Chapter Text
“Cas! You ready yet, or what?”
Castiel rolls his eyes as Dean pounds up the stairs and shoulders his bag but stops short of actually heading down just yet. Instead, he slips into the bathroom across the hall and kicks the door shut, leaning heavily against the double sink while the animal masquerading as his best friend blows into his room.
“Dude! Where’s your stuff? Have you even started packing?”
Castiel stifles a laugh and clears his throat. “Actually,” he calls, “I wasn’t sure if I should take my blue suit or the black.”
“Suit?!” Dean yells, his voice hitting an octave Castiel hasn’t heard out of the guy since they were twelve and on the cusp of puberty. “The hell you taking a suit for, man? It’s Vegas, not a freaking funeral!”
“Do we still have that garment bag, or maybe I should wear it, just in case. What do you think?”
“What do I…?” Dean’s fists pound heavily on the door. “Have you lost your mind? Come on, angel! We gotta—"
Castiel pulls the door open, stepping aside just as Dean falls through. Crossing his arms, he fights the urge to outright laugh and instead furrows his brow. “What are you doing? We have to be on the road so we don’t hit traffic. Now are you ready or not?”
Dean throws up a finger, his mouth working around an insult and coming up short. After several moments of staring into his friend’s smug face, he finally mutters, “Get in the damn car.”
Castiel waves his hand with a flourish. “Waiting on you, Mr. Winchester, as always.”
They continue to bicker as they make their way down the stairs and through the kitchen to the garage. Looking around one last time to make sure the house is in order, Castiel nods to himself and, when Dean whistles, tosses his duffle to the man to be placed in the trunk while he locks up.
“Did you get the snacks?” Castiel asks, rounding the hood and peeking through the windows of Dean’s most prized possession.
“Yup,” Dean says. He begins ticking off the items on his fingers as he lists them aloud. “Bread, mayo, mustard, a pound and a half of honey ham, your weird ass trail mix, my M&Ms, chips, a case of cold drinks and half a case of bottled, high quality H2O.” He raps his knuckles lightly on Baby’s roof. “We missing anything?”
Castiel’s lips quirk up, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Ice?”
Dean snaps his fingers and nods. “Right! Yes. Don’t let me forget to grab a bag when we hit the Gas n’ Sip.”
It’s nearly twelve hours from Denver to Las Vegas, but it’s been their vacation go-to for years, and because Dean absolutely refuses to get on a plane, they’re used to the drive. They pull over for lunch just north of Monroe Peak and get rid of the trash they’ve accumulated at the various fill ups along the way, but all in all it’s a pretty straight shot to the Strip.
As they near the hotel, Castiel digs under the seat for the starter cash they put aside—Castiel is a blackjack fiend and can easily double their funds in only a few hours at the tables—and he tucks the envelope into his inner coat pocket for safe keeping. They’ll divvy it up once they reach their room, but for now, it’s safest out of sight from prying eyes. Next, it’s on to the check-in desk where Dean bats his eyes and sweet-talks the young woman into handing over more buffet vouchers than they could possibly hope to use during their stay, but hey, they’ll be back in the spring, so they can use the leftovers then. Throwing open the curtains to their room and gazing out over the city, Dean turns and spreads his arms wide.
“Welcome to Sin City.”
_____________
A few hours later, pockets full of cash and riding a pleasant buzz, they stroll into The Equalizer. Multicolored strobe lights bounce off every available surface, highlighting the sensuous, twisting movements of the men and women on stage, and the gyrating bodies pressed against each other sparkle with glitter and what looks like neon paint. Craning his head to get a better look, Dean spots a bright orange handprint on a woman’s scantily clad ass and grins. He loves theme nights.
A chrome bar stretches along the wall to their right, and Dean whistles sharply to get the bartender’s attention, holding up two fingers and pushing into the crowd that’s three deep all the way around the counter. Fishing a few bills out of his wallet, he slides them across the bar and starts a tab, informing the woman that he’ll need a tray of mixed shots delivered to their table and that at least four should be tequila.
Scooping up the beers and making his way over to their usual corner booth, Dean’s eyes find Cas’s, and he raises one of the drinks. A woman is already chatting him up, her hands splayed wide over his white button up and slowly marking a colorful trail down to his jeans, and though Cas seems interested, his eyes keep bouncing off her cleavage like the blushing virgin he hasn’t been since, oh, freshman year of college? Or do hand jobs count? Not that Cas had much experience with those either before moving away. The poor guy was too terrified to try much more than kissing before he finished high school and got out from under his mother’s thumb. Well, if Dean knows anything, it’s how to get his buddy to loosen up, and that’s exactly what he sets out to do.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets, sliding into the booth and passing a beer to Cas. He has to raise his voice to make sure she hears him over the music, but that’s okay. It’s not like they’ll be having a full-fledged conversation. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes narrow some, but she quickly covers by gazing up through her lashes. “Chastity,” she replies, biting her lip.
“Oh, really?” Dean’s grin grows impossibly wider, and he produces a twenty from his pocket. “My buddy here is a little shy. Think you can get him to loosen up a bit?”
“Chastity” snatches the bill and makes it disappear just as quickly before turning to Cas and toying with the top button of his shirt. Cas’s throat constricts as she straddles his thighs, and Dean takes a long pull of his beer, draining half the bottle in one go. A buff waiter sidles up moments later and begins lining shot after shot of colorful liquid in a neat row across the table, and Dean zeroes in on those graced with limes immediately. After tipping him—because really, he wants to get on the employees’ good sides early so they can turn a great night into an awesome one—he takes just enough time to check out the dude’s leather-covered thighs before plucking the lime out of a glass and handing it to the woman grinding down on his best friend’s crotch. She tips Cas’s head back and fits the glass to his lips, and even though Cas narrows his eyes at Dean once the tequila hits his tongue, he finishes it quickly and doesn’t refuse when Chastity blindly takes another.
It's not like Cas doesn’t know what’s going on. Once they learned his weakness for tequila—way back in college at their favorite bar’s trivia night of all things—Dean made sure to hold the info in his back pocket, and when they finally made it to Vegas for the first time, he began coaxing his friend into doing “just one shot,” which always led to the usually buttoned up guy doing several more. Now, it’s basically a tradition, as much as coming to their favorite strip club and dancing the night—and their newly acquired funds—away.
A few hours later, they’re both covered in glitter and paint and God knows what other questionable substances when Dean pulls his eyes away from the gorgeous brunette in his lap and sees Cas tonsil-deep down some twinky dancer’s throat. The guy is still partially dressed, the pinstripe suspenders vaguely reminding Dean of a performer that’d gone with a Weiner Hut gimmick, but Cas is down to a plain white tee, and the dancer is making a play for the button fly on his jeans.
Biting back a groan when the brunette plants her hands on the floor and twists her hips just so, Dean reluctantly taps her hip and waits for her to climb off him before apologizing. “You were doing, uh…” He huffs and grins, the sight of her bare chest reminding him of exactly what he’d just stopped. “You’re amazing, really, but if I don’t get my buddy out of here, he’ll do something not-so amazing, and someone’s gotta watch out for the dude.”
“You sure about that?” the brunette asks. Casting a look at the men becoming more entangled by the second on the other side of the booth, she quirks a brow and rests her hands on her hips. The move pushes her ample chest forward, and Dean bites the inside of his lip. “He seems to be doing just fine on his own.”
“Yeah,” he rasps as a muffled groan escapes Cas’s chest. “I’m sure.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Love to watch you leave…” Dean murmurs as her hips sway into the thinning crowd. Glancing down at his watch, he sees its nearing closing time anyway, so they won’t miss out on much by going ahead and calling it a night. Turning, he grabs the twink’s shoulder before he can fully lay Cas down on the plush bench. “Whoa there, Alfie. I don’t think he agreed to all that.”
“Get lost,” the kid—and Jesus, he really can’t be more than nineteen—snaps.
There’s fire in his eyes, sure, but there’s also a hunger behind them, and Dean wonders if he’s always been this skinny or if that’s an unfortunate side effect of his circumstances. Come to think of it, Dean’s positive they haven’t seen him here before, and considering they’re down this way at least twice a year and that The Equalizer is known for having a low employee turnover rate, that’s saying something.
“Here.” Dean digs out his wallet, turning his shoulders away from the crowd lest the wrong person catch him in the act. Folding a couple of hundreds inside a twenty, he hands the cash over and waves the kid off before he gets a good look at how much Dean paid him.
Cas slurs out a complaint or two when Dean pulls him upright, but he allows him to slip his arm around his waist and haul him to his feet. “Deeeeeannnnn,” he moans, gripping Dean’s jacket and throwing them dangerously off balance. Luckily, Dean is able to catch himself on the bar before Cas’s weight can throw them both to the ground and flashes his card at the bartender. “Dean, I was ‘aving funnnnn. He’s so swee’, Dean.”
“Yeah, I bet he was,” Dean grunts. After he settles their tab, he steers them outside, nodding at the security team as they pass. “You gonna marry him?”
Cas’s face screws up, and he shouts, “O’course not! ‘M not int-int-looking for that.”
“Yeah, I know, man. Perks of being aromantic. You think you can—” Cas lurches forward, hurling the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk and causing a few passersby to jump out of the way with a litany of colorful complaints. “That’s it. Okay.” Dean rubs soothing circles into Cas’s back. “Let it out. Better here than on the hotel carpet, am I right?”
“Always,” Cas groans. “Yer always right, an’ smart,” he adds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean winces when that same hand cups his cheek but indulges his friend’s ramblings for the time being, staring into his big blue eyes and wondering how they always seem to glow, lit up even in the darkness. “Yer so smart, Dean. You don’ know how smart you are.”
Gently taking the hand away from his face, Dean turns Cas around and guides him up the strip until they reach the hotel. Once there, Cas breaks from his incessant rambling to again puke, this time into a potted plant beside the elevator bank while Dean distracts the hotel staff when they look too closely. As soon as the doors slide open, Dean ushers Cas inside and repeatedly jams the button to the tenth floor so they can get the hell outta dodge before someone catches wind of their mess and adds it to their bill.
When the elevator coasts to a stop, the change topples Cas, pushing both men into the corner, and Dean has to blink and flatten his hand against his stomach to keep from losing the remnants of the pie bar he’d visited in the casino. “Whoa, I think I had a little much myself.”
“…’n so pretty, Dean,” Cas continues when they reach the room. Dean leans him against the wall, keeping his palm flattened against Cas’s chest to make sure he won’t tip over, and unlocks the door. “They deserve the best, don’ you think? Deserve ta ‘ave nice custom’rs once in a while.”
Shaking his head, Dean leads him inside. “That doesn’t mean you can just pay them to chat, man. They’ll get in trouble, you know that.” He hesitates a moment but steers Cas into the attached bathroom, settling him on the closed toilet. “Come on, time to wash up.”
A loopy grin stretches across Cas’s face when Dean lifts his shirt, and as the material is pulled over his head, the fucker winks up at him. “You tryin’ ta get me naked?”
“Oh yeah,” Dean deadpans. “You know I can’t keep my hands off all this.”
“S’good, innit?”
They break into laughter, their bodies shaking with the force of it, and Dean wipes his eyes before gesturing at Cas’s jeans. “Come on, angel. Lose the pants while I start the shower.”
Later, when Dean is bundling a freshly washed Cas into a fluffy towel and helping him pull clean boxers up his thighs, Cas sighs and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “So good to me. What’d I do ta ‘serve you, hmm?”
Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Dean stares questioningly at his best friend. “What do you mean?” Cas just sniffles, and, yeah, Dean needs to get him into bed ASAP. The shower may have sobered him up enough that he’s not slurring all his words, but he’s still sloshed, and it won’t be long before crying Cas makes an appearance. Pushing him onto the bed, Dean scoops Cas’s feet up and tucks the thick comforter around his body. Then he drops into a crouch and catches Cas’s wandering hand. “You’re the best man I know, Cas, and you deserve the world.”
No matter how many times they do this, how many times his friend gets plastered and Dean takes care of him, the kiss Cas always plants on him at some point catches Dean off guard, and he can’t help but lean into it when Cas licks into his mouth, but then, just as it starts to deepen, just when Dean’s brain is succumbing to the alcohol-induced haze and briefly considering taking things farther than either would ever do sober, Cas is pulling away, sighing contentedly before burrowing into the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately, his hand still clasped between Dean’s own.
Dean spares a moment to brush a wayward curl off of Cas’s forehead, and then he rises into a back-popping stretch, thinking that maybe he’ll use one of those frou-frou scented hotel soaps to work up a good bubble bath once he gets all this damned paint off himself.
_____________
Throwing out a hand, Castiel fumbles for his phone and squints at the screen. “Gabriel?” he mutters. “’Lo?”
“Oh! So, he is alive!”
Damn it all to hell.
“Hello, Mother.” Castiel rolls onto his back and squashes the urge to just hang up because even riding the last waves of the tequila, he knows it won’t do any good. Spying the Gatorade on the bedside table, he sits up and tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can crack the cap and use the drink to wash down the two Advil beside it. “I assume Gabriel knows you’re using his phone?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Naomi snaps.
“Nevermind,” he says. He sways slightly as he stands but through pure luck manages not to fall on his way to where the light from the bathroom glows through the small crack in the door. Pushing the door open, he squints and slaps his free hand over his eyes until he adjusts to the sudden brightness. “May I ask why you’re calling?”
“Your brother’s wedding is only a week away.”
“I’m aware.”
“We’re finalizing plans.”
Castiel leans over the counter and frowns at his reflection before pinching a strand covered with hot pink…something between two fingers. He remembers going to The Equalizer but doesn’t recall having a paintball fight with anyone, but then, there were a lot of colors. He’ll have to ask Dean in the morning. “And?”
“There’s been some reshuffling with the seating, and I felt it pertinent to confirm you’ll be coming alone before moving your placement.”
That gets his attention. “Who said I’ll be alone?”
“You failed to fill out and return an R.S.V.P., and considering your…lifestyle choices…one can only assume—”
“My lifestyle?!” Castiel nearly shouts. He winces and peeks into the main room, but Dean is still sprawled out and unmoving, so he gently eases the bathroom door shut. “Mother, I’m pan, not a leper. Besides, I’m the best man. I didn’t think there was ever a question as to my being there.”
Naomi sighs, the sound long and drawn out, and Castiel can just see her shaking her head. “Honestly, Castiel. Pan? I don’t even know what that means. When will you put this liberal phase to rest and find yourself a nice girl to make a life with?”
Maybe it’s the remaining alcohol coursing hot through his system, or maybe it’s the way she says it, but something snaps inside him, and Castiel finds himself blurting, “I have a life! A good one! With my husband!”
The phone is silent long enough that Castiel wonders briefly if she’s hung up on him, but a quick glance at the screen shows the seconds still ticking slowly by, so he puts it back to his ear. After what seems like ages, Naomi sneers, “Really?”
“Yes!”
“Well, I simply cannot wait to meet this boy,” Naomi says with zero inflection. “You’re bringing him to the wedding?”
Castiel flounders a second, his heart pounding in his chest, and nods. Then, after realizing she can’t see him, manages another, though quieter, “Yes.”
Naomi huffs, and Castiel takes momentary pride in throwing the normally cold woman off balance for once. “Well, I’ll be sure to make amendments in the arrangements, though I can’t imagine why you failed to mention this information earlier. It would have been immensely helpful before now. Perhaps if you’d check in with your mother once in a while, I’d know these things. I’ll see you in a few days, Castiel.”
And just like that, she’s gone. Shaking off the conversation, Castiel stumbles to the toilet and relieves himself before falling back into bed, the phone and its blinking battery indicator forgotten by the sink.
_____________
“Never. Again.”
Dean snickers, cracking another beer before passing it over. “We’ll see,” is all he says as they cheers, but Castiel shakes his head and regrets it immediately when pain spikes through his temples.
“Why do you do this to me?”
“What do you mean?”
Castiel lowers his sunglasses enough to glare at his friend. “You know what.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says innocently. “I mean, it’s not like you can blame me for everything you did last night. As a matter of fact, I kept you from being taken advantage of, so really, you oughta thank me, man. Plus,” he whips his phone out, swiping over the screen before handing it over, “I took pictures.”
“No,” Castiel moans, thumbing through the shots. In them, he can see himself—or his doppleganger, which is what he’ll say if these ever see the light of day—engaging in various acts of hedonism with one, two, three… “How many people did I kiss?!”
Dean shrugs, still grinning. “I got no idea. I tried to get pictures of all of ‘em, but you know how that goes. I mean, one second you’re getting a lap dance, and the next you’re climbing on the bar and giving the dancers a run for their money.”
“So that’s where my shirt went?”
“Yup.”
“This is…” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Never. Again.”
“To doing it all in another six months,” Dean says.
After clinking the necks of their bottles a second time, they stretch out in their chairs and let loose mirroring sighs of contentment. For just a moment, as Castiel closes his eyes to the desert sun, letting it warm his skin and deepen his tan, he can forget the drama about to descend on his life. After all, that’s why they booked this trip, so he could relax before seeing his parents for the first time since college graduation. Here, side by side with his best friend, he can forget the judgement about to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Here, he can be at peace.
Of course, that peace shatters into a thousand tiny pieces moments later as his phone buzzes to life after he disconnects it from the power bank he brought with them. As he swipes the various emails and social media notifications from the screen in order to get to the texts at the bottom, a growing ball of dread curls in the pit of his stomach.
The first one, from Michael, Castiel’s oldest brother, isn’t so bad, just instructions to call him, and even the one from Balthazar is just a string of shocked emojis, but the others…
Cassie, you’d better have a good explanation for not telling me you got hitched. Mom is going nuts, but at least it’s taken her attention off Kali. Pretty sure they were about to throw down.
Castiel, your father and I would like to invite you and your husband to stay with us during the holidays. The main house is full, but you may settle into the pool house. I’m sure you and your husband will appreciate the benefit of the added privacy.
With the texts comes a fuzzy memory from the night before of a conversation with his mother and an offhanded remark that has him wishing he could crawl in a hole and die. Just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating, that this isn’t all some tequila-induced fugue state, Castiel checks his call history and makes a sound similar to that of a dying cat when he sees his brother’s number from around four this morning.
“What did I do?” Castiel breathes.
“Whoa there, angel. Everything alright?”
And that, the nickname Dean reserves only for him, has another memory rearing its ugly head. Castiel flushes, heat that has nothing to do with the ninety degree weather rushing to his hairline and spreading down his chest, but he and Dean won’t talk about the kiss they shared the night before. They never do because acknowledging it would make it real, and that would only lead to them asking why Castiel kissed his best friend and why Dean continues to order tequila shots when he knows how they’ll make Castiel react.
“I screwed up,” Castiel chokes, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands. His sunglasses slide back and slip to the concrete, but he can’t find the energy to retrieve them. Not now. “God, Dean. What am I going to do?”
“What are you talking about, man?” Dean grabs his phone and starts digging, and Castiel can feel the moment Dean gets it, not because of the curses he’s spewing under his breath but because of the way the air shifts, winding tight around them. “Dude, you—” Dean huffs and tries again. “You told your mom you’re married?”
Swallowing, Castiel nods weakly. “It would appear that way, yes. And my,” he takes a shuddering breath, “my family expects to meet my husband in five days, and he’s supposed to join me at the wedding. I—”
Immediately, Dean’s hands are on him, fingers wrapping tightly around his biceps and steadying him. Somehow, though Castiel can’t fathom as to where, he finds the strength to look up, and Dean is right there, his familiar features doing wonders to calm Castiel’s racing heart. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We will.”
“How can I show my face now, Dean? It was going to be bad enough knowing all the things they’ve said about me over the years, but this…” He shrugs helplessly, and Dean folds him into a hug.
“S’okay, angel,” Dean murmurs into his hair.
Castiel squeezes his eyes shut against the tears he can feel fighting for air and buries his face in Dean’s neck, and he should be embarrassed about breaking down in front of all these people, ashamed even, but as Dean tightens his hold, hands digging into the bare skin of Castiel’s back, he feels none of that. There’s only the gripping anxiety of facing his ultra-conservative family and their pretentious friends and knowing they all see him as a horrible failure, an outlier, undeniably and disgustingly other.
After several long moments, Castiel breaks the hold and swipes angrily at his face. Damn them for holding this much power over him after so many years. Damn his inner child still yearning to meet impossible expectations. Damn them all.
“We’ll lie,” Dean says. “We’ll tell them he got sick, or—”
Castiel shakes his head and pulls back, his voice rougher than usual. “No. They’ll know, or they’ll want to see pictures, and I have none. She won’t be satisfied until she sees a living, breathing man beside me, and even then…” He laughs, but the sound falls flat between them, and he shrugs again. “I fucked up.”
Dean’s hands linger on either side of Castiel’s neck, and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, but Castiel can see the gears turning behind his green eyes, mind already working on any number of possible solutions. In the end, when Dean takes a breath and locks onto Castiel’s gaze, there’s only one he offers:
“I could be your husband.”