Chapter Four: Speak Now

Cas's palms were disturbingly sweaty as he snuck into the church. He could hear a man's voice, snapping sharply at someone, and quietly peaked into the room.

His heart plummeted into his stomach. There, yelling at a scared black man dressed in a pale blue tux, was Michael, the man who had tried to rape him seven years prior, in the middle of a fight with a groomsman.

That cannot be who Dean is marrying, Cas thought wildly, checking the sign by the door. It read "Dean Winchester and Michael Gideon, wedding at six pm" and he had to pinch himself painfully to prove that it wasn't a horrible nightmare.

Before he had time to formulate a plan, he heard the band start to play the wedding march, resonating in his ears like a death march. He slipped into the back of the main room, sliding his body as close to the curtains as possible without making it obvious he wanted to be hiding in them.

Dean stood at the front of the room, obviously uncomfortable in formal-wear, looking up the aisle as Michael sauntered down towards him.

Michael reached the front of the room, and the preacher started to speak. As he droned on, Cas moved forward, sinking down onto a pew because his trembling knees wouldn't support him.

Then, in a voice that seemed to Cas directed entirely to him, he heard, "Into this holy union Dean and Michael now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else for ever hold your peace."

Cas rose to his feet, hands shaking, nausea rising in his stomach, before he even knew he was doing it.

Well, come on, Cas, why else did you come? his brain said sharply, and he cleared his throat.

At the sound, every eye in the room turned to stare at Cas with horror. Dean turned around, eyes flaring with something unreadable, Michael's eyes flashing in rage, and Cas took a deep breath, focusing only at the green eyes, the ones he thought might contain a spark of joy.

"Dean," he said, and then realized, suddenly, how horrible what he was doing was, how selfish and awful he was to crash Dean's wedding after everything else he'd put Dean through. The next word was already half formed, leaking out of his lips as he tried to cut it off, "Don't…" and then he was gone, running away, terrified, shocked at his audacity in disrupting Dean's wedding.

He stopped at a liquor store on the way home, and sat in his kitchen, facing down the bottle of whiskey.

A knock on the door interrupted his stand off.

"Cassy! Cassy. Open the fucking door. I saw your mustang outside Discount Bottles. Don't be a bitch, Cassy, open the fucking-"

Cas opened the door and let Balthazar in.

"Hey."

"Where is it?"

"I didn't drink it, yet."

"What the hell happened?"

"Dean got married today."

"That guy from the other day?"

"He's my ex husband. High school sweetheart. I didn't… I went to the wedding."

"He invited you?"

"No. I stood up-"

"You what?"

"You know the part of the wedding where the preacher says speak now-"

"Or forever hold your bit and pieces, yeah, Cassy, you didn't."

"I did."

"That's awful."

"I know. But the man he married, I met him before. He's an awful person, and I still love Dean, and I just, I couldn't."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. I didn't say much, just stammered out his name and then ran. It was awful."

"Well, fuck. I'm sorry, Cassy, I am, but you know drinking isn't gonna fix it. Bottle, sink."

Balthazar watched him pour the bottle down the sink. Cas was grateful for that, grateful that he had a friend, at least who would kick his ass if he fucked up.

"All right, now, come on. We're going to go drown your sorrows in a healthy way- we're gonna go get seven cartons of Ben and Jerry's, and rent the holy triumvirate of anti-love movies."

"Which is?"

"Fatal Attraction, Dangerous Liaisons, and Reversal of Fortune."

"That sounds perfect. Balthazar, thanks. Really." Cas looked at Balthazar, trying to convey the depth of his gratitude with his eyes.

"It's really not a big deal, Cas. I just don't wanna have to cover your shifts if you fall off the wagon," Balthazar winked as he opened the door.

Dean stood outside, hand raised to knock.

Dean had moved to New York after the divorce was finalized. He hated the city, but he learned to be a fire fighter from the best, and he did his job with pride. He did little things, life things, started playing the guitar again, dated, read dystopian science fiction novels, all the things that people do when they've just gotten out of a codependent, obsessive relationship.

He met Michael in a gay bar three years after he moved to the city, and was shocked to discover he was from Dean's hometown. They laughed about what a small world it was.

Michael valued his independence, which Dean liked, was manly and entirely different from Cas. Dean had never been sure if he was gay or straight, but dating Michael helped him realize that there were a million different reasons one person could want another, regardless of genitalia.

Dean was a trusting person, so he never thought anything of the business trips Michael took, the late nights he worked. Dean had his own life to attend to, and the relationship was comfortable. It wasn't love, but it was quiet affection, and Dean appreciated it more than any of the casual encounters he'd had since Cas.

It was because of that comfortableness that he said yes when Michael proposed. They agreed to move back home, that if they wanted to adopt, that it would be better to raise a child out of the city.

The wedding planning was the exact opposite of their relationship. The mellow vibrations of lazy Sundays watching the game and camping trips consisting of fishing and fucking were replaced by Michael screaming at his groomsmen, Uriel and Raphael, demanding that they bend over backwards to create a perfect day.

Dean had never been particularly religious, but Michael turned out to be confrontationally so, a side of himself he'd never shown to Dean until then. He jammed the idea of a church wedding down the throats of his obviously uncomfortable parents.

Despite all of this, Dean maintained the fantasy that their relationship would return to its previous comfort after the big day, after things had settled down. The night of his bachelor party, however, Sam took him aside.

"Dean, I love you, and I'll support whatever you do, but I gotta say something, man, before tomorrow." Sam picked at the label on his beer awkwardly.

"Yeah?" Dean didn't know much, but he knew conversations that started with "I'll support whatever you do but-" would never be pleasant.

"Are you sure about Michael? Like, one hundred percent, you want to spend the rest of your life with him, trust him absolutely?" Sam looked at him intently.

"Yeah, why? Did he say something to you?" Dean felt tense suddenly, moreso than the nature of the conversation warranted.

"No, it's just… You remember when I was dating Ruby, and I thought she was just the greatest girl ever, and you didn't trust her?"

"She was a coke head, dude!" Dean said vehemently. He'd fucking hated Ruby.

"Yeah, but you didn't know that. You just told me you didn't trust her, that she gave you a bad feeling. And I ignored you, and she stole my TV and gave me gonorrhea."

"Yeah she did." Dean grinned, tension broken by the memory of Sam admitting that particular mistake to him.

"Well, it's like that. I just get bad vibes from him. Why do you wanna marry him?"

"He's a good guy, Sammy. He lets me be who I am, doesn't get in my space. He listens to good music and drives a Porsche 550. He likes Star Trek."

"You just listed a bunch of things, Dean. You didn't say you loved him."

"So, how's Jess?" Dean said abruptly.

"She's good, her plane gets in tomorrow. I'm thinking of looking for a ring myself, soon. She's the best thing that ever happened to me, really. I was really messed up, after Ruby, you know, and then Madison… I thought I just had this talent for picking out the wrong women, you know? And then there's this bubbly little blonde thing in my life, just cheerful and sarcastic and everything I'm not. She sees so much good in me that I wasn't able to see in myself. It's great, man, Jess is great." Sam had a soft look in his eyes that Dean hadn't seen in anyone's eyes but one particular pair of blue ones, a very long time ago.

"And there's very little chance that she'll expose you to anything that results in a rectal swab," he joked.

"I really thought you'd stop making ass jokes once you started taking it up the ass, but alas…"

"Dude, ass jokes are part of the Dean Winchester charm." Sam didn't bring up his opinions on Michael again. Dean tried not to think about it.

I'm standing at the altar, I'm marrying a great guy, Dean tugged at his collar, his tie constricting. So why can't I stop thinking about smeared mascara and wedding dresses?

He watched Michael walk towards him, and despite the traditional wedding march pleasantly drifting through the room, all Dean could hear was Thank You playing in his ears. He smiled at Sam, standing next to him, scanned the room, and then his eyes fell on the slender figure in the very back.

Cas? No, no way. Now I'm hallucinating, fucking great. Michael reached the front of the room, and Dean tried to focus on the preacher's words, but he kept drifting away to memories of blue eyes and ridiculously skinny pants.

Focus, Winchester, he sternly told himself, and heard the preacher say, "Into this holy union Dean and Michael now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else for ever hold your peace."

The sound of a throat being cleared echoed thought the church, Dean turned around and it was Cas, and he stammered, "Dean, don't…" and then looked so horrified Dean wanted to run to him, and gather him up in his arms like a lost puppy, but before he could react, Cas was running away, and gone.

He turned back to Michael, who was glaring after Cas. Dean reached out, touched his arm.

"Mike…" he said quietly, and Michael turned the angry eyes onto Dean.

"No."

"I'm sorry." Dean pulled off his tie, let it fall to the floor of the church. He looked at the crowd of people, staring at the drama unfolding before them with horror- and disturbingly rapt interest in some cases, Dean noticed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated to the church, "Really sorry. I just- I can't."

The fact that Sam was grinning ear to ear did not escape Dean's notice.

Dean looked at Michael again, who was turning an ugly shade of purple and gasping like a fish, lost for words.

Finally, he sputtered, "How- how- dare-"

"I don't love you. I'm a dick, I know, but it's god's honest. I have to go." Dean turned away from Michael, rested his hand on Sam's shoulder for a moment, felt fingers reach up and squeeze his quickly, and then he was running, too.

It took him almost a full hour to convince the woman at the bakery to give him Cas's home address, and another ten to work up his nerve to go knock, but finally, he told himself, stop being a little bitch and sack the fuck up.

He raised his hand, and before he could make contact with the door, it opened, revealing the sassy British man from the bakery, Cas close behind.

"I didn't say yes," he said, in a rush, before anyone else could speak.

Three Months Later…

The door to the bedroom slammed open from their combined weight, and Dean thought for a moment how fucking cool it was that those romantic movie cuts actually happened in his love life. Some people were doomed to live out normal relationships- but never him, never with Castiel. It was always pop-song-intense, right out of a fucking Taylor Swift hit single.

It had been too long, they'd taken it so slow, waited to be sure it was right again, and honestly, they could have waited longer, played it safer, but fuck, Dean had been lost the moment he'd seen those fucking skinny jeans, and he couldn't wait any longer.

Cas moaned against his lips, and started pulling at his shirt.

"Wait," he murmured, "Let me." Dean lifted up Cas's shirt, pulled it over his head, smiling at the way it tousled his hair, so it was sticking out in even more directions than one would think possible.

He pushed him back then, onto the bed, and Cas reached to open his jeans, and Dean stopped him again, holding his fingers up, splayed between his own.

"Slow down, babe. I want to relearn every little part of your body, every freckle, every inch, every fucking pore."

Cas groaned, and Dean took the slender pointer finger into his mouth, running his tongue across the very tip, where the whorls hardened into a line under his attentions. He made his way across the palm, pressing soft kisses into the center, up the naked underside of his forearm, stopping to observe and understand each scar. Cas noticed his scrutiny, and fidgeted nervously.

"I fell apart, for a while. I did things… I did a lot of horrible things, Dean, and I'm sorry-"

"No, stop. We're past that. I know who you are, I know what you did. I understand why you did it. You got through it, Cas, you asked for help, and you kicked it in the ass, and that's what's important." Dean lowered his head again, and kissed each track mark tenderly, licking up Cas's arm, and stopping to blow into his armpit.

Cas laughed, and squirmed at the raspberry, "Fuck, Dean. You're the only person past the age of twelve who's still amused by that."

"You love it," Dean smirked, and moved across Cas's shoulder, burying his face in the crook of Cas's neck, licking along his gently pulsing jugular. He nipped softly at the notch below his earlobe, and Cas squirmed in a different way, his breath catching before puffing out hot against Dean's shoulder.

Dean pulled away then, tugging off his own shirt and pants, before returning to press the length of his body against Cas's, enjoying the skin on skin of their chests and the feel of his bare legs pressed against Cas's jeans. He could feel the hardness under the zipper, and thrust against it for a moment, before moving his mouth back down Cas's neck, this time playing a teasing dance across his clavicle, pushing his nose into the dip at the base of his throat for a second before moving on and down.

Cas's chest was smooth, and Dean would never fall out of love with the tiny freckle above his nipple, perfectly placed. It was his favorite spot to stop and lave, and Cas's nipples were so sensitive to his ministrations, that focusing his attention on the skin around them produced a much more heated response than the traditional nipple play. He worried the area gently until Cas's nipples were dark red points against his pale skin.

Then it was on down, along the silky skin, velvety smooth over his tiny waist, and then Dean set about the exceedingly pleasant task of reacquainting himself with Cas's hipbones, sharp points above the line of denim still wrapped around his hips. Dean nosed each one, huffing against them like a dog, poking a questing finger into Cas's navel just to produced more ticklish wiggling, enjoying the soft laughs and sighs issuing from Cas's lips. He kissed down the trail of fine hairs, and finally, he was ready to start undoing the button, ready to help Cas lift his hips and slide off the skinny jeans.

Dean kissed his way along the line of those beautiful fucking hips, teasing his tongue along the crease of leg meeting pelvis, and then, winking up at Cas who stared down at him, mesmerized, eyes black and glassy with desire, and moved down the bed to his feet.

"Hey," Cas protested, as Dean ran a fingertip along the arch of his foot, jerking it away, but Dean made a shushing noise, kissing the top of his foot, up his ankle and along his calf.

"You started running again," he observed with a half smile, grasping the muscle with his hand to hold the leg in place as he licked behind Cas's knee. Cas shuddered, and Dean moved up his thigh, fingers tracing a path followed by soft kisses and brushes of tongue, until he was back at the crease abandoned in favor of feet.

"Please…" Cas's voice was strained now, impossibly deep, "Please, Dean…"

Dean acquiesced, laying an angel-soft kiss against the head of Cas's cock, then repeating the touch with a flicker of tongue. Cas let out a strangled noise, and thrust his hips forward, and Dean met him happily, catching the tip up between his tips, sucking it down while running his tongue along the smooth edges and making pleased noises as he felt Cas shiver beneath him.

"Dean, I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Dean pulled off, and reached into the bedside table. Once ready, he returned, licking lightly along the shaft and sliding a finger slowly into Cas. As he inserted the second, he tongued Cas's balls, tasting skin-salt and grinning internally as he felt Cas twitch around him, the desperate noises increasing as the speed of his fingers did.

"Dean, I need-" he gasped, and Dean couldn't hold out any longer either. He knelt between Cas's legs, and kissed him softly once more on the lips, then pulling back, placing a finger under Cas's chin. Cas opened his eyes, and Dean lost himself in splinters of blue as he slid inch by inch into Cas.

It was amazing, it was everything he hadn't know he'd missed for the last five years. It surprised Dean that it wasn't the physicality that pushed him over the edge- not that the physical wasn't fucking hot. Cas clenched around him, muscles echoing the strength with which he gripped Dean's shoulders, so tight there'd be bruises the next day, the flutters and the heat surrounding his cock sublime, the way Cas surged against him. He stared into those eyes, refusing to look away, seeing every moment they'd ever shared inside the blown pupils, seeing the man Cas had become falling apart beneath him, watching Cas's eyes roll up as he threw his head back, pale column of throat vibrating with the moans he made, as Dean stroked him and hit exactly the right spot. When Cas came, Dean knew exactly what he felt, could almost feel it as Cas felt it, and that finally made Dean come, pressing into Cas as deep as he could, gripping him back and letting out a hoarse cry that sounded very much like, "Cas!"

Dean knew that he was finally home.

"So, what made you change your mind?"

"The way your ass looks in skinny jeans."

"Wow, you didn't hesitate at all. Really? My ass is why you came back to me?"

"Yup."

"That's not very romantic."

"Babe, it really is. I was just going along in life, being all super cool me, you know, and then one day, I see these fucking awesome shoes, and I follow the shoes up these ridiculous black, skin tight pants, and I see the most perfect ass I've ever seen, and that was it for me. I mean, I didn't realize it was love until you turned around, and I saw these blue fucking eyes, all covered in self righteous anger and eyeliner, but yeah. And then I saw those eyes in the church, and they were you, again, you know, for a while there, it wasn't you, it was like, this crazy, jealous version of you that didn't know how to be, and when I saw you in the church, it wasn't fake you anymore, it was those fuckin' eyes from the parking lot. I couldn't fuckin' move, I just gaped, and then you were gone, and you were still wearing the skinny jeans. I realized I couldn't imagine building a life with anyone but you. It's always been you, Cas. I don't know how to not be in love with you."

"….Okay, that was romantic as fuck."

"I'm a romantic motherfucker, what can I say."

"Let's live happily ever after now, okay, Dean. Keep all our promises, us against the world?"

"Deal."