Chapter Text
May 28, 2011
Cas was shocked when the invitation came in the mail. He figured he'd completely severed that link, had burned every last part that had connected them, had sinned so grievously he thought he’d never hear from him again.
But there it was, in his hands, decorated with white lace and written in purple script:
You are cordially invited to witness the union of Lisa Braeden and Dean Winchester on August 21th, 2011 at 4pm at Hope Church in Lawrence, Kansas. Reception to follow at—
Cas stopped reading. He set the invitation facedown on his coffee table. A noodle from his half-eaten takeout container beside it dropped sticky sauce on the high quality stationary.
So, they were finally doing it.
Cas sighed. It wasn't like he didn't know. Hell, Cas was the first person Dean told when he proposed two and a half years ago. They were best friends, after all. Of course Dean wanted to tell him his exciting news.
That was the last time they talked.
Cas didn't think Dean would invite him, couldn't believe Lisa would let him after— after he—
The invitation was like a knife in the heart, turning and twisting, prying open the old wound that never healed.
Maybe that was why they invited him.
Cas flopped onto his secondhand couch, sinking into the old cushions. He had left Lawrence for Wichita years ago, telling no one where he was going. At the time, he didn't know himself. He'd question how Dean found his address, but Dean had his ways. He’d acquired many skills, some less than savoury, during his turbulent childhood. Of course he could figure out where Cas lived.
And he never visited, never called, never tried to reach out. That was why Cas was so sure Dean was done with him, could never forgive him.
But would he have let Dean in if he did appear at Cas’s door?
Cas wanted to say no, wanted to believe he'd slam the door in Dean's face, wanted to think he had the strength. But then Cas thought about it, imagined Dean leaning into the door frame, envisioned that damnable smile and those shining green eyes and knew, without a doubt, Cas would let him inside the apartment in a second.
Fuck, Cas missed Dean. He missed him like he would a limb, the phantom tingle of Dean's presence by his side every day: when classic rock played over the radio, when the smell of oil and machinery wafted in the air, when leather jackets were displayed in a storefront window, when Dr. Sexy marathons ran on cable, when a sign in a diner's window boasted to have the best bacon cheeseburgers in the state, when a stranger gazed at Cas with green eyes. Dean had taken up residence inside Cas, built a home for himself in Cas's heart, his soul, and, despite Cas’s best efforts to tear it all down, to burn it, to pry each nail out one by one, Dean was still there.
Always there. Forever there. Ever since the day they met.