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Dean couldn’t be happier.
He’s standing at the counter, an apron tied around his waist covered in flour, with his hands stuck in dough. Behind him, his little boy gurgles as his sister plays with him. “Come on Jack,” he hears Claire say, “We don’t bite Batman…” His phone, nearby and playing music, switches over from Metallica to classic Kansas, and the song washes over him. Dean doesn’t know how long it’s been since a commercial interrupted his playlist, ruining the momentum. It all couldn’t be more perfect.
‘Then why am I feeling off?’
Before Dean could finish his thought, a warm pair of arms slides around his waist, squeezing him from behind. Jack squeals in delight over the melancholic chorus of ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’, but it all filters away as his husband’s voice whispers behind him.
“Pie?” Cas chuckles, “What’s the occasion?”
Dean smiles, pushing away and deeper into Cas’s embrace. He wipes his hands on his apron and turns, pressing their chests together. His grin fades into a frown, however, after taking a good look at Cas’s face, and the myriad of soot stains swept across it. After a quick whiff, Dean gags and pushes the other man away – to Cas’s delight.
“What did I tell you about doing that?” Dean says, “If I wanted to smell like smoke and sweat I’d just go jogging with a cigarette!”
“But babe,” Cas keeps laughing, “you look cute when you’re disgusted. Besides,” he takes a finger and wipes it across Dean’s own brow, white flour clinging to it, “I’m not the only one who needs a good cleaning.” He blushes at Cas’s suggestive smirk and eyebrow wiggle.
“Gross,” Claire interrupts, “can you please do that somewhere else away from impressionable children?”
Dean keeps Cas away at an arm’s length, and uses his other hand to point towards an adjoining hallway. “Go,” he orders, “Take a shower.”
“Fine,” Cas sighs. Dean starts to return to his pie, only to pause as his husband still seems reluctant to move. “But,” he continues, “Can you at least tell me why you’re making pie?”
“Who says I need reason to make pie?” Dean asks innocently.
“You don’t,” Cas admits, “if it were any flavor besides blueberry. You only make them when a day is…” he holds up his fingers, “special.”
‘Damn,’ Dean thinks, glancing at the container of blueberries nearby, ‘Am I that predictable?’
“You are,” Cas answers for him, smirking, “Now, care to tell me what we’re celebrating?”
“It’s… nothing –“
“It’s not nothing, Dean –“
“Fine,” Dean says, sagging against the counter, “It’s our… anniversary.”
Cas blinks, looking towards the nearby calendar in confusion. “Dean, are you okay? Our anniversary isn’t for another two months –“
“No, not our anniversary anniversary,” Dean clarifies, “I mean the day we… met.” It’s right there on the calendar, surrounded by stars and little fires. He’s surprised Cas didn’t realize it sooner, but then again he avoids looking at it more than necessary. Balthazar was the chosen model for that month, and the suggestive posing with the hose made it awkward for him to meet their friend’s eyes.
Dean understands though. He spends most of the time in the calendar’s presence, and forced to deal with Cas’s co-workers’ attempts at ‘blue steel’. The only month they didn’t mind was July – even if Cas was reprimanded every time for being late to his shift.
“Oh,” Cas says, smile blooming, “That anniversary.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, “That one. Did you forget?”
“Hard to forget something like that,” Cas chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck, “But if I did… it’s not like you’ve got anything else planned besides pie, right?”
Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to his pie. “Shower. Now.”
“Of course,” Cas says, leaning forward one last time to drop a kiss on his cheek, “I won’t be too long.” He slips out, his footsteps fading away, leaving Dean with their kids and his pie. His attention doesn’t stay on that for long, either, letting muscle memory work through the recipe while his mind goes back a decade.
September 18th was more than just the day Dean and Cas met. On that day the greatest adventure Dean has ever known began, and in the most dangerous ways – with his almost-death.
He’d been undercover for the last four months, infiltrating a gang, and was very close to taking the entire operation down. Earning the trust of one of the lieutenants was the toughest part, and still left Dean with feelings of regret to this day. But it paid off – almost.
Alistair allowed Dean to tag along as back up for a meeting with some suppliers in the warehouse district. He followed every procedure and kept his tracks clean and wires hidden. The only thing he wasn’t prepared for were the DEA storming the place. A fight broke out, and along the way someone tipped over an abandoned tank of gasoline.
The explosion nearly deafened him. When he came to, he could barely see past all the smoke. There were gang members and agents scrambling everywhere, fleeing before the building collapsed. Dean could barely walk, and all his strength he put into calling for help. The only one who could was Alistair, but the blast tore through Dean’s shirt, and his cover was blown. He still remembers the man’s yellow teeth, harshly spitting out the words ‘traitor’ ‘rat’ and ‘die’ before he disappeared into the smoke.
It was hard to stay conscious, with Dean coughing non-stop and his head dizzy. Before he passed out, the last thing he heard was a deep voice and the word ‘saved’.
Next thing he knew, he was waking up in an all-white room. His first thought was that he’d died and gone to Heaven, but the uptick in the heart monitor beside him brought him back to his senses. That and the gorgeous man with blue eyes and stubble leaning over, telling him to calm down. At least, that’s what he was told, as in the moment his voice sounded like wailing sirens and glass scraping against glass, giving him a serious headache. The pain brought back awful images from before, and in his haze Dean figured the man was one of Alistair’s cronies there to finish him off.
‘Like hell,’ Dean thought, ‘’M not going down without a fight.’ He pushed back, forcing the other man to stumble over a plastic chair. Dean pulled himself up and, in a move he’d come to regret later, ripped his IV out with a shout. Scanning the room quickly, Dean saw an empty syringe in a nearby wastebasket. He lunged for it before his ‘attacker’ could recover, and while he was stunned jammed the needle into his shoulder.
“We’re gonna need some help!” someone shouted, “Patient is hostile!”
It wasn’t long before he was knocked out again. The next time he woke up, the man beside him was instead in the nearby bed.
“Y’know,” he started, “you have an awful way of thanking people.”
Dean shot him a dark look and a raised brow. “And what exactly should I have thanked you for?”
“Saving your life?” the other man said, “Pulling you out of the collapsing building that was on fire? Do you remember?”
Dean did: the fire, the smoke, everything about how he ended up there. Except for the man beside him, which was saying something as Dean would definitely remember someone like that.
“So you aren’t here to kill me?” Dean asked.
The other man’s eyes went wide. “What? No I was… no!”
“Oh…” Dean trailed off, finally tearing his gaze away from him. He tried to distract himself, tapping his palms against his thighs through the thin sheet over him (all he could do after being handcuffed). Soon enough, the other man started their conversation back up again.
“Why did you think I was there to kill you?”
Dean snorted. “Well I did just wake up in an unfamiliar environment with a splitting headache and a handsome stranger after a traumatic experience involving a bunch of gang members and drug dealers.”
“…You think I’m handsome?”
“That,” Dean blushed, “That’s what you took away from all that?”
“I already knew about the situation,” he said, “My commander filled us all in after we put the fire out… So, do drug deals normally go down like this?”
“Wouldn’t really know,” Dean shrugged, “Usually I’m helping bust them up but they don’t blow up in my fast like that… pun intended.”
“Isn’t it counter-intuitive to snitch on your own deals?”
“Not if I’m undercover,” Dean sighed, “Which I was until this little mishap. In the frenzy one of the higher ups saw my wire so… there’s no way I’ll be able to go back in.”
“Oh,” the other man smiled, “so you’re a cop?”
“Yep,” Dean nodded, “Officer Dean Winchester,” he gave a little salute, “And you…?”
“Novak,” he supplied, “Castiel Novak.”
“Castiel?” Dean parroted, “What kind a name is that?”
“It’s biblical,” he said, “My parents were very religious.”
“Alright, Cas,” he stared, then winces, “You okay if I call you Cas?”
“Cas is… preferable.”
“Okay,” Dean continued, “So – I don’t know if it’s the pain meds finally kicking in – but if we get out of here… you wanna go out some time? Figure I should repay the guy who saved my life n’all.”
Cas blushed and bit his lip. “I’m not sure,” he drawled, glancing away, “As long as you promise there’ll be no sharp objects?”
“Not promising that but I can say that you won’t see one in my hands?”
“Then I don’t see why not,” Cas chuckled, once more meeting Dean’s eyes. They didn’t look away until Sam barged his way in, finally showing up after hearing about Dean’s injury.
“You look lost in thought…”
Dean blinks back into awareness, the pie somehow already done and cooling on the stovetop. Beside him, Cas stands in a faded tee and jeans with a few holes in them. “Come on,” he continues, pulling him away, “let’s go enjoy that outside while summer’s still here.”
“Wait, let me grab the –“
“Claire’s got it, don’t you sweetie?”
“Right behind you!” she says, pushing Dean along. It’s a struggle, but at least Dean manages to tear off his apron before he’s dragged into their backyard.
“Seriously what is with you –“
“Surprise!”
Outside, waiting for him, is there family. Sam is the closest to them, rocking baby Jack in his arms, still in his suit – ‘must have come straight from work’. Behind him Mary watches form behind her phone, recording the whole thing, while Bobby has an arm around her. His former co-workers, Jody and Donna, are on the other side of him, with twin party poppers in their hands. Bringing up the rear are Cas’s brother Gabriel and his wife, Rowena. Even his therapist managed to make it.
“Wow,” Dean starts, choked up, “I can’t…”
“You didn’t think I’d forget,” Cas says, “Ten years is a long time…” Claire moves out from behind them and puts the pie in the middle of the table. Cas leads Dean closer, where everyone has gathered to watch.
“I don’t…” Dean tries to say, “This doesn’t…” Watching all of his loved ones, gathered around, makes his heart swell, and his head hurt. “This is…” he says, words leaving him.
“Dean?” Cas asks, “Are you okay?”
“Cas…” Dean turns to him, only to fall silent. His eyes widen, and he can’t help the jittery gasp that escapes.
Cas stares at him, quizzically, in a dirty trench coat and suit, with blood and bruises everywhere. “Dean?” he says, “Please… I know you’re in there…”
“What?”
“Dean…” Sam, now, is beside him. Only the suit is gone, now. He’s staring instead into tired, brown eyes, with an unsettling beard and swathed in plaid. Even Jack is gone, replaced by a kid nearer Claire’s age. “Please, fight him,” Sam begs, “I know you can.”
“Fight what?” Dean asks, “What’s going on?”
“It’s not you!” Mary shouts, “Wake up, Dean! Please!”
“I won’t let them kill you,” Sam snarls, “We’ll find a way. We always will.”
“Dean,” Cas begs, “Please… stop this… Michael…”
He remembers.
“Michael!” Dean says. Across the table, his therapist raises an unimpressed brow.
“Dean?” he asks, “What seems to be the problem? Are you having an episode again?”
“No, you… there’s no…” he looks around, noticing how everyone has frozen in place beside the two of them, “You broke your promise.”
“Wasn’t much of one to break,” Michael shrugs, crossing his arms, “Just like your spirit –“
“You’re using me –“
“To do what you were always meant to do!” Michael cuts him off, shouting, “To be my sword. My vessel! Be glad I’m at least keeping you locked up safe here in this fantasy. If I were anything like my brother you’d be sitting front and center with no power to do anything but watch.”
“That – that’s not true,” Dean says, “I can – I can…”
“You’re already starting to forget,” Michael smirks, “Exactly what I was talking about. You can’t fight me because you don’t want to fight me.”
“You’re wrong…”
“Am I?” Michael laughs, “There’s no shame in wanting things that could never happen, Dean. It’s… really pitiful. All I did was give you the paint and you’ve created a masterpiece of a prison you don’t want to leave. A world where you and your brother lived a normal life.”
“Sammy…”
“You have a loving family –“
“Stop it…”
“And true love… things that would all disappear if you even managed to break free.”
“I will…” Dean stutters, clenching tight enough to dig his nails into his palms, “I’ll…”
“You’ll what, Dean?” Michael asks, soft and mocking, “Are you still having those nightmares? Everyone affiliated in that gang is locked away – they won’t be getting out for a long time. Now, come on, use the breathing technique I taught you… In…”
‘Can’t… lose sight of… reality…’
“Out…”
‘Might not get… this chance again…’
“In….”
‘Ma… Sam… Cas… can’t fail –‘
“Out…”
‘Fail… wh-what?’
“In…”
‘What day is it?’
“Dean?” Cas asks one more time, “You okay?” Everyone at the table is looking at him. He glances around at them all, watching as their already smiling faces burn brighter the longer he stares.
“Yeah,” Dean finally says, “Just… can’t believe how lucky I am.” He leans in to drop a kiss onto Cas’s lips. “Now, come on, this pie ain’t gonna eat itself!” Everyone laughs as Dean starts to cut into the dessert. With pie in hand and surrounded by all the people he loves, well…
Dean couldn’t be happier.