Chapter Text
“Did you mail them?”
“What do you think of me? Of course I did, Jo. I promised you I’d—”
“All of them?” Jo pressed. “He needs to get his.”
“I thought your mother—”
Jo waved her hand. “Nah, don’t worry about Mom. She’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Shouldn’t you call her first? You haven’t told her yet. She might be—”
“Nope.” She laughed. “No need to worry. She’ll get it. Especially the moment she meets you. Trust me. I worry about him, though. Dean’s—”
“He’ll understand,” Castiel reassured her. “He’s your best friend.”
Jo grimaced. “He is,” she sighed. “That’s what I worry about.”
***
A weird feeling settled inside Dean’s stomach as he pulled the calendar from the wall to turn it around to show the new month. There it was. The date that haunted his thoughts.
Just a little more than two more weeks, and his deal was up. How could it have been ten years already?
It was—
Dean sighed. It wasn’t that he was counting the days, but the date had been burned into his mind ever since they made that stupid bet. Back then, it had seemed to be so far away. Just a little tomfoolery between friends. He couldn’t have suspected that, one day, it would be glaring at him angrily from a piece of paper.
Staring at it didn’t help. With a huff, Dean shook his head and gulped before his mind wandered back to the stupid deal he had made after a night of too much booze in the Roadhouse.
So many things had happened since that day. A whole decade had passed, and he had changed. Damn, they all had changed, but unlike so many others Dean hadn’t tied the knot.
Who would have guessed that Sammy would find his happiness over in California. Even Dean couldn’t blame him for staying behind after finding his partner in crime. Eileen was perfect for him. She didn’t take any of his little brother’s shit.
Those two were made for each other. Their wedding had been awesome, especially since it had led to Dean meeting Cassie. He had never been closer to proposing to anyone, but, in the end, it hadn’t worked out.
Cassie had captured him from the moment they met, and, during the time they had spent together, Dean had come to love her in many ways. He had especially loved her wit, as well as her laugh. There had been so many things he cherished about her. For months, Dean had wanted to ask for her hand so badly.
Yet, he didn’t, and then it had suddenly been over. Their lifestyles simply didn’t add up, and Dean ended up back on the road, all by himself.
He simply couldn’t stay still, it seemed. After having been uprooted too early in his life, his home was the Midwest. Dean commuted between Stillwater, Minnesota and Lawrence, Kansas. He helped out at Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and, more often than not, he ended up behind the bar in Harvelle’s Roadhouse in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska.
Before meeting Cassie, Dean had lived in Michigan for more than a year, but like Cassie, Lisa and her son Ben had been too good for him. It had been for their own good to let them go.
Dean still loved them, but they had deserved a lot better than a guy who never had a proper home. When he left, the cracks in their relationship had already been too big to cover them. Even years later, he could remember the relief on Lisa’s face when he drove away.
It had broken his heart, yet deep inside, he had known it wouldn’t have ended well. Lisa was great, perfect even, just not for him.
Dean had wanted it to work out so badly. They fit so well together and built a family life for themselves, though the constant fear of messing it up never left him. So, he had pulled the plug before it was too late.
Lisa hadn’t understood him, and, frankly, neither had he, but there had been something missing in his life; something big he still had to figure out.
Staring at the calendar, Dean was as clueless as ever. Maybe it was Jo. In a way, she knew him better than anyone else, including his brother.
Although Sam was only four years younger than him, Dean had been the one who raised him. Sure, he hadn’t been on his own, but, time and again, he felt more like a parent than anything else. Sam probably didn’t realize it though, but more often than not, he actually treated Dean like it.
These days, his brother was far away and had his own growing family to take care of. Dean couldn’t have been prouder.
Jo Harvelle, on the other hand…
She was his best friend. They had grown up together. Whenever Dean’s dad visited the Roadhouse, which happened frequently, they had played in the little creek behind the bar. Years later, they had shared their first cigarette, their first drink, and their first time.
And then, ten years ago, they had gotten wasted the night before Ash left for MIT, and promised to be there for each other if neither of them had tied the knot a decade in the future.
Ten years, almost to the day…
Time was relentless, and Dean had come to terms with his fate quite a while ago. If anyone should get him to say yes, why not Jo? Why not his best friend?
Jo might be a big shot in New York’s fashion scene these days, but none of her boyfriends had stuck around for long.
After all, behind the public mask of fame and money, she was still the feisty girl Dean had come to know and love a long time ago. Back then, no one could have predicted her career, but sometimes life took a course that defied all odds.
When she left for the East coast, she had asked Dean to go with her, and he had tried. He had wanted to share the big adventure with her, but the city had stolen his breath and driven him crazy within a month. Dean hadn’t been able to stand the flood of people, the noise, and the lights that turned each night brighter than a day.
Unable to cope any longer, Dean had fled. He had abandoned his best friend in the clutches of managers and sharks, and turned tail. For months, he had driven across the country, never spending a night twice at the same place until he had ended up in a cabin in Montana that belonged to an old friend of Bobby Singer.
Rufus didn’t mind Dean staying as long as he needed, and Dean had extended that hospitality for more than a year. The wind had washed him back to Nebraska, and up to Minnesota where he spent a great time at the Sherriff’s place. Donna had never become more than a great friend with occasional benefits, but it was enough for Dean. They had fun, a lot of it, though it never went beyond that.
They still saw each other once or twice a year, but Dean never outstayed her welcome. It seemed that Dean couldn’t stay still, as if he was driven, searching for something he didn’t know he was looking for.
His wanderings washed him across the country. He was a plaything in the waves of the ocean that was life. Sometimes he was washed ashore, but the next swell swept him away. Driven from one place to another, he longed to stay still, to find a place, a home, a family.
For the moment, the current had washed him back up in Lawrence, Kansas, in his childhood home. It was his and Sam’s since the premature deaths of his parents. And after Sam had left with a full scholarship for Stanford, the place had become Dean’s.
Yet the house felt far too empty for himself, and the ghosts of a family he no longer had haunted Dean. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to sell it.
He loved the place, and from time to time, he came back. The memories were too strong; the good ones and the bad. He had lived through the happiest and most horrifying times of his life in there. Sometimes, he would wake up at night and smell the smoke and flames that killed his mom.
The fire had destroyed a great part of the house, but his dad had rebuilt it before deciding he was unable to stay. And thus, their wanderings had begun.
Dean and Sam had grown up on the road. Between a scrapyard and a bar, they had even spent more nights in crappy hotel rooms. They had been their childhood homes aside from the backseats of a car.
Though it hadn’t been any car. Dean’s baby was a lady, and she was his home away from home. The trusted 1967 Chevy Impala had been his dad’s until he kicked the bucket in a lone February night somewhere between Denver and Las Vegas.
John Winchester totalled the car, but it still went to Dean, and with the help of Bobby, he had rebuilt it from scratch. In the following years, Dean had worked hard, and had scraped every penny he owned together to pay Sam out for his share of the house. California was expensive, and Sam needed any money he could get.
To Sam’s amazement, Dean had kept the house. He couldn’t let it go, even though everyone had declared him bonkers for keeping it, including himself.
Yet, whenever Dean walked through the rooms, chasing the ghosts of the past, he felt at peace. Each corner told a story, and even the old nursery where the fire had broken out that led to his mom’s death, held a special place in his heart.
In his darkest moments, Dean liked to sit down where Sammy’s crib had stood all those years ago. No one needed to know about the moments he talked to his mother.
“Two weeks, Mom. Two weeks, and the deal’s up. Is it weird that I kinda want it? Geez, I don’t even know why. I don’t care for all the campy crap at a wedding, but I care for her. Do you think she’s the right one? I… Fuck, I wanna…”
Dean bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. As he took a deep breath, he counted to ten.
“It’s completely silly, but I just want to belong. I want…”
Tears pricked his eyes, and Dean brushed them away angrily.
“Goddammit, I’m sorry, Mom.”
Annoyed with himself and the whole world, Dean jumped to his feet and left the room on shaky legs. Downstairs, he grabbed his keys. He needed to get out and drive around aimlessly for several hours; but, when he opened the door, a mailman was knocking into thin air.
The guy startled and stared at him. “Mr. Winchester?”
“Yep. That’s me.” Dean grinned.
The mailman nodded. “Alright, I need you to sign here. It’s a recorded delivery.”
Dean frowned, but scratched his name on the screen of the guy’s smartphone before being handed an envelope that immediately stood out.
A little blue flower — the actual thing and not some cheap plastic knockoff — was glued to the ivory-colored paper. Something called to him, and Dean couldn’t resist brushing over the dried petals. It was a wonder that it had survived the delivery at all.
Captivated by the letter, Dean closed the door and turned the envelope in his hands, but nothing hinted at the sender. He was still frowning as he headed to the kitchen.
No one sent him scented envelopes, least of all to his home. He had a PO box for that. It was bad enough checking it on a regular basis to get everything important sent his way, though he couldn’t even remember the last time he had received anything at his house.
Everyone of importance knew that the chances of getting him there were next to zero, so no one bothered to send anything that way — until now.
He was still pondering over the weird letter when he cut it open. As he turned it over a single card slid out. His heart stopped as his eyes fell on the words, even though it seemed impossible to grasp their meaning.
“No,” he whispered. It couldn’t be…
SAVE THE DATE
Cas & Jo
YOU’RE INVITED
Disbelievingly, Dean shook his head. He turned the invite in his hand only to find the date and the groom’s full name: Castiel Emanuel Allen Novak.
For a short moment, he had hoped it was a hoax. Or another Jo, but there it was printed in black bold letters: Joanna Beth Harvelle.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean hissed as he finally found his words again.
He had no idea if it was intentional, but, then again, he knew her too well to assume it was an accident. After all, accidents didn’t happen accidentally.
Shellshocked, Dean grabbed his phone, and before being able to stop himself, his fingers moved on their own and Jo’s voice sounded from the other end of the line.
“You got it!” she beamed.
“Hello to you too,” Dean greeted her, trying to keep his dismay to himself, although it was a lost cause. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re messing with me. This was Sam’s idea, wasn’t it? It’s his kind of prank. Geez, I’ll kill that bitch if he ever moves his stupid ass back to Kansas.”
“You know that you can visit him in Cali, right?” Jo teased him. “Just get on a plane and—”
Dean shuddered. “I’m not setting a foot in one of those damn death traps. Not even over my dead body.”
Jo sighed. “Then drive. Or come here. He’s invited as well,” she said, and Dean’s blood froze, as the last shred of hope was crushed by her words.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “So, you and this, uh” —he glanced at the invite— “Castiel guy? Damn, that sounds like a mouthful.”
“He is,” Jo shot back, deadpan, and Dean almost choked on his own air.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean snapped and coughed. “Don’t do that.”
“What? Tying the knot?” She laughed. “Surprise! Sorry Dean, you’re too late. I already found the right guy.”
“Is this…” Dean didn’t dare ask, but he needed to know the answer. “The date.”
Jo’s laughter intensified. “I knew you’d like it. It’s perfect. Don’t you agree?”
The date. Their date.
Dean didn’t know what to say. Tears pricked his eyes, and his heart felt as if someone had ripped it from his body.
“So, uh, you… Intentionally?” he stuttered, and Jo fell silent.
“Of course not. You’re an idiot, Dean Winchester.” He heard her shrug. “You really think I’d do that to my best friend? It, uh, just happened. Cas’ birthday is on the 19th, so we picked the 18th. One more party to celebrate.”
Dean nodded.
“Ten years,” he eventually whispered under his breath. Ten years to the day.
Still, Jo heard him. “Goddammit, Dean. We were young, and stupid, and drunk. Damn, so fucking drunk. Did you really think…” She left the rest of the question unsaid, but the elephant in the room was just too big to ignore.
“Nah.” Dean laughed, and shook his head. He had been crazy to believe—
Everyone was better off without him, even Jo Harvelle. He managed a grin. “‘Course not. I’m happy for you.”
“Are you?” Jo asked, and Dean noticed the uncertainty beneath her words. It broke his already shattered heart.
So, he pulled himself together and pushed a smile onto his face, an actual smile. Because, deep inside, even though he loathed the thought of losing her to someone else, he was happy for her.
“Sure I am. Why shouldn’t I? You’re my best friend, but marrying you? Hell, no!” Dean chuckled. “Geez, we were so wasted that night. Glad you’re sparing me the wedding.”
He didn’t need to see her to know she stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, thanks, asshole.”
“You’re welcome, Joanna Beth.” Dean knew how much her full name annoyed her. No one but her mother used it, and that wasn’t even until Ellen was really, really pissed at her daughter.
“I hate you,” Jo grumbled and Dean laughed.
“So, you’re at home right now?” Jo asked. “In Lawrence, I mean,” she specified, all too aware that Dean rarely called any place his home at all.
After all, he had no home, and yet too many.
Dean frowned. “Sure am. That’s where you sent my invite,” he reminded her.
“Uh…” The subsequent pause spoke volumes. “Not quite.” Jo chuckled. “Mom got yours as well, as did Bobby. I might have also sent an extra one to Donna, just to be sure. They all got theirs anyway. Oh, and one went straight to your PO box.”
“Damn, you’re thorough,” Dean grumbled appreciatively.
“Course I am. I need you.”
“What?” Dean blurted out.
“Swing your sorry ass up here, asap,” Jo stated.
It only added to Dean’s confusion. “Asap? As in now?” he asked and blinked, bewildered.
Jo sighed. “As in yesterday, Winchester. You’re gonna be my Maid of Honor.”
“Maid of Honor?” Dean echoed. He must have misheard. Since when… “You’re aware I’m not a maid, right? And I’m certainly not—”
“Goddammit, Dean. I know. I was there. Remember?” Jo grouched.
“Do you?” Dean wiggled his brows.
“Yep, I do,” Jo said, deadpan. “It was terrible—”
“Hey! You liked it,” Dean protested, but Jo ignored him.
“—yet perfect,” she added. “And I wouldn’t have wanted to share it with anyone other than you, asshole.”
Dean snickered. “God, remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“You can start now,” Jo said. “Come up here, and you’re good… And don't you dare roll your eyes at me, Dean Winchester.”
Dean gulped. How did she know that he had just done that? The constant wafts of perfume and make-up must have messed with her senses. New York had turned her into a goddamn psychic.
“I’m not a psychic. I’m just your best friend,” she answered his musings. “And I really, really need you here. You'll be the only sensible person around.”
“Hey, don't blame me for that,” Dean snapped. “It ain’t my fault you got all famous. You're the one who left Nebraska to have her picture literally everywhere. You weren’t made for high society.”
Jo huffed. “And you think that's what I wanted?”
“How should I know?” Dean shot back even though he knew better. He didn’t even know if it was still their usual banter, or if the hurt he had felt when Jo went East broke through. Back then, he had been so happy for her, but his best friend was the last person he had expected to go big.
Jo Harvelle — model, singer, artist, and the darling of New York.
“After all, I ain’t the one marrying into big money,” Dean concluded.
“What? I didn’t tell you anything about Cas. How do you—”
“A guy named Castiel Emanuel Allen Novak? Seriously, Jo?” Dean grumbled. “That name screams rich and powerful.”
“Touché.” She laughed. “Yeah, he is. But you’re gonna love him. Cas is—” Jo sighed and Dean imagined heart eyes over her head. “He’s awesome. A dork, but the lovable kind.”
“A lovable dork? Really?” Dean rolled his eyes. That already sounded like the perfect match for misery.
“Hey!” Jo protested. “Is that so implausible? Look at you!”
Dean blinked. “Me? Why?” he asked, when Jo’s words finally sunk in. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh! And that's exactly why I need you,” Jo went on.
“Because I’m a dork?” Dean asked, puzzled. His head swam. Jo managed to fan his confusion each time he thought he had finally caught up.
“No, idiot,” she groaned. “Because you’re anything but big money. Do you think Mom or Bobby would feel at ease at a jetset event? I need you to—”
And finally, Dean got it. “Son of a bitch!” He chuckled. “You must be out of your fucking mind. Me? Supervising your wedding planner?”
“No, Dean,” Jo sighed, and Dean knew her patience might snap any moment. “I just want you to work with her. Help her. Give her some outside perspective.”
Dean huffed. “I get it. I’m supposed to be the country bumpkin to stop her from going all over the top.”
“That’s not…” Jo protested, but then she stopped. “Well, actually, you ain’t wrong.”
Dean laughed.
“Don't worry, she's great,” Jo reassured him. “You'll love her!”
“Now you wanna set me up too?” Dean quipped. “Isn’t it enough to be your Maid of Honor? You’re throwing me at the wedding planner as a fucking consolation gift? Hell no!”
Something in his tone must have given him away, and, for a moment, Jo stayed silent.
When she spoke again, her voice was soft, and Dean immediately hated it. “Did you really think— I’m sorry. I thought you’d long forgotten about it. We were so wasted that night and—”
Being found out, Dean felt miserable. “Don't. Just stop. I—” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before pushing a grin onto his face. “Let’s forget about it. You’re getting married. That’s fucking awesome. And if you throw me at your wedding planner—”
“Which I won’t. I want you to work with her. That’s all. Please. Give me this.”
Dean scratched the back of his head. “Damn, I didn’t have that on my bingo card. Jo Harvelle begging me to throw her a wedding.”
And it worked. She knew him too well. Dean’s ambition was aroused because he could never ignore a good challenge.
Besides, perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone. What if he failed? What if he failed and ruined that Cas guy’s big wedding while getting Jo to notice him, for real this time. It was one thing for her to marry, but another thing to do so on their day.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Dean agreed. “But just for you. I’ll even work together with your goddamn wedding planner,” he conceded and massaged his temples. “Goddammit, what the hell are you doing to me?”
Jo chuckled. “Told you, you’ll love her. She’s awesome.”
“Goddammit, Jo. How often do I have to tell you I ain’t interested?” Dean snapped.
Jo’s chuckling turned into a full belly laugh when she burst out, “So not a problem. Charlie’s a lesbian if you ever met one. Good luck trying to seduce her. Even you'll have zero shots at success. Trust me, not even the flirtiest Dean Winchester will be able to sway her. Not the tiniest bit.”
“Fuck you, Joanna Beth!” Dean grouched. “How do you know I’d be interested anyway? And that I ain’t seeing anyone right now?”
“You aren’t,” Jo stated matter-of-factly.
Dean huffed. “I could be. After all, you did. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” he asked while hurt bubbled inside him. “I’m your best friend!”
Not only had Jo kept her engagement from him, she hadn’t even told him about her boyfriend either.
Castiel.
What a stupid name. It sounded like money, knitted polo shirts, and tailored business suits.
Dean hated it, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. No. He would fight for Jo. What right had some pompous, rich dude who had probably never worked a day in his life, to ask Dean’s best friend for her hand?
“You never asked. And it was all so fresh,” Jo said, and pulled Dean from his spiraling thoughts.
“Yeah, sure.” Dean huffed. “You’re fucking marrying that guy, for God’s sake. And you’re only telling me now?!”
“Yes, I am. Because I still can’t believe it myself. I’m getting married. Isn’t that awesome?” Jo paused. “What do you think? And be honest, because otherwise I’ll come to Kansas and haunt your sorry ass. Will Mom be angry?”
Dean gaped. His kitchen turned into a void as he tried to process the information. “You serious?” he finally blurted out. “You’re telling me that Ellen doesn’t know? You didn’t even bother to tell her before you sent out the invites? That’s huge. Dude, you’re up shit creek. You’re so fucked.”
He hadn’t even recovered from the shock when Jo detonated the next bomb. “That’s exactly why I need you. Asap. Your flight leaves in three hours.”
Blood rushed in Dean’s ears, and the world started to sway. One word, and panic filled him. He grabbed onto the nearest chair to keep upright while vertigo swept over him. Breathing became impossible, and only when he used some techniques that had helped before, did Dean manage to calm down.
“Nope.” His knuckles whitened around the back rest, but at least he was able to breathe. “No way. I won’t—”
“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Jo argued. “You’ll be in the air for less than three hours. It’s nothing.”
Nothing. She must be out of her fucking mind. Nothing…
That stupid wedding was messing with her head because the Jo Dean knew — his best friend — would never…
“Over my dead body,” Dean grumbled and grasped at his car keys as if they were a fucking lifeline. The cold steel soothed his racing heart, and he concentrated on the key’s teeth cutting into his palm. “I love you, but no. You can’t do that to me.” Not after the first shock that had shattered Dean’s future. “I’ll be with you in less than twenty four hours. Then we’ll talk.”
“No, Dean, don’t—”
Dean lifted the phone from his ear and held it as far away as possible. He didn’t need to hear Jo ranting.
After a while, he pulled it back, only to realize Jo was still talking.
“You’re done now?” he asked with a grumble.
“You’re an asshole, Winchester,” Jo shot back.
“I know. Nothing new there. Either I take my Baby, or I walk. I don’t care. Your choice,” Dean said, and Jo laughed.
“You hate walking.”
Dean grinned as he sounded the death knell on Jo’s plans. “But I hate flying more.”
“Damn you,” Jo caved in. “Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you. And if you—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there,” Dean said, presenting her a peace offering. “My best friend is tying the knot. Do you really think I’ll miss that?”
“Awesome. I can’t do it without you. After all, you’re my perfect Maid of Honor.”
Dean growled, but Jo’s laughter only increased.
“Just don’t be late,” she reminded him.
“Am I ever?” Dean answered with a huff, and Jo’s chuckling stayed a little longer with him until she ended the call.
When the line went dead, Dean allowed himself to relax. At least the nightmarish prospect of a plane had passed by. He wasn’t looking forward to a day on the road with nothing but his already spiraling thoughts, but it would give him some time to prepare his strategy.
Castiel Novak would never marry Jo. Dean would make sure of it. All he needed to do was to call the guy’s bluff. No one was good enough for Jo. Neither was Dean, but he had called dibs on her, and she on him. It might have been a stupid deal they had made a lifetime ago, yet it was his deal.
Even though Dean hadn’t thought of it for years or considered Jo an option until recently because she was way out of his league, the closer they got to the date, the more he had wanted it. And he wouldn’t let his future be destroyed by a goddamn millionaire who had materialized out of the blue.
Because that was all that Castiel Novak was. The flowery invite, the big New York wedding, crossing Jo’s circles — the guy was loaded, and Jo hadn’t even denied it.
Dean hated the guy’s guts already. Which meant he would drive to New York and play the fucking Maid of Honor, until he had opened Jo’s eyes about her fiancé. Dean would expose Castiel, and prevent the wedding from ever happening.
Within an hour, Dean was on the road. When the engine of his beloved ‘67 Impala roared, The Battle of Evermore sounded from the speakers, and miles of asphalt already lay behind him, he felt free.
That was his life — the only home he knew —yet for the next few weeks, he would stay in New York and play a game that he couldn’t win, unless he cheated. He would do everything to turn the fates to his side.
Dean would stop the wedding and prevent Castiel from marrying his best friend. Whatever it took, he would see to it that it never came down to that.