Archive of Our Own

Sometimes Dean sincerely doubts that he’s actually in a homosexual relationship. A homosexual relationship would require two men.

It’s times like this, for instance, where Cas is sitting cross-legged on the couch with his cell phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder with four magazines spread on the coffee table before him. He’s got on his staple outfit of a hideous sweater and a pair of Dean’s jeans, a combination worn so often it might as well be a uniform for the guy. This particular sweater isn’t as bad as it could be as far as sweaters go, just a simple orangey brown with a bright, obnoxious orange leaf square in the middle of his chest. He has a pair of scissors and a bottle of glue in his hands and he’s leaning forward, peering closely at the page he has open. His brow is furrowed as though he’s confused. Dean walks in from the kitchen carrying hot chocolate for the two of them and can’t help but find the scene before him hilarious.

The phone slips from Cas’ ear and it hits the floor with a thud. Dean picks it up for Cas as he sits down beside him, thumb accidentally brushing the speakerphone button as he passes it over. Sarah’s voice sounds through the flat.

“Seriously, Castiel, I’d rather change the entire color scheme than do roses. I hate roses. Everyone does roses. Why did we pick red, again?”

“Red is your favorite color, Sarah,” Cas says evenly, opting to set the phone on the table, rather than turn off speakerphone and return the cell to its precarious position at his ear.

“Well, yeah,” Sarah says with a huff, “but we obviously weren’t thinking about flowers when we chose it. Everyone keeps showing me rose bouquets and Cas I swear to God, there will be no roses at my wedding! What do you think about blue? Blue’s a good color.”

Dean smirks because Jesus Christ, who knew flowers could be such a big deal?, and hands Cas his mug of hot chocolate. Cas sets down the glue and scissors in favor of cradling the cup in both hands.

“It’s too late to change color schemes. We will find you red flowers that aren’t roses.”

“I’m not so sure, Cas. The only ones I’ve found are hideous. Maybe I can throw a curveball and just not do a bouquet at all. Sound good?”

Cas shakes his head, as though Sarah can see it.

“It is essential. Don’t worry, Sarah. Your wedding will be satisfactory. A red bouquet without roses will be found.”

Sarah laughs, the sound of her relief evident even over the phone.

“Cas, you’re a lifesaver. How would I keep my head without you around? I gotta go – I’m going out with Sam in a few. Text me if you find anything good.”

“I will. Goodbye, Sarah.”

“Bye!”

Cas hangs up the phone, and Dean finally allows himself to laugh. Cas tilts his head, giving Dean a curious look. It occurs to Dean that Cas probably has no idea how weird his conversation sounded because he has no basis of comparison. These are the things that chicks discuss over pedicures.

“Dean?” Cas asks, clearly confused by Dean’s amusement.

“What are you, her maid of honor?” Dean asks, laughter tapering off. He sits back in his seat and appraises his angel with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk.

Cas frowns and tilts his head, brow wrinkling as though Dean’s completely lost him. It’s a look Dean’s very familiar with. “I’m not a maiden.”

Dean snorts. “You sure as hell act like one. All this talk of bouquets and color schemes has me thinking we should get you a dress.”

Cas wrinkles his nose.

“Your preoccupation with gender roles is very childish, Dean. Yet you never complain when you want a pie baked.”

“Baking is manly as hell. Making food with science. I bet Tony Stark bakes. Bruce Banner, too.”

“I don’t understand those references,” Cas says, and then directs his attention to his hot chocolate. He makes an appreciative noise at the taste and sits back in his seat, cupping the mug close. He closes his eyes briefly and inhales the warm, chocolaty scent before taking a deep sip. Dean settles in close beside him and presses a kiss to Cas’ head. They’re quiet a moment, both sipping their hot chocolate.

“She’s changed it to ‘man of honor’,” Cas says after a while.

“Who changed what?” Dean asks. The peaceful moment has him sleepy and considering crawling into bed once they’re done their hot chocolate, pulling Cas with him.

“Sarah. She has no sisters and she… she says she considers me her closest friend, apart from Sam. She requested that I be her man of honor. I’ve accepted.”

Dean raises his eyebrows.

“You? Her best friend? Really?

Cas looks uncomfortable, eyes darting out of the corners of his eyes as he adjusts his grip on his cup.

“It would seem so,” he replies, looking away.

“Do you guys ever even talk?”

“We text often.”

Dean’s expression becomes incredulous and he snorts. “You text? I didn’t know you knew how to text. You’ve never texted me.”

“I’ve never needed to. I am almost always with you.”

“Huh.” Dean takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “Well, cool. You and I can walk down the aisle together, then, since I’m Sam’s best man.”

Cas nods.

“I must admit I was pleased when Sarah asked, because I disliked the idea of you being paired with some woman.”

Dean chuckles and tilts his head so he can press a chase kiss to Cas’ neck. “Wouldn’t have mattered, angel. I only have eyes for you.”

Cas’ eyes fall closed and his mouth forms the slightest smile. They fall quiet again, and neither one moves or speaks until their hot chocolate is long gone. Eventually, Cas places both their cups on the coffee table and goes back to his magazines, paging through them. Dean stays leaning back against the couch, watching his boyfriend through half-lidded eyes. At one point, Cas pulls out his phone and takes a photo of one of the pages and sends a text, probably to Sarah.

Dean falls asleep after a while, and only stirs again when Cas gently beckons him to bed.

*

“Dean, you’re leering,” Sarah says with a smirk, one eyebrow arched. Dean blinks rapidly and shakes his head slightly to shake himself out of his reverie. He’s in Men’s Warehouse in the mall with Sarah and Cas, and the sight of Cas in a tuxedo has him gaping and considering jumping Cas in public. Which would be awkward, especially considering Sarah’s here.

To be fair, it’s not Dean’s fault Cas looks so goddamn sexy in a tux. It’s tailored to him and hugs his form in a way that accentuates his hips, showing him off like the prize he is. Dean’s smugly satisfied to call this man his own.

The wedding’s theme is formal and classy as hell, with a color scheme of red, white and black. Accordingly, Cas’ suit has a red tie and matching red handkerchief. It’s debonair in all the right ways and Cas looks dapper as hell in it. All the groomsmen are wearing the same suit, but Dean’s positive no one will look good as Cas. Not even Dean himself, which is saying something.

“Hey, I’ve got a hot boyfriend,” Dean says with a shrug. Cas looks pleasantly uncomfortable at the attention, warm red cheeks and stiff shoulders and all, and Dean feels accomplished.

“Dean,” Cas says tersely in a warning tone. Dean grins.

“I’m glad the suits look as nice in person as they do online,” Sarah remarks with approval. “I kind of wish we hadn’t waited until the weekend before the wedding to check em out.”

“Better late than never,” Dean replies. “Let’s rent them now.”

“You haven’t tried yours on,” Cas says, in a tone that is startlingly close to a pout. Dean steps in close to Cas and lowers his voice so only Cas can hear him.

“Later on,” he says, “so that I can take it off right after.”

Cas’ eyes widen and he gulps. Dean chuckles darkly, and Sarah clears her throat.

“You’re wearing that out of the store,” Dean adds before politely raising his voice to standard volume. “I think we’re done here.”

They rent their suits and exit the store with Cas looking awkward and uncomfortable wearing his suit in such a crowded area. And hot. In every sense of the word. He gets a few looks from strangers, ranging from expressions of confusion to lusty looks from women. One teenager sneers at him, “Getting married, dude?”, and Dean feels something inexplicable flip in his chest. Sarah gives him a knowing look, which is weird because Dean has no idea what she’s knowing. Characteristically, he ignores it.

“Dean! Cassy-ell!” A child’s high-pitch voice cuts through the white noise of mall chatter, and Dean instantly grins. He glances at Cas and finds a similar expression, which is odd because although Cas is generally happy now, he’s not really given to impromptu smiles. The child is Lyric, of course, and she’s racing through the throngs of people toward them. She runs to Dean and gives him a hug as big as her tiny form can manage, and Dean feels a surge of feelings he can’t even begin to process.

“Hey, kid,” he says fondly, ruffling her hair. Her hair is in two loose braids that Dean all but demolishes with his rough, albeit fond, handling. Dean approves of her clothes; she’s got a faded grey Avengers t-shirt on and a pair of bright pink jeans, like she couldn’t decide what kind of outfit she wanted today. She has her eyes glued to Cas, sheer wonder glimmering in her gaze.

“You’re getting married,” she says, jaw dropping. Cas looks painfully uncomfortable, and Dean’s torn between amusement and something else, completely foreign. Sarah appears entirely confused, but she has a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

“Nah, kiddo, Sarah here is marrying my little brother. Cas is her man of honor.” Lyric’s expression is instantly crestfallen.

“Who’s this?” Sarah asks, watching Lyric fondly.

“Lyric. We babysit her occasionally,” Cas explains.

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah says. Lyric grins and offers her hand, and Sarah shakes it.

“You too!” Lyric chirps.

Just then, Lyric’s mom, Jayne, arrives, wearing an apologetic smile.

“She runs off so fast!” she says, giving Lyric a look that’s only half stern.

“No problem,” Dean replies at the same time Cas says, “We enjoy her company.” Jayne laughs.

“That’s certainly comforting. So – why the tux, Castiel?” She glances at Dean in question with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Her wedding,” Cas quickly replies, gesturing to Sarah.

“I need a flower girl,” Sarah blurts out. Her eyes haven’t left Lyric once. She looks at Jayne, now, expression practically pleading. “What can I do to convince you to let me borrow her?”

The very idea of Lyric in a pretty little dress tossing flower petals makes Dean grin.

“Please?” he adds. Lyric hops up and down.

“Please, Mommy, please?” she squeals, staring at Sarah like she’s some sort of deity. Jayne looks uncertain.

“Where, exactly?” she asks, frowning slightly. Dean doesn’t blame her for hesitating; Lyric’s barely five years old, after all.

“Upstate New York. Cas and I can swing by Saturday night and pick her up,” Dean replies. “We’ll take good care of her,” he adds quickly in a reassuring tone. Lyric’s eyes are practically glimmering, all wide and big and pleading.

Jayne looks back and forth between Cas and Dean for a moment, and finally smiles tentatively.

“I know she’ll be in good hands.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Lyric says in a rush of breath, and Dean actually fist pumps.

“Thank you,” Sarah chimes in. “She’ll be perfect.”

Jayne agrees to go with Sarah and pick out Lyric’s dress at the nearby bridal shop. Dean sorta wants to go – not that he’d ever actively say so – but Sarah dismisses him and Cas. She says that her dress is in the bridal collection they’ll be looking through for Lyric’s dress, and she doesn’t want them speculating. It’s fair enough, Dean supposes, but he kinda doesn’t want to wait a week to see Lyric all dressed up.

Which is really, really weird and almost paternal, but Dean is so, so not going there.

They all say their goodbyes and part ways with plans to see each other again on Friday, when Dean and Cas will be driving up to upstate New York to help prepare for the wedding. Cas looks visibly relieved when they get to the car and he’s out of the sight of strangers staring at his suit. Dean chuckles at the sight.

“It’ll be worth the embarrassment, baby,” he says with a wink.

Cas scowls. “Not a baby, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says dismissively. He kisses Cas, then, slow and deep and full of promise. When they pull apart, Cas is staring at his mouth.

“Please take us home, Dean. Now.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and smirks, but it’s not like he can ignore a request like that. He puts the car in drive and breaks a couple speed limits taking them home.

*

“Dean. Sam’s marriage is in six days and we haven’t purchased him a present.”

Cas has a habit of having no sense of context about when to launch conversations. For instance, Dean is still in a dizzy state of post-sex euphoria, full to the brim of fluffy feelings that are causing him to fondly card his fingers through Cas’ hair. His spare hand has Cas wrapped close, the other man’s back tugged against Dean’s chest. Dean’s even got a stupid smile on his face. The last thing he wants to talk about in this moment is his brother.

“You really are a moment killer, you know that?” he asks, rolling his eyes. He presses a kiss to the back of Cas’ head.

“We are somewhat pressed for time, Dean,” Cas says, twining his legs with Dean’s. “Knowing you, you probably haven’t even given it any thought.”

Dean chuckles because something like that would normally be true in most situations, but this time Dean actually has given it thought. A shit load of thought, actually. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m thinking about giving Sammy the Impala.”

There’s a loaded moment where Cas is completely silent and Dean’s holding his breath, biting his lip. It’s weird to say it out loud, to –

Then, Cas starts laughing.

Dean sits up immediately, shoulders going tense, and the nervousness drops from his expression. He glares at Cas. Cas sits up too, slowly, tilting his head in confusion. His blue eyes squint at Dean in the dim, early evening light that’s slipping in past their thick curtains. Cas never laughs – Dean can count the number of times he’s heard his angel laugh on his hands. The fact that he’d start now with such a gentle subject is… jarring.

“Dean,” Cas says once his quiet laughter has died out, “If we had a child, I wouldn’t offer her as tribute to your brother’s wedding, no matter how fitting it seemed. Likewise, she is your ‘baby’. I will not allow you to entertain this idea.”

Dean is completely stuck on the first part of Cas’ sentence for a moment; time seems to have stood still. ‘If we had a child’ – something about the easy way the words roll off Cas’ tongue makes all sorts of alarms go off in Dean’s head, and he’s not even entirely sure they’re bad. Certainly more like an alarm clock than a siren.

Thankfully, he’s able to compose his thoughts quickly enough to focus on the actual point of what Cas is saying… and, yeah, the guy has a point. Dean was all ready for praise on what a selfless act of true devotion this would be, though, so he thinks he should at least put up some sort of defense for his idea.

“It’s… uh. Symbolic,” he says. Again, it sounds weird to say out loud.

Cas deadpans, blue eyes boring into green. A subtle quirk of the former-angel’s eyebrow is enough to make Dean crack into a smile.

“Just as if you’d given away a human child, no other parent could love your baby as much as you. Including Sam.”

Dean stares at him a long, thoughtful moment more before nodding.

“Especially Sam,” he agrees.

Cas rolls his eyes fondly before laying back down, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“I suppose we have time. Not much, but some. We can sleep.”

Dean smirks – he counts this as a victory – and joins Cas, tugging him close. He buries his nose in the back of Cas’ neck and closes his eyes. He’s asleep before he even counts on it, lulled under by the familiar scent and warm feeling of his lover lying close.

*

It’s the Thursday before Sam and Sarah’s wedding, and they still haven’t thought of a present. Cas keeps giving Dean this look whenever the conversation comes up, as though Dean is supposed to figure this out all by himself. Sam’s his brother, yeah, so Dean gets the logic… but it’s still decidedly unfair. Cas is good with all this chick stuff. Dean has no idea where to start. They got a waffle iron as a backup present, but they both agree that the main thing has to be more meaningful.

It’s a lot of pressure, really.

They’re sitting at their table and Cas is serving an awesome breakfast of omelets and hash browns when the idea hits Dean. He’s not entirely sure what train of thought brought him to this sudden burst of inspiration, but he’s full of excitement when he voices it.

“Sam told me once, something that Dad told him,” Dean says, taking a sip of his coffee as Cas sits beside him. Cas could easily sit opposite Dean, but he never does. It’s awesome in an awkward way. Dean doesn’t mind.

“What’s that?” Cas asks curiously, furrowing his eyebrows, curious.

“He said that when Sammy was born, Dad opened a savings account. He said every month, he’d put a hundred dollars in that account – for college. We had a college fund, dude.”

Cas looks him over silently, as though trying to procure some kind of meaning from Dean’s words. After a moment, his eyes light up with understanding.

“You’re suggesting we open a fund for Sam and Sarah’s future children.”

Dean grins. “Bingo.”

Rather than give him an immediate proud look, Cas regards Dean with an unreadable expression that makes Dean uncomfortable. He feels like he’s about to start squirming.

“What?” Dean finally snaps, caving to his unease.

Cas appears to be broken out of some kind of reverie. He shrugs slightly.

“Nothing. You’re just… thinking like a father, Dean.”

The words fall like a lead weight on Dean’s chest and they’re heavy, startlingly potent. Cas says them like they’re nothing, but they’re not. A scattering of goosebumps ghost across Dean’s skin in a wave and his heart seems to stop for a moment. Dean doesn’t know what to say. The word “father” doesn’t exactly have good connotations for either of them. That Cas can throw it out so easily, like it’s normal, like it’s possible… it’s overwhelming. In this tiny silent second, Dean feels something in him fall and he has no idea what it means – only that it’s terrifying.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Cas continues. “We may need to pick up an extra shift here or there, but you get very good tips and I doubt it will be often. Sam and Sarah will appreciate your ingenuity.” There’s true pride in Cas’ eyes, and Dean can’t take it.

“We need to hunt something,” he blurts out, taking Cas by surprise.

“What? …We were going to pack, Dean, remember? We leave for Sarah’s in the morning.”

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

“Later.” He stands from his seat abruptly and heads for the living room and the laptop, where he intends to search for a case until he finds one that can jar him out of this… this whatever it is, this flighty feeling in his gut that has him feeling like a spooked horse. Something bloody, something he can gank with a knife through a heart or a machete to a head.

He leaves his breakfast and Cas alone at the kitchen table.

*

They get home in the early hours of the morning, covered in blood and dirt, clothing torn. What they had assumed to be a particularly bloodthirsty vampire had turned out to be an Okami, which was infinitely more trouble to get rid of. The car ride alone verged on three and a half hours each way, and the hunt had a few near misses that had Dean’s heart pounding and pulse racing. The adrenaline was only half as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

When they get in the door, Cas slumps into the couch, dejectedly rubbing his fingers over the tears in his new Halloween sweater. Dean ignores this and walks into the kitchen instead of joining him on the couch. Dumb angel should have known better than to wear something he liked on a hunt. He stares at the cabinet where they used to keep the alcohol. It’s filled with boxes of mac and cheese, now, for the days when Lyric comes to visit. When he finally turns around, he’s surprised to find Cas behind him, head tilted, squinting at him.

“Come to bed, Dean,” he says quietly, placing a hand on Dean’s arm. Dean stiffens.

“Need a shower,” he mutters in reply, crossing the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water in lieu of something more substantial.

“Then come shower with me,” Cas persists quietly, mouth quirking down at the edges.

Dean is silent as he gulps his water. He can see Cas tracking the movement of his throat as the liquid slides down, stare as intense as it ever is. It isn’t until Dean’s downed the glass that Cas speaks.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies, partially because he still doesn’t know. “Start the shower, I’ll join you in a sec.”

“Will you?” Cas asks in a tone that clearly implies that he knows the answer, and that the answer isn’t yes. Dean doesn’t reply, just squares his shoulders and gives Cas an impassive look. Cas returns the look for a long moment before he sighs and leaves the kitchen. Moments later, Dean hears the faint sound of the shower running from the bathroom.

Dean finds his way to the couch and sits down, sinking deep into the plush cushions and tilting his head back to rest it on the back of the couch. He closes his eyes and squeezes his temples and wonders if he should try and sort out these weird feelings. He knows that Cas is probably quietly pissed over Dean’s behavior, which is never a good thing, and that he ought to explain somehow why he’s being such a dick. Unfortunately, his thoughts won’t push past the word ‘father’ without stop signs and red lights flashing at him.

Dean doesn’t mean to fall asleep in bloody clothes in an awkward sleeping position on the couch, but before he’s delved very far into introspection he’s out like a candle. Sleep settles heavily on him and sweeps him away before he has the chance to think of how to vocalize any of his impossible feelings to Cas. The last sleepy thing he thinks before consciousness slips from him is that maybe this gnawing trepidation in his gut is… wrong.

*

An alarm clock set for bright and early rings and is ignored many times before Dean finally wakes up, several hours later. Dean’s got a killer crick in the neck and he cracks it loudly as he stretches, glancing across the room at Cas. Cas is lying in bed, curled to one side of it as though Dean’s presence beside him exists with or without Dean in the bed. Dean chuckles at the sight. He wonders if he does the same thing when he’s in bed and Cas is not… but that rarely happens. Most times, Dean is at fault when they’re fighting.

Dean’s gaze trails across the room, which is soaked in the late morning light that’s fighting its way in through their drawn curtains. It makes the flat seem open and friendly. It never occurred to Dean before that one of the things he likes about this place is how much sun it gets, how there are few shadows when the sun is out. Though, Dean’s pretty sure he could happy in a cave, now, as long as he has Cas.

A quick glance at his own clothes has Dean groaning quietly in disgust. Most of it is not his blood, just a coating of monster guts that sprayed all over him when they made use of a wood chipper to grind the son of a bitch to bits. It’s gross, and he could have benefited from a shower before bed. Should have showered with Cas, he realizes, stealing another glance at his sleeping lover. Whatever thinking his unconscious mind did in his sleep seems to have come to the verdict that he’s been being an idiot.

He strips to his boxers, chucking his gnarly clothing in a heap on the floor, and quietly crawls in bed beside Cas. He cuddles in close, slipping an arm around Cas’ waist. All is quiet in their tiny flat, save for the barely audible sound of Cas’ breathing in his sleep. Dean watches the rise and fall of Cas’ back studiously. He’s sleeping in one of Dean’s shirts, which is a fairly regular occurrence. Dean loves the way it looks on Cas. Dean loves Cas. It’s a love that lives in his lungs and surges forth with every breath. Even when Dean’s struggling with feelings he can’t interpret and pinning them on Cas, even when he’s feeling flighty and stuck, overwhelmed by where his life has led him and where it’s going… even then, the thing that’s taken root in Dean’s core is unshaken.

Dean runs a hand along Cas’ back and is surprised to find the muscle there taut, stone beneath his fingers. Dean winces. Between his sharp behavior and insistence on going on a hunt at an extremely inopportune time, he’s stressed his angel out. Dean sometimes – no, often – forgets that Cas is human and that things do get to him. He’s not an impassive stone angel anymore; he feels and Dean can hurt him.

Dean shifts so that he’s straddling Cas’ thighs, careful not to wake him. He places both hands on Cas’ shoulder blades, feather light at first. Then, with a firmer grip, he begins kneading the skin of Cas’ back, working the tight flesh beneath his hands. They’re already late and are probably leaving as soon as Cas wakes up. Dean feels like he kind of owes it to the guy to send him into their long weekend relaxed and at ease.

Dean doesn’t have too big a role to play in this whole wedding thing, but Cas does. Dean may be the groom’s best man, but the only expectations of him are to stand by Sam and look pretty, and to have a suitably sappy speech prepared for later. Cas, on the other hand, will be involved in a host of wedding planning things that Sarah has requested his input on. A good portion of the ceremony and reception’s organization falls to the two of them, and Dean knows how anxious Cas is to make Sarah’s wedding perfect. It sounds like a hectic weekend, and Dean hasn’t exactly done his angel any favors by forcing it to start several hours late.

For quite some time, Dean works the concrete mess that is Cas’ back into something much more pliable. Eventually Cas melts beneath his fingers, and by the time the other man wakes up, he’s significantly less tense than before.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says groggily, uttering a small noise of satisfaction at the feeling of Dean’s hands massaging his back. Dean smiles. Cas has been greeting him the same way for years; the context never seems to be relevant.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean says warmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Cas’ upper back.

“Your mood seems to have improved,” Cas remarks, shifting to lay on his back so that he’s looking up at Dean. His eyes are inquisitive, eyebrows arched slightly in question. Dean shrugs, smile never leaving his lips.

“My little brother’s getting married!” he says, and it could be in response to Cas’ statement or it could be a complete avoidance of it altogether. Cas’ eyes widen and they dart to the alarm clock sitting on their bedside table. It reads “11:59” in bright red numbers and Cas frowns, shutting his eyes.

“I intended for us to leave hours ago,” he says dejectedly.

Dean shrugs, moving off Cas and sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching his limbs in all directions.

“Shit happens when you save lives for a living,” he says dismissively. “Sarah will understand.”

Cas gives no reply to this save for a short sigh. He reaches blindly for his cell phone on the nightstand and, when he’s unable to reach it, Dean leans over and hands it to him. Cas flips it open and scrolls through his phone, brow furrowing.

“Sarah has texted four times.”

“Then we should get going,” Dean says decidedly, smile ebbing slightly as he moves to stand up.

Cas shuts the phone and grabs Dean’s hand, tugging him back to sitting position.

“Soon,” Cas agrees, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand, “but first, let me return the favor.”

It occurs to Dean to protest and insist that they leave sooner rather than later, that he’s already made them late enough, but… Dean’s never been one to deny himself simple pleasures. Cas is the one who’s all about planning and time and organization, anyway, and Cas thinks they have time for this. So Dean lets Cas gently lead him so that he’s lying on his stomach, face pressed into the soft pillow that smells like his boyfriend. He lets his eyes fall closed as he feels Cas’ nimble fingers skirting across his back, drawing shapes absently at first. Cas has revealed in the past that these seemingly meaningless designs he often draws on Dean skin are Enochian poetry.

Dean gives an undignified grunt when Cas adds pressure and then sighs deeply when his touches ease into a firm rhythm. He hadn’t realized how stiff he was until now, and it strikes him how much their moods play off one another. He wonders if it’s even possible for one of them to be happy while the other is upset. Dean’s fairly certain that it’s not. The realization makes him feel inexplicably warm all over.

“You need a shower,” Cas announces after an indeterminable amount of time, once Dean’s nearly asleep again with how relaxed he feels. The knots in his back are all worked out. “Shower and then we leave immediately. I’ll make us a quick breakfast while I wait.”

“Or,” Dean says thoughtfully, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Cas’ waist, pulling him down, “you could come shower with me, and we’ll get a drive-through breakfast somewhere.”

Cas presses a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth.

“I like that idea.”

Cas kisses Dean again and Dean forces himself to sit up, lest he get lost in the magic of it, as it’s so easy to.

“I love you,” Dean says, and Cas tilts his head and just looks at him, like he’s staring into him.

“I love you as well, Dean,” he replies. “Just as you are – I will never ask more of you than what you are willing to give.”

Cas seems to understand Dean’s feelings despite the fact that Dean himself still isn’t exactly sure what’s going on with them. Cas’ words put him at ease, though, and give him the courage to add his own.

“Well, then I’ll make sure I’m never unwilling to give exactly what you need.”

Cas’ expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t reply to this, just keeps wearing that stare of his that is so goddamn pure and laser-pointed that Dean would be unnerved if he wasn’t so used to it. After an almost too-long moment, Cas stands up and then helps Dean off the bed as well. They head to the bathroom and talk of the upcoming wedding drowns out the silence of an unspoken would-be conversation.

*

The drive to upstate New York is long as ever, but it passes in affable conversation with great music as the soundtrack. Dean and Cas go back and forth between who picks the tunes, and yet again Dean finds that he likes Cas’ weird indie music. Dean sings loud to all his old school rock, and catches Cas singing under his breath every now and then. Cas is wearing a black sweater with an obnoxious scarlet apple on it, with neon orange trim along the sleeves and collar. A year ago, he probably would have set it on fire while Cas slept, but now it’s endearing in a hideous eyesore way.

They stop briefly at a pit stop two thirds of the way there, and Cas surprises Dean by crawling into his lap and kissing him fiercely, out of the blue. It’s awkward and uncomfortable in the driver’s seat, but Dean’s sure as hell not complaining, especially when Cas’ nimble fingers find the buttons of his jeans. Dean rather ungracefully pulls them both into the back seat and Cas sucks him off like a pro, despite the weird angle and the fact that they’re in a parking lot. In all fairness, the lot is fairly empty because it’s the middle of the day on a Friday, but it still feels exposed and subsequently adrenaline-pumping. It’s fast and dirty and raw and Cas swallows it all down with a quiet, low moan and a blissed out expression that looks absolutely wanton.

Dean’s hands make for Cas’ bulging jeans, but Cas shakes his head.

“We’re already running late,” he pants, resting his head briefly on Dean’s stomach as he regains his breath. “Tonight we can continue.”

“Dude, you’re hard as concrete,” Dean protests, but his angel looks up at him and frowns.

“I’ll survive. I shouldn’t have delayed us in the first place, but the urge was overwhelming.”

Dean raises an eyebrow in question; Cas shrugs.

“We didn’t have sex last night,” he explains, sitting up and wiping his mouth in a downright dirty way that sends shivers dancing across Dean’s skin.

The rest of the car ride is mostly silent, but it’s a comfortable silence that Dean enjoys. Cas has his seat tilted back and for a while his head rests against the headrest, his mouth open slightly and his eyes squeezed shut. Composing himself, Dean realizes. Dean’s mouth waters a little in anticipation of returning the favor.

By the time they arrive at Sarah’s father’s mansion, Cas has successfully killed his boner and actually fallen asleep. Dean cuts the engine and looks at him fondly, momentarily unwilling to wake him. The angel’s mouth is still open just the slightest bit and his head is tilted forward. His neck is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch when he wakes up, but for right now he looks too peaceful to rouse just yet.

A loud rapping on the passenger’s window, however, makes it so Dean doesn’t have to wake him at all. Cas starts visibly and his mouth snaps shut. Outside the window, Sarah is there, grinning wide. Her hair is in loose twin braids and she’s wearing a big gray sweater that may or may not belong to Sam. She waves excitedly and motions for Cas to roll down his window, which he does, still blinking sleepily.

“You’re here!” Sarah says enthusiastically. “I was beginning to think you guys decided to come tomorrow.” Dean glances quickly at the car clock, which tells that it’s nearly 4pm. Considering they’d initially intended to arrive before eleven, Dean understands her concerns.

Cas looks sheepish and Dean can tell that returning Sarah’s smile is an effort. He’s not big on being late, and right now he kind of looks like he wants the car seat to swallow him up. Dean leans forward and shoots Sarah an easy, apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Sarah. Emergency hunt last night, couldn’t pass it up. We got in late and overslept.” Dean figures it’s not exactly a lie – every hunt is technically an emergency, right?

“My apologies,” Cas agrees solemnly. Sarah raises an eyebrow at him before laughing. She’s got a great laugh; Dean couldn’t be happier with the girl Sam picked to spend the rest of his life with.

“You look like you just swallowed a can of sardines or something,” she tells him, smiling sympathetically. Cas squirms a little and won’t meet her eyes.

“We had things we needed to accomplish for the wedding today,” he says, almost mumbling. Sarah leans down so that she’s eye level with Cas.

“Hey. Cas, buddy. It’s fine, alright? I got all the boring stuff out of the way – you guys lucked out with that. The tables are set up according to the floor plan we figured out on Skype a couple weeks ago –”

“ – you guys use Skype?” Dean interjects, incredulous. Both Cas and Sarah ignore him.

“– And the main stuff that we already planned, like table cloths and seating charts and all the other drudgery. We didn’t really need you guys for all that. You’re just in time for the fun stuff, though. Like the lighting. I don’t trust anyone’s insight with candles better than yours.”

Cas seems to perk up at Sarah’s reassurances, finally looking at her. His smile, while small as ever, doesn’t look forced anymore. There’s something dancing in his eyes, too, and Dean knows this look. It’s the same expression Cas gets when he checks out the calendar and sees that a new holiday is approaching. It’s usually followed by the sound of car keys jingling and Cas beckoning Dean to join him on a trip to the holiday store. Cas is clearly in his element here.

No sooner have they exited the vehicle than Cas and Sarah dive deep into some girly conversation about flower arrangements, and Dean’s manhood feels gravely wounded. Cas seems to have no such concerns; Dean’s theory about actually being in a heterosexual relationship is seeming more and more plausible.

By way of tuning the two of them out, Dean observes the house they’re entering as they walk up the long driveway to the front entrance. He’s never been to Sarah Blake’s father’s house, only to his art gallery so many years ago. Dean’s not sure what he was expecting, only that he’s caught off guard by how big it is. It’s certainly a mansion by all respects, with large windows all along the front indicating countless rooms within. It’s not sleek and modern like Dean would have expected of an art dealer; rather it has a sort of vintage, albeit still incredibly expensive, quality to it. Dean half expects it to be haunted, but he figures Sam’s probably checked the place already.

“Where’s Sammy?” he inquires as soon as they’re inside, eager to skip out of the massive chick moment his boyfriend and soon to be sister-in-law are sharing.

“Probably in the rec room playing Madden,” Sarah replies. “He’s practically been attached to the couch there.”

Dean snorts.

“Figures he’d be holed away playing video games. Mind if I go hunt him down and remind him he’s not actually a football star?”

Sarah chuckles. “Please do; someone certainly needs to. Follow that hall all the way back and take the door on the left. It’ll bring you downstairs, where the rec room is.” She gestures towards a hallway that veers off from the direction where she and Cas are headed.

Dean says thanks and bids them a brief goodbye before following her directions and heading down the hallway. There are art pieces along the walls that are tasteful and clearly expensive. Dean hadn’t thought about it until now, but it occurs to him that Sam’s going to probably going to have a damn big wedding. He hasn’t seen Sarah’s father in several years, and back then he they didn’t get off on the best start. Dean thinks it’s pretty great that the guy is willing to let all that go in favor of supporting is daughter in who she chooses to spend the rest of her life with.

“Well if it isn’t Michael Vick,” Dean says with a grin as he enters the room, finding Sam sitting on the floor with a game controller in his hand, leaned forward as though his team will play better if his whole body is into it. Sam glances up briefly, sees who it is, and pauses the game before he gives Dean a fake bitch face and scrambles to his feet.

“I live in New York, Dean,” he says, walking over and giving Dean a hug in greeting. “Eli Manning, if you must.”

Dean groans. “You and your goddamn Giants.”

Sam snorts.

“This is an Eagles fan scoffing?”

“Hey, we’re doing well this year!” Dean persists, and Sam gives him a look and a raised eyebrow that says Really? Dean figures now is the time to stop while he’s ahead, so he changes subjects.

“So, my little Sammy’s all grown up and getting married,” he says, giving Sam a once-over like he expects the man to have grown some since he last saw him. Which, really, what a horrible prospect; if Sam got any taller, he’d have trouble making it through doors. Sam’s returning smile is an unexpectedly shy, nervous one, and he runs a hand through his hair without saying anything for a moment. Dean’s expression is smug and he crosses his arms, too much of an older brother to say anything to throw Sam a bone.

“Yeah,” Sam finally responds, “it’s kind of surreal.”

Dean takes a seat on the rec room’s couch, which is insanely plush and comfortable. He has no idea why his brother would opt for the floor over this little pile of heaven. It’s certainly not out of inability to see the TV; it’s massive, about Sam’s height and takes up a decent chunk of the wall. Man, Sarah is loaded. After a moment, Sam joins Dean on the couch.

“You scared, dude?” Dean asks, giving Sam a playful punch on the arm, smirk never leaving his lips.

Sam rolls his eyes and his smile broadens.

“Hell yeah I’m scared, Dean. This is about to be the most important day of my life. I’d be crazy not to be.”

Dean bites his tongue, because the small, stupid part of him that is still wildly jealous that Sam has gone off and left him wants to correct his brother. He wants to mention the day when they killed Azazel or when they, y’know, stopped the friggin apocalypse, but he doesn’t. Because this is not about him. Because Dean is not that person anymore.

“You’ll be scared on your wedding day, too,” Sam adds, raising his eyebrows knowingly. Dean’s jaw drops for a moment and he stares before he composes himself and lets out a choked laugh.

“Sammy, Sammy. This is me you’re talking to. I don’t do alters and rings.” His tone is easy and cavalier, like he’s correcting a misspoken word or something.

Sam shrugs in response. “You also don’t do long term relationships, and you’ve been with Cas for almost a year now.”

The knowing smile on Sam’s lips is coming dangerously close to souring Dean’s mood, for reasons unknown to him. Even he knows that that would be dumb, though, so he decides to redirect the conversation.

“Uh… speaking of! Apparently I’m dating a girl. They’re outside discussing flowers and lightning, Sam. Flowers. And lighting.”

Sam laughs, sitting back and relaxing into the chair, all the tension draining from his shoulders. He’s more nervous about the wedding thing than he’s willing to let on, Dean realizes.

“You really need to get off your preoccupation with gender roles, Dean.”

Dean stares blankly.

“That is literally the exact same thing Cas said. Are you all, like, conspiring against me behind my back? You’re all out to get my manhood.”

“Nah, we all just share a mutual desire to make you less of a dick,” Sam says, though his tone is fond.

“Very funny. I happen to know I’m adorable – and isn’t that really what counts? Oh, by the way, dude, what are we doing for your bachelor party tomorrow? We didn’t plan anything ahead of time, so I guess we can’t do anything too crazy, but I can definitely make sure there’s booze and strippers, no problem.”

It’s Sam’s turn to stare blankly, before slowly shaking his head.

“I… no. I don’t want any strippers, Dean.” Dean rolls his eyes and groans dramatically.

“Of course you don’t. C’mon, Sammy, live a little! Tomorrow’s your last night as a free man. You’re actually allowed to do this. It’s encouraged, even. Healthy. The natural order of things.”

Sam squirms, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Look, Dean, I… I’d feel like I was being unfaithful to Sarah. I don’t need a bachelor party.”

Dean’s jaw drops and he starts to speak when someone else’s voice cuts him off.

“Yes you do, Sam,” Cas says, and Dean’s surprised to find him hovering in the doorway. Sam’s eyes look panicked, but when Cas walks into the room it’s clear that Sarah is not with him and Sam relaxes – slightly.

“Excuse me?” Sam asks Cas, looking shocked and a little betrayed.

“It is imperative that you have a bachelor party; it’s tradition.” Dean actually fist pumps at this, because finally Cas being a stickler for the rules is paying off.

“What he said,” Dean adds, as though his agreement isn’t already obvious enough.

Sam looks back and forth between Cas and Dean like they’re police officers arresting him or something.

“I’m sorry to burst your bubbles, but I don’t want any strippers,” Sam says snippily. Cas’ expression is immediately confused, brow furrowed as he looks from Sam to Dean. In this moment, Dean realizes that he’s lost his ally – and, by extension, the argument.

“I would never insist that you get strippers, Sam,” Cas says seriously, earnestly, and Sam looks so relieved that Dean feels like pouting. Between his brother and his boyfriend, there is literally no room for fun.

“Well, I’m up for any other ideas,” Sam says, “but personally, I’ve got nothing.”

Cas smiles that small, hesitant smile of his.

“I thought you might say that,” he replies. “So I’ve been researching unconventional bachelor party ideas. How available do you think your groomsmen can be on short notice?”

Sam smiles.

“They’ll make it.”

*

It turns out the following day that six out of Sam’s seven other groomsmen were able to make it a day early for the impromptu bachelor party, barring the one who is flying out from northern California for the event. Apparently Sam was able to track down his old best friend from Stanford on Facebook or something, and the two had reconnected as easily as though no time had passed. His flight is scheduled to come in late Saturday evening, though, and the bachelor party Cas comes up with is, surprisingly enough, a daytime event.

The name of the game is paintball, and Dean’s actually pretty impressed with the idea. He’s also friggin excited for it. Something about the idea of firing a gun without any intent to actually destroy something or someone feels good and healthy in a way Dean never expected. It’s interesting to see how civilians deal with the weird desire to shoot things at each other, and Dean thinks it’s fitting for Sam’s wedding. It only takes the process of gearing up for the event for Dean to forget about his strippers idea completely.

The game is divided up into teams, and Dean’s delighted to find that he’s on the opposite team as his brother. He wants to beat Sam at his own bachelor party, because that’s what big brothers do. He’s also on the opposite team as Cas, which Dean thinks is a plus. He’s spent so much of his life fighting serious things beside these two that it just amplifies the fun of the game to switch things up. Sam’s group of groomsmen is too small for a full game on their own, so another, much larger bachelor party is added to the fray. Dean is immediately looked to as a leader, which inflates his ego nicely.

In the end, Dean’s team loses – but Dean is the one to take out both his brother and his boyfriend, so Dean is satisfied. He’s sweating profusely and exhausted by the end of it, and it feels amazing. He was actually even taken out by the opposite team, and it felt good. The idea of being shot without any deadly consequences is exhilarating and makes Dean feel light inside and out. The game was long, as far as paintball gunning goes, even though it felt quite brief. Dean hopes that this is a thing he, Sam and Cas do on a regular basis. It’s a similar kind of rush as hunting but it’s not sinister or dark in any way. Dean thinks this experience might hold some deeper meaning or something, but, as usual, he’s not willing to delve into it.

The ride back to Sarah’s stinks up the car, which Cas comments on in that monotone way of his. They’re all exhausted and for some reason this makes Sam and Dean crack up with shoulder-shaking laughs and everything about the moment is wonderful.

And, like so many other things, he has Cas to thank for it.

*

Dean and Cas takes a long bath together when they get back, though they’re too tired for any heavy handling. The bathtub in the guest bathroom is, as to be expected, huge, nearly Jacuzzi sized and perfect for soaking in. Dean lays pressed with his back against Cas’ chest for what seems like forever, just silently soaking in the long and peaceful moment. Eventually Dean turns over and they kiss warmly and lazily, just exploring each other’s mouths for the sheer pleasure of being close.

They stay there until the formerly scolding water chills entirely and their toes and fingers are as pruny as old men and it occurs to Dean that, holy shit, he might actually live to be an old man and he might just do it with someone else. It’s not an idea he ever entertained for a moment before; he always just assumed he’d end bloody and alone. But here and now, he realizes that it’s a choice. The knowledge at once scares him and warms him. He can’t help but think, though, in this quiet moment as they towel off after emerging from the bath, that nothing is quite that scary when he has Cas.

*

Sarah needs Cas’ input on the uncomfortably numerous amount of things that need finishing the night before the wedding, so Dean makes the three hour trip back to Media to pick up Lyric alone. He finds himself listening to Cas’ quiet indie crap, some band called Cute Death Taxi or… something dumb that initially put Dean off of it just because the name of the band was so lame. But Cas plays it before bed sometimes, quietly in the background when he’s feeling too restless to sleep, and it’s gentle and nice in a way that Dean’s classic rock often isn’t.

The sun is setting when he arrives at Lyric’s place. Jayne invites him in and he figures he can spare a couple minutes, so he does. If he’s willing to admit, he’s pretty curious about what Lyric’s life outside his and Cas’ flat is like. Their house is small, but still much bigger and nicer than Dean and Cas’ by comparison. Lyric’s waiting with her jacket on already when Dean finds her plopped in front of the TV watching Lilo and Stitch, and she bounces up excitedly when she lays her eyes on Cas.

“I have been waiting!” she cries enthusiastically. Jayne presses a palm to her face sheepishly.

“I told her when you’d be getting here, but she insisted on having her shoes and jacket on almost an hour ago. She’s very stubborn when she wants to be.”

Dean smiles because, yeah, he can definitely vouch for that one.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her pig-tailed hair.

“It’s okay! We’re gonna have fun! It’s a sleepover! Can we have a pillow fight? Can we have hot chocolate? Can we watch Lilo and Stitch? Cas loves Lilo and Stitch, he told me. I’m gonna have a dress! Mommy showed me! Sarah said I’m gonna have a very important part in her wedding.”

Jayne rolls her eyes.

“She’s been going on about this for a week.”

“We’re really glad to have her,” Dean says, open and honestly. His fond eyes never leave Lyric, who’s hopping up and down. “Thanks for letting us borrow her.”

Jayne fixes him with a warm smile.

“As I said, I know she’ll be in great hands.”

“Ready to go, sport?” he asks Lyric, who pretty much screeches in response. Both adults wince at the high-pitched, albeit endearing, noise.

“I’ve packed a portable DVD player and three movies for the car ride, her teddy bear, her favorite blanket because she gets whiny if she has to sleep without it and a disposal camera because… well, I’m too impatient to wait for the professional pictures.”

“Check, check and check. Sounds like she’s more than prepared.”

“So prepared!” Lyric chirps.

“Well, I guess we’re off,” Dean says, beckoning Lyric toward the door. She makes a sudden rush at her mother and squeezes her tight.

“Be good for Dean and Cas, okay?” she tells her. Lyric nods vigorously.

“I will ‘cause I love them!” Lyric responds enthusiastically, and wow if that didn’t strike a chord deep inside Dean.

Once mother and daughter have exchanged goodbyes, they leave the house and Dean buckles Lyric into the back seat of the Impala, set up with her DVD player to watch the end of Lilo and Stitch. In contrast to her previous abounding energy, the dark of the car seems to calm her, and she falls quiet as she watches the movie intently. About 20 minutes into the ride, they have to exit the highway and seek out a McDonald’s because Dean didn’t think to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom before they left. Dean chides himself because that’s practically Parenting 101… and then he realizes what he’s just thought, and he feels weird. He shakes it off when Lyric emerges happily, though. The sight of her seems to put everything in perspective, whatever ‘everything’ is.

Halfway through the ride, Dean glances in his rearview mirror and finds Lyric asleep, head nestled against her seatbelt. The glow of the second movie playing on the DVD player’s screen lights up her tiny features just the slightest bit. She looks completely at peace, and Dean feels exactly the same way.

*

Once they arrive, Lyric perks up pretty quickly. She’s awed by the size of the house and chattering about haunted princess castles and how she’s a superhero that’s going to save everyone, and Dean thinks she reminds him a little of himself. She skips up to the front entrance and knocks at the door enthusiastically. Cas is the one who answers, and he looks, for lack of a better word, adorable. He’s got flour in his hair and he’s wearing an apron covered with leaves for autumn. Dean kisses him when he reaches the doorway, tasting powdered sugar faintly.

“Are you seriously the one who made the cake?” Dean asks incredulously. Cas nods, and Lyric’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“Way too cool! Way too cool!” she says excitedly.

“Looks like we’re both impressed,” Dean says with a grin. Cas looks quietly pleased, wearing a small smile, the very faintest hint of blush coloring his cheeks.

“I suppose the true measure will be in how it tastes,” he replies.

“It’ll taste awesome!” Lyric says excitedly. She pushes past Cas and looks around the small foyer, features alight with pleasure at the beautiful home. Dean catches her yawning, though, and he exchanges a look with Cas, who seems to have noticed as well.

“How bout we head to our room?” Dean suggests. Lyric frowns.

“Can I have hot chocolate first, please?” she asks in her sweetest voice, and it’s not exactly something Dean is capable of refusing. Cas smiles at her.

“Yes, you may, because you asked so politely,” he tells her, and she positively beams.

The kitchen is, like everything else here, huge. Dean sort of thinks it’s all a bit ridiculous for such a small family, but he figures he’d probably go big if he was an art dealer, too. Cas insists that Dean go all out with his homemade hot chocolate, which is one of the only things he rivals Cas in preparing. It involves cocoa, vanilla, sugar and milk in a saucepan at just the right temperature, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. He serves them each a mug and they decide to bring them up to the room at the sight of Lyric’s eyelids drooping.

Once everyone’s in pajamas, Lilo and Stitch is put on, as promised. The bed in the guest bedroom is conveniently a trundle one, with a smaller mattress that pulls out from underneath. Lyric snuggles under it in several blankets and is out like a light before the first scene is even over. Dean and Cas watch her fondly from their bed for a moment before Cas reaches over and takes the DVD player and turns it off. He hesitates a moment before pressing a soft kiss to her head. Dean watches the movement closely and thinks he could maybe get used to this.

As Dean lays in the darkness beside Cas, it finally hits him that his little brother, the kid he essentially raised is getting married tomorrow. He’s starting a new chapter of his life, something permanent and uncharted and incredible and it scares Dean. He knows that not much will change in regards to his relationship with his brother, but it still feels like it will. With marriage comes the prospect of children, of nieces or nephews for Dean and Cas. It’s a weird thought. Still, there’s no girl Dean would rather Sam spend the rest of his life with.

He falls asleep just as the butterflies in his stomach are starting to get the best of him. Cas’ quiet breathing beside him indicates that he’s already falling asleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day, and Dean’s grateful when he feels the reigns of sleep finally, finally tugging at him.

It’s several hours later when something wakes him. His eyes flicker open quickly and his body is on instant alert, but it eases when he realizes the source of his inexplicable waking. Lyric has joined them on their bed, snuggling in between Dean and Cas. She gives a quiet little sigh before burying her face in Dean’s back.

Dean stares wide-eyed into the darkness for a long, long time before he finally falls back asleep.

*

When Dean wakes up the following morning, Lyric is jumping on the bed and giggling loudly. A quick glance around shows that Cas is already gone, which he expected. There are last minute details to be had and he’s not usually one to wake Dean before he’s ready. Dean feels somewhat guilty over his low level of participation in the coordinating of everything, but he has the distinct feeling that his help would probably not have been of much use.

He gets Lyric dressed and they shuffle downstairs to get breakfast. There is, thankfully, a box of Lucky Charms that Dean thinks probably has something to do with Cas, which he’s grateful for. Lyric hums something as she eats, and Dean thinks it might actually be “Back in Black” by AC/DC. He grins and hums along as they both sleepily enjoy each other’s company. Lyric requests a sip of his coffee, which he obliges once it’s cool enough, just for the pleasure of watching her face wrinkle up in disgust. As penance, he’s forced to make more hot chocolate, which makes their breakfast that much more unhealthy. Cas wanders in as Dean’s washing the dishes and Lyric is still sitting at the kitchen table, now singing her ABC’s to herself under her breath.

“Good morning, Dean. Good morning, Lyric,” Cas says in greeting. Lyric’s eyes light up when she sees Cas, and rushes at him in a hug.

“Morning Cassy-ell! Dean gave me Lucky Charms and hot chocolate!”

Cas raises an eyebrow in Dean’s direction.

“Did he, now?” Cas asks. “I suppose the effect of sugar on small children didn’t occur to him.” Dean turns off the faucet and towels off his hands, grinning sheepishly.

“I love sugar!” Lyric squeals.

“You and me both, kid,” Dean says, shrugging in Cas’ direction in a what-can-you-do? gesture.

“The wedding is at one,” Cas tells Dean, “which I’m telling you because I assume you haven’t read the invitation.”

“Guilty,” Dean replies unashamedly. He crosses the room and gives Cas a kiss, smiling brightly into it. “Mornin’, Sunshine.”

Cas smiles back and says “Hello, Dean,” as though he hasn’t greeted him already. They stare at each other silently for a long moment before they remember the room has another occupant. Dean clears his throat.

“So what’s the agenda?” Dean asks. It’s just past 11am; there are a few hours before the wedding.

“Well… everything is set up. Our diligence the past two days has made it so the bulk of the work has been accomplished. We can relax.”

“Sweet,” Dean says. Normally, this would be followed by suggestive banter and a trip back up to their bedroom to make use of the time… but Lyric is there, staring at them curiously, and Dean heaves a weighted sigh.

“I understand if you’d like to spend some time with your brother before the big day,” Cas says, seemingly misinterpreting Dean’s sigh. “I thought, perhaps, I could take Lyric to a playground and you and Sam could ‘hang out’.” Cas sounds awkward when he says the last bit, showing yet again that he’s still relatively new to the whole human thing. He rarely uses expressions with no literal meaning, because he doesn’t see the point of them. It’s always hilarious when he tries, though.

It hadn’t occurred to Dean before that, yeah, these are his last few hours with his little brother before the guy goes off and gets married, and he should probably utilize them. He appreciates that Cas thought of it, and he gives the guy another kiss. A quick glance at Lyric shows that her face is wrinkled up like it was when she tasted the coffee. He forgot that little kids are grossed out when grown-ups kiss.

“Thanks, angel,” he says, ruffling Cas’ hair fondly.

“No problem, Dean.”

*

After a lengthy search, Dean finds Sam in the backyard, sitting on a bench by a small koi pond. His hands are laced together and he’s leaned forward. He’s got his pensive shoulders thing going on, and he’s looking so hard into the pond that Dean thinks the guy’s close to shooting lasers at it. Dean walks up unnoticed, and Sam starts visibly when Dean speaks.

“What’d the fish ever do to you, Sammy?” Dean asks good-naturedly as he takes a seat beside Sam. Sam laughs awkwardly, giving his brother a genuine smile.

“Hey Dean,” he says, rolling his shoulders as though he’s been made aware of how tense he looks.

“Nerves getting to you?”

Sam nods slightly, lacing and unlacing his fingers distractedly.

“It’s just… big, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

They both stare into the pond silently for a while, absorbed in their own thoughts. There is a part of Dean that wants to beg Sam not to forget about him or something equally absurd, but he swallows the impulse. This is Sam’s day, not Dean’s.

“Nothing is going to change between us,” Sam says after a while, as though some of his old psychic mojo is still around and he’s reading Dean’s thoughts. Dean sighs just the slightest bit, because he’s pretty sure everyone thinks that nothing will change when they get married.

When Dean doesn’t say anything, Sam goes on.

“I’m serious, Dean. You’re my brother and there’s no one in this world more important than you. Nothing can change that.”

“Not even a wife, a dog and 2.5 kids?” Dean asks, and is surprised by how bitter he sounds, even to his own ears.

Sam shakes his head emphatically, sending his long hair flying.

“Nothing,” he reiterates firmly, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean looks away, at the koi pond, into the distance, anywhere but at Sam. Finally he sighs, conceding defeat, and meets Sam’s fervent stare. His brow is knit with concern and his face is featuring its trademark puppy dog look. Dean can’t help but smile. He’s always been a sucker for the puppy dog eyes.

“I trust you,” he says at last, resigned. The worry seems to melt from Sam’s face and Dean sort of feels like a dick for putting it there in the first place. This is Sam’s big day, after all, and Dean should be keeping his insecurities to himself.

Sam unexpectedly pulls Dean in for a big brotherly embrace, catching Dean off guard. He blinks rapidly for a moment before gruffly hugging back.

“Alright, alright, let’s not make this a chickflick moment,” Dean says, breaking the hug before it gets weird. Sam’s smiling when he pulls away.

“If you say so,” he says playfully. “I know how badly you’re allergic to them.”

“Damn straight,” he says. “I’m happy for you, dude. Seriously. Sarah’s a great girl. Couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

Sam laughs.

“You actually kind of did, dude. Remember, all those years ago? You told me, ‘marry that girl’. I finally took your advice.”

Dean smirks.

“Obviously I have good taste.”

“That you do,” Sam says fondly. “You picked your angel pretty well, too, if I do say so myself.”

Dean shrugs.

“Nah, he chose me,” he says automatically. Sam raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. Dean’s hand finds the handprint mark on his shoulder, where Cas laid claim on him in hell. He can’t articulate the weight of that action, and he’s not even sure that it’d be appropriate to try. All he knows is that truer words were never spoken; Cas chose him and claimed him and waited for Dean to figure it out. Dean only regrets having taken so long to see it.

Dean’s phone belts out some AC/DC and finds that it’s his alarm, declaring it noon and time to go get ready for the ceremony.

“Time to shower and suit up,” he tells Sam, who starts to look slightly nervous all over again. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Dude. You faced down Lucifer and jumped into hell. You can handle a wedding.”

Sam takes a deep breath and nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am. I’m the oldest, I’m always right.”

Sam playfully shoves his brother.

“I can’t ever compliment you without it going to your head. C’mon, let’s go. We’ve got an hour until the main event.”

*

By 12:30, both babysitters and their charge are ready to go in their respective tuxedos and dress. Lyric has taken to spinning around, delightedly watching her dress spin out around her. It’s a beautiful, flowy thing from the same bridal collection as Sarah’s Disney princess inspired wedding gown, and it makes Lyric look somewhat like an angel. Not the actual asshole ones, of course – more like the sort most civilians expect. It’s Cinderella inspired, apparently, though Dean doesn’t really see the relevance (not that he knows anything about Cinderella, duh. He’s too manly for that). The top half of it is embroidered with lace and crystal beaded flowers, and the bottom flairs out around her in elegant loose ruffles. She’s absolutely lovely, and Dean’s heart surges with pride.

Cas looks as hot now as he did in the mall, and Dean has to fight to keep his thoughts pure; now’s not the time or place, of course. He’d like nothing better than to jump Cas in his tailored, form-accentuating suit and tug him in by his red tie, but there’s a little girl in their care and a wedding in a half hour. Judging by the heated look in Cas’ eyes, he’s in about the same place mentally. Dean’s itching to go home and ravage his boyfriend. He has the feeling the buildup of sexual tension is going to end up with some really, really intense sex. Not that it isn’t always intense.

The wedding party congregates in the foyer, save for Sarah, who’s following the tradition of remaining unseen by her future husband until the moment she walks down the aisle. There wasn’t an official rehearsal at any point, so they’re instructed briefly on what order they’ll be going in and who walks down with whom. Dean and Cas are second to last of the wedding party and walk down together. Dean snickers at the fact that Cas will be walking on the side of the aisle as the rest of the bridesmaids, but Cas is unperturbed. Lyric and a little boy who Dean assumes is probably related to Sarah will come after Dean and Cas, tossing the flower petals and bearing the ring, respectively.

The wedding takes place outside in a large garden in the backyard. It’s surrounded on all sides by tall hedges and closed with a wooden gate of equal size. The hedges have red flowers sporadically throughout them. Dean wonders if they’re naturally part of the hedges or if they were a touch Sarah and Cas came up with; he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. The wedding party lines up outside the gate once all the guests are seated, and Dean itches to glance inside. While Cas has been actively involved in setting up the altar, aisles and seating, Dean has yet to see any of it.

The color scheme is an elegant blend of black, white and red. Like Dean and Cas, all of the groomsmen have tuxedos with red ties and matching red handkerchiefs tucked into the front pockets. The bridesmaids are all wearing short, sleeveless red dresses that are elegantly bunched at the bottom and have a thin black sash at the waist. They each carry small bouquets that are predominantly white flowers, with small red ones peeking through all throughout. Seeing everyone lined up like this really puts all of Cas and Sarah’s planning into perspective. It clearly took incredibly planning to put this all together, and Dean’s already impressed by how it’s turning out.

All too soon, the wedding processional music starts and Dean is brought back to reality. He can clearly picture his brother entering the garden from a side entrance, doubtless looking terrified. The idea makes him smile. Dean hasn’t had a chance to see Bobby yet, but he knows he’s sitting front and center in the place where the groom’s father is supposed to sit. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

The group moves forward and Dean holds his breath because this is happening. He never understood why people cry at weddings before, but he thinks he might sort of get it now. He doesn’t have words for what he’s feeling as each member of the wedding party takes a step forward, but he knows that it’s big. Cas reaches out and gives Dean’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and Dean’s grateful for it.

Dean glances at Lyric, who’s standing behind him beside the little ring-bearer. In contrast to her usual peppy self, she looks shy and nervous. It’s a foreign expression on her, and Dean finds it at once adorable and slightly concerning. He turns around and kneels down, careful not to get the pants of his tuxedo dirty.

“You okay, kid?” he whispers. Lyric takes a deep breath and nods.

“Think so,” she whispers. She looks a little pale, which doesn’t sit right with Dean, but he and Cas are next and he doesn’t have time to investigate further. He presses a quick kiss to Lyric’s forehead.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be great,” he tells her, and she gives him a tiny smile.

“Okay, Dean.”

“That’s my girl.”

Then it’s Dean and Cas’ turn to walk, slow and dramatic, down the aisle. The wedding’s not huge or anything, but it’s definitely more people than Dean was expecting. He makes out the faces of a couple hunters in the crowd, which surprises him. Most hunters don’t take kindly to anyone getting out of the life and being happy – comes with the standard bitterness most hunters have – but it seems there are a few that are genuinely pleased to see Sam starting this chapter of his life. Still, the majority of the guests are from Sarah’s side by a landslide. So many foreign eyes fall on Dean and Cas, and Dean tries not to wonder if anyone is judging the fact that two men are walking down the aisle together.

Dean meets Sam’s eyes across the garden and Dean grins. Sam, as expected, has big doe eyes and looks nervous as hell, but when he sees Dean smiling, he smiles right back, big and bright. The kid has a killer smile; it’s infectious, and he sees several people in the audience who seem to be smiling now just because Sam is. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see that Cas is smiling too, which isn’t characteristic for him. He’s not one to share his smile with a lot of people, ever, so it’s odd to see him displaying it for an entire wedding full of people.

Dean tries not to be too obvious as he looks around, taking in the scenery of the beautiful place Cas and Sarah have designed for the ceremony. The aisle is a long, narrow white carpet with a beautiful black Victorian design on it, and the carpet is framed by red flower petals. The chairs are black and the altar is white; the flow of color is flawless. Dean has no idea how they accomplished this without a professional wedding planner.

Once they make it to the end of the aisle, Dean takes his place beside his little brother and Cas stands beside the last bridesmaid to go before them. He looks a little out of place over there beside all the girls, but the colors all match so well that it doesn’t look overly weird. Cas doesn’t look put off by his position at all, which Dean finds admirable. Dean knows he himself probably wouldn’t have been able to endure the bruise to his manliness.

Sam looks at Dean with nervous eyes and Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks at him, trying to get him to relax with silent human. It seems to work the slightest bit; Dean notices Sam’s tense shoulders relax just the slightest bit. Dean spots Bobby in the crowd and Bobby nods at them, showing his support. And if Bobby’s eyes look a little watery, Dean makes no indication that he notices.

Last in the wedding procession are Lyric and the ring-bearer. The little boy proceeds as directed, but Lyric remains frozen to the spot at the gate of the garden. The usher tries to motion for her to go, but Lyric just looks at him with wide, deer-in-headlights eyes and goes nowhere. Even from across the small garden, Dean is pretty sure he can see tears welling up in the little girl’s eyes, and Dean decides that enough is enough.

Dean leaves his place beside Sam at the altar and takes quick strides to where Lyric is. He intended to hold her hand and walk her down, but upon seeing him walking up, she stretches out her arms in a silent request for him to pick her up.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he bends over and scoops her up. She makes a little noise that sounds suspiciously close to a sniffle and wraps her arms around Dean’s neck.

There is a chorus of “aww!”s murmuring through the garden and Dean feels himself go slightly red, but he plays it off well, smirking and rolling his eyes and otherwise making the moment comical. There are laughs, too, as he carries her up the aisle. When Dean reaches the altar, Cas gestures for Dean to pass her over, presumably because she’s supposed to be on that side, anyway. Lyric clings to Cas tightly once she’s transferred over, burying her face in the man’s neck. Dean ruffles her hair softly before returning to his place beside Sam. Sam’s clearly been laughing, and Dean’s grateful – it’s good to see the nerves being replaced by laughter.

The guests all fall silent and it takes a second for Dean to see why – when he does, his jaw nearly drops. It’s the bride’s turn to take her walk down the aisle, and Sarah looks stunning, almost ethereal. A quick glimpse at Sam shows that the groom’s jaw actually has dropped, and he’s tearing up like the big baby that he is. Dean can’t exactly blame him, though. Sarah’s a sight for sore eyes.

Dean couldn’t imagine a more beautiful dress. It’s a one-shoulder ball gown made of an elegant, lustrous silk material. The dress has dramatic ruched pick-ups, and the bodice is draped and embellished with beautiful beaded flowers, metallic embroidery and pearl accents. She looks like a princess straight out of a Disney movie, and she carries herself with all the regality the image would imply. Her hair is pulled back in a loose messy braid that looks at once simple and complicated and suits Sarah well. Her tiara looks like it’s made of some sort of vine that’s set with tiny white flower blossoms. She has a thick bouquet of deep red dahlias (whose name Dean only knows because of Cas’ many conversations about them). Dean’s never seen a more beautiful bride.

Sarah bears far more confidence than Sam, though Dean thinks he might detect a little nervousness in her eyes. Her jaw is held high, though, and her eyes are locked on Sam’s. She’s grinning at his doey-eyed reaction, and she seems to catch herself in the middle of a self-conscious laugh. Her dad, who’s walking her down the aisle, squeezes her arm affectionately as they near the end of the aisle. When they finally make it to the alter, he lets her go and takes his seat, and Sarah takes her place opposite Sam.

The minister running the ceremony is surprisingly young, and, judging by his tuxedo, not a priest. He’s got bright red hair, too, which gives him a boyish look. Something about that sits well with Dean. He kind of hopes that maybe the guy is a family friend or something, someone who at least knows a little about Sam and Sarah. It’s such an important day that he doesn’t want to share it with strangers. He wants every person here to get it – to understand the magnitude of the change in his brother’s life.

“Welcome, welcome,” the minister says with a genuine smile, and Dean decides right off the bat that he likes him. “I guess we can all agree that Sam here is a lucky guy, huh?” He tosses a wink at Sam and the guests laugh. It doesn’t feel stuffy and pretentious like Dean was afraid it’d be; the guy has a casual way to how he talks that puts Dean at ease.

“We’re gathered here today to see two people joined together in mind, body and spirit – to celebrate the amazing love that Sam and Sarah have for each other. Of course, anyone with eyes can see how bad they’ve got it for each other; the wedding’s just to make it ‘official’.” The congregation laughs, and Dean chuckles along because, seriously, truer words were never spoken.

“Now, it’s typical with these sorts of things to talk about the meaning of love, and I will – but not for their sake. Because, looking at these two, it’s obvious that they’re already there. But I think for everyone here to truly grasp the beautiful thing that’s happening here, I have to go into it a little. Mark Twain once said, ‘To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with’. It’s a very true statement, and I think that love is at the heart of it. Happiness is best spent when it’s shared.”

Dean wonders if he’s the only one who catches Sam swallowing the lump in his throat. Sarah is clutching at her bouquet for dear life, eyes faintly wet.

“There’s something very beautiful and very terrifying about the word ‘forever’,” the young minister goes on, “and above all, something very powerful. Marriage is nothing if not a promise of forever. ‘Forever’ is not only a commitment to unfailing love, respect, and enduring friendship, but a declaration to everyone that you have made up your mind, your priorities are set and there is no turning back. ‘Forever’ is the biggest thing you can give to another person.”

Cas and Dean both look at each other at the same time and Dean feels his throat go dry. He wants to clear it badly, but he’s fairly certain now isn’t the best time. He glances away, turning his attention back to the bride and groom.

“Today, we get to see two people who are terrifically in love pledge ‘forever’ to one another. I, for one, feel honored to be here. Now, enough sentiment – time to get these two lovebirds married!” Dean’s grateful for the opportunity to laugh and shake it off, because his throat feels awkward and parched. The minister turns next addresses Sam and Sarah.

“Do you, Sam Winchester, take Sarah Blake to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Sam swallows hard and then smiles bright, eyes fixed on Sarah. He nods.

“I do.”

“And do you, Sarah Blake, take Sam Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Sarah blinks and two tears slip down her cheeks. She nods vigorously.

“I do.”

Sam clears his throat and then addresses the audience with a nervous smile.

“Our vows, uh – our vows are from a musical, um. One of our first dates was to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway in New York.”

“It was his idea,” Sarah says fondly, “he’s kind of a geek.” More laughter; Dean likes that the wedding isn’t somber and overly formal how he’s always pictured them. Sam takes Sarah’s in his – the size difference between their hands is laughable – and Sarah begins their vows.

“I will love you every waking moment; I need you with me now and always. I promise you that all I say is true,” she says.

Sam takes a shaky breath, smiling all the while.

“I will share with you one love, one lifetime; I will lead you from your solitude,” Sam says, reciting the words from heart. “I need you with me here, beside me – anywhere you go, let me go too. Sarah, that's all I ask of you.”

“I will share with you one love, one lifetime,” Sarah repeats. “Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

They say the next final line in perfect unison:

“Love me, that's all I ask of you.”

As far as cheesy vows go, yeah, Dean has to give them credit. That was pretty damn cute. Dean can feel Cas’ eyes on him, but he studiously looks elsewhere. The ring-bearer scampers over with the rings. The rings, too, are pretty damn cool, though Dean only knows because Cas is like second-in-command on all things related to this wedding. They’re “inner message rings” with slight indents on the inside that will, after a long period of wear, leave the impression of the indentation. The indentations on their rings are each other’s names.

Cas puts Lyric down and quickly reaches behind the alter to reveal a white box, which he hands to Sarah. Sarah grins at him and then addresses the audience with the same beaming smile, holding out the box.

“Love is like a butterfly,” she tells them excitedly, “it settles upon you –”

“– when you least expect it!” Sam concludes, and pulls the cover off the box. Butterflies burst forth in a swirl of red and white and take off into the sky or around the garden. The response from the audience is a chorus of “ooh”s and “ahh”s and laughter, and Sam and Sarah are laughing too, both of them with eyes fixed on each other.

“And with that, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the minister says dramatically over everyone’s sounds of approval, and Sarah throws her arms around Sam’s neck and he pulls her close.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister concludes once the guests quickly settle down.

Their kiss is soft and gentle and seems to be shared just by the two of them, even though they have a full garden-sized audience. It’s sort of reminiscent of fairy tales that end with a kiss – not that Dean’s seen any, or anything. Dean’s not sure if it’s wedding etiquette to cheer or what, but he does anyway, and to his relief everyone else does, too. The wedding recessional music starts up and Sam and Sarah lead the wedding party out of the garden, hands, held. Dean and Cas are right behind.

Cas is still carrying Lyric by the time they make it out of the garden, and Dean quickly relieves him of the load, cradling her close. The little girl looks very much the worse for wear, tired and maybe a little sick. Dean presses his palm to Lyric’s forehead and finds it warm.

“I think she has a fever,” he tells Cas, who chews his lip uncertainly.

“I’ll call her mother. If need be, I’ll drive her back home.”

“Aw, Cas, what about the reception? You’ll some of it if you go. It’s two now and the reception starts at, like, four o’clock, and the ride back to Media is three hours each way. Couldn’t we could just… let her nap… in the room?” Dean ends the sentence in a hopeful tone, which he knows is for naught.

“Alone? That doesn’t sound acceptable, Dean. I’ll call Jayne and see what she thinks is the best course of action.”

Dean frowns but gives his begrudging assent. He rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly with Lyric in his arms as Cas walks off a bit and makes the call. She has her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

“You did great, Lyric,” Dean tells her quietly.

“I did?” she asks him quietly, voice tiny and unsure.

“Hell yeah! I mean, uh, heck yeah. And you look beautiful, kiddo. Great job. You’re awesome.”

Lyric giggles.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Cas hangs up the phone and walks back over to where Dean and Lyric are.

“Jayne insisted on driving down and picking Lyric up herself. I am not entirely comfortable with having her go out of her way so far to do so, but she wouldn’t allow me to convince her otherwise… She says that Lyric will be alright to rest in the room alone as long as she has a movie and we check on her periodically.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says. “Let’s hook this kid up with some mac and cheese and a movie. We’ve got time to watch one with her before the reception starts. The Lion King sound good?”

Lyric shakes her head.

“Lilo and Stitch!” she says tiredly. Dean is amazed by how fervently children insist on watching the same thing over and over, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he laughs and ruffles her hair.

“Lilo and Stitch it is. C’mon, kiddo. Coming, Cas?” Dean asks over his shoulder as he heads back toward the house.

“Of course,” Cas replies. To Dean’s surprise, Cas walks over and hooks his arm through Dean’s, drawing him close as they make their way back. Dean’s taken aback for a second, but eventually he ends up reveling in the strange comfort of having a kid in his arms and his angel at his side.

*

By the time Cas and Dean head down to the reception, the emcee is finishing up his introduction of the wedding party. Dean and Cas rush over to be introduced, albeit out of order, before clearing the dance floor. Only then does Dean take a moment to look around the reception area.

 It’s in another section of yard that’s not blocked off by hedges like the garden was. Yet again, Dean’s taken aback by how professional it looks. Two tents are set up with the dance floor between them, and string lights are strung from tent to tent above it. While it’s not quite dark enough yet to experience the full effect of the lighting, it looks beautiful in and of itself. Crystal glass orbs with white candles inside hang from surrounding trees, which are sure to look stunning once the sun sets in an hour or two.

The tables are long and rectangular, with white tablecloths, black chairs and red candles of varying shades. None of the candles are lit yet, and Dean finds himself anxious for the sun to go down so he can see the full extent of Cas’ handiwork. It’s like when Cas decorates their flat for holidays… but on a much larger, more profound level.

Dean and Cas locate their places at the table and take a seat, and the emcee announces that it’s time for the first dance. Sam and Sarah take the floor, hands held, giving each other gooey, lovey eyes. Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes out of pure brotherly conviction.

Everyone goes silent as the soft music starts to play, Dean and Cas included. The two newlyweds might as well be on another planet, alone together; their eyes are glued to each other. The song is “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Ingrid Michaelson, which Dean only knows because he’s dating the wedding planner.  In the quiet of the moment, it’s easy to zero in on the words of the song.

Wise men say only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you

Dean glances at Cas and finds him, as he does so often, already looking at him. Cas’ hand is laying idly on the table, and Dean reaches for it, lacing their fingers together. He forgets he’s supposed to be watching his brother do his mushy slow dance.

Like a river flows surely to the sea / Darling so it goes / Some things are meant to be

Something fierce is thundering in Dean’s chest, and he thinks that they’re having some sort of moment – and he doesn’t subconsciously run from it. To the contrary, he runs to it, keeping his eyes trained on Cas as his heart beats its own crazy rhythm.

So take my hand, and take my whole life too / ‘Cause I can't help falling in love with you

Dean brings Cas’ hand to his lips and presses a small kiss to the back of the other man’s hand. Cas takes a deep breath and then copies the action, kissing Dean’s hand as well. Dean’s not sure who tightens their grip on the other one’s hand or if they both do it at once, but all he knows is that their fingers are laced as tightly as can be.

Cause I can't help falling in love, falling in love / I keep falling in love with you

The song ends and Dean gently puts a hand on Cas’ face and kisses him, chaste but insistent because his heart’s trying to talk with words he doesn’t have. Cas’ hand finds the back of Dean’s neck and he kisses back, and Dean thinks he can feel the same things radiating from Cas as are surely resounding from his own heart. When at last their lips break, they barely move, faces only inches apart. Green eyes stare down blue and Dean wishes he knew what the hell he wanted to say.

Someone clears her throat loudly, and Dean realizes it’s one of the bridesmaids.

“You’re supposed to give a toast,” she all but hisses. “You’re the best man!”

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly, looking around and finding that someone has come around and filled everyone’s glasses with champagne. He laughs sheepishly and stands up.

“Attention, ladies and gents!” he says, tapping on his glass loudly with a fork. The bridesmaid winces visibly and Dean wonders if this is something that only happens in movies or something. When this fails to get everyone’s attention, Dean puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles, loud, and finally everyone falls silent. If the look on the bridesmaid’s face is any indication, that wasn’t the proper course of action, either, but Dean doesn’t care. It effectively got all eyes on Dean, so Dean considers it a win.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dean Winchester, Sam’s older brother. I want you all to know that I seriously considered coming up here and embarrassing the hell out of Sammy, but Cas here convinced me not to. So you have him to thank for Sam’s dignity.”

People laugh good-naturedly; Sam calls, “Thanks Cas!” and Sarah boos from where they’re sitting.

“I’m gonna keep this short and sweet because if you guys are as hungry as I am, you can’t wait until this part is over so you can eat.” Again, more laughter, and Dean silently praises the guests for being an easy crowd.

“So I think I’m gonna tell you guys the story of how these lovebirds met – because I was there, and let me tell you, if you think my brother is awkward now, you should have seen him at 24.” Dean tells the story – well, the civilian-friendly version – of how he and Sam happened into town and ran into Sarah so many years ago. He boasts about setting them up on their first date, and delightedly tells everyone that, even years ago, he told Sam to marry Sarah. Dean had actually forgotten that detail until Sam mentioned it Friday, but Dean’s happy to take credit for it now.

He then tells the guests about how they left and didn’t come back, even though they wanted to. How he could tell how much it killed his brother to leave. Finally, Dean talks about the day Sam told him he found Sarah again, and how happy they looked when Dean saw them together.

“I couldn’t pick a better wife for my brother,” Dean concludes, grinning at Sarah. “No one else can keep him in line like me. I’m 100% certain I can count on Sarah to kick his ass whenever necessary. And really, isn’t that the most important thing?” Dean raises his glass. “Ladies and gentleman, to the couple.”

Everyone toasts to the bride and groom and Dean takes his seat. Cas immediately kisses him with a smile, catching Dean off guard.

“Well done, Dean. I was expecting you to mention sex,” Cas says, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I was so close, Cas. So close. But then I pictured your judgy eyebrows and I kept it clean.”

“I’m proud of you. You’ll be rewarded for that later.”

Dean feels his face go red and he can’t fight the dirty smirk creeping its way onto his face.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, voice low. The reception suddenly feels like it’s going to be way, way too long.

Dinner is served and Cas disappears to go check on Lyric. Sam and Sarah are busy accepting congratulations and greeting well-wishers, so Dean, Bobby and Jody spend the meal in affable conversation, exchanging stories about when Sam was young. When Cas returns and takes his place beside Dean, he announces that Lyric’s been picked up. While Dean’s sad to see her go, and even more sad that he didn’t get to say goodbye, a certain excitement curls in his stomach at the idea of being alone in their room tonight.

The reception plays out like most do, with music and dancing. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to the Father/Daughter dance because there’s food to be had, but more upbeat music afterward does get him out of his seat and onto the dance floor. Cas is too much of a stick in the mud to dance with him, and Dean doesn’t waste too much time trying to force him. Instead he dances with bridesmaids and Sarah while Cas watches contentedly from his seat.

Dean does manage to drag Cas on the floor for a round of slow songs after promising the guy that there’s nothing to it. Cas seems comfortable enough to hold Dean and sway like it’s prom night, and Dean is just happy to see him out of his seat. He’s also pleased to see that Bobby and Jody are dancing too – like Cas, Bobby’s been glued to his place at the table. As soon as the tempo picks up Cas and Bobby are back at the table, though, and Dean and Jody both roll their eyes at each other.

Cas’ cake is, predictably, both delicious and beautiful. As per Cas’ request, no one was told that he was the one who made it. Subsequently, the only compliments on Cas’ incredible work are from Dean, who eats every bite pointedly and suggestively.

Sarah, the bridesmaids and all the other single female guests all gather in the dance floor and everyone else clears out for the bouquet toss. She faces away from them with her eyes closed and tosses the bouquet backward forcefully, too forcefully; it’s easily going to overshoot the clustering crowd of women. In fact, Sarah’s at a weird angle of the dance floor, and the trajectory of the bouquet leaves the bouquet –

 – in Dean’s lap. There are some whistles and catcalls and Sarah grins devilishly when she turns around, confirming that this was, indeed, on purpose. Dean assumes there’s a crowd of women staring at him murderously right now, but he doesn’t bother looking at him because his throat has gone completely dry.

“How ‘bout it, Dean?” someone calls, and Dean determines it to be one of the few hunters of the guests. “When are you gonna pop the question?” Dean stares at the man blankly, features going hard.

“Yeah, Dean, you ready to settle down soon?” Jody asks, smiling good-naturedly. Dean doesn’t return her smile.

“Maybe leave this hunter life of yours behind?” Bobby adds quietly, gruffly, and Dean’s had just about enough.

Dean stands to his feet and makes a big show of walking the dance floor and handing the bouquet back to Sarah. Sarah’s expression, which had previously been teasing and alight with laughter, has faded considerably. She holds the bouquet loosely, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Dean?” she asks unsurely. Dean doesn’t reply, and addresses the crowd loudly instead.

“I think I’m gonna have to demand a do-over on that one,” he says, with a smile that’s too big, too wide. “I mean, after all, this is me we’re talking about. I don’t do commitment, and I sure as hell don’t do marriage. I have a life, no offense. There’s probably some poor lovesick chick here who’d love this thing. Don’t waste it on me; I’m never getting married.”

Dean doesn’t wait for a reply from Sarah; he just walks back to his place at the table. There’s barely a moment silence before Sarah plays it off and does the whole thing over, but Dean’s not paying attention. Cas’ place at the table is empty, and Dean catches sight of the other man across the lawn just as he closes the back door behind him. Instead of following him, Dean orders a beer from the bartender.

*

There are soft, wet lips on Dean’s neck and Dean isn’t drunk enough for this to be anywhere near okay.

The reception outside is coming to a close, but Dean’s inside in a dark hallway of Sarah’s house and he’s not alone. One of the tipsier bridesmaids followed him and pounced the moment he turned a corner, snaking her hands behind his neck and leaving lipstick trails across his skin. Dean doesn’t do anything, doesn’t touch her or kiss back, but he doesn’t push her away, either. He leans against the wall and tips his head back, shutting his eyes as she breathes him in and explores his throat.

It’s when she opens her mouth to leave a bite that Dean finally snaps out of it, grabbing her by her shoulders and gently pushing her off.

“I’m sorry, I’m taken,” he says quietly. The girl laughs.

“Thought you didn’t do commitment?” she asks, wiping her mouth.

Dean doesn’t respond, just walks quickly from the hallway before he does something he’ll hate himself for. He beelines for the guest bedroom he’s sharing with Cas and takes a deep breath, praying the other man is already asleep. The girl’s laughter echoes in his mind and makes his stomach turn.

Dean opens the door to their room and finds Cas very much awake, curled up in bed with a book. Cas’ eyes narrow to slits when Dean walks in. Dean can feel Cas scanning him, burning through him with a white hot stare and he wishes the floor could swallow him up. It hits him all at once that his neck is probably stained with lipstick. Cas carefully bookmarks his book and sets it on the night table before standing up, crossing the room and grabbing Dean by the sleeves of his tux, shoving him full force against the door, slamming his shoulders and making his head snap against it.

Dean hasn’t seen Cas this pissed since the time Dean almost said yes to Michael.

“You son of a bitch,” Cas hisses, pulling Dean forward and then shoving him backward again. He grabs Dean by the hair and tilts his head so that his neck is exposed and Dean doesn’t fight back, can’t fight back.

“Is this what you’d prefer?” Cas growls, shaking his grip on Dean’s hair. Dean winces, eyes watering from the pain. “Empty hookups with strangers?”

“We didn’t – do anything – ” Dean starts, but Cas laughs bitterly and spins him around, shoving him forcefully to the ground.

“Is this what I’m worth to you, Dean?” Cas asks, and he’s almost shouting now, loud enough that someone would hear if they walked by their door. “You can whisper anything you want to me when we’re alone, but deny me in front of everyone else? This is the man I fell for?”

That jabs at Dean’s heart; he doesn’t know if Cas is using “fell” literally or figuratively.

“Cas, you know I love –”

“No. Shut up, Dean. I don’t want to hear that from you right now.”

Cas stands above Dean, taking heavy breaths, fists curled. Dean shuts his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable punch, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Cas says, “Get up.”

Dean’s in no place to question, so he doesn’t, just stands to his feet and keeps his eyes trained on the ground. Cas shoves him into the door again, but this time his lips follow and he’s kissing Dean, hard and heavy and fierce and Dean will take this over getting beaten up any day. Cas is all teeth, nipping sharply and unapologetically at Dean’s lips, drawing blood without conscience. His nails curl in Dean’s tuxedo jacket and he tugs at far more ferociously than someone should with such an expensive article of clothing.

“Take it off,” he commands in a low voice, and Dean instantly complies, chucking the thing to the side.

Cas is back on him the second the material hits the ground, pushing his leg between Dean’s thighs and forcefully untucking Dean’s shirt from his pants. He pops a button of Dean’s shirt off in his haste to undress him, and Dean closes his hands over Cas’ gently to ground him just the slightest bit. Cas bats Dean’s hands away but the action seems to have served its purpose, because no more buttons are lost to Cas’ fury.

Dean notices that Cas isn’t kissing his neck, like he usually does, and it stings that it’s his own fault for it. Cas still bites hard at the place where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, though, holding on with his teeth longer than he would otherwise, working the flesh with his tongue. Dean whimpers and his head falls back against the door. He sucks his teeth and his toes curl because it’s riding the line between pain and pleasure very close and Dean’s not entirely sure where one ends and the other one begins.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean gasps, voice already wrecked.

“Shut up,” Cas hisses in response, and there’s something about the authoritative tone in Cas’ voice that makes Dean want to submit in every way possible, to be the epitome of obedience. He’s more than willing to keep quiet and let Cas claim him, make a battleground of his skin, just take and take and take. There’s a weird thrill to the idea that this is punishment, that Cas is trying to teach him a lesson by asserting his absolute dominance – and maybe it’s a little twisted, but Dean’s not complaining.

“Get on the bed,” Cas directs sharply, stepping back from Dean. Dean complies without hesitation, kicking off his shoes in the process. He leans back on the bed and watches as Cas strips, taking his time with each button in what is clearly an attempt to drive Dean crazy.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean breathes, and Cas’ eyes dart up from his buttons and he stares Dean down fiercely, sending chills down Dean’s spine.

“Stop talking, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard and nods, fists curling in the sheets.

At last, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and he joins Dean on the bed, covering him with his body and pinning both of Dean’s arms to the bed. He surges forward with more bruising kisses, tongue exploring Dean’s mouth fervently. Dean’s body arches up to meet Cas’ and his hands try in vain to grasp at something, anything. He wants to tug at Cas’ hair or scratch up his back, but he’s completely at Cas’ mercy now. The rest of Dean’s body seems to be overcompensating for the lack of freedom in his arms, because his hips are rising again and again to meet Cas’ and force friction. Dean’s chest is heaving and stuttering like he’s drowning.

“On your hands and knees, Dean,” Cas commands… and it’s sending a message, too, because they rarely do this position because they like to be able to look at each other when they’re having sex. This is Cas wordlessly telling Dean that he can’t look him in the eyes right now, and it stings. Not enough to keep the thought of Cas pounding into him from behind do anything but take him from half-mast to fully erect in half a second flat, though.

Assisted by a rather forceful shove from Cas, Dean rolls over onto his stomach and then scrambles up onto his hands and knees as directed. The idea occurs to him that Cas might just be pissed enough to try and go at this without lube or something equally insane, but the abrupt feeling of a slicked up finger inside him eases his woes – Cas wants him to enjoy this. A second and third finger are added and Dean has to grit his teeth to keep from saying anything, because every flex of Cas’ fingers makes Dean want to babble obscenities and right now he’s not allowed to speak. He gasps spastically and grabs desperate at the sheets, constantly clamping his mouth shut to keep from speaking. He lets out a sound that is definitely not a whimper at one point, which is punished by a sharp yank to his hair from Cas.

It’s fucking hot as hell.

Cas’ fingers go from great to not enough way too quickly, and soon Dean’s whole body is tense and desperate to be filled with something more substantial. If Cas is aware of Dean’s growing desperation, he makes no indication. Once he finds Dean’s prostrate he brushes it again and again, slowly and with unbearably long pauses in between, tearing Dean apart.

“Cas, please,” Dean finally begs in a rasping voice, at last unable to hold his tongue. Cas bites hard at his shoulder in response, dragging his teeth, and Dean all but whines. The floodgates of enforced muteness have all but been trampled, now, and Dean is begging for mercy like a prisoner. At last he hears a low, dark chuckle from behind him that sends great shivers coursing through his body, and he’s suddenly empty of fingers.

Just when the pause has started to seriously ebb at Dean’s sanity, he’s filled all at once and he moans, biting his lip at the tail end of it to curb his volume. Cas’ nails dig into his waist and he doesn’t move at all for what feels like forever, building the tension and making Dean’s head spin. Finally, finally, he moves, setting a fast pace of intense, ceaseless thrusts that wrack Dean’s body with waves of pleasure.

“Fuck, Cas, please touch me,” Dean pleas eventually, when he’s aching so bad he feels like collapsing and rutting into the bed for want of friction. He feels one of Cas’ hands slide around to trace his lower stomach and it lingers there, teasing.

“No. I want you to come without being touched,” Cas instructs. His grip on his authoritative tone is slipping because Dean knows he’s close to climax. The idea of getting off on the feel of Cas inside him alone is hot as hell and appealing in theory, but at this point Dean’s desperate to come and would love to save that prospect for a rainy day. Cas is calling the shots now, though, so Dean doesn’t have a say in what happens to his dick right about now.

As Cas’ thrusts become uneven as he stutters towards an orgasm, he manages to hit Dean’s prostrate more often than not, sending Dean reeling with pleasure. Finally Cas comes, deep inside Dean and his hand finds the scar on Dean’s arm and grips it tight, digging his nails in. Cas doesn’t have to speak to let it be known that this is a claim, that Dean is being reminded that he’s been marked and belongs to someone.

It is this final action that practically punches the orgasm out of Dean, shaking electricity through his spine, sending endorphins dancing through his bloodstream. He shouts something – he knows because Cas weakly pulls on his hair in response – though he’s not entirely sure what he says. All he’s aware of is that Cas is spent and wrecked and still inside him, languid and blissed out after ramming into Dean again and again. Dean collapses into the bed, boneless, and buries his face in the pillow. His skin feels like fire is skirting around the air just above it.

Cas pulls out and lays beside Dean wordlessly, and the atmosphere is strange. Where there would normally be pillow talk and cuddling there’s only silence, and only the lingering euphoria of a mind-blowing orgasm is keeping the sick wrongness of the moment from making Dean nauseous. Thankfully, sleep takes him quickly and he doesn’t have long to dwell in the mess he’s made.

*

The window in the bedroom has a thick curtain that blocks out sunlight, so it hardly feels like morning when Dean wakes up. He sits up sleepily, looking around for his phone or a clock to tell him what time it is. He finds Cas already awake, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Dean’s heart aches a little. He wants to lean down and kiss Cas, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. Cas’ expression as he looks up at Dean is open and lacking last night’s hostility, but Dean still feels like he’s treading on something fragile.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says, before they can exchange good mornings or pretend everything’s fine – Dean knows he screwed up, and he’s not going to run from it. Cas sighs, but he doesn’t seem to be exasperated. Just tired.

“I know you are, Dean,” he replies quietly, lifting his hand and gently tracing the line where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder. Dean winces; the bite there seems to have broken skin, because it still hurts. Cas’ touch is feather light. In some ways, Cas’ anger was more palatable than this – at least then, Dean knew what he was supposed to feel.

“I screwed up,” he starts to continue. “But Cas, I promise, nothing –”

Cas silences him by gently pressing a finger to Dean’s lips.

“It’s okay, Dean. I forgive you.”

Dean heaves a big sigh, all of the tension and worry flooding from his system. A very real fear had been lurking in his mind – that this would be it, that everything would finally be over and Dean would lose the greatest thing to ever happen to him. He lies down beside Cas, now, wrapping an arm tight around him, tugging him close. He wants to whisper thank you like a mantra, press the words into every inch of Cas’ skin so that he knows how goddamn grateful he is, but he can’t bring himself to speak.

“I should apologize too, Dean,” Cas says after an indeterminably long moment of silence, broken only by the sound of their quiet breathing.

“You?” Dean asks, shocked and entirely confused. Unless Cas is talking about the really great angry sex, Dean has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Yes,” Cas replies evenly. “I’m sorry for wanting more of you than what you are willing to give. You are enough, more than enough, just as you are. That was foolish of me, and I apologize.”

Dean swallows hard because it feels like something’s in his throat, catching on his every breath. He wants to tell Cas that no, he’s not asking too much, that this apology is so many kinds of messed up because that’s not how a relationship is supposed to work. He wants to remind Cas of his own promise – “I’ll make sure I’m never unwilling to give exactly what you need.” But these emotions are all mountains and abstract thoughts and Dean can’t scale any of them.

So he does what he can do, which is to draw Cas even closer, pulling him chest-to-chest against himself and tangling up their legs. He presses a kiss to Cas’ nose and Cas’ face wrinkles up in that adorable way that it does whenever Dean does that. They both smile at each other and go in for a kiss at the same time. The synchrony of the motion makes Dean laugh and he kisses Cas again and again, and each time their lips brush, Dean feels more and more okay. What they have isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, and it’s sure as hell not the fairytale that Sam and Sarah have… but it’s something. Something beautiful.

And, Dean hopes, something that will last.