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The arena comes alive with cheers from the audience as 27 year old Dean Winchester urges his horse Zeppelin around the last barrel. He guides Zeppelin back towards his stall as his little brother Sammy gives him two thumbs up and a big grin.
“Riding Zeppelin, his black Tobiano, Dean Winchester from Lawrence, Kansas finishes with a time of 13.48 seconds!” The emcee pauses to check his cue cards and then continues. “Not only is this a personal best for Mr. Winchester, it also makes him the winner of our grand prize!”
Sammy’s waiting by the gate leading into Zeppelin’s stall when Dean dismounts, and his boots barely hit the dirt before he’s nearly tackled to the ground by the lanky sasquatch. “Dean, you did it!”
Dean laughs and hugs his brother back. “Yeah, holy shit, we did it.” Sammy helped him train for the races, timing his practice runs with a stopwatch and helping brush Zeppelin down. Dean wouldn’t have made it as far as he has without his brother there to cheer him on and encourage him. “I need a shower. Let’s get Zepp loaded and we’ll grab a hotel room. We can get some food too. Maybe I’ll treat you to a steak.”
He can actually afford a hotel for the night, he’s just won $100,000. Holy fuck. He’s set for life.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Mary Campbell had been a talented rodeo champion who competed in roping and barrel racing events. She’d met John Winchester when they’d bumped into each other outside a movie theater in Lawrence, Kansas. It had been love at first sight.
They’d settled down with Mary doing her rodeo circuit for six months out of the year while John worked at his mother’s garage. Eventually, they’d welcomed baby Dean into the world, and four years later, baby Sam.
Things hadn’t been perfect but they’d loved their kids fiercely, and Mary taught them both to ride. Dean took an immediate interest in horses and as a momma’s boy, he’d soaked up every morsel Mary could give him about roping, riding and racing a horse and the rodeo circuit.
Mary died when Dean was 14, and his life was never the same. John’s mother had passed away some years before and left John the garage. John held it together for roughly seven months, and then one hot July night, around eleven o’clock, he’d walked out of their house to get another case of beer and never returned.
Turns out, Dean and Sam had lost two parents when Mary died.
Dean had quit high school at age 15 and started working two jobs to support Sam. In the summer months, when Sam could travel with him without missing school, they’d load up with Zeppelin, their truck and horse trailer, and they’d make the rounds along the rodeo circuit.
It worked for a while until Sammy’s teachers became suspicious, which was when they ran into Donna Hanscum and her partner, Jody Mills. Donna had competed against Mary in her rodeo days, and they’d become good friends. Upon learning of John’s abandonment of the boys, they’d insisted on opening their home to the boys.
Dean had never been more grateful.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Twelve years after Jody and Donna took them in, Dean’s doing well for himself. After the barrel race in Abilene, he wins two more races. After he walks away with the top prize in Cheyenne, he starts getting invited to several charity events.
He enters the venue for the Boots & Pearls fundraiser for a local hospice organization in San Antonio, and he grins at the elegantly decorated cowboy saloon. His shiny red eel skin cowboy boots are brand new, as are his black Wranglers, and he’s a little sad that the intricate filigree stitching on his boots is hidden by his jeans. He'd thought about tucking the cuff of his jeans into his boots to show off the design, but at the last minute, he'd realized that would be a fashion faux pas.
The pearl element comes into play with the large mother of pearl teardrop pendant inlaid into silver filigree that cinches the black braided leather bolo tie loosely in the hollow of his throat. His off-white shirt is buttoned up, the collar pressed, and his black leather vest has black lacing up the sides and a handsome brocade embroidered design over it. He's got on one of his nicer hats, a black center dent cowboy hat with leaf prints stitched into the leather band and bold red hibiscus flowers hand painted under the brim. The front center buckle on the leather band features a red stone and rhinestones dot the decorative vines in between the leaf prints.
“Dean Winchester, there you are!”
He turns at the sound of his name, and he grins when he sees Naomi Cheon, a woman in her forties with short cropped blond hair, heading in his direction. Behind her trails a tall, handsome man who looks Dean up and down and then flashes a smile that’s all white teeth and confidence, and Dean feels heat rising in his cheeks. He briefly presses the tip of his tongue to his bottom lip and almost reaches up to loosen his bolo tie because it feels tight against his throat.
“Ms. Cheon.” Dean smiles politely. “Thank you for the invitation. I love what you’ve done with the place.” He gestures to the floral arrangements and the pearls and strings of lights draped around the walls and tables.
"I've told you to call me Naomi. Have you met Michael?" Naomi gestures toward her companion.
Dean eyes her companion and gulps. Their eyes have met, and he’s nervous that the man is picking up on the vibes of Dean’s attraction. He rubs the back of his neck as he tries to act casual. “I, um, n- no.” The man is dressed in black trousers and a white dress shirt with a charcoal grey jacket that has embroidered details on the lapels. Michael isn't wearing a hat but he has a large oval shaped mother of pearl pendant on his bolo tie, not unlike his own.
"No, I don't think we have been introduced," Michael says as he extends a hand to Dean. "I'm Michael Elias."
Dean shakes Michael's hand, which is bigger and smoother than his own. "Pleased to meet you, Michael." He feels a pang of shame knowing his own hand is calloused and rough, meaning it’s obvious he’s worked with his hands.
He's vaguely aware of Naomi excusing herself to go mingle with other guests. He's even sure Michael and he make small talk for a small portion of the evening. They take a turn around the dance floor, and Michael's hand settles low on the small of Dean's back, just above the waistband of his jeans.
“I’ve got a hotel room, not too far from here,” Michael mutters softly in Dean’s ear. "I've also got a car.”
Dean laughs softly and grins. "I've got a car too. '67 Chevy Impala. She's beautiful."
Michael draws back to look at Dean’s face, and Dean misses the sweet and bright floral yet smoky mesquite scent of Michael's cologne. “Really? Classic muscle car. Mine’s a ‘56 Chevy Bel Air.”
Dean’s smile brightens and his eyes widen. “Oh, you gotta show me that beauty, Michael.”
Michael laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as he takes Dean’s hand and leads him out to the parking lot where the turquoise and white hardtop car awaits. The chrome shines and the tail fins draw Dean’s eyes, and he bites his bottom lip. She’s gorgeous.
“ Holy shit ,” he breathes. “Michael, this car is amazing .”
Dean walks around the car reverently, running his fingertips over the body.
“Everything’s been lovingly restored. You wanna get in?” Michael wraps his hand around Dean’s waist and pulls him against him. “You wanna get in?”
That’s how they end up parked under a shady tree on a hill overlooking a lake. The setting sun reflects off the surface of the lake. It’s gorgeous scenery, but not as gorgeous as the man currently on top of him.
They make short work of their jeans, Dean’s pulled completely off so his legs wrap around Michael’s hips and Michael’s shoved down far enough to free his cock. Dean rocks in rhythm with his lover’s bruising thrusts. His arms circle Michael’s shoulders, one hand gripping his hair as the other scratches over his shoulder. His back arcs like a tightly drawn bow, and he cries out as Michael dips his head down to bite at his neck.
They finish almost in sync, with Michael kind enough to make sure Dean comes first, and Dean’s certain he sees stars. He lays back on the seat, sprawled out as much as he can, one foot dropping down to rest in the footwell as the other slides down the back of Michael’s calf, and catches his breath as Michael’s mouth drops open on a soundless cry.
Michael lowers himself down onto Dean and kisses him, his tongue dipping into his mouth as his hand cradles the back of Dean’s neck. Dean moans into the kiss and drags his nails down Michael's back. Michael draws back and leaves Dean breathless, tilting his head up to chase after his lips.
“Let me take you home and lay you out properly on a bed,” Michael says in a sultry tone as he nibbles at Dean’s neck. “I’ll worship you, like the star you are. I make some of the best French toast you’ve ever had.”
Dean gasps, his skin abuzz. How can he refuse? Nobody has ever offered to worship him. “Throw in some bacon on the side and you got a deal.”
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
After four months, Michael proposes. Dean's flustered and accepts. The wedding, which is less than a year later, is more lavish than he intended and, truth be told, bigger than he wanted. Michael's the CEO of a thriving Fortune100 company (honestly, Dean’s a little unsure what Michael's job entails beyond a lot of boring meetings and conference calls), and Michael promises Dean he'll never want for anything.
In theory, it sounds amazing at first. They travel internationally, which is a first for Dean and overwhelming. Michael takes care of the details of getting Dean a passport.
The first time they step into a strange country, Dean feels wrongfooted and ill at ease. He speaks no other language except English, and Michael seems fluent in the native language of every country they visit. Dean’s further reminded of the class division between Michael and him. Michael has a bachelor’s degree in business or something while Dean had to drop out of high school so he could work two jobs and take care of his little brother.
Michael pays for everything while he fields calls and makes business deals. He really does take care of everything: he chooses the destinations where they travel, the restaurants where they eat. He even chooses Dean’s clothes and coaches him in how to speak and make small talk with Michael's colleagues.
After three months of travelling the world, Dean misses his life. The roar of the crowd, his horse, and his rodeo friends and family. He misses wearing ripped jeans and band t-shirts and drinking cheap beer in rowdy dive bars.
He knows Sammy is doing great. Between Jody and Donna, Dean and Sam’s scholarships covering tuition, Dean’s little brother had gone to Stanford. He's two years into his studies for a law degree. Dean misses his little brother fiercely, even though they do call and text each other often.
"Let's settle down," he tells Michael one night as they lie in bed after a rousing round of sex. "Let's buy a house somewhere. I want to go back to barrel racing. I miss it."
Michael scoffs. "You don't ever have to do barrel racing for the money again, Dean."
Dean frowns and pushes himself up into an upright position so he can shift and look at Michael. "I never did it only for the money, Michael. I love riding horses, and I love racing Zeppelin. I haven't seen him in months. He probably thinks I've abandoned him."
Michael gives him a skeptical look but nods. "If you want to settle down and get a house, I will make that happen. We can start looking at real estate tomorrow."
Dean smiles brightly and kisses Michael enthusiastically. "Thank you, Michael."
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Three months later, and six into the marriage, Dean heads out to the stable (his very own stable!) where Zeppelin awaits. It's been a couple of days since his favorite horse has arrived at his new home, and he wants to make sure he's settling in alright.
Dean had intended to make the road trip from Kansas to Connecticut himself with Zeppelin in his horse trailer. He'd envisioned Michael and him taking turns driving, maybe stopping to see the roadside attractions along the way.
Michael had had other ideas -- he'd hired experienced horse haulers and had taken Dean on a weekend trip to Paris for furniture and had even set up private appointments with designers to give Dean a whole new wardrobe.
Dean had been annoyed because he'd really wanted to share his fond memories of cross country road trips with Michael and deepen their bond. He'd been grumpy the first day in Paris, and by the third day, he’d begrudgingly admitted that it was kind of cool.
Dean had never walked through museums or art galleries or anything of that touristy stuff. Michael had brought him to the Grand Palais, which he said had once been a royal palace but had been turned into a museum.
“There’s a particular statue I really think you’re going to like.” Michael directed Dean’s attention to the top of the Grand Palais, where Dean could see a statue of a group of horses and a chariot covered in a light green patina.
“It’s called L’Immortalite Devancent le Temps,” Michael whispered in Dean’s ear as he circled his arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him back against his chest. “That translates to Immortality Outstripping Time. The statues were originally meant to have a patina of a dark bronze tone, but it was decided the light green was more in harmony with the mignonette green color of the steel structures in the Nave.”
“It’s beautiful,” Dean breathed. “The way the sculptor captured the movements of the horses. Holy cow.”
Michael had laughed and nodded. “Yes, indeed. Come, there is even more beauty inside.”
They’d whiled away the hours inside the Grand Palais, and by the end of it, Dean had a slightly better opinion of museums in general.
But the best part was the food! Oh, the food! Rich and decadent, Dean wasn’t all that sure he even knew most of what he’d been eating, but he hadn’t asked too many questions in case it was something funky like snail or eel. He did recognize the fish and chips they’d eaten at one restaurant, and oh man, the colors of everything! He’d never seen such vibrant colors on a plate! He’d had cheese plates and fancy croissants and hearty stews. Sam would even be thrilled to know his brother had eaten salads of all things.
Michael had enjoyed feeding Dean from his own fork too. Dean’s favorite drink had been called a Pornstar Martini, and it had been a vibrant red and tasted delicious, and Dean had perhaps indulged in one too many. He vaguely remembered Michael carrying him back to their hotel room and putting him to bed.
So, yeah, okay, he’d enjoyed Paris more than he’d expected. He’s glad to be home and settled though. And eager to see his favorite horse.
The barn where Zeppelin is stabled is fancier than anything Dean's had before, and he’d insisted it was too much when Michael had first shown him the plans. There's a concrete strip wide enough for four people to walk shoulder to shoulder with multiple stalls on either side. The barn is wired with electricity and air conditioning and ceiling fans. There's a separate tack room and an office area, and everything is done in luxurious golden honey wood. The ten stalls each have hinged gates and wrought iron fences with a dip in the middle so the horses can stick their heads out. There are five paddocks outside, and Dean has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that this stable belongs to him.
Zeppelin’s the only horse being housed in the stable right now, and Dean thinks it's a shame to see all that space go to waste. Maybe he can rent out the empty stalls.
As soon as Dean enters the barn, he hears Zeppelin's whinny, and he smiles. He really did miss Zeppelin. That smile quickly fades as he approaches Zeppelin's stall and he sees his beautiful black Tobiano craning his neck, head turned towards his back, as he chews at his hide.
"Zepp! Stop that!" Dean admonishes, and as he gets closer, he's stunned to see his horse's back and chest covered in raised, red, flat-topped bumps. It's been a long time since Dean has seen such welts on his beloved baby, and he’s immediately concerned.
The last time Zeppelin had hives, Dean remembers switching his food for something cheaper. There'd been something in the feed that had given Zeppelin an allergic reaction.
It takes a minute for him to locate the storage room where the feed is kept. His heart plummets as he sees green feed bags with the words "alfalfa pellet feed" on them.
"Shit!" Dean pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contact list until he finds Michael's assistant Michelle.
He presses the phone to his ear and listens to it ring, only marginally relaxing when Michelle answers. "Hey, Michelle, it's Dean. I need the name and number of the best large animal vet in the area.
A little over an hour later, Dean’s hovering anxiously in the doorway of Zeppelin's stall as the veterinarian examines Dean’s beloved horse. Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, arms hugged around himself.
"Doc, you gotta tell me something," he says finally. "Is Zepp gonna be okay?"
Dr. Castiel Novak finishes his examination and offers a comforting smile to the anxious young owner hovering nearby. "It looks like an allergic reaction. I've given him Banamine to help with the inflammation and the hives. He's going to be fine, Mr. Winchester. I'll get you a prescription and walk you through the dosage and how to give Zeppelin the medicine."
Dean exhales in relief and feels the tension bleed from his body. "Thanks, Doctor Novak. I don't know how this happened. I had food for him already before he was moved. I * knew * I should've moved him myself. Michael said he got guys who knew how to handle horses."
"Michael?" Castiel prompts as he packs up his supplies.
Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, my husband, Michael Elias. We just moved here."
The warmth of Castiel's face shutters, and his lips form a thin line. "Oh. Congratulations on the marriage." He mutters something under his breath that Dean swears sounds like "Maybe this one will stick."
Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "You know Michael?"
"Through acquaintances," Castiel says. "My eldest brother was Michael's partner when he first launched his company." His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and Dean can't help but be captivated by it. Castiel's lips are pink and they look dry. Dean could fix that with the stick of apple pie lip balm he's got shoved in a pocket of his jeans. Then he'd kiss it off and have to start the process again.
He shakes himself out of his stupor because Castiel spoke and he’s completely missed it. "Sorry, what?"
Castiel's blue eyes seem to sparkle even in the fluorescent lighting of the barn, and one corner of his mouth tugs upward in a mirth-filled half smile. "I said I didn't realize you were married. You introduced yourself as Dean Winchester."
Dean's cheeks heat up, and he shrugs. "Oh, yeah. Um, still getting used to the new last name. Are you, um, do I pay you now or... I've never had a vet come to my house, and the rodeo docs wanted cash."
Castiel nods. "I can send you a bill. Rodeo docs, huh? I thought your name sounded familiar. You're a barrel racer. A good one too. Won a lot of prize buckles."
Dean grins brightly. This handsome doc knows him. "Yeah. I mean, I haven't raced since I met Michael, so I'm sure somebody's beaten my times by now, but I'm pretty good. I can rope a calf pretty damn fast too but barrel racing's my first love."
"Maybe you can tell me about it sometime," Castiel says. "I should, uh, be going to my next appointment. I'll get you that medicine for Zeppelin this afternoon. Definitely get rid of that alfalfa food and put him back on whatever he's used to eating. The hives should clear up in a couple of days."
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says as he offers his hand. “I mean, Doc. Dr. Novak.”
Castiel gives him a warm smile and shakes his hand. He gathers up his stuff and heads to his truck, and Dean’s eyes are drawn down to the veterinarian's ass, which is perfectly hugged and enhanced by the worn blue jeans he wears.
"Damn," he mutters to himself, shaking his head. He's a married man, but he can still look, right?
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Dean glances at the clock on the kitchen wall for what feels like the tenth time in the past five minutes. Michael had said he'd be home by six o'clock, and it's now edging towards a quarter after seven.
Dinner has long since gone cold, and Dean had given up and fixed Michael a plate to warm up when he finally showed up. He'd eaten by himself in the breakfast nook in the kitchen rather than their gargantuan dining room. He still feels more alone than ever though even seated at the smaller table.
By the time eight o'clock comes and goes, Dean’s dejected and assumes his husband is either sleeping at the office or... He doesn't want to consider other options. He tries ringing Michael's cell phone again and it goes to voicemail for the tenth time. Dean sighs and checks his text messages to see his texts -- asking when Michael would be home and then telling him about the plate in the oven -- from earlier in the evening is read, but Michael hasn't bothered to reply.
Dean huffs and resists the urge to throw the phone. It's a brand new Motorola flip phone, one of the nicest phones he's ever had that wasn't secondhand, and he doesn't want to break it and risk upsetting Michael.
He washed his dishes earlier and cleaned up from where he'd cooked, so he trudges out of the kitchen and makes his way into the den. He flops onto the couch and grabs the remote, turning on the TV even though he's not that interested in watching anything. Noise makes the desolate house seem smaller.
His phone ringing startles him out of his thoughts, and for a moment, his heart leaps because he knows it's got to be Michael.
When he glances at the caller ID and sees “Doc Novak,” his heart skips a beat. His mind’s eye supplies him with an image of the veterinarian’s brilliant blue eyes, dark unkempt hair and stubble.
Be cool, he admonishes himself as he flips open his phone and brings it up to his ear. “Hello?”
Castiel's deep roughened voice comes across the line. “Hello, Dean. It’s Castiel Novak. Uh, Doctor Novak. I’m calling to see how Zeppelin is doing.”
“Oh!” Dean’s cheeks flush with embarrassment because he’d hoped Castiel might be calling to check on him. “He’s better. I got him different feed, and the hives are almost gone. That medicine has helped a lot.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that,” Castiel says, and Dean swears he can hear the smile in the good doctor’s voice. “Actually… There may have been another reason I wanted to talk to you.”
Dean perks up at that and feels his heart rate speed up. “Yeah? So, uh, what’s up, Doc?”
He bites his lip to hold back a laugh at the annoyed sigh he hears across the line. “Be honest, Dean, how long have you been sitting on that one?” Castiel’s tone is very dry, and once again, Dean’s almost certain he can hear a smile.
“Practically since we met.” Dean relaxes back into the couch cushions and tucks his right foot under his left leg. “No, seriously, you wanted to talk to me about something besides Zepp?”
“I’m half inclined to say forget it now.”
There’s a beat where Dean holds his breath out of fear that maybe he has really offended Castiel. He releases that breath a second later when Castiel starts speaking again.
“I’m kidding, Dean. You see, I teach private lessons to kids who want to learn how to ride horses.” Dean can picture Castiel tugging at his earlobe as he speaks. “I have a kid, a young boy, whose parents really want him to learn how to ride. There's just one problem.”
Dean chuckles softly. He already has an idea where this is going. “Let me guess, little Timmy’s terrified of the horses?” He remembers Sammy had been afraid of the horses at first, and he’d worked with his little brother to overcome that.
Castiel clicks his tongue. “Yeah. Well, his name is Kevin, not Timmy, but yeah. I’ve tried working with him but I’m not having much success. He’s into cowboys and you’re a cowboy, so I hoped you might help me out.”
“I’ll do it,” Dean blurts out. He’s grateful Castiel isn’t there because he can feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment at his enthusiasm to see the handsome veterinarian again.
Castiel gives a soft chuckle. “Alright, yeah, that sounds great. I’ll text you directions to my place, and you can come tomorrow morning around 9? Does that sound okay?”
Dean nods and then realizes Castiel can’t see him. “I- Yeah, it sounds perfect. I’ll see you in the morning, Cas.”
“Great. Goodnight, Dean.”
Dean smiles brightly as giddiness rushes through him and he has the silliest urge to kick his feet. “Yeah, goodnight, Cas.”
Okay, so maybe once he hangs up, he does allow himself to jump up and do a quick little body shake of excitement.
He heads up to bed and changes into his pajama pants and a t-shirt. He’s not sure what time Michael finally comes home, doesn’t even feel the bed dip because he’s fast asleep.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Michael’s gone before Dean wakes up in the morning. His side of the bed barely looks slept in, and Dean forces out a breath through his teeth. He isn’t going to let it bring him down. He gets to spend time with horses and kids and Castiel. It’s gonna be great.
He does send Michael a text saying good morning and that he hopes to see him that night. Then he gets dressed in jeans and a comfortable shirt, pulls on his boots and heads out to see Cas.
The directions Castiel gave Dean leads him off the main highway onto a graveled road that ends in sprawling acres of pasture land with a two-story white shiplap farmhouse and a small red barn that’s cozy and quaint.
Castiel’s waiting by a paddock just outside the barn. There’s a beautiful palomino horse with a golden coat and bright white mane and tail. Castiel has a brush in one hand and he’s talking to a small Asian kid, who’s standing at least five feet from Castiel and the horse.
Dean chuckles softly as he parks his truck, and he shuts off the engine, then grabs a black cowboy hat off the seat. He climbs out of the truck and puts the hat on his head as he walks over to the fence.
“Hey, Cas!” He grins as his shout draws the other man’s attention and a bright smile lights up Castiel’s face.
“Hello, Dean!” Castiel motions toward the barn. “Come join us! The paddock entrance is through the barn. First door on your left as you enter!”
Dean gives a thumbs up and jogs into the barn. In minutes, he’s joined Castiel and the kid inside the paddock. “Hey,” he says to the kid, “You must be Kevin.”
The kid’s eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
Dean chuckles. “Dean Winchester. I’m a friend of Cas. He said you’re having a little trouble with horses, and he thought I could help.”
Kevin seems to size Dean up and then shrugs. “Dr. Novak has tried everything, but okay, give it a shot.”
Dean’s amused by Kevin’s no-nonsense manner, and he crouches down so he’s on the boy’s level. “Well, maybe I have a few tricks up my sleeve Doc hasn’t thought of, huh?”
Kevin gives him a skeptical look. “I suppose.”
Castiel chuckles. “You’ll find that Kevin can be a little stubborn, Dean. I’ve been trying to get him to come over here and help me brush Honey here.” He gestures to the palomino, who flicks her tail.
“She hit me with her tail last time I got too close!” Kevin insists. “She doesn’t like me!”
“Horses can sense your fear, you know,” Dean says, adopting the same no-nonsense tone Kevin had used earlier.
Kevin’s forehead wrinkles as he considers that. Dean can tell he’s appealed to the child’s inner curiosity. “How?”
“Well, they can read our body language and our facial expressions,” Dean explains, just as his mother had when he was little, and when Sammy had been little. Dean had never been afraid of horses, but oh, Sammy had been at first. “They pick on cues, like your tense posture or your breathing if it’s too fast.”
He holds his hand out to Kevin and gives him a warm smile. “C’mon, I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll approach Honey together, alright?”
Kevin frowns, and he hesitates several seconds before he takes Dean’s hand. “Alright.”
Dean can feel Castiel’s eyes on them, and knows the veterinarian is holding his breath, as he slowly leads Kevin forward towards the horse. Honey’s ear flicks but she doesn’t move, not even as Dean stops about five paces from her.
“I’m gonna pick you up so you’re on her level, okay?” Dean tells Kevin, and when he gets a nod from the boy, he picks Kevin up with his hands under his armpits. He settles the kid on his hip and then takes his wrist. He slowly brings the boy’s hand up and sets it against Honey’s neck.
Kevin tenses almost immediately, and Dean shushes him quietly. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Just relax, she won’t hurt you. I got you, I promise.” He slowly starts moving the boy’s hand in a stroking motion down Honey’s neck and down to her shoulders, then brings his hand back up to Honey’s neck and repeats the motion.
He does this several times before Kevin starts to relax in his arms, and Dean grins. “Yeah, that’s it.” He pulls his hand after a couple more strokes, and then Kevin is petting Honey all by himself. “See? That’s not so bad, right, Kev?”
“Okay, yes, this is sort of pleasant, I suppose.” Kevin keeps petting Honey and then gently pats her. He glances at Dean and then at Castiel. “Could I try brushing her now?”
Later, after Kevin’s mom has picked Kevin up at the end of the day’s lesson, Castiel invites Dean inside the house for a glass of iced tea before he leaves.
“That was impressive,” he says once they’re seated on the front porch swing. “You’re exceptional with kids, Dean.”
Dean scoffs and shrugs one shoulder as he uses his foot to push off from the porch and sets the swing in a gradual swaying motion. “I have a little brother, and horses scared him when he was four. Mom tried, but Sammy listened to me better, so I started him out petting Mom’s horse while I held him, like I did with Kevin.”
He takes a sip of his drink and grins at Castiel. “I’ll have him riding Honey by the end of the week.”
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
True to his word, by Friday, Dean has Kevin guiding Honey around the paddock like he’s a pro. Dean had started riding with Kevin settled in front of him on the saddle, and then he progressed to Kevin riding solo with Dean holding onto the lead rope as he’d walked Honey around the paddock.
Mrs. Tran is present that day, and Kevin is preening like a peacock as he parades Honey around at a gentle gallop. The petite woman shakes her head in astonishment as she looks at Castiel and Dean. “I can’t believe you managed to pull it off.”
Castiel beams as he pats Dean’s shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without Dean, Mrs. Tran.”
“Well, thank you, Dean, I appreciate your help too.” Mrs. Tran studies Dean, and he has the feeling she’s sizing him up the same way Kevin had the first day they’d met. “Dr. Novak, I’ll double your fee. Please share it with Dean.”
Dean sputters and quickly shakes his head. “No, I can’t accept that. I’m fine. I did it for love, you know.” His heart flutters a little as he panics at the thought of that being misinterpreted. “The horses, I mean. Love of the horses, you know.”
She gives him a knowing smile and nods. “I see. Well, at any rate, I insist. Do with the money what you will, Dean.” She writes Castiel a check and hands it over to him.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
The next couple of days, it’s raining too hard, so Castiel calls off the lessons. Dean’s bored while Michael’s at work, and he honestly can’t remember the last time he’s seen his husband in the daylight hours.
He sends his husband a text asking if he’ll be home for dinner.
Honestly, he doesn’t expect an answer, at least not any time soon, so he’s surprised when his phone buzzes a few minutes later.
A smile tugs at his lips as he reads Michael’s text: I’ll be home early. Dinner out on the town?
Dean quickly texts back: Why don’t we order in? We can watch movies on the couch. I never get to see you anymore 😞
He sees the three dots indicating Michael’s typing. They flash in sequence for a full five seconds and then disappear before reappearing again.
This happens twice more before Michael finally sends a reply: 👍🏻
Dean furrows his brow. It took Michael that long to compose a text, and all he ends up getting is a thumbs up emoji? His stomach twists with dread, and then he shakes his head. Nah. He’s overthinking it. Maybe Michael kept getting interrupted. He’s a busy man, after all.
“Coming home early” translates to six o’clock in Michael speak, but Dean decides he isn’t going to complain. He’d expected Michael home at four but– No. No, it’s fine.
He’s up off the couch in the living room when he hears the front door open, and he greets his husband in the foyer. He takes Michael’s briefcase and sets it down on the round glass side table by the door, and then he takes Michael’s blazer jacket and pushes it off his shoulders.
“Good evening, husband,” Dean says cheekily as he hangs the blazer up in the closet.
Michael gives him an amused smile as Dean’s hands loosen his tie. “Well, good evening to you too. Someone clearly missed me today.”
Dean nods and slides his arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”
Michael chuckles and kisses Dean’s forehead. “Well, you know what they say. No rest for the wicked.”
Dean chuckles as well and presses a kiss to the curve of Michael’s jaw. “C’mon, let’s go get you in comfy clothes. Do you want to order Chinese or burgers and fries?”
Michael’s nose scrunches. “Must we choose one or the other? Both are so greasy and unhealthy. Plus, after I eat Chinese, I always feel hungry an hour later.”
Dean’s face falls as hurt bubbles up inside him. “You’ve never complained any other time we’ve gotten either,” he points out.
“I know, but it’s so often,” Michael complains. “Let’s try something different. What about that farm-to-table place? Uh, Farmer’s Table. They use fresh ingredients in all their dishes.”
Dean huffs and lets his arms drop from around Michael’s shoulders as he steps back. “We haven’t had Chinese or burgers that often, because you’re never home to order takeout with me!” He’s not even acknowledging that farm-to-table comment right now.
He turns on his heel and storms off to the den, where he throws himself down on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. Tears are threatening to spill from his eyes, and he desperately wants to call Cas. Dean bets Cas wouldn’t care if they ordered Chinese or burgers. He wouldn’t work all the time either. Sure, he might have an emergency call in the middle of the night, but at least he’d be there with Dean as much as he could be.
Dean chokes on a sob at the realization that he’s imagining Cas cuddled up to him on the couch. He wishes he’d met Cas first.
He tenses at a knocking sound on the doorframe behind him. Swiping his hand across his eyes, he sniffles. “Yeah?” He doesn’t look over his shoulder because he’s still feeling guilty about daydreaming of cuddling another man. God, he’s pathetic. It’s cuddling, for fuck’s sake. It hasn’t even happened in real life. Why should he feel guilty?
“Can I come in?”
Well, at least he asked instead of barging in, Dean thinks unkindly.
“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles.
He hears the whispers and rustles of Michael’s clothes as he walks into the room, and then the leather of the couch squeaks as Michael sits down. Dean keeps his focus down on his lap. He’s not ready to look at his husband yet.
Michael sighs, and Dean feels Michael’s hand coming to rest on his bare arm. “I’m sorry, Dean.” His tone is quiet, placating, and Dean fights the urge to grit his teeth. He almost rolls his eyes as Michael rubs his hand up and down Dean’s arm.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for, Michael?” Dean turns his head to look at his husband, who has a stunned expression on his face before he twists it into a soothing smile.
“Of course.” Michael slides his hand down Dean’s arm to his hand, where he entwines their fingers together. He lifts Dean’s hand and presses a kiss on the back. “You’re angry because I’m never home. I do apologize, Dean, but work sometimes forces me to stay late.”
Dean snorts. “You’re the CEO, can’t you–I dunno, delegate tasks or something?”
“Sweetheart, some things I have to handle myself.” Michael kisses the back of Dean’s hand again. “Let’s order from Himalaya Sono, huh? They still have those stir-fried noodles you like. It’s just prepared a little fresher and with less of that MSG.”
Yeah, and it costs twice as much as Dean’s favorite Chinese place downtown. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You know what? Fine, sure. Whatever you want. I’m too tired to fight. I wanted to have a nice evening with my husband, and you get here, and you start nitpicking.”
He’s grumpy again, and he wants to shrug off Michael’s arms as they wrap around him. Michael’s pressing kisses to the corner of Dean’s mouth and then trailing kisses down to his jaw and neck.
“Stop,” he says halfheartedly. “I’m not in the mood.”
Michael hums against the curve of Dean’s shoulder as he tugs the neckline of Dean’s shirt out of the way. “I bet I can get you in the mood.”
Dean hates that Michael is right.
Three minutes later, as their sweat and cum is cooling on their bodies, Dean’s stomach twists in malaise at how easily he’d melted under Michael’s amorous hands. The anger he’d felt before hasn’t dissipated; it’s just been shoved aside, swept under a proverbial carpet.
Michael assumes it’s forgotten though. It’s obvious from the fond smile curving his lips and the kisses he gently peppers over Dean’s face and collarbone. He’s still resting on top of Dean, and Dean squirms slightly as his stomach rumbles.
“Mm, sounds like you really worked up an appetite, sweetheart,” Michael murmurs.
Dean takes a deep breath and then exhales to quell the rage that threatens to spew out of his mouth in the form of a snappy quip. “Yeah. You wanted Himalaya Sono, right?”
Later, as he’s poking at his container of beef fried noodles, he can’t help thinking Cas wouldn’t have tried to win the argument with sex.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
A month later, Dean’s fretting in the barn as Castiel gives Zeppelin his annual vaccinations. It shouldn’t be a big deal since the vaccinations are perfectly routine, but Zeppelin is Dean’s baby. He raised him from a colt and bottle fed him on occasion. Zeppelin’s like a child to Dean, so of course he’s going to worry, routine or not.
Castiel is taking it in stride, thank goodness, although he does cast a sideways glance as Dean moves a little too close. “You’re blocking my light,” he says dryly. “You don’t have to hover so much, Mother Hen.”
Pink heat blooms across Dean’s cheekbones as he backs up a couple of steps. “Sorry.” He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck and casts his glance downward at the hay-strewn floor of the stall.
His eyes are drawn to a tanned patch of skin on display between where the edge of Castiel’s shirt has ridden up and the waistband of his jeans. There’s a line where the tan ends and white skin begins, and Dean’s eyes skim down to where there’s a slight gap between the jeans and skin.
Cas doesn’t quite have a plumber’s situation going on, but Dean doesn’t think he’d mind it so much.
“Haha, very funny. I’m hardly a mother hen,” Dean grouses as he glares at Castiel, who flashes a toothy grin.
Castiel finishes the last shot and then puts his things away in his black medicine bag. “Well, I think that’s about it.” He stands up from his crouch and stretches his arms over his head, causing his shirt to ride up a little in the front.
Dean’s eyes are drawn down to more tanned skin and a delightful strip of black hair that disappears into the front of Castiel’s jeans. He jerks his eyes up and away all the while hoping that Castiel hadn’t noticed. “Uh, yeah, great! I mean, unless you wanna come inside? I can get you some water?”
He casts his glance back to Castiel in time to see him smile brilliantly in a way that makes Dean’s stomach flip. “I’d love to but I’m actually late for my next appointment,” Castiel admits. “Next time, maybe. Keep an eye on Zeppelin and let me know if he reacts negatively to any of his shots. Don’t hesitate to call even if it’s the middle of the night.”
Dean nods and shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Cas, I’ll see you later. Put it on my tab, yeah?”
Castiel gives him one more butterflies-in-the-stomach inducing smile and nods. “Of course.”
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Dean can’t say exactly what pulls him from the warm embrace of sleep, but he opens his eyes and listens for any wayward sounds in the dark. Michael’s lying beside him with his back facing the window, and Dean studies his husband’s face in the dim moonlight. It’s a half-moon phase, and it’s not as bright as it could be, but the soft pale light helps him pick out some of the details of Michael’s face.
Michael’s face is relaxed in sleep, and the lines of everyday stress have smoothed out. He really is an attractive man, and Dean understands completely how he got swept away in the current of Michael’s allure when they first met.
He wants something more now though.
The sound of a distressed neigh in the distance snaps Dean out of his reverie, and he doesn’t think twice about shoving back the covers and jumping from bed. He barely gets his feet in his slippers and completely forgoes a robe but grabs his phone before racing downstairs and out into the night in his thin T-shirt and pajama pants.
By the time Dean’s within a few feet of the barn, he can already hear Zeppelin scraping the ground of his stall with one hoof. He runs into the barn and flips on the lights, heading straight for Zeppelin’s stall.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” Dean asks as he opens the stall gate and slips inside.
Zeppelin roughly blows air out of his nostrils and bobs his head up and down. He doesn’t settle down as Dean reaches out to pet his back. Instead, he paws again at the ground and then lowers his head down to nibble at Dean’s pajama pants leg.
“Hey, whoa, don’t do that!” Dean chides as he tries to step back. He frowns and puts his hand on Zeppelin’s back again. “What happened, huh? You were fine when I came out to feed you dinner.”
He knows that Zeppelin’s food can’t be tainted, he’s checked it himself and been so careful about what kind he’s eaten. Still, he glances down at the food still left in Zeppelin’s bowl, and he frowns because it looks like the familiar pellets he always gives his horse.
Still, he heads into the supply room to double check. Finding nothing unusual, he returns to Zeppelin’s stall to find the horse has laid down in the stall. It isn’t that odd, but Dean still observes him. In that time, Zeppelin stays down for maybe thirty seconds, then stands, shifting his weight between his legs, and then he tries laying down again. He rolls onto his back, and Dean’s frown deepens as he hears a crunching, squeaking sound.
“You grinding your teeth, buddy?” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Castiel.
Castiel answers with a yawned “Hello?” and Dean flinches.
“Cas, I know you said to call you any time, but I’m so sorry I woke you up. I think those vaccines gave Zepp colic. He’s rolling around and grinding his teeth, and—Can you come check him out?” Dean bites his bottom lip; he’s not being unreasonable, right? It’s the middle of the night. Anything could be happening.
He can hear a rustle over the phone and braces himself for completely understandable rejection. It’s cool, he’ll deal. He can figure out something for himself, surely. Home remedy, maybe. His mom dealt with situations like this all the time without a veterinarian.
“I’ll be right there, Dean,” comes across the line instead, and Dean’s breath leaves him in a weighted sigh. “See if you can get him to drink some water, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Dean says quietly. “I owe you, like, a million favors, Cas. Thank you so much.”
“Not quite a million, Dean,” Castiel says with a chuckle. “I’ll see you soon. Just relax. Take a deep breath and maybe drink some water yourself. Not Zeppelin’s though.”
That draws an easy laugh out of Dean. “Yeah, okay. See you soon, Cas.”
Seconds later—realistically, it’s more like twenty minutes but whatever—Cas is holding a stethoscope to Zeppelin’s abdomen and moving it around occasionally as he listens. He’s made a couple of vague “hmm” noises, and Dean’s thinking about taking up biting his nails again or maybe smoking just to have something to release his pent-up stress.
“Hmm,” Castiel says one last time as he pulls the earpieces of the stethoscope out and lets it rest draped around his neck.
Dean reaches up with the intent of yanking out handfuls of his hair, and then Castiel puts him out of his misery by announcing—in a casual weatherman type voice, no less—that “It’s colic.”
Dean throws up his hands. “I know that! I told you that on the phone! Like, how bad is it, Doc? Give it to me straight, does he need surgery? Do we have to put him on antibiotics? What’s the deal?”
He’s all but reached out to shake Castiel by the shoulders at this point, and both Zeppelin and Castiel look rather unimpressed with his hysterics.
“We just have to keep Zeppelin up and walking around until he poops,” Castiel says with a shrug.
He says it with such a straight face that it startles loose a laugh so hard that Dean snorts, followed by Dean clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Castiel’s lips curve upward, and he rolls his eyes.
“Get the lead rope,” he says. “I’ll help you walk him.”
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Michael wakes up the next morning to find the space beside him in bed not only empty but cold as well.
He doesn’t think much of Dean’s absence at first, and he remains in bed, letting himself wake up more, as he listens for the sound of the shower running. When he realizes there are no sounds of any kind coming from the bathroom, he thinks to himself that maybe Dean has gone downstairs to get breakfast started.
No matter how many times Michael has told his husband they can hire someone to prepare their meals for them, Dean insists on doing it himself. On occasion, Michael can persuade him to go out to eat somewhere nice, or he agrees to order takeout. He tries so hard to spoil his husband and acclimate him to a finer quality life, but Dean stubbornly clings to his routines.
He finally gets up from bed and showers quickly, going through all his morning steps before getting dressed in charcoal grey slacks and a crisp white dress shirt. A maroon tie is the one pop of color he allows himself, and then he pauses and changes it to an emerald green tie. Emerald isn’t quite the same shade of green as Dean’s eyes, but it’s close enough that Michael feels confident his husband will notice and appreciate his attention to detail.
His suit jacket gets draped over his arm once he’s put on his fine Italian leather loafers, shined and buffed until they gleam. He’s added a diamond and onyx tie clip and matching cufflinks, and after making sure his hair is perfectly arranged, he spritzes on some cologne and heads downstairs to the kitchen.
Michael is steps away from the kitchen entrance when he realizes he doesn’t smell food cooking. He doesn’t even smell coffee brewing. That’s highly unusual, as that’s always the first thing Dean starts after coming down here. He walks into the empty room, and he immediately frowns as he glances around for any sign that his husband has been there recently.
Finding none, he exits the kitchen and moves down the hall. He checks the living room, the downstairs den, the laundry room and anywhere else he can think of where Dean might be. He even opens the French doors leading out to the back patio and pool area, and he sees no sign of his husband at all.
Well. There’s just one other place Dean must be – the stables. Michael swears he loves that horse more than he does his own husband. Not that he’s jealous of the beast.
He changes out of his good dress shoes into ones more suitable for outdoors and drapes his suit jacket over the back of a chair at the breakfast nook. Then he heads outside and makes his way to the stable. “Dean?” he calls out as he walks inside to find all the lights on and the horse calmly eating in his stall.
Michael’s brow furrows as he sees no immediate sign of his husband, and then he turns around to the stall directly opposite the one occupied by Dean’s horse. It’s supposed to be vacant, but there’s a layer of hay down on the floor, along with several of those blankets Michael has seen Dean put under the horse’s saddle when he goes riding. On top of the blankets, Dean lies fast asleep, spooned from behind by a dark-haired man who seems familiar to Michael. It takes a moment for the man’s name to come to him, and then he realizes it’s Castiel Novak, a former classmate of his sister Anna, and the local veterinarian.
His jaw tightens, his hand clenches into a tight fist, and his lip curls. “What the fuck is going on here?” he roars with unbridled fury.
Dean and Novak startle awake, and Dean bolts upright into a seated position. “Michael? What time is it?” His hair is mussed, and he has an imprint from the blanket across one cheek.
Michael’s nostrils flare. “Never mind the time. Why are you sleeping in this- this horse stall curled up with the veterinarian?” He starts out in a frustrated tone which quickly escalates to an incensed, loud shouting that has Dean flinching and jolting to his feet.
“It’s not—” Dean huffs out a breath and jams his fingers through his hair. “Zepp was acting funny last night, so I called Cas to come take a look at him. Turned out it was colic, we walked him around until it went away, and then we were talking and we kinda fell asleep.”
It sounds innocent enough, but it doesn’t explain how or why Novak had ended up with his arms around Michael’s husband, pressed intimately against his back and molded to his body. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes them both.
“How long?” he growls at Novak. “How long have you been fucking my husband behind my back?”
From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Dean’s eyes widen, and then Dean steps forward and puts his hand on Michael’s arm. “Hey, wait a minute, nobody’s fucking anybody here except me and you. You know, each other. Cas and I—”
Michael jerks his arm out of Dean’s grip and turns his withering glare to him. “Get out.”
Novak moves forward into Michael’s face. “Hold on, Elias, you can’t kick him out,” Novak protests, and Michael scoffs. “Dean’s right, we haven’t done anything wrong here.”
Michael plants his hands in Novak’s chest and shoves him back. “Get out of my face!” He points his finger at Novak. “And get the hell off my property!” He turns his attention back to Dean, who’s gone pale and has his mouth hanging open in shock.
“If I get back from work, and you’re still here, there will be hell to pay,” he promises. “And take that stupid horse with you!”
“Michael, wait!” Dean cries out, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He starts to take a step forward, but Novak holds him back with a hand on his chest, and Michael storms off, slamming the stable door behind him with a loud bang.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Dean stares at Michael’s retreating back in shock and dismay and a little bit of numbness. Everything feels like it’s shattered into a million pieces, and he’s left to sift through it all and collect what’s salvageable.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he hears Castiel say.
“I got nowhere to go.” He turns his head to look at Cas and swallows thickly. “I mean, I could go back to–to Sioux Falls. I got family who lives there. They’re not blood family, but they’re—” His throat constricts and burns with emotions he can’t properly identify.
“Let’s not get too hasty,” Castiel says gently, and Dean feels his arm come around his shoulders. “Why don’t you come stay with me? You can try to work this out with Michael once he’s calmed down.”
Dean lets himself be steered towards the house so he can pack some things to take to Castiel’s house. Michael’s long gone to work, presumably, leaving just Dean and Castiel.
“I’ll go get Zeppelin loaded up in the horse trailer,” Castiel tells Dean as he’s shoving things blindly into a suitcase. “You can both stay with me however long you need.”
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
A week passes before Dean heads back to the house he shared with Michael. He’s tried calling Michael, he’s left voicemails, he’s sent text messages. Michael is completely ghosting him, and he’s frustrated and irritated, to say the least.
Castiel had offered to come with him when Dean had said he was going over there to see if he could catch Michael at home and have a face-to-face conversation about this. Dean had almost agreed, but he’d decided that would probably add fuel to Michael’s ire. Castiel had reluctantly agreed, but made Dean promise to call him if Michael got too incensed or wrathful.
Dean gets to the house around three o’clock, figuring that he’ll spend the time until Michael returns to gather up the remainder of his belongings, just in case the talk doesn’t go well. He’s still angry that Michael had jumped to conclusions about Cas and him, and he intends to make sure Michael knows it.
He’s thrown completely off when he sees Michael’s metallic blue Porsche 911 Turbo in the driveway. The ’56 Chevy Bel Air is a weekend car that Michael keeps garaged and only brings out for special occasions. The Porsche is his work car.
Dean finds it extremely unusual that his husband should be home from work in the middle of the week and during daylight hours. He double checks his watch to make sure it’s displaying the right time, comparing it against the clock on his cell phone, and he even raises it to his ear to make sure it’s still ticking.
Huh. Okay, so according to both his watch and phone, it’s 3:07 in the afternoon, and Michael’s home. Maybe he was feeling ill and called out of work.
Dean lets himself into the house with his key. Since he hasn’t spoken to Michael in a week and Michael hadn’t demanded it back the night he’d kicked Dean out, Dean had felt entitled to hang onto it. He toes his shoes off and leaves them on a rug beside the front door, a habit that Michael had instilled from day one.
No one seems to be present on the first floor, so Dean heads upstairs to the master bedroom. He frowns as he walks into the room and sees the bed linens are rumpled. Clothes have been left in a pile on the floor, and there’s a gold Italian rope chain with a gold pendant with beveled corners resting on top of the dresser. Set into the pendant is a large lapis lazuli stone. It’s a gorgeous necklace, and when Dean picks it up, it feels heavy in his hand. He’s no expert in jewelry but he’s pretty sure that thing is real gold, chain included.
He drops it onto the dresser as he hears laughter coming from the bathroom, and he spins around, his stomach plummeting as he sees clouds of steam billowing from the door left ajar.
Feeling like a protagonist in a horror movie he knows he’s seen, unable to stop himself, Dean lurches forward across the room. A part of him is screaming no, no, don’t do it! Back away, you asshat! But he’s powerless, moving against his own will, pulling the door wide open and stepping inside to witness the grisly scene.
Their shower, spacious enough for ten people or more, complete with a curved marble seat wide enough for three, has glass walls and a glass door that are all currently opaque with steam. It doesn’t hinder Dean from making the two shapes entwined inside, and the steam doesn’t blot out the laughter and the noises the two individuals are making either. One male voice he recognizes as his husband, and the other—he can’t say for certain, he’s only met the man twice or maybe three times at different events and possibly once at Michael’s office. He can’t say with absolute conviction, but if he had to guess, he’d say it’s Adam Milligan, Michael’s assistant.
“ Son of a bitch !”
The mirror above the bathroom vanity shatters, and the two men inside the shower break apart, Michael jerking the door open in time to see Dean’s retreating back.
“Shit,” Michael hisses as he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He glances back at Adam. “Stay here, I’ll handle this.”
Michael stalks out into the bedroom, where he sees Dean angrily shoving clothes from his side of the closet into a duffel bag. “Dean, let’s talk rationally about this.”
Dean lets out a low, sardonic laugh. “You wanna talk rationally about this? Fucking seriously? You screamed at me and kicked me outta the house for falling asleep next to a guy, and then I come in here to find you—” He gestures toward the bed and then the shower. “I can’t fucking believe—”
He drops the duffel bag at his feet and shakes his head. “You know what, forget it, I can start over, I can get new clothes. Enjoy your fucking—He’s what, 20? Is he even legal, Michael?”
Michael scowls and folds his arms over his chest. “Adam is 22, of course he’s legal!” He frowns as he realizes Dean's right knuckles are bleeding from punching the mirror. "Jesus, Dean, at least let me bandage your hand."
Dean scoffs and nods. “Yeah, well, enjoy your boy toy while it lasts. I’m outta here.”
He doesn’t waste another second in that house, even with Michael chasing after him and begging him to come back so they can talk. By the time Dean gets to the garage where his beloved Impala is parked because he hadn’t been able to take her last time, angry tears are streaming down his face. He flings himself into the driver’s seat and cranks up the engine; listening to Baby purr soothes his frazzled nerves and gives him a chance to get the tears swiped off his face and his vision cleared.
Opening the garage doors, he slams Baby’s gears into reverse and whips the car around in a 180 degree turn before gunning the engine and flying down the driveway. He swears he’s never going back there. If Michael wants to talk, then he can meet Dean on his own turf.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Dean’s well and truly fuming by the time he parks Baby in Castiel’s driveway.
Castiel meets him as he’s stomping up to the main house, and concern is written between the furrows of Castiel’s brow when he sees the tear tracks running down Dean’s face. “What happened?”
Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “That son of a bitch fucked his PA in our goddamn bed and I caught ‘em in the shower afterwards!” He takes a deep breath and lets out a shaky exhale. “I’m pretty sure they were gearing up for round two when I walked in the bathroom.”
Fury writes itself across Castiel’s face but his arm curls around Dean in tenderness as he tugs him into the house. “Oh Dean. Come in, sit down.” He does a double take as he glances at Dean's hand, and he frowns. "What the hell happened?"
"Punched a mirror," Dean mumbles. He’s led into the living room and is sitting on Castiel’s couch before it fully registers. He shakes his head and sighs as he sags back into the couch cushions. “I’m so mad, and he was acting like I was the unreasonable one,” he growls.
"Hold that thought, let me go get my first aid kit," Castiel says, disappearing upstairs for a few minutes. He returns and sits beside Dean to clean up his hand and wrap up his knuckles. “Do you want a cup of tea?” Castiel’s perched on the edge of the couch, and he looks ready to spring into motion the second Dean makes a request.
Dean shakes his head. Hot tea is cozy and meant to be sipped with honey and whiskey to soothe a sore throat. He wants, needs something stronger. He isn’t sure he wants to get completely shit faced in front of Castiel though.
“Ice cream?” Castiel offers. “I’m sure I have something chocolate.”
Dean can’t help the wet laugh that escapes him, and he turns his head to look at Castiel. “Yeah, that sounds good. You got any sprinkles?”
Castiel grins and stands up. “Hot fudge too. Might have some whipped cream but I can’t promise a cherry.”
Dean laughs and shrugs. “I’m fine with just the sprinkles and hot fudge.”
Castiel nods and gives him a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen. He returns shortly with two bowls heaped with scoops of ice cream, practically drowning in hot fudge and topped with sprinkles. He hands one bowl and spoon to Dean, and then he sits down beside Dean.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Castiel picks up the remote and passes it to Dean.
For reasons Dean isn’t ready to unpack, that simple gesture makes him start crying. He tries to contain it, he really does, he hates crying. It’s undignified and gross and emasculating.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Castiel says softly as he takes the bowl from Dean and sets it aside so he can pull Dean into his arms.
Holy shit, Dean can’t remember the last time Michael even gave him any kind of affection outside of sex. That thought makes him cry harder, and he hates that.
Castiel’s hand comes up and cradles the back of Dean’s head. “Michael’s been an entitled asshole as long as I’ve known him. I’m sorry you got swept up in his charming facade and ended up with your heart broken. You deserve better than that, Dean.”
Dean makes a noise that could be a laugh or a sob depending on one’s interpretation. “Cas, you’re gonna have me blubbering.”
“I mean it though,” Castiel insists. “You’re better than him by a long shot. If I’d met you first, I—”
Dean pulls back, one hand flat against Castiel’s chest. “You what, Cas? If you’d met me first, you what?”
Castiel’s cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, and he gives a terse shake of his head. “No, it’s nothing.”
Dean’s lips part, and he watches Castiel’s gaze drop and catch on his tongue as he wets his bottom lip.
“Truth is, Cas, I was just thinking the same thing earlier,” Dean says quietly. “If I'd met you first, I know my heart wouldn’t get broken.”
Dean can’t say for sure which one of them leans in first, but they’re kissing each other, and Castiel’s lips are soft and warm and pillowy. Dean’s tongue presses between Castiel’s lips as Castiel’s fingers curl in Dean’s hair. Their bodies press together as their hearts thud in unison, and Dean leans forward, urging Castiel to lie back on the couch.
Castiel gasps and tilts his head back, his hand guiding Dean’s head down to his neck, and Dean happily goes, kissing the tanned column of Castiel’s throat.
As abruptly as it starts, it ends with Dean bolting up off the couch and stumbling a couple of steps back. “Fuck.” He touches his fingers to his lips and his heart pounds against his chest.
Castiel sits up and gives Dean a confused look. “What did I do?”
Dean shakes his head. “Fuck, Cas, no, this isn’t your fault. I— You’re so hot and sweet and funny, and I love every moment we’ve spent together. I’m still married though, and this is so un-fucking-fair to you.”
Castiel blows out a breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Oh. Yes, alright, that’s a good point.”
He chuckles softly and reaches out to grab up Dean’s bowl of melting ice cream. “We can still eat ice cream, right? Watch a movie?”
Dean eyes him warily before moving forward and accepting the bowl. “Okay, but opposite ends of the couch and maybe pillows or something between us.”
Castiel arches an eyebrow as Dean makes himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. “You don’t think that’s a little extreme?”
Dean shakes his head sharply. “Hell no! Have you seen yourself?” He spoons some of the ice cream in his mouth. “Turn on Lethal Weapon. That’s a good action flick.”
Castiel chuckles and does as he’s ordered, and then he leans back against the back of the couch, making himself comfortable.
Dean doesn’t say anything but he can feel Castiel glancing his way ever so often as they watch movies until late into the night. It makes Dean’s chest feel so warm.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Dean puts a plan into action the next day. Finding a divorce lawyer is easy. Michael hadn’t made him sign a prenuptial before they married, and he’s willing to forgo alimony. He can make his own money barrel racing again, or he can take over teaching kids to ride or hell, he can figure out some way of bringing in money.
Once the papers are drawn up, Dean takes them to Michael’s office in Manhattan. It’s an hour’s drive from Connecticut, and Dean spends most of it practicing what he’s going to say to Michael. He hopes to spend as little time talking as possible. That’s why he’s going to Michael’s office.
Navigating New York City’s streets in a ‘67 Impala four-door coupe is challenging, and Dean has to focus on traffic. He’s going to be furious if Baby gets dinged. Maybe he should’ve taken a ferry and hailed a cab.
Dean ends up parking Baby in an underground garage and then takes an elevator up to Michael’s floor. He has the papers tucked inside a pocket on the interior of his canvas jacket, and he squares his shoulders as he steps off the elevator and walks up to the receptionist’s desk.
The young woman sitting at the desk smiles politely at him once she’s hung up her phone. “May I help you?”
Dean gives her a charming smile. “Mr. Elias here to see my husband,” he says.
She looks mildly shocked but recovers quickly. “Of course. Let me see if he’s available.” She picks up her phone and presses a button, then listens for a moment. “Mr. Elias, I have your husband here at the— Oh. Yes, of course, sir.”
Hanging up the phone, she clears her throat and motions toward the door to her left. “Mr. Elias will see you now, Mr. Er, Elias. His office is at the end of the hall.”
Dean winks at her and walks around her desk. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
His heart thuds against his ribcage as he spots Adam sitting behind a desk in one of the clear glass-walled offices he passes on the way. He holds his chin high and doesn’t give any indication he recognizes or notices the young man.
Michael’s office door opens before Dean can even reach out his hand, and he’s momentarily tripped up as Michael flashes a mollified smile.
“Dean, darling,” Michael practically purrs as he takes Dean’s hand and whisks him into the office before Dean can protest. Michael closes the door and then leans in for a kiss.
Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out the divorce papers, slapping the blue folder against his husband’s chest.
“I want a divorce,” he says confidently, enjoying the gobsmacked expression on Michael’s face.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
Gravel kicks up underneath Baby’s tires as Dean speeds down Castiel’s driveway. He parks close to the main house and barely shuts off the engine before he’s bailing out of his beloved car and racing inside the house.
“Cas!” His face is flushed in excitement, and he’s eager to tell Castiel the good news. He searches high and low, and then he runs out to the barn, where he finds Castiel in worn jeans and a raglan shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, scrubbing Zeppelin’s coat with a wet brush.
“Cas!” Dean waves his copy of the divorce papers in the air. “I got it!”
Castiel pauses and lifts his gaze, giving him a puzzled look. “What?”
“A divorce! Michael signed the divorce papers!” Dean laughs and thrusts the papers at Castiel, uncaring if his hands are soapy or wet.
Castiel’s eyes widen and he drops the brush into the bucket at his feet. He wipes his hands on the seat of his jeans and then takes the papers, reading over them. “Wow.”
Dean nods excitedly. “It’ll take three to six months before it’s finalized, but once it does— Cas, if you’ll still have me, I’m yours.”
That has a smile breaking out across Castiel’s face, and he takes Dean’s face in his hands, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to Dean’s lips.
When Castiel pulls back, his smile has turned more wicked, and his blue eyes sparkle with mischief. “A promise of things to come.”
~☆~☆~The End~☆~☆~