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“The first thing you have to understand," Dr. Mia Vallens says, "is that there’s nothing wrong with you."
Dean's heard it all before, so he counts the dust motes floating in front of him to keep from letting his irritation show.
Dr. Vallens takes her time studying the roughly ten people gathered around her in a circle of hideously orange plastic chairs. When she gets to Dean, he shifts impatiently in his seat until she moves on.
“Just because you couldn’t make it work with your soulmate,” Dr. Vallens continues, “doesn’t mean that you’re broken.”
Dean doesn’t mean to scoff, but it comes out anyway. Ever since he and Nick broke up, he’s gotten about a hundred less-than-sincere versions of “there’s no guarantee, even with soulmates” or “at least you had some good years together, right?”
Of course, Dr. Vallens hears him, because she’s got some kind of fucked-up super hearing. “Anything you want to share with us, Dean?” She gives him that look: the one where she dips her chin and narrows her eyes, as if to say, Do as I tell you or face awful consequences.
She missed her calling, Dean thinks grumpily. Should’ve been a middle school teacher, instead of a therapist who specializes in counseling people with failed soulmate relationships.
“It’s just,” Dean says, licking his lips as he revs up for his pet speech. “People say there’s nothing wrong with fucking it up with your soulmate, you know? But they don’t mean it. They get to go home to their perfect marriage or relationship or whatever, and pity that poor, miserable bastard who couldn’t even make it work with the one person the universe specifically picked for him.”
Dean doesn’t have to look at the rest of the group to feel the force of the collective eye roll. He's come to expect that reaction, because it's not the first time he's gotten on his soapbox during one of these sessions. Not by a long shot.
What he doesn’t expect is a gravel-deep, heartfelt, “Exactly.”
His head whips around, eyes snagging on the guy who showed up to the support group for the first time today. He’s not a chore to look at — nice, sharp jawline, messy dark hair, and the most striking blue eyes. Something about the way his suit is just a little big on him and his tie is just a little loose at his neck is working really well for Dean, too.
Dr. Vallens turns to address the newcomer. “Castiel. You agree with Dean’s assessment?”
Castiel looks vaguely alarmed to be called out, but then visibly straightens his spine. “Yes. I find myself getting very tired of the meaningless platitudes people spew, under a thin veneer of encouragement. Even if it’s true that there’s nothing wrong with us, the fact is, our society is set up to tell us differently, every single day.”
“Yeah, right?” Dean leans forward in his chair, fired up now and gesticulating wildly. “I mean, you turn on the TV and it’s nothing but soulmates on every fucking show. Hell, in every fucking commercial! If you’re not out there buying matching jewelry based on your soulmarks, you’re a screw-up by definition.”
Across the circle from Dean, Castiel nods along. “And don’t get me started on—”
“Alright, alright.” Dr. Vallens holds up both hands, palms out, placating. “You’ve made your point. Let’s move on.”
Reluctantly, Dean leans back in his chair and watches Castiel do the same. Their eyes catch and hold, and Dean has the uncanny feeling that he’s just made a friend.
***
“Didn’t even wanna go to the stupid support group to start with, you know? ‘m not really a feelings talk kind of guy,” Dean says as he takes a sip of his beer. He asked Cas to come out for drinks at his favorite dive bar after the meeting, so they could vent some more without Dr. Vallens playing chaperone. It’s a Wednesday night, which means the place isn’t too busy, and they were able to snag a couple of stools next to each other at the bar.
“So why do you go?” Cas asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Dean shrugs. “My brother talked me into it. He thought I needed to, how’d he put it, ‘work through my grief.’ Like Nick died or something, instead of just being a creepy, possessive, emotionally unavailable asshole.”
Cas nods thoughtfully, wiping at the condensation on his beer bottle. “I truly don’t understand our society’s obsession with the concept of soulmates. In my extended family alone, there are two other failed soulmate relationships, and yet, we continue to romanticize the idea to a harmful extent.”
“Yeah.” Dean scratches at a stain on the wood of the bar to distract himself from the low boil of anger and resentment in his gut. “I mean, I get it, you know? People wanna think there’s a person out there who’s exactly right for them, and they just have to find that person to live happily ever after. Doesn’t help that the damn marks are literally etched into our skins.”
Dean rolls up the sleeve of his flannel. He hasn’t gotten around to covering up his mark with a tattoo yet, but he knows he will eventually. It’s on his right forearm — it looks kind of like an F turned back to front, except there’s two lines in the middle rather than one, and they don’t quite connect to the rest of the shape. It’s an exact mirror image of the one on Nick’s left arm.
Before Dean met Nick, and when things were still good between them, he liked looking at the mark. It made him feel hopeful that he could do anything, beat anything, with his soulmate by his side. These days, though, it just makes him angry.
“Yes,” Cas agrees. He shifts on his stool, and his knee bumps against Dean’s under the bar top. “The marks reinforce the fiction that living happily ever after with our soulmates is a part of our DNA, and anyone who doesn’t achieve that goal has something wrong with them. A crack in their chassis, as my mother so charmingly put it when I told her I couldn’t convince Meg to stay.”
Dean shifts a little to the left in his seat, and it’s definitely not because the motion enables him to tuck up his knee against Cas’. He was just stuck in an uncomfortable position. “Is your mom the one who talked you into going to therapy?” he asks.
Cas shakes his head. “My friend Anna did that. My mother wanted me to prostrate myself at Meg’s feet until she agreed to take me back.”
Dean watches the way Cas’ hand tightens around his beer bottle until the knuckles stand out white. “Fuck. That’s messed up,” he says. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Cas says, but Dean can’t help noticing that Cas' posture is a lot more tense and stiff than it was just a minute ago. “I did try very hard to make things work with Meg, but she was clear from the outset that she wasn’t interested in, as she called it, ‘a white picket fence and two-point-five kids.’ She liked her freedom, and in the end, I suppose I couldn’t hold her interest.”
Dean catches the quick flare of hurt and disappointment that crosses Cas’ face, even as he tries to disguise it by taking a sip of his beer.
“No, listen, dude.” Dean leans forward, trying to catch Cas’ eye. When he succeeds, he says, “I know we both get fed up with people trying to make us feel better by saying stuff they don't mean. But whether they mean it or not, there's still truth in it. Cas, just because your soulmate wasn’t a good match for you, doesn’t make you broken.”
Cas nods, lips curving up in a shy half-smile. It’s a really good smile, and Dean would like to see a whole lot more of it. Cas takes off his coat and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the mark on his left forearm. Like all soulmate marks, it’s an abstract pattern, supposed to be obscure to all but a special few people who know how to interpret the marks’ true meaning. In Cas’ case, the mark is shaped like a cup with two handles, open at the top.
“My mother sent me to an interpreter when I was twelve,” Cas says, staring down at his arm ruefully. “The interpreter said my mark was a perfect representation of the Enochian letter ‘ger,’ which she seemed to think meant I was capable of great love and devotion.” He pulls down his sleeve, looking a little self-conscious. “I’m aware of the irony.”
Dean rolls his own sleeve back down; he doesn’t like to look at his mark for too long, anyway. “I put it off for a while, but I did get the interpretation done when I was sixteen,” he admits. “The guy told me the two intersecting lines mean strength of purpose, and the two unconnected ones mean that my purpose ‘will remain unclear until the time is right,’ or some New Age shit like that.” He scoffs. “Wasn’t hard to read between the lines: you’re not complete until your soulmate walks through the door.”
Cas looks even more despondent at that, so Dean puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you want another drink?”
Cas nods and holds up two fingers, signaling to the bartender for a second round.
***
Drinks after group therapy become a regular thing. For the first time ever, Dean finds that he actually looks forward to going to the meetings, if only because he and Cas can make faces at each other the whole time.
But then the weirdest thing happens: Dean finds it bothers him a lot less when people ask about his soulmate or his mark. Maybe he’s just heard Dr. Vallens spew her therapy talk often enough for it to sink in, or it could be that he’s actually getting more receptive to what she’s saying. Now, even when he gets the “at least you had some good years” speech, it just rolls right off his back, because he’s got Wednesdays at the bar with Cas to look forward to.
Soon, Sundays at Dean’s house get added to the mix, usually featuring a movie and a six-pack. Cas tends to stick to one beer, two at most, so he can still drive home after.
But one night, about two months into their friendship, Cas is in kind of a weird mood, all fidgety and nervous, and suddenly there’s four empty bottles in front of him on the coffee table. That’s never happened before.
“You know,” Cas says, letting his head loll to the side so he’s looking right at Dean across less than two feet of couch. “I always thought my soulmate would turn out to be a man.”
Dean almost chokes on his sip of beer. “Oh?” he croaks.
“Yes,” Cas says, his forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “I’ve always been more interested in men than women.” One of Cas’ cheeks is scrunched up against the fabric of the couch. Dean kind of wants to laugh at the ridiculous dork, and also kind of wants to kiss him.
The kissing impulse has reared its head before, but Dean’s kept a tight leash on it because Cas’ soulmate was a woman, and Cas has never given any indication of swinging both ways before. But… well, this conversation is heading in an interesting direction.
“I didn’t know that about you, Cas,” he says, hoping it comes off as nonchalant, rather than desperately curious. “That you’re into guys at all, I mean.”
Cas nods, his squished cheek moving up and down against the couch cushion. “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m very attracted to you. But maybe you’ve already noticed. I’ve been told that I’m not very subtle.”
Dean swallows, hard. “Uh. No. No, buddy. Can’t say that I have.”
Cas’ eyes narrow, and God help Dean, he pouts. “You’re not attracted to me.”
“No, uh. That’s really not the problem, Cas.” Dean licks his lips as he tries to figure out how to put this delicately. Putting things delicately is not his strong suit. “It’s just… you’re my friend, and I don’t want to screw that up with a one night stand, you know?”
Cas sits up, suddenly looking a whole lot less buzzed. His hair is a tangled mess on the side of his head that was pressed up against the couch. “I understand. You’re not interested in a relationship.”
The lines of Cas’ face are tense now, closed off, and Dean’s heart breaks a little. He’s hooked up with a few other people whose soulmate relationships went bad. There’s not always a lot of talking before the main event, but still, those people almost always tend to mention that they’re “never going to date again.” Cas has probably encountered that kind of attitude too.
But Dean is not going to be that person. Not with Cas.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, keeping his back glued to the couch rather than leaning forward. He figures it’s his best bet to avoid spooking Cas, who looks within about ten seconds of bolting for the door. “I hadn’t really considered the idea of dating anyone else after Nick. But you know what?” There’s something stirring in his chest: a spark of rebellion. “That’s the whole point we’ve been trying to make, right? Why should the universe get to be in charge of our love life? Why can’t we pick our own person if we got dealt a shitty soulmate hand?”
Cas opens his mouth to speak, but Dean barrels on. “So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna take you out for a date, and it’s gonna be sappy as shit, because, fuck, we deserve it.” For the first time, it occurs to him that Cas might have an opinion on the matter, so he adds, a little sheepishly, “I mean. If you like.”
A big, happy grin spreads across Cas’ face. “I like.”
***
“Fuck. So good. You feel so good.”
Dean pushes into Cas’ tight heat, holding on to the headboard for support with one hand. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and Dean’s eyes are locked on Cas’ lust-parted lips, those gorgeous blue eyes glazed with pleasure.
“Dean,” Cas rasps, “Faster. Harder, please.”
“If you're still coherent enough to be polite,” Dean whispers into the sweaty skin of Cas’ temple, “I ain’t doing my job right.”
He thrusts harder, pulling a hoarse moan from Cas that mingles with his own heavy breathing. Cas squeezes impossibly tight around him, the feeling making heat pool heavy in Dean’s gut. Cas’ legs tighten around Dean’s waist as he raises himself up to meet Dean halfway on every push inside. They’re exactly in sync, moving together seamlessly, like they were always meant to do this.
Dean can tell Cas is close by the hitches in his breathing, the low, desperate groans he lets out every time Dean gets his angle just right.
“Dean. Touch me.” Cas' voice is scraped, shaky with need.
Moving his hand off the headboard, Dean takes hold of Cas’ dripping cock , jerking him in time with his thrusts until Cas comes all over Dean’s fist.
Dean is so focused on the feeling of wetness and warmth on his fingers, the amazing fit of the two of them together, that his orgasm takes him completely by surprise. With a hoarse shout, he spills into the condom, even as Cas’ chest is still heaving with the force of his own climax.
Dean rolls off and to the side, collapsing onto Cas’ outstretched arm. Cas immediately pulls him in, their lips meeting in a wet, messy kiss.
“That was wonderful,” Cas says against Dean’s lips, a small smile on his face and his breathing still faster than normal.
Dean hums his agreement and moves in for another kiss, this one sweet and chaste. He gets up to dispose of the condom and grab a washcloth from the bathroom. When he walks back in and hands Cas the cloth, Cas mutters a quiet "thank you" but won't meet Dean's eye.
“Cas?” he asks.
Cas looks down at his stomach as he wipes up the mess there, his jaw working. “I—” He sighs as he crumples up the dirty washcloth in his hand. “I was just wondering if… if you enjoyed…? You didn’t say.”
Dean’s stomach plummets. “Oh.” He reaches for Cas’ hand, gently straightening the fingers clenched around the cloth. He grabs the cloth and tosses it in the vague direction of the hamper. It falls at least two feet short, but Dean can’t get himself to care just now. Sitting down on the bed, he wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders and leans in to kiss his forehead.
“Cas,” he whispers against Cas’ still-sweaty skin, “It was amazing. You were amazing.”
He can practically feel Cas melt with relief next to him. “Oh. Good,” Cas says, then looks down at his lap. The light in Dean’s bedroom is dim, but Dean thinks there’s a slight pink tinge blooming across Cas’ cheeks. “I just… I know sex is supposed to be best with your soulmate, so I’m sure you’ve had better—”
“Listen to me,” Dean says, cupping Cas’ face and turning it until their eyes are locked on each other. “Nick and I were great together in bed, but everything else? Shitty as hell. I had more fun with you on our first date tonight than I think I ever had with Nick. And guess what?”
Cas swallows hard, but his lips are twitching. “What?”
Dean pecks him on the lips, just because he can. “Nick never wanted to cuddle after sex. What’s your policy on cuddling?”
“It’s very much encouraged,” Cas says, and he’s definitely smiling now.
“See?” Dean grins and pushes Cas back down against the bed. He climbs across Cas’ lap and lies down on his side. Wiggling down the mattress, he drapes himself across Cas’ chest, head resting right over his heart. “Already so much better.”
Cas runs a gentle hand up and down Dean’s arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I had a very nice time on our date too. Thank you.”
Dean nuzzles into the side of Cas’ neck. “Not too sappy?” He’s trying to make it sound teasing, but there’s some genuine worry underneath.
He wanted to pull out all the stops, so he picked one of the best restaurants in town — white tablecloths, steak, red wine, and an amazing view of the city. It’s the kind of place where people take their soulmates when they want to propose, so not exactly first date material. But this was Cas, and Dean figured that would make it alright. At least, he hoped so.
“Just sappy enough,” Cas whispers into the top of Dean’s head. Dean tightens his arm around Cas’ waist and, at peace with himself and the world, drifts off to sleep.
***
“I can’t believe we haven’t been back here in three years,” Cas says, eyes wide as he takes in the glittering lights of the city outside the window next to their table. “The view really is incredible.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean says, trying to push down the butterflies rioting in his stomach. “It’s our first date spot. Wanted to save coming back here for something special.”
Cas’ focus immediately shifts away from the view, and onto Dean. “Something special?” he asks, frowning, before his face lights up with a smile. “Did Bobby accept your offer on the garage?”
Dean shifts in his seat, eyes fixed on the last few smears of pie filling on his plate. “Nah, not yet. I’m sure he will though.” He takes a deep breath. “But anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Dean forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes, the deep blue of them just as mesmerizing as it was the first time he saw them, across the room at group therapy. “Cas, these past few years have been the best of my life, and I—” Dean’s voice quavers a little, and he clears his throat before he continues. “I love you. So much.” He looks down at the outline of his soulmark, still etched into his skin, before his eyes dart back up to Cas’ face.
“I love you too, Dean,” Cas says, and his hand covers Dean’s where it’s curled into a fist on the table. Instead of turning his hand palm up to lace their fingers together, like he usually would, Dean tightens his fist. He can’t let Cas see what’s in his hand; not yet. A flicker of confusion crosses Cas’ face, but Dean knows he still has a few things to get out into the open before he can let on what he’s about to do.
“Remember when I told you about getting my soulmark interpretation done?” Dean asks. Cas nods minutely, then tilts his head a little, like he does when he’s paying very close attention to something. It’s just one of the many little quirks Dean loves about him. “Anyway, I… when the guy said my purpose was gonna be unclear until the time was right, I figured he meant I wasn’t complete until I found my soulmate. But I think I had that wrong. I think what it really meant was that I had to figure out my purpose for myself.”
With his free hand, Dean reaches across the table to cup Cas’ face, wanting to reassure him. “And you know what made me realize that? You did.” Cas’ breath hitches, and he leans into Dean’s touch. “You said your interpreter told you that you were capable of great love and devotion. And I realized, that’s true. But it’s got nothing to do with your soulmate, you know? That’s just…” Dean shrugs, his thumb stroking across Cas’ cheekbone. “That’s just you.”
Cas covers Dean’s hand with his. “Dean—” he starts to say, but Dean interrupts him.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not done yet. I want you to know that I’m in this, Cas. We might not be soulmates, but… I just know that you’re my person.” Cas goes very still, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “You’re the person I picked, for myself. And I want you to be my person for the rest of our lives if… if you’ll have me.”
Dean pulls his fist out from under Cas’ hand and opens it to reveal a simple silver band, polished and gleaming under the soft overhead lights. “Cas, will you marry me?”
Cas must have been holding his breath for quite a while, because the force of his exhale is audible even across the table and over the soft music playing in the background. His eyes are a little watery, but there’s a big, happy smile on his face. “Yes, Dean. Of course I’ll marry you.”
***
“The first thing you have to understand is that there’s nothing wrong with you,” Dean says, letting his eyes rove over the small group that’s gathered around him in a circle of hideously orange plastic chairs. “Just because you couldn’t make it work with your soulmate doesn’t mean you’re broken.”
Cas sits in the chair to his left, Dr. Vallens in the one to his right. He doesn’t have to look at her to know there’s an amused glint in her eye that says, I told you so.
The chorus of scoffs and mutters that meets Dean’s statement is painfully familiar. He ducks his head and smiles. “Hey, I get it. You’ve heard it all before, and it sounds like bullcrap. Believe me, I was right there with you.” He looks up at Cas to find him already watching, a small smile on his face. “But then I met my husband, and he… he made me believe that there really might be a way to move on from your soulmate and be happy, you know?”
A young woman with wavy blonde hair sitting straight across the circle from Dean speaks up, arms crossed over her chest. “Everybody knows relationships are a lot less likely to last if you’re not soulmates.”
“Claire!” Dr. Vallens says, disapproval radiating off her.
“What?” Claire shrugs. “It’s true.”
“Exactly.” The voice belongs to a slim girl with dark eyes, sharp cheekbones and wavy black hair. Dean doesn’t miss the spark of interest in Claire’s eyes when she turns to face her.
“Kaia. You agree with Claire’s assessment?” Dr. Vallens asks.
Kaia looks vaguely alarmed to be called out, but then visibly straightens her spine. “Yeah. I mean, just because these two got it together doesn’t mean we’ll all get to have some fairy-tale relationship after we screwed it up with our soulmates, you know?”
Claire nods, eyes darting back to Dean in open challenge.
“Look,” Dean says, shrugging, “there’s never a guarantee when it comes to dating, or even marriage. Soulmates or not, there’s always the possibility that things go south. You just gotta keep working on the relationship to make sure it lasts.”
He looks down at his forearm, where his old soulmark still sits, alongside a tattoo of Cas’ name in black, looping script. In the end, he decided not to cover up the evidence of his bond with Nick; after all, the experience of loving and losing their soulmates was what brought him and Cas together in the first place.
Of course, Cas has a matching tattoo of Dean’s name alongside his own mark, and Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as one of Cas’ fingers traces the outline of the letters inked into his skin, the gesture a subtle reassurance for both of them. “Dean is right,” Cas says. “Relationships take work. Dean and I have worked hard on ours for some time now, and I think we’ve done well.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, reaching for Cas’ hand. He twines their fingers together, feeling Cas’ warm skin shift next to the cool, solid silver of his wedding band. “We’ve been together five years, married two. Pretty good track record, I’d say.”
Nobody scoffs this time, and even Claire uncrosses her arms, though her brows are still drawn together in a scowl.
“Anyway,” Dean says, “Dr. Vallens mostly invited us here today to tell you all about the group Cas and I started.” That does prompt a collective eye roll, and Dean hastens to add, “Not another therapy group. More like… a social mixer. We meet in a room just down the hall, on Thursday nights. We’ve got video games set up, and board games, and don’t tell Dr. Vallens, but we sometimes smuggle in a cooler of beer.”
With amusement, Dean notes that Claire’s brows have smoothed out and she’s actually leaned forward a little.
“Anyway. It’s supposed to be a fun, low-pressure place to meet other people who broke up with their soulmates and might be ready to try dating again,” Dean continues. “Cas and I made it work by ourselves, but I think we could’ve used something like that to help us along. So we wanted to make it happen for other people.”
“Yes,” Cas agrees, squeezing Dean’s hand. “It can be hard to find other people looking for a genuine connection after a soulmate relationship, especially when society has gone out of its way to tell us that such a thing isn’t possible.”
Dean watches as Kaia’s eyes dart to the side of Claire’s face. Claire seems to notice, because she turns a little, and their eyes catch and hold. Dean chuckles. “Yeah. You two—” He points back and forth between Claire and Kaia. “—should definitely come.”
Both women blush a little, but neither of them argue, and Dean thinks he sees the smallest possible smile twitch at the corner of Claire’s mouth.
“We’ll leave you to the rest of your session,” Cas says, getting up and pulling Dean along. “But anyone is welcome to join us. We’ll leave some flyers by the door, so do pick one up on your way out.”
Dean watches as Cas pulls the stack of pink flyers out of his messenger bag and arranges them in a neat pile on the table by the door, next to the coffee makers. Then, as he turns to leave, something occurs to him.
“Oh, by the way,” Dean says, “if you decide to join us, just follow the signs in the hallway. They’ll have the name of our group on them.”
Claire turns around in her chair to smirk at him. “You gonna tell us what the group is called or should we guess?”
Dean chuckles. “Sure, I’ll tell you. It’s called Team Free Will.”