Now it’s nearing the end of a humid summer and Dean’s known for years that blindly praising anyone you think is better than you will get you absolutely nothing. That’s why he tangles himself in the sheets around someone he hated and detested before ever trusting and loving. The motions make it real. Seeing it with his own eyes and feeling the rise and fall of Cas’s chest, in grief and in pleasure, is proof to him that it’s neither a dream nor some sort of crazed worship. He is in love.
notes:
for HANDCUFFS square of CARD 1
I wrote this because I was randomly inspired and felt like I should write. This is part of the Trans Bingo 2021 collection! I was thinking about The Devil tarot card and how that relates to religion, faith, and agreements we make with ourselves and with community. I think Dean and Cas in this story universe use the handcuffs for sexy times but also just to have around because they're cool. Maybe Claire or someone does tarot with them and it forces Dean to think deeper about his own faith sometimes, or just the symbology of handcuffs, or being chained to something. There's also definitely something there with being trans and feeling chained to societal expectations and I'm sure Dean would fall down that thought rabbit hole super easily. This is a really short and not-very-deep story, but I hope you enjoy the read.
read it here - below the cut
For the last nine months, Dean has fallen asleep with Castiel by his side.
Light streams along the linoleum. Sheets of yellow and white glow from a Jack-made star curls under the crack in the door and draw itself up the chest at the end of the bed. Morning creeps into Dean’s room. From there it leaves a shadow over two bodies still asleep in the bed, and gently illuminates the shelf above their heads. An old monitor, salt bags, books - things they had found in the bunker, things that they hadn’t managed to lose over the 30+ years of hunting also on the shelf were a few of the most treasured Men Of Letter’s trinkets: the handcuffs etched with Enochian, warded brass knuckles and the demon expelling egg. There weren’t always all of these things.
When Dean felt worthless he would hide his physical trail, his belongings, away from sight. If he had true possessions he would give them away, to Sam and in later years sometimes even to Castiel. It’s true that Dean’s deep sense of feeling unworthy manifested itself in this manner, among others. He cut that right out after hearing the speech that seared itself in his brain forever, last November. Cas’s I love you had flipped a switch Dean wasn’t even aware of and yet here they are, still sleeping as the mini sun grows brighter and brighter in the small windowless room. He’s done fighting himself every day, and so instead of being chained to self-doubt for the rest of his existence, Dean focuses on the words of the person that he loves.
A few years ago, Dean thought having his mom back would fix him. He thought that she would make his life make sense. He had fixated on it his whole childhood and when he came face to face with the woman he’s never known, he saw her for the false idol John made her out to be. Now she lives a couple of towns over and they laugh over scotch, growing as a girl, as a hunter, and bloody vampire stories. But he doesn’t worship her.
Now it’s nearing the end of a humid summer and Dean’s known for years that blindly praising anyone you think is better than you will get you absolutely nothing. That’s why he tangles himself in the sheets around someone he hated and detested before ever trusting and loving. The motions make it real. Seeing it with his own eyes and feeling the rise and fall of Cas’s chest, in grief and in pleasure, is proof to him that it’s neither a dream nor some sort of crazed worship. He is in love.
The room is quickly turning a shade of bright to fit a sun that has started its journey through the sky for the day. Dean grumbles, inhaling the scents of coffee and french toast. He scrunches his eyes against the daylight and deftly rolls over to pull Cas close.
“Good mornin’, sunshine.” He says against Cas’s cheek.
Stirring, Cas wraps his arm around Dean in return and breathes along Dean’s neck before sighing. “Good morning.” He says.
They have agreements, Dean and Cas, like all grateful people of faith do. What the agreements are is nobody’s business, Sam knows this well, but it doesn’t matter. It’s clear to the other residents of the bunker that Dean and Cas have developed a system of care that is only for them. To an outsider, it often looks like sleep when you are tired, eat when you are hungry, let the sun feed your skin and soul, and kiss to feed the inner fire. Honestly and communication. Jack would have had no less of an agreement between the three of them, but he is wise enough to let his family figure out some aspects of a healthy relationship on their own. Castiel and Dean had made it this far already.
Dean cards Cas’s unruly hair through his fingers and relaxes in the warms puffs of air against his neck. The smells of breakfast keep him distracted enough that his eyes can’t shut again, so he leaves kisses in Cas’s hair to pass a minute or two.
“Baby… breakfast?” He asks.
Cas nods and scrubs a hand over his eyes, wiping away the dream sand. Dean starts to sit up, his shoulders popping.
Cas yawns, “I demand more kisses before we leave this room.” He sits up to meet Dean and pulls him into a kiss. Sweet and soft like the magic light that is cast around their room. Dean kisses him back and rests a hand between Cas’s shoulder blades to ground himself.
“I love you,” Dean says. He can feel his cheeks stain pink, like always. “I love you, ” says Cas in return.
They each get up now, the clatter and aroma originating from the kitchen too much to ignore. Cas holds his hand out to Dean as they pad down the hall in their pajamas and Dean takes it playfully. At the kitchen doorway, they’re greeted by laughter and warm cinnamon, and the whirr of a fan. Claire and Jody sit across from Donna and Sam at the table and Alex and Eilleen stand pouring pancakes and flipping toast at the stove.
Claire looks up to see them and smiles big, showing her teeth.
She throws her arms around Dean. “Hey, kid,” Dean says.
“Hey,” she says, then quickly steps over to Cas. He squeezes her gently.
“Hello, Claire.”
“I have something for you.” She says, a sparkle in her eye. Out of her back pocket, she pulls a small rectangular patch. Cas takes it and studies the yellow, white, purple and black stripes. Claire has gotten him a nonbinary flag patch to go on his jacket for the fall.
“You didn’t ask, but, since you’re finally here, without your wings and everything, I thought maybe you’d want it. After we talked last time it seemed to me like this was the best one…”
Cas looks at her and wipes at his eyes. “Thank you, Claire. I--I think it’s perfect.”
Dean’s been watching the interaction since he sat down next to Jody and gets up now to give Claire back her seat. “First pride patch for your jacket, huh?” Dean says as he comes to wrap an arm around Cas. Cas nods, grinning. “Yeah,” he says and puts the patch in his pocket until later.
“I got one for you, too, old man.” She says to Dean, then pulls out another small patch that is striped in pink, white, and blue. “Now you can both be dorks with your jean jackets.”
Dean laughs lightly and ruffles her hair. “Thanks. Really, I appreciate it.” He says and pockets the small patch.
Sam pulls a small table and four more chairs to the head of the kitchen table and soon enough the breakfast is ready and everyone has coffee. Jody and Donna catch the boys up on recent hunts and, apparently, “the best bar to go to if you’re a lesbian living in Sioux Falls” which has Cas looking quizzical and Claire rolling her eyes. She chimes in to correct that it’s the best bar for lesbians “only if you’re over the age of 50”. Dean slates his questions for a later point in time. Right now he’s too content that his family is together to try and dampen the mood. Cas is here, and safe, and knows that he is loved. Sam is here, in one piece, and Eilleen too, and they make the hunter networks tick. Jody and Donna are finally together, and Claire and Alex are growing up along with the other hunter kids. And Dean? Well, he’s here too, and he’s happy about it.
The handcuffs sit on the shelf above the bed he sleeps in with the love of his life. Sometimes they sit in a drawer and sometimes they click around his wrists. The fear that was inside him, that he grew around like a metal shard in a young tree, slowly melts away. He’s not chained to some devil, man-made or Lucifer, and he’s just starting to lean into the rhythm of a life that doesn’t end with a painted-in nightmare.
A cool evening prompts the unearthing of denim and a night out with his partner and daughter. A flash of each of the flags brings a smile to Dean’s face and his chest feels light. The three of them walk past a storefront with giant glass windows and he watches his own reflection as they pass. What a picture he chuckles to himself Oh hi, I’m Dean Winchester. The love of my life used to be an angel, and he’s nonbinary. My adopted daughter that was my husband’s vessel’s daughter is a lesbian and she calls us both “old man”. I’m trans, and the only reason I have this body is because my lover, who was my enemy, saved me from hell -- long story -- and figured I’d like to come back with a body I didn’t hate. Nice to meet you.
They get to the end of the block and Dean is still looking at their collective reflection, eying each little pride flag (and his eyes are not watery!)
“We look badass,” Claire says, noticing Dean’s lack of attention to her and Cas’s conversation as they walked from the car.
Dean turns to see them both looking at him, he tightens his hold on Cas’s hand and says, “Yeah, we do.”
