Yeah, more Supernatural fanfiction
Title: The Five Year Plan [4/5]
Author: Commodoresexual
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and male/male action.
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam, Chuck, MC/MC
Spoilers: AU! of 5.04, spoilers for 5.08
Warnings: Language, blasphemy, male on male, and , where I give a nod to one of my favorite authors, entangled_now. Trust me, if you know her stuff, you'll know which one. I salute you, my friend!
Word Count: 27,000 + and still going...
Summary: It was the worst year he had never lived.
After four years, it was starting to become obvious to Sam and Cas that Dean was hiding something from them. There were all the usual tells, of course. Glaring at them silently when they asked. Drinking a lot more than usual. Abrupt changes of topic - Dean's favorite way of derailing Sam's, “What is with you?” with a side of Castiel's narrowed suspicious eyes - was still, “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I took Cas to a whorehouse?”
That had Sam choking on air and Castiel actually turned the cutest fucking shade of pink. Then Dean just sat back as Sam put his hands over his ears chanting, “TMI! TMI!” while Castiel was blushing and growling at Dean, “Stop threatening to tell such a lurid tale!”
It was fucking awesome, and it worked every single time.
That was of course, when the years were young and fresh, practically virginal. When he could get away with embarrassing the hell out of his baby brother and his angel for a distraction because he honestly didn't need that many of them. Coming on to the fourth year, though...
Ye-ah.
2013. The year the angels decided to finally pack it up and leave. The year Castiel lost his Grace, broke his foot and began the long slide into drugs, booze, and slutty ass woman because faith in God and Dean wasn't enough. The year that Sam finally broke down, and took the Devil as his own personal angel dick to his meat-suit condom, let the Devil take him and use him. It was, as far as Dean was concerned, the worst year of his life that he had never lived. Worse than the year before the Deal. Worse than the first year in Hell. Worse than the year following of the Sixty Six seals.
Because as shitty as those years had been, at the end of them there was still Sam, still loving him, still being his little brother. Even if Dean had to dig deep to find the stupid little shit, even if he had almost lost him to Ruby and the Devil, Sam managed to stay back, to hold on, to find himself again. Because he was Sam Winchester, and he loved Dean so much he was willing to toss himself into a Plan he didn't totally believe in, befriend an angel that he had hated, apologize for mistakes made, and mean it.
He had Sam, and now, he had Castiel too. But at the end of that year, that year that didn't exist, he'd lost them both, and he was sorry, but that was not fucking happening. He wasn't above admitting to himself, at least, that he was a needy son of a bitch. He needed his people. If he couldn't keep them safe, couldn't keep them sane and not broken in the way they could end up - shattered to fragments, then what good was he? He suddenly got his other Older self a lot better, in the first month of the fourth year. He wasn't sure what was worse, the anticipation that he could fail, or the sick worry that maybe - he already had.
To say Dean was a little stressed was kind of understating it by like a million fucking degrees, and unfortunately, that led to a series of, well, he could only call them 'stupid fucking idiot Dean moments'. He'd had a few of those over the years - rushing in when he shouldn't, saying things that ended up getting him slammed into walls or giving him stage four stomach cancer, making decisions based on pure Winchester stubbornness than anything else. Some of the moments he'd regretted sorely and others he knew if he had to do it all over again, he'd still do them, without hesitation, because it was the right thing to do.
Castiel would tell him that it was because he was Righteous. Sam would tell him to stop trying to be Batman.
What he was doing, though, certainly wasn't good. Some of it could be classified as funny, but honestly? The day was coming when the joke was not going to hold up, and with each passing moment, Dean was sure the questions were coming. He could see it in Sam's increasing bitchier bitch faces, and the further tilting of Castiel's head. He was going to have to tell them the truth, about the future that could happen, despite all his best efforts.
He just wasn't sure what the truth was going to do for them, besides tear them apart again and he couldn't deal with it. Not now. Not this year. So he kept his mouth shut, and in typical Dean Winchester fashion, started making bigger and better fucking mistakes that were just bright flares in the proverbial sky that something here just wasn't right.
*****************
Huge mistake number one was just downright embarrassing. Word had come in from the Inner Circle - there was something particularly divine going down at St. Mary's Parochial College. Dean was heavily disappointed to find there wasn't a single plaid skirt'd co-ed to be found, but considering the fact they needed to blend in? Yeah, probably for the best. The only problem was Cas, and while Dean had finally managed to get him into comfortable clothing for when he decided he was staying over with them, the suit and the trenchcoat remained. Dean had no problem with the coat, but the suit was going to get them all kind of questions they didn't need, and while normally they'd just leave Castiel on the sidelines for the 'talking normal to people' part - Castiel was their holy radar. So after four years, Dean and Sam took the angel shopping.
Well, more like Goodwilling it - they just needed to get Cas a pair of jeans that fit, a shirt and maybe some boots. Goodwill was cheap and more importantly, since both he and Sam shopped their regularly, Castiel would fit in with them perfectly. Besides, even Almost-Not-Quite-End-Of-The-World time, Goodwill remained open. There were shortages, sure, amongst other crazy shit, but Heaven and Hell couldn't really get the party started without the Winchesters, and the Winchesters were sending along their regrets with both middle fingers extended. The world continued on, suckier than normal, but the lakes weren't boiling over and cats and dogs weren't doing it. It wasn't the end, and they still had time.
Goodwill was a little barer than normal though, but Dean was used to that shit. He was rifling through men's jeans, trying to find something slightly smaller than his own size, while Sam led Castiel through shirts. Stood to reason, with jeans, Castiel's hips were more slender than his own. Except jeans were all different styles, so Dean had to curve his hands around the jeans themselves, seeing if they would fit close to his approximation for where they would hang if, say, Dean had his hands around Castiel's waist, hips, or, ah, ass and groin.
Christ, he was spending way too much time visualizing Castiel's lower regions.
He was saved from further contemplation of anything below Castiel's waistline by the hilarious conversation Sam and Castiel were having, one aisle over.
Sam was laughing at something he had found. “Oh man - this suit - this suit is seriously straight out of the disco ball era. I have to show Dean, he is going to crack up ...Cas, what the hell is that?”
“It is a shirt, Sam.” Castiel said seriously, as seriously as he would have told Sam about a impending demon attack.
“Uhm - yeah - Cas? That's a woman's shirt. You can't wear that.” Sam said firmly.
Dean grinned - he could almost see Castiel's head tipping to one side, blue eyes confuddled. “Why, Sam?”
“Well - because - ah … unless you're a cross-dresser? Guys don't wear women's clothing.” Dean held in another snort of laughter. Give Castiel ten seconds ...
“I am not a man. I am an angel.” Yep, saw that one coming from a mile away.
Sam sighed, and Dean felt a twinge of sympathy for his brother. “Yes - but you're a man-shaped angel and men-shaped-angels don't wear - you know what? We'll show it to Dean and see what he thinks. Dean!”
Dean cleared his throat, still flipping through jeans, feeling himself grin despite his best efforts. “One aisle over, Sammy.” Straight face, he had to remember a straight face.
He listened to the clomping of Sam's monster sized feet - amazing how Sam could sneak up on anyone with those boats at the end of his legs, and the gentle patter of Castiel's loafers coming around the aisle as they approached him. He only looked up from the jeans when Sam said, “Dean, would you please help me? He's your angel - I don't know how to explain gender appropriate wear to divine beings.”
Dean grinned, but that grin slipped away fast when he looked at the suit, hanging innocuously off of a heavy wooden hanger that Sam held, that perfectly white suit that looked like it belonged to some tele-evangelist...
I like you, Dean. I see what the other angels see in you.
His stomach twisted, and his heart fell as he slid his gaze reluctantly over to Castiel's shirt - an ugly, baggy pale blue thing, that looked like it had been kidnapped from a Renaissance fair, or a hippie commune...
I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me.
“Dean?” Castiel's voice snapped him out of his fugue, because he could hear the concern in it, and he tore his gaze away from those clothes to meet his angel's eyes. His angel's still clear and steady blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” Sam's voice sounded cautious, and Dean looked over at his brother, still mute as he stared into Sam's - Sam's brown eyes, that were going wide with worry. “Jesus, Dean, you look like you're going to be sick. What's wrong?”
Dean didn't answer right away, just swallowed his panic and grabbed both pieces of clothing out of their hands and tossed them away without caring where they went. He turned back to find Sam and Castiel staring at him like he had suddenly gone insane - which was kinda true and leaning more towards it with his next actions - which were to point a finger at them and growl, “No white suits! No hippie girly shirts! Ever! You two hear me? Fucking never... ever!”
Sam looked at Castiel, who looked back at him, and finally they both looked back at Dean. Castiel spoke slowly, “Very well, Dean. We will find other clothing, if that is what you want.”
“That is exactly what I frigging want, Cas. Yes. Follow the angel, Sam.” Dean exhaled, heavily. “Just … no woman's clothing. Seriously, Cas, we're trying to fit in. Plaid will work. Or a different colored button-down. Just … nothing … like that other stuff. Please.”
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel said, and damn the man if he wasn't speaking in what Dean could only describe as a soothing tone. He took Sam by the arm, who was still looking at his brother warily, “Come on, Sam. Help me find plaid.”
“Yeah. Okay. Right.” Sam said quietly, and he left with Castiel, but he knew that look on Sam's face. He saw the intent way Castiel was watching him, like the days when he woke up from nightmares of Hell. Watchful, caring, sympathetic.
And he knew, the moment they got into the car after this little shopping trip gone bizarre, the first words out of Sam's mouth were, “Dean - what the hell was going on back there?”
So he fixed one quick hard look on his brother, then to the angel just in case he thought of jumping in, and said, “Nothing at all. I just hate disco-hippy-shit clothing.”
Then he turned the volume on the tape-deck as high up as he could, to drown out any further conversation.
********************
The second Huge Ass Mistake was downright hilarious, and even if Dean had to laugh at himself, hell, at least it was actually funny.
It was about four months in, and after a week-long bout in Trickster - no, no, the Archangel Whinyass Gabriel's latest fun-house of terrors, or rather one stupid ass television show after the next which the brothers had to endure. Add into that big brother Gabriel had some kind of issue with Castiel? So he kept throwing the other angel into walls and duct taping his mouth shut and wouldn't let Castiel get them the fuck out of TV Hell.
Altogether, it was a suckyass fucking time of it. Hell, they didn't even figure out the Trickster was an angel until Dean had taken a wild guess about how he knew Cas, and captured Gabriel in a circle of holy oil. Right in the middle of an episode of The Magician, and man, as much as he hated crime shows and stage magicians? The guy who played the Magician was a frigging magnetic personality. He liked him almost as much as he liked Dr. Sexy and hooboy, did he love -
Uh. Yeah. Not the point.
Point was, he captured the Trick - Gabriel, gave him the good verbal bitchslap he deserved, with his 'Stop beating us up because you're not willing to man up to your family, and PS, leave my damned angel alone!' speech, and got himself, Sam and Castiel out of that abandoned warehouse as soon as possible. Looking over the other two as they all but collapsed into the Impala, Dean made up his mind. They were taking a week's hiatus from all this End of the World crap. They were tired, emotionally battered and in Cas's case? Physically owned as well. They needed to recharge, reorganize and take a few days to sleep and lick their wounds. Metaphorically speaking. If Dean was going to lick Castiel, he wasn't going to lick wounds.
...or not. Lick. At all. He was not licking Castiel. Ah Hell. These days, Dean was having serious problems getting his brain to make the right connections when it came to the angel.
At any rate, safest place they could think to go was the one place the angels or Lucifer wouldn't look for them, and that was with Chuck. It was one hellva drive, but Dean drank a lot of coffee. Castiel didn't sleep, so he sat up front while Sam attempted to curl his huge body in the backseat. After a minute or two of shifting around, Sam slumped out, dead to the world.
It was a quiet, and from Dean's perspective, tense drive for the first few hours. Castiel didn't say a word, just stared out the window, which was pretty normal, but it was the sort of silence that made Dean wonder what was going on in the angel's head. So, in typical Dean blunt fashion, he decided to just come right out and ask. “Hey - Mr. Smiley. How about you slide some of that oh-so-obvious cheer my way, tell me what the hell is going on in that divine head of yours?”
He flicked his gaze sideways as Castiel turned slowly to him. After a moment, the angel finally spoke, “That makes two brothers - two archangels - who have told me my Father is dead.”
Ah. Aaaaaaaah. Dean sighed softly, before looking back at Castiel, his tone wry, “Cas, please tell me you're not listening to Mr. Feathery Whinypants. The guy is a douchebag - almost a big a douchebag as Zach, or Raph.” He shook his head as he put his gaze back on the road, “I don't know what's worst about your family - that the fact that they all seem to have the genetic trait of Asshole - or … no, really, the worst is that they really are entire Host of Heavenly Asshats.” He snorted, “Don't hear that verse in the 'Hallelujah' chorus, tell you that much.”
“... You either are trying to make me laugh, or punch you in the nose, Dean.” Castiel observed, and Dean could hear the wryness of his tone, and a sideways look told him that the angel was fighting off a smile.
“Does that mean you do want to hear the verse I just made up? Well duh, of course you do.” Dean said, putting cheer in his voice as he sang in a low tenor, “May the douchebags stay on their fat ass-es in Hea-ven, for-ever, and ev-er....”
“Dean.” Castiel hissed at him, but the angel's eyes were lighter and his mouth was definitely curved into that smile of his - that sly thing Dean liked to call 'Dean Winchester's personal angel smile'.
After five years it wasn't just a lifting of the corners of the mouth, nope. Fully evolved brilliant smile - elusively there for ten seconds, then gone again.
Dean grinned back, unrepentant. The drive became silent again, after that, but a familiar and comfortable one. If Dean was being honest with himself, it was the only real peace he ever felt these days - these long, still moments with Cas. Two hours later they finally reached Chuck's place, and Dean was so damned tired he was fucking certain when Chuck opened the door and greeted them with his familiar sheath of papers, he was looking at three Chucks, which was why his comment of, “Dude, three books at once?” probably only made sense to him.
Sam's broad hands were pushing him firmly through the door, and to the nearest sofa, and his voice sounded miles away, “He'd been driving for nearly 15 hours straight, Chuck. He just needs sleep.”
“I'll keep watch.” Castiel's voice swam towards Dean, and he turned towards it automatically, but Sam still had him, was still steering right towards the softness of a long sofa, and he fell into it, face first with a happy groan. He felt his shoes slide off by powers beyond his control, and something warm covered his shoulders. After that, he surrendered to sleep.
He was brought near wakefulness only twice - once he heard Sam, Cas, and Chuck talking about something, and Sam and Chuck talking amongst themselves. There was the sound of the front door opening, then closing again, and it was silent once more. Dean let himself drift back into dreams.
The second time came with the front door opening and closing again, Castiel's soft voice briefly. Dean shifted, and the blanket covering him shifted as well. He turned to face the kitchen, and saw Castiel, leaned against one counter, looking out the window into the late morning sunshine. The sun was kind to his angel, marking each sharp line with light, softening the man's features, the lines of his body that were free of the traditional trenchcoat and even the suit jacket today. The white shirt gleamed, for Christ's sake.
The angel shifted, slightly, and something rattled. He tilted his head, careful as any deer, and plucked up something that had been laying by his hand, and lifted it up into the light. It was an orange prescription bottle, and Castiel tilted his head back and forth, apparently fascinated by the pills within.
Dean was on his feet before he even realized it, and across the kitchen just as Castiel looked up and said his name. He grabbed the bottle out of Castiel's hand and swung over to the sink, growling, “The hell is the matter with you, angel?”
“Dean - I do not think -” Castiel began to say, but Dean turned around and cut him off with a gesture.
“No, you seriously don't think! I know you haven't been around for inclusion of the afterschool special, but c'mon Cas! Some time in the past five years you've been wandering around in Jimmy's meatsuit, someone must have shown you a 'Don't Do Drugs' commercial! They're thirty seconds long, and there are a lot of frying eggs!” Dean grunted as he tried opening the bottle.
“Frying … eggs? I do not understand what that has to do with anything about narcotic abuse, Dean.” He could practically hear Cas's frown. “Which this is not.”
“It has to do with the brain, and how drugs makes them all, fried-like and looking like breakfast.” Dean grunted as he twisted the cap. Stupid … childproof ...ah-hah! He huffed out a breath of triumph as the cap came off, and he started dumping the pills down the drain. “And if it isn't, well then, I guess I got here just in time before you started down the path of hippie shirts and orgies! And there's not going to be orgies, Cas!”
He turned on the faucet, and for good measure, the garbage disposal to face a surprised Castiel at his elbow. Dean breathed out, and grabbed the angel by the shirt. “That's not the way to go, Cas. Never. I know it's hard right now - I know we've been looking for God for years now and there's still jack and shit, but don't lose hope. Jesus, not you. Not you.”
Castiel looked startled, like a bird that just banged into a window that he didn't know was there, and his rough voice was gentle, “Dean ...”
“No, Cas, listen to me. I don't care what those jack-off older brothers of yours say. I don't care how many times Sam gives me bitchface for all this crazy. God is out there - finding him is part of The Plan and you're going to find him, we're going to find him. You believe that, and I believe it because you believe. You're … you're my fucking faith here, man. I may not believe in your Dad but I've always believed in you.” Dean gripped that white shirt, that immobile body, hoped his words sank in.
Castiel wet his dry lips, voice quiet, “You believe in me?”
“Yes, you stupid feathery sonnvabitch.” Dean searched Castiel's face, gave him another shake. “So don't do this. Don't walk out on me. I'm not - I'm not walking out on you. Not ever.”
Castiel nodded his head slowly. “I will not, Dean. I will stand by you.” The angel's hand slipped to his shoulder, “I will not leave.”
Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. “Good … good.” He stepped back and rubbed his mouth, full to the fucking brim on relief.
“Dean?” Castiel's voice was hesitant. “I do - one question?”
“Yeah, Cas?” Dean looked back towards his angel, who had his head tilted at him, and then at the empty pill bottle by the sink.
The angel seemed to struggle for a moment, before he looked up at Dean with an almost regretful look, “What are we going to tell Chuck about you destroying his allergy medication?”
Dean stared at him for a moment, struck completely silent, before he let out a, “Sonvabitch!” and grabbed at the empty pill bottle. Claritin. Prescription strength allergy medicine. For fucking hayfever and he had thought the angel was going to get high off of this stuff? All this shit would do would be to keep the angel from getting fucking congested. He groaned. “...Chuck is going to kill me.”
“That seems unlikely. Chuck lacks the muscle mass to be a serious threat to you.” Castiel walked over to his side, and they both peered down the drain. “Unless of course, one of you let him have a firearm again.”
“Mother Fucking Son of a Bitch.” Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head, and jerked as the front door opened, Sam and Chuck's voices echoing through the house.
Chuck was the first one Dean could distinguish, his tone soothing, a gentle note Dean noticed he had for Sam and Sam alone. “Sam, the fans don't hate you. It's just - every woman you're with dies.”
“So - as far as the fanfiction community is concerned, the only two people I'm allowed to sleep with is my brother, or Lucifer. Seriously, Chuck, there's got to be other options.” Sam retorted, and Dean had to wonder about Chuck and Sam if the only conversation they could have since getting back from nearly a year worth of adventures and the Gabriel Debacle, had to deal with internet porn. Written porn, no less.
“Well, sometimes … they let you sleep with Castiel.” If Dean wasn't struck dumb with horror over what he just did, he might have been stuck dumb with horror over Sam getting horizontal with the angel, instead. He wondered dimly if this situation could get anymore awkward as he looked over to Castiel, who met Dean's gaze with his 'Oh God not breasts! expression.
“Yeah - if Dean's dead or the Devil makes us do it - God I hate that non-consensual stuff. No thank you -” Sam walked into the kitchen with two bags of groceries and he blinked as he looked from Castiel, and back to Dean. “Hey! Guys! What's, ah, up?”
...When it doubt, go for the cheap shot. Dean put on his best mocking smile, even as he grabbed Cas, and started to edge around the island, “Apparently, not you?”
Sam's cheeks flushed, his face tightened into his 'bitchface' and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Whatever you say, bitch. Or should I say - Lucifer's bitch?” Dean said in an overly-cheerful voice, still pulling Castiel along with him. He spun around, and nearly ran into Chuck, similarly loaded down with food. “Chuck! How you doin' there, Chuck?”
“I'm - ah - fine, Dean.” Chuck blinked, as Dean dragged Castiel behind him like some goddamned doll. “You?”
“I'd be a lot better if you and Sam weren't talking about porn. In fact, all this porn talk has made feel the need for a constitutional. Outside. Away from the pornography. I'm taking the angel with me so you don't corrupt him with your dirty talk.” Dean tugged again, “C'mon, Cas.”
Castiel let himself be pulled towards the front door without protest, but they both stopped when Chuck's voice called back, “Oh hey, Castiel, did the pharmacy drop off my prescription?”
Castiel looked at Dean. Dean, for his part, looked kind of desperately back at Castiel. The angel lifted both eyebrows and called back over his shoulder. “It is … on the counter, somewhere, Chuck.”
“Uh, all right, 'somewhere' is not really specific ...” They could hear Chuck mutter, and Dean gave Castiel a grateful look before he hustled him towards the door. Castiel's sly, almost fey look in turn had him grinning.
“You're getting so many pancakes for that.” Dean promised him, as they walked quickly to the car. “Right now, in fact.”
They had just made it to the Impala when they heard the first of Chuck's angry, squeaky bellows, but they weren't around to hear the rest of the horrible names Chuck started calling Dean, because Dean practically threw himself in the car. Sam did tell them later, though, when they came back later.
Dean hadn't heard his brother laugh like that in a long, long time. It was almost worth getting that plunger upside the head from an angry, congested Prophet.
*************************
The final mistake - the culmination, if Dean was going to use some Sam-worthy vocabulary, came not months later. Hell, not even weeks, but mere days. Three fucking days later and Dean screwed himself up so hard he wasn't entirely sure how he ended up back on his feet again. It was the kind of mistake that should have lost him a friendship or two, at least gotten him in deep with Sam for a long while. Enough for Sam to have taken off again.
It was exactly five hundred and twenty one days since Sam had held his tongue, at that breakfast so long ago.
Something he should have done well to remember when he walked into Chuck's house three days after he spattered hope all over his angel, alone and lost in his own thoughts. He'd left earlier that morning, just to get in a drive and clear his thoughts. Castiel had gone off again - some of the girls thought they had a strong lead on where God might have been last and he wanted to follow up on it as soon as possible. Sam had wanted to get some research done, Chuck had been writing. So Dean had climbed into the Impala, blasted some Led Zepplin, and hit the road. Just to try and settle himself down. He was far too twitchy by half, these days.
He opened the door quietly, and didn't think to announce himself as he closed it behind him with equal amounts of care. He wasn't sure how Chuck was when he was writing, but Sam could be in a right snit if Dean came stomping in, in the middle of one his research hours.
Dean looked in the living room.
Sam was not researching.
In fact, it sort of looked like Sam was trying to see just how far his tongue could go down Chuck's throat. And Chuck, good friend that he was, was letting him.
Dean let out a noise that for years after-wards he would swear was not a girly scream, and Sam and Chuck flew apart like magic, like the spark between them just electrocuted them backwards. Sam's mouth was pink, swollen and he was gasping out, “Dean - oh God - listen, I'm sorry, this just - pwah!”
The heavy splash of holy water to Sam's face didn't help what was probably Sam's bisexual panic coming to the fore, but Dean didn't care. Because his brother was making out with a guy, and his brother didn't make out with guys. So he had to be possessed by the Devil.
He'd worry about how that made no damned sense later.
Sam spat water out, and sighed, “Dean … I'm not possessed.”
“Yeah, and you're not gay either.” Dean growled, as he threw another splash of water into Sam's face. “So if Lucifer is in there - I'd really like him to get out of my brother Right The Fuck NOW.”
Sam spat out more water, and his tone hand gone straight over to pissed. “Considering all the fucked up things I did when I was possessed, the first time, you think the worst thing Lucifer could do to me is make me kiss Chuck. Really, Dean?”
Dean's hand paused in mid-splash, and he eyed his brother in brooding silence, which was the moment Chuck decided to, well, step in. “Listen - Dean - seriously - it just … kinda happened. People in close quarters, y'know, and Sam was looking for some affection and I don't know, I get that. Because I've been writing him, and I just wanted to him have something that wasn't creepy or incestual but with someone who liked him - apparently liking him is also going out of my sexual comfort zone but that's bleeeeaagh!”
Dean really didn't care if Chuck didn't like the holy water bath he had just gotten. Chuck didn't want to get hit in the face with the rest of Dean's holy water? He'd stop talking emotional and crazy and possessed-like. As it was, Dean was already reaching for the Knife on his belt, growling, “So I guess that would make you the current Lucifer condom, then?”
“For the love of - I am not Lucifer! Do you honestly think my Archangel stalkers would that shit happen to me?” Chuck muttered as he wiped water out of his eyes. “And for another, holy water? On a former angel? C'mon, Dean. Now can we please talk about this - like adults?”
Dean stared at Chuck for a long, long moment, before casting his gaze around the room. He stopped when his eyes fell on a box of crackers and without another word he plucked them up and ripped open a package. Salted, excellent. Dean wasn't sure if this would work any better than the water - but at this point? He was just mad as Hell and wanted to throw stuff at Chuck's goddamned head.
Salted crackers seemed as good a projectile as anything else. Especially since he got to yell, “Christo!” while doing so. The cracker shattered across Chuck's forehead, and wet crumbs stuck to the writer as he yelped and ducked behind the secure bulk of Sam.
Sam, to his never-ending credit as a mature adult, grabbed the package away from Dean and yelled, “The fuck, Dean? What in the name of Hell is - stop eying those books! You're not throwing Chuck's own books at him.”
“I don't see why not. He wrote 'em. I'm sure he can handle taking one or two of them to the throat.” Dean growled in response, but he didn't pick up a book. He did start looking for more snack foods, though.
Sam was shaking his head in disbelief, and making sure to keep himself between Dean and Chuck. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”
Dean suddenly realized two things, as the anger in his veins melting and he looked at his brother protect Chuck with dimly realized 'ohshit' horror. One, he was pretty sure what had gotten into him was hysterical panic about the future that might or might not happen, and now he looked like a dick who thought his brother being bisexual was worth knifing the guy Sam decided to have his manlove with.
Secondly, maybe he shouldn't have pissed off the only guy in the room who wrote down his life for a living, and knew every single thing he thought, before he thought it. Right down to the last detail...
He didn't even have time to mouth, 'No, Chuck, Don't!' before the short bearded man bellowed, anger radiating off of his small body, “I'll tell you what's gotten into him! He thinks this is some kind of forerunner to that God Damned Apocalypse Sucks future Zachariah showed him!”
`
Sam turned so fast, Dean would have been surprised if the kid didn't get whiplash. “What - Apocalypse - when did you see Zachariah?”
“Oh, this happened years, ago, Sam.” Chuck growled as he tried to get all the sticky-wet cracker crumbs out of his beard. “About four and a half years ago, to be exact. Y'know, the day you told him Lucifer was waiting to wear you like a fashionable Sam cardigan? Zachariah dragged him to the future - where he saw you give into Lucifer and Castiel turn into a fallen angel drug addict! It's kind of why he's been acting like a douchebag for the past six months.”
Sam went stiff and still, back as straight as an arrow as he turned to Dean, eyes wide and shocked. “Dean - is this true?”
Dean felt sick, at the look on Sam's face. His protesting voice was weak and tired as he tore his gaze away from his baby brother and put it on Chuck, “God Damnit, Chuck.”
“This is what you get for cockblocking a Prophet of the Lord! Not to mention - ugh - trying to assault him with crackers, for God's sake ….” Chuck seethed, but the man finally managed to look up from his beard, to Sam, and his face fell, “Oh. Oh God. Oh Sam. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it - it's not going to happen that way! I haven't seen it yet, but, but, you have all been kicking serious ass and - ”
“Chuck.” Sam's voice was quiet, so very quiet. “I … appreciate the apology, but right now, I really need to talk to my brother about all this. Do you mind?”
“No, no, of course not. I'm just going to go .. . comb this stuff out of my beard. Slowly.” Chuck mumbled, and he shot such an apologetic look in Dean's direction that Dean felt like a complete and total ass for trying to kill him with crackers.
He rubbed the back of his head, shrugged at Chuck in his own version of a silent apology, which Chuck nodded at him in acceptance, before hurrying up the stairs. Leaving Dean to look at Sam - a Sam gone pale and scared but who was holding himself up, brown eyes meeting Dean's without flinching, and a voice that was soft but strong. “All right. Tell me everything.”
So, Dean did. He told Sam about Croatoan spreading across the world. He told him about Palin as President, and the whole-scale world wide destruction. He told him about finding Bobby's wheelchair filled with bullet holes. He told him about the camp - about meeting himself and realizing how much of a douchebag he let himself become. He told him about Chuck, and toliet paper.
He told him about Cas - and he felt his voice go rough and scratchy as he recalled the women surrounding the angel, the drugs and the liquor. The dead look in Castiel's eyes, the anger in the way he said 'fearless leader'. He told Sam about the angel losing his Grace, losing his hope, and losing everything that made him special - and how it was all Dean's fault.
Then, hands folded so tightly over each other than he thought he'd break his own fingers, he told Sam about the end. About Detroit, about Sam giving in, about the angels leaving. About Lucifer wearing Sam's face, that white suit and the sound of Lucifer cracking the other Dean's neck. He told him of Lucifer's parting words, words that were more haunting than any of Dean's nightmares of Hell.
Whatever you do, you will always end up … here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here.
I win, so... I win.
See you in five years, Dean.
There was silence, a long silence, when Dean finished. They had both sat down on Chuck's couch, and Dean had spent the last two minutes just staring at his hands. He only looked up when Sam said quietly, “Dean, I'm sorry.”
Dean blinked, and sat up a little, and looked over at Sam's strained profile, “Ah - okay - I'm pretty sure I'm the one who kept this from you for years, though.”
“Yeah - and I'm pretty fucking pissed about that.” Sam's lips twisted upwards, but his face slipped back into one of his more serious expressions as he looked back at his brother. “But I'm not apologizing for that. I'm apologizing for ever thinking you weren't strong enough to handle all this. I think - no, I know. You were the only one ever strong enough in the first place. I never came up with a plan - The Plan. I just jumped in, with my powers, and, thinking I was right because I've always thought I was right...”
“You really are like Dad.” Dean commented softly, and earned himself a sideways look and a soft chuff of amusement from Sam.
Sam sighed out, his large hands flexing. “Yeah, I guess I am. But you were the one who was strong enough to bring us together when we needed to be. And you were the one strong enough to keep going, even knowing - even knowing the price we'll all have to pay, if we fail. You kept going, man. I don't know how you do it.”
“Well ...” Dean said slowly, and one corner of his mouth lifted upwards in response. “I guess I'm just too damned stubborn to let anyone tell me what I'm going to do. Not Zach. Not even the Devil, wearing your ugly-ass mug.”
Sam smiled then, before looking at his brother calmly. “He's wrong, but I don't have to tell you that. It's not changing the details that are going to make the difference here. We changed our choices - and nothing is certain anymore. You did that, Dean. By making Cas sit in a coffee shop and wait for us - by calling me on the phone. You made different choices, so, there's going to be a different outcome.” He swallowed. “But … you knew that. That's what The Plan is all about, isn't it?”
Dean shrugged, lifting his shoulders. “I wouldn't call myself that fucking clever - but - yeah. More or less.”
Sam nodded his head, flexing his fingers, before he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, his eyes warm and earnest. “It's a great plan, Dean.”
“Thanks. Sammy.” Dean said softly, smiling at his brother. Then he winced as Sam's hand came up to smack him upside the head, “The fuck!”
“That's what you get for not telling me for four and a half years.” Sam said, glaring again. “Keep anything like that from me again and I'm kicking your ass through your Impala.”
“Like you could.” Dean grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. He watched his brother move towards the stairs. “So - ah - Chuck?” A pause, and a disbelieving, “Really, dude?”
Sam paused at the foot of the stairs, his expression shifting into something gentle. “Yeah - it's weird … but it's nice to be with someone - who knows it all. Knows every last bit of it and doesn't think it's heroic or insane, or evil, or anything else but one sad, fucked up life. Who understands, because their life is wrapped around mine, and that's pretty fucked up too.” He lifted one eyebrow at Dean, “But then again, why am I telling you this? You got Castiel.”
Dean shifted on his seat on the sofa, and he'd deny it later, but he was squirming. “Cas and I aren't like that, man.”
“Yeah. Right.” Sam shook his head, as he started to go up the stairs. “Do yourself a favor, Dean, Hell. Do all of us a favor.” He paused, and looked dead on his brother. “Think about it. Just … think about all of what you just told me about our future, which is practically our present.” He let Dean sink that one into his thoughts, before continuing gently, “Then … ask Cas where your amulet is.”
With that, Sam headed up the stairs, and left Dean to do just as he was told.
He thought about it.
***********************
He was still thinking about it a day and a half later, a cold beer in his hand, watching the sun dip down beyond the horizon. It wasn't something he did, normally, but he's been thinking for thirty six hours straight. His brain needs a fucking break.
So there's steps leading to the back door to Chuck's house, there was a shit-ton of beer in the fridge and Sam and Chuck were - well, bonding or emoting or just being really frigging bisexual with one another, and while Dean had thirty-six hours to think it over and be happy that his brother might be sleeping with the one person Heaven wouldn't let die or turn into a horrible monster or both, it's still Chuck. And his brother. So no, he wasn't going to think about what's going on upstairs. As far as he was concerned, they were knitting sweaters or some such shit. Fluffy, warm sweaters.
Naturally, when he has finally managed to get his mind on nothing - pure and blissful nothing - that was when he heard the fluttering of wings on air, and he didn't even need to turn around to know Castiel was there. Dean sighed, squared his shoulders, and shifted the beers next to him over so Castiel could join him on the steps, and after a moment, he heard Castiel climb down until he was even with Dean, and took a seat beside him.
“Hello, Dean.” The angel said, and Dean could feel his breath - his unnecessary breath because angels didn't need to breath, but the flesh did - against his cheek.
“Hey, Cas.” He couldn't help it. He smiled, and that involuntary flexing of his face muscles really just sort of boiled it all down for him, after thirty six hours of grinding it around in his head. The goddamned angel made him happy. Fuck. Really wasn't much else to say, after that.
Except, of course, to enjoy his own bisexual freak-out in silence.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Castiel letting off a low feeling of warmth next to him, like a holy space heater. Wordlessly, Dean handed over his beer, and after a moment, Castiel took it. His tone was faintly surprised. “I thought I was not allowed alcoholic beverages.”
“It's a special occasion.” Dean said slowly, still staring off at the sun-touched sky. He sighed, and leaned forward a little. “Besides, we'll both probably need it.”
He could almost hear the frown over, “I see … “ but then there were a few quiet swallowing noises that Dean most definitely did not crane his neck to see. After a moment, the angel spoke again. “Where are Chuck and Sam?”
“Oh, they're upstairs.” Dean snorted softly. “Probably exploring the wonders of mutual … geek love, or something. That I am not talking about.” Seriously, he was not talking about his brother's sex life. Possibly ever again.
“Ah. So they have finally succumbed to their mutual passion.” Castiel answered with such gravity that it took a moment of Dean nodding his head in agreement, before he did a double-take.
“Wait - what? How did you know - what?” He sputtered out, and damn it to Hell, how did the angel manage to look so damned calm saying stuff like that?
Like he was now, expression impassive, the bottle between his hands only about a quarter down. The angel took another swallow of beer, before saying without a flicker of emotion. “Sometimes, Chuck asks me to proofread. It is a pleasure to read something, before everyone else.”
Dean stared at him for a full minute, before he slapped a hand to his forehead, and that grin slipped over his lips once more. “Yeah, how could I forget? You're the biggest 'Winchester Gospels' fan around. Own all the books, yadda yadda.”
“And the promotional poster.” The angel answered so seriously that Dean had to look at him warily until he realized Cas was joking, his lips curved up into the faintest of smirks as he looked back at the hunter. “The artwork really does you no justice.”
Dean let out a soft laugh, took another drink of beer. “Awww, you think I'm pretty.” He smiled down at the bottle, before he added, quietly, “That's okay. I think you're kind of ...pretty, yourself. Y'know. For a guy. For an angel.” He cleared his throat. “For an … angel guy.”
The angel was silent for a long moment, before he asked quietly, making it more of a statement than anything else. “You find me attractive.”
“Yeah.” Dean took a deep breath in, then out, and put his bottle of beer aside before he spoke, his voice going rough. “Cas - can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, Dean.” And wow, that answer sounded layered. The kind that Dean sort of wanted to pick apart until it was bare and naked and …
Christ, he wasn't even thinking about that frigging answer, was he? Focus, boy. He swallowed against a dry throat, putting his eyes on Castiel, keeping them there. “Cas … where's my amulet?”
The change over the angel's face was something to behold. First surprise, lifting those eyebrows, and then … of all things, the angel looked flustered. One hand went his neck, where he rubbed the dark hair almost curling over the collar of his white shirt. He looked to Dean, swallowed, then his fingers went to his tie. Dean watched, fascinated, while Castiel slipped it loose of the knot, and tugged it loose, putting it aside on the step between them. Then those long, strong fingers started unbuttoning that still crisp white shirt, until Dean was seeing pale chest, lean and strong, and ...a small, almost ugly little golden charm, hanging on a long black cord. Resting a little further down Castiel's chest than it was when Dean wore it, riding dead center against his breastbone.
Well, seriously, what could you do when an angel of the Lord was wearing your amulet like it was your class ring? Only answer Dean could come up with, the only answer that made any sense was to slid one hand into Castiel's dark hair and tug his mouth over to be kissed.
His mouth was dry, chapped in places, and Castiel himself was stiff and unresponsive, unmoving under Dean's fingers and lips. Dean pulled back, frowned, thought to himself that perhaps he had gotten wrong, because as first kisses went, that kind of sucked ass.
That was when Castiel let out the softest of sighs, wrapped his fingers into Dean's shirt and pulled him back over. Dean remembered, abruptly and gleefully, that Castiel had a learning curve like no-one's business. Later on down the line, he was going to remember the second kiss over the first, because Castiel warmed under his lips, sweet and firm and undeniably male but other and for some reason that did not hit Dean's 'ohshitkissingaguyameter'. Only Castiel could taste of books and honey, of coffee and maple syrup, of something old and ancient and awe-inspiring, a combination of tastes that made Dean want to crawl inside of his mouth and live there. The angel's lips slid sideways, drawing Dean's into his own, as if marking them like he marked Dean's shoulder, tattooing himself on Dean with lips, heat and want.
It was weird, cool, utterly awesome, fucking sexy as anything and Dean kind of wanted to keep doing it for awhile. A nice long while.
However, first things first.
He pulled back, and held Castiel back by his shoulders when the angel tried to go after his mouth again, blue eyes dark and hungry for more kisses in a way that sent a delighted shiver down Dean's spine. The hunter cleared his throat, and gave Castiel a stern look that made the angel relax against Dean's fingers, listen with that intent way of his. Dean nodded his silent approval, his voice rumbling. “Ground rules for this, Cas. First, Sam always gets first dibs. On the front seat, on where we sit in diners, on the first donut out of the box. He's just first.” The angel tilted his head, mouth all red and kissable, before nodding once. “Good. Now, what he doesn't get - at all - is to have is awesome mind-blowing lip suckage from me, amongst other amazing things I'll be glad to show you, and beyond you get first dibs on the backseat with me when we gotta sleep over in the car.”
The angel's lips quirked at the corners. “That sounds acceptable.”
Dean smirked faintly back, before going serious again. “You don't get to leave - and when I say that I mean you can't suddenly decide my life wigs you out, or this was just a wild angel human fling, and I am one hundred percent fucking not arguing this part -- you don't get to die. Which means you can't give in to despair, drugs, or orgies. Unless they're with me - and a really hot brunette with matching doe eyes and an amazing rack. I'll be glad to share in that kind of orgy, because … yeah, your mouth and hers ...” He got lost on that thought, because Hell to the Yes, watching Castiel's lips move down some fantasy girl's body would be so damned sexy...
Er. Getting distracted, and mostly in his pants. He cleared his throat, “The death thing though, is non-fucking-negotiable. You died once, and you're done while we're together. You get me?”
“I do not do drugs, or die, and I am only allowed sexual access to you, unless under very specific … circumstances.” Castiel said slowly, “I am also not allowed to leave in any way, shape or form.”
“Nope, not at all.” He looked at the angel, hard. “You still find the terms - 'acceptable'?”
Castiel seemed to consider everything, his blue eyes serious in their consideration, before he nodded his head and offered his hand gravely. “I do.”
After mentally pumping his fist in the air, Dean shook his head, tutting softly. “Cas, Cas, Cas. And you being such a big frigging fan of the Gospels. That is not how I settle deals, man.”
He slid his hands down off those firm, slender shoulders to Castiel's wrists, sliding the angel into his lap, making him half-kneel on the steps as he slid his hands around the angel's stubbled face and kissed him until Castiel was curling into him, nuzzling his mouth with sharp, pleased noises. Kisses that continued when Dean dragged Castiel off to the Impala, pulled him into the promised back seat. Kisses that lasted the entire night, and well beyond.
********************
So in the end, Dean seriously approved of making deals with angels. For one there was none of that losing your soul and going to Hell business. For another, the perks were cool. Like someone who never got aggravated about cuddling because they rarely slept. Someone who loved diner food as much as he did, and was always up for breakfast for dinner. And even though there wasn't sex - like honest to God, yes-this-is-happening-sex for another year and a half, it was still … awesome.
Totally and completely awesome.
That was why Dean shouldn't have been surprised that was when everything turned on it's goddamned ear. He really should have seen it coming. Seen it coming from a mile away.
Because the second Dean let himself get happy, God finally decided to return his messages.
Author: Commodoresexual
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and male/male action.
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam, Chuck, MC/MC
Spoilers: AU! of 5.04, spoilers for 5.08
Warnings: Language, blasphemy, male on male, and , where I give a nod to one of my favorite authors, entangled_now. Trust me, if you know her stuff, you'll know which one. I salute you, my friend!
Word Count: 27,000 + and still going...
Summary: It was the worst year he had never lived.
After four years, it was starting to become obvious to Sam and Cas that Dean was hiding something from them. There were all the usual tells, of course. Glaring at them silently when they asked. Drinking a lot more than usual. Abrupt changes of topic - Dean's favorite way of derailing Sam's, “What is with you?” with a side of Castiel's narrowed suspicious eyes - was still, “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I took Cas to a whorehouse?”
That had Sam choking on air and Castiel actually turned the cutest fucking shade of pink. Then Dean just sat back as Sam put his hands over his ears chanting, “TMI! TMI!” while Castiel was blushing and growling at Dean, “Stop threatening to tell such a lurid tale!”
It was fucking awesome, and it worked every single time.
That was of course, when the years were young and fresh, practically virginal. When he could get away with embarrassing the hell out of his baby brother and his angel for a distraction because he honestly didn't need that many of them. Coming on to the fourth year, though...
Ye-ah.
2013. The year the angels decided to finally pack it up and leave. The year Castiel lost his Grace, broke his foot and began the long slide into drugs, booze, and slutty ass woman because faith in God and Dean wasn't enough. The year that Sam finally broke down, and took the Devil as his own personal angel dick to his meat-suit condom, let the Devil take him and use him. It was, as far as Dean was concerned, the worst year of his life that he had never lived. Worse than the year before the Deal. Worse than the first year in Hell. Worse than the year following of the Sixty Six seals.
Because as shitty as those years had been, at the end of them there was still Sam, still loving him, still being his little brother. Even if Dean had to dig deep to find the stupid little shit, even if he had almost lost him to Ruby and the Devil, Sam managed to stay back, to hold on, to find himself again. Because he was Sam Winchester, and he loved Dean so much he was willing to toss himself into a Plan he didn't totally believe in, befriend an angel that he had hated, apologize for mistakes made, and mean it.
He had Sam, and now, he had Castiel too. But at the end of that year, that year that didn't exist, he'd lost them both, and he was sorry, but that was not fucking happening. He wasn't above admitting to himself, at least, that he was a needy son of a bitch. He needed his people. If he couldn't keep them safe, couldn't keep them sane and not broken in the way they could end up - shattered to fragments, then what good was he? He suddenly got his other Older self a lot better, in the first month of the fourth year. He wasn't sure what was worse, the anticipation that he could fail, or the sick worry that maybe - he already had.
To say Dean was a little stressed was kind of understating it by like a million fucking degrees, and unfortunately, that led to a series of, well, he could only call them 'stupid fucking idiot Dean moments'. He'd had a few of those over the years - rushing in when he shouldn't, saying things that ended up getting him slammed into walls or giving him stage four stomach cancer, making decisions based on pure Winchester stubbornness than anything else. Some of the moments he'd regretted sorely and others he knew if he had to do it all over again, he'd still do them, without hesitation, because it was the right thing to do.
Castiel would tell him that it was because he was Righteous. Sam would tell him to stop trying to be Batman.
What he was doing, though, certainly wasn't good. Some of it could be classified as funny, but honestly? The day was coming when the joke was not going to hold up, and with each passing moment, Dean was sure the questions were coming. He could see it in Sam's increasing bitchier bitch faces, and the further tilting of Castiel's head. He was going to have to tell them the truth, about the future that could happen, despite all his best efforts.
He just wasn't sure what the truth was going to do for them, besides tear them apart again and he couldn't deal with it. Not now. Not this year. So he kept his mouth shut, and in typical Dean Winchester fashion, started making bigger and better fucking mistakes that were just bright flares in the proverbial sky that something here just wasn't right.
*****************
Huge mistake number one was just downright embarrassing. Word had come in from the Inner Circle - there was something particularly divine going down at St. Mary's Parochial College. Dean was heavily disappointed to find there wasn't a single plaid skirt'd co-ed to be found, but considering the fact they needed to blend in? Yeah, probably for the best. The only problem was Cas, and while Dean had finally managed to get him into comfortable clothing for when he decided he was staying over with them, the suit and the trenchcoat remained. Dean had no problem with the coat, but the suit was going to get them all kind of questions they didn't need, and while normally they'd just leave Castiel on the sidelines for the 'talking normal to people' part - Castiel was their holy radar. So after four years, Dean and Sam took the angel shopping.
Well, more like Goodwilling it - they just needed to get Cas a pair of jeans that fit, a shirt and maybe some boots. Goodwill was cheap and more importantly, since both he and Sam shopped their regularly, Castiel would fit in with them perfectly. Besides, even Almost-Not-Quite-End-Of-The-World time, Goodwill remained open. There were shortages, sure, amongst other crazy shit, but Heaven and Hell couldn't really get the party started without the Winchesters, and the Winchesters were sending along their regrets with both middle fingers extended. The world continued on, suckier than normal, but the lakes weren't boiling over and cats and dogs weren't doing it. It wasn't the end, and they still had time.
Goodwill was a little barer than normal though, but Dean was used to that shit. He was rifling through men's jeans, trying to find something slightly smaller than his own size, while Sam led Castiel through shirts. Stood to reason, with jeans, Castiel's hips were more slender than his own. Except jeans were all different styles, so Dean had to curve his hands around the jeans themselves, seeing if they would fit close to his approximation for where they would hang if, say, Dean had his hands around Castiel's waist, hips, or, ah, ass and groin.
Christ, he was spending way too much time visualizing Castiel's lower regions.
He was saved from further contemplation of anything below Castiel's waistline by the hilarious conversation Sam and Castiel were having, one aisle over.
Sam was laughing at something he had found. “Oh man - this suit - this suit is seriously straight out of the disco ball era. I have to show Dean, he is going to crack up ...Cas, what the hell is that?”
“It is a shirt, Sam.” Castiel said seriously, as seriously as he would have told Sam about a impending demon attack.
“Uhm - yeah - Cas? That's a woman's shirt. You can't wear that.” Sam said firmly.
Dean grinned - he could almost see Castiel's head tipping to one side, blue eyes confuddled. “Why, Sam?”
“Well - because - ah … unless you're a cross-dresser? Guys don't wear women's clothing.” Dean held in another snort of laughter. Give Castiel ten seconds ...
“I am not a man. I am an angel.” Yep, saw that one coming from a mile away.
Sam sighed, and Dean felt a twinge of sympathy for his brother. “Yes - but you're a man-shaped angel and men-shaped-angels don't wear - you know what? We'll show it to Dean and see what he thinks. Dean!”
Dean cleared his throat, still flipping through jeans, feeling himself grin despite his best efforts. “One aisle over, Sammy.” Straight face, he had to remember a straight face.
He listened to the clomping of Sam's monster sized feet - amazing how Sam could sneak up on anyone with those boats at the end of his legs, and the gentle patter of Castiel's loafers coming around the aisle as they approached him. He only looked up from the jeans when Sam said, “Dean, would you please help me? He's your angel - I don't know how to explain gender appropriate wear to divine beings.”
Dean grinned, but that grin slipped away fast when he looked at the suit, hanging innocuously off of a heavy wooden hanger that Sam held, that perfectly white suit that looked like it belonged to some tele-evangelist...
I like you, Dean. I see what the other angels see in you.
His stomach twisted, and his heart fell as he slid his gaze reluctantly over to Castiel's shirt - an ugly, baggy pale blue thing, that looked like it had been kidnapped from a Renaissance fair, or a hippie commune...
I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me.
“Dean?” Castiel's voice snapped him out of his fugue, because he could hear the concern in it, and he tore his gaze away from those clothes to meet his angel's eyes. His angel's still clear and steady blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” Sam's voice sounded cautious, and Dean looked over at his brother, still mute as he stared into Sam's - Sam's brown eyes, that were going wide with worry. “Jesus, Dean, you look like you're going to be sick. What's wrong?”
Dean didn't answer right away, just swallowed his panic and grabbed both pieces of clothing out of their hands and tossed them away without caring where they went. He turned back to find Sam and Castiel staring at him like he had suddenly gone insane - which was kinda true and leaning more towards it with his next actions - which were to point a finger at them and growl, “No white suits! No hippie girly shirts! Ever! You two hear me? Fucking never... ever!”
Sam looked at Castiel, who looked back at him, and finally they both looked back at Dean. Castiel spoke slowly, “Very well, Dean. We will find other clothing, if that is what you want.”
“That is exactly what I frigging want, Cas. Yes. Follow the angel, Sam.” Dean exhaled, heavily. “Just … no woman's clothing. Seriously, Cas, we're trying to fit in. Plaid will work. Or a different colored button-down. Just … nothing … like that other stuff. Please.”
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel said, and damn the man if he wasn't speaking in what Dean could only describe as a soothing tone. He took Sam by the arm, who was still looking at his brother warily, “Come on, Sam. Help me find plaid.”
“Yeah. Okay. Right.” Sam said quietly, and he left with Castiel, but he knew that look on Sam's face. He saw the intent way Castiel was watching him, like the days when he woke up from nightmares of Hell. Watchful, caring, sympathetic.
And he knew, the moment they got into the car after this little shopping trip gone bizarre, the first words out of Sam's mouth were, “Dean - what the hell was going on back there?”
So he fixed one quick hard look on his brother, then to the angel just in case he thought of jumping in, and said, “Nothing at all. I just hate disco-hippy-shit clothing.”
Then he turned the volume on the tape-deck as high up as he could, to drown out any further conversation.
********************
The second Huge Ass Mistake was downright hilarious, and even if Dean had to laugh at himself, hell, at least it was actually funny.
It was about four months in, and after a week-long bout in Trickster - no, no, the Archangel Whinyass Gabriel's latest fun-house of terrors, or rather one stupid ass television show after the next which the brothers had to endure. Add into that big brother Gabriel had some kind of issue with Castiel? So he kept throwing the other angel into walls and duct taping his mouth shut and wouldn't let Castiel get them the fuck out of TV Hell.
Altogether, it was a suckyass fucking time of it. Hell, they didn't even figure out the Trickster was an angel until Dean had taken a wild guess about how he knew Cas, and captured Gabriel in a circle of holy oil. Right in the middle of an episode of The Magician, and man, as much as he hated crime shows and stage magicians? The guy who played the Magician was a frigging magnetic personality. He liked him almost as much as he liked Dr. Sexy and hooboy, did he love -
Uh. Yeah. Not the point.
Point was, he captured the Trick - Gabriel, gave him the good verbal bitchslap he deserved, with his 'Stop beating us up because you're not willing to man up to your family, and PS, leave my damned angel alone!' speech, and got himself, Sam and Castiel out of that abandoned warehouse as soon as possible. Looking over the other two as they all but collapsed into the Impala, Dean made up his mind. They were taking a week's hiatus from all this End of the World crap. They were tired, emotionally battered and in Cas's case? Physically owned as well. They needed to recharge, reorganize and take a few days to sleep and lick their wounds. Metaphorically speaking. If Dean was going to lick Castiel, he wasn't going to lick wounds.
...or not. Lick. At all. He was not licking Castiel. Ah Hell. These days, Dean was having serious problems getting his brain to make the right connections when it came to the angel.
At any rate, safest place they could think to go was the one place the angels or Lucifer wouldn't look for them, and that was with Chuck. It was one hellva drive, but Dean drank a lot of coffee. Castiel didn't sleep, so he sat up front while Sam attempted to curl his huge body in the backseat. After a minute or two of shifting around, Sam slumped out, dead to the world.
It was a quiet, and from Dean's perspective, tense drive for the first few hours. Castiel didn't say a word, just stared out the window, which was pretty normal, but it was the sort of silence that made Dean wonder what was going on in the angel's head. So, in typical Dean blunt fashion, he decided to just come right out and ask. “Hey - Mr. Smiley. How about you slide some of that oh-so-obvious cheer my way, tell me what the hell is going on in that divine head of yours?”
He flicked his gaze sideways as Castiel turned slowly to him. After a moment, the angel finally spoke, “That makes two brothers - two archangels - who have told me my Father is dead.”
Ah. Aaaaaaaah. Dean sighed softly, before looking back at Castiel, his tone wry, “Cas, please tell me you're not listening to Mr. Feathery Whinypants. The guy is a douchebag - almost a big a douchebag as Zach, or Raph.” He shook his head as he put his gaze back on the road, “I don't know what's worst about your family - that the fact that they all seem to have the genetic trait of Asshole - or … no, really, the worst is that they really are entire Host of Heavenly Asshats.” He snorted, “Don't hear that verse in the 'Hallelujah' chorus, tell you that much.”
“... You either are trying to make me laugh, or punch you in the nose, Dean.” Castiel observed, and Dean could hear the wryness of his tone, and a sideways look told him that the angel was fighting off a smile.
“Does that mean you do want to hear the verse I just made up? Well duh, of course you do.” Dean said, putting cheer in his voice as he sang in a low tenor, “May the douchebags stay on their fat ass-es in Hea-ven, for-ever, and ev-er....”
“Dean.” Castiel hissed at him, but the angel's eyes were lighter and his mouth was definitely curved into that smile of his - that sly thing Dean liked to call 'Dean Winchester's personal angel smile'.
After five years it wasn't just a lifting of the corners of the mouth, nope. Fully evolved brilliant smile - elusively there for ten seconds, then gone again.
Dean grinned back, unrepentant. The drive became silent again, after that, but a familiar and comfortable one. If Dean was being honest with himself, it was the only real peace he ever felt these days - these long, still moments with Cas. Two hours later they finally reached Chuck's place, and Dean was so damned tired he was fucking certain when Chuck opened the door and greeted them with his familiar sheath of papers, he was looking at three Chucks, which was why his comment of, “Dude, three books at once?” probably only made sense to him.
Sam's broad hands were pushing him firmly through the door, and to the nearest sofa, and his voice sounded miles away, “He'd been driving for nearly 15 hours straight, Chuck. He just needs sleep.”
“I'll keep watch.” Castiel's voice swam towards Dean, and he turned towards it automatically, but Sam still had him, was still steering right towards the softness of a long sofa, and he fell into it, face first with a happy groan. He felt his shoes slide off by powers beyond his control, and something warm covered his shoulders. After that, he surrendered to sleep.
He was brought near wakefulness only twice - once he heard Sam, Cas, and Chuck talking about something, and Sam and Chuck talking amongst themselves. There was the sound of the front door opening, then closing again, and it was silent once more. Dean let himself drift back into dreams.
The second time came with the front door opening and closing again, Castiel's soft voice briefly. Dean shifted, and the blanket covering him shifted as well. He turned to face the kitchen, and saw Castiel, leaned against one counter, looking out the window into the late morning sunshine. The sun was kind to his angel, marking each sharp line with light, softening the man's features, the lines of his body that were free of the traditional trenchcoat and even the suit jacket today. The white shirt gleamed, for Christ's sake.
The angel shifted, slightly, and something rattled. He tilted his head, careful as any deer, and plucked up something that had been laying by his hand, and lifted it up into the light. It was an orange prescription bottle, and Castiel tilted his head back and forth, apparently fascinated by the pills within.
Dean was on his feet before he even realized it, and across the kitchen just as Castiel looked up and said his name. He grabbed the bottle out of Castiel's hand and swung over to the sink, growling, “The hell is the matter with you, angel?”
“Dean - I do not think -” Castiel began to say, but Dean turned around and cut him off with a gesture.
“No, you seriously don't think! I know you haven't been around for inclusion of the afterschool special, but c'mon Cas! Some time in the past five years you've been wandering around in Jimmy's meatsuit, someone must have shown you a 'Don't Do Drugs' commercial! They're thirty seconds long, and there are a lot of frying eggs!” Dean grunted as he tried opening the bottle.
“Frying … eggs? I do not understand what that has to do with anything about narcotic abuse, Dean.” He could practically hear Cas's frown. “Which this is not.”
“It has to do with the brain, and how drugs makes them all, fried-like and looking like breakfast.” Dean grunted as he twisted the cap. Stupid … childproof ...ah-hah! He huffed out a breath of triumph as the cap came off, and he started dumping the pills down the drain. “And if it isn't, well then, I guess I got here just in time before you started down the path of hippie shirts and orgies! And there's not going to be orgies, Cas!”
He turned on the faucet, and for good measure, the garbage disposal to face a surprised Castiel at his elbow. Dean breathed out, and grabbed the angel by the shirt. “That's not the way to go, Cas. Never. I know it's hard right now - I know we've been looking for God for years now and there's still jack and shit, but don't lose hope. Jesus, not you. Not you.”
Castiel looked startled, like a bird that just banged into a window that he didn't know was there, and his rough voice was gentle, “Dean ...”
“No, Cas, listen to me. I don't care what those jack-off older brothers of yours say. I don't care how many times Sam gives me bitchface for all this crazy. God is out there - finding him is part of The Plan and you're going to find him, we're going to find him. You believe that, and I believe it because you believe. You're … you're my fucking faith here, man. I may not believe in your Dad but I've always believed in you.” Dean gripped that white shirt, that immobile body, hoped his words sank in.
Castiel wet his dry lips, voice quiet, “You believe in me?”
“Yes, you stupid feathery sonnvabitch.” Dean searched Castiel's face, gave him another shake. “So don't do this. Don't walk out on me. I'm not - I'm not walking out on you. Not ever.”
Castiel nodded his head slowly. “I will not, Dean. I will stand by you.” The angel's hand slipped to his shoulder, “I will not leave.”
Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. “Good … good.” He stepped back and rubbed his mouth, full to the fucking brim on relief.
“Dean?” Castiel's voice was hesitant. “I do - one question?”
“Yeah, Cas?” Dean looked back towards his angel, who had his head tilted at him, and then at the empty pill bottle by the sink.
The angel seemed to struggle for a moment, before he looked up at Dean with an almost regretful look, “What are we going to tell Chuck about you destroying his allergy medication?”
Dean stared at him for a moment, struck completely silent, before he let out a, “Sonvabitch!” and grabbed at the empty pill bottle. Claritin. Prescription strength allergy medicine. For fucking hayfever and he had thought the angel was going to get high off of this stuff? All this shit would do would be to keep the angel from getting fucking congested. He groaned. “...Chuck is going to kill me.”
“That seems unlikely. Chuck lacks the muscle mass to be a serious threat to you.” Castiel walked over to his side, and they both peered down the drain. “Unless of course, one of you let him have a firearm again.”
“Mother Fucking Son of a Bitch.” Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head, and jerked as the front door opened, Sam and Chuck's voices echoing through the house.
Chuck was the first one Dean could distinguish, his tone soothing, a gentle note Dean noticed he had for Sam and Sam alone. “Sam, the fans don't hate you. It's just - every woman you're with dies.”
“So - as far as the fanfiction community is concerned, the only two people I'm allowed to sleep with is my brother, or Lucifer. Seriously, Chuck, there's got to be other options.” Sam retorted, and Dean had to wonder about Chuck and Sam if the only conversation they could have since getting back from nearly a year worth of adventures and the Gabriel Debacle, had to deal with internet porn. Written porn, no less.
“Well, sometimes … they let you sleep with Castiel.” If Dean wasn't struck dumb with horror over what he just did, he might have been stuck dumb with horror over Sam getting horizontal with the angel, instead. He wondered dimly if this situation could get anymore awkward as he looked over to Castiel, who met Dean's gaze with his 'Oh God not breasts! expression.
“Yeah - if Dean's dead or the Devil makes us do it - God I hate that non-consensual stuff. No thank you -” Sam walked into the kitchen with two bags of groceries and he blinked as he looked from Castiel, and back to Dean. “Hey! Guys! What's, ah, up?”
...When it doubt, go for the cheap shot. Dean put on his best mocking smile, even as he grabbed Cas, and started to edge around the island, “Apparently, not you?”
Sam's cheeks flushed, his face tightened into his 'bitchface' and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Whatever you say, bitch. Or should I say - Lucifer's bitch?” Dean said in an overly-cheerful voice, still pulling Castiel along with him. He spun around, and nearly ran into Chuck, similarly loaded down with food. “Chuck! How you doin' there, Chuck?”
“I'm - ah - fine, Dean.” Chuck blinked, as Dean dragged Castiel behind him like some goddamned doll. “You?”
“I'd be a lot better if you and Sam weren't talking about porn. In fact, all this porn talk has made feel the need for a constitutional. Outside. Away from the pornography. I'm taking the angel with me so you don't corrupt him with your dirty talk.” Dean tugged again, “C'mon, Cas.”
Castiel let himself be pulled towards the front door without protest, but they both stopped when Chuck's voice called back, “Oh hey, Castiel, did the pharmacy drop off my prescription?”
Castiel looked at Dean. Dean, for his part, looked kind of desperately back at Castiel. The angel lifted both eyebrows and called back over his shoulder. “It is … on the counter, somewhere, Chuck.”
“Uh, all right, 'somewhere' is not really specific ...” They could hear Chuck mutter, and Dean gave Castiel a grateful look before he hustled him towards the door. Castiel's sly, almost fey look in turn had him grinning.
“You're getting so many pancakes for that.” Dean promised him, as they walked quickly to the car. “Right now, in fact.”
They had just made it to the Impala when they heard the first of Chuck's angry, squeaky bellows, but they weren't around to hear the rest of the horrible names Chuck started calling Dean, because Dean practically threw himself in the car. Sam did tell them later, though, when they came back later.
Dean hadn't heard his brother laugh like that in a long, long time. It was almost worth getting that plunger upside the head from an angry, congested Prophet.
*************************
The final mistake - the culmination, if Dean was going to use some Sam-worthy vocabulary, came not months later. Hell, not even weeks, but mere days. Three fucking days later and Dean screwed himself up so hard he wasn't entirely sure how he ended up back on his feet again. It was the kind of mistake that should have lost him a friendship or two, at least gotten him in deep with Sam for a long while. Enough for Sam to have taken off again.
It was exactly five hundred and twenty one days since Sam had held his tongue, at that breakfast so long ago.
Something he should have done well to remember when he walked into Chuck's house three days after he spattered hope all over his angel, alone and lost in his own thoughts. He'd left earlier that morning, just to get in a drive and clear his thoughts. Castiel had gone off again - some of the girls thought they had a strong lead on where God might have been last and he wanted to follow up on it as soon as possible. Sam had wanted to get some research done, Chuck had been writing. So Dean had climbed into the Impala, blasted some Led Zepplin, and hit the road. Just to try and settle himself down. He was far too twitchy by half, these days.
He opened the door quietly, and didn't think to announce himself as he closed it behind him with equal amounts of care. He wasn't sure how Chuck was when he was writing, but Sam could be in a right snit if Dean came stomping in, in the middle of one his research hours.
Dean looked in the living room.
Sam was not researching.
In fact, it sort of looked like Sam was trying to see just how far his tongue could go down Chuck's throat. And Chuck, good friend that he was, was letting him.
Dean let out a noise that for years after-wards he would swear was not a girly scream, and Sam and Chuck flew apart like magic, like the spark between them just electrocuted them backwards. Sam's mouth was pink, swollen and he was gasping out, “Dean - oh God - listen, I'm sorry, this just - pwah!”
The heavy splash of holy water to Sam's face didn't help what was probably Sam's bisexual panic coming to the fore, but Dean didn't care. Because his brother was making out with a guy, and his brother didn't make out with guys. So he had to be possessed by the Devil.
He'd worry about how that made no damned sense later.
Sam spat water out, and sighed, “Dean … I'm not possessed.”
“Yeah, and you're not gay either.” Dean growled, as he threw another splash of water into Sam's face. “So if Lucifer is in there - I'd really like him to get out of my brother Right The Fuck NOW.”
Sam spat out more water, and his tone hand gone straight over to pissed. “Considering all the fucked up things I did when I was possessed, the first time, you think the worst thing Lucifer could do to me is make me kiss Chuck. Really, Dean?”
Dean's hand paused in mid-splash, and he eyed his brother in brooding silence, which was the moment Chuck decided to, well, step in. “Listen - Dean - seriously - it just … kinda happened. People in close quarters, y'know, and Sam was looking for some affection and I don't know, I get that. Because I've been writing him, and I just wanted to him have something that wasn't creepy or incestual but with someone who liked him - apparently liking him is also going out of my sexual comfort zone but that's bleeeeaagh!”
Dean really didn't care if Chuck didn't like the holy water bath he had just gotten. Chuck didn't want to get hit in the face with the rest of Dean's holy water? He'd stop talking emotional and crazy and possessed-like. As it was, Dean was already reaching for the Knife on his belt, growling, “So I guess that would make you the current Lucifer condom, then?”
“For the love of - I am not Lucifer! Do you honestly think my Archangel stalkers would that shit happen to me?” Chuck muttered as he wiped water out of his eyes. “And for another, holy water? On a former angel? C'mon, Dean. Now can we please talk about this - like adults?”
Dean stared at Chuck for a long, long moment, before casting his gaze around the room. He stopped when his eyes fell on a box of crackers and without another word he plucked them up and ripped open a package. Salted, excellent. Dean wasn't sure if this would work any better than the water - but at this point? He was just mad as Hell and wanted to throw stuff at Chuck's goddamned head.
Salted crackers seemed as good a projectile as anything else. Especially since he got to yell, “Christo!” while doing so. The cracker shattered across Chuck's forehead, and wet crumbs stuck to the writer as he yelped and ducked behind the secure bulk of Sam.
Sam, to his never-ending credit as a mature adult, grabbed the package away from Dean and yelled, “The fuck, Dean? What in the name of Hell is - stop eying those books! You're not throwing Chuck's own books at him.”
“I don't see why not. He wrote 'em. I'm sure he can handle taking one or two of them to the throat.” Dean growled in response, but he didn't pick up a book. He did start looking for more snack foods, though.
Sam was shaking his head in disbelief, and making sure to keep himself between Dean and Chuck. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”
Dean suddenly realized two things, as the anger in his veins melting and he looked at his brother protect Chuck with dimly realized 'ohshit' horror. One, he was pretty sure what had gotten into him was hysterical panic about the future that might or might not happen, and now he looked like a dick who thought his brother being bisexual was worth knifing the guy Sam decided to have his manlove with.
Secondly, maybe he shouldn't have pissed off the only guy in the room who wrote down his life for a living, and knew every single thing he thought, before he thought it. Right down to the last detail...
He didn't even have time to mouth, 'No, Chuck, Don't!' before the short bearded man bellowed, anger radiating off of his small body, “I'll tell you what's gotten into him! He thinks this is some kind of forerunner to that God Damned Apocalypse Sucks future Zachariah showed him!”
`
Sam turned so fast, Dean would have been surprised if the kid didn't get whiplash. “What - Apocalypse - when did you see Zachariah?”
“Oh, this happened years, ago, Sam.” Chuck growled as he tried to get all the sticky-wet cracker crumbs out of his beard. “About four and a half years ago, to be exact. Y'know, the day you told him Lucifer was waiting to wear you like a fashionable Sam cardigan? Zachariah dragged him to the future - where he saw you give into Lucifer and Castiel turn into a fallen angel drug addict! It's kind of why he's been acting like a douchebag for the past six months.”
Sam went stiff and still, back as straight as an arrow as he turned to Dean, eyes wide and shocked. “Dean - is this true?”
Dean felt sick, at the look on Sam's face. His protesting voice was weak and tired as he tore his gaze away from his baby brother and put it on Chuck, “God Damnit, Chuck.”
“This is what you get for cockblocking a Prophet of the Lord! Not to mention - ugh - trying to assault him with crackers, for God's sake ….” Chuck seethed, but the man finally managed to look up from his beard, to Sam, and his face fell, “Oh. Oh God. Oh Sam. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it - it's not going to happen that way! I haven't seen it yet, but, but, you have all been kicking serious ass and - ”
“Chuck.” Sam's voice was quiet, so very quiet. “I … appreciate the apology, but right now, I really need to talk to my brother about all this. Do you mind?”
“No, no, of course not. I'm just going to go .. . comb this stuff out of my beard. Slowly.” Chuck mumbled, and he shot such an apologetic look in Dean's direction that Dean felt like a complete and total ass for trying to kill him with crackers.
He rubbed the back of his head, shrugged at Chuck in his own version of a silent apology, which Chuck nodded at him in acceptance, before hurrying up the stairs. Leaving Dean to look at Sam - a Sam gone pale and scared but who was holding himself up, brown eyes meeting Dean's without flinching, and a voice that was soft but strong. “All right. Tell me everything.”
So, Dean did. He told Sam about Croatoan spreading across the world. He told him about Palin as President, and the whole-scale world wide destruction. He told him about finding Bobby's wheelchair filled with bullet holes. He told him about the camp - about meeting himself and realizing how much of a douchebag he let himself become. He told him about Chuck, and toliet paper.
He told him about Cas - and he felt his voice go rough and scratchy as he recalled the women surrounding the angel, the drugs and the liquor. The dead look in Castiel's eyes, the anger in the way he said 'fearless leader'. He told Sam about the angel losing his Grace, losing his hope, and losing everything that made him special - and how it was all Dean's fault.
Then, hands folded so tightly over each other than he thought he'd break his own fingers, he told Sam about the end. About Detroit, about Sam giving in, about the angels leaving. About Lucifer wearing Sam's face, that white suit and the sound of Lucifer cracking the other Dean's neck. He told him of Lucifer's parting words, words that were more haunting than any of Dean's nightmares of Hell.
Whatever you do, you will always end up … here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here.
I win, so... I win.
See you in five years, Dean.
There was silence, a long silence, when Dean finished. They had both sat down on Chuck's couch, and Dean had spent the last two minutes just staring at his hands. He only looked up when Sam said quietly, “Dean, I'm sorry.”
Dean blinked, and sat up a little, and looked over at Sam's strained profile, “Ah - okay - I'm pretty sure I'm the one who kept this from you for years, though.”
“Yeah - and I'm pretty fucking pissed about that.” Sam's lips twisted upwards, but his face slipped back into one of his more serious expressions as he looked back at his brother. “But I'm not apologizing for that. I'm apologizing for ever thinking you weren't strong enough to handle all this. I think - no, I know. You were the only one ever strong enough in the first place. I never came up with a plan - The Plan. I just jumped in, with my powers, and, thinking I was right because I've always thought I was right...”
“You really are like Dad.” Dean commented softly, and earned himself a sideways look and a soft chuff of amusement from Sam.
Sam sighed out, his large hands flexing. “Yeah, I guess I am. But you were the one who was strong enough to bring us together when we needed to be. And you were the one strong enough to keep going, even knowing - even knowing the price we'll all have to pay, if we fail. You kept going, man. I don't know how you do it.”
“Well ...” Dean said slowly, and one corner of his mouth lifted upwards in response. “I guess I'm just too damned stubborn to let anyone tell me what I'm going to do. Not Zach. Not even the Devil, wearing your ugly-ass mug.”
Sam smiled then, before looking at his brother calmly. “He's wrong, but I don't have to tell you that. It's not changing the details that are going to make the difference here. We changed our choices - and nothing is certain anymore. You did that, Dean. By making Cas sit in a coffee shop and wait for us - by calling me on the phone. You made different choices, so, there's going to be a different outcome.” He swallowed. “But … you knew that. That's what The Plan is all about, isn't it?”
Dean shrugged, lifting his shoulders. “I wouldn't call myself that fucking clever - but - yeah. More or less.”
Sam nodded his head, flexing his fingers, before he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, his eyes warm and earnest. “It's a great plan, Dean.”
“Thanks. Sammy.” Dean said softly, smiling at his brother. Then he winced as Sam's hand came up to smack him upside the head, “The fuck!”
“That's what you get for not telling me for four and a half years.” Sam said, glaring again. “Keep anything like that from me again and I'm kicking your ass through your Impala.”
“Like you could.” Dean grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. He watched his brother move towards the stairs. “So - ah - Chuck?” A pause, and a disbelieving, “Really, dude?”
Sam paused at the foot of the stairs, his expression shifting into something gentle. “Yeah - it's weird … but it's nice to be with someone - who knows it all. Knows every last bit of it and doesn't think it's heroic or insane, or evil, or anything else but one sad, fucked up life. Who understands, because their life is wrapped around mine, and that's pretty fucked up too.” He lifted one eyebrow at Dean, “But then again, why am I telling you this? You got Castiel.”
Dean shifted on his seat on the sofa, and he'd deny it later, but he was squirming. “Cas and I aren't like that, man.”
“Yeah. Right.” Sam shook his head, as he started to go up the stairs. “Do yourself a favor, Dean, Hell. Do all of us a favor.” He paused, and looked dead on his brother. “Think about it. Just … think about all of what you just told me about our future, which is practically our present.” He let Dean sink that one into his thoughts, before continuing gently, “Then … ask Cas where your amulet is.”
With that, Sam headed up the stairs, and left Dean to do just as he was told.
He thought about it.
***********************
He was still thinking about it a day and a half later, a cold beer in his hand, watching the sun dip down beyond the horizon. It wasn't something he did, normally, but he's been thinking for thirty six hours straight. His brain needs a fucking break.
So there's steps leading to the back door to Chuck's house, there was a shit-ton of beer in the fridge and Sam and Chuck were - well, bonding or emoting or just being really frigging bisexual with one another, and while Dean had thirty-six hours to think it over and be happy that his brother might be sleeping with the one person Heaven wouldn't let die or turn into a horrible monster or both, it's still Chuck. And his brother. So no, he wasn't going to think about what's going on upstairs. As far as he was concerned, they were knitting sweaters or some such shit. Fluffy, warm sweaters.
Naturally, when he has finally managed to get his mind on nothing - pure and blissful nothing - that was when he heard the fluttering of wings on air, and he didn't even need to turn around to know Castiel was there. Dean sighed, squared his shoulders, and shifted the beers next to him over so Castiel could join him on the steps, and after a moment, he heard Castiel climb down until he was even with Dean, and took a seat beside him.
“Hello, Dean.” The angel said, and Dean could feel his breath - his unnecessary breath because angels didn't need to breath, but the flesh did - against his cheek.
“Hey, Cas.” He couldn't help it. He smiled, and that involuntary flexing of his face muscles really just sort of boiled it all down for him, after thirty six hours of grinding it around in his head. The goddamned angel made him happy. Fuck. Really wasn't much else to say, after that.
Except, of course, to enjoy his own bisexual freak-out in silence.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Castiel letting off a low feeling of warmth next to him, like a holy space heater. Wordlessly, Dean handed over his beer, and after a moment, Castiel took it. His tone was faintly surprised. “I thought I was not allowed alcoholic beverages.”
“It's a special occasion.” Dean said slowly, still staring off at the sun-touched sky. He sighed, and leaned forward a little. “Besides, we'll both probably need it.”
He could almost hear the frown over, “I see … “ but then there were a few quiet swallowing noises that Dean most definitely did not crane his neck to see. After a moment, the angel spoke again. “Where are Chuck and Sam?”
“Oh, they're upstairs.” Dean snorted softly. “Probably exploring the wonders of mutual … geek love, or something. That I am not talking about.” Seriously, he was not talking about his brother's sex life. Possibly ever again.
“Ah. So they have finally succumbed to their mutual passion.” Castiel answered with such gravity that it took a moment of Dean nodding his head in agreement, before he did a double-take.
“Wait - what? How did you know - what?” He sputtered out, and damn it to Hell, how did the angel manage to look so damned calm saying stuff like that?
Like he was now, expression impassive, the bottle between his hands only about a quarter down. The angel took another swallow of beer, before saying without a flicker of emotion. “Sometimes, Chuck asks me to proofread. It is a pleasure to read something, before everyone else.”
Dean stared at him for a full minute, before he slapped a hand to his forehead, and that grin slipped over his lips once more. “Yeah, how could I forget? You're the biggest 'Winchester Gospels' fan around. Own all the books, yadda yadda.”
“And the promotional poster.” The angel answered so seriously that Dean had to look at him warily until he realized Cas was joking, his lips curved up into the faintest of smirks as he looked back at the hunter. “The artwork really does you no justice.”
Dean let out a soft laugh, took another drink of beer. “Awww, you think I'm pretty.” He smiled down at the bottle, before he added, quietly, “That's okay. I think you're kind of ...pretty, yourself. Y'know. For a guy. For an angel.” He cleared his throat. “For an … angel guy.”
The angel was silent for a long moment, before he asked quietly, making it more of a statement than anything else. “You find me attractive.”
“Yeah.” Dean took a deep breath in, then out, and put his bottle of beer aside before he spoke, his voice going rough. “Cas - can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, Dean.” And wow, that answer sounded layered. The kind that Dean sort of wanted to pick apart until it was bare and naked and …
Christ, he wasn't even thinking about that frigging answer, was he? Focus, boy. He swallowed against a dry throat, putting his eyes on Castiel, keeping them there. “Cas … where's my amulet?”
The change over the angel's face was something to behold. First surprise, lifting those eyebrows, and then … of all things, the angel looked flustered. One hand went his neck, where he rubbed the dark hair almost curling over the collar of his white shirt. He looked to Dean, swallowed, then his fingers went to his tie. Dean watched, fascinated, while Castiel slipped it loose of the knot, and tugged it loose, putting it aside on the step between them. Then those long, strong fingers started unbuttoning that still crisp white shirt, until Dean was seeing pale chest, lean and strong, and ...a small, almost ugly little golden charm, hanging on a long black cord. Resting a little further down Castiel's chest than it was when Dean wore it, riding dead center against his breastbone.
Well, seriously, what could you do when an angel of the Lord was wearing your amulet like it was your class ring? Only answer Dean could come up with, the only answer that made any sense was to slid one hand into Castiel's dark hair and tug his mouth over to be kissed.
His mouth was dry, chapped in places, and Castiel himself was stiff and unresponsive, unmoving under Dean's fingers and lips. Dean pulled back, frowned, thought to himself that perhaps he had gotten wrong, because as first kisses went, that kind of sucked ass.
That was when Castiel let out the softest of sighs, wrapped his fingers into Dean's shirt and pulled him back over. Dean remembered, abruptly and gleefully, that Castiel had a learning curve like no-one's business. Later on down the line, he was going to remember the second kiss over the first, because Castiel warmed under his lips, sweet and firm and undeniably male but other and for some reason that did not hit Dean's 'ohshitkissingaguyameter'. Only Castiel could taste of books and honey, of coffee and maple syrup, of something old and ancient and awe-inspiring, a combination of tastes that made Dean want to crawl inside of his mouth and live there. The angel's lips slid sideways, drawing Dean's into his own, as if marking them like he marked Dean's shoulder, tattooing himself on Dean with lips, heat and want.
It was weird, cool, utterly awesome, fucking sexy as anything and Dean kind of wanted to keep doing it for awhile. A nice long while.
However, first things first.
He pulled back, and held Castiel back by his shoulders when the angel tried to go after his mouth again, blue eyes dark and hungry for more kisses in a way that sent a delighted shiver down Dean's spine. The hunter cleared his throat, and gave Castiel a stern look that made the angel relax against Dean's fingers, listen with that intent way of his. Dean nodded his silent approval, his voice rumbling. “Ground rules for this, Cas. First, Sam always gets first dibs. On the front seat, on where we sit in diners, on the first donut out of the box. He's just first.” The angel tilted his head, mouth all red and kissable, before nodding once. “Good. Now, what he doesn't get - at all - is to have is awesome mind-blowing lip suckage from me, amongst other amazing things I'll be glad to show you, and beyond you get first dibs on the backseat with me when we gotta sleep over in the car.”
The angel's lips quirked at the corners. “That sounds acceptable.”
Dean smirked faintly back, before going serious again. “You don't get to leave - and when I say that I mean you can't suddenly decide my life wigs you out, or this was just a wild angel human fling, and I am one hundred percent fucking not arguing this part -- you don't get to die. Which means you can't give in to despair, drugs, or orgies. Unless they're with me - and a really hot brunette with matching doe eyes and an amazing rack. I'll be glad to share in that kind of orgy, because … yeah, your mouth and hers ...” He got lost on that thought, because Hell to the Yes, watching Castiel's lips move down some fantasy girl's body would be so damned sexy...
Er. Getting distracted, and mostly in his pants. He cleared his throat, “The death thing though, is non-fucking-negotiable. You died once, and you're done while we're together. You get me?”
“I do not do drugs, or die, and I am only allowed sexual access to you, unless under very specific … circumstances.” Castiel said slowly, “I am also not allowed to leave in any way, shape or form.”
“Nope, not at all.” He looked at the angel, hard. “You still find the terms - 'acceptable'?”
Castiel seemed to consider everything, his blue eyes serious in their consideration, before he nodded his head and offered his hand gravely. “I do.”
After mentally pumping his fist in the air, Dean shook his head, tutting softly. “Cas, Cas, Cas. And you being such a big frigging fan of the Gospels. That is not how I settle deals, man.”
He slid his hands down off those firm, slender shoulders to Castiel's wrists, sliding the angel into his lap, making him half-kneel on the steps as he slid his hands around the angel's stubbled face and kissed him until Castiel was curling into him, nuzzling his mouth with sharp, pleased noises. Kisses that continued when Dean dragged Castiel off to the Impala, pulled him into the promised back seat. Kisses that lasted the entire night, and well beyond.
********************
So in the end, Dean seriously approved of making deals with angels. For one there was none of that losing your soul and going to Hell business. For another, the perks were cool. Like someone who never got aggravated about cuddling because they rarely slept. Someone who loved diner food as much as he did, and was always up for breakfast for dinner. And even though there wasn't sex - like honest to God, yes-this-is-happening-sex for another year and a half, it was still … awesome.
Totally and completely awesome.
That was why Dean shouldn't have been surprised that was when everything turned on it's goddamned ear. He really should have seen it coming. Seen it coming from a mile away.
Because the second Dean let himself get happy, God finally decided to return his messages.