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The Wedding Night

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Okay, so it isn’t the greatest wedding night ever.

Trudging through mud, covered head to toe in guts and blood and brains, Dean barely manages to pull his new husband’s semi-conscious ass to the car. Cas is slumped against him, mumbling feverishly, and Dean grunts as he pushes Cas into the passenger seat. 

“Hey,” Dean says, pressing a hand to Cas’ cheek. “Sweetheart, you gonna be okay?”

The endearment slips out unbidden. Hell, it’s not even the first one that Dean’s uttered today, because apparently signing those papers and legally binding himself in matrimony to Cas had made him picture himself as the Best Husband Ever, and now he can’t stop acting like they’re a thing even when divorce post-case is inevitable (being married might’ve been his biggest dream as a kid).

So Dean flushes and mumbles a “buddy” and a “pal” to rectify it, but Cas doesn’t even notice.

Instead, “Traditionally,” Cas says, “the bride would be deflowered on her wedding night. Are you going to deflower me tonight, Dean?”

Cas winks.

Dean bites his tongue.

“That blow to your head was pretty nasty, huh?”

As if to prove it, Cas faints.

 

 

 

 

She’s delighted.

When Dean stumbles over the threshold carrying Cas in his arms, the innkeeper jumps up with glee, clenches a hand into a fist, and says, “My first gay marriage!”

She doesn’t really seem to notice any of the blood or creature slime clinging to their skin.

Dean smiles at her, strained, wheezing under Cas’ weight.

“You know,” Mrs. Norris tells him, “brides used to be carried like this into the home to protect them from evil spirits. I read it on the internet.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says and staggers into the foyer. “We’re, uh, both grooms, but—can you—can you show us to our roo—”

She rattles on, describing her Googling prowess on the shiny Mac that her great-grandkids gifted her. When Dean almost drops his husband onto the floor, she tsks at him and leads him to their honeymoon suite.

“Happy consummation,” she says, with a devilish grin and a not-so-subtle sweep of Dean’s crotch that makes him wonder if she’s got cameras installed in all of the rooms. “Lube’s in the drawer.”

 

 

 

 

It’s too gross. Dean sees the frilly white covers of the queen size bed and kind of wants to vomit (but that just might be from the smell of severed tentacles that’s emanating from their bodies).

He huffs and collapses with his back against the door, Cas strewn out over his lap, head cradled against Dean’s chest. Dean runs his thumb over Cas’ temple, tries to follow the source of the bleeding, but they’re both banged up pretty bad and he doesn’t have a lot of success. From what he can see, Cas’ head might’ve hit more than a few places when the tentacled beast had whipped him around. Then, the monster had vanished.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut.

He should probably call Sam.

 

 

 

 

Sam yells at him.

“You were supposed to stop newlyweds from getting hurt, Dean—not get murdered, too!”

“Hey, look,” Dean says, and then pauses, only to realize that he doesn’t actually have a witty comeback—it just feels like he should.

But Sam doesn’t taunt him for it.

Sam sighs on the other end of the line, makes a few pissy sounds that are probably accompanied by his signature bitch face, but then with a whoosh of an exhale, out goes his frustration.

“How’s your husband?” Sam says and it’s fucking instant how Dean says, “He’s not my—”

But damn it, Cas is.

“We’re getting a divorce, Sam—you know that,” Dean mumbles and his stomach tangles into a thousand knots with that thought. “It’s just for the case.”

Sam snickers on the other end.

He snickers until it turns into full-fledged laughter, and then, “Enjoy your wedding night, Dean,” Sam says. “Don’t forget to use a condom.”

Then the line goes dead.

 

 

 

 

Okay, so when the newspaper had started reporting about the marriage mayhem, it hadn’t taken Team Free Will long to figure out what was going on.

Basically, nothing good. But essentially, newly married couples had become monster magnets at Mrs. Norris’ inn.

Wishing later that he’d put his foot in his mouth, Dean had uttered something really stupid.

“Easy—Cas and I’ll get hitched,” he’d said, and fifteen hours ago, that was exactly what had happened.

Now Dean’s itchy and his better half is gasping like a broken fish in his lap.

Two minutes later, it gets even worse.

“Who are you?” Cas says when he finally wakes up and Dean groans.

 

 

 

 

Ugh.

Dean wants to tell him that he’s Cas and that he’s Dean’s best friend and that they’re currently involved with each other in a sham marriage, but then he hears the creak of the floorboard outside as the innkeeper listens like a pervert at their door.

So to keep up pretenses, “Your husband, silly,” Dean says and Cas smiles dazedly, all gummy, all stupidly and adorably confused and pleased and, “Oh?” he says.

Outside their door, Mrs. Norris flattens her ear against the wood and listens even more intently.

God fucking dammit.

It’s just his luck that Cas becomes an amnesiac this day of all days.  

 

 

 

 

Dean realizes that he’s got ninety-nine problems and Mrs. Norris is every single one of them.

She’s a goddamn busybody. An hour passes and she doesn’t stop eavesdropping. At one point, he thinks that she’s about to burst through the door, feels it press into his back as she twists the knob and pushes, but maybe the combined weight of Dean and Cas is too much for her ninety-three-year-old body.

But still she lingers, waiting to seize the moment that she can intrude.

It doesn’t help that Cas keeps asking him a million questions, all the more to incite her because they’re all things a married man ought to know but doesn’t, and the more Cas asks, the more it sounds like Dean’s going to get arrested for abduction because the old lady’s gonna be a little too hasty dialling the town sheriff—she’s that kind of person.

“What’s your name?” Cas asks. “Why am I here? What are we going to do?”. So to avoid making it seem like a kidnapping situation, Dean starts kissing him to shut him up, soft little pecks on the mouth that make Cas grin all dopey and lean back, giving him enthusiastic pecks in return, and Cas’ lips are soft, and god, who would’ve taken Cas for a love-at-first-sight kind of guy?

Dean tries not to think about the fact that their first kiss ends up being an attempt to stifle Cas’ wondering-aloud about whether he knows what to do on his wedding night (at that, Mrs. Norris makes an indignant sound and tries to enter again), because amnesiac Cas apparently worries about those kinds of things, and even though he’s just met his husband about two seconds ago, Cas is eager to get his virgin ass reamed.

“But I may need some guidance,” Cas confesses, looking down shyly, and then, “I’m happy that we’re married.”  

Dean gets such an urge to kiss Cas’ mouth again so he does, and Cas laughs into it as if Dean’s kisses are the best thing in the world.

 

 

 

 

It takes about an hour before Dean can convince him to get up, and even then, Cas trips and fumbles and Dean has to hold him by the waist to get him through the bathroom door.

Mrs. Norris only has enough decency to not come barging in when Dean loudly rambles about how showers are private affairs.

“I’m dizzy,” Cas says and he’s breathless and he slumps against Dean’s chest, buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, and Dean closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Cas’ waist.

“Should get you to the hospital,” Dean murmurs into his hair and then, damn it, another fucking pet name slips from his lips because Dean says, “C’mon, gorgeous,” when he gets him to sit on the covered toilet seat while he calls Sam again.

When Cas finds out that Sam’s his brother-in-law, that knowledge makes him really happy.

“I have a family?” he says, as if somehow, he instinctively knows that he’s been tossed out of heaven’s pearly gates.

 

 

 

 

Okay, something seriously has to be done about Mrs. Norris.

Dean’s just finishing up his call when he hears the door to their room creak open, and then there’s a body pressed up against the bathroom door, intently listening.

Dean seriously begins to consider the theory that maybe the married couples before had been taken in by Mrs. Norris rather than the monster.

He motions to Cas, urging him to cut the phone and hand it over (he’d wanted to talk to his new family member), but Cas is utterly absorbed in his conversation and doesn’t see Dean.

On the other side of the door, Mrs. Norris presses her ear more insistently against the wood and the door shudders in its frame.

“Yes,” Cas is telling Sam. “It’s lucky that my husband is so beautiful or things could be difficult tonight.”

Dean’s face gets really hot, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

 

 

 

 

The thing is, Dean doesn’t know what to do, because Sam tells him not to take Cas to the hospital, and that the previous married couples—or at least the ones that hadn’t gone missing—had also had memory problems, and whatever it is, it isn’t the result of when Dean had watched the tentacle monster bat his husband around like a ragdoll.

So instead, Dean does what he was pretending to do to throw Mrs. Norris off their trail.

He prepares their shower.

They’re both gross and the monster blood’s dried on their skin, but Dean decides that he really needs Cas clean to inspect that nasty gash on his head. So Dean tells him as much and resigns himself to the fact that he’s gonna have to feel disgusting for a bit longer before he gets his turn. When he finishes setting the temperature on Mrs. Norris’ old-timey shower, it’s only to look up and see Cas stripped and naked and fucking hell, Dean wasn’t ready for this.

Cas smiles at him, unabashed, and starts walking towards him, and Dean gulps, and shit, the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire. Dean mumbles, says something but he’s not sure what, but the next time that he’s aware, Cas is there, inches away, in all his naked glory, and he’s helping Dean undo his belt.

Dean makes a small unrecognizable sound in his throat and starts praying.

Soon enough, they’re both naked and Dean’s trying to preserve Cas’ modesty by averting his eyes, except Cas is still dizzy and stumbling. Dean catches him around the waist and Cas presses up against his front and then holy shit, they’re skin on skin.

Dean tries not to wonder if that’s Cas’ dick against his thigh right now.

Dean helps Cas into the bathtub, and then they’re both under the spray and Dean grunts and starts obsessively scrubbing at the blood on his arms, and Jesus have fucking mercy, because it takes every bit of will that he has not to look at Cas while his stupidly gorgeous husband runs a washcloth up and down his tan body.

A moment later, Cas gets dizzy and conveniently falls to his knees.

And then he’s there, kneeling, mouth inches away from Dean’s dick while he pants, and the blood rushes down like a fucking tornado.

Dean thinks about how pretty Cas would look with his lips wrapped around his cock.

But, “C’mon,” Dean says, sounds gruffer than he intends because his throat’s so fucking dry, so, trying again, he says, “Sweetheart, let me help you up,” and Cas takes his hand and clearly Dean’s gonna have to get Cas clean himself because his better half’s too light-headed to do it on his own.

Dean rubs his hands together, makes soapy foam, and it’s okay for a little while, scrubbing Cas’ arms, except then Dean runs out of arm, so then it’s chest and stomach, and then Dean gets Cas to turn around for his back because Dean’s not sure if he’s ready to go down any further.

Turns out the joke’s on him because Cas’ ass is another sight altogether.

It doesn’t help that Cas puts his hands against the wall and braces himself as if he’s about to get pounded.

Dean groans, shuts his eyes real tight, prays to God or whoever can hear him, and then maybe God listens because somehow he gets through scrubbing down the rest of Cas, and just as he’s finishing, he hears something that makes his dick go soft immediately.

Mrs. Norris is slinking around in their goddamn bathroom.  

He sees her through the crack of the shower curtain, and she doesn’t notice, just seems to be eagerly feasting her eyes on the sight of his husband’s naked body. Dean doesn’t know what that does to him, but a feeling rears up in his chest, something sudden and powerful and protective, and then Dean rushes forward, presses Cas up against the tiles from behind, and he’s using his body as a shield to hide him.

Cas lets out a surprised little huff when their bodies meet.

And then Dean’s in trouble.

 

 

 

 

Okay, so maybe Dean didn’t really think things through, because now his dick’s nestled right up against Cas’ bare ass, and the thought of that alone is enough to make him hard all over again.

When Cas feels Dean poking him, Cas squirms and pants and such a needy, needy whine escapes his lips and, “Touch me, Dean,” he says.

Dean swallows. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, knows that they can't do this, not if Cas has amnesia because he'd never want Dean.

So he takes a step back.

And then Cas groans.

Cas wants him.

Cas pants and reaches with his arm behind him, pulls Dean forward with his wrist so forcefully that they're pressed right up against each other again, and then Cas is pushing back into him, grinding, and Dean's dick is sliding between Cas’ cheeks, and Dean's fucking lost

Dean forgets what his own name is.

And then it's Dean who's pressing desperate, desperate kisses to the back of Cas’ shoulder, just needy—just wants Cas to know how much he fucking loves him, how maybe the last ten years between them's just been a drunk fog where Cas, Cas, Cas has been the only name on his lips when he's touched himself at night, when he's thought about marriage and someone who wakes up in the bed next to him, and for god's sake—they're married. They really are. 

For a while, they’re so lost and Dean’s about three seconds from blowing his load all over Cas’ backside, but then the dream’s rudely cut short. Mrs. Norris gets a little too eager and scurries over to get a closer look and the world gets a little darker as her shadow falls over them.

She lets out a delighted little squeal.

Dean jerks, stumbling back, and Cas shudders, hands on the tiled wall to keep himself upright, and then Cas turns back and looks at him like he's thinking about eating Dean.

Dean can’t meet his eyes.

Dean’s still hard and wanting, but now he realizes that he's just made the biggest fucking mistake of his life and Cas is going to hate him.

So, swallowing, he announces loudly that they’re getting out of the shower, and fearful of being discovered, the old lady runs and Dean doesn’t really believe that she’s ninety-three—maybe more like a horny teenager.

 

 

 

 

It’s awkward.

It’s awkward and Dean kind of wants to die.

Both he and Cas are bundled up in fluffy white bathrobes, in bed on their respective sides, and for all the frilliness of the room, the lamps on the bedside tables are dim but also bright enough to possibly create the most perfect fucking mood lighting that Dean’s ever witnessed.

The creaking floorboard outside their door never fails to remind him that Mrs. Norris is there and Dean’s gotta keep the show going.

Cas shifts a little uneasily, when Dean doesn’t say anything for the longest time, but then maybe Cas gets tired of that because he scoots over and rests his head against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean tenses up and he’s not sure what he ought to do.

But Cas looks hurt that Dean's keeping his distance.

So Dean mumbles an I love you and wraps an arm around his husband's back.

 

 

 

 

“Why don’t we have rings?”

Cas asks him that after Dean’s been silent for probably too long. Dean wiggles a bit, shifting on the mattress and pulls Cas in a little closer. His arm’s getting kind of tired, if he’s being honest, but after this whole fiasco is over and Cas remembers everything, Dean knows that he’s never gonna be able to hold him like this again—Cas probably won’t ever talk to him after what happened in the shower.

“We, uh, gave ’em to Sam this morning for safe-keeping,” Dean lies.

Cas frowns but doesn’t say anything.

Or maybe that’s Dean’s fantasy and what he hopes will happen, because instead, Cas is quiet for maybe a grand total of two seconds and then, “I’m glad that you’re my husband,” he says.

Dean clenches his jaw.

“Uh, me, too.”

It’s hard to admit that this isn’t real, that they’re not a couple when Cas keeps reminding him of how much he loves Dean.

 

 

 

 

Cas smiles at him, warm and genuine and he leans over and presses a big, loud kiss to Dean’s mouth and before Dean knows it, Cas is eager and straddling him and they’re pressing their mouths together with such a fervor that Dean's just drunk in love all over again.

Hell, Cas mumbles I love yous into Dean's skin, and each one makes Dean fall harder, get ahead of himself, and soon they roll over, and then Cas is under him, and they keep kissing and keep kissing until Cas looks at him, eyes soft, mouth still so goddamn enticing, and hopefully, “Wedding night?” he says.

Dean doesn’t know what to say.

Outside their room, Mrs. Norris presses her ear against the door even more firmly.

 

 

 

 

Of course, Cas gets upset, because he just got married and his husband’s being the cockblock of the century.

Cas pulls away from him and lies on his side, his back to Dean, and then ten minutes later, maybe he’s even more upset than Dean thought because Cas slips out of bed, pulls on his shoes, and leaves their room.

Dean hears him bump into Mrs. Norris outside who pretends to be just passing by, and she says, “What’s wrong, dearie?”

Dean hears Cas tell her that his husband probably finds him unattractive and won't sleep with him.

 

 

 

 

Dean does what he always does when he’s in doubt and calls Cas.

Except he can’t call Cas, so he ends up calling Sam.

Sam’s voice is groggy, and, “Dean, why aren’t you asleep?” he says, and Dean hisses, “Because my husband wants me to fuck him but I can’t!”

Sam starts laughing.

Sam chortles, for a good five minutes, gasps for breath and cries until, “You think this is funny?” Dean says and maybe the tone in his voice means something to Sam because Sam goes quiet. “Damn it—he doesn’t remember shit, and I can’t tell him because Mrs. Norris keeps listening at the door! Out of all the fucking inns—she's a voyeur, Sam! A voyeur!”

“You know why you’re there, Dean. The monster always materializes outside this inn for the couple in your suite, okay? Just—I don’t know—placate Cas so you can get the job done.”

Dean closes his eyes. “He’d never want—he wouldn’t want me to—if he remembered, he wouldn’t, okay? And—I couldn't. Not to anyone. Not to him.”

“I know," Sam says gently. "I'm glad, Dean. You're a good guy."

But Dean doesn't feel like one.

The more Dean thinks about it, the more he's sure that he's gonna lose his best friend.

“Okay," Sam says. "Find the monster. Kill it. Cas’ memories should return.”

And then, “Maybe Cas won’t want you anymore.”

 

 

 

 

When Dean goes down, it’s only to find Cas and their pervert innkeeper in the sitting room with three other newlywed couples discussing Dean’s failing marriage.

They seem really concerned that Cas doesn’t remember anything about his wedding or his life save for what’s gone down in the shower.

But Dean just about dies when Cas protests with, “But I feel like I’ve always loved him.”

When Dean strides into the sitting room and presses a gentle kiss to Cas' forehead, Cas leans into it nevertheless.

“C’mon,” Dean says, heart fluttering inside his chest, and he offers his hand. “Sweetheart, back to bed.”

With an unsure look that Cas throws at the others in the room, Cas follows him back to their room.

When they get there, Cas kisses him like his life depends on it and Dean goes against his better judgement and kisses Cas back.

Because it might be the last time.

 

 

 

 

Okay, so if it isn’t the last time, then even though Dean’s done a lot of stupid things to get laid in his life, this one might just take the cake.

He leaves Cas at the inn. He leaves him reluctantly, after exchanging a thousand bruising kisses (okay, so it wasn’t the last time), because Cas keeps telling him that he loves Dean, and it takes all of his willpower to pull himself away.

Except Cas is fucking insistent.

Cas grabs his wrist when he tries to go, reels him into bed, and Dean says, “Damn it, you idiot,” and then they're right back to kissing, except this time it’s tongue and the soft plush inside of Cas’ mouth and Cas groans into him.

Cas pushes his hand inside of Dean’s bathrobe, takes a hold of Dean’s cock, and Dean groans with surprise and damn it, he's fucking gone all over again. Dean pants as Cas delivers a few clumsy strokes, working Dean’s cock with his hand, and, “Fuck, baby,” Dean says, as another pet name comes flying out of his mouth. When Dean shifts, every intent to pull away, Cas thinks that it's showtime and straddles him. Legs thrown around Dean’s waist, Dean’s dick grazes Cas’ entrance and Dean nearly comes right there—goddamn it, he’s gotta do something.

But Cas' eagerness seems to have the ferocity of a thousand storms.

Cas has other ideas.

Cas pants, heavy, gives Dean another searing kiss, and then, there are fingers at Dean’s mouth. Dean breathes heavy. Dean's pliant and takes Cas’ digits between his lips, sucks, makes them wet, and then Cas uses those same spit-slicked fingers on himself.

The little sound that Cas makes when he presses his fingers inside himself for the first time has Dean gritting his teeth.

Dean kisses him again, does it because watching Cas fuck himself makes him feel helpless, and Cas groans and, “I need you, Dean,” he says.

And maybe that’s what breaks the illusion.

Dean stills, or at least, tries to have the shakiest semblance of control, and he kisses Cas’ neck, wants him to know that he’s not being mean by pulling away because seeing Cas shoot him another disappointed sad look is going to break Dean.

Cas sighs, eyes fluttering shut, still rocking those fingers inside of himself even as Dean clambers out of bed and pulls on his clothes. Cas reaches for him again, uses his free hand to grab Dean’s wrist once more, and then Cas’ eyes are open and desperate.

“I need you,” Cas says again, begs him. “Dean, please.”

Dean almost doesn’t go.

But then, “Gotta do something first,” Dean says, and he kisses him again, promises to come back and leaves Cas with a container of lube and tells him to prep himself.

The whimper that Cas lets out when he hears what Dean wants makes Dean go weak in the knees.

Before he goes, Dean kisses him one more time, presses a hand to the side of Cas' face, and tells him that he loves him and, "Damn it, don't you forget that."

Cas tells him that there isn't a single universe out there where they couldn't love each other and that he doesn't understand why Dean could ever think that he'd forget that.

 

 

 

 

Taking down a monster with approximately sixteen arms single-handedly to get laid is probably Dean’s most ill-thought-out but brilliant move.

But uh, yeah, he does it.

In a record-breaking fifteen minutes, the monster’s dead, the old missing couples emerging alive from the thing’s stomach, and then Sam calls and tells him that the couples who’d had their memories erased are A-okay.

Which means Cas is A-okay.

Which means Dean’s not gonna get laid.

 

 

 

 

There’s an ache inside Dean and it’s only growing.

And a worry that Cas’ll never meet his eyes again.

 

 

 

 

As expected, Cas isn’t naked anymore and his fingers aren’t anywhere near where Dean kind of wants them to be.

Instead, Cas is in that sitting room, back with the other couples and Mrs. Norris, and when Dean enters, Cas visibly takes a deep breath and looks away from him.

Dean’s heart sinks in his chest.

But he goes and takes a seat beside Cas.

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Norris talks their ears off, so much so that all of the other couples leave, and then it’s just Dean and Cas.

Just as Dean’s about to make an excuse, Mrs. Norris frowns and says, “Isn’t this supposed to be your wedding night?” and Dean barely contains his accusations—of course, she knows—she’s been waiting for the show to start all day.

But it’s Cas who answers.

“Yes,” Cas says, and he looks sad, but he nudges Dean up, looks at him with something desperate in his eyes, and then with some hesitation, presses a chaste kiss to Dean’s mouth.

Dean closes his eyes and savours it.

Mrs. Norris believes their ruse.

When they’re inside their bedroom, the door creaks, because surprise, surprise—she’s already listening again.

 

 

 

 

“So,” Dean says, “you, uh, remember now?”

Cas nods, barely perceptible, and then quietly, he slips into bed.

 

 

 

 

It’s about an hour later, and it’s about 3:43 AM, and they’re lying in the dark, side by side, and Dean can’t fall asleep.

Outside their door, Mrs. Norris paces impatiently, muttering about the inappropriateness of dozing on an important night like this, and a second later, kicks their door in a fit of anger.

Cas exhales then, loud enough that Dean realizes that he must be awake, and then Cas is sitting up, and he’s turned the lamp on his bedside table on.

Dean pretends to sleep.

At least until Cas puts his hand gently on Dean’s shoulder and says, “I know you’re awake.”

After that, Dean doesn’t know what to do.

But Cas says that they have to talk about their marriage.

 

 

 

 

Maybe Sam has a fifth sense or something, because just as Cas mentions it, Dean's phone rings and Sam delivers them from awkwardness with even more awkwardness.

Dean puts it on speaker phone, and Sam informs them that he's calling to help them fill out their divorce papers.

"It's 3:45 AM," Dean says, just as outside their door, Mrs. Norris groans, mutters, "Knew there was trouble in paradise," and furiously marches off to bed.

Sam's silent on the other end before he finally says, "I just thought the sooner this was over, the better."

Dean and Cas shift uncomfortably on their sides of the bed and listen to Sam talk.

 

 

 

 

For some reason, Sam spends the first hour talking about the difficulties of getting divorced.

Dean and Cas avoid eye contact.

 

 

 

 

During the second hour, Sam recounts the history of marriage dissolution and starts rattling off historic dates. 

Cas coughs and Dean almost has a heart attack. 

 

 

 

 

Maybe they're tired of listening to Sam, because at some point, Dean doesn't really know what Sam's saying anymore and his voice is basically background noise.

Cas squirms in bed and then, out of nowhere, he says, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Dean echoes and he's confused.

 

 

 

 

Cas tells him that he realizes that his advances earlier tonight made Dean uncomfortable.

"I know that you don't desire me in that way," Cas says, "and I wish I were still angel so that I could erase those memories for you."

Then he confesses that he's loved Dean always. 

Dean's stumped.

Dean panics and doesn't know what to do so he surges forward and kisses Cas.

Cas lets out a surprised squeak and smiles.

 

 

 

 

"So," Sam says, finally getting to the actual document, "I think your best option is to file for divorce based on non-consummation."

When both Dean and Cas don't answer, Sam frowns and repeats himself.  

That's when Dean tells him that it's not possible because Cas is balls-deep inside of him and, "Fuck, Sammy. It feels so good."

Cas mentions that he's "going to ejaculate now."

 

 

 

Sam possibly doesn't speak to them for a full year after that, even if he's glad that he now has an official brother-in-law.

But either way, he hears the release of a decade's worth of pent-up tension through the bunker's thin walls and enough sappiness to last him a lifetime.

"I love you" become the only words that ever seem to fly out of his brothers' mouths.