Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One, two, three, four
One, two, three, four, five, six, take it down!
—Spunk by Greek Buck

Cas

Cas leaned his head back against the wall, a hot mouth wrapped around his cock like it was always meant to be there. The mouth had no name, no face. It was perfect. Music from beyond the curtain separating this area from the main club spread around them, pulsing against his skin, directing the small thrusts he couldn’t stop his hips from making.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned as the heat around him slid over his length, taking him deep into the tight abyss of a throat. His voice was rough from yelling over the music to be heard, but it felt so good, like lying in the sun and soaking in the warmth or dipping into a hot spring and letting the heat envelop you. It slid through his veins, gliding over his bones and down his spine until it settled low in his gut.

It swelled within him, hot and thick, as he gasped for air, clenching his teeth and digging his hands into the man on his knees’ hair. He shook, ripping apart at the seams, all but crying out as he came into the condom deep inside this exquisite mouth.

Cas took a moment to catch his breath, head hung forward with his eyes closed. Mmm, that had been worth doing. He felt loose, languid, relaxed in the way only coming inside someone else ever made him. He heard the man who had sucked him off like a fucking pro stand and wipe his mouth. When he opened his eyes, the dimmed red lights reduced the other paired-off men all around them to erotic silhouettes as they did god knew what to each other. Bodies in motion. 

“Mmm, I like the shape of you,” the man came in for a kiss, but Cas turned away and pulled the filled condom off his dick before tying it off and walking over to throw it in the trash, overflowing with similarly used prophylactics. He zipped himself up and nodded at the stranger with the black curly hair as if he’d just valeted his car instead of sucking his cock. He couldn’t see enough to know what he looked like or remember from when they’d met, if you could even call it that, out on the dance floor maybe 45 minutes ago.

“What, you’re leaving? Not even a handjob?”

Cas turned back with a lifted eyebrow. “Please, you got exactly what you wanted.” He smirked, “Me.”

The stranger huffed and called out a muffled “Fuck You,” but Cas couldn’t care less as he passed through the curtain dividing seduction from sin.

He moved through the dance floor, feeling eyes watching him as he went. Hands slipped along his bare chest, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. They tried to entice him. Every time he came here, it was the same. He lived for the thrumming music, the press of bodies. The smell of sweat and teasing touches of skin made him shiver at the possibilities. Every night, a new man.

But he’d already come once. He’d need at least a little while before he could go again. He was pushing 30, after all.

At the bar, his little cadre of friends stood near the end. Gabriel had a teasing glint in his eye like he was about to make his way out to the dance floor and see if he could find a partner for the night himself. His candy pacifier necklace dangled against his mesh shirt.

“That was quick,” Gabriel winked, knowing perfectly well that Cas always got exactly what he wanted when they came to Eden. It was a gay bar on a gay street in a gay neighborhood. Cas was king and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Balthazar bopped over with another round of drinks, rolled his eyes, and scanned the room.

“I got bored,” Cas shrugged, throwing an arm around Zar.

“Looked hot to me,” Gabriel said, eyes still trolling the dance floor.

“Anything would look hot to you,” Cas said, picking up a shot from the tower Zar had brought them and downing it before placing a wet kiss on Gabriel’s cheek.

When Ace of Base came on, Zar groaned. “When did 80s night become 90s night?”

Gabriel snorted. “I remember this song from high school. Talk about feeling ancient.”

Cas took another shot and debated whether to hang out and run the scene or head home. He hadn’t slept for more than 4 hours a night in three days and he had work tomorrow.

With a laugh, Zar shoved Gabriel and said, “Speak for yourself, honey. I was a mere child.”

Cas listened with half an ear, his eyes locking onto a twink entering the club with wide eyes, head on a swivel. He was dressed all wrong, flannel, low-hung, slightly too large, bootlegged jeans, and there was no way he was twenty-one. 

But God, he was gorgeous. Golden and bright. He didn’t fit in here, but Cas knew that look. The boy was hungry. His build was exactly what Cas liked, not bulky and waxed like so many of the guys here, but legitimately, honest to god, beautiful.

He was drawn in, moving without even meaning to, like he was floating through clouds. Faintly, he heard Gabe calling out to him, but there was no one in the room but this guy with a boy’s face and lips begging for Cas's teeth.

“How’s it goin’?” Cas pressed himself close, hoping to smell or touch. The vodka from his shots was kicking in. His head spun, and he wanted to touch and lick every inch of skin he saw.

“Oh, yeah. Um, I’m good. You know, checkin’ out the bars.”

Cas held his smile back, instead only releasing the one he knew drove men wild, but inside, he was beaming at how damn sweet this kid was. He wanted to dirty him up or keep him safe. He wasn’t sure. An image of his wholesome blond hair and plump lips dripping with Cas's come almost had him drooling. But Cas didn’t show his hand. He never did. He played it close and slow, guaranteeing he’d get what he hunted.

“Is that right? You sure you’re old enough to be in here?” Cas tilted his head, studying the bright green eyes that flashed as the lights of the club strobed around them.

“I’m twenty-one.” 

Cas squinted, skeptical of that. He’d be lucky if this kid was out of his teens. “What year were you born?” 

He paused a moment, eyes flicking up to the ceiling before replying. “1979” 

“Bullshit.” Cas holds his gaze with narrowed eyes and doesn’t let himself be distracted by the high cheekbones or pouty lips that had no damn right being on the same face. “You had to think before you answered that. How old are you really?” 

“Twenty.” He looked over Cas's stony face. “Nineteen.” 

Cas raised an eyebrow and inclined his head.

“Eight... teen.” 

Cas chuckled, shaking his head. The kid had his own kind of innocent charm that appealed to drunk Cas. Sober Cas might feel bad about what he was gonna do to him tonight, but probably not. “Well, what is this? Count down to a missile launch?” 

“Seventeen.”

“Really?” Cas smiled fuller, unable to keep the amused glint out of his eyes.

“Yeah, is that a problem? I know I shouldn’t be in here, but—” he puffed himself up trying to look bigger, older, but just looked like an adorable kitten.

“I’m not going to rat you out.” Cas winked, and the boy blushed. Add blushing to those cheekbones, and Cas was tempted to bend him over the bar right there. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Dean.”

“I’m Cas. You doin’ anything right now, Dean? Headed somewhere special?” Cas leaned in closer, his hair damp and wild with sweat. He licked his lips and revelled in the way Dean’s eyes tracked his tongue.

“Nowhere in particular.” Dean smiled, incandescent, and the whole goddamn room faded to black. He lit up the night like fireworks, Cas felt their sparks on his arms. He was bewitched.

Cas leaned in close and growled in Dean’s ear, feeling the boy's warm breath speed up against his neck. “I could change that.”

Dean was nodding before Cas had even pulled away. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas took him by the hand and dragged him over to his table. He shoved his free hand into Gabe's front pocket and pulled out his keys. Gabe had been the designated driver, but Cas needed his damn keys back.

“Hey, hey! What about me?” Gabriel whined, glaring at Dean.

“You can ride with Balthazar,” Cas shrugged and ruffled Gabriel's hair before handing Dean a shot and taking one himself.

“Asshole!” Gabriel called after him as he dragged Dean out of Eden and into the night air, cool and clear against their faces. Stars sparkled above them like the Queens from the club had shared their glitter with God.

They laughed as they ran down streets swamped with queens and fags out looking for a little freedom under the cover of night. Cas fucking loved it. The city unfurled, opened and set free. Dean’s big boots stepped in a puddle, splashing Cas's designer jeans, and instead of being furious like he would with anyone else, he laughed along, shoving Dean away and racing off, knowing the boy would give chase.

But Cas wasn’t the prey. He was the wily predator, leading his prey back to his den where he would devour Dean whole. And Dean would thank him, panting, begging for more. Cas shivered at the promise the night had laid at his feet.

When they got to his car, the crisp night air had cooled Cas down enough that he could finally look clearly at the enchanting kid who had agreed to come home with him. Just as beautiful as his drunken mind had suggested, but now, the details, the way the blonde in his hair glinted in the moonlight, the way his nose was slightly crooked from a long healed break. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, breaking the spell.

He shoved Dean against the door and leaned in for a kiss. It was fast and lacked finesse, but as they kissed, tongues sliding and teeth nipping, their intensity grew. Cas was so hungry, so ravenous for this kid that he barely constrained his want. Want to take, to fuck, to grab, to own. He felt crazy with it.

“You know what you’re getting into here?” Cas heard himself saying, wishing he’d keep his damn mouth shut and demand what he wanted without concern for morals. Usually, unless the man he brought home said no, everything was on the menu. It was stupid to check or worry. It was stupid to care. Cas didn’t run on caring . That was a useless way to think about people. He had his friends and his meddling twin. That’s all he needed. Caring for more than that was just gonna hurt. So why did Dean make him want to run his fingertips along his eyebrows and listen to him talk about his day? Clearly, he was still drunk.

“Yeah, I know. I want to,” Dean panted, his shaking hands gripping Cas's still unbuttoned shirt, drawing him back in for another kiss.

“Be sure. Because when I get you home, I’m gonna fuck you and fuck you hard.” He hissed the words into Dean’s ear, pressing his full height against him along with his quickly hardening cock. Dean was as tall as he was, but rail thin, and Cas liked the feeling of him trembling.

“I’m sure. Definitely sure.”

Another kiss before they slid into his Audi and drove off into the night, speeding toward the inevitable. Dean was quiet but relaxed, like he belonged in the luxury leather of Cas's care. He didn’t ask where they were going or try to make any of the insipid small talk most men attempted at this point in the night.

Cas had the windows down to let the cool air whip through his hair, sobering him. He wanted to enjoy what was coming.

Inside Cas's loft, Dean hovered near the door, shifting his weight. It was fucking adorable. Kid was all confidence, pretending he knew what he was doing at the bar, but give him what he wanted, and he’s a fish without legs.

“You coming or going? Or coming and then going?” Cas cracked with a wink, shrugging off his black button-up so Dean could see his tattoos. He knew what the reveal did to men, and he wasn’t disappointed when Dean’s eyes dilated and his mouth hung open. “Shut the door, Dean.” 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath—sweet as sugar—before he slid the door shut. “This is a... really nice place.”

“The interior designer picked most of it.” Cas crossed his arms across his chest and considered taking off his pants and getting things moving along.

“I like your... kitchen.” Dean’s eyes darted around, clearly struggling.

“Thanks, wanna tour?” As much as Cas enjoyed watching him dangle on the hook, he didn’t want to spook the kid.

“Sure,” Dean nodded, walking closer.

Cas prowled toward him, closing the distance keeping them apart. He looked closer at Dean, even younger than he realized in the light, but still so fucking beautiful and… where those freckles? 

He shook his arms out and let his body roll with each step, gathering the desire building in his body as he went. He tilted his head slightly, as if to kiss, and brought his lips close enough to feel the lushness of Dean’s mouth begging him to lean in, give a little more, and take it all.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Cas growled, not moving an inch. There was no way the kid saw where he pointed. “Living room’s over there. We’re in the kitchen. And the bedroom…” Cas reached forward and pressed the heel of his palm against Dean’s already hard cock. “I’d like to show you the bedroom personally.” Cas rubbed against Dean, feeling it already straining within his jeans.

“Yeah, let’s uh, let’s do that.” Dean’s voice came out broken and breathy. Beautiful.

He reached up and gripped Cas's shoulders, eyes rolling back as Cas ground his hand hard against him. His face was slack, entirely available for the taking.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of restraint, Cas took the kiss Dean had been offering. Deep and filthy. Dean’s mouth opened like a flower, inviting him in to taste. He was sweet and bright and so fucking pure. It was like a drug, better than the drugs Cas used when he was Dean’s age, better than anything he’d ever tried.

“Come on,” he huffed, annoyed that he wasn’t already balls deep in this kid. He pushed Dean’s shirt up over his head as he toed off his shoes. They made their way to the bedroom in a fumbling mess until they were naked with nothing but the jewelry around Dean’s neck and wrists. The streetlamp shone in from outside, lighting them up. Warm, amber light highlighted every curve and dip on Dean’s body. Darkness kept their sins in shadow.

Cas pulled him close, skin to skin. Cock to Cock. Dean gasped. A sharp intake of breath lit up the room with pure desire. The boy needed. He was dying for it. His hands and body moved on instinct, trying to swallow Cas even as he tried to pull him tight like salvation. But Cas didn’t have the wiring for softness. He only knew the chase, the heat of conquest.

They were both hard. The headiness of having this delicious, beautiful boy here with him was almost more than he could take. He wrapped his arms around Dean and licked into his mouth again, stealing kiss after kiss. He stroked up and down his sides, soothing the mess of lust pressed against him. Kisses became moans, and soon Cas pushed him down on the bed so he hovered over him, hips still pressed together. Dean was spread out beneath him, bare-chested and trusting, and it was killing him.

He pulled back, and the pout on Dean’s face caused him to lean back in and suck on his lower lip, pulling the blood to the surface, guaranteeing he’ll look even more lovely tomorrow. He slid his mouth along Dean’s stubble-free jaw and down his neck, biting and sucking on the tendons straining as Dean lifted himself up against the body crowding him on the mattress, but not touching. Slowly, Cas sat up, but before Dean protested, he took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly. It was nice: thick and smooth. Fit in Cas's hand just right.

“So, what do you like to do?” Cas asked, desire scraping his voice across asphalt.

“Do?” Dean’s voice shook, and his hips tipped to lift but were held in place by Cas's bulk. Dean’s eyes kept slipping closed as Cas continued to tug at him. “I don’t know, watch old movies, listen to music. In the summer, I work at the salvage yard fixing up cars. I like that.”

“I meant in bed.” It was impossible for Cas not to smile.

“Oh, uhh, this is good.” His breath sped up, and Cas stilled his hand, still dragging his thumb across the slit.

“Don’t come yet.”

“I’m trying,” Dean whined, his feet wiggling on the bed as Cas started stroking his cock again, slow and loose. It was torture, especially for a kid as inexperienced as Dean clearly was, and Cas loved watching him struggle. His chest became blotchy, his breath fast and strained. 

“Are you a top or a bottom?” Cas smirked. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Dean needed, and he had every intention of giving it to him. As hard and as often as he could. At least for tonight.

“I don’t know, both?”

“So you're versatile.” Cas leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth, keeping his hand slowly moving. Their skin slid together, and Dean gripped Cas's forearms, digging blunt nails into his muscle.

“And ambidextrous,” Dean chirped.

Cas couldn’t hold his chuckle in. This kid.

He released his hold on Dean’s cock and sat up with a shush, rubbing his hand up the center of Dean’s chest. “Roll over for me. I’m going to take my time with you.”

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he took a deep breath. Cas half thought the kid was going to come right there, but instead, Dean captured his eyes, green depths pulling him in, burying him alive, and then he rolled over, upper body supported on his elbows, necklace dangling from his neck.

The line from the back of Dean’s neck slid down his spine to the dip of his hips, and then swelling back up around the plumpest, most perfect ass he had ever seen had Cas groaning. Dean looked over his shoulder to shyly smile at Cas through golden lashes, the boy was a femme fatale, a prince charming. 

He ran his hand slowly down the vertebrae stacked to create this masterpiece, watching as goosebumps spread from the epicenter of contact. Cas's cock ached, his heart wept. If he was the kind of man to wax poetic, Dean would be the subject of every verse, but instead, he was going to let his touches linger, creating a sonnet of their own.

With both hands, Cas gripped Dean’s ass, digging his fingers in to knead the pliant flesh. Dean moaned, dropping his head between his shoulders, elongating that elegant neck even further. Cas tightened his grip, pulling Dean’s cheeks apart to offer him a view of his ultimate goal. A stuttering breath left his lungs at the pale, hairless sight. Dean’s hole clenched and released, instinctively begging for something the boy didn’t really understand, but Cas was gonna teach him.

He leaned forward and kissed the back of Dean’s neck, pressing Dean down into the mattress with his weight, his cock sliding between Dean’s cheeks, nestled safely. He thrust against him, savoring the friction. He closed his eyes, and the static of his life lifted from his shoulders, leaving only beauty and passion behind. This was his drug.

“Cas…” Dean pushed up against him, skin and touch and flesh sliding against flesh. He was desperate for it.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Cas whispered before licking behind Dean’s ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, yeah, ok.” his voice was pitched high, a whine and plea hidden behind his words.

“Mmmm.” Cas kissed the back of Dean’s neck, licking over to suck on an earlobe and worry a mark on the boy’s neck. He licked and chewed on the unblemished flesh, wanting to leave proof of his degradation behind. 

Cas dragged his tongue down the perfect line on Dean’s spine, moving slowly so Dean felt the build to the unknown, the rise of need, the speeding pulse. Cas was drunk on it. Sweat slicked Dean’s skin, tasting like salty defilement. He licked his way down, nibbling on the muscles along Dean’s spine, licking between vertebrae, kissing the perfect divots above his ass. When he reached the swell of Dean’s ass, he continued down, dipping his tongue into the crack of his ass. Dean squeaked and jerked away, making Cas chuckle warm air across his skin. 

“Trust me.” Cas gripped his hips and pulled him back before spreading his cheeks wide, offering access.

At the first press of Cas's tongue against Dean’s hole, he shifted up onto his toes, instinctively trying to move away from the strangeness of it, but Cas held him down, giving slow, warm, lazy licks until Dean’s body melted with a moan. He swirled his tongue, lapping at the softening hole, moaning against his prize. 

Dean shook in Cas's hands, his breath loud. “Please, Cas, fuck… God, that’s…”

Cas smiled against the firm muscle before pressing the tip into Dean, shallow and sweet until Dean was bucking against Cas's mouth, quietly begging for more. When Cas speared him with his tongue, pressing inside as deep as he could, Dean arched up with a delightfully depraved moan.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean vibrated, nearly curling in on himself with what Cas knew was an onslaught of pleasure. He gave the boy a moment, gently licking into him, pressing his tongue against the sides of his rim, making him loose and wet. Dean’s body gave easily, opening for Cas like he was born to do it. It was like nothing Cas had ever seen, the way Dean gave himself over to pleasure so completely.

Quickly, Cas added his finger, spit slick and thick, pulling at Dean’s pliant rim, sliding in and out until he was whimpering. Another writhing cry from Dean and Cas pulled away, his finger gently stroking in and out as he reached for the lube. 

Slick fingers prodded him open, twisting and scissoring, pushing Dean’s limits every time he mewled or his body gave way a little more. Soon, he was three fingers in the warmest, most pliant ass he had ever imagined, and all he wanted was to destroy it while pounding into it, taking until he was satisfied. His cock was red and throbbing, angry at being forced to wait.

“Roll over, Dean. Look at me while we do this.” Cas said with a huskiness he hadn’t expected. He nibbled on his ass playfully, making the muscle twitch before backing away.

Dean moved like water, rippling young muscles and flowing lines. “Cas…” he cooed, and Cas was nearly undone. He looked up with such trust; it was unearned and undeserved, but Cas took it, just like he took his body.

“Put your legs up… on my shoulders. That's it.” Cas balanced his weight on his hands, bracketing Dean’s face. So young and pliant, this kind of flexibility should be rewarded. He leaned down to steal a kiss, and his hips jerked forward, ravenous for their goal. Their kiss pulled out a moan of delight, a real one, the kind he kept pinned under ten layers of arrogance and denial and the constant motion of chasing skin, chasing friction, chasing anything that didn’t look like vulnerability.

Dean stiffened, pulling away as much as he could with his legs in the air. “Wait. In school, we have this lecture… about safe sеx.” 

“And now we're going to have a demonstration.” Cas opened the cоndоm he’d grabbed earlier with his teeth. “Put it on me. Go on. Slip it on my dіck.”

Dean stuck out his tongue as he concentrated, and Cas chuckled a little again. Dean was something else, something Cas had never encountered before. That innocence—it intoxicated him, infuriated him, and Cas kissed him hard, tongues colliding, teeth dragging along skin. He lowered himself against Dean, full body contact, hips flush, grinding hard enough to make his point. Just enough to feel how warm and real Dean was. How badly he wanted.

After an eternity of savoring Dean’s taste, he reached for the lube and applied some to his cock and more to Dean’s hole, not wanting to hurt him if he could help it.

“Ah! It's cold.” 

“It'll heat up.”

Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, nerves starting to get the best of him. “Just... go slow, okay?” 

He cried out when Cas pushed past the ring of muscle, wrapping the head of his cock in Dean’s searing heat. Dean’s nose scrunched, and he turned his head away. “It hurts. Does it always hurt?” His hands came up, clumsy and tentative, brushing Cas's sides like he was afraid to touch too much. 

“A little bit,” Cas soothed, rocking slightly as he tried to give Dean time to adjust, but barely able to keep from slamming into him hard enough to shove him halfway up the wall. “But that's a part of it. Now relax. I want you to always remember this... so that no matter who you're ever with... I'll always be there.”

Cas sank deeper into Dean and pulled him into a languid kiss. He tasted like want and inexperience, like something unspoiled and real. 

Still, he didn’t stop.

He kissed Dean until his lips were red and swollen, until he felt the pulse pounding in both their bodies, and Dean’s body finally surrendered and melted around Cas's cock. He groaned and lowered his face into Dean’s neck, dick twitching, hips moving without his consent, but it was too good not to savor. He wanted to roll around in it, coat himself in this high, and wear it under his clothes.

When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, heart racing like he’d sprinted across a battlefield, he didn’t say a word, simply stared at Dean’s flushed face as he began to move. He drew his hips out slowly, basking in the way Dean’s eyes fluttered. His hands gained confidence as he let them roam until soon they were a single sinuous creature, two parts dancing together, wound up in each other completely.

“Fuck, Dean, you feel amazing.”

Dean’s eyes popped open, his hips stuttering. “Really?”

“Yeah, kid, really.” Cas kneeled, bracing Dean’s legs on his shoulders, and thrust deep and hard, drawing an unexpected huff from Dean. “Really. Fucking. Good.”

Cas closed his eyes and let his head fall back, losing himself in the euphoria of a warm body, of the heat and strength of having a man beneath him. There was nothing about fucking men that didn’t do it for him, and there was nothing more he needed from them.

He slammed into Dean a few times, taking the edge off and basking in the visceral bliss of fucking and getting fucked. But soon, he shifted his hips and moved slowly, deliberately, cock rocking deep into clenching muscles and coaxing sighs from Dean’s lips. He relished the feeling of the younger man relaxing under him, loosening with every thrust. 

Dean dragged his fingers across the line of Cas’ shoulders, his ring glinting in the dark. It was slow and reverent, like tracing a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. He made another soft sound—almost a whimper this time—and Cas's breath caught.

Cas crowded forward, folding Dean in half and gripping one shoulder while balancing his weight on the other arm. He slid deep, hard, grinding when he was lodged within Dean like he was trying to force himself deeper. 

The angle was perfect, so when he did it again, Dean cried out, eyes wide. “I didn’t know it could feel so… good!” He panted, barely getting the words out as Cas sped up, churning his hips and holding Dean in place.

“Yeah,” Cas breathed. They locked eyes, and the sound of the late-night traffic and tricks out on the street drifted away. The creaks of the old warehouse became music that accompanied the sighs and moans and grunts that built, and Cas fucked him harder and harder, slamming into him with all the intensity of a man dying of starvation. He glutted himself on the look of rapture on Dean’s face and let himself believe, even if for only one night, there was more to life than work and a line of interchangeable men to fuck.

He shouldn’t have looked.

He never watched, not like this. Not when they got too close to coming, not when reality ripped apart, and only raw truth existed. But tonight, Dean’s face was flushed and open, his lips parted, breath catching in rhythm with Cas’s thrusts, and Cas couldn’t drag his eyes away if someone held a gun to his head.

Dean looked back at him with those green eyes that had the power to easily beguile men.

No longer shy or uncertain. Now he was lost to the pleasure and knew every inch of Cas inside him and wasn’t afraid. Dean’s raw want burned through Cas like a live wire. It pissed him off and wrecked him all at once. He’d spent his whole life building a wall out of bodies and orgasms, a fortress of slick skin and heaving breath.

Cas’s hips snapped forward again, deeper this time, and Dean gasped—his eyes fluttered, his hands clenched in the sheets, but he never looked away. Cas grabbed his thighs, held him there, and pushed harder, rougher, punishing him for being so fucking beautiful.

Dean arched up against his chest, taking every bit of him. Cas's ferocity had become a reward. “Cas,” he breathed, low and wrecked and perfect. “I’m—God, I’m close—”

Cas bit back a moan. His whole body was coiled, aching. Sweat slid down his back. Dean tightened around him, and Cas relished the way his muscles trembled, on the edge of coming completely undone.

And that should’ve been enough.

But Cas’s eyes were locked on Dean’s— fever-bright and unguarded. There was no fear in it. No hesitation. That same impossible honesty he’d seen in Dean from across the bar at Eden.

He slammed in once, twice—gritted his teeth, fighting the wave crashing inside him—and Dean cried out, thighs shaking, head thrown back as he shattered between them.

Cas came with a growl, hips stuttering, every muscle pulled tight as a wire. His orgasm ripped through him like fire, dragging out a groan he couldn’t hold back. He stayed there, buried deep, eyes locked on Dean like he was trying to memorize him from the inside out. His breathing was ragged, and he ground deep and dirty into Dean’s spasming hole. His body throbbed with aftershocks.

When they stopped shaking, he pulled out carefully, took off the condom, tied it off, and threw it in the waste basket next to the bed, left there for this exact purpose. It had to be emptied regularly— his poor house cleaner. He collapsed beside Dean and basked . Fuck, sex was the best damn thing god had given humanity. And fags knew how to fuck. Proof that all those religious types were wrong about gay folks. God fucking loved fags.

Dean reached for him without thinking, hand brushing his arm. Warm. Casual. Familiar.

Cas didn’t move. Didn’t look at him.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” he drawled, voice like broken glass dipped in honey. “Try not to fall in love.”

Chapter Text

Dean

Dean woke to something warm snuggled against his side. For a second, he thought Sam had crawled into bed with him again, but then he woke up enough to remember he was naked and who he was naked with. He turned slowly so he didn’t disturb the unimaginably awesome man next to him.

Cas lay peaceful, his face so close Dean could kiss him awake without any effort. He’s still as beautiful as he’d been last night, maybe even more in the light of day. His hair was wild, and with his eyes closed, it was easy to imagine a reality where he cared about Dean and wanted him. What would that feel like? To be wanted.

The alarm broke the moment like a war hammer to the skull, and Cas lunged over Dean to turn it off. “Fuuuuck…” Cas rolled onto his back, holding his head. After a moment, he peeked out from under his hands, squinting at Dean with one eye, blue shining brightly in the light of day. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You said I could stay.”

“Why would I say that?” he rubbed his temples and clenched his eyes shut. The soft wrinkles at the sides of his eyes creased and deepened, highlighting how handsome he would become as he aged. Dean imagined him with laugh lines and salt and pepper hair and smiled.

“I don’t have a way home, and my parents wouldn’t exactly understand me coming home at 3 AM.”

“Right, because you’re seventeen. Jesus. The buses are probably running now. Get out.” Cas rolled away from Dean and snuggled back into the bed, but before Dean said anything, the alarm blared again, startling them both.

“Goddamnit.” Cas sat up and threw the covers off. He was naked. Dean knew that, of course, they were both naked, but seeing Cas stand there without fear, without shame— it was thrilling. And the man was exquisite. He was all hard lines and sharp bones. His chest was broad with the lightest smattering of hair, a tattoo under his ribs, another on his shoulder, and Dean remembered feathers on his back, falling from his hairline down his spine as if he were molting.

“Fine,” Cas said as he stretched his arms up and behind him, pulling the muscles on his chest and stomach taut. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Can I take a shower first?” Dean was sticky and gooey and sweaty after the amount of sex they’d had. While he’d loved having Cas come on him last night, he really should wash it off before going to school or seeing his parents.

“Sure.” Cas had already turned his attention to his closet, standing naked in the middle of the room like he ruled not just this space but the entire kingdom beyond. Dean was mesmerized. Cas was perfect; composed, and mature in a way boys his own age never came close to being. No wonder he’d never really been interested in high school boys when this was out there waiting for him. “Get in the shower if you wanna ride. I’m not waiting for you.”

Dean strode into the bathroom, trying to look more confident than he felt. He practically skipped his way through Cas's loft stark naked, trying to appear unafraid. In the bathroom, he released a heavy breath and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Is this what someone who’d had sex looked like? Would people be able to read it on his face?

He turned on the water and poked around Cas's bathroom, smelling his cologne, his soap, even his deodorant. He wanted to layer it all on his skin so he smelled like Cas all day, so he could soak in the feeling of being surrounded and consumed by the man once more. 

Steam filled the room, and he finally stepped into the glass-walled shower. He didn’t know much, but Cas definitely had money. This loft was elegant with a constrained wildness. It fit Cas perfectly.

The scent of Cas's soap and shampoo filled the air, and he closed his eyes, allowing the steam to soak it into his pours, filling him with everything Cas. Maybe he’d get to hold onto him a little longer after all. 

Dean squealed when the shower door opened, and he turned to find Cas— naked and smirking.

“Shut up,” Dean laughed, and Cas's smile reached his eyes: sparkling and blue. Dean felt like it was the first time he’d really seen him. He had to blink to keep Cas in focus. Being the subject of that stare was overwhelming.

Without a word, Cas reached for the shampoo and began washing Dean’s hair. His long, strong fingers massaged his scalp, drawing out a new kind of moan Dean had never made before.

“You like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I like it a lot.”

“Hmmm.” Cas's voice was a rumble. The air around them vibrated with the sound.

“I like you a lot, Cas.”

Cas's hands stilled, and for a moment, Dean worried he shouldn’t have said that.

“Dean, I know last night was your first, but had you ever even kissed a man?”

“Come on, don’t ask me that,” Dean blushed and pulled away from Cas's hands to rinse his hair.

“Yeah, you’re right. I already know it was.”

“That bad?” Dean blurted and curled in on himself, of fucking course it was. He should have known better than to think someone like Cas would think he was worth the bother. Probably nothing more than a pity fuck. 

With no effort at all, Cas had Dean pressed against the glass wall of the shower, lips pressed to his in a quick, hungry kiss before he licked down his neck, hands digging into his hips. “It’s an honor, you know, to be the first. My first was Mr. Omudson. I was 15, and he was my PE teacher.” Cas's hands roam over Dean’s thighs and up his ass, squeezing and lifting, pulling Dean up against his chest. “He was changing in the locker room, and I walked in. Instead of turning around and walking out, I started talking, and I kept talking as he stripped and got under the water. He looked at me with these big blue eyes, and I just walked right in, clothes, shoes, everything. He fucked me right there in the boy’s locker room.”

Dean leaned against Cas, warm water washed over them, sliding down their skin, the sound of rain protecting them from the rest of the world, their own little hamlet. “Sounds like an old perv.” He licked the water off Cas's jaw.

Cas chuckled, a light twinkling sound. “He was probably the same age I am now, so who’s the ‘old perv’?”

“Were you scared?”

“I don’t remember.” Cas leaned in and kissed him, slow and sultry. It was exactly what Dean had always dreamed a kiss to be: soft, warm, private. He felt his heart reaching out for Cas already, only one night, but whatever this had been was something Dean would never recover from.

Cas signed. “I wish we had the time for me to fuck you right here in the shower.” Large hands cradled Dean’s face and Cas's blue eyes, so blue, blue like the paints he mixed in the art room. Blue like the scent of summer.

“I could…” Dean’s voice drifted off as he turned them around, pressing Cas's back to the glass and dropping to his knees. “Teach me how.”

Cas sucked in a breath as Dean wrapped his lips around the head of Cas’s already hard cock and sucked lightly. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were dark as he looked down, hands fisted at his sides. Dean had done that, had reduced Cas to weak legs and gasping breaths, and he’s only just started.

He flicked his tongue across the tip, watching Cas for signs that he was doing this right, and was rewarded with a soft groan. With tightened lips, he sucked harder and drew more of Cas into his mouth. Little by little, he tested the length and girth of Cas with his tongue and lips. 

Dean had never sucked cock before, never even had his own sucked, but porn existed for a reason. Drool dripped down his chin, washed away by the shower, as he bobbed on Cas's cock, humming at the surprise of how much he loved doing this. He thought it was something people did solely for the pleasure of the other person, but Dean’s aching cock and hitched breaths betrayed the fact that this was getting him off. 

Cas's cock was hot in his mouth compared to the cooling water around them, but Dean didn’t stop, didn’t dare. He braced his hands on Cas's thighs, struck by how hard the corded muscle there was. Fingers gripped his hair, pulling his longish bangs from his face. When Dean tilted his head up, mouth full of cock, Cas smiled.

“Fuck kid, you’re a goddamn natural.” His voice was low, dragged through the dirt and run over by a pickup. Dean reached one hand for his cock and started jerking. “Yeah, make yourself come. Let’s go over together.”

Cas moved his hands, one still in Dean's hair, the other gripping the side of his hair, moving him on and off his cock, deep and hard. Dean coughed, and Cas stilled for a moment.

“You okay?”

Dean looked up at him and blinked before starting to suck like his life depended on it. And to Dean, it did. He hadn’t lived until he stepped into this loft with Cas. He’d known nothing, been nothing, and now he was the person Cas had fucked last night, the person who made this perfect man shake and moan and grip Dean’s head tight as he came, filling his mouth and throat with come. He was the person who coated Cas's feet with his come.

Dean swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth to capture every drop.

Cas held out a hand and helped him stand on wobbly legs. His knees ached from kneeling on the tile, but he loved it. It was a reminder of everything they’d done. He had hickeys, an ache in his ass, and sore knees. He hoped it lasted forever.

After a surprisingly soft kiss, Cas turned off the water and led Dean out of the shower, handing him a towel before he rubbed his own over his head, throwing it into a state of chaos again. Kiss after kiss led Dean back to Cas's bedroom. He pulled his oversized shirt and baggy jeans back on and grabbed his bracelets, necklace, and ring from the bedside table like an adult.

Cas stood on the other side of the room, looking like a fucking magazine cover. His suit was blue, but not a normal blue. It was bright, fit like a beautiful thing, and high-end, like everything else about Cas. How would Dean ever compete? He was just shy of being nothing more than white trash on scholarship at his school and not unfamiliar with the feeling of hunger.

Before Dean fell too far into his pit of self-loathing, Cas turned around, his eyes glowing against the blue suit, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned more than was legal, and his smile incandescent, filling the whole room with light and hope and promises of a good thing.

“Fuck.” Dean stalked forward without second-guessing himself and pulled Cas into a kiss, running his hand through his attempt to tame that perfect lightning-struck hair. Cas bent into him, taking over the kiss, backing him up like he was going to throw Dean on the bed and undo all the work he’d put into looking like a fucking GQ model.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas.” 

Dean pulled away to find a small, dark-haired woman with a scowl that could flay him alive. 

“So Gabriel was right. You really did bring some twink high schooler home to fuck. This is a new low, even for you.”

“Good morning, Meg. It’s lovely to have you let yourself into my loft with your emergency only key— yet again.” Cas's voice was saccharine, but his body had stiffened, and Dean watched as Cas shifted from the guy he’d hooked up with into a grown-ass man with adult friends and an adult life. He slicked his damp hair back into place and completed the transformation.

“If you two are done, I’d like to get to work this week.” Meg put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. She was dressed in a simple black dress that hung in elegant lines, highlighting her curves, with sophisticated jewelry and high heels. Dean was suddenly and viciously jealous.

“Mmm,” Cas returned to Dean, the warmth in his eyes bleeding through the detached affect he’d donned. “There’s no such thing as done. Plus, I had to give him a complete protein breakfast. He is a growing boy, after all. It’s grrrrrreat!”

Dean blushed, Meg grimaced, and Cas laughed.

“Come on, let’s drive the child to school,” Cas swept past them both, grabbing his keys from the counter, and whisked out to the street without waiting for either of them.

After one last glare that could strip paint, Meg followed, and Dean had no choice but to go with them, closing the door behind him.

“You have the call with Uriel Wisdom this morning. Are you ready?” Meg turned off the music as Cas turned on the car and lit a cigarette. Dean crammed into the back seat.

“Will you shut up, Meg? I’m not at work yet.” Cas ran one hand through his hair and sped into the road without looking for traffic. He drove like a preschooler with a tricycle revved up on 300 horses while avoiding getting ash on his perfect suit. Even Dean knew to stop on red. Dean scrambled to put on his seatbelt as Cas went careening down the street.

“Where am I taking you? Uhhh..”

“You’re kidding.” Meg huffed and rolled her eyes.

“What’s your name again?”

“Oh. Um, Dean.” His heart leapt up in his throat, and he didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

“You’re such a goddamn stereotype, Castiel.”

“Is that so, Margaret?”

“Fuck you,” Meg said with a laugh as Cas shifted gears and whipped around the corner, closing in on Dean’s school. “Well, once we get our little boy to school, can we work? We’re going to be late, and if you want to be ready for this call, we need to prep you.”

Cas cackled. “You know I don’t need to be prepped – I’m a top – but you have always been a good fluffer.”

They shared a smile that made Dean feel small and forgotten.

Cas slid his Audi to a stop in front of the main entrance of Dean’s school, tires screeching, pulling the attention of everyone standing outside and entering the school. It’s close enough to the homeroom bell that at least half the school was on its way in. Dean slammed his forehead against the back of Cas's seat.

“Alright, you have a good day now. Home straight after school. I don’t want you getting in any trouble with those older boys!” Meg teased, using a high pitched faux mom voice.

Dean groaned. “I’m a senior.”

“Oh, honey, I know, but I still worry about my sweet little man.” She frowned and pouted, blinking her eyes at him.

“You wouldn’t think that was so funny if you knew how much you actually sound like my mom.”

Cas broke out into a barking laugh that startled all three of them before getting out to help Dean crawl from the back seat. Around them, his classmates were quieter than he thought they had ever been at school, even during the SATs, watching Dean with this gorgeous older man who drove like a maniac and looked like a movie star.

Cas gave him a crooked smile, dropped what was left of his cigarette, and stubbed it out with his toe before he leaned in to kiss Dean. He tasted like nicotine and dreams. Cas wrapped a hand around the side of his neck and sucked on his lower lip. Dean melted enough to stop caring about what anyone thought. If he wasn’t out before, he sure as fuck was now.

“Can I see you again?” Dean asked when his brain came back online.

“Look, this was a one-time thing. Now go back to your perfect little suburban life.”

“Can I see you tonight?” He wasn’t going to let this man slip through his fingers. He had him here now, and if he let him go, he might never see him again.

“Who knows where I’ll be tonight or who I’ll be with. Go on. You’re going to miss home ec.”

Dean stared. Cas played it cool. He’d already learned that, but he’d seen the warmth in his eyes. He knew that there was more here than fucking. “Doesn’t this mean something?”

Cas's smile grew, amused. “Yeah, it means you just had the best night of your life. You’re welcome.”

Then he brushed his knuckles along Dean’s cheek and climbed back into his car. He shut the door with Dean still standing in the middle of the street, his heart in his throat. Dean didn’t move as Cas shifted into reverse and backed up, practically taking out a hedge, before driving off, never looking back.

Noise burst around him, and he ducked his head, knowing it was all about him. He would barely have enough time to get to his gym locker and pull out his extra uniform before first period. He’d miss homeroom, but who cared?

He ran up the stairs, spotting a wide-eyed Charlie waiting for him. Before he reached her, though, Lee Webb shouldered past him, hitting him hard enough for Dean to take a step back.

“Faggot,” Lee muttered under his breath, saying what Dean knew almost everyone was thinking. And what did it matter? So what if he was? Cas had been right, it had been the best night of his life, and nothing could make him want to take it back.

After changing into his uniform and suffering through the most boring history class in the history of history classes (seriously, everyone knows about Roanoke. The mystery of Croatoa isn’t even interesting anymore), Dean rushed to meet Charlie for lunch. 

She was already sitting on the fire escape outside of the unused physics classroom, her red hair wavy and a little longer than she usually wore it. Her uniform was oddly hiked up so she could sit with her legs dangling over the side of the fire escape. 

She turned, and her whole face lit up to see him. Dean had the most awesome of all best friends. “Oh my God, I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you!” She bounced, and if she could have stood up, he was pretty sure she would have actually tackled him to the ground.

“Okay, Charlie,” he chuckled, sitting gingerly next to her. “What’s up? 

“So last night, when you were out doing Dean stuff, you wouldn’t tell me about…” 

“Charlie, I…”

“No, no, it’s my turn. It's time for a Charlie story. I went to that college mixer, you know, to let them woo my brilliant ass, and then, there was this weird guy with the worst mullet I’ve ever seen. He was following me around from table to table and kept trying to break into my conversations. I tried to get away from him at the drink table — red fruit punch, seriously? Are we six? — anyway, he saunters over toward me, but it’s all legs and pipe cleaner bendy arms, and he starts talking to me about his pet iguana—an iguana , Dean!— like, that might be cool, sure, but aside from the fact that he had a dick, that was the single worst come on I’ve ever heard, not going to happen, so I start playing along, like yeah, fascinating, tell me more about the thrilling world of lizards, and it turns out he was the student representative from MIT and—wait, I was wrong I want to know what you were doing and who was that guy?”

“Oh, I went out to a bar.” He blew his hair out of his eyes and tapped his ring against the bars keeping them from tumbling down three stories. He didn’t love that this was their hangout spot, but Charlie enjoyed looking out over the courtyard, pretending she was the queen lording over them all.

Charlie gasped, and not in her sarcastic, jokey way, but an honest to god shocked gasp. 

“I was out having sеx—all night. With a guy I met. Cas . We did it till three in the morning. What? You got nothing to say? Aren't you shocked? 

Charlie rolled her eyes and looked out over her kingdom. “Not really. I mean, he kissed you when he dropped you off this morning, right in front of everyone. It’s not string theory.”

“Oh.” Dean absolutely did not pout.

“I mean, I kinda figured that you're... you know. Being queer, my gaydar is pretty good. Even if you like the dreaded D. What I don’t get is why you never told me.” She punched him in the arm, and even in the tight space, her sharp knuckles hurt.

“I'm telling you now.” He rubbed his arm and glared at her. Some best friend she was.

She sighed and gave him a soft smile. “Want some of my veggie wrap?”

“Fuck yeah, even if it is rabbit food.” He grabbed the half she held out and took a huge bite. He was really fucking hungry, even with his protein breakfast . Dean chuckled softly and blushed, remembering his morning with Cas.

“So, what was it like?” Charlie asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“It was amazing.”

“Okay. Spill. Right now. What happened?”

Dean smirked, his blush spreading across his cheeks as he shrugged. “I don’t know. Just stuff.”

“Oh, don’t you dare do this to me, Dean Winchester! You disappear into the night, show up here with the most gorgeous man in existence, and all I get is ‘just stuff’?! That’s criminal. It’s a crime. I should report you. Now tell me.”

Dean grinned, thoroughly enjoying torturing Charlie. She was such a little shit, and he loved her so much, but it was about time she got a taste of her own medicine. “There’s not much to tell, really.”

Charlie threw up her hands and almost flung the rest of her veggie wrap into the courtyard, which, granted, would have been fucking hysterical, especially if it hit Fergus MacLeod and his friends. “Oh my GOD! You are the most annoying person alive. I swear, if you don’t start talking, I will—I will— I will tell Sam you weren’t at my place last night, and he’ll torture you with that knowledge for the rest of your life. You’ll still be doing his chores when you’re thirty.”

Dean laughed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Charlie’s face was stone-cold serious, and when she was in this mood, it was a treacherous choice not to go along with her. She had a mean streak, and a vindictive streak, and a creative streak. Not a good combination to cross.

Dean rolled his eyes with a huff, knowing he’d already lost. “Alright, alright! We went to his place, which was awesome. He lives in this like super cool warehouse loft. Talked a bit. Then, y’know…” He smirked, looking down at his hands and fiddling with his elephant hair bracelet.

Charlie squealed and slapped him on the arm she’d already hit. He was starting to feel like a domestic abuse victim. “I knew it! I knew it! Was it like in the films? Was he all slow and romantic, or was it like—” she gestured wildly “—bam?”

“Oh, it was bam.” Dean winked with a smirk.

Charlie gasped and clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “Oh my God. I hate you. You are living my fantasy. This isn’t fair. Why can’t I meet a nice older dyke to whisk me off my feet?  I can’t believe you just—just did it! Like that! I need every single detail right now.”

Dean laughed, thoroughly enjoying making her squirm. “Maybe later.”

Charlie groaned. “I HATE YOU!” she cried as she threw her weight on top of him, twisting so they fell back together, knocking his head on the brick wall behind them as they laughed.

After a moment, Charlie laid her head on Dean’s chest with a sigh. If Dean didn’t tell her, he wouldn’t tell anyone. She was the only one who might possibly understand, the only one who really knew him, even if he’d left out the liking dudes part. So he took a leap and started talking.

“So, there I was, on my back. And there he was, on top of me, slipping it in.” 

Charlie wrinkled her nose and made a sound that sounded an awful lot like blech. “That must have hurt. Didn't it hurt?” 

“At first, but he went slow, and I stopped thinking about it. When I looked at his face. His eyes were so blue, staring right into me, and his lips were curved in a sort of smile that felt like it was just for me. And his body was so amazing. I could see every muscle. I still feel him. Like, he's still there. Fuck, Charlie. Everybody talks about having sеx. But I really did it.”

Charlie sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist, squeezing him into a tight hug. “But Dean, he’s a lot older, don’t let him mess you up. You deserve more than that."

"I know. But I can't stop thinking about him."

She sighed but didn’t say anything. He combed his fingers through her hair and stared up at the blue sky. It paled in comparison to Cas's eyes.

Chapter Text

Cas

Cas Novak knew how to run a room. He could read people. That was his business, and more often than not, it served him well personally. The guy sitting on the other side of the conference room table would agree. It wasn’t hard to pick out the closet cases, too much ‘man’ coding, big briefcases– leather with shiny hardware, and of course, too much cologne– even the tasteful stuff had a limit– and too much eye contact. The way he fiddled with the gold ring on his left hand only made him more tempting.

Cas wasn’t out at work, but he did absolutely nothing to keep himself hidden away. And men like this, they smelled it on him, and it made their mouths water. He was licking his lips and crossing his legs and watching Cas like he was a damn cannoli he wanted to suck clean. The salt-and-pepper, older man in a tight waistcoat thing he was rocking didn’t hurt either.

Before he got to the pleasure part, though, Cas had to finish the business. The room was half full, but the client had money. It was a good account to lock down, and like he said, he knew how to run a room. Presenting a good pitch was like warfare. You had to have a plan going in, a strategy. Plus, Meg was there, with her sophisticated but unquestionably slutty dress and luscious, wavy hair. If he was attracted to women beyond the extremely rare game of hide the pickle, he’d have asked her to marry him.

As he continued his pitch, he winked at her and shot the room a smile that could convince the pope to drop to his knees. He pointed behind him to the image on the display screen of a half-naked, ripped man, the top button of his jeans undone, holding a sweating bottle of Margiekugels.

“The difference between our beer and their beer is that our beer says 'sеx.' Not 'Clydesdales.'” He grabbed a green apple from the basket sent over from catering and tossed it up in the air. Confidence —arrogance even— made clients comfortable. If he believed in himself, they were more likely to believe in him. It was a calculated move, but not an act.

“If you want to be cool, if you want to be popular, if you want to get...” he looks at the woman who had introduced herself as Hester, “laid…” Here, he paused, taking a good look around the room, and focused his full intensity on the ruggedly handsome, closeted man named Ishim. “... this is what you drink.”

“Ah, but what about the model?” The lead client, Raphael, asked. “Are you sure he isn't too, um…” he paused and looked around the room, a blush spreading across his face, enough to show through his flawless dark skin.

Cas tossed the apple. “Gay? Ladies?” He raised an eyebrow and brought his attention back to Hester, nodding to Meg.

Hester laughed and relaxed in her chair, leaning back with the quiet confidence of someone who spoke the truth. “I wouldn't care if he was. I'd go to bed with him anyway.”

Meg’s laugh was more like a cackle, not exactly appropriate or lady-like, but Cas’s smile was irrepressible. 

“What do you think?” he asked Ishim before biting into the apple. The way the man’s eyes widened and dipped down to Cas's lips… delicious, better than this perfectly tart fruit. Right here was where Cas got off. He’d hooked his catch, and there was no doubt he’d get to have him. The inevitable orgasm made his body sing, but this… this power… this was the rush. It was half the reason he rarely slept with the same man twice. He liked to conquer and pillage.

“I hadn't thought about it,” said Ishim, a little breathless.

By the end of the meeting, Raphael had a copy of their proposal and a verbal promise to do whatever he had to to get the powers that be to sign the contract. Cas and Meg stood at the door, shaking hands with each of them as they filed out. 

“Good to meet you,” Hester said with a flutter of the eyelashes that Cas had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at.

“Thank you.”

When the rest of the group had left, Cas looked back into the room. Ishim stood at the table, hands fumbling as he packed up files into his ridiculous briefcase and glanced over his shoulder at Cas. 

“Ahh. He's married.” Meg whispered, humor in her voice.

“Uh-huh.”

Meg made a disbelieving noise, but Cas knew she loved him no matter what she thought of his extracurricular activities. Her disapproval only bothered him up to a point. It stopped at the line of him getting his dick wet.

Ishim made his way to the conference room door, where Cas smirked, and Meg was clearly holding back an eye roll that only Cas saw hinting there.

“Excuse me. Could you, uh, tell me where the men's room is?”

Meg piped up, cutting off the come-on hanging off Cas's tongue. “Yeah, it's right down the hall and to the left.”

“Thanks,” but he didn’t leave right away. Instead, a simmering look passed over Cas, dangling before him, begging to be plucked. He finally smiled and walked by.

“That's a loooong trip. He might get lost.” Cas glanced down at Meg, who had let go of any pretense of not thinking he was ridiculous.

“I'm sure you'll show him the way,” she said and laughed as she added, “slut,” before slapping him on the ass and sending him on his way.

That evening, Cas sat in Mosley’s Diner, like every Friday. It was tradition. He, Gabriel, Balthazar, and Meg took up the back corner table, with Cas sitting in the middle. It had been a good day, Ishim had sucked him off in the bathroom and been rewarded with Cas's spit-slick hand for his trouble, and they had gotten the signed contract back for Margiekugel's beer already. And now, dinner with his friends at his one caloric indulgence of the week before heading back out to Eden, or Garrison, or Chuck’s Bar if they weren’t in the mood for a club. Any of them worked for Cas.

Zar grabbed his plate from the waitress and dove in like the heathen he was, not even waiting for anyone else to get their food. “Mmm, I know I swore off carbs, but I need these. Gotta replenish after that ménage à et… What’s the French word for twelve?” He shoveled a forkful into his mouth and looked like he was about to spit them out. ”Why do diner pancakes always taste slightly…off? Like, no matter where you go, they all have that same weird aftertaste.”

“Don’t let Rufus hear you say that,” Cas whispered.

Gabriel chuckled as he dug into his massive brownie sundae. “That’s the taste of regret.”

Meg took a delicate sip of her coffee, nails recently applied and painted. She lifted her chin with a haughty tsk, and really, that bitchiness was her best feature. “Well, enjoy your government-issued wheat pucks, gentlemen. I am focusing on my well-balanced meal.”

Zar rolled his eyes and gestured dramatically across the table to Meg, nearly knocking his glass of water over. “You ordered a side of bacon with your salad.”

“It’s called moderation. Look it up.”

Cas huffed a laugh and smothered his fries in ketchup. “Moderation is for people who don’t have the guts to commit to excess.”

“I love that. Put it on my tombstone,” Balthazar cheered, playing up his inner queen in a way that was totally unnecessary for anyone to know he liked dick. Of anyone, Zar’s flame burnt bright, and he made his own fun.

“There’s nothing wrong with getting your needs met,” Cas said, lifting an eyebrow haughtily.

“That’s your manifesto,” Gabriel grumbled.

Meg leans forward, cleavage spilling in such a way that if she wasn’t sitting at a table of fags, they’d be drooling. ”Speaking of excess—what was the boy’s name—Don? Drake?”

“Dean”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Relax, my sweet demon. He’ll forget about me by the time he’s done with family dinner.”

Zar sits with his mouth hanging open, a forkful of pancakes halfway to his face. “Wait, Dean? The kid from Eden last night?? He was beautiful, but a child, like jailbait child.”

Cas smiled, the memory of Dean’s nimble young body beneath him as he slid inside, fucking him thoroughly. “That would be the one. What can I say? I had to do my civic duty, bring up that baby gay right. And by duty, I mean—”

Meg held up a hand, closing her eyes. “Yeah, we all know what you mean.”

Gabe gave Cas an affectionate look before sighing and resting his head in his hand. “You know, sometimes I wish I had your stamina.”

Cas finished chewing and wiped his mouth, a crooked smile on his face as he leaned back, arm on the back of the booth around Meg. “You don’t. You’d never make it out alive.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Cas Novak will outlive us all. Not because he’s healthy. Because even Death would get tired of chasing him.” Gabriel deadpanned

“Either that or Death will hit on him and end up getting fucked.” Meg laughed.

“I like to keep my options open.” Cas sits up, pushing his plate away. “Now let’s get out of here so we can drink ourselves to liver failure and do exceedingly stupid things to beautiful men.”

Balthazar threw a few bills on the table and stood up. “The first round of whatever keeps us young and scandalous is on me!”

Cas slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and strode out of the dinner. They separated with the promise to meet up at Chuck’s for cheap beer and a round or two of shots. Sometimes, Cas found someone worth his time there, but he didn’t set himself to the hunt until he stepped inside one of the clubs. Bars were for talking, and he had little interest in making chitchat with anyone other than his friends. He didn’t need any more, and he didn’t need the complications.

There were better things for men to do with their mouths.

At the bar, he turned heads like he always did. Cas ran a hand through his hair, encouraging it to break the tightly controlled look he managed at work and release into the wild waves that suited him best. His tight, dark jeans rolled up over thick black boots complemented the black short-sleeved button-down he wore with three buttons undone. Eyes followed him, sliding across his frame like silk.

At the bar, Meg waited with a glass of whiskey ready for him. “You know, I never meet anyone at these places. I’m queer too, but there are no women or dudes who’d even look at me twice. It wouldn’t be the worst thing for us to go to a nice straight bar every now and then.”

“Fuck no, I don’t associate with their kind.”

“What? Straight people? You’re a bigot.”

“Really? We’re gonna take Zar and his Fuck Me pumps to a straight bar?” He took a long sip of his drink, savoring the woody flavor as Zar sang Karaoke. “There's only two kinds of straight people in this world. The ones that hate you to your face and the ones that hate you behind your back.”

“Jesus, Cas.” Meg rolled her eyes.

Cas looked around, content. This was his element; these were his people, and in his own way, he loved them. On the stage, Zar sang “I’m gonna be a star” like his life depended on it. One hand in the air, hips swaying as his voice wrapped around the words. It was too bad he couldn’t find a tune if it was standing in front of him in a silver lame dress and a feather boa, but it was fun to listen to. 

The crowd agreed as they clapped and whistled, encouraging his antics until the song was over, and Gabriel had to practically pull him off the stage instead of giving yet another bow. “Tips, free drinks, and blowjobs are welcome as offerings to the most fabulous fag in town!

Cas watched, his smile soft and private. He wrapped an arm around Meg’s shoulder, pulling her into his side, her slight frame fitting against him perfectly. She was one of the few things that made sense in his life, and he knew he didn’t tell her enough, but all snark aside, his life would be a colorless nightmare without her.

Cas kissed her on the temple, the warmth of good whiskey and family wrapping around him as he pulled out one of the wide, uncontainable smiles he generally kept hidden. Gabriel returned with a tipsy Balthazar in tow.

“You know, for a skinny white boy, I made one fսcking spectacular black woman,” Zar said entirely too loudly and took Cas's drink from him. 

A second later, Cas noticed a blond head out of the corner of his eye; long bangs with a corded necklace and leather bracelet. Green eyes lit up when he recognized who he saw. Dean made his way over and gave him a huge smile, dimples competing with cheekbones for his most striking feature. 

“Hi,” Dean wandered up to the group, his smile undeterred even as Cas's fell. 

“For fuck’s sake. Just what I need,” he grumbled under his breath to Meg’s apparent delight, if her snorting laugh is anything to go by. She ordered them both another whiskey.

“I got a better idea. Let's move on.” Cas grumbled, eyeing Dean.

Zar pouted, already well on his way to drunk. “What's wrong with here?”

Rolling his shoulders back, Cas made a show of looking over the crowd, eyes passing over Dean as if he didn’t even recognize him. “I've had everyone here.”

“Do you always have to be such an ass?” Balthazar asked at the same time Meg announced, “You haven't had me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cas raised an eyebrow and gave Meg a lascivious smile that would have half the men here ripping off their jockstraps if it was aimed at them.

“What?” Gabriel’s eyes were massive, shocked open. “You never told us.”

Meg blushed, a rare occurrence, and it made Cas chuckle at his rare win over her. “There's nothing to tell.” 

Everyone’s heads turned to Cas so fast it was practically choreographed.

“We were up in her room.” he looped his arm around Meg’s waist, pulling her in close despite her half-hearted resistance. “We were fourteen, fifteen tops. Meg was such a bad influence, all thorny pain and dark beauty. We were supposed to be studying, whatever. Only we're not. Anyway, she’s got this poster on her wall of Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing... without his shirt on.”

Balthazar and Gabriel nodded in tandem, eagerly leaning forward.

“So I’m still pretty innocent, and I’m getting hard just from looking at it, and I glance over at Meg, and she’s got mooneyes, all cunt struck and swooning.” Cas grinned with menace before shaking Meg a little.

“Okay, you can stop now,” Meg growled. Cas felt her talons digging into his back where she was gripping it.

“She leans in and presses her lips to mine, all soft and sweet. I’ve never even kissed a girl, but it seems pretty much the same, and then, little slut that she is, pushes me down on the bed and sticks her tongue in my mouth. I start gasping and trying to push her off, but she thinks I’m really into it. Then... her mom walks in without knocking.”

Everyone but Meg laughed.

“I hate you. Besides, you didn’t even kiss me back, so it doesn't count,” she struggled out of Cas's hold, and he let her go, having had his fun.

In the pause, Dean piped up, “Oh, Dirty Dancing. That's a really old movie.”

Cas's neck twisted so fast he felt it give a little pop. “What?”

Dean, smiling and basking in Cas's attention, repeated himself, taking his damn life in his hands. “I said that's a really old movie.“

“It's not that old.” 

Dean looked Cas up and down, his brows pulled together. “How old are you?”

Meg barked a laugh, elbowing Cas's side with her sharp, pointy bones.

“How old do you think I am?” Cas growled, stepping in close to the stool Dean leaned against, one hand clenched in a fist, the other gripping his drink so tight it might shatter.

No one spoke in the time it took Dean to answer. It was like the whole bar shut down, the music stopped, the balls on the pool table rolled to a standstill, none of the glasses clinked.

With bravery Cas almost envied, Dean finally spoke. “Thirty-three?”

Gabriel snorted, Meg’s eyes widened, and Balthazar gave a full-throated laugh. 

Cas leaned forward and hissed, “Fսck. You.”

Meg had her trademark smirk back on her face, as usual, enjoying Cas's discomfort. “He's twenty-nine.”

“And fսck you, too!” he hip-checked Meg but glowered, more upset than he’d expected. This was what he and Meg did, how they interacted, and most of the time, it was fun, but tonight it was seriously pissing him off. “What did you tell him for?”

“Fair's fair,” she said with a lilt in her voice and a flutter of eyelashes.

Gabriel leaned in close, stage whispering to Cas as if any of this was a secret. “We all know what that means. A few months and you'll be thirty. Might as well be dead.”

“I’ll still be younger than you,” Cas set his glass on the bar, seriously considering setting them all on fire, before turning and walking out of Chuck’s and into the cool night of early fall. Fuck them, and fuck Dean. He took a deep breath and started the trek toward Eden.

Friday night out this way was full of color and laughter. Men danced in the street as they waited for the chance to get into one of the many clubs. Blocks and blocks of bars and shopping, and clubs, all of them run by his people and for his people. He loved walking through the streets, cigarette in his mouth, glitter in the air. He’d even make allowances for the dykes who hung out down here. For the most part, they weren’t too bad, better than most women. In general, Meg and his sister-in-law were the only women he spared a second thought for, but gay is gay is gay.

So Cas danced. At Eden, he felt the thrumming of the bass before he even went inside. The line was long, men already aching with hunger. He didn’t wait in line, though. He walked right on past them and up to the door, giving Bartholemew a flirty little smirk. Inside, the masses moved, men sweat-slicked and eager.

He walked into the middle of it, a spark in a sea of lava.

He moved like he owned the air around him, like gravity itself had bent to his will. Hips rolling, teasing, tempting, he danced. His shirt, damp and clinging, revealed his strong chest, a tease of chest hair, and a promise of the taut body still covered. He tilted his head back, lips parting in a smirk, aware— so aware—of the hungry eyes that tracked him.

Then he turned, catching the eyes of the men who had followed him here, his friends, his family. And with them, Dean. They locked eyes, and Cas was trapped in his unwavering focus. The tension between them was palpable, no matter how much he wanted to will it away. He wanted to bury himself in another body, another man, anything to escape the way one smile from a boy he should have never taken home made him feel.

He made his way over to the bar and raised an eyebrow as he stared at Dean, standing too close to deny how drawn he was to him. 

“Dean, what happened last night... it was fun. You wanted me, and I wanted you. That's all it was. You can’t follow me around like this.”

“So, I was just a fսck?” Dean clenched his jaw and stood a little taller, so he was even with Cas. This boy would grow to be an exquisite man, someone who would catch the same kind of attention Cas did, but that was years from now, and Cas didn’t intend to still be here when that happened.

Cas looked at him, feeling a swell of pity and affection that he had to shove down. This is exactly why he didn’t get involved. “What did you think it was? Look, I don't believe in love. I believe in fսcking. It's honest. It's efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. Love is something that straight people tell themselves they're in so that they can get laid. And then they end up hurting each other because it was all based on lies to begin with. If that's what you want, then go and find yourself a pretty little girl and get married.”

Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “That's not what I want. I want you!”

Cas felt a softness toward Dean he didn’t know he was capable of still feeling. But it was kinder to send him away, kinder for both of them. Cas wasn’t equipped to be who Dean thought he was, couldn’t offer some sweet romance. Cas would never be that, and Dean deserved it. If anyone deserved it, Dean did. 

“You can't have me. I'm too ol— you're too young for me. You're seventeen. And I’m—”

Dean grinned sadly. “Twenty-nine.” 

Cas nodded, serious for the first time all night and hating every moment of it. “All right. Twenty-nine. All the more reason. Now go do your homework.”

Dean’s tears started to fall as his face crumbled, and he backed away, turning to run out of Eden and into the night as Cas watched.

It was Balthazar who braved coming over and laying a hand on Cas's shoulder. "You always pretend like you don't care, but I can see it, darling. You care. You care about this one more than you let on."

Chapter Text

Dean

When Charlie came over, Dean had only just barely gotten home, but fortunately, his Dad was still out, and his mom mostly left him alone to do his homework. Having Charlie there wasn’t strictly necessary, and they did tend to get sidetracked, but they both had good grades, and that bought them a lot of leeway.

Goo Goo Dolls played on his CD player as they scratched out answers in their notebooks. Dean twirled his pen as he was thinking, scowling and popping the end in his mouth as he focused on a particularly hard Trig question. The afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting gauzy light across Dean’s textbook. He hadn’t made much progress in the last hour. Dean's vision blurred, his thumb tracing the edge of the notebook in front of him, his mind still back at Chuck’s and Eden.

Charlie frowned from behind her ridiculous bright green reading glasses, her brow furrowing. Dean was good at hiding his emotions, but he never managed to keep anything from her, especially when he was too distracted to pay attention to her scrutiny. 

“Dean,” she said softly, nudging his elbow, “you haven’t said a word for like… twenty minutes, which I think might be a Guinness World Record for you. You talk more than this in your sleep. What’s going on?”

Dean’s head snapped up, a tight smile pulling at the corners of his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He finally broke with a groan and slammed his head back against the mattress. 

Charlie raised an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. “Dean, you’re not fooling me. Spill it. Is this about Cas?”

The mention of Cas made Dean’s breath hitch slightly, and the look on Charlie’s face made it clear she had heard it. God, why did he have to wear everything he felt on his goddamn face? The blush was bad enough, but he couldn’t even control his expression.

His gaze dropped to his worksheet again, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. He had never cared so much if people liked him, never even been interested in dating. He’d thought he was cooler than this. But when it came to Cas, things were different, and he’d proven himself desperately uncool.

“He brushed me off,” Dean finally said, the words coming out low and bitter. Saying them practically caused him physical pain. “He… fuck Charlie, he told me none of it meant anything. Like what I feel doesn’t matter.”

“Asshole,” Charlie muttered, running her fingers through her hair. “How dare he. I can’t believe he’d say that to you.”

Dean let out a bitter laugh, but it had no humor in it. “Maybe I am the stupid kid he thinks I am. I thought this was different. I thought maybe he felt something, too." He bit the inside of his lip to keep from breaking out into tears like the immature kid he guessed he really was.

Charlie shifted in her seat, leaning forward to make sure she had Dean’s full attention. She took a breath before speaking, her voice softer now, tempered with compassion. “Of course you did. But don’t go thinking he’s gonna change. You’re better than him, Dean. You know that, right?” she said quietly, her eyes soft but firm. “You deserve someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re nothing but… a convenience. Someone who actually gives a damn about you.”

Dean didn’t look up, but he felt the weight of her words. He felt the sting of the truth in them. But the thought of letting go, of walking away from Cas, was like a punch to the gut. “I don’t know, Charlie,” Dean said, his voice low, tired. “It’s just… Cas is different.” 

Charlie shook her head. “You can’t keep pouring yourself into someone who only takes what you give and then pushes you away when it’s inconvenient for them."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking briefly to Charlie before looking away again, his jaw tightening. "Maybe. But I don’t care. I want him."

“I just worry. I want you to be careful, okay?” she urged, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re not disposable, Dean. You deserve someone who shows up for you, who listens, who wants to be with you as much as you want to be with them.”

Dean’s silence hung between them like an unspoken truth. He believed her. He really did. But the fear of losing what he’d found with Cas, the instant connection he’d seen in the man’s eyes was real. He knew it was.

“I know,” he said finally, the words thick with misery. “It’s… hard, you know? It’s hard to let go of someone who was... so close but still so far away.”

Just as Charlie was about to respond, a loud, unmistakable voice broke into their conversation from the doorway.

“Dean!” The silhouette of his little brother Sam appeared, unruly hair bouncing as he made his way in. “What are you two doing? Are you gonna kiss? Is Charlie your girlfriend now?”

Dean groaned, slumping lower as his younger brother stood there, looking far too pleased with himself. Charlie chuckled, and Sam, the ever-energetic menace, took that as permission to enter the room.

“Sam, what the hell do you want?” Dean snapped, but there was no real malice behind it. He’d learned to accept the endless teasing that came with being the older brother. He loved Sam, but sometimes the kid got on his last nerve.

“Oh, you know, making sure you’re not in here smooching when you’re supposed to be doing homework,” Sam said, plopping down to the floor across from Dean and Charlie. “And I need help with algebra.”

Charlie stifled her grin when Dean shot her a scowl. She tried (and failed) not to smile at the ridiculousness of all things Sam. 

“Seriously? You’re interrupting me for math?” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “You could probably do my homework for me, not the other way around. Pretending not to be a little prodigy is so irritating. Besides, we’re doing something important.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, which would be cute on someone his age if it wasn’t accompanied by the penchant he had for terrorizing Dean. “What’s so important, huh? Maybe you’re talking about how you sneaked out the other night and stayed out all night.”

“Sam!” Dean hissed, glancing at his door to make sure his mom wasn’t somehow standing right there listening to every word. Or, worse, his Dad. “What the hell is wrong with you? Shut the fuck up.”

Sam shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, if you’re gonna be all weird about it, I figured I’d ask.”

Charlie stood up with a playful smirk and stuffed her books into her backpack. “Okay, time for me to make myself scarce. You two can fight over algebra or whatever without me.”

Dean’s face relaxed as he watched her. She winked, and for a moment he believed it was all going to be okay. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said quietly as he stood up and hugged her. “I’ll see you later.”

Charlie nodded and waved at Sam with a wink. “Good luck with your important homework, Sam.”

Sam grinned back, his face lighting up as if he’d won the lottery by gleaming the small scrap of her attention. “Thanks!”

Sam, unfortunately, didn’t leave when Charlie did and kept staring at Dean. “So… you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?” Sam asked, sounding far too innocent for Dean to even consider talking to him about this.

Dean shot him a warning look. “Shut up, Sammy. Before I come over there and beat the shit out of you. Jesus, did you take a class in annoying little brother?”

“Fine, fine,” Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just tell Mom and Dad, Charlie is your girlfriend.”

“I’m starting to think you want her to be your girlfriend!” Dean pounced without warning, pinning his brother to the floor and tickling his skinny ribs until Sam started to cry with laughter. “You gonna shut it?”

“Never!” Sam gasped, wrenching to the side and trying to elbow Dean in the face.

Dean let him go with a laugh, and when Sam retreated back to his own room, Dean lay on his bed and let out a sigh. The longing he felt for Cas was still there, but he already felt better. Maybe he could still turn this around. Maybe he really did deserve more, and all he had to do was go after what he wanted.

The next day, Dean sat in English class, mind still preoccupied with Cas, but thinking maybe the best way to move on, or at least learn how to be what Cas wanted, was to find someone else. Maybe it was just the sex. People said that sex confused things. It made Dean feel special, like he had a boyfriend, but Cas wasn’t that. He made that very clear.

English was probably Dean’s favorite subject. And his best when it comes to books, but not so much the grammar and composition part of it. He tended to write the way he talked, and he liked that off-the-cuff style, like Vonnegut, so he stubbornly refused to adjust, or as Ms. Mills would say, correct.

Today, though, he’s been so damn distracted he’d barely listened to the conversation about The Great Gatsby. He’s only read it three times already, and it was a relatively stupid book, in his opinion. Rich people making their rich people problems harder for no reason. Whatever. He had better things to think about.

Like, why would Cas say he didn’t care and run away from him when Dean was sure that he felt the same way? Like how Cas's friends looked at Dean with something between sadness and pity and, on Meg’s face, amusement. Dean hadn’t even gotten all their names, and Cas hadn’t bothered to introduce him. He was just a kid Cas had fucked to them. 

But he wasn’t going to let Cas lie to him. He wasn’t going to let him disappear. He had to prove he meant what he said. He had to show he was an equal, that he knew the difference between sex and love. Cas being older than him might make him see Dean as just a kid, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

He was drawing a man’s back with feathers falling down his spine in his notebook when Ms. Mills called on him, probably not for the first time, based on the look on her face.

“How about you, Dean? Want to give us the definition of yearning?”

“Um, sure.”

Charlie took this opportunity to steal his notebook with a raised eyebrow.

“Yearning is, um, wanting something, but more than that, it’s like an ache that claws at your insides. It’s there without your permission, burning you up, invading every thought, every moment. It’s a kind of wound that won’t heal.”

“Yes. That’s… excellent.”

In the front of the room, Lee Webb was turned in his chair, staring at him with wide eyes and a familiar expression on his face. Dean’s felt that way before.

It’s yearning.

As soon as Ms. Mills’ back was turned, he snatched his notebook. Under his sketch, Charlie’s near incomprehensible scrawl said, ‘Is that him?’ He blushed as he smiled at the drawing and didn’t dare look up at her before the end of class.

As expected, Charlie’s squeals pulled more attention than he was comfortable with, but at least she kept it rated G. “Those are his real tattoos?”

“Yep,” Dean gathered his books, shoving the notebook into his bag.

“Are there more?” They stepped into the hall and walked toward art together. Charlie had music further down the hall. His strange, sprightly friend played the bassoon. It was a sight.

“Yep.”

“Deeeeeean!” She whined, the sound almost more attention grabbing than her squeal.

“Would you shut up?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side of the hall so at least people could get around them.

“You have to draw them all and his face. I need to see this guy's face.”

“Why? As you keep reminding me, he has a dick.”

“Like you’re gonna forget,” she scoffed and wrapped her hand around his bicep, pulling him toward class. She bounced and said excitedly, “During art, you could paint him laid out on a chaise, naked, like one of your French girls.”

“Don’t you dare quote ‘Titanic’ to me.” He pointed at her face.

Charlie opened her mouth and belted out, “And IIIIIII will always love yooooouuuuu.”

“That’s ‘The Bodyguard,’ you idiot.” He laughed and reached for her with grabby hands, until she ran down the hall and disappeared into her classroom.

He laughed himself into the art studio and proceeded to sketch Cas's face, all sharp lines and elegant slopes. He worked so hard he stayed past the last bell, working until Mr. Turner kicked him out. He drew in graphite except for his eyes— those he did in pastels, blending the different shades of blue until he created something close. 

He didn’t think the right color existed, and looking into them, even in his drawing, made his heart ache and his tears build to the surface.

Yearning sucked.

He’d left his drawing in the studio, not sure how to explain it to his parents. He’d show Charlie tomorrow. The idea made his ears hurt in anticipation of the incoming squeal.

He made his way to his locker before heading home, but the sounds of a crash stopped him, and then the air filled with cursing. Which was weird. No one was usually here after school except for the athletes who were always in the gym or outside. Curious, Dean made his way to the equipment room, where Lee was cleaning up everything that had fallen off the shelves.

“You alright?” Dean asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, but his cheeks hurt from smiling at the popular, smug Lee Webb on his knees

“I’m fine.” Lee looked up with a little pout. He was okay, but his pride clearly wasn’t.

“Need some help?” Dean leaned against the doorframe with a smirk

Lee nodded and turned away, picking up a bag of balls (Dean couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath) and shoving them back onto the shelf where they’d come from. There were uniforms, shoes, half-open boxes, towels, and everything imaginable to be associated with sports all over the floor.

“This sucks.” Lee dropped the handful of cleats in his arms and put his hands on his hips, looking around the room with a frustrated sigh.

Dean walked further into the room and picked up one of the baseball bats, using it to push a collection of still wrapped in plastic towels toward Lee.

He snorted and picked up the pile. “What are you doing in here? I thought you weren't into, like, sports and shit.”

“I like it some.” Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, well, you sure keep it a secret. I'm supposed to get all this shit cleaned up or outta here. I pissed off Mr. Singer, and now I’m stuck in here.”

Dean picks up a pile of football pads and sets them on the table.

“Wow, you're pretty strong.” Lee looked at all of Dean’s everything , not hiding his appraisal

“It's my other secret.” He grinned with a wink.

Lee nodded and sat on one of the wrestling mats. Dean grabbed two sodas from the little refrigerator the sports guys kept in there, even though no one was supposed to know about it. He popped it open, and it foamed all over his hand. He shook his hand, sending the drink flying before licking it off his palm. 

Lee watched, eyes locked on Dean’s hand. His gaze heated up, spreading heat over Dean’s flesh. Lee was hot, his hair hanging down around his ears, his blue eyes pale and clear like the still surface of a pond.

Dean handed him his soda, and their fingers touched. Static filled the space between them, building and building toward a shock. 

Lee grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand closer when he saw the red Eden stamp on the back of Dean's right hand. “You go there?”

“Yeah”

When Lee released him, Dean sat down close. Lee’s uniform was unbuttoned at the throat, and Dean watched his Adam’s apple bob. He wanted to lick it, taste the salt of his skin. For a while, it was like time stood still. Their sodas fizzed, but no one took a drink. Their skin was charged, but they didn’t touch. It was like the tension in the air before lightning struck, an escalation toward something huge and inevitable.

“Jo Harvelle was my first,” Lee blurted out into the silence. “Big whore. Her parents found out, and now she'll blow you, but she won't fuck if you're in this school. Only if you go somewhere else, preferably Catholic.”

“She seemed like a dyke to me.”

Rolling his eyes, Lee said, “Oh, man, she's not a dyke. She's a whore. There's a difference.”

Lee looked at Dean's profile, and Dean could feel his eyes lingering. Tension coiled tight and electric, humming in the space between breaths. His gaze dragged over Dean’s body like a touch that hadn’t landed yet—lingering and bold.

“What about you?”

“Oh, you know, when you get down to it, what's the big deal, right? I mean, sure, there's the touching and the feeling all of each other, hands everywhere, tracing every inch of their body, the two of us moving together. Pressing and pulling... Grinding. Then you hit that sweet spot, and everything just builds and builds and builds until it all just…” Dean made a exploding noise, miming a bomb with his hands.

Lee stared at him, mouth slightly open, until he licked his lips. His eyes were darker, gaze intense as he shifted closer.

“So you know Lisa Braeden?” Lee began, voice husky and dark. “So, she comes over to interview me for the school paper about being this great athlete and shit. And it's four o'clock, and my mom won't be home till six. So I tell her what a high making a touchdown is, and she grabs my dick.”

“She did not!” Dean laughed. He knew Lisa. She was a nice enough girl, but he’d never thought she’d… 

Lee smirked and gave Dean a smug look over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, she went for it. Not only that, she unzips my fly.” Lee slid his legs down and started to rub himself, eyes closed. His breath picked up.

Dean swallowed as he watched, and his eyes followed Lee’s hand. 

“She's got my dick, and she's got all these rings on. They're cold, but her hand's warm. She's rubbing ... and rubbing. Oh, yeah. And then she's gotta go home. You know, and I'm there. And I'm…” Lee was rubbing harder, speeding up, his head dropping back against the shelves.

“You're hard.” Dean breathed and watched as Lee said nothing, one hand clenched on his thigh, the other rubbing hard. Dean reached over and batted Lee’s hand away so he could grip his cock himself. It pulsed in his hand, and Dean gasped. Heat radiated through Lee’s pants, and Dean’s mouth watered. Lee huffed and leaned his head back, his eyes shut. Dean watched his profile, his cute nose, his smiling lips. Then he unzipped his pants and slid his hand inside.

Lee’s cock was hard and hot in his hand, and his hips jumped at Dean’s touch. Lee panted and moaned as Dean grinned and sat up to slowly jerk him off. Lee whined, his hips lifting as Dean sped up. He was up on his knees, pulling and jerking and groaning along with Lee until he felt Lee’s cock throb in his hand. He cried out as he came, a slow, sleepy smile on his face.

As Dean pulled his hand away, the door opened.

Lee jumped. “Shit,” he hissed and scrambled to zip his pants before Coach Singer saw what they were doing.

“Shouldn't you be working?” Mr. Singer growled. “You were supposed to make it cleaner in here, not more of a mess.”

“I, uh, I am working, Mr. Singer.” Lee stammered, breath coming heavy.

He gave an impressive eye roll and said, “Idjits.”

Dean quickly got up, a smile on his face. “See you, Lee.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur, and Dean wanted nothing more than to find a way to sneak out and see Cas again. It had been different, the thing with Lee and the thing with Cas. Cas was special, and he made Dean feel special. That had to mean something. 

He sat on the living room couch, sketching what he remembered of the tattoo on Cas's arm, an eye surrounded by rings and a set of wings. He’d looked up the imagery, and it was some kind of angel thing. Between that and the feathers, it appeared to be a theme. He wished he could remember the script on his ribs. It had been so intricate, not exactly beautiful but artistic.

“Hey, Dean. Why don’t you come with us to the movies?” Mary called from the kitchen as she searched for her keys in the mysterious black hole, which was her purse.

“I don’t want to,” he mumbled without looking up.

Sam came bouncing into the room and plopped on the couch next to Dean just to be annoying. “He doesn’t want to,” he mimicked with a singsong voice.

“Come on, we can go to the mall after, and I’ll buy you those jeans.” Mary walked into the living room, keys in hand,

“I said I don’t feel like it.”

Again, Sam, the mimic, repeated what he’d said.

“Would you get the fuck away?” Dean swatted at his brother, suddenly beyond irritated by his family. God, graduation couldn’t come fast enough. He’d move out, go to college, be who he wanted, do who he wanted.

“He said ‘fuck’!” Sam turned to their mother, gleeful at the idea of Dean getting in trouble.

Dean got up in his face and growled, “And I’ll say a lot worse if you don’t leave me alone,” then he shoved Sam off the couch.

Mary rolled her eyes but gave Dean an annoyed look. “Sam, leave him alone, and Dean, your father and I have asked you not to use those words in front of your brother.”

Dean glared at Sam. “He’s not my brother. He’s a bacterial infection for which I hope they one day find a cure.”

Sam stuck his tongue out.

Mary leaned over the back of the couch, running a hand through Dean’s hair. The summer blonde was fading. Soon, it would be a boring brown. He wondered if Cas would like that. Maybe he should bleach it a little. 

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you drive,” Mary interrupted his thoughts

Dean huffed, turning back to his sketchbook. “I don’t want to drive.”

“He doesn’t want to drive!” Sam sang from the doorway, hanging onto the molding and swinging himself around. The kid needed ADHD meds or something.

“Are you going to sit here all day?” Mary asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Mhmm”

“He’s gonna—” Sam shut his mouth with an audible clack at Dean’s look.

“Well, I expect you to be here when we get back, you hear me?”

“Mhmm.” Dean gave a half-hearted wave.

Mary sighed and tossed her keys to her younger son. “Sam, go wait in the car.”

“Can I start it?”

“Yes,” Mary smiled before coming around to sit on the arm of the couch. Dean forced himself not to recoil from what was no doubt going to be a “Mary Winchester After School Special.” She always wanted to talk about things. Dean didn’t do talking. He always got his tongue wrapped around his words. It was so much easier to do something than say something.

“Dean,” Mary waited until he looked up, “you always want to drive the Impala. What’s gotten into you?”

“You know, maybe you could get another car. Let me have Baby for school.” Dean tried. If she was so worried about him, it would be the perfect opportunity to see if she’d go for it. He’d wanted that car since he was old enough to sit in the front seat.

Instead, Mary laughed. “Oh, just hand it over, huh? A car like that? Your father would kill us both. You know, I was twenty before I had a car. I was going out with Asa Foxx. He could have been your father. Learned from him what a kiss really was.”

Dean grimaced, trying his best to ignore his mother. “Gross! Don't tell me. I don't want to know.”

“So,” there was something in her voice, something hesitant that Dean did not like one little bit. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

He stared at her, mouth open. How did she know? She couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible. Only Charlie knew—and Cas—but his mother definitely didn’t know. Oh god. His life was over. He was going to die. Figuratively and literally die right here in this spot. Flames were going to burst from beneath them and melt his eyeballs. But he was okay with that. It would be better than telling his mom he was gay.

“You can tell me,” she soothed. “I promise you, I won't tell your father.”

“I don't have a…”

“Then who's Cas? I heard you talking to Charlie.” She reached out like she was going to touch his face, but it was too much. She couldn’t know. He wasn’t prepared for this, hadn’t even considered telling her. Fuck. His breath sped up. The air around him was sucked out into the vacuum of holy fuck my mom knows , and when he stood, his sketchbook and pens fell to the ground. It landed open on his drawing of Cas's back, naked ass, and feather tattoos on full display.

“Oh… is that?”

“Yeah, yeah, ok. That’s Cas. Just leave me the fuck alone.” Dean gasped, desperate for that last bit of air before he passed out like a candle. He grabbed his drawings and ran up to his bedroom like he was in some end-of-the-world eco-horror movie, and ice was spreading along the floor. If he let it touch him, he would die, frozen instantly.

Behind him, Mary called out, “Okay, baby, I’m here whenever you're ready. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what.”

Chapter Text

Cas

Cas lay on his couch with one leg up over the back as he held two cold spoons he’d pulled from the freezer over his eyes. His late night clung to him by its talons, refusing to give up. It had its claws deep behind his eyes and breathed its foul breath into his face. The throb in his head had lasted all day, significantly longer than his trick from the night before had. What a waste of time. He should have kicked him out and tried for someone else as soon as he figured out what he’d brought home, coming too fast and then too sensitive to get fucked or do much of anything to help Cas out. Not exactly an equal opportunity fuck.

He was blisteringly hot, though, shame.

He didn’t have long to try to pull his shit together. Jimmy was on his way, and a headache was the last thing he needed. His brother’s sanctimonious bullshit and lectures about settling down showed how little he understood about Cas's life. He wasn’t interested in substituting someone with a cock into the same role of wife Jimmy thought was what “normal” people wanted.

Cas had known for a long time he wasn’t anyone’s definition of normal, but he didn’t give a fuck. He was his definition of free.

A knock on his door made him groan, but he dropped the spoons in the kitchen sink before sliding open the metal loft door.

“You’re early,” he said, and then his face tightened like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Christ! What are you—”

“Sorry. I wanna just..”

“— You can't drop by unannounced like this.” Cas stared at Dean, hovering awkwardly just outside his door, and wished he’d finished getting dressed before opening the door. Now he stood shirtless, with his hair all over the place and puffy eyes, looking at Dean. He hadn’t been able to get the kid out of his head after their last conversation. He’d been harsh, more than usual, but he had to get Dean to let go of this idea that there was something between them. That there could ever be something between them.

“I just wanna talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” He hardened his voice and ignored the knot in the pit of his stomach. He was 12 years older than Dean, for fuck’s sake. There was nothing real here. “Don’t you have any friends your own age?”

Dean’s eyes sparkled green in the warm light spilling out of Cas's apartment. If Cas was a romantic, he’d say it looked like the first green of a crocus in early spring or a lagoon in some paradise, but merely the passing thought made him want to punch himself in the face. “Please? I won't stay long. I ... I'll just… can I…”

He hardened his jaw and lifted his head, knowing it made him look more intimidating. It was the look he used in negotiations at work and sometimes for a little extra kink in bed. “No.”

Behind Dean, the elevator door opened to the chattering of his niece Claire and the soft murmurings of his twin.

“Oh, shit.” Cas threw his hands in the air and walked away from the door exactly as dramatically as he felt. Of course, the timing would line up. The one time he agreed to watch his brother’s little crotch goblin, Dean had to show up.

“Couldn’t bother to put on a shirt? Is this one on his way out?” Jimmy’s expression is somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Dean made a strangled choking sound as he looked at Jimmy with wide eyes.

“Who's this?” Jimmy asked, elbowing his way around Dean and into the apartment like he owned the damn place. Twenty-nine years old, and he still didn’t have anything his twin didn’t automatically assume they shared. Thank god they didn’t have to fight over boys.

“Hi, Uncle Cas!” Claire waved before bouncing over to the living room, pulling his white cashmere blanket to the floor to do whatever it is that little girls do.

“Hi, Claire Bear.” Cas tried to fight back the smile, but the girl cracked him up.

Jimmy was still staring at Dean, and his scowl deepened. “Isn’t he kind of young?”

Cas ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly done with this entire situation. “He's also kind of leaving.”

“Cas, who is he ?” Dean squeaked, his expression shocked and a little spooked.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for not introducing you. I assumed it was obvious. Dean, this is my twin brother James. Jimmy, may I present Dean? Now, why don't you scamper on home?

“Why are you acting like an ass? What is going on?!” Jimmy squared up to Cas. It was easy to forget that they were the same size or that Jimmy was actually quite fit under all his layers of ugly suit and rumpled trench coat. But in moments like this, when he pulled himself up and drew on the part of himself they had both inherited from their father, he was a little intimidating.

Cas, however, wasn’t about to be cowed, so he rolled his shoulders back and clenched his jaw. “Since you seem so interested, he's my stalker.”

Dean’s face and shoulders and his entire aura fell, the light went out on his face, and the boy… goddamnit, he looked like he was going to cry. Fuck, talk about a kicked puppy.

“That wasn't very kind.” Jimmy’s empathy had always been annoying.

“When did you get ordained, Father Krushnic?”

Jimmy scoffed. “Dean, why don’t you come in for a minute, get something to drink?” he said, still acting like he lived here.

Jimmy set into him with his high and mighty lecture face and slipped into Russian like it was their second language, which it was, but Jimmy was still a pain in the ass. 

Castiel Mikhailovich, what has gotten into you? You’ve always been a selfish prick, but you don’t have to be downright mean. He’s just a kid, and he clearly has feelings for you. I know you have the capacity to be kind. Give it a try for once.

“Don’t you use my family name like you’re Naomi. No one here wants to speak the Mother Tongue, James. Call her if you need to practice your Russian.”

Jimmy shrugged with a defeated look. “You’re going to forget it if you don’t use it.” Cas wasn’t sure if he meant the Russian or the empathy.

“I wish”

“Uncle Cas, we’re gonna play while Daddy’s out? Is that boy gonna play with us?”

Cas coughed and felt his face turning red.

“Dean!” Jimmy called out like the fucking traitor he was. “Dean, this is my daughter Claire. Claire, this is Dean, a friend of Uncle Cas's.”

“Hello Claire, do you like to draw?” Dean crouched down and asked.

“Mmmhmm.” She nodded her head. “I brought my special markers that only draw on the special paper so I don’t mess up Uncle Cas's couch again.”

Dean stifled a laugh. “Why don’t you go get them, and I’ll show you how to draw an elephant.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, I’m an elephant expert. I can draw them, talk to them, even ride them.”

“Wow.” Claire's eyes got huge, and then she was bounding over the bag Jimmy had dropped by the front door.

“She’s cute. I bet you’ll have a lot of fun with her tonight. I always like babysitting,” Dean beamed, and if he wasn’t so damn earnest, Cas would suspect him of using Claire to get his way, but he was too sweet… too good for that. And he tried but failed to keep from finding Dean’s naïveté endearing.

Cas grunted and pulled on his old threadbare teeshirt that he only wore around the house. This way, Claire could do her worst but not mess up his plans to go out later. “That’s because you’re the one who needs the babysitter.”

“Please, I’m the most mature person you know.”

Jimmy chuckled and glanced at Cas. “Thank you, Dean. I’m sure Claire will have fun drawing elephants with you. Maybe you can stay and help Cas?”

“Oh,” Dean blushed, and Cas wanted to kiss him.

He immediately put that thought out of his head. “He’s not staying.”

“Well, it seems like Claire wants him to stay for at least a little while, and we both know who’s in charge.” Jimmy waves at the little girl and heads out. “Thanks again for watching her. It’s been forever since Amelia and I have had a date night.”

“Have fun,” Cas said, dryly before huffing and grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge. Dean followed him, so he grabbed another bottle.

“So you have a twin.” Dean’s grin is glorious, vivacious.

“Don’t get kinky.”

“No. You look the same and all, but you look really different too, like he’s so… normal.”

Cas barked a laugh and tried but failed to stifle the self-satisfied smile that spread across his face. He felt the muscles of his cheeks aching from it. “That’s because he’s the older twin, but I’m the bad one.”

Dean leaned against the counter and drank his water, his lips wrapping around the bottle in slow motion. Cas's dick plumped just watching. “It’s nice that they’re going on a date night.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Date night is one of the many things heterosexuals made up to ruin their lives.”

Dean let out a startled laugh. “Like what?”

“Um, Monogamy and Procreation to begin with,” Cas smirked, but before Dean replied, Claire appeared with her special pens and special paper. He’d have to thank Jimmy for that and offer to buy her more.

When Dean and Claire were done drawing elephants, Claire corralled them all into the living room. She laid out his cashmere blanket (which probably cost more than all the toys she owned combined) and had them sit cross-legged while she fetched a small, offensively pink, plastic tea set.

Across from him, Claire sat with the kind of perfect posture only a little girl in ballet classes managed, her tiny hands carefully arranging plastic cookies onto an equally pink plate. Her expression was serious, her blue eyes—so much like Jimmy’s—narrowed in intense concentration.

Dean, of course, looked completely at ease in this ridiculous situation. He sat beside Claire, long legs folded beneath him like he sat that way every day, waiting for this moment, a silver tiara fitted with combs into his cheekbone length hair. His short sleeves showed his freckled arms, and despite the childish setting, he somehow managed to look like he belonged in a damn magazine spread with that perfect bone structure and pouty lips. It was infuriating.

Claire lifted her head suddenly, eyes sharp with authority. “Uncle Cas,” she said, in a tone that suggested she was about to impart wisdom that would change his life forever, “you have to drink your tea properly .”

Cas squinted at her, then at the empty teacup. “I am drinking properly,” he said, lifting it to his lips and dragging out an obnoxiously loud slurp.

Claire gasped, clutching her own cup to her tiny chest like he’d offended her ancestors, which would be weird since they had the same ones, but the point stood. “ No slurping! ”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, his teasing smile giving away his glee over the way the little girl walked all over Cas. “Tsk, tsk,” he said before taking a sip of his cup, pinkie sticking out and everything. “What are we going to do with him?”

Cas shot him a glare. “I don’t know, maybe you can teach me?” Cas raised his eyebrow and was vindicated by the breath Dean sucked in through his teeth.

Dean shook his head exaggeratedly. “Claire, I think we might have to uninvite him from the tea party.”

Claire considered this gravely, nodding. “I think so, too.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “This is mutiny.”

Claire pursed her lips, thinking hard. Then, after a long pause, she held up the plate full of plastic cookies, offering it like a peace treaty. “You can stay. But only if you eat this without getting crumbs all over our nice blanket.”

Cas stared at the cookies, unimpressed. He arched a brow. “Hmm.”

Dean smirked, eyes glinting. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a cookie.”

Claire giggled, and Cas scoffed, plucking a cookie from the plate. “Afraid? Please. I simply value my life.” He brought it to his lips, taking an exaggerated “bite” before chewing dramatically. “Mmm,” he deadpanned. “Delicious. Definitely not poison.”

Claire clapped, delighted. “Yay! Now you’re a real princess, like Dean!”

Dean leaned back on his hands as he chuckled, watching them with an easy smile, and Cas's stomach did something inconveniently warm and traitorous. He looked away, locking his gaze on the plastic feast before them, but it was too late—the moment had already settled beneath his ribs.

He cleared his throat, reaching for the tiny teapot. “Alright, more of this delicious tea. But if you two start teasing me again, I’m going to dunk my cookies.”

Claire and Dean gasped in unison, their faces set in matching horror.

Cas barely had time to pour another round of imaginary tea before Claire crawled over to Cas and climbed right into his lap. She settled in like this was something they did all the time (it wasn’t), her tiny body warm against his chest.

He froze, unsure of what to do. Maybe she thought he was Jimmy on some level, or she was drunk on imaginary tea.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like kids—he did, in a general I-hope-you-don’t-die sort of way. And he loved Claire quite a bit more than that. But affection was… tricky. He was used to keeping a careful distance, a buffer of sarcasm and well-placed insults. He especially wasn’t used to someone melting into him like he was safe, like he was special.

He looked up, and Dean had the softest smile Cas had ever seen on his face. He looked so fond it made his throat close up. Maybe he was allergic. Could feelings send you into anaphylactic shock?

Claire tucked herself in, her cheek smushing against his collarbone, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re comfy,” she murmured.

Cas sat stiff as a board, one hand hovering awkwardly in the air. He had no idea where to put it. Hesitantly, he let his hand settle against her back, fingers splaying over her tiny back. She was so small. Warm, trusting. She could wreck a person if they weren’t careful.

Cas scowled. “Not a word,” he muttered.

Dean held up his hands in mock innocence, but his eyes danced. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Cas sighed, glancing down at Claire, who was now completely relaxed against him, eyes fluttering shut as if she was perfectly content to nap on him for the rest of eternity. Her absurdly tiny weight knocked something loose in his chest, something he wasn’t prepared for.

After a long beat, he leaned back against the couch and let his chin rest lightly on the top of her head, his voice quieter than before. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured, “maybe I am comfy.”

Dean, thankfully, didn’t push. He just reached for the tiny teapot, miming that he was refilling Cas's abandoned cup. “See, kids are great,” he said, voice light but sincere.

Cas huffed, but he didn’t let her go.

By the time Jimmy and Amelia came to pick Claire up, she had learned to draw an elephant, a penguin, and a clown. She had also demolished them both in Connect Four and made Dean wear the tiara through it all.

Once she was gone, Dean looked at Cas with all the affection and hope that he couldn’t let stand. This was how people got hurt. This was the whole reason he’d built the walls he had, reinforced with men who would testify that his dick was the best, and that was probably the only good thing about him. 

He’d watched too many people get their hopes up only to have their lives destroyed, including his parents. Better to be alone and get the good parts of a relationship, the fucking, without all the heartache.

“I’m going out,” he said as he whipped off his shirt and headed into the bedroom to change. “You should take off. You aren’t coming with me, and I don’t want you here when I bring someone home.”

“Fuck you,” Dean laughed. “It won’t work, you know. You can’t push me away. I’m onto you.”

It shouldn’t have amused Cas, but it made him smile nonetheless.

When they arrived at Chuck’s, Cas had his arm slung over Dean’s shoulder, pulling him in tight against his side. They talked low, privately in each other’s space, and Cas… goddamnit, but Cas was really enjoying it. Dean was smart, quick-witted, and wickedly funny in a way no 17-year-old had the right to be.

Gabriel and Meg were playing pool while Zar flirted his little heart out with Gadreel, who, despite his size, was a dedicated bottom. Cas would know. Wouldn’t that be a surprise if they went home together only to discover that two bottoms without a top does not a good fuck make? 

When Dean and Cas approached, he leaned against a pillar, keeping Dean close.

Meg noticed and lifted her chin to look Dean over. When her turn was done, she eyeballed them both with skepticism. “Why is Ken doll still hanging around? Don’t you think it’s time to send him back to the teeter-totter?”

Cas chuckled, a cruel edge to his usual caustic teasing. “Why do you care, Meg? Afraid he might take your spot in the fan club?”

She rolled her eyes and went back to the game. Why she played with Gabe at all was a mystery. He was objectively terrible, and they all knew it.

“Would you shoot, already?” she complained. 

Gabriel smirked, rolling his lollipop around with his tongue. “Pool is a game of precision and science, my friend. It involves eye-hand coordination, geometry, specific gravity. 

Cas took the cue ball from the table and tossed it in the air, catching it again before placing it on the green in front of Gabe. “It's a fսcking ball and a stick! Will you take the shot?” 

Gabriel finally sank a ball into a corner pocket. “Hey, I got one!” He threw his hands in the air and shook his ass in celebration.

Cas chuckled his sardonic laugh, arm thrown around Dean. “Yes, but you're playing stripes.”

“Get me a beer?” Dean said softly into Cas's ear as Meg cackled and mocked Gabe, cajoling him into another game he’d surely lose.

“Get your own.”

“I'm too young.”

Cas chuckled, pulling away but turning to face Dean. “Well, that's your problem. You should probably go home,” he smirked, no longer serious about Dean leaving. He wasn’t sure exactly when that happened, but he wasn’t interested in cruising tonight. He was having too much fun with the kid standing right next to him.

“I don’t want to go home. My family is a disaster. My brother is annoying—”

“That’s what brothers do.”

“—my Dad is never there, and when he is, he’s drunk or mad, or worst case both, and my mom asked me if I had a boyfriend this week,” Dean said like it was the most scandalous thing that had ever happened to him.

Cas raised an eyebrow, thoroughly amused. “Ohh, who is it?”

Dean scowled. “Shut up.”

“So what’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Dean blushed, his freckles popping against his ruddy cheeks. He has a little cluster of them under his ear that Cas wanted to dig his teeth into. “I ignored her and went to my room.”

Cas laughed, the big, loud one that he hid, especially in public. It drew more than one stare, but he didn’t care. Fuck them all. “Such a brave little toaster.”

“I just want her to leave me alone.”

“Maybe she's trying to understand you.” Cas shrugged.

“I don't want her to understand me. I’m still trying to understand myself. What did your parents do when they found out that you were... y'know, gay?”

Cas shrugged and looked across the room, suddenly wishing he had a drink. “They didn't do anything. Because I never told them.”

“You didn't? You. ”

“It's not their life. I don't need their approval. Besides, they’re Russian. It’s practically encoded in their DNA to be homophobic.”

“But you and Jimmy aren’t.” Dean’s eyes were wide as he leaned in like Cas had the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.”

“We had rodeos and fireworks to set us straight. America gave me permission to be a fag. Wouldn’t Texas be proud?”

Their conversation ended when Balthazar returned to the group, batting the balls from the pool table away so he could sit on it.

“Hey!” Meg complained, throwing a napkin at him.

“Oh, my lord in heaven,” Zar said dramatically.

“And what, pray tell, was so important you had to ruin our perfectly good game of pool?” Gabriel gripped, but really, the only thing that had been ruined was the ongoing show of how terrible Gabe was, so it really didn’t matter.

“You will not believe what just happened. I was right over there by the artistic display of 1940s starlet portraits when Dungeon Master Gordon walked up. He was very smooth, and that voice… mmm… I swear, he could slather me with butter and call me his little biscuit as long as he kept reading me the recipe. But then he leans in, and I think my night is about to improve. Do you know what he said? … He wants to mummify me.”

Gabriel gasps, and Cas leans against the pillar to keep him upright. Otherwise, he might melt into a puddle of giggles. Dean just looks confused.

“Have you noticed the world has gotten weirder?” Zar asked.

“Yeah, between Dungeon Master Gordon and Cas acting like a lovesick schoolboy… with a lovesick schoolboy, things are definitely getting weird.” Meg snarked, staring Dean down until he muttered an excuse to go to the bathroom.

“Be nice, he’s not so bad,” Cas said with a frown as Gabe and Balthazar racked up the pool table.

“Excuse me? The noise is so loud in here, I thought I heard you say he's all right.” Meg scoffed. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him hard enough paint would melt.

“In fact... he's kinda sweet.” Cas smiled a touch just at the corner of his mouth. It felt… good.

“Sweet?! Who even are you? I thought we got rid of him. I thought he was out of our lives.” Meg tossed her hands in the air and stormed away, but not far, because the pool table was right there, and she really had no reason to act so bitchy.

Dean came back, and they watched Gabriel and Balthazar mutilate a game of pool, ignoring pretty much all the rules, including not touching the balls with your hands. Eventually, the horror show of a game ended, and Cas grabbed a cue. 

“Come on, Dean, let’s see if you can play with the big boys.”

After racking up, Dean broke. The crack of the cue ball breaking was sharp, perfect. Dean straightened from the table, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as the balls scattered. Two solids slid easily into opposite pockets, and Dean leaned casually on his cue, laid back and unassuming.

“You’re showing off,” Cas said, narrowing his eyes.

Dean’s smile widened. “You’re the one who wanted to play the game.”

If he hadn’t already fucked this kid, he’d be salivating. Actually, he was salivating anyway.

Cas leaned over the pool table, squinting down the line of his cue. The striped blue was inches from the corner pocket—easy. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and shot.

Click.

The ball rolled smoothly toward the pocket and then hit the edge, rolling away at the last second.

“Damn it,” Cas muttered under his breath. He straightened, rolling his shoulders like it didn’t bother him, but the smug little noise Dean made from across the table told him he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Getting rusty, old man?” Meg teased, her smile sharp.

Cas shot her a glare. “Fuck you, we’re the same age.”

She shrugged. “Women are like a fine wine. You, however…” She raised her eyebrow and cackled.

Dean laughed and stepped around the table with an easy confidence he rarely possessed, but Cas saw he would soon grow into. Something hot and uncomfortable coiled beneath Cas's ribs. The low lighting of the bar threw shadows across Dean’s face, cutting high over his cheekbones and darkening his gold-speckled eyes. His shirt stretched tight over his back when he leaned down to take another shot, and Cas found his gaze lingering longer than it should have.

Cas swallowed. Loudly.

Dean’s eyes lifted, dark and amused, from beneath his lashes. “Maybe you should step back. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

Cas's mouth twitched. “Try me.”

Dean didn’t answer, just lined up the shot. His forearm flexed as he slid the cue back, smooth and steady, before releasing a controlled hit. The cue ball spun and knocked the solid red ball right into the side pocket with a thunk .

Dean straightened, the corner of his mouth lifting. “That’s three.”

Cas crossed his arms over his chest. “Lucky.”

Dean’s smile widened. “Sure.”

Cas watched him circle the table again, a little too aware of the way Dean’s eyes flicked toward him now and then. Dean bent over for another shot, the hem of his shirt riding up enough to flash a sliver of skin at his hip.

Cas dragged his eyes away, clenching his jaw. Jesus.

The next shot, Dean sank another ball with ridiculous ease. This time, when he stood up, he gave Cas a slow once-over.

“Still want to tell me it’s luck?” Dean asked.

Cas's throat felt dry. He forced a smirk. “You’re awfully cocky for a kid who’s talking more than he’s playing.”

Dean’s gaze sharpened. “Care to raise the stakes, then?”

“What’d you have in mind?” He raised a brow and stared Dean down.

He stepped close enough Cas nearly melted from the heat of him. Dean’s smile turned sly. “If I win…” His gaze dropped to Cas's mouth for half a second. “…you buy me a drink and not a Shirley Temple.”

“And if I win?”

Dean’s eyes darkened. “Whatever you want.”

For a second, Cas's breath caught in his lungs. He should’ve said no. Should’ve stepped back and made some cutting remark to put Dean in his place. But his mouth was already curving into a dangerous smile. His chest tightened in that irritating way he’d been trying to ignore whenever Dean was around and forced himself to scoff, fighting the way his body wanted to curve over Dean and pull him in.

“Fine,” Cas said, voice rougher than he intended. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.”

Dean’s sly grin was slow and dangerous. “Careful what you wish for.”

Cas's jaw tightened. Dean’s confidence was irritating as hell, but mostly it was hot, the way he’d lined up his shots without overthinking. He played like he was born to win. 

Dean’s grin sharpened. He lined up his next shot, and the next, and the next, and then the eight ball dropped into the corner pocket with a soft, decisive thunk.  

Cas's mouth dropped open. 

Dean stood, eyes flicking toward Cas with amusement. “That’s game,” he said, soft and dangerous.

Cas dragged his eyes away from the table, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, you got lucky,” he said, though they both knew that wasn’t true.

Dean set his cue on the table and stepped in close. So close, the faint smell of Cas's cologne tangled with the sweat of a long day. Dean’s gaze lingered on his mouth before lifting to his eyes.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

Chuck interrupted them as he called from the stage for everyone’s attention. 

“Now and then, we here at Chuck’s Bar and Saloon like to provide some challenges for our patrons. Tonight’s edition of Drinks for Twinks challenges five patrons to come up and show us your deepthroating skills. We have five brand-new and sterilized dildos, which you can take home because no one else will want them after this, for your demonstration. Winner gets $1 beers for the entire night. And if anyone pukes, you have to buy a round for everyone here— full price!”

Cas chuckled as he watched everyone mumble and shift uncomfortably.

“You should do it,” he whispered into Dean’s neck.

“No way. You know exactly how many times I’ve had a cock in my mouth, and it’s not nearly enough to try this in public.”

A wave of unexpected heat went through Cas. He knew exactly ? There hadn’t been anyone else since the first time they’d been together? Cas couldn’t say anything of the kind, but he liked the sound of Dean only being with him more than he was comfortable with. It felt like the stirrings of safety, of commitment. Fuck.

The stage had filled with contestants, and to Cas's great amusement, Meg stood holding a purple dildo with pride.

The five of them started, most of them clearly going too fast. You have to build up the art of deep-throating. It can take a while. Meg knew how to space out her breathing and took her time working the dildo further into her mouth until it was deep enough she struggled against it. Two of the other contestants had already given up. By the time she was done, the entire dildo had disappeared, and she held onto nothing but the base. 

Everyone went wild as she slowly pulled it back out and bowed.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, awed. “How the fuck did she do that?”

“I know, right? A woman has never been so damn hot before,” Gabriel had wonder in his voice and a rare glint of respect in his eyes.

Meg returned with a purple dildo tucked into her jeans and a round of shots for all of them, even Dean.

After they downed their shots, Cas leaned in and whispered into Dean’s hair, “I taught Meg that trick. Want me to teach you?”

Dean’s body stiffened, his head tilting up so fast he almost cracked into Cas's nose. “Yes, yes, I would like to know… I would like to do that.” He was nodding, all the hard self-confidence from their game of pool gone as his pupils dilated.

“Let’s get out of here then.” Cas took his hand and dragged him out of the bar without even saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

Dean

A week later, Dean stumbled into the house just before sunrise. He bumbled through the entryway, tripping over shoes and his brother’s backpack. He was being super stealthy, like a ninja— or like an elephant. Dean suppressed a laugh. He was still a little drunk and definitely riding high after another night with Cas. Another night with the man who said he didn’t do relationships or bother fucking the same guy twice. He said there was too much left out there to taste, and the first lick was always the best, and yet he’d invited Dean to his apartment again with blue eyes full of lust.

“Hey, how's goin'?” Cas had come to stand next to him on the balcony of Eden. Gabriel had gone home, and Zar was hanging on a man who was almost as wide as Dean was tall. Musclebound arms barely touched his sides.

Dean studied his eyes, evaluating Cas with skepticism. Cas had been nice to him tonight, nicer than any time they’d seen each other before, but as much as he wanted Cas, he tried to convince himself it would never happen. That each time was the last time. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt when that day finally came. “Why? You actually want to know?”

“Well, I asked, didn't I?” Cas's posture was all faux confidence and tense, curved shoulders. There was more he wasn’t saying.

Dean shrugged. “Everything's fine.”

“Good.” He brought his tumbler up to his lips, eyeing Dean over the rim. “What are you doin' tonight?”

“Huh?”

Cas chuckled, his eyes full of laughter even though his body barely reacted. “Is this a particularly hard question? Do you wanna come over or not?”

“Really? Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Dean tried to sound older, unaffected, even as the gravity of Cas's black hole sucked him into its orbit, collapsing him to nothing but the touch of him.

They’d spent the night naked and desperate. Cas had pushed him against the wall, shoved his hands above his head, and fucked him hard from behind like he was the only thing Cas had ever wanted. Dean was his sustenance, his breath, his god, and Cas worshiped him with all the passion of a true zealot.

He’d had Cas in his mouth, in his ass. He’d taken every part of Cas that was offered, and every time he was given a little more. Sometimes, he was sure he glimpsed behind the hardened walls. 

But now, he was fucking sore, and he was trying very hard to be quiet. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Dean heard his parents arguing in whispers. He peeked around the corner of the kitchen to see his mother sitting at the table and John pacing the room with his hands on his hips.

“John? Aren't you going to say anything?”

Dean watched his father stop and lean against the counter, facing his mom. 

“Dean's not gay. Those nude drawings you found are probably an assignment for art class. It doesn’t mean anything. Boys draw things, bodies. It’s normal.”

“It's not just anybody, John. It’s one particular body over and over again. With details, Dean could only know if he’s seen that body personally.”

His father scoffed with a dismissive roll of his shoulder. “Still, that's no reason to suspect that he's–”

“He told me himself.” Mary’s voice was quiet and meek because she was saying something she knew she shouldn’t. 

Dean wanted to scream. She had promised

“So what?” John slammed his palm down on the table so hard he heard it rattle. Dean’s mom gasped. “That doesn't mean anything. A lot of kids think that. They're confused. They're scared.” His voice was angry, digging in as he refused to accept what she was saying.

“He's not confused. He's not scared. He knows who he is.” Mary’s voice was quiet but strong, and Dean wished he’d taken her up on the chance to talk or even let her hug him when he had the chance. He leaned against the wall, tired already just from listening to them talk. He didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t ready to talk to them, but he wasn’t sure he could sneak past to the stairs.

John sighed as he sat down, a weary sound that pulled up from deep in his gut. He ran a hand over his face. “How can you know?”

Dean watched as Mary smiled softly. Her eyes darted up to meet Dean’s and away too fast for his father to notice, but Dean did. “The same way we've always known.”

John shook his head, his posture tight and stubborn. “No. No, I have not always known.”

“At least suspected.”

John made a terrible sound, like a growl or a sob. Something Dean had never heard before, and it made him tremble. “No, you suspected. He's not gay. He's—”

“Come on, John,” Mary scoffed, and Dean imagined he saw her eye roll even from where he stood across the room. “He’s what, sensitive? Different? Artistic?”

“He's his own person. You know, not every kid is the quarterback of the football team.”

Mary put her hand on John’s and gave him a soft look. One of those private looks between people who love each other. “I think you better talk to him.”

John chucked. “And say what? "Y-you're mother thinks you're a homo?”

“Of course not. And don’t be crass. John. He needs his father before he gets himself into trouble. Before he exposes himself to God-knows-what. If he hasn't already.” Mary said, already mourning the fate of a gay man in America. Would he get sick? Would he die? Would he end up abandoned by his family and alone?

John stiffened, and Dean felt his eyes narrowing and his anger boiling over. “Wait. You're saying he's doing things with these men?”

Mary’s exasperation shot through in a sigh and the tightness of her voice. “He's… seventeen. How naive can you be?”

“So why didn't you tell me?” His dad’s anger reached out around the corner and smacked Dean in the face. He would have cried out from the sting if he weren’t so afraid of his father finding him there.

“I promised him I wouldn't.”

“Oh, that's terrific.” John stands and throws his hands up in the air, resuming his pacing. “Don't I have a right to know what's going on around here?” John stood up and called up the stairs. “Hey, Dean!” 

Dean’s head shot up, and he ducked back down to the doorway.

“Stop that. You’ll wake up Sam,” she scolded. “He's not here anyway. He said he was going to Charlie's, but I know he didn’t.” 

“So, where is he?”

Mary paused. “I saw a stamp on his hand from that gay bar, Eden.”

“I don't fucking believe this, Mary!” A chair went crashing across the room. “You let him go to these places?!”

“Uh, there's more you should know. Well, he's seeing someone.”

John doesn’t speak for a moment. The sound of his parents glaring at each other blared in his ears.

John exhaled loudly and spoke about as calmly as Dean imagines he’s capable of. “So, who is this kid? I'll call his parents.”

Dean watched as Mary winced. He didn’t want her to tell his father. She didn’t want to tell him. But the loyalty to her husband outweighed her loyalty to her son. “He's not a kid. He's a man. His name is Cas Novak.”

Dean snuck back out the front door the way he’d come and went to school in his dirty clothes.

At lunch, he slunk down the brick wall on the fire escape, kicking Charlie with his foot. 

She smiled and dove right into her morning monologue. “So you have to come with me next weekend? Some people take tents and make it a whole weekend thing, but my parents won’t let me. Anyway, they said I could have the car on Saturday, and we could go super early and come home late. The day ends with a proper feast, a bard singing, and turkey legs, and everything. Will you come? I’m still a priestess of Moondoor, but I’ve got my eye on royalty. Maybe I can challenge one of the princesses to a joust. Work my way up to Queen.”

“I’m not going to play elves and losers in the woods with you, Charlie.”

She turned and glared at him, a frown so deep she had practically carved grooves in her face. “You don’t have to be an ass, and it’s fun. I think you’d really like it. You can paint half your face blue and pretend you’re William Wallace.”

“Not my scene.” Dean pulled out his sketchbook and lightly plotted out a figure reclining on a couch, naked, cock out.

“So, what’s your scene now? Clubs downtown and a different man every night?”

“It’s only one man,” Dean mumbled, following the line of an inner thigh with a heavier press of his pencil. He felt the pull to Cas even from here, like a homing bird who would always find its way back to where it belonged. “As many nights as I can get him.”

“I know you’re all in with this Cas guy, but it doesn’t sound like he’s really very… nice.”

Dean pouted, refusing to look at her. “You don’t know him. He wants me. I know he does. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

“Wants you, not loves you.”

“That wasn’t the deal, it was only ever fucking. I get that now.” Dean kept his voice steady, trying to pretend it was enough.

“Dean… don’t sell yourself short like that. You deserve more.”

“Maybe, but what I want is Cas, so…” he shrugged. He didn’t even try to focus on what Charlie was saying. He needed Cas. Every part of him longed for him. His bone marrow ached when they were apart. There had been something in Cas's eyes last night when they’d danced, when they’d laughed, and when they fucked.

It was always so good. He couldn’t fathom ever wanting anyone else. No one else could possibly make him feel like he was flying and dying at the same time. Cas was where he came to be buried and reborn, lifted out of the ashes of his own destruction by the kiss of his soft lips and the shining emotion in his eyes. 

There was more here. There had to be.

The bells rang, and Charlie wrapped a hand around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maybe someday I can meet him. If he’s so important to you, I’d like to meet him.”

Dean sighed and nodded, trying and failing to imagine how that would go. Cas and Charlie were like opposite energies, this reality and black matter. It was possible that them colliding would make Dean implode.

He dropped Charlie off at her locker and made his way to the library, his head a jumble of conflicting thoughts. 

“Hey, Winchester. Aren't you gonna go to PE?” Lee Webb said, surrounded by a group of his asshole friends. Their uniform shirts were untucked, and their hair a mess; the kind of casual disregard for the rules that only the popular athletes got away with.

“I have to finish a paper for Hanscum. You know what a bitch she is.” Dean tried to keep his voice casual, having no desire to deal with Lee. Messing around with him had been a one-time thing, and they weren’t friends.

“Good, 'cause I’ve seen you in the locker room checking out all the guys' dicks? I know how much you like that. Shit. You really are a fag.” Lee sneered, Roy and Walt standing behind him, ready to box Dean in. He’d seen it before, the target of their bullying, and the teachers did absolutely nothing about it.

“I am not,” he said and tried to shoulder his way past them. He hated himself a little for denying it, but he wanted them to leave him alone. What did it matter if he lied to these assholes to avoid dealing with their bullshit?

Lee’s lip curled up, and there was hatred in his eyes that was disproportionate to a little harassment. “Yeah, I bet your fudge-packin' friends believe that when they're butt-fucking you?”

With narrowed eyes, Dean’s restraint snapped. Who was Lee to say that shit when Dean had jerked him off in the equipment room? He’d come, he’d liked it. He probably wanted more. “How do you know so much about what fags do unless you are one?”

Lee rushed forward and pushed him against the row of lockers, the handle digging into Dean’s back. He was thin, but he wasn’t lacking in muscle, and John might be an asshole, but he’d taught Dean how to throw a punch, so when Dean straightened, he pulled on all his frustration and fury and pain and funneled it into his fist as he punched Lee in the mouth, it landed with a crunch. 

Lee punched Dean back, and soon, they were in a free-for-all. Dean had never actually hit anyone before, and he had to admit, it felt really fucking good. He punched Lee for every word he’d overheard his dad say this morning, for every asshole who leaned out their car window and called him a fag, for every kid who suffered because of who he fucked. He punched and thrashed and drew blood.

In the background, behind the roaring fury in his head, someone shouted: “Fight!”

Lee lunged toward him, and someone held him back. Another set of hands gripped Dean’s arms from behind, leaving them straining toward each other. Dean ripped a hand free and landed another punch to Lee’s nose, screaming with his attack. 

Lee broke free of the hands holding him back and slammed his fist into Dean’s mouth. “Come on! Motherfucking bitch! Come on, you fucking son of a bitch!”

Dean’s mouth filled with blood, and instead of spitting it on the ground, he let it gather until he had enough to spit a glob into Lee’s face.

“Aw fuck, you tryin’ to give me AIDS? I'm gonna kill you, you fucking–” 

Roy and Walt wrestled Lee back as someone restrained Dean firmly. Jesse or Michael, probably, but right then, he fucking hated them. He hated anything that kept him from ripping Lee to pieces. He wanted to dismember him, chop his head off with a machete, and burn his bones.

"You’re a freak. You know that?” Lee hissed

A calm came over Dean, and he saw who Lee was clearly. Lee was what Dean would become if he kept denying who he was, if he lied to his father, or chose the easy route. Lee was someone who hated himself, and Dean wasn’t going to be that. "I’m not the one who’s a freak here, Webb. You’re the one who’s got a problem."

"You think you can waltz around this school acting like a fag?" Lee growled, incensed by Dean’s calm demeanor. The hands on him eased.

"What’s your problem, Webb? You’re the one who’s afraid of me. Why am I such a threat?"

Lee flinched, eyes darting around the full hallway and the teachers trying to separate the spectators watching the fight. Lee wasn’t just hateful. He was terrified. "I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of the world turning into a bunch of fags like you."

Dean shook his head and picked his stuff up, making sure his sketchbook with his drawing of Cas was right in front for everyone to see. "Maybe it’s not the world that’s the problem. Maybe it’s you."

Charlie was waiting for him in the library when he finally limped away and immediately spotted the black eye that was already swelling and his split lip. “Oh my god, Dean!” 

The librarian lifted her head and shushed them, saying nothing about his face.

“What the Vader happened?” she whispered. If the word whispered actually meant demanded in a loud, angry voice.

“Lee Webb.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes and looked him over until she spotted his drawing. “Jesus Christ, Dean, it’s like you’re trying to get your ass kicked, come on.” She dragged him by the sleeve to the girls’ bathroom and wet a wad of paper towels to clean him up with.

“I wasn’t trying,” Dean said, wincing as she touched the cold paper to his swelling eye. “I didn’t do anything. My drawing wasn’t facing out for anyone to see. He just came at me. And really, Charles, it shouldn’t matter, even if it was where someone could see it. He fucking attacked me for no reason other than that I’m gay.”

Charlie exhaled loudly. “You’re right. I’m just so afraid for you. That shouldn’t happen to anyone. I mean, I get called names and stuff, but no one’s ever tried to hit me or anything.” She dropped her hands and looked at him with a rare sober expression before she shook her head and went back to cleaning his face, a frown etched into her brows.

That night, Dean made his way into Eden with a swollen lip and a bruised eye he’d covered up with concealer he’d stolen from his mother. He slipped inside. The bouncer rolled his eyes, fully aware of how old he was but also knowing he was there with Cas. The main room was filled with soap suds and wet men wearing so little clothes Dean was getting hard before he’d even scanned to see if anyone he knew was there. He pulled off his shirt, feeling decidedly out of place as the thwump thwump thwump of the music burrowed its way under his skin. It was a slippery sea of foam, bubbles clinging to bodies and swirling beneath the strobe lights.

Near the bar, Meg leaned back, a wicked grin as she looked him up and down.

“What are you doing here?” he yelled when he got close.

“Same thing as you,” she pushed off with her hip, standing a little too close for comfort, “looking for something I’ll never have.”

“And what’s that?”

“You know, Cas will do anything, say anything, fuck anyone. The only thing he doesn’t do is the same thing twice. So where does that leave you?”

The scent of alcohol surrounded them on the sticky floor, sweating off glasses, drying on the bar. Dean smirked, giving Meg his most Cas like smile. “Well, that leaves me as the exception. He’s had me way more than once, that’s for sure, and it looks like he might want me again tonight.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up and think you’re special, kid. Cas doesn’t do boyfriends.”

Dean nodded his head in the direction of a bare-chested Cas wiping bubbles down his stomach.

It was like a sex dream in slow motion, his lean muscles moving as he walked, the tight tendons pulling at his hips mesmerizing with each shift and rotation. The sideways smirk and raised eyebrow focused in on Dean like a jungle cat salivating for its prey.

And Dean was ready to be devoured, to give his flesh at the altar of Cas Novak.

At the last minute, Cas turned and wrapped his big hand around the side of Meg’s neck, pulling her in for a filthy, closed-mouth kiss. “What are you doing here? You got the wrong bits and pieces for these parts.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” she purred, putting a hand on his chest, black painted nails sharp against his skin.

“You should find someone who's buying what you’re selling. Somewhere else,” he shrugged her off and turned to a mute and confused Dean. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you wet.”

Cas's face broke out in a self-satisfied grin as he grabbed Dean’s wrist and turned his back on Meg, dragging him out to where Zar was grinding against a man Dean hadn’t seen here before, but that wasn’t surprising. Gabriel danced alone, hands in the air, glitter painted across his small form. His eyes were closed, oblivious to everything, as he swayed to the music, lost to the beat.

Cas's dark hair was already wet, slicked back from the foam raining down from the ceiling. He looked dangerous like that — blue eyes sharp under the flashing lights and haze of soap and sweat, lips curled into that rare, loose grin that Dean had come to crave. 

Cas rolled his shoulders as he bent his knees and rocked his hips, moving them dirty and hard like he was churning butter, and Dean wanted to be the cream. Together, they moved close enough for the hair on Dean’s arms to stand up and reach out toward Cas, but they didn’t touch. Lips breathed against flesh, and hips mirrored each other, sliding close and away but never making contact.

The foam squelched under their shoes as Cas stumbled into him, laughing as Dean nearly lost his footing. A jet of bubbles burst overhead, cascading down in a sparkling shower. Cas's face was lost in rapture, and when he turned his gaze on Dean, he was encompassed by blue, surrounded and swallowed.

Cas's hands slid up Dean’s chest, steadying him as they found the beat together. Dean’s hands settled low on Cas’s hips, thumbs hooking in the loops of his dark jeans. Their movements were lazy at first — swaying more than dancing — but as the music sped up, Dean’s grip tightened, and Cas grinned wider.

Cas's hands drifted to the back of Dean’s neck, fingers tangling in damp hair. 

Dean's breath hitched, but then Cas rolled his hips into him, and suddenly Dean wasn't worried about slipping anymore. They moved together, foam swirling around their legs, the heat of Cas's body cutting through the cool bubbles. Dean’s forehead pressed to Cas’s temple, their laughter lost beneath the pounding music.

Dean leaned back enough to catch Cas's eye, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. "This was a good idea," he said, breathless.

Cas smiled, his hand sliding lower on Dean’s back. "Yeah. Best idea I've had in a while."

Cas's mouth ghosted against Dean’s, the taste of beer and soap between them. Dean’s breath hitched, and then Cas kissed him — slow and deliberate, while the lights strobed blue and white behind closed eyes. Around them, the foam kept falling, but Dean barely noticed.

Well past two, they all made their way out to the street, Balthazar holding up a drunk Gabriel who kept laughing incoherently about Icelandic elves. Cas pulled Dean in for a kiss and leaned him up against the car, turning it dirty and deep, before pulling back with a laugh that made street lamps surge, like they were as overwhelmed by Cas as Dean was.

He made his way to the other side of Cas's car as the man lit up a cigarette. It was the same shiny black sports car he had driven him home in after their first night. Joy settled into his bones. He had friends who understood him, someone like Cas to kiss and fuck and dream about, and the beginnings of a life where he could be free.

Out of the darkness, the tall frame of Dean’s father swept forward. John grabbed Cas by the collar and slammed him into the side of the car.

“You fucking pervert!” John roared, his fist flying. 

Cas hit the pavement hard, a gasp escaping his throat as blood dripped from his lip.

Disgust and rage shone in John’s eyes as his boot connected with Cas’s ribs. Then again. And again. Cas curled around himself, arms wrapped over his stomach, choking on his breath. John’s face twisted with pure, undiluted rage, muscles coiled and taut with hatred.

“Dad!” Dean shouted, lunging forward.

Dean tackled John, shoving him back against the brick wall of the alley.

John’s arm jerked up, but Dean caught his wrist and wrenched it back exactly like he’d been taught.

Gabriel and Balthazar came tearing back down the street, alerted by the chaos. Gabriel, suddenly very sober, fell to his knees beside Cas, hands on his shoulders.

“Cas! Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

Balthazar dragged Dean back as Cas stood and lunged toward John, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “Cas! Stop—it’s his dad!”

“Motherfucker!” Cas said, kicking the sidewalk, turning away from John, and shoving his way back through his friends. His chest heaved with adrenaline and pain. He walked away. He stepped away from his anger for Dean. Something John would never do. “Goddamnit!”

John’s chest heaved, and he stared at Dean with a coldness Dean had never seen before. “That’s it, Dean. This is over. You’re done flaunting yourself in front of everyone. You get in line right now, or it’s military school. It's time you learned some discipline. How to be a man.”

Dean scoffed, turning back to his father. The rage was suddenly less frightening and more like looking at a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get his favorite toy. John was pathetic. “I know all about discipline. And you should see me take it like a man.”

John reared back and slapped Dean across the face. At first, all he felt was shock, and then a stinging burn built with intensity, flashing across his cheek in pain. His eyes filled with tears, from pain but mostly from the realization that his father, who had always been his hero, had hit him. He hated what Dean was so completely that he no longer saw a beloved son to protect but a pervert who deserved abuse.

Cas took two steps forward and clocked John hard. The crunch of his knuckles against his father’s face was satisfying, and when he dropped to the ground, limp, his feelings for Cas grew. 

More than anything, though, Cas valued who he was— what he was. With him, Dean didn’t have to pretend to be anything else because Cas was completely and unapologetically himself. He expected the same from those around him. 

John lay on the ground bleeding, Dean sneering down at him as he recovered from being stunned silent.

“It's all right, Dad. It didn't hurt. If you want to hit me, go right ahead. Whatever you do, it's not gonna matter… 'cause I'll still be your queer son.”

“You come home right now, or you never come home again.” John’s voice croaked. He looked old lying on the ground like that, making threats only because he thought he had power over Dean.

Dean’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Never again,” he spat. His voice cracked as rage flared in his chest. “Did you hear me? I said NEVER AGAIN!”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was soft as he curled his hand around Dean’s arm. “Dean. Stop.”

Dean’s breath was ragged, fists shaking. He stumbled toward Cas and pressed cold palms against Cas's bruised face. He kissed him softly, but when Cas winced, Dean barely swallowed the sob that tried to escape him.

Cas smiled faintly and said, “You’re okay.”

They piled into Cas's Audi, Zar barely fitting in the back with Gabriel. Instead of taking Dean home, Cas announced that they all needed food. Mosley’s dinner was open 24/7, and it was the best place to unwind, come down, or dish.

They fell into a booth by the window, and Cas sat leaning against it, pressing the bruising side of his face to the glass. “I’m going to be completely unpresentable for work tomorrow.”

“So call in,” Gabriel shrugged, twirling one of the coffee swizzle sticks between his fingers.

“I have never called in in my entire life. I’m not about to start now.”

“So that’s what, 50, 60 years you’ve worked straight through?” Dean chuckled, ripping apart his napkin. He let the little pieces fall into his lap as he tried to stay here in the moment where he was safe instead of thinking about his family, where he was supposed to be but wasn’t.

“Hardy har har, I think it’s time for Junior to take a nap.” Cas snarled, but his eyes held no heat. Dean was learning. It wasn’t what Cas said or how he said it that mattered. It was how his eyes shone when he looked at Dean, how his smile brought out the laugh lines next to his eyes.

“Alright, what’ll you have?” An older black woman with an apron that said, Please pay before licking any buns… or baked goods.

She set down four glasses of water before looking right at Dean and frowning. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about your father.”

“How did you know that?” Dean’s eyes widened as he tried to decipher the enigma standing before him.

“Ignore her. She claims to be a psychic, but she’s never been right about me.” Cas rolled his eyes and pulled himself up to sitting. He took his glass and held it to his eye, wincing at the cold.

“Boy, don’t you cuss at me, or I’ll go get my wooden spoon. Again.” She raised an eyebrow at Cas, and unbelievably, he looked away. It was the 8th wonder of the world, someone who commanded enough respect to cow Cas Novak.

“Well, honey, I think you deserve a chocolate peanut butter milkshake for free.” She patted Dean on the hand, and he opened his mouth to thank her, but she kept going, eyeing Cas. “And by free, I mean Mr. I’m too aloof and superior to have feelings is going to pay for your delicious milkshake.”

“Hey!” Cas complained.

“You have the money. And what did I say about cussin’ boy?”

Cas grumbled and slumped in his seat, looking for all the world like the teenager he must have been when he started coming there. “Then get me a cheeseburger and a soda, huh? As long as I’m paying, I might as well eat.”

“As long as you’re takin’ up space in my diner, you’re definitely payin'.”

Dean beamed up at her.

“Oh, look at those dimples. You sure brighten up the room, don’t you? We should call you Sunshine.” She reached out and pinched his cheek, and he smiled harder.

Gabriel leaned against Balthazar and smiled as he looked the rest of them over. “I love it here. It’s dinner and a show.” They ordered, and Missouri left with barely a second glance.

“So, the other night, remember that hot trick that picked me up? Dark hair, built.” Zar began, sliding right back into the usual banter, a distraction from the horror show of John showing up. He always managed to keep the peace while being outrageously inappropriate.

“That describes like two-thirds of the guys at Eden,” Cas gripped, but he’d shifted closer to Dean. Their shoulders touched, and when Dean leaned into it, glancing at that masked, unreadable face, Cas didn’t move away. He even seemed to relax.

“Anyway, so I go home with him, and he lives above a funeral home, and I’m like, weird, I don’t think I could handle that, like what if they start moaning and clawing at their caskets.”

Gabriel huffed a laugh. “Zar, is there a story in this story somewhere?” 

“Of course! So we’re getting to know each other, you know, who’s your favorite scream queen, what’s your favorite Barbara album, the basics, and then he starts telling me about his job… downstairs.”

“No,” Dean leaned forward with a smile. 

“Yes! He was the mortician, and it was a family business. His dad gave him the apartment to live in.”

“So what I’m hearing is he’s built and rich, all that expendable income.” Gabriel rested his cheek on his hand and looked into the distance wistfully.

“You were born to be a sugar baby. Too bad you look like a sugar loaf.” Cas snarked, but they all laughed, his acerbic humor doing nothing to diminish the entertainment of the story.

“So he’s telling me all about how they prepare the bodies, right? Like, did you know they sew the mouths shut? I guess sometimes during the wake or funeral or whatever, the mouth would drop open freaking people out, like, of course, so it makes total sense to sew them shut, but it’s really horrifying to think about, and I’m listening to him talk and don’t even notice that he’s walked in front of where I’m sitting. He undoes his pants while explaining something about spiked contacts that keep the eyelids closed and pulls out the most monster cock you’ve ever seen.”

Gabriel laughed the hardest of them, but it’s a close race. “You did not.”

“Of course I did. I’m an out and proud size queen. If he gets off on talking about embalming, I can just sing some ABBA in my head and enjoy the ride.” Zar shrugged and sipped his water daintily.

Dean laughed so hard he almost forgot why he’d been upset. The diner was humming with life, the low buzz of conversation mixing with the sizzle of a hot grill and the clatter of plates. The smell of coffee and grease filled the air, warm and familiar, a reminder that places like this were where men like him belonged, a small space carved out offering safety and belonging.

“Thank god Godiva’s cooking tonight! I’m ready to eat .” Zar throws himself dramatically into the corner of the booth.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked across the table at Gabriel. “Who’s Godiva?”

Gabriel nearly choked on his coffee, setting his cup down with an exaggerated gasp. “Who’s Godiva ?! Don’t they teach you fսcking kids anything? Godiva is Gay History 101, Deano.”

Balthazar sighed, preparing himself to orate what was certain to be a long, elaborate speech. “Oh, let me tell you, darling. Godiva is the world’s greatest drag queen.”

Gabriel nodded sagely. “Or at least our greatest drag queen . ” He lifted his chin to the side.

Dean frowned, glancing toward the window behind the counter where Rufus was working the grill. He flipped a burger with an ease that only came with years of practice. His apron was stained, bald head covered by a simple headscarf, but there was definitely something regal about the way he carried himself. “Rufus is Godiva?!”

Balthazar’s voice turned softer as he rested his chin on his fist with a wistful smile. “I had just moved here—didn’t know a soul —and somehow, by some divine intervention, I found my way to Moseley’s.” He gestured around at the diner, at the cracked plastic booths and the jukebox in the corner that hadn’t worked in years. “I was sitting at the counter, it was late, but not so late, and the scene queens weren’t here yet. Just me and a few old coffee swilling fags. I was lost as all hell, and Godiva came up to me in her full regalia and said, ‘You all alone, Sugar?’”

Balthazar imitated his deep, rough voice as he spoke.

Cas, who had been sitting quietly, barely paying attention, glanced up and deadpanned, “Well, things haven’t changed much.”

Zar shot him a glare but continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I stood there with my mouth hanging open, slack-jawed, and then—then she said, ‘Well, not anymore. Now you’ve got Godiva—just like the chocolate, dark and sweet.’” His voice went hushed, eyes shining with memory. “She changed everything. My first pride, my first real family. And now…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to keep his voice light. “I’m very dismayed that this is probably her last.”

Missouri wandered back, expertly balancing a tray on her hip as she side-eyed their conversation. “Ain’t none of y’all talking like she’s dead, are you? Rufus will have your hide if you’ve already started sitting shiva.” She set down a plate of fries in front of Dean with a pointed look. “Godiva ain’t gone yet, and she sure as hell ain’t lettin’ any of you mope on her behalf.”

Gabriel smirked, reaching for a fry. “Preach, Mama.”

Missouri swatted his hand away before he stole one. “Eat your own damn fries. And I ain’t your mama.”

Across the room, Rufus— Godiva —turned slightly as if sensing he was being talked about. His expression was unreadable, but there was a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Dean watched him for a long moment, then turned back to the others. “Why’s it her last?”

Balthazar and Gabriel exchanged a look, but it was Cas who finally answered. His voice was flat, detached. “He tested positive a while ago, and he’s… not doing as well as we wish he was. He’s already lived longer than anyone expected, and the world is run by people who don’t care if we live or die,” he said bitterly.

Dean glanced toward Rufus again, watching as he flipped another burger, the neon light bringing his gaunt face into high relief.

They continued to eat, subdued until Zar began a competition of who had the best big dick trick story. As they talked, Cas's arm was on the back of Dean’s seat, comforting, and the question of where he’d stay if he couldn’t go home was answered in Cas's expressive eyes.

Dean sniffed into the night air tinged with the smoke of Cas's cigarette as they walked back to Cas's loft. “I’m sorry about my dad.” 

“Sorry’s bullshit. Don’t waste your time. Jesus, I’m lucky I still have all my teeth.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ll have a black eye, at least.”

“So I look okay?” Cas stopped under a streetlamp and turned, looking at him with one of his walled up, closed off looks that ran so cold it sent glaciers of ice through his veins, freezing each blood cell that tried to come up for air.

“You always look okay.”

Cas huffed, but his flat, fake smile warmed up a touch, and before he knew it, they were snuggling into bed in Cas's loft, wrapped up together for nothing but sleep for the first time.

Chapter Text

Cas

Cas took to dropping Dean off at school in the mornings on his way to work. Sometimes, he’d pick him up if he got out early, or Dean would hang out with Charlie or take the public bus. It worried him, though. And he hated to worry, especially about Dean. Kid was like a parasite, you know, the Brazilian kind that found their way up your ass and made themselves at home. Cas couldn’t seem to shake him.

So, instead of worrying, he bought the kid a cell phone, put him on his plan, and told him if he lost it or ran up a bill, he’d kick Dean out. 

They both knew he wouldn’t.

Dean never officially moved in, but after his Dad attacked them, he never left. And Cas never asked him to. They didn’t talk about it. They just settled in.

Within days, Dean’s schoolwork and drawings were scattered around, and they were good. Not good enough to say anything about, but good enough to ask Jimmy to bring Amelia over sometime to look at his work. She was an art dealer, after all. And he’d do that for any of his friends, networking was good. It was smart. It was why he was so successful at work. It didn’t mean anything.

Dean had been there a week when Cas had to work late. A last minute visit from a client who wanted a new pitch was coming into town at the end of the week, and he had to focus, and that wasn’t something he did well with Dean around. He may not have been getting his usual distracting stream of men through the apartment, but he was getting laid a lot, and well.

He slid the loft door open and dropped his briefcase to find Dean in the kitchen. “I thought I told you to get out.”

He shrugged off his Hugo Boss suit jacket and laid it neatly on the decidedly not neat couch. He wanted to smoke, but hated having his stuff smell, so he held off until he went back out.

Dean smiled at him, sparkling green eyes and endearing freckles. “I guess I didn’t hear. You tend to mumble a lot.” He was like an adorable pest. “You want some soup? It’s my mom’s homemade recipe.” Dean slid a bowl across the counter, both of them knowing Cas would eat anything Dean made. For being only 17, he was a surprisingly good cook. Apparently, Mary had done at least one thing right.

“No wonder I feel like barfing. Listen to me, you little shit. I don’t want you here.” Cas tucked into the soup, hiding his smile. Dean told him Mary made this soup when he was sick or stressed, and Cas felt the day’s tension draining away as he ate.

Dean made his way over to sit next to Cas and kissed him on the shoulder. He took a spoonful of his soup and said, “I don’t care what you want. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Cas grunted, unable to deny that that’s actually what he wanted after all.

One week turned into two, and Dean was… well, he was a teenager, and Cas had a life where things were organized precisely the way he wanted them. Now his living room was always covered in papers and shoes, his bed was never made, and even though he loved when Dean cooked, the little shit couldn’t do dishes to save his life. Worst of all, his porn DVDs were all mixed in with the regular DVDs, and he was never going to get that sorted right before Claire came over again.

After driving Dean to school, he swung by Meg’s to take her to work, but on her way out, he caught her kissing a woman with long straight hair in well-fit jeans and some serious leather. Cas, being the materialistic bastard that he was, appreciated the fit of quality craftsmanship even if it was on a woman. He busied himself with smoking and then honked his horn when he lit a second cigarette. 

He hung out of the window and yelled, “Come on, if you’re going full dyke, can we skip the 29 hours of kissy face and go straight to when we pick up the Uhaul? I’m free on Saturday to help pack, but right now, we have work!”

Meg flicked him off and kissed the woman again before slipping into the passenger seat like it had been designed for her ass.

“New girlfriend? You picking out matching cats yet?” Cas pressed hard on the gas and swung into moving traffic without checking his mirrors.

“Look, I know you’re just being you, but shut the fuck up.” Meg looked at him, eyes wide and uncharacteristically earnest.

“What? I’m the victim here, losing my best friend to the island of Lesbos…” he sighed theatrically.

“Her name is Dagon, and I know you’re all wrapped up in the gay man pride of it all, but I really like her. If this works out, you might have to lose your lifelong fag hag, and then what will you do?”

“Fine, you can both be my beloved hags. But you’ll always be my number one, Margaret.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “I know asking you to consider the possibility that you might not be the most important thing in my universe is like asking water to run upstream, but try. If you put in any effort, I think you might like her.”

“I doubt that.”

“You know what I like about her? She's sarcastic, but she's thoughtful and appreciative, too. You could learn something." 

Cas looked at her in the passenger seat with his nose scrunched up until she yelled at him that the light was red.

“I need you to be nice,” Meg said when they were back on track.

Cas arched an eyebrow. “I am nice.”

“You’re a dick, and you know it.”

“I have feelings. I can be very loving.” Cas pouted and scowled at the same time, feeling his pride sluff right off his bones.

“I know you can. You always have been to me, but not everyone can see it through your tremendous pile of offensive bullshit.”

Cas smirked, patting her on the knee. “It’s part of my charm.” He flicked his cigarette out the window.

Meg sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’m serious, Cas.”

The sound of her voice was off, tense. Something he hadn’t heard in a long time. His smile faded. “Alright. Explain it to me. Why do I care? It’s nothing but another hook-up that’s going to fizzle out like all the others, isn’t it?”

Meg hesitated, “I like her. It’s only been a few weeks, but…”

Cas’s eyebrows shot up. “Are we talking ‘passing time with some screamingly good sex before you move on,’ or are you actually in danger of catching feelings?”

Meg gave him a sharp look. “Don’t start.” 

Cas’s smile flattened out. His head tilted slightly. “Huh.” Cas’s mouth twitched. “My favorite slut is a whore no more.” He held up a hand as he pulled into their office parking lot. “Just saying.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed. “This is what I’m talking about. Don’t—” She exhaled, her hand tightening around her purse strap. “Look, Dagon’s important to me. I need you to not be you about this. I want… I mean, you’re the closest thing I have to family and—”

“Jesus, Meg.” Cas grabbed his briefcase from the back seat and leaned against his car, waiting for her to join him. “Does she know how high-maintenance you are?”

“Cas.”

He grinned. “I’m kidding. Mostly.” His gaze softened as Meg’s frown deepened. 

Meg’s brow furrowed. “You’ll behave?”

“For a while, I’ll ease her into the full Cas Novak experience.” Cas's voice was serious despite his smile.

Meg studied him for a moment, wary. “You swear?”

Cas knocked his shoulder into hers as they crossed the parking lot. “Scout’s honor.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You were never a Scout.”

“I did fuck a Scout Master. And yet, here I am. An upstanding citizen.” Cas’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Relax, Meg. I promise I’ll be a perfect angel.”

Meg snorted. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Cas worked through lunch, his eye on the time. He’d stupidly promised Gabriel he’d go with him to the gym after work to be a walking-talking stereotype and hit on all the hot bodies while Cas ran on the treadmill. He had a treadmill at home specifically to avoid this, except it was somehow covered in all of Dean’s crap, even though he owned nothing. Really— Dean wore Cas's clothes, ate his food, messed up his house, and paid no rent, and did no chores. He had adopted a toddler.

He was finishing a bottle of vitamin water when there was a soft knock on his door. “Since when do you knock Meg? Whoever it is, tell them to go the fuck away.”

He tossed the bottle into the trash and pulled open his most recent layout for the upcoming pitch.

“Um, hi,” a doe-eyed woman with long, tousled blonde hair stood in his doorway. If she was a little younger and he was a little straighter, she’d be just his type. As soon as he hit her with his full attention, she squinted her eyes before relaxing her shoulders. Something about her stance made her look like she was preparing for war.

Cas had no idea what was going on, but he was certainly intrigued.

“Hi, you’re Cas?”

He leaned back in his chair, “That’s what it says on the door. Cas Novak. Now, why are you in my office?”

“I’m, well, I’m Mary Winchester.”

Cas’s shoulders hiked up, a tension he hated to feel cramping up his spine like his vertebrae were in a vice.

“Dean’s mother.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.”

She took a deep breath and set a duffle bag on one of the chairs across from him. She leaned over and pulled things out to show him, movements quick and jerky. “OK, so...I packed some things for him, clothes, the sketch pad, shoes, underwear, some of his school work. I know he has an essay due on Friday.’

“Last Friday,” Cas said, pulling a sharp look from the woman standing in his office, almost as uncomfortable as he was. “He got an A.”

“... oh, good. Um, I also packed Yellow Submarine . It's his favorite. He watched it a million times. Did you know he wanted to be an animator?”

“No. Look, I'm—”

“No, you wouldn't.” Mary cut him off with a scalding look. It chipped at his armor to see this mother hate Cas so much for what he’d done to her son, but loving Dean enough to force herself to come here. “And, uh, a check. Here we go.” She set it primly on the corner of his desk and patted it twice.

“For what?” he raised an eyebrow, staring at the check like it was a marriage contract.

“Well, Dean’s expensive. He eats like a football player, goes through clothes faster than I can buy them, and he's always needing something for school. You aren’t his parent. You can’t be expected to support him on your own, and it’s… well, if it's the only way he’ll let me take care of him, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Cas frowned. “You think he’s going to stay with me?”

“I know that’s where he is now. I can’t imagine he’s going anywhere else.”

“I don't know, but he's not moving into my place permanently. This is a band-aid at most.” Cas shifted his weight, crossing his legs the other way, wishing he had gone to lunch and avoided this entire interaction. Where the fuck was Meg? It was her entire job to keep this kind of shit from happening.

“Well, he needs to live somewhere since he apparently told his father he's never coming back home again.”

“Yeah, some father,” Cas growled under his breath.

“I don’t blame him, you know, for not wanting to come home. And he’s almost eighteen. Fighting him or trying to force him back would only make him run further, and I might never see him again. Do you know what happens to runaway kids, Mr. Novak? Especially young gay men?”

“They end up on milk cartons.” Cas deadpanned cruelly.

“Or worse. At least if he's with you, I know where he is.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes, and he narrowed his. Her love, her concern, it was toxic. It was the same lie people told each other right up until they couldn’t deal with the exact thing they’d pretended to love. People let you down every time.

Mary turned toward his door, but Cas leaned forward, calling her back, “He is not my responsibility.”

When her eyes flit back to his, she frowned, a fierce protective instinct ready to attack. “Oh, yes, he is! You seduced him, you f-f-fucked him, so now he's yours! So, kindly, uh, see that he takes his allergy medicine, and does his homework, and gets to school on time.” She sniffed, her voice slightly hysterical.

Cas stood, ready to argue, but she whipped out of his office and slammed the door behind her. 

Fuck.

The creak of his door had him looking back. Mary’s head peeked through, blonde hair bouncing. 

“And, uh, tell him that we love him.”

At the end of another long day, Cas came home to find his front door unlatched, the sink dripping, a smell of feet coming from the shoes by the front door, music blaring, and the beep of the dryer being ignored. Annoyance flared into fury when he spotted Dean lying on his couch.

“What are you doin'?” he said, flicking Dean’s cheek.

“Huh?”

He inhaled, trying to swallow his frustration, and yelled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Oh,” Dean shuffles up and uses the remote to turn down the volume. “Sound Garden. It's really awesome.”

Cas glared at him, not saying a word. He felt his irritation rise to seismic levels. He could shatter the windows, pierce eardrums, boil oceans.

“So, what's up?” Dean finally said when Cas didn’t reply.

“What's up is you left my door unlocked, amongst other evidence of your chaos around my previously immaculate loft. What's up is this is not a halfway house for homeless twinks, and you're not in your Blond Ambition tour. What's up is your mother paid me a little visit today.”

“Oh shit,” Dean grimaced and looked over to the duffle bag on the floor at Cas's feet.

“Finally,” Cas stalked closer, “what's up is you’re going to take off my $300 shirt and clean up your shit! All I wanted to do was come home and have something to eat.”

“I'm sorry I'm in your way.” Dean’s head drooped, and he deflated. Dean needed to toughen up. From one minute to the next, he was a bouncing Jack Russell and then the gum under someone’s boot.

Cas crept forward, menace in his prowl. “Do you know that I had to promise your mother that you wouldn't be late for school tomorrow? And by the way, she sends her love.”

“She did?” Dean looks up, young as ever.

“Yes, your mother came to my place of employment to bring me a bag full of her underage son’s underwear, so forgive me if this situation is on my very last fucking nerve. If you think you can run away from home and live like an adult and fuck like an adult, then you have to realize that this—” Cas gestures to the state of the loft “—this is not how adults act.”

“Cas, I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“What? Move out? Grow up? Two things you are painfully unprepared to do, so make yourself scarce. I’m going out.” Cas tossed away his clothes, tired of the expectation that he be the one to take care of other people.

“Where are you going?”

“Garrison, somewhere I know they actually check I.D.s, so the kiddies can’t get in. You might wanna stay with Charlie tonight, in case I meet someone.”

“You’re being mean.”

“Life is mean. I’m a fucking ray of sunshine.”

“So you’re going to leave me here?”

Cas shouldered past Dean and slid the door to the bedroom closed in his face, holding eye contact the whole time. By the time Cas had showered and changed, the living room was organized, Dean’s things were put away on the shelves, and the boy was gone.

Cas didn’t like the fact that he was disappointed, even if he’d only been itching to reignite their argument.

Garrison thrummed with heat and movement, bodies pressing close, laughter spilling over the bass-heavy music. It was a rougher crowd than Eden, fewer Scene Queens, more leather, but tonight it was what he needed— a little rough trade. He’d let himself get lost in it—hands trailing over shoulders, lips brushing against stubbled jaws, eyes meeting his with invitation. 

He flirted, he danced, he let a stranger’s fingers ghost down his spine, but when the moment came to take it further, something inside him locked up. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation. It was just… a hollow feeling. He’d never been one to hold back, not at fourteen when he first realized what he wanted, not ever. And yet, tonight, when the night was ripe with possibility, he pulled away, murmured a lazy excuse, and walked himself back out into the cool dark, the pulse of the music still pounding in his bones.

In his room, Dean had left the light on. He’d fallen asleep with his physics book open next to him. Half his face was smooshed into the pillow, and Cas's chest seized up. Was he old enough to have a heart attack? Because the kid lying in his bed was beautiful, and all the things that held him back were suddenly unimportant. He undressed and then pulled Dean’s jeans off, shushing him as he woke enough to complain in adorable little grunts and pinched lips.

He tucked them in, and his bed smelled like Dean, soft and fresh. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d… 

oh…

Dean rolled in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist, hauling him closer with a sigh. And Cas… let him.

He fell asleep and didn’t wake up until he smelled coffee and heard Dean puttering around his kitchen as if it were his own.

On Monday, Cas picked up Dean from school, his chest still tight from his uncomfortable realization after Garrison. Dean had to go home. He had to get the fuck out of Cas's loft and life. He was feeling some revolting holdover of straight expectations. It was Jimmy's voice trying to convince him he’d be happy if he settled down. It was the sight of Meg falling in clit bumping love.

With his windows open, he heard the voices coming from around the corner, familiar and cruel.

“Queer.”

“Faggot.”

“Buttfucker.”

Ahhh, the sweet sounds of youth. This must mean Dean was making his way toward the back gate where Cas was parked, so he leaned back and closed his eyes. They’d all been through it. It was the fag version of a vision quest. Dean would be fine.

"You’re nothing but a faggot. Don’t think you can walk around here like you own the place. You think you’re so special, don’t you? You’re just some little queer who needs to be put in his place." 

Cas opened one eye. That was awfully… personal for your general gay bullying.

"You know, Webb, if you actually paid attention, maybe you’d realize that I’m just living my life. Maybe it’s you who’s the problem." Dean’s voice was calm, even friendly, and Cas chuckled, relaxing again. Fondness flooded him as he listened to Dean put this brat right in his place. Maybe he’d taught the kid something after all.

"You should’ve stayed in the closet, Dean. Now, you’ll pay the price."

Cas's ears prickled, a slow burn creeping up his neck. He didn’t want to storm out to the car and beat the shit out of some high schooler, but he knew how these things went—threats had a way of coming true. His pulse ticked faster at the thought. He might not be able to be what Dean wanted, but that didn’t mean he’d let anyone lay a hand on him.

"You’re jealous because I’m not hiding who I am."

“Dean!” Cas called out from the open window. “Get in the car!”

A boy almost Dean’s height but filled out with muscle shoved Dean forward. “What the fuck is this? Your boyfriend picking you up from school? Makes sense, he’s old enough to be your Dad.”

Cas saw red, but he gripped the steering wheel. That little shit wasn’t about to get a rise out of him when Dean was able to maintain his calm.

“Why are you here?” Dean asked, easy as ever, completely unbothered by the boy practically throwing a tantrum as he turned and left in a huff. Whatever he’d wanted, he didn’t get it.

“I said, get in the car.”

Dean climbed in, and when the door was closed, Cas took off, not waiting for Dean to snap his seatbelt into place and definitely not worrying about the cars or people on the road. “Where we goin'?”

“Home.”

“You came to pick me up just for a ride home?” The hope in Dean’s eyes would be sweet if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

“No, you idiot, your home.”

Dean didn’t speak for the rest of the ride and slammed the car door when he got out. Cas was tempted to call after him, tell him family mattered, and he shouldn’t throw it away so easily. But who was Cas to say that? Another fucking hypocrite. Dean deserved better.

But when Dean reached the door and turned to look at him with the most heartbreaking expression on his face, like someone had drowned his puppy, Cas sighed and followed. It seemed like these days, he was always following Dean. The kid was under his skin, pulling him in closer no matter how hard he tried to get away.

“Dean?” Mary said when she opened the door, pulling him into her arms. Cas's heart clenched. He’d never had a mother who would care so much. Over Dean’s shoulder, she mouthed Thank you , and Cas couldn’t stand to look at her.

Inside, they sat in the living room, silence oppressive as it weighed down the air, pressed Cas into the reupholstered, overstuffed chair he’d expected to find in the house of someone like Mary. 

“Do you have anything to say?” She asked, eyes darting back and forth between Dean and John. He’d already known Dean’s father would be home. Mary had told him as much when he’d called her from work, but he hadn’t fully prepared himself for the disdain in the man’s eyes. Having that look aimed toward himself, Cas could handle. Who gave a fuck with this man’s man thought of him. But when he looked at Dean like he was something subhuman… 

“Well, in that case,” Mary cleared her throat. “I'll speak for your father and me. We want you to come home. That's where you belong. And I think that Cas would agree.”

She shot a glance over to where he sat, soft eyes begging him for something he didn’t know how to give. He was here to get rid of the infestation that had taken over his life. He wasn’t even supposed to be inside. He only was because Dean… shit.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, doing his very best to remain above it all. 

“What difference does it make what Cas thinks?” John Winchester growled, shooting him a look of unfiltered hatred.

Cas raised an eyebrow as he held his gaze and then slowly looked away. Because fuck him.

“Excuse me, I'm speaking. Let me finish,” Mary snapped at her husband before turning back and trying to catch Dean’s eye. “Dean?”

Dean's eyes remained solidly on the carpet, and he picked at a non-existent thread on the couch. He looked so small, so defeated.

Cas sighed, utterly exhausted. “Look at your mom, Dean.”

Dean startled and looked up at Cas, who jerked his head over toward his mother. The woman grated on him, but she had done more for Dean in the last week than Cas's own mother had done in well over a decade. She deserved at least a little respect.

“You're staying here,” she declared. It was a foregone conclusion. Cas agreed, after all. The little shit wasn’t coming back to his loft.

Dean scowled but squared his shoulders, looking older and more confident than Cas expected. “Only if Dad says that he's sorry to Cas.”

John stood, his hands in fists, like he was going to start throwing punches again. Red slid up his neck and face like a volcano. “Dean, he is the one who should be apologizing to you, for Christ’s sake! For making you think he loved you.”

Dean scoffed, and Cas heard his own affectation in his voice. He kind of hated it, the cold, distant disdain. “He never said he loved me. He said it was just a fuck, nothing more. That's all it was. But I'm okay with that because he was honest with me, and I knew that was all it was. I made my own decisions.”

Mary covered her mouth, eyes flitting to Cas as they filled with tears. He heard all the silent words she didn’t say: How could you? He’s still a baby. What gives you the right? “I think you should go to your room now.”

Dean glared at Cas, betrayal clear in his posture, and moved toward the stairs. Before he got too far, John’s hand reached out, grabbing Dean’s forearm tightly.

“One more thing, Dean.”

“John…” Mary warned, anger in her eyes.

John shook his head, jaw set as he released Dean and stood up, a towering presence in the room even though Dean was taller. John was dense with muscle and dangerous in his violence. Cas knew that firsthand. “No. I'm gonna say this. If you're gonna live in this house, there are rules you have to obey. You are not to go to gay bars. It’s Sam I’m worried about. I don’t want him to know about your disgusting lifestyle. And you are never, ever to see him again.”

The more John spoke, the more Cas fumed. His anger simmered in his veins, heating them up to boiling point. He felt the old shame, the plain unfairness those words tried to bloom within him. With his jaw set, he forced his body to maintain the lackadaisical posture he’d held so far. Men like John hated one thing more than anything else: to be dismissed. 

“So, in other words, for Dean to live here with you, he has to deny who he is, what he thinks, and how he feels.”

John whipped his head around, glaring at Cas with undisguised disgust. “I don't ask for your opinion, pal.”

Cas stood slowly, straightening his jacket and flattening his tie. He did it all without giving John a second look. When he stepped forward, he funneled all his childhood pain and rejection and indignation and anger into his eyes as he raked them up and down John’s body, not in attraction but in consideration and disdain.

“Well, that's not love. That's hate.”

John shook, his fists turning white with how hard they clenched. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Cas nodded before looking to Dean. Even knowing he would upset every diligently organized part of his life and heart, he wasn’t about to leave him here. “Dean, are you coming?”

Dean's eyes widened with shock, and his mouth hung open. He looked to Mary, who looked back with sad understanding and nodded. Without a word, Dean followed Cas out of the house.

Outside, they heard Mary when she started to scream. 

“ Oh, you’re a Big Man, aren’t you?!?”

“I won’t be made a fool of by a… a…”

“A faggot? Well, I got news for you, Big Man, you already were.”

In the car, Cas felt the heat of Dean’s gaze. He pulled out into the suburban neighborhood like he was on a mission to take out every hedge on the street. ​​

“How come you're doin' this?” Dean finally asked into the tense silence between them.

“What, driving with no hands?” Cas threw him a smile so fake even he couldn’t pretend it was real and lit a cigarette.

“No, Cas, why’re you lettin' me stay with you?”

Cas frowned and licked his lips. “Why did you care? It's what you want.” He didn’t even move his eyes from the road. Dean’s dad was a homophobic asshole. That fucker wasn’t going to grind Dean down until he was another closeted piece of shit who hated himself. Cas wasn’t going to allow that to happen to someone still able to see the good in people, especially utterly irredeemable men like Cas. He wasn’t going to let John crush Dean’s soul.

Dean smiled, leaning back in his seat with a playful smile. “I know why. It's because you love me madly, passionately, deeply. Just like I always suspected.”

Cas let out a sharp, humorless laugh, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. The city whipped by outside, cars honking as Cas drove like he lived.

Dean smirked, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms behind his head. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Cas exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. “Jesus Christ.” Cas let one hand drop from the wheel and ran it through his wild, dark hair. He always managed to get it to behave in the morning, letting him present a composed and put together version of himself for a few hours, but his hair simply would not obey his command. He sucked on his cigarette, enjoying the burn of nicotine.

Dean watched him, voice sobering slightly. “Seriously, though. Why, Cas?”

Cas didn’t answer at first. He just kept driving. How was he supposed to answer that? Tell Dean that his Dad hadn’t kicked him out because he’d never had the balls to do what Dean had, that he was still the closeted asshole ground under the heel of a man who was supposed to love him, but it was all on his terms. Conditional. 

“I knew you’d land on my doorstep like some wet, helpless kitten eventually, so I’m cutting out the middleman.” 

Dean huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

Cas’s lips twitched like he wanted to smirk but wouldn’t allow himself the indulgence. “Believe what you want.”

Dean turned back to the window, watching the streetlights flicker past. Cas’s smirk softened into something smaller, something he should do something to fend off. Instead, he sat quietly and drove.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, barely audible over the hum of the engine. “That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

Dean

Dean led Charlie through the loft, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to seem like he belonged there. The place was massive—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, sleek furniture, and polished floors. He loved living there, but he’d live in a cardboard box if Cas was there. The kick-ass loft was definitely a bonus, though. 

Charlie whistled low, dragging her fingers over the marble countertop in the open kitchen.“Our Lady Carrie Fisher! He lives here?” she cried. She lingered by the window instead, looking out at the city skyline. “Nice view,” her voice light.

Dean beamed, unable to rein in his excitement. “Now I do, too. Isn't that cool? Check out the TV. And the DVDs. The furniture is all Italian. From Milan. Wait until you see the picture of the naked guy.”

The bathroom door swung open, and Cas stepped out— completely naked. His muscled perfection stood there with the freckle above his nipple and tattoos and glorious cock nestled safely in trimmed dark hair.

Dean barely had time to register it before he heard Charlie inhale sharply.

“Oh… oh, my god…” she muttered before choking on her giggle. Dean turned just in time to see her eyes widen, mouth slightly open, her gaze not staying anywhere near Cas’s face.

Cas, as usual, was unbothered. His hair was a damp mess, the tattoo on his arm and ribs stood out against his unblemished skin, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and his lithe body still let off steam from the hot shower. He barely even blinked at Charlie before leveling Dean with blue eyes that could cut steel.

“Dean, a word?”

Despite himself, Dean was very entertained by the situation. He shot Charlie a little smirk before following Cas into the bedroom. The moment the door shut behind them, Cas turned, arms crossed over his chest—not to cover himself, but in pure irritation. He was still lickably, beautifully naked. If Charlie wasn’t in the next room, he’d drop right to his knees.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” Cas demanded.

Dean leaned lazily against the dresser and made a slow perusal of Cas's everything , thinking about how long it would take for him to lick the water dripping from his hair. “Just giving my friend Charlie a tour.”

Cas scoffed, running a hand down his face. “This is not the White House, Dean. George Washington never slept here.”

Dean laughed. “He’s the only one who hasn’t.”

“Would you please keep it down?” Cas gripped his head. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It's noon,” Dean rolled his eyes, enjoying the rare occasion when Cas was the one who didn’t have his shit together.

Cas exhaled sharply, glaring at him, but before he got a comeback in, his expression flickered— something clicking in his mind. “Oh, shit. I was supposed to meet my new trainer.”

Dean barely kept from laughing. Cas had a habit of losing track of time, especially when he slept in after a long night. He’d never admit it, but Dean knew he liked having Dean tangled up next to him, even if it meant missing his perfectly scheduled morning routine. Cas could be a touch anal— in more ways than one.

Dean turned back toward the hallway, where Charlie was, very not subtly, still peeking through the door crack. “You’re gonna have to be more considerate, Charles. We’re far too noisy for noon o’clock! ”

Cas groaned, now standing in the doorway, still completely naked, giving Charlie the full frontal view. “Do either of you know how to make a creatine and soy protein shake?”

Dean shrugged and looked over to Charlie, whose face was contorted into a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“No,” Dean said flatly.

Cas muttered something under his breath and ran a hand through his hair before sighing dramatically. “Well, would you please just pour me some guava juice?”

Dean shrugged and headed for the kitchen, Charlie eagerly following. She shot him a look as they walked. “You know I don’t swing that way, but his ass is ridiculous, right?”

Dean snorted, grabbing the juice from the fridge. “Trust me, Charlie. I know. ”

Dean leaned against the counter, watching as Charlie grabbed the guava juice and handed it off to Cas when he swanned into the kitchen in his workout gear. She blushed and gave him an almost shy smile. Dean could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Charlie act shy. Cas took the glass, quirking an eyebrow at her before offering a rare, amused smile.

“You’d make an excellent wife,” Cas said smoothly before turning to Dean. “Then she could drop you.”

“Ha, ha,” Dean scowled, delighted to be playing Cas's game.

Charlie snorted. “Please. I’m never going to get married. Why be tied down?”

Cas grinned, slipping on his sunglasses and dropping his empty glass in the sink. He was beautiful, even in track pants and a tank top. Everything about him flowed together. His movements and words seemed so effortlessly easy. “I love this girl.”

Dean rolled his eyes, hiding a smirk as Cas grabbed his gym bag. He left with the confident cool of someone walking off a movie set instead of heading to lift weights and probably get hit on by his new trainer.

“So, I’m goin’,” Cas said, adding the strap over his shoulder. “What are you doin’?”

Dean smirked, stretching out his back dramatically. “Gonna smoke some weed. Download porn.”

Cas hummed, clearly entertained. “Well, if you go out, make sure you set the alarm.”

Then, in typical melodramatic Cas fashion, he leaned in and kissed Charlie on the cheek like she was some 1940s starlet, his lips barely grazing her skin. “Bye-bye, Darling.”

Charlie turned bright red. 

Cas strode out, and as soon as the door clicked shut, she spun on Dean, fanning her face.

“Oh my god! He’s dreamy! ” She flopped onto the couch with a sigh. “But for all that tan naked skin, do you really think living with him is a good idea? He’s older than I realized.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, Charles,” he admitted, voice quieter now. His fingers traced the seam of the counter. “And he’s been… softer. Different somehow.” It was true, at least in flashes— Cas letting him stay without making a big deal of it, the way he let Dean lean against him when they sat together at the diner, the rare moments of tenderness hidden under all the sarcasm and indifference.

Charlie watched him for a long moment, her teasing fading. “I just want you to be careful.” Her voice was gentler now. “How long can you rely on him? I mean, I’m glad he’s being nicer, but is this really what you want?”

Dean didn’t have an answer for that.

That afternoon, Dean lingered by the side gate of his childhood home, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, heart hammering harder than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t been here since his Dad gave him the ultimatum— be gay or come home, he couldn’t do both.

Laughter rang out from the yard. A dozen kids were running wild, ​​shrieking as they ran across the lawn, foam dart guns in hand. Sam stood in the center of it all, grinning, his hair flopping into his eyes as he dodged a flurry of shots. He was taller than Dean remembered.

Mom stood by the picnic table, lighting candles on Sam’s cake. She looked tired. Dean stayed in the shadows by the fence as Mom waved the kids over. Sam plopped onto a chair at the head of the table, cheeks flushed, smile bright as the small crowd began an off-key chorus of Happy Birthday. He laughed through the last few lines, rolling his eyes, but Dean knew he secretly loved the attention.

Sam took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and blew them all out in one go.

“You're going to get your wish!” Mary cheered as she handed out plates of cake.

Dean walked down into the backyard toward the Pokemon themed decorations. The second his mother’s eyes lifted and landed on him, everything stopped.

“Sweetheart.” Her voice was soft, stunned before her face broke into a warm, unguarded smile. “You came!”

Dean barely had time to brace himself before Sam spotted him.

“ Dean! ”

And then Sam was there, all bony limbs and twelve-year-old enthusiasm, slamming into him with enough force to make Dean stumble. He grunted but wrapped his arms tight around his little brother, squeezing just as hard.

He smelled the same—shampoo, sweat, and even the birthday cake. He felt the same, like home.

Dean ruffled his hair. “Wouldn’t miss your birthday, kid.”

Sam clung to him a second longer before stepping back, eyes shining with something between excitement and disbelief. “I thought—” His voice faltered like he was afraid saying it out loud would make Dean disappear again.

Dean forced a smirk. “What? Thought I’d been bitten by a spider and ran to Brooklyn to save the city, never to be seen again?”

Sam grinned, rolling his eyes. “Shut up . ”

Their mother stepped closer, her hand warm as it curled around Dean’s arm. He let her hold on for a second before he pulled back and forced himself to ask, “Where’s Dad?”

Her smile faltered just a little. “Upstairs. Watching the game. Kids’ parties aren’t really his thing.”

Dean scoffed. Right. Through the window, the muffled roar of the game on TV carried down from upstairs. 

“So what’d you bring me?” Sam demanded, the narcissistic little shit.

Dean smirked. “Permission to live.” He pulled out a rolled-up sketch, tied neatly with string, and handed it over.

Sam’s brow furrowed as he untied the knot and unrolled the paper. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the drawing—a portrait, charcoal shading showing each intricate detail of Sam’s face, even his bitchy little expression, every detail captured from Dean’s memory.

For a moment, Sam stared. He gave a small, lopsided smile. “Thanks,” he mumbled, rolling the paper back up and walking toward his friends.

Dean’s stomach twisted. It was a lame present for a 12-year-old, anyway.

Mary reached out, brushing a finger over the edge of the drawing before looking up at him. “Dean, this is beautiful.” She hesitated. “Are you okay? Are you eating? ”

Dean arched a brow. “Do I look like I’m starving?” If anything, Dean had filled out, gaining muscle and strength.

She gave him a long, assessing look. “You’re staying for dinner.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean glanced up at the house, where the flickering light of the TV glowed against the curtains. All he’d ever wanted was for his dad to be proud of him. To look at him like he was good enough. He never had. Now Dean knows why. “Depends. Does Dad want to see me?”

Her face softened. “Of course he does. He’s as upset about this as you are.”

Dean let out a short, bitter laugh. “Really? I doubt that.”

She nodded, earnest. “He wants you to come home as much as I do.”

Something in Dean’s chest clenched, a sliver of hope forcing its way into the crack in his heart before he could stop it. “I wanna come home too.” The words came out quieter than he meant, almost like an admission.

Mary exhaled, eyes bright. “God, Dean, I’m so glad to hear you say that. It’s good news.”

Dean lifted a hand. “Wait.” His voice hardened, expression sharp. “What about the rules?”

She frowned. “Which rules?”

Dean crossed his arms. “Not going out. Not seeing Cas. Not talking about my—” His jaw tightened. “—‘disgusting lifestyle.’”

Mary flinched at the words. “I don’t think he meant it quite that way.”

Dean let out a slow breath, lifting his chin. “Then how did he mean it?”

She hesitated before answering. “I think he wants everything to be as it was.”

The anger he’d stuffed down so he could see Sam flared back up, licking across his skin, threatening to burn the whole fucking house down. Dean shook his head. “But it can’t be the way it was. I’m not the way I was.”

Mary’s face softened, pain flickering across her features. “And I don’t want you to be anything other than who you are.” She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “But I have to consider the needs of the whole family, not just you. You have to understand that.”

Dean stared at her, feeling the weight of her words settle in his gut. She was choosing John over him. It wasn’t about Sam, and he hoped it wasn’t about her. This was all about John.

The worst part. She meant it. John was the love of her life, her priority even above her children.

Dean stared at his mother, her words pressing into him like a weight, trying to force him down into something small, something flatter and more palatable. The whole family. Not just his desires . He ran his tongue over his teeth, jaw clenched tight. “And what about Cas?”

Mary exhaled, already bracing herself. “Dean—”

“No, seriously.” His voice sharpened. “Does ‘considering the family’ mean pretending he doesn’t exist? That I’m not allowed to see him?”

Her hands twitched like she wanted to reach for him again, but thought better of it. “That’s not what I said.”

Dean let out a humorless laugh. “It’s what you meant. ”

Mary sighed. “You have to understand how hard this is for your father.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “ It’s hard for him? ” He took a step back, hands flexing at his sides. “Tell me, Mom, how exactly is it hard for him? Because it sure as hell wasn’t his face getting punched in or kicked out of his own house.”

Her expression twisted, pain flashing behind her eyes. “Dean—”

“Or maybe it’s hard because he had to admit his son was a fag? Because God forbid, I don’t fit into his perfect little world.”

Mary closed her eyes briefly, inhaling slowly. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “He hates Cas . He hates what I am.”

Mary’s gaze softened. “He’s scared.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of what? Cas corrupting me?”

She didn’t answer.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Cas has been good to me,” he said, quieter this time but firm. “He’s taken care of me. When you guys— when he kicked me out? When I had nowhere to go? He—” Dean hesitated, shoulders tense. “He never asked me to be anything other than who I am.”

Mary blinked quickly, looking down. “It’s not that simple. What if he gets sick? What if he gets you sick?”

Dean huffed a breath, glancing toward the sky. “He’s not, and we’re careful . And Cas or no Cas, I’ll always have to worry about that.”

Mary flinched, but Dean couldn’t look at her.

She searched his face and sighed. “You really love him.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to meet her eyes. “Yeah.”

Mary nodded slowly, something unreadable crossing her face. “Your father doesn’t understand that yet.”

Dean let out a breath through his nose. “And he never will if you keep making excuses for him.”

She flinched but didn’t argue.

When she walked back toward the party, Dean headed to the loft, heartbreak nipping at his heels, but really, what else had he expected?

Instead of going straight back, he wound through the neighborhood to Charlie’s. He couldn’t breathe without suffocating on the weight of his mother’s good intentions and inability to fight for her son. He needed a distraction. Needed something to drown out the rest of the world. He didn’t want to think about the shit with his mom anymore, pretending everything could be “fixed” because she wanted it to be.

She was a complete pain in the ass sometimes, but she was his best friend for a reason. He pulled out the phone Cas had given him and shot her a text: U free to hang? be @ ur house in 5.

Almost immediately, the phone buzzed back. U aren’t @ S’ par-tay?

Dean rolled his eyes. N. Had 2 jet.

Ten minutes later, Dean found himself sitting by the curb outside Charlie’s house, bouncing his knee. Charlie twirled out in her usual fashion—fuzzy sweater, clashing oversized scarf, and a mischievous grin that could be seen from a mile away. Her red hair bounced around her face like Pippi Longstocking had finally taken out her braids.

“Do I even want to know why you’re wearing that face?” she scowled, looking Dean up and down.

Dean tried his best but couldn’t muster up a smile. “My dad, man... I’m done with it for today.”

Charlie gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. So you’re gonna drag me out to forget all about it? I thought that’s what Cas was for?”

Dean’s frown deepened as he climbed into the sedan Charlie unlocked. “He doesn’t have a lot of patience for this kind of thing, like he deals with it once, and then it’s over for him.”

“But he keeps letting you stay with him. That doesn’t sound over.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Dean leans against the headrest with a sigh. “Let's get out of here, be kids for an afternoon.”

“We are kids,” Charlie turned on the radio with a smile and bopped as she drove until Dean chimed in and sang along to Pansy Division with her.

They parked within walking distance of the busier part of town, near Cas’s and the clubs Dean was comfortable in now. Being there in the late afternoon was a whole different experience. The street market was a little shabby and far from glamorous, but that’s what made it fun, like an outdoor thrift store. He imagined Zar had a blast perusing the little shops and kiosks. 

The whole thing felt like a rebellion against the uptight parts of the city, the straight parts. Here, rainbow flags hung over business doors, and old men held hands right in the street. He saw old records, vintage clothes, and all kinds of offbeat displays.

Dean loved it.

He let Charlie drag him around from shop to shop until she settled on some handmade jewelry. She picked up two dark green leather braided bracelets. “We should get these, like friendship bracelets!”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills, handing them to Charlie so she could buy them. She tied his on, stacking it against his elephant hair bracelet and leather cuff, and grabbed his hand again, dragging him further into the noise. Incense hung heavy in the air, mixed with the greasy street food.

“So,” Charlie said, nudging him, “What are we doing next? You’re not allowed to stand around here looking miserable when you’ve got an awesome new friendship bracelet on.”

Dean grinned, feeling a little lighter. “I dunno. You wanna try the fortune teller booth?” He pointed to the bedazzled sign that said “ The Mysterious Marilyn .” 

“Are you asking if I want to know how I’m going to die?” Charlie asked with mock horror. “Because yes —I’m in.”

“Why not?” Dean chuckled, pushing off the lamp post. “At this point, I’ll take fake advice over what I’m getting now.”

Arm in arm, they walked toward the fortune teller’s booth.

“Welcome! You are delighted to consult Mysterious Marilyn!”

Charlie chuckled, “Are we now?”

“Most certainly.” Marilyn smiled and then waggled her long-nailed fingers at Dean. “What'll it be, kiddies? Palms, tarot, take a spin around the Ouija? Only twenty bucks.”

Charlie scowled and squared her shoulders, standing all of 5’3” against Mysterious Marilyn’s 6’4” (including heels). “Ten and not a peso more.”

“Hmmm. Mysterious Marilyn senses you're good with numbers, even better when it’s ones and zeros. But you don’t strike me as one to stay in the binary.”

“Oh, she's good!” Dean laughed, clapping a slack-jawed Charlie on the shoulder and handing Mysterious Marilyn $10.

Mysterious Marilyn looked at Dean, a crease between her eyebrows as her gaze slid over his face, settling on his shoulder. “You’re the one with the boyfriend. Sit.” She gestured to the stool across from her round table, covered in a purple velvet cloth. She even had a crystal ball. “You have your work cut out for you. You’ve ensnared one of those elusive boys, slippery like an eel. He feels things deeply but doesn’t show any of it, does he? Those are the hottest lovers and the worst boyfriends.”

“That could be anyone,” Dean scoffed. 

“Sure, let’s see what the Ouija board has to say.” She pulled a board out from under the table and moved the crystal ball out of the way to place it between them. “Now, you place your fingers on the planchette like this. Right. Now, focus on the board as I ask our question.” She waited for him to comply and cleared her throat. “What’s his paramour’s name?” The planchette began to move under Dean’s fingers without him adding any pressure, “C…A…—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Dean stood, tripping over the stool and almost knocking over the table.

“Well, this is too weird,” Charlie said, locked in place, staring at the Ouija board.

“That’s not…”

Mysterious Marilyn shrugged. “God writes the scripts, sweetie. I just say the lines.”

Dean wanders away from the table in a kind of fugue state, bumping into people, barely noticing that the street lights are coming on and the sun is setting.

“You okay? That was crazy, right?” Charlie bounced on her toes, red hair a blur around her like a halo.

“Yeah, right.” Dean shook his head to clear his mind. “Come on, let’s go to the diner, get some grub.”

Dean pushed open the door to Mosley’s Diner, the little bell above it jingling as he and Charlie stepped inside. The smell of grease and coffee hit him immediately, the comforting, artery-clogging scent that made him feel like things were still normal— even if he was still a little off-kilter, thanks to Mysterious Marilyn.

Missouri turned from where she was wiping down a table, her red shirt practically glowing under the fluorescent lights. The word COCK was stretched in bold white letters across her chest, an outline of a rooster beneath it. Dean snorted.

“You wear that just for me, Missouri?”

She smirked, snapping her towel at him. “Sunshine, I wear this for me . But if the shoe fits.”

Charlie gasped in delight. “Introduce me, Dean! Hi Missouri! The shirt is awesome.”

“You know I got style, baby.” Missouri winked, then gestured toward the booth in the back. “Your usual crowd’s already here, at least part of it.”

Dean glanced over, and sure enough, there was Meg, sprawled in her seat like she owned the damn place, her ever-present smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. Across from her sat a woman he didn’t recognize, dark hair slicked back, leather jacket hanging off her shoulders like she’d stepped off a Dykes on Bikes recruitment poster.

Meg caught sight of them and let out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, fantastic . I was just thinking my lunch needed a side of teenage angst.” She slid out of her seat and practically melted against the other woman’s side, making room for Dean and Charlie despite her prickly nature.

Dean grinned, sliding into the booth beside her without waiting for an invitation. “And yet, here you still are. Funny how that works.”

Charlie plopped down across from him, beaming at meeting more people in Dean’s new queer adult life. “Hi! I’m Charlie.”

Dagon barely glanced up from her menu. “Dagon.” Her voice was flat, cool.

“She doesn’t do small talk,” Meg said with a dirty smile, swirling her straw through her soda. “It’s one of her many charming qualities.”

“So you have a type,” Dean grumbled.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Charlie said brightly, elbowing Dean. “We’ll break her down eventually.”

Dagon arched a single, unimpressed brow.

Dean grabbed a menu, not bothering to open it. He already knew what he was getting. “So, Meg, how’s life in the ‘ Cas is Too Good for Dean’ club?”

Meg scoffed. “Thriving, obviously. Our membership numbers are through the roof .”

“So, still just the two of you, huh?” Dean smirked.

Charlie hummed. “Weird, ‘cause I’ve started a rival club called ‘ Cas is a Dick But Dean’s The Fucking Balls!’ and our enlistment push is through the roof.”

Dean threw an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Right, because one of you being in diapers while the other was learning to drive is the foundation of a stable relationship.”

“Doesn’t seem to be a problem for Cas,” Dean shot back.

Meg pursed her lips, tapping her nails against her cup. “You really think he’s good for you, huh?”

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he kept his grin in place. “I think he wants to be.”

Meg shook her head, looking almost sad for a second before her usual sharpness slid back into place. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”

Before Dean answered, Missouri strolled up, pad in hand. “Y’all gonna order or spend all afternoon flirting over my clean table?”

Charlie immediately perked up. “Do you have apple pancakes?”

Missouri clicked her tongue. “Honey, we always got apple pancakes.”

“Then I’ll take an order. And a milkshake. Strawberry.”

Dagon handed her menu over without looking up. “Burger. Rare.”

Meg smirked. “Make mine a cheeseburger.”

Dean leaned back in his seat. “Bacon cheeseburger. Fries. And a Coke.”

As she walked away, Charlie leaned over to whisper at Dagon, elbows on the table, eyes darting between Meg and Dean. “So. Should we place bets on how long this meal lasts before these two try to kill each other, or…?”

Meg grinned. “Oh, I’d never kill Dean.” She looked him up and down. “At least, not until Cas is done with him.”

Dean smirked, but under the table, his hands curled into fists.

Dagon finally looked up, her narrow eyes assessing him before saying: “I got 20 bucks on the kid after 10… no 5 minutes.”

“Hey!” Meg swats at her, a fond smile on her face Dean doesn’t think he’d ever seen before. It made her almost… pretty.

Once their food came, Dagon finally lightened up enough to tell them about one of her adventures before settling in the city. “So, there I was on the motorcycle in Big Sur on the Coast highway… when this cop pulled me over.”

“Cool…” Charlie said, hearts in her eyes as she stared at the bullest of bull dykes she’d ever imagined. Dean guessed she had already planned their first date, wedding, and honeymoon.

“I mean, I was speeding… Topless.”

“Holy shit,” Dean almost snorted coke out his nose. “Did they give you a ticket?”

“Well, he tried to give me more than that.” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial smirk on her lips, a glint in her eye, the kind you get when you know you have your audience hooked. “He said he was afraid someone would see me and drive off the side of the cliff, and he was going to arrest me. 

Meg rolled her eyes. “So you started flirting with him.”

Dagon ignored Meg. “Okay, long story short, I get him behind a rock, he's got his pants down... 

“Oh my god,” Dean said, mortified.

“Oh my god!” Charlie said, thrilled.

“...and I grab his boots and tear the fսck out of there!” When Dagon laughs, they all do, her smile infectious. And when she looks at Meg, mirth still wide on her lips, Dean feels a little tug of jealousy, the wish that he had someone who looked at him like that. When they kissed, simple and sweet, he had to look away.

While he looked at them, Charlie must have asked him something because a punch in the arm pulled his attention to her. “Seriously, you have to stop doing that!”

“Then listen to me.”

Meg and Dagon are deep in their own conversation, foreheads nearly touching. 

“Fine, what’s up, Charlie?” he dipped what was left of his fries into the ketchup and shoved them in his mouth as he waited for her to talk.

“I was just asking what you were going to do about prom.”

“What about it?” Dean shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on going.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll wear a tux, I’ll get a floofy princess dress, and we’ll have a blast.”

“Wait,” Dean stared down at her, brow furrowed. “Are you asking me to prom?”

“What, were you planning on going with Lisa Braeden?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m gay,” he gestured around the diner and all the rainbow decorations and wall of Drag Queen pageant portraits.

“No shit, I never noticed.” She moved to punch him again, and he darted out of range. “So am I, dumbass. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go.”

“You should take Cas,” Meg said, eyes unexpectedly soft but voice as barbed as ever.

“Like he’d go.” Dean frowned and glared at her, putting ideas like that in his head was just mean. “I’d rather not go than deal with the homophobes anyway.”

“No,” Charlie said, a determined set to her jaw that told Dean he had no hope of winning this argument. “We’re going together. They don’t get to take this away from us. You’re wearing a bow tie and buying me a corsage, and I won’t hear another word about it.” She crossed her arms and was well on her way to a pout before Dean caved.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Yay!” She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed a little too tightly for him to breathe, but tight enough to ease his heart. “Unless you get a better offer.”

“Like I said, Cas won’t go. He wouldn’t go if we were the same age and straight. That’s not who he is.”

Meg looked at him, a frown on her face. “No, it’s not. He didn’t go to ours.” She shrugged, disappointment from over a decade ago still shadowing her gaze.

“Well, we’ll just have to have a dance of our own!” Missouri said as The Hustle began to play over the speakers. 

“Do it!” she sang as she sashayed around the end of the counter, hips first, shoulders hopping.

“Do it!” Rufus joined in, pulling his apron off over his head with flair.

Dean leaned back in the booth, burger half-eaten, watching as Missouri and Rufus took over the linoleum floor between the counter and the tables. And, to his complete and utter shock, they were good.

Like, disturbingly good.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” he muttered, eyes locked on Rufus as the old Queen executed a spin that had no business being that suave. He flicked imaginary hair over his shoulder, took a pose, and snapped with one hand stretched back over his head.

Charlie, seated beside him, grinned like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. “Oh, it’s happening. And it’s magnificent.”

Dean didn’t argue. Missouri and Rufus moved in perfect sync, hands snapping, feet gliding, executing the hustle like they were born for it. Missouri’s smile was wicked as she moved her hips with liquid ease. Rufus looked like he was having the time of his life, and the entire diner was now a riveted audience to a full-blown performance.

“I knew she had rhythm, but where the hell did Rufus learn that?” Dean asked, shaking his head.

Missouri, hearing him, shot him a look mid-spin.

Rufus chuckled, executing a ridiculously smooth side-step. “They didn’t call me Godiva just cause I taste good, I’m smooth in every way. You think this is something? You should’ve seen me in bell-bottoms.”

Dean winced. “I really don’t wanna picture that.”

Meg, across from them, barely looked up from stabbing at her fries. “I thought this place was already cursed, but this is a whole new circle of hell. Uggh— Disco. ”

Charlie clapped as they transitioned into an even faster step, Missouri leading Rufus now. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened in my entire life. I hope they never stop.” She bounced in her seat, and Dean practically felt her wanting to climb over him and join the growing number of customers who had joined in the impromptu dance party.

Meg rolled her eyes. “They’re gonna throw out a hip, and we’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”

Dagon tilted her head in begrudging appreciation. “You gotta admit, the old queen’s got moves.”

A crowd shuffled and slid together through the skinny aisle between the bar and the booths, some dancing with precision and others sliding and rocking through the sea with smiles bright enough to power the city.

Eventually, even Meg and Dagon slid out of their seats and, to Dean’s delight, executed the perfect kick and slide of feet for the dance. Dagon even gave Meg a little spin with a slap on the ass. She threw her head back and laughed, looking freer than Dean had seen before.

“Come on,” Charlie whined, pushing his shoulder until Dean climbed out of his seat, taking her hand and pulling her against him. He didn’t know the dance, but he knew the beat, so they spun and laughed and switched partners until the whole dinner was celebrating together. The song changed again and again, but they all still did The Hustle.

A man Dean had seen before, but didn’t know, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close, talking him through the steps until Dean could glide over the linoleum with the best of them. A stranger became a friend, even if only for a moment, in this family of queer joy.

Missouri and Rufus twirled, snapped, and clapped their way through the music, and Dean hoped he looked half as good as them at the prom.

Chapter Text

Cas

Cas watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean flicked through the radio stations with frustration. He clenched his jaw as the static crackled between bursts of music and talk radio.

“It’s only five more minutes to your school. Leave it alone,” Cas said, his voice flat, controlled.

Dean rolled his eyes but finally flicked it off with a sigh, retreating into his seat. He was growing. Taller, broader in the shoulders, his features sharpening into something more defined, more confident. Cas saw it in the way he carried himself, in the way his presence filled a room without effort. It made Cas... proud.

And screech-halt-blue screen of the brain. Those thoughts led nowhere good. The warmth in his chest came from knowing Dean was thriving, that Cas was providing well. It was a feeling he had no business having.

Attachments like that led nowhere good.

Jimmy and Meg were the only ones he’d ever let in, and even with them, he kept a careful distance. Dean, though—Dean had slipped past his defenses so easily, burrowing under Cas's skin without permission.

Fuck.

Cas grabbed his cardboard cup and took a gulp of scalding liquid. Fuck, is it possible to burn your uvula? Cas winced, and Dean chuckled.

“You drink too much coffee.”

“This isn't coffee. It's a latte.” He forced himself to take another sip before setting it back into the cupholder. The car barreled into Dean’s suburban neighborhood, speeding toward the school.

“Coffee that costs five bucks.” Dean shrugged– smut little shit. 

Cas smirked. He knew this game. He turned his head, letting his smile sneak out from under the lock and key where he kept it. Dean was funny. He lit up when they bantered, a purity in his enjoyment of play. He was the same way when they fucked.

“Whatever you wanna call it, it still causes high blood pressure, heart attack, poor sexual performance.” Dean leaned into his space, close enough that Cas felt the warmth of him, smelled the ridiculous mix of expensive products he’d stolen from Cas's bathroom, mingled with something distinctly, undeniably Dean. It was sweet and sharp and something Cas wanted to sink his teeth into, something he wanted to hold on his tongue and swallow down until it became part of him.

His grip tightened on the wheel.

“Haven’t had any complaints,” he shot back, smirking despite himself.

Dean laughed, bright and unguarded, releasing the moment like an untamed tiger. “Not to mention insomnia.”

“Well, usually when I'm in my bed, I'm not asleep anyway, so it really doesn't matter.”

Dean snorted, rolling his head against the headrest to stare at Cas, his eyes burrowing into his cheek, his smile infecting his mind. “See, fortunately, I have youth on my side. I can stay up all night fսcking and still score fifteen hundred on my SATs.”

Cas turned to him so fast he nearly yanked the car off the road. “Fifteen hundred?” 

Dean laughed, eyes sparkling at Cas's reaction. “Yep. Now, eyes back on the road.”

Cas shook his head. “Holy shit, you could get into any school you wanted with a score like that.” It was impressive. Cas didn’t remember his SAT score but was sure it wasn’t that high.

Dean shrugged, stretching lazily in his seat. “I applied to Dartmouth, Brown…” He started listing them off, talking with his hands, oblivious to the way each word made Cas's stomach twist tighter and tighter.

Cas’s fingers clenched around the wheel for a whole new reason. The idea had never even occurred to him that Dean might leave, that there would be a time when he wasn’t there every morning, annoying him, stealing his eggrolls right off his plate, or holding his hand when he thought Cas was too distracted to care…

“You're going out of state?” he blurted before he clamped down on the words.

Dean turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Why? Do you give a shit?” He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“I… It's just the first I've heard of it, that's all.” He tried to shrug it off.

Dean, perceptive little twat that he was, gasped theatrically. “You do. You give a shit! You give a shit!”

Cas pulled up in front of the school, right at the main entrance like he had after their first night together, and made a show of unlocking the doors. 

The thing was, Dean could get into any of those schools even without that SAT score. He was smart and talented and fully capable of charming the pants off any interviewer. So why wouldn’t he leave?

And Cas had no right to feel anything about that. It would be a relief to be rid of him. Even the voice in his head sounded like a liar.

Deam beamed, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to go inside, and sing-songed in the most infuriatingly immature voice imaginable. “You so care about me! You love me so much!”

Cas growled. “Get out!”

Dean kept laughing as he opened the door and leaned back for one final kiss, and whispered, “Cas Novak gives a shit about me.”

“Fսck you,” Cas chuckled as he pushed Dean’s face away with his hand.

Dean walked away, shoulders back, steps light, like he carried some secret victory. Cas watched him hug Charlie hello and disappear into the building.

The words rang in his head. Cas Novak gives a shit. No. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

By the time he arrived at the office, Cas had pushed Dean into the back of his mind, and any of those uncomfortable ‘emotion’ things Jimmy kept telling him to grow were stamped out like the embers of a campfire.

“Morning, Clarence,” Meg drawled from behind her desk before standing and following him into his office.

Cas slung his coat onto the back of a chair and shot her a grin. “Good morning, my dearest, most loyal Margaret. How lucky you are to bask in my presence yet another day.”

She snorted. “Yeah, I’m truly blessed. So blessed, in fact, I considered calling in sick to escape the blinding light of your self-importance.”

Cas waved a dismissive hand. “You’d be lost without me.”

“Well, yes, but mostly I’d be broke and unemployed. What I could do with is to not have to explain to HR why my boss keeps calling the clients ‘morons with credit cards.’”

Cas flopped into his chair and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “First of all, I stand by that. Second, if the company didn’t want honesty, they shouldn’t have hired me.”

Meg tossed a folder onto his desk. “Speaking of clients, you’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes with the Shurley account. Try to at least pretend you respect them.”

Cas flipped open the folder and groaned. “Shurley? Jesus. If I have to listen to that sentient corpse drone on about ‘brand synergy’ one more time, I’m going to drink my own piss. Now, go fetch me something highly caffeinated and overpriced. I have mediocrity to tolerate.”

Meg smirked. “I hope they mess up your order.” She flipped him off over her shoulder as she walked out. Hiring his closest and oldest friend had been a mixed bag, mostly worth it, but sometimes…

By the time the office emptied out that night, Cas was more than ready to ditch the suit and wash away the day with something stronger than caffeine. 

He called Meg even though they’d talked only five minutes ago.

“Why can’t I get away from you?”

He laughed. “Meet me at Chuck’s in 30. I need a drink after today.”

“Cas…”

“Be there or I’m drinking on your tab.”

”Fine, asshole. First round’s on you.”

Cas smirked and shoved his phone into his pocket as he stepped outside. The city air was thick with the smell of exhaust fumes, and the evening sky was hazy from light pollution, but he loved the city. There was always something going on, and always enough people to disappear into it. 

He slid into his Audi and sped home to the loft for a quick shower and to change into the kind of clothes that made him King of the club scene. His hair was a mess, encouraged with a bit of mouse, and his stubble was the perfect length. A drink, some banter, and a hot trick were waiting for him at Chuck’s. Dean wasn’t sticking around. No reason not to find something hot and delicious to sink into.

Ten minutes later, he pushed through the bar’s heavy wooden door, eyes already scanning for Meg. She was at the bar, two glasses already waiting for him.

“Wow, look at you,” Cas said, sliding into the seat across from her. “You do have a heart.”

Meg smirked, lifting her drink. “Oh, no. I just wanted you to be in my debt. That and your credit card’s on file, so I started you a tab.”

Soon, Gabriel joined them, and Zar just popped up as if he’d been there all along, babbling away. He was the golden pony, the rainbow unicorn, the nelly bottom every good group of fags needed.

“I really think that the former Mrs. Bono’s best role was Moonstruck , but one can’t forget her shining performance in Mermaids ,” Zar said as he sipped at his cosmopolitan.

“Can we please have one conversation that isn’t about Barbara or Cher?” Cas groaned, hanging his head.

Zar gasped and put his hands over Gabriel’s ears. “What kind of homosexual are you?”

“The kind that fucks men,” Cas replied with an eye roll.

“Aw fuck, the winner of the Miss. Junior Pageant is here,” Meg grumbled, finishing off her second whiskey without so much as a wince.

“Hey,” Dean slid in next to Cas, standing close enough that their skin touched, the slide of Dean’s flesh soft and familiar. He was close enough that Cas leaned into it without thinking.

“Hey. Isn't it a school night? Shouldn't you be studying?”

Dean huffed and took Cas's drink right out of his hand, normally a beheading offense, and took a swig before handing it back. “I got suspended.”

“You?” Gabe asked, mouth slack, strawberry candy threatening to fall right out of his mouth.

“For two days. This kid was getting bashed, and my homophobic teacher wouldn't do anything about it. So I made them stop and told the teacher to fսck off.”

Wide, surprised eyes looked at Dean, but Cas wasn’t surprised. Dean was stronger than people realized.

“Go to the head of the class.” He wrapped an arm around Dean, tugging him close enough to feel the tips of dirty blonde hair against his cheek.

“It’s this guy Lee Webb. He’s always awful to me, but whatever, and today, he turned on Garth. No idea if he’s actually gay, but he’s a freshman and super skinny and awkward, and it’s not right, you know? Like, no one should be called a faggot, but I can at least fight back, Garth’s just a kid.” 

Dean looked around, eyes pleading, like he thought someone was going to give him a hard time, but they’d all been there. They all knew exactly what it was like to be that kid.

“I can't believe you did that.” Gabe smiled fondly.

“You go, baby.” Balthazar kissed him on the side of the head.

“I probably shouldn’t have done anything. He’s just gonna get it worse now.” Dean slumped.

Cas shook his head, pulling Dean’s attention. “Stop blaming yourself. It's boring. And you don't deserve it. It might have gotten worse whether you said something or not. You can’t know that. What Garth knows is that someone stood up for him. That’s all you can do.”

Zar sighed, faux wistfully, as he picked up his monstrosity of a drink again. “Ahh, high school bullying. That brings back memories. Getting the shit kicked out of you on the playground.”

Gabe hummed. “Having lit matches thrown at you in the locker room. Good times.”

“Yeah.” Balthazar brought his drink up to tap the top of Gabe’s before taking a sip.

“I don't suppose anything like that ever happened to you?” Gabriel asked, pointing to Cas with the top of his beer bottle.

“Mm.” Cas made a show of thinking about it. “Well, once this straight football jock picked me up and dumped my head in the toilet.”

They all looked at him like he’d suggested disemboweling a howler monkey after this round.

“What did you do?” Dean leaned in, close enough to kiss. His eyes were wide like someone had told him Santa Claus wasn’t real, and when you clap for Tinkerbell, she comes back as a zombie.

“I followed him to his locker. It was open. His hand was up, kind of like this,” he holds his hand out and mimics it. “He was laughing with some of his jock friends, so I slammed the door so hard it broke three of his fingers.”

Balthazar and Gabe groaned. Meg pulled her hand closer to her chest with a grimace.

Cas smirked and bowed his head. “And that was the end of the season for him.”

After another round of drinks (or two, if you’re Dean and trying to catch up), the boys decided to head for Eden.

“Ugh, fine, I guess I’ll go home. It’s no fun there,” Meg complained, slipping her leather jacket back on.

“Thought you liked watching us dance.” Gabe hip-checked her with a smile.

Zar ran the back of one hand over Meg’s cheek, smiling as he said, “Even a fag hag has to retire eventually.”

Meg shoved him away with a growl and flipped her hair in his face before walking away.

“Sulking gives you jowls,” Cas called after her, and before he noticed, she whipped around and had his balls in a vice grip. “Fuck, Meg!”

Her hand twisted as she glared at him.

Cas cried out, bending over until she released him with a shove. “Just remember, this was me taking it easy on you. Next time, I take the whole sack.”

“And I thought Zar was dramatic,” Gabe chuckled. Everyone but Cas laughed, he was too busy using the bar to stay upright and moaning.

“Come on, old man, you’ll feel better when you can grope sweaty men to the deep base of Abba.” Zar wrapped an arm around Cas's waist and pulled his arm over his shoulder to support Cas's weight.

“Shut up, I’m not even 30 yet.”

“But you will be!” Dean sang before dancing away toward the door.

Outside, the spring air is comfortable as they walk a few blocks toward Eden. Cas is even able to stand mostly upright and on his own two feet. Queens, twinks, bears, and squares were all out in force. The new dyke bar on the corner, ‘Puss ‘n Boots’, was full with some Patti Smith/Joan Jett shit playing out into the night. It wasn’t Cas's thing, but better a lesbian bar than a straight one.

“So, do you think you’ll lose ‘em?” Balthazar asked, tapping Cas's crotch with two fingers.

“Fսck!” Cas groaned, back to limping.

“What happened? Did he hurt your balls?” Dean pouted, and Cas wanted to punch him and bite that lower lip at the same time.

“No. Your face.”

“Ahh,” Dean chuckled, picking up the pace. “It’s wit like that that keeps reminding me you're 11 years older than me.”

“Hey!”

Gabriel leaned in, smile wide on his mischievous face. “I can’t believe Zar and I are the only single ones left.”

Cas whipped his head to the side. “What do you think I am?”

Just then, Dean whipped around and wrapped both arms around Cas's neck, pressing their chests together as he slid up to kiss him as he walked backward. “Think your balls will be better in time to fuck me tonight?”

Gabe laughed, and Cas shoved him into the street before kissing Dean, sliding a hand up the back of his shirt to feel the soft, smooth skin. He hummed, tasting the quick flick of Dean’s tongue before pulling away. Now that Dean had joined them, a twink to fuck no longer sounded like such a good idea.

“I hate it when couples make out in front of you,” Gabe whined as they got close enough to hear the opening notes of Chiquita .

Inside, the bass thrummed through Cas’s chest as he moved to the music. Dean was grinning like an idiot, his body fluid and loose as he danced beside him, their hands brushing now and then. It wasn’t intentional. It was just... a coincidence. 

Zar spun dramatically before shimmying up to a stranger and winking. “See something you like?” he called over the music. The guy, startled but grinning, was about to answer when Zar twirled away without waiting for a response. “Too bad! I’m a comet, love—brief but spectacular.” 

Gabe bounced to the beat, finger-gunning random people and wiggling his eyebrows. “This place is like Willy Wonka’s factory, but instead of chocolate, it’s hot men everywhere. I don’t know where to start.”

Cas huffed, rolling his eyes, though he was smiling. “Your height might be a limiting factor.”

Gabe gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Et tu, Cas?” He spun to Balthazar. “Do you hear this slander? This discrimination ?”

Dean, meanwhile, had moved closer, his body heat noticeable even in the press of bodies. He leaned in, voice barely loud enough to reach Cas’s ear. “You’re dancing with me.”

“I am dancing near you.” Cas scoffed

Zar twirled again, raising his arms like a southern preacher mid-sermon. 

Cas smiled despite himself and kept dancing.

That night, they danced together, all four of them laughing into the multi-colored lights flashing down on them from overhead. They drank and gossiped and held each other tight because life was short, and they were gay men in a dangerous world.

When Cas pressed Dean up against the door inside his loft, both of them sweaty and a little drunk, he relished in the pliant body beneath him. Dean’s hands ran up and down over his sides, lazy entitled touches that made Cas's breath catch. His whole body lit up with fireworks as Dean pressed teasing kisses to his neck.

“Come on, Cas…” Dean pleaded, gripping his shoulders as he licked up Cas's neck before sucking on his earlobe.

Cas trembled, shoving a thigh between Dean’s legs to find him already hard.

“What have you done to me?” Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s, words almost unrecognizable. Dean tasted like beer and the brightness of life and Cas wanted to suck the very soul out of him, breathe it in like he was gulping from a fresh stream, and give his own in return.

He slid his hands up under Dean’s shirt, feeling the muscles over his ribs. Dean had added muscle and hardened. With one hand, he plucked a nipple with his fingers while the other reached down to gather a handful of Dean’s strong ass, pulling him tighter still. Dean gasped, rocking his hips up against Cas's stomach until they were both panting into the other’s neck.

“Please…” Dean whimpered, voice cracking as he pitched it higher in need.

“So beautiful when you beg.” Cas stopped moving and pulled his hand out from under Dean’s shirt. He traced Dean’s eyebrow with his fingers, then ran them back through the longish strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ear. “Always so beautiful.”

Cas leaned in for another kiss, licking Dean’s lips. Their tongues slid together, and the velvety texture of Dean’s mouth had Cas's mind spinning. They kissed until the night outside disappeared, until the stars fell from the sky, and still, Cas wanted more.

When Cas dragged his lips away, Dean followed him with eyes shut, seeking the heat of their connection. “Shhh,” Cas soothed, both hands on Dean’s hips, squeezing tight enough to feel his hip bones beneath his jeans.

Cas dropped to his knees with ease, eyes locked on Dean’s flushed cheeks. He unblocked Dean’s belt, and green eyes flickered open before shooting down to look at Cas. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done this before. Cas had taken Dean apart with his mouth— watching the boy writhe from nothing but his mouth was an addictive high— but he never lowered himself to his knees. Not for Dean. Not for anyone.

And yet, here he was, panting, mouth watering for the taste of Dean’s cock. He knelt before the only person he’d ever truly believed saw him and wanted the real him. Everyone wanted something. Dean just wanted him.

It was a raw hunger. The need to take Dean into his mouth, to cradle him safely in his mouth, to bring him to the heights of pleasure they found together but reinvented every time. 

Cas shoved Dean’s pants and boxers to the floor, helping him kick them off his feet before wrapping one hand around his cock, the other splayed over Dean’s stomach, pressing him back against the door.

A gentle lick was all it took for Dean to cry out, hands fisted at his side, eyes squeezed closed.

“Look at me,” Cas growled, barely holding himself back. He wanted Dean’s eyes locked on his as he swallowed him down.

The light of adoration and awe that shone in Dean’s gaze when they locked eyes knocked the wind out of Cas. Dean loved him. He knew the truth of it deep in his bones. There was another truth slithering alongside it, one that Cas didn’t dare look directly at, but he knew it was there all the same. All he could do was show this boy how much he meant to him.

He leaned forward, slowly sliding Dean’s cock into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the underside, allowing the slightest scrape of teeth to set Dean’ skin on fire. Slowly, he moved, lazily pulling back and swallowing around Dean’s sensitive head before gliding forward, deeper each time.

Dean groaned and shook as Cas slowly took him apart, wet and with the dedication of a priest in worship. When he had Dean’s cock deep in his throat, he swallowed, constricting his cock, again and again until he needed to breathe.

Dean’s hands twitched, and when Cas looked up, his eyes were still locked on Cas's face, zeroing in on his lips wrapped around him. With a deep breath, Cas pulled back, almost off the beautiful dick between his lips, and reached for Dean’s hand. He placed it in his hair, blinking his permission and sucking hard as he slammed his face forward until he reached the soft curls at the base of Dean’s cock.

He gasped and tightened his hold on Cas's hair, pulling hard as his hips struggled not to move. Cas chuckled, swallowing and nibbling around the tip, looking up with approval in his eyes.

That was all it took before Dean moaned and released all the constraints he’d placed on himself. Cas had never given Dean the reins like this before, but the kid was born for it. Born to fuck and take and consume. He radiated heat and power that made Cas's cock throb in his jeans as he relaxed his throat and held on for the ride. Maybe one of these days he’d let Dean fuck him.

Dean shoved his cock into Cas's face hard, hands jerking him where he wanted, making the roots of Cas’s hair scream with fire. He slammed his hips forward with no regard for Cas's throat or gag reflex, leaving him with drool running from his mouth and tears stinging his eyes. Still, Dean took and took and took.

Tears blurred Cas's vision, but through the watery haze, what he saw was exquisite. Dean’s mouth hung open, and he looked down at Cas like he was something holy, a vision of perfection. But looking up, Cas's view was better. Green eyes turned black as his slackened mouth tightened, face contorted in something that almost looked like pain.

Dean came with a roar, come bursting from him and filling Cas's mouth in an explosion. Warm, smooth come eased the burn in Cas's throat as he swallowed and swallowed, keeping the last spurt in his mouth.

Cas pulled off Dean’s cock and stood up, not bothering to set either of them right. He opened his mouth to show him the come still on his tongue, and Dean gasped, hands holding tight to either side of Cas's neck as he pulled Cas in for a dirty, sloppy kiss, passing Dean’s come between them until they’d shared and swallowed every last drop.

When Cas finally pulled away, he leaned his head against Dean’s as they both panted. Eventually, Dean’s breathing evened out, and he lifted his face to stare at Cas with the intensity of someone who knows a deeper truth. “Yeah, okay,” he said, a small sweet smile on his face.

“Okay,” Cas breathed, heart stuttering. Dean’s eyelashes glowed golden, and his hair had fallen into his eyes. He was stunning as he led Cas through the loft and over to the bed. He slowly undressed them both, his movements comfortable, like he belonged there in Cas's loft. In their bed.

Silence filled the air around them. Instead of the usual rutting of bodies, something ephemeral floated around them, slowing time. Cas fought it, fought naming it, fought feeling it, but when he slipped inside Dean’s body, green eyes looking up at him with such trust, his eyes watered, his hips stilled, and his lips itched with needing to kiss him.

“I knew you were in there,” Dean whispered. He saved Cas from having to speak by pulling him down in a warm, light kiss.

As Cas moved, Dean tilted his hips up, pulling his knees to his chest. He matched each of Cas's strokes with a squeeze and lift. It was slow, sensuous. Cas lowered his weight and buried his face in Dean’s neck, pulling their bodies as close together as possible, knitting their flesh together as one.

Dean’s soft moans vibrated against Cas's ear, the sound was free, unencumbered by Cas's conflicted mind, and he leaned back to steal it with a kiss. Heat surrounded him, drawing him deeper and deeper into Dean’s body, throbbing around him in tight squeezes. He was submerged, lost as he abandoned his control and gave Dean every stroke of his tongue, every rock of his hips, every desperate cry as they sank into oblivion. He was mesmerized by Dean’s eyes. The narrow ring of green highlighted the depths of Dean’s desire. His blown pupils filled the room and wrapped around Cas, offering permission to let go. 

He angled his hips, thrusting wildly into the responsive body beneath him. With each slide against his prostate, Dean cried out, head tilted back with wild abandon. Little whimpers and whines and cries of oh, oh, oh, oh, filled the loft, drifted down the streets, singing in the early morning light.

Dean went to reach between them, but Cas grabbed his wrist and pressed it into the mattress with a tight grip. “Come with me,” he tried to whisper, but it came out more of a gravelly moan. Sweat made his hand on Dean slick, but he didn’t try to pull away. Instead, his face gave him a soft look as he nodded and wrapped his bow legs around Cas's waist, forcing Cas even deeper.

“Fuck, Dean…” he moaned, arching his back and pulling away from sweat-damp skin to tilt his pelvis forward. With his eyes closed, head tipped back in ecstasy, Cas came deep inside Dean, a nose dive under the surface, braving the waves. He filled the condom as his body fell into convulsions of unexpected pleasure.

When he looked down, Dean had come as well, his head on the pillow like a Da Vinci painting, soft and magical. He gazed out this window, a wistful look on his face.

Cas pulled out and eased down next to Dean, who still hadn’t looked at him.

“You alright?”

Dean nodded and turned toward him, a distance between them Cas had forgotten he’d ever insisted on as they made love. He jolted a little inside, made love, not fucked. When had that happened?

“Yeah, I just… Sometimes it's easy to forget this isn’t real. That you don’t want what I want.” He smiled, sad and sweet. 

Cas wanted to reassure him, to tell him he’d never felt this way before, he’d never been wanted or accepted like this before, that he delighted in how smart and talented Dean was, and that it was the joy of his life that he could be the one to make such a wonder laugh and light up when they were together.

When he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

Dean smiled through a frown, an impossible feat, but like so much, Dean managed to overcome impossible odds. “It’s okay, Cas. I still love you.” Dean turned toward him and cupped his cheek, running a thumb over his stubble. It was so openly and unabashedly affectionate.

“My name isn’t Cas Novak,” he blurted. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but he wanted… he needed to give Dean something, try to show him…

“What?” Dean’s nose scrunched up, and his pink cheeks started to fade, so his freckles contrasted his pale skin.

Cas took a deep breath. “My name. No one knows it except Meg. Do you remember what she calls me when she’s mad?”

“Puppy Fucker? Ass Face? Faggot?” Dean’s smile had turned mischievous, and it loosened the tightness in Cas's chest that had developed at the sight of Dean’s melancholy.

“Castiel. That’s my real name. Castiel Mikhailovich Krushnic.”

“I don’t understand.” Dean’s expression was open, and his hand had started stroking Cas's neck and shoulder, down the line to his elbow. It was soothing and comfortable.

“I don’t let anyone in enough to even think there’s more to me than Cas Novak. He’s hard and sharp, and there’s very little he won’t say or do because he doesn’t care about anyone. I changed my last name legally— too obviously Russian for my job. Too foreign.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know… Because Cas Novak isn’t me, not really. You’ve somehow always seen that. I can’t give you what you want, but I can be honest.” He stroked Dean’s youthful, still-smooth face.

“You’re always honest. You say exactly what you mean all the time. It can be pretty brutal, but it’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Cas gave a sideways smile and pulled Dean’s other hand to his cheek. “I am honest, except in all the ways that actually matter.” He pulled Dean close and kissed him on his forehead.

“Say it again,” Dean snuggled into Cas's chest, arm wrapped around his middle, while Cas played with his hair.

“Castiel Mikhailovich, and you were right. I’ll miss you when you leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Cas’s head whipped around, and his breath hitched as his heart rate leapt. Joy and horror mixed all up together until he didn’t know what to feel. “You have to go to college. You’re too smart to—”

Dean chuckled, his laugh growing as he looked into Cas's indignant expression. He rolled them over so he was straddling Cas, pressing kisses to his face as he spoke. “I’m going to the Institute for Art here in the city. They have a business minor, too. I’m still going to college, I’m just not leaving.”

“Oh…” Cas blinked.

“So I’m not going anywhere.” Dean leaned down, kissing Cas deeply, breathing him in with every gasp, licking away his worry and fear. Dean kissed him like he was the one teaching Cas.

“Okay…” Cas exhaled when Dean tipped his forehead down to touch Cas's. “If I’d known that, I never would have told you my name,” Cas grumbled, pushing Dean off him, gathering him tight against his side before rolling on top of him and kissing him until Dean’s giggles petered out. They lay in silence, and darkness crept into Cas's periphery as Dean’s heat wrapped around him.

“Thank you, Cas. I love you.” Dean whispered, and Cas pretended to already be asleep.

Chapter Text

CW - Physically violent gay bashing

Dean

Charlie’s significant bullying had been successful. Against his better judgment, he stood at the bottom of the stairs in her parents’ house, his mother sniffing back tears, wearing a tuxedo of all things, as she sashayed down the stairs. Balthazar must have given her lessons. She’d never been that smooth in heels before.

“Celeste!” her mother sobbed, sweeping her up into a suffocating hug when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay, okay.” Charlie pushed her away with a grin that betrayed her absolute joy over the attention. “You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

A statement that only resulted in a tighter hug and more tears.

Eventually, Mrs. Bradberry released Charlie so they could take some pictures. Really, if Dean was interested in anything Charlie had and vice versa, they’d be a handsome couple. And by handsome, he meant super hot, not the dowdy old lady version of the word.

Charlie had on a deep red dress, which you wouldn’t think worked with her pale skin and ginger hair but totally did. It had a lace overlay in the same color and a billowing skirt that gave it this otherworldly appearance. She had her hair swept up and dramatic makeup that fit her, and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“When did you get, like, sexy and shit?” He whispered as he swung an arm over her shoulders to pose for their parents.

“Meg taught me.”

Dean peered down at her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, she offered.”

“Is there arsenic in the eyeshadow?” he scowled, only sorta joking.

Charlie rolled her eyes and leaned into his side, setting off another wave of tears from her mom.

They took pictures together.

And alone.

And with their mothers.

Then, using the timer, all four of them together.

Mrs. Bradberry started talking about another round of couple photos, so Dean rushed into action, saying, “We really should be going, don’t want to be late, you know, big dances like this, early is fashionable, and we don’t want Charlie to turn into a pumpkin before we have a chance to do the big spotlight waltz and dip.”

He grabbed Charlie’s hand and rushed out, making sure she grabbed her keys on the way, but his mom called after him.

“Just one more thing before you go. Here,” she slipped the keys of the Impala into his hands. “You should take this tonight. And when you graduate, she’ll be yours.”

“Mom?”

“You have always loved her.”

Tears pricked in his eyes as he clutched the keys tight. “What about Dad?”

“He owes you at least this much.” Her face shut down, cold sorrow spreading across her features. “I was going to wait to tell you, but I’m leaving him. I can’t be with someone who would hurt you like this, and I won’t allow him to be what Sam grows up thinking a man should be. When I have everything sorted out, you can come home to live or visit, whatever you want. And bring Cas. If you’re going to be with him, I want to know him better.”

“Mom…” Now, Dean was the one on the verge of breaking down. Mrs. Bradberry had nothing on his bursting heart. 

“I love you, baby. Now you go have fun and stop crying. You’re gonna end up with a red nose and swollen eyes for all your pictures.” She laughed and wiped his tears away with her thumbs. “You deserve only the best. I’ll try to be my best for you from now on, I promise.”

He pulled her into a hug, realizing that at some point in the last few months, she’d gotten smaller, or he’d gotten bigger. He could wrap his arms all the way around her and probably pick her up, but despite that, he felt safer in her arms than he had in a long time, since before he met Cas, since before he even understood how he was different.

“Thanks, Mom.” he sniffed into her hair and blinked his tears back. “Charlie!” He yelled, holding the keys up and shaking them. “I’m takin’ you out in style!”

They drove downtown to the conference center where the prom was being held and parked in the parking garage. Not exactly luxury but at least it was free with the ticket. Dean helped Charlie smooth her dress back down after she managed to get the skirt stuck over her head as she clambered out of the passenger seat.

“How are you so elegant and so ridiculous at the same time?” he laughed.

“I don’t know, how are you such a fine strapping young man and still such a… what would Zar say?... a nelly bottom?”

“You don’t know—” Dean bit his words off at the incredulous look on Charlie’s face. “I mean, I might also—”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and Dean’s cheeks burnt with heat. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Charlie closed her door smugly and swooped her skirt up to make her way to the elevator. “No sex shaming here.”

Dean rushed to catch up and offered her his arm. “Charlie, you’re the best, you know that, right? If I had any interest in girls, I’d totally be into inserting my penis in your vaginal cavity.”

She fell out, remaining standing only due to Dean’s hold on her. As she wobbled back up, her glittery eyeshadow not nearly as bright as the joy in her eyes. “You are ridiculous and disgusting. I’d rather watch straight porn than ever hear you talk about PIV sex again.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator binged when they got to the main floor, where massive chandeliers hung down in the lobby. The walls soared, soft gold and cream, trimmed in elaborate molding and inlays, with deep red carpet. It all made Dean want to check to make sure he’d scrubbed under his fingernails.

Everything smelled like perfume and hairspray and nerves. Everyone was on their best behavior so far. He knew that wouldn’t last. Soon, the heels would come off, and the drinks would be spiked. It was like a coming of age, a rite of passage. But for now, anxiety ruled. He heard someone fussing about a boutonnière already falling off.

Charlie tugged on his arm, practically vibrating beside him. She looked thrilled. She may not be a girlie girl in the traditional sense, but she had a hefty dose of whimsy, and if there was an animal equivalent to her, it would be a peacock. Beautiful, colorful, and explosive in presentation and fury. Charlie was a scrapper.

The main room was like a movie scene. Light spilled from a crystal chandelier, scattering tiny stars across the floor. A live band played near the far wall, too smooth and jazzy for the grinding chaos he expected from school dances, and round tables skirted the edges of the dance floor, all dressed in white linen.

“Look, Kevin finally got the balls to ask Channing!” Charlie hissed against Dean’s shoulder, clearly trying not to point.

“Good for him. Maybe she can chill him out.”

“Are you kidding? They’re one and two for valedictorian. If anything, they’re going to create an ever-building spiral of stress. But everybody deserves to get laid at prom.” She shrugged.

“Except us.”

“Yeah, except us.”

The band eventually stepped it up and started playing some more modern and classic rock songs, and everyone was dancing. It was strange the way events like this brought people together— they weren’t friends, they wouldn’t be friends tomorrow, but right now, they danced and laughed and celebrated. A cluster of teens all stretching toward graduation and their own lives, discarded their stress and fear and just danced.

Dean was out of breath as he and Charlie made their way out of the crowd.

“Did you see Dorothy Baum?” Charlie pushed back a tendril of hair that had fallen loose, only for it to fall right back down.

“I did. She’s looking pretty dapper in that three-piece suit,” Dean smirked.

He expected a deflection or some hope that her crush on the tall, curvy brunette had some chance of being reciprocated, but instead, her eyes got huge.

“Holy. Shit.”

Dean turned to look over his shoulder and lost his breath. Blue eyes flashed, slicing through the crowd as Cas strode toward him, a smirk on his face. His hair was parted on the side like he’d tried to style it, but the waves were already popping loose, giving him the appearance of barely contained passion.

Cas had dressed for this. It was Saturday night, and he had forgone the clubs and his tight jeans to wear on a black suit that fit him like perfection, with a black buttoned shirt with the top button undone and a black vest. A white scarf was draped around his neck, and it hung loosely down his chest. The contrast was breathtaking. On anyone else, it would be too much, but on Cas, it struck a GQ chord. Someone had sewn him directly into it, and Dean would be happy to be the one to rip it off. 

The combined effect made his eyes nearly glow, the color shining from across the room. 

Dean’s world filled with the man stalking toward him. Charlie’s hand on his arm barely registered, like he had on a puffy snow jacket, the touch was muffled and insignificant. All he saw was Cas. And when he got closer, the smell of his skin and expensive cologne nearly had him drooling.

Cas. In the ballroom. At prom.

“You actually came.” He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare at Cas as a smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. How long had he been planning this? No way Charlie knew. She would never be able to keep from spilling the beans.

Cas shrugged and gave him that almost smile, the one he never admitted was for Dean and Dean alone. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just a dance.”

“I thought you said you wouldn't be caught dead in a room full of eighteen-year-olds.” Dean teased, trying to find his footing. 

“I thought I'd recapture my lost youth.” He stepped back, a full smile blooming on his face. “You look hot, Charlie. I'd fuck you.”

Charlie giggled— Giggled!— and shuffled her feet with a blush. “Uh ... you too, Cas.”

He pressed his fingertips to her arm and, with his smoothest voice, asked, “Mind if I borrow your date?”

“Yeah… I mean, no! Go ahead. Borrow him. No return necessary. I’m going to go talk to Dorothy.” She turned her back on Cas and mouthed Oh My God! before disappearing.

And now… Cas was holding out a hand.

Dean stared at it, heart pounding so loud it overpowered the music, everything faded away except that palm waiting for his. His fingers moved before he could stop them, reaching, sliding into Cas’s grip.

“You’re really here,” Dean said, his voice small, rough around the edges with disbelief.

“I’m here,” Cas replied simply like that explained everything. Maybe it did.

They stepped onto the floor. Around them, heads turned, conversations halted, eyes tracked them like they were snipers, waiting for their shot. Someone whispered ‘fucking faggots’ too loudly. Dean felt the heat of it, the stares, the disapproval curling through the room like smoke—but then Cas’s hand settled at his waist, firm, grounding, real.

“I don’t care,” Cas murmured, barely audible over the music. “Let them look. You’re fucking gorgeous. They all wish they were me.”

“I think you have that backward.” Dean swallowed hard and let himself be pulled closer. One hand in Cas’s, the other resting against his shoulder, heart pounding like it might break out of his chest. He tried to focus on the song, but it was impossible with Cas this close, with the sharp press of his jaw, the clean scent of his cologne, the weight of his presence, finally here .

“You’re really bad at slow dancing,” Dean whispered, trying to smile even as emotion clutched at his throat.

“I don’t dance,” Cas said, dry as ever. “Except apparently, I do. For you.”

Dean looked up and caught the soft flicker in Cas’s eyes. There was no smirk, no armor, just the quiet vulnerability Cas fought so hard to keep hidden, a knife filed down, the blade dull. Dean leaned in slightly, letting his forehead rest against Cas’s temple.

The room spun slower now, the buzz of whispers fading to a distant hum. One guy sneered and muttered something under his breath. But none of it mattered. The space between them melted into something soft and real. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and let himself feel it.

When the song ended, neither of them moved. 

“Happy prom,” Cas said softly.

Dean smiled. “Best one I’ll ever have.”

Cas held Dean’s hand a second longer than he needed to—long enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go unless Dean asked him to. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when every part of him was still humming from the moment they’d had, a moment that felt like it cracked open the world a little.

They stepped off the dance floor slowly, like they were walking through molasses, and Dean felt the shift in the room behind them. The way the energy bent around them, tense and watching, like a pressure drop before a storm. He heard someone snort from a nearby table, heard a muttered, “Unbelievable,” like it was meant to sting.

Charlie came barreling toward them, grinning like she'd won a bet with God. “Okay, that was legendary,” she said, eyes wide. “People are going to talk about that for the next ten years.”

“They already are,” Dean said with a dry laugh, shifting a little closer to Cas, still not quite believing any of this was real. “I think half the room’s about to combust.”

“Let them.” Charlie winked.

Cas's fingers curled more tightly around Dean’s. 

“Wanna go home?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean nodded. The inside of the ballroom was suddenly too much—too loud, too hot, too crowded with opinions.

“Charlie—”

She waved him off with a smile. “I’ll get a ride. Kevin, Dorothy, and Ash are all here. Ash said something about going bowling in our prom clothes after this. Don’t worry about me.”

They slipped out to the lobby, still dancing, humming music to themselves. Cas's smile was one Dean hadn’t seen before, free and playful. He spun Dean as they walked toward the elevators. 

They kissed as they rode down, Dean’s hands wrapped up in Cas's scarf, pulling him in as they both smiled and laughed. The kisses were uncoordinated and sloppy, making them smile all the more.

Their hands stayed linked like they did it all the time, and not like Dean’s mind was blown by that simple show of affection as they danced through the concrete hush of the parking garage. Dean's bowtie was undone and hanging loose around his neck, and he was still grinning like an idiot because Cas made him feel like an idiot. Ready to jump off buildings or fight hellhounds barehanded. He felt like nothing could stop him when Cas looked at him like that.

“Did you see their faces?” Dean laughed, glancing up at him with a sparkle in his eyes.

Cas smirked, that low, crooked arrogant smile that made Dean's stomach flip. “Yeah. We gave them a prom they’ll never forget.” He held up his hand for Dean to twirl. They laughed as he tumbled into Cas's arms.

“Me neither,” he said, quieter now. “This is the best night of my life.”

“Even if it was ridiculously romantic…” Cas murmured, a hint of a tease in his voice, but the warmth was unmistakable, his smile spread like the sun cresting over the horizon.

Dean’s grin widened, breath catching a little, and he squeezed Cas’s hand as they came to a stop beside Cas's sleek black car. 

Cas turned toward him. A pause. That lingering look, like a fuse burning down.

“See you soon,” he said softly.

Dean nodded. His voice was barely above a whisper when he replied. “Yeah.” Dean smiled, slow and full. He tilted his head, inviting another kiss.

Then Cas leaned in, and their mouths met—gentle, steady, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. They were the only ones there in the quiet, under the flickering lights and cool night air. When they pulled apart, the heat between them was banked, waiting patiently. 

Dean pulled back, pulling Cas's scarf from around his neck while biting his lip. He laughed as he backed away. He watched as Cas climbed into his car before turning away. He skipped a little, swayed to the music in his head, unable and unwilling to suppress the smile on his face. All this time he’d been waiting for some confirmation that Cas felt like he did. There were little things, moments, but this…

The garage was quiet except for his footsteps echoing between the concrete pillars and Dean’s laughter bouncing softly off the walls. The overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows as he made his way toward the Impala, hand in hand, still buzzing from the high of the night. Dean’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cas had looked under the chandelier light—open, his , for the first time in a way that felt real.

“Dean!” Cas called from his car. Strange.

He turned around to find Lee fucking Webb standing in front of him with a baseball bat in his hand.

Time slowed. Dean barely had time to blink before Lee was charging.

“You fucking faggot! ” he screamed, and the bat came down.

Dean felt it before he heard it—the wet crack, a flash of white-hot pain that exploded through his skull like grenades detonating behind his eyes. The world shifted sideways. Sound warped, muffled. He heard Cas screaming, far away and distorted, like he was underwater, like Dean was already falling out of the world.

Another blow. Blinding. All-consuming.

The ground slammed into him, concrete cool against his cheek, and Dean’s body slumped like it no longer belonged to him. His brain throbbed with agony, his skull splitting open with every heartbeat. Pain lanced down his spine, through his neck, ricocheting around his body, shouting across his limbs like bees under his skin.

Cas was still screaming. Closer now. Desperate.

Dean tried to reach for him, tried to open his mouth, but nothing moved. His limbs were lead. His mouth filled with the taste of copper. Everything went dim around the edges.

He heard Cas one last time, raw and broken, and then—

Nothing.

Chapter Text

Cas

Cas ran. He ran so fast it was like time blinked, but that blink was the slowest thing he’d ever experienced. One minute he was laughing, starting up his car and looking out his rear window to watch Dean walk with happy ease toward the Impala. He’d just wanted to watch.

And then there was a kid in a tuxedo but missing the jacket, cumberbund the tacky red that announced it was a rental.

Cas's hackles went up, and the air charged, somehow he knew. And when he clocked the baseball bat, he screamed.

Dean turned, his smiling face aglow with expectation.

Cas ran.

And the bat came down.

Cas ran.

And Dean fell to his knees.

Cas ran.

And the bat swung hard to the side of Dean’s head, knocking him over.

Cas ran.

And the boy stumbled and dropped the bat before running.

Cas picked up the bat and swung hard at the boy’s middle. The satisfying crunch of ribs accompanied his yelp of pain. But there was no time. He slid across the pavement, blood soaking through the knees of his suit.

“No, nononononono,” Cas cried. He pulled Dean up into his lap, gripping him by the shoulders. His tears slid down his cheeks, tears he didn’t even know his body still knew how to produce. It had been years since he’d cried, and now, he couldn’t stop. His sobs filled the garage, bouncing off the unforgiving concrete as blood saturated the skin of his hands.

“Dean, come on. Please. Dean.” He stroked the boy’s face, pulling him tight into his arms with eyes closed and a selfish prayer to a god who didn’t love him. Men like him and Dean had been forgotten in God’s plan, made wrong, but He fucking owed Cas this. He was owed.

Gently, he slid Dean back into his lap and pulled out his phone, dialing with shaking fingers that smeared blood over the keypad.

911. How can I help you?

“Yes, there’s been an attack. There’s… there’s so much blood and…

Alright, Sir, we’re going to help you. Can you tell me where you are?

“We’re in the lower level of the Continental Conference Center parking garage. But he’s not moving.” His voice hitched, and a strangled sound attempted to rip his heart out through his throat, the tightness in his chest the only thing keeping it stitched in place.

An ambulance will be there soon. Can you tell me your name?...

When the ambulance finally arrived, Cas had stopped crying, and Dean hadn’t started. He couldn’t breathe or move or even get out of the EMT’s way.

“Are you injured, sir?”

Cas blinked, staring up at the young woman crouching next to where he sat on the cold concrete. How long had she been there?

“It isn’t my blood,” he rasped, a hiccuped sob sneaking through.

“Okay, well, I’d like to check you for shock.”

“Dean first.”

“Of course, the others are taking care of him and will take him to the hospital. Would you like to ride in the ambulance with him?”

Cas's head jerked over to her, desperate eyes wide. “Is that allowed?”

She frowned and looked over to her co-workers. “No, but it should be, and tonight it will be. Can you stand up?”

He gasped and nodded frantically. He had to stay with Dean. He needed to stay in case… Possibilities swirled around in his mind, whipping his thoughts up into a panicked frenzy until he his breath sped up, and black spots danced in his vision. He needed…

“Fuck!” he screamed before dropping his head into his hands, no longer caring about the blood.

“Here, they’re loading him up. Let's get in the ambulance and put a blanket on you. We can check you over on the way.” She helped him uncoil from his place on the ground, cold, numb limbs barely supporting him. She steadied his weight despite being nearly a foot smaller than him.

“Thank you,” Cas's voice was hoarse and soft. He reached down and grabbed his white scarf, splattered with blood.

“My name’s Hester, and it’s okay. I’m here to help.”

“Thank you.” This time, it was a sob as he watched them lift a stretcher into the ambulance with Dean strapped in every which way.

The ride to the hospital was bumpy. Dean winced at the movement but didn’t wake. That had to be good, though. Response to stimuli or something. There had to be something that gave him hope. He was asked no less than 6 times about both of their HIV statuses during the trip and finally dropped his forehead to Dean’s stretcher, clinging to his hand, and cried. Pain constricted his throat, his lungs, his capillaries until he was nothing but a black hole.

At the hospital, he ran with them through the ER and straight to the trauma bay, but a burly security guard with a sneering frown, told him he wasn’t allowed inside, not even to the family visiting area.

“Are you family?” a surly nurse asked.

“No, I’m his boyfriend.” Cas looked over her shoulder, trying to see between the blinds and into Dean’s room. The EMTs had already left, and none of the doctors would tell him what was going on.

“I’m sorry, you cannot go into the trauma center unless you are family.”

“That’s bullshit!” Cas screamed, running both hands through his hair, pulling it in frustration. The bloody scarf swirled around him as he moved.

“Sir, you’ll have to calm down or leave the area.” Her pursed lips and disgusted eyes showed exactly what she thought of him. 

“Please, just tell me if he’ll live,” Cas begged, something that was so contrary to his nature, the very core of his personality.

“Wait out here. Perhaps when we are able to contact his family, they can give you updates.”

“I’ll call his mother.” He pulled out his phone, and the nurse cleared her throat. 

“It would be better if this call came from us since we can give her accurate information about his condition.”

“I could do that if you would just—” He bit his tongue at her raised eyebrow. Defeated, he slumped into a waiting room chair. “Do you have a pen?”

When he was alone, sitting in the empty gray hallway with blue plastic chairs, he pulled out his phone.

Cas, what have I told you about calling me in the middle of the night drunk?

“Meg?” his voice cracked, and his tears streamed down his face, but he no longer cared. He rested his forehead against his hand. He felt defeated, beaten down. He felt the full force of the world’s hatred of who he was and what he and Dean were to each other. It crushed him under its boot.

What happened? Are you okay?

“I’m at the hospital. I need… I need you here. It’s Dean.” He gasped, water filling his vision until it was all a blur of gray and white, a never-ending nothing that threatened to consume him. He felt his heart disintegrate, rendered inert from the numbed space within his chest.

He wasn’t sure how long it took Meg to arrive, but when she did, she sat next to him and silently took his hand.

They sat there for hours.

A few times, Meg wandered into the main waiting room to ask if there were any updates. They were simply told to wait, that someone would come talk to them when they could. She was asked about Dean’s HIV status twice.

“Just wear some fucking gloves if you’re so damn worried about it!” Cas heard her yell before sliding back into the seat next to him without a word.

Tingles ran down his legs, and the chair forced his ass into a position even he couldn’t find a way to make fun. He held the bloody white scarf limply in his hands.

“Cas!” Mary Winchester rushed out of the trauma center and dove toward him, pulling him into her arms. His tears started up again, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t wrap his arms around her or tell her what happened. He couldn’t even say hello. This was Dean’s mother, and he had failed her son. His mom and Cas sat frozen. He should be stronger, let her lean on him, tell her it’d be okay. Fuck he’d even pray if he thought it would help, but instead, his limbs hung at his side, and his muscles locked up in rigor mortis.

Mary pulled back with a frown and sat next to him. She stroked her long fingers through his hair, skipping over where the blood had clotted, knotting it into chunks.

He didn’t say anything or look directly at her desperate, red-rimmed eyes. This whole thing was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone tonight. He shouldn’t have filled Dean’s head with ideas of being out and strong.

“How is he?” Meg asked when it was clear Cas had lost his voice. “I’m Meg, Cas's friend… and Dean’s.”

“Yes. He’s mentioned you,” she gave a small smile. “You helped Charlie with her make-up.”

Cas lifted his head, eyes confused as if waking up. “Charlie.”

“I called her,” Mary said. She talked for a minute, but Cas didn’t hear her. He should have called Charlie. He called Meg because he was selfish and needed someone to be there for him, but he didn’t think twice about who Dean loved. It’s not surprising. He’s a narcissistic bastard who rarely thinks about anyone but himself— better to shut them out before they can hurt you. But Charlie deserved better.

“Cas?”

“Yeah. What?”

Mary smiled sadly at him, and another wave of grief passed through him. He didn’t think he could take much more. His organs began to shut down, self-preservation through petrification.

“Dean is okay. He’s alive but still unconscious. There’s some swelling to his brain, which makes sense, and his shoulder was dislocated in the fall, but the doctors are sure he’s going to wake up soon. They won’t know anything else until he does.”

Cas nodded, vacant.

She inhaled, gathering her thoughts. Cas noticed how beautiful she was, soft skin and defined features. She even had a spattering of freckles across her nose. 

“The other boy has three broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. He’s in surgery and in cuffs. He’s been arrested, and as soon as he can leave the hospital, he will go to the medical ward in prison to await trial. He’s 18, so hopefully, he’ll go away for a long time.”

Cas nodded again, distantly glad the fucker who did this would pay. Cas should have killed him.

“Cas?” Mary waited until he lifted his gaze. “The doctors said if they hadn’t been able to relieve the pressure on his brain so quickly, it would have caused permanent damage. Maybe killed him. They said you saved his life. And I… Thank you for saving my baby.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. He should tell her he would do anything for Dean, that, of course, he saved him. How could he not? But he was behind the veil now, a wall between him and the rest of the world. He barely made himself nod. 

She left, telling Cas to get some sleep and she’d see him there in the morning. The waiting room returned to its void of silence as Cas stared blankly at the wall across from him. All while holding that scarf in both hands.

Later, Cas sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair, the harsh lights of the hospital waiting room humming above him. Everything smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee. His shirt was stiff where Dean’s blood had dried on it, the collar streaked and dark, a smear of red beneath his jaw he hadn’t noticed until Meg pointed it out.

He hadn’t spoken in hours.

“Cas,” Meg said softly from the chair beside him. “You need to go home. Take a shower. Eat something. Sleep.”

He huffed and shook his head.

“You’re not doing Dean any good like this,” she tried again, touching his arm gently. “Come on. Just a few hours. Mary will call you if—”

“I’m not leaving,” Cas said, voice flat. Final.

Meg exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing as she made the probably herculean effort to be nice to him. “You look like you crawled out of my menstrual cycle.”

“Jesus, Meg,” he grunted but still didn’t turn to look at her.

The scarf in his hand was still damp in places. Blood. Dean’s blood. He’d dropped it on the ground next to Dean, where it soaked up the blood. Now, it wrapped around his wrist like a fucking tourniquet.

Meg stood, crouched in front of him, looking up into his face with none of her usual sarcasm. “At least go wash up. Five minutes. You can’t sit here looking like this. You’re going to scar the orderlies.”

Cas didn’t answer.

“Cas,” she said again, more firmly this time. “I’ll wait right here. I swear. If something happens, I’ll come get you.”

He looked at her, eyes unfocused, then down at his shaking hands. His fingers were streaked with rust-colored smears. After a long pause, he stood stiffly, the scarf still clenched in one fist.

The fluorescent bathroom lights were too bright. He pulled the scarf around his neck and watched the sink’s cold water hit his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He scrubbed mechanically—hands, arms, neck, watched the blood swirl down the drain. His stomach lurched at the sight of it; brown and red and pink swam before his eyes. He braced both hands on the edge of the sink, head hanging low, jaw tight.

What if Dean woke up and he wasn’t there?

What if he never woke up at all?

His chest tightened suddenly, breath catching halfway up his throat. The room listed. His fingers gripped the porcelain so hard they ached. His pulse roared in his ears. The mirror blurred.

Cas forced himself to take in air. Slow. Then again. In through his nose, out through his mouth until his vision cleared enough to see through his tears. Cas stumbled out of the bathroom, past the vending machines, past a man arguing softly with a nurse at the desk. He shoved open the waiting room door and all but collapsed back into his chair, curling his shoulders forward. 

He pulled the scarf tight around himself and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

A nurse’s voice rang out across the room before he could take a drag. “Sir! This is a hospital! There is no smoking in this facility!”

Cas looked up, startled like he hadn’t even known he’d moved. He pinched the cigarette out, not even wincing at the heat.

“God, you’re a mess,” Meg muttered, reaching over to take it from him.

Cas didn’t answer.

Meg stood and crossed to the front desk. “Hi. I’m here with Castiel Novak. His—” she faltered, glancing back at Cas. “His… partner is here. Dean Winchester. Can you give us any updates?”

The woman at the desk didn’t look unkind, but her voice was clipped. “I’m sorry. We can’t release any medical information unless you’re family.”

Meg’s jaw clenched. “His family told you you have permission to give Cas updates. His mother was here a few hours ago and…”

The nurse glared and turned to help someone else.

Meg walked back slowly and sat beside him again.

“I tried,” she said softly.

Cas nodded.

They sat in silence for a long time. People came and went. A baby cried. Somewhere down the hall, a machine beeped steadily. Cas didn’t move.

Eventually, Meg stood again, brushing her hands down her jeans. “These chairs are talking ten years off the warranty on my spine. I have to move around. I’m going to run home and then grab you some clean clothes. You can’t keep sitting in that shirt.”

Cas didn’t answer, but she leaned down and kissed the top of his head gently.

“I’ll be back.”

He nodded, barely.

“Do you want me to call Jimmy?”

Cas stared at the wall, his brain taking too long to register what she was talking about. “No, not until there’s something to tell him.”

“How about that his traumatized brother is sitting in an emergency waiting room covered in blood while in shock?”

“I don’t want to deal with him yet.” Cas looked up at her for the first time in too long, and she nodded with a frown.

Once he was alone again, Cas leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked down at the scarf in his hand. Still red.

He held it tighter.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Cas had stopped checking the clock. Time had blurred into the sterile, humming nothing of hospital hours—measured not in minutes but in the shift of nurses, the change of light outside the narrow windows, the occasional bad coffee Meg brought him when she passed through. He hadn’t moved from his spot. 

He’d changed into the jeans and sweater Meg brought him, but the blood-stiff scarf was still wound in his hand like a tether. He barely noticed the ache in his back from the plastic chair.

He was so deep in the waiting that he didn’t notice them until Mary’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Cas.”

He looked up. She was standing there, coat clutched tight around her shoulders, eyes glassy but dry. Beside her was a kid—tall for his age and a stormy scowl he wasn’t old enough to wear. Had to be Sam. Dean’s little brother.

Cas stood slowly. The air felt thinner suddenly, and it was hard to keep from falling back into his seat as the ground swirled below him.

Mary stepped forward and gave him a brief, careful hug. “How are you holding up?” she asked softly.

He blinked at her. “Dean’s the one in the hospital.”

She nodded, lips pressed thin. Her eyes flicked to Sam, who stood a few feet back, arms crossed and bristling.

Cas offered nothing.

Mary exhaled. “We just spoke to the doctors,” she said. “He’s stable. Still unconscious, but… they think he’s going to wake up soon.”

Cas gripped the back of the chair. The relief hit him like a blow.

“I asked if you could see him,” Mary said, lowering her voice. “But… they only allow one visitor at a time in the ICU. Family only.”

The words landed in his chest like a stone.

“But I’m…,” he said quietly, voice shredded around the edges.

Mary’s expression softened. “I know. But not in a way they recognize.”

Sam scoffed, barely bothering to hide it. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

Mary’s head snapped toward him. “ Sam. ”

“What?” the kid snarled. “Dean’s in there because of him.”

Cas froze.

Sam wasn’t finished. “If he hadn’t been—if they weren’t—” He gestured vaguely, expression sour. “The guy wouldn’t have gone after him.”

“That’s enough,” Mary snapped, her voice sharp now. She grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him back a step. “You will not blame Cas for this. He’s the only reason Dean’s still… The person responsible for this is the asshole who hit your brother.”

Sam looked away. Angry. Ashamed. Twelve and raw and scared.

Cas said nothing. He didn’t have the energy to fight a child.

Mary touched his arm gently. “I’ll see if they’ll let you visit once Dean wakes up. Okay?”

He nodded, hollow.

Dean woke up the next morning.

Cas wasn’t there when it happened. He hadn’t been holding Dean’s hand or the first thing he’d seen. As Cas sat useless in the hallway like a goddamn ghost.

A nurse told him in passing, too casually— he’s awake now, you’ll have to check with the desk for details —and the world tipped sideways. Cas stood too fast and nearly fell down. The irony of landing himself in the hospital with a head injury wasn’t lost on him. His heart raced, but when he reached reception, the answer was the same as always: “I’m sorry. Family only.”

So he sat.

And he waited.

Hours passed. Meg came back with food that hadn’t come out of a vending machine and didn’t comment about the bloody scarf still looped around his neck.

Eventually, Mary passed through. She looked exhausted, her face drawn. Sam followed her silently most of the time, eyes avoiding Cas completely. “He’s asking for you,” she told him, voice quiet, like a confession. “You can come in now.”

Cas didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the stain in the tile floor, a swirl of something dark and long-since scrubbed out. “How bad is it?” His voice cracked, rough and low. His throat hurt when he spoke.

“Concussion. Fracture in his skull.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “He’s going to have some memory issues. Maybe headaches for a while. But they think he’ll be okay.”

Mary paused as if weighing whether to say the next part. Then she did anyway, gently. “He keeps asking for you. Over and over. ‘Where’s Cas?’ ‘Is Cas okay?’ It’s the first thing he asked when he woke up.”

Cas drew in a sharp breath and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to keep himself from splintering any further. His chest felt hollow and tight, like there was too much ache packed into too small a space.

Cas closed his eyes and shook his head.

Day turned to night. Cas pressed his palms to his eyes until the light behind them swirled and danced. He slept in fits, head tilted against the wall, body curled like a question mark in the same hard chair. But he was frozen, unable to make himself go to Dean’s room.

When he dreamed, it was of blood on the pavement and Dean fading away like smoke.

The next day, Mary brought him a coffee and sat beside him.

“He’s more awake,” she said. “Tired. Confused. He doesn’t remember what happened, but the doctor says it should come back. He’s in a private room, so you can come see him. He doesn’t understand why you aren’t there.” She paused, eyes sad. “Neither do I.”

Cas's hand trembled. He barely managed to set the coffee down without spilling it.

“They want to send him home, but not until he calms down, he’s too erratic, won’t take his meds, keeps pulling out the IV,” Mary continued quietly, her voice frayed with exhaustion. “He’s so angry. He won’t talk to me, he won’t talk to Charlie…”

Cas turned his face away, jaw tight.

“Mrs. Winchester—” he started, voice raw. He stopped and took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself upright, squaring his shoulders in armor that didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore.

“Mary,” she corrected gently.

“Whatever,” he said. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?”

She blinked, the calm cracking for a second.

“You’re right here,” she said, not unkindly, but sharp with frustration. “You haven’t left since the accident. And he… he won’t let anyone touch him. Won’t let anyone near him. Shows practically no emotion except when he’s in one of his rages, or…” she swallowed, “or he’s asleep. Screaming from nightmares. But that’s not even the worst part.”

Cas stayed quiet, his teeth pressing hard together.

“The worst part,” she said, voice trembling now, “is standing there. Helpless. Watching him in pain and not knowing how to reach him. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Cas didn’t look at her. His voice was flat when he finally spoke. “What would you like me to do?”

“Be with him.”

She said it simply. Like it was the only answer in the world.

Mary sighed and shook her head, eyes glinting with some awful mix of hope and resentment. “You’re the one he trusts.”

Cas laughed once, bitter and hollow. “I thought you’d want me to never see him again.”

“I did,” she admitted, and it didn’t sound like an accusation. Just the truth. “Part of me still doesn’t.” Her voice cracked a little. “I’d rather he come home with me, but if I’m ever gonna see my son even remotely resemble the person he was—I don’t have a choice.”

Cas blinked slowly. He didn’t speak again. But he stood.

And this time, he walked toward Dean’s room.

The hallway felt longer than it should have. He heard Dean before he reached the door—a loud crash, something hard hitting tile, followed by muffled shouting.

Cas stepped inside.

It was chaos. A plastic pitcher lay on its side in a puddle of water. One of the nurses stood near the bed, arms up defensively, her face tight with concern and frustration.

Dean was half-sitting, half-falling back against the raised hospital bed, face red and breathing hard. His hands trembled where he gripped the rails, and his voice was raw from yelling.

“ I said, get the fuck away from me! ”

“Dean,” the nurse said cautiously, “you need to calm down—”

“ I said no! Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” He shoved the tray table aside violently. It clattered against the wall.

Cas stayed in the doorway, frozen for a moment. This wasn’t Dean. He looked thinner. Pale. His skin was sickly under the fluorescent light, bandages across his newly shaved head, IV pulling taut in his arm. The fury on his face didn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

Cas swallowed and stepped forward.

“Well,” he said dryly, “someone’s a hit at the nurses’ station.”

Dean whipped his head toward the door so fast the monitor beeped in protest. His eyes landed on Cas and didn’t move. He stared like Cas wasn’t real. Like he’d imagined him.

The nurse took a step back, backing away from the battlefield. She looked to Cas, who gave her a tight nod, and she left without a word, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled over the room, thick and weighty.

Dean’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Cas kept his tone light, trying to keep control of the flood waters rising in his chest. “You know, throwing things at medical personnel is generally frowned upon.”

Dean blinked hard. “You’re here,” he finally said. His voice cracked.

“I am,” Cas said.

“You weren’t.”

“I was just outside.”

Dean shook his head, eyes wide. “I kept asking for you. Over and over. No one told me anything. I thought—” His face twisted. “I thought maybe you were dead, too.”

Cas flinched. “No. Not dead. And neither are you.”

“Then why didn’t you come?” Dean looked so young, so fragile. It shattered what little calm Cas had held onto.

Cas ran a shaking hand down his face. “I tried, but they wouldn’t let me in, and then… I didn’t know if I should. I was afraid you’d hate me, and I… I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Dean’s hands fisted in the sheets. “Worse than this?” he asked, gesturing at himself, at the tubes, at the bruises.

Cas didn’t answer.

Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re the only person I wanted. And you weren’t there.”

That broke something in Cas.

He walked closer to the bed. Slowly. Cautiously.

Dean watched him like he might disappear if he blinked.

“I wanted to come,” Cas said, quieter now. “Every minute. I just… didn’t know if I deserved to be in the room.”

Dean shook his head and winced. “That’s not up to you.”

Cas hesitated at the edge of the bed. Dean lifted his hand, palm u,p like he wasn’t sure Cas would take it.

He did. Their fingers threaded together as Dean pulled him in, weak but determined, and Cas sat on the edge of the mattress. 

Dean leaned into him, pressing his face into Cas’s shoulder, and his whole body began to tremble.

Cas wrapped both arms around him, dropping the scarf on the ground and holding Dean as tightly as he dared.

“I was so scared,” Dean whispered, his breath hot against Cas’s neck. “I don’t remember what happened, not all of it, just flashes.”

Cas sniffed as he tried to look behind the attack and remember how joyful they had been. “You looked so hot in your tux. We were... happy. We danced and… I kissed you. Then you looked at me and smiled. And then I knew why Missouri calls you 'Sunshine.'”

“You kissed me? In front of everybody?” 

“Yeah. You should have been there.” Cas smiled sadly.

“I wish I remembered. All I got was pain and your voice. I think you were yelling.”

“You were bleeding.” Cas shut his eyes, breathing slowly through the lump in his throat. “All I could think was ... please don't let anything happen to him.”

Cas leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I know I’m an asshole. I know I’m impossible. But if something happened to you.” Cas's voice caught in his throat with a wretched sound. His lips twisted with self-hate, stealing his breath. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Cas…”

“I love you.” Cas kissed his forehead again before pulling back and looking Dean in the eyes, devastation aching on his face. “I love you.”

Dean nodded against him. “I know.”

The door opened softly, and Mary slipped in.

She didn’t speak at first. Just watched them, expression unreadable. Dean looked up, eyes red, and wiped at his face quickly with the back of his hand.

Mary walked over slowly, placing a hand on Dean’s ankle through the blanket.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly.

“Hey.”

She looked at Cas next. “He’s being discharged tomorrow,” she said. “I talked to the staff.”

Cas tensed. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. The idea of Dean being discharged felt both like a miracle and a new cliff to tumble off.

“You can sign the discharge papers when you’re ready to take him home,” Mary continued.

Dean blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You’re going home with Cas,” she said. “It’s already arranged. You’ll have to come back for physical therapy, but you can go home.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Mary nodded. “You want to go with him, don’t you?”

Dean looked at Cas, then back at her. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“Then that’s where you’re going,” Mary said. She touched his ankle again. “I’ll bring Sam by to visit when you’re ready. But right now, what you need is to rest. You’re safe with him.”

Dean looked at Cas, some of the tension melting from his face.

Cas squeezed his hand. 

“I love you,” he said.

Chapter Text

Dean

One Year Later

Dean woke up with a scream trapped in his throat. His body jerked before he even knew he was awake, and he sat straight up in bed, heart racing, sweat clinging to his chest like slime. It was pitch black except for the moonlight spilling through the loft’s tall windows. The city below buzzed faintly—horns, sirens, late-night drunks. But in here, it was still.

Until a hand touched his shoulder, firm but careful. Dean flinched before he realized who it was.

“It’s me,” Cas said, voice low, sleep-rough. “It’s just me.”

Dean let out a shaky breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Cas lied, sitting beside him. “You were thrashing. Same dream?”

Dean nodded. He didn’t have to say what it was. The dreams were always the same: the sound of the bat, the sting of hateful words, the scream he couldn’t release because his lungs were full of fear.

Cas reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light settled softly over them. Dean blinked against it, wiping his forehead.

Cas didn’t speak right away. He watched him, quiet and focused, like he was still trying to piece Dean back together without glue. Cas looked at him the way he always did these days—careful, like everything he felt was something he had to ration. As if showing how much he cared was dangerous. Like if he let it all spill out at once, it might drown them both.

Dean didn’t need the words. Not anymore.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of things that didn’t need to be said. It saturated every look and touch and breath they shared. Cas didn’t talk much about how he felt, but he didn’t need to. He made coffee every morning before Dean even dragged himself out of bed. He came to every doctor’s appointment with him, even though the exam room was full since both Cas and his mom insisted on being there. He knew when Dean needed to be held instead of a pep talk and when to leave him alone without disappearing completely.

That’s how Cas loved—quietly. Fiercely. In every action.

Dean had started to learn that love didn’t always look like it did in the movies. It didn’t always come with big speeches or candlelight or the perfect song playing in the background.

Sometimes, it looked like Cas sitting beside him at three in the morning, his hand resting on Dean’s back, waiting for his breathing to even out.

Dean turned toward him, still catching his breath from the nightmare.

Cas brushed the hair off Dean’s damp forehead with the backs of his fingers. His palm was warm when it settled against Dean’s cheek.

“You’re stronger than this,” he said softly. “Don’t let them win.”

Dean swallowed around the tightness in his throat. He hated how shaky he felt. “I know. But... it feels like it’s never gonna stop.”

Cas didn’t argue. He moved in closer, hand drifting down to Dean’s shoulder, grounding him. “You want a glass of water?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Just... stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean moved closer, resting his head against Cas’s chest. The slow, steady beat of his heart was enough to anchor him. The feeling of their naked skin pressed together grounded him in his body.

“I hate this part,” Dean mumbled. “The waking up. The shaking. The feeling like I’m gonna crawl out of my skin.”

“I know.”

Cas’s fingers threaded through Dean’s hair, gently, pausing ever so subtly on the scar that ran around the side of his skull. His touch over the sensitive new skin was familiar now. Comforting. Dean exhaled against him, letting himself sink into the contact.

“I feel stupid,” Dean admitted.

“You’re not.”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling it.”

Cas didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t give him a therapy line or some silver-lining bullshit. He pulled him close and held him tighter, rubbing his hand along Dean’s spine like he wanted to make everything better through touch.

Then he tilted his head back enough to meet Cas’s eyes. “Kiss me?”

Cas looked at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t full of heat or urgency or desperation. It was soft, patient, a warm thing blooming between them. Dean melted into it, lips parting easily, his brushing over the soft hair on Cas's chest.

Cas let out a shaky breath against Dean’s lips but didn’t stop him. His hand slipped to Dean’s hip, steadying him. They broke apart just long enough to breathe.

“You sure?” Cas asked, voice rough.

Dean nodded, brushing their noses together. “Yeah. Just... take it easy.”

“Like the first time.” Cas smiled sweetly.

They kissed again, deeper this time. Dean pushed Cas back against the pillows, straddling him slowly. His head still ached sometimes, a dull echo of everything he’d been through, but right now, he felt strong. Present. Alive.

Cas’s hands roamed up his sides, reverent and familiar. He knew exactly where Dean liked to be touched and wasn’t afraid to take his time. Dean arched into it and didn’t think about the scars. Cas never flinched when he saw them. His hands flowed over them easily, another part of Dean to love.

His lips trailed from Cas’s mouth to his jaw, then down his neck. He sucked on the stubbly flesh beneath his jawline and pressed his weight against Cas's body.

The hands on his hips were steadying, patient and Cas's eyes glowed in the dim light filtering into the loft. He laid still, waiting, letting Dean take the wheel and set the pace. Usually, it was trumpeting victory and fireworks, but tonight, it was nothing but the slow slide of tongues and hands.

“You can touch me,” Dean whispered into Cas's neck, licking along the tendon leading up to his ear. He nibbled on the lobe and tilted his hips down so Cas could feel his growing interest.

“I can wait,” Cas said.

Dean sat up, hands flat on Cas's chest. “Castiel Mikhailovich,”

Cas chuckled with a bright smile at Dean’s use of his family name.

“You never treat me like I’m some breakable kid. Don’t start now.” He did his best to glare but it proved impossible in the face of Cas’s laugh.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” 

“Then what are you doing? Because at this rate, I might as well go rub one out in the shower.”

Cas twisted his hips and rolled them so he was on top of Dean, his body snug between Dean’s legs, right where he belonged. “Can you believe I actually want to savor this? The idea of making love to you again is overwhelming.”

Dean blushed and looked away. They’d done other stuff, but Dean hadn’t been able to relax enough for sex, but tonight, he looked at Cas and felt complete.

“I want to take my time with you.” Cas lowered his weight onto Dean, holding himself back just short of crushing him. He ran one finger over Dean’s eyebrow and then down his cheek. “You are beautiful. Can you blame me for wanting to look a little longer?”

“Shut up,” Dean’s blush burned, flashing down his neck. 

“Maybe I should put you on display, naked in a glass case on one of the risers in Eden. Everyone can look, but only I can touch.” 

Dean’s cock throbbed with blood and plumped against Cas's stomach.

“You like that idea, don’t you?”

“No, it's… No.”

Cas chuckled darkly. “I’ll have to remember this exhibitionist streak.” He bit his lip as he shifted his weight, pressing his cock into the cleft of Dean’s ass.

“Cas…”

He hummed and kissed him, nipping at his lip and licking his way into Dean’s mouth, drinking directly from the source.

“Please…”

“What, Dean? What do you need?”

“You. I don’t… just fuck me, please. Just fuck me.”

Cas nodded and reached for the lube and inched down Dean’s body, kissing each freckle as he went. The line between sensual and playful blurred, and when Cas took his cock in his mouth Dean wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.

It felt good. Warm and safe. Sex was always good with Cas, but the way he licked and swallowed Dean down with such careful attention was new.

The snick of the lube opening and the cool press of a finger against his hole sent tremors through his body. He’d missed this. He’d been so afraid, terrified to be vulnerable even with Cas, but this felt right. The feeling of tender touches to his oversensitive nerves pulled a moan from deep in his soul.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean looked down to see incandescent blue eyes gazing up at him, wide lips stretched around his aching cock. Cas sucked, swallowed, and pushed his finger inside.

Dean’s breathy moans filled the loft as Cas’s finger slid in and out of Dean, an erotic press against his inner walls. With the second finger, Dean arched off the bed. He usually didn’t need more than one finger and a healthy amount of lube to remind his body how to relax and open for Cas, but Cas genuinely enjoyed stretching him out, leaving him gaping and desperate. If left to his own devices, Cas would lick his way inside of Dean and fuck him with nothing but fingers and tongue until Dean came, sweaty and flushed.

Now, though, Dean was desperate. He leaned up, grabbing at Cas’s hair and shoulders, anything to pull him closer. “I’m good, Cas. Come on.”

With a quick wipe across his mouth Cas kneeled between Dean’s legs and slathered his cock in lube. “Hips up and thighs around my waist,” he whispered, filling the space between them with anticipation as he eased his weight down.

Dean lifted his hips, knees tight against Cas’s sides, and held Cas’s otherworldly eyes with his own as he slid in. The first push stung. It always did. But his body adjusted quickly to the thickness of the cockhead in his ass. At his nod, Cas moved in one smooth stroke until he was deep inside.

They shuddered in unison, goosebumps broke out on skin, and a guttural moan vibrated between their chests. Cas laid his forehead against Dean’s and closed his eyes. This side of Cas peeked through more and more these days, the side that had emotions and cared . The side Cas had tried to kill, but which bloomed when Dean showed it the sun.

When he started to move, starbursts lit up behind Dean’s eyes. His world was filled with flesh and Cas. The smell of him, the feel of his breath panting against Dean’s neck, the resistance of his skin as Dean dragged his short nails across his back.

“Cas… Cas…” He chanted it like a prayer, like a sacrifice.

Cas stayed close, moving his hips in short, deep thrusts that skimmed against Dean’s prostate enough to make him rabid with need.

Dean lifted up against Cas, forcing Cas deeper inside him, the roar of his need rising within him. Cas’s eyes never left him. Their connection was all Dean had ever wanted. He had waited as patiently as he could, relying on nothing but faith in the man above him, surrounding him, within him. His eyes said everything. Dean’s belief in them had not been misplaced. He knew it in each tender moment and each careful touch as he healed.

But this was unbridled. This was passion, the kind that brings forth new stars. Entire universes existed between their sweat-soaked bodies as Cas's mouth hung open, and his carefully curated affect shattered on the ground around them.

“Fuck Dean,“ he groaned as he lifted up, changing the angle and hitting his prostate again and again, the pleasure so strong it was almost painful. His arms shook, and when Dean hitched his knees and hips higher, pressing them against Cas’s shoulder, he cried out, almost falling on top of Dean with a look that spoke not only of the pleasure Cas had spent his life chasing but everything he’d sacrificed he had now found.

“Dean…” His breath caught, and Dean felt the tremor running through his body. The thought of it, of Cas coming inside him, he’d never been willing to do that before, claiming monogamy was too high a price for a good fuck. But now, his cock hitched within him, and his eyes sparked cobalt in the night.

Dean reached between them and tugged on his cock, hard and fast, unable to keep his orgasm at bay in the light of Cas's beauty. “Oh, Oh!” Dean bent his back so far it cracked with the orgasm that shot through him, leaving behind sparks of intensity in its wake, which were only soothed by the feeling of Cas’s come filling him.

He stroked himself through it, using his own come to soothe the way as Cas collapsed on top of him, cock thick and still hard inside him.

Later, when they were tangled together in the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat and hearts still racing, Dean rested his head on Cas’s chest again, this time without shaking.

Cas stroked his back absentmindedly. “You okay?”

Dean nodded against his skin. “Yeah. Better than.”

“You can wake me up anytime,” Cas said. “Even if it’s just to fuck.”

Dean huffed out a soft laugh. “I’ll remember that.”

They lay like that for a while, the calm settling deep. Dean traced lazily along the tattoo on Cas's ribs. “You’re good at this,” he murmured.

“At fucking? Yeah, I’ve been told by a host of men at Eden… and Garrison… and Chuck’s….”

Dean chuckled before kissing Cas's skin. “Fuck off, you know what I mean.”

Cas shrugged and hummed.

Dean studied him for a beat. “You take good care of me, Cas. Thank you.”

Cas's lips quirked, and he pulled Dean in closer.

The phone rang as Dean was drifting back to sleep. Cas answered it with a distracted "Yeah?"

Dean didn’t pay much attention—until Cas froze.

“What? When?” Cas’s voice sharpened, each word more clipped than the last. “Are you kidding me? No, of course, you’re not kidding me. When did it happen?”

Dean sat up straighter. “Cas?”

Cas hung up without saying goodbye. Already in pants but still shirtless, he bolted across the loft, one shoe in hand, the other clenched between his teeth. He tossed Dean’s jeans and shirt at him mid-sprint like they were in the weirdest race anyone had ever invented.

“Is it time?” Dean asked, already half out of the bed, yanking his shirt over his head.

Cas nodded, hopping as he shoved his foot into the sneaker. “He’s here, he’s already here! I missed it.”

Dean’s heart flipped. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

He grabbed his jeans and started dressing at the speed of light, adrenaline already spiking through his veins. “Okay. Okay, okay. Do we bring anything? 

“Meg will murder us both if we show up with a dildo, and that’s the only thing I have wrapped.”

Dean laughed, nervous and wild. “Right. Okay. No gift.”

Dean locked the loft door behind them, and then they were gone—two idiots racing through the hall, barely dressed, Cas about to become somebody’s dad.

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and soft fabric and something brand new in the world.

Cas stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and face completely unreadable, but for once, it wasn’t because he was shut down. It was because he was vulnerable. He hadn’t spoken since they walked in—hadn’t moved, either—until finally, voice low and breathless, he muttered, “Oh my god.”

Meg looked exhausted but like a champion triathlete. She cradled a tiny bundle in a pink, white, and blue blanket and gave Cas a crooked smile before tilting the baby enough for him to see. “Say hello to your son.”

Dean stood behind Cas, hand on the small of his back. He nudged him gently. “Well, go on.”

Cas crossed the room in careful, deliberate steps, like he was afraid of waking up from a dream. He paused beside the hospital bed and looked at Meg, then Dagon, then the baby, then Meg again. “When did it start?”

“Around seven,” Dagon said from the chair beside the bed. She looked calm now, but Dean had seen her hands shaking when they first walked in. She had to be exhausted in her own right. He couldn’t imagine watching Cas go through something like that.

Meg huffed a little laugh. “Six hours later, there he was.”

Cas exhaled a shaky breath. “I wish I’d been here.” He coughed and rolled his eyes, pasting on a smirk. “I mean, how often do I get to see snatch? Big loss.”

Dean tried and failed to keep a straight face.

“He looks just like you,” Meg said quietly, watching Cas with soft tenderness. “Look at all this black hair sticking up everywhere.”

Cas glanced down at the tiny red-faced bundle. “I guess he must be mine, then.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Want to hold him?”

Cas hesitated for only a second, then nodded. Dean saw the fear behind his eyes, like he didn’t trust himself to be good at this, but he didn’t say no. He slid his hands beneath the blanket as if the baby were made of glass and lifted him gently.

“Okay, careful,” Dagon warned, a little edge of panic in her voice. “Don’t drop him.”

Cas looked up with a deadpan expression. “And that’s exactly what I was planning on doing.”

Dean snorted. Meg groaned, but she was smiling.

The baby, squirming a little in Cas’s hold, made a soft squeaking noise, like a kitten. Cas blinked at him like he was a miracle, a tiny little speck of the universe right there in his arms. His face was soft as he gazed at his son.

“We’ve been thinking of names,” Meg said, breaking the silence. “Dagon wants to call him Asmodeous after her grandfather, but…”

“That’s awful,” Cas scrunched his nose and glared at Dagon.

Dean cut in, “I like Gus.”

Cas looked over at Meg, silently waiting for her verdict.

“He wouldn’t survive a day at school being named Asmodeous,” she said dryly. 

Cas chuckled. “But Gus is a good name. It’s a good butch name.” He leaned forward and grinned at the baby. “Come on, Gus. Give your Daddy a smile. Privet, ya tvoy papochka. ”

Dean felt something shift in the air when he said it like that—when Cas spoke to his son in Russian. Dean had never heard him do that before. Suddenly, this was real, not an idea or a plan. He glanced at Cas, who was holding the baby closer now, staring down at his face like he was trying to memorize every molecule.

“August Castielovich Masters,” Dean said softly.

Cas looked up at him, eyes already glassy.

And then the tears came—quiet and sudden, slipping down his cheeks before he could stop them. He didn’t try to hide it, didn’t laugh it off. He stood there with his kid in his arms, looking like his whole life had rearranged itself into something better. Something that made sense.

The baby gurgled softly, eyelids fluttering but too heavy to stay open. Cas stood for a moment longer, holding the tiny weight of Gus with both reverence and wonder, before leaning in close, his lips brushing the newborn’s downy head as he whispered, “Sweet dreams, little one. First night on Earth.”

Dean sat up straighter, eyes wide and bright. “Can I—?”

Cas was already holding him out. Dean took him with practiced hands, settling the baby against his chest, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stared down at the scrunched-up face.

“Don’t get sappy, Winchester,” Meg warned from the bed. “We only pretend we like you because we know how easily you cry.”

Dean didn’t miss a beat. “Cas likes it when I cry. Says it makes me look pretty.” He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, giving Cas his best fake-sultry look.

Cas, deadpan as ever, didn’t blink. “I also like it when you do your own laundry. That makes you look downright lickable.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I hate you.”

“I’m flattered,” Cas replied, utterly unbothered.

Dean turned back to Gus, his face softening instantly. “You’re a very small human,” he murmured to him. “But I think you’re gonna be alright. Even if your parents are assholes.”

While Dean stood a few steps away, cooing and quietly talking to the baby, Cas climbed up onto the bed beside Meg without asking. She didn’t shove him off—just groaned and shifted to make room.

Dagon stood up with a stretch. “I’ll get you something to drink,” she said, brushing a hand over Meg’s hair before stepping out.

Cas turned on his side, one hand drifting down to rest gently on Meg’s belly. “Well,” he said quietly, “here we are. Ma and Pa.”

Meg laughed once, then immediately started crying. “Oh, god.”

“Hey,” Cas said, catching the tears on her cheek with his thumb. “Hey, don’t do that.”

“I’m fine,” she said, sniffing. “Don’t mind me. Just feeling a little… vulnerable.”

Cas nodded, pulling the blanket up higher around her. “I promise not to tell.”

She gave him a sideways glare that softened quickly. “You better not. I’ve got a reputation.”

Cas smiled. “Not anymore. You’re a mom now.”

Meg snorted, wiping her face. “God help this kid.”

Meg leaned back against the pillows, watching Dean whisper something to Gus with an almost dopey grin on her face. He stood apart, allowing Cas and Meg their privacy while unapologetically eavesdropping. She glanced at Cas, then looked back down at her hands, still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of birth. “Who would’ve thought? You and me. Parents.”

Cas gave a small, uneven laugh. “It’s pretty scary. Think it’s too late to return it?”

Meg smirked. “We could try. But I think they have a strict no-refund policy on bodily fluids. Technically, I think he’s a bio-hazard.”

Cas groaned softly, stretching his legs out on the edge of the bed. “I guess this means we’re finally grown-ups.”

“Don’t say that, Wendy,” Meg replied, deadpan. “We’ll never grow up.”

Cas chuckled, leaning his head back against the wall. “Jesus Christ.”

Meg’s voice softened. “Don’t worry. Hell, if our parents fucked up as bad as they did and still kept us alive, so can we.”

There was a long beat. Cas turned his head toward her, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you to worry. About money, I mean. If you need anything…”

Meg shook her head firmly, cutting him off with a small smile. “No. We’ll be alright. But thanks.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, the briefest press of lips, warm and familiar. “Really.”

Cas didn’t move. Just nodded once. “I would’ve fucked you, you know.”

Meg stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. “Jesus, Cas.”

“I mean it,” he said, grinning as he leaned back again, satisfied. “If I wasn’t afraid your wife would beat the shit out of me.”

Meg groaned. “Stoooop.”

“She could take out Oscar de la Renta.”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “You mean De La Hoya.”

Cas gave a dismissive wave. “Whatever.”

They laughed again, easily this time—like all the weirdness of life had led to this: two platonic disasters raising a baby. Meg wiped at her eyes, but it was laughter now, not tears.

“I’ll be around,” Cas added with a straight face, “to provide the masculine influence so important in every young boy’s life.”

Dean didn’t even look up, just piped in from the corner where he stood with Gus. “I’ll bet Dagon can do that better than you.”

Cas raised a brow before turning back to Meg, grinning. “Anyway, I’m glad I jacked off into a cup for you.”

Meg gave an exaggerated groan. “Why are men necessary for this process?”

Cas leaned down and kissed her temple. “Because otherwise, you’d miss out on all this charm.”

Just then, Dagon returned, holding a pitcher of ice and a soda can in one hand. Her face was tense. “Ice?”

Cas straightened and climbed from the bed, allowing her space as she moved in beside Meg. He drifted toward Dean and gave the baby one last glance with a tired, satisfied sigh.

Dean handed Gus back to Meg, letting his fingers trail over the skin of his soft hand before stepping aside. “We’ll be back tomorrow, once you rest, I’m sure the rest of the fags will want to annoint him in glitter.”

“Motor oil,” Dagon deadpanned and Dean barked a laugh.

Cas's brow lifted like he was amused. “You ready to go?” he asked quietly.

Dean nodded. The fluorescent lights of the hospital suddenly felt too bright, and the beeping monitors were too loud. Cas reached out without a word, brushing his fingers lightly against Dean’s wrist before turning and walking toward the end of the hallway.

Dean followed, the linoleum cool under his sneakers, the familiar antiseptic smell clinging to everything. They passed a nurse wheeling a cart, a man asleep in a waiting room chair, and a paper sign pointing toward the ICU. Cas didn’t speak, didn’t rush—he led him with quiet confidence, like he did everything.

Instead of heading out to the car, Cas veered left, past a set of double doors and through a stairwell. He pushed open the exit at the top and stepped out onto the hospital roof. The air was sharp and cold, and for the first time in hours, Dean felt like he could breathe out here, away from the smells and lights of the hospital. It brought back too many memories.

The breeze tugged at the hem of his jacket as he turned his gaze back to the stars, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of Cas's attention. “You’re doin’ the look again,” he mumbled.

“What look?” Cas asked, like he didn’t already know.

Dean side-eyed him. “The one that makes me feel like I’m gonna combust. Little warning next time?”

Cas stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough Dean felt the static in the air around him and the stillness that came when Cas stopped pretending to be anything but exactly who he was. “You were smiling in there,” he said. “With Gus. With everyone. Even Meg. You looked happy.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “I am happy.”

Cas nodded, but his jaw tightened a little like he didn’t quite trust it. “I’m… I guess I keep waiting for someone to come tell us we can’t have this, that it doesn’t belong to us. That we don’t get what all those straight people have.”

Dean met his eyes then, steady. “We do. All of it. The kid. The weird family. You and me.”

Cas took a breath, then his hand slid into Dean’s, grounding them both. “You sure you’re okay?”

Dean squeezed his fingers. “Yeah. Sometimes the noise gets to me. Too many people talking, laughing. It's good. It's just... a lot.”

Cas nodded. “I get it. We can stay up here for a while.” He reached into his pocket and searched for his pack of cigarettes.

“You quit, remember? For Gus?” Dean’s indulgent smile was fond. They’d had this conversation many times as Cas worked to quit, but now it wasn’t ‘the baby’, it was for Gus.

They stood in silence. Dean tilted his head back toward the sky, breathing in the cold air. But after a moment, he glanced sideways.

Cas wasn’t looking at the stars.

“What?” Dean asked, glancing at Cas, already catching that look on his face. The serious one. The dangerous one. “Is there something on my face?”

Cas didn’t answer right away. Just watched him, soft around the eyes. Steady. He turned to face him fully, hands in the pockets of his coat. The streetlight caught in his hair, casting his face in glowing highlights. He shone ethereal and otherworldly out here, closer to the stars.

“We should get married,” he said.

Dean’s brain flatlined. For a second, all he heard was static. The rest of the world kept moving, cars in the distance, some woman’s laughter echoing across the street, but inside Dean’s skull, it was blank .

“What?” he managed.

“Not now,” Cas clarified as if that made it any less insane. “When you’re ready. But… we should be engaged. And then later, get married.”

Dean blinked. “Cas, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Cas didn’t even flinch. “You shouldn’t marry me. Who would blame you? I am without a doubt the worst candidate for marriage alive, but conversely, that's also the reason that I'm the best candidate.”

Dean barked a laugh. “And how's that?”

“Because as strongly as I was opposed to the idea,” Cas said, tone suddenly earnest, “now that I'm behind it, I am just as fervently and passionately committed.”

Dean stared at him. Was this really happening? On the roof? On a Tuesday? “Uh-huh. Is this about the baby?”

“No… Well, yes…” Cas hesitated. “But I’ve been thinking about it anyway. I guess I finally thought of a good reason to do it.”

Dean stepped closer, breath fogging between them. His heart was thudding so hard he was surprised no one called in a noise complaint. “And what is that one good reason?”

“To show the person I love how much I love him. That I would give him anything, I would do anything, I would be anything to make him happy.”

Dean’s heart did a full somersault. “You're fucking unbelievable,” he said, incapable of believing in this but so desperately wanting to.

Cas didn’t miss a beat. “It's true. I am.”

And that was what did it. It was just so Cas . A perfect balance of stubborn, sincere, and smug. Dean could’ve kissed him right then and there, but insecurity reared its head. Cas had been good to him and taken care of him, but what about when he got bored? When he got tired of Dean?

“So, you mean it? All of it, the have and to hold, the rest of your life tied to one person? I thought that was bullshit straight people did,” he asked, voice low.

“I've never meant anything more.” Cas stepped closer, crowding into his space, inhaling all the oxygen until Dean was left light-headed. “Apparently, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I was wrong.”

Dean barked out a tearful laugh and took a deep breath. Felt it all settle in his chest. This was crazy and ridiculous and right. “Okay,” he breathed. “We’ll get engaged. Wedding ETA unknown.”

Cas grinned. “Okay?”

Dean nodded. “Let’s do it.”

“Say it,” Cas murmured.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Cas leaned in, smirking. “Yes, what?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Cas beamed.

“We go to Eden to celebrate. I want to dance!”

And then Cas kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It ripped through a cold night and made everything feel like the world might actually be okay.

Cas broke away long enough to grab Dean by the waist and bundle Dean close in his arms, repositioning them for an incendiary kiss, the kind that melted your mind and birthed a phoenix, like they were in the final scene of a rom-com. Dean laughed loudly into Cas's smiling mouth. They were real, completely unguarded, and he clung to Cas with both arms.

Dean didn’t care that the roof was wet or that a car honked in the distance or that someone might walk up and find them trespassing. All that mattered was Cas.

And that somehow, in all his chaotic, infuriating, ridiculous glory, Cas was his.

So the "thumpa thumpa" continues. It always will. No matter what happens. No matter who's president. As our lady of Disco, the divine Miss Gloria Gaynor has always sung to us: We will survive.