if she lets him, it doesn’t scratch the itch like it used to. He has a kid, kind of, with Jack, but there’s still some part of him that has always wanted a family of his own. He has one, but- well.
He wants a person, really. Someone to hold at night. Someone that he can go to bed with and wake up with the next morning, knowing they aren’t gonna duck out in the morning, wearing their heels from the night before, never to be seen again. And while that fantasy person has always been a woman before, now…
It’s probably just proximity. Spend too much time with anyone, you start thinking crazy, and Dean has never spent more time with anyone other than Sam, Dad, and maybe Bobby. But when he looks across the empty sheets of his bed, he thinks about what it would be like to see Cas lying across from him. How he’d hold him in the night, a sleepless guardian there to ward away the nightmares and kiss him on the forehead when he gasped awake. How it would feel to watch him strip off the trenchcoat, loosen the tie, and crawl into bed with him every night instead of flitting away to wherever he went while they slept.
And, knowing how Cas has been looking at him lately, it’s terrifying to think of how attainable this fantasy might be.
He might not be able to have kids anymore, after all this time and all the damage he’s been subjected to. But watching Castiel with Jack, seeing his patience and paternal instincts shine, it- well, it scratches the itch. And it’s dangerous, because it allows Dean to think about Cas being his, about a dream he had long since dismissed as impossible.
Yeah, Cas looks at him like every girl Dean has tried to get into bed with. Does that really mean anything, though? He’s still new-ish to the whole human thing, after all. The curse of proximity could very well be affecting him, too, and simply seeing Dean’s mug everywhere could be what makes him look like he wants him as more than a friend or a brother. It doesn’t mean anything. And even if it did, Dean has his own kind of domestic life right now, so it isn’t like he can take those lingering glances and bright eyes as anything other than flattery to ignore. He can’t fuck this up, not this time. He has at long last found a happy life, a relatively safe life, one that he can’t jeopardize over old desires and dreams he has long since given up on. There’s too much at stake, and he’s much too old to be reckless like that.
But it’s still nice. To imagine it.
-------
“Have you considered just telling him this life isn’t for him?”
One of the younger hunters they’ve taken under their wing is, in Dean’s opinion, utterly and hopelessly ill-suited for the jobs he finds for himself. Like most hunters, Alexander was brought into the life by losing a family member to some rugaru (or skinwalker, maybe? Hard to keep track of these things.) Seeking revenge, he joined the life and found his way into the network of hunters that Sammy was dedicating himself to developing. However, unlike his historical namesake, Alexander is about as far from great as you could get and needs a bailout much too often for Dean’s comfort. The kid is maybe 25, but has the critical thinking skills of a 12-year-old sometimes. Dean takes great pleasure in reminding Sam of this every time they get a call for help.
“He’s not dumb, Dean, he’s just new to it. I mean, he’s only been hunting for a year, and he’s already bagged the skinwalker that killed his boyfriend, plus three others!”
Well, that answers the question about Alexander the Terrible’s origin story. And boyfriend, huh, Dean wouldn’t have pegged him as the type. The kid is almost hypermasculine, his only natural aptitude for the job being strong stamina and biceps that practically ripped the seams out of the stupid polos he wore all the time.
Hm.
Sam looks over at Dean, still mulling over said biceps, and shoots him a foul glare. “C’mon, dude. You did know about the boyfriend, right? I swear to God, if that’s the reason you hate him-”
“Oh my God, Sammy. Lighten up, will you? I don’t care about what he does in his free time or why he got into the life, I care about how he butchers every job he goes on and needs to call us and ask for help every time a case isn’t cut and dry!” Dean rolls his eyes and gets up to grab another beer, already anticipating a lecture and a long night spent in the library that he doesn’t really want to be completely sober for. “You want another? Think we’ve still got like half of that 12 rack left-”
“Are you sure you don’t care?” Sam doesn’t look amused by the change of subject, and leans back in his seat to look darkly at Dean. “I mean, seriously. Every time he comes by the bunker, you look at him like- I don’t know, like he’s some monster you gotta gank or something! It’s not his fault that he wasn’t raised in the life, and I think he’s got a lot of potential. If you could just get past the gay thing and see him as a person-”
“What?” Dean stops and turns, desperately wishing he had the ability to teleport to the kitchen like Cas can and grab that beer. It’s looking more and more like he’s going to need it for this conversation. “Sam. I don’t care about his sexuality. I don’t look at him in any kind of way. I just don’t think we should be encouraging people to hunt if they’re more likely to get killed than kill something.”
“Sure, Dean. Whatever.” Sam huffs and goes back to his laptop, clearly willing to let it go, but all of a sudden, Dean finds that he isn’t willing to drop it.
“No, seriously, Sam. Why would I of all people have a problem with some kid being gay? Do you really think-”
“Why would you have a problem with it?” Sam just looks at him incredulously and shakes his head. “Dean. You’re my brother, and you know I’ll always love you. But…”
“But?”
“I don’t know, man. Any time we’re on a case and some guy even hints that he plays for the other team, you get all weird. You’ve never let it interfere with the job, so it’s not like I’m gonna force you to listen to me talk about tolerance or something, but-”
Dean sputters and runs a hand over his forehead. God, forget one beer. That 12-pack is gonna be gone in the next two hours at this point, right alongside any liquor he can find. “Are you serious, tolerance, what the hell are you trying to-”
“You can have your beliefs as long as they don’t affect how you treat people. I don’t care. But you’re toeing the line with Alexander, and he doesn’t deserve to be treated like a threat or a liability because you can’t-”
“Yep, that’s my cue.” Dean shakes his head and actually makes for the kitchen this time, calling back to Sam over his shoulder, “Have fun with your research! I’ll be literally anywhere but here if you need me.”
Sure, he looks at the kid. ‘Like he’s some monster to gank’, though? Not quite. He’s an attractive guy. Dean has eyes. It’s been a while since he’s thought about Alexander while finishing himself off in the shower, but yeah, he’s thought about it. And it’s goddamn infuriating that, as always, Sammy is blind to that side of Dean.
It’s not like he wants him to know. He’s not exactly staging some big coming-out scene like you see in a cheesy coming-of-age movie, and given that Dean hasn’t even slept with a dude before, he’s got no reason to tell Sam anything. It’s personal, and he’s not that dramatic. But then they have conversations like that one, and he wishes his brother knew just so he didn’t give him shit for being ‘intolerant’ or ‘insensitive'. God, what a joke.
He’s only kind of hiding it. Sam’s seen him pick up women since they were teenagers, never anyone else, so of course he’s going to assume Dean doesn’t have any interest in men. Dean wouldn’t expect him to. Especially after hearing everything Dad used to say about people like that, how Dean would just nod along and tune it out, of course Sam would assume he agreed. Sammy was always the one to speak up, to tell Dad he was wrong and how there wasn’t a problem with it. Dean just didn’t ever wanna rock the boat, not when Sam rocked it enough for the both of them.
It does sting a bit, though. Makes it even harder to say something, when Sam just assumes he’s some raging homophobe, or whatever the kid thinks about him. But if that keeps them from having the actually awkward conversation, the one where Dean admits to feeling that way- admits to feeling anything, really- Dean can be the bigot in his brother’s eyes. He knows himself; what point is there to anyone else knowing him?
He’s swinging open the fridge to finally grab that drink when Cas appears behind him with the flutter of wings. “Hello, Dean.”
“Fuck!” Dean jumps damn near out of his skin and rests his head on the freezer door while he waits for his heart rate to go down. “Every time. I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Scare me, Jesus. What’s up, Cas, what have you been up to?”
Cas’s eyes follow Dean’s hand as it reaches back and grabs a can. “I was helping Jack clean his room. He made a mess earlier when he was painting.”
“Told you to get him watercolors instead of acrylics. Still messy, but at least you don’t have to put in as much elbow grease when you’re mopping it up.”
“Yes, that would have been smart.” Dean takes a swig of his beer when it becomes clear the angel isn’t going to say anything else. Cas seems… hesitant, almost? Dean doesn’t know what to make of it, and he’s already pissed off and doesn’t really want to wait to see what’s plaguing his friend. Blasting Led Zeppelin while he gets wasted in his room, that seems like the plan instead.
“Well, I’m gonna-”
“I heard you and Sam. Your…argument.”
A pit settles in his stomach as Dean waits for Castiel to say something else. When the pause goes on a little bit too long, he prompts him with, “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Great. They really need to work some more on social skills with the angel, Dean makes a mental note. “What about it, Cas?”
“You…do not like the fact that Alexander is sexually and romantically attracted to other men.”
Best take another swig for that statement. As a matter of fact, best just finish the can. Dean chugs it all in one go, avoiding Cas’s blankly inquisitive gaze, and grabs another before answering, “I…I don’t have a problem with it, Cas.”
“Sam said you had a problem.”
“I don’t have a-” Frustrated, Dean just looks at Cas with searching eyes. It’s like he slipped back into who he was all those years ago, freshly walking Earth, because Dean can’t read a damn thing off the angel’s face. “I don’t care, Cas. Like I told Sam, if you heard that, too. Why are you asking, anyway?”
Cas stares for another moment, then disappears with another whoosh of wings. Dean gets spectacularly drunk and doesn’t think about it for another moment.
Stumbling out of his room at about noon the next morning, Dean remembers why he doesn’t drink like he did when he was younger anymore. What would’ve been a Tuesday night back then is now a raging hangover that honestly makes him consider swearing off alcohol for good. Sam’s in the kitchen when he gets there, and shoots him a reproachful glance. “Dude, you smell like a liquor store. Take a shower, will you?”
Dean attempts to reach up and give the kid a noogie as he passes, earning a swat to the face for his efforts. “Yeah, yeah. Do we still have Fruity Pebbles?”
So life carries on. They have family dinner every night, and every night Dean gets a reminder of how lucky he is to have these men in his life. They help out the other hunters in their network where they can, and knock out little cases close to home to break up the monotony of housework and daily chores. Dean finally gets that Chevy that’s been driving him up the wall to drive without stalling, instead, and takes Jack out for a ride to celebrate. The kid beams the whole time, and Dean finds peace in knowing he put that smile there. He winds up selling the thing to that young family that just moved into Lebanon, and gives them a good deal because he’s nice like that. Cas gives him a long, fond look when he tells him about it.
Cas’s lingering glances continue, but less frequently. Dean hates to admit that he’s a little disappointed by that. It’s not like he needs the angel there, silently watching over him as he goes about his business, but it was kind of nice to just have him there on hand in case he wanted another set of hands or a listening ear. After their little conversation in the kitchen that one night, Cas seems to have found some kind of…peace? Acceptance? He seems- not happier, exactly, but it seems like he’s more settled into the nature of their dynamic. That’s a good thing, Dean reminds himself. Dean should probably follow suit, but the apple-pie-picket-fence fantasy still bursts at the seams inside his head. Whenever he lets his guard down enough, he imagines what it would be like if he disrupted that comfortable, easy, simple dynamic he and Cas have.
He won’t, though. He’s not that reckless anymore.
-------
‘He has potential!’ ‘He’s not dumb, you’re just bigoted!’ Dean wants to give Sam the biggest ‘told you so’ of all time, but he refrains as he’s revving it up when Sam gives him a look after they get the call.
Alexander got himself in some hot water. A ghost, this time, minor league stuff, but apparently not minor enough for him to manage it on his own. They pack up the Impala in silence; Dean knows damn well that if he shares his opinions on the matter, he’ll get bitched out, and he really isn’t in the mood.
Cas is coming on this one, too. Insisted on it, actually, which Dean thought was a bit odd. The angel hasn’t been too keen to help them out on grocery runs like this in a long time, not since they really settled into the bunker, but nobody is exactly gonna turn the backseat down to him so he slides in without a fuss. Dean starts the car up, and the two of them sit in silence while it warms up and Sam slams the trunk from outside. Dean tries not to look in the rearview mirror, fails, and sees blue eyes appraising him in the reflection. He holds the gaze until the passenger side door opens and Sam settles on the bench seat beside him.
“From what he said on the call, sounds like it isn’t anything too crazy,” Sam says amicably, clicking in his seatbelt and leaning the seat back, “Some kid, I guess. Dad found him out back two years ago, drowned in their pool. The dad killed himself a couple of months later, left his wife, who says she’s been noticing more and more things amiss since.”
“Amiss, how?” Cas gravels out from the backseat. Dean puts the car in drive and starts the drive to Wichita. The place they’re going is in some suburb of the city, only about three hours away. Milk run, truly, so he can’t really feel all that upset about going to help.
“She says at first it was little stuff. Cabinets opening, lights flickering, that kind of thing. But I guess about a week ago she started waking up with bruises, told a friend who told Alexander who told us.”
“Because that’s really worth our time,” Dean mumbles, earning himself a dirty look from Sam and an impassive one from Cas.
“He’s never hunted a ghost before,” Sam sighs, “Much less multiple, which might be the case with this one. I mean, you had Dad on your first ghost hunt, right? We’re just providing him with experience so he can do the next one solo.”
Dean just smiles to himself. He didn’t have Dad on his first one, actually. Dad drank himself into a stupor, so Dean looked through his notes on the case and decided to tackle it by himself to make the old man proud. Got banged up halfway to hell by some undead crone, but ganked her nonetheless. Went home to tell Dad, high on adrenaline and all full of himself, and got beat another quarter of the way to his grave for leaving Sammy unattended. Never mind that Dad was at the motel, too, just out of commission. They told Sammy they went at it together while he was sleeping, that Dean got his ass handed to him by the ghost, and Dad had to come save his hide. Sammy was furiously jealous for months. Dean was twelve.
But, hey, anything to make Alexander more comfortable.
The rest of the ride is spent with Sam listening to some audiobook through wired headphones, while Dean blares his cassettes and tries not to look at Cas through the rearview. When they pull in to the Sunset Inn they agreed upon as their meet-up spot, Alexander is already waiting outside with a Newport in hand. He throws up a lazy salute in way of a greeting, and Dean swallows heavily as he watches the smoke curl out of the man’s lips. He instinctively looks back at Cas, who has since looked away.
This will not be a fun hunt.
Sam’s already out of the car, shaking Alexander’s hand and joining him on the motel’s pitiful excuse for a patio. Dean shuts her off and joins them, Cas in tow. “...appreciate you guys for helping me out,” Alexander is saying, “I know this is way beneath what you usually do, but I’m really glad to have you here.” His eyes dart to Dean with that last statement, letting out a little smile, before turning to Cas. “And who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord,” Cas’s tone is ice-cold, unlike him for meeting a stranger. Sam and Dean share a ‘what the hell?’ look, and Alexander seems a bit taken aback.
“I…well, it’s nice to meet you, Castiel. Sir? I- sorry, I know you said angel, but I’m pretty new to all this, is that a euphemism, or…?”
After a long pause with Castiel stone-faced and silent, Dean clears his throat. “Where did you say their house was? I can drive, I’d like to be able to make it back to Lebanon tonight if we can.”
They all pile into Baby, and she sags with the combined weight of the four men. None of them are exactly small, but Sam could probably reach up and touch a cloud if he felt like it, and Alexander could be John Henry’s incompetent twin, so the car feels even lower than it already is. Dean starts her up, and they all wait in silence as she takes her sweet time getting ready to drive.
“Is…sorry, but are we gonna-”
“You gotta let it warm up,” Dean says with a smirk, looking back through the rearview to meet Alexander’s eyes, “Car like this, she gets cranky in her old age. Take care of her, she’ll take care of you.”
“I’m sure you take very good care of her.” Alexander holds his gaze, letting out a smirk of his own.
Hm.
Sam looks over at Dean appraisingly, but Dean just drops the smile and puts the car in drive. He doesn’t look at Cas. Or Alexander. Or Sam.
This will not be a fun hunt.
They get to the house by mid-morning, having gotten an early start from the bunker without making pit stops. The wife, Alexander’s friend of a friend, greets the man with a hug and big, sad eyes. “Thank you for coming, and- oh, goodness, I see you brought some company. Hi there, my name is Kathy.” She extends a hand to each of them in turn, then looks back at Alexander. “I really hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. I’m sure this is nothing, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit superstitious, but I’m sure I’m just blowing things out of proportion. It’s been- well, nothing has been too easy since…”
“We completely understand,” Sam says warmly, “We usually consult, nowadays, but we have a lot of experience dealing with this kind of stuff. You did the right thing, reaching out, and hopefully we can figure out what’s going on before anything else happens.”
Or before you end up being murdered by your dead family, Dean thinks to himself. He looks over at Cas, who has the same sentiment written on his face. They follow Kathy inside, where she puts on a pot of coffee and runs them through what Alexander told them a second time.
“I really didn’t think much of it until the bruises,” she says heavily, “I mean, Joseph- my, um, my late husband- well, he was my high school sweetheart. Got married young, had Evan young, and they were my whole world. I’m in therapy now, but losing them was…well, I just know that grief can do crazy things to your mind. So I figured I was just imagining that there was someone in the house, so I didn’t have to accept that I was alone. But then I woke up with handprints up and down my arms, and I could’ve sworn I saw Evan sitting by the pool shed the other day, and I just-” She cuts off abruptly, hand over her mouth, and Alexander puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“You did the right thing. Do you mind if we take a look around?”
They split up, Sam and Alexander taking the house while Dean and Cas take the yard. They walk in silence, EMF detector in hand and silent. “If the child died out here, why aren’t we letting Alexander take it? I thought that we wanted him to be the primary investigator for this case.”
Dean looks over at Cas, surprised that he was the one to break the silence. “He thinks Joseph is the one haunting her; the bruises on her arm were from adult hands. He shot himself in their bedroom.” Castiel hums in acknowledgement, and they continue to amble across the grass.
“She said she saw her son by the pool shed, yes? Perhaps we should take a look there.”
“Sure, Cas, lead the way.”
It’s a pretty standard joint, once they manage to get it open. Clearly built by the owners, and sparsely populated by yard tools and pool cleaning supplies. There’s a hefty lock on the outside, which Dean points out to Cas. “Wonder what they were trying to keep out of here.”
“Or what they were trying to keep in,” Castiel’s brow is furrowed as he points at the ground. “Look, that’s a child’s footprint. And is that-” he pushes aside a rake, pulling out a small stuffed bear.
“So, what, you think the American Dream couple was keeping their son in the shed? Alexander says he knows this family; they seem pretty squeaky clean. Happy marriage, kid was kicking ass on the local soccer team, very embedded into the community. If they did keep him in here for some reason, they were letting him out pretty frequently for extracurriculars.”
“American Dream,” Cas repeats, turning the bear over in his hand thoughtfully, “Yes. It doesn’t add up with what we know about this family. I suppose we should keep looking.”
They turn to leave, which is, of course, the moment the EMF decides to go off. Just for a second, but long enough to make Dean stop in his tracks and put a hand to his holster. A long beat, and he and Cas both unfreeze. “Fishy.”
Sam and Alexander report similar findings. A few brief spikes from the EMF when they went into the master bedroom, but nothing else out of place. “I talked to Kathy again,” Alexander says, “She was on a work trip when her son drowned, but she said Joseph was pretty distant for weeks before. Not sleeping much, would get up in the night and go for long walks. But nothing weird with the kid, says he was happy and healthy. Had lots of friends, especially the neighbor girl.”
“Did you talk to this neighbor girl?” Dean asks, “Maybe Evan might’ve told her something more about what was going on at home.”
“I can- yeah, I should probably do that, huh,” Alexander says sheepishly, smiling a bit and looking all insecure. It would be endearing, the bashfulness, if the delay in solving this case wasn’t gonna keep Dean from sleeping in his bed tonight.
“How about you go talk to them?” Sam offers, “We’ll head back to the motel if you wanna loan us your room key. Call if you need anything, but it sounds like we’re not gonna be seeing any activity any time soon.”
They adjourn, stopping at a grease trap along the way. “Jack would love this,” Dean sighs after finishing his bite, finding that he does actually miss the kid. They’d left him home alone with very strict instructions, and so far they hadn’t gotten any calls from Lebanon. “Think he’s doing okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Dean,” Cas says fondly, fonder than he’s been all day. The angel seems to have perked up as soon as they left the house, and Sam keeps giving him almost wistful glances from the seat beside him. “May I have one of your fries, please?”
“All yours. Have as many as you want.”
They fall into a comfortable silence after that, the three of them chowing down on their respective meals. “Seems like you and Alexander have been getting along fine,” Sam says with an unreadable look, “Have you…changed your mind on him?”
Dean risks a glance at Cas, who has gone all “angel of the Lord” again. “Um. I mean, I never had a problem with him as a person. Still think he’s not cut out to be a hunter, though.”
“Hm.”
The silence is far less comfortable after that.
Sam sends Cas off to grab ice when they get to the motel, and turns to Dean as soon as the door to the room clicks shut. “Dude, what is going on with you?”
“The hell do you mean?”
“You’re…” Sam trails off, and looks almost unbearably sad for a moment before schooling his expression. “You realize you’ve been flirting with Alexander all day, right?”
Oh hell, no. Dean is not having this conversation. “Sammy-”
“Look, I know you’re not dumb, and if you’re…I don’t know, Dean, and I don’t care if you are actually, y’know, looking to-”
“Sammy-”
“I’m just saying, if you’re trying to make fun of him, or- or, I don’t know, lead him on just to say something nasty to him-”
“You honestly believe I would do something like that? Do you really, truly think I would do something that fucked up?” They just look at each other for a moment as Dean fumes. “Jesus, Sam. I’m not…”
Dean trails off, and Sam loses the upset tone to take one that would be better used talking to an injured child. “You’re not…interested in him?”
“No, I’m not.” Dean swallows, mouth suddenly very dry, and lifts his chin as he looks at his brother. “I’m not interested in him.”
Sam looks away, clearly uncomfortable as he continues, “Is it…that he’s a man? Or is it that he isn’t, well. That he isn’t-”
The door clicks. “Sammy, I already told you. I’m not interested in him, so just drop it!” Dean’s voice rises as he finishes, preparing for the argument to continue, but Sam is looking behind him. Dean turns and sees Cas standing there looking dejected.
“I found the ice,” he says, setting it on the dresser, before teleporting away.
Shit.
Cas doesn’t reappear. Sam and Dean pointedly ignore each other; Sam sets up at the desk with his laptop while Dean channel surfs on the bed. There isn’t word from Alexander for hours, although Dean isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Do you think everything’s going okay over at the house?” Dean finally asks, bored and hoping for something other than the cooking network and some reality TV show he’s pretending not to be super into to fill his time.
“I don’t think you need to worry about Alexander, Dean.”
Point taken. Dean turns the volume back up and surfs his way to Spector Seekers. He forgot that the show he and Cas watch is on tonight. He keeps it on for a moment, heart seizing up in his chest, before switching back to another channel that’s still on commercial. He watches the actors dance around in a field as side effects of a medication list out on the screen and tries not to think about the case, or Sam, or God forbid, Cas.
Sam gets word from Alexander around nine. Turns out, that neighbor girl? Disappeared near the same time Joseph and Evan died. A little more digging (literal and figuratively speaking) and Alexander found her body, as well as a note left in the shallow grave. Joseph’s little nighttime walks weren’t to clear his head, it seemed. That little stuffed bear in the shed didn’t belong to Evan. That lock wasn’t to keep out critters. And when Evan went to play in the shed when his mommy was away, he found his dad instead. Nasty stuff. “So the psycho drowned him so he wouldn’t squeal, then,” Dean is honestly impressed that Alexander had found out so much in such little time, even if he doesn’t feel like admitting it. “And then killed the girl too. Yuck, do you think Kathy knew?”
“No, I don’t,” Sam says offhandedly, “But I think Alexander was gonna tell her after he actually clears out the spirit infestation. Sounds like it might be all three of them still stuck there.”
“Checks out. We gonna help?”
Sam sighs deeply, finally turning away from the laptop he’s been poring over all afternoon. “Honestly? Think we might have to. You were right about him. I mean, he didn’t even think to look into other local disappearances before you said something, and he’s been…sloppy, to put it gently.”
“But, I mean, he found out eventually, right? That’s gotta count for something.”
Sam just scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I knew about that girl since before we left the bunker, and already had a theory that she was involved. I kept waiting for him to put it together, and he just didn’t. I don’t know how comfortable I am leaving him to manage this alone if he couldn’t even think about what could be making the spirits hang around. I mean, I actually had to tell him to salt and burn the body; it somehow wasn’t an implied task to him.”
The ‘I told you so’ is on the tip of Dean’s tongue again, but he honestly isn’t even satisfied to be right this time. “Fair enough. Guess we’d better go stake out the place, then, I’ll go get us a room here to be safe.” Dean mourns the loss of a night in his own bed as he and Sam muster to their feet.
“Are we gonna wait on Cas?” Dean asks tentatively as they walk to the car, wincing a bit internally at the dirty look Sam shot him.
“Cas is at the bunker, Dean.”
“What? How do you know?” Dean stops walking to face Sam, who just scoffs and throws up his hands.
“Because he told me, Dean! Because I was worried about my friend, and I reached out to him to see if he was okay! Did you really not wonder where he was once today? I really hope you aren’t that callous.”
“Can I, for once, catch a fucking break from you? Of course I was-” Dean’s voice breaks, and he drops his tone from a yell to a low speaking volume. “Of course I was worried about him. Alright? Of course I was. But he just flies away every time something doesn’t go his way, so why would I even try to stop him?”
Sam takes a measured breath as his voice softens to match Dean’s. “Are you going to tell him you weren’t talking about him in that room?”
“What do you…?”
“Look,” Sam says tiredly, stepping closer to his brother, “I always thought…I mean, with Dad, and with how you are with women, I just figured that’s all you were after. And if that isn’t all you’re after, I just- there’s nothing wrong with that, is all I’m saying. With wanting something more. And I don’t just mean wanting more than women, you know, if you want something more than just flirting or sex, with anyone, that’s okay, too. More than okay. And-”
“Jesus, Sammy, could you find your point sometime today?” Dean barks out gruffly, earning a smile in return.
“I see the way you look at each other, you and Cas. It’s hard to find someone who looks at you that way. And if you chose to go down that road? I don’t think you’d be disappointed. Alright?”
“Yeah, alright. Now that’s enough girl talk for the next year, mark your calendar and get in the car, bitch.”
Sam grins at him and does as he was told. “Jerk.”
-------
Turns out, the one thing Alexander is good for in a fight? His size.
Dean has to admit, it’s pretty hot to watch the guy swing around a fire poker. Sure, he’s focused on the task at hand, too, but he’s very capable of multitasking. Having the three of them there winds up being a good thing, as all three spirits decide to show face as soon as the sun goes down. Kathy is screaming bloody murder from her salt circle as the hunters each focus on their target, but she’s safe, at least.
“Didn’t you burn the bodies?” Dean yells across the living room to Alexander, who looks back briefly before turning back to Evan’s dripping wet spirit.
“I burned the girl’s, was I supposed to do the other ones, too?”
Sam and Dean groan in unison. “The cemetery is maybe a twenty minute drive away, can you handle this until then?” Sam yells, and Dean nods.
“Burn the damn bear, too!”
Thirty minutes later, and all three of them are up in flames. Alexander rushes over to Kathy, still sobbing in the corner, and Dean finds the couch and sits down heavily. Jesus, he was getting old. And out of shape. Maybe Sam wasn’t lying about the burger joints.
As his heart rate returns to normal, Dean hears Alexander walk Kathy upstairs to her bedroom. Now that the case is well and truly over with, he can’t help but think about his yearning angel waiting for him at home. Maybe they should take the long way back, stop at some world’s largest ball of twine or something to delay the return. Sam won’t go for it, but it’s not like he’ll be driving, right?
Maybe Sam was right. Dean knows that Cas is…drawn to him, to say the least, and he has known for some time now. But is Dean really…?
Sure, he likes looking at the guy. He likes talking to him, likes having him around. Yeah, he fantasizes about an apple-pie-and-picket-fence life with Castiel, but it’s easy to imagine it. A lot harder to make that fantasy come true.
And he’s old, and broken, and far too content with his life as it is to change anything that monumentally. He can find someone else, eventually. Later down the road, he can meet a girl willing to look past the baggage and kiss him goodnight. Find someone who doesn’t already know just how fucked up he is, someone who hasn’t seen the deepest cracks in his soul and chosen to stay by his side anyway, someone who would move mountains to make sure he was okay.
Yeah, fat chance of that.
The stairs creak as Alexander makes his way down the stairs again, and he holds up his pack of Newports as a silent invitation. Dean nods, and his knees crackle as he heaves his way to his feet and follows the man outside.
They each light one up on the porch, staring out into the suburban neighborhood as they sit with their thighs barely brushing. “I’m sorry,” Alexander says softly, “I know I’m no good at this. I just wanted to help, you know, after Trey died. And I found out about this stuff and figured I’d just have to get good at it, for his sake. Even if it’s not really my thing.”
Dean exhales and watches the smoke dissipate into the night air as he thinks on the younger man’s words. “Yeah, kid, I know. But if he really loved you, he wouldn’t want you to destroy your life or get yourself killed just because you felt like you had to honor him. Sometimes staying alive and happy for the people you’ve lost is the best way to honor them.”
“Yeah, I guess.” A pause. “I really did love him. It’s been a year now, and it still feels like he owns every part of me. Like nothing is ever gonna be okay without him, no one else will ever know me like that or love me the way he did.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”
Alexander lets out a wry little chuckle, then turns to look at Dean. Dean looks back. He thinks about leaning in, throwing in a sleazy line, anything. Then he thinks about blue eyes, and unwavering devotion, and a rumpled trenchcoat, and he just lifts the cigarette back to his lips. They both turn back to the empty street ahead and wait for Sammy to come back with the car.
-------
The drive back to Lebanon in the morning is an unhurried affair. Dean spends it thinking about that smoke break with Alexander, about family dinners every night at home, and about Cas. Mostly about Cas, to be honest. Sam leaves him to his thoughts, and Dean ruminates on how much could really change if he decided to just take the plunge and go for it. After all they’ve been through, after everything they’d built together, is it really such a huge step to wanna kiss the angel every once in a while? It feels both minuscule and monumental at the same time, the thought of finding out.
As they pull into the garage, Sam looks over at him with a serious face that promises nothing good. “I love you, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And whether you talk to him or not, I’m still gonna love you. You’re my brother, Dean, I’m never gonna wanna stand anywhere but by your side.”
“What did we say about the girl talk, again?”
Dean drops the car keys in their dish by the garage door and makes his way into the bunker. Cas is in the kitchen, reaching for something in the fridge, and jumps hard enough to drop the juice box he’s holding when he turns to see Dean watching him from the doorway.
“Hello, Dean. You startled me.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Dean chuckles, “That for Jack?”
Cas looks at him wearily, then picks the juice up from the floor. “Yes. He wanted a snack. I told him he could have this and wait until lunch.”
“Smart move.”
“Yes.”
They look at each other for another moment, and Dean feels a wave of fondness wash over him for this silly, uptight, hopelessly perfect angel in front of him.
For this silly angel that he loves.
“I wasn’t talking about you, Cas.”
“What?”
“In the motel,” Dean starts steadily walking into the kitchen, undeterred by the way that Cas shrinks against the door of the fridge. “I was talking about Alexander when I said that.”
“When you said that…”
“He’s not the one I’m interested in.”
Cas looks up at him, blue eyes wide and shining with something that has to be cautious hope. “Was there someone else that you were interested in?”
“That depends, Cas. Do you think you’d be willing to slum it with me?”
Cas smiles, big and unabashed. “There is no one else on this Earth I would rather be with. There is no soul brighter than yours, no heart purer, and no world in which I do not want to be by your side.”
“Well, in that case, I think I’d very much like to start an apple-pie-and-picket-fence life with you, Castiel.”
Cas frowns at that. “I’m not sure I understand. I can certainly find us an apple pie somewhere if that’s important to you, but we don’t have a yard here to fence in. Is this another human custom I’m not aware of? Are you referring to-?”
Dean laughs hard and cuts him off with a kiss.