How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel raised each other (and Sam)

Chapter 21- Lover of the Light

AN: Over a year later from the previous chapter. Dean is 26, Sam is 22.

Dean pounded on the door. Fear had chased him up the stairs, away from the warm bedroom tucked up in the back of the house. He felt ridiculous, running to his little brother, but Sam was the only person who might understand.

“Dean?” Sam answered the door with a yawn.

“Sammy.”

“What’s going on?” Gabriel emerged from the direction of the bedroom wearing way less than Dean ever wanted to see him in.

“The Snorks?” Dean lifted an eyebrow at the too small t-shirt. “Seriously? Total Smurf ripoff.”

Gabriel gave him the finger which Dean accepted as his right.

“Dean. What?”

“Can we talk alone?” He glanced over at Gabriel who was still surveying him with annoyance. “Family business.”

“What? Is it Dad?” Sam asked, apparently picking up on Dean’s nerves. “Is he still lost?”

“Huh? Oh. No. Turns out that the road was haunted. Killed the ghost. They should get here right on time tomorrow.” Dean rubbed the back of his head. “It’s just....”

“Just what?” Sam’s eyes were widening. “A hunt?”

“Sam.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Cold feet. Which means you owe me twenty bucks.”

“You don’t even need money!” Sam protested. “Go back to bed.”

“Then I’ll take it out in trade!” Gabriel decreed, but he did, thankfully, vanish back into their room. Or into another dimension. One never knew with Gabriel.

“Are you really freaking out about tomorrow?” Sam flopped down onto one side of the battered sofa that once lived in their shared apartment.

The downstairs living room was equipped with an actual never before used, firsthand couch. Dean had gone to a store, sat on a hundred couches until he found one he liked, bought it and brought it home. The entire experience had an aura of surreality. In fact, the entire house with its new decent furniture, matching dollar store dish towels and sheets that had only ever known his and Castiel’s bodies was surreal. Sometimes he went out into the driveway and climbed behind the wheel of the Impala to assert some normalcy back into his life.

“I’m not freaking out.” He sat down on the other side of the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Really?” Sam poked him in the ribs with his stupidly long monkey toes.

“I’ve got totally legitimate concerns.”

“That you had to express to me in the middle of the night, a few short hours before you get married?”

“Yes!” Dean bit off.

“I just want you to know that if you leave Cas at the altar? No one is ever going to talk to you again. Including me.”

“That’s cold.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t do that to him. And there’s no altar.”

“Stair. Whatever. Not the point.” Sam poked him again. “What are your big concerns?”

“Quit it.” Dean smacked at Sam’s foot. “What if this doesn’t work out? What if we start hating each other?”

“Why would that happen?” Sam snorted. “You guys have been inseparable for this long. Not like you’re going to wake up in a year and find a different person or something. You know him. He knows you.”