FIC: This is Not Convenient, Dean/Castiel, PG-13, 1/2
Word Count: 11,330
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Summary: If Castiel doesn't find a mate soon, the council will assign him one. And Dean's not about to let that happen.
Author's Notes: This was written for my Twitfic Exchange on twitter for antiquitydreams. She asked me to write a fic where Dean and Castiel have to pretend they are married. I could not have written this fic without her help. Thank you, Raven!
Castiel explodes into existence alongside the table where Dean sits, eating lunch.
"Dean," he says, breathless and unexpectedly concerned. More than concerned. He actually looks somewhat panicked.
"I am sorry." Castiel's eyes are wide and urgent. Imploring. Dean has a feeling he's going to want to hit Cas in a moment. "For what is about to happen, I apologize."
But there's no time for questions. Not when Castiel is jerking him up from his seat, both hands clamped hard around his shoulders, and pressing their mouths together in a painful and disturbing parody of a kiss. Castiel's teeth crunch hard against Dean's, which sends sharp jabs of pain shooting into Dean's skull. Luckily as it turns out because it helps Dean ignore the way Castiel's tongue is filling his mouth. Just shoved right in there and not moving, like a wet slug laying across Dean's own panicking tongue.
"Mmphh-" Dean tries to say.
An unfamiliar voice speaks behind Castiel and thank God for it because it means Cas stops violating Dean's mouth. The brief flash of Castiel's expression Dean sees before Cas turns is apologetic, but no amount of apology could make up for the travesty that just occurred. Dean scrapes his fingers against his lips and glares at the back of Castiel's head.
The voice belongs to a man. Dean looks around Castiel's shoulders, which are unusually rigid, even for him. The guy is shorter than Castiel, but much broader across the chest. In fact, he's downright bulky with muscle and fat. Dean would go so far as to categorize him as 'beefy'. If Castiel weren't an angel, this dude could probably pick him up and sling him around his head like a lasso.
Oh right. Of course. The guy is an angel too. Now Dean's back to wondering if he could spin Castiel on his finger like Wilt Chamberlain spinning a basketball after all. It's probably not the best idea to snicker in the presence of two pissy looking Angels of the Lord, but Dean does anyway.
"Is this your human charge?" Zuriel asks.
When his black-brown eyes shift from Castiel's face to Dean's, an actual emotion gleams through the typical angelic mask. Dean frowns.
It looks like resentment.
"Yes, this is Dean," Castiel says and then he sets his hand on Dean's shoulder. "But he is no longer truly my charge. My connection to him now is through the Oath of Theliel."
The suspected resentment in Zuriel's eyes abruptly hardens into something far more sinister. Dean can't quite identify the emotion, but upon seeing it, he can't help drawing closer to Castiel's side. The movement doesn't escape Zuriel's notice. The emotion flares bright again.
"You declared the Oath with a human?" he demands.
Castiel doesn't waver under the intensity of Zuriel's apparent dislike. Instead, he slips his hand into Dean's and squeezes it rather too tightly.
"We have yet to formally declare the Oath before the Council. But our relationship has been of a romantic nature for nearing three Earth weeks."
Dean tries to jerk away from Castiel's grip, but the stupid angel holds him with all his super-human strength.
Friendship is one thing and shit, Dean might still feel beyond uncomfortable with what Castiel would do for him, but Dean draws the line at pretending to be Castiel's boyfriend. Especially for a dick angel who's glaring at Dean like he fucking murdered a bunch of cherubs.
"What the hell, Cas?" he bellows. "What the fuck is the Oath of Telel?"
"The Oath of Theliel," Castiel gently corrects. He turns to face Dean, moving far enough that Zuriel can no longer see his expression. "You remember our conversation, don't you? When you agreed to become my consort?"
His words are spoken in his usual calm graveled tones, but his eyes are speaking something entirely different. The panic from earlier returns with renewed fervor and there's no doubt about it. Castiel is pleading with his big stupid blue eyes. Big stupid blue eyes that Dean's been having trouble saying no to since Castiel started hunting with them again.
"Are you-" Dean lets his own eyes finish his thought, which is fucking kidding me with this shit?
"Am I what, Dean?" Castiel asks quietly. The way he says it makes Dean shift uncomfortably. He sounds...defeated. Over his shoulders, Dean sees that Zuriel's narrowed eyes are starting to glimmer with suspicion. Suspicion that's quickly turning into smug satisfaction and for some reason, that makes a hitherto undiscovered protectiveness explode in Dean's chest. No doubt about it. Zuriel's an asshole and if Castiel needs a fake boyfriend, well, Dean'll just have to man up.
"Right, the Oath. Guess I was having trouble concentrating what with your mouth on my dick and all," he says crassly and then grins when his arrow hits its target perfectly. Fury blazes in Zuriel's dark eyes. Dean smirks at him.
"Oh," Castiel says in obvious surprise. He frowns at Dean. "There's no need to be that detailed, Dean." He turns back to Zuriel. "I hope you won't be uncomfortable with our relationship. I don't intend to hide Dean away."
"Your relationship is your decision, of course," Zuriel says stiffly. "I only hope you've made a wise one. You will not escape another summoning without taking a mate." There's a darkness to his tone now that Dean cannot mistake. Zuriel is not just angry. He is definitely jealous.
The look Dean earns from Zuriel would melt his eyeballs in his skull if he weren't holding back for Castiel's sake. As a boyfriend, Dean should probably already know everything about this summoning, but fuck it. He's confused. Castiel squeezes his hand again, but before he can speak, Zuriel turns to him and says, "You should better educate your ill-informed human. I would hate for him to agree to a binding union without knowing the full measure of the agreement."
Dean's guessing his hatred stems more from wanting to fondle Castiel's wings than any caring on Dean's behalf. But he doesn't get the chance to say it because Zuriel disappears with a gusty breeze.
The second Dean registers they're alone, he throws Castiel's hand away and whirls on him, irritation lining his every word. "Just what the hell was that about?"
Castiel frowns at his discarded hand and begins to pace, words spilling from his lips more quickly than Dean's ever heard him speak.
"The summoning approaches and I've reached an age where I cannot show up alone again. Not without some incredible explanation. Zuriel was once more trying to make a claim on me and I found...I could not hear his plea again."
Dean's thoughts jam inside his skull and for a split, he's stuck. Like a frozen computer screen and shutting it off to try again isn't helping. He's vaguely aware he's gaping and then Castiel is talking again.
"I have never desired his affections, but I did not want to hurt him. I have seen here on Earth, when humans use the excuse of an already established relationship to avoid another. I am sorry I did not have time to warn you." He looks at Dean with sincere regret in his eyes. "I truly do apologize. But I can't think of a thing I desire less than to be Zuriel's mate."
Dean's computer jolts back online.
"Wait just a goddamned minute," he says, not quite shouting, but close. "Since when do angels have 'mates'?"
Castiel pauses in his restless pacing to give Dean a curious look. "Since the beginning of time. You did not think that Earth creatures were the only that paired off into partners?"
"I thought you guys didn't...you know...seed clouds," Dean says with a hint of distaste.
"I said I had not taken the time," Castiel says. "And I haven't. I have not taken a mate in all of my existence."
"That's not...I meant, I thought you...god, I'm saying I thought angels couldn't even have sex. Not in whatever weird soupy form you poured into that vessel," Dean says and this conversation is his least favorite of all time. He does not want to think about Castiel's having bizarre shapeless blob sex with other angels. Or really any kind of sex with other angels. It is just too strange.
"Our partnerships are not based on physical coupling, Dean. It is an emotional joining." His expression darkens. "I know you believe angels do not have emotions, but the truth is that our emotions are simply different from humans. Zuriel has loved me since the first moment he saw me in my Father's Heaven. He wants to join his grace to mine."
That statement pings Dean's new and intense protective feelings. "So what? He's been pressuring you?"
"Somewhat, but Dean, I am several hundred years overdue to take a mate. In his way, Zuriel is also trying to help me. All angels are summoned at regular intervals to prove that we are not drifting through this existence, unbound to another, without support and...love," he says, tongue tripping oddly over the last word.
All this information is almost too much for Dean to process. Not only do angels hook up, but apparently, they actually stalk each other until they do. Bunch of fucking conservative nut jobs.
"So why not just pick someone else if this Zuriel creep doesn't make your feathers tingle?"
"I have..." Castiel won't meet his eyes and it bothers Dean.
"Hey," he suddenly says. Castiel's gaze snaps to his face. "You what?"
"I've never felt that way about any of my kind."
Oh." Dean's throat feels tight. He tries to swallow, but can't and his next word comes out as a croak. "Right."
There's a very long silence wherein Dean and Castiel both try their best not to look at one another. It's difficult to manage because they are standing less than three inches apart, but Dean's not inclined to move and since he doesn't know what to say, the silence stretches way past discomfort.
Then Castiel unexpectedly steps back, taking his freaky angelic heat away with him. Dean nearly falls forward in an unconscious attempt to find that warmth again, but he catches himself at the last second.
"I should go," he says.
"Wait a sec," Dean says. "What happens now? With your summoning thing?"
"My time comes," Castiel says blankly. "If I don't present a mate, the Council will find one for me. I can only hope it won't be Zuriel."
"They are going to...find you one? Find you one?" Dean's disbelief is staggering. The idea of Castiel being matched up by the dickless shitheads that run Heaven makes his blood boil. "Are you fucking with me?" he shouts, irrationally angry and unable to hold it back. Castiel doesn't cower under Dean’s rage, but he does look somewhat surprised.
"Of course not," he says, eyebrows raised. "I believe my continued rejection of Zuriel will keep the Council from choosing him." He pauses, peering closely at Dean. "If that's what concerns you."
"No, that's not what I'm fucking concerned about," Dean snaps. "What if they bond you to some dipshit? You can get out of it, right? How long are these bonds supposed to last?"
"There have been instances of angels ending a partnership, but they are rare. The Council must approve the pairings as well as their termination," Castiel says. It sounds like he's hedging. At Dean's glare, he sighs. "The coupling would most likely last as long as my existence."
"Well, that's bullshit, Cas," Dean declares. "You can't let a bunch of assholes choose who gets to dick around in your grace for the rest of eternity."
"What would you have me do, Dean?"
"Can't you just tell them to shove it up their asses?"
"No, I can't. I'm bound by different rules than you. In this new Heaven, if I were to rebel again, I'd simply be killed before any chance of escape. And if I refuse to mate, I would be bound in Heaven until a suitable partner was found," Castiel explains.
Horror chokes Dean's throat. "Are you saying," he growls softly. "If you don't find a mate, you'd be put in prison?"
"Essentially. I doubt I would be freed until long after your life was nothing, but a implausible memory recorded in a holy book," he comments, almost idly.
For a brief moment, Dean's heart aches so much, he can't breathe.
"Way to make a guy feel insignificant, Cas," he murmurs.
"You're not insignificant," Castiel snaps, sudden passion replacing his nonchalance. Surprising anger flushes his face red and lends fire to his gaze. "It's because you're not insignificant that I must do this. I cannot leave you here."
"Don't lay that on me!" Dean pushes his way back into Castiel's personal space, his aggression fueled by an awful swelling of fear. He can't. He can't let Castiel make this fucking monumental decision on his behalf. Dean's already ruined Castiel's life six ways from Sunday. He just can't do it anymore.
"And what do I do instead?" Castiel challenges, his face so close that Dean can feel each forceful puff of air his heated words produce.
"Take me," Dean blurts.
Castiel fairly reels back from this passionate declaration. A dozen different emotions briefly flicker in his eyes, clearer than Dean's ever seen in that particular gaze. Shock into happiness into suspicion into downright fear.
"You can't be serious," he says slowly.
"Well, I am," Dean says, though he does feel a whisper of doubt clouding his mind. Not about keeping Castiel from having a random mate picked out for him. But Dean still doesn't quite understand what this mating entails. Castiel said it wasn't physical, but then Dean doesn't exactly have grace to be rubbing against Castiel's either. And there's the matter of the mating lasting for Castiel's whole life. He swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.
"What would I have to do?"
For a long moment, Dean thinks Castiel won't answer. That he'll fuck off in a whirl of feathers and not give Dean the chance to decide for himself. He's just about built up to actual anger when Castiel gives a weary sigh and sinks into one of the motel room's chairs.
"Mating with humans is unusual," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "It's not been attempted in many thousands of years, but it is possible. In that case, the human receives the protection of the Seraphs."
"It means the human is able to dwell in the Heavens without being dead. Walk among angels without dying. You could...the human could experience the full measure of the angel's grace without being harmed," Castiel says. He glances up at Dean for a sliver of a moment, just long enough for Dean to read devastating longing in Castiel's eyes. Then he turns away, expression blank once more.
"If you did this, our relationship would change very little," Castiel continues. "My grace would be more naturally attuned to your soul, but any actual mating, physical or otherwise would not be required."
Which doesn't sound so bad to Dean. In fact, it could probably help them on their hunts if Castiel was tuned into Dean's station, as it were.
"But you would be cleaved to me for the rest of your existence," Castiel says. "Even after your death, your soul would remain at my side. A human-angel mating is even stronger after the human dies because the soul is then more vulnerable to the supernatural. The angel is charged with protecting that soul." He looks up at Dean again. "In angelic terms, you would belong to me."
To Dean's surprise, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is not a declaration of the gut-wrenching panic he feels at belonging to someone that completely or his quiet little ache of desire or even a flippant remark about souls fucking each other. No, what he says is entirely different.
"That's what they think already, isn't it?" he accuses. Stalking over to where Castiel sits, he yanks up his shirt to reveal Castiel's mark. "That's why they let you keep coming around even after your mission. Because you peed in a circle around me! Didn't you!"
Castiel's eyes flick to his mark and Dean could swear his pupils dilate slightly, but before he can confirm, Castiel is standing as well and glaring at Dean. "I did not...I would not claim you without your consent," he growls.
"Then how come they let you come back here?" Dean presses.
"Because I wanted it!" Castiel explodes. He rips away from Dean, putting space between them, but ranting each step of the way. "Because if I stayed at my post in Heaven, you would have been dust and your soul lost to me before I could leave again."
"What do you mean, my soul lost to you?" Dean asks blankly. "I thought you said souls could hang out with angels in Heaven after we die."
Castiel pauses at the table. He leans down, hands clenched around the top rung of a chair and in that moment, he looks so very human. So weary and careworn. Dean takes a step forward before he realizes he's doing it.
"That's only if we were mated, Dean," he murmurs. "Otherwise, you will pass beyond the gate and we will not see each other again." He glances at Dean. "Your life is all I have."
Blistering anger boils up inside Dean's chest.
"Well, when the fuck were you going to tell me that?"
"I didn't think it would ever matter," Castiel snaps. "I hardly imagined you would care."
"What the fuck! Seriously...just what the-"
Dean is so angry, he can't catch the words whirling around in his mind. He snaps his mouth shut and marches to the other side of the room, suddenly eager to be as far away from Castiel as possible. Dean's not stupid. He knows he's had trouble accepting Castiel's friendship in the past. He knows he's not been the greatest friend in the world, but that's just because he never knew how to do it. All he knew was how to be a brother and a son and it just hurt too much to think that someone chose to be around him and still ended up dead because of it.
But they'd been hunting together for nearly a year and a half now. Without the pressure of the apocalypse, just because it needed to be done and they were good at it. Good together. And here Castiel is, telling Dean he doesn't care.
"Asshole," Dean grunts.
Dean spins around. "You don't get to tell me what I care about, okay? And yeah, maybe I'm a dick, but if you think I'm just going to let you-" He stops short and strides back into Castiel's personal space. "Would I still see Sammy?"
"If we were did this bond thing, after death, would I still see Sam?"
"Oh." Castiel's confusion gives him a moment's hesitation. "Oh...yes. Yes, you could visit souls beyond the Gate. In fact, that is where human mates go when their angels are sent into battle away from Heaven."
"Okay, well, we'll have to talk about making it sound less like I'm some kind of soldier's wife, but whatever," Dean says.
His chest fills with nervous tension, the same kind of powerful excitement you feel right before plunging into icy water or jumping out of a two story window. Except now it's edged with something warmer, something that makes Dean push right up into Castiel's personal space, their chests pressed together.
Dean grins. "To ruin Zuriel's day."
But Castiel is not smiling. His eyes are dark with concern and...sadness. Dean hates that look.
"You don't really want this."
"What did I just say about telling me what I care about?" Dean says. "Besides, if you think I want to sit behind some gate with my thumb up my ass for the rest of eternity, then we have not met, you and I. So shut the fuck up and let's go to a fucking summoning."
Castiel searches Dean's face and as Dean watches, his caution slowly melts into that sort of amazement that's always made Dean so damned uncomfortable. But this time, he doesn't shrink away from it or make a careless remark. He stands still and quiet and lets Castiel look his fill.
His hand is gathered into Castiel's once more. "Very well," he finally says.
And that is how Dean finds himself standing in a giant sparkling white hall with Castiel at his side, both peering up at a row of incredibly stern-faced angels.
Dean's skin feels tight and dry, the end result of some kind of weird ritual Castiel did on him before they left the motel room. The so-called protection of the Seraphs, he guesses because there's no doubt about it.
They are standing in Heaven.
Not that Dean's never been before, but he was in the human section. The angel division seems a lot colder, the edges sharper and colors brighter. He's not sure if the angels are in vessels or just dressed themselves up to look like constipated politicians for Dean's sake.
"Brother Castiel," one intones, his voice echoing across the massive hall. "Why have you brought your human charge before the Council?"
"I am answering the summoning with my chosen mate," Castiel says in his deepest, most commanding voice.
The politicians glare at him, but it's the elbow to the ribcage he gets from Castiel that makes Dean school his features. This whole ordeal is massively serious in terms of consequence, but the actual process is ridiculous.
"See, me and Cas here," Dean can't help saying. "We're interested in a shotgun wedding."
The lead politician turns his heavy gaze from Dean's face back to Castiel's. "This is an unusual choice, brother."
Castiel gives a world-weary sigh. "Believe me, I am very aware of that."
"Step forward then," the politician says. He sounds bored. Not that Dean blames him. This wedding sucks. They're going to have to go get drunk with Sam later to make up for it. There is a moment of silence that stretches out so long that Dean very nearly asks them what the hell is going on when the head guy talks again.
"Your potential bond has been judged valid," he says. "You are given the right to declare the Oath of Theliel. You may join."
"Whoa, what does that mean?" Dean demands.
"Dean," Castiel says quietly. He turns Dean to face him. "It means I'm going to initiate the mating bond. It...will not hurt."
"Um, okay," he says, unable to hide his nerves.
"Do you trust me?"
And the thing is, Dean does. He's always trusted Castiel. Even when he barely knew him, even when he tested him at every turn, there was always a part of Dean that knew Castiel would never purposefully hurt him. Maybe it's being in Heaven, broken away from the Earthly bonds that cling at every human, but the feeling is a thousand times stronger here.
Sure," Dean mutters.
Then Castiel is moving impossibly close and for a second, Dean thinks he's going to try to kiss him again. But instead, Castiel only presses his forehead against Dean's. He wonders if all angels do that or if Castiel is changing the routine for him and the only reason Dean wonders is because Castiel's touch calms him so much it's actually shocking.
One moment, there is nothing different. Nothing, but the sensation of Castiel's breath across his face and his hands clasping at Dean's arms. And then there is an incredible warmth surrounding him. Not just around him, but within him and it's lightness. Such unbelievable lightness, like Dean could step away from the ground and actually float.
"What the hell?" he asks breathlessly.
"It's only me," Castiel says and Dean can't help laughing again.
"Only you? Feels like...fuck, I don't even know," he babbles. The sensation is only growing stronger, building and stretching and Dean's not sure he can handle it. "Cas," he pants.
"I'm here, Dean," he hears Castiel say. "You're safe."
But of course he's safe. This feeling is the definition of safety and salvation. His mind flashes away to flame and torment. To hopelessness and death and Dean is certain it will never end. Until this feeling. There is a warmth of pleasure and so much damned lightness fills him, drags him out of the pit.
Dean's eyes snap open and he jerks away enough so he can see Castiel's face.
"That was you," he says. "I remember you."
"My grace, yes," Castiel struggles to say. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright, as if whatever he's doing to do is exerting all his energy. Dean grabs his hands. He wants to help, but he's not sure how. On instinct, he reaches for Castiel, not with his hands, but with something else. Castiel's grace greedily tugs on it and Dean very clearly feels something snap into place. It's not anything he can really identify. Just that where there was nothing, there is now that peculiar lightness. A sensation that's entirely Castiel.
Castiel's tension drains out of his body and he falls against Dean's chest.
"There," he says, voice muffled by Dean's shirt. "Now we're mated."
Dean pokes at the sensation. With what he doesn't really know. His emotions or his soul or something. He thinks of Obi-wan Kenobi encouraging Luke Skywalker to 'reach out with your feelings'. In his amusement, Dean accidentally pokes to hard. Castiel groans deeply against his collarbone.
He quickly pulls away from the sensation, trying to cool the heat rising within him.
"Right. So we should go now."
The politicians are all but ignoring them. Castiel nods and lays a hand on his shoulder. The next second, they are back in the motel room. Sam is standing in the middle of it, phone pressed to his ear. The moment he sees them, he snaps the phone shut and glares.
"Just where the hell have you been?"
"Break out the beer, Sammy," Dean says, clapping his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I just made an honest angel outta Cas."
Sam's confusion is worth the entire trip.
"Yeah, but....eternity? I mean...all of eternity?"
Sam's expression is still shell-shocked thirty minutes after Dean tells him what he and Castiel have done. The two now sit across from each other in a booth, two empty glasses between them. Castiel is at the bar, a slight frown on his face as the bartender tries to figure out his order.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Dean promises. Sam just stares at him.
"Dean...eternity is endless. Forever and ever and ever attached to Castiel's side. Do you even understand what that means? You will always be with Castiel."
Dean doesn't like Sam's tone. He sounds dismayed, as if Dean had sold his soul to another demon instead of gotten married.
"You got a problem with Cas?"
Sam's mouth opens and closes. "Dude, that's...not what I'm talking about. Although, yeah, about that. A marriage is not a friendship. And since when do you do anything other than friendship with guys?"
"It's not a regular marriage, Sam," Dean defends. "We aren't like married married."
Sam tries to interrupt, but Dean leans forward, cutting him off.
"Look, Cas had to get married or the dicks upstairs were going to cause him some problems. So I'm doing him a favor, okay? It's not like we're going to go have some big romantic honeymoon. Nothing's gonna change from before."
"Oh okay, so everything's exactly the same," Sam says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing at all will change."
Dean nods, though he has a feeling it will only encourage whatever counter-argument Sam is about to spring on him. "Pretty much."
"Alright then, what happens when some hot girl comes on to you? Are you going to cheat on Cas? Because if you're married...no, I'm sorry, bound to each other in the eyes of Heaven itself, it would be cheating, right?"
"I don't know!" An unpleasant feeling uncurls in Dean's chest. "How the fuck should I know? Cas said it didn't have to be physical and he sure as shit can't expect me to never have sex again," he says, but it just makes the unpleasant sensation grow. For all his womanizing ways, Dean's never been a cheater. Being disloyal rarely even occurs to him.
"Okay, fine. So what about Castiel?" Sam asks.
Dean frowns at him. "What about him?"
"How're you going to feel when he finds some nice woman to give him a little thrill?"
Dean's eyes snap to where Castiel is patiently waiting for the bartender to mix his complicated drink order. For some reason, Dean feels a pulse of relief. Like he'd been worried that Castiel was doing...something. He doesn't know what.
"Cas doesn't care about women, Sam," Dean says firmly. "Trust me, I know that first hand. Especially not now that he's angel'd up again."
"How do you know...do I even want to ask?"
Dean shakes his head. "Probably not."
Instead of questioning him, Sam taps his index finger on the table and appears to think very hard for a long moment.
"What if it were a guy?"
Dean's stomach clenches. "What are you talking about?"
Sam looks up and meets Dean's eyes with a deadly serious look in his own. "You said that other angel had a male form and then he married you. Did it ever occur to you that Castiel might just like men? And if you two are doing this open-relationship thing, that maybe he'll find another guy to screw around with?"
"Look," Dean says angrily. "Cas isn't interested in sex at all. Period."
Except when Dean looks over at the bar, Castiel isn't alone anymore. He's chatting to a tall man with a broad chest and handsome face. Chatting and smiling. Castiel doesn't smile. Dean's standing from his chair before he realizes why and even then, he can't stop himself. He hears Sam mutter, "Oh yeah, this is going to work great," behind him as he marches up to the bar.
"Hey, what's up?" he says and even Dean knows how stupid he looks, slinging his arm around Castiel's shoulder like some kind of alpha male douche bag. But Castiel doesn't want sex. And since Dean already tried to push him into it, he's obligated to protect him from horny jerkwads who come sniffing around Castiel in dingy bars.
The guy gives him an odd look and backs away. "Um, I was just chatting with your...?"
"My husband," Dean says. Which feels incredibly fucking weird, but it certainly sends the message. Probably not the one Dean wanted to send though. The guy's eyes widen and he snags up his drink, practically running back to his table and what looks like his girlfriend. A different type of angry emotion rushes through Dean.
"Dickwad," he growls.
"You are not actually my husband," Castiel says, his eyes on Dean's shoulder pressed so close to his. "Not in the human manner. Perhaps it would be easier for you if you refrained from using that term."
"So what...you ashamed of me?" Dean says and it's a joke as he starts to say it, but by the time it comes out, he's actually worried.
"Of course not," Castiel says. He leans into Dean's one-armed hug and gives him a slight smile. "You may refer to me with any title you choose."
"Right," Dean says. The ease with which Castiel melts into his side makes Dean uncomfortable. It's not right. That's not their relationship. But he so rarely sees Castiel looking relaxed. And...it feels nice. He swallows hard.
"You don't care if I fuck other people, right?"
Castiel stiffens and suddenly Dean is holding a statue. His arm, now useless, slips off Castiel's shoulder. "I have no claim over your physical urges," he intones. "You should do whatever you desire with them."
So that's that sorted out. Sam should be happy. As Dean turns and trudges back to his table, he can't help wondering why he doesn't feel all that happy about it.