Chapter Text
“Dean, you um… You know there’s a lot of fanfiction written about you, right?” Kevin asks on a quiet evening in the bunker.
“Mmmmh. Yeah, uh, Sam Dean slash or whatever,” Dean says absentmindedly. He’s busy pouring himself another glass of whiskey. A visionary act he’ll soon be grateful for.
He remembers discovering Becky’s fanpages for the Supernatural books a few years ago, though he tries not to ever think about it. Dude, they’re brothers.
“N… No Dean. That’s no longer the main focus.”
Dean studies Kevin’s face. Where’s he going with this? Maybe he shouldn’t have let the young prophet have whiskey, he clearly can’t handle the hard stuff. Is Kevin… blushing?
“What do you mean, man?”
“Most of them…. They’re about you and - uh - C - Cast - Cas… having sex.”
“... with women?”
“With each other.”
If Dean adjusts his seating at that point, that’s purely because he has been sitting in the same position for too long, damn it.
With Cas? Does he even have… anything, down there? Straight up barbie dolls, right, those angels? Junkless. Right?
Though he is human now, Dean supposes. Experiencing life out there, in, well, who knows? All of its glory. Like with that reaper lady. Dean frowns at that memory. Come to think of it, Cas should probably not get his freak on at all anymore, just to be safe.
Dean carefully schools his features. Don’t need Kevin to get the wrong idea or anything.
“Fans are into freaky shit, Kev.”
“No, I know,” Kevin says, a pained expression on his face. “It’s just that, there’s a lot. A lot.”
Dean frowns. “You been reading about me, you little perv? Full frontal?”
Kevin’s eye widen.
“N-”
“Didn’t know you toed that line, but you’re really not my type. Now, what’s your point”
There’s gotta be some unwritten rule - ‘do not mention online porn stories starring your friends’.
“It’s just…” Kevin swallows. Dean thanks the gods, the angels, the devil even, whatever, the whole damn universe that Sam’s asleep already. “It’s just that, I was wondering about the things those fans pick up from the Carver Edlund books.”
“What?”
“Subtext.”
“Subtext?”
Dean’s hand curls into a fist. What’s he talking about? Their life isn’t a college class, it’s just them sitting in a car and driving through America with zero homoerotic activity. They save people, they hunt things. It ain’t that deep.
“Those stories don’t just appear out of nowhere, Dean.”
“Dude, half of them are about me and Sam!”
“Oh no, Dean. You haven’t checked it in a while, right?”
Dean swallows.
Swallows lots and lots of whiskey.
“I’d say 90 percent is dest-,” Kevin says, quickly correcting himself: “Erhm - I mean, you and Castiel.”
Dean lets that sink in. But only about an inch deep, he isn’t letting anything sink in further.
“I’m just saying,” Kevin presses on. “Maybe there is some truth to it?”
What? Dean chokes on the whiskey.
“No! Me and Cas never-”
Kevin squints at him. “That’s how those stories usually start, Dean. Denial.”
That’s it. Dean stands up abruptly, the chair’s legs scrape against the floor. He points an angry finger at Kevin.
“Well, this is not a story, okay? This is my actual life. I’m not-”
Dean frowns and stares into the distance. How’s he gonna explain this? Can’t a man and an angel just be friends? He doesn’t swing that way.
“It’s like shellfish, isn’t it?”, he blurts out.
“What? Dean-“
Dean groans. Why did he take this route?
“I mean, nothing wrong with... It’s just about taste. I like oysters.” Dean fumbles with his fingers. “…. Not… cockles.”
Kevin blinks up at him in confusion, and it’s taking Dean all he has to keep from effectively strangling him - they still need him for the tablet - so he walks out the door, straight to his room.
Very straight. Extremely straight.
Dean’s still fuming as he puts his pajamas on, brushes his teeth and crawls into bed. The one where he’s recently added another bedside table, on the other side. You know, for symmetry.
After about half an hour of inwardly cursing in the dark, he reaches over to the extra table to retrieve his cell phone. It’s his life. He should check out at least what those philistines are writing about him.
He googles: Dean Castiel fanfiction.
Holy shit.
There’s an images section with what looks like… obscene drawings he’s not even going to click on. Nope. Staying the fuck away from that, and actually, he should sue Google for even subjecting him to that ungodly sight.
He clicks on the top link, a collection of Castiel / Dean works on a website called Archive of our Own. Of whom? Whose throat can he go rip out?
Isn’t his body, you know, his own? No one else’s, that’s for sure.
Dean swallows. What the - there’s 774 pages of this crap?
He thumbs through the results. There’s all sorts of weirdness. Oh, one where Cas makes him a hot chocolate? Sounds sweet - damn, wait, what? Food kink? The list goes on. Praise kink? Dry humping? Frottage?
What- motherfucking wing kink?!
Dean rubs his eyes, wishing he could stab them out. He turns his phone off and throws it back on the bedside table.
A minute later, he reaches for it again. Okay, he’s down the rabbit hole already. No use chickening out now, right? Step one in a case - figure out what you’re hunting. He may as well dig into the ‘lore’.
He clicks on a random story. Nothing in particular drew him to it, really. It’s just a coincidence that it’s about Dean masturbating in the shower and accidentally summoning Cas by calling out his name like in a prayer.
That... that couldn’t actually happen, right?
A blush creeps up Dean’s cheeks as he reads those horrible, horrible words about him, his body and um, Cas’ body. And lips. Definitely lips too.
He thinks about Cas’ lips. The writer sure gets a few things wrong there, actually. Suddenly his own mouth feels dry.
Dean clears his throat and finds another story. Just to get a complete picture here. He’s gotta know what these crazies are writing. This is all in the name of research.
If he feels a little hot, that’s just because he’s under a thick blanket. And you know, if something is stirring underneath the sheets, that’s just, um, a normal reaction to reading sex words. It’s just like watching porn and looking at the guy too, because he’s just in the shot, you know? Can’t help but see him.
And if he puts his phone away finally at 4 in the morning, and decides on a quick wank, it’s just because it’ll be harder to sleep otherwise. He’s not thinking about Cas. In fact, he’s thinking about that reaper, she was kinda hot, wasn’t she? And Cas just happens to be in the shot.
---
The next few evenings, Dean keeps going back to this weird archive site. He’s going to google soon where he can burn its servers like he’s putting a ghost to rest. Cause damn, those stories are haunting.
He soon figures out how to filter for content. That way he can get rid of the, umm, threesomes with Sam some of those horny bastards like to write about. He ain’t gotta see that, he’s been to hell, damn it.
This is all for research purposes of course, he reminds himself. In a ‘know your enemy’ kind of way. And damn it if some of those writers don’t write a pretty convincing Cas. Those are the weirdest to read. It’s like… Like getting undressed for real.
Some of the stories don’t even take place in this universe. Those are just plain unnerving. Cas wouldn’t open a coffeeshop. Would Dean start a tattoo parlor though? Maybe. It’d be pretty cool.
For some reason, his libido has perked up, too. Not that he’s getting any. But he starts getting horny in the weirdest moments now. He’s jizzing more than fake-him does in an average ao3 fic. In the shower. Late at night in bed. Middle of the night in bed. In the morning - well, you get the picture.
Dean only knows one thing for certain: it ain’t got nothing to do with the stories.
---
It’s just that he doesn’t feel like doing any other research, like helping Kevin and Sam with the elomite deciphering of those doodles from the tablet. Sounds like a lot of work. That’s why when Cas calls him about a potential case with the four mysterious murders in Idaho, he decides to drive up. Just to check it out. To avoid, you know. Reading stuff that - he, uh, he doesn’t like reading. And not at all because he keeps thinking about that stuff and… uh, Cas. Who shouldn’t have hung up on him like that, dammit.
When he greets Cas in the Gas-N-Sip with a sweet smile and a joke, it’s just because he hopes his buddy has forgiven him for sending him away, that’s all. And when the Gas-N-Sip manager reminds Cas that they have a date - what the fuck? - Dean doesn’t for one second think about how the fans are so wrong, because the real Cas is actually not gay at all, and he doesn’t feel any twinge of disappointment in his stomach. And when he drives Cas to his date’s house and says, I can’t let you do this, he is definitely not thinking about the things fictional Cas and Dean have done in this Impala. A lot of. Impaling.
When it turns out Cas just had to babysit, that’s definitely not a relief. Really sad for him. Dean feels sad for his friend, his buddy, as they walk to the car after they smite Ephraim. That’s all he feels. Right.
“Where to, Cas?” Dean asks with a quick smile.
A tired look crosses Cas’ face, and he just gets in the Impala quietly. Odd.
Dean slips behind the wheel. Cas is staring into space, still wearing that white shirt he wore to work, but looking a lot more broken in nocturnal shadows than in the daylight.
Dean does feel bad for throwing him out of the bunker. He shakes off the guilt - it’s to save Sam, and one day, Cas will surely understand, he’ll explain and it will all be okay again. It’s not like he dumped the guy or something. They do have that profound bond, after all, as the fics keep pointing out between sessions of pounding. Dammit - why did he think about all of that?
“Cas?”
Cas looks down, his hands resting in his lap.
“I… you can drop me off at the Gas-N-Sip, Dean.”
“What?”
Cas doesn’t answer, and simply stares out the window, into the darkness of the night. Dean blinks at him. His neck sure does look nice and slim in that shirt. Maybe it was suitable for a date. But he is glad he got him to unbutton it a little.
Dean shrugs and starts the car. They drive in absolute silence. It isn’t until they’re nearly there, that the truth dawns on Dean. It’s nighttime, but Cas is going back to the Gas-N-Sip.
“Are you sleeping at work?”
“I’m very much awake during work hours. I am a professional, Dean.”
But Dean already noticed the little flinch Cas made after he asked.
He abruptly turns the car. Cas’ neck snaps toward him in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re sleeping with me.” Dean clears his throat. Son of a bitch. He should stop talking like a damn fanfic Dean. “Um, I mean - I’m staying in a motel room, you’re slee… coming with me.”
Not coming.
“Dean, I have an apartment, it’s just near the Gas-N…”
“I’m not asking, Cas.”
Cas’ jaw snaps shut, and he swallows heavily before he turns back to the window, suddenly again very interested in the drab darkened suburbia outside.
----
Oh shit, Dean realises as he enters the motel room.
There is only one bed.
The fic writers would have a goddamn field day!
Dean shakes his head to clear it. Okay, this is their actual life and neither of them is gay or even like… remotely interested in the other, so this is a normal adult sleepover situation. He can totally act like a normal adult, Dean thinks as he watches Cas hesitantly sit down on the bed.
It breaks Dean’s heart a little to see him this way. Not in a sexual way or anything. Just, he looks so goddamn lost and vulnerable. He looks like he needs to be held. Not by Dean, of course. But Cas deserves to be held, that’s all.
And that murderous battle angel was drawn to Cas because he felt so miserable, wasn’t he? Dean’s face crumples slightly thinking about it.
“So, um, not a date, then?” Dean asks.
“What?”
Cas looks up at him. Dean exhales. His eyes really are blue as the sky after a rainstorm, as plenty of fics have pointed out. Dammit he has to stop thinking about that stupid website.
“Your boss. Not a date.”
Dean watches as Cas flinches for a fraction of a second. Way to go, Dean, sticking a whole finger in that wound. He just made things worse, as usual.
“No, Dean. It wasn’t.”
Dean walks over to his duffel bag and digs around for his toothbrush. It’s in there somewhere! Shit, does he have a spare one for Cas? He’s pretty sure he does.
“Nora invited me over,” Cas recounts, voice monotone. “She said it was hard to find decent men as a single mother.”
“So that’s weird that she asked you to babysit, huh?” Dean says, locating the extra toothbrush and pulling it out triumphantly. “Ha!”
Cas looks at him intensely. “Dean, she thought I was a homosexual.”
Dean freezes.
Not her too? Does the whole friggin’ world think they’re a bunch of fruits? Two rabbits eager to exchange carrots?
He coughs. “Right, I found you a toothbrush. Bathroom’s over there.”
Cas stares at the plastic wrapped pink toothbrush for a few seconds before accepting it. The bathroom door slams shut.
Dean drags his knuckles across his brow. Whew! Awkwardness narrowly avoided.
He takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath. This is just two friends sharing a motel bed. Nothing weird at all.
Dean thinks about all the bedsharing fics he’s read. About fictional Dean waking up with fictional Cas all tangled up around his body. How that Cas would nuzzle his nose in that Dean’s neck and it would make all of his hairs stand up and how he’d feel like home, feel strangely safe. And then feel something poking in his back. And then-
He’s jerked out of his thoughts abruptly by the sound of the bathroom door opening. It’s Cas, wearing nothing but black briefs. Tight black briefs. His shirt and trousers are folded over his arm, and he walks over to the little desk in the corner of the room to drape his clothes over the chair.
Holy shit.
Dean’s eyes definitely do not roam over that body, not for one second, before he physically launches himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He brushes for about 8 minutes or so, because well, you know, he’s just very thorough and hygienic. Doesn’t want any cavities. Hunters have shitty dental coverage.
When he returns to the room, wearing underwear and a t-shirt - thank you very much - Cas is back sitting in the same spot on the bed. Cas hesitantly looks up, eyes not in any way dragging over Dean’s body as he would in a fanfic, Dean thinks.
“Choose a side,” Cas says, tipping his head to indicate he’s talking about the bed.
“Huh,” Dean thinks about his bed in the bunker. Cas is currently sitting in the exact spot that would be his, if they were, you know. Sleeping together. “You’re good, Cas.”
Cas hesitates. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“No! No, uh, Cas. That’s not necessary.”
Dean smiles reassuringly while he turns on the bedside lamps. When he turns off the main lamp, he can’t help but notice how it changes the way the shadows fall on Cas’ naked chest. The former angel’s definitely not as ripped as some writers would have him believe. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome or anything, Dean doesn’t like it when men are too muscled anyway. Cas is kind of perfect, actually. Son of a bitch.
His eyes do not wander down.
Cas covers his legs and briefs with the blanket and leans his body against the headboard. He doesn’t seem sleepy, despite looking exhausted.
Maybe he needs a bit of cheering up? Dean puts a hand on his shoulder. Oops. Bad idea. Very naked. He retreats the hand quickly, his fingers feeling hot somehow.
“Don’t worry, Cas, about her thinking you’re gay,” he says. “I mean, um - I know you’re not.”
Isn’t he? Maybe out of all those stories, Cas’s sexuality is the one thing those fans actually got right?
No, no. Can’t be. Cas did have sex with that female reaper. This is information those fans don’t know about.
Cas just looks at him silently, his face unreadable and dark.
Dean laughs nervously. It’s none of his business anyway. And aren’t angels genderless? Can they even be gay?
Maybe this is the perfect segue to bring up all that fanfiction. Cas should know about this, after all, it’s his body too that’s being described in wonderf… disgusting prose.
“It’s just that, you know, those Supernatural books?”
“Yes,” Cas says, tilting his head.
“Well, the fans who read them think you’re definitely gay.”
Dean huffs a short laugh. See, it’s funny, isn’t it Cas? See? See?
Cas appears to have stopped breathing.
“For me, that is.” Dean exhales. “Crazy right?”
His voice definitely doesn’t sound higher or anything. His heart isn’t hammering twice as fast, either.
“What do you mean?” Cas asks, averting his eyes.
“I mean, those folks write some weird stories about us. On the internet. I thought you should know, since it’s, well, about us.” Oh god, suddenly there’s a smile on Dean’s face and a finger gun as well. Dean cringes at himself. “Banging.”
“What?” Cas looks up.
“Screwing around. Doing the naughty. The rumpy pumpy. Intercourse, Cas.”
Cas looks horrified. Well, so is Dean, of course.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he tells a literal messenger of god. “It’s okay, I know you’re not gay. You were just on a heterosexual date, almost. And you did the… hanky panky with that reaper.”
Cas is again not breathing.
Christ, why can’t he stop talking? “And I guess, before, when you were an angel, well, you didn’t swing any kind of way, right? Just doll parts down there? No junk?”
Schrödinger’s crotch.
This seems to elicit a response. Cas blinks out of his daze, turning those eyes on him. So blue. “I can assure you, Dean, I’ve always had functioning… junk. A lot of angels in fact like to… Well.”
Well what? Dean’s sweating. But only because it’s hot in this room. They should lower the A/C. Where’s the A/C.
“Oh, really, angels have sex?”
“You know about nephilims, Dean. So yes, they have sex. Though mainly with each other.”
Oh, so… So Cas is some kind of angel slut?
Dean swallows.
He shouldn’t ask any weird questions that indicate he’s read any kind of fic. Just be normal. Just be normal.
“So are angel wings an erotic zone or something?”
Shit. Shit.
Cas’ eyes grow wide. “What? Dean-”
“Oh, sorry, it’s just something I was wondering. No reason. I’ve just got a… curious mind.”
Dean shakes his head in disbelief at himself. Why did he have to fucking word vomit like that? Those fans have ruined him.
Cas blinks hard and then turns his head away, frowning.
“I don’t have wings anymore, Dean.”
“I know, I-“
“And it’s late.”
It’s literally 9:28.
“I should sleep,” Cas concludes.
Cas turns off his lamp, and lets himself sink deep into the sheets. He turns his back on Dean, lying completely still.
Dean stares at the curve of Cas’s back for a moment, then sighs, and flicks off his own bedside lamp. He’s nowhere near tired. Why couldn’t he just have had a normal conversation? Maybe asked Cas to watch a movie or something?
Did he fuck up their whole dynamic by reading too much destiel porn?
Then, a message lights up his phone.
It’s Kevin.
He’s sent him a link on ao3. What the-
Dean clicks on it. It loads unbearably slowly. Why would Kevin send him a damn fic, hasn’t he done enough damage? The familiar font appears.
If you were queer, Dean reads. By fellshish.