Rewritten

Chapter 11

The gentle, soft press of his lips seems to be what does it for Dean. In a sudden, overwhelming rush of memories, moments flicker through his head, subtle differences of circumstances – but all with the same rush of affection and warmth and need as the original events.

Slow comfort sex after losing Ellen and Jo, the alleyway in the rain where Cas had dragged him behind a Dumpster after beating him up to gently jerk him off, sleeping with the filthy trenchcoat under his pillow for months when Cas was gone because despite the smell of everything staining it there was enough left of Cas’s scent to hold onto, seeing Cas again as a faith healer with amnesia and wondering if his wife dragged the same sounds from him at night that Dean once did.

Cas pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead as he healed the injuries he’d inflicted in the crypt, their supposed last fuck in the bar bathroom before Cas was going to lock up heaven, leaving Nora’s after the Rit Zien situation and fucking Cas so hard into the motel bed that Dean’s hips ached the rest of the night, calling Cas to tell him about “Destiel” and laughing at Cas’s uncomprehending insistence that “pronouncing both names separately isn’t that much effort, Dean.”

How obscene the love in Cas’s gaze had been at the restaurant and how much Dean wanted to swipe everything off the table and pull him onto it, Dean freezing when Sam mentioned that nothing gets deleted online because oops maybe he and Cas shouldn’t have gone quiiiiite that sext-happy (complete with nudes), and how he’d recently attempted to break things off with Cas before fighting Cain and Cas refusing and saying he would stay with Dean until the end – whatever that entailed.

Dean draws back from Cas now, staring in absolute shock and amazement. So everything they’ve been through… Everything was almost the same.

His memories of other events are unaffected. Sam in Hell (Dean feels the blood drain from his face), Sam’s soul left behind, Cas’s deal with Crowley, Leviathan, Sam’s insanity (Dean’s heart thuds with the memory), Cas’s insanity, Purgatory, the Trials, the angels’ expulsion, Metatron, Gadreel, Kevin (a lead weight in Dean’s stomach), the Mark, Abaddon, Dean’s demonic self, the slaughter a couple months earlier… Everything aside from their relationship happened exactly as it already had.

Exactly.

“Are you all right?” Cas says now, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He was right after all. Their lives have been so hopelessly entangled that stepping over this line didn’t change a damn thing. So his worries over causing the Apocalypse after all or never getting Sam’s soul back or not being able to stop the Leviathan or Sam plowing ahead with the Trials – none of that matters. Everything played out identically, the bad as well as the good.

“Dean?”

He honestly has trouble speaking for a moment. “I… You’re… We’re…”

Cas smiles slowly, lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “You’re okay. Spit it out.”

“We’re together,” Dean says, astonished. “We’re… you and me. This is real.”

“Well, yes, Dean…” Cas teases quietly, but then his mirth begins to fade. “No, something happened when you were in the past. Tell me.” He leans in and presses his lips against Dean’s, pulling back to stare intensely.

Dean takes a deep breath and begins to tell him about the three days in 2009, and the altered timeline.

Afterward, Cas’s gaze is a little fuzzy, distant. “I remember that,” he says now. “I was so confused why you were so earnest… I didn’t know that in your time, we were that close and yet didn’t—I thought we’d really been together all this time.”

The grin creeping along Dean’s face feels like it’s gonna crack his face in two. “Cas? We have. Now.”

Cas kisses him again, tracing his hands along Dean’s jawline. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and then there are no more words.

It’s not their first time sleeping with each other, by far. The first time had happened shortly after Dean went from his 60s to 30 again, when he was full of energy and a second chance. He’d begged Cas to take a break from the God search, calling him to their hotel room. Stammering nervously, he’d sent Sam out, knowing exactly how bad his brother would tease him the morning after.

But Dean’s memories of the different history haven’t faded yet. They’re still there with him, imprinted like lines on skin from a cheap couch nap.

So he’s in shock when Cas effortlessly pulls off his clothes, his fingers grazing up along Dean’s sides and leaving overheated skin in their wake. Cas tosses the gray T shirt aside and starts on Dean’s boxers with the fluid movements of long practice.

And he’s in wonder while Cas works him over like it’s his favorite goddamn hobby. And hell, with the expertise of his fingers working busily inside Dean and the rhythm of his tongue as they kiss, maybe it is.

And he’s in awe as they come together, one after the other almost in unison. Cas laughs softly at Dean’s stunned babbles of “Oh my god, Cas” and “Holy shit” and “Jesus…” as he rolls away to fetch the tissues.

In the afterglow, breath rough and jagged, they lie staring at the ceiling. After a while, Dean glances over at Cas. “Hey,” he says simply. “I’m glad we have, too.”

Cas’s smile lights up the room. After a moment or two, he leans up on one elbow and traces the anti-possession tattoo over Dean’s chest. “What else was different?” he asks, pressing his lips to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean shakes his head. “Not much of anything. Except a lot more eye fucking – and a whole lot less actual sex.”

The lines crease at the edge of Cas’s eyes when he looks back up. “We still do the eye thing,” he says, amused.

“Man, you have no idea,” Dean grins.

Cas brushes his fingers on the side of Dean’s face. “I love you, Dean.”

“You, too,” Dean is finally able to admit.

They settle in to sleep, Dean lying back against Cas and staring at the wall without seeing it. As they start to drift off, Dean finds his thoughts returning to the Mark on his arm. He’s no closer in this timeline to figuring out a way out. But although the situation is the same, his mood set about it is somehow different.

There’s no way he can solve this thing with the power of love, or anything bullshitty like that. But they will figure something out. Somehow. All three of them. He’s done with the rolling over and giving up. From here on out, now that he’s gotten a small glimpse of happiness, he’s damn sure gonna try and hang onto it.

Dean chuckles once, shortly. Besides, if he dies from the Mark, Sam is going to kill him.

Even in his sleep, Cas hears him laugh, and his arms tighten around Dean. “Uhh?” he murmurs sleepily, not waking completely.

Dean tilts his head to the side to look back at Cas’s face. Cas is sleeping with his mouth open, head tilted back and drooling and about as unattractive as it gets.

He’s gorgeous. And he’s here. In Dean’s bed and in his life.

History has been rewritten, and Dean is nothing if not grateful.