#'I'm three Dean. Three! I'm not even legally allowed to drive yet'

[michaelmilligan]

Destiel fix-it fic (post 15x19)

Okay so this is 1,8k of fix-it for that horrible shit we call an 'ending'. Yes, I am still not over the finale. No, I will not take criticism at this time. (I meant to work on a genderfluid Dean(na) fic which will likely have several parts, but this wouldn't leave my brain so here you go. No beta, just pure rage against the machine that churned out the finale.) (Also my first time adding a cut so if it doesn't work please tell me.)

Dean hadn't taken it well. Not that Sam could blame him. He himself was still struggling with everything that had happened. Chuck snapping everyone away, the fear and the desperation... But they won, and everyone was back. Well, everyone except Cas.

Dean had said “just us” and Sam had said the same and they had driven for a while and it had been good to be on the road, to finally be free. But at the end of the day, it wasn't just them, and that was good too. Great even. There were Jody and the girls. Eileen. Donna. Charlie and Stevie. Garth and his family. All these people they knew and loved, everyone they cared about. Everyone was safe. Everything was good.

Except for Cas.

It had taken a few days for it to really sink in for Sam that he was gone. After all, he hadn't been there when it had happened. Hell, Dean had never even really told him how it went down. But Dean's grief was undeniable, the way he drunk himself into oblivion, much like the last time they had lost Cas, when they had also lost their mom. Both losses had been temporary, but they hadn't known that at the time.

Now their mom was gone for good, up in Heaven and apparently happy. And Cas was gone too, probably in the Empty if he was dead. Sam missed him, of course he did. He was their best friend, the other father in their trio, however weird that sounded. Also Sam also missed Jack, not knowing if they would ever see him again, now that he was almighty and all that. But Sam handled it, he always handled it, and he had Eileen to keep him company, to hold him when he needed to cry.

Dean had noone, hadn't had anyone in years. Maybe he had never had anyone who would do that for him, and Sam was starting to worry about Dean's liver as well as his mental health. Not that any of them could be great in that department, but so far they had always been able to keep it together. Now Sam wasn't so sure.

As he walked into the kitchen, he half expected to find Dean slumped over, drooling onto the kitchen table with a half-full bottle of whiskey in his hand. Instead, the room was empty, no empty bottles in sight. Huh.

Sam set out in search for his brother, trying his room first but finding it just as empty. It took him several minutes before he ducked his head into the library, and finally saw Dean sitting at a table, several books open in front of him.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

Dean's shoulders tensed for a moment, but he didn't turn around.

“Research,” he said gruffly, sounding like he had woken up less than an hour ago.

“On what? You got a case?” Sam came into the room, looking over the books. He saw Enochian, an angel summoning spell, a dictionary... “What's this for?”

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. “Cas,” he croaked out. “We've got to... there has to be a way.”

“Dean. I thought you said he was dead. You know we can't... There's no way to get him from the Empty.”

Dean gritted his teeth, looking like he was about to snap. “That dude almost got Lucifer out, but we can't get Cas back?” He sprang up, walking towards the nearest shelf just to stare at it.

“Dean. What even happened? How did... you never told me what happened,” Sam tried, hoping against hope that his brother wouldn't just clam up like every other goddamn time he tried to talk about something difficult.

“He... he just. Goddamnit, he said- He- he made a deal with the Empty and then-”

“Wait, what? The Empty was there? Why the hell would he make a-”

“No, I mean. Before. He made the deal to save Jack, back when... It agreed to take him instead of Jack, but only... only if... and he said...” Dean's shoulders were shaking as he leaned his forehead against the shelf. “He... he summoned it. The Empty. To take him away so it would take Billie too. And I... I couldn't do anything. There was... we had no weapons, nothing to fight the Empty, nothing to fight Billie and he...” Sam couldn't see his face, but he could hear the tears in his voice.

“Okay. Okay.” Sam let out a deep breath. It wasn't the first time one of them had sacrificed himself for the others. And like any other time, Dean couldn't let it go. Well, not that Sam had always been able to. “So you want to get him back. You think that's wise?”

Dean whirled to him, his eyes hard and full of tears. “What?”

“I'm just saying... Cas sacrificed himself to save you. And now you're going to endanger yourself to get him back, do you think that's really what he wants? And even if we had a way of getting to the Empty, who says that we're gonna be able to get Cas out, or that the Empty won't just snatch him again as soon as we're back on Earth?”

But Dean's face had completely shuttered closed. This was one of the times were no logical arguments would get through to him.

“I'll find a way,” he said, turning back to the shelf to sort through the books.

Sam sighed, and after watching his brother for a while, he left him to it, deciding to let him grieve in his own way.

It was about three days later when Sam heard a noise from the entrance. Frowning, he walked towards it, wondering if Dean had invited anyone. Eileen wasn't scheduled to come over, but maybe she had wanted to surprise him? He had told her not to come, didn't want her to see Dean like that, but then again when did she ever listen to him?

When he saw who was coming down the stairs from the entrance, Sam felt his eyes widen.

“Jack!”

The boy – God, whatever – smiled and raised his hand.

“Dean! Dean, Jack is here,” Sam called in the direction of the corrdor, then hurried over to him. He hesitated, not sure if you were supposed to hug the newly appointed God. But Jack was his son and he had missed him, so in the end he pulled him into a tight hug. Jack returned it, squeezing him and still smiling when they pulled apart.

Which was when Sam noticed the other figure coming down the stairs and he gasped. “Cas?” He looked at Jack, who just kept smiling, and Sam laughed and pulled Cas into a hug, too. Cas returned it, though a little more carefully than Jack, and his smile wasn't as bright. Maybe a little... shy? Embarrassed?

“Dean? Dean! It's- Dean, get your ass over here!” Sam called again, hardly believing their luck.

Dean jerked awake to a stiff neck and an aching back, hunched over on the library table, drool on a three-hundred year old book. He thought he'd heard Sam, calling for him, and he got up to walk out of the library in spite of his protesting body. “Sam?” he called as walked along the corridor, anxiety forming in his gut. What if something was wrong? What if they were under attack? What if the next big villain – whoever that might be after thee actual God – was here to get them? Or maybe just some regular monster, ready to tear them apart, taking them by surprise?

Dean pulled his gun and tread carefully, peering around each corner before rounding it. He heard voices from the entrance, and by the time he was almost at the door, he heard a laugh. It sounded like Sam... He still peeked around the door frame before getting in and saw Jack, just standing there, looking comfortable.

“Jack?” Dean made his way over to him quickly, not believing his eyes. “What are you- I thought you-”

“Dean!” Jack beamed at him and Dean couldn't not pull him into a hug.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi.” Jack squeezed him tight.

When Dean looked towards Sam, he also saw... no. This wasn't possible, was it? Dean pulled back, eyes wide, just staring for a moment before he turned towards Jack. “You- how-”

“I know I said I'd be hands-off, but...” Jack shrugged, looking apologetic. “I didn't want to be.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, his eyes going back to Cas. His eyes were prickling, and he suddenly noticed how Cas evaded his eyes, peering up at him from beneath his eyelashes almost shyly.

“Thank you,” Dean said to Jack, aware of the tremor in his voice, and then he rushed towards Cas.

“You goddamn- fucking moron,” he hissed as he wrapped him in the tightest hug he might have ever given anyone. “Stupid fucking dumbass.”

“Uh,” Cas made, sounding insecure. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean gripped him the shoulders when he pulled back, then put his hands on Cas' face. “You fucking- what does that even mean, huh? 'It's in the just saying it'. What the fuck. What the actual fuck!”

Cas squinted at him, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“You-” Dean cut himself off, running out of words, so he kissed Cas instead. It was a rough kiss, and long, and Cas seemed to have trouble keeping up, his hands coming up to claw at the flannel on Dean's back.

Dean was vaguely aware of a gasp behind him, but he was still laser-focused on Cas, glaring daggers at him.

“You maybe wanna re-think that?” He shoved him.

“Uh, I- I do?” Cas said, still looking terribly confused, and Dean couldn't help but kiss him again, just as roughly at first but getting softer over time until they were just breathing each other's air.

“You fucking asshole. You could have said something sooner! Before you got your ass dragged to the-” Dean stopped, feeling his face going through several emotions at once.

Cas squinted at him. “So could you.”

Dean stared at him, hearing Jack say “What's wrong, Sam?”, and yet he still couldn't have cared less.

“Goddamnit, you're right, we're both dumbasses.” When Cas opened his mouth, he added: “No, Cas, 'trusting' really doesn't cut it here.”

Cas huffed out a laugh – and wasn't that a sight for sore eyes. Dean kissed him again, hearing Jack in the background: “Wait, is this something new? I always thought they were just not very public about it.”

Dean grinned against Cas' lips, and Cas smiled back as Dean pulled him into another hug.

Meanwhile, Jack was still talking: “You know what, I think they need a minute. And I want to eat Crunch Cookie Crunch. Do you still have any?”

[etymolo-drarry-ig]

Clueless

Draco has been dropping hints. Harry has yet to pick up on any of them.

---Harry’s POV---

In hindsight, the first hint was probably from the end of my third year.

"I have to tell you something," Draco had waved me over after the end-of-year feast. "But not here."

So we walked across the school grounds together, for the last time that school year. "I've been doing some thinking," Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. "And I'll understand if you don't want to be friends anymore—"

"Draco, just tell me," I interrupted him, and he took a deep breath.

"I'm gay," he said finally.

"Oh," I replied. I wasn't sure what the correct response was—my only experience thus far was from Seamus and Dean, but even I knew they fancied each other, and I'm oblivious. Neither of them were very subtle, after all.

Draco turned to me. "Do you—do you hate me?"

Now I was confused. "I don't hate Dean or Seamus, do I?" I pointed out. "I mean, sure, seeing them make out every single night does get kind of annoying," I laughed. "No, of course I don't hate you. You're still my best friend.”

Draco smiled gratefully, facing forward again. "I haven't told anyone else," he clenched his jaw.

Draco nodded tightly.

"I'm the first one you've told?" A warmth filled my chest. People didn't usually trust me with their secrets.

"How do—how do wizards feel about—er, gay people?" The words left my mouth rather clumsily.

"It depends, I guess," Draco shrugged, "we mostly don't care, but same-sex marriage is still illegal. I know that father expects me to produce an heir, regardless. I don't think mum will care."

I wrinkled my nose at the word produce, and Draco laughed.

"I think I'll tell mum this summer," he continued, "we're pretty good at keeping secrets from father," he smiled.

"I'm glad you told me," I responded, "thank you for trusting me."

---

The second hint came about halfway through fourth year. Draco had only come out to a few people: his mum, Pansy Parkinson, and me. My perception of gay people was totally flipped on its head when Draco came out—before, I assumed every gay person was just as flamboyant as Dean and Seamus, but Draco was definitely not flamboyant. He'd made me realize that gay people come in all shapes and sizes, too.

Therefore, I wasn't completely bewildered when I started noticing people in a brand new way. I knew something was up when Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang came strolling down the hallway, hand and hand, and I couldn't even tell which of them I was more jealous of.

"I have something to tell you," I approached Draco during lunch, and he scooted over to make room for me at the Slytherin table. None of his housemates batted an eye—I usually sat with Draco a few times a week, although it was usually for study purposes.

He raised an eyebrow when I subtly cast a muffling charm. "Remember what you told me about at the end of last year?" I asked, "the thing you had never told anyone else before?" I added, to make sure Draco understood.

He nodded cautiously. "What are you getting at?"

I swallowed. "Me too, I think. Well, kind of. I mean, I like girls, but—well, I'm like you, too."

"Really?" Draco seemed to perk up a little bit. "So you're bi? Or pan?"

I nodded. "I guess so."

“Well,” he cleared his throat and sat up straight. "In that case, would you—um," his face flushed.

I tilted my head to the side, wondering why he was so flustered.

"Well, since we're both, you know," Draco continued, "maybe you would want to experiment?"

"Oh," I blinked. I hadn't really thought of actually being with anyone. Okay, I may have considered what dating Cho or Cedric would be like—but I hadn't taken it seriously . "I—I don't know," I admitted, "I don't know if I'm—what's the word?" I scratched my head, trying to remember the phrase Hermione had used. "Emotionally stable, I think? I don't think I could with anyone right now."

It was the truth, after all. Even if Cho or Cedric approached me, I don't think I'd be ready to be in a relationship.

"Oh," Draco returned to his mashed potatoes. "I just thought I'd ask. Hey," he nudged me with his elbow. "Now we can check out guys together, huh?"

I laughed and lowered my voice. "Have you seen Cedric Diggory? Merlin."

Draco laughed. "I'm more of a Victor Krum kind of guy, myself."

I chuckled. "Too bad for you, he's completely smitten with Hermione."

---

The next hint came at the end of fourth year. It was the last week before term ended, and for the first time in my life, I was excited for the summer. For the first time, I wasn't returning to the Dursley’s over the summer.

You see, fourth year had been kind of crazy for me. Aside from the Triwizard Tournament, (which Cedric won, of course, because he's amazing) I found out that I had a godfather—the reason no one bothered to tell me was because he was in prison.

Now that I was fourteen, I was allowed full access to my parents' Gringotts vault. I'd always thought there was something fishy about my parents' death—not the Voldemort part, but the fact that the only thing left of Peter Pettigrew was a finger. I mean, come on , there was a fully intact finger, but no bone fragments from the rest of the body?

So with the help of Ron, Hermione, and Draco, we tracked down my parents' will and discovered that not only had they changed Secret Keepers, but Peter Pettigrew was an unregistered animagus. A rat animagus.

And Ron's pet rat was missing a finger.

All it took was a quick trip to McGonagall's classroom to force Scabbers into his human form, and then… well, I didn't get very involved in the politics, but long story short, Sirius Black was a free man.

And I would be staying with him this summer.

Even better, in my opinion, was that Remus Lupin, another friend of my parents, would be staying with us, too. He and Sirius had started dating during school, apparently, and even thirteen years of Azkaban wasn't enough to drive them apart.

I was finally going to live with my family.

The Sunday before the end of term, Draco appeared at the Gryffindor table during breakfast. " Potter," he tapped me on the shoulder impatiently, and I turned to look at him. "Have you seen the Prophet?" He asked.

I shook my head. I never read the Prophet anymore—I had gotten tired of reading the rumors about me and my friends.

Draco shoved aside my plate to make room for his. "Well, you should read it."

I looked over to Hermione, who helpfully handed over her copy without a word. "Where should I be looking?" I asked.

"Page two, column three," Draco answered.

"Holy shit," I gasped, reading the headline. "’Same-sex marriage legalized in Wizarding Britain.' Hermione, Ron, look at this," I grinned.

I still remember the date. June 26th, 1991.

Even though most of them were straight, we were still crying by the end of breakfast. Seamus and Dean vanished for a celebratory makeout session, and Draco pulled me aside when I was done eating.

"This is fantastic," I told him, "Sirius and Remus can get married now, if they want."

"It's brilliant," Draco agreed. "Listen, since today's a special day and all, I thought I'd ask—" he paused, fidgeting with one of his rings.

I raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

"Um, well, would you want to maybe be my boyfriend?"

My eyes widened. "Oh, I, um—" I stuttered. It didn't seem like a serious inquiry—he was only asking because of the legalization, right? "I don't—I don't  think I can handle that sort of thing right now," I confessed.

"Okay," Draco said easily, "you have a lot going on, after all. I just figured I'd ask." Then he left, leaving me alone and confused.

It was just a friendly question, right? Obviously he didn't actually like me—it was just a thing of convenience. He likes guys, I like guys, we're friends, so it was convenient.

Maybe if I'd felt more comfortable with the idea of dating someone, I would've said yes. He was my best friend, after all, and a great person. And he was quite attractive—not that I'd ever tell him that.

I sighed, putting the situation out of my mind for the time being. I wanted to write a letter to Sirius and Remus, after all.

---

Every year on Valentine’s Day, the professors collect valentines and distribute them to their intended recipients—thankfully, after the Lockhart incident in second year, the valentines no longer sang. Originally, valentines were sent like normal mail, but the horrifying number of valentines sent to me during first year had created an owl-jam, so the professors had to come up with an alternative.

For reasons you can probably guess, I'm not a fan of Valentine’s Day. I still read all the messages, though, but that's mostly because Fred and George always make sure to send me dozens of valentines, each one being more elaborate than the last.

During my fifth year, there was something a little different—one of the notes wasn't signed with a name. The valentines I got were never anonymous, so to have one signed "your secret admirer" was odd.

Dear Harry,

I apologize for adding to the torrent of messages sent to you this year, but I have something to get off my chest. I don't think you'll ever consider me as more than a friend, but I have a huge crush on you. Happy Valentine's Day.

-Your secret admirer

Something was bothering me about the handwriting, too. It looked oddly familiar.

"You okay, Harry?" Hermione watched me frown at the note in my hand.

"Yeah," I said, "I just don't know who this is from," I handed her the slip of parchment, and she shrugged.

"It says that you're friends, right?" She tilted her head. "Maybe that's a hint."

After breakfast was over, and I had vanished most of the valentines, I brought the note over to Draco. "Do you recognize this handwriting?" I asked, "I don't know who sent it."

"Probably because they didn't put their name," Draco said sarcastically, staring at the note in my hand. "Do you—do you recognize the handwriting?"

I studied the curvy script. "It could maybe be a girl's handwriting," I suggested

"It's not that feminine," Draco replied, "besides, you wouldn't know decent handwriting if it slapped you in the face."

"Oh, shut up."

---

Two weeks later, I still hadn't figured out who'd sent me the note. "Maybe you should see if the handwriting matches one of your friends," Draco suggested.

Hermione nodded. "Maybe you can check old notes you've passed in class."

"Merlin, are we still talking about this?" Ron rolled his eyes, "rook to D-8," he added, and the chess board adjusted accordingly.

"I think it's cute," Hermione mused, "you're invested."

"I'm not cute, 'Mione," I grumbled.

"Oh, but your secret admirer begs to differ," Draco teased.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," I grumbled, but I was grinning.

---

Draco sat against the tree trunk, the sunlight causing his hair to glow. "Have you still not figured it out?" For some reason, Draco was exasperated. "You compared handwritings and everything?"

I nodded. "I did everything you guys suggested." I laid back on the ground. I honestly didn't care who it was at this point, because the sender definitely wasn't who I hoped it was.

Yeah, that's right. Draco had asked me out last year, and it seemed to have gone to my head, because now I fancied him. Which sucked, because there was no way he liked me back—we were just friends.

"You're an idiot, Harry."

"Tell me something I don't know," I responded, avoiding his gaze. I was not going to blush, I wasn't, I—

"Look at me, Harry."

I blushed.

"Do you want to know who it is?" Draco raised his eyebrows, and I nodded quickly. "It's me."

"I—" what? "You? But that means—you have a crush on me? Wait, but— really?"

Draco waited for me to finish spluttering. "I've fancied you since third year," he deadpanned.

I sat up quickly. "Oh," I said. Think fast. "Er—then," I scratched the back of my neck, "do you want to watch the quidditch match with me this weekend?"

He frowned. "We're already going to watch toget— oh, you mean as a date?" I nodded quickly, and he rolled his eyes. "You know, if the roles were reversed," he gestured between us, "you would not have picked up on that."

I buried my face into my hands. "Oh, shut up."

---

The quidditch match was Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, which meant my loyalty was divided on account of the two seekers, Cho and Cedric.

"Who do you think will catch the snitch?" I asked Draco.

"Cedric, definitely," he scoffed, "he has the better broom."

"Cho makes sharper turns, though," I pointed out.

"Technique can only get you so far."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

Draco tilted his head. "Perhaps."

I huffed. "Fine. Seeker's game later?"

"You're on."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ron and Hermione waving frantically to Draco from a few rows away. When I turned, though, they abruptly stopped. "What was that?" I asked him.

"Nothing," he said quickly, "I don't know."

I eyed him. "It's nothing, or you don't know?"

"I don't know," he repeated.

I sighed and turned back to the game, but Ron started waving again. "What are you doing?" I called to him, but he only shrugged, as if to say I don't know what you're talking about.

"Seriously, what's going on?" I asked Draco, who laughed at me.

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"I don't know, because you won't tell me, " I sighed in exasperation and turned back to the game, just in time for Cho to spot the snitch

She dove for it, and Cedric followed close behind. The snitch made a sharp turn, though, and Cedric wasn't able to change direction fast enough. "Told you," I elbowed Draco, who nudged me back.

"Told you," he replied as Cedric quickly gained on Cho until they were neck-and-neck. I grabbed his hand in anticipation as they got closer… and closer… and Cedric reached forward and snatched the snitch out of the air.

"YES!" we jumped from our seats, cheering loudly. Hufflepuff won, 220 to 80 points.

"I told you," Draco gloated, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I couldn't stop grinning, but it didn't have to do with who caught the snitch. My stomach fluttered—I was holding his hand.

The pitch emptied quickly, with Ron and Hermione helpfully leaving us behind. We grabbed our brooms and headed for the center of the field, not bothering to change into quidditch robes.

"Er, listen, Harry—" Draco said before I could release the snitch.

"Yeah?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to say sorry, for, um—"

I furrowed my brow. "For what?"

"I dunno, for being too forward?" His eyes darted around the pitch.

"What? You didn't even do anything—" unfortunately.

"I feel like I did, though," he ran his fingers through his hair, and my heart fluttered. "What?" He watched me bite my lip.

"I—I have butterflies," I answered shyly.

"Well, you shouldn't have eaten so many butterflies, then," he replied cheekily, and I shoved his shoulder, laughing. "Why do you have butterflies?"

My face reddened. "Because I—because I fancy you," I answered, and his eyes widened.

"You do? But I thought—"

"I mean, you asked me out in June, and I know you meant it as a friend thing," I said, "but I guess it went to my head, because now—"

"Hold on," Draco interrupted me, "who in their right mind asks someone out as a friend?"

I paused. "You?"

He bit his lip. "You really are an idiot," he said softly.

I was silent for a moment, staring at his lips. "Can I—um," I heard myself say, "can I kiss you?"

Draco didn't answer; instead, he pulled me towards him, swiftly planting a kiss on my lips.

My brain seemed to short circuit, but at some point, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, standing on my tip-toes to easily reach him. We stayed like that for Merlin-knows-how-long, standing in the middle of the quidditch pitch with our arms wrapped around each other.

We never did play that seeker's game.

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