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It’s Rotten Work (Not To Me, Not If It’s You)

Summary:

The conclusion Dean comes to is that the only thing stopping him from being in a relationship with Cas is himself. Which is bullshit, he thinks, but he’s also never been that good about allowing himself to do the things that make him happy.

Or,

The one where Dean works through his feelings and decides to embrace the fact he loves Cas wholeheartedly and without regret. A love confession and fluff ensue.

Notes:

Marked Teen for swearing, toxic masculinity, implied abuse, self-hatred, and homophobia.

John Winchester: This is my son, Dean.
Me: You fucked up a perfectly good child, that's what you did. Look at him. He's got anxiety.

Work Text:

Dean Winchester has a problem.

It’s not necessarily so much a new problem as an ongoing issue that has recently become harder to ignore. He is in love with Castiel. Now, this isn’t shocking to anyone who has eyes, including himself, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to feel about it. Because he doesn’t. Know how to feel about it, that is.

He’s pretty confident that angels can experience romantic and sexual attraction—just look at Gabriel and Balthazar. And Cas has stated in the past that he’s "utterly indifferent to sexual orientation," but that doesn’t really mean anything either. He’s never seen Cas try to make a move on anyone. When Dean took him out to get laid, he looked nervous the whole time, and when he did finally have sex, he described it as "educational." That doesn’t really give Dean much to work with.

Not to mention what that would mean for Dean himself. Sure, he’s been having less interest in flirting with waitresses or having one-night stands, but actually taking action on his interest in Cas would ruin his whole straight man, lady-killer vibes. Not that he thinks anyone would mind. Sam was the one who introduced him to the whole idea of differing sexualities in the first place, even if the kid didn’t mean to, info-dumping about one of the gender studies classes he took at Stanford. That conversation seems like such a long time ago now, and to be honest, Dean isn’t sure that his younger brother even remembers having it.

Still, he doubts his brother would be upset if Dean told him he liked boys as well as girls. In fact, Dean’s not entirely convinced himself that Sam only likes women, but that’s another matter. Regardless, Dean thinks it’d be quite hypocritical for Sam to hate him for being bisexual when he’s always talking about respecting people for their differences and giving people second chances. If anything, Dean is pretty sure that Sam would be annoyingly supportive. Sam might even throw a party or plan a wedding for them or something. He knows that Sam is probably way more aware of his feelings for Cas than he is, and his annoying little bitch of a brother would probably just be excited that Dean is making a move for once.

Now that he thinks about it, the only person who would have an issue with the whole idea has been dead for years now. It annoys Dean when he comes to the realization that his father has had such an influence on his life, even to this day. Sam would probably spout some bullshit about trauma and abuse, and while Dean can admit to himself that his brother is right, that doesn't mean that he has to like it. Why the idea of kissing another man sets him on edge so much when his dad isn’t there to yell at him about it is beyond him.

Dean has known that he liked men for a while now, easily since he was a teenager, but after his dad caught him fooling around with another boy when he was 17, he closed himself off from that part of his mind. Now he’s in his 30s, and he still gets nervous when looking at another guy for too long. It pisses him off.

That being said, his attraction to Cas is a whole other can of worms. It’s so easy for Dean to forget that Cas is an angel, especially after all these years, but every once in a while he gets reminded, and it throws him for a loop. Sure, Cas is male-shaped, but he’s technically as tall as the Chrysler Building and is nothing more than a "wavelength of celestial intent." Dean doesn’t think that Cas or any of the angels really have a gender, and that kind of makes him gay by default, no matter what vessel Cas would take. Dean’s also pretty sure that Sam has told him there’s a word for it because some humans feel like that too, but he doesn’t remember what it is now.

So the conclusion Dean comes to—leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the map table and a bottle of beer in hand—is that the only thing stopping him from being in a relationship with Cas is himself. Which is bullshit, he thinks, but he’s also never been that good about allowing himself to do the things that make him happy.

And he’s a coward.

A chicken.

A scared-cat.

A sissy.

A good-for-nothing, yellow-bellied, weak-ass —

Well, that’s a problem for another time.

So, the new problem Dean is presented with is not whether he loves Cas but rather what to do with that information. If he decides to pursue this, he knows that it’s something he will want to do well, even if it’ll take a little bit of time for him to adjust in order to do all the things he thinks about. He’s not sure if it’s better to try and work himself up to it or if he should just try and do it now. He doesn’t want to half-ass any part of this situation, but he can’t decide if letting himself have time to plan will just afford him the opportunity to talk himself out of it.

In the end, the choice is made for him.

"Hello, Dean." Cas’s voice rings out across the room, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says awkwardly, suddenly feeling the need to stand up to greet him, setting his beer down on the table.

"How are you doing?"

"Good, good. Just…" Dean makes an aborted motion with his hand. "Hanging out, drinking beer." He says, as if he hasn’t spent the past—who knows for how long—thinking about kissing the guy. "Hey, I actually wanted to talk to you about something." He continues, a bit impulsively.

"I could tell," Cas replies instead of saying something normal, like 'okay'. "I could feel your longing from all the way across the bunker."

"Right, well…" That's kind of embarrassing, isn’t it? The impulsivity that Dean had earlier is already starting to wear off, and now he’s kind of regretting his decision. It’s too late to try and back out of it now, but, yikes, how is Dean supposed to follow up on a statement like that? "I was just thinking about... I don't know, a lot of things. Sam took this class in college." He transitions abruptly. "It was like, gender studies or something, and I gave him shit for it at the time, but I think I kind of get why he’d be interested in that type of thing. I mean, college was the first opportunity for him to find things out for himself without dad being around."

Dean knows that Cas isn’t the biggest fan of John, but the angel does a good job of not showing any reaction to the mention of his name, and Dean powers through.

"And I remember, in the car ride back from one of the hunts we were on at the time—just the two of us—he talked about it." His gaze keeps wandering around the room, uncharacteristically nervous, unable to settle on one thing for too long as he talks. "And it just, I don’t know, stuck with me, I guess. I mean, dad always said—"

"Your father was not a good man." Cas cuts in, his voice gruff but soft. "And he was wrong."

"Yeah," Dean says quietly. Even after all these years, he has trouble admitting it. "That’s what I was thinking too." He pauses. "And then-" He speaks louder this time. "And then I was thinking, well, he’s been dead for a while now, and it’s not like his ghost is going to come back and haunt me if I do something he doesn’t like so...

"You deserve to do things that make you happy, Dean."

"Exactly!" Dean says, gesturing dramatically in sudden frustration. "I just..." Suddenly, the idea of actually saying 'I love you' is too overwhelming for him. And this is exactly what he was worried about. He hasn’t had enough time to adjust to the idea of pursuing his interest in Cas, and now he can’t commit to the level that he wants to. "I want to do those types of things with you," he says instead.

"We do," Cas says, but he falters. "Or, I thought we did. Spending time with you makes me very happy, Dean. I had hoped that you would feel the same spending time with me, but if that’s not the case then—"

"No! I mean, yes. That's not what I meant."

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for him to clarify.

"I mean, I want to do things with you that my dad would've never approved of because you’re a man. Or, not really a man, but, like, romantic things." Dean isn’t sure why that’s easier for him to say that than 'I love you', but he’s going to take what he can get. "I want to do romantic things with you. I want to go on dumb dates and hold your hand and cuddle on the couch during movie night. I want to follow you around the farmer's market even though I don't care about it because it makes you happy. And give you flowers, plant you a garden, and listen to you tell me useless facts about animals." His words tumble over themselves in an attempt to escape his mouth, falling faster and faster out from between his lips because he’s afraid that once he stops talking he’ll never be able to say anything like this again. It’s important to him that Cas knows everything he thinks about the two of them, and he needs to say it before it settles back into his lungs, choking him with the weight of untold desires. "I want to share my bed with you even though you don't sleep, cook you breakfast even though you don't eat, and annoy Sam with how much I talk about you because I can’t get you off my mind. And—"

"Dean." Cas cuts him off, crowding into his space and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Breathe."

"Right." He takes a breath and then another, trying to calm the frenzy of panic beneath his skin, pulsing in his veins. "I just—I need you to know."

Cas smiles at him, and it’s one of the best things he’s seen. "I do know." He promises.

"And do you? Want that with me?" Dean asks, suddenly unable to handle the idea of spilling something so special to him with the possibility of rejection on the horizon.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says, and the breath is knocked out of his lungs again.

Dean stares at him, equally bewildered and envious. It's not fair, he thinks, that he has to have such trouble getting those words out from between his teeth when Cas can say them casually like they mean nothing at all. And not that Cas says it in any type of dismissive way. Cas says it with such meaning and emphasis that Dean would have to be a fool not to realize that he means it. But he hates that he struggles to say it back because he wants to—it’s right on the tip of his tongue— but it freezes there, sliding right back down and lodging itself in his throat. His eyes would water, but there’s not actually anything stuck in his throat—just an unknown emotion of an impossible set of words, which melts back down to nothing.

"I know that you love me too," Cas reassures, and Dean realizes that because Cas knows him so well, he could probably read the impending panic that had splashed across his face.

"I want to say it." Dean insists, his voice shaky. "I should be able to say it. It’s not fair to you that I don’t say it." He pauses. "It’s not fair to me that I can’t."

"No," Cas agrees. "It’s not. But you will get there. And it will be even more special when you do."

Dean has to turn away, taking a moment to steel himself, so he doesn’t cry.

“It’s rotten work, loving me.” He says as if trying to convince Cas to change his mind before it’s too late.

“Not to me,” Cas says. “Not if it’s you.” He looks at Dean appraisingly. “I would like to kiss you if you're amenable.”

Dean gives a wet laugh. “Oh, I’m amenable, all right.” He replies, teasing the angel’s choice of words.

When they kiss, it's not like movies lead you to believe. There are no fireworks, swells of music, or explosions of stars. But it’s better. Because it’s warm and comforting, and it feels like coming home. And when they pull away, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Dean’s shoulder, because nothing bad has happened. The sky didn’t fall, the world didn’t crumble, and the ghost of his dead dad didn’t come back to drag him to hell. Dean smiles. Suddenly, this is all that he wants to do with his time.

I love him,  Dean thinks earnestly, and Cas smiles back at him.

"I love you too, Dean," he replies. "But you should rest," He says gently, and Dean is suddenly reminded of the state of panic he had worked himself into just a few minutes ago, the exhaustion weighing heavily down on him.

"No fair," Dean whines, even as he yawns. "I want to do more of this." He gestures lazily between the two of them.

Cas tilts his head, seemingly in thought. "I do seem to recall something about you sharing your bed with me, even though I don’t sleep."

"Well, in that case..." Dean smirks, and Cas allows him to lead the way through the halls of the bunker to his room. "Make yourself at home." He opens the door and flicks on the light. "What’s mine is yours, or whatever."

When he says things like that, Cas wonders how Dean doesn’t understand that he professes his love for him constantly, even without saying the words 'I love you'. Regardless, he lets himself into Dean’s dresser, digging through the drawers until he finds something less stuffy to wear. His trenchcoat and button-up shirt get traded for a soft, worn Led Zeppelin t-shirt whose color has faded with time. The idea of pants is altogether abandoned as Cas drops his dress pants on the floor with the rest of his clothes and pushes the haphazard pile out of the way with his foot. Dean comes out of the bathroom, his nightly routine finished, and gives Cas a once-over.

"Hot." He says casually, as if Cas doesn’t flush at the praise. "We’ll have to rearrange some things if you’re going to be crashing in here full-time." He glances around the room as if mentally mapping out ways to rearrange the furniture. "I’ll need to go dig out that second nightstand," he mumbles to himself. "Where did I put it? And the lamp, of course. And another desk and chair, and anything from his room, and...

"Dean." Cas draws him back to the present. "I will gladly help you set up this room to accommodate both of us. In the morning."

"Right, yeah." He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, like he didn’t zone out trying to plan their future and totally miss that Cas had turned the overhead light off.

"Sleep, Dean," Cas says, leading him over to the bed and crawling in next to him, the warm glow from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows around the room. "I will be here in the morning."

"You better be," Dean grumbles, only half joking, and Cas settles himself on top of Dean’s chest, his weight a reassuring reminder of his presence. "G’night, babe."

"Sleep well, Dean."