Two weeks ago Castiel had been sure, at least for a little while, that this was not going to happen. The difference between knowing about your fiance's massacre and seeing it in full screen is very different, but Dean is forgiving and he is a good partner and as Castiel tries and fails yet again to make his hair lie flat, he decides not to include that particular tidbit in his vows.
Everything is reportedly set up, thanks to Mike and Neil, and he can hear the murmurs of the guests walking through the house to the backyard where the tables, chairs, and food await. The documents are signed, he and Dean having chosen to do that in private yesterday after Castiel's last class but the vows are different, he feels. Neither of them are terribly verbally demonstrative but he hopes very much that his are deemed appropriate. He carefully slips on his jacket, knowing that Robin will have words for him if it's not kept neat for at least the vows and fusses with the blue tie and pocket square that he'd been warned by Robin was not to be utilized for any rag-like purposes. Letting out a steady breath he stares at his reflection, at the very human looking man about to engage in a human ceremony with the Righteous Man he pulled from Hell. He frowns, head tilting as he looks for himself in all of that, for the thousands of years old warrior of the Lord with the wrath of Heaven behind him and decides he rather prefers the version that is still having trouble keeping his hair neat and whose biggest worry of the day is avoiding embarrassing himself during the vows. It is very strange and Heaven will never forgive him for it and he could not be happier.
He gives the stubborn curl spring up in front of his ear a furious swipe with his thumb and checks once more that Dean's ring is in his pocket before stepping out across the hallway to knock on their door. "Dean," he murmurs, "Are you ready?"
Dean feels half strangled by the tie. Long gone are the days disguises and aliases were needed - the last tie he bothered to throw around his neck is probably years past, but this is his wedding, and he means to look nice.
“Yeah,” he calls, adjusting the green silk at his throat a last, futile time. “Just.” He releases it with a sigh. He knows himself well enough to know he’s only nervous, and he passes a hand through his combed hair and takes a few deep breaths before he turns to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
“Am I supposed to see you? Is that a thing?”