Chapter Text
The insistent beeping was really getting on Dean’s nerves, the high-pitched sound making his teeth ache. No matter how much he wished to go back to sleep, it was impossible to ignore it. On and on it went, stabbing his tired brain like needles, until with a great effort, he peeled his eyelids open and blinked in confusion at the large pink letters that read “World’s Coolest Dad.” In his hand was a black coffee mug with pink words on its side. It was an old thing, well used and nicked in a few spots, indicating years of history.
As his vision cleared, a kitchen came into view, and in wonder, he turned around, taking it all in. It was an open, bright space filled with sunlight streaming through a large window. For some reason, he felt at ease in this space.
If only the irritating beeping would stop.
There. The oven timer was going off. Eager to turn the damn thing off, he opened the oven door and reached his hand inside to grab the tray and stopped an inch from the piping hot metal.
Cas’ dream!
He ran out of the kitchen, straight for the stairs, and tripped on the first step when he saw the wall. Photographs covered the entire length of the staircases, extending all the way to the second floor. No two frames were alike. Different shapes, sizes, colors- each one unique. But, together, they worked perfectly.
For a year, Dean banged his head against the wall, trying to understand what Cas’ last words meant. He heard the Empty describe the dream, and still, he refused to accept what it was saying.
Now he knew.
Here, it hung like a large tapestry, the chronicle of his and Cas’ life that had never happened. All across the wall, the photos told a story of love and companionship. It showed a happy family, a life Dean had only witnessed from afar - in strangers’ houses, on a TV.
He could not take his eyes off Castiel, who gazed at Dean with such joy it was a miracle the entire wall did not glow. His eyes were full of happiness and a bit of shock as if he could not believe Dean was real. As if Dean was bigger than life itself.
A strange feeling stabbed Dean’s gut. Like an angry beast it grew, spreading into his hands, making them shake with the need to take the hammer to the wall. Startled by its force, he took a deep breath, trying to center himself and identify the emotion. Jealousy. Dean was jealous of the imaginary Dean - the phantom man who got to have something so perfect.
What would it feel like to be looked at like he hanged the stars? To be loved unconditionally, no matter his shortcomings. Cas knew him, in some ways better than Sam ever did, and still, he chose to build this dream world with Dean. Even though Cas was a friend, not to mention a man, Dean could not help the hunger that rose within him for the life in the photos.
He needed to know. He needed to experience it just for a second.
Against all instincts that screamed he was putting everything in jeopardy, Dean took a step back. And another and another. Down the stairs and back into the kitchen where, with a shaking hand, he pulled on a mitten and took the golden brown loaf of bread out of the oven.
The sound of a crisp crust breaking under the knife and the sweet smell rising with the steam sent him into a full-body orgasm. Impatiently, he blew on a small piece and shoved it into his mouth, cursing when it burned his tongue. Breathing around it, he waited for the right moment, and when the scorching heat became barrable, he had his first taste of the finest bread he had ever tried. An exquisite array of different tastes seamlessly worked together, making his mouth water for more. It was an impossible bread. Nothing like it could ever exist back in the real world. It was a slice of heaven made with love that tasted of safety and family.
A tear slid down Dean’s cheek. In wonder, he looked around the world Cas had built, his gaze settling on the clock that read 7:20 AM.
“Still sleeping.” He looked up like he might see the angel through the ceiling. One floor separated them, but Dean felt unwilling to rush upstairs and wake him. This house, this life…people like them could only dream of it, and Dean was reluctant to take it away from Cas.
He was nothing but an intruder, no better than the Empty. Was it wrong of him to do this? Yes, but he needed to know no matter how rotten he felt about it. Just a quick peek to see what it felt like.
With utmost care, Dean cut two slices of bread and placed them on the snow-white plate next to eggs and bacon. As he poured coffee into the Cool Dad mug, he spied a jar of honey on a shelf.
“Why not,” He smiled, adding two spoons to the coffee.
The first time he rushed up the stairs, he missed a great many details. But now, as he carefully walked, his hands full, he almost tripped on the first step at the feeling of the soft carpet on his bare feet.
“Damn,” Dean wiggling his toes in delight at the cloudlike softness. Every step was a pleasure, and he was tempted to lie down and bury himself in the material.
He climbed slowly, a large smile on his face that disappeared when a corridor opened up before him with three sets of doors, a different name on each one.
“Charlie, Benny, Dads,” Dean quietly read.
Balancing everything in one hand, he reverently touched the red letter C. Every atom of his being yearned to look inside and find what she looks like. Small nicks on the door frame, years written next to them, stopped at Dean’s waist. Who did she resemble? The real Charlie? Or was she a combination of Dean and Cas? Was she stubborn like Dean or aloof like Cas? What was her favorite food? Or a movie? Dean clutched the door handle, fear at what lay behind making him tremble.
“Not real, not real, not real,” Dean chanted, peeling his fingers off the doorknob. It took all his strength to turn away from it.
The Dads sign, crooked and pink, obviously made by the child's hands, brought a smile to his face. With a nervous swallow, afraid of what he would find, he opened the door.
***
Dean’s eyes roved the brightly lit space, taking in the swaying curtains, the pots and plants, the art on the walls, and finally landing on the sleeping figure. Heart beating like crazy, he placed the food on the nightstand and carefully pulled the cover of his face.
The hair was a bit longer, and the scruff on the chin was new, but it was him. Castiel, whole and unharmed, was sleeping on his stomach, cradling the pillow as if it might run away from him.
The relief drained the last of Dean’s strength, and he collapsed into an armchair at the foot of the bed. Finally, after a year, there he was. With the back of his hand, Dean wiped away a stray tear from his cheek, unable to look away from the small smile on the angel’s face. Cas looked younger. No, not younger... unburdened.
Dean gazed around at the little details of a shared life that were spread all over the room. His favorite shirt hung on the back of the door, a wristwatch he lost years ago on the nightstand, and his shoes in the corner of the room. Dean saw it all and hated it. Hated the other Dean as if he had stolen something from him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dean muttered, swiped a hand over his face, shaken by the revelation. His dream of a white picket fence, 2.5 children, and a dog never included a man. Yet here he was, wishing to kill the imaginary Dean for touching what was his.
What was his?
He was losing his goddamn mind, sitting here like some sick pervert watching Cas sleep. Invading his dream, if it even was a dream. Stuck in the middle of the empty, who was to say all this wasn’t an elaborate nightmare designed to torture Cas.
Looking around at all the signs pointing at a happy life, Dean quickly discarded the idea. Even this room, with the warm breeze coming through the open balcony, was infused with a calm energy that seeped into Dean, soothing his nerves. He wanted to crawl into bed next to the angel and never leave.
The dream Dean must be a better person than him. Never in a million years would he be a reason for a peaceful smile that curled Cas' lips - a smile that slowly grew and transformed into a yawn. Stretching like a cat, Cas turned with a grown and looked at Dean.
“Oh, did I oversleep again?” Cas rubbed sleep from his eyes, completely missing the way Dean jolted at the sound of his voice.
“No, you are right on time.” Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and pointed at the nightstand. “I brought you coffee.”
Hair ruffled, sticking in all directions, still half asleep, Cas blinked at the breakfast in confusion, looking… adorable? It was Dean’s turn to blink in confusion at the thought. No matter how much the thought shocked him, there was no denying the fact that the smile that slowly bloomed across Cas' face made Dean's heart beat just a bit faster.
And when those blue eyes brimming with unconcealed adoration and love looked at Dean, his breath stuttered. They looked at Dean as if he had delivered the stars and the moon, not just greasy bacon and eggs.
“You are too good for me, Dean.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dean grumbled, making the angel laugh.
As Cas sat up, the sheet spilled into his lap, revealing miles and miles of skin. Dean’s eyes trailed the defined muscles that rippled underneath the skin, trying to ignore how much his fingers inched to touch them. The thought shocked him to the core. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Cas as anything but a best friend. What the fuck was happening to him? This experiment has gone far enough. It was time to pull the –
The dirtiest, porn-like moan that came from Cas incinerated all thoughts in Dean’s head.
“Damn,” Eyes closed, Cas took another sip of coffee, purring in pleasure.
Who the hell was this half-naked creature lying in bed, moaning at the taste of coffee. It most definitely wasn't the angel Dean knew—the one who described food like molecules and thought human pleasures were an inconvenience.
Fear started creeping in, doubts that he might have had it wrong from the beginning. What if this dream, this version of Cas, was designed to keep Dean trapped in the empty? There was only one way to know for sure.
“How is the coffee?” Dean asked, a slight hitch in his voice, the only indication of how spooked he was.
“It’s perfect.” Cas smiled.
“Yeah? Describe it?”
“Huh?” Cas blinked in confusion.
“The taste, describe it to me.”
“Is this another of your games?” Cas' eyes crinkled over the rim as he drank.
“Indulge me, please.” While Dean’s voice was calm, his hands clutched the armrest until his fingers turned white.
“Hmm, let’s see. I can taste 350 flowers growing in the sunny meadow. I can taste the nectar, the soil nurturing them, the sunlight feeding them. As I said, it is perfect. I do not know why I never thought of adding honey. It makes coffee so much more interesting. Thank you, Dean. I do believe this is now my favorite drink.”
“Still the molecule-loving freak.” Dean sighed in relief.
The sound of laughter caught Dean by surprise.
“What so funny?” Dean asked.
“You. That’s the same thing you told me when I complained that the wedding cake did not have enough unmelted sugar crystals.”
“A wedding cake?” Dean asked in shock, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of it. The house, children—of course, they got married. And damn if that didn't make his heart beat faster.
“The Wedding Cake.” Cas chuckled. “No idea how you found a baker crazy enough to make an apple pie of that size. And, yes, I still think it was the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. I had to heal you two times because you would not stop gorging on it. ”
“Sound kind of perfect.” Dean smiled, trying to imagine it.
“Yes, it was. And you were one very, very handsome groom.”
Did Cas just wink at him? Dean tried and failed to pick up his jaw off the floor. Full of confidence, like it was something he did every day, the angel just flirted with him. There was no mistaking the hunger in the eyes that slowly checked Dean out, making him blush.
Dean was used to seeing that look from women, but this... this was next level. The deafening sound of his heartbeat filled his ears as blue eyes slowly traveled up his body, pausing over his crouch.
It should have been invasive, even offensive, to be looked like that by a man, but there Dean sat pinned to a chair, his dick pulsing in rhythm with his heart. When blue eyes finally looked into his, Dean was a breathless mess of confusion and need.
One step, that’s all it would take for Dean to cross the distance between them.
It was too much. It was too fast. Dean blinked and looked away first, feeling a pang in his chest when the connection between them broke.
“Tell me… Tell me more about the wedding.” Dean crossed his legs, trying to put a barrier between them.
Was it stupid to dig deeper into Cas’ fantasy after what was the most shocking, confusing, and single hottest moment of Dean’s life? Abso-fucking-lutely. Was he able to stop? No. The need to know about this life Cas had built with Dean’s clone obliterated all logic.
“The wedding? What is there to tell? You were there, remember. Well, in the end, you and Sam did get pretty trashed, so some memory loss is expected. But do you really want to rehash boring romantic memories of drunken dancing and Sam’s ridiculous long speech about bees and flowers, or would you rather I tell you the stories about our honeymoon?” Dean swallowed nervously at the positively wicked smirk on Cas' face.
“Which one would you like to hear? The one where you held my head and fucked my mouth until I came untouched all over your feet, or the one where you fucked me for hours on the balcony where anyone could have seen us.”
"Jesus, Cas," Dean muttered as Cas's hypnotic voice flooded his mind with image after image of intertwined bodies, lost in ecstasy.
Gracefully, Cas placed the cup on the nightstand and stretched his hands over his head, moaning softly as his spine popped. “I know! How about the one where you tied me to bed and tortured me for hours, not letting me come? Oh, how I begged you. I screamed your name until my throat was raw, and still, you denied me.”
Cas closed his eyes, his hands trailing over his chest, his stomach, and slid underneath the sheet. “You wicked man. It would have taken only a small part of my strength to rip that bed apart, but you knew I would never disobey your order.” Cas groaned.
Dean had a death grip on the armrests, trying to hold himself back from reaching out and tearing the sheet away. Who was this stranger who wore his friend's face and had so much confidence and sass he overwhelmed all Dean’s senses.
“God, you were like a man possessed. Your tongue on my nipples. The way you twisted and pinched them until I cried for mercy,” Cas groaned, licked his finger, and slowly circled his nipple.
Dean shook his head, trying to chase away the images, but it was in vain. They have taken root deep inside his body, making him painfully hard. With a shaking hand, Dean swiped away the sweat from his face, panting like he ran a marathon. Spellbound, he watched Cas’ hand move slowly below the sheet, and he burned with the need to see the whole of him. Was Cas long, thick, veiny, or smooth as silk?
“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean's voice shook as he covered his dick with the heel of his palm, pressing down, willing it to go away.
“Why don’t you pull the sheet off and find out,” Cas said, looking at Dean’s hand with so much heat in his eyes, it was a miracle Dean's clothes didn’t catch on fire.
Dean eyed the corner of the cover next to his knee like a venomous snake. This was insane. He should put a stop to this. Whatever was happening to him, this strange ache, it must be some kind of magic, or –
“Oh, Dean,” Head arched back, eyes closed, Cas moaned Dean’s name. His hand trailed over his abs, up his chest, and around his throat, squeezing tightly. “How you held me down with one hand. So much control. It was intoxicating.”
The chair underneath Dean groaned. Teeth biting his lower lip, pupils blown, lost in ecstasy, Cas was a sight to behold. Dean had never imagined the angel like this. It never even crossed his mind. But now… Cas was a drug he could not get enough of. He squeezed his painfully hard dick through his jeans, groaning at how good it felt.
“Those pants must be really uncomfortable. Why don’t you undo a button? Relieve some pressure.” Cas' low voice wound around Dean like a siren song. “Show me how much you hurt.”
Dean’s fingers pressed into the button, hesitating. “I… I can’t.”
The sunlight dimmed, throwing the room into an eerie half-darkness. Even the colors have disappeared, plunging the room into a black-and-white melancholy.
“Yes, of course. You are quite right. What was I thinking.” Cas quickly bundled himself into the sheet, not leaving an inch of skin exposed. Face red, he swung his legs to the side and stood up. “The kids will wake up soon. Go and finish the breakfast. I’ll take a quick shower and come in a moment.”
Dean did not have to wonder what happened. It was clearly written of Cas' crestfallen face. The eyes sparkling with mischief a second ago lay dead, a crease of worry between them.
Instead of joy shining through, there was only pain on Cas' face. Dean had snuffed it out with just two words because it frightened him. He orchestrated the whole thing, and when it became too much, he hurt Cas. In the end, he was no better than the Empty.
“Wait!” Dean launched from the chair so fast it toppled to the ground.
He meant to grab Cas' hand, stop him from leaving, explain, apologize. Instead, he tripped on the sheet that trailed behind him and fell onto Cas, trapping him against the door.
Pressed against the scorching heat of Cas' body, hot breath tickling his lips, Dean’s brain stopped working. There was something he was supposed to say about the Empty, the spells, the rescue. It all faded away into the background as Cas made that deep moan that went straight to Dean’s balls. Hyper-aware, he cataloged every sound, every twitch Cas made, relishing the fact that he'd caused them, the power intoxicating.
Dean pressed his hips forward and watched breathlessly as Cas' pupils dilated. It has never been like this. Not with anybody. Only Cas. He needed to see all of him, but the offensive cloth stood in the way.
“Touch me.” Cas spread his hands flat against the door, offering himself to Dean like a feast. “I dare you.”
Unable to resist the challenge, Dean grabbed the sheet and slowly pulled it, enjoying how Cas’ eyes fluttered as it slid across his skin. Unwrapped, like the finest present, he stood naked before Dean, confident and free. But his eyes, full of uncertainty and fear, betrayed how vulnerable he felt. He projected calm while waiting for Dean to reject him again. Right there and then, Dean made a vow never to bring pain to those beautiful eyes again.
Swallowing nervously, he rested his hand on Cas' chest and watched in wonder as sunlight broke through the clouds, landing around Cas like a halo. A shy smile lit his whole face with joy. Under Dean’s hand, Cas' heart raced like crazy, revealing how affected he was by a simple touch.
Nimble fingers worked the buttons of Dean's pants, slipped inside, and took hold of him in a tight grip.
“Fuck, Cas!” Touch-starved Dean was ready to come from the first slide of that perfect hand over his cook.
“If this makes your knees weak, my next trick will make your head explode.” Cas chuckled and presented his hand to Dean, “Spit.”
Has the world ever seen anything dirtier than the word spit passing over the angel’s lips? Surely not, because it would have ended right there and then. It was filthy. It was shocking. It was perfect. Dean spat on his hand and watched in a daze as Cas grabbed hold of them, squeezing their dicks together.
Maybe the world did end, and Dean was dead. Maybe this was some weird ass corner of the afterlife where you died overdosed on pleasure, only to wake up and die again and again and again.
The room spun around Dean as Cas’ iron-hard cock slid against his. A hand squeezed his hip, pulling him tighter against Cas, whose eyes were glued to the action below. Who the fuck was this beautiful creature before him? Where was he hiding for all this time?
Dean traces his thumb over Cas bottom lip, wondering what it would feel like to push his cock inside, feel all that heat surround him. And when that plump, kissable mouth stretched into a smile and tongue licked the tip of his finger, he was gone. Dean pushed into Cas' hand, which held them tight one last time and exploded, pulling the angel right along with him. Cas’ eyes rolled back, and with Dean’s name on his lips, he came all over them.
Trembling from powerful aftershocks of what might be the best orgasm of his life, Dean blindly searched Cas' mouth, needing the taste of the angel, but a hand on his chest stopped him.
“Dean, what have you done!” He looked in confusion at Cas' horrified face. “Your heart’s not beating!”
Dean saw the moment Cas made a decision, and as a powerful force slammed into him, he grabbed Cas’ wrist, his nails digging into the flesh.
“Gotcha,” Laughing like a maniac, Dean flew into the darkness, dragging screaming Cas along with him.