Generally, Dean Winchester did not give a shit about what other people thought, so it confused him to no end how self-conscious he was whenever Castiel showed up in his personal space in public (or even in private), or when the angel said unintentionally homoerotic things. He hated that he felt his cheeks warm when the waitress asked if they wanted two forks for the pie he ordered and Castiel said that they only needed one. He resented Cas' total obliviousness. No, he envied it. Dean wished that he didn't care when people stared at them together, Castiel fixing Dean's tie in return of a gesture from forever ago. He wanted to ignore the sideways glances and Sam's knowing looks. He prayed that one day he would be able to kiss Cas without looking over his shoulder. He needed to kiss Castiel somewhere other than a dark alley, needed more than the rushed, desperate fucks in the motel bathrooms.
Castiel, he knew, wanted to show his possession of Dean and the thought both thrilled and scared him. He had explained PDA to Cas, why it was a bad idea, and Castiel hadn't seemed to buy his reasons of not wanting to impose on others.
"But Dean," Castiel had said then, "You have never had any problems with these displays with the many women you have been with."
Dean hadn't had a good answer for that. What could he say? He didn't care if people judged because it was okay with those girls, ones he knew he'd never call again? He didn't want people sneering at Castiel, even if he wouldn't notice them? Why now? Why did this bother him?
He had settled for telling Castiel not to ask dumb questions. Castiel had given him one of those looks, the ones he knew meant "I know exactly what is going on and you are not fooling me for a second," but he did his best to ignore it.
It wasn't until he and Sam had been in the Impala after Sam had witnessed a particularly homoerotic moment that he was able to finally say "fuck it." Metaphorically, although he would have enjoyed literally.
"Dude, you don't have to hide it from me, I won't judge," Sam had said.
"Hide what?" Dean had asked, trying to remain nonchalant.
"You and Castiel. I know, and it's okay."
"We're not hiding anything," Dean said, gripping the steering wheel.
"Yeah, and I'm planning on marrying a clown," Sam had replied sarcastically.
"Stop it, Dean. Stop being so dumb. If you love Castiel – and I'm pretty damn sure you do – then just go be with him already. Or I'm going to pound your head in," his brother had ordered.
With that, Dean had twisted the wheel and pulled her over. Ignoring Sam's questions and protests, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.
"Cas," he had called. "Castiel, get down here right now." The angel appeared, carefully outside his personal space, eyes questioning. Dean grabbed his shoulders and kissed him hard. He felt and heard the squeak of protest, could feel his confusion and arousal in his lips, and didn't care. He didn't care that Sam was yelling at him from inside the Impala, didn't care that anyone driving by could see him.
Dean Winchester just didn't give a shit.