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Dean feels a little bit nauseous. Or - yeah, no, he feels extremely nauseous, actually. Like, ten tequila shots and fast food, before passing out without even drinking a glass of water, nauseous. And for once, it isn’t the tequila shots, or bourbon, or dodgy service station hotdogs that have got him feeling like this.
No, this time it’s Cas. Castiel. His fiancé, soon-to-be-husband, angel of the - well, not really the lord anymore, but you get the point.
It’s just, Dean has locked himself in the back room of The Roadhouse, and everyone who’s ever cared about him (and managed to stay alive) is waiting out there, and like, Dean can’t fucking breathe. This is what he wanted: The Roadhouse, and the people he loves, and a small ceremony just to make this thing official. But he can’t bring himself to walk out of the door.
And the thing is, this isn’t because he doesn’t love Cas. Fuck, there aren’t enough words in English, or Latin, or fucking Enochian, to describe all the ways in which he loves him. No, this is because Dean does love him - loves him with every tattered, broken, fractured piece of his heart and soul.
They’ve spent over a decade falling into this together. Fighting, and dying, and falling, and living - always by each other’s sides, except for all the times they were too afraid to just talk to each other. All the times their feelings were too big, and scary, and impossible to even let themselves look at.
Dean has spent a decade loving Cas beyond reason and measure, beyond sense, and God, and destiny. He’s also spent a decade trying not to - trying to fight, with everything in him, against a love so powerful that it invented the very notion of free will before Dean was even brave enough to put a name to it.
And now he gets to, finally.
His hands have been weapons for so long that it took him a while to learn how gentle they could be, to let himself hold Castiel between them and not worry that his very touch would corrupt. It took him so long to really believe that he could have this, that he could reach out and take what Cas was offering to him, and not have to feel selfish, or guilty, or afraid.
So now he’s afraid for a whole other reason.
Because he never believed this was something he would be allowed - that love, and happiness, and a future were even on the cards for him.
But now he’s had a taste of it, now he know how it feels to love and be loved in return. He knows what it’s like to wake up with Cas drooling on his shoulder, and argue with him about what brand of peanut butter to get, and fight over what movie they’re going to watch. Now he’s got to have this, he’s certain that losing it would kill him.
He knows that Cas is out there waiting for him. That Sam and Eileen, Jack, Charlie, Jody, Claire, and Garth are all here for them - to witness their love and celebrate their happiness like it’s something Dean actually deserves. And he knows he’s holding the whole show up.
It’s just - what if they’re tempting fate? Things have been so wonderfully, blissfully peaceful since Jack took the reins, and being able to lie low has felt like taking their first vacation in forever. But what if this changes all of that? What if they say their vows and the Empty comes back, or Chuck, or Amara, or anyone?
Their love feels so big that it could create universes, but what if it could destroy them too?
Or maybe Dean is just being dramatic. Maybe he’s just worried that his vows aren’t right even though he’s rewritten them six times, and maybe he’s worried that Crowley is gonna pull some bullshit - because the who the fuck decided to invite him, anyway? Maybe he’s just scared that Cas - beautiful, divine, heavenly Cas - is finally going to see through all of Dean’s cracks.
The door handle rattles.
“Dean?” Cas says, just as he begins to open the door.
Naturally, Dean launches himself across the room so fast that his shoulder aches when he slams it against the door. He doesn’t move away from it though, leans his whole body into and grabs onto the handle so Cas can’t turn it again.
“Dean, what’s going on?” Cas asks. And his voice has never been the most emotive, but Dean can instantly hear the panic behind it.
“You know the rules, Cas,” Dean sighs, because this is the fifteenth time he’s warned him about it.
And like - Dean isn’t a diva, okay? Despite what Sam has been insisting for the past few weeks. It’s just, you’re not supposed to see the person you’re marrying before you meet them at the altar. It’s bad luck, everyone knows it, and with Cas and Dean’s history, they just don’t need any more of that. He is not being irrational.
“Dean, I don’t think -“
“ - bad fucking luck, Cas!” Dean insists.
He can hear Castiel’s sigh through the door.
“Okay, listen up,” Cas starts, like he’s been entertaining Dean’s bullshit for far too long now. Like, ten years too long. “Do you know the reason the bride and groom weren’t supposed to see each other before the ceremony?”
Dean huffs. “You’re the bride.”
(Dean is definitely the bride. Bridezilla, as Sammy has taken to calling him.)
“It’s because,” Cas says, completely disregarding Dean’s comment, “when weddings used to be arranged, the families worried that if they came face to face before the ceremony, they wouldn’t like what they saw and refuse to get married.”
And - oh. Dean actually didn’t know that. But then again, it’s not like he’s ever had a reason to look into wedding etiquettes and traditions, so. It’s not his fault.
He still doesn’t open the door though, still feels a little too cracked open and vulnerable to look into Cas’ earnest eyes right now.
“Dean, I’ve seen every single part of you. I’ve held your soul in my hands and put it back together, piece by piece. I know all of you, and I love all of you.”
Dean feels breathless, like all the air has been sucked out of the room and his brain has gone fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. Shit. He’d bet Sam that he would be the first one to cry, but now there are tears in Dean’s eyes and he scrunches them closed, like it doesn’t count if they don’t fall. Fuck his fiancé for being so fucking perfect.
Slowly, Dean shifts his weight off the door and opens it a little. Just enough for Castiel’s hand to slip through the cracks and reach for him. Dean takes it, because he’s powerless to refuse Cas anything.
But then suddenly that’s not enough, and he’s throwing the door open with one hand and pulling Cas inside with the other. His arms wrap around Cas’ shoulders, while Cas’ wind around his waist, and it feels like coming home. Like all of the nerves fizzing beneath the surface of his skin, and all the worries just scratching at the corners of his mind all disappear. Or - they don’t disappear exactly, but they’re quieter with Cas. Easier to ignore.
When he eventually pulls away, Cas’ eyes are still closed. Dean can’t help but brush a gentle thumb over his eyelids.
“I didn’t want to look in case it’s still important to you,” Cas confesses.
The words send Dean’s heart soaring, because - wow. This man loves him; he loves him so much that he sacrificed everything for Dean, that he died for him over and over again. And he loves him so much that he’s willing to entertain Dean’s anxious superstitions, even if they are dumb as hell.
Kinda cool, really, if you think about it.
So Dean cradles Cas’ face between in his hands, and his heart goes all soft at the little smile that curves at the edges of Cas’ mouth.
“Hey, look at me,” Dean whispers.
Cas opens his eyes, and they’re so beautiful and filled with love that Dean wants to cry all over again.
“I love you,” he says - and god, the heaviness of those words on his tongue still hasn’t changed, even after years of saying them. The weight of his love for Cas is unwavering.
“I love you, too,” Cas says. “Can I kiss you now?”
Dean tilts his head back and laughs, but the laugh melts into a sigh when Cas leans forward and presses a kiss to his throat.
“Yeah, baby, you can kiss me.”
Cas tastes like the honey he must have had on his toast for breakfast, and Dean wants to live inside this moment. Wants to never stop kissing Cas, or holding him, or existing so effortlessly by his side.
They feel so inevitable that Dean would think it destiny, if he didn’t know otherwise.
“Come on,” Cas murmurs against his mouth. “We gotta go get married.”
Dean pulls away reluctantly, lets his forehead rest against Cas’ as they soak in this moment. He’s used to change, it’s part and parcel with a life like theirs, but rarely is it ever good. He thinks the change that’s about to happen might be pretty okay, though.
“Go,” Dean says, pulling back and pushing Cas towards the door. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“You better,” Cas warns. “Sam is already crying, and Crowley is on his fifth bourbon.”
Dean smiles. He knew he was gonna win that bet with Sam.