In celebration of the season finale in 25 hours and 30 minutes, I wrote this thing. Took me a while, and contains the dirtiest thing I've ever written - which is still T, so that tells you something about me. No beta.

Takes place at various points in Dean's life, up to after the season finale. Call it an extremely optimistic prediction.

I do not own Supernatural. If I did, it wouldn't have made it past the pilot.

The first time it happened, Dean was thirteen.

He had always been instantly popular at whatever school the Winchesters were at that month.

Dean had gotten used to girls appraising him - after all, he looked at them the same way. A girl named Abby, dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, passed him by, and he winked at her. But then her twin brother - nearly her mirror image - followed, and Dean felt his gaze drawn to him too. His saunter, his grin.

And Dean's heart fluttered - but no, this wasn't him. He was a hunter; he was tough.

So he ignored it. It was a fluke.

A while later, he was seventeen, and Dad was out on a hunt. He was in charge of Sam, as always, and they were watching a movie from the video store on the motel's TV. Sam had wanted The Breakfast Club, so that's what they were watching.

It was towards the middle, during some banter between the group. Claire snapped something at Bender, who said something snarky, and Andrew defended her. Dean murmured, "Damn, fiery."

"Huh?" Sam asked, only half-listening.

He's hot. Fiery. He thought - wait. No. Not again.


"She's fiery." He amended his remark. It wasn't a lie - not really.

And for the rest of the movie, Dean found an excuse to look away whenever the athlete was on screen.

When he was eighteen, Dad was out again and Sam was at a friend's house - Dean was immensely proud of his brother for finding a friend. He went out to a bar, the empty motel room giving him chills. He did this whenever he was left alone; there was nothing else to do after he dropped out and got his GED. A bonus of being a hunter was a nearly endless supply of fake IDs, so he had been 'legally' drinking since sixteen, and otherwise since fourteen.

Dean, or Alex, or Matt, or whoever he was that night, would find a pretty girl, and more often than not followed her to the club's back room.

He always returned in time to get his four hours of sleep.

But that night, something was different. He was eighteen - eighteen that day. And Dad had given him the Impala (impressive, but a symbolic gesture only), then spent the rest of it researching a spirit.

So he wasn't out looking to score - tonight, he was drowning his sorrows. Sure, women still approached him - even sullenly drinking, he was ridiculously attractive - but he waved them away with a "Sorry."

After about an hour (although he had only drunk one beer, too moody to bother ordering another), the fifth person came up to him.

Dean felt them sit on the stool next to him and turned, prepared to reject another girl. He froze upon seeing the person: dark-haired, smiling eyes with a smirking mouth, and decidedly male.

Dean took an imperceptibly deep breath to calm himself. The man was significantly attractive, which Dean was trying hard not to notice.

"Want another drink?" The man asked.

"I'm-" he began, ready to deny the man because no matter what his confusing experiences with movie stars and singers, he wasn't attracted to men.

But faced with this, faced directly, he couldn't keep doing it. "Sure." He said.

And one thing led to another, and Dean found himself in the bar's bathroom with the man (Chris, he was told) frantically assaulting his neck. He was resting against the stall door. Chris moved to take off his shirt, but Dean stopped him.

"I-" He broke off. He couldn't do this - it was so not what he did; who he was . He was a hunter. "Fuck, I can't."

Dean left the bathroom, and went straight back to the motel. He had too many problems.

This kept in Dean's mind for ages, and he finally admitted to himself that he was bi.

To himself. There was no way he would ever tell Sam - and he could forget about his dad. John had never said anything explicitly, but Dean could tell - his father's ideas of a perfect hunter, what Dean had tried to be his whole life, certainly didn't include liking other men, no matter how skilled a hunter he was.

Dean was twenty-four now. He had gone on plenty of hunts on his own, though he still traveled with his dad (even without Sam).

They were in North Dakota, and had split up to search Bismarck for some sort of Spanish demon.

Dean had done his part for the day. He left a message on John's phone saying that he would be home late - it was almost expected for him to be out late having sex with some girl.

Well, John was half right.

Nowadays he was just as likely to be with a man. In fact, he was now.

The man's name was Todd, or Toby, or something like that - Dean didn't really bother to remember. He liked it like that, no matter who he was with. It was always best to stay as anonymous as possible. There was no room for attachments in his life.

After they were done, it was around one A.M. Dean gave the man a wink as a goodbye and slipped out.

He wondered if Dad would be back. It was pretty much a fifty/fifty chance.

And if Dad was home, would he think anything of it? Would he be able to tell anything... different? Was there some telltale sign he would see, that would show that Dean had slept with a guy?

Just to be sure, he stayed out a little longer. He found some more information on the legend, then went to a bar.

And not a year later, Dad was missing and Sam had joined Dan. He was less... alone now. He didn't often let Sam out of his sight. He wouldn't lose his brother again.

But this regained closeness had taken some things away. He stopped sleeping with random guys, for one. Sam was a hell of a lot more perceptive than John; he would notice. And he couldn't know.

Of course, he didn't stop sleeping with girls. Not only would Sam know something was wrong, a celibate Dean Winchester would cause the world to implode.

And in the months of this, he began to think that everything before, with the guys, was a phase. He was reacting too strongly to the loss of his brother, and now that he was back, Dean was... back to normal. Fixed.

Not that there was anything wrong with being gay, but it wasn't him.

No, never.

When they stayed in motels around the country, Dean noticed how many people thought he and Sam were a couple. He was disgusted, of course (his brother, for fuck's sake), but the question remained in his mind: why did people always assume they were gay?

He voiced it eventually, and Sam responded with "You are kinda butch. People probably think you're overcompensating."

A thousand things went through his head.

Over - no.

He can't.

Can't know.

If he know-

I'm not.


But what if-


Can never know.

Not what hunters do.

I'm a hunter.

Not what I do.

Not anymore.



"Right." He said, managing, like always, to keep his thoughts under wraps.

Years later, he'd sold his soul, gone to Hell and back. Hell - the media didn't do it justice. He saw the release of Lucifer, met angels.

Angels. Uriel, Anna, Zachariah, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel. And Castiel. Cas.

He had know Castiel for two years now. The angel had become his best friend, and Dead was beginning to think that maybe there was something more. Their 'profound bond' had to mean something seriously more, didn't it?

He'd gotten over his sexuality crisis 2.0 (Well, 3.0 or 4.0 more realistically). With everything that had happened (the siren, to mention one), there was no denying that he was bi. (Of course, he had thought that before, and look how that turned out.) So the 'male vessel' thing was not an issue.

But in the world they lived in, fought in, every day was a battle. Every moment was a crisis. There was no time for love or romance.

More time passed and they made it out alive, only to be thrown into the fire again. Sam was probably dying from the trials, Cas was hiding out in the Men of Letters bunker (although he wasn't its favorite resident), and Dean was just trying to stay sane.

He couldn't go on like this anymore. This life was too stressful, too deadly. Dean decided that after this was over (he couldn't, wouldn't, think that they would fail), he would stop travelling. Dispense advice, but not search out monsters.

It was something that had defined his life. For the first time in ages, Dean wanted to do something else. It probably wouldn't work out like that - it hadn't for Sam - but it was worth a try.

Dean generally only had a few things on his mind now: The trials, the angels, Sam's health. And Cas.

Thoughts of Cas took up more time than was probably healthy. Dean had missed him so much all those times he went away. Then this time, when he returned - and when he tried to kill Dean, breaking free for what he said he didn't know - it was too much. And when he appeared in front of the Impala, Dean went numb. He was furious, relieved, terrified. So he shut Cas out.

But his thoughts were always, it seemed, on him.

Now it was time; they were going into battle, practically. Much as Dean hated to admit it, there was no guarantee any of them would make it out alive.

Sam was inside the dungeon, curing Crowley. The angels were fighting to get in.

It was the final showdown. Dean and Cas stood by the door, clutching angel bullet-guns.

A scream came from the dungeon, then so much silence. The silence meant... it meant that Sam succeeded. But the pair didn't relax. The younger Winchester was going to close Hell - now they were about to take on Heaven.

"Dean." Cas said. They were about to throw open the door. "I'm glad... I am glad that we are facing this together. I would be content to die following you into this fight." He was staring at Dean, gazing into his soul. It was sincere, like everything he ever said.

Dean stared back, mind both whirling and going blank. He didn't say a word - just stepped towards Cas. And he kissed him; not a long or deep kiss, but full of passion. Four years of pent-up passion and feelings, all released.

Dean pulled back. He saw that Cas's face was not upset; it was surprised.

Before anything else could happen, Dean threw open the door and charged towards the angel army, not looking back to see if Cas was behind, because he always was.

It was over. They had won. Hell was closed and the demons trapped. The angels were returned to Heaven. All of them.

Dean sat in a park, head in hands. Cas was gone. He was back with the angels, and he was gone.

"Shit, Cas, why'd you have to go back?" He murmured.

"I didn't." A low voice appeared behind Dean.

Dean jolted and turned around. Standing by the bench was Castiel, in all his Holy Tax Accountant glory. "Cas?" He choked out. "You - the angels-"

Cas sat down. "All the angels have returned to Heaven, yes."

"So - you-" Dean didn't seem to be able to form a full sentence.

"I am no longer an angel. I will be staying on Earth." The ex-angel couldn't help a tiny smile.

Dean remained speechless. He was trying to process this - Cas was human. Human. Staying on Earth. Oh God, he thought. I kissed him.

"You're thinking about what happened before the battle." Even without angelic powers, he could tell what Dean was thinking.

Finally, Dean found his voice. "Yeah."

"Dean, I-"

"Look, I'm really sorry. I thought we were going to die, and I didn't want to die without letting you know how I feel." So much for no chick flick moments. "I get it if you don't want to see me again"


"It was stupid, I know. It was stupid, and I know you don't-"

"DEAN!" Cas interrupted, cutting Dean off. "I do. I feel the same way. For years, I have felt this. It terrified me - angels must love only God. I didn't want to risk it. But all of that is over now, and I am human. So I can say - I love you."

After a moment, an enormous smile broke out across Dean's face. He grabbed Cas for a kiss, and this one was deep, it was long, and Cas kissed back. It was perfection, like nothing else. They finally separated, and Dean whispered, for what felt like the first time in his life, "I love you."

Dean was thirty-four when it happened, and he was happy.

Tada! Hope you liked it. Drop me a review (or favorite if that takes your fancy) with your opinion (or fawning praise, or burning hatred, whatever). Fingers crossed for the finale!