Chapter Text
Dean unlocked the front door of his apartment and pushed open the door. His stomach growled when the scent of barbecue chicken pizza assaulted Dean’s senses. He didn’t need to peer into the living room to know that he’d find his roommate and best friend, Castiel, curled up on the couch with his bumble-bee blanket and an open box of Papa Formaggio's on the round, pine coffee table.
Dean ruffled Castiel’s dark, messy hair affectionately from behind the back of the navy sectional on his way to his bedroom. Cas leaned into the touch for a moment instead of a greeting and Dean chuckled.
“You know it’s like seventy-five degrees out, right?” Dean called out teasingly from his open door as he stripped off his short-sleeved Henley and jeans for his well-worn AC/DC tee-shirt and flannel pajama pants.
“Which would actually be relevant if you didn’t keep the air conditioning in here set a sixty-six,” he heard Castiel counter in his deep, gravely voice.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes as he plopped down on the sofa next to his best friend. He reached and grabbed a slice of pizza and took a gratifying bite. He was extremely thankful that he lived above his workplace. Dean’s stomach had been growling for most of the night and it had been too busy for him to take a break with Garth out on paternity leave.
Dean owned Huckleberry Hookah Lounge. The name was partly because of the many different fruit-flavored combinations of Shisha tobacco he offered, but mainly as a tribute to his friendship with Castiel. It had become a running joke ever since they got into all of Dean’s father’s westerns when they were eleven years old and first watched Tombstone. Dean in a cowboy phase that he never quite grew out of with Castiel as his sidekick in playground wars against Cas’ brothers- would loudly declare that they were each other’s Huckleberry. Essentially, it meant I’m your man, your best friend, your partner in crime. Now, even at thirty-one years old, the adage was the same for the two men.
Castiel leaned into Dean’s space, taking a sniff. “You smell good. New Shisha?”
“We had huckleberry, persimmon, and vanilla combo at half-price tonight. I smell like a spring pie,” Dean said with a grin.
Castiel’s bright blue eyes lit up with amusement. “How do you always find a way to relate things back to pie?”
Dean shrugged. “It’s a gift,” he said before yanking on his friend’s blanket. “Gimme some of this, it’s fucking cold in here,” he said, breaking into laughter at Castiel’s unimpressed look. Dean leaned forward and grabbed a Budweiser out of the six-pack sitting on the coffee table and popped the top to take a long swig.
Castiel snuggled in closer, despite his feigned annoyance and let his head rest against Dean’s shoulder as he scrolled through the DVR recordings. He settled on the latest episode of Doctor Sexy M.D. Dean supposed it would look strange to outsiders who didn’t know them; two grown males, not romantically involved, cuddling on the couch at the end of a long day. This was their standard, though.
Dean and Castiel had been best friends, in and out of each other’s pockets since they were six years old. Hugs, gentle forehead kisses, those were just things they had always done. Growing into unruly teenagers, then responsible adults hadn’t changed that. They knew each other better than anyone and loved each other unconditionally, and it had never occurred to either of them growing up that sharing such free affection was unusual.
Castiel gave a barely audible sigh, and Dean looked down at him in concern. “Something wrong, Huckleberry?” Dean asked, warming when Castiel’s familiar half-smile tugged at his lips at the nickname.
“Long day. Zachariah has us taking on this new account, so he’s foisting all of his crap on me, even though I have plenty of work of my own to deal with. Of course, there’s no financial compensation for all of this extra time I’m putting in, either,” Castiel grumbled.
Dean turned and pressed a kiss into Cas’ citrus-scented hair. “I’m sorry. Dude, you need to get outta there. You hate working for that firm, and when you came here, it was only supposed to be temporary anyway. I know that you could go out on your own and be a success. You already take care of the Hookah Lounge and Charlie’s comic book store, and Ellen’s bar on the side,” Dean said. Castiel was a CPA who worked for Adler & Associates and he absolutely loathed it. “I have that back room in the lounge that you could totally use as your office. It has its own backdoor, people wouldn’t have to come through the front to get to you.”
It’s a conversation they have had a few times since Cas moved to California to live with him, but this time Castiel surprised him by nodding.
“I think you might be right, Dean,” Castiel said thoughtfully, looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes and Dean tried not to get lost in the deep sea of blue staring back at him.
Dean cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah? Took ya long enough,” he teased.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, honestly. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have enough in my savings to keep me going if it takes time to build a decent clientele. Plus,” he offered with a shrug and that half-smile, “it wouldn’t suck to be able to see more of you during the day.”
Dean grinned, “You don’t see enough of this annoying mug at home, huh?”
“You’re my best friend,” Castiel said solemnly. “I always want to see you.”
Looking down at the fuzzy black and yellow stripes of the blanket, not responding, which was probably best seeing as how tight his throat was with emotion. Castiel had always been blunt like that, and it still flustered him to no end.
“Anything in the mail today?” Dean asked, deflecting, and was surprised to feel Castiel tense up beside him. Dean looked over at his friend in concern. “Cas? Everything okay, man?”
Castiel shifted, eyes lifting to meet Dean’s gaze, then sighed as he leaned forward, picking up the pizza box, and pulled out a glossy manilla envelope from underneath. Wordlessly, he handed it to Dean.
Dean lifted the seal and pulled out the elegant cardstock, brows lifting as he read.
Christian & Darla Allan
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Daphne Jean Allan
&
Michael Charles Novak
On Friday, July 5th
2019
It was Dean’s snort of disbelief that seemed to relax Castiel, as he slumped back against Dean’s shoulder with a grunt of annoyance.
“Are you gonna go?” Dean asked, and Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face, the sound of his raspy stubble audible with the motion.
“I don’t want to. What would I even say to them? Congratulations, Daphne. I’m glad to see cheating on me with my brother worked out so well for you. Here’s a gravy boat. ”
Dean let out a bark of laughter at the dry delivery. “I’m betting they debated a while before even sending it out,” Dean said, then rubbed at the crinkle between Cas’ eyes with his thumb as the man peered at him in question. “Cuz July is like, a month and a half away. Isn’t that cutting it close on invites? So? You gonna go, or what?” Dean asked again.
“I have to.”
“Cas, buddy, no one would think less of you if you didn’t. You don’t owe them anything. It’s not on you to show up like everything is okay just to ease their conscience,” Dean said heatedly.
“I can’t just let them win and think they broke me or something, you know?” Castiel said softly, and Dean took his hand.
“Yeah, I kinda thought you were gonna say that,” Dean said quietly then sat up, startled when Cas let out a deep groan. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I just realized now I have to find a date,” Castiel said, irritation in his gravel-laced voice.
Dean tried to ignore the unpleasant wave of nausea at the thought of Castiel dating someone else. Yes, he knew Cas didn’t see him like that and had long accepted the fact that one day his best friend would move on, but he didn’t have to like it.
“No one interesting at the firm?” he asked lightly, and Castiel rolled his eyes.
“When have I ever spent time with any of those people outside of work? They’re all as miserable as I am,” he replied petulantly and Dean reached out to pinch his cheek.
“Aww, I think you’re adorable,” Dean teased as Castiel laughed and pushed at his hand.
“Shut up, you menace.”
“Hey,” Dean said, hating the look of misery on his best friend’s face, “how about I go with you?”
Castiel’s brows rose up in surprise. “You?”
“Sure, why not? We could go a few days early, see our folks. Be nice to be back home for the fourth, and both our moms have been begging us to come to visit for a while now,” something Dean has been deftly avoiding to spare Cas from having to run into his brother and his ex, as Castiel's parents Chuck and Naomi were Dean’s parent’s best friends and neighbors.
Castiel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He tugged at his ear absently, and he appeared to be contemplating.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he said, finally and Dean tried to ignore the stab of hurt, but something must have shown on his face as Castiel hurried to reassure him, hand grasping at Dean’s knee as he stared at him imploringly.
“No, no, it’s not because I don’t want you there. God, I would love nothing more than to have you there. It’s just… I don’t want to look like I’ve been pining away out here and that I’m so pathetic I needed to bring my best friend with me because I couldn’t get a date.”
“Cas, who the fuck cares what they think of you? They are lucky you would even consider going in the first place,” Dean said, watching as Cas chewed on his bottom lip, thoughtfully. Don’t say it. It’s a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. “What if we tell them I’m there as your date, not your best friend?” You’re such a fucking moron.
Castiel huffed out a laugh, clearly thinking Dean was joking until he saw that he wasn’t laughing with him.
“Wait. Are you serious?” Castiel asked, and Dean shrugged, trying for nonchalant.
“Why not? People used to think we were dating when we lived back home anyway. Did you know that Ms. Mildred baked me an I’m sorry pie when you got engaged because she thought you left me for Daphne?”
Dean threw his head back laughing at the shocked looked on Cas’ face that slowly morphed into outrage.
“Is that why she told me she didn’t need any more volunteers at the library?” Castiel asked, his usual deep rumble rising a few octaves in outrage and only making Dean laugh harder.
“What can I say, Cas, you know older women love me.”
“ Yes, you’re a cougar magnet,” Castiel deadpanned with an epic eye-roll “ But speaking of women, don’t you think Lisa will be upset to have you gone for the holiday?” Castiel asked, and Dean balked at him.
“What are you talking about?” he asked in confusion. “And stop rolling your eyes, they’re gonna get stuck that way.”
Castiel ignored him. “Lisa? The girl you do ‘yoga’ with?”
Dean’s shoulders shook in silent laughter as Castiel said the word with full-on air quotes and head tilt.
“Cas… are you saying that for the past month, every time I said I’m going to Lisa’s to do yoga, you thought I meant it as a euphemism for sex?” When Cas only continued to peer at him like an adorably inquisitive bird Dean guffawed loudly and tugged his phone out of his pocket. He opened his browser and found what he was looking for on google. Bringing up the image, he turned his cellphone towards Castiel, noting the blush that climbed up his cheeks with satisfaction.
“Lisa’s Yoga Studio,” Castiel read out loud, tone sandpaper rough. “You’ve actually been going to yoga class?”
“Yeah, dude. I mean, I’m not as bendy as you,” Dean said pointedly as he recalled the time when sixteen-year-old Cas drunkenly confessed he could fellate himself but was warned by his doctor’s not to on account of how dangerous it was, “But I can downward dog with the best of 'em. You were getting all worried about my health and shit, so Sam recommended this beginner’s class he took last year. I’ve kinda been wondering why you haven’t said anything about it, actually. Thought you were just being nice and not embarrassing me,” Dean laughed again and watched as Castiel seemed to process this information, a myriad of emotions flashing in his azure eyes, and for a second, Dean could have sworn he saw relief shining in their depths.
Castiel’s tongue peeped out to wet his bottom lip before he started to nod. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay? Okay, what? I just said a bunch of shit. Oh. Okay like you want me to come to the wedding?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, voice suddenly firm and lips curved up in a smile. “Please come to my dick of a brother’s wedding with me. As yourself, though, not as my fake date, because you’re right. I owe them nothing and fuck what they think of me. ”