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1) Napkin folds
Dean gives a slow, confused blink in acknowledgement of the words that have left his fiancé’s lips. For once, he’s not struck dumb by the mere sight of those plush, pink lips that are begging to be kissed at any given moment. In fact, Dean’s considering kissing Castiel as a distraction technique until he’s no longer asking asinine questions like “what kind of napkin fold do we want to use at our wedding reception?”
Because Dean has no fucking clue how to answer that. Didn't even realize that was a question that needed answering, to be honest. If he’s being honest, he hadn’t even realized there were multiple options for folding napkins. Folded over in half apparently isn’t fancy enough for his beloved angel’s tastes, god help him. Who knew that a former warrior angel who can smite demons without breaking a sweat would get so hung up on how a piece of linen is folded and sat beside a plate to mark a spot.
Telling Castiel that he doesn’t care isn’t an option. So, Dean’s forced to look at the webpage Castiel has pulled up on his laptop. He’s still thinking about kissing Castiel as a means of distraction.
“We’re not doing a waterfall fold, Cas,” he says with a scoff. “It’s too fucking pretentious.”
“What’s pretentious about it, Dean?” Castiel’s gravel-roughened voice has an edge to it, and his blue eyes are narrowed to squinty slits.
“Look at it, Cas, it’s—“ Dean gestures at the screen and makes a face at the photo showing a red paisley napkin folded under a plate setting and draped off the table. “Not us. Can’t we just do something simple? Like, fold the napkin in half and call it a day? Why’s it gotta be fancy?”
“Because it’s a celebration and it’s symbolic, and it’s something couples do, Dean.” Castiel’s exasperated. Dean can tell by his tone, and his fiancé has never sounded more human or looked more frazzled.
When Dean had pitched the idea of getting married, he’d imagined a much more low-key affair, something like the two of them getting hitched in a courthouse type thing. He’d assumed Castiel would be on board with that idea – what did angels care about human customs and ceremonies, right? – and Castiel had surprised him instead with wanting something elaborate with a wedding venue and a reception, and Dean had agreed because he wants to make his angel the happiest goddamn angel getting wedlocked to a human in all the scope of history.
So, okay, maybe he can care a little more about napkin folds. He sighs and pulls the laptop over in front of him as he scrolls through the choices on the bridal site Castiel had googled.
“Okay, well, here.” He shows Castiel a photo of a napkin knotted in the middle and resting in the center of a plate setting. “How about a knot? Because we’ve been tied up in knots – figuratively and literally – over each other for years.”
Turns out, Dean didn’t have to kiss Castiel in distraction after all. Those plush, pink, kissable lips turn up into a bright curving smile seconds before they’re smashed against Dean’s, effectively settling the debate.
2) Flower types
Castiel’s the laidback one on this discussion. It’s not that he doesn’t care what kinds of flowers their wedding venue – a rustic barn not dissimilar to the one where they’d first met, if significantly less rundown – is adorned with on their big day, it’s that he thinks all flowers look great, and by that token, whatever Dean chooses will look great.
Dean, on the other hand, and quite surprisingly given all that Castiel knows about him, has been stressing about it for days. He keeps suggesting combinations to the florist and then rejecting them when he sees them paired together for various reasons Castiel hasn’t quite grasped, and the florist is beginning to get a little, well – “annoyed” seems to be a bit of a mild way of putting it.
“Dean.” Castiel’s eyes track Dean’s frenetic pacing from one end to the other of the table in the bunker’s library where he’s seated. Dean’s right hand is raised to his mouth, and Castiel’s eyes narrow as he watches Dean biting his thumb.
He’s already said Dean’s name twice and failed to garner a response, so he gets up and steps into Dean’s path. “Dean,” he tries again, and speaking plus interjecting himself physically in Dean’s way results in Dean’s hand dropping from his mouth as he puts on the brakes to avoid colliding with his fiancé.
Green eyes meet blue, and Castiel’s hands come up to grip Dean’s shoulders. Satisfied that he has Dean’s attention, he asks the question that’s been burning a hole inside him: “Why is the combination of flowers so important? It’s not the colors or whether they’re scented or unscented, is it? What am I missing?”
Pink blooms high on Dean’s cheeks, and his tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip as he averts his eyes. Castiel sighs softly and grips Dean’s chin gently in his hand, directing his head to turn back towards him, their gazes locking again. “Dean,” he says again, softly this time. “What is so important about the combination of certain flowers?”
“They mean something,” Dean says finally. “They’re— back in Victorian times, flowers were used to communicate things that couldn’t be said out loud. The combination matters because I want it to be perfect, and I can’t find the right one without it looking cliched and overdone.”
“Oh.” Castiel hums and drops his hand away from Dean’s chin. “Alright, come sit with me and show me what the flowers mean.” He takes Dean’s hand and leads him back to the table, where they sit and look at flowers. Castiel sits with a warm smile on his face, listening to Dean extoll the meanings of various flowers, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt more love for this astounding, enigmatic, ever surprising human than in that moment.
In the end, they select bouquets of Eustoma (appreciation, gratitude, and charm), Phlox (“our souls are united”) and Clematis (mental beauty) flowers in shades of red, deep purple, and amethyst.
3) Finger foods
Castiel sits with his arms folded over his chest, squinting at his soon-to-be husband with such discontent that Dean must wonder if they’re going to make it to the altar.
“Cas. Sweetheart. Beautiful pain in my ass,” Dean says with a sigh. “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are not a wedding food.”
“Food categories are a social construct, Dean,” Castiel says as if that’s a perfectly reasonable response to the current wedding-related dilemma they’re tripping over as they plan out their special day.
“Pretty sure that’s gender,” Dean mutters as he scrubs his hands over his face. “Okay, okay. You wanted this to be a fancy shindig, right? Babe. Gorgeous. Honeybee. Peanut butter and jelly is about as far as you can get from fancy, and I’m a guy who’s drunk top shelf whisky from a red plastic cup.”
“But peanut butter and jelly is my favorite food, and isn’t a wedding about our favorites?” Castiel continues to glare at Dean. “I already conceded to those miniature cheeseburgers you want to serve.”
“Sliders, Cas, and they’re goddamn delicious. You even liked the sample the caterers gave us too.” Dean sounds defensive even to his own ears, and he heaves a deep, from the bottom of his soul, sigh.
“Fine. Add mini peanut butter and jelly finger sandwiches to the menu,” he says.
The brilliant smile he’s rewarded with is more than worth it.
4) The Seating Chart
“We can’t seat the ex-King of Hell next to his own mother and current Queen of Hell. It’ll be a bloodbath,” Dean complains as he looks over the seating chart for the reception they’re planning.
“Tell me a table where we can reasonably seat Crowley that won’t result in a bloodbath,” Castiel says dryly.
“A table by himself?” Dean frowns as he sighs. “Or we keep him circulating from table to table. That might be the easiest way to keep him alive. Also, angel table?”
“Do we have enough angels on the list to warrant an angel table?” Castiel skims his eyes over the guest list and then frowns. “What- Dean, why is Naomi on here?”
Dean shrugs as he erases Crowley’s name from the seat next to Rowena and sticks him next to Sam at the head table. “Because I want to rub it in her face,” he says simply. “Despite her best efforts to keep us apart, we’re getting married.”
Castiel gives him an amused look and hums. “Hmm, it will be satisfactory to see the look on her face. Maybe we should move her to the front of the room so she gets the best view.”
“That’s the vindictive angel I love,” Dean says approvingly as he flashes a fond smile at his husband-to-be.”
5) Wedding favors
Dean considers himself a pretty unflappable kind of guy. He’s seen a lot of shit in the forty years he’s been on Earth, not to mention the forty he spent in Hell. Point is, he’s seen a lot and not a lot should surprise him at this point.
Then his gorgeous, sexy, celestial husband-to-be goes and suggests the most off the wall item for their wedding favors and has the audacity to look at him with that sweet anticipatory smile as if he’s waiting for Dean to acknowledge that he’s come up with the single best idea in the history of martial celebrations.
“Seriously, Cas? A single live bee?”
That smile falters and then slides right off Castiel’s face, and Dean winces because that had sounded sharper than he’d intended.
“It’s not- Okay, I know you love bees, Cas, but that’s just an accident waiting to happen, babe,” he says, trying to smooth things over before Castiel can get too upset. “What if somebody gets stung?”
“Then I’ll heal them,” Castiel says in such a matter-of-fact tone that it’s almost like he can’t believe Dean didn’t already think of that. “Jack will be in attendance as well, and who better to prevent any catastrophe on our special day than God himself?”
Dean squints at him because how the hell can he argue against that? “Okay, but then there’s the logistics of keeping the bees alive until we can hand them out to people, and also, how the hell do we hand them out to people?”
Castiel shrugs. “Jack will keep them alive because he doesn’t want our special day to be ruined, and as for how we’ll contain them, I’m thinking-”
“Why don’t we just give everybody 50% off coupons to Burgers by Biggs?” Dean interjects and grins, lifting his eyebrows and feeling like he’s come up with the best suggestion.
“Coupons?” Castiel repeats. He has a less than enthused expression on his face.
“Hell yeah! Their burgers are to die for, and everybody likes burgers. It’s easier to enjoy a burger than keep a single bee alive.” Dean shrugs. “What are people supposed to do with the bees after the reception, Cas?”
“Start a hive,” Castiel insists with a huff. “50% off though?”
“Uh, yeah?” Dean shoots Castiel an incredulous look. “What, do you want to bankrupt us before we even enjoy our honeymoon, Cas?”
Castiel sighs deeply and fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Dean, you’re legally dead and I don’t exist. We don’t have credit.”
Dean sputters for half a second. “You’re legally dead. Besides, Sam’s working on the legally dead thing, and Charlie gave us credit, remember?” Dean licks his lips. “Okay, so maybe bankruptcy isn’t something we have to worry about, but c’mon, you gotta see how giving people a coupon for half off a damn good burger is better than a live bee, Cas.”
He can see Castiel is about to pout, and he can’t stand seeing his fiancé look even remotely unhappy, so he quickly suggests “A bee plushie! We can wrap the coupon around a mini bee plushie and give them that.”
Castiel hums and then nods. “Alright, that’s an acceptable compromise.”
+1) Saying “I Do”
Dean’s standing in a barn and it’d be deja vu if it weren’t for the sparkling fairy lights strung artfully around the venue and the clusters of round tables spread out through the space. Their chosen floral arrangements are spread out all over the place, there’s a wide berth between the tables for the guests and the main table reserved for the grooms and family raised up on a dias. People will be dancing there later after Dean and Castiel have their first dance as Mr. and Mr. Winchester. After they exchange their vows under the wooden arch set up outside the barn.
Dean’s heart is beating a staccato in his chest, and he thinks he might throw up. He feels like a kid playing dress-up in the fancy navy waistcoat etched with gold leaf floral designs. The navy trousers are fitted to him perfectly, accentuating his ass. No off-the-rack, ill-fitting suits for him and Cas. No, they’d gone whole hog and gotten tailored suits.
Dean had opted for the waistcoat because he’s worn more than enough suit jackets over the years, and he doesn’t want to hide the personalized detail sewn into the upper left shoulder of his crisp white dress shirt.
Castiel had burned a handprint on Dean’s skin all those years ago when he’d raised him out of perdition. At the time, neither of them had realized the mark burned into Dean’s soul, and now, Dean wants all of their guests to know, to bask, to appreciate how well and truly bonded the two of them are to each other.
“Hey. Dean.”
Dean has a feeling Sam’s been standing beside him longer than a few seconds. Can hear it in the exasperated fondness of his tone that he’s probably repeated Dean’s name at least twice before penetrating the veil of Dean’s reverie.
“Sammy. Hey.” Dean grins brightly. “Is it time?”
Sam grins and nods as he reaches out, squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, come on. Everybody’s waiting.”
Dean follows Sam outside and takes his place under the wedding canopy made for them by Aaron Bass. Neither Dean nor Castiel are Jewish, so they can’t actually use a chuppah, but Aaron had wanted to contribute to the wedding somehow, and so he took it upon himself to make one and bless it.
Dean had fucking cried like a baby when Aaron had shown them the wispy gauze draped over the wooden frame.
He’s not the least bit shocked when he bawls again as soon as Castiel makes his way down the grassy aisle to him. Castiel is resplendent in his matching navy blazer and trousers and crisp white dress shirt. His wedding tie is backwards, as is his customary quirk, and Dean won’t see them until much later, but the back of his jacket is adorned with gold leaf embellishments of constellations and two wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.
Sam passes Dean a handkerchief and grins brightly as he stands behind his brother. He can’t take his eyes off the two men before him vowing to love each other eternally, and his heart feels like it might burst with all the love overflowing in it. So he can only imagine how Dean must feel.
Dean knows they recite their vows, knows it takes several agonizing minutes to get through the ceremony. It feels like seconds and yet an eternity, and then they’re kissing to the cheers of their loved ones and frenemies, and Dean can’t imagine a more perfect moment.