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Dean gets flashes of memory sometimes—things he doesn’t want to think about in detail—of when he was younger. Looking up to a dad who wasn’t ever really there, having to take care of Sammy and wondering if he was fucking the kid up beyond repair.
Being thirteen and left in a motel, seeing the hustlers working the area and wondering about what they did. Being fifteen and at another new school, awkwardly flushing and cursing his red skin when the nerdy guy in his physics class shared his textbook with Dean.
Being sixteen and furtively looking at top shelf magazines his dad would beat him black and blue for even thinking of glancing at. Being eighteen and going out after his dad had passed out, a scribbled club address clutched in his hand and a fake ID in his back pocket. Being nineteen and getting a blow job from a guy, wondering what the hell that made him, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that his dad would never find out.
Pushing it all back down over and over again because he liked girls as well. Dean knew how to deal with girls; knew how, especially in the bars, a few sweet words and a flash of a smile would get him a night with one. It was easy, and so little in Dean’s life was ever easy.
Then he was twenty six, his dad was missing, and he had a grieving brother who needed him more than Dean needed to stick his dick anywhere.
*
Castiel crash landed in Dean’s life and Dean—
He was fucked.
It made sense, really, that the guy he ended up falling in love with was a fucking angel. Nothing comes easy.
*
At first, Dean didn’t even realise what was happening. Cas was around, and then he wasn’t, and then he was around again, and the world was falling apart, but somehow it was better when Cas was with him.
Dean’s pretty sure he’s an idiot for not recognising it sooner.
There wasn’t time, is the excuse he’s going with. When you’re trying to stop the apocalypse over and over, there’s not much time to think about getting laid. Not that—Dean knows it would be more than that with Cas. That Cas would be it for him, and that scares him more than anything he’s ever faced.
*
It’s Gabriel, of all people, who gives Dean the push he needs.
Gabriel, who wasn’t dead, who started banging on the door to the bunker as if the world was ending. Again.
Gabriel, who Castiel pulled into a hug and invited inside the bunker, and, yeah, there’s a part of Dean that really likes the way Cas treats the bunker as his home now.
Gabriel, who finds Dean in the basement of the bunker and says “that handprint Cas left on you? Wasn’t just on your skin. That was on your soul,” before walking away.
*
And so Dean’s left sitting on the floor of the basement by himself. The cold is sinking into his bones, and the dust keeps making him sneeze, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s not sure he can move. Moving would mean he has to do something about this and it’s—
He’s thirty seven and sitting on the floor of a secret bunker having a sexuality crisis. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad. His life belongs on Oprah.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Dean thinks back on everything. On how he and Cas have fought, have made up, have constantly ended up back on the same side. On how Cas came to the bunker this last time and hasn’t talked about leaving. On how Cas ends up slumped against Dean when they watch Netflix. On how Cas has been—.
Giving him space. Cas has been giving Dean space, because Cas knows and fuck, Dean really is a fool.
“Dean?”
He can hear Cas pushing the door to the basement open, and Dean shifts on the floor, wincing when his back protests. He’s too goddamn old to be sitting on the floor. “I’m here.”
Cas is wearing a Destiny’s Child t-shirt he took a fondness to at a thrift store, along with a pair of yoga pants, and Dean hides a smile when he sees Kelly Rowland’s face stretched across Cas’ stomach. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you down here?” Cas asks, sitting next to Dean. There’s no space between them, and Dean soaks in the warmth from Cas’ body, not even trying to hide that he’s leaning into it. “Gabriel said you were here.” Cas fixes his gaze on Dean’s face. “What did he say to you?”
“Something important,” Dean says, avoiding Cas’ eyes and looking down at his lap. Taking a deep breath, he reaches over and takes Cas’ hand, threading their fingers together so his gesture can’t be misinterpreted. Dean’s sure his palm must be sweaty with nerves, but when he looks at Cas, there’s a smile on Cas’ face that he’s never seen before. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, squeezing his hand. “This is okay.”
*
Dean’s had enough of time travel to last him several lifetimes, but sometimes he wishes he could go back and tell that scared thirteen year old that, despite everything, they get to be happy.
“What are you thinking about?” Cas mumbles, sleep evident in his voice.
“Nothing,” Dean says, kissing the top of Cas’ messy hair. “Go back to sleep.”
It might be in a secret bunker with an angel who is more human than angel these days, but it’s enough for Dean. He hopes it would be enough for that thirteen year old.