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supernaturalscribe67 · 17 days

Text

T-Shot

Words: 8,204

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Castiel x Trans!FTM!Reader

Warning(s): Language, Needles, Description of testosterone injection, slight angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, description of afab anatomy (use of the word 'clit' once), fluff, Castiel not understanding social cues

Summary: The reader has started his journey with testosterone, and his boyfriend, Castiel, promises to be with him every step of the way. What Castiel didn't realize was that the testosterone would change (Y/N) more than he realized.

Request:

Hi I was just wondering if you could do a Sam or even Cas fic (romantic) where reader is trans FTM and also asexual. Where the reader starts testosterone and sam or cas helps them with the new changes. You can just have fun with it. Make it a sad a bit too but end with a happy note :)

Anonymous

A/N: Someone please come and take this pen away from me. This fic was only supposed to be, about, 3k words, I don't know how it turned into my longest fic. I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

As he descended the bunker steps, the paper bag crinkled in (Y/N)’s hands. It was the best sound he had ever heard in his entire life. For, in that very bag, was the key to achieving everything he had dreamed of and more, allowing him to get one step closer to the person he was destined to be. And it all came in a little glass vial.

(Y/N) looked in the library but found it empty, so he walked down the hallway to his bedroom. His steps were rapid, anxious, yet excited. When he entered, he saw Castiel on his bed, who sat up. The movement of the door startled him, but he was quick to recover. (Y/N) flashed a small smirk his way.

“Hey,” he greeted and closed the door behind him.

“You’re back,” Castiel stated and stood from his spot on the bed. He took a couple of steps closer to him. “How did it go?”

(Y/N) held up the bag. “I got it.” His smile widened.

Castiel matched his grin as he stepped even closer. He reached a hand up to cup (Y/N)’s cheek and gave him a soft peck on the lips. “I’m glad to hear that it went well. When are you scheduled to take your first dose?”

“Well, the doc said I can take it anytime I want to start. I just have to make sure to keep it spread out to a dosage every week. So, today’s, what? Wednesday? I’ll be taking them every Wednesday from now on. Preferably at night. Easier for me to keep track that way.”

Castiel nodded as he listened intently to everything (Y/N) told him. “I see. When will you plan on taking it tonight?” He tilted his head to the side.

“I was going to wait until after supper, but I’m too excited to wait.”

“May I watch you?”

“Of course, babe,” he said before he walked past Castiel and over to his bed.

(Y/N) sat the bag down before he took his shoes off, kicking them to the side. He then unbuckled his belt and let his jeans fall to the floor with a light clink. He stood in nothing but his boxers and t-shirt. He would have taken his binder off to make himself even more comfortable, but he was so focused on getting the medicine in his body that he didn’t even consider it an inconvenience. As (Y/N) sat on the bed, he beckoned Castiel over and patted the spot next to him. Castiel followed his instructions and sat down, his hands folded between his knees. He watched with great concentration as (Y/N) grabbed the paper bag and ripped it open. Inside the bag was a long, rectangular box, two different sets of needles, four syringes, alcohol wipes, and band-aids. Castiel studied the supplies curiously.

“This is everything I’ll need for the month. I have my testosterone, the bigger needles to extract it, the 23-gauge needles to inject it, syringes, alcohol wipes for sterilizing my skin and the surface of the vial, and cute little cat band-aids for when I’m done.” (Y/N) explained, showing Castiel all of the supplies as he talked.

Castiel paid close attention. He examined everything presented to him, taking in as many details as he could. He picked up the small box and opened it. The vial dropped into his hand when he tilted it to the side. His eyes narrowed as he examined the clear content. As he moved his hand back and forth, he watched the solution swish around inside.

“This is what you put into your body to change yourself?” He asked.

“Yep. It may not seem like much, but once it kicks in, you’ll start to see the differences.”

(Y/N) grabbed the box of alcohol wipes and opened them up. He grabbed two from the pack; one for the injection location and the other for the vial. He set the unopened packs beside him and did the same with one of the band-aids. The needles soon followed, one of each being placed beside him, each of their packages opened to allow easy access when he went to switch them out. Next, was the syringe. It, too, stayed in the sterile plastic, but was opened for easy access. He then turned to Castiel and held out his hand. Castiel carefully placed the vial in his hand, and the process began.

(Y/N) grabbed the syringe and connected the larger needle to the end of it. He set that to the side and grabbed one of the alcohol wipes, ripping the corner of the packet with his teeth. Using the wipe, he cleaned off the top of the vial. He disposed of the wipe and grabbed the needles and syringe. The needle was uncapped, and he could feel the nerves bubble inside of him. He pulled the plunger of the syringe, allowing air to collect inside. The doctor said it would make for a more accurate extraction. With caution and precision, he injected the needle into the cap, tilted the vial upwards, and took out the dosage prescribed. The mere sight of the testosterone dripping into the syringe sent euphoria coursing through his body.

With the extraction completed, he replaced the needle with the 23-gauge. He took a deep breath to steady himself, took out the other alcohol wipe, and disinfected the area on the top of his thigh.

“Alright, the moment of truth,” he mumbled.

Using one hand to grasp the flesh of his upper thigh, (Y/N) gently guided the needle to his skin. The initial prick shocked his muscles a bit, as he wasn’t aware of how tense he had been. They were tight, and he knew he had to focus on relaxing them, otherwise it would hurt worse than it was supposed to. He didn’t stop pushing it in until the needle was fully in his thigh, the base of the needle almost flush against his skin. Once it was sheathed inside of him, his thumb shifted to the plunger and he began the injection. It wasn’t much - the doctor explained that the first couple of dosages would be smaller until they got a good sense of how his body was reacting to the medication - but it felt as if it took an eternity before the syringe was empty. When he was done, he, carefully, pulled out the needle. A small dot of blood mixed with testosterone appeared on top of his leg. He capped the needle and set it off to the side before he grabbed the bandage and placed it over the blood.

He stared at the band-aid for a moment - it came in a cheap pack of twelve and had a blurred image of two kittens cuddling on it - before he looked up at Castiel.

“I did it,” he smiled brightly. “I just got my first t-shot.”

Castiel’s eyes shifted to (Y/N)’s and he mirrored his smile. He took a second to look over his features. Slowly, his expression shifted from joy to slight confusion. “You don’t look different.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “It takes some people a couple of months to notice any physical changes. It’s not magic. Wish it was,” he mumbled. “That’s why I need to do it every week, so it stays in my system and makes the changes.”

“Ah,” Castiel nodded. “Well, I’m proud of you, (Y/N),” he took his hand in his.

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “For poking myself with a needle?”

Castiel shook his head. “You told me that getting your testosterone was going to be your biggest step in your journey of self-discovery so far. I’m proud that you were brave enough to take this step to become the person you’ve been destined to become.” Castiel reached up and gently cupped (Y/N)’s cheeks.

As cliche as it was, (Y/N) could feel his heart skip a beat. Ever since he told Castiel about wanting to start testosterone, he had been nothing but supportive. He always expressed that he wanted (Y/N) to live the life he wanted to live and that he would be by his side for the best and the worst of it. (Y/N) got lucky enough to have a partner like Castiel. It was as if he came right out of a dream. For that, he would always be grateful.

(Y/N) reached up and brushed his fingers against Castiel’s knuckles. “I love you, forever and always.”

“I love you, too. Forever and always.” Castiel replied, leaned in, and kissed him softly.

*~*

“Holy shit, this pizza is so good,” (Y/N) mumbled as he shoved the rest of the crust into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks full.

Sam and Dean gave him a questioning stare as he ate, their bites slow and methodical compared to his. Castiel, on the other hand, stared at him with an intense look of concern. It had been a little over a month since (Y/N) started testosterone and, while there hadn’t been many noticeable physical changes, there was one thing that everyone took notice of almost immediately; his intense change of appetite.

Man, could that boy eat.

It wasn’t the fact that he served himself more during meals, either. If he wasn��t eating a meal, he was snacking. He snacked on chips, candy, fruits, vegetables, sandwiches, you name it. Anything that could be placed in a pantry or fridge had been eaten by (Y/N). Dean couldn’t even count on one hand the amount of times he had gotten on him for eating in the car, only to get a stern glare from both him and his boyfriend. Castiel hadn’t been too sure why (Y/N) began to eat as much as he had been. When he asked about it, (Y/N) simply told him that it was because of the testosterone, but didn’t give many details other than that. It left Castiel with a lot of questions that sat in the back of his mind, curious about the other aspects of testosterone that caused non-physical changes to occur.

(Y/N) reached for another slice, hesitated, and then grabbed the last two slices.

“Hungry?” Dean asked with a quirked brow.

“Starving,” (Y/N) mumbled, his mouth still recovering from his last bite.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. “That’s, at least, your fifth and sixth slices.”

“Sam’s right, (Y/N). You’ve been eating a lot recently. Are you sure you’re alright?” Castiel asked warily, placing a hand on (Y/N)’s knee, rubbing it comfortingly.

(Y/N) chuckled. “I’m fine, babe,” he said, cheekful of food. “It’s just the testosterone. It makes me really, really hungry.”

Castiel flashed him another concerned look, despite the nod and small smile he gave. (Y/N) noticed his hesitancy and he flashed him a closed mouth smile. He placed his hand on top of his, swallowed his food, leaned over, and placed a small peck on the corner of Castiel’s lips.

“I’m fine, babe, I promise.” He said as he looked into his eyes.

Castiel studied his expression for a moment before he smiled again, one that was more genuine. “Alright.”

(Y/N) nodded briefly. “Okay, I’m going to the bathroom,” he said before he pointed at Sam and Dean. “Don’t touch my pizza.” The threat dripped from his lips.

Sam and Dean raised their brows and watched as (Y/N) stood from the table, his eyes still piercing their souls as he left the room. Dean shook his head and took another bite of his food. Castiel glanced over at (Y/N)’s plate, then cast his gaze down to the table. His hands were on his knees, and he rubbed them tightly. Sam, noticing the distraught on his face, cocked his head in curiosity.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asked, placing his food back onto his plate. He folded his arms on the table.

Castiel gazed up at him for a moment before he shook his head. “I’m just worried about (Y/N). He doesn’t normally act like this.”

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s a pretty big change, the testosterone. It’s as if he’s going through puberty all over again.”

“Sam’s right,” Dean chimed in, some pizza sauce and spittle peaking out of the corner of his full mouth. “Sammy ate like a pig when he hit puberty.”

“Not helping,” Sam deadpanned. “It’s just a side effect of the drug. It won’t last forever.”

“That’s what he told me, but I didn’t think it would change him like that.”

Sam chuckled. “Trust me, you’ve just scratched the surface of the side effects. It’ll be an interesting journey, to say the least.”

That comment didn’t seem to ease Castiel’s worry, which Sam took notice of. He sighed.

“Tell you what,” he dug into his pocket and took out his phone. “I have a couple of articles regarding the side effects of testosterone. Keep in mind, not everyone goes through the same experience, though, and not in the same order as others, either, but I can send them to you so you can at least have an idea of what (Y/N) could go through.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you, Sam. That would put my mind at ease.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dean shrugged as he chewed the last bite of his pizza. He brushed the crumbs off of his hands. “So the kid has a bottomless stomach, who cares? The only bad thing about it is that he steals all the damn food! I didn’t even get a chance to have more,” he gestured to the empty, grease-filled pizza box in the center of the table.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ll live,” he mumbled.

Dean looked over at (Y/N)’s plate, eying the single intact slice. It was obvious that the gears in his head were turning.

“Dean,” Castiel said in a deep tone of warning.

“What!?” He held out his hands dramatically. “I’m hungry.” Dean paused, eyes still glued on the food. Casually, he reached over and grabbed the uneaten slice. He brought it to his face and was about to take a bite when a loud, booming voice echoed throughout the kitchen.

“Drop it!” (Y/N) shouted.

Dean visibly jumped, eyes wide as he turned to see (Y/N) in the doorway, eyes laced with red fury. He quickly put the pizza back onto (Y/N)’s plate, got up from the table, plate in hand, and walked swiftly over to the sink. Sam snorted and took a bite of his food as (Y/N) stalked over to the table. He glared daggers into the back of Dean’s head. If looks could kill, Dean would have been dead…again. (Y/N) sat back down.

“Asshole,” (Y/N) grumbled under his breath, picked up one of the slices, and took another bite.

*~*

Every fiber of his being was sore. Grave digging was not for the weak, and that was exactly how (Y/N) felt after the salt and burn. The three of them came out of the hunt with some minor scrapes and bruises that were certain to go away on their own over time. Injury-wise, he was fine, but his muscles screamed in pain and agony as he moved from the Impala to the motel room door. They begged for relief in the arms of a hot shower, but he knew his blessings were limited. The pain, however, wasn’t the only thing he noticed during the aftermath of the hunt. Once the adrenaline wore off and his senses finally came back to him, there was one crucial detail he had failed to take notice of before then.

(Y/N) smelled horrible.

It wasn’t as if he had gotten blood or guts on himself during the hunt. All he did was sweat. He knew there would be some changes in the way his body odor smelled, but, in no way would he have assumed it would be as pungent and foul as it was. He even made sure to layer on the deodorant during his pre-hunt preparation as an extra precaution, but it was all to no avail.

“I call first shower,” (Y/N) said as Dean took the room key out and unlocked the door. “Have I always smelled this bad?”

Dean scoffed. “I was going to offer you the first shower, anyway. You smell awful. I was going to say something earlier, but I figured Sammy would yell at me or something.”

The three of them entered the room, welcomed to the sight of Castiel laid back on his and (Y/N)’s shared bed. He sat up, eyes immediately scanning over their bodies, taking in all of their details for any sign of injury. Sam shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag that lay on the floor next to the opposite bed.

“Yeah, ‘cause you would have probably been a dick about it,” he retorted.

“I would not!” Dean exclaimed as he strode to his bag.

“No, please, be a dick about it. I wanna know for the next time.” (Y/N) shook his head and retrieved some night clothes from his duffel.

“What would Dean have been a dick about?” Castiel asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

“About telling me if I smell.” (Y/N) answered.

Castiel furrowed his brows. “I thought it was considered rude to tell people they smell bad.”

“Yeah, random people. Dean’s my friend, though, and friends help each other like that. They tell you if you smell or look bad to save you from embarrassment in public.”

“Does that apply to myself as well?”

(Y/N) smirked. “Yes, Cas, it does.”

“So, should I inform you of the red and white spots that you have on your face?”

(Y/N)’s smirk vanished and was replaced by a deep frown. Wordlessly, he walked past Castiel and to the bathroom. The dim light illuminated the poorly decorated room, the vent whirring to life. He stood in front of the basin and studied himself in the mirror. Upon closer inspection, (Y/N) gaped. Accompanying the blotches of dirt scattered around his face were red, angry zits. There were some across his cheeks, some on his forehead, and a giant, ready-to-pop whitehead on his chin. Castiel made his way over and placed his hand on the doorframe.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked cautiously.

“No! Everything’s not okay!” (Y/N) whined and squeezed past his boyfriend so he could point an accusatory finger at Sam and Dean. “Some fucking friends you are! First, you don’t tell me that I smell bad, and now I find you didn’t tell me that my face looks like it lost a fight with a pizza!?”

“(Y/N), plenty of adults have acne. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Sam defended himself.

Dean pursed his lips. “I thought Sam would yell at me.” He shrugged.

Sam shot Dean a glare and (Y/N) sighed.

“I went out as an agent like this.” He complained.

“You look fine,” Sam said.

“Fine? I look like I got out of a five-hour Leave of Legends session and drank Mountain Dew nonstop! That mixed with my voice sounding like I’m going to beg my mom for the new Fortnite Battlepass doesn’t necessarily scream agent.”

Sam and Dean both held in their laughter as they looked away. (Y/N) shook his head.

“I’m so glad you two find this funny,” he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Castiel came over and placed a hand gently on his waist. “(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) turned his gaze to Castiel, absentmindedly leaning against him. “Yeah?”

“Despite the marks on your face, I still think you are the most handsome man I have laid eyes on.” He offered a soft, sweet smile.

(Y/N) stared at him and took a deep breath, lips pursed. Slowly, a smile crept onto the corner of his lips.

“You always know what to say to make me feel better.” He said, leaned up, and kissed Castiel on the lips.

“Ew!” Dean exclaimed as he picked up one of his pillows and chucked it at the couple. “Get a room!”

*~*

Another day but, fortunately, not another hunt. It had been a month since the group had been able to rest from the copious amount of cases available, and they were taking advantage of it. They deserved a small vacation. (Y/N) and Castiel spent quality time together in the man cave, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over their laps. A movie that (Y/N) had practically begged Castiel to watch played on the television. Castiel was laid back against the arm of the couch, his arm draped around (Y/N)’s middle so he could hold him close. A bowl of popcorn, coated deliciously in butter, sat between them.

“I don’t understand the conflict that the two storm-chasing teams have with one another. What happened to cause the rift in their relationship?” Castiel asked, eyes glued to the screen.

(Y/N) shrugged. “Honestly, they don’t go into detail about why they’re against one another. I wish they did,”

Castiel hummed and went back to watching the film. A couple of minutes went by before the sound of footsteps came closer to the room. Dean poked his head into the door. He looked at the TV and then down at the couple.

“Hey,” he said.

(Y/N) glanced at him, grabbed the remote, and paused the movie. “Yeah?”

“I’m heading out on a supply run. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a bit,” Dean moved away from the door and began to make his way down the hall.

(Y/N) watched the doorway intently as he listened to the footsteps disappear into the distance. “Can you do me a favor, babe?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, his attention fully on (Y/N). “What is it?”

“When Dean comes back, can you distract him?”

Castiel furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I might, and I’m saying might, have played a prank on Dean that he’s not going to be too happy about.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, you know how, recently, I’ve stopped having my period?”

“Yes?”

“I had a lot of tampons and pads left over, and I didn’t necessarily want them to go to waste. So, I figured, what better way to get rid of them than to prank Dean with them.”

“How would you prank Dean with menstrual cycle products?”

(Y/N) bit his lip, anticipation filling his chest. He practically counted down the seconds, awaiting Dean’s imminent return. His muscles were tense, and the urge to run began to rise inside of him.

“Let’s just say Baby has some new decorations.”

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s voice echoed throughout the bunker.

Castiel’s head whipped toward the door, then immediately returned to (Y/N). “I’ll distract him.”

“God, I love you,” (Y/N) planted a kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Bye!”

Without a second to lose, he threw the blanket off of him and dashed out of the room as quickly as his legs would allow.

*~*

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped in a massive yawn. The mere sight of his bed made him want to collapse, but he knew he would hate himself in the morning if he didn’t change into something more comfortable beforehand. Castiel was sat at the end of the bed, loving gaze attached to (Y/N) as he went over to the dresser to get dressed. He was practically on autopilot as he moved, grabbed an oversized t-shirt and a pair of night pants, and proceeded to undress. However, something stopped him in his tracks as he took his binder off. His head was cast down, studying his chest intently.

Castiel had witnessed that many times before; a dysphoric episode. There had been times when (Y/N) would sit and question himself about his appearance, whether out loud or mentally. Castiel would always take the time to remind him of how handsome he thought he was. How perfect he was. The progress he had made with testosterone. How in love with him he was. That moment, though, seemed different. Castiel stood from the bed and walked over to him.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He asked softly.

(Y/N) glanced up at him before his attention shifted to the full-body mirror that rested beside the dresser. He tilted his body so the light from his bedside table illuminated his naked torso. In the warm light, he was able to get a better look at his chest. He smiled.

“Cas! Look,” he gestured to the mirror.

Castiel stepped closer to him, gaze locked on the mirror. He paid close attention to his chest to see what had caused the sudden happiness in his partner. The presence of smaller hairs scattered precariously around his upper torso was evident in the light. When he glanced up at (Y/N), he noticed that the smile that had been on his face had somehow widened.

“My chest hairs finally came in! I thought it was gonna take, at least, a couple more months.”

Castiel grinned. “That’s wonderful, (Y/N).” He studied the hairs more closely. “Will they continue to grow?”

“Probably. They should grow a lot thicker, and maybe a little bit longer.”

Castiel stared at him with adoration. Wordlessly, he reached up, cupped (Y/N)’s cheeks, and kissed him. (Y/N) raised his brows, but immediately returned the kiss. The kiss was long and light, filled with love. When Castiel pulled back, (Y/N) slowly opened his eyes.

“What was that for?” He asked quietly, reaching a hand up to caress Castiel’s.

Castiel hesitated before he let out a sigh. “Admittedly, I was rather nervous about this whole process at first. I was unsure of what would happen and how it would affect you. I never want to see you hurt. However, I see how happy you are when you see yourself now. The negative thoughts you used to have about yourself diminished greatly, and you’re even more handsome than when we first met. I’ve come to realize that my love for you can, indeed, grow stronger, and it does so every day.”

(Y/N) could feel his heart and chest swell. If he was in a cartoon, he swore his pupils would turn into hearts.

“I love you, too, Cas,” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around his waist and laid his head against his chest. “More than you’ll ever know.”

*~*

(Y/N) had been in bed for three hours. Within the past week, he had started to experience bottom growth. Although he was excited to be able to start that part of his transition, to fully feel like his body was conforming to the person he was, he had to admit that the pain was more intense than he had originally anticipated. It wasn’t a constant pain, but when it arose, it felt like a dull, throbbing pain mixed with the sensation of a thousand needles simultaneously stabbing his clit. Painkillers worked for the first couple of days, but the relief gradually faded as the pain became more intense. No matter which way he sat down, stood, or laid down, nothing could dull the ache.

He had done some research on different forums about bottom growth, and he found that only a small - minuscule would be a more accurate word - amount of transmen experience full-on pain during bottom growth. So few that there was barely any information on how to relieve the pain. He could only assume that those people saw the thousands of comments claiming no one would have pain that they were too afraid to post about their own experience. He cursed himself for being so unlucky. His transition had been going so well. Of course there would be a hiccup. That was just his luck.

Perhaps it was similar to that of period cramps. Perhaps the intense pain would only last a while before it went away. Perhaps he was kidding himself. That he was the only transman to experience that level of discomfort. Perhaps that was just karma for thinking he could be a real man.

Fuck that. If pain was what it took to be a man, he was prepared to endure it, even if it killed him.

The icepack had turned warm and no longer provided relief. He had his eyes closed, head tilted back into the pillow, his fingers tangled tightly into his hair. A hiss passed his clenched teeth as another sharp pain attacked his nerves. As the pain slowly subsided, there was a light rasp on the door.

“Come in,” he groaned.

The door opened a crack. Castiel poked his head into the room before he stepped inside. A worried look was prominent on his face as he closed the door and moved closer to the bed.

“(Y/N), are you alright? Sam and Dean told me you’ve been in here for quite some time.” He asked, taking a seat next to him.

(Y/N) inhaled sharply as the dip of the bed caused discomfort to shoot between his legs. Castiel glanced between (Y/N)’s legs and his eyes.

“No, I’m not okay,” (Y/N) whined. “I started bottom growth and it hurts like Hell. I’m tired and hungry, but the aches are so bad that I don’t want to get up or go to sleep. I just want it all to pass,”

Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes as he ran his hand down his face. Castiel’s feeling of worry only intensified as he saw how (Y/N) had been affected. He shifted in his spot.

“(Y/N), I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me heal you,” he pleaded with him as he reached his index and middle finger towards his forehead.

(Y/N)’s eyes grew wide and he snatched Castiel’s wrist before he could be touched.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, eyes narrowed and words dripped in venom.

Castiel raised his brows, taken aback by the tone of voice that was used. It was the first time (Y/N) had ever spoken to him like that.

“(Y/N), please, I can see how much you’re hurting. Let me take care of you.”

“No! Because I don’t know what your stupid angel juice will do to me. I’ve worked so hard to get where I’m at,” his voice was strained, broken.

“I just want you to be happy again.”

“I am happy!” (Y/N)’s loud voice echoed off the walls of the room as he sat up quickly.

He instantly regretted his movement when a painful shockwave struck his nerves. He clenched his jaw, cupped his crotch, and laid on his side, his back to Castiel. Castiel reached over to comfort him, but his hand was roughly shoved away. (Y/N) paid no mind to the expression of hurt Castiel had.

“I fought with myself my entire life to figure out who I am, and I fought even harder to get to where I am right now. If being in pain will turn me into the man I want to be, then so be it. Your father already made one mistake by putting me in the wrong body. I’m not going to sit here and let you reverse the progress I’ve made to finally fix his fuck-up.”

“(Y/N)-”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. Now get out.”

Castiel froze, surprised by the demand. It had been a while since he saw (Y/N) so angry, and the last time wasn’t even directed toward him. He never raised his voice at Castiel. Sure, they had their spats here and there, as most couples do, but they never shouted at one another. They knew how to talk about their problems, work through them, and discuss the way that they felt, something a decent amount of relationships lack. This was a whole new experience for Castiel.

He hated it.

At first, he contemplated talking to (Y/N) again. Try to convince him to take his offer to heal him. He hated seeing his partner in such a painful state, the same as at the end of any hunt. Castiel’s first instinct would be to heal him. To make the pain go away. To be able to see the smile he adored so much, which was hidden by the layers of agony he was experiencing. Alas, in the end, he decided against it. Instead, he opted to follow (Y/N)’s wants. He stood slowly, and quietly, from his spot on the bed and walked over to the door. His eyes never left (Y/N), his mind performing one last battle with itself, the urge to speak overwhelming. He held the desire back as he opened the door and left the room.

*~*

The library was quiet. Sam and Dean sat on either side of one of the tables, Sam with a pile of books laid out in front of him and Dean with his laptop and a small bowl of snacks. The occasional sound of pages being turned and the mouse pad click filled the room. Aside from the occasional small talk, they said nothing. Castiel entered the room, and their attention turned to him.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted.

“Hey Cas, how is he?” Sam followed up.

Castiel walked over to the table and sat down to the left of Dean. A sigh escaped his lips as he slouched in the seat, his folded hands resting on his stomach. He had a visibly defeated look on his face as he took some time to answer Sam’s question.

“He is in a lot of pain. I attempted to heal him, but he wouldn’t let me. He got upset with me and kicked me out of the room. I’ve never seen him so angry before.” Castiel shook his head.

Sam and Dean stared at him for quite some time.

“You tried to heal him?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “He is in a lot of pain. I am certain I can make it go away.”

“Cas, he doesn’t want to be healed,” Sam said.

“I realize that, Sam.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I can tell you’re still upset about the whole thing. What (Y/N) is going through right now is a normal part of the transition. Granted, he has it a Hell of a lot worse than most, but, that’s why we called you. We thought you would be able to come over and comfort him.”

“I thought healing him would be comforting. It was supposed to make him feel better. To get him back to normal.”

“See? ‘Back to normal’. Don’t you see how that can be misconstrued?”

Castiel looked at him curiously. “I do not.”

“Well, what you see as something to be healed, (Y/N) doesn’t. He’s very proud of the pain he’s in. He views it as an accomplishment. To heal him and take that pain away, it would be as if you’re stripping him of that achievement.”

“Sam’s right,” Dean chimed in. “When he first noticed the bottom growth, he came to us saying, ‘Guys! Guys! I have a dick now!’.” Dean mocked with a smile, causing Sam and Castiel to grin as well. “And then, when the pain started, and we began to get worried, he would say, ‘It hurts like Hell, but I still have a dick’. He was still happy about it, even though it hurt.”

Castiel nodded, considering their words. “I see,” he trailed. “I know that this was a big deal for (Y/N), but I didn’t comprehend why he was willing to go through the pain. I understand, now, that it’s because he’s finally happy with himself and the progress he has made. The way I worded my concern for his wellbeing made it appear as if I wanted to reverse the work he has done.”

“Exactly!” Sam nodded.

“I would never want that, though. (Y/N) appears to be in the best mindset I have ever seen him in, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that. I would never reverse the progress, even if I could.”

“We understand that. We know how much you love him-”

“Yeah, it’s kind of gross,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sighed. “As I was saying, we know how much you love him, and we recognize you would never say or do anything to threaten that progress, but when someone is in a lot of pain, they don’t always think clearly. Take Dean for example. When I have to stitch him up after a hunt, he says some pretty mean shit to me, but he never means it.”

“At least that’s what I let him think,” Dean whispered to Castiel just loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Dean, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” Dean cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.

“(Y/N) is still head-over-heels in love with you.” Sam turned back to Castiel. “Pain can just make us say some stupid stuff. It would probably be best to give each other some space right now, think about what we discussed, and talk to one another tomorrow.”

“I think that is a good idea,” Castiel said as he stood from the table and brushed off his trenchcoat. “Will you keep me informed on how he is throughout the day?”

“Of course, man, yeah,” Sam smiled up at him, which Castiel was quick to return.

“Thank you. I will be on my way, then.”

“Where are you going?”

“To retrieve some of (Y/N)’s favorite treats to give to him. I’m hoping that might make him feel better.”

Sam’s smile widened. “That’s a good idea.”

*~*

It took (Y/N) over two hours to be able to fall asleep. The pain hadn’t been constant, but with how exhausted he was and the tears burning in the corner of his eyes, all he could do was lay there and think. He couldn’t believe the audacity that Castiel had to ask if he wanted to be healed. Scratch that. Castiel hadn’t even asked if he wanted it. He had simply told (Y/N) that he was going to heal him. He didn’t need that, though. He didn’t need to be fixed. (Y/N) was perfect the way he was, even if some things still needed to be tweaked. Nothing about him was broken. Therefore, nothing needed to be fixed.

Perhaps he was overthinking Castiel’s intentions. Truly, he never meant what (Y/N) interpreted it as, right? Castiel loved (Y/N), even though his physical attributes were changing, right? Of course, he did, otherwise, he wouldn’t have practically begged to heal him. Right?

With the image of Castiel’s pain-filled eyes in his mind, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt swell in his stomach.

He had never snapped at Castiel before. He didn’t think Castiel deserved it. Especially now. All he had tried to do was make him feel better - in Castiel’s own way - and (Y/N) took the anger he had for the pain out on him. How could he do that to him? The shame was eating him up inside. There wasn’t much he could do, though. The aches and pains made any desire to move or speak vanish. He knew he had to apologize, to make things right, but it would have to wait until he felt better.

Eventually, after another round of pain, (Y/N) could feel the exhaustion wash over him. His eyelids slid shut, and it didn’t take long for slumber to come.

*~*

The pain was more bearable when he awoke. It was more of a dull throb rather than needle-like stabbing. He was able to move around with mild discomfort. Even though he was more mobile, the exhaustion from the day before was still very much present, despite the hours of sleep he had gotten. The desire to crawl into his bed once more was intense. Thankfully, the lack of a hunt made that possible. So, as soon as he awoke, he got up, grabbed himself a water bottle, painkillers, and snacks, and retreated to his room.

While the pain had subsided substantially, his thoughts were clearer than before. He was able to think back to the spat he had with Castiel in greater detail and understanding. With a mind free of any pain-influenced thoughts, he felt even more guilty than he had before he slept. The hurt he had seen in Castiel’s eyes was practically burned into his soul. The only other time Castiel had looked at him with those eyes was when he was on the brink of death after a hunt gone wrong. He never wanted to be the cause for that look. He shouldn’t have snapped. Not at Castiel. Never at Castiel.

As he lay in bed, he pulled out his phone, brought up Castiel’s contact, and texted him.

Hey, babe. Could you come to our room when you get the chance, please?

He placed the phone onto his lap and began to nibble on the nail of his thumb. He couldn’t think of anything else. Nothing could shift his attention away from the problem at hand. Even if he tried to occupy himself with mindless scrolling or one of his hobbies, he didn’t think he would be able to concentrate on anything else. The whole disaster could have been avoided had (Y/N) thought about Castiel’s intentions rather than his insecurities. That was one of the character flaws he had to work on.

It wasn’t long before three soft knocks echoed against the wooden door, and (Y/N)’s head whipped up.

“Come in,” he said.

Just like before, the door opened a crack and Castiel poked his head inside before entering the room. Instead of the worried look he had before, it was replaced by intense nerves. Not only that, but, in his hands, Castiel held a small, decorative box, some items poking out of the top. The box was the least of (Y/N)’s worries.

“Good morning,” Castiel greeted, almost cautiously. “How are you feeling today?”

“A bit better. A little achy, but nothing like it was yesterday.”

“I’m glad.”

They sat in silence. (Y/N) still laid back on the bed while Castiel stood a couple of feet from him. The guilt only intensified. To think that Castiel was nervous to get closer to him because of his outburst broke his heart. Rightfully so. He patted the spot next to him on the bed. Castiel took the silent invitation and moved over to him. As he got closer, (Y/N)’s attention shifted to the box.

“What’s in there?” He asked quietly.

Castiel looked down at the box and then back at him. “It’s some of your favorite snacks,” he said and held out the box to him. “I figured it would make you feel better.”

Carefully, (Y/N) took the box from him and examined the contents. Inside were, indeed, some of his favorite snacks and candies. The guilt was killing him. He gave a small smile and set the box to the side.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Castiel gingerly sat beside him on the bed, careful of the way it shifted under his weight. “(Y/N), I wanted to apologize-”

“No, Cas,” (Y/N) interrupted. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay? I should be the one to apologize for what happened.”

(Y/N) turned his body in the bed, his face contorting slightly to a look of discomfort from the ache and settled for laying on his side so he could face Castiel.

“I should have never yelled at you like that. I should have never yelled at you at all. You were only trying to help. I realize that now, and I’m so sorry for the way I treated you.”

Castiel nodded. “Sam informed me that my intentions might have been misconstrued because of the pain.”

“They were at the time. The pain clouded my judgment and, in a sense, it made me assume you wanted to get rid of my bottom growth altogether. I know that’s impossible, and I don’t know what could have made me think otherwise. If you were capable of changing me to that extent, I would have asked you months ago to use your grace on me instead of taking hormones,” he let out a dry chuckle. “But, Cas, I hope you know that my being in pain doesn’t give me a reason to talk to you the way that I did.”

“I understand,” He replied, gaze cast down.

“Hey, look at me,” (Y/N) reached over and, using his index and middle fingers, turned Castiel’s head so that their eyes were connected. “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that, especially by me. I was a terrible boyfriend at that moment.”

“No, you weren’t,” Castiel shook his head as he grasped both of (Y/N)’s hands in his. “I’ve had time to reflect, and, if I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth, it’s that people make mistakes. It’s okay to make those mistakes as long as you take accountability for them. I took accountability for my mistake, and you took accountability for yours.”

“You’re right, accountability is very important, and people do make mistakes, but those mistakes shouldn’t hurt the ones we love. I love you, Castiel, more than you’ll ever truly know. You’ve stood by my side through every second of my transition and have continued to show your undying love and support for me, even when I’m a dick to you. You even got me a damn basket of my favorite snacks, even after what I did,” Tears streaked down his cheeks, and his voice began to quiver as he spoke. “You are so kind and caring and compassionate, and I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop,” Castiel reached a hand up and used his thumb to brush the tears away from his cheeks. “(Y/N), I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible. You deserve everything, and I wish I could give it to you. It hurt me so much to see you in pain, that I didn’t even consider your feelings. That was selfish of me, but, I know, from now on, I will consider what you want before I consider anything else.”

(Y/N) sniffled. “Oh, Cas, you’re not selfish. You are the most selfless person I have ever met. The fact that you care so much about me is one of the reasons why I fell in love with you in the first place. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I just need to learn to keep my damn mouth shut when you’re trying to be nice,” he chuckled and leaned his forehead against Castiel’s. “Can you forgive me?”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to say that (Y/N) didn’t need to be forgiven, but he took a page out of his newly found book of social knowledge and gave him a small smile. “Yes, I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

(Y/N) attempted to do the same, to say that Castiel had done nothing wrong, to repeat the same line he had just preached. But he just copied the smile and gave a faint nod. “I forgive you.” He whispered as he leaned over and kissed him sweetly.

The kiss lasted a couple of seconds before they pulled away, enjoying their sweet embrace. (Y/N) shifted on the bed to get more comfortable and, again, winced when the ache returned. Castiel took notice, his eyes roaming (Y/N)’s body.

“Are you alright? Would you like me to get you anything?” He asked.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, babe, thank you. Maybe we could just lie in bed together for a bit while I snack on the treats you got me?”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”

The two of them adjusted themselves in the bed so Castiel was laid on his back and (Y/N) was laid on his side. His head and hand rested on his chest while Castiel’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. (Y/N) reached over, grabbed one of the many bags of candy, and sat it between them. They sat in a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, never wanting to let go.

Everyone seeks some type of support and comfort from others. Whether it be family, friends, partners, coworkers, or complete strangers, the strength and stability of the human race depend on the support of others in some way, shape, or form. (Y/N) was lucky enough to be put in a situation where he was surrounded by people who loved and appreciated him for who he was. Despite the trials and tribulations of the past and the ones yet to come, he knew he always had loved ones in his life to fall back on in times of trouble.

And (Y/N) would cherish that for as long as he lived.

32 notes · View notes

pickledpascal · 5 months

Text

Long Story Short, It Was a Bad Time

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

Warnings: transphobia, homophobia, horrible parent john winchester, homophobic language, implied past prostitution, based on 14x13, angst with a happy-ish ending

A/N: in this, dean is trans and visually looks similar to another of jensen's characters, beau arlen.

Word Count: 4.8k

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

Dean Winchester had known he was a boy since he could talk. Hell, before he could talk.

He wasn't aware he wasn't a boy until after his mother died and every single teacher in every single town they went to called him a girl and separated him into the girls' lines instead of the boys. It got increasingly mind-numbing as he entered his pre-teen years. His first period came around and his dad wasn't sure what to do. Pads were one of the most expensive supplies he had to buy and he never failed to make Dean feel bad about it at every turn.

“Suck it up, Deanna.”

“Don't go tellin’ anyone I don't do anything for you, Deanna.”

“You better clean the garbage out when I get home, Deanna. I don't wanna see that.”

The name itched him like a bad rash. Made him want to scream. But all he could do was cry. After John was gone and Sammy was asleep.

His boobs were growing in and everything about his body felt wrong. He was glad he was naturally tall and that he was able to gain more muscle the more John let him go on hunts but it wasn't the same. His shoulders weren't as broad as the other guys in his class, his hips jutted out too much for his liking, and he hated his long hair.

Dean cut it on his sixteenth birthday and told his father it was under the guise of wanting to be safe. Unpullable hair meant one less thing he had to worry about when it came to monsters. John looked at him suspiciously. He must have known. But he didn't blow up like Dean expected him to. That made the wrenching feeling in his gut twist more. There had to be a catch.

He came out two weeks after that.

“Thank God.” Dean blinked at the reaction. “I thought I was gonna have a dyke of a daughter. Now, I have another son. You going by another name?”

Dean wanted to throw up. Somehow, that made everything worse. His father would rather have a son than a lesbian daughter? He didn't want to think about the fact that he still liked boys just not as much as girls.

He had a few mishaps, he'd look at a few guys as he passed them with John at his side. Dean didn't think too much of it since nothing came of it. Why would John punish him for something as simple as a glance?

Then his seventeenth birthday came.

Dean's first hunt by himself, specifically curated by his father. He watched the fire in the hole he dug earlier with his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. The two bodies were as intertwined as they could be for rotting skeletons.

The heat was nice. But bittersweet. He was close enough that it could burn him. Dean would've loved to burn to a crisp as well but he had a brother to protect.

Dean swallowed thickly and gathered up his supplies.

Message heard loud and clear, Dad.

Dean's top surgery was one of the things he remembered the most about his more medical transition. He couldn't get testosterone as much as he wanted to with forged signatures and documents but Bobby offered something else.

So Dean was laid down on a steel examination table asleep on some anesthetic Bobby was able to get off the black market. Bobby didn't have much experience being a surgeon so it wasn't the best but it was as sterile and safe as it could be. But Dean couldn't have been happier. His chest was flat. That's what he cared about. Even if he had to be at Bobby's for weeks. He was just glad Sam was there too instead of having to leave him alone with John.

Time passed. Dean leaned hard into his masculinity after John died. A little too hard.

“You are way out of my brother’s league.”

“Guess how many of these cheerleaders are legal.”

“She's a bitch.”

“Fucking bitch!”

“Bitch!”

Part of it was his frustration with nearly being killed every day of his life, not even by monsters, the other part was the things John beat into him at a young age. If Dean wanted to be a man, he had to be one at John's discretion. He had to like girls but not enough to actually settle down with one. He had to look out for Sam even if that meant he would die.

So he did.

Made a deal. Went to hell.

Except he didn't expect to come back.

That gas station would forever stay in his mind. He walked for hours to find it. His whole body felt a little different. Jumbled around but he could tell his body was still his. He immediately went for the water bottles and broke the seal, downing it in one go.

Dean caught a glimpse of a mirror out of the corner of his eye. He walked up to it and licked at his bottom lip, staring at himself. He noticed his sharper jaw decorated with stubble, his hair seemed to be less chopped, his shoulders more broad, and… he had bowlegs? He looked down and then back up.

Intrigued, he lifted his shirt. His lips dropped open. The scars under his pecs were still there but they were different, no longer botched and scary-looking, but smooth. And his chest. It wasn't completely flat like it was before. His pecs looked more natural, protruding a bit. Like a “real” man. Dean let his shirt drop as he breathed. The handprint on his arm was there too and, for a moment, he knew something cosmic had to be the reason for this, but something inside him felt so happy. Giddy.

He snuck a peak under his jeans. And, yeah, no he still didn't have a dick but he didn't particularly care about that anyway. One of the only things about his body that didn't matter as much. Well, at least now he felt comfortable in himself even if it came at a price.

Over and over again. He was reminded of what he “really” was.

“Daddy's blunt little instrument.”

“Daddy's little girl.”

Hell, half of it came from himself. As a joke. Not one he particularly wanted to be true.

“I've been re-hymenated.”

“Ever since I was a little girl.”

“You got anything that’s real?” “My boobs.”

As Dean grew older, he started to shed those kinds of ideals. Not only did it get too heavy to bear but he started not to care anymore. John was dead. Mary was dead. Who did he have to impress? So he didn't mind talking about the fact he didn't have a dick and indulging himself on some things that may be seen as feminine. Like a few satin panties tucked into the bottom of his drawer or the few times he painted his nails—it never lasted long when he went on a hunt.

Although Dean still thought of his body as a tool, something he could use against their adversaries, it was a little easier to live in when he was in control of what he could do to it. When it was the kind of body he always wanted. So he got more tattoos to cover his body—they were mostly covered by his layers of denim and flannel except for one that creeped onto the side of his neck—his nipples got pierced and he nearly forgot he actually had nerve endings there when it happened, he grew out his hair a bit—not nearly as long as Sam’s but enough that he could style it better—he started wearing earrings and rings again. Not many and usually not during hunts because he had a feeling any monster, or human for that matter, would take advantage of it and tear his ear in half.

Sam and Castiel didn't mention it. Ever. And Dean wasn't sure if he should be grateful for it or not.

“Why did you…” Dean breathed, glancing up at Castiel. He didn't want to finish the rest of his question. It was right after Mary came back and she had locked herself in some random room in the bunker to process something.

Dean was no longer her beautiful, young four-year-old daughter Deanna. He was a grown man with shorter hair, a sharp jaw, and stubble. He knew it would be a shock for anyone, especially someone dead for so long but he didn't expect it to reopen a wound he thought had healed years ago. People had only ever thought of Dean as Dean. A man.

Even the very few women he got with after transitioning still thought of him as a man afterward.

Castiel’s eyes softened at Dean. He could sense the turmoil inside his head. “I was given liberty to rebuild you in the way I thought would prepare you for Micheal,” He admitted softly. He could see Dean was holding in a breath. “I decided to give you the body you wanted. The one you deserved. I had never seen a soul shine as bright as yours as you looked at my handiwork in that gas station. I knew then, I made the right decision.”

Dean's cheeks flared with blush, averting his gaze to look at anywhere but Castiel. He never quite thought about him being there, watching him admire himself. He knew that was Cas, of course, he did, but to Dean, it wasn't Cas just yet. The Cas he knew was so different from that grinding, high-pitched noise he remembered hearing.

The Cas he knew was safe. His best friend. The closest thing to family he had beside Sam. He was able to be open with Cas in a different way than Sam.

More and more shit came and went. More and more apocalypses. But Castiel was a constant. Even if he died a few times. Even if he left a few times. He usually came back. Dean wanted him to stay. For good. But even if he was more open with being a transgender guy and liking girls and guys, he still wasn't that open about his feelings. His more complicated feelings.

“Sam? Deanna?”

That fucking pearl.

The sight of his father. That's not what Dean wanted. That wasn't his deepest desire. Hell, he didn't even know what his deepest desire was. And that name. He hadn't heard that name in years. Mary caught on quickly that Dean was Dean and that was it. But, of course, his father wouldn't. Even if he liked having Dean as a son more than a daughter.

That fucking pearl was supposed to get Micheal the fuck out of his head and kill him for good measure. Instead, it brought him the one thing Dean hated more than anything in his life.

On autopilot, Dean locked himself in his room. He nearly fell to his knees but he braced himself on the wall and had half a mind to punch a hole in it. He winced as that banging in his mind got louder. Micheal screamed. Dean slid down the wall and pushed his hands into his hair. His breathing was harbored and he felt suffocated as if something was weighing down his chest.i

Why did that pearl do that? Dean was happy without him. As happy as he could be with an archangel in his head and tonnes of baggage.

A soft knock brought Dean back to reality. Cas. He pushed himself off the ground and opened the door.

“Sam told me about your father,” His tone was deathly serious. Dean hadn't heard Castiel sound like that in a while. He was grateful for it. “Would you like me to smite him?”

Dean swallowed. The offer was tempting. “Jesus, Cas, no. I—” Want him gone. Dead. Obliterated. Erased from his memories. Back in Hell. Gone from Heaven. Tortured to be forgotten. “I need you. Here. With me.” His shoulders slumped after the admission.

“Of course, Dean. Whatever you need.” Castiel's voice softened as his eyes did as well. It was so truthful, said with such fondness Dean nearly cried.

Dean sat at the end of his bed and motioned for Castiel to do the same. The angel obliged. He knew there was this thing between them. Obvious enough Sam started to call him out on it, never in front of Cas to save him from the embarrassment, but it was always on his mind when they were alone together. He wasn't sure what to do with it. All his feelings. Everything was so complex. Yet simple. It was a strange dichotomy. One he wasn't sure he wanted to admit out loud.

But the fact that Castiel had only ever seen Dean as a man helped. Drove it into his thick skull what this thing was. Love. Castiel spoke to him so reverently. Spoke his name like a prayer. One Dean desperately wanted to hear over and over again.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

“This is a good thing, Dean.”

“He called me Deanna,” Dean admitted softly, eyes focused on his boots. He was naturally tall, even before resurrected by Cas, but the boots gave him an extra inch or so to not look as small next to Sam. He could feel how tense Castiel was after his words. “It's… funny,” He let out a dry laugh, “For years, I've been fine. Been good in that area. But that's just—” Dean took a sharp breath. “People see me as a guy now. At least, they do until they get in my pants. But Dad—John, I fucking look like this,” He gestured to himself, “And he calls me Deanna? Fuck me.” He scoffed.

For a second, he had a feeling John only humored him when he was younger. Called him Dean, got him a binder before his surgery, just because it was easier. If Dean became a man then he wouldn't look as much like Mary anymore and then maybe he wouldn't see her in his eyes or his face.

But John still did. This was proof of that.

“Your father, for lack of a better term, is a bitch.” Castiel said shamelessly. “You are so much more than a man born in the wrong body. It's a shame your father is too blind to see that.”

Dean's breath caught in his throat. And then he laughed. Hard. Hard enough his lungs started hurting and he had to gasp for air. Hard enough that tears started to form at the edges of his eyes and a few even rolled down his cheeks. He didn't register his hand on Castiel's thigh until he set his hand on top of it.

Dean pulled it away. Or tried. Castiel held it in place. “Your soul…” He murmured. “It shines so bright when you laugh.”

His voice. So soft and reassuring. Dean screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't help the fluttering in his chest. For the first time in a while, Micheal was silent. It was just him and Cas in the middle of his bed. Safe. Outside his room might be different.

Dean's eyes lifted to meet Castiel's. They were a brilliant shade of blue he couldn't quite place. Nothing matched it. Sure, he could compare them to the ocean or perhaps the sky but even those didn't come close. Without thinking too hard, Dean let himself go.

His free hand pulled Castiel close as he brought their lips together. The surprised noise the angel made was cute and Dean could feel him melting into the kiss. Castiel's lips were chapped, Dean chalked it up to him not caring for his vessel much, but everything felt so right. Their fingers intertwined while Cas threaded his free hand through Dean's hair.

A cough. And suddenly Dean and Cas jumped away from each other. It was Sam. Dean took a breath, thankful that it was Sam and not John. Sam smirked as his eyes flickered between the two men but it was quickly wiped off his face. “Mom and Dad… they want to have dinner together.” He explained, focusing on Dean.

There was still a lot Dean didn't tell Mary about John. About their life before the Men of Letters bunker. What Dean did to survive, to make sure Sam could live as comfortably as possible, to put food on the table and get a bed to sleep on, even while John was still alive. Bathrooms in gas stations on his knees, in the back of bars, dingy motel rooms.

John never asked where the money came from, he took it anyway.

If Mary knew, Dean knew she would look at John in a different light. A part of him didn't want to tarnish that for her. Even though it took some adjusting, she had accepted Dean wholeheartedly. Hell, she only messed up on his pronouns a few times, that was a lot better than when Sam first found out.

“Dean, do you want…?” Sam didn't finish his sentence. He didn't know the full extent of what John did to him but he knew Dean intentionally took the brunt of the abuse for Sam. And he could never take that back. “He's asking about you. Saying you—you finally look like a man. Wondered what kind of work you had done. Thinks you're…” Sam wasn't trying to guilt trip Dean, quite the opposite. “Thinks you get a lot of girls. Asked if you had a wife or something. Asked if you,” He coughed, “Got a dick yet.”

Dean’s fist clenched as his face contorted into disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Castiel getting frustrated as well.

Screwing his eyes shut, Michael crept up in his mind again. The screams. The banging. It came back tenfold. “What does he even want? For us to be fucking normal?” Dean huffed.

“Yeah,” Sam said simply. “Dad… he's from 2003. That's what he does best. Act normal when nothing is.” He smiled sadly.

Dean stood up from the bed and rolled up the sleeves to his flannel shirt. He wouldn't—couldn’t—let his father undo everything he had ever built in the last fourteen years of his life. The small little family he made. Sam, him, Mary, Cas, Jack, and Claire. That was his family. Not John.

Castiel looked at Dean, concerned. “Are you sure, Dean?” He could see that little boy inside him, still scared of what his father could do to him. But he could also see the grown man he came to be, unafraid of his father because he could likely overpower him now.

Before he could think about it too hard, Dean nodded. “C'mon, sunshine. I'm not letting him fuck with my head again.” His leg bounced slightly. Not from nerves.

Dean, Sam, and Cas made their way into the war room where John and Mary sat at the map table. John’s head lifted to look at Dean. Fully look at him. Take in his new appearance. When he appeared, Dean didn't stay long enough for John to get a good look at what he had become. The last time he'd seen Dean, he was twenty-five, wore too big clothes, had a skinner frame, and his hair was short and was never styled. This Dean… was not that.

He grew into his height, broad shoulders, visible muscles under his flannel—John would have never guessed Dean was born a girl. That he was his daughter.

“Deanna.” John breathed.

“Dean.” The man corrected. “You're… here.” He wished he wasn't.

John’s eyes narrowed momentarily. Normally, he would've slapped him for something like that but he wasn't stupid. This Dean had a few pounds on him. “I am. Sam and your mom caught me up on everything that went down,” His eyes shifted to land on Castiel. “That the angel that pulled you out of Hell?”

“Hello, John.” Castiel greeted, void of any emotion. Dean glanced at him. He knew the angel inside and out and he knew Castiel was getting increasingly annoyed simply being in John's presence.

Mary sensed the tension between them and coughed. “I was thinking we could have Winchester Surprise?” She suggested softly—ever the peacemaker.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his mother. He knew Mary was desperate to have John, they didn't have much time together and she was still very much in love, but no one else wanted him there. Dean didn't and neither did Sam and Castiel was so close to stomping John into a curb.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea, Mom.” Dean finally said. As much as he wanted to protect her from the real John, the one who was hiding behind a loving façade, he had to break the news to her. There must always come a time when the veil gets taken away from someone’s eyes, showing them the truth.

John tilted his head and Dean couldn't help but feel it was condescending. “Why not? We're all family here. We can be normal for a night,” He stared at Dean a little too hard. “As normal as we can be.”

“We were never normal,” Dean ground out. It took all his self-control not to just yell at him. Mary looked at Dean worriedly. She'd seen Dean mad, specifically at her, but nothing like this. His shoulders were tense and his nose was drawn into a snarl.

“You–You don't get it. Never will. You suck for a father. I had to raise Sam myself. You'd fuck off to who knows where drunk half the time and make me, a four-year-old watch over a fucking baby. And you liked me better as a son than a girl who liked girls? What the fuck?” Yeah. Fuck that self-control. Dean’s jaw set in place. “Guess fucking what dad? I like girls and boys. And I could care fucking less what you think of—”

Dean's jaw throbbed. Surprise shivered down his spine. John flexed his hand as he stared down at Dean as he cupped his face.

“John!” Mary yelled.

Castiel nearly jumped John before Dean did. With a single right hook, John was out cold on the floor. He flapped his hand afterward, feeling the soreness immediately. It had been a while since Dean had to punch someone, usually, he had a gun or knife when fighting, he was a little surprised at how effective it was.

“Dean!” Mary huffed as she went to John's side.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He decided he might as well come out with it. “Fuck him, Mom. He was never my father. He never tried to be. I was the only person who watched over Sam. A tool in his life while he was dead-set on revenge. We could have been normal. If he never went on a rampage.” He looked down at the pitiful heap that was his father with disgust. He glanced at Castiel over his shoulder.

Mary shook her head, trying to reason with Dean. “We're a family. We don't give up on family.” She whispered.

“Sometimes you do,” Dean huffed softly. As much as he and Sam fought, as many times as they took turns dying, it never got so bad that Dean thought he hated him. At least, not for more than a day or so. “I'm good with who I am. Dad isn't. I don't want him in my life. I don't think I ever had but… this is my life now. I get to live it. Meaning I get to choose who's in it,” He swallowed thickly, knowing what he was about to admit. “In ten years time, it's not with him. Never was.”

“Dean, you don't mean that.” Mary sighed. Pleading. She wanted to keep John, make up for lost time.

Sam took a step forward. “Mom, you don't get it either. The shit John put Dean through—put both of us through—no kid should have to go through that.”

Mary huffed, “Then tell me. You can't just expect me to know.”

Castiel stared at her. “Your sons don't have to say anything they are uncomfortable admitting.” He said it as if he was stating the weather forecast.

Dean pursed his lips. Hurt. He knew Mary wouldn't understand but he didn't quite expect this. He turned on his heels and made his way back into his room.

Eventually, everything was as it was. John was sent back after Sam destroyed the pearl and Dean could breathe a little more comfortably afterward. Mary shut herself off from them but he had a feeling that would get resolved as much as the gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach told him it wouldn't. He never wanted to see or think about John ever again. Hadn't wanted to for years after the shit he's gone through.

Dean heard a knock on his door after he got ready for bed. Hell, he was halfway underneath the covers when it happened. He grumbled under his breath, not thinking to put on a shirt or a pair of pants as he opened the door.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said softly. As soft as each time before. Dean was suddenly very aware of how bare he was. “Do not be alarmed, it's nothing I haven't seen before.” The angel stepped inside his room, closing the door behind him.

Castiel's words did nothing to ease Dean's beating heart. It felt like a hammer against his chest, wanting to tear itself out of him.

Castiel’s eyes never wavered from his face, studying it as if it were a work of art. He lifted a hand to Dean's cheek. Dean felt as if the air was punched out of him. “I want to know if you're okay, Dean.” Those blue eyes—they never looked at him in pity, never. They looked at him with wonder and understanding.

Dean didn't register the single tear that rolled down his cheek until Castiel's thumb wiped it away. “Not really, Cas.” He breathed. Admitting it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would.

“Why—” Castiel took a breath, saddened by how destroyed Dean's eyes looked. “Why do you think the pearl… gave you John?” He asked softly as he and Dean sat on his bed.

Dean glanced at the corner of his room, lip trembling with a mix of rage and sadness. “Maybe the pearl thought I wanted a Dad. Someone who could love me unconditionally. But I—” He paused sharply, eyes finding Castiel's all over again. He wanted to memorize his eyes as if it were the first time he saw them. Or the last. “I have you.” He breathed. For the first time, Dean hadn't been compelled to add Sam at the end of his sentence.

“You do,” Castiel smiled. And, god, Dean's heart wrenched at the sight. Cas didn't smile, not often. “You always have.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, leaning into Castiel's hand as it caressed his cheek. He sniffled slightly. “Cas, please…. Please promise me you'll stay. Even—Even if I push you away. You,” He was full-on crying now and Castiel was looking at him as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. “You'll stay. No matter what.”

“I will.” Castiel whispered light as a feather. Two simple words but it was a promise that meant so much to Dean.

It was a promise Castiel never intended to break. Why would he? Especially when Dean seemed so desperate. So distraught. He could never leave Dean. Not again.

“Kiss me.” Dean whispered. Pleaded. He wanted to memorize everything about Cas. The strange body heat he gave off, the tilt of his head, how his lips pressed into a thin line when he was only minorly frustrated by Dean, the roughness of his stubble. Everything.

For the first time, Dean saw a smirk grace Castiel's lips. “Whatever you want, Dean.” He brought their lips together with a sigh.

They kissed for a while, pausing for breath in between kisses but they didn't go past that, ending up with Castiel in bed with Dean after he shed his trenchcoat, shoes, and tie. Dean dozed off, peaceful enough to fall asleep in Castiel's arms.

Even with a fading grace, Castiel didn't sleep much. His body ran well enough on it that sleep wasn't needed. So he stayed up, playing with the hairs on Dean's neck as he watched over him, soothing him as much as possible when he sensed a nightmare coming on.

“You think you're cursed sometimes Dean,” Castiel cooed on deaf ears but he didn't mind. He had to get it out. “That hate is the only thing that drives you. That you're not built for love. But you are. I think, sometimes—no, I know—that’s all you're made up of. And I–I promise we will find a better way,” Cas lifted his hand to Dean's shoulder, positioning it right above his scar. The scar he burned on his skin. “I love you, Dean.” He whispered into his ear.

For the rest of that night, Dean didn't have nightmares. For the rest of that night, he burrowed himself closer to Castiel. For the rest of that night, Michael was quiet.

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