Hi! I'm Maddie :) Waywardgalpal is my multi fandom blog. This is a blog for supernatural (destiel/samwena/saileen/gen/etc) fanfic. I hope you have a great day! 💗💜💙
Well, it looks like the brainrot is permanent and there is no cure. I can’t seem to get enough of these dudes. Please enjoy the fruits of my unending obsession with another rec list.
Love Bites by @malmuses (Explicit, 34k)
I don’t know why I love a tiny creature Dean, but this fic had my entire heart from the first chapter. Not since OctopusDean said bloop has a Dean been this adorable.
Dean, a vampire in bat form, gets injured by Cas’ menace of a cat (affectionate). Cas nurses him back to health and, as Dean heals, he finds himself more and more enamored with his savior.
Cas is delightfully awkward and Dean is entirely smitten and it makes for an adorably soft dynamic. Plus I want to put bat!Dean in my pocket. He’s so cute.
Boyfriend of Thursday by mnwood @deancasheadcanons (Explicit, 40k)
Look all I’m saying is Dean deserved to be a little slutty (affectionate). This one is a romp and a delight. Dean Winchester doesn’t do monogamy or commitment. Instead he has a regular hook-up every day of the week.
But when he and his Thursday call it quits, he’s looking to fill the open position. It feels like he’s in luck when he runs into a hot dude at Chipotle. But Dean discovers that maybe his Boyfriend of Thursday is worth breaking the rules for.
I love an openly bi, confident Dean and this Dean definitely fits the bill. This Dean is really fun and in some ways very vulnerable and he is deeply respectful of his hookups which makes it a great read. This one could have gone the other way, making him shallow and capricious, but despite his rules and his rigid system, Dean deeply cares and that makes it really fun to read.
The side characters are fantastic, plus there is positive representation of polyamory and some really interesting casting that makes this one super entertaining.
Passing Ships by quiettewandering (Mature, 78k)
Something about Dean and Cas going against fate to be with one another has always made me a little feral, so it’s no surprise that a fic based on the concept that Cas, a cupid assigned to get Dean together with his soulmate Lisa, fails spectacularly when he falls in love with Dean himself would immediately draw me in.
The Cas in this fic wants so badly to do what’s right, but he can’t help but care about the humans. He hits all the right notes for me and i had at least ten breakdowns over him. And Dean is also just so enamored and such a disaster and you just wanna smoosh their faces.
I Can See Your Halo by redamber79 @imbiowaresbitch (series, 2 works, Explicit, 9.8k words)
This one is s-p-i-c-y and just a bit sacrilegious in the best way. Um, let’s just say the author explores some novel uses for the angel blade and Cas’ halo that will live inside my brain rent free for a very long time. Ahem
It also serves as a fairly delightful fix-it with a really fun resolution that will also have a condo in my mind.
It’s scorching hot and a really fun read.
In It For The Long Haul by @ltleflrt (Explicit 25k)
This is the fluffiest, softest fic to soothe what ails you. Dean, a long-haul trucker, meets an intriguing waiter at a truck stop and starts reordering his life to find ways to see him again.
This fic is just pure sunshine. Cas keeps choosing meals to make Dean happy. Dean keeps blushing and flirting. The angst is low. It’s really just a good time for everyone. A soft story about liminal spaces and finding someone to share your life with.
Racing Stripes by tiamatv (Mature, 37k)
I’m admittedly a sucker for a sci fi AU, but even if I wasn’t I would still love this absolute gem of a story. Dean is one of the top racers in the world, finally about to live out his dream of racing in the difficult and high stakes Chicago Race. Unfortunately for him, revisiting Chicago also sets him on a crash course with the love of his life, Cas, who left him years ago for the promise of an education and a future, and even worse, Cas’ dad who is dangling the same for Sammy in front of Dean’s nose.
The worldbuilding in this fic is immaculate. An abandoned and rotting Chicago is almost it’s own character, and there is a quiet desperation in the story of people who have become beholden to corporations to survive. The action sequences are also gorgeous with the pivotal race being so cinematic I felt like I could see every twist and turn. And don’t get me started on the gorgeous weaving of canon into the fic. It was so clever.
But the standout for me is the gentleness in Dean’s characterization. The way he wants so badly to do what’s best. The way he longs for Cas. There is just something gorgeous about Racing Stripes Dean that made me want everything good for him.
Listen, I tell you a mystery by bathilda bagshot (wellthengameover) @the-lions-mouth (Teen, 25k)
Thee Dean and Mary parallel dissertation, this character study has everything. Mary trying to conform to cisheteronormative ideals while feeling the pull of hunting and a particular redheaded angel. Teenage and Stanford Era Dean to tear your heart out. Dean and Mary finding something of each other. And a happy ending for Dean and Cas.
It’s told in snippets. Vignettes that delve into trauma and hope. They build an absolutely beautiful parallel story, gorgeous for their intersections and the places they diverge.
And there is a gentleness to it all. We see Mary and Dean in various states of distress and desperation. We see the effects of the cupids bow and poverty and loneliness and completely fuckery. But there is never any judgment, just kindness in the way they are written.
This one made me cry real human tears and it’s definitely one that will haunt me.
A Judicious Application of Free Will by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (Explicit, 57k)
This is an older fic, but I swear Annie D has such a good grasp on Dean and Cas (or is possibly psychic) that there are elements that will make you swear it was written post canon. This one is hard to describe because it ends up with some gorgeous narrative twists that I don’t want to give away. Suffice to say: Dean meets a handsome recluse, Cas, whose past threatens to engulf them.
It’s twisty and ambitious, with so much heart. Canon is woven in to the story in unexpected ways and it’s ultimately one of those fics that you don’t want to put down.
There’s no place like home. This was a line Castiel used to know by heart when he was a kid, watching The Wizard of Oz and believing fairytales were real.
At thirty-one years old, he isn’t a kid anymore, and it has been twelve years since he has known what home feels like. Twelve years. That’s when his world had come crashing down and he had left his hometown, Holly Springs, with the broken pieces of what he once was to build a new life in San Francisco.
But as circumstances force him to come back to the only place he swore he would never return to, Castiel is finally forced to face everything he once knew and loved. Especially when said everything is made of spring-green eyes and a stardust of freckles, wrapped in all the memories Castiel was not able to erase from his heart.
After twelve years, Dean is as mesmerizing as Castiel remembers, but the scars of what was broken still run as deeply as the marrow of his bones, and Castiel will do everything he can to protect himself. After all, his favorite movie also taught him that ‘until hearts can be made unbroken,’ he can’t listen to his own.
Genre: Modern setting, Reunion AU, Romance
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 80k
Warnings/tags: Language, explicit sexual content, fluff & humor, angst with happy ending, pining, hurt and comfort, slow burn
Please, I am trying to distract myself from all that is going on in the SPN economy. Could you please recommend any human Cas fiction that you like and are comfortable sharing? Thank you!
indeed i do! i love reading human cas if he's written well but something about giving up your everything to be something smaller for love is just so....
Plain Language by thalius: 57k, E, dean pov dean whumpish with amazing cas characterization
*Cool Rider by opal_bullets: 45k, T, less talked about opal_bullets fic but it's SO good. featuring motorcycles and gay people: which sure is a combination
no sincerer love by gothyringwald: 15k, T, you know i love a good fic about food
Welcome to Pine Shores! by andimeantittosting (Saylee): 20k, E, old men but also boy besties but also business partners but also in love
*Falling with Style by ohboyohboyohboy: 9k, M, cas is a very hot skydiving instructor and dean is, well, you know? afraid of heights.
thunder road by dothraki_shieldmaiden: 20k, E, ROADTRIP BABEYYYYY!
If You Like Pina Colada by Paclipas: 10k, M, beachnatural, idiots to lovers, you know it
Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall: 26k, E, dean wants cas to have human joys, which just happens to include sex. men create intrictae rituals etc
*Fleabagnatural by FollowingButterflies: 26k, E, finished this yesterday and oh boy if you enjoyed watching fleabag you'd enjoy reading this
The Last Resort by andimeantittosting (Saylee): 29k, E, they go to a gay bar, they pretend to be husbands. it does not always work out
You and Your Husband by mikaylamazing: 17k, G, 5+1 where everyone mistakes them for husbands
*Shut Up (Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is) by kototyph: 23k, E, just another week at the office, and oh i married a random co-worker in vegas when we were drunk, and now we kinda live together. same old
Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx by pantheon_of_discord: 82k, E, roadtrips and mixtapes- you can never go wrong with that
No Kingdom to Come by domesticadventures: M, 16k, they are locked down, and they fuck and they miscommunicate. the perfect trio
Put up your Dukes by saltyfeathers: 38k, E, required reading
*the earth around me by casfallsinlove: 7k, M, roadrip numéro trois but boy best friends who run away. alexa play fast car by tracy chapman
* -> alternate universe, no supernatural, modern setting
Tags: Queer Eye!AU, Reality Show, Fab Five replaced with angels, Coming Out, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Dean Winchester gets the love and support that he deserves, Dean Winchester needs about five thousand hugs and he gets them here, First Time Bottoming, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean
Summary: Dean Winchester’s life is a mess. All of his friends agree. His brother thinks that he’s so bad that he nominates Dean for the reality show More than a Makeover. Dean will be their newest star, and for a week, five gay guys are going to come in and tell him everything that he’s been doing wrong. Could there be anything more humiliating?
Then the Fab Five show up and smash all of Dean’s expectations to smithereens. He wasn’t prepared for any of it: the support, the acceptance, but he really wasn’t prepared for was his crush on the hair stylist, Castiel Novak. It hits right at a part of himself that Dean hasn’t ever dared to accept, but for the first time in his life, he thinks that maybe he could.
Can Dean and the Fab Five manage to turn his life around in only a week?
Preview: Dean looks over to see Castiel emerging from his en suite bathroom with… is that his robe he’s wearing?
“The Dead Guy robe!” Cas exults, playfully twirling the end of the belt and slapping Michael with it. “I found it, which means I get to keep it!”
Dean manages to tear his eyes away from the sight of Cas smacking Michael’s ass with the belt of the rope (his brain conveniently replaces Michael with himself, and he has to shift as his pants get a little too tight). Covering up his momentary discomfort, Dean scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “Come on. It was an estate sale, and it was five bucks. You have to admit, it’s really comfortable.”
Castiel walks up to him, his blue eyes wide and earnest. Dean doesn’t collapse when Castiel cradles his cheeks within his large hands, but it’s a close thing. “Dean,” Castiel says, his low voice turning the simple syllables of his name into a caress, “there are things called stores. In stores you can buy many robes that are just as comfortable as this one, with the bonus that these robes have never touched another human’s body.”
"Yeah," Dean says, even the word punching the air out of his lungs.
His therapist, Nicole, glances at him with approval. He looks away. Part of him likes the feeling of finally getting this right. And part of him feels completely humiliated.
"Yeah, fuck..." he says again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm bi."
From the corner of his eye, Nicole is giving him an empathetic look, but luckily it's restrained and small. She writes something in her notebook, then sets it down on the desk beside her.
Dean's crying. God, when did he start crying? He's blinking up at the ceiling to try and will the tears away, but it's too late now, the dam is burst and she's watching him. Proud and empathetic and so fucking patient as if this isn't as shameful as it gets.
"It’s normal to get emotional," she says, calmly. "This is a big step."
He almost wants to believe her, if only he couldn't see his father's face in his head.
"I just..." he chokes. He stops himself and he can see the scars on his arms. The ones he's gathered slowly over the years. The ones that chiseled his skin with his name, his legacy.
"People like me," he says, voice cracking. "They can't just. . . change."
He pulls down his sleeves. She just doesn't understand. How could she?
(the rest under the cut)
"This was a bad idea," he says in a high pitched whisper, standing. He's got his fingers laced behind the back of his skull and the room feels white and spinning. He's got to get out of here. This place isn't safe. His eyes dart from corner to corner in the room. He sees the available exits... Windows, mostly, and he imagines crashing through, shards of glass etching more letters into his skin.
"You're safe," Nicole says and it sets him on edge even more.
The only exit he can't seem to find is the door. Where's the door?
She's standing by his side, now, eyes chasing his.
"Deep breaths."
Air. That's what's missing. He can't breathe.
Is he dying?
"Deep breaths, Dean. It's going to be okay."
Dean closes his eyes, tight. He forces himself to suck air into his lungs the way he watches Nicole do it. Deep inhales, long exhales.
He's never stood this close to her, even when he'd started the sessions a year ago trying to flirt heavily. Nicole had largely ignored his advances at first until she'd started calling it 'projecting.' The flirting had died down pretty quickly after that.
Now though, there was an entirely new feeling as she stood close. Vulnerability. Trust.
"I know you want to leave, but it says a lot that you haven't yet," she says calmly walking him through the breaths with her hand motioning against her own chest.
"Pretty sure I've left this office plenty of times over the past year, in case you didn't notice, Doc," he spat.
Nicole takes another deep breath for show, then sets a soft hand on his forearm.
"But you came back," she says gently.
Dean's head is still swimming, but the breathing is starting to calm him a little.
With a light squeeze, she drops her hand again.
"Do you know what that is?" she says.
Dean's crying still. He can't seem to stop, no matter how hard he tries.
"Stupid?" He asks, meaning it to sound like a joke, but instead it sounds so small. Like he's really hoping someone will tell him it's not true.
The room feels like a cage.
His knees are trembling.
Dean hates it. He hates the way his walls are starting to crumble and the way he's not sure who he is without them. Shame is burning in his chest and the windows still call for him to explode them to pieces the way he feels shattered right now. Pay it forward, right?
But he's learning. It's taken a year, but there's one thing he knows now that he didn't know back then--
it won't hurt forever.
Even when he's in what his therapist likes to call "crisis," he can recognize that. And that alone is something it's taken him a long time to learn.
He takes another deep breath.
It's at least ten minutes before he's breathing normally again. With help, he finds his way back into the chair. He wipes his eyes with the edges of his sleeves until they feel rough and dry.
He's tired. He's raw. But, somehow, he also feels lighter.
Finally, his brain has started to slow. It feels like a regular room again instead of a cage, afternoon sun warming the carpet in patches.
Nicole is steady and calm like an anchor, and Dean's always liked that. It's like he's not hurting her when he talks, even if his brain screams the opposite.
They sit in silence for a while. Dean wonders how something that felt so big could dwindle and die like a doused candle. Quick. Calm. Only the smoke left as the air clears between them.
He'd said it. He'd really said it out loud.
"Dean," Nicole says, hands folded across her lap. "That was really brave."
Brave.
Dean looks at the clock in the corner of the room, then to the far wall with light shining through the glass.
He lets out another breath.
Brave.
The room is steady. The space is quiet.
The windows aren't broken.
And, somehow for the first time, he realizes maybe he isn't, either.
Dean wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. When they went from Dean and Cas to DeanandCas. How they went from sleeping in separate beds to sleeping in the same one. How they went from brushing fingers against shoulders to pressing kisses to cheeks and ghosting their mouths against the corner of each other’s lips.
It was a slow progression.
Until it wasn’t.
Until one small little thing was a sudden jarring moment in Dean’s mind. They’re together together. And it’s so innocuous. This little moment that Cas doesn’t even realize.
They’ve been sharing things for weeks. Jackets. Blankets. Food. All of it happens without Dean even noticing. Besides, he was always stealing fries off of Cas’ plate, so it wasn’t really a surprise when Cas started stealing onion rings from his plate.
But this. Right now. Watching Cas get up from the warm cocoon of their bed sheets and proceed to open Dean’s drawer of clean clothes before stealing a pair of Dean’s clean socks. That was monumental. Cas doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, too busy rambling on about taking Jack bowling: “Isn’t that something normal people do? Talking of, I’ve never been bowling, either. Have you been bowling before, Dean? It can’t be too hard, can it? Isn’t there some sort of system used for kids to help them knock the pins down? Maybe we should use that for Jack? Or maybe he’d been fine without it?”
Dean doesn’t want to admit he’s tuned out; Cas’ words a white noise in the back of his mind. Because he can’t tear his eyes away from Cas’ hands. His socks in Cas’ hands. It’s a ridiculous pair with little burgers on them; nothing like the normal black socks Cas wears every day. Dean’s caught between shock and awe at the way Cas unrolls them, bending down and sliding one sock on and then the other, all the while never breaking his babbling about bowling and the history behind it.
And still, Dean can’t stop staring. They’ve shared clothes before. In fact, Cas is currently wearing one of his old AC/DC shirts; something the angel has taken to sleeping in every night since borrowing it two weeks ago. And just last week, Cas had draped the trenchcoat over Dean’s shoulders when they were on a hunt sneaking through the Michigan woods in early November; the angel noticed Dean’s shivers and immediately combated it by sliding the trenchcoat over Dean’s shoulders to warm him up.
None of that had made Dean stop and stare. It had been natural. As easy as breathing. But this. This was different. This was Cas taking Dean’s socks like they were his. And it’s at the moment Dean feels like his lungs are burning; thoughts swirling as the recognition dawns on him and settles like liquid gold burning through his veins. He’s in love with this dorky little angel currently stealing his socks.
And he doesn’t mean for the words to slip out, now while Cas is still rambling about bowling and if they could convince Sam and Eileen to join them; blissfully unaware that Dean has just had an epiphany.
“I love you,” Dean says on an exhale, the words tumbling out into the space between them.
Cas immediately cuts off mid-sentence, turning to fully face Dean with a look of starstruck surprise. “What?” he barely manages to say before Dean is getting up from the bed and pulling Cas into a kiss.
“I love you,” Dean repeats against Cas’ mouth, feeling Cas’ dopey smile pressed against his lips.
“Love you, too,” Cas murmurs right back without any hesitation, kissing Dean with enough fervor to leave them both breathless and dizzy.
It’s ridiculous, how a single pair of his socks could hold so much meaning, but it’s surprisingly them.
Later, when they’re at the bowling alley as Jack is taking his turn at knocking the pins down, having dragged Sam and Eileen along to their little adventure, Dean snakes his hand down to settle on Cas’ ankle, where a peek of his socks with their silly little hamburgers can be seen where Cas’ pants have ridden up.
“You like stealing my clothes that much that you’ve taken to stealing my socks too, huh?” Dean teases.
Cas looks from the socks to Dean’s face, before a flush creeps up his cheeks. He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but his facade wavers as he leans into Dean’s space; pressing their lips together. “What can I say? I love your clothes as much as I love you.”
Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)
“I need you,” Dean whispers between desperate kisses across Cas’s cheek. He never said it enough before - too much baggage and bullshit in the way. But he’ll say it now, again and again, even after Cas says it’s alright. Even after he says he believes it.
“I never said it,” Dean says, cradling Cas’s face in his hands. He presses their foreheads together. “You deserve to hear it every second, every day. You deserve to know how needed you are. How… how…”
“Dean?” Cas’s breath is warm on Dean’s skin. His hands on Dean’s hips ground him, a comfort. Dean knows he could not say it - he could never say it - and Cas would still stay right here. He would still love Dean.
“You deserve to know how much you’re loved,” Dean says. He licks his lips, takes a breath. “How much I love you.”
Cas’s gasp is quiet, but the only noise in the room, Dean hears it loudly.
Dean kisses him then, promising with mouth and tongue that he’ll never let Cas be surprised by the words again. He’ll say them so much they’ll become familiar, and then say them more just because.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean shouted as he struggled against the ropes holding him to the metal chair. “My husband is a tax accountant!”
Minor Vamp hunt in the rearview mirror, Sam and Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala, knocking back a couple of beers. Dean’s knee was aching, and Sam had a nice shiner, but they were alive and laughing and that’s all that mattered.
“Dude, we are getting way too old for this.”
“Yup,” Dean agreed. “But these easy hunts are still kind of fun, honestly. ‘Sides you have more gray hair than I do, little brother!”
Absurd concept if you're still taking prompts: Cas is a reenactor/guide at one of those New England touristy historical sites. Dean gets dragged there by Sam for *hand waves* nerdy/research reasons and finds the presentation much more stimulating than he expected (and who knew old-timey men's clothes fit like that?). Commence staring/awkward flirting while Sam longs for death, etc.
“I already bought the tour tickets. If you want to waste yours and hole up in in a Starbucks or something, go ahead.”
“Starbucks,” Dean repeats in tone icier than the so-called spring breeze across the Common. This one is the Common, right? Commons? Paths stripe across it with no obvious pattern; ditto the gazebo, carousel, and man-made pond, complete with child-sized frog statues. Add a random monument or two, and presto: the eccentric front yard for the State House is complete.
Sam just shrugs. “Or one of the Dunkins, I don’t care.”
“Dude, there’s like, five thousand of them. You’d never find me again. I can see two of them from here.”
Sam pauses to crane his neck above the other tourists. “Here, that way. I think this is the starting point. That’s gotta be the guide.”
Dean spots the tricorne hat and sighs. “Or someone with a weird fetish.”
“Dean, there’s kids on this tour.”
“I’m just saying.” At Sam’s answering glare, Dean shuts up. It’s not like Dean can’t stand history or anything, but he’s paying out the nose to park under this sprawling grassy hill. It’s windy, he’s cranky, and it’s Sam’s fault for winning rock-paper-scissors this morning and making them do the brewery tour later. There’s nothing wrong with some good ol’ morning drinking.
He’s debating between the Sam Adams tour or the Harpoon one when they join the group and the reenactor of a tour guide turns to greet them.
Then he’s not thinking much more than a dial tone and the wordless sensation of oh shit I have the weird fetish.
As the man checks Sam’s tickets with the one piece of modern tech on him, all Dean can see is those hands on the scanner. Good strong hands that disappear back into deep brown gloves, bulky and knitted. The long coat is a lighter shade of brown, worn loose and open over a blue vest. The vest’s buttons increasingly strain as they climb from navel to breastbone, the cloth holding tight over hidden pectorals. The matching blue fluff of an ascot brings out even bluer eyes.
The guide slips his scanner into the leather satchel that hangs over his shoulder, and Dean’s eyes slides down with the motion. The hems of the brown pantaloons desperately hold on beneath the guide’s knees, almost unable to cope with the sheer amount of meaty thighs they’re meant to cover. White stockings similarly cling from knees to leather loafers, and every inch of those legs is a testament to how much this man must walk. Or bike.
Some part of Dean’s brain still manages to take in basic information. Like that their guide’s name is Castiel. Some part of Dean’s brain even manages to think some thoughts, like that “Castiel” is probably some sort of weird old timey name he goes by at work. When Castiel explains that this tour will include only eleven of the sixteen Freedom Trail locations, Dean’s brain even thinks, aww, really?
Mostly, his brain has given over control to his eyes, which have the super important mission of taking in this unlikely model from every angle.
As the tour sets out, Dean moves quickly. Sam shoots him a surprised smile as Dean makes sure they get to the front of the group.
Castiel proves to be one of those people who can walk backward while lecturing. Facts come dry and quick, but in a crisp salty way that makes them the more, the better. Up the hill they go, and Dean gets a smile from the man by making a quick guiding gesture with his hand before Castiel can walk backward into a tourist in the way obliviously absorbed in taking a photo, smack in the middle of the path.
Directing Castiel immediately becomes Dean’s job.
More tiny smiles. More of Castiel glancing back to Dean.
Then there’s Sam, who asks more questions than the rest of the group combined, but that’s normal. And would be a completely weird thing to get jealous over. Of course Sam knows the law and politics stuff for questions over the Massachusetts State House. Of course the tour guide lights up at answering those questions. That’s normal shit.
They turn around to go back nearly the way they’d come, and Dean’s brain begins to churn in search of a better question than when he turns around, will that coat let me see his ass?
They cross the street alongside the park to get to the Park Street Church, across from an entrance for Park Street Station. “They weren’t creative in the name department, huh,” Dean remarks.
“Around the corner, we’ll be going into the Granary Burial Ground,“ Castiel says, informing the group, but somehow, mostly Dean.
“Did there used to be a granary there?” Dean asks.
“There used to be a granary there,” Castiel confirms.
It’s dumb, but Dean laughs.
Castiel grins.
The burial ground is larger than expected, given the densely packed, towering buildings surrounding it. Dean makes his next dumb comment about that, but Castiel only nods like this is an important detail.
“If something is still short in Boston, it’s probably because it’s historical,” he explains.
From there, it’s a couple of blocks the next stop, long enough for Castiel to actually turn around and look where he’s going. The wind tunnel that is the street has a go at whipping Castiel’s long coat, and at making the outline of those pantaloons even more well defined.
“We’ll have to cross twice here,” Castiel warns before taking them over to King’s Chapel. He’s got more to say about the people buried in the much smaller lot beside the little church, but Dean’s focus gets snagged by a couple of the banners clinging to the wrought iron fence around the building and graveyard.
When there’s a half-decent pause in Castiel’s spiel and Sam’s questions, Dean clears his throat. “So, uh. When all the guys were buried here, would the whole rainbow flag thing have been illegal-illegal, or just don’t talk about it illegal?”
Castiel expression doesn’t quite tighten, but there’s a flicker of wariness Dean’s seen more than once. “Many of the colonies had adopted English common law practices of the time, and kept them as they became states.“
“So...?” Dean prompts.
“The last person to be executed for sodomy was in... 1785, I believe,“ Castiel says.
“Oh,” says Dean.
Way too serious about it, Sam squeezes his shoulder.
Castiel glances between them before telling Dean, “But that was in Pennsylvania. And Massachusetts is very proud of being the first state to legalize same sex marriage in 2004.” He looks over the group. “Any other questions? Moving on.”
As the tour continues, Dean may have to write Castiel off as Sympathetic But No, but at least the eye candy continues. The statue of Ben Franklin is an absurd case of Who Wore It Better when Castiel stands next to it.
“Next we’ll be passing by the Old Corner Bookstore. Or, in modern terms, a Chipotle.”
The rule of tiny stays true, from the Chipotle “Bookstore” to the the meeting house that only hits a fourth floor due to its bell tower. Across the street, a seven story Walgreens looms. They double back a little to get to the Old State House, much smaller and way more brick than the one they’d started the tour off. This one has a unicorn on it, though.
“This marker set in the sidewalk commemorates the Boston Massacre. Or, in modern terms, a police shooting.”
That one gets Castiel some flack from another guy in the tour, and this is how Dean learns there was a time before cops. That, and only five people getting killed when there was one British soldier for every eight Bostonians was a crazy low number. Dean says this.
Castiel nods at him. “Slower guns. More bayonet use.”
The tour rapidly comes to a close only a block and a half later, with only a short interlude for Castiel to point out The Ugliest Building In Boston and ask them to guess what they think the concrete monstrosity is.
It’s city hall.
“Why,” says Dean, looking at the thing.
“Boston,” Castiel says, and everyone with a Red Sox cap nods along in agreement. He looks at Dean specifically and adds, “In the summer, Pride happens on the other side of it, on a plaza entirely made of brick.”
Dean feels his eyebrows rise. “Oh,” he says, even though that’s the kind of knowledge anyone could have, and Dean needs to not think with his dick.
Still, even after Castiel walks them over to Faneuil Hall and wraps up the tour, Dean’s still wondering. Sam, the history need, loiters with him, waiting as Castiel directs one family toward “the Cheers from Cheers” and another toward the aquarium.
“Can I ask a couple more questions?” Sam says, slipping on in, probably thinking he--and not Castiel--is towing Dean behind him.
“I do have another tour in twenty minutes,” Castiel answers.
Shit. “Do you need to run back?”
Castiel shakes his head. “We do the tour in reverse order going back.” He looks between them before asking Dean, “Do you and your partner need help deciding where to go next?”
“We’re not partners,“ Dean says, taking that automatic step further away from Sammy.
Castiel’s expression closes up from Person to Customer Service.
“We’re brothers,” Sam adds.
And then, the little shit he is, Sam leans toward Castiel and stage whispers, “I’m the straight brother.”
Tentatively, Castiel’s expression softens back into something more sincerely a person. “Oh,” he says, as if this is an interesting Fun Fact.
“I am really big on history, though,“ Sam adds. “So maybe... we could meet up for dinner.”
Castiel glances at Dean. A long glance. A slow glance.
“Maybe you could show Dean some more of the city’s gay history... stuff,” Sam continues.
“Would you be interested in... ‘gay history stuff’?“ Castiel asks, and maybe his cheeks are pink with more than the weather.
“I can be a very good student,” Dean promises.
Sam snorts. A surreal exchange of phone numbers later, Sam barrels back into actual history questions before Castiel has to pull himself away.
As he does, the wind blows, just so.
It is a completely perfect moment, and a completely perfect ass.
“So, which brewery are we going to?” Sam asks, as if nothing just happened.
“Dude, what was that?” Dean asks. “How did you just- Why did you...?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you just stared at him for an hour and a half straight.” A grin. “Or not straight. I’m not blind. Anyway, Sam Adams, or Harpoon?”
Teacher and Didnt know they were dating tropes? Destiel of course ;)
“Thanks for your help,” Jo said, sighing in relief. “I didn’t think I’d be able to grade those tests in time for interims. Last thing I need is half their grades to drop after this test but parents not seeing.”
“Any time,” Dean said and checked his watch. He was well aware of the pressures of being a new teacher in a highly demanding AP course, most of that pressure being from parent expectations. Even so, he had a couple things of his own to take care of before his planning ended. “Mind if I duck out? Maybe I can still catch Cas before his hall duty.”
Jo snorted a laugh. “Yeah, go for it. I know how mopey you get when you don’t get to hang out with your boyfriend.”
Dean froze. “My what?”
“Oh please, cut the act. I’ve seen you two together. I’m not blind. I get not wanting to talk about it too much so the kids don’t find out and-” She paused, taking in Dean’s expression. “Shit, you really aren’t dating him, are you?”
“Uh, no.”
“… Do you want to be?”
“…”
Jo made a face that only too clearly showed the yikes she was thinking. “Whelp, good luck with that. But if it’s any consolation, I think he’s into you, too.”
A shy smile replaced his frown. “Yeah?”
“Well, yeah. If I didn’t think it was mutual, how could I get it into my head you’re a couple instead of just a loser with a crush. So go find him and ask him out.”
Dean was already half gone. “Way ahead of you. See you at lunch!”
dean is a history teacher. he spends all his free time right now filming lectures on all the upcoming topics. he has visuals, he has costumes (ofc he has costumes), he does terrible accents, he has little models and legos that he uses to recreate battles and other famous historical moments. he has video sessions with his students where he pretends to be a historical figure and they ask him questions, or they have animated debates.
his students liked being in his physical classroom bc of his charisma and how pretty he is, but they love these videos bc they’re just SO FUCKING HILARIOUS. they spend too much time on his classwork and maybe neglect their other classes.
cas is a math teacher. his videos for students consist of meticulously worked out math problems on a whiteboard that may or may not actually be a shower. it looks like a shower… but cas chooses the exact angle that makes it impossible to see any proof that it is.
he also continues to wear his button down shirts and sweater vests and ties, and his students take bets on whether or not he’s actually wearing pants bc the videos very carefully do not show him below the waist. coincidence??? well yeah probably but MAYBE!!
he has video office hours where he’s sitting at his computer, quietly reading a book, and students can pop in to ask questions or just chat. he’s a good listener, and he finds many students just stop by to say hi or show him their cat or their new painting or maybe the bike jump they set up in their backyard.
the really tricky thing is… well, they’ve kept their whole relationship thing a secret from the kids. and the other staff, for that matter. they want to keep their work and personal lives separate, which is currently impossible since dean’s taken over the living room for his videos and cas has taken over the bathroom “because it has better light, dean, and do you have an actual dry erase board hidden somewhere in this house that i don’t know about? bc if not, i have to use the shower”
it starts with small things. dean will ask students about things they don’t remember telling him. they told mr novak about their cat having kittens, they didn’t tell mr winchester. or cas will roll his eyes at what was supposed to be an inside joke about mr winchester’s last video conference with his AP US history kids, how would mr novak even know about it??
rumors run rampant, mostly deciding that the teachers are watching each other’s stuff. one student claims that mr novak and mr winchester are neighbors, she’s seen them on runs together through the nearby park. that is dismissed as a garbage rumor, everyone knows mr winchester hates running.
all rumors are settled when a sleepy, bed-head cas walks through one of dean’s video conferences. the living room is the only way to the kitchen, and HE NEEDS HIS COFFEE OKAY!? fuck the secrecy, fuck the cameras, he just needs caffeine, preferably injected intraveinously but he’ll accept it in coffee form if necessary.
dean doesn’t even register this as strange. cas is going to get coffee, he’s seen this a million times. he just keeps going with his lesson, doesn’t acknowledge it, only starts to notice when the whole class is silent.
“what? what’s going on? is my mic off?” dean asks in confusion.
silence. until nervously one of the girls unmutes and timidly says, “i think mr novak just walked through your house…”
and dean’s ears might go pink and he chokes on his words for a good thirty seconds before he mentally shrugs and decides he doesn’t give a shit.
“well yeah, he lives here,” he says and then keeps going with the lecture.
there are A LOT of questions once dean’s done his presentation… and very few of them have to do with the lesson.
questions dean gets include but are not limited to:
- are you and mr novak dating? (no)
- are you married? (yes)
- does he really film in the bathroom? (yes. we only have one bathroom. it’s very inconvenient.)
- does he wear pants when he films? (no but he wears shorts)
- how long have you been together? (since college. i’m not saying how long ago it was, you can do the math yourselves)
- why don’t you even act like you know each other at school? (when have you even seen us interact at school? we’re in different departments on opposite ends of the building on different floors.)
- why don’t you drive to work together? (because i get there early and cas- mr novak arrives later bc he stops to get coffee. i also don’t want to be seen in his car, have you seen that thing?)
- will you get him to be in your next video? (i’ll ask, but i usually do my videos in the morning before he gets up so not likely)
- will you be in his videos? (considering i don’t know much math except what i need to do your grades, no, no i don’t think he will. unless you did a petition. he might get on board if you do a petition.)
- you guys should do a tiktok together!!! (that’s not a question. and we have. don’t assume adults don’t have social media accounts, they just don’t tell you about them.)
- are you the reason mr novak can’t have a cat? (… why is he complaining to you guys about the cat thing? I’M ALLERGIC, geez)
Absurd concept: The spouses of royalty are chosen by game show/reality show.
After the week’s guest judges announce their scores, after the call-in votes have been tallied, after the week’s loser is announced and the camera crew dutifully collects their reactions, Dean sleepwalks through the lavishly decorated mansion to his temporary bedroom.
He closes the door securely behind him.
He sits down on the bed.
As quietly as possible, he loses his entire goddamn mind.
It’s not yet noon.
He continues to lose his entire goddamn mind until nine o’clock that night, right after the Friday episode finishes airing, which is the moment everyone remaining in the mansion scrambles for their phones.
Sam picks up immediately. “You’re in the final four.”
“I’m in the final four,” Dean confirms. Repeats. Then, in the privacy of his assigned bedroom, he says, “Help.”
With an incredulous laugh, Sam answers, “Dude, I don’t think you need it!“
“I might actually have to marry the guy!” Dean hisses. “I didn’t think I’d have to marry the guy! They haven’t even let us meet him yet, I can’t marry a complete stranger.”
Still seconds away from laughter, Sam says, “Too bad you signed that contract then! Man. Man.”
“I wasn’t supposed to get this far!”
“Dean. Breathe. All you have to do is fuck up the date portion and you’re out. This is... I mean, it’s amazing, but the prince is still the one with the veto power okay?”
“You want me to make an ass out of myself on national TV.”
“What? No. You tell him you came to represent your background and you don’t think you can hack it as prince consort. You did what you came to do.”
Dean tries more of that breathing stuff.
“Right?“ Sam prompts.
“Yeah,“ Dean has to admit, even according to his own high standards. “Somehow lasted longer than the prison reform guy, and I’m the one with a record.”
“People even seem to like you for it. More relatable. Plus, it being a juvenile record doesn’t hurt. I think you’re starting to become this ‘scared straight’ poster boy.”
“I wasn’t scared-”
“I know, I know,” Sam says over him. “I’m telling you what I’ve been hearing, that’s all. Kid gets arrested for stealing, gets put into a boys’ home, grows up to co-run the boys’ home and cut down on rescindivism.”
“You left out the part about ‘kid gets his own father arrested.’“
“‘Other son grows up to be lawyer to prosecute own father for neglect,’“ Sam adds, tacitly leaving off the “and child abuse” they’ve spent too long arguing over. “Point is, Dean, you came in to yell at anyone who would listen that we need more help for homeless kids, justice reform, the whole list.”
“The home’s been getting a lot of donations,” Dean mutters, head bowed, not too embarrassed to say it, but close.
“Sonny’s kept the press from interviewing the kids,“ Sam says. “I’ve seen him on the news a couple times over reporters trying to get the scoop on you from them.“
Dean groans. “They’re gonna get hassled over me so much when I come back. Fuck. This is not the kind of attention they need.”
“They’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Just blow the date portion and you’ll go down to local celebrity in a year and using it to pull in donations. You get to plan the date, right? They gave you a budget and all?”
“I’m gonna...” Dean stares at the beautifully draped curtains framing the crystal clear windowpanes, overlooking the backyard pool and sprawling garden. No one out there tonight, not when everyone has just the weekend to plan. “Where do you even invite a prince to go?”
“See, you’re already failing. It’ll go great.“
“Bitch.“
“Jerk.”
Dean breathes a bit more. “Fuck it. I’m gonna do a normal person date. Probably can’t take him to a bar without it being weird and fancy. I’ll make burgers, we’ll do a movie on the couch, and he’ll be so disappointed with my pleb ways, he’ll never look back.”
“If he has to watch you eat, he’ll leave before the movie.”
“Sam.“
“I’m helping!”
.
.
The show airs every weeknight, and while some of the contestants have gotten solo portions before, this is the first week everyone gets a solo night. Of the many, many entrants, only twelve even made it to the mansion. Dean’s pretty face and sob story somehow got him in. Those, and how getting arrested as a teenager had apparently filled him with that big requirement for the nation-wide contest: a deep and abiding passion for the good works of their country.
Anytime someone phrases it like that, Dean desperately controls his expression.
It had started with a dozen people from across the country. It had gathered singles from across the nobility and the upper class, dipped its toes into middle class, and then slummed it with Dean. Here a lawyer, there a doctor. There went the architect, there goes the civil servant.
Getting through the quiz rounds had been a Slumdog Millionaire-esque stroke of luck. Roadtripping across the country with their dad had taught Dean everything about maps, and, apparently, an absurd amount of geography. Dragging multiple kids through multiple school years drilled in the staples of national history. And no one else present for those quizzes had any personal experience in the nitty gritty details of life.
When they were all tested on how “in touch” with the common people voting for them they were, Dean had somehow been the only person to ask crucial follow-up questions. What are the average prices of different groceries? “Store brand, name brand, or organic?” should be the obvious response, not just the reaction that gets a consistent laugh from the studio audience of those nights. When the topic turned to education or crime, Dean ponied up the same kind of statistics he’s been waving in front of kid’s faces for the better part of a decade now.
Then there’d been the more socially focused rounds. Dean had coasted through the event planning competition as part of a team before sweet talking all their guests. When they’d all been partnered up with a foreign dignitary to cut their teeth on that kind of schmoozing, Dean had been given the absolute easiest partner: a nerd with scifi figurines on her desk.
The last couple of rounds had been a two-part challenge that failed to live up to its name. Come up with a community project with low costs and high impact? Dean had ticked over from an At Risk Youth and into adulthood on a farm. All he had to put together is what he knows works: community gardening. Give a thirteen year old boy a hoe, let him snicker it out, and then have him beat the ground until his anger runs out. Involve neighbors, get the kids interacting with real people, get more people invested in the kids. So, yeah: a couple of tweaks to that, and Dean’s proposal had been a piece of cake. Implementing it this past week went pretty smoothly too.
And now he’s here.
Final four.
All set and ready to date a prince.
Jesus fuck, who let this happen.
.
.
On Saturday, they draw straws. Given that each show airs on a weeknight and needs a day of frantic editing, someone has to have their date Sunday night, in time for Monday.
Through an overly elaborate ceremony (recorded as a promo for this week’s shows), Dean draws Friday night (which actually means Thursday). The host wishes them all luck, the two remaining nobles split away from each other, and the investment banker starts asking the host a bunch of questions Dean doesn’t need the answers to.
With the most time to prepare, Dean... doesn’t. He swims in the pool. He enjoys the seriously awesome food. He browses through the movie catalogue available to them. He takes advantage of a completely absurd bathroom and continues to plot out how he’s going to steal his bathrobe.
Each morning, the final four have to socialize with each other over breakfast in front of the cameras. It’s the same kind of debrief they’ve been doing for, shit, two entire months at this point. The only difference this time is that this time, one of them has first hand experience with Prince Castiel.
A lot of strategizing clearly goes into how much everyone reveals on their morning. Praise the prince’s good looks in front of the camera? Check. List all of the wonderful activities they did together so no one can copy them? Check. Mention a single one of the prince’s likes or hobbies? No check. Anti-check. Cross that question off the entire list. No one spills any beans there, absolutely nothing that could be helpful to anyone going next.
Thursday drags its way from morning and into afternoon with multiple consultants asking Dean if he’s sure about what he has planned. For his part, Dean confirms and confirms until he’s a hairs breadth from losing his temper.
Yes, he’s sure. No, he doesn’t need anything else beyond that grocery list. Yes, he’s wearing this. No, he doesn’t need a last minute shopping trip. Yes, he is absolutely wearing this, because these are his own clothes. Now go away: he needs time to cook.
Given the seemingly limitless options and budget they have at their disposal, Dean’s the only one who opted to invite the prince to the mansion. Maybe the others were too leery of a rival butting in, or even just spying the prince early. Maybe they’d had some show they’d desperately wanted to see and chose to cash in with this. Hell, Dean had had half a mind to do that, until facing facts and admitting that this could lead to an actually interesting date.
Instead, he sucks it up. He’s had more fine dining and gourmet food in two months than he’s had the entire rest of his life. He’s met celebrities and even given a shit about a couple of them. But now it’s getting too real, and that means it’s time to go.
.
.
Having a camera crew in tow somehow fails to be the most surreal part of answering the door. The bell sets off an impressive melody through the foyer. Already stationed in place, Dean lets the noise die before taking the final few steps and hauling open the door for the prince he has technically agreed to marry (results of the competition pending).
With his own cameraman behind him, Prince Castiel nods politely at him across the threshold, and Dean is immediately in over his head.
They’d said he was handsome. Gossip rags call him anything from pretty to breathtaking. Countless photos depict how, beneath those suits, there hides a body well-toned from the luxury of the best personal trainers.
All that’s true.
But mostly, this guy just looks tired.
It’s in those deep baby blues, already partially glazed over. It’s in how the man reflexively straightens his posture that extra inch. This far into a televised life, Dean can easily spot makeup, even expertly applied, and there are bags under those eyes.
“Hey,” Dean says, instead of whatever the hell he’d planned to say. Unless that’s what he’d planned to say. He has no idea. He tightens his grip on the side of the door, the better to hold it open wide. The better to hold onto something. “Thanks for coming over, Your Highness.” Holy shit, that’s weird to say. Is he supposed to call Prince Castiel that? Somebody briefed him on this and now he has no idea.
Narrowing those striking eyes and tilting his head, the future king looks Dean over from flannel to worn jeans to work boots. With a faint quirk to his lips, he extends his hand. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean takes it. Shakes it. Gives as good of a hold as he teaches the boys to, looks him square in the eyes, and shows him that Dean’s not remotely as piss-pants scared as he feels. “Dean.”
“Castiel.” With one last squeeze, Castiel lets go.
Dean clears his throat. “Right. Come on in.” He takes a step back, and Castiel enters.
In his overcoat and tailored suit, Castiel doesn’t move like anyone Dean knows. It’s too polished to be a prowl, too intent to be casual. His motions carry purpose and weight, though the meaning remains illusive. He holds himself apart.
“Take your coat?”
“Thank you.”
Dean hangs the overcoat in the foyer closet, and his hands are absolutely not shaking. “I hope you came hungry. This place has an awesome kitchen.”
The smooth, nigh-emotionless facade wavers with a blink. “You cooked?”
“Yup.” He ducks his head. “Well, still cooking. Just finishing up, though, didn’t want anything to get cold.” Dean gestures the way, although the camera backing through the appropriate doorway is a bit of a hint already.
Dean leads him through the empty dining room, the long table devoid of place settings, and into the kitchen. “What’s your style? Rare, medium, dry brick?”
“I-” Another waver of persona, another moment of confusion. No sense of humor, or too tired to use it? “Medium rare, typically.”
“Awesome, coming right up.”
The kitchen island sports a pair of place settings, one corner framed by a pair of stools. Already set out are the condiments, the jar of pickle slices, washed lettuce, tomato slices, the works. Plus, a bowl of fresh fries.
“I used the air fryer on those,” Dean says, pointing them out while moving to the sleek stove. “Sounds ridiculous, but I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to try one of those bad boys out.”
Visibly quizzical, Castiel claims one of the stools while the cameras do their thing, circling around them on the shoulders of operators they’re meant to ignore. “You’re making burgers,” Castiel says, somehow making this a question.
“Yeah, nothing fancy.” Except for the quality of ingredients. Taking the beef out of the packaging, Dean had died inside, but mostly in a good way. He flashes a smile over his shoulder. “Hope that’s okay. I’m normally cooking for a pack of kids. Refined palates are very much not a thing.”
He’s pulled out the big guns for seasoning tonight: there’s no way he’ll be able to afford to ever again. As he gets the meat sizzling in the pan, he pops a pair of absurdly artisan buns into the oven with a lick of butter across each. On muscle memory, he opens the fridge and catches himself mid-reach. “Beer while you wait? They brought in a bunch of different kinds.”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Pale ales, it is.
Six minutes of small talk pass in a haze, but that haze gets a lot slower when the prince gets up and comes over to take a look. “That smells very good,” he says, as stiff and composed as a cardboard cutout not quite propped up all the way.
“Heck yeah,” Dean agrees on autopilot. “Do you want to do up yours, or are you okay with me taking the wheel?”
Castiel looks at him with absolute incomprehension.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Dean decides. Somewhere between Dean getting the buns out and laying the lettuce on, Castiel realizes what he’d meant, but by then, Dean’s almost done. He moves both plates back to the kitchen island, laughing awkwardly as they shuffle around each other, laughing in relief when he doesn’t toss both burgers into Castiel’s suit.
Proving that he’s not a complete alien, Castiel does know what to do when it comes to condiments and loading his own tomato and pickle slices. “I haven’t had a burger in... I’m not sure how long,” Castiel confesses, not without hunger, his deep voice rumbling in lieu of his stomach.
Dean swallows hard. “Not a fan?“ he half-jokes.
Castiel levels a Look at him.
Dean laughs. From nerves.
“Synthetic meat substitutes are an important advancement,” Castiel says, as if by rote.
Dean shakes his head disparagingly. “Man, you swap out my ground beef for ground turkey, and I notice. My brother’s crazy about, what is it, tofu-point-oh, but I can’t hack it.”
“Sustainability doesn’t always account for personal preference,” Castiel answers, which Dean translates to “Yeah, it sucks.”
“You said it. Well. Bon appétit?”
“Mm.”
With that, they heft their burgers, angle their approaches, and bite in.
Castiel makes a porn noise.
Juices come out.
Bits of bun crumb and lettuce fall onto his plate as he leans forward over it, chasing the bulging burger into his own hands.
Castiel sets the burger down, chews vigorously, and uses his napkin while Dean stares like a rube.
“That,” Castiel says, “is very good.”
Dean grins. “Yeah?”
“Mm,” Castiel confirms, going back in.
They don’t talk so much after that. A couple times, Castiel has to turn a hand for a quick lick at his own wrist, rescuing his sleeve from the juices. Dean stares a little too hard until one of the cameras passes into his line of sight to do the same. Then he pulls his shit together.
“So,“ Dean says faux-conversationally, “what do you actually do?”
Castiel takes his time chewing and swallowing. “I flag issues in Parliament for my father’s review.“
“Like a big flag, or one of those little toothpick ones?”
Again, there’s that moment of lag behind those eyes. No less compelling for it, but a little worrying. “That does depend on the size of the issue. My team and I read as many of the proposed laws as possible once the Houses have argued them into shape. We try to close loopholes.”
“Huh.”
“There’s also public relations,” Castiel adds, somehow sounding more interested in thwarting legalese.
“Like this,“ Dean says, breaking one of the rules to gesture at the cameras.
“Like this,“ Castiel agrees.
“Are you cool with it?” Dean asks, because why the fuck not. If he’s gonna pack his bags, he might as well load them with answers on his way out.
Still, he doesn’t go so far as bringing up how Castiel’s disowned older brother and former crown prince didn’t manage to hack being paired up via TV show and popular vote. The former prince having an affair with his secretary and popping out an heir is, after all, a strange silver lining that opens up Castiel’s union to less procreative options. And the royal family does seem to love tiny Jack as much as they now loathe the prince-formerly-known-as-a-prince.
“I spend much of my life in front of cameras,” Castiel says.
Dean shakes his head, then holds up a finger as he chews. After a swallow, he says, “Having everybody vote on who you’ll marry. You’re okay with it?”
“Arranged marriages are a longstanding part of our history. The populace having control instead of my parents serves as a check on the monarchy.”
“That’s the party line, yeah, but that’s not what I asked.” It occurs to Dean that Castiel probably isn’t allowed to say, but screw it. “You. You the person. You’re okay with it?”
Slowly, Castiel nods. “I do have some amount of input, Dean.”
The chills spiraling out from his spine to curl up in his toes have nothing to do with the heat from the long-cold stove, but Dean can pretend. “I know the veto rules. You can save someone from being voted out... twice? Yeah.”
Castiel reaches for his beer only to hold it, not drink. “When the entrants are narrowed down to five hundred, an allotment of those go to my family members or friends. Then there are a hundred. As a group, we half that number. Then I pick twelve from that fifty.”
Dean’s eyes widen as his stomach drops. He leans his arm on the kitchen island to keep his balance on the stool. “You...”
“Picked you. Yes.” Castiel glances down and clears his throat. “And the rest of the house.”
“You already swiped right on all of us.”
“You could call it that.“
“Oh,” Dean says, and it comes out way too small. “I, um. Didn’t know that.”
Castiel nods. “They’ll edit this out for the show. It might be in a Behind the Scenes feature, though.“
“That is crazy surreal, you know that, right?”
This time when Castiel looks at him with those deep blue eyes and that tiny quirk to his lips, it’s the expression of a man who knows life is insane and has chosen to go ahead anyway.
“Yes,” Castiel says simply.
They finish eating in relative silence. Castiel seems content enough to help himself to homemade fries and ponder why ketchup is legally a vegetable if tomatoes are technically fruit.
“I was thinking,” Dean says by way of transition, “you’ve kind of had a packed week, right? Art show, concert, play, right?”
Still intent on chasing down the ketchup with the last of the fries, Castiel nods. “It’s been very nice having a night in.”
“Well. Uh. Good.” Dean clears his throat. “’Cause we’ve got some comfy couches and a couple of those seriously awesome recliners. And movies.”
Castiel smiles at him, and all of those little chills that have taken root in Dean abruptly blossom and melt. It’s bad. Real bad. But a kind of train wreck bad, because Dean can’t look away from his own oncoming Demise Via Handsome. “What did you have in mind?” Castiel asks.
What Dean had in mind is not being mocked on national TV for any of his completely awesome, completely normal movie preferences. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you don’t get out to the movies a lot, right?”
“I do occasionally attend a premier,” Castiel admits, “but not as often as I’d like.”
“Cool,” Dean says, because what else can he say to that. “Yeah, whatever you missed in theaters, let’s do it. Another beer?” Because Dean’s gonna need another beer.
Another round of beers, and another awkward transition through the mansion. Castiel’s stiffness has lessened slightly, but only slightly. The veneer of polish holding his exhaustion at bay cracks a bit further.
Confusing the camera crew, they set up shop in two adjacent recliners instead of braving the couch or even the loveseat. There’s a long pause for everyone to adjust the lighting for both movie-viewing and show-filming.
“What about you?” Castiel asks.
Dean looks down at the controls on his chair. He looks at his beer in the cup holder. He looks back to Castiel, who wields the remote but doesn’t scroll through the options on the screen. “What about me, what?”
“How are you adjusting to all of this?”
“Is it weird that the cameras are starting to feel normal?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Touche.” Dean leans back, reclining the chair with him and putting on that nice heated seat function. “Honestly?”
Similarly reclined, Castiel nods, the side of his face against the headrest.
“This is way more fun than I thought it would be,” Dean admits. “Figured I’d be stressed out of my mind, but...“ He shrugs. It’s that old, amazing freedom of giving up. The abrupt lifting of expectations. “This is the first vacation I’ve had in... Shit, I don’t even know.”
“Vacation,“ Castiel echoes. “In the past fortnight, you designed and implemented a community garden.”
“And I was responsible for none of the kids there,” Dean says with maybe a bit too much glee. “Man, that felt good.” Then, remembering the cameras, he quickly adds, “Not that I don’t miss the boys. It’s just nice to not have to take care of everyone in earshot sometimes.“
Castiel keeps looking at him. Long and steady, the kind of slow gaze that makes words stumble out to meet it.
Dean resists as best he can, but he still keeps going, just a little. “I got this brother, Sam. Not a foster brother, the brother I came with. When he went off to college, he kept joking about how it was a good thing I had five kids to look after instead of just him.”
“Was it?”
“Was it what?“
“Good,“ Castiel says. “For you.”
Dean takes a moment to think about it, which is long enough to know he’d need way longer than a moment. He looks to the immense TV instead. “Looks like they got the lighting figured out. See anything good?”
Castiel doesn’t press the issue, and yet Dean can feel those eyes on him even as Castiel resumes scrolling. “I remember this receiving multiple awards last year, but I never watched it.”
Dean recognizes the title enough to know that it’s artsy and boring as shit. “Awesome, go for it.”
Ten minutes pass in aching silence. The TV doesn’t count. Neither does the camera crew.
Neither should Dean turning on the vibrate function of his chair, but Castiel immediately looks at him.
Dean turns the back massage off.
Still looking at Dean, Castiel shifts his hand on the armrest, and the same whirring, vibrating noise comes from his recliner.
Dean turns his own back on.
Castiel smiles at him.
Dean starts rambling. About other movies. About the local theater, before it closed. About herding the kids down to the library for a public screening on an overhead projector, and crossing his fingers it was a superhero movie instead of something they’d whine about being too babyish.
Finally, he rambles his way quiet, but by that point, he’s entirely lost track of the movie. He does his best to focus anyway.
The boredom sets back in, but Castiel doesn’t break the silence.
Dean glances over, then glances over again.
Shit.
The headrest now playing the part of a pillow, Castiel inhales and exhales with the steady rhythm of the deeply asleep. Despite already having been yammering on to an unconscious prince, Dean holds his breath.
He looks at the camera crews.
The camera crews, and the cameras, stare back.
This isn’t how Dean had meant to blow the date, but boring the guy to sleep definitely counts.
Holding back a sigh, Dean returns his recliner to its neutral position and gives up on the movie. He’d made dessert--mostly for himself--and now is definitely time to heat that up. Still, standing there, surrounded by watchers he’s not supposed to notice, he decides to maybe not completely tank his public image by abandoning his royal date.
He takes off his flannel instead, baring his forearms and band t-shirt. With the practice of many years of shepherding little brothers to bed, Dean lays the flannel over Castiel. The prince still has his suit jacket on, though unbuttoned. At some point, he must have relaxed enough to loosen his tie, but Dean can’t be sure of when.
Regardless, he tucks Castiel in before signaling the crew to leave him be. Dean turns off the TV, keeps the lighting dim, and slips back to the kitchen. With only one of the cameras following him in professional silence, Dean puts the pie he’d baked this afternoon back into the oven to heat up. He puts his music on low, gives the camera a good shot of him sighing in dismay, and proceeds to do the dishes.
.
.
Officially, they’re not meant to talk to the camera crew outside of those stupid confessionals everyone has to do, but 1. there’s only so much footage they can get out of Dean and B. he is armed with pie, boredom, and bribery.
Plus this way, they have to use the limited shots Dean already gave them, rather than Dean risking mistake after mistake, take after take. He may be pretty, but he ain’t dumb.
It’s over two hours later before there’s any sounds of movement off in the direction of the home theater. Still, the camera crew springs back into action, turning the equipment back on and scurrying to hide the extra plates out of sight.
Dean’s flannel draped over one arm, Prince Castiel comes shuffling into the kitchen with a glower plain on his face.
“You should have woken me up,“ Castiel grumbles in a tone Dean knows all too well, royalty or not.
“Cas, buddy? You needed that.“ Dean taps the kitchen island twice. “I already put on some coffee, you want some?”
Castiel sits heavily, his sigh weighty enough to bend him forward. Despite the makeup, he rubs at his eyes. “I’m meant to have kept you company, not...“ He trails off and sighs once more.
Dean looks him over.
Looks at the cameras trained on them.
In a clear and steady voice, Dean says, “Fuck.”
Everyone stares at him.
“Fuck, shit, balls, tits, pussy,“ Dean continues, getting between Cas and the cameras. “None of this is usable, shit, goddamn, fuck, and none of it motherfucking will be, titty fucking balls, so go ahead and clear out.“
Through time, persistence, and cussing, all things are possible, even calmly harassing a pair of camera crews into retreating. There’s not much Dean can do from keeping one crew from looping around to the other kitchen entrance, so Dean settles on a compromise: they’ll stay in the doorway and he’ll stop swearing.
When he comes back to Cas, it’s to find him cradling a mug of coffee and looking at the caffeine source with immense fondness.
“Saved you a slice, if you want it,“ Dean says, pulling out the remaining pie from the fridge. He realizes the picture he makes. “I didn’t eat the whole thing. The crew... Yeah.”
“I can see the plates,“ Cas says, nodding. Looking up at Dean, there’s a clear pall of guilt over him. “I apologize. That was very rude of me. You went through a great deal of effort.”
Dean waves it off, pouring himself more coffee as well in the face of Cas’ poorly concealed yawns. “Big meal, dark room, comfy seat. It happens. No big deal.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week,” Cas promises.
Very carefully, Dean swallows his coffee rather than spit it out. “Next week. You mean, the Day Trip week.” Followed by the Overnight week, two days for each of the remaining two contestants. Followed by marriage.
“I’ll make sure you’re scheduled first,” Cas continues. “You’ll have my full attention.”
Something a lot like terror without the pain rushes through Dean’s veins. Hot? Freezing? He can’t tell. It makes him take a step back, smack his ass against the counter, and let out a noise that immediately necessitates destroying all documentation of said noise. Dean does not giggle like a drunken bubble falling down the stairs. That is not something he does.
Cas seems to be under the unfortunate misconception that Dean does, however, and he smiles softly over the lip of his mug in such a way to prove it.
“Shut up,“ Dean mutters to his coffee. While Cas drinks, Dean rallies. “Besides, I haven’t been voted through to next week yet.”
“You’ll make it through,“ Cas tells him firmly. “I haven’t used any of my veto power yet.“
“Shut up and eat your pie.” Dean thrusts the warmed slice over. “You- shit, fork.“
After two incorrect drawers, Dean finds the forks right where they’ve always been. “Uh, here.”
Standing up, reaching out, Cas wraps his fingers around Dean’s hand rather than the utensil.
The first time Dean proposes to Cas, it’s all fake. Just for a case. They needed to make a scene to draw the attention of the God they were hunting, who just so happened to be killing newly engaged couples.
Dean drops to his knee and pulls the box out right there in the middle of the town’s busiest park, where everyone in town gathers in the summer evenings. The ring is a cheap sterling silver in a small little box. There’s nothing real about it. Except everything about the proposal feels real to Dean.
Dean’s hidden feelings, the way Cas smiles with his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way Dean knows is Cas’ true smile as he say the words, “Cas, my angel, please make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of marrying me”, to the way Cas’ arms wrap around Dean’s neck after he says yes; his fingers brushing ever-so-softly over Dean’s jaw. It’s achingly tender and completely fake, and yet Dean’s heart is screaming at his rib cage real, real, real.
He brushes it off, he has to, because there’s a job to be done and monsters to kill. But God, the way his heart leaps into his throat when he sees the ring perched on Cas’ finger, it’s enough to make Dean feel sick with longing. He wants that. Wants to see a real ring on Cas’ finger, and he wants to be the one to put it there. But he can’t. Can’t ruin their friendship with his feelings that Cas could never reciprocate.
~
Their first kiss is fake, too. It’s Cas’ idea. They’re at this massive gala event, trying to track down the culprit who’s specifically targeting gay couples from this elite circle and sacrificing them in bloody massacres. Dean couldn’t possibly come in with Sam as his date, so Cas had volunteered.
He thought that would be enough, but clearly they hadn’t caught the monster’s attention yet, otherwise they wouldn’t still be mingling like this. They needed to draw attention and fast.
Cas must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he shifted his hand from Dean’s lower back to his neck. “Do you trust me?” Cas murmured, quiet enough that only Dean could hear.
“Always,” Dean replied instantly, because there was no one he trusted more than Cas.
“Play along,” Cas muttered, before he spun around, and tugged Dean down into a kiss.
Not just any kiss. God, this kiss was absolutely breath stealing. Cas’ fingers tangled into Dean’s hair, and Dean scrambled to loop his arms around Cas’ waist.
They kissed long and slow, starting off gentle and sweet but quickly morphing into something desperate and biting. It was thrilling, sending a low thrum down Dean’s spine and causing his heart to flutter in his chest. It was everything he’d been wanting for so long, to kiss Cas like this. To be kissed like this, with Cas’ lips gliding against his own.
But when they broke apart, the reality of the situation sunk in. The air around them had shifted; cold tendrils creeping towards them that had Dean’s hairs standing on end. They’d caught the monster’s attention.
“Smart thinking,” Dean muttered, hand moving to his gun tucked in the back of his waistband.
And for a second, when Dean looked over at Cas, he could’ve sworn he’d seen longing and desire etched across his features. But it was quickly replaced with determination as the threat of the monster creeped towards them.
~
The first time they go on a date, it’s a ruse as well. Or, well, it starts that way, at least. They’re at this outdoor botanical garden open to the public to buy flowers of their choosing. Dean and Cas are half looking at the flowers for fun and half analyzing to see which ones are being used in a spell by a witch to control and kill people. Somehow, even though it’s not an official date, it almost feels like one.
Cas’ hand keeps brushing against Dean’s as he explains in hushed excitement about the different flowers and their meanings as the petals glinted in the sunshine. Bright oranges, elegant yellows, pastel pinks, and vibrant reds. Even the air smells like heaven, soft floral scents mixing together and creating a soft atmosphere.
It was the kind of date Dean had never envisioned himself going on, but seeing the pure happiness radiating off of Cas, the worries over the hunt melted away for just a brief second as the beauty of the flowers surrounded them.
Once Dean caught sight of the flowers that the witch had been using, he diverged from Cas for a moment, claiming he needed to collect all the flowers so the witch couldn’t use them. But on his way, his eyes caught sight of a collection of tulips. The thought lingered in his mind. Hadn’t Cas said just a few minutes ago that tulips represented love and perfection?
Carefully, Dean plucked out several red tulips and a single red rose. After stashing all of the dangerous flowers into the trunk of the Impala, Dean took his small bouquet and made his way back to Cas.
Cas’ eyes caught Dean, and when they locked gazes, Dean could feel his cheeks burning. Slowly, he offered the 4 flowers to Cas. “For you,” he murmured.
Cas took the flowers, fingers brushing over Dean’s as the meaning of the flowers sunk in. Romance. Passion. Love.
“Dean,” Cas gasped quietly, looking from the flowers to Dean and back to the flowers.
“It’s all backwards. We’ve had all our firsts even though it doesn’t count. First date, first kiss, even a proposal.”
Cas seems to understand what Dean is saying, because he reaches out and pulls Dean closer. “Firsts are overrated. I think seconds sound much more appealing.”
And right there, they have their second ‘first’ kiss. This time, it’s achingly soft and sweet; lips locking and little breaths gasped out between them. In their little corner of the botanical gardens, where no one else is around, they kiss and kiss; tender brushes of mouths and gentle touches as they both melt into the kiss. It’s absolutely perfect.
~
Dean decides he likes ‘seconds’ a lot more than he likes ‘firsts.’ Their second ‘first date’ they go fishing and Cas brings a little picnic for them, too. It’s so sentimental and ridiculously cute that Dean can barely breathe. It’s domestic and adorable, and everything inside of him aches with it.
And two years later, when Dean proposes to Cas for the second and last time, it’s at dinner in front of their family- Sam and Eileen, Jack and Bobby, Charlie and Garth and Bess, Jody and Donna and the girls. It’s better than their first proposal by a million miles, and as Dean opens the box, real gold ring glinting in the Bunker’s fluorescent light, Cas barely even lets Dean ask before he’s dragging him into a kiss, muttering, “Yes, yes, yes,” against Dean’s mouth.
Dean says they’re only going to have one wedding, but Cas disagrees. Not when they’ve done everything else as a second ‘first’. So they’re first wedding is a little affair, just the two of them, with Sam and Jack as witnesses. But their second wedding, that’s the one that really counts. All of their family and hunter friends come down to the wedding. It’s beautiful and special, and as Dean says, “I do,” for the second time, Cas kisses him so enthusiastically that Dean feels dizzy with it. Oh yes, first were definitely overrated, especially when he got to have as many second experiences with Cas as he wanted.
Now, what could he plan for their second honeymoon…
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