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Summary:

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just . . .” God he hates the thought of saying this, but he needs some time. “Cas, I know we’ve . . . gotten used to a certain level of comfort at home, and I—I love that. Being able to kiss you, and cuddle with you, and emotionally scar Sam with PDAs, it’s important to me. But my mom and dad and Bobby—”

“They don’t know you’re bisexual. I understand, Dean.”

“Just—just for a little while,” he says quietly. “If we could keep it behind closed doors, or when they’re not around. Just until I figure out how to tell them. I just need time.”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is soothing through the phone. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me."

 

Or: instead of just bringing Mary back, Amara brings back a bunch of Dean's family (Charlie and Bobby are his family I will take no arguments on this fact), and chaos and angst ensues

Notes:

title stolen once again from Rina Sawayama's song Chosen Family because it's a goddamn good line and also because I refuse to process spn as being about anything other than found family even though some of the family is actually by blood (although I sort of feel like the concept of found family actually makes the good bonds between blood family even stronger because instead of just being, like, stuck with them, you're actively choosing them, but I digress! that is not relevant!)

anyways if I missed anyone really obvious, my apologies I probably forgot they were dead

also this is my first time posting a fic chapter by chapter, so we'll see how it goes, but I'm pretty dedicated to writing it this month I think, and I have a pretty clear idea in my mind of how it's gonna go, so fingers crossed it doesn't end up an epic inconsistent failure

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Mom?” The word seems to fall out of his lips without giving him any say in the matter, voice coloured with shock. When Amara had said—he hadn’t know what she’d meant, and yet somehow this makes sense. In the messed up inside-out sort of way that anything makes sense anymore, it makes sense. But it’s—it’s his mom, and the last time he’d seen her, or the version of her that was older than he’d met when he time-travelled at least, had been the result of a venom-induced hallucination, so the hope catches in his throat. “I, uh . . . are you . . . really . . . real?”

Almost in a trance, he finds himself reaching out for her, as if he needs some physical, tangible proof that it’s her and not just some illusion, as if her having a physical presence would even really mean much.

Then he’s being flipped on his back, and her foot is on his neck. And that feels real. That feels like a hunter’s instinct. And if this were some sort of trick, he doubts she’d be Mary the hunter, she’d be Mary the mother.

So. Maybe. Maybe it’s real.

“Where am I? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Dean,” he manages to get out. “Winchester. I’m your—”

Before he can finish the sentence, he hears another voice, a painfully familiar one that stops them both in their tracks.

Mary?”

“John?” Her hold on him loosens just a little, but he’s fairly sure that if he tries to move even a fraction of an inch, she’ll notice and probably kick his ass. “I—what’s going on, John? You look . . . older.”

“I—Mary. What . . . how . . .? How are you—” Dean can’t see him, but he thinks it must be then that his father notices him, because suddenly something shifts. “You’re not Mary. Get away from my son.”

“Of course I’m—” Dean can hear the second the rest of John’s sentence catches up to her. “Your what?”

The pressure leaves Dean’s neck, and he quickly scrambles to his feet and puts himself between his parents. “Dad. Dad. Whoah. It’s okay, I think it’s—I think it’s really her.”

“She’s dead, Dean.” It’s been a long time since Dean has heard that bitterness. John seems to finally get a good look at him, and then his eyebrows shoot up. “Why do you look older?”

How do you break it to someone that they’ve been dead for ten years? That’s hardly a casual bombshell to drop. He’s floundering, trying to figure out where to even begin, when another voice speaks from the shadows.

“You died too, dumbass.”

Bobby?” Dean’s pretty sure his voice cracks a little on that name, and he turns toward the voice to see Bobby standing in the dim light next to the trees—and right behind him, “Charlie?”

“‘Sup,” she says, and it’s so ridiculously out of place Dean almosts laughs. Then she wrinkles her nose and glances around the dark park. “I’m, like, fairly sure I died, so I’m going to hazard a guess and say everyone here is supposed to be dead? Except maybe you, Dean, because you sort of seem like you know what’s going on. And also I doubt Cas would let you die.”

“What’d you do, ya idjit?” Bobby asks, and Dean could cry at how familiar the insult is. “‘Cause bringing Sam back sometimes, okay, but last time we saw something powerful enough to bring back a bunch of people at once, they turned into goddamn zombies.”

“This isn’t like that,” Dean says quickly. It’s not that he entirely trusts Amara, but he’s fairly sure her intentions were good, and she certainly has the power to do this properly. "And I didn't do anything."

He can tell Bobby is about to argue—which, okay, if Dean were in his shoes he’d be pretty damn suspicious too—but before he can, Mary is exclaiming, “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Everyone turns to face her, and John moves to her side. “You died, Mary,” he says, voice rough with emotions Dean has never heard from his father before. “A demon killed you. I spent a long goddamn time chasing that son of a bitch, but I never got to see it through.”

“Sam and I did,” Dean says. “He’s dead.”

“Good,” John says, voice hard. “So, Sam, he—”

Dean feels something hardening in his chest at his brother’s name in his father’s mouth. There’s a touch of ice in his voice when he says, “Sam turned out great. He’s the best goddamn man I know.”

“I’m glad,” John says, and Dean sort of wants to punch him as much as he wants to hug him, and he’s glad when Mary saves him from having to respond at all.

“This demon . . . he had yellow eyes, didn’t he?” John and Dean both nod in unison. “I think it’s coming back to me now. He was in Sam’s nursery . . .?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “You . . . you got in the way, I guess. It’s a bit of a long story, and I can explain later—” Because honestly he’s not going to be the one who deals with the fall-out of his dad finding out she’d made a demon deal. “—but, uh. Yeah he’s dead now.”

“Good,” Mary says, much the same way John had a minute before. “That creep.”

“What I want to know,” Bobby interjects, grumpy as always, “is how we all ended up alive. Because this sorta thing never goes well, not unless you’ve got some real powerful benevolent creature on your side since I’ve been gone. How long have I been gone, anyways?”

“It’s 2016,” Dean says. “And, uh, well this is gonna sound less and less believable the longer you’ve been gone, but. God’s sister brought you back because I helped her make up with god and she wanted to repay me.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying—god exists?” Mary sounds vaguely like she can’t decide whether to pass out or just to stab everyone here and run as far as she can go.

“I can get behind god existing, but since when’s he got a sister?” Bobby asks.

“They were estranged.”

“I thought god wasn’t even around,” Charlie interjects.

“Turns out he was, uh, closer than we realized,” Dean says. Honestly he’s still a little pissed off about that whole thing. “Pretended to be human and went by the name of Chuck Shurley.”

Charlie snorts, and he glares at her, which doesn’t deter her at all. “I’m sorry, I just—you’re telling me god himself wrote books about you, just for kicks? God dated the girl who wrote—”

“I regret ever having told you about that,” Dean says, loudly enough to cut her off. “Anyways, point is, we destroyed the mark of Cain, apparently the mark was what sealed Amara—his sister—into her cage, she got out, tried to destroy the universe, and then ended up hugging it out with him and heading off to outer space or something. It’s been a crazy year.”

Bobby, John, and Mary all stare at him with vaguely shellshocked expressions, but Charlie just pumps her fist. “So you did destroy it? Hell yeah. I didn’t die for nothing!”

“Okay,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand across his face and shooting Charlie what he hopes is an appreciative look. “How about I do some tests on you all real quick—silver, holy water, the basics—and then I’m gonna call Sam and let him know I’m alive. Then we can hijack a car and I’ll explain everything else on the way home.”

Everyone agrees, and Dean quickly pulls out the silver knife and flask of holy water he’s got on his belt, relieved he hadn’t had time to think to leave it behind before facing Amara.

When he gets to his mom, she gives him a sad look.

“So you’re a hunter.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, swallowing hard. “Dad raised Sammy and I to it. I know it’s—it’s not what you wanted for us, but we turned out alright.”

Her eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”

“. . . time travel.”

“Right.” Her voice is strained. “Time travel. Makes sense.”

Once he’s done—everyone seems to be human, which is reassuring but not particularly surprising—he steps out of earshot to make the call. His parents are standing next to each other, but they don’t seem to be speaking. Charlie is gesturing broadly as she says something to Bobby—who looks vaguely bemused—and he’s pretty sure she’s filling him in on some of what he missed.

He tries Sam three times, but there’s no answer, which is sort of freaking him the fuck out, but he does his best to keep his breathing steady as he tries Cas instead.

Cas, thankfully, picks up after a few rings.

“Dean?” he asks, voice ragged.

“Cas, is everything okay? Sam’s not answering and you sound—”

“We thought you were dead, Dean! Sam’s having a breakdown, and from the sound of it possibly trashing his room, but he’ll be fine. And I—I was—I didn’t know what to do, Dean, and then I saw your name on the phone and I just—”

“Cas are you crying?” It would explain why his voice sounds the way it does, but Dean’s not sure if he’s ever seen Cas cry—if angels even can cry.

“No,” comes the muffled voice through the phone.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, trying not to let the sudden surge of emotion show in his own voice. For Cas to . . . to care so much about the idea of Dean being gone, that’s . . . it shouldn’t be a surprise, but somehow it takes him aback anyways.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean almost staggers backward at the intensity of that. They’ve been skating around it all year, hiding it under I really like you’s and I want to be with you’s and you’re everything’s, and it’s not like the feeling wasn’t there, but neither of them ever quite seemed to have the guts to say it outright. “I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you again, not ever.”

“I love you too,” he says softly, and he’s surprised how easy it is to speak the words. For a moment, he just lets himself stand there, listening to Cas breathe on the other end of the phone, but then he glances around the park at his family, and has to break the silence. “Can you get Sam on speaker? There’ve been some developments.”

“Right, of course,” Cas says, and Dean can just picture him snapping to attention. “Just give me a second.”

There’s silence for a moment, then a murmur of voices that Dean can’t quite make out on the other end of the phone. Probably Cas, letting Sam know he’s alive.

He can tell the second they turn speakerphone on, and a half second later Sam’s incredulous voice is coming through the tinny speaker. “Dean? Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Amara? You—you stopped her, right, so how are you alive?”

“Whoah, Sammy, slow down.” He’s fairly sure he hears a choked sob on the other end of the line, but because he’s a nice big brother sometimes, he doesn’t comment. “Turns out blowing up Amara would have thrown the entire universe out of balance, so somehow I ended up running family therapy for her and Chuck instead. Last I checked they’re off-world, having some bonding family time, so I don’t think they’ll be bothering us anytime soon.”

”They—okay, wow. Wasn’t expecting that one.”

“Me fucking neither, Sammy. Trust me, witnessing it was a thousand times weirder than hearing about it after the fact.”

“I bet.”

“And you’re sure Amara won’t change her mind and turn destructive again?” Cas asks.

“Not really, but I didn’t have a lot of say in the matter. She seemed . . . happy, though. So fingers crossed.”

“Alright, Dean. I trust your judgement, if you don’t think there’s anything else we can do.”

“I think interfering would probably just piss her and Chuck off, at this point.”

“You said ‘developments’.” Dean can almost see Cas wrinkling his brow. “This is only one development.”

“Yeah.” How do you even go about saying something like this? He barely believes it, even seeing everyone right in front of his eyes. “Turns out, Amara was feeling grateful. Liked having her family back. So she decided to return the favour.”

“Dean, what are you saying?” Sam’s voice is somewhere between panicked and hopeful, which Dean’s pretty sure is the state he’s been in himself for the past half hour.

“She seems to have brought back, uh. Well Charlie and Bobby, and, uh. And Mom and Dad.”

“She—what.”

“I tested everyone, silver, holy water, the like. It seems legit, Sam.”

“Holy shit, that’s—”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I’ve promised a shit ton of explanation, so I should go, but we’re headed your way as soon as we can find a car. I’ll text you an ETA once I figure out where the hell we are.”

“Okay. Yeah. Wow. I’m gonna go take a shower, and tidy up the place.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He glances over at his parents, who seem to finally be talking, although their body language still radiates uncertainty. “Hey, uh, Cas. Could I talk to you for a minute actually?”

“Of course, Dean. I’ll take you off speakerphone now.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just . . .” God he hates the thought of saying this, but he needs some time. “Cas, I know we’ve . . . gotten used to a certain level of comfort at home, and I—I love that. Being able to kiss you, and cuddle with you, and emotionally scar Sam with PDAs, it’s important to me. But my mom and dad and Bobby—”

“They don’t know you’re bisexual. I understand, Dean.”

“Just—just for a little while,” he says quietly. “If we could keep it behind closed doors, or when they’re not around. Just until I figure out how to tell them. I just need time.”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is soothing through the phone. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I may not understand why humans are so hung up on sexuality, but I do understand that this is hard for you. You couldn’t even admit what we are to Sam until you realized he already suspected, and I know Sam is far more open-minded than a lot of people from your parents’ generation. This isn’t about me, not really. My only condition is you have to kiss me extra when we’re alone.”

His voice gets all stern at the end, and god it’s hot. “That I can do. Very happily. But really, Cas, thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Dean. Just get home safe.”

“Love you,” he whispers, and hears Cas say the words back as he hangs up. It sends a sort of thrill through him, being able to say that to Cas and hear it in return. He never really thought he’d have that. Especially not with someone like Cas, someone so . . . special. Cas is just so fucking special, in the way he might call magic, if magic hadn’t bitten him in the ass more times than he could count. He’s not perfect, but he’s so fucking good, and yet somehow, he sees something in Dean, and honestly he still can’t believe his luck.

He swallows hard and returns to the other half of his family. It only takes a few minutes to find and hotwire a car, and then they’re on the road. Google tells Charlie that they’re about four hours from Lebanon, and Bobby grumbles about having to spend four hours in a car with the lot of them nattering away, but it sounds like nothing to Dean. He’s spent a lifetime dreaming of having his whole family together, and a few hours—even a few hours of answering a million questions about every stupid thing he and Sam have done over the years—feels like nothing at all.

Notes:

anyways!! hi!! thank you for reading!! if you liked this, I'm hopefully gonna have more up,,,, after finals next week, but because I am a procrastinator, that might translate to sooner because I don't wanna study and I do wanna write angsty fanfic so. we'll just have to see I guess

Chapter 2

Summary:

cas ✨ meets the family ✨ and also there's an awkward family dinner

Notes:

hi I have no idea what I'm doing this was written in a haze of finals stress and procrastination so it might totally suck. but it was fun to write so hopefully it's fun to read!!

also fair disclaimer I barely remember s10 and 11 so like . . . apologies if something feels way off for the timeline, I watched the whole show too fast and now it is all a vague blob in my mind

(I also just want to note that like . . . writing John is hard because he doesn't get a ton of screen time and also I hate him so I have blocked out most of said screen time from my mind, so . . . yeah. also I feel like he'd be very different in this context than he would have been when Mary wasn't around, and we only really got to see that in the one episode, so hgdsghhgsd. really, I'm a lot more interested in how Dean *reacts* to John than I am in John as a character in and of himself, so I'm not putting a whole ton of effort into getting John perfect because he doesn't deserve my time <33)

also!! disclaimer!! dean has some self worth issues in this!! he is a dumbass and doesn't think he deserves good things!! I do not think any of the mean shit he thinks about himself!! this is simply semi-from his POV!! im gonna shut up now I don't know how to be concise in notes omg

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arriving back at the bunker in a stolen car full of family he never thought he’d see again is . . . surreal, to say the least. They’re all more or less caught up by now—Charlie and Bobby more confidently than his parents, having had far more time to adjust to things like angels and heaven and purgatory and all that fun stuff—but it’s hitting him how unfamiliar this must be for everyone except Charlie, and how unfamiliar it is to have them here.

Charlie’s the only one of them who’s ever seen the bunker. His dad will probably barely recognize Sam, and their mom likely won’t even be able to tell Sam apart from Cas.

And Cas. It aches to think of going back in the closet with their relationship, but he just—he needs a little bit with his family together, happy, before it all falls apart. Needs to pretend, at least for a while, that maybe it won’t fall apart.

He frowns and shakes the thought out of his head. This is a happy fucking occasion goddammit.

As soon as he lets them into the bunker, Sam flies at him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Whoah, Sammy, hey,” he says, slightly startled as he returns the hug with far less ferocity.

“I thought you were dead, Dean.”

“Hey, well, I’m alive. So maybe don’t strangle me, I’d like to stay that way.”

“Jerk,” Sam says, but he stops crushing Dean, so it’s a win.

As soon as Sam pulls away from him, Dean can see his eyes shift to the cluster of people behind Dean, and Dean finds his own eyes locking with Cas, who was hovering on the stairs. He’s vaguely aware of Sam greeting Bobby with a similar crushing hug in his peripheral vision, but he only has eyes for Cas. He moves until he’s standing on the stair above Cas, close enough that they can talk without probably being overheard. 

“Dean,” Cas says, a touch of awe in his voice. Dean thinks maybe he didn’t trust that Dean was really alive until he could see him with his own eyes.

“Hey Cas. Good to see you, buddy.”

“I’m not your ‘buddy’.”

“You’re always gonna be my buddy,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“And you’re always going to be a—what’s the word—a dickhead,” Cas deadpans.

“Love you too,” Dean whispers, and it’s teasing, but it’s also the first time either of them has ever said the words not over the phone. He’s not prepared for how soft Cas’s face goes, or the swell of love that rushes through him to see it. “Come on, you need to come meet my parents.”

The look Cas gives him at that is pure anxiety, and Dean can’t help himself reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“Dean.”

Dean just grins. “Cas.”

“Dean, I can’t—”

“You’re perfect. They’ll love you.” He yanks Cas up the last few steps, and he can almost see Cas rolling his eyes at the back of Dean’s head. He knows meeting John and Mary is probably genuinely anxiety inducing for Cas, but the dude would hardly be better off avoiding them while living under the same roof.

“So this is the angel,” Mary says when they approach. It’s impossible not to notice the suspicious note in her voice. Sam is still talking to Charlie, which means Dean and Cas have Dean’s parents to themselves. And, okay, yeah this is kind of terrifying. It’s not like Dean needs anybody else’s approval to have a relationship—especially when the people in question don’t even realize they’re together in that sense—but these are his parents. They matter.

“This is the angel,” Dean says, and it sounds more like a challenge than he intends it.

“You must be Mary,” Cas says, and fucking hell this is surreal. The man he loves, meeting his parents. That’s just. That’s not something Dean was ever supposed to have. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I—” She falters, looking strangely disarmed. “Uh, you too, Castiel.”

“Cas,” he says, and it shouldn’t make Dean’s heart flutter in his chest, but it does. Cas is what his family calls him. “I know this must be strange for you, but you should know your son is—your sons are very good men. You did well.”

She chuckles nervously. “Well, I’m not sure I can take very much of the credit, but I’m glad.”

“I know they're good," John says. "But I still don’t get why they ain’t hunting you.”

Dean feels himself tensing, but Cas takes the opportunity to gently nudge his side, and even just the brief touch is enough to relax him a bit. “Dean tried. First time we met, he stabbed me through the heart. It didn’t go so well.”

“Cas is on our side,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice steady. He feels the need to say something to defend Cas.

“Sounds like you’ve thought that before,” John shoots back, and Dean cringes. He can’t even remember who filled in that detail on the drive here—could’ve been him, might have been Bobby, trying to explain how he’d died—but he wishes fiercely that his dad hadn’t heard it.

“He’s on our side,” he says again. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t know how to explain that everything Cas has ever done has been because he was good. He’s done terrible things, yes, but hardly worse than Dean himself. And Dean has always been selfish; his mistakes have never been for good reasons. Cas is different. Cas does things because he cares more than he knows what to do with.

And he isn’t about to tell John about the way it all weighs on Cas, the way sometimes the guilt  of everything that’s happened all gets too much and he just shuts down. Cas never breathes a word of it when Dean has bad days, and he owes him that same dignity.

“If you say so,” John says, in a tone that implies he doesn’t believe him at all.

Dean sort of wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, remind him he doesn’t know Cas at all. He presses his eyes closed and takes a deep breath instead. He’s trying his best. This is a lot to adjust to. It’s not like you trusted Cas right away either. Why should he believe you? From the outside, it does look bad.

Before he can scramble for a way to change the subject, Charlie has joined their little group and is grinning at him. She gives Cas a significant look, and raises an eyebrow at Dean. He’s fairly sure he doesn’t blush. Probably.

“I’m gonna peace out of the family reunion and go take a long, hot shower, but you should come find me when you’re done here. Looks like we have a lot to catch up on.”

He gives her an unimpressed smile, and says in a tone that he thinks conveys a very loving fuck you, “Okay.”

She just grins, winks, and disappears.

“That your girl?” John asks.

Dean’s pretty sure his jaw drops open. Him and Charlie? “No. Definitely not. No. No.”

“Somebody has a crush,” Mary says conspiratorially to John.

His whole body feels tense, and a part of him—the part that’s not a coward—wants to reach behind him and grab Cas’s hand, scream that the person he loves is right here and it isn’t Charlie. He just grits his teeth into a smile instead, and rolls his eyes the way he might have if he’d ever gotten to be a teenager with his parents gossiping about his love life.

“If Dean says there’s nothing between him and Charlie,” Cas’s voice comes from his shoulder, fiercely protective,“then there is nothing between them.” There’s an undertone of he’s mine in Cas’s tone, and Dean could fucking melt he’s so in love with this man.

“I’m sorry,” Mary is quick to say. She looks a little lost. “I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry if it was a sensitive topic.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Dean says quickly. “She’s like a sister to me, so that’d be weird, but you’re not . . . you’re all good.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right, that’s—I’m glad I didn’t make you uncomfortable. She seems nice. A good friend. So is there anyone?”

Dean swallows. Cas is right there. It would be so easy to take his hand, to nod, to confirm it somehow, any little way. But his dad is right there, and he doesn’t know how his mom would take it, and he just. He can’t.

“Hey, uh, why don’t you ask Sam to help you find a room—or rooms, whatever you need—and me and Cas’ll start dinner. What do you like on your burgers, Mom?”

She blinks, and he’s sure she can tell it’s a deflection, but she just smiles gently and says, “I’ll take anything. Whatever your dad’s having.”

 

 

In the kitchen, away from prying eyes, Dean groans and slumps back against the counter. “I’m sorry, Cas. I know I should have—”

“Dean.” His voice is steady, warm. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hands in his. “I told you, it’s alright. This is hard for you.”

“Still, I—” It feels sort of like there’s a war inside his head, the knowledge of what he owes to Cas clashing with what he owes to his parents. Cas is . . . Cas is Cas. He’s his partner, and one of the most important people in Dean’s life. He’s finally gotten to a point where he can admit that. And Cas deserves to be loved openly. But his mom birthed him, his dad raised him. That’s not a debt he can repay, and he owes it to them to be a good son, a dutiful son. He doesn’t know where this fits into that. He knows this can’t be what his parents would want from him.

He also knows he’s not letting go of Cas, though. Not again.

“Dean, this is a huge shock for you. Your entire world has been turned upside down. Again.” He presses his forehead against Dean’s, and even though someone could walk in at any moment, it makes Dean feel safe. “I can wait.”

Dean swallows hard, but whispers, “Okay.”

“Come on,” Cas says, pulling away and smiling at him. “I don’t know how to make burgers.”

That startles a laugh out of Dean, and he directs Cas to the freezer, where there are patties frozen. He’s started messing around with cooking lately, even occasionally making something Sam will eat, but today he needs something easy and unadventurous. He just . . . he needs something that he won't mess up.

Notes:

thanks for reading y'all! by the time anyone sees this the next chapter might be up already tbh because I have it written so it just needs a few edits. ETA like an hour or so I think lmaoooooooo unless I fall asleep

Chapter 3

Summary:

fluff!!

Notes:

okay honestly this chapter sorta sucks, I'm not great at writing dean opening up and being vulnerable, but . . . it has Charlie content so maybe that makes up for it??? idk send help lmao. also I have no personal experience with making out so I was not entirely sure how to write it lmaooooooooooooo

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dinner is an awkward affair. Bobby excuses himself to eat in his room, and offers to bring Charlie hers as well. It’s clearly an attempt to give the four of them a family dinner—or whatever meal this is, given it's who-knows-what time of night—without the complications of outsiders adding to the already complicated situation. Dean thinks Cas can tell—he’s not entirely sure, but Cas has gotten better at reading humans over the years—but he takes his place beside him anyway, and Dean is grateful for that.

No one talks much while they eat. Mary makes a couple of compliments on the food, and Dean can’t quite tell how much she means then versus how much is just pleasentries. John spends most of the meal watching Mary, awe clear on his face.

After, Mary smiles at him and Sam and says, “John and I are going to retire early tonight, if that’s alright? We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Of course, Mom,” Sam says. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I think we’re alright for the night. But thank you, uh, Sam.”

Dean sees the flicker of hurt that crosses Sam’s face at the way she falters before saying his name, but he hides it quickly. Part of Dean wants to rush to him and try to comfort him, take care of him like he always has, but Sam doesn’t need babying. He’s probably going to retreat into his room and call Eileen, anyways, and Dean has other people to worry about tonight.

That doesn’t stop him from whispering a quick, “You alright Sammy?” as they clear the dishes, though. Sam gives him a quick smile, and nods.

“Yeah. Just . . . a lot to take in.”

Dean snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“Are you okay, Dean? With Mom and Dad not knowing about you and—”

He is absolutely not having this conversation right now. “Yup, I’m great. Don’t worry about me, Sammy.”

“Okay,” Sam says. He sounds skeptical. Dean hurries to elbow him and tells him to enjoy calling his girlfriend tonight, which is enough to make Sam blush and drop the topic, even though he insists Eileen isn’t his girlfriend.

As soon as Dean and Cas start back to Dean’s room, he can feel himself relaxing. He wants to curl up with Cas and not be afraid to touch him. At the door, though, he stops.

“Shit. Charlie wants to talk. I should . . .”

If it were just that she wanted to gossip about him and Cas, he’d blow her off, stay here with Cas, but . . . he got her killed. He feels like he owes her a proper conversation, at the very least.

“You should talk to her,” Cas agrees. “But she can wait ten minutes. I believe you promised me something when we got to be alone.”

“That’s—yes. Definitely. Ten minutes.”

Cas hooks his hand into Dean’s shirt, pulling him inside their room and kicking the door closed as he pushes Dean up against the wall next to it. His lips are on Dean’s the second the door is shut, and there’s a desperate, hungry feel to the way he kisses him. Dean knots his hands into Cas’s hair, as if he’s trying to pull him closer even though it feels like every inch of their bodies is already pressed together.

“God, Cas,” Dean moans into the kiss. Cas pulls back and gives him a questioning look. “Please keep doing that. Ideally forever.”

Cas gives him a smug little smile—the fucker is proud of himself for making Dean so breathless—and leans back in to Dean. The kiss is slower this time, deeper, less urgent, but it still has that same intensity, that same hunger. After a moment he moves downward, kissing Dean’s cheek, and his chin, and his neck, and Dean wants to make some smart aleck comment about not giving him a hickey—not that it would matter, Cas could heal it so no one saw—but he’s in so much bliss he doesn’t think he could form words.

Finally Cas pulls away, and when Dean meets his eyes, he sees something bright and intense in them.

“You scared me, Dean.”

“What?”

“Going after Amara,” Cas clarifies, and Dean feels a strange burst of guilt shoot through him. He’d done what he had to do, but he hadn’t thought of how it might affect Cas. Honestly, the whole thing feels distant after everything that had happened since.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Cas stands on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “No you’re not.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he amends. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it again.”

Cas lets out a watery chuckle. “Of course you would. That’s what makes you Dean Winchester. It would have been selfish to ask you not to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I always want to.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I know.”

“I love you,” Cas says, and just like the first time, it sends a bolt of lightning through Dean’s veins. “You’re so brave, and so good. And you should probably go talk to Charlie before I start tearing your clothes off.”

“I’d really rather you tear my clothes off,” Dean grumbles. Cas rolls his eyes.

“I know, Dean. But you’re exhausted, so go talk to Charlie, and then come back here and get some sleep.”

It doesn’t hit Dean until Cas says it just how tired he is. He's not sure how long he's been awake, but it's clearly been too long. He still pulls a face as he says, “Fine.”

He pulls Cas in for one last kiss before he leaves, then sets out to find Charlie. It doesn’t take long, because her door is wide open and what Dean is fairly sure is Taylor Swift music is blasting out of it. He pokes his head in, and she looks up and grins, turning the music down.

He shuts the door behind him, and Charlie grins at him. “So?”

“So what?” he asks back, as if it isn’t obvious.

“So you finally pulled your head out of your ass and admitted you like him?”

“We’re not that obvious,” he protests.

“You are. And it’s great! You look so happy.”

“I am,” he admits, because there’s really nothing else to say to that. “Charlie . . .”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You’re going to get all emotional and blame yourself for me dying. Which is ridiculous. So don’t.” He blinks. He forgot how easily Charlie could always read him, usually because she’d react the same way he does.

“Charlie, you died.” She doesn’t let him finish speaking.

“Well, obviously, yeah. And now I’m not dead. Problem solved.” He opens his mouth to argue, and she beats him to it. “I made my decision, Dean. I knew what we were doing was dangerous. I got killed. It happens.”

“You are way too casual about having died.” He’s trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, but it’s hard. He’s carried the guilt of her death for a long time now. “Charlie—”

“Look, I’ll try not to do it again, okay? I like being alive! It’s nice! I get to eat good food and flirt with cute girls. But I’m hardly the only person in this room to have died, so come off your high horse. Now tell me about your man!”

He gapes at her for a second, then sighs and lets a grin spread on his face.

“Yeah, we’re . . . he’s great.”

She stares at him expectantly for a moment, then groans. “I know he’s great. How did you get together? How long has it been? Spill! I wanna know everything. I’m gonna live vicariously through your love life, help a girl out here.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his voice is softer than he expects it to be when he says, “It was, uh, not long after we released Amara.” He realizes, suddenly, that he has to explain some things if the story’s going to make sense, and feels his heart sink. But he got her fucking killed, he can manage some honesty. “I, uh . . . I went a little off the rails, after you died. I killed the Stynes.”

“All of them?” Charlie’s voice is incredulous.

“Yup.”

“Okay, that’s, uh, scary, but also sorta deserved honestly. They were dicks.”

And it wasn’t that simple, Dean knows—now—that it wasn’t that simple, remembers the kid who can’t have been even eighteen, then wishes he hadn’t remembered at all. But he doesn’t share that part, just gives a half nod and doesn’t say anything at all.

After a moment, he manages to mumble, “That was when—Cas, he saw how far gone I was. And he—he tried to stop me, to reason with me. I still had the mark, though, and I—I don’t know. I lashed out. I hurt him. Almost killed him. Not by accident.” The admission feels huge, as if he hadn’t realized how much it was still weighing on him. Probably will always weigh on him. He can't bring himself to look at Charlie. “I wasn’t myself, but . . . can't forgive myself, not fully.

“But we—the mark came off. Cas and I reunited. And we didn’t talk about it, at first, but it was all fucking— I needed to—to say I was sorry. And you know, I never meant to tell him how I felt. I’ve known for years, but that wasn’t supposed to—I never felt like I was supposed to feel that way, or like he could ever feel it back. It was an accident, that it came out at all. But I was just apologizing, I don't fucking know, trying to make up for what I'd done, and it slipped out. I don’t even know exactly what I said, something just slipped, and then he was staring at me like I’d grown two heads.

“And then he just—fucking kissed me, and asked something about whether that would make me shut up and stop apologizing. And I . . . I don’t know. It was horrible timing. It took weeks after still before I could even look at his face and not see the blood overlayed on it. But it was Cas, and that was enough.”

“Okay I take it back, I don’t wanna live vicariously through you that sounds miserable, but that’s very cute.”

“I tried to kill him.”

Charlie waves a hand. “The rest of it is cute. Awww, you’re blushing. It’s adorable.”

“I don’t blush,” he insists. Charlie just gives him a Look. It’s sorta nice. He doesn’t feel like he has to pretend anything around her. “It’s just . . . he’s special. No one else has ever felt . . . there've been lots of girls, and a few guys, but no one has ever been Cas, you know? He’s fucking incredible. Nothing else has ever meant the same as this does.”

“God, that’s so gay,” she says, grinning.

For half a second, his instinct is to deny it. It’s fucking ridiculous, given that he just poured out the entire over-emotional story of how they got together to her, and of course she’s not wrong. He’s just spent so many years denying it—first to himself, until he couldn’t anymore, and then to everyone else who might have wondered—that he doesn’t really know how not to.

“Bite me,” he says instead.

“I think you have me confused,” Charlie says, grin growing wicked. “Guy you’re looking for’s an angel, about yay high, completely in love with you . . .”

“Okay, you know what, I’m gonna, uh, I’m just gonna leave now.”

She cackles as he flees the room. He makes a mental note to figure out what will embarrass her so he has ammo.

He finds his way back to his room, fairly sure he’s still blushing, and Cas is sitting in bed with a book, and all of it—Cas, Charlie, dinner earlier—feels so painfully domestic he’s not sure how he can take it. He wants it so much more than he knows how to admit, and it terrifies him, but . . . maybe. The past 24 hours have been wild and exhausting and more than a bit insane, but there’s a strange bright light in his chest that he thinks might be hope.

Notes:

pls stick with me I swear I'm better at writing angst than I am fluff ghsdghds

Chapter 4

Summary:

a lazy morning <33

Notes:

look I sat down to write angst and instead they had sex

(it's just foreplay and then fade to black, but I decided to post this on its own even tho it's a bit shorter than my usual chapter length so that if anyone wants they can just skip the end. it's really not very explicit at all but like,,, I don't wanna make anyone uncomfortable and also I am Bad at writing sexy stuff so lmaooooo make of that what you will)

(read the beginning tho, it's semi relevant to actual plot things)(well. there's no plot. but like. character things. that I am pretending are plot)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s late by the time he wakes up, and he’s pretty sure he could have slept for hours more if it weren’t for the pounding on his door. He sits up and groans, trying to catch up his brain to everything that’s happened. It feels too vivid to be a dream, but he’s not quite sure any of it could possibly be real. He’s used to strange things, but this is so far beyond strange.

“He’s awake,” Cas calls from where he’s sat on the floor with some book or another.

The pounding stops and Sam says, “Jody called. She needs backup on a hunt—seems routine enough, but she’s found a nest of vamps and doesn’t want to go in alone. Bobby and I are gonna go help her out, should be back in a few days.” Bobby. Okay, so not a dream.

“Gimme ten minutes.” He doesn’t want to leave his bed, but a hunt’s a hunt, even if you’ve just faced down against God’s sister.

“Dean, maybe you should sit this one out. Someone should stay here with Mom and Dad, and you’re . . . they know you better. Besides three people for a vamp nest is plenty. We’ll be fine.”

He weighs it all in his head, looking after Sam vs not abandoning the rest of his family. A big part of him wants to insist on going along—he knows Sam can handle himself, but it doesn’t feel right, him hunting alone—but he trusts Bobby and Jody on a hunt, and Sam’s right. Someone should be here with their parents. And he . . . doesn’t want to leave them. Not so soon.

“Fine, fine, this way I can stay in bed. But be careful, Sammy.”

“Sure, Dean.”

He groans and lets himself collapse back into bed, then pulls a face and asks, “What time is it?”

Cas doesn’t look up from his book when he answers. “1:57pm.”

What? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You needed the rest, Dean.” Cas lowers his book to give Dean a stern look. “And you went to bed very late, this was a reasonable amount to sleep. I don’t believe anyone else is awake yet either.”

“I didn’t mean that literally.”

“Yes you did, you just didn’t want to hear the answer.”

“Fuck you,” he grumbles.

“I love you too, Dean.”

In a heartbeat his whole body feels like jelly. He swallows hard, and tries to gather his wits, but fuck. Those words are still so new, and they explode in his chest like fireworks every single time. He licks his lips, subconsciously trying to keep them from going completely dry.

“That’s playing dirty, Cas. You can’t just say you love me every time you want to shut me up.”

“I never want to shut you up. I like your voice.”

The words send a strange lurch and swell through him, and fuck, he’s so far gone for Cas. There are so many things he wants to say, to tell Cas how much he fucking loves him and how much he means to him. But he’s never been a poet, and he’s never been real great with feelings, so instead he says, “Come back to bed, dumbass.”

Cas gives him a strange look. He only tends to stay in their bed until Dean falls asleep, then he’ll get up and read or do puzzles while Dean rests. Usually on the floor, despite Dean’s offers to get him some proper furniture.

“Dean, I don’t sleep.”

“I’d noticed,” Dean says dryly. He smirks at Cas and lets his voice slip into the easy lightness of flirting. “I can think of more interesting things to do in bed.”

He can see the instant Cas understands, and has to hide a grin.

“Is that so?” Cas asks. “And what might those be?”

“Come join me and find out.”

“Hm,” Cas says, but he obliges, crawling in next to Dean and pressing a kiss onto his forehead. Dean tilts his face up, and Cas smiles and presses another kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Fucking kiss me properly already, Cas,” Dean says, because he thinks he might actually melt into the bedsheets if Cas keeps on the way he is. Cas wraps his arms around the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him close, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips and letting Dean deepen the kiss until he forgets where oxygen ends and Cas begins.

Cas pulls away after a moment, and Dean starts to pout until Cas starts trailing kisses down his bare chest. He makes a strangled noise and reaches for the edge of Cas’s shirt, almost getting tangled up trying to pull it off until Cas stops kissing him to help unbutton it.

He hooks his hands into Cas’s pants and whispers, “Can I?”

He knows the answer’s yes—it’s always yes, every single time, because somehow, inexplicably, Cas feels the same way for Dean that he does for him—but he always asks anyway.

“Yes, Dean.” To someone else Cas’s voice might sound disinterested, if vaguely fond, but Dean knows better, can hear all the little nuances that mean he’s coming undone waiting for Dean to get on with it. “Please, yes.”

 

 

After, they lie there together, Dean’s head on Cas’s bare chest, Cas stroking a hand idly through Dean’s hair.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas whispers. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The word feels wrong, somehow, applied to Dean. He’s never been beautiful, never been anything but a hunter, a fighter, a soldier, a weapon. But Cas’s voice is so soft, and Dean doesn’t want to move from his spot curled up on him, doesn’t want Cas’s voice to go all sad as he tries to make Dean see himself the way he apparently does, so he doesn’t argue.

“I love you, Cas,” he whispers back. It’s strangely easier to say in this moment than it would have been earlier.

“I love you too.”

Notes:

I,,,, am sorry lmao this is my first time writing anything more than light making out and I think it probably shows hgsdghdshg I swear next chapter we'll (hopefully) be back to our regularly scheduled angst

Chapter 5

Summary:

a conversation with mary <33

Notes:

fair warning I have no idea how long it takes to cook bacon (or how long this conversation actually takes) so if the bacon should be burnt beyond repair after this conversation pls just look away

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

By the time Dean and Cas manage to get themselves cleaned up and presentable—getting a little distracted in the shower in the process—Mary has found her way into the kitchen and is nursing a cup of coffee. When he sees her, Dean stops short in the doorway. It’s not like he could possibly have forgotten she was here, it’s just . . . somehow it still takes him aback, actually seeing her.

Behind him, Cas lets his hand brush feather-light on the small of his back, and the touch fortifies him. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself have just a moment, then he steps into the kitchen and says softly, “Mom.”

She looks up, and her face melts into a small smile when she sees him. “Dean.”

“I—hi.” He feels so small, and he can’t decide if it’s in a good way or not. This is the first time he’s seen her alone since she came back, and it’s simultaneously freeing not to have to juggle everyone else’s expectations of him and terrifying to have all her attention on him.

He glances around, unable to bring himself to meet her eyes, and locks eyes instead with Cas still standing in the doorway. Cas gives him a small smile and mouths good luck, before turning away, probably to go find a book to settle down with. The cowardly part of Dean wants to call Cas back so he doesn’t have to face this alone—he knows Cas would stay, if he asked—but he forces himself to take a deep breath and turn back to face his mom instead.

She looks so . . . fantastical. Not quite real. Almost timeless. But he’s pretty sure to anyone who saw her on the street, she’d just look normal, flesh and blood and human. To anyone who couldn’t remember her looking the exact same the day she died.

Actually, he barely even remembers. He’d been so young when she died that he thinks without the photos he had of her, he wouldn’t have recognized her at all. But still, she was . . . just like this, so much that seeing her sitting here in his kitchen feels more like looking at a photograph frozen in time than it does a real live person.

He realizes how long he’s been standing there not making a sound and tries to unhinge his jaw. “Do you, uh. Want bacon?”

She smiles, and he doesn’t know how to read all the undertones hiding in it. “Bacon would be great.”

“Cool. I’ll just, uh, make that then.”

He crosses to the stove and starts prepping it, relieved for something to do other than standing awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen.

“Dean,” she says softly. “This is . . . I know this is weird. I’m sorry.”

“No, Mom, don’t—don’t apologize, please. It’s—it’s really good to have you. I just . . . don’t know how to . . . do this. I never had—” a parent. But that’s not fair to say, not to anyone and especially not to her. Their dad had done his best, and she’d never had the chance to try. “Had this.”

“I know,” he’s startled to realize she’s come up behind him. He thinks it should probably be more terrifying to realize he’d let some of his guard down. “I know. I never got to see you grow up, Dean. You’re older than I am, now. And I missed all of that. I don’t know what I’m doing either. But you—you seem like a good man.”

He focuses intently on putting the bacon into the pan, knowing that if she sees his face right now she’ll see the way every single possible feeling is playing across it. She’ll see how much he needs this, how much that fucking terrifies him.

“I try,” he mumbles, after a silence that stretches just a little too long.

For a moment he wonders if she even heard him over the sizzling of the bacon, but then she says softly, “That’s all you can do.” He’s pretty sure he hears her swallow hard. He still can’t bring himself to turn and look at her. “So you’re a hunter.”

It’s not a question, but somehow it feels like one.

“Yeah.”

“And you . . . know I was a hunter?”

“Right. Yeah. Like I said, there was some time travel. Angels wiped your memory of it, but we—yeah. And we know you made a deal.”

He flips the bacon and finally forces himself to turn and face her. She looks at a loss—John had had questions on the ride home, and so she has to have put together what had happened to Sam because of her deal. He’d left out the worst of it, the demon blood, Ruby, everything that was Sam’s to tell, not his, but she would have heard enough.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Dean can almost hear the weight on her shoulders in how heavy it is.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to—I just wanted to have a family. A normal life. If I’d known what would happen—”

“I know,” Dean says. “Sam knows too. We’ve all done stupid things for our family. No one can really blame you.”

“It doesn’t get much stupider than making a deal with a demon.”

Dean shifts awkwardly and turns back to his bacon. His own deal had been one thing he’d managed not to mention when explaining how everything had went down. He’d explained how the angels showed up after the first seal was broken, and left it at that.

Because it wasn’t relevant. He can’t even believe that himself.

His dad had told him he might have to kill Sam, and even knowing he had done nearly the exact same thing for him—even knowing he would understand, Dean reminds himself—part of him worries his dad would have scorned him for sacrificing himself for Sam. He wouldn’t, of course he wouldn’t, Dean knows that—or he thinks that or he hopes that, he doesn’t even know—but the thought of John not being able to understand . . . if his dad had told him he might need to kill Sam in any other context than right before dying, Dean thinks that would have been the one thing that could have made him question his father. Even as is, now that John’s back, Dean can feel that doubt starting to creep in.

It’s nothing. Silly, even. It’s been a decade, and Dean thinks it must feel larger, stretched over the years, than it really was in the moment.

The bigger thing, really, isn’t their dad at all. He made his own deal; he could hardly judge Dean’s. The bigger thing is that Dean was weak. John had been to hell and back for family just as sure as Dean had, but the thing about John was he didn’t break. He’d suffered three times as long as Dean had, but he wasn’t weak, wasn’t a coward, was everything Dean should have been.

Sam, Cas, they might be able to forgive him—hell, for a while he even though he’d forgiven himself, until the thought of explaining what he’d done came bubbling back up to the surface—but even to picture his dad’s face if he knew how weak Dean had been . . .

Coward as he is, he’s not sure he’s strong enough to face it.

He’s not sure if he can admit it to his mom, either, but she looks so lost and guilty that he can’t just avoid the subject entirely. Even if he doesn’t tell her what he did in hell, he can at least give her something.

“Mom, it’s—you’re not the only one who’s made a deal. I think stupidity runs in the family.”

Her gaze is immediately focused on him in a way he hadn’t realized it wasn’t before. There’s something sharp and discerning in her eyes. “What did you do, Dean?”

“Sammy died.” The words are still painful to say even though he’s come back every time. He forces a smile that feels a little too bright and casual to be believed. “I sold my soul and brought him back. It was worth it.”

He doesn’t mean for the final words to be a challenge, but they sort of sound like one. Mary doesn’t seem to notice, though. Instead, she furrows her brow, her whole demeanour shifting in some way he can’t quite read.

“How long do you have?” she asks after a moment, and the worry in her voice hits him like a train. He’s not sure why it feels so strange that she cares.

He swallows hard. “Uh. Sorta been there, done that. It’s over.”

She frowns slightly, as if trying to put the pieces together. It’s sort of terrifying.

“Did . . . uh, Amara . . .? I just, I’ve never heard of someone getting out of a demon deal before.”

“I didn’t exactly get out of it. How do you like your bacon?”

“Uh. Crispy, please. What do you mean you ‘didn’t get out of it’?”

“. . . I sorta went to hell. Cas pulled me out. It was—” he swallows “—well it wasn’t a cakewalk, but it’s been a long time. It’s not something I think about much anymore.” Sometimes he wakes up gasping from nightmares of the things he did and had done to him in the pit, but he wakes up from nightmares about a lot of things. Hell is hardly special.

He’s pretty sure she wants to apologize—he still doesn’t know how to read her, but some things are easy to see—but after a moment she says instead, “So, Cas, huh?”

For a second, he thinks she knows. Every cell in his body feels like it’s been struck by lightning, and he wants to run far, far away from this conversation. But then he glances at her face. and there doesn’t seem to be any sort of understanding there. A curiosity, more like.

“Cas?”

“He seems to care very much about you, especially to have saved you from hell. That’s . . . I’m glad you have a friend like him.”

A friend. It’s what he wants her to think, so it probably shouldn’t hurt. “Yeah, he, uh. He did that part out of duty—it was how we met—but he’s . . .” He’s everything. “He’s a damn good man. I’m lucky to know him.”

“I’m glad,” she says, then pauses as if rolling it all around in her mind. “So the angel thing, how does that work now?”

“Comes in handy, honestly,” Dean says, because it feels too intimate to say he’s just Cas, nothing else really matters. “I think after everything that’s gone down, heaven is pretty happy to leave him alone, and I think he’s done trying to interfere up there, so he’s sort of just . . . one of us, now, but with some extra mojo.”

He’s almost certain that’s not how it would have gone, had Cas and him stayed the same as they’d always been, but after they’d started to work out their feelings . . . well sue him if they’d both started craving a little bit of domesticity. Of course, they’d had Amara to deal with, and Dean’s still a hunter at heart so even now she’s gone, he doubts they’re gonna have a white picket fence cherry pie life, but . . . if they can come back to the bunker and hold each other after a hunt, he’ll take that. Maybe he’s gone soft, but oh fucking well.

Mary’s watching him, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, and he swallows hard. “Anyways, uh. Bacon.”

“Right,” Mary chuckles. “Bacon.”

Notes:

a summary of dean's feelings toward john in this chapter:

dean: huh telling me I might have to kill sam was actually shitty and I don't know if I can forgive my dad for being willing to give up on sam (and generally treating him like shit) even if I can forgive him treating me like shit

dean: . . .

dean: . . .

dean: no nvm that's stupid I'm being overdramatic I just don't want to face him because I was weak and a coward

 

anyways he's an idiot I apologize. he's working through some shit. he'll get there eventually I'm sure

Chapter 6

Summary:

movie night, bobby, and a touch of ✨angst✨

Notes:

okay the beginning of this might be a little rough but this was a fun one to write!! I love bobby <33 and angst <33

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When John emerges an hour or so later, Dean is attempting to teach his mom how to use a computer. It was probably a task better left to Sam, given Dean’s own struggles with technology, but he thinks they’re doing pretty well, all things considered.

Neither of them notices him at first, too busy with their heads in the computer, so Dean’s not sure how long he must have been standing there in the doorway before he looked up. Something tightens in his chest that he doesn’t understand.

“Dad, I—hi.”

“Dean,” he says, helping himself to the leftover bacon on the counter. “Sam up yet?”

“He’s on a hunt,” Dean says, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Took Bobby up to help another hunter take down a vamp nest near Sioux Falls. Should be back in a couple days.”

It’s strange, to realize John never would have met Jody. They’ve only really known her since the apocalypse, but she’s family, so it sort of feels like forever.

John just nods. “Well, tell him to find me when he gets back. We barely got a chance last night.”

Dean is not entirely sure whether that was an accident on Sam’s behalf, but he just nods. Sam probably should talk to him anyway, whether he wants to or not, because it can’t do him any good to stew in it and avoid their dad.

“For now, why don’t we . . . watch a movie or something?” Mary suggests, and Dean could hug her he’s so relieved. Making conversation with her has been nice, but also fucking hard, and having John in the picture just adds another layer of complication. He’s only been in the room for five minutes, but Dean feels hyperaware of every second that passes. “You could go get your friends to join us? Charlie and Castiel, was it?”

“Right, that . . . sounds good, yeah. I’ll make some popcorn, why don’t you and Dad choose a movie? Uh, actually on second thought, go find Charlie and get her to show you how to use Netflix.”

When they’re gone, he can’t help the sigh of relief that slips out. It probably makes him a horrible son, and he’s happy—so happy—to have them back, it’s just . . . hard. He doesn’t know how to talk to them. He never got to know his mom, and his dad . . . well, this is barely the man he remembers. He’s different, with Mary around, in a way that Dean can’t quite place. He never really knew how to exist around his dad outside of hunts anyway, not that he often had to.

He wants to figure out how to know them like this, how to be a family, he really, really does.

But taking a few minutes just to focus on the popcorn is a welcome pause.

He finds Cas—in their room reading something fancy and science-y, because he’s a nerd—and presses a quick kiss to his lips before dragging him out to help carry the popcorn and join their movie night.

When Dean sits, Cas glances between him and his parents on the other couch, and delicately sits down at the opposite end of the couch from Dean, leaving a foot or so between them. Dean’s heart aches at that, and he’s not sure if it’s the fact that Cas isn’t sitting next to him or the fact that Cas cares enough to think this sort of thing through. From the beginning, Cas had never been great with the concept of personal space—at least, Sam had pointed out later, not with Dean—so that he thinks to give Dean space around his parents shows how clearly he’s taking an effort.

He still wishes Cas was sitting pressed up against him.

He’s blissfully saved from spending the whole movie pining for Cas’s touch when Charlie pushes his arm and says, “Shove over, I’m not sitting with your parents,” allowing him to press up next to Cas anyway. He’s pretty sure it was at least a little deliberate.

Cas glances at him when Dean presses maybe a little farther than he really had to, but what can Dean say? He’ll take the chance to have as little space between him and Cas as he can, if given the excuse. Besides, despite the slight surprise on Cas’s face, Dean can tell there’s the hint of a smile there anyway.

“I’m only going so far with this,” he whispers, so quiet he’s certain his parents won’t be able to hear, although he still keeps his wording vague. “And I’m taking what I can get.”

The look Cas gives him could probably melt the arctic, not that Dean’s own heart is melting or anything. He’s so in love with this man it hurts.

 

 

It feels like no time at all before Sam is back, and Dean can’t help but feel a bit relieved when his little brother and Bobby walk through the door in desperate need of a shower. He’s watched at least three movies with John and Mary, had a few family meals full of awkward small talk, and still only actually had the one deep conversation with either of them, and it’s starting to exhaust him, trying to maneuver it all. John pretty much only has eyes for Mary, who mostly just seems like she’s at a slight loss for words at any given point. Charlie and Cas are probably the only things keeping him sane right now.

“Dude, you stink,” he says when Sam gets close.

“Hi Sam, glad you’re alright,” Sam deadpans. “Jody told us to clear out while she dealt with the aftermath, so we didn’t get to use her shower.”

“Come on, as if a nest of vamps could take you out,” Dean grumbles. “I knew you’d be fine.”

Deep down, a part of him had worried—a part of him would always worry, when Sam was on a hunt—but Jody had texted him when they wrapped up the hunt, so he knew everyone had made it out in one piece.

“Now go shower.”

“On it,” Sam says, wrinkling his nose at his own stink and disappearing down the hall.

 

 

Their parents are off who-knows-where, and Charlie is binge-watching all the TV she missed out on while she was dead, so after everyone is cleaned up, it ends up just Dean, Cas, Sam, and Bobby in the kitchen, standing around with beers. It feels like old times, and yet slightly off. Bobby had never gotten to see the bunker, after all, and Dean had never had to be so conscious of how close he stood to Cas.

Still, it’s nice.

“Damn vamps never knew what him ‘em,” Bobby is saying. “This one here’s gotten damn good, ain’t he?”

Sam looks down, embarrassed, but Dean grins. “He sure has. Can’t believe he was almost a lawyer instead.”

“Fuck off, Dean.”

Dean just keeps grinning at him, and gets a middle finger in return.

Bobby is watching them with a strange expression on his face that Dean thinks is fondness. It’s strange, though; more open than his face ever was before. He guesses maybe being dead gives you a bit of a change in perspective on some things.

“I’m proud of you boys,” he says after a moment, and Dean’s not sure why it takes him aback. It’s not completely out of character for Bobby—not so much that Dean worries it’s not actually him—it’s just . . . odd to hear. Especially because Charlie admitted she filled him in about the mark of Cain stuff while he was on the phone that first night, in a lot more detail than he’d went into in the car.

“Thanks, Bobby,” he mumbles. It doesn’t feel like enough, but he’s not about to get all sappy. He hopes Bobby can tell, though, that he means it for more than just the compliment.

There’s a moment of a strange silence, both comfortable and uneasy at the same time, charged with years of pent up emotion and the sheer giddy relief of having Bobby back, all at once.

Then Bobby clears his throat and the moment is broken. “I talked to Jody and she says my old place is all mine if I want it. So I figured I’ll get out of your hair and go fix it up. Maybe get some of the phones up and running again, if anyone still needs those.”

Part of Dean was hoping Bobby would stay, but he supposes it makes sense for Bobby to want some space. “That, uh. That sounds great, Bobby.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, in a short sort of way that makes Dean think he was hoping Bobby would stay too. “You’d better visit us, though.”

Bobby scoffs. “You boys better visit me. I’m not driving this far every time you wanna see me.”

Sam laughs, and they all know full well that Bobby would drive up to them in a heartbeat if they needed him, but Sam says, “Of course, Bobby. We’ll miss you.”

“It’s good to have you back, Bobby,” Dean adds. It’s really, really fucking good.

“Good to be back.”

Sam offers to help Bobby pick up some things in town for the move, and all of a sudden it’s just Dean and Cas left in the kitchen.

As soon as Dean gets a good look at Cas, he can tell something is off.

“You okay, buddy?”

Cas blinks at him, and quickly forces a smile. “It’s nothing, Dean.”

“You didn’t even tell me you’re not my buddy, so I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it’s not nothing.”

Cas fixes him with A Look, but Dean holds his gaze until he finally sighs. “It’s just . . . I can’t help feeling responsible.”

Dean frowns. “For what?”

“It’s my fault Bobby died,” Cas clarifies. “If I hadn’t released the leviathans . . .”

“Hey, Cas, buddy, no.” Dean takes Cas’s hand and squeezes it, even though he’s acutely aware how easily someone could walk in on them. Cas matters more right now than what anyone might think. “You can’t go blaming yourself for shit like that. It happened. It hurt. Now he’s back. You gotta move on.”

Cas swallows hard. “It’s not that easy, Dean.”

“I know.” God, he knows. “I know, Cas. It’s hard. But it’s been years. You gotta move past it if you want to survive.”

“It hasn’t been years for him.”

“He forgives you, Cas.” Bobby never said it outright, but . . . when the leviathans came, when the thought Cas was gone and had to keep on fighting without him . . . they couldn’t afford to hold grudges over stuff that they couldn’t change. Besides, Bobby and Sam had never felt the betrayal the way Dean did. It never cut them so deeply, because Cas had never been to them what he’d been to Dean—although Dean had had no name for it, back then. “In this work, you have to forgive that sorta shit.”

“Dean. . .” Cas sounds like he wants to say more, but he’s not sure what.

Dean studies his face. Then he presses a soft kiss to Cas’s knuckles and says softly, “I forgive you too, you know that, right?”

Cas watches him for a moment, then quietly says, “Okay.”

It’s not much, but Dean takes it as a win for now.

Notes:

okay look I needed to get bobby out of the way for a little bit (although there should be at least one more bobby scene before he leaves for sioux falls) to give sam and dean some more one-on-one time with their parents, but never fear, I promise I have every intent of bringing him back!!

also I guess I was just thinking about like,,, the dream sequence in Death's Door and bobby facing down against his dad and stuff and just?? how that would affect how he engages with sam and dean?? like I know he was a ghost for a while after that but he wasn't exactly fully present due to the whole ghost thing. and also like,,,,, I think having john and mary around probably complicates things because bobby is very much sam and dean's parent. and I feel like facing down his own father and shit probably helps him accept that a lot more, but at the same time, he probably feels like he's intruding now that their biological family is here?? basically he's just a very interesting character to look at in this situation imo, and I can only somewhat show that because this is dean's POV but I just . . . have given a lot of thought to his character here apparently so y'all get a ramble ghsdghsd

anyways thanks for reading!! <33

Chapter 7

Summary:

a conversation with bobby + a fluffy scene with Charlie!!

Notes:

I'm trying to write 10k today (not all on this fic lmao, just to try to catch up on my camp nano goal) so here have another chapter even tho it's been like 3 hours since the last one lmao

anyways idk how technology works I just wanted to give Charlie something to do so if encrypting their phones doesn't make sense I apologize pls just pretend she's doing something legit

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bobby stays the night, then Sam offers to drive him up since they didn’t think to pick up his car when they were in Sioux Falls. Dean’s starting to suspect Sam’s avoiding the bunker on purpose, but honestly . . . he gets why. He’s pretty sure Sam still hasn’t had a proper one-on-one conversation with either of their parents, and . . . goddamn, Dean still hasn’t managed to face their dad one-on-one either, so he can’t really blame Sam.

“Dean,” Bobby says gruffly after breakfast. “Gimme a hand packing the car while Sam cleans up in here, will ya?”

Any of the bunker’s inhabitants could have cleaned up the kitchen, but Dean’s pretty sure Sam is the only one who knows Bobby well enough to have tried to join them, and he doubts that’s an accident on Bobby’s part. He’s not sure why Bobby wants to get him alone, but he follows dutifully anyway.

There’s honestly not a lot to pack, just some shit from their shopping trip yesterday—Sam had taken the impala into town, but Dean wasn’t letting him steal his baby for a whole day, so they had to transfer cars—and some leftovers Dean had made up for their drive. It takes ten minutes, tops, and Bobby definitely could have done it on his own, but he doesn’t say a word except to direct Dean in what to do.

It’s not til they’re done that Bobby says, “Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flick to him, and he’s suddenly nervous. There’s something in Bobby’s voice he can’t quite read. “Yeah?”

“You know I’m not blind, right?”

“What?” He’s genuinely not sure what Bobby’s talking about.

“You and Cas. You’re different with him now.”

His mouth feels suddenly very dry. “It’s just—”

“You’ve been in love with him since the goddamn apocalypse, idjit. It’s not news. Glad you two finally sorted your shit out.”

“It’s—I’m not—” He’s trying hard to keep his breathing steady. He knows how John would react, doesn’t know Mary enough yet to really say much about her at all, but if Bobby were to turn his back on him, he’s not sure if he could take it. It takes a second for the second half of what he said to sink in, and then he processes everything Bobby’s actually saying. “What?”

“He treat you right?” Bobby asks. “Make you happy?”

Dean swallows hard. “Yes.”

“Then I don’t give a goddamn shit.”

“You—what?”

“I shoulda said something earlier, but I didn’t really know how.”

“You’ve know all this time?” Dean can’t really wrap his head around that. He doesn’t even know if he’s known that long, not fully. “And you don’t—you’re not, I don’t know, mad?”

“Course I’m not mad, boy. You’re a goddamn good hunter and a goddamn good man, I don’t care who you wanna date or sleep with or whatever the fuck you’re doing with him.”

“We’re together,” Dean says, trying to keep his composure. It’s easier than letting on how much this fucking means to him, how much it matters that Bobby knows and he doesn’t care, but it’s still hard to say. It feels good, though. It feels so fucking good. “And I really love him.”

“I’m goddamn glad. After everything, I think you’ve earned that.”

He’s pretty sure he’s on the verge of crying, but he bites his lip and nods. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“C’mere, boy,” Bobby says, pulling Dean into a hug. It’s not something they do often, and it feels sort of strange, but it’s . . . nice. It feels sorta appropriate for the moment. If a tear or two trickles down his face, he don’t think Bobby notices.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

 

 

Sam texts Dean to let them know he’s staying at Bobby’s for the night instead of driving home the same day like he’d originally intended, and that’s enough for Dean to be almost certain he’s avoiding the bunker.

He groans and makes a mental note to talk to him about it once he’s back, and lets himself flop his head back onto Cas’s chest. They’re in Charlie’s room as she updates some of the old programs she set up for them and maneuvers getting credit cards and the like for John and Mary. It still feels sort of strange to do something so blatantly affectionate with Cas while someone else is in the room—he’s gotten better at it with Sam around, but it’s still hard—but it’s sort of nice to be able to. Charlie rolls her eyes when they get too lovey-dovey, but she doesn’t actually care, and that still feels so strange to Dean.

“Okay, I’ve updated all the encryptions on your phone, Cas, so you should be as safe as can be. Let me know when your parents end up getting phones and shit, Dean, so I can do the same for them. I’ll corner Sam for his later.”

“Thanks, Charlie, you’re a lifesaver,” Dean says as she tosses Cas his phone.

She grins “I know.”

He rolls his eyes. “So are you sticking around?”

The truth is, it’s been really nice to have her here, but he knows she probably has her own life to get back to.

She shrugs. “If you don’t mind.”

Dean blinks. Cas rolls his eyes and answers for him. “He doesn’t mind.”

“What he said.”

She snorts, but then gives them a quick grin. “Thanks. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. And besides, I like hanging around and annoying you. Dying for someone sorta makes you appreciate the finer things in life.”

He still feels an uneasy sorta feeling in his gut at the mention of her dying for him, but he knows she’s too stubborn to ever admit it was his fault. Besides, at least she’s here now.

“I’m so glad I didn’t have a sister growing up,” he mutters instead. She just grins even wider.

“Yeah, cause she would have kicked your ass.”

“You know what, fuck you.” She glances between him and Cas with a smirk, and starts to open her mouth. “Don’t you dare turn that into a joke, I swear to god.”

Her grin turns even more devious at that, and Cas stage-whispers, “I don’t think you should have mentioned god around her.”

“Yes, on the topic of god,” she says. “I still want to discuss how god himself wrote books about you.”

She is so lucky he loves her.

Notes:

this chapter was SO fun to write so I hope y'all liked it!! thanks again for reading <3

Chapter 8

Summary:

aaaaaangst (with a big ol' heaping side of "fuck john winchester")

Notes:

fair warning, this chapter gets a bit intense emotionally!! (at least if I wrote it right ghsghd)

john is in it and john is a dick and dean is struggling a lot with shit

but there's some fun stuff and some soft stuff too it's not juuust angst ghsdghdsg. so uhhh,,, hope y'all enjoy? idk this was a hard one to write

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Dean.”

Dean jumps when he hears his dad’s voice. He hadn’t realized anyone else was in the kitchen, and every reminder that he has his parents back is still enough to take him aback a little every time. It’s pretty early, earlier than anyone in the bunker has been getting up since Amara brought everyone back—admittedly, that’s only been a few days, so he guesses it’s not really long enough to make proper habits—and he’d dragged Cas out of their room to try and help him make breakfast.

He doesn’t really need the help, but he likes the company. And he’d sort of been looking forward to  the chance to do something domestic with Cas without anybody else looking over their shoulders, but he can’t really complain, he supposes. His parents live here now too, and he should be—he is—grateful for that.

He just misses being able to be open with Cas.

At some point, he knows he needs to tell them, but it’s just . . . his dad had always made it clear what he thought of people like him. He hadn’t known of course—Dean had suppressed it so far he’d hardly even known himself—and maybe it would be different if it was his own kid, maybe he’d be willing to re-examine his thoughts on the matter, but . . . maybe he wouldn’t.

He doesn’t know how to make everything he feels about his dad align, how to bridge the gap between this bone-deep fear that his father will reject him and the steadfast belief he has in the fact that his father is a good man who cares deeply about his family. Before his dad died, maybe even a year or two ago, he would have assumed he was the problem. Figured liking men was something worth rejecting, and his father would be right to do it, for the good of the family.

But Cas loves him too, and he knows that can’t be wrong.

He knows loving Cas can’t be wrong. Anyone else, maybe, but not him.

“You alright, son?” John asks, in a tone that sounds altogether foreign to Dean. It’s like having Mary back has kicked in some of his long-abandoned paternal instincts, and Dean doesn’t really know what to do with it.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s just . . . great to have you here.”

He glances back at Cas, half expecting him to leave like he did when it was Mary in the kitchen the other day, but Cas just gives him a small, encouraging smile and says, “I’ll put on some coffee.”

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles, sort of relieved Cas is staying. He turns back to John. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Right. Yeah. Me neither.” He’s been having uneasy dreams, filled with hell and Amara and childhood memories he thought he’d forgotten.

They both fall silent for a few moments, then John jerks his head toward Cas, fiddling with the coffeemaker. “So the angel really just lives here? He doesn’t have bigger problems than a couple of hunters?”

“I don’t consider Dean or Sam to be problems,” Cas says, and his voice is light, but Dean can hear the defensive note in it. He thinks John probably can too. And he knows the comment wasn’t meant as an insult—is pretty sure Cas probably knows too, and is just being a shit—but it still feels nice to be stuck up for for once. “I’d far rather be with them.”

John’s eyes flit suspiciously between Cas and Dean—not in the ways Dean is worried about, he doesn’t think, just mistrustfully—and he feels himself setting his lips into a thin line and saying, “He’s family.”

“‘Course,” John says, and Dean tries not to cringe at the skepticism in his voice. He knows it’s nothing personal against Cas, just John’s deep-seated trust issues. John doesn’t trust anyone who isn’t family. It’s just that Cas is family, at least to Dean. “So Sam still not back yet?”

“He said this afternoon.”

“Right. He avoiding me?”

Absolutely yes. “Nah, why would he avoid you?”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d told him what I said to you. About him. Cause you know, you and I, we understand this crap comes as part of the work sometimes. We know it ain’t personal. But Sammy’s always been real sensitive.”

Suddenly Dean’s blood is boiling. He’s not used to feeling angry at his dad—anyone else, yes, but not John—but this makes him fucking furious. He loves his dad, and he trusts his dad, but thinking killing Sam was ever a possibility is something Dean will never, ever be able to understand. He searches for words, for something that won’t make him explode at John. He looks away, eyes landing on a scuffed tile somewhere behind John. “His name is Sam.”

“What?”

“Not Sammy. Sam.”

John inspects him for a moment, then scoffs and grabs Dean’s chin, tilts it up so that they’re making eye contact. “Did you fucking tell him, Dean?”

Cas is at Dean’s side in a heartbeat, looking about ready to smite John, whose hand instantly drops as all his attention goes to Cas. Cas gives Dean a questioning look, but Dean holds up a hand and shakes his head. It’s not going to do any good for Cas to involve himself, it would just make John angry.

He forces himself to meet John’s eyes again, and nods. “Yes sir. I told him.”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean.”

“He didn’t go darkside. And he did that, not me. I didn't have to save him.” It’s the only defiance Dean can muster. It's not even fully true—he's not sure what would have happened with the demon blood, if he hadn't been around. But it's true enough. Part of him wants to scream that it wasn’t fair of John to say at all, to put that on him, to not even fucking elaborate enough to give him some fucking idea of what was coming. A bigger part of him wants to curl up and cry, let Cas hold him and just sob in a way he’s sure his dad would think is weak. But fuck it, maybe he’s weak. Maybe he’s always, always been weak. He doesn’t know how not to be.

“I told you not to tell him.”

“I didn’t mean to. I slipped up. Then he wouldn’t let it go until I explained.” He can still remember that conversation clear as day, even after so many years. Maybe not word for word, but he remembers Sam’s face. He’s still not sure whether he did the right thing, telling him, but he knows Sam would rather know.

“Well get him to stop holding a grudge, then. I’m his dad, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Dean says quietly.

“I’m gonna go find your mom,” John says, and Dean nods.

As soon as he’s gone, Cas starts, ”Dean—”

His voice is so gentle, so concerned, and Dean just—he can’t. “Cas, please, just don’t.”

“Dean, he shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

“Cas, I’m fine.” He doesn’t mean to snap it, but he hears his voice, short and angry, almost as if it’s coming from someone else. Cas watches him quietly for a second, and guilt starts to rush in. Dean’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry. Cas, I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is steady, and something about it is enough to bring Dean back down to earth. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed. I know your relationship with your dad is complicated. I’m just not used to seeing you around him.”

Dean lets himself slump into Cas’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Cas wraps his arms around Dean. For a moment they just stand there like that, in the middle of the kitchen, and Dean lets the feeling of Cas holding him start to steady him.

“I just . . . I don’t know anymore, Cas. There’s just so much . . . I don’t even know which direction’s up anymore, and I should be happy—I am happy—but I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, and Dad gave himself up for me, and I should be grateful but it’s been so long it barely even means anything to me anymore, and I—I can’t stop thinking of the last thing he said to me, and goddamn, maybe Sam’s right to be avoiding the place. I just feel so fucking lost, Cas.” He doesn’t know where any of that comes from, barely even realized he was crying until he notices Cas’s shoulder is wet with tears, and he just . . . he’s just so lost.

“You’re doing your best, Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is so gentle it hurts. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, it’s—I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath, does his best to pull himself together, straightens up and pulls back so he’s standing at arm’s length from Cas again. “It’s stupid, I’m sorry. Let’s just go back to our room, maybe we can have some fun.”

He’s pretty sure his voice isn’t even half as light as he intends it to be.

“I’m not sleeping with you right now, Dean.”

He pulls a face. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re upset.”

The worst part is, he knows Cas is right, knows he’s not in a good enough state, knows casual sex is probably the last thing he needs, even if it’s with Cas. But he knows Cas is going to try to stop him if he tries to go for beer right now, too, and goddamn, he grew up coping with this shit by getting piss-drunk and hooking up with pretty girls. He doesn’t really know how else to cope.

“Cas . . .” he whines. He’d never pressure Cas into anything, never complain if he didn’t know, deep down, that Cas is going to shut him down without a second thought, because he’s good like that and cares about Dean’s wellbeing. He still sort of hates himself for begging.

“Dean.”

“Sorry.”

“Come on,” Cas says gently. “I’ve got our coffee. We can watch one of your ridiculous wild west movies.”

Dean doesn’t say a word, but he lets himself be led back to their room, and as soon as the door closes behind them, he starts to feel a bit lighter. Cas presses a soft kiss to his temple, and pulls out Dean’s laptop for Dean to find a movie, and the grin Dean gives as he needles Cas about the movie—this one you’re going to like, I’ll make you like cowboy movies, I swear—is only mostly fake. Somehow, Cas always knows how to help him feel better.

 

 

The two of them watch movies—Cas still insists he doesn’t get the point of them, and Dean’s fairly certain it’s at least half because Cas spends most of the movie watching Dean instead of the screen—until there’s a knock on the bedroom door around mid-afternoon.

“Dean, you in there?” Sam calls as Cas hits pause. “I’m back from Bobby’s. Jody sent some food back for us, it’s in the fridge if you don’t feel like cooking.”

“Did she send pie?”

Sam scoffs. “You are so predictable. Yes, she sent pie.”

“Hell yeah!”

“You are a literal child,” Sam grumbles. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“No, wait, Sammy, come in here.” He told his dad he’d talk to Sam, and besides, he’d been meaning to himself. He doesn’t really want to, though, so if he doesn’t now, he might not ever.

“. . .  Is Cas in there?”

“We’re just watching movies, jeez. Nothing emotionally scarring.”

“Okay, okay, just checking!” The door cracks open, and Sam pokes his head in. They generally don’t visit in each other's rooms, but . . . they generally have a lot more privacy in the rest of the bunker than they do right now.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Cas says, pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s lips and standing to leave.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says. He doesn’t just mean for leaving, and he thinks Cas can tell.

“What’s up?” Sam says as the door closes behind Cas. He eyes the bed warily for a second, then pulls up a chair instead.

“Look, Sammy . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but everyone can tell you’re avoiding Mom and Dad.”

“Oh.” He glances down, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“I’m not . . . saying I blame you.” It’s sort of hard to say. A big part of him wants to say that, tell Sam to suck it up and deal with their dad, that if Dean can do it he can too, but . . . god. If he can barely talk to their dad after how they left things, he can only imagine it for Sam. “But you’re not as subtle as you think you are. Dad asked me about it this morning.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know. He also asked if I’d told you about . . . well, you know.” Sam looks confused for a second, and then it seems to click what Dean is referencing. “So. Yeah.”

“You told him I know?” Sam asks, and Dean nods. Neither of them speak for a second, and then, “Yeah. It’s been on my mind a lot, definitely. I hadn’t really—it wasn’t something I thought I was still hung up on, but . . . seeing Dad again . . . I don’t know, Dean. He said you might have to kill me. That’s hard to forgive, I guess. But it’s not even just that. That’s one part of it, but . . . I don’t know, Dean. We never had a good relationship. I don’t know where I stand with him. And I’m glad he’s back, don’t get me wrong, but I just . . . I don’t really know how to face him, because honestly, I can’t tell if I want to hug him or scream at him. And I know that’s not what you want to hear, but—”

“I get it.”

“What?”

Dean bites his lip, not meeting Sam’s eyes. It feels horrible to admit, especially to anyone who isn’t Cas, but he just . . . god, he gets it. “It’s been a long time since we saw him. I’ve changed. And I don’t know how that fits, anymore. I don’t know how . . . I mean with Cas, and with everything I’ve done, and . . . Having Dad back is incredible, but I also . . . I don’t know, Sammy. I’m not the same person I was when he died.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles, but there’s no humour in it. “Tell me about it.”

“You should at least talk to Mom, though. I think she’s having a hard time . . . figuring out how she fits. And she seems . . . I don’t know. It’s weird, but it’s nice too.”

Sam’s quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “Okay. And hey, Dean, you know if you . . . ever need to talk or anything, I’m here for you, right?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” He’s not going to, but he appreciates it all the same.

 

 

At dinner, in the middle of a long awkward silence, Charlie tentatively says, “I, uh, I think I found a case? It’s a few states over, just looks pretty routine salt and burn, I could go on my own probably?”

“You’re not going alone,” Dean says, because honestly, they just got her back from the dead.  He’s half tempted to say he’ll go with her, but that feels like a coward’s way out. He glances at Sam and sighs. It’s pretty clear he’s not ready to stop avoiding their dad, so he’d probably appreciate it. “Sam can go with you.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to over to him, and he gives Dean a small smile. They both know he’d prefer it if Sam stayed, but goddammit, this is his little brother, and honestly? The part of him that isn’t selfish doesn’t really want John around Sam anyway, not after how they left off. And that probably makes him a horrible son, but it’s Sam, and that’s too important. It’s not that he doesn’t trust their dad, it’s just . . . he’s not sure, honestly. He doesn’t want to examine these feelings too closely, because he feels if he does, everything will fracture and fall apart.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Sam says after a second. “Good idea.”

Charlie glances between them, wrinkles her nose, and then shrugs. Dean’s pretty sure she can see the tension and has just opted not to get involved. Probably smart.

“Why don’t I go too?” Mary says, and everyone stops dead to look at her.

John’s the first to break the silence, looking vaguely sick. “You can’t go on a hunt. It’s not safe.”

“Oh?” she says, voice slightly hard. She takes a deep breath, and gives him a small smile. “I told you, I was a hunter. I can look after myself, John.”

John opens and closes his mouth. Dean thinks it’s the first time he’s ever seen his father speechless.

He’s also pretty sure it’s the first time his dad’s given a damn that hunting is dangerous, but he tries to remind himself that he’s just gotten Mary back from the dead, of course he’s going to be a little protective.

“I thought you wanted to get out of hunting,” Sam says, brow furrowed.

“I wanted a normal life,” Mary says softly. “A family. I didn’t want this to follow you, just because I was raised to it. But that didn’t . . . that’s out of the cards, now. So if my family’s hunting, I’m gonna goddamn hunt.”

“Right.”

“And I’d . . . I’d love the chance to get to know you, Sam, if you don’t mind having me.”

Sam looks a bit like a deer in the headlights, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s probably trying not to choke up too much, but he nods. “Yeah, I’d—I’d like that.”

No one speaks for a moment.

“Um,” Charlie finally says. “Am I still coming, or . . .?”

Please,” Sam says, a little over-enthusiastically. He glances sheepishly at Mary, and quickly adds, “You’re probably gonna cut our research time down by like half, having you on a hunt is always great.”

“Right,” she says. “I really should teach you some tricks one of these days.”

“That’d be great, yeah. Anyways, leave first thing in the morning?”

“Sounds great,” Mary says, as Charlie pulls a face and nods.

Everyone scatters pretty quickly after that, and Dean pulls Sam aside as he’s leaving.

“You good with this?” he asks quietly.

Sam seems to consider for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. I think it’ll do me some good to get to know her. Um, and . . . thanks. For being patient with me on Dad.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles. “Just . . . repay it by making sure Charlie doesn’t get killed by a ghost, okay?”

Sam snorts. “I think she’ll be fine—she’s pretty good. But I’ll keep an eye out for her, don’t worry. Seriously though, Dean, thanks.”

“Whatever, Sammy,” he says, but he nods and awkwardly pats Sam on the back as he ducks out of the kitchen.

“Dude what was that?” he calls after him, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Did you just pat me on the back?”

“Oh fuck off.”

Notes:

john is hard to write wow but anyways hope y'all liked this chapter!! I am slightly unsure where I'm going next (I know where I'm going OVERALL just not like,,,, directly right away what scene comes next) so it might be a few days before I come back with more of this, we shall see. in the meantime I might post a lighter oneshot or two?? I have a couple of random outsider POV wips (mostly sam sam-centric because he's way easier to write even though dean is my favourite lmao) that I'm working on that I might finish if my brain doesn't go SQUIRREL and start something new lmaoooo

Chapter 9

Summary:

dean starts to admit to himself that his dad is a piece of shit <33 also his dad continues to be a piece of shit

(I'm so sorry I am very anti-John but also if you like John why are you reading this lmaooo)

Notes:

hey y'all I'm so sorry this took me so long to update!! life has been busy, and when I did have free time, I was binging marvel content before multiverse of madness (which I had Thoughts about but here is not the place for those lmaoooo so those are on my tumblr if you're interested)

anyways here have a 3k+ chapter to make up for how long this took me

I also just want to note that although this generally sticks with the same tone as the rest of the fic, some of the content in this chapter is sorta heavy, so warning for depiction of a panic attack/extreme anxiety (I have only had a panic attack maybe once so idk if this really counts but it's definitely based on my own experience w/ anxiety so I swear I somewhat know what I'm talking about lmao), emotional abuse, and a brief mention of past suicidal thoughts. I try my best to handle it all sensitively, and I don't think the general tone is much darker than the rest of the fic, but I know these can be upsetting topics, so if you have any questions before you read, or want a summary so you can skip it, feel free to comment down below or message me on tumblr <3

also look it is possible this chapter is horrendously bad but I didn't really stop to edit it so,, sorry not sorry lmaooo

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The bunker feels strangely empty, without Sam, Mary, and Charlie. It’s weird, because it’s still only really been a few days, and before all the chaos with God and Lucifer, three people in the bunker had been a normal amount. He guesses it’s just that he’s used to having someone around who he knows where he stands with. Sam or Charlie, who just seem to get him. He and Sam fight, sure, but . . . it’s different than it is with John.

The knowledge that it’s just him, Cas, and his Dad . . . it makes the whole place feel huge in a way he can’t quite put his finger on.

They spend the first two days that everyone else is gone just sitting around, drinking beer, and catching up on the easier parts of the past ten years. Dean fills John in on all the ways they’ve found to better fight demons and monsters, because it’s easy conversation.

It’s probably paranoid, but he doesn’t mention how to kill an angel.

Still, after a while the conversation starts to flow in a way that fills Dean with relief. It’s nothing personal, just monsters and world events and all the little unimportant things John missed, but it feels a bit like how things used to be, and a bit like something fresh and new, and it’s . . . nice, he thinks. Comfortable in a way they never got to be before.

The whole time, Cas hovers just out of the way, perched on a stool or the edge of a couch. Usually he has a book, but Dean sees the way he forgets to turn the pages sometimes, and knows he’s listening.

It’s not until their third morning alone in the bunker that something actually real comes up; they’re talking about demons, and then they’re talking about deals, and . . . it’s just too close not to say anything.

“I know you made a deal for me, Dad.”

He’s sure John knew that he knew—his death was too sudden, too strange, to have been anything else, and he has to have known that, but it still feels like something to be stated.

“I did,” John says, and Dean’s not sure why the confirmation seems to ring in his bones. He knew. He’s known since the day it happened. But hearing it from his dad still does something to him.

“Why?” He doesn’t mean to ask, doesn’t mean for his voice to come out sounding quite so haunted.

John studies him for a long moment before he speaks. “I knew going in that I wasn’t likely making it outta that fight alive. But you were supposed to. Mary wouldn’t have wanted you to die for her.”

He doesn’t really know what to make of any of that, so he just nods. Ten years later, and he’s still not sure how to feel about his father sacrificing himself for him, not sure if he’s angry or grateful or somewhere in between. Part of him still thinks John could have made it through these past ten years without causing half the mess Dean has. But another part of him, the selfish, greedy, hungry part of him, is so glad he’s alive, and wants to keep on living. There’ve been times, in the past, where he didn’t. Times when dying seemed easier than having to keep going. But honestly, he’s happier now. Has been for a while. And he’s not sure what it is and if he’s not sure if he deserves it, but maybe he’s got a little bit of hope for the future. Cas is part of it, certainly, but he doesn’t think it’s just Cas, either. It’s Sam, and it’s Jody and her girls, and it’s Garth, and it’s all the people he’s come to consider family over the years. It’s the way the people they save get the chance to live their lives, have the peace he’s never gotten. It’s the way maybe, after all these years, he finally feels like he has somewhere to call home.

But he’s still not sure if he deserves it. Still not sure if it was better him than John.

“Right,” he finally manages, swallowing hard.

“So what was the deal with the mark of Cain?” his dad asks after a moment, seemingly unaware of the turmoil in Dean’s head. It takes a moment for the question to solidify in Dean’s mind, and then he cringes a little. He’d filled in the basics of Amara and the mark of Cain almost before anything else—it had been hard not to, with all the questions about how the fuck they’d all ended up alive again—but he’d been purposefully vague on the details.

Dean’s done a lot of things he regrets, in his life, but nothing else feels quite so raw as the things he did with the mark. He may be able to look Cas in the eye again now, but he’s never come close to forgiving himself.

He’s almost certain that if his dad had been around to see it, he’d have had the guts to end it. He can’t blame Sam and Cas for not giving up on him—god, he wishes he could, but deep down he’s so fucking glad—but he knows John wouldn’t have ever let it get so far. Would expect Dean to have done more to stop it from getting so far, since he hadn’t been able to do it himself.

That’s the sort of man John is. The sort Dean should be.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas says, without looking up from his book. The idle way he says it doesn’t fool Dean. “Dean had the mark of Cain. Now he doesn’t. It’s done.”

“I was talking to my son.”

Dean swallows hard, and stares at the counter behind John. He tries to keep his voice as flat and casual as he can, but he always sort of feels like his dad can see right through him. “It corrupted me. It made me into something worth hunting. But it’s gone. Sam, Cas, Charlie . . .” He can’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “They saved me. Now I don’t know if that was the right choice, or the smart choice, or any of that shit, but I do know that I’m gonna goddamn do my best to make it worth it.”

He can never make it worth it, never make up for all the things Amara was able to do because the people who loved him chose to save him—never make up for all the things he did with the mark—but goddammit, he’ll do the best he can.

John doesn’t say a word.

The silence stretches on for a moment, and then Cas close his book with more force than is necessary and says firmly, “It was worth it.”

Dean sort of wants to cry. John still doesn’t say a word.

Cas seems to take all this as cue to keep going. “Your son is a good man, John Winchester. He might not always be able to see that, but you should. So know we made the right choice, to save him.”

There’s no real reproach in it, but Dean can hear it there, under the surface. He wants to be mad, to tell Cas to stay the fuck out of this and give John some time to adjust, but he’s just . . . not. Cas’s words make him feel warm, and safe, and in love. He sort of hates himself for it, but god, he loves it when Cas stands up for him, even if John really probably doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it.

“This is a family matter, Castiel.” He says Cas’s name as if it’s bitter in his mouth. “It’s none of your business. So butt out.”

Dean sees Cas’s eyes go hard, and he’s not sure he wants to see an all-out fight between his dad and his partner, so he steps between them and says softly, “Cas, it’s okay.”

He turns to his dad, and tries to form the words to say everything he wants to. Cas is more family than you are anymore. Cas saved me; saves me every day I think, just by being. Cas was there, all those times when you weren’t. Cas loved me when you wouldn’t have. Family is too small a word to describe what Cas is. He swallows hard, and manages a quiet “Cas is family.”

“Not to me he’s not.”

And Dean can’t really argue with that, because John doesn’t know Cas, and Dean can hardly expect him to view Cas the same way he and Sam do.

“Cas, I’ve got this,” he says gently, trying not to let the way his heart pounds at the thought of being alone with John show. He’s pretty sure Cas sees right through him. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll find you later.”

He can feel Cas’s eyes on the back of his head, can picture the concern in them, but he knows if he lets himself meet their gaze, he’ll break down.

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says quietly. Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to find him planted in the hall outside the kitchen with a book, still listening in. He doesn’t say anything to dissuade him from that, even though he knows Cas should probably not dedicate his every second to making sure Dean’s alright the way he has been since Amara brought John and Mary back. The thought of having him there is just too comforting.

The kitchen feels instantly larger as soon as Cas leaves. So does John. Or maybe Dean just feels smaller. He’s not really sure if there’s a difference.

He’s not sure why facing his dad knowing the truth of everything he's done feels a bit like facing down a firing squad.

The silence stretches and stretches and stretches until it feels like an elastic about to snap, and all the while, Dean finds his eyes darting all over the kitchen, frantic for somewhere to look that isn’t his father. John just stares at him, eyes like lasers.

He wishes Cas were still here.

“I messed up,” he finally says, after the silence has become too much to bear and then some. “I did things . . . horrible things. And I don’t know what you want me to say, Dad, because I can’t undo them. And I don’t know if it was worth it, to kill Abbaddon or . . . or anything. I don’t know if I deserve to live, after everyone I hurt. But I do know that there is nothing I can do to take it all back, so I have to fucking live with it.”

“Don’t try to justify yourself to me, boy. Just do better.” It’s the sort of thing that, from someone like Bobby, might be forgiveness. But from John, it’s sharp as a knife. It says I don’t want to hear it, I just want you to man up and stop being so fucking weak. And god, he deserves it—so much more than he has ever deserved forgiveness—but fuck, it hurts. “You’re a goddamn Winchester, so fucking act like it.”

“Yes sir,” Dean chokes out. “Sorry sir.”

He knows the second the sorry is out of his mouth it’s not what his dad wants to hear. Dean could never tell, growing up, whether his dad wanted him to grovel or if it would just get him told off for acting like a pussy. Apparently he still can’t.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” John snaps. Dean takes an involuntary step back. “Stop with the fucking self-pity and man up.”

Dean swallows hard, clenches his fists at his side, and nods silently. He forces himself to meet John’s eyes, and not flinch away at the anger in them. For a moment they just stand there, eye to eye, daring each other to make the first move.

Dean breaks first.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he mumbles, and backs out of the kitchen, without taking his eyes off John.

Sure enough, Cas is sitting just outside the door, and as soon as he sees him, Dean feels a rush of hot shame wash over him.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers as soon as they’re out of hearing distance from the kitchen. “I know it’s . . .” god, he doesn’t even know what it is. Not Cas’s problem? Fucking mortifying? Weak as shit?

“Dean, he shouldn’t speak to you like that.” Cas’s voice is gently chiding, and god, Dean is so humiliated that Cas heard that. He should have made sure Cas actually left properly. He should have fucking thought, instead of just wanting.

“It’s nothing, Cas. He’s just—he’s adjusting.”

“That’s no excuse. And it’s not nothing, Dean, not if you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset!” Dean snaps. He doesn’t look at Cas, doesn’t want to see the hurt that must be in his eyes. “I’m fine, Cas. I’m used to it.”

“How are you used to it if he’s ‘just adjusting’?” Cas’s voice is hard, and there’s a fire in it Dean doesn’t think he’s heard for years. And suddenly Dean can’t breathe, because he can handle his dad being mad at him—when has his dad ever not been mad at him for something or another—but his dad and Cas at once is just—it’s just too much.

He doesn’t realize he’s stopped moving until Cas steps in front of him, eyes huge and unreadable. All Dean can hear is his own ragged breathing, but distantly, he processes Cas taking his hands in his and squeezing softly, and god, a shudder runs through his whole body at the touch and he clings onto Cas’s soft hands like a liferaft. He’s pretty sure Cas is speaking, but he can’t hear a word over the blood rushing through his veins.

Finally, sound starts to break through Dean’s panic, and he’s able to make out Cas’s steady stream of soothing words. “—going to be okay, Dean. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Look at me, are you okay?”

Dean forces his eyes up to meet Cas’s, and he takes in a deep shuddery breath. “I’m okay. Sorry. For—for everything. For all of this. You deserve—”

Cas presses a finger to Dean’s lips. It’s warm. “Shhh. It’s alright, Dean. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not—but you— You sounded mad, Cas. You don’t have to go easy on me just because I had a . . . a panic attack or whatever.” Is maybe still slightly having one, if he’s being honest. His heart is pounding so hard he feels like he’s going to explode.

“I’m not mad at you, Dean,” Cas says again. “I’m worried. And I’m mad that you’re hurting. But I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh.” He’s not really sure what else to say.

“Dean, I could never be mad at you for this.”

“I’d probably be mad, if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not me.”

“Cas . . .”

“Come on,” Cas says, not letting him finish. He presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“It’s like 10AM, Cas.”

“Bed. Now.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, and lets Cas lead him to their room, tuck him in, and wrap his arms around him.

They don’t sleep—not that Cas even could—but neither of them speak; they just lie there for hours, Cas’s arms wrapped tightly around Dean, until Dean’s bladder finally makes him get up. When he gets back, Cas is sitting up, and he gestures for Dean to join him.

“Can we talk about this?” he says, as Dean perches on the end of the bed, not quite meeting his eyes.

Dean swallows hard. “There’s not much to say.”

“Is that how he always is?”

It feels like damnation when he says, “Yes.”

“That’s not okay, Dean.” Cas sounds so sad, it sort of breaks Dean to hear.

“I know.” He’s not sure he does—still not sure John isn’t right to treat him like a fuck-up, like a failure—but he knows how it looks, knows Cas will never accept it as okay. “But he’s my dad, Cas. What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like that you’re hurting.”

“I’m used to it,” he says again, softly. He still can’t look Cas in the eye.

“I know, Dean. I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer this.”

“He’s my dad,” he repeats. “Of course I do.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, and when Dean finally forces himself to look up and meet his eye, the strength of his gaze almost startles him into looking away again—there’s such an ache in his eyes that Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, and it hurts him even just to see.

It’s enough to make him swallow hard and admit, “It used to be easier. I was . . . numb, I guess. This is hardly the worst he’s ever been, but it’s . . . the worst it’s ever felt. I dunno.”

“Have you considered therapy? I hear it’s very good for this sort of thing.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, and say what? My dad came back from the dead and I’m having trouble coping? They’d lock me up in a heartbeat.” He narrows his eyes. “Cas, were you googling how to help me?”

“. . . Maybe. But Dean, you should talk to someone. And as hard as I try, I still don’t always understand human custom, so you probably shouldn’t just talk to me.”

“For the love of god, Cas, stop with the self-help mumbo jumbo already.” Cas gives him a reproachful look, and he sighs. “Sorry. You’re right. Maybe I’ll mention it to Sam. I’m not going to a shrink though.”

“Okay.”

“Now will you shut up and kiss me?”

Cas rolls his eyes, but leans forward and pulls Dean down onto the bed, pressing his lips softly to Dean’s. Dean lets himself melt into Cas, and for the moment, he feels safe.

 

 

It’s dinnertime by the time they emerge from their room, and John is in the kitchen, unpacking take-out from a greasy burger joint in Lebanon that Dean frequents when they pass through town. He doesn’t say a word, just tosses Dean a burger and jerks his head toward a seat. They don’t speak all through dinner, but Dean knows the burgers are a truce.

They’re not an apology—he doubts he’ll ever get an apology, for this or for anything else—but they’re something.

This is how they’ve always been.

When Sam used to fight with John, they’d be huffy and petty for weeks, barely make up before the next fight. With Dean and John, though, it was different—there weren’t any explosive fights, just hushed defiance and whispered reprimands. He doubts Sam ever even noticed most of the conflict between them.

The difference, Dean thinks, has always been that he lets John win. Sam was always too stubborn to give in, but Dean always let John win, in the end. Made himself small, did what John asked. On the rare occasions he did defy him, it would always be quietly, and he’d always make up for it after by letting John cow him.

He always thought Sam was the one who was doing it wrong, being too stubborn for his own good, but now . . . looking at it all through the lens of time, sometimes Dean isn’t sure anymore. Sometimes he wonders which of them was really in the right.

Sometimes he wonders if, had he been more like Sam, his father wouldn’t have gotten away with treating him the same way he did. Other times, he thinks having Sam’s defiance would have just made it worse.

Most of the time, he just hates himself a bit for even thinking this shit, because this is his dad he’s talking about, and he loves him, and he knows he tried his best—or he thinks he did, or maybe he just wants to think that. He’s not even sure anymore.

But he lets John pass him a beer, and tell him about this one hunt he went on back in ’05, and forces an easy smile onto his face, because it’s his dad, and if nothing else, he can do that much.

Notes:

thanks for reading y'all! I'm starting a new job so no promises when the next chapter will come, but I haven't forgotten about this fic I swear

Chapter 10

Summary:

sam and dean finally fucking talk about their feelings

Notes:

hey y'all, sorry, apparently working is really fucking exhausting, so updates might be a bit further apart now lmaoooooo. I am trying my best bc I love this story, but wow I am tired rn

anyways ngl i only even proofread about half this chapter, and it was written between the hours of 2am and 6am, so it might suck, but I was pretty happy with it while I was writing it ghsdghgds

enjoy!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sam gets back that night, after John has gone to bed, and something about him seems lighter as Mary and Charlie trail after him into the bunker. They’re all exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, but they all look happy. Charlie mostly because she got the girl they saved’s number, he’s pretty sure, but Sam and their mom act different around each other now than they did when they left, more comfortable. They can’t spend more than fifteen minutes catching up in the kitchen before they scatter for the night, but even just in that time, Dean can see it clear as day.

The next morning, it’s even more evident when he walks into the kitchen and finds them covered in flour and batter, attempting to make pancakes. For a moment he just stands there in the doorway, Cas at his shoulder, watching Sam and Mary laugh together as Mary manages to pour pancake batter onto the stove instead of her pan. It’s gonna be a bitch to clean up, but he can’t even bring himself to be mad, because this is . . .  goddamn, this is his family.

Sam catches his eye after a moment, and gives him a sheepish smile.

“We’ll clean up,” he says, appropriately apologetically.

“You’d better,” Dean shoots back, but he’s pretty sure he’s grinning. He finally unsticks his feet from the doorway and sprawls in a chair facing Sam and Mary. “And I call the first pancake you can manage not to burn.”

Sam glances at the stack of slightly-charred pancakes sitting on the counter and winces. “That might be a while.”

“Dude, how hard are pancakes?”

“Very hard!” Sam says with a roll of his eyes. “Just ‘cause you can cook doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“I think he took after me,” Mary says wryly, and Dean snorts. “Not sure how you ended up able to cook, Dean, cause you bet your ass no one else in this family has ever known how.”

“Why do you think I had to?” Dean says with a grin. The real reason is that he’d had to learn the basics because John could have been a goddamn star at cooking and it still wouldn’t have done any good if he hadn’t been around to make sure Sam ate; and then after that, because putting actual effort into his food—even if he mostly makes the sort that makes Sam gag—feels like something someone with any amount of stability would do. But he’s not going to say any of that, not now, probably not ever. He jerks his head toward Sam. “I couldn’t eat anything this one made.”

“Oh fuck off,” Sam says, then turns bright red. “Sorry, Mom.”

“I grew up a hunter, Sam. I guarantee you I’ve heard worse.”

“Right. Yeah, guess that would do it.”

“Sure did.” She pauses, and peers down at the pan in front of them. “I think we just burnt another one.”

“Perhaps Dean should help,” Cas says idly, without looking up from his phone. Mary and Sam exchange a glance, and Sam nods.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mary agrees.

There’s not enough batter left for enough pancakes, at least not by Dean’s standards, but soon everyone—including Charlie and John, who emerged at some point while Dean was cooking—is sprawled around the table with an unburnt pancake in front of them. Dean genuinely does not understand how it was that hard, but he supposes it’s true that neither Sam nor Mary has ever been a great cook.

Still. Pancakes. Not that hard.

“I found a hunt,” Cas says as everyone else finishes eating. “I believe it’s near where Donna Hanscum lives, so Dean and Sam, maybe it’s best you two take this one on your own, since she knows you.”

Sam shrugs and nods, mouth full of pancake, but Dean narrows his eyes. He’s pretty sure Cas has no idea where Donna lives.

Sure enough, when Dean breaks off to shove some clothes into a backpack, Cas trails after him and tells him he’s found a string of vampire attacks in Colorado.

“Donna lives in Minnesota, Cas.”

“My mistake, I thought she was in Colorado.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Cas sighs. “Talk to him, Dean.”

“Is there even actually a hunt, or is this just an excuse for you to get me away from my dad and make me talk about my feelings.”

“There is an actual hunt. I’ll text you the article. But talk to Sam, Dean.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

Cas stands on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Dean’s head, then whispers, “You’ve got this.”

Dean is pretty certain he has not got this—the feelings part, at least; he’s pretty sure he can handle a few vamps—but he lets Cas push him out the door anyways.

 

 

The hunt itself is fairly easy—there’s an easy pattern to spot in the deaths, so they stake out the next location and take care of the small group of vamps right away. Dean was a bit worried the cops would cause trouble, staking out the same spot, but after one of them got half his blood sucked out, they were pretty inclined to let Sam and Dean leave without asking too many questions.

They shower and crash in a motel for a few hours, then they’re back on the road to the bunker.

Talking to Sam is a little less easy. Dean’s been fidgety all trip, shooting glances at Sam every ten minutes, trying to figure out how to bring it up. Or what even it is that he’s supposed to be bringing up exactly. Sam asks a few times if he’s alright, but he just rolls his eyes and says he’s fine.

Every time he tries to say something, the words get stuck in his throat.

But when he thinks it’s better not to say anything, to just keep pushing it all down until I forget how to feel again, he thinks of Cas; the sorrow in his eyes when Dean opened up to him about John the other day, and how disappointed he’d be if Dean came back without having said anything to Sam.

It’s not until they’re about an hour out from the bunker that Dean finally forces his mouth to work.

“I don’t think I forgive Dad.”

He keeps his gaze on the road, but he can feel Sam’s eyes snap to him. “What?”

“I’m just . . . confused, Sammy. And I love him. And I missed him. And I’m so glad he’s back. But I dunno if I forgive him, for . . . for so many fucking things, Sam. And sometimes I think it would just be easier if—” He cuts off. He can’t say that, can’t admit how fucked up he is.

But Sam just says quietly, “If he never came back.”

And Dean doesn’t have it in him to deny that’s what he was going to say, so he just nods, eyes still never leaving the road.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Sam says, “It’s not that I’m not happy he’s alright. He’s our dad, of course I am. But I don’t think I ever realized how much easier I breathed when he wasn’t around. Because even at Stanford, even when I hadn’t seen him for years, I always felt like he was looking over my shoulder. Hell, knowing him, he could’ve been. And now that he’s back, I don’t know how to face him.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. He darts a glance at Sam, finally, and sees some of his own conflict mirrored back on Sam’s face, and yeah, okay, maybe Cas was onto something here. Not being alone in this makes it all feel a little less heavy. “It was always Dad, you know? You and him, you were my entire world, but he was . . . I looked up to him. He was who I was supposed to be. I hunted with him, I did what he said. We fought—god we fought so much more than you probably realized—but I was always his good little soldier boy, at the end of the day. Whatever he did, I’d put up with it. But it’s been ten years, and that’s not who I am anymore, and I don’t even know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“It is,” Sam says, and there’s a quiet certainty in his voice that shakes Dean to his core. “You’ve always been damn good, but you’re a better man than you were ten years ago, Dean. Anyone can see it.”

Dean swallows hard.

It feels a bit like a betrayal for Sam to say; even more of a betrayal for Dean to believe him. But he does. Because he’s never liked who he is, but when he thinks back over all his rough edges that time has smoothed—especially these past ten years—he likes himself a bit more now that they’re gone.

“I don’t know what to do, Sammy.”

Sam’s quiet for long enough he starts to wonder if he heard him at all. Then: “Me neither.”

“I love him.” He’s pretty sure Sam can hear his voice break. “But I don’t remember how to be his perfect son anymore, and I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing.”

“I’ve never known how,” Sam says quietly, and something in Dean’s chest squeezes at the haunted tone to his voice. “But now . . . I don’t know, Dean. We’ve faced the end of the world, and I think that scared me less than this.”

“Me too,” Dean says quietly.

“Really?” Sam’s head jerks back towards him, and Dean’s not really sure why, after this whole conversation, that surprises Sam. He nods, and Sam makes a thoughtful noise. “I never thought . . . I don’t know. Dad always scared me a bit, but you’ve always been so comfortable with him, I guess.”

Dean swallows hard and stares intently at the road. “Dad terrified me.”

He can feel Sam’s eyes boring into him, and he instantly wants to take it back. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t, though; pretty sure Sam knows him too well to ever think he’d say something like that—something that feels more blasphemous to say than anything he’s ever done, and he’s rebelled against heaven itself—if he didn’t fucking mean it.

“Oh.”

“I know it’s not fair of me. He did his best. But he scares me, Sammy. He always has, ever since we were kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and goddamn Dean hates that, because his little brother was never the one responsible for looking after him, it’s always been the other way around. “I never knew . . .”

“I never wanted you to.”

“Still, Dean—”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles. “We’re almost back. And Sam, don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”

“Of course not, but Dean, it’s not nothing.”

“Yeah,” he says firmly, “it is. I’m mad at him, and I’m scared of him, and some days I wonder if I hate him a bit too, but at the end, he’s family. I love him. So I’ve just gotta accept all the bad shit, ‘cause what else can I do.”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam says softly. “I wish I did. But I don’t think nothing is the answer.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what we’ve got.”

He reaches over, and cranks up the radio. He knows Sam’s giving him a Look, but he ignores it. He doesn’t have the answers Sam wants, he never has. Doesn’t have the answers he wants, either.

When they get back to the bunker, and Dean falls into his bed and Cas’s arms, he can’t tell whether the whole conversation made him feel lighter or heavier. He just knows that, pressed up against Cas’s sturdy form, he can feel himself trembling. 

Notes:

thanks for reading y'all!! ilyall <33

Chapter 11

Summary:

whoops I'm making dean suffer here

also starting to see some Tension between john and mary ghdsghhgsd

Notes:

hey y'all look at me I'm actually updating after a normal amount of time instead of either (1) weeks, or (2) a handful of hours

anyways lmao hello hi welcome. I hope you all enjoy the chapter! I do just want to note that there is some more blatant homophobia in this chapter than previous instalments, and although I don't view queer as a slur personally, it is sort of used as one here, so take care of yourselves!

also yes I did literally just open up google maps and poke around until I found a random town in easy driving distance of kansas, what of it

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

A week or so passes without incident. Dean avoids spending time with John alone, spends more time than he probably should curled up in bed with Cas and avoiding everyone, but things slowly start to feel normal. It’s a strange feeling.

Family dinners become a thing—usually Dean cooks, or else they order takeout, because Charlie’s the only other one in the bunker who can manage not to burn a meal, and she refuses to cook for the entire family (and in fact often forgoes joining them at all in favour of eating in front of her computer)—and they spend hours watching movies, playing poker, and catching up on all the little details they’ve missed over the years.

There’s a strange dissonance to spending time with Mary; she feels both like their mom, and like a stranger, all at once. When she knew them last, they were basically babies, and now she’s younger than them. But, Dean finds, it’s still nice to get to know her.

He learns she loves watching romcoms, and can always predict the plot twists in horror movies. That she can kick all their asses in poker, but that as much as she can hold her liquor, her poker face is the first thing to go when she gets a bit drunk one night. That she loves bacon, and the only food she ever makes for herself is sandwiches, and she gags at the taste of avocado (that one was Sam’s fault).

For so many years, she was just an idea, but now she’s a person.

 He starts to learn how to read her, and in a way, he thinks he understands her more in a week than he ever did his dad over decades. He’s nothing like her—she ran away from hunting while he ran toward it, always—and he’s spent his whole life shaping himself around his dad, but somehow, he thinks he might have more in common with her than he does his dad. It’s in the way she laughs at Cas’s jokes—John still looks at him warily, but Mary seems to have accepted that he’s family to Sam and Dean, and has tried her best to get to know him—and the way she ruffles Sam’s hair, and the way she seems to care so deeply.

John has always cared about Mary, so fiercely Dean thinks it could have burnt down the world. But Dean’s never been sure if he really, truly cared about anything else, even him and Sam. Loved them, yes, but it’s always been a distant sort of love.

Mary’s not like that. She may not be the soft-hearted, nurturing mother figure he remembers her as—he’s known for years that wasn’t her; no one raised a hunter can ever truly be that soft—but she cares. He can see it in the way she talks about hunting, talks about leaving it, talks about the moments even after she left when she saw someone who needed help and couldn’t walk away.

He doesn’t think John wants to hunt anymore, not now he’s had his revenge and gotten Mary back, and he can hardly blame him for that. But Mary’s like Sam that way—like Dean, too: they may have wanted something normal, may have tried to escape, but in the end, they care too much to ever truly leave the life.

There’s something about it all that makes Dean’s chest ache; he wonders what life would have been like, to have her as a role model growing up.

 

 

Dean’s about to knock on his parents’ door to call them to dinner when he catches Cas’s name and pauses. The bunker doors are thick, but it’s open a crack, so he can hear. He allows his breathing to slow, and carefully slows to a stop; they don’t seem to have heard his footsteps.

His mom’s voice is the first sentence he fully hears. “I don’t know, he seems sweet. If Sam and Dean trust him, I see no reason not to.”

“Because you don’t know how dangerous this world can be. This stuff isn’t a joke, Mary.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then she scoffs. It’s the first time he’s ever really heard her sound properly frustrated. “I grew up to this, John. I got out because I knew how dangerous it was.” Her voice cracks a little. “And I know—the deal—it was my fault that you got sucked in, but you’re the one who raised our kids to this, so don’t tell me I’m the one who doesn’t know how dangerous it can be.”

Another long pause, and Dean half expects an outburst, the sort of reprimand he or Sam would have gotten for talking back like that. Instead, John heaves a heavy sigh and says, “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean it like that. I just forget that you . . .”

Dean tries to recall if he’s ever heard his father apologize.

If so, he can’t remember.

“I know,” Mary says, and it’s so quiet Dean almost misses it. “Let’s just . . . forget it, okay? But I think I’m entitled to my opinion here.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Still, I don’t like the guy. Something’s off with him.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Mary says evenly. She sounds tired, Dean thinks. “But he is an angel, it might just be that. He's not what we're used to. But he seems to really care about Dean and Sam.”

“I worry he cares a little too much about Dean,” John says, and every cell in Dean’s body feels like it’s frozen in place. They’ve been so careful. Done everything they can, and so much more than Dean feels fair asking from Cas. And still, John can see it.

At least he seems to think it’s unrequited. That Dean doesn't feel the same way. He hates himself for being glad, but he’s selfish, and so he’s glad anyways.

“What do you mean?” Mary asks softly.

Dean’s pretty sure he’s not breathing.

“That angel never seem a little, you know, queer to you?”

He flinches at the word queer. It’s not that the term itself is incorrect—Cas generally forgoes human labels for things like sexuality, but if asked to define it, Dean knows queer is the one Cas will use to describe himself—or even that it’s one that would normally bother him. Fuck knows he’s used it himself a fair few times.

But it’s the way John says it.

It feels like the same way he’d say demon, or vampire, or poltergeist. He says it like monster. He thinks John could have said any word there and it would have had the same affect so long as his tone didn’t change. And goddamn, it stings.

John,” Mary chides. Dean’s breath hitches in his throat. “Don’t say things like that, he’s Dean’s friend.”

“That’s what Dean thinks.”

“I’m sure if Castiel tried anything untoward, Dean would shut him down. Besides, do you really think even a rogue angel would be . . . like that? I may not be religious, but it seems unlikely. You’re reading too much into this, John. I think he’s just an awkward guy who cares a lot about Dean. Like a friend, or a brother. I don’t think there’s anything . . . weird about it.”

So. That’s what she thinks.

He’s barely sucking in air anymore, and his chest feels like it’s going to burst, but at least he knows. At least he doesn’t have to keep on wondering, keep on hoping maybe she’d understand, maybe she wouldn’t condemn him for this.

At least he knows.

He stumbles away, practically forgetting he was supposed to be calling them for dinner.

He could go to Cas—who’s probably sitting in the kitchen, waiting patiently for everyone to arrive for a family dinner even though he doesn’t eat—but he thinks facing Cas right now might make him break down. Instead, he finds himself back in his room, dialling a number on his phone.

“Bobby Singer speaking,” says the gruff voice on the other end. Instantly, something in Dean feels a little lighter, just hearing it.

“Bobby, it’s me.”

“Dean. Goddamn it this new phone, I don’t have any of my old contacts. And there’s so many new buttons.What’s wrong, boy?”

“Nothing, just—wanted to see how you were.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“What, can’t I just call to say hello? Maybe I missed you, with the whole being dead thing.” He can tell Bobby’s going to argue, so he quickly adds, “Sam might still have some of your old phones, if you want me to check with him?”

“You do that, yeah. This thing’s driving me crazy. But don’t you go changing the subject.”

Dean sighs. “It’s nothing. Honestly I just . . . needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“What about Cas and Sam? Did something happen?”

“No, they’re—I just—” His breathing is starting to return to normal, but he still finds him sucking in large, shaky breaths. “I miss you, Bobby. Having my dad here, it’s great, but he’s—he’s not you, Bobby. He’s not . . . I mean, you know how he is.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, for just long enough that Dean starts to worry he said something wrong.

Then Bobby speaks again, sounding a little choked up. “How are you holding up, Dean? Be honest goddammit.”

He wants to lie, but . . . it’s Bobby.

“Not great,” he breathes. “Not fucking great.”

“Okay, well, look. I’m not gonna get involved—hell knows I’ve interfered with your family too much already—but Jody and Claire and I are on a hunt in Wyoming, little town called Guernsey, and honestly we’re stumped. We could use an extra pair of eyes. Or two, if Cas wants to come along.”

Dean swallows hard, trying to choke down the tears welling in his eyes. “I—yeah. That sounds great, Bobby.”

Notes:

also like,,,, I think this'll come through in the narrative eventually, but in case anyone is worried where this is going, I sort of want to note that I don't think anything Mary says here comes from a place of hate or malice—I think she's a person from a different time, who's not perfect, but while she sorta misses the mark on calling John out on the actual thing that makes his statements dickish here by,,, yk,,, buying into the homophobia,,, I think that comes from a place of ignorance, not any true issue she might hold with queerness. if she knew dean actually liked men, she would defend him

not trying to defend homophobia obviously, and ignorance isn't necessarily an excuse (tho it's a little more of one if the world has changed a lot while you were dead I feel like lmao), I just want to make it very clear that dean is gonna get lots of love and support in this fic. eventually.

Chapter 12

Summary:

bobby <33 and some claire, and a tiny bit of jody except I forgot to give her any lines I think

Notes:

okay look . . . I made up the hunt as I was going and also completely did not follow through on it because I don't care about writing action lmao, but this was a fun one to write character-wise!! the hunt itself is more just . . . background noise dsghghsdghds

anyways look I am nice to dean for once

I think I'm even going to be nice to him next chapter too (mostly)

who even am I tbh

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They meet Bobby and Claire in a café a few blocks from their motel, while Jody attempts to use her credentials as a cop to access some records she and Bobby think might be helpful.

“So what’ve we got so far?” Dean asks as he drops into the chair next to Bobby.

“Honestly, we’re stumped,” Bobby says. “Claire thinks shifter. I’m leaning demon. But there’s no goddamn pattern to it. People reported snapping and turning violent out of nowhere, but all four perps so far have turned up dead, with signs of having died before their crime took place.”

“And no link between the vics?”

“Nothing we can find.”

“Huh. You got the police reports?”

“Yup.” He pulls out a file and starts to slide it across the table, but stops and pulls it back as a waitress approaches their table.

She takes Claire and Bobby’s orders with a polite smile, but when she turns to Dean, she nods appreciatively and asks with a wink, “How about for you, handsome?”

Dean flicks his eyes between Cas and Bobby, then steels himself and takes Cas’s hand, placing their hands on the table in plain sight. Showing affection in public, even without Bobby sitting right there, is still hard for him, but goddammit, he’s not going to make Cas watch someone flirt with him. “Bacon and coffee, thanks. And my boyfriend will just have a water.”

The waitress’s smile returns to its carefully schooled friendliness, and she jots down his order and disappears back into the kitchen. When Dean turns to look at Cas, he’s greeted with the biggest fucking smile, and what he’s pretty sure are actually heart eyes. It’d be barf-inducingly sweet, if it wasn’t Cas.

“Dean, I don’t drink water,” he says, voice unbearably fond. Fucking hell, Dean loves him.

“Yeah, well it would have looked weird if you didn’t get anything.”

“Because you hate when I’m weird,” Cas says, deadpan. “That’s why you date me, because you hate it so much.”

“I seriously regret teaching you sarcasm,” Dean grumbles, as if he doesn’t fucking love it when Cas is sarcastic. Cas just gives him a Look, as if he sees right through him.

“Can you two stop acting like an old married couple and look at the damn case files?” Bobby grumbles. Something in Dean jolts for just a second, until he processes that this is just Bobby being his usual grumpy self, not anything against their relationship. Because this is Bobby, and somehow, Bobby's okay with it.

“Yeah, hand ‘em here.”

Bobby slides the folder across the table, and Dean flips it open with his free hand and starts poring over the files. Bobby’s right, there’s no apparent pattern here.

“I found something,” Claire says, as they’re finishing their meal. She’s had her nose buried in her phone the whole time, and Dean raises his eyebrow.

“On that thing?”

She flips him off. “Fuck you, Dean. I found a few of the vics on facebook, and I had to go pretty far back, but they were all tagged in a photo of this one dude’s party. A Jasper Smithers. Looks like most of them knew him pretty well, so he must be our link. Maybe even the shifter himself.”

Dean nods thoughtfully. “So what, dude flips out and starts offing all his friends all of a sudden? What about an angry ex, maybe?”

“Or Jasper isn’t Jasper anymore,” Bobby says, staring at his computer. “Looks like this guy is loaded. Some sorta family inheritance.”

“Shifter offs Jasper, lives the life of luxury, but can’t act for shit. The friends can tell something is off, so he wastes them. Bit sadistic, all the extra killing, but . . .”

“No,” Claire says. “He seems to know all the vics, at least all the ones I can find online, not just the ones he impersonated. So maybe he’s offing everyone who gets suspicious—maybe even everyone Jasper knows well—just doesn’t use the form of Jasper, so no one links it to him. I texted Jody, she says she’ll be here in ten. I’m gonna go get coffee for the road.”

“Grab me one too,” Dean says as she stands to leave.

She just rolls her eyes. “Get your own coffee, Winchester.”

Dean blinks. “Did she just call me Winchester.”

“Well that is your name,” Bobby mumbles.

“Why am I friends with you people,” Dean groans. “No one here’s got any manners.”

“Says you,” Bobby says, incredulous.

Dean flips him off, but deep down he loves it. The casual camaraderie, the absolute confidence that these people are his family, and that means as much to them as it does to him. They bicker and fight, but he fucking loves them and he’d die for them, and he knows it’s mutual. If only Sam were here, he thinks some hollow part of his chest might feel complete in a way he hasn’t for years.

Cas leans over and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek, then drops his hand. “I’ll, uh, just—I know Jody doesn’t know.”

The second Cas’s hand leaves his, Dean feels a little bit colder. He’s not sure when he went so soft.

It takes a second for him to process what Cas actually said, and when he does, he frowns. Honestly, he’s forgotten Jody didn’t know, and he loves that Cas cares enough to take note, but he also wishes he hadn’t remembered. The thought of someone new finding out is enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, every single fucking time.

But goddamn, this was supposed to be a break. A day or two to just be comfortable with Cas, not feeling like he has to hide the man he loves. Holding hands the way they have in public today scares the shit out of him, normally, but after the past few weeks in the bunker, it somehow still feels easier than hiding it.

He thinks maybe—for all that on some level Bobby seeing makes it harder—knowing Bobby doesn’t give a shit makes it all feel a little less impossible.

And Jody knows about Claire. Fuck, Jody would go to bat for Claire if anyone so much as looked at her funny over her sexuality.

Dean takes a deep breath, and takes Cas’s hand again.

Cas jerks his eyes toward Dean, a question in them, but he doesn’t say a word—just stares at Dean for a moment, a searing sort of intensity to his gaze, and then breaks into a proud smile and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

 

 

Jody doesn’t comment at all when she walks into the café a few moments later and sees them holding hands; just glances down at their intertwined fingers and smiles knowingly, then jerks her head toward the door for them all to head out.

Dean gets the feeling she’s not exactly shocked.

Somehow, it doesn’t really feel like a big deal. As if maybe, after so many years, it’s finally getting easier not to hide this part of him. Somehow, Jody knows now, yet he’s more concerned about the hunt.

It’s strangely refreshing.

Less refreshing is the hunt itself. Sure enough, they find Jasper Smithers buried in his own backyard, rotting. And although four hunters and an angel is far too many for a single shifter to be any real danger, the dude seems to compensate for his poor acting skills with too much goddamn agility, and by the time they manage to gank him, they’re all covered in sweat and blood and shedded shifter skin.

It does feel goddamn good though, hunting again. He hadn’t realized how restless he was, sitting around the bunker and doing nothing.

Still, he needs a fucking shower.

 

 

Jody talks them into coming back to Sioux Falls to see Alex and have a nice meal or two before they head home, and Dean’s glad for the excuse to stay away for another day. He knows it’s petty, immature, probably entirely overdramatic, but he just . . . needs to breathe. He’s not mad at his parents, god he understands—still wonders, more than he’d like, if they’re right after all—but it aches to know they won’t ever understand this, and it aches to hide it too.

Clustering around Jody’s kitchen table, with Claire and Alex bickering on his left, Cas on his right, and Bobby rolling his eyes across from him as Jody tries to calm the girls . . . Dinners with Mary and John feel like family, but they’ve never felt normal. And fuck, Dean may have given up on normal a long time ago—as soon as he left Lisa and Ben behind, he made that choice—but sitting here, this feels like what could have been; like sitting down for a meal with relatives, the way he might have had he grown up in a normal family and had a normal marriage and a normal life. Like here, it doesn’t matter that he’s dating an angel of the lord, or that they just got home from hunting a mass-murdering shapeshifter, because in this moment, it’s just family. Messy, haphazard, chaotic, fucked-up family, but family.

Honestly, he doesn’t want to leave.

He feels sorta like a shitty person for that, when his parents are back at the bunker, but goddamn it, he doesn’t want to leave.

Still, he’s a good son—and beside, he feels bad leaving Sam alone with their parents—so the next morning, he and Cas pack leftover dinner into the backseat of the impala, and hug everyone goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, boy,” Bobby says gruffly. Dean flashes him a bright smile, and he glances between Dean and Cas, looking like he wants to say something more. Dean tries not to let himself tense too much, waiting for some sort of belated rejection. Then Bobby quietly adds, “And look, Dean, I know your daddy ain’t always . . . well I know how he feels about your type, but Cas seems good for you. Don’t let him go just ‘cause John Winchester can’t get his head out of his ass.”

Dean swallow hard, and nods. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Bobby says.

Dean starts to turn to go, but then pauses. “What do you mean, he’s good for me?”

Bobby hesitates for a moment, then says, “You’re gentler. And I know being gentle’s not easy in this life, but it ain’t a bad thing. I'm damn proud of you, boy.”

Something about that hits Dean like a train. For someone else—someone like Bobby, even, who he trusts so deeply—to see that he’s going soft and not tell him to man up, not say it’s a damn shame Dean’s not what he used to be . . .

He likes himself better this way, but he’s always seen that as just as much a weakness as being this way.

He gives Bobby a shaky smile, and mumbles, “Thanks, Bobby.”

Notes:

thanks for reading y'all! I hope you enjoyed <33 next chapter should be coming soon-ish hopefully, because I know where I'm going with it!!

Chapter 13

Summary:

a conversation with mary

Notes:

I have been awake for 26 hours and I am no longer fully functioning but hello have a chapter before I crash

also idk where tf the nail painting scene came from I just needed a background something for them to be doing and somehow that turned into painting Cas's nails idek I'm sleep deprived as shit y'all but I think Cas deserves fun fingernails

Chapter Text

“Okay, what was that about?” Charlie says, sprawled on the couch in the TV room that night, with Cas’s hand in her lap.

She’s somehow been talked into painting Cas’s nails—Dean thinks it was Sam’s idea maybe, though where the fuck he disappeared to Dean isn’t sure—so the three of them are gathered around the TV, which is playing some show or another that none of them are paying attention to. He has no idea where the nail polish came from, because he’s pretty sure Charlie’s been wearing the same three outfits the entire time since she came back, and if she hasn’t even bothered to find some more clothes, he doubts she’s taken the time to buy nail polish.

“What was what about?”

“Dude you just took off out of nowhere. That is not your style. What’s up?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Dean,” Cas says, eyes never leaving the nails Charlie is painting.

“What he said,” Charlie sas, jerking a thumb toward Cas.

“Do you even know how to paint nails?” Dean says, instead of answering. He knows she’ll call him on it, but it’s worth a try.

“Not really, no. But don’t change the subject.”

“I just wanted some space to breathe,” he says, voice tighter than he means for it to be. “I needed to hunt. Is that a problem?”

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean sighs. “I overheard my parents talking about Cas and I needed to spend some time with people who who actually . . . you know. Know about us and shit.”

She pulls a face. “How bad was it?”

He shrugs. “You know. The angel seems a bit fruity. Don’t be gross, John, Dean’s better than that. Usual sort of shit.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow angrily, then she takes a deep breath and smirks. “Okay, you know what. I’m going to help you out here. What’s the point in having a gay friend if you don’t use them to piss of homophobes?”

Dean blinks. “Uh. Which of us is the gay friend here, exactly?”

Me, silly. You get to sit back and be nice and heterosexual, while I casually mention being a raging lesbian over dinner.”

“I fail to see how this is going to help Dean,” Cas says, cocking his head and looking to Dean for explanation.

Dean just shrugs. “Me too.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t help, it mostly just makes people squirm. But at least it gets the conversation going without Dean actually needing to come out, so.”

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “There’s no way this is going to go well, but I’m too tired to fight you over it.”

Charlie grins, then glances down at Cas’s hand and winces. “I haven’t painted my nails since fifth grade, sorry.”

Cas inspects his nails, face serious, then smiles radiantly up at Charlie. “I like them.”

Dean can’t hide the smile on his face, watching Cas marvel over the messy paint on his nails. It’s just too fucking cute.

 

 

Sure enough, Charlie follows through on her ‘help’ the next night at dinner.

They’re just talking—her and Mary, mostly, with the occasional chime in from him or Sam—he’s hardly even paying attention to about what, and then: “Honestly I still can’t believe Dean interrupted me when I was making out with an actual fairy.”

Sam chokes on his salad.

Dean tries not to let his breathing go too shaky. Under the table, Cas nudges his foot with his own, and the contact shoots a tiny burst of courage through Dean, just enough to roll his eyes and say, “We thought you were in danger. You know, with all the murder.”

“Okay but I wasn’t in danger.” Her words sound less playacted than Dean’s. “So I think I get to be a little bitter. She was a very nice fairy. And she was a good kisser, too.”

Dean vaguely processes Sam swooping in to change the subject, but he doesn’t really pay attention to a word, too focused on watching his parents for their reactions.

Mary furrows her brow, expression unreadable.

John’s eyes bore into Dean’s head, and once his eyes latch into contact with his father’s, he can’t break away from his hard gaze. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to—Dean can read the admonishment in his eyes plain as day. This is the company you keep, Dean? The company you bring home, call family? I want her out of here, you understand me boy?

The words might not be exact, but he’s pretty sure the sentiment is.

And if it were about him, he’d look down, tear his eyes away from John and silently admit defeat. But this isn’t him. This is Charlie, and goddam, she’s like his sister, and also possibly his best friend. She’s worth fighting for, even if it’s only tiny little shit she’ll never notice.

He holds his dad’s eyes until finally—after what feels excruciatingly long, but can’t be more than a minute, tops—his dad is the one to look away first.

He’s not sure if that’s ever happened before.

 

 

His mom doesn’t leave when the rest of the family does.

It’s Dean’s night on dishes, but she sticks around and helps him clear the table, then gives him a small smile and offers, “I’ll dry?”

He swallows hard. “That’d be great, thanks.”

He hasn’t been alone with her since before he took off to join Bobby. Since before he heard—well. If Cas hadn’t already left, assuming Dean would easily wash up and then join him, Dean would be begging him to stay.

He’s not quite desperate enough to pray, though. That seems like a new low, even for him, given the actual severity (or lack thereof) of the situation.

They work in silence for a few minutes, then Mary clears her throat. “I’m just trying to understand, uh, what your friend said earlier. Charlie. You . . . seem to have known for a while?”

“Yup.” He very intently washes a plate before handing it to her to dry.

“Huh,” she says. Her tone seems more thoughtful than judgemental, but every hair on his body still feels like it’s standing on edge. “I guess in my time, we didn’t really. . . know that sorta shit. Suspected, maybe—I always thought one of my friends—well, my point is, it’s new.”

“Things have changed,” Dean says, which is probably the stupidest possible thing to say to someone who’s been dead for thirty years.

“Yeah.”

“. . . Sam could probably send you some articles on sexuality, if you’re interested.”

Mary considers for a moment, then nods. “I’d like that. I have a lot to catch up on, it sounds like.”

Dean falters, breath catching, hope welling, then says quietly, “You know you don’t have to be okay with it, just because Sam and I are.”

He’s not really sure why he says it. The truth is, it wouldn’t be okay. The truth is, he thinks it might destroy him. But maybe he needs it to be real, not just some illusion because she thinks that’s what he wants to hear, because she doesn’t know how she fits into this century and is just going with what she thinks sounds right.

She just shrugs. “I guess I never really . . . it was a bad thing, growing up, but it was always sorta distant. I never really cared; just vaguely understood it to be bad. Honestly, never gave it much thought. But Charlie seems like a nice girl. And you like her, so. I trust you.”

He’s barely breathing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

Hearing her talk the other day, he’d assumed the worst, but when he thinks back over that conversation, he supposes none of what she said really contradicts this.

Still, somehow his stupid mouth opens and he blurts, “I heard you talking about Cas a few nights ago. With Dad.”

“Oh,” she says after a second. “Dean, I’m sorry if I said anything rude about him. I know he’s a really good friend to you.”

“No, no, you didn't,” he rushes to say. She did, but fuck, he’s probably said worse himself. “It’s just—angels don’t really . . . have a concept of that stuff the way humans do. It’s not that they can’t love like that or anything—although they don’t often love, in any form—but they’re, you know.” He waves his hands around vaguely, hugely regretting every word that’s coming out of his mouth. “The first time Cas realized humans put labels on this shit, you know, cared so much about . . . well about . . . gender, I guess, in how we love and how we present ourselves and all that crap, I think he thought I was messing with him. I don’t even know what I’m saying, honestly. It’s not that they have no concept of it, it’s just that it’s less . . .”

“John was a little bit right about Castiel?” she asks quietly,

More than a little. But he’s not even sure why he’s said this much, why he can’t make himself fucking shut up. It’s not like Cas cares—he’s made it abundantly clear in the past year that Dean can tell people whatever the fuck he wants about him, because he doesn’t really give a shit—but it’s still just so much to pile onto his mom. So much closer than he meant to go to the shit he still doesn't know how to say.

“Yeah.” He says after a second. “Don’t tell Dad though—it’d just freak him out, you know?”

“Of course,” she says softly, placing the last dish back into a cupboard.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I—”

“You care about him,” she says simply. “He’s your friend and you don’t want anybody talking shit about him. I get it. And I'm guessing that goes for Charlie, too, so I'll ask Sam about those articles.”

And she doesn’t get it, nowhere close, but for all she looks a little overwhelmed, she’s taken all this so much fucking better than he ever could have imagined. She doesn't know about him—could still shun him when she finds out—but he came closer to coming out to her than he even meant to, and he’s shaking a little, and he’s terrified even though he didn’t even say it, but some part of him feels soothed, too. A little more relaxed.

“Goodnight, Dean,” she whispers, when he doesn’t say anything else, and then she slips out the kitchen door.

He watches her go, and then he just keeps standing there, stuck in the moment, letting his breaths come and go in time with the beat of his heart.

Chapter 14

Summary:

I don't even fucking know anymore. mary is in this one. and so is garth (briefly)

Notes:

look it's 3am and I'm tired as shit. here is a chapter I think is halfway decent. some stuff happens. actually nothing happens except people sitting around and talking, but what's new. also eileen is not in this chapter she's only mentioned but I love her and she's an icon so you can assume she's kicking ass, as she does

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Mary pops her head into the library one afternoon when Dean is helping Sam flip through some of the Men of Letters’ books, looking for some answers for a case Eileen’s on. Sam notices her first, and closes the book he was reading with a groan.

“Hey, Mom.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, and pulls a face at Dean. “I don’t think we’re finding anything here. I’ll text Eileen what we’ve got, but I don’t think the symbols are quite the same.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Mary asks hesitantly as Sam sends Eileen the photos he took.

“How much do you know about demonic rituals?” Sam asks, without looking up. He taps a few things on his phone, and hands it to her. “This is what Eileen’s found.”

“Not much, unfortunately.” She sounds a little resigned as she glances down at the phone. “No, I don’t recognize any of it. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Sam says. “Us either.”

“I’ll try Crowley again,” Dean says. He’s already called the demon twice, but it’s gone to voicemail. Dean’s pretty sure Crowley didn’t even let it ring the second time, just ended the call.

“What?” comes an irritated voice through the phone. “I have things to do you know, Squirrel.”

“We need you to identify some symbols.”

“Isn’t that a little above my paygrade? I’m not your fucking librarian, you know.”

“Just take like three seconds and tell me if you recognize them. Sam’s worried about his girlfriend, humour him.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sam hisses, as Crowley grumbles that he’ll take one quick look.

“Some idiotic demon is trying to bind a reaper, and sloppily. It’s not going to work; the reaper’ll take care of it, they don’t really like being treated like puppets. Amateur move, honestly. The state of demons these days.”

“Will anyone else die before that happens?”

Crowley lets out a long sigh. “Three virgins, sacrificed at midnight. The usual.”

“Why do you know that?” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re the one that asked!” Crowley protests. “Look, I’m not going to do it. I looked into it, that’s all. Too risky; angry reapers are not a pleasant time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important business.”

Dean rolls his eyes as Crowley hangs up, and relays the info back to Sam, who texts it to Eileen.

“She says she’s got it,” he says after a moment, looking worried. “I don’t think we could get there by midnight anyways, but . . .”

“Eileen’s a big girl, Sammy. She’ll be fine.”

He pulls a face. “I know.”

“Besides, Crowley said the demon was an amateur.”

“Right, because we trust Crowley.”

“Fair point,” Dean admits.

“Who is this Crowley?” Mary asks. Dean startles. He’d sort of forgot she was there.

“Uh,” Sam says. He lifts an eyebrow at Dean, as if saying, you wanna answer this one?

“It’s a long story,” Dean says.

“Well I’ve got . . . all the time in the world, really.”

She’s got him there. They don’t have a hunt they need to be on, nothing seems to currently be trying to end the world, and for once they have time to just slow down and exist.

“He’s a demon. King of Hell, or he was. Lucifer sorta . . . put an end to that one.”

Mary just stares at him for a moment, as if expecting him to start laughing at the joke. When he doesn’t, she finally blinks and nods slowly. “You have . . . the ex-king of Hell on speed dial.”

“It’s . . . complicated,” Dean says, wincing. He’s sort of scared to meet her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a son of a bitch, but . . . friends close, enemies closer. And he’s just about the sanest demon we’ve ever met, so . . . he keeps the other demons under control, on occasion.”

“He’s not quite all demon, either,” Sam adds. “Not since . . . well, we almost turned him human, few years back. He’s been different, since then.”

Dean braves a glance up at Mary’s face, and is surprised to find her nodding along thoughtfully. “A lot’s changed, since I was here,” she says, a huff of an unamused laugh in her voice. “But I trust your judgement.”

Dean swallows hard and gives her a small smile. He’s not sure why it comes as such a surprise.

Mary frowns. “You almost . . . turned him human? How does that even—?”

“Purified human blood,” Sam says quietly. “It was supposed to be the last trial, to—to seal hell. But uh. We didn’t finish.”

The guilt is clear on Sam’s face, but Mary doesn’t seem to notice.

“But it works?”

“We’ve only done it once—or, Sam has.” Dean’s breath hitches, remembering. “But. Yeah. It works.”

“Who did you—” Mary falters, glancing at Dean. He tries to school his face into something unaffected, not terrified by the question she’s asking, but it must be too late. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s—” Dean swallows hard. His mouth feels dry as a dessert. The last thing he wants to do is admit this, to his mom of all people, but he owes her the truth. “It’s just not something I’m proud of. But uh. I died, last year. The mark brought me back. Not human.”

He can hear Mary’s breath catch, and he wants to curl up and hide. Instead, he curls his hands into fists at his side, lets his nails bite into his palms, closes his eyes, and braces himself for revulsion.

He’s startled when he feels a calloused hand gently cup his cheek, and a soft voice say, “Dean, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to protect you. This was never the life you were supposed to have. And I’m so, so sorry I put you through that.”

He swallows hard and opens his eyes, sees her face so full of concern he thinks he might burst, and looks away. “It’s not your fault, Mom.”

“It’s really not,” Sam says. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“Still,” she says. Dean thinks she’s on the verge of tears, but the way he is when he’s on the verge of tears—only visible to someone who knows the signs, and nowhere near tipping over that edge. “It was my job to look after you boys. And I couldn’t.”

“You died, so I feel like you get a pass.” Dean’s not sure if his voice comes out as light as he means it to.

She flashes a quick smile, but then sighs. “And, Sam, I—Dean told me you know that I—”

“Made a deal?” Sam offers gently, when she falters. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Dean sort of feels like he shouldn’t be here for this. It doesn’t feel like his moment. But when he shifts in his seat Sam sends him a panicked don’t you dare look, so he stays put. He’d sort of assumed Sam and Mary had talked about this already, when they went on that hunt, but apparently not.

“Sam, he—”

“Fed me demon blood? Yeah, I know.”

“I know you know,” she says softly. “And I know you got visions, and that Azazel wanted you for his army, and about the other kids, and how you were Satan’s vessel. Dean told us. But that was on me, Sam. That was all on me. And I'm so, so sorry.”

“No it wasn’t. Angels, demons, everyone was pushing us toward that point. It was all part of some fucked up grand design. It was so, so much bigger than just you, Mom. You can’t blame yourself for that.” He pauses, and then his brow furrows. “Wait. You—that’s all you know?”

”I—yes? Is there something else?”

“I thought Dean would have told you,” he says, shooting Dean a questioning look.

“Sorry, did you want me to tell everyone about Ruby? Last I checked that wasn’t your proudest moment.”

“No, I just—I thought you would’ve. You weren’t exactly thrilled with me about it.”

“You think I was gonna tell Dad about that? Give me some credit, Sammy. And, you know, you literally threw yourself into hell which is more than anyone else involved can say. I think you earned some forgiveness.” Honestly, he can’t believe Sam thinks he’d still be holding a grudge over that. Too much has happened since then for it to even register on Dean’s radar.

He guesses he’s not always the best at telling Sam shit like that, though. He's so good at letting his anger known, but so bad at showing anything else.

Sam closes his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. “Thanks.”

Mary takes a deep, steadying breath. Her voice is full of concern when she says, “Sam. What happened?”

Sam pulls a face, and Dean can see him steeling himself. “I got myself addicted to demon blood and started the apocalypse. So. There’s that.”

Mary takes another deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Dean’s pretty sure she’s not mad, but honestly Sam’s not giving himself enough credit here. He's struck with the overwhelming urge to defend his little brother.

“He makes it sound worse than it was.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. Fucking hell, Dean really ought to be nice to him more, shouldn’t he? “It was pretty fucking bad, Dean. I started the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, well, not like you were the only one involved, was it? You can’t take all the credit.” He says it with a grin on his face, because that's easier than letting the guilt that's hitting him show.

“No, the other person was the demon who I decided to trust, despite everyone with any sense telling me I shouldn’t.” Sam's voice is thick with sarcasm and unspoken emotions.

And apparently they’re having this conversation now, about seven years too late.

“Look, Sammy, I know I was pretty pissed about that, but she manipulated the hell out of you when you were in a bad place. It’s not all on you. Besides, that’s not what I meant. Cas let you out. Zachariah manipulated us just as much as Ruby did. And,” he says, with a huff of a laugh even though it’s not remotely funny, “I broke the first seal, and that was a lot more damn selfish than killing Lilith.”

“You didn’t know, Dean. And no one could blame you in that situation.”

“You didn’t know either,” Dean says. “We all thought killing Lilith was the answer. And it was a long time ago, Sammy. You gotta move on.”

“I have, just—” He gestures vaguely at their mom. Dean had sort of forgotten she was here. “Doesn’t mean I’m proud to admit it.”

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I’m not real proud of a lot of shit either. Sorry, Mom. This probably isn’t what you thought you were getting into with us. We’re not exactly . . . role models, even for hunters.”

She bites her lip for a second, then says, “You’re my sons. That’s what matters.”

They don't say more, until Dean excuses himself to go make dinner, but Dean's mind is reeling.

 

 

The next morning, Dean wakes up way too early to a call from Garth.

“Dean. It’s been a while.”

Cas gives him a questioning look from across the room, and he shoots him a thumbs up, since it doesn’t seem like anything catastrophic is actively happening. Then again, it’s Garth, who doesn’t always get straight to the point, but no use worrying Cas unless something is actually wrong.

“Garth, hey. What’s up, man?”

“Got a hunter named Eileen Leahy here, she says you and Sam gave her our address a few months back? Just wanted to check she’s legit.”

“Oh, yeah, Eileen’s great. Sam’s got a giant crush on her.” Garth snorts at that. “She okay?”

“Showed up bleeding pretty badly, but she should be fine. Just needs somewhere to crash for a few nights while she heals up. Bess and I will look after her, don’t you worry.”

“Good. Tell her to call Sam, will you? He’s probably worried out of his mind.”

 

 

Four hours later, after falling back asleep for a while and then finally hauling himself out of bed to make breakfast, he gets another call from Garth.

“Why does Eileen seem to think that Bobby’s back from the dead?” he says before Dean can say anything.

“Uh. Right. That. Yeah that’d be because he is back from the dead.”

“Thanks a lot for telling me, Dean. Really appreciate that.”

Dean winces. “Yeah, sorry about that. There’s been a lot going on.”

“Eileen told me everything she knows, so I guess you get a pass. But next time someone I know comes back from the dead, let me know?”

“I’ll try my best.”

He goes to hang up, but before he can, Garth says, “Uh, hey, and Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you maybe, uh, mind dropping the werewolf bomb to him? I think he’ll trust you if you say you’ve checked it out more than he would me.”

“Guess I sorta owe you that one for forgetting to tell you he was alive, huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Dean.” Garth hangs up before Dean can talk his way out of dropping the news to Bobby.

Dean sucks in a breath, shoots Cas an apologetic look—they’re in the middle of a game of chess, which Dean has been trying to find his way out of for an hour, but Cas is clearly enjoying—and dials Bobby.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Dean.”

“I just heard from Garth—”

“Garth? His phones are all disconnected, I thought the kid was dead.”

“Yeah, he was a little pissed no one bothered to tell him you were back. I’ll send you his new number. But, uh, about Garth . . .”

Notes:

legit idk what happened here but it was fun as hell to write so I hope it was fun to read too hgsdghhgsd

also I was pretty sure the conversation between bobby and dean at the end there would be pretty boring to actually write, but just assume he takes the news about as well as expected but comes around after a bit ghsdhggds

Chapter 15

Summary:

some angst and also a disney movie

Notes:

y'all I'm so sorry it's been more than a month this is just shameful. I've been writing every fic except this one ngl, but also not writing very much in general—but it's camp nano again and I'm just trying to write fanfic instead of aiming for an actual novel, so hopefully I shouuuuld maybe finish this fic this month!! fingers crossed!!

also in my defence I went to my first ever concert, then proceeded to get covid because of said concert. and have been stuck at home bc of that, and I get way more writing done when I'm comfortably in my dorm without parents around all the time

less in my defence there was an entire two weeks before any of that where I simply did not write

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dean tenses the second John enters the kitchen. He hasn’t been alone with him since Cas overheard them a while back, and maybe it’s cowardly of him, but he’d sort of hoped to keep it that way. He loves his dad, he does, but the more time he spends in his company since he’s returned, the more he realizes how much being around John makes his skin crawl. He feels more at ease with Cas or Sam or Charlie or even his mom around. Tonight, he’d just ducked into the kitchen tonight to make popcorn while Cas sets up their movie, not expecting to see anyone else.

“Hey Dad,” he says weakly, pouring the kernels into the pot and turning to face John.

The second he does, he swallows hard. John looks pissed.

“Dean,” he says, and something in his voice makes Dean’s instincts kick in and he takes a step or two backward, barely even aware he’s moving until he’s done it.

“What did you say to her?” John says, voice cold and angry in a way that feels somehow both foreign and painfully familiar.

It’s clear who her is—it could only ever be one person—but Dean has no idea what he’s referencing. They talked yesterday, of course, in the library after finding answers for Eileen, but he can’t figure out what his dad might be mad about.

When he doesn’t answer, his dad presses closer and snaps, “What did you say to Mary that made her come in last night all pissed again that I raised you hunters? We’d worked through that, she was over it, so you must have went and said something goddammit.”

Oh.

Mary wasn’t over it, that much is clear—to Dean, of course, but also probably to John. And they both know that if one of them was going to turn her against him, it would be Sam, not him. There’s no real way this is Dean’s fault, and John knows that. But Sam would fight back. Snap that it wasn’t his fault John was a shit father. Dean’s seen it play out enough times.

John needs someone to be angry at, and he knows Dean is an easy target. Knows that when it comes to family, he’ll never fight back. Knows he can rage at Dean and never have to face a consequence, because Dean will never quite believe he didn’t deserve it.

It’s only now, ten years removed from answering to his father without a second thought, that Dean starts to see how fucked up that is.

That doesn’t stop him from taking another involuntary step back, not meeting John’s eyes as he says, “I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.”

It’s been years—more than ten, probably since right after Sam left for Stanford—since he’s seen his dad angry like this, and he’s old enough now that he shouldn’t still act like a scared little kid around him, but it’s practically muscle memory. He lets John back him into a wall and spit at him to fix this, goddammit, and if anyone else talked to him like this he thinks he’d probably hit them, but he doesn’t even open his mouth for so much as a snappy retort.

John,” Mary’s voice comes sharply from the doorway, and in one word, Dean’s whole world feels like it shatters.

Cas, okay, but his mother was never supposed to see him like this.

He can’t decide what’s worse, the idea of her seeing how fucking weak he is, or the vague look of betrayal on her face.

“Mary—I was just—”

“It’s not Dean’s fault I’m pissed at you, John. Back off.”

John steps away from where he’d been standing inches away from Dean’s face, until Dean feels like he has room to breathe again. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father follow an order like that in his life.

“Mary,” he says, holding his hands up, placating. “Come on, we worked through this. I did what I had to do.”

Dean’s pretty sure he smells something burning, but can’t move his feet to turn off the stove.

“You raised our kids so that they could never, ever have a normal life.” Her voice is a little shrill, full of incredulity. Dean wants to let the ground at his feet swallow him up. “You taught them to shoot a gun when you should have been helping them with their homework; you taught them monsters are real when you should have been promising them they were safe, I don’t care if it was a fucking lie. I never, ever wanted that life for them, and maybe you didn’t know that, but you owed them better.”

Her words hit Dean like a wave, almost enough to knock him off his feet.

It’s not like he’s never thought it. Like Sam, or even Cas, has never said it. Some little tiny part of him knows he deserved better. Deserved a father who cared about him more than revenge. But it’s not the sort of thing he faces head on. He drinks, or he picks a fight, or he hooks up with some pretty girl in a bar, and he never fucking things about all the things he knows but will never say.

There are very few people in the world who could say something like that and not have him deck them. There are even fewer who he might believe.

But for all his father always said family came first, what that really meant was she did. And here she is, saying all the things he’s never been able to bring himself to face, and that makes it so much harder not to face them.

He feels like throwing up.

“Everything I ever did,” John says, more emotion in his voice than Dean has ever heard from him. “Every single fucking thing was for you, Mary. It was all for you. You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice is cold. “I can. Because that’s the problem, John. It shouldn’t have been all about me. I was fucking dead, and our kids were alive, and they should have come first. And if you care so much about me you could at least think about how the fuck it might feel to come back and realize that I failed them, that the one thing I promised myself would never happen to my kids happened.”

Part of Dean is screaming for him to intervene, try to put his family back together the way he’s always tried to do, but he just—he can’t. He’s forgotten how, and he was never any good at it to start with.

He edges over to the stove and turns it off, wrinkling his nose at the burnt popcorn in the pot and deciding that can be a problem for another time. When he slips out of the kitchen, his dad is still trying to make his case to his mom—insisting of course he cares about her but can’t she see where he’s coming from—and neither of them notices as he leaves.

Cas doesn’t seem to quite believe him when he says he burnt the popcorn and didn’t feel like waiting for another batch, but he sighs and nods when Dean says, “Can we just watch the movie?”

“Alright, Dean.”

“What’d you pick?”

“It’s called Frozen. Apparently it’s very good.”

Something in Dean’s chest loosens as he snorts. It’s such a Cas thing to pick. “Really, dude? A Disney princess movie?”

“I enjoyed Tangled when we watched it the other month,” Cas says seriously. “The art was very pretty, and the chameleon was particularly nice. I think this one looks very good.”

“It’s for kids,” Dean grumbles. He can’t deny, Tangled was pretty fun. He’d never admit it, but Cas caught him absentmindedly humming the songs a few times.

“I don’t think any movies are made for beings my age, so I don’t see what’s wrong with a movie for kids. Besides, it’s my turn to pick.” He’s not entirely sure how serious Cas is being, but the whole thing is so ridiculous that Dean can feel the tension draining away from his shoulders as he slips in next to Cas in their bed and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Alright, but I’m not going to enjoy it.”

“Sure, Dean.”

He groans and lets his head drop onto Cas’s shoulder as Cas starts the movie.

And, okay, it’s pretty good. Cas enjoys it, and Dean enjoys that Cas enjoys it, and okay, fine, maybe he gets a little emotional when Anna sacrifices herself for Elsa, but if anyone asks, it’s just allergies.

More than that, it’s just nice to have a movie night with Cas again, to not have to worry about anything past how close he can physically get to Cas without fully sitting on top of him, and what’s going to happen next in the movie. These nights are always a little sporadic, shoved in wherever they fit around hunts and trying to save the world and whatever else is going on in their life.

They haven’t had one since before they faced down Amara, and Dean had forgotten how nice it is, just to have a fucking date night with the man he loves.

When the movie’s done, they end up cuddling in bed, Cas stroking a hand gently through Dean’s hair. He thinks it might be the nicest thing he’s ever felt.

“I think I want to tell my mom about us,” he whispers after a while. He didn’t even realize he was going to say it until it was already coming out of his mouth, but somehow it feels right.

“Are you sure?”

Maybe it means he’ll lose her, but everything she said tonight rocked him to his core, and he doesn’t think he can process it until he knows where he stands with her. He thinks, maybe, she might understand. And if she doesn’t, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle the hurt, but he’s not sure how much longer he can handle not knowing either.

“I think so. Yeah.”

Notes:

hope y'all enjoyed! and 👀 hope you're excited for the next chapter

Chapter 16

Summary:

*jazz hands* the moment we've all been waiting for

(one of the moments at least)

Notes:

this sort of got away from me lmao. I meant to go one way and I went a totally different way, but I got where I was going in the end so it's fine. also I need to be up in less than four hours send help mistakes were made

I'm not entirely sure how many chapters are left in this fic, but we're definitely nearing the end—I'd take a guess at two to four more chapters, but this fic was originally supposed to be like 15k so tbh who knows what I will do

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Saying he wants to tell Mary and actually telling her are two very different beasts. He opens his mouth to say something at least a dozen times over the next week, but no words come out.

John stops coming to dinner, and Mary goes back to a different room when she goes to bed, and he wonders if maybe they should talk about that, too, but honestly he doesn’t know how.

One night after dinner, maybe a week after his parents’ fight, Mary catches his arm as he goes to leave the kitchen.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” she asks gently.

His eyes flick to Cas, hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and he jerks his head in the vague direction of their room. “I’ll find you later, Cas,” he says, before mumbling to his mom, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Cas looks worried, but he takes the hint and gives them space. Mary raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve been acting strange all week, Dean. Does it have anything to do with—John and I, fighting that night?”

He winces, then sighs. “Sort of. I don’t know. I—it’s a lot to process. The things you said, I—I don’t know, Mom.”

She gives him a sad smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t mean to—I know I wasn’t there, and he was, and I didn’t really stop to think how you might feel hearing me say that shit to him. I—I do think you deserved better, but I shouldn’t have torn into John in front of you like that. My issues with him shouldn’t affect your relationship with your dad.”

Dean closes his eyes, trying to find the guts to say what he thinks he’s starting to know, deep down. “Don’t be sorry, Mom. I—think I needed to hear that.”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised.

“Do you . . . think you’re going to stay together?” He remembers them fighting when he was little, but there's something different about this fight, something charged and painful and huge, and he honestly can't tell. He doesn’t want to do anything to turn her against him, but suddenly everything he’s grown up thinking and feeling wants to spill out, and he doesn’t really want to stop it.

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, with the gravity of someone just realizing something, slowly says, “No. I don’t think so. I don’t think we can. We’ve changed too much. And I love him, but I don’t know if I can forgive him for . . .”

“For how he raised us.” He swallows hard. “I—I don’t know if I can either.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. “Because of what I said, or—?”

He shakes his head. “Because I—when I’m around him, I don’t like how I feel.”

“Me neither,” she whispers, and it’s strangely comforting, to know he’s not alone in all this. Sam gets it, probably in a way she never can, but at the same time, he doesn’t understand how much it hurts to slowly realize, after denying it for so long. Sam always understood, long before Dean ever could.

“I hate it, because I love him. But I just . . .”

“Me fucking too,” she says. Then, slowly, “Dean. What I walked in on the other night, was that—did he treat you like that often?”

Dean’s breath hitches, and he looks away. “Not—he didn’t get that angry, not usually. Especially once I got older. But—he always—he took shit out on me, I guess. I always told myself it was okay, that he just—he had so much on his plate, and I guess I always told myself I deserved it.”

“Oh, Dean.” She sounds so sad, he wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“It’s not your fault.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t hate that you went through it.”

“He scared me sometimes,” he says quietly after a moment. He doesn’t even mean to say it, it just . . . slips out.

“He . . . changed. He used to be so kind.”

“I think losing you . . . I don’t know. He drank a lot, when I was little. And he was worst when he was drunk. It never really stopped, but it got a little less frequent over the years. He just—everything was about revenge, to him, and if he wasn’t hunting, he was drinking. You’d think I should have learned, but I was the same, for a long time. I don’t even know if I can really blame him, when I was the exact fucking same. I get so angry, and I drink too much, and it’s different now, but that’s only because of Sam and Cas.”

“It’s hard to break away from how you were raised,” Mary says. “Trust me, I know. That doesn’t mean it defines you.”

“Doesn’t it?” his voice sounds more strangled than he expected.

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t fucking know. But I have to believe it doesn’t, because I . . . I have to believe that we can be different than our fathers.”

“You are,” Dean says quietly. “I’ve met him. You’re not him.”

She sounds sad when she says, “And you’re not John.”

Dean swallows hard. “I’m sorry, I—you didn’t need to hear all this. I know he still matters a lot to you.”

“You matter more,” she says, quiet but fierce. “I don’t know how to be a mother to you. I don’t know if I really can be, after so long. But you’re my son, and that matters more to me than a man who treated you like shit, no matter how much I love him.”

He didn’t treat me like shit, Dean wants to say, but the words die on his tongue.

“I love you, Mom,” he says instead.

“I love you too,” she says.

“Even though I’m not . . . really the son you left behind?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice firm. “Look, Dean, I won’t pretend this is easy. I won’t pretend it’s always easy to look at you and see the little boy I lost. And I—I mourn that. Getting to see you grow up, getting to raise you. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my fucking son. Of course I love you. And I’m damn proud of you, too.”

He can’t bring himself to look at her as she says it. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it. And he doesn’t want her to see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Neither of them speak for a while. Dean tries to blink the tears from his eyes. The silence stretches like elastic, until it feels like it’s about to snap.

Dean takes a shaky breath.

He thinks he needs to know. Needs to get it over with before it destroys him anymore. Thinks he might not be brave enough to say it, even after saying shit he never would have dreamed he could say to her tonight.

He takes another breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

It doesn’t really work.

“Mom,” he says. It comes out quieter than he intends.

“Yeah?”

“I—” His voice is still too quiet. He clears his throat. “Mom, I—I’m in love with Cas.”

“Oh,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I don’t mean to—to ruin the moment. I just—I needed to—I can’t keep pretending to be the person Dad wants me to be.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she says softly. “You know, I did ask Sam to send me some articles about this stuff, after we talked about your friend Charlie that time. I learned quite a bit.”

“You did?” He’d suggested it, of course, but he didn’t really think she’d follow through. Why would she?

“I could tell it was important to you. I didn’t realize why, of course, at least until now, but . . . I could see you cared a lot.”

“Oh.” It’s so . . . he doesn’t even know. It’s a lot to take in, even though it should probably be nothing at all. “So you don’t . . . mind?”

“Of course I don’t, Dean. So you’re . . . gay? Is that the term?”

“Uh. Bi. Bisexual.” It’s almost harder to say than the original admission was—loving Cas feels so crystal clear, so pure, but the fact that he’s queer has always been so much fucking harder to accept, has always felt dirty and shameful.

But he said it. Which is damn more than he could have a year ago.

“You’re . . . gonna have to remind me what that means, I'm sorry.”

“I . . . like men. And I also like women. I guess I could like anyone, really. But—not so much now, because no one really compares to Cas.”

“That makes sense. Are you and Cas . . . together?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout a year now.”

“And you’re happy?”

Dean doesn’t really have the words to explain how much Cas makes him happy, so he just nods.

“Then that’s what matters. I’m happy for you, Dean.”

“Really?”

She smiles sadly. “John wouldn’t say that, would he?”

It’s a genuine question, and he thinks he can hear how much she wants the answer to be: yes he would. He also thinks she’d probably see right through it if he said that.

“No. He wouldn’t. I think sometimes, when I was a kid, he saw it. So he always made sure I knew how wrong it was. He never—acknowledged it. But he said shit to me that he never felt the need to say to Sam. Think he thought I’d outgrow it, or maybe never grow into it.” He falters, then admits, “I hated myself for a long time because of it.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t have to apologize. There was nothing you could have done. And this—this means a lot. I never thought . . . I’d have a parent treat me like this part of me wasn’t wrong.”

He’s not even sure why he says it. It’s the sort of thing he never even fully admitted to himself he needed, growing up. The sort of thing he was only even able to face within himself once she was here and everything was changing so fast he couldn't hide behind the status quo anymore.

It’s the sort of thing he never admits to anyone, because vulnerability has only ever gotten him hurt.

But it feels good, to have said it.

She reaches out a hand to his face, gentle in a way his father has never been, and says with a touch of fire, “You are not wrong, Dean. You are perfect the way you are.”

He feels the tears welling up again, and squeezes his eyes shut, but it’s not enough to stop the flood. Mary wraps her arms around him, and he cries the way he hasn’t since he was a kid, scared and lost and alone in a world full of monsters. He cries into her shoulder like he’s four again, and he feels safe.

Notes:

anyways ahhh hope y'all enjoyed!! I really hope I did this scene justice—it was hard to balance Dean's struggles with Mary's, while also obviously writing a very dean-centric scene in a dean-centric fic, but I'm feeling sorta happy with how it turned out? we'll see if I feel the same way when it's a reasonable hour lmao

Chapter 17

Summary:

oh look characters finally saying some shit they've needed to say for basically this entire fic

Notes:

sorry this chapter took a while y'all! it's a bit of a longer one though, so hopefully that makes up for it <33 I think we've got? two? more chapters after this? we shall see I guess! anyways please ignore my terrible innuendoes, pls blame it on dean being on idiot not me <33

also just a note that this chapter does touch a bit on alcohol abuse—I don't go into depth on it, because I'm nowhere near qualified, but it feels like an important part of both Dean and John's character, so it does end up mentioned for a few paragraphs, a bit more heavily than earlier chapters

anyways hope y'all enjoy ghsdghsd

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Dean and Cas emerge from their room the next morning, it’s nearing lunchtime. His conversation with Mary last night was one of the most honest and heartfelt conversations he’s ever had, and he’s sure that’s probably good in the long run, but it was also fucking exhausting. He slept like the dead after, and Cas said he hadn’t wanted to wake him.

In the kitchen, Charlie has her feet propped up on the table, scrolling through her phone. “Your dad just stormed out. Something about needing more beer.”

Dean winces. It’s not like he’s one to talk, but his dad drinking this early was never a good sign, growing up. John’s been like this all week—moody and withdrawn, and probably drinking the whole time, but Dean realizes he didn’t even notice their beer stock was going down faster than usual as well. He doesn’t think he’s even had a drink since Amara brought his parents back. It’s—well, when Sam and Cas had staged an intervention about his drinking, not long after they’d gotten the mark off of him, he’d rolled his eyes and thought it was stupid, but . . . looking at it all now, he’s sort of proud. It’s harder to see alcohol as a decent coping mechanism with his dad, and the constant reminder of his drunken rages when they were kids, back from the dead.

He never really wanted to admit he had a problem, but the thing is, he feels better now he’s mostly sober. His head is clearer, and . . . he likes himself better.

“Dean,” Cas says gently. “Are you okay?”

“I—yeah,” he says, snapping back to the present. “I am.”

That’s when he realizes the positive side of his dad being gone for a while—everyone currently in the bunker now knows about him and Cas.

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Cas’s mouth. “Come on, help me make breakfast.”

“Dean, I still don’t eat.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t help. Besides, I thought you liked sausages,” he can’t help adding with a smirk.

Cas gives him a reproachful look, and Charlie groans, “Get a room.”

“This is my house,” Dean shoots back.

“This is your creepy bunker, and I died for you, so you have to let me stay.”

Dean winces a little, but it’s slowly getting easier to hear her joke about that. “Where’ve you been, anyways? I haven’t seen you in days.”

“I texted,” she protests. “And there might have been a cute girl in Lebanon. She was a little more . . . interesting, than your dusty old books and weapons. And less likely to, you know, explode me or something if I touched her. And I touched her a lot.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he pulls out eggs and sausages for breakfast. “Is this revenge for my sausages comment?”

“Absolutely.”

“No appreciation for the finer things,” he grumbles.

“What, you mean dicks? Pass.” That gets a snort from Cas, and Dean shoots him a dirty look. Traitor.

“Cas’s dick, specifically,” Dean says, because it makes Cas blush, so it’s payback.

“Wha—actually I don’t want to know,” comes Sam’s voice from the doorway. “Please never talk about Cas’s dick again where I can hear you.”

“Agreed,” Cas says, and Dean pulls a face, but throws up his hands and returns to his eggs.

Sam and Charlie fall into a conversation in the background that doesn’t involve how much of this girl Charlie touched, but Dean sort of tunes it out the second Cas comes up behind him and presses a kiss to his neck. He knows his dad will be back sooner or later, but god it’s nice to have this for a few moments. He hadn’t realized quite how much he missed being able to exist with Cas like this outside of the privacy of their room—and all the less-than-private corners they risked making out in, but this is different. This is the freedom to just exist, without looking over their shoulders, even just for a little while.

He turns around and pulls Cas into him, kissing him properly just because he can. Sam boos and Charlie wolf-whistles, but he just flips them off behind Cas’s head and keeps kissing him.

It’s maybe slightly longer than he should make out with his boyfriend while Sam and Charlie are in the room, but he’s barely even touched Cas outside the privacy of their room for ages, and it feels fucking good to just . . . kiss him like no one’s watching.

“Dean, your eggs,” Cas says when he pulls away. “. . . and your sausages.”

“Right, fuck.” Dean scrambles to get his breakfast on a plate. Thankfully, though it might be a little dry, nothing is too badly overcooked.

“You are a disaster,” Sam says, sipping some sort of disgusting looking energy shake. “How are you the dude who used to call me gay for knowing shit like fairytales.”

“I can still call you gay for that. Duality, Sammy.”

“You’re a dick,” he grumbles. “Back me up here, Charlie?”

She shrugs. “Nah. I mean, he’s absolutely a dick, but it sounds funny, so.”

“You’re all idiots,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to someone who gives a shit,” Charlie says.

“I didn’t do anything,” Cas protests. “How am I an idiot?”

“You’re dating Dean,” Sam points out.

Dean just flips him off, but Cas frowns. “Dating Dean is the best decision I have ever made. I don’t think it makes me an idiot.”

Dean can feel himself turning bright pink, and he presses a kiss to Cas’s cheek before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the table with him and starting to shovel eggs and sausage into his mouth with the hand not holding his.

Sam grumbles something about them getting a room, which seems to be a common reprise today, and then trails off, glancing at the doorway and then back to Cas and Dean, whose hands are still entwined on top of the table.

“Hey, Mom,” he says.

Dean glances over and sees her, and immediately has to fight the urge to drop Cas’s hand. Instead, he holds on even tighter.

Sam’s eyes flick back and forth from Mary to Dean, brow furrowed, and then he seems to come to a conclusion and nod approvingly. Dean rolls his eyes at him, and adds his own, “Hi, Mom.”

“Sam, Dean, Charlie. I thought I heard you all in here,” she says, before turning to Cas. “Castiel. I think we’re due for a . . . proper introduction. I don’t know if I made the best first impression.”

“Dean stabbed me in the heart the first time we met,” Cas says, a note of humour in his voice. “Your impression was fine.”

“Still,” she says. “Dean told me a lot about you last night. I think I understand better now, how important you are to this family. So, it’s good to meet you, and I’m really happy for you and Dean.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Cas says gravely. “Your blessing means a lot to Dean, and therefore a lot to me.”

She smiles, almost shy, and says, “You treat him well, okay?”

“Of course,” Cas says, serious as Dean has ever seen him. He sort of wants to kiss him.

Then he realizes there’s no reason not to. So he does.

 

 

John doesn’t come back til evening, and when he does, it’s immediately evident he’s drunk. Dean knows—he knows because even drunk, maybe especially drunk, some part of him knew he didn’t want to be like his father—that he’s never acted the way their father used to when he’d get drunk, but he still feels a hot rush of shame when he watches him come into the kitchen during dinner, swaying a bit.

He wishes he didn’t see so much of himself reflected back when he looks at his dad.

John doesn’t stay, but the mood in the kitchen sours a little, once he’s back. Dean and Cas had moved apart when they first heard the door open, and Dean’s felt extra jumpy about any touch between them all night, even the type they did before they got together. Mary seems tense, too, her replies coming shorter and terser as the night goes on. They’re trying to play poker, but no one can really focus.

Dean’s about to call it a night—cash in his chips, then lock the door to their room and snuggle up close with Cas—when John appears back in the doorway. He’s seemingly sobered up a little, but Dean still tenses.

“Mary,” John says, voice rough and a little bit pleading. “Come to bed.”

“No, John.”

“I miss you,” he mumbles. Dean feels like he’s watching something forbidden; their dad was never one for showing emotion, and the jumble of it on his face right now is unlike anything Dean has ever seen.

She scoffs lightly. “Are we really going to do this right now, John?”

“What, don’t want the boys to see? You’re being so selfish, Mary. I gave up everything for you, and you’re just fucking giving up?”

Mary takes a deep breath, and Dean nudges her foot underneath the table with his own. She gives him an appreciative smile, then hardens her eyes and turns back to John. “This isn’t giving up, John. This isn’t walking away because it’s too hard. This is me saying I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not the man I fell in love with.”

You happened, Mary. I lost you, and it fucking destroyed me. And now I have you back, so can we please, please stop fighting.”

Something flickers in her eyes, sad and heavy. She takes a moment to breathe, and then she slowly shakes her head. “We’re not fighting, John. We’re done.”

“Mary,” his voice turns almost condescending. Dean sort of wonders how this man was ever his hero. “Don’t say that. You know, it’s always been hard. I know it can be easy to forget that, but we’ve always fought, but we don’t just give up. That’s not who we are, Mary.”

“No, John.” It’s hard to listen to the way she tries to stop her voice from breaking. “It’s not easy to forget. You’ve had twenty-three years to gloss over it with your rose-coloured fucking glasses, but for me, that’s the life I was living until I woke up one day and found it was thirty years in the future. And yeah, it was hard. It’s always been hard. Maybe we should never have made it as far as we did in the first place. But we used to have something to fight for. I can’t say that anymore.

“This isn’t working, John. I can barely even look at you. There are so many things I can’t forgive. I don’t even know you anymore. So I love you, and I hope you can find peace, but it won’t be with me.”

Dean looks away as a tear slips down his mom’s face. It doesn’t seem like something she’d want him to see. Instead, his gaze latches onto John, who’s gaping at her, completely struck silent. It’s a rare sight, and in a different context, Dean might appreciate that.

“What the fuck,” he finally mutters, mostly to himself. Then, louder, “What has gotten into you? Christ. Come find me when you’re ready to be an adult about this.”

No one says a word as John turns on his heel and leaves.

Dean’s not really sure what to say.

After a moment, Cas meets Charlie’s eyes and says, “Uh. Why don’t we, uh—”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, scrambling to her feet. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Cas glances around as he stands up, then presses a quick kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Good luck.”

Once the three of them are alone, Mary ducks her head. “I’m sorry to spring all that on you, Sam. I know it was probably . . . a lot all at once.”

“Uh,” Sam says. “It was—definitely unexpected. Uh, Dean is probably the one you should be worrying about, though. I’ve never . . . had the best relationship with Dad.”

Mary smiles sadly. “Dean and I . . . talked for a long time last night. I think he helped me realize I needed to do this.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “Damn. What happened to ‘accepting all the bad shit because it’s all we can do’?”

Dean rolls his eys, but he doesn’t meet Sam’s gaze when he mumbles, “I was wrong.”

“Sorry, what was that? Did you just say you were wrong?”

“Grow up.”

Mary chuckles, and Dean swallows hard. “I’m having a really hard time,” he admits. “I guess Mom was too.”

“Are you gonna bite my head off if I say I’m proud of you?”

“Absolutely,” Dean says.

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m proud of you too, Mom. That can’t have been easy.”

She gives him a watery smile. “It feels good, though.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says quietly.

None of them speak for a few minutes. Dean’s sort of just processing.

“I’m sorry,” Mary finally says again. “This isn’t what I thought starting a family would look like. It wasn’t supposed to—it wasn’t supposed to come apart like this.”

“Don’t be sorry, Mom,” Sam says gently. “I think we all turned out alright.”

“Yeah,” she says, voice watery. “I guess we did.”

 

 

Half of Dean wants nothing more than to fall into bed with Cas after the exhaustion of the evening, but instead, he steps out into the garage, climbs into the Impala, and calls Bobby.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Bobby.”

“You alright?”

“I—yeah. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to say . . . thank you.”

There’s a long pause. “Are you about to get all self-sacrificing about something again, ya idjit? This’d better not be a goddamn goodbye.”

“It’s not.” Dean swallows hard. “It’s uh—I guess I’m finally seeing some shit I shoulda seen a long time ago. And I dunno if I’ve ever appreciated how much you—I’m scared who I woulda turned into if I hadn’t had you, Bobby.”

“You had your old man.” He sounds gruffer than usual, and maybe a little choked up. “He did plenty good by you.”

Neither of them speaks for a moment, then Dean says, barely a whisper, “No he didn’t.”

“No he fucking didn’t,” Bobby agrees. “But Dean I don’t wanna—he’s your blood, I ain’t gonna try an’ drive a wedge there.”

“Bobby when I—god, he’s my blood, but when I needed a fucking dad, it was always you. You—goddammit, Bobby, you’re family. Sure as anyone ever has been.”

Bobby doesn’t speak for a moment, and then—“Dammit, Dean, you’re gonna make an old man cry.”

Dean bites his lip, trying to hold back tears of his own, and for a few minutes, they just sit there together in silence, only the faint sound of breathing there to assure Dean Bobby’s still on the line.

He’s almost surprised when Bobby starts talking again, even more surprised by the strange emotion in his voice. “You know, Dean, I was never gonna have kids. Didn’t wanna be like my old man, mean old drunk he was. Figured I’d just fuck it up. But you and Sam, you—well I didn’t get a lot of choice. Not ‘cause I couldn’t have said no to your daddy, but ‘cause after I watched the two of you once or twice, I couldn’t just leave you with ‘im. Ya idjits damn near give me a heart attack on the regular, but you’re damn good boys, and if I were John I’d make sure you knew it.”

Dean blinks back the tears welling in his eyes. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“You know, if you ever get tired of living in that stuffy bunker, I’m sure Sioux Falls could always use more hunters.”

It’s half a joke, and Dean half-laughs, but . . . it’s also a seed, planted in his head. A maybe, a someday.

“I’m glad to have you back, Bobby.”

Bobby huffs a laugh. “I’m damn glad to be back. Now stop pestering me before you make me cry, ya idjit.”

Notes:

pls don't count how many times dean calls bobby by name in that last scene it is way too excessive and I don't want to know lmao

also I cannot fucking find it but the one interaction in here is semi-accidentally inspired by that one tumblr post where it's like. talking about sam saying how dean only stopped calling sam gay a few years ago when he started getting dirty looks for it in public, and dean being like "well now that I'm out I can start doing it again" idk I forget how the post goes if someone knows where it is pls send it to me it's driving me mad now

Chapter 18

Summary:

finally, a much-needed conversation with john

Notes:

we're in the home stretch now y'all!

I'm gonna be honest, this chapter was really hard to write. dean's character is . . . so fundamentally at odds with standing up to john that I didn't really have a frame of reference for how he might go about doing it, but hopefully I did him justice! I hope y'all enjoy <33

also this is probably obvious given *waves vaguely at the rest of this fic* but fair warning, this chapter does include some homophobia. it's just a line or two, but it is definitely there

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

He doesn’t see much of John for nearly two weeks. None of them do. He doesn’t spend much time at the bunker, and when he does, he’s either drunk or drinking. Honestly, Dean tries not to think about it much.

Instead, he takes the time to get to know his mom—really get to know her, now that they’ve gotten past the hardest parts—and to cuddle with Cas, and to spend time with Charlie. He and Sam go on a hunt a few towns over, but it barely even takes a full day. Mostly, everything is quiet.

Nothing quite feels normal, not with the weight of everything with John hanging over him, but he does his best not to think about it, and it almost works.

 

 

“Where’s Mary?”

Dean jumps. He hadn’t heard his father come into the room. He looks . . . better. Like he’s showered and is maybe only a little hungover as opposed to completely drunk. He’s also holding a bouquet of flowers.

“No clue.”

John scoffs and mutters something under his breath, but walks past Dean without saying anything. Dean considers saying he’s pretty sure Mary won’t want his flowers, but honestly, he’s not getting in the middle of this.

Ten minutes later, John storms back into the kitchen and tosses the flowers in the trash.

He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to hit something. Then he slumps down at the table and buries his head in his hands. It’s a strange show of vulnerability, and Dean feels vaguely like he’s intruding just being in the same room. If there’s one thing John Winchester has never been, it’s open about his emotions.

Dean hovers there for a minute, debating fleeing, then awkwardly perches on the seat next to John and says, “Uh. You okay, Dad?”

There’s no answer for a long moment, and then, “Christ, I fucked up, didn’t I?”

He sounds so . . . defeated. Dean doesn’t know how to answer.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. It reminds Dean a bit of long days on the road, those years when Sam was away at school. Sometimes, they wouldn’t speak from one case to the next.

Then John says gruffly, “You ever get a girl, don’t let her slip away like this.”

Dean would almost have expected the words to be bitter, but they sound . . . strangely heartfelt. Fatherly. The sort of thing he only got once in a blue moon, growing up.

He swallows hard. It sort of feels like the wrong moment, and yet—how often does he get a moment like this? How often does he get John in a state where he’s actually talking to him like he wants to be his father? This could be his only chance to have an actual conversation about it, instead of just another fight.

“Not getting a girl,” he mumbles. He means for it to come out clearer, but the words barely make it past his lips as is.

“What?”

“There’s not gonna be a girl.” His voice is steadier, this time.

“Don’t say that,” John says, voice still strangely tender. “There’s still so much life ahead of you, Dean.”

“It’s not that. It’s—Cas. There’s not gonna be a girl, because there’s already Cas.”

He studies the table intently, because he can’t look at John’s face.

“Cas.” John finally says, slowly. “Castiel. The angel?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, surprised by the hint of challenge in his voice. “Him.”

“That’s not funny, Dean.”

He tries not to flinch. “I’m not joking.”

John’s voice sounds somewhere between sad and angry when he says, “I didn’t raise you like that, Dean. You’re better than this.”

Something hot and angry sparks in Dean’s chest. It’s almost enough to drown out the sting of the words.

He finds himself talking, snapping back, almost as if watching from the sidelines of his own body as he tries not to scream. “You didn’t raise me at all.”

“What?” This time, the word has a dangerous edge to it.

For so many years, that edge would have stopped him in his tracks. “I said you didn’t fucking raise me at all. You trained me to hunt, but you were never there when I actually needed you.”

“Needed me to what? Coddle you like a girl? I kept you alive. I taught you how the real world works.”

“You taught me to hate myself.” The words rip out of him, before he even realizes he means them, and he feels his breath catch as the weight of them settles in. John Winchester is far from the only reason he hates himself, but—fuck. “All those years, all that crap you gave me, I took it. I always fucking took it. And I told myself I deserved it, because I fucking trusted you. Because you were my dad, and that was supposed to mean something. But you know what? I didn’t deserve that crap. I never did.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you? I’m your father, boy. Don’t you go acting like you’re better than me. I fucking made you.”

“You know what? Yeah, you did. And I hate who you made me. I hate how much of you I see in myself. I like who I am around Cas. Around Sam. Around Mom. I like the parts of me you always made me bury, because you know what? I am better for the parts of me that give a shit. I am better for letting myself fucking feel something other than anger. And I am goddamn sorry you can’t do the same, but I am not the son you fucking wanted, and I’m not going back.” He swipes at his face, trying to stop the tears that are streaming down it. “I was never enough for you. I was never—you expected me to be so much, and I never could be, and I never—I never fucking stopped trying to make you proud. Even after you died, I wanted so badly to be the son you’d hoped for. But you know what? I like who I am now. I’ve finally fucking outgrown your expectations, and I like myself better for it. So I’m sorry, Dad.” He’s fully crying now, his voice cracking a bit. “I’m so sorry that I can’t make you proud. I really am. But this is who I am now. And I love you. God, I love you so much, Dad. But I am so fucking tired of walking around like you’re a bomb about to go off, so. You gotta make a choice. I’m happy. I’ve got a family. And if you wanna be part of it, you’ve got to fucking start acting like it.”

John doesn’t say a word for a long while, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest waiting for it. He’s breathing hard, unable to tear his eyes away from his father’s face. He spent so many years studying it, learning to understand the smallest nuance in the expressions on it—so that most days, he could stay somewhat in his father’s good graces—but right now, he can’t read it. He’s never said anything like this to John before.

Finally, John shakes his head and mutters, “Pathetic.”

It hits like a bullet, and Dean swallows hard, but he doesn’t let himself look away, doesn’t let himself apologize or take it back. John watches him for a moment, and then turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen.

 

 

Even after the tears dry, Dean can’t stop shaking. He can’t fucking tell if he feels better, or worse, or what. Just that every inch of him is trembling, and he doesn’t think he has the energy to move from where he’s slumped at the kitchen table.

He glances up when Charlie comes into the kitchen, and tries to offer a smile, but the fake grin that usually comes so easily just doesn’t work. She takes one look at him and stops in her tracks.

“Okay, wow. You look seriously fucked up. What’s wrong?”

“I dunno,” he says. He meant to say nothing, but he doesn’t have the energy to fake being okay right now.

She raises an eyebrow and drops into the chair across from him. It’s the same one his father was sitting in half an hour before. “How do you not know.”

“I—I just told my dad, about Cas and I. And I don’t really know what to—he was never gonna take it well. It’s just—I’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” she says. She looks vaguely like she has no fucking clue what to say. “You know, I never got to tell my parents. That I, you know, liked girls.”

Dean blinks, but it’s easier to talk about than his own shit. “Do you wish you had?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, chewing on her lip. “I . . . don’t know how they would have reacted. Part of me’s glad of it, I guess—I never had to deal with them taking it poorly. But I also never got the chance to—to know if they would have taken it well.”

“I always knew,” Dean finds himself saying. “Even before I admitted to myself that I was queer, I knew I couldn’t be, because he would never be okay with it. But I—part of me still hoped he’d magically be fine with it. Even though there was so much—it wasn’t even just the queer thing, you know? He was—he wasn’t always the greatest father. But I still wanted his approval, you know? I still fucking love him. He’s always been, you know—he and Sam, they’ve always come first for me. But now we’re—I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“That sucks ass,” Charlie says eloquently.

“Yeah,” Dean finds himself agreeing. “It does suck ass.”

“Come on,” she says, getting to her feet. “I’m starving, let’s get out of here.”

He gives her a shaky smile and nods, following her out the door.

Notes:

I'm writing one last chapter now and then ahhhhhhhh

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!!

Chapter 19

Summary:

the end 💙

Notes:

hey y'all! I can't believe this is the last chapter, it's honestly sort of surreal. I've been working on this fic for months, and I'm going to be honest . . . I wasn't really sure how I was going to end it until I got here. I think I'm pretty happy with how it turned out though, so I hope y'all are too! enjoy <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Dad left,” is the first thing Sam says when Dean walks into the kitchen the next morning.

He’s sort of surprised to find the words only distantly register; he guesses he’s not that shocked to hear it, but he feels like it should sting more. Maybe last night helped. He and Charlie had gotten burgers and gone bowling, and then they’d ended up in the Impala, just driving around for hours. When they finally got home, all the lights were off, and Dean had tiptoed to his room and snuggled up with Cas.

It sort of feels like, maybe, the reminder of the family that he does have helped lessen the pain a bit. Like somehow, his dad doesn’t feel like the whole world anymore.

“Left, like . . . left left?” He doesn’t really need to ask. He knows the answer.

“Yeah. Last night, packed up all his stuff and left. Ranted a bit about how ungrateful you are. He tried to get me to come with him, but I told him to fuck off.” He snorts. “I think it’s the longest conversation we’ve had since he’s been back.”

“You doing okay?”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah. Like I said, he can fuck off.”

“Attaboy, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “How ‘bout you? You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. You’re right, he can fuck off.”

They’re both quiet for a minute, as Dean pours himself a bowl of cereal—the sugary kind that Sam insists is gonna kill him one day—and then Sam asks quietly, “What happened?”

“Mom rejected him and I told him about Cas and I, in the space of about ten minutes. He was not thrilled about either of them.”

Sam grimaces. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Ehh. At least it’s out there now. Honestly, felt pretty good to give him a piece of my mind.” He hadn’t been sure, at first, but now that the worst of the tumultuous emotions have settled, he feels . . . better. There’s still a heavy pit in his stomach when he thinks about it all, but it’s strangely a relief, too, to have it out there.

“I’m proud of you,” Sam says, and ducks as Dean flicks a piece of wet cereal at him.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

 

 

five months later

“Are you sure about this, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes as he takes the box Cas is handing him and tries to find a place for it in the Impala’s trunk. “Bit late to change my mind. Our names are on the deed.”

“Technically, they’re fake names. To go with our fake bank histories and various other fake credentials.”

Dean snorts, and pulls Cas in for a quick kiss. “I’m sure, Cas. I think it’s about damn time we do something for ourselves, huh? We’ll still be there if Sam or Bobby need a hand on a hunt, but I think I’m past ready to stop seeking them out and settle down with my boyfriend.”

Cas presses another kiss to his lips, and whispers “I love you.”

“Love you too, buddy. Come on, let’s go find where Sam’s gotten off to.”

Sam and Eileen spring apart as Dean and Cas come back into the bunker, looking sheepish. They were supposed to be helping load the car, but they’d finally gotten their heads out of their asses and gotten together for real a few weeks back, so secretly Dean’s too happy for them too really mind.

Doesn’t stop him from complaining, though. “Really, Sam? Our last day together. I can tell how much you’re gonna miss me.”

“Right, ‘cause I’m sure you and Cas weren’t making out in the garage.”

“Shut up.”

“I will miss you,” Sam says after a moment. “Though, Jody’s already trying to talk me into moving down there to join you all. Says her realtor friend who set you up has some nice places I’d like.”

“Think she’ll have any luck convincing you?” The decision to relocate to Sioux Falls ultimately hadn’t been very hard, but leaving Sam—even just a few hours away—is definitely the part Dean is having the roughest time with. But Lebanon has never really been home, and now that Bobby’s back . . . the pull of the tiny little house they found in Sioux Falls was just too strong.

Sam grins. “Maybe. This place is gonna feel pretty empty without you and Cas around, and with Mom heading off next month.”

“Yeah.” God, this feels so bittersweet.

“Where is Mom?”

“Actually helping, unlike you. She ran into town to pick up snacks for the drive.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean sees a hint of sadness on his face too. She’s heading off to backpack around Europe for a few months, find herself—although she’s promised to call them both every day—and Charlie took off to New York a few weeks back, so with Dean leaving now, it’s just gonna be Sam and Eileen holding down the bunker. John hasn’t made contact since the day he left, and none of them are in any hurry to find him.

Dean sorta thinks he’ll be seeing Sam make his own way Sioux Falls sooner rather than later. Unlike him, Sam isn’t ready to put down the hunter’s mantle yet, but even for a hunter, there’s a certain sort of charm to a home base that has actual windows and a yard.

The bunker’s served them well, but now that Dean knows how to have somewhere to come home to . . . well, he’s sorta ready to have one that doesn’t have so much pain and so many bad memories tied up in all the good. One that he and Cas can really make their own.

Still, he finds himself a bit choked up when he says, “You’d better visit me, Sammy.”

Sam snorts, more sad than amused, and pulls Dean in for a hug. “You can’t get rid of me this easy, don’t worry.”

“You’re coming up for dinner next weekend, don’t you forget,” Dean says as they pull apart.

This time, Sam’s eye roll is genuine. “If Eileen and I aren’t on a hunt, we’ll be there next weekend.”

“And if you are on a hunt, you come straight there afterward. And call, so I know you aren’t dead.”

“You are such a mom.” Dean opens his mouth to argue, and Sam turns and signs to Eileen, saying aloud for Dean's benefit, “Eileen, back me up here, he’s a mother hen.”

Eileen glances up from signing furiously back and forth with Cas and signs something to Sam.

“She says to fight my own battles,” he complains, signing back what Dean is pretty sure is I love you.

Dean can’t help smiling a little. “I’ll miss you Sammy.”

“I’ll miss you too, Dean.”

 

 

As they pull away from the bunker, Dean cranks up the music and feels a calm wash over him. Cas is in the front seat, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see him smiling, watching him. Jammed into the backseat, next to all the boxes they crammed in there, Mary has her head buried in a book about memes—she’s still trying to catch up on modern culture, and at this point Dean thinks she’s probably surpassed his own knowledge. She’s coming up to help them move in, and then she’ll pick up a car from Bobby’s and head back to the bunker next week.

It seems like something out of a sitcom; a hunter in a car with his angel boyfriend and dead mother. It also seems like the most normal thing in the world—a mother helping her son move in with his boyfriend. Most of all, it’s probably the last place Dean would have ever predicted his life would have ended up, maybe the last thing he’d have even admitted he could want.

It’s sort of perfect.

Notes:

for the record my thought is definitely that Sam and Eileen end up living a block or two away from Dean and Cas in Sioux Falls and they see Bobby and Jody and the girls all the time and somehow Mary ends up there too and they're a big happy family. I couldn't actually organically fit that in without just dragging out the ending, but it's my fic so what I say goes <33

 

anyways thank you all so much for reading! the comments I've gotten on this fic have honestly been such a bright spot in a really rough few months—y'all never fail to make my day ❤️ I know my responses get a bit boring after a few comments, but I hope y'all know my "ahhh thank you"s and "<3333"s are my way of saying "I literally love you so much" without being weird

I have a few ideas for fics I want to write, including one I've vaguely been working on with dad!Dean and Ben, so if any of y'all stick around, hopefully I should have another spn fic up/started by the end of the month (we'll see what lmao), but if you were just here for this one, that's also cool, and thank you so much for reading!!

y'all can also find me yelling about spn over on tumblr if you want <33