Work Text:
All his life long, Dean grew up being taught contradictory things. Angels were watching over him when he sleeps and at the same time, how they didn’t even exist. Mom and dad taught him that. Don’t trust anyone too much and follow your heart, fill it with love, naturally dad and mom, in that order. And most importantly, God hates faggots like him and God doesn’t care what the people do—both his dad, his mom wasn’t around for that anymore.
When he grew up under his father’s wing, he didn’t dare question his orders nor his knowledge. What dad said, he’d do without hesitance, no questions asked.
He tried to be so much like him, to not disappoint his dad, to not get into trouble again and again. Sammy, though, he was allowed to be his own person, he needn’t to be like dad and needn't be a soldier, because Dean shielded him from that fate and ultimately from their dad.
That’s what the older brother does—he takes all the burdens, he takes the blame and he won’t ever complain and he will never fail his family. He's the only soldier needed.
Dean loves his family, and still to this very day, even though John is long gone and he understood that not all his dad taught him was set in stone, he unconsciously obeys his father’s and mother’s rules still.
Habits die hard, supposedly. Especially if they're life lessons connected to his angry father drilling simple facts into his head over and over.
These rules gift him comfort and reassurance, even if they aren't meant to be.
Because, whenever he’s frightful and finds himself having trouble to sleep, he feels an angel watching over him but anytime he meets them personally, and they act worse than any human being, he cannot believe they truly exist.
Because whenever he meets someone new, his first instincts are to test if they react badly to silver or iron and always carries salt with him, in his too-large jacket. Following his heart though, that has proven to be harder. Sure, he denied Michael his body over and over, he eats what he likes whenever he feels like it and he enjoys his life of sex with wonderful women, but the one thing his heart aches for, that is off-limits by another rule.
Despite his father’s passing and his realization, that he hadn’t been the perfect dad to neither of them, Dean’s normal, still.
He’s pissing God off enough with his sole existence, probably. Now that he has been resurrected by the guy, curses at Him unintentionally every day and God-knows what else blasphemous he gets up to in his free time, he doesn’t want to indulge in more sin.
Following his own heart meant for Dean, that he would finally dare to ask Castiel out on a date and disregard every rational thought about dating an angel of the Lord.
Obeying his dad’s orders meant for Dean, to suck it up like the soldier he is and not talk about gay, whiny feelings—being a man.
Dean yawns, only because he’s alone for once and allows himself to be vulnerable for a few seconds, and tiredly lays his head against the wall outside the motel, as he sits on the cold ground. Sam was spending the night in the library for research, while Dean was supposed to sleep—he drove the Impala through the entire night and day to arrive fast in the newest haunted city.
He couldn’t fall asleep.
Not with his heart so heavy of hate and rage. He doesn’t act a lot on this feeling inside him, he’s been told to keep a poker-face at all times and not act on emotions but instead on logic. Though he fails at that oftentimes anyhow, he tries to keep his anger at bay at least. It’s enough if one of them is always angry and sad, there’s no use for two angry brothers.
But one happy one and a sad one? That’s the team dynamic you see in every good movie, that’s something at least. This way, he can take care of his little brother. This way, he's strong enough for the two of them.
Dean stays happy, so his little brother can be whatever he wants to be, to his heart’s desires.
That’s fine for him. That's how it should be.
As he's watching the busy street in front of him, he wonders if that rage could ever disappear on its own. He knows why it’s there—he remembers when it first was planted deep inside him and never left him after. He knows how he could stop it, potentially, but it wasn't worth it.
The day John and Dean finished a job together—his dad finally allowed to him to join for one of the first times—and the entire town came to thank them, with a few sexy ladies gratefully throwing themselves at the two of them, age-appropriately.
Dean, obviously, was exhilarated by all that attention, but the one person beside his dad he had wanted to impress with his incredible hunting skills—the guy he met in the bar a few days prior—was still disinterested in him, not wanting anything from him.
This was his moment, Dean thought to himself then, we’ll bond by talking about how to talk up a person for a hot night, like men do. He and his dad will finally be more like peers, partners in crime than soldier and his teacher. Maybe someday even father and son.
So, he turned to his dad, explained the situation and was met with the sternest expression on his dad’s face for a long time. He seemed angrier than when Dean accidentally dropped the salt mid-run and got both of them injured by the spirit that chased them. He had been 9 and the spirit’s guts were spilling out of it—it looked so disgusting and scary—but he still should’ve known better than to lose his temper and freak out.
So, his father took him by the elbow and dragged him back into the Impala.
Young Dean wasn’t sure what had upset his father so much. For the first moments inside the car, he thought he maybe made a mistake during the hunt and was about to get, what he deserved, but his father didn’t yell. He sighed exasperatedly elongated, until it turned into a nearly heartfelt chuckle.
Dean was scared, not visibly, obviously, but internally. What if something was possessing his dad in this moment? What was he to do? He felt himself reach for the necklace around his throat, he played with it and silently watched his dad for signs.
“Dean, boy.”, John catches himself, “You are my boy, right?”, he asks a bit more seriously.
Hastily, Dean nodded. Of course he was. “Yes, sir.”, Dean replies, letting go of the necklace.
“Then act like it. If you want to become a man, you can’t love another man, do you get that? That’s… stupid.”, his dad shakes his head, “Son, I’m trying to protect you. Okay?”
Dean pressed himself against the seat, “Protect me from what…?”, he asks, hoping there wasn’t insecurity and uncertainty in his voice, that would agitate his father any further.
His dad patted him on the shoulder and then held him tight, pulling him closer by it, “From God’s wrath. You see, son, He created Man and Woman. We shouldn’t disobey that gift of existence, right? You’re not a faggot, are you, son?”
Dean looks his dad deep in his eyes, “No, sir.”, he whispers.
“Say it. Loud.”, John tells him, his hand shaking the fabric of Dean’s torn-up shirt.
“I’m a man! I’m not a faggot! … Sir.”, Dean yells without hesitation, even if his heart shrivelled just a tad up inside his chest.
Dean likes women.
He’s normal.
He's a man.
“Dean.”, Castiel’s voice sounds from right next to him. Dean jumps, standing up from where he was sitting. Castiel had scared him so much, the gun in his pocket was already in his hand, hidden behind the jacket's fabric. He lets go of it immediately and only feels the tiniest bit guilt for aiming it at him so fast.
Dean rubs his face with his free hand, to cover up his fright, “Jesus, ever heard of knocking?”, he jokingly asks, nervously chuckling.
Castiel tilts his head to his right side, his eyes studying Dean’s, “You prayed for me.”, he states.
“I’d know if I did. And I didn’t.”, Dean says defensively, but deep down, he suspects that in fact, all he ever can think about is Castiel.
Castiel looks at him longer, then he looks around, “Where’s Sam?”
“Library.”, Dean replies, trying to hold back another yawn. Castiel nods at him. “What are you still doing here?”, Dean asks, unnerved. Usually, he'd been gone by now.
“I can go, if you want me to. I just thought you… had your reason for calling me down.”, Castiel answers truthfully.
Dean swallows, “Didn’t call you. Anyway, I should better hit the hay. Don’t trouble yourself with staying, no worries.”
“Trouble? I enjoy my visits here to Earth. I appreciate the human race, unlike my siblings.”, Castiel softly smiles.
Dean frowns, “Right.” He’s had enough religion for today.
“Something’s wrong.”, Castiel states. Dean’s eyes widen for a second until he covers it. What gave him away? Dean shakes his head, “No, no. I’m just … peachy.”
“I’m not sure how to…”, he gestures vaguely at Dean, “how to deal with … human emotion. But I can…listen?”, Castiel helplessly suggests. He tries to make an afford at least, to make Dean and Sam stay. They’re good friends, despite everything they’re doing. And before Castiel realised, they grew close to his non-existent heart.
Dean takes a step back, “Not sure you want to hear it.”, he looks behind him quickly, to find the door to the motel room. He was totally planning on running away, hiding and praying to fall asleep. At the same time, Castiel was the perfect person to talk to about this, wasn’t he? He could tell Dean the truth. He bites on his lip, contemplating, while staring at Castiel.
Castiel turns around, he was about to leave when Dean told him to stop. “Hold on. I… do have one question.”, he tells him. Castiel, noddingly, turns around again, waiting for Dean to pose it.
Dean hesitates, he looks around the empty parking lot and the still busy street. He curls his hand into a fist and growls, “Inside?”, he requests and opens the door, before Castiel could even think about refusing.
Castiel follows him, unbothered, with his hands in his coat-pockets.
Dean fights internally, if he should really ask. It was embarrassing. It was scary to finally know the truth.
Nervous, he sits himself on the edge of the bed next to the door. Castiel stands right before him, looking down at him. “Sit down too, please.”, Dean asks him, because an angel, a warrior of the lord, standing above him, made the situation worse. What he meant was, that Castiel should take a chair and sit in front of him, instead, he sat down next to Dean on the bed.
As he places his body on the right side of Dean, he feels the bed’s mattress lowering itself a bit.
Dean sighs. What else did he expect from someone as socially awkward as Castiel?
He faces the front, avoiding the piercing eyes of his angel friend.
“Don’t laugh, though.”, Dean further requests. “Please.”
Castiel nods, but was unsure if Dean was able to catch it, “I won’t.”, he reassures him.
“Does God hate faggots?”, he asks, trying to say it as fast as possible, because it feels dangerous to even ask but also trying to be coherent enough, so, he doesn’t need to repeat the question ashamed.
Dean doesn’t dare to look at Castiel. He must be laughing. Because to an angel, it all makes sense, right? Castiel knows the bible inside out, and even further religious texts. They’re implemented inside his head, to him, this was as if asking, if God exists.
But the answer didn’t come.
After a few seconds of utter silence, Castiel clears his throat, “Why are you asking, Dean?”
“Not everyday I can ask an angel, can I?”, Dean tries to play it sheepishly off. He looks back into Castiel’s eyes and they were all his heart had missed. He didn’t feel so rageful now, in this very moment.
Castiel licks his lips, “I mean, why do you care what God thinks now?”
Dean was silent. Of course, Castiel doesn’t understand. If God really hates all faggots, his dad was a nice man, to make Dean aware of his faultiness and it might’ve saved his ass from eternal torture, until he sold his soul, like his dad did. Then, it would’ve meant, that his father really did care about Dean to such an extent, he didn’t want hell for his other son. It meant, he saw more in Dean than a soldier he had trained to be his obedient companion if the occasion fit—it meant, he was his father’s son and not his weapon.
“I’m just curious.”, Dean cuts himself short.
Castiel sees his troubled soul inside Dean wiggling, and scratching at its confinement. From the first time he had lain eyes on Dean Winchester and dragged him back from hell with his own hands, he knew that Dean was more complex than he acted. There was rage inside that pure soul that Castiel realised was placed there by his father. He could look into Dean’s past, his thoughts, all of it, but he doesn’t, normally, because he realised it was inappropriate.
“Is this about my father, Dean, or yours, of whose hate you’re afraid of?”, Castiel honestly asks, hoping he didn’t overstep.
Dean groans and stands up, leaving Castiel sitting on the bed alone, “This was stupid.”, he decides and doesn’t turn around again.
Castiel looks at the back of Dean’s head, as he thinks about the question deeply. At least an entire minute goes by, quietly, until Castiel breaks it, “The bible says the sin and the sinner are to be differentiated from each other. God loves all humans equally, for they are His favourite creation, Dean.”
Castiel stands up too now, he wanted to at least catch a glimpse of Dean’s face, but wasn’t able to. “So, it’s a sin.”, Dean chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t stop himself from chuckling and ever so slowly he turns to look at the confused Castiel, “I’m not sure.”, he confesses.
Dean continues laughing upon hearing that, “Great.”, he smirks and rubs his face with one hand again.
“Why are you laughing?”, Castiel finally dares to ask.
Dean snaps out of it, “Why would God create humans, love them all equally, but make some of them … evil from birth?”
Castiel was overwhelmed by the question, “Are you talking about Sam? He wasn’t born-“
“I’m talking about myself, Cas.”, Dean breaks him up, yelling agitated.
Castiel stays silent, his eyes squeezed to determine what Dean meant. “You’re not evil.”, he says, still confused.
“Oh, but I am.”, Dean shrugs, “Believe me, I am.”, there was still a smile painted on his face. It was contradicting, how was he smiling and yelling angrily at the same time? Castiel wasn’t sure what was going on, but he tried to comfort Dean anyway, “Why, I think you’re a good person, Dean. You safe people, you care about them—about your brother.”
“Don’t say that.”, Dean growls, “You’ll stain yourself, if you do.”
Castiel walks up to Dean, “Stain? With what?”
“Sin.”, Dean explains, his eyes started filling with water sooner than later, he hated it.
“Then stain me, I don’t care. I left heaven for you once, Dean. If you’re evil, then so am I.”, Castiel decides.
Dean closes his eyes tight, he wanted to chuckle again, but instead a sob escaped his lips. “You don’t get it. You just don’t.”, Dean whispers, not daring to open his eyes just yet.
“Try me.”, Castiel takes another step towards Dean, waiting patiently for Dean to open his eyes again to speak once more, “I’m a faggot, Cas. I’m…not normal. I tried to be, really, but…,”, Dean looks to the ground and takes a step back, unable to face Castiel, “I tried to just like girls. And it worked. But now…, I can’t control my heart anymore. It’s unbearable to. Why did God create me, knowing I would feel like this? Would feel like He’ll always hate me most, and dangle the thing I can’t have right in front of me? Why—why me?”, and at last, he points to himself, gripping into his own shirt and looks back into Castiel’s eyes.
Castiel’s mouth was agape and he stopped blinking.
Dean scoffs, “Why, would He create me, knowing out of all the people in the world, I’d fall in love with one of his precious angel warriors?”
“Who?”, Castiel immediately asks. He had been too stunned to speak before, but this made him return back into reality fast, nearly instinctively and protective.
Dean rolls his eyes at Castiel, “You really don’t get it.”
“What? Who is it?”, Castiel asks again.
“Don’t make me say it, Cas.”, Dean frowns, “Don’t let me drag you to hell with me.”
This made Castiel understand. He bites his tongue, instead he looks Dean up and down before taking in a deep breath, “God loves all humans equally.” He knows that Dean doesn’t want reciprocated feelings, he wants comfort. That comes first. If it costs him everything, he won’t act on his thoughts, he’ll continue to act clueless, for Dean’s benefit.
“But I still get to burn in hell for being myself. Fun. Yeah, I really feel all that good love.”, Dean sarcastically counters.
Castiel studies him, carefully walking up to Dean, until their chests nearly touch, “It was never said if God’s love is good, nor if He still has the same opinions from then. But neither matters, Dean.”
“Why wouldn’t it matter?”, Dean asks, this time not backing away. He felt too intoxicated to leave. He hated that he couldn’t move, that he was so fragile and stupid and sinful.
“If God sends you to hell Himself, I’ll pull you up to the heavens, Dean. You’re a good man and you…”, Castiel trails off, he was pondering whether he should say it, “…, you deserve good love.”, he finishes.
Dean was breathing heavily, “Huh?”
Castiel swallows. He’s never done this before, but he needs to try. Maybe if he showed Dean, that he as an angel fell into the same sin as him, he’d feel better. Dean always takes care of everyone around him, it was Castiel’s time to take care of Dean—or at least try to.
Castiel reaches to hold Dean’s hair with his right hand, he pushes Dean’s head down to his own height and kisses him without hesitation.
This was Castiel’s second ever kiss and he felt horribly anxious that he misremembered what the pizza man had done, and he’d fail. By the way Dean was shaking against his touch, he thought himself to be a horrible kisser but after the initial first moments, Dean kissed Castiel back.
He was shaking all over still, and Castiel felt the urge to wrap his other arm around Dean’s shoulder, to comfort him further, but as soon as he had held onto the fabric of the shirt, Dean snapped out of it.
He pushed Castiel away. Dean gasps for air, he shakes his head repeatedly, “No, no.”, he whispers, unable to believe what happened—what Dean let happen. He doomed them both, didn’t he?
“This isn’t…okay.”, Dean frowns in disgust, “This isn’t normal, Castiel. Why would you…, ever do that?”, he breathes in and out, angrily, and tries to wipe away Castiel’s taste on his lips. “You don’t know, what it’s like down there, Castiel. Hell, it’s hell! And you’re an angel! They’ll eat you up for demon-breakfast.”
Castiel was genuinely surprised. He didn’t expect this reaction.
“Dean, why are you angry?”, Castiel rationally asks. Nothing was after them, no hellhound nor was there any wrath of God.
Dean was fuming, “Because this is wrong! You should know that, angel.”, he says derogatory.
Castiel licks his lips—he was feeling hungry and dissatisfied.
“I love you, Dean.”, Castiel declares, thinking it the only way to get Dean back to clarity.
Dean belches and hurriedly walks towards Castiel. He pushes him against the wall, and Castiel lets him do it. Dean looks him in the eyes, anger finally spilling, “I’m not a faggot, if I can help it.”, he growls, still panting.
“I don’t care what God thinks, Dean. I don’t care if I end up in hell—as long as I’ll continue to live and even after, I’ll love you. If God created you, there is a reason for you to exist. If through fate, God let us meet, and believe me, I know Fate, then He knew I’d fall for you, because He created me with these desires.”, Castiel states.
Dean’s lips were quivering, his hand gripping tightly onto Castiel’s shirt. “Stop saying it.”, he whispers.
“Say what? That I love you?”, Castiel smilingly wonders.
Dean looks away, “Yeah, that. Stop it.”
“But I do love you. And I think I like saying it.”, Castiel shrugs. “I love you, Dean.”
Dean pins him harder against the wall until he can’t bear it anymore. He kisses Castiel, making him stop saying it. He kisses him hard, and even harder, he holds onto Castiel’s body. He was doing this. This was real and not a dream, like all the many before. It was happening. He was doomed.
But why didn’t he feel that doom? That immediate doom when you know you did wrong?
“Stop saying it.”, Dean manages to croak, when he stopped kissing him to breathe. When he saw Castiel’s mouth open, he decided that air was only the second-most important thing and kissed him again. Still, Castiel wasn’t put down that easy. He also doesn’t appreciate the disrespect. Therefor, he flips them around, as simple as that, and leans his head next to Dean’s ear, “I love you, and I’ll say it whenever I want.”, he tells Dean, nearly as if a threat.
They stopped, to look into each other’s eyes again. There wasn’t as much hate anymore inside Dean’s soul.
“Aren’t you scared?”, Dean whispers, holding onto Castiel’s shoulders.
Castiel shrugs, “God has been absent long enough. I think, it’s finally time for me to accept that. Our fathers, Dean, they don’t define us. They don’t make the rules for eternity. We’re the future generation and it’s up to us, to make it ours.”
Dean softly and unsurely smiles, “Didn’t know you were this sappy.”
Castiel grins, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, it seems.”
Dean had the urge to relentlessly, mercilessly flirt with Castiel like how he had been flirting with women all these years, but after all, he still felt too uncertain—too scared. He was just John Winchester’s little boy, but to him, he had never been one. Sam was John’s boy, not Dean. And it was time, he accepted that.
