Chapter Text
A few months passed. Dean and Castiel would hang out at the dark-haired boy’s house once every few weeks, than once a week, then once every few days.
At first it was nice for Dean to be out of the house, doing something other than handing out flyers and delivering messages.
At first it was nice for Castiel not to spend the entirety of his time alone, and to have someone to talk to again.
Slowly, they both realized they actually liked the company of the other, and not just because it was company, but this company specifically. Dean enjoyed listening to Castiel’s vinyl’s, while Castiel would let him go on and on about bikes for hours. The blonde boy even taught Castiel the basics of fighting (“Just in case – times are getting rough for your kind.”), and in return Castiel told him all about his favourite books.
When, one day, Dean didn’t show up like they had planned, Castiel got a bit worried.
He stood in front of the house’s phone for over ten minutes, debating whether or not he should call him. The young boy was afraid something had happened to him. A whole lot of things could happen to someone, these days. Especially to someone like Dean, who was in the Résistance and working everyday against the Nazi government. Maybe the French Militia had finally got him ?
For all he knew, it was also entirely possible that Dean had just chosen not to come today.
Maybe he had found Castiel boring, after a while.
Castiel went to his room. He didn’t eat that night. It would be logical that Dean would stop coming to see him, as the anti-semitic measures were being reinforced each passing day. He endangered Dean, by inviting him to his house.
Castiel surprised himself to wish that Gabriel was here, for once. Maybe Gabriel would have known what to do. But Gabriel was away, to some friend’s house or something. He hadn’t come back home in a week, and Castiel felt terribly lonely, without him nor Dean.
*
Loud thumps on the house’s door woke Castiel up in the middle of the night. The boy stood up quickly, shirtless, his dark hair sticking up. He scratched his eyes before the thumping started again, urgent. He fumbled with a shirt laying on his chair, putting it on inside out.
He wasn’t sure he should open the door. Maybe someone had finally snitched on him and he was going to be taken away ?
He went to the door anyway, slowly, so as not to make any noise, and looked through the lock, only to recognize a familiar bike laid out on his porch.
He opened the door, a smile on his face. The latest quickly disappeared when he saw Dean’s black eye and his shirt stained with blood.
“Hey,” the blonde boy said. “Sorry for not coming today, I-”
“Come in,” Castiel urged him, closing the door behind them. “What happened to you ?”
Dean laughed, wincing a bit.
“My dad had a bad day,” Dean shrugged, wincing once again. “Motherfucker broke my nose, hence all the blood.”
Castiel looked at the ground, biting his lips. He knew Dean’s father wasn’t the calm type, but he didn’t know he was that bad.
“Come on, I’ll clean you up,” he said, going to the bathroom, grabbing cleaning alcohol and some gauze.
They sat on Castiel’s bed, and the dark-haired boy gently cleaned the blood off Dean’s face, neck and hands with the alcohol-imbibe gauze. As he wiped Dean’s upper lip, where blood had dried, they locked eyes for a second, holding their breath, before Castiel focused on his task again.
“All done,” he finally said, throwing the gauze away in the trashcan under his desk. “Take off your shirt, I’ll lend you one.”
He started going through his closet, trying to find a shirt that wouldn’t look too tight on Dean’s broad shoulders. He grabbed one that his brother had owned once, before Castiel had borrowed it from him, and smiled, satisfied. He turned around, discovering a shirt-less Dean standing next to his bed.
Castiel’s smile disappeared once again, starring at Dean’s bruised ribs.
“Fuck,” Castiel let out, stepping closer. “Did-” he stopped himself for a second, raising a hand towards the bruises. “Did your father do that ?”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, wincing. “It was a really bad day.”
“Can I ..?” Castiel asked, looking Dean in the eyes.
Dean swallowed hard and nodded.
Castiel lightly ran his fingers on Dean’s blue ribs, feeling the blonde boy’s heavy breath on his own face.
“Does it hurt ?”
“Just a bit,” Dean admitted in a whisper.
Castiel looked at his eyes again. They were green, tainted with a fear and vulnerability he had never seen in the older boy’s gaze.
Dean’s eyes were juggling between Castiel’s mouth and Castiel’s eyes, his brain focusing on Castiel’s fingers on his rib and then on Castiel’s stare.
Castiel was too close, too close to his face and right before their lips touched, Dean pulled away, frowning.
“What are you doing ?”
Castiel seemed at a loss for words, his mouth half-opened, innocent eyes wide.
“I- I just-” he stuttered. “I thought you- we-”
“No,” Dean shook his head, looking away. “I’m not-”
“I thought-” Castiel tried, taking a step towards Dean.
“I’m not queer,” Dean finished, stepping back, looking at the ground. “It’s fine if you are, I won’t say anything-”
“No, no !” Castiel exclaimed, cutting him off. “I just-”
“I won’t say anything,” Dean repeated. “But I’m not queer so- just- let’s forget about this, alright ?”
Castiel nodded, breathing heavily. They stayed silent for a whole minute, not looking at each other.
“Can I, uh,” Dean started, still not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Can I stay here, tonight ? I’d rather not go back to my dad’s at the moment.”
He scratched the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.
“No problem,” Castiel shrugged. “You can sleep on the couch, I’ll bring you a blanket.”
Dean kept avoiding his eyes.
“Thanks.”
***
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last time Dean went to Castiel’s in the middle of the night, hurt and in need of a place to stay. Castiel was always happy to help, happy to lend him some clothes, his couch and a bit of safety for a few hours. Things hadn’t been disturbed between them – they had become even closer friends. Dean would simply step back if they ever came too close to one another, or would take off his hand if Castiel’s was to accidentally brush against it.
One night, Dean showed up particularly damaged. The skin right above his brow bone was slit open, and his whole face was covered in blood. His cheekbone was already bruising, and his wrist was resting at an odd angle. He could barely stand up, and Castiel didn’t need to bring his bike in that night, because Dean had come walking, for he didn’t manage to ride his bike.
“It’s the third time this month, Dean,” Castiel growled, helping him lay down on the couch.
He had closed the wound on the blonde boy’s forehead with a few medical strips, but he wasn’t sure it would hold it for very long.
“You’ll need to see a doctor for your wrist.”
“No-” Dean weakly protested. “No doctors. Can’t afford it.”
“Come on,” Castiel laughed. “I’m pretty sure the British government has a whole lot of money to spend.”
“My dad doesn’t work with the British government,” Dean retorted, his voice low.
“Yeah,” Castiel chuckled. “And I’m not Jewish.”
Dean scoffed, and winced.
“Well,” he said, breathing in. “Don’t go around saying either of those two things. Could have us arrested.”
Dean raised his eyebrows, and the strips didn’t hold the skin. His wound re-opened, and it started bleeding heavily, Dean shooting up straight and holding his forehead.
“Shit,” he exclaimed, pushing his hair away. “Fuck, I think I got some on your couch.”
“It’s okay,” Castiel said, getting up as well.
He grabbed a clean piece of gauze and handed it out to Dean.
“Apply pressure, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He came back with a needle and some thin string.
“You’ll have to stay very still,” Castiel warned. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but I’ll go faster if you don’t move.”
“Do you even know how to do stitches ?” Dean scoffed, sitting back down.
Castiel disappeared in the kitchen for a second and came back with a bottle of whisky.
“Drink this,” Castiel ordered.
Dean obeyed and did his best not to spit out the strong alcohol.
“My throat is burning,” he whispered, coughing.
“It’ll distract you,” Castiel muttered. Now hold still.”
He started the stitching, carefully, wiping away the blood that kept flowing.
“Where did you-”
“Don’t talk.”
Dean shut his mouth until Castiel was done and, once the dark-haired boy stepped away, cleaning the last drops of blood on Dean’s face, he grabbed the bottle of whisky and took two long sips, wincing as it once again burnt his throat.
“Where did you learn to do that ?” the Winchester asked.
“My brother went to medical school,” Castiel explained, leaving in the kitchen to wash his bloody hands. “He dropped a few years ago, but he taught me a few things when he was still around.”
“Why isn’t he around anymore ?”
“Not sure,” Castiel replied, wiping his hand on a towel. “I think he’s doing hard drugs- but I can’t be sure. He never comes back long enough for me to ask.”
“That sucks.”
Castiel nodded, gathering all the medical stuff on the kitchen table and taking it to the bathroom.
“You’ve gotten blood all over our shirts,” Castiel stated, going to his bedroom, Dean following him.
“I’m sorry,” the blonde boy muttered.
“It’s alright, I’ll get some clean ones.”
As Castiel got changed, he glanced at Dean, and caught him staring. He smiled as Dean quickly looked away, putting on his own shirt. Not queer, my ass, the kid thought, still smiling.
“You’ve got blood in your hair,” Castiel remarked once they were wearing clean clothes.
“Fuck,” Dean reached out to his hair, who were stuck together with dry blood.
They both went to the bathroom.
“You’d better not get the stiches wet right away,” Castiel said, grabbing the showerhead. “Throw your head back in the tub.”
Dean did just as he was told – he didn’t really mind being bossed around. His head felt dizzy both from exhaustion and blood loss, and the whisky certainly wasn’t helping.
Castiel gently washed the blood away, careful not to let the water reach the stitches on Dean’s forehead. His gentle finger untangled Dean’s blonde, dirty hair, running his hand on the delicate scalp, watching the red fading away.
Then, he gently tapped his hair with a clean towel, and Dean got up again. The collar of his shirt had gotten a little wet in the process.
“How many of my shirts are you gonna fuck up today ?” Castiel laughed, bringing Dean back to his bedroom.
Dean yawned as an answer.
“I think I’m gonna go take a nap on your couch.”
“There’s blood all over it and I won’t let you stain another one of my shirts,” Castiel said, getting between Dean and his bedroom’s door. “Sleep in my bed, I’ll put some blankets on the floor for myself.”
Dean scoffed.
“Because you think I’ll let you sleep on the floor ? After everything you’ve done for me today ?”
Castiel groaned.
“What do you suggest then, Mr. Genius ?”
Dean sighed, shaking his head.
“We can share your bed, it’s no big deal. You don’t snore, do you ?”
“Of course I don’t snore,” Castiel frowned.
“Then we’ll be fine,” Dean concluded.
Castiel rolled his eyes. They both slipped under the covers, Dean fully clothed and Castiel in his pyjamas. The light was off, and Castiel could hear Dean’s breathing next to him.
“Are you asleep ?” Dean whispered after a few minutes.
“No,” Castiel whispered back.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Dean said.
“Me neither if you keep talking,” Castiel replied.
He heard Dean laugh, and then a long pause.
“Thank you,” Dean suddenly said. “For the stitches. And letting me sleep here.”
“Anytime,” Castiel yawned. “You know you can come anytime.”
After a second, he added :
“You could come live here, if you wanted to. You wouldn’t have to see your dad, that way.”
“I can’t leave Sammy on his own. Dad will take his anger out on him if I’m not here and…”
He left his sentence unfinished, sending a shiver through Castiel’s spine.
“My door is always open,” Castiel concluded.
“Thanks.”
Silence returned and, when Castiel thought Dean was falling asleep, he was disturbed again :
“How did you know ?”
“Uh ?”
“How did you know you were queer ?”
Castiel frowned in the dark, turning towards Dean, even though he couldn’t see him.
“Why do you want to know ?”
He heard Dean turn in the bed.
“I’m just curious,” the boy replied.
Castiel took a long breath before replying.
“I’ve never looked at girls the way other men look at girls. I still think they are pretty, but I don’t want to kiss them or… or- you know.”
Dean didn’t say anything, simply breathing.
“And then one day I started to look at men the way men usually look at women.”
“Wanting to kiss them ?” Dean asked, eager to know.
“Yes,” Castiel answered, swallowing his saliva.
“And-”
“Yes,” Castiel quickly cut him off. “Yes, that too, sometimes.”
“What if-” Dean started, stopping himself.
“Yes ?” Castiel encouraged him.
“What if I look at men and women the same way ?” he went on. “Does that mean I’m queer ?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “Do you want to kiss men ?”
“S-some of them, sometimes, yeah,” Dean stuttered, muttering through his teeth.
“That must make you some kind of queer,” Castiel shrugged.
“But I like women !” Dean retorted.
Castiel smiled.
“I don’t think liking men and women are mutually exclusive. I know my brother has dated both.”
Dean blinked in the dark.
“You can be whatever you want to be, Dean,” Castiel went on. “Who cares if you’re queer ?”
Dean chuckled, before coughing.
“My dad does. And he’d probably beat the shit out of me if I was.”
“He already beats the shit out of you,” Castiel scoffed.
As Dean didn’t answer, he stopped smiling.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Nah, you’re right. He does beat the shit out of me. Son of a bitch.”
They didn’t speak for a few minutes.
“Are you asleep ?”
It was Castiel who had asked, this time.
“No,” Dean whispered back.
“Did you-” Castiel paused, hesitant. “Did you step back because you were scarred of what your dad would do ?”
“What ?”
“The first night you came here- you stepped back. You told me you weren’t queer-”
“I’m not,” Dean cut him off.
“Yeah alright, you’re not, sorry,” Castiel corrected, rolling his eyes, knowing Dean wouldn’t see him. “But did you step away because you were scarred of your dad ?”
He heard Dean’s breathing fasten.
“It’s fine if you don’t like me,” Castiel went on because, well, at that point… “But if you’re just holding back because of your dad I-”
Castiel was interrupted by lips crashing against his and a nose bumping against his cheek. It was messy, and wet, and they fumbled with the covers until Dean was on top of Castiel and nothing but shirts stood between them.
“Be careful-” Castiel breathed between two kisses. “Your forehead-”
Dean shut him up with another kiss, and the blonde boy pressed his knee against Castiel’s crotch through their pants, sending a rush of blood in that specific area.
Castiel tried to speak again, but Dean was ahead of him, kissing his neck and nipping at the skin gently. Castiel let out a moan instead of words, and Dean’s hands started to wander under his shirt.
Castiel’s hips grinded against Dean’s knee, and the dark-haired boy tugged at Dean’s waistband, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding a hand in his underwear. He felt the blonde boy’s breath scatter against his neck, and soon he had gotten rid of his pants, standing half-naked above Castiel.
“K-keep doing that,” Dean uttered, kissing Castiel’s lips.
And so Castiel did. In the meanwhile, Dean took Castiel’s shirt off, and started stroking him gently through his pyjamas. Castiel thrusted into his hand, and Dean took it as an invitation to slide down the pyjamas and wrap his hand around him.
They came roughly around the same time, moaning and breathless, Castiel’s free hand tugging at Dean’s hair and Dean hanging onto Castiel’s shoulder, burying his freckled face in his friend’s neck.
For someone who isn’t queer, Castiel thought, Dean surely knows his way around these kind of things.