pride and joy. deancas, ~2k. team free will takes on the kansas city pride parade. ao3
It’s Sam’s fault, really.
Well, it started out that way. It was Sam’s idea at first, something mentioned over the dinner table. Dean had laughed until he cried, but Cas had folded his fingers under his chin and said, “Okay.”
Which was. Unexpected.
So maybe it’s Cas’s fault, because Dean wouldn’t have agreed to this if Cas hadn’t had that persistent look in his eyes. Cas has only been human for a few weeks now, and nothing seems to be making him happy. But he latched onto this, he insisted on this, and. Well. Dean caved. He always does.
Okay. This is so far out of his comfort zone it’s probably in outer space.
Cas is sitting quietly in the back seat. He’s wearing Dean’s clothes again, has been ever since he gave up his grace for good, because they’ve been too busy to take him shopping. At least, that’s the excuse Dean’s using. Mostly he likes waking up in the morning to Cas rifling through his drawers. He likes watching Cas roll up the sleeves of his flannels. He likes watching Cas tug on the belt loops of his jeans. He likes his clothes on Cas.
Speaking of clothes, when this all started, and Dean agreed to it, he did some research. Nothing much, nothing wild, just some poking around blogs and articles. If he was gonna do this, for Cas, he was gonna do it right. It seems like there’s some kind of dress code, rainbows and stuff. Dean asked if Cas wanted to buy something special for the day, and Cas looked confused, and then Dean’s face went hot so he left.
So Cas is wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and so is Dean. He guesses they don’t look very gay.
Can someone look gay? Dean doesn’t think so. He thinks that’s just something his dad taught him, and his dad taught him a lot of stuff that isn’t as true as he once thought. So maybe they do look gay. Maybe they just look – normal. Maybe that’s the same thing.
Dean doesn’t think he’s gay. He doesn’t really get it, all of this stuff. Sam tried to explain it at one point, something about spectrums and – and maybe some guy called Kinsey? Dean wasn’t really listening, but that’s okay. He’s okay with it. He likes girls, and he likes Cas. He’s okay with it.
He likes Cas a lot. Like, so much. So much that sometimes his chest goes achey. or- or he can’t stop smiling for a whole afternoon because Cas said something like, “Sneezing is a strange sensation.” So much that he’s here, today, with Sam and Cas and a cheap rainbow flag. Kansas City Pride Parade. Jesus Christ on a bicycle.
Sam is a really big fan of this idea. He’s got that doofy hair and that doofy smile and he towers above the crowd. He keeps clapping Cas on the shoulder and saying, “Isn’t this great.”
Isn’t this fucking great.
There’s glitter in Dean’s hair and it’s way too humid for Kansas. The loudspeakers are blasting ABBA or some shit, something from the wrong end of ‘70s music. Cas looks confused, mostly, although Dean thinks maybe he’s having fun. A float goes by with a bunch of dudes in dresses, which is pretty cool and out there. Dean likes that people are confident enough to do this, to put something this personal on a flag and hoist it in the air. He doesn’t think he could do that. It’s pretty fucking brave, actually.
Cas says, “This is nice.” And then he takes Dean’s hand. Normally, Dean would blush and pull away, say something stupid probably, but they’re surrounded by men holding hands and. Well. Maybe it’s okay. Just for a little while.
They lose Sam somewhere in the crowd. It dawns on Dean that it might have been on purpose, that Sam’s plan might have been all along to dump them here and disappear. He keeps talking about how Cas should experience human things – not just hunter things, but everyday, normal-people things. Like pride parades.
Dean should probably ask. He turns to Cas, leans close so Cas can hear over the roar of the crowd. “Are you gay?”
Cas turns his head, and their noses brush. “What do you mean?”
“I mean- I mean I never asked. If you. If angels. Are you gay? Do you know?”
“I’m not attracted to any one gender, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cas says. “I just like you.”
“Oh,” Dean says, and maybe the hand-holding is okay here, but he’s not going to kiss Cas in public. He’s not.
He thinks about it, though.
So they watch the parade, and Sam is nowhere to be found, and Cas has this small, pleased smile on. Okay, it’s not as bad as Dean thought it would be. Some naked guy goes by on a float and Dean says, “Good God, put some clothes on!” and Cas says, “Nudity is a social construct, Dean.” He gives Dean this look, like, come on. Like he’s missing something.
Huh. Dean wonders if maybe he should actually do his research. Talk to Sam. Learn about this stuff. Clearly Cas cares about this; it doesn’t matter if he’s gay or straight or somewhere in-between. Cas cares about this, and Dean cares about Cas, so.
As the parade comes to a close, there’s this part where everyone who wants to can jump on a float and join in, and no, Dean has his limits. Someone walks up and says, “Come on, you two, join in!”
“I’m not gay,” Dean blurts.
She looks at him, and she looks at where he’s holding Cas’s hand, and she says, “Are you sure?”
“I’m just here for my, my…” He waves his hand aimlessly in Cas’s direction.
“His boyfriend,” Cas supplies, so not helpful. Dean tries to stomp on his foot and misses. Cas’s smile just widens. “We’ll join the parade soon, thank you.”
So she nods and waves and disappears, and Dean knows his face is as red as a drag queen’s lipstick. “Dude, we are not boyfriends!”
Cas gives him this look of feigned ignorance. “We’re not?”
“No, you know, we’re- we’re just- you know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“I mean. You know.”
He’s not making any sense and the tips of his ears feel hot now, and Cas just looks sort of bemused.
“Come on, whatever, let’s join your dumb parade,” Dean grumbles, and he tugs Cas’s hand.
It’s probably the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done. But it’s also strangely satisfying. There are no demons here, no monsters, no shadows. There’s just him and Cas and ten thousand quadrillion rainbows.
Sam is probably beaming right now, taking pictures like a proud parent or something. Ugh, Dean’s going to stab him. And then light him on fire. And then light himself on fire.
The parade winds down, so they start walking back to the car. Sam is still missing, and Dean’s tried calling him a couple of times, but he’s not too worried. Kid can take care of himself.
The streets are littered with light purple streamers and fading balloons. There’s a pale pink sunset leaking through the skyscrapers. The windows of buildings catch the evening sun. It’s. It’s nice. They keep holding hands. Dean doesn’t really know what to make of that.
This – them – it’s new. Maybe a week old. It makes Dean feel like a teenager again, nervous and foolish and. It’s dumb, because they’ve known each other for years, they’ve fought and died together. They’re middle-aged men, almost, and here they are holding hands at the Kansas City Pride Parade.
“So,” Dean says. “Did you have fun?”
“I did,” Cas says. It’s getting cold, so Dean puts his hands in his pockets. He takes Cas’s hand with his own, burying their interlaced fingers in the lining of his jacket. “Thank you for coming. For humoring me.”
“It’s fine. It’s on the way to Springfield,” he adds, because that’s where the next hunt is. That was the rational reason for coming, anyway. “And. I mean. It wasn’t all that bad.”
“It was strange,” Cas says. “Humans are strange. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your customs.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, and laughs. The idea of Pride is weird even to him. He wonders how it looks to an ancient celestial being.
Well. Not anymore. Cas is human now. And Dean is strangely, overwhelmingly happy about that.
See, Dean used to have this dream. It was dumb, just something he thought about lying in motel rooms and staring at cracked ceilings. He’d put the TV on static and try to sleep, but sometimes he couldn’t, so then he’d think about this. About Cas sharing a life with him, sharing a life and a bed and, and jacket pockets, or something.
The honest truth is: their life has been generally pretty awful. But Dean’s so goddamn happy that he gets this. He gets to stop in the middle of the street and pull Cas in by the collar of his shirt and kiss him, kiss him crazy. Until they’re both dizzy and short of breath and goddamn, Dean feels like he’s been waiting for this his whole life.
“You have glitter on your eyelashes,” Cas says, and Dean just kisses him again, right by his left ear this time. Cas is too good to be true, this is too good to be true. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Come on,” Dean says, “let’s go back to the car. Maybe Sam will meet us there.”
So they go back to the car and make out like teenagers in the back seat. Dean curls his hands into the fabric of his shirt, goddammit, and Cas’s stubble scratches against his face and his lips, and it’s fucking awesome. All of this is fucking awesome. Even the naked dudes and the drag queens and the rainbows. Cas is happy, so Dean is happy. Except, well, maybe what he’s feeling isn’t happiness, maybe it’s- pride.
Goddamn. He’s turning into a sap. Next he’ll be crying at chick flicks and knitting sweaters and, and, telling Cas things like, you’re really fucking cute when you scrunch your nose like that. This is getting to be a serious problem.
Sam raps his knuckles on the window and Dean jerks up, suddenly, hitting his head on the ceiling of the Impala. Shit. He’s got one leg wedged between Cas’s thighs, and he knows his hair is all over the place, and Cas has about two million hickeys. Oh, Dean is so done for.
Sam’s eyebrows are at his hairline. He says, “Come on, you two, we want to get to Springfield by nightfall.”
And that’s. That’s it. Sam gets in the car, and Dean extricates himself and fixes his clothing and goes up front. “Uh,” he says. “So Cas and I-”
“Dude, seriously, you two are about as subtle as sulfur at a crime scene. I don’t care.”
“But- today, I mean, with the parade. I’m not-”
“Jess was bi, Dean. We went to, like, three of the San Francisco Prides. Trust me, Kansas City has nothing on that.”
“So you don’t-”
“No, I don’t. Anyway, I’m kind of hungry, so we should stop for dinner once we get out of the city. Somewhere not a Biggerson’s, yeah?”
“Biggerson’s. Yeah,” Dean says. Right. So this is…
“I vote for Mexican food,” Cas says from the back seat. His voice is kind of rough still and Dean has to try really hard not to think about that.
“Mexican food,” Dean repeats, like a broken fucking record. He starts the car.
