Chapter Text
‘You can't spell subtext without.... s-e-x.’
The memory sent shivers along Dean’s spine. He had never thought—
Well, scratch that. Who was he trying to fool?
Yet…
He sighed. Marie’s words kept haunting him. Worse, Dean’s mind didn’t stop spiralling and throwing moments at him.
Missed moments.
So many of them.
Conversations. Images. Sounds.
Feelings.
It seemed Marie had opened the floodgates and six years of repressed longing and sexual tension came down on him. Dean had presumed he had it under control, that stuffing them in the deepest corner of his mind would eventually work out, but he was proven wrong.
Massaging his aching temples, Dean took several deep breaths when the Mark on his arm flared up.
“Goddammit!” he snapped as anger shot through him.
Pressing his hand on the throbbing brand, he groaned. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. He had it under control. He had to. He couldn’t— There was no other way.
Over and over, he repeated his mantra. Maybe, one day, he might believe it himself. Until then, he had to trick himself into buying it.
Under the strain, Dean’s right hand twitched for the First Blade, but he clenched his fist and pressed his eyes together, letting the words wash over him.
He had it under control.
However, the anger didn’t abate. It only got worse. Deliberately, Dean led his cravings back in another direction. He was skating on thin ice, yet it was the only way to distract himself.
Destiel.
Sammy could shit-talk as much as he wanted, but Dean couldn’t let go of that term. There were fans of Chuck’s books out there believing that he and Cas—
People who read and wrote—
Dean bit his bottom lip and grabbed his laptop. At the sight of the empty place on his mattress next to him another kind of longing overcame him, but he shook his head and turned to his screen.
While he typed the two words into the search bar, he was holding his breath, and nearly choked as the browser offered results. Lots of them. Jeez, there were so many.
He double-checked the words he had typed, but they were the correct ones: Fanfiction Destiel.
Dean still couldn’t believe it. How many of those fucking weirdos were out there?
With his well-trained eye for research, he browsed the entries, but they all seemed valid. Still stupefied, Dean clicked on the first link.
“Son of a bitch!” he hissed. Unbelievingly, he stared at the numbers on top of the page.
1 - 20 of 7,164 Works in Castiel/Dean Winchester
“You gotta be kidding me!”
His eyes bulged as he skimmed the page. Horrified, he read on. Each entry got its own title, and little icons seemed to give the rating. Most of them had a summary, and then there were keywords. His name popped up everywhere, as well as Cas’. But Sammy was there too, and Bobby — his heart clenched — and there were—
Dean closed his eyes, but the words hadn’t changed when he opened them again: Bottom Dean, Top Cas, Spanking...
His pulsing anger was replaced with another kind of throbbing and he couldn’t resist. Gulping, Dean clicked the link, only to slam his laptop shut as he started to cough heavily.
“Fucking hell!”
What had he just seen?
Goddammit, he needed to bleach his brain. He could never unsee what he had just—
As he closed his eyes, the afterimage remained burned into his retinas. Dean bit his bottom lip. Against his will, his fingers reached back for the laptop and slowly opened it again. The drawing hadn’t changed, yet this time, he gave himself time to take it in.
It was—
Dean licked his lips as he suddenly felt hot all over. Even though it still creeped him out so fucking much, he couldn’t deny the longing bubbling up inside him.
When his treacherous dick twitched, Dean closed the laptop with a snap and threw it to the end of his bed as if he had been burned. Which wasn’t completely untrue.
Groaning, he let himself fall back into his pillows, but even when he closed his eyes, the goddamn image was still there.
He would never be able to unsee himself in Cas’ lap while Cas—
Dean swallowed. More heat rushed south and as much as he tried to resist, his hand moved to his crotch, pressing it lightly.
Shivers ran through him, and he moaned. “Oh, fuck!” He was already so fucking hard and the friction of his palm—
Dean hissed. His entire body trembled just at the thought of—
Breathing heavily, he started to thrust into his hand when his mind finally switched back on and hit him like a cold shower.
“Son of a bitch!”
Caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Dean froze. What the hell was wrong with him? There were some goddamn weirdos on the internet who fetishized him and Cas, making them into some... some—
Yet, instead of being nauseated by it, Dean was fully on board and so turned on. He couldn’t let go. His traitorous body was aching for it, and his mind—
Fuck!
Someone had managed to draw what he had never allowed himself to imagine. Now, however... It was right there, offered on a plate for him to take.
The Mark throbbed, screaming for his attention, and Dean grimaced. He bit his bottom lip hard and decided to give in to the lesser of two evils.
No one needed to know. This was just a remedy, something to stop him from giving in to the goddamn curse that threatened to drown him.
With a sigh, Dean made himself comfortable before sliding his hand into his jammies. A moan escaped his lips as his fingers closed around his throbbing dick and gave him the friction he so desperately craved.
A flick of his thumb over his slit made him bite his lip so hard that tears filled his eyes. Yet he needed to stifle the name on the tip of his tongue before crying it out loud. Instead, he bucked as Cas’ actual face merged into the painting that wouldn’t leave his mind, replacing the one already there.
Chasing the fantasy, Dean thrust into his hand imagining it was someone else’s. Someone...
An invisible hand ghosted over his back, driving him on while the tension skyrocketed. His entire body trembled. Sweat erupted on his forehead and before long, it was over. Breathing heavily, tears shot to Dean’s eyes as he tumbled over the edge, a silent cry on his lips.
While he came down, his mind was pleasantly empty and, for once, the Mark had calmed down. After months fighting an inside force he couldn’t vanquish, he finally felt like himself; better even.
As the amazing haze eventually lifted, guilt and self-hate simmered inside him, yet the peace he was experiencing for the first time in months trumped the nagging doubts.
“Shit!” Dean sighed, sniffing, and laughed until the tears ran freely down his face.
He was so fucking damaged. Yet, if it took mind-blowing creations of some weirdo fans online to keep the goddamn Mark at bay, Dean would take it any day.
If that was the cure that he needed, he wouldn’t complain. At least, it wouldn’t hurt to have a closer look at that damned website that held more than 7000 works about him and Cas. God, Dean should never even touch that accursed archive ever again, and purge the memories of it from his mind.
Then again—
He huffed. It wouldn’t be the first time he read about himself being full-frontal. How much worse could those stories be than the crap Chuck had already published about them?
After all, it was Cas, some part of his mind nagged him.
Cas.
Dean couldn’t help but smile. If he was allowed to pick anyone on Earth or beyond, it would always be that goddamn angel. Always.
Ever since that asshole had walked into the barn all those years ago, Dean had been gone on him. Anyone with eyes could see why, couldn’t they?
Cas was—
An involuntary sigh left Dean’s lips as his mind recalled the image he had come across. Whoever had drawn it wasn’t wrong. They had taste. Because Cas—
Dean licked his lips and let out a long breath. Fuck, he was so beyond help.
While nothing could ever come close to the original, the artist had definitely been on point. They seemed to know his preferences. Which was alarming, and fucking wrong. So wrong that it should trigger every single one of Dean’s alarms.
Yet, instead of being freaked out, he couldn’t deny it was kinda awesome. Goddammit! Even while he was still coming down from his orgasm, his fingers twitched. Dean was tempted to open the website again to see what else was there. Some of the tags he had skimmed over...
Dean’s heartbeat picked up and shivers ran down his spine. Even in his wildest fantasies he had never dared dream of half of it. If he actually knew what those kids—
Holy shit, those authors were literal kids, weren’t they? Like Marie and the others. And those kids were writing about his love life — with Cas — in very specific settings.
Dean’s stomach churned, and he tried to get rid of the images his goddamn mind kindly offered.
“Just don’t think about it,” he grumbled. Don’t. Think. About. Any. Of. It.
Forget that any of that crap exists, another part of his mind chimed in. Damn right. It would be for the best. Dean nodded in acknowledgement of the ongoing conversation in his own fucking head when another player decided to join the game.
Revelling in his distress, the Mark started to pulse worse than before. Anger burned through him and Dean pressed his hand on the brand, curling up and trying to make it stop.
Yet the pulsing only got stronger. Clenching his fists, Dean’s entire body burned with rage. Only when he steered his thoughts back towards Cas and the light in the angel’s eyes whenever he looked at Dean, did the Mark calm down. Breathing became easier while the throbbing in his arm decreased, and his body relaxed.
Dean remembered the laptop lying at his feet and carefully put it next to him on the bed before turning off the lights. Pulling his comforter up to his nose, he snuggled into his pillows.
The image of his angel was still on his mind when sleep finally pulled him in.
***
Over the next few days, guilt and temptation took turns. Dean was torn, yet resisted opening the goddamn archive for almost a week until he couldn’t stand the itching anger any longer.
His mood had worsened all week and when they were about to drive to Connecticut for some mysterious inheritance concerning Bobby or his next of kin, Dean feared he might go stir crazy stuck in a car for hours. It didn’t help that Cas hadn’t been around the bunker for over a month, and as much as Dean tried to fool himself and deny it, he missed him — more than he would ever admit it to himself.
That goddamn angel was on his mind all the time, and Dean decided it was time to overcome his guilt and uneasiness. He would kill two birds with one stone. With several beers and a bottle of Jack within reach, he made himself comfortable on his bed. The Mark throbbed, but Dean chose to ignore it. Instead, he focused on his bookmarks.
His heart bumped and shivers ran down his spine when he clicked the saved link to the archive. The number of works was definitely higher than the last time, and, once again, Dean skimmed the entries before clicking on one that caught his eye.
The story — or fic as the author called it in the little annotation in the intro — was labelled explicit and definitely had some spicy labels. Yet, what had lured Dean in was the summary.
One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. And three…
Well, see for yourself how Dean makes good use of his vow.
Dean gulped, remembering that night all too well. He had no idea what had ridden him back then. In hindsight, his innuendo couldn’t be more obvious, and he still winced at the memory of throwing Cas at Chastity.
What a disaster. This fic however…
Dean started to read. He grumbled when the author got him wrong, or cringed when they got him on point. Yet quickly, he was caught in the plot, and the eventual porn that accompanied it.
Hell, it was so fucking hot as he swallowed Cas down before slowly opening himself up for the angel to take him. The writing was so intense, Dean could almost feel Cas’ dick pressing against his hole as Cas finally breached him. Tears pricked his eyes when that goddamn angel was the blunt asshole he had been back in the day, yet so sweet and adorable that Dean longed even more for him.
When the fic was over, Dean immediately opened the next. He noped out of it after a few sentences because of the style, but was quickly hooked on another.
That fic pulled him in for its premise alone. According to Marie, it shouldn’t even exist.
But, as you know, Chuck stopped writing after Swan Song.
However, it was there. And it was even more intense than the first. Whether Chuck had decided to publish his stupid Winchester gospels as fanfics at the source these days, or if someone else had decided his crappy life needed to be there for everyone to read was a mystery in itself.
Fact was, the fic threw Dean into Purgatory. It was fucking surreal being back there. His body reacted immediately. Breathing heavily, his senses heightened and his hand clenched around an invisible blade. The Mark welcomed the rush of adrenaline. Sweat ran down Dean’s spine when he, all of a sudden, burst out in laughter.
He wheezed as Benny and Cas were fighting over him. Those two were bitching at each other behind his back, and Dean had a hard time catching his breath for a whole different reason.
However, only one paragraph later, Dean’s mood turned sour, when the plot turned to Cas’ point of view. While Purgatory!him was sleeping, Cas confessed his feelings for him towards Benny. Behind his counterpart’s back, they also talked about Cas’ plans. Benny tried to stop him, but Cas had already made up his mind and wouldn’t be swayed.
Dean hated everything about it, but couldn’t stop reading. It hurt so fucking much to see Cas’ suffering first hand, to experience it from Cas’ point of view. He wanted to shake him, to make him see the truth. But Dean couldn’t. Cas was there, but, at the same time, he wasn’t. Purgatory lay behind them. They had fucked it up.
Besides, being back there made Dean miss Benny even more. He missed his friend. Already a wreck as he longed for two friends who weren’t there, it didn’t help that in this version of the events, Cas grabbed Dean by his shirt right before he was pulled through the portal. Cas’ lips met his as his angel let go of him.
“No!” Dean whispered while tears were streaming down his face.
He was was a fucking mess when the fic ended, sobbing and sniffing. His eyes burned as he brushed his still falling tears away with the back of his hand. Jeez, he had wanted porn, and now he had ended in an alternate universe that made the fucked-up situation he had lived through even worse.
While his mind was spiralling, oscillating between his version and the fic’s, Dean stared at the ceiling of his room. For over an hour, he tried to come to terms with what he had just read and bring himself under control.
Memories and plot merged, and soon, Dean questioned his already distorted memories. What if—
“Goddammit,” he grumbled and sat up. His fingers found the bottle next to him and Dean took several swigs of Jack. The alcohol burned his throat as his eyes returned back to the screen. He was about to give up on the fucking fanfic for good, when a tag caught his eye: Doctor Castiel.
Dean’s mouth watered and he couldn’t resist. The words pulled him in immediately. He hadn’t expected to find himself being stuck in a fucking Hallmark plot, but it worked so damn well. Dean was hooked. He paid attention to the word count far too late, and was flabbergasted.
“150,000 words? What the hell!” That was a fucking novel. Two actually, according to a quick web search. Those kids were crazy. But the story? It was so damn good. The writing was excellent, and Cas was—
Dean sighed. Cas was hotter than Doctor Sexy in those scrubs. Dean didn’t even mind that the version of himself was supposed to be a nurse. Because he still was awesome. Even in this alternate universe, the author had burdened him with so much shit that it would suffice for several people.
However, he wasn’t the only one with an impossible load of trauma. Cas was carrying so much of it around, a goddamn wheelbarrow wouldn’t be sufficient to lighten the burden. Dean felt it as a pang to his stomach.
Outcast from his family, Cas was alone and Dean wanted to hold him. He wanted to tell him that everything was okay, that he wasn’t alone any longer. That he had him. That he was his family.
Gulping, Dean realised that it wasn’t just the Cas in the fic. His Cas probably needed to hear that as well. Still, Dean had no idea how to do it or if Cas — his Cas — was actually feeling all the things those kids had made up.
It was one thing to indulge in others’ visions of them, but reality was something completely different. Dean didn’t harbour any hopes that his Cas was feeling the same. And if he was…
Hell, their life was fucked-up enough. Dean had cursed himself with the Mark of Cain, and Cas was burning through just another dosage of stolen mojo. Even if they were both into this, it wasn’t the right time.
There never was. Dean had to get over himself and accept it. Still, it didn’t stop him from indulging in visions of an alternate life where he was allowed to be happy. A life where they were allowed to be happy.
A life in which Dean was allowed to be with Cas.
***
Hannah was talking when Castiel’s senses trailed off. Something was calling for him. Or someone. At first, he couldn’t pinpoint its source, but the more he concentrated, the more distinct it became, and he smiled.
Dean.
It wasn’t a prayer. It was more vague and subtle, yet Castiel was pulled towards it nonetheless. Focusing on it, he could feel pain and anger pulsing as was usual for Dean. Moreover, there was a nearly subliminal throb of fury superimposing with every other vibe Castiel perceived from his friend. His stolen Grace trembled when he eventually identified it as the consequence of the Mark of Cain.
Castiel growled. He wanted to take that burden from Dean, but without his own Grace he was only a shadow of his former self. Still, he would do anything to stop his friend’s torment. He had witnessed what happened to Dean when the Mark took over, or worse, when Dean died under its influence.
He feared it might happen again. Dean was strong, but no one could withstand a celestial curse like the Mark forever — not even the impossible soul of Dean Winchester.
Still, there was more. The Mark wasn’t the only vibe Castiel received. Something more intense resonated deep inside him. He had sensed some kind of longing in Dean ever since their first meeting, but this was different. It called for him, and even his stolen Grace resonated to it.
It was so fervent that Castiel needed to excuse himself. Ignoring his brothers and sisters, he fled from the room and hid himself in a secluded chamber where he tried to calm his breathing.
Goosebumps erupted on his skin while cold and hot shivers ran through him. As drops of sweat formed on his forehead, Castiel sank down on the floor, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily.
Ever since his fall he had experienced moments of lust, of carnal desire. Even before, it hadn’t been unknown to him, yet never as intense as during his time as a human, and afterwards.
His desire for Dean had only grown throughout the years. It never left him, although it went far deeper than simple passion. Dean’s longing had always fuelled it even more, yet nothing had been comparable to the yearning Castiel received in this moment.
Adina’s Grace was a poor replacement for his own, but it was affected in a manner that Castiel hadn’t deemed possible. His body trembled as heat gathered in his middle. He clenched his fists as his back arched and longing threatened to take him apart.
He tried to resist the desire that engulfed him until tears pricked his eyes at the strain. As the control of his Grace slowly slipped from his grasp, Castiel groaned. He couldn’t allow his brothers and sisters to find him like this. Not only would it compromise their position, as Hannah had tracked down a group of five of them living on a remote farm in Iowa, but it would also feel wrong. Castiel didn’t want for anyone to see that part of himself before—
It just wasn’t right to let them into something even Dean wasn’t allowed to see. Especially Dean. If he knew—
Castiel tossed that thought away and listened for signs of his siblings, but thankfully they seemed too preoccupied with themselves to notice his absence. Just before he had fled from their company to hide away in the pantry, he and Hannah managed to convince their siblings to return to Heaven. Yet, if they saw him like this—
Alarmed to be found out if he waited, Castiel gave in to the demands of his body. When he finally pressed his palm against his erection, hidden behind the fabric of his pants, he sighed in relief at the friction.
He still received bursts of sensations from Dean, yet his friend’s emotions changed quickly. It felt as if Dean was experiencing several lives at once, or at least in a very short amount of time. It didn’t make sense, but Castiel was distracted by the intense longing underneath that shattered him to his core. His desire rose as time went by, and before long, his hand was rubbing over his crotch.
Sweat stood on Castiel’s forehead as he palmed himself until the tension reached a plateau. His body was already trembling, his stolen Grace taunted him to the point he feared he might explode, when he received another burst of emotions from Dean.
Its intensity took Castiel by surprise.
‘Cas’, Dean prayed desperately, ‘Cas—’
Castiel gasped. The lights started to flicker as his muscles contracted, yet he was too far gone to care. Pleasure and bliss filled him from deep within as spurts of his release wrecked the inside of his briefs. When it was finally over, Castiel slumped exhausted against the wall and smiled.
His stolen Grace sizzled, and for a short moment, he could pretend it to be his own. Then again, he wondered about the difference. Would it be like this with his own Grace? Or would it be—
A cozy warmth filled him from deep inside, and Castiel let it carry him away from the memory of touching Dean’s soul in Hell. After all those years, the distant echoes still vibrated in his core. Adina’s Grace was strong. Yet nothing would ever come close to the reality of his own Grace.
Until he got it back, if he ever retrieved it, Castiel would take any replacement though, if it meant being able to feel like he did at that very moment. For once, his substitute Grace seemed replenished. It rushed through his human form and resonated with the remnants of pleasure still convulsing inside him.
Reluctantly, Castiel got up. He couldn’t lose another minute. If he took too long, the others would wonder about his whereabouts. They might be angels, but their time on Earth had changed them. They would await him, wondering about his sudden absence.
Castiel righted his clothes and, with a flick of his hand, he got rid of the drying mess inside his pants before walking through the door. As the last traces of what he had done vanished, he hoped the others were none the wiser about his little escapade.
If they knew, they wouldn’t like it. Especially Hannah wouldn’t understand. But there was no need for her to ever learn the truth. It was none of her business.
It was nobody’s business, except his own. Castiel had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t even tell Dean about it. Whatever sensations he had perceived from his friend, Castiel wasn’t supposed to know them. Even though he couldn’t prevent them from reaching him, he had invaded Dean’s privacy.
Yet, it was addictive, and Castiel simply couldn’t stop. Once again, he focused on the sensations he was still receiving from Dean. They were a lot less intense now, but they were simmering in the background, and Castiel smiled. Although it was an insufficient substitute, it felt as if Dean was with him. It was more than he could wish for. More than he deserved.
As he reached the door, Castiel stopped. Before opening it, he turned around to look at his little hideout. It had even been more uncomfortable than his shelter in the Gas-N-Sip, and yet he wanted to keep the memory with him. He sighed, smiling ruefully. As sweet as the sensations seemed now, the feeling wouldn’t last. Dean’s vibes were already starting to sour. Soon, they would turn dark as the human would be once again consumed by anger.
Castiel wanted to show his friend that that wasn’t who he was. Dean was so much more than hate and anger. Even with the Mark, and even as a demon, his soul had been shining brightly. Dean needed to understand that anger wasn’t what drove him, but Castiel had no idea how to get through to him.
Besides, after everything he had done himself, everything he had brought down on Heaven and Earth, Castiel had squandered any right to be with him.
Whatever Dean’s feelings for Castiel might be, his friend was better off without him, especially in times like these when his brothers and sisters needed his help.
Castiel owed them. It had been him who had cast them out of Heaven, scattered them on Earth, and forced them to live among humans. And he was well aware how addictive it could be. He might resent living as a human himself because of his experiences, but it didn’t stop him preferring to stay around them rather than return to Heaven.
There was so much unpredictability, so much love and pain, beauty and horror on Earth. Heaven was only a distorted image of it, and Castiel couldn’t fault those of his brothers and sisters who didn’t want to return to their bleak home.
Which meant, he couldn’t leave Hannah alone on her mission. She would force everyone to go back and leave the lives they had built for themselves among humans. Worse, she might kill the vessels if his siblings resisted.
Castiel couldn’t let that happen. After everything he had done to them — to each of them — he had to fix what he had broken.
As much as it hurt him, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by his own desires. He couldn’t let himself be diverted by the human that had changed him irrevocably, even though it was all he had ever wanted.
Castiel couldn’t allow to lose himself in Dean Winchester.
***
Dean tried to keep away. He really did. Yet with the Mark once again getting stronger each day, he feared he might lose himself. Booze didn’t help. If anything, it made the entire situation worse. The Mark rejoiced while Dean slowly got wasted. Its throbbing became worse, and Dean had enough.
He had seen what happened when the Mark took over. Goddammit, he had nearly killed his brother once because of it. It wouldn’t happen again. Dean had to make sure about it. Although Sammy still didn’t get it, Dean wouldn’t risk fighting him these days. Especially, since Sam couldn’t see the truth about what had really happened that night.
Afterwards, Dean had agonised for days — weeks even — until he had realised his attack had nothing to do with him having been a demon back then. Unable to control himself after all the pain and torture Sammy’s cure had brought with it, he hadn’t been strong enough to fight the damn curse any longer and had succumbed to its power. It had been the Mark that had driven him into a frenzy.
Dean groaned as the cursed thing responded immediately. Its throbbing got to him almost at once, and there were only two things that would keep his mind away from it. Since alcohol didn’t work, there was porn.
Yet it couldn’t be any porn. That train had left. Damn, Dean had tried, but normal porn was as useless as booze since he had discovered fanfic. That freaking, yet fucking addictive website with thousands of versions of him and Cas finding each other had ruined him.
Then again, the porn might have pulled him in, but these days he usually ended up with some fantasy epic of his favourite angel anyway. Well, scratch that. There was only one single angel Dean cared for after all. All those other feathered assholes could go to Hell.
Or better not. They should go back to Heaven and stay there for the rest of eternity. Dean didn’t want to have to deal with another Apocalypse, thank you very much. One had been enough. And after Cas had ended up leading the civil war in Heaven and then—
Before he could even question himself, Dean had his laptop on his knees and was opening his new favourite website. There had been this canon divergent fic he had bookmarked a few days ago. It was about their stint in that freaking actor world without a hint of any supernatural activity, while Cas was working non-stop to betray him — them. Though Dean didn’t want to fool himself anymore. He couldn’t. Cas had betrayed him. Period. And it had hurt so fucking much.
Thankfully, the fic was tagged with a happy ending, and Dean longed to read about a world where Cas didn’t have to swallow all of Purgatory. Where Cas didn’t have to die.
Fuck his life. Dean deserved nice things, and no one needed to know about his secret love for chick-flicks. That was between him and his AO3 account.
Wriggling his back, he made himself comfortable in his pillows and pulled the comforter over him before finding the perfect place for his laptop. For once, the Mark took a back seat and Dean smiled as he started to read.
It still freaked him out how on point many of the fics were when it came to his characterisation, and Cas’. Jeez, the insight he got from it. If only half of it was true…
Dean shook his head. It didn’t matter how good those authors got him; he couldn’t believe the same was true of Cas. It was too far-fetched. Because Cas—
Cas couldn’t feel the same as him. It just couldn’t be. He was an angel, and angels didn’t—
Licking his lips, Dean trailed his fingers over the burning brand on his arm before starting to read. He didn’t want to deal with any what ifs. After all, there was fic waiting for him: Beautifully written — he usually skipped out of those fics that weren’t — it offered him a happy ever after whenever he felt like it.
Hell, he didn’t even need a perfect happy ending. On the contrary. It was awesome when some author decided to add some bumps in the road. Yet, after everything they had gone through in real life, in those fics he and Cas made it after all — which was the only thing that mattered, apart from Sammy being alive and well.
As the fic was over — why did it have to be so damn short and yet so damn good? — Dean stared at his ceiling. It seemed to have become a frequent occurrence, though he didn’t even care because his heartbeat was racing and he felt so light, until he crashed down to the harsh bottom of reality.
Hell, if he could have just a little slice of that happiness. How great would it be if Cas was around? It had been so long since Dean had seen him, and he longed to have his angel nearby. He didn’t ask for much. Just a few days. Well, scratch that. One single day was all he was asking.
Something inside Dean protested against the notion. His heart ached and he grimaced. Of course, the fucking Mark delighted in his yearning and started to throb while anger surged through him.
Who the hell was he trying to fool? He was a goddamn idiot if he believed that would be enough. Whether one day or a few — Dean knew it wasn’t enough and never would be.
And after all the fics he had read…
“Fuck,” Dean growled to himself and tore at his hair. He welcomed the sting the pulling caused as it soothed the bubbling anger.
Why couldn’t Cas stay in the Bunker for more than a day or two? Just once. There were so many unused rooms. This place was far too big and far too lonely for Sammy and him on their own. Besides, one room was already reserved for Cas anyway. Always. Dean had made sure of it when they moved in. Back then, it had been nothing more than wishful thinking, but when they had found Cas in Detroit, stabbed and—
Dean clasped his fingers around his arm, pressing them down on the Mark to stop the flow of memories. If it hadn’t been for Gadreel, that room would have been Cas’ already. But with everything that happened afterwards… It was still pretty much as good as new, although Dean had made a few alterations to it.
He might not have told Sam about it, but his brother didn’t need to know everything. It had been a stupid idea anyway. Why should Cas even want to live with them — with him? That goddamn angel had steered clear of him in Purgatory. Jeez, that fucker had stayed behind after everything—
And when Dean had finally found him and hoped to get them out — all three of them, for God’s sake — Cas had…
The memory still stung. So. Fucking. Much.
Tears pricked Dean’s eyes and he sniffed like a goddamn baby. It only got worse when he remembered the fic he had read just the other day. Cas had been so soft, so…
Hot anger burned through Dean and he hated himself for the stupid spark of hope that flickered inside him. It became worse with every fic he read. There was so much fluff in the fics those fans wrote — so many happy times for him and Cas.
A tear escaped his eyes and Dean brushed it away fiercely. Yet, whatever he did, the hope wouldn’t die. Instead, his irritation towards his best friend grew. What was so important about those feathered assholes Cas was constantly hanging out with? It wasn’t too much to expect him to come home for a few days, was it? Or even a bit longer.
Stay.
“Shuddup,” Dean snapped at his own mid. Just the thought— Fuck, it was ridiculous.
He laughed hollowly. He was such a sap, harbouring hopes like that. Whatever those fics made him believe, Cas wasn’t—
“It’s fucking fiction,” Dean shouted into the void. “What’s so difficult to understand about that, you fucking delusional asshole?”
Breathing hard, he clenched his fists to keep himself from destroying something. Anything. It didn’t matter. It just—
Yet, reading it helps, doesn’t it? some other part of his stupid mind chimed in, and Dean caved. He scratched the angry, pulsing Mark, and couldn’t deny just diving into some random story about Cas and him helped a lot. The cravings for violence and destruction became bearable — jeez, he sometimes even felt like his old self again when he lost himself in the writing.
The plot — the feelings — they felt so relatable, so true. Dean wanted to believe in them. He wanted—
Goddammit, it didn’t matter what he wanted. It never did. Whatever Cas had told him all those years ago, good things didn’t happen to him, so there was no need to put any energy into them.
Then again, it was kinda awesome, though. Dean couldn’t help but grin. At first, he had cringed about that stuff. It had hit too close to home. He had felt like a goddamn voyeur, peeping on himself. Worse, he was peeping on Cas.
However, he had eventually come to terms with it. It wasn’t him, after all. Those Deans and Cas were some alternate versions of them. Even though it really didn’t make sense, just knowing that some fictional him got railed by Cas on a daily basis while some other Dean listened to Cas telling him the most romantic stuff all night was kinda comforting.
In the end, it wasn’t that far-fetched, was it? He had seen it happen before. Lived it even. And not just once, several times, actually. There had been the Djinn dreams. The one where his mom lived and his dad had died. Or the fucked-up worlds Zachariah had thrown him in.
Reading all that stuff about him and Cas had brought the memories of all those worlds back to the forefront of his mind. Dean had been there. He had slipped into some other version of himself and saw their world with his own eyes. Damn, he had even run into himself.
Maybe those alternate realities, timelines, or whatever crap they were, were exactly what he needed to get over himself. In hindsight, he had never been openly gayer than in his time as director of sales and marketing at Sandover.
Dean huffed. Director of Sales and Marketing, for fuck’s sake! With everything going on with Sam and Lilith, Chuck and Alastair, and of course all those goddamn angels, Dean had never bothered thinking about it, not really.
But now? That fic he read with Cas appearing right in front of his salad — literally — had been eye-opening. How could he not have realised that it had been him all the time? All Zachariah had done was take his memories away, and with them all the crap Dean was carrying with him all the time went poof. That asshole Zach had fucked around with Dean’s nurture, but he hadn’t touched his nature.
As much as Dean tried to deny it, even now, Dean Smith had been him — or he, Dean Winchester, was Dean Smith, part of him at least. He had never realised how fucking gay he had been in that specific AU. Without the load of the world on his shoulders and the stuff Dad had put him through, Dean was different. Take away all the toxic masculinity he had ingrained himself with, and underneath it was still him. All his life he had fought to bury that part of himself. Hell, he had even managed to convince himself that it wasn’t him at all.
It would be easy to blame the stupid fics some weirdos had written about him, but Dean wasn’t that delusional. Not anymore. Although he knew that he wasn’t the best judge of his character, there were so many things in there that he wanted to deny, yet he couldn’t if he was honest with himself for once. Especially not after his stint as a demon. Fuck, he had enjoyed being free of everything he was carrying with him. There had been no restrictions. He had done the stuff he liked, not caring about others’ opinions.
Sure, he would love to purge some parts of that time from his mind, but then again— Dean bit his bottom lip at the memory of Crowley and the triplets. It might not come close to the fantasies of Cas, but damn—
Dean hummed when his entire body tingled at the recollection, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting further. Cas’ gummy grin, strange, yet so weirdly familiar appeared in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t even a question that Dean could have easily tapped him. At the end of the world, that stoner version of his best friend would have given him anything he had asked for. He could feel the longing, but Dean had chickened out.
Besides, it hadn’t been his Cas. That Cas belonged to that Dean, as fucked-up as that guy had been. The tension between those two had been palpable, and Dean’s longing for his own version of the angel had skyrocketed. Even now, years after the events, he could remember those days as if they had happened just the other day.
Hell, maybe they did. Or, maybe, they were happening right now. Hadn’t it been 2014 back then?
Dean groaned as he buried his head under his pillow. He didn’t want to think about any of it. Why the hell had he opened that can of worms? Those fucking fics he read had picked on the goddamn walls in his mind until they started to crumble. And with the onslaught of memories, Dean couldn’t pull them back up.
He didn’t even know if he wanted to. Piece by piece, the memories, as painful as they were, revealed an image of his life he had always dreaded looking at. Not that he dared act on it. He wasn’t such a fool to believe in happy endings. Not in real life, and certainly not for him.
At least not in this life. Instead, Dean would stick to other versions of himself. Thanks to the fics, he could escape his own life for a little while. It might fucking hurt his stupid aching heart, but he was willing to do anything to subdue the cravings of the Mark. As long as it worked, he would take it. He would read stories about himself and his best friend getting together over and over for the rest of eternity if it stopped the throbbing on his arm. If it stopped the madness from taking over.
Dean hated himself for loving it. Those worlds allowed him to get what he yearned for while he was pining for the real deal. A deal that would never happen. Cas wasn’t allowed to know about Dean’s fucked-up desires. Covering them up had worked for years. Dean would just fake it till he made it, while his soul longed for the guy he couldn’t have.
It would never work out. Not in this world.