Fic: Loving the Fall (7/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
For someone who used to sleep in a strange bed every other night, Dean never thought he’d get to where he missed ‘his’ bed so much. The couch left a fucking lot to be desired. The foremost of which was the warm, willing body beside him.
Castiel had turned in first, bidding them all farewell after the movie and heading toward the stairs. He looked tired, and he was quiet even for him, and Dean had to fight every instinct in him not to jump up and check Castiel for fever. Was he turning in early because he wasn’t feeling well? They couldn’t count on Castiel to tell them (though he had sworn to be more forthcoming about feeling strange after Dean read him the riot act last time).
Instead, all Dean did was wave him a nonchalant goodnight and stayed behind, listening to Sam, Zoë, and Bobby recount what memories they had to share of previous Christmases. Needless to say, Zoë did most of the talking.
Eventually, everyone else went up to bed, and Dean turned off the living room light and lay down on the couch. It wasn’t long enough, so he had to fold his legs to fit. And it was lumpy in weird places he never noticed when he was just sitting on it. The cushion he was using for a pillow wasn’t comfortable no matter how many times Dean pounded at it with his fist. And the blanket he tucked around himself wasn’t very warm at all. Not after he’d grown used to Cas, who gravitated toward Dean in the night to snuggle against his body heat.
Basically, it sucked in surround sound.
And Sam was right… all Dean had to do to put things back to rights was nut up and tell Bobby. But the mere thought was enough to make Dean take to the couch with a silent scowl.
Honestly, he’d meant for Bobby to know before now, but everything had been so fucking normal. He didn’t want to ruin that, because what if once he told Bobby everything went to hell? Sam deserved a nice, normal Christmas for once. What right did he have to shove some big gay freak-out right in the middle with Bobby raging and storming out in disgust? Because Dean really had no idea how Bobby would take the news. As far as he knew, Bobby had never had any gay friends, and that had to say something not good about Dean’s prospects, didn’t it?
It was terrible, but Dean was starting to resent Bobby ever coming. Things had been so good before, and now he was sleeping on the fucking couch like a misbehaving husband.
Dean resolved, for the hundredth time, to tell Bobby. Soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Then he threw himself into sleeping like it was a prize fight.
He had barely started to drift off when the night was filled with screaming. Dean bolted from the couch and was racing up the stairs before he’d even registered a name amid the yelling that shattered the night. “Deeeean!”
Dean had farther to go than everyone else… he was the last one at the master bedroom door. The house was filled with people with hunters’ instincts; they went from sleeping to fighting in five seconds flat. At the threshold to the bedroom, Sam was holding Bobby back, the older hunter clearly trying to get inside the room where the screaming was coming from. Zoë was standing back, looking tiny and scared. She didn’t like screaming. Tortured screaming especially.
Dean hurried toward the group, ignoring Bobby’s entreaties for an explanation while Sam kept Bobby at bay. “Stay here, Bobby, you can’t go in… Cas’ll attack anyone but Dean.”
The hunter squawked, and a hand landed on Dean’s shoulder as if to haul him back, but Dean shrugged it off and rushed into the bedroom.
Castiel was sitting up in bed, bathed in moonlight from the open curtains. The pale light colored Cas in silvered shades of gray and white. He was panting, eyes wide and unfocused. He’d stopped yelling, but his body was shaking, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.
Dean all but dove for the bed, reaching for Castiel in an instant. “Cas!? Hey, Cas… it’s me. It’s Dean.”
In a split second, Castiel reached out and grabbed him in a desperate hold. Dean knew it was coming. He met the pull with pull. He drew Cas to him and sat holding the ex-angel to his chest while Castiel clung to him, his grip hard enough to hurt. Fingers dug into his back, sure to leave bruises, but Dean didn’t say anything. He held Castiel tight, their bodies a knot tied by limbs.
“Dean… you were…” Castiel croaked.
“Not in Hell… I’m right here, man. It’s okay… we’re all right…”
Dean faintly heard Sam herding Bobby back to the guest room, amid pissy complaints and grumpy grousing. He’d get something out of Sam; Bobby wouldn’t give up without some kind of explanation. Sam would tell him the minimum that he had to in order to keep Bobby from seeking the truth from the horse’s mouth. Question was, what would constitute ‘minimum’ to placate Bobby Singer?
Dean tried not to think about that as he rubbed his hand up and down Castiel’s back, grimacing at the fact that the shirt that was damp with sweat. He couldn’t do anything about that right now. Castiel’s nightmares were more flashback than dream, and it could take a while for him to come back to reality. Dean got that more than he cared to… that first year after the pit, he’d had flashback nightmares of his own. Every so often, they still plagued his sleep. His go-to had been booze, for all the good that had done. He’d be damned if Castiel ever saw reason to turn to liquor. Once, in another life, he’d seen a Castiel who’d relied on drinking and drugs to handle being human, and Dean would not let that happen to his Cas.
So Dean sat in the dark with the ex-angel, getting the stuffing hugged out of him without complaint.
Slowly, Castiel’s breathing returned to normal.
“You back?” Dean asked gently.
Castiel loosened his hold and pulled away reluctantly. “Yes… I… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Dean knew the nightmares were on his account, be they of his rescue from Hell or Castiel’s torture at the hands of his own brethren for rebelling. All of it, at the core, was Dean’s fault. He studied Castiel closely (the closest he’d been to him all day). He noted the haggard look about him and frowned. “You didn’t sleep for shit last night, did you?”
Castiel shied. “You couldn’t be here. It’s fine. I understand.”
And that right there, that made Dean feel like the biggest asshole in the continental United States. Shit, he knew Castiel didn’t sleep well without him nearby, but Dean was worried about what Bobby would think, so Castiel was left to nightmare-riddled sleep. Dean was worried about upsetting Bobby, so Castiel woke screaming in a cold sweat.
“You know what, fuck this,” Dean snarled and rolled out of bed. Castiel followed him silently with his eyes as Dean went to the dresser and fished out a clean shirt. “Here… that shirt’s soaked through.”
Castiel quietly peeled out of his wet shirt and put on the fresh one Dean tossed him. The damp shirt was thrown to the floor, then Castiel shuffled down to lie back down again. “I apologize for waking everyone… goodnight.”
“Night, Cas,” Dean returned. Then he went back to the bed and crawled under the covers, invading Castiel’s personal space in a heartbeat.
Castiel craned to look over his shoulder at him. “Dean? What…?”
Dean spooned up behind Castiel, one arm drawing Castiel’s body tight against him, and Dean chided, “Shut up, Cas… get some sleep.”
There was a pregnant pause. “What about Bobby?”
“Don’t worry about Bobby. Just go to sleep.” He ended the conversation with a soft kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck. His skin tasted sweat-salty… Dean just wished it had been sweat from sex instead of violent nightmares.
It was like Castiel just melted. He sighed, tension bleeding out of his body, and he pressed back against Dean. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.
The rhythm of his breathing put Dean to sleep not long after.
******************
Dean had the Friday before the Christmas weekend off, but he still woke up early. The first things that registered were the smell of Castiel’s hair (since his nose was practically buried in it) and the warm solidity of the other man’s body along the length of his own. Dean inhaled long and deep, letting a tiny smile through as he just basked in being back. Castiel was everywhere, and it was awesome.
Castiel was sound asleep, a heavy, wonderful weight in his arms. It was the complete opposite of how Dean had found him last night when he came rushing into the room in the wake of screams.
He couldn’t do that to Cas another night. He had to tell Bobby, and he had to tell him today. The very thought set Dean’s heart to racing and his palms to sweating, but this wasn’t about sparing Dean discomfort. This was about taking care of Cas, and when thrust into the role of caretaker, Dean rose to the challenge like the world depended on it.
There were times when it had.
Before his resolve weakened, before he had too much time to think, Dean carefully untangled himself from Castiel, slipped out of bed, and headed downstairs.
He wasn’t surprised to find Bobby in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. Like he was just waiting for Dean. He looked up when Dean shuffled in and gave the younger man a nod to serve as a ‘good morning’.
“How’s Castiel?”
Trust Bobby to get right to the point.
“Fine… Sam tell you what that was all about?” Dean went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He avoided looking at Bobby… he almost convinced himself it made this easier.
“A bit… said he has nightmares.”
Dean snorted. “‘Nightmares’ is kind of putting it mildly.” Dean took in slow breath. “They’re not usually that bad, though. We know how to manage them, I mean.” Dean’s heart was starting to hammer. He didn’t know what he would do if this was the moment that his relationship with Bobby ended. Could years of being family just end? Dean just had no clue… he might be about to make a choice between Bobby and Castiel.
And he was going to choose Castiel, come what may. Even if that meant losing Bobby as a part of his life. It was the only choice, so there was no doubt, but it was still filling Dean with dread.
“That so?” Bobby returned evenly.
Dean turned to face Bobby, but found he could barely look at him. He’d like to sit down, but joining Bobby at the table would put them much too close. Dean needed distance. Room to get away.
“He doesn’t have bad ones like that when I sleep with him.” Dean inhaled. “Which I do.” Dean gulped. “Every night.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Pretty self-sacrificing of you.”
The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife. It could be left at that and maybe still seem not-quite-gay. Kind of unusual and hopelessly entangled, but when hadn’t that defined Winchester? Dean could skirt this one again, if he played his cards right. He could still be totally straight in Bobby’s eyes.
Or he could finally spit it out, let Bobby know in no uncertain terms what was going on.
“We don’t just sleep, you know,” Dean blurted gracelessly.
You could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen.
The sound of Bobby’s chair scraping across the floor as he stood made Dean jump. He clutched his coffee cup tightly as Bobby walked across the room, heading right for Dean. He kept his eyes locked on his white knuckles even when Bobby stopped barely a foot from Dean. He couldn’t take seeing revulsion or rejection in Bobby’s eyes… so he wouldn’t look.
He jerked when he felt Bobby’s hand land heavy on his shoulder.
“Dean…”
Dean hazarded a glance up into Bobby’s eyes. The old hunter scrutinized him at length, peering hard at him, then he leaned in slightly. “If that’s true, then why the hell have you been sleeping on the couch?”
“Uh, well, um… I…” Dean stammered.
Bobby took Dean’s cup from him, set it on the counter, then clasped both sides of Dean’s neck with his meaty hands. It felt slightly entrapping, but Dean remained still and waited, not even daring to breathe as he watched Bobby warily.
“Son… who you love don’t change me loving you.”
Dean would forever deny the undignified croak that came out of his mouth. “You… you mean that, Bobby?”
Bobby ventured a smile. “I’m kind of offended you have to ask.” The hands on Dean’s neck squeezed softly. That, more than anything, told Dean that Bobby meant it… that things were going to be okay. Because Bobby could lie with the best of them, like any hunter, but the touch was his tell. It was that fatherly, affectionate gesture reserved for the two men who’d become surrogate sons to him. It held no room for disgust or disownment.
Bobby gave Dean the hairy eye. “You’re an idjit, you know that?”
Dean let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah… Sam keeps reminding me.” Dean searched Bobby’s eyes. “So... you’re okay with this?”
“Of course I am, boy.”
Dean wasn’t really sure who started it, but in the next instant they were balled up in a hug. Dean let out a huge, shuddering breath into Bobby’s shoulder. Days of worry just vanished. “Thank you, Bobby.”
Bobby gave him a solid pound on the back, because Dean might be dating another man, but he was still one himself. “Now, you think you can actually start enjoying this holiday?”
Dean laughed. “Yeah… I think I can do that.”
“Good,” Bobby pulled out of the hug, “because I was getting sick of broody Dean. He’s a real pain in the ass.”
When Bobby went back to the table, Dean didn’t hesitate to reclaim his cup and join him. Once seated, he heaved out a huge sigh, so fucking grateful it was out there, Bobby knew, and Bobby was still there.
“Seriously, Dean,” Bobby said lowly, “you actually thought I’d… what… disown you for being with Cas?”
Dean offered a sheepish shrug. “I really didn’t know. I had no clue how you’d react. We never had that hypothetical conversation before. I mean, there was never a reason for it. Because I’m not gay, I just… I don’t know. Cas is different… the exception.”
“Hmmm…” Bobby nodded absently, taking a sip of coffee before he said, “A wise woman once told me she figured everyone, deep-down, was at least two percent gay. Just most never meet a person who falls into that two percent.”
Dean had never heard that theory before, but it rang so very true for him. Because Dean didn’t suddenly start noticing hot guys and feel an urgent need to catch up on all the seasons of Queer as Folk. He still appreciated a sexy woman walking by on the street… he just happened to be totally turned on by one former angel with permanent sex hair and no sense of personal space.
“Who was the woman that said that?” Dean asked.
“My wife.”
Dean’s eyes widened. Bobby smiled thinly, a smile that looked just as much broken as nostalgic, then he caught the stunned look on Dean’s face. That turned his bittersweet smile to one of amusement. “Don’t look so shocked.” Bobby cocked his head as he regarded Dean. “He make you happy?”
The point-blank question made Dean sit back a little. Dean didn’t usually respond well to blunt questions about his feelings. But Bobby deserved an honest answer. “Yeah.”
“Good… that’s all I really want for you. And for Sam.” Bobby cast a warm look Dean’s way. “I’m proud of you, boy.”
It was Dean’s turn to tilt his head in silent question.
“Let’s just say I sort of figured you and the angel had a thing,” Bobby answered slyly.
“You’ve got to be kidding… when did you guess?” Dean tried to remember if he’d let himself slip up at any point since Bobby got to the house. Did he touch without thinking, stare without knowing? What tipped Bobby off?
“When you got the bright idea to say yes to Michael.”
“That was years ago!” Dean squawked indignantly. “And we weren’t even together then!”
“Well, you didn’t know you were, I’ll grant you that. Watching that angel of yours told a different story. Never saw him look so scary as when he thought you were giving up. Never really saw the whole ‘badass warrior of God’ thing until he thought he was losing you.”
Dean remembered the pounding he took in a dark alley for that.
“I knew you two had something then,” Bobby continued, “but I never imagined you’d pull your head out of your ass and go for it. That’s what I mean when I say I’m proud of you.”
Dean shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d been stressing out so much about how Bobby would react to the news. Seemed the old hunter was on board that train even before Dean was.
Seemed even a seasoned supernatural hunter like Dean Winchester could still be surprised now and again.
Next
For someone who used to sleep in a strange bed every other night, Dean never thought he’d get to where he missed ‘his’ bed so much. The couch left a fucking lot to be desired. The foremost of which was the warm, willing body beside him.
Castiel had turned in first, bidding them all farewell after the movie and heading toward the stairs. He looked tired, and he was quiet even for him, and Dean had to fight every instinct in him not to jump up and check Castiel for fever. Was he turning in early because he wasn’t feeling well? They couldn’t count on Castiel to tell them (though he had sworn to be more forthcoming about feeling strange after Dean read him the riot act last time).
Instead, all Dean did was wave him a nonchalant goodnight and stayed behind, listening to Sam, Zoë, and Bobby recount what memories they had to share of previous Christmases. Needless to say, Zoë did most of the talking.
Eventually, everyone else went up to bed, and Dean turned off the living room light and lay down on the couch. It wasn’t long enough, so he had to fold his legs to fit. And it was lumpy in weird places he never noticed when he was just sitting on it. The cushion he was using for a pillow wasn’t comfortable no matter how many times Dean pounded at it with his fist. And the blanket he tucked around himself wasn’t very warm at all. Not after he’d grown used to Cas, who gravitated toward Dean in the night to snuggle against his body heat.
Basically, it sucked in surround sound.
And Sam was right… all Dean had to do to put things back to rights was nut up and tell Bobby. But the mere thought was enough to make Dean take to the couch with a silent scowl.
Honestly, he’d meant for Bobby to know before now, but everything had been so fucking normal. He didn’t want to ruin that, because what if once he told Bobby everything went to hell? Sam deserved a nice, normal Christmas for once. What right did he have to shove some big gay freak-out right in the middle with Bobby raging and storming out in disgust? Because Dean really had no idea how Bobby would take the news. As far as he knew, Bobby had never had any gay friends, and that had to say something not good about Dean’s prospects, didn’t it?
It was terrible, but Dean was starting to resent Bobby ever coming. Things had been so good before, and now he was sleeping on the fucking couch like a misbehaving husband.
Dean resolved, for the hundredth time, to tell Bobby. Soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Then he threw himself into sleeping like it was a prize fight.
He had barely started to drift off when the night was filled with screaming. Dean bolted from the couch and was racing up the stairs before he’d even registered a name amid the yelling that shattered the night. “Deeeean!”
Dean had farther to go than everyone else… he was the last one at the master bedroom door. The house was filled with people with hunters’ instincts; they went from sleeping to fighting in five seconds flat. At the threshold to the bedroom, Sam was holding Bobby back, the older hunter clearly trying to get inside the room where the screaming was coming from. Zoë was standing back, looking tiny and scared. She didn’t like screaming. Tortured screaming especially.
Dean hurried toward the group, ignoring Bobby’s entreaties for an explanation while Sam kept Bobby at bay. “Stay here, Bobby, you can’t go in… Cas’ll attack anyone but Dean.”
The hunter squawked, and a hand landed on Dean’s shoulder as if to haul him back, but Dean shrugged it off and rushed into the bedroom.
Castiel was sitting up in bed, bathed in moonlight from the open curtains. The pale light colored Cas in silvered shades of gray and white. He was panting, eyes wide and unfocused. He’d stopped yelling, but his body was shaking, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.
Dean all but dove for the bed, reaching for Castiel in an instant. “Cas!? Hey, Cas… it’s me. It’s Dean.”
In a split second, Castiel reached out and grabbed him in a desperate hold. Dean knew it was coming. He met the pull with pull. He drew Cas to him and sat holding the ex-angel to his chest while Castiel clung to him, his grip hard enough to hurt. Fingers dug into his back, sure to leave bruises, but Dean didn’t say anything. He held Castiel tight, their bodies a knot tied by limbs.
“Dean… you were…” Castiel croaked.
“Not in Hell… I’m right here, man. It’s okay… we’re all right…”
Dean faintly heard Sam herding Bobby back to the guest room, amid pissy complaints and grumpy grousing. He’d get something out of Sam; Bobby wouldn’t give up without some kind of explanation. Sam would tell him the minimum that he had to in order to keep Bobby from seeking the truth from the horse’s mouth. Question was, what would constitute ‘minimum’ to placate Bobby Singer?
Dean tried not to think about that as he rubbed his hand up and down Castiel’s back, grimacing at the fact that the shirt that was damp with sweat. He couldn’t do anything about that right now. Castiel’s nightmares were more flashback than dream, and it could take a while for him to come back to reality. Dean got that more than he cared to… that first year after the pit, he’d had flashback nightmares of his own. Every so often, they still plagued his sleep. His go-to had been booze, for all the good that had done. He’d be damned if Castiel ever saw reason to turn to liquor. Once, in another life, he’d seen a Castiel who’d relied on drinking and drugs to handle being human, and Dean would not let that happen to his Cas.
So Dean sat in the dark with the ex-angel, getting the stuffing hugged out of him without complaint.
Slowly, Castiel’s breathing returned to normal.
“You back?” Dean asked gently.
Castiel loosened his hold and pulled away reluctantly. “Yes… I… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Dean knew the nightmares were on his account, be they of his rescue from Hell or Castiel’s torture at the hands of his own brethren for rebelling. All of it, at the core, was Dean’s fault. He studied Castiel closely (the closest he’d been to him all day). He noted the haggard look about him and frowned. “You didn’t sleep for shit last night, did you?”
Castiel shied. “You couldn’t be here. It’s fine. I understand.”
And that right there, that made Dean feel like the biggest asshole in the continental United States. Shit, he knew Castiel didn’t sleep well without him nearby, but Dean was worried about what Bobby would think, so Castiel was left to nightmare-riddled sleep. Dean was worried about upsetting Bobby, so Castiel woke screaming in a cold sweat.
“You know what, fuck this,” Dean snarled and rolled out of bed. Castiel followed him silently with his eyes as Dean went to the dresser and fished out a clean shirt. “Here… that shirt’s soaked through.”
Castiel quietly peeled out of his wet shirt and put on the fresh one Dean tossed him. The damp shirt was thrown to the floor, then Castiel shuffled down to lie back down again. “I apologize for waking everyone… goodnight.”
“Night, Cas,” Dean returned. Then he went back to the bed and crawled under the covers, invading Castiel’s personal space in a heartbeat.
Castiel craned to look over his shoulder at him. “Dean? What…?”
Dean spooned up behind Castiel, one arm drawing Castiel’s body tight against him, and Dean chided, “Shut up, Cas… get some sleep.”
There was a pregnant pause. “What about Bobby?”
“Don’t worry about Bobby. Just go to sleep.” He ended the conversation with a soft kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck. His skin tasted sweat-salty… Dean just wished it had been sweat from sex instead of violent nightmares.
It was like Castiel just melted. He sighed, tension bleeding out of his body, and he pressed back against Dean. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.
The rhythm of his breathing put Dean to sleep not long after.
******************
Dean had the Friday before the Christmas weekend off, but he still woke up early. The first things that registered were the smell of Castiel’s hair (since his nose was practically buried in it) and the warm solidity of the other man’s body along the length of his own. Dean inhaled long and deep, letting a tiny smile through as he just basked in being back. Castiel was everywhere, and it was awesome.
Castiel was sound asleep, a heavy, wonderful weight in his arms. It was the complete opposite of how Dean had found him last night when he came rushing into the room in the wake of screams.
He couldn’t do that to Cas another night. He had to tell Bobby, and he had to tell him today. The very thought set Dean’s heart to racing and his palms to sweating, but this wasn’t about sparing Dean discomfort. This was about taking care of Cas, and when thrust into the role of caretaker, Dean rose to the challenge like the world depended on it.
There were times when it had.
Before his resolve weakened, before he had too much time to think, Dean carefully untangled himself from Castiel, slipped out of bed, and headed downstairs.
He wasn’t surprised to find Bobby in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. Like he was just waiting for Dean. He looked up when Dean shuffled in and gave the younger man a nod to serve as a ‘good morning’.
“How’s Castiel?”
Trust Bobby to get right to the point.
“Fine… Sam tell you what that was all about?” Dean went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He avoided looking at Bobby… he almost convinced himself it made this easier.
“A bit… said he has nightmares.”
Dean snorted. “‘Nightmares’ is kind of putting it mildly.” Dean took in slow breath. “They’re not usually that bad, though. We know how to manage them, I mean.” Dean’s heart was starting to hammer. He didn’t know what he would do if this was the moment that his relationship with Bobby ended. Could years of being family just end? Dean just had no clue… he might be about to make a choice between Bobby and Castiel.
And he was going to choose Castiel, come what may. Even if that meant losing Bobby as a part of his life. It was the only choice, so there was no doubt, but it was still filling Dean with dread.
“That so?” Bobby returned evenly.
Dean turned to face Bobby, but found he could barely look at him. He’d like to sit down, but joining Bobby at the table would put them much too close. Dean needed distance. Room to get away.
“He doesn’t have bad ones like that when I sleep with him.” Dean inhaled. “Which I do.” Dean gulped. “Every night.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Pretty self-sacrificing of you.”
The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife. It could be left at that and maybe still seem not-quite-gay. Kind of unusual and hopelessly entangled, but when hadn’t that defined Winchester? Dean could skirt this one again, if he played his cards right. He could still be totally straight in Bobby’s eyes.
Or he could finally spit it out, let Bobby know in no uncertain terms what was going on.
“We don’t just sleep, you know,” Dean blurted gracelessly.
You could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen.
The sound of Bobby’s chair scraping across the floor as he stood made Dean jump. He clutched his coffee cup tightly as Bobby walked across the room, heading right for Dean. He kept his eyes locked on his white knuckles even when Bobby stopped barely a foot from Dean. He couldn’t take seeing revulsion or rejection in Bobby’s eyes… so he wouldn’t look.
He jerked when he felt Bobby’s hand land heavy on his shoulder.
“Dean…”
Dean hazarded a glance up into Bobby’s eyes. The old hunter scrutinized him at length, peering hard at him, then he leaned in slightly. “If that’s true, then why the hell have you been sleeping on the couch?”
“Uh, well, um… I…” Dean stammered.
Bobby took Dean’s cup from him, set it on the counter, then clasped both sides of Dean’s neck with his meaty hands. It felt slightly entrapping, but Dean remained still and waited, not even daring to breathe as he watched Bobby warily.
“Son… who you love don’t change me loving you.”
Dean would forever deny the undignified croak that came out of his mouth. “You… you mean that, Bobby?”
Bobby ventured a smile. “I’m kind of offended you have to ask.” The hands on Dean’s neck squeezed softly. That, more than anything, told Dean that Bobby meant it… that things were going to be okay. Because Bobby could lie with the best of them, like any hunter, but the touch was his tell. It was that fatherly, affectionate gesture reserved for the two men who’d become surrogate sons to him. It held no room for disgust or disownment.
Bobby gave Dean the hairy eye. “You’re an idjit, you know that?”
Dean let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah… Sam keeps reminding me.” Dean searched Bobby’s eyes. “So... you’re okay with this?”
“Of course I am, boy.”
Dean wasn’t really sure who started it, but in the next instant they were balled up in a hug. Dean let out a huge, shuddering breath into Bobby’s shoulder. Days of worry just vanished. “Thank you, Bobby.”
Bobby gave him a solid pound on the back, because Dean might be dating another man, but he was still one himself. “Now, you think you can actually start enjoying this holiday?”
Dean laughed. “Yeah… I think I can do that.”
“Good,” Bobby pulled out of the hug, “because I was getting sick of broody Dean. He’s a real pain in the ass.”
When Bobby went back to the table, Dean didn’t hesitate to reclaim his cup and join him. Once seated, he heaved out a huge sigh, so fucking grateful it was out there, Bobby knew, and Bobby was still there.
“Seriously, Dean,” Bobby said lowly, “you actually thought I’d… what… disown you for being with Cas?”
Dean offered a sheepish shrug. “I really didn’t know. I had no clue how you’d react. We never had that hypothetical conversation before. I mean, there was never a reason for it. Because I’m not gay, I just… I don’t know. Cas is different… the exception.”
“Hmmm…” Bobby nodded absently, taking a sip of coffee before he said, “A wise woman once told me she figured everyone, deep-down, was at least two percent gay. Just most never meet a person who falls into that two percent.”
Dean had never heard that theory before, but it rang so very true for him. Because Dean didn’t suddenly start noticing hot guys and feel an urgent need to catch up on all the seasons of Queer as Folk. He still appreciated a sexy woman walking by on the street… he just happened to be totally turned on by one former angel with permanent sex hair and no sense of personal space.
“Who was the woman that said that?” Dean asked.
“My wife.”
Dean’s eyes widened. Bobby smiled thinly, a smile that looked just as much broken as nostalgic, then he caught the stunned look on Dean’s face. That turned his bittersweet smile to one of amusement. “Don’t look so shocked.” Bobby cocked his head as he regarded Dean. “He make you happy?”
The point-blank question made Dean sit back a little. Dean didn’t usually respond well to blunt questions about his feelings. But Bobby deserved an honest answer. “Yeah.”
“Good… that’s all I really want for you. And for Sam.” Bobby cast a warm look Dean’s way. “I’m proud of you, boy.”
It was Dean’s turn to tilt his head in silent question.
“Let’s just say I sort of figured you and the angel had a thing,” Bobby answered slyly.
“You’ve got to be kidding… when did you guess?” Dean tried to remember if he’d let himself slip up at any point since Bobby got to the house. Did he touch without thinking, stare without knowing? What tipped Bobby off?
“When you got the bright idea to say yes to Michael.”
“That was years ago!” Dean squawked indignantly. “And we weren’t even together then!”
“Well, you didn’t know you were, I’ll grant you that. Watching that angel of yours told a different story. Never saw him look so scary as when he thought you were giving up. Never really saw the whole ‘badass warrior of God’ thing until he thought he was losing you.”
Dean remembered the pounding he took in a dark alley for that.
“I knew you two had something then,” Bobby continued, “but I never imagined you’d pull your head out of your ass and go for it. That’s what I mean when I say I’m proud of you.”
Dean shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d been stressing out so much about how Bobby would react to the news. Seemed the old hunter was on board that train even before Dean was.
Seemed even a seasoned supernatural hunter like Dean Winchester could still be surprised now and again.
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