Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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It's fine, it's cool
You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth

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He knew it was early when he roused from sleep; the pale grey of dawn leaked through the barely hanging blinds as the night before slowly came back to him. The wandering of hands, the feel of a warm mouth, fingers balled, tugging at the hair on his head as his name was called into the silence of the night.

Those weren’t his scarcely functioning blinds, but they were ones he knew well.

Castiel turned his head minutely to the left as if needing more confirmation, like the soft puffs of warm air that ghosted his bare shoulder and the soft snores weren’t enough for him.

His heart plummeted.

His face smoothed, youthful, free of worry lines and that little crease he gets above his nose when he concentrates. Perfect fan of dark eyelashes kissed is pale freckled skin hiding the beauty of mossy jade eyes behind them, the ones he knew glinted with gold when the sunlight caught them.

He looked like a vision while he slept. So tranquil, so peaceful, no idea that his night in a shared bed sent his best friend into a whirlpool of despair and regret.

He let it happen again.

Castiel had promised after the last time that it would be the last time, and yet somehow, they always found themselves falling into bed together (and if he’s being honest, there had been at least another three “last times” since that first time).

Like he could ever say no to Dean Winchester.

It wasn't because they had been best friends since high school, or the fact the sex was bad – the sex was some of the best Castiel had ever had in his entire life! but that’s where the problem lay. To Dean it was always just sex. Another nameless face in a bar, another wild night, another morning with zero attachments and when he came out as bisexual a year ago, well that just made everything a whole lot worse, didn’t it?

Before, when he was picking up women, Castiel had some semblance of peace with that; he hated it, but it was manageable. But now Dean was picking up every Tom, Dick and Harry alongside the Suzie’s, Michelle’s and Laura’s. Even though they're 8 years out of high school, both in good careers and seen by society as “adults”, he still felt like that lonely 18-year-old boy who watched the man he adored go to prom with Lisa Braden instead of him.

That was the night he realised he was in love with his best friend. A feeling he hoped would diminish over the years, but it was never the case.

Sure, there had been plenty of lovers & boyfriends in Castiel's life, but none of them matched Dean. A man whom he thought would never be interested in him, and yet, here he was, lying in his bed as naked as the day he was born, while the object of his affections slept blissfully beside him with an arm draped over Castiel’s stomach.

The first time it happened it had been a clumsy affair (Castiel fell out of his bed in excitement, which sent Dean laughing hysterically), but it didn’t diminish the mood. Every time they kissed Dean would bless him with a shy smile that was all teeth, the flush across his pale skin made those freckles stand out even more, that mossy-jade stare lit up every time Castiel moaned his name. He still gets goosebumps as he remembers so vividly that whisky-soaked warm air ghosting over his ear as he purred, “you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”.

By God, it was the best night of Castile's life.

He stupidly thought it was the start of something between them, even if Dean had gone long before he had awoken with nothing more than a text message saying he had to go to work and to not forget to lock up his apartment. But what cemented his falsehood was later that day when he caught sight of Dean with his arm around the shoulder of another woman, not even recognising Castiel's presence as he led her out of the bar. He had never been so devastated in his entire life. He was a fool to think it was nothing more than what it was.

Castiel had been angry, had refused to even acknowledge his existence and ghosted him for days. He would have probably been free of him if not for their mutual friend Charlie intervening. Worried by his silence he ended up spilling everything, twisting some of the truths so as not to give away his decade-long deepest darkest secret, and she had been nothing more than a solid comfort. But his anger turned to guilt the moment Dean turned up unannounced on his doorstep the very same day. Staring him down with wide, sorrowful, puppy dog eyes as he apologised profusely for what had happened. That if Cas was uncomfortable with it, they could just forget it ever happened. That Dean didn't want to lose him over something like this. It had Charlie's fingerprints all over it, or at the very least her encouragement, but it didn’t stop them from waking up together in Castiel's bed the following morning.

At least that time Castiel knew what this was, not that it made the ache in his chest any better.

He could feel his heart thundering against his ribs, the tears already stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He needed to get out of here before Dean woke up and would question the state he was in; he’s not entirely sure if he could keep it a secret from him anymore.

Lifting Dean's arm gently so as not to disturb him, laying the limb carefully on the empty sheets and watching as Dean unconsciously pulled it closer to his body and he slid out of bed.

He dug around for his jeans, kicked something to the floor and retrieved the phone from the pocket. 20% battery left, not ideal, but enough to at least get himself an Uber. Dressed and with the car less than 5minuets away, he bid his sleeping best friend a silent farewell and slipped out quietly into the early morning light.

The driver was just as quiet as he was (which he was beyond grateful for), the radio was softly playing some country station that Castiel didn’t know existed, but it was the furthest thing on his mind – between his pounding headache and trying to keep himself held together long enough to not cry in front of a stranger. The journey was short and truthfully Castiel could have walked it, but he just wanted to get home, to the sanctity of his apartment. What he didn’t take into consideration was meeting his brother as soon as he walked through the door.

Gabriel sat at the kitchen table, eating her breakfast to start his day. Dressed in what he wore to bed (which wasn’t more than an overly large pair of boxer shorts with red hearts plastered all over them) his golden curls unruly and sticking out at all odd angles with day-old stubble ghosting his chin. How could he have forgotten that his baker brother started his workday at the crack ass of dawn?

Gabriel eyed him curiously; a spoonful of cornflakes raised to his lips as they curved into a flirty smirk. “Walk of shame?” he purred with question eyebrows wagging, “atta boy!”

Shame was right. The thought of it was like the final swing of the sledgehammer that brought his wall crumbling down. His eyes blurred as his chest tightened, and as soon as the first chin-quivering sniffle left his lips the spoon in Gabe’s hand dropped back into the bowl with a clatter and splash of milk. He reached his baby brother in a few strides, wrapping him up in his arms while Castiel sobbed.

…::::::…

And I cry, it's not fair
I just need a little lovin', I just need a little air

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Castiel sat slumped at the kitchen table, a half-drunk cup of coffee cooling in front of him. He hadn't taken a sip since Gabriel poured it 10 minutes ago. The steam had long faded, just like the illusion that he could keep pretending everything with Dean was okay.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Gabriel announced, voice low and deadly serious, standing across from him, arms folded, eyes sharp and mouth twitching in frustration. He’d abandoned his breakfast the moment his little brother broke down in the doorway, sat soggy and forgotten in the bowl across from where Castiel sat. But at least he had to grace to pull on an old t-shirt embroiled with the words “Whisk Taker”  – but, no pants, still strutting around the place in those ridiculous boxers.

“No, you won’t,” Castiel said flatly, eyes fixed on the swirling patterns left in the coffee as it cooled

“Fine,” Gabriel huffed, pacing now. “But I can make him wish he never laid a hand on you.” Castiel huffed a soft, humourless laugh as his stare finally lifted to level his brother with a disparaging look. “Oh, come on, Cassie. Let me play the protective big brother card here!” Gabriel whined as his arms fell to his sides with a dejected flap.

“It wasn’t like that,” Castiel murmured. “Nothing that happened was… unconsensual.”

“And yet here you are,” Gabriel shot back, gesturing toward the crumpled tissues beside the mug, “snivelling at my kitchen table like someone kicked your puppy.”

Castiel winced but didn’t argue. He picked at the chipped crack in the handle of the plain white mug as he muttered, “I just… let it happen again. I keep letting it happen.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Cassie,” Gabe said, voice quiet now, more grounded. “For your own sanity, if nothing else.”

“I know,” Castiel whispered. The shame in his voice.

Silence hovered between them for a beat before Castiel said, so softly it was almost lost in the buzz of the fridge, “I just…” His lips pressed together, and his eyes burned again. “I love him, Gabe.” He laughed wetly, a choked little sound. “God, I sound so pathetic.”

Gabriel let out a slow breath, reaching over to squeeze his brother’s wrist. “You’re not pathetic. You’re just in love with a moron who doesn’t know how to express his feelings.” Castiel huffed a non-existent laugh as he finally lifted the coffee to his lips for a bitter sip.

“You know what you need?” Gabriel asked suddenly, pointing a finger dramatically toward him.

“A lobotomy?”

“Revenge,” Gabe smirked with a devious glint in his stare.

Castiel's brow knitted. “I… I don’t see how that’s any better.”

“No, think about it,” Gabriel said, suddenly animated, like the schemer in him had been just waiting for the right moment to take the wheel. “Charlie’s birthday thing is this weekend, right? It’s perfect.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I still fail to see how my emotional collapse is party material.”

“Not for that,” Gabriel scoffed. “For this plan.”

“Plan?”

“Find a guy,” Gabe said, pacing again like he was outlining a military operation. “Someone hot. Someone charming. Latch onto his arm, make him feel special – hell, maybe he makes you feel special for once. Laugh at his jokes, toss your hair, wear those jeans that hug your hips – you know, the slutty ones—”

“Gabriel…”

“—Let one thing lead to another, and I can guarantee you won’t be thinking about farm boys from the Midwest clad in flannel for much longer.” He turned to his brother, beaming from ear to ear like he was some world great mastermind. “What's a better revenge than showing him that last night meant nothing to you, that he doesn’t matter to you?”

“But he does matter to me,” Castiel admitted quietly. His voice cracked around the edges. “I can’t pretend he doesn’t.”

Gabriel’s smile turned soft and a little sad as he moved to reclaim his seat opposite his brother, still considering him with a soft, caring look. “I know he does. But he doesn’t need to know that. Does he?”

Castiel looked away, blinking fast and trying to stem that telltale burn. The part of him that still ached for Dean's arms, his laugh, the way he always smelled like soap and leather and summer, that part wanted to cling to hope. But another part, the part that had spent the morning trying not to cry in the back of an Uber, knew Gabe had a point.

Revenge wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t even about being scorned and getting back at Dean, not really. He knew he was an addict who was hooked on finally getting the attention he so desperately craved from the man he adored. But just like any addiction, it slowly chipped away, decaying and destroying from the inside out.

It was about time he took some of himself back.

He can’t go on like this forever.

…::::::…

Think I'm gonna call it off
Even if you call it love
I just wanna love someone who calls me "baby"

…::::::…

The bar was already buzzing by the time Castiel and his brother arrived. Rainbows hung in every corner of the place – fitting for a gay bar – and music pulsed through the floor, a mix of retro dance and modern synth-pop, the kind Charlie loved. He spotted the birthday girl across the room, looking very elegant in what only he could describe as an elven red dress that fell just to her knee, glitter shimmered on her skin under the twirls multi coloured stage lights and a pair of pink Converse that both matched and clashed with her aesthetic. The little crown atop her copper-red hair declared that it was her birthday and matched the bright pink fairy wings on her back. The “magic” fairy wand in her hand – with a star on the tip and thin glittering streamers – swayed and fluttered as she used it gesture to the table of bystanders who were gathered around in a large circular booth that was decorated to the nines in banners and balloons, looking like she was holding court to her subjects like the queen she was.

Somebody at the table pointed towards their direction, Charlie turned, and her face lit up. “Novak’s!!” she screeched, running full sprint across the crowded bar and straight into Castiel’s arms first.

“Happy Birthday!” Castiel greeted her with a tight hug, chin over her shoulder and swaying her gently.

As he pulled back, he saw him.

Dean had been sitting hidden behind Charlie as she stood at the table, eyes locked onto his.  

Castiel’s stomach dropped.

He could do this. That man was no more than a stranger to him tonight.

He pulled his attention away just in time to see Charlie dive into a hug with his brother. Gabriel wrapped her in a bear hug and lifted her from the ground, which warranted him a childlike giggle. “I didn’t think you were coming!” she scolded when she was finally lowered to the ground and batting Gabriel on the chest with the star-end of her fairy wand.

“Just a drive by I’m afraid, someone's gotta open up the bakery in the morning. Just here to make sure Cassie got arrived safely—” Castiel rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was secretly grateful to have a shield, albeit temporary “—and to wish the Queen a very happy birthday.” He added, taking Charlie by the hand a pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She chuckled again, batting him playfully with her wand, but she was immediately distracted by someone behind them, more guests, Castiel assumed. She greeted them with hugs and pleasantries before turning back to the brothers and pointing towards their designated booth.

“There's a round of shots on the table. Help yourselves, I’ll be over in a sec!” she added hastily before being swept away by the new group of arrivals. Now was the moment of truth. Castiel led the charge with his brother tailing behind. His firm grip on his shoulder as if psyching him up for a prize fight as he murmured into his ear, “You got this, champ! Don’t back down. Take no prisoners.”

Dean’s eyes watched his every step as he advanced on the table, but didn’t make a move from where he remained seated. There were a few familiar faces that Castiel recognised, mutual friends of Charlie and Dean’s that he had met once or twice and greeted them all with pleasantries and familiarity.

A large tray of glittering shots sat in the centre of the table, a kaleidoscope of colours that shimmered under the dim bar lights – like someone had melted an alcoholic pride flag into a dozen plastic cups. Gabriel reached for two without hesitation. He handed the brightest orange one to Castiel, keeping a bubble-gum pink concoction for himself. “Liquid courage,” he smirked as he clinked the rims of the plastic mini glasses and knocked his back. Castiel followed suit. The orange hit his tongue with the sharp tang of artificial citrus and a burn that raced down his throat like fire. He grimaced and blinked through the aftertaste.

And then... “Hey, stranger.”

Castiel turned slowly, eyes locking with Dean’s. He looked good, like he just walked straight off the cover of a GQ magazine. Hair perfectly styled into that short, spiked look he so often wore, denim button-down open, that golden amulet pendant his brother bought him for his 18^th birthday sitting over the top of a plain black t-shirt. His freckled cheeks hidden behind a layer of silver and pink glitter – Charlie's doing no doubt – and a small, tentative, unsure smile twitched at his lips. One hand wrapped around a beer bottle, the other deep into his back pocket, looking almost awkward, uncomfortable, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for a hit.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, his tone cool and flat. Not hostile, just distant.

Dean's eyes flicked to the tray of shots like he needed something else to focus on. “The-uh… the green ones are pretty good,” he offered with a light chuckle. But when Castiel didn’t reach for one or even seemingly acknowledge his words, he added, “What, uh… what’ve you been up to? I-I haven’t heard from you in a hot minute.”

“Been busy,” Castiel replied shortly. No explanation. No warmth. Eyes trying to look anywhere but at that face, that flawlessly stunning freckled – and now glittery – face.

Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Right. Of course.” He opened his mouth again, hesitated. Cleared his throat. “Listen, Cas, I gotta—”

Gabriel slapped a casual arm over his brother's shoulder, “I don’t know about you, bucko, but I could do with a drink that isn’t covered in edible glitter.” Castiel was startled by the gesture but didn’t resist as Gabriel turned him gently by the shoulders and began steering him toward the bar, giving Dean a pointed smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he threw an “Excuse us” over his shoulder as he led him away.

Once they were a few steps away, Castiel let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “Thank you,” he murmured

“No problem,” Gabriel said, dropping his voice as they walked. “Just doing my sacred big brother-slash-wingman duties.”

Castiel didn’t respond. But as he glanced over his shoulder – just once – his eyes found Dean still standing there, hand still in his pocket, shoulders still hunched, looking a little lost.

And for a second… just a second… Castiel’s cold resolve wavered.

…::::::…

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars
Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

…::::::…

The night slipped by in a haze of neon lights, pulsing music, far too much glitter and the low hum of alcohol in Castiel’s veins. He’d started the evening stiff and guarded, but something about the way Charlie had flung an arm around him and demanded he play “Never Have I Ever: Regret Edition” cracked the wall just enough to let the warmth in.

Castiel found himself laughing – real, gut-busting laughter – surrounded by Charlie and her friends, who were a chaotic, glitter-smeared blur of mischief and terrible ideas and glow sticks. To his own surprise, Castiel even danced.

It wasn’t graceful. His hips moved with the fluidity of a disgruntled scarecrow, his shoulders too stiff and self-conscious. But it didn’t matter. Charlie screamed in delight while Gabriel almost died from laughing.

But even amid the laughter, he could feel his stare.

Every time Castiel swayed to the music or laughed a little too freely, he felt eyes burning across the room. And every time he looked, he caught glimpses of Dean — leaning against a wall, barely nursing a drink, a ghost of his usual charisma. He wasn’t mingling. He wasn’t smiling. He looked… dare Castiel say it? Sullen.

Good, Castiel thought, lips twitching around the rim of his drink.

Call him petty. Call him a little tipsy. But watching Dean frown across the room like a kicked puppy gave him the tiniest, wickedest flicker of satisfaction. Let him stew in it.

Even Gabriel, who swore he’d “only stay for an hour tops,” had somehow become the unofficial party mascot. Commandeering a pair of comically large heart-shaped sunglasses, a rainbow clown wig, and Charlie’s fairy wand, and occasionally poking Castiel in the ribs with it for emphasis.

He waved Charlie’s wand with flourish, twirling it through his fingers like a carnival magician as he stumbled over to Castiel from the dancefloor, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he slumped into the booth beside his brother, sweat and glitter clinging to his forehead.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home?” Castiel asked over the music, leaning in so Gabriel could hear him.

“What? And miss all the fun?” his brother shot back, eyes wide with mock offence. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“You have a bakery to open in…” Castiel checked his watch with exaggerated drama. “6 hours!”

Gabe waved his wrist dismissively with an “Eh.” As he sank further into the seat. Then, without warning, he bopped Castiel on the nose with the wand. “I command you to get me another drink!”

Castiel frowned, snatching at the wand mid-swish and missing. “You know that’s not a real wand, right?” But Gabriel just did it again. And again. The boops got faster, more chaotic, until Castiel finally swatted his hand away. “Alright, alright!” With one final flick of the wand Castiel caught it, stealing it from his brother's hand and using it like a conductor’s baton to point at Gabriel dramatically. “I’ll get you another drink. Just stop hitting me!” he said, smacking the centre of his brother's glittery forehead for emphasis.

A chuckle stopped him. It was quiet. Almost buried under the thrum of the bass and the cackle of Charlie’s latest dare. But Castiel heard it. Felt it.

Dean.

At some point, he had slid into the booth opposite them, bottle in hand, smirking around the lip of it like he’d been there the whole time. His eyes glinted with something between amusement and nostalgia, like he was watching an old home movie.

For a brief moment, Castiel froze. Their eyes locked.

Then he looked away as he shoved his brother out of the booth so he could actually get out the booth. He didn’t say a word. Just turned on his heel and headed for the bar, heart thudding too loudly in his ears. Handing Charlie back her wand on the way and giving her strict instructions not to let his brother get hold of it again.

The line at the bar wasn’t long, but it moved slowly. Castiel leaned against the counter, letting the music wash over him while he tried to shake off the heat lingering in his chest. He hadn’t expected Dean to affect him this much if he did.

He was not going to give in.

“Long line just for glittery drinks,” a warm voice said beside him.

Castiel turned and found himself face to face with a man he recognised from the party group – sharp cheekbones, a clean suit jacket despite the chaos around them, and a crooked smile hidden behind a dark 5 o’clock shadow and an accent that enthralled Castiel. British, if he wasn’t mistaken, not that prim proper accent Hollywood bad guys always depict, but relaxed. Polished around the edges, but approachable.

Mick Davis. One of Charlie’s co-workers, if memory served.

Castiel offered a polite nod. “Tell me about it.”

Mick leaned on the bar beside him, eyes scanning the drink menu with mild disapproval. “Half these cocktails sound like hangovers in a glass. Though the ‘Unicorn Heart Attack’ does have a certain… ominous appeal.”

Castiel huffed a quiet laugh. “That one tastes like birthday cake and regret.”

“Oh, so you’ve tried it.” Mick smiled, then glanced at him more directly. “Let me buy you something a little less dangerous.”

Castiel hesitated. Then smiled back, a small, slow curve of his lips. “Sure.”

This had been Gabriel's plan after all, right? Find a nice guy to treat him well and to forget about the stare he could feel burning into his back like a curse he couldn’t shake.

Let him watch.

Eventually, Gabriel made his grand exit – complete with an exaggerated bow – much to everyone’s disappointment. But for once, Castiel didn’t feel like he needed his brother around as a human shield against Dean. Not when he had Mick.

Mick was easy company. Effortlessly charming, all crisp vowels and soft British sarcasm. A true gentleman, but still quick to roll with Charlie’s chaos and even Gabriel’s nonsense before he left. He fit in surprisingly well with the group, slipping into conversations with ease, drawing out laughter like he belonged.

Well… almost everyone seemed to warm to him.

Dean hadn’t said a word, but Castiel could feel the tension every time he turned his head. The weight of Dean’s stare was unmistakable – sharp, guarded, watching Mick like he was some kind of threat. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing just a fraction more every time

And Castiel… let him watch.

Dean’s glare hadn’t wavered in the last ten minutes. He wasn’t drinking anymore. Just sat hunched in the booth like a thundercloud, chin resting in his palm, his other hand drumming an anxious, angry rhythm against the table. His eyes were locked on Castiel like they had teeth, like he was a moment away from doing something reckless.

Castiel pretended not to notice – but he did. Of course he did. Could feel Dean’s gaze burning a hole between his shoulder blades, heavy and possessive, the weight of it coiling in his spine like a warning. His jaw tightened.

What the hell did Dean think he was doing?

Cas laughed again at something Mick said, but it was forced now. Hollow. He could feel himself fracturing under the scrutiny. But he continued to hold his own, because if he did, he might march over there and say what he was thinking.

“You don’t get to look at me like that. You don’t get to act jealous when you don’t want me. You don’t get to guard something you never—”

“You alright?” Mick asked, leaning in slightly, voice soft over the music.

Castiel blinked. “What? Oh–yes. Sorry, just thinking.”

Mick offered a warm smile, the kind that suggested charm without cost. “Want another drink? I’m buying,” he offered, already flagging down the bartender like it was a done deal. But before Castiel could answer, Mick pivoted, voice dipping low as he leaned in close, breath brushing hot against the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“Or… maybe you want to get out of here?”

The hand Mick placed at the small of his back was subtle, but too familiar. Too presumptive. Castiel stiffened.

His touch wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t welcome either. It wasn’t dangerous and just all kinds of wrong. Off in a way that made his skin crawl, a quiet tug in his chest that whispered this isn’t it. He stepped back half a pace, enough to break the contact without causing a scene, but the discomfort lingered as a cold ripple under his skin.

And before Castiel could answer, Dean’s voice cut through the music like a knife. Cold, clipped and on the verge of furious. “Cas. Can I talk to you?”

Chapter Text

…::::::…

I'm cliché, who cares?
It's a sexually explicit kind of love affair

…::::::…

It had been three days since Castiel left Dean’s bed – and honestly, waking up alone had hurt.

Dean wasn’t new to casual. He’d ghosted, been ghosted, mastered the art of slipping out before the other person stirred. But this wasn’t just some random hook-up from a bar. This was Cas. And when he rolled over that morning to find a cold, empty space where Cas had been? It hit like a punch to the chest.

At first, he convinced himself it was nothing. Cas was probably just off doing his own thing, needing space. That was how he operated. Always had been. But as the hours turned to days and Dean’s phone stayed stubbornly silent, the pit in his stomach grew claws. Something was wrong.

Because the truth was Dean had known. Maybe not in a clear, spelt-out kind of way, but he’d felt it. In the way Cas looked at him. In the way he touched him, like he meant something. In the way he stayed – not just in Dean’s bed, but in his messed-up topsy-turvy life. He’d known Cas cared. Had feelings. Hell, he probably always had. And Dean?

Dean had done what Dean always did. Shut down. Pushed it down. Shoved his feelings somewhere dark and safe and unreachable. Not because he didn’t feel the same – God, he did – but because the idea of saying it out loud felt like standing naked on a ledge and daring someone to push.

He found himself staring at his phone too long, thumb hovering over Castiel’s name in his contacts, heart stupidly hopeful. He even typed out a message once [You Good?] but deleted it before he could send. What was he even supposed to say to follow it up?

Hey, sorry I used your body and pretended it didn’t mean anything. Sorry, I’m emotionally constipated and can’t use my big boy words. You mean the freakin’ world to me and I keep screwing it up because I’m too scared to say it out loud.

Yeah. That’d go over well.

The truth was, he’d wanted to tell Cas that night. Hell, he wanted to tell him every time they hooked up – to spill his guts all over the goddamn cheap polyester rug and finally say what he really felt. But, as always, he chickened out. At least he didn’t have a full-blown panic attack this time like their first night together – the one where he found himself sitting on a barstool nursing whiskey no less than 24 hours later, trying to build up enough courage to claim what he already knew was his.

Instead, he ended up stepping in to save some poor woman at the bar from a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. That had derailed his entire game plan. He never even made it to Cas’s place that night. And by the time he worked up the nerve again, it was too late.

Cas had ghosted him.

Just like now.

The first time it happened, it was days of silence – until Charlie showed up at his place like a bat out of hell, all fire, fury and fierce protectiveness. She demanded to know what he did, what happened, and Dean – already cracking under the weight of it – spilt everything. Told her the truth. About the sex. About the fear. About how badly he’d messed it all up. About how he’d been madly in love with his best friend for years. How Cas made him feel like someone worth loving.

She hadn’t even let him finish before dragging him to Cas’s apartment, telling him to stop being a coward and to fix this.

And what did Dean do? Did he talk? Apologize?

Nope… they screwed again.

And it was incredible.

Cas, shy and buttoned up in daylight, turned into something else entirely behind closed doors. Dean still hadn’t recovered. He was all rough kisses and growled words, knowing exactly how to wreck Dean in the best way possible. That low, gravelly voice murmuring “Dean. Fuuuuck” directly into his ear now lived rent-free in his spank bank. Nothing compared. No one even came close.

And that was the worst part because after Cas, he couldn’t even pretend to want anyone else. Hell, if he’s playing the honesty card here, no one compared to him before they started hooking up. The few times he’d tried, Dean had found himself imagining someone else’s hands belonged to Cas. Had accidentally murmured his name more than once, which, to be fair, absolutely killed the mood.

And now?

Now he was being ghosted. Again.

Only this time, it wasn’t confusion twisting in his gut. It was regret. Deep, heavy, bone-deep regret. Because he knew. Had always known. And he still, he let Cas walk away, unsure if he was even coming back this time.

“The bar okayed most decorations-type things, just no glitter or confetti sprinkled on the tables.” Charlie’s voice rang out, and entirely too chipper for Dean’s mood. “But they didn’t say anything about wearing it!” She sing-songed as she dropped a tube of iridescent body glitter into her shopping basket and continued browsing down the aisle.

Dean barely registered her words. His thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, rereading the unsent message to Cas for the third time in a row.

[Can we talk?]

One tap. That’s all it would take. He just had to hit send.

“You even listening?” Charlie’s voice cut through his fog, sharper this time. Dean looked up, caught mid-brood. She was holding up two jumbo packs of rainbow-colored balloons. “How many is too many balloons?”

“Whatever number you're thinking, it’s already too many balloons,” he muttered. Thumb deleted and backed out of the message without a second thought. He shoved the phone into his pocket like it was burning him.

Charlie pulled a faux-thoughtful face and proceeded to load three packs into her basket.

Dean trailed behind her as they turned down another aisle, surrounded by glittery banners and crinkly metallic streamers. The smell of rubber and sugar hung thick in the air – like fun was mandatory and Dean was being dragged through a glittery purgatory.

Charlie noticed, had been giving him the side eye all afternoon and seemingly had enough of his moping. She slowed to a stop in front of a display of wearable birthday paraphernalia. “Okay. Spill. You’ve been acting weird all day. Broodier than usual. What's going on?”

Dean scowled. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Charlie said flatly, her basket of party supplies tucked in the crook of her elbow. She propped a hand on her hip, radiating judgment. “This wouldn’t happen to have something to do with Castiel’s sudden vow of silence, would it?”

Dean froze.

The look on her face – arched brow, lips pursed – told him she already knew the answer.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her as he muttered, “we… hooked up again.” He was expecting her to be mad, maybe yell at him, but what he wasn’t expecting was a packet of balloons to be launched at his chest. “Ow! What the hell?!”

“I can’t believe you!” Charlie hissed, storming across the aisle like a pint-sized tornado. All 5’4” of her squaring up to his 6’1” like she could will him into submission. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I know, okay? I know I messed up. It’s just… It’s not that simple.”

“Oh sure,” she snapped, “because sleeping with the guy you’ve been crushing on since high school – knowing damn well he feels the same way – and neither one of you has the balls to admit it? That’s a real masterclass in emotional maturity, Dean!”

Dean blinked. “Wait… high school? I haven’t been—"

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Charlie cut him off with a look. “Lisa Braeden? Really? You think I didn’t know that was just a cover-up? And don’t even think about lying to me.”

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“You need to fix this, Dean,” Charlie said, her scowl softening but still firm. “Before someone gets hurt. And I mean really hurt.”

He let out a dry huff of laughter, lips twitching without humour as his gaze dropped to the bag of balloons lying on the floor. “I think it might be a little too late for that.” Bending down, he picked up the packet and dropped it back into her basket with a sad sigh. “He, uh… ghosted me. Woke up the next morning, and he was gone. Haven’t heard from him since.”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped just slightly, her expression shifting from frustrated to something a little softer, a little sadder. “Well… I guess I don’t need to say ‘now you know how it feels,’ huh?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded once, eyes still low. “You think he’s mad?”

“I think he’s hurt,” she said gently. “And trying really hard to pretend he’s not.”

Dean let out another sigh, heavier this time. “I keep thinking about texting him, but…”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “But… what?”

He paused. “What if I’ve already blown it?” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets and surging once. “What if he’s really is done this time?”

She stepped closer, resting a hand on his bicep and giving it a gentle, grounding squeeze before lowering her voice. “Then don’t let him walk out of your life without at least trying to fix it.”

Her hand dropped away, but her gaze didn’t waver. “And I’m not gonna sugarcoat this, Dean. Newsflash: Cas is hot. And that’s coming from a gold-star lesbian.” She raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “It’s only a matter of time before someone sees how amazing he is and snaps him up. And if you think you’re hurting now… just imagine how it’s gonna suck seeing him on the arm of someone else knowing that could’ve been you.”

Dean looked pained. Tongue dragging over his teeth behind his lips as he states. “I need to talk to him, don’t I?”

Charlie nodded. “And not over text. This needs to be face-to-face.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “You said he’s coming to your party, right?”

“Yep. And bonus points – he’s flying solo. Gabe has to work, so he’s not coming.” She grinned, grabbing a double pack of oversized pink fairy wings and a matching wand, holding them up for dramatic emphasis. “So you’ve got no excuse not to talk to him.”

Dean chuckled weakly. “Well, that’s a weight off. Pretty sure Gabriel hates my guts. He’s-uh… he’s not really been my biggest fan since the first time this all happened… so—”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Dean!” Charlie cuts him off with an exasperated sigh, loading the fairy wings into the basket. “He doesn’t hate your guts. He’s just protective. And honestly? He has every right to be. You’ve kinda been a dumbass.”

Dean winced. “Thanks.”

“But, he loves Cas. If you show up and show him you mean it this time? He’ll back off... Probably.” she went on now picking up a garish plastic tiara that proclaimed she was the birthday Princess.

Dean gave her – and the tiara – a wary look. “Probably?”

Charlie shrugged, tossing the tiara into the basket. “I’m not saying he won’t throw flour in your face. But he won’t kill you.”

“Comforting.”

She grinned and looped her arm through his, tugging him toward the checkout. “Come on, Winchester. Time to redeem yourself – one party at a time.”

…::::::…

You can say it's just the way you are
Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

…::::::…

Charlie’s birthday was in full swing, and Dean had done his part. Helped string up decorations, princess pink, silvers and reds that matched her coordinating outfit nicely. He’d carried in the glitter-shot trays, helping himself to what appeared to be a green sour apple thing that wasn’t half bad; he even let Charlie roll body glitter on his cheeks with minimal fuss.

It didn’t stop the nerves gnawing at him, though.

He perched at the end of the booth, nursing a beer, pretending to scroll through his phone while he blocked out the drone of conversation. One of Charlie's work friends was blathering on about some bullshit that came across as smarmy than anecdotal while his eyes constantly flicked toward the door, his knee bouncing anxiously.

“Relax,” Charlie encouraged as she stood towering over him where he sat. “You look like you're waiting for a root canal.”

He huffed. “Feels like it.”

Charlie reached over and straightened his collar and centring the necklace Sam bought him all those years ago – the one Cas said suited him. “You look good,” she smiled stepping back to admire her work, “slightly less like a lumberjack-y. That’s progress. Cas is gonna eat you up,” she said lowly so the rest of the table didn’t hear and booped him on the nose with the star of her fairy wand.

Dean smirked weakly and tried to ignore the way his heart kicked up every time the door swung open. Castiel stepped into the bar, with Gabriel at his side. But Dean didn’t have time to dwell on the older Novak sibling when Cas looked…

Dean’s breath caught.

Cas looked stunning. He always did, but tonight? His dark hair was tousled perfectly by the summer wind, dressed in a deep blue button-up, which complemented those bluer-than-the-midday-sky eyes of his and sinfully tight jeans that looked painted on – tucked into pointed ankle boots – and embellished with a ridiculous silver belt buckle that was like something out of one of his cowboy fever dreams – Dean was floored.  His mouth went cotton dry, and he couldn’t move, could barely think. Could only watch in awe as Charlie ran straight into his arms.

Their eyes caught over her shoulder. He wanted to wave, give him a small sign to say “hey, we're still good, right?” but Castiel’s attention turned away sharply, focusing on Charlie and Gabriel's interaction.

Dean’s stomach dropped.
That was definitely a bad sign.

Before he even had time to process what to say – even if he’d been telling himself over and over again on the ride over, repeating like a mantra – all words suddenly failed him as he and his brother arrived at the table, passing pleasantries to the folks they knew. Gabriel was the first to reach for the free shots, grabbing two and handing one off to his brother, saying something to him that Dean wasn’t able to quite catch.

As Castiel lifted the small glass to his lips as Dean rose to stand watching and smiling to himself as Castiel grimaced at the shot, his nose bunching adorably as he chucked the glass back onto the tray, glowering.

“Hey stranger,” Dean opted for jovial, jokey, but it didn’t land. Castiel turned to look at him, his eyes drifting over him.

“Hello, Dean.” That deep, gravelly voice still hit Dean like a freight train, but it carried none of the warmth he craved.

“The-uh… the green ones are pretty good.” He tried again for something light-hearted and helpful. Cas was not one for drinking, so any helpful advice Dean could give, he was usually grateful for. But Cas had just simply stonewalled him. No response. Not even a glance.

It was enough to shake Dean’s nerve. Flustered now as he shifted on the spot, throat tightening as he tried again; “What, uh… what’ve you been up to? I-I haven’t heard from you in a hot minute.”

“Been busy.”

Short, dismissive, and cold. Ouch. Can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah. Right. Of course.” He opened his mouth again, hesitated. Rubbed the back of his neck, words tumbling at the tip of his tongue. He had to say something. Anything. Rip the damn Band-Aid off, Winchester. He cleared his throat. “Listen, Cas, I gotta—”

“I don’t know about you, bucko, but I could do with a drink that isn’t covered in edible glitter.” Gabriel cut in smoothly, draping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Excuse us,” he shot over his shoulder, levelling Dean with a frosty look as he directed his brother towards the bar.

Dean stood there, jaw tight, feeling like one of Charlie's popped balloons – half-deflated and all hollow. The quick glance Castiel threw over his shoulder didn’t help. It was just enough to keep Dean dangling, just enough to make it hurt worse.

He was starting to feel like he’d lost everything.

…::::::…

And when you think about me, all of those years ago
You're standing face to face with "I told you so"

…::::::…

Throughout the night, Dean’s mood stayed firmly in the gutter. Everyone around him was laughing, drinking, dancing like they didn’t have a care in the world — while he sat through his version of hell.

The music was all synths and shrill vocals that grated on his nerves, the beer was overpriced, and worst of all? Castiel was pretending like he didn’t even exist.

And he looked good doing it.

Cas was smiling, genuinely smiling, in a way Dean hadn’t seen in a long time. Laughing, dancing with Charlie and her friends, loose and open in a way that felt foreign and familiar all at once. He was even dancing, if you could call it that… his dancing wasn’t smooth, it was blocky and awkward in that wholly-Castiel kind of way and that only made it worse. Dean found himself smiling despite everything, then hating himself for it.

God, he missed him.

Their eyes caught across the room a few times – quick flashes, lingering too long – but every time, Castiel would turn away. Throw his arm around someone else, his brother, or Charlie, or anyone who wasn’t Dean. It stung. Like punishment, justly deserved.

He was propped up in a dark corner sipping his – now lukewarm – beer, the cold sweat on the bottle dampening his hands, when he was approached by a coworker of Charlie's. Mike? Mich? Mick? Dean didn’t remember, but the guy was slick. Smarmy. Collar open just enough to be intentional, his smile lazy and rehearsed. “You look lonely over here?” he said with a smooth and fluid British accent that he was 70% sure was fake. “Want some company?”

“Not really,” Dean grumbled, sipping from his bottle. His eyes followed Castiel as he moved over to the reserved booth to sit alone amongst the jackets and purses belonging to the partygoers that remained on the dance floor.

It was now or never.

“C’mon, a nice guy like you.” Max(?) continued. “You're Charlie's schoolmate, right? Dean, is it? Let me buy you a drink, Dean.”

“Buddy. I’m not interested.” He said flatly as he passed Miles(?) one last courtesy glance and pushed off the wall and stalked across the bar, making a beeline for the booth. He got halfway and nearly stopped dead in his tracks as Gabriel, donned in a clown's rainbow afro and novelty sunglasses, swayed his way over to his brother and plopped down next to him.

“Crap.”

He almost gave up and turned around to go sulk in his corner, but his eyes caught Charlie’s through the crowd. She smiled at him, blowing him a kiss and forming a heart with her fingers. He could see the sympathy in her eyes.

It was enough to keep him going. Reaching the booth he slid into the seat opposite the arguing Novak brothers.

“I command you to get me another drink!” Gabriel slurred, waving the wand he’d stolen from Charlie and bopping Castiel on the nose with it.

His brother frowned as he tried to grab the wand mid-swish. A real pained, concentrated look that had Dean smirking. “You know that’s not a real wand, right?” But Gabriel just kept poking him, grin wide and chaotic.

“Alright, alright!” With one final flick of the wand Castiel caught it, snatching it straight from his brother's hand and pointing it back at him. “I’ll get you another drink. Just stop hitting me!” he scolded but smiled deeply like he wasn’t really mad – which made Dean’s heart ache. He missed making him smile like that.

And when he bonked Gabriel on the head with the wand, making him look downright silly and playful, Dean let out a quiet chuckle. He thought it was subtle. Barely audible.

But Cas heard it.

His eyes snapped to Dean like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and without a word, he shoved Gabriel aside and bolted toward the bar. “Cas—” Dean started, sliding out of the booth after him. But before he could follow, a hand pressed against his chest, stopping him dead.

“Hold up their Dean-o.” Gabriel. Sunglasses off now clutched in his hand, that clown wig slightly askew, but his voice was clear and serious. Dean froze as Gabriel nodded toward the booth, pushing him back lightly, “I think we need a little chat.”

Dean hesitated, glancing back toward the bar just in time to see Castiel handing the wand back to Charlie with a small smile. She gave him a playful curtsy, then looked over. Her smile dropped when she saw who Dean was sitting with.

Dean sighed and sank back into the booth. Even with Gabriel being half a foot shorter, Dean knew better than to push him right now. Older brother to older brother – he understood what this was.

Charlie was watching them, fidgeting with the wand in her hands. Dean shot her a tight smile, hoping it was enough to reassure her. I’ve got this. Don’t worry.

“You’re lucky this nights for her,” he said sweetly, giving a fancy little finger wave to Charlie, who, while rejoined with her friends dancing, continued to watch the interaction from afar. “Because if it wasn’t, I would have already rearranged your pretty little face.”

Dean said nothing. He took it. He deserved it. He didn’t even flinch when Gabriel leaned closer. Pulling the wig from his head and carefully folding the sunglasses and placing them on the empty tray of shots. He folded his arms as he leaned on the table, staring intently into Dean with a ferocity that Dean didn’t know the elder Novak possessed.  “You and Cassie—”

“You can save it, Gabe,” Dean cut in, voice quiet. “It’s nothing I don’t already know.”

Gabriel smiled, all teeth and verging on predatory. “Oh good. Then we’re clear. You hurt my brother again, and I’ll kick your teeth in.”

“I didn’t…” Dean swallowed, fiddling with his bottle. “I don’t mean to hurt him.”

“And yet,” Gabriel said flatly, almost mockingly, “you keep doing it.”

Dean dropped his eyes, drawing his bottle closer. “I know.”

“He loves you,” Gabriel went on, a strange sternness in his voice that he didn’t recognise. “He won’t say it – certainly won’t say it to your face – but I know. Every damn time you get you get your jollies on and then leave him sitting there, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter. I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces you break off.”

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the ribs.

“I don’t know what your game is, Winchester, but this ends tonight.” His voice was low, almost murderous with his intent. “Either you grow a pair and tell him what we all know, or you leave him the hell alone. Let him move on without you in his shadow.”

Before Dean could speak, a high-pitched voice called across the room: “Gabriel! Come dance with me!”

Charlie. His knight in shining… glittery fairy wings.

Gabriel grinned as his villainous persona fell away as he rose to his feet and smoothed out his shirt. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, the Queen has summoned her court jester.”

Swiping his wig and glasses from the table and redressing himself, but paused before turning to leave, tapping the table twice before he left as if emphasising. “Do the right thing, Dean.”

And with that, he vanished into the crowd, leaving Dean alone with his guilt, his beer, and the overwhelming urge to finally do something right.

Dean stayed where Gabriel left him, rooted to the booth like his boots had fused with the floor. The noise of the bar rolled on – thumping bass, drunken laughter, the clink of bottles – but it all felt muted around him.

He ran a hand down his face and exhaled hard through his nose. Gabriel’s words echoed in his skull, each one hitting like a gut-punch.

He loves you. He won’t say it, but he does.

He’d spent years pretending it wasn’t real – chalking it up to comfort, familiarity, proximity. Safe excuses to keep his heart in lockdown. But seeing Cas now… smiling, dancing, living like he wasn’t nursing the same ache Dean had been carrying every damn day – it rattled something loose.

Dean couldn’t sit still anymore. He had to move. Had to do something.

He stood up, weaving through the crowd, scanning the room for that familiar dark mop of hair – for those too-blue eyes that always cut through a crowd like a spotlight. And then he saw him.

Castiel was at the bar. Laughing. With Mick.

The smug Brit leaned against the bar like he owned the damn place, drink in one hand, the other resting casually on the bar right beside Cas. He was talking too close, smiling too widely. And Castiel – sweet, oblivious Castiel – was smiling back.

Dean’s stomach twisted. It felt like ice water down his spine. Or maybe fire. Maybe both. His feet moved before his brain caught up, jaw tightening, hands curling into fists at his sides.

He barely noticed Charlie until she physically stepped into his path.

“Whoa, easy there, Tiger,” she said, bracing a hand on his chest. Her touch was light, but the look in her eyes was all steel. “You are not about to go over there and punch someone at my birthday party.”

Dean blinked down at her, chest heaving like he’d just run a mile. “You see this?” he ground out, motioning toward the bar. “That guy – that guy is slimier than a bucket of fish guts.”

“I know.” Charlie nodded, calm and steady. “And I also know you’re two seconds from doing something really dumb. Sit.” She demanded, pointing back toward the booth. He didn’t argue. He slid into the booth with a grunt and she scooched in next to him. His beer bottle was still there, mostly untouched, sweating onto the table. Dean picked it up without looking and took a long drink as she rested her head on his shoulder, the plastic tip of her crown poking his cheek.

“Can you believe this?” Dean growled under his breath, slamming his bottle back to the table a little harder than intended. His eyes locked on the bar like it had personally offended him. “Dude was hitting on me like ten seconds ago. Now he’s got his damn hands all over Cas? He doesn’t give a damn about him; he just wants in his pants.”

He glared daggers into the back of Mick’s head, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The way Mick was standing a little too close, the way he leaned in every time Castiel said something – it was enough to make Dean want to break the bottle in his hand.

Charlie, ever the eye in the storm, just simply hummed lightly. “Cas is a big boy,” she said, not even glancing over. “He can handle himself.”

Dean scoffed, watching with narrowed eyes as Mick laughed at something Cas said and placed a hand on his arm like he’d earned the right. “It’s not right.”

“It’s not your place to say,” Charlie replied smoothly.

“No, but—” He stopped himself, he let go of the death grip around his bottle and dragged a hand through his hair, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been.

“Babe,” Charlie said, softer now. She rarely used the B word with him, not unless it was something deadly serious. Reaching across the table, she took his hand and laced their fingers together, grounding him. “You know I hate to say it, but… I told you so.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Dean leaned back in the booth, letting his head thunk lightly against the wall behind him, eyes closing as the memory of that day in the party store hit him full force. Her teasing. Her warning.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone sees how amazing he is and snaps him up”

“Yeah,” he muttered, throat tight. “Yeah, you did.”

Across the bar, Castiel threw his head back and laughed — really laughed — at something Mick said. The sound carried over the music, and it felt like someone had scooped Dean’s insides out with a spoon.

Charlie must’ve seen the look on his face, because she squeezed his hand again. Dean squeezed back out of instinct, comfort, maybe. He looked at Cas like a drowning man watching the lifeboat sail away without him – helpless, but refusing to stop treading water and accept his fate.

Charlie’s expression softened at the edges. “You could still fix this,” she said, gently now, lifting their joined hands together and knocking them against the table. “Just go over there and talk to him.”

Dean tore his eyes away just long enough to meet hers. “Could I?” he asked, voice rough and small. “Because it kind of looks like I already lost.”

“Oh, Dean…” Charlie’s voice was soft now, dissolving into something quieter, gentler. She let go of his hand only to wrap her arms around his bicep and snuggle into him. “I’m sorry.”

But Dean didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the far side of the bar, fixed like gravity on Castiel. Caught in the soft glow of the overhead lights, he looked golden, almost ethereal. He was laughing at something Mick had said, head tilted, eyes bright, shoulders relaxed in a way Dean hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Dean’s fingers curled tighter around the neck of his beer again, his voice flat and cracked at the edges. “Yeah. Only got myself to blame, right?”

Charlie didn’t reply right away. What was there to say? He’d done this to himself – and she knew he knew it. “You want another drink?” she offered after a beat, her voice light as her grip on his arm loosened.

Dean shook his head, attention pulled away from the bar to focus on his bottle. “Nah.” He exhaled hard, like the air was heavy in his lungs. “I think I’m gonna finish this and head home,” and then, after a beat, added. “Sorry for being such a party pooper.”

Charlie sighed, but there was no judgment in her eyes as their stares met. Just sadness. Regret. She scooted even closer in the booth and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek – warm and lingering. “For what it’s worth,” she whispered, “you’re still my favourite idiot.”

Dean let out a small huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so broken. “Tell me about all the fun you’ve had tomorrow, yeah?”

“It’s a date.”

She gave his hand one last squeeze, then stood, adjusting the glittery tiara on her head before turning back toward the party. In a swirl of sparkle and sound, she disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the pulse of music, the blur of light, the world still spinning on without him.

And Dean… stayed. He took a long sip of beer, his eyes never leaving the space where Cas stood.

He stayed long after his beer was gone, long after the moment had passed when he should have left. The bottle was warm in his hand; his fingers still wrapped around it like he didn’t know what else to hold onto. His eyes never left Cas – watching the way he leaned in when Mick spoke, how he smiled, how his hand briefly touched Mick’s arm and lingered a second too long.

Just sat watching his last chance slip through his fingers, second by painful second. This was his punishment, watching his handiwork play out right in front of in in glorious 4K. His jaw ticked, his molars a second away from splintering as he ground his teeth. A guy like that didn’t deserve someone as perfect as Cas. Someone who would just leave him high and dry by the morning. No better than Dean was.

He kept watching.
Like an idiot.
Like someone clinging to hope he didn’t deserve.

Then it happened.

Mick leaned in, lips grazing close to Castiel’s ear to whisper something into his ear. A move that had Dean’s bouncing knee under the table stop dead. It was familiar. Possessive even. Like he belonged there in Cas’s personal space. Dean recognised the move. He’d used it himself far too many times to count. Dean didn’t like it.

But the moment Mick's hand landed on the small of Cas’s back – and way Castiel stiffened, shoulders locking like a trap snapping…

The slow burn of jealousy that had been simmering all night erupted into full-blown fury. He was on his feet before he even realised it, his boots slamming against the sticky floor, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

He didn’t care that it was Charlie’s birthday.
Didn’t care that Gabriel might actually commit murder if this went south.
Didn’t even care that it might be the worst decision he’d made all year.

Someone had put their hands on Castiel. And Dean Winchester wasn’t going to let that go without a fight. Not tonight.

He crossed the room with purpose, each step heavy with a heat he couldn’t name – or maybe just refused to. He didn’t spare Mick so much as a glance. His focus was singular. Laser-sharp. He stopped beside them, jaw tight, the air around him practically buzzing. 

“Cas, can I talk to you?”

Castiel didn’t meet his eyes. His smile twitched, just a bit too forced now, too carefully held. “We’re in the middle of a conversation,” he said, cool and clipped, keeping his tone even as if that might smooth over the tension tightening his spine. Like if he acted unaffected, it would make it true.

Dean’s gaze didn’t waver. He still didn’t look at Mick. Didn’t acknowledge him. He barely blinked. “It’ll just take a minute.”

Mick, to his credit, handled the shift with grace. He stepped back with a smooth, practised smile, catching on to the sudden change in the air. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he said. But then, he leaned in – not close enough to be necessary, just enough to let his breath skim along Castiel’s cheek. He murmured something low into his ear, and though Castiel didn’t flinch, Dean saw it – the way his jaw tensed, the way he held perfectly still, like any reaction would give too much away.

Dean’s blood boiled.

He glared as Mick pulled away, fury curling hot in his chest, but the man was already melting into the crowd, either oblivious or utterly indifferent to the storm he’d left behind.

Castiel turned back to Dean, expression hard. “What are you doing?”

Dean hesitated for half a second, then snapped, “Saving your ass.” he snapped, his frustration barely held together “He had his hands all over you,” he growled, gesturing toward Castiel with a flurried flap of his hand.

“And?” Castiel’s tone was flat, unimpressed, arms crossing his chest. “Your point?”

Dean scoffed, sharp and bitter. “Come on, Cas, that guy? Seriously?” He jerked a thumb toward the direction Mick had gone. “That’s what you’re into now?”

“Maybe,” Castiel said with a shrug, his voice infuriatingly even. “He makes me laugh. He doesn’t make me feel like a dirty secret.”

That one hit like a sledgehammer. A direct shot to the ribs. Dean didn’t flinch – not outwardly – but he felt it. Cracking something he’d spent years keeping sealed tight.

“You don’t get to do this,” Castiel snapped, voice colder now, laced with venom. “You don’t get to stare at me all night like I belong to you, then stay silent until someone else shows interest.”

Then he was moving, pushing off the bar and brushing past Dean with a shoulder that felt more like a shove. He didn’t even have time to register his words and turned just in time to see him storm through the crowd. “Cas!” he called after him, voice sharp with panic. But it was too late. He shoved open the doors and disappeared into the street.

Dean was a mess of anger and guilt as he tore after him, pushing folks out of the way to get to him quicker, fury and fear coiling tight in his chest.

The night hit him like a slap of cold air. Dean’s boots scraped on the pavement as he scanned the sidewalk around the smokers hanging outside the bar, passed the slow crawl of taxi drivers waiting for their next fare he spotted Castiel immediately. He hadn’t made it far, maybe two doors down, stalking away with that familiar tension in his shoulders like he was trying to outrun something. Well… someone.

“Where are you going?” Dean called, quickening his pace, but Castiel didn’t answer. Didn’t look back. Just kept walking. Dean’s fists clenched at his sides, every nerve raw. “So what? You’re just gonna pretend none of it meant anything? Just walk away like I didn’t—like we didn’t—?”

Castiel huffed out a sharp, bitter sound. “You were the one pretending, Dean. I just finally caught up.”

Dean’s chest burned. He stumbled over his next words, barely thinking. “Jesus, Cas, what the hell do you want from me?!”

That got him to stop.

Dean stopped too, seemingly paralysed by the look Castiel threw his way. A look that could’ve cut through steel. “I want you to stop making this my fault.”

Dean’s stomach twisted as Castiel’s expression twisted, caught between rage and heartbreak. “I want you to stop pretending that you give a damn about my feelings.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Dean shot back, voice rising. “Funny, because I wake up and you’re gone. No note, no word. And then I find you all over some guy at a bar—”

A cold, hollow laugh split from Castiel, sharp as glass. “Yeah? Well, it takes one to fucking know one!” His voice cracked, eyes glassy now. “Now you know how it fucking feels.”

Dean recoiled slightly, the words landing with surgical precision, right in the softest part of him.

Castiel turned away sharply, walking faster now. “I’m done playing this game with you, Dean. I can’t—” His voice broke mid-sentence, a raw, fractured sound that lodged itself in Dean’s throat.

Dean didn’t follow, just stood there dumbly as his voice frayed while he watched Castiel gain distance between them. “You think I was doing this for kicks? You think I’d risk a 12-years of friendship just to mess with your head?”

Castiel didn’t slow down.

“You jackass—why can’t you see that I love you?!” Dean yelled, voice raw and cracking. The words hung in the cold night air like smoke as Castiel froze.

For a moment, his back is all Dean gets, the streetlight depicting him in pale gold, painting him distant and unreachable. Then, slowly, Castiel turned. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenched tight, tears slipping down his cheeks despite the fight to hold them back.

“You don’t get to say that now,” Castiel said quietly. His voice wasn’t angry exactly, but it trembled, caught somewhere between disbelief and grief.

Dean took a step forward, his own tears stinging hot behind his eyes. “I mean it.”

But Castiel just shook his head, expression hardening like he was trying to keep his composure. “You don’t get to say it after walking away all those times. After letting me think I… that I was a mistake.”

That shattered something in Dean, clean and brutal. His breath caught in his throat.

“You were never a mistake,” Dean said quickly, his voice low and hoarse as his own tears started to spill. “I was just too scared to admit you were the one thing that felt real.”

Castiel’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “So why now? Because you saw someone else talking to me? Because you thought you might lose the option of me?”

Dean shook his head, stepping closer “Because I am losing you. And I can’t—” His voice cracked, hands twitching at his sides, desperate to reach out to him, he was close enough now. A few more steps and they would be toe to toe. “I can’t let that happen without trying.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “I know I don’t deserve a chance. B-but I’m asking anyway.”

His breath stutters, his whole body trembled like he was barely holding it together. He closes the distance further, less than a foot apart. Could see the tremble in Castiel’s posture, from the cold or the emotion, it was hard to say.

“It wasn’t— Cas, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” The words tumbling out like he’s tripping over them, too raw to be careful. “I’m not good at this. I’m not—” He stopped, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the wetness as frustration gave way to fear. “I don’t know how to say it right. I don’t know how to make it not hurt.”

Castiel let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It always hurts, Dean. Loving you hurts.” His shoulders sagged. “But I keep doing it. I keep hoping one day you’ll look at me and see me not just as someone to fall into when you’re lonely, but as someone who could be yours. If you’d just let me.”

Dean’s shoulders shook as a sob caught in his throat. “I do see you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as a betraying tear broke free and trailed down his cheek.

He steps closer, so close he can see the flecks of glitter stuck to his cheeks, in his hair. A faint echo of the party they’d left behind. “I’m scared, okay? Scared that if I say it, if I let myself have it – let myself have you – it’ll all fall apart. That I’ll lose you for good.”

Castiel exhales, soft and shaky, the fight bleeding out of him. “You never had to be perfect. You just had to try, Dean. You just had to want me the way I want you.”

Dean’s hand finds Castiel’s, tentative, trembling, lacing their fingers together. “I do,” he says, voice wrecked but honest. “God, Cas, I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

Castiel stared at him, eyes searching every inch of his face like he still didn’t quite believe it. And maybe he didn’t, not yet.

“Say it again.” His voice came out quiet, barely above the wind.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“Say it again.”

Dean didn’t hesitate.

“I love you.”

Castiel’s breath hitched. As a tear slipped loose despite the fact that he was clearly trying to hold it in. His eyes squeezed shut for half a second, his defences wobbling. And then, with a step, Castiel closed the distance. He grabbed the open front of Dean’s denim shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect. It was wild, clumsy and desperate and tasted of their tears and the last drink Cas had of the night. But God, it was the best kiss Dean had ever had. It was months – years – of repressed feelings and missed chances and unsaid words crashing together all at once. Dean’s hands flew to Castiel’s back, holding him like he might slip away again. Like if he let go now, he might never get another chance. When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, they didn’t back out of one another’s space, and Dean moved to rest his forehead against Castiel’s

“I swear to God, Dean,” he whispered, voice shaking, “if you walk away—”

“I won’t,” Dean breathed. “I swear. No more bullshit. Just you and me.”

That seemed to be the final straw. Castiel slumped into his arms, forehead resting against his shoulder as he sobbed silently, arms circling his waist while Dean held him tight, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him like he could carry the weight of every cracked piece between them.

For a moment, they stood in quiet stillness — the kind that felt like healing, the distant thumping base of the bar just audible in the street with the odd passing Uber and yell of other drunken patrons stumbling about.

Then, through a breath laced with heavy with exhaustion, Castiel mumbled against Dean’s shoulder, “I'm tired.”

It cracked the tension just enough for Dean to let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, me too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Cas’s head as he rubbed gentle circles between his shoulder blades.

He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Still red and raw but gleaming with something hopeful. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

…::::::…

Good Luck, Babe.

…::::::…

Castiel’s apartment was only two blocks away. The perfect walking distance. They made the walk in near silence, Dean’s arm wrapped snugly around Castiel’s shoulders, with Cas tucked in close and an arm around Dean’s waist. They walked in sync, quiet steps echoing off the pavement. Neither of them wanted to let go.

Eventually, they reached the short stoop leading up to Castiel’s building, the three-floor complex resting in shadow beneath the soft glow of the streetlights. They paused at the bottom step, both hesitating, knowing this was the place where the night would end. Slowly, reluctantly, they let go. But Dean was quick to lace their fingers together again, offering a shy smile. “Want me to walk you upstairs? Make sure you get to the right door?” But Castiel didn’t smile. He was looking down at their joined hands, unmoving. And even in the quiet, Dean could hear the storm of thoughts racing through his head.

“Hey.” Dean gently hooked a finger under Cas’s chin, lifting until their eyes met. “Talk to me.”

Castiel blinked, gaze darting away briefly before settling again. “I… I want you to stay the night,” he said softly. Then his eyes wide as he rushed to explain, “Not to—! I don’t mean to do anything, I just…” His shoulders slumped. “I just want you to stay.”

Dean’s smile returned, softer this time, touched with something deeper. “God, you’re adorable,” he murmured, giving a little squeeze to his hand and nodding toward the door. “Lead the way.”

They climbed the stairs as quietly as they could, mindful of the late hour and Castiel’s sleeping neighbours. Inside the apartment, they moved in near silence, Dean toeing off his boots by the front door and sneaking in sock-footed past Gabriel’s bedroom. The door was closed, and Dean hoped the guy had set his alarm to open up tomorrow… well, today – in 5 hours to be exact.

Once inside Castiel’s room, behind the safety of a closed door, they finally moved freely. The tension, so tightly wound between them all evening, softened in the quiet comfort of familiar walls. They undressed without speaking, a silent, shared understanding passing between them. Castiel peeled off his clothes with sleepy efficiency, while Dean hesitated just long enough before tugging off his jeans and leaving his t-shirt on – not out of modesty, exactly, but respect.

With his phone, wallet and necklace sat beside Castiel’s on the nightstand they slipped beneath the covers, settling on opposite sides of the bed. The silence between them wasn’t awkward – it was full of meaning, of held breaths and unsaid things. But after a few moments, the distance between them felt wrong. Cold. Foreign. Like trying to fall asleep on opposite ends of something meant to be shared.

Dean shifted first. He turned onto his side and extended an arm across Castiel’s pillow, his voice low and gentle in the quiet. “C’mere.”

Castiel didn’t hesitate. He moved closer, the sheets whispering between them, and melted into Dean’s open embrace. He pressed his temple to Dean’s shoulder, breath soft and even now, one hand splayed across Dean’s chest like he needed to feel the beat of his heart to believe this was real.

Dean closed his eyes, breathing in the clean, familiar scent of him – soap, fabric softener, something uniquely Cas. The warmth of his body curled into Dean’s side, and Dean’s chest tightened with the realisation that he could’ve had this years ago, if he’d only been brave enough.

The silence settled around them for a while like a weighted blanket, until his voice finally broke it, soft and earnest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For ever making you feel like you weren’t worth this.” To underline the words, he wrapped his arm tighter around Castiel’s shoulders, his other hand finding Castiel’s and lacing their fingers together over his chest, right where his heart thudded steadily and unguarded.

Castiel inched closer still, every part of him pressed flush against Dean like he could crawl inside the space between his ribs and intertwined their legs. “I’m sorry I made you jealous tonight,” he murmured into the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Dean chuckled, the sound warm and low. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Castiel’s head. “Nah, you had every right to. Honestly? I probably deserved it.”

“Still,” Castiel sighed. “It was a dick move. And… 100% Gabriel’s idea.”

Dean grinned as he toyed with Castiel’s fingers, brushing his thumb lightly over his knuckles. “Why am I not surprised? I’m pretty sure he was about two seconds away from clocking me at any given moment tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have put it past him,” Castiel laughed quietly, then hesitated. “Are you sure about this? About us?” he asked, his voice smaller now.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” he said softly, lifting their joined hands and pressing a kiss to Castiel’s thumb. “You’re stuck with me now… So… good luck with that, babe,” he smiled.

Castiel smiled. That quiet, earnest kind of smile that softened every sharp edge in the room. It wasn’t just polite or automatic, it was real. It reached his eyes, made them glint under the faint amber light spilling through the window from the streetlamps outside.

He lifted his head slightly from where it rested on Dean’s shoulder, just enough to meet his gaze fully. Their faces close, breath mingling in the stillness between them. “That’s all I ever wanted,” he whispered, voice barely there, as if he said it too loud it might disappear.

Dean’s thumb brushed slowly across Castiel’s cheek, trailing warmth. His fingers raked gently through the glittering dark, mussed waves of Cas’s hair. Something he was always desperate to do but starved himself from it in fear of it being to intimate, unwelcome, but now he had the green light he was going to gorge on it, like an all you can eat buffet.

Castiel’s smile suddenly cracked wider. “You’re covered in glitter,” he murmured, voice warm with quiet amusement as his thumb gently traced a shimmer along Dean’s jaw. The look in his eyes was soft, fond – like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Dean let out a low chuckle – the kind that started in his chest and curled into something lighter, something unburdened. “Look who’s talkin’,” he said, as he ruffled Cas’s hair and a puff of glitter burst free like a tiny, sparkling firework, catching in the soft glow from the window before settling across the sheets like stardust. “You look like a damn extra in a Twilight movie.” Dean grinned, eyes glinting.

Cas arched an eyebrow. “One of the wolves, right?” he said with a dead seriousness that was equitably Cas.

“Sure.” Dean chuckled. And then added with a playful wag of his eyebrows, “And you can imprint on me any day.”

That did it.

Castiel laughed – really laughed – full-bodied and unguarded, the sound spilling out of him bright and alive. He ducked his head, trying to bite it back, but it was useless. It escaped anyway, warm and whole, shaking his shoulders and lighting up his face like dawn breaking over the horizon. Dean just watched him, smiling like a fool, heart aching in the best way.

God, he’d missed that laugh. Hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed it, missed him, until right now.

“I missed you,” he spoke his thoughts softly once the laughter faded, his voice a little hoarse from it, brushing his fingers through Cas’s hair again, slower now, savouring it. Glitter be dammed.

Castiel smiled back, gentler this time, eyes filled with love and hope. “Missed you, too.”

And then, without hesitation, Dean leaned in, closing the distance between them like gravity pulling him home, and kissed him. Slow. Steady. Sure. It wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was reverent. Like something sacred. Like something that had waited a long, long time to begin.

And finally, it had.

Chapter Text

The warm scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee hung thick in the air, wrapping the quiet bakery in a cozy haze. The morning rush had come and gone, leaving behind only the occasional clink of mugs and the gentle hum of indie folk drifting from the overhead speakers.

Charlie sat at one of the small front tables – one usually reserved for customers – cross-legged in her chair and bright-eyed, looking irritatingly alert for someone who'd been out all night. She sipped from a caramel-coloured coffee, the steam lightly tickling her nose, and worked on a flaky pastry, humming in approval as she chewed.

“Honestly? This is good,” she said around a mouthful, gesturing at the plate with her fork. “You should bake hungover more often.”

Across from her, Gabriel was slumped dramatically over the table, his head in his arms, a pair of sunglasses shielding him from the cruel light of day. His coffee sat untouched in front of him, steam rising like quiet judgment.

“How do you do it, Red?” he groaned without lifting his head. “You drank way more than me and look fresh as a daisy.”

Charlie beamed. “It’s a gift.” She sipped her drink. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to outdrink a table of 20-somethings with unlimited birthday shots next time.”

“You handed me half of those shots.”

“And you accepted them. Like a champ.” She tapped her fork against her cup in a mock toast. Gabriel groaned again.

“Too loud,” he muttered, massaging his temples.

Charlie leaned in across the table, her grin sly. “So… you think it worked?”

Gabriel groaned and peeled himself upright like a corpse reanimated by caffeine and sheer regret. He blinked at her from beneath his sunglasses, voice dry as toast. “Define worked.”

“Well, I didn’t actually see Cas leave,” Charlie said, lowering her voice like they were trading state secrets, “but I did see Dean storming out like the Empire personally keyed his car’s paint job.”

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, slumping back into his chair like a man who had fought a war – and lost. Finally, he pushed his sunglasses up into his hairnet with dramatic flair and squinted into the middle distance. “Considering Dean’s big-ass lumberjack boots were by the front door when I left this morning,” he muttered, “I’d say Operation Pining Idiots was a success.”

Charlie's eyes widened with delight. “Can you believe we actually pulled it off?”

“‘Pulled off’ is putting it mildly,” Gabriel said, rubbing his face. “You orchestrated this thing like a spy thriller. I just dropped the emotional grenades.”

Charlie gasped, mock offended. “Me?!”

Her voice hit a high pitch that made Gabriel wince and recoil. “Easy, soprano. My skull is fragile.”

Charlie giggled, then quieted a little. Her grin softened into something more thoughtful, picking at her pastry. “I do kinda feel bad, though.”

Gabriel opened one eye. “For what?”

“For lying. For manipulating them.” She shrugged, lips pursing. “They’re our friends. Gabe. You don’t feel just a tiny bit bad doing that to your brother?”

He waved a hand lazily. “Oh please. Those two knuckleheads have been dancing around each other like hormonal teenagers for over a decade. Someone had to shove them together before one of them spontaneously combusted.”

Charlie huffed, stabbing her fork into the pastry. “Still. I basically told Mick Cas was single and open for business, knowing exactly what that would do to Dean. I’ve become the morally grey puppet master.” She mused, shoving her forkful of chocolate and cherry pastry into her mouth.

Gabriel gave a lazy, proud smirk. “It was art.”

“It was mean.”

“But necessary!” Gabril smirked, looking low-key proud of his partner in crime. “You think Mick was mad when Cas ditched?” he asked, reaching for his coffee.

“Nah,” Charlie snorted. “He’d already moved on to his next target after Cas walked out.”

“Dick.” Gabriel muttered behind the rim of his “world's best boss” mug. Took a sip, winced, then sipped again.

“Oh, the highest order.” Charlie agreed, laying her fork down and reaching for her drink. She sighed and looked out the front window, the street was calm and sun-washed, people milling about their day unsuspected of the scheming, underhanded masterminery that had happened in broad daylight.

“Do you think we should tell them?” she questioned, eyes still unfocused out the window, before drawing her attention back to Gabriel. “The knuckleheads, I mean. Not Mick.”

Gabriel shook his head and winced again at the movement. “Nah. Let’em marinate in the honeymoon afterglow for a while. But I’ll make sure to work it into my best man speech.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You already planning the wedding?”

Gariel snorted, “It took them years to get their heads out of their asses to actually get their act together. I’m not waiting another decade-plus for a wedding.”

She smirked, then turned sincere. “You think they’ll last?”

Gabriel paused, and his smirk faded into something softer, more genuine. “I think they’ve got a real shot now. And that’s more than they had yesterday.”

Charlie mused with a hum, elbows perched on the edge of the table with her mug in both hands. “Maybe we’re the good guys after all.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Gabriel said brightly. “We’re meddling, manipulative, nosy little shits. But sometimes? That’s exactly what love needs.”

She laughed and raised her cup. “To meddling.”

Gabriel clinked his mug to hers. “To scheming in the name of love.”

They drank, and a peaceful silence settled between them. Then Gabriel muttered, “...You think they’re awake yet?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She paused, smirking into her coffee. “They’re either still asleep or… busy.”

Gabriel let out a long, pitiful groan and dropped his forehead onto the table with a soft thud. “God,” he muttered, voice muffled against the wood, “I never thought I’d be happier to be hungover… here.”

“Drink some water, you’ll be fine.” Charlie grinned as she sipped her coffee in a well-deserved victory.