Chapter Text
2008
“I’m going to kick your ass, Novak!”
“You’ll have to catch me first!”
What a jackass. What a total fucking dick. Dean’s legs burn as he tears through the trees, trying to keep Castiel in his sights as they weave through the underbrush, sun flashing through the thick canopy on their way to the river.
Ahead of him, Castiel’s laughter rings out, bursting like sunshine in Dean’s chest. Like stars live inside him, and he pushes harder, his lungs burning as he whips his shirt off over his head. It disappears into the bushes, but he doesn’t care. His phone follows, wallet too.
“You’re dead!” Dean shouts, in case Castiel wasn’t convinced the first time. Dean swipes at the cherry filling smeared over his face and dripping into his eyes. God, what a waste.
The river roars ahead of him as he closes in on Castiel, only feet away, so close he could reach out and touch him as they break through the trees and barrel through the long grass.
The sound of their labored breaths barely breaks through the rushing water. The river is deep at this time of the year, flowing cold and fast, so he doesn’t stop. Not when Castiel slows, not when he starts to turn, to look over his shoulder with a smile.
Dean runs his boots off, and when they’re at the river’s edge, he wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, football tackling him backward into the depths of the rushing water.
“Dean—”
The rest is cut off when they hit the water, replaced by a bubbling gurgle. They thrash and beat against the current, clinging to each other as they breach the surface with a gasp.
“Holy fuck, that’s cold!” Dean shouts, scrubbing his face of pie filling before flicking his hair back. Castiel scrambles to toss his phone onto the shore, his button-down and shoes close behind.
“Was that necessary?” The glare Castiel shoots him is blistering, cutting through him with that icy gaze. Dean just laughs, fighting the current and his too-tight jeans as he struggles to peel them off his legs. He cups his dick in his palm, doing his best to warm up his shrinking soldier.
“Very,” he says, and as Castiel gets the last of his clothes on shore, Dean pushes forward, cupping his cheek in his free hand, and kisses him. Presses him against the soggy bank, mouth open, and sinks into it, all tongue and teeth and filthy want.
It’s been three years and Dean’s ready to make it a lifetime.
Castiel’s hands travel over his bare shoulders, sliding down his back to grip his ass. A groan falls from Dean’s lips, thick and hot, and he rolls his hips, feeling a fire inside him that his dick doesn’t want to get on board for.
“If you want this to get any further than a teenage make out,” Dean says, gripping the back of Castiel’s thighs and hoisting him up in the deep water, “we need to get out of the river.”
Castiel scrambles up the bank, pulling Dean along behind until they’re both lying naked in the tall grass.
Sunlight pours over their goose-pimpled skin, warming them as a soft breeze rustles the reeds. Crickets chirp and crows caw as Dean slides over Castiel’s body, twining their legs together as their lips meet in a heated kiss.
It doesn’t take long for his dick to get on board, warming against Castiel’s leg until he’s hard and leaking, rocking his hips as stuttered gasps fall from him. “Cas,” he whispers, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to his cheek and neck, one hand sliding up Castiel’s arm to find his fingers as the other tangles in his hair, snagging grass and ferns with it.
Castiel’s fingers find his ass, gripping hard enough to grind their hips together. Pleasure bursts in Dean’s stomach, hot and melting, pulsing through his veins as Castiel wraps a foot around the back of his knee.
“Come on, Cas,” Dean whispers, this urgent need blossoming inside him as he rocks his hips faster, grinding harder. He tugs Castiel’s hair, breathing his air, noses pressed together, cheeks brushing. “Fuck, I love—”
“Love you,” Castiel finishes for him, gasping, shaking, hands clinging to every part of him he can reach. “I just…”
“I love you,” Dean whispers back, because he can say it now, and for the last three years, he’s taken every opportunity to do just that. “I love you.” Then, because he’s floating, and so happy he could explode, “Like apple pie ice cream.”
“Sunday matinées.”
“Tossing pennies in the pool.”
“Rosé kisses.” Castiel smiles, holding his gaze. “You know, the first time I ever had rosé was the night you brought it to dinner.” Then, because Castiel is an asshole, he adds, “The day before I’d planned on proposing to Daphne.”
Dean snakes a hand between them, wrapping their aching cocks in his palm. Pre-come leaks into his hand, slicking the way as he rocks his hips.
“You have always been exceptional at ruining my plans,” Castiel says, but there’s no resentment in his voice; nothing but love in his eyes.
“In my defense—” Dean starts, but there’s nothing.
“You have no defense.”
He laughs, a soft, breathy thing. “I have none.”
“You never could leave well enough alone.”
Dean cups Castiel’s face, kissing him with wild abandon. He delves into his mouth, all tongue and teeth and gasping breaths. Their bodies move together, hands working, hips grinding.
The early summer sun beats down on them, almost too bright. Grass tickles their bare skin, sticks in the sweat dripping off them. He’s sure they’ll be grass-stained and dirt-smeared, covered in pollen and in need of a shower, but as pleasure swells inside him, Dean can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.
“Dean, I’m—”
“Come on, Cas,” Dean whispers, his pleasure cresting, peaking, tipping over the edge into ecstasy. “Fuck—shit, Cas!”
Castiel shakes beneath him, his face contorting in absolute bliss as he comes between them, grinding into Dean’s hand, frantic and frenzied. “God, Dean, ” he moans, one hand in his hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, the other clinging to his back.
They float back to earth like a leaf on the breeze, settling into the grass with lazy kisses and slowing breaths. It’s peaceful, it’s perfect. It’s everything Dean wants to keep close.
Everything he wants for the rest of his life.
Dean’s sweating through his dress shirt. His hands are clammy, and he rubs them on his jeans, but it’s no use. He’s sweating like a thirty-pound turkey on Christmas Eve.
Fairy lights shimmer above them, criss-crossing the patio over the dinner table. They’re stuffed shoulder-to-shoulder, crammed like a can of sardines. Sam and Jess flew in from California this morning, and Bobby and Ellen drove up last night. Charlie sits across the table with Gilda at her side, and Benny and Andrea sit tucked around the corner of the table.
To his right, Castiel’s elbow digs into his ribs. He shoots him a glare, but Castiel is oblivious, slicing his steak with jerking movements.
“Would you knock it off?” Dean hisses, scooting away but only managing to bump into Sam. Sam spills his rosé, the bubbly liquid dribbling down his chin.
“What the hell, Dean?”
“You’re taking up half the table—can it,” Dean grunts, trying to get comfortable in the too-small space carved out for him.
“Something bothering you?” Castiel asks around his steak, chewing slowly before sipping his glass of rosé. “Maybe you should eat something.”
“I would if there wasn’t an elbow permanently lodged in my ribcage.” Dean matches Castiel’s scowl, his nerves already getting the better of him. This night is supposed to be perfect, but so far, he’s soaked in sweat, starving, and practically sitting in his brother’s lap.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Castiel says, eternally patient as he leans closer, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek before attempting to shuffle to the right. “But it’s nice having everyone here, isn’t it?”
Yeah, Dean’s not so sure. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his family, but this night… Having everyone here is only ramping up his anxiety. “Sure,” he says, and downs his drink.
Dinner drags on longer than he expects with scattered conversations tugging at his attention. He doesn’t sink into anything, though, floating in his own thoughts as his pie goes soggy in front of him.
Castiel watches him, concern darkening his happiness, but Dean can’t bring himself to ease his worries. Castiel’s hand falls to his thigh, dangerously close, and Dean snatches it up, holding it between both of his with a weak smile.
“Come with me,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hand and the empty glass from his fingers. He sets it aside, his heart racing as he leads Castiel out of the backyard. Past the fence and the hedges, along the treeline away from their family.
“Where?” Castiel asks, but follows without complaint, taking careful steps through the underbrush as Dean leads him back to their spot. Through the forest, to the riverbank, through the tall grass, to the place where it all began.
Dean’s shaking like a leaf, trembling right down to his bones, because it all comes down to this moment. God, this is it. This is everything he’s been planning, everything he’s been wishing for since he was seven years old.
“I forgot how nice it is here at night,” Castiel says, overtaking Dean’s steps to stand next to the river, the water still roaring as the lights of the city float over the hills. A duck ruffles its feathers on the other shore, six ducklings tucking in close for the night. “The stars are amazing.”
Just like they were three years ago, and eleven years ago. And thirteen. Every year, every time they venture out here after dark, the stars are always here.
Dean’s heart clatters against his insides, trying to leap up his throat. He stands there, frozen in place like an idiot. God, he’s going to blow this—he’s going to fuck it all up, and Castiel will think he’s stupid, and—
“Dean?” Castiel is looking at him, his eyes too dark to see, but there’s no mistaking the worry in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer. He can’t. God, he’s blowing this, he’s—
Fireworks explode behind him, lighting up the sky in greens and blues. He flinches, but Castiel’s face falls into something close to awe as his eyes turn to the sky.
Dean drops to one knee, not sure if he means to, or if his legs just give out, but he can’t tear his eyes off Castiel as he digs into his pocket and pulls out a ring.
“Cas,” he says, and even with the explosions going off behind him, Castiel hears him. A flood of emotions crosses his face in the span of a few seconds, from confusion to hope, joy to overwhelming love, and it gives Dean the courage to speak. “I don’t know how we got here, or if one thing had been different, would everything be different today—I don’t care.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, something loosening in his chest now that he’s doing it. Castiel sniffles, a watery smile on his face as Dean reaches up to take his hand.
“I don’t believe in soulmates, you know that, but if there is such a thing, and if I do have one, you’re it. You’ve always been the one.” He brings Castiel’s fingers to his lips, kissing his knuckles with a gentle peck. “Loving you is all I’ve done for the last twenty-two years of my life.” He shrugs, chokes up, because he’s never said anything so close to his heart before. “You’re like sunshine in a bottle, like apple pie ice cream, and a slushy with four straws. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”
Fireworks light up Castiel’s eyes, reflecting in the glassy glow as Castiel runs his fingers through the hair at the side of Dean’s head. It gives him all he needs to spit out the rest of his babbling speech.
“What do you say?” Dean asks, an awkward half-shrug lifting his shoulder. “Marry me?”
Dean doesn’t hear Castiel’s answer, drowned out as it is by the booming fireworks, but he’s being hauled to his feet, being kissed, held close. Salty tears mingle on their lips, a kiss and a yes settling between them; a million things all at once, and the only thing that matters.
In this moment, with the sky open wide and the fireflies dancing in the tall grass, Dean might just feel it.
The way fate brushes his fingertips; how it settles at their feet. If he believed in such things, Dean might even call Castiel his soulmate.
He doesn’t, though, and fate’s not real, and this is their choice—constant, daily. He can live with that.
But it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.
The End