Chapter Text
It started out as a joke.
Okay, well... not a joke, per se. Actually, if he’s being honest, it started out with a mixture of frantic desperation, aching despair and hopelessness, and maybe a touch of heart-thumping hope mixed in with the longing that always has managed to linger despite his best efforts to force it away. And maybe (most definitely) with the half bottle of whiskey he’d drunk after getting his FASFA application back, denied.
Well, partially denied. Maybe. He wasn’t entirely sure, honestly. It said something about his dad making too much money and requirements he would have needed to get full financial aid rather than loans, but by that point he’d already cracked open a bottle and doesn’t remember much else after that. Half a bottle of whiskey tends to do that to a person. It wasn’t even bad whiskey, either. It was the good kind, the kind that will get you drunk off a single whiff.
And, really, that alone would help explain his utterly idiotic text sent to his best friend at ass-crack-o’clock, asking quite plainly, “Can you marry me????”
It was a joke. A stupid, utterly moronic, not-a-joke joke that, when sober, he’d argue was himself just joking around and shooting the shit, like always. He’d even followed it up with an explanation— at a more reasonable but still unreasonable hour— saying how the school he was applying to would only give him financial aid if he a) had a child, b) turned 24, or c) got married. Seeing as how he had no plans of becoming a father just yet (maybe someday, in the far distant future, with the right person, sure. But not as a 22-year-old GED wielding screw-up who can’t even afford college at the moment) and he was still two years away from turning 24, that left option c.
Get married.
He never even wanted to apply to college in the first place, to tell the truth. It was all Castiel’s fault anyway, so, truly, it makes sense that it would have to be him to rescue him from this hell, right?
See, he’d never been the smart one in the family. That honor had gone to his not-so-little little brother, his pride and joy, Sam “Sammy” Winchester. The kid was a bona fide genius, filled to the brim with the potential that had skipped Dean entirely. And he wasn’t bitter about it, not at all!
(Well, maybe a little, when drinking at ass o’clock, an empty hole in his chest as he thought of the future that he wasn’t even sure he had. But that doesn’t count. Everyone gets weepy and depressed when drinking so much, so late. He doesn’t even cry, not like Cas, who will full on sob about fricken bees for an hour straight on the rare occasions that he gets wasted.)
In fact, he was so proud of his little brother that he would tell just about anyone he passed— with a blinding smile filled with his barely contained pride— about how his brother had won a full-ride to Stanford all on his own merit. Cas had been subjected to quite a few (alright, about fifty) boastful speeches already, which he figured was only fair as Cas had been very boastful when Anna had made it into Harvard a couple years prior. Sure, maybe he hadn’t been as outright with his pride, but Dean definitely remembers quite a few drunken nights with Cas sobbing on his shoulder about his ‘utterly brilliant, stupendous, ingenious little sister,’ his ridiculous vocabulary becoming somehow more pronounced with alcohol, not less.
Now, it was Dean’s turn to drunkenly boast about his little brother, eyes misty even though he’d deny it to his dying days. He was allowed some drunken rambling pride, just as much as he was allowed to feel maudlin and pathetic about his sad excuse of a life, alright?
Though, it was on one of those drunken nights that this whole mess began, actually.
It had started off the same as any other night in which the pair drank to excess, Cas barely getting buzzed despite drinking almost as much as Dean, who was just this side of drunk. They’d met up in his Uncle Bobby’s scrapyard, hiding away with their backs against an aging wall amongst the multitudes of cars, their pilfered bottle of Jack shared between them. Of course, they no longer had to hide (or steal) the booze now that they both were of legal age, but it was a time-honored tradition that even Bobby had come to expect from them.
He’d been leaning quite heavily against Cas; he remembers that much. He absolutely had not been cuddling the man, thank you very much. He’d just been... leaning, that’s all. And if Cas had had his arm wrapped tight around him, running lithe fingers through his hair, humming a tuneless song softly under his breath then— well. That’s beside the point.
It was during a quiet moment, a brief moment of silence between Dean’s gloating, that a sour feeling had entered into Dean’s heart. He hadn’t meant for it to; he never did. But the alcohol had taken his feelings of inadequacy that have always lurked behind the shadows and amplified them tenfold, especially now that his not-so-little little brother was going to be heading off to college come August.
See, ever since Dean was four years old and his mother died in that house fire, he’d been taking care of his brother. When his dad was out doing his PI work all across the country, Dean was often left behind to make sure Sammy got clothed and fed and taken care of. It was Dean who would take Sam to school, Dean who would help Sam with his homework, Dean who would celebrate Sam’s good grades, Dean who would bandage up all of Sam’s injuries and get him fed, Dean who would do... well, everything. In a way, Dean had been Sam’s honorary parent growing up, and has been one since the brat was only an infant. For eighteen years, Sam had needed Dean for most things.
But now... now, Sam was going to be moving away. He’d go off to live in California, in the dorms, while Dean would either stay here in Sioux Falls with his Uncle Bobby or head off across the country with his dad. He couldn’t head off with Sam (though he may want to), so for the first time in eighteen years, he was going to be without his baby brother for an extended period of time. The last time he’d been separate from Sam for any period of time was when he was in that group home for boys and that had only been for a little less than a month.
He supposes it had just hit him in that moment, that silent moment between words, just how long four years was going to be. Just how... empty the upcoming years that were looming ahead of him looked. Eighteen years dedicated to a singular cause (keeping Sam alive, healthy, and bright) coming to an abrupt end would do that to a person.
He hadn’t meant to say anything about it. He never meant to say such private things to Cas, but it ended up coming out anyway. It always did.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do now, Cas,” he’d whispered into his best friend’s neck, not quite sure when he’d gotten so close to Cas. He never did, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was comforting, being so close to the other man, who always smelled like sunshine and honey. He’d felt his friend shudder and wondered if they should head in soon, the February chill setting in all around them. It should have surprised him how little he wanted that.
It didn’t.
“Well, Dean. What do you want to do?” Cas had muttered back, his fingers warm along his scalp, making him shudder now. Hm. Maybe it was time to go in. He didn’t want to. Because of his distraction, it took him a moment to comprehend the words his friend had said, blinking at the question. Hm. What did he want to do? Well...
“Man, I don’t know. ‘M not... ‘m not smart like you and Sammy,” Dean slurred, shaking his head as he looked down at the half empty bottle in his hand. He didn’t even remember them drinking that much. He’d likely be concerned if he cared.
Cas let out a soft sound of disagreement, his fingers tugging the hair a little harsher, making Dean hiss from what he would later claim was pain, not pleasure.
“Don’t say that, Dean. You’re just as smart as your brother and far smarter than me. You just don’t apply yourself as much. I’m sure that if you applied to the University of Sioux Falls, you’d get in easily. Do you want to go to college?”
His immediate response was ‘hell no!’ After all, he’d spent long enough listening to Cas rant about his coursework and his professors that he firmly knew that college would never be for him. And yet...
“I, uh... I don’t know. Maybe? I mean... I don’t know. Yeah, I guess. I’d prob’ly screw it up, but... I don’t know, man. I don’t know. ‘Lways wanted to learn ‘bout machines. Maybe.”
At his words, he felt Cas shift somehow closer, and then he saw brilliant blue eyes stare into his own, pale pink lips tilted into a small smile, the expression kind and soft and all kinds of wonderful.
“Then, Dean, you should apply. I can help you. Their applications don’t close until March, so we have about a month to do this. You don’t even need to write an essay or anything. And if you apply for scholarships and financial aid, you may not even have to pay for anything. If you want to, you can do it, Dean. I know you can. And I’ll help you. If you want to do this, I’ll help.”
He should have rejected the offer immediately. Cas had made the same offer almost three years prior, back when Cas had made the decision to apply to a local college after his gap year, and he’d rejected the offer then. Sam had needed him at the time, he’d protested, and he couldn’t leave the teen alone with their dad. Who knew what fights would break out if he did? Besides, he wasn’t made for college, he’d dropped out of high school even, so like hell could he handle college. It just wasn’t doable. Cas had protested at first, but eventually gave up, giving him a sad look but not pressing the matter anymore. The idea had always hung around in his mind though, especially the days when Cas would tell him about his classes with wide, passion filled eyes, the classes that he absolutely despised far less common than the ones he utterly adored.
But college wasn’t for him. He knew that. And he should have rejected the offer this time, too. Should have said ‘no, Cas, don’t waste your time, it’s fine,’ should have laughed and drank some more whiskey and forgotten about his stupid desire to go to college. Should have. He really, really should have.
Instead, with Cas looking at him earnestly, the alcohol burning brightly in his gut, his breath caught on the winter breeze, he found himself nodding his head in almost a daze.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, Cas. Okay.”
And that moment led to this one, a handful of months and an unexpected acceptance letter later, sending a drunken message that was about to change his life.
~XoX~
Dean awakens with a start, blinking the crust from his bleary eyes as he tries to figure out if the pounding is coming from inside his head or not. After a minute, he realizes that— while his head hurts like a bitch— the pounding is actually real and is coming from the door to the crappy one-bedroom apartment he’s been staying in for the last handful of months. He lets out a groan and stays where he is— face down on the old, beaten-up couch he’d found on the side of the road a week after he moved into this apartment— hoping that whoever is pounding on the door will kindly give up and leave.
After another minute of the merciless pounding, he lets out another groan, realizing whoever it is is not planning on giving up. He cracks open his eye again and winces at the bright sunlight that’s assaulting him.
With yet another groan, he reluctantly stands and shouts at the door, “alright, alright! I’m coming, jeez.”
His annoyed glare fades with the breeze when he opens the door (with only a touch more aggression than would normally be considered socially acceptable) and sees a breathless, wide-eyed Cas standing there. Dean can’t help but blink at the disheveled appearance of his best friend, wondering what the hell had happened to make the man look so out of sorts. Of course, Cas always has a rumpled look about him, but it’s usually a contained rumple. A controlled, nearly sophisticated rumple. This...
A bad thought crosses his mind, and he groans, running a tired hand down his face, his head hurting far too badly to deal with this— whatever this is— so early in the morning (or maybe afternoon, he’s not entirely sure what time it is, to be honest.)
“Aw, man, don’t tell me Lucifer drugged you again. That shit was hard enough to deal with without a hangover,” Dean grouses, shaking his head at the memory of Castiel tripping balls because his second oldest brother decided it would be ‘funny’ to slip him some LSD the day before a big exam.
Luckily, Dean had been able to get Cas an extended deadline for the exam by giving the professor his patented ‘charming smile,’ and had then spent the entire day watching his friend like a hawk, simultaneously exhausted at having to stop Cas from stripping naked and running outside with his bees, and in hysterics at the bat-shit crazy nonsense the man was spouting. It was a trying day, to tell the truth, but he is still mostly just glad that he’d been there to stop everything from getting even worse. Cas’s embarrassed but beyond grateful thanks once he sobered up was more than worth the hardship. After all, what are friends for if not to stop you from trying to organize an orgy with the neighbors?
(Also, side note, yes, Cas has an older brother named Lucifer. Dean has never met his friend’s parents— Cas’s mother having died giving birth to his younger sister and his father abandoning Cas and his five siblings to ‘find himself’ on a spiritual quest that has been going on for about eighteen years now— but he has to imagine that they must have really hated their children to name them the way they did. At least Michael and Gabriel were given semi normal names, but the rest were less lucky, with Anna even refusing to let anyone use her real name on pain of death. He’d be damned if he said Lucifer didn’t embody his namesake, though. He sometimes wonders if Lucifer’s actions are influenced by his name, or if his parents just were really on the money when they named him that. Either would make sense, really. In fact-)
Dean blinks when Cas lets out an impatient huff, cutting off Dean’s rapidly diverging thoughts as the other man pushes passed him into the small apartment.
“Okay, yes, please come right on in,” Dean snarks, wincing only slightly as Cas slams down the large tome of binders and papers that Dean hadn’t noticed the man carrying onto the shabby, one-stiff-breeze-from-collapsing coffee table. He gives the table a dubious look, wondering if today will be the day it decides to finally bite the dust. He holds his breath as it wobbles precariously, but lets it out when the table eventually settles and seems content to stay put together. Well, that’s one crisis solved. Now, onto his way too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed best friend...
“I’m not on drugs, Dean,” Cas claims as he opens the topmost binder on the table and takes out a paper, shaking it at Dean with meaning. It takes him a second to realize Cas means for him to take the paper and—most likely— read it. Ugh. Gross. He ignores it for the moment and just shakes his head, not quite believing Cas.
“Oh, really? Well then, how much coffee have you had, man, because you look about ready to spontaneously combust. The last time you were like this you hadn’t slept for three days and were living off coffee and prayers before I finally forced you to sleep. Ain’t healthy, man, and this is me saying this. Me,” he emphasizes, in case Cas doesn’t get the point. Cas just rolls his eyes at him, which, honestly? Rude.
“I had had that enormous, very important, ‘you-will-fail-this-class-if-you-don’t-pass’ project due— that you constantly distracted me from for weeks prior, mind— so I think I was more than justified that time, Dean. And that is beside the point. I’ve been thinking about your proposal last night. Or, well. Earlier this morning.”
Dean blinks again, taken aback once more by the curt words his friend is spewing. He pushes aside his perverse amusement at the air quotes the man just used (he’s been trying since he was ten years old to stop Cas from doing that, and it has never, not once worked) and tries to focus on the meaning. Sadly, his head is still pounding violently from the still-present hangover and it’s making it kind of hard to think. He tries desperately to remember what Cas might be talking about and what proposal he means, but the fog seems determined to stick around.
It hits him as he looks down at paper and sees the large words ‘gay marriage now legal throughout the United States’ and a stone begins to sink in his stomach as memories from the previous night come rushing back. Oh, Christ. He’s going to be sick.
“You know, Dean, this entire thing was your idea. I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic,” Cas deadpans as Dean dry heaves into the toilet, feeling the entire contents of his roiling stomach wanting to make their way back up. Dean would give Cas a withering look if the man wasn’t currently perched beside him on the ground, his stupid (and yet so strangely endearing) trench coat bunched up underneath them both to give some protection from the ground, a warm hand pressing gentle circles onto his back. He does make sure the next dry heave is extra loud, though, knowing that the sound of someone vomiting (or almost vomiting) bothers Cas somewhat. It’s the little, petty things, really. He feels perverse, vindicated glee at the flinch he feels the hand on his back give.
“Was that really necessary?” Cas grouses when Dean finally sits back, groaning at the vertigo he feels. Luckily, he’d not actually thrown anything up except maybe a little bile, but it still doesn’t feel pleasant. He scowls at Cas, nodding his head sharply, but regretting it a second later when his head retaliates by aching furiously. He is clutching his head in agony when he hears Cas sigh his tiny ‘lord give me patience’ sigh as the warmth against his side disappears, leaving him far colder inside than the late spring weather should allow.
“Here. Take this,” he hears Cas bite out, his words short and tone abrasive, but something fond underlying them regardless. Dean looks up pitifully at his friend and almost cries in relief at the sight of a cool glass of water and two pills being held in his best friend’s callused hands.
“Oh, dude, I love you, you’re the absolute best,” Dean gushes as he happily grabs the pills and downs the entire glass of water in half a second. It shouldn’t kick in immediately, he knows that, but the placebo effect either takes place or the glass of water actually helps him, because he instantly feels much better. His head still hurts, but he feels more like a human being, at least. Though he still is utterly unprepared for the conversation he knows they are bound to have. Joy.
“Look, man. About last night... like, I was drunk, and stupid, and I just got that rejection letter from stupid fricken FASFA— which is a dumb name, honestly, what does it even stand for— and I just-”
“Dean, stop. You’re rambling,” Cas interrupts (quite rudely, he may add,) the man shaking his head fondly with a slight smile. Cas then jerks his head to the doorway of the tiny bathroom, angling his body towards it. “And this isn’t a conversation to have in your pitiful excuse for a bathroom. If you’re done being a dramatic child, let us move this into the living room.”
With that, Cas moves to head out of the bathroom, his trench coat hanging over his arm like a limp noodle, his hips swaying with his steps. Dean does his best to not stare and has to quickly look away when Cas abruptly turns back, a playful smirk on his face that definitely does not Do Things to his insides. “Oh, and Dean? FAFSA stands for Free Application for Federal Student Aid. In case you wanted to know.”
Dean does his best to suppress the chuckles at what Cas, clearly, thought was a brilliant rejoinder and tries his hardest to stand on somewhat unsteady legs. When he doesn’t immediately face plant on his— quite honestly disgusting— bathroom floor, he considers it a win. So, maybe he stumbles a bit and hits his shoulder sharply on the doorframe, causing him to hiss bitterly in pain. So what? He’s had worse.
“You know, one of these days we’re going to have to have a serious discussion about your alcoholic ways, Dean. It can’t be healthy on your liver,” Cas states solemnly as Dean stumbles his way onto his godawful couch, making Dean snort. There was a time, over a decade ago, when he used to think Cas was being serious when he used that tone of voice. Now Dean knows that he’s just being the little shit that Dean knows and loves. Platonically, of course.
“And we’ll have to talk about your unfortunate coffee addiction. We’ve all got our vices, Cas. Not my fault mine are more fun.”
Cas rolls his eyes yet again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. Dean tries to fight down the shit eating grin at the sound, feeling incredibly smug as he sees the tiny smirk Cas can’t fully hide, no matter how much he may try. Dean can see right through him. They’ve known one another too long to truly hide anything from the other. And Cas has always been a truly horrific actor.
“I will never understand why we’re best friends,” Cas laments, but the harsh words are belied by the utterly fond smile the man gives him, making his heart race quite unpleasantly. It’s a stupid feeling that he pushes back and hides behind a joke, mercilessly killing the butterflies that want to hatch in his stomach.
“It’s ‘cause I’m so lovable.”
He can see Cas shake his head fondly, before the other man sobers up, his smile fading and Business Cas (as he likes to call the ridiculously formal way his friend will hold himself and act on occasion) making a reappearance.
“I will neither confirm nor deny that. But as intellectually stimulating as this conversation is, I am here for a reason, Dean. One that you brought up earlier this morning, at 1 am to be exact. Waking me up from a sound sleep, I’ll have you know.”
Dean can’t help but squirm, the intense look that Cas always gives him somehow seeming more pointed, now. He remembers all the times he used to tell Cas to knock off the staring before finally giving up sometime around the eighth grade. Some battles he’s just born to lose. He wishes he’d tried a little harder to get the man to cut it out, though. It would have saved him so much heartache and grief if he had.
Dean doesn’t have the chance to reply back, with an apology or a biting comment (he’s not sure which he’d go for), before Cas turns to the binder and pulls out several more papers and hands them to Dean, the manic gleam starting to return to bright blue eyes. That just reminds Dean of the worrying state of his best friend, the man practically vibrating as he holds the papers.
“So, I did some research on the subject, wondering the logistics of it all. After all, while gay marriage has been accepted in the United States for several years now, I know every state has different regulations and I wasn’t quite sure if FAFSA would even accept two men who are married as eligible. I mean, it is a federal program, but you never know. It’s not the most common occurrence, but it has happened, and it has been accepted legally before. It doesn’t matter how recent the marriage is, either, not as long as it is legally binding. Therefore, should we choose to do this, it may actually work out.”
Dean knows he likely looks incredibly stupid right now, staring slack-jawed at his friend, the words short-circuiting something in his brain for several long seconds as he tries to comprehend what is being said. Jesus Christ. This is way too much to deal with while suffering from a massive hangover after a night of very little rest (because of course it’s seven in the morning, he learns as he looks helplessly at the rinky dink clock on the singular bookshelf he owns).
When, after a whole minute, Cas doesn’t grin and say ‘gotcha!’ Dean groans yet again and considers getting up to grab some more whiskey. This is not a conversation to have stone cold sober. He doesn’t, though. Cas would probably object.
“Cas. Man. You know you’re my best friend and you’re practically family at this point. But how the hell could this dumb fricken idea actually work out? I don’t know if I have to remind you, Cas, but I’m not gay.”
And he isn’t. He isn’t, alright? He’s not gay, he’s not bi, he’s not pan, or whatever other sexualities exist out there. He has no qualms with people of those orientations, not at all! But he just... he’s not. Okay? He isn’t.
(And just because his eyes sometimes linger on the forms of men, just because he sometimes has dreams of himself and other guys doing decidedly not family friendly things, just because he sometimes looks at Cas and wonders idly what it would be like to kiss those pale lips that look both impossibly rough and soft at the exact same time... he’s not entirely sure where he’s going with this, but it means nothing, alright? Absolutely nothing.)
He ignores the spark of something that rushes through him at the glare Cas gives him, his rumpled dishevelment making the look a lot more intense than usual. It’s still like a puppy trying to growl, but, like... in a sexy way. Wait, no. Not sexy. Definitely not sexy.
Christ. He’s way too hungover for this.
“I know that, Dean,” Cas intones, his face screwed up like he ate a lemon, a look Dean knows to be his ‘lord give me patience for this trying man’ face. “This isn’t about sexuality, though. In fact, historically, marriage has rarely been about sexual or romantic attraction and has been more about potential benefits that the marriage could provide to the various parties involved. Back in the Victorian era, for example, people would-”
“Cas. Cas. I’m way too hungover for a lecture right now, man.”
Cas glares at him again but doesn’t protest, instead just shaking his head and heaving a large sigh.
“Fine, Dean. The point is, marriage doesn’t have to be about attraction or desire. It can be about obtaining mutual benefits for two parties. A marriage license in South Dakota will only cost roughly $45 if we just head down to the courthouse and simply sign the marriage license. If we both pitch in, it will take less than a day’s wages. And I’ve even looked into divorce laws in South Dakota. As long as we don’t require any lawyers or legal help, we can get a divorce for less than a hundred dollars once we’ve gotten what we need from this arrangement and wish to terminate it. This- it can work, Dean. I’m telling you. Trust me.”
As Cas tells him about marriage licenses and divorce fees and whatever other crap, Dean can’t help but stare, his mind blanking on the entire thing. He’d never say it, not in a million years, but the idea of marrying Cas is... not as objectionable as it likely should be. After all, who knows him better than the man in front of him? If he were ever to get married for real (not that he has ever had serious thoughts about that. His longest relationship lasted barely six months and was mostly just sex, no real feelings), he thinks he could do worse than Cas as a spouse.
It’s way, way too early for this.
“Look. Cas. Castiel, my dearest and closest friend. You do know you’re talking about getting married to me, right? Like... don’t you Catholic types find divorce objectionable or something? I mean, dude...”
Cas lets out an honest to God growl at his words, making Dean jolt a half scooch back on the couch unconsciously. After all, he knows that while Cas may not look like much, he’s far stronger than anyone would give him credit for and if you piss him off enough, he has a mean left hook. And yes, he does know that from experience.
“Yes, they usually do. But they also tend to object to homosexual relations a bit more, and we both know I don’t personally object to that. So, just... that’s not a problem, Dean.”
Cas pauses here and lets out a tired sigh. The manic energy he’s been channeling since he arrived drains away, leaving him looking tired and almost... desperate. It’s not exactly a foreign look on the man’s face, but it’s one that always makes Dean’s stomach drop and makes him want to do anything— absolutely anything— to make that look go away.
“Look, Dean. I know this is crazy. I know there are a million reasons why this could backfire. But, Dean, listen to me. This can work. I’ve run the numbers; I’ve done the math. This... it’s possible. We can make this work. If we try, if we make a plan and stick to it... we could do this.”
Dean can’t help but feel concerned. The way Cas is looking, the words he is saying... how he is saying it... it’s desperate. Like it’s not just Dean who will be helped out by this situation. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand why. Why would Cas need to be married so badly? He doesn’t need financial aid; his father— while absent— provides money for his family and has been paying for Cas’s education thus far. He’s also lived in America his whole live, born and raised in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, so he doesn’t exactly need a green card either. So, why would... a thought suddenly occurs to him, and he swallows thickly as he turns to Cas.
“You seem to want this to work awful badly, Cas,” Dean starts slowly, his throat drying as a horrible thought crosses his mind. He hopes he’s wrong though, and so he keeps his thoughts to himself and hopes that his fear isn’t true. But when he sees Cas’s face fall, a look of pain entering those bright blue eyes, everything inside of him clenches painfully in bitter sympathy.
“I- I... well. Maybe I do. I, well... Dean, I...” Cas pauses, and for a second Dean thinks maybe he is wrong and maybe this all stems from a different place, but he quells the flash of utterly baffling hope as Cas continues. “Well. You know that I’m, uh. Not straight. And I’ve managed to keep that from my family for some time, thinking it was fine. But a couple weeks ago, well... I told them. All of them. And they... well. Michael. He, uh. He wasn’t happy. He apparently wrote to father and now I. I’ve been cut off. Until I ‘correct my sinner ways and repent,’ my father will not pay a single dime more for my education. He feels that sinners shouldn’t be allowed higher education. At least, that’s what Michael says. I really should have seen this coming, especially after what happened when Lucifer came out as bisexual, but I guess... I guess I just didn’t want to believe they’d do this. That- that Michael...”
The minuscule hope he had felt dies quicker than a rose in winter, his heart breaking as he sees the crumpled look on his best friend’s face.
Pushing passed the discomfort he usually feels at showing prolonged physical affection, Dean darts forward and puts his arms around Cas, feeling the minute trembles under his hands and hating every single one. Somethings are more important than his own, personal comfort, after all. And Cas? Cas is definitely one of them.
Now, Dean has known for years that Cas is not quite straight. He’s not quite gay, either, the man had confessed, but doesn’t really identify as bisexual. Most days, he tends to prefer the word pansexual, which he defines to mean that he is indifferent to the gender of the individual and cares more about who they are as a person than what is in their pants, so to speak. But even that he tends to flip flop on. Some days Cas defines himself as asexual, even, which is something that Dean still doesn’t quite understand but supports, nonetheless. Cas has been trying for years to figure himself out, struggling with his sexuality and his faith, and Dean knows how hard it was for the man to even acknowledge his sexuality to himself.
But it doesn’t matter to him. Whatever it is Cas identifies as, it just... it doesn’t matter, not in any negative way. Cas has always just been... Cas. His nerdy, dorky, socially awkward best friend. Who Cas is or is not attracted to... it’s meaningless. Well, not meaningless, not when it matters to Cas so much and causes him so much strife. But it doesn’t make a difference to him. It never has.
As he holds his best friend, he distinctly remembers the night Cas first came out to him, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, remembering how scared Cas was that Dean would reject him. That Dean would say he was a monster and a freak, like the boy had privately believed himself to be. It makes him sick just thinking about the pain and suffering his friend had felt.
They’d only been fourteen, hanging out in his room at Bobby’s place, when Cas had turned to him with the most determined look on his face, his homework pushed to the side forcefully. Dean had been immediately concerned, turning off the beat-up Gameboy Cas had bought him for his birthday the previous year, and had asked what was wrong.
Cas, hands shaking and eyes big and bright and scared, had— with full confidence— claimed that, “Dean, I sometimes feel physically attracted to men.”
Dean had then had to spend the next hour and a half calming the teen down as he almost hyperventilated, holding Cas while he sobbed, asking over and over if it was okay, wondering if he was going to go to Hell for this. It was not the first time— and it most certainly would not be the last— that Dean had fervently despised Cas’s religious upbringing.
Over and over, again and again, he’d repeated that it was okay, that he was okay, rubbing soothing circles on an impossibly tense back. That who he was attracted to didn’t make him a monster or unlovable or a sinner, or any of the things Cas had been worried about. Dean hadn’t even known he’d believed the things he’d said, not when they first came out, since his dad certainly was not one to believe in the sentiment (which, yes, he had known for a bitter fact, an old memory that he refused to ever even think about acting as concrete proof). But he knew, holding his best friend in the bedroom that belonged solely to him as long as he was with Bobby, that he believed them now.
Because Cas was Cas, and if Cas liked guys, then Cas liked guys. It was simple.
So, when Cas had told him his secret, of course he hadn’t cared. Cas mattered more to him than any possible discomfort he may feel at the thought of two guys being together. After all, he’d fight heaven and hell if it meant that Cas would be happy and no longer have that burdened look in his eyes, the haunted expression of a person who thinks they’re a monster.
Following that, after Cas had calmed down and had thanked him softly for not rejecting him, the pair stayed together all night, Cas eventually falling asleep in his bed. It was not the first time they’d done that, but it had been the first time they’d stayed so close to one another while doing so, with Cas wrapped up safe and secure in his arms.
And the best part was, it truly didn’t matter to him that Cas was attracted to men. It didn’t change anything to him. Not at all.
And now, here, holding Cas as he shakes, he feels more hatred towards Cas’s older brother than he ever has before. He’s never much liked any of Cas’s brothers, really. In fact, the only one he can even slightly stand (and he does mean very, very slightly) is Gabriel, and that’s only on the rare occasion when the wind is blowing in the right direction. And that’s mostly because Gabriel— for all his numerous faults and failings— is the only brother who has ever seemed to genuinely, truly love Cas, even if he’s a huge shit about it, and that alone makes him okay in Dean’s book.
Still, he had always thought that Michael, at the very least, cared about Cas. After all, Michael has been his primary guardian since his Uncle Zachariah (a truly horrible, disgusting human being that he had the displeasure of meeting a handful of times) died when he was eleven. And, despite how much of a dick Michael has always been, he figured his one redeeming quality was that he cares for Cas and at least kind of loves him. But for him to do this, to reject Cas so utterly for his sexual orientation...
“It’ll be alright, Cas. You’ll be okay. You’ve got me, got it? You’ll always have me. We’ll figure something out. I promise,” he mutters softly into Cas’s ear, a perverted part of him relishing in the way his friend shudders at the words. His heart clenches as Cas pulls back and look at him with huge, watery eyes, the exact color of the ocean after a storm, and he can’t help but hold his breath at the strained smile.
“I- I know, Dean. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, I just... I didn’t want you to worry, not with everything going on,” Cas explains softly, earnestly.
He pauses there for a second, but then keeps talking, plowing over Dean before he can even open his mouth to protest the words, his mind immediately objecting to them. After all, Cas is more important than anything else that’s been going on, especially his idiotic college dream. Cas just gives him a fond look and keeps on talking.
“But this... Dean, this could work. For both of us. I’ve done the research. I’ve looked into everything. Getting married would significantly increase both of our chances of obtaining financial aid for this upcoming year. Additionally, there are other scholarships and loans that are open to married individuals that aren’t available to non-married ones. I- I know that you didn’t mean the text you sent, but after thinking about it... it could work, Dean. It really could. And getting a divorce won’t be too much more work, not for an amicable split. This can work. We can make it work.”
Dean should reject this idea, like he should have rejected Cas’s help on his application. He should shake his head, laugh, scream, do something to dissuade his best friend from this— honestly ridiculous— idea. It won’t work out, he wants to say, shaking his head with a sigh. What if we want to date other people?, he wants to ask, scowling softly.
What if this ruins our friendship? he thinks to himself softly, heart clenching, painful and scared.
What if, what if, what if. So many ‘what ifs’.
But as he looks at Cas, a look of such hopeful determination on his friend’s face, looking like a drowning man finally being offered a single life preserver... Cas, his best friend of over a decade... Cas, the man he always knows he can turn to for anything, anything at all, and receive prompt and caring (albeit a touch snarky) assistance...
Cas, his family...
Dean isn’t gay. He’s not even bisexual (no matter what anyone says, he firmly believes that anyone with eyes would have a crush on Doctor Sexy, alright?). But strangely... that doesn’t seem to matter. After all, what’s a little gay marriage between two completely platonic best friends?
And so, he does what he always does when Cas gets super serious about a situation that is as monumental as this. Or any situation at all, really.
He accepts.
“Okay. Okay, you know what? Sure. Fine. If you think that this can work... if you honestly think we can do this... then screw it. Why not, right? If there’s anyone on this earth that I’d want to get fake gay married to, it would be you, man. So... screw it. Fine. This is probably gonna end in a huge disaster, but at least we’ll go down together, eh?”
He has to mercilessly murder the butterflies that try to bloom within him once more when he sees the brilliant grin that Cas gives him, the man’s bright blue eyes almost glowing with emotion. He’d never say this to anyone, barely allows himself to think it to himself, but he privately thinks that if Cas were a girl, he’d be able to write a hundred poems based solely on the color of those eyes. But he’s not gay, and Cas is indeed a man, so he pushes the thought down and just smiles back, trying not to let Cas’s excitement overtake him.
“Dean, I... thank you. I just... thank you. I will look more into this and we... we can do this. I know we can.”
It sounds insane. It sounds like it couldn’t ever work, couldn’t possibly work. But Cas looks so certain, and Dean has never been able to deny Cas anything. Ever.
So. Guess this is a thing they are doing, then.
Peachy.